The 'P' Word

I reckon I'd be on pretty safe ground if I suggested that skuas are at the top of most south-coast seawatchers' wanted list. Especially Poms. There is something deeply appealing about Pomarine Skuas, especially spring adults. They are dark, majestic bruisers. And their amazing spoon-shaped central tail feathers have a ludicrous but slightly sinister air, like the decorous trappings of some dandified pirate. Factor in their scarcity and you have an irresistible combo.

I didn't see a single Pom last year, so have been rather keen for one this spring. So far it has not been a 'Pom year' in this neck of the woods, in fact skuas in general have been quite thin on the ground. My tally thus far was just 3 Arctic Skuas, all evening birds. So this morning I traipsed out once more to watch the sea, hoping for a Pom.

From 06:00 to 08:00 was the slot I had earmarked. Two hours. The West Bay shelter seemed like a good shout in the conditions, so I sat myself down and took a deep breath...

At 06:23 a Bonxie went east, reasonably close. My first of the year, and a fine start. Just six minutes later I picked up another skua with my bins, obviously a light-phase Pom or Arctic. It was a lovely Arctic, and the second skua in just a few minutes. Promising! By the time my two hours were up, 52 Kittiwakes had passed in little parties, also a flock of 10 Common Scoters, a couple of Manxies and two rather late dark-bellied Brents. Nice, but not hectic. I kept checking my watch and willing the sea to cough up another skua, but time ticked away...

I was almost down to my last ten minutes when a very distant dark shape casually sheared up above the horizon. It was well off to my right, and tiny through the scope. Zooming up I could see it was going to be a Pom or Arctic, but the range was too great to say either way. My suspicion was Pom. It just had a beefy but relaxed kind of vibe. Sure enough, as it came closer I could see the tell-tale spoons. It was indeed a stonking Pom! Because I had picked it up so early I got maximum value. The bird seemed to take ages to pass, but probably it was only a minute or two. I punted out a quick text message and hoped the Pom would get picked up further east.

It did...

The Pom goes past West Bexington. Not close, but who cares? It's a Pom pic! (courtesy Mike Morse)

May Lovelies

Yesterday I suffered the tiresome side-effects of my second coronavirus jab. I felt increasingly rough all evening, and spent a sleep-deprived night aching all over. After lunch today I was almost back to normal, so went to Cogden for a spell of convalescence. More of that in a minute. First though, waders...

Despite feeling so grim yesterday evening I still made sure to get outside and fire up the nocmig kit. I knew there had been a lot of coastal wader movement during the day, and had a hunch that a few might fly over Bridport during the hours of darkness. To be honest I am always chuffed to record any waders at all, and just two or three would make for a pleasing night. I don't count individual calls; I count 'events'. In other words, a passing bird (or multiple birds) is counted as one occurence, whether there is a single call or many. Last night, Ringed Plover and Common Sandpiper occured once each, Oystercatcher and Whimbrel twice, and Dunlin a staggering 40 times, including at least two or more flocks! It sounded like Dunlin were basically passing through all night long. Here is a nice, loud example...

It is fascinating to think of all those birds making their overland sorties at night, and I would love to know how many are involved. I'm sure I caught only a fraction of what went over Bridport, but locally it will no doubt have been hundreds of birds in total, at the very least. Brilliant!

At Cogden this afternoon I mainly kept away from the beach, sticking almost entirely to inland hedgerows. So I didn't see the Tawny Pipit. But I did see my first Spotted Flycatcher of the year. In fact I saw my first eight!

Spotted Flycatcher

Sharing one particular hedgerow with 5 Spotted Flycatchers was a female Redstart. Typically shy, even a record shot was a challenge...

Female Redstart, lots of greenery.

A little later I was delighted to come across two male Whinchats together in one field. Easily the best views I've had this year, so I wasted no time in trying for a record shot...

Male Whinchat. Chat-wise, up there with the loveliest.

And then one of them came a bit closer...

I was all pleased with myself, getting a few decent snaps of such a little stunner, when the second bird suddenly appeared in the frame. And, miracle of miracles, it was so close to bird #1 that it was basically in focus...

Despite how it looks, they are not stacked!

So, there we go. Spring migration really producing the goods just now, with waders galore and a flurry of nice passerines. It just remains for the sea to do its bit, and give me some Pom Skuas. Two Poms passed West Bay this evening, while my gob was full of dinner. Ever the optimist, I popped out for a quick post-prandial seawatch at Burton Bradstock. Within three minutes a lovely Arctic Skua went past, and my hopes were massively raised. But apart from 7 Common Scoters, 2 Kittiwakes, 15 Manxies and a trickle of Gannets, that was it.

Ah well. There is time yet...

A Few Migrants

It was beautiful first thing. A cloudless sky, the lightest breeze and at least three or four degrees above zero. A few birds were up and about at Cogden. Four Sanderlings flew W, led by a Turnstone, and evidently some migrants had just arrived, including 11 Wheatears and a Whinchat. Cue the first tenth-rate Whinchat photo...

Whinchat, with adoring Wheatear. It was miles away, and I reckon the camera did pretty well to get anything really.

Against all the odds (clear night, wide-open door to virtually anywhere else) the Tawny Pipit was still on the beach, so there was a steady trickle of admirers. As yesterday, it was wary and unapproachable, perhaps even more so. I didn't bother trying to get any rubbish photos, mainly because a striking Wheatear begged a bit of attention...

A large and rusty Wheatear decorating the sea kale.

 

Late afternoon I tried West Bexington, and within 15 minutes or less had bagged a female Redstart, two Wheatears and another Whinchat. This was going to be good, I thought. Wrong. More accurately, the first 15 minutes had been good. I saw absolutely nothing else worthy of note.

For some stupid reason I decided to try an evening seawatch at Cogden. I lasted 45 minutes. For that precious fragment of conscious existence I was paid 5 Kittiwakes. And not one at a time, so as to eke out the excitement. No. All at once.

Cruel.

So I wandered over to join the happy band of Tawny Pipit watchers, and actually used my scope for something other than seawatching - a rare event nowadays.

Heat-haze is a weird thing. Bird photos take on this curious frosted-glass effect, where some bits are borderline in-focus while others are very much not. The West Bex Redstart was too quick for me and I didn't manage any pics at all. However, the Whinchat was in an open field. Distant. Horrible heat-haze. Perfect...

Whinchat blob thing.

Not quite sure why I bother with these rather hopeless photographic situations, but I do seem to have some strange need for record shots of anything vaguely decent.

Over at Cogden later, despite the hour and the extensive cloud cover, heat-haze was still an issue. I took a few long-range shots of the Tawny Pipit, but almost all of them were bin jobs. This one is passable...

Teeny Tiny Tawny Pipit and some amazingly blurry shingle.

It's been a pretty excellent spring so far, but I still have some personal gaps to fill. Like Hobby, Grasshopper Warbler, Pied Flycatcher and Pom. Hobby will come I'm sure, but I may have missed the boat with Gropper and Pied Fly. Pom Skua though...well, prime time approacheth. I foresee some highly focused seawatching, starting tomorrow I expect...

Tawny Pipit, still showing well.

Tawny Pipit

It's not often that I go out birding and genuinely expect nothing, but that was certainly the case this morning. With rain over northern France and the Channel I was pretty sure that no amount of migratory urge would be enough to overcome that barrier. And so it proved. Cogden was dead. Just before I left at 07:30 a handful of Swallows trickled by - grudgingly - and that was it.

However, with the rain band forecast to shift away after lunch I planned a late afternoon walk from West Bex, culminating in wonderful views of the Abbotsbury Whiskered Tern from the tank teeth, beautifully lit by the evening sun. I also hoped to bump into some lovely afternoon migrants. Well, that part happened, but not quite how I'd envisaged...

Because Nick Senior only went and found a Tawny Pipit on Cogden beach!

Just after 15:00 I arrived to find Nick and Mike scanning one of the fields. The bird had seemingly flitted off the beach and over the reed bed, possibly into this field. We couldn't find it, and began to wonder if it might have sneaked back on to the beach. Thankfully, it had!

First views. What a cracker!

Really strong face pattern. Nice dark loral stripe. I was really surprised by the lovely creamy-yellow tones to the face and on the upper breast. Mind you, it is more than 30 years since I last saw a spring Tawny Pipit!

Very little in the way of breast streaking, and the dark loral stripe is so obvious from this angle.

The dark median coverts stand out well in this side view. The bird was shy and mostly quite distant, and often very difficult to see when stationary. In this shot you can see why. It kind of blends in...

One by one, a small number of appreciative birders began to arrive, but it was often a challenge to get good views. Periodically - and without any encouragement from its audience - the bird would fly up the beach to a new spot. Sometimes it would stand stock-still for a minute or more, other times it would run like a little gazelle. It was brilliant! But tricky!

This is my one and only flight shot. So, dire as it is, you're getting it!

A rare sight indeed. More than three birders on Cogden beach.

I haven't seen a Tawny Pipit for many years. My only spring bird graced the grassy bank of King George VI Res in West London, and I think that was 1990. My first ever was in September 1982, a bird co-found with Geoff Burton and Martin Coath at Kenfig, Mid-Glamorgan. What were we doing in Wales? Dipping Little Whimbrel, that's what. We were in good company though - Bill Oddie was a tick that day too...

It was lovely to share in this terrific local bird, and Nick's delight at finding it was palpable. For me, this is what local birding is all about. The miles and miles of shingly slog, the countless 'what-ifs' that your imagination conjures on slow days, the nice - and sometimes very nice - birds that give you pleasure along the way, are all leading to moments like this one. And such moments are inevitable. They really are.

Beach scenes at Cogden

In Search of Meaning

I was always pretty bad at twitching. I certainly never had the patience for it. A few times I can remember having to queue for a bird, and absolutely hating it. In this regard a Pine Bunting near Newcastle and Rüppells Warbler in Norfolk come instantly to mind, not so much because of the birds, rather the immense tedium. And if a bird wasn't on view straight away I would lose interest very quickly. And what about those times when nobody knew if the bird was actually still around? Not showing, and possibly not even present, was the worst scenario possible. Much worse than definitely not present, ie, gone. At least then you could get on and do some proper birding.

To be fair, I was never part of the 'scene'. Arriving at a twitch I would invariably know hardly anyone present. Glancing around the crowd of hopefuls for a familiar face, I would marvel at their seeming nonchalence in the face of a no-show, their ability to chat with mates - or stand mute - indefinitely, it seemed. If I lasted half an hour without screaming, I was doing well. Any travelling companions would soon be chivvied with suggestions about what we could be doing instead...

Well, that's how I recall it anyway. In reality I'm sure I often waited interminably for a bird to show - or not - but those occasions have been mercifully deleted from my memory.

Why was I such a bad twitcher? I'm not really sure, but I suspect the answer is connected with a bird's 'meaning'. For example, the last time I got seriously fired up about twitching a bird was the Axe Estuary American Herring Gull in February 2020. For several reasons that bird meant a very great deal to me. The vast majority of stuff - even in my twitching heyday - held little meaning beyond a tick in a box. Which brings me to today...

I was hopeful, but not confident, that seawatching might pay off. I didn't think an early start was necessary though, and went through the night's nocmig first. My loudest, clearest Whimbrel yet and a flock of Dunlin were the highlights. Nice. In the event the seawatching was poor. From 07:45 to 09:00 produced a summer-plumaged Great Northern Diver on the sea, 5 Common Scoter and not much else. Time for a long walk then.

I knew that yesterday's Abbotsbury Whiskered Tern was still present, and in the absence of lively seawatching thought, 'Why not?' I parked up at West Bex and walked from there. En route I bumped into Mike, who informed me that the tern had flown off down the Fleet towards Rodden Hive. From West Bex to the Abbotsbury Beach tank teeth takes well over an hour. Perhaps the bird will be back by the time I get there? I wasn't particularly bothered either way, because Whiskered Tern was just an excuse for a lovely coastal walk.

Arriving at the tank teeth, two things. One: no bird. Body language from the small group of birders present made that very obvious. Two: rubbish light. I had guessed it wouldn't be great, and it wasn't. I sat down on one of the concrete blocks, gave it about 15 minutes, then headed back the way I'd come. I had dipped, yet felt...almost nothing. How come?

Last Wednesday, Tom Brereton had a Whiskered Tern fly past just offshore at West Bay and got some evocative record shots. Yesterday evening, Steve Groves found this one at Abbotsbury Swannery. Whiskered Tern is a proper rarity, and I can imagine how thrilled both must have been, because finding such a bird is always going to be a massive buzz. If ever I am fortunate enough to do likewise I know it'll keep me going for ages! But going to see someone else's Whiskered Tern? Not the same thing at all. It's been a while since I've given it much thought, but today I found myself once again pondering the fascinating variety of ways that we get meaning from our hobby. To be honest I wouldn't want to self-analyse too closely, but here are a couple of examples of birds which meant a lot...

A few days ago I spent part of an afternoon at Cogden, investigating little corners I had never tried before. And in one of those corners I saw a familiar flash of red tail flick out from a hedge. The heat-haze made photography difficult, but there is a record shot...

Female Redstart peering at me through the heat-haze

The feeling of effort being rewarded was very gratifying, and somewhat enhanced when I came across another about 15 minutes later! Again, there is a record shot, but only just!

Female Redstart, 5 nanoseconds prior to disappearance behind that hedge.

In a different vein, yesterday afternoon at West Bex...

Very little, until one particular field. A lovely flock of Whimbrel, initially 18, then 21...

Periodically they would take off, fly around a bit, and settle in a different part of the field

Whimbrel, all 21 of them

But the field's real prizes were on the deck, scampering about among the cattle. Two male Yellow Wagtails - absolute belters! Spring males are such a treat, and I've seen so very few since living down here. These two picked a cow each, then followed their host wherever it led. In the case of one, it eventually led right to the fence I was standing next to. Whereupon the bird stopped and peered at me, as if suddenly aware that it had let its guard down, before flying off to choose another, more distant cow. I spent 20 minutes utterly captivated by these cracking little beauties. A magical encounter...

I am quite sure that I enjoyed the Redstarts and Yellow Wags a great deal more than I would have the Whiskered Tern. Is that strange? If the tern had been present, close, and beautifully lit, well, certainly I would have enjoyed it. A lot. But I am confident that the ingredients in the mix with these relatively modest birds made an altogether more satisfying brew for some reason...

April Nocmig Summary

I didn't miss a single night in April, making it my first full month of nocmig. I've already blogged a couple of highlights, like the Ring Ouzel at 00:33 on 9th, and the amazing Stone-curlew at 00:54 on 24th, but there is more...

First though, here is April in spreadsheet form...

April nocmig totals

The last nine lines are species not recorded in March. Predictably they include migrant waders like Whimbrel, Dunlin and Common Sandpiper. But note also: Blackcap. Nocmig Blackcap? Really? I'll save that for another post. Rather I would like to mention Snipe. The bird which flew over calling at 20:31 on 13th was my first Snipe ever. The recording is a beaut...

That's so cool! I was dead chuffed to hear that coming through my headphones, and of course it was instantly identifiable. However, the following night, at 23:26, I got this...

I'll be honest, although it sounded vaguely familiar I had no idea what it was. The nocmig WhatsApp group soon sorted me out though. It's a long, long time since I've been anywhere that Snipe breed, where you hear their wonderful 'drumming'. Well, along with that amazing sound they also have a 'chipping' song which they perform from a handy perch. And that is what you can hear on my mystery recording - a singing Snipe! Bizarre or what?! It isn't the first time I've recorded a migrant wader in brief song - there was fantastic bit of Whimbrel song last year (not Curlew, as I wrote in the original blog post) - but for some reason I was ridiculously thrilled that a Snipe had burst into song as it flew over Bridport. Don't ask me why. All I can say is that when I get home from a pre-breakfast birding walk with little or nothing to show for it, sitting down to review the previous night's nocmig I am just as full of hopeful anticipation as I was at dawn, stepping out into the field. It's like going birding twice! And recordings like these are the reason why.

This next one was similarly a head-scratcher...

Any ideas? I was completely stumped. Uttered at 02:23 on April 26th; a clear, sharp and distinctive call, but a total mystery to me. It is in fact a Common Sandpiper. As far as I know, I have not previously heard a Common Sand do that, but I have now. Thanks to nocmig.

Finally, here are the nocturnal calls of a lone male Common Scoter as it flies over my nocmig tackle at 01:20 on the last day of the month...

Despite now being used to the strange notion that birds I would never in a million years expect to see from my inland garden do indeed fly over at night occasionally, I still get a proper buzz from recordings like that. Long may that be so...

Springing Along

Throughout the spring I've been checking the weather forecast quite carefully, not just for work but also its possible influence on bird movements. I am notoriously bad at predicting good birding from weather charts. It is a skill - more likely, art - which I lack. So it was a bit rash of me to tweet the following on Monday evening...

Precipitation/wind direction for 07:00 today, as published on Ventusky Monday evening

The rain was forecast to push slowly southwards during the early hours, and out into the Channel. My simplistic interpretation pictured a million migrants setting off from France under a clear sky, encountering unexpected rain, and so ditching on the Dorset coast at first light; tired, wet and bedraggled. In the event, it did happen...but only on Portland!

Ah well...

At least I put my money where my mouth is, heading out at dawn and getting soaked. I was home by 07:00! I did see one slightly unusual beach inhabitant...

It's 06:23, raining steadily, and both me and the Oystercatcher are hacked off about those facts.

After breakfast the rain eased. Out again...

Stuff was happening, but not as much as I had hoped. I found a distant group of 5 White Wagtails in the middle of an enormous field, but the bushes were far from leaping. A whistle-stop tour of a few local spots produced 2 Whinchats, a few Willow Warblers and just 3 Wheatears. From the beach I counted 12 Whimbrel, 4 Ringed Plovers and 2 Little Terns. The latter were a real treat. Little Tern was dead scarce on the Axe patch, and these are the first I've seen in West Dorset. It's been quite a few years since my last encounter with this delightful species.

Little Terns. Looking very, very little.

No bigger.

I initially mistook one of the Whinchats for a Wheatear. It was facing away, and running about in the grass in exactly the same start/stop way that Wheatears do. I wondered why it looked a bit odd and streaky. Was it soaking wet? A few paces closer and the penny dropped...

Definitely not a Wheatear!

This is a Wheatear.

The second bird. Surprisingly obliging for a Whinchat.

Just gorgeous...

Bad photo of Whimbrel, but I like the shapes.

It's been hard to keep the blog up to date, what with all the early mornings and late evenings. So here's a quick catch-up...

While the weather favoured it, I did a fair bit of seawatching. Since the post before last I have finally seen some skuas. Two Arctics (one pale, one dark) and one unidentifiable (mega-distant, but pale). No Poms for me yet, but there is plenty of time yet. The following list covers 23rd to 25th April...

Whimbrel 128
Dunlin 3
Bar-tailed Godwit 16
Sanderling 3
Turnstone 1
Sandwich Tern 23
Manx Shearwater 105
Peregrine 1
Red-throated Diver 3
Great Northern Diver 1
Med Gull 9
Common Scoter 90
Arctic Skua 2
skua sp (Pom/Arctic) 1
'Commic' Tern 27
Common Tern 4
Arctic Tern 3
Kittiwake 8
Shelduck 1
Yellow-legged Gull 1 (2nd-summer)
Red-breasted Merganser 1 drake

None of the seawatching was fast and furious, but there was always enough to stop me from packing it in. Also, some nice surprises. Like the YLG and Red-breasted Merganser, both of which are just the sort of distraction that momentarily stops you dwelling on the total, one-hundred percent absence of Poms...

Other than the sea, it's been slow going since Saturday. No birds of particular note at all. But I'll still point the camera at anything which craves attention...

...like this superb Whimbrel.

The rattling song of Lesser Whitethroat is good enough on its own, but the blackthorn perch just makes it perfect.

And then of course, there are Wheatears...

...and through the arched window...

The last two or three days have seen Common Terns become much more obvious off the beach. On Sunday I reached a total of 40-odd until I realised there was a bit of to-ing and fro-ing, and I actually had no idea how many I'd seen!

Although there is obvious contrast between [old] outer and [new] inner primaries, no real dark wedges yet. Bit of a trap for the unwary. Mind you, Arctic looks much 'cleaner' winged to my eye.

And just a teeny wedge on this one.

While we're looking out to sea, I'll mention that brown Gannet which featured on the previous post. I was intrigued to notice that the Portland Bird Observatory blog had posted a photo of a very similar bird which went past two days later, with a caption noting how unusual it was to see one at this time of year. Very similar, I thought...

There is just enough detail visible in my super-low-res pic to confirm that it's the same bird.

Yesterday I noted my first Wall butterfly of 2021, at West Bexington. It didn't pose. And I added another orchid to my local list. A whole bunch of Early Purple Orchids, which I stumbled across in a really obvious place that I must have walked past umpteen times while they've been in flower...

Early Purple Orchid, Cogden.

Green-winged Orchid, West Bexington. I had been told the location of these, but they still took a bit of hunting down. There weren't many.

The idea of this post was a four-day summary, but I've not even mentioned nocmig. Another time...