Snapping the snappers

Deep in the heart of the forest, where a footpath crosses the old railway track to Cleobury Mortimer, I happened upon this little group of Twitchers. I guess I'm a little like my mother, who can't see the point of a photograph if it doesn't contain humans (or more likely members of her family). So for all the shots of berries and avenues of tall trees, and the lane with shadows fleeting across, and that were 'liked' on Facebook, I still love this one of the patient little gang, with their most impressive equipment, awaiting the arrival of our feathered migrants, heralding the spring.
I passed them once, and noticing the most beautiful eyes on the woman, framed by the white hat and coat, and thinking what a nice little tableau they made, turned back to ask for a photograph. The camo' man wondered why, and then said he didn't see why not, as the police had plenty of him, and they all duly took up position without asking. The woman donned the bin's, hiding those eyes, and all looked ready for action, or total inaction, as seems the lot of the twitchers. I love photographing the photographer.