Maybe it’s a sign of age, or maybe it’s just natural evolution from spending decades in wild places, but in recent years we’ve become increasingly excited about birds.

At which I hear my long-time birding buddies applauding in the, er, wings. Okay, we have always noticed and appreciated our feathered friends, even ticked the book and taken the odd snapshot when one deigns to stand still long enough.

The other day I did a quick count and clocked over 400 definite ticks in the old Newman’s, which I understand is rather impressive for amateur not-really birders. But, in the past, it was never the MAIN attraction of the outing, more like a pleasant distraction.

Finally though, the efforts of so many of my obsessed twitchy mates are paying off as I too am beginning to see the real joy and delight in nabbing a lifer! Not that I am quite yet ready to put one of those ‘I brake for birds’ stickers on the car boot, but… let’s say binoculars are becoming a firm friend, second only to my camera.

The truth is (as all real birders know) that our feathered friends are wholly remarkable creatures! There, I said it. I cannot rattle off a million facts like some can, but every time I learn something new about them, I’m properly gobsmacked and wish I could actually remember it to repeat in public and sound clever.

Certainly they aren’t just pretty faces (actually many are the opposite) but there’s a whole lot of smartness and savvy in those little bird brains too. They may live largely to feed, breed, rest and nest, but they can be jolly entertaining as well.

Mating season

Especially in the mating season, which seems to have been these past recent weeks wherever we’ve been travelling. We’ve watched sunbirds doing jigs and twirly manoeuvres up and down in front of their plane Jane sweethearts among the treetops, like colourful court jesters.

Eastern Clapper larks have been popping up from bushes like corks, clapping their wings and then doing a whistling nosedive into the grass (and repeat, ad infinitum).

Rufous-napped larks and Neddickys are in sex-fuelled overdrive like a permanent soundtrack from dawn to dusk. Widow birds have been flirtatiously flitting over the waving grasslands with their sinuous slinky tail feathers streaming behind them.

Swallow and swifts are swirling and swooping, while pigeons and doves countrywide are putting on a pompous strut. Birds of every conceivable colour, shape, design, pattern, and habit have lately been putting on their ultimate performances across the land, and we are a most delighted audience.

Wacky names

And as for those whacky names – there’s a fun list to swot on a rainy day. (Is it brown-hooded, headed, or throated? Rose-ringed, rosy-throated or rosy-faced? Masked, collared, crowned, chin-spotted, barred, bronzed, spectacled, striped, spotted, streaked, blah blah… Pick an adjective, it’ll be there!) We’ve heard cooing and clucking, trilling and warbling, whistling, moaning, grunting, honking, pippiting, snapping and tic-ticking.

Do I exaggerate? I do not. Think of a noise, and there’s a bird that makes it. The worst of it though, is that hearing the noises is usually all you manage to do.

The thicker and taller the forest, the more difficult it is to spot the originator, and you’ll soon get a proper pain in the neck trying (a cross between whiplash and craning upwards). Not a pastime for the impatient! But hey, it’s like a treasure hunt, and don’t we all love treasure?

Here’s to many more years of cricked necks and much frustration!