Prime Wader Habitat?

In the last post I stated that locally we have very little in the way of wader habitat. While this is true, it is also not true. Certainly we have nothing obvious though. No local marshes, no wader scrapes, no vast expanse of estuarine mud, ie, no location where you might roll up and routinely expect to see a nice collection of waders. We do have several miles of beach though, a tiny estuary at West Bay, the odd bit of seasonal flood and a few little pockets of other stuff. Thursday's Little Stint was on one of the latter. However, we do have stacks of that habitat frequented by all birds capable of flight: the sky.

Like any other group of birds which migrate, or for other reasons use their wings to travel from A to B, waders use the sky on a regular basis. Admittedly their appearances in it might be fleeting, few, and depressingly far-between, but you can absolutely guarantee that waders will at some point be flying over your head. Of course, from a birdwatching point of view, the challenge lies in detecting the blasted things.

Enter nocmig.

Since the beginning of March I've recorded at least 13 species of wader over my home, which is situated three miles inland from the West Dorset coastline and nowhere near any traditional wader habitat. Since recording my first 'returning' wader in the early hours of June 24th, up until dawn this morning a total of eight species have occurred. Here they all are, chronologically in medley format, like a beginner's course in flight-call identification...

The quality is a bit variable, depending on range, weather conditions, etc, but for me this does not detract even a tiny bit from the sheer wowness of them all. Seriously, just brilliant! So, just in case you are a beginner, and want to know whether you identified them all correctly...

1. Curlew. A regular migrant along the coast here, but I can't recall whether I've seen one on the deck yet.

2. Common Sandpiper. Another regular migrant encountered on the coast, and sometimes on or close to the shore.

3. Redshank. I can probably count on one hand the number of times I've seen Redshank locally. Not common. You can just about detect that two or more birds feature in the recording.

4. Green Sandpiper. This is only my second nocmig Green Sandpiper, and the only place I've actually seen them locally is the Bride Valley Fish Farm, near Burton Bradstock.

5. Oystercatcher. Again, a fairly regular sight on the coast, and one of my most regular nocmig waders too.

6. Whimbrel. Commonly encountered in flocks on spring migration, but in autumn I reckon most local records will be ones and twos. This recording clearly involves at least three or more birds. They were audible for more than four minutes! Such an evocative sound.

7. Dunlin. Quite a faint recording, and just a single bird I reckon. A regular migrant locally, but again like so many others, usually coastal fly-bys or briefly decked on the beach.

8. Little Ringed Plover. A lovely clear recording at 02:08 this morning, these are the loudest two of a nice series of calls. It's so good to hear the volume increase as a bird approaches, and fade away as it flies past. Thus far I have seen just one local LRP, at the West Bex Mere in April this year. And I have three or four definite nocmig records from 2020, beginning July 14th.

One lesson from all this is that nocmig might significantly influence a species' perceived local status. For example, I wonder how many Bridport records of Stone-curlew there are? Very few I'll bet. Yet just my nocmig records alone reveal that it is possibly annual, or has been for two years at least!

And just as everyday birding can throw up the occasional exciting rarity, so can nocmig. Wader-wise I would like to mention two recent stunners. The first is Mark Pearson's amazing American Golden Plover up on the east coast of Yorkshire on May 13th, which Mark has written up here. The second is even more staggering. Recording in Ireland, Seán Ronayne had already struck nocmig gold on June 24th with a Baillon's Crake in County Wicklow, but topped it in spectacular fashion just a few days later. Posting on the nocmig WhatsApp group I belong to, Seán wrote that on July 2nd he had recorded a Semi-palmated Plover over Lisagriffin on Mizen Head, at the south-western tip of County Cork. Along with the recording was a detailed account of the identification process. Fascinating stuff.

Fascinating stuff indeed. If you believe it...

One thing that appears to go hand-in-hand with the relatively recent popularising of nocmig is a big fat dose of scepticism. I suspect that some of that is based on little more than an almost instinctive resistance to something 'new' by a minority of old stagers, but that aside, isn't it quite reasonable to view with great caution a rarity record that consists of just a few brief noises and some squiggles on a laptop screen?

Back in late May I think, a heard-only Little Crake was reported from Wicken Fen in Cambridgeshire. By all accounts it was distant and faint, but eventually it was sound-recorded using a parabolic reflector. Unfortunately the Little Crake proved to be actually a Shelduck. At which point the eye-rolling sceptics could have smirkingly pointed out the folly of all this sound-only nonsense. However, I can't help feeling that the Little Crake episode has exactly the opposite effect, and in fact reinforces the case for the defense. Because, in the end, a correct identification was made. The same as happens on a regular basis with sight records, careful investigation by experienced birders revealed the error. No big deal.

And sound-only records can be analysed to a minutely forensic degree. If the sound quality is good enough (and it doesn't have to be brilliant) a sonogram (aka spectrogram) can be as diagnostic as a wing formula. My Night Heron last year proved that to me. And personally I have no doubts at all about the veracity of Mark's AGP or Seán's Semi-P. Both have been approached with a healthy caution, and demonstrate to me the amazing potential of nocmig recording. I do sometimes wonder why nocmig seems to have such a minority appeal though. As hinted at by my own Stone-curlew records, there is so much to be discovered...

Talking of scepticism: Ortolan Bunting. [winking emoji]

A Nice Little Wader

What a lovely day! Sunny and hot. Hot! To be honest I would rather have been lazing than working, but at least I got to sit next to the Axe Estuary at lunchtime. I wasn't in birding mode at all though. Didn't even get my bins out, just sat there soaking up the scenery. Lovely.

When I arrived home there was a new porch light waiting for me, so I got that fixed up and wired in before dinner. Our loft was like a sauna, and the thought of a long, cool walk on a beach later on really began to appeal. But where? Dinner came and went, and I still hadn't decided on a venue. And then I got some news which decided it for me. Not a beach.

Wader habitat is at an absolute premium locally. Really, there is almost none. Almost.

Little Stint. An adult, already moulting into winter plumage (note the grey scapulars).

This is my first local Little Stint. A very relaxed and confiding individual, and these are easily my best ever shots of one. The location is a bit sensitive, so I shan't give it away here. But I am grateful for the heads-up, and the reminder that I have optics in need of some action...

Doing it Yourself

For more than 18 months now, this blog has been ticking over nicely. Every two or three days there is usually a post because every two or three days there is usually something to write about, be it birds, bugs, or bees in the bonnet. Once in a while though, I find it harder...

While typing this, I couldn't help noticing how dusty the keyboard is. How dusty everything is. For many months I have had a long, complex, DIY to-do list. When it gets that way I sometimes default to do-none-of-it mode, and go birding a lot instead. And this is how things were until about a week ago. But now the tools are out and stuff is happening. And there is dust.

DIY and I have a complicated relationship. Generally speaking I'm confident enough in my own abilities to have a stab at just about anything, and often really enjoy it once I get stuck in. But overcoming the inertia to get started is...er...yes, sometimes a problem. And finishing things off completely...er...yes, also sometimes a problem. Be warned. Don't marry me. Anyway, in this last week I've been hard at it, and the blog has consequently suffered. However, there is absolutely no good reason why I shouldn't write about DIY, is there?

On Tuesday I plastered our hall ceiling. Only the second time I've dabbled in this dark art. Until a couple of years ago I'd always shied away from plastering, but when the time came finally to do something about the vile overhead Artex in our bedroom I gave it a go. Like everything else, you can learn how to plaster properly by watching YouTube vids. What you can't learn is the knack. Which I still don't have. Plastering is hard, and a ceiling doubly so. It came out okay though. Decent tools helped. And shoulder muscles. Actually I could have done with a bigger set of the latter. Years of window cleaning has given me the ability to support a pair of binoculars and peer through them for ages without fatigue, but I reckon the plastering birder could probably scan non-stop all weekend with a pair of 10x80s.

Today I wired in some downlights, which gave me the opportunity to rectify some appalling bodgery hiding in the loft. I've lost count of the eye-popping horrors my DIY has unearthed here, but here are today's two lovelies...

Left: 240-volt cable wrapped in tape is never a good sign. Right: Yee-haw!

Still, I suppose I should be grateful our place hasn't burned down already. We had a new consumer unit installed (professionally!) a while back, and the wiring all tested okay despite little nasties like these still lurking in dark corners.

Well done if you've got this far. You really deserve some bird stuff, and I wish I could oblige. Is nocmig any good? I could tell you about the recent exciting flock of Common Terns. A nocmig first for me. Or my second-ever Green Sandpiper which called once at 03:23 on Wednesday morning. No? You're right, nocmig isn't proper birding, and I really shouldn't get so much enjoyment from it.

Now then, where's my angle grinder...?

In Search of Lulworth

Yesterday evening I went for a walk at Cogden. Out along the coast path, back along the beach. As it was July 2nd I expected nothing in the way of birds, so 10 Med Gulls W (including a flock of 8) was nice, also 2 Sanderling W along the water-line, landing briefly and distantly. Almost all the Meds looked like scruffy 1st-summers, but I was just pleased to see a few nice birds. It was so quiet. Hardly any song now of course; all the vegetation in full, lush summer growth; calm, grey sea; calm, grey sky. Atmospheric...

Before the birding gets hectic again, I have a small mission. Lulworth Skipper. It's a butterfly I've never knowingly seen, and one which apparently is available very close by. I have a rough idea where, but not exactly. And I don't know if any are out yet. However, I know that its food plant is Tor-grass, so I learned how to identify Tor-grass, and then went hunting. This was late Thursday afternoon. Hot and sultry. Long trousers to minimise tick trouble, so there was much perspiration. A few pics...

Tor-grass. At least, I really hope so! And like everywhere else, Pyramidal Orchids all over the place!

I rarely bother with those micro moths that roll themselves up into tiny tubes, but this was so striking I couldn't resist. It appears to be a Thistle Ermine. Appropriately.

One beaten-up Painted Lady. It had no problem flying though, and at one stage was involved in a dog fight with a large, orange butterfly, which it chased off. Of course, that may have been a Comma, but my gut told me it might have been a fritillary. Which was a bit unkind of it.

Close, but no cigar. Small Skipper. One or two of these.

Ditto. The rather lovely Large Skipper. Several of these.

I think this is a Dark Bush Cricket.

Marbled Whites are gorgeous, and very photogenic. A few of these.

I rather like this habitat shot

And this, I think, is Speckled Bush Cricket.

So, no Lulworth Skippers this time. I will try again when the weather looks promising. If I've got the identification correct there is certainly a lot of Tor-grass where I was searching, so I think I'm in the right area. I suppose I could make enquiries in order to confirm, and maybe ask for pointers to aid my search, but to be honest I would rather do the whole thing on my own. Any success will be all the sweeter for it. And if there isn't any success, well, there's always next year, and begging for help.

Culverhole

Inspired by Matt Knott's recent blog post, I treated myself to an extended lunch break this afternoon and walked to Culverhole Point. Culverhole is accessed by walking east along the beach from the mouth of the River Axe. It takes about half an hour and is shingle all the way. However, now that I'm used to the West Bex and Cogden shingle, the Axmouth stuff is easy-peasy. Big pebbles, nicely compacted. Beginner's shingle! There is also a tiny bit of boulder hopping involved, which is why I know that the last time I was out there was 2012. That was the year I started wearing varifocal specs, and looking down at where I was putting my feet felt dead weird. I ended up taking the darned things off, fearing a mis-step and broken ankle if I didn't. Being a varifocal veteran now, no such issues today.

Anyway, although I've been out to Culverhole (and beyond) a few times in the past, it's mainly been speculative birdy efforts, not plants or bugs. So, how did it go? I'll answer that question with a heap of photos...

Two Common Sandpipers were on the Culvehole rocks.

I knew from Matt's blog that there was a new orchid here for me. Somewhere. Amazingly it was one of the first I saw...

Marsh Fragrant Orchid. And wow! Definitely a lovely fragrance.

This was the only one I saw, so I guess probably the same as Matt's

However, this was just the tip of the iceberg. The place is absolutely paved with orchids. Most numerous by far were Marsh Helleborines, hundreds of them, many still in bud. Then Marsh Orchids, some Common Spotted and a handful of Bee Orchids. Mind you, as a botanical ignoramus I probably missed loads of interesting stuff, but here are a few shots to illustrate the wealth on offer...

The white jobs in the foreground are all Marsh Helleborines, with mainly (all?) Marsh Orchids on the left

Marsh Helleborine flowers are just lovely

Another orchid-rich scenic shot

Marsh Helleborines

Er...and again

Not quite sure what this pale number is. Initially I thought Marsh Orchid, but look...

...it had spotty/stripey leaves. Beyond my pay grade unfortunately.

A dark Marsh Orchid I assume.

Not an orchid, though I did actually know what it is: Common Centaury. Nice

Still Common Centaury

One of a small handful of Bee Orchids, all close together.

Marsh Helleborine City

Probably you're getting the impression that I was totally blown away by the flowery abundance. If so, bang on. But there were other attractions too. Multi-legged ones...

First up was a Clouded Yellow which I spotted by Axmouth Harbour. Unfortunately it was on the undercliff and didn't stop for photos. Out at Culverhole I saw my first Marbled White of the year, but that went straight past too. Better behaved was this...

I haven't seen a Wood White in ages, and spent quite a while with this one.

A female, it appeared to be laying eggs on spindly fronds of what I think was Bird's Foot Trefoil, though I failed to get any pics of that.

As I sat watching it, this beautiful, dainty little Wood White spent a few minutes fluttering just a foot or two from my knee, as if I wasn't there. The flight action of Wood White is the closest thing I've seen to those CGI butterflies you see in movies. But it genuinely does make those huge, exaggerated wingbeats while travelling absolutely nowhere at all. Wonderful things.

Other creepy-crawlies...

This creature perched on my grubby, knackered thumb, and begged to be posted on Twitter in one of those 'please tell me what this is' type tweets. Apparently it is a Snipe Fly, specifically Chrysopilus asiliformis. And going by the plump body, a female. Cool.

Chrysopilus asiliformis. I think the P900 does a pretty good job of macro stuff.

Probably the rarest thing I saw today was actually scuttling along the ground. I noticed what looked like a beetle dart beneath the cover of an overhanging leaf. As I leaned over to get a better look it hurried across an open patch and I could see it was a Tiger Beetle, but it looked a less vivid green than I've seen before. Aware of the possibility, I wondered if it might be the rare Cliff Tiger Beetle. Lo and behold, it was!

Cliff Tiger Beetle. A bit of a rarity. It was a right skulker, rushing from one bit of cover to the next, and this is the better of only two photos I managed.

I was fortunate to see a regular Green Tiger Beetle a bit later on, so here it is for comparison...

Green Tiger Beetle. I'd have been pleased enough just to see this species, so am well chuffed to have made it a two-tiger afternoon.

There were a few dragons and damsels too. A male Broad-bodied Chaser that avoided the camera, several Large Red Damselflies that I didn't bother with, and a few of these...

Keeled Skimmer. At least, I hope so.

Keeled Skimmer again.

My knowledge of Odonata is skimpy, to say the least, but has all been learned since I first moved to Seaton. Before that I knew nothing. Nothing. By the time I'm 125 years old I should be quite the expert.

Finally...

Heron on the rocks

Grey Seal. Any seal is quite scarce along the coast here, but Grey is the most regular.

It was a hot, mainly sunny afternoon. The sort of weather that attracts folk to the beach in order to go brown and crispy. Just in case anyone is inspired by this post - or Matt's, or both - to take the shingly plunge and head out to Culverhole, I ought to mention that the beach is popular with naturists. An affable bunch though. Expect a cheery greeting and friendly wave...

Reading & Writing

There is something very powerful about the written word. Truly, its ability to inform, motivate, stir emotions, and do deeper, more profound things, simply through the thoughtful arrangement of language on a page, is almost magical. At its best, good writing can transport you from sofa to other-world, where the narrative plays out before your mind's very eyes. And because we are in the month of June, with the relentless early-morning alarm calls of April and May no longer a sleep-sapping fact of birding life, I've been looking out for some decent reading matter. Some books for bedtime.

Recently I re-read Beguiled by Birds, DIM Wallace's opus on British birdwatching. Published in 2004, it is still a thought-provoking, relevant read. I do find Ian Wallace's writing style quite a challenge though. A good challenge. I'm quite happy to be stretched a bit by tricky sentence construction and a demanding vocabulary. Finishing it has whetted my appetite for some more nice prose.

Like this lot...

I used to have a paperback copy of Mark Cocker's Tales of a Tribe, but think it must have fallen foul of a ruthless stocktake at some stage. I like hardbacks anyway, and a second-hand copy was pretty cheap. So that, and Dave Goulson's The Garden Jungle are lined up for future attention.

Mrs Pankhurt's Purple Feather by Tessa Boase dates from 2018, but has just been published in paperback under the new title Etta Lemon: The Woman Who Saved the Birds. Etta Lemon was a founder of the RSPB, and its principal driving force in the early days. Until very recently I had no idea that the charity was instituted by women determined to stamp out 'murderous millinery', the hideous Victorian fashion for feathered hats which cost the lives of millions and millions of birds, pushing several species to the brink of extinction. A fashion which fuelled a monstrous industry. I'm about a third of the way through, and what a mind-boggling world it reveals. Fascinating, and really well written.

Fallon's Angler is a quarterly magazine, and a recent experimental dip into angling writing. Advert free, it bears absolutely no resemblance to your average specialist mag. Roughly 100 pages of varied and original content, notably without a single instructional sentence. It arrived yesterday morning, and I'd consumed every word by lights-out. There is even a cryptic crossword on the last page, which will get some attention tonight I think. I couldn't help noticing that many of the contributors are of my generation, and perhaps that's why it struck a chord. From gentle humour to a poignant look at a father and son's relationship, it covered a lot of ground. Superb.

Fellow blogger Stewart Sexton recently emailed a few pages of a now-defunct angling publication called Waterlog, and the content of Fallon's Angler appears to have a similar vibe. It must be difficult to make any non-digital publication pay its way these days, let alone one with no adverts, but it is a shame that birding doesn't have something in this vein. However, maybe there's an alternative...

On Twitter I currently 'follow' some 377 other tweeters, the vast majority birders or bird-related accounts. It's the only social media platform that holds any interest for me, and one big attraction is that some of those I follow do quite frequently post links to interesting reading matter. In a few cases, like me, they promote their own blogs. Or they might link to someone else's writing. Either way, I've enjoyed many an excellent read by this means. One or two have been refreshingly controversial and stimulating. It would be great if my favourites were assembled into some kind of anthology, but in the meantime I'll just enjoy what pops up on my Twitter timeline.

And of course, reading good stuff is a constant source of encouragement to try and write some good stuff. I can't promise 'controversial and stimulating' but I can promise shamelessly promotional tweets on Twitter.

All in a Day's Work

Most of the time, work is just work and has few redeeming features. But once in a while it provides me with genuinely excellent moments. Like today.

For 14 years now, one of my customers has left the small back lawn uncut all summer. I would imagine the property was built perhaps 40-50 years ago, probably on what was once grazing land, or something like that. Anyway, after five years the first orchids appeared - two Southern Marsh Orchids. Since then they've popped up every year, with a peak of approximately 30, though this year there are only 12. However, also this year, the first two Common Spotted Orchids! When I phoned to book today's visit I checked it would be okay to take some photos...

Look at those lovely purple blobs! Top left (below the statue) are a Southern Marsh and Common Spotted Orchid side by side.

Southern Marsh Orchid

Common Spotted Orchid. The spotted leaves are visible in the grass.

Common Spotted close-up. What a flower to have in your garden!

Well, messing about with these gorgeous plants made me a bit late for lunch. But I'm not complaining. Because three seconds after I'd finished munching, Tim Wright put a message on the local WhatsApp group: Cuckoo at Seaton Marshes. I was just a couple of minutes away, and the Cuckoo kindly waited for me...

The Cuckoo was a bit distant, and perched in a shady spot, preening. Beggars can't be choosers though.

A sexy bit of undertail

I have seen very few Cuckoos locally. I think this is only my fourth in 18 years. And I've heard two others. So, a bit special.

In other news, yesterday evening I had a walk at Cogden and photographed three different umbellifers. And at the moment, that's as far as it's got.

But I also found myself scanning fields for orchids, like a birder would do for birds. In one meadow that has no public access I found this lot...

Spot the monster Bee Orchids. That one on the left!!

And the lurking Pyramidal...

Mega-range orchid spotting. Three creamy coloured Greater Butterfly Orchids, roughly a third of the way up the photo.

Orchids everywhere it seems, beckoning like sirens to the rocky shore of botanical doom. However, before temptation overwhelms me I am confident that juvenile Yellow-legged Gulls will come galloping over the horizon in the nick of time. And I shall be saved.