I have been interested in birds for most of my adult life, and I still have a simple guide book annotated in a childish hand to show that a latent enthusiasm was there from an early age.

But recently my interest has broadened into dragonflies and damselflies—what the scientists refer to as the Odonata. The trigger was when my wife and I dug a small pond (10 ft across) in our garden this spring. I have been fascinated to observe the wildlife moving in. Pond skaters arrived before the pond was even full; and I've since seen a water boatman. I soon noticed various damselflies. I got hold of Field Guide to Dragonflies and Damselflies of Great Britain and Ireland by Steve Brooks (brilliantly illustrated by Richard Lewington), and was soon naming them as blue-tailed, azure and large red. I also noted a broad-bodied chaser in our garden.

We are fortunate in living in a part of Surrey with an uncontaminated stream, rather pretentiously known as the River Eden, running through it. I have been carrying out a bird study of a ‘tetrad’ (two by two kilometre square) in the area; and I soon began to notice an abundance of banded demoiselles and smaller numbers of the closely related beautiful demoiselle along the river. Surprisingly, perhaps, it took me quite a while to find and confidently identify a common blue damselfly in the area.

In August we had a family holiday in Dorset, and this gave me the chance to find some new species. Progress was slow as it takes time to learn what to look for—and the field marks can be hard to confirm unless you manage to get reasonably close to a stationary dragonfly. Personally I had never previously appreciated the value of close-focussing binoculars, despite the enthusiasm with which they are often reviewed in the birding press. Some of the RSPB reserves, such as Arne are noted for their dragonflies—I found my first small red damselfly there. And Radipole RSPB yielded emperor dragonfly. Elsewhere I added ruddy darter, common darter, keeled skimmer and four-spotted chaser to my list. I also started trying to take a few photographs, primarily to help me with identification. I was using a digital camera with a three times zoom but I have since found that I've done better with an SLR camera and a zoom lens (up to 210mm) and, in good light, a 2x converter (but you need a tripod for the full set-up).

Back home in Surrey, my wife called me into the garden to look at a dragonfly. I was delighted to see a pair of common darters mating (in the so-called 'wheel position') and then to watch the female ovipositing in our pond.

This was followed, shortly afterwards by a female southern hawker attempting to lay eggs in the railway sleepers that surround our vegetable plot. Apparently this species lays its eggs above the water level in summer on the assumption that the water will rise by the following spring when the eggs hatch. The species has been seen attempting to lay eggs in gravel paths and even in a pair of shoes!

I'm still a novice—I've still only identified 22 species—but it's interesting to re-experience some of the trials and frustrations of my early days of bird watching, some 25 years ago. I remember spending quite a time trying to identify a 'warbler' and eventually realising that it must be a dunnock. And I somehow turned another small bird into a lesser whitethroat, which it almost certainly was not.

One day in August I saw a damselfly with pale legs near the mill pond in our village and assumed it was my first white-legged damselfly, only to discover that other species can have pale legs. Fortunately, on a later visit, I was able to find some pairs of undoubted white-legged, a species not shown as breeding within several miles of my area in Dragonflies of Surrey (the 1996 book by Peter Follett which includes distribution maps). A striking red-eyed damselfly was present at the same site on a lily pad. I have since seen a white-legged damselfly in our garden--presumably an immature one as they stay away from the breeding sites.

Dragonflies spend most of their lives underwater. The larvae, which are fearsome predators, shed their skins as they develop into each new stage (or ‘instar’). You can sometimes find the shed skins (‘exuviae’) of final instar larvae attached to waterside vegetation where the adults have emerged as winged insects (see picture in the dragonfly section of this site). Although exuviae can be hard to identify—for a novice like me, at least—they provide sure proof of breeding at a given site. The new adults are vulnerable as they cannot fly until their wings expand and harden. They do not breed for some days so they usually fly away from water, where they might have to compete with breeding insects, to look for a sheltered spot where they can continue feeding and maturing. A good source of information is the British Dragonfly Society web site at www.dragonflysoc.org.uk, which also has many excellent photographs.

I'm not sure I would agree with those who call dragonflies beautiful. They still make me think of aliens from some 1950s science fiction comic. But they are certainly fascinating and a new identification challenge.