Final Reckoning, and Gulls are dull.

Recently I had a little bit of fun to celebrate my trio of mega[-boring] ticks, by running an online poll as to which was the least interesting of the three. The results were both surprising and confirmatory. Surprising that 61 people actually responded, but confirming everything that we always knew. Gulls are crap. This is bound to provoke a response, but the final and un-rigged (Seppy) results were:

American Coot 19 (31%)
American Black Duck 14 (22%)
American Herring Gull 28 (45%)

Even with the two percent carelessly discarded by Google, the Gull is streets ahead. Well, behind. Gulls divide opinion like no other bird. The die-hards, mentioning no names Mick, absolutely love them, sometimes to the exclusion of anything else. Larophiles, as they're known, can be fairly impressive in terms of their knowledge of which bit of a Gull is which (head, beak, wing etc), but they are far outnumbered by the larophobes. People like me. Normal people. People who are mildly scared of Gulls, particularly when it comes to identifying them. I actually know a little bit more than I let on, though the Gulls are probably still winning. But I can't say I love them, or even enjoy them. Especially as they contain a lot of white, the enemy of all digital photographers. Happily I've not got many left to see in this country, four if my maths are correct, so almost done, and then I need not ever look at one again. Hurrah!! But they are a challenge...

Had I voted, I'd have gone for the Coot as being the most abject. A horrible bird, almost identical to a normal Coot. Utter dross. Right in the middle would be the Mallard Black Duck. A bird I would never ordinarily have traveled any distance to see, but seeing as it was there and I was relatively nearby, I thought why not - the weekend was basically all about ticks. And of course this therefore means that I found the Gull the most "interesting". This is not the vote of a larophile, it merely reflects the pitiful company in which it found itself. It was hard work, which is effectively what placed it last in the dull stakes. But definitely not first in the interesting stake, and that's a key difference. I had to work at it, which I didn't really have to for the other to - there were no confusion birds present for the Coot or the Duck. There were thousands for the Gull though, and picking it out was the stuff of nightmares, even when I knew what field it was in. People are saying it's obvious, I beg to disagree! Head tucked in it looked mostly like every other bloody bird in the field, and even when it woke up it wasn't like it stood out particularly. Just another big 'un really.

Anyway, thanks to all of you who voted. If you fancy travelling any distance to see any of them, can I strongly advise you against it?

Another tough day

The most demanding bit of today was probably having to go back to the room to source some music and earphones to drown out the sound of some immensely loud American tourists who had been ferried in to my beach - the cheek of it. As you know, I don't watch a lot of TV, but these were the people on whom Family Guy was modelled. I hate to say it, but New York and Boston featured heavily. But not for long, as they were replaced by Townes Van Zandt, who I believe was from Texas, and though you might think that would be even worse, in fact he is a highly intelligent man with many sensible things to say. And not incredibly loudly and mildly drunkenly whilst slobbing around in my water. I digress, and happily they were shipped out pretty quickly, though the beach remained pretty busy for most of the day with various parties coming in to take advantage of the fabulous snorkelling.

I spent most of the day flopped on a very comfortable lounger doing my best impression of a slowly reddening whale, listening to my usual mix of eclectic music, and reading The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of his Window and Disappeared. Amazingly I drank only one beer all day, and in this manner Friday passed very satisfactorily. When I got too hot I had a quick dip in the Caribbean Sea, and then returned to my book. When I got hungry I ordered some Tuna. And when I finished my book I went off to chase Hummingbirds again, once more with limited success. I've got one more chance tomorrow, and then that's it for at least another year, unless I win the lottery.

 

As I suspected before I left the UK, my trip list is desultory. I saw more birds on my first day on Shetland than I have here. The grand total is 38, unless something spectacular happens tomorrow. l'm actually quite pleased with the mediocrity of this total, as it shows very clearly that I have had a proper holiday holiday, rather than my usual hectic holiday that largely revolves around chasing after birds from dawn until dusk. Compare this trip, for instance, to my trip to Finland this summer, when I came back completely frazzled and not quite sure what time of the day or night it was. Or even who I was. Here on St Lucia I'm tucked up in an extremely comfortable and enormous bed by about 9pm every night, and sleep until at least 6am with not a care in the world. The biggest decision each morning is what to have for breakfast, followed by which ISO setting to use.

 

The Hummingbirds were very frustrating today - another sign that life is tough. I have a particular shot in mind that just isn't happening for me. It involves an Antillean Crested Hummer at around 45 degrees, swooping down, with the head inclined slightly towards me and the crest lit up like a Christmas Tree. I've managed a few completely out of focus ones in the general pose, but I just can't get it bang on. Perhaps I am asking too much? I did at least manage some better flight shots, and better crest shots, but there is a long way to go and time is running out. Birds are going to be so crap when I get back to Wanstead....

 

 

 

 

Wanstead's most attractive Woodpigeon

Came across an unbelievably gorgeous Woodpigeon today. I fear its beauty hasn't much longer to shine though, there is something not quite right with its tail.... It's not every day that a Woodpigeon makes you involuntarily gag, but that's what happened when I was photographing Mistle Thrushes and it strayed into my viewfinder. I wonder what on earth has happened to it? It wasn't particularly alert, not that many are I suppose, but this one appeared to have significantly dulled reactions. Horrible, poor thing.

Do you think it looks better from the left....

....or from the right?

In other news, I saw a Nuthatch today in Reservoir Wood, and then again by Heronry. Nuthatch is an inexplicably rare bird in Wanstead given the lovely habitat that exists in the Park. There must be something I am missing, certainly I can't hope to understand what makes Nutchatches tick, but I've been to lots of places that appear at least superficially to be identical, and they are crawling with Nuthatches. I've seen four in Wanstead in eight years, not a very convincing total, so let's hope that they are on the way back. Not much else going on across the patch, fairly quiet in comparison with recent days. I guess this is the problem with excellence; it becomes difficult to maintain. A Little Egret flying west across the Flats was a patch tick though, seen plenty in the Park but none here before, so most pleasing. I kind of punched the air, but not really as I was standing next to Barry and he doesn't need to know what a saddo I am.

Directions to this crippling mega on the Wiki

Talking of saddos, I am getting drawn in to a handbagging match on the London bird sightings page. I would have done better to have stayed out of it, it's like Birdforum all over again, so a huge 'fail' on my part. In a nutshell a loud-mouthed American has turned up and loves the sound of his own typing. Me too, that's probably why it's all going wrong - but I have a blog for my creative output. He doesn't, so he just uses the blog, sorry I mean sightings page, to tell London birders where they might be so lucky as to see a Chiffchaff or other scarce bird, which branch of a tree it is in, and what the weather is like. I put it down to over-enthusiam, severe obstinance, and cultural differences. I must be overly-traditional, preferring a sightings page to concisely summarise what birds are to be found across the capital. My opinion means nothing though, and unfortunately he has become a cause celebre for seemingly masses of disenfranchised birders who need help with finding Chiffchaffs and other rare breeding birds, and so I now find myself somewhat marginalised and accused of pedantry. Such as shame, as I'm actually right, but that doesn't count. I suspect I'm going to get bored of an editing war long before this guy and his groupies do, and sarcasm has no effect either. Even a great joke about Garden Warblers being borin' went completely over their heads, an indication that there is no more I can do. So, completely powerless in the face of a mounting storm of verbal diahorrea that is swamping what used to be quite an easy to use resource, I'm giving up. Given my heritage it pains me to say that I hope his visa is only temporary. If he ever does see the light and start a blog though, I'm going to be the first follower, the style is, is, well, words fail me if the truth be told.

Oh, and yes, I did get assaulted by a dog on the patch today, just as I knew I would. Once again it was my fault (camera), and it improved my already great mood massively.

And breathe......

Americana

Even though I saw that Yellowthroat for a total of about ten seconds, it was a pretty special bird. The vividness of the yellow was very surprising, but maybe against a backdrop of damp hedge it just shone out? When I started out on the measured and sensible endeavour that is twitching, I never thought I'd see American birds. I'm not sure what I thought really, probably nothing - fledgling twitchers don't spend a great deal of time thinking and I'm sure I was no different. Yay, rare bird, let's go!

I've not seen a huge number now, they truly are very rare. My Yank passerines are confined to a couple of Sparrows, two Dark-eyed Juncos, a Black-and-White Warbler, a Northern Waterthrush, a Swainson's Thrush and of course the Yellowthroat - eight birds in a period of four years, encompassing three trips to Scilly and two to Shetland. Clearly it's something you have to work at! In twitching terms, they're some of the best and most enjoyable birds I've seen, and I was wondering why it is that I like Yanks better than I like Sibes?

I think the answer boils down to two things. The first is that I've been to America quite a few times and seen all of these birds in their native habitat. You might think that might diminish the enjoyment to had from glimpsing a lost wait, but actually it increases the wow factor. The second is that I'm American. No, really. Mom, as I like to call her, is from California. American birds are therefore my birds.

If you were ever fortunate enough to actually meet me, you would not be able to tell I am part Yank. I have no twang, no ten gallon hat. I do carry a gun though so y'all muggers had better watch out! Not really. I might have the odd peculiarity of expression that comes from growing up with an American parent, but that's about it. Perhaps this is a good thing, Americans are not universally popular right now. Having spent a lot of time there, you can see where the stereotypes come from, but let me say right now that pretty much every person I have ever met in America has kind, generous, honest and genuine. There is very little snideness, very little rudeness, people are just nice - plain and simple. When someone says "you have a good day now", as many of them do, you feel that they really mean it. In this country, the default stance would be to assume they were taking the piss. Admittedly my experience of America is a fairly narrow one - a college town in Ohio, and a few coastal settlements in California - but nonetheless I believe that Americans are just nice people, just like me.

I feel American enough to religiously celebrate Thanksgiving every year, and to feel twinges of pride on dates like July 4th, Obama's inauguration, and other momentous dates. And also to know that if I ever find myself in a sticky situation, the Marines are on the way. Where my American-ness really shines out though is in my tastes. I bet you didn't know that I'm a country music fan? I tend not to publicise this too much, but having subjected a carload to it on the way to Gwent and back, I might as well come clean. No doubt this comes from being brought up on a diet of Emmylou Harris, John Denver, and Kate & Anna McGarrigle (actually Canadian), but it is a source of constant exasperation to Mrs L that if it falls to me to pick a CD, I'll likely home in on something along these lines. Tim McGraw, George Strait, Reba McEntire, Taylor Swift, Johnny Cash - I could play them all for hours if I was allowed. Bob Harris Country on Thursday evenings is required listening, and A Prairie Home Companion is the best radio program ever, up there with Test Match Special as far as I'm concerned. If you've never heard the gentle strains of the Tishomingo Blues introducing the show, played by The Guy's All-Star Shoe Band and sung by Garrison Keillor, you're missing out. Like various UK radio shows, it's something of an institution, and has been going for nearly 40 years. Here's a short clip of the kind of thing you can expect from this amazing live variety show - there truly is nothing else like it.



Sadly it's not restricted to birds, music and radio. I'm also somewhat addicted to Ben & Jerry's and pancakes with maple syrup. But you really wouldn't be able to tell that.

Failure and Reflection

On Sunday, I was definitely going out birding. Definitely. After being stuck indoors all on Saturday, I was going out, end of. I woke up just before nine, and looked out of the window. A bit grey. Hmm. I was out by ten, but only as far as the car - destination Southend Pier to take lots of point blank photographs of Turnstones and stuff. By 10:30 I had got as far as Pitsea, by which time it was greyer still and raining. I abandoned the Southend Plan, and instead went shopping for outdoor gear that would be ideal in this kind of weather, and which is, as I type, still lying in a bag on my bed, as outside the rain lashes against the window and I feel nothing but happiness that I am inside, dry and warm.

I love buying outdoor stuff, I just go through periods when I have little or no inclination to go outdoors and actually use it. I'm in the middle of one right now, though the end of it is surely less than a few weeks away. Typically today has been nice and sunny again. I did look out of the window a couple of times and wish for my old life back, but then the phone rang or something and I had to get back to it. So instead of actual birding, let's just reflect on a couple of favourite moments from this past year. Yup, you got it, a filler, pure and simple. Usually I do this in one post on the cusp of the New Year; this year I may not get time, so perhaps best to spread it out a bit...

It has been a struggle to know what has been my favourite bird this year. There have been more than a few candidates: the magical moment as Bradders, Nick and I stood underneath the tangle of branches in Lower Moors looking up a Black-and-white Warbler mere feet away, it has to be said that was pretty special. We had come over for a Green Sandpiper lookalike, never dreaming that instead we would gazing at one of my favourite of all American wood warblers. Then, on the same island a few weeks later, the hectic sprint from Higgo's Project Pool to Shooters Pool, followed by twenty minutes of lapping up a Northern Waterthrush in the company of perhaps three other people. That too will live long in the memory. They might both be rare, but can they compete with rounding a corner to find a couple of guys looking over an old stone wall. What'ya looking at? Oh, just a Bee-eater. There is no such thing as just a Bee-eater. A Bee-eater!!!! And there it was, not an invisible call, not a distant flight view, not a soggy miserable-looking bird on a wire, but a glorious riot of colour sat in bright sunshine in a bare sapling about twenty feet away. A bird I had wanted to see for simply ages, falling in the best possible of circumstances. Utterly superb, but can it be trumped?

It can, by a far commoner bird, and another I had wanted to see for ages. Years, in fact. A bird which had dragged me down to Cornwall many times, but with which I had never connected. A bird which I had just seen six of, but distantly, and a bird which I thought probably only occured distantly. Then a shout from along the Lighthouse wall. "Cory's in the close Manx line!....coming over right rock....now!" And by golly it did, and by golly it was magnificent. None of this lolloping, lazy bowed-wing flight jizz, instead a Cory's that was serioulsy motoring. Dwarfing the Maxies, it absolutely sped past, leaving me and the rest of the crowd at Pendeen that day enthralled. God only knows quite how much I like sea-watching, and though I never spurn opportunities to mention Fea's Petrels, this was right up there..... but better. What a bird! What. A. Bird. In case I have not been clear, WHAT A BIRD!! If I had to vote for just one of these four top birding experiences, top moments of complete elation, I would have to hand it to that Cory's Shearwater. It, of course, has no idea quite how happy it made me, nor quite how often I think about it, wonder where in the vast ocean it now is, where it has been, and where it will go.

A new low is established. Or a new high.

Do you know where I was this weekend? Where I, the ardent patch-worker and anti-twitcher was? Scilly. I am disgusted with myself, I am so so weak. If I look back at this blog, I am certain to find post after post decrying twitching, promoting common sense, enobling patch-working, and generally sounding holier-than-thou. And then what do I go and do? I twitch Scilly. No, no, no, I'm not interested in twitching any more, stupid hobby, not for me.

Never, ever, believe anything I say.

Perhaps you didn't anyway? I do, it is true, have a love hate relationship with twitching. I think it comes and goes in phases. Earlier this year, certainly at the beginning of the year, my interest in twitching was at an all-time low. Ditto with year-listing. Gradually as the year has progressed I've been getting these urges that I have been finding increasingly difficult to suppress. This has culminated in hiring a car at Aberdeen airport and snaffling the Sandhill Crane, day-tripping Scilly for a Solitary Sandpiper that eluded me but coming away with a Black-and-White Warbler, and now this latest fraud, twitching Scilly again, this time for the Northern Waterthrush, a bird I saw about ten of in New York in April. What, exactly, is wrong with me? Why do I do it?

Because it was fun! Yes I spent a ton of money, yes I drove a stack of miles, yes I played no part in family life this weekend, but boy oh boy, what a great trip! And that's what it's all about. I spent a very pleasant two days strolling around St Mary's looking at mostly common birds, but with a bit of mad running around for the Waterthrush. I spent two evenings in two extremely nice pubs, drinking excellent beer and eating enormous quantities of delicious food. I had a great time taking photographs of highly obliging birds, some of which are the best I have ever taken, and I got loads of yearticks. Er I mean, I saw loads of birds I haven't seen for a long time*.

It's all the bird's fault. Why on earth has a Northern Waterthrush taken up permanent residence on Scilly? Back in September when I was last on, it had just arrived. I didn't see it, in fact made no effort to see it, putting what limited time I had into the Black-and-White Warbler, a brilliant Bee-eater, and the no-show Solitary Sand. I left the islands a very happy man, the Northern Waterthrush of no consequence. The next weekend it was still there, but I was on Shetland. Pah! The following weekend it was there again, but I was in Norfolk. As you can see, I hardly ever go birding... The next weekend it was still there. Pah! Not twitching Scilly again, lunacy! The next weekend it was there again. For God's sake just LEAVE!!!! It didn't, and was still there the following weekend. Fine, stay then, it doesn't bother me as I am DEFINITELY NOT GOING. Not now. Not ever.

By Tuesday of last week I was surreptitiously checking Scillonian sailing times and Skybus prices. By Wednesday, all pretence had gone and I was pricing it up and convincing Bradders that it was a really really good idea. Thursday, and I was packed and ready to go. Friday morning and I was actually on the boat. Berating myself, obviously. It was a glorious day. Hardly a breath of wind, blue skies and bright sunshine. There is something magical about birding in short sleeves on the cusp of November. The pace was relaxed for most of the day, and in truth we saw very little. The other target birds, Upland Sandpiper and Wilson's Snipe, had both contrived to disappear the day before, and Thursday's Red-eyed Vireo remained precisely that; Thursday's. At about 4.30, knowing the Waterthrush's likely movements, we strolled the ten minutes from Lower Moors to Higgo's Pool. Sidetracked by two Firecrests going bonkers at each other, we arrived about half an hour later to learn that the Waterthrush had been showing for the previous fifteen minutes but had disappeared five minutes ago.

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A tense twenty minutes followed with no sign. Then a message came through to say it was at Lower Moors, about twenty seconds away as the Waterthrush flies, but about five minutes as the fat person runs. What to do? We ran. Bradders is much, much younger than I am, and so arrived much, much more quickly. He is also less fat. I kind of ran, but mostly panted, struggled for breath, and walked a bit. Finally in sight of the Shooter's Pool screen, I could just about see Bradders frantically waving me on. Arriving at the screen, someone made way, but in those last fifteen seconds.... "Just gone round the corner mate, far left" said one of the birders there. Gah!
And then suddenly there it was. I had ten seconds of it, perhaps not even that many, and then it disappeared and didn't come back. Magic, pure magic.

When I came to and could stand again, we decided that we would wander back to Higgo's Pool in case it came back. Ignoring the plaintive calls of the evil Firecrests, we arrived back there to learn that the bird had come in for two minutes and then zoomed off again. Higgo, pool-digging supremo, opined that that was that. We waited. We waited some more. Nothing. And then it was back! Calling at ASBO-inducing volumes, it came back in pursued by a Robin, and spent the next twenty minutes feeding in front of perhaps eight silent observers. Towards the end of the evening, there were only three of us watching it. What a bloody brilliant bird. The trip, the expense, justified in an instant. Forgive the photos, ISO 6400, though in one sense utterly miraculous, is relatively unforgiving.

That evening, thrift went out the window. Despite being sucked dry by the Isles of Scilly Steamship Company and Esso, we were on the kind of high that couldn't be dampened. Ridiculous as this sounds, particularly coming from me, sometimes twitching is really really good. This was one of those times. The previous evening I had been in an office in Canary Wharf. Less than twenty-four hours later I was in the Mermaid Pub in Hughtown on St Mary's, indulging in a vast and waist-expanding meal, and drinking Doom Bar, Scuppered, Betty Stoggs..... Twitching might be stupid, but sometimes, just sometimes, and if you can get past the meaningless tick aspect, it is superb.

* About a year...

Scilly 2009. Getting bored of Parulas now.

Six of us arrived on St Mary's at about 2:30pm on Thursday, following the advance party of four who had flown on in the morning. By 3:30 we were getting some great views of a showy Wryneck. By 4:30 we had bagged the Black-and-White Warbler, and Parula fell shortly thereafter. Err, where was I? Oh yes, that's right, we had a meander around Peninnis looking for a Rosefinch, couldn't find it, and went to the pub.

This showed very well. My photos were still rubbish.

Scilly has many nice pubs. We tried a couple. This is actually true, we probably only went in two all week. Mainly this is because The Mermaid had Doom Bar on tap, which we all quite liked, so we kept going back to see if they had any more. There is also the small matter of Tea Rooms. Again, these were generally superb. Longstones Heritage Centre was generally the luncheon stop of choice. The cake here is awesome, and much as I liked the Lemon Drizzle, the Victoria Sponge won my stomach over. After one particularly hard slog in the rain for no cigars, I started with coffee and cake, and later had a Ploughmans. I had anticipated losing a few pounds running from mega to mega, but on my return there appears to have been a slight gain....

Despite this reversal, we actually walked miles. Just not very briskly I suppose. On our second day we walked through Holy Vale about 35 times, or at least it felt like it. This being my first time on the Islands, I attempted to carry far too much clobber to start with. Scope, tripod, bins, camera, absurd lense, extra lenses, coverters, spare batteries, water, Double Deckers etc. Gradually I whittled this down to the bare essentials, and then realised that I really wanted the camera after all, and piled it all back on again. I never found a happy medium. I think a slightly less ridiculous camera lense might be on the cards for any future visit, but then again, when the opportunity arises, the lumping is worth it, as my Wryneck shot so sweetly demonstrates. And anyway, despite the massive cake intake, you get fitter as the week progresses, so are able to carry more without it hurting as much.

Almost

We stayed on St Mary's for our second day as well, and charged around the Island exploring different areas. Highlight of the day was a brilliant Radde's Warbler that we nearly didn't go for. There were so few rare birds on the Islands that if something semi-rare-but-not-that-good-really turned up, it immediately drew a crowd of 150+. Whilst I didn't see any squabbles, I wasn't really up for the mass twitch. We had tried for the Radde's first thing at Carreg Dhu gardens, given it an hour and a half whilst most other birders were chowing down on sausage and bacon, and then given up when the masses arrived. Later on it turned up near Longstones, and as we were nearby, we had wandered along, only to find tons of people trying to peer through small gaps in a hedge into some allotments, only one of whom had actually seen it. We turned on our heels and went for lunch instead. We may have had some cake. Mid-afternoon it turned up again, this time near Holy Vale. We were at Upper Moors, shuffling into the packed hide one at a time to see a Jack Snipe. The hide was packed with two photographers, their two mates, and all their gear. I'm all right Jack, as they say. Thanks guys. We gave up on this as a bad job, and rather than kick stones, decided we would brave the madness. Naturally every birder on the Island seemed to be present, but as it happened we got excellent and prolonged views of this little stunner as it hopped around in the hedge. As we left, two photographers turned up, but we couldn't be bothered going back to Porthellick to stretch out in the vacated hide.

Dinner in The Bishop. Half a roast chicken and chips for £7.50. Somebody carried me back to the digs.

When contemplating plant photography, always remove any distracting elements

Scilly 2009. Dendroica overload.

+40 miles

I've just got back from the Scillies. Via Newcastle. I had never been to the Scillies before, and anticipation was running high. Day one: Blackpoll Warbler. Day two: American Redstart. Day three: Common Nighthawk. In the event it wasn't quite like that. In fact it wasn't like that at all, but it was nonetheless a brilliant and relaxing holiday, just the tonic. No nappies for one thing.

Let's meet the Team!

And you even get photographs, which may help contextualise some of the previous waffle on this blog. It is important to note the location of most of the photographs. Frankly it speaks volumes.

H, left, and David the Obsessed, right

Monkey

Show-home Shaun

Dave "gigabyte" Mo, left, and "Hawkeye" Hawkins, right.

Sam S

Sir Les of the Garrison

A Wanstead-based birder

Bradders Snr somehow avoided the camera, but just take Bradders Jnr and you're almost half-way there. Anyway, together this bunch of intrepid birders found almost no rare birds. Best efforts were heard-only Red-throated Pipit and several heard-only Yellow-browed Warblers. The disappointing truth was that there wasn't actually much to find, and not that we were that we mostly in the pub.

Having said that, where else can you see Wryneck, Radde's Warbler, Richard's Pipit, Red-breasted Flycatcher, Lapland Bunting, Rosefinch, Cattle Egret, Spoonbill, YB Warbler, and Red-throated Pipit, all basically within walking distance of each other? Not many places I would warrant, but we were there for the big one, the mega-yank, and it didn't happen. To be precise no yanks happened. It was still superb.

Synopsis

Weather: Sunny

Shirt-sleeves: Yes

Birds: Not many

Beverages: Doom Bar

Sustenance: Pasties and Cake. And Doom Bar.

Horrible. We had to spend a week here.

TBC...