Collared Flycatcher – Ethie Mains, near Arbroath, Angus, 31^st May 1997

Having not enjoyed May 1997 (quite as much as I might have done if I had been able to twitch the Calandra Lark and / or the Common Yellowthroat), this came as a blessed relief.

Two weekends prior to this I was in South Queensferry as my father and his long-term partner Barbara were visiting Gillian and I. The weather was dire and restricted our sightseeing activities, and also, otherwise, if they hadn’t been visiting, as I was working in Staffordshire, I could have stayed in Lancashire and so twitched the Isle of Man for the Calandra Lark, or even travelled to Scotland, Shetland and Unst for the Common Yellowthroat. And to make things worse, when Dad and Barbara had departed, and the weather cleared, Gilly and I had dipped Marsh Sandpiper and Red-rumped Swallow in East Lothian.

Then the weekend prior to this I had time on my hands, but during a Spring Bank Holiday weekend when I had deliberately placed myself in England, there was nothing to go for! Aargh!

So, I returned to South Queensferry on the night of the 29th May with some misgivings, not helped by nominally dipping Pied-billed Grebe on the journey north. Sods’ Law dictated that there would be something really good in England during the course of the following few days.

However, on the Saturday afternoon it became apparent that Sods’ Law was not operative that weekend, as a few hours after Gilly had left me to go down to her parents in Lancashire, and just as I was getting down to some work, the mega-alert went off for the fifth, (and last!), time in May to announce the presence of a Collared Flycatcher some 10 km north-east of Arbroath in Angus at Ethie Mains.

It was 13:53. Within five minutes I was on my way. The trip was good, apart from my visit to the service station at the start of the trip and problems with navigating to Ethie Mains using a road atlas at the end.

Once there it was not apparent where I should park, or even whether I should park, as there was no real sign of a twitch.

I plumped to park anyway, and fortunately I was able to ask the farmers’ wife, “Where is the rare bird?” She pointed me in the right direction, and I was then able to join a very small group some 200 m down a track. I quickly recognised Stuart Green, who it turned out was the finder of the bird, and then also located the bird as it flitted amongst the foliage of, primarily, one large elm. It was about 15:30, and as one of the very first arrivals, for the next two hours I enjoyed the bird and the company.

Having seen it so readily, I was able to relax and make the most of what then became a very sedate, gentile and polite twitch with a very few Scottish and a very few Anglo-Scottish birders, such as Calum Scott, et al..

The bird showed at ranges of about 30 m, intermittently, and even when it was showing it was not always easy to see amongst the confusing background of tree trunks, branches and leaves. When it did show and I got it in the ‘scope it was stunning, and I was easily able to pick up most of the diagnostic features, the striking white collar, largish white forehead patch, the large white patches at the base of the primaries, pale-ish white-grey rump and lack of white in the tail. I also noted the brownish primaries, primary coverts, etc., indicative of a first summer bird, as may have been the smudgy grey markings on the otherwise white underparts. Otherwise, it was a typical Pied-type flycatcher in every respect. Also heard snatches of song, or perhaps sub-song, and saw interaction with an arboreal Pied Wagtail!!

A stunning bird, all in all.

Collared Flycatcher, Ethie Mains, near Arbroath, Angus, May 1997 (photograph credited to Alan Tate).

Bufflehead –Colwick Country Park, Colwick, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, 18^th March 1994

March 1994 Bufflehead, so long ago it's in black and white, and the March 2024 version, which isn't.

Twice within a week I was rewarded with a good (if, at the time what was considered to be potentially dubious!) tick in a country park. Again, though, as with the Black-faced Bunting, for me at least, my scruples allowed, and it - Bufflehead - was on my list.

News was first relayed on the pager on Thursday the 17th March 1994. I had just returned from a Premier-Transco team-building event in Hinckley, having flown from Edinburgh to Birmingham on Tuesday the 15th March and from Birmingham to Edinburgh on the 17th. As alcohol had been involved I was in no fit state to do anything but recuperate that day. However, so it was that, after visiting Nick Smith in Haddington for work-related reasons, I continued south on the A1 and beyond on Friday the 18th March.

The journey south was largely uneventful, if long, particularly as once in Nottingham, despite my intuition which took me around the ring-road to the football and cricket grounds and the national water-sports centre, I was thwarted by the lack of directions. Anyway, after almost an hour of travelling around trying to find the scene I finally made it there. Much frustration....!

By the time I finally reached the country park and the car-park where birders where parked, it was late in the afternoon, and worse, it had started to drizzle. Some 25 birders were assembled nearby, beyond the landscape planting around the car-park, and they were watching the bird on the lake. It was feeding near an island with Goldeneye and was at about 200 m range.

It was a really smart little duck; constantly diving and, as such, with the continually worsening rain the views weren’t the best. It was a small diving duck, owing a lot to Goldeneye with which it associated. It was a wonderfully attractive pattern of black and white; the crown, lores, forehead, throat, necksides, mantle, back and tail were all black and the rest was white. The bill was grey and the legs were flesh-pink.

Coincidentally, almost 30 years to the day later, one turned up at Carbeth Loch, near Milngavie, on the 19th March 2024. As such, this was reasonably 'available' and, as such, of interest to me in relation to my Scottish list. As my UK list had passed 500 some while ago, and as my Scottish list now approached 400, the latter was of increasing importance to me. When I had first come to Scotland more than 40 years earlier, I wasn't particularly interested in good birds which were available in Scotland if I had already seen them elsewhere in the UK. This was now longer the case.

Anyway, news of the 'available' Bufflehead broke after 18:00 in the 19th March (too late to go). For whatever reason I didn't go the following day, which proved to be a good decision, as it had disappeared.

The following Sunday, the 24th March, I drove from home in South Queensferry to Castle Stuart outside Inverness, where I was working on the second golf course project there, 20 years after I had been involved with the first one. As I arrived that evening, news broke that the (yep, the same one) Bufflehead had been relocated on Sand Loch, near Collieston in Aberdeenshire.

When, early the following morning, Monday the 25th March, RBA reported it was still there, I WhatsApped my birding friend in Ullapool, Andy Williams, and asked whether he was 'Buffleheading'. He responded saying he was at Alturlie (2 km from where I was) waiting for Bob McMillan to arrive from Skye before the two of them continued on to Collieston to twitch the bird. Andy subsequently offered me a lift, but by then I was busy at work. He 'phoned me at 09:00 to reiterate his offer, and I explained I couldn't get away from work as I had pre-arranged meetings, etc., but that I was hopeful it would stick, as on the Thursday I had already made plans to drive home from Inverness to see eldest daughter Ellen and her boyfriend Shane in Aberdeen.

Unfortunately, the Bufflehead hadn't read the memo, and again had disappeared when looked for early on Wednesday 27th March, so I was thwarted again. I did have a forlorn look around nearby sites on the afternoon of Thursday 28th before going to see Ellen and Shane, but to no avail.

Having had a good night with them that evening, I left Aberdeen on the morning of Friday the 19th and drove towards South Queensferry.

I opted to call in at the Loch Leven RSPB reserve (formerly known as Vane Farm) en route, in the hope of some early summer migrants, or a scarce duck.... . Little did I know. Once there, for whatever reason, I opted to visit the three hides in reverse order to my norm, starting with the furthest away, before returning to the largest, and closest to the loch itself, rather than the pools.

Here there was one other birder, who turned out to be young George Dunbar, whom I had never previously met, although before he had an accident whilst ringing at Tay reed-beds and fractured his knee-cap, had been meant to be part of my party staying at the Low Light in early autumn 2023. Subsequently, George had, I knew, become the bird recorder for Perth and Kinross; Loch Leven was, in every sense 'his' patch.

It was excellent to finally catch up with him, and we had a great conversation about all sorts of common aspects of our birding worlds. Whilst we did so, we scanned the viewable parts of the loch for anything of note; George commented that he was hopeful of a Little Gull (given the time of year and the heavy showers) or even just a Scaup, and we both hoped for our first Sand Martin.

Despite our combined efforts we failed to produce anything, and had to confine ourselves to rescuing two stunned Chaffinches after they had smacked into the large windows of the hide with a terrific bang.

On leaving and returning to our cars via the visitor centre we reported this incident to one of the RSPB wardens (after first looking at the recent sightings on a whiteboard). As we approached him to tell him about the Chaffinches he said, "Is there anything wrong?" which at the time struck me as a rather odd comment, as if we had been looking for something else on the whiteboard.

Subsequently, George and I said our goodbyes. He messaged me early that evening saying it had been good to finally meet and casually suggesting we'd gone to the wrong loch (as Ken Shaw had had two Little Gulls at Kilconquhar Loch).

I responded somewhat later that evening, and within 30 minutes he had forwarded a tweet saying, "This is so annoying".

The tweet was from a Stuart Milligan, who had tweeted George (as the recorder) at 15:17 that afternoon to say, "Hi George. Pretty sure the Bufflehead has popped up on Loch Leven, east of the RSPB centre. Apologies if old news". For whatever reason George hadn't received the tweet and as such, despite scanning virtually the same area of the loch (the bird was seen from just a few hundred metres away) we were oblivious.

George subsequently also forwarded an e-mail from Stuart Milligan (presumably as Stuart was mystified as to why the news hadn't got out) reiterating and enlarging on his sighting. He also suggested he had reported in at the visitor centre and would be sending a description via BirdTrack.

So near and yet so far. George and I had a dialogue about the scenario and George confirmed that the news was now out.

I subsequently sent a message to our Serious Birding Bantering WhatsApp group detailing this unfortunate scenario.

As a consequence, the following morning, I got a WhatsApp message from Ken Shaw saying, "The Bufflehead is showing Loch Leven".

I was there within the hour, and so finally caught up with it. And very good it was too. I missed Ken (who had relocated it - fair play) but caught up with Mark Wilkinson, John Nadin, Dennis and James Morrison, Sandy Morrison, Euan McLauchlan, et al.. What a saga!

Bufflehead, Colwick Country Park, Colwick, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, March 1994 (photograph credited to Alan Clark).

Bufflehead, Colwick Country Park, Colwick, Nottingham, Nottinghamshire, March 1994 (photograph credited to unknown).

 Semi-palmated Plover – Dawlish Warren National Nature Reserve, Dawlish, Devon, 1^st 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).

Dark-eyed Junco – Weston, Portland, Dorset, 8^th 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).

 Rose-breasted Grosbeak –Tresco, Scillies, Cornwall, 12^th 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).

 Blue-cheeked Bee-eater – Asta House, near Scalloway, Shetland, 24^th 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).

 Naumann’s Thrush – Woodford Green, Essex, 6^th 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).

Gyr Falcon – Loch na Reivil, Hougharry, North Uist, Outer Hebrides, 2^nd 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).

 Ovenbird – Trenowath, St Marys, Isles of Scilly, 25^th 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).

 Great Knot – Brann Sands, Teesmouth, Cleveland, 3^rd November 1996

Great Knot, at an always very windy Brann Sands, Teesmouth, Cleveland, November 1996 

The Story of my twitch of the 'Great Dot'* (or not). 

At last! Having been in the Scillies when this turned up (provoking memories and responses reminiscent of 1989 when the red-breasted nuthatch turned up whilst birders were in the Scillies) I had to wait until Sunday the 27th October before I could attempt to take it in. Gilly and I travelled to Tees-side from Accrington, but apparently missed it by 20 minutes from the Seaton Snook jetty, where we suffered the windy, gritty and grotty viewing conditions, made even worse by the lack of a ‘scope and blurry binoculars. (Why I hadn't got my 'scope I cannot recollect, but I suspect this relates to when I had to get my old Optolyth TSB80 mended after jumping off a wall at the Pechora pipit twitch at St. Levan, in West Cornwall, and inadvertently putting my foot through the hanging shoulder strap as I jumped, so propelling the 'scope into the tarmac of the road as I landed..... . Why my binoculars were blurry is lost in the midst of time). But I re-acquainted myself with Peter Hornby from Burnley..... .

Once it became apparent that it was not going to reappear from the jetty we tried from the hide overlooking the south-west corner of Seals Sands, as well as from the seawall further east, before giving up, dejected.

The following Sunday the 3rd November I returned alone, setting off at 07:30 and arriving at the Zinc Works Road at just after 10:00 hours – superb progress. However, although there were more cars present than on the previous Sunday, giving some cause for optimism, on asking some returning birders what the situation was, I was told that it had been reported as having been seen early on, but had disappeared, and that again it was windy, gritty and grotty viewing.

Therefore, I opted to go straight to the seawall on the south side of Seal Sands where at least it was sheltered, and better viewing was afforded. I outstayed two birders who joined me (and encouraged me, as one of them had seen it, close, from this location early on during its stay) and then two others. However, just as they left the pager announced that the bird was still (?) at Brann Sands at 12:02. Still? No matter. I rapidly walked back to the car, catching the second pair of birders on the way, and then crossing the A718 just as a convoy of birders cars got there. For some bizarre reason I was asked for directions! I suggested, “Great knot, Brann Sands, Redcar”. Or something like that.

I chose to quickly follow the convoy (well, obviously I did, they had such comprehensive directions 😀) rather than wait for the two birders who had, ‘Where to Watch Birds in Northeast England’. The drive was somewhat frenetic, but working on intuition, I was relatively easily able to get to South Gare, despite not seeing any other birders, whether in a convoy or not. Then it was a quick jog through the dunes to the beach of Brann Sands where a gallery was looking out across the bay. I pulled up a plastic drum (as we were on the strand-line) perched myself next to a birder, and asked for directions. I was then able to quickly get onto it as it was at about 200m range across the sand-flats. This was far, far better than I could imagine. However, I quickly realised that it could be better still, as for some reason birders were looking at it into the wind and the sun, when it was obvious to me it would be far better, and closer, if I got around the bay. Here it would be sheltered if I could get in the lee of the low cliff, and the light would be more favourable.

I quickly walked around the bay, seeing Bernie Beck on the way. As I thought, the conditions were far more favourable and so I settled down for a good hour our more (with small changes of position, as the boulder beach was not that comfortable!) taking the bird in. It was in constant view, allowing some serious sketching to be done. The ‘scope I’d borrowed from Jim Steele proved very useful too as it could be zoomed up to x 45, so allowing even closer views, if slightly fuzzy at that magnification. It was actively feeding for the greater majority of this time, scurrying backwards and forwards over the same part of the sands in a manner typical of other Calidris waders. Occasionally, it was harassed by oystercatchers when it located food items, and once it bathed and preened very briefly. However, in the main it was rapidly running over the sands (rapidly but jerkily) searching for food. It moved mainly into the wind and then would return (sometimes getting side on to the wind, and being blown sideways).

It was far more distinctive than I dared anticipate (although only as it was still in partial summer plumage and also the only Calidris wader on view).  However, (and we all like a wader don't we?) I cannot pretend it was the most attractive wader I've ever seen, frankly (see what I did there?), it was a bit of a Frankenstein wader.

It appeared to be about the size of a gray-tailed tattler, and the shape of dunlin, if heavier in build. The most notable plumage details were the remnant summer plumage ones. The heavy gorget of black marking on the upper breast was very obvious, although it varied with stance, being particularly noticeable when the bird was either directly side or head on. The underparts were otherwise bright white, with strong spotting on the flanks. The upperparts were light browny-grey, with heavy black streaking on the mantle, scapulars and coverts. No rufous centres to the scapulars were visible. The wing tips of the bird were black whilst the bird was at rest. The head was rather plain – in particular the face, but there was a dark eye-stripe, especially behind the eye. The bill was black, heavy and medium length with a thick base, somewhat like semi-palmated sandpiper, the legs were greeny-grey.

After watching it intently for more than an hour, it was flushed, along with oystercatchers, by a female peregrine. It flew off, allowing the lack of wing-bars and white-grey rump to be taken in as well. It was also noted that it looked strangely slim and long-winged in flight, as it flew out of sight over the edge of a sandbank.

All very much enjoyed and well worth the wait. I left more than satisfied, my only slight regret being that it then showed even better (down to 100m and then 10m apparently) later on.

* Certainly early on during its stay, views of the great knot were notoriously distant, with the result that it was nicknamed the 'Great Dot'.

Great Knot, Brann Sands, Teesmouth, Cleveland, November 1996 (photograph credited to Jim Pattinson).