I’m going to be honest I feel I’m heading in the right direction now. I’ve felt considerably more settled since my tête-à-tête with the ponies. The simplicity of animal life has provided me with the perspective that I needed. So today I decided to keep that influence of fauna well and truly flowing in my life; but this time it was the doyens of the sky: the birds.

Breakfast was had at pace this morning: a crumpet lightly smeared in peanut butter serving my dull hunger well. Then it was off in the car, once again heading up on the road to the Moor. As usual there rarely goes a trip down a hedge-lined Moor road that doesn’t involve reversing back to a cutting and letting the oncoming traffic by. With the traffic exertions over, the road led us up the side of a valley, and off the tarmac and into the forest. The track, laden with thick layers of fallen oak leaves, made for quite the soft drive as we edged our way up the hillside toward the entrance of Yarner Wood.

I parked the car and was greeted not only by a delightful harmony of birdsongs but the babbling gurgle of Yarner stream. That said, the serenity of the moment was instantly destroyed when I let off the car alarm and solicited the most foul of looks from the avid bird watchers. In terms of first impressions, I really wasn’t off to a good start. On top of scaring off any bird in the area, I was also wearing a bright purple GoreTex jacket. Hardly discreet in a game of hide and seek that is the art of bird watching. I quickly silenced the alarm, and we made our way up the hill, past the first bird hide by the stream. It was unspoken, but I really don’t think my presence would have been welcomed with open arms.

We walked through the gate and up the track leading around yet another bend and to the second hide, appropriately named Yarner Hide. I’m sure the naming committee spent long hours into the night conjuring that name. To our delight, the hide was empty except for one bird watcher with a lens so long I thought he must have been head bird paparazzo. We stepped inside and closed the door, taking our seats at the end of the hide, past the man who seemed also to be fairly disgusted by my clothing colour choice. He of course was decked out in what I can only describe as military rainwear. If the birds were to plan a revolution and storm the hide, he would be the safest by a country mile.

Seated in the hide, the lookout cover lifted, we began our watch. Two long cylindrical feeders about a metre long hung conveniently from a tree branch a couple of metres in from of the hide. Holes the size of a watch face evenly dotted all over them allowing the largest and the smallest of birds to feast continually. It wasn’t even a minute before birds were swooping the feeders, eating veraciously and flying off again. I mean, what a set up! For them it’s the bird equivalent of an all you can eat buffet. I followed one Chaffinch, quite the beast compared to his Great Tit companions, who came back at least four times. I kept trying to figure out what was the most irresistible seed. I’m thinking it was sunflower. Who doesn’t like sunflower seeds.

I was completely losing track of time sitting there, mesmerised by the incredibly fast twitch fibres these birds possess. They kept coming, breed after breed. The Blue Tits, Great Tits, Coal Tits, Chaffinches, Bullfinches, Siskins, the Lesser Spotted Woodpecker, Nuthatches, Robins, Long-Tailed Tits and quite possibly the ever so small Marsh Tit. It was quite the avian cornucopia, and was simply wonderful to forget everything else in this world and immerse yourself in theirs.

News must have spread about the gathering at ‘mecca’ of the “usual suspects” of Yarner wood. Before I knew it the bird paparazzi had amassed and it became readily apparent that we were denying the ‘professionals’ their time in the sun. We hastily exited the hide and took a hook turn up and round the other hillside. Dotted along the track nailed to some solid oaks are bird boxes, numbered in the aid of keeping note and track of its inhabitants. Not all of them are for birds though as some of them are homes to bats. Luckily they were not out today, thankfully.

The track weaved around the hill, the morning sun poking it’s way through the clouds, shining through the woods casting gorgeous tree-shaped silhouettes. Another hook turn over the bridge and down along the babbling brook and the trail brought us back to the now full carpark, bird aficionados stalking our park. On that note I thought it was time that I took my seemingly offensive purple Goretex out of Yarner Wood and went back home.

SaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSaveSave