鈥淎ll right, who wants to go first?鈥 Tiny Elliott asks. My three friends and I exchange glances under the brims of our red hardhats. I reach up and tighten mine a notch with a thick leather work glove. This is not what we usually wear birdwatching, but then, this isn鈥檛 the usual birdwatching trip. We understand that to get from here, where an ovenbird is calling teacher teacher near the crook of a white oak tree, to there, where a chestnut-sided warbler is saying pleased to meetcha, we need to step off a platform and zip 190 feet along two steel cables, flying at nearly 30 miles per hour through West Virginia鈥檚 New River Gorge, to a platform 45 feet off the ground. And to do that, one of us has to volunteer.
鈥淚鈥檒l go,鈥 says Kim Phillips. At 5-feet-3-inches, she鈥檚 the shortest of our tight-knit group of friends, and more than a foot shorter and 100 pounds more petite than Tiny, our guide. He reaches down with his XL gloves and clips her full-body harness into the double cable system via two separate trolleys. 鈥淲henever you鈥檙e ready,鈥 he says. She settles into the seat of her harness. Then she鈥檚 gone鈥攁 small figure getting smaller in the distance, until we can鈥檛 see her at all.
A voice crackles over Tiny鈥檚 handheld radio. 鈥淭here鈥檚 a red-eyed vireo on the shagbark hickory,鈥 says Reed Flinn. He鈥檚 the guide standing on the platform on the other side, waiting for the rest of us to zip in. Now we step up quickly. Kara Jackson goes next, then Linda Vanderveer. When it鈥檚 my turn, the cables sag gently under my weight as the metal hardware whisks me into a tunnel of leafy spring growth. Spindly tree trunks fly by in a blur.
It鈥檚 not scary, but exhilarating. I open my mouth to whoop, then envision all the insects and snap it shut again. I want to go even faster, so I raise my legs to make myself more aerodynamic. A thick red oak rushes toward me, and when I see Reed signal from the platform, I use my right hand to gently press down on the cable to brake, as I had been told to do.
It鈥檚 early May, and my friends and I, who first met while working at 探花精选, are hoping to catch the tail end of spring migration in the mid-Atlantic. This zipline, built for, seems like the ideal way to do so. The course includes 10 zips, five bridges, and two short hikes, spanning more than a mile of woods; it passes through two forest ecosystems and crosses meandering Mill Creek eight times. Plus, we鈥檙e at no risk for warbler neck, because we鈥檙e not training our binoculars up at the birds, we鈥檙e looking at them eye to eye鈥攚hich doesn鈥檛 seem to perturb them. 鈥淏irds don鈥檛 know what we are [doing up that high], so they鈥檙e not concerned that we鈥檙e here,鈥 Tiny tells us. 鈥淵ou can talk about them, you can point at them, and they look at you like: It looks a lot like a human, but I didn鈥檛 know they could fly.鈥
Modern ziplines have become an increasingly popular tourist attraction. In the past decade more than 200 commercial tours have cropped up in the United States and Canada. Just about anyone can safely zipline on a reputable course (the industry is self-regulated). Four generations of the same family, including an 87-year-old great-grandmother, have zipped with Adventures on the Gorge, as has a woman with a heart condition, blind and deaf people, and combat-wounded veterans. Birders, however, are just beginning to discover ziplining鈥檚 potential鈥攁nd zipliners are likewise slowly beginning to discover birding.
鈥淚 think birding by zipline is a superb idea,鈥 says Kenn Kaufman, expert birder and 探花精选 field editor. 鈥淭here are some people who don鈥檛 give a damn about warblers, but if you combine them with some kind of edgy outdoor sport, it makes birding more acceptable.鈥
The red-eyed vireo has disappeared by the time we arrive at the second platform, but two brown creepers race each other up the trunk of a hickory like they鈥檙e on parallel tracks and propelled by water guns in a carnival game. A Ruby-throated Hummingbird, glossy in the early morning sun, darts around a nearby tree. At the third platform we spot the red head of a pileated woodpecker just before it swoops down to a log on the ground. The four of us, our harnesses clipped into a loop of cable at the sugar maple鈥檚 trunk, lean over the edge of the platform to peer down, fanning out on our short tethers like dancers around a maypole.
鈥淚n our area, a Pileated Woodpecker is like a robin,鈥 Tiny says, and Reed nods his head in agreement. 鈥淣obody local even bats an eye when you see one.鈥 Each pair needs a tree thick enough for the cavities the birds nest and roost in鈥攕omething this part of West Virginia has plenty of.
Besides resident birds like woodpeckers and parulas, West Virginia鈥檚 upland hardwood forests also provide crucial stopover and breeding habitat for such species as Golden-winged and Blue-winged Warblers and Scarlet Tanagers. The declared the entire state an 鈥渋mportant geographic area鈥 for bird conservation because of its high concentration of neotropical migrants. The region containing the New River Gorge, in particular, provides a haven to many species in trouble, including Cerulean Warblers, elusive Swainson鈥檚 Warblers, and Wood Thrushes, all species because their populations are in decline.
The Adventures on the Gorge Canopy Tour sits on two tracts of land, totaling about 40 acres鈥攐ne property that had been purchased from a timber and mining company and another leased from an owner who, bound by a conservation easement, agreed not to cut trees as long as the tour exists. Ziplines can serve a valuable conservation purpose, too: As long as they鈥檙e financially viable, critical bird habitat can鈥檛 be logged. The two activities simply aren鈥檛 compatible.
"滨鈥m going,鈥 Linda says. But it鈥檚 not very convincing. 鈥淥kay,鈥 she says again. 鈥淚鈥檓 going.鈥 The zipline stretches 540 feet in front of her鈥攎ore than twice as long as the previous ones鈥攁nd we can鈥檛 see where it ends. Just as I begin to wonder what happens if she 飞辞苍鈥檛 go, she鈥檚 off. 鈥淶ipline clear,鈥 Reed鈥檚 voice soon declares.
The platform Linda lands on is wrapped around a giant tulip poplar; the trunk, scarred with sapsucker holes, diverges into two broad leafy arteries. As with every tree on the course, the zipline is customized to the poplar鈥檚 particular quirks鈥攁nd it鈥檚 carefully engineered not to cause any harm. Rather than passing through the tree itself, the cables are threaded through wooden blocks carved to fit the trunk鈥檚 surface. Compression holds the blocks to the tree. Over time, hardware is adjusted to allow the cables and the platform to expand with the tree鈥檚 girth. Guy wires connect each platform tree to others nearby; when a strong wind blows the entire course can sway gently, reducing stress on any individual tree.
On our next zip we pass from the deciduous forest to one dominated by hemlocks. We land on one that鈥檚 several hundred years old and covered with lichen. 鈥淗ow many of you know what HWA is?鈥 Tiny asks. 鈥淚t鈥檚 a little Blue-headed Vireo!鈥 Linda interrupts, peering through her binoculars. The bird dances from the hemlock to a nearby tulip poplar and back. 鈥淲e鈥檙e right by her nest,鈥 Tiny says, pointing to a thicket of grass, hair, and twigs just uphill of the platform. Then he tries his speech again. 鈥淗WA is , a two-millimeter-long insect that was imported from Japan,鈥 he adds.
Since its discovery in Richmond in the 1950s, HWA has spread along the East Coast鈥攊t now infests 50 percent of the hemlock stands from Maine to Georgia. A sap-sucking insect, it feeds on the trees鈥 storage cells, which provide nutrients for the following year鈥檚 growth. In effect, HWA starves trees, and further insults like drought finish them off.
HWA can take out a tree like this one in two to four years, Tiny says. We look closer and realize some of its limbs look a bit gray and scraggly, and they鈥檙e missing needles. To treat trees foresters use one insecticide on the bark and another buried at the base of the tree. (The concentration required to kill adelgids is minute, and has no known effect on insectivorous birds.) Both chemicals are temporary and have to be reapplied every few years. They鈥檙e also expensive. A dollar of every zipline purchase鈥攎atched by Adventures on the Gorge鈥攃overs the costs of treating the hemlocks on the property.
鈥淲e have 4,500 trees that are six inches and bigger,鈥 Tiny says. 鈥淪o far we鈥檝e treated the course trees, the guy wire trees, and some of the bigger and more spectacular trees in our forest鈥600 to 800 altogether.鈥 This year the company will start on those with smaller diameters. The U.S. Forest Service is looking at longer-term solutions that could treat trees on a landscape level鈥攁s a forest, as opposed to one tree at a time. But the most promising techniques are still a few years away.
"There鈥檚 a Hooded Warbler over here,鈥 Reed says, listening intently. Kim launches the iBird app on her phone and, in seconds, tawee-tawee-tawee-tee-o whistles clearly from its speakers. The song echoes back to us from the foliage. The response gets louder and louder until suddenly we see a flash of yellow and black. There鈥檚 a mad dash for the side of the platform nearest the bird. I say a silent prayer of thanks that we鈥檙e all clipped in. The warbler is in clear sight on the branch of a hemlock, framed by two poplars.
We鈥檙e still pleased with our technological prowess as we cross a footbridge鈥攑ausing to admire a phoebe hawking for insects over Mill Creek鈥攁nd unclip from the cables for a short hike through the woods. After passing a wood thrush we reach the next platform: a large, flat piece of sandstone overlooking a small ravine. This zip is the longest of the course鈥730 feet鈥攁nd starts by launching off a rock lodged in the ground. Reed goes first and reports over the radio: 鈥淚t鈥檚 birdy over here.鈥 Now Linda gets a running jump, pulls her legs up to get optimal speed, and shouts 鈥淏ombs away!鈥 as she disappears into the trees, binoculars slung over her shoulder.
The four-foot-diameter hemlock on the other end of the cable towers above us. It was already 300 years old when Daniel Boone surveyed the area in the late 1700s, when this was still Virginia. There鈥檚 a good chance Washington passed it on his way to survey lands along the Kanawha and Ohio rivers. 鈥淔ast-forward to the Civil War,鈥 Tiny tells us. 鈥淭wo future U.S. presidents fought in this part of Fayette County. Robert E. Lee came鈥斺
鈥淪carlet Tanager!鈥 Linda interjects. 鈥淣obody saw it? It鈥檚 red!鈥
Kara鈥檚 skeptical. 鈥淪ure, it鈥檚 a Scarlet Tanager鈥︹ she says.
As soon as Reed zips to the next platform, something brown streaks from one bush to another鈥攁 Swainson鈥檚 Warbler. The four of us shuffle around the platform angling for another glimpse. 鈥淭here鈥檚 a Swainson鈥檚 over here, too,鈥 Reed reports over the radio. 鈥淚t鈥檚 on a rock by the creek getting a drink.鈥 Uh-huh, we think, and spend another 10 minutes studying the rhododendrons before we give up.
鈥淣o, he was really here!鈥 Reed protests when we finally reach him. At 85 feet, this is the highest platform on the course. 鈥淗e was out in the open along the edge of the creek, walking with his feet in the water all nonchalantly. It was crazy.鈥 As he鈥檚 talking, there鈥檚 another brown streak, but it happens so fast I don鈥檛 even register what I鈥檓 seeing before it鈥檚 gone.
We peruse the mountain and Fraser magnolias on the other side of the creek, then train our binoculars on the dense understory. It鈥檚 cooler here in the valley, where it鈥檚 heavily shaded. The shade promotes the rhododendron growth, which provides key habitat for the Swainson鈥檚 Warbler. Tiny settles onto a branch that鈥檚 reaching out above the platform like a seat; somewhere above our heads is a parula nest. 鈥淚f you lose the hemlocks, you鈥檙e going to start losing the rhododendrons,鈥 he says. 鈥淎nd if you lose them, you鈥檙e going to lose the Swainson鈥檚.鈥
鈥淎nd trout and chub,鈥 Reed adds. After all, everything in this unbroken forest is connected. The canopy cools the water, too.
We turn our binoculars skyward and, silhouetted in the very top of a hemlock, spy a yellow-tinged Northern Parula.
Then, walking across one last footbridge, we notice a rustle in the brush. The sunlight is shining directly into the pockets of open ground. We crouch down on the 150-foot span and train our binoculars in that direction. After a few minutes, a drab brown bird creeps out of the shadows, flipping over leaves as it passes through the pool of light鈥攊ts white eye stripe clear even without magnification. At last: the Swainson鈥檚 Warbler. We鈥檙e ecstatic. The final zip is 640 feet, low and fast over Mill Creek. This time we really fly.