Killdeer – Sandwick, South Mainland, Shetland, 3^rd December 2016

Quite (surprisingly so!) large for a 'ringed plover' -alike plover, with ridiculously long wings and tail, long yellowish-grey legs and a quite stout black bill. Tail pattern only briefly / partially seen but a 'mad affair' with a brilliant orange brown upper tail and rump and pale tip, similarly head and upper breast a mad stripy affair,. Large black eye with a brilliant browny-orange iris. Coverts, etc., pale-fringed.

So..... . Just less than three weeks after it first was located, I finally successfully twitched the Killdeer at Sandwick, South Mainland, Shetland. This was a twitch reminiscent of those for Pine Grosbeak and Blue-cheeked Bee-eater of yesteryear, involving getting to Aberdeen and catching the overnight ferry to Lerwick, enabling me to get to the bird early the following morning.

It had been located on Sunday the 13th November, and although it wasn’t reported on some days, it remained in the same place, and was reported most days, during the intervening period before I finally got there on Saturday the 3rd December.

Perhaps I should have responded before this, given that in terms of the number of previous records, Killdeer was right up there in terms of species I should perhaps have seen before now.

That said, previous weekends were taken up with seeing my ailing Dad and having Tessa respectively. And between times I was working, and also gadding around seeing The Cure in Manchester, etc..

So, it wasn’t until the weekend of Friday the 2nd / Saturday 3rd December / Sunday 4th December that I had the chance to go for it.

That said, working in Keith in north-east Scotland, and having a daughter at University in Aberdeen played into my strategy well.

As provisionally arranged earlier in the week with Ellen (knowing it had been seen that day) I left work in Keith by around 14:30 on the Friday afternoon and drove along the A96 to Aberdeen, before circumnavigating the inner ring road and taking King Street to the university accommodation complex where Ellen had her flat.

This all went swimmingly well (taking and sending work related phone calls and e-mails en route excepted). Or at least it did until I got to Ellen’s flats. Despite earlier arrangements, and text messages sent on the day I couldn’t get any response from her on arrival, despite endless calls and voice-mails, and so it wasn’t until, after some difficulty, having ‘phoned Gillian and confirmed the flat number, that I got buzzed in by her flat-mate. All very tricky; strange man loitering outside a female accommodation block trying to get in….. .

Worse, having been granted entry by a flat-mate of Ellen’s, I was then faced with the trauma of knocking on and opening the door to Ellen’s room, not knowing what had prevented her from letting me in. Was she in there? And if she was there, was she alone, alive?

Anyway, I summoned up the courage and knocked and entered.

Only then did it emerge that Ellen was actually fast asleep (at 16:15, as you do); as I say, it’s quite a worrying episode when you are stood in the doorway of your teenage daughters’ darkened room at University and the shape in the unmade bed finally and suddenly moves in blind panic at your presence.... .

Anyway, although this delayed us, and we then missed a bus into Aberdeen from within the complex itself, she then redeemed herself by escorting me to a bus-stop on King’s Road, accompanying me on the bus to Union Street, and then walking with me all the way to the ferry terminal in Aberdeen Harbour (helping me with carrying my bags – aaaah!).

Having purchased my tickets and said goodbye to daughter number one, I boarded the MV Hrossey and enjoyed an uneventful crossing between Aberdeen and Lerwick between 19:00 on the Friday night and 07:00 on the Saturday morning. All very nostalgic, and nothing like as archaic as the St Clair..... .

I dined early in the restaurant, and treated myself to a pint of Summer Din in the bar, but then retreated to a secluded lounge area with both reclining seats and comfortable seating areas. I tried to sleep in one of the reclining seats but in the end removed three of the cushions from the comfortable seating and improvised a bed of sorts. All the same, I slept reasonably well.

The ferry arrived in Lerwick by around 07:10, and having assembled my gear, I disembarked, and walked to the nearby taxi-rank. My taxi driver was an elderly Asian man who was a follower of the Shetland Birds Facebook site, so we bantered away on the way south to Sandwick. I had printed of a local O.S. map extract, and so we jointly navigated my way to the appropriate road junction, where I got dropped off.

It was still dark. Having decided I was in the right place, I established base camp at a gateway alongside the junction, (see red dot on map), near to one of the two fields favoured by the bird according to a map Hugh Harrop had put on Twitter. To pass the time until it got light I walked along the road towards Sandwick and so alongside the other favoured field, a partially flooded stubble field, unsurprisingly seeing nowt.

I then returned to base camp, and again to pass time until it got light I faffed around with the focus of my bins which had ‘suffered’ in my overnight bag. In the process, surprisingly easily and quickly (given the very dubious early morning ‘light’) I suddenly located the plover as it fed in the nearby favoured field (see yellow highlighted field). So, for the next 90 minutes or so, I had it all to myself, apart from passing local walkers and dog-walkers, all of whom were really friendly and chatty, and, this being Shetland, spoke about the bird knowledgeably.

It actively fed in typical plover fashion, rapidly moving a few paces and then stopping and searching for food. That said, it often stopped and remained in one place for surprisingly long periods (such that I could often look away from the zoomed to 60x ‘scope giving very close-up views, and find it still in view when I looked back), presumably not just searching for food, but also resting and definitely completing its ablutions.

A few other waders (a couple of Redshank and a few Golden Plover) were also feeding in the same small, sloping, fenced, re-seeded field, which was seemingly favoured as muck had been liberally scattered over it and as it was partly waterlogged. However, the Killdeer was only very loosely associated with them. The Redshank and the Golden Plover were a bit nervous at times, the odd Golden Plover flying off or the Redshank calling anxiously, for example, but the Killdeer, if anything, merely remained stationary when any such disturbance occurred. However, it did call very occasionally, a high-pitched plaintive whistling.

In comparison with other ‘ringed’ plovers, and also with the adjacent Redshank and Golden Plover, it was perhaps surprisingly large (a similar size to the Redshank perhaps). It was certainly elongated, both the tail and the wings appeared very long when the bird was at rest.

In principle, the plumage was typical of other ‘ringed’ plovers. That is, white under-parts, mid-brown upper-parts, black and white striped head and upper breast. That said, in practice, it also had a madly complicated black and white striped head and upper breast pattern and a stunningly patterned tail which was a brilliant orange-brown upper tail and rump and pale tip (though this was only briefly /partially seen).

The head and upper breast pattern involved a thick (but not complete) black band on the lower part of the upper breast and a thin black band above this around the entire lower neck, and a broad white band above this which was broader at the front of the neck around the throat and narrower at the rear of the neck around the nape, combined with a head and face pattern not altogether unlike juvenile Semi-palmated Plover. The coverts, etc., were pale fringed. It had a large black eye, with a brilliant browny-orange iris. The legs were long and yellowish grey and the quite stout bill was black.

Having watched it for the best part of two hours I departed to walk to the bus-stop and enjoy a relaxing few hours in Lerwick before catching the Hrossey back to Aberdeen. During my bus journey I canvassed opinion from locals about where best to get breakfast in Lerwick, and the very definite concensus was at the fantastic Fjara café bar near Tesco’s.

Here I enjoyed a really lovely full Scottish cooked breakfast in one of the annex rooms. Also, in the same annex were a group of yummy mummies and their young children. I apologised for taking up too much space with all my clutter and cramping their style. Gratifying, this being Shetland, rather than shunning me as some sort of deviant weirdo, they engaged with me and seemed genuinely interested in what I had been doing. One, in particular, very definitely ‘caught my eye’; certainly her very enticingly positioned tattoo did! I hardly knew where to look without lapsing into some sort of deviant weirdo mode….. 😉.

Afterwards, I enjoyed the walk into the centre of Lerwick around The Knab to, er, cool down….. 😊.

All absolutely excellent. No wonder I love twitching Shetland! The return ferry trip cost £54, and the taxi journey from Lerwick to Sandwick cost £30, and I also paid bus fares in Aberdeen and Shetland (just £2.20 for the journey back from Sandwick to Lerwick). So, discounting the food and drink costs involved (I would have had to eat and drink anyway!) it was a very cost-effective twitch, just like those of old for Pine Grosbeak and Blue-cheeked Bee-eater, and arguably even easier as I was in north-east Scotland anyway, and could use the facilities provided by the student Ellen studying at Aberdeen University to my advantage. All good; bring on the next goodie in Shetland.

Killdeer, Sandwick, South Mainland, Shetland, November 2016 (photograph credited to Dave Aitken).

Eastern Crowned Warbler – Hunley Golf Course, Brotton, County Durham, 31^st October 2014

GRIP BACK!!

Unbelievable!!!!!!! I score big time with something I never thought I would have the chance to see again.

As a result of being ‘in a relationship’ I had missed ‘the’ Eastern Crowned Warbler that was at Trow Quarry, South Shields, County Durham between the 22nd and 24th October 2009. As I recall I sacrificed going for it as I was laying a wooden floor in the downstairs shower room and toilet at Elizabeth’s. Shame, because my wooden floor-laying skills seemingly weren’t appreciated anyway. I should have just gone, but these are the compromises you have to make when you are ‘in a relationship’, allegedly.

I just reconciled it to experience and attempted to move on. Like the Long-billed Murrelet (now that was a horrendous error!) I never considered that there might be another.

Late October 2014 hadn’t too thrilling; I was on the comedown after being on St. Agnes with Ken Shaw and Amanda Coia, et al., between the 11th and the 19th October. Once back in Edinburgh October failed to provide any viable distractions from work, and, amongst other things, I completed three surveys at my Old Shields / Castlecary vantage point on the 24th, 27th and 30th October, and completed a Taiga Bean Goose roost count on behalf of Scottish Natural Heritage with Angus Maciver on the 29th October for good measure.

I cannot remember just when the news of the third ever Eastern Crowned Warbler broke relative to my work activities (it possibly wasn’t whilst I was sat at the vantage point as that would have been too much). Anyway, undoubtedly when it did break I calculated that I wouldn’t be able to get there in time that day, so I no doubt opted for my usual, ‘I’ll go if there is news in the morning’ approach.

I think Friday the 31st October wasn’t amounting to too much anyway, so I don’t think I had much to re-arrange; I just prepared and waited, and then departed once the news came through.

After a long and uneventful drive (apart from the frustrating last few miles when I struggled with navigating and driving somewhat) taking something in the order of 3.5 hours, I duly arrived at the golf club car-park, seeing birders in the adjacent landscape planting car-park as I did so. This was where I should have parked (as this was the arrangement that had been made with the golf club, but......).

I quickly joined them without putting on my boots or jacket, etc., (‘twas very mild) and walked into the nearby woodland, which was a mainly deciduous area of semi-mature landscape planting, and began actually looking for the stonker, which few people seemed to be doing.

As a result I found a Chiffchaff away from the scene of sightings of the bird had been congregated. There were one or two Chiffchaffs, etc., which caused minor flurries of excitement but my searches were unsuccessful otherwise. I was intent, though, on not just standing around aimlessly chatting and gawping at where the bird had been; I kept myself away and kept looking.

After searching for a good while I returned to the crowd and in doing so bumped into Jonny Holliday, who had recently arrived (the whole twitch was a bit of a Scillies reunion, as I also saw Alan Goddard and Keith Pendlebury there, both of whom had also recently returned from the Scillies). We searched together for a while before there was a shout as the bird had been relocated; it had returned to its ‘favoured’ area, and here it ‘showed’ allowing us to catch up with it.

In the next half hour or so I saw it on two separate occasions in two different sycamores, but it wasn’t easy and views (bins only) weren’t the best. Jonny and I worked together and helped each other get on it when one of us had it and the other didn’t. The trees were still in a very reasonable amount of leaf, and the birds’ cryptic colouration and somewhat cumbersome ‘stop – start’ feeding habit made it often very difficult to pick out; if it wasn’t moving it disappeared unless you knew just where it was.

But I saw it (especially so at one interlude in one of the sycamores when it briefly co-operated and could be watched reasonably well). I certainly witnessed its ‘stonkiness’, as was sketched at the time.

It had very markedly cold white under-parts, and the upper-parts were grey-green, with more green in the remiges and retrices. It had a stonking head pattern featuring a fuck-off big whitish supercilium emphasised by the dark eye-stripe and crown bordering and framing this. The pale central crown stripe was hard to see, but was seen briefly intermittently. There were two weakish wing-bars. The bill was strongish (almost like that of a vireo, and was yellowish in colour in terms of the lower mandible, and grey in terms of the upper). The legs were yellowish.

After it disappeared again I opted to do likewise after what had been a very successful twitch. I bumped into the fabled Jonny Mac in the car-park (he of the Merlin Surveys in the North York Moors in the 1980s when I was doing Upland Bird Surveys for the Nature Conservancy Council and also ‘Mr’ Birdline North East). He was with his lad and it was excellent to see him, although he was somewhat exercised by having ‘lost’ his mobile so we only chatted briefly.

I then disappeared off to get some well deserved sustenance nearby before driving home, a very happy man....... .

Eastern Crowned Warbler, Hunley Golf Course, Brotton, County Durham, 31^st October 2014 (photograph credited to Rich Willison).

 Dalmatian Pelican – Camel Estuary, off Rock, Cornwall, 16^th October 2016

Monster bird in the haze on a distant sandbank, huge, scruffy and just a hint of grey, ridiculous orange-yellow and grey lower and upper mandibles of bill, very stonky grey legs .... and even more impressive in flight.

So....... . Having completed a truly stupendous two weeks in Shetland, Ken Shaw and Amanda Cioa and I (et al.), departed from Shetland Nature Lodge in the north of Unst early on the morning of Saturday the 15th October, firstly driving to Sumburgh, before secondly flying to Edinburgh and finally driving as far as Preston later on the evening of the same day.

Shetland had involved seeing the following top birds:

In addition, we had seen Osprey, Buff-breasted Sandpiper, Wood Sandpiper, Yellow-browed Warbler, Siberian Chiffchaff, Barred Warbler, Waxwing, Ring Ouzel, Bluethroat, Red-breasted Flycatcher, Hawfinch, Common Rosefinch, Common Redpoll, Lapland Bunting and Little Bunting (amongst other good birds).

(How) could the Scillies possibly be as good?

But first we had a date with one (or two?) long-staying top birds in Cornwall.

Therefore, Ken, Amanda and I were off again soon enough on the morning of Sunday the 16th October, driving further and further south, and then south west, after an excellent breakfast pit-stop at Gloucester Services.

Our first date was with the Dalmatian Pelican which had been all over West Cornwall and beyond since May. (The second was with the Hudsonian Whimbrel, but let’s not talk about that....).

Like the Western Swamphen, its credentials had yet to be adjudicated upon by BOURC, but all the same it needed to be twitched, if only for ‘insurance’ reasons. Ken and I had monitored its presence and moves in the weeks before the Scillies visit, and I have to admit it had worried me when it appeared to have re-discovered its wanderlust in September / October 2016, getting to North Devon at one stage.

However, it settled down again on the Camel Estuary and, more specifically, in the days before we twitched it, it was regularly seen off Rock on the eastern side of the estuary.

This necessitated leaving the A30(T) at Bodmin and taking often very rural roads north-west to Wadebridge and beyond. We were temporarily thwarted by what was probably an accident ahead, leading cars to u-turn, so we followed one (obviously a local) around the scene via some very narrow Cornish lanes.

Finally we made it into the very upmarket Rock (evidently part of the Rick Stein / Padstow effect on this part of Cornwall).

As we drove along the only road into the place we were looking for the ‘lifeboat station’ as per the directions on RBA. It was from here supposedly that the bird was viewable.

As we passed through Rock along the road next to the estuary, a couple of people were visible on the decking out in front of one building who, at least from a moving car, appeared to be birders..... .

We continued on to the pay and display car-park at the end of the road and then assembled our gear and walked back to the said building, which turned out to be a water-sports centre.

Here there were indeed a couple of people (and a telescope and tripod) seeming viewing the object of our quest.

‘How easy is this going to be?’ we thought.

However, it emerged that neither of the two people involved were birders (or, at least, the younger man wasn’t) and worse neither they nor the ‘scope were on the bird! D’oh! We would have to suffer the indignity of finding it for ourselves.

Ho-hum.

I set up my ‘scope and intuitively or not (or maybe informed by viewing recent images of the bird) I scanned the distant exposed sandbank. Not for the first time in the past few weeks I quickly located what was probably it and talked Ken and Amanda (and our fellow viewers) onto it.

For the fourth time in a matter of weeks I was stood next to Ken as he added another tick to his list..... (Western Swamphen, Siberian Accentor, Black-faced Bunting and now Dalmatian Pelican. Not bad!!).

Initially, it was not entirely evident it was the bird; whatever it was it was very large and very white. Was it a roosting Mute Swan, or, was it indeed, the roosting Dalmatian Pelican?

I struggled to convince myself that I had indeed found it, but it became more apparent that it was very large and just slightly grey (oh, and it didn’t look ‘right’ for a Mute Swan).

At this point either it gave itself away by standing up and walking around, or the young man who obviously worked in one of the water-sports places within the building we were standing alongside commented that the rising tide would cover the sand-bank in 20 minutes (or similar); I just can’t remember the exact sequence.

Either way, suddenly the bird was no longer a resting, just slightly greyish-white hulk, it was a real live massive pelican.

I had the ‘scope zoomed up to 60x and enjoyed and shared views as it walked away from the sandbank, and then as it floated around on the rising tide, occasionally going through the motions of preening and feeding; sure enough, it and the sand-bank were slowly enveloped by the rising tide.

Overall, it was incredibly massive with largely (just slightly) greyish white plumage when at rest. The shaggy plumage (especially at the rear of the head) was just about apparent at the range involved. The massive bill was very long and triangular in profile with a deep base, and involved a grey upper mandible and largely orange lower mandible and pouch. The legs were very stout with huge webbed feet. They were a dirty grey.

The bird was indeed huge but it is hard to describe just how huge. It was way bigger than anything else, that’s how huge it was.

And that was before it took off and gradually circled and climbed over the estuary, before flying upstream to presumably roost elsewhere, giving fantastic flight views in the ‘scope.

In flight it was both incredibly powerful and incredibly graceful, flying effortlessly, however and wherever it wanted, despite the attentions of a dwarf entourage of gulls, etc..

The primaries, secondaries and primary coverts of the upper-wing appeared to be mainly blackish (although they may have been parti-coloured dark grey and white) such that at range it appeared that trailing edge and wing-tips of the upper-wing were black, whereas the under-wing was largely grey with just a hint of the upper-wing pattern. The tail was greyish white as was the rest of the under-parts and upper-parts in flight.

I had wanted to see the bird but hadn’t anticipated being so wowed by it. It was truly fantastic to see, especially so in flight. Awesome.

It was then a case of, ‘Over to you BOURC’ (as I may have said before!).

Ultimately, they made the ‘right’ decision, and the bird became the first for Britain; it was announced it had been accepted on to the British list in September 2018.

Dalmatian Pelican, (actually on the River Taw in North Devon in late September 2016, but looking very much like it did when we saw it) on the Camel Estuary, off Rock, Cornwall, October 2016 (photograph credited to Timothy Smith).

 Hooded Merganser – Kilbirnie Loch, near Beith, Ayrshire, 27^th November 2016

Stunning combination of black and white and light chestnut brown, with, in particular, the white blaze behind the eye being very variable in size and appearance depending on posture and purpose.

During the fantastic autumn of 2016 a Hooded Merganser (with seemingly good credentials) turned up in mainland Scotland, and less than 90 minutes from Edinburgh. Unfortunately, I was in Shetland.

The bird was located on Barr Loch on Friday the 7th October, and remained there until Monday the 10th. ‘Oh, well’, I thought, or something like that.

However, it was then subsequently relocated on the nearby Kilbirnie Loch on Wednesday the 9th November; I had a second chance.

The trouble was, I was by then working more or less full-time on the Blackhillock to Keith 275 kV Cables Project in north-east Scotland, and when I wasn’t there I was away for the weekend. For instance, the day after it was relocated (i.e., on Thursday the 10th November) I drove from Keith to Edinburgh and then took a taxi to the airport to fly to London Luton to meet up with Gary and Chris at the start of our annual weekend away (Copenhagen, if you are interested.....) before reversing the journey on Sunday / Monday the 13th / 14th November. Similarly, the following week, on Wednesday the 16th November, I drove from Keith to Edinburgh, and then, on Thursday the 17th November, from Edinburgh to Manchester to see the launching of Beth Cleavy’s brainchild, ‘Orton’ and from Manchester to Chesterfield to see my ailing father, before returning north at the start of the following week.

Therefore, it wasn’t until the weekend of the 26th / 27th November (two and a half weeks into its second coming) that realistic twitching opportunities first presented themselves.

First though, I saw the student Ellen in Aberdeen on Friday the 25th November, before travelling home to Edinburgh for only the second ‘proper’ weekend there since late September.... . Once, again, I was having Tessa for the weekend; would it be possible to work in seeing the Hooded Merganser around about her plans?

Having watched a feed of the Burnley v. Manchester City game on my laptop at lunchtime on the Saturday I collected Tessa. She quickly announced she was going into Edinburgh with her friend Catie, but I couldn’t face the twitch involved that day, and anyway, there wouldn’t be enough time. However, that evening she announced that she and Eilidh Ryan were going to go rock climbing on Sunday afternoon, and so I decided that this was my opportunity...... . If it was around I would go for it whilst Tessa was rock-climbing.

News came through on the RBA app at 09:19 that morning so once I realised this, I quickly got up, prepared, breakfasted, messaged Mairi Donaldson to appraise her of my plans relative to those of Tessa and Eildih, dropped Tessa off at Gillian’s and departed.

It was about 10:30 when I left, and, excepting an extreme lack of petrol for miles and miles beyond Glasgow (until I eventually found a fantastically conveniently placed service station just outside Beith) it was an uneventful journey.

On filling up and leaving the service station, I eventually navigated a way from Beith to the railway overbridge at the north end of Kilbirnie Loch. From here it was apparent where the bird was likely to be and where I should preferably be, but how to get there?

I managed getting from the north end of the loch to Kilbirnie easily enough, but finding a way of accessing the open areas on the south-western shores I had seen was less easy.

I continued on roads which were generally south of Kilbirnie and the loch but nothing was obvious. I had almost circumnavigated the loch and returned to Beith when I stopped to ask a mother / grandmother / pushchair and grandchild combo how I could get to the loch. When the Grandma said, “What loch?” I simply drove off.

My next attempt at getting directions was much more success though. I had opted to drive into the access road for the Glengarrock Business Park, and here I came across a gaggle of dog-walkers returning from their recreation to a car parked at an access point. They suggested I follow them in their car and they would show me the way.

This they did. Suddenly I was just where I had wanted to be, and as I passed through the recreation area and arrived on the shores of the loch I could see there was already a couple armed with a telescope in the parking area.

I parked up, emerged from my car and gathered up my gear, and asked them whether they had seen the Hooded Merganser. They replied that they had only just arrived, so they and I walked to the edge of the loch, and commenced scanning. I assembled my telescope and tripod and looked into it where it was pointed at the far shore-line across what was a large loch. Immediately, even though it was distant, and I only had brief views, I announced that I had it. By entire chance, it was in my very initial field of view!!

For the next hour or so, I watched it (mainly in the good company of the initial couple and, in particular of Andrew Stirrat, who had arrived very soon afterwards) as it actively moved alongside the sweet reed-grass margins of the opposite shore-line, dived, and generally showed well, if distantly. It remained faithful to this area (though ranged backwards and forwards along the shore) possibly as partly constrained by thin ice on the loch between us and the open water it frequented. Teal, Mallard and Goldeneye also used the same area but the Hooded Merganser largely did its own thing.

As suggested, it was highly active / mobile and dived frequently (though briefly).

It appeared small (at least for a sawbill) and had mainly jet black upper-parts with brilliant white patches on the sides of the head behind the eye (separated by a very narrow black line down the rear of the head and nape) and upper breast, and black and whitish secondaries and tertiaries on the folded wing and a grey brown rear and tail, and rich chestnut brown flanks.

The patches of white on the side of the head were of very variable size and shape which changed with posture and purpose as the bird raised its crown feathers.

It was an extremely attractive bird, all the more so in the viewing conditions which although distant involved brilliant light. And a very good decision to go for it when I did!

And so, again, (as I may have said on previous occasions!) it was a matter of, ‘Over to you BOURC’; thankfully it was duly accepted as the ninth for Britain.

Hooded Merganser on Kilbirnie Loch, near Beith, Ayrshire, November 2016 (a still captured from a YouTube clip credited to Jonathan Clarke, and then ‘flipped’ to replicate how I best remember seeing it).

Lanceolated Warbler – Kennaby and Fair Isle Bird Observatory, Fair Isle, Shetland, 12^th October 2015

Thursday the 12th October involved a very full days birding on Fair Isle, and then came the finale...... .

After some twelve miles of tramping, which had included falling down in Da Water (and so stinking of bog water) I arrived back at the Obs and had just removed my offending boots, when I was surprised by Susannah Parnaby bursting into the boot room and saying she was rounding everyone up to take the minibus to Kennaby where there was a probable Lanceolated Warbler.

As I was going to go to my room upstairs to ensure my room-mate Keith Morton was aware, I volunteered to help be rounding up other people upstairs. I did this as best as I could and then returned to the boot room and put my boots back on.

Meanwhile, with commendable speed Susannah Parnaby rounded up everyone and everything she could (including Grace and Freya, nets, poles, etc.!) and we departed for Kennaby, Susannah driving and using her mobile to contact various people, Grace and Freya sitting in the footwell of the sliding door of the mini-bus, etc. .... .

It was nearly dark. We arrived and joined the assembled crowd, in the large enclosed allotment-type garden of the croft. We were briefed by Dave Parnaby and Deryk Shaw. We were informed that there was indeed a Lanceolated Warbler in the croft garden, and that there was also a Blackcap, a Goldcrest and a Robin..... .

The strategy proposed was to flush the bird so that it then could be located and coaxed into the net that had subsequently arrived.

The bird was quickly relocated and the warden / ex-warden combo erected the net. Meanwhile we surveyed the area and a newly arrived female guest at the Obs commented that she had just seen it flying towards the lean-to greenhouse.

Ken Shaw and I both got on it as it seemingly scuttled (mouse-like, there was a clue there!) along a white window ledge. Ken moved to check it out and it had seemingly dropped into a very small adjacent bush. Ken then flushed it and it flew towards me and despite it being very dark I was convinced it was ‘the bird’. As was Ken. He alerted the wardens and the bird was coaxed around to the right side of the net, and then without too much trouble, into the net.

And it was indeed a Lancie.

It was tiny, olive, streaked, round-winged and round-tailed. Complete Locustella delight!! After being paraded to the assembled crowd it was taken back to the Obs (as were we!) where it was ringed and processed and the displayed to the assembled crowd again before being released.

My mate Andy Carroll was a very relieved man as such (as was I!); I'd omitted to knock on Andy's room door (because I was unaware where all the rooms where!) and so he was less than happy at being left behind and potentially dipping Lanceolated Warbler until the bird was brought back to the Obs for all to see whilst being processed and before being released. Phew!!

Lanceolated Warbler, Fair Isle Bird Observatory, Fair Isle, Shetland, October 2015 (both photographs credited to Andy Carroll).

 Northern Mockingbird – Newbiggin, Northumberland, 7^th May 2021

On the 5th May 1984, my co-worker Chris Thomas (who is apparently now Vice-Chancellor at Aberystwyth University) and I found a Wood Sandpiper on the pond on Middleham Common in North Yorkshire, whilst I was doing my first proper paid work, undertaking the Upland Bird Survey (UBS) for the old Nature Conservancy Council in the Yorkshire Dales. Certainly, at the time, I considered it was my 200th bird species in the UK[1].

As part of the UBS we were regularly visited by Andy Clements (the recently retired CEO of the BTO), who acted as the ‘man-in-the-field’ on behalf of Dr Tim Reed, the NCC officer responsible for the survey, visiting and co-ordinating with the field teams.

Andy, was a big twitcher at the time. For example, he regaled us with fantastic stories from the mythical Scillies (I particularly remember his tale of the pre-dawn twitch to St. Agnes for the October 1982 Common Nighthawk which he vividly described appearing before the assembled gallery to hawk backwards and forwards over the dawn lit beach). He had also disappeared off the previous year with his co-worker, Tony Merritt, and the veterinary surgeon in Bainbridge, to twitch the Hudsonian Godwit at Blacktoft Sands in late-April 1983. And he had whisked me off on an exciting but ultimately disappointing twitch to Newcastle General Hospital in an attempt to see the Laughing Gull that had taken up residence there.

Anyway, when Andy heard about our Wood Sandpiper, he joked that he needed to watch himself the way me and Chris, “Had come crashing through the 200 barrier...”. 😂😂😂.

No doubt Andy would be amused to hear that on the 7th May 2021, almost exactly 37 years later, I finally crashed through the 500 barrier!

This had been a declared objective for a long time, too long. For example, for years I had teased the girls that if I needed just one more for my 500 before I died, they had to get me there at all costs, for example, by pushing me in my wheelchair across miles of unsuitable terrain…. . I think the enormity of this ‘wish’ genuinely worried them.

I had been with Jonny Holliday at Aith, Fetlar, when he had relocated the Swainson’s Thrush there in October 2016; this was his 500th species, giving me just a hint of what it might be like to achieve this target.

And although I didn’t see it with him, the Crag Martin at the Crooked Spire in Chesterfield in November 2015 had been Ken’s 500th species, and, for example, I saw the cards he received as a result.

At the time Ken and I had broadly understood that our lists were in the same ballpark. However, I was actually quite a long way behind. The Crag Martin was my 476th species, and the last for me during 2015.

2016 saw me make unheralded significant advances as it was a momentous year that provided eleven stupendous ticks, taking me from 477 (Gyr Falcon) to 487 (Blue Rock Thrush). Subsequent years couldn’t compete, very obviously. 2017 eventually provided three more after one (Hudsonian Whimbrel) was briefly denied to me by a lumping travesty. The two other ticks that year, a difficult one, were Red-winged Blackbird soon after Dad had passed away in the spring, and American Redstart in the otherwise blank autumn. But at least I was now in the 490s. However, 2018 was worse; other than the Gray Catbird in the autumn it was a blank year. 2019 was better, advancing my list from 492 (Tengmalm’s Owl) to 495 (Eastern Yellow Wagtail).

Which brings us to 2020. Needing just five more we entered the COVID-19 era…. . D’oh!!!!!! That said, despite an ill-fated entirely blank trip to Mainland Shetland (after we had eventually cancelled our planned visit to Unst which would have produced for me) 2020, remarkably, delivered. Firstly, it delivered to almost literally my doorstep with the Scopoli’s Shearwater next to the Forth Bridge (shortly before I moved house to South Queensferry from where I could have actually seen the Shearwater!!!). Then, before COVID-19 restrictions were re-imposed, the autumn provided three more ticks, two (Two-barred Greenish Warbler and Taiga Flycatcher) in Northumberland and the other (Hudsonian Godwit) in Fife, by which time I really shouldn’t have been travelling that far. They had saved the autumn, as had I been in Shetland later that I had, or in Scilly, I would potentially have had other ticks.

The Hud Wit took me to 499. So close. But I was now confined to barracks, locked down, and locked into the extensive programme of renovation I had committed to at 62 High Street.

Initially this was all fine really as besides being gainfully employed (a blessing during the rigours of lockdown) although there were some good birds, there was nothing that I needed, nothing that would take me to the long sought after 500.

This all changed on the 6th February 2021 when, incredibly, a Northern Mockingbird was reported as having been present for a few days (and ultimately weeks) in gardens in Exmouth, Devon. Sure, a long, long way to go, but under normal circumstances at trip that I would have certainly made, especially given that it would have been my….. .

The mockingbird remained in Exmouth day after day, but I was resigned to my fate. Some birders (or toggers?) ignored travel restrictions and travelled to Exmouth all the same, but this just wasn’t tenable or advisable for me being in Scotland.

My angst was compounded firstly and briefly by a Lammergeier in Norfolk in mid-February, but more so by the re-appearance of the Walrus that had been seen in south-west Ireland in south-west Wales, at Tenby, in late March…… . What a twitch that would be! Indeed, tentatively, Steely and I talked about it…… just a few more days and weeks, when restrictions are relaxed a bit more and it becomes permissible to travel – if it / they stay…. . Please stay?

So, February passed, and then March too, but the Mockingbird still lingered. Surely, I couldn’t…….? However, almost exactly two months after the incredible news first broke, it disappeared. Having been seen in its usual haunts in Exmouth on the 7th April it was nowhere to be seen the next day, at least not there.

Incredibly, though, it was then almost immediately relocated near Pulborough In West Sussex, 260 km to the east north-east later that day!!!

I tried to console myself by vicariously twitching it by mobilising Tegan Newman who was just returning to work at the nearby Knepp Rewilding Project for another year, but even this failed; the Mockingbird proved to be a brief stayer in Pulborough.

Other than the Lammergeier, the Northern Mockingbird proved to be the only bird I had needed for my list during the early part of 2021.

I resigned myself to ‘it just wasn’t meant to be’; it wasn’t my fault that COVID-19 had necessitated travel restrictions which had precluded me travelling to Exmouth, despite the birds prolonged stay there.

My hopes for Northern Mockingbird (appropriately?) being my 500th evaporated, and life returned to ‘normal’.

Indeed, it did, as without actively seeking work by April I had increasingly become involved in several different projects, as well as my own project at home. Further, life was gradually returning to some sort of ‘normal’ in other ways too.

For example, David Steel contacted me on 4th May to say that he and Bex Outram would be staying in the Premier Inn in South Queensferry on the nights of the 5th and 6th May as they were doing an outdoor first aid course at Bonaly Scout Centre, just off the by-pass, and as such they would be up for…… wait for it, seeing me socially, which was unprecedented in the past year or so.

So it was that I booked us a table at the Orocco Pier on the evening of the 5th May, and once they had escaped from the Isle of May, checked in at the Premier Inn, indulged in some retail therapy (denied to them when exiled on the Isle of May) and walked down into Queensferry, they joined me for a quick alcoholic drink outside the Orocco Pier, before we retreated inside for a meal. Afterwards they came to 62 High Street to have a look around, and continue our excellent evening.

All very enjoyable.

The following evening, I sent a WhatsApp message to Steely suggesting I would fully understand if he and Bex weren’t up for another night out at 18:28.

Much later, at 23:04 Steely eventually responded (of sorts) with a message forwarded from the Northumberland Bird News WhatsApp group which said, “Video of a Northern Mockingbird apparently taken in Newbiggin in recent days, bird still present today, exact location currently unknown”. This was followed by another WhatsApp message saying, “Interesting news”.

Fuck!!! Was it!!!!

Incredibly, (again!!!!) the Northern Mockingbird had been relocated and was now, somewhat more conveniently and fortunately (as lockdown was being relaxed) in Newbiggin in Northumberland.

The following morning, I sounded out Steely about any plans to see the bird post- his outdoor first-aid course with a WhatsApp message I sent at 07:09, before any news update. It emerged that Steely was going home to North-east England after his course anyway.

We continued a WhatsApp dialogue, and I tried to work, but it was difficult to concentrate.

At 11:21 Steely forwarded me a message from BirdGuides saying:

“Northern Mockingbird Newbiggin-by-the-Sea still in gardens off Front Street; park in Church Point car-park (55.186, -1.5040, Walk west along High Street for 450m and turn right through double gates beside Endeavour Café to view garden to west of red metal container at 55.1858, -1.5108 (11:16) (!!!)”

RBA responded with something broadly identical soon afterwards.

I messaged Steely saying thanks and deliberating whether to go there and then or the following day. He pointed out crowds would be less if I went the next day.

I WhatsApp messaged Ken Shaw who responded that he had just seen the news, but was getting his second jab and so couldn’t go until the next day. He added, “Probably not, generally” (i.e., interested in the Mocker) and, “You go before it is a complete circus”. I also WhatsApp messaged John Nadin, but predictably got no immediate response. 

By 11:45 I was in the car. Unfortunately, there was an accident on the by-pass which caused significant delays (ironically before I passed Bonaly where Steely was).

Otherwise, the journey was good. I stopped at Purdy Lodge on the A1(T) for a quick ‘pitstop’ and whilst there received a delayed batch of WhatsApp messages including one from Martin Scott seeking a lift.

I continued on, and with one slight ‘diversion’ successfully navigated my way off the A1(T) to arrive in Newbiggin some three hours after leaving South Queensferry.

As I drove along the High Street, I saw a birder / birders being ushered into some back yard. At this point I thought, “Sod the Church Point car-park” (where the directions indicated I should park) and turned into the nearest available side street, having failed to find a parking place along the High Street.

Once parked, which was very easy, I assembled my gear and walked swiftly back along the High Street to the entrance to the backyard where I too was swiftly ushered in with words along the lines of “Aye, get in, it was just showing”.

I entered into what was effectively a derelict building plot within which there were a couple of storage units. This ‘yard’ was surrounded by brick walls capped (in that traditional way of the urban north) with broken glass. At the far end was a wooden boarding fence, similarly adored with barbed wire, and it was here the bird showed.

Indeed, it was doing so as I arrived. I saw it immediately on arrival with the naked eye, and as such, any pressure was off.

As is ‘de rigueur’ nowadays at twitches, I variously looked for the bird when it wasn’t showing, ‘scoped it (or attempted to photograph it) when it was, scribbled some notes / sketched it and WhatsApped certain people with my momentous news.

There were generally some 15 or so other birders scattered around the yard throughout my stay and it was all very sociable.

Initially Mark Holling and Bruce Kerr were there when I was, and eventually Angus Murray and John McLoughlin (Birdline Scotland and Birdline North East England) were.

We socially distanced, but did so very socially.

The bird? Oh, yes, the bird. Basically, throughout my stay it was often out of sight below the line of the perimeter fencing around the yard. But it frequently perched just beyond this (and occasionally higher) and as such gave good ‘scopable views.

It would sit relatively still, looking out for suitable prey items and occasionally moving around before then flying out of sight again.

As ever with a bird that I’d previously frequently seen in its natural range, I actually looked at this vagrant, taking in its finer details (though perhaps not to the extent I would do normally). It was (appropriately given the family it is part of!) reminiscent of a thrasher or Gray Catbird in some respects.

It was about the size of a Blackbird and had, broadly, the appearance of a thrush. It had a long tail, and a stoutish, longish slightly downcurved bill. The legs and bill were dark. The eye involved a dark pupil and warm mid-brown iris. The plumage was pale grey brown overall, with the underparts being paler than the upperparts. The plumage was generally plain, with the exception of the remiges and retrices. The remiges were dark-centred and pale-fringed, with whitish wing-bars formed by the fringes of the greater and median coverts, and a white patch created by the white alula feathers. The retrices were darker than the overall plumage, with whitish outer edges to the tail. Otherwise, the lores were darker than the rest of the head, which gave a masked appearance.

All and all very good.

Given my easy acceptable views, and the presence of the Grey- / Black- headed Wagtail at nearby Bothal Pond, I gave the bird some 90 minutes or so, before leaving to locate some suitable lunch fodder and move on.

This I did at a nearby bakery. Whilst in the queue I chatted to a local couple who were genuinely interested in me having seen the bird; indeed, the woman showed me her own photos of it which she had taken in a friend’s garden. I really enjoyed the earthy warmth of the proper folk of Newbiggin; it reminded me of all that I love about people ‘back home’.

After consuming my steak pie at my car in the side street around the corner, I journeyed around Ashington to Bothal, and eventually (no thanks to the RBA App mapping) Bothal Pond. Here my timing was good as despite the size of the ‘pond’ the wagtail was showing well just over the hedge opposite where I had parked the car. And what a bird!!! …. just a shame that it seemingly underwent an identity crisis and was considered (mystifyingly?) to be a Grey-headed Wagtail… .

Having seen it I gradually wended my way home (attempting to get a car charger USB cable from the Tesco’s in Berwick-upon-Tweed unsuccessfully, and getting fish and chips from a chippy in Dunbar successfully). I consumed these near Seafield Pond at Belhaven, where I saw a female Yellow (or was it Blue-headed?) Wagtail and heard Reed Warbler. Steely ‘phoned me whilst I was there, and, although my ‘phone was in low power mode to conserve the battery, he and I had a good chat; he too had caught up with the Mocker.

Once home that night, I was finally able to charge my ‘phone and respond to various messages, etc..

I also composed a tweet about my experiences earlier in the day; I was in a strangely philosophical mood about the whole experience me seeing my 500th species in Britain involved. My tweet said:

“Indulged in some dirty twitching for my 500th species in the UK. And very good it was too. Enjoyed the whole experience, familiar faces, the people in Newbiggin, rubbish food (mandatory on a twitch) and a stonking bonus bird”.

Gratifyingly, this produced a lot of likes, not just from friends, but also from complete strangers.

Similarly so, my Facebook post the following morning. In this I mused about my twitching journey that had culminated in the Northern Mockingbird; 30+ years of incredible experiences as I finally discovered twitching in the mid- / late 80s, coinciding with the transformation caused by the replacing of the traditional rare bird news grapevine by Birdline (which itself was progressively superseded by pagers / Apps / tweets). I commented that I wouldn't swap it for anything. Did I say culminated? I also mused about stepping back from serious twitching now I'd finally reached my long-held target of 500.

However, I also noted that (at the time of writing) the official British list currently stands at 622 (and still increases by one or two each year or so) and that I still have some relatively easy ones to get...... . I concluded that it wasn’t something I was going to grow out of, and as such, that I would probably continue to chase the odd rare bird or so each year.

I even devised a new target total and confided this to Tessa…. .

Who knows what I'll do, where it will take me?




[1] More recent recounts may have altered this, but let’s not spoil a good story.

The scene of ‘To Kill a Mockingbird’ May 2021.

Northern Mockingbird, Newbiggin, Northumberland, May 2021. (photographs credited to Tom Hines).

 Royal Tern – Fisherrow Sands, Musselburgh, East Lothian, 9^th August 1999

Soon after Chris Hirst had been up for a weekend towards the end of July 1999, Steve Bailey ‘phoned to suggest he and Karen and Thomas and James would be in Edinburgh on Monday 9th August. We made plans to meet up for the day....... .

By now twitching and even birding seemed to have become a distant memory, displaced by work and our daughter Ellen, and replaced by the wildlife around about Carlowrie Cottages and the pond in particular, and latterly by an interest in propelling my Scottish list towards 300. So I certainly didn’t foresee any clash of interests. I had not had a tick since October 1997, and had at times begun to doubt that I would ever get a tick again (and at times I had tried to convince myself that I wasn’t really too bothered by this.....). However, during summer 1999 there were some signs of a recovery in the standard of birding with some good birds being available including my second Greater Sand Plover and second Broad-billed Sandpiper and third Lesser Yellowlegs. Better still I had a good run of local finds, recording a Black Darter, as well as other good Odonata on the pond, and a Hobby at Vane Farm.

Things were looking up. But I still couldn’t see where my next tick was coming from, and certainly I didn’t expect it to come in greater Edinburgh on a Monday evening in early August. Even then it was touch and go. But I connected and scored heavily, and in doing so rediscovered my twitching desire which had been latent for so long....... .

Steve and Karen, Thomas and James and Gillian and Ellen and I had travelled in two cars to Dalmeny station for the 14:18 train into Edinburgh Waverley. Once in Edinburgh we had wandered around taking in all the sights of the Edinburgh Festival.

Now, for much of the time we had been in Edinburgh I had been aware that there had been a Lesser Crested Tern at Thorntonloch in East Lothian which was mildly annoying as this would have been a very nice addition to my Scottish list.

However..... .

At 17:21 my pager went off with the mega alert as we walked along Rose Street searching for a suitable place to eat. The bird previously known as Lesser Crested Tern was now being reported as a Royal Tern which was obviously a different matter all together. I was somewhat on edge as such a good bird was obviously around and about and would be being looked for, if not at, as we ate, but I was relatively calm, all the same. A new-found philosophical attitude (due to lack of recent twitching activity) perhaps?

At 18:00 this demeanour changed somewhat, as the pager indicated that the Royal Tern had been reported on the wader scrape at Musselburgh at 15:45. By now we were all having a meal in Garfunkel’s – well we did have children with us! All the same the news was old and no further news could be considered good news in some ways. But this philosophical attitude bollox disappeared altogether soon after we arrived back at Dalmeny from Edinburgh on the delayed 18:45. It was 19:04 when the message was transmitted and I think it was as we faffed about with the pram in the station car-park I checked the pager and was stunned to find that the Royal Tern was roosting on the mudflats at Fisherrow Sands at 18:55.

We travelled back to Carlowrie Cottages and on arrival I helped Steve get his bikes out of the garage and put them back in the car bike rack, keen to help them on their way! I was though, the good host and made various drinks and then generally socialised whilst Gillian bathed and watered Ellen.

However, when Thomas asked to watch Coronation Street before they left, I became resigned to a less than rapid departure. Surely though, with two youngish boys they would get away fairly promptly. Meanwhile, pager indicated that the Royal Tern was still roosting on the mudflats at Fisherrow Sands at 19:24 and 19:45.

It was going to be do-able wasn’t it?

Steve, Karen, Thomas and James departed soon after 20:00, and Gillian and I quickly agreed that I should go for it. I am not sure just what time it was when I set off, but it must have been at least 20:05. Soon afterwards, the fourth message in a row indicated that the Royal Tern was still roosting on the mudflats at Fisherrow Sands at 20:08. This message was transmitted at 20:11, as I hurtled towards the City Bypass. Once on the bypass I reached peak speeds of 95 miles per hour. The excessive speed of my driving was not slowed any by a message that indicated that at 20:16 ‘it’ was flying over the Firth of Forth. What did this mean? Anyway, in an incredibly short space of time I was in Musselburgh, and had then to make the decision whether to go to the mouth of the River Esk or to the promenade car-park in Fisherrow.

I opted for the mouth of the Esk and so arrived there at some time around about 20:30. Kitted up and not a birder in sight I jogged around the sea cadet’s hut, to be confronted by some 20 or so birders lined up along the seawall and all looking too nonchalant! The first birders I chatted to were Dave Kelly and Ian Thompson. Dave Kelly seemed just a little too eager to tell me that I was too late, as after it had apparently been on the mudflats off Fisherrow and so visible from where the assembled crowd was for more than an hour it had flown off into the Forth some 15 or 20 minutes prior to my arrival, despite all my best efforts. Aargh!!! I then saw Graham Ekins, a fellow Wildlife Inspector, who I recognised from our annual seminar. He was a long way away from Essex, on a family holiday, and he had scored. We all had a general conversation, touching on Odonata and there was some consoling talk of it being around again tomorrow.

Then I saw Bernie Beck and his Tees-side crew and went over to meet them as they walked back towards us. Whilst I was chatting to Bernie, Mervyn Griffiths and Calum Scott came back from along the seawall, walking fast. As they reached the ‘crowd’ Mervyn shouted they had seen it fishing off the second lagoon and it had come back towards the River Esk mouth. Mervyn shouted, “Look at everything”, and so the scattered birders quickly reassembled along the seawall and started scanning the large flocks of roosting Sandwich Terns and other terns and gulls. Someone else who hadn’t seen it yet asked for confirmation of the birds’ plumage, and was told, “Winter plumage”, and everyone worked the flocks, in less than good light conditions as the sun was now breaking the cloud cover and setting over Leith (literally sunshine on Leith…). This, and the fact that we were all looking towards Leith meant we were all looking into the light, which was a very orange light when looking straight out where most of the Sandwich Terns were. Not the best when looking for an orange-billed tern!

In some ways perhaps this was also a blessing, as there was a last extension to the evening light. It was about 20:40 or perhaps even later. Apart from a general murmur of expectation and a few terse mobile conversations updating others on the state of events there was an intense silence. We all scanned backwards and forwards through the roosting flocks, and then was a general feeling that it was in there somewhere, but where?? I oscillated between optimism and pessimism. Would I catch up with it after all or was I just too late.....????

Then someone got on it. Instantly, others demanded directions, but how to give directions under the circumstances, so many birds, and so little to go off? Then as I scanned I jammed in on it – there it was in my ‘scope - the Royal Tern. Calum, who was stood just behind me had also got on it, and we shouted for others to find the barrel (or ws it the end of a tree stump?), for it appeared to him and to me that there was a barrel (or tree stump!) end on and directly behind the boy. (Confused? You should have been there!). This appeared to me to be a good way of giving directions as other than the multitude of tower blocks in the Leith skyline there was nothing to go off. I gave out the same advice and concentrated on making the most of my good luck both in getting there in the first place, and then getting on the bird very promptly and without directions.

It was facing into the north-easterly wind amongst the other terns and the most striking thing about it was the large, long drooping bill which even in the prevailing light conditions looked pale yellow with more than a hint of light green. Beyond that the size was difficult to determine as it was at quite a range and in amongst other similarly orientated terns. There were other birds against which to compare it but there was a lot of distortion due to the different distances involved. For instance, at one stage there was a Lesser Black-backed Gull behind the Royal Tern and they appeared to be of a similar size, but it was further away. Guessing I would suggest that the Royal Tern was bigger than a Common Gull but smaller than a Herring Gull and therefore Ring-billed Gull size. But it was very difficult to judge just how much bigger than the accompanying Sandwich Terns it was.

What was noticeable was the elongated head and neck, giving the bird a Slender-billed Gull like jizz. The head shape was oval and elongated, a point which was probably exaggerated by the head pattern and large, long drooping bill.

The beyond the head pattern it was difficult to see any real plumage detail. The head pattern struck me as a ‘dirty old man’ type hairstyle – bald, but with long, too dark, straggly hair at the back of the head. From this black remnant cap, which was confined to the rear of the crown and upper nape, there was a black eye-stripe, which connected the cap and the bill through the eye area. The eye appeared to be dark as well, but wasn’t actually seen well enough to be sure.

The bird briefly flew when there was mild consternation amongst the terns as a gull walked amongst them. It appeared to have very pale grey upper-parts and white under-parts, and because of the brief duration of the view and the distances involved and also the light conditions no other plumage detail was noted.

I stayed watching it and sampling the euphoria until the light had faded altogether, enjoying the excellent camaraderie of the predominantly Scottish and Scottish-based crowd, including a few who had arrived after me. There can have been no more than 30 or 40 people at most, definitely the chosen few of the Scottish birder scene.

I then left having said my good-byes including a handshake from Stuart Rivers. On the journey home I again experienced the ecstasy of a successful twitch. But only once at home that night when reading up about previous Royal Tern records did I realise just how successful the twitch had been. It appeared that all of the 4 – 5 previous records had been single observers meaning that probably no more than 50 people in the British Isles had Royal Tern on their list. Although we went back the following day, I suppose for this reason I was glad it wasn’t relocated, ensuring that there wouldn’t be a mass twitch.
____________________________________________________________________________________________

The preceding account was obviously drafted at the time (and subsequently re-formatted and edited).

However, despite the ebullient ‘context’ of this record described in the final paragraph above, it highlights one of the modern dilemmas that maintaining a bird list (be it the official British Ornithologists’ Union Records Committee (BOURC) British List, the total numbers of records of each species verified and maintained by the British Birds Rarities Committee, or my ‘official’ list), involves, that of taxonomy.

You see, our understanding of what constitutes a full species, has (appropriately) always evolved, and nowadays, for instance, involves the use of testing and differentiating samples for DNA to investigate the genealogical relationship of species, etc..

As such, we are in an episode of ‘splitting’, whereby more species are recognised, and what were previously considered to be just sub-species or races are now considered to be full species.

‘So what?’ I hear you say. Well, Royal Tern was previously regarded as comprising two geographically separated subspecies, Thalasseus maximus maximus, found in the Americas, and T. m. albididorsalis, found in West Africa.

Individuals of the two sub-species are morphologically near-identical, except for some subtle differences in bill morphology (redder and deeper in American birds) and biometric variations in mass and wing (the American Royal Tern is on average slightly bigger).

However, (prepare for some real science!) to elucidate the true phylogenetic relationship between the American and the West African Royal Terns, Martin Collinson and his co-authors analysed the DNA from birds of both populations as well as from the related ‘orange-billed terns’ (i.e., those species of the genus Thalasseus).

The results of this research were published in the Biological Journal of the Linnean Society.

In spite of the morphological similarity, the DNA analysis revealed that the closest relative of the West African Royal Tern is not the American Royal Tern, but the Lesser Crested Tern (Thalasseus bengalensis) which is similar but smaller and with a yellower bill. This relationship is apparently well supported by both the mitochondrial and nuclear DNA.

As currently defined, the Royal Tern is a paraphyletic species (i.e., one which is part of a group of organisms descended from a common evolutionary ancestor or ancestral group, but not including all the descendant groups), and retaining maximus and albididorsalis in the same species with the exclusion of bengalensis does not reflect the true evolutionary relationships between all of these taxa.

Therefore, the study suggested that the Royal Tern should be split into two species by elevating both the American Royal Tern and West African Royal Tern to the species rank, as Thalasseus maximus and T. albididorsalis respectively.

This recommendation was duly adopted by the International Ornithological Congress (IOC), and as such by the BOURC, which formally adopted the IOC World Bird List for all its taxonomic needs, including the British list, as of the 1st January 2018.

Thus, Royal Tern has officially became two separate species, but therein lies the problem, as in the fraught circumstances involved that evening at Musselburgh, no one was able to determine sufficient detail in terms of the exact size of the bird involved or the subtleties of the shape and hue of its bill, or, more to the point, take suitable photographic images to evidence the same.

So, although the record was officially accepted as a Royal Tern, this is now jeopardised as insufficient detail was recorded to determine (at the time) which of the two subspecies was involved. As such, should there be a review of accepted records (which presumably there will) this record will probably get assigned to Royal Tern spp. (rather than either American Royal Tern or West African Royal Tern).

Having seen the Elegant Tern in July 2021 I updated my list online on both the BUBO and RBA websites and discovered, in the process, that I might soon be deprived of my Royal Tern tick owing to the official ‘split’ as described above.

Therefore, I e-mailed Calum Scott to enquire whether or not there might be anything we could do to prevent this happening (by, somehow, gathering – and submitting – better evidence, if it existed). Calum was supportive of this idea, and volunteered that the bird was, he thought videoed and / or photographed at the time by a Graham ????, but that the evidence had been lost in the recesses of an attic or similar.

I also contacted Ian Andrews, the original finder, who provided a lot of background material and suggested that he had always considered the bird to be more like a West African Royal Tern (as well as pointing out that if this could be proven, it would be a first for Britain and, as such, would have to be assessed by BOURC!).

Ho-hum. As I say, the joys of trying to maintain a list in the 21st century!

 

Ancient Murrelet – Jenny’s Cove, Lundy, Devon, 17^th June 1990

The object  of our quest, reflecting how it looked at times, a tiny, quite distant auklet of a somewhat indistinct shape.

Another epic trip for a first for the Western Palaearctic....... ! A week after we had driven to Penzance en route to St. Mary’s and the Tree Swallow, as opposed to Ilfracombe en route to Lundy and the Ancient Murrelet as had been the plan, Pete Ewer and I did indeed drive from St. Albans to Ilfracombe (you know the rest.....).

Somewhat bizarrely we arrived in Ilfracombe in time to bother with pitching a tent somewhere prior to finding a pub in which to watch England v. Holland in the 1990 World Cup (0.0, thanks for asking), and then retiring to our tent for an all too brief four hour ‘sleep’. A 05:00 sailing may have been involved.

So, early the following morning we quickly packed away the tent, and rushed down to the harbour. Here we met up with Paul Pugh (he who had chartered the fishing boat we were going to Lundy in) and the rest of the merry gang, including Bernie Beck, before boarding the fishing boat.

We were soon off (as I remember it) on what proved to be a 2.5 hour crossing. A 2.5 hour crossing of the waters of the outer Bristol Channel on the open deck of a small fishing boat with the accompaniment of rotting fish (the crew were going to check their lobster and crab pots whilst we were on the island) wasn’t the best of scenarios for me. Fortunately, it was flat calm....... .

Now, I should provide some explanation as to why we were taking a small fishing boat to Lundy as opposed to the more conventional M. V. Oldenburg, the ‘regular’ boat which serves Lundy.

This was involved in getting literally hundreds of birders to the island for the murrelet, but therein lay the problem. On arriving off Lundy, the M. V. Oldenburg would drop anchor (as we nautical types say) and a lighter would be launched from the beach (having been reversed from the cobble beach into the surf using a tractor and trailer which involved a cradle for supporting and transporting the lighter) before shuttling backwards and forwards between the M. V. Oldenburg and the trailer and the cradle on the trailer, which acted as some sort of mobile landing stage, with loads of twelve or so passengers, who then had to make the arduous climb up the track which traverses the towering cliff-face between the beach and the plateau-like expanses of the island high above. Getting ashore could, therefore, take a very long time if you were at the back of the queue disembarking. Not only would this potentially involve a very short period ashore / at the scene of the twitch by the time you got there, before you had then to set off back, but the bird was very definitely easiest to see early on in the morning when it tended to loaf around in Jenny’s Cove for a couple of hours after leaving the adjacent cliffs, before drifting off out to sea.

Thus, getting there early and quickly was vital. Getting there by alternative means and going early were crucial to our (Paul’s) well conceived game-plan.

Anyway, having made the crossing and the landing successfully, we stormed the island, yomping as quickly as we could up the track and then across the island. I remember vaulting over the side of the lighter down onto the cobble beach, making the mistake of steadying myself with my left arm, yep, the same one that had the undiagnosed broken wrist. That hurt a tad.... .

Anyway, once at the ‘venue’ – a towering amphitheatre of granite cliffs from which we were looking down onto the stage that was Jenny’s Cove – the scene was set. A huge supporting cast of regulation issue auk spp. churned around on the sea. However, without much of an ado the star of the show was pinpointed and proceeded to give its admiring audience a thrilling performance – chivvying its intended, diving, and, particularly later on, flying around. It was always moving, and so was frequently lost, but once it had first been ‘scoped it could be quickly relocated because of its distinctive (banana-like) shape.

It appeared, when at rest, to be long-winged, but, in reality, was short-bodied. The under-parts were white, and the upper-parts mainly black, but the back was grey, and there was a distinct demarcation between the primaries / secondaries and the rest of the wing. The head was a very distinctive shape – like a speed cyclist’s helmet with apparently one white line extending from the eye to the rear of the nape. The bill was almost finch-like, large, stubby and horn in colour – like that of a Twite.

I characterised it as being like a ‘drowning House Martin’.

As the photographs convey, this was very definitely one of the all time best twitches; it had so much going for it besides the bird itself, which made it.

For example, having enjoyed watching it for one or two hours (I can’t remember just how long) we decided to leave the scene as the first of those who had crossed to Lundy on the M. V. Oldenburg arrived, gasping for breath, asking whether it was still showing.

We made our way back across the island exhilarated about our stunning success.

As we did so, a long, long line of straggling birders were frantically making their way in the opposite direction, invariably panting and sweating, looking a strange shade of red, and blurting out, “Is it still there?” or some such. We found it very difficult to be on our best behaviour (in fact we were total barstewards!!!), and couldn’t resist saying, “Oh, you want to hurry up mate, it was getting a bit far out,” or something similar, and then watching the horror spreading across their tortured faces before they set off staggering towards Jenny’s Cove as fast as they could. Fortunately, as far as I am aware, no heart attacks were precipitated, though more by luck than ‘judgement’.

Incredibly, we were soon in the fantastic Marisco Tavern, at 09:25(!!!!) on the Sunday morning, drinking the lovely locally-brewed Puffin Ale. The pub was a great place to celebrate and the atmosphere got better and better, as more and more successful birders arrived back from Jenny’s Cove. Perhaps it wasn’t that far out after all..... . I remember being very taken by the whole ‘feel’ of the Marisco Tavern, with the various logs for birders, for divers and for climbers, and the way in which it really was the hub of the island.

Anyway, eventually we returned back down to the landing, and the lighter was used to take us out to our fishing boat for the journey back to Ilfracombe.

The crew of the boat were somewhat bemused by us, these strange folk who spoke with strange (mainly Northern) accents who had travelled for hours overnight to get to Ilfracombe so that they could pay a lot of money to charter their fishing boat to take them to Lundy to see some strange bird. It was a real ‘clash’ of cultures, different worlds.

As suggested, the crew had checked and emptied and rebaited their lobster and crab pots around the other side of the island whilst we had been on Lundy, and so we spent the journey back watching them sorting and processing their catch. This involved measuring the lobsters with special callipers and returning those that weren’t big enough to the sea. Both the lobsters and the crabs which were retained were kept alive. However, they had to be prevented from smashing each other up with their claws whilst they were in the crates. For the lobsters, this involved putting elastic bands around the claws. However, for the crabs the procedure was different. The tip of a knife was inserted into the claw behind the claw itself so disabling the ‘hydraulic’ mechanism. There was a knack to this which involved holding one claw out of harm’s way whilst also holding the claw being disabled and inserting the knife. We were shown how to do this by the crew member who was processing the catch, and with lots of banter, he suggested someone should have a go. Paul and Bernie volunteered me, for some reason. It was a very even fight between the poor crab and me with on functional arm / hand, but I won in the end.

A completely brilliant twitch! All the more so, for being the culmination of a amazing few weeks which had involved Dave McAleavy and I doing a Scottish specialities and Shetland (including Fair Isle) trip, which had involved jamming in on the Pallas’s Sandgrouse (as well as some other good birds), then starting a new job, and then twitching the Tree Swallow on St. Mary’s and the Ancient Murrelet on Lundy on successive weekends. From Fair Isle – Isles of Scilly – Lundy in the space of a fortnight was certainly the pinnacle of my manic twitching.

And a brilliant bird. So much so, that on a subsequent trip to the Scillies I purchased an incredibly accurate and life-like limited edition (Number 6 of 30) ‘sculpture’ of the Ancient Murrelet from the very talented and lovely Ray Turley (now sadly departed) from the stall he set up every night at the birder’s log in the Porthcressa in Hugh Town, St. Mary’s. This has graced my shelves ever since. Only the Red-breasted Nuthatch shares this honour, but that is a whole other story……. . Here’s a photo of said piece before the ones of the twitch itself.

The impressive scene of the twitch, Jenny’s Cove on Lundy, with, in the foreground from left to right, Bernie Beck, yours truly and Paul Pugh, June 1990 (photograph credited to Peter Ewer – I think!).

Ancient Murrelet, Jenny’s Cove, Lundy, Devon, June 1990 (photograph credited to Dave Atkinson).

Yours truly inside and outside the fantastic Marisco Tavern – complete with entirely ineffective bandage on my left wrist (photograph credited to Peter Ewer – I think!).

The M.V. Oldenburg (and our fishing boat) moored off the landing area on Lundy, June 1990 (photograph credited to Peter Ewer – I think!).

Processing the haul on the return trip, with Bernie Beck sitting nearest the camera, and yours truly partly obscured standing, with Paul Pugh to my right, June 1990 (photograph credited to Peter Ewer – I think!).