Birdwatching in Tokyo

Among serious aficionados, the preferred terminology is simply “birding”—less observational, more active, more intentional.

Diving deep enough into any subculture or niche will reveal a rich glossary of slang, and birding is no different. There are terms like “twitching,” which refers to traveling long distances to spot a rare bird. These types of sightings are often added to something called a "life list,” a sort of birding Pokédex.

Then, once birders gain enough experience, some embark on what is called a “big year.” How many species can one identify from January 1 to December 31? The most accomplished birders identify over 750 species in a year. Author and adventurer Olaf Danielson captured the attention of birders by doing an entire big year in the nude, spotting 594 species in the process.

This past spring, I went to Tokyo and embedded with the birding community there. My goal was to meet accomplished birders and hopefully start a life list of my own. I was eager to find out why birding is so en vogue, why it’s a thriving subculture where sightings are shared with GPS coordinates through secretive email threads, and where pseudo-obsessives live in vans and are willing to roam for miles in hopes of encountering owls, jays, cocks, and boobies. A slow approach; an antidote to modern living.

My first stop is at the Wild Bird Society of Japan, or the WBSJ, a conservation organization founded in 1934. The organization operates its own “birdshop,” offering birding essentials, from books and maps to specialized gear like rubberized boots designed for hunting down birds in muddy conditions. (Not literally hunting, mind you.) Some Japanese birders may also recommend reliable outdoor brand Montbell, whose designs, like pocketed vests and waterproof caps, could be easily suited to expeditions.

After gearing up, I’m ready to tap in with the Tokyo chapter of birding group Flock Together. Founded in London in the summer of 2020, the group connects around 100 local members in the Japanese capital. I’m not ready for my big year quite yet, nor am I nude, but I’m in Yoyogi Park, craning my neck as my guide and the co-lead of Flock Together Tokyo, Miles Davis, points out some rustling in the branches above.

Davis says that the combination of being outdoors with a community and the gamification of birding amounts to something that people can easily fall in love with. “I think technology, AI, work culture, it can be stressful; too much digitization,” he says. Davis draws a contrast between “trees, water, and bird songs” against “phones, computers, and cars honking their horns.” Flock Together’s London-based founder, Ollie Olanipekun, told me that “nature is the ultimate stage for creativity,” and getting outside can be an endless source of inspiration in a chaotic world.

Chloe Kibble, a member of Flock Together Tokyo, moved to the metropolis from Nashville, Tennessee, where she was born and raised. “My main incentive was to connect with other black and brown people in Tokyo, and to do that in nature,” she says. Kibble says Tokyo can sometimes feel isolating, and connecting with people who look like her is a big part of what makes Flock meaningful.

Feeling the urge to set out on my own and hone my birding skillset, I woke up early one morning and set out for the Tokyo Port Wild Bird Park. My goal for the day? To log a bird on the Strava of birding, eBird, created by the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. It’s arguably the birding community’s most used app. Users record and share the birds they encounter in the field, and joining the app’s “Top 100 eBirders” is something to aspire to.

It’s spring. Prime birding season. Among the more unique birds at the 66-acre park are a heron, a kingfisher, and the little ringed plover. Tokyo Port Wild Bird Park does something important: conserving land as a sanctuary for nature. For anyone getting outside, whether you’re mushroom hunting, rock collecting, geocaching, or birding, the best mantra remains the same: leave no trace.

On my trek that day, crouched in an observation hide, I realized that birding is really the ultimate reminder to pay attention, both to those around you and to the healing power of nature. The practice is both strangely analog while being completely modern. Birding demands that you slow down and look around.

I leave the park a few hours later with four species logged. The most interesting of which is the diminutive white wagtail: a tiny and swift bird with black and white feathers. It’s difficult to spot unless you’re completely locked in. I have the feeling I’ll never look up the same way again.

Chris Danforth is a Berlin-based writer and journalist.