The Big Year

I love birds. Who doesn't love birds?

Sure, they'll wake you up in the morning,

or ruin the fruit

in your garden.

And sometimes, of course,

they'll crap on your car.

But they're beautiful,

and they fly,

and they're capable of incredible things.

Take little sooty shearwater

of Tasmania, for example.

Before setting out

on his first migration to Hawaii,

he has to shed half of his body weight.

Me, I probably should've shed

half my body weight, too.

And I was trying, I really was.

Okay, maybe I wasn't trying that hard.

'Cause the truth is,

being thin was never really my dream.

No, I wanted to do something

even more amazing.

- Yo! Big bad Brad.

- Mmm?

- What you rocking out to, man?

- Um...

Clark's nutcracker.

I wanted to be the greatest birder

in the world. Seriously.

Rock on.

Rock on, Prasad.

How do you become

the greatest birder in the world?

You have to win the Big Year.

What's a Big Year?

Here, I'll let this English guy tell you.

Well into the 19th century,

Americans celebrated Christmas Day

with contests to kill

the most birds in a single day.

In 1900, Audubon Society ornithologist

Frank Chapman

suggested Americans should

count them instead,

leading eventually

to the creation of the Big Year,

a competition to see

the greatest number of birds

in North America in a calendar year.

Whoa!

In 2003, New Jersey roofing contractor

Kenny Bostick's Big Year

resulted in an astonishing 732 species,

breaking Sandy Komito's

North American record.

Many believe that Bostick's record of 732

would stand forever,

especially Mrs. Bostick.

A Big Year?

Kenny, you promised me you were

never gonna do another Big Year.

Jess, I'm just going out to set the pace.

I promise I'll be back as soon as I'm sure

there's no one out there

who can break my record.

Your record. What's the big deal?

The big deal? Hey, "Lance Armstrong,

what's the big deal?"

Or, hey, "Columbus, what's the big deal

with that whole New World thing?"

Didn't you tell me that a Big Year

killed your marriage to Steph in '03?

First of all, I was married to Bridget in '03.

Didn't you tell me that a Big Year

killed your marriage to Bridget?

A contributing factor,

but, no, not the main reason.

There were so many other problems

with that marriage.

Kenny, I'm getting fertility treatments!

And you promised.

You said you were gonna

build a new room for the baby.

I know. That was before El Nio.

Now I'm really worried

someone's gonna try to beat 732.

Bostick was right. Somebody was

going to try to be beat 732.

Yours truly.

Of course, I wasn't the only challenger

for the title.

I didn't know it at the time,

but up in New York,

a rich executive named Stu Preissler

was also making plans for a Big Year.

We're still nowhere on the deal.

Chemwall won't budge on any key points.

Mclntire used to work for you.

Maybe if you negotiated with him directly...

Sorry, guys. January 1st, I'm outta here.

- Oh, right, you're retiring again.

- Again.

This time I mean it.

Next year is all about the birds.

Edith's already in Colorado

setting up the new house.

So live in the new house

and work from home.

Use the jet. I mean, it's your jet.

- It's your company!

- Forget the birds.

You're big boys now.

You'll be fine without me.

You realize, of course, that the phase

after retirement looks a little bit like this.

Stu was torn. He ruled a vast empire,

his days were full, his opinions mattered.

Was he really ready to move on?

Am I nuts, Edith?

Maybe I should do my Big Year next year.

It might make more sense.

No. Go do it now, Stu.

Carpe annum!

- Seize the...

- Year.

So that's it?

Complete support?

You're not even gonna try and stop me?

Stu, I love you, and I will miss you dearly

when you're away.

But you have been dreaming about this

since you were a little boy,

and I am not gonna stand between you

and your greatest passion.

Not my greatest passion.

Three, two, one! Happy New Year!

Hey.

Excuse me!

Excuse me, excuse me, excuse me.

I just want to make a little toast

to my folks.

Hey, okay.

To my dad, who proved today

that he can still kick my ass on skis.

Hey, I let you win a few

just to keep you hanging around.

My childhood in a nutshell,

ladies and gentlemen.

And to my mom,

who had the vision and confidence

to design a house

with enough room for grandchildren.

- Hear, hear.

- If you build it, they will come.

Yes, and in this case,

sometime around the middle of May.

- Really?

- Yes!

That's why she was

tossing her cookies all month.

You're not the only one

having a big year, Dad.

Congratulations. Hey.

Day one, Bostick was up before dawn,

focused and ready.

NARBA hotline.

Give your code word at the beep.

Great gray owl.

There has been a second spotting

of the Nutting's flycatcher

in Patagonia Lake State Park.

A thousand miles away, Stu was

up early, too, though not quite as focused.

- You ready?

- To the bottom?

- You're on, old man.

- We'll see about that.

Edith, count us off.

On your mark. Get set. Go!

You'd think they'd be exhausted by now.

They're men, dear.

If they ever stop competing, they die.

To win a Big Year takes experience,

determination and patience.

To win a second Big Year,

you've got to be obsessed.

Bostick began his Big Year on fire.

He knew that most birders

couldn't afford to challenge him.

Some of us had already been derailed

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