It's just after midnight in north New Jersey when a white SUV pulls up next to a deserted park, and three teenage boys leap out into the dark. They sprint across a field, vault a fence and peer through binoculars — up toward giant nests atop a pole — all in the hopes of catching a momentary flash of a sleeping parrot's tail.
By the light of street lamps, they strain to get a look through the nests' dark holes. Then, after 10 minutes of waiting, 16-year-old Otys Train calls out: "I've I got it, I got it, I got it, I got it, I got it, I got the monk parakeet!"
He and his friends, 17-year-old Jack Trojan and 16-year-old Zade Pacetti, have repeatedly come to this park late at night to try to find this bird. And tonight, the work has paid off. They've found their first bird of the 43rd annual World Series of Birding. The competition started at midnight on Saturday, and they have until the last seconds of the day to count as many bird species within New Jersey as they can — and claim victory.
The teenagers are accompanied by their dads: Mark Trojan, Chris Pacetti and Jeff Train. They're in charge of driving the van and ensuring that their sons remember to drink water and eat food, not just energy drinks and a family-sized bag of M&Ms.
To keep warm, the team sports matching gray sweatshirts, emblazoned with their team name: The Pete Dunnelins. It's a portmanteau of dunlins, a shorebird often spotted along the New Jersey coast, and a local birding hero: Pete Dunne, who founded the World Series of Birding back in 1984. It's put on by the nonprofit New Jersey Audubon, part competition for birding glory and part fundraiser for conservation.
It's become an intergenerational gathering of bird lovers: This year, 87 teams are participating in several divisions sorted by age. They range from birders who have competed for decades, to first-graders who are just learning the ropes. Smack dab in the middle, in the high school division, are The Pete Dunnelins, who have been friends since 2021, around the time they really fell in love with birding.
For them, it's not just a casual hobby. They've placed first in the competition for the past two years — the result of years of practice, mentorship from older birders and training their eyes and ears to catch every bird, no matter how swift the appearance or faint the call. The three of them have been preparing for this year's competition for months, even creating a spreadsheet with the day's schedule planned "down to the minute," Jack Trojan says.
It's a strategy they hope will lead to another win — or, at the very least, help them reach their goal of 200 species. (Last year, they got 199, tying for first place with their fellow high school competitors and "nemeses," the Flying Penguins from southeast Pennsylvania.)
"Every minute we're driving, we've accounted for," Trojan, the team captain, says. But they can't account for the whims of nature. "Birds are animals, and you can't really predict too well when you're going to see or hear everything."
The clock is ticking, and they have to move on to other locations, Trojan says: "It's owl time."
3 a.m. in marshland
After a few hours of looking for owls, bitterns and rails, the team has moved onto a marshland trail on the edge of the state. It's still pitch-black, and they're listening to the tell-tale sounds of the marsh birds they want to add to their list — in particular, the elusive sora, which hides in the reeds.
This is when their years of training their ears pays off, says Jeff Train, Otys' dad and the team's mentor. The teens can't see the birds, but they can pick out their calls.
It's something Otys Train excels at. He went through a list of all the birds that were possible to hear at the World Series. "I memorized them to the point where I would get [them] like, immediately," he says. "When you go into the field and hear the actual birds and see them, it kind of imprints the song in your head."
Train, Trojan and Pacetti whisper to each other as they listen to the marsh starting to come alive as the minutes tick by. There's the whinny of a sora, then the cheep of a swamp sparrow and the nasally "peent" of an American woodcock. "Am I hearing a green heron to the left?" Otys asks. They confer and either agree or disagree on what they hear; competition rules require unanimous team agreement before they can list it.
Jeff Train watches them from a short distance away. He's careful to stay quiet, keeping his voice to a whisper and walking slowly in the grass; the teenagers are quick to shush anyone making unnecessary noise. The dads have learned this the hard way. "We always used to have a lot of laughing fits," Train says – but no longer.
Further away on the trail is Chris Pacetti. How's he holding up? "I'm cold," he says. "I'm ready for the sun to come up."
Sunrise in the woods
When the sun comes up a little before 6 a.m., Mark Trojan is driving the crew down a long, winding road in nearby High Point State Park — and The Pete Dunnelins are stressed. They're running behind schedule, and they need to get back on track.
During this stretch, they're trying to count as many warblers as possible. For maximum efficiency, they're staying in the car as it cruises slowly down the road, windows rolled down.
The teenagers stick their heads outside the car to get a better look. "There's a lot of yellow warblers, there's a lot of thrushes," Zade Pacetti murmurs, looking through his binoculars.
Then, all of a sudden, Otys Train sees something and cries out: "Mark! No! Stop!" The senior Trojan groans quietly, and brings the car to a halt.
The teammates begin to "pish" — blowing air through their clenched teeth and lips to make "a pish-pish-pish" sound, trying to draw out the birds from hiding. But not much happens, and after a minute, they continue driving. "We can't spend too much time on this," Jack Trojan says.
But not long after, their luck changes: there's a sharp-shinned hawk's nest up in a tree. "Sharpie nest is good," Trojan says. Train agrees: "Ho-ly."
As the car continues to move along, Pacetti, Train and Trojan all sit on the ledges of their rolled-down windows, torsos sticking out of the car, arms on the top of the car to balance. It's a move that they saw one of the top college student teams do during the competition a few years ago, Jeff Train says. And when he saw Otys sit on the ledge for the first time, he "freaked."
But now that their sons are older, Train says, the dads have agreed that the move helps them hear better and compete. "They are really in their element, and they've learned so much, and they're safe about it," he says. "We don't want to hold them back in any way." After all, he says, birding is where he's seen his son and his friends really thrive.
It's not always been something their peers have understood; Jack Trojan says birding is "not seen as cool, actually." But, Zade Pacetti says, "if you come across as confident … [classmates] respect that. And it's not something to be made fun of."
Otys Train used to "get made fun of a good amount for it," he says. "But I kind of just learned to be myself and now I'm more open about it. And I guess people see it as interesting now."
Early afternoon, on the side of the road
Near the coastline of the south Jersey Shore, the team pulls off to the road shoulder, scoping out, among other birds, the piping plover. The fluffy, dull-feathered shorebird camouflages into the sand, hard to pick out among the dunes on an overcast day, Trojan says. They're peering through the scope, but no dice.
With the day more than half over, they've started to use a timer to make sure they don't linger. Trojan starts the countdown: in 1 minute and 40 seconds, they have to leave, no matter what.
At the 11th hour, Train calls over Pacetti and Trojan — he's scoped a small, pale dot among other distant birds. His teammates peer through the lens, confirm his sighting, then bolt for the car.
Later, Jeff Train marvels at the teens' planning acumen. "It's funny, because I have to remind my son to pack his bag before he goes to baseball. But the spreadsheet he has created, telling him where a bird is and when he's going to see it and what time he has to get there, it's pretty funny to see that he definitely has those skills."
Sunset at the wildlife refuge
The sun is starting to go down when The Pete Dunnelins step out of the car at the coastal Edwin B. Forsythe Wildlife Refuge, a migration hotspot. The team has dozens of species that they need to find in the next two hours: It's time to do or die.
As the trio walks around the refuge, they dial into the cacophony of wildlife surrounding them. Meanwhile, their fathers hang back, observing, cracking wise about their teens' antics. Over the years, the six of them have become like family, Jeff Train says; the three sons interact more like brothers than they do teammates. (That brotherliness is particularly apparent that evening: When Zade Pacetti gets the hiccups during a chorus of birdsong, his teammates hiss at him to "shut up.")
The teammates have grown as birders and as people over the years, Train says, thanks to a village of mentors and teachers. They've attended birding camp, been coached by college students, and gotten tips from experts at Cornell's famed lab of ornithology. And along the way, they became obsessed with not just birds, but nature and conservation, Train says.
"Teenagers get a bad rap sometimes that they don't care about much," he says. "And this is clearly an illustration that, you know, the younger generation is not apathetic. They actually care a lot and they're actually doing a lot of really good things."
The sun starts to sink below the horizon, and the sky fills with birds gobbling up their last insects of the day. Craning their necks, the three boys try to not miss anything; they've got a number of species they need to spot if they have any chance of cracking 200.
"Nighthawk, right up there," Jack Trojan blurts out, "going right, coming towards us." His teammates murmur in agreement.
Trojan picks up another sound — a yellow-breasted chat that has been eluding them. "It's calling right now! That!"
Then, it chirps loudly, unmistakable. "Yes!" they yell in unison.
"And you say I'm not a good birder," Trojan says, jostling his friends as they laugh. "I'm picking up so much more. I proved myself."
The next morning in Cape May
The team stayed out until the very last minute, nabbing a king rail as their last bird of the day. The next morning, at the awards ceremony, the total counts are announced.
The Pete Dunnelins' final count: 206 species, easily surpassing their goal.
But it wasn't enough. The Flying Penguins — made up of team members Christian Scheibe, Noah Bieljeski, Ethan Kang and Ellie McDonald — got 209. In the end, three birds made the difference.
The trio say they found out about their loss not long after midnight. "We were pretty pissed last night," Pacetti says. Then, they woke up the next morning in a better mood. There were things Pacetti says they could've done better — running behind schedule at times didn't help. But other factors were beyond their control: Rainy conditions quieted some of the birds, and peak migration hadn't quite hit the area yet.
Many teams of skilled young birders compete at a high level, so chance is a big part of the day, according to Tom Reed, the migration count coordinator at the Cape May Bird Observatory and a mentor of The Pete Dunnelins.
"These birds have wings, they have their own lives they're going about each day. You try to be in the best place at the best time or the best tide level to try to see each bird. But part of it is luck," Reed says. "And then, there's some years when you don't get those lucky breaks."
When The Pete Dunnelins go up to congratulate the Flying Penguins on their win, they swap notes on routes – though each is careful to not reveal the locations of their most prized birding spots. Sure, there's no cash prize at stake in this competition, but they're still rivals.
The team is already thinking about next year. They're considering strategy, but there's a bigger problem at hand: Trojan is heading to college in the fall, meaning he'll age out of the high school division. Pacetti and Train will need to find a new teammate.
Trojan has a possible solution: "I was thinking that since I'll be over 18, at that point, I can be a mentor" to his friends, he says. "So, it'd be like I'm still participating, but I'm just verifying their words and verifying their methods and strategies."
Pacetti and Train, on the other hand? A little less sure about that plan. "I don't know if that would be … I don't know about that one," Pacetti says, laughing.
After all, they're still teenagers. Who wants their best friend to tell them what to do?
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