Clothing that doesn't give you away

Because the swish of an arm raising binoculars makes a sound, and it carries perfectly clear at ten metres. Very stiff technical fabrics, shiny nylon and some cheap waterproofs produce a dry crackle that's completely foreign to a forest.

The test is simple and you can do it in the shop: close your eyes, raise and lower your arms, twist at the waist. If you can hear yourself, so can the bird. Compare that same motion in a dense cotton shirt or a fleece and you'll notice the difference instantly.

Watch out for metal details too. Dangling zip pulls, buckles, carabiners and trouser rings jingle as you walk. A couple of wraps of tape, or tucking them away, fixes the problem for good.

No. Muted, matte tones are enough: olive green, sand, grey, brown, washed-out blue, charcoal. What really draws attention is saturated colour, a large area of white, and any shiny surface that reflects light.

Birds are excellent at spotting movement and silhouette. You can be dressed in perfect green and still clear a shoreline if you suddenly stand up against the skyline. That's why colour is only half the answer: the other half is moving slowly and breaking up your outline with vegetation, a wall, or the hide itself.

Avoid white on your hands and face if you'll be close: a neck scarf and a plain cap noticeably reduce the amount of pale, moving surface when you raise your binoculars.

With three layers, and accepting that standing still gets you far colder than walking. A base layer that manages sweat from the walk in, an insulating mid layer such as fleece or wool, and a windproof outer shell. What matters is being able to add or shed layers without stripping down completely.

Start the walk wearing less than you feel like: arriving at a hide sweaty is a guarantee you'll get cold afterwards. Put the insulating layer on when you arrive, before you're cold, not once you already are.

Extremities first: a hat, thin gloves that still let you turn the focus wheel, and wool socks. If your hands get cold, you'll stop using the binoculars, and the outing is over even if you're still sitting there.

Choose footwear by terrain, not by catalogue. For wetlands and dirt tracks, a mid waterproof boot is plenty. For muddy marshes and rice paddies, tall wellingtons. For hills, something with good grip and ankle support if you're carrying weight.

Choose your backpack by how it opens. One you can open without taking it off or making noise beats one with twenty pockets. Make sure the zips don't hiss and water is easy to reach: in a hide, you don't want a whole rummage every time you're thirsty.

Two specific pieces fit naturally here: an embroidered field cap in matte cotton, which cuts glare and shades the face without shining, and a dense organic cotton sweatshirt, which keeps you warm through long waits without the rustle of stiff synthetic fabrics.

In summer, the enemy is sun and insects. Thin, muted-light long sleeves, a cap, and protection for the neck and hands. Thin long sleeves are more comfortable than sunscreen on multi-hour outings, and they prevent scratches from vegetation.

In winter, the enemy is stillness. Add an extra insulating layer and something insulated to sit on: cold comes in through wherever you're resting. A spare pair of gloves in the backpack saves whole mornings of fog or drizzle.

During passage season, with early starts and sharp temperature swings between dawn and eleven o'clock, the key is being able to shed layers in stages without taking your eyes off the shore. Think of clothing as a system, not an outfit.