Back when I was a boy, we had one telephone in the house. It was a basic black, rotary dial model, the same as could be found in most other homes in town, that was installed by a man from the telephone company. You couldn’t relocate it more than a few feet from where it’s cable was connected to the wall – that was where it was and that was where it stayed. When it rang it’s loud, jangling bell, you picked up the handset to answer it. When making a call, you picked up the handset and dialed the black, rotatable numbered disk to reach the desired number. An professional operator could be contacted by simply dialing zero. That was it. That’s what it did. That’s all it did. I never much cared how it did it so long as it continued to do so, which was the same attitude everyone I knew held toward their identical model as well. If it ever broke (which ours never did), you went down to the telephone company office and a man came to the house and replaced it with one exactly like it.

I tell this story because my first field guide to birds was a bit like our trusty old black telephone. A Peterson (what else?) Guide, it presented artistically-rendered images reproduced from hand-painted originals, many in black & white, of most of the bird species (or at least portions of them) for its designated area along with descriptions that tilted more toward the literary than the scientific in tone (but then “the scientific” was also then a bit more literary in tone itself). The emphasis seemed to be more about appreciating what was seen just as much as it was about affixing an absolute identification to it. Don’t get me wrong, identification of birds by species was a main function of the guide, however there was a realistic undertone to it as well that encouraged the activity of going afield and observing just as much as hanging an iron-clad identity on every bird seen. If a few were misidentified or unidentifiable during a day’s outing, no one – neither bird nor watcher – was harmed in any way.

Times have, not altogether beneficially, changed. Our old Bell telephone has long since disappeared and been replaced by – in our family, as least – four iPhones; my two (one for business, the other personal), my wife’s, and our daughter’s. None will last more than a few years at best, and the company that sells them is constantly trying to convince us to buy new ones long before the ones we have even cease to function. And while yes, they certainly do a number of truly remarkable things our old phone couldn’t do (good heavens, all the computers that launched the first Moon landing couldn’t do some of the things a single iPhone can do…), however the one thing it did superbly well that these new models are less than capable of: allowing one person to talk to another over a distance without sounding as though two tin cans and a string are being employed for the purpose. Such is the modern trade off – one simple thing done exceptionally well  given in exchange for a myriad of moderately to marginally useful features, functions, bells, and whistles that we have come to believe we simply must have to accomplish our daily activities.

As for bird field guides, since the days when they were more or less Peterson, Peterson, or Peterson (with all due respects to Richard Pough’s lovely works as published by Doubleday under the Audubon banner), I now have shelves full of them; each following a slightly different organization and methodology. Indeed, many differ even in the total number of species they depict, and indeed, how these species are depicted. Over the years, I’ve given most – if not all of the national U.S. & Canadian guides a thorough field testing, with some being found more useful than others but most generally offering at least one thing to like about them that raises them above the rest. And when it comes to the sheer level of detail presented (both textually as well as visually) about each species included, as well as the total number included itself, I’ve found the National Geographic Field Guide to the Birds increasingly impressive with each successive edition into which it has been published.

Now in it’s seventh edition and continuing under the authorship of Jon L. Dunn and Jonathan Alderfer, with range maps by Paul Lehman and additional artwork by David Quinn, John Schmitt, and Thomas Schultz, this new National Geographic Field Guide to the Birds presents its readers with 1,023 species. Following the taxonomy and nomenclature – both common and scientific – of the American Ornithological (due to an editorial error identified as “Ornithologist’s” in the text) Society, and with a bit of a nod given to the listing areas of the American Birding Association, this is indeed the most appropriate field guide for all who want not only a field reference that can identify any bird seen in its defined geographic area, but can also go deep into the metaphorical tall grass in pursuit of identifications down to subspecies level.

Why is the capability to make such a deep dive into bird taxonomy important? For many, including myself, it’s not; however for those for whom it is, it’s increasingly a part of the enjoyment of birding. Improvements in field identification techniques through digital educational tools and the encouragement toward greater accuracy urged by bird reporting programs (I’m looking at you Merlin and eBird) have taken what was formerly a rather genteel amateur past-time and turned it into, increasingly, a scientific quest. Not that this is a bad thing, mind you, as it has greatly expanded what we know about the populations of the birds with whom we share the planet, it’s just that not everyone always wants to make each casual stroll a scientific expedition.

But I digress…

For those keen on making their identifications sub-specific, the National Geographic 7th offers the most tools of any of the current field guides. Plentiful illustrations of various subspecies, as well as an appendix filled with subspecies range maps for all birds with subspecies references in their descriptive text passages, offer answers to all readers who are interested in pursuing them.

And as for the species listings themselves, they are as neatly and effectively presented as anyone would want. Facing page illustrations and text, with text-adjacent range maps make most everything needed in the field visible in a single location. Thumb index crescent cuts along the fore edge make locating sections within the nearly six hundred pages quick and easy. What’s more, a generous number of rationally possible rarities are taxonomically woven into the main species accounts, and those for whom hope truly springs eternal – a appendix filled with nearly one hundred accidental and even extinct species is also included.

But is it truly a “field guide?” On that point I give it a 9 out of 10. A plasticized, fold-over edge (front and back) cover certainly make it field worthy. As to size, it will certainly fit easily into a field coat pocket. And while its nearly six-hundred pages may tip it slightly toward a bit heavy, so much paper weight is well justified by the sufficiently-large-to-be-easily-referenced illustrations and maps.

Thus, for those seeking the present pinnacle of field guides for their North American (north of Mexico, at least) birding activities, a guide rich in ornithological details that will withstand regular field use, the new seventh edition of the North American Field Guide to the Birds of North America is quite likely the book to be sought.

Title: National Geographic Field Guide to the Birds of North America, 7th Edition

Authors: Jon L. Dunn and Jonathan Alderfer

Publisher: Penguin Random House / National Geographic

Format: Paperback

Pages: 592 pp., w/ 3,500+ illustrations

ISBN 9781426218354

Published: September 2017

In accordance with Federal Trade Commission 16 CFR Part 255, it is disclosed that the copy of the book read in order to produce this review was provided gratis to the reviewer by the publisher.