Brinkmanship 

Anyone who has done a reasonable amount of twitching will recognise this, but many people never experience it because they give up, not too easily, but too soon. This is often unavoidable because birders may have other commitments such as work. (To some that is an alien concept, others will have families to return to, or wives). However, to most hardcore twitchers it will happen quite frequently, but staying to the bitter end can often have rewards. 

 

There are two issues here, the obvious one is that if everyone else has gone, and you see the bird, you run the risk of being labelled a stringer. In (g)olden days birders lived by their reputations, or judgement by Lee, usually it wasn't a problem unless you really were a stringer.  I had a great advantage as I was usually with Ann, but it always helps to have backup evidence such as a photo, or another birder. We waited most of the day in a hide at Dawlish Warren, hoping to catch up with a wandering Elegant Tern (2002), which also visited Norfolk and Wales. By early evening, everyone else had left, and we were just about to leave also, when our quarry appeared from one end of the hide and flew in a straight line right across our field of view! Our first thought was no-one would believe us, but soon after a message appeared on the pager indicating the bird was seen where we saw it flying to. Of course, a lot of our twitching was done in a campervan, which does make it easy to stay as long as we liked. It was the campervan that gave us another type of brinkmanship, that of being last to arrive. Ann was just cancelling the newspapers for our annual trip to Cot Valley when a message came through of a Veery at St. Levan. What had been a gentle drive from Suffolk suddenly became a race against time (and daylight). "You'll believe a van can fly" was our parody of Superman film advertising, originally coined on a trip to Scilly which saw us dip, but this time we made it, and its last appearance was enjoyed by us with about four others. The following morning at St. Just airfield was a sombre time, as those travelling down overnight all dipped.

That was not the case with the Great Bustards which toured Suffolk and Norfolk in 1987, that was down to sheer perseverence with a touch of mania! Before Ann and I met, I lived at the time in Silchester in Hampshire, and was in a managerial position where I couldn't throw a sickie. Seven times I made the journey, and six times I dipped. On one occasion I arrived at a site and if they weren't there, which they weren't, I had to turn round and go back, having got cover from work for the morning only. The problem was that they flushed very easily, and soon after birders started to gather they flew, usually a great distance. I had spent the day after their arrival driving round the countryside with many others looking for them, no-one knows even exactly how many there were, possibly up to nine. Eventually one weekend, over a month after their arrival, I wandered a path on the levels at Minsmere where I had never been before, and five birds flew from horizon to horizon right in front of me, in view for several minutes, and I was able to scope them! Although they remained for a while after, they were never reported again. There were a few other lucky souls in the area, but I bet they hadn't put in the effort I had to see Britain's last truly wild birds. Sadly, I didn't get a photo, and as far as I know neither did anyone else, I've never seen one published. If anyone knows different please let me know.

 Brinkmanship is a wonderful thing when it works, and I seem to be lucky on many occasions. We were driving back to our charter plane on Shetland, trying to justify our trip to dip the Pallas's Sandgrouse on Shetland in 1990, when someone flagged us down to say the bird had just been relocated! We watched it in the rain, the beginning of the storm that was the reason we had to leave!  Perhaps my best example was on a trip to Chile in 1990. I had gone to see gulls, but by then had developed an interest in waders, and met Martin Reid, who was passionate about them. Our (private) tour began in the south and we visited Tierra del Fuego looking for Magellanic Plover, it being our main target there. We crossed on a ferry from the mainland and a plane charter had been arranged to return us to the mainland that evening. Having spent most of the day visiting lakes without seeing any plovers, Martin was beginning to worry, and suggested to the leader that he be allowed to stay and rejoin the group later. Of course, I had to "volunteer" to stay with him, although we hadn't really thought things through with regard to transport, hotel etc.

So we came to the last lake, closest to the airfield. and began searching yet again. I don't remember how long we were there but someone said there was less than an hour left. Then, a bird flushed in front of Martin, and we both thought it looked good, so we followed it. As we slowly approached, we saw it was a Magellanic Plover, accompanied by two more! Half an hour remained! We got the rest of the group on to them, apart from an elderly lister who had stayed in the tour bus and informed us she had seen one in Argentina and was
tired. But in the last twenty minutes we eventually saw twenty seven, including juveniles. At the time that was a world record number, so thinly spread is the species across southern Chile and Argentina. It may well have been the first time juveniles were photographed. I really don't think our guide, who was one of Chile's top birders, had any more specific idea where to find them than we had, but we certainly deserved them!