Shetland 2021 - Day 2

Sunday dawned not quite as miserably as had been predicted, very windy but less wet than expected, and the earlyish news that the Semipalmated Sandpiper was back on Virkie was all we needed to get out of the house. It was horribly windy as the chart above shows, but by hunkering down you could still get good enough scope views of this diminutive American wader, instructively feeding with a Little Stint close by which I confused it with more than once. 

Wheatear Grutness

Shore Lark, Grutness

Wondering if the quarries at Sumburgh might have a little shelter we headed the short distance south. They did not, in fact the first one was so wind-blasted and empty that I did not bother checking the higher one, but on Grutness Pier we lucked out with two Shore Lark that we put up whilst trying to locate a Jack Snipe in a rocky field. Howard was expecting Laplands, Bradders Snow Bunts, or maybe the other way around, but we were all very surprised when on getting our bins up after they had landed they were something completely different. And rather better in a Shetland context as well. A mini-twitch ensued, complete with an enraged local - something about not having permission to be in a rocky field. Not that I was in it when he appeared, I was some way up the road by then and politely bade the man good morning as he strode past me, but I didn't think it worked like that in Scotland. Whilst this wasn't a theme for the week in any way, there is definitely a small cadre of people who simply don't like the autumn descent of birders onto the islands. We heard stories of people complaining to local councillors about birders looking (from the road) at a Barred Warbler in a garden hedge, we ourselves were moaned at once for parking the car 100% reasonably on a public road, and we heard about all sorts of other mostly parking and access-related issues. Given we don't live there and don't have to suffer any of the ongoing consequences, it is of course always best to just retreat and go birding somewhere else if there is even a hint of a problem. This is also the advice of the local birders, who do their best to mediate in charged circumstances - whether you feel aggrieved or self-righteous or whatever, just move on - there are plenty of places to go birding and the tricky residents are in a minority.

It is the majority that define the islands, and that was what we experienced almost all of the time. Someone who lived close by to the Barred Warbler hedge explicitly invited birders into their garden the following day, despite there being no birds of note in it, as they didn't want to be associated with the unfriendly attitude just down the road. And we had loads of nice chats with home-owners, passers-by, shop-keepers, crofters and others. We were once even invited in for coffee by an old duffer on Yell who used to live in Essex!

With the weather deteriorating we went back to our digs in Hoswick for a while to sit it out for a bit and craft a plan for the afternoon. That involved heading up to Wester Quarff where the weather was a bit clearer. There were a couple of Yellow-browed Warblers here and various other bits and pieces, but we hadn't really finished birding it when we got news of a Bonelli's Warbler sp at Easter Quarff, only a mile or so away. Fervently hoping it went "chip" and not "hweef" we were soon on site in what was a pretty big twitch - my first trip to Shetland hadn't been like this at all, but the islands are now incredibly popular, this year even more so given the dearth of foreign birding opportunities.

"No, I am not going to call"

"mmmmmmmmrppph"

The bird steadfastly refused to utter a sound while we were there, although we did hear some encouraging news about it ignoring Western Bonelli's Warbler calls and going bonkers at Eastern calls. Naturally it got nailed as Western the next day.....

Big twitches not being what we were on Shetland for we departed for pastures new. Pastures quieter. Nearby, close enough that we could still see the line of twitchers, we found an Otter, and then resumed birding at Wester Quarff where we found nothing at all. Our luck did however come good a Okraquoy a short time later when Bradders bumped into an Olive-backed Pipit on a stone wall. One of those great moments where the four of us split up to quickly cover some habitat, and then the radio crackles into life that the Birding Gods have delivered a small streaked gift. The rest of us converged on the spot - I had been on the other side of said wall and obscured by a hedge - and got great views of this supposed skulker as it hopped along the stones. With news out another twitch developed, our cue to retreat to Hoswick for a pre-planned Sunday roast. Given the forecast we had assumed we would not be birding at all and so Plan A had been to sit indoors and gorge ourselves. As it was we had had an amazing day - see below for the cumulative list after two days -  but dinner would now be rather late!

Shetland 2021 - Day 1

The crossing was uneventful. Despite the Force 8 winds and the prospect of a lumpy ride, the wind direction was predominantly from the south, and that seems to have little effect on the vessel. The cabins are down a few levels, and the bunks are aligned port to starboard rather than bow to stern - maybe this contributes to an easier crossing. Then again maybe it does not; the people who came over the following night had a horrendous time by the sounds of things.

Anyway, with no sea legs at all we repaired to a nearby Lerwick café for breakfast after first ticking Black Guillemot. The abundance of these (now) silvery stunners is one the most engaging things about Shetland, they're by far the commonest bird on the water - everywhere you look you'll see them bobbing about. Eiders are perhaps more obviously numerous as their flocks can number hundreds of birds, but I reckon that bird for bird there are more Tysties. This blog is all about scientific rigour.

Sated, we did what traditionally all arriving birders on Shetland do. We mopped up all the decent birds on the mainland whilst the going was good - the Sunday forecast looked horrible. A distant King Eider at Girlsta, a Great White Egret at Sand Water, a Red-breasted Flycatcher at Voe, and a Woodchat Shrike at Aith. Three of these were new Shetland birds for me.

Woodchat Shrike, Aith

Hornemann's Arctic Redpoll (putative) - big white bum amongst other things!

Tricky light at the East Burra Red-beaked Shrike

In between we poked around various bits of habitat not seeing a great deal other than Chaffinches, before heading to East Burra for a Red-backed Shrike, our first Yellow-browed Warbler, and a bonus Hornemann's Arctic Redpoll that our photos helped confirm. After that we unloaded our bursting car into the digs, and toddled off for an Eastern Yellow Wagtail at Noss - another new islands tick. All very calm and soothing, albeit a bit processional, but it did mean that our end-of-day list looked like this - pretty darn good for a few hours. 

We finished the day dipping a Semipalmated Sandpiper at Virkie, before getting stuck there by a birder parking his car in a ditch and blocking the narrow road. With dusk approaching and a need to get up to Lerwick to stock up on food for the week, a thought doubtless shared by many there, we got out and used weight of numbers to physically push it out. Lots of people sat in their cars and did jack of course, but there were enough of us to manage. 

And so that was day one. I won't bore you with the shopping bit, but we did very well indeed.

Shetland 2021 - pre-arrival

I prepared for Shetland this year by birding Fife intensively for three days. Not quite the same results, but similar in terms of walking crop margins, peering in ditches, and scanning the sea and all visible water bodies. I didn't turn up anything especially momentous, but I did add quite a few birds to my ever-growing Fife list including a surprise Merlin on the East Lomond, and finally several Raven at Lindores. The weather never quite got going; even the Isle of May was quiet, usually a good indicator of passage. Despite this Fife is rapidly becoming one of my favourite places to go birding, and I have a short roster of really good sites that I am getting to know and enjoy, and dare I say it keep lists for....

Fife Ness at dawn

I crammed in a final visit to Fife Ness on Friday morning for Curlew Sandpiper and a short (and rubbish) sea watch before the Bradders Birding Tours (BBTTM) minibus picked me up and we headed north. The team this year was DB (tour leader and chauffeur), Howard V (chief distant bird and whale spotter) and Pete M (official photographer), and they had already had a good journey up, stopping off at an American Wigeon and the long-staying White-tailed Lapwing on the east coast before an overnight stay near the border and heading for Fife. No such goodies for me, but the presence of both Greater and Lesser Yellowlegs about an hour beyond our final destination of Aberdeen was a lure too great to resist, and I was whisked rapidly northwards so as to be able to fit these in before we set sail.

On arrival there was some confusion about which was which, with only the Lesser on view but several people calling the Greater. Howard immediately smelled a rat, justified when the Greaterlegs magically appeared beside it. An amazing opportunity to be able to see both side by side in this country, later made even better when both Greenshank and Redshank flew in to feed alongside them. Many years ago Hawky and I went on a brilliantly executed twitch for a Greater Yellowshank, followed by many guffaws and chortles from friends and acquaintances, but no such problems this time. A Pectoral Sandpiper completed the western line up but my highlight was probably the Whooper Swans and huge flocks of ducks on Loch of Strathbeg. We also ventured a short way up Rattray Head to view the water from a different angle and had birds flying directly over our heads calling, pretty magical, and such a contrast from down south. Unfortunately my camera was extremely deeply buried in the boot.

Juv Redshank (L) and Greenshank (R). Ahem.

As we pulled into the ferry port at Aberdeen we were given a weather warning for the crossing. Gulp. I am not a great sailor, and whilst this is mainly restricted to small boats and flat-bottomed tubs like the Scillonian III, if a large boat gets the rolls on I am likely to feel it. We had a quick bite to eat in order to line our stomachs, engaged in a bit of birding in Aberdeen harbour as we chugged out, and then went below to our cabin for a very early night.

Goodbye mainland!

Sound recording saves the day

Early one morning about a week or so ago a Plover flew over Alexandra Lake heading east. It did not call, I did not manage to take a photograph, and against the light all I could get was a silhouette. I can only hope it wasn't the Dotterel that appeared later that morning a bit further down the Thames estuary. The balance of probability of course, or Occam's razor as it is otherwise known, is that it was a Golden Plover, even though strange things happen during the autumn. In the event it went down as nothing at all, and it still irritates me even a week later. Any wader here is a rare event, to miss even a Golden Plover is highly annoying.

This morning the same thing nearly happened, except this time we were saved by technology. I had been hanging around at the Vizmig point for nearly two hours and had seen and heard very little. Par for the course. I decided to walk further down the main path to see a Whinchat so that my day list would have at least something half-decent on it. I couldn't find it. Also par for the course. Meandering back up towards where Bob and David were standing, I heard and then saw a distant Plover species flying west over Esso Copse. "Plover!" I shouted, and started running to get a closer view - it was a Golden-sized Plover and that was my first thought, but equally it could have been a Grey Plover and that would be mega around here. The bird continued to fly west, calling all the while, but the less drawn-out calls of these birds can be remarkably similar and I simply don't hear enough of them to instantly and confidently ID them. The guys heard my shout, heard the bird, and started looking upwards, but finding just one bird in large blank sky is not the easiest, and dare I say that Bob and David have more than a few years between them now and that perhaps their best days of visual acuity lie behind them? One day it will happen to me I am sure, and bright young things will do their best to get me onto birds that I simply cannot see.

By now the bird was gone. I tried to get news out in case it could be seen by some of the guys who live just off patch, but to no avail. We turned to discussing what we had just seen/heard. Playing Plover calls was no help at all, in fact it probably hindered our thought process as we found Grey Plover calls that were really quite different from the longer disyllabic Grey Plover calls that you most often hear at the coast. I didn't even have a camera this morning so that wasn't an option. But throughout all this sitting quietly on the top of the VizMig post was Bob's MP3 recorder. Bob's fully-charged, switched-on, free-space-on-the-card and running MP3 recorder! (as if there could be any other type!) And that saved the day, as once he got home it produced this.

I tried valiantly to turn it into a Grey Plover of course, I am getting quite excitable as I near the patch year-list record, but a period of reflection on Xeno-Canto and consulting other people kept me on the straight and narrow. A European Golden Plover - I've circled the calls. In the longer recording you can hear me bellow "Plover!" a couple of time, and Bob, much nearer to the microphone, shout "Yes!". Without Bob's recording I would probably still be trying to string it into something even better. Sorry, I mean I would have regretfully thrown it away like the clear-eyed birder I am, just like I did with the last one. How I wish Bob and his MP3 player had been there ten days ago when a Corn mystery Bunting flew over and called five times.

I am becoming more and more convinced that along with cameras and photographs, MP3 recorders and sound files are an essential part of bird identification. Ironically I have both, yet inexplicably dislike walking about with them, seemingly more so with each passing week. They are generally to found gathering dust near the front door which is very stupid of me. I need to get my act together and start to treat these miraculous items with the same reverence as my binoculars. I did explore wandering around with a microphone running, but a few experimental outings saw me quickly frustrated with the constant sound of my rustling clothing and booming footsteps. But if you're simply standing around sky-watching, putting it on a post is a brilliant idea. As is taking out a camera if you happen to own several.....

Variety

It occurred to me the other day that barring a single two hour visit to Rainham at the very end of August I had not left Wanstead since I arrived back from Scotland a month ago. I have been so fixated on the patch that I have had no desire to go anywhere else. I've also been so exhausted by a succession of tough weeks at work that come Saturday morning the very last thing I want to do is get up early and go anywhere. But the weekend just past I realised I had been seeing the same birds for nearly three weeks and it was time to do something different.

Enter Suffolk. Or rather, I entered Suffolk. I got up at the usual time I would normally wake up to go out on the patch, had a quick check of Alex to confirm that there were no waders present again (which just like every other morning there were not) and then drove to Colchester. There I met Bradders, and ditching one car we joined forces and drove to the coast at Thorpeness. There I saw a Gannet, several in fact, which was very pleasing as per some shoddy records I once kept I have allegedly never seen a Gannet in Suffolk before. A couple of Arctic Skua also flew past, not a bird I see many of at all, and whilst this was not a classic sea-watch it did allow me to eat the largest pain au chocolat I think I have ever seen whilst contemplating the day ahead.

That day mainly involved lots of waders at Hazlewood Marshes, an ideally-timed visit on the rising tide, which also included a flock of 33 Spoonbill and the best views of Osprey I have ever had anywhere other than Florida. The day also involved a fair amount of piddling about in short sleeves at a number of other sites around Snape and Aldeburgh, seeing nothing particularly outlandish but enjoying just being out and about somewhere different. Of note was the complete lack of any other people (other than Bradders but what can you do?) which is generally quite high on my list of wants from a day of birding. 

At some point during the day the ever-present target of 100 species was discussed. We were surprisingly close having not really even thought about it, as always seems to be the case. I think we may have been in the mid-eighties when it first occurred to us, and after that we started looking that little bit more keenly. It then became rather hard work of course, but we persevered and gradually got into the nineties. 

The lure of the what would be my first Lesser Yellowlegs since 2014 took us away from the coast and to a site near Ipswich, and there we also found LRP and a rogue Mandarin Duck. Mid nineties now, but I had the advantage of that early morning visit to the peerless Alexandra Lake on Wanstead Flats, where I'd clocked Pochard, Tufted Duck and of course our long-staying Black-necked Grebe so I think I needed two more at that point. 

Enter Abberton. This has happened before and will no doubt happen again. If I am out that way it is a banker for quite a few species that a visit to the Suffolk coast are harder to procure - Great White Egret most obviously. There were 23 in the roost when I arrived, quite remarkable when you think about it. Better that this though was a Pectoral Sandpiper in Wigborough Bay - a species I have not seen since 2013. My lack of focus on UK twitching, instead concentrating on patch and foreign birding over the last few years, has meant that I've simply not seen 'padders' like this and Lesserlegs for ages and ages. The last species I saw before heading home was Great Crested Grebe, which to be fair I do see a lot of in London, and that took me to 101, which in my book that it is very good day. Better than any absolute number however was the variety. As I mentioned at the top of this post I have seen very little of any habitat apart from Wanstead Flats for days and days, and I needed a change. I needed water, mud, reeds, sand, vistas and sky. I didn't need football pitches, brooms and inconsequential ponds which never have anything on them.

Happily I saw lots of the former and little of the latter, and that was exactly what I wanted. And equally as importantly I didn't miss anything back home on any of those ponds! Can you imagine? The one day that I leave the patch due to apathy and boredom is the day that something great decides to arrive on our three square metres of mud! Thankfully that didn't happen, and the next day I was back on the patch seeing nothing again. But that was yesterday and today was a different story. But that is also a story for a separate post!

Have a good evening!

Effort vs Reward

I am a fair weather birder for the most part. A big soft oh it looks nasty out I'll stay at home birder. Trudging around the patch getting soaked through is generally not for me. But when it rains overnight during one of the prime months of the year even my vigourous dislike of getting wet can get put to one side.

Waders. Oh yes. Surely overnight rain would have downed something lovely on the shore Alexandra Lake. I donned my waterproof jacket, pulled on my wellies and set out just after 6am in a light drizzle. Halfway there Simon messaged to say that Alex was a wader-free zone. Curses! Had I received this news a quarter of an hour previously, perhaps with just one welly on, there was a good chance I would have taken it off again and retreated to the kitchen. However I was now out and perhaps there might be a flyover, a good reason to stick it out. My spirits and sense of expectation were soon buoyed by news of a significant movement of Terns up the Thames. Sandwich Terns were going west (ie towards Wanstead, ish) in flocks of up to 20. Common Terns were in flocks of 100. With visibility poor and more rain on the way I felt that there was at least a possibility that some of these birds could get confused and head overland.

I headed to the well-known vizmig spot to keep watch. I was all alone, the usual joggers and dog-walkers had very sensibly decided to postpone. What wusses. The rain started to fall harder and it became quite difficulty to see anything at all, but on the river the Terns kept coming. Gradually my bins filled up with water. So too did my pockets which I had forgotten to zip up. More Terns came up the river. Meanwhile the number of Terns passing over Wanstead remained steady at precisely zero-per-hour. I later learned that they were all just hanging around a bit further up the Thames and showing no inclination at all to go anywhere or do anything. Quite sensible in the conditions really. 

I gave up after two hours and came home to dry off and get ready for work. I poured out my pockets into two satisfying puddles on the tiled floor, and then hung my jacket up to dry where it created a third and much larger puddle. I was soaked through. Nothing ventured nothing gained I suppose, but I'd be fibbing if I said I wasn't disappointed. A special effort and for diddly squat. However there is one, err, positive to take from the morning that I would like to share with you. A selfie.

This blog and indeed my entire social media presence sees very few selfies. It's not that I have a face for radio per se, it's just that I don't like narcissism or self-aggrandisation and selfies seem mainly to be all about that. Some people seemingly cannot write anything at all without first plastering a photograph of themselves online - the telling of a successful twitch for example starts off not with a picture of the bird but with a picture of the grinning or pouting self. This is not my style, it's as close to a cardinal rule as exists here, and so in over ten years of this blog I would doubt very much if there have even been ten photos of me. I can't be bothered to check, and neither I suspect will anyone else so I reckon I am on safe ground. But today I wanted to show the rest of the local birders how much fun I was having out on Wanstead Flats without them, and thus succumbed to the temptation... 

 

Slogging and flogging

There has been a lot of local birding since I last visited this page with words in mind. This is the time of year when Wanstead Flats is at its best. Numerical rewards have been minimal, with a Marsh Harrier courtesy of Nick the sole addition to my year list. Instead there have been spiritual rewards.

I suppose I have been out every third morning on average. A typical route would be from my house out onto the Flats close towards Esso Copse. From there I would skirt the edge of the enclosure and emerge onto the edge of the largest section of football pitches and make a bee line for Alexandra Lake and the possibility of early morning waders. As I say, the rewards have mostly been spiritual. A sense of ease and familiarity with my surroundings as I walk towards the small sandy rises in the distance, the day breaking to the east accompanied perhaps by the shrill tswee-eep of a Yellow Wagtail passing overhead. Usually I am alone, London has not yet fully awoken. When I reach Alex I head for the south-east corner - this is where all the waders hang out, or would hang out. There is a kind of beach, a fragment of muddy shoreline. Almost every wader I have ever seen here has been along this edge - Dunlin, Wood Sandpiper, Black-tailed Godwit the best of them. This season I've seen just a single Common Sandpiper there, but I am still trying despite the diabolical success rate. It only takes one bird for the enthusiasm to return to stratospheric levels.

I'll usually spend a few minutes scanning the edges - waders can be remarkably small. Recently I've been doing a full circuit of the pond just in case a bird is hiding around the other side. The chance is vanishingly small but it only takes a few minutes, and who knows a rare duck might be around that hidden corner. Back in what we call the pub scrub I'll wander a few paths but at this time of day it is often very quiet here and I don't linger. I want to be back at the VizMig point with its clear and uninterrupted views of the sky, and with the hawthorn pockets and southern edge of Long Wood an easy scan away. Mostly I'm scanning the sky, listening intently for a giveaway call. Last weekend I heard what I very strongly suspect was a Corn Bunting overhead - it called five times as it headed east but remained unseen. I have little experience of the species, but I immediately sought out Buntings to play a few flight calls to myself. Yellowhammer wasn't quite right but Corn Bunting was seemingly perfect. Unfortunately with no recording and no photos I am loathe to do much with it - a rare patch species like this (a tick in fact) requires a higher degree of proof - my peers and I are a pretty unforgiving bunch! A shame to let it go, and there is a persistent and nagging feeling of being convinced I am right. But I'll get over it.

But it is events like this, and the infinitesimally small chance of adding to my local wader tally that keep me coming out, and that tether me to the patch. This weekend I could have driven to East Yorkshire and seen an incredible list of rarities. One of them, Green Warbler, would have been a UK tick and a world lifer. I kind of regret not going - it would now be in the past, the long drive a fading memory, and I could look back at a cracking weekend of twitchery and tons of birds. I would have seen the Albatross again! But I didn't. This wasn't a carbon decision, I just couldn't face it and photos of the twitch on Friday didn't help. Instead a couple of trundles around the patch were sufficient to satisfy my birding desires which when you think about it is good news. And anyway, in a few weeks time I'll be on Shetland, and that is the kind of birding I really enjoy - in a way all the peering at bushes on Wanstead Flats recently has been to whet the appetite for this upcoming trip, to get me in the mood. It's important to be in the right frame of mind for a week of westerlies.....