A Bad Day for Shorts

West Bex again this afternoon, and a wiggly route to East Bex and back. Very poor trouser choice though. The sunshine had tempted me into shorts, but I hadn't planned on taking a little-used path which I last walked in spring. A lot of growth has happened since spring. Ankle-high bramble runners are the bane of shorts-wearers everywhere, and this path was festooned with the blasted things. I am in tatters.

At least my sacrifice was rewarded. Two Hobbies again. One came off the ridge, rather like yesterday's main sightings, though I was a long way from where I saw the Cogden birds. The other dashed through from the east, low over fields and hedges, and away. The latter bird was so soon after the first that I'm convinced it was a different individual. Here's the first one...

I think five-pixel Hobbies are going to become a traditional NQS thing

My notes list four other birds: 2 Willow Warblers, 1 Lesser Whitethroat and 1 Goldcrest. The Goldcrest is notable for two reasons. One, it was a just-fledged juv, and therefore perhaps a West Bex product. And two, it was my first Goldcrest of 2021. How does a birder get to late August without seeing a Goldcrest? Some achievement that.

So yes, Hobbies aside it was pretty poor for birds today. There are more butterflies in my notes than birds. And one was an unexpected corker!

A bit less than pristine, but this female Silver-washed Fritillary was a surprise encounter at West Bex.

It was on view for about a minute before flipping over the bushes and out of sight, but thankfully I got some photos. I'll be honest, I had to ask for ID help. I knew that Dark Green Fritillary occurs at West Bex occasionally, but didn't know whether Silver-washed was even on the recording area list, so assumed this was probably going to be the former. But no, it is indeed a Silver-washed Fritillary, and an even scarcer visitor to West Bex than Dark Green.

Also in today's notes were 7 Painted Ladies...

Painted Lady on Fleabane I think.

I have pics of Painted Lady on Knapweed and Teasel too. Perhaps I should start an album...?

When I got home this evening I had a little browse on Twitter before dinner, and discovered that a really smart rarity has happened in Cornwall...

There was a time when this species would have had me moving heaven and earth to see it. Until recently there hadn't been an occurence in Britain since my wedding day: 9th August 1980. All through my twitching years it was one of those mythical birds that you just hoped would one day do the right thing...but which never did. For 40 years it resolutely held out. And then last autumn a miserable-looking specimen turned up in chilly, wet Norfolk, to a deafening fanfare of triumphant euphoria. At the time, I wrote about the strange disconnect from it all that I felt - here - and I'm interested to note that my feelings are still exactly the same.

Like Peter in his tweet there, I would call this bird a Rufous Bush Chat rather than Rufous-tailed Scrub Robin (assuming that's what its current name is) and not because of some entrenched resistance to change, but because 'Rufous Bush Chat' is what leaps automatically and excitedly into my head when presented with that image. It's simply a name that has been familiar for decades, that's all, while 'Rufous-tailed Scrub Robin' requires a conscious effort to summon from the 'New Stuff' folder.

Whatever you call it, this particular individual is most definitely a stunner. My Twitter feed is rigid with pics of the bird, and in all of them it looks amazing. Such a contrast from the sorry, bedraggled beastie at Stiffkey last October.

Country-wide, birders have been doing precisely what I would have been doing 35 years ago: dropping everything and rushing off to the Lizard. Meanwhile, my day's highlight remains a not-uncommon butterfly, with which I am very chuffed. Funny old game, isn't it?

Enjoying My Hobbies

On Tuesday morning I witnessed a bit of birdy life-and-death drama. Scanning out to sea I spotted a distant, dark, angular bird engaged in rapid manouevres. My first thought was Arctic Skua, but quickly I realised the bird was actually a Peregrine. It was stooping repeatedly, but initially the range was just too great to see the object of its attentions. Eventually I picked up a tiny something-or-other dashing through the waves, making a rapid zig-zag course towards the beach. The Peregrine was relentless. Stoop after stoop after stoop, frequently forcing a major change of direction. The little passerine finally made landfall well to the east of me - seemingly intact - and appeared to dive straight into cover. Wise move. The Peregrine missed it by a whisker and plonked on the beach nearby, probably for a breather.

Seeing a falcon do its thing is right up there with the best birdy action moments. One of my autumn highlights last year was getting some video of a young Merlin consuming a kill at Cogden. And today I got to watch one of my all-time favourite falcons in action...

Hobby at Cogden this afternoon

My initial view was from the beach. Scanning inland I spotted a Hobby dashing across a crop field. Even though it was several hundred yards away I managed to get some record shots...

Distant Hobby in full flight. Inset bottom left is another shot from the sequence, and shows that the Hobby was busy dismantling a dragonfly or something as it belted along.

A bit later I came across my Hobby up near the ridge which carries the coast road. It was clearly on the prowl, and I'm guessing that insects were the prey. Although it spooked plenty of birds I never saw it chase any. Having said that, occasionally it would dash around madly, though I could never see what it was after. Here is a 'Spot the Hobby' shot, as it dived below treetop level...

Hobby dot: half way up, left hand side. Woodpigeons on the right, looking a touch jittery.

And then suddenly I realised that a second Hobby had just popped into view. Momentarily I had both together, then just one again. I managed one burst of shots of the second individual, and it's just as well, because every other photo features a bird with damaged primaries on its right wing. So here is proof that there were two...

On the left: bird 1 with damaged primaries. On the right: immaculate bird 2

Capturing flight shots of Hobby is a bit of a stretch for my camera, so I was happy to provide it with some easier meat down on the beach...

Wheatear, at Cogden early this morning

Fresh juv Wheatear this afternoon.

Another of this afternoon's Wheatears.

A quick, early jaunt in this morning's Stygian gloom netted 7 Wheatears and my first autumn Whinchat, while the afternoon Wheatear count was 10, and Whinchat, zero. However, the lack of Whinchats was compensated for...

One of two Clouded Yellows, and the first I've managed to photograph this year.

Apart from the few Wheatears and single Whinchat, passerine migrants were once again lacking today. Surely it's got to happen soon...?

Shooting Records

It's been a long week. A pressing post-manflu backlog of jobs has forced me to behave like a normal person for once, and go to work every day. I did manage two early birding outings at the start of the week, but since then I've not even bothered with an alarm. Too pooped. So this afternoon I finished early and headed to West Bexington for a recuperative stroll...

This morning a male Southern Migrant Hawker was discovered at West Bex, just the second record for the site. I know what one of them looks like because on 2nd August Steve found the first for Devon at Beer Head and blogged about it here. Momentarily I considered finding out where exactly at Bex this classy beast had been found, but it was just a fleeting thought. In truth I have almost zero interest in twitching a dragonfly; I would far rather come across one by chance. So I just walked my usual route to East Bexington and back.

The migrant tally for West Bex was one Willow Warbler. And from a single East Bex hedge I managed to coax six Willow Warblers. But that was it - no other passerine migs at all. However, there were other things to enjoy...

My camera is now as indispensible a piece of kit as my bins, and I'll point it at anything that moves. My library of 'record shots' must run into thousands now. The better ones get tweaked and titivated, and many wind up on this blog. The very best might even qualify for a notch up from 'record shot', but I'm really not aiming for anything special. The mass mediocrity of the majority does not detract one bit from their ability to capture the moment, and for me that is their purpose. Even a pretty duff shot can bring an event to life again. Quite wonderfully sometimes...

Tuesday morning was the last time I got out before breakfast. This Wheatear, and the one in the next pic, were fresh in at Cogden. Like a nice sprinkle of garnish on the beach greens.

And here are a few from this afternoon's jaunt...

The first Holly Blue I've seen since the spring I think.

This Marsh Harrier is only my second of the year, and spent a few minutes quartering a grassy field at East Bexington.

Although it didn't occur to me at the time, I wonder if the seemingly paler inner primaries indicate that this is a 1st-summer male rather than a female (or juv). Anyway, I'm no expert, but I can say with absolute certainty that it's a Marsh Harrier.

I flushed this Corn Bunting from a weedy area at East Bex, and it was a very pleasant surprise. Last year I had up to two singing birds and pretty much confirmed breeding, but this is the first I've seen there in 2021. For a boring brown thing, Corn Buntings are actually rather smart.

This photo and the next depict a Kittiwake in 1st-summer plumage. It was mooching up and down the beach at West Bex for a while, and is the first I have knowingly seen in this plumage. Most likely I've seen millions previously but never registered them. Anyway, interesting bird. Look at those nice, new inner primaries, with the beginnings of the classic black wingtip of an adult Kitt.

So, there we go. Lots of record shots. When I browse this blog as a very old man one day, they will instantly recall that time when I had to do a whole week's work.

There have been nocturnal happenings too. Last night I recorded my second-ever Tree Pipit, and just over a minute later a tight (but very faint) bunch of six Tree Pipit calls, involving at least two birds. Here is that first, clear one...

In addition to the Tree Pipits, still a trickle of waders. Nothing unusual, but another Little Ringed Plover was a stand-out record. I say 'nothing unusual' but hey, just the fact that any waders at all regularly fly over my garden is pretty amazing.

A Bit of a Lesson

Apart from an overnighting motorhome the Cogden car park was empty when I arrived at 05:55. The light was dim; a gentle north-westerly breeze stirred the cool air. It felt autumnal. Typically I begin an early morning visit here by dawdling downhill to the beach, then head west along the coast path and back along the beach. This morning I reached the turning point without troubling my notebook app. A bit of pishing here and there, but no bites. Finally, halfway back along the beach, a migrant...

The first photo, literally moments after we spotted one another.

At migration times I am plagued by a ridiculously optimistic sense of expectation, especially at first light. I cannot help it. Gazing out over acres of as-yet unbirded south coast, the question is obvious: what's dropped in overnight? And more importantly, where is it? Better still: where are they? I fall for it every time, getting all keyed up beyond reason. However, by the time a completely migrant-free hour has passed, and a mile or more of silent bushes, I am once again comfortable with the reality of what is normal, ie, a nice walk in lovely surroundings, with the off chance of a decent bird or two. At which point a single Wheatear is a very welcome sight.

There's a reason I can't resist a posing Wheatear. I mean, just look at it!

The single Wheatear became three, and it was almost time to turn inland again. Just a final scan of the sea...

Ooh! That's a shearwater. And there's another. Suddenly I was looking at several shearwaters, and they appeared to be hanging around rather than passing through. Not too far out, but well to the west of me. I'd already sussed at least one Balearic among them, so hurried along the beach to get closer. Part way there I had another look. At least ten, maybe 15 birds, milling around over a smallish area. Some were certainly Manxies, their contrasty black-and-white plumage obvious as they turned, but at least two had the brown tone and dusky underparts of Balearics. At this range, with just bins, I couldn't say more than that. I hurried on.

Eventually I reckoned I must be more or less level with them. Puffing a bit, I scanned carefully. Initially there was no sign, but then I picked them up way off to my left, heading purposefully eastwards. A bit gutted I phoned Mike, hoping he'd get on them from West Bex. Sadly not.

A little flock of shearwaters was definitely not on my radar this morning, and I think they might have taught me a bit of a lesson.

I very rarely carry a scope these days, but boy did I miss having one this morning! My scope/tripod combo weighs 5kg (11lb) and is a pain to carry, so I mostly don't bother with it. And right there is a telling admission. The reason I rarely take a scope is not because I don't need it (clearly I sometimes do!), but because I hate lugging it about on long walks. And of course the answer to this problem is staring right at me from the Scopac website...

Some years ago I recall being party to a bit of leg-pulling when one of the Axe birders bought a Scopac. I have a horrible feeling I may well be eating words pretty soon. Serves me right.

Anyway, after the shearwater episode I tried one last hedge. Unprovoked, a cracking little Sedge Warbler popped out and spent several seconds inspecting me, before deciding I was harmless and slipping away into the foliage. A bit of quiet pishing coaxed it straight back out...

The very inquisitive young Sedge Warbler.

A little further along, two Willow Warblers and a second Sedgie. Result.

That's the sea in the background. I like living here.

Better Than Seawatching

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A nice example of Figwort Sawfly.

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

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

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

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

Turning of the Tide

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

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

Wheatear at East Bexington. Just the one.

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

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

Talking of insects...

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

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

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

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

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

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

Cogden Beach

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A tiny fraction of the Cogden habitat. Gorgeous.

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

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

And since then?

11th September 2020 - Wryneck

1st October 2020 - another Wryneck

22nd April 2021 - Stone-curlew

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

26th July 2021 - Melodious Warbler

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

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

Early morning Sedge Warbler with dewy crown.

Beach Wheatear pic #1

Beach Wheatear pic #2

Lesser Whitethroat - possibly a local rather than migrant I guess

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

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

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

Beach Wheatear pic #5

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