Two days have transformed the land around our local lake into a test of manhood. The perimeter path we shared 48 hours ago with a single woman being walked by her dog is now bristling with male ego. Men stomp past in grim determination, not meeting our eyes. Others loiter in guarded huddles among the bushes. One has a look of relief on his face as he reveals to us that, yes, he has seen it at last. We have walked into the middle of a local twitch.
A couple of regular birders – the man leaning over a telescope, and the woman scanning with binoculars – tell us a merlin has descended from the uplands to this lowland lakeside and is after linnets. “So they say,” the woman adds. The smallest falcon in the first month is of paramount interest to those who want to mark it on their year list, their county list, their whatever list.
