Again?

Slightly less than one year ago I wrote a post entitled 'My Happy Bird', following a visit to Cogden that involved a Lapland Bunting. That post rekindled what had been a very quiet blog. At the same time, something else happened. I rediscovered birding. It is hard to convey in words exactly what this has meant to me without sounding a bit melodramatic, so I shan't even try. Suffice to say that I'm pleased it happened, and that the subsequent twelve months have been a blast.

October is here now. Hard to believe that just five minutes ago I was lusting after a skua-laden helping of spring seawatching. And that four-and-three-quarter minutes ago Covid-19 arrived, and suddenly there was no spring seawatching. There was #BWKM0 though, and there was nocmig, and there was a whole heap of other birding possibilities which we had not foreseen. It has all been very surprising. So the lesson I have drawn from the last year is not to be surprised by the surprising. Which is just as well, because otherwise I would have been very surprised this morning...

Recent outings had been uneventful, with often a rather thin sprinkling of grounded migrants, so when I arrived at Cogden just before sunrise and immediately had 2 Chiffs by the car park, and heard a small chorus of ticking Robins and chucking Blackbirds, I sensed birdiness. For a change I went straight to the beach and walked east into the sun. Suddenly a Wheatear was right in front of me, just feet away and not flushing...

Beach Wheatear. Just minor cropping at 300mm zoom. I love that backlighting.

And from the sunny side. That early morning light is so warm...

Four Wheatears in total - more than I've seen on the beach for ages. It all felt very promising. Periodically I would stop and have a scan. A slow sweep of the sea, or a distant hedgerow that was too far for the naked eye to be much use. Doing this I spied a bird on a fence post. The fence itself bordered the inland side of the coast path, viewed from the beach right across the far side of the Burton Mere reedbed. In fact it was too distant to be 100% identifiable with bins. However, my gut was telling me it looked really good for a Wryneck (which I knew was basically not possible because two Wrynecks in three weeks would be too jammy, even for me) and that I had better hurry up and get the camera out. Two shots at 2000mm full zoom, a quick peek at the results...enlarge a bit...and...well, flippin' heck, look at that...

Cogden Wryneck at many, many yards range. Yes!

By the time I got round to the spot there was no sign of it. And as far as I'm aware it hasn't been seen since, which is a real shame. I do get great pleasure from sharing decent birds, and it's been pretty disappointing that locally I haven't been able to do that at all this year. I'd like to think I'll get another chance before the autumn is out, but I suspect I've used up more than my fair share of chances already.

Strangely, despite a roaring start, the morning's final tally was much more sparse than I envisaged. Rather than the hatful I was expecting, those two early Chiffs were joined by just one more, and four Blackcaps, and the only other stand-out bird was a Whinchat. However, do I care? Nope!

Finally, nocmig. I have to say, the autumn has been very, very slow for me. I'm glad that the spring/early summer period was so good, because I would otherwise be finding it hard to maintain some enthusiasm. However, on Sunday night's recording was a new species for me. I shan't bother with a spectrovid, because it would be less than exciting, but this is what it looks like...

Redwing. The first of many I hope.

Slow Birding

My first autumn trip to Scilly was in October 1984, and looking back I reckon very little of it involved what I now think of as actual birding. It was basically a full-on week of twitching. But my next autumn trip was very different...

The last two weeks of September 1986 began with a very wet, very windy Scillonian crossing. It was blowing a sodden hoolie from the SE, which did not relent until the following day, when the sun appeared and shone its happy rays on hedgerows leaping with birds. I no longer have the old notebooks, but my memory tells me that common migrants were everywhere. Assorted warblers, chats and flycatchers, an abundance which called for a birding approach that I've employed on every Scilly trip since. Stop at every gateway, scan every hedge, look along every furrow, etc, etc.

Slow birding.

Sure, it isn't rocket science, but it is surprising how few birders do it. An advantage of this kind of approach is that it will often give you a feel for which spots are particularly birdy right now, and then you can add 'wait a bit, and see what pops out' to your list of tactics. I love birding this way. Mind you, I don't always have the discipline it demands and sometimes cover ground much quicker than I ought. But when I do manage to take it easy and be a bit more thorough, there is usually something to show for it.

I would like to report that my efforts in this regard have paid off handsomely in my local birding, but, er...

The best recent(-ish) four birds I've found close to home are probably these:

• Hoopoe - flushed as I walked along.
• Golden Oriole - flew across my line of sight as I walked along, and could well have been flushed from the hedge I was following.
• Red-backed Shrike - raised bins to check Linnets, and there was the shrike in the same field of view!
• Wryneck - disturbed (almost flushed) as I walked along.

In other words, not one of them is the result of a careful, systematic scan, or a patient bit of 'wait and see', or any other particularly commendable tactic. No, all four were the result of jam, and just being there. Ah well...

Nevertheless, I can think of many, many less spectacular birds which have recently fallen to slow birding. Pied and Spotted Flycatchers, Wheatears by the score, Whinchats, assorted common warblers, and so on.

Even this afternoon, during a lovely walk from West to East Bexington and back, carefully searching a grassy field of sheep in the hope of Richard's Pipit or something, produced a Green Woodpecker poking around. Just a Green Woodpecker, but one I would have missed otherwise. And had it been something rare instead, well, wouldn't I have been chuffed with my cleverness! To be honest, by local standards it was quiet today. In 3.5 hours up to 19:00 I saw just 7 Chiffchaffs, 1 Blackcap and 2 Wheatears. But I would have missed even the Wheatears if I hadn't spent a good while scanning the ploughed fields at East Bex...

Slow birding's reward. A cracking male Wheatear.

And why was I scanning the ploughed fields? Well, where shall I begin? Dotterel, Buff-breasted Sandpiper...who knows? At one point I found myself staring intently at something 'interesting', lying low in the soil. With bins I couldn't quite make it out. It did look birdy, but alas, a bit too static. I changed position to see if it turned into an obvious lump of wood or something. Nope. Still birdy, yet for some reason it didn't quite look kosher. So I got the camera out and took a photo at 2000mm zoom. Ah...

This is the resulting photo. See it?

No wonder it had me going. I think it might be a lump of Pheasant. Definitely feathers anyway.

Here are a couple of West Bex photos, in order to illustrate the kind of habbo that is just begging for a bit of slow birding. Taken from the same spot, one looks downhill towards the sea, the other uphill towards the coast road...

A bit of West Dorset coast. Birds like it, and often hide in it.

Not much today, but tomorrow...?

As the autumn deepens, and parts of the east coast give birders based elsewhere a tantalising glimpse of what is dropping in on this green and pleasant land, expectation is raised. You cannot help it. However [relatively] mundane your local birding haunts may be, there is hope, there is optimism. And somewhere, somehow, sometime soon, someone will score big-time. Personally I hope it's the result of some nice, careful, slow birding...

Just imagine if the slowly-birded bunting went 'tic' instead of 'tsiew'. One day...

A Puzzler

There was a strong south-westerly blowing this morning, so I made the effort to wrap up in multiple layers and waterproofs in readiness for a protracted seawatch. I don't know why I bother. I endured 30 minutes of infinite direness, peeled off a couple of layers and went for a short, uneventful walk at Cogden. Three Chiffs and a Blackcap are not enough meat for a full NQS post, so I'm going to pad it out with something which I've been wanting an excuse to write about...

After the morning Wryneck two weeks ago I went to work over in Seaton. As is often the case, at lunchtime I found myself picking through the Axe Estuary gulls. A preening first-year bird on the far bank caught my eye, mainly because I glimpsed the tail pattern and thought it looked extremely contrasty. A strongly black-and-white tail is a good indicator for Yellow-legged or Caspian Gull. Unfortunately it turned out to be neither, but was nevertheless interesting enough to hold my attention for a while. A few photos...

On the water it looks quite unexciting. The tertials and greater coverts look pretty bog standard Herring Gull, as do the head and bill. However, moult-wise it seems to have a lot more 2nd-generation (ie, first-winter) scapulars than you would normally see on a Herring Gull of this age in Devon in early(ish) September.

And that underwing is strikingly pale. If it had been a Caspian Gull I would have been pointing that out as a feature in its favour!

Again, not many of those scaps are still juvenile feathers. Quite a strong inner primary window though, which suggests Herring Gull to me more than Casp, and definitely more than YLG.

But look at that tail pattern! Again, if it had been a Casp I would be highlighting how the crisp, black terminal band contrasting strongly with a vivid white uppertail supports the identification!

So, what is it? When I posted these pics on Twitter I got very little feedback. Probably nobody fancied sticking their neck out. One birder whose opinion I respect suggested it was just a Herring Gull. And he may well be right. However, in my own experience I cannot recall ever seeing a juv/1st-winter HG display such a striking tail. Combine that feature with the rather advanced scapular moult and the pale underwing, and I cannot help thinking that this is a hybrid beast. I doubt it's a pure HGxCasp, but would be surprised if there were not some Caspian Gull genes somewhere in the mix.

All good fun. And a reminder that gull ID is frequently not a done deal. It's funny, I am conscious that some birders think I'm quite good at gulls, an 'expert' even. Nothing could be further from the truth. I am a learner.  Please be aware, when asking for my opinion on a bird you are doing the birding equivalent of asking the keen DIY-er to build your two-storey extension. He might gamely have a go, but...

Anyway, here are a couple of pukka Axe Caspian Gulls for comparison...

December 2011. Although this bird has quite a strong inner primary window, note how dark the outer webs of those inner primaries are in comparison to the bird above.

March 2012. Photo by Dave Land. Note wing and tail patterns.

So, apologies for such an early gull post. Hopefully some proper autumn fare will get things back on to a more appropriate footing soon...

Am I a Patch Birder?

I do get pleasure from writing this blog. Clearly it fills some creative urge that periodically demands attention, and quite often I will dip into old posts and enjoy doing so. However, that isn't always the case. Just occasionally a browse through the NQS archives has me cringing a bit. This happened the other day. I was reminded of something I wrote about local patch birding, or more specifically, local patch birders. Revisiting it now, especially in the light of my own birding exploits and experiences of the last year or so, it does not read well, and if I were to write that post again it would look a lot different. Still, I guess that must be the case for just about anyone who writes. One's views and opinions change and evolve. Mature, even...

I realise this is a strange way to introduce a post about patch birding, but I suppose what I'm trying to convey is my own ambivalence about the whole concept of local patch birding. I am not a patch birder, and yet I am. I think. Possibly.

When I lived in Seaton, what we referred to as the Axe Patch was in reality the land area within a 5km radius of the old bridge over the River Axe by Seaton harbour, plus the sea visible from that 10km of coastline. As patches go, that's pretty huge, but it nevertheless fulfills one aspect of a 'patch' which I've always viewed as a given: it has geographical limits. It also has a list. Back in about 2007 I diligently trawled through as many bird record sources as I could think of in order to compile a definitive 'Axe Patch List'. At one time I could have told you the exact size of that list, and many trivial details relating to it. Likewise I knew my personal Axe Patch list, and the aching gaps in it, several of them the result of painful dips...

So. A boundary. A list. Just a couple of criteria which to me are part and parcel of what defines a patch. Or can a patch actually be a much looser affair? Locally I might go birding at Cogden, or maybe Burton Bradstock, East Bexington, West Bexington, etc. And when I'm working over in Seaton, I might visit Black Hole Marsh or Beer Head, and of course the Axe Estuary is a regular lunch stop. Is any or all of this my patch? Can I legitimately refer to myself as a patch birder? Do I qualify?

Or am I just overthinking it?!

Anyway, yesterday afternoon I dropped in on my patch/not-patch (some of the West and East Bexington part) and tallied 3 Wheatears, and singles of Spotted Flycatcher, Whinchat and White Wagtail. To be honest, judging by local reports I wasn't expecting much, but not seeing - or even hearing - any Chiffchaffs was a surprise. I took a few photos, but the camera is not a fan of gloomy, overcast afternoons...

East Bex Wheatear...

...and East Bex Whinchat

Happy Times

Up early this morning, off to Cogden, and once again loads of overhead movement. Love it! I counted 46 Siskins, 1 Grey Wagtail and 2 Redpolls. The latter were together, and again I captured a recording. Who knows how many Siskins there really were? A couple of times I could hear but not see them. It almost seems fatuous to write '46 Siskins' when that is nothing like a true record of their number. Things I didn't count include a horde of hirundines, a mass of Mipits, and a big bag of bits and bobs. Instead of counting, I just bathed in it all. Watching wave after wave of small birds move steadily into a stiff ENE wind, calling to one another occasionally, is a humbling experience. As they pass overhead, and to the left and right, in unquestioning obedience to some inner driving force, movements like this are one of my favourite birding spectacles...

And then I was shaken out of my reverie by a ringing telephone. It was Mike, telling me that two Great White Egrets were heading W from Bex, just offshore. They soon appeared, glaringly white against the blue sea. Once or twice in the past I've thought I might have a GWE in my bins. On such occasions it's always been a Little Egret. When it's a Great White, you don't think, you know. The ponderous, lollopy wingbeats are unmistakeable...

Two Great White Egrets moving W off Cogden at 07:50. Photo taken at approximately 1km range. Yellow bills nicely on show.

I also had a Little Egret go past nice and close, also this Heron gave me an opportunity to imagine it was a Purple job, and to see what kind of flight shots I'd have got if it was...

Quite satisfactory ones... Grey Heron

There were even more Chiffs in the bushes than yesterday, and I counted 34. Also 14 Blackcaps, plus a Spotted Flycatcher which had somehow found a sheltered spot, right where the Wryneck was last week. No Wheatears or Whinchats at all though. At 08:54 I heard a couple of piping calls which may have been one or more invisible Golden Plovers, but upon reviewing the morning's recording I discovered that the batteries had amazingly run out at 08:53!

A fun couple of hours.

I am very conscious that this blog has a modest number of regular readers. I assume that most will also be birders. They will no doubt have noticed that I am currently on a birding high, with regular outings and some 'success' in the shape of good birds now and then. NQS inevitably reflects this happy situation, and of course I hope very much that it continues. However...

Be warned. The winter is coming, a season which tests the mettle of every NQS reader. Because there will be gulls. A lot of gulls.

Finally. A gardening tip from the rubbishest gardener on the planet...

A few weeks ago I realised that our back garden buddleia had completely shot its bolt. Every single flower was finished and gone to seed. So I carefully clipped them all off. All of them. Lo and Behold! It has miraculously grown a whole new swathe of flowers, and the butterflies have been delighted. This afternoon our rejuvenated buddleia received the lepidopteral gold seal of approval, and I managed to badly photograph the occasion...

A Hummingbird Hawkmoth approves

A Small Triumph of Sound

I've been quite consistent in getting out early recently. At Cogden right now this is a good ploy, because apart from a small number of dog walkers the place is pretty much deserted for a couple of hours after first light. It truly is a privilege to have such a beautiful spot virtually to yourself. Much of the coast here is quiet, picturesque and birdy. And good for the soul I'm sure.

Autumn migration is shifting up a gear. Being mid-September it is noticeable how many more birds are overhead now. This morning was brilliant. Lots of vismig passage, mostly House Martins and Meadow Pipits, with a smattering of other players. To be honest I was so intent on bashing the bushes that I failed to fully appreciate the scale of the movement, but literally thousands of House Martins were heading into the stiff ENE breeze, many lingering for a while in spectacular swarms. I made some effort to count Meadow Pipits for the first 15 minutes or so, but stopped at 150, knowing I was already missing quite a few more distant birds. I haven't done any real 'vismigging' for years now, and cannot motivate myself to count properly otherwise; I see little point in recording 477 Meadow Pipits from a half-hearted bit of skywatching when I know the true figure would have been double or triple that with a concentrated effort. Instead I just enjoy the spectacle and hope that my ear picks up the goodies. Like today...

At 08:00 I suddenly became aware of the mechanical 'jit...ji-jit' of a Redpoll. Looking up I detected just a lone bird, though it's possible there were more. Redpoll was a fairly scarce autumn bird for me in E Devon, and usually picked up calling overhead like this one, but this is actually my first in W Dorset! Admittedly my autumn birding has been slack in recent years, which explains why. Anyway, because I was carrying my recorder there is hard evidence of the happy event... 

 

In the field I heard a total of maybe ten or a dozen individual call notes over a few seconds. But what is especially interesting to me is the number on the recording. Careful analysis reveals some 40 individual notes over more than 50 seconds! The recorder picked up the bird ages before I did, and probably heard it for longer too. Which suggests to me that I am probably missing a lot of interesting bird sounds. With a 'daymig' recording I do not sit down and listen to the whole thing from start to finish. What I do is make a note in the field of the exact time that I hear an interesting call, and then review that part of the recording back at home. So then, what about the distant Richard's Pipit that my ear doesn't pick up? Well, if I miss a flyover Richard's Pipit I think I'd rather it stayed missed. I don't really want those kind of surprises!

Another feature of this morning was an evident arrival of Chiffchaffs. I counted 28 without really trying, and thought it would be nice to get a photo of one in order to capture the morning's vibe. Pointing the camera at a tangled thicket which clearly held a shifty little warbler I waited for it to emerge into view. And when it did...

...it was a Sedge Warbler!

Eventually I got another chance...

It was a Chiffy sort of morning

Finally, just for interest, here are the first three call notes on the above recording, stretched out a bit. The sound which emerges from a bird might sound like a short and simple 'peep', 'tic', 'sip' or 'jit' to us, but frequently there is hidden structure. And a sonogram brings that out amazingly...

Redpoll calls. The Zoom H4n Pro records in stereo, so what we have here are the left and right channels.

Meeting an Old Friend

Lunchtime last Friday found me sitting on the bank of the River Axe estuary, stuffing my face and scoping gulls. Mainly this is a winter pastime, but whenever there is a good number of birds present I am often tempted. My unsuccessful search for a Caspian Gull was briefly interrupted by a colour-ringed Herring Gull. Zooming up to read the ring, I was chuffed to realise that here was an old friend...

MG6T...I know that ring looks red, but apparently it's orange.

I recognised the code straight away. I couldn't recall the exact year, but remembered first seeing this bird on Black Hole Marsh, back in the days before any hides. A bit of archive-trawling located the photo...

28th March, 2009 - MG6T as a yoof.

MG6T was ringed as a 2cy (2nd calendar year) on 9th January, 2009 at Pitsea Landfill Site, by the Thames in Essex. It promptly relocated to the Axe, and my encounter with it in March was the first of many Axe sightings over the years, a few of them mine. I don't know when we last met, but it has definitely been a while...

Curiously, despite 35 reported sightings, it has never been recorded anywhere except the Axe. There have been blank years (2013, 2014 and 2019) but basically this 12 year-old gull has spent its life in E Devon. I don't blame it.