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why do we watch birds?

As a lifelong birder – now into my seventh decade – I reflect on the many reasons why we enjoy watching birds; and how what was once a niche hobby, practised mainly by men, has become one of the world’s leading leisure activities, open to all.

Starlings in autumn

Now that autumn is well underway, flocks of Starlings – one of Britain’s commonest and most familiar birds – are gathering in my Somerset garden. Just before dusk one day in late autumn 2006, a few months after I had moved from London to Somerset with my young family, I went out of our back door. Our home – a farmhouse dating back to the early nineteenth century – stands directly opposite another, smaller and even older cottage, with a narrow driveway in between. As I stepped outside I heard a strange, whooshing sound, which made me look up. Within a heartbeat its origin became clear, as a tight flock of two or three thousand birds appeared from a northerly direction over the cottage, and then moments later disappeared southwards, behind our house. They were, of course, Starlings, racing as fast as they could towards the Avalon Marshes, and their evening roost. I was left with the hazy imprint of these small, dark birds on my retina, and that extraordinary whooshing sound echoing in my ears. Like most people, I tend to overlook Starlings, especially when they are on their own or in small groups. But if I do stop for a moment, and take a closer look, I’m struck by what a remarkable bird this is. I see them in our large and untidy Somerset throughout the year, though they are most obvious when gathering in these pre-roost flocks on late autumn and winter afternoons. They breed here too: back in 2010 a pair nested in a hole originally excavated by a Great Spotted Woodpecker in a tall ash tree; later that year they managed to produce a second successful brood. For several months I would watch as the parents came and went, bringing back beakfuls of food for their hungry and demanding chicks. In early autumn, Starlings come to feed on our elderberries where, as the larger and dominant species, they soon see off the smaller Chiffchaffs, Blackcaps and occasional Lesser Whitethroat. Starlings also feed in the apple orchard next door, or on the autumnal harvest of deep crimson hawthorn berries, which line the narrow country lanes behind our house. Recently, Starlings have occasionally come to bathe in our newly-created garden pond, splashing about like a group of rowdy kids at a paddling pool. On warm afternoons in October – which seem to be getting more frequent nowadays, as a result of climate change – I sometimes see flocks of Starlings hawking for insects overhead, as they usually do on hot, sunny days in late summer. And on colder mornings from November onwards, if I head out into the garden just before sunrise, I see a steady flow of starlings heading purposefully north-west, like air force squadrons, off to feed for the day in the local fields, or farther afield on the saltmarshes and mudflats along the Somerset coast. I realise that anyone reading this in the United States or Canada will probably not share my love of and admiration for Starlings – a non-native species introduced in the late nineteenth century, and now one of the continent’s commonest birds. You may have heard the oft-told story that they were first brought across the Atlantic Ocean, and released in New York’s Central Park, by a man who wanted to bring every species mentioned in Shakespeare to live in North America. But for the true story, do please read my book, which I hope will change your mind about a bird admired by Samuel Pepys and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart – and, I must confess, by me!
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