Nul points

I am officially informed that my Brownie Point total for today is zero. Why? Because I missed seeing the kids play cricket as I was stuck in a traffic jam going to the dump. Natch. So after all that effort, I have netted a big fat zero. Sky-watching also netted me a big fat zero, but I cannot say that I have had a bad day, as for most of it I have been sat in warm sunshine consuming wine in shirt sleeves. This is all I really require to be happy. 

The light was lovely this morning

Earning Brownie Points

Ah BPs, that essential commodity for the married birder. So hard to gain, incredibly easy to burn, and often particularly short-lived, disappearing before your very eyes seemingly without having been spent. Winter is usually the best earning period, and it's important to build up a decent stock before the onset of Spring. There is no fixed exchange rate. For instance useful tasks performed just after a very hectic birding period often earn nothing at first, so deep in the red are you, and only after a while does the counter start ticking. It may initially advance quite rapidly, even perhaps going into the black, as even the slightest of efforts is frankly amazing after such a long period of shame. But conversely, just as you think you can do no wrong and might be gaining a really solid platform, so the rate of accumulation drops, and you have to do ever more to stay level. In other words it's a mystery only understood by one significant person. The woman in your life. Now of course many birders don't have this problem, or not any more at any rate, and so the need to earn BPs is either non-existent, or but a distant hazy memory. How I envy them.

BPs in Chateau L, whilst not at an all time low, are not currently well positioned for migration at all. The end of last year was one hectic twitch after another, with five new (and distant) birds in four weeks. I've since been to Morocco twice, spent a weekend birding followed by a week working in Scotland, and also been to County Durham, Glamorgan, Gloucestershire, and twice to Kent. When not travelling the length and breadth of the land, I've been working all hours, and thus my contributions to daily life within le manoir have been somewhat minimal. So today, bar a short outing to the patch, I very sensibly stayed at home and did nice things with the family like playing scrabble and sky-watching (Peregrine and Buzzard - kerching!). Tomorrow my plans are exactly the same (though they hope to include Red Kite) and thus I hope that the BP counter may advance slightly. I might go to the dump, which is an easy run. Mind you I have a quick trip to Cyprus coming up that will undoubtedly burn any I get from this weekend and a few more besides. Perhaps I need to pack Mrs L off to Belgium quickly?

Frankly I had hoped that by this stage in the year I would be in better shape, but it has been rather busy. I am not complaining though, with four ticks in eight days during February, and the exciting periods of the year yet to come, I don't really care how many BPs it has cost! Not only that though, but this included yet another two-tick day with the Duck and the Gull. Every time I have one I say I'll probably never have one again but they seem to keep on coming. I have not done any real research into list progression, but it doesn't seem to be slowing down quite as I thought it might. The chances of ever having a positive BP balance ever again are therefore looking remote.

World Book Day

I have not mentioned them a great deal of late, but I do still have a family! Yesterday was World Book Day, and it's a pretty big deal at school, teachers dressed up too, with a competition and prizes, and generally just a lot of fun. When I say competition, what of course I mean is intense competition between the mums as to which of them can make the best costume. Mrs L has therefore been slaving away for what feels like months, and my place at the dining table has been taken up by a sewing machine since about January. The results are below, with Toad of Toad Hall, Emerald Star, and Hermione Granger all kitted out and ready to go. To cut a long story short, we didn't win (Booooo!), but at least we didn't take the cop-out route taken by many parents and send our children as Ariel from the Little Mermaid or Storm Troopers, of which there were legion, ha ha.

I really enjoy taking photos of the kids, and whereas usually they view it as chore, yesterday they were more than happy to pose. In the keeping of the Victorian setting of Hetty Feather's adventures, I've processed the final photo in a 'vintage' style, which I think works quite well. I can't believe how big they all are now - I've been blogging about them since 2009, and my youngest has gone from a baby to a six year old - wow! Would that I could go back to being a full-time house husband - I look back at that period with great fondness, and I'd do it again in an instant. Especially as they're now all at school and spring is about to start...

Final Reckoning, and Gulls are dull.

Recently I had a little bit of fun to celebrate my trio of mega[-boring] ticks, by running an online poll as to which was the least interesting of the three. The results were both surprising and confirmatory. Surprising that 61 people actually responded, but confirming everything that we always knew. Gulls are crap. This is bound to provoke a response, but the final and un-rigged (Seppy) results were:

American Coot 19 (31%)
American Black Duck 14 (22%)
American Herring Gull 28 (45%)

Even with the two percent carelessly discarded by Google, the Gull is streets ahead. Well, behind. Gulls divide opinion like no other bird. The die-hards, mentioning no names Mick, absolutely love them, sometimes to the exclusion of anything else. Larophiles, as they're known, can be fairly impressive in terms of their knowledge of which bit of a Gull is which (head, beak, wing etc), but they are far outnumbered by the larophobes. People like me. Normal people. People who are mildly scared of Gulls, particularly when it comes to identifying them. I actually know a little bit more than I let on, though the Gulls are probably still winning. But I can't say I love them, or even enjoy them. Especially as they contain a lot of white, the enemy of all digital photographers. Happily I've not got many left to see in this country, four if my maths are correct, so almost done, and then I need not ever look at one again. Hurrah!! But they are a challenge...

Had I voted, I'd have gone for the Coot as being the most abject. A horrible bird, almost identical to a normal Coot. Utter dross. Right in the middle would be the Mallard Black Duck. A bird I would never ordinarily have traveled any distance to see, but seeing as it was there and I was relatively nearby, I thought why not - the weekend was basically all about ticks. And of course this therefore means that I found the Gull the most "interesting". This is not the vote of a larophile, it merely reflects the pitiful company in which it found itself. It was hard work, which is effectively what placed it last in the dull stakes. But definitely not first in the interesting stake, and that's a key difference. I had to work at it, which I didn't really have to for the other to - there were no confusion birds present for the Coot or the Duck. There were thousands for the Gull though, and picking it out was the stuff of nightmares, even when I knew what field it was in. People are saying it's obvious, I beg to disagree! Head tucked in it looked mostly like every other bloody bird in the field, and even when it woke up it wasn't like it stood out particularly. Just another big 'un really.

Anyway, thanks to all of you who voted. If you fancy travelling any distance to see any of them, can I strongly advise you against it?

Wanstead list marches on

I've not mentioned Wanstead recently, I may be forced to give up the blog title and hand it to somebody worthier. However today all that changed. It was a lovely morning, and so with a spring in my step I exited my house on the way to work. Within a few paces I heard a Blackcap singing. It felt wrong, as I hadn't driven to it. I thought about walking ten yards back to the house, and getting in the car, but sadly didn't have the time and carried on to the joys of the Central Line. This marks the first patch year tick since January 25th, which is probably also the last time I spent any meaningful time on the patch. This is beyond terrible, but entirely predictable. As I stated earlier in the year, I knew deep down that I probably wouldn't bother much this year, as I just don't gain as much enjoyment from it as I used to. Such is life I suppose, it is probably cyclical, and a little break could do me the power of good. And February is a pretty good time to have a break. 

It is now March, and the exception of course is Wheatear. The time is nearly upon us. I have been remarkably restrained so far this year, in times gone by I would have been counting the days down from about mid-January. Unfortunately it is a particularly busy period at work and in any spare time I do have my priorities are slightly different at the moment.

I can't wait to see one of these. Brilliant, brilliant birds, and best on the patch of course. The above photo was taken at Landguard.....

Pond Heron delays Dunge

What is there to say about this Pond Heron thing? I didn't really want to go, rumour has it that it is a total pig, and having gone, I can now concur. Not as much as Barry though. My thought process was to be there in the dark, "tick" it in the pre-dawn light, and then go and do something worthwhile at Dungeness that didn't involve Gulls, such as year-tick Glossy Ibis and Emu. In the event I was still embarrassingly sat in the car at 10am in some housing estate having seen a couple of Magpies. I'd had a nice chat with Dick and Dean, who with typical low staying power had left already. The Prof, on his fourth visit, had sat out the rain for a bit in the passenger seat and told me that his snoring was cured, and when it had cleared up I had sent him up the hill with a two way radio. And now, expecting of nothing, I was chatting with Alan L about how brilliant Scotland had been, when suddenly the aforementioned radio crackled into life.

An excited Prof came through, "I've got it!!" "It's behind you, coming in high". I leaped out of the car, Alan calling to the other car loads, and sure enough over it came, heading for the other side of the valley. Wacky races ensued, and a small convoy of cars led by Le Grand Twitch headed towards the other viewing spot. The Prof vectored me in, and I nabbed a photo of it sat in a tree which will surely be definitive when it comes to the final ID. I did a small victory dance. 

Not really.

I'm still not entirely sure why I bothered. It's hardly as if I can grip off anyone with a bird of unknown genetics, unknown provenance, and unknown vagrancy potential. When you put it like that it seems very silly indeed, but I suppose there is some slim chance that no owner steps forward to reclaim it and it sheds a feather that proves it has come from miles away. Or perhaps just one mile away, as the Royal Military Canal where I've seen both Night Heron and Green Heron is just that short distance south west.....Just saying. I would be amazed if there were not a careless Heron-fancier somewhere in the neighbourhood.

I debated going home, then realised the family was out and about, so carried on with plan A, which was to meet up with some reprobates at Dungeness. This was but a short drive from Hythe, and I clocked the juv Glauc as soon as I arrived, as well as dirt bird Ibis on the way in. I remember when I once drove some distance for one of these....The lads were there (well, where else would they be?), and the usual routine was played out, bread, fish heads, camo. How can you beat it? The highlight was probably finding a rusting commode chair on the beach, which I then sat on to take photos. I'd needed the loo for ages, but funnily enough couldn't go. A couple more reprobates turned up a little later, one with a shiny new white thing......

Toilet

Taken from a toilet

Richard is somewhere in this photo

East London massive

Red-flanked Bluetail shenanigans

I saw this bird the other day on the way back from the big Ross's Gull dip in Wales. Nick needed it, and they are lovely, so we went and saw it. I had my camera, but got nothing at all on it apart from four feet above me in a tree. Since then I've either been in Scotland or at work, and seeing as today was forecast to be lovely and sunny in Gloucestershire, I thought I would give it a go, especially as the bird has now been present for a month and the crowds should have quietened down. What I really should have done was have a lie in as I am pretty tired, but at 4am I was up and on the road. Bloody birds. 

I was first on the site at 7ish, but no sign of it for over an hour. It appeared briefly in the favoured tree, but by then the crisp morning sunshine and the frosty perch were both gone. Gradually more and more people started to turn up, including some of the most vacuous and cretinous numbskulls I've seen for quite a while. Welcome to the UK rare bird scene. Standing right in the middle of the bird's flight path from the top bush to the feeding bush. Walking straight through the target area. One guy walked straight over the perch I had carefully set up and then crouched in front of me. I poked him with my monopod until he fell over and rolled down the hill. Not really. I informed him nicely that he might prefer to stand behind the people who were already there, which he did, though I'm not sure he understood why. Incredibly frustrating, it seemed that each time that the bird might be ready to come down the slope somebody climbed up it and straight towards the row of trained cameras. Given that I needed to be back at Chateau L for early afternoon it was all in danger of going horribly wrong and being a 300 mile mistake, but luckily a short break in the imbeciles allowed the bird to zip in and have a forage, which is when I managed to get these shots.

Obviously I am not known for moaning and whining on this blog, but trying to get quality photographs of rare birds in this country is a mostly hopeless affair. Some people manage it, and hats off to them, but I reckon I am done trying. My only opportunity is at weekends when it's at its worst, but there are so many retired or non-working birders that even weekdays are painful. I am in this for the enjoyment of it, but every time I come back seething. This is ridiculous, I should not set myself up for this. I am very selfish, but I want just me and the bird, and the rest of humanity can sod off. Then again, I didn't find this bird did I, so what right have I got to expect it all to myself? Precisely none. Clearly this does not stack up. Either I go for these birds and in doing so sign up to all the idiocy, or I avoid them and do my own thing. I much prefer the latter, and so must remember to try and steer clear of the crowds. This is difficult in the south-east, unless you're into Gulls....