Field Notes: Magic in Minnesota
Photo by Jody Mills
As a guide, I define a successful trip by whether we encounter what I call “magic.” Magic, frankly, is hard to define. It’s that moment when we are lucky enough to witness something precious, powerful, or undeniably beautiful in nature. I’ve felt it while watching thousands of cranes fly into roost, an elk nursing her fawn in the golden morning light, or two bison locked in brutal combat to secure their lineage. Logically, I know it’s some blend of awe, joy, and connection with the people around me, but truly magical moments carry something more. Something I still struggle to put into words beyond simply calling it “magic.”
Every once in a while, I experience a moment so profound it stays with me for life. I was lucky enough to share one of those moments in Minnesota.
Our time in Minnesota began as many trips do. Pick up the group, head to lunch, then on to the first birding stop. That first stop always feels critically important to me. It sets the tone and offers the first chance for something special to unfold. I had chosen this location carefully, thinking of the magic I had experienced there before. As we got ready for our walk, I pictured willows holding dazzling buntings, forest understories alive with thrushes and warblers, and a canopy offering tanagers a stage to sing. But this time, to my dismay, the forest was quiet. Not the start I had hoped for, but that’s guiding. All you can do is move forward.
The next day, we arrived at Sax-Zim Bog. A beautiful wet meadow greeted us, with bitterns in flight and sparrows’ songs welcoming the morning sun. A much more promising start. As we continued exploring this unique extension of the boreal north, I heard a buzzy song in the willows. Golden-winged Warbler. Instantly, I felt it. Goosebumps. A jolt of excitement. I called the group over as the bird moved closer, and then it appeared, popping out of dense foliage into the bright morning light. The collective reaction was everything. Gasps, quiet exclamations, a shared sense of awe. There it was. Magic.
The rest of the day unfolded gently. Good birds, good food, and the kind of easy conversation that comes from shared experience. It continued like this into the following day, a steady rhythm of discovery and growing connection. A group that began as strangers started to feel like friends. We found beautiful birds, shared stories, and settled into the simple joy of being together in a wild place.
Then, as they always do, our final day arrived. This one greeted us with rain. The kind that soaks through everything and sends wildlife into hiding. Not ideal. We began the drive back slowly, watching the sky for any sign of a break. One last stop at a nature reserve felt worth the effort, but the rain returned in sheets and pushed us back to the van. From there, we went for coffee, quietly holding onto the hope for one last chance.
And then, to our surprise, it came. The rain eased, the sun broke through—our last chance.
With just 40 minutes before we needed to head to the airport, we returned to the reserve for one final attempt at finding some magic. This time, everything came together.
One woman in the group had her heart set on seeing a Northern Cardinal, a species that is usually common but had eluded her for years, and for us all trip long. We worked much harder than we should have needed to for that bright red bird, but I wasn’t about to let our final chance slip by. I knew from our time together that life had been tough for her lately, and this bird meant more than just a life tick. And then, finally, in the warm sun, we found it. Laughter filled the group as we shared her joy together.
At that same moment, she received a message. After more than a year of battling cancer, her husband was declared cancer-free that afternoon. Their war was over.
And there it was. Magic.
Pure, overwhelming joy. The kind that ripples through a group and pulls everyone into it. There were tears, laughter, hugs, and a shared understanding that we had just experienced something far bigger than a single bird sighting.
Nature has a way of doing that. Of opening the door for moments we never could have planned and reminding us why we keep showing up in the first place. Moments that stay with us and tie us to each other long after the trip ends. That’s the magic I’m always chasing.
