Things That Go 'Qwar!' in the Night

A regular morning ritual goes like this...

Kettle on. Bread in toaster. Out to cabin, switch off recorder and plug into laptop. Open night's nocmig file in Audacity. Which takes several minutes to upload, so... Back to kitchen. Make coffee and toast. Return to cabin. Sit. Slurp. Munch. A-a-a-nd...scroll...

I typically have about 30 seconds-worth of nocmig recording on view at any one time, and skip through it in 25-second bites. By now I am used to the barking dogs, the many Herring Gull utterences, and most of the other distractions which once would have had me stopping to check them out. I am looking for blips and squiggles that are out of the ordinary. Objects of interest. Last night's recording began at 22:13, and by 22:26 I'd already got some. This is what they looked like...

Little blips of promise. Always a buzz.

So of course I listened to them. The first one or two reminded me very slightly of the partial Nightjar call I had a while back, and my initial thought was how ridiculous to bag three Nightjars in my first few weeks of nocmigging. Ha! I had no idea!

As it went on I quickly realised this was not a Nightjar, but was obviously something new to me. Though I had no idea what. I belong to a very helpful WhatsApp group of nocmiggers, and there was a temptation to just post the recording and ask for help. But this is the lazy way. Ideally you do a bit of research first, see what you can find. Opening Xeno Canto, the amazing online library of bird sounds, I had no clue what species to check first, so just asked myself what kind of bird I thought it might be. It was audible for well over a minute, so I guessed something slow. Quite a low-pitched call, so... Well, I didn't mess about with trivia. Let's try Little Bittern. Why not? Total crazy-ambitious guess, but you never know...

Okay. It clearly wasn't Little Bittern. But that made me think of Night Heron. Just as stupidly optimistic, but within seconds I realised I might actually be on to something. Lots of 'nocturnal flight call' examples to choose from, and as I played one after another I couldn't help thinking the unthinkable. The resemblance was obvious, especially the more distant birds. So I clipped out my recording, took a couple of spectrogram screenshots and posted it all on the WhatsApp group, along with my suspicions.

The feedback was brilliant, and very constructive. Along with some encouraging comments was a note of caution though: beware Little Egret. I was directed to a page on the Sound Approach website, an in-depth treatise on various herons, including Night Heron and Little Egret. However, in order to take full advantage of this resource I needed to turn my spectrogram blips into something I could look at a bit more analytically. So I did. Here are nine of those blips, stretched and compressed so that they match the scale of the Sound Approach examples...

Ready for forensic analysis. Timed left to right, top to bottom.

They don't look much, do they? However, in the Sound Approach article is a helpful example of several Night Heron calls, and an accompanying image which highlights a characteristic feature of the species' spectrogram trace...

Note the annotations re 'steps' in the trace (from Sound Approach article as linked in text above)

There was no getting away from it - my bird matched extremely well...

The call note 49 seconds in. Inset: Sound Approach image as above, to same scale.

A few of those nine calls pictured above have elements of that step, and this was enough to have me mentally punching the air. Get in!! Night Heron over Bridport!

But before I got all whoop-de-doo I posted it all on the WhatsApp group for comments. I got a unanimous thumbs-up. And to lay any doubt to rest, the Little Egret concern had also been dealt with by the Sound Approach article...

These look very different to what my recording shows (from same Sound Approach article)

So here is the original, unedited recording in full...

I had already planned a post for today, but it's been blown out of the water a bit. Needs must. Anyway, it's true that the nocmig has been rather slow lately, and I've almost been tempted not to bother once or twice. But things keep happening to encourage me to continue. An absolutely blistering Water Rail a few days ago, a super-loud Moorhen, lovely little prizes like that...so I've just kept plugging away. Boy oh boy, am I glad I didn't stop...

Birding in the 2020s

In the September 1984 edition of British Birds was a paper entitled 'Field Identification of Blyth's Reed Warbler', in which you will find this fascinating sentence...

'Up to the end of 1982, there were only 11 or 12 accepted records of Blyth's Reed for Britain and Ireland - Shetland in 1910, seven or eight in 1912, one in 1928, one (Cape Clear Island, Co. Cork) in 1969 and one (in Yorkshire) in 1975 - and we respectfully suggest that examination of some of these is warrented.'

So, when this paper was being written, less than 40 years ago, there had been just the one acceptable British record in the preceding five decades, and in 2020 I can tell you that even that 1975 bird didn't survive the respectfully suggested 'examination'. I have an unhappy recollection from 1984. Some of my birdy mates twitched Spurn for a Thrush Nightingale on May 28th, and jammed in on a Blyth's Reed, freshly trapped and in the hand. That one was accepted. I was very envious. A mythical bird back then...

Compare that to now. The BBRC (British Birds Rarities Committee) removed the species from its list in 2015 I think, and according to the BBRC statistics (which anyone can access here) there was a peak of 28 acceptable records in 2014. In other words, Blyth's Reed Warbler has gone from mega-rarity to scarce migrant in just a few years.

Of course, I could have used umpteen other examples to illustrate how birding has changed in 40 years, but Blyth's Reed is particularly appropriate for a couple of reasons. One, it is very topical! And two, technology. Perhaps that latter reason has been done to death recently, so forgive me for...er...resurrecting it, but I just wanted to offer some food for thought.

In 1982 I went birding with so-so optics and a notebook, plus a few 10-pence coins in case of the need to phone out news. In 2020 my optics are a bit better, but not fundamentally different to 1982 kit. So no great change there. Of course, a stock of 10p coins is just so much ballast these days, so I don't have them any more. Also, I no longer carry a notebook, and by far the biggest and most profound change in my 2020s approach to birding involves what has replaced it...

In the old days my notebook was where I wrote down the date, the location, the species I saw, and counts. Also - in the event of good fortune - descriptions of scarce or rare birds, and the occasional little sketch. To be honest, if I was less lazy and always had a spare pocket (I really hate having over-stuffed pockets) I would carry a notebook today. But there it is. I don't.

Instead of a notebook I now carry a smartphone...and this...

2020 birding kit, NQS style. Add smartphone and optics. Go outdoors. Done.

Imagine this scenario...

The year is 1982. On 31st May a local birder traipses out on to Beer Head and comes across a hidden, singing bird which he cannot put a name to. It's obviously not a Reed Warbler, but it sounds vaguely similar to a Marsh Warbler he saw recently. And that's about as far as his experience will get him...

In 1982 there are no smartphones. There is no internet. There is no handy resource stuffed with countless recordings of Marsh and Blyth's Reed for the conscientious birder to compare and gen up on in advance, or to call upon in an hour of need. He'll have to phone a friend. He whips out a 10p and heads for the nearest public phone. [Perhaps Kev Hale will know where that would have been in 1982, but I'll bet it wasn't close by!] There are several telephone numbers written in his notebook, and he starts with the most local. The first eight are out, but finally he gets through to a mate in Exmouth, who promises to come over as soon as he can. His mate also saw the recent - very showy - Marsh Warbler, and isn't all that enthused at the prospect of a skulky one on Beer Head. Still, when a friend calls... So, he travels over to Beer Head and joins his buddy. Neither of them has a camera. Obviously. Photography is a specialist's game, with all that megabucks kit. Recording gear? If either of them owned a portable cassette recorder there is a slim chance they might have had the initiative to bring it. But why would they? What's the alternative to Marsh Warbler? Blyth's Reed? Ha ha! Yeah, right. Like that's going to happen! Blyth's Reeds are impossible aren't they? Unless maybe you trapped it, saw it in the hand. Anyway, enough fantasising. They sit on the grass and listen to the bird singing, and they get very bad, brief, subliminal views. As the shadows lengthen and the bird withdraws and goes quiet, they scratch their heads and look at one another.

"It didn't really look or sound quite like that Marsh Warbler the other day, did it?"
"No."
"Hmmm...."

And so Devon's first Blyth's Reed Warbler slips effortlessly through the net.

Which illustrates why I now feel naked without a camera. And why a digital recorder has joined it and become an essential accessory.

Re the notebook: I do have pangs of nostalgia, almost guilt in fact. But I sometimes make notes of counts and whatnot on my phone, and though I haven't yet felt the need to do this, if necessary I could record a spoken description.

That 1982 scenario is not exaggerated in any way. I reckon that is pretty much how it would have been. In 2020 the bird was nailed with relative ease, despite a measure of controversy initially. With digital cameras and recording kit you can be as forensic as you need to be. You want to see emarginations on p3 and p4? Done. You want to see a sonogram? Done. Gearing up for this level of forensic ability is relatively inexpensive, and I am jolly glad I've done so. It has added immeasurably to my enjoyment.

The hairy monster. Some birders might be tempted to give it a name, but that would be silly...

Having the facility to relive a good bird visually, and now audibly, on a computer screen, tablet or phone, is a modern-day development I am glad to have taken advantage of. Is it necessary? To me, right now, yes. But of course that's a question for each to weigh up for themselves. One could argue that a camera in video mode negates the need for a recorder, but a camera in video mode is not available for photos. On Sunday afternoon I could lay this furry beast on the grass in front of me and forget about it; I know the batteries are good for a few hours of recording. Meanwhile the camera is to hand for photos, or even video if I prefer. Incidentally, the 'dead cat' wind-shield is vital. I accidentally left it off for a few minutes initially, and the gentle breeze is deafening!

To my mind, the Beer Head Blyth's Reed has fully vindicated my decision to 'move with the times' a bit. Not everything 2020 is good, by any means, but the birding kit is amazing...

Blyth's Reed Warbler

On my old Seaton Area patch, Kev Hale has been conscientiously plugging away at Beer Head all spring, with little reward. Yesterday though, it paid off big time. Mid-morning, Kev posted a short video clip on the Patch WhatsApp group. An invisible bird singing away merrily, and a 'most likely Blyth's' label...

In a UK context, it is probably fair to say that Reed Warbler, Marsh Warbler and Blyth's Reed Warbler comprise one of the trickiest sets of confusing Little Brown Jobs going. In autumn, especially so. However, a spring bird in song shouldn't present too much of a challenge, should it? Even if you can't see the bird, the song surely is diagnostic...isn't it? Well, in answer to those questions, see Steve Waite's excellent post about the whole affair here.

Just before midday I was finally in a position to do something about the gen I'd received, and at this stage the bird was still an almost-certain Blyth's Reed Warbler. I'm not a great twitcher, but the...er...force was strong with this one. First off, Blyth's would be a lifer. Second, it sounded like I might learn something useful. Third, views had thus far been subliminal, and clearly the bird was not giving itself up easily, so there was the tempting appeal of a challenge. Fourth, it was on Beer Head, and Beer Head is still one of my favourite birding spots of all time. So that was four really good reasons to crack. And I'm not made of stone...

Upon arrival I met Kev heading off for lunch. News was not great. Yes, the bird was still there, and still singing, but opinions on its ID were now divided. A strong and knowledgable contingent believed the song to be consistent with Marsh Warbler, not Blyth's Reed. Ah. Right. Still, Marsh Warbler would be a brilliant local bird, a brilliant county bird even. And it still had not been seen well, or photographed. So I pressed on, slightly less excited, but keen to get involved even so.

There were four birders present, and a few more joined us. It was great to catch up with some I hadn't seen in a while. I got about 15 minutes of decent-ish recording and barely a glimpse of the bird, let alone a photo. Nevertheless, you could hear it, you could hear it very clearly. And some of us (me included) were swayed into joining the Marsh Warbler camp. But all too soon it went quiet, evidently shutting down in the afternoon heat. I decided to throw in the towel also, and come back in the evening.

Back home I played my recording, and compared it to umpteen Marsh and Blyth's Reed Warblers on Xeno Canto. And it wasn't long before I was back in the Blyth's camp.

Fast-forward to 18:33, and the view as I emerge from the Beer Head sheepwalk and head for the vast crowd of twitchers...

There might be more delightful spots to sit on the grass and wait for a bird to perform, but not many.

At this stage the bird was still definitely a Marsh Warbler and definitely a Blyth's Reed, depending which trench you had helped dig. I now felt pretty sure it was a Blyth's, but beyond photos and recordings my experience of the species is nil. I was here to learn, and hopefully to collect evidence. The bird was already singing again, so I switched on my recorder and laid it on the ground in front of me.

The sun was now full on the hedge in which the bird skulked. Perfect. If it showed, the light would be terrific for photos.

Well, it did show. Several times. Very, very, very briefly. Very, very, very minimally. And very, very, very annoyingly. But I was absolutely determined to photograph this thing if at all possible, and got my first chance at 18:57. I managed two bursts, but the results were dismal. Next chance, 19:14. One burst, and I got the wing, the actual wing! Primaries, secondaries, tertials, the lot! Wow!! Here you go, this is what I was so excited about...

Yep, I was really chuffed with these. Birding's a funny game, isn't it?

These photos were enough to reinforce my belief that the bird was a Blyth's Reed and not a Marsh Warbler. But could I say so unequivocally? And pehaps more importantly, could I say why? Well, I'll save that for another post...

Not long after this, the bird went quiet. Which surprised me. I was expecting it to get going full throttle as the evening wore one, but it did the opposite. The five of us sat there for ages as the shadows got longer and longer, and there was neither sight nor sound. I packed away my recorder, my camera, and assumed that was that. Then, out of the blue, there it was, in full view at the base of the hedge, cavorting shamelessly. On the deck in fact, doing the full 'banana' posture and everything, calling loudly, fully aware that cameras had been powered down and stowed. By the time I'd fumbled mine back out it was up in the hedge again and partially hidden, but three quick bursts between 20:11 and 20:12 gave me these...

All the photos have been edited so as to remove some of the excessive 'warmth' imparted by the evening sun. Hopefully they more accurately represent the bird's true appearance. Anyway, it seemed somehow appropriate that this mega-skulker had made us wait until virtually last knockings before giving us a load of clinching material. And clinching it was I think. But yes, I'll milk at least one more post out of this absolute gem of a bird. One of the most enjoyable ID challenges I've ever been involved with, and a fantastic way to end the spring.

And here is 3 minutes of the superb Beer Head Blyth's to close with... 

All or Nothing

I've done a fair old bit of birding these past couple of days. Yesterday there was an early jaunt to the coast before work, plus a stroll round some of my old Seaton patch afterwards, and today an afternoon/evening visit to West Bexington. Here is an illustrated summary...

Mute Swans heading for Abbotsbury, and a free meal.

Canada Goose at West Bex, proving that the Nikon P900 can do flight shots

Long-range Avocets at Black Hole Marsh, also some lovely heat haze.

Brown Trout in Stafford Brook at the Seaton Wetlands. First one I've seen there.

Swallow at Colyford Common.

The two Avocets at Black Hole Marsh were by far the 'best' birds in what must be 15 miles of walking and birding. A few Swifts and Swallows were the only noticeable migrants. This afternoon I scanned two-hundred and twelve thousand metres of hedge for my top wish-list bird, Woodchat Shrike. None of it held one. Every twenty paces I stopped and listened for rogue Acrocephalus warblers of the Marsh and Blyth's Reed kind. None obliged. A million acres of sky have been scoured ferociously for vagrant raptors. Again, none. Nothing...

Which is how it is in almost-June. All or nothing. Normally the latter.

On the garden front it has likewise been mainly slow. Since a superb Little Grebe three nights ago the nocmig has consisted of just the local Barn Owl(s) and occasional blood-curdling Fox. The only reliable bit of excellence has been provided by Red Kites on an almost daily basis, plus another Hobby on 26th. Four Red Kites together that same afternoon was very nice...

Even as tiny silhouettes, Red Kites are now instantly identifiable.

One afternoon we had a human drifting east, and then slowly back west again...

That's basically an office fan strapped to his back, right? Perhaps I'm getting old and unadventurous, but, why? Why would you do that??

Also in the garden, the very excellent Lesser Stag Beetle.

Is that it then? Is the birding over until autumn? Is NQS now going down the spurious plants/insects route to which some resort in times of birdy direness? Or am I going to get the fishing rods out? Or the bike...or running shoes? Or the caulking gun? Well, who knows? At this stage I honestly have no idea. What I can say is that I have no intention of giving up on the birding just yet. Despite the all-or-nothing feel to it, I am hopeful. There are still a few real crackers turning up, the weather is good, the wind is in the east...and Rosy Starlings are apparently on their way. Let them come!

Golden O

Golden Oriole is a bird I have always wanted to jam into along this coast somewhere, and this morning I did. It was not a surprise, yet it was a massive surprise, if you get what I mean. I would imagine that most birders head out with a mental wish-list, based on time of year, what's been about lately and so on. I certainly do. And when you get home with your wish-list pristine and unfulfilled, you sigh at the depressingly inevitable, and tuck it away for another day...

Golden Oriole was very much on my wish-list this morning. Chris Townend had one near Budleigh Salterton yesterday, there was another at the far end of Cornwall, and no doubt others I didn't hear about. It's the right time of year, the weather could hardly be more helpful, and a few have evidently crossed the Channel just lately. So, not a surprise.

But getting something that's on the wish-list so rarely happens. I mean, almost never. So yes, also a massive surprise!

Whenever I visit this bit of coast early in the morning I like to do the return leg along the beach with the sun behind me, which means the outward leg I normally go inland a bit. Today though, I went a lot further inland than normal, my intention being to give myself a nice panoramic view down to the sea (so as to pick up male Pallid Harriers more effectively) and to listen for Cuckoo and Golden Oriole. Yes, my wish-list is odd...

All was going to plan, when I suddenly got distracted by flowers. For some reason I found myself hunting for orchids. It began when I spotted a tiny purple thing while scanning a rough field for birds. More about that later, but suffice to say it held me up. Then I found a permissive path I'd never been along, and took it. Then a singing Yellowhammer along a hedgerow I have only passed once before made me spend a few minutes trying to get a photo...

What I'm trying to say is that I ended up in a spot I never visit, at a time when I would normally have been well into the return leg along the beach. Pure chance.

I had just put my camera away, and stood there surveying the lovely view to the sea. Starting down the slope I was suddenly aware of a thrush-sized bird flying from left to right. Even my naked eye could see it had bright, yellowy-green bits, and instantly I knew what it was. Bins up, rapidly. 'Oh, wow!' out loud as usual. Not a bright yellow male, but ridiculously colourful even so. I briefly contemplated getting the camera out and trying for a record shot, but realised it would be a speck by the time I was ready, and that I would probably lose it too. Better to try and make out if it lands. The oriole flew a long way west, and was eventually so low that it went over a hedge line and out of view. I figured it could well have come down somewhere east of the Cogden Beach car park. Mike and Alan were both able to come and have a look, but we couldn't relocate it.

I don't find rare or scarce birds very often, but whenever I do it frequently strikes me how random the whole thing is. With the exception of Caspian Gulls, which I specifically look for with some care and effort, almost everything else I ever find is totally out of the blue. Brilliant!

So. Flowers...

The tiny purple thing was a nice, fresh Pyramidal Orchid. There were several...

Pyramidal Orchid

Scanning around further I spied a few larger, more flambouyant orchids. I recall Karen Woolley (of Wild Wings and Wanderings fame) introducing this species to me, on Goat Island along the Axmouth to Lyme Regis undercliff reserve...

Greater Butterfly Orchid

To be honest I found myself quite captivated by these lovely plants. Orchids really are very impressive, and to encounter them so unexpectedly was a real treat. In the past I have no doubt walked within a few feet of them without noticing they were there. But now that I am aware of their presence...well...

Glancing left and right I realised just how much flora there is here. I can put a name to almost none of it, but that didn't stop me looking. And by complete fluke my eyes came to rest upon this little stunner...

Bee Orchid

Just look at that!

I have seen Bee Orchid before, so knew what it was. But I am simply amazed that I was fortunate enough to spot it, because it certainly wasn't obvious...

The Yellowhammer that held me up

Troops. Advance party on reconnaissance mission

Reinforcements approaching...

And finally I turned for home. It was the first time for ages that I haven't seen any Wheatears at all, but I am not complaining.

En route I pass through this NT car park at Hive Beach, Burton Bradstock. Already, at around 09:00 on a weekday it was filling steadily. I was very, very glad to be heading in the opposite direction...

Picture Post

This morning I was out early. A short drive to a quiet coastal parking spot, and by 05:20 I was birding. It was chilly in the offshore wind and my naked knees weren't happy, but soon enough the sun was up, the breeze a mere sigh, and my old-man's wrinkly parchment knee-skin warm and content...

By 08:00 I was nearly back at the car. The route takes me through a large National Trust car park. Already it was scuttling with life. One 'family' of five had pulled up on a grassy area, arranged a picnic table and chairs next to their van and were firing up a large barbecue of the non-disposable kind. As I drove away from the coast I resolved not to go anywhere near it for the rest of the day.

Now for lots of photos. Apologies in advance for the lack of expertise attached to some of the later ones; I have delved into areas where my knowledge is scanty...

It was great to see a pair of Common Scoter close enough to photograph

The beach flora is bursting with seeds right now, a bounty which many species know how to harvest. But I think it's the first time I've encountered Bullfinches doing so. Normally they are mega-shy and you can't get anywhere near them, but perhaps the seeds of whatever plant this is are slightly intoxicating and they thought I was their best mate..

An awful lot of fluff per seed.

Next I chanced upon a Wheatear. I've seen a female Wheatear in almost the exact same spot the last three times I've walked past it. If I hadn't taken photos of all three I could easily have been persuaded that it was the same bird each time. But no, different birds.

A Linnet, just because. Another seedoholic.

Whatever a Raven perches upon immediately looks rather petite, like these dinky little signs.

A terrified young Raven avoids detection by crouching invisibly in the long grass

A gorgeous male Wheatear in an absolutely perfect setting. Makes me want to weep with joy.

Mrs NQS and I fancied a lunchtime walk, so later in the morning I had a look online for any local nature reserves which might be sufficiently off the beaten track to avoid the bank holiday horrors. I found one which looked promising. In the info blurb it said: 'If you are lucky you may find the rare Marsh Fritillary.' That sounded good. The only Marsh Fritillaries I've seen previously were in a meadow just E of Axe Cliff, on the old Seaton patch, and they were understood to have been released, not wild. So off we went...

Okay, now we are sailing into tricky waters. Plants and invertebrates. At least I know these are orchids. Orchids which had spotted leaves. And that's about the extent of my plant skill...

Pale pinky-mauve orchid sp.

White version of the above, I'm guessing...

The orchids were very difficult to photograph satisfactorily in the harsh sunlight, and while I was faffing with the camera a couple of butterflies sneaked up and landed nearby. One was a Small Heath, but the other was this beauty...

A very lovely Marsh Fritillary, on a baby orchid sp.

Nearby were a load of webs of the funnel type, and lurking at the entrance of one was this magnificent spider. Obviously I have no idea what it is, but I cannot deny it has presence...

Meanwhile Mrs NQS was pointing her phone's camera at a day-flying moth. It never settled well enough for me to get a shot, so here is the phone pic. Despite it being a moth I've not knowingly seen before, I did actually know what it was...

Mother Shipton. Habitat context shot.

Well, I have just confirmed the power of Google. If, like me, you are an entomological ignoramus, just type in the first thing that comes to mind when you look at the creature you're trying to ID. Like this...

Now I can caption my photo like a person who knows things...

Swollen-thighed Beetle oedemera nobilis (male, obviously)

Slightly darker purply orchid sp. Somehow I felt it was different to the one[s] above. Probably wrong though.

Another gorgeous Marsh Fritillary, seen later.

...and just a hint of the beautifully marked underwing.

Dear reader, all too rapidly we are sliding into June, and in the absence of some kind of happy diversion the gradual drying-up of birdy action might see us being sucked into DIY country, or worse. Today's dalliance with other aspects of our wonderful natural world was just a toe in the water really. I would like some sunny-weather options for the next few weeks, and it is very nice to discover such a pleasant spot just down the road. And I don't think it will be the only one...

I am quite keen on the idea of distractions right now. I am too long in the tooth to be surprised, shocked, outraged (or any other wide-eyed response) when it is revealed that a polititian (of any stripe) has lied, been hypocritical, or done just about any self-serving dastardly deed you care to name. In my relatively brief experience of life it has always been so. Disappointing but inevitable. More reliable are the birds, the fish, the plants and creeping things that I cannot name, the nice cold beer and stinky cheese...

And that's probably about as close as I'll ever get to a political comment on this blog.

I'll close with this, a short burst of Garden Warbler from this afternoon. At least, I hope it's a Garden Warbler! It's such a long time since I last heard one, and I now know how rubbish I am at bird sounds...

PS. If any kind soul can put a name to the orchids or spider, that would be terrific.

The Sea by Day, the Sky at Night

Today I'll begin with a photo...

The feet of a desperate man.

Taken yesterday evening on the coast near me, the photo depicts a saddo in boots.The bloke is so desperate for a skua that he is willing to try seawatching even in a poxy south-westerly. In this corner of Lyme Bay your average spring skua heads E, intent upon showing nicely for the clients at Chesil Cove and Portland Bill. Not every single one, but almost. So, in a nice SE wind they plod into it manfully, relatively slowly, and sideways on. Lovely. However, in a SW wind they zip past like a leaf in a gale, shearing madly, and every which way but sideways. Not lovely. So when a distant pale phase skua hurtled by at 18:02, the poor sap stood no chance. Could have been a Pom. Could have been an Arctic. Who knows? In compensation a Bonxie had bucked the trend and gone W, slowly, twenty-five minutes earlier.

Basically our hapless hero has been seawatch-starved since March, and was willing to give it a go in any conditions frankly. He'd already been in action at 05:20 that morning, and ditto today, notching up another Bonxie at 05:55. Over the three sessions, this is some of the tally...

Bonxie 2
Annoying unidentified skua sp 1
Balearic Shearwater 1
Manx Shearwater 171
Common Scoter 31
Turnstone 2
Sanderling 8
Great Northern Diver 4
Shag 1
Kittiwake 10
Med Gull 3

At times it was quite busy, with lots of Gannets and auks and things, but most were flying E, with the wind, and far, far too quickly. Strangely unsatisfying.

Anyway, that is probably it as far as the spring seawatching season goes. On the plus side: three skuas and a Balearic, and my scope still works. On the minus side: two months.

Finally, I must share a couple of nocmig videos from two nights ago. Just tiny little squiggles on the spectrogram - in one case really tiny - but again, wow! Especially the first one here...

Yes, that is a Sandwich Tern. A Sandwich Tern flying past my microphone located in a little Bridport bungalow estate some three miles from the sea. I suppose the novelty will eventually wear off, but I hope not too soon - some of these nocmig birds still make me laugh out loud!

And here's the other one. It's rather quiet, but unmistakeable...

And that is a Redshank. I did see a couple of Redshanks on a partially flooded meadow in West Bay back in March, but as far as I know they are definitely not a common local bird. Yet another wader makes my garden's list of grippers!