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...

Little Mysteries

According to the digital transliteration performed by a Sennheiser microphone, Zoom recorder and Audacity software, at 00:31 on March 2nd a Golden Plover flew over the garden. That single piping yodel was all the encouragement I needed to begin the 2023 nocmig campaign. What a cruel trick! I have just trawled through another 11+ hours of total blank, the third on the trot. Apart from that Golden Plover, in seven nights there has been one Redwing, a subliminal Moorhen, and Canada Goose x4. The night sky seems all but empty.

It would be tempting to think that not much is happening in the avian world right now, but of course that is far from true. Despite a couple of recent early-morning seawatches producing little of interest, birds are certainly on the move. On Monday there was a steady trickle of west-bound Black-headed Gulls, for example, and a dozen Gannets drifted east, high in the air and very far out. Later that day, on the Axe Estuary at Seaton, 10+ Lesser Black-backed Gulls were no doubt recent arrivals from Iberia or beyond, one or two looking almost dark enough for intermedius, but maybe not quite.

Spring is certainly in the wings, but I think we need a major change in the weather in order to coax it into the limelight. In the garden, a few Cherry Plum flowers are open; along the River Asker, a smattering of Sallow and Celandine. Soon...

Bird-wise, while I might be struggling to add new species to lists, there has been much to enjoy. Yesterday afternoon I had a few errands in town, so took the slow route there and back. A Chiffchaff was flycatching from a low tangle of twigs hanging just above the river, and seemed to catch plenty...

Chiffs are always a winter delight, especially when you come across them somewhere other than Water Treatment Works!

Nearby, resting in the middle of a small field adjacent to a major A35 junction...

Urban Little Egret. Despite the species' modern status, I don't think I will ever quite lose the feeling of novel incongruity at sights like this.

Meanwhile, in West Bay, I realise I have bitten off more than I can chew...

The Rock Pipit dalliance has been (and still is) a lot of fun, but I am now in over my head. Efforts to photograph and individually recognise each bird were going fine, initially. But once I got to a dozen or so different birds it became increasingly time-consuming and difficult to keep track. Things came to a head on Sunday afternoon. Pottering around the usual spots I came across two or three birds, but none would play ball and I failed to get any decent pics. Also, I got distracted by this intriguing creature hiding in the grass...

Look at the supercilium on that!

Almost Whinchat-grade eyebrows!

Eventually it popped into view properly...

...and proved to be just a Meadow Pipit.

The camera actually reveals a lot more than my binoculars initially did at the time. All I could see was that stonking pair of supercilia peeking through the grass, which I fully expected to be attached to a well-advanced littoralis Rock Pipit. The depth of my disappointment surprised me, and suddenly I realised just how much I want to see one in that plumage.

It had been a while since I last checked the golf course, so I headed that way. The driving range is often a good spot to see one or two Rockits, sometimes four or five. Imagine how I felt at discovering a flock of 12!

Golf course Rockit. Every single one looked like this. Not a touch of pink on any.

It was almost 5pm, and much too gloomy for decent photos really. I'll be honest: my heart sank. Were these new birds, or had I already encountered them down in the valley or on the harbour wall? Or were they from further east, from the Burton Freshwater/Burton Cliffs area where I spent so much time last year? I will never know. I have little doubt that they are littoralis, but oh how I wish they would colour up for me!

My usual Rockit spots on the left there; location of the golf course birds on the right.

Anyway, it was nice to come across a Black Redstart again on Sunday afternoon, this one in a quiet, delightfully unkempt walled garden next to the East Beach car park. And what is more, comparing photos proves it a different bird to the familiar slipway female...

Black Redstart

Was this the bird that gets along the East Cliffs? I am still going with the theory that there have been four Black Redstarts in West Bay this winter, but will I ever know for sure? Of course not. And probably I should be grateful for all these little mysteries that keep the questions coming...

Bridport North Provides

Just one off-patch venture this week, in search of local Goshawks with Chris Fox. Wednesday morning did not feel promising, weather-wise, with almost one hundred percent cloud cover, but a single bird nevertheless obliged at around 11:00. Almost certainly a female, but too distant to be completely sure (or to photograph), it lifted into view and headed south, occasionally circling, until it was out of sight. The deep, elastic wingbeats are so distinctive. What a bird! We were really expecting it to return, into the wind, but sadly not. Chris picked up a bonus Red Kite for us, another species that I suspect is quietly breeding not too far way.

Little news from the West Bay & Eype patch in recent days. Oh, except for missing a White-tailed Eagle in-off this morning! Mind you, not sure that I could officially count one of the reintroduction birds on my Patchwork Challenge tally anyway. Still, compensation in the shape of a blistering performance from the Bridport North patch today. Following an over-the-garden pair of Canada Geese just after first light on Thursday, this morning's pre-breakfast point-earner was caught on camera...

Yesss! Lesser Black-backed Gull.

And the reason I had the Nikon to hand? Apparently the White-tailed Eagle flew towards Bridport. Obviously I had to make an effort for such a magnificent beast, whatever the official PWC position re points-worthiness.

This afternoon I was free about 15:00, and stepped out into a chilly, grey gloom. I wasn't really feeling it, but Bridport North did me proud. I have never seen Marsh Tit within my patch boundary, but today was surprised and delighted to find birds at two locations, at least four in total...

Not much more than a mile from home, my first Bridport North patch Marsh Tit.

Not far away, and very close to a 2021 nest location, a Dipper on the stream. Like other recent sightings, the bird was in a shady spot, and visible only through a tangle of twiggage...

Makes a nice change to clearly make out the colour of its belly.

There are very few water bodies locally, but two are on the Bridport North patch. One is a small fishing lake and, with a couple of anglers present today, predictably empty. The other is an overgrown, undisturbed private pond, partially visible from a public footpath. Today it held all sorts of bounty!

Tufties!

Little Grebe!

Best of all were two Teal, which sadly saw me before I saw them and quickly hurried out of sight behind an island.

That's five new species for the PWC list today. Not a bad return, I thought.

Apparently we are in for a somewhat colder spell. Despite the date, Wheatears seem a long way off yet. And I don't suppose the moth trap will be out again for a bit...

A rather attractive version of Epiphyas postvittana (Light Brown Apple Moth). One of just two moths caught last time the trap was out.

So far this year, sticking close to home has been absolutely no hardship. With the promise of spring at hand, with its greenery and birdsong, I cannot wait to see how things unfold...

Male and female flowers on one of our garden Hazels. Planted as bare-rooted 18-inch whips in the 2020 lockdown, this is the first year we've seen flowers. Very satisfying to see them thriving.