It’s been a long, bone-jarring drive down a dark and dusty rutted road. But finally, our caravan of eight vehicles pulls to a stop and 14 birders tumble out of their cars. Tucked into down jackets, gloves, face masks, and boots, we’re hoping to keep the bitter cold at bay. But as we gather our gear and strike out on our path, the 22-degree chill seeps insidiously through the stitching of even the best-made gloves and parkas. Before long, my fingers tingle from grasping the aluminum legs of the tripod and camera slung over my shoulder. But we are moving towards our target and my excitement exceeds my discomfort.