Reality

A very nice #LocalBigYear tick early this morning, on the river at West Bay...

Yep. A humble Kingfisher.

The fact that it has taken me until October to see this species probably says more about me than it does about the local status of Kingfisher. A nice surprise though, and the second time in recent days that this very spot has produced a decent local bird...

Yep. A humble Gadwall.

That was Monday morning. Apart from winter birds on the West Bexington Mere, and a couple of spring seawatch records, I cannot think of any other local Gadwall I've seen this year.

So, Kingfisher and Gadwall. Common enough birds, but here, not common. With future birding intentions being even more locally focused, the value of both species is going to appreciate.

Quite often, when certain birders (sometimes me) bang on about the joys of keeping local - and especially when they reference that inflammatory term 'low-carbon birding' - a common retort goes something like this:

'Yes, it's alright for you, living on the coast, with terrific birding on your doorstep. Try inland birding, pal, and see how you like that.'

Okay, how do you quantify 'terrific birding'?

Number of species? Last year I tried pretty hard and notched up 165, including a plastic eagle. This year I'm on 159 so far. And that's a pretty extensive stretch of coast I've included. Next year it will shrink. I suspect there are a fair few inland areas of similar size that can match or beat those numbers.

Numbers of rare and scarce birds? Last year I saw Laughing Gull and Tawny Pipit. Those are the BB rarities. Plus a handful of scarcities. In the last 21 months I can think of Lesser Scaup, Woodchat Shrike, Melodious Warbler, Quail, Stone-curlew, Yellow-browed Warbler (does that even count these days?), Caspian Gull (does that?) and...er...I'm struggling now. West Dorset is not Spurn. Admittedly it is not suburban London either, but again, I would imagine a few inland sites can trounce that collection.

Aesthetic appeal of surroundings? Fair enough, you've got me there.

Surely the real measure of what is 'terrific birding' is whatever keeps you happy and content? As I get older I am finding it easier and easier to be satisfied with my birding lot. That doesn't mean I don't frequently wish there were more and 'better' birds - like we all do - rather that I am not constantly subject to the pull of so-called greener grass. It is a very nice place to be, but I have no idea how I got here. Is it an age thing? Experience? Pitiful lack of ambition? Don't know. Don't care. But I do recommend it.

Yesterday's NQS post comfortably notched up several times the usual number of views. All credit for that must go to birding Twitter's version of car-crash TV. What a ruckus! As the dust settles, will the scene look any different? I doubt it. The show will go on, I'm sure. Perhaps the stage will lose some players though. I wonder how many of those involved in (or witness to) recent Shetland shenanigans will rue the day...

Also, I suppose we can expect a lot more reticence re ill-judged Twittery. Sadly.

Flushing

It is autumn 1996, and I am standing on the side of a wet meadow in the Lea Valley. Looking around I see many familiar faces among the murmuring crowd, all here for the same reason as me: the chance of a London tick. In my case, a lifer too. I check my watch. It is almost time...

Two men slowly make their way across the meadow in front of us, several yards apart. The chatter has stopped; all eyes are on the pair out there, the flushers. A bird explodes from the grass! The collective sigh of disappointment says it all. Snipe, just a Common Snipe. But look, two more birds up! One is bigger, darker... And yes, much, much rarer. That rubbish, rather distant flight view of a Great Snipe is exactly what we all came for, and now the show is over. The chatter resumes, a little more animated now, and I cannot get away fast enough.

My one and only Great Snipe. It is hard to convey effectively what a massive anticlimax that all was. And of course, I knew it would be. How could it not? An organised flush, for a load of tick-hungry listers happy to make do with tenth-rate views of a bird that someone else had the thrill of finding. I do not (and never did) have mates delusional enough to help me talk up such a scenario into something to get excited about.

An 'organised flush', did you say?

Yes. Standard practice for such a skulker. Agree a time. Kick the bird out for all to see. Everyone happy.

Couldn't you all just wait for it to show itself?

Ha ha! In umpteen acres of wet meadow, that ain't gonna happen!

But it might fly of its own accord, surely?

Yeah. So might a pig.

To be fair, some birds are so secretive that flushing is sometimes the only way you find one. Any Jack Snipe in that boggy bit on your local patch? You probably won't know unless you get in there.*

Anyway, I don't plan to debate the ethics of flushing birds. After all, we all do it, all the time. Walk along a hedge, through a wood - anywhere really - and you'll be kicking up birds that were quite happy in their little world, until you came clumping along. And away they go. Oh, wait, what was that? Looked really interesting! So you creep along, and flush the Robin again.

Gently trying to chivvy a poorly-seen bird into view is par for the course in everyday birding. But I wonder how it looks to a non-birder? How would I explain myself if challenged? I am well aware that persistently hassling a small bird which is trying to stay hidden would not look good. Which is why I was pretty gobsmacked at one of the offerings on my Twitter feed this morning.

It was a video. A short video taken on Shetland. A small crowd is strung across a road, while a number of individuals converge slowly upon a hidden Lanceolated Warbler, pishing and clapping in order to drive it out of cover. The outcome is predictable. A rapid flight across the road to the field beyond. Crippling views for all, no doubt.

The video has been taken down now, but here is a still from it...

Pre-flight. Guess where it is at this point. I suppose I ought to credit the original videographer, @BrittenKit.

Other tweets suggest this was just one of several times that the Lancey was flushed. As I said earlier, I don't plan to debate the ethics of all this, but what struck me was the seeming lack of awareness of how it looks. Amazingly the tweet had 28 'likes'! Seriously? What is to like? Mind you, it had been viewed well over a thousand times, and attracted multiple retweets and comments which roundly condemned the behaviour.

A bit of context for anyone unfamiliar with all this. Lanceolated Warbler is a small brown warbler that creeps about in the grass like a mouse. Hailing from Siberia, it really should not be on Shetland, but is one of a number of that archipeligo's Sibe specialities, and a sought-after rarity. Birders go to Shetland in autumn hoping to find such birds. Or failing that, just to see one. Even to see one really, really badly as it zips from one patch of cover to the next, showing no diagnostic features whatsoever.

It's a shame the video was taken down really. It ought to be required viewing for every would-be lister. With perhaps an accompanying question:

Is this what you want to get involved with?

*Or fork out for a thermal imaging camera.

The Bike

When I am foolish enough to think about it, I remember that my presence has registered in eight decades of our Common Era. Which horrifies me. However, that slap of harsh reality is eased by the knowledge that I have also been a cyclist in seven of them. Which makes me smile.

It wasn't always two wheels. A present from grandparents, I would imagine this Rolls Royce of trikes must have cost relative mega-bucks in the early 1960s. Note the capacious boot. Brilliant for the retrieval of interesting roadkill.

In my adult years cycling has been a means of pleasure and fitness of course, but latterly a sense of vulnerability has eroded my confidence when it comes to riding on the road. So much so that I have sold all my road bikes. The last one went today. But, when one door closes...etc...

In February last year I received a surprising invitation. Would I like to write an essay for a forthcoming book on low-carbon birding? Short answer: yes. It has recently been published, and two or three weeks back my complimentary copy arrived. I am a slow reader, and easily distracted, but have managed a number of chapters now. They have made me think, as I knew they would. At some point I shall write some words about this book and shape them into an opinionated NQS post, but for now I shall just say: why not buy a copy, and read it? This is what it looks like...

Anyway, some of the contributors use bikes for their birding. This is something I have long wanted to do but felt was out of reach. My usual haunts are a little too far for comfort, and reached via roads which are absolutely no fun to ride. Also, skinny, lightweight road bikes with drop bars and a million gears never felt like the right kind of tool for such a task.

Enter number two son.

Baz and family moved from London to Lyme Regis in February 2021. Languishing in their garage ever since has been his old single-speed bicycle. You cannot cycle ten feet in Lyme without going seriously uphill. It is no place for a single-speed. So last week Barry's bike found a new home...

It needs a bit of fettling, but this Charge Plug - my colourful new friend - looks quite at home in the West Bay shelter this afternoon.

The bike's arrival could not have been better timed. Slowly, slowly, I am realising that my birding needs have become far less demanding of the scarce and unusual, and more easily satisfied by simple, everyday stuff, and the occasional quirky 'project'. So I intend to focus increasingly on the Bridport recording area, much of which I would feel comfortable doing by bike.

The Plug is equipped with a 16-tooth rear sprocket, which gives a gearing slightly too high for my knackered old legs, especially when faced with an incline, so an 18-tooth replacement is on order. Plus I need to work out a way to fit my scope and tripod securely...

Yes, already I can sense a renewed zeal for the game. Watch this space...

The view from West Bay's prime seawatching spot.

As I sat there this afternoon, 40+ Med Gulls flew west in under five minutes. The sea was lively enough to look interesting, and I promised myself another visit in the morning. With a scope. The forecast is predicting strong wind, and rain quite early.

Despite the big talk, on this occasion the bike will be staying at home.

Autumnal Stuff

On Thursday night the autumn's first few nocmig records of Redwing (6) and Song Thrush (3) were a reminder that 2022 is hurrying on rapidly. And thus ended a very quiet September for me, bird-wise. As if to drive the meagreness home, several miles of coastal walk last Wednesday bagged just a handful of Chiffs. The scenery between West Bay and Stonebarrow is quite spectacular, but the only obvious migrants were a small number of hirundines...

Looking west from the slope of Golden Cap, with Charmouth and Lyme Regis in the distance.

Thank goodness for moths. Without them I would be forced to write an opinion piece...

Our first Black Rustic.

There are a number of so-called autumn moths which have been featuring on my Twitter feed recently, and of course I've been hoping some will put in an appearance here. Black Rustic looked like a smart one, and boy, it did not disappoint! As you can see, not black exactly, rather a velvety mix of almost-blacks with a buff scratch in the kidney mark. Lovely. One hundred percent Goth moth.

Here's another new one...

Barred Sallow, in the same catch as the Black Rustic.

Last night was our 107th night of moth recording, and saw yet another two new species...

Grey Pine Carpet, not uncommon locally I think.

Very few Bridport records (<5 on Living Record) but common enough in the county. First UK record was in Essex, as recently as 1989 apparently.

Just 4mm long.

And some others that were worth a snap...

The very lovely Angle Shades.

A couple of Common Marbled Carpets from last night's catch. A variable species, though these two look rather similar.

Our second Barred Sallow, far more contrasty than the first.

Our second Feathered Ranunculus, a male, showing the feathered antennae.

With every night's moth-trapping comes the possibility of interesting by-catch. Last night it was this lumpy beast...

Necrodes littoralis, or Shore Sexton Beetle.

Fascinating creatures like this are always a bonus. I find myself looking them up, learning new stuff, etc. Before I know it there will be a list...

Yesterday we were in London, attending the first Amateur Entomological Society exhibition since pre-Covid. It was our first since the late 1990s, but all seemed very familar...

Richard Lewington's illustrations are simply amazing. It was impossible not to buy something. We came home with a caterpillar field guide and a Painted Lady print.

It was great to see so many young folk there - including lots of children - as well as old fogies like us. I wonder if the Birdfair attracts as many? Anyway, it was good to get back to Dorset yesterday evening, switch on the moth trap and soak up the silence...

Ring Ouzel and Ortolan

This afternoon I walked from West Bay to Burton Bradstock and back, for one Spotted Flycatcher, a handful of Chiffs and about 12,000 steps. Thankfully bird of the day had happened several hours earlier. Though technically it was bird of the night. This...

Ring Ouzel

That's my third nocmig Ring Ouzel, following one in October 2020 and another in April last year. The sonogram is interesting, with the first note being what looks like a multi-spiked trill. A nice example of one of those times when the sonogram reveals a lot more than the actual sound. Apart from lacking the sharp 'chack' quality of the other two notes, it doesn't sound much different to my ears. See what you think...

There was one other notable nocmig occurence last night...

A lovely loud Water Rail, always a treat.

Anyway, I suppose it's about time I dealt with this slightly frustrating nocmig event from 10th September. A single 'tew' call, at 01:48. I suspected it might be an Ortolan Bunting, but kind of hoped it wasn't. Living in Dorset as I do, Ortolan has always been on my radar. I could be wrong, but it strikes me that every single Dorset nocmigger who's been at it a while eventually bags one. Or several. However, if (when?) it happened here, I wanted a nice series of 'plik' calls, not a single poxy 'tew'. 'Plik' (though I've always written it 'tlip') is the call I normally associate with Ortolan Bunting, and it is one of their principal nocturnal notes also.

But no. I get this...

To be fair, it sounds okay for Ortolan, and a number of fellow nocmiggers have said as much. The sonogram looks good too. Here it is, compared with a number of 'tew' notes nicked off the Sound Approach Ortolan Bunting page...

My 'tew' above, to the same scale as those from the Sound Approach website. Despite obvious variability, the frequency, gradient of slope (especially with the steepest part being at the start) and the obvious kink/step in mine, are all consistent with Ortolan.

Just for fun, here is a mash-up of my 'tew' with several Ortolans off Xeno Canto. My bird starts and finishes it, and is repeated again between every other 'tew'...

So there we are. Having investigated at some length I am finally satisfied that it was an Ortolan Bunting. Satisfied, but not happy. In fact I am so underwhelmed that I cannot be bothered to do anything with it, certainly in terms of submitting the record. I shall pencil it in on the garden list, and await a proper 'plik'-er. And that's that.

Recent moths have been rather samey. Apart from Lunar Underwings (with up to 64 at a time!) there have been just a few other clients at the trap. As I type, there is a Barred Sallow safely potted in the garage, but that is the first new species for a while. Best of the recent visitors was probably this...

Another lovely Blair's Mocha.

But this was nice too...

Common Wainscot.

A few days ago I was at Cogden, and just across the road from the car park spied a sizeable gang of gulls attending a plough. As the tractor passed they would dive in and scrabble about, nabbing whatever they could find, then wait patiently for it to turn around and pass the other way, whereupon they would briefly go mental again. It was fun sifting through them all, but ultimately fruitless. In fact it has struck me that recent birding efforts have largely been just that. Which can only mean there is a biggie waiting for me round the next corner.

I hope.

Dowds & Crickets

I awoke at some ghastly hour this morning and peered into the garden to see if any big and exciting moths were clinging to the moth towel. It was pitch dark. Hmmm... Not a good sign really, considering there ought to have been at least the glow of a 40W actinic lamp brightening things up...

It appears that last night's rain had got where it shouldn't, and tripped the power supply. Which effectively did for the nocmig recorder too. So. No nocmig, and almost no moths. Thankfully the latest moth tick had appeared shortly after dark and was safely potted already. Blastobasis lacticolella is not as exciting as a Clifden Nonpareil, but beggars can't be choosers.

Still, every cloud...etc...

Yes, for once I made it to Cogden nice and early. Nothing dramatic, but 26 Chiffs, 19 Blackcaps, 16 Wheatears, 4 Willow Warblers, 2 Whinchats and 2 Goldcrests kept things lively. Bird of the morning was this...

Juv Grey Plover on the beach. I think it's the first I've seen at Cogden this year.

It didn't hang around long, heading away east just offshore...

Diagnostic black armpit on show.

The only other species I bothered pointing the camera at could safely have been predicted by anyone who ever reads this blog...

Wheatear

Wheatear

Wheatear

Apparently Blastobasis lacticolella is native to Madeira, and was accidentally introduced to Britain around 1946. There are lots of Dorset dots on Living Record, but mostly in the east of the county. With just a couple of Bridport records on the map, perhaps this is a fairly decent local catch...

The moth trap invariably attracts lots of non-moths, and occasionally I am sufficiently intrigued to reach for a pot. Various beetles and shieldbugs have tempted me, but the other night I spotted this thing on the cabin wall...

Cricket sp.

A fairly small and spindly-looking cricket, and a hand lens revealed that it lacked speckles, so definitely not Speckled Bush Cricket. A quick bit of detective work soon confirmed its identity as Southern Oak Bush Cricket, a new one on me. Apparently a recent colonist from Southern Europe, it was first recorded from Surrey and Berkshire in 2001, since when it has spread widely. Ours appears to be the furthest west in Dorset, according to the NBN Atlas, but Devon recorded its first in 2016, so it has sneaked past us already. Even so, what a great record for the garden!

Southern Oak Bush Cricket. The species has only vestigial wings, so it definitely didn't fly to Britain from the Continent!

All this recent moth and insect stuff has stirred happy memories of long ago. When our boys were young we sometimes took them to the Amateur Entomological Society's annual exhibition at Kempton Park Race Course. It must be pushing 25 years since our last visit, but the first exhibition since pre-Covid days is coming up fast. So I thought, 'Why not?'

And a trip is on...

Migration's Little Prizes

This afternoon I walked an 8+ mile circuit from West Bexington to Abbotsbury Beach and back. Being mid-September, and bang in the middle of autumn passage, I expected a bit more than the 8 Chiffs and 2 Yellow Wagtails that I got. Honestly, apart from hirundines, no other migrant birds. On the other hand I counted 19 Clouded Yellows, and the landscape was peppered with Large Whites. Migration isn't all about birds.

Looking east from the edge of East Bexington. Abbotsbury Gardens below, then the Swannery, the Fleet and Chesil Beach, and Portland curving away in the distance. Ghastly.

This pristine Red Admiral had just been prodding at some over-ripe Blackberries.

Rewind a few days, and things were a lot different. According to eBird, my comprehensive search of Cogden covered just over 9 miles. And it felt like it. I am out of shape, and was knackered. Too much time hunched over a moth trap and not enough shingle-bashing. Anyway, 43 Wheatears was a record count for me here, plus 13 Whinchats, 12 Chiffs, 2 Goldcrests, and singles of White Wagtail, Willow Warbler, Spotted Flycatcher and Lesser Whitethroat. Lots to look at, and it felt like something special could pop out any second...

The White Wag found a feast of flies around this big lump of beach concrete.

This Wheatear really does not look comfortable.

Whinchats are always good value. But, as is usually the case, this one would not allow close approach.

Like today, birds were not the only migrants around. I didn't count properly, but certainly 20+ Clouded Yellows. But just one Painted Lady...

Any patch of Fleabane was worth a quick check.

Once again there is a Fleabane flower involved, but tucked out of sight this time.

However, the smartest Cogden migrant that afternoon was neither a bird nor a butterfly...

Hummingbird Hawk-moth at rest.

It was right on the coast path, and flushed from its initial resting spot as I walked by. Thankfully it didn't go far. I honestly cannot recall ever finding one perched up like this. A rare treat.

Before I leave the subject of migration I must mention nocmig. Apart from a few days off earlier this month (rain, wind, apathy) the nocmig kit has been deployed almost non-stop since forever, but the autumn birds have been rather few and far between. If a highlighter pen were to scan the last several weeks it might be tempted into action by 2 Green Sandpipers, a Sandwich Tern, a definite-ish and 2 probable Pied Flycatchers. Otherwise it has been routine bits and bobs, and not many of them. And then last night there was this...

See those tiny blips around 1.5kHz?

The sonogram above is edited from the original, where each blip was separated by several seconds. It has also been cleaned up a bit, noise-wise, so that they stand out more obviously. They went on for more than two minutes, but I must confess to missing the first few initially. Thank goodness I didn't miss them all. I suspected what it was, but sought (and duly got) confirmation from the nocmig WhatsApp group. I give you: one faint and distant Pink-footed Goose...

Needless to say, a nocmig tick for me here in Dorset, where Pink-foot is a description species. The first Pink-footed Geese have been arriving in numbers at many sites north of Watford, and it is easy to imagine one or two over-enthusiastic individuals pressing on a little too far, especially with a bit of wind-assist. Yesterday, for example, one turned up at Abbotsbury Swannery. I would love to know whether it was that bird which flew over Bridport at 01:55 this morning.

Last night was cold and clear, and the moth numbers nosedived. Just 20 in total, and nothing new. Our last migrant tick was on Wednesday night...

Pearly Underwing. Quite a big moth, and momentarily I almost dismissed it as another Large Yellow Underwing. And then I noticed its grey Mohican.

Of course, it's not all about migrants. Plenty of other moths have forced me to photograph them...

Nice, fresh Centre-barred Sallow.

Another Blair's Mocha. Very prominent spots on this one, and a gorgeous deep colour.

Trio of Lunar Underwings from last night. Quite variable, aren't they? I love that beautiful stripey one; shades of Feathered Gothic.

Our second Frosted Orange. Another cracking moth.

The stripey Lunar Underwing definitely deserves a leaf shot.

So there it is. A few of migration's little prizes, plus some regular moths. Chief prize was the Pink-footed Goose of course, and I didn't even have to see it to enjoy it. In fact the whole fascinating process of editing, analysing and investigating that nocmig event galvanised me into doing something I should have done more than a week ago.

On September 10th, at 01:48, a small bird flew over and went 'tew'. I cut out and saved the call, made some preliminary investigations, but ran out of steam. Well, I'm back on the case now. We shall see...

'Tew'