Twitcher convert?

For months now we’ve been writing about life in pre-twitcherdom; that no-man’s- (or woman’s- in our case) land where you can’t help noticing those feathered-variety birds more and more but refusing the ‘twitcher’ mantle because … well because you wouldn’t actually travel around the country – anorak wearing, binocular toting – hoping to spot a bird now would you? Watching them flying and feeding in your own back yard is one thing, but chasing around the country, are you mad?

Now something happened in my own back yard the other day that gave me a very, very vague insight into just what all the chasing around the countryside is actually about. There I was, minding my own business, looking out of the window at nothing in particular – just seeing who might have dropped in for a bit of a nosh at our (now) well-stocked bird-feeding station (Twitcher? Me? No way!). There were the usual suspects: a couple of robins chasing around, coal and blue tits queuing up for a favourite landing pad, grumpy nuthatch seeing off the tit pretenders, blackbird under the hedge (although he hasn’t been around much lately) and then out of the corner of my eye I saw a flash of yellow as something landed on the birdbath.

I have to say I looked over expecting to see a blue tit or maybe a great tit since they seem to have a liking for splash time at noon in our garden but no, it wasn’t either. Its tail was too long – I mean way long, and it was wagging it around like an ecstatic puppy. It definitely wasn’t a long tailed tit because its shape was all wrong and it was too big, and besides it was … well yellow … at least on the underside and mostly grey on the back and wings.

I called to my girlfriend – “there’s a bird in the garden we haven’t seen before!!” (I must remember that one when I want her to drop what she’s doing and dash to my side – shame about the plates!). “Where? Where? What is it?” (Twitcher? Her? No Way!).

We just couldn’t get a really good look – how I wished I was twitcher enough to stash some oh-so-handy binoculars by the window – but no, we peered frustratingly trying to size it up before it had a glug or two and then unceremoniously flew off. That was it. It must have landed for all of about a minute and a half. Do twitchers – real twitchers I mean – just stand there waiting in case a bird comes back to give them a better view? Or do they know that that was it – the brief opportunity given, seized and filed along with other sightings imprints in their head?

Things don’t end there of course. Oh no. Well you just have to know what it is don’t you? And not being twitcher enough to say “Oh yes darling, that was a red-necked phalarope,” or “Didn’t you see the wingspan? It was obviously a whinchat”; you start where the twitchers once started … off to the bookcase to find Collins Field Guide to the Birds of Britain and Europe, or that equally weighty (so we hear) RSPB Handbook of British Birds, for assistance in tracking down your mystery bird.

I have to say it took forever to find it – well if you don’t know what it is and you’re not twitcher enough to guess what family it might belong to (not being aware that tail-wagging birds actually do belong under the wagtail section) – you’re left with the pictures, and there are a hell of a lot of pictures in aforementioned books. Not a couple to be thwarted however, we finally agreed. Our mystery visitor was a grey wagtail; not a rare bird by any standards, but rare for our back garden and therein, methinks, lies the wonders of twitcherdom – seeing something out of the ordinary, even for a fleeting moment makes you somehow appreciate the privilege of it all.

There are no anoraks in our house and we are not yet willing to chase around the countryside hoping for that rare and wonderful sighting that is a compulsion for many a classic twitcher but don’t be surprised if the next time you visit us you find yourself sharing a seat with a stashed-down-the-side-of-the-cushion set of binoculars.