Least Bittern – Scousburgh, South Mainland, Shetland, 7^th October 2022

Preliminary sketch of the Least Bittern when initially seen, Scousburgh, South Mainland, Shetland, October 2022

Friday the 7th October saw Andy Williams and I have a slow start to our birding day, as we concentrated on packing and completing a food shop. This was in advance of leaving our self-catering accommodation for week one of our two weeks in Shetland, at Sandwick, Mainland, early the following morning, and collecting Chris Pendlebury off the ferry, before wending our way to Unst at the start of week two.

Consequently, it was early afternoon before we went birding, electing to try nearby Hoswick as it would be reasonably sheltered from the prevailing westerly winds.

After birding there (and producing just one Spotted Flycatcher and one Wheatear in terms of migrants, excepting Blackbirds and Redwings) we moved on to Channerwick, where we coincided with Mark Wilkinson, Kris Gibb and Andy Stirrat in one of those ‘great minds’ moments; given the westerly winds, this site was also relatively calm. We gave the site a good ‘doing’ between the five of us, but as we had struggled to find anything of significance, I reclined on a bank near the house from where I could view some cover nearby and also my colleagues as they worked the surrounding habitat. For instance, from there I could see Andy Stirrat similarly resting on a large rock down, below checking out the lower Channerwick Burn valley.

Gradually the others joined me, firstly Mark, then Chris, and then Andy W.. It was all very relaxed, and we chatted away about everything and nothing whilst waiting for everyone to return.

As such, we weren’t paying too much attention to Andy S., who seemingly had left his vigil and was making his way back to us…. .

However, I then noticed he was doing so at some pace (despite the incline involved) and he had his ‘phone to ear.

I alerted the others to this, knowing what it meant.

Andy S. made his way up to us as quickly as he could, by which time some of us were checking our phones to try to find out what his urgent news was! As such, I cannot honestly remember who broke the news first, or how they broke it. All I can truthfully remember is that we all very quickly (well, as quickly as age, etc., would allow) made our way back to the cars parked up the steep road down to Channerwick in a blind panic. Andy W. and I gave the knackered Andy S. a lift for the last few tens of metres of his ascent back to his car. As we dropped him off, Mark asked me about the best way to Scousburgh, which we had established during our ascent was the area to the north of Loch of Spiggie. I suggested the road over to Bigton and then down the west coast would be the preferred route. However, when Andy W. and I set off, we / Google directions opted for the main A970 south, and then the B9122 across to Spiggie. Potentially, all very confusing for the following Andy S. et al..

It was some time before 16:00 (the first message on RBA was at 15:54). We were only some 15 minutes away, and Andy drove very sensibly and quickly to the car-park at the Loch of Spiggie hide, which, as had been apparent as soon as we reached the Spiggie Hotel area, was already very full.

Here I bailed out, and Andy, bless him, continued on to find a sensible parking space.

It was immediately apparent that the scene of the twitch was along the track to the Bay of Scousburgh car-park, and so I made my way along the track as rapidly as my little legs would convey me, actually managing to overtake people en route (admittedly they were a geriatric tour group….. 😊). Anyway, once at the car-park, it quickly emerged that the bird was in the sand fescue alongside the car-park, between the edge of the car-park and an adjoining post and wire fence, at a location demarked by some dock stems. As such, it was very close, but already obscured in the cover.

However, it was still just about visible alongside the base of one of the docks, and as such I was able to get views and, at 16:12, take what was very much a record shot, by holding my phone above my head and angling it down towards said location. All that was discernible even at this relatively early stage in the proceedings, was a rich brown blob, partially hidden by the intervening sand fescue, but nominally ‘marked’ by the adjacent dock stem.

From this point, I also saw it ‘well’ when, soon afterwards, someone alerted us to the fact that it had woken up and was moving. As such, I saw it reasonably well through my binoculars, most memorably when looking directly towards me with its incredibly forward-facing ‘bittern-face’. Very soon afterwards it skulked off into deeper cover (the dark void behind the bird in the above image) and become almost completely obscured.

More and more people were arriving, and I moved position to a slightly elevated area around the gateway on the fence-line from which most people were trying to get views. I did briefly so succeed in doing so myself from here, but mainly I concentrated on trying to give directions to those arriving / trying to seeing it from this ‘vantage point’, initially to Andy (clambering up onto the fence / gate), but also others, including the American woman who we had seen at the Homeyer’s Great Grey Shrike, with whom I joked about her knowing very well it would be in deep cover.

Soon afterwards, I moved away from here, trying to enable others to utilise the very limited viewing space.

For the next good while I opted to standing around in the car-park, taking in the unfolding scenes and enjoying the craic with familiar birders who had ‘seen’ it, and encouraging those who had yet to.

Obviously, Andy Williams had arrived, as had Mark Wilkinson, Kris Gibb and Andy Stirrat. Euan McLachlan and Craig Mackay also arrived, and, eventually, incredibly, so did Dennis Morrison and John Forbes all the way from Unst. Dougie Preston and Andy Carroll also arrived from Yell, whilst Al McNee and Bob McMillan also appeared.

Record shot of record shots of the Least Bittern, Scousburgh, South Mainland, Shetland, October 2022

 I enjoyed the whole scene, as for me at least, the pressure was off, I’d seen it, and, in comparative terms, seen it well. As such, it was moderately(?) entertaining watching newcomers arrive, not knowing where the bird was, and then realising slowly that it was very close but in a place that was virtually unviewable unless you were in pole position in the ‘scrum of the knoll’.

I also, having had the story explained to me, went to chat to the husband of the finder of the bird, Paul Baker, who explained enthusiastically that his wife, Charlie Baker had photographed the bird in the open in the car-park, and then WhatsApped him the photo asking what it was. His response was, “Come and get me,” and, after what he later explained on social media was the longest 20 minutes of his life, they were back there, and fortunately the bird hadn’t disappeared into cover.

However, it also emerged that, in the meanwhile, two other birders, Stephen Keightley and Bert Mitchell, had arrived and also happened on this stupendous ‘first for Britain’.

Although the atmosphere was generally reasonably calm, things slowly deteriorated as more and more people arrived who were increasingly frazzled by the extremely limited viewing opportunities, and, it seemed, had decreasingly less and less idea about ‘twitch etiquette’. I shall admit to being biased here, but it might well have been the case that these people included a good proportion of what I refer to as ‘born again birders’ (those who came to the hobby late, possibly after retirement, and who, as a consequence, have ‘all the gear and no idea’, plus some who were more at the ‘togger’ than birder end of the spectrum, concerned only with getting that ‘killer’ photo of the bird to post on social media and get as many ‘likes’ as possible).

Fortunately, Shetland name birders were on site, which created a peer pressure in terms of behaviour. An attempt at organising a queuing system was proposed by Paul Harvey with limited success. It increasingly became a free-for-all involving an everyman(?) for himself approach, and as such, anarchy was gradually approaching.

Paul tried again, and a telescope was commandeered and locked onto the bird from a location at the front of the scrum. People in the queue were advised that they would have a few seconds to view the bird when it was their turn. However, it was apparent that those using the ‘scope couldn’t necessarily ‘see’ the bird despite the ‘scope being locked onto where it was, as the bird was so obscured in deep cover by now.

Any semblance of a queue disappeared and was replaced by an outright scrum, and although there were endearing scenes, including birders pushing a birder in a wheelchair up onto the bank at the front of the raised knoll so that he could get a view, there were also, frankly, appalling ones, including a birder throwing himself down at the front of the scrum to get in a position from which he hoped to get his all so vital views without any regard to anyone else.

So, despite Paul’s efforts chaos, or near chaos, ensued, and the atmosphere deteriorated. Around about this time, Paul very correctly asked that NO photographs of the twitch (people surrounding a bird) were published on social media due to the outrage this might invoke in some.

Thankfully, Paul and Phil and others then decided that it was appropriate to either coax the bird back out into view or pick it up so that it could be taken into care.

This plan was announced by Paul, and everyone was invited to clear an area as large as possible to give the bird space by retreating to the areas surrounding the car-park furthest away from the bird. People generally conformed. I clambered up onto the bank opposite the bird with some difficulty, being heaved up to my feet by Craig Mackay. Some were ‘slow’ to conform  and were very promptly given verbal reprimands by the increasingly irritable crowd.

Eventually, everyone cleared the area to the satisfaction of the moral majority, and Phil slowly advanced towards the bird’s location from the dune edge closest to the sea, walking, in effect, towards where the scrum had been viewing from.

Nothing happened. Phil then slowly bent forwards to gently pick up the bird (wackily being warned to watch his eyes by one intellectual midget….. eh?). He then stood back upright and was holding in his hands a miniature bittern, an incredible small bittern of Least Bittern stature.

Phil then walked it around the assembled gallery so that everyone got their chance to see it, and, obviously, to photograph it. Paul suggested early on in this process that Phil might want to do this faster, but all the same, it was done quickly but fairly.

It was explained that the bird would be taken into care and, if this proved successful, how it would then be released.

So, despite this somewhat sad ending, the galleries soon afterwards dispersed, and slowly and happily everyone wandered back to the scattered cars that filled the car-park at the Loch of Spiggie hide and the passing places, lay-bys, and verges of the nearby road.

As I did so, I saw John Dempsey and Neil Hunter, and John showed me his photo of the bird in Phil’s hands with me in the crowd in the background.

I also saw Paul Harvey and Pete Ellis (the latter whom Andy and I had already seen earlier in the week, when we first arrived at our accommodation in Sandwick, where we were effectively close neighbours), and made a point of thanking Paul for his efforts ‘organising’ the twitch, or, at least, attempting to, despite it proving to be some ornithological equivalent of herding cats. Paul and I also had a brief catch up chat, which I very much enjoyed, as I’ve always thought Paul is a top, top bloke. Subsequently, when telling others that I had thanked Paul for his efforts, I got quite emotional, as he deserved much, much better from certain individuals in the assembled throng, as all he was trying to do was to help EVERYONE see it.

Anyway, as I wandered back to find Andy and the car, I also walked past two or three cars parked on the track to the car-park, one of which was that of Al McNee, blocking in that of a less than happy local, who had just come down to Spiggie for walk on the beach. Hardly exemplary behaviour by a retired headteacher and senior police officer 😊.

I also saw Phil Woollen as I walked back to find Andy at his car at the parking place for Spiggie Beach.

I arrived back with Andy to find Dennis Morrison and John Forbes already there with him. We congratulated each other, and then Andy and I left.

I was elated, euphoric, ecstatic. Shattered (but not anything like as shattered as the poor Least Bittern…… )!

It was a relative sedate night, but, oh wow!!!

After being captured and briefly paraded around the assembled crowds, the bird was duly placed in a bird bag provided by Kevin Kelly and then was taken into care overnight. Unfortunately, the following morning the predictable news came through that the bird hadn’t survived the night and had died. Apparently, it weighed just 50g, whereas, on average, Least Bitterns weigh in at 86g.

As such, it suffered the fate of the ten previous Least Bitterns (eight for the Azores, and one each for Iceland and Ireland) that have been recorded in the Western Palaearctic – reaching this side of the Atlantic, being seen by the finders and generally very few other observers, before very soon afterwards succumbing to the sheer exhaustion caused by a trans-Atlantic flight. As detailed in a Bird Guides article about the Irish record, none of those seen in the Western Palaearctic has yet been alive and well enough and / or lingered long enough to be seen by large numbers of birders.

Therefore, the estimated 130 birders who connected with the Scousburgh bird were extremely privileged; despite there being ten previous records in the Western Palaearctic most had succumbed almost immediately after being discovered. For example, the Irish record (on the 8th October 2019) was discovered in an exhausted state in the back garden of a house in Farranmore in County Kerry and so it was picked up and carried inside but died within minutes of this and so was seen alive by just two people (who were non-birders).

So, I had been fortunate enough to be among the 130 birders (etc.!) who saw the Scousburgh bird alive, and further, thanks to us being in nearby Channerwick and Andy dropping me off at the Loch of Spiggie hide car-park before finding somewhere to park, I was also able to see it reasonably well (and briefly ‘active’) in the field before then seeing it in the hand. Certainly, I was very glad to be able to say I hadn’t only seen it in the hand (although, as was discussed, there are plenty of instances where birds are ticked on the basis of ‘in-thee-hand’ views only, Swinhoe’s Petrel being a classic case in point). My very first Firecrest was ‘in-the-hand’, and subsequently my subalpine warbler spp., Pechora Pipit and Lanceolated Warbler were seen best ‘in-the-hand’ (although seen poorly and / or briefly in the field before capture or after release respectively in these instances).

Arguably, as such, this places Least Bittern right up there in terms of my ‘rarest birds seen’ as, not only was it a first for Britain, comparatively few birders connected with it. More specifically, although my list includes what were several ‘firsts for the Western Palaearctic’ (such as the Golden-winged Warbler, Double-crested Cormorant, Red-breasted Nuthatch, Tree Swallow, Ancient Murrelet, Yellow-throated Vireo, etc.), lots of birders caught up with these. Similarly so, with most of my ‘firsts for Britain’ on my list invariably loads of people were able to successfully twitch these, for example, the Naumann’s Thrush, Pacific Swift, Black-faced Bunting, Grey-tailed Tattler, Short-billed Dowitcher, Snowy Egret, Masked Shrike, Western Purple Swamphen and Red-winged Blackbird (or, in the instance of Siberian Accentor, the multiple subsequent records).

Yes, this latest acquisition for my list was RIGHT up there in terms of my ‘blockers’, those birds comparatively few have on their lists, which may take some getting back. So, I’ve no idea how many twitchers connected with the Yellow-throated Vireo for instance, but this was undoubtedly several hundred, whilst (coincidentally!) it is suggested some 130 birders (plus a few locals, etc.) managed to get to North Uist for the Long-tailed Shrike.

Given the crowd at the Least Bittern included some number of relatively ‘low-listers’ (such as the ‘born-again birders’ and toggers) rather than the out-and-out twitchers who made it to North Uist for the Long-tailed Shrike, Least Bittern may well turn out to be my ultimate blocker!

However, the question could be asked, “So what?” I described the circumstances (extreme rare bird found, and seen by those able to get there, before being taken into care and dying overnight) to my very best (non-birding) mate Gary, who succinctly identified the moral dilemma involved with this aspect of my hobby, saying, “Sorry ….. I laughed at the tragic bit 😄 it gave it’s life for your collection”.

Without going too much into the moral minefield that surrounds twitching, and, in particular, twitching ‘waifs’ that are so off course that they are doomed not to survive (let alone get back to their native range), yes, our hobby is perhaps a perverse one in such instances. Certainly, as suggested, I was glad that I had seen the bird ‘in the field’ before I saw it in the hand. More contentiously, part of me even mulled over how I was quite glad it hadn’t survived and recovered sufficiently well to then be released before a huge crowd of ‘Johnny-come-latelies’; being repatriated back to the Americas was a much better option than that!

Although there was, gratifyingly, some restraint shown in terms of posting images of the twitch on social media, images of the bird in the hand were ‘out there’ for all to see soon after the everyone left the site. And sure enough, nonsense soon followed on Twitter with criticism of the whole scenario, and, in particular, the picking of it up, and the showing it around. Why let the actual circumstances involved get in the way of some self-righteous moral outrage from behind a keyboard a zillion miles away from the twitch? Whilst some of the behaviour by certain individuals involved was a long way off exemplary, the (attempted and realised) ‘management’ of the twitch was, in my humble opinion, definitely so. Enough!

The bird? Well. Certainly, when it was hunched up resting in the sand fescue cover my abiding impression was of an undefined blob comprised of very rich browns. Otherwise, apart from the very brief period when it was ‘active’ and moved about a bit, briefly looking directly towards me with its forward-facing bittern eyes, I saw little detail of its plumage, or ‘soft’ parts, excepting the complex pattern of various rich browns and the mainly yellow bill and yellow eyes.

However, although not necessarily all discernible either on the basis of the in the field or in the hand views, the bird had off-white underparts, which, at least on the breast, were heavily streaked with very broad, rich orangey-brown streaks, although the chin and throat were not streaked. The upperparts, including the crown, back, etc., were dark brown, whilst the rest of the head was also rich orangey-brown toning from lighter to darker towards the rear of the head, apart from an off-white supercilium, which was confined to the area between the bill and the eye. The neck and side of the neck was also orangey-brown. The back and the wings (at rest) were a complex mixture of darker brown margins with a large, central paler brown patch. The bill and legs were long and mainly yellowish (although the upper part of the upper mandible was dark) and the eye was a pale yellow.

Least Bittern, Scousburgh, South Mainland, Shetland, October 2022 (photograph credited to Simon Colenutt).

A very happy yours truly at the Least Bittern twitch, Scousburgh, South Mainland, Shetland, October 2022 (photograph credited to Mark Wilkinson).

A man preoccupied with his mobile ‘phone within a couple of metres of a first for Britain, Scousburgh, South Mainland, Shetland, October 2022 (photograph – and gag - credited to John Dempsey).