King of the Winter Solstice

21st December 2021

Some birds are just special. They have a wow factor. They're not necessarily rare, but always make you look and are always a pleasure to watch. On a local level it might be common kingfisher, firecrest, hawfinch or maybe lesser spotted woodpecker. Most owls and shrikes, waxwing, hoopoe and bee-eaters all have similar effects. Despite having seen lots, you keep looking at them. Perhaps these are the birds that strip back birding to the simple joy of beauty in birds. 

That mantra definitely applies, for me at least, to Belted Kingfisher. I've seen loads abroad, and two this side of the Atlantic, yet when one was found last month just up the road on the River Ribble in Lancashire the urge to see it was irresistible. It was irrelevant that I've seen hundreds abroad in the North America. 

It's still an extremely rare bird in Europe, with just four UK records and five in Ireland. It was one of the birds that inspired my twitching passion as a youngster - I remember being enthralled by Richard Millington's 'Twitcher Diary' book which was an account of his 1980 year list. A Belted Kingfisher wintered in Cornwall in 1979/1980 (in fact staying until August) and featured in the book - that bird more than any struck a chord (although the 'hyper-zonky mega-crippler' Red-eyed Vireo wasn't far behind).

There was a long gap in UK records from 1980. A series of early 80's Irish records (one of which was shot) were all well before my time, and I didn't travel to Ireland in those days. The first 'twitchable' bird of recent times was in 2005, in the unlikely county of Staffordshire and on the even less likely date of 1st April. Naturally the initial report was met with cynicism, which birders posses in abundance. It wasn't helpful that the bird went missing for hours after the initial sighting. Luckily for me it was only an hour from home and worth the punt, so I was already on site when it was relocated at nearby Shugburgh Hall. It showed quite well to a rapidly increasing crowd for just a couple of hours that Friday evening, only to vanish overnight for many more to dip. Incredibly it was relocated in Aberdeenshire just four days later - by the son of the bloke who had found it in Staffs. It then stayed on the River Dee at Peterculter for five days allowing more people to connect. 

Scroll forward seven years to 6th October 2012 and there had been no more records on either side of the Irish Sea. Europe's first Eastern Kingbird had been found on the island of Inshmore in Co Galway, sparking a large twitch from the UK and I headed over with Gregsy, the late Pod and Mark Sutton.  Sadly everyone dipped the kingbird (and I still need it, despite there having been two more since); however a Belted Kingfisher was found just down the road at Lough Fee that day. The views of this bird were stunning - a beautiful day in a gorgeous location with barely anyone else there (most were stuck on Inshmore and failed to get to the kingfisher before it was seen to leave). Definitely adequate compensation for the dip, and remarkably a tick for Mark Sutton (who lives in Staffs but was away for the Shugburgh bird).

So I'd managed two Belted Kingfishers. Fortuitously neither had taken much effort, which for a bird of such rarity and gravitas is remarkable in itself. I've often travelled much further for less spectacular birds. 

The next one was a brief bird on Scilly in spring 2018, which was untwitchable (although some tried and dipped), before a male wintered in County Cork over 2020/2021. The latter stayed for months, but Covid lockdown limited it's appeal. Certainly some diehards went, but the masses don't twitch Ireland and so it was a long sixteen years gap after the Staffordshire bird. A new bird was undoubtedly going to be popular.

This 2021 Lancashire bird was found by a fisherman in mid November, on the River Ribble near Brockholes, where he managed to photograph it with his mobile. It's a good job he did, otherwise I suspect there would have been another bout of birder cynicism. It's a male and so could potentially be the same bird as spent the previous winter in Cork. Plenty went to search up and down the river, but it was two weeks before it reappeared. I delayed heading up there for a couple of hours only to dip, then dip again the following week (a brief Otter was nice though). Viewing on the Ribble was difficult and very restricted. Access was comically treacherous. Some scored, but most dipped. Some had to be rescued by emergency services.  It went missing again, only to reappear briefly a week later, a few miles south on the River Darwen near Roach Bridge, before going missing yet again. Then it was photographed even further south on the Leeds Liverpool canal at Withnell Fold, where I managed to dip for a third time. It was becoming personal, probably as it was just down the road (I wouldn't have made multiple attempts if it was in Cornwall).

In the late afternoon of 20th December news came through that it was back again on the River Darwen on in the same spot near Roach Bridge, and importantly was showing until dusk. Surely it would roost there? Maps showed a private stretch of river with no clear access, but someone was managing to see it. Time for a covert mission. With the help of Whatsapp, a few of us soon had a stealth plan. 

Our small group met at Roach Bridge in the dark at 7.10am. We walked the short stretch of footpath, ducked under one and over another barbed wire fence, and made our way down to the river a little east of where the bird had been reported. It was a cool morning as we waited for the first glimmers of light under a cloudy sky. We were in position by 07.25, but sunrise was not until 08.23. It seemed a long time to stand in the dark, but it was rather nice to be out in the half light at this beautiful location. A woodcock flew over. Then a moorhen called, followed by a few Blackbirds and Redwings. Birds were starting to wake, but it was still far from light when there was a loud rattling call behind us. That was it! Someone said Mistle Thrush, but surely not? At that moment a large bird shot past us along the river just a few feet away. What was that?? It definitely wasn't a common kingfisher (despite the shout). It was surely the bird. Then more loud rattles and there it was, right in front of us! Instant success! The male BELTED KINGFISHER then gave itself up gloriously for the next two hours, mostly perched high as it scanned the river, charismatically bobbing it's head and cocking it's tail. It called frequently. Once again an absolute pleasure of a species to watch, especially so from our privileged position on the riverside. 

Last image by Martin Roper

My third 'BK' in the UK/Ireland, and none involved a long journey to see. I'd never have thought that could happen as I read Mr Millington's 'Twitcher's Diary' as a tick hungry teenager in the eighties.

I dragged myself away and back to the office - today was also Una's last day at Avian Ecology. So a bittersweet day for sure.

VARIED THRUSH!!!!!!

Thursday 28th October 2021

I've talked before about dream birds to UK rarity hunters. Certainly the 2019 Tengmalm's Owl fitted the criteria. That brilliant tiny owl was one of an elite list of species who's names are held in reverence by twitchers. There are perhaps half a dozen species on that list, maybe a few more for younger listers. For the most part, the list comprises birds which meet both of two criteria:  a) they are a superb bird and b) there have been no records in a very long time. Wallcreeper. Sapsucker. Hawk Owl. Evening Grosbeak. Bird names that are almost whispered by rarity-finders and twitchers, and if you’ve seen any of them then you’re definitely from the old-guard. These birds are incredibly rare beasts in the UK, although you would hope that most will eventually appear again and give us all a fighting chance (there's no skill to twitching, but living a long-time is definitely a required characteristic). Yet there are a handful of species on that list no-one seriously believes will ever occur again. Implausible birds; Houbara Bustard or Brown Thrasher, for example. The subject of this post was, until now, most definitely in the implausible category.

On the evening of Wednesday 27th we went to visit my mum. Nothing unusual about that, and we decided to collect a take-away en-route. I was sat in the car with the kids as Karen ran inside to collect the pre-ordered Chinese when I glanced at my phone. At that precise moment three words appeared on the Mega Chasers Whatsapp group.

"Varied Thrush Orkney". 

What? Wait? Holy crap! Surely not. 

I mean, they look like this…

Male Varied Thrush, US (not my photo). We saw a couple in California 23 years ago, but the views were mostly disappointing. Not the sort of bird you tire of!

That all too familiar heart-sink gripped me. I re-read the message several times. I had read it correctly, and I could feel the collective weight of a sudden total meltdown of the entire UK twitching community. 

News quickly followed through 'official channels'. Photographs appeared on Twitter. The bird was on Papa Westray, and had been found by the excellent David Roche. There was no doubt. This was a full 'code red' situation and immediate action was the only acceptable option.

I doubt this was the American passerine David considered he might find.

It's probably time to explain why this particular species sits even higher on the list of fabled birds than even that tiny northern mega owl. Varied Thrush is a North American species; it's a short distance migrant with a range restricted to the west coast. It’s barely annual on the east coast of the US and it has absolutely no business making it to European soil. The one previous British record was way back in 1982, in Cornwall, seen by some of the old-guard. Others active at the time didn't even travel, believing it to be an escape as a wild occurrence was thought so unlikely. The species is a stunning combination of orange and subtle powder grey tones; it's a technicolour tangerine dream of a bird. Yet the Cornish one was monochrome, lacking any orange pigmentation. Such aberrant individuals are phenomenally rare in the wild, and a lack of pigment can be associated with cage birds. Due to it's lack of colour, the Cornish record wasn't initially identified correctly, with some thinking it was a Pied Thrush from Asia. Despite this, it was accepted by the BOU as a wild individual. Yet it was always treated with a degree of scepticism. After all the species shouldn't be a vagrant to Europe by virtue of it's range, yet the one individual ever to make it was one sporting an incredibly rare plumage anomaly. Many have scoffed at it's acceptance, probably including me. Of course those that have scoffed didn't see it. Those fortunate enough to have seen the Cornish bird would often cite it as their ultimate blocker. The jewel in their listing crowns. And the rest of us, begrudgingly, probably agreed.

Varied Thrush distribution. The closest breeding birds to the UL must be around 6,000 miles away. 

 

Yet, in May 2004, another bird made it to Europe, albeit the absolute extremity of western Iceland. Hope perhaps? Validation of vagrancy potential to Europe for sure. But still an incredibly unlikely bird to grace our shores again. There a dozens of more likely North American species which are yet to occur, or have done so far less frequently than they perhaps should have. Another UK record seemed pretty much impossible. Thankfully the deity's of avian vagrancy rarely listen to logic; there was one on Papa Westray tonight to prove so.

Back to Wednesday evening when I was sat in the car. I must have looked like I'd been tasered. The phone practically burned the palm of my hand now.  But life goes on. Karen came-back armed with an oriental feast and we headed to my mum's, initially oblivious to my conundrum (although my face may have said otherwise). My mind was only on Orkney. It was simply a case of how and when, with 'immediately' being the preferred option. Thankfully my family is well versed in the routine and recognises the signs with bemused acceptance. We ate the Chinese food. I calmly helped to increase the pressure on my mum's boiler (there's an analogy somewhere in that), then upgraded her iPad, sorted her Amazon returns and even found her a new word game app, although my patience was shredded by the latter. We eventually left, and I arranged to take the kids back to their mum's instead of overnighting with me. The phone kept ringing and messages flooded-in. I'd already agreed to head-up tonight with Malc, Al and Mark Sutton, although plans were fledgling at that stage. We needed to get moving and had arranged to meet up at Cherry Corner at 10.30. I arrived home at 9.30, but still had to go through a new mortgage offer-letter and fill in some forms with Karen. Who knows what I signed. I made it to Malc's just after 10.15 and we met up with Al and Mark on time. Whilst all this was going on, the Mega Chasers collective had sprung in to action and we somehow now had four spaces on an afternoon boat from Kirkwall to Papa Westray. Game on.

Bit of a journey ahead then...

The long overnight drive was uneventful aside from some biblical rain over southern Scotland that made driving hazardous. Thankfully it subsided by the time we reached Glasgow. The journey drifted along, with us each taking it in turn to drive and nap. Conversation was dominated by logistics and the usual fear of dipping, especially as we by now knew the home owners had been watching it for several days. Birds don't stay forever...  

At 6.30am we arrived in Scrabster, on the far north coast of Scotland, and booked ourselves on to the 8.30am ferry across to Mainland Orkney. A local café opened early for us, so we gratefully downed a surprisingly good breakfast and coffee with a few other birders, before heading back to the car. It was just about getting light and we were all conscious that the next hour or so would seriously influence our chances of success. It couldn’t get light fast enough and we desperately wanted that all important positive news. Locals on the island would be searching at dawn and it was barely light when the news came through of the continued presence of the bird; we hadn't even boarded the ferry. As most thrushes migrate at night, our odds were hugely enhanced now. The news was joyously received and spirits were suddenly high despite the lack of sleep. This mythical bird might just happen for us. 

We drove on to the ferry and took our seats, joined by Sam 'the knowledge' Viles and his dad (David, but mostly referred to as ‘Sam's dad’) and the ultimate stealth twitcher that is Adam Wilson (no-one ever sees Adam coming, but he's always there). It was a calm and mild day, we drank more coffee and occasionally ventured outside to admire the scenery. The Old Man of Hoy impressed, as always, and the journey was pleasant. Excitement grew. Reports of the birds continued presence regularly came through. The hoards were descending. 

There was a good deal of discussion about logistics, the charter boat timings, how long the walk was across Papa Westray and whether we could make the return ferry that evening. The latter seemed impossible and an overnight in Kirkwall was on the cards. I would have to deal with the grief that could cause later. It was a Varied Thrush; only that mattered right now. 

By 10am we were in the car and made the 25 minute drive to Kirkwall. Our charter was likely to be here around 12.45, so there was more time to kill. More coffee. Al and I were debating what to eat in a nearby cafe, along with Malcolm Roxby and Rich Stephenson (the Man from Mars) when Sam called. The boat was already there and waiting for us! We scrambled back to the quay, donned the natty lifejackets and boarded the C-Spartan, a rapid response boat normally used for ferrying wind farm workers around.  

The crossing was rapid - we had been told 1.5 hours but in fact in these conditions it was just an hour. This brought us  well ahead of schedule and put the possibility of exiting Orkney today back on the table if everything came together. I messaged David Roach (the birds' finder) via Twitter and he kindly agreed to pick us up, although there were 12 of us on the boat so way more than a carload.

Just after noon we were on Papa Westray. I've been here twice before, for Britain's first Chestnut Bunting in 2015 and the fabulous Steller's Eider twitch with Andy in November 2019. Fond and positive memories of this place. 

We disembarked around noon, with David kindly waiting for us in his pick-up. Everyone jumped on board (without a word of thanks to him, or to me for arranging it). David unsurprisingly wasn't keen to carry 12 passengers, but like the selfish wankers they are no-one would get out. I could have kicked-off, but didn't want twitchers to start squabbling in front of David who was doing us a favour. Four of us got out and started to walk, but thankfully David offered to return and we were all soon on site by 12.20. Handbags stuff.

It's chosen location was an unremarkable area of lawn and a tiny, treeless garden around a bungalow and some farm buildings. Not exactly similar to the giant forests of the Pacific northwest of America. Birds can be very odd like that.

Happily the bird showed within minutes, flying in to land on the garden wall in front of me. That first glimpse of it, all orange and subtle grey stripes, an enormous bill and gangly legs, will stay with me. Just wow. VARIED THRUSH. Too good not to say it again. VARIED THRUSH. Varied f+*king thrush. OML. Around thirty birders had made the effort to get here today. It felt like we we'd been handed the Holy Grail. 

What a bird it was. Utterly exquisite. And it performed in a way befitting of it's splendour; almost constantly on view prancing across a lawn and feeding continuously. It's fair to say the mood was festival-like as we collectively soaked up its orangery under a slowly blueing Orcadian sky. Two-hours flew by with this wonderful creature, and I also caught up with David Roche, along with Don and Sandra Otter (+ Tystie the wonder dog) and Steve Dudley (who all live on adjacent Westray) as well as some old birding pals. Mostly, though, I admired the bird. The views were just stunning.  

Malc togging it.

Classic forest thrush habitat.

Good to see Tystie again. She kindly brought Don and Snadra Otter with her to say hello.

Thoughts eventually turned to departure. It was hard to leave but we had to drag ourselves away. There was a long-shot we could make the 5pm ferry off Orkney. David kindly returned us to the quay, and the C-Spartan soon loomed in to view. By 3pm we were boarded and working-out if we could make it. I emailed the ferry company whilst Mark tired to ring them. We needed to be on board the ferry at 4.30pm and it was a 25 minute drive. So we needed to be in the car in Kirkwall by just after 4 to give us any chance. The C-Spartan tore across the bays and we cruised in towards Kirkwall just before 4pm (pausing for a departing ferry just long enough to increase the stress a little). No time to waste. we jumped in the car at precisely 4pm, whilst Mark firmed up the ferry booking. I drove, exiting the car park at speed whilst Al gave directions as he knew the route. Foot down we should make this. At least until we realised we were heading to the wrong ferry terminal. FFS. We'd lost almost ten minutes heading the wrong way - Al was taking us to the wrong terminal. Google said we had no chance of correcting the mistake and catching up the lost time. I wasn't for accepting that. Hard U-turn. We hit warp speed across the islands, My trusty Skoda stood-up when she was needed, and we skidded in to the terminal at precisely 4.30. How we made that distance in that time I'll never know, but it's fair to say we pushed the boundaries. We were on the ferry.

The journey south was long and tiring, broken only by a stop at a very average chippy in Golspie. Thankfully I managed to get a good few hours shut-eye on the final leg before I walked through the front door at 3.15 am on Friday. Shower. Bed. We'd been gone 29 hours, driven over a thousand miles and taken four boat journeys. But it was well worth it. A memorable twitch and an even more memorable bird. 

PS BOU / IRBC 561. Not that that is important for such an event.

Shetland 2021: Day 11

18th October - Homeward Bound    

Departure day, so despite the far more promising conditions Andy and I first dutifully tidied the apartment before readying ourselves for one last half hearted push. Even whilst emptying the bins the sheer numbers of Redwings was a stark contrast to the complete lack of migrants all week. There were birds, but it was wet and windy.

Under the conditions it made sense to head to a sheltered spot, so we settled on Geosetter. As soon as we got out of the car there were lots of birds. The 'tseep' of Redwings and cluck of continental Blackbirds. At last there were Goldcrests in the bushes. There were at least four Ring Ouzels in the valley then Andy dug out our one and only Yellow-browed Warbler of the trip. A fitting bird to finish on and great to have that sense of 'anything could happen' (and the next few days delivered some great birds, but thankfully nothing exceptional).

Beers at airport, then homeward. Not the birdy-est trip, but the Orca more than made up for that and still very enjoyable. Roll on 2022.

Shetland 2021: Day 10

Sunday 17/10. Man Down - Jonno’s last day. 

We started back in the docks at Lerwick. This time one of the habituated Otters was quickly on show. It foraged along the shore just feet away from us for the best part of an hour. A really wonderful encounter and by far the best views I’ve ever had.

We headed south and we’re just debating where to spend the last few hours available to us when news came through of a Red-flanked Bluetail at Hestingtott. We arrived just as the bird had been refound, but it was clearly fresh in and wouldn’t settle. I managed to refind it as it sped through some gardens, but it promptly vanished. Eventually it settled in to a small but densely vegetated garden. It remained in there but elusive. Thankfully all three of us managed good views with patience. There’s something about this species that retains a much-cherished status amongst British birders. Once a true mega, the first twitchable bird of modern times in Dorset in 1993 sparked a huge twitch. How times have changed - bluetail are now an expected autumn migrant, having gone a strong westward breeding range expansion in to Scandinavia. Maybe one day it’ll grace the Scottish highlands as a breeding bird. 

Bluetail. The only shot I've seen of this elusive individual. Thanks to @MtnsofScotland

It was a fitting finale to Jonno’s trip before the short drive to drop the lad off at Sumburgh Airport. Adios amigo, it’s been a blast.

Andy and I moved around for a bit with little clear plan or intention, before settling for a Chinese takeaway and watching a couple of episodes of a footy documentary on our last evening in the digs.

Shetland 2021: Day 9

Saturday 16/10; Unst Again

Dan Pointon joined us for a day's birding. Again the westerlies determined our fate, but the wind was at least a little less brutal today. We collected Dan off the ferry then headed for a greasy spoon, then had a quick look for some apparently habituaslised otters in the harbour, without success.

Those redpolls were still gnawing away at Jono and we all fancied seeing them, so back north again, narrowly missing the ferry to Yell at Toft. We had an hour to kill, which was uneventful until Dan and Jono (I was on the phone) picked-up an overflying yellow wagtail sp. I missed it completely, but Dan was confident it sounded off for western yellow and may have been an eastern-type. Thankfully it ditched in a field a few hundred meters away. Dan, being Dan, sprinted across the bog to get photos and recordings, which he duly did. Andy and Jono stayed with the car and I headed over at a more leisurely pace, arriving just in time for a few seconds of scope view before it flew off calling repeatedly. I'll admit that the call wasn't that different to my ear, but once we compared recordings it was clear who had the experience here (and it wasn't me). Such is the modern world Dan had sent his photos and sound recordings to experts across Europe, but opinions varied. In the end, a couple of weeks later, Dan received an email from wagtail expert Alex Hellquist who thought the bird was possibly from western Siberia, or perhaps eastern Scandinavia, so an eastern yellow wagtail, but not an Eastern Yellow Wagtail. I have to admit I find it confusing with these clinal species - exactly where does one species become another? Of course it's all arbitrary, the birds either know nor care.

eastern,but not Eastern Yellow Wagtail. Close but no cigar.

Despite the wind the sun shone, and it took no time to drive up to Norwick and locate a small flock of redpolls; 5 Common Redpolls (presumably of Greenland origin), but more pleasingly the two Hornemann's Arctic Redpolls too.

The photogenic Long-tailed Ducks remained in Norwick Bay, and I enjoyed a quite few minutes photographing them, along with the local Ringed Plovers.

Long-tailed Duck

Ringed Plover

We birded a little around Haroldswick, albeit with a general lack of migrants apart from a few Chaffinches. Nice views of a feeding Otter were good compensation though. Jono and I had a good wander across the headland of Mu Ness in a failed attempt to see Snow Buntings, but the walk felt good and the scenery was spectacular.

We headed back to Lerwick and ended up having a Thai meal and then witnessing the spectacle a Jono attempting to join in a Ceilidh before Dan headed to the bus stop (moving in with proper birders) and we retired. Jono's last night cam just as the wind veered slightly to the east. 

Warrington Travolta adding with a Gaelic twist

 

Shetland 2021: Day 8

Mainland Shetland, 15th October 2021

The lack of migrants continues, along with the relentlessly frustrating and cold north westerly wind. Still, we were chalking up some birds and the company was good.

We started the day at Wester Quarff, where again the King Eider refused to grant us an audience despite there being plenty of Common Eiders.

Much of the next few hours was spent chasing flocks of flighty European Golden Plovers in southern Mainland, around Fleck. After multiple near-misses, the American Golden Plover eventually settled and we enjoyed great views.

Hugh Harrop's excellent photo - American Golden Plover, Fleck.

At Hoswick the long-staying Red-breasted flycatcher showed briefly, no doubt largely hunkering down in the gale. 

At last knockings we headed back to Clift Sound, this time on the opposite side from Wester Quarff in the hope it would be more sheltered and with the sun behind us. This proved to be a smart-move as the common eider flock was fairly close and we immediately located the adult KING EIDER. At last. Whilst not in full finery at this time of year it was still a good looking beast.

Shetland 2021: Day 7

 14/10/2021 Wet'n'wild

Buoyed by our success and holding out some hope for more Orca action, we made the call to again head north to Unst. Perhaps we should have stayed on there? There was still those redpolls that Jono was keen to see too.

On the way we drove along South Nesting Bay on Mainland. A distant Otter, a few Great Northern Divers and Harbour Porpoises were initially all that was of note, and scanning on the roaring wind was tough. But shortly after arriving at the northern-end (Kirkabister) we picked-up a moulting adult White-billed Diver nicely close inshore. There have been two birds here recently and it is a regular spot almost year round. After multiple failed attempts in June and one earlier this week it was pleasing to connect with this bird. It's not the rarity it was once thought to be, but regardless they're wonderful birds.  

Banana-bill. the views were better than the photo!

We headed north again, catching the two ferries again and on to Unst in wet and windy conditions. 

Birding was definitely on the slow side. We looked for the redpolls in several favoured locations, but any self-respecting passerine would be hunkered low in the freezing gale. Around 15 Brambling and a lone Chiffchaff were at Valyee (the first of the trip, which says a lot), although I enjoyed the close small flock of Long-tailed ducks in Nor Wick bay, where bumped in to Mark and Linda Sutton (thanks for the tea!).

Simply because Jono or I had never been there, as the day closed out we drove up to Skaw, the most northerly occupied residence in the UK. I'm pretty certain I couldn't take this level of isolation, but then you have a private beach and no doubt some great birds would appear in the garden. 

'Skaa' is the most northerly home in the British Isles. Who lives in a house like this?

Wick of Skaw bay

Just down from Skaw is the flat headland of Lamba Ness. It's known to birders as a great place for buntings and larks, but will soon look very different. The Shetland Space Station received planning permission recently, now known as SaxaVord Spaceport, and will no doubt be transformative for the island and it's economy. I have mixed feelings about it - I can see the economic argument, but there will be a loss of wildness and possible impacts on wildlife. It's impossible to ignore that these islands lack jobs and opportunities, so it's likely to have been well received locally. 

Suspect noone will be birding on that headland anytime soon!

We headed back to Lerwick without the redpolls and, on reflection, the journey north hadn't been worth it this time. It felt a long and tiring journey back and I was keen not to return to Unst too soon.

Shetland 2021: Day 6. ORCA!!!

 Wednesday 13/10

Spot the Orca. This is the only shot taken at the time (Sharon Jack). I

With poor weather well and truly taking hold, we made a late start. I caught up on a work call whilst Andy cooked breakfast (decent but not up to his soup standards)..

By mid-morning we were musing options, and were considering heading to Unst to look for Arctic Redpolls. As we talked through options news came through on Whatsapp that there were Orca - Killer Whales to most people - cruising the bays on the north east side of Unst. Whilst it seemed highly unlikely that they would remain in the area, it was always a possibility. And there was nothing else to do given the weather and lack of migrants. So we were off. It's a long way up to Unst from Lerwick. The first leg is a 45-minute drive up to Toft, then 30 minutes on the ferry to Yell followed by a 17 mile drive north across the island to Gutcher before a final 15 minute ferry crossing on to Unst. 

As we had a few minutes before the second ferry we called-in at Sand Water where a male Ring-necked Duck did it's very best to look unimpressive, sharing the loch with a few Whooper Swans, Eurasian Wigeon and Tufted Ducks.

Ring-necked Duck

There had been a couple more recent reports of Orca, but the news wasn't too promising as they'd headed north out of Nor Wick bay and so along the largely inaccessible northern coast of the island. We debated tactics. There is only one accessible bay in the north of Unst - Bura Firth - but that is very narrow and surely no self-respecting Orca would head in there. I thought the sensible option was to head west and hope the animals continued to track the coastline. However the west coast is even less accessible than the north, with around 15km of sheer cliffs and no roads before the topography becomes sufficiently gentle to enable a road and a smattering of houses at Westing, which is where we encamped. It could be a long wait. We sat in the car and scanned the distant sea from a vantage point, not at all optimistic. Half an hour passed and we were already bored. Then the Shetland Facebook Orca Sightings group was updated. They had entered Bura Firth and were showing right now. Shit. We should have gone there. Never listen to me! Why did they listen to me? It's a large bay and maybe they'd linger. A high speed U turn preceded hitting the warp-speed button that Skoda's are so famous for. Eleven minutes drive said Google. Well Google has it's opinion, but we had a different one. Eight minutes later we skidded to a halt overlooking the Orca-less Bura Firth. Apparently they had departed around 10 minutes before our arrival; had we gone there from the ferry we'd have enjoyed breathtaking views. Arse.

We could have gone birding at that stage, but Jono and I were very much focused on one thing. We would head back to Westing and wait. There was no hurry given the miles of coast that the Orca would need to travel, and of course they could turn out to sea at any moment. It felt like a long shot, but it was closer than either of us had ever been to connecting with the infamous Shetland 'sea pandas'. We stopped to collect food at the 'Final Checkout', Britain's most northerly store, then headed back to Westing Bay where was parked by the beach alongside a couple of other hopefuls including Steve Hart and veteran Shetland Orca watcher Sharon Jack. It was just after 2pm when we settled-in.

Bird interest was limited, at least until a Little Egret appeared in front of us. I dismissed it far too easily without appreciating how rare a bird that is on Shetland (second record of the year we later found out). Thankfully Andy looked and discounted the possibility of an American Snowy Egret. 

Jono and I were focussed on scanning the sea. Again and again and again. The bay was sheltered, but beyond that the sea was rough and it would be easy to miss them. Sharon was encouraging and remained optimistic, and also provided some pretty fascinating background information on the local Orcas. Today's pod was the most regular group of Shetland animals, known as 'the 27s' - a photograph taken in Bura Firth earlier had confirmed that (as each animal has distinguishing marks).

Time passed. Hope seemed to be fading. Spirits slipped. A few people drifted away. We resolved to stay until it was dark, there was still time surely? How long does it take an Orca to swim 15km? Who knows.

Then, shortly after 5pm, Jono whispered "I think I've just seen a fin". We scanned but nothing. Jono was convinced and jumped out of the car to tell Sharon, who had coincidentally just had a text from Shetland Orca guru Hugh Harrop saying 'any minute now' (based on his estimation of their speed).  A couple of minutes passed, but I know Jono well enough to believe him when he's seen something. Then  Sharon shouted that she had them. I scanned a little further right and just then - out of the turbulent sea - an ORCA breached clean out of the water. WOW!!! What a way to see my first one. The pod of four animals then loomed in to view, including the single spectacular bull. Over the next 15 minutes the views through bins and scope were superb. They moved slowly around a couple of islands just offshore, clearly hunting for seals. The male even 'tail-slapped' at one point, and multiple times the famous white eye patches were clear out out of the water and the pale saddles visible. It was absolutely fantastic to finally see these magnificent animals. Whilst watching I made the conscious decision to not even try and take photos and simply enjoy the moment, and I'm so glad I did. 

We were ecstatic. Birds didn't matter. In fact I'd have taken Orca over a good week of birding. Once they were satisfied that there was nothing for them on the islets, they suddenly powered south - towards the Bluemull Sounds and possibly the ferry terminal. Again in to the car and another speedy drive to Belmont. Light was starting to fade, but Sharon told us there was a good chance they'd visit the salmon cage just offshore. We waited, but there was no sign so we boarded the next ferry. Despite it being almost pitch black, Jono and I stood on deck and scanned a little and - incredibly - Jono picked them up across the sound by another salmon cage. If only we'd headed to that one first, but still, we were very happy indeed. 

Superb as it was to finally see Orca, they left me wanting more and I very much hope to have that opportunity.

A few shots of the 27's below, all borrowed from the Shetland Orca Facebook group, but capturing the kind of encounter we enjoyed.

For me this was already the highlight of the trip, and a highlight of the year. We made the long journey back to Lerwick in buoyant mood. Chippy. Bed.