My twist on the Midas touch

What's that saying? Everything he touches turns to gold? I've got something very similar going on, but it's not quite as good. Everything I touch breaks. When I say similar, I suppose I mean the opposite really. Rather than making a fortune at every opportunity, instead I'm hemorrhaging money on needing to repair almost everything I come into contact with. It started this summer when I dropped my camera for the umpteenth time and it finally died a short while later in Poland. I'd previously dropped it on Southend Pier, at Dungeness, in the Emirates, frequently in Wanstead - actually it might be easier to list where I haven't dropped it. Anyhow, that was a monster repair bill and a stack of hassle. 

Then the almost brand new washing machine died. Naturally I had not bothered to send in the warranty stuff, and after a failed repair it become more economic to just get a new one. Cue another unexpected bill. So annoying, it was literally about six months old, whereas the previous one had lasted ten years. 

The following week in Hong Kong, the diaphragm on my trusty wide angle zoom froze up. Excellent. The following month, in Florida, I forgot to zip up half of my backpack, and as I swung it onto my shoulders my second camera and a couple of lenses sailed through the air in a graceful arc, bouncing off a parked car and then onto the tarmac. The lenses seem more or less OK, indeed one of them had very recently dropped off the front of the camera at a wedding in Scotland and bounced spectacularly across the dance floor - one senses though that its luck might be running out. The camera however has given up the ghost in protest and will now only fire one shot before freezing up. It's my full frame travel body, and whilst used mostly as a back-up it gives me plenty of options that I now no longer have. I've yet to take either of them to be sorted out, I can't face it.

Then last week I discovered that the hands on my watch had become misaligned, so at six o'clock one hand points at six whereas the other doesn't point at twelve. Nothing major, but very irritating once you notice it and so I sent it off to be assessed at the beginning of this week. I might get away with this one as it appears to be under warranty, but it's still a hassle. No problem though, my shiny new phone I mentioned in the last post tells the time....

Ah. Yesterday I went out for the East London Birders Drinks, and whilst attempting to take a drunken photo managed to drop it on the floor. To be fair I drop it quite a lot, but this time I noticed a few purple spots had appeared on the screen. Ah well, not much of a problem, on with the festivities, more wine please! I woke up this morning to a pounding headache and this.

Whilst the headache gradually subsided, the phone got progressively worse as the morning went on, and when I realised it was to all intents and purposes now useless I conceded defeat and trundled off to a place that specialises in relieving idiots of hard-earned cash, the appropriately named iSmash. There I parted with another vast and wholly unnecessary sum of money, and a few hours later received it back in pre-Hornchurch condition.

They say bad things come in threes, but this is the sixth time this year that I've managed to destroy something expensive to the point of no return. Maybe they meant multiples of three? Anyway, Christmas is cancelled.

Yorkshire birding. Yorkshire drinking.

All you need to know about Scarborough

Good sleep last night, really needed it after all those hours awake in the car chatting to the guys. Feeling much better now. So back to the weekend, it was late morning by the time three satisfied thrush customers eventually left the bird and continued on to Scarborough. First order of business was to procure lunch, and a superb fish and chips for a mere £4 reminded me quite how badly we get ripped off down here for something that normally isn't even approaching half as good. We strolled with it down to the harbour front, where we had a Shag whilst polishing it off. An excellent accompaniment to lunch, very satisfying, particularly for Bradders (less so for Shaun), and a year tick for all of us.

The post-Shag John Wayne walk

Next stop was Filey Brigg, where we had a mini tick-fest of Sea Duck, fly-by Gannet, Guillemot, and some very close waders. I had never been this way of the world before, and it was good to finally see what these places that frequently pop up on the pager were actually like. If I lived locally, I suspect I would be at Filey Brigg a lot - a rocky peninsula sticking out into the bay, an excellent beach, and some dense cover in a valley right next to the point. It lost points for being treacherously slippy almost everywhere, and for not having a "Danger! Do not descend via this path!" sign at the top of the cliff, whereas after our dicey descent we discovered one at the bottom saying "Danger! No safe access to cliff-top carpark!" Thanks a lot, very helpful. We survived it, and spent a happy two hours getting close views of Long-tailed Ducks, various Scoters, Eider, a Red-throated Diver, and some fairly obliging Knot and Purple Sandpiper.

Knot

Next stop Flamborough for a flock of 22 Pale-bellied Brents. In Essex these are few and far between, and whilst I thought I had one at Old Hall last year, having seen these ones I am not so sure - they are extremely striking, almost Barnacle-like. Some gen from other Brent twitchers led us to a flock of Greylag in the next field along which contained a Tundra Bean Goose. These soon all got up, and it proved pretty easy to pick it in flight most of the time.

We found what proved to be a stunning B&B in Bridlington, the Burlington Quays Hotel. Friendly owners Nigel and Carol sorted us out some tea and biscuits whilst the rooms were getting made up, and after a quick shower we hit Bridlington on a Saturday night. And in Bridlington, Saturday night is Party Night. Beer is ridiculously pricey in the Harbour Tavern, which encourages responsible drinking. Undeterred by the 6ft sign out the front saying "All Drinks £1.50", we rushed in. It was very unlike Essex, so we attempted to fit in by drinking copious amounts of expensive lager, but were probably seen for the frauds we were. Mere words cannot do justice to the fabulousness of the Harbour Tavern in Bridlington. The evening passed in a blur.

Bad news

You can take the boy out of Essex, but...

Crashed out back at the B&B, I was surprised at around midnight by my bedside lamp falling on my head. Odd, I thought. As I came to, I became aware of stumbling sounds, flailing hands, and a pathetic whining voice. For a moment I imagined I was back at home and one of the kids needed me. In my role as primary carer, they now bypass Mrs L, and walk around to my side of the bed, so I am constantly getting woken up by their nocturnal trivialities. I had hoped a night away might see me get an uninterrupted sleep, but no....

"Where am I? I need a wee, I really really need a wee."

Bump. Crash.

"Oh god, I'm bursting! Where am I? Jo, help! Jo!!"

Thump.

"Ow!"

I leapt into action and led the poor child to the bathroom using my mobile phone screen as emergency lighting.

"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah"

The next morning I was uncharacteristically tired and grumpy, with a dull head-ache. Presumably this came from being clonked on the head with a lamp, rather than from several litres of beer. Whatever the reason, I didn't talk much for the rest of the day, and may have nodded off in the back of the car on occasion. I think we went birding, but I can't be sure. Somehow my year-list now has Willow Tit, Tree Sparrow, Brambling and Ring-necked Duck on it, so I'm guessing we did. It almost had Little Auk on it as well, but not even I stoop so low. This is only the second I have ever seen, and it had to go and be dead.

Little Auk getting slowly smaller, but showed well.

What shall I write about today?

Given that it has been a couple of days since the last post I was just pondering what I might write about. Earlier this week I amazed myself and churned out post after post, but since then have been suffering from Blog burn-out. Kind of like talking nineteen-to-the-dozen without pausing at any point for breath and just going on and on and on and on in a stream of pure consciousness that you could not recount if you even tried and then when you do finally start to pass out and desparately gulp in some air you suddenly forget what it was you were talking about and just do a goldfish impression.

Er....

I did get a vague sense that I might be putting a few people off with the absurd quantity, but went ahead and pressed "publish" anyway. Live the dream! Turns out many readers quite like Dire Straits (a few misguided souls aside - you know who you are.) but that nobody other than me experienced any massively scarring injustices as a kid. Which is absurd, as one of the phrases heard most frequently in this house at least is a strangled cry of

"But it's not FAIR, xyz other child did xyz other thing and I want to too!!"

"No, you're not doing / having it / them / whatever, now leave me alone, I'm writing my blog."

"Waaaaaaahhhhh!"

Clearly you all remain so deeply traumatised that you still can't talk about it and not even the Wanstead Birder 'sofa' can induce you to open up. Freud would have you believe that this repression is unconscious, involuntary - nonsense, it's because you have to have a Google account to leave a comment and that requires yet another bloody password.

Sniff, sniff. "Ahhh, kebab! My favourite!"

Anyway, it is the time of year when filler posts start creeping in with worrying frequency, and my last effort had nothing at all to do with birding. I do need to do my 2010 goals at some point, but in an odd twist on life imitating art, I can't be bothered at the moment.

Last night I went out to London Birders' Christmas Bevvy, and great fun it was too. A bit of a natter, some salacious gossip, no prizes for guessing what about, and a large selection of seasonal ales. All followed by a gratuitous kebab on Leytonstone High Road. My head hurt quite a lot this morning, but what better to clear the fug than to get out on the patch and see the same common birds that I see all the time?




Appropriately enough after my kebab roll, I basically followed the Fatso route, but in a fit of proper birding also went and checked the Old Sewage Works. Bar a decent flock of about 20 Chaffinch, there was nothing to keep up the interest so I went directly back to the Tea Hut for a deserved rest. Whilst there I had a pop at the Black-headed Gulls, some of which came out pretty well, proving that having the shakes is no bar to sharpness. No tripod either, perhaps I have discovered a unique new form of image stabilisation - excess beverage-induced shakes cancelling out normal movement for a rock-steady shooting style? I shall call it the Wetherspoon method. On the way back there were a couple of showy Ring-necked Parakeets, surveying their new manor, and the Goldeneye was still on Heronry. Oh, and I attracted a Rat.

Scilly 2009. Will someone please remove all these Nighthawks!

"Ugh"

The prospect of a Lapland Bunting that would run up your trouser leg was too exciting to resist, so on day three we took the boat over to Tresco. Being somewhat interested in sub-tropical plants, this had always been somewhere I had wanted to visit, and soon I was spouting latin at various things. Weak and feeble plants that I have in pots at home are trees on Tresco. Look at this Leucodendrum argenteum!!

My plant resembles the lowermost branch at the bottom left, just above the shadow. It is three years old, and is pathetic in the extreme. I read somewhere that it can only tolerate rain-water, so for this one plant I dutifully trot out to the water butts for its own special watering can. I cannot say it has repaid my efforts very much.

Well, what can I say about Tresco? Stunning. There are agaves everywhere that dwarf human beings, with lethal terminal spikes. Mostly these are americana or americana variegata, but I fancy there was the odd ferox in there as well. Most amazing of all, they are able to grow Norfolk Island Pines (Araucaria excelsa - never let it be said you don't learn anything on here, just don't expect it to be about birds).

By about midday the collective Ring Ouzel count was up to 4, and the team was getting hungry. We chanced upon a low-rent establishment called the Island Hotel and decided to dignify it with our presence for a short while. In turn we were digified with some ultra-budget sandwiches.... Once again it was shirt sleeves, and the delicious sandwiches were helped down by a pint of beer. Whilst casually soaking in the scenery and chatting to an Essex birder who had unfortunately become trapped at the hotel, a couple of birds landed on a large rocky outcrop to the left of my teak armchair. "Might they be Ring Ouzels?" I said, annoyed at having to put my beer down and source binoculars. They might indeed! This is the life! I contemplated another sandwich, but decided I liked all three of my children and could not sell any of them.

We thrashed Tresco to within an inch of its life

A short snooze later and we were back on the road and over to Cromwell's Castle where the Lapland was said to have been seen. When I trod on it as I was plodding along the path, I realised that perhaps my choice of a light-weight wide-angle zoom for the day had been a good one after all. We had seen a line of birders up the slope a bit, scoping something, and had assumed they were on the bunting, so I was quite surprised when it flew from beneath my Brasher. Beckoning to Bradders, he couldn't understand why I was pointing at the ground in front of me. I moved my foot and all became clear.

mobile and elusive

We enjoyed cracking views of this gem of a bird as it fed around our feet. I borrowed (and then ran away with) Bradders' long lense, but I actually prefer this photo from a story-telling point of view, and in years to come, a bit like the Steppe Shrike, it will be memorable for all the right reasons.

Wader season is over

Not Wanstead

As suddenly as it started, Wader Season is over. Total count of wader species over the season, zero. Today Heronry Pond water levels were back to normal, in the space of two days. I am not sure I understand the management plan. Anyhow, it sure was exciting while it lasted, seat of your pants stuff. I hope I managed to convey the enormous sense of thrill and discovery adequately.

So where is the next patch year-tick if it is not a Tringa? Well, tomorrow morning the plan is to find a Pied or Spotted Flycatcher. There seem to be have quite a few coming through lately, and I have found them before, so I reckon a few choice areas are worth a look early doors. The most likely outcome is that I will get home at 8am with diddly squat to show for my dawn start, but that would be defeatist in the extreme. Thus I will be finding a flycatcher tomorrow morning, probably in the scrub just east of Alexandra Lake. Birding Gods, take note.

Well, that is quite enough about the patch for one posting. I was recently accused of having changed, of no longer being a patch-birder, but of being a filthy twitcher. Now until very very recently it is true that I had largely abandoned the patch, as noted in a number of posts. I realise the error of my ways and will be making much more of an effort from now on. I blame June, and an acute lack of will-power. My accusers were the usual suspects: "Show-home" Harvey, "Iceland Gull" Hawkins, and "Patch-birding is my middle name" Blowmonkey. Notwithstanding that the among their number were a bunch of Great-spotted Cuckoo Twitchers, and, let it be noted, Blue-cheeked Bee-eater Dippers, I am guilty as charged, but the most recent escapade was one of planning, daring, and considerable effort, and thus almost doesn't count as twitching.

The location was Canvey Island, cultural capital of the South-east, where a juv Kentish Plover had been found in the high-tide roost off the point. The point is cut off at the height of the tide, and given that had been at about 1pm, pitching up at 7:20pm was perhaps somewhat optimistic. Low-lister Patch-birder that I am, this was a lifer for me. It is important to note here that KP is not a tick for Shaunboy or Monkey, who had twitched one, filthily, at Tilbury several years ago whilst I was presumably methodically working the patch, hoping beyond hope for any wader, let alone a scarcity. Anyhow, Bradders and I (who would have thought it?) duly pitched up and were confronted with about 20,000 square miles of tidal mudflats. If we had been lacking in confidence on the A13, we were now truly without hope, but we gave it a go anyway. The mudflats are genuinely huge, and there were no large congregations of birds. We therefore had to scan (filthily) several thousand birds scattered over miles of mudflats in the hope of picking up a small pale wader. In the course of doing this we had stacks of other stuff as well - Barwit, Grey Plover, Golden Plover, Curlew, Whimbrel, Turnstone, Redshank, Greenshank, Oystercatcher, Dunlin, Green Sandpiper, Common Sandpiper, Ringed Plover, Little Egret, various Terns and Gulls. In fact the whole place was phenomenal, a great location at that time in the evening - perfect light as well. I had spent time in the afternoon reading up on the species so knew roughly what we were looking for, but we were both on the point of acknowledging what we had suspected all along and giving up when I finally found a likely and very distant candidate. We watched it feed for a while - frenetic galloping, Sanderling-like, and then a brief tippy feeding action - at this range behaviour played as much a part as physical appearance - and DB confirmed the ID, having seen the species before. Against the odds we had succeeded and it felt like proper birding - almost, although obviously it was a twitch. A filthy one.

I didn't stand a chance of getting any photos of the bird, so here instead are some butterflies taken with my excellent and versatile 300mm macro lense. Always come equipped with the right tools for the job, that's what I say.

This is a Silver-spotted Skipper. It is a butterfly, not a bird.

This is a Painted Lady. There are apparently 999,999,998 more of them around the place

And this is a Peacock. Any of these names would have caused uncontrollable giggling last night.

Last night was Monkey's BBQ. A raucous affair it must be said, and where the aforementioned accusations occured. Excellent night, really good, and H brought his moth trap, or what was left of his moth trap, namely a lighthouse bulb bolted to a plank. Nothing fancy about this, you just plonk it down on a white sheet and away you go. The results were stunning. I catch about 2 piddly little brown micros a night and cannot ID them. Howard catches light aircraft and can ID every one of them. We had Cessna, several Learjets, and at one stage, a Gulfstream V. It was great fun as these things bounced off us, and we tried to grab them or stick collection pots on top of them to allow closer study. Tonight I am abandoning my Bonneau du Martray contraption, and just using the bulb and a sheet. We shall see.

The party continued into the small hours and several people called Paul and Monkey became very very drunk. Several litres of red wine were distributed into the grass, and there was a lot of uncontrollable giggling. I am told that this is a taster for Scilly later this autumn and that I should stay well away from them if at all possible! I for one would not be able to go out birding with the kind of hangovers they are likely to have had today. From the sound of it, it may end up being a two-dayer. Luckily I was driving, so am feeling fresh for the patch tomorrow morning. Bring on the Ficedulas.