A change is good as a rest

This weekend just gone I birded so much my eyes hurt. Patch abandoned, no two hour Saturday morning stroll for me. Instead a marathon weekend of dawn to dusk birding. I have been threatening it of course, and now that I have done it I want to do it again. As a change of scene goes it was fantastic, and really drove home quite how dull birding in London most often is. 

Call me shallow, but 2 Smew, 4 Long-tailed Duck, a Ring-necked Duck, a Scaup, 2 Great Northern Diver, a Black-necked Grebe, 7 Great White Egret, 2 Cattle Egret, 2 Rough-legged Buzzard, a Merlin, 4 Hen Harrier, 11 Marsh Harrier, a Siberian Stonechat, a Grey-bellied Brent and an Eastern Yellow Wagtail have convinced me that there is perhaps more to birding than repeated visits to Wanstead Flats. Add to that a supporting cast of thousands upon thousands of seven other species of geese, and countless waders and ducks in fabulous scenery, and I am sold. Re-sold. 

This of course is something I used to do a lot, but for whatever reason I fell out of love with it. I have no idea why, it was terrific. There was some driving of course, but not the mind-numbing hours and hours that a long-distance twitch incurs, and most of it was done in the dark. And the rewards at the end of the journeys was frankly staggering for someone numbed by the weekly routine of urban birding.

That is not to say that the weekend was perfect in every way. My metaphorical spectacles are not so rose-tinted as to be able to deny some of the more unavoidable aspects of birding the North Norfolk coast in early January - that is to say that I felt rather as if we were in a procession of sorts for most of the day, seeing the same birds as everyone else. A shuffling doddery green-clad procession...  One man I saw four times, and to be fair he could have said the same about us. Were I to spend all of my time up there I expect that it would drive me stark-raving bonkers, however the excitement of a fresh year list will no doubt wane shortly and my next visit, whenever that is, will probably be rather calmer. The birds were good enough that none of this really mattered, and the landscape vast. At any other time of year you could probably find a few spots that get no visitors at all.

Out here were 7 Marsh Harrier, 3 Hen Harrier, 1 Merlin, 1 Peregrine and 1 Sparrowhawk. 

Suffolk and Essex were far less busy, neither are on the birding map in quite the same way, and I suspect that I will head back there first. Abberton, immense, was exceptionally good. Freezing but excellent. Wanstead has had so few ducks of late, Abberton has thousands, and I spent a happy hour or picking through flocks of Teal in the hope of a vertical stripe. A vain hope... Neither could we dredge up the Black-throated Diver.

This of course was before I remembered to buy a Double Decker. This delectable confectionery is often thought of as an autumn staple, but its mythical power can be unleashed at any time of year. As soon as there was one in the car we were unstoppable. Rough-legged Buzzards in the gloom, the Grey-bellied Brent after less than a minute of scanning an immense flock of Pink-feet, the Stonechat on view immediately - everything simply fell into place. The Wagtail showed brilliantly - a UK tick. Although there have been loads recently I have felt no urge to twitch any of them, but as a part of a big day out seeing gazillions of birds I didn't mind in the slightest.

So why was it so good? Because it was refreshing. I have not done any UK birding like this for simply ages and it felt really good, just like birding abroad. My last visits to Norfolk, Suffolk and coastal Essex were all in 2016, and very simply I was ready again.

Here's to 2020.

Norfolk kick-off

Last year I went to Norfolk twice, in October. As distinct from going twice in October, if that makes sense. Yes, twice all year to perhaps what is, behind Wanstead, the best place to go birding in the entire country. However with young Master L now resident in the county, I find myself up there much more frequently. This can only be a good thing, and so today famille L got up very early and drove through literally millimetres of snow up to Norfolk, picked up a scruffy urchin en route, and made the coast at Cley-next-the-sea by mid morning.

It was a glorious day, cold and bright, and if anything we were over-dressed. Not quite shirt sleeve weather but very pleasant to be out and about. We pootled slowly down the east bank, me pointing out various birds to children who pretended to be interested. Rather bizarrely there was a Red-necked Grebe bobbing about on the flood which used to be Arnold's Marsh, along with lots of Wigeon and Brents. Gratefully received, though the family had lost interest by this point. A bird I didn't see last year, and according to the spreadsheet that never lies, the first I've seen since 2012! That tells you all need to know either about the status of Red-necked Grebe, or of my commitment to UK birding of late.

Down on the beach the sea was pounding at the shore, frothy, with good sprinklings of Gulls which I ignored until two became Kittiwakes. Better still was Grey Phalarope, yet another bird I didn't see in 2015. What did I say at the back end of last year? That I would see more birds? Why yes I believe I did say that, so it is nice to see that I actually am. The shingle was littered with the byproduct of winter storms, starfish, mermaid's purses, a dead Guillemot, and even more spectacular a long-dead Sperm Whale. Fun for all the family. Seriously not nice, it had clearly died some time ago and was grim, if interesting, with enormous jawbones protruding from the carcass. I checked it very carefully for Ivory Gulls, but possibly even they would have been put off by the best before date on this one. 

Also on the beach was James L, which was odd as we had been talking about him and his recent move to Norfolk on the way up, and he had been wondering when he might next bump into me up here. He too was on a family walk, and it turns out some of the Whale twitchers we had just passed were his wife and daughter. He was some way behind, no doubt waylaid by Phalaropes or more bits of whale that had dropped off. Having left London he is now every inch the country gent, green the dominant colour, and is clearly enjoying his new life very much. And why wouldn't he, the place was fantastic!. Action on the sea, flocks of Lapwing on the marsh, and 21 Snow Buntings on the shingle.

Lunch was taken at the Dun Cow, and was very fine indeed. Despite Wherry being on tap I remained immovable. Mrs L kindly had a pint on my behalf, remarking that it was very tasty and that I would have enjoyed it a lot. I am sure I would have. Still, the end is in sight now, only a couple of weeks to go before alcohol becomes de rigeur again. We took the footpath behind the pub back to Walsey Hills, where I flushed a Woodcock, and after a quick pit stop at the NWT, headed back to return kiddo to school. All in all a very pleasant day, some lovely winter birding, and a good family outing.

Tick-fest in Norfolk

Norfolk has been good all week. Not quite as good as Lewis perhaps, but pretty wonderfully good, stacked to the brim with Eastern goodies and the promise of more. I very nearly took a day off on Friday as I could barely contain myself, but a quick look at the weather suggested that nothing was in danger of doing the dreaded Friday night bunk so I played it cool. Accepting of the fact that there would be more people in Wells Woods than I would likely enjoy, but cool nonetheless - birding in solitude is the preserve of very few of us and North Norfolk in autumn isn't exactly noted for being bereft of birders. I can live with that, and an early start would ensure that Bradders and I stood a chance of staying ahead of the scrums.

So it was that at 4.25am the gentle tinkling of my alarm roused me from a well-deserved slumber and a short while later I hit the road. Yes, the road - I had to drive. Bradders' recent move to rural Colchester has selfishly made birding trips to the South of England less practical for picking me up, so I had to drive to the Brecks myself and get in his car there. Pffff. The new Braddersmobile - or rather the new MrsBraddersmobile - has heated seats and a fluffy Snow Tiger, so I felt quite at home for the short trip up to the coast. Arriving at Holkham we bit the bullet and donated some hard-earned cash to the ex-Earl of Leicester's slush fund, but secured the prime "mega-alert" parking spot at the very top of Lady Anne's Drive. Birders were already arriving so after a quick coffee and a Barn Owl we trotted east towards the drinking pool for what we would hoped would be the first of the day's special birds, a Red-flanked Bluetail found the previous day. 

We were the first there, and took up positions either side of the pool. Penny C, a local Norfolk birder had it first though, having been there the day before she knew exactly where it liked. Good views were obtained in the gloom over the next thirty minutes, with minimal people. Gradually a procession of birders began to pick their way through the woods towards the pool, so it was time to leave for the next treat, a Blyth's Reed Warbler at the Wells end. When we hit the main path the extent of the green-clad activity began to become apparent - birders everywhere, all with the same idea as us - come to Norfolk to fill their boots. And who can blame them really? The Blyth's gave itself up pretty easily all things considered, helpfully takking to let you know where it was in the brambles, occasionally popping into view whilst picking off insect delicacies. This was a much-wanted new bird, having somehow not coincided with one over many visits to Shetland, nor of course the bird 200 yards from my house....

Next stop a Hume's Warbler on the way to the another Bluetail, which decided at the moment we were passing the general area to start calling its head off. A quick diversion into the wood and we were looking up at it at almost point-blank range within about ten seconds. Twitching the way it ought to be. It shut up within a minute and vanished, much to the consternation of the large crowd stood on the path wondering what they had heard. But ninja-like we were gone!

A relatively long march now, back to Lady Anne's Drive via some more coffee, and then onwards west via a relatively close and beautifully marked Isabelline Shrike which we watched pick off wasps. Another 'rare' under the belt and we were off again, non-stop this. This was the second Red-flanked Bluetail of the day - I always like to see several before lunch if I can, which on Bradders Birding Tours obviously gives me most of the day. I jest, but it wasn't long before we looking - in solitude - at yet another of these stunners, feeding in a sheltered tangle just off the main path. Frustratingly fleeting for most of the time, completely stymieing my attempts to get a decent photo of it, but allowing wonderful views. Not easy like the Geosetter or Gloucester birds, but somehow appropriate to the situation. Midday and the plan was going very well indeed. 

The afternoon couldn't possibly be as good of course, and so a second attempt at Pallas's Warbler back east in the Wells half was beset by massive crowds and very poor views of the bird hovering high up in oaks. With this final bird done we high-tailed it to Beeston for a second Isabelline Shrike as one is always insufficient. This showed pretty well in deteriorating weather, but sadly didn't give itself up for the type of wondrous photos I've been seeing on the internet of it. Nevermind, they all count! A quick trip to Muckleburgh Hill to look for the OBP proved fruitless, and our frustration with crowds proved ultimately to be our undoing as we left Pipitless as it started getting busy. The bird was picked up a short while later and showed well, but we could hardly be disappointed at our day - more rarities than I can remember seeing for a long while. Although I didn't go to Shetland this year, Saturday 17th October was so productive it almost felt like I did.

But as long as you love me so...

Who knows whether the Cley Marsh Sandpiper was a Greenshank or not, I don't even need it for the Norfolk list I don't keep. For me the star of the show yesterday morning was a ridiculously tame Snow Bunting on the shingle north of the reserve. The first of the winter, it pottered unconcernedly around people, it's only care in the world where the next seed was coming from. Despite it walking up to you - literally - 'real' birders felt the need to scope it, which was totally absurd really. I mean sure, you'd get a nice view and all that, but the real relationship with the bird was one where you lay down on the shingle and observed it from about three feet away. Possibly two feet actually, it just got silly at points. This was a bird that you knew had never ever seen people before. Photography took a back seat for large parts of this special encounter, mainly as it was a pleasure to simply watch it so close and observe it feeding, but also because for a lot of the time I would have needed either a wide angle lens or a macro. I honestly could have reached out and touched it it was that close. So delightful - let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

Bird of the Day

Just spent the day in Norfolk, and it didn't quite go according to plan, which was to see my own weight in Shrikes. In the event I saw no Shrikes whatsoever, as every single last one had sodded off, including the top prize of Isabelline, which had clearly known that both I and Saturday were approaching. Started off for this bird at Warham Greens, but quickly realised it wasn't there anymore and went off to do some real birding. With real success. Sorry, I mean with no success at all, my mistake. Plenty of common stuff, heaps of Finches, Thrushes and the like, but nothing to really get the mid-October juices flowing, and especially not after the uniform quality of the previous week. The novel thought that the bird might have gone seemed not to have occurred to many present, who after we returned from our not seeing of any rare birds further up the tracks were all still stood around doing nothing. This was to be a reoccurring theme throughout the day

Continued to Cley, where a Grey Phalarope performed well in the Eye Pool before vapourising right in front of us, and then decided that we had far too much money, and that we needed to give lots and lots of it to the Earl of Leicester. One of his other titles is Viscount Coke, which given the amount of money he rakes in from Holkham parking is presumably a real option for him. Six quid bloody fifty, outrageous - I detest paying for parking, it's up there in my top ten hates. So luckily for me Nick paid it, but I have to buy him a coffee tomorrow. Which is fine as I don't mind buying coffee as long as I don't have to pay for parking. I then spent the rest of the afternoon dipping Pallas's Warbler in the pines, happy days. There were some rewards, such as a Yellow-browed Warbler and a Great White Egret, but otherwise it was just one great big dip.

The path at Holkham was classic North Norfolk, an embarrassing number people of stood around hoping somebody else would find the bird for them. One bloke turned up, found a Firecrest, and in seconds had a panicked mob surrounding him. I refrained from joining in this ridiculous herd mentality, well beneath me. But I did join in later on when a cry of "It's here!" emanated from the bushes just as I had completed another circuit of the tracks. After discussing it for a while, everyone dived into the scrub, but this being Norfolk there was an orderly queue. I got stuck behind a few people who all had scope-carriers on - naturally - and all of them subsequently got stuck in branches but couldn't quite work out why they were making no forward progress. One or two of them may have lost Tilley Hats trying to work it out. I ended up having to take a shortcut around their floundering hopelessness in order to properly dip the bird, and ended up ripping a chunk out of my ear on a sharp branch. How often do you go birding in Holkham Pines and emerge like you've done three rounds with Mike Tyson? Anyway, despite this critical injury, I forged onwards only to find out it was our very own Nick Croft who had done the shouting! He couldn't show me the bird as it had immediately done a bunk, so instead I showed him my wounded ear. And that was how the day ended really, with blood, pain, and disappointment. Especially when I found out that Great White Egret was a Norfolk tick and thus moved out even further ahead of Essex.

Bird of the day? 

Kicking off my year list

I went year-listing in Norfolk at the weekend. I think I may have left it a little late, as I was only on 195. After a successful day I am now on 203, but this is approximately the total I would hit in April if I were taking it seriously. Clearly I am not taking it seriously, and whilst at various stages I have both decried and embraced listing, 2014 will be my lowest ever total by a wide margin. I think I need to do better. I am not saying that I am going to go all out and smash it in 2015, but if you do at least pay a little bit of attention to listing, which patently I have not this year, then you will spur yourself on to see a few more birds. That’s the answer really – call it what you will, add a listing element if you want, but just go birding. If you do, you’ll see more birds than I have this year. For instance, my 200^th bird was a returning Pink-footed Goose in a skein high above Warham Greens. How is this even possible, how did I manage not to see a Pink-footed Goose last winter? We were searching for a Red-breasted Flycatcher that the ever-productive John Furze had just found, and the sounds came floating down. I recognized it immediately of course – I’d seen hundreds of birds in Iceland relatively recently – but that’s not the point. It means that throughout the whole of the last winter period, I had not birded the coast. Not been to north Norfolk, not been to the Yare Valley. But it gets worse - Black-necked Grebe was a year tick too! In other words I have seemingly not been birding anywhere. That’s not quite true of course. I had been to Morocco – twice – and also to Cyprus during the winter period. It’s true that there weren’t many Black-necked Grebes and Pink-footed Geese, but there were outstanding numbers of Moussier’s Redstarts and Cyprus Pied Wheatears, neither of which we could find yesterday on the coast despite giving it a really good bash. Time is the killer, but still. 

Go. Birding.

Nick, Bradders and I had a relatively leisurely start, and didn’t arrive at Blakeney until about 9am. It was cold! I’d been told to expect a nice warm day, wandering around in shirt sleeves not seeing very much, but it was murky with a stiff breeze blowing and newly-arrived Wheatears clinging to the sea wall. We quickly located the juvenile Red-backed Shrike sheltering in a bush, and then went off to bird Friary Hills for a bit. Nothing much doing here, so we pootled off to Warham Greens, always a favourite place to go birding on an autumn easterly. We started at the Stiffkey end and gradually worked our way west, picking up a couple of Redstarts and a Pied Flycatcher. As we arrived at the most-westerly track, Garden Drove, we could see a group of birders moving cautiously down towards us. We stayed put as they pushed down, and saw a couple of Spotted Flycatchers in with various Tits, but the real prize was a Red-breasted Flycatcher that eventually showed very well indeed. Such smart little birds, I’ve now seen eight – simply by virtue of going birding, incredible! Remarkably I’d seen one down this exact track almost two years ago. I think it’s what they call a site having a track record. So almost impeccable timing on our part. Arriving half an hour earlier and finding it ourselves would of course have been perfect timing!

We birded our way slowly back to the car via various Buntings, Wheatears and Finches, and following a spot of lunch in Wells, parked up next to the track that led down to Burnham Overy and Gun Hill. The hope was that with the freshening breeze, more and more migrants would start arriving. Although we bumped into Nick, Clare and Tony who confirmed that this did appear to be the case, beyond a few more Whinchat, Wheatear and a Redstart, we couldn’t conjure anything better up. A few Yellow-browed Warblers further east raised our hopes a bit, but I think it’s probably all going to be about this week and next, it’s east all the way and Shetland could be immense. Seeing as it wasn’t heaving, we decided to devote a small amount of time to the Barred Warbler that had been there a couple days. Barred Warblers being what they are, there was nothing happening, and so after seeing a Garden Warbler, cynicism and boredom got the better of Bradders and he wandered off. He had however failed to appreciate the significance of eating a Double Decker. Nick and I both had one, and whilst I promptly fell asleep, Nick stayed awake and the subtle magic started to work. Thus almost imperceptibly I became aware of a very shouty man in the dunes…… “It’s there!” “In the Elder!!”

Eh? What’s an Elder? I think I need to work on my bush identification skills. By now fully awake due to shouty man, I managed to work out which bush it was, namely as it was the only one with a bloody huge Warbler in it. Ah, so that’s what an Elder looks like. The Warbler actually moved with surprising grace for a large lump – much like me – and was in complete contrast to the Garden Warbler, which basically performed a series of large belly flops in a bramble. I took a series of piss-poor shots with which to grip off Bradders, and we proceeded back towards the car as it was now approaching 6pm – no wonder I was tired….. On the way back we finally saw the elusive Black-necked Grebe (a likely Norfolk tick for me, except it wasn’t as I had seen one in exactly the same place six years and day ago), and then performed our good deed for the day by pushing a Merc off a bank following a parking fail by another birder that had left one of the rear wheels spinning in mid-air and the body of the car grounded on the grass.

  

Totals for the day were a Red-backed Shrike, a Red-breasted Flycatcher as well as Pied and two Spotties, double figures of Wheatear, about five Whinchat, a Barred Warbler, several migrant Goldcrest and a whole host of other things. Without bothering to look at Waders and Wildfowl we ended up at 89 species – eight of which were somehow new for the year. Thus demonstrating that if you go out birding, you end up seeing birds. I must do it more often.

Whilst I could produce a piss-poor pun involving the word Spectacular....

....it would be about as original as all the shitty football headlines that are going to take over our lives for the next month, so suffice it to say that I went, I saw, and I conquered. The views were amazing, one could even say they were spectacle, or err something like that. Anyway, superb views of this plucky scratchy songster that at one stage I thought I would miss until a brief window of opportunity opened up on Sunday morning. Happily the Spectacled Warbler did the decent thing and stayed, in fact it may stay some time as it appears to be trying to build a nest. Idiot. How is it supposed to know though, and the weather has been distinctly southern european of late. Though perhaps the lack of Black-winged Stilts, Short-toed Eagles and Glossy Ibis should be considered a bit of a giveaway.

An early start chez Bradders, but the pressure was off from the word go as he had news from on-site before 5am (!!) that the bird was still present. My kind of twitch, we just had to not crash on the way up, which with DB at the wheel was never really very likely. The journey up was as uneventful as I had hoped, and I didn't even fall asleep once. A medium-length walk out to the dunes and we could see a small crowd, perhaps 25, watching the sueda below. It was singing before we could even see it, but the views were nothing short of immense as it perched up very frequently and absolutely went for it. Win. It was still early enough that full zoom scope-fulls were unimpaired by warm air, and I'd almost say that the views were as good as those I've had abroad, but an experience in Morocco probably just about tops it. However in the context of the eighth UK record ever, and having dipped one with the aforementioned Bradders in about 2008 (he didn't dip it, he just took a bunch of us back there the day after and once it had done a bunk...), it was nothing short of a magnificent bird at a magnificent twitch.

No photos I'm afraid, though there are some pretty decent ones on the net should you be so inclined. With a small bird like this, and it being a large twitch with all that that entails, I didn't think I could get close enough to improve upon my efforts abroad, and they would all have been pointing down from the declared vantage point, so I didn't even bother. Have this one instead - a green background and perhaps a slightly less well-defined orbital ring and you'll be very close to enjoying the same experience I did. And without four hours in a car. It's OK, don't thank me....

Having arrived with perhaps 25 people there, when I got up to leave maybe two hours later I discovered a large crowd behind me - to their credit they were largely all being very quiet and simply enjoying the, err, spectacular, so I hadn't notice them even arrive. A steady stream of new arrivals continued to plod along the sea wall as we returned along it, so still a popular attraction even a week or so after arriving. And deservedly so.

Good to get one of the goodies back after having seeming missed a somewhat stonking couple of weeks whilst away globe-trotting. The Eagle still lingers, as does the Gull, so there is perhaps hope of both of those summering and me finding some time to do something about them. Time, as ever, remains the big limiting factor, and with crazy crazy work and very little free weekend time prior to mid-July, this mega Warbler may be all that I can manage. Not that it matters much when they show as well as this one did though, and I should be grateful that a few hours materialised that allowed me to nip up there and score. Needing to be back early afternoon, we piddled about on the North Norfolk coast in very pleasant but unbirdy conditions for the remainder of the morning, saw a Spoonbill actually moving which is perhaps even rarer than the Speccy, and returned safely to the big smoke suffering from nothing worse than acute hay-fever. A few false starts trying to remember my Bubo password, but it's inked in there now and for all eternity. Twitching - you know it makes sense.

Naaarfaak for migrants

Norfolk actually worked. This is the first time ever. Normally what happens is that I look at a forecast, decide that Norfolk looks really promising, and then go there and see nothing. Today, on a forecast with east in it, there were lots of migrants, decent ones, and though I didn't see them all, I got my fair share - Yellow-browed Warbler, Red-breasted Flycatcher, and Barred Warbler. All good training for Shetland, autumn has started.

Bradders and I left London yesterday afternoon so as to be in place for an early morning seawatch. It was only so-so, with some decent views of Great and Arctic Skuas, and a good Sooty Shear, but otherwise quieter than the forecast had suggested. For a moment it seemed like it was going to be a typical Norfolk day of unfulfilled promise, but when the first bird found down towards Kelling Watermeadows was a Yellow-browed Warbler, I began to change my mind. Soon afterwards news broke of a Red-breasted Flycatcher at Warham Greens, annoyingly our next destination, but we couldn't pass it up. Following in the slipstream (more like jetstream!) of Sir John of Furze were nearly first on site, and had some great views of this brilliant little bird as it flitted along the track. Somehow this is my sixth one in the UK, it wasn't that long ago that this would have been a monster rarity in my book!

Horrible...

We poked around Warham for a couple more hours, plenty of birds but nothing from the east, and again with Shetland training in mind headed to Holme to hone our Barred Warbler identification skills. As we arrived we could see a few people peering into an elder. The bush swayed from side to side, its trunk straining under the weight of the gigantic warbler as it crashed around, half the time I expected a Woodpigeon to clatter out, but it was just the Barred daintily picking off berries as it skipped lightly from branch to branch. Eventually it came most of the way out, and we all backed away in fear. I'd even go so far as to say it was quite showy, and it's not often you can say that about a Barred Warbler.

This is not normal

Finished up the day at Twitchwell dipping a Pec Sand. Lovely light, but most birds just a little distant. Plenty of waders, including a Little Stint, and plenty of typical visitors. My favourite ID today was a lady who found a juvenile Shelduck and wondered if it was a Smew. Then again, I was able to look at a Knot wading around without working out it was a Knot, so I was pleased to get Smew in September, and thanked her very much.

A top day out in warm sunshine, good company, plenty of good birds for once, and plenty of junk food, always a key ingredient in a full day's birding. Hopefully a taste of things to come - on all fronts.

Seeing lots of birds in Norfolk

It has more or less become traditional to bird the patch on January the first, and then have a big day out somewhere on January 2^nd. Last year we went to Norfolk for the day, the year before that, Essex. Looking at a map of “where good birds are at” made it an easy choice yesterday, especially as one of our number needed the Western Sandpiper that is still hanging around at Cley.

I was out waiting on the pavement at 6am sharp, and the boys (Bradders, Monkey, and Hawky) arrived a short while later. En route, the ever sharp-eyed Hawky bagged Barn Owl and Woodcock to ensure the day-list (and the year list) got off to a flying start. Our first stop Fakenham for the interestingly-pale Great Grey Shrike. None of us were quite ready for the intense cold in North Norfolk, especially after the mildest start to January since 1821 which saw me severely over-dressed for my big day in Wanstead. I severely under-compensated and was thus almost immediately freezing, and the Shrike was not an early-riser. Whilst waiting, a load of year ticks made themselves known, including two coveys of Grey Partridge, a species I had failed to see last year. Eventually the Shrike deigned to wake up and gave excellent and prolonged views until we could stand the cold no longer and retreated to the warmth of the car, which with Paul, Monkey and especially me in it, was extremely cosy.

Definitely a very pale bird, not as washed-out as in Steppe, but you can see why people wondered about Homeyeri. I know nothing about such things, but I understand the wing formula, in particular the configuration of the white panel, is wrong for this sub-species. I thought I heard it mutter “doh!” a couple of times, but I don’t know enough about the vocalisations to know if this is diagnostic. None of this matters one jot of course, it is a Shrike, and can be enjoyed regardless. A local who had seen the bird a few times told us it had a larder in the middle of the hedge, but you couldn’t tell where it was; had we known we could have scoped it for evidence of doughnuts....

So, with two birds under the belt that I hadn’t seen in 2011, we carried on to Cley for the Western Sand, which showed immediately, though much further away than last month, which was a shame as it meant I couldn’t get any colour on it all. It still reminded me of a small Dunlin though, in the same way that Semi-Ps don’t. Next stop Salthouse, the target being coffee from the man with the miniature coffee van who can regularly be found at the beach carpark and makes excellent and extremely reasonably-priced coffee – Starbucks take note – a superb coffee in fantastic surroundings for £1.25. As I waited for the brewing process to complete, and looked longingly at the box of biscuits, a shout came from the beach  - “Glauc!” Hawky, as is seemingly normal, had done it again. Coffee in hand, he had wandered up the shingle bank and the first bird he had clapped eyes on was a first winter Glaucous Gull flying past. We all scrambled up the slope to make sure we got on this “beauty” before it disappeared out of sight, but happily it landed on the sea, caught a seal, and then came and sat on the beach to eat it. Other punters weren’t so lucky – we had phoned the news out straight away, and this being North Norfolk in early January, birders began to arrive thick and fast, but not fast enough. The gull polished off the seal in under five minutes and then continued its journey east, I think we were the only people to see it, which was a shame.

Pleased with this, as well as a bonus Snow Bunting we had kicked up on the shingle whilst trying to get closer to the gull, we turned back west towards Wells. A quick scan of the Brent flock on the pitch and putt course bagged one of the Black Brants as well as a Pale-bellied, and following up news of a Rough-legged Buzzard in the Holkham area, we were not surprised to pick it up from the car. A convenient layby appeared and we all rapidly bailed out (to the extent really fat people can get out of vehicles quickly). It was a partically leucistic bird, with extremely pale upperparts, and for a while I remained unconvinced that it wasn’t a funny Common Buzzard, but luckily the tail pattern was seen. Rough-leg was another species I hadn’t seen in 2011, annoyingly racked-up only a few days after it’s all over. Shows quite how bizarre year-listing is, or more accurately, how bizarre not year-listing is. Had I been year-listing, presumably I would have made sure to be in Norfolk a few days earlier...

The real target of the day, for me at least, was the Coue’s Arctic Redpoll at Titchwell. I had never seen this sub-species, or maybe that’s “variation on the Redpoll scale”. The initial signs were not good, cars parked all the way along the entrance track, and barely any room in the carpark. It was clearly going to be one of those afternoons. The usual comedy of watching a tricky bird with masses of other people at Titchwell ensued, but I got superb scope views of the bird as it fed with both Mealy (or what I’d call a Mealy at any rate), and a bunch of standard Lessers. The bird on Shetland in 2011 had initially been called as a Coue’s, and on first impression, I’d say that that bird looked whiter, but Redpolls are a lesson in the need for close (very close!) observation and attention to detail - as multiple previous failings have taught me - and gradually I built up a picture of the bird at Titchwell which I am pretty happy with. It might not be a tick, and indeed Redpolls could go the other way and lose me a tick or two, but it was a great bird. Needless to say, I hadn’t seen Arctic Redpoll in 2011.....

Buoyed by this success, I decided to leave the masses and walk down to the beach. There was, however, no avoiding the masses – I have never seen the place so busy. The need for year-tickage dominated though, so we stuck it out ‘til the bitter end, ‘til we had scooped up all available new birds, including two Scaup, yet another 2011 miss. What on earth was happening – that was the fifth bird I hadn’t seen in 2011, scooped up with no hassle whatsoever. The sea held two Whooper Swans, clearly also fed up with the number of people, not including us, on the reserve, a single Velvet Scoter, and perhaps a thousand Common Scoter about a mile out to sea all flying round in a huge circle, literally a ring. Any ideas why, as I have never seen anything like it. Maybe they're all feeling a bit fat from just bobbing about on the sea, and so this is their version of the January exercise regime.

We finished up at Flitcham, where I am happy to report that I dipped Little Owl. That really would have taken the biscuit, but the trees were empty. Instead we jammed a ringtail Hen Harrier, before heading back to London on 90 species. I’m not year-listing – I never do – but my records tell me that this is my best start ever. Not to worry though, I have high hopes of fading fast.

Seeing no birds in Norfolk

A few of us had booked a birdy long weekend in Norfolk about six months ago. At peak time, we would surely be knee-deep in rarities, fighting Yellow-browed Warblers off with our bare hand, shooing Olive-backed Pipits off the pavements. The westerly winds had other ideas however, and as our long-awaited trip dawned, so too did the realisation that we were going to see almost nothing. Naturally, we turned to drink.

We had left on Thursday morning, and taken a circuitous route that involved dipping the Semipalmated Sandpiper at East Tilbury, spending eleven hours in the Hornchurch/Romford area picking the Monkey up, ticking the Sandhill Crane for the England list I don't keep, and finally arriving in West Norfolk late afternoon. Rather than go out birding, we made for the nearest pub.

Whereas my trip to Shetland was characterised by 8pm being thought of as a late night, this trip to Norfolk was the birding equivalent of Ibiza (though without any Mediterranean species). Wherry on draft and a rack of ribs, does it come any better? The boozing continued back at the accomodation, and about twenty minutes after we all went to bed, Dave Mo got up and started his morning routine with a shower. This was to become a feature of the holiday.

The following day, suitably refreshed after fifteen million gallons of beer and about an hour's sleep, we indecisively made our way to Hunstanton. There we saw no birds over the course of about half an hour, and then gave up and went to a cafe for breakfast. After more indecisiveness and ever-increasing numbers of Gadwall being released, we set upon a new plan which took us to Cley. Guess what? We saw no birds. Well, we saw a handful of Great Skuas and some Goldies, but the Richard's Pipits and Red-flanked Bluetails were sadly lacking. We couldn't even find the Lapland Buntings that had been reported from the Eye Field. This was not for want of trying though. I spent about an hour scanning and scanning, and in the process was nearly forced to kill about twenty other birders.

Perhaps this is unique to the type of birding gentry found only in Norfolk, or perhaps this is a sign of national malaise, but not a single other birder could be bothered to actually look for the Laps. This didn't stop all twenty of them coming up to Hawky and I, setting up their scopes, and then asking if we had them. When we answered no, they looked through their scopes for approximately eight seconds each, and then picked them up and walked off back to the beach, their car, their deckchair, whatever. To begin with I was fairly cheerful about it. Nope, hadn't seen them, but it was a big field and they were small birds. Then I started saying that only by looking could you hope to find. Then I became a little short, and asked them how many birders they could actually see looking for them. When this didn't faze them at all, and they walked off exactly as all the others had done before them, I snapped, and was possibly then overtly rude to the next lot that turned up and called them a bunch of of lazy goodfornothing wankers and that I was not there just to ensure that they could view a Lapland Bunting through my scope and that they could just piss off. At that point we too decided to leave, which was fortunate, as the next sixty-something well-kitted-out birding incompetent who had asked me if I had the Lapland Buntings for him would likely have been twatted with my extremely substantial tripod, and then battered to death whilst on the floor with the blunt end of my SLR.

Next stop Wells Wood, where we all wandered around disconsolently for ages, and on the point of leaving were extremely fortunate that my Shetland-trained ears picked out the Yellow-browed Warbler which then proceeded to utterly elude us, bar more brief calls, for a further hour. I forget what we did next, but it almost certainly didn't involved birds and almost certainly did involve beer in dramatic quantites whilst we waited for Dave Mo to get up and for the next day to start.

The next day was pretty fun it has to be said. We left the Mo and the Monkey watching some rugby game or other, and Shaun, Hawky, Redsy and me went off to Twitchwell to photograph waders. This we achieved, though at the cost of getting rather wet, particularly Shaun. It's all about fieldcraft. Position yourself correctly, don't move (unless a wave threatens to drown you), be patient, and the birds will come to you. This culminated in me being surrounded by Knot, Barwit and Turnstone literally feet away, it was superb. I rattled off some 850 frames in the two hours I was there, some of which you are privileged to see littering this post. Kind of. After some comedy antics from the orienteering team of Monkey and Mo, who tried to access Titchwell via Thornham saltmarsh, we attempted a Seawatch at Sheringham, saw nothing, and went home for - wait for it - some beers.

And that was it really. Norfolk in three days netted one Yellow-browed Warbler and a few Skuas. We decided we would cut our losses and so we all went home and back to work. Yes, even me. Happily we went via Suffolk, which actually had some birds. And you can see some of those... in the next program post.

PS  If you didn't read the last sentence in a David Attenborough voice you will have entirely missed out on what I was trying to achieve. Natch.

Vagrant juvenile Little Bittern marries adult Sabine's Gull on Wanstead Flats

Catchy huh? I've been trying to think of a blog-post title that expresses sufficiently the full-on hectic pace of the extremely varied weekend that I've just had. I probably failed. A decent fall of migrants on the Flats followed by a friend's wedding, a speedy twitch to Norfolk for the Little Bittern, and then a Sabine's Gull in London so tame you would be forgiven for thinking it was someone's pet. The above was the best I could come up with, and conjures up a rather different image.

A paragraph on each then, and more photos than strictly necessary.

Wanstead Flats, Saturday morning.
More migrants than you can shake a stick at. Ten Spotted Flycatchers, three Whinchats, a couple of Tree Pipits, heaps of Blackcaps, Chiffs and Dunnocks, coupled with a decent movement of Swallows and Meadow Pipits made for a pretty exciting morning in the company of Sally, Nick and Tim. Why the Flats should be so attractive to Spotted Flycatchers I have no idea, but these splendid little birds are an annual feature at around this time of year, usually in some numbers. Yesterday there were seven in Long Wood, five together, chasing each other round and calling their heads off. To have this treat year on year is a privilege. A decent supporting cast including yet more Whinchats and the morning sped by. I love living here.

Susannah and Don get married in Eltham, Saturday afternoon.
Hurrah, she finally did it! Weddings are great, even when they coincide with pet Sabine's Gulls on London Reservoirs, and we had a brilliant afternoon in the company of lots of old school friends. Susannah and I lived on the same road in Cambridge for many years, went to the same schools, and had many of the same friends. She's far too organised to let my uselessness overcome keeping in touch, so all these years later Mrs L and I got to go to her wedding (and Don's!) and have a wonderful time. Far too much to drink of course, and some dodgy dancing, but these things are par for the course. Guys, you make a fantastic couple, many congratulations!

Twitchwell RSPB, Norfolk, Sunday morning. Early Sunday morning. Too early...
Despite the certain likelihood of too little sleep and a very large headache, I had made plans to go to Norfolk with Nick C, Stuart F and Bradders. A post-wedding 4:50am start was most definitely one of the hardest things I've done this year, but Buff-breasted Sandpiper, Citrine Wagtail,  Cattle Egret and Little Bittern all on the same stretch of coast couldn't be ignored. In the event we only got the latter two, but enjoyed great close views of a juvenile Little Bittern as it clambered about in a reed bed right in front of us. Far too many people, far too much tutting and moaning, but you expect that at Titchwell and it didn't stop us eventually getting the views we wanted. Many Thanks to Big Jake for letting me look through his scope during the panic stages, thus allowing me the luxury of strolling off for a sausage bap. Refuelled and revitalised, I strolled back and got fairly prolonged views as it caught small fish along the margins of the reedbed. Rather pathetically we couldn't think of anything else to do up there, and with virtually no other migrants on the coast, and strong winds preventing us from finding any, it was an easy decision to head home early for browny point recuperation, or in my case, a Sabine's Gull which had done the decent thing by staying overnight.

Distant and elusive Sabine's Gull on KGV Reservoir, Sunday afternoon.
I really like seeing birds really well, and Sabine's Gull is typically not a bird I see well at all. For a start, most of them are Kittiwakes, and the ones that actually are Sabine's are usually miles out whilst seawatching in a raging northerly, whilst tipping sea-water out of my scope. So when I heard that the bird on KGV generally showed to about 40cm, I just had to go, the fact that it was a London tick was entirely irrelevant. A long walk, I can't think of anywhere in London where you might need to go as far in fact, but unequivocally worthwhile. Presumably it just doesn't know what people are, and it's probably best off not knowing, but I can tell you now that I will never see a Sabine's Gull better than today. Superb.

Dark Skies, Bright Birds

Criminally, a day away from the patch yesterday, but remember that variety is the spice of life, and of course that absence makes the heart grow fonder. And anyway, how many Greenish Warblers and Bonelli's Warblers are there in Wanstead? Precisely.

So, a day-trip to Norfolk with a few of the usual suspects in order to take in this enviable Phyllosc combo. We arrived two hours early, and had to sit out two hours of rain, but once the sun came out, eventually so did the birds. In Derbyshire only a few weeks ago I had decided to tick a Western Bonelli's Warbler on the basis of a burst of song, a few dismal snatched views of a clean bird, and a long drive. On it went, but with the dreaded "bvd". Better views desired. I have largely cleaned up my list, and very few bvd's remain, so to add another was a bit crap, but there was no doubt I had at least heard the bird. Happily the one in Cromer was ever so much more obliging, and even allowed scope views. Bright white underparts sparkled in the sun, with extremely greeny and yellowy upperparts with a plain face. And about thirty other people all looking at it, which helps. The Greenish had showed briefly in the same area moments before, but had slunk away, and we only heard it after that. A shame, but a couple of the guys got tolerable photos of the Bonelli's, so if you're interested, go and have a look at their blogs. I had elected to leave my camera in the boot, which was a shame, but it meant I got really good views, which sometimes you forget to get if you're toting a camera.

The morning had vanished in a flash, so after a hearty lunch of junk from Morrison's we paid brief homage to the Red-backed Shrike at Walsey Hills, and then spent a couple of hours at Cley with waders coming out of our ears. As well as the Red-necked Phalarope, over twenty Curlew Sandpipers were enjoying the expertly-managed water levels. Other waders included numerous Ruff, Dunlin, Black-tailed Godwit, and a single Little Stint. In context, prior to yesterday I had seen just over twenty Curlew Sandpipers in my whole life, so to have twenty in a single scope sweep was pretty special. Oh yeah, and there were eight Spoonbills as well, even though they're dross birds these days. They had a brief and exciting fly around, and then as is typical with Spoonbills, fell asleep.

A scout around Warham Greens produced about a million Lesser Whitethroats near the Whirlygig, and a single Pied Flycatcher in an area called the Pit. Somehow we dodged intense thunder storms to our north and south, and so finished our day warm and dry at the Red Lion in Stiffkey drinking Wherry. I had missed Wanstead, but had had an enjoyable day out. Full of no remorse whatsoever, I was out there nice and early this morning and bagged two Whinchat, two Wheatear, and another calling Tree Pipit buzzed south. Happy days.

Golden Plover wheeling against a forboding sky.

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.

Local Birding

Local to someone, just not me unfortunately. Unable to resist a trip to Norfolk today, mainly to see the Lesser White-fronted Goose in the Yare Valley. Of unknown origin at the moment, with two distinct camps in terms of thoughts of authenticity, split very closely along the lines of those who have seen it, and those that haven't. Having seen it, I'm a believer...

I didn't mean to go to Norfolk - an interesting Arthur Ransome parallel - but I have been resisting the Goose for quite a while. And of course, gradually more and more people have gone to see it, and the groundswell of positive opinion has mysteriously been growing. Who would have thought it. There was a carload going with a space, so I called up Paul and said I wasn't interested, and that I was doing the patch. An hour later, I called him back asking when they were leaving, and so found myself awake at an unhealthy hour this morning.



The Goose gave us the runaround in a big way - the Yare Valley is not easily worked. It even turned into a hybrid at one point before the real one was found, and of course all this time I was racking up year-ticks. A pair of Peregrines, a Buzzard and several Marsh Harriers were all new, as were a pile of waders and other geese. Can't be helped I suppose, but I am painfully aware that where last year I had seen 86 species by January the 2nd, this year the total stands at 98, though I am of course not keeping track of my total in 2011. Had I stayed in Wanstead, I would not have seen a single new bird, and would be feeling very virtuous for my lack of skill/success.

Once we were done chasing wild geese, Paul and the Monkey had plans to go to Thornham for the Northern Harrier/Marsh Hawk thing. I'd seen it back in November so hadn't planned on going, but the coast is always a good place in winter. Whilst they dipped the Harrier, I scanned the marsh for year ticks interesting birds. After an hour or so the Harrier turned up, and I got much better views than the first time around. The bird now appears to have a foot injury, but this didn't stop it catching a small wader which it made short work of, back in the air again after only twenty minutes. It behaves much more like a Marsh Harrier than a Hen Harrier I have to say.

 
So a fine day out marred only by a stack of year-ticks, but I'm back on the Flats tomorrow and can almost guarantee that I won't see a thing. See ya.