Fear and loathing in las Americas

I am American. By blood, I am more American than I am British. I live here of course, I’m officially British too. The UK and Europe (cough) are where I identify most strongly with and where I’m raising my family. But I also have a blue passport and I pay US taxes. My forebears are Mormons from Utah and immigrants from Yorkshire. They prospered and spread far and wide across the land, living and propagating the American dream. Today I have relatives from Maryland to California, from Ohio to Arizona, from Oregon to Pennsylvania. When I travel there I am welcomed home.

Over here we poke fun at America. Hicks, rednecks and good ol' boys. Obsessed by guns and allergies. Fifteen different kinds of milk. Neurotic, fat, stupid and uncultured. There is an element truth to all stereotypes, but almost all Americans that I have met are kind, decent and honest people. They are friendly and welcoming, when they say “have a nice day” they genuinely mean it. It is a magnificent country, beautiful and diverse. Blessed.

America, what have you done?

I have never been prouder to be an American as eight years ago. It nearly reduced me to tears as Obama accepted. This morning I was close to tears again. Distraught. What has my second country done? Fear and frailty have triumphed over common sense and decency. Traditional politics has failed. Just like Brexit here, the disenfranchised have stormed to victory on the back of a message of intolerance and a considerable amount of hot air. Just like Brexit, it no longer matters what is true and what is not – voters don’t care. People hear what they want to hear, and if you have conviction and pander to that, no matter how absurd or divorced from reality it might be, they’ll listen and they’ll believe. Donald Trump exploited that.

In a way both decisions, awful though they are, are triumphs for democracy. Whether I like it or not (I don’t, in case you were still on the fence about that), the USA will soon have a leader with a scary world view and all the grace of a toasted cheese sandwich*. But that’s what the majority of Americans wanted, they wanted change, they didn’t want traditional Washington D.C. and its elite. Americans are nice people, I can’t stress that enough. But large segments of their society are clearly hurting, and unfortunately that same demographic are also very conservative, narrow-minded and ill-informed – a dangerous combination. The Presidential election was a chance to vote for change and they took it. At least they sort of voted on their issues, something that didn’t happen for Brexit. Brexit was ultimately only a vote against the establishment and not really about EU membership. UK voters failed to distinguish between an election and a referendum. Referendums are one-offs, final, whereas elections come around again and you get a second chance. The Brexit decision that all the over 65s voted for doesn’t allow the young people whose entire lives it will ultimately affect that second chance. At least in America there’s an opportunity to vote for change in four years time, and that’s the only positive I can currently see.

It is scant comfort. The soon-to-be leader of the free world is a monumental cretin, a rich and volatile bully with a dangerous lack of experience and an incoherent/non-existent strategy. Just like Farage here, he has made it OK to be racist and bigoted again. Whilst many who voted for him are decent people with decent views who simply didn’t trust Hillary Clinton, he has also given voice to a small segment of under-represented society that have frankly appalling views. We should all be mindful that views like this were once over-represented, and look what happened then. The swing to the right has been as dramatic as it is terrifying. Hatred. Remember what Yoda said about that? Low-level racism and outright xenophobia have become acceptable again, and just like Brexit the polls got it wrong on the US election too.

I don’t know why we are all so surprised. The Leave voters and Trump voters actually find their choice mildly embarrassing, and rightly so. The surprise would have been if they had had the conviction to stand up and publicly state that they didn’t actually like their Polish neighbours very much and that yes, they were going to be voting to leave the EU. Instead they stayed silent or lied when asked, and after voting went back indoors feeling faintly smug that they had socked it to the establishment. It is obviously a lot more complicated than this. I am just a bird blogger and I don’t understand large parts of the dynamics that have led us to this point, both here and across the Atlantic, but I think it can be boiled down to a few key themes. Disenfranchisement, anxiety and resentment. The world is too big. I do not understand what is happening. It was better before.

It is the failure of successive governments – globally - to address this that has led us to where we are now. It spans every facet of government. Education, health, trade agreements, the environment, everything. Everything is interconnected in a massively complex web, and knowing where you stand in a world that moves faster than you or anyone else can stay current with has been a huge and incomprehensible shock. Voters – and the demographics are very telling – want a return to simpler times, to straight-talking leaders, and to an improvement in their lot in life. Trump and Farage, who let us not forget appeared on stage together, are the winds of change. The fact that neither of them has a scoobydoo is irrelevant.

They lied through their teeth.

Trump literally made it up as he went along. He could have said anything, frequently did, and it did not matter at all in the end. He was the outsider, the alternative, shouting long and loud what people wanted to hear. That the rhetoric was mostly and shamefully untrue ultimately meant nothing, we live in a post-factual age. There will not be a wall built along the Mexican border, that exists only in la-la land. 11 million immigrants will not be sent back to their home countries, it's simply not feasible. Muslims will not be able to be banned or monitored, it’s unconstitutional – the same constitution that preserves the right of citizens to own machine guns, and which regularly results in mass shootings of innocent people. But that’s what people wanted to hear so that’s what he said. They didn’t want to hear about liberalism and the reality of globalisation. I can’t remember who it was that said during the EU debate that the world was sick of experts, or even what side of the political divide that they were on, but they were dead right. Common sense, science, empirical fact and the truth have all gone out the window. Trump and his ilk saw that and they capitalised on it. The traditional politicians didn’t see that and they, to use an American phrase, have been run out of town. They played it wrong and they lost.

And ultimately we have all lost. All of those smug brexiteers behind their lace curtains in middle England are probably just as confused and scared as they were before, as the level of uncertainty in the world is now off the scale. There are no easy answers to the issues that are worrying people, and electing Trump doesn’t change that for Americans either. The only thing that has changed is that we will now have a dangerous buffoon in the White House next year, an unstable, uncontrollable and uncompromising man who is not fit to hold office. This is America’s new leader, the one on whose personal sanity we all in part rely, and he is a car crash waiting to happen. Sensible things like climate change deals could be ripped up, human rights will be trampled over, diplomacy will recede and militarism will increase. He will have a global impact, possibly in very very negative ways, but that irony is lost on the isolationists who voted for him. But that’s OK, because it’s America first from now on, and who cares about the rest of the planet? Or indeed the planet itself. All the jobs are coming back, all the foreigners are getting kicked out, and it will be like it used to be back in the 1950s when life was good.

Except it won’t as that isn’t the way the world works any more. American manufacturing will not come back, as when the same voters who have just sent Trump to the highest seat in the land realise that they have to pay more for their trucks, fridges, TVs and almost everything else they currently enjoy at prices cheaper than they have ever been, they will be up in arms. Hang on, we didn't vote for this! The vast majority of all the things that this odious man has said and promised are complete fiction, just like most of the empty promises made by the Leave campaigners. Remember that bus promising EU contributions shifting directly to the NHS? It’s that, but a lot bigger. Trump won’t make America great again, he’ll push America off a cliff. Just like the true implications of Brexit are only now beginning to be hinted at, job losses and financial black holes, inflation and rising prices, America can only begin to imagine the tragedy that could now unfold. God Bless America, the greatest nation on earth! Wait, whaddya mean we’re at war with eight countries? This is Britain, we’re independent, free at last from the shackles of Europe! Wait, why is my summer holiday more expensive now, and why can’t I find a cleaner? What do you mean Walkers Crisps cost more?

And that’s without considering the human cost. This impacts relationships and families. This impacts where people can go and what they can do, it restricts individual progress and mutual cooperation. It wrecks dreams. I am sounding preachy I think, but consider the opportunities now unavailable to my children following the decision to leave Europe. Think of the doors that are now closed. The answer to globalisation is not to retreat and become more insular, it is to understand it, embrace it, and make it work for you. Brexit and President Trump are steps in completely the wrong direction, and the UK and the US are rapidly heading back to the 1970s. They have set themselves back 40 years.

Elvis left the building a long time ago, reality has now followed.

*croque monsieur

Hard

I departed Shetland last night rather nervous. Not nervous that the guys I was with would find something good, after all we had been flogging far-flung bushes for six days and found practically nothing, but nervous that a gettable monster bird would appear the day after I had left. A bit like the White's Thrush would have been gettable had I not needed to be down south for my flight. I flew off in the evening, and after a decent sleep in Aberdeen commuted to Glasgow this morning. I had a busy day, and the first time I checked the news properly was a bombshell. Howard, Bradders and Bob had found a Siberian Thrush on Unst. This isn't like finding a Red-flanked Bluetail or a Blyth's Reed Warbler. This is like finding a Dodo.

Jesus. Whilst I am delighted that the team have scored and scored big, I am understandably finding it rather hard that I wasn't there. These things happen of course, and it is only a bird, but to have thrashed around for nearly a week for very little reward and then depart the day before my carload bump into a dream bird is a bitter pill to swallow. I put in all the effort, all the time, gave it as long as I could give it and missed out. You could see it coming obviously, I know I did. But to have it actually happen, well....that's a different thing entirely. Good blogging material mind you.

As well as working on a presentation this morning I also drafted a blog post, before I heard this news. It was about how I was mildly pissed off with seeing fewer birds than I thought I could have seen given both the weather and what there was, how hard graft had not delivered, and so how on the next trip I was simply going to stay down south and twitch everything with rapturous abandon in a steamy tick-fest. Now I don't know what to think. Clearly finding rare birds is possible. I knew that. I still know that. The lads were doing nothing different today then they and I did over the last week. We thrashed plantations, we checked sheltered spots, we peered over fences, we walked down burns, we fell over in iris beds. In doing this non-stop for a week we found nothing noteworthy at all. I flew home, and the next day, without me, they did find something noteworthy. Very noteworthy. Different league noteworthy. I'm not interested in having my name in lights or referenced in a report, that's not my bag at all. I'm just as happy if not happier papping Fulmars, but nonetheless I do feel that I have missed out and that it is all a little unfair.

I'll live of course. Anyone who has been within 100m of a UK Tropicbird and still goes birding is clearly highly resilient, and I am level-headed enough to accept the c'est la vie nature of it all. I can have no complaints really. I had to come off as I had no leave left. And I had no leave left because I had used it all up seeing a procession of amazing birds all over the world. You pays yer money, you makes yer choice, or something along these lines. And that's entirely fair enough, I did make that choice, and I'm still glad I did. I'm gutted to have missed out, but that extra day (or days, watch this space!!) that 'cost' me so to speak, that was not a day that in my view I wasted, and so I do not feel especially sorry for myself.

Blog readers however are invited to feel extremely sorry for me, and to post messages of unadulterated sympathy and support in the comments section. You never know, one day YOU might be in need of karma....

The cost

More of the cost

Red-billed Tropicbird at Pendeen

So what really happened at Pendeen on Sunday? Unlike most people commenting on the events, I was actually there. Don't read the predictable Birdforum thread and think you know the score. The histrionics on there are absurd, as you would expect, and so far roughly 20 posts out of 160-odd are from people who were actually there.

It was slow in the early morning. Sitting up at the watchpoint, with my back to the lighthouse wall, I decided that I'd rather be at the bottom of the slope with my camera photographing Gannets, just as two photographers I could see were doing. Quite frequently I could see Gannets and Fulmars passing very close inshore, so at 8.40ish I left Matt M, Mark P, Dan P and the guys I had travelled with and picked my way down the grass. Midway down the rocks I stopped to photograph a Wheatear, I mean how could I not? My exif on these three images says 8.46am. I noticed a guy with a lens sat up a bit higher than I was at this point, still on the grass. The lens looked quite short, he looked quite some distance from the sea, I felt I could get nearer. I think I recall him getting up from his position, but thought nothing of it. If he subsequently waved or shouted, I didn't notice a thing, and I gingerly picked my way down the slippery rocks to join the two aforementioned photographers. There I remained for a good half hour, indeed a bit longer, as my last image suggests 9.21am. During this time I was fully engaged on photography, with somewhat underwhelming results. Hey-ho, all good practice.

Lovely, but costly?

At some point William came down the slope and shouted. I didn't hear, but the other two did and alerted me. What's up? "A Red-billed Tropicbird has flown past and everybody has left!" William shouted. I stopped in my tracks. Did he really just say that? Surely that's not possible? Is it? I clambered back up the slope in a state of disbelief and shock, to find that at least 70% of those present had indeed left. People asked if I had seen it? Had I photographed it? Eh? No, of course I hadn't. Bits of the story came out. The photographer I had seen slightly higher than me - and not visible from the main seating area underneath the lighthouse - had been the one to see it. It had passed between the coast and the rocks, and had lingered, allowing some photographs. Per the internet, i.e. make your own mind up, it had been on view for over five minutes. The guy in question had come back up the slope some time after the sighting, perhaps as long as 25 minutes, shown a photo of the Tropicbird to a couple of people on the most northern wall of the lighthouse, and then all hell had broken loose. He had then left the site, and so when I returned up the slope with my camera, there was an assumption he was me.

I wish.

All of the following is also second hand. The select few to whom this guy had shown the photo had run around the corner, alerted others, who had in turn dashed around the corner. The photographer refused to show them the photos, and left the site. This, I surmise, resulted in another delay, as people were unsure whether to act. Eventually a lot of people decided it was gen and scattered, some to Sennen Cove, some to Cape Cornwall, some elsewhere. We did the same, stopping first at Sennen Cove where I learned that per the most recent information on the internet, I was actually the finder, and subsequently to Cape Cornwall, where we enjoyed a couple of pale morph Arctic Skuas and a huge pod of Common Dophins, but no Tropicbirds.

To summarise, the greatest prize in UK seawatching had just flown, unobserved, past between 40 and 76 observers, and had been seen by just one person.

The web is alive with opinion. Fair play to the guy involved, a stunning find. Right place, right time. Everyone else had been scanning too far out. Their bad, me included, and we will in time have a place in the Pantheon of the damned. We might already be there. But what do I think? I came so close, yet remain so far. Being down on the rocks at that point, I have a dubious claim to fame as being one of the closest dippers of a UK Tropicbird. Shit happens.

I can completely understand sour grapes, but put yourselves in the shoes of those there. Forget the usual crap about suppression and people who only twitch birds and give nothing back. 40 people (76 if you're feeling generous) were there. Many had travelled far, many had committed a lot in the hope of a decent sea-watch, in the hope, dare I say it, of a dream bird like a Fea's. They were there, they were working it. How would you feel if somebody came up the slope once all hope of seeing the bird had gone and told them about it. I wasn't there up at the lighthouse, but per what I have heard, it was a relatively casual "I assume you all saw the Tropicbird?" Don't get me wrong, that's not a bad assumption. 40 people scanning out to sea, some of them seasoned observers. You would expect that one of them would see a bird that was on view for a prolonged period of time. Except in this instance you would be wrong. I'm going to stick my neck out here, and say that no matter what an observer expects, when it concerns a Red-billed Tropicbird that is lingering close inshore to a manned sea-watch point, all bets are off. All bets are off, and what you expect becomes irrelevant. First and foremost you document the record, after all you know what the British birding scene is like. And when you have quickly done that, you jump up, and you run as fast as your little legs can carry you to the nearest people you can see (that would be me, as it happens), and you shout your head off, you wave your arms, you scream, you go completely and utterly mental. You exhaust yourself, you peg it up the slope, down the slope, you do not rest until you are sure that other people are on the bird, because sea-watching is the most collegiate of all birding activities. And then you soak up the adulation and the glory and the praise. That's what I would have done. That's what most people I know would have done.

Call me jaded, call it sour grapes, but to wait perhaps 20-25 minutes before coming up to the main crowd, when all hope of picking up the bird from the watchpoint has passed, that is unforgivable. Unforgivable. Clearly I am biased, but that is ridiculous. There are claims that he shouted, perhaps even towards me and the two photographers I was with. Maybe he did? But if this elicited no reaction, then what? Shrug the shoulders and sit back down? That appears to be what happened. No other person there, of which there were many, was any the wiser for what is in sea-watching terms an age. And that is the source of the sour grapes and dejection. Forget about whether the observer wants some kind of magazine scoop and associated piss-ant payment (even though that is scarcely believable). If the timings are correct every single person at Pendeen on Sunday ought to have been able to get on that bird. And not one did.

You can talk all you like about finding your own birds, about nobody having a right to see a rare bird, about dickhead twitchers. Maybe I am being naive, but surely birding is bigger than this. The finder by all accounts knew exactly what it is was he was watching. But he seems does not know much about birding etiquette, or at least not what I understand birding to be about. Am I being unkind? Maybe, maybe not. Again, anyone who wasn't there feel free to have a go in the time-honoured fashion, call me an idiot, a tosser, say what you want. Say I should have picked it up, say look properly next time, say I'm just bitter etc. Maybe I should have and yes I am, but get real. A monster, a complete once-in-a-lifetime bird was on show for an age in sea-watching terms and based on what I know the finder could have done so much more. So much more. Assumptions out the window, it's a Tropicbird, and so you go fucking nuts, end of. You don't shout a bit, and then sit back down. You just don't. That's not right, it's not to my mind what sea-watching is about. You're in it together. Again, I sound like a pre-pubescent teenager probably, an idealist, someone wet behind the ears who hasn't the faintest clue about real life. I like to think I'm normal. What kind of person doesn't do their utmost to alert other observers they know to be present? People on the net are talking about giving the finder credit where credit is due. I agree with that, but only to a point. I know that my greatest pleasure would be to get other people onto the bird, as I know how much it means. I can hardly claim to be a huge rarity finder, but when a number of other people got onto my Stone-curlew on Wanstead Flats earlier this year, I was utterly delighted. And I was gutted that some did not. I was on the phone ten seconds after seeing that bird for the first time, I had phoned two people I knew to be close within a minute or two, and was getting the news out as fast as I could even before I had confirmed the record. I ran. Once I knew what I had I sacrificed getting better views in order to give other people a chance of connecting, and that was just a good bird in a local context. A Red-billed Tropicbird is in a completely different league altogether.

This is of course my reaction, and people are different. I don't know the person in question, what drives him, what makes him tick. I react based on my reaction. The guy was not obliged to alert people, each to his own. I'm just saying I would have reacted differently, and so would many other people. So to be on the receiving end of what I perceive to be a striking lack of generosity, well that is very galling indeed. But that's birding for you, and I'll live. And as you saw yesterday (if you were alert!) I can laugh about it too, and that's also birding. And if you didn't think sea-watching was exciting, think again!

Ospreys, Kingfishers and Elephants

This morning was a bit of a write-off after some beers last night. The tipple of choice was "Osprey", and I am afraid to say that I over-indulged. Paying for it this morning, I wondered what I could do that would add meaning to my day. Ah-hah, I had it! I would go to a local wildlife reserve and photograph Kingfishers from a hide. What could possibly go wrong?

A Hawk and some Ospreys

Just about everything it transpires.I almost don't know where to start it was so painful. For ten though, to the woman in hob-nailed boots who came into the hide possibly eight times in three minutes, walked a circuit and then left again, if I ever see you again it will be too soon. To the fat, lumpy, green-clad dudes incapable of being quiet, and whose mission if life it was to excitedly and loudly point out the Kingfisher every time it flew in, I am in awe of your crassness. To the man with the velcro jacket who opened it and closed it again upwards of ten times in an hour, you nearly died. To all those with cameras who inexplicably rattled off a thousand frames when the bird was about half a mile away, I hope you enjoy your fuzzy blue dots and that they win prizes. To the ineffectual volunteer who any time anyone brushed the screen netting said not to touch the netting as it would scare the birds away, and yet failed to mention that shouting, pointing, stomping, slamming, waving and running might also have the same effect, I have no idea what to say. You are selflessly giving your time, and for that I salute you, but you are also completely wasting your time.

Stomp stomp stomp THERE IT IS!!! Slam Stomp stomp slam click click clickclickclick click stomp IT'S COMING CLOSER!!! please don't stomp click touch the stomp click click netting you'll IS THAT THE MALE? OH LOOK IT'S GONE INTO scare the birds THE HOLE click stomp stomp slam stomp away stomp ! LOOK AT THAT!!! stomp click stomp click OOOHHH!!!! IT'S HERE!!!!!!!!!!!!! WAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!! Oh, it appears to have flown off........

Gah!

I tested my exposure about eight times while I was there, and took one photo of the bird before realising I was wasting my time and leaving. There was no way it was going to come anywhere near the hide, the entire length of the window has been covered with scrim netting with just a few blank spots (with good reason, but it is highly irritating), the distortion through the glass was nearly impossible to deal with, and the place was chock full of absolute cretins.

I hate hides. I hate the occupants of hides. If it were just me in a hide, I could probably just about stand it, but even then I reckon I'd probably end up hating myself after a few hours. We just don't get on. OK, so the saturday of a bank holiday weekend was never likely to be the best hide experience I was ever going to have, but the lack of any common sense whatsoever was mind-blowing. If you're in a hide to watch birds, especially sensitive schedule 1 birds like Kingfishers, but really any hide, surely you must realise that sitting still and being quiet are of paramount importance? And if you don't, why don't you? And more importantly, how are you going to learn?

I suppose the mission of the RSPB is to raise awareness of birds, and to have people enjoy birds as if they enjoy them then they will help look after them. Fair play to them for keeping the hide open to allow that to take place, had it been me I would simply have locked it up for the duration. But if you're going to go to all that effort, why not make it absolutely clear as to how you behave in a hide? Silence, and no fidgeting.  No clogs, and no running. No shouting, no waving, and no screaming. Or you're thrown out. Easy.

I wandered around for a little bit, but my heart wasn't really in it, and the arrival of rain was in many ways a blessing and I went home to have a good old moan. I'm a big fan of my local wildlife reserve - I'm a voluteer there in fact - and I know I shouldn't be rude about it (and fellow volunteers), but there are some times when you go there and it just seems to typify everything that is wrong with watching wildlife in this country, which I suppose is largely that the people who watch it are mostly idiots out for a nice walk. Well meaning I don't doubt, and it's great so many people are at least a bit interested, but for the love of God please please please just SIT STILL and above all, SHUT UP!!!

Ageing

I am very very young, especially in birding terms. Most birders are ancient and decrepit, and use their now defunct draw-telescopes as crutches. By contrast I am a ball of energy, dynamic, fun, youthful and.....er, decrepit. Oh dear. Yes dear readers, it is true, I am falling to bits. When I got home from Shetland I discovered a pain in my left side, a kind of dull ache. I assumed irreparable liver damage from the preceding week, and thought nothing of it. Three weeks later - Thursday - I decided it was annoying enough to go and see the doctor at work. I got asked a load of questions, mainly about whether everything 'down there' worked, and was asked to hop onto the examining table. However before I could be prodded and poked, the doctor discovered I wasn't a permanent member of staff and the consultation ended abruptly with something latin and horrible-sounding scribbled down on a piece of paper. I've thrown the bit of paper away, but it ended in 'itis'.

So on Friday I went to see a doctor where I live. We had the same chat as I'd had the previous day, and once again I hopped (in a very sprightly manner becoming of my extreme youthfulness) onto the examining table, whereupon I was prodded mercilessly. Does this hurt? "Aaargh!". How about here? "Ooof!". Here? "Gaaaaaaah!". The nerves in my left side and right side responded equally to forceful poking, with the doctor sensing that the left side was indeed marginally more agonising for me. Then came the truly fun bit. Could I take my pants off and stand up? Why yes, I'd love to. FFS. I'll spare you the grisly detail, and it's not like I was planning on having any more kids anyway, but I'm pleased to say everything in that particular department is just fine. An interesting experience, and one I'm not keen to repeat overly soon, but I suppose I can thank my lucky stars that a prostate examination was deemed unnecessary. This time.

So, with dangly bits confirmed in good order, the diagnosis firmed up a little. It wasn't 'itis' after all, rather it was likely that I had a hernia, but that I was too fat the doctor was too concerned about prodding me too hard to be able to feel it properly, and that the best thing to do would be to have an ultrasound scan of the area, and that if indeed, as seemed likely, a hernia was confirmed, the next step would be to have a friendly chat to a man with a sharp knife. Well whoopee, that is just what I needed. A hernia? I'm 37! My father gets hernias! Pah! What does this mean? That I have to bird the Scillies instead of Shetland from now on?

In other less graphic news, it's been rather a good weekend on Wanstead Flats, with spectacular vis-migging from the watchpoint. Fieldfares, Woodpigeons, and unseasonal Lapwings were the standout birds in terms of quantity, but I also got my very own Brambling and more Linnet than I can ever remember in one day. My hernia, if that is what it is, doesn't yet prevent me carrying a camera, so I can still pap slow-moving and dim-witted birds, like this lovely Fieldfare, one of over 600 that flew over my head in just a few hours this morning. Very few actually landed, but I was able to sneak up on a small party that lingered for a few minutes.

The only other interesting bird-related thing that happened this weekend occured over lunch today. As I sat contemplating a large plate of roast chicken, surrounded by adoring family members concerned for my health, a noticed a large white bird disappearing with big slow flaps over the treeline to my north-west. Ignoring the pain in my side I leapt to my feet, grabbed the nearest pair of bins and scrambled out onto the terrace. Too late! Whatever it was, it was gone and I wasn't going to see it again. It reminded me of a Heron......a large white Heron......I texted the Professor as he was kind of on the flight path, but whatever it was never reached him. However if a Great White Egret (or a Pelican!) is found in the Lea Valley in the next day or two I'm having it!

Deep pockets

As I go about the tricky business that is sorting out how to get to fantastic birding destinations other than Wanstead Flats, I find myself once again feeling a very deep hatred for budget airlines. In a civilised society, budget airlines would be banned. Instead they are free to con, swindle and rip us off at every opportunity. The booking process is of course the worst bit - somehow, every time and without fail, a £29.99 flight advertised in flashing lights ends up costing about £200. First there are the taxes, not a lot you can do about that apart from vote for the other lot next time around. But then, incrementally, the airlines find more ways to hike it up. So you find insurance pre-selected, including snow and ice cover for your spring break in Egypt, and you find that you are about to hire a car for your trip to Venice. You find that the flight price didn't include a seat on the plane - perhaps you are expected to stand? So booking one - pre-selected for your convenience - sets you back another few quid. If, like I was, you're taking several flights, you find that this applies to each leg, so multiple lots of a few quid. Pre-boarding before the other poor sods on your flight? More money please. What, you want to take some stuff on holiday? Well, you'll need a suitcase then, so another charge - but half price if you book it now rather than at the airport! OK, we're almost done. Do you want to check-in at the airport? If so it'll cost ya! Online it is then. So, your total is now £180. Ah, hang on, we haven't yet added enough spurious extra charges, so we need to add a booking fee. In fact, a booking fee per leg. That's better. Right, £200 then. How would you like to pay? Got a credit card like any normal person? Excellent, that'll be an additional £10. Bit steep? OK, how about a debit card - this only costs us 20p to process, so we can generously drop the handling fee to £8. What, you find that absolutely outrageous? OK, what about a Visa Electron or a pre-paid Mastercard, we don't charge for them. Know why? Because nobody has one and they don't actually exist.

In the end, the flight is probably cheaper than a real airline, but how much there is in it I have no idea. The problem is that budget airline customers end up loathing their carrier before they have even left for the airport - how can that be any kind of successful business model? For me though, the villainly of the booking process is eclipsed by the hand luggage restrictions. The policy on some budget airlines is near enough identical to a normal, decent and morally superior airline, which means that by and large you can get one of those small rolling suitcases on. Some however are just plain evil, and they slash these dimensions to a plainly ridiculous degree, typically about 1cm less than any known bag. You're allowed to bring the case your bins came in, and that's it. Unfortunately birders are not known for travelling light. In addition to bins we need scopes. We need tripods, and we possibly need cameras. All nice and bulky.  Packing for birding trip is agony, it takes hours. You pack and repack, you stand on the bathroom scales to see how much your bag weighs. You unpack it all and start again. Three weeks later, you're ready.

At the airport you stand in a long line. Though you checked-in online, this in fact means nothing, you still have to queue. There is one person at the desk, and she is dealing with an irate fat scouser. Finally you get to the front, pretending that your bag isn't really really hurting your back. Nobody asks to see it, nobody weighs it, nobody tries to squish it into one of those little cages. Phew, I've done it, I've made it! The plane is only four hours late, but hey, they didn't check my hand luggage! Result!!

You wait in yet another queue for the plane. They announce boarding - you're off!! All of a sudden there are budget airline staff everywhere! They are checking bags, and they have one of those little cages. In sight of the plane, too late to do anything about it, and now, finally, they are getting draconian on bags. The choice is a stark one. Leave your bag containing thousands of pounds worth of optics behind, forfeit your flight, or.....pay £60 to have a man take your bag to a different door on the airplane approximately twenty feet from the door you're about to go through. Weeping, passengers reach for their credit cards, presumably to be told that if that's how they want to pay, the price has risen to £100. The whole process is sickening. I read recently about a great airline scam - the sizing containers at the check-in desk of one budget airline were larger than the ones at the departure gate! Passengers bags passed the initial checks with flying colours, and then failed the later one. A nice little earner, as they say. I would not be at all surprised if check-in staff work on a commission basis.

The only way to successfully travel on a budget airline is to wear all your clothes, including a coat with masses of pockets. I habitually use a fishing jacket - the rear pocket, designed for trout, can hold a 300mm lens with no problems at all. I can get full size bins in one of the front pockets, a DLSR in the other. A wide-angle lens, macro, and both converters go in the top pockets, my tripod head in another, and I can smugly present them with a very small carry-on bag. My weight has doubled, but so what? I bet I still weigh less than that scouser. I actually think airlines should charge fat people more. Where's the equity in charging me for a bag weighing 1kg more than the defined limit, when the guy behind me weighs the same as my entire family? But I suppose that would be fattist, or whatever the word is, and anyway, I'm at risk of getting charged.......

The long long wait is over

The 9th November 2009 was a momentous day. I celebrated the anniversary a few days ago, and then wept. On that day, over a year ago now, I heard a Coal Tit calling from somewhere in a neighbour's garden. It was the 53rd species for the house list, but had to go down with a little "h" next to it for heard only. That "h" has wrankled ever since. I watch my garden a lot, and I've since added seventeen further species to the list, but I've never seen the Coal Tit. I've lost count of the number of times I've heard it. I've had the scope on my flat bit of roof pointed at likely pine trees while it was calling, but I've never been able to see it.


Today though, the long long wait is over. It visited my feeder. Words cannot describe how amazing this is. A bloody Coal Tit, THE bloody Coal Tit, on my feeder. Goodbye "h", welcome to the proper list! That it has taken over a year is astonishing. I've had the food out the whole time, yummy sunflower hearts and scrumptious peanuts, but never even a sniff. This morning I saw it a dozen times as it came in repeatedly for food. If the Squirrels will just leave off for a bit, it may become a regular visitor. I certainly hope so.



When I espied it out of the corner of my beady eye, it was for a moment just a regular sighting. You know how it goes, you're sitting there not doing a great deal, a sip of tea, a spot of contemplation, in my case this morning whether to get a job or not. Meanwhile the birding portion of your brain is as busy as ever - "Ah, Blue Tit. Great Tit. Oh, here's a Robin. Coal Tit. Oh, another Great Tit. Blue T... Gah!! COAL TIT!!!!!!!! WAKE UP REST OF BRAIN, COAL TIT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "  Mad scrabble for camera as it flies off, presumably not to be seen again until 2012, and then a prayer of thanks as it returns and you can confirm what your birding subconscious noted whilst the rest of you was dozing.

So long overdue, and possibly more exciting than it should have been, but that is a reflection only on me. I also got over-excited about a Jay visiting the feeders. I've been putting out some peanuts for it in the hope it might come in range. I've always found them to be very wary, but my benevolence/its greed has paid off. All in all, a fine mornings work. Better than being in an office, which is probably my next port of call....

 

Next time, stay on the Patch

Canada Goose, Wanstead Flats

Once again I was out on the patch this morning. Despite the promising weather, my inital hour on the Flats was unrewarding. I met up with Stuart and we decided that the Old Sewage Works could be worth a try. Half way there Paul phoned with the news that things were going pretty well at Rainham. Dave Mo and H had had yesterday's Nightingale, several Garganey, and an Arctic Tern on the river. I changed my plans and turned for home, joking with Stuart as I left that he would probably find a Nightingale now.....

Guess what? About a minute later, Stuart called with the news that he had just heard a Nightingale. I assumed he was winding me up, but he was insistent. I started running back. Whilst still talking on the phone, within sight, he heard it again. Half a minute later I was with him, expecting to hear Nightingale any second. Nothing. Nothing at all. What a complete bummer.

I decided to press on with plan A, or was it plan B? Let's call it plan Rainham. I met up with Dave Mo, Paul and the Monkey, and it was very successful, although sans Nightingale. From the sea wall we had several Arctic Terns, at least fifty Common Terns, a drake Garganey upriver, and two adult Little Gulls. On the reserve we were treated to another drake Garganey, and a sustained shower dropped many hirundines and Swifts in over Aveley Pool. Rainham year-list now 129, having added the Spotted Redshank last night, and 173 in London. Brownie Points, nil.

Blue Tit, Rainham

So a rather profitable morning at Rainham, but I am sat here cursing my inability to stick to any sort of plan whatsoever. I spent much of yesterday evening agonising over whether to go to KGV for Terns, whether to go to Rainham super-early and have a crack at the Nightingale, or whether to just stay on the patch. In the end I decided to do the patch. Commendable, but then I changed my mind, and thus missed a patch tick by about thirty seconds. As it happened, Rainham would probably have been the correct choice, as the Nightingale there sang at dawn, plus all the other stuff - the Mo had a cracking morning!

The trouble is that I am trying to do too much. The usual story. Last year I was running round the country, and thus missed stuff on the patch. This year I'm not doing that (209...), but I'm trying to do Rainham as well as Wanstead, plus trying to get to 200 in London. At this time of year, it's impossible to be everywhere at the same time, but that is what I want to do. Days like today remind me why it is pure folly. Rainham was great, but I would have preferred a patch tick. Maybe next year I'll just do Wanstead...

Yesterday was the same story. I started off on the patch, was having a really rather good morning with a couple of Wheatear and a showy Lesser Spot, and then the pager bleeped that the Bluethroat was still at Welney, so in a heartbeat I abandoned the patch and went there instead. I don't think I missed anything in Wanstead this time, but it's bound to happen more often in the coming weeks. A superb bird by the way, recommended it to anyone, even someone who hates birds. It's blue! Bradders and I arrived about five minutes after four hours of continuous singing out in the open, and didn't manage to see it for three hours, but when it showed briefly it was all worthwhile - incidentally my first on the planet. More amazingly than that, it was first visit to Norfolk this year.

Just to prove I can take crap photos to compete with the best of them

Back at KGV we feasted on 60+ adult Little Gulls with Paul W, easily the most I have eaten seen in London. We were unable to convincingly string any Common Terns into Arctics, so did a circuit of Rainham after it closed. The only bird of note was the previously mentioned Spotted Redshank on the Targets. Glad to get it, means I don't have to go to Norfolk for my London tick this year. There were at least ten Wheatears in the anthill field, and on the northen boardwalk I had another crack at the Reed Buntings with my new lens. The photo below is my best effort. If you click on it, it will become bigger and nicer.

Reed Bunting, Rainham

Meanwhile not at Rainham....

"Hey look at me! Pretty nice eh? Shiny yellow beak, nice orbital ring, stunning black plumage, and a lovely song to boot. What more could you possibly want in a bird? What, a stupid crest, silly curved beak and floppy wings? Don't be silly! Huh? Stupid bendy legs that are way too long for the body? And Pink? Absurd, get a grip! Trust me, Blackbirds are the way forward."

On being magnanimous

Today has been tough, and I am in a rather bad mood. I have missed the opportunity to see both Pallid Swift AND Lesser Kestrel. This is why I hate twitching. And I didn't even dip. I simply didn't go, as I was busy having lunch with friends. That in itself would be fine, you can't put normal life on hold simply because a rare bird might turn up. The trouble is I came within a whisker of going, and in hindsight....

I'd finished doing the patch by about 10am. Willow Warbler, yee-hah!! Soon after I got in, my favourite Pallid Swift reappeared at Kessingland. What great news! Shaun rang, would I like to try again? Hmmm, whilst lunch with Hilbs and co had been booked up for several weeks, I did have the rather antisocial option of ducking out it if a rare bird turned up. Naturally I decided I would go, and called Shaun back. I got my stuff together, and as I was about to leave, I had a change of heart. There will be another Pallid Swift, and it is basically a washed out Common Swift and thus boring. Nope, I was going to have lunch with my friends, as planned. I called Shaun back, hoping I hadn't delayed him by too much.

The hosts, forever associated with a gap in my list....

Lunch was great, and until the inevitable text came through, I didn't think very much about the Swift. Oh well, you can't get them all. Off to the playground just next door to Hilbs, and then the mega alert. From Suffolk. Lesser Kestrel. Fourteen miles and twenty minutes from the Pallid Swift. Noooooooooo!!!!!! Shaun and the guys turned around, made it back, and got the bird. A two tick day, and the Kestrel is a real mega, only sixteen records, and the last twitchable one was on Scilly in 2002. Most of them are fly throughs or one-dayers. I am sitting here gutted, which is ridiculous. You can't see them all, but I was so nearly in that car. And as for being magnanimous? Hah! Magnanimous is not in a twitcher's lexicon! "Well done lads, great bird!" Gah!! No, this is the stuff true grips are made of, and the next birders drinks are not far away! I fear I shall be forced to pull out my Blue-cheeked Bee-Eater again. Can't use the Fea's Petrel as Monkey was with me for that one...

There is no adequate or rational way to describe my feelings this afternoon. It's difficult to just shrug the shoulders and move on, though I am going to have to grow up and do just that. But before I do, I should mention the Lesser Kestrel that very fortunately dropped in to Wanstead just as I got home from lunch. What were the chances?!

On the small side perhaps, but I can't think what else it could be.