30-minute birder
Busy lifestyles or family demands on a holiday mean it’s not always possible to afford your birdwatching passion the few hours a day you’d love to give it. But even just half an hour a day of birdwatching can reap many avian rewards…
At first light, I pick a path carefully down the slipway towards the mud flats of Skern Bay in north Devon. Hunkering between rocks I wait, scolded by the Oystercatchers who claimed this patch before me. The sky slowly lightens and at intervals Curlews take flight from the bay towards the estuary, their rhythmic calls fading and deepening as they pass. Straight ahead of me, shadowy patches gradually resolve into groups of Brent Geese on the mud at the edge of the incoming tide. They’re the winter treat I’ve come to see this morning.
After half an hour I must go, or this might be the last time my sister agrees to come on holiday with me. As I get stiffly to my feet, hundreds of small waders, probably Dunlin, explode into the air above the geese. The shoal-like mass of birds twists and turns, their pale bellies flashing silver in the early morning sun.
They’re right over my head – vibrato trills merging into a solid bank of sound. Hanging undecided in the sky, a great curl then coalesces and funnels back down onto the water’s edge. This morning might have been a short expedition, but it has been more than enough time for some nature magic.
Birdwatching for me is often a juxtaposition of exhilarating moments like that one back in 2019 and the most mundane of living arrangements. Squeezing it in when I’m on holiday with non-birders always involves careful negotiation. “Will you be back in time to cook supper, as it’s your turn?”
Or “You promised we could spend all day at the beach!” I’ve never been great at multi-tasking and prefer to separate out bird-walking on my own from walking with my family. The days have passed when our kids were happy to duck into a bird hide or even wait while I did. Very early mornings are often now the best bet for ‘me time’ without impinging on everyone else’s plans.
Thwarted plans
At least on holiday, there are fewer demands on my time and early morning trips can be balanced with an afternoon snooze. Once we’re back home in London, finding time to be alone in nature can be more challenging, particularly when we’re all in the house. As a writer, I have to use those quiet early mornings for writing before the family’s noisy online lessons and meetings get going. And sneaking out the door later in the day, there’s always the possibility of being thwarted by someone’s homework crisis or an urgent need for provisions.
Birding opportunities are sometimes reduced to what I can see out of the window while drinking a coffee, but that’s no hardship. Despite the tiny suburban garden, we do have a healthy garden bird list, boosted by living on the edge of a
remnant of ancient woodland. A half-hour break is plenty of time to enjoy the way the tits, Nuthatches and woodpeckers squabble on the feeders or to hang precariously out the window trying to improve my skills with a long camera lens.
Adding up those half hours means over time I’ve become much more familiar with the habits of our regular visitors. The slightest deviation usually means something’s going on. “Sparrowhawk!” I shout to my other half who is working downstairs at the kitchen table after the garden has erupted into chaos and a couple of Woodpigeons ricochet apparently unharmed off the window.
He’s on important cat duty down there and has learnt that shaking the backdoor keys while still on his Zoom call is enough to see off unwelcome visitors.
Scattered between the usual garden antics are some special moments I treasure. I laughed out loud at the sight of a Sparrowhawk teetering for a moment on the edge of our pond after misjudging its attack on a Woodpigeon.
Working from home
Spotting my favourite bird, a Goldcrest, on a fast-motion food hunt in our Yew bush is always a treat. And when, on one memorable summer’s day, three Hobbies circled over our garden calling to each other, I was almost beside myself with excitement.
The advantage of working from home is I can shout out as many bird sightings as I like. In the days when I did go to an office to work, it wasn’t quite so easy. I was once sitting in a desperately dull meeting looking out of a tower block window when a ‘feathered arrowhead’ flew past in a pursuit of a pigeon. “Peregrine!” I blurted out, to the confusion of my colleagues. I’m not sure my reputation ever recovered from that. Fortunately my family are resigned about my outbursts. On the days when writing has gone well, a lot can be packed into a lunch break within easy reach of home. To stop it feeling too hectic, I try to be unambitious and spend most of the time standing still, so I’ll return relaxed rather than frustrated. I’m not sure if ‘slow birdwatching’ is a thing but I’m sure I’m not the first person to enjoy a mindful experience even when you see very little. I often find myself returning to a patch of Yew, Ivy and Holly in the nearby wood, because the Goldcrests do. They never seem very bothered by my presence and half an hour is plenty of time to enjoy their wispy calls and the way they ‘hum’
beneath the leaves picking off tiny morsels. One time, a neighbour passed and asked what I was looking at. He had never heard of Goldcrests and seemed quite entranced by their tiddliness, or at least gave a very convincing impression of it.
It’s the tinies which really appeal to me. When I’m not Goldcrest hunting, I’m looking for Treecreepers. They’re seen regularly in the wood but I haven’t been lucky yet. Despite causing neck ache, scanning the canopy has its own rewards. Once, a visiting Buzzard flapped ponderously overhead across the glade. Another time, I spotted a flock of Redwings making stealthy progress through the treetops as if they were playing grandmother’s footsteps.
Kingfishers and Kestrels
Just on the other side of the wood is a church where Kestrels nested last summer. Back then a lunch break was just enough time to pop down to see if the young had fledged and combine it with a quick supermarket trip. From a busy path, I watched them fly clumsily from roof to roof and several people stopped to chat and admire them. With a bit more time on their hands, Londoners aren’t nearly as unfriendly as they are reputed to be.
Further again, but still justifiably local, is a suburban country park which was reclaimed from a sewage farm back in the 1920s. Despite increasing numbers of dog walkers and families visiting, in half an hour I’ve seen a Kingfisher on the pond and Kestrels hunting over the meadows. This park is popular with birders and there are now more casual walkers with binoculars there, too.
Even in less restricted times, having a day to devote to birding can be a rare thing between the competing demands of earning a living, family and spending quality time with birdoblivious friends. But I’m convinced of the value of regular short bursts. Perhaps they suit me given I’m easily distracted, intolerant of being physically uncomfortable and of an age where closed public toilets make me nervous.
If you read my article about looking for Waxwings in the December 2020 edition of Bird Watching, you’ll already know that I don’t have the patience to be a twitcher. Lockdown restrictions have led to an increase in Londoners spending time in green spaces and noticing nature. There were more than twice as many visitors to our tiny patch of suburban wood last December compared with the year before, but will the habit of noticing nature carry on,
once Londoners are back working long days, exercising in gyms and socialising inside? Short bursts, enjoying the Goldfinches in the street trees outside offices, or Swifts feeding over the local rail station, might be all we have time for.
Birding hopes
For now, I’m quite happy with birding in my local patch but at some point soon I’ll start craving big open spaces. It’s not clear at the moment whether we’re going to make it back to the north Devon estuary this summer, but I’m already daydreaming about those early morning birding trips. In the meantime, there’s lots to be said for squeezing half an hour in near home. It’s hard to believe I’m the only 30-minute birder out there.