Autumn warblers are impossible

Fall warblers are the most humbling birds I know. The same species that felt reassuringly tractable in May is a small olive ghost in September, and the field guide page I used to trust is now four separate pages I flip between. I’ve spent three mornings in the last two weeks trying to work through a mixed flock methodically, and I walk away with three IDs where I’d have ticked off ten in May. The honest thing is to sit with a pair of birds and work them, not to chase the flock. I suspect I already knew this. Every year I forget.