WHY A LOCAL PATCH MED GULL IS GOOD FOR YOU (WELL, FOR ME AT ANY RATE)

The sun was out today. It was warm, the light was noticeably brighter, the days are getting longer.

It’s the time when thoughts of spring migrants flocking to our shores fill us with hope and expectation.

By now, most of the interesting winter migrants have been seen and logged, apart from, in my case, one or two I haven’t gone out of my way to look for, like a Bittern, Jack Snipe or Mealy Redpoll.

I could have gone to Barnes this afternoon to see a Bittern (and maybe a Jack Snipe), and perhaps wandered around Leith Hill in the hope of finding a Mealy, but the truth is I couldn't muster the enthusiasm.

Instead, I went over to my local patch to see a Mediterranean Gull that was happily swimming around with some Black-headed Gulls close to the sand spit on Spynes Mere lake. It was only a relatively brief visit, but one Med Gull, a couple of Shelducks and a Goldeneye were enough to keep my happy, and I could get on with the rest of my day contented and relaxed. As birding outings go, it was better for my spirit than a long-haul twitch to see a bird for the first time.

But I nearly ruined it all. I made a vow at the end of last year that I would never make a specific journey to see a Firecrest. A beautiful little bird, I admit, but a nemesis to me. It’s been two years since I saw the last one – on Banstead Gold Course – and I’ve been many times since to try and see another one. I’ve failed every time – not even heard one, let alone see one of the little blighters.

So, seeing as it was a lovely day and I’d already seen the Med Gull, in a fit of pique I went to Banstead once again to see if I could find a Firecrest. One had been reported earlier in the day, so I thought I could, at long last, break this bad run. But no. Didn’t see one, didn’t even hear one.

I’ve now made yet another vow. This time I’m not going to go to that bloody golf course again. I have developed a genuine distaste for it and the footpath that runs alongside it (sorry, David). A Firecrest will have to come to me in future. I can live without one. It will remain off my year list for the foreseeable future.

I always seem to end up Surrey listing but even then I’m not pathological about it. No, really! If a really interesting bird – one I haven’t seen before – turns up locally the chances are I’ll find a good reason to get in the car with my scope, binoculars and camera and set off in search of it. Otherwise, I’m more likely to stay where I am or go somewhere to see birds I prefer to watch instead, like Short-eared Owls, and amazingly (a quite recent fascination) gulls.

The Parrot Crossbill, just over the border in Sussex, is one such bird I ought to go and see, but for some reason I haven’t. The same goes for the Paddyfield Warbler on the coast. Both aren’t that far away, and yet I haven’t gone to tick them off my life list.

Originally, I was put off the Crossbill because of the doubts about whether it was a Parrot or not, but I have spoken to many experienced birders since and they all say categorically that it is one. The Warbler was apparently elusive at first (another excuse not to travel down to Pagham), but is now showing well.

So, what is it with me?

I think I’m still trying to find my position in the birding scheme of things. Some people are twitchers, some are patch birders, some are neither. I am neither at the moment, although my patch is increasingly becoming more important by the day.

I like going on the odd twitch, like I did in January for the Dark-eyed Junco and Spanish Sparrow, but it has to be a bird that, for whatever reason, captures my imagination. Both the Paddyfield Warbler and the Parrot Crossbill tick that box, so why not go for both?

I think it is the threat of disappointment twitching can brings as baggage. I hate the idea of going somewhere on a specific journey, to see a bird that doesn’t show. People keep telling me that is what makes birding so fascinating, but I can’t think of anything worse than turning up somewhere not to achieve the purpose of a visit.

If you love football, and Chelsea in particular (I’m not a fan, by the way – this is just an example for geographical purposes) you don’t invest time and money to go to an away game – say to Sunderland – only to arrive to find they won’t let you in. If you went to many such away games and the same thing kept happening, you’d soon become despondent and eventually opt to stay at home and watch the game on the telly.

After a few experiences like this, negativity inevitably seeps through. When the chance to travel to Milan for an away leg of a Champions League semi-final is on the cards, for example, what would you do (if you were me)? You'd find a reason not to go, wouldn't you? Well, that’s my theory and I’m sticking to it.

What I should have done, when the Parrot Crossbill was first announced, was to hop in the car and get the twitch over and done with - whether I saw it or not. Having deliberated endlessly about whether to go, there was always the risk the experience wouldn’t be enjoyable whatever the outcome. I delayed going for the Tundra Bean Goose at Thorpe Park recently, and by the time I decided to go for it, it was too late. The Goose had gone.

I don’t know how some twitchers keep their sanity. The birder Tom McKinney calls the Kerry Katona of twitching and one of the birders featured on the BBC documentary 'Twitching – A Very British Obsession', Garry Bagnell, has seen more than 500 birds in Britain and Ireland. He has managed this feat in a relatively short space of time, just ten years or so. He even had to give up plane spotting to achieve this. Imagine that! He must have dipped at least a third of these birds during that time. I couldn't cope with that.

A remarkable feat then, but what happens now? After a frenzy of twitching, Garry now has just a handful of birds he can see each year that he can honestly say he has never seen before. Presumably, he now has to create a new list category simply to wet his twitching juices. From reading his blog, he has managed that.

It's all about finding a balance and getting things in perspective. I’m actually quite happy to bide my time. I’m going for the long haul for the next 20 years. If it is convenient to go for the Slender-billed Curlew on any given day, well, I might consider it. It depends…

SCHRÖDINGER'S YELLOW-BROWED WARBLER

With only a couple of months left of the year there are a few birds I would like for my Surrey list before December 31.

Some will be more difficult than others.

In no particular order, these are: Hen Harrier, Yellow-browed Warbler, Merlin, Tawny Owl, Short-eared Owl, Grey Partridge, Caspian Gull, Yellow-legged Gull, Iceland Gull, Golden Plover, Firecrest, Raven, Mealy Redpoll and Brambling, plus anything really unusual.

The way things have been going recently I doubt I'll see any of these. For four consecutive trips I have failed to hear, let alone see, the diminutive, fidgety Yellow-browed Warbler at Newdigate. I have spent hours staring at a tree that could have been totally devoid of bird life. Who could tell? I'm convinced it's a big scam just to wind me up - it doesn't really exist.

Well, for me it doesn't, so I'm in dilemma worthy of Schrödinger's cat, or in this case Schrödinger's Yellow-browed Warbler. This thought experiment, originally designed by Erwin Schrödinger in 1935, explains the true nature and behaviour of birds this small.

Imagine the scene. The Yellow-browed Warbler has been glued to a branch in an oak tree with a taser gun on a timing mechanism pointed at it. This taser is set to go off at some point in an attempt to make it sing. We can't see any of this.

Schrödinger stipulates that the Yellow-browed Warbler is both dead and alive. This is called a superposition of states or observer's paradox. We can only know if the warbler has been frazzled or not once it's observed. And there's fat chance of me doing that.

The same problem is haunting me at Thursley Common with the Hen Harrier that has been roosting there - except for those evenings when I turn up. It has been seen at various times of the day, and I've been to Thursley in the mornings, afternoons and evenings. I've seen nothing.

I've basically given up on both of these. The Harrier is the one that hurts a bit though, because I so enjoy watching Harriers. I'll just have to make another trip down to Burpham and get my kicks that way. I'll hopefully see a few Short-eared Owls, too.

All the above angst is the result of Surrey listing. A totally pointless exercise, but once you start, it is hard to stop. You get so far into it during the year, you might as well carry on for another eight weeks. After that the commitment will be over and you can pretend you won't do it all again the next year.

I'm pretty certain listing is the main culprit for make birding uncool. It is the obsession with lists that drives people to congregate down a country lane and stare into a hedge 20-deep as the photo below, taken by Tom McKinney on the Isles of Scilly for the Scarlet Tanager, illustrates.

Doesn't look great, does it? Hardly makes for an enjoyable day out. But I know, if I ever find my way on to these tiny islands at some point in the future, I could end up in the middle of the ruck.

I hope not, because if I'm completely honest, I prefer birding in solitude. The whole point for me is to escape from the trap of staring at a computer screen all day trying to make a living. I like twitching when most people have gone - I want to avoid the manic behaviour of the throng. A bit of calm will do me fine.

DEALING WITH DIPPING

I have had a pretty good run of late, having enjoyed twitching both Hoopoe and Wryneck during the past three weeks. The problem with birding, however, and twitching in particular, is invariably good runs come to an end. Eventually you will dip. There is no more appropriate a word than 'dipping' to describe the event of staring at an empty branch for hours on end when on a twitch.

If I have learnt anything from this hobby, it is dipping leaves you in an emotional state for longer than a successful twitch does. It creates a dip in your mood, that's for sure. It must be the reason some people become seriously and pathologically addicted to twitching. The highs when they happen are great, but the elation stays with you for less time than the despair when you dip, so you have to keep twitching to feed the depleted elation. A dip can stay with you until you nail the bloody bird you keep missing. It's a risky pastime if you wish to remain sane.

I think that's the reason I won't go twitching further than the south-east of England, or in an area I happen to be visiting anyway. The Marmora's Warbler last year was a case in point. A fabulously showy bird that compelled many people to travel miles to go and enjoy. As it turned out, one weekend we were visiting friends in Wales and I had an opportunity to go and see it. Perfect.

I couldn't have faced the prospect of travelling to Cornwall, as an example, to see the American Bittern last year, only to come away drawing a blank. It's just too high-risk for me to spend that much time travelling only to be disappointed. Although, actually there's no guarantee you will feel any better closer to home. In fact, many people say it's worse to dip on your own patch that to dip after a 600-mile round trip.

That's is the danger of twitching. It's a hobby that revolves around anticipation like no other pastime and that emotion builds the closer to the object you get. People who enjoy mothing don't have that problem. Whatever turns up in the traps turns up. There's no way of knowing what you will see.

So, if you are going to dip, dip close to home is my advice. And once you've dipped, steer clear of all the birding websites and blogs until the emotion has simmered down a few days later. What you don't know about, you won't miss.

Why say all this? Well, this week I missed a Grasshopper Warbler at Canon's Farm.

OK, it wasn't the same as dipping a Wryneck, but it was still a truly depressing dip. What made it worse is that this particular Gropper was showing well for long periods - David Campbell described it on Twitter as the most twitchable Grasshopper Warbler on his patch ever. Plenty of people came to see it and went away happy, apart from me.

I went to Canons four times for a total of four and a half hours to see this Gropper, and every time I missed out. Even David was getting stressed out that I hadn't seen it, as though it was his responsibility because it was on his patch. The first visit was just after 5.30pm on Tuesday evening. The bird had last been seen just after 4pm, and needless to say, it didn't emerge for the hour I was there before leaving as the light was deteriorating.

I had another go the next morning, getting up early and getting to the Farm before 6.30am. I stood by the spot it had been seen, in some scrub just at the back of the farm buildings. I waited, and then heard a strange sound - a bit like a cassette tape getting mangled when being played. It was clearly the Warbler, as David had described the day before how it made a strange strangulated sound - perhaps a juvenile that hadn't learnt how to sing properly yet.

I couldn't see it, though. And then it went quite for the next hour. David arrived and he confirmed the sound I heard was right for this youngster, and we waited another half-an-hour. By this time, I was sure it wasn't going to happen - it might sit tight for hours. So I left, with the intention of going to Barnes to see the Ruff and Garganey at the Wetland Centre. After ten minutes, the phone rang. David was watching the Gropper, having moved to a different spot, further back behind the barns.

I had basically been staring at the wrong bush for two hours, as it must have moved soon after it attempted to sing. So back I went, and tried in vain to get a glimpse - but nothing appeared for the next hour. I had to leave as work was pressing (why does it always get in the way!). An hour after I left, it reappeared again.

I went back at 4pm for another go, but again nothing. The following morning it was seen again, but by that time I had decided to give up on it. So that was the Gropper story. I have heard two Grasshopper Warblers this year, but no visual tick.

Since then I have been glued to my desk, so any hopes of venturing out to see a whole flock of birds I haven't seen this year has passed me by. It's been a bad week, but I will get over it. My wife just shakes her head with irritation. She, quite rightly, thinks it's a bit pathetic to get so wrapped up in all this. To dwell is, well, a bit childish really. It isn't life or death. There are far more important things to be getting on with, like trying to pay the mortgage, and building a nest-egg for the future (some hope).

The problem with that, quite justifiable, argument is, that so much other stuff is so incredibly dull. We all need a bit of escapism from the general run-of-the-mill daily routine, it's just that it would be far more satisfying if the wretched animal I want to see had an awareness that it would help my day no end if it just popped up on a branch for a few seconds - I don't think I'm asking that much, am I?