One of the good things about watching birds is that, unlike such activities as golfing or fishing or playing football, you don't necessarily have to set out to do it. There is no need to "go birdwatching" to enjoy the hobby. Sometimes the birds come to you.
Yesterday I had no intention of birding. I was simply walking back from the local shop, newspaper in hand, when I noticed three finches fly across the road and land in a tree. Two of them were Goldfinches, but the other was like a Goldfinch on steroids. I had no binoculars with me, but was sure it had to be a Hawfinch.
With no optics available I tried photographing the tree top bird with my mobile phone. The result was a vaguely bird shaped dot. The only thing for it was to hurry home, grab my camera and return. I was back in ten minutes, and to my relief it was still there.
Ironically, aside from the satisfaction of being proved correct, I was only mildly thrilled by the experience. Cracking bird as a Hawfinch is, it has become devalued by recent events. The winter influx has meant I had already seen two from my bedroom window, several at Morton Bagot, and more at the churchyard in Studley. There have also been two previous influx years, and in both of those I saw them near the house.
This morning fate was at it again. Another walk to the paper shop, another bird. This time it was "just" a Kestrel, but I think I've seen fewer Kestrels in the immediate environs of the house than I have Hawfinches.
I also actually went birding. My chosen square kilometre was just east of Danzey Green. The habitat was classic farmland, the weather grey and blustery, and the birds were hard to find. Actually, I did have one minor success. While watching a small flock of Redwings, I discovered they were accompanied by at least 40 Chaffinches, the largest flock I've seen locally this winter.
Little victories.
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