Albatross!

The Black-browed Albatross currently/recently residing at Bempton Cliffs remains on of the best birds I have ever seen. I had the opportunity to see it again a few weeks ago. Notionally the prize was the Turkestan Shrike that had appeared in basically the same place, though not with Gannets. That was all fine, always go see Shrikes, even if someone fleeces you for £10 to stand next to a pile of rusting old boilers and assorted junk. Guardians of the countryside, pah. It showed pretty well, though not as well for us as it did for some, and we went away poorer but nonetheless happy with the result of seeing it and not dipping after a four hour drive.

I had woken up at 3.15am and had taken Bob as far as Stansted. From there Bradders Birding Tours picked us up along with co-guide Howard, and we made our way north. As is customary I slept for most of the rest of the way, waking up briefly for coffee and breakfast, but essentially contributing only a regular and I would like to think calming soundtrack. Shrike present and corrrect, yes yes, but actually we all just wanted to go and see the Albatross again, or in the case of Bob and Howard, an Albatross for the first time in decades. I suppose it is possible that this is the Hermaness bird from all those years ago, they are very long lived as everyone knows, but somehow I doubt it.

It was there (it is not always) and it was glorious. Initially asleep on the cliff it got booted off by an unimpressed and angry Gannet and flew quite a way out. That might have been it, but after an ego-restoring period on the water it got up and flew lazily back to the cliff before flying figures of eight right in front of us for what seemed like ages. What. A. Bird. Mesmerising.

The return journey also saw a fair amount of sleeping, and the guys were good enough to wake me up for a quick stop at the Idle Valley where a convenient Caspian Tern had been hanging out. Ol' carrotnose was still doing precisely that, and we enjoyed it flying around for a bit whilst adding to the day list. I don't do a great deal of twitching these days, but days out like this with (had I been awake) good company and wonderful locations are sometimes just the ticket.

Shrike interlude

Probably not what you were expecting given the recent Brown Shrike in Norfolk, and the very showy Red-backed Shrikes in East Norfolk, but actually this a Loggerhead Shrike taken in Southern California back when travel was a thing. I have no idea when I might see this species again, but they are pretty common over there when you find yourself in a remote place. As they hunt prey that is mostly on the ground, they tend to like to perch up and survey the surrounding area for movement before swooping down. This fantastic stunted tree was being used by both a Loggerhead Shrike and a Say's Phoebe, the only trouble was that there were about four such perches and the birds liked whichever one was furthest away from me. Understandable really, I get it everywhere I go, but I managed to fire off a couple of shots from the car window in that instant between the car coming to a stop and the bird then flying off to a different perch. I won't claim it is a record shot or anything, but I did wish for a somewhat longer lens, or my 2x converter, but I was travelling light and that is the price I pay. I am finding that I am swinging back towards birding and away from photography, and so recently you will likely not have seen me carrying a camera but instead lugging my scope. What I really enjoy however is the freedom of birding with bins only, and for most of the birding I do the habitat and birds don't actually require anything else.

Always stay at home to see Shrikes

Plan A for this morning involved travelling to Essex to see an Isabelline Shrike. Then I found out I had no car again, so plan B was enacted - hit the patch. I was up relatively early, still not quite on the right time zone after Texas. Oh yeah, I went to Texas - very nice. Anyhow, looking outside it looked dull and decidedly murky. In other words excellent for migrants, so I got up and wandered the short distance over to Wanstead Flats. A few finches overhead, and some pretty decent Woodpigeon movement, but nothing to write home about. And anyway, no pen. I commented via Twitter that it wasn't really up to the standards of Southern Texas, drenched in Scissor-tailed Flycatchers, Green Jays, Altamira Orioles and the like. Then Tony called.

Tony birds the patch once a week for a few hours on a Saturday morning, as he lives just that little bit too far away to stumble around before work. Despite the infrequent visits, he has quite a good track record. 

"Jono, where are you? I've just had a Great Grey Shrike!"

He should visit more often. 

After that was a bit of a blur. I joined him at the Ditch of Despair, likely soon to be renamed, to talk about what to do next. One brief view, then lost, but unlikely to be anything else. We split up, I circled around to the brooms, he went back to the start of the ditch in case it had gone round. Nothing. Just as I was approaching a Hawthorn, another call from TB - this time to tell me it was in a Hawthorn. Which one? Waaaaaaahhhhhhh! This one! The bird flew low and fast across the Flats. Ooof! Sheer delight, what a record. I phoned Bob again, also nearby and aware, but before I could get back on it it was off again, this time flying around us and off towards Long Wood. Another brief perch up, decent views this time including for Bob, and it was off again. Back over our heads and into Centre Copse. At this point Tony suffered a hug.

And as other [sad] local birders will tell you, that was it. Despite walking round every corner of the Flats for the next two hours none of us could relocate it. Unfortunately the Flats gets quite busy on a Saturday morning around this time, lots of football, morning strolls, and the bird may have decided this was not a place conducive to a prolonged stay. But leaving sorrow aside for the moment as it's not an emotion I am currently experiencing very much, oh my God! A Shrike on the patch! The patch has had many good birds, and a spectacular autumn, but this is the stuff of dreams. Always go see Shrikes. The fact that this morning I could not did not hold me back, is this more evidence of karma? Without a doubt missing Siberian Thrushes puts a lot of credit in the bank, but still, this is almost farcical surely? It is the third record for the patch, the last in 1977, and Tony Brown is a legend. His account, with photos, is here. I am still in disbelief, and now that all my weekend errands and chores are done, about to start drinking. There will be a toast.

Oh, and the Izzy Shrike had done a bunk.

I read this when I got home.

Morocco again

Sorry, but I like it. I like it a lot better than here actually. Specifically there are lots of birds and very few people. Whereas in the UK if you go birding and are lucky enough to actually see a bird, no matter where you go the experience is soon ruined by dog-walkers, holier-than-thous, or the general twattishness of broad segments of the UK population. In Morocco, if you pick your spot you occasionally get interrupted by someone wanting money off you, but that's about it. It's altogether far better for actually enjoying the birds, which some would argue is the entire point. In the UK that's somewhat secondary, it seems to be all about perception and conformance. Possibly I'm just a bit bitter, but be that as it may, birding abroad is an a much more satisfying experience than birding here. And it's mostly warm, which counts for a lot. Also, there are no Shrikes in the UK, hence I go abroad to places where there are Shrikes. If there is a counter-argument on the Shrike front I'd like to hear it.

Time being a very limiting factor in my personal situation, this was another absurdly short trip, with less than 48 hours in the country. I can accomplish a lot in 48 hours. For instance getting up close and personal with Shrikes. In the UK on the rare occasion you get to see a Shrike, it's often in the company of fifty other people, and could easily be a hundred yards away across a field. In Morocco they're simply part of the landscape, omnipresent, and you just stop your car when you see one and then just lap up it's sheer awesomeness for as long as you want. Or as long as you can manage before risking missing your flight....

Oh, and some of other birds are rather nice too. I'll do a trip report in due course, but for now I can simply say that I saw nothing hugely rare, that my life list has increased by precisely zero, but that it was phenomenal once again - my third trip this year. I reckon I know enough about the region now that I could lead a tour (that's how easy it is!). Bookings can be made via the comments box below, and my rates are very reasonable. Oranges free.

Always go see Shrikes. Again.

Yes, go again. Again and again. I've said it before, there is no Shrike that is not worth going to see. Today's bird cost me four hours in a car, but I didn't care. The drive was pleasant enough, especially knowing that there was a Shrike at the end of it and that it was "showing well" - Steppe Grey, a pretty damn rare kind of Shrike, tend to "show well" - the only other one I've seen actually perched on my telescope. This one wasn't as friendly as that, and kept a semi-reasonable distance from the crowd (a bigger crowd than I had anticipated actually), but it was pretty good nonetheless.  In fact it was better than pretty good, it was amazing, who am I kidding? And to think I could have been at Dunge sitting in a deckchair covered in popcorn.

Guessing that it might not be quite as accommodating as the Lincs bird, which required a macro lens at times, I armed myself with the longest I had and went for a short walk. Lots of other people had had the same idea, the number of people who have large cameras never ceases to amaze me and the path at Burnham Norton resembled Silverstone. I still found a space in exactly the right spot for the bird's routine, which was to fly in, perch on a post, swoop to the ground for a mealworm and then eat it on a convenient bramble. What a little stunner!

Skewer Skua

Finally some birding. A leisurely start on a largely dead Wanstead Flats allowed me to chew the fat with the regular band of stalwarts, and then it was off to Suffolk for the Lesser Grey Shrike. Love 'em. Sadly it wasn't quite as cooperative as the last Shrike I saw, but it still was one and that counts for a lot. As expected a medium-sized crowd with a few familiar faces, and although the bird sadly didn't come and perch on my scope, good scope views were nonetheless had. This is the skewer bit, in case you were wondering.

Far more obliging once I had worked out the correct approach was an Arctic Skua at Sizewell, just down the road. With patience you could get relatively close to it, so that's what Bradders, Nick and I did. Lovely, although the poor bird is mildly oiled, which probably explains why it spending quite a lot of time sat around on the beach preening. I hope it makes it. I'll probably do a whole post on it over on the other channel at some point, but by necessity this post is short and sweet, as Mrs L and I are spending the evening together. We are both so busy that this happens approximately once every two years, and I have opened a rather special bottle of Shiraz to celebrate.

 

Always go see Shrikes...

What a bird, what a little stunner! All week I've been itching to go and see the juv Red-backed Shrike at West Canvey. Local blogger after local blogger has been posting point blank images, but could I get there? I couldn't even get there yesterday, being indisposed in Oxford. However by some good fortune it was still there this morning, and so after dumping Mrs L and the girls in central London, young Master L and I went straight there. Well, a slight deviation to pick up suitable optics in Wanstead, but essentially straight there, nothing could have swayed me from my course. Rule #162. I love Shrikes, and I mean love. LOVE. They're brilliant, compact little birds absolutely stuffed full of personality. And Craneflies.

On arrival we could see a small gaggle of people, and a mini proliferation of white lenses. How come so many people have them these days? Naturally I added to the congregation, trouncing everyone with the mighty 800mm. Ha! Happily I only had to lug it all of about 100 yards, and it proved its continued worth - Shrikes are surprisingly small. It was atop a small bush, a crappy shooting angle, but it soon flew down onto the fence to continue feeding there. Probably as close as 30 feet - I felt like I had died and gone to heaven. Oh, except I don't buy any of that, and anyway, this was loads better. It was one of those rare and perfect birds that didn't care. Faced with a barrage of shutter clicks, it could not have cared less, and even the presence of the photographer with as little fieldcraft as I have ever seen didn't phase it - mind you he was well behaved today. And it was a Shrike of course, which added to the perfection. I suppose if I'm nit-picking it could have been an adult male, or a Masked Shrike, but hey....

So, absolutely no apologies for a massively photo-heavy post. It was awesome. Wish I'd been there for the early morning light, as it would have been delightful, but you can't have it all, and I was pleased to be there at all. If I could have one opportunity like this every weekend, ideally with a Shrike, from now 'til the end of the year, I would be a very happy man. Actually, I'm pretty happy already. Brilliant.

 

 

Hello, I am a Shrike



Hello.
I am a Shrike.
Specifically, I am a Red-backed Shrike.
One of twenty-trillion Red-backed Shrikes that live in Bulgaria.
The bloke who writes this blog saw most of us.
Are you ready?



Arrival on Shetland

Lerwick from Bressay Sound

Well, Simon King was right, there is no better way to arrive on Shetland than by boat. Sailing up Bressay Sound in the early morning light was simply fantastic, especially as I had managed to sleep for a full seven hours. Four beers and a large plate of fish and chips probably contributed to my comatose state, but nonetheless I was surprised at how much sleep I got in only a reclining chair with my fleece over my head. A quick breakfast, a cup of tea, and I got myself up on deck for pretty much first light. By this time we were well past Sumburgh Head, only about forty-five minutes out, and in the lee of the mainland, were on a flat-calm sea. It was extremely pleasant, there is something special about a sunrise from the water.




Right on cue, Bradders was there to meet me at the terminal, and after a quick unpacking of gear, the team of the two of us, Howard, and Bradders Snr, were off and out birding. First stop the tiny hamlet of Brake on South Mainland, where we felt we stood a good chance of seeing possibly the only remaining Pallid Harrier on Shetland. After a few Whinchat and my first Yellow-browed Warbler, the Harrier duly appeared in the valley and sat on a post showing off. Then it was up and away, appearing to hunt low along a burn, and we never saw it again.   

Next stop Quendale for that superb Shetland past-time, iris-bashing. For those of you that don't know, some of the boggier bits of Shetland are carpeted in vast iris beds, typically along small streams. The sueda of the north, it is the stuff of nightmares. Unfortunately, birds love hiding in it, and the only way to find them is to go in after them. The procedure is as follows: Enter iris bed, fall over. Get up, progress a few feet, fall over again. Get up, sink knee deep in particularly boggy bit, fall over again, swear. Repeat. A lot. Occasionally find a bird, which nine times out of ten will flip in a non-identifiable manner fifty metres back into the irises you just walked through. For our troubles, we found a Bluethroat and another Yellow-browed Warbler, so a fairly good return, though as I sit typing this my ankes really do hurt. Wanstead Flats this is not.

A very large iris bed. Let me at it!!

We birded a few more sites nearby, including the famous Channerwick, but largely drew a blank and so caved in and twitched a fantastic adult Lesser Grey Shrike to the north of Lerwick. I can't tell you how far it was as I fell asleep as soon as we set off, and only woke up when we got there. I like to contribute. Anyway, always go and see Shrikes, you will never - ever - be disappointed.

   

Lady Luck is Fairly Fickle

It had been my firm intention to go down to Cornwall this weekend. The forecast looked OK, if not quite what I would have been hoping for. Nonetheless, a chance of a few seabirds, and a supporting cast of Black Kite and a Wryneck or two. Still, it's twelve hours in a car, so a last-minute email to a local contact enquiring as to how the locals viewed the prospects seemed in order. Not good, apparently, no talk of sea-watching whatsoever. Well that settled it, frankly I was looking for excuse not to go.

Saturday was spent wandering round a dead Wanstead, and a dead Rainham with Bradders. Porthgwarra meanwhile saw 2,003 Great Shearwaters go past in the space of five hours. When I tell you that I have seen eight Great Shearwaters ever, you will perhaps understand why morale was quite low in Chateau L last night. I mean, for Christ's Sake! Two thousand Great Shears in a few hours?! That is monumental, the stuff of legend. Deeply pissed off, I went to bed dreaming of seabird passage.

This morning, plodding Wanstead Flats, once again devoid of birdlife, I checked my phone again. Perhaps it had been 2.3 Great Shearwaters and in my slightly inebriated state I had misread the message? I hadn't, there really had been over two thousand. Unbelievable. My phone bonged again: 64 Great Shearwaters past Porthgwarra by 9am. Piss. I abandoned the Flats, and in an uninteresting repeat of yesterday, went to Rainham, again with Bradders, but this time also with Nick C. Like yesterday, it was dead, although three Black Terns and a Curlew Sandpiper did their best to raise me from the doldrums. In the absence of birds we made do with Wasp Spiders and Common Lizards, and learned that the number of Great Shears past Porthgwarra was 173 by midday. Grrrr. Why hadn't I gone to Cornwall? Just how much, exactly, does Lady Luck hate me?

The trickle of terns gave some hope that further down the river, fewer obstacles in their path and a tasty outfall close at hand, that there might be some more, so we headed off to Tilbury. Kicking stones, I set off along the sea wall adjacent to Tilbury Fort. A small bird on the iron railings caught my eye, and a quick squiz through the bins revealed it to be a juvenile Red-backed Shrike. That's nice, now where's the outfall? Hang on a dang minute! Woo-hoo! A Shrike! Woo-hoo! A Red-backed Shrike! Yay! A RED-BACKED SHRIKE!

I never, ever, find any good birds. A few patch goodies perhaps, but nothing actually good. It just doesn't happen. A Glaucous Gull at Rainham, and a handful of Yellow-browed Warblers (in October, and on Scilly and Shetland) are perhaps the closest I have come. This is a Shrike, a bloody Shrike! I phoned out some really really poor directions to the pager. Overhearing these, and realising that my over-excitement was causing me to talk utter nonsense, Bradders called them back immediately with good ones. Whatever. Woo-hoo! What was I saying about Lady Luck? That she loves me!

Look, here it is again, courtesy of Nick C who had the presence of mind to get closer to it and nab some photos whilst I smiled beatifically and dribble ran out of the corner of my mouth.

So it all boils down to whether I would have preferred to have seen 2,176 Great Shearwaters, increasing by 27,000% the number I have ever seen, but for the price of twelve hours in a car, or whether I would have preferred to have gone birding locally and found my very own Red-backed Shrike on the outskirts of London. I'll let you decide. Here, have a photo.

The Easter Holidays so far

Number of disputes: 23,872
Cumulative minutes on Naughty Step: 425
Tears (litres): 152.2
Balls lost: 8
School Runs: 0

The last statistic is by far and away the most important. No School Run = A W E S O M E. Life without the school run is just so much more pleasurable. The School Run isn't just the fifteen minutes it takes to travel to the school, it's the whole shebang. Getting up. Getting them up. Breakfast. Clearing up breakfast. Finding clothes within Mt Garment and getting dressed. Remembering EVERY OBJECT KNOWN TO MAN that will  be needed at school that day. Coats on, shoes on, bags packed. OK, are we ready? Right, out the door. Alarm set (for all burglars reading). Oh, we have collectively forgotten: string, cardboard, flashcards, instrument, PE kit, a fish costume, book, random object. *sigh*. OK, unlock door. Turn alarm off. Disarm crossbow trap (for all burglars still reading) , find string, cardboard, flashcards, instrument, PE kit, fish costume, book, other stuff. Repeat several times. Ready? Seatbelts on, off we go.

The whole process takes about two hours and is the worst part of my day by a country mile. It can be done in less time, I think my record is about 52 minutes from waking up to depositing children, but we forgot the string, cardboard....

Not needing to get to school, indeed not even needing to get up at all, is nothing short of superb. This holiday is particularly long. We have the regular two weeks plus weekends. Then there is a Bank Holiday, then an utterly gratuitous "inset day", the nightmare of working parents everywhere, so that teachers can take advantage of cheaper return flights. Then we have a ridiculous two days back at school, when I predict that about fifty percent of children will mysteriously be ill, Friday off for the Royal Wedding, another weekend, another Bank Holiday, and then school starts again - by which time it will be about August I expect.

So to say that we (I) am having a rather relaxed time at the moment is understating it somewhat. The holiday can last for three months, you won't find me complaining. I may need to referee an almost infinite number of trvial arguments between offspring, but it's still preferable to the daily School Run. The children are enjoying it too, and are taking each day at their own pace. Middle child in particular is taking full advantage of not needing to get up, and is just not getting up. The days when I could sleep for thirteen hours straight are unfortunately long gone, I am quite envious.


So let me run you through today. We all managed to get up by about 8:30, and also managed to make the mid-morning dentist appointment without being interrupted by a rare Plover. After that we made a quick trip into deepest darkest Essex so that the kids could add Woodchat Shrike to their lists (always go see Shrikes, rule #162), and were home in time for lunch. Then we watched Fantasia, with top honours going to Mickey Mouse as the Sorcerer's Apprentice, following which we made a very cool Lego spaceship, and then played with it a lot. The kids amused themselves for a bit while I made dinner - stir-fry, well received - and then it was bed time. Easy.

 
Tomorrow, the plan is that there is no plan. Can't wait!

A short post apropos nothing at all

My life is excrutiatingly dull. There, I've said it. This week was the pits. I mean, pleasant enough in its own way I suppose, a bit of sunshine here and there, but I cannot think of a single noteworthy thing that I have done. And by extension, to blog about. Still, not to let that get in the way of a short post,  no doubt a corker.

My week
Monday: Bought a new camera. Played with it all afternoon.
Tuesday:  Birded Wanstead Park. Of note, Water Rail and Waxwings.
Wednesday: A blur. No idea. TMS?
Thursday: Cleaning. Might also have played Snakes and Ladders.
Friday: Went shopping, almost bought Sea Bass. Played with Lego. Haddock for dinner.

Scintillating huh?

Moving on, I'm still trying to compile a list of all bird in Wanstead ever. This week - can't remember which day - I read the London Bird Reports from 1940 to 1952. The good news is that they were all pretty short, paper rationing perhaps, so it didn't take long. In those twelve years Wanstead was mentioned perhaps thirteen times. Twelve of those were of breeding Herons in Wanstead Park, and the thirteenth was a uber-rarity, a record of a Buzzard flying over the Flats on September 26th 1949. Rather in keeping with this post. I aim to tackle 1953 to 1960 this weekend during a quiet moment.

But that's not what I wanted to tell you about. I wanted to tell you about Red-backed Shrikes sixty years ago. Sixty years ago, they were so common in London that they barely get a mention. Look at this, which is from 1951.

Thirty-five nesting pairs! You know, of course, how many now breed in the whole of the UK? Correct, none at all. It has been twenty years since the last known breeding attempt in the UK. I can't bring you a graph showing the decline, but you can visualise how depressing it would look. I love Shrikes, brilliant little birds - an adult male up on the Norfolk coast last June (huh?) eclipsed by some margin the Trumpeter Finch we had in fact gone to see. Forty-three pairs in London, sensational! I've seen one solitary bird in London in six years. There have been a few others, but I've always been busy. But that's not the point, the point is that back then they were common, just another regular bird. A Buzzard over Wanstead Flats gets more print time in the LBR.

There was an article on the BBC news today about birds of prey making a comeback. It - the article - followed hot on the heels of a scare-mongering gutter press story about Golden Eagles feasting on thousands of lambs in Scotland somewhere. Just what we need. A lamb is worth, on average, about two pence, perhaps three. That's what supermarkets pay farmers in this country for them. They then mark it up by about a trillion percent, making it beyond the reach of most people who would like to eat it, forcing them instead to eat £2.99 chickens pumped full of shite, but I digress. If you read and believe the comeback article, most of our birds of prey at some point have been utterly eradicated from our landscape, and every single one has now made a comeback, either by accident or by design. I'd like to add Red-backed Shrike to that list. Sod the Great Bustards, sod the Cranes. White-tailed Eagles I like, but Wanstead is hardly the habitat. Red-backed Shrikes on the other hand may find it to their liking with only a small amount of work, such as tearing up all the football pitches and planting hawthorns and mice.

Cory's will have to wait until next year

Unless something extraordinary happens in Wanstead, I'm resigned to not seeing Cory's Shearwater this year. This is a great shame, as I really wanted to see one. The main problem is that there don't appear to be many in British waters, so if I apply the same sea-watching dedication in a good Cory's year, I'm sure I'll score.

Yesterday and today were the last throw of the dice. The forecast for Norfolk looked great - can you tell where this might be leading? Yup, once again, and for the umpteenth time, what appeared to be a great forecast failed to deliver the goods. Perhaps my weather-forecast reading skills need sharpening, or perhaps my expectation of what constitutes a good sea-watch is sky-high. Either way, a howling force 8 northerly gale, strong enough to rock the car as I slept in it, didn't produce spectacular numbers of rare sea-birds.

I drove up yesterday night and gave it a quick go in the evening. Plenty of Skua action, but not a lot else. Today was the same story, except for six hours. Loads of Great and Arctic Skuas, a few Manxies and Sooties, and stacks of ducks on the move, including many Pintail. Bird of the morning was a Storm Petrel, by all accounts somewhat of a Norfolk biggie, which I somehow failed tio get on while all around me lapped it up. Not to worry, I thought, saw loads last week, and I don't want a Norfolk tick anyway as it will mean that Essex lags even further behind. I am somewhat touchy about the fact that the list of birds I have seen in Norfolk eclipses that of Essex, my home county. I should probably just accept it and move on, but it feels wrong. For the record, it's 238 plays 230. Little league.

Anyway, there I was congratulating myself on having been inept enough to miss it, when a full five minutes later an unmistakable Storm Petrel appeared in my scope. It promptly disappeared again, but it was too late, the damage was done. Rats. Gradually the weather cleared, and whilst it remained very windy, the sea-watch was over. I gave it until midday, by which time it was blue skies and sunshine, and then gave up. No Long-tailed Skua, or at least not one I am prepared to year-tick, and not a sniff of a Cory's. Maybe next time. I should probably go up on a day of southerly winds and bright sunshine. I expect I'd get several.

At this point I was at a loss what to do. Should I stay or should I go? I elected to have a nap in Cley, but was rudely awakened by news of a Red-backed Shrike about a mile away. Oh go on then. Rule number #162, always go and see Shrikes, remember? It was just a Red-backed Shrike, but they are always nice to see. Got a tolerable photo as well, before being shouted at by the anti-photographer brigade for crop-trampling, despite actually being on a track. An insignificant detail apparently. The Shrike was between me and him, so rather than shout back that in fact I was doing no such thing and risk scaring it off, I retreated so that he would stop shouting and not scare it off. Which he did, no doubt very pleased at having seen another photographer off, and the Shrike stayed put. Don't get me wrong, I think people should have words with photographers who overstep the mark - no point being all coy about it and then moaning (using a pseudonym) on Birdforum afterwards. But before you do, perhaps check where they're actually standing, rather than just guess? Anyway, to the guy who decided to 'have a go' in total ignorance, this is for you.

Rule #162: Always go see Shrikes

Shikes are cool, that's the main reason. Little badass bandits that look disarmingly cute and fluffy. Supplementary reasons include the fact that there is significant species morphology. Today's Great Grey can be tomorrow's Lesser Grey, or perhaps even Steppe. Or yesterday's Red-backed could become today's Brown, although the reverse is also true. Confusion can reign for days over IDs, especially autumn juveniles, and sometimes the birds are gone before anyone works it out. I'm not claiming any taxonomic expertise whatsoever, as ultimately it doesn't matter - Shrikes are just cool. Which is why I got up at 4:45am and dashed over to St Aines to look at a Red-backe, er I mean Brown Shrike.

Badly misjudged the air temperature. Didn't wear a jumper and had really thin socks on. At one point I considered pouring my coffee into my shoes for the temporary relief it would bring. Frrreeeezing. Things didn't start so well for the seventy or so entirely normal and well-balanced individuals out on the moor at 6:30am, as low-lying mist prevented any birds being seen for a good hour and a half. But by 8, with the crowd having swelled to near enough a hundred, some people to my right claimed it had flown into a bush in front of us. We all rubbished this of course, they had only seen a Stonechat, desperation setting in already, losers. Entirely coincidentally I then picked the silhouette of the bird up in the top of what might have been the same bush....

Views continued to be dreadful for a little while and then all of a sudden the mist vanished and there it was, sat up where all could see it. A few people started talking about P this and P the other, sub-terminal markings and rounded lower-nostril coverts. Irrelevant - it was clearly a Shrike and that is all you need to know in order to gain enjoyment. Funnily enough though it was one I hadn't seen before, so I got a surprise tick. Bonus.

The great and the good were out in force, so I got lots of London Birder ticks as well. So did a lady filming the event for what will no doubt be a thoughtful and balanced documentary about bird watching and those who pursue this magnificent pastime. Vince and Steve B made up for their 2008 failure at Flamborough, and almost all the entire East London contingent managed to make it over during the course of the day. Fly little birdy, fly! Let's hope it stays one more night!

Car-crash TV. PS, employers may wish to click and enlarge to identify ill staff.

In a rare fit of proper birding, I came home and wrote up my notes before I went online to read all about the separation of juv Cristatus from Collurio. Wow. My conclusion?

Shrike.