It is not often that one gets to see grown men embarrass themselves. Well, apart from every day in Parliament at the moment. Today however I was able to enjoy this pleasure a little closer to home. The patch had been truly dire - a week of pent up expectation dashed before 8am, and with the coffee and bacon bap already done very little to remain out for. Tony and I wandered around disconsolately, kicking stones, and talking about the likely candidates, knowing how fruitful a similar chat about Garganey had been last weekend. Although it had been a crap morning all it would take was one bird. And so of course about two seconds after we had stopped discussing Mandarin Duck Nick went and found one on Alex. Or rather it found him. He was actually looking the other way when the Mandarin saw him from the other side of the pond and made a beeline for him. I can't remember exactly what he said but it was something like he felt something on on his left side and all of a sudden there it was perched on his left shoulder. Or maybe his right? Regardless, I have never seen Tony move so fast. One minute in deep depression at another unreasonably early start for no reward, the next sprinting to Alex - I could barely keep up! We crested the slope and there it was right in front of us. Tony shed a tear, there is not much that is up there with a patch tick. But wait, why was it swimming directly towards us? A fresh arrival from China would surely be far more wary?
Hunger, pure and simple. It was desperate, fat reserves almost totally depleted from the long flight from the wetlands of Ha Lau Pons, it put fear aside and swam straight to us, but once it realised we had no food it flew off and around the corner. We agreed this has been an incredible experience with a wild bird. We walked around the pond to join Nick and Bob, still shaking with excitement. Had this really just happened? What a way to get to 141!
A sudden revving of engines and the squealing of brakes signalled the arrival of James, also keen not to miss out on this eastern mega, his 130th species for the patch. When he joined us a short while later he also commented on the slavering hunger of this remarkable vagrant. Think how far it has come I exclaimed, gesturing grandly. Just as I did that the bird swam around the corner, and seeing my hand movements swam directly towards me. What happened next was very special. With all of us crouched down on the bank the bird actually got out of the water and stood in the middle of us....
No visit to Bryce Canyon would be complete without a stop-in at near neighbour
Zion National Park. Despite near white-out conditions on the way down, Zion
itself was passable, and so our number one viewpoint of Canyon Overlook was actually attainable. It was surprisingly busy given the weather outside of the park was making access a little tricky, but we got a parking space within a short while
and walked the short distance up the trail – very easy despite the snow and ice,
and took no more than about 20 minutes. What greeted us was immense. We are
fortunate enough that we have also seen Yosemite, and there is a spot there when
arriving from the western entrance where you round a bend in the road and
suddenly the whole of the valley is there in front of you. The overlook view
reminded us of that, and not particularly in miniature either. The view is the
classic tunnel type, with the walls of Zion Canyon rising 2000ft from the valley
floor at the far end, and as with everything in America, is as grandiose as they
come. We gazed out across the valley for a while, willing the clouds to part and
allow at least some sunlight to warm up the ochre cliffs. Are these places in
fact better with wild skies, or is a perfect blue sky the desired state? Maybe
the answer is that to fully appreciate somewhere like this you need to
experience it in all seasons and in all conditions, and the transitions between
them. In that respect tourism can be quite one-dimensional, and the thousands
of selfies and other photos taken daily are wholly unrepresentative of these
places. Nonetheless this blog post demands at least something, so here’s a
flavour of what we got on the day.
To be fair it didn’t start well, but travel is rarely completely straightforward.
I pride myself in being extremely organised. This time I
had booked the rental car for precisely one month ahead of when it was needed.
Great. The local office in Las Vegas could do nothing, and after being
offered a number of extremely unpalatable last minute alternatives I reluctantly
switched on my phone and called the UK travel agent. It was sorted in under five
minutes. Oh and by the way, could I upgrade to a 4x4? Apparently there is a
little bit of snow forecast… Henry is 15 and a nice boy. This was a half term treat,
just the two of us, to the American south-west. With a photography GCSE just
around the corner, what better than the buttes, hoodoos and canyons of Arizona
and Utah, all in vibrant shades of orange. Or how about white? Finally we were on our way. Henry had said nothing
whilst his father tried to unpick what could have been a trip-ending
administrative cock-up, but you could see the relief on his face. He might be a
teenager, but the grunting insouciance has yet to fully take over. We headed north on the I-15 towards Utah – first stop
Bryce Canyon, that incredible bowl of rock formations which are a photographer’s
dream. We had talked on the flight, and indeed for many weeks beforehand, about
the sunrise over Bryce and where we would stand, how we would shoot it. Part of
the plan, now scuppered, had been to visit at sunset to assess the vantage points and
get our timings right, but it was now clear we would not arrive before dark. Not
to worry though, the mental imagery would see us through. The next morning we awoke in the dark and peered out on a white landscape. Huge icicles dangled from the guttering, and the ground glistened. Gathering our gear we set off on the short drive to the canyon. The car temperature sensor reported minus 15 centigrade, what were we doing? I had known it would be cold, but this was unexpected to say the least. At least it wasn't snowing, the views would be magnificent. I had visited once before, over 30 years ago, with my own parents. That had been in August when the canyon was an orange dust bowl. This would at least be different.
All dreams of an amazing sunrise evaporated about two miles out, we were driving into a blizzard. At the first of the viewpoints visibility was about five metres. I switched the heated seat back on and settled in to wait in the dark. We were here now, we might as well see what would develop. Ten minutes before the designated sunrise we went on a short recce to the lip of the canyon. A few hoodoos loomed out of the mist, but photography was a distant dream. It wasn't even possible to get a sense of the scale.
Sunrise came and went with no discernible difference in light levels, but a quick check of the weather radar online predicted a short break in around an hour, so we decided to wait it out. It was cold, but not so bitter that we couldn't remain outdoors, and gradually we began to perceive more and more shapes. One benefit of the weather was that we were more or less alone, and it was a special moment when the snow flurries began to clear and the hints of impending grandeur were fully resolved as the horizon finally revealed itself. Natural beauty comes in many forms, but few landscapes capture the imagination in quite the same way as the sandstones of the American south-west. There might not have been any sun, but really the photographs became secondary to taking these views in.
Compounding the loss of an hour's sleep, I was also rudely awakened this morning by Rob S who had found a male Garganey on Jubilee. This is a properly rare bird round here, my only previous record was in 2009 and most of my fellow patch-workers needed it. In short it would have been poor not to go and share in their warm post-twitch glow. As I live closer than most of them I arrived very quickly, only Marco beat me on his bike, which put me in prime position to witness their final desperate runs to get a clear view. First Nick, then Richard (although compared to the Thrush Nightingale he was practically comatose!), Tim, and finally James, to whom the prize must go for sheer panic and yearning. Luckily the whole team got it with the exception at the time of writing of Tony who we were unable to raise from his slumbers. It was very skittish indeed and I only had a small camera, but what a lovely bird. I went back a little later to have another go with something a bit larger....
On the way to Bryce Canyon from Las Vegas we were on the lookout for anything that might make for a decent photograph with the setting sun as a backdrop. On any photography expedition the first day is always a challenge. You forget important things as you refamiliarise yourself with your gear, but really it is inspiration and artist talent that is normally lacking. We had a few hours to get over that hump and hopefully start our first full day in the right frame of mind. Driving through the semi-desert landscape I began to perceive familiar shapes. Shapes I had never seen but that were burned in my subconscious. Joshua Trees. I am a big fan of spiky plants - cycads, agaves, aloes and yuccas, and the Joshua Tree, named by Mormon settlers, is one of the latter. Yucca brevifolia to be precise. I had never seen one in habitat, indeed never even tried to grow one as I viewed it as pointless - they grow an inch per year in a narrow elevation band where California, Nevada, Utah and Arizona meet, and until they develop a trunk they look like quite a few other yuccas. Many people will have heard of Joshua Tree National Park east of L.A. in California, but actually the denser populations of trees are further north in the Mojave Preserve. I had not been expecting to find trees even further north than this, but here they undeniably were.
We pulled over as soon as a suitable way to get closer to the trees presented itself, and I fulfilled a long-held ambition. To cut to the chase they are extraordinary. The trunks are covered in the old leaf bases, and the green spheres of live growth are completely unyielding with pungent spines. Tree-huggers beware, these are a fabulous example of evolution at work, completely at ease in the landscape, ancient sentinels keeping watch. We stuck around until the sun set behind the clouds, enthralled.
Quick update on the birding front – this Saturday was a very enjoyable time to
be out on Wanstead Flats. Unfortunately I met up with Tony only after he had had
Woodcock, but we then recorded an extremely early House Martin, two Sand
Martins, and last but by no means least a Wheatear. A genuine pleasure as
always, even if it did do a vanishing act immediately. With luck there will be
many more. We then had a mini-raptor fest at Alex - Buzzard, Peregrine,
Sparrowhawk and Red Kite were all seen in a single ten minute period
mid-morning. The first Blackcaps were in song, and I had picked up Chiffchaff in
the week, so my languishing year list now looks a little more respectable. If I
can get up in the mornings and get out there, it could increase by more – but
this means getting up at 5.30am, at least this week until the clocks change. And
per my previous post, I am not sure I can manage that! Coming up, Utah....
In my younger days I could happily stay up until 1am and then bounce out of bed feeling completely normal only a few hours later. Things have changed, and not for the better. I find that I now need at least eight hours a night in order to wake up feeling normal. This has required going to bed at around 10pm. Raging gales aside, this gives me a solid 8-9 hours. The last few weeks have been rather busy, and rather than being all tucked up nice and early I find myself going to bed a little later than I would like. The trouble is that I appear to be pre-programmed to wake up at about 6am no matter what time I actually go to bed, and without that eight hour sleep I am absolutely shattered. I was hoping that I could force myself to cope with less sleep and that after a while I would get used to it. Nope. Saturday night this week was a case in point. I couldn't sleep as I had an annoying cough. Instead I lay in bed watching Marvel's Agent's of Shield - pathetic but addictive american guff. Probably a mistake but there you go. Once I put that down I had a full hour of still not being able to sleep and the last time I looked at the clock it was about 1am. Excellent. At least it was the weekend. I awoke at 6am with five hours under my belt and feeling dreadul, snuck another hour in to see if that helped (not really) and finally dragged myself up and out onto the patch by about 8am thereby missing finding the year's first Wheatear. Sunday night was more or less a repeat, and so I started the week feeling less than tip top by some margin. I am assuming it is an age-related thing. As I approach my 45th year on this planet, am I finally slowing down? Or is this a message to slow down? I mean, it's a bit early isn't it? Imagine when I'm 50. Or 60? Or even older! I'll be sleeping 18 hours a day, at which point, well, what's the point? Anyway, I clearly need to get back to the 10pms, even if this means that I basically get in from work, grab a bite to eat, crack through the to-do list for an hour or so and then retire. There is just so little time, and I really need those extra hours to do all sorts of things that will otherwise not get done. Blogging is one of them - that was traditionally a late evening activity once all the important stuff like watering plants and organising holidays got done. Now that I think about it my increased sleep needs have probably contributed to my dearth of posts. Now if I didn't have to go to work it would be a whole different story, but sadly and in the absence of miracles that appears to be a very long way off!
