Fishy Plans

Our eldest son, Rob, lives and works in Switzerland. He's been there a couple of years now, and I really miss his infectious enthusiasm for fishing. A few years ago it rekindled my own interest and fuelled a couple of successful campaigns on the Exeter Canal, for Pike and Tench, both documented in this blog. Last year I struggled for motivation in his absence, but eventually found a local lake which fired me up a bit. Small and intimate, quite lightly fished, with a nice head of modest Carp which were challenging to catch...

Not large, but very pretty.

This year I was looking forward to getting involved again, but Covid-19 happened. And then, just as things were set to ease, and anglers able to venture forth again...the lake went syndicate. So that was that.

Thankfully it didn't matter really, because birding was pretty much full-on throughout 2020. But just occasionally I still get this real hankering to get the rods out again. Like now. And the fish that beckons is Grayling...

I've only caught a few Grayling, and never a big one. I've written about that before. The last time I went Grayling fishing was with Rob, almost two years ago. We blanked with spectacular proficiency. But...

...it turned out a beautiful evening.

So anyway, I want to try again, and this time will be alone. Before I committed to a plan I thought it wise to go and inspect the river, because there's a lot more water around than last time, and I needed to check there was still some accessible river bank...

The view from a famous old bridge this afternoon. In normal conditions the only water visible would be running down the centre of the photo, rather than all over the surrounding fields!

 

Better, but not great. At least I could walk the river bank. Well, some of it. Just.

That was good enough for me, and there is now a box of maggots in the fridge, oblivious to their imminent fate. A purist would fish for his Grayling by skillfully guiding a float down the river, with the bait suspended below. This is float-fishing, or more specifically, trotting. I've caught a few this way, and heartily approve; it's my favourite method. But I'm afraid my heretical plans involve a lazy bit of feeder-fishing. I will plonk down in my seat, lob a block-end feeder along the near bank, stick my rod in a rest, and wait for a pull. The weather is threatening a cold northerly, and that way I can keep my sensitive, old-man's hands stuffed in warm pockets, or wrapped around a hot coffee.

So this is what I'm hoping for...

December 2017. A nice, pound-plus Grayling in its element.

Well, I wasn't expecting to write a fishing post. And if there isn't another before January 1st...er...just pretend this one didn't happen.

Not Quite the End of the Year

Just lately I've been trawling through the year's photos in preparation for some kind of 2020 review type post. Unfortunately my shortlist of images totals more than 50, so maybe I'll write a few themed posts rather than a single monster.

NQS-wise it's been a good year. An exceptional year. This blog is about as active as it's ever been, and rarely lacks the material required to make that happen. Life-wise it's been a strange one though. Sure, there's been the usual mix of happy times and sad, but played out against the most unexpected backdrop. Anyway, before I get too philosophical I'll bring the birdy stuff up to date...

Following last Thursday's jammy Caspian Gull I was impelled by a strong urge to revisit the Axe on Friday, despite a dire weather forecast. My plan was to sit in the car, eat a ve-e-e-e-ry leisurely lunch and enjoy a steady parade of quality gulls. Er...

Usually such a pleasant spot.

The Axe Estuary just S of Coronation Corner, with a good six or seven gulls on it.

The gulls were clearly elsewhere. Some were sheltering in a virtually unviewable field across the river, but the vast majority had apparently chosen another county or something. It was desperate.

On Saturday I had another excuse to be in Seaton, with Sandra this time. We arrived in time to get very distant views of the hulking great Glaucous Gull on its third visit to the Axe. Moments later the whole flock spooked and flew, and we lost the Glauc almost immediately in the melee. We tried Beer beach, just in case it had dropped in there, but there were no gulls at all. However, I had forgotten that an Eider recently made itself at home offshore, so was pleased to realise that a distant brown dot looked the right kind of shape for one...

Young drake Eider. I certainly couldn't see this amount of detail with bins, through which it genuinely was a dot. And mostly an invisible one, buried in the troughs.

Heading home, two white blobs in a field at the far north end of the estuary turned out to be...

...Cattle Egrets.

Yesterday afternoon I went for a walk on Cogden Beach with a non-birding friend. A Great Black-backed Gull caught our eye, hacking away at a very large, inanimate lump of something...

I've come across dead Harbour Porpoise once or twice, but I think this is my first dead dolphin. I'm not sure if it's a Common or Bottlenose Dolphin, but the question seems academic somehow.

And so to this afternoon. At lunchtime I was at West Bexington. A flock of 22 Brents east over the village was a nice surprise, but I had gulls on my mind. A local birder reported seeing Caspian Gull on the West Bex mere a couple of days ago, an Iceland Gull was photographed over it last Thursday, and anyway, gulls is gulls, and the mere seems to pull them in. In all the comings and goings the best I managed was a count of 17 Med Gulls on the water together. Still, it was a pleasant 90 minutes of idling on a windy, spray-shrouded beach. Heavy rain was forecast, so I plodded back to the car before it arrived.

Anyway, before I start picking the bones out of 2020 I should remember that it still has ten days to run. Anything might happen...

The Kids Are Alright

At my age it is very tempting to focus on differences between the world I grew up in and what kids might experience today. It's no doubt a rich vein for bloggage, but any observations I might offer would probably be quite unreliable, because I can only guess at what it's like to be a young teenager in 2020. Guess, and shudder. So rather than be lured down that path I will instead take a look at some similarities...

As a boy I was passionate about fishing. My bedroom wall was papered with pictures of fish, mostly Keith Lindsell paintings cut from the Angling Times. Bedtime reading would be a fishing book of some kind, or the ABU 'Tight Lines' catalogue, an annual parade of mouth-watering tackle beyond my budget. And as often as possible I would be out there, fishing. As a twelve and thirteen-year-old I would catch an early-morning Met Line train from Preston Road Station to Croxley Green, or Ruislip, or Rickmansworth, and be out until dark. Sometimes I would meet up with a friend, though often I would be alone. What I am trying to convey is the all-consuming nature of my passion. I absolutely loved fishing. It was my escape, my solace, my sphere of aspiration.

And I am quite sure there are youngsters in 2020 who feel the same about birding, or fishing, or nature in a broader sense. Exactly the same. I am convinced that kids today are capable of being as wrapped up in their interest as I was in mine. Such obsession is a timeless thing.

In my early teens I began to yearn for broader horizons, and the obvious route seemed to be membership of a fishing club. Somehow I learned about Glacier Angling Society, and their fortnightly coach trips to the Thames, the Great Ouse, the Hampshire Avon. One evening in late spring a member of the Glacier AS committee kindly called at my home to take me to my first club meeting. His name was Howard Matthews, but everyone called him Ginger. We drove to the Black Horse pub, on the Grand Union Canal in Greenford, where the club meeting was held in an upstairs room. I sat quietly in a corner and observed  proceedings through the smoky fug. The chairman read the minutes of the previous meeting, asked if there were any 'errors, inaccuracies or omissions' and moved on to the night's agenda. This was my introduction to a world with which I became very familiar over the next few years. The coach trips were a great adventure to a youngster like me. Just hanging out with all these grown-ups was a novelty. Ginger took a generous interest in my progress, and I was a keen student. A few times he and I went on fishing trips in his battered old VW van, including my first ever visit to the River Kennet in about 1974. Ginger was married, with a small child, and in the warped light of 2020 it might come across a bit dodgy that a man in his 30s would take a young lad of 14 or 15 on an all-day fishing jaunt. All I can say is that such a notion never occurred to me. Nor to my parents I guess; certainly they never raised it. What I do remember is how encouraging it was to have Ginger and some of the other club members take a genuine interest, and teach me stuff. There was also banter and leg-pulling aplenty of course, and I remember the whole chapter with fondness.

I have less than a handful of photos from those days, and only one with me in it. Here I am, aged about 14, with a modest bream from the Great Ouse at Roxton in Bedfordshire...

That shirt!

 

Folks of my age who were birders as kids, rather than anglers, might have grown up with YOC trips and suchlike, and I'm sure were similarly inspired by the adult birders around them.

Likewise today, I have absolutely no doubt that kids benefit from kind encouragement as they pursue their interests. Older enthusiasts have a wealth of knowledge and experience, a fertile source of motivation for youngsters. Possibly without realising it, they can coach, inspire and set a good example. And when those kids grow up, perhaps they will look back, as I do, and be grateful for the Gingers of their youth.

However, the world of 2020 presents challenges. For example, Sunday coach trips with the fishing club are a thing of the past. YOC-type outings likewise I expect, though I could be wrong. As I was pondering how to write this post, a question came to mind...

Where do I meet young birders these days?

This is a sobering question. I never see them. In the 18+ years that I've lived in this part of the country I can only think of a couple. One of them is now in his 30s, and I'm not sure the other is even a birder any more. So the answer to that question, for me, is not 'in the field'. So, where then?

On Twitter, that's where. I don't do any other social media, so cannot speak for them, but birdy Twitter is populated by a good number of keen teenagers. In the past year or so I've become increasingly aware of that fact, and now that I have finally noticed them all I feel kind of obligated to do something about it. So I have started making an effort to 'follow' them, to 'like' their posts, and sometimes to respond to the questions they ask. One young birder on Twitter, a sixteen-year-old, recently posed this one: 'How many lifers has everyone had this year and what was best?' It is really heart-warming to see that this innocent question has garnered more than 150 replies, mostly from adults. I wonder how our young fellow birder felt on getting that enthusiastic response? I have begun to see that Twitter is actually a vehicle with serious potential for encouraging youngsters. I must keep that in mind...

Last Knockings

The weather forecast was good for window cleaners today. Dry, a bit of sunshine, not too breezy, not too cold. A nice change from the wet, windy abysmalness which seems to characterise so many of our recent winters. Clearly a day on which to earn a few bob...

I first drove past the Axe Estuary around midday. There were far more gulls than I've seen there for a while. Many were small, and I didn't have time to do more than skim through those, but the big 'uns all got a proper look. Nothing. The knowledge that an Iceland Gull had dropped in at West Bexington this morning ensured I checked the gulls again later. And again.

Still nothing.

By now it's late afternoon. The light is dimming and I am literally on my way home. Via the estuary of course. A few large gulls on the far bank just N of the Seaton Marshes hide, so I pull over and hop out. A quick scan with bins, but again nothing of note. A couple of young gulls float past in the gloom, washing vigorously, and one of them looks rather white-headed. Sort of like a Caspian Gull. I watch it drift towards the distant shore and realise it might climb out onto the mud. Reaching into the car I extract my camera and fire it up. In this light, video is the only sensible option, so I steady the camera on my ladder, point it at the gull, zoom right up to 2000mm and press the red button...

I'd been watching the bird on the camera's viewing screen, and thought it looked quite promising for Casp, but it only gave me 35 seconds or so. Reviewing that brief clip in the car afterwards I was initially a bit unimpressed, and wondered if I'd been hoodwinked by a hybrid. So I lifted a few stills from the video for closer inspection. That cheered me up, and a prompt bit of positive feedback from Steve cheered me up some more. Not a classic bird perhaps, but lots of good features, and certainly enough to allay any fears that it might be a nasty hybrid thing.

A few video-grabs to illustrate some key ID features...

If you spot the deliberate mistake, should say '...and lower rump'

 

Once again I am reminded what a vital piece of kit my camera now is. Without it I would have a had a whole bunch of these: ???????????????

Funnily enough the last thing I expected my next NQS post to be about was a decent bird, but there you go. Life is full of nice little surprises, like one's 18th Caspian Gull.

A Trick of the Light

On November 24th I paid an exploratory visit to Kilmington WTW and was rewarded with rubbish views of what looked a good tristis candidate. There were only 2 or 3 regular collybita Chiffchaffs present, but I was confident that numbers would soon grow, and equally confident that the tristis (if it was one) would give itself up soon enough. Since that day I have returned at least three times, and yes, the Chiff population has grown. At least 15-20+ birds currently. But pale and interesting ones have been conspicuous only by their seeming absence. Until today.

If you've followed this blog for a while you will be aware of a slight obsession with tristis taking hold last winter. I made considerable effort to increase my understanding of the taxon through reading and research, and spent many hours with at least five different individuals through the winter. During this educational journey I became aware that there is still a measure of controversy regarding exactly what constitutes a 'good' tristis. Personally I reached a conclusion which aligns with the position of many other birders. Though not all. However, I shan't be opening that can of worms tonight. Instead I want to talk about light...

Birders (and photographers I'm sure!) constantly moan about the light. The light is too dim, too harsh, 'all wrong', or in a myriad other ways completely rubbish. How right they are! When picking through a flock of gulls there is nothing worse than glaring sunshine. I like a nice flat light, the kind you get on a dull, overcast day. Perfect for assessing those subtle shades of grey and brown. And the same is true for Chiffchaffs. At Kilmington today, most of the Chiffs were periodically showing well in a small clump of low trees. Unfortunately it was a bright day and the birds were almost always above head height, either against the sky or harshly side-lit by the sun. Not only that, but the strong light also tells fat lies about a bird's true shade and colour. This makes it more difficult than you'd think to pick out the pale bird from the less-pale, and affects how the camera sees it too. When I first clapped eyes on today's Sibe Chiff I spent a fair old while convincing myself I wasn't imagining things, and that it genuinely was much paler than the collybita birds. And after a few photos I couldn't help thinking that the images depicted a bird too brightly hued for a tristis. Thankfully the bird was quite cooperative, twice sitting still for a few minutes, and once dropping into a shady ditch briefly, where its striking paleness was immediately obvious. Anyway, here is a selection of the better photos...

One of the early shots. I think its paleness is obvious here.

If this had been the only photo I'd got there is no way I would have claimed a tristis. To my eye it looks far too green.

Notice the obvious greenish edges to the flight feathers (which is fine for tristis). Note also the abundance of food! It spent ages sitting in this spot. Horribly side-lit. How I wished a cloud would come and blot out the sun!

It preened, sunbathed...

...and responded beautifully to a short play-back of tristis song. Within three or four seconds it began wing-quivering vigorously, and continued for another few seconds after I stopped the recording. No collybita Chiff ever responded to tristis song when I tried this last winter. For me that's a clincher.

It wasn't until I was going through the photos at home that I realised the last shot looked like it was taken in flatter light, and the camera settings recorded in the EXIF data support that notion: higher ISO for the same shutter speed. Thank you, stray cloud!

This is one of those tristis that some feel isn't a tristis. But with my low threshold it's easily good enough! Hopefully not my last this winter...

Lunchtime Lump

Lunchtime fell rather late today. It was gone 2pm by the time I drove along the Axe Estuary. The tide was still pretty high and the gulls few, with barely any mud showing for them to stand on, so I was all set to go and look at sewage farm Chiffchaffs. However, a good bunch of newly arrived birds having a wash in the river off Coronation Corner made me get out of the motor and run the bins over them properly.

Lo and behold...

Glaucous Gull!

What a stunner! I love Glaucous Gulls, but see them all too rarely. My last Axe bird was 2013 I think, so I was really chuffed with this beast. They are so scarce down here that I was sure this would be the same individual which Clive found on Saturday morning, and the photos confirmed it. I wonder where it's been for the last four days? Hopefully there's a chance it might stick around...

White wings. Kind of...

 

Phil and Ian M were able to pop round to see it, proving once again the efficacy of a local birding WhatsApp Group. When they left I sat down to my sarnies finally. But when the Glauc hauled itself up on the far shore, dwarfing everything, I was forced to get the camera out again... 

 

Eno-o-o-o-o-rmous!

Glaucous Gull, and Glaucous Gull snack.

Age-wise this is a juvenile bird, with the classic biscuity plumage and dipped-in-ink bill. Beastly perfection...

Kev turned up, and reminded me that Glaucous Gull had wintered locally in the 1990s - before my time - which got us speculating about the possibility of this one doing likewise. I hope so.

Lyme Rocks

Despite the place being situated between home and work I almost never go birding in Lyme Regis. Not sure why, because it is certainly the best local spot for Dipper and Purple Sandpiper. Anyway, circumstances have conspired to put me in Lyme for a few days, so let's see what happens...

By far the most eye-catching Lyme resident right now is this stunner...

I mean... Wow!!

This gorgeous drake Eider has been hanging around Lyme Regis harbour for a few years now, a very incongruous sight in this neck of the woods. To my shame it's the first time I've made the effort to have a look. I'm glad I did. It looked absolutely amazing in the late afternoon sun. It's clearly feeling a bit frisky, and was displaying to anything which looked even vaguely similar to a female Eider, ie, was brown. The young Herring Gulls thus accosted were notably unimpressed.

Understandably, it captivated me for some time...

Just immaculate!

I didn't make any effort to visit the Cobb wall Purple Sands, but spotted this one poking about the harbour beach briefly...

Purple Sandpiper

The little River Lym (or Lim) flows through the town, and is a very good bet for Dipper. Frequently they are a bit shy, and views might be distant, or brief and fleeting. Today was not one of those times, and this bird seemed oblivious to the proximity of passers-by...

Dipper

Gorging on weeny fish...

...and even singing!

The only thing lacking in the Dipper encounter was sunshine. But the Eider made up for that later on!

At the end of the day I walked Monmouth Beach - where I saw a Black Redstart last winter - but it was very quiet today. Finally, strolling back towards town at last knockings I noticed that gulls were gathering in good numbers to the east, off Church Cliff. Very good numbers - several hundred large gulls and a sprinkling of small ones. The light was too poor and the distance a bit too great for bins alone, but there were certainly no white-wingers amongst them. A 2nd-winter Med Gull was nice to see, and I perched the camera on a wall to take a few photos. When I checked them later I realised the bird was wearing a red colour-ring!

2nd-winter Med Gull. I can almost read that ring...

Look at this bunch of lovelies! Might try again tomorrow. With a scope!

This is a bit of a 'went there, saw that' kind of post, but hopefully it's been worth it for the Eider alone. And just to put a cherry on it, a couple of short videos to close: The Dipper quietly singing, and the Eider displaying. And if you listen carefully you can hear the Eider doing that amazing thing that Eiders do. Makes me smile every time...