Williamson's Weekly Nature Notes

I know my snapshot does no justice to these handsome old fellows. Even so, you may get the picture.

By hiding behind the garage, or flying down the line of beaters, even in one case sitting on the chimney pot of this old gamekeeper's house deep in the Sussex woods, successive cocks have survived to breed for their second and last season.

They always become tame in the new year. First they get a taste for bird seed and crumbs and cheese rinds on the bird table. They get used to my ancient Barbour coat, which has seen days on the Norfolk saltmarshes under the pinkfoots as well as wigeon under the moon on Devon's Taw and Torridge.

The cocks just ignore me as I press the trigger on my oId Pentax, which has also seen days on downs and moors, tidal creeks and ancient woodlands. I am usually a yard or two away. I have even noticed that some cocks get stroppy with each other when I appear, as if they are fighting to impress me.

For full feature see West Sussex Gazette January 28