Stark, wispy silhouettes of Scots pine break the pristine skyline of a northern saltmarsh. The wind makes the slightest whistle, a hum through the cord-grass and spine-riddled gorse that surround me. In the corner of my eye, a graceful shape arcs through the sky, flashing silver, gold, and cinnamon.

The bird's head is a beautiful creamy-white colour. Beneath the tawny swirl of the supercilium sits an owlish lemon eye. Flecks of chocolate-brown are daubed along her swept-back nape. As it banks and swings vigorously over the scrubby marshland, it is clear that this is a bird of far-flung wild lands. The hen harrier is the true master of England's skies, elusive and usually gone long before it is found by the sharp click of a camera shutter.

It is certainly my favourite raptor, and each time I see one, my heart is warmed to no end. I find the secretive nature of these birds tantalising, to the extent that I'll spend many a winter evening in below-freezing temperatures in the middle of swamps and mires in search of one, and it's totally worth it!

The food pass of the hen harrier is one of the most famous sights in British birding. When the male has caught a prey item for the chicks, it does not bring it directly to the nest. The female rises from its furrow in the heather, and flies underneath the male, and in an act of perfect synchrony, the male drops its prize into her upturned talons. There seems to be no practical requirement for this to be done aerially, but it's a beautiful bonding ritual to watch. It gives these raptors a mysterious air, and they're all the more special to see because of it.

Adult males are very distinctive; ghostly grey with piercing yellow eyes, a slim build with very long wings and tail, and jet-black primary feathers. No other bird found here looks like this, bar the much rarer Montagu's harrier. Females and juveniles are far from plain: an intricate blend of warm brown tones, with a very distinctive white rump band (leading to the colloquial birder slang - "ringtail"). They are easily told apart from marsh harriers with a half-decent view by their silvery, barred flight feathers on the underside. It is very rare indeed to encounter a hen harrier in broad daylight, but your best bet will be to visit a well-known marsh harrier roost. A famous haunt is Stubb Mill at NWT Hickling - last year I found a male and female over the reedbeds north of the seating area on my first night watching! An evening walk around Horsey Mere is also a great place to start.

Montagu's harrier

Another very similar, but much more elusive species, the aforementioned Montagu's harrier, is almost identical in plumage, but is a bird of open, dry steppe and crop fields. It is much slimmer, and has a very elegant, buoyant flight not unlike that of a tern. There are now very few of these much sought-after birds left in the British Isles, let alone Norfolk.

By far the best tactic, although still far from guaranteed, is to go to a heathland on the east coast on a warm May day with light south-westerly winds (preferably after southerly gales). This does sound almost too specific, but these are the perfect conditions to drag young overshoot migrants farther north than usual. "Ringtails" of this species, most commonly seen in Norfolk, are identifiable by a more rusty-coloured underside and only 4 "fingers" visible on the wingtip. If you are lucky enough to encounter one of these magnificent raptors, try to obtain lots of photos as they'll be useful records for the local county recorder.

Seeing either of these harriers is a special privilege reserved for those willing to go the extra mile. If you're willing to do this, I commend you and wish you the best of luck with them this spring.