Getting twitchy down among the birdwatchers

How to be a Bad Birdwatcher

by Simon Barnes

(Short Books, Pounds 9.99)

SIMON Barnes is a very fine sports writer, and, or so he claims, a bad birdwatcher. I suspect that he is using bad in the slang sense, implying the opposite of its usual meaning.

Whatever his intentions, he has written a book which, if you follow its advice, will show you how to be a very good birdwatcher indeed.

Let's start with the basics. Not the usual stuff about choosing binoculars or field guides (although he does give some useful tips) but about what really makes birdwatchers tick. For birdwatchers, like born-again Christians, tend to divide people into two camps: the chosen few who have seen the light; and everybody else. And just like any other form of religion, becoming a birdwatcher is basically a matter of faith, as Barnes reveals. Look out of the window. See a bird. Enjoy it.

Congratulations. You are now a bad birdwatcher. Of course, there's a bit more to it than that. There is our sheer wonder at the ability of birds to fly, or the joy we feel when we listen to their song. There's the gradual realisation, a few weeks or months after you take up the pastime, that with a bit of effort you can identify most birds you see.

And there's the Zen-like state we all aspire to, when watching birds ceases to be a mere hobby - something you do - and becomes a way of life; something you are.

To achieve this, you need to experience the moment of epiphany; that Damascene vision which converts your hitherto casual interest in birds into a full-blown, all-consuming passion. For Barnes, this came when, having been stranded in Sri Lanka with a beautiful woman (who later became his wife) he came across a flock of avocets - a bird he had longed to see ever since childhood. Rereading this sentence, it strikes me that Barnes is a very lucky man indeed: most people are initiated into the mysteries of birdwatching without such delightful company. And most of us learn our trade in less romantic surroundings, such as the Staines reservoirs, where I cut my own birding teeth.

Our paths once almost crossed at another west London location, which I used to regard as my local patch - Lonsdale Road reservoir in Barnes. I soon discovered that it was several other people's patch, as well, including-Barnes's father, Edward. Barnes senior plays an important supporting role in this book: as the original "bad" birdwatcher who at first encouraged his son, and later found common ground with him through their shared love of birds.

Ultimately, like all polemical texts, How to Be a Bad Birdwatcher seeks to convert the reader to a cause. It does so with considerable success, and reveals that Barnes is neither a "good" nor a "bad" birdwatcher - simply a fulfilled and very lucky man.

. Stephen Moss is author of A Bird in the Bush: a Social History of Birdwatching (Aurum, Pounds 16.99).

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