Catchy huh? I've been trying to think of a blog-post title that expresses sufficiently the full-on hectic pace of the extremely varied weekend that I've just had. I probably failed. A decent fall of migrants on the Flats followed by a friend's wedding, a speedy twitch to Norfolk for the Little Bittern, and then a Sabine's Gull in London so tame you would be forgiven for thinking it was someone's pet. The above was the best I could come up with, and conjures up a rather different image.
A paragraph on each then, and more photos than strictly necessary.
Wanstead Flats, Saturday morning.
More migrants than you can shake a stick at. Ten Spotted Flycatchers, three Whinchats, a couple of Tree Pipits, heaps of Blackcaps, Chiffs and Dunnocks, coupled with a decent movement of Swallows and Meadow Pipits made for a pretty exciting morning in the company of Sally, Nick and Tim. Why the Flats should be so attractive to Spotted Flycatchers I have no idea, but these splendid little birds are an annual feature at around this time of year, usually in some numbers. Yesterday there were seven in Long Wood, five together, chasing each other round and calling their heads off. To have this treat year on year is a privilege. A decent supporting cast including yet more Whinchats and the morning sped by. I love living here.
Susannah and Don get married in Eltham, Saturday afternoon.
Hurrah, she finally did it! Weddings are great, even when they coincide with pet Sabine's Gulls on London Reservoirs, and we had a brilliant afternoon in the company of lots of old school friends. Susannah and I lived on the same road in Cambridge for many years, went to the same schools, and had many of the same friends. She's far too organised to let my uselessness overcome keeping in touch, so all these years later Mrs L and I got to go to her wedding (and Don's!) and have a wonderful time. Far too much to drink of course, and some dodgy dancing, but these things are par for the course. Guys, you make a fantastic couple, many congratulations!
Twitchwell RSPB, Norfolk, Sunday morning. Early Sunday morning. Too early...
Despite the certain likelihood of too little sleep and a very large headache, I had made plans to go to Norfolk with Nick C, Stuart F and Bradders. A post-wedding 4:50am start was most definitely one of the hardest things I've done this year, but Buff-breasted Sandpiper, Citrine Wagtail, Cattle Egret and Little Bittern all on the same stretch of coast couldn't be ignored. In the event we only got the latter two, but enjoyed great close views of a juvenile Little Bittern as it clambered about in a reed bed right in front of us. Far too many people, far too much tutting and moaning, but you expect that at Titchwell and it didn't stop us eventually getting the views we wanted. Many Thanks to Big Jake for letting me look through his scope during the panic stages, thus allowing me the luxury of strolling off for a sausage bap. Refuelled and revitalised, I strolled back and got fairly prolonged views as it caught small fish along the margins of the reedbed. Rather pathetically we couldn't think of anything else to do up there, and with virtually no other migrants on the coast, and strong winds preventing us from finding any, it was an easy decision to head home early for browny point recuperation, or in my case, a Sabine's Gull which had done the decent thing by staying overnight.
Bargain of the Century! Deal of the Decade! Call it what you will, but Double-deckers are on sale in Tescos (none in East London though, I bought them all). £1 for a four-pack. For the mathematically challenged that's 25p ($0.40) per bar, approximately a third what petrol stations charge for them. This is incredible, truly mind-blowing. You can now eat three times as many Double-deckers for the same money. Or to put it another way, go birding for three times as many days.
For those that don't know, Double-deckers are a thing of beauty. A layered chocolate bar, rice-krispy style stuff on the bottom, nougat on the top, with the whole thing wrapped up in milk chocolate. Mmmmm mmmmm. 60g and 275 calories of bird-finding goodness. Cadbury's first introduced them in 1976, the year after I was born, perhaps sensing that a new era was dawning. It is basically the only chocolate bar that I have ever eaten - my parents used to buzz them up when I was little and feed them to me with a spoon.
These days, they are strictly seasonal, like vegetables. Cadbury's produce them in late April and May, and then again in September and October, to coincide with migration season. Outside of these times you'll be lucky to find them, particularly inland, though coastal locations may see occasional over-stocking. They are scientifically proven* to sharpen birders' eyesight, and increase the sensitivity of their hearing, as well as allowing them to absorb Duivendijk at a rate of up to three-pages a minute, rather than the standard two pages per month. As you can see, pretty potent.
Every September, in anticipation of the rarity-fest that is to come, I make sure to stock up, so imagine my delight when I found them on special offer. I did not hold back, and now have twelve bars, plus one left over from May - the spring was fairly poor. This will allow me to go birding for three entire weekends plus my Shetland trip. You must only consume one per day, any more and you may start to talk about BBRC rarities in your sleep. When in the course of the day you eat it is of course entirely up to you, though personally I tend to break it out in very promising locations, or perhaps when a rare bird is being skulky and we need to get a move on. This is known as "working the magic", and usually results in the previously elusive bird seeking the highest possible perch and calling its head off a short time after consumption.
So, if you're heading to the coast this autumn, or to some remote archipelago, or perhaps just birding the patch, make you sure have an emergency Double-decker stashed away somewhere - you just never know when you'll need its magic.
* ESSO/BTO study. Kind of.
These were the words spoken to me by my good birding buddy Paul H at about 7:15am this morning, and they were well deserved. Out of context, a little strange, no? Or perhaps not, but in any case, to fully understand why, let me take you back about forty-five minutes to roughly 6:30am.
I had managed to drag myself out of bed before 6am, no mean feat for someone as lazy as I. So at 6:30 I found myself just west of Alexandra Lake, and what with all the gales recently, I was hoping for some Hot Wader Action. These thoughts were instantly scuppered when a jogger appeared from the sand hills, accompanied by a large black dog, that whilst leashed, would still have scared all the Grey-tailed Tattlers and Willets away. I spent some time muttering words beginning with F, and cursing my luck. I mean just how early do I have to get up? Predictably, there were no waders. There may never have been any waders, but that is pure speculation. The jogger in question is not a bad sort as it happens - somewhat bizarrely she follows my Twitter feed where I rant about dogs, is fairly keen on birds herself, and wondered if she had seen me this morning? I confirmed that she had, and we're now having a semi-conversation about the lack of waders in Wanstead. But I digress, at 6:30am I didn't know any of this.
I carried on to the scrub, and a small brown bird zipped from some brambles to a hawthorn. Thinking thoughts of the Gropper that Nick booted out in almost the same place a few days earlier, this got the pulse racing, and it took ten minutes to confirm it as.....a Whitethroat. Piss. 6:45am and it's time to turn for home. Mrs L, bless her cotton socks, needs to go to work to support the family. Yep, even in September and October. As I passed south of Alexandra Lake, I noticed an awful lot of Woodpigeons in the air. Do we really have that many, I thought, or is it Woodpigeon passage already? Then my mind turned to what kind of event may have caused two hundred Woodpigeons to simultaeneously take flight, and I looked at the sky.... Please forgive the large font.
OSPREY!!!!!!!!!
I honestly could not believe my eyes. There must have been some kind of mistake, I could not possibly be looking at an Osprey flapping over my head. This is my dream bird for here, my want of wants (and I want a lot!), and here it was, majestically scaring the crap out of a monumental number of Woodpigeons, and flapping lazily south-east towards the Golden Fleece pub. I rang Nick. He of all people would be out and about. He was, but had only just arrived at the other end of the Flats, and looking east into the rising sun stood little chance. Gutted, so close, and yet so far. As a patch birder, getting a good patch bird is the ultimate reward, but coming a very close second is making sure your fellow patch-workers get to see it too, and in this instance it just didn't happen, and there was nothing either of us could have done.
I've been waiting, hoping, for a patch Osprey for about six years. I look at the sky an awful lot at the right time of year, and have had Ospreys pass both to the east and west of me. Some of my mates have seen several in London, but until today I'd never managed to connect. Ideally I would have seen it from the garden, but hey. Still an awesome event, and I have one of those silly smiles right now. So why am I a bell-end?
You will not believe this. This is fantastic news. Here I am, getting all worked up about going to work and earning a crust, giving up my bum lifestyle, and wearing ties. I had another interview lined-up for tomorrow, but my circumstances have unexpectedly changed, just like that, so I may not go. I just got this email, what luck!
I am Mike Dan, an attorney at law. A deceased client of mine, who shares the same last name as yours, died as the result of a heart-related condition on March 12th 2005.His heart condition was due to the death of all the members of his family in the tsunami disaster on the 26th December 2004 in Sumatra Indonesia.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ 2004_Indian_Ocean_earthquake
I can be reached on ( mike_dan@aol.com ) for more information. My late Client has a deposit of Three Million five Hundred Thousand Dollars (US$3.5 Million Dollars) left behind.
Best regards,
+447511085697
Mike Dan (Esq)
Of all the people that this could happen to, I am up there with the most worthy. Two and half years of domestic slavery, with barely a penny earned that whole time, severly limiting my purchase of L lenses, and now, on the cusp of returning to paid employment, I get this out of the blue. Fan-bloody-tastic! I fully intend to follow it through, what could possibly go wrong? I've heard all about various scams, but they're all Nigerian, and anyway, this guy has the same surname as me!
Whaddaya mean Lethbridge isn't a common name in Sumatra? Anyway, if as many of you as possible could email Mike, or phone him (several times if you like!), to thank him on my behalf, that would be great. Woohoo!
It had been my firm intention to go down to Cornwall this weekend. The forecast looked OK, if not quite what I would have been hoping for. Nonetheless, a chance of a few seabirds, and a supporting cast of Black Kite and a Wryneck or two. Still, it's twelve hours in a car, so a last-minute email to a local contact enquiring as to how the locals viewed the prospects seemed in order. Not good, apparently, no talk of sea-watching whatsoever. Well that settled it, frankly I was looking for excuse not to go.
Saturday was spent wandering round a dead Wanstead, and a dead Rainham with Bradders. Porthgwarra meanwhile saw 2,003 Great Shearwaters go past in the space of five hours. When I tell you that I have seen eight Great Shearwaters ever, you will perhaps understand why morale was quite low in Chateau L last night. I mean, for Christ's Sake! Two thousand Great Shears in a few hours?! That is monumental, the stuff of legend. Deeply pissed off, I went to bed dreaming of seabird passage.
Who knew that today would bring a mega? Certainly not me. After consuming most of a bottle of wine last night, I was somehow unable to get up this morning and smash the patch. By about 10am I had managed to get dressed, and after two cups of tea was feeling sufficiently perky to venture outside. Only as far as the garden you understand, so no great feat, but I had to sit in a chair immediately.
I've said before that the best type of ticks, bar none, are garden ticks. Some people call them house ticks, it's all the same thing. Either the bird has to be within my* property boundaries, or I do - the bird can be outside those boundaries provided I am within them. One foot on my front drive was all that was required for a garden Whitethroat earlier this year, as I am sure I blathered on about.
Anyway, back to this morning. There I was supping tea in the sunshine (going back to work is going to be really tough) when a small bird flitted across a gap two gardens to my right. The next moment it was in next door's garden. Facing away from me I wondered whether it was some kind of Chat, and then it turned, flicked up into a conifer, and revealed itself to be a glorious Spotted Flycatcher. The first in over six years, and possibly the last for another six years. Happily my camera was at hand to record the moment, and two of the kids saw it too (the third declared no interest).
I am sitting in front of the computer listing to Bob Harris Country, one of the greatest shows on earth. TMS and A Prairie Home Companion possibly rank above it, but tonight is a live gig from Eric Clapton, and there is no cricket on. It rocks. I am nearly a bottle of white burgundy to the good, and life is sweet, though it has been a rocky ride. Earlier on this evening I survived filleting a Hake, but I am not ruling out future nightmares. Imagine if they were bigger...
I am debating what to do this weekend. Irene (as in the hurricane) is not proving as potent as previously forecast, nonetheless the weather coming from across the Atlantic is vaguely promising. This very weekend two years ago saw me cash in on a Fea's Petrel, and I would dearly love to repeat the experience. Funny how two and half minutes can justify twelve hours in a car, but such is seawatching. I am addicted, I need my fix. Shame Cornwall is so far away.
Heading in completely the opposite direction, I have decided, after all, to go to Shetland. It was just so good last year. I've left it so late that flights now cost in the region of ten million pounds, so I'm getting a cheapo flight to Aberdeen, followed by a fourteen hour ferry crossing to Lerwick. Many people suggest that this is by far the most spiritual way to arrive in Shetland, and who knows, they may be right, especially when I score an Albatross from the deck roughly two hours in. Now that the ticket is actually booked, I have embarked upon a frenzy of thinking about packing. Mainly this involves wondering about different optical combinations. I am taking only hand luggage, daft as this may sound. Mainly this is because I am an inveterate cheapskate, and forking out twenty quid to Stelios (or his successor) for a poorly paid Albanian immigrant to throw my suitcase into the hold of the plane insults me, but also because I have the best part of a day in Aberdeen before the ferry sails, and I want to go birding without a suitcase. So the choice I have to make basically boils down to clothes or my camera.
I think the camera is going to win. Blog readers will benefit is what I am telling myself. I might whiff a bit up north, but I'll have some tasty bird photos to post. At the moment the thinking is a large lens, my icepick/monopod, a pile of memory cards, and a Tshirt. Anything else I need?
