West Bay Redshank

The month closed with a real treat yesterday afternoon, my first ever wader on the Brit Estuary mud. And what a cracker...

Redshank, well on the way to full breeding dress too.

I've seen Redshank just once before at West Bay, when two were in the soggy field north of the river, sharing a big puddle with a Black-tailed Godwit in March 2020. Such Patchwork Challenge riches would be very welcome right now but, as yesterday's Redshank was so handsome and obliging - and unexpected - I was more than satisfied.

There was a lot of flotsam washed up on the mud and, surprisingly, my vague hope that something might be poking around amongst it was actually realised.

The last few days have mostly been slow going bird-wise, but even so it is a rare thing to come home without some noteworthy little nugget. Like the Cetti's Warbler opposite West Bay's Spar shop on Thursday. Super loud, as they always are, but oddly stilted, incomplete phrasing, as if it might be a youngster finding its voice. Or the flock of 8 Red-throated Divers flying east together that morning, the stand-out highlight of an otherwise dire seawatch. Or this...

Loafing gulls, just east of the main West Bay car park on Thursday afternoon.

Having a decent flock of gulls to pick through is a novelty here, so I made the most of it and spent a few minutes watching the comings and goings. Just before taking that photo there were 292 birds on the deck, all Herring Gulls bar a handful of Lesser and two or three Great Black-backs. I have a feeling the wait for a West Bay Casp is going to be lo-o-o-o-ong...

Other birdy bits and bobs since the last post...

In Monday's pre-work gloom, a single Purple Sandpiper back on the harbour wall rocks...

...followed shortly afterwards by the long-staying female Black Redstart, plus a Wheatear that didn't hang around for photos.

Despite some blowy weather, seawatching has been consistently slow. Here is a list of highlights:

And so to today, April 1st. A pleasant afternoon stroll to Eype and back, but no migrants other than a few Chiffs, and four Swallows through. Best was this...

Despite complete absence of mud, amazingly the River Brit Redshank was still around.

Also on the river was the drake Wigeon, chalking up its fifth calendar month with us...

I wonder if the female Mallard it had seemingly hooked up with is losing interest? A few times lately - including today - I've come across the Wigeon on its own, mooching about aimlessly and calling loudly. During this period I have also seen them together occasionally, but whenever you hear that rather forlorn whistle echoing around the harbour it is a sure sign that the Mallard is elsewhere right now. Poor Wigeon is clearly not quite all there, and I feel a bit sorry for it.

Moths have been a constant pleasure, with a steady trickle of new ones...

Oak Nycteoline. Our second, following one last July.

Pale Pinion - new for garden.

Really chuffed with this photo. A micro that's actually big enough for a quality pic.

Like a tiny carrot. I love this one.

I'm always pleased to catch micro-moths. Despite the potential ID challenge they present, and the scientific names to learn (and forget...and learn again...) I find them totally addictive. A few recent ones, like the above tiny carrot for example, are evidently not an everyday catch locally, and a touch of scarceness always adds to the attraction. So far the year's tally is 36 species and 2 aggregates.

I'm sure there will be many more new moths as spring gets going properly, but for me the month is all about birds, and April is traditionally when the migration floodgates open. I cannot wait.

No Fireworks

Despite evidence elsewhere in the land, it feels like the migration door has been shut all week. From Monday to Saturday, early visits to West Bay have basically featured south-westerlies of varying vigour (with or without rain) and seawatching has therefore been the default option. I have tried to stick it for 30 minutes or more each day, but direness made me fail a couple of times. Here's what I've seen...

129 Gannets, 112 Kittiwakes, 8 Red-throated Divers, 7 Common Scoter, 6 Med Gulls, 5 Sandwich Terns, 5 Manx Shearwaters, and singles of Guillemot and Peregrine. Plus a few unidentified auks. A fine tally really, until you realise it's the sum of six individual seawatches.

This morning, finally, the weather relented, and at 07:45 my first Wheatear for a week popped up on the seafront...

This afternoon I added Red Kite to the West Bay & Eype Patchwork Challenge list when a lone bird drifted west and upset all the gulls...

Red Kite over West Bay.

Apart from another Wheatear this afternoon, the only other vital things to record this week are the continuing presence of West Bay's odd couple in the harbour...

...and three new moths for the garden...

1. A slightly battered Satellite - apparently not a common moth locally.

2. March Moth - subtly attractive.

3. Small Quaker - two caught last night.

Early Thorn. Caught plenty of these in the latter half of last year, the 2nd-generation version. The name seems a lot more appropriate when you catch one in March though.

Beautiful Plume. Another moth which is not new, but I don't think NQS has ever featured a photo of this crazy creature.

Another Oak Beauty. Photo just because. I mean, why wouldn't you?

So, an enjoyable week, but no fireworks.

The Meaning of Geese

I do not know Nick Acheson. I have met him though - in the fashion that many of us 'meet' these days - as a fellow inhabitant of Twitter. My memory tells me it was the spring of 2020, with COVID-19 placing unprecedented constraints upon the freedoms of normal life, when I stumbled across Nick's Twitter feed. A wonderful hotch-potch of cottage-garden flowers, duck-pond trivia and the characterful hybrid offspring of a Pheasant and a something else. It was more than that of course, but whatever, it was heartening, upbeat stuff, and I was hooked.

A few weeks ago, Nick's first book was published. Buying it was a no-brainer...

On the face of it, this book is about geese, about places geese live, and about people who are fascinated, inspired and helplessly smitten by geese. The narrative vehicle is a North Norfolk winter diary kept by the author, detailing his two-wheeled pursuit of wild geese - and some not so wild - through a sometimes punishing season of COVID lockdowns and trialsome weather. However, the book is much, much more than a diary...

I found The Meaning of Geese oddly affecting. Woven through it are threads both joyous and melancholy. It is informative and thought-provoking. And, for what it's worth, Nick Acheson comes across as a thoroughly decent human being.

I enjoyed this book a lot. So much so that, when I had finished reading it, I resolved there and then to send Nick a direct message via Twitter to tell him so. Well, later perhaps. Or tomorrow.

Ah, good intentions...

When it comes to geese, my home for the last 20 years is very different to North Norfolk. In fact I have never lived anywhere that wild geese winter. Sure, there are Brents either side of me - on the Fleet and on the Exe Estuary - but I almost never travel to either. Locally they are passage birds only, a minor seawatching prize. It has been a very long time since I last witnessed a big, shuffling flock of Brents on the North Norfolk coast, or the vast, sky-scribbling movement of Pinkfeet heading out to the Wash on a golden winter's evening. Yet in my head I can easily hear both, and their voices were a constant mental accompaniment as I read The Meaning of Geese.

This morning's early visit to West Bay was thwarted by steady rain, poor visibility and a lack of birds, so I made a start on last night's nocmig recording instead. Whipping through an Audacity file in 30-second bites doesn't take too long as a rule. Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing...er...wait...no, that's not anything either... And so on. Until I got to a point which coincided with 19:15 yesterday evening. A bunch of blurry, low-frequency squiggles in roughly the place where speech registers. Not speech though. I had a listen...

I recognised it instantly. Faint, but I was 99% sure. The throaty burble of a Brent Goose flock. A nocmig first for me, so I checked it out via the WhatsApp group in order to eliminate that 1%. And here they are...

Listening to that distant echo of Cley Marshes brought The Meaning of Geese immediately to mind, and a neglected good intention. Later this morning, over a coffee and shortbread, I composed an overdue message...

Catching Up

A sunny Sunday is guaranteed to fill West Bay, so my late-afternoon visit today focused mainly on the golf course and East Cliff coast path. Three Wheatears and my first two White Wagtails of the year (among 45+ Pied) were reward enough, though I did a lot of fruitless sky-scanning for something rarer. One of the myriad Alpine Swifts currently presenting British and Irish birders with their trickiest photography challenge for ages would look great on the Bridport area list.

Rather distant and, at 17:30, in poor light, this White Wagtail was challenge enough for this tenth-rate photographer!

A broad expanse of grey rump on view in this shot.

Earlier this afternoon two separate Red Kites set the local gulls off, the first at 13:30. Almost expected in this kind of weather now but always great to see, especially from the garden...

Welcome to my Bridport North Patchwork Challenge list, Mr Kite.

I tried the golf course side of West Bay late on Friday afternoon too. The area held seven of the nine Wheaters I saw that day. It has a few spots which seem to remain relatively undisturbed, and I am looking forward to learning how to make the most of its potential as the year progresses...

Clifftop Wheatear - my first female of the year

Golf course Wheatear.

Yesterday I did my first solo stint as a Seaton Birdwatching Tram guide. For almost an hour and a half I completely forgot that I owned a camera, so the three Wheatears on Sheep's Marsh went unphotographed. I can only blame a touch of first-date nerves, which are probably also responsible for my failure to add Rook, Collared Dove or Song Thrush to the morning's trip list! I certainly cannot blame the lovely bunch of punters, who couldn't have made things easier for me. A thoroughly enjoyable experience, and I cannot wait for the next one.

No dramatic stuff, bird-wise, but decent views of one of the elusive wintering Greenshanks finally reminded me about the Nikon...

Axe Greenshank.

As far as I can tell, so far this year I have caught 76 moths of 22 species, 14 of which are new. Those figures are the result of 12 successful nights, and a few (uncounted) blanks. I have no idea how good this is, but it seems reasonable enough to me. And is far easier to cope with than the frenetic chaos of a hot summer night! Here is the latest batch of garden firsts...

Early Grey

Caught this on Friday night, and already another two (so far) have turned up tonight.

Tawny Pinion. No doubt designed to disappear on bark, this quirky brown splinter is actually not that common locally. Nice.

Tawny Pinion side view, in all its multi-tufted whackiness.

I have been hoping to catch one of these big, furry stunners since I first saw the species on my Twitter feed a few weeks ago. And I am pleased to report that Oak Beauty lived up to expectations.

Clouded Drab. Definitely got the short straw in the naming game, this one. There are other drabs too, poor things.

Not obvious in this pic, but Acleris cristana has the craziest tufts of scales sprouting from the middle of each wing. Unfortunately my side-on shots were rubbish.

Always pleasing to encounter a micro that is both well-marked and easy to ID.

Not new, but this Twin-spotted Quaker almost caught me out last night...

Twin-spotted Quaker - a pale form.

The other Twin-spotted Quakers I've caught so far looked like this...

Twin-spotted Quaker, living up to its name properly.

And finally, for no other reason than I like it, a Little Egret on the Axe yesterday morning...

That's it. All caught up now.

Powerful Urges

Migration is a constant source of wonder for me. The powerful urges that provoke those long, potentially hazardous journeys to breeding or wintering grounds are not to be denied, but there is no doubt that birds will often wait for the right moment, then move en masse. Some recent examples...

Last night my nocmig kit detected one Redwing call. The night before, five. The night before that (Monday) - wait for it - 684! By far the biggest Redwing count I've ever recorded in spring. Sunday night's count of 35 provided no hint of the upcoming flood!

During the first two weeks of March, Wheatears had been dribbling into the country as the odd singleton here and there. Clearly they were on their way, but I wonder if anyone could have predicted the widespread arrival experienced along the south coast yesterday? I was working, but the local WhatsApp group provided the gen: four at Sidmouth, at least six at Seaton. Between jobs I popped down to West Bay and quickly found two on the undercliff at the west end of the prom. They didn't hang around, and before I could get a photo they were off inland. One perched briefly on a roof...

First Wheatear of the year.

...and then they were away.

West Bexington had 10, and Portland, 50. Definitely a Wheatear day!

The incongruous flock of c10 Golden Plover that battled its way across an angry sea on Monday morning was not an isolated incident. Steve had a couple of small flocks do likewise off Seaton, and a handful passed Portland Bill too. Nice. Golden Plover is certainly a species likely to be migrating at this time, and a realistic possibility for the early-spring nocmigger. I have single records from March 2021 and March 2022, and had kept the streak going with one on March 1st this year. However, no way would I have predicted last night. Between 23:31 and dawn there were at least 13 occurences. At first I suspected a single, lost bird performing massive circuits, but some of the gaps were rather big for that to be a plausible theory. Then I had a flock. And another flock. Obviously I have no idea how many birds were involved in total, but evidently there was a big movement of Golden Plovers last night!

Wonderful. Birds are just endlessly fascinating, aren't they?

Before work on Tuesday, I popped down to West Bay for a quick walk in the gorgeous sunshine. The beautiful weather had stirred some other powerful urges, and I found a Rock Pipit singing his little heart out. Early days perhaps, but he was winding himself up for the full monty, with a bit of song-flighting, a bit of chasing around with a potential mate(?) or rival(?). The last sentence just emphasises my ignorance really, but my money would be on the former. Here he is...

West Bay Rockit, presumably a resident petrosus bird.

Going for it. There was a lot of posturing like this, and this particular lump of undercliff clag was a favourite spot to which he returned often.

So, just common species - Redwing, Wheatear, Golden Plover and Rock Pipit - but loads of very welcome entertainment. What's next I wonder?

The Usual Mixed Bag

Shortly after noon yesterday I was free for a bit of birding. Keen to get going, I skipped lunch and sallied forth with just a banana. Fatal mistake...

There were plenty of gulls about, and I spent some time watching them come and go, both in the harbour and on the river, where up to 120 at a time was way more than usual. All Herring Gulls, apart from a handful of Lesser Black-backs and the odd GBBG. Still, it was good to have a few birds to sift.

Lesser Black-backed Gulls are so classy.

Legs by Colman's English...

The West Bay gull collection may be a lot smaller than I'm used to elsewhere, but one day there will be a nice surprise. One day.

I still cannot resist a pretty Cormorant...

This gorgeous beast looks fine for sinensis...

...whereas this youngster is obviously P. c. carbo.

Until recently, this is the kind of gular pouch angle I was used to seeing locally: a lot less than 90 degrees.

Anyway, after a couple of hours pleasant, unspectacular pottering, I decided to head for home. The banana was ancient history, and at roughly the same moment that I noticed some nagging little hunger pangs, the West Bay Tea Rooms hove into view. And it's a very long time since I last did a cream tea review...

Cream tea for one: £6.50

Scones: choice of plain or fruit. Good size. Warm and crumbly. Lovely.

Cream: Plentiful and stiff; none of that runny, so-called 'clotted' nonsense. Lifting the spoon out in order to prep scone #2, the whole lot came with it. Barely a smear on the pot. Respect!

Jam: As you can see, my jam needs are modest. There was more than enough for me, a deliciously traditional strawberry.

Tea: Black Earl Grey is my choice. A proper two-cup pot. Looking at that spout, I thought there would be marks lost for dribble-back, but no, it was fine. A trap for the hesitant pourer though; a firm, decisive action is vital.

Overall score: 8/10

I've had better, but not much. Recommended.

Closing the tea room door behind me, I could feel arteries gently beginning to clog...

It blew up a hoolie last night, and the sea was raging nicely this morning. The obligatory seawatch produced three new species for the Patchwork Challenge tally: a distant pair of Eider west, eight Curlew (1, 3 and 4; all west) and an incongruous flock of c10 Golden Plover west, low over the sea. Typically, the rough weather prompted a trickle of Gannets and Kittiwakes, but less expected were two tight, close flocks of the latter (c30 and c50) bustling rapidly through. The big sea made it very difficult to keep track of distant birds, and a couple of lone ducks slipped through the net. Not Scoter, but who knows what? I do like a lively seawatch.

Late this afternoon I was at West Bay again. Still windy, still rough. No seawatching though, just a leisurely plod. A flock of 80 big gulls sheltering on the lee side of the golf course was 100% Herring, but fun to pick through. Bird of the afternoon was my first Sand Martin of the year. Noticing the total lack of interesting wetland to linger above, it was through in a flash.

The moth trap went out on Saturday night and caught two moths, sort of. One was on the garage fascia, the other on the cabin. Still, I don't care where they end up, just as long as they come. Both were new for me...

Twin-spotted Quaker. Subtly attractive, especially up close.

A rather worn Early Moth. This one seems relatively uncommon in West Dorset, with just a single Bridport area dot (representing four records) on the Living Record map.

A full day's work tomorrow. But first, a quick look at the sea I reckon...