Better late than never

Well, at long long last the wait is over. Almost anticlimactic, but today two Northern Wheatears graced our humble patch. The Wheatear anticipation chart, were it to be represented as a graph, would see the excitement curve building from about mid-February, hitting the top of the chart by about the first week in March. It would hover near the top for about ten days, ten days of very early morning starts, and then as the Wheatearless days continue, gradually begin to decline. I have to admit that personally I was well on the downward slope. I've been smashing the Flats almost every day since the 7th of March, and every day I have come home disappointed.

Not so today. I was actually on the way home, about to turn onto the main track through the Skylark area, when I espied some birds in a distant Hawthorn. They looked to be Mipits, but on the point of lowering my bins one made a brief sally, and a pulse-quickening flash of white seared itself on my retina. Could it be? I didn't really believe that it could, my brain has been well and truly Wheatear-addled for some time now, but on getting closer there was no doubt. I phoned Tim, and as I did so a second bird popped up before dropping down again. Two Wheatears! I phoned Nick, on the other side of the Flats, and then went to talk to the two Wheatears in the manner of a worried but cross parent.

"Where have you been? The other birders and I have been worried sick. You were told to be here no later than March 15th, and it's the 30th now. We've been waiting and waiting, not knowing if anything had happened. We tried phoning you but you're not evolutionarily sophisticated enough. Terrible thoughts go through your head, so you know what sunshine? You're grounded 'til further notice!"

The Wheatears took off and promptly disappeared, the equivalent of a truculent teenager barging their way out past you and slamming the front door. Tim then arrived to no Wheatears, but luckily Nick picked them up a few minutes later near West Copse (which had an entirely predictable male Lesser Spotted Woodpecker in it by the way). We made our way over to see Nick pointing at them flying off, but we couldn't see them and half an hour of searching produced nothing more than Meadow Pipits. At least someone else saw them though, as I didn't have my camera - a deliberate (and successful) strategy designed to tease out Wheatears into performing right in front of me.

Nonetheless, after this long wait it would seem churlish not to have a photo of a Wheatear, so here is one from last year. It doesn't really matter. Wheatears, now,  are like, y' know, so last year. Innit.



Back home, writing this, tapping feverishly at the keyboard in the excitement* of being able to share this with you, my phone rang. Oh, had Nick refound the Wheatears?

"Ring Ouzel!!"

"Gah!" I replied, or something equally eloquent, and hurried to put my shoes back on. Apparently I then ran out the door shouting something about Ouzels and no I didn't want a tea. As you probably gathered, I'm back now, and pleased to say that I got it - a typically smart male, and in the exact area that they always get in. Whether or not it is one of the same birds returning to a favoured stop-off location we will never know, though it is tempting to speculate. Though you would not be able to tell, I took my camera this time, so am able to bring you this masterpiece. This is almost an exact replica of a photo from a previous year. Same football pitch, might even be the same bird.

Patch birding - there is nothing more exciting.

 

* you had to be here

A short word on not year-listing

Can I just say that I am amazing. A-ma-zing. The self-control being exercised in the environs of Wanstead is frankly sensational. For the benefit of all you non-believers out there I added up my yearlist yesterday and it's 121, the latest bird being a Blackcap. OK, so the Short-toed Treecreeper was fairly gratuitous, but seriously, 121? That's amazing - amazingly frugal.

By way of comparison, last year, when I wasn't year-listing, #121 was a Lesser Spotted Woodpecker on January 12th. January 12th!!! The year before that, when I was year-listing, #121 was a Snow Bunting. On January 4th!!!!!! January 4th?! I must have been out. of. my. mind. Were I to add this year's list to Bubo, I would barely be in the top 100. That, ladies and gentlemen, is restraint. Supreme restraint.

I'm doing less well on the twitching. I've cracked on almost every bird, though I have only gone grudgingly, and then only well after news has broken and I am assured of relative calm and tranquility. I left the Lesser White-fronted Goose several months, the Slaty-backed Gull and Oriental Turtle Dove several weeks, and the Short-toed Treecreeper several, er, hours. In my defence, it was at least the next day. I admit to feeling pretty smug as I stood in that bloke's kitchen in Chipping Norton looking at the Dove twenty minutes after I arrived, recalling that I declined a lift the day after news broke, and thus avoided standing for seven hours in a queue of seven hundred identically dressed dippers. But the fact remains that I have seen almost every tick going, the exception being far-flung Gyrs, and a Pacific Diver in Cornwall. Not sure what to say, except that they have all been on my terms, a small victory perhaps.

Following the Birdwatch article about relaxed birding, the standard greeting when I bowl up somwhere is "Oh, I thought you weren't twitching anymore?"  I still feel weak, but I never said I wouldn't twitch, I just said I'd be more selective, and that whatever I did had to be enjoyable. Hence no Pacific Diver, which although it would have been a shoe-in, was simply too far away - too much time in the car to see a speck floating off Marazion that might have a chin-strap. The Treecreeper, whilst admittedly dull as ditchwater, only took an hour to get to, showed well enough to actually spot field marks, and then we got to spend some quality time on the beach in the sunshine. Anyway, didn't your parents or teachers at school tell you never to believe anything you read in the press?

Here, have a Lesser Spotted Woodpecker, we've got loads.

Wheatear Angst

Another eight hours on the patch produced no Wheatears. Chiffchaffs are pretty much in, Blackcaps are building, the first dribbles of Sand Martins are passing through, but the one bird that truly heralds the start of spring continues to defy us all. From what I can glean from reading other blogs and chatting to other patch workers, the picture is the same across London and elsewhere. Everything is delayed, nowhere has yet seen a proper arrival. I'm sure it will happen, but I've done more than a few 5am starts of late, and what with the mothing starting in earnest, the candle is being well and truly burnt at both ends. At some point they'll meet, and I'll just vanish or something.





That said, I do love this time of year. The mornings are crisp, the days warming, promise (unfulfilled) hangs heavy in the air. Eyes to the sky, eyes to the ground. Where to look? Today it was all about the sky. It had been a slow morning, with only two Lesser Spotted Woodpeckers, and I was on the point of heading back home when Nick picked up a large raptor coming in from the south. Initially the thought was Buzzard, but once bins were raised it was apparent that Wanstead's second Red Kite in a fortnight was cruising slowly north. I quickly alerted Tim, guiding a spring migrant (as if) walk in the Park. Whilst he sought a vantage point with his group, it veered east over the City of London Cemetery, so another call to advise of the change of course, and he picked it up whilst still on the phone. It ended up flying right over the top of them near the Old Sewage Works, so some lucky punters.



 

Feeding the birds, Wanstead Style. You have no idea how much this annoys me.

 
 
Flushed by this success, we went in search of Wheatears that might have dropped in now that the weather had improved. Nada. A quick stop chez moi for refreshments, and then on to the SSSI with thoughts of Buzzard. Amazingly, within about a quarter of an hour I picked up two thermalling very high, drifting gradually west. I love it when a plan comes together, as someone once said. The big sky day was rounded off perfectly with one of the incredibly irritating model aircraft that buzz like incessant aeriel lawnmowers over the Flats at weekends suddenly losing power and plummeting to the ground near Long Wood. A tragedy.
 

You have no idea how much this pleases me.

Beachwear Illustrated

Another day of glorious sunshine, what better than a trip to the beach with a picnic?  Even with a stiff breeze blowing on the Suffolk coast, it was very pleasant to be outside. We made a sand and pebble castle, ate the picnic, collected some shells, climbed some anti-tank masonry, and generally had a bit of a run around.



Aren't we having a nice time! But wait a minute, what are all those people doing behind you?



Look at them Pudding! They all seem to be wearing muted green and blue clothing. Oh, and that guy is in camo! Have we somehow lucked out on an outdoor fashion parade?



How strange, they all look like they're peering through a fence. I wonder what they're looking at? Shall we go and see?



Look, they've got telescopes and stuff. Oh wait a minute, are these what they call, er, what's the word, oh yes, twitchers? No, no, they can't be, it's just a Treecreeper with a ring on its leg. Wing looks a bit funny, but it's basically a Treecreeper. Oh well, whatever floats your boat I suppose. Come on, let's go!

My birding day

Yesterday, mid-morning, another abortive attempt at Wheatear safely under the belt, I suddenly felt inspired. I would, I told myself, photograph every species I saw on Wanstead Flats and make a collage of them. With renewed enthusiasm I birded around the Flats specifically looking for everything that might be there. Shame I hadn't thought of it earlier, as several species from my morning jaunt did not reoccur, namely Ring-necked Parakeet, Heron, Cormorant, Gadwall and Lesser Redpoll. And when it came to it, I could not get an identifiable photo of a Song Thrush, and the Chaffinches refused to play ball. I did however find a Lesser Spotted Woodpecker, and a Pied Wagtail flew over my head, so all is not lost. Great fun I have to say, and highly recommended if you need something to kick-start you into getting out on the patch. Particularly if you have a camera.

Rules is rules

I issued another dog-walker with an asbo this morning. I've been watching her, or rather her dog, gallop care-free through the Skylark breeding areas for the past few days. She knew this, and would guiltily put her dog on a lead when she saw me looking in their direction. Today I stopped her, asked her if she had seen the signs. She had. But the dog needed its exercise. There are other dogs running in the long grass too. That doesn't make it right, I chided. Honestly, like speaking to a child. She huffed. I persisted. Finally, a reluctant "well I'll try to stay over this side, but it won't be all the time". We'll see. The closest Skylark population to central London, and she'll perhaps try. There are rules you know.


Here is one of them, taken from the whopping great sign in the Park. The disturbance bit is pretty unequivocal, and "effectually restrained from causing annoyance to any person" is presumably ye olde english for don't let your dog bite birders. Good to see that the same problems existed half a century ago.

Whilst byelaw #11 is still as valid now as it ever was, there are some great ones that perhaps need a bit of reworking.

 
#29 is a good one - no shooting galleries or coconut shies, golly gosh how dreadful that would be. What would it be these days I wonder? A man in a tent offering 1p mobile calls to Lebanon? Equally, no person shall hire out any mule or ass. Or goat. OK then, we won't. Lucky that rule is in place, we might otherwise be overrun. Quad-bikes, no problem. You will note also that photographic equipment is also a no no. Oops.

 
It gets better though, much better. In these previously enlightened times, gypsies, hawkers, rogues and vagabonds shall all be removed from the Park. Too right! Beggars, brawlers, gamblers and fortune-tellers are all similarly undesired. Away with ye! And no tramps either, which could be highly problematic for the local birders, and god only knows what might have happened at the Wryneck twitch last year had the Epping Forest constables been present. Several might have been carted off!

 




Superb, no? One can only imagine bucolic scenes of groups of vagabonds sat in the copses betting on dice, gypsy women roaming the broom fields plying for people to cross their palms with silver, rogues cursing at females, and mass brawling. Or you could just wait for the fair to turn up again.

Jokerman dance to the Nightingale tune

Took this tonight, at extreme focal length and on a timer etc. Being techy (as in technologically-minded, dull and boring, as opposed to mildly irritated) for a moment, I used a neat function called Live View, where the mirror assembly flips up and the screen shows the light path. You can zoom in to 10x to aid in manually tweaking the focus, so the screen showed the equivalent of 10,000mm of focal length. At this extreme magnification, the slightest wobble threw it out. More interesting though was that you could see the moon moving, literally tracking across the screen. Or maybe we're moving, not too hot on the whole science thing, but it is amazing nonetheless. The tripod wasn't moving, or at least not independently of Planet Earth anyway, but the Moon was. Maybe. Even more interesting than that, though a hard act to follow, was that every now and again a Passerine could be seen flying across the face of the Moon. If you ever wanted to see nocturnal migration in action, tonight is the night. I had Bluethroat, Red-backed Shrike, Thrush Nightingale, Wheatear (finally), Short-toed Lark......

Bird fly high by the light of the moon