Wanstead Great Crested Grebes

With my weekend travels yesterday I wanted to stay local today and not drive anywhere. Wanting to catch up with Hobby on the patch, and perhaps jam a Common Tern, I headed to the Park. In the event I got neither of these things but instead spent most of time photographing a Great Crested Grebe with a chick on its back. This species seems to be doing particularly well this year after several years of it not really working. I figured I had not done a post on this species for about five years when I set down this juvenile effort. Today is far more mature, after all there is a child involved. Mostly photographic I'm afraid, during the time I was there nothing happened whatsoever. No fish were brought, the chick didn't acrobatically dive off, nothing untoward at all. A touching scene though and I will try and get down there with more focal length soon.

Belgium Minibreak

As if I have not travelled enough recently, on Sunday I made a last minute decision to visit Belgium. The reason? Heroism, pure and simple. Heroism comes naturally to me. As naturally, say, as wishing to have a large stock of excess Brownie Points available for twitching far-flung Hebridean islands. So it was a pretty easy decision to for me, on finding that Mrs L and two thirds of my descendants were stranded in Belgium, to mount an immediate rescue mission. The problem? Mrs L, handbag connoisseur and noted security expert, had had her car key stolen in Brussels. To be absolutely clear, it had not fallen out, unnoticed, from her massively-overstuffed handbag that does not close properly. Never in a million years could that ever have occurred, and I most definitely have never mentioned this ridiculously obscure possibility to her. No, stolen. Stolen by a heinous criminal gang who had used incredible guile and agility to somehow gain entry to her handbag - amazing that they weren't suffocated by Tesco receipts in the process.

After an afternoon of faffing about with the Belgian RAC, after which it was determined that they could not start the car, nor now lock it back up again, the obvious solution began to dawn on me. The quickest way to regain access to the car and thus return the family to Chateau L and domestic bliss would be for me, Superfatherhusband, to personally and immediately travel to Brussels with the second car key. The second car key is my car key. It lives in my pocket, which I pat approximately once every twenty seconds to ensure its continuing presence. I am not paranoid at all. I gave my pocket another reassuring pat. Yup, one car key, all present and correct. Amazing, and so the plan sprung into action. My brilliant neighbours could take Muffin overnight, so he packed a small bag. Meanwhile I retrieved my passport from its ultrasafe secret hiding place, checked that my wallet – on a CHAIN attached to my belt was still attached – and that the remaining Euros from Spain were still in it. Check. Ipod zipped up in jacket pocket? Check. House Keys in case Mrs L had lost them too had them stolen too? Check.

With the Eurostar website down, I had no choice but to go to St Pancras and chance it. Chance is a fine thing, and so I got a seat on a train leaving 20 minutes later. Not long after that I was in my fourth European country in a week, and under cover of darkness I infiltrated Belgium, my fifth. The location of the car was pre-set on the sat-nav on my phone – attached to me via ANOTHER CHAIN (OK, so I am perhaps a touch paranoid; then again, have I ever lost my phone or wallet?) and so also still present (for the avoidance of doubt that means that it hadn't fallen in a puddle, or down the toilet.... ) but in the event it proved unneccesary as Mrs L's good friend and object of Brussels visit, Jo, was there to meet me, probably in disbelief that I would be on the train and needing to check it out just to be certain. A taxi to the car, and we were reunited! Rejoice! And then Mrs L and the girls came down the stairs - more rejoicing!

The moment of truth. Did I still have my car key, or had the Brussels phenomenon struck twice! Hah! Of course I had it, one simple click and the car was ours again. Family in, seat adjusted, mirrors set, and we were off. Warp speed through northern France as, already approaching midnight we needed to catch the last shuttle before a serious gap in the schedule. We made it with quite a bit of time to spare. A scary moment when the car wouldn't start when we arrived in Kent; not because it  wouldn't start at all, but because in order to start it I had to entrust Mrs L with my key whilst I fiddled with the battery. Luckily she managed to keep hold of it for five seconds and we were off again, once again with me selflessly taking the wheel and guiding us safely to Wanstead. A great success, up there with the best of twitches!

I was in bed by 3am, and in work on time the next morning, though the coffee consumption was excessive by anyone's standards. So, a lovely little trip - I've never been to Brussels before, and I have to say that during my lengthy stay it looked pretty nice. Of note were the taxi driver not having the faintest clue where he was going yet driving at about 100kph through suburban streets, and a Nespresso shop where on another day I might have sourced some decaf, of which I have run out. Next time I have to rescue Mrs L from a foreign city I'll be sure to research the retail options before leaving.

In addition to the above heroic tale, I have three other pieces of news. The first is that I almost accurately predicted that Sunday would be a great day for Buzzards and Red Kites on the patch. Before I was called upon to don my cape and mask, I had scored three of the former, but the Red Kite came through the following day when I was at work earning money for Eurostar tickets.

The second is that also on Sunday, I had a first winter Gull go over the Flats with a very clear black "W" starting on the leading edge of the upper wing. Distant, I could not pick it up with the camera for an ID-clinching shot, and in my excitement I didn't think through the options very clearly and am thus forced to concede that I cannot assign it safely to either Kittiwake or Little Gull, even though it was undoubtedly one or the other, and I need both for the patch. Upon reflection, the flight mode was that of a Gull and not a Tern, though this is hardly a concrete ID feature. So, elation tinged with bitter regret on that front.

The third piece of news is that during a short break from saving the world, I have managed to find time to put together a post of gratuitous photos of Lesser Kestrel from my second-most recent European trip. You can find it here, meanwhile I am off to check on the progress of the Telephone Box being installed outside the house.

 

Oooh, Aaah

A quick dash after work (ahem) for the male Trumpeter Finch was a stunning success yesterday evening. I even took the Dipmonkey and still scored. I'd arrranged with Shaun to hold off during the day and go up together, and then the Monkey decided he would like to come too, despite not needing the bird. Fair enough though, the more the cheaper, er I mean merrier. And to make up the team, Muffin came too, keen to add to his list of rarities.

After waiting for Shaun to make a cup of tea, have a shower and clean his van, we were off! I was slightly worried that by arriving at 7pm the bird might have gone to roost, but I needn't have worried, and there were reassuring pager messages all the way up.

It is fair to say that the Cley Square was having a rather good evening. In addition to the Trumpeter Finch on the shingle at the end of the East Bank, there was a Thrush Nightingale at Walsey Hills, which is basically at the opposite end of the East Bank. Less than a mile east, a Marsh Warbler was singing at Gramborough Hill, and less than half a mile west, an adult male Red-backed Shrike was at Cley Coastguards. Wanstead eat your heart out.



We were obliged to go and see the Trumpeter Finch first, it being the "biggie", and after a brief slog over the shingle we were able to spend some quality time with it. It first showed very well on the fence below the ridge, and then fed right in front of us. For a bird that is pink, its ability to disappear against the shingle is amazing.


The lure of the Red-backed Shrike eventually proved too much, and we had to tear ourselves away. We left Shaun to try for the Thrush Nightingale which he still needs (the rest of us having seen one years ago), and drove the short distance to Cley Coastguards. Wow. Shrikes, you just can't beat them, and there is not much to trump an adult male Red-backed. We drank it in. Much as a Trumpeter Finch is very very rare, and pink, both qualities that appeal to me, the Shrike immediately pushed it off the top spot.


Another tick for Muffin, poor kid. Shaun was having no luck with the Thrush Nightingale, so we went and picked him up and returned to the Shrike so he could enjoy it too. Then we had a choice between standing around hoping the Thrush Nightingale would show (or sing), or standing around hoping that the Marsh Warbler would show (or sing). In the event we did neither, and went and got Fish and Chips. I don't think we missed much, certainly the Thrush Nightingale was neither seen nor heard again, although I think the Warbler did show briefly. Nevermind. Of the four birds on offer, I saw my first two choices. And in fact if I'd have dipped the Finch and just seen the Shrike, I'd have been perfectly happy.

Muffin had a great time - he got to be one of the boys. He's a proper birder, not like the three of us. Whilst we were running down the East Bank, he was stopping and looking at the resident birds. Avocets, Redshanks in flight, BT Godwits, Eygptian Geese. For a six year old, his identification skills are rather good. Satisfyingly good I might add.

Iberian Chiffchaff. Again.

Given that the girls and I had seen the Iberian Chiffchaff on Friday, Muffin felt left out. Despite being only six, he is getting interested in the concept of listing, and, put simply, he didn't want the girls to have seen something he hadn't. Poor kid. So we had to go again, which was no bad thing. I am a proper birder, not one of these tick and run types, so an opportunity for further study was welcomed. Yesterday evening I even went as far as reading the BWP entry for Chiffchaff, some fairly indigestible reading, and although the book was printed before ibericus was invented, it contained quite a bit of information on what was then the sub-species brehmii. I'll quit before this post becomes just too interesting to bear, but suffice it to say that I was fairly intrigued and didn't mind going back one little bit. With the camera, naturally.



After some irritating early morning tyre trouble, we picked up Paul en-route, and were soon at the site. The bird did not disappoint - it seems to favour a small oak to the left of the path, and returned there fairly frequently. When we realised this, rather than hunt for it in the canopy, we shot the breeze and waited. Muffin was very particularly adept at spotting it when it did pop out, mostly before me it pains me to say. My poor fading eyesight....


We set up both the camera and the scope, and had rather fantastic views. In addition to singing, it also called this time. I'm not sure I'll remember it, but it was clearly something different. The song is very distinctive though, so when one turns up in Wanstead I'll have no trouble. And of course, Wanstead being the rarity hotspot that it is, it's a matter of when, not if.

Father-son Bonding. With Birds.

" Hi there!"

This post concerns a short trip to the Highlands, and will contain Chaffinches. If you suffer from Chaffinchophobia, or just don't think you can cope with a lot of Chaffinches, you should skip to the next post, which whilst not written yet, will be about Rainham, and have a lot of Reed Buntings in it. If you also struggle with Buntings, well, that's a problem. Come back tomorrow.

So, whilst our trip to Scotland was a family holiday, I also managed a short trip away, barely twenty-four hours in fact. Billed as father-son bonding, I have to say it was a great success. As you know, all my children have been brain-washed into liking birds. This is particularly true with Muffin, who, more than the other two, seems to be genuinely interested. Or he's just better at lying than the other two. I promised him a bird-filled adventure, with particular emphasis on raptors, his favourites.

We left after lunch on Tuesday, and by mid-afternoon he was looking at his first Osprey at Loch of the Lowes. He found this amazing, and as he whispered "Osprey" with a mixture of awe and surprise, I could only smile. I have no recollection of seeing my first Osprey as a kid, and indeed it is possible that I never in fact saw one, and that my first one was as recently as 2006 at Loch Leven. Reliving my childhood through my children? Never. We also saw a Red Squirrel here, and some of the tamest Siskin I have ever come across. I left the awestruck child with the Osprey, and had a bit of a play.


I won't go in to huge detail on what we saw when, how and so on, that would just be boring, much like repetitively posting Chaffinch pictures, but suffice it to say we cleaned up. We got Ptarmigan from Glenshee without leaving the car, and Muffin self-found two Black Grouse feeding in a tree in the Aviemore area. The following morning we got a stunning male Capercaillie at Loch Garten, an experience worthy of a post all of its own. In the Findhorn Valley we saw at least 3 Golden Eagles, including two in the same scope, Red Grouse on the Farr Road, and then a showy Crested Tit at Loch an Eilein. We didn't go looking for White-tailed Eagle, and bar that, the only thing we missed were Crossbills. In addition to all these "ticks", we saw 3 Peregrine, another 2 Osprey, 50+ Buzzards, a Sparrowhawk and 3 Kestrels.




The best bit of the trip, both for him and for me, was when he found the Black Grouse. I had heard the rasping call, but couldn't find them. Then he said he thought he'd found them - just with bins. He gave me pretty good directions, and sure enough I soon had two Black Grouse in the scope. Are kids eyes simply incredible, or is there something else at play here? He was delighted, and this one moment may yet make him a birder. I don't think I have ever seen him so thrilled.



So what else? Well we had fish and chips for dinner, slept in the car in the middle of nowhere, got up at 5am for the RSPB Abernethy Mallard Watch (see what I mean about needing a separate post?), and had a marvellous time. We didn't talk about Lego once, but I did have to try and answer a lot of questions about Jupiter. When he gets to science at school he'll be ace at the nature stuff, but he may have some rather strange ideas about the laws of physics.

So, my poor child is now even more abnormal and geeky than he already was. I wonder how long before he rejects all of this as uncool and detrimental to his social standing? I reckon I've still got a few years left.

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

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

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

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

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

See what I mean?

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

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

So, in summary, as I know you care:

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

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

#286, Pallid Harrier

Well, I have certainly turned over a new leaf since I last posted.....only another 261 miles have been covered. Critically though this takes me over the £1000 mark, another milestone. Today's mission was the Pallid Harrier in Cambridgeshire, my home county.

After dropping Muffin at school and Pie at Nursery, Pudding and I headed up to the fens. Things didn't start well with news on the M11 that the bird had not been since 9am, but I carried on. As Shaun puts it, I have trodden in Rocking-horse shit, and he would like some. Although a novel concept, I did some research on where I was going before I left, and this enabled me to find the site without any problem. Upon arrival, I was greeted by about 10 disconsolate birders. Or maybe twitchers. Dippers. After about an hour, with the sun on my face, and a warm wind blowing, I wasn't minding dipping one bit, it was most pleasant. Pudding was a superstar, and played with her dolly Bella in the car, ran around the car a lot, played under my tripod, and generally was an adorable child. She even got to see one of her old buddies in the form of "Jake", a large bearded birder she had met at the Breydon Water hide during a severe storm whilst dipping PGP. We don't know Jake's last name, but we like him, even though he eventually saw the PGP and we didn't. Anyway, after about 2 hours reading and rereading the Collins entry for Pallid Harrier, the bird duly appeared, like a ghostly shadow, and gave rather good views for about three minutes. Using my unique birding skills, gained from years in the field, I aged it as being very close to an adult, whereas I had been expecting a 2nd year bird. Gratifyingly the great and the good agreed. Smart is an understatement, it shone out against the dull background, and showed incredible agility as it plucked an unfortunate passerine out of the sky. Having just spent some time watching Arctic Skuas harrassing Sandwich Terns off Sheringham (yes, more miles), I'd put this bird in the same league. Unfortunately Pudding didn't see it. Bella had chosen that exact moment to do a poo, and the bird had landed by the time the nappy had been changed. Kids eh?

Luckily I had managed to grab some ultra-high quality images, putting previous raptor photos to shame, so she could relive the magic. And you can too!

What do you mean you can't see it?

Anyone thinking of entering the BBC Wildlife Photographer of the Year 2009 competition should admit defeat now.

Another one snaffled

In my last post I mentioned I was unemployed and that this is good for twitching rare birds, especially megas that are found on weekdays and very sadly only stick around for a few hours. The last part is very true, as proved once again today. The first part however is not true. No, I am not unemployed. That has perjorative connotations, and makes me out to be some kind of wastrel good-for-nothing flip-flop-wearing lay-about. Many parents throughout the land choose to stay at home in flip-flops without an income in order to look after children, and that is what I am doing. I am officially a stay-at-home-except-when-a-rare-bird-turns-up Dad. Nothing wrong with that.

One of these is not a Black-headed Gull

It is said that fortune favours the bold. When the Great Spotted Cuckoo was found in Norfolk yesterday afternoon, I could have gone for it there and then. I would have got it as well, except I would have arrived after my youngest's bedtime and she wouldn't have had any dinner. Model parent that I am, after much consideration this was ruled out as not being fair, and anyway the ratio of time spent driving to time spent birding was highly unfavourable. No, I resisted stealing a march, and decided to go today instead. I hatched a plan with the Monkey whereby I would take a gross risk and drive up early doors on no news, spend my redundancy payout on diesel yet again, and phone him with an pre-pager update as soon as I arrived. So whilst the Monkey slept soundly, no doubt dribbling gently into his pillow and dreaming of the next tick, I stumbled round my house half-asleep at 4.30am, woke up and fed a surprised toddler, made another picnic, packed the car and drove 120 risky miles. It paid off, the bird was still there, and showed superbly - Get in! 7:28am and the JL Bird Alert service swings into action a full 20 minutes before the pagers kick off. Other London birders start finalising plans, and Monkey gets in his car.

Very unfortunately the bird chose to bugger off at about 11am, and was not seen again all day. Monkey arrived at about 11:00:30. Oh dear. This is a genuine "oh dear", not, I assure you, to be read with a smirk unless you are cruel and heartless, which I am not. Seeing a rare bird is a thrilling experience, you want your friends to be able to enjoy them too. Dipping is horrible, really crummy. I dipped a Fan-tailed Warbler last year, which is really really rare, by 30 seconds. I would have preferred to miss it by several hours. But at least Monkey's children got 5 quality hours in the car with Dad and were able to experience birding at its best. I wonder what they talked about on the way home?

This is a Tick-Monkey. Can you imagine what a Dip-Monkey looks like?

Later on in the day I dipped a relatively long-staying American Golden Plover. Whatever. I saw a Great Spotted Cuckoo! This bird also means that I am once again ahead of Bradders again in the year-listing game, although probably not for long as very happily the Cuckoo has been refound again this evening approx 1 mile from where it went missing, so the guys can have another crack at it tomorrow. Let's hope it dies in the night, er I mean stays all night.

By the skin of my teeth

As a number of my mates read this blog, it would be rude not to write about the second mainland twitchable Blue-cheeked Bee-eater since 1950 that I saw yesterday. OMFL, as they say. Anyhow, a pleasant morning was shattered at roughly 10:30 when my pager and phone went beserk simultaeneously. At the time I was in a supermarket carpark, just about to unload the kids. As I have been in charge of the shopping and the shopping list this week, it will come as a surprise that we even made it as far as Wednesday, but we were totally out. I had dry cereal for breakfast - the life of a parent is one long sacrifice. Hawky was one of the first to call: roughly "Go Go GO!!!!!!!!!!!!" Somehow we continued into the supermarket - I had promised the kids little tiny trollies and to abandon this could have been disastrous. The shopping list was transformed into a picnic list, a quick stop off home to put it all together and gather optics, nappy changing equipment, raincoats, beakers, spare clothes, the buggy, soft toys and all the other crap you need in order to survive with children away from home, and we were off.

By this point it was rather disappointingly midday, and I was wondering if I hadn't made a serious mistake in not leaving the children with the Manager of Waitrose in South Woodford. Even more so when the Dartford crossing was all bunged up, and I almost cried when the pager came up with a "flew out to sea" message at about 1pm whilst still half an hour away. But crucially I continued rather than abort, and a quick call to Bradders established that it had come back and was sitting in a bush. I arrived on-site, found a space, and loaded up the buggy, a process which takes five minutes in itself - you can't just commando-roll out of the car with kids. A returning twitcher pointed the way, and off we set as fast as I could push. Halfway down the hill I noticed the guy 20 yards in front of me stop suddenly, and then heard a funny "Prrrrt" call. As one we turned and raised bins, and a funny-looking greeny-blue bird with a long tail projection flew past us and up the hill. Yay! Any further down the hill and we would have missed it. Indeed this is what happened to another twitcher who had arrived on-site at the same time as me, and had been running, and so was below the bird when it flew up. In this instance being burdened with a buggy and children turned out to have been rather fortunate. My views lasted all of about 20 seconds, and were poor against a bright sky, but it was enough. Euphoric, I cursed myself for being so slow to leave. On first news I would have spent an hour looking at it sat up in a Hawthorn, taken a few photos, and have been in a much better position to grip people off, but hey, sometimes you take what you can get, and this is one of those times.

We continued on down to the twitch in the hope it would return to the bush, but no joy. Back at the top of the hill an hour or so later, with my phone in total meltdown from East London-based birders wanting news, stacks of eager twitchers were arriving to find the bird gone. I may have been one of the last people to see it as it didn't get refound all day. So I am officially a jammy git. Three cheers to being unemployed! Here's hoping it flew off to the continent and will never grace these sunny shores again that it gets refound so all my mates can see it too ;-)

My poor children

As a birder, it is important to brainwash your children from an early age, so that they come to understand dashing out of the house with bins and scope in order to see a bird you have seen loads of before, but in a different place, is entirely normal, and not at all the behaviour of a obsessive weirdo-freak.

My kids are aged 5, 3 & 1, and the number of birds they can ID beggars belief. IF they stick at it, they will all be far better birders than me by about aged 8, possibly earlier. Of course the likeliest outcome is that they will all HATE BIRDS FOR EVER, so I should enjoy it while it lasts. Mrs L thinks that at least it is better than TV. We do have a TV, although I can't remember why, as we never watch it. So whilst my eldest does join in all the playground Spiderman (or whoever) games, he doesn't actually know who Spiderman (or whoever) is. But he does know what a Bald Eagle looks like. And a Lammergeier. Most birds of prey actually - he sits in the car reading the Collins on the way to school, and he regularly goes to bed clutching an RSPB Osprey (and cruelly, a cuddly salmon, just in case the Osprey should feel peckish in the night). The middle one, meanwhile, is obsessed by Lapwings, and more recently, Capercaillies. She can nail them on sound instantly, and is eargerly learning others. The youngest, who may yet turn out to be the one who follows in her father's footsteps, can ID Robin and Pigeon, and can say the names of many more. The current stand-out favourite is "Owol". This is not, as many of you will be thinking, Owl, but in fact Golden Oriole. Quality birds in the Lethbridge household. She can't go to bed without Owol now, and we hear lovely flutey calls emanating from upstairs well past 9pm on some evenings.

Does this constitute child abuse?

Hot news from the patch is that I have been sitting in the garden a lot. This has been most fruitful, as a Rook flew over last Sunday, followed by three Linnet on Tuesday. Both were garden ticks, and the Rook was a patch tick. If I were obsessed by listing like some birders, I could tell you that it was the 95th species I have seen in Wanstead, and the 46th for the garden. And that the Linnet, whilst not a patch tick, was a patch year tick, and at #84 is the bird that beats my 2008 total. But I am way cooler than that, so I won't.

A tick and a dip

Latter-day Sisyphus that I am, I was just about to start on a mountain of domestic chores when the Black-winged Pratincole was refound at Grove Ferry. Charlotte was in the car quicker than she could say "Daddy, what about the vacuuming?". Having dipped the bird on Sunday at Reculver, and then having spent several hours at Grove Ferry yesterday in the vain hope that the bird might turn up, this was my third trip in three days. Naturally it was at the furthest point from the carpark, and I had badly misjudged the terrain. Totally unsuitable for a buggy, it contained several obstacles including two gates and a small bridge, so my thanks to the two selfless birders who delayed their fix by helping me lift it over. Eventually got to the hide, which was utterly packed, but a locally-based RSPB Information/Twitching Officer departed leaving a convenient hole, so Charlotte and I got in and got our tick, and she then got a scone as a reward whilst I grilled it and waited for it to show a bit of underwing.

On the way back to the car, disaster as my beloved cap is blown off my head and into a drainage ditch. Hmm, what to do? I know, I'll extend my tripod legs and just hook it out. Errr, it's being blown further away quite quickly, errr, ok better just see how far I can tread out, this bit of greenery looks suitable.....oh shit. Waist deep.

Utterly soaked, but triumphant with cap, I haul myself out. Transfer all critical things out of my trousers, like car keys, and assess the situation. I'm half a mile from the car, I am soaked from the waist down, my shoes have water in, and I have a buggy to push and carry over stuff. Excellent. I come to the rapid conclusion that there is nothing to assess and that I just have to get on with it. About halfway back I meet a sweaty wild-eyed Monkey, so desperate for his tick that he fails to even note that all is not well chez Lethbridge, and just pants for directions. In fact, not one birder I passed on the way back said anything about my state, and neither did anyone in the carpark as I stood in a small puddle and proceeded take my shoes, socks and trousers off. Perhaps this is all just acknowledged as normal behaviour for obsessive birders, and they have all been there at some point? So an unexpected and literal dip, but I decide that it was well worth it, and that in years to come I will be able to regale people with quite how stupid people like me can be in their quest for birds.

Drove back to London in my pants, barefoot.

Hip Hip Hoopoe!

Bit of Sun headline there, sorry. Anyhow, as the children and I were breakfasting this moring, I had a text from Bradders that said "Hoopoe at Landguard now...." I generally have my pager on silent, as it annoys somebody, so I had not seen this message yet. Interesting... could it be done?

Four Lethbridge's were on site by 10am, three of them coerced, and we all had a good look at the bird as it fed on the ground on the shingle. Tick. I am now a member of the BOU 300 Club, hurrah! Brilliant birds Hoopoes, really rather special - you feel privileged to be watching one. I lifted the children up to the scope one by one. Tick tick tick. I must get round to doing the kids' lists one of these days, before I forget what they have seen. In the years to come they will surely thank me.

Oh the quality...

Bird out of the way, I let the brood loose on the sunny beach, and much fun was had with pebbles, sand and lumps of wartime concrete. The mist then came in and it got a bit cold, so we headed for home and played Lego all afternoon - fair is fair.

Twitching with children

Twitching with children is not easy. In fact it is quite hard. It isn't the kids. Some kids would complain, moan, whine, scream and so on. Mine are fine, they love being outdoors, especially the little one. Today they spent 5 hours playing with moss, sticks, pine cones, rabbit droppings, and a worm, and enjoyed every minute of it. It is hard because of the planning (food, water, clean nappies, timing of these things). It can be physically hard, carrying a toddler in a rucksack, or pushing a buggy up hills and over uneven ground. It is hard on the brain, you have to constantly watch out for them - is that a barbed wire fence they are running towards? What about that dog? Is there any water they can fall into? Are they still here or have they been snatched? But the hardest thing of all is trying not to piss other people off. And by that I mean other birders. Lets face it, twitching is not the preserve of men with kids. I am not tarring everyone with the same brush - reactions of course vary. You get smiles, you get encouragement or even praise - one old guy today saw the kids playing on the grass and said it was "wonderful, what a great way to grow up" - but that kind of reaction is relatively unusual. Outright hostility is also unusual, birders are on the whole a nice bunch, but on a twitch it is a little different - they have a purpose, a single-minded purpose. So mostly I get glances, but glances say a thousand words. The glances say "you shouldn't be here". Or at least that is what I interpret them to mean, I could of course be dreaming this all up. I don't think having the kids in tow should prevent me from seeing rare birds, but I am often caught in two minds. On the one hand I don't want the kids to somehow spoil it for people who may have travelled some distance, the most obvious concern being that they scare the bird away by being boisterous or noisy and cause people to dip. On the other hand, I want to see the bird too, and I will overcome all the difficulties that kids present in order to do so, and the grumpy twitchers can all get stuffed. The nice part of me says that this second thought is selfish though. Then the selfish side of me says "what kind of wuss are you?" to the nice part. See what I mean about being in two minds?

The answer as always is the middle road. I deliberately avoided the White-throated Sparrow twitch today as I felt that there was potential for a very large crowd of serious twitchers, and we would have got in the way, plus the bird was elusive. I remember all too clearly the White-crowned Sparrow at Cley - the kids would actually have been in mortal danger in that kind of stampede. Instead I went for a Little Bunting in Sussex that was supposedly showing well, and was near the car-park.
Indeed it wasn't that popular, perhaps twenty people max. The terrain was tough on the buggy, but we made it down there, and I don't think we pissed too many people off, bar one guy, but that was entirely my fault, nothing to do with the kids. Showing well my arse. Spent five hours there with one 10 second view. Unfortunately for this one guy, to whom I unreservedly apologise again, when it did show, I inadvertedly stood in front of the scope he was trying to get up, and he missed the bird perched up. I don't know if he had seen it in flight the previous time it had shown, but he was less than impressed. These things happen I suppose - in fact it happened to me at Cley, I had barely set eyes on the Sparrow when I got unceremoniously bundled to one side and my scope got knocked over - but I still feel bad that he missed a decent view because I got one, there is etiquette after all, or at least there should be. I think I feel like an idiot mainly because if it had happened to me I would be well annoyed, and yet I have gone and done it to someone else. Anyway, guilt-trip over, time to move on. Nice bird, first tick for ages. Would have liked a longer look, but it flew. My brief view suggested small juv-type Reed Bunting, which when I later looked it up in Collins is basically exactly what it is. I did not have time to clearly note any features, nor did I notice a call, although that Bradders bloke who seems to be following me everywhere got some clear "zicks". He arrived about an hour after I did, and actually recognised my car due to how dirty it was. My phone rang: "Are you in Sussex by any chance, I've just seen a really filthy car..."

Placement and timing

After a great day out yesterday, today was a family day with no birding, and we were off to Oxford to see some good friends. So naturally a mega turned up in a different part of the country...

I tried not to panic, but I think it showed. To my credit I didn't try and change our plans, I just wept as we drove round the M25. Clutching the steering wheel, I was also heard to mutter "Come on Farmoor, you gotta deliver", and astonishingly it did! Mrs L couldn't believe it! We were enjoying a restful pint in a country pub, recovering from a traumatic child-shepherding experience in which my eldest, wearing sandles, toppled his bike into a ditch full of nettles, when the pager went off with a Bonaparte's at Farmoor. I leapt up (with permission), and whilst Burgs generously finished my pint, got there within about 15 minutes, and was straight on to an almost fully moulted adult bird. How the finder found it I will never know, as it was with about 10 zillion Black-headed Gulls. I guess you have to go through every single one. Rather him that me I thought, and headed back to the car.

A very patient man looked at a lot of these

Back in Oxford, more trauma. Burger and I have six kids between us, he is my oldest friend. At school, we were probably the two least likely boys in the class to ever procreate, yet somehow we have ended up with six under five, leaving those you might have put money on in the dust. The reduced adult to child ratio due to a convenient Bonaparte's Gull had resulted in my middle one toppling her bike into the same ditch of nettles. Mrs L and Mrs Burger had simultaeneously raced to assist, and whilst they ran ahead, the pushchair Mrs B had been pushing rolled off the path and into...the ditch full of nettles. It's fair to say that the path has an extreme camber. Anyway, youngest Burger toppled into the nettles as well, face first. So a quick trip to the pub has resulted in fifty percent of offspring injured, superb parenting. Everyone was pleased to see me when I got back.

Year-listing and vomit

For some dumb reason I wanted to get to 150 species by the end of January. Given I was on 149, this didn’t present much of a challenge, but nonetheless I planned an entire family day out around a handful of birds to ensure success. Cambridgeshire was the destination, with quite a few good birds in a very small area. Various lurgies reduced it to me and #1 daughter by Saturday morning, but we decided to go anyway, as she wanted to see Lapwings, her fave bird. I put her in the front seat, which affords excellent views, is high up, and as such, anti-vomit. The fens were forecast to be bitingly cold, so I dressed her up in several layers. The outermost layer came off just before Ely, with a minor vomit on the A10. No problem, I am a dab hand at this; a convenient layby, and we were on our way within 10 minutes, minus a pair of dungarees. Slight pong, but we kept the window open, which served two purposes.

First stop Coveney, where a Rough-legged Buzzard has been reported. As usual, find the birders, find the bird. Remarkably, as I pulled up, someone called the bird, and there it was – it flew over our heads in the company of two Common Buzzards – seemed darker underneath, and the white tail band was very distinctive. Stonking views – I have only seen birds on Sheppey before, at a minimum range of about 15 miles, so this was a special treat. It drifted west, hovered a bit, and then disappeared. Seemed an opportune time to move on, given we were all now looking at a field, so we did, but not far.

A small convoy of birders then descended on Pymoor, which is Great White Egret central, and has been for several months. Could this be #150? As usual on a twitch (well, of sorts), a bunch of people were stood around having a bit of a chat. “Nah, it was reported earlier, but we can’t see anything”. Oh? Perhaps that’s because you’re not really looking? Tell you what, I’ll set up my scope and have a look. Oh look, 2 white blobs over there by that bridge. Looks like they might have yellow beaks as well. Oh and look, one has just stood up and it has a very long neck, what could it possibly be? To be fair, they (yep, there were two, astounding) were bloody miles away, but please, make a bit of an effort. The views were dismal, and it was very cold, so I didn’t linger.

WWT Welney had lots of these.

"Oi, you took this shot in Scotland!"

And ridiculous numbers of these.

And also a mixed flock of around a hundred grey geese, which were mostly White-front and Greylag, but also had 7 Tundra Bean Geese and a single Pink-foot. I found finding the Pinky and Beans very difficult when they were all asleep and tucked in, but once they became active it was straightforward. We were here for the regular Pochard feeding, hoping a Whooper might get a look in. Highly recommended for children and adults alike

We spent the rest of the day at Welney, moving between the Observatory, the Café, and the Toilet (generally for non-existent wees). The landscape is incredibly bleak, endless fields separated by drains, and a bone-chilling wind. The feeders had Corn and Reed Bunting, House and Tree Sparrow, and a variety of finches, and the field margins held Pheasant, Stock Dove, Starling and Woodpigeon. In the fields were Lapwings and winter thrushes, and of course Whoopers.

Back to Cambridge after dusk for dinner with my folks, via Pymoor again, where one of the Egrets was quite a lot closer. 100 yards from the Grandparentals, granddaughter was sick again. Hugely sick. This time the jumper and wind-proof trousers went, as did the atlas that was in the footwell. Drew up in a spray of gravel and commando-rolled out of the still-moving car. Thank Christ, Grandma was at the front door and dealt with the sodden child whilst I sorted out the car and threw the atlas away. If I had thought the car smelled after the first dose, well this truly raised the bar. I had basically run out of clothes at this point, so she was dressed in the unusual combination of tights and a Puffer Jacket. This turned out to only be temporary arrangement though, as over dinner she threw up again. A large burp, followed by a fountain. Goodbye tights and Puffer Jacket. Dinner morphed seamlessly into bathtime - don't think anyone was hungry any more anyway - and so the child returned home in a towel....

Its now Sunday evening and I’m sitting on the sofa writing this. Mrs L has just glanced over to see what I am writing, seen the topic, and has unkindly blamed my driving. What rot.

Today was a non-birding day, but I did manage to dip the Waxwings at Lakeside. They have been there a week. Everyone I know has seen them. Except me.

How to dip Waxwings

1) Go to where Waxwings have been reported.
2) Don’t bother looking for Waxwings, instead spend the time photographing birds that are not Waxwings

Like this one:

"Hey look at me, look at me, Waxwings are rubbish!"

Here is the crucial part.

3) Leave before the Waxwings turn up.

Job done.

I finished up the weekend at the Silt Lagoons looking for another year-tick, Short-eared Owl. Quite successfully as it happens.

Shorty at Rainham

Back on the Patch 4th Jan

After a bit of intense year listing in Essex [total as of Jan 3rd = 111], I finally got on the patch properly for the first time on Jan 4th. I'm not counting my annual night-time expedition to annoy Tawny Owls, which this year happened on the 2nd. One duly-annoyed Tawny flew over my head and went off to be somewhere else.Took a small boy for a bike-ride in Bush Wood, and got the expected Stock Doves and a Great Spot. A few other bits and bobs and the list is up to about 8. After five minutes of bike riding, he is bored and wishes to return home. "Not even once round the block?" I plead, "If we go back this early Mummy will just assume my desire to go to Abberton has trounced your cycling ambitions and get all stroppy". I make him promise to say it is his decision and his alone. The mountain of lego probably has something to do with it - his Y-wing is amazing I have to say. Might get an X-wing to go with it for my birthday.

Bush Wood is the southern tip of Epping Forest. Mainly Oak and Hornbeam, understory primarily dense Holly. Criss-crossed by a network of paths - not a big area but has produced 36 species over the couple of years I have been watching it. Used to a go a lot, not so much these days - the Flats has somewhat taken over - more on that later. As well as the Tawny Owls, Sparrowhawk is resident, and Hobby is a summer visitor. Other than that, just the usual array of woodland species with particular emphasis on Blue, Great and Long-tailed tits, and no emphasis whatsover on Treecreeper or Nuthatch, which is a big omission. There is a dried up pond in the middle which used to have a few birds on it, but there has been no appreciable water now for at least 18 months. I once saw a Mallard in an oak tree here.

Anyway, off to Abberton, to disapproving looks, where I get 3 Smew, 4 Red-crested Pochards, a Cattle Egret, a Slav, and about a gazillion ducks. And also a very showy Bittern, which is my 200th species for Essex, and is extremely satisfying, way beyond what seeing a Bittern should do for you. This whole blog is just a cry for help.