Something well-known to the birder is the notion of ticking ethics. When are you allowed to count having seen a bird?

It’s not as cut and dry as you might think. Often you get poor views of a bird; it’s bad light; the bird is flying away from you; it’s too far away; the bird’s being a jerk and hiding behind leaves. Or maybe you don’t even see the bird, you only hear it.

When this happens, many birders are thrown into a tizzy about whether or not they can tick it, i.e. add it their list. And when it’s a bird you’ve never seen before, it’s particularly agonizing because the decision takes on more significance.

In northern Ghana earlier this year I’d been out looking for Four-banded sandgrouse, and finally, very late into dusk when visibility was bordering on non-existent, I flushed a group of them. Right size, right sounds, right habitat, right everything. Right in front of me. The guide had been hearing them for 20 minutes. So did I tick it? Nope. But if I’d been with someone who had, I’d’ve totally understood. I’m almost positive it was the bird, but I needed a better view, pre-knowledge of their voice, something more to get over that moral hurdle of adding to my list.

Everyone’s ethics are their own. There are no rules here other than the ones you make up for yourself. Sounds cheesy, but it’s true. I remember chatting with one worst birders in my life who was struggling to ID a Spotted Towhee when it hopped right in front of us, who then casually mentioned to me his life list was somewhere north of 3500. I’ve been out with “professional” birders on tours who happily mark it down when the guide thinks they may have heard a far-off call of a Southern Rarified Yellow-bellied Whatsit. No other evidence required. I’ve also encountered birders refuse to tick a bird unless they get a photograph, or see both genders, or got a signed autograph and a retinal scan. Anything goes.

But back to moths

It struck me that my ethics for ticking bird species differed greatly from moths: I’m far more lenient when it comes to moths. Why? This heavily occupied my mind from the drive to Princeton to Chilliwack, coming back from my Creston trip last month. Am I lowering my standards in my old age?

It’s tough to answer, but I think it’s this.

First, with birds I feel that when I’m unable to identify it, the problem lies with me. I didn’t do enough research, I’m not familiar with the other possibilities in the region, and so on. With moths it’s more that the problem lies with the lack of availability of knowledge and data. I’m finding moths never spotted before in the province – there are too few people out there looking. In some respects, it feels like moth information is in its infancy so misidentification is just part of the game.

Secondly, it’s a question of proof. With moths, I photograph anything I’m interested in. I’ve never counted a species I haven’t photographed. With birds I only photograph a tiny subset of what I see – it’s a much more in-the-moment activity. When I’m corrected on one of my moth identifications or find a better match on my own, not counting it feels just daft – the images speak for themselves. Moth identification is something you work through. With birding you’re working with glimpses/impressions which fade the moment the bird’s gone. You need confidence to make that leap of faith and add it to your list.

So for me, when it comes to ticking, mothing and birding are very different realms. Different realm, different ethics.