The Kids Are Alright

At my age it is very tempting to focus on differences between the world I grew up in and what kids might experience today. It's no doubt a rich vein for bloggage, but any observations I might offer would probably be quite unreliable, because I can only guess at what it's like to be a young teenager in 2020. Guess, and shudder. So rather than be lured down that path I will instead take a look at some similarities...

As a boy I was passionate about fishing. My bedroom wall was papered with pictures of fish, mostly Keith Lindsell paintings cut from the Angling Times. Bedtime reading would be a fishing book of some kind, or the ABU 'Tight Lines' catalogue, an annual parade of mouth-watering tackle beyond my budget. And as often as possible I would be out there, fishing. As a twelve and thirteen-year-old I would catch an early-morning Met Line train from Preston Road Station to Croxley Green, or Ruislip, or Rickmansworth, and be out until dark. Sometimes I would meet up with a friend, though often I would be alone. What I am trying to convey is the all-consuming nature of my passion. I absolutely loved fishing. It was my escape, my solace, my sphere of aspiration.

And I am quite sure there are youngsters in 2020 who feel the same about birding, or fishing, or nature in a broader sense. Exactly the same. I am convinced that kids today are capable of being as wrapped up in their interest as I was in mine. Such obsession is a timeless thing.

In my early teens I began to yearn for broader horizons, and the obvious route seemed to be membership of a fishing club. Somehow I learned about Glacier Angling Society, and their fortnightly coach trips to the Thames, the Great Ouse, the Hampshire Avon. One evening in late spring a member of the Glacier AS committee kindly called at my home to take me to my first club meeting. His name was Howard Matthews, but everyone called him Ginger. We drove to the Black Horse pub, on the Grand Union Canal in Greenford, where the club meeting was held in an upstairs room. I sat quietly in a corner and observed  proceedings through the smoky fug. The chairman read the minutes of the previous meeting, asked if there were any 'errors, inaccuracies or omissions' and moved on to the night's agenda. This was my introduction to a world with which I became very familiar over the next few years. The coach trips were a great adventure to a youngster like me. Just hanging out with all these grown-ups was a novelty. Ginger took a generous interest in my progress, and I was a keen student. A few times he and I went on fishing trips in his battered old VW van, including my first ever visit to the River Kennet in about 1974. Ginger was married, with a small child, and in the warped light of 2020 it might come across a bit dodgy that a man in his 30s would take a young lad of 14 or 15 on an all-day fishing jaunt. All I can say is that such a notion never occurred to me. Nor to my parents I guess; certainly they never raised it. What I do remember is how encouraging it was to have Ginger and some of the other club members take a genuine interest, and teach me stuff. There was also banter and leg-pulling aplenty of course, and I remember the whole chapter with fondness.

I have less than a handful of photos from those days, and only one with me in it. Here I am, aged about 14, with a modest bream from the Great Ouse at Roxton in Bedfordshire...

That shirt!

 

Folks of my age who were birders as kids, rather than anglers, might have grown up with YOC trips and suchlike, and I'm sure were similarly inspired by the adult birders around them.

Likewise today, I have absolutely no doubt that kids benefit from kind encouragement as they pursue their interests. Older enthusiasts have a wealth of knowledge and experience, a fertile source of motivation for youngsters. Possibly without realising it, they can coach, inspire and set a good example. And when those kids grow up, perhaps they will look back, as I do, and be grateful for the Gingers of their youth.

However, the world of 2020 presents challenges. For example, Sunday coach trips with the fishing club are a thing of the past. YOC-type outings likewise I expect, though I could be wrong. As I was pondering how to write this post, a question came to mind...

Where do I meet young birders these days?

This is a sobering question. I never see them. In the 18+ years that I've lived in this part of the country I can only think of a couple. One of them is now in his 30s, and I'm not sure the other is even a birder any more. So the answer to that question, for me, is not 'in the field'. So, where then?

On Twitter, that's where. I don't do any other social media, so cannot speak for them, but birdy Twitter is populated by a good number of keen teenagers. In the past year or so I've become increasingly aware of that fact, and now that I have finally noticed them all I feel kind of obligated to do something about it. So I have started making an effort to 'follow' them, to 'like' their posts, and sometimes to respond to the questions they ask. One young birder on Twitter, a sixteen-year-old, recently posed this one: 'How many lifers has everyone had this year and what was best?' It is really heart-warming to see that this innocent question has garnered more than 150 replies, mostly from adults. I wonder how our young fellow birder felt on getting that enthusiastic response? I have begun to see that Twitter is actually a vehicle with serious potential for encouraging youngsters. I must keep that in mind...