As I write, the sun is rising on a nearly perfect spring morning, replete with caroling robins and ravens already on the wing. The day is marred only by the absence of my good friend Victor Emanuel, whose too brief tenure on this planet ended 11 March 2025. But in a very real sense, the spirit of this architect of ecotourism lives on. Arguably, no teacher since Roger Tory Peterson has done more to represent the face of the natural world than this Texas native and lifelong student of birds. Sir David Attenborough may have introduced millions to the wonders of nature, but Victor literally brought them to it, from hummingbirds in Arizona to orangutans in Borneo to Sally Lightfoot crabs in the Galápagos, it was all grist for Victor’s mill. He fed on wonder and converted it into insight for the rest of us.

In 1978, when the slightly built man with the measured movements of a marionette started Victor Emanuel Nature Tours (VENT), a “foreign” birding tour meant a trip to the Everglades. Now, fifty years on and thanks to Victor and his staff, ecotourism means travel to every corner of the planet. Victor and VENT leaders shared with us the wonders of the planet. It was my great privilege to co-lead with Victor and VENT staffer Greg Lasley on a voyage to Antarctica. I single out Greg among VENT leaders not because he was singular, but because he was not. With the unflinching eyes of a gunfighter and the fluid movements of a lynx, Greg was representative of the experts Victor hand-picked to be colleagues—individuals whose leadership skills were as polished and broad as their knowledge base. Other companies led bird tours, but VENT led nature tours. And those instructors whom Victor gathered to his side were teachers as well as naturalists.

Who else but Victor or one of his leaders would, after gaining tour participants soul satisfying views of a Flightless Cormorant, train their spotting scope on a Sally Lightfoot crab and invite all to enjoy supernatural views of one of the planet’s most arresting creatures. In this and thousands of other ways, Victor invited us into the orbit of his incomparable Weltanschauung. 

There seemed no limit to the man, and I am actually surprised that death was able to master him. I suspect it was likely Victor’s insatiable curiosity that bade him meet eternity halfway, giving death an edge. My favorite memory of Victor was during a Galápagos landing, when upon touching down, he spotted penguins, prompting him to leap over the side of the panga. Fitting swimming goggles over his face without securing the strap, he stooped, submerging his head, and raced through the shallow water to seek underwater communion with the planet’s northernmost penguins. Galápagos Penguins are mostly inured to tourists, but having never before seen this tactic, the birds retreated. Running out of air, Victor stood and treated us to his trademark grin. This time he secured the strap of the mask, which enabled him to renew his underwater study. Even the local guides were impressed by the man’s exuberance.

It was while co-leading Camp Chiricahua, Victor’s youth camp, that my wife Linda and I truly got to know Victor, and I am sure there is not a VENT leader who has not been regaled by Victor’s account of the July Thanksgiving dinner (with all the trimmings served up by Linda); it was a sumptuous repast, and the campers loved it. Some of those campers went on to become VENT leaders themselves, and still more went on to change the face of bird study in the Americas in other ways. Yes, I am part speaking about eBird and Merlin, which Camp Chiricahua alumni helped devise. 

For all his vast knowledge of the natural world, Victor was hardly one-dimensional. Indeed, he was the quintessential Renaissance man, a humanist and an astute political scientist. Conversations with Victor were always spirited and far-ranging. One of these exchanges led obliquely to another conversation that I am sure I never shared with Victor. One evening, returning home after a day spent at Cape May Bird Observatory, I entered our kitchen to find the phone ringing. Putting the receiver to my ear, I heard a lyrical voice intone, “Carly Simon for Linda Dunne.” 

“I’m sorry,” I said, “but she’s working. Who did you say this was?”

“Carly Simon.”

“Like the singer?”, I asked. 

“Yes,” the caller agreed, “like the singer.”
“Could I inquire about the nature of this call?”

The celebrated singer-songwriter explained that her son wanted to attend an NOLS (National Outdoor Leadership School) course, and knowing nothing about the program, Ms. Simon wanted to speak to Linda, who is a former NOLS instructor. In response to my question regarding how she had learned about Linda, Carly explained that she’d been at a party on Martha’s Vineyard, where she met a gentleman who knew Linda and her NOLS background. It seemed perfectly natural that Victor should be conversing with Carly Simon. He knew, after all, Peter Matthiessen and George Plimpton. Why not Carly Simon, too? It also did not surprise me that Victor recalled Linda’s vocational pedigree. Victor had a prodigious memory. Ultimately, Linda and Carly did connect, but whether her son went on to an NOLS I do not recall.

The birding world has lost a giant, but Victor’s legacy endures. Thank you, Victor, for your friendship, your vision, and the eager willingness with which you shared your wisdom. “Limitless,” falls short of describing this natural history dynamo, but, at least, it approximates the scope of Victor’s gifts. Hardly a binocular raised in North America is not steadied by Victor’s guiding hand, and through VENT, Victor’s legacy is perpetuated. 

And, Victor, if you chance to read this and happen to run into Roger or Greg, tell them I said “Hi.”

Fare well,

Pete

Recommended Citation

Dunne, Pete. 2025. “Victor Emanuel: A Tribute—not a Eulogy.” Birding. 57(2).

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