The Patch (1)

 

Ever since my late Dad (who you'll certainly hear more about) took me for a mid-winter walk along the modest Oxfordshire footpath between Wantage and Letcombe Regis, and proceeded to repeat the next weekend, and the weekend after that, something clicked in my mind: I might have been young, but I was already fully on the local patch bus. 

The familiarity of certain, often random and sometimes unremarkable, places in an oft-visited area gave great pleasure, mainly in the knowing that almost certainly no-one else gained any pleasure in their existence. Apart from, clearly, my Dad. 

I christened the aforementioned area "the Brooks", and "the Brooks" had "the Patch" (ok, a Patch in a patch; I should have thought that through more...), a potentially absolutely brilliant area of dense shrubbery next to a reedbed.  Later came Lark Hill, which on the face of it was the most faceless piece of arable farmland you could ever find - "the Dip" (which turned out to be one of the best places for Whinchat in the county), and "the Barn" (which turned out to be one of the best places for Redstart). 

I named them long before the birds turned up, obviously. 

It's just what you do, isn't it? 

The "primary patch" and the "elevated patch"

I think all patch birders have done this, at some point. The whole purpose of a local patch is that it's hard work, bordering on mentally painful; I like to think that patch workers who live a mile from Minsmere would still find some godforsaken scrub area down the end of their road, with an overflying Wood Sandpiper mentioned by your Dad's friend Dudley seventeen years ago being its best ever bird, to provide their everyday torture. 

On occasion, it's acceptable for the torture to become overwhelming, and then the "elevated patch" comes into play. In my formative years, mine was Radley Gravel Pits, about five miles south of Oxford. It helps if this patch is absolutely brilliant, and my goodness, Radley was, on its day.  I'll never forget the feeling of anticipation when approaching its western scrape, the kind of feeling that birding is built upon. 

A different kind of psyche

Don't get me wrong, I know dedicated patch workers who are also dedicated and highly reactive twitchers. But I don't think that this dual personality is that common. In my opinion, the psyches that create these "forms" are so very different - are you a discoverer, or a lister? Do you appreciate the trials and tribulations, or are you abhorred by them? Do you revel in the minor detail of a site, or would you rather see as many sites in one day as possible? Do you like to be in the company of loads of people, or is your limit two others? Neither is more or less crazy than the other; it's just that I sit firmly in the former camp, to the extent that I find it really hard to see someone else's discovery, let alone travel a significant distance to see one. 

Let's face it. On both sides, it's all about the highs. Birding is a serotonin-fuelled hobby, make no bones about it, and I'll never forget the thrill of finding multiple Wrynecks, Montagu's Harrier, Yellow-browed Warbler, Spotted Crake, Black Kite. And it might sound like sanctimonious twaddle, but I do like the feeling of "providing" for those who sit in the other psyche camp to me. 

So, back to the here and now. There's a map above with a year 5 feel to it that outlines my current geographical areas of "primary" focus. They're neatly partitioned into different taxa: Pedley Birches (outlined in orange) for birds, Renhold Brook Meadows (in blue) for Odonata, and Bushey Close Spinney (in purple) for unrequited dreams of I'm not quite sure what, yet. The first two have provided many moments of pleasure in the two or so years I have been intensively recording, from wintering Hawfinch and Jack Snipe, to a leucistic Ring Ouzel, to first local area records of Willow Emerald, Beautiful Demoiselle, Hairy Hawker, and Green-eyed Hawker. 

I look forward to what the coming months bring, and I'll be sure to share all of it here, for any that are interested.

The "elevated patch"? That's next. 

And yes, I have no idea what The Memorial of the Great Tree is, either. Sounds like it could be amazing. 

Sunset at Pedley Birches, Sep 2025 (© Leo Bateman)