Joining the Dots: reflections on observation and interpretation

In his remarkable 1986 book Arctic Dreams, the American author and nature writer Barry Lopez, offers us a deeply profound insight concerning the limitations of deriving meaning from natural field observations. It goes to the heart of how critical humility is as a key attribute of the naturalist student.

Lopez says; “Because you have seen something doesn’t mean you can explain it. Differing interpretations will always abound, even when good minds come to bear. The kernel of indisputable information is a dot in space; interpretations grow out of the desire to make this point a line, to give it direction.”

I think at the time he was flying over the Arctic North in a light plane when he spied a bunch of Beluga Whales that should not by rights have been in that particular area. They might not have been Beluga’s, I can’t remember now, but as a biologist he was under pressure to speculate on the reason for this strange observation. Yet, he resisted and instead pondered the daunting limitation of interpreting a single observation.

Many things in nature are too complex and inscrutable to be entirely knowable, even after a lifetime of observation, So why should anything be understandable after just a single experience of it?

I mention this here because it is a salient and important lesson for all who are in the business of nature observation. It is sorely tempting to smear the single dot into a line through assumptions and false correlation. In an attempt to lend the observation meaning, we reduce the complexity of the natural world to something convenient that fits securely within the narrow constraints of our available field time and expertise. Correlation is not causation.

Even for the most common of species that we see every day, such as a Magpie or Kookaburra, as naturalists we ought to heed Lopez’s advice and apply a precautionary dollop of humility before arriving at conclusions regarding our interpretation of observing them in the wild. Only by collecting up many dots is it truly possible to step back and appreciate the deeper, emergent insight. Only then should be say we know something.

That’s why every opportunity you get to watch the natural world is worth taking. Every new observation brings you closer to a more complete understanding of the whole.

Owlet Nightjars are adorable little nocturnal insect-eaters.  They pretty much look like a Tarsier bred with a cranky-looking Swallow.  Although they’re actually super common in the tall eucalypt forests around here, I hardly ever actually get to see one. But I hear one, every day. They make a weird churring call, repeated at least twice each time.  I know the exact tree where this particular Owlet Nightjar sleeps and from where it calls. But although I spent hours tracking the nightjar to this tree, and many more hours listening to its churring, I still have no idea WHY it calls, and understand that I may never crack the mystery. Maybe some crusty ornithologist somewhere has already worked it out, but for me the only path to understanding involves collecting more and more observations, more dots.  Every time I hear it’s call I am suddenly reminded of that waiting mystery and it feels good. I like knowing the world is unknowable. Photo by Gary Phillips

Discover more from Andrew the Bird Guy

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading