The waders are a group of birds that has provided me with some exceptional moments of pleasure. The sight of a tightly packed flock of Knots lifting and swirling in amoeboid motion over the mudflats makes a dawn visit to the coast worthwhile even in the depths of winter. The same birds are an evocation of summer on the arctic tundra when you wake up in your tent, warmed by the midnight sun, and listen to a male Knot skirling for minutes on end as it circles high overhead.