Quest for a Little Auk

In this neck of the woods, Little Auk is a major birding prize. But, if it's going to happen, now is the time...

I've seen ten late-autumn Little Auks in Lyme Bay, all of them fly-bys. Four E past Branscombe on 3/11/06, two W there the following day, one W past Seaton on 10/11/07 and three there (2E, 1W) two days later. And I think I am right in saying that all those sightings were the result of a specific effort to try for Little Auk. Something about my hyper-tuned birdy senses told me that I should go out right there and then, and embark upon a quest for Little Auk. Or it might have been the weather patterns, or their presence down the E coast, or something...I don't know...

Anyway, I scored!

I got the very same feeling in my water a couple of days back, and was unwise enough to post a prediction on the patch WhatsApp group: '...someone will get Little Auk before next weekend.'

Obviously this needs to come true if it's not to look like my birdy senses are shot to bits. So, starting this morning, I began this year's quest...

Burton Bradstock beach. Little Auk Quest. Day 1.

It was freezing first thing. Strong ENE. Nasty. Thankfully this spot is sheltered in such conditions. By 09:00 the highlights were 26 Dunlin, 3 Sanderlings, 2 Turnstones, c.10 unidentified waders, 6 Brents, 5 Common Scoter, 2 Wigeon and a Teal. A few Med Gulls too, but as you know, they have lost their right to be counted. Everything bar 2 Scoter flew E, though a little group of Dunlin climbed up and flew inland over my head.

No Little Auks today. We quest on...

Dodgy Birders - Part 1: Bird Identification

In May I turned 60. This makes me nearly old. I've noticed that when you get fully old, you can say exactly what you think about stuff and totally get away with it. It seems to be a privilege tolerantly afforded to the not-here-much-longer. I optimistically assume I'm not yet in that category, so it may be that I won't quite get away with what I plan to write over a few posts...

A topic which has fascinated me for many years is that of dodgy birders. If I were to write an NQS glossary, it would include this entry:

Dodgy Birder: a birder whose sightings you cannot trust one little bit.

Of course, dodginess can feature in many hobbies. In angling, for example, it might involve a fish's claimed weight, or the quantity of a multiple catch, but can also include various behaviours, like poaching waters for which you don't have a ticket, nicking swims that you know have been carefully prepared by another angler, and so on. But the dodgy angler is another blog post altogether. Dodginess in birding generally involves the identification of one or several birds, the numbers seen, and, in the worst cases, the actual existence of those birds at all. So, let's begin by examining a fundamental question...

Why is bird identification important?
I know folk who cannot separate a House Sparrow from a Starling. And interestingly, they don't care. But that's because they're not birders. Birders do care. Birders care greatly about identification, because it is birding's keystone. Our hobby simply could not exist without it; there would be no field guides, no lists, no counts, no common birds, no scarce birds, no rarities, no bird reports, no surveys, no ringing data, no population monitoring, no species-focused conservation, no reintroduction schemes, etc, etc. And whole branches of birdy science would be redundant. Taxonomy, for example. Hmm. Actually, that one might not be so bad...
Anyway, there are lots of activities where identifying birds is not a vital, integral fundament of the thing, but birding isn't one them.

So, next question...

Why does correct identification matter?
Well, if you bird alone and never interact with any other birders in any way whatsoever, and keep all of your nonsense to yourself, it doesn't matter. You can muck stuff up (or make it up) all you like. Feel free. But if you are not a birding hermit, correctly identifying what you see matters a great deal, from the very moment your sighting is shared with another birder. And there are several potential reasons. As an example, let's say matey has identified a pukka rarity on his local nature reserve. What might be the consequences of sharing this discovery with another birder?

Well, the next few minutes/hours of their life might be profoundly influenced by that identification...

• They might start running immediately, with inherent risks to their physical wellbeing.
• They might jump in their car and burn a lot of fossil fuel, with inherent risks to the planet's wellbeing.
• They might stand still in a cold, draughty spot for a long time, inviting nasty chills and shrivelling.
• They might share the sighting with their birding buddies, with obvious ramifications.
• And so on...

A rarity is an extreme example, but it doesn't take much - just an interesting migrant, or passing seabird maybe - to influence what another birder might do now that he wouldn't have done otherwise. When we touch the lives of other birders in that way - the very second we interact with them based upon an identification we have made - surely we bear a responsibility? They're not just some indifferent Joe Public who couldn't give a monkey's what name we give the boring brown thing. They're a fellow birder, a comrade of the anorak, and that should very much mean something. Shouldn't it?

Pied Wheatear twitch, Scilly 2010

A good number of birders (Mrs NQS and I included) hurried breathlessly to this spot on St Mary's because someone shared an identification he'd made. Correct ID clearly mattered to him, and in this case he had happily got it right. But there is always another possibility...

In part 2 of the Dodgy Birders series, we will address the 'Getting it Wrong' scenario, and the options open to us when we do so, with special emphasis on dodginess...

A Nice Rarity

Mid-morning on October 16th I tried a half-hour seawatch from Burton Bradstock. Conditions were unexciting. The wind was moderate - certainly not too strong to prevent me from sitting on one of the benches just above the beach - and it was dry. Highlights included a gorgeous adult Little Gull, 7 Brents and a drake Tuftie. Quite pleasing, especially the Little Gull.

That's a typical example of a short, impromptu seawatch producing some nice goods. I sat down with no expectations whatsoever, and was pleasantly surprised.

The opposite of that scenario is when you go to bed with a howling hoolie blowing outside, knowing it's going to be blasting away all night and filling Lyme Bay with storm-blown waifs. You're so excited that sleep is impossible, and you're up and out before dawn. Settling into your favourite seawatching spot, you are absolutely bursting with expectation...

Well, that's how it used to be.

Unfortunately I am a veteran of countless really, really bad Lyme Bay seawatches following a night of howling hoolie, and I now know better.

Nevertheless, I was up fairly early yesterday morning, and in position at Cogden by 08:00. It was still really windy. The sea was rough as you like. By 09:00 my tally was a paltry 2 Red-throated Divers, 2 Brents, 9 Common Scoter and 50+ Gannets. Disappointing. But so, so predictable. When the rain began, that was all the excuse I needed to call it a day.

I have had good results from stormy seawatches locally. The only 2 Leach's Petrels I've seen while seawatching in Lyme Bay were off Seaton seafront after a late-autumn night like Friday, and I found my first Seaton Grey Phalarope in the heaving surf a few days prior, likewise following a stormy night. But, rewards like that are not the norm.

Here's a fun fact. On September 2nd, 2009, at opposite ends of Lyme Bay, both Portland Bill and Berry Head had record day-counts of Sooty Shearwater: 177 at PB and a staggering 582 at BH. Seaton had...

None at all!

I can't recall if that was following a stormy night, but I expect so; sounds absolutely typical.

And on a different note...

I suspect this might be the rarest thing I find this year.

Convolvulus Hawk Moth larva, Bridport, 21/10/2019

I found this wrinkly wonder quite close to my house, and at first glance thought it was some sort of poo. Understandable I think. Anyway, Twitter to the rescue, and it was identified for me within seconds. Steve Nash, a self-confessed 'moth geek' who runs @MigrantMothUK, has found just one in 40 years of moth-geekery. I don't want to seem ungrateful, because it was a privilege to encounter such a rare and impressive beastie, but next time I'll take a Bluetail thanks.

The Mediterranean Gull

This is a Mediterranean Gull...

A super-smart adult on Burton Bradstock beach

The date of my first encounter with one of these lovely gulls is lost in the mists of time, but I can remember the location precisely. It was right here...

This is the coast road just W of Kelling in North Norfolk. It was some time in the autumn of 1982, and that stubble field was all ploughed up. Mrs NQS and I joined a handful of birders here on this bend to look for a Med Gull that was hanging out with a crowd of BHGs [Thank you, Google Street View]

That bird was an adult, and I made a nice pen-and-ink sketch of its head in my notebook. I was pleasantly surprised at how distinctive it was, with its pure white primaries. I thought to myself "Hmm, gulls aren't as scary as I imagined. I reckon I could do one of these..."

My second Med Gull wasn't long in coming. Within a few days I had indeed found one for myself at Staines Res. Also an adult, I picked it up flying S over the causeway with BHGs late one afternoon. A couple of days later it did it again, at the very same time. That particular bird became so reliable that you could stake it out and predict its arrival within a few minutes. Local birders would turn up and wait for it to appear. Yes, they twitched it. Twitched a Med Gull. In W London in 1982, Med Gull was a pretty decent find!

Until 1963 Med Gull was actually a BB rarity. I no longer have the relevant London Bird Reports, but I'll bet there were no more than a dozen or so records a year in the early 80s. In that context you will appreciate that it was a bird well worth searching for in any gathering of small gulls, and quite a prize whenever you found one. Which wasn't often.

So I've always had a soft spot for this handsome species, because it is probably responsible more than any other for encouraging me to painstakingly sift through gull flocks.

Or perhaps I should curse it...?

Anyway, throughout my time as a birder in the London area, Mediterranean Gull was never common. Not even slightly. So when I moved to Seaton in Devon in 2002 it was still a 'good value' bird. Following a birding hiatus of several years, the move slowly rekindled my interest, and I was delighted to learn that Med Gull was a regular winter visitor to the Axe estuary. Soon I was seeing them quite often, usually just one or two at a time. It became routine to check through  the estuary gulls in order to find them and count them, sometimes even the Seaton Bay winter roost too. I do have records from my time on the Axe, and I can tell you that in the years 2004-2010 I recorded Med Gull some 298 times, that I made double-figure counts on just four occasions, and that my highest tally of 16 (all adults) on 19 February 2010 was never bettered before I moved to Dorset in 2015.

Well, what a difference a few miles make!

Here I am in Bridport now, probably 15 miles E round the Lyme Bay coast from Seaton, and something has happened to my beloved Med Gull. Something dreadful...

Initially there was nothing to worry about. I quickly noticed that Med Gulls were a bit more common, but that was all. I was still noting that I'd seen 4, or 6, or 9, or however many. And then one day I realised that I wasn't being quite so fastidious about the number. It became 'about 4', 'half-a-dozen or so', 'circa 10'. And if the bird was close enough to identify with the naked eye, I sometimes caught myself...gasp!...not raising my bins! Yes, not even bothering to look at them properly.
 
I had barely noticed it happening but, reluctantly, could not deny the obvious fact: Med Gull had lost its value.

Don't get me wrong. I still think they are one of the smartest, most handsome small gulls. Even the first-winter birds are usually neat and crisply marked. But whereas I used to search through a flock of gulls to look for them...well, now I don't. In fact, in the last week or so things have taken a distinct turn for the worse. In an East Bexington field I found a flock of gulls containing so many Meds that sheer curiosity made me want to count them. It was tricky with binoculars alone, but there were at least 44. A day or so later a different field held even more. Here are just some of them...

There were certainly more than 100 Meds in this field

But yesterday was the final straw...

In the afternoon I walked from Abbotsbury to East Bexington, and all along the shoreline was a frenzy of feeding gulls. Huge numbers of mackerel were driving whitebait into the shallow water, and even onto the shingle. There were thousands of gulls and, among them, many, many Meds. Hundreds for sure. Quite possibly they were the most numerous small gull.

What happens when Med Gull becomes the most numerous small gull in a flock? Well, you then start picking through them to find something better...

And what do you call the gulls that you pick through in order to find something better...?

Begins with D. Ends with S.

Just can't bring myself to say it though.

Today I learned that the record Med Gull count for the Weymouth area is 2,200. I was simply amazed by the hugeness of that number, and there's no denying what it means.

But.

Still can't say it...

Not Really About Local Patch Birding, Exactly...

A few days ago I wrote about patch birding, mostly to examine the question 'how local must 'local' be?' and things like that. But I was a bit glib, and did miss some important points, as outlined by Mike Morse here in his comment:

...birding a defined area day after day and year after year you build up a history. We have records, stats and annual reports going back decades. It adds a bit of 'purpose' to the general enjoyment of birding. There is also the habitat improvement and management plans we get involved in and that sit well with permissions gained (from earned trust) to wander pretty much where we want within the recording [area]. Add to that history the anecdotes, shared experiences and excitement of a good find then I reckon it's hard to beat.

The validity of Mike's view of what it means to be a local patch birder is borne out at West Bexington and Cogden. And I take my hat off to birders who have achieved similar results at long-term local patches up and down the country. But I wonder how many such folk there are, and what percentage of the birding population they comprise? My guess is that they are fewer than we might think.

All I know for sure is that I am not one of them. I totally get the idea of such commitment adding 'purpose' to the general enjoyment of birding, but personally my ability (and, to be honest, desire) to put my nose to the grindstone to that degree is simply not there. I cannot do it. Even stuff like breeding bird surveys and WeBS counts, etc, leaves me cold; I know from experience that I would just find them a chore.

So, it seems I am something of a lightweight when it comes to local patch birding, and unwilling to 'contribute' very much. I can imagine the grafters among us having a pretty dim view of an attitude like that...

Well, what can I say in my defense? In my almost 40 years of sporadically keen birding I've thought of a few places as my 'patch', including Staines Res, Stockers Lake, the Axe estuary and marshes, Beer Head. At some or all of them I have, with varying degrees of intensity, kept and submitted records, written reports, and generally made an effort to be an information sharer. And that's about it really. Nowadays I am happiest where there are wide-open skies and few people. Sometimes I record what I see, sometimes not so much. I suspect there are countless part-timers like me out there!

And before anyone comments that I have every right to engage in my hobby in whatever way I want to and shouldn't apologise for it... well, thanks, but I know that. And the fact that someone might feel the need to say that (or think it) kind of illustrates my point, which is this:

There is, in birding as in all the hobbies I have ever tasted, a perceived hierarchy of worthiness. Which I find slightly irritating. And which I find quite daft too, because each of us can only be happy in our pastime when giving it the amount of time, and the type and level of effort, that our circumstances and personality make-up allow, and neither of those things make us more or less worthy than anyone else. Well, that's my view...

Or am I just making excuses for being a lazy birder?

Questions and Answers

Four questions I've asked myself today:

1. Ooh! Is that a Yellow-browed?
2. Was that a Woodlark?
3. Was that a Brambling?
4. What was that?..a Snow Bunting??

I almost always bird alone, but my memory tells me that questions like these are just as often heard from birding companions too. Though unless you know one another well, it's more likely to be a simple "What was that call?" or "Hello, what's this in the bush?" without the possible indictment of your birding skills that might result if you keep putting a name to stuff and getting it wrong. To illustrate, the answers to today's four questions were:

1. I very much doubt it. I found a little group of fast-moving Goldcrests and Chiffs and briefly glimpsed something that made me ask the question. It was almost certainly a badly-seen bit of fast-moving Goldcrest or Chiff!
2. Probably not. A small party of Skylarks was among the birds going overhead. I only heard the sound once, briefly; it was most likely a badly-heard bit of Skylark. And wishful thinking.
3. Possibly. A pretty good wheezy call out from the vis-mig birds but, as I was virtually on the beach at the time, the sound of the waves drowned it out somewhat, and I couldn't be sure.
4. Definitely not. This one illustrates how dreadfully rusty I am. Again, a call heard from some overflying migrants, which in this case looked like a party of finches. The bird called two or three times, and it reminded me of the rippling part of a Snow Bunting's call. But as I haven't heard that in many years I had to check it out on the computer when I got home. Er, it wasn't a Snow Bunting! And I have no idea what it actually was.

As you can tell, I've been out birding again. More than once actually. At West Bexington earlier this week I jammed a male Ring Ouzel sitting in full view in a bush about a quarter-mile away, and had fabulous views of a female Merlin hunting the coastal fields in very leisurely fashion for a change. And today I've been out twice...

This morning I went to Burton Bradstock, but only had until 09:00. To be honest I didn't see much, though I did manage to inject some excitement by means of the first three questions above! The vis mig was getting going quite nicely by the time I was leaving, and prior to going out again at 15:00 I noticed from our WhatsApp 'Patch Birding' group that it was still in progress to some extent. As I drove to West Bexington a couple of sizeable flocks of Stock Doves flew across the road in front of me, heading inland. Parking up, it was obvious that small parties of birds of all kinds were still dribbling through across a pretty wide front, mostly heading somewhere between W and NW. If anyone had been keeping a vis-mig tally all day long I can imagine the totals being pretty amazing. At 15:30 I was standing in Labour In Vain Lane, scanning the distant bushes where I had the Ring Ouzel a few days ago, when I picked up the unmistakeable (this time!) call of a Woodlark somewhere overhead. It was following the line of the lane towards me, and went over quite low and away W, calling constantly. Brilliant! No Ring Ouzels today though...

Down to the sea and eastwards. I must write a post about Med Gulls some time soon, because today they were so ridiculously abundant that they did themselves a disservice really. Yes. It was terrible. Today they almost became... and that 'almost' is important, because I feared this might one day happen and I never, never want it to and am therefore resisting the idea... they almost became... (whisper it)... dross.

So anyway, enough of that heretical talk. Let me tell you about my optics. Today I was using Mrs NQS's bins...

On loan from Mrs NQS: the diddy little Nikon 8x30

Using these little beauties today confirmed for me just how overdue were my Zeiss for a proper refurb. These are crystal clear, sharp and contrasty. My poor old Dialyt 10x40 BGAT are not. Four years ago I thought they still compared quite favourably with my buddy Paul's modern Leicas. But recent times have seen them get all misted up inside. Knackered. When I bought them in 1987 I had high hopes that they might see me out, and if the Sussex-based optical wizard to whom I've sent them is able to work the necessary magic, they may yet...

I will let you know.

Also today, the first outing for my new bridge camera (more of which in another post), which meant it got pointed at all sorts of stuff...

22 Stock Doves W at 16:13. How many through the day I wonder??

17 more Stock Doves W at 16:26

I'll finish off with these two Stonechat pics. Normally I wouldn't have bothered even making the effort, because the light was very dim (it was almost 17:30 and overcast) and they weren't even close, but I was curious to see what the camera could do. I don't have any proper settings sussed yet, so these are simply on aperture-priority, ISO 100-400 auto, with the aperture opened up as wide as possible. Well, at a 35mm equivalent focal length of 1800mm (!!) that isn't very wide - f6.3 in fact. These are also hand-held shots, relying 100% on the camera's image-stabilising software. The shutter speed is a pathetic 1/30 sec. Frankly I am staggered. Those Stonechats are about 40m away (the female a bit further I think) and both images are uncropped...

The Scilly Log

Until reminded of it yesterday I had forgotten about this vintage NQS post. It dates from 2008, and my first October trip to Scilly since 1991 I think. My excuse for resurrecting it is of course its topicality...



What is 'The Log'?? If you've never been to Scilly in October, and never stayed at a Bird Observatory, you may well have no idea. It is basically this: first, the birders assemble; next, someone runs through the systematic list out loud, species by species (or group of species eg. divers, Hippolais warblers, etc) - this is known as 'calling the log' - and the assembled mob pipe up with their sightings. For example....

"Yellow-browed Warbler on St Mary's?" goes the call. The responses:
"One at the Dump Clump"
"One, Carn Friars"
"Two, Holy Vale"
And so on.

This ritual serves at least two purposes. One, it allows the recorder to collect bird records nice and easily, and two, it is a source of gen for the assembled birders - if they are just recently arrived they will quickly find out what's around.

Actually, the log also provides you with opportunities to display your birding prowess, and shine among your peers. Like this...

Trumping
You've been out all day, with very little to show for your efforts, but you did spend three hours by the weedy field at Telegraph, carefully counting its inhabitants. Tucked away in your notebook are 8 Whinchats, 180 Starlings and 222 Linnets. Being experienced in the log-calling game you know to keep yourself well reigned-in. Hold back that winning count until the other players have revealed their hands.......then hammer them with your hefty score. This is how it goes:
"Whinchat, St Mary's. Whinchat?"
"Three at Telegraph," squeaks an over-eager young thruster. "Pah!" you think.
"Five, Telegraph," intones an earnest, but kindly voice, trying not to crush the youth.
"Six, Telegraph." Ah, that must be the bloke you saw hanging about by the gate for a good half hour. You crane to check, and it is. It looks like the glory is yours for the taking.
"EIGHT, Telegraph," you announce, with careful emphasis and enunciation - there must be no mistaking the number. A hush descends, and admiring eyes glance your way. You swell with pride.
Right then, Starling soon. You relax and sip your pint.
"Starling?" goes the call. "Any counts?"
Steady. Wait for someone else to call first.
"About two hundred at Telegraph," chirps an accursed estimator.
"Pox!" you think.
You still have those Linnets up your sleeve though, and wait patiently for your moment.
"Linnet? Any groups over 50?"
You hold back.
"About two hundred at Telegraph." The very same bloke.
"Hah!" you think, "Gotcha!" and draw sufficient breath to give extra force to your delivery.
"TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-TWO at Telegraph!"
But, just as the heads are once more swivelling in admiration....
"EIGHT HUNDRED AND FORTY-FIVE at the north end, from Telegraph to Watermill." A pause. "TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY-SEVEN of those at Telegraph"
Defeated, your shoulders slump.
A ring of worshippers forms around the new Counting Hero.

Actually, watching the trumpers in action is even more fun than doing it!

On my previous October visits the log was always downstairs at the Porthcressa, and was PACKED with sweating birders, ten deep at the bar. Nowadays it is upstairs at the Scillonian Club, and in the first few days of our holiday was attended by just 60-80 birders at the most. The numbers swelled noticeably towards the end of the week, and I took these photos on Saturday 11th.

Will Wagstaff is a long-serving resident IOS birder, wildlife tour leader and thoroughly nice bloke. Here he is, 'calling the log':

Judging by the expressions, we must have been on Starling, or Woodpigeon or something equally riveting

Swinging the camera right a tad gives a view over a fair proportion of the bar's populace, though there were still a load further right and behind me. The first Saturday of the peak week. From counts made at the Sociable Plover twitch on Sunday evening it was estimated that around 500 birders were on the isles. This is apparently par for recent years, but compares to something like double that (at least) in the mid-80s/early 90s. Anyway, here they are:

A Scilly first-timer has just called 2 Nuthatches, a Treecreeper and 6 Magpies. No one quite knows what to do with themselves....