The Bins Get an Outing

It's fair to say that my birding has languished in the doldrums for a while now. And so has my blogging of course. And fishing. And...well...everything. It is true that my time and energies this year have been somewhat stretched by our little home's aching need for some love, but in between zealous bouts of DIY there is no reason why I couldn't have made an effort to get out in the field a bit. Well, I'm happy to say that something has blown a bit of air into my sails, though I'm not entirely sure what.

Ironically, I suspect that a recent unsavoury bit of local birding 'hoax' nonsense has played a part. It reminded me that there is actually a good number of honest, reliable birders in East Devon and West Dorset, and they make up a very supportive and collaborative network of observers. I feel quite privileged to know many of them, and occasionally to contribute. Perhaps I ought to try and contribute a bit more often?

Another factor may well be the season. Autumn. Scilly happenings. A Twitter feed full of exciting birdy stuff. I'd have to be dead not to be stirred at least a little bit.

So anyway, this afternoon I thought I'd go exploring...

There is a stretch of coast between West Bexington and Abbotsbury that I discovered while out on a long run earlier this year. It caught my attention for a number of reasons. Firstly, access is poor; there is no convenient car park. Second, the habitat looks great: a long stretch of shingly beach backed by sloping fields and isolated stands of cover. And third, I don't recall ever hearing bird news from this area, so maybe it's not watched that much? I figured I could park up at West Bex, walk along the lane to Labour-in-Vain Farm, then down to the coast and eastwards, then maybe back along the beach. So, at 16:30 I locked the car, pulled on my boots and set to...

Heading down to the sea from Labour-in-Vain Farm

A bit of tamarisk. Looks nice doesn't it? Mind you, must remember it's, er, not quite Scilly.

By this stage I hadn't seen much. About 4 Chiffs and little else. And then I came across a bunch of gulls on the beach...

Two adult Med Gulls in there. Shouldn't be too hard to pick out.

Just inland of here was a large brown field with a tractor working it, breaking up the big lumps into little lumps (I'm sure there's a technical term) and pulling in a fair few more gulls. Although I couldn't find anything decent in the gull collection, I noticed there were lots of alba wagtails scuttling about, so I tried to see if any might be White Wagtails. I find the subtle autumn albas quite a challenge, but there was at least one on view that even I couldn't muck up...

A nice adult White Wagtail. A bit distant and fuzzy.

There may well have been others out there, but I was suddenly distracted by brown things flitting about. Brown birds on brown soil are tricky to see until they move, but I am pretty sure it added up to 2 Wheatears and 3 Whinchats...

Whinchat

Wheatear

This rather faded adult Whinchat kindly perched on a fence momentarily, whereupon I proceeded to muck up the exposure a bit.

Well, that was it bird-wise, but moments later I had a very nice close encounter with a hare. I say 'very nice', but mixed feelings on this really. It's true that I don't come across hares very often locally, but when I do I would rather they be fit and healthy and a bit shy perhaps. This poor fella was nothing of the kind, and more than a bit knackered if you ask me...

I don't think it could see very well; it let me creep quite close. I could see its nostrils working overtime trying to figure out what this stinky creature might be, and whether it was dangerous. If it had been a rabbit I'd have said it was probably infected with myxomatosis, but sadly Google tells me that recent reports suggest the disease may have passed from rabbits to hares in the UK.

A bit of context.

Finally, as the sun set I walked back along the path by the the beach until I came to the West Bexington car park, and then up the road to my car. I think I might do this again...

Walking west, this road soon peters out into a deeply rutted track and then finally vanishes. It's called the Burton Road, apparently. I challenge anyone to drive along it to Burton Bradstock!

My Happy Bird

It's January 1986, and I'm out birding on the western outskirts of the London recording area. To be honest, I'm feeling jaded. 1985 had been a bit full-on, with a serious attempt at a big London year list. I'd managed 193 species. Pleasing enough, but well short of competitor (and, thankfully, friend) Rupert Hastings' new London record of 200. True, there had been some great moments, but also quite a few not-so-great. Plus - being young still - I'd learned some sobering home truths, which is rarely a fun thing. First off, I had really struggled with motivation at times. Very disappointing. Worse still, I had finally realised what a totally selfish divot I was. Married, with a toddler, and a baby newly arrived that July, what on earth was I doing attempting a London year list in 1985?! Completely irresponsible. Mind you, I did forgo a Scilly holiday that October. And of course with hindsight that turned out to be a pretty immense sacrifice! So anyway, as I trudge around Queen Mother Reservoir, my wooly hat pulled low against the freezing wind, my wellies ploughing through fresh snow, I am not really feeling it. Winter on the London reservoirs can be quite exciting on occasion, but today I can barely be bothered to raise my bins. There is a blizzard hammering across the water, and the snow is getting deeper now that I'm on the south bank, where drifts have built in the lee of the concrete wall. Here and there, right next to the wall, tufts of grassy vegetation poke through. Suddenly, out of one of them flies a small bird. It gives a little rattly call, a soft 'chew', and dives back into the next bit of cover. I am shaken out of my gloomy state by a welcome charge of adrenaline. I think I know exactly what is about to happen. Sure enough, a careful approach rewards me with a cracking little Lapland Bunting, gleaning seeds from this small, weedy pocket in the snow...

I spent ages with that Lapland Bunting. I no longer have the notebook, but yes, I made proper notes, a ropey sketch. The bird was still present the following day, and at least one ex-London birder whom I follow on Twitter was among the successful twitchers. As you might imagine, Lapland Bunting was a very rare bird in London, especially in the west.

Over the years I have always had a soft spot for Lapland Bunting, and I very much suspect this has something to do with my happy encounter with one on that bitter winter's day more than 30 years ago, when I was feeling a bit low. That bird cheered me up then, and its descendants can still do so today. So I didn't need much prompting when one turned up at Cogden Beach a couple of weeks back. Mrs long-suffering-NQS and I walked over from Burton Bradstock and were rewarded with a total absence of other birders, and a typically confiding Lap...

In addition, there were quite a few Wheatears, including this strikingly grey-naped individual...

I know this blog has been very quiet in recent times (recent years?) but I'm glad that I still get the urge now and then. To be honest, today's post might easily have been about something very else indeed, and if you are aware of yesterday's Mugimaki Flycatcher scare you will get my drift. But in all honesty I found the whole sorry saga just desperately sad, and in many ways feel it's better left alone to fizzle out like the shrivelled balloon that it is...

Collecting Stuff

Well, hello. To any who might be visiting NQS on the off-chance of a new post: I salute your optimism. I hope it's worth it...

I haven't bothered all that much with Twitter just lately either, but a couple of recent happenings have finally inspired me to creak open the laptop again. A bird and a butterfly. Let's start with the bird....

The Brown Booby in Cornwall is su-u-u-u-ch a serious mega. I mean, come on! Thirty-something years ago I'd have been all over it myself. And what fun it would have been! No 'roll up, there it is' job, this, but all the thrill of the chase, by the sound of it. So when it perches up at close quarters on a St Ives rock, in front of a gaping crowd of happy twitchers (and their cameras), are we surprised to find multiple shots appearing on our Twitter feeds? Of course not.

And the butterfly? Well, Long-tailed Blue of course. On my own Twitter feed, almost as ubiquitous as the booby. Even I jumped on the bandwagon. Look...

Bank-holiday Blue...or something like that. Male. Axmouth, Devon.

And to be fair, this wasn't a 'roll up, there it is' type scenario either. In fact, Mrs NQS and I were there with a couple of others for a good hour before one showed. We arrived about 10:30, just as the dull, cloudy morning was beginning to show signs of brightening. Would the coming sunshine work its magic? Well, we hoped so.

Waiting...

Of course, you already know the outcome: it was a good one. And if you follow me on Twitter, well, there was my photo, cluttering up your feed. In fact, I would imagine most bird and nature-oriented UK Twitter feeds are right now heavily laden with Long-tailed Blue pics. Ditto Brown Booby. And if you read the comments - especially the birdy ones - there'll be loads of back-slapping "Nice twitching, mate!" "Well deserved!" and so on. Blah blah...

So, let me pose a question. Does all that get on your nerves a bit?

Before you answer, let me offer this for consideration...

I was born long enough ago that, as a kid I collected both birds' eggs and butterflies. While I was still at primary school my maternal uncle passed on to me a small collection of birds' eggs that he'd put together in his childhood, probably in the 1930s and 40s, and I added a few from the local hedges. Similarly, a paternal uncle (with the same name as me) was a keen butterfly collector in his young days, with several cases of specimens which filled me with awe. I don't think my own butterfly collection even reached double figures (I couldn't afford proper mounting equipment, and my mother certainly refused ever to sanction a killing jar) but it's true that, in their way, both uncles - and their collections - stimulated in me an interest in the natural world. And I would imagine that many of my contemporaries could tell a similar story.

How things have changed in 50 years! Thankfully. Or have they...?

In reality, I would suggest that collecting is still rife. Except that most collectors these days do it with a camera. Or even a pen. If you keep a list, well, isn't that just a virtual collection? I say 'most' collectors, for a reason. When Mrs NQS and I were trying to add Long-tailed Blue to our own virtual collections we were conscious that the previous day some dodgy geezer with a net had been intent on adding it to his physical one. As far as we knew, he hadn't succeeded, but as we stood there waiting... Well, we all know that birds can do the off quite easily, but it's many decades since twitchers of birds have had to worry that their quarry might have been 'collected' in the literal sense. Rare, migrant butterflies, on the other hand, are fair game, legally speaking. Well, they are if you have no conscience...

So, am I bothered when modern-day collectors have a harmless little boast on Twitter, with their multiple, almost-identical photos? When the alternative might be a glass-topped box reeking of camphor and filled with sad, crispy little pinned things...er...no.

More Seawatching Stuff

Since moving to Bridport I've discovered that spring seawatching locally can be quite productive when the wind has a a bit of S and E in it, with a good chance of skuas. I've made a bit more effort this year than last, and this morning was on the beach at Burton Bradstock by 05:30. The conditions were far from ideal, with a light NE wind. Even so, two skuas went through at 06:00: a probable Arctic and a definite Pom. But apart from that bit of quality it was pretty slow, and I ended up with just 2 Common Scoter, 4 Sanderling, 1 Dunlin, 2 Ringed Plover, 2 Sandwich Terns, a Kittiwake and a Med Gull spicing up the trickle of Gannets and auks. There was one little curiosity though. Right on the horizon I picked up a flock of six white things flapping along together. Initially of course, I thought they'd be Gannets, but it soon became obvious they were actually egrets. They were absolutely miles out, and I couldn't do anything with them except punt out a Tweet, hoping that someone further along the coast might be able to ID them. They did seem to be getting gradually closer to land...

Anyway, I've heard nothing so far.

That was my second definite Pom in a handful of efforts this spring, and I've also seen 3 Arctics, 3 Bonxies and something like 4 which I couldn't clinch, but were most likely Arctics also. Then there was the terrific flock of 9 Garganey, and an evening seawatch on May 7 produced this little gem...

1st-summer Little Gull. I had to run along the beach to get this photo, filling my shoes with microscopic shingle and making my lungs hurt.

If conditions allow, I like to sit right on the beach. Or to be more accurate, actually on a rock on the beach. The spot commands a wide panorama, and is just what I like. However, there is no shelter from the wind, so if it is strong - or full of rain - I have to adapt accordingly...

The ideal view. This photo was taken in the evening and, as you can see, the light isn't too clever. The morning light can be superb though, with any sun coming from behind and to the left. As [almost] everything flies from right to left when there's E in the wind, it's all rather pleasant...

The less-than-ideal view. Confined to the van by the strong wind. Yes, the light is brilliant, but pick up anything a bit late and it's very quickly disappearing behind the windscreen pillar! Especially if it's close and moving fast. Like a flock of Garganey, say... Also, really close stuff on the water-line can sneak past undetected. Bad.

I tried this spot during a strong westerly just recently. Quite good shelter, and not a bad outlook to be fair, but I wouldn't want to sit there in heavy rain. In a westerly I'd expect most birds to be flying left to right, and they'll quickly be out of sight behind that wall. In the event there were hardly any birds at all, and I don't think I'll be bothering much with spring westerlies again.

A couple of years back I used this ruse to watch from the van in a strong SW, I think it was, when a few spring Storm Petrels put in an appearance. A SW wind is basically straight onshore. It wasn't much fun.

Seawatching from Burton Bradstock is not brilliant, but it's also not bad - certainly compared to what I'm used to along the coast at Seaton. Although I enjoy seawatching, I've rarely made a special effort to go to one of the national hotspots. As a birder I'm probably too patch-oriented to be bothered I guess. The first time I went to Pendeen, as the dawn broke and the birds began to stream past, I was completely overwhelmed. Good birds were being called left and right and I wasn't getting on any of them! I got my eye in eventually, but Lyme Bay seawatching had certainly not prepared me for the occasion. Here you can see a bird, write it down, consume a mug of coffee and two gingernuts, and be confident that the next bird is still some way off. Proper relaxed...

The Slacker's Lot

A few weeks ago Kev Hale, one of the Seaton birders, started a patch WhatsApp group and kindly asked if I'd like to be included. Although I haven't contributed much, I have enjoyed keeping tabs on what's being seen on my old patch...

[Ha! Literally as I was typing that last sentence, the following appeared on the WhatsApp message board: 'A boat's just sunk off the Spot On. All people been rescued by lifeboats'. I expect you realised my sentiment mostly relates to bird news though...]

The daily mention of migrant sightings, etc, has prompted me to keep the optics dusted, and I've even made a couple of brief sorties into the field when I've been working in the area. But apart from a few Willow Warblers and the odd Swallow I haven't seen much. Nevertheless, I think the steady drip, drip of bird news - relevant bird news at that - has kind of kept me plugged in, so to speak, and was probably a contributing factor in getting me out seawatching just recently. Which reminds me...

The events of the previous post were not my only seawatching endeavours that day. In the evening Steve posted on the WhatsApp group that a pale phase Arctic Skua had gone E at 19:04. Remembering the Pom-sharing events of two years ago I thought I'd try and see it from Burton Bradstock. I was there by 19:20 but unfortunately the Arctic was a no-show. Even so, I sat there until it was too dark to see, and added c.75 Dunlin (in four groups), 9 Ringed Plovers, 25 Manxies, 3 Common Scoter and 8 Sandwich Terns to the morning's tally. Shortly before I packed up at 20:15 I had a distant flock of what looked like Whimbrel, about a dozen birds. I mentioned this to Steve, who replied that 11 Whimbrel had flown E past Seaton at 19:40. Nice. Incidentally, a quick check through my old Seaton records tells me that 75 Dunlin is the most I've ever seen on a Lyme Bay seawatch!

Anyway, I didn't start this post to talk about seawatching again, but rather to get the birding stuff up to date. Because, finally, this morning I got my finger out and went for an early morning stroll from Burton to Cogden and back...

Last year I saw my first Wheatear on March 20th. Here it is...

20/3/2018. Wheatear at Coronation Corner on the Axe Estuary. Lunch-break jam.

This year there's been no such fluky encounter. Minimal birding effort = no Wheatears at all so far. Serves me right, of course. But honestly, how can a so-called birder get most of the way through April without seeing a Wheatear?? However, I made up for that this morning. At least 15 Wheatears were my first of 2019. Also new for the year: 1 Whinchat, 1 Lesser Whitethroat, Whitethroat, Sand Martin, House Martin, Reed Warbler and a fly-by White Wagtail.

I'd forgotten how exciting it is to see freshly-arrived Wheatears on the beach, and to watch a tiny warbler zip across the shingle into the first bit of cover following its cross-channel epic.

Stuff it! This isn't right! Where's the lighthouse???

There is an urgency to many new arrivals, a need to hurry on inland, and frequently Wheatears on the beach don't stay there long. On my return I bumped into a few of these, plus a cracking little Whinchat...

I'm not saying I'm properly back birding again, but this morning's walk certainly didn't do any harm...

A Little Crisis of Confidence

Some birders have no time at all for seawatching.
I get that.
A slow seawatch is a terrible thing. Irretrievable minutes of precious life tick away as you sit there in futile anticipation. And before you know it, a whole hour that could have been joyously spent on YouTube puppy videos has been frittered on a dribble of Gannets and Fulmars...

But me, I like seawatching. A lot.

One of the attractions is the ever-present possibility of massive surprise. And it doesn't even need to be something rare. Of course, there are birds that you'll struggle to see at all without doing the occasional seawatch - skuas and shearwaters spring to mind - but quite often the seawatch highlight won't be a pukka seabird at all. Take this morning...

Like many a south coast birder I'd been watching the forecast, and today's looked quite promising. A strong wind from the SE or thereabouts; mostly cloudy. I struggled to get out of bed though, and wasn't at Burton Bradstock until 06:40. Things were not fast and furious, but a few Gannets were moving through, which always gives me hope. Shortly after 07:00 I picked up a small flock of ducks, or should I say a flock of small ducks? At least, they looked small. Admittedly, the only ducks I'd seen thus far were three Common Scoter, but this lot definitely looked smaller than Scoters. I'd picked them up rather late, and though they weren't far out I only had about 15 or 20 seconds to sort them out. My knee-jerk analysis was 'Garganey'. They were fast and tight, and I couldn't decide whether there were 8 or 9. I could see several pale upperwings, but they were zipping past so rapidly that I couldn't really swear I'd got the drakes' head pattern...and then they were gone.

Ooh, I thought, conscious of some biochemical stuff going on, that's a little adrenaline rush there. Cool.

Aware that there would be birders situated off to the east of me, I composed a tweet: 'Flock of 8 or 9 Garganey E past Burton Bradstock'...

My thumb hovered over the 'Tweet' button...and suddenly I had a small crisis of confidence.

Were they definitely Garganey?
Definitely?
After all, you've only been watching about 25 minutes, and seen just 3 Scoter, right? Your only ducks so far. Have you got your eye in properly yet? That's right: no, you haven't. And how many times have you seen Garganey on a seawatch exactly? Just three times, ever, yes? Precisely. So what are the chances that they truly were Garganey then, eh? You know, probability-wise??

Er, very, very low indeed?

Correct.

And so my draft Tweet was never sent.

I have this vivid memory of standing in a phonebox adjacent to Staines Res in June 1983. I have been watching a stonking little Red-necked Phalarope on the drained north basin. A female in full breeding plumage. A proper stunner, and totally unmistakable. And there I am, 10p in hand, hesitating to make the first call. Why? Because this ludicrous thought has wormed its insidious way into my head: why isn't it a Grey Phal in breeding plumage, rather than Red-necked? Are you 100% sure you're not dropping an almighty clanger?
Yep, I know. Ridiculous. And thankfully, reason quickly returned. But I've never forgotten that lesson in how easily the mind can sow seeds of doubt. So there I was this morning, almost sure I'd just seen a flock of Garganey, but...

Anyway, you can probably guess that I very much hoped someone further east would see them too. A bit later, this...

This photo genuinely made my day!

So there we go, a classic example of a seawatch being made especially memorable by non-seabirds.

My first Arctic Skua of the year - a rather distant dark-phase bird - was also a highlight, but somewhat shaded into second place this morning...

Croxley Script

Sometimes I wish I was more inclined to write uncomplicated, diary-esque posts, because so often when I sit down at a blank NQS page what I have in mind is too long for one entry, and probably of very little interest to anyone else. Like this one...

A couple of years back I met up with my old buddy Ric and we cycled around some haunts of our youth...

River Gade at Croxley, near Watford, in October 2016

As a boy I would catch the Met Line train from Preston Road station and get off at Croxley Green. A short walk down a gravelly lane led to the Grand Union Canal, and over a bridge was the River Gade. The little weir pool pictured above was a favourite spot, and in 1972 I caught a 12oz roach here, trotting a float along the far bank. Bait was silkweed, which we pulled off the face of the weir and wrapped around the hook. A few small roach were usually up for it, but that three-quarter pounder was my biggest by far. Also on offer in this stretch of the river were gudgeon, the odd perch, some modest chub, very rarely over 2lb, and the occasional surprise, like a crucian carp or bream. To us kids it was fishy heaven, and there was healthy competition for the best swims. Every weekend the river was lined with young lads. Quietly contemplating the scene in my mind's eye brings it back so clearly...

Anyway, just recently I came across a website called Britain from Above, which specialises in old aerial photographs, and out of curiosity I entered 'Croxley' into the search box. Would there be any photos dating from the years I fished there? Nothing that recent, but there was this...

This photo was taken in 1953   (link: www.britainfromabove.org.uk/image/EAW048397)   ©Historic England

The photo is dominated by the John Dickinson Paper Mill (ever heard of 'Croxley Script' paper?) which was demolished around 1982. In my day it was still a bustling place, and every morning a proportion of the workforce would arrive via the canal bridge, and then along the river to the point where it seemingly disappears in the middle of the photo; just here was a pedestrian gateway and security office. The river was off-limits beyond this point, the spiky fence along the edge of Croxley Common Moor marking the works boundary. The weir in question is visible half-way along the river.

When I came across this pic I was amazed at how little had apparently changed by the early '70s. So much is exactly as I remember it! Even the massive heap of coal between the river and the canal lock was still a feature.

My next job was to see if Google could show me what it looks like now, and of course to make a collage...

Slightly different perspectives but almost exactly the same view, separated by about 65 years.

Visiting the area with Ric was as you might expect. There's enough there to help you picture the scene as it was, but the nostalgic sadness at what's gone is visceral. I guess it's recognising that it isn't just the physical place that is irretrievable, but also the younger you.

Sigh...

Anyway, as I say, that old photo brought it all streaming back. In fact I was able to revisit one particular memory with incredible accuracy. An occasion of unparalleled angling triumph that played itself out one June day in 1973. But that's for another post...