On a recent Saturday, about 60 millennials and a handful of Gen Zers flocked to McGolrick Park in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.

Wearing beanies and toting Baggus, they were ready to scan the trees for woodpeckers, starlings and sparrows.

“Bird watching is patience, it’s being in reality,” said the club’s leader, Michael Lombardo, gesturing at the park. He told the group that birding was an “antidote to the attention economy.”

Lombardo commands what some avid members can only describe, jokingly, as a “cult.” Even he self-deprecatingly references his “Manson-esque charms.” And he’s using that charisma for a mission: to make birding cool.

He runs the McGolrick Bird Club, whose motto promises to “teach neighbors and artists and weirdos how to bird.” The group has gained hundreds of Instagram followers within the past year and now attracts dozens of regulars to the park each week.

Fans say the club has made birding — usually a quiet and calm endeavor — into something social. Some participants don’t show up for the birds but for a meditative walk, or to hear Lombardo muse on the dominant culture of “fake marketing” and “virtual realities.” A typical walk might adjourn with Lombardo reading a Mary Oliver poem.

It’s a far cry from traditional birding excursions and has led some members to become self-proclaimed “feather rufflers.”

Wearing camo pants and Birkenstocks, Lombardo looks more like a Williamsburg barista than an ornithologist — and that approachability is part of the sell. Unlike other birding clubs he says appeal to “retirees,” his attracts a younger crowd. Though some newer New York City birding groups appeal to millennials, most “wildlife watchers” nationally are 45 or older, according to a 2022 federal survey.

The McGolrick Bird Club members mingle, share memes and plan post-birding parties. In February, the club met after birding hours at the Buttery Bar in Greenpoint to celebrate the Northern Flicker’s successful mating season and drink bird-themed cocktails, including the gin-and-ginger “empty nesters.”

Lombardo dressed in a homemade Flicker costume for the occasion and chanted hymns to invoke the bird’s spirit. Later, at the Saturday club meeting, he told everyone that their efforts had helped spur the birds’ success.

“We held a pagan ceremony to encourage their return … and it worked,” he said.

‘The opposite of doomscrolling’

“Birding is punk,” Lombardo said, scanning the trees for movement before the morning meeting. “It requires patience and awareness and it’s very real. Those [values] are very much counterculture. Being outside and in the real world is so sick and beautiful to me.”

The club started last April when Lombardo, a newbie birder, decided to stand on the corner of Russell Street and Driggs Avenue in Greenpoint with a whiteboard to see who walked by. “I probably looked kind of creepy, to be honest,” he said. “People were like, what are you doing?”

He loosely copied a typical birding excursion, where group leaders start by gesturing to a poster board filled with detailed migration diagrams and scientific names. But Lombardo’s board features hand-drawn cartoon gulls, simplified species descriptions and games about guessing warblers: “Who will face the final challenge?”

His unconventional tactics worked. Passersby stopped to hear his roundup of the area’s “drippiest” birds. He kept at it, and last month the group set a record: 83 “punks” on a single morning.

“I started to go to Bird Club and my mind was f—ing blown,” said Parsley Steinweiss, one of the group’s earliest members. “We saw, like, eight warblers the first time I walked around this park. … It was just insane. And I got hooked.”

But most members said they don’t come for the birds alone. They’re captivated by Lombardo’s charm and his eagerness to help people escape digital screens.

“Bird watching is the opposite of doomscrolling,” Brittany Radocha said, repeating another of the club’s favorite mantras.

Four years ago, Lombardo wasn’t a birder at all, and hated most outdoorsy activities. But after reading Jenny Odell’s nonfiction book, “How to Do Nothing,” he said he was inspired to try something new.

He saw a bird he hadn’t seen in 10 years and realized birding was a form of “active meditation.” He committed to embracing an offline world. And while he now runs the club’s Instagram page, he said he’s otherwise “social sober.”

Lombardo said his group’s popularity has been driven by four main factors: online fatigue, climate dread, poor mental health and the COVID-19 pandemic.

Kenneth Gould, a professor of earth and environmental sciences at the CUNY Graduate Center and a casual birder, said he agreed with that sentiment, though he’s never attended one of Lombardo’s meetups.

“Young people in New York City, post-pandemic, facing climate change, are craving genuine connection, both connection to nature and connection to community,” Gould said. “Birding offers both.”

The McGolrick Bird Club’s popularity mirrors a bigger trend. Nationwide, there are more birders than ever before, thanks to a “birding boom” following the pandemic. Approximately 96 million Americans were bird watchers in 2022, according to the federal survey. A slew of apps with names such as eBird, iNaturalist and Merlin Bird ID cater to this demand across millions of users.

The club is part of a handful of new groups aimed at bringing people into birding. They include the Feminist Bird Club, which frequents Wave Hill in the Bronx and has expanded with chapters across North America and Europe, and NYC Queer Birders, which took off during the pandemic and now invites its more than 3,000 Instagram followers to events like “Birding 4 Bird Lovers” on Valentine’s Day’s.

“One of the perennial issues most traditional Audubon chapters have is attracting more diverse members, and age is definitely one of the factors,” said Jennifer Wilson-Pines, conservation chair of the North Shore Audubon Society in Nassau County.

As interest in birding has proliferated, so has a desire to make the activity more inclusive. In recent years, birding has faced criticism over alleged elitism, racism and exclusivity. Last year, NYC Audubon announced it was planning to change its name in order to distance itself from founder John James Audubon, whose “views and actions towards people of color and Indigenous people were harmful and offensive.” Chapters in other states made the same decision.

The new birders

Izzy Lezcano participated in bird-watching clubs before the McGolrick Bird Club and said they were mostly filled with older male retirees. So she was surprised by Lombardo’s eagerness for promoting inclusivity.

“It’s refreshing to have someone that is challenging what birding is, and isn’t super restrictive,” Lezcano said. “It isn’t just about collecting Pokémon. It’s about being present and observing your environment and watching how things play out, rather than just ticking off how many birds you’ve seen.”

Some larger bird clubs and organizations say they welcome this new wave of birding. “Bird populations worldwide are declining, and it’s important for more people to learn about birds and become advocates for welfare,” said Debbie Mullins, president of the Linnaean Society of New York, where members trade knowledge on natural science, with an emphasis on birds.

Mullins said she wasn’t familiar with Lombardo’s club but supports any effort to educate people about conservation. “You can’t have too many birders!” she said.