How to keep this journal
A few habits that turn a string of sightings into a record you will still want to read.
Date, place, weather, count
These four will still mean something in a decade. Impressions fade; a south-westerly on a falling tide does not. Write them while your hands are still cold.
One true detail
Beyond the count, keep a single thing you would not have invented: the way the raven carried a mussel to the same rock, the limp, the song that failed halfway. That detail is the entry.
Photographs are notes, not proof
A soft, honest photograph of a bird you already knew is worth more than a hard chase for a rarity. The gallery is a memory palace, not a scoreboard.
Return
The same fence, the same beach entrance, the same hour. Repetition is how individuals appear. Novelty is how they disappear into 'a magpie'.