Eleonora's Falcon?

A bit of overnight babysitting last Sunday/Monday has resulted in my third rotten cold in just over three months. It really kicked in on Friday night, and this weekend I feel lousy. I love my granddaughters, but they are festering little germ factories. Anyway, for some reason, feeling lousy has put me in the mood finally to get this post written. It relates to events which occured back in August. Not my finest hour, but worth airing I think...

During the first three weeks of August 2021, passerine migrants were mostly few and far between. A sprinkling of Wheatears, Willow Warblers and whatnot, but a Whinchat on 21st was my first of the autumn. And then the wind finally shifted into an easterly quarter, and it felt like a blockage had been removed. At Cogden on the 23rd, migrants were getting through at last. Yellow Wagtails, several Whinchats, Tree Pipits, a steady stream of hirundines. It suddenly felt very birdy.

Standing on the beach that morning, I peered out to sea and had a scan. A long, long way out I could see what looked suspiciously like a falcon, low over the water. Only a few days earlier I'd watched a Peregrine well out to sea repeatedly stooping at a passerine, which it then chased unsuccessfully all the way to shore. I assumed this bird was going to be a Peregrine too. As it got closer I made a rather pointless effort to get photos, just a burst of three. Daft really, it was still a dot. So I continued to watch it approach, and as it looked likely to hit land just to the west of my position, save another photographic attempt until then.

And then suddenly I began to wonder if it wasn't actually a Peregrine after all, and in just a few seconds went from total composure to blind panic. At closer range it looked long-tailed, with a dusky underwing and a rich, tawny-coloured body; and the unthinkable occured to me. Could this be an Eleonora's Falcon?! It reminded me so much of the light phase Eleonora's painting in the Collins Bird Guide. As it crossed the beach I had one chance at getting photos. In my flustered state I failed to get the camera to focus properly, and fluffed it. The bird headed away inland without even pausing. I checked my pics. Seven frames of blurry rubbish. What now?

Well, my instinct was to write the whole thing off as one of those moments you wish had never happened, and forget it. But if it was an Eleonora's Falcon I would have felt very bad if it had turned up somewhere else and I hadn't even given a heads-up to Mike and Alan at West Bex. So I phoned Mike and told him the story. I then posted one photo on the local WhatsApp group and asked for opinions, and a short while later was on the phone to Steve with my tale of woe. Personally I wanted to bury it, but Steve suggested I stick it on Twitter, for exactly the same reason that I had felt obliged to call Mike. I wasn't keen, but did so anyway...

The photo was taken at 07:55

There are birders who can sit among a group of strangers at a seawatch and boldly call out passing birds - even on brief, uncertain views - simply to make sure nobody misses anything. I admire them, but I am not one of them. I don't mind making mistakes in front of friends who know me, but a loud and public cock-up is not my idea of fun, so I tend not to risk it. Let me tell you, posting that tweet felt like all kinds of unpleasant exposure.

I had never seen Eleonora's Falcon, but was aware they should show a strong contrast between dark coverts and the remainder of the underwing. In the photo I could see some contrast. But strong? I didn't think so, but maybe it wasn't so obvious in young birds? I simply didn't know. The response on Twitter was interesting. For a start, BirdGuides picked it up very quickly and posted the sighting as 'possible Eleonora's Falcon'. That they hadn't immediately dismissed it on the evidence of that photo was encouraging, and I was glad Steve had persuaded me to publicise it after all. Quite a few other responses were positive too, in a cautious kind of way, especially early on. As the day progressed however, a few 'it's a Peregrine' type replies appeared, one or two including some reasons why. Like this helpful example from Jason Moss...

To be quite honest, Jason's reply in the afternoon had unwittingly squashed the one slim hope I still clung to - that it might be a juvenile, thereby explaining the minimal contrast between underwing coverts and flight feathers. It hadn't occured to me that it was much too early for juvs to be on the wing.

Another disheartening tweet was this one from StonefactionBirding...

The similarity was obvious, and by this stage I had resigned myself to the inevitable. Meanwhile, Sam Viles at BirdGuides had kindly sent all ten of my photos to a couple of raptor experts, Andrea Corso and Dick Forsman, for their opinion. Here are six of the 'better' ones...

They replied as follows...

The final nails...

So there you have it. Quite a rollercoaster. From 'have I just fluffed the only chance I'll ever get at a UK Eleonora's Falcon?' to 'oh, maybe there's actually enough in my photos to save it after all?' to 'oh no, there's actually enough in my photos to kill it stone dead, and I should have worked that out for myself'. In the end there was a spurious satisfaction to be had from knowing for sure that it was a Peregrine, but that was absolutely no consolation. I felt pretty bad. Still, it taught me a couple of lessons...

1. There is a wealth of willing expertise out there, easily accessible via social media.

2. Always know when juveniles fledge.

Would I do the same again? Well, I clearly remember how I felt during that bird's final approach to the shore and my fumbled attempt at photos, and as it powered away inland. A combination of adrenaline and immense guttedness. I really thought I might have let a very rare bird slip through my fingers. If an Eleonora's Falcon had indeed turned up somewhere later that day and I hadn't said anything to anyone I would have been kicking myself, as well as feeling guilty that I hadn't given fellow birders a heads-up. So what if the final outcome left me feeling a bit foolish? Yes, I would probably do it again. And after all, it's not every day that you get to be responsible for one of these:

Cogden 2021: Shattered Dreams

Earlier today I read a BirdGuides article entitled Shetland 2021: shattered dreams. A tale of two birders who spend an autumn holiday on Shetland, hunting specifically for rarities. But they fail to find any, so the trip is of course a disaster. A number of self-found scarcities - including three Little Buntings - are obviously no consolation.

I sympathise. I get a lot of my birding jollies from finding rarities. Unfortunately, the last time that happened was 2015 (and even that occasion was not the blast it should have been) so imagine what a trialsome time I've had these last six years. And when I do get a chance to score, the rarity is snatched from under my nose while I'm photographing a Knot! Seriously though, I genuinely do sympathise. Because when your optimistic plans come to nought, it can be rather disappointing.

That introduction is a spurious lead-in to my latest tale of woe. Snow Buntings are turning up everywhere. Admittedly, in very small numbers. Like, one. Two sometimes. And by 'everywhere' I mean the odd spot here and there. So naturally I am optimistic about finding one along our local bit of Chesil Beach. This afternoon I ventured forth to scour the shingle...

Really I should end this post here. Because my quest for a self-found Snow Bunting was an utter failure. Despite slogging up and down that beach till I almost broke a sweat, I self-found no Snow Buntings at all. Thankfully I've learned to temper my grief by looking at dross. Which I shall now share with you...

This is a tiny fraction of a feeding frenzy about two miles offshore - maybe further - photographed at 2000mm full zoom. Enlarging it, I can see lots of gulls and a few Gannets. Along with two 2cy Pomarine Skuas and a Great Shearwater.*

The only reason I photographed these Cormorants was to illustrate the size difference between the last two, which are actually one behind the other in the same plane.

This juv was one of two Red-throated Divers

A smart adult Med Gull. I like the light in this shot.

At the end of my dreadful Snow Bunting disaster I found myself adjacent to Burton Mere. Yesterday I watched the Starlings come in to roost, and counted about 12,000. Unfortunately there was not much of a murmuration spectacle. They dived in to the reeds just after 16:20, when less than half had arrived. It was even worse today, and the first lot were in by 16:09, maybe 3,000 of them. Still, I hung about to see how many more might turn up. By the time I left I had counted 22,000! Who knows how accurate that is? They arrived in groups of anything from 5 to 2,000 or more. Plus a few singles. Tsk! Starlings. Just a boring common bird. Still, when Snow Buntings let you down you've got to do something to ease the pain.

A feature of this afternoon's Starling roost was the presence of one or two Sparrowhawks. Several times there was a rapid, stealthy sortie, low over the reeds. All failed. I know the feeling.

Male Sparrowhawk in the gloom, awaiting another chance. Considering this bird was 130m away, and the camera was resting on my knee at 1600mm (equivalent) zoom, 1/30 sec shutter speed... Not bad, if I say so myself.

So there we are. Despite the pulverising blow delivered by a total absence of Snow Buntings to self-find, I managed to get back up off the canvas.

* Yes, of course I'm joking.

Wild Goose, Possibly

This morning I went for a walk at Cogden and saw a Barnacle Goose. It's the first I've seen locally, indeed my first for several years. Momentarily I wasn't entirely sure it was a Barnacle Goose. Quite distant, and I was looking into the sun, but its proportions, and what plumage detail I could make out, seemed fairly conclusive. Also I had picked it up on call, a note quite unlike anything else I could think of. Thankfully I had the recorder running, so was later able to listen again. Here are five calls, edited down to just a few seconds instead of the 30-something they occupied in real life...

The Barnacle Goose was heading east, and predictably was later seen at Abbotsbury Swannery. It constitutes my 165th local species this year. I know this because I am keeping a list. And as I inked in a little 'x' in the box next to 'Barnacle Goose', I found myself once again wondering about this listing game...

Do you know the first thought that came to me when I realised I was probably looking at a Barnacle Goose? This: 'Ooh, I wonder if it's genuine?' In other words, was I looking at a wild bird, fresh from some desolate northern waste? Or was it a plastic job, one of the burgeoning horde of feral breeders derived from various wildfowl collection escapees? As far as my list is concerned, it doesn't matter which. I really don't care. But as far as my birding sensibilites are concerned, well...

Widfowl frequently raise this issue but, one by one, the list of species affected by it is growing. Common Crane is an obvious recent example. Within just the last few years, that species has gone from definitely wild to 'who knows?' And just recently a seemingly vagrant Lesser Grey Shrike was discovered to originate from a reintroduction scheme on the Continent. If I am ever fortunate enough to see a White Stork soaring over the coastal ridge here I will definitely enjoy the spectacle, but the bird will nevertheless be somehow tainted. Why? Because it almost certainly will not be wild. And as for Great Bustard...

But what is 'wild'? The Red Kites which entertain each spring? The Capercaillie which thrilled me one frozen January day in the Highlands? The White-tailed Eagle soaring over Uig ferry terminal a few years back?

To be honest I struggle to articulate my thoughts on this issue. I simply know that some birds I am okay with, while others just feel 'off'. It isn't a question of reason or logic, but feelings. And try explaining it to a non-birder. They just think you're nuts.

A Happy Ending...Hopefully

The last post was mostly about a redpoll. Between then and now there have been a few developments, so this post is likewise rather redpoll oriented. But first I should set the scene with a brief - and scrupulously accurate - review of redpoll taxonomy...

There is only one species of redpoll. It is called Redpoll. But just one measly species for so many different-looking birds? Well, that will help no one at all to get their list buzzing along rapidly towards 500 or more, so, officially there are actually three species of redpoll. Much more list-friendly. They are called Arctic, Common and Lesser Redpoll. Basically Arctic is white, Lesser is little, and everything else is Common. In the part of England where I live, Lesser is by far the most likely redpoll species to be encountered. Personally I've not seen anything but Lesser Redpolls locally. Arctic Redpoll is stupidly rare here, and Common Redpoll is almost as bad. Any claim of Common Redpoll would need to jump through all kinds of hoops in order to eliminate the possibility of a badly misinterpreted Lesser Redpoll. At this point, enter the Cogden beast...

The Cogden redpoll

As you could probably tell from the previous post, this intriguing little bird got me all fired up and, with basically nothing else of interest around, it has had my undivided attention. And in yesterday afternoon's blasting hoolie I headed out once again to Cogden to see if it was still there. Flooded roads meant I had to walk all the way from Burton Bradstock, but I didn't care...

Rough...but lovely

The redpoll was exactly where it had been the day before, but in the dismal light it seemed a waste of time to take photos at pathetically slow shutter speeds, so after a few pitiful efforts I tried a bit of video...

I was very pleased with the outcome, especially as point-blank range means there is hardly any shake at all. The dreadful background noise is the sea by the way.

Anyway, when I first stumbled across this bird on Saturday, its appearance was so striking that as soon as I'd got a few shots I was straight on the phone to Steve Waite, hoping he might have had experience of a few Lessers in the hand during his ringing exploits. Among other things, we talked about the importance of biometrics (measurements taken when a bird is trapped for ringing) and whether it might be possible to assess the bird's actual size in the field somehow.

At the time I couldn't think of anything, but later that evening had an idea. So. Back to yesterday...

Despite the rubbish light I did take a handful of shots, for a very specific reason. When the bird had moved from its perch, I found a bit of dead unbellifer stalk, propped it up exactly where the bird had been, and took a photo from my original position. It wasn't perfect, but good enough I think. I then carried my precious, flimsily brittle stick the two miles or so back to Cliff Road in Burton Bradstock, trying not to let the wind snatch it from my grasp (or snap it) as I battled along the raging beach. And this evening I did this...

In-the-field biometrics (patent applied for)

Explanation: On the right is my stick, placed where the bird had been. When I got home I found two identifiable spots on the stick, two corresponding spots on the adjacent herbage, and measured the distance between them. I could then take that measurement back to the photo of the bird, and when I'd drawn some lines approximately where the start and finish of a wing-length mearurement would normally be taken, use my stick-gauge distance as a scale. That's where the figure of 76.8mm comes from.

Discussion: Yes, I know. Super-rough. But, I have been reliably informed that an in-the-hand measurement would likely be a few millimetres longer, because the wing is straightened and flattened against a rule. Also, if the bird is actually not 100% side-on to the camera, that wing will be foreshortened, so again, add a millimetre or two.

According to the definitive 2013 British Birds paper on redpolls, Lesser Redpoll wings measured from 62-77mm, with a mean of 69.5. Meanwhile, Common Redpolls of the Greenland variety (the suspected identity of the Cogden bird) measured between 71 and 85mm, with a mean of 78.4. I rest my case.

To be honest, I'd have been a bit stuffed if the measurement hadn't been favourable. But in the event it merely backs up what seems to have been a concensus view from everyone who has kindly thrown in their two-penn'orth on this bird. It appears to be a Common Redpoll of the Greenland type, Acanthis flammea rostrata. I understand this is a first for Dorset.

PS. Just in case anyone missed it, I did not find this bird; I saw it on its second day.

And this is a prime example of what sometimes happens when the birding is very slow. Out of nowhere comes a fascinating little bird which presents a challenging puzzle. And a bit of quality time is nicely repaid with a satisfying conclusion*. Brilliant.

*I hope.

A Redpoll

Since the last NQS post there have been precious few birdy thrills to write about. Until today...

Honestly, recent efforts have produced almost nothing of note, and I was reduced to the prospect of a questionable 'opinion piece' or something. So imagine my delight when this afternoon's walk at Cogden produced this...

Meadow Pipit. Result!

That Meadow Pipit was just one of SIXTEEN! Amazing!

Seriously though, it was a pleasure to enjoy a bit of sunshine, to have the wind dialled a couple of notches down from 'hoolie', and to find a few things to point the camera at. My target bird recently - a modest and realistic hope I think - is Snow Bunting. There seem to be a few around, and to me the beach here always looks perfect for them. So I walked the length of it. Well, from Cogden to the end of the West Bex Mere field. Naturally it was a Snow Bunting fail. But resting on the shingle was a little flock of gulls, maybe 15 birds. Five were Med Gulls, and eventually I was close enough to see that one wore a white ring. A bit closer...and I tried a photo at full zoom. Would it be readable? It was...

Adult Med Gull - white 3HAP

With binoculars I could see the ring, but absolutely no way could I read it. When the gulls eventually flew I paced out the range. It was 85 yards away. Before they flew I approached as close as I could. They let me get to 45 yards. Still impossible to read through bins. Too much shake. Once again the camera proves its worth. It's indispensable really.

From 45 yards at full 2000mm (equivalent) zoom

However, the star of this afternoon's show was yet to appear. Walking back along the coast path I flushed a small bird from almost beneath my feet. It flitted up into a sallow and looked at me. A Redpoll. Ah. I knew about this bird. It was first seen yesterday, and featured in a few pics on Twitter. Redpolls are far from common down here, and mostly encountered as fly-overs. Birds on the deck are very unusual. I probably don't need more than two hands to count the number of times I've seen Redpoll at close quarters since I've lived in the South West. So I backed off, waited, and enjoyed the performance...

Right, I'll say this now, before the many photos that follow. Probably this was because it was so ridiculously close, but it felt bigger than I would have expected for a Lesser Redpoll. Not that I ever see Lesser Redpolls up close, but still, it didn't strike me as a diddy little thing. There was nothing to compare it to of course, but I was almost tempted to retrieve a stalk it perched on for later measurement. Almost.

Also, it looked rather dark too, especially on the flanks. More so than I would normally associate with Lesser Redpoll. Not that I ever see Lesser Redpolls up close, etc...

Anyway, here are many photos. At times it was so close I could almost have reached out and touched it. And tweaked out a feather or squeezed out a little poo for a nice DNA test. I didn't though...

This amazingly tame Redpoll was easily the highlight of my afternoon. Recent birdy challenges have involved many tricky gulls, the tristis Chiff conundrum, and identifying a White Wagtail in winter. I am now pleased to welcome this Redpoll to the club. I sent these photos to an up-country birder who sees (and rings) a lot of Redpolls. I was told that if it was in Shetland, birders would not think twice about calling it a Northwestern type. I assume that probably means rostrata, or Greenland Redpoll? But it's in West Dorset, and I'm sure Greenland Redpolls don't come to West Dorset.

Ah well, whatever its identity, it was a lot of fun. And after all that, maybe it is just a Lesser Redpoll. But what do I know? Because I never see Lesser Redpolls up close, etc...

Of the Season

The local glut of gulls didn't last long. Two days after the swarming mass documented in the previous post, this was the scene from the West Bay harbour wall...

I can pick out just two birds that might be gulls, both up in the sky. Absolutely nothing over the sea. As an aside, despite all the warning signs and obvious clues that recent rockfalls have occurred, people still poke about right beneath those cliffs. Gives me the willies being anywhere near the base of them!

Still, I enjoyed a nice potter around West Bay on Wednesday afternoon, and eventually came across a small handful of gulls on a damp field. Among the half-a-dozen big ones was an obviously white-headed 1st-winter job. Interesting...

It's the one on the right, partially hidden by the adult Herring Gull

Sadly it came to nothing, and turned out to be just another Herring Gull [At least, I think so! See edit, just below the last gull photo]. I suppose it might have had a little genetic 'influence' from more interesting quarters, but who knows? A few more pics...

In the absence of anything better to do, it was fun to watch this bird and take a few photos. Mind you, I did spend quite a lot of my time thinking 'If only...' and sighing a lot. A West Bay Casp would be jolly nice

[Last-minute edit A good friend who likes gulls a tiny bit has pointed out that much of the plumage (except maybe the strongly marked upper tail/rump and lack of eye mask) fits Yellow-legged Gull. He has a very good point. If it is a YLG then it's a small and annoying one. My gut tells me it isn't though. But my gut has betrayed me often. So. On the off chance that any NQS readers sometimes think 'You know what? I ought to get into this gull watching lark'... Well, yes, if you want your brain fried it's a great idea. Welcome aboard.]

The last couple of days have been dry and pleasant, so I've been catching up with work. Mostly there has been little time for birding. Mostly.

A few minutes before I clocked off yesterday, a WhatsApp message: 2 Whooper Swans on Seaton Marshes. And I was about 200 yards from the entrance! Perfect...

White birds in harsh sunlight I find extremely challenging to photograph, but I'm quite chuffed with the results here. Such magnificent birds. I assume they are a pair. I don't know whether I'm making this up, but one appears to have a slightly more swollen base to the bill, and possibly a thicker neck. The male? Whatever the case, it was a genuine privilege to enjoy these recent arrivals from Iceland at such close quarters.

I finished a bit earlier today, and had a late-afternoon walk at West Bexington. One hundred percent routine fare, except maybe this...

Possibly my final Wheatear of 2021? I think my last one in 2020 was on 17th October. Today's was in almost exactly the same spot. A bit depressing to think I might not see another for five months...

The Opportunist Horde

For a number of days the local coast has been hosting enormous shoals of fish, often very close to the shore. And when I say 'very close', I mean it...

Whitebait on the shingle at West Bexington last Thursday afternoon

The Whitebait shoals are chased by Mackerel shoals, which sometimes push their prey so close to the shore that the panicking tiddlers literally leap out on to the beach. Long, wavy, silver ribbons of fish have recently become an everyday sight along the local strandline. It is a bit of a sad spectacle, but I doubt they go to waste. For one thing, I've seen a couple of enterprising folk scooping them into carrier bags for tea. Also - crucially - this glittering bounty has not gone unnoticed by the Lyme Bay gulls.

I can't remember when I first twigged it, but suddenly I noticed there were small feeding flocks of gulls along the coast, and then last week some quite big ones. It seems the news has travelled, because there are now loads of gulls about. But thus far I haven't managed to find anything of interest among them. The largely calm conditions and blazing sunshine have not helped, with gull flocks hugely mobile, not very approachable, often staying a bit too far out and in unhelpful light. However, today that changed...

We've had a brisk SSW all day, and a lot of rain. Not normally conditions I'd be pleased about, but this afternoon I decided to brave it. During a family social at West Bay yesterday I couldn't help noticing a milling throng of gulls offshore; it looked like Whitebait shoals were still around. So that's where I tried today. And there's a handy shelter at West Bay if the weather is too awful. Which it mainly was.

Uncharacteristically I paid for two hours of seafront parking, but then foolishly went for a walk out on the pier and along the prom, and got soaked. But there were gulls all over the place. Loads of big ones close in, and a constant passage of small ones further out, including a stack of Meds. Retiring to the shelter I decided to count the passing Med Gulls. I got to 100 in just nine minutes! I tried another nine-minute slot a short while later, but only counted 35 this time. I assumed the movement was drying up, so went for another walk, searching for oddities among the big gulls. Apart from a decent but all-too-brief candidate for 1st-winter Yellow-legged Gull, I found nothing but another soaking. Back to the shelter, and another Med Gull count. In 15 to 20 minutes I counted 110, still all going east. Approaching 17:00 the passage had definitely tailed off, but I would guess the total count for my two hours would be in the region of 5-600 or more. Which is pretty staggering!

And I haven't even mentioned the Common Gulls. Certainly a three-figure tally. Or the Gannets. A good number passing, but also a trio of juvs loitering just offshore, shallow-diving continually. They were there for the duration, so presumably finding plenty to eat.

2nd-winter Med Gull

1st-winter Med Gull and a bit of sea

Definitely among the smartest of gull plumages

And finally, a couple of adults. Just lovely.

Nothing rare, nothing scarce even, but boy, what a great time I had! Thousands of gulls, a constant turnover of stuff to look at, and goodness knows what I missed beyond binocular range. Yep, it was a bit special...

A small fraction of the opportunist horde!