Sunday, February 12, 2006

Banding Brothers:
Tragic Accident Makes Young Friend More Committed to Bird Project

By Toby Smith
Journal Staff Writer

    One breezy Sunday morning last month, Raymond VanBuskirk sat in a back corner of the Sandia Crest House. As he held a tiny bird in one hand, he attached an even tinier band to the bird's right leg.
    Just 16, VanBuskirk appeared too young to be banding, though he started at age 12. He has always been precocious when it comes to birds. That's particularly true with this species, a rosy-finch.
    In winter, while most birds flee to warmer, low-lying retreats, the rosy-finch prefers high, cold climes, a chief one being Sandia Peak.
    VanBuskirk began banding rosy-finches three years ago with his friend, Ryan Beaulieu, to track how many were returning from previous years. The endeavor became much more than a science project. It became a passion.
    "Raymond and Ryan," says Nancy Cox, a longtime Albuquerque birder, "fell in love with those birds."
    The rosy-finch project, says Nancy's husband, Steve Cox, may ultimately yield important data. The project is among the first of its kind in the country.
    This is the first winter Ryan isn't a part of it. Last August, while on a birding trip with Raymond, 17-year-old Ryan died in a car accident.
    Now Raymond, although devastated by the loss, is determined to carry on for his best friend.
   
Not the standard
    Bird-watchers, at least in some stereotypes, are senior citizens with time on their hands.
    Maybe that's why Raymond and Ryan stood out.
    Raymond and Ryan, Ryan and Raymond. It was easy to mix them up. Tow-headed, full of energy, they seemed about as far removed from conventional birders as you can get.
    "It didn't matter if you were 9 or 90, Raymond and Ryan wanted to share what they knew about birds, which was a lot," says Lee Hopwood.
    Both teens worked at Hopwood's store, the Wild Bird Center Westside. "They were hilarious," remembers Hopwood. "They'd have bird-calling contests. Then they'd walk like a certain bird, strut about the store. It was the most fun I've ever had."
    Their youthful verve and superb identification skills were, among other attributes, why the New Mexico birding community was devastated over Ryan's death.
    And why birders worried so much about Raymond.
   
Weekend trip
    Last August, Ryan had just begun his freshman year at the University of New Mexico. Raymond, then 15, was a sophomore at Eldorado High School.
    They decided to take a trip— the sort of weekend they had gone on many times before— to woodlands across the state.
    This time, Raymond, who had recently earned his driver's license, was behind the wheel of his Jeep Grand Cherokee. After picking up Ryan at his dorm on a late Friday afternoon, the two headed off.
    "I gave up a party to do this weekend," Ryan told his friend as they drove to southeastern New Mexico in search of an aplomado falcon.
    Though Ryan was two-and-a-half years older than Raymond, their age difference mattered little. As boys, they had tried soccer, but once they found birding, other interests dimmed.
    They argued about birds, laughed at their obsession, learned from each other.
    "Some people at school thought birding was stupid," Raymond says. "Ryan taught me not to pay any attention."
    Brothers. That's what Raymond's mother, Connie VanBuskirk, sensed. "They were like brothers."
   
An odd pair
    Once on Interstate 25 that Friday, the two listened to Green Day CDs and talked about girls. They talked trash— "Like who had seen the most birds the weekend before," Raymond recalls.
    Oddly, five or six years before, when they met during a Central New Mexico Audubon Society outing to the Las Vegas Wildlife Refuge, intense dislike filled the air.
    Ryan was too loud, too jumpy, thought Raymond. Raymond was too calm, too snobby, decided Ryan.
    Later, they participated in a bird count along the Rio Grande bosque. Mention of a pinkish, hard-to-see bird that day pulled them together.
    There are three species of rosy-finch: black, brown-capped and gray-crowned. What distinguishes the three from species, besides some pink feathers, what brings birders from around the world to Sandia Crest, is that all three species live in mountainous elevations their entire lives.
    Ryan had seen rosy-finches at the crest. He got Raymond to go there with him, where the birds are seen from November to early April. That sighting changed Raymond forever.
    Soon, the teens told Steve and Nancy Cox they wanted to do a banding project with rosy-finches. They wanted to find how many of the birds came back to the Sandias each winter after summering in high, northern regions.
    With the Coxes, and with birders Ken Schneider and Beth Hurst-Waitz advising, Raymond and Ryan drew up a proposal, gained permission from various governmental groups to band the birds, built traps and waited.
   
Tragic turn
    Raymond and Ryan spent that August Friday night in a Las Cruces motel and arose early the following morning. An aplomado falcon, usually seen in northern Mexico, had been sighted near Carlsbad.
    On Saturday, the pair left for Carlsbad, where they met up with Jerry Oldenettel, a retiree always on the lookout for seldom-seen birds. Oldenettel didn't see an aplomado falcon that weekend, nor did the teens.
    Late in the day, Oldenettel told Raymond and Ryan he was staying the night in Carlsbad, then getting up early and driving home to Socorro.   Raymond and Ryan had other ideas. On Sunday, they wanted to be at the popular Melrose trap, east of Fort Sumner, for the beginning of migration. Their aim was to spend Saturday night in Fort Sumner.
    About 8 p.m., the two stopped in Roswell and bought snacks. Thirty miles from Roswell, Raymond turned onto N.M. 20, the cutoff to Fort Sumner.
    It was about 9 p.m. when Raymond saw the deer crossing the highway.He swerved— not a lot, he says, but enough to send the Jeep onto a gravel shoulder. When Raymond overcorrected, the Jeep was airborne...The Jeep slammed into the ground and rolled three or four times. It came to rest in a pitch-black field.
    The impact knocked out Raymond. When he awakened, pinned inside the Jeep, he found he was 50 or so feet from the highway.
    Traffic is usually scarce on N.M. 20, and at night even more so. His headlights weren't working. No one stopped.
    After about three hours, Raymond, exhausted and in great pain, suddenly saw a flashlight beam move about the interior of the Jeep.
    A motorist happened to glimpse the wreck. Through the window, the motorist put a blanket on top of Raymond. "Don't go to sleep," the stranger urged. He then asked for Raymond's phone number and called Raymond's mother.
    Eventually, paramedics from Roswell arrived. As emergency workers cut off Raymond's door, he heard the whispers he hadn't wanted to hear.
    Ryan was gone.
   
Continuing on
    Raymond spent three days in the ICU at Eastern New Mexico Medical Center. A severe gash on his head had caused his skull to swell. His left wrist required two surgeries.
    The weekend after the accident, Raymond knew he had to go birding. Had to go to the Melrose trap.
    Connie VanBuskirk took her son— in a wheelchair. Bandages swaddled his head, a cast covered his arm. In the big stand of trees, he saw what he wanted: a great-crested flycatcher.
    Now, aided by grief counseling, the healing continues.
    In December, Ryan's mother, Eileen Beaulieu, journeyed to the crest to observe the banding project. Being there was difficult, and she left quickly, but not before hugging Raymond.
    Raymond's mother attends banding sessions when she can. Still, she says, "It's never easy. We all miss Ryan."
    No one knows that better than her son. "People wondered how I could keep doing this after the accident," Raymond says, fingering a tiny band. "How could I not?"

2006 © Albuquerque Journal; used with permission.

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NEW:  Bird book published in Ryan's Memory on Sale at Sandia Crest House Gift Shop. OR CLICK HERE TO BUY (Introduction and dedication by Ken Schneider, who has no financial interest in this publication)

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