Conservationist David Lindo, aka The Urban Birder, wings his way into Richmond this month. Binoculars at the ready, says Catherine Whyte
Stand down your anoraks! In the birdwatching world, David Lindo puts the stereotype to flight – not a beard nor a beer belly to be seen. In fact, the popular naturalist, writer and broadcaster – self-styled The Urban Birder – has built his career on precisely the opposite persona: dynamic, contemporary and down-to-earth.
“People are often surprised by me,” he says, munching on a piece of toast as we Skype. “I have the knowledge but I speak in layman’s language all the time. Some conservationists can be as dry as hell, but for me it’s very important to be fun and engaging.”
Right now David is in Mérida, Spain, working on a new book. This month, however, he flies into Richmond to give a talk on behalf of the Environment Trust (Oct 14), based loosely on his second book, Tales from Concrete Jungles.
“The overarching theme will be how easy it is to observe nature and birds in urban areas,” he says. “There’ll also be a lot of anecdotes about how I got involved in birding, as well as stories from a few of the places that I’ve visited across the world. The rest I tend to make up on the day.”
Sounds hairy. But David has been championing his cause as The Urban Birder for 11 years now on TV and radio, as well as in national newspapers and wildlife magazines, and is very familiar with the script. His passion is as arresting as a peacock’s plumage.
Out of the blue, a strange noise interrupts our conversation. Quack, quack. Quack, quack. His phone, it transpires.
“A female mallard,” he informs me. “Only the females quack like that.”
Hailing from Wembley, David was born with an “innate interest” in birds. He remembers wandering off bored froma party at the fledgling age of three. It was some hours later that he was spotted by police near a graveyard, transfixedby a mischief of magpies and quite oblivious to the panic he had caused.
True to style, formal study never appealed – he’s completely self-taught. Unconventionality is a by-word for David: in his life to date, he’s managed to balance DJ’ing for the rich and famous with working as Head of Membership at the British Trust for Ornithology (with a crop of bleached blond hair, no less).
It’s not really surprising that he’s ended up on TV. Nevertheless, the story of his breakthrough is worth retelling. While working at the Trust some 17 years ago, he was asked to present a short segment about his local patch (Wormwood Scrubs in West London where he still lives) for the AA Guide to Birdwatching (“I was a well-known figure in the birding world even then,” he tells me.) The video was released and that was that, until a BBC researcher rediscovered David by chance while watching the VHS with her grandmother, some six years later. He was invited for a screen test and his debut on Springwatch followed soon after, along with the birth of The Urban Birder moniker.
“The day before the screen test, I was pacing up and down thinking about what I would say and how I’d present myself. I’d been impressed with how Jamie Oliver had shaken up the world of cookery with his fresh and funky brand, The Naked Chef. I wanted to do the same in conservation so I played around with some names and The Urban Birder was born.”
That was 11 years ago and his career is in full flight. As well as the broadcasting work, he is chairman of the London Bird Club, patron of numerous organisations, including the Alderney Wildlife Trust and founder of the Tower 42 Bird Study Group, the first dedicated migration watch from the top of a skyscraper anywhere in the world, based in central London. If that wasn’t enough, he also runs tours to global birding hot-spots.
“I’m very focused, he says. “The older I’ve got, the more I’ve become what I’m doing.”
He tells me he’s 54 – with two daughters “from an early successful breeding attempt” – but he doesn’t look it at all. “I’ve crossed a lot of rivers and seen a lot of land,” he quips.I tell him he looks great. “That’s what birds do to you,” comes the rapid reply.
He doesn’t take himself too seriously, but don’t call him a twitcher.
“It’s like confusing a deep sea angler with a fly fisherman. A twitcher is someone who predominantly spends their time chasing after rare birds. It’s quite a male thing and quite list-driven. There’s nothing wrong with it – I used to twitch when I was young – but it doesn’t excite me now. There’s no art in it.”
Instead, David takes a more holistic approach, appreciating the natural world as he finds it, whether on his doorstep or in the many places to which he travels. Just this morning, he announces with obvious joy, he found five species of warbler clustered in one single small tree. His life’s mission is to get us making similar discoveries.
“The key thing is to enjoy it and not become bogged down in the details. Don’t be hard on yourself for not identifying things. You should start off gently. Simply be aware of things around you, in your back garden or on your way to work. Look up!”
As a conservationist, David has plenty to say about the pressures facing wildlife, especially in densely populated places like Richmond.
“Across the entire city, people are making their land as sterile as hell,” he says. “They turn their front gardens into car parks or rip out hedges in favour of fencing. Then they wonder why the sparrows don’t go there any more.”
I can honestly claim to dwell among the ranks of the converted. I may not be able to tell my Iberian Chiffchaff from my Western Bonelli’s Warbler, but I am at least well-practised in the art of ‘looking up’. And not just in obvious places like Richmond Park. I’ve seen a cormorant battle an eel beside the Thames and, on Teddington High Street, a sparrowhawk mantling over a freshly caught pigeon, one memorable Christmas Day.
My next step, suggests David, is to buy a pair of binoculars.
“Spend around £120 and buy a decent pair. Then get a guide book, go on a bird walk and find a mentor. You can remain a robin stroker, or you can become the next Bill Oddie. It’s upto you!”
Finally – and purely selfishly – I ask for some tips on how to spot my favourite, but elusive, bird: the owl.
“You need to come with me on my tour to Northern Serbia later in the year,” he says, somewhat defying my expectation. “One place has upwards of 600 owls in the town square alone!”
I have to confess that I am tempted. It sounds a hoot.
- Tales from Concrete Jungles, Oct 14, 7.30-9pm, Duke Street Church, Richmond. Tickets £11. To book, go to environmenttrust.co.uk or call (020) 8891 5455. To find out more about David and his regular tours visit: theurbanbirderworld.com
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