Touchstones - from Portland Bill to Denbies

Time, its passing and the effects that it has upon us is something that readily colours my birding. Apart from being a handy hook to hang a rare bird or spectacular movement on, a date can also bring to memory a place, people, a conversation, a feeling. A bit of a Proust's madeleine cake moment. I was idly daydreaming about birding places recently and my mental rolodex randomly settled upon Portland Bill. September 1977 sprang immediately to mind. Why then and not the date that I saw a Yellow-billed Cuckoo (September 1979) or Ivory Gull (February 1980) on that fair island? I then recalled that September 1977 visit - not blessed with loads of birds, certainly no rarity - but blessed with a calming, restful, place defining moment. Us young birders (for we were young back then) were crammed into a smallish car, parked on the road that heads downhill towards the car park and obelisk. The observatory was full, so no bed was to be had there. Our student pockets would not stretch to a hotel back up the island. The car would be it, our sleeping place for the night - a cramped, impersonal space to be shared with the bodies of three others, none of us having had a wash for close on 48 hours (sorry I'm not sparing you the details). Never the less, we were thoroughly enjoying ourselves, and as the light started to fade from the day we settled down to try and get some sleep (a visit to the pub was also beyond our student pockets). In the semi-silence, with a most arresting view down to the sea, the radio started to play 'Wonderous Stories' by Yes. Not one of us stirred, lost in the music, drinking in the panorama set before us and at one with our thoughts. That song was a soundtrack to that moment and I cannot hear it today without being thrust back to Portland Bill, September 1977. It is my touchstone.

What of elsewhere? Do my special birding places possess similar moments? Let's take a look...

Beddington SF, Surrey - July 1975 - settling beds hosting passage waders, the warm pungent smell of effluent and vegetation. Palpable excitement as I approach the best spots, not knowing what will be there but definitely knowing that something would be.

Pagham Harbour, West Sussex - May 1976 - a most confiding Little Tern feeding and calling inches away from me on a perfectly still and sunny morning. I could weep at the thought of that magical interlude, one of simplicity and innocence. A real 'Who Knows Where the Time Goes' moment.

Minsmere, Suffolk - August 1976 - sleeping Spoonbills and Mr Denny shouting out the whereabouts of Marsh Harriers to the amusement of us gathered teenagers, living life on a two week birding holiday, tents pitched at Theberton, our domain being the coastal pools and reedbeds between Walberswick and Sizewell

Dungeness, Kent - July 1979 - walking around the DBO moat, the subtle smell of flowering Nottingham Catchfly in the evening air (photo above). Bliss off the scale. Annus miribalis.

Isles of Scilly - October 1979 - sitting on the quayside at St. Agnes with several other birders, waiting for a boat back to St. Mary's, all singing 'Video Killed the Radiostar', delighting in the fact that we are here on the fabled archipelago.

Holmethorpe SP, Surrey - late April 2004 - the happy gang of birders taking part in a bird race, with the result of secondary importance. Simple local patch birding at its most inclusive.

Canons Farm, Surrey - November 2005 - realising that I might be on to something with this place having just had a juvenile Goshawk go through. Touching potential yet to blossom.

Epsom Downs, Surrey - October 2022 - Unprecedented flocks of Stonechats (totalling 65 birds) with the infiltration of several Dartford Warblers. The echoes of a summer singing Quail still sounding in my ears.

Buckland, Surrey - March 2025 - a bittersweet meander along the base of the downs after having lost my younger sister. The hills were kind that day and took on an almost human form.

Denbies Hillside, Surrey - September 2025 - the hirundine vismig floodgates had opened and life was good. With big days like these why go anywhere else?

What is interesting about these touchstones are how few actually feature birds - and those that do are not necessarily species specific. It seems to be more about the mood that had been conjured up and how that - especially if it was emotionally soothing, a balm if you will - sticks and resonates more than anything else. Two of my examples feature music (and not necessarily favourite tracks), one a smell, one a calming melancholy. I've always thought that this birding lark isn't just about numbers, feathers, rarity and spectacle. It's also about the feeling that the birds, the people and the places we bird in generate. I haven't been to Portland Bill in over 20 years, but that evening interlude of almost 49 years ago has ingrained a part of me into its fabric. Wherever we go we leave a bit of us behind, even if that bit never actually leaves us but resides in our minds. It adds a rich dimension to what we do. I'm sure that you've got your own.

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