Fear and loathing in las Americas

I am American. By blood, I am more American than I am British. I live here of course, I’m officially British too. The UK and Europe (cough) are where I identify most strongly with and where I’m raising my family. But I also have a blue passport and I pay US taxes. My forebears are Mormons from Utah and immigrants from Yorkshire. They prospered and spread far and wide across the land, living and propagating the American dream. Today I have relatives from Maryland to California, from Ohio to Arizona, from Oregon to Pennsylvania. When I travel there I am welcomed home.

Over here we poke fun at America. Hicks, rednecks and good ol' boys. Obsessed by guns and allergies. Fifteen different kinds of milk. Neurotic, fat, stupid and uncultured. There is an element truth to all stereotypes, but almost all Americans that I have met are kind, decent and honest people. They are friendly and welcoming, when they say “have a nice day” they genuinely mean it. It is a magnificent country, beautiful and diverse. Blessed.

America, what have you done?

I have never been prouder to be an American as eight years ago. It nearly reduced me to tears as Obama accepted. This morning I was close to tears again. Distraught. What has my second country done? Fear and frailty have triumphed over common sense and decency. Traditional politics has failed. Just like Brexit here, the disenfranchised have stormed to victory on the back of a message of intolerance and a considerable amount of hot air. Just like Brexit, it no longer matters what is true and what is not – voters don’t care. People hear what they want to hear, and if you have conviction and pander to that, no matter how absurd or divorced from reality it might be, they’ll listen and they’ll believe. Donald Trump exploited that.

In a way both decisions, awful though they are, are triumphs for democracy. Whether I like it or not (I don’t, in case you were still on the fence about that), the USA will soon have a leader with a scary world view and all the grace of a toasted cheese sandwich*. But that’s what the majority of Americans wanted, they wanted change, they didn’t want traditional Washington D.C. and its elite. Americans are nice people, I can’t stress that enough. But large segments of their society are clearly hurting, and unfortunately that same demographic are also very conservative, narrow-minded and ill-informed – a dangerous combination. The Presidential election was a chance to vote for change and they took it. At least they sort of voted on their issues, something that didn’t happen for Brexit. Brexit was ultimately only a vote against the establishment and not really about EU membership. UK voters failed to distinguish between an election and a referendum. Referendums are one-offs, final, whereas elections come around again and you get a second chance. The Brexit decision that all the over 65s voted for doesn’t allow the young people whose entire lives it will ultimately affect that second chance. At least in America there’s an opportunity to vote for change in four years time, and that’s the only positive I can currently see.

It is scant comfort. The soon-to-be leader of the free world is a monumental cretin, a rich and volatile bully with a dangerous lack of experience and an incoherent/non-existent strategy. Just like Farage here, he has made it OK to be racist and bigoted again. Whilst many who voted for him are decent people with decent views who simply didn’t trust Hillary Clinton, he has also given voice to a small segment of under-represented society that have frankly appalling views. We should all be mindful that views like this were once over-represented, and look what happened then. The swing to the right has been as dramatic as it is terrifying. Hatred. Remember what Yoda said about that? Low-level racism and outright xenophobia have become acceptable again, and just like Brexit the polls got it wrong on the US election too.

I don’t know why we are all so surprised. The Leave voters and Trump voters actually find their choice mildly embarrassing, and rightly so. The surprise would have been if they had had the conviction to stand up and publicly state that they didn’t actually like their Polish neighbours very much and that yes, they were going to be voting to leave the EU. Instead they stayed silent or lied when asked, and after voting went back indoors feeling faintly smug that they had socked it to the establishment. It is obviously a lot more complicated than this. I am just a bird blogger and I don’t understand large parts of the dynamics that have led us to this point, both here and across the Atlantic, but I think it can be boiled down to a few key themes. Disenfranchisement, anxiety and resentment. The world is too big. I do not understand what is happening. It was better before.

It is the failure of successive governments – globally - to address this that has led us to where we are now. It spans every facet of government. Education, health, trade agreements, the environment, everything. Everything is interconnected in a massively complex web, and knowing where you stand in a world that moves faster than you or anyone else can stay current with has been a huge and incomprehensible shock. Voters – and the demographics are very telling – want a return to simpler times, to straight-talking leaders, and to an improvement in their lot in life. Trump and Farage, who let us not forget appeared on stage together, are the winds of change. The fact that neither of them has a scoobydoo is irrelevant.

They lied through their teeth.

Trump literally made it up as he went along. He could have said anything, frequently did, and it did not matter at all in the end. He was the outsider, the alternative, shouting long and loud what people wanted to hear. That the rhetoric was mostly and shamefully untrue ultimately meant nothing, we live in a post-factual age. There will not be a wall built along the Mexican border, that exists only in la-la land. 11 million immigrants will not be sent back to their home countries, it's simply not feasible. Muslims will not be able to be banned or monitored, it’s unconstitutional – the same constitution that preserves the right of citizens to own machine guns, and which regularly results in mass shootings of innocent people. But that’s what people wanted to hear so that’s what he said. They didn’t want to hear about liberalism and the reality of globalisation. I can’t remember who it was that said during the EU debate that the world was sick of experts, or even what side of the political divide that they were on, but they were dead right. Common sense, science, empirical fact and the truth have all gone out the window. Trump and his ilk saw that and they capitalised on it. The traditional politicians didn’t see that and they, to use an American phrase, have been run out of town. They played it wrong and they lost.

And ultimately we have all lost. All of those smug brexiteers behind their lace curtains in middle England are probably just as confused and scared as they were before, as the level of uncertainty in the world is now off the scale. There are no easy answers to the issues that are worrying people, and electing Trump doesn’t change that for Americans either. The only thing that has changed is that we will now have a dangerous buffoon in the White House next year, an unstable, uncontrollable and uncompromising man who is not fit to hold office. This is America’s new leader, the one on whose personal sanity we all in part rely, and he is a car crash waiting to happen. Sensible things like climate change deals could be ripped up, human rights will be trampled over, diplomacy will recede and militarism will increase. He will have a global impact, possibly in very very negative ways, but that irony is lost on the isolationists who voted for him. But that’s OK, because it’s America first from now on, and who cares about the rest of the planet? Or indeed the planet itself. All the jobs are coming back, all the foreigners are getting kicked out, and it will be like it used to be back in the 1950s when life was good.

Except it won’t as that isn’t the way the world works any more. American manufacturing will not come back, as when the same voters who have just sent Trump to the highest seat in the land realise that they have to pay more for their trucks, fridges, TVs and almost everything else they currently enjoy at prices cheaper than they have ever been, they will be up in arms. Hang on, we didn't vote for this! The vast majority of all the things that this odious man has said and promised are complete fiction, just like most of the empty promises made by the Leave campaigners. Remember that bus promising EU contributions shifting directly to the NHS? It’s that, but a lot bigger. Trump won’t make America great again, he’ll push America off a cliff. Just like the true implications of Brexit are only now beginning to be hinted at, job losses and financial black holes, inflation and rising prices, America can only begin to imagine the tragedy that could now unfold. God Bless America, the greatest nation on earth! Wait, whaddya mean we’re at war with eight countries? This is Britain, we’re independent, free at last from the shackles of Europe! Wait, why is my summer holiday more expensive now, and why can’t I find a cleaner? What do you mean Walkers Crisps cost more?

And that’s without considering the human cost. This impacts relationships and families. This impacts where people can go and what they can do, it restricts individual progress and mutual cooperation. It wrecks dreams. I am sounding preachy I think, but consider the opportunities now unavailable to my children following the decision to leave Europe. Think of the doors that are now closed. The answer to globalisation is not to retreat and become more insular, it is to understand it, embrace it, and make it work for you. Brexit and President Trump are steps in completely the wrong direction, and the UK and the US are rapidly heading back to the 1970s. They have set themselves back 40 years.

Elvis left the building a long time ago, reality has now followed.

*croque monsieur

Wanstead and elsewhere

This post can be summed up as follows: Another weekend, hooray! Yet more cold weather, hooray! More birds, hooray!

But you're not getting away that lightly. I was looking at my stats the other day, and they dared to suggest that the average length of time people spend on this site is about five seconds. Wow, fast readers, I thought. Or maybe people just look at the pictures? I'm not sure, but there haven't really been many good ones recently - pictures that is. Indeed, some posts have had none at all, not even something totally spurious. Time is a big factor, it takes effort to select a photo that has nothing whatsoever to do the text, and I don't want to get it wrong and somehow give the impression that this is all well thought out and carefully considered. I've also not been out with the camera much, other than to bounce it off Southend Pier about a month ago. With no family duties today, it was a good opportunity to get a little amortisation in.

First stop, naturally, was the Basin. I know a few of you are rooting for Goldeneye, and I had high hopes, but after what must have been an extremely cold night, the open water had shrunk so much that any passing Goldeneye that had tried to land would have embedded itself in a Coot, of which there were at least a quarter of a million, all crowded into about a tennis courts worth. I moved on to the Heronry, where some kind soul at the Corporation has turned on the inflow - as such there was a lot more clear water than otherwise would have been the case, and though there were no Goldeneye, a pile of Pochard (is that the correct collective noun?) were enjoying an early morning preeing session. I busied myself getting ready for post-preening flaps, which were numerous and excellent, and while I was doing that noticed a very small Woodpecker fly to the trees at the end of the Perch pond. Yay! I wandered over but it had vanished - I thought I had heard one a few days ago, but it only called once, and good conscience prevented me from counting it in case it had been a Starling or something, which have been known to make a similar sound and bamboozle me before.

Once Crufts was fully underway, complete with entrants joyfully causing some duck angst, I mosied over to the Old Sewage Works, where literally the first birds I saw were two Linnet, another patch yeartick. For those of you keeping track, that's 78, which is loads and loads. Pleased with this minor success - in fact the first Linnets I've seen anywhere this year - I headed to the Roding for an extended Smew photography session. This went very badly, mainly caused by the total absence of Smew. I walked down into Mordor, ie off the patch, but there was no sign to the Aldersbrook, though 15 Teal, all on-patch, were quite nice. I went a similar distance upstream to about level with the Canal, but there were no birds at all that end, mainly due to dog. So I gave up and went for another cup of tea, and two bits of cake - one a late breakfast (the banana one), the second a mid-morning snack (the carrot one). Both were excellent, and fully justified by the cold weather that I'm sure I read is much more calorie-intensive.

South of the bridge

North of the bridge

Although it was great on the patch, lovely light and so on, the call of an Essex Woodlark, currently living it up in the picturesque Roding Valley Park (in a dog-shit strewn stretch of mud underneath the M11 flyover) proved too strong. I picked up Bradders kind of en route, and found the spot without any trouble at all. Mainly by smell. I can categorically say that I have never been anywhere, and this includes Cornwall and Grays, where I have seen quite so much dog muck concentrated in one spot. Whether this is the work of a single dog over a long period, or multiple dogs over a shorter period I cannot speculate. However, protected from the weather by the motorway above, it endures beyond its normal lifespan, and was EVERYWHERE and totally disgusting. And hopping around amonst the innumerable little curls of turd was a fantastic and congenitally anosmiac Woodlark.

Much as I enjoyed the bucolic appeal of the area, it was the only bird there, and once it been flushed by a horse, a bike, several dog-walkers, several dogs and a nameless photographer, we felt it was time to leave. With high tide approaching, we made for the river. Rainham, to be precise, which had the draw of warm food as well as birds. In the visitor centre I looked longingly at the homemade Bakewell slices, but then saw the price - £2.10. Seriously. Rainham food prices seemingly suffer from hyper-inflation. Every time I go there the price has risen again, the place makes Canary Wharf look cheap. I've not been keeping notes, that would be very petty, but last time I came the Bakewells were £1.80 or £1.90, and before that they were £1.40, and the sausage rolls were £2.00 - now they're £2.50. It is getting beyond unreasonable, and I don't mind saying so. I know they need to pay for the mega-hides somehow, but it's out of control. None of this matters as Bradders bought lunch, though in deference to his recently deceased boiler I skipped the cake. Just so you know RSPB, a piece of cake at the Tea Hut of Happiness costs 60p, and a cup of tea is 70p.

Perfect, no post would be complete without a good whinge.

A weekend in Cornwall

4am pick-up. With Paul, Shaun and myself in the back, it is somewhat snug. Bradders is driving, Bradders sr. to his left, pointing out speed cameras. Once light, somewhere in Devon I think, it is immediately apparent that Hawky is on fire. Carrots perhaps? No Buzzard goes unnoticed, and a 1 second glimpse of a dark shape over the A303 is all that is needed to nail Raven. Even though some members of the party find the Goosander a bit stringy, he is clearly seeing things very well. We continue our cuddle in the back until we finally arrive at Zennor. Upon getting out of the car and being blown over by a 60mph gust, I remark to the boys that it is perhaps a tad windy. The Snowy Owl thinks so too, and has flown off out of view to seek shelter about a mile south from the summit of Trendrine hill. As always on tough twitches it pays to scan for birders. Are they standing about not viewing a major rarity (just like us), or are they in fact “on it”? In this instance, we decide that a handful of birders a few miles away have the owl in view, so there is nothing for it but to trudge over there. The pager message did not indicate that pot-holing gear would be needed to traverse the moor, and we were fairly fortunate not to lose any party-members in the tough conditions. A helpful chap we met about halfway said that there was a 10ft stretch of path/stream where one could occasionally see the top of the owl’s head. After about another two days slogging over the terrain, we finally arrived at the said stretch, and sure enough, there it was about half a mile away. Not quite the crippling views we were all hoping for, but the risk of confusion is low, so it gets ticked. If you want to recreate the approximate experience at home, add a bucket of soil to a cold bath, stand in it for a couple of hours, and then squint at the below photo whilst constantly shaking your head from side to side to mimic the wind.

Crippling views

At one point a large cow, absent-mindedly grazing along the wall-line where the owl was sheltering, got to within about 4 feet. Cue an ears-up, “what the f*ck” bovine-moment. Despite the small line of birders intensely willing this cow onwards (and of course fully intending to flame it on bird-forum the next day) the owl won the stare-down contest and the cow(ard) retreated.

Misery

Three hours in the freezing cold has done nothing to diminish Paul’s razor-sharp eye; at Sennen he has been out of the car for roughly 0.5 seconds before he has called a GND in the bay; a speck on the horizon is a Purple Sand which duly lands on the harbour wall; a Med Gull is found bobbing with a group of BH Gulls, and barely have I got onto this when an Iceland Gull flies across his scope. Whatever he has been eating (or more likely drinking) we need to find more of it to sustain this performance. I contribute a Rock Pipit.

"Got any carrots?"

It is clear that the weather is deteriorating, so after a male Hen Harrier courtesy of Bradders jr. (Paul must have been poking Shaun or something), and a pastie stop, we head to Marazion for a spot of sand-blasting. Retreating to Penzance harbour, we meet the same birder we had met on the moor, and learn he has twitched the Owl from Luton ON PUBLIC TRANSPORT. Train to Penzance, and then a local bus to the foot of Trendrine Hill. Amazing. There are another 2 GNDs here, not remotely bothered by the vile conditions, supremely adapted to shit weather. Unlike us - we are more adapted to the pub, which is where we were now headed.

Paul: “Should I put on waterproofs?”
David: “No, its hardly raining at all”

Three inches of rain then fell in about ten minutes. Roads became rivers, drainpipes became waterfalls, steps became rapids. Unbelievable. Members of the team who had not bothered to put on waterproofs, or who had been badly advised re the need for waterproofs, got completely soaked. You could only laugh really, especially if like me you were wearing waterproofs. Luckily, the Turk’s Head has good beer, good food, and a FIRE for drying out wet people. A short but lively evening then ensued, but the general consensus was that we were all tired, and indeed despite my usual impervion to disease, I was feeling slightly under the weather, so it was not the raucous night that it might have been. Back at the B&B Shaun and I were unsure whether our room had windows or not. There appeared to be some sort of glass structure where you would expect windows to be, but the curtains flapping about horizontally raised serious doubts as to their physical reality.

The following day is breezy, but nothing like the previous night. We are drooling in anticipation of the rafts of Grey Phals we will see littering the Cornish beaches. In the event there is only one thing littering Cornwall, more on that later.

We spend the morning gently birding the sea between Newlyn and Marazion, and find stacks of GNDs, a BT Diver, a BN Grebe, and another Iceland Gull. 2 seconds out of the car at Long Rock, Paul calls a Black Redstart; none of us believe him. The Sanderlings keep me occupied for a bit, and another Med Gull flies past. A juv Cornish bird gets out of a neighbouring car with seemingly the sole intention of showing these rugged binocular-toting lads her very short skirt-cum-belt, but we give her short thrift so she gets back in and drives off; had she been able to point out a Phal we would have been all ears. Apparently only a couple of us actually noticed her at all, and are accused of blatant suppression by the others. On next to Helston for the long-staying Ring-billed Gull. As we leave, a Black Redstart pops up onto the sea wall….




The Ringer is not at Helston, but Shaun sniffs out a small sewage farm, and we are soon delighted by approximately 4000 wintering Chiffchaffs, a couple of which are outrageously pale. Discussions involving complicated and unknown words like “tristis” and “abietinus” then follow. I am just impressed that there should be this many Chiffies here in mid-Jan at all. My role is limited to the taking of photographs, some good, some bad (very bad). A Raven goes over with a BH Gull, allowing an excellent size comparison.

Candidate Sibe #1

Candidate Sibe #2

Home via Dawlish Warren, and potential Surf Scoter. Paul has been sharing his secret supply of carrots with David, who finds it in about 5 seconds. I need to go birding with these guys more often, it is sensational! Honestly there are 3 birds in 10 square miles of sea, and we’re straight on them. It could be something exclusive to Surfies though, a magnetic scope-attraction feature. When Surf Scoter was a lifer for me (I spit at them now), I went to find one off Ruddon’s Point in Fife, set up my scope, looked through it, focused, and almost fell over – drake Surf Scoter bang in the middle of the circle. This bird is a female, and is with a female Velvet Scoter, with a male Common Scoter not far away, affording good comparison. Discounting the yellow bill on the CS, we concentrate on the other two. The SS & VS are about the same size, but it is actually quite difficult to see the white flank stripe on the VS. However the bill structure is a dead giveaway, the VS has more distinct white on the head, and the SS has a habit of the raising its tail, like a Ruddy Duck. After that excellent and succinct comparative analysis, you would expect a photo. Bad luck.

A couple of common-as-muck Cattle Egrets are about 5 minutes down the road, in the company of 3 Little Egrets and a flock of fancy sheep. Again, for comparative purposes - and believe it or not they do get confused, in fact a pager message this very weekend read “Reported Cattle Egret at blah blah blah is a Little Egret” - Cattle Egret has a shortish yellow bill and pale legs, Little Egret has long black bill and dark legs. There are things that Little Egret can be confused with, but Cattle Egret is not one of them. This time there is a photo for your elucidation.

So, a top weekend in the South-west, and some brilliant birds, including a Snowy Owl’s head. I never thought I would ever see any part of a Snowy Owl, and that it was one of these mythical birds that appeared on Benbecula every now and again, and that took 2 days and several ferries and light aircraft to get to, so I am very pleased. I am genuinely ill now, so took the day off and wrote this.

A footnote: A plea to the dog-owners of Cornwall.

Fucking well clean up after your dogs. It is disgusting.

In English, this says "You may be fined if you don't clean up after your dog"

You are privileged to live in an amazingly beautiful part of the world, why spoil it? 60% of our party stepped in something, and we think less of Cornwall for it.

"Welcome to Turd County"