The Big Year

By Denice Rovira Hazlett
September 28, 2011
545

Web Version: Summary: (Could you pull the summary from the print version?) Story:Greg Miller was winging his way over the Bering Sea, bound for some of the world's most wicked weather--multiple days of sustained winds exceeding 70 mph, driving snow and bone-chilling sleet. Miller would sleep in a damp, cramped pre-World War II bunker. He was underprepared, having accidentally taken along a rain suit several sizes too small and inadequate sleeping gear. He would come away with a respiratory infection that would haunt him for months, maybe years, to come. But as he sat on that chartered jet, anticipating what was ahead, Miller was ecstatic. He had saved for this trip to Attu, the largest and westernmost Aleutian Island, 750 miles southwest of Alaska's mainland, taking five weeks of vacation from his work as a computer programmer for a Baltimore nuclear power plant for these two weeks in Attu plus a week in St. Lawrence Island's village of Gamble, shivering among the Siberian Yupik Eskimos. Miller was beyond ecstatic, really. He was obsessed. He wasn't the only one. Sixty others were headed for Attu, and they all had the same goal--to catch even a fleeting glimpse of some fantastic feathered creatures. These were the most dedicated, tenacious birders in the world. For some, Attu would be a once-in-a-lifetime chance to take a gander at what birders call vagrants, foreign fowl blown onto American soil. Others, like Miller, were on a Big Year, a quest to view the largest number of species within a single calendar year in a specific geographical area. Miller had a personal goal for 1998--to see at least 600 birds within the American Birding Association's geographic limits for North America, including the 49 continental United States, Canada, and some outlying islands. Bermuda, the Bahamas, Hawaii, and Greenland were off limits. Miller shared his goal with his fellow travelers. "You should go talk to that guy," one of them said. "He's the North American ABA record-holder." Sandy Komito, 66, a retired roofing contractor from New Jersey, was returning to Attu. He also had a personal goal--to break his 1987 record of 726 birds. For eleven years, he had strategized topping his own number, and Attu was key. "When planning for my second Big Year, I asked myself how I could better the effort I made the first year. I knew Attu would be closing by 2000. I couldn't wait much longer. When I heard there would be another El Nino in 1998, I had to go." El Nino can carry massive numbers of vagrants into ABA territory. A couple of weeks on Attu during El Nino can make or break a Big Year. Miller hadn't considered El Nino, and he hadn't planned to shoot for a North American record. His only competition was himself. "I think the first time I met Greg was on the plane going to Attu," said Komito. "He introduced himself and made a nice impression." Little did either of them know what an amazing Big Year El Nino would blow their way. "At the end of the third day," Miller said, "birds just started dropping out of the sky. In that two week period, we had as many Asian vagrants as they'd had in the previous 20 years." And while it had been what Komito had hoped to encounter, for Miller, it was pure luck. When Miller returned from Alaska, he'd met his personal goal, sighting more than 600 species. He was satisfied, and, as far as he was concerned, his Big Year was over. "I was out of vacation time, out of money and sick from sleeping on a wet jacket in Attu," said Miller. "I was pretty blown out." But then, over dinner, fellow birder Kyle Rambo shot him with a dose of reality. "Let me get this straight," Rambo said. "The record is 726. You're at 611 and the year is only half over? You're not even going to try for 700? Just when do you think you're going to be at this point again?" Rambo was right. Miller analyzed the possibility of breaking the national record, calculating whether he could bridge the gap between himself and Komito. He asked his manager for two more weeks of vacation and some flex time, promising he'd maintain his rigorous work schedule, protecting the power plant from the impending Y2K crisis. He turned to his parents for a loan. After all, his father had introduced him to birding as a child in Sugarcreek. "Dad got me started keeping lists," said Miller. "We'd put yellow legal paper inside the closet door. Whenever we'd see a new species, we'd write down the number, the name of the bird, and the date we saw it. Every year, we'd try to beat the previous list." Now, he was no longer competing against himself. He had Komito to contend with. "Sandy was so far ahead. I didn't feel I had any chance of catching him," said Miller. Komito was well on his way to beating his former record. "By the time June ended," said Komito. "I had as many birds then as I'd had by September of '87." Komito knew that wasn't his only advantage over Miller. For one thing, money was no object. While Miller was maxing out credit cards in his race to catch a species before it flew the coop, Komito wasn't keeping a tally. "I didn't think about the cost per bird," said Komito, "Or I never would have done it." When all was said and done, Komito's Big Year cost him as much as $12,000 per month. That's roughly $1,000 per bird. "I'm not rich," said Komito, now 80. "I just spend money like I am. I like what I'm doing, so I do it. I like to live like every day is my last." The other advantage Komito had was geographic location. Komito lived 30 minutes from a major international airport. If he caught wind of a rare bird on the west coast, he could sight it and be back before the workday began. "If I can save a day when I'm chasing a bird," said Komito, "I'm ahead of everybody." Miller was facing more than money challenges. In Attu, he had contracted an ear infection and a nasty cough that wouldn't quit, but there was no time to recover. "Records don't wait for convenience," said Miller. "I pushed hard. By early September, I'd reached the 700 mark, which was just phenomenal." Then, things got trickier. Every new species cost him a flight. "It's like chasing tornados," said Miller. "A little safer, but just as expensive." It took a quarter of his total expenses to list his last 14 species. He was gaining ground, but Komito wasn't worried. "I didn't feel threatened, and I didn't care if he beat my record," said Komito. "I was going to give it my best shot, and whatever I got, that would be my number." Miller saw it differently. "I was my own biggest competition," Miller admitted, "but I wanted to beat Sandy." By year's end, Miller had invested a lot of energy, 300,000 miles and more than $30,000 in his Big Year, all while working a full-time, high-stress job. The retired Komito had spent $140,000 and 270 days, sunup to sundown. By December 31, 1989, Komito had documented 745 species of birds. And Miller? "I didn't make the record," he said. Miller was the second ABA North American record-holder that year with 715 species, a feat which surprised even him. "To have gotten that number by working and birding at the same time sounded insane to me," said Miller. "I didn't think it was possible." In 2004, Pulitzer Prize winning Denver Post journalist Mark Obmascik released The Big Year: A Tale of Man, Nature and Fowl Obsession, after spending hundreds of hours with the top three ABA birders, including retired Colorado chief executive Al Levitan. It climbed to number 35 on the New York Times bestseller list. After years as a reporter, covering the less-than-uplifting aspects of human nature, Obmascik was ready for something different. "I really felt like I got lucky with this," said Obmascik whose book reached 35 on the New York Times bestseller list. "These guys were a blast." Miller, Obmascik said, was exceptional. "He's a fantastic birder and a great guy. He's patient, has a lot of enthusiasm, and puts honesty, loyalty and integrity above winning." A version of Miller will hit the big screen on Friday, Oct. 14, with the release of The Big Year, a 20th Century Fox feature based on Obmascik's book, starring Steve Martin, Owen Wilson, and Jack Black as a character inspired by Miller. Thanks to Obmascik's recommendation, Miller served as one of the film's bird consultants, spending three weeks on the Vancouver set, a far cry from his time on Attu. In Vancouver, Miller birded with Black, caught a kiss from Anjelica Huston, lunched with director David Frankel (Devil Wears Prada, Marley and Me), and spilled chicken salad on the floor of Wilson's brand new Cadillac CTS. "They treated me like a king," said Miller, who is back in Sugarcreek working as a database programmer for Timken, maintaining gregmillerbirding.com, and offering custom birding tours. His Big Year, he said, was also his best year, a time when he lifted his eyes toward a goal and gave it wings. Non-birders might think it's all a little crazy, but Miller doesn't regret a thing. "What would happen if you removed all the limits, and did what you dreamed about doing for a whole year? If you just went for it? That's what we did," said Miller. And while the book, movie, and a six-page spread in the January 2004 issue of Sports Illustrated still feel unreal, the Big Year itself fulfilled that dream. "I would have done it again without any accolades. It's what I wanted more than anything else," said Miller, "and I got to do it."

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