Thursday 7 March 2024

 Semi-palmated Plover – Dawlish Warren National Nature Reserve, Dawlish, Devon, 1st July 1997

Excuse me!!? You want to do WHAT now!???. See my toes?!!??? You're having a laugh!!!!!

Some eleven weeks after it first turned up, and two weeks after it was finally, conclusively, identified and the news was released, I caught up with this one. Having managed to suppress (excuse me?) the initial instinct to go for it very soon after the news was first released, I was then faced with organising a tricky trip when I was either travelling in the opposite direction for the weekend, or working during the week.

Time moved on, and my predicament was not made any easier by the presence of two blinding birds in the country at once, albeit at opposite ends of the country. However, having taken in the Blue-cheeked Bee-eater on Mainland Shetland with such simple ease, I was sufficiently buoyed up to telephone Paul Pugh to gloat about my grip-back.

As he too had not taken in the Semi-palmated Plover, we tentatively agreed to go for it on Tuesday the 1st July, but neither of us could commit to this as we were very busy. Predictably, but understandably, Paul pulled out when I ‘phoned him on the Sunday night. I plotted to go all the same…..

On Monday the 30th June I travelled from Accrington (er, my erstwhile in-laws) to work at Audley, Staffordshire, and then on to a meeting in Burton-on-Trent, at the other end of the county. Meeting over, I then checked out part of the pipeline route, before returning to Audley. 160 miles already, but all the same I was keen to go. The only problem was that the pager suggested that the Semi-palmated Plover had vanished earlier in the day. Fortunately, as indecision set in, another message reported that it had been relocated. Even though my work colleague Mike was on the ‘phone to Nigel, I left in such a rush that he got a note. It was 16:00. I estimated four hours for the trip, and was more or less right. Despite the late hour I got through the West Midlands well, and was doing well until I hit a traffic jam in Somerset. Some 40 minutes delay followed.

I might still have got there in time to see it that evening, if it hadn’t been for my determination to make it to Sowley Services before I filled up. This I failed to do….. .

I ran out of diesel at Collumpton, and having experience of the implications of this, it only took a further 40 minutes to rectify this shortage of diesel, as I stopped under an overbridge, which lead straight into Collumpton, and a garage, which thankfully was still open. I was then able to hurtle on towards my final destination, but even then, I was confused by the layout of Dawlish and Dawlish Warren. Finally, I made it but it was really too late. I yomped towards the hide and was told by a solitary birdwatcher that he had last seen it about an hour ago, but that it had flown off. It was not obvious from the hide, so I walked back along the beach still without any signs that gave me any feeling of optimism.
Some very useful interpretation in the hide at Dawlish Warren!

I met the same birdwatcher back at the car-park, and he imparted lots of useful advice. I was resigned to a night in the car. To help things along I went into Dawlish and found a Chinese take-away. I made my purchase and returned to Dawlish Warren, seeing a Nightjar hawking on the way back. I consumed my meal in the car-park of a pub, and afterwards went in for a pint, but unfortunately this proved to be disappointing in comparison with the Chinese and the Nightjar.

On returning to the car-park I really got myself organised for the night ahead, although it was, initially at least, somewhat disconcerting due to frequent gunshots and cars nearby!

Having slept – finally, soundly, briefly, I was up and about by 04:30 –ish. I again yomped quickly along to the hide, although this time I took a short-cut over the golf-course, as even golfers weren’t up at that time. Although the state of the tide was more favourable, I could only see larger species of wader roosting from the hide. I then made my way to the fenced-off area, where there were indeed Dunlin and Ringed Plover, although as far as I could see there was only one non-adult Ringed Plover. So, I returned to the hide again, still with no success.

On my way back across the foreshore between the hide itself and the access track I was attracted by the call of a Ringed Plover. At first, I couldn’t even find the calling bird, let alone anything else, but finally I got on it amongst the pioneer saltmarsh vegetation. Once I had located it, I noticed that there was another and almost immediately another. Was that it or was it that one? No, that was it – it had to be!!

I picked out what appeared to be a long-legged version of the immature Ringed Plovers, distinctive for this reason and also its ‘different’ expression. I struggled to keep on it as it scampered across the mudflats whilst attempting to refer to Cotteridge and Vinicombe, Rare Birds in Britain and Ireland, but all the same I was reasonably confident, and all the more so the more I looked.

I moved along the foreshore in an attempt to get a better view, but for no apparent reason, as I struggled with my ‘scope and tripod, book, notebook and rucksack, the three Charadrius spp. took off and flew towards the sea. In flight the size difference was very marked, as was the difference in the wing-bar pattern.

I rushed off in the same direction, and as I did so I passed a Golden Retriever as I made my way to the beach, where I failed to locate the three first-summer ‘ringed’ plovers. On my return to the mudflats, I had an altercation with a dog-owner, due to my irritation over her lack of control over her dog.

Having regained my composure, I finally relocated first the ten or so Dunlin, and then the three ‘ringed’ plovers. This time the Semi-palmated Plover was (even) easier to pick out. However, frustratingly once I had re-located it, it again began quickly running and calling, before flying towards the sea again. This time the size difference and wing-bar pattern were even more apparent.

After another quick check of the beach, I decided to cut my losses, and so returned to the car-park. I attempted to give news of my sightings to someone who proved not to be the warden, and so, some 30 minutes later, I ‘phoned the news in to Dick Filby from Sowley Services.

So, I had managed to see two stonking birds in a short space of time, having both birds to myself, and identifying them myself (not that this was particularly difficult to identify the Blue-cheeked Bee-eater!). One storming twitch for a stonking bird in Shetland, followed by a repeat performance for another in Devon less than a week later. And identifying one of the most difficult species on the list was quite a thrill; I was feeling very pleased with myself as I left Dawlish, Devon, the South West of England, etc..

June had been a very good month, particularly if I included the last seven hours of May and the first seven hours of July!!

Most (all except the palmations?!?!?) of the identification criteria were picked up on. Size difference, (particularly noticeable in flight), “chee-wee,” call seemingly quieter on the ground or at first, indistinct wing-bar, jizz – long-legged and hunched, short stubby bill, different, (harder?), face pattern with flat 
W –shaped supercilium, worn remiges, etc..
Semi-palmated Plover, Dawlish Warren, Dawlish, Devon, July 1997 (photograph credited to Alan Tate).

Monday 4 March 2024

Dark-eyed Junco – Weston, Portland, Dorset, 8th December 1989

Our quarry, in a quarry, briefly.

The grotty flu, or despite the grotty flu! And it honestly wasn’t twitcher’s flu! What am I on about? Well, some explanation is clearly needed.

I was, at this time, approaching the end of my first full year as an employee of ERL. Prior to this I had worked on a short-term contact for Press Pipelines on the Wytch Farm and Purbeck to Southampton Pipeline Projects, and prior to this, I had, between September 1984 and September 1987, been an employee of Wigan Metropolitan Borough Council (and prior to this I had done two breeding seasons of Upland Bird Survey work for the Nature Conservancy Council and otherwise, apart from some appalling temporary jobs such stacking shelves in a supermarket, serving behind a bar in a pub and working at The Breck farm plucking geese for Quentin Wareing, I had been on the dole courtesy of Margaret Thatcher).

In this context, Friday the 8th December was remarkable, not just because I twitched 
Dark-eyed Junco (or Slate-coloured Junco as it was for some time) but because it was the very first day I had ever taken off ill. I hadn’t, I must hasten to say, taken the day off to enable me to twitch the bird.

Rather, I had taken the day off as I felt horrible due to what I assume was the flu (I felt as bad as the Rose-coloured Starling we saw after we had seen the junco looked). However, having done so, when, whilst I was moping around at home, the opportunity arose to twitch the junco, I couldn’t resist. Why not? I could carry on moping, or I could see another really good bird. No contest.

Birders threw sickies all the time to go off to see birds. They used endlessly cunning ruses to create the opportunity to see birds during the ‘working’ week. For example, some birders (who perhaps weren’t the most inventive) obviously had multiple grandmas, as they were forever going to their grandma’s funeral. Mike Thompson, my very good friend from St. Albans, came up with a deadly ailment most Octobers, and, like many birders, was in the Scillies for a week or so, carefully wearing sun-block throughout, and swearing Pete Ewer and I to secrecy, as some of his fellow lecturers at the old building college in St. Albans also drank at The Farrier’s. Indeed, the previous October, Pete and I had had a fantastic day in the Scillies when a small group of fellow regulars at The Farrier’s, who had chartered a yacht and then pub-crawled along the Cornish coast to the Scillies, invited us on board the yacht, Tarragon, for the day. We sailed to Tresco, and whilst Pete and I birded they were in the pub, and then we sailed to St. Agnes and anchored in the Gugh Sound, me having taken the helm. I did four islands that day..... . Meanwhile Mike hid.

But I digress. I had very genuinely ‘phoned in sick, and then gone off to see a bird, as an after-thought.

The junco had been around since Sunday the 3rd December (and remained until the 8th April) Pete and I (and possibly Mike, although he would have had to skive off college to do so..... ) travelled from St. Alban’s to Portland (presumably Pete had taken the day off rather than risking waiting until the weekend). Once there we quickly found the appropriate place, one of the quarries near Weston.

As we approached two birders they appeared to be ‘scoping rubbish in the quarry below. Rubbish!! In amongst it the junco was feeding – looking very much like a feeding Chaffinch, or, more to the point, a Teydean Chaffinch (or, as we say nowadays, a Blue Chaffinch – I think!!).

Inconveniently, I had chose to eat an apple just before this; before I could get onto it properly – although I did get it in the bins – it rapidly worked its way out of the quarry, flying to various places en route at which further brief views with my bins were obtained. Ultimately, it moved out of the quarry into a nearby garden, where I got further views with my bins, and crucially, a brief view with my ‘scope. And then it was off.

It had dark grey upper-parts and also under-parts except the belly and under-tail coverts, under-tail and outer tail feathers which were white. It had a pink bill. It called briefly, and this was reminiscent of Yellowhammer, as was the jizz.

Subsequent trips to Weston produced a few more brief views of this bird (unsuccessfully on the 17th December, but successfully on the 28th December).

However, ironically, on the 1st January 1990 I saw another at Church Crookham in Hampshire! This was presumably soon after when the news was finally released; what was considered to be the same bird had previously been there between the 30th May and the 7th June 1987, on the 20th May 1988 and the 7th February 1989 and then from the 26th December 1989 onwards (until the 7th March 1990)!
Dark-eyed Junco, Weston, Portland, Dorset, December 1989 (photograph credited to unknown).

Monday 26 February 2024

 Rose-breasted Grosbeak –Tresco, Scillies, Cornwall, 12th October 1993

Monster!

In the way of things on Scilly, a Hermit Thrush had been seen on Tresco on Monday the 11th October 1993, and so the next day that was where I was. Except it wasn’t, or apparently not; more of which later..... .

Anyway, whilst forlornly looking for it news broke of a Rose-breasted Grosbeak on the gorse, bracken and bramble covered slopes above the western end of the Great Pool.

As I made my way along the upper track I was daunted by the size and presence of the gallery on the lower track, so I decided to be different and clambered up through the wood to the tor and out onto the hilltop. I made my way to the already present birders photographers, much to the misplaced wrath of the assembled gallery below.

All the same, this did prove to be a misguided idea as, just as the hill-slope frustrated views from the track lower down, it also thwarted ones from higher up. So eventually I made my way to the much dispersed gallery. This afforded better and better views as the bird gradually moved across and then down the slope.

So, in the end this was a very good, and predicted, tick. Best (simplest) description – a like a large male Whinchat – due to the combination of eye-stripe, supercilium, cap and wing-bars, plus the orange wash of the breast.
Rose-breasted Grosbeak, Tresco, Scillies, October 1993 (photograph credited to unknown).

Thursday 15 February 2024

 Blue-cheeked Bee-eater – Asta House, near Scalloway, Shetland, 24th June 1997


The news of this broke (me) on the afternoon of Sunday the 22nd June 1997, at about 16:00, as Gilly and I browsed our way around the Dougal Evans Walled Garden Centre, at Hopetoun House, just outside South Queensferry, as you do.

I ‘broke’ as it was eight years since the last one, which had been at the somewhat more accessible Cowden in North Humberside. Well remembered because (like the Mowbray Park, Sunderland, Tyne and Wear Baillon’s Crake) I dipped it, as I was moving into 8 Chatsworth Court in St. Albans, whilst Paul Pugh, my birding best mate and arch-twitching rival, scored. The pressure was on!

Much of the rest of Sunday afternoon was spent ‘phoning airports and British Airways or (offshoots of) with little or no tangible success. I was no nearer knowing what I was doing come Monday. In between attempts to work, I continued to make calls to BA and P. and O. Ferries, slowly formulating my strategy. This was not swayed even when offers of lifts on the pager began, although I did ‘phone Dick Filby, seeking his input on twitching it, including advice on any other birders who might be doing so.

So it was that at about 14:50 I left South Queensferry prepared, or at least prepared as I could ever be, for a long twitch. I was still running the car in after its engine refit, but the journey was well timed, or would have been if it wasn’t for rush hour traffic chaos in Aberdeen.

Anyway, I made it, and not knowing anymore than it was showing in the late afternoon, I was off to twitch a mega in Shetland, complete with all its’ memories of successful and unsuccessful previous twitches. It was a bouncy, chilly trip, the wind coming straight from the Arctic, and causing quite a swell. Despite, or perhaps because of, several seasickness pills past their use by date, I was reasonably comfortable throughout the trip, and managed to sleep even though the reclining chairs were less than ideal for sleeping in. However, I coped better than most, and breakfasted well, before attempting a sea watch, which was abandoned quickly as it was just too cold.

Finally, we arrived in Lerwick, on time. I disembowelled (!), (tripods are so dangerous!), and marched to the nearest taxi, and asked for Asta House. After some debating and prompting a fare of £6.50 was agreed, and so we were off. At just about 08:10 we arrived at what was thought by me and the decent old taxi-driver to be the said Asta House, but by way of confirmation I asked a local woman, who in turn asked me if I was looking for ‘the bird’. She told me it was still there and I paid the taxi driver. At first I could only hear it, which was very frustrating, as it was obviously very close in the crown of a stunted sycamore in the well vegetated (for Shetland) garden. It was only after the local woman had departed and a local man had arrived that I finally located it by moving along the top of the roadside bank against the garden fence. It was sat on the top of the sycamore on wind stunted dead branches just above the canopy, and so slightly obscured from some angles. However, it obliged us with crippling, although back on and slightly obscured, views. He too had to go so I was left on my own with an eighth for the British Isles.

There was the occasional further passing local, including Pete Ellis. After some while it moved from its favourite perch, possibly due to my noises in an attempt to get it to face me. Anyway, it then proceeded to move from perch to perch within the same wooded (?) gardens and was obliging enough to let me fire off many shots - some quite close and with flash – Reg Mellish (er, let’s say, a very early incarnation of a modern-day togger) eat your heart out! After it had had enough it made its way back from perch to perch to its favourite perch in the sycamore.

Here it showed better than ever whilst I showed it to a mini-bus full of students from de Montford University, on a seabird ringing expedition to Yell.

Whilst they were watching it suddenly left its favourite perch and flew to the nearby golf course and began hawking for more insects and then perching on the adjacent barbed wire fences alongside the golf-course and road. However, when the mini-bus and another vehicle went past, it was flushed and flew alongside the mini-bus over the golf course, and away.

I followed it on foot when it didn’t return but failed to locate it, so I returned, if only to grip-off the late-comers, including the birders on the charter from Inverness I had considered trying to get on.

It was a stunning bird. Overall it was bright green with some browner and bluer areas. It had a long tail with long pointed central tail feathers and also long wings. It had a long black eye-stripe terminating with an upward sweep behind the eye, and separating two powder blue patches on the upper and lower face. It also had a white forehead, yellow chin, and orange-red upper breast. In comparison with European Bee-eater it was more slightly more attenuated, in particular because of the longer tail, with a longer decurved bill that was all dark, as were what was seen of the feet. Otherwise, was very similar in size, shape and overall appearance, both in flight and at rest. The call was similar as well.

After some general socialising (gloating?) with the assembled birders I walked into Scalloway and to the recommended North Atlantic Fisheries College, which proved to be a fitting place for a meal that was excellent. I had seen a stunning bird when no other twitchers had seen it that day, at least until it was re-discovered late in the evening. I returned on the ferry that night feeling very comfortable with life, and was, in effect, back at work by 10:30 on the Wednesday, having taken just one whole day off. A supremely successful grip back! That said, I was equally a tad uncomfortable, as the same crew who had twitched in by charter plane from Inverness were returning on the St. Clair ‘with’ me, having dipped….. .

Many years later, when Chris Pendlebury and I stayed in Scalloway in September 2020, we birded Asta House every morning, and I was invited to bird the excellent gardens from the inside, rather than from the roadside, by Janet Caterall, the co-owner of Asta House. When we discussed the Blue-cheeked Bee-eater I had twitched, she showed me her signed photograph of it which she had been presented by Bill Oddie, and I was photographed holding it in front of the sycamore the bird had most often frequented.
Blue-cheeked Bee-eater, near Scalloway, Mainland Shetland, Shetland, June 1997, so close even I could get record shots.
Your truly with said signed photograph many years later at the scene of my successful twitch.
Blue-cheeked Bee-eater, near Scalloway, Mainland Shetland, Shetland, June 1997 (photograph credited to Rob Wilson).

Friday 9 February 2024

 Naumann’s Thrush – Woodford Green, Essex, 6th February 1990

A less than successful attempt to capture how the bird looked in the very early morning light as it fed on the cricket pitches.

Finally the thrush succumbs!!!

Pete Ewer, Mike Thompson and I had had an unfeasibly bad start to 1990. On Saturday the 13th January, we’d dipped Wallcreeper having gone to Amsterdam for the day on the ferry from Harwich to Hook of Holland and the boat train from Hook of Holland to Amsterdam.... .

And then we went to Starcross / Dawlish in Devon on Sunday the 4th February on what turned out to be a complete fool’s errand. We had chased a rumour of a Green Heron which came to nothing, and only later on had we realised that there had been two Serins nearby...... .

This was incidental though. All the time we were standing around waiting for the Green Heron rumour to become something somewhat more tangible another rumour was slowly escalating... .

It went something like this...:

- ‘news of something big is going to break later today’;

- ‘news of something big in South-east England is going to break later today’;

- ‘news of something big in Greater London is going to break later today’;

- ‘news of a rare thrush in Greater London is going to break later today’;

- etc..

By the time we had travelled back to St. Albans later that evening I think we knew something like the full story.

Unbelievably, there was a Naumann’s Thrush in Woodford Green, on the edge of Epping Forest in north-east London!!!!! A what now??????

Necessarily, Pete and I were there early the following morning. But not early enough, as it turned out, as we just missed its pre-dawn appearance on the artificial wicket of the cricket pitch.

Hundreds of birders were arrayed all the way around the boundary of cricket field, standing close to the edge of the woodland that surrounded it. Sometime soon after dawn, there was a sudden ‘dread’ as seemingly birders in the far corner of the cricket field got news that the bird had been seen nearby. Seeing these birders running all of a sudden, everyone else set off running towards this point from all sides of the cricket pitch. Hundreds of birders, all clad virtually the same (at the time, in regulation issue Barbour jackets) and carrying tripods, etc., all charged across the cricket field as fast as they could.

This scenario always amused me greatly, as I imagined some bloke in one of the council houses which bounded on side of the cricket field lazily getting out of bed, stretching and then pulling back the curtains to see this apparent invading army storming towards the council estate, and shouting, “FUCK!!!!!! Hilda!!!!! Get in the wardrobe. The bloody Russians are here...!!!!!”

Anyway, later, whilst we were still moping about, David Cotteridge, who was there with a friend who was a press photographer, asked whether any of us would participate in a staged photograph. Given that most people there should have been at work, most birders quickly disappeared as they didn’t want their photograph taking, but Pete and I stepped forward, and volunteered to do so.

That was as good as it got..... . I later commuted into Central London from whichever was the nearest or most convenient nearby railway station. I was at work at ERL by about 09:15. (ERL, now ERM, was the environmental consultancy I was working for in London at this time).

OBVIOUSLY, Pete and I repeated the process the following morning, Tuesday the 6th February, with the very important exception that we made sure we got there earlier, given we had arrived just too late the previous day.

As a result we were able to witness its appearance out of the dark; in the (very dark) semi-light, I was able to eliminate the other thrushes due to a combination of its upright Wheatear-like stance and initially the pale wing-panels reminiscent of a female Ring Ouzel. As the light improved, so did the views, revealing plumage with a colouration recalling somewhat lighter female Blackbirds or (apparently) American Robin having been bleached out. Later in better light the upper-parts were a warmish grey-brown, and the under-parts were white and closely mottled with diamond shaped orange-rufous spots. The rump and the tail were more rufous, and it had a distinctive facial pattern, combining supercilium and sub-malar stripe like a female Bluethroat.

Having seen it, we departed. Pete again dropped me at whichever railway station it was, and I again commuted in to Baker Street Underground Station to arrive at work at ERL at around 09:25.

On my desk someone had placed a photocopy of the back page of that days Daily Telegraph on which there was a large black and white photograph depicting a group of birders walking through a wooded area. I was right in the middle of the group looking towards the camera. Pete was obscured by the other birders. Someone had ringed my face. Fair cop. Was I bothered? No, I had seen Naumann’s Thrush!!!
An old newspaper cutting, featuring the photograph of the staged twitch, taken by Dave Cotteridge's press photographer friend, which appeared in the Daily Telegraph, and which was placed on my desk at work, with me circled, the morning that I arrived late at work for the second day running, but crucially, this time, with Naumann's Thrush on my list.  Obviously, I'm completely inconspicuous in the photograph, dominating the scene, dead centre, and looking directly at camera.....

Paul Pugh, my long-time best birding mate and twitching arch-rival hadn’t – so I prepared a spoof flyer to celebrate my success and antagonise him further.
My spoof film review flyer, prepared solely to grip Paul Pugh off.

I saw it again when we went back on Saturday the 24th February. I also saw Lesser Spotted Woodpecker in the woodlands.

So in the end, I had storming views of a stonking bird after a stinking early 1990.

Naumann's Thrush, Woodford Green, Essex, February 1990 (photographs credited to Peter Ewer).

Monday 5 February 2024

Gyr Falcon – Loch na Reivil, Hougharry, North Uist, Outer Hebrides, 2nd April 2016

Gyr Falcon sketches based on those in my 2016 notebook (and as such, based on those made at the time).

Historical dips, or at least failures to twitch, but most notably the failed twitch to North Uist with the pregnant Gillian in April 1998, and the failed twitch to North Cornwall with (the not pregnant) Elizabeth in December 2007, were one of the back-stories to this twitch. Oh, as was the notorious occasion when, as part of our ‘Let’s Do Scotland’ trip, Dave McAleavy and I travelled by ferry from Aberdeen to Lerwick in May 1990. We hadn’t really planned to get to Shetland via Orkney and as such we hadn’t planned for an overnight stop-off in Stromness en-route, and so sneaked back onto the ferry to sleep that night, and then twiddled our thumbs in Stromness before we sailed the following morning. Once we finally departed for Lerwick, we were up on deck. We were admiring the mightily impressive Old Man of Hoy as we sailed past when someone casually remarked, “There’s been a Gyr Falcon up there...”. D’oh! Frantic scanning ensued, to no avail. Worse, debatably, we would have had time to get there earlier that morning, if only we had known about it!

However, as an alternative to such bad luck stories, another argument could be that I merely bided my time before finally catching up with a prime occurrence of this must-have species. I certainly bided my time with this individual, which despite it (or at what was most likely to have been it) having been on North Uist, or the Uists, since at least the 6th December 2015, I finally caught up with it on Saturday the 2nd April 2016.

Circumstances prevailed against me going before early April even though it had eventually become a bit more reliable, being associated with the general area around Benbecula in general (rather than North Uist, or indeed the Uists!) for at least a couple of weeks.

This meant setting off to hopefully catch up with it on April Fool’s Day, an irony not lost on me given my track record. Neither was the dubious delight of driving past numerous signs warning of ‘Hidden Dips’ and even ‘Blind Summits’ on the A roads through the Highlands and beyond to the Islands, or at least Skye.

The crossing from Uig to Lochmaddy was surprisingly calm, at least in terms of sea state, given a storm earlier had possibly caused the previous sailing to be cancelled.

I perhaps wasn’t quite as calm, especially as dusk tantalised to the extent that I might have made it to the scene (had the ferry sailing not been delayed by some 30 minutes) in half decent light. That and the fact that the directions on RBA being entirely misleading, certainly in relation to my ‘intelligence’ from Ken Shaw, et al., and, sign of the times, Facebook. The directions on RBA stated, “W. Isles. GYR juv. Female white morph still North Uist at Balranald RSPB by road near visitor centre and showing well. View from a sensible distance and stay away from swan carcass”.

Now, call me stupid, but this, to me, implied that the target of my quest, or at least its most recent food source, was somewhere (very) near the Balranald RSPB visitor centre. It was for this reason that I parked up there, and settled down for a surprisingly ‘good’ night’s sleep in the car. And it was for this reason that, from dawn onwards, I travelled and walked the local road network for at least two hours forlornly looking for a swan carcass which was within 30 or 40 m of the said roads.

Finally, I decided that it had to be elsewhere, and to my failing logic, the next most likely place was Loch na Reivil, just north of Hougharry, a place I remembered from two years before when Gary and I ‘Did the Hebrides’ and stayed in the nearby Sgeir Ruadh bed and breakfast with Mrs K. Simpson.

Once there I chatted to a bizarre elderly couple who were looking for the Gyr Falcon too, and indeed they showed me the much vaunted Mute Swan corpse. I gently, and then increasingly less so, suggested that they should move away from the corpse and watch from their car. This failed to register, so I tried to set a good example by retreating myself and parking up some way off.

Having set myself up in the car, I almost immediately became aware of alarming Common Gulls, and as I traced them I realised, in a complete heart attack moment, that they were mobbing a fucking great big white thing perched on a fence-post on the peninsula in the lochan.

I frantically waved and gesticulated at the couple, who were still wandering around aimlessly near their car, and therefore near the swan carcass. They remained defiantly oblivious..... . In complete frustration at their general ignorance (both in terms of still wandering around near the corpse and totally ignoring me – and so potentially not seeing the bird they were ‘looking’ for) I resorted to driving at them at speed in the wrong gear to ‘put them right’.

Anyway, perhaps I needn’t have panicked, as effectively the bird remained on the same fence-post until much later in the day, long after I had watched it for a good while, helped the couple get on it, allowed them to use my ‘scope (as I was feeling guilty!!!), walked closer and watched and sketched it for a good while more, departed to Lochmaddy, checked into the Lochmaddy Hotel, watched Brighton and Hove Albion versus Burnley and lunched in the solitude of the public bar, and eventually returned.

Once back, I watched it on the same fence-post for a good while more. Initially I had it to myself (and even resorted to waving down passing Dutch tourists in camper vans to share the experience with them), but eventually (partly due to the arrival of the afternoon ferry) other car loads of birders appeared. I also visited the RSPB visitor centre for a ‘comfort break’ and collected another car with another couple of birders who were evidently following the same directions as me..... .

I returned with them, and thankfully from their perspective, it was still on the same fence-post.... .

By this time, I hadn’t exactly lost interest, but the combination of its inactivity, and the previous night’s ‘sleep’ in the car and the lunchtime beer meant that I nodded off. ...... just a few minutes wouldn’t matter, it was only ever going to be on the fence-post...... .

After my (brief?) doze I focussed on the fence-post, and it wasn’t there!!! “WTF?” I scanned the general area and became aware of an off-white shape in the long grass near where I had walked earlier.

I binned it to confirm my suspicions. Obviously I wanted views, but it wasn’t really necessary to confirm the Gyr Falcon was indeed part hidden in the long grass near the edge of the loch.

The assembled cars were (gently) jostling for a better position just a little way further along the road. I did the same, and then, like others were also doing, I edged open my car-door and erected my tripod.

Binocular views of ‘it’ at an estimated range of 40 m were amazing enough, but through the ‘scope zoomed up to 60 x they were incredible! At this magnification the bird almost filled the ‘scope!!!

The bird was tearing chunks of raw (and fresh!) meat off the carcass of what I suspected was a Greylag Goose. Its’ new food source was largely hidden in the long grass, but at times as the Gyr Falcon ripped chunks out of it more of it was briefly visible.

This was massively dramatic action, was enjoyed (and photographed and videoed) by all with almost safari-like voyeurism analogous with that of the occupants of several Land-Rovers around say, a Leopard with a recent kill.

Although intent on eating as much as possible as quickly as possible, the bird was just slightly uneasy about the proximity of the cars and birders. Fantastically, it responded to this potential threat by taking the goose carcass in the talons of one leg, and then attempting to drag it off by walking away on the other, accompanied with some wing flapping. Enormously powerful!! An absolute BEAST of a bird!!!!

Eventually, having consumed its fill, and having failed to drag the carcass very far, it lazily flew back across the lochan to (a different!) fence-post.

No words can do justice to this bird; beyond stating it was awesome, large, white, and evidently immature and female it was just massively impressive. (Okay then, a very large falcon, with largely white plumage with intricate and subtle dark markings, mainly on the wings and back and black wing tips. It had pale blue-grey legs and feet and bill. Will that do?).



Gyr Falcon, Loch na Reivil, Hougharry, North Uist, Outer Hebrides, April 2016 (photograph credited to Graham Jepson, and taken at the time I was there).

Monday 29 January 2024

 Ovenbird – Trenowath, St Marys, Isles of Scilly, 25th October 2004

And there, unobtrusively walking about amongst the pine needle and dead bracken litter, was this stonker!

Wow, wow and triple wow! It was the day after the resounding success of my twitch for cream-coloured courser with Elizabeth (the erstwhile love of my life, with whom I was briefly(?) reunited in the noughties). We were in the throes of starting the second phase of our idyllic exploration of the Scillies (eh?) with a day out on St. Agnes. I’d opted for St. Agnes for our ‘day’ out, as it was my favourite island, and offered the option of the wonderful Turks Head (as Elizabeth had a proposal to work on).

Suddenly, as we sorted out the option of her working on her proposal in the back room of the Turks Head (basically I arranged for the bar man to keep her supplied with hot chocolates with brandy in them), the pager went ballistic with the stunning news of an Ovenbird back on St. Mary's from whence we had just come.....!!!!!!!!!

I rushed down to the quay and found various other birders already there, in various states of panic. I was already philosophical about it in advance of any potential disappointment. All the same, the wait for the boat seemed interminable; I returned to make sure Elizabeth was alright during the wait. However, the boat did finally arrive after some 30 minutes, and a reasonably full boatload made its way back to St. Mary’s. The chattering was of an excited variety, and plans were being made for transport up to Trenowarth.

Once at the St. Mary’s harbour wall we quickly disembarked, and as there was a mini-bus waiting nearby, I walked over to it. I was aware that it had probably been pre-booked by birders, but as most were already yomping down the quay and into Hugh Town, I thought it was worth a try. My hunch paid off, as quickly six other birders appeared, and although the driver said he could take six, and I was the odd one out, space was found for me, squatting in the footwell...... .

So. we were soon journeying up through Hugh Town, and past the desperate straggle of birders, and we were quickly and efficiently dropped at the bulb farm, and all for a pound! From the point at which we were deposited, we had a short walk along muddy tracks through the pine shelterbelts to the scene of the twitch. Here there was a group of c.45 birders looking along a narrow path through the bracken towards another, smaller, group of birders. I found a venue, but the whole scenario looked and sounded distinctly unpromising. Apparently three people had seen the bird, one of whom was Will Wagstaffe, who had been asked by the couple who had found it to check it out…… . Apparently, it had walked seaward across the path in front of them, and then once Will had joined them, it had walked back landward across the path. The chances of it doing this again were minimal, and even if it did so, the chances of seeing it were very, very minimal, giving the viewing conditions. As such, the atmosphere of the twitch wasn’t really one of excited anticipation, rather it was one of disappointed realisation.

A fantastic photograph of the scenes early on during the Ovenbird twitch, with yours truly visible in the bright blue Berghaus jacket below the left-hand person standing in the pine tree, Trenowarth, St. Mary's, Scilly, October 2004 (photograph credited to unknown).

After some while, in response, Dick Filby and Will Wagstaffe, plus A. N. Other, organised themselves into a controlled flushing team, and walked ‘the bird’ up towards the path through the bracken ............. with no effect. However, Dick Filby was annoyed by the subsequent rising noise from the main gallery, and asserted that they had possibly got something in the scrub on the opposite side of the track, and suggested we keep quiet. However, nothing came of this, and with that, some birders began to drift away. As the twitch broke up, I (and others) considered it legitimate to go looking. I opted to investigate the aforementioned scrub rather than stand around forlornly, as most others did. By walking a short distance, I was easily able to get on the seaward side of the pine shelterbelt, and then into it, along a very minor ‘desire line’ and towards the same scrub area. This area looked really good, to the extent that it evoked memories of Boy Scout Wood, High Island, Texas, where I had last seen ovenbird. I eventually had a fleeting glimpse of what I considered to be a likely suspect, all the more so after I eventually saw the bird in this precise location......... .

I spent some time checking out this area, and whilst doing so I was conscious that I was possibly annoying the still assembled ranks of birders in the gallery I could see through the scrub. I was particularly aware of this when Elizabeth ‘phoned. She was very disappointed on my behalf when she heard that I had failed on my mission, and consoled me beautifully, although I was still phlegmatic....... .

No sooner had we ended our conversation that a shout went up from near to where the other gallery had been, and I and everyone else stampeded towards this point. I arrived in good time and was able to join the people who had re-located the bird and get their directions first hand. It had appeared in front of them on another path through the young pines, and promptly walked into the scrub. Despite the crashing arrival of some 50 birders in its vicinity, it didn’t immediately flush, although it was difficult to believe that it was still around.

Suddenly though, it did appear, when it flew up onto some low branches of the young pines, where it perched in full view for a few seconds. I got on it before it then flew away from its audience, and quickly back down into the cover of the young pines and bracken under-storey. This was to prove an oft-repeated pattern, and each time the gallery quickly, and relatively quietly, dispersed and reassembled around the bird in any location from which it might be visible. As a result, I, and everyone else had spates of nervous anticipation as we waited for the bird to be re-located and tried to decide from where best to try to see the bird. Given the cover, and the dense ground cover, it was very difficult to see as it walked around unobtrusively amongst the bracken and bramble. Each time the gallery re-assembled in an approximation of a circle, some c.50m in diameter, and sometimes much less, as quietly as possible given the dead branches and bracken. The bird was generally surprisingly unflustered by all of this, and again generally the crowds remained reasonably calm. Successively, then I got better and better views, on two occasions with just a very few metres of me. This happened on a least five or six occasions, and typically each time I was able to get reasonably good views under very difficult viewing conditions before the bird decided to move on. Most memorably, on one occasion it walked towards me to within 2 – 3m and I was able to get others onto it as it moved backwards and forwards behind the trunk of a small pine. And then, best of all, in similar circumstances, I was, with some considerable difficulty, able to get Mushtaq Ahmed on it as it walked towards us where we were lying amongst the bracken in front of the gallery. This was indicative of just how difficult it was to see the bird, as here was a very experienced birder, lying within a metre of me, and despite all my efforts and what I thought were good directions, he really struggled to get on it. Too often, the temptation was be looking too far way, whilst it walked around, unconcernedly, in the foreground. As a result, I suggested to Elizabeth when she rang that it wouldn’t be worth coming up to see it as I thought it would be too difficult for her to see. This was something I regretted, as she could have seen it, and I now she regretted it too.

No, I can't see it either (but it gives an idea of what we were contending with.
The Ovenbird blended in to its’ surroundings incredibly well, due to the combination of the subdued light and its’ unobtrusive behaviour and subtle plumage. Earlier on in the twitch a pipit spp. had flown over the galleries calling and it had landed in the top of a small pine nearby. This was, on the basis of the call, a tree pipit, I thought, although coincidentally or not there was a small olive-backed pipit twitch soon after the ovenbird twitch first broke up. This is mentioned in that this was perhaps the most obviously analogy with the ovenbird; certainly, this ovenbird was reminiscent of the olive-backed pipit I had seen in Holkham Pines many years ago in the way it grovelled around.

This analogy is based on not just the general plumage, but also its behaviour. It was possibly rock pipit in size, although it had a shorter tail. Its stance was similar too, although it was more horizontal in its carriage. The upperparts were overall a greeny olive-brown, and the under-parts a cold off-white with heavy broad streaks on the upper breast fading out on the flanks. The head pattern was very distinctive, with a pale and wide eye-ring surrounding a large dark eye, a hint of a supercilium, and a thin dark brown lateral crown stripe picking out an indistinct orangey-brown central crown stripe. The sub-moustachial stripe was the same off-white colour as the breast, and the chin and throat were unmarked. The bill was surprisingly heavy – Dunnock-like, and was a browny-grey, with a paler pinkish base, particularly to the lower mandible. The legs were pinkish. It was predominately seen on the ground, but was also seen in flight, when again the pipit analogy was reasonable. It was not definitely heard to call.

All in all, a f***ing magic bird, and a magic twitch, especially following on from the successes of the cream-coloured courser twitch. Indeed, within half an hour of leaving the scene of the ovenbird twitch, having just had my best views when it perched up in full view in my secret prime spot, in a way reminiscent of the hermit thrush, I was again watching the cream-coloured courser. Where else could I do this but the Scillies? It was just a shame that both birds both died soon afterwards.
Ovenbird, Trenowarth, St. Mary's, Scilly, October 2004 (photograph credited to Steve Nuttall).