The Reluctant Birder

My enjoyment of birdwatching is a relatively new discovery which has only manifested itself in the last few years. I have gone from being unable to identify even the common chaffinch, to now, being able to identify many birds from their jizz or call alone.

I have unintentionally dragged others along with me in my new-found passion. I remember an hour spent in a hide with my reluctant younger brother and his girlfriend, trying to teach them the differences between blue-tits and great tits. I've pointed out to friends the names of different wildfowl and waders when on afternoon strolls in the park. I've made my mum complete the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch with me, and I've stopped working on the boat in order to grab my camera to catch a diving gannet or posturing seagull.

The one who has probably suffered the most though, is my boyfriend, Alex. I am forever pointing out birds and interrupting him mid-sentence to listen or look at a passing passerine.

On a recent weekend we spent in Hampshire, we walked from Buckler's Hard to Beaulieu (fantastic if ever you are in the area). It is a stunning walk along the banks of a tidal estuary with unspoilt habitats the whole way. We had barely got 5 minutes into the walk before we had to stop and snap away at photogenic avian individuals.

On walks such as this, we have fallen into a routine to share the camera. He will photograph anything he wishes, and I will photograph anything vegetative or avian in nature.

Halfway along the first stretch we came to a bird hide, for the use of anyone. I was eager to enter and spend a few minutes scouring the reeds for a glimpse of a heron or little egret. I have to say though, Alex was once again, forced to become 'the reluctant birder', pictured here, he has a look of resigned boredom. I asked myself the question, what is it like for a non-birder to tag along with a bit of a 'keeno', it was, after all, not that long ago, that I too was a 'non-birder'.

Birdhides really aren't the most exciting of places, silence is advised and if nothing is immediately visible (as was the case here), it remains a rather dull affair for a non-participating onlooker. Alex may have described it as something akin to watching paint dry.

So what attracts the birder to the hide? The anticipation that today may be the day that a previously unseen bird is spotted and committed to the memory bank? Or the chance to test identification skills if a myriad of birds were present? Perhaps. Alas, today was not the day for either- all we spotted was a pair of mallards skirting the reeds. On we went,  following a rather impatient plea from Alex.

At Beaulieu village, there is a lake held back by the tide gate. As we sat here, Alex proffered the identify of the black headed gulls (in summer coat), and the enduringly elegant mute swan. I'm sure there is a secret birder deep within him! One day it will be sparked into manifesting itself, and I can feel less selfish about burdening him with my hobby!


After the walk, we made the most of the beautiful weather, and headed south to Calshot where we parked the car and watched the sun setting over the water. I just couldn't resist one last cheeky look with the binoculars though...

In the meantime, while I'm waiting for his inner birder to (hopefully) reveal itself, I will just have to ensure he doesn't find the incessant avian based running commentary one burden too many!

There must be other people with a similar problem?

Thanks,

Becky