I departed Shetland last night rather nervous. Not nervous that the guys I was with would find something good, after all we had been flogging far-flung bushes for six days and found practically nothing, but nervous that a gettable monster bird would appear the day after I had left. A bit like the White's Thrush would have been gettable had I not needed to be down south for my flight. I flew off in the evening, and after a decent sleep in Aberdeen commuted to Glasgow this morning. I had a busy day, and the first time I checked the news properly was a bombshell. Howard, Bradders and Bob had found a Siberian Thrush on Unst. This isn't like finding a Red-flanked Bluetail or a Blyth's Reed Warbler. This is like finding a Dodo.
Jesus. Whilst I am delighted that the team have scored and scored big, I am understandably finding it rather hard that I wasn't there. These things happen of course, and it is only a bird, but to have thrashed around for nearly a week for very little reward and then depart the day before my carload bump into a dream bird is a bitter pill to swallow. I put in all the effort, all the time, gave it as long as I could give it and missed out. You could see it coming obviously, I know I did. But to have it actually happen, well....that's a different thing entirely. Good blogging material mind you.
As well as working on a presentation this morning I also drafted a blog post, before I heard this news. It was about how I was mildly pissed off with seeing fewer birds than I thought I could have seen given both the weather and what there was, how hard graft had not delivered, and so how on the next trip I was simply going to stay down south and twitch everything with rapturous abandon in a steamy tick-fest. Now I don't know what to think. Clearly finding rare birds is possible. I knew that. I still know that. The lads were doing nothing different today then they and I did over the last week. We thrashed plantations, we checked sheltered spots, we peered over fences, we walked down burns, we fell over in iris beds. In doing this non-stop for a week we found nothing noteworthy at all. I flew home, and the next day, without me, they did find something noteworthy. Very noteworthy. Different league noteworthy. I'm not interested in having my name in lights or referenced in a report, that's not my bag at all. I'm just as happy if not happier papping Fulmars, but nonetheless I do feel that I have missed out and that it is all a little unfair.
I'll live of course. Anyone who has been within 100m of a UK Tropicbird and still goes birding is clearly highly resilient, and I am level-headed enough to accept the c'est la vie nature of it all. I can have no complaints really. I had to come off as I had no leave left. And I had no leave left because I had used it all up seeing a procession of amazing birds all over the world. You pays yer money, you makes yer choice, or something along these lines. And that's entirely fair enough, I did make that choice, and I'm still glad I did. I'm gutted to have missed out, but that extra day (or days, watch this space!!) that 'cost' me so to speak, that was not a day that in my view I wasted, and so I do not feel especially sorry for myself.
Blog readers however are invited to feel extremely sorry for me, and to post messages of unadulterated sympathy and support in the comments section. You never know, one day YOU might be in need of karma....
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| The cost |
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| More of the cost |
It has been a funny old weekend. Yesterday I basically spent working, five days simply isn't enough at the moment! A quick look at the Birdguides map had confirmed that the east coast from Aberdeen to the Wash was essentially a monoculture of Yellow-browed Warblers with a dab of Brown Shrike every now and then to spice things up. So I took a quick spin around Wanstead Park just in case one of the aforementioned had deigned to leave the coast and head inland. None of them had. Anyhow, pretty poor really that during a top weekend for rare birds I had strayed no further than about a mile from the house. The alternative would have been to jump in car, where a quick 720 mile round trip would have netted me a bumper two tick day - 12 hours behind the wheel - for Sardinian Warbler and Blyth's Reed Warbler. Could have been immense, but I was a little busy, and in any event that's not the sort of trip you contemplate with a child, especially one as talkative as my son.....
So, today, after a quick breakfast with my folks who had come down to see us before commencing yet another month-long holiday (in case you wondered where I got it from), I decided that some minor twitching was in order. Although the Sardinian remained, I'm not going that far for one of those, so Kent was the destination of choice. Not ten seconds in the car though and a text from Nick and Bob told of a probably Jack Snipe near the Alex. Two minute later and I was watching it bomb across the playing fields into the big ditch. Nice. Always flying away, but behaviourally it was spot on. Noting where it had pitched in, we waited patiently for Dan to arrive as he needed this for the patch. I didn't drive to get him at all. We had stepped of the ditch "bridge" about three metres before the bird got up again, circling around giving great and confirming views before once again plopping down over by the Alex somewhere. Couple of pics here (Nick took them, ahem...) Fortune favours the brave. And those passing in cars.
Flush with success Bob pootled off to read three tons of Sunday newspapers, and we left Dan to see if he could entice the Jack Snipe back into his bag, and Nick and I (and two of my kids) continued with plan A, which was to see the Lesser Yellowlegs at Cliffe. This we failed miserably to do, although I understand the little git reappeared later. Hey ho. Instead we picked more than a few blackberries, raided a few apple trees, and found a crumble nest. This is all true, apart from the last part. So, failure. I mostly fail at Cliffe now I come to think about it, it's a difficult reserve. The Izzy Shrike at the other end was superb a few years ago, but I don't tend to get very far with the waders - a Pec Sand is all I've ever seen there.
Nevermind. Just as we got back to the car, Hawky called up and said it was all kicking off on the Thames - Razorbill past Beckton, and a probable Fulmar lingering on the river. Double Mega! Thoughts of the Spotted Crake at Oare and RB Fly at Reculver were quickly put to one side, and the car pointed back towards London. Figuring Rainham would be the best place from which to watch, we had almost arrived when yet another call from Hawky alerted us to the Fulmar now being definite, and still off Gallion's Reach. A seamless U-turn and we were back on the A13, and sure enough Gary and Paul D were still there scanning the river - what an afternoon they had had! An anxious wait before I picked it up about halfway to Barking, and managed to get the kids to see it as well. I don't rate it's chances unfortunately, it may be on the way to becoming rather moribund. It never managed to fly very far, and the local Gulls, of which there are many, harassed it almost constantly - a far cry from the magnificent spectacle in County Clare a few weeks ago. Dom arrived a bit later and managed to get on it - he needed it for London too which shows quite what an mega bird it is for here. I can't remember ever having had a chance at this species. Would that the Razorbill had flown back out, but from the sound of it from Gary and Paul it was probably in deepest Berkshire by now - really motoring. Still, a high quality London tick from absolutely nowhere, and a great end to an otherwise almost underwhelming weekend, fabulous on the east coast that I couldn't really get to, but rescued by London.
