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A twitch too far

The presence of so many once-rare birds, in Britain, has caused me to think. My engagement with twitching was brief and the whole business of visiting reserves troubles me now, in a way I had not imagined. I think of a future occurrence: a scenario in which I am seated within a hide and recognise an obscure rarity; one that’s tricky to identify and easily overlooked. The urge is there to tell those beside me, but also an understanding of the game. I do, though, announce the presence of let’s say a ‘first for Britain’ and trigger a chain of events that leads to a road fatality. Were that to transpire, what would he, or she, have died for? But not to share such a find with fellow enthusiasts still seems churlish and would strip away much pleasure. Crazy though it may seem and wonderful though birds are, I no longer wish to encounter rare ones and avoid looking at common birds, sometimes, in case I might. This is not a condemnation of twitchers. Most are skilled and responsible motorists. But there is, essentially, a competitive core and desire to get there in time; and twitching is, therefore, an obscure form of motor-sport on Britain’s highways. It was for me and it will be for others; and so I do not regret moving on.

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