Pterodroma grippa

As I approached Porthgwarra in the early hours of Sunday morning, I couldn't help feeling pretty stupid. Why was I doing this again, a mere eight days after the last time? This time I was with the Blowmonkey, and fellow Wanstead Birder Stuart. He probably wondered what he was doing as well - only a few hours previously he had been happily birding the [kick-ass] Flats with no thoughts of Cornwall or Sea-watching in his mind. As I casually mentioned it while we were kicking bushes for what turned out to be a Dunnock, you could see him begin to weigh it up. Hmm, sea-watching, Cornwall, would I like to do that? Turned out he would, so at 1:20am the three of us were stood in Porthgwarra carpark, facing away from the "No overnight camping" sign, and having a deserved beer. After a long and comfortable sleep, we hit the cliff. Almost immediately I got onto a large Shearwater circling near the Runnel Stone marker. We tracked it south-east, and once we had talked to some experts who arrived later, decided it could only have been a Great Shearwater. The next few hours were fairly quiet, with about 30 each of Sooty Shearwater and European Storm Petrel going through, but not a lot else. Visibility gradually reduced in drizzly conditions, and I wondered if I hadn't made a serious error in coming again.

Happily negative thoughts of this nature were dispelled at 11:26am. All three of us had scopes trained on the Runnel Stone as this was the line being taken by Storm Petrels as they headed west. All of a sudden the quiet birder next to us spoke up. You'll have to excuse the language, but the air turned blue. What follows is a rough transcript of the next thirty seconds: "Great Shearwater coming right, almost at the Runnel Stone" Given our fortunate positioning, we were on it immediately. "Fuck, it's not a Great Shearwater! Fuck me! Dark underwings! Fucking Hell, it's a Fea's. It's a fucking Fea's!!! FEA'S PETREL! FEA'S PETREL going right!!!!!!!!!!!!" We watched this pelagic gem shear slowly west until it disappeared into the mist, and then the celebrations began. News was phoned out. The finder was quite calm once the bird had gone past actually, turned out he had seen a few and was a very experienced sea-watcher. Monkey and I showed no such class, and were going ballistic, disbelieving of what we had just seen. At this point Bradders, recently arrived back in the UK from Canada, and knowing I was in Cornwall, unwittingly texted me. The exchange merits reproduction here.

Bradders: So how's Cornwall? Falling over flocks of Little Shears and Albatrosses?
JL: No Little Shear or Albatross, but we just had a Fea's. Is that good?!
Bradders: Please tell me you're winding me up...Who's with you?

Needless to say, a gripping conversation followed within minutes, repeated shortly after with Vince, who also called in shock. Meanwhile Monkey had roughly the same conversation with Hawky, and sent a few gripping texts of his own. Played for and got I say. Well that isn't quite true I suppose, there was a very very large slice of luck involved. But I had been tracking the winds for about a fortnight, had pored over the short-range forecast for the weekend, read the results of various mid-week sessions at Pendeen and Porthgwarra with interest, and conversed with a few experienced people from the SW. As a result of what was actually many hours of mucking about on the net, more than were eventually spent sea-watching by some margin, I decided it was worth the trip, but never in my wildest dreams had I considered Fea's. My big hope was Cory's, and one that remains unfulfilled. About an hour after the Fea's went past, the fog rolled in and didn't lift for the remainder of the day. Feeling it was probably all over, we left Porthgwarra at about 1pm, and twitched the nearby Citrine Wagtail at Marazion. We returned to the cliff at 4ish to check conditions, but if anything it was worse so we headed back to London. Monkey spent most of the trip back mentally composing his blog for maximum grippage. How childish. There are no thoughts of glee as I sit here typing. None at all, no. And no thoughts of posting unnecessary and repetitive photographs of pager messages, no way.

I won't be going that far again this year, though remarkably the Fea's went past Porthgwarra again today. But I am already ear-marking a few weekends for next year for something similar. I suspect the Monkey might be quite interested, and less arm-twisting might be needed to get him to come. Hope his snoring issues have been sorted out by then.

Migrant Photo Essay

I have just come back from the best morning I can remember on Wanstead Flats. The patch rules. This morning's haul is another Redstart, a Yellow Wagtail, 2 Spotted Flycatchers, 2 Tree Pipit, 10 Whinchat, 4 Wheatear, and a multitude of common Warblers including Lesser Whitethroat. I am in a state of semi-shock. There is no point trying to make the blog interesting this morning, to add a tale of domesticity, or to give my thoughts on something irrelevant. This morning's fare will be a traditional birding blog - a list of birds that I saw. I said I would never do this, but this morning I can't think of anything to say other than "I saw all these birds and they were great". I could sign-off at this point, but I had a camera...

"I am a Willow Warbler, I think. I could be a Chiffchaff. I am confused about my identity"

"I am a Whitethroat. I am certain of it"

Tree Pipit, one of two this morning. Helpfully they called.

Another Redstart, found by Stuart, another birder

There are four Whinchats in this photo, and there were as many as twelve overall across the Flats. Yes, wow.

There were seven of these together, although I only saw five. I was happy with five.

The morning will be remembered for these though.

Gardening

One of things I said I would do when I got the axe was gardening. Well actually I said the garden would get sorted. Clearly I did not think this through, as in order for that to happen it would need to be done either by me or by a gardener. We can't afford a gardener, and my attitude has been somewhat laissez-faire. VERY laissez-faire. With three kids, you can't possibly have a nice garden anyway, that is what I tell myself. Mrs L cites this as yet one more example of my bone-idleness when it comes to all things domestic. I had an initial spurt of gardening and other domestic chores, but when I tell you that my youngest daughter's curtain-pole fell down in January and that it and the curtains are still leaning up against the corner of her wall you will realise what she is up against. Not that she is any better at getting house stuff done, but she does at least go off to work for five days every week, an excuse that I don't have. And no, I haven't sorted out that monumental pile of filing - in fact it has grown by about fifty percent, and the additional part has been living in the middle room. Maybe today I will take it upstairs, that would be a good thing to get under my belt.

Realising that the garden was looking dreadful, this Tuesday I wielded the secateurs in anger for the first time in months. The victim was a Yew bush down the bottom that was encroaching on access to the shed. It looks a lot better now, apart from the ring of dead brown grass that has been exposed. This is just one minor triumph though. Everywhere you look there is something that needs pruning or trimming, and there is some serious tree-surgery needed on the Lime and the Maple which even if I had the inclination I could not do. To add to my woes, it is now Autumn, and I need to go birding....

The carefully manicured lawn. I take my inspiration from The Oval.

I am off again at the weekend. Back to the SW. I am Esso's official sponsor. This time the forecast looks truly stunning. All of Sunday is a huge gale blowing directly from the south-west, bringing a succession of large Procellariiformes straight past my deck-chair on Gwennap Head. My stock-pile of Brownie Points, whilst not at an all-time low, is not ready for Autumn 2009. In retrospect, I have played the summer very badly indeed. Show-home Shaun has been amazing in this respect, I think he knocked down his entire house and built it again from the ground up, with new coving and everything, so he is sorted for BPs for a long time. I have today and tomorrow to do a huge number of BP-earning tasks, and I am going to start with some gardening. I am even going to get THE SHREDDER out. You know it is serious when the shredder comes out - to even get it out from behind the mountain of bikes and garden play-things takes about half an hour, so that motivates you to chop loads of stuff down. Gardening is not a bad thing, for one thing I can keep half an eye on the sky and listen out for overhead migrants. I have been doing a lot of this, but unproductively from a deck-chair, with the garden growing out of control beneath my feet.

This is not from my garden, but I would like it to be.

My house list is very dear to me. I get unreasonably excited when I get a house tick. Birds I would usually not give a second glace become MEGA if they go in or over my airspace. A prime example of this is a Blue Tit. On the patch, out birding anywhere at all, and they get ignored. In the garden, brilliant. Actually that isn't true, I pretty much ignore these in the garden as well, but if you stop and think about it, a Blue Tit is probably one of our most amazing-looking birds. Most of our birds are brown and unremarkable. This one has a bright blue cap and tail, it has a pure white face with cool black markings, and the belly is bright yellow. Stunning n'est-ce-pas?. If you were on holiday abroad and saw something that bright and shiny flitting through a bush, I am willing to bet you would get pretty worked up and say "Wow, what was that?!" a lot. But as we see them day in day out we just ignore them which is ludicrous. My new life has seen me take a renewed interest in the house list, and indeed the extra time spent in the garden since February has added ten ticks. I can't wait for the next one, which I hope will be an Osprey on my new squirrel-proof trout-dispenser.

Most birders keep garden or house lists, and there are some pretty amazing ones out there. Last year I twitched a Dark-eyed Junco at Dungeness that was in some bloke's garden, and he said it was his second! This year I went back to that very same garden for an Icterine Warbler. It is at times like this that I wish I wasn't in zone 3, but you can't have it all I guess. My house list stands at fifty, which I think is pretty good for suburbia, and I get to see cool blue and yellow birds every day. When you next see one in your garden and turn away in utter apathy, spare a thought for those poor guys up in Shetland whose gardens are so barren they hardly ever get them and have to make do with dross like Bluethroats and White-tailed Eagles.

All finished. Lovely.

Boring

I have continued to bash the patch every day from 5:30am until about 7am. This is because I am dedicated, strong-willed, and a real patch birder. With the exception of the Redstart earlier in the week, it has been very very boring. This morning's highlights were two Mistle Thrush and a Sparrowhawk. Excited? I wasn't. Getting up at 5am for a Mistle Thrush is sub-optimal. Getting up at 5am for a Redstart is tolerable. Getting up at 5am for a Wryneck would be just fine, oh Birding Gods, and I have identifed a nice spot for this to occur, just east of Centre Road on the sandy slope near the large gorse patch. Tomorrow?

But boring is unfortunately the norm, as are my frequent supplications. The thought of what MIGHT be in the next Hawthorn is always likely to be more exciting than what actually IS in the next Hawthorn, and this is what keeps me and countless other inland patch-workers going.

Yesterday, after another dreary morning on the patch where I found a rare Willow Warbler, I headed off for a spot of year-listing. I know, it sickens me too. However - and do you sense a flimsy excuse heading your way? - I was over the west side of London anyway dropping the two eldest off at their Grandparentals for a couple of days when I realised that Hampshire wasn't too far away, I mean a mere 70 miles or something. 70 miles is nothing for a diesel-fiend like me, so off we went to Keyhaven Lagoon where there was a very nice Red-necked Phalarope spinning around like a nutter only a few feet from the path. This is only the third one I have seen, and these were the best views ever, plus Pudding got a tick as well. Three excellent justifications for going. And there was a Cattle Egret too, which was another tick for her. Four justifications. Amongst the justifications were...hang on, I'll come in again. Anyway, many good reasons for going, and we had a nice walk in a very brisk wind and generally had a lot of fun looking at boats, talking about boats, and talking about how it was "quite windy" as we struggled to stay on our feet.

"Why are you now bolding all the bird names?"

This is all preamble. As I was happily scoping the Phalarope, a young guy who I have seen before at a couple of south coast twitches turned up. Obviously the first time you see someone, you say nothing. The second time, there is perhaps a nod of recognition, but no actual dialogue - still too early. The third time however, to say nothing would be a bit odd, so I proffered a tentative "Hello mate, how you doing?" Ah the intricacies of social arkwardness in Britain, how fantastic. Anyway, I got him onto the Phalarope, and we got chatting. Turns out he is also doing a bit of a year list, and he tragically recognised my name from Bubo when I called the bird into RBA. His patch is Splash Point and Seaford Head in East Sussex. This week he found an Iccy. Last May he found a River Warbler. Imagine that, a mega on your own patch. I know, what on earth was he therefore doing in Hampshire, why wasn't he bashing bushes for rare migrants back in East Sussex? Well, that's year-listing for you. My point is that for him, going out on his patch in spring and autumn must be unimaginably exciting. I'm not sure I could cope. The highlight of my birding year is still the self-found Ring Ouzel in April. This is despite the Collared Flycatcher, the Crested Lark, all three Pratincoles and a certain Bee-eater that I am loathe to mention. As you saw, I get excited by Redstarts. This guy could literally get anything. I think the emotion I am trying to describe is jealousy. Extreme jealousy. Can't wait to get out on the patch tomorrow morning, I wonder what I'll get? Trumpeter Finch?

Reward

It is 6:40am on Wanstead Flats. I am returning home in deep misery after yet another early start has produced no migrants. As I cross Centre Road, only about four minutes from home and a day of drudgery likely to involve a pink brush, I notice a bird in a tree. I decide it is a Robin, but start walking towards the tree anyway in the hope of it turning into a Tree Pipit. As I am about halfway there, the bird flies, across the Flats and towards my house. I idly track it with the bins, more convinced than ever that it is just a Robin. As it comes in to land in a distant Hawthorn, I detect a red flash, but NOT ON THE BREAST. Oooooh goody! At this point I am undecided between Nightingale and Redstart, but I know it is good. Just as I get to the Hawthorn, it flies again, and this time perches out in the open in the morning sun. Common Redstart, and a lovely male at that. My camera is helpfully lying on the sofa at home. After unsuccessfully attempting digi-binning it with my phone, I run home to get it, hacking all the way as I have some kind of throat lurgy. Luckily it is still there and I can now present some record shots* of it to demonstrate I am a proper patch birder and not some filthy year-listing twitcher who buggers off at the slightest opportunity.





*Record Shot obtained in this instance by being out of breath, wheezing heavily, and shaking, coupled with poor application of exposure theory. Nice.

A tale of two Montys

You can probably all guess what I am talking about. If you can't, that is probably a good thing. Well, the first Monty is Monty Panesar, who won The Ashes for us. A true #11, he survived 11 overs to ensure a drawn test match in Cardiff about two months ago. Roll forward to the match at Headingly where we were beyond pathetic, and Australia would have retained The Ashes with an unassailable 2-1 lead, whatever the outcome at The Oval. As it was, we went in 1-1, and a stunning session with the up-until-that-point-feeble-with-the-ball Broad, and it was basically job done. Not that we as a country can ever feel like we are winning of course, we all believed Australia would pull off a miracle. Apart from Geoffrey of course, who said we would win. Sound man Geoffrey, I just wish he would say what he actually thinks more often. Unfortunately my Aussie friend's email server must be down, as I have not had any reply to my rather magnanimous email.

I listened to every ball, a benefit of no longer being sat in an office where serious stuff gets done. Where I worked we once had a guy who wanted to go watch the World Cup. He asked for unpaid leave for the entire tournament and was scoffed at, so he quit, and went to watch the World Cup. Top man, if rather arrogant, but there was a lot of that. Presumably he didn't have three children and a mortgage. Er, I am getting sidetracked, I meant to talk about Monties, which are interesting, not banking, which isn't.

Anyway, the second Monty was a belter of a Montagu's Harrier discovered by Andy, Phil, Dave et al at Rainham today. Only the third record for the site, I almost missed it. All three kiddos had eye appointments this afternoon, and we had just emerged from the NHS place on Wanstead High Street at about 4pm when Vince called. "Have you seen the news from Rainham?" "Er no, what is it?" Despite only having about 10ml of milk in the house, shopping plans were abandoned, and we raced over to discover a small gaggle of people on the sea wall with scopes pointing in. I don't usually take optics to medical appointments - something which I may need to reconsider - so hadn't bothered going home for bins or anything. No bother though, as Andy very kindly handed over his bins and let me have a look through his scope. Tick, as they say (NB for those of you counting, that is #195 for the arbitrary London circle). A full adult male, it was distant but unmistakable as it hunted along the edge of the reeds. Full marks to the gang for slogging it out day after interminable day at Rainham with scant reward, this is a London biggie. The kids played happily with grit and pebbles on the path whilst I had a bit of a natter. All of a sudden it was 5pm, we still had no milk, no food, and no cling-film (Mrs L put it on the list, I was ignorant of the state of our cling-film supply), and we were eight miles from home through rush-hour traffic. "Daddy, we're thirsty!" was heard shorty thereafter. Were there any beakers in the car? Not a good domestic performance.

So what else? Was back on the patch this morning, and decent birds were in short supply. Raptors were the highlight, with a Hobby, 3 Kestrel and a Sparrowhawk, and migratory interest was kept alive with a group of about 25 Swallows heading south, and 4 House Martins. This prompted an excellent discussion on the wheres and why-fors of spring and autumn avian pan-global movements, and for a brief moment I became omniscient super-dad. Then Muffin pointed out a butterfly on the ground that stumped me, and I became normal again. "Er, dunno, let's take a photo and look it up". Which we did - Small Copper. Also of interest were some kind of Hoverfly and a Common Field Grasshopper. Come on Autumn!








Final hot news is that the Waffle Moth has fallen. I went to a website called UK Moths which has photos of almost 2000 UK Moths. Honestly, some people are so dull. I went through them one by one. Click. Nope. Click. Nope. Skip a few.....Click...Number 1036 goes by the rather catchy name of Acleris forsskaleana. "This yellowish species has a distinctive reticulated pattern on the forewing, and a variably sized greyish suffusion across the centre". Quite. I emailed the lady in Belgium. - she was very pleased. "UGH" is flemish for "WOW" I think.

Patch-watch

Well, another great weekend of patch birding. This weekend my patch was Porthgwarra Flats, Cornwall. I was torn as to where to go this weekend. On the one hand there were some ticks up north like Semi-p and Wilson's Phal, on the other hand the forecast from the south-west was looking pretty decent. Where to go? I decided I didn't want to do a weekend of mad twitching, and what I really wanted was a decent sea-watch.

I arrived at Porthgwarra carpark at 1am, and parked next to the "No overnight parking or camping" sign. I don't know why they bother with signs like that in these remote locations, most people couldn't even find it, is it really in danger of turning into the next Woodstock? Anyway had a great and uninterrupted sleep in chateau Galaxy, and was up on Gwennap Head at 6am in a plastic garden chair with a cup of tea. It was a great sea-watch, if you like that kind of thing. I never thought I would like sea-watching, but gradually I am getting hooked. I barely moved for 12 hours. It rained, it blew, it became sunny, it rained again. I didn't move. Superb. Lacking in the one bird I really wanted, Cory's Shearwater, but nevermind, it was a great day. Final count was 7 Sooty Shearwater, 10 Balearic Shearwater, ~850 Manx Shearwater, 6 Bonxie, 1 Pom, 1 Med Gull, 1 Puffin, 5 Whimbrel, 3 Common Scoter and a Wigeon. I packed it in at about 6pm, shell-shocked from staring into an eyepiece for so long, and suffering from acute junk food intake. I ate 4 Bakewell tarts, 4 packets of crisps (all cheese and onion...), a steak pie, a New York Deli sandwich, and a Double Decker. Vitamins were provided by approximately 20 grapes, and I had chinese for dinner in Plymouth, via some KFC spicy wings on the outskirts of Penzance. Husbands the world over no doubt tell their wives what a great hobby birding is as it gets them out in the fresh air and they walk miles. What they maybe don't mention is that they consume stupid quantities of petrol station food all day long, only a fraction of which is burnt off by fresh air and walking.

"Is that a bakewell tart you have there? Surely you're not going to eat them all?"

I slept illegally in another carpark last night, Prawle Point in Devon, and ticked off Cirl Bunting in the morning. #274 for the year. Another 26 to go, I am never doing this again. Breakfast was cold takeaway, another Bakewell Tart, and a banana. I had salad for lunch when I got back home, and got the shakes.

So a good weekend, perhaps a poor haul for 700 miles driven, but there you go, I enjoyed it. Typically they got 3 Great Shears and Chough at Porthgwarra this morning when I was on the way home, but that is that way it goes. Sea-watching is a lottery, and I will have to go back, Mrs L willing.