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....
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| The cost |
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| More of the cost |
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?
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| 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!!!
As is well known, I love lists. One can never have enough, and whilst I might not equal Professor Whiteman in the list of lists stakes, I've just realised that I have a key list missing. It has quite a catchy title: "List of birds that other people have seen on my patch that I will probably never see but that I will hear about for the next 27 years". Why I didn't think of this one before is a mystery, but recent events - particularly this morning - have brought it to the fore.
I worked out at some point this morning that I have been birding for about two hours since I returned from Shetland. It might stretch to two and a half hours, but no more. That I managed to snatch that Short-eared Owl is nothing short of miraculous, and aside from that, I've seen nothing. This morning was no exception. I managed approximately 20 minutes of birding as I walked across the Flats to the bus stop, during which I saw a Pied Wagtail. Safely parked at my desk in Canary Wharf, the remaining Wanstead Birders could now open their eyes and start seeing rare birds. First up a Hawfinch (last record 1985), possibly two, circling Esso Copse. A nice addition to my new list, and with the added bonus of also being seen by a bloke on his second visit or something - extra points. Then three Woodlark west over Long Wood. Excellent, ink that one in. Oh, a Brambling in with Chaffinches - that one at least only goes onto the "missing from my patch year-list list", and finally two Golden Plover. Not too fussed about those, but you can probably sense my building frustration. And this is just today, the actual list is much much longer, and there are some real gems on there.
Happily it does not stop there, no no! There is apparently an Olive-backed Pipit near Southend. Fantastic! What better way to heap more misery on me. It shows all afternoon, right up until dusk. Comments from various people that I am missing a lot of good birds are not well received. Tony suggests I ought to take the afternoon off and twitch it, a nice thought, but with meetings from 1pm through to 6.30pm, somewhat of an impossibility, and anyhow, if I don't work, I don't earn - this is of course entirely fair, but it also means that twitching is not the frivolous affair it once was. I returned home this evening in a foul mood. Magnanimity? Not in this house.
The one tiny tiny speck of good birding news is that I managed 15 minutes birding in Canary Wharf this lunchtime. In addition to most people in Wanstead gripping me off, Parus over at Tower Bridge has also been getting in on the action. Goldcrest yesterday and Chaffinch today, to take the lead in the peanut challenge. I couldn't let this stand. The words "good birding" and "Canary Wharf" rarely go hand in hand, but bugger me if I didn't find a Goldcrest in the first place I looked, which was the nearest bit of green to my office, and was thus able to get back to my desk extra-quickly. Happy days.
