Soggy Point

There’s an old piece of Hampshire* weather lore which, if you plan on visiting the county for a spot of birding, is well worth remembering:  ‘If you can see the Isle of Wight, it’s going to rain; if you can’t see the Isle of Wight, it’s raining’. I understand that this, in modified form, also applies to Cornwall (concerning the Isles of Scilly, since I’d be surprised if you could see the Isle of Wight from Penzance). Anyway, for the oddly bleak and isolated corner of Hampshire known as Hayling Island, it should be modified to ‘If you can see the Isle of Wight, start building an ark; if you can’t see the Isle of Wight, start swimming — it’s too late!’

I’d arranged to meet a friend for a birding excursion on Wednesday morning. Checking the forecast, I noted sunshine and showers — some heavy, but clearing through the afternoon. Nothing to strike too much fear into the intrepid birder’s heart, since ours is a mostly all-weather hobby. With a few exceptions. And it does help when the sun comes out, illuminating those plumages and warming your back. What am I saying? Birding in the rain is a miserable affair: species become indeterminate through the haze of drips and drizzle, spots of water sitting on your lenses provide further obfuscation, and you can’t sit down. Anywhere. Unless there happens to be that blessed invention nearby, the aptly named ‘hide’, the ‘warm’ and ‘dry’ haven of the weather-shy birder.

New Things

What a glorious couple of days. The world basking under blue skies in the gentle, tentative, delicate warmth of the earliest part of spring. Migrant birds arriving on the coast and making their way up the country, bats and bees and butterflies emerging from hibernation, gaudy banks of daffodils burning holes in your irises. And me sat in dark, warm, sleepy rooms, watching seven hours plus of Powerpoint.

I get very antsy at this time of year if I’m kept indoors for too long. The last two days have been particularly bad: an unfortunate cocktail of enforced enclosure inside during sunshine, disappearance of the sun as soon as I was free to go and enjoy it, then going home each evening and reading lists of the exciting avian (and other) signs of the changing season being seen all around, except by me of course.