Drumming Sniper
You'm not from 'round 'ere, boy!
A few years back I wanted to see a Hoopoe. That is to say; I really, REALLY wanted to see a Hoopoe!!! Having dipped on three of the little blighters I convinced myself that the bird was a creature of myth and legend, a member of that pantheon of imaginary beasties which includes the Griffin and the Phoenix. I swore that never again would I go chasing after a Hoopoe. They DID NOT exist and that was that!
And then, one November day, it happened. A quick glance at Birdguides did the damage. A Hoopoe had turned up in an Oxfordshire village and was "showing well on the village green". I had the day off work and had planned to carry out some much-needed work on my (t)rusty Volvo. A spanner had now been well-and-truly thrown into the works. What to do? I paced up and down. I re-read the report. I beat upon the walls with my fists. And then, showing a strength of will worthy of a Spartan, I made a decision. I would not be lured into the trap. I would work on the car as planned. The bird was a figment of someone's over-active imagination. Just like Messrs. Daltrey and Townsend,I would not be fooled again!
By early afternoon my work on the car was done. I had a leisurely lunch and then decided to check Birdguides "just in case". The bird was still there. Five minutes later I was in the car and heading east as if pursued by The Banshee herself.
I found the village easily enough. The village green was surrounded by houses of the type normally seen in your average episode of Midsomer Murders. It was an attractive setting however repeated scanning failed to produce any evidence of a Hoopoe-esque presence. Equally worrying was the complete lack of other birders. Did everybody know something I didn't? And then, just as panic began to build, inspiration struck. Adjoining the village green was the village pub. Perhaps someone inside might have some information regarding the strange avian visitor.
Upon entering the aforementioned hostelry I was greeted by a plethora of wooden beams and a roaring fire. The place was devoid of patrons save for a couple sitting by the fire. On the table, next to their drinks, I espied a brace of Swarovski ELs. Things were looking up. In response to my enquiries I was instructed to knock at the door of a particular house. For the price of a contribution to the church roof repair fund I would be allowed into the back garden which was where the mythical one had taken to feeding. Thanking the couple profusely I headed off. Surely all would now be plain sailing.
Unfortunately it wasn't. I found the house and knocked on the door. Nothing happened. I knocked again. Nothing. I tried a third time and still no response. Enough was enough! Stealthily I padded around the side of the house. As I approached the rear of the property I noticed a lawned area to my left. Might this be where my efforts finally bore fruit? Nope. This area too was a Hoopoe-free zone. At this point I became aware of another lawned area to my right. Slowly I turned around. In the middle of the lawn, feeding happily, was a black, white and pink bird. Stealthily I raised my bins. The bird was everything I had hoped for; a thing of beauty, no longer a mythical being. I was ecstatic.
I sensed movement at my elbow. The lady of the house had appeared. I began to explain that I had tried knocking at the front door but my apologies were brushed aside. "Would you like to come inside?" she enquired. "You can get a much better view from in there". For the briefest of moments I hesitated. Thoughts of a "Confessions Of A Birder" or "Carry On Birding" nature flashed through my brain but the opportunity was too good to turn down. I followed the lady inside and was ushered along a long hallway. I climbed over a pile of slumbering spaniels and labradors and found myself looking out of a small window. Seven feet away the Hoopoe (or "Mott" as I now fondly thought of him/her) carried on feeding. I enjoyed stunning views until, in a sudden explosion of black and white wings the bird launched into the air and was gone. Fantastic!!!
I thanked the homeowner profusely and happily made my contribution to the church roof fund. I had finally caught up with my ornithological heart's desire in truly memorable fashion.
Has anybody else really struggled to see a particular species before finally catching up with the bird under slightly unusual circumstances?
And then, one November day, it happened. A quick glance at Birdguides did the damage. A Hoopoe had turned up in an Oxfordshire village and was "showing well on the village green". I had the day off work and had planned to carry out some much-needed work on my (t)rusty Volvo. A spanner had now been well-and-truly thrown into the works. What to do? I paced up and down. I re-read the report. I beat upon the walls with my fists. And then, showing a strength of will worthy of a Spartan, I made a decision. I would not be lured into the trap. I would work on the car as planned. The bird was a figment of someone's over-active imagination. Just like Messrs. Daltrey and Townsend,I would not be fooled again!
By early afternoon my work on the car was done. I had a leisurely lunch and then decided to check Birdguides "just in case". The bird was still there. Five minutes later I was in the car and heading east as if pursued by The Banshee herself.
I found the village easily enough. The village green was surrounded by houses of the type normally seen in your average episode of Midsomer Murders. It was an attractive setting however repeated scanning failed to produce any evidence of a Hoopoe-esque presence. Equally worrying was the complete lack of other birders. Did everybody know something I didn't? And then, just as panic began to build, inspiration struck. Adjoining the village green was the village pub. Perhaps someone inside might have some information regarding the strange avian visitor.
Upon entering the aforementioned hostelry I was greeted by a plethora of wooden beams and a roaring fire. The place was devoid of patrons save for a couple sitting by the fire. On the table, next to their drinks, I espied a brace of Swarovski ELs. Things were looking up. In response to my enquiries I was instructed to knock at the door of a particular house. For the price of a contribution to the church roof repair fund I would be allowed into the back garden which was where the mythical one had taken to feeding. Thanking the couple profusely I headed off. Surely all would now be plain sailing.
Unfortunately it wasn't. I found the house and knocked on the door. Nothing happened. I knocked again. Nothing. I tried a third time and still no response. Enough was enough! Stealthily I padded around the side of the house. As I approached the rear of the property I noticed a lawned area to my left. Might this be where my efforts finally bore fruit? Nope. This area too was a Hoopoe-free zone. At this point I became aware of another lawned area to my right. Slowly I turned around. In the middle of the lawn, feeding happily, was a black, white and pink bird. Stealthily I raised my bins. The bird was everything I had hoped for; a thing of beauty, no longer a mythical being. I was ecstatic.
I sensed movement at my elbow. The lady of the house had appeared. I began to explain that I had tried knocking at the front door but my apologies were brushed aside. "Would you like to come inside?" she enquired. "You can get a much better view from in there". For the briefest of moments I hesitated. Thoughts of a "Confessions Of A Birder" or "Carry On Birding" nature flashed through my brain but the opportunity was too good to turn down. I followed the lady inside and was ushered along a long hallway. I climbed over a pile of slumbering spaniels and labradors and found myself looking out of a small window. Seven feet away the Hoopoe (or "Mott" as I now fondly thought of him/her) carried on feeding. I enjoyed stunning views until, in a sudden explosion of black and white wings the bird launched into the air and was gone. Fantastic!!!
I thanked the homeowner profusely and happily made my contribution to the church roof fund. I had finally caught up with my ornithological heart's desire in truly memorable fashion.
Has anybody else really struggled to see a particular species before finally catching up with the bird under slightly unusual circumstances?
