Suffolk Surprise

The plan today was to go to Norfolk, but with no news on anything by half eight, Muffin and I deceided Lakenheath would be a better bet. I promised him Garganey, Grasshopper Warbler, Bittern, Cuckoo, Crane, Marsh Harrier and possibly Golden Oriole. With the exception of the latter, we got the lot, and I have to say it was a most enjoyable stroll round. He's really growing up quickly, questions are a dozen a minute (of which I can generally answer about three), and he wants to see everything that moves. Today our luck was really in - picked up two drake Garganey from the viewing ramp soon after we arrived, and Gropper was reeling nearby. Two Cranes were on the margins of the first big reedbed you get to, and a Bittern flew over us on the next one. We witnessed a pair of Harriers passing food in mid-air, and Muffin spotted a Cuckoo in a tree that I had overlooked as a Pigeon. Nice. A real pleasure to be out with him, and may those monosyllabic teenage years remain a distant proposition.

A bite to eat at the splendid Walkers roadside cafe on the fiveways roundabout, and then onwards to Paxton in Cambridgeshire for the Black-winged Stilt I mentioned yesterday. It's an extremely long walk from the car, possibly even matching Trimley Marshes, but for such a great bird why not, and there were trillions of Warblers en route. Last time I was at Paxton was in 2008 for a Baird's Sandpiper; it's a great place, birds everywhere, and not many birders at all - hats off to whoever found it as the area is vast. When we got back to the car I checked my phone for the first time in a while and found out about a Tawny Pipit at Landguard. This was a much needed tick, and the only one I can recall that I could have gone for was also back in 2008. I was in Norfolk but never managed it, something about needing to be home or face the consequences..... Today might have been a similar story. It was half-three and ideally I would have been home at five as my parents were coming round for dinner. Luckily the good son in me prevailed, and so at five on the nail we arrived..... at Landguard. The Pipit showed excellently, and I was about to nab a top drawer photo of it when a four-legged friend flushed it. Meanwhile my parents called from outside my house; Mrs L wasn't in either. Oh dear. I figured that perhaps we ought to forego the photo opp and make tracks for home, which we did, arriving at precisely 108 minutes past five. So barely late at all really.

Of late...

I had one of the worst commutes home yesterday that I can ever remember. Mid-afternoon I decided I'd had enough, and departed the salt mines with the firm intention of heading for Wanstead. Somehow I got a little confused and got on the Jubilee line the wrong way, and eventually ended up at Banstead. How that happened I have no idea, but there were some funny birds in a field so all was not lost. Dotterel somebody said. Like Wanstead, Banstead is in the London recording area, and so although my roundabout journey home took four hours, I gained a somewhat valuable London tick - the first for almost twenty years. So whilst very very old people may have seen Dotterel in London before, for young whippersnappers like me this was a real blocker. I got home somewhat later than intended, but the Dotterel - a bird I rarely see anywhere - were well worth it. Note "were", rather than "was" - not just one Dotterel. Fifteen Dotterel. More, in fact, than I have seen in my short birding career to date. First time I've been to Banstead, though the place is popping up more and more of late - some fine patch-working taking place. Admittedly it didn't feel much like London - it's basically the Surrey countryside - but they all count. I am climbing up the London listers leaderboard, and am finally overtaking various people who moved out of London about thirty years ago, so well done me.

Today I hit the patch again. Not too early, but hopefully I didn't miss much. Although it was so cold that icicles were forming on my earlobes, the birdlife was very much springlike. Lesser and Common Whitethroats singing, Willow Warblers too. Swifts overhead, and up to a dozen Wheatear around the Skylark area with a couple of Whinchat. Best of all though were three Yellow Wagtails that remained faithful to the Alex for most of the morning. This is the standout news really - Yellow Wags usually go straight over the top, and half the time you don't even see them. To have them on the deck is more or less unprecendented, and for them to stay...well. I took almost full advantage - despite a camo sheet they wouldn't come quite close enough, but I'm more than happy. In addition to the three at Alex, another three flew over me at various points, so I've had 11 in the last three days.

Although the quality of the patch was undeniable this morning, I've been working it very hard recently, and needed a change. The initial plan had been to be at Flamborough this morning, but that didn't work out so I was stuck in Wanstead. Happily salvation came in the form of Prof W needing Long-billed Dowitcher for his Suffolk list, so after lunch he, I and Muffin headed off to Great Livermere Lake near Bury-St-Edmonds. The bird, in summer-plumage (a personal first) showed beautifully, and was Muffin's 178th UK tick. Not quite in the Mya-Rose league, but he's happy enough, and there is plenty of time.

Tomorrow I'm going to go and twitch something. I don't know what yet, but Black-winged Stilt is looking like a possibility, they are all over the place at the moment. Muffin is coming too, although he doesn't need BWS, having seen five in Norfolk with me in 2010. Poor kid.

R.I.P. Duckzilla

Friends, I have sad, sad news to report. Duckzilla is dead.

Duckzilla, an immense and statuesque Indian Runner Duck, took up residence in Wanstead Park a few months ago, presumably having been dumped here by a cretinous owner, and was most often seen on Heronry Pond terrorising Mallards and swallowing loaves of Kingsmill whole. He (or she - also known as Daisy or Chamomile to some) won many friends, and was a favourite of all park-goers. Sadly Duckzilla had wings the size of small anchovies; a Penguin was more likely to take to the air. And this has proved to be Duckzilla's undoing. Not able to fly, and unlikely to ever be called nimble, the likely cause of death is DOG ATTACK.

Poor Duckzilla was found on the side of Perch pond the day before yesterday, with legs and rump mangled. No other part of Duckzilla had been touched, so this probably rules out fox or mink, both of which would have been after a meal. A dog is thus the most likely candidate, and if I know Wanstead, the only candidate. But nobody saw what happened, so this only speculation - somebody will know though, and I hope we find out. This time Duckzilla, next time a child. Call me melodramatic, but it's true, you read it here first.

There is a certain breed of dog owner, and they like certain breeds of dog. "Certain" is an anagram of "a cretin" funnily enough. Anyhow, rarely are these dogs nice, and rarely are they kept under control. I am aware that I am like a broken record, and spend an unhealthy amount of my time writing about dogs and dog-owners, but believe me when I say that they have a lot to answer for, and nobody is prepared to do anything about it. The last time I spoke to a dog walker - very politely I might add - about the nesting Skylarks, I got a torrent of abuse back. And not from a shaven-headed lout as you might expect - no, from three outwardly pleasant-looking young women, who unbeknownst to me had massive chips on their shoulders about something. So while usually it's a minority giving the majority a bad name, in Wanstead it's about fifty fifty, and perhaps higher than that. And the death of Duckzilla is the result. Why can't we have some Surface-to-Dog missiles on the Fred Wigg Tower?

What next?

I enjoyed summer yesterday, all seven hours of it. Very nice indeed, a pleasure to be out in it. The same cannot be said for today. As is normal for this dedicated patch-working in April and May, the alarm was set for roughly 5am. It duly did what it was supposed to do, and so I poked my head out of the duvet. Some days I actually have to get up to have a look at the weather; this morning the clatter of heavy rain on the windows could be heard from the warmth and comfort of the bed, and so I pulled the duvet back over my head and went back to sleep. Another day of no birding...

It doesn't quite end there though, and a break in the weather around lunchtime meant that a quick sortie was on the cards. And what a sortie it was! The Flats were alive with migrants. Nine Wheatear together, one of which was a cast-iron Greenland with wingtips practically dragging on the ground. There was a female Whinchat with them, and there were Swallows overhead for most of the short time I was out. With them were a couple of Swifts, and finally, over a month later than expected, a solitary Sand Martin. As I took in this aeriel feast I could hear Lesser Whitethroat singing, and Common Whitethroat and Willow Warbler were knocking around too. All in all a pretty fantastic fifteen minutes. And then I looked over the road and saw Fred Wigg Tower.....

The Fred Wigg Tower, and its neighbour the John Walsh Tower, are seventeen storey 1960s monstrosities that stare out across the western side of Wanstead Flats - the side I live on. They're a stark reminder that there are nice places to live in London, and not so nice places to live, and that the two are often to be found side by side. There was a huge fire on the 13th floor of the Fred Wigg Tower at the end of last year, and the burnt out windows and resultant damage can be seen from any point on Wanstead Flats. My assailants back in 2009, who so cruelly relieved me of my phone, bins and Tesco shopping, disappeared off in the direction of the Fred Wigg Tower, and I can only imagine that it's pretty rough - I have of course never been there.

John Walsh (L), and Fred Wigg (R)

Why am I mentioning this? Well, as I have often mentioned, the wildlife (and birders) of Wanstead Flats suffer from huge amounts of disturbance. Birds (and the rest of creation) are at the mercy of legions of dog walkers and their charges, and of model aircraft enthusiasts and their irritating flying lawnmowers. Joggers, alcoholics and footballers discard drinks bottles and cans with abandon, and late night revellers leave more of the same, but with added chicken. And the cruising community leave, er, other things which I need not go into here, though special mention must go to a full length bathroom mirror in one of the broom clumps. The funfairs and circuses come and churn up the Western Flats every bank holiday and leave yet more mess, there are firework displays in the same place, and we're soon to get an immense Police muster station over there for three months. Thames water spent months drilling a huge pipeline across it a few years ago, the path of which is still easily visible, and every summer holiday various parts of the grassland get set alight. It's a wonder we have any birds at all. What new forms of disturbance could we dream up I wonder? How about Surface-to-Air missiles on top of the Fred Wigg Tower?

If you were to go through the Fred Wigg Tower with the proverbial fine tooth comb, I reckon you would be fairly certain to accumulate a fairly extensive arsenal of weapons. Knives, bats, iron bars, knuckle dusters, a few swords and probably even some guns. But Surface-to-Air missiles is an embarrassing gap on an otherwise likely comprehensive list. Happily the army is going to put that right, and Fred Wigg Tower has been selected as one of six sites in London to host missiles to shoot down terrorist threats in the air during the Olympics. Personally I can't wait, it's what my birding has been missing. Come July when I am out looking for returning waders, dodging rabid dogs and model planes, negiotiating the razor-wire perimeter of the police base while tripping over drunks, stumbling over beer cans and evian bottles, slipping on used prophylactics, and trying not to get mugged, bitten or solicited, the sight and sound of missiles streaking through the air will lend a frisson of excitement to an otherwise dull experience. Bring it on I say.

Peanut Challenge Update

I don't work in Canary Wharf every day, and even when I am there, there is no guarantee I'll actually be able to leave my desk. It was probably a rash decision to therefore stake a whole packet of peanuts on Canary Wharf being better (or rather, less awful) than Tower Bridge. To date this year, I've seen 33 species there. By way of comparison, on Saturday I saw 50 species on Wanstead Flats in approximately three hours. It is truly terrible, but the thought of the peanuts, or at least, not having to fork out for peanuts, keeps me going.

I managed to sneak out today, and whilst my favourite haunt of Westferry Circus produced nothing new, I was pleased to see both Greenfinch and Goldfinch, and to hear both Wren and Blackbird. The key to birding a patch like this is to set the bar very very low. Last week I was surprised to see fledged Blackbirds; today I was surprised to find Bluetits in a nestbox, and also obviously feeding young. There is also a Crow's nest there, it's all happening.

I went off to check on Doris and Stanley, and I'm afraid it's sad news. I can't remember when I first reported an egg, but Doris is still gamely sitting on them - there are four now - and nothing has happened, and my guess is that nothing will. In the next dock along I found an almost full-grown Grebe chick, so Doris' eggs are almost certainly addled. Doris and Stanley now have neighbours though; there is another sitting Grebe about forty feet away on the same bit of floating habitat. Here's hoping she has better luck.

I wandered onwards, past three delightful Coot chicks, to the eastern-most side of my self-defined patch. On the way I passed through Jubilee park, the bit of grass above the tube station. Being a nice day (for a change) it was absolutely heaving, but I'm afraid Wharfers have an inability to switch off. Lots of very earnest conversations entirely about work, and I must have heard "escalate to management" about eight times in twenty-five yards. Tragic really. Things improved a lot once I got the dockside, as I immediately clapped eyes on a couple of Terns at the far end. Far too far for my feeble ID skills, but one of them did the decent thing and flew much closer and revealed itself as a Common Tern. Not a Canary Wharf outright tick, but a new one for the year, and so I find myself only two behind Parus at Tower Bridge. I should imagine he is getting pretty worried now at the sheer brilliance of my patch. Mmmm, I do like peanuts.

Weekend Roundup

Saturday
- Awake 5.15am with mild hangover following Friday night de-stressing.
- Note rain; go back to sleep until 7am
- Hit Flats, see 4th Ring Ouzel of the year, get wet
- Receive phone call from wife saying son extremely ill, screaming in pain, getting worse
- Run home (actual running), during which engage in frantic conversation re ambulance
- Son perks up on hearing word "ambulance"; nonetheless drive family to A&E
- Family return from A&E; son has pulled a muscle.
- Conclude son is a big girl, or NHS is going downhill. Go birding again, get wet again

Sunday
- Go to Grays at 6am to view incredible seabird passage on filthy raging north-easterly.
- See nothing, get wet.
- Decide to move to Rainham balcony
- Stop at McDs for breakfast as neglected to bring the £10,000 needed to buy food at Rainham
- Whilst eating breakfast, learn of Arctic Skua at Rainham
- Mild Swearing
- Arrive Rainham, almost immediately jam in on Great Skua
- Sit at Rainham for a further 4 hours, Tern passage peaks at approx 2.5 per hour, get cold
- Return home, stuff face
- Make birthday card for wife (Ringed Plover), referee children (still have 3, muscle improved)
- Write blog, misuse word "write" 
- Consume alcoholic beverage(s)

Patch Quality

Once again a difficult choice this morning. Stay in my nice warm bed, or brave the wind and the rain. The title of this post is a dead giveaway - did I get up? Course I did! Warm beds and cups of tea do not a successful patch-worker make, and I have been hitting Wanstead Flats every morning now for weeks and weeks, for - as you know - little reward. So, once up and out, and with the first splashes of rain pinging in my bleary eyes, I hurried across the road to the Flats for a good soaking.

Mostly I avoided the soaking by sheltering in Long Wood. I figured that before 7am I was probably safe. A quick tour of the brooms produced nothing but Dan, and so increasingly despondent I headed for the Alex. Before I got there I noticed an Egyptian Goose circling over Manor Park. Hang on a minute..... YEEES! Shelduck, in fact two Shelduck! Patch goodness, and a welcome grip-back. A few weeks ago I had got up, looked out of the window at a large fog bank, and crawled back into bed. Within half and hour Nick had scored two Shelduck, disoriented by fog, mere yards from my house.... Boy did I feel stupid. And lazy! Not so today though. They're probably annual, but only as fly-overs, so it's entirely down to luck as to whether you get one or not. Fortune favours the early riser, as patch-workers say... I later learned that Paul H had had two Shelduck over Mayesbrook Park at around the same time, and had seen them fly North-west...towards Wanstead. A rare bird for him too, only his second sighting, and only my third. As soon as they'd flown off and out of sight I sent out a happy text to everyone that still needs Shelduck for the year - not really! No, really not really. I had thought I had sent a text, but when I later showed Nick (who, as I mentioned, doesn't need Shelduck), he said "you never mentioned them!" I did too, I said, and checked my phone. No message at all. Hmmm. Well, it had been my intent to let everyone know about two Shelduck they had no hope of seeing (they flew off east again), but I somehow I failed in this and so am now being labelled as a suppressor as opposed to a gripper.

Flush with success from a quality patch record, I turned for home and began to meander towards the copses. Between me and the copses were about twenty large gulls just sitting around doing nothing, as gulls do early morning. It can't hurt to have a quick scan through them can it? OK, so Lesser Black-back, Common and, oh, ooooh, hang on, what are you? Birders always talk to themselves like this when birding alone, particularly when picking through flocks of things. It was a large white-headed gull, and I had an inking already as to what it might be, but needed to get a lot closer to find out. I sidled up, the gulls did nothing, and to my great delight (far more delight than Gulls should create), I felt I was looking at a Yellow-legged Gull. Ageing large gulls is somewhat of a dark art - well, identifying them is as well now I come to think about it - but by my reckoning it was a third year bird, somewhere between a second winter and a second summer. Here are a few shoddy photos, so I look forward to all you Gull experts telling me I've made a massive screw-up. I managed a few on the deck before a dog entered stage right and they all flew off. Just after I'd sent a text would you believe. Excellent creatures dogs, I've always said so.

I continued my meandering homewards, noted a Swift barelling north, and close to Long Wood Nick texted with news of a probable Lesser Whitethroat in Long Wood. By the time I got there it was a definite one, and indeed I heard the familiar duh-duh-duh-duh-duh before I even got to him. Which made it a three tick day! In fact, it became a four tick day, as when I got home to work on the spreadsheet of bird-record happiness, I discovered that I was one out, and fifteen feverish minutes later worked out I had missed off Common Whitethroat from a couple of weeks ago. So, the scores on the doors, 94, a mere two behind this point last year. Much better.