Beware the
dark side of
bird watching

Bird watching (the modern-day synonym, twitching, always sounds like a sneer) is a harmless, frequently rewarding hobby which can be practised by the busy commuter just as easily as the tweeded owner of country acres. But be warned. Bird watching has its dark side which is rarely referred to. For instance:

THE VAGRANT SPARROWS You've joined the RSPB and spent more than you could afford on a pair of binoculars. In one of the Society's hides overlooking a wetland populated by ducks and what you can only identify as "others" you're thrilled when someone points out a godwit. Not that you're absolutely sure which one is the godwit but you feel you're making progress - or at least adding to your ornithological vocabulary. You want to make your contribution.

You buy a bird table and three feeders. It's a hard winter and the birds, mainly sparrows, clear out the three feeders in two days. You buy more feed, more peanuts and if anything they disappear even quicker. You buy industrial size quantities of seed and nuts the following year and the feeders remain untouched. A newspaper reports that the winter was so mild the birds remained lolling in the trees picking at the forward berries.

You ask yourself: can seed and nuts go off?

THE DISTRESSFUL BLACKBIRDS You hate gardening and therefore your garden is, in Titchmarsh-speak, "low maintenance". In the centre gravel is laid over mega-expensive sheeting that is impervious to weeds, while the side beds are covered in bark chips said to encourage worms (apparently a good thing) and to choke off unwanted organisms. (NOTE: No this bird on the left isn't a blackbird but it is yet another aspect of the dark side of bird watching. Frequently to be found on Herefordshire back roads it is entirely inimical to car head lights.)

Blackbirds, cheeky enough to pursue their interests a mere metre away from the garden owner, jump down into the bark chips and fling them on to the gravel in remarkable quantities. They are said to be in search of beetles. Judging by the abuse they hurl at the reluctant gardener laboriously picking chips out of the gravel, they clearly resent the tidy-up.

You ask yourself: what's wrong with fence-to-fence concrete?

THE "...ER" RAPTOR Birds of prey are the flying elite. Totally fit for purpose. You could just concentrate on them alone. If only you could tell one from the other. You know in theory that a kite is bigger than a kestrel, but it doesn't help. "Look," you say, "it's a bird of prey. It's...biggish, not smallish." The bird itself remains literally and metaphorically remote.

You ask yourself: how about hoopoes instead?

THE DISAPPEARING DUCKLING Wearied with coming to terms with the natural world you take a drive to Slimbridge where the natural world is reduced to a sort of petting zoo. There are even coloured pictures by the pools to ease your identity crisis. ("So that's what a smew looks like".)

Occasionally the species mix is bizarre. Flamingos alongside Canada geese alongside swans alongside a duck with a train of ducklings. And in the middle a solitary heron. The noise is horrendous. Your attention strays and, as it does, the noise rises tenfold. There's a flurry of action. You swing your head round, the heron appears to be retreating but... what's that in its bill? Not a fish, the silhouette is too irregular. Oh no! The train of of ducklings is minus one.

You ask yourself: why is it otherwise OK for a peregrine to knock hell out of a pigeon?

THE GARBAGE GULL In Dover and Folkestone the local authorities encouraged all-out war against gulls and the more daring bounty hunters abseiled down the White Cliffs to destroy the nests. Why? Because plastic garbage bags were as tissue-paper to gulls' beaks and a genuine health risk was developing. In the end the gulls won and the councils were forced to renounce warfare and adopt the obvious solution - wheelie bins.

There is a rumour that Hereford is considering wheelie bins. But remember, this is Hereford. Life proceeds according to different circadian rhythms. By the time the rumour has transformed itself into a local newspaper "exclusive", then into a study group on costs, then into a trial on three streets in Bullinghope, then into a full-scale proposal (rejected on the "danger to grannies" argument), then into another full-scale proposal based on grannie-proof bins, then into the allocation of cash, then into the spending of cash, then into the delivery period stretched over a year and a half, the present incipient flocks of gulls may well have become Hitchcockian "Birds" forcing us to use the wheelie bins as refuges.

Gulls, though raucous and hard to differentiate for RSPB novices, are wonderful flyers and an adornment to any marine environment. But Hereford isn't marine. As a result these audacious creatures must scratch where they can among the garbage. Bring on the wheelies - as a matter of urgency.

You ask yourself: How long before gulls' beaks can penetrate the sides of wheelie bins?

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