onionbagblog

To Abberton Reservoir! …mid-morning on Sunday to chase some birds. Back in the day and I would have been chasing birds and their bushes during the early hours of a Sunday morning, and all without the aid of a retractable telescope as well. Age and sensibility catches up with all the young dudes eventually.

The birding party of three arrived at the Reservoir and immediately waded right into a rival birding faction twitch off.

“Is this the meet up for the RSPB guided walk?”

…enquired Chief Birder.

Glares across the observation room, some mumblings about the “other lot” looking through their big lenses down the road, and then a polite reminder that the gathering of ladies and gents in sensible outdoor clothing were comparing notes under the banner of the fine folk of the Essex Wildlife Trust.

Whoops.

No worries. When in Abberton then observe the birding etiquette that is very kindly put in front of you. Which for mid-morning on Sunday was a very helpful conversation with a charming Essex Wildlife volunteer, who explained in great detail all about the incoming plans for Abberton.

Put simply, the basin is about to be topped up. Extensive construction work is almost complete, allowing a 58% volume of water to flow down from Norfolk. Which by my back of a bird watching guide calculations means that I can spend an extra four minutes and four seconds in the shower each morning shampooing the short ‘n curlies, seeing as though the basin of North Essex is about to deliver a new deep end.

The birding party of three was shown various before and after maps of Abberton. I was reassured to see a West End and East End marked up. Betcha the posh birds hang out West, whilst the seagull slappers flap their bingo wings out East. Phrases such as ‘higher ground’ and ‘boardwalk’ were discussed. You could even shoehorn some white boy soul soundtrack into the psychogeographic birding activity and make a West End musical out of it. Any old bearded tit could take the lead.

With Abberton before and after finished, it was time to hang out in the hides and talk all about birds. There is an unwritten etiquette whilst out birding that leads the conversation and what response is required. It’s a game of poker involving plovers and the like. Never show your hand and reveal the Ace up your tweed sleeves.

“Seen the Great Grey Shrike yet this morning?”

“Not yet - just the Short Ear Owl, I’m afraid.”

The Short Ear Owl may *or may not* have been an old branch nestling away in the grassland with a couple of burnt autumnal short leaves still decorating the top. It certainly moved in the breeze, and so got the tick on my list as a bird.

You need to know to know who is ruling the roost in the hide and treat them with the respect that they command. This is usually the chap with the largest scope. You know what they say about a fella with a particularly strong focal range…

My Magpie eyes were hungry for the prize, which was just as well, seeing as though a darting black and white blip blurred out of focus in my binoculars. A bird is a bird, as the phrase went back in the day when bushes were being chased. Any port in a storm.

“The Eagle has landed!”

…I declared, much to the astonishment of the two other birders in the fellowship of three.

“Really?”

…enquired the hide head honcho.

“Um, nope. I’ve just sat down mate.”

Whoops.

Little success was to follow. The big white duck turned out to be a swan; the children’s tree house that I praised turned out to be an owl’s hut. Crow was my only serious contribution to add to the whiteboard of spotted birds back at the Abberton base.

It took me a decade back in the day to perfect my bird in the hand and two in the bush routine during the early hours of a Sunday morning. The thrush has only just disappeared, so to speak. Give it another decade of birding down at Abberton and I’ll soon rise up the pecking order.