Since stepping away from surgery, moments like this fast twitch remind me why life after medicine matters — because spontaneity is back on the table. I spent decades bound to rosters, emergencies, and the weight of responsibility. Now, when a rare bird appears after ten years, I can simply decide to go. This story is about that freedom — and what it feels like to choose curiosity instead of duty. Basically it is What Freedom Feels Like After Medicine
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The Fast Twitch: A 10-Year Rare Bird, One Midnight Decision, and a Bit of Luck
On Tuesday night, just after dinner (about 8pm), news broke of a rare bird in Auckland — a genuine vagrant species that hadn’t been seen in New Zealand for ten years. It was a Common Sandpiper. I’ve seen them overseas but not here in Aotearoa, New Zealand.
This wasn’t something I could ignore. Its What Freedom Feels Like After Medicine
It was 5½ to 6½ hours’ drive from home depending on traffic — but that hardly mattered. For a birder, a decade-long gap for a species is a lightning-strike moment. You get one chance — and when it’s gone, it’s gone.
This was pure fast twitch.
Not slow, considered endurance.
Not wait-and-see.
Just like fast-twitch muscle fibres power explosive sprints — birders have this reflex too.
You don’t ruminate when a rarity appears; instead, you launch into action.
So yes — the fast twitch was on.
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A Whisper to a Friend — and New Zealand’s Top Lister Joins the Twitch
I discussed the twitch with my friend — Steve Wood — a dedicated twitcher (LISTER), who currently holds the highest New Zealand bird species tally of any one individual.
He has tried four separate times over the years to see this same species.
He had failed every time.
This time — he felt — was the one.
So while I left home at 5am and drove six hours north, Steve flew up from Nelson. He thought being part of this twitch with me might bring him some luck.
We met at Auckland Airport bang on time — then headed straight to the site.
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The Scene at Ōtara Creek Weir Lagoon
The location was Ōtara Creek Weir Lagoon — surprisingly good habitat in the midst of suburban Auckland.
We arrived to a handful of other birders — scopes up, tension high.
At first — nothing.
Just habitat that felt right.
We waited, chatted, and watched. Wonderful and What Freedom Feels Like After Medicine
Others drifted away further toward the bridge above the lagoon — which gives an elevated vantage.
We followed… except for one individual who stayed seated right at the weir itself and refused to move.
And then — just as in so many twitching stories — the moment arrived.
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The Bird Arrived — and Chaos Ensued
Suddenly — there it was.
The rare vagrant species that every single person had come for.
But unbelievably — the person who refused to move stood up at the worst possible moment and flushed the bird away.
Later — it returned.
This time, we got enough time on it.
Clear views.
I even managed a flight photo — not perfect — but enough to confirm the sighting.
And while this species was not new for me internationally, it was a first for New Zealand—which made the moment even more satisfying on home soil.
Tick.
Done.
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The Next Morning — and the Realisation
We overnighted in a motel and decided to check the site again the next morning.
High tide.
Same person — sitting on the weir again.
We decided enough was enough.
So I returned home — stopping briefly in Tauranga — satisfied that we had achieved what we came to do.
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Why Fast Twitches Matter
For non-birders — this all sounds crazy.
For birders — this is completely normal. This is what the twitching community live for
When a rare bird that hasn’t been seen in New Zealand for ten years appears — you go.
You don’t hesitate.
You don’t sleep much.
You twitch fast.
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Final Thoughts
This fast twitch was memorable — not only for the rarity itself — but for the people, the reaction, and the strange human behaviours that reveal themselves around a single rare bird.
And for Steve — who had failed on four previous attempts — this was the payoff he’d been waiting for.
Like fast-twitch muscle fibres, this twitch was explosive, instinctive, and very much in the moment — one quick strike before the opportunity vanished.
Sometimes one twitch is all it takes.
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Internal link to cornerstone
If you’d like to read more about my bigger journey and why these moments matter so much to me now, see my cornerstone article .
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