Goodbye Dusky Thrush!

Back in the spring of 2013, I brought you much fanfare when I nipped down to Margate to watch grown men trample over graves with complete abandon. The subject of this angst was a Dusky Thrush, and it was my 400th BOU bird. Because it was a landmark bird, I slapped it on more or less immediately, and asked no questions whatsoever about it. A storm then blew up on the internet about how rufous it was (those who hadn't seen it) vs how this was an artifact (those who had), all of which I ignored studiously. Following seeing it, I did of course give up twitching. For a whole week, and then started again when a gettable Roller turned up. The rest, as they say, is history, and I then caned it for the rest of the year seeing such delights as Bridled Tern, Great Snipe and Ivory Gull. In due course, indeed quite rapidly, the Dusky Thrush was accepted by the powers that be whose name I can never remember, but there was no need to ink it in as I already had.

But now I need some tippex, as Dusky Thrush can no longer be considered my 400th bird. Shame. That major honour now goes to a somewhat lowlier Subalpine Warbler, and the Thrush becomes number 401. This is because a new entry has appeared way back at number 356 - the Blakeney Point Empid has been accepted to species. Unlike the Dusky Thrush, which obviously was one, the Traill's Flycatcher complex is rather difficult. And so unlike the Dusky Thrush, I exercised massive caution and did not add it to my list. Despite the epic slog down the Point, my efforts went unrewarded in listing terms. Until now that is, as the same people whose name I always forget have now decided that it was definitively an Alder Flycatcher and not a Willow Flycatcher. To be honest, either worked for me, but there was always the danger that they might never decide. But now they have, and so from the comfort of my armchair I've had to rework my entire list, including relegating Dusky Thrush to the completely unremarkable slot at 401. Bo-ring!

And as for Subalp as number 400, what a disgrace! Not as bad as your first ever Shrike in the UK being nubicus of course, but up there. There is however hope. If Dom's 2011 Slaty-backed Gull gets on, then Harlequin Duck becomes number 400, which is a bird well worthy of the number. The only slight difficulty is that shortly after seeing it I then clapped eyes on a Richardson's Cackling Goose. That is surely going to get on the UK list in the near future, and as I'm then fresh out of armchairs, all I can hope for is a split somewhere down the line to avoid the permanent ignominy of having a runty Canada Goose as my 400th tick.

Shetland 2014 - day 3, Unst

Unst has been very good to me over the years, with three lifers and a whole host of good birds. It's the most northerly of the islands, and involves two ferries to get over, with the [poor, neglected] island of Yell in the middle. This time around there was yet another new bird awaiting me, a Rustic Bunting that had been knocking around since almost the start of August, faithful to the plantation and surrounding gardens at Halligarth. Amazingly we didn't go up there on our first day, but I am of course very patient when it comes to bird twitching.

A glorious morning, we were on Unst by half eight, and scouring Halligarth before nine. A Yellow-browed Warbler made itself known, and the plantation was eerily still. Usually it's somewhere you visit when the wind is howling, as the four walls afford shelter in at least one corner, but today there was barely a breath of wind and the sun was shining. Garden Warbler, Willow Warblers, even an Acro. Brydon gave us the gen on the Bunting, and even had a poke around in his garden for us, but there was no sign. Disappointing, but with a Subalpine Warbler just down the road our spirits lifted. Especially when we pulled up alongside a gaggle of birders who told us that they had a 'funny' Pipit. 'Funny' Pipits are always good, except when they're just Meadow Pipits being bastards. Happily this one turned out to be a Pechora Pipit, and in marked contrast to the one on Unst in 2012 showed amazingly well. As did the Subalpine Warblers. Yes, plural - there were two, and one of them was singing. So, in late September, on the most northerly island in Britain, I was stood in my shirt sleeves listening to a Subalpine Warbler singing and had just seen a Pechora Pipit. It was vaguely surreal.

We carried on our itinerary, Unst is not a big place, visiting first Skaw for a quick bash as well as hoping to see the established Little Bunting, and then pottered around Norwick and Northdale for a while, picking up Barred Warbler, Yellow-browed, and a Common Rosefinch - the last of the expected scarce, so we were now in uncharted territory. It was very pleasant, and very warm. A few other stops followed, but it was fairly quiet, so we went back to Halligarth for a second crack at the Bunting.

But this time with Double Deckers. I am sure I have mentioned the magical properties of this particular piece of confectionary before, but it is worth mentioning again. Almost any bird, no matter how skulky or invisible, can be persuaded to start parading around in the open by the simple expedient of eating a Double Decker. It works every time. A fortnight ago in Norfolk with that Barred Warbler (though one could argue that was a bit of a waste), I had to bring one into play for the American Herring Gull in Kintyre, and I believe I also drew upon their power for the Ivory Gull. There are countless other examples. So, in keeping with the prescribed ritual, I solemnly handed them out before we started looking for the bird. 

Believe.

It took approximately five minutes before the bird popped up in a nearby hedge....

With this superb bird under our belts, there was just time to try for a nearby Bluethroat. This hadn't been seen for some 20 minutes, but the potency of the Double Decker was still fresh and I flushed it out of a rose bush immediately. This rounded off an excellent day in which we saw a mind-boggling array of quality birds, and I got a tick to boot. When it's good on Shetland, it is often very good indeed.

Sunday in Cornwall

Up with the proverbial lark after a sleep which seemed to pass in less than five minutes, we set our sights on Drift Reservoir again. Having missed the SemiP on Saturday morning, we were determined to get it this time. All the way to the hide, no sign. All the way down the other side, no sign, though great views of the Yellowlegs. Hmmm. I know, stuff it, let's go seawatching. Sea-watching is ace, far better than twitching, and the weather was looking very very tasty for a session at Pendeen.

Tasty it was, and blowing a hoolie. Generally I'm not one for lists of birds, but I think in this case I might make an exception.

40 Arctic Skua
36 Great Skua
4 Pomarine Skua
1 Long-tailed Skua
5 Sooty Shearwater
7 Balearic Shearwater
100's Manx Shearwater
1 Storm Petrel
4 Leach's Storm Petrel
15 Sabine's Gull
12 Grey Phalarope
3 Arctic Tern
2 Black Tern

And all this in just over four hours. I suppose the totals are not enormous, but to put it another way, prior to this sea-watch, in my entire life, I had seen six Grey Phalaropes, six Sabine's Gulls, and three Leach's Petrels. Don't forget that I live in London, and this makes it fairly monster from my perspective. Would that I lived by the sea - I think if I did that I would sea-watch constantly.

With the weather brightening up, although no let-up in the wind, we headed to Polgigga for a crack at the long-staying Black Kites. Easy as you like - as we were driving along I saw a large raptor in the sky, and it was a Black Kite. Simples. We got out, and then there were two Black Kites, and shortly after that, three Black Kites. Together. Astonishing. And to think I drove to Wales for one a couple of years ago. Lunacy. Actually it is more accurate to say I was driven to Wales for one, and I think slept quite a lot of the way, so no great hardship.

Mission SemiP. Irritatingly the Semipalmated Sandpiper was showing again on Drift Reservoir. How we had missed it in the morning I don't know - probably we walked right past it. Seemingly pinned down this time, we decided on a third attempt. People we passed on the dam said it was showing well. I can confirm that this was indeed the case.

I'll put up a few more photos in a separate post, however I have to say that this is how I like to see birds. Really really well. No distant dots, no squinting, no uncertainty. All birds should be like this, and really, that's what made the weekend so good. We saw everything really really well. The Black-and-White Warbler was mere feet away, the Bee-eater was sublimely cooperative. Superb scope view of the Lesser Yellowlegs, and the Black Kites were over our heads. The Sabine's Gulls against the aquamarine water inside Pendeen rocks were stunning, as was the fully-spooned Pom. And the Semipalmated Sandpiper, well, what can you say? We might not have seen all the birds on offer, but what we did see, we got views the likes we may never see again. Cracking is a much overused word, especially in birding circles, but these deserve it.

Scotering and Loitering

I cannot think of a more satisfying days birding in recent memory, however long that goes back. I've been staying with family in Scotland, part of my holiday-busting plans, and as is my wont, and especially as I have willing child-minders, I usually take a day and bugger off birding somwhere. Last year I spent 24 hours cleaning up in the Highlands with Muffin, and the year before that I had a superb day in Wester Ross. This time I decided that the Aberdeenshire coast was deserving of discovery, particularly as it held a long-staying Black Scoter, which whilst not a huge blocker (one has been living in Wales since 1853) is still an extremely rare bird. The thought of combing through thousands of sea-duck looking for this one vagrant got the juices flowing I can tell you!

I arrived at Girdle Ness in Aberdeen for pretty much first light, and met up with Fat Paul Scholes, aka Mark L, for this was his patch and he was going to show me it. This brilliant plan (and it gets brilliant-er, let me tell you) had been hatched the previous evening via Birdforum, which for all its faults, is an incredible resource if you can work out how to use it properly (hint: do not get sucked-in to contributing to the, er, discussion, on rare bird threads). A quick missive on the Aberdeen birding thread and I had gen flowing out of my ears and running down my neck, eventually pooling in my shoes. It was that good.

Our sea-watch was a fairly quiet affair, or so I thought, with a handful of Bonxie and Manx, but from my perspective enlivened by the hundreds of Eider and Guillemot sitting close inshore, and a pod of Bottlenose Dolphins at the harbour mouth. I hadn't counted on being present for a mega, but I've always been a fairly lucky birder. A cry of "Patch Gold!" from Mark, and soon I was taking in the thrill of three Canada Geese flying by. They were close enough in to be able to see plumage detail and everything. It was one of those exhilarating moments that only birding can produce, a real treat!

This is one of the reasons why patch-working is so interesting and varied. No two patches are alike, and exploring somebody else's patch is like peering into a forbidden world. For instance I would happily swap all 250 of Wanstead's Canada Geese, for ever, for just one of Mark's Eider, for one day. And I suspect he might give up all his Eider, and the rest of Scotland's, for just one of our Lesserspots, and maybe for just a couple of hours... Of course he wouldn't! Eiders are too cool, superb ducks that I love watching, and I've watched a few...

Girdle Ness also produced a Wheatear, a very smart drake Velvet Scoter, and a lone Purple Sandpiper, but these were all trumped by the offering from a smaller patch only a short distance away. Mark's flat came up with a cup of tea and a bacon sarnie, both day-ticks and extremely welcome after a 4am start - this is what I mean when I say Birdforum is a wonderful resource. And Mark is of course a top bloke, which is why I've offered to return the favour whenever he next finds himself in London and in need of a Canada Goose fix.

Onwards. I zipped through the centre of Aberdeen, which is not a big place, and took the coast road that goes up to the north-east tip of this lump of Scotland. For me this was uncharted territory. The furthest I had previously been was to Montrose for a Lesser Yellowlegs, and Arbroath for a Richard's Pipit, back when I was a twitcher. And even then it was only from Fife - I mean, who would drive from London to Aberdeen for a bird? When the Black Scoter had first been reported months ago, it had been a mere afterthought, the "big bird" had been a White-winged Scoter. That didn't linger, but I noted reports of the Black Scoter (think Common Scoter with an Apricot accessory) periodically and hoped that it might stay until I was in Scotland anyway. Yesterday was Wednesday, and it had been reported as recently as Monday.

Although the light was against me this early in the morning, and the tide was out, I could not resist having a little look off Murcar Golf Course. I parked outside the clubhouse and walked across the fairways to the sea (note to club secretary, put "beach access" signs where I can see them) and began seeing innumerable Common Scoter almost immediately. The scale of the challenge was enormous - the Scoters were distributed, fairly evenly it seemed, along a five mile stretch of coastline that has few access points. And I was looking for just one bird! I gave up quite quickly, the light from the east made viewing impossible, but at least the flock was still here. Every now and again one would rise up and flap what was left of its wings; I decided that barring a disaster they would all be here in the afternoon, and headed off to the Ythan estuary instead.

What a superb place! Teeming with birds, more Curlews than you can shake a stick at. I drove through Newburgh and parked up alongside the estuary, noting a large Kestrel hovering above the water as I got out. Hang on a minute....Osprey!! I shouted for it to fly over Wanstead on its way back, and noticed a second bird, a juvenile, having a bath mid-estuary. Scotland is just ace for birds. There may not be too many species, but the lack of diversity is more than made up for by the sheer number of individuals. Heaps of Knot, Lapwing and Redshank, gazillions of Curlew. Teeming would be a good word. At the estuary mouth I grilled the Eider flock hoping for the King Eider, and scoped three distant Arctic Skua resting on the beach on the edge of the Forvie Sands tern colony. One, a pale-morph adult, was standing up, and constituted the first skua legs I have ever seen. Very nice they were too. Also on the beach were a fair few seals, hauled up and enjoying a well-earned rest. Every now and again the wind would carry a waft of braying up to my position in the high dunes at the south of the estuary. With warm sunshine on my face (it does occasionally happen in Aberdeenshire!) I contemplated quite how nice a time I was having. I was utterly alone. No dog-walkers, no joggers, no people at all. Sunshine, blue sky, a gentle breeze, and birds everywhere. Life was good. Reluctantly my thoughts turned to the Black Scoter. The sun was now well round, and on a rising tide, viewing conditions should be ideal.

At Murcar the Scoters had seemed to be drifting north, so I decided to start my search at Blackdog a little further north, and walk south to intercept them. A quick scan northwards revealed quite a few birds that direction too, and not wanting to miss any out, I headed up the beach that way to get closer. My progress was impeded by a stream running into the sea, but not before I had picked out a very nice drake Surf Scoter. I had heard that there were up to five in with the flock, but I had not expected to find one quite so quickly. I debated somehow crossing the stream, but the Scoters seemed to peter out quite quickly, so I just went through them a couple of times from where I was before heading south.

I hadn't counted on there being quite so many birds. As well as thousands of Common Scoter, there were thousands of Eider and Guillemot, perhaps a hundred Velvet Scoter, and scores of Red-throated Diver, many still looking extremely smart. As with sea-watching though, the Common Scoter were mostly in a distinct line offshore, sandwiched between two lines of Eider. I felt sure that if I looked at every single Common Scoter, soon enough I would find 'the boy'. Having looked at photos, the bill on the American bird was incredibly bright and orange compared to the European versions. It should stand out easily, or that was the theory. Three miles and thousands of birds later, I still had no viable candidate. My Surf Scoter count was up to four, all adult drakes, including two together which was very pleasing as they are stonkers, but the lack of Black Scoter was nagging me. I told myself to forget about it, the birding was great anyway, and I had just scored an unseasonal Merlin (I later learned that there has been an early one knocking about). A swell had got up, and scoping the line of Scoters was becoming ever more difficult. The sun, having had a short break, was out again, and as the birds preened their flanks, their bills angled towards me and flashed in the sun, which had my heart in my mouth every time until I learned to deal with it. The view I really needed was a full side on profile, where the bill of a Common Scoter would look largely dark, but the bill of the Black Scoter would look like an apricot.

As I turned north to make my way back, scanning all the while, I became aware of a voice drifting towards me from the dunes. "Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves, and Britons never never NE-VER shall be slaves!", delivered with some gusto towards the end. I turned around to see where this was coming from. The answer was both amusing and worrying in equal measure. A naked (full-frontal naked) man was watching me from the top of the dunes. Wtf? As I looked at him, he sang even louder, and started waving his arms around. Potentially, I had a problem. I gripped my tripod in my hands (oo-err), it felt pretty solid (more oo-err), the ball-head in particular (even more oo-err), capable of holding 40kg rock steady (just err I think), would do the most damage. Still, I hoped to avoid that, so instead picked up my stuff and headed north.

He followed. Oh for Christs sake. What had I done to deserve this? I had barely seen another Human Being all day, and here, on a deserted beach miles from anywhere, the one person that I do bump into is a stark-naked raving lunatic. That said, he seemed to be sticking to the dunes, whereas I was on the beach,and provided he did not descend to the beach, I felt we could probably co-exist happily. Any easterly movement on his part though, and Mr Gitzo would be getting involved. Fortunately it never came to this, and I made it back to Blackdog, still scanning Scoter, without incident. Texting Mark, he is apparently a Murcar beach regular, and means no harm. The Last Night of the Proms will never be the same again though.

I returned to the car and contemplated my next move. I had been scotering for about four and a half hours, and although still 'empty-handed', was pretty pleased with my Surfie count. Black Scoter schmoter. But I was so close! I dumped a lot of my stuff in the car, and with only scope and bins (and defensive tripod), headed north into the dunes, thus bypassing the stream that had stopped me earlier. I soon found quite a lot more Common Scoter, as well as what I presumed was my first Surf Scoter again. A small group of Scoter a bit further out, and still well north of my position, caught my eye. Was I dreaming it or did one of them seem to have a very bright bill? I could detect no colour at all on the bills of the birds it was with, itself a good sign I felt, as all the males closer in had some element of plainly-visible colour. I carried on north to get closer, energized as only a whiff of potential success can bring. It was by no means a cert, and I had read that there were several Common Scoter in the flock that had particularly striking bills, but nonethless I at last had a viable candidate.

I walked about another mile, well into the Blackdog firing range, which thankfully was not in operation, before I got level with the birds I had been looking at. I had stopped every hundred yards or so, and been able to pick this bird every time despite the distance, and was feeling pretty good. Nothing I could do now but wait and cross my fingers that they came in, despite the fact the tide was receding. However come in they did, joining the closer line, and finally, after seven hours of scanning, I had the views that I wanted, and that confirmed the presence of an American Black Scoter nestling, happily and taxonomically, on my list between Common Scoter and Surf Scoter. I texted the good news out to all my mates who hadn't seen Black Scoter, and who I knew would be happy for me, and although I no longer have a pager, to them too, so that I could bask in the large scoter-shaped squares on the birdguides map that would be entirely my doing. If ever I deserved to see a bird, and see it well, this was it - probably the hardest I have ever had to work, a far cry from tick and run, but ever so much more satisfying. It barely counts as twitching - I had to do all the work myself. Heroic sums it up nicely.

On cloud nine, I headed for home. Fish and Chips from a place in Stonehaven that claims to have brought the deep-fried Mars bar to the world, and some mega-distant Spoonbill scoped all the way across Montrose Basin for a cheeky Scottish tick (for the list I don't keep), and I was worn out. Birding days like yesterday don't come around often, but that's what makes them so special.

From the Armchair

The other day I was moaning to Mrs L that I hadn't any ticks for, like, ages and ages. What a terrible terrible shame she agreed [note that this is not necessarily a true depiction of events - Ed.]. Two hours later I was sat in my armchair when Nigel Hudson alerted the world to the availability latest BBRC Work-in-Progress file. Hurrah!

For those that don't know, the BBRC is the committee of birding bods/gods that adjudicate on whether rare birds in this country were real or not. First of all they have to decide whether the bird in question was the bird in question; was the ID correct, and was the bird a figment of the observer's imagination (heaven forbid) or not? In the case of the bird that roused me from my armchair, was the bird actually a Lesser White-fronted Goose, and not some dodgy bread-guzzling hybrid? Yes it was a Lesser White-fronted Goose, and yes it really existed as loads of people saw it. That hurdle passed, they move on to the difficult stuff. Where was it? When did it turn up? What birds did it arrive with? What birds did it leave with? When did it leave? What did it do while it was here? What did it eat? Did it say anything? All crucial questions, the sum of which are used to come to an informed decision about the wild provenance of the bird. Assuming the majority of the committee then call the toss correctly, the bird is accepted as a record onto the almighty British List.

Or one of the British Lists. There are several, maintained by different people, and you can follow whichever one you want. I can't remember the real name of the one I use, but it now has the Goose on it, whereas the one I don't use doesn't have the Goose on it. Although you will find this hard to believe, the various list-keepers can come to entirely different conclusions when presented with the same facts. You could argue about this all day long, and it's just possible that some of that does go on. Thankfully though it happens behind closed doors where the public can't see what a bunch of socially inept losers birders really are.

Moving swiftly on before this post takes a large downhill turn, every quarter the BBRC tells the world how they're getting on with rare bird records they have been tasked with judging. Rabid twitchers everywhere open the file and eagerly scan down the list of birds, which is presented taxonomically.

"Ooooh, Black Scoter, did I see that?!"
"What about that Blue-winged Teal with a ring on it from Cambs somewhere?"
"Oh, I wonder if they've accepted that Goose?

TICK!

The specific entry you are looking for is "OK". OK means it has passed all the tests and is adjudged to be a real non-fictitious bird. There are other entries as well. "IC" is a popular one, and means in "In Circulation", ie they're still looking at it. They can sometimes look at it for a very long time. For example, they're still looking at a Great Reed Warbler from Dorset in May 1961. I'm all for being careful, however fifty years on, with the observer almost certainly (and unfortunately) in Green Italics, it's time to make your mind up. I suggest that a quick "NP" here would be ideal, as there is likely nobody left to chunter about it. NP stands for "Not Proven", which is a nice way of saying you were wrong, and you didn't see a real bird. Personally I'd prefer to see "Bollocks" next to an improbable record, as that is what most sceptic birders would say when they first got the news, but I'm not on the committee. And possibly never will be.

Anyhow, Goosy-Lucy is no longer in circulation, she is "OK". Back in January, when I saw this wild, wary, pure and unringed bird consorting with a classic carrier species in a historically plausible location, I was extremely restrained. Usually I speed home, there to open Bubo and bung the bird on immediately. In this instance I waited, just in case the powers that be decided in their wisdom that the bird was plastic. Happily it has been given the benefit of the doubt, and so, feeling virtuous from the comfort of my armchair, I have been able to tick it off my little bird-spotting list, and need never look at one again. Phew.

Here is the first Lesser White-front I ever saw. It didn't cut the mustard for some reason.

"Tomorrow I will mostly be seeing Ravens in London"

So said Paul W last night, and would I like to join him? I decided I'd do Wanstead Flats first (of note - Med Gull again, 2-3 Teal, 2 Siskins), and then give him a call. This I did, and then decided that 10 hours in Wanstead was quite enough for one weekend and that a trip, or at least a tripette, was in order.

Now Raven is a very difficult bird in London. You don't just bowl up and see them. Most records are of flyovers on the fringes of the recording area, and indeed Paul has seen 295-298 (depending on whether you ask him or George Michael I suppose) birds in London without seeing a Raven, so his confidence was all bluff really. But he had done a bit of homework and pinpointed a couple of likely spots, so Bradders and I thought we might as well. Before we tried them though, Paul insisted we do a bit of off-road driving down some dead-end tracks. We humoured him in this, and once it was out of his system, proceeded to Copped Hall in Upshire. A short walk over the M25 and we were looking vaguely downwards onto an expanse of wildish-looking countryside that no roads penetrate, basically woods and fields that you can't get to.

Within a couple of minutes we had picked out a circling Buzzards, followed by several more, and then several more. Our count peaked at around 17 birds in the air together, pretty amazing in London. Our attention was drawn to a herd of deer (don't know what kind) crossing one of the fields. As they were disappearing, Paul picked up a corvid coming in. I got on it almost at the same instant, and immediately it looked good, appearing enormous and rolling in the air. It carried on coming, and as it passed it turned sideways displaying the much-hoped for wedged tail. Score!! It flew right past and disappeared off to our right, clearly calling, yet sadly inaudible to us as a strong wind carried it away. As we turned back to the vista in front of us, I noticed what appeared to be a large corvid in the field the deer had just been in. Now my bird ID skills are relatively feeble, but I believe I said something like "Guys, I'm not being funny, but look at this bird in the field, I think it's another one". And it was! It too was cronking away but again we couldn't hear it. After a short while the first one joined it, and so for a good ten minutes we were lucky enough to be watching two London Ravens on the deck. They then flew off, though were successfully twitched at the same location about an hour later.

Barely classifies as a photo, but shows the key diagnostic feature

So, bird finding, not bird twitching. Distance from home, as the Raven flies, about nine miles. A London tick, and also an Essex tick. Win win. Though also a year tick, so a "lose" for that one I suppose. Did I say Coots and Squirrels? Sorry, I meant Buzzards and Ravens.

Three Tick Day

Before you ask, no I wasn't scooting around the country. Who do you take me for? I went only as far as Rainham. Whilst I was there, a Rustic Bunting - a world lifer for me - was found in Kent, probably under an hour away, and yet I was unmoved. I could have gone, I had the time, but I had already said I was not going to go anywhere today, and I amazed myself by sticking to that. Another reason, of course, is that I am not a twitcher.

There will be other Rustic Buntings, of that I am sure. So what were the three ticks? Well, they were all a very confiding Black Redstart at Rainham. A Rainham tick, an Essex tick, and an Essex year-tick. I'm not doing an Essex year-list as it happens, but had I been, this would have been #200. Not any kind of record, but a nice round number and a personal milestone. I spent about two hours with the Black Redstart, and with patience came really rather nice photographic opportunities. The Rustic Bunting news came through as the Black Redstart had approached to within about fifteen feet. Having worked to get that close, I wasn't going anywhere. It could have been a mega, I wouldn't have cared.


Black Redstarts, and possibly Common Redstarts even more so, are amongst my favourite birds. This one, a first winter or female, was working its way along the fenceline between the new hide and the targets, hopping down and feeding before hopping back up on the next post along. It was a matter of positioning myself along the route and waiting. Sometimes it swapped fences, and other times it just came straight towards me and carried on past. I was utterly absorbed. A pair of Stonechats provided some distraction when the Black Redstart was elsewhere, and I took close to five hundred photos before reluctantly heading for home. The only slight issue was the very poor light, but a highish ISO and some lifting in post-processing has made the final images perfectly acceptable, to my eyes at least. I am my harshest critic, of course.

The question I now find myself asking is how many Black Redstart photos is too many? Three? Four? Not sure, so I'll start with three, and a Stonechat for balance. Remember, you're not allowed to nab these, reverse them, and then claim them as your own. That would be very wrong. Unless your name is egdirbhteL. J of course, in which case it would be entirely legitimate. I was amazed to see that this had happened to Gavin Haig's photo of the American Robin the other day. He remained fairly calm, I'm not sure I would have managed it. Not that you can do a lot about it mind you - if the person is totally unreasonable they can just ignore you from afar and there is probably nothing you can do about it other than spit. In an ideal world, I'd quite like to make a living from photography rather than going back to working in a bank, but so far nobody has decided they want to pay me for my photos, though whether this is because they're not good enough as opposed to a quick "right-click and they're yours" is open to debate. So far I've not found any ripped off anywhere, but if I do......

Come-down

It has all been too exciting of late. I've had four ticks in four days, the last of them a bird of utter fabulousness at my local reserve. Just think where it comes from? As a migratory breeder the White-tailed Plover is found no closer than southern Russia, east of the Caspian Sea, a mere 3,000 miles away. 3,000 miles to Rainham, or 3,010 miles to Wanstead? Basically no difference, under half a percent of the total distance travelled. Frankly that's as good as a tick. Yep, I think I'm having that.

I was wondering what might bring us all back down to earth, and naturally thought of a moth. What we need is something small, brown and inherently dull to take our minds off the yellow-legged splendour that was at Rainham.

Anyway, when I checked the trap this morning the only moth photo I took was of a Small Magpie, and being black, white, and yellow, I deemed it too similar to the Plover to have the desired effect. Then a Small Skipper flew past. Aplologies for the orange.

Hola!

The excitement of this morning was almost too much to bear. Despite a lot of rain in the night, there were no new migrants on Wanstead Flats. I had been expecting to be wading through Redstarts, fighting off Whinchats. I couldn't even find a Lesser Whitethroat. Have a Mallard, it's about the best thing I saw.

Shrugging off this poor start, I put plan B into action: Return home, have a cup of tea, wait for news on the Iberian Chiffchaff in Kent. This plan worked exceedingly well, and before 8am the news that the bird was still present and singing away had me packing the car ready for a minor twitch with children. We liaised with the Monkey, who, off work again, had nothing better to do, and got there with no trouble. I'd sussed the location using the marvel that is google earth's satellite view, so knew exactly where to go. Before I even saw the small crowd of people I could hear it - I'd scrubbed up on the song this morning before leaving, as I hadn't a clue what it sounded like. I'm sure the Blowmonkey had too, but in case he hadn't, I pointed the bird out to him when he arrived :-)


In many ways this was an ideal twitch. For starters the bird was still there - somewhat of a prerequisite. It only took 40 minutes to get there, the parking was easy, we didn't have to walk far, the terrain was kiddy-friendly, and there were only a few people watching it. Perfect. Possibly not the world's most exciting bird, but it would have taken something special to beat the Bluethroat from last weekend. Tick and run.


The bird was very active, and singing frequently from high perches. Interestingly - although I use the word with caution - it also gave the classic colybitta chiff-chaff-chiff-chaff as well, though less frequently, and usually from cover. I have no idea why this should be. My best guess is that it took an English language course when it was younger and now, finding itself here at long last and able to use it, is haltingly asking the way to the station? Or if any of the twitchers had pets.

We also bumped into Matt, remarkably for the first time this year. We saw him a lot last year at various birds, and had expected to bump into him in Dorset for the Bufflehead, or at the very least Suffolk for the Lesser Kestrel. His flimsy excuse for this is that he has been working (although he did manage to squeeze them both in - a bad cough I expect...). Anyway, good to see he is still out and about, and I hope he finds something good soon in Sussex that I can twitch, though if you're reading Matt, much closer to a car park next time please!

Adios!

Tactics and a Wanstead Mega

Tactical error on my part yesterday. Mrs L was working from home, and she caught me asleep in the sunshine on the terrace. I couldn't really pretend I was doing anything else. I had been sky-watching, and just dozed off. Usually when she works from home, I am busy as a bee, literally vacuuming under her feet. But yesterday I blew it. Whereas before she thought of me as a domestic whirlwind, a veritable cleaning machine / child entertainer, I think she may now have seen through the facade.

Anyway, this morning I was trying to make up for this abject failure, and had already done a load of washing and was hanging it up when the phone went. "I've got a small wader", said Nick. "It might be a Dunlin, I'm trying to get closer." MEGA ALERT!!!!!!!!!! We went into overdrive, the washing was abandoned in the basket. The girls and I were out of the house in about a minute and a half, and were at the Jubilee Pond within about four minutes. We drove - I know, pathetic. I leapt out of the car and calmly walked over to where he was standing. He had indeed managed to get a bit closer, as there was the Dunlin probing the mud about ten feet away.

Mega. My list of Wanstead waders is Snipe, Lapwing, Woodcock and Wood Sandpiper (!). That was pretty mega now I come to think about it, but it didn't stick around, and anyway I didn't have my camera. I didn't have my camera for the Dunlin either, so I left Nick to talk to the local drunk and nipped home to get it. The Dunlin was still there when I got back, though the drunk had departed - the other way around and I'd have been annoyed. Enjoy!






So this latest addition to my patch list is most welcome and most unexpected. It turns upsidedown my notions of what can be found where and when. I usually check the ponds first thing, and even then I sometimes don't beat the dog-walkers. If I'm out later than first light, I just don't bother. But this Dunlin was found at half ten in the morning, there were people and dogs everywhere. It was largely unafraid of them. A Rottweiler walked within about three feet and it flew ten. The drunk walked past it and it barely moved. So this gives me hope, but also means I have to walk all the way to Alex in future, just in case. Bother.

The Social niceties of Children

Muffin had a friend round to play today. In the two hours he was here, I learned the following:

"I don't like big sausages, I only like little ones"
"I hate milk"
"The table is dirty"
"The bed upstairs is dirty"

and my favourite

"Why is this house so messy?"

The answer to this last one is easy. It is that I am in charge, and I have very clear priorities. Clean the house or twitch a Lesser Kestrel? Sorry kiddo, you'll have to somehow cope for a couple of hours before you can return to domestic paradise. And you can eat the sausages or go hungry.

Suffolk it was then. I arrived at Westleton at around 11am, to learn that the bird had disappeared from view some twenty minutes previously. For all of the previous three hours it had been happily perched on a fence. You could have written it I suppose. I gave it an hour and a half in the drizzle, but there was no sign, and then a thick mist descended as it warmed up a bit. Pudding and I headed back to the car for lunch, and wondered what the plan was. Though it pained me, we decided to cut our losses and go home. Have I ever mentioned how much I loathe dipping?

In a black mood, I turned the car around and headed for London. This was always the risk with a twitch so far away - a very slim window of opportunity, and a non-negotiable deadline to be back in London for. I knew this before I started, so I have no-one to blame but myself. I had to leave by 1:15 at the very latest in order to make the school run. At five past one my phone rang. It was John A, and the bird was back, exactly where it had been before.... Then Bradders rang with the same news. So much for my [blank-screened] pager....

I turned around, and screamed back to the site. I legged it the few hundred yards up the track to the ridge where you could scope the bird from, and before collapsing in an immense coughing fit, had a peek through a kind man's scope. Whoever you are, thanks very much. I find that twitchers are always willing to let a newly arrived and clearly panicking birder to have a look through their scope for the initial "tick" view, just in case the target vanishes whilst a tripod is being set up. I was in agony, but managed to set up my own scope and get a decent view of the bird. In my brief look at it - a stunning adult male - I was amazed at how bright it seemed versus our own Kestrel. I had enough time to note the salient pattern on the back, wings and head, and that was it, I had to go back to the car. I never even saw it fly. Tick and run. My only feelings were of relief, not elation. Rubbish. Of course, I'd rather have had this brief view than nothing at all, but the absurdity and futility of what I had just done was not lost on me. Twitching is total crap sometimes. Sometimes it's great, but today, and despite the successful outcome, I didn't enjoy it one little bit.

I made it back to school with five minutes to spare, and was thus able to be insulted by a six year old for the remainder of the afternoon. Sweet.


One of these next please.

Wanstead Waterfowl and another Garden Tick

The weather here, in common with most of the country, has been foul. If I lived on the coast I'd be sea-watching on an almost permenant basis (wouldn't want to miss anything!), but I don't so I have been drinking tea and looking out of the window, puffing. This did get me a garden tick though, but telling you what it was requires some preamble....

So....in another example of my extreme bone-idleness, I have taken about six months to fix a broken pane in my greenhouse. It is a very tricky triangular pane, and lazy arse that I am, back in May or whenever it mysteriously exploded into about four trillion very small pieces, I cut a piece of bubble wrap to size and gaffer-taped it on. Neat, I thought. A couple of days later the replacement pane arrived, and throughout the long, warm and rain-free summer and autumn I have been carefully storing it behind a bench. On Monday morning, as it was gaily tipping it down yet again, I noticed during one of my looking-out-the-window-and-puffing-and-feeling-miserable sessions that the bubble-wrap had disappeared, and that nasty cold rain was entering the greenhouse and soaking tropical plants that were unlikely to appreciate it very much. In the downpour I located the bubble-wrap in a flower-bed, got up on a ladder and used bulldog clips to secure it in place again, and got soaked - which is becoming a habit of late. Gosh, this is long-winded isn't it? Anyway, on Tuesday it was quite a nice day, I discovered some long-lost resolve, found the pane, unscrewed various bars and fixed it properly. In the middle of this a Grey Wagtail flew over the house calling and showing a lovely long tail. Nice, and #57 for the garden. See, got there in the end. I really do admire people who can write succinctly and do short blog posts. Good job I finally did fix it, as it has been raining more or less constantly since then and one of my hurridly-placed clips had already fallen off. I had lost the "to-do" list that this job was on months ago, so I wrote it on the current one and then immediately crossed it out again. Very satisfying.

There has been one clear morning, yesterday. Rather than attempt to get Goosander on my London list for about the fourth time, I stayed local and had a wander around the Perch and Heronry Ponds. This was mainly in the vain hope of a rare duck to grace my 2009 patch list, but also I hadn't used the camera in anger for a long time and I was in the mood. Somehow managed to reel off about 700 photos in the space of three hours, mainly of Coot and Mallard, as opposed to the Smew and Wigeon I was hoping for, nevermind. Editing them down took most of yesterday evening, and my delete button is worn to a nubbin, but I thought I'd share a few that made it through the cull.

If you look at Coots for long enough, they start to become vaguely interesting. This one was very determinedly chasing one specific other Coot. None of the other 3,000 Coots present came to grief, only this one bird. I wonder what it had done?

I took about 150 shots of this drake bathing, on high-speed mode, depressing the shutter every time he started. A lot of the shots came out ok, with suitable water droplets everywhere, and this one was my favourite. I came within about 10 centimetres of taking one I would have been really pleased with, but was a millisecond too late panning!

Wanted: One wing-tip.

Laundry List

A quite excellent and extremely irritating post by Gavin Haig has forced me to abandon my planned next post and instead write this one. It concerns ticking dilemmas. I discovered his most recent Not Quite Scilly post at around midnight just as I was heading off for bed, the title didn't have portents of doom, so I had a look. No doubt a short tale of seeing no Grey Phalaropes which would cause me to nod off in no time at all, I thought. Far from it. I was forced to read and re-read it many many times, and then ended up composing a comment that was perhaps longer than the original post, soul-baring, and highly contradictory. This took an hour, and then I couldn't sleep. When I woke up this morning I realised that the ideal place for my rambling, insightful and contrary musings was in fact my own blog. No matter, with kind permission I have stolen the general prinicpal, which was a list of hypothetical birding situations that Gavin had quickly and cleverly invented, and asked how many out of ten would you tick? My answers varied between four and seven, and when I woke up this morning it was as high as eight, and my total answers added up to eleven, so I have had to go back and comment again. The situations have been cunningly woven such that when you are happy with one answer, you then have to go back and start again on all the others. Ad infinitum. I didn't get to bed until 1am and then lay there wide-awake thinking about the ticking ethics for Corncrakes. This is blogging as it should be, surely? Thought-provoking and sleep-preventing.

So, rather than some highly hypothetical situations that Gavin has never had to deal with in real life hem hem, here are some real ones. These birds are all on my list. The question is, would they be on yours? This is my laundry list. Aired.

1) Barred Warbler
A very large and long-tailed warbler that was obviously the right colouration bombed past me and dived into elders never to be seen again. I was with the finder at the time, and we agreed that that was "the boy". A short while later I heard the machine-gun call from about 30m away. Life tick, with a 'better views desired' annotation.

2) Blue-cheeked Bee-eater
Yes, this is a bvd species. Kind of. Frankly it has not had a mention on this blog for a long time, so I'm tempted to underplay the views I had simply to be able to talk about it again. A lot. I saw it you know, what a bird!! When the news broke I was shopping with the girls. I should have abandoned the trolley and gone straight for it. Then I would have had a good hour looking at it perched up in a bush. As it was I continued shopping, went home, labouriously made a picnic, and then left. I made it by about 30 seconds. As I was pushing the buggy down the hill towards the line of birders, a Bee-eater flew across the field, over and then behind me. Against the light, I saw the long tail projection, and dark buffy underwings. It called a few times as it flew, swallow-like, over the field, and then had the good grace to go to France. Ideally it would have stopped in a bush next to me for a few moments, posed for a photo, and then continued to France, but you can't have everything. I ticked it, gleefully, but secretly I wanted better views. Ho hum.

3) Capercaillie
At Loch Malachie in late summer a few years ago, I heard a female calling from somewhere up ahead. I attempted to creep along the path and was rewarded by a large brown bird's rear end disappearing rapidly through the forest. A bum view in more ways than one, but I ticked it as a lifer anyway. Since then, I have never had a glimpse, but have heard two males. One of these became a year tick for 2009.

4) Corncrake
This is probably familiar to many people. I was stood on the edge of a the fire station field on Iona, and at least three different crakes were rasping away. I phoned a friend. "Do I need to see it to tick it?" Vince replied "Yes definitely, of course you do". I phoned another friend. "No doubt about what you're hearing, go for it!" A much better answer, but I decided to give it a bit more time. A short while later, right the way across the other side of the field, a small gangly bird flew in a highly pathetic way low across the top of the grass, before dropping back in. It was so quick I didn't get bins on it, but it probably was one. Then, just as I was about to walk back to the ferry, I became aware of something peering out at me about 20m away. As I raised my bins, it turned tail and vanished into the grass. Another one? I felt I had enough for a tick.

5) Fan-tailed Warbler
I just missed out on Fan-tailed Warbler in 2008. I arrived on site just as it flew away never to be seen again. Another birder attempted to get me on to the dot, but failed. This solved an ethical dilemma for me at the time. Would I have ticked that dot, knowing that was it, but not having properly seen it myself? At the time it was the fifth British record, a real mega. My conclusion was that I would not have ticked the dot, although that was an easy one to reach having not seen it. This year another turned up in Kent and I went to see it. After two hours and no sign, I was about to give up when it flew over my head, went "Dzip", and flew into a bush. I saw no real detail whatsoever. It then flew out of the bush, hovered briefly, giving a very strong impression of a Fan-tailed Warbler, but without giving me the opportunity for any detailed scrutiny, and then disappeared again. Given that this was infinitely better than last year, I ticked it, but still have it as a 'bvd' species. If you want to annoy me, just say it was a Dunnock.

6) Golden Pheasant
I saw two of the Wolferton birds one early morning in February, and happily ticked them as a lifer, dead chuffed I had managed to actually find some on my own. Later on, I learnt that this population of darker birds might not be particularly kosher, and in any event are always seen in exactly the same place. I did not rescind my tick. I have since heard birds in the Brecks, but never seen them.

7) Little Bunting
In Sussex earlier this year I just managed to see what basically looked like a small female Reed Bunting before it zoomed back into the gorse in which it had been hiding for ages. I saw it for perhaps 4 seconds. I never heard it call, but everyone there said it was a Little Bunting, and a few people heard it give the appropriate call. I ticked it, and have been seeking to make amends since. Sadly I've dipped every time.

8) Long-tailed Skua
On Blakeney Point, Bradders got onto an obviously slim Skua sp. He confidently called it as Long-tailed based on the jizz of the bird. I'd never seen one before, so the jizz meant very little to me. I ticked it based on him hopefully being correct. I felt bad at the time, but Monkey was there too, and I couldn't let him tick it and me not, so on it went. I've since rectified this by seeing one really well, and have been able to get rid of the 'bvd' note on my list. Monkey hasn't.

9) Mealy Redpoll
I have yet to see a 'classic' Mealy Redpoll. All of the ones I have seen have been obviously different from the accompanying presumed Lessers, but have not been as clear-cut as photos I have seen on the web. I really want to see a properly cold-looking one. I came very close in Norfolk at the beginning of the year, but it wasn't enough to take off my annotation. Seeing as I'm airing laundry, I once called the pager company with 100 Mealy Redpolls on the basis that most of them were the same, and there were a few much more browny ones in there too, my theory being that they were cabaret so all the others had to be flammea. A large flock of Mealies had been reported from that location earlier on, which was what I was looking for. Oops. The age-old of issue of seeing what you expect to see and not what you actually see. Call it over-excitement. Or stupidity. Redpoll ID is tough, but I'll get a really good one one day. I suspect one man's Mealy is another man's Arctic.

10) Red-throated Pipit
St Mary's, Scilly. In Longstones, up to my armpits in a huge pastie, one of these flew over and called. Howard and Bradders heard it, I did not. Pissed off. A few days later, on the Airfield after a Richard's Pipit, the same bird, or another, called somewhere overhead. I had done some scrubbing up after Longstones, and this time I heard it very clearly, but before I could wonder aloud, some of the assembled birders called it. Nobody ever saw it. Tick. A definite 'bvd'. Or perhaps just 'vd'? Cruelly, the Birding Gods gave me another chance at this bird only a short while later, and on my own patch too. Related here, I'm still annoyed about this, and probably will be for many years.

11) Scottish Crossbill
As I was hunting for Caper in the Caledonian forests, I came across two Crossbills, male and female, feeding in a small pine. I got excellent views and indeed photographs of their obviously chunky bills. They never called, like that would have helped me anyway. It is possible that they could have been Parrots, but I wanted a tick. Scottish is the easier one of the two, so I had it as that, and even managed to feel a bit virtuous for not claiming Parrot.

Gigantic!

12) Short-toed Lark
This was bird number 300 for me this year, and a lifer to boot. I was with quite a few birders in a field in Norfolk, all of whom confidently identified this thing in flight. I would not have been so confident, though it was noticeably paler and smaller than the Skylarks it was bombing about with. That was pretty much all I could say about it though. On it went, with the increasingly familiar 'bvd' annotation.


So there they are, my dirty dozen. All twelve of them are on my list, and all of the circumstances described were for life ticks. What I want to know is how many of them you would have ticked? Please confess via the comments box. Please note that comments confessing to ticking fewer than 8 will be deleted. Ditto with any comments suggesting the Crossbill photo depicts a Common Crossbill.

EDIT: I almost had an opportunity to add to the list this morning, when a Leach's Petrel was reported from Staines Reservoir. I need this for London, however the bird was on the South basin and it was a really bright day here. I've been over there in similar conditions for Scaup and Velvet Scoter, and it was most unsatisfactory. Trying to pick out a small petrel in such light would have been really tough. I'm sure I would have seen a petrel, but conclusive views? Tick!! Luckily I'm at home with both girls today, and Pie point-blank refused to go, so we didn't, thus avoiding the issue.

Tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick tick

I have had so many ticks recently it is difficult to know where to start. As all birders know, ticks are very exciting. VERY. Given that you can create lists for almost any combination of location, time period and circumstance, if you're ridiculous dedicated enough, you can pretty much guarantee yourself ticks all the time, and thus go around with a happy and self-contented grin on your face on a permanent basis. Winner. As regular readers will know, I restrict myself to only a very few lists, but despite this restraint, there have been ticks galore.

The first was the Snow Goose in Norfolk at the weekend. The same goose that gave me the run-around on my trip up a couple of weeks ago with Muffin. Then, despite finding several enormous flocks of Pink-feet, and with the help of an RAF Hercules practising low-level flying over grazing pastures, I couldn't locate it. This time it was a piece of cake - a huge flock of geese was on Holkham Freshmarsh, and it was with them. Couldn't get it from the road, so we had to fork out £3.50 to the thieving so-and-sos guarding Lady Anne's Drive. Once down at the far end it was very straightforward. I have been accused of being slightly whippet-like in my approach, but I can assure you I was calm and relaxed even with the prospect of a nervous, flighty and hard-to-come-by year-tick taking off in an instant, hidden amongst thousands of other geese and being lost to view for ever and ever and ever. #311 for the year. A mature and sensible total. The rest of the day was spent dipping various things so I'll gloss over that, but Norfolk in late autumn is sensational. Eight Shorelarks at nearby Holkham Gap were the most I have ever seen, and just beautiful as they fed in the soft afternoon light. One even had vestigal horns. The day ended at Cley not seeing an AGP, but with a glorious sky, a quartering Barn Owl, three Marsh Harriers, two trillion Teal and a vocal Water Rail, it could not really have been more perfect.

The next tick was this Monday afternoon. Whilst chasing a pesky squirrel off my bird-feeders (again), a Coal Tit called from a garden a down the street somewhere. Given I only just got Coal Tit for the patch, this is either A) excellent or B) a damning indictment on my birding skills. I suspect the latter. Monday was to get better though. At about 1pm news came through of a Snow Bunting at Rainham, feeding on the old sea wall. This would be a Rainham tick and a London tick, though not an Essex tick (boooo!). I was expecting Redsy to come and take a look at our shower which has been leaking since 1824, and that I have been putting off getting fixed for almost as long, so couldn't go immediately and played it cool. Gnnnnnnnnnnrrr! Then it was time for the school run, no problem, the bird was still there, and a Brent Goose on Purfleet with the Canadas (remarkably another Rainham and London tick). I hadn't counted on an accident on the A13 which backed traffic up the North Circular. Four o'clock came and went, I idled near the Beckton Roundabout. Still there! Gnnnnnnrrrrr! 4:15 and I was steaming into the car-park, commando-rolling out of the car (no mean feat with two children). It was nearly dark. I rushed into the centre. "Get out there, get out there, what are you doing?!" screamed Howard, almost as excited as I was - the Brent Goose had just flown onto the river. I plopped Pudding under my arm and rushed out on to the sea wall. Yes! Still there! Tick. OK, where's the Bunting? Finally found it in near darkness, still feeding on the old sea wall, though further away than it had been previously. We were able to approach to within about six feet, the bird showed no fear at all. I think the kids were genuinely amazed. Pudding pointed at it and said " 'now buntin' ", that's my girl! So, by the skin of my teeth, two London ticks in twenty minutes, superb. I should really have seen Brent in London by now, but Snow Bunting is a quality London bird so I'm pleased I managed to connect with it and get such good views, even in the gloom.

Rainham had been so brilliant that I decided I would spend the whole of Tuesday there. Mrs L was working from home, and despite the opportunity this presented to feverishly dust and clean under her approving gaze, watching the BP counter rise and rise to perhaps close to zero, the lure of birding was too strong. And a good thing I succumbed too! First stop for Pudding and I was Aveley Tip, and loads of gulls. I am not a Gull-fiend, but in my quest for Caspian Gull - a life tick no less - I have been spending hours up there. This is not the greatest destination for small children, so my visits, though numerous, have been brief. Believe it or not the children do not shout "Daddy, can we go to the fragrant tip and look at Gulls again?" particularly often, so I have always combined it with something slightly more fun, like sausage rolls at the visitor centre followed by the playground. I had therefore repeatedly failed in my quest, whilst Andy, a Gull addict and Rainham regular able to spend hours up there has seen something like eight in the last two weeks. Plus he is good at Gulls, which helps. Today was to be my day though. It was bitterly cold, and having gone through the birds on the tip several times for a paltry two adult Yellow Legged Gulls (I would not be able to find a juv....), I turned my attention to the birds on Wennington. "Hello hello, what are you then?!" I found a bird immediately, an adult, that though distant looked really really good. Pure white, pear-shaped head, a beady black eye, very pale grey-yellow and parallel-sided long bill with no obvious gonydeal angle. I could not see the legs, but it was standing tall, and though large, appeared slim at the same time. Convinced I had nailed one, I excitedly called for reinforcements. Unfortunately H could not get away, so he listened to my description and said to take as many photos as possible. Ah, problem. Not to worry, I am world-class when it comes to phone-scoping, the quality has to be seen to be believed.

See what I mean?

Back in the centre, warming my numb hands, I nervously showed Howard my best effort, and it passed the Cachinnans test! I would have felt bad showing him a funny Herring Gull, but I knew I had a good one. Hurrah, and....tick! After a celebratory cheese toastie, Pudding and I were about to head out on the reserve when I noticed a number of Gulls go up. Bins ever at the ready, I picked a small dark falcon absolutely tanking it low across the reserve. It landed on a post and when scoped up there was nothing about it that didn't suggest female Merlin. Ker-ching! Yep, another London tick. And an Essex tick! And a Rainham tick! Good thing I keep lists for those three.....Amazingly I have racked up four for London in the last two days. I am still at the very bottom of the London "league table" but that is fine, I like it that way, and every new bird will be a small victory until I can finally move up to.... penultimate place. I can scarcely wait!

Today is Wednesday, and no birding was planned. But such is my amazing good fortune of late that whilst opening an upstairs window this morning a Pied Wagtail flew over the house calling, which was garden tick #54.

So, in summary, as I know you care:

Snow Goose = BOU 2009 #311
Coal Tit = Garden #53
Brent Goose = London #202, Rainham #151
Snow Bunting = London #203, Rainham #152
Caspian Gull = BOU Life #338, BOU 2009 #312, London #204, Rainham #153, Essex #216
Merlin = London #205, Rainham #154, Essex #217
Pied Wagtail = Garden #54

By my reckoning that is fifteen ticks, that is to say, I have had to add fifteen new lines to various lists, and all since Sunday. Exciting stuff, I'm off to have a lie down.