A Grand Day Out, 20th April 2021

A rare day off work warranted a change of scene. My recent trip to the Tenby Walrus had been a relative success, but it felt rather like unfinished business; great views of it in the water but it had steadfastly refused to haul out, so we hadn't seen it's full glory.

So another early-ish start, setting off at 5.30 with Paul Baker. It was a glorious morning and the 4 hour journey flew by, lightened by the odd Red Kite, and we arrived without incident at 9.30 and strolled through down the high street to the harbour and now famous RNLI lifeboat station. It was of course immediately apparent and thankfully hauled out. Over the next 1:45hrs we soaked in the spectacular beast as it loafed and lazed, rolling on it's side and back, then shuffling further up the ramp was the rising tide lapped it's substantial rear-end. Compared to photos taken a few weeks ago when it first appeared, he (or she, the jury seems to be out) had clearly put on a substantial amount of weight. In fact he/she looked positively rotund. A good thing for sure and hopefully it will manage the long journey back home, presumably to Greenland.

Footnote - 20th September 2021. The walrus has been photographed in Iceland today, identified as the same animal due to distinctive marks and grazes on each front flipper.

Whilst the walrus napped, scanning offshore on the flat calm sea revealed a handful of feeding Gannets, Manx Shearwaters, Razorbills and Guillemots. It was good to hear and see Sandwich Terns and 5 Whimbrels flew past, my first of either species this year.

By late morning we had filled our boots and it was time to move on the the second part of the day. After a quick stop in the souvenir shop (Walrus mugs all round), we set-off west joining the M4, crossing the Severn Bridge and arriving on Salisbury Plain in Wiltshire around 3.30. The famous Plan is an area I'd never visited and always felt like a hole in my personal experiences of the UKs region. Like many of our rarer habitats, Salisbury Plain has survived the ravages of modern agriculture as it's an MoD training area. Military presence is evident everywhere. 

The reason for our visit was naturally unrelated to tanks, but to witness the fledgling but expanding reintroduced Great Bustards. The https://greatbustard.org/ has done  a superb job and despite numerous set backs and constant financial shortages, there are now roughly 100 bustards living and breeding in the wild. Releases ceased in 2019, having been annual since 2003. It was always going to be a long process to establish a population of this massive bird with a complex social structure. The group now believes that they are now self-sustaining and apparently a paper is in preparation. Many birders remain cynical of this, or the long term viability of the project, and it seems premature to declare success but I sincerely hope the birds flourish. There hasn't been a vagrant Great Bustard in the UK since 1987 (and I still regret missing those Norfolk birds), but many now believe they originated from a German reintroduction project anyway. Regardless, we weren't here to tick, just to enjoy. I suspect it'll be many years before the BOU accepts the self-sustaining argument but hopefully one day this amazing conservation project will also benefit my list. 

Arriving on the Plain we followed the directions down wide dirt tracks, somehow failing to notice the red flags initially, but noone was around. The Plain is spectacularly open, with big skies and massive grasslands creating a sense of an African savannah rather than middle England. 

Corn Buntings rattled everywhere, such a rare site these days watching them sing was a pleasure. Skylarks were also abundant. 

As we neared the lek area, our first Great Bustard flew across the road in front of us, or more lumbered, dropping in the the field we had directions too. More birds were immediately on view, seventeen in total. Adult and sub-adult males strutted in a bare field, with multiple much smaller females mostly remaining in the adjacent Plantain field. Regardless of their current status, they were impressive and fascinating to watch. The males would periodically display, tuning themselves in to giant fluff balls, but the females ignored them. One male in particular seemed larger and more dominant, big daddy bustard no doubt.

Somewhat naively, we had paid no attention to the red flags flying, assuming that here on the public access track we were fine, but apparently not and after an hour or so we were politely moved away by people in uniform. So we decided to head to another spot up the road for another southern grassland specialist; we’d been given an easy site for Stone Curlew and we were soon watching four birds in an area set aside from them. Two Northern Wheatears, Stonechats and Yellowhammers also enriched the experience.

We then headed back for a bit more bustard action, choosing not to see the red flags this time. The birds continued their performance in the evening sunshine and very pleasant it was too.

Brown Hares, Roe Deer and Red Deer all seemed common, and a Barn Owl hunted around a farmyard in the early evening.

A good, if long, day out.

Thermal Jacks

 05th April 2021

A quick dart to the patch to meet up with a passing-through Dan Pointon finally made me try the recent winter's trend of using thermal cameras to locate Jack Snipes. Without the techno aid it's pretty much impossible to find these birds on the ground, but with the camera it could scarcely be easier. It took about a minute to find the first one and very soon we tallied at least 9. They are so confident in their incredible camouflage that you can approach to within a couple of feet. Or at least you can if you don't sink in the marsh like I did. 

Mocker Shocker 10th February 2020

It was bound to happen sooner or later; a major rarity in a garden, during lockdown. In fact after the rarity bonanza of the autumn the lack of wintering rarities has been noteworthy. Perhaps nothing has been found, or maybe we are yet to hear of  more rare birds lingering across the nation, then kept quiet as a consequence of Covid. 

But a midwinter garden rarity happens regularly enough for it to not be a major surprise, even if the species itself is. It turns out this one was not suppressed, quite the opposite in fact. Poor-quality photos Tweeted on Saturday 6th February by a resident of Exmouth hinted at something very rare, but were far from conclusive. Some responded to say they thought it was a grey wagtail, but to me it had a 'New World' feel to it. I wasn't sufficiently convinced to raise my head above the parapet, but I kept a close eye on my phone. In the end it didn't take too long; an hour or so later a clearer photo emerged and showed the birds' identity. It was a NORTHERN MOCKINGBIRD, the third for the UK. The better photo had been taken that very morning, so it was still there. The house owners had been watching the bird for several days and had correctly suspected the ID during the recent RSPB 'Big Garden Birdwatch'. I doubt they fully understood the rarity of the bird though, or that it's presence would cause such a dilemma for so many.

In normal times this would be a straightforward 'twitch-on', but of course these are not normal times. The location had been easily found and shared, but any attempt at twitching it was clearly a breach of current lockdown rules. The social media daggers were out for twitchers immediately; this had the potential to get very messy indeed but to be fair it was entirely understandable with the country in the grip of another Covid lockdown.

Chat on the Whatsapp groups was at least constructive. Clearly some people were going to go anyway. So if you did go, keep it quiet, absolutely no social media, respect the residents, be brief and get out of there quickly, and follow social distancing/face covering rules. Most of us, me included, watched and waited to see what happened next. I struggled with the inner demons and questioned both my sanity and resolve, not to mention my social conscience.

A few bolder individuals went on Sunday morning and quietly reported that it was easy to see from an alleyway to the rear of the garden, and that the locals were so far welcoming. Mockingbirds are thankfully very conspicuous birds, so it was possible to connect quickly and leave. Whilst the police had been informed (via antis on Twitter), they did not attend or appear to be concerned. And so it continued for the next couple of days - the anticipated storm didn't happen, or hadn't yet. The total social media embargo by listers appears to have helped keep the dissenting voices to a minimum. 

Hearing that the bird could be seen easily from a quiet alley tempted others, and quickly there seemed to be a steady trickle of visitors. No one was saying anything, not even on closed Whatsapp groups, but the silence itself was deafening. I spoke to a couple of people that had been and they all reported easy and uncomplicated success. My resolve was - predictably - weakening and I started to convince myself that I could go safely. If I filled-up at home, travelled alone, took my own food and remained entirely away from others there was no risk to anyone. Get there first thing, see the bird and leave in minutes. No build up of people. Why not, well aside from the fact it is against lockdown rules and, legally, not likely to constitute a 'reasonable excuse' for travel? Still, despite the fact that I was confident that there was no risk of increasing Covid transmissions, I wasn't keen on the idea of being stopped by the police on the motorway, or being made subject of trial by social media. A new kind of dilemma for the addiction to twitching.

On Monday 8th February I had cause to travel to Stoke on Trent (legitimately). It was the first time I'd ventured on the motorway since lockdown and I was shocked at just how busy it was with cars and trucks. Fears of being pulled by the police disappeared instantly. The inner voice of temptation was getting louder.

So on Wednesday 10th February I sett off at 4.00 am and drove along a remarkably busy M6 and M5, arriving in Exmouth around 8am and parking in a nearby Co-op carpark. It was a short walk and then a sharp turn down the back alley behind Iona Avenue. Happily there was nobody else there. The stepladder up to the 'viewing wall' that had been kindly out out by a resident was still in place, along with a donations bucket. All it needed was the bird, which appeared within 2 minutes sat in it's favoured holly. It showed well for the next fifteen minutes, mostly in the holly but dropping down out of site a few times. It was that easy. I was back in the car by 8.30, in the office by 12.30. Now it was time for the kangaroo court to begin.... 

Winter Is Coming

We got away with it in October; travel was unrestricted and with a bit of common sense it was both possible and acceptable to twitch rarities. But Covid-19 was never far away, and it came as no surprise that a national lockdown came back in to force on 2nd November. Thank heavens for local birds. 

8/11/20

Amy and I went to see the starling roost at Marbury, and very impressive it was too with arounf 15K birds (apparently) putting on a show. A sparrowhawk successfully hunted, carrying away a screaming bird, and a bittern flew across the reeds too (there are already two present this winter).

15/11/20

After a week of glorious weather whilst I was stuck in the office I finally got out on Sunday afternoon with the hope of improved views of bittern, one of which showed very well as it hoped for a starling-sixed snack. The starling roost was limited to just a few hundred birds this evening and they dropped in quickly. sure enough the bittern stalked off in that direction - I wonder how many they grab at night? Four redhead goosander were on the Mere, but that aside little else. 

One of two bitterns. A bird I never tire of seeing locally.

Indigo no go. 27th October 2020

The relentless autumn of 2020 will be remembered for many years, so it was hardly a surprise that it is not all over.

Others had predicted a US arrival following a fast moving Atlantic weather system. I had predicted nothing and so was about to show how little I know (again).

On Saturday 24th the storm ripped through SW England.  Almost immediately, in the afternoon, Jamie P (who else) found a Rose-breasted Grosbeak on St Agnes (well, Gugh). A great bird and find, but a relatively expected American passerine on Scilly. The next morning Red-eyed Vireos were found on Gugh and Bryher. Great stuff, it's always exciting to hear of Yank waifs making it over the pond, but why is it always the same species on Scilly? Andy, Jonno and I mused over that on Whatsapp as the kids carved pumpkins on a lazy Sunday.  But I had spoked too soon - the next message was more arresting. 

INDIGO BUNTING, St Agnes. Darn it. I didn't really want to travel all the way back to Aggie given how much I've been away recently and how much work I had to do. I tried to resist, but somewhere deep down knew I was going. Monday was impossible as I had to wait for the arrival of my new car, but I mused possibilities for Tuesday. The weather was predicted to be stormy and the Scillonian had now moved to it's winter schedule. Twitching Scilly isn't as simple as it should be. 

I have seen an Indigo Bunting in the UK. In fact I came off Scilly for one way back in 1998. The bird was in the unusual east coast location of Wells Wood, although we now know east coast American birds are not so unusual. The Norfolk bird appeared on the same day three other east coast Yanks (Cliff Swallow, Northern Warterthrush and Red-eyed Vireo), so it was widely assumed to be a wild bird and subsequently first for the UK. Alas the BOU decided otherwise - it turned out to be in an unusual moult sequence which was considered more typical of captive birds. The records was placed in the bin (Category D). Over time new evidence came to light on the moult, but a recent (2019) review by BOU concluded that the record should remain in the sin bin.

Since 1998 there have been two more UK records. The first was a widely twitched bird on Ramsey Island in South Wales in 1996. I had declined to go for this, having just returned from my first season in Cape May.  A spring male photographed in an Anglesey garden in 2013 was also accepted (bizarrely in my opinion). there is one Irish records, from way back in 1985. Given how frequent this species is on the Azores another was overdue.

Cutting back to the current bird, it was still present early on the Monday (26th), and people were on their way. The weather and Monday timing meant that no-one could arrive until well in to the afternoon though. Meanwhile the option of a day trip flight from Lands End appeared and it was twitch-on for Phil Woollen and me. 

Cruelly the bird disappeared at 2pm, so pretty much everyone who twitched it that day missed it (aside from a very fortunate few). They would have to stay overnight. By this stage we were committed too, and had to role out the old mantra of 'we won't see it by staying at home'. It was a long shot but there was surely a decent chance it would reappear. 

Phil collected me at 10pm, and it was good to catch up so the miles flew by. By 4am we were at Lands End, taking in a few hours sleep before waking to fog and the possibility of not flying. Sure enough the planes were delayed, and so the small airport slowly filled with birders and tourists alike. Early negative news led to a dampened mood amongst birders, but I was feeling buoyant and determined to be philosophical.  Over the years I've become much more relaxed about dipping. There's no point in letting them get to you, just enjoy the day as best you can.

We were in the air around 9.30 and made the 10.15 Osprey crossing to St Agnes. Strange to return so soon after leaving. The weather was good, if a little breezy, and we headed towards the Big Pool / Threshing Mill area where the bunting had been present. Still no sign, and so it was set to continue.

Most people headed to see the nearby Red-eyed Vireo, but I arrived too late to see it well. I did manage brief views a couple of hours later, but these were restricted to the 'arse end' of the bird and therefore disappointing - I even dipped on the compensation! The only other bird of note I saw was a Firecrest.

We departed on the 2.15 boat and loitered outside the Cavorna (cheese and onion btw). Our taxi took us back up to the airport at 3.45 and as we gathered outside someone picked up a distant Glossy Ibis in a nearby pig field and then flying. Probably bird of the day! 

Photo by Kriss Webb (aka Spider)

And that was pretty much that. We were back on the mainland and in the car by 5.00pm and home by 10.15. 

Until the next time!

Shrike Insurance

On Sunday 18th, whilst I was tearing along the M1, a Brown Shrike was found inland in West Yorkshire. A remarkable record inland, and another species that has gone from mega to annual in just a few years. 

I'd seen two before (at Flamborough in September 2008, and a wintering bird at Staines in Surrey in late 2009), but it had been a long time and this bird was a smart adult type so I was immediately tempted. But having been away and done an awful lot of driving, decided to leave it a few days.

On Monday 19th there was a good deal of debate over the birds' identity. Was it in fact a Turkestan (aka Red-tailed) Shrike? In yesteryear  these shrikes were not too difficult to identify, but the old 'Isabelline' shrike has recently been split into two (Turkestan and Daurian), both of which occur in the UK. Identification of many individuals is tricky as there is much overlap in features and many hybrid types have been recorded. Even adult birds, like this one, are far from straightforward. I've seen a clear Daurian in Cornwall (October 2013), which conveniently was found just as Jonno and I arrived at St Just airport with time to kill. I've also seen what most regarded as an identifiable Turkestan; a bird at Buckton in Yorkshire in October 2007 (seen by most people twitching the nearby Brown Flycatcher), but that one didn't make it past the BBRC. None of the other Issy shrikes I've seen have been identifiable to species (or sub-species as it was then). Subsequently the current bird became more interesting and worthy of a trip from a listing perspective, as well as aesthetics.

The bird was showing well when I arrived, but unfortunately soon retired to a more awkward spot looking in to the sun. To me the bird felt very much more like a Brown Shrike than an Issy-type, but I'll admit that was based on little more than gut feeling. It looked pretty much exactly as I would expect a Brown to look, and certainty would have called it as such had I found it. Consensus from everyone I spoke to was the same, and as photos improved and were circulated it seemed that most were of the same view in the wider world. The long, narrow tail and blunt bill, combined with the lack of any colour contrast between the crown and mantle and absence of a white base to the primaries all point towards Brown, but I'll let the experts decide (if it is even possible to be certain). 

A smart bird, regardless of the ID. Some birds are just ace, and shrikes definitely fall in to that category.

Photos below by Phil Jones and Pete Garrity.

Old School Twitching.

Despite the arduous drive from Cornwall, it took a long while for sleep to grab me. Maybe I’m just too soft to sleep in a car these day; the days of four of us trying to snooze in the same car are thankfully long past. Eventually I fell into a slumber and managed some much-needed rest. 

By 6.30 I was awake again and the car park had started to fill with arriving birders. This reminded me of old school twitches, way before the advent of real time news. The familiar clunk of car doors, people getting their gear together and speaking in hushed tones. A sense of anticipation in the half-light. I readied myself, but was far from optimistic. The tide was rising rapidly and it was clear that the saltmarsh was going to flood-out as the tide peaked. Others shared my pessimism and we made a forlorn group, stood on a gloomy morning. 

Whilst initially found yesterday on the coastal path next to where we now stood, the bird had soon moved out onto the saltmarsh and spent the remainder of the day in the sueda bushes. The trouble was that the tide would have risen overnight and more or less flooded-out the sueda; hardly a suitable place for any passerine to spend the night.  At dawn the tide was rising again, and it was due to peak around 8.30. It was only just after 7.00 and the water was already high, so no chance of searching the sueda for a couple of hours at least. There was at least some hope that the bird had relocated to the eminently more suitable coastal patch area, so I waited for the light to improve.

The view at dawn as the tide rose. Surely no chance it would be out there... 

John Gregory soon appeared. His house is just a few hundred yards away and he had been one of the first to connect. We shared similar views on the likelihood of relocation today, but as we chatted and looked out to the rising water John picked up a small bird flying our way “What’s this? Get on this! That’s it!!!” No way. Despite the near complete saturation of the sueda, the bird must have clung on until it could last no longer, and headed in from the marsh. Incredibly, it alighted right next to a small group of birders and sat up in a hawthorn. The mythical RUFOUS BUSH-CHAT, picked up (almost!) on a seawatch. An incredible moment.

Rufous Buschat (by the excellent Chris Griffin)

The bird soon relocated to the adjacent stubble field and put on a cracking show to the relatively small but growing crowd. Thankfully we could space out in the field, so there were no real issues with Covid-19 restrictions (the police soon arrived, as they had the day before, but were very relaxed and helpful).

The bird continued to feed on the ground, almost constantly on view. It sparred with a couple of robins briefly and occasionally sat up in the scrub, showing off it's rufous tail.

Bush-chat is one of those legendary species. No-one has seen one in modern times. The last was a one day bird in 1980 (in Devon), and the last one seen by anyone other than the finder was way back in 1963 (famously dipped by the original twitchers, who went on news delivered by postcard). Everyone needed this species. I will, however, admit to being a little underwhelmed. Perhaps the legend was too large, or maybe it’s just that it was looking a little scruffy. 

There are two races of Bushchat (a future split no doubt), and this one belongs to the duller, shorter-tailed Eastern syriaca subspecies. 

Mega rare yes, but it won’t make it into my personal top ten. Still, I’d definitely rather have seen it than not, and the unlikely circumstances and lengthy twitch from Scilly will go down as a classic twitch.

The day was far from over though. Whilst on Scilly I’d managed to ignore the news of another tick, way up in the north east. It was only 8.30 and I’d filled my boots with the views of the chat. News from South Shields was positive. Why not?

So another long drive commenced. This obsession truly is mental. By 08.40 I was on the road, and by 13.30 I was at Trow Quarry, South Shields in Durham (or is it Tyne and Wear?). I’d been here before, for Britain’s first Eastern Crowned Warbler in 2009 (was it really that long ago?!). Simon Nichols was making the same journey, en route to a work commitment in Scotland. We arrived more or less the same time and were straight on to the target bird.

TAIGA FLYCATCHER had previously managed to elude me, despite a couple of gettable birds. The first, a spring male at Flamborough in 2003, came at a time I was unable to go. Back then it was still considered a race of Red-breasted Flycatcher and at the time I wasn’t unduly worried as I had assumed there would be many more. It was soon split, yet remained a surprisingly rare bird. The next gettable one was in 2009 on Fetlar, Shetland. I had been for that bird (with Malc Curtin), but we dipped. Frustratingly we also dipped a Veery that weekend, and the flycatcher was refound on Yell after we left. So it was an unfinished business species and one I was glad to put to rest.

Happy exhausted twitchers. Good so see Mr Nicholls!

Like most splits, it is a subtle species. However it has enough features to look for – the colder tones, all black bill, clean white orbital ring and well-defined tertial fringing all indicate Taiga over Red-breasted. It has been sound recorded and the identification was beyond doubt given the clear difference in call (unfortunately it didn’t call whist I was there). Job done, and a pleasing bird to see. 

Incredibly it had been a two-tick day, and both birds seen less than 24 hours after leaving St Agnes. Hard-core twitching lunacy. Add this to the recent Tennessee Warbler / White's Thrush combo (on consecutive days) and it's been a classic autumn.

Yards away from the flycatcher, on the next quarry face, a Pallas’s Warbler had been found earlier in the day and continued to show. These are real crowd pleasers, even though they are not particularly rare anymore. It’s been a few years since I’d seen one of these Sibe waifs and I thoroughly enjoyed this one for an hour or so.

I had one final destination, Whitley Bay cemetery. Along with Pallas’s warblers, there had been an influx of Red-flanked Bluetail along the east coast in the preceding days and I was keen to see one. This species is another crowd pleaser and, despite it’s greatly increased occurrence on our shores, will always be enjoyable. In fact there was a lovely symmetry here. In September 1993 I had flown on a charter to Fair Isle where we dipped the then mythically rare bluetail. The following month, in October 1993 I had twitched Stiffkey in Norfolk to see a Western Black-eared Wheater (in fact my first twitch with Jonno). It has been in the exact same fields as today’s bushchat. On return home that day the earth shattering news of a bluetail at Winspit in Dorset greeted me. I travelled alone the next day, and arrived in the afternoon to get pretty unsatisfactory views. At the time it was one of the biggest rarities of the decade. Twenty seven years later bluetails are so frequent in the UK that it is no longer a rarity, but it will always retain its value for many of us however many we see. I’ve even found one with Andy on Fair Isle in 2017. The Whitely Bay bird showed well, but remained high in the trees on an appalling grey day. Still it was a joy to watch.

Red-flanked Bluetail, Whitley Bay (Colin Bradshaw).

I left the north east around 5pm, arriving back home just before 9. It would take me two days to recover, but it had been a great fun day of twitching, albeit one I am not keen on happening too often