Out of the dawn

 It's vizmig season, finally. Despite the crazily nice weather, for the birds it is verging on winter. The first reports of large numbers of Thrushes came from further north last week, as well as the first Short-eared Owls coming off the North Sea. Winter. There was a smattering on Sunday which I missed, this morning the taps were properly turned on.

I managed to get out by about 7.15am. Would that I had managed to get my arse in gear a little earlier as from almost my very first pace it was clear that there was a lot of movement. I'd passed 150 Redwing within minutes, and once stationed at the Vizmig Point the counting began in earnest. I won't bore you with a blow by blow account, suffice it to say that the action was more or less non-stop until I left. In fact, even after I left...

I tallied 820 Redwing, 19 Fieldfare, 5 Mistle Thrush, 3 Song Thrush and a Ring Ouzel, almost all west. The largest flock of Redwing was in the mid-eighties, and I hadn't recorded a single Fieldfare until I'd got to over 400 Redwing. I'd seen Ring Ouzel in the spring, but it was still a special moment when it flew past on an off-kilter northerly heading before veering east and disappearing behind the trees of Coronation Copse. Maybe it landed, maybe it didn't. There were also the first decent numbers of Chaffinch and my first Siskin of the autumn.

Further quality came in the shape of a distant Great White Egret flopping slowly east at quite some height. Initially just an Egret, it took a little while to work out that something wasn't right,  piece together what those things were and happy conclude this was the better of the two; Remarkably this is my sixth on the patch, unthinkable only a few years ago. Everyone there was able to just about get on it as well which was rather good, particularly as it was so high; there were no landmarks and directions other than in most general sense were impossible.

I left the patch highly satisfied with my morning's work. Shortly afterwards Simon picked up a Short-eared Owl, a bird that I've been hoping for for a few weeks now. I thought about dashing back to try and get its rear end but I was late as it was, hopefully there will be another - I just looked up my patch records and I've seen 11, so they're not especially rare but neither are they annual. One thing is for certain, I will be back out tomorrow.

In praise of continual sound recording

Regular readers will know that in addition to being a bit of a nocmig convert I have also started to try and record whilst I am out birding. I want to nail that bird that frustratingly calls only once and not again - last week BirdGuides put out an excellent article written by Ed Stubbs discussing exactly this. Most of my attempts to date have been dismal failures - too much noise from me. I have tried having the mp3 player in my chest pocket. Hopeless. In my trouser pocket. Hopeless. Hanging from my belt. Especially hopeless. Then I tried taking my shotgun mic out with me, poking out of a trouser cargo pocket, but in addition to looking very stupid it too simply recorded my footsteps, my legs, the rustle of my clothing, my breathing.... Hopeless.

Separation appears to be the name of the game. I've seen a couple of set-ups that involve a microphone attached to the rear of a backpack at about head level, and whilst I am sure that is probably pretty good I have an active dislike of bags, particularly backpacks. And of looking like Boba Fett whilst out birding. No, not for me. But I did cave in on a small man bag on a recent trip to Norfolk. The bag was slung across my chest and sat on one side of my waist. I simply stuffed the mp3 recorder complete with a "deadcat" muffle thing into a webbed pocket on the outside and hoped for the best. It did pick up tons of surround sound and all the usual noise I create, but it also did the business with a certain popular far eastern vagrant.... No not the Shrike....

Yellow-browed Warbler! Here I was stood around having a bit of a natter, but the recorder does not miss a trick. This bird was later seen, but about an hour earlier I had stopped in my tracks with an exclamatory "oh, was that...?" and of course that was it. However I noted the time and once home listened to the segment in detail. Bingo! A bird that would have been thrown away due to uncertainly is now nestling cosily in my virtual notebook (eBird).

I've circled the relevant part. It is a bit vague as the bird was a little distant, but right in the middle you can see a deep V, like a long hairpin, down then up. Tsoo-ee-weet! Nailed. Now on both recordings I was standing still, and that would seem to be the key. Not constantly chatting would probably also help but on both occasions the birds only called once, and on both occasions the recorder clearly picked them up. I don't know how to operate playback on the mp3 recorder in the field, but I might learn as if it were a properly rare bird I would probably want to listed to it immediately. Anyway, success! Success that unfortunately involves a bag but success nonetheless. It was a small bag though, just large enough to be able to conveniently hold my sandwich and the prerequisite autumn Double Decker in the other mesh pocket, so I may be able to live with it until I come up with something even better. 

Back to that article. In addition to field recording of the sort I've just described it also talks about stationary recording, for example if you were viz-migging. I don't get much opportunity for that, but on days where I can work with the doors and windows open I am now also recording from the balcony, just as I would overnight. There may not be many of these nice warm days left, but this morning I chalked up another little success when some Redpolls (denomination unknown, see here) flew over. I knew that Redpolls were on their way, indeed I'd had a few on the coast on Saturday, but I most enjoy Redpolls in Wanstead. At about 10am this morning, beavering away on some spreadsheet or other, I heard the familiar chipping from outside. In my excitement I ran out to the balcony thus completely obliterating the recording, but a little later once I had calmed down there was a repeat performance and this time I didn't move a muscle!

I give you... Redpoll. Likely the Redpoll Formerly Known as Lesser, C cabaret, but whatever. It is #82 for my lockdown list which I think is pretty good going, and barring Brambling whose tired wheeze I also hope to hear and record a little later this year, completes what I would call the expected birds for my garden (although Redpoll isn't actually annual). Anything else will be a bonus, but with the aid of sound there may yet be a few surprises in store. And I for one remain quite excited by the prospect., 

Mobile sound recording

Have you ever been out birding in the autumn, perhaps in a group, and heard an interesting call? I am sure you have. Let me set the scene.

birdy chatter, chewing of fat, moaning about a lack of birds etc

"Zeep!"

"...and I was like.....Oooh, did you hear that?!"

the chatter stops, silence descends, the call however is not repeated

"Cor, what was that?"
"Sounded a bit like a Finch I thought, quite a distinct cheezp".
"No, maybe a Bunting, more like a zit"?
"I didn't really hear it, what was it like?"
"I dunno, can't quite place it. Could have been a funny Meadow Pipit I suppose?"
"Nah, wrong pitch, wasn't it too high and buzzy?"
"I thought it was lower."
"Well they can make odd sounds sometimes, remember that one last year?"
"What about, err..."
"Hmmmm"

By now all hope of any accurate identification is gone. Bells may ring later, but by then you will not be 100% sure of what it was that you heard. This is a scenario that no doubt plays out up and down the land. If only it had called again, you might have nailed it, but like so many flyovers it called only wance, and you were not listening very carefully. If only you had a recording of it that you could play back....

I remember that some years ago a small device to allow exactly this was marketed called a RemBird. Glossy adverts in birding mags showed a small grey thing fastening underneath the barrels of your bins where it constantly recorded on a short loop. All you had to do upon hearing a mysterious call was to quickly press a button and the last five seconds of recording would be preserved. I have no idea whether RemBird still exists or if it was a short-lived fad, but many modern portable MP3 recorders also have exactly this function and are presumably rather higher quality. And of course many birders, or at least more birders than before, now own such devices. Including me, and also including Gavin H down in Dorset, from whom I have shamelessly copied this idea, or at least knocked up a variant of the same thing. The same recorder that you stick out of your window for nocmig can also come out with you the following morning. You could also just poke it out of a pocket, but without the perfect sized pocket then it might fall out, or alternatively fall in. Far better I would suggest is just dangle it off part of yourself or your bag if you carry one. You just need a few bits and pieces. 

Hunting around my desk I found some of what I needed, and the internet provided the rest at a relatively minimal cost - a lanyard and a 1/4 inch D-ring. Whatever you go for you will also need a windshield, as buckets (of any colour) are simply not practical in the field. 

Here's my new set-up. I am either going to hang it from my belt, or if this swings about too much and just records itself thumping against my leg, from some part of my coat using a carabiner instead. The lanyard is a backup safety mechanism in case the absurdly cheap D-ring falls to pieces - the MP3 player does belong to Mrs L after all...

My/her MP3 recorder, a Zoom H2n, has a number of recording modes, but the one that pre-records only gives you two seconds to capture it. My brain does not send signals that quickly, so I think I am going to have to switch it on when I arrive on the patch and have it constantly record. This requires an element of being alert to when things happen, as as Gavin notes this isn't going to be like nocmig where you have long periods of silence punctuated by the occasional call. It is going to be one long symphony of rustles, whumps and thumps, so I'll need to note what time any interesting sounds occurred to be able to quickly find them once back home. There is another mode that starts recording when a certain input level is reached, but that's really designed for silent environments followed by an orchestra starting to play and I doubt that it will be of any use on Wanstead Flats.

I forsee this being most useful during vizmig sessions this coming autumn. It is possible though that the built-in microphone may not have enough oomph to overcome the birder-generated ground-level noises (that it largely does not have to cope with during nocmig), so it could be that I also need to take out my new shotgun microphone which is far more directional and somehow point it permanently upwards. I already have the skeleton of a plan to allow this, although I will look like a complete berk. Well, more of a berk than I do normally. I will just need to remember to turn it on. 

Vizmigging in the rain

I'm not sure what possessed me this morning but I was up at new 6am and out birding a short while later. I had misread the forecast. What I had thought was a light shower at about 8am was about two and a half hours of cold damp misery we had to make two coffee runs just to stay alive. The collective today was rather reduced on account no doubt of the weather - only Nick, Bob and I were hardy/foolish enough to brave the elements. In truth it was probably not as bad as we thought it was, but the summer of 2018 has turned us all soft.

Our view for much of the morning

I had been enticed out by the promise of migration. Radar images had shown birds pouring across the North Sea at dusk and I wanted some of it. And it did not disappoint, even though I spent most of the morning hiding in a hawthorn. I recorded my highest ever numbers of Fieldfare (776) and Starling (1418) on the patch, with a supporting cast of Redwing (240), Skylark (73) and Lapwing (75). Rather than Whatsapp every single sighting for the benefit of warm, dry and soft fellow patch-workers, I instead thoughtfully recorded everything on my phone, thus:

A decent list, although lacking in that one star bird that would have made the morning, for instance a Woodlark or a Hen Harrier. Nonetheless a worthy outing, and I experienced five hours of quality birding with almost no let-up on passage. 

Looking at the list above you will see a few round numbers. This is because large numbers of birds are difficult to count. Up to about 25 birds I would back myself to get the count approximately correct a large part of the time. Above that and it becomes too difficult, so most birders will do something along the following lines "1, 2, 3-4-5, 6,7-8 [......] 26, 27, oh bugger, call it 40". For the truly big flocks of over 100, I try and count in 10s, trying to size up how much space ten birds take up and then roughly multiplying that to an approximate flock size. I have no idea how accurate or otherwise this may be, especially for distant groups that you get on late. There must be a healthy margin of error though, so some of those Starling counts of 220 etc could be anything from 180 to 300 really. Still, accuracy is irrelevant in many ways, it is all about reveling in mass movement and science can take a hike. There are probably scientific methods of surveying airborne flocks, but if there are I am not interested in them, it would detract from the fun somehow. 

I will be out again tomorrow, that extra hour of light makes all the difference at the moment - last week it was getting silly - only 25 minutes before I had to trot off to the salt mines. Following the clocks going back it is worthwhile again and I can only hope that the birds have read the script.

Between showers

Vizmig season begins

I had a nice little jaunt out to Rainham Marshes on Sunday with one of the kids, picking my fifth London (and third Rainham) Cattle Egret, as well as jamming a Great Skua going up the river and over the tip almost as soon as I arrived, but the real interest at the moment is in the sky. Visible (or in some cases audible) migration is starting. Of all of the things that occur on the patch, the spectacle of visible migration is perhaps the most exciting. Yes we find Redstarts and Ring Ouzels in bushes, but for sheer thrill there is not a lot to top the mass movement of birds overhead. 

It is starting now. I cannot say that either this weekend or this morning counted as a mass movement, but Saturday was notable for the first Redwing and Fieldfare of the autumn. This morning there were even more, I counted around 140 Redwing before I had to go to work, of which 80 were in a single flock headed west. They are amongst the most evocative of the passage birds due to their soft seeep as they pass over. The first few times you hear it after an absence of perhaps six months you can't quite place it - or at least I can't. And then you remember, and the memories come flooding back. And from that point on you're "on it" and every passing bird is noted. There are Finches too, and Buntings - indeed this morning a Yellowhammer went over, first north, and the a few minutes later back south again. This is an annual bird, like Woodlark, but we do not get very many here despite them breeding only a few miles away. That habitat is open fields and hedgerows though, something Wanstead just cannot offer.

I suspect the next few days will mainly be about Thrushes though, perhaps with Fieldfare numbers picking up. My experience in Wanstead this morning mirrored that elsewhere, with Redwings outnumbering their larger cousins by many multiples. The balance will swing at some point I expect - my past records indicate that towards the end of October we can perhaps expect a complete reversal. Fieldfare too make their presence known overhead - a husky chacking. Soon that too will be engrained in my head as I strain to pick up moving birds in the half light of the early morning.

Redwing, Iceland

Fieldfare, Essex

Pushing the VizMig boundaries

Vizmigging is an essential part of watching a local patch. The sky above your patch is always larger than the patch itself, and contains few annoying obstacles for birds to hide in. You get clear uninterrupted lines of sight that stretch for vast distances and can cover a huge area without going anywhere. Nowhere is this truer than in your garden. Were my garden list restricted to birds seen only IN the garden, my house list would be about 20. As it is it is 82, and this is solely as a result of scanning the sky. If you can see or hear a bird from garden, it is as good as in your garden and on the list it goes. Now my garden is quite small, and there are mature trees all around, as well as the pesky houses of neighbours – the lines of sight are much reduced and I am sure that this restricts the numbers of birds that I can hope to get on the house list. Previous shenanigans have included standing on part of a low roof to get a bit of extra height, as well as standing with one foot on the front drive whilst straining with all my sinew to detect the call of a Whitethroat from the patch.

Night falls on the patch, as seen from west wing top turret...

Now however a new window of opportunity has opened. Several in fact. We converted the loft at Chateau L, and my visible sky has increased hugely. I can see for miles! I can see over the houses on the other side of the road. I can see over the houses behind. Looking left or right out of the perfectly-positioned-for-skywatching velux windows I can see all the way over Bush Wood and the edge of the Park, and in the other direction I can see the expanse of Wanstead Flats. The view towards Walthamstow has opened up - a known flyway - and I should also be able to detect birds of prey far further away as the corridor that they previously would have had to travel has widened considerably. In fact there is so much sky that I am not sure where I should look. All good omens for some additions to the garden list, which is possibly my favourite list as it has so many unexpected birds on it and also by virtue of the fact that it is, err, right on my doorstep.

Falsterbo Trip Report - day 4

Day 4
The final day - another lightning trip, I like these. We elected not to go down to Nabben and instead checked out the sheltered side of the Obs compound, which in this instance was the eastern side. As this was with the rising sun, it was warm and pleasant. Note that you are on a fairway at this point, so it is best that if you want to check it out you do so early morning before the golfers turn up. That said, we didn't do this and a hugely polite man walked the length of the fairway to explain to us what to do if we heard "Fore" shouted loudly. Most impressively dealt with, in the UK we would have just been yelled at I expect, such are tolerance levels these days. But I digress, the birds were great. We had previously seen Pied and Spot Fly in here, as well as Redstart and Garden Warbler, but we really wanted Icky. This took a while, but eventually we had blinding views, and whilst searching another dodgy Osprey Buzzard flew over - this is where my photos came from. To be fair, when we got flummoxed and outdone by the first one, I did say it didn't feel like an Osprey, even if it looked like one. I think we saw four in this plumage, so if you think that on some days you can get over 1000 birds, the locals will see perhaps a dozen a day, so it really isn't an uncommon plumage variation. Indeed it's illustrated in the Collins. Including this bird, another 16 flew over, as well as an impressive 240+ Crossbill, typically in groups of 20-30. We actually recorded a much higher count that the chaps at Nabben on this day, mainly because the birds seemed to come across the Golf Course, over the Obs garden, and directly out towards Denmark. Birds this small could easily be missed at the far end.

We then walked north to Flommen to check out the reedbed. This was mainly in a pathetic attempt to get Reed Warbler onto the trip list, and as such was a great success with three birds found in very breezy weather. Little else though. Retrieving the galactic hyper-cruiser Nissan, we drove a short distance up the coast to Lilla Hamars (1 on map below), a small spit of land only a bit north east of the Falsterbo Canal. I have never seen so many Wagtails in my entire life, mainly all in a single field with livestock, it was quite sensational. Many Whinchat here also, quite a few waders, and then on an outlying island, a pair of Sea-eagles terrifying the local Greylag population. 

A spot of forest birding at Yddingesjön proved fairly unproductive, and with the plane looming we went out to Klagshamn (2 on map above), just below the Malmö bridge - another spit of land. This was a bit of dump to look at, but we secured some valuable birds for the list including a couple LBB Gull in the quarry and a Merg in the bay, and then Bearded Tit, Reed Bunting and Water Rail in the small reedbed south of the stables. Here another another bird tower afforded great views back towards Falsterbo, and allowed us to peer into corners of the reeds which would otherwise have been obscured. A few more HBs streamed through, and Bradders strung a Merlin to get us to 134. 135 when you count my Two-barred Crossbills!

Klagshamn. 4 - Quarry, 5 - nice sheltered glades, 6- Reed Bed, 7 - Bird Tower.

Another gnashing of teeth, wailing etc as we crossed back into Denmark. Hard to bear.

Trip List
Mute Swan - huge numbers around the coast between Malmö and Falsterbo
Greylag Goose - ditto, as well as Vombsanger.
Canada Goose
Barnacle Goose - on sheltered side of Varanger pensinsula
Shelduck
Mallard
Gadwall - many in the car...thankfully a proper flock at Krankesjön
Pintail - in the lagoon at Nabben
Shoveler
Wigeon
Teal
Garganey - single birds in two locations
Tufted Duck
Eider - small numbers off Nabben and elsewhere
Common Scoter - off Nabben occasionally
Goldeneye - Nabben
Red-breasted Merganser - Klagshamn
Pheasant - hyper-rare until we found a field of 50....
Little Grebe
Great Crested Grebe
Red-necked Grebe - 2 family groups south of Börringe
Cormorant - gazillions off Nabben
Grey Heron
White Stork - a migrating bird from Nabben, and 8 ringed birds near Vombsjön
White-tailed Eagle - numerous in the interior, a family near Skanorsljung
Osprey - common migrant (!)
Red Kite - numerous at Börringe
Black Kite - 1 Börringe, 1 Skanorsljung
Marsh Harrier
Montagu's Harrier - 1 at Skanorsljung
Pallid Harrier - 1 near Borringe
Common Buzzard - rare
Honey Buzzard - dirt bird, approx 350 seen
Sparrowhawk - constant migrant at Nabben
Goshawk - Börringe
Kestrel
Hobby - 3 near Trelleborg
Merlin (ahem)
Water Rail - said to be numerous in the reeds at Flommen. 2 at Klagshamn
Coot
Crane - 300+ at Vombsanger
Oystercatcher
Avocet
Ringed Plover
Grey Plover
Golden Plover
Lapwing
Knot
Turnstone - rare, only 2 seen
Dunlin
Curlew Sandpiper - always a few present in any Dunlin flock
Broad-billed Sandpiper - east of Skanors revlar
Temminck's Stint - near Börringe
Wood Sandpiper
Green Sandpiper
Common Sandpiper
Redshank
Spotted Redshank
Greenshank
Bar-tailed Godwit
Curlew
Whimbrel
Snipe
Ruff
Arctic Skua - 3 off Nabben
Black-headed Gull
Common Gull
Herring Gull
Great Black-backed Gull
Lesser Black-backed Gull - Klagshamn
Little Tern - Nabben and near harbour
Sandwich Tern - Nabben
Common Tern
Arctic Tern
Caspian Tern - 14 at Krankesjön
Black Tern - Nabben lagoon, and interior lakes
Rock Dove
Stock Dove - rare, be sure to check all those flocks of Woodies carefully!
Wood Pigeon
Collared Dove
Swift - constant passage
Kingfisher - Vombsjön and Krankesjön
Great Spotted Woodpecker - near Börringe
Skylark
Sand Martin
House Martin
Swallow
Meadow Pipit - rare, but some at Lilla Hamars
Tree Pipit
White Wagtail
Yellow Wagtail
Robin - 1 seen in four days!
Redstart
Wheatear
Whinchat
Song Thrush - 1 in Falsterbo Park
Mistle Thrush - 1 at Obs
Blackbird - uncommon
Garden Warbler
Blackcap
Whitethroat
Reed Warbler - Flommen
Icterine Warbler - Obs
Willow Warbler - most common Warbler
Chiffchaff
Goldcrest
Spotted Flycatcher
Pied Flycatcher - fairly common, especially in Falsterbo Park
Great Tit
Coal Tit
Blue Tit
Crested Tit -- woods south of Vombsjön
Marsh Tit
Bearded Tit - reedbed at Klagsham
Wren
Nuthatch
Treecreeper
Red-backed Shrike - Falsterbo Park
Magpie
Nutcracker - 2 at Obs
Jackdaw
Rook
Hooded Crow
Raven - around Börringe
Starling
House Sparrow
Tree Sparrow
Chaffinch
Linnet
Goldfinch
Greenfinch
Crossbill
(Two-barred Crossbill)
Reed Bunting
Yellowhammer

No trip report would be complete......

Hundreds and Thousands

I spent the Bank Holiday weekend at Falsterbo in Sweden. The local birders would have said it was quiet. I say it was epic - quantity, quality, outstanding views. Bradders and I racked up over 130 species in three and half days, and birded the Skane area about as hard as we could. A full and detailed trip will follow when I can find the time to make the effort that a decent document requires, however for now here is a quick run down of some of the more frequently encountered birds.

There were thousands of these. Everywhere, all day long.

There were also thousands of these. I see/hear roughly two or three a year in Wanstead.

There were hundreds of these. Not all showed as well as this, but to have flocks of 20+ was not unusual in the slightest.

I saw more of these in a day than I would normally see in a year.

Easily hundreds of these

The slight downside was that it was very windy throughout my stay, which made hearing migrants difficult, and meant that stuff tended to keep low.

Ageing

I am very very young, especially in birding terms. Most birders are ancient and decrepit, and use their now defunct draw-telescopes as crutches. By contrast I am a ball of energy, dynamic, fun, youthful and.....er, decrepit. Oh dear. Yes dear readers, it is true, I am falling to bits. When I got home from Shetland I discovered a pain in my left side, a kind of dull ache. I assumed irreparable liver damage from the preceding week, and thought nothing of it. Three weeks later - Thursday - I decided it was annoying enough to go and see the doctor at work. I got asked a load of questions, mainly about whether everything 'down there' worked, and was asked to hop onto the examining table. However before I could be prodded and poked, the doctor discovered I wasn't a permanent member of staff and the consultation ended abruptly with something latin and horrible-sounding scribbled down on a piece of paper. I've thrown the bit of paper away, but it ended in 'itis'.

So on Friday I went to see a doctor where I live. We had the same chat as I'd had the previous day, and once again I hopped (in a very sprightly manner becoming of my extreme youthfulness) onto the examining table, whereupon I was prodded mercilessly. Does this hurt? "Aaargh!". How about here? "Ooof!". Here? "Gaaaaaaah!". The nerves in my left side and right side responded equally to forceful poking, with the doctor sensing that the left side was indeed marginally more agonising for me. Then came the truly fun bit. Could I take my pants off and stand up? Why yes, I'd love to. FFS. I'll spare you the grisly detail, and it's not like I was planning on having any more kids anyway, but I'm pleased to say everything in that particular department is just fine. An interesting experience, and one I'm not keen to repeat overly soon, but I suppose I can thank my lucky stars that a prostate examination was deemed unnecessary. This time.

So, with dangly bits confirmed in good order, the diagnosis firmed up a little. It wasn't 'itis' after all, rather it was likely that I had a hernia, but that I was too fat the doctor was too concerned about prodding me too hard to be able to feel it properly, and that the best thing to do would be to have an ultrasound scan of the area, and that if indeed, as seemed likely, a hernia was confirmed, the next step would be to have a friendly chat to a man with a sharp knife. Well whoopee, that is just what I needed. A hernia? I'm 37! My father gets hernias! Pah! What does this mean? That I have to bird the Scillies instead of Shetland from now on?

In other less graphic news, it's been rather a good weekend on Wanstead Flats, with spectacular vis-migging from the watchpoint. Fieldfares, Woodpigeons, and unseasonal Lapwings were the standout birds in terms of quantity, but I also got my very own Brambling and more Linnet than I can ever remember in one day. My hernia, if that is what it is, doesn't yet prevent me carrying a camera, so I can still pap slow-moving and dim-witted birds, like this lovely Fieldfare, one of over 600 that flew over my head in just a few hours this morning. Very few actually landed, but I was able to sneak up on a small party that lingered for a few minutes.

The only other interesting bird-related thing that happened this weekend occured over lunch today. As I sat contemplating a large plate of roast chicken, surrounded by adoring family members concerned for my health, a noticed a large white bird disappearing with big slow flaps over the treeline to my north-west. Ignoring the pain in my side I leapt to my feet, grabbed the nearest pair of bins and scrambled out onto the terrace. Too late! Whatever it was, it was gone and I wasn't going to see it again. It reminded me of a Heron......a large white Heron......I texted the Professor as he was kind of on the flight path, but whatever it was never reached him. However if a Great White Egret (or a Pelican!) is found in the Lea Valley in the next day or two I'm having it!

Viz-migging Season

Regular readers will know how much I dislike twitching. The thought of needing to go for a bird is not one I enjoy, but being completely feeble-willed I continue to put myself through it. In spring and autumn entire weekends can disappear as I hoon it round the country. So it was with no small amount of joy that this Saturday morning, in the height of the "silly season", I realised there was nothing I needed to travel anywhere for, and that I could sit on my ample backside in the garden and stare at the sky. The two current megas, one in Dorset, the other at Rainham, have already been ticked-off my little bird-spotting list; bar trying to get some better photos of the Crake I need not worry about them at all.

Shades on, bins at the ready, I dragged a deckchair into the garden and plopped into it. Wonderful. Viz-migging is difficult to describe, much like seawatching; certainly it does not translate particularly well into razor-sharp prose. How to describe straining to see a Yellow Wagtail that has called four times, at first ahead of you, then behind you, and to snatch the briefest glimpse of the final bouce that takes it over the bordering trees and over the limited horizon? Or the delight I feel as a couple of Meadow Pipits squeak over; always a rare garden bird here. The totals for my 'efforts' are not impressive, and it's possible I may also have fallen asleep a couple of times. In fact I've already mentioned the highlights, the only other birds of note were a single Swallow zipping south, and s handful of stratospherically high House Martins. Admittedly the after-lunch period of a very warm day is not the best time to be viz-migging, but the feeling of knowing you have absolutely nothing to do is one of the best feelings in the world. No to-do list of domestic tasks left by the galivanting Mrs L, no new computers to install, no dishwashers to unstack, no megas to twitch. No cleaning, no filing, no cooking, no shopping. Nothing. My time was my own.

 

As the mornings get darker, my window of opportunity to get out on the patch gets smaller and smaller, and viz-migging in the pre-dawn from the garden with a nice cup of tea is one of the best ways to rack up birds. In the past it has netted me Siskin, Waxwing and Crossbill, each one greeted with whoops of delight. And just like seawatching, you never know what might happen. Although yesterday I had a fairly good idea.....

Finchtastic

I had intended not to blog today, but I have news. I was going to give you all a break, but I cannot help myself. I don't honestly don't believe in daily posting for the sake of it, as I'm sure you all know. Though how would you tell.....

Anyway, I have important news. Happy news. Played for and got news. The best kind of news really. I recently moaned, uncharacteristically, about not being able to get out on the patch for proper birding. This remains true, but I realised that there was an alternative, which was to engage in a spot of viz-migging from the garden. This is where you get up really early, stand getting really cold in the half-light, and neither see nor hear birds. Winner. That said, this is how I got Waxwing on the garden list last year. That was a fluke of course, but my thinking today was that there are a lot of finches about, including Crossbills...

It started slowly, as it always does. My warming mug of tea a distant memory, it took forty-five minutes for the first migrating birds to make it onto the list - some distant and invisible Redpolls. Things picked up at around half seven when I started to get decent numbers of Greenfinch and Chaffinch, as well as a rare Pied Wagtail. But the real played for and got birds appeared just before eight. Eight, possibly nine Crossbills flying north-east. Calling, and calling loudly. OMG.

Now it's all too easy when viz-migging to "hear" a bird you need for your some list or other, and Crossbill is not a bird I hear often. But there was no doubt - I had been listening to Crossbill calls on my phone only half an hour earlier. What surprised me was how loud they were. They probably passed over about six or eight houses down, but the calls positively rang out. The whole experience lasted about fifteen seconds, as the loose flock appeared over the big trees and then disappeared over the houses. Fifteen seconds, but still sensational. What I particularly enjoyed was the planning element. Just the inkling that I could strike lucky, and that tiny tiny thought meant I was there, and ready. I can't wait for tomorrow.

Crossbill is a patch tick, and the best place to get patch ticks from is of course from the garden. On the offchance that anyone is interested in the numbers, I feel it is my solemn duty as a birding dullard to lay them out. Here and now, you cannot escape. It is bird #126 for the patch, bird #76 for the garden, and bird #109 for the patch yearlist, which is of extra significance as my patch record is 108, achieved last year with a Treecreeper. There are still quite a few possibilities as well - Goosander, Goldeneye and Ruddy Duck, or perhaps winter Geese. Or Nuthatch, Brambling, Siberian Rubythroat, Firecrest....

Back to Basics

Well, after all the nonsense on the net about the goings on at American Bittern twitches, and then the expected response to the fabulously even-handed twitching documentary, I think it's high time to get back to basics. And it doesn't get much more basic than me birding in my garden.

The ritual is as follows. Get up, dress, stumble downstairs, make tea, source bins, hit terrace. Once there, I'm in a different place. I can hear the dull rumble of the A12, all those poor sods heading into the City. I can hear the odd clacking of a Central Line tube train going over points. Every now and again I can hear a plane taking off from City Airport. But I can also hear birds, and that's what I'm here for. The bins are in fact largely redundant, it's my ears that are all important.

After the ridiculousness of the weekend, twitching Cornwall (I mean, where will it end? Is nowhere too far?), this was where I wanted to be. One minute I'm seeing the first American Bittern since the early 1990s, the next, my heart's desire is one of our commonest finches. Siskin was the target, a long overdue garden tick. It's good to have a multi-faceted approach to birding. Patch-working exclusively could grind me down. I love it, but I need some variety. So I go off-patch too, be it a day on the coast, or a week on some islands. How else can I gain any familiarity with birds I just won't see in Wanstead? When a Yellow-browed Warbler eventually deigns to grace us with it's presence, I'll recognise it immediately. If I never left Wanstead, I wouldn't have a hope.

The morning was slow to get going. For the first twenty minutes very little happened. Perhaps I was too early? At seven-ish, somebody flicked a switch, and the sky came alive. Birds, heading north-west.

Groups of Fieldfares and Redwings, not earth-shattering numbers, but enough to later be able to say it was a good morning. Bouncing flocks of finches, some resolutely silent, others revealing their identity with chips and chimes. Surely there must be a Siskin about the place somewhere? First bird to get me excited was a Brambling, the wheezy call registering quickly, though just as the other day, I never saw it. A hundred and fifty Starlings went over in one group. No trillers. And then, there it was, that giveaway flutey squeak, and a small fork-tailed bird bombed over, never pausing, but enough to say that my garden, my tiny garden, has had a Siskin in it. Over it. On its list. A common bird, but a most welcome one. Cheered, I continued my vigil. Birding at its best. Basic, but satisfying.

Damp Squib

On Viz-migging

I literally skipped down the stairs this morning. Giddy with excitement I made cup of tea. Coat on, hat on, bins round neck, camera over shoulder. I was ready! The time was 07:32. Let it begin!!

A blank sky.

Not to worry, it will all kick off any minute.

07:53. The first Wren wakes up. In turn, it wakes up a Blue Tit. Hmm, this is not going exactly to plan. 8am comes and goes, and I have seen literally nothing in the sky. Nothing at all. Predictably though I have heard Goldcrest and Green Woodpecker, and seen a Great Spotted Woodpecker and a Jay, all four of which eluded me throughout yesterday and would have beaten the day record. Natch.

08:02. A Chaffinch!!! A single bird, moving from tree to tree in the gardens. Vizzed, but probably not migging. I conclude that something is wrong.

I heard a Redwing a few minutes later, but the sky remained resolutely blank. I glanced down at the enormous dollop of cat-shit on the terrace and realised it probably wasn't going to be my day. Shortly after that the first child appeared, looking hungry, and viz-migging was over.


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I've been saving this one for a rainy day

On Writing

I realised whilst writing this that I composed most of it whilst looking at the sky this morning. Do any other bloggers do this? Whilst I've not written down exactly what I mentally went through outside, it is fairly close, and indeed some sentences are word for word. Is this normal? A sign perhaps that I am taking blogging too seriously?

I actually stand there, typing it in my head during quiet moments, of which a patch worker has many. Ideally there would be some kind of neural link to the PC, and I would return indoors to find it ready to go, but I don't think we're quite there yet. Are you listening Bill? I could use a dictaphone, but it's a bit 1980s, and would be truly a sign of over-exaggeration of blog-importance. I also don't have a dictaphone. This is probably a good thing. A secretary perhaps......a scribe......

Nonetheless, as I stand there constructing paragraphs, I wonder what on earth I am doing. I mean, why bother? Perhaps in need of mental stimulation beyond that offered by loads of washing, pouring cereal, and watching Pixar films?

It's the same with my Birdwatch articles; they're mostly written before I even sit down in front of the computer. Sometimes I'll have noted a few themes down, points I want to make, examples I might forget, but mostly when I actually start typing it just flows out. Unfortunately the same thing happens on BirdForum.....

Waxwing Lyrical about Garden Viz-migging

Well well, only a couple of days ago I was bleating on here about having missed a patch Waxwing due to not actually being on the patch. Again. I surprised myself by being fairly relaxed about it, thinking that there were loads about and no doubt I would get one soon. Well, soon turned out to be very soon. This morning in fact. And best of all? From the garden - get in!

I'd been having a fairly good morning. No ticks, but some quality garden sightings. A juv Mute Swan had gone over (second garden record in six years), as well as two Skylarks, and the sky was filled with Fieldfare and Redwing. Starlings had been much in evidence, and when another small group appeared I didn't really look at them. Until they started trilling, that is. Oh. My. God.

Waxwings!! I could scarcely believe it, but they had trilled hadn't they? I quickly swung the camera up and predictably it hunted for focus. When it eventually snapped in the birds were a little way past, but peering at the screen it was clear I was right. Waxwing on the garden list! And indeed the Wanstead list, superb! Somewhere between six and eight birds - this from counting blurry blobs across several different photographs.


Perhaps not my best photograph ever, but certainly one of the most pleasing, and allowed me to rule out Cedar Waxwing as well. Phew. Shame that they were only a fly-over, but who knows, perhaps there will be more, it seems the invasion has only just started?

Flush with success, I carried on. Heaps of finches, many frustratingly silent. Those that didn't call I attempted to photograph, but looking at these tiny monochrome blobs on my screen I am none the wiser and tomorrow won't bother. Counted over eighty Chaffinches and at least thirty Greenfinches, but it took until about 9:30 before I heard a lone Brambling call. I scanned the sky but couldn't see any birds at all, I guess sometimes you manage to look all around a bird. This was another patch and garden tick. Winter, you can't beat it.

A few more big flocks of Fieldfare went over, peaking at about 65, as well as a lone Mistle Thrush. I've just come back in as the rain has become more persistent, but my mornings work has netted 28 species and two patch ticks. The record, if you have been paying attention, is only 32 species, so I may make another cup of tea and get out there again. Still need Jay, Long-tailed Tit, Dunnock and all the Woodpeckers. But it will mean getting wet, and I am more than satisfied with what I already have, so I doubt I'll bother. But if I do, you'll hear about it here. Lucky, lucky you.