Shear Magic

Forgive the Sun headline, but I am still in shock. At home being VERY domestic, my phone rang - it was Paul W, rapidly becoming a top wind-up merchant. "Manx Shearwater at Rainham" Eh? The last time he rang it was with news of a White-tailed Plover. I didn't believe him then, and despite a mega-coincidence of one then turning up, I struggled to believe him today.

But yet again he wasn't winding me up, it was true! Puffin(us) Hell! In my desperation to get to 200, frankly you could tell me anything and I'd probably believe it eventually. I'm not sure which I drove faster to, the Plover, or today's Manx. It doesn't really matter, both were highly naughty. Allegedly.

On the old Sea-wall a small huddle of people were stood. Andy T, the finder, who had happened to glance at the river at a very opportune moment, got his scope lined up, my head slotted into position, and there it was, having a rather nasty time of it on the river. If you are a small sea-bird, a bay next to a rubbish tip with a large assortment of loafing larids is a very bad place to be. I genuinely feared for its life for about twenty minutes, before the gulls gave up and let it drift down the river. A Rainham, London and Essex tick, and a pretty astonishing one at that. I willed it to fly away! Er, I mean, I willed it to stick around - and not get eaten.

I thought it would be a 'tick and run' bird, but it was still there three hours after turning up. Shearing up the river, then drifting back down, and no doubt causing some nervousness amongst employed London Listers. Sunset is at 7:15pm, in case anyone is wondering.

Doh, Doh, and Doh

We all go through patches that are far from purple. I don't yet know if this is one, but it is definitely building....

Doh #1
Text from Kev at 06:40 saying something like "Did any of you see the Raven over Rainham just now?" Bugger.

Doh #2
Awake after getting Kev's text, and getting dressed, a phone call from Nick regarding a SEO flushed from long grass on the Flats. I legged it out of the house, but it had departed north. Doh. I have no-one to blame but myself, I should have been out there. Trouble is, with the mornings getting darker and Mrs "security-conscious" L still leaving for work at the same time, the time available for birding in the morning is becoming so short as to be unworthwhile. Why wake up at the crack of dawn for 20 minutes of birding? Well, how about for a Short-eared Owl on the patch? Quite.

Doh #3
I missed an Osprey by five minutes at Amwell yesterday. Surely lightning won't strike twice I thought, and went to Rainham instead. Yup.......

Wheatears are much nicer than Ravens, Short-eared Owls and Ospreys

Security Issues

A frustrating day today attempting to get Wryneck (gah!) and Osprey onto my London year-list. Neither happened, but I did miss an Osprey by five minutes at Amwell. Many thanks to my faithful chauffeurs Paul and Dom (drive faster next time, please), but clearly I used up all my luck yesterday and it was not to be. Birding can be like that sometimes, I've had days today before, and no doubt I'll have them again. If everything was there, waiting for you, it wouldn't be fun, right?

The notable incidents today had to do with security rather than birds. Dom had kindly dropped me off at a tube station in London after our abortive Osprey-watch, and I had managed to make it as far as Whipp's Cross Hospital. Whilst waiting for Mrs L and the kids to [lovingly] pick me up, I noticed a Magpie perching up quite nicely. I had the camera, and being at a loose end, got it out and started my approach. I had got half way when security appeared. Did I have permission to use a camera in the hospital? Well no, I didn't, but seeing as I was photographing a Magpie, I saw no need. But the buildings were in the background! I acknowledged the undeniable truth of this statement, and started taking photographs.

Bricks

I was asked to stop, which I didn't. Honestly. Instead I asked Security whether they had anything better to do as I was taking photographs of a bird, not of patients, not of doctors, not of anything remotely sensitive. A phone conversation with a supervisor then ensued, which was a welcome relief and allowed me to correct for the +1 2/3 exposure compensation I had unwittingly dialled in from a Hobby in the sky at Amwell. I continued snapping, and then Mrs L arrived, wondering why there were men in day-glo jackets converging on me. Why do security people always take things far too seriously? Why can't they concentrate on actual security issues rather than trivia? Frankly I'll take photographs of birds wherever I damn well please, including in NHS hosital grounds that my taxes [used to] pay for. I got in the car, and we went home, where I discovered that perhaps security people had a use after all.

Keys in hand, I approached our front door to find it wide open. Eh? I walked in, expecting burglars stuffing lenses in their pockets. Nothing. Camera bag on the sofa where I had left it, TV still in place. What the...?

"Mrs L?", I enquired, "did you perhaps just walk out of the door, get into the car, and drive to Whipp's Cross?"

"Errr..." came the admission of guilt from Mrs L.

Unbelievable. So dear readers, if any of you fancy a new camera, some bird guides, or a multitude of un-opened cleaning supplies, just come round and help yourselves. My door is always open..... However you will need to get round the Whipp's Cross security personnel, who, on the basis that they perform no useful function at Whipp's, are now patrolling outside my house instead so that Mrs L need not be distracted with the complications of keys and shutting doors.

More Ticks, More Miles

Despite having just written a column for Birdwatch magazine about how much I loathe twitching, I've just come back from a day spent largely in the car. Horrible, I hated every minute of it (I have to say that else people might think I'm a hypocrite, which obviously I'm not, no, no)

First target was a Wilson's Phalarope at Grove Ferry in Kent, a place I have twitched birded extensively before. It took ages, but I eventually got some fairly prolonged flight views which were adequate for ID purposes, but left me wanting more. Frustratingly it never landed where we could see it, well, not until after we had left, so I may return if it stays into next week. I'll see how much enthusiasm I can drum up by Monday.

Next stop Gosport in Hampshire, for the first Isabelline Shrike that I can remember in my short yet glorious twitching career. A mere two and a half hours later, Stuart (another local birder - one day I must do a post about the people that feature on here) and I arrived at the site and made our way to the small but growing crowd. Typically the bird had disappeared from view, but we soon had very good views of it feeding in a Hawthorn. I love Shrikes, have I mentioned that before? As the crowd jostled to get into the one position where you could see through a hole in the Hawthorn to see the bird in its entirety, the local youth turned up, for the bird was basically in the middle of a housing estate. Uncharacteristically, they started making fun of us. This made a middle-aged woman next to me very cross. "What a bunch of idiots", she said. I felt moved to point out that from a certain point of view, a lot of people dressed in green madly running around with telescopes were perhaps the ones that looked like a bunch of idiots. This made her even crosser, but it did at least shut her up, which was great as personally I prefer a bit of mild chanting to disapproving huffing and tutting.

I failed to get any decent pictures of either bird today, but I did manage one of the Gosport youf element which clearly demonstrates that they were not a bunch of idiots, as 'outraged of wherever' had claimed, but instead highly cultured young men with a considerable degree of finesse.

JL Taxis

Two down, one to go. Pie (that's the middle one) started school this week. When I say 'started', she has been to the school, but the first week is a somewhat lame succession of late starts and early finishes. No sooner have I got home then it is time to jump in the car and go and get her again. So far this week I have been to the school eleven times, which will rise to 14 tomorrow. The only reason it isn't going to be 15 is that Mrs L did the school run on Tuesday.

Needless to say, the short window between delivery and pick-up has not afforded me any significant birding opportunities. There was a north London Wryneck earlier in the week that would have been gettable, but the finder declined to tell people where it was, so many thanks for that. Not that I'd have twitched it, obviously, as I simply don't twitch Wrynecks. Ever.

Despite the inevitable slant towards all matters domestic, for loads of washing, and bouts of dusting and vacuuming lend themselves well to short gaps between taxi trips, it has been a very enjoyable week. Topping the happiness charts by a clear margin this week has been the sheer exuberance of Pie, my big school girl. She has been waiting for this moment for months. Perhaps even an entire year. She's finally there (albeit for five minutes a day) and she is on cloud nine. You can see her blossoming daily, she is dressed in her school uniform and ready to go before I'm even up.

Next week we start properly, and I get to take and deliver children at the same time. What with Pudding in nursery for two days a week, by my calculation that's, errr, two days a week without children. The possibilities are frankly endless. For instance, I could go birding. Now there's a thought. And it's autumn, very dangerous. Back in the spring, I successfully twitched the Lesser Kestrel on the Suffolk coast. This is about the limit, distance wise, and builds in no time for traffic issues, nor any time for actually looking for the bird. It's basically got to be there as I arrive, sitting up in a bush cooperatively and showing salient features, and then I have to leave again.

But what it does mean is that a day spent bashing Wanstead Flats is eminently do-able. Ditto Rainham, and most places in Essex and London are in range with some time for actual birding.

Can't wait.

40 Dunlin, 2 Knot - Rainham

Rainham #146

I am bearing down relentlessly on 150. You can only ever bear down relentlessly, there is no other suitable adverb. I am bearing down, quickly, on..... tirelessly on..... see? Anyway, a morning of no childcare, and once again I was at Rainham for dawn. Expecting about a gazillion waders on the low tide after the heavy rain overnight, there were none. Zero. Consternation set in. Then six Ringed Plovers arrived from the other side, followed by about thirty Dunlin. OK, getting there. The Pec Sand should be arriving just about now then? A Common Sand arrived. And an Oystercatcher. And that was it.

Along the sea-wall, looking for Wrynecks that weren't there, I pondered what had gone wrong. with my awesome plan to mop up migrants after the storm. I had another quick look at the river. Two Black Terns were feeding in Aveley Bay. Fine, very nice, but I wanted something else. The Black Terns disappeared and were replaced by nothing.

The Woodland was alive with small birds. Blackcaps, Whitethroats, Lesser Whitethoats, and finally, after months of looking, a Garden Warbler, my 146th species on the reserve this year. I was very pleased about this, far more pleased than a Garden Warbler should make a person, but I couldn't help feeling that Barred Warblers, Icterine Warblers and Common Rosefinches were all notable by their absence.

The country is carpeted with scarce passage migrants. In the north-east, you can't move without treading on an Icterine Warbler. Ringers trap Barred Warblers whilst they're still unfurling their nets, and Spurn has a Wryneck on every other post. Cornwall has flocks of Ortolan Buntings, and as of this morning, Devon now has a self-sustaining colony of Glossy Ibis. Rainham has a Garden Warbler.

Still, Rainham has not done at all badly this year, with over 190 species, and I'm sure that eventually we'll get a trickle from the large recent arrival. I recorded sixty-six species this morning, and for all the lack of scarce stuff, it was a glorious morning in which to practice identifying birds on my own private stretch of the Thames, for I was utterly alone. I think I forgot to mention it in the last post, but there is only one way to get better at birding, and that's to be out there giving it a try. Get to know the common birds and (if they're there...big IF.....) the uncommon ones should hopefully stand out.

Chestnut-sided Blackberry-eating Warbler

Am I getting better?

So, to the key question. The goal that actually matters, employment issues aside. Am I getting better? Well, this can either be judged by an increasing number of successes, or by a decreasing number of dismal failures.

The failures are funnier, so let's start with them. On Porthgwarra recently, I spotted an auk flying by. It was pretty distant, as everything is, and squinting down my eyepiece, I called it a Guillemot. It didn't look totally black and white, I thought. Brett Richards had a quick look through his bins, or he may not even have been using them, and pointed out that it was a Razorbill. Not five minutes later, another auk came past, also spotted by yours truly. I felt it looked basically the same as the last one, so called it a Razorbill.

It was a Guillemot.

Based on this one incident alone, I am if anything getting worse. But sea-watching is hardly a fair test. I go sea-watching for perhaps three days a year, things are miles away, and I just don't see enough of them on a regular basis to make informed judgements. So what about normal birding? Have I made any monumental foul-ups recently of the Kingfisher/Robin variety? By the way, Curlew/Whimbrel doesn't count....

My friends and associates will perhaps be queuing up to provide examples, but I can't actually think of any off the top of my head. In the context of local patch birding, where you get most stuff on call, I'm doing OK. I had a slight Wood Warbler/Chaffinch issue in the spring, but made the correct call after persevering. I have not excitedly called out all the local birders to view a Common Sandpiper when in fact it was a funny Starling or anything, and so remain in relatively good standing.

But what about becoming sharper? Well, on my own I'm brilliant. Amazing. Good, ev-en. I am my harshest critic....With other birders - and generally I go birding with people with years of experience - I'm always the last to hear something, always last to pick up on something. I suppose this is to be expected, but it can be a bit annoying. They're just quicker. Better. I could, I suppose, find some beginner birders to go out with, and then I'd look really good, but what's the point in that? Happily, I have almost no birding ego to lug around. I'd far rather go out with people who know what they're talking about, and learn from them. If I lag constantly, so be it. One day I'm going to surprise them all.

By getting something right before they do!

Could you get this right?