So you think you'll throw a sickie?

I read a letter recently from someone who had twitched the Western Reef Egret, and they seemed surprised that anyone would drive overnight to see a bird (such dedication!). The fact is that twitching is not what it was in the last century, for many reasons, not least of which is the numbers of participants. At one time most twitchers were pretty hard core (a birding term for dedicated or enthusiastic, I believe it's also used in other contexts), one of the reasons being that most birders were known to each other (or Lee at least). To twitch was to be part of the "scene" and it was fun, for most people. There were those to whom it caused distress, depression, or even divorce, but thankfully most enjoyed the camaraderie and competitive nature of the chase. It couldn't continue, since people began throwing money at it, which of course alienated many, or it led to an interest in foreign travel, which meant seeing far more species anyway. Sheer numbers meant that many got fed up with the crowds, or as more birds were found it became impossible to see everything. Most people now still go twitching, but the majority do it selectively, only a small number still "go for everything".

My recent visit to Shetland made me think that number may be more than I thought, as it does seem that there are quite a few people still on the "go for everything" trail, but most of those from the last century have gone in other directions, like me. There used to be an unwritten code in the 80's and 90's. Basically (circumstances permitting) you arrived at or before dawn if you couldn't get there on the first day, you stayed until the bird appeared unless it was obvious that it had gone, and you didn't let unimportant matters like work get in the way. If you failed to put in an appearance Lee would know, and depending on your "status" you would probably be questioned at the next twitch in case you had a good reason to be absent. Good reasons for absence were 1) Death 2) Serious illness or 3) Being abroad. Work was not an excuse. Contrary to popular opinion most twitchers had jobs or were attending school/university. Unemployment didn't provide enough money for serious twitching.

I personally had a problem when it came to work, as I was a pharmacist, and worked as a locum. I was quite well regarded and had little difficulty getting work, but the conventional "throwing a sickie" wasn't available to me, had I done it often work would have dried up. Legal requirements meant I had to have a replacement for any absence, but I decided on honesty being the only policy and explained to locum co-ordinators my particular brand of madness. This usually worked, and another pharmacist could be found at short notice. At least if any news photographer turned up I didn't have to hide or shield my face, that used be be an amusing sight!  I even once persuaded my boss to cover me for an afternoon, unfortunately he turned up a bit late and I missed the Felixstowe Crested lark by ten minutes! It wasn't just work that presented problems, a good friend, finding himself suddenly presented with a Siberian Thrush in Norfolk, left his wife and friends in their car on the way to the theatre to rush home and change from his suit in to birding gear. He got the Thrush, which of course wasn't there the following day, whereas his wife was. For a while, at least. I had no such issues since Ann was a birder, but missing a family function to see an American Bittern didn't go down too well with my mother-in-law.

There was one company I worked for, however, that told me I couldn't ever have a Saturday off as locums were in short supply. Even when I asked, with plenty of notice, to attend a friend's wedding. So throwing a sickie became morally justifiable, the company being large enough to find cover in most circumstances. I was employed by them at the time, but had just been genuinely ill and taken a few days off. I was due to return to work when reports came through of the Scops Owl at Morwenstow, in Cornwall, in 1992. It seemed elusive, and unlikely to be seen the following day, so when there was no news the next morning I went to work. I'd been there about half an hour when Ann phoned....... I had no alternative, I had to fake a relapse. I had worked there a lot, so the staff knew me well, and were quite concerned when I put on my act. Eventually another pharmacist arrived to cover me, about lunch-time, and I then had to persuade everyone I was well enough to drive home. I don't to this day know whether any of them suspected, it was never mentioned, but they wouldn't have said anything. I just wearily got in my car and drove home to Mildenhall, where Ann was sitting in our campervan. I didn't go indoors, I changed in to birding gear whilst being driven down the M3, and we watched the Scops sitting on a rock in daylight, although it was still there the following day, when I began to "recover".