Vismig Riches

For a while I've been meaning to join Tom Brereton for a bit of West Bay vismig, especially as the season is hotting up now. And already I've missed some gems: Hawfinch, Corn Bunting, a bunch of Tree Sparrows, several Woodlarks, etc. So it was good to be able to spare a couple of hours yesterday and this morning, and very much worth it.

For me, West Bay vismig basically involves nothing more than a bit of idle sky-scanning and bush-watching. It's Tom who does all the hard work. I never hear birds before Tom does, and often not even then. My ears have clearly had it, especially when it comes to higher frequencies. I struggle hugely with the background wash of sea-on-shingle, which I find swamps a lot of the fainter calls. Though interestingly I can hear many of them well enough on a recording, especially with the visual prompt of a sonogram, so perhaps I will get better with practice. I hope so. Meanwhile I simply wait for Tom to tell me what birds he can hear, then look for them. Tom also does all the counting and all the writing down, though I do try to help with Stock Doves in Woodpigeon flocks. Apart from Stock Doves though, what use am I?

Well, for one thing I am an extra pair of eyes. Also, as I discovered today, the sound recordings made by my Zoom H4n Pro can be rather handy sometimes. And finally, I am someone to share celebratory moments with! And yesterday there were a couple of those. Kind of.

I last saw a Swift about two months ago, so was instantly on it when Tom called 'Swift!' at roughly 08:30 yesterday. Although it seemed to be coming coastwards from inland, the bird was also drifting west in the wind. Obviously we knew the potential attached to a late-October Swift, but it never came close enough to allow anything better than a 'Common/Pallid' label.

We had already seen a Little Egret go through, so when I clapped eyes on another egret a bit later, its bulk was immediately obvious...

Never close, but this Great White Egret was a West Bay first for me.

Back on 30th September I saw a Barn Owl go to roost in the West Cliff quarry. It has since become a regular feature, and Tom has discovered that its roosting spot is just about visible...if you stand in exactly the right spot, crouch slightly, and bend 20 degrees sideways...

The product of such precise contortions: a ropey shot of a comatose Barn Owl.

This morning's vismig was also very rewarding.

To start with, there was this...

Juv Cirl Bunting in the Barred Warbler bush!

Expertly spotted by Tom, perched on the very same twiggy Elder in which last year's Barred Warbler first appeared, this is my first West Bay Cirl, though Tom has seen the species here previously. It called several times (though I couldn't hear it) and flew to another bush, before heading purposefully east.

West Bay Cirl Bunting in a spot of sunshine.

Here are the three strongest calls, spliced together...

Yep, the call is high-pitched. I can hear them alright on the recording, but in real life it was a case of 'the beak is moving, but nothing is coming out'.

A bit later, Tom said: 'It's probably nothing, but sounded like a Lapland Bunting calling just now.' I had heard nothing. Then Tom heard it again, faintly. I still couldn't hear it, and neither of us could see it. And that was it. Faint, brief, unsatisfying. I made a note of the time, and resolved to check the recording when I got home.

The recording was a revelation.

Initially there are three calls quite close together. They are perfectly audible - especially after cleaning up the background noise a bit - and very obvious on the sonogram. There is then a gap of 17 seconds before Tom voices his thoughts as described above. Six seconds after that, and right in the middle of a load of questions from me, more calls. They are no louder, but slightly more numerous. I have played about with them and done some digging, and reached the conclusion that it was actually a Snow Bunting...

The main reason for this conclusion is the sonogram itself. the multi-note call of Snow Bunting is often described as a 'rippling' sound, and that of Lapland Bunting, a 'rattling' sound. And there are corresponding differences in the sonograms, with Snow Bunting calls showing a blunter, rounder profile. Subtle, but also quite obvious...

Sonogram comparison of Snow and Lapland Bunting (with thanks to Steve for access to his Beer Head recording).

So, next up is a spectrovid of the West Bay Snow Bunting, with all the gaps edited down and the majority of extraneous sounds clipped out. And on the end I have added the four calls shown in the above image, in the same order. It takes a few listens to get your ear in, but Lapland Bunting is a drier sound. Forty-odd years ago I dubbed a long-staying Staines Res Snow Bunting 'Tiddles', on account of its call. To me, Snow Bunting makes a rapid 'tiddle-iddle-iddle' sound, whereas Lapland Bunting goes 'diggi-diggi-diggit'. Yeah, well, it works for me.

As for the other common call of each species - 'tew' or 'tiu' or 'chew' or 'however you like to write it' - well, you'll be pleased to know that I've absolutely no reason to go into that.

A really excellent West Bay record, nicely verified by sound recording. Result.

Heading back down the hill, I decided to have a stomp through a load of rank, weedy grass, just in case the 'Lap Bunt' had dropped in. Imagine my shock when a Short-eared Owl lifted off right in front of me! It looped around to my left and up towards the quarry - and Tom - before heading for the clifftop and dropping below the skyline. I hadn't had time for a photo or a phonecall, but did get an eyeful. What a bird!

This vismig lark is okay.