Modern listing is rubbish

Although adding new birds to lists isn’t much of a pressing concern these days, I had at least given the Elegant Tern buzzing around the south coast a little bit of thought. No much, but I did briefly consider going before deciding I couldn’t be bothered. Big lines of people in a crowd, “meh”. So much for twitching. It’s an incredibly rare bird this far east of its home waters , but thus far I find that it isn’t really gnawing away at me very much. I must be nearly cured. Thankfully now I don’t even need to go at all, and this is all thanks to power of the internet. Yesterday the bird strayed away from Church Norton where it has been spending most of its time and wound up on Brownsea Island near Poole in Dorset. Somewhat staggeringly, of all the places it could have chosen to land it plonked itself down right in front of the National Trust Tern colony webcam. This fact was broadcast on Twitter, which I viewed very much in the same light as “lift offered” when it comes to rare birds. Seeing as it was just a click rather than spending an age in a car with a complete stranger I gave it a whirl.

Nothing. Presumably most birders in the UK were doing exactly the same thing and the website simply didn’t have the bandwidth.

I moved on.

Later that evening I was sat in the garden mothing. Still early and with not a lot of activity I idly fired up the webpage again. Although dark it appeared to have an infrared mode…

Oooof!

The Elegant Tern was roosting in the centre of the screen. I couldn’t see its bill, but the punk hairdo and ring on one leg were huge giveaways amongst the Sarnies. I watched entranced and after a little while it woke up and had a look around. Will you look at the bill on that!

Tick and run! Or rather tick and stay sitting at home.

#438

What do you mean that doesn’t count as a tick? Of course it does! Travel to the site and look at the bird through some glass. Remotely look at the bird also through some glass. I mean the only difference is really the magnification, physically I am doing exactly the same thing, looking at a rare bird through some optical equipment. And with a far better carbon footprint I might add – eco-twitching if you will. I watched the bird for some minutes, getting absolutely excellent if monochromatic views as it craned its head skywards as the Sandwich Terns engaged in some late night squabbling. I honestly could not have asked for a better rare bird experience.

OK, so in all seriousness it does seem a little bit wrong to tick the bird, however technology is advancing steadily and we cannot ignore it. It’s like video-conferencing – back in the day all meetings were face to face and people travelled to meet each other at vast expense. These days however we all save ourselves the time, money and effort and simply sit in offices interacting in almost exactly the same way as we would have done in a single room. So cast your minds back to the White-throated Robin twitch in Hartlepool, the one which famously (or infamously) involved ladders and all sorts of shenanigans. A passing white van was also requisitioned and had its roof caved in as I recall. Scenes. But what if someone sensible had turned up with a long selfie stick and simply poked it over the wall? The crowd could have looked at the phone screen, live, and had perfect views of a bird that was only a few feet away and without recourse to the mayhem that in fact ensued, and which reinforced yet again what a bunch of misfits UK birders are. And you don’t need to see a bird with your own eyes, after all the concept of ‘heard only’ has been around forever and a day. If you have no doubt about what you have heard, many people call that unequivocal, as good as seeing it.

Taking the technology piece a bit further, what if somebody had had a drone and hovered it fifty feet above the garden? The only differentiating factor between the selfie sick, that, and viewing a webcam then becomes the distance involved. You’re either physically quite close to it but separated by a physical barrier or you’re a further away. And if the only barrier to ticking a bird is simply a test of whether you have the time and inclination to drive a vast distance quickly, well…. Oh hang on.

Off to a flying start!

Well 2015 is already a bit of a blinder! At work yesterday I had vaguely contemplated that two ticks were on offer in Yorkshire, but hadn't seriously considered going for them. A quick phone call with John A sorted that one out, and he very sensibly agreed that although it was highly mega, New Year celebrations should continue uninterrupted, and that were the Chicken Little Bustard to still be there in the morning, he would come round mine and off we would set. 

With only a mild hangover, and John feeling tip-top and thus on driving duty, he arrived around 9am and in company with Nick, whose patch enthusiasm had waned after just 20 pathetic minutes, we headed off on the long drive up to East Yorkshire. Great birds in profusion, but one of my least favourite places to get to. The motorway part is OK, if boring, but the final miles are interminably slow and you feel like you're crawling - and of course this last stretch is the most stressful of all. Stuck behind a caravan doing 35 on the open road with a monster bird only a few miles away. Today was no different, although John's levels of stress far surpassed anyone else's. He'd previously dipped two, in 1997 and 1988, and wasn't feeling good about not having been there at dawn. I'll clean his seat tomorrow. Anyhow, it was all good and he need not have fretted, as the bird showed extremely well in a kale field to at least a hundred green-clad admirers, and was on view from the moment we arrived to the moment we left.

Which was not long! Possibly a mite longer than the Masked Shrike, but we had Pipit business to attend to on the other side of Yorkshire, and at gone 1pm on a dank early January afternoon we were very much up against it. We left the Pheasant Bustard to its pecking, and sloped off back the way we had come, through Beverley and towards York. As we progressed west it got darker and darker, and then the rain started coming down. I very nearly carried on down the M1 as this was sub-optimal Pipit weather, but it wouldn't be January 1st without a good soaking, so instead we elected to give it a go regardless. And I'm very glad we did, as although the promised soaking came quickly, the bird showed like a boss. Properly strutted its stuff, and in the case of a leggy bird like a Blyth's Pipit, that's some decent strutting. It might have even been further off the ground than the Bustard, and the bins views were superb on a little patch of wasteground near a KFC and a petrol station. A sensational inland find by someone, top drawer! Shite all over the place but the Pipit was loving it, and I loved it right back as this was my final Pipit. Pechora and Buffy done a long time ago, Red-throat longer ago than that, and I've even found an OBP - this was the big omission, so a much-wanted new bird and a grip back from the lads who saw one on Scilly the year before I fell in with them. I'm still waiting for the Rev.

Unfortunately this mad tickery, all 520 miles of it, means that my Wanstead patch list is restricted to ten - all birds seen or heard whilst chucking optics in the car this morning. Still, there's a long way to go, and it's kind of cool to have seen a Little Bustard before a Little Grebe. Barely 24 hours gone and two lifers added. I'd say that's a fine start to the year, long may it continue!

2014 Twitch of the Year

As previously mentioned, fewer candidates this year, but were any simply spectacular? Well, not really. Generally I was a little more gung-ho about things, for instance waiting six weeks to go and see the Ross's Gull in Devon...... But seriously, this is supposed to celebrate all things twitch, and do any stand out for being skin-of-my-teeth, brave and daring, cheating fate, that sort of thing? Er no, this is twitching we're talking about. The ability to own or have access to a car, and be able to read a map and follow simple instructions. So whilst there have been some great birds, most of them long stayers that allowed my absurd travel schedule to proceed unhindered, which was the most satisfying? Not missing out on the Eagle by being abroad was good, ditto for the Speccy. Both had the good grace to hang around for ages and ages, a feature of most birds during the year with the exception perhaps of the Great Knot (but I got that too!). 

However for sheer "I love it when a plan comes together"-ness, the most satisfying were that incredibly uninspiring trio of Yanks that graced Scotland right at the start of the year. I combined a visit up there with a trip to my office in Glasgow, and had exactly one and a half days to bag the lot before needing to be at work on Monday morning. I planned it out like a campaign, with times I needed to be at certain places, and times I needed to leave others. And it worked like a dream, with the weather mostly playing ball as well. I left Inverness airport at lunchtime of Saturday, and was "enjoying" the American Coot very shortly afterwards. I then diverted to Capercaillieland for a spot of pant-wetting, and after realising that the bird was quicker and fiercer than I was, went birding in the nearby forests, followed by going up Cairngorn to dip Ptarmigan. As the weather closed in I crossed the country to Strontian, passing a terrible night in a storm-lashed car sleeping for perhaps fifteen minutes at a time before needing to switch the engine on to stay alive. Sunday morning the glorious American Black Duck was all mine in dreadful weather before it was time for the long drive south to Campbeltown where an American Herring Gull had been seen. This bird, even for a a Gull-lover like me, was the worst of the lot, taking hours and an emergency Double Decker to connect with, and when I did the feeling of joy was indescribable. Sheer and utter joy. Not really, it was crap. I mean it was nice to get it, and it capped a sensational weekend of tickery, but let's face it, it's a manky gull like all the rest of them and is only marginally different from a Herring Gull. Whereas the Coot and Duck were complete polar opposites of their European counterparts. Ahem.

So, three crap birds and four hundred slow miles. But eminently worth it for reasons that continue to defy rational explanation. Boom boom boom, tick and run. The best thing about it is that it took less than a full weekend and I need never suffer from twitcher's angst about any of them ever again. They're done and forgotten about, forever inked in.

Above Average

If somebody were to ask me how the weekend had gone, I would definitely say that it had been above average. Whether it could have got better following yesterday's Wheatear is an unfair question; of course it couldn't. However today was nonetheless pretty fabulous, and all the more so for being one of those incredibly bitter days where only rock hard birders like me are out in the field. Ahem. It was decidely un-late-March-like out there this morning, and after about an hour or so I was close to coming home. Bird of the day at that point had been a Lesser Scaup lookalike that failed to fool me - interesting, and nice to see, but not what I had in mind.

Another bird that didn't have in mind was Stone Curlew, so it was pretty sensational when tramping across the Broom Fields that one caught my eye as it flew ahead of me a short way. I wasn't sure what I was looking at for a moment, but it banked slightly showing a fair amount of black and white in the wing, and thus causing me to have a minor heart attack. It couldn't be, could it? After the bird Nick had found in April 2011, most people, myself included, had given up on ever seeing one again. If you recall, I jammed that one on the second day of it's stay, but it was never seen again. So another one, less than two years later? Surely not. But it was. Even without bins it looked pretty mega, and I already felt bold enough to phone both Nick and Dan with news of a probable heading towards the SSSI. And dropping in! I don't often run, but I did this time. As I crossed the road I became aware of it flying, and managed a series of record shots that confirmed what I had suspected. It banked around the back of Motorcycle Wood and didn't come out the other side. Game on!

It took a long time, but eventually the bird popped up again some distance from where I had seen it disappear, and perhaps ten people saw it, including Muffin who I had gone home to fetch. It appeared to go down into the Broom Fields, so we headed that way, only to discover that it had looped around and flown off high NW. OVER MY HOUSE. Still, can't really complain can I?

Back home a short while later, tucking into a nice healthy brunch, I noted that the Red-throated Diver was still on Staines Reservoirs. I've seen a couple Black-throated, and more than a few Great Northerns, but this one has always eluded me - I've usually been away, or working. So with most of the day still ahead of me, I cajoled Muffin into getting into the car, and off we went. I cannot begin to describe how unpleasant the causeway between the two basins was. If I had thought Wanstead was cold, this raised the bar (perhaps lowered it....) substantially. And it wasn't a simple bowl up find a birder with the Diver in their scope either - there was nobody there. Eventually I found it on the north basin, but not before I had lost the feeling in my left hand - one of the problems with my scope setup is that the tripod head is pure metal, there is no nice rubberised handle. A quick record shot and were out of there!

Feeling pretty chuffed, we were nearly at the M11 when my phone went off - it was Dan Dan the Wader Man, with two Golden Plover ON THE DECK on Wanstead Flats. Wow, though these days Dan is of course followed around the patch by rare waders. I'd missed Goldie by about a minute a few weeks ago, a chance to get it back was very welcome but I wasn't ideally placed. Could the weekend get any better? I aimed the car at the nearest spot to the relevant playing field, and just as I was pulling up I glanced out across the Flats and was somewhat stunned to see the Plovers in the air. Tick and drive! They circled around and appeared to drop back. Abandoning the car we headed off towards to Long Wood, finding Bob also heading that way, who having scored the Stone Curlew was no doubt also wondering if he wasn't dreaming all of this. Dan was still there, and so were the birds, and so I was able to have a bit of a creep.....

So, the first Wheatear of the year on my birthday. A Stone Curlew on the patch, a London tick, and Goldies on the deck. Do weekends get any better?

Desert Wheatear at Abberton

I've been crossing my fingers for two things this week as I've been sat mulling the difficulties of Basle 3 Capital and other exciting diversions.

1) That the Desert Wheatear at Abberton would stay until this morning.

It did. And...

2) That it would show well.

It didn't.

It didn't show well. Rather it showed amazingly. Superbly. Superlatively. I didn't exactly have it to myself, it has to be said, but it was one of those ridiculous birds that hops between people, walks within your minimum focus distance, and generally wonders what all the fuss is about. I love birds like this. And that it should be a type of Wheatear, well, from my perspective it doesn't get much better really. Actually it does, as it's an Essex tick for me, and a pretty monster one at that, with only three in the last hundred years or something.

 

Mmmmm, Wheatears....There could easily be Wheatear overload today, but I will refrain here, and instead post a wider selection on www.justbirdphotos.com a little later on. And finally, some of you may have noticed that the little counter at the bottom of this page just notched over a minor landmark. Maybe you didn't notice? I did, as all blog authors do. A stat! A visitor! Somebody read what I wrote! A quarter of a million? Even discounting me logging on fifty times a day to see what the statcounter says, that's an awful lot of people. Many of them disappointed I expect. "What the? I clicked on 'Tits' dammit!!!"

 

 

Midnight Madness

After a full work at week, and a busy one at that, what better way to calm down and chill out than have no sleep, set off for Liverpool at midnight, see an extremely rare vagrant, continue to have no sleep, and come straight home again, arriving before lunch. I don't know about you, but I find this the perfect start to a lazy relaxed weekend. As I sit here typing this, I find myself thinking how bizarre it is that this morning I was on Merseyside, but such is the life of the occasional twitcher.

A normal 5am in Wallasey

The drive was fairly straightforward. Once news that the Little Swift had roosted, it was just a question of getting there for first light to be quids in - very little danger of dipping. When we arrived though, dipping was a distinct possibility. Although still pretty dark, some people were scoping a suspiciously dead-looking Swift-shaped lump in amongst the pigeon spikes on the roost building. Had I just driven through the night to discover that the object of my desires had karked it? I started scoping it too, just to make sure. Was that the wind fluttering the feathers, or was it breathing? Twitchers desparation began to set in. People began mumbling that it might be breathing. Was it the bird though? It must be, surely, how many other Swifts would have roosted on this random building? Oh dear. It was one of those awkward situations where you don't want to raise your suspicions that in fact you did dectect a hint of life, as it makes you look like a twitcher very much lacking in moral fibre.....gradually a few surreptitious conversations were had. The speakers weren't sure, and they weren't claiming it as definite, but the bird had moved. Ergo, tick.


Not looking good...

Then another bloke turned up and said, "What's that on that window ledge, it's got white on it". All scopes swung left - well blow me down. Sod whatever the dead bird was, the bloody Little Swift was in fact a few windows along, and definitely alive, though how alive we were not sure, as it continued to do nothing bar heavy breathing for the next two hours - meanwhile Common Swifts cruised around perkily. If anybody was wondering what time holidaying Little Swifts get up in the morning, the answer is shortly before 6am. It cocked its head a few times, and then was off. Hurrah!

Not looking especially comfortable

Perking up

Well thank god for that. It was definitely alive, but it would have been sad to have ticked a moribund bird. Nick and I watched it feeding with Common Swifts over the Mersey for an hour or so. It was easily picked out amongst the other birds, having shorter and wider wings and a much stubbier appearance. Other than when it left roost and flew over my head, it never showed particularly closely, but nonetheless excellent views. And the dead bird that panicked us all? In better light, it revealed itself to be a Common Swift, and about half an hour after the Little Swift woke up, it too woke up and flew off as if nothing were wrong at all. See, it was breathing, and had not been mere fantasy born out of the fear of dipping. This made me feel much better.

With nothing more to really add to this masterful twitch, we then headed straight back to London, as I had things to do. I hit the proverbial brick wall around Birmingham and pulled over for a power nap, but was safely back home by lunch, with most of the day stil ahead of me. I usefully spent it napping.

Tick and run

Little Bittern at Stockers Lake was just a Mistle Thrush after all!

I returned to Herts today for another crack at the Mistle Thrush, as I had only seen it briefly in flight during the week and had unaccountably failed to rule out female Little Bittern. A number of people had suggested I may have been stringing it, so I endured a nervous couple of days of negative news, followed this morning by it being refound in almost exactly the same spot. Hah, I knew it was still there!

In company of Bradders, Hawky, and Muffin - a Mistle Thrush dipper earlier in the week - we glided around the M25 and arrived just after it had disappeared deep into some reeds, no doubt searching for some tasty worms. We didn't have too long to wait thankfully, as it was soon picked up in a willow close to the water. Although the whole bird was difficult to see, being mostly obscured by branches, glimpses of a black cap, stripy breast and large yellow bill pointed all too clearly to Mistle Thrush. Phew!

Frustrating views were had by all over the next half an hour as it skulked right at the bottom of the willow, occasionally darting forward to pull a wiggling worm out of the water. And then for no apparent reason it hopped up higher into the willow before flying out and down into some more favourable thrush habitat of reeds and sedge. We charted it's progress with snatches of movement, a bill here, an eye here, and then finally the moment we had all been waiting for! It crept out of the reeds into full view and showed brilliantly, allowing those present to see all the critical features and eliminate once and for all any thoughts of it merely being a Little Bittern.

The Mistle Thrush poses with a particularly rotund worm

They're an oft confused species it has to be said, and getting good views is essential before you tick any vagrant Mistle Thrush - many is the time I have been fooled by Little Bitterns on the Golf Course in Wanstead, or hopping around the football pitches, especially in mid-summer when they feed in family groups. I've very nearly put the news out on the pager several times, before realising that it was just another party of Little Bitterns and not the rare Thrushes I had initially thought them to be. Still, with experience you gradually get to work out what is what, and I see so many Little Bitterns every year on the patch that I'd always back myself to spot an out-of-context Mistle Thrush, especially if in its favoured habitat of reeds.

Suffolk Surprise

The plan today was to go to Norfolk, but with no news on anything by half eight, Muffin and I deceided Lakenheath would be a better bet. I promised him Garganey, Grasshopper Warbler, Bittern, Cuckoo, Crane, Marsh Harrier and possibly Golden Oriole. With the exception of the latter, we got the lot, and I have to say it was a most enjoyable stroll round. He's really growing up quickly, questions are a dozen a minute (of which I can generally answer about three), and he wants to see everything that moves. Today our luck was really in - picked up two drake Garganey from the viewing ramp soon after we arrived, and Gropper was reeling nearby. Two Cranes were on the margins of the first big reedbed you get to, and a Bittern flew over us on the next one. We witnessed a pair of Harriers passing food in mid-air, and Muffin spotted a Cuckoo in a tree that I had overlooked as a Pigeon. Nice. A real pleasure to be out with him, and may those monosyllabic teenage years remain a distant proposition.

A bite to eat at the splendid Walkers roadside cafe on the fiveways roundabout, and then onwards to Paxton in Cambridgeshire for the Black-winged Stilt I mentioned yesterday. It's an extremely long walk from the car, possibly even matching Trimley Marshes, but for such a great bird why not, and there were trillions of Warblers en route. Last time I was at Paxton was in 2008 for a Baird's Sandpiper; it's a great place, birds everywhere, and not many birders at all - hats off to whoever found it as the area is vast. When we got back to the car I checked my phone for the first time in a while and found out about a Tawny Pipit at Landguard. This was a much needed tick, and the only one I can recall that I could have gone for was also back in 2008. I was in Norfolk but never managed it, something about needing to be home or face the consequences..... Today might have been a similar story. It was half-three and ideally I would have been home at five as my parents were coming round for dinner. Luckily the good son in me prevailed, and so at five on the nail we arrived..... at Landguard. The Pipit showed excellently, and I was about to nab a top drawer photo of it when a four-legged friend flushed it. Meanwhile my parents called from outside my house; Mrs L wasn't in either. Oh dear. I figured that perhaps we ought to forego the photo opp and make tracks for home, which we did, arriving at precisely 108 minutes past five. So barely late at all really.

Oh My God, More Birds!!!

Much more of this and people will think they have stumbled upon a birding blog.... I would however like to point out that my fascist rant about Raymond the Unworthy drew the most comments I have ever had on a single post, ie way more than I have ever had about anything bird related. Therein lies a lesson I suspect, but anyway, it is time to move on.

As I type, it is snowing in Wanstead, although rather pathetically. The media (damn them!) has been building up this apocalyptic snow-storm for about a week now; it stands to reason that it is going to be a complete non-event. Today was very much not a non-event, which makes it an event I suppose. 2012 has continued to surprise with a series of completely unexpected and rather tasty birds. Though I rarely stray off patch, a few weeks ago a short excursion netted a rather smart Spanish Sparrow and a rather nice Dark-eyed Junco. Unseasonal to say the least. So when last week news broke of a Parrot Crossbill in Sussex, followed shortly after by, of all things, a Paddyfield Warbler should be wintering in India, naturally it followed that Bradders would be going for both of them at the weekend. OK, twist my arm then.....

Chunk McChunk?

Who cares what you assign it as? Quality.

Both birds were apparently early morning jobbies, which did not bode well. With negative news of the Warbler on Friday, and suspecting it could have succumbed the dreadful and apocalyptic conditions, we made the difficult decision to start with the Crossbill on the basis that this was more likely to get us a tick, whereas if we started with the Warbler we could easily dip both and come home empty-handed. Nick pitched up at my place at stupid o'clock, and we picked up the Monkey en route, making good time via -7.5c temperatures to Black Down in West Sussex. On arrival we learned that the Paddyfield Warbler was showing well.....

Not to worry, as soon the Crossbill came in and demonstrated to one and all why it had been picked out. The beak was immense, though not monumental - I guess there is a lot of variation - but the bird itself was extremely chunky, noticeably larger than the Common Crossbills it was associating with. Tick, I think. Crossbills are a funny one - I've seen large-billed Crossbills in the Caledonian pine forests, and without much thought bunged them down as Scottish, for no other reason than I felt they were commoner than Parrot, hence I was being conservative. Ahem. In reality, whilst perhaps not approaching the minefield that is Redpoll speciation, they are indistinct enough to probably not be doable in the field, so who knows what I saw. Does Scottish Crossbill travel? Are any large-billed Crossbills away from Abernethy automatically Parrot? Pass. I have no idea. Call it Parrot as that's the one I need, job's a goodun.

Some Geese. About 3 was the general concensus.

With numb toes we walked back to the car. Whoever said it was 3/4 of a mile probably runs a marathon in about half an hour. More like about 1/4 of a mile. I did not complain. A roadside bacon butty van was much appreciated, and we were soon a Pagham Harbour wondering why we were there. We had no chance, none. As we quietly froze, word came down from up the line that the Paddyfield had been seen at the far side of the reed bed. I don't mind admitting that I totally rubbished this notion as pure fantasy, and continued enjoying the Stonechats. A little while later, the same call was made. Whatever. We did however shuffle up to where these calls were coming from, though with little expectation. The location was described, and in fact was a lot closer than we had originally understood. Weeeeeellll, maybe then. And then Bradders called it out, mere yards from where the poor and much-maligned original spotter had said it was. Whoever you are, I apologise profusely. It wasn't actually in reeds at all, it was grubbing about in the grass. Get. In. Wow, a two tick day, who would have thought it? Great and fairly prolonged scope views were had by all, and then, with thoughts of the immense carpeting of snow due any minute (just looked outside again, still rubbish), we headed for home.

Cetti's Wren

I have saved the best bit 'til last. On the way back I made Bradders stop at the Basin. It's mostly frozen now, and was crammed with wildfowl. And what was there? Two Wigeon? Three Wigeon? Four? No!! Five Wigeon!! Yes, FIVE Wigeon. That's a flock! Superb stuff!

A portion of FLOCK

I love it when a plan comes together

Yesterday could not have gone much better really. My mincab driver didn't crash and kill us both, my plane left on time, and similarly experienced no crashing and burning, and the adult Sandhill Crane near Aberdeen decided to stay the night. So in a fit of minor extravagance, I hired a car for six hours, and went to have a look at it. Naturally the dreaded "flew off" message came up when I was about half an hour away, but the way my luck is running I knew that wouldn't be a problem. Indeed it wasn't, and after a very small amount of searching, I found the spot that it had favoured the day before, and was happy to see people ejecting themselves from cars and running up the side of a field. I parked up, put my camera together,and sauntered up the side of the field, no mentions of whippets here please. And there it was, feeding in the next field along.I enjoyed it with perhaps ten other birders before the masses really began to arrive, and then, joy of joys, it got up and flew right over our heads.

Please look away now.

Thank You.

Dark Skies, Bright Birds

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

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

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

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

Golden Plover wheeling against a forboding sky.

A Weekend on the East Coast

If you can somehow ignore the mileage, somehow get over the obscene cost of petrol, then there is nothing like birding to show you different parts of the country, to give you a real appreciation for our diverse and beautiful landscape. If like me you live in a city, and you leave in the dark, then as day breaks you can be somewhere completely fabulous, a million miles away from the concrete and the mass of humanity. A couple of weeks ago I was on a Cornish headland at breakfast time on Saturday. Feeling, admittedly, like absolute shit, having driven through the night, but nonetheless thrilled at the scenery, the colour of the sea, the wet smell in the air, and the promise of what was to come, the journey behind me.

This Saturday at around the same time of day, I found myself in an entirely different landscape. Steep hills, wooded valleys, rolling moorland - the Peak District. Green everywhere, dotted with sheep, calm. But also forboding, hints of menace - snow fencing to protect the road, and signs that told you which routes were open. In winter I suspect it could be fairly unfriendly. Not today though, shirt sleeves weather, blue skies as we approached Arnfield Reservoir in the village of Tintwistle. I know what you're going to say. I said that I wouldn't, that it was too far. Well it is a long way, of that there is no argument, and for a day trip, simply there and back, I would not have gone. But as part of a weekend away, with hours of birding planned at gems of sites on the east coast, then it becomes a mere detour, and a pleasant one at that.

There were plenty of people stood about "looking", as you would expect. We left them standing on the path and carried on over a bridge and around the north side of the reservoir. Not too much going on, a few Phylloscs to check out, and with cover the south-east Asian rainforests would be proud of, it was very hard work. Fortunately the bird, a Western Bonelli's Warbler in case I had not mentioned it, gave a brief burst of song relatively close to our position which Bradders picked up on straight away, which is why Nick C and I had brought him (and his car). Frustratingly though we could not find it, and during the next three hours it didn't sing again, and one very fleeting view aside, during which I saw parts of the bird in the dense canopy that more or less added up to the whole, we never saw it. I gather it sang again in the afternoon, and showed briefly, but it is a tricky little sod, and on reflection we were pretty lucky to get anything. Another entry for the "bvd" column, extremely irritating as I had been doing very well at erasing them. I could of course just not have ticked it, but after three hours in the car and two hundred miles, that was never really an option was it?

So after three hours of Willow Warblers and Chiffs we gave up, after all there was a master plan to follow. The Bonelli's Warbler was merely the appetiser, the real point of the weekend lay east. So next stop Blacktoft Sands RSPB in East Yorkshire, where the long-staying Marsh Sandpiper showed very well and was a tick for Nick, and only my second. The reserve is fantastic, brilliant water levels, a magnet for waders. A summer-plumaged Blackwit was stunning, and several Greater Yellowlegs Greenshank allowed close scrutiny and a good opportunity for some retrospective self-flagellation. The Spotted Redshank were unfortunately well past their best, but a great supporting cast of Dunlin, Green Sandpipers,Water Rail, Redshank, Lapwing, Yellow Wagtail and Bearded Tit. We came away marvelling at the quality of the habitat management and the potential for birds.

By now mid-afternoon, we pointed the car at Bridlington, our watering hole for the evening. Before we could leave though, it started bonging at us. It was unhappy, it said, about its levels of engine coolant. This did not bode well. We flipped the bonnet, and it was quite right, the coolant reservoir was extremely low, well below the minimum mark. The car instructions were most unhelpful. "Do not drive the car! Take it straight to an approved Subaru dealership! Take it now, I don't care what else you are doing! You will damage the car beyond repair if you touch it! Only add G12abcXYZ mk4 coolant, the mk3 is no good! PS, if you can't get to a dealership, and are not carrying fresh supplies of mk4 G12abcAYZ coolant, top it up with Evian and pretend nothing is wrong". So we did. It stopped bonging and we drove to Bridlington.

 Ah sweet Bridlington, scene of £1.50 a pint lager and a lady with no teeth and an interesting tattoo on our expedition for the Black-throated Thrush last year. That excitement was for later though, for first we were off to Bempton Cliffs RSPB to photograph seabirds in the fantastic evening light. It became clear quite quickly that my tripod and gimbal were going to be mostly useless, and my arms are still aching as I type this, but for an awesome two hours I hand-held my 500mm lens and rattled-off close to a thousand frames as Gannets and Kittiwakes swirled around the cliffs below us. I could have stayed for four hours, perhaps six, but we lost the light and it became quite cold. On a high we packed up and headed for Bridlington, pausing only briefly to hear a lady tell us of the Long-Eared Owls she was hoping to see emerge from their burrows at dusk. I don't think she heard me suggest Rabbit as a confusion species.....

Bridlington did not disappoint. If you have a peculiar fascination with very fat and inappropriately-dressed people, it is THE place to be on a Saturday night. The pub we had visited last time had seen an inflation-busting price-rise to an obscene £1.85 a pint, so we forsook our tatooed friend and instead went to the Wetherspoons, where we were accosted by a young lady as good-looking as she was charming. Thankfully she left, and we were able to enjoy an evening drinking nice beer in peace, and watch Herring Gulls strut down the street looking for drunk people to attack. We ended the day on 90-something species, and made plans to be at Flamborough Head in the morning.





Gull Interlude

This is not a gripping post about the incredibly smart adult Audouin's Gull that I managed to see at Minsmere yesterday. I'd be surprised if anyone wanted to hear about how lucky I was that I had a rare day without the school run and thus was able to scoot up there and get prolonged views of this mega-gull, recorded only five times in the UK, from the public hide on the beach before it flew off not to be seen again. So you'll be pleased to hear that I won't be talking about that at all.

No, the idea to talk about Gulls is totally unconnected with the awesome events of yesterday in Suffolk. Rather, I had pre-formed ideas to talk about Gulls I had seen in America, principally Laughing Gull and American Herring Gull, neither of which I have seen in this country (unlike Audouin's Gull of course), though they do occur from time to time. In fact, Laughing Gull, following the fall of White Stork on Sunday, is supposedly my most obvious UK tick. I can't say I'd go too far for a smithsonianus of any description, but adult Laughing Gulls are superb creatures (with blood-red bills roughly the same colour as....) and I'd be very keen to see one in this country.

In New York, I found a few Laughing Gulls on the jetties at Brooklyn, but there were many more at Jamaica Bay Wildlife Refuge, and also out on the beach at Rockaway. These latter birds allowed a fairly close approach, though I did have to get covered in sand.





 

American Herring Gulls were present more or less everywhere, including in Central Park. They are best described as brutes. There is a huge breeding colony of them (and Great Black-backed) on the islands in the middle of Jamaica Bay, best viewed looking east from the subway south of Broad Channel station. If you want to get up close and personal - though I don't recommend it, take MACE and a baton if you do - the best place is the Wildlife Refuge itself. They look like UK Herring Gulls, but meaner. How on earth people find them over here is anyone's guess - they must just be good at Gulls I suppose. Just like me.

Beachwear Illustrated

Another day of glorious sunshine, what better than a trip to the beach with a picnic?  Even with a stiff breeze blowing on the Suffolk coast, it was very pleasant to be outside. We made a sand and pebble castle, ate the picnic, collected some shells, climbed some anti-tank masonry, and generally had a bit of a run around.



Aren't we having a nice time! But wait a minute, what are all those people doing behind you?



Look at them Pudding! They all seem to be wearing muted green and blue clothing. Oh, and that guy is in camo! Have we somehow lucked out on an outdoor fashion parade?



How strange, they all look like they're peering through a fence. I wonder what they're looking at? Shall we go and see?



Look, they've got telescopes and stuff. Oh wait a minute, are these what they call, er, what's the word, oh yes, twitchers? No, no, they can't be, it's just a Treecreeper with a ring on its leg. Wing looks a bit funny, but it's basically a Treecreeper. Oh well, whatever floats your boat I suppose. Come on, let's go!

The Point

Have I ever mentioned how much I hate Blakeney Point? I say hate, I think I mean loathe. If you're not a birder, Blakeney Point is a four mile long shingle spit in North Norfolk, running east to west. If you're a birder, it's still a four mile long shingle point in North Norfolk running east to west. - the difference is that at some point you'll have to walk down it. This is known as "walking the Point". Like walking the plank, but worse. Rare birds have a disappointing tendency to appear right at the end of  Blakeney Point, and if you want to see it, or give yourself a chance of seeing it, you have to trudge down it. And, as I mentioned, it's shingle. Which means that for every normal step you would take on terra firma, you need to take about three on Blakeney Point. It is agonising.

There are regulars points of interest to keep you focussed, to keep you from falling on your knees in the shingle, curling up and dying. You can always see the next landmark. The first is known as Half-way house, for obvious reasons. I personally think it isn't even half-way, but the glass is always half-empty I suppose. Then there is the Hood, a kind of spit pointing south into Blakeney Channel. Rare birds do turn up here, but the best ones are always further on. A little further on, but still across another few-thousand miles of shingle, you get some substantial dunes, and the Point widens. Here you can take a firmer track to a small stand of stunted trees, perhaps half the size of a tennis court, known as the Plantation. Another mile or so beyond that is an area known as Far Point. I've never been that far, so I can't tell you about it. As far as I'm concerned, it is uncharted territory. I think there might be a Dragon colony.

I've walked down Blakeney Point a few times, but only ever on spec. You'll have heard me whinge about Norfolk letting me down more than a few times, when promising conditions deliver no birds. There is nothing worse than walking Blakeney Point and finding no birds, and then having to walk back again. It's three miles to the Plantation, but about fifty back. Your boots each seem to weigh a ton, every step becomes increasingly difficult. You get to the Hood fairly rapidly, and in the distance you can see Half-way house. Another four hours and you're there, but then comes the worst bit. For a long time you can't see anything. There are no landmarks, just never-ending shingle. After about twenty miles, you think you can see the roof of Cley Coastguards, a brick structure in the beach car-park. By this point you could easily be hallucinating though. You look again and see nothing. Another ten miles or so and it begins to resolve itself. Yes! There is a building! The next day, or perhaps the day after, you finally stagger to your car, vowing never, ever again will you "walk the Point".


The best bird I've seen on the Point is a Redstart. On Saturday, Britain's first ever Yellow-bellied Flycatcher turned up on the Point. Or perhaps Britain's first Least Flycatcher. Or maybe a Willow Flycatcher, also a first. Then again, it could be a boring old Alder Flycatcher, just a second for Britain. Nobody cared, they were all going to see it anyway. The point is that the little sod decided to drop into the Plantation.

Nooooooooooooooo!!!

At six in the morning on Sunday, five of us were in Cley beach carpark in the dark. We were not alone. Off into the distance, illuminated by the luminescence of the froth on the sea, a line of birders stretched along the Point, all trudging in one direction. West, to the Plantation. The wind was howling, spume flew through the air like snow, and salt-spray covered us as soon as we got out of the car. I very nearly had second thoughts. A massive gamble, would the bird still be there, or would I be walking the Point yet again for no reward?

The walk up

On arrival three days later, it didn't look good. The Plantation was surrounded by glum-looking birders. I collapsed on the ground next to Paul W, cursing my stupidity. The Plantation does not have a good reputation for holding birds. Nothing moved; The Plantation was dead.

Half an hour later, some movement. Paul's bins were up in a flash, and he confidently declared that he "had it". Birders flocked (naturally) to him, but it had vanished. Then another guy saw it, and people rushed towards him. Then Howard and another birder heard a funny call and found a Little Bunting, and everyone rushed to see that. Including me, obviously. In fact, I think I got there first, and got a great view of it, thus allowing me to erase a "bvd" next to Little Bunting on my list.

Back to the Flycatcher, and though extremely elusive in the 200mph winds, I evetually got excellent views, allowing me to confirm it as an Alder Flycatcher beyond doubt. I know it is an Alder because that's the only one that I'm able to select in Bubo-listing. That and the fact that having walked the point in the dark in a gale, there is no way I am accepting some kind of indeterminate Empidonax sp that won't be accepted to species and that I therefore can't tick. No, it goes down as Alder. Anyway, this strikes me as the most conservative thing to do because it would be the second record, whereas all the other options would be national firsts. I am erring on the side of caution, like any sensible, considered and tick-hungry birder. Traill's? Never heard of it.

The walk back was hellish. It took days. Mentally, I'm still out there somewhere. A wreck, I arrived back at the car and vowed never again. Still, tick and run hobble.

The walk back. Howard took this video, don't be scared.

Back in London for a late lunch, I could easily have just gone to sleep until next weekend. Instead I decided that I would go to Rainham for a Gannet. On Saturday the skies of London had been darkened by thick clouds of Gannets, including one over Wanstead. I'd been busy so had seen none of them, which was a great shame as just one would have been my 200th bird in London this year and an LNHS recording area tick for good measure. So off I went to Rainham hoping the same would happen again. To enhance my chances, I took Wanstead's golden boy Nick with me, to act as some kind of lucky charm.

And naturally, ten minutes after we arrived, a Gannet flew past. #200. Played for and got.