In
the autumn of 2002, Michiel van den Bergh and I spent a few weeks in
Peru. Birding till we dropped, we covered a wide range of habitats,
from coastal deserts to high mountains and tropical rain forests. An
endless stream of lifers – species we had never seen before
– was our reward, including icons like Hoatzin Opisthocomus
hoazin, Andean
Condor Vultur
gryphus and Andean
Cock-of-the-rock Rupicola
peruvianus.
More than once, our observational skills were put to the test,
particularly when we bumped into large mixed-species flocks moving
quickly through the forest’s canopy. Surprisingly, we often
found
ourselves puzzling over even the most colourful species, not to mention
the many nondescript ones. A scarlet rump here, a yellow belly there,
an orange crown somewhere, a bluish um?… Our brains just
could
not keep up. By the time the flock had disappeared and we had a chance
to look in the field guide, our short-term memory had usually already
let us down. Lengthy discussions followed about which combinations of
features we believed we had noticed on which birds (and why these were
not in the book). And yet identifying birds was what we had done for
most of our lives…
I
have
always been interested in the way we observe. Attention seems like a
spotlight, playing a major role in what is noticed and what is missed.
It is not just minor details that easily go undetected. So-called
‘invisible gorilla experiments’ demonstrate that
even major
things can be missed when focussing on something else (Simons &
Chabris 1999). And when we do notice something, then the way we
perceive it varies considerably. The same goes for the way we remember
it later on. Finally, convincing ourselves and others of the accuracy
of our observation is yet another interesting process. Perception is
shaped by learning, memory, expectation (or even trickier: the wish to
see something) and attention. Birdwatchers are confronted with this all
the time. What have I learned?... To bring a camera on my next trip to
Peru!
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