twitching

After hours of remaining incredibly still in that small dark space you finally see the bird you've been waiting for. You check your cameras, still and video, turning them on silently in case they spook your target.

The race is on now to get the perfect image of the bird, a record of your encounter, a reminder of the thrill you got when you saw its plumage. As you wait for the perfect angle a bead of sweat forms on your brow and slowly runs down into your left eye. You dare not wipe it away for the smallest movement, the tiniest sound could be all it takes to ruin this opportunity.

Time seems to stand still as your mind wanders back to when you first decided to watch birds. The article by that comedian bloke who encouraged everyone to try it was the first step. Once you were hooked you couldn't stop. The equipment, the notebooks, the run-ins with landowners and police, the internet groups, the failed marriage, the custom hides all came thick and fast as you sought to find that one perfect thrill.

And instantly you are back in the now. The sound of the shutter clicking alerts the bird to your presence. She flees the changing room screaming but you don't care as you got what you came for.