Twitching by numbers: Twenty-four years of chasing rare birds around Britain and Ireland

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Webb is known to drop his grocer's apron to chase a rare bird and claims to have broken Evans's record in 2000. Evans – a polarising figure on the birding circuit – does not recognise Webb's claim to the title. During the story I get selected for a BBC documentary called "Twitchers: A very British Obsession" and formed a successful WhatsApp group called “Casual Twitchers”. I had by no means heard of a foam get together till I learn this e-book – perhaps I ought to get out extra, or perhaps not. KEEN birder Gary Bagnell has pledged to rewrite sections of his first book after it came under fire on social media. Though most twitchers are bird-lovers, the sport is mostly about the chase. Bagnell, for instance, drove 90 minutes and searched the ground for a half-hour before he spotted the coy shorelark in beach scrub. He eyed it for a few moments before tweeting his find, then moved on. "I've got another bird to get three hours away," he said.

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Just before Christmas, Garry Bagnell published Twitching by numbers: Twenty-four years of chasing rare birds around Britain and Ireland.This was my first book and I didn't expect to get complaints about my single life between 2000 to 2002 (Chapter 2 to 4). I decided to remove the offending passages and rewrite these early years and republish as "Twitching by A birder's hectic life as he chases rare species across Britain and Ireland". Garry Bagnell looks for a shorelark at Great Yarmouth. Unsuccessful sightings are known as 'dips'. Photograph: Andrew Testa/The Washington Post

Garry Bagnell, a memoir of his ‘Twitching by Numbers’ by Garry Bagnell, a memoir of his

A term coined in the 1960s to describe the jaw-rattling sound of chasing after rare birds on rumbling motorbikes, "twitchers" are narrowly defined as bird-watchers willing to drop everything to chase a sighting. More broadly, it includes those who see a bird within a few days of an urgent bulletin. Many see twitching as an outcrop of the British fascination with "spotting" things – most notoriously, trainspotting, a hobby that involves the obsessive pursuit of seeing as many locomotives with your own eyes as humanly possible. But others say it may simply be a case of boys who refuse to grow up. During the story I get selected for a BBC documentary called " A very British Obsession" and formed a successful WhatsApp group called “Casual Twitchers”.The most unfortunate twitchers race many kilometres to spot a bird only to find that their flighty subjects have flown off – a bummer known in the twitching world as a "dip". One of the most infamous dips came as Webb pursued a long-tailed shrike in the Outer Hebrides off mainland Scotland. The boat he and 12 others had hired died in choppy waters, forcing a daring rescue by Her Majesty's Coastguard. "We were worried for our lives for a bit, but we were more worried about not seeing this bird," he said. However principally, and overwhelmingly, it is a e-book about twitching – the fieldsport of speeding round attempting to see uncommon birds so as to add to your lifelong record of untamed birds seen in Britain and Eire. Like most sports activities, twitching will appear completely pointless to the overwhelming majority of individuals. Who cares that Scotland beat England at rugby just lately? Fairly a couple of, together with me. And who cares that Garry Bagnell has seen 553 hen species in Britain and Eire (which places him approach behind Steve Gantlett on an estimated 590 species)? Fairly a couple of folks and they’re principally males. Do I care? Not deeply, however I’m definitely on this e-book as a result of it’s a very clear description of the fieldsport of twitching from the perspective of a eager exponent. In 2009, Bagnell said, he and other twitchers were aghast when two elderly rivals on the circuit went for each other's throats. "One was saying he'd seen a bird, and the other said he didn't believe him," Bagnell said. In the wake of the uproar, Mr Bagnell (55), an accountant, of Southwater in West Sussex, has both apologised for any upset he has caused and indicated that he now intends to rewrite his book, self-censoring the sections that have caused such offence.

Washington Post In Britain, bird-watching gone wild - The Washington Post

In other countries, the world of birdwatching may be a largely gentle place ruled by calm, binocular-toting souls who patiently wait for their reward. But in Britain, it can be a truly savage domain, a nest of intrigue, fierce rivalries and legal disputes. Fluttering somewhere between sport and passion, it can leave in its path a grim tableau of ruined marriages, traffic chaos and pride, both wounded and stoked. Britain isn't the only place that has hatched a culture of fierce birdwatching. In the United States, book-turned-Hollywood-film The Big Year chronicled the quest of three men vying in long-held American competitions to spot the most species in a single year. Nevertheless, observers say the intensity of the rivalries and the small size of the twitching community – in the thousands – have singled out British birders as some of the world's most relentless.But mostly, and overwhelmingly, this is a book about twitching – the fieldsport of rushing around trying to see rare birds to add to your lifelong list of wild birds seen in Britain and Ireland. Like most sports, twitching will seem entirely pointless to the vast majority of people. Who cares that Scotland beat England at rugby recently? Quite a few, including me. And who cares that Garry Bagnell has seen 553 bird species in Britain and Ireland (which puts him way behind Steve Gantlett on an estimated 590 species)? Quite a few people and they are mostly men. Do I care? Not deeply, but I am certainly interested in this book because it is a very clear description of the fieldsport of twitching from the viewpoint of a keen exponent. I had never heard of a foam party until I read this book – maybe I should get out more, or maybe not. This was my first book and I didn't expect to get complaints about my single life between 2000 to 2002 (Chapter 2 to 4). I decided to remove the offending passages and rewrite these early years and republish as "Twitching by numbers: A birder's hectic life as he chases rare species across Britain and Ireland". But sections of soon came under the notice of feminist Lucy McRobert who, like him, is both a birder and a writer - but on a different wavelength and at the primmer end of the literary spectrum.