Bonus dip post!

As you will have surmised, I have been away from home a fair bit of late - 'tis the season of visiting relatives. Thus it was that shortly after arriving on the Isle of Wight on Christmas Eve news broke of a seriously mega Yellow Warbler very conveniently in Kent. As in conveniently not on Shetland or where these things normally arrive. I say 'normally', but you know what I mean. Convenient for someone who lives in London and could get there in under an hour. Except I wasn't in London.

I am not the kind of die hard twitcher who then and there would have said "Something has come up", ditched the family, and got back on the ferry to the mainland. Die hard twitchers don't have families. Instead we proceeded to the the family festivities and I largely forgot all about it for a couple of days. I did note however that it was still there on Boxing Day when we came back and what is more there was a bonus Scops Owl in the same county! Having advanced my UK list by precisely zero birds this year by failing to twitch any rarities at all, perhaps 2024 was finally going to come good! Thoughts of a two tick day began to form....

I was working on the 27th, plus we had yet more family plans, but both birds remained in situ. So far so good. I started composing the blog post in my head, what a triumph, yet another two tick day, 2024 rescued, my UK list nearing 460 etc etc. Ha! I should have known. The title of this blog post sadly isn't one of my misleading ones. So yesterday I waited on news of the Warbler, and when by early afternoon this was not forthcoming I decided I would drop in anyway on the way to the Owl. Cutting to the chase I spent roughly four hours in the car and the only things I saw were 500 green-attired people sporting roughly a million quids worth of optics. And I saw them twice.

It was the usual affair, a huge crowd of people, all chatting away, reminiscing about previous successes given today's failure. None seemed particularly disheartened, they were there as much for the social scene as the bird. That's not me, which is a shame, but I can't bring myself to be part of that scene. Never have, never will, I've always been on the periphery, and this year I've not even been on that. I still recognised a few people though. Four to be precise. Two from Wanstead, one from Walthamstow, and a popular mobile DJ from Buckinghamshire. I gave it an hour milling around, tried a few spots further down the track as frankly the bird could have been anywhere, and then gave up, eager to get down to Broadstairs and tick Scops Owl. Surely that would be there, it had been there a week apparently....

It wasn't. Perhaps the previous evening when it had been chased around a field and lit up by spotlights had put it off, who can say? Certainly not I. So I spent a couple of hours freezing my ass off on a dark cricket pitch listening to the same chat I'd heard earlier that afternoon from the same people, saw nothing, and drove home. Some afternoon. As I contemplated my life choices on the M2 I realised I hadn't exactly dropped everything to rush out. What else would I have done that afternoon? Nothing I expect. I'd been working on my Brazil trip report, and at some point I'd have done a bit of cooking that I now have to do today instead. I probably would have started drinking at around 3pm rather than 7.30pm, so a lost opportunity there, but apart from that I hadn't really wasted the afternoon. Or rather I would have wasted the afternoon anyway, and so only the method of wasting it had really changed. Oh and for completenesses sake I spent £30 on fuel and destroyed the planet that little bit more. Do I regret going? Of course I do! I hate twitching in crowds, and I hate dipping in crowds even more!  So if either of these birds is seen again, what am I going to do?

Crowded and definitely not Solitary

I spent last Saturday in a wooden box. Death foretold. In keeping with a recent promise to myself to do more interesting things that traipse around Wanstead seeing nothing every Saturday morning I once again abandoned the patch. More interesting eh? Well, if you count sitting in a hide filled with middle-aged men as interesting.....

Oh this hobby, I don't know what to say. Let me start by saying that I dipped. Well, we dipped, as I convinced Tony to come too. Sorry Tony. The weather was vile, we wouldn't have seen anything at home, and to be fair we did see quite a lot from the hide in the four or five hours we were there. Just not a Solitary Sandpiper. The previous day it had been parading around like a superstar, but of course that was Friday. We were at work and naturally the dreaded bunk happened. 

I've dipped Solitary Sandpiper before, on Scilly. I can't remember the exact circumstances but Bradders, Nick and I were definitely going to Scilly for one as well as a pretty fabulous supporting cast. On the boat over birders already there found a Black-and-White Warbler at Lower Moors and I can still remember Baggers, or I think it was Baggers, jumping up from the deck and shouting the news. Maybe I'm wrong.

Baggers was in the hide at Stodmarsh on Saturday, chatting away. He knows everyone and everyone knows him. Book reviews seemed to feature quite heavily for some reason, with many people (of a very similar demographic you would have to say) sympathetic to what I assume was the first edition. I've not read it, can't say I intend to, and thus had little to say about it then or now. The oft used phrase that 'everyone has a book in them' should perhaps be taken with a pinch of salt however... Despite his literary setbacks he's quite cheery and I find it hard to believe anyone could find him offensive in person. The only reason I mention his presence is that there seems to be a very strong correlation between him being around and me dipping Solitary Sandpiper - I certainly won't be twitching one in Sussex!

What a bummer. I've not dipped for ages and it reminds me what most dislike about twitching. Not reminds me, it is what I most dislike about twitching. Well, that and hides full of middle aged men. Men like me, except they seem to have read more books. In the time I was there a Green Sandpiper flew in three times. The hide exploded into life each time, it was fantastic to be a part of I have to say.

Nevermind, I'll no doubt get another chance in another 12 years. I'll be 60. At least it was only about an hour and a half away. Imagine driving to Cornwall and dipping. 

The perfect dip

In so far as a dip can be good, today was excellent. It involved not seeing a Leach's Petrel on William Girling Reservoir. Whilst Leach's would be a London tick, at the end of the day it isn't a monster bird and I'm sure I'll see one in London one day. William Girling is also not the patch, nor anywhere I keep a specific list for, so this this isn't a huge grip off or anything like that. It is also only 15 minutes away, so I've have not had to devote hours to driving anywhere. In fact Bob drove, which meant I had to devote no time at all to driving, even easier. So overall a minimal outlay of time and effort, home within an hour or so, pretty chuffed at how it all went really. I mean I suppose it could have been better, for instance if I'd have seen it, but I cannot in truth say I am gutted, depressed, hugely disappointed or whatever. Local dipping knocks long distance dipping into a cocked hat, and I got to see a few London birders I've not seen for a bit, including Andy T and Harry L - who found the bird from his house overlooking the reservoir. All in all a decent morning and I look forward to the next local dip and just hope it is as good as this one. 

Some more happy dippers. Note how Harry, third from the left, looks miserable whereas everyone else looks pretty chipper. There's a lesson there.

Something ventured, absolutely nothing gained...

I've just returned from a quick trip to Reading Services, which were very lovely. A nice way in which to totally quash any resurgence of twitching angst. I've not twitched anything for a very long time, not counting the Rubythroat a few weeks ago. Or the Wren in Arizona. Or that Thrush. Oh. What I mean is that I've not made any meaningful attempt to up my UK list for ages and ages. My last tick was from the comfort of the armchair, which frankly is how I like it. However you do see more birds if you leave the house, and if I look at my year lists over the last few years the total has gradually slipped to below 200. 2015 was a paltry 183, and part of that is to do with random birds you pick up whilst chasing something else, something I simply don't do as much of these days.

And this morning reminded me why. Dipping. Well, I'm actually not sure if driving to Reading services can officially count as a dip if the bird was in Gwent, but the thought was definitely there. It was a Broad-billed Sandpiper, a bird I've dipped once in Essex and never subsequently had another shot at. But Newport? Ugh.When it was reported this morning I tweeted that there was no way I'd be going for it and then left immediately.

I met Matt in Egham, a place I know well from student days, and a convenient place to dump one of the cars. Spirits high, and £6.60 carefully counted out for the bridge, we set off west. And to cut a long story short, so did the bird. Bugger. We waited in Reading for a while doing some hasty research on the site and trying to guess what it might do, and decided it would be sensible to give up and go home again. Thus starts my 2016 twitching career. Whilst it was nice to catch up with Matt who I have not seen for a while, and who appears to travel even more than I do, it highlighted everything I remembered hating about twitching. Starting with not seeing the bird of course. Why do people do it? Why did I think I wanted to? Pah.

Anyhow, I was home before lunch - much to the delight of my youngest who had been eyeing up a second bowl of soup - and so now I have the chance to go and see no birds in Wanstead, which up until eight or so this morning had been the original plan. As that famous Carthaginian said, I love it when a plan comes together.

Cornwall for a mega Starling

I’ve seen two Pechora Pipits. Four Buff-bellied Pipits. Four Red-flanked Bluetails. But somehow I’ve only seen two Rose-coloured Starlings. I think I saw a beige one first, and then was lucky enough to see an adult next, at which point I just stopped going to see them. Some may view this as entirely sensible, but this discrepancy has been irking me, gnawing away at me. With a weekend free, and a nailed-on bird hanging around the supermarkets in Penzance, the twitch was on! For such a good-looking bird I even forwent my usual “never on no news” rule, and left at 8pm on Friday so as be in position at Morrison's the next morning. It’s also been seen at other supermarkets though, and so with both Tesco and Sainsburys just next door, I figured that if the prospect of a massive down-market Superstore dip was on the cards it would be easy to go and try the next set of lamp posts across the road. Twitching is all about having a decent backup plan – if your major target doesn’t perform straight away, make sure you know where else to go and look for it.

Little did I know how badly wrong it could go though. My chauffeur for the weekend was a Mr. D Bradnum, and blow me if he didn’t go and drive right through Penzance in the middle of the night! Yep, that’s right, missed it completely in the dark! Ended up at the arse end of nowhere at a place called Porthgwarra, with nothing but thousands of miles of ocean in front of us and not a supermarket in sight! 

Do you get these at Morrison's? Do you?! No.

It just felt wrong from the start. Instead of being confronted with a series of lamp posts and telegraph poles along a pavement, there was a dried up pool and some sallows. Of neon signs, petrol stations and roundabouts there was no sign. Surely we were looking in the wrong place, but there was no way that a hundred other people could have made the same mistake - the place was carpeted in Starling twitchers! How could so many people screw up such simple directions?! I tried telling people that we were looking for Kwikfit, but nobody would listen. This is where it roosted they said. Rubbish! Where was the A30, I asked? But no, they remained in a long line scoping a bit of scrubby cover about sixty feet long that clearly had no Starlings of any variety in it. Talk about misguided! I think I even overheard somebody talking about a Cuckoo at one point! I mean If they can’t even twitch the right species, what hope is there?! Eventually I managed to drag Bradders away and with a bit of skillful map-reading directed him back over the Lands End peninsula and into Penzance, where would you believe it I spotted the damn bird from the car as we were motoring along the dual carriageway. Exactly as expected, sitting about with a group of normal Starlings on a massive lamp post. To his credit, Bradders apologized for initially taking me to the wrong place, and although we had wasted three hours staring at empty bushes, the continued presence of the glorious juvenile Rose-coloured Starling – which hadn’t fallen off its perch in the night as some had predicted– made all of that irrelevant. The long trip down to the south-west was a success, and another one to chalk up to the “never miss” list. These overnighters are always carry a certain amount of risk, but once again the plan had come off. Phew.

With the main target under the belt, we decided to go and clean up on some of the other goodies down there, such as the Lesser Yellowlegs on the Hayle, and a smart Ring-necked Duck on Drift. We briefly considered going to one of the more obscure valleys for a Yellow-billed Cuckoo that had reportedly been seen the previous day, but everybody knows that they always die during the night so we decided to give it a miss despite the monstrous rarity factor. I mean imagine how upset we would have been if we had travelled down purely to see that? Luckily for us we’re not that stupid, and so had a very pleasant day wandering around various parts of Cornwall definitely not thinking about mega Yank Cuckoos at all and what might have been.

The following day we had a poke around a couple of Valleys but drew a big blank bar a Yellow-browed Warbler. Leaving the coast behind, we drove up to North Cornwall to see an American Golden Plover. This is a species which typically stays a long time, as unlike wussy bastard ungrateful Cuckoos they’re pretty hardy souls. True to form the bird was still around, sitting around on the main runway in plain view and looking pretty perky. As opposed to lying upside down under a bush. I gave Bradders clear instructions to move the car only in reverse, and snuck out of the hidden side to crawl around the front bumper. The bird didn’t bat an eyelid. Or die. So I ended up getting some nice photos, including a bonus Wheatear.

Mission accomplished on yet another of the Starling’s supporting cast, we departed for Somerset and spent the last hours of daylight watching a juv Pallid Harrier, only the third I’ve seen, and thus concluding a rather profitable weekend which included two American Waders and a Nearctic Duck, a Warbler from Siberia, a Bird of Prey from Central Asia, and a mega Starling. Oh, and apparently that Cuckoo or whatever it was wasn’t seen again, and a whole load of people had a massive massive dip. Losers!

Dip, Breakfast, Dip

A two tdp day! Not had one of those for a long while, but no matter, the sun was out, the camera was humming nicely. I probably deserve a dippy day, I see far too much far too easily, bring back the days of receiving postcards with rare bird news I say. These days you just bowl up and there it is, hence my rapid rise towards the heady heights of 400. These days I am far more interested in seeing birds well than creeping up a list of lists I doubt I will ever feature on.

Dunno, Shaun, Monkey (uncouth), Bradders

So, an early start with DB, Shaun and the Monkey, and an easy ride down to Dungeness for a recently-departed Pallas's Warbler. I gave this all of about ten minutes before sacking it off and having a good old chat to Mick S about Hungary next year. Specifically I learned that if you want reflections in the drinking pool hide in the Hortobagy National Park, then 500mm is too long. Frankly you can't find this out from books, and is consequently very useful gen indeed for someone of my geeky ilk. Forgoeing the Warbler altogether, we headed off hunting for Glaucous Gull via a beach strewn with dead fish. Mick collected a few for Gull fodder, but in the event they were completely unnecessary and the bird - a regular - showed magnificently, although it steadfastly refused to use its wings - no bad thing as I am hopeless at flight photography.

An ill-timed stop for breakfast at a greasy spoon, with quite possibly the longest waiting time on the planet, and Bradders' dreaded mega alert wail went off. Happily not South Shields this time, but a Desert Warbler conveniently round the corner at Samphire Hoe, though if you have been paying attention to the title, you will see it was completely fruitless. Lovely to be out though, and when I got bored of kicking stones I had a pop at some Rock Pipits on the shoreline, of which there were many. A fine day out despite the dippage, and a reminder that trudging round the Flats seeing nothing is not always the best policy.

Bulgaria - day 4

In starting to write about our final day in Bulgaria, over three weeks ago now, I wondered briefly whether the moment had passed, and then yesterday happened. In essence, both days were all about driving and dipping - the two often go hand in hand, though I have had it happen on the patch as well. Walking and dipping doesn't sound as good though.

Gratuitous Shrike

In Bulgaria, we had swapped guides, Dancho having had enough of us, quite understandably. The new man, Simeon, had listened patiently to our remaining "wants", and declared that he had a cast-iron sites for most of them. Naturally, we dipped everything, starting with a nailed-on Levant Sparrowhawk very close to the hotel. We followed this up by dipping Grey-headed Woodpecker, and concluded by dipping Sombre Tit after Sombre Tit. Or I did anyway. Added to this was the need to travel the length of the country to catch our flight, and so given the excellence of the three previous days, it was inevitably somewhat of a disappointment.

Yesterday morning I was in Fife, having nipped across from Oban for a rare opportunity to get the entire Lethbridge clan together. In the back of my mind however, was an adult Roller in Yorkshire. A Roller that I considered twitching a week ago on the way up to Scotland but concluded was too out of the way. A Roller that then surpassed all expectations by staying in the same spot all week. A Roller that I was astonished remained one further day, the day which I would be driving past, and this time on the right side of the country. Throughout the morning, regular messages came through about its continued presence in the same field. My confidence was sky high, and mentally it was on the list already. The perspicaceous amongst you will know where this leading....

Two hours before I arrived at the spot that the Roller had been at for ten days, it vanished. I spent two hours tramping around some dark and wet countryside, seeing nothing turquoise, before reluctantly carrying on home to London. It gets better though, as I knew it would. First bird message this morning? Do you need a clue? Thought not.... To pretend I am not completely gutted would be a huge lie. To somehow shrug it off by saying I've seen loads really well in Europe would be equally lame. As I say, gutted. It had been there just about forever, and as I type, is still there. I'm not going back, even though I could. I've spent more than enough time in the car recently, and there will be another - which I am aware also sounds lame. And when there is, I'll probably dip that one too. Pure overconfidence was my undoing. If you ever think something is nailed on, and start celebrating early - Landguard excepted - you're doomed. Simeon learnt that lesson in Bulgaria, and I learnt it yesterday in Yorkshire. Bugger.

In Bulgaria. Whatever....

No Migrants

I find it very very difficult to get up early. This is because I find it very difficult to go to bed early, or at least at a time befitting of a man of my extreme age. There is just too much to do. In an ideal world, every day would be about 36 hours long - this would just about be enough to squeeze in all the things that I want to do. Nonethless, today the alarm was set for 5:40am in anticipation of hordes of Migrants all over Wanstead Flats - Mrs L wasn't happy, but I was resolute. In an effort to appease I made her a cup of tea, and then snuck out. For once I had the Flats completely to myself, and I mean completely. No joggers, no dogs, no birders. Whilst the going was good I hastened to Alex for the waderfest that no doubt awaited.

Leaving Alex I went back to the broom fields and waited for the Wheatears to wake up and make themselves known, and for the Sand Martins to start flicking overhead. I waited quite a long time. Instead I took more than a few photographs of Skylarks as we need some for a new web-page on them. A couple of small woodpecker seekers turned up a little while later, and one of them got their arm twisted to take me to Shoebury for an Essex Shorelark tick which would be absolutely nailed on.

Note the Shorelark consorting happily with these Sanderling

Leaving Shoebury, the next stop was Southend for some Med Gull action. A single Med Gull was present, and to describe anything it did as "action" would be stretching it somewhat. It showed a brief interest in a chip that I threw for it, but when this was instead snaffled by a Black-headed Gull, it buggered off down the sea-front in disgust and I couldn't be bothered to go after it. And that was my day.

Except on Wednesdays when I get rudely awakened by the burglars

Things are a bit of a blur this morning, famille L has not had much sleep. At 3:50am we were woken by an immense clattering. Assuming foxes, who become ever bolder, I turned over. Fortunately Mrs L jumped out of bed in time to see two men running down the street with a ladder.

Gah! Chateau L had been violated. I charged downstairs, vaulted the Crocodiles, and commando-rolled into the front room. The bear-trap was still set. The crossbow in the kitchen was similarly undisturbed; it appeared the Keep was intact. Phew. Out in the garden, the moth trap was still glowing away, several Toads and a [rabid] Fox cub in attendance. So far so good, no moths stolen. Cautiously checking the front of the house I could see no damage, but the ladder could only mean one thing - our outer defences had been breached, the moat, er I mean gate, scaled. I peered down the side passage - a blank space where Mrs L's bike had until recently been stared back.

This is no mean feat, as our gate is about ten feet high, and Mrs L's bike is a behemoth. It weighs at least two tonnes, there can be no more unwieldy piece of metal on the planet. Somehow it had been heaved over the gate, waking us up in the process. But we had not seen the bike disappearing down the street, which probably meant more than two burglars. In the face of these odds, I decided against heading out to hunt them down, and instead Mrs L called the Police. Being British, I then had a cup of tea.

I am paranoid at the best of times, so to actually be burgled is really annoying. But at least they didn't get into the house. Lucky for them, as if they had managed to negotiate all the traps and Crocodiles and make it upstairs, the sight of me on a hot summer night would have finished them off. Actually it's more likely any intruder would get stuck in Mount Garment and suffocate, his corpse going undetected for several weeks. No doubt it was a bunch of kids chancing their arm, but in this heat I have been leaving vents and windows open, and not pulling that little chain thingy across the front door. I need to raise my game. And buy some Lions.

Amazingly, about an hour later the Police turned up with Mrs L's bike. This was about the least likely outcome I had expected, but top marks, I am happy to be paying my taxes. Oh, wait. Anyway, we had both thought that it was gone for good, and would by now have been in a shipping container in Felixstowe on the way to the Middle East. Or at the bottom of the river Roding. So to have it returned, albeit amazingly beaten-about in the short time it had been missing, is remarkable. The patrol car had been a couple of miles away at Gant's Hill when the call came through, and as they were driving up to our road they spotted six men with a bike in that little cut-through - remember, the one I got mugged in and lost my bins - clearly a place of some iniquity. Six men and a bike at 4am is a little unusual, so they put two and two together and came up with four, stopped the car, and jumped out. The men dropped the bike and scarpered into Bush Wood where they split up. The officers gave chase, but there was little they could do, and the dog team that turned up a while later could find no trace. But we got the bike back, and I would hope that there are currently six pairs of brown pants being washed in Forest Gate or wherever the scumbags came from. I wonder if there is a burglary term for "dip"?

Six guys though, a bit scary. If six men decided to break into your house in the middle of the night, there is not a lot you are going to be able to do about it. Can you imagine? I wouldn't have needed to feed the Crocodiles for weeks!

Guard Toad protecting Moth Trap from Mosquitos.

Dipping

On the way back home from an eight-hour Great Snipe dip over three sessions the other day, the topic of conversation turned to dipping. This is the art of not seeing a bird that you have travelled to see - twitched, if you like. There are many types of dipping, and though you can put a brave face on it, nobody likes any of them. Sometimes the bird has gone, nothing you can do about it, they have wings. But with diesel the price it is, many people prefer to wait on news, but this then allows for the possibility of the worst kind of dip, which is when the bird IS actually there, but you don't manage to see it. This was the case with the Great Snipe - it was there the whole time, and then as soon as we got home, felt able to parade around again in full view. Arse.

Anyhow, at the start of the conversation, I maintained that I hadn't dipped very many times, and that my picky twitching nature meant that more often than not I saw the bird. As the conversation progressed however, I started recalling more and more failures, and felt it might be cathartic to talk about them. I don't actually get too wound up about it now, it's just a bird, it comes with the territory, but back then it was terrible, and I am sure it must still eat some people up. Presumably, it is the long-distance ones that are the worst. Imagine driving from London to Scotland for a White-tailed Plover that wasn't there when you arrived - ouch! Imagine getting a flight to Shetland for a Yellow-billed Cuckoo that died in the night. Or a long boat journey for an absent Albatross. All of these have happened, but not to me. For a start, I am not about to start twitching Scotland. The first rule of twitching is to realise that eventually there will be one closer, and you can dip that instead.

So what dips stick in my memory particularly, and why?

Wryneck, Wanstead, 2010
After thrashing Wanstead the previous few days, I decided I would instead head to Rainham as I was pursuing a year-list there as well. Did the school run, and went straight there. As I approached the slip-road off the A13, Nick phoned from approximately 500 yards away from my house. "Wryneck!" Bum. I exited the A13, went round the roundabout, and headed back the way I had come. I was unbelievably lucky with the traffic, and met Nick on the Flats about twenty minutes later. No sign, and not a sniff for the next three hours. I was despondent. Patch dips hurt way more than any other kind. The story had a happy ending though, as on the school run the following day he refound the bird, and this time it stayed put.




Marsh Sandpiper, Maldon, Essex, 2008
This is memorable not just for the dip, but for the whole goddamed day. On offer in a small cluster in eastern Essex were not only the Marsh Sandpiper, but also a Red-necked Phalarope and a Wryneck. Marsh Sandpiper and Wryneck would have been lifers, and I'd only seen one Red-necked Phalarope before. I spent the day in the car and dipped the lot.

Black-winged Praticole, Reculver, Kent, 2009
A lovely day with some old school friends and their kids was ruined by news of this mega from Kent. This is why twitching is ridiculous, and one of the reasons why I've gradually calmed down to the point where I can easily let a bird go with a shrug. Can't see 'em all. I was agitated the whole day, to the point of rudeness, and scooted home as soon as I could. Straight back in the car, picked up Vince, and down to Reculver. No sign, though we were greeted by several smiling faces that we knew. Vince immediately gave up, and I mean immediately. I suggested having a look at Grove Ferry just down the road, but he wasn't interested. We went anyway, and I had a quick scan from the viewing mound whilst he had a kip in the car. Back to London to an angry wife, always good. The story doesn't end there. I went back to Grove Ferry NNR the next day, and spent that dipping as well. Almost unbelievably, and a clear sign of my growing stupidity at that time, I set off for Kent the following morning as well. This time I got it, but I still remember it for all the wrong reasons.

Zitting Cisticola, Swalecliff, Kent, 2008
This is my worst dip EVER. Famille Lethbridge had a nice day out planned. Somehow I had swung going to Rainham for lunch (when you didn't need to be a multi-millionaire), so I was pretty happy. On the way to Rainham, the pager bleeped. Fan-tailed Warbler, Swalecliff. To universal disapproval, I drove past Rainham, over the bridge, and onwards to Swalecliff. A fuming Mrs L insisted that I drop the family off for lunch somewhere first. The closest place to the bird was an absolute hole of a pub, really really horrible. The menu was pure grease, I could not have found anywhere worse. I installed them on a quiet corner table, and before I left, took a child to the toilet, it only took a minute. Jumped in the car and off I went. Loads of cars, loads of birders. As I approached the crowd, a man shouted "Who hasn't seen it yet?" - I scurried over. "It's flying!". He vainly tried to get me on what was presumably a dot, but it was gone, never to be seen again. Thirty seconds earlier and I would have seen it - I prefer to dip by several hours. I returned to the pub in a filthy mood, to find the family penned the corner, a Premiership football match blaring out from every screen in the place, including from an overhead projector onto a screen right next to their table. The journey home passed in silence. I've seen one since, but I still smart at quite how badly I behaved that day.

Shore Larks in Norfolk

A weekend in Norfolk with Dipper Bradnum resulted in eight hours of not seeing a Great Snipe. You win some, you lose some. Last week I won quite conclusively, this weekend I lost by a clear margin. Three attempts, one dawn, two dusk, resulted in precisely nothing. Still, it was nice to be up there, a great place to be birding, and there was plenty to see when we weren't freezing to death in Cley's Avocet hide.

A summer-plumaged Lesser Yellowlegs with a few Wood Sandpipers for company were extremely easy on the eye, but star bird status goes to a couple of Shorelarks on the shingle ridge that mostly separates North Norfolk from the North Sea. They took a while to find, but once pinned down, and once used to our presence, they made for very obliging subjects. Easily the best photos I've taken of this species, though I am sure you will believe me when I say I would ideally like to take many more. A sample below, with others here.








Elsewhere, at a very very secret Montagu's Harrier site, an equally posy Pied Wagtail made my shutter go into overdrive as it sang on a dirt mound only a few feet away. To keep the blog from being too photo-heavy, you can see a few more here.

Bracketing a Bluethroat

A rather impressive hangover this morning precluded a swift exit and dash to Rainham for a Bluethroat. I missed it by about two minutes. I stuck around for as long as I could, but needed to be back so that Mrs L could selfishly pursue her hobbies. Naturally the Bluethroat popped up again just after I had left, and showed on and off for two hours.

Approximately two hours and five minutes later I arrived back at the same spot, and despite giving it another couple of hours, dipped again. Nicely done I felt. I'm going to give it a try tomorrow morning before the reserve opens, hopefully it will a) be there, and b) may feed in the open without the hordes.

In the meantime, here is one I prepared earlier.


So why am I bothered? Strange, isn't it? Here is a bird that I saw beyond excellently only a week ago, and yet I'm fretting over dipping this near-identical one. Let's just call it the joys of county listing and leave it at that, as there is no rational explanation. Oh wait, yes, I'm a sad loser with a mild case of obsessive compulsive disorder. Yes, just mild. Believe me, there are some absolute fruitcakes out there.

The day was rescued by a very smart Tree Sparrow on the feeders outside the visitor centre, my first for the reserve, and also an Essex tick. Like you wanted to know that.

Slightly Dippy Day

Not sure if you can dip a bird that you didn't actually go and see, but it felt like dipping. I needed a break from London, and felt that Bobolink would make a nice addition to my British list. Happily enough, one was found in Glamorgan. The only way I could get there and back in time for the school pick-up was to leave in the dark on no news, a risky move. So rather than go the whole way, I strategically placed myself on the M4 corridor and awaited news.

The news was unfortunately negative, so I spent a bit of time dipping two Glossy Ibises, attempted some Red Kite photography near Stokenchurch, and finally ended up in Wanstead looking for the Wryneck again.

As I headed towards the Alexandra scrub I could see a few people milling around. Turned out they were all Wryneck dippers, and looking fairly miserable. Hadn't been seen for over an hour and a half. Oh dear. I cheered them up by finding it in approximately five minutes, and they all got good and prolonged views, and were most grateful. I felt rather smug, possibly looked it too if you can believe it, but then again I do spend a large amount of time on Wanstead Flats and know it rather well. On previous Wryneck searches in the larger area of scrub that it disappears into, I had noticed an excellent-looking feeding spot consisting of a couple of anthills in a hollow area of bramble. This was the first place I went to look, and there it was. I'm not sure who was more surprised, me or it? It flew up and sat inside an Elder bush, and I went and found the dippers, all of whom were still wandering disconsolately around the burnt patch of Broom where it had been in the morning.

And then it was time to pick up the kids, and my birding day was over. So, in summary, I woke up in the middle of the night and drove about 300 miles to see a Wryneck in Wanstead. An act of genius if ever I saw one.

A fine start, but a poor finish

The day started very well with news of Kev finding an Alpine Swift at Crossness. I am in the happy position of having seen an Alpine Swift in London this week already, but being greedy I headed off.....to Rainham. Yes, uber-cool being that I am, I felt that there was a chance to bag this southern wanderer for my Rainham list by virtue of seeing a dot zooming about distantly over Crossness. I was wrong, though there was a moment of excitement when it was reported to fly high east. All eyes were to the sky, but nothing came through.

All was not in vain though, for on the way to Rainham, news of a male Ring Ouzel on the sea wall reached me. Despite the possibility of an Alpine Swift from Rainham, I went straight to the Aveley Bay carpark and following some top "it's in that bush there" gen from Steve B, picked it up more or less straight away. All thoughts of Alpine Swift were forgotten, Ring Ouzels, especially immaculate males like this, are stunning, and I can't get enough of them. And it was a site tick....

Bradders arrived soon afterwards, and there was a comedy moment when I turned round to wave and point at the bush, and whilst my back was turned it flew out and down the sea wall another 100 yards. I continued on towards what I thought was the bush, and was puzzled when I couldn't see it, and only discovered what had happened when Bradders turned up. Impossible to get any decent shots of it, an extremely flighty and nervous bird. Then the news of the Alpine Swift flying high east came through and all thoughts of Ring Ouzel were forgotten....

The afternoon was less glorious. Bradders, the Monkey and I attempted to twitch the Pallid Swift at Kessingland. We didn't get it - the Dipmonkey strikes again. We only called him to save a bit of petrol money, next time I'm paying the full fare. In addition to not seeing the Pallid Swift, we basically failed to see anything at all, it was dead. Until just after we left of course, when all the Pallid dippers had an Alpine Swift go over their heads, apparently only the 854th record this month.

Subsequent photos of Monkey may look happier....

Gah! So close!

I was lounging around on the sofa today when I got a text from Paul, a local birder. It said "Red Kite east over Wanstead now" NOW!!!! Gah!! I sprang into action, grabbed bins, dashed out the front in my slippers. Then another text: "West, towards bush wood". Come on!!! That's near me!!! Back inside, through the house, out into the garden, started scanning towards Bush Wood. Any minute now!! Can't be long!!

It never came. Hrrrmph. It was probably just a shade too far north to be visible from the garden. So close, yet so far. To add insult to injury, as I was scanning north I became aware of movement to my right, and just saw the shape of a duck zipping over the roof. A silent dark duck, and I didn't think it was a Mallard. In terms of garden duck needs, it's basically everything except Mallard and Shoveler, and it whilst it definitely wasn't a Shoveler, I wasn't getting Mallard in my brief view. Maybe it was a Mallard, in fact that would be best really.

But back to the Red Kite. Along with Osprey, Red Kite is my most wanted bird for Wanstead. They're just about annual I reckon. I spent hours looking at the sky at this time last year, and didn't get one. Today, with all three kids at home, we spent the day playing and watching DVDs, and the sky got ignored. Unforgiveable.

Tonight's post wouldn't be complete without a short word on my continuing failure to find a Wheatear on the Flats. So, I didn't find any Wheatears this morning. Again. OK?

Moving away from this painful subject, the results of the latest Poll were as follows.

1) More Gulls please - 58%
2) A new blog, just for Gulls - 12%
3) I hate Gulls, and will soon hate you - 29%

A quick spot of maths shows this to be 70% in favour of Gulls, and 29% not. And 1% vanished into thin air by the looks of things. So, have some Gulls, it has been far too long.

Played for and didn't get....

I must be mad. I deliberately got up at 4:30am this morning and went to Rainham.

The Plan:
5am-6am: Get Little Owl and Tawny Owl
6am-6:30am: Move on to Sea Wall, view the Great White Egret coming in from roost
6:30-7am: Find first Wheatear of the year in the Ant Field.
7am-7:15am: Pick up Little Ringed Plover on Purfleet Scrape.
7:30am-10:30am: Breakfast in the Visitor Centre.
10:30am-11:30am: Refind the Pendulines in the Reed Bed, take marvellous photos of them.
11:30am-1pm: Raptor Watch on the Sea Wall; Red Kite and Osprey.

It was a resounding failure in every respect, apart from the getting up at 4:30am bit which went off without a hitch. Penduline, Schmenduline. Best bird was a Greenshank, which I didn't even see, and there was also a Blackcap in the Cordite. Both year ticks, but hardly consolation for the antisocial start time. The curious thing is that I'd be raving about what an amazing day it had been if I'd got the Little Owl, which is a really rather common bird, except at Rainham, and especially not today. The story - that of finding zero migrants - was one repeated across the land. Patch workers everywhere are on tenterhooks, waiting for that first Sand Martin to flit through their bins, that first white flash of a Wheatear's backside. They (ok, me) will have looked back through their notes, and remarked to themselves (to myself) that their earlist ever summer migrant was a whatever on the such and such of so and so back in the year such and such (Wheatear, 15th March, 2008 & 2009) and be wondering if they can beat that by a day this year (I couldn't - unless you count the Greenshank, which seeing as I saw one on Jan 3rd at Mersea, would be rather odd)

Meanwhile life goes on, normal people do normal things. Mothers celebrate Mother's Day alone, children wonder where their fathers are, things like that.

In addition to failing dismally at every part of the plan, I took some photos. As I was hitting my stride with a very accomodating Reed Bunting on the northern boardwalk, my battery died, neatly summing-up my day. Rather than me continue moaning, here are some of them. I'll try again tomorrow. A jubilant post is surely not too far away....

Dipping, smugly.

I had to go up to Cambridge today to deliver a grandchild to a grandparent, and whilst there I noticed that there was a Waxwing nearby. It was a nice blue-sky day, so I went to see if could get a few shots of it. I couldn't, chiefly because a resident Mistle Thrush was having none of it and kept chasing it away. Luckily, here is one I prepared earlier. Much earlier, and in a different county in fact.

Instead, I decided it would be educational to go and see if I could find the Rough-legged Buzzard less than ten minutes away. Become a better birder - not year-listing you understand. As I arrived at the lay-by, the very same lay-by I had seen a Rough-leg from last year, there was a car already there, and a birder looking through a telescope.

"Have you got it?" Note how "it" is all that is necessary, mentioning the bird by name is entirely superfluous.
"Yes, it's in here!"
"Do you mind if I take a quick look before I set up?"
"Go ahead"
"Thanks"

In my brief glance it looked suspiciously like the Common Buzzard I've been seeing a lot at Rainham. Still, set up the scope anyway, take a closer look.... tail first. I was very nice about it, it's not like I'm on the BBRC is it? But it was basically, to my relatively untrained eye at least, a Common Buzzard. The big problem was the the undertail didn't have a broad black band, and wasn't white. He wasn't totally sure, he said, and he valued a second opinion. Fair enough. It then flew revealing a dark uppertail.

I had to go anyway, so headed back towards Cambridge, but only a short distance down the road another car was parked up, with another scope pointing off into the distance. You can probably guess where this is headed, but this is my blog, and as you will all be aware, me getting it right is fairly mega, so I'll continue to drag it out. Bear with me.

"Have you got it?"
"Yes, it's in here!"
"May I?"
"Please."
"Thanks. Er, I'm not sure that's it actually."

This one was distant, and facing away from us in a tree, but whilst it had a paler upper-tail than the previous bird, and a dark-ish terminal band, there wasn't any trace of pure white at all -overall the appearance was beigey-brown. He tried to talk about how pale the undertail was, and about scapulars. If I'd have know what scapulars were, I would probably have been in a better position, so instead I pressed on with the tail theory, and argued that even at this distance, you should be able to easily pick out the distinctive black and white pattern, especially as it was on an exposed branch in the wind and using its tail to maintain balance. He didn't believe me, fair enough I suppose, I wouldn't believe me. Instead he called a bloke who had actually seen it - the county recorder no less - which seemed quite sensible, to discuss the specifics of this bird's tail. I wasn't party to the conversation, but it would seem he rained on the parade as well, as once the guy had hung up he confirmed that the bird we were looking for had a white tail with a widish terminal band and then just one thinner tail bar. We all then agreed that this bird didn't have that. I drove back to Cambridge feeling smug. A dip, but a good one. I hope they didn't all think I was a tosser.

Actually I don't think they would have done. I was nice about it, and not arrogant at all - difficult to be when you know as little as I do about RL Buzzard features. I've seen three, ever. I would have liked it to have been four, but I have standards, and seeing as I'm not year-listing, I am being much more critical. Would it have got on last year? No, of course not!! As if.....who do you think I am?! The year before? Almost certainly.....

How to dip properly

This BH Gull was dipping. Quite productively actually.

How to dip foolishly

1) Turn up at the site the bird has been reported from some time previously.
2) Ensure you have no local knowledge whatsoever.
3) Stand around twiddling your thumbs where there are obviously no birds.
4) Make no attempt to go and look where birds obviously are.

Follow these four simple steps and you should easily dip most things you go for if they have moved more than about 50 metres from where they were first seen.

How to dip properly

1) As above...
2) ...but having done some research, you know, like printing a map of the area, noting tide times if applicable, contacting a few locals beforehand, generally genius things like that.
3) If you can't see 'the bird', or indeed many birds at all, from the previously reported location, leave and check out other likely spots.
4) For instance, if you can see a very distant flock of small waders, and the bird you are looking for is a small wader, work out where you can better see them from and GO THERE.

To cut a long story short, Bradders and I dipped a Semi-p(almated Sandpiper) at the weekend. But we gave it a bloody good go, and whilst ultimately we ended up disappointed, we felt we had given it our best shot, and that it simply wasn't there any more. When dipping, especially after 360 miles and 6 hours spent trudging over inter-tidal salt marsh, it is important to have something to vent your frustrations on. Luckily Avon provided this in spades, as we met useless birder after useless birder. No idea. They were able to get in a car and find where the bird had been, but when it wasn't there, that was it, they just gave up. Even though you could very obviously see a group of distant waders from the original site, not one person there thought of trying to get closer to them to see what they were. Hello? Is anyone there? It was pitiful. One of them ended up following us around. I mean, how little inspiration must you have if you think following me around is a good plan? You wonder how these people get life lists exceeding about 85. I won't bore you with the details of where we went, which bit of estuary and so forth, suffice it say we encountered numpty after numpty (although not wearing hats...), none of whom had the faintest clue how to actually LOOK FOR A BIRD. No, that is not the way it works. The bird is there, in front of you when you arrive. Somebody tells you where to point your scope (generally considered important for grilling waders, but amazingly one guy we met hadn't brought one), eventually, one presumes, you manage to get on it, you tick it, and you go home happy. Plan B? Forget it.

The day wasn't a complete wash-out. We did at least see the juvenile Long-billed Dowitcher at Chew Valley Lake before wasting six hours on the Severn Estuary. We arrived in heavy fog, a portent of things to come perhaps, but it soon lifted enough to easily pick out the Dowitcher feeding with Snipe, relatively close in. This is only the second one I have ever seen, so this justifies the mileage in itself. The Semi-p would just have been a bonus. Ahem.

So that was #295. Today I tried to up that to 296, but instead ended up dipping - a Wryneck at Holland Haven. This getting to 300 lark is becoming irritating. Perhaps I should move from BOU to UK400, as I'm actually on 301 using that species list. If I fork out £2.50, Lee will give me a certificate for my uber-valiant effort. I might just do it for Mrs L, as a reminder of 2009.

Double Dip Day. Damn.

I wasn't really supposed to be birding today, as I may have mentioned. As it was I managed to sneak out of the house - albeit with a baby on my back, so Mrs L probably did notice. I was resolute, I was going round the Flats, and that was it, Pendulines be damned. I had just seen a Stonechat, and one of the Reed Buntings had just zoomed over, when.... "beep beep"....

"2 PENDULINE TITS Rainham Marshes RSPB......"

Bugger.

Resolutions went out the window, and about 45 minutes later, I found myself on the boardwalk, looking at some recently vacated reeds, and being gripped off by a bunch of birders who had had:
"excellent views"
"just in front of where you are now"
"no, about two minutes before you arrived"
"yes, they just flew off high NW"
"really high, doesn't look like they'll be back for a while"
"when they did this last time they weren't seen for about two days"

Lack of avian subject matter promotes art

Back at home, Kids Corner was looming, but oh look, a Great Grey Shrike, within the LNHS area, about 8 miles away, and showing well. You can see where this is leading so I'll cut to the chase - dropped wife and kids off at this party, went off to Potter's Bar where I met Vince, dipped the Shrike, got very cold, drove back, picked up kids, wife and balloons, went home, sulked.

Oh, and about an hour in to the Shrike dip, phone goes off, and it's Blowmonkey, who has apparently been enjoying excellent views of the Snowy Owl in Cornwall. Superb he tells me, really really good. I'm looking forward to the photos.

Vince dipping a Shrike in London