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birds alike.
    We began by visiting a derelict barn at Mannington Hall, north Norfolk, with Mike Toms from the BTO’s Project Barn Owl. Wet weather is disastrous for Barn Owls, as they are unable to hunt in the rain, so their chicks starve to death. Fortunately, when Mike climbed a ladder to look into the nestbox he was able to confirm the presence of a female, brooding her new clutch of four eggs. I’ve never seen Bill move so fast – straight up the ladder to get his best ever views of a Barn Owl. We got some great shots, too – and only afterwards did I realise that I had not actually seen the owl myself. Still, I can always watch it on video afterwards.
    Next evening we were near Norwich, looking for another kind of owl. Little Owls are, as their name suggests, tiny – barely the size of a thrush, although their staring yellow eyes make them appear far bigger. Farmer Chris Skinner had given us a useful tip: Little Owls prefer to face into the sun. Using this advice, our researcher soon located the owl, which was sitting in the branches of a gnarled old oak. Wildlife cameraman Andrew got his usual ‘eyes and teeth’ views, and we retired to a local hotel for a well-deserved rest.
    But not for long. The sun rises early this far east, and we were soon out in the field again – literally. Chris Knights’ farm at Gooderstone is one of the largest in the whole of East Anglia, with acres and acres of carrots and other root vegetables destined for a well-known high street supermarket. Fortunately, Chris has found a way of balancing the needs of an efficient business with those of the birds. As a result, his farm is packed with Grey and Red-legged Partridges, Tree Sparrows, Linnets and Whitethroats, most of which are declining elsewhere. Here, thanks to Chris’s enlightened farming practices, they thrive.
    But the star bird of Chris’s farm is a real rarity. The Stone Curlew is the only European representative of an African family known as the ‘thick-knees’. It is mainly nocturnal, with large, staring eyes, long legs and a mournful cry reminiscent of its commoner namesake. We spent a fruitless hour or two trying to approach the birds close enough tofilm them, and in the end had to use one of Chris’s own photographic hides, which produced stunning results.
    On the hottest day of the week we found ourselves in the wide open country of the south Lincolnshire fens. With such vast fields and total absence of hedgerows you might think there wouldn’t be many birds to see. But first impressions can be misleading. Drainage dykes act as hedge substitutes, and a few patches of carefully planted set-aside create valuable pockets of breeding habitat.
    Nick Watts’ farm at Deeping St Nicholas supports thriving populations of all three farmland buntings: Corn, Reed and Yellowhammer. Their songs echo over the flat landscape: the ‘jangling keys’ of the Corn Bunting, the ‘one-two-testing’ of the Reed, and the classic sound of the Yellowhammer – usually written down as ‘a-little-bit-of-bread-and-no-cheeeeeese’. True to form, Bill came up with a saucier version, the reply of a young maiden about to lose her virtue to a horny-handed son of toil: ‘no-no-no-no-no-pleeeeeaaaase’.

CHAPTER 3
My local patch
    1994–1997
    E very birder needs a place they can call their own – somewhere they can visit on a regular basis and get to know the local birdlife. Until 1994 I lived in an area of north London where the only birds I saw were confined to the park pond; hardly inspiring even to the most dedicated urban birder. Having moved to south-west London, I cast my eye around for somewhere suitable – and when my car broke down on the way to work one day, I found it.
    While waiting for the AA to arrive I took a stroll down a narrow path leading down to the Thames in Barnes. Once a year, the towpath here is thronged with rowing enthusiasts,