In the birding community, those of us who obsessively pursue rare or elusive species are often known as "twitchers." The name comes from a very real, very physical phenomenon. When you finally spot a bird you’ve spent years searching for, a wave of intense excitement hits you. You raise your binoculars to your eyes, but the surge of adrenaline is so overwhelming that a tremor sets in. Your arms begin to shake, and sometimes the twitching spreads through your entire body. It is an extraordinary reaction that has to be experienced to be believed.
Over a lifetime of scanning treetops and riverbanks, I like to say that I have only truly twitched three times.
The first was in the lush wilderness of Ndumu, when I caught a sudden, violent flash of crimson through the canopy—the rare and breathtaking Narina Trogon.
The second was also in Ndumu, when my binoculars landed on the distinctive rufous face of the elusive Pel's Fishing Owl perched silently above the water.
And the third, most unforgettable twitch occurred along the banks of the Palmiet River.
Shortly after meeting Ally and her group of friends, a bunch of us went down to the river for a late-night, moonlit skinny dip. As everyone scrambled into the cool water, I caught a sudden, distinct sight of Ally’s white rump disappearing into the shadows of the river.
Right then and there, the classic birder’s tremor set in. My body began to twitch, and a single, crystal-clear thought echoed through my mind: Wow, I’m going to marry that girl.
I didn't need binoculars for that last sighting, but the instinct was spot on. We ended up spending seventeen wonderful years together—proving that sometimes, the rarest and most life-changing sightings aren't hiding high up in the trees at all.
