12. THE ITCHY TWITCHER

I’m not really a birder, not an authentic bird watcher. The binoculars mostly stay in their case. I see birds with the naked eye when I’m gardening, or inside through the windows without curtains.

No authority on breeds or types; I’m not even a member of the local bird society. I flirted with the idea of becoming a proper twitcher when I passed a dam on the dirt road to town years ago.

Google image of some serious bird enthusiasts.

A handful of middle-aged men with big bellies and Santa beards were on the bank discussing something. They were setting up tripods, cameras, binoculars, collapsible stools, books and notepads on stands; hauling more and more gear out of a van. They were the real deal, yet I couldn’t believe what they were wearing. I searched the area for television cameras; surely they were actors making a comedy skit?

No film crew; what I did see was an expanse of shallow water edged with bulrushes. Five different types of ducks were dipping, bottoms up. Small black things with red beaks piped away in high tones, their chimes echoing between the mountains. Water birds were zigzagging around the wetland.

One chap looked like an unfortunate English schoolboy in short pants. Tweedy belted shorts made of brown tartan were a sight; also long argyle socks and a mismatched green plaid shirt. He wore a horsey beret with small caramel squares, complete with a snazzy 1940’s button on top. The final straw was a knitted vest with a diamond pattern down each side in bright blue and red. That particular fashion atrocity was a ball of wool too far; Plaid Santa was a parody of a twitcher.

Couldn’t help it; I laughed from the safety of my car. I don’t mean to offend, but couldn’t join any group costumed like that. 

Often sitting beside the same shallow dam at sunset, I found the optical illusion of silver splashes across water stirred and stroked by wind beguiling. Contemplative and calming, like meditation it was best completed alone.

Bird watching was solitude and soul food. It still is.

I love being in my garden, watching birds compete for birdbath access. I like to see and save birds, not scare them away with glaring knitwear. On holidays I prefer to see a thing; to breathe it in and feel part of it rather than fiddling with a camera and miss being in the moment.  

Back then it was just between me and the birds.

The same dam has a bird hide on it now, but few birds and no pro-birders kitted out with cameras and giant lenses visit much anymore. Instead of a mini wetland it is a dry, weedy basin.

After suffering the worst drought in living memory since winter 2016, it must rain soon. Birds will come back then, arriving from Northern Europe and all over the world. They will fly in for a sanctuary away from buildings, people, pollution and traffic. 

A couple of km from the farm, this is a quiet spot. Even when I pass by 10 times a week, I still wish the wetland would come back. Despite everything, the view never gets old.

Years ago I would see over 100 birds at once. When water overflowed the dam wall the space was alive with feathery things weaving and darting, floating and sounding off. This man made waterfall used to be thrilling; at the moment there is only a fetid lime green puddle at the base.

Last week by the dam, I spotted 1 bird in a half dead blackberry bush. Not a good photo, this hyperactive fellow blended into the tangle of spiky branches. It was a Red-browed Finch. A bird so tiny it squeaked.

Fifteen years on from driving past the tweedy professionals, I feel like sharing; showing how saving birds after glass collisions is easy. There are 3 simple parts to it. 
 

Birdlifesaving equation:

 A safe place + water + quiet time = bird recovering and flying away.