I have spent much of my birding journey fortunate enough to listen for birds before I see them. Long before a Narina Trogon reveals its almost incomprehensible palette of colours, its harsh, frog-like call often gives it away. Long before you begin to realise that summer has arrived, the duet of a Woodland Kingfisher pair echoes through the woodland. Their arrival marking the true onset of summer. For anyone who has spent time birding, sound is not a supplement to birding. Rather, it is often the first, only, and most reliable clue that nature presents you with.

There is something almost magical about watching a bird meticulously preen itself. A White-browed Robin-Chat pauses between bursts of its melodic song to carefully draw each feather through its bill. A Hamerkop stretches a wing impossibly wide, inspecting every feather with deliberate precision. Even the most energetic swifts and swallows, seemingly forever on the wing, somehow find time to maintain their plumage. To the casual observer, it might seem like little more than avian vanity, when in reality, it is far more; in fact, it is a matter of survival.