Better Than Seawatching

The record has stuck. Click! Breezy south-westerly... Click! Breezy south-westerly... Click! Breezy south-westerly...

This time last year passerines were actually migrating. By this date I'd seen a few Pied and Spotted Flycatchers, Whinchats, a Redstart, lashings of Wheatear. Compare that with this weekend, where I've spent a few hours in the field for precisely one Wheatear and zero migrant warblers. It's been so bad that this afternoon I even considered seawatching. Just briefly. Thankfully I was able to snap out of it by reminding myself how many completely dire afternoon seawatches I've suffered at this time of year. In fact I only needed to go back to Thursday, when I sat down at 16:30, stared at some pretty waves for 60 minutes, then stood up again. One Gannet. No, I would much rather see no birds while enjoying a nice walk, than from the spurious comfort of a stationary chair. A dead seawatch always feels like utterly wasted life. Decision made, and within a few minutes I was at West Bex...

Predictably it was quiet. Very, very quiet. The aforementioned Wheatear was about it. Except for one thing. Gulls. Finally, a few gulls were settled on the beach. Not many, maybe 50-odd in total, but certainly more than I've seen for ages. No Yellow-legged Gulls, but...

The first juv Med Gull I've been able to get anywhere near this summer. Rapidly moulting its way to 1st-winter.

Excellent! A colour-ringed adult Med. White JA700.

And a colour-ringed Great Black-backed Lump. Green 68S

Those gulls cheered me up no end, and a couple of colour rings made for some very sweet icing on the cake.

Yesterday afternoon my walk was mostly at Cogden. While working a birdless hedge I noticed a couple of distant falcons on the upper slopes, close to the coast road. One was a Kestrel, but the other was a spanking Hobby. As I watched, it swooped and caught some invisible creature, lifting its foot to its beak briefly to consume the hapless prey. A minute or two later it did the same again. I guess that birders who see this happen on a regular basis over wetlands swarming with dragonflies might take such behaviour in their stride, but it's many years since I last witnessed it. Unfortunately, by the time I was close enough to have any hope of decent photos the Hobby had drifted further east. This is about the best I could manage...

Really small Hobby. At least you can see what it is though.

Apart from an Oystercatcher heading west over the sea, and 30+ Swifts, Saturday afternoon was as relatively birdless as Sunday. Which leaves us with non-birds...

A nice example of Figwort Sawfly.

I can honestly say I would have been the last person to predict that NQS would ever feature a sawfly photo. What can I say? Spotting this thing mooching about in the vegetation I assumed some kind of wasp. But no. Figwort Sawfly. Please do not hold your breath while waiting for the next sawfly pic.

Saturday afternoon's Painted Lady, enjoying a sunny bit of Knapweed.

Sunday afternoon's Painted Lady, sulking dejectedly in a cloudy bit of Hawthorn.

Talking of butterflies, how things have changed! Less than two weeks ago the fields were swarming with skippers and Marbled Whites. This weekend I haven't seen a single example of either. All gone. Dead. Plenty of Meadow Browns, Gatekeepers and Common Blues, but little else. If the year was a book, it's quite sobering how rapidly the pages turn and a well-loved character is suddenly out of the story...

Turning of the Tide

Sitting in the garden earlier this evening I watched three Swifts head south towards the coast and realised how close I am to seeing my last of the year. Two weeks maybe? How quickly the tide turns...

Mind you, this afternoon I walked from West Bex to East Bex and saw very little evidence of that seasonal flux. Certainly the vegetation is browning off now, and beginning to look a bit autumnal, but the hedges I checked were thronged with exactly zero migrant warblers. Bird-wise, this was the sum total of mig thrills...

Wheatear at East Bexington. Just the one.

In fact birds were seriously outshone by a superb insect...

Golden-ringed Dragonfly at East Bex. I'm pretty sure this is the first I've photographed, and only the second or third I've ever seen. Stunning beastie.

Talking of insects...

We used to grow Hemp Agrimony in our previous garden (and the one before that) and it is one of my favourite butterfly magnets. As well as this fabulous Painted Lady there were several Red Admirals and a Peacock on this little clump.

Yesterday morning a walk at Cogden produced 9 Wheatears, 3 Willow Warblers and 2 Sedge Warblers. Migration, albeit in a small way. I'm looking forward to when that outgoing tide really gets moving, and we see a proper surge of birds. Maybe the wind needs to shift a bit first. Something with a touch more east in it would be good.

Nocmig is producing a steady, if thin, supply of migrant waders at the moment. Most nights I'm getting one or two. Green Sandpiper, Common Sandpiper, Dunlin, Turnstone, Oystercatcher, Curlew and Ringed Plover have all featured in the last few days. But my favourite recording was a Redshank at 03:09 yesterday morning. It called three times, the volume increasing as it came closer and closer. There were 40 seconds between the first call and the last, but in this spectrovid I've cut out most of the space...

In the latest Dorset Bird Club newsletter there is a great article by Paul Morton about nocmig. He's been at it since 24th March 2015, but it was delightful to read that he too experienced the same 'wow' factor that everyone seems to when they realise how much stuff flies over their home at night. Admittedly the novelty has worn off a bit now, but I still cannot help an involuntary smile when I get something like that Redshank. Brilliant!

Finally, this fly-over at West Bex this afternoon...

Each to their own, but if I had a spare 15-odd grand I can think of a million ways I'd rather spend it.

Cogden Beach

Lifting my eyes from the laptop screen for a second to peer out the window, I find it hard to believe that this view has been a daily event for more than six years now. The move from Seaton coincided with a birding hiatus, and getting the juices flowing again was quite a struggle. I think it's safe to say that I'm pretty much back to normal now though. And a major factor in that recovery has been a place called Cogden Beach.

At least three birding friends suggested I try Cogden, way back when we first moved to Bridport. In November 2015 I had a look, and liked it. Unfortunately my enthusiasm wasn't yet up to the task of investigating a new spot, and fizzled after just a few weeks. It would be more than a year before I had another go, but within a couple of outings this happened...

2nd May 2017. Initially this Hoopoe wasn't quite within the Cogden boundary, though it found its way there soon enough. (photo ©Mike Morse)

Despite the massive buzz of such a classy find, I still wasn't ready. And once more there were a few weeks of sunshine before the fog of deep phase descended. Mind you, Cogden did try very hard during that period to keep me going...

16th May 2017. Short-toed Lark on Cogden Beach, found by Mike and Alan. A first for the West Bexington & Cogden recording area. And again Mike's pic is way better than mine. (photo ©Mike Morse)

That was the spring of 2017. Although I wasn't totally inactive in the ensuing two-and-a-bit years, it was October 2019 before I could detect any sign of real enthusiasm again. And here we are in August 2021 and I'm still keen, and seem to be ticking along nicely. I find it quite sobering how long it's taken me to settle into a steady routine of birding again. I say 'routine', but that isn't really the right word. I don't actually have a birding routine. Rather, I just go when and where the fancy takes me, though that does tend to be quite often, and Cogden features regularly. The place has definitely grown on me...

Cogden is one of those spots where you could probably poke around all day, yet see only 10% of the birds present. Some areas are not accessible to the public, but even where you can wander freely, the habitat is such that birds can simply hide away: thick scrub; enormous hedges; rough, weedy fields. Also the sea, roughly a mile of well-vegetated beach, and a whopping great reedbed. There are loads of habitat photos scattered through this blog, but here's a shot from yesterday...

A tiny fraction of the Cogden habitat. Gorgeous.

Cogden has been very good to me in the last year or so. Although COVID-19 ensured that most of spring 2020 was a bit of a washout, it wasn't quite over when this happened...

8th June 2020 - Red-backed Shrike. The day my eyes popped out.

And since then?

11th September 2020 - Wryneck

1st October 2020 - another Wryneck

22nd April 2021 - Stone-curlew

10th May 2021 - the wonderful Tawny Pipit which Nick Senior found

26th July 2021 - Melodious Warbler

A somewhat unapologetic parade of lovelies above, I know, but they serve to illustrate what rewards Cogden has to offer in the way of rare stuff. Probably it is just the tip of the iceberg in terms of what actually occurs there. However, there is so much more to birding at Cogden than the occasional exciting oddity. Regular common migrants, seawatching, gulls, vis-mig passage...the list is long. Plus butterflies, wild flowers, myriad mystery insects. Oh, and scenery. Not once have I visited Cogden and subsequently thought, 'Well, that was a waste of time.' A visit to Cogden is never a waste of time.

Some bits and bobs from the last few days...

Early morning Sedge Warbler with dewy crown.

Beach Wheatear pic #1

Beach Wheatear pic #2

Lesser Whitethroat - possibly a local rather than migrant I guess

A bit busted up, but this is the first Wall Brown of 2021 that has actually paused for a pic.

Beach Wheatear pic #3 (500mm zoom for a 'birder's photo')

Beach Wheatear #4 (2000mm zoom from same spot as above)

Beach Wheatear pic #5

Technically that last photo is not strictly Cogden Beach; at this point we are in West Bexington territory. Still, that doesn't bother me at all, and I think my 'no boundaries' approach to the last couple of years has helped enormously to keep me in the game. Although Cogden is the place that currently draws me more than most other locations, I couldn't in good conscience call it my patch. But I do like it very much. And I have no fear that writing about it in glowing terms, and sticking it all on the web, will in any way contribute to a mass invasion of birders. I'm pretty sure that Cogden, like umpteen other places along the West Dorset coast, will continue to be one that loads have heard of, but few bother with. And to be honest I'm delighted about that.

Identifying Birds

My fellow blogger Steve Gale recently published volume one of his natural history memoirs. Steve is only a few months older than me, so his wonderful account of discovering birds and serving a birding apprenticeship through the 1970s resonates powerfully. It doesn't matter that my own journey didn't begin in earnest until a few years later, Steve's descriptions of Beddington, Staines Reservoir and Dungeness take me straight to these places, in all their sepia-toned glory. And it is to the Dungeness of Steve's memory that I would like to travel now, one August day in 1977...

Steve's account relates the discovery of a Hippolais warbler in the Dungeness Observatory moat. Upwards of a dozen birders are gathered, trying to decide whether it's a Melodious or Icterine Warbler, and among their number is the late Peter Grant. Steve justifiably describes PJG as a 'birding god' of the day. The Dunge Hippolais crowd awaits PJG's judgement and, after ten minutes watching it, he pronounces the bird a Melodious Warbler. Which obligingly then enters a Heligoland trap and reveals itself to be an Icterine Warbler, a fact which PJG takes in good part, and uses to teach a salutory lesson to the gathered young birders...

I shan't say what that lesson was - though likely it's pretty obvious - rather I'll recommend you download Steve's book (find it HERE) and discover for yourself. But I'm going to nick Steve's anecdote to illustrate a bird identification truism: even the best can get it wrong.

On Twitter just lately I've come across a couple of interesting ID conundrums which bear talking about in this context. The most recent was a set of flight shots of a juvenile gull. The identification came down mainly to a choice between Yellow-legged Gull and Great Black-backed Gull, with votes in favour of both, but even Lesser Black-backed was mooted. In the end the correct ID was GBBG, but it was very refreshing to see a number of birders get involved in the discussion and offer their opinions. Hats off to them all, because on a public forum like Twitter I think it takes bottle to do that. The risk of getting it wrong is very real, and though few have a reputation like the late Peter Grant's to 'worry about', no one actually enjoys being wrong.

For the second example I first need to reference a photo I posted on Twitter last year. Back in May 2020 I spent a lot of time peering at the sky from my garden. On a day which produced a few Red Kites I also had a rather tatty falcon. It wasn't close, but through bins I identified it as a Peregrine. I got a number of tenth-rate photos, but reviewing them later made me change my mind about the bird's ID. I decided it was actually a first-summer Hobby...

If your reaction to this photo is, 'What was he thinking?!' well, yes...exactly.

No doubt my reasons for revising the identification were clear at the time, but anyway... Very quickly a birder on Twitter put me straight, kindly and tactfully suggesting it was a first-summer Peregrine. And of course, he is correct. Somewhere on my Twitter page that faux pas still lives, and it's a lesson I've not forgotten. So, when a Devon birder named Jo King posted the following on Twitter just recently, I felt I ought to grasp the nettle...

I believed Jo had made the same mistake I had, and been hoodwinked by a young Peregrine. Obviously I could have simply thought my thoughts and kept them to myself, saying nowt. But I've learned lots of useful ID stuff through Twitter which I feel has helped me develop as a birder, and saw this as an opportunity to reciprocate. So I did. Unfortunately I hadn't anticipated one or two other experienced birders endorsing Jo's original identification, and giving some reasons why it was indeed a Hobby. Suddenly unsure of myself, I backed off and looked at the photo more carefully...

The Hobbygrine  © Jo King

I really couldn't reconcile the broad-based wings and fine, dense streaking on the underparts with Hobby, but it's quite easy to doubt yourself sometimes, especially when presented with a seemingly confident alternative view. One thing I will say though: it did make me get the books out and do some online research! Thankfully, before I got too despondant about my evident inability to ID falcons, some other experienced voices joined the discussion. The bird is indeed a young Peregrine after all, and there are several good reasons why. One interesting point which came out is that Peregrines on sandstone cliffs (as is frequently the case in Devon) often wind up with a rusty-stained vent area. In a nutshell, I learned stuff, and was glad I'd got involved.

I've wanted to write a post like this for some time, and Steve Gale's wonderful anecdote about Peter Grant and the Hippolais warbler helped crystallize my thinking. Bird identification is not easy, and in some cases very tricky indeed. We all get it wrong sometimes, and every one of us is still on the learning curve. Despite that, there are some brilliant teachers out there. Peter Grant may have been a one-off, but there are many birders whose particular interests (or should I say passions?) make them relative experts in their field. It's brilliant to see some of them willing to share that expertise online.

My recent experiences on Twitter are very heartening. It's lovely to see birders responding to ID queries, willing to stick their neck out, willing to give reasons for their opinion. And it's lovely to see a bit of humility too. And when someone like me (or Jo above) posts an incorrect ID it's great to see tactful efforts to put us right. In the end, we all gain I think.

Finally, because the photos posted so far depict only Peregrines, I thought it might be useful to post a collage with some Hobbies in the mix. Apart from Jo's photo they're all mine, and therefore pretty dire. Even so, hopefully they illustrate that when seen side by side, the two species aren't really too difficult to tell apart. But then you remember that both species show considerable variation in size, have age-related plumages, and generally come one at a time. And that Merlin is a thing.

L to R: er, um, er, yeah right...

With grateful thanks to Steve Gale and Jo King for inspiration.

Sedgie Bomb

Of all the local spots I go birding, it's probably true to say that Cogden has become my favourite. There may be better - certainly West Bex has more habitat variety and an enviable track record - but Cogden endears itself to me like nowhere else. And not just because it's been kind to me - although I expect that helps. Really there are lots of reasons, but maybe that's for another time. Anyway, there was no debate about this morning's choice of venue, and I was only an hour late getting there...

Before I started this post I thought I ought to check how many local Sedge Warblers I saw last year. The pathetic answer appears to be seven, all in autumn, and only two of them at Cogden. I knew the total would be small, but not that small! However, it does give some extra context to this morning's events.

As in 2020 I saw nil Sedge Warblers this spring. My first of the year was a single bird at Cogden last week, and this morning was my first pre-breakfast visit since then. Initially it felt very quiet, so I was well chuffed when a gentle pish by a seemingly dead patch of scrub next to the coast path produced two Sedge Warblers. And so it went on. Sedge Warblers popping out everywhere. By the time I'd finished, my notes looked like this:

Sedge Warbler 2, 1, 1, 5, 5, 3, 1, 1, 1, 1, 2, 2 (25)
Willow Warbler 1, 2, 1
Painted Lady 2, 1

Twenty-five Sedgies! By 2020's pitiful standards that's more than three years' worth! I do realise that Sedge Warbler is a common bird, and in the right habitat can be abundant on passage, but, just WOW! One of the things I have really come to appreciate about local birding is what a massive buzz even common birds can sometimes provide.

Sedge Warbler coming to investigate the source of that annoying noise.

As the photos suggest, the reedbed was especially well stuffed with Sedgies. I thoroughly enjoyed myself with these common birds, and only in the darkest recesses of my ungrateful mind was there any mention of Aquatic Warbler. Mind you, wouldn't that be something?!!

In the meantime, long live the Unexpected Influx of Common Migrants!

Painted Lady on teasel

This Banded Demoiselle seemed a bit out of place on the beach. Nice though.

By this date last year I had seen all seven of the juvenile Yellow-legged Gulls I tallied in 2020. This year I have seen precisely none. So when a small group of gulls just offshore revealed a juvenile without a pale inner-primary window I was straight on the case. Unfortunately it appeared to be a juv Lesser Black-backed Gull. I momentarily considered getting closer to confirm for sure, but found I couldn't actually be bothered. Hmmm... Should I worry...?

Unexpected Wanderer

Late this morning I ventured out for a little 'wellness check', arriving at Cogden around 11:15. My first outing for almost a week, so I was wary of overdoing it and figured a short, circular route would be enough for now. Slowly I plodded east from the car park, traversing the first four fields and then dropping down to the coast path. I felt fairly okay at this point, but it seemed wise to loop back towards the car now rather than press on any further east. I'd seen nothing of note. A couple of Chiffs calling from the hedges, but really it was dead quiet.

I spent a lot of time looking down. The meadows are just awash with flowers, and look fantastic. I wish I'd taken some pics now. Butterflies everywhere, and the odd bit of Tor-grass had me checking the skippers, but I only saw Small Skippers. There was an interesting moment when a plant stopped me in my tracks. It had tiny, intricate flowers of the kind which open sequentially along a spike. Some were in perfect condition, while those below were blown and those above, in bud still. Looking around, there was quite a lot of it. Momentarily I wondered what it was, and considered taking some photos in order to find out later. And then I had what might have been a small watershed moment: I suddenly realised I didn't care what its name was. I had looked at it, enjoyed it, and somehow that seemed to suffice. This kind of thing has happened before, but never registered quite so powerfully. At times my curiosity and wonder is satisfied by just looking and marvelling, and naming seems superfluous...

I continued along the coast path, intending to head uphill soon to return to the car. There is some low scrub at the back of the beach, and I noticed a butterfly flying across it, heading west like me. It had that 'off-white' appearance that Marbled Whites do, and I assumed that's what it was. It landed on a flower. Not close, so I raised my bins. And was astounded to see, not a Marbled White, but a strikingly pale blue butterfly. Surely a Chalk Hill Blue? I wrestled the camera out and managed just one shot before it flew again, disappearing over the inland side of the scrub. My route back to the car was now set for me, but sadly there was no sign of it.

12:06 on 3/8/21: Male Chalk Hill Blue, Cogden.

I know it sounds daft, but I think this is only the third time I've knowingly seen Chalk Hill Blue. My first were at Branscombe, near Beer in East Devon. There was a tiny colony at the foot of the chalk undercliff, which I believe is long gone now. Next, on Portland last summer. Loads of them. And now this one. As far as I'm aware, the Portland population is the nearest, or maybe those on the Weymouth relief road, between Weymouth and Dorchester. To see one at Cogden seemed bizarre, but what do I know? So I texted Mike and asked if Chalk Hill Blue at Cogden was unusual. Er...yes. It was. Apparently it has never previously been recorded on the West Bex & Cogden patch.

Anyway, I'm a bit concerned now. I've hardly been out at all in the last week or so, yet last Monday there was Melodious Warbler, and now this. Is all my autumn fairy dust used up already...?

Bad for Blogging

Moping about at home, coughing all over the place and feeling rough, is very bad for blogging. The desire to sit down and type is simply not there. Gathering thoughts, and turning them into sentences and paragraphs is almost too much bother. So I'm not sure how this will turn out...

Last Monday's Melodious Warbler was such a win-win. First, in its own right as a sweet and jammy encounter; second, as something to quickly blog about so that 'The Spoiler of Fun' was off the front page. Rarely has a blog post given me such a headache. My usual aim with any NQS non-diary type piece is to offer a thought-provoking read. I don't deliberately set out to be controversial, but logic tells me I sometimes will be, simply because I feel so massively out of step with how the seeming majority of birders enjoy this hobby. But never have I so strongly had that 'Oops, hit a nerve there!' feeling than the few (three or four?) times I've written about low-carbon birding. Especially that last post.

As well as comments on the blog post itself, there was a lot more reaction on Twitter than I'm used to. It was...er...interesting. The problems with any online exchange are self-evident and many. One of them is the potentially indelible nature of what you say. Another is the amazing readiness of some to say the most outrageous things about - or even to - total strangers, stuff that would never get past the filter in real life. Plus the very real possibility that even the most carefully-worded output will be misinterpreted, with all the obvious frustrations of that. Neither Twitter nor this blog is really the place for a nuanced discussion, so I'm not going to say anything more about 'The Spoiler of Fun'.

My take on birding culture as it currently stands is pretty clear I guess, but I have no intention of removing it from the NQS agenda. Though I don't cycle to my birds, I do enjoy local birding. I also enjoy finding my own birds. I get almost all my jollies that way, and find it so fulfilling that I will happily promote it through this blog because there's at least a slim chance someone else might be inspired by what I write. And I make no secret of how I feel about the list-oriented, high-carbon birding so prevalent still. To me, the never-ending mobile conga of birders dancing obliviously from this rarity to that, to the next, ad infinitum, is incompatible with the times.

As I say, that's my take. My view. I'm not forcing it on anyone else, nor judging anyone else if they don't share it. If you disagree with me, fine. But if I express this view from time to time, it's easy enough to ignore me if you want.

Okay, I've deleted about four other paragraphs which managed to add not one jot of substance to what I wanted to say, so I'll leave it there.

 

A few nights back I switched on the nocmig recorder about half an hour earlier than usual. And for a very good reason...

Although we've had a reasonable number of Swifts over the garden through the summer, 'screaming parties' have been a rare thing, and I had never recorded one. This was the biggest I've seen this year - maybe 15 birds - and certainly the closest. What a sound! Such a treat to catch it on the recorder and see what the sonogram looks like. Here's a short section, stretched out a bit...

The short, vertical marks in the middle make up the little raspy sounds they make. Each is clearly a separate, individual note, at the rate of about 80 per second!

I saw a handful of Swifts pass over today, but they won't be around much longer...