Looking towards Kruger from Steve and Carol's house

I'm just back in the UK from a gruelling "holiday" snatched between long-haul services from London to Johannesburg. I've been birding with a mate of mine, Steve James, who teaches in the United Arab Emirates but - like some sort of reverse migrant - spends the meltingly-hot northern Arabian summer in the cooler climes of the southern African winter. He and wife Carol have a house in Sabie Park, a private Nature Reserve, that overlooks the Sabie River and a few square kilometres of South Africa's vast Kruger National Park (for an overview go to map/krugerpark).

Rather than go into the bird-rich wilderness of Kruger, though, Steve - a fanatical local-patch lister who grew up in the 1970s near Thorne Moors in South Yorkshire - prefers to bird on foot round Sabie, building up record day-lists, record trip-record lists, record birds-before-the-first-beer-of-the-day lists (you get the picture)...

My day-visit co-incided with the arrival of another serious birder, UK ex-pat Nick Moran, a teacher who with wife Rebecca had met Steve and Carol when they'd moved to the UAE a year or so ago after teaching stints in China and Uganda. Steve had decided this was too good an opportunity to miss: we would go all-out to beat his "on foot heard-and-seen winter day list" record (I think that's how he described it) which stood at an impressive 113 species.

To be honest, I was a bit sceptical when Steve announced his plan. I've been to SA a number of times but I've mainly birded the highveld grasslands south of Johannesburg, and really don't know the calls of lowveld birds. Nick was in southern Africa for the first time - though he had just spent a week on a different part of the highveld to the north-west of Jo'burg en-route to Sabie. I suspected therefore that we would have little to contribute to the day except two extra pairs of eyes. I wasn't even sure how much help that would be - Steve is virtually unable to see an object two feet in front of him, but can see moult progression on specks on the horizon (and for all I knew could see over the distant borders into Zimbabwe or Mozambique).

On a more selfish level, I had been hoping to get into Kruger and take photos from the car of both birds and mammals. Though I thought going for an obscure day-list record in a place most people had never heard of might make an interesting (if esoteric) story when I could get round to writing it, a high-speed, foot slog isn't the best way to get equally interesting photographs. Steve was confident though: he and Carol had been coming here for years now and was in no no doubt that though I might not get much more than record-shot photos, with views of LBJs that we just couldn't get from a car and with no lions in Sabie looking to use a birder's telescope like an expensive toothpick, we'd have a very memorable day.

He was right. We had a superb day, which began something like this....

Yes, I can hear it calling from across the river, "wuurrkk haarderr, wuurrkk haarderr"...

"23 - Red-headed Robin-chat calling in the bushes to the left...you'll probably know that as Natal Robin, Charlie..."

Okay, yes, I hear it...I didn't know the name had changed though...how out of touch am I?

"24 - Tawny-flanked Prinia - in the long grass by that rock..."

Yep, I can see that one - just - at least, I think I saw it, I did see a movement, but it's still dark...or at least not properly light yet...I can hear it now though...you sure that's a rock, not a hippo?...

I have an excuse though - I'd only arrived in South Africa yesterday after working through the night, and "mein host" is a bit of a beer fiend. I'd principally been an observer to the night's tippling (I'm not much of a drinker) but even so I'm not sure what time I'd gone to bed. It was definitely the wrong side of "bedtime" and way past "that's enough for me thanks mate".

To tell the truth I didn't actually feel at my best. How the other two made it out while it was still pitch black is a mystery. Or maybe it's just that "going for a Sabie Park record day-list" stiffens the sinews and banishes the pain. I guessed that I was going to find out....

Natal Spurfowl (Francolin) Pternistes natalensis

"Oh, common stuff around the garden mainly - Natal Francolin, African Palm Swift, Striped Kingfisher, Red-eyed Dove, Fork-tailed Drongo..."

"25 - Giant Kingfisher going left down the river...26 - Black-capped Bulbul just started up..."

"...Steve heard a Klaas's Cuckoo though which he says is good for this time of year. By the way, there's muffins and hot chocolate on the table. You'll need them - I think", said Nick in a low whisper, "we're going on a walk soon..."

Oh, god, a walk already? I'm hardly awake, and Steve - as Nick and I both know - walks very quickly. He covers the ground like a hare and talks just as fast - leaving a trail of IDs and stories as he bounds from bird to bird. As I was definitely feeling more dopey Labrador than race-ready Greyhound this was not the news I wanted to hear...still, he who lives by the motto "Sleep can wait, I'm going birding" had better just shake off the fuzz and get alert - pronto...

Fork-tailed Drongo Dicrurus adsimilis

Sabie Park is bordered on one flank by a road that, once it's left Hazyview 20kms away, only goes to an entrance to the National Park, Kruger Gate, and so has little traffic. Sabie's northern limit is marked by the Sabie River - a rocky, free-flowing stretch of water that is home to Hippos and Crocodiles, and - as Steve had shown Nick and I the previous afternoon in the few hours birding we had - African Finfoot. In effect, Sabie is an extension of Kruger National Park - and has much of the same avifauna.

Steve had drawn up a battle-plan that he was sure would give the best chance of seeing as much of that avifauna as possible: if we stood on the tiled verandah at the back of the house at first light, picked up most of the common thornveld and dry forest species on a walk before breakfast, kept our eyes on the skies for fly-overs, dipped into the small area of thick, riverine forest after lunch, went down to the river for the evening, and had just a pinch of luck - (narrator takes a deep breath) - then the record would be ours!

His enthusiasm had been - as usual - infectious....

I did. I wouldn't have known what it was, as I was clutching a mug with one hand and a muffin with the other and hadn't been able to get my binoculars up in time, but I did see it...

"31 - Egyptian Geese calling...into view now, going left..."

"Real ones not like those tatty feral things in Norfolk..."

No, definitely nothing like Norfolk....

Eastern Black-headed Oriole Oriolus larvatus and African Green Pigeon Treron calvus

Steve had been astonished, and told us so repeatedly. "It never rains here this time of year," he kept saying, "never". It was his way of apologising. Biders are generous people, and having invited us down to Sabie, Steve felt an obligation to provide us with the best experience possible. It was also his way of assuring us that tomorrow would be different. If it was wet his plans would be ruined. Birds don't show too well in the rain...

Neither do I. I'd been sorry, and I may be a guest and almost genetically-inclined to be compliant and polite, but I'd stated (after a whisky or two) that there was no blinking way I was going to spend 12 blinking hours wandering round getting soaked when I was this far from the blinking hotel and had to work back to London the following evening after a long jouney back to blinking Jo'burg...

"Seems to be giving off warmth..."

"I told you two - it never rains here this time of year...let's go..."

Long-billed Crombec Sylvietta rufescens

A bird-party searching through the scrub and low canopy along a nearby gully brought us numbers 37 - 41: a Brown-crowned Tchagra, two Yellow-bellied Eromomela ("Good views that - normally hard to see here"), two Long-billed Crombecs ("Common - we'll see more - nice though"), a Chin-spot Batis, and two Yellow-bellied Apalis.

"42 - Brubru - that's a good one too - don't always see that..."

A little further on a slightly more open area studded with flowering aloes was alive with birds - some we'd already seen, but a small party of maniacally-calling Green Woodhoopoes and three species of sunbird - Scarlet-chested, Collared, and White-chested - were all new. As were two dots flying over that Steve confidently called out as Yellow-throated Petronia ("Common here - always see them in this spot - heard them anyway...")

Green Wood-hoopoes Phoeniculus purpureus

"Which species? Always worth seeing whatever it is..."

Hmmm. Tricky now that's it's gone. It was large - not large enough to be a Goliath, so perhaps a Black-headed...they must occur here on the river...

"It's a Grey - 48," I heard Steve say suddenly. What? He'd picked it up again? He had too, by sprinting off to a gap and scanning with his bins like his life depended on finding whatever was out there. "Good one. Rare here. Well seen..."

'Well seen'? I wasn't sure that I deserved any credit, but there was little point in saying so. Steve had heard a woodpecker tapping and had begun to move on already...

Nick though was looking for something he'd spotted under a large, isolated, spiky-looking bush. "Not sure what this is, but I think we'd better find out," he said.

We joined him, crouching down on a dusty path and peering into the foliage. A small bird suddenly appeared at ground-level from behind a stalk of grass, greenish-brown with what looked like crescentic barring on its underparts, before disappearing again. I'd seen it in a field-guide, but what the Hell was it called...

"Stierling's Wren Warbler...used to be called Stierling's Barred Warbler...name changed recently...Sabie speciality that...never see that from a car, real little skulker...that's a really good one...might not see another one...excellent...49..."

Steirling's Wren Warbler...used to be called Stierling's Barred Warbler: I should have got that from the barring really...

I wanted a picture of course, but I may as well have tried to photograph a ghost. Despite three of us encircling the bush, the thing just disappeared. If it had dug a hole and tunnelled out into Kruger it couldn't have vanished any more effectively. It always amazes me how birds do that: Lanceolated Warblers in the far east that run though grass like fleas though cat-fur, a Yellow Rail in a California Marsh that I could have sworn was calling from inside my boots it sounded so close...they just melt into the habitat as if they can turn liquid at will. It's a wonderful trick. Most of us humans just don't fit in like that anywhere anymore, bludgeoning our way through life like earth-movers, scarcely aware of our surroundings... And just to rub in how more at home the bird was in this environment than us, as I stood up I realised my knees were covered in Giraffe crap...so much for my powers of observation...

African Fish-eagle Haliaeetus vocifer and Black Stork Ciconia nigra

Their verandah gave better views over the river than Steve's, and we'd added a number of species here including an immature Purple Heron, Burchell's Coucal, Black Crake, a huge Saddlebill Stork flapping heavily into Kruger, and, more unexpectedly, a Long-tailed Wagtail.

There was no sign, though, of the African Finfoot we'd spotted from the adjacent road-bridge on the same stretch of river the afternoon before...

I wondered why Steve and Carol hadn't chosen this house as it gave such good views over the river. Steve looked very pleased with himself. "We were going to buy this place," he said, "but it was too close to the bridge and the Kruger Gate. Too much traffic noise. Ours is quieter. I met this Dutch couple and thought they were okay. I told them they should buy it. Thought it would be useful to have friends in it..."

I could just imagine the scene: a slightly bewildered Dutch couple being persuaded into buying a house so that a slightly lunatic English birdwatcher could make sure he had a vantage-point for his day-listing. How many more purchases had been made throughout Sabie Park as Steve mapped the best birding sites and made sure that his contacts owned the land? I tell you, the man is organised...

We moved on, Steve still grinning satisfiedly, and we added birds like fly-over Black Stork, Gymnogene, Bataleur, and African Fish Eagle, had good views of an African Goshawk perched in a large tree in the garden of one of the houses, and had found another bird party which had given us African Penduline Tit, Southern Black Tit, a female Red-headed Weaver, both Black-collared and Crested Barbets, and a small flock of Bronze Mannikin.

Golden-tailed Woodpecker Campathera abingoni

We really had no choice and so Nick and I stumbled on through the furrows that Steve ploughed - at least, though, we were heading in the direction of Hogwarts and a pile of toast and fried eggs which Steve was dangling like carrots in front of flagging donkeys. Where did the man get his energy...?

"Great - those are Lesser Striped Swallows - 88 - don't always see those," said a voice from up ahead. "I was saving those - had a site near the house - not always reliable though..."

I was desperately scanning right and left for the swallows when I picked up a movement nearby. "Hey", I shouted out, "Helmet-shrikes..."

"Which one?"

There's more than one here? Feed me and I might remember, I was thinking, when Steve strode up and said "White - excellent - 89. We get Retz's here too, but those are White."

White Helmet-shrike Prionops plumatus

The shrikes disappeared into the scrub and we marched on again. One more to go and we would be allowed breakfast. To be honest by now I'd stopped caring about reaching 90 species - my sinews had stiffened to the point of cramping, and I needed Panadol in a hurry - but Steve had one last stop to make. Ignoring our protests, he passed his house and dived off into the thorn scrub again...

"Come on, can't stop now. I've a cracking site here," he said, "for Eastern Bearded Scrub Robin. Difficult to see. but with a bit of luck..."

And on cue there it was, a handsome bird with chocolate-brown upperparts, orange-washed flanks, and clean white head markings: one of my favourite members of a really special group of African birds...and from now on irrevocably linked with tea and toast and a good friend with a grin a continent-wide...

Eastern Bearded Scrub Robin Cercotrichas quadrivirgata