I have a baby with a miraculous ability to be both a night owl and an early bird. He sleeps soundly during daylight and then at night, catnaps, until he’s ready to party at the crack of dawn. Sometimes the nights are so long I want to bury my head in my nappy caddy. But, come sunrise, something magic happens. I hear the birds outside chirping, open my curtains and watch them pecking at worms or eyeing the world below. Wrens, blackbirds, sparrows; nothing exotic, but still tiny miracles to me. Birdwatching, I’ve found, is a kind of therapy that comes naturally.
It was for a Covid-era birthday that my friend, an avid birder, gave me my first field guide to identify birds. Like many, I dipped a claws into birdwatching in the pandemic (the RSPB saw participants in its annual birdwatch doubling during Covid). Birds were free, and safe – something to take note of in the void.
The pandemic has ended but birdwatching’s popularity continued to soar, going “from niche to popular culture”, as Ollie Olanipekun, founder of London’s inclusive birdwatching club, Flock Together, observes. Consider Listers, a documentary about competitive birdwatching that went viral in the autumn, or birdwatching’s influence on fashion (Louis Vuitton’s binocular bag, anyone?). Social media has helped, too. There are now almost half a million #birdwatching posts on TikTok, while accounts like @katiekreen and @bonnerblack attract millions of views. In Hollywood, Ariana Grande recently declared that she’s a fan, while Pamela Anderson has spoken of a “spiritual” connection to birds.
I myself had had a vague interest in birds for a long time. Not that I’d have admitted it. As a teenage goth, I’d join my parents – keen birders – on their countryside rambles, stealthily walking along the Sussex Downs, praying my friends wouldn’t see me doing something so mortifyingly tame. Now, birdwatching has been dubbed a “hot girl hobby”. Perhaps the sexy new title misses the point, or, maybe that’s the point completely; birdwatching is open to all of us, if we only choose to look up.
I’ve observed birdwatching’s popularity grow like a nightingale, mostly out of sight. While my social media was increasingly nature-filled, the quiet practice I nurtured in the pandemic ultimately ended up on the backburner. I’d still go for walks, knowing that movement and nature are cornerstones of good mental health. But I’d constantly refresh my inbox or immerse myself in a true crime podcast while I was doing it, so that even the rustle of a thrush in a shrub would startle me.
After having my baby last year, I entered a new lockdown of sorts. Those early weeks spent recovering from birth, getting to grips with breastfeeding and navigating the hormonal chaos. It was heightened by my son being born with clubfeet and put into plaster casts from his thighs to his toes, so he wasn’t comfortable in the car seat. It felt natural to turn to the things that had propped me up in the pandemic, so I started going for walks in my local park with my son. I’d walk without headphones, talking to him until he napped, at which point I’d have nothing but the landscape for company. And I started noticing things: the flash of red on a goldfinch, the warble of a starling. It was thrilling to connect chirps with flutters.
“Birdwatching is such a great activity to connect people with nature, it also forces us to slow down in a very hectic world,” says Olanipekun. There is actually a term for this restorative way of observing birds: ornitherapy. Practitioner and author Holly Merker points to the fact that birding is an immersive experience: “It facilitates a natural and positive shift in mindset and mood, through soundscapes and other sensory stimulators,” she says. “Without even thinking about it, observing birds can bring us into a state of mindfulness.” Birdwatching gives me the same feeling I imagine others might achieve through meditation. “We’re living in the present moment with the bird,” Merker agrees. “We’re not thinking about our long to-do lists, or what we missed yesterday, or what will happen next week… This connection with a bird gifts us the state of being present.”
It’s also pleasingly democratic. You don’t need a particular body type to participate, there’s no prohibitively expensive entry fee, or committees to approve your membership. And you don’t actually need to know that much to reap the benefits. “It is one of the most accessible ways to engage with nature. When you start looking, you will realise that birds are everywhere!” says the birder and activist Dr Mya-Rose Craig, otherwise known as Birdgirl. “Birdwatching isn’t about fancy equipment, memorising Latin names, or even necessarily knowing what you are looking at. It is literally just going outside and looking and listening to see what is around you.”
Plus, you can enjoy the same mindful benefits from observing a common robin as you would a rare kingfisher. (“Even the smallest, brownest birds are beautiful if you look closely enough,” says Craig.) I’ve watched elusive birds in hides and been on organised walks, and I’ve had some staggering moments with the birds outside my window. There are apps (of course) to identify the birds you see or hear, great for curious minds. Personally I like searching the pages of a field guide. I’m not sure I get all the species I observe correct, but I don’t think that matters – what matters is how I feel.
Motherhood has brought me back to birdwatching and I hope one day my son might find wonder in it too. Or perhaps he will be a teenage goth eyerolling at his mum’s cringey pastime, because tomorrow’s hot girl hobby is bound to be something different (trainspotting?). If you feel tempted to get involved, perhaps start by considering this; you could be in central London and spot a swift flying overhead on its migratory path to Africa. That is truly wild.