Photo by Jim McCormac

Let others travel to Bora Bora: I vacation in West Virginia.

West Virginia is lumpy and green with no straight lines in it. Apparently the whole state has only one natural lake because the topography never set still long enough to puddle up. Well, I should say it’s lumpy and green except for the places where they sliced off mountains, relieved them of their coal and burned it all up, so that it’s all gone, as well as the mountains and the precious life they used to hold.

Elsewhere, it’s mostly unmarred.

Mostly. Yes, people have put up lots of shrines in the hollers consisting of soiled flags and aggressive signage, all in tribute to a soulless man who does not give one orange shit about them and has already used them up and tossed them aside like coal tailings. I do wish them well.

But it’s that wrinkliness of the topography that has supported so many different species. Appalachia is a living snapshot of diversity. With all the variations in elevation over short distances, all sorts of plants and critters have been able to tuck themselves away comfy over the millennia, and since this area never iced over completely, it didn’t have to start from scratch when the glaciers retreated. If one spot didn’t suit, it wasn’t much of a trudge up or down to a better spot. In fact there’s diversity all over the place, and yet, the scene is thriving. Nobody is accusing the black-and-white warbler of sneaking in there because of artificial quotas.

Naturally the powers that be try to knock the struts out from that diversity wherever possible, so that a warbler migrating from a specific tree in Costa Rica to another specific tree in West Virginia might arrive one spring day to find her tree gone, or maybe the whole surrounding forest. Or, dang! Maybe her entire mountain is missing. She’s going to be puzzled and upset, but justice being the flawed system that it is, she never had the bucks to figure in the decisions.

Still, there’s a lot of life left in West Virginia. That’s where the good people of the New River Birding and Nature Festival are, and they can prove it.

The road maps here look like a child’s bowl of spaghetti, post-tantrum. And those country roads are only intermittently blessed by pavement. We’re in big old school buses for most of the field trips, piloted by local savants. Let me tell you: these men and women can drive a crayon through a capillary.

The place is slathered with warblers in full springtime attire, including bling. And our guides are incomparable. I regret that America, more and more, is full of people who think they know more than I do, but don’t. So it’s a thrill to be surrounded by people who know one hell of a lot more than I do. And who are funny and smart and plumb joyful.

And who stuff you full of food and beer as though they’re planning to harvest your liver.

West Virginia, it is said by the people who know it, is God’s country, and I won’t dispute it. A place like this attracts appreciators. For the most part, people who want to see birds are also people who value the other things I value, and along with seeing life birds, I’ve made life friends on these trips. At this point I go to the festival to laugh my fool head off with them.

The chestnut-sided warbler is a bonus.

Photo by Mark Garland