UK birding – Out of the blue

Shetland 2023: waving, not drowning

December 19, 2023December 20, 2023

Andy Last and I spent the final days of September and the first days of October on Shetland, taking the ferry from Aberdeen to Mainland. Having arrived in Lerwick, we took in some of the best birds in the town itself. Birding in Shetland can be a bit surreal at times and this year was no exception. Things started with something slightly blue, in a dung pile:

Followed by something citrine, all wrapped up in a cloak of grey and white, on a nearby football pitch:

Was this the most costly Tescos visit ever?

We then made our way to the local supermarket to stock up on supplies to take with us to Unst, the most northerly of the Shetland Isles, and our home for the week. We had just entered the fruit and vegetable aisle when monumental news reached us: there was a Blackburnian Warbler at Geosetter.

With hindsight, our decision to casually finish our shopping before going to see the bird was a mistake. Whilst our bodies appeared calm, our minds were in a state of utter chaos, as we attempted to remember what food we needed, through an adrenaline haze of double white wing bars, black and yellow. This was also reflected in the bizarre contents of our shopping trolley. I asked the question of Andy, what would our friend Dave Lowe do? We already knew the answer. Dave would drop the shopping basket at his feet and take the most direct route to Geosetter, even if this meant punching a hole in the plate glass windows of the store. Think Terminator.

But we took the risk, finished our shopping, and then drove to Geosetter. Almost immediately we realised we had made a mistake. Having performed brilliantly for fourty five minutes, Britain’s fifth-ever Blackburnian Warbler had flown from the more open area near the top of the ravine, into the impenetrable scrub of the lower section. Unsurprisingly, it had not been seen since. We experienced a nasty feeling of despair, rising like an anxious tide. Was this the most costly Tescos visit ever? We forced patience. We joined those searching for a small bird in dense cover. Half an hour passed, with no further sign of the bird. Then another half hour. We scan through the dwarf trees and shrubs again and again. By now our decision to keep shopping was looking catastrophic. I decided to climb to the top of the ravine, I look back and take this picture of Geosetter:

Then there is someone waving in my viewfinder. I put the camera down. He is still waving. I look down at him, at the bottom of Geosetter. A birder has both arms above his head and is waving. This can only mean one thing. “WAVING” I shout at the nearest birders, whilst pointing down the hill at the waving man by the edge of the cover. Everybody looks up at me and then starts running away. Running to him. He has the Blackburnian. And moments later, so do we:

It was not the bright yellow face and breast or the double white wing-bars that struck me most when watching this bird move through the vegetation. It was the sheer amount of white in the tail. The outer two pairs of tail feathers were almost entirely white, creating bright flashes as it flicked around:

The sheer blinding luck of it. We had only been on Mainland a few hours and already had an American warbler in the bag. Plus we had completed our shopping. The pressure was off. We began making our way north towards Unst, taking in an Arctic Warbler on Yell on the way, just to remind ourselves what a proper Eurasian phylloscopus warbler should look like. Very nice it was too:

Then we began our stay on Unst. Our days often began at Hunter’s Wood, a scrubby field with a few dwarf birches and willows in central Unst, near our accommodation:

This area often held migrants and we enjoyed our birding here. We had Tree Pipit, Wheatear and Whinchat on our first visit; Andy found a nice male Crossbill and a Barred Warbler on our second visit, plus there was a Spotted Flycatcher, a Lesser Whitethroat and a flyover flock of Snow Bunting later in the week.

Elsewhere, I found a Little Bunting on the road to Valyie, an individual with a strangely long deformed bill (the Little Bunting, not me):

We also flushed an unstreaked acrocephalus warbler from the burn at Burrafirth. This bird didn’t play ball though, we had four brief flight views (noting the lack of a rufous rump) and then it was gone, flying strongly south.

Hunter’s Wood also illustrated the importance of favourable winds when birding Shetland. Some southerly winds had deposited migrant birds in Hunter’s Wood at the beginning of the week but then began days of relentless, blasting south-westerly winds. The migrants that were initially present on the island moved on, but nothing replaced them. We recorded 18 species on our first visit to Hunter’s Wood, 23 on our second, but only 11 on our third, and a meager 7 species on our fourth visit. By the end of the week, Unst had a strange birdless feel, and even common migrants could not be found.

We left Unst to see the Veery at Luna, in north-east Mainland. This lovely new world thrush was a delight to see, feeding happily in the leaf litter under a small row of sycamores. We both agreed, that despite some serious competition, this was our Bird of the Trip:

Just a hint of a yellow juvenile gape was visible, evolved to stimulate its parents’ feeding response. Would it ever see another Veery again?

Find the snowman.

Our week on Unst came to an end and we travelled south early on October 3rd, with plans to search for the adult male Snowy Owl that had been reported from Shetland’s highest hill (450m) the previous evening. We joined perhaps five or six other birders, searching the alpine-like landscape of Mid-Field, up on Ronas Hill:

There are a lot of rocks up there. And more large white lichen patches than you may think. The cloud base was just below the summit, visibility came and went. We kept searching, coming across Mountain Hares, hiding in the rock field:

Eventually, once again, someone is waving. We walk down the north side of the hill to where the fabulous Snowy Owl has been located:

No stranger to harsh weather, the Snowy Owl had chosen a spot fully exposed to the north-westerly winds powering in from the Atlantic Ocean, but it seemed unconcerned, as we admired it from afar, a fabulous end to a memorable trip.

Our complete trip list, with more photos and audio, can be found here.

A Christmas Jack Snipe

December 24, 2022December 24, 2022

My youngest daughter suggested making the theme of this year’s Christmas cake the fabulous Jack Snipe that graced the Lye Valley earlier this month. After a bit of experimentation with modeling clay and spaghetti (not natural companions of the usual Christmas cake), we came up with this!

Happy Christmas to everyone!

Some east coast magic, Fife October 2022

October 30, 2022October 31, 2022

A half-term family break to a friend’s house at Fife Ness. We drove up on Thursday 20th October, a filthy day. A deep low was situated just off the coast of Northumberland, pulling in strong winds from right across the North Sea onto the Fife coastline. Visibility was poor, the coast was battered by strong winds and rain. All the way up I was wide-eyed in anticipation. Twisting, invisible corridors of air began to connect Fife with birds migrating across northern Europe. Some of these birds may have come from Scandinavia. Some from much further afield. But all of these birds were suddenly pulled across the North Sea and in terrible conditions, sought the first land and cover they could find.

We arrived at Fife Ness on Thursday evening, I spent the last 30 minutes of light at The Patch, a small area of trees on the tip of the peninsular. Late October, rain on my face, an easterly wind in the sycamores. It does not get better. A Yellow-browed Warbler calls. The atmosphere crackles with anticipation.

The tiny wood is stuffed full of Goldcrests. Their constant high-pitched calls provide the backdrop. The sound of the easterly wind in the sycamores, the constant call of Goldcrests and behind them all, the distinctive dry rattle of a calling Red-breasted Flycatcher:

Robins were everywhere, thrushes streamed overhead, Redwing calls a constant aerial soundtrack.

My most wanted was a self-found Pallas’s Warbler. The sycamores held Blackcaps (above), Chiffchaffs and a Lesser Whitethroat that was eventually ringed and proved to be a Siberian bird, blythi. Brambling and Redpolls passed overhead all day, Woodcocks zipped around. It was superb. Later in the afternoon I caught up with a dark shape at nearby Upper Kilminning, flitting away from the Robins, a Red-flanked Bluetail, always keeping under cover, always hiding the blue in the tail:

Birds were being found all around the peninsular. A Barred Warbler at Lower Kilminning, Yellow-browed Warblers at a number of sites. The nearby Isle of May produced a spectacular haul of 2 Bluetails, Pallas’s Warbler, Radde’s Warbler and tens of Long and Short-eared Owls. Over the next day, the easterlies faded, leaving behind them some extraordinary birds. The best, this Amur Stonechat stejnegeri which breeds no nearer than Mongolia.

The unstreaked orange rump, the dark brown mantle, contrasting with pale underparts and the pure white throat were all features I saw on the stejnegers at Westing on Unst in October 2019, but no doubt DNA analysis will have the last say on this bird’s identity.

Bird migration calmed down from intense high of the first few days. But even on calm days migration was apparent, these Pink-footed Geese from the Arctic, heading down the coast, over the forest:

I also visited the Hilton of all seawatching hides, the Fife Bird Club hide at the tip of Fife Ness. Having joined the club to gain access to the hide I was not disappointed: comfy office chairs on wheels (with back cushions too!); padded benches; a working and correct clock; lots of information boards, it was impressive! The sea watching was gentle, I did some simply because I live a long way from the sea. Gannets and Razorbills streamed past, Common Scoters flew past in small flocks, with a few Velvet Scoter and Long-tailed Duck past now and then too. Good numbers of Red-throated Divers were frequent, with singles of Manx Shearwater and Puffin being the highlights, alongside a small pod of Bottle-nosed Dolphins.

The rest of the week saw some other nice moments. A beech tree reaching down to a small stream, its leaves cradling a rock surrounded by water. On the rock, under an umbrella of leaves, a Dipper, singing away above the sound of the stream:

We visited Tentsmuir Forest, Red Squirrels were hard to come by this year, but we glimpsed a few:

The self-found Pallas’s Warbler may have to wait for another autumn. But the combination of those easterly winds, the sycamores on the coast, migrant birds everywhere with anticipation levels peaking, made for an amazing, intense and very special east coast migration experience.

Partial solar eclipse, peaking through the clouds.

Shetland 22: the end.

October 12, 2022October 12, 2022

The shift in our birding fortunes began, very subtly and almost unnoticed, on Saturday afternoon. We were at Valyie, where Andy was mourning the departure of three juvenile Common Rosefinch, one of his favourite birds. I guess it takes all sorts. And we had seen all three birds on more than one occasion already.

Juvenile Common Rosefinch, “*in all its glory*” – photo by Andy.

At about 4pm, Andy called me to say that he had just had a glimpse of the head of an unstreaked acro in the dense bushes behind the house. I joined him and we spent half an hour or so searching for it, but hardly saw a bird. Then news broke that the Ortolan was back on the beach road, so we walked down to try to see it and made a mental note to return to Valyie. The next afternoon we were back. Dusk was falling. I was walking slowly down the gully next to the house, when I flushed what appeared to be a pale, almost sandy-coloured, warbler. It flew further down the gully, and appeared very evenly coloured, with no warm rump tones. I called Andy, who joined me and after a few minutes, the bird flew from the gully, into the crop field across the road. We had one more flight view that evening, in near darkness, but could not add any detail to what we had already seen in two brief flight views.

We were back at 8am the following morning, Monday 3rd October. We were joined by local birder and Unst resident Dave Cooper and a friend. After half an hour or so of searching, Andy located the warbler in the crop. It was extremely elusive, only flicking up occasionally and never perching out. It was also very mobile, appearing in one area and then popping up at the other end of the field for a second, before disappearing. Early on, Andy had a very brief glimpse of the whole bird which suggested Booted Warbler. Later in the morning, we had another flight view, which revealed the short-winged appearance, slightly jinking flight action and no definitely no white in the tail. So we now knew it was not a Booted Warbler and our thoughts moved towards Blyth’s Reed Warbler. As the weather deteriorated, with rain showers sweeping through, the bird appeared less pale, more a light rufous brown. Feeding in soaking vegetation was also making the bird wet, which added to the darker colouration we saw as the day wore on. After five hours, this was my best picture of the warbler:

But we did not let it go. You can feel it when the Birding Gods are testing you. We tried to remain alert and observant, even when the bird disappeared, even when it rained. Fortunately, a few more people joined us as we tried to confirm the identification. Roger Wyatt, from Oxfordshire, and another birder called Scott, had brought thermal imagers. These proved invaluable in helping locate the bird in the crop by narrowing the search zone, which made getting photographs slightly easier, though the bird remained extremely elusive and mobile.

Far right: Andy, next to Roger Wyatt using a thermal imager to locate the Blyth’s Reed Warbler in the back of the crop field

From pictures taken by Roger and Dave, the consensus was that we had found a Blyth’s Reed Warbler. The undertail coverts and flanks appeared clean white, with none of the buff tones of the undertail of Reed Warbler or the flanks of Marsh Warbler. It was noticeably short-winged, even in flight and some images showed a supercilium that bulged in front of the eye but did continue to extend back behind the eye. Dave Cooper has posted some of his pictures here and was happy with the identification, having found his first Blyth’s Reed in the very same field. On that occasion, it took him seven hours to identify it, in similar circumstances. It took us about eight hours in total. Being only an hour behind Dave Cooper, made us feel pretty good!

Back of camera shot from Dave Cooper. Note the short primaries, white undertail coverts and bulging fore-supercilium

On Saturday what was presumably the same bird appeared in Dave Cooper’s garden, which is only a twenty-second flight from the Valyie crop field and is visible from it. Here all the requisite features can be seen: clean white undertail coverts and flanks; short primary projection; an obvious fore-supercilium (not the open-faced appearance of Reed with an obvious eye-ring) and a dark “smudge” on the tip of the lower mandible. We did not hear this bird call.

Blyth’s Reed Warbler – photo by Dave Cooper

Wing detail – photo by Dave Cooper, my text. Blyth’s Reed has deep emargination on p3 and p4, Reed and Marsh only on p3.

So having taken eight hours over three days to unravel our first rare find on Shetland, it took us about two seconds to wrap up our second. We left Unst on Tuesday morning and began our drive down through Mainland to catch the evening ferry from Lerwick. We had time to pop in to admire some other birds en route, so headed to Hillswick to see the reported Pechora Pipit. As we headed out to the west side of Mainland, Andy spotted two glowing white shapes perched in the lee of a bush, sheltering from the driving rain and westerly gale. They were very obviously, and immediately, identified as Hornemann’s Arctic Redpolls. It was not a difficult call. The only difficulty was looking at them directly, as the nearly pure white rump and flanks were burningly bright, threatening our retinas:

“*Look at the white on that!*” Hornemann’s Arctic Snowball.

It had been a good twenty-four hours. For the first time, we felt calm and rewarded for our efforts. It was a bit odd to meet other birders at Hillswick, having met so few people on Unst, but we tried to be sociable. We had reasonable flight views of the Pechora Pipit and both got binocular views of the black and white mantle braces. If you squint very hard you can make out the dark wing panel, bordered by white wingbars above and below, on the montage picture below:

Like monks, Pechora Pipits are known for their silence on rising. We heard the flight call twice, a hard, almost electronic “dzitt!“, that was very distinctive. Also like monks, we nodded in silent appreciation:

The possible *homeyeri* Great Grey Shrike – picture by Roger Wyatt

Half an hour later we were watching the Great Grey Shrike in the village that some are speculating may be of the eastern race homeyeri (pictured above), when the Birding Gods finally delivered their special reward. It was whispered there was a Lanceolated Warbler at Wester Quarff, some 45 minutes south of us, but close to Lerwick and our evening ferry. Presumably whispered, because we could not quite believe this was true. What were the chances that two major Shetland specialities would both be on Mainland and pretty much on our route to our ferry on the only day we were travelling south? We gave thanks to The Gods and left immediately. Our suffering was being rewarded.

Seeing the Lanceolated Warbler was not easy. It had attracted a crowd, perhaps 120 people when we arrived, including the friendly faces of Ewan Urquhart and Jim Hutchins from Oxfordshire. The bird was feeding in a field next to the road, where there were cows and calves. The grass was quite long and viewing was difficult. I got lucky and happened to have a clear view when the Lanceolated Warbler crept out from behind this tussock. However, most people were unsighted and could not see it. This tiny warbler had the behaviour and colour of a mouse, weaving its way through the grass stems:

Hugh Harrop then took control of the situation, asked the farmer the move the cows away from that corner of the field and arranged for three people to walk slowly through the field so the bird could be walked across the road to the opposite field, where the vegetation was shorter and the light better. This worked well, the Lanceolated Warbler fluttering across the road, passing between Ewan Urquhart’s legs at one point. Once across the road, it continued weaving its way through the grass, occasionally coming out into the open, where I had the sort of views of Lanceolated Warbler that I had only dreamt about. It was a fabulous bird:

We felt elated and relieved. Finally, we had seen some of the Shetland specialities that we have long dreamed about seeing. Two Arctic Redpoll, a Pechora Pipit and a Lanceolated Warbler: it had been a good day by anyone’s standards. But of course, the Birding Gods are fickle beasts. They delivered a Myrtle Warbler to Mainland the next day. Having driven north away from Oxfordshire and an American nightjar, we now found ourselves driving south, away from Shetland and an American warbler. We could sense the Birding Gods smiling. But we did not mind, as so were we.

The eBird trip report for all the birds we saw, photographed and sound recorded is here.

Shetland 22: in the beginning.

October 9, 2022October 9, 2022

In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters. And God said, “Let there be birds,” and there were birds. But only the few would see them. And to do this, they had to pay the price.

The Birding Gods are fickle beasts. They give with one hand and take with the other. Having been deprived of a trip to worship the birds of Uganda with Dave Lowe and Ian Reid by a serious bike accident in June, I reasoned I had suffered enough. The Gods thought otherwise. I spent the summer recovering, walking, then cycling again. A planned trip to spend a week on Unst with Andy Last had looked in jeopardy, but I worked hard on my recovery and by late September, felt physically capable enough to commit to travel. This year, we would not base ourselves on Mainland Shetland, but rather headed north, to spend the week on Unst, home of the most northerly house, post office and lighthouse in the UK. We would be closer to the Gods. We would concentrate on finding our own birds. The Birding Gods would be pleased.

We left Oxford at 6am on Monday 26th September. A day I’ll always remember. Cause that was the day my belief in the benevolence of the Birding Gods died. By lunchtime, we were just south of Glasgow. We pulled into a service station. I glimpsed a thumbnail of a picture message from Jason arrive on my phone. I said to Andy “I think there’s a Nightjar in Oxfordshire“. Then, immediately, this:

The shock that rippled through the Oxfordshire birding community also rippled through us, in Scotland. But, unlike the other seventy people on that group whose lives at that very point in time had been thrown into chaos and who were desperately planning how they could escape work, family, or indeed any other sort of commitment at all, we were very calm. We were calm because we immediately knew we would not see this bird. It was six hours back to Oxford and we had a ferry to catch to Shetland that evening from Aberdeen. There was no decision to make. HAD I NOT SUFFERED ENOUGH? Obviously not, it was quite simply the best bird ever to turn up in Oxfordshire. A North American nightjar: better than the Oriole. Better than the Scops Owl. Better than the Surf Scoter. Much better than the Buff-bellied Pipit. It did not take long for our calm to turn into pain. We drove on. We suffered. We were well past Stirling before we spoke again. Andy turned to me and said, “Is it still there?” I checked and nodded, “Showing beautifully in the sunshine“. We birded the Girdleness peninsular, next to the Aberdeen ferry terminal, and found a Little Gull. At precisely the moment the Nighthawk took off from its fence in Wantage to continue its migration, our ferry pulled away from the docks in Aberdeen, into the teeth of a fierce north-westerly gale. It was going to be a rough night. Clearly, I had not suffered enough.

The next morning, our arrival in Lerwick was delayed by a couple of hours by the headwinds, so we had the chance to look for seabirds from the ship as dawn broke. In amongst the Fulmars, Gannets and occasional Bonxie, we found 5 Sooty Shearwaters shearing their way south through the North Sea. We docked in Lerwick, caught up with the Glaucous Gull in the harbour and the drake Surf Scoter at nearby Gulberwick, before we headed north to our home for the week, the most northerly island of Unst.

We were based for the week in Uyeasound, right by the harbour and right by the Otters. We checked the local area every morning for migrants, before birding north through the island.

Shetland in autumn is the land of Yellow-browed Warbler. They were out in force again this year, after a quiet year last year:

Some birds were quite vocal and we heard calling birds most days:

Most places had Common Redpolls too, calling fly-over birds were frequent:

But one of the highlights of this autumn was the influx of the big beasts from the north, Hornemann’s Arctic Redpolls. The birding machine that is Geoff Wyatt, found one just outside Uyeasound one afternoon when Andy and I were up in the north of the island, which we caught up with later in the week. We slipped off the island once, just to Mid Yell about 30 minutes away, to marvel at this fabulous white beast, before vowing that we must find our own:

At the ferry port this Minke Whale surfaced close by, the sound of its blow ringing around the bay, drawing attention:

Common migrants were a little thin on the ground, but sites with cover usually held something. We found Redstarts, Lesser Whitethroats and a Garden Warbler in various places, plus…

Occasionally we popped in to pay homage to a local scarcity:

We enjoyed an hour at Burrafirth, pictured above, one afternoon, with fog and clouds rolling in from Hermaness. We both thought we heard a Yellow-browed Warbler call from the bracken on the hillside. A quick clamber up revealed there was one, and a Willow Warbler and in the valley a Whinchat. Hermaness had no migrants, but still had good numbers of Great Skuas, we had 12 together at one point.

But we sensed something had to change. We were finding birds, but just not the right ones. Andy’s camera stopped working after four days. I took this as a good sign. Is there a better way to get a close, beautifully lit view of a good bird, than not to have a working camera at hand? We couldn’t think of one. Another day passed. We considered whether we should take this strategy a step further and submerge all our optics in the Pool of Sacred Tears (aka the small garden pool by the road out of Uyesound):

This thought process paid immediate dividends, with Andy getting a glimpse of a small dark crake running between the willow bushes in the background. It was nearly dark before it ran back, confirming its identity as a Water Rail. We flushed this bird from near this area as we walked back along the road the following morning too.

We went back to the Gods for advice. Andy re-created the moment that the mighty sea-birder Erik the Red scored the first Fea’s Petrel for the North Sea in AD65, from this longship near Haroldswick. But the Gods were not amused. I slipped on the deck of this boat and twisted my injured leg. Had we suffered enough? Had we paid the price? Would we get our reward? Find out next time in “Shetland 22: the end”.

Shetland 21, part 4: keep calm and carry on.

October 24, 2021October 24, 2021

In a week of predominately westerly winds, it was pleasantly surprising to see new birds from the east arriving, as well as to catch up with some eastern species that arrived just before we did. There was also one rare wader from North America, a Semipalmated Sandpiper. In 2019 we had superb views of this species at Grutness:

This year another Semipalmated Sandpiper turned up across the bay at Pool of Virkie, favouring a small pool in the field next to Roger Riddington’s house. We decided not to try and get too close, but watched from a distance using our ‘scopes. It was in company with a juvenile Little Stint, at one point interacting with it and perching on the Stint’s back for a few seconds. In changing light, the distinguishing features from Little Stint varied from obvious to not very obvious and back again.

The Radde’s Warbler at Kergord got my vote for being one of the top three birds of the trip. It was typically difficult to see, but with a bit of patience we managed to piece together a view of the head and bill, then a flash of the pinkish-buff vent and tail as it disappeared before finally, we got a brief view of the whole bird for a moment and then it was back out of sight, creeping around in the base of a rosehip bush. As it was quite dark, we all choose to favour views of this bird, rather than photos, but Ewan Urquhart managed to get a nice picture of the bird as it perched out when he visited:

Also from the east was a Barred Warbler at Gulberwick, which perched up briefly before flying across the road:

A juvenile Common Rosefinch at Wester Quarff held particular interest for Andy. We visited this area on 9th October, a day that was forecast to be washed out by rain. We hoped to get an hour or so of birding in before the rain arrived, but even by 7:30am, when barely light, the rain began to fall. The Rosefinch was in a small (turnip?) crop by the road to Wester Quarff, so there was plenty of cover for it to shelter within. After over half an hour of standing in the rain searching through the Chaffinches, Brambling and Meadow Pipits that flitted around the crop, Dave and I were beginning to wonder at the point of this exercise. Especially when the best possible outcome was seeing a juvenile Common Rosefinch in the rain. But Andy has something of a Rosefinch obsession. We discussed how long we wanted to give this bird. I suggested another 20 minutes, to which Dave agreed, providing that included the 19 minute walk back to the car! However, Andy announced he wanted to give the Rosefinch another hour (!), so Dave and I agreed we would walk back and began scanning the bay for the eclipse drake King Eider, whilst Andy maintained his Rosefinch vigil. It all worked out in the end. I picked out the King Eider, Andy’s persistence paid off when the Rosefinch appeared and we all saw both birds:

The degree of Andy’s Rosefinch obsession can be demonstrated by the traditional bird-of-the-day discussion that the evening. We lost nearly the whole day to weather, so there were only two contenders: a drake King Eider and a juvenile Common Rosefinch. I would wager that 99% of birders would see this as a no-brainer. One is a dull brown juvenile finch, the other a magnificent brightly coloured sea duck, with a fabulous bill, just coming out of full breeding plumage. But not Mr Last. Dismissing the drake King Eider as “just another duck”, he then began to sing the virtues of the flank streaking, the wing-bars and even the evil beady eye, as positive virtues for the Rosefinch. Fortunately, democracy prevailed, with two-votes-to-one for the King Eider.

A Bluethroat in Burrafirth Quarry was one of the better marked autumn birds that we’ve seen, though it was very good at hiding in the dead thistle beds:

The juvenile Woodchat Shrike at Aith, worked its way up and down the fence line behind the houses. This bird had rather smart wing feathering. The pale-centered lower scapulars, with sharp chocolate brown edges contrasted with the dark-centered, pale-fringed greater coverts. The white patch at the base of the primaries was obvious and the primaries tips had pale fringes too:

A Rustic Bunting, found near Kegord, which also hosted the Radde’s Warbler, attracted a few birders:

Shortly after we arrived the Rustic Bunting flew along the hedgerow calling with a distinctive short, compressed, high-pitched “zit” call and perched up on the other side of the hedge. We knew this from the cascade of camera shutter noise we could hear. Seeing the photographers advance towards the hedge, we decided to wait on our side of the hedge to see if the bunting would appear there. The bird dropped down to feed out of sight, in a long ditch that separated the two fields. We waited. And waited. After 20 minutes a single “zit” call rang out from a bush 10 meters down the fence line from where the bird was last seen. I looked across at Andy and knew that he had heard the call too. We both move down the fence line and focus our attention on this bush. Suddenly Andy calls out “there it is!” and there, perched low down in the bush in front of us, is a rather fabulous Rustic Bunting:

Another nice bird from the east was this ghostly Siberian Chiffchaff which appeared in front of us in the small quarry at Quendale on a very wet late afternoon. We met Dan Brown and James Eaton working the iris beds here, Dan was using a thermal imager to try to pick out heat signatures from birds moving within cover, a glimpse of the future in migrant hunting perhaps?

That evening Dave and I went to a meeting of the Shetland Bird Club to hear a talk on Hummingbirds by local Shetland birder Jon Dunn. Jon began his talk by illustrating why he is so drawn to Hummingbirds by contrasting them with “dull migrant species” like Siberian Chiffchaff, the very species we had found at Quendale that evening. I like to think they have a subtle, delicate beauty of their own Jon!

Finally, our visit to Shetland ended with another lesson in remaining calm and reviewing evidence. News broke of a possible Eastern Yellow Wagtail at Gulberwick on our final afternoon. The bird was feeding in a sheep field:

The bird was a grey juvenile Yellow Wagtail, but as Dave asked whilst we watched it, was there anything about it that made it an Eastern Yellow Wagtail? It did not call whilst we were there, so there was no definitive evidence. We noted the slight yellow wash to the vent and at certain times the mantle had a very slight brownish hue to it. It was certainly not a classic monochrome individual. The following day a recording of this bird’s call was made, which confirmed that it was a Western Yellow Wagtail. Once again, the temptation to go for the rare option, that on Shetland in October is magnified by the location and the date, needed to be resisted. Keep calm and carry on!

Shetland 21, part 3: pipits and ditches

October 20, 2021October 19, 2021

On 5th October we visited Channerwick on the east coast of Mainland Shetland. It is a superb-looking site, with enough sheltered cover to attract migrants, but not too much as to make finding them a daunting task. Two notable things happened here. Firstly, we saw and heard Olive-backed Pipit; secondly, I put our car in a ditch as I reversed out of the site. Let’s look at both those incidents, starting with the one that has generated the most conversation. Sadly, it is not the pipit.

It was a simple, though embarrassing, misjudgment. I wasn’t even the only person to ditch their car that day, as Penny Clarke put her car in exactly the same ditch that same afternoon. Fortunately, Andy and Dave dealt with the delay without fuss or drama. They went birding whilst I called for the tow truck. Below, the resuce, with help from the tow-truck and a group of visiting birders. Thank you, to all of these people:

At times like these, it is good to know that I have friends who will quietly support me at difficult moments, who will not send pictures of my handiwork to everyone they know or say “mind the ditch” every single time that I park for the duration of the trip. Unfortunately, those friends were not with me. So the next day when I bump into Sue and Roger Wyatt from Oxfordshire, Roger greets me with the words “Who put the car in the ditch then? Ian Lewington sent me a picture!” Later the same day, Andy receives a picture of our car in the ditch from Terry Sherlock and Wayne Paes in Oxford, who ask for an explanation of how it got there. Word was well and truely out. Oh, how those long autumn evenings flew by.

Now, back to the pipit. An Olive-backed Pipit had been reported at Channerwick, but we were pleased to see that we had the site to ourselves when we arrived. We would find the bird ourselves. Andy stayed near the sycamores and tree cover, Dave headed south towards the shore, I checked the burn and the fields opposite:

Dave found the pipit in the scrub and rough fields to the south. It was elusive and only gave flight views initially, before showing beautifully to Dave and Andy. By the time I joined them I had more distant views, but twice heard the flight call. Below, Olive-backed Pipit, photo by Andy:

On 8th October we headed north to Unst, arriving at one of our favourite sites, the small woodland of Halligarth, at 8:15am. As we walked down towards the gate to the wood, I heard and simultaneously saw, a pipit flying towards us with an explosive high-pitched flight call. I called out “interesting pipit coming over” and we, and two other birders, watched the pipit drop into the canopy of the wood. Had I been visiting my patch in the Lye Valley, Oxford, I would have added Tree Pipit to my checklist and moved on, happy with a good find. But this being Shetland, in October, there is a temptation to reach for other, rarer options. So, on the basis of hearing a single flight call, which I thought similar to the Olive-backed Pipit we heard at Channerwick, I called “Olive-backed Pipit?” We needed to see, or at least hear, the bird again.

We watched from outside the wood, got a glimpse of the bird fly out and then disappear into the sycamore canopy once again. There then followed about half an hour without sight or sound of the pipit. The two other birders we had met outside of the wood then flushed the pipit from the rough fields to the south of the wood. We all saw and heard the bird fly past the wood to perch on distant wires, before dropping into a cattle field to feed. After this fly-by, none of us felt confident to identify the bird on call alone, but it was either a Tree or an Olive-backed Pipit. One of the birders we had met played recordings of the flight call of both species on his phone. Tree Pipit sounded much more similar to our bird, a fatter, more buzzy call, slightly lower-pitched than the thin, high-pitched flight call of Olive-backed Pipit. But we were also aware that there can be an overlap between the two species’ flight calls.

Dave and I decided to re-find the bird in the field and I would try to get a recording of the flight call on my phone. This worked a treat. The flight calls are at 11 and 14 seconds. The wood at Helligarth can be seen in the background:

We got some distant photos of the bird perched on a wall a little while later, but little could be seen on the back of the camera, so we parked the ID of this pipit until the evening when we could review the evidence at our accommodation. In the meantime, the two other birders we met had put the news out that an Olive-backed Pipit was present at Halligarth. By now, we weren’t quite so sure.

This is the sonogram of the key moments. The faint purple haze below 2kHz through the recording is wind noise, with a loud gust at the 3-second mark, which creates the faint vertical purple column between the pipit flight calls:

Examination of the sonogram taken from the video (for tech-geeks, a .MOV file converted to .WAV file and then processed using Audacity) shows a number of things:

Firstly, the frequency of the pipit’s flight call. Although not completely diagnostic (see this technical article by Avesrares here) Tree Pipit flight calls rarely exceed 8kHz. I would say the flight calls we recorded barely exceed 7 kHz. The Avesrares article shows Olive-backed Pipit flight calls peaking at about 8.5-9kHz, significantly higher-pitched than our bird.

Secondly, the mooing of cows is at a very low frequency, somewhere between 1 and 4 kHz. Incredibly, Dave’s broad Bolton accent is at a lower frequency than a cow moo, below 0.5kHz, though the two are rarely confused in the field. The sonogram also captures Dave’s reaction time between hearing the flight call and calling out “there it is!” The flight call ends at the 2s mark. Dave’s voice begins at about the 2.5-second point, quick work Dave.

So, to cut a long story short, we saw and heard a Tree Pipit. But now we know exactly why and more importantly, why it was not an Olive-backed Pipit. This was an educational pipit and we all felt more informed for it. However, distinguishing this species pair on flight call alone is not always straightforward. If an Olive-backed Pipit flies over your head calling, you need to hope it is one with a call at the more obvious end of the spectrum – the higher-pitched, thinner and less buzzy, the better! Take a listen to these examples from x eno-canto:

Tree Pipit: Lars Edenius, XC668177. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/668177.

Olive-backed Pipit, but at the less obvious end of the spectrum:
Jelle Scharringa, XC653907. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/653907.

Obvious Olive-backed Pipit:
Nicholas Galea, XC533890. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/533890.

Many thanks to Mick Cunningham for his thoughts and input on our pipit calls too.

Next: goodies from the east, despite the winds.

Shetland 21, part 2: a blast from the north

October 19, 2021October 19, 2021

This year there were a number of arctic breeding species present on Shetland. A telescope was needed to view some of these species, as they could be quite distant. An undoubted highlight was the summer plumaged White-billed Diver, found by Jono Lethbridge’s group, at South Nesting. Any summer plumaged diver is a magnificent sight and White-billed Diver has that rarity value too. A stunning bird in the ‘scope, it was way too far out for photos, but I gave it a go anyway:

Below, second place in the “Diver Awards” went to the very smart Great Northern Diver, that Dave and I watched fly past from Grutness. This was one of many present in summer plumage that we saw around the islands. We also saw winter plumaged birds and Red-throated Diver.

Getting even more distant was the second-calendar year King Eider that was found with the Eider flock at Girlsta. This was the ultimate in distant birds. In binoculars, the entire Eider flock was miles away, a thin line of brown and white on the far side of the bay (*confession, I have just measured the distance on Google Earth, the flock was almost exactly 1km/0.6 miles away from us. Which is still quite a distance to pick out a 60cm long sea-duck) :

Picking out the King Eider was a nice challenge, won by Andy, on this occasion. The glowing orange bill was the most obvious initial feature. It was a minor miracle that we got a picture of the bird at that distance, but modern cameras never fail to amaze:

A telescope was also required to pick out the first-winter Glaucous Gull in the gull flock on the far side of Loch Spiggie:

Later in the week, we visited Wester Quarff, where our second King Eider, an eclipse drake, could be found. Fortunately, it was closer than the Girlsta bird. This was a smart bird in the ‘scope, though the light was very poor for photos that day:

Northern passerines were more accommodating than some of the sea-duck. We found Snow Buntings at Lamba Ness on Unst (13) and at Scatness on Mainland. They are always great birds to see:

Brambling was the dominant finch species, replacing Common Redpoll, which was everywhere during our 2019 visit. Most areas of tree or shrub cover held a few, they are always a pleasure to see and hear:

Scatness is the central line of land in the picture below, taken from the plane as we left Shetland. It has a small loch in the middle of it. Sumburgh Head is the far peninsular, although the headland is just disappearing behind the clouds in this picture. This year it was so much more comfortable to go birding there when I was not dressed as John Travolta, Saturday Night Fever style. Unlike our visit in 2019.

Instead, the loch on Scatness held 5 lovely Shorelark, which remained all week in the area south of the loch…

… and one Lapland Bunting, which made us work hard, before Andy re-located it around the wall south of the loch:

Next: pipits, ditches and cars.

Shetland 21, part 1: rainbows, lows and highs

October 18, 2021October 19, 2021

One of the joys of visiting Shetland is that in one place you can see birds from all over the world. Andy Last, Dave Lowe and I spent 6 days on Shetland in early October, although this was reduced to about four-and-a-half usable days by various low-pressure systems that swept in off the Atlantic, bringing rain and reduced visibility:

Between the lows, we experienced a combination of sunshine, showers and the rainbows that inevitably appear between them:

We were not blessed with classic weather conditions for bringing in migrant birds. There were none of the fast-moving depressions from the US eastern seaboard that may carry North American passerines across the Atlantic and we had no winds with any easterly vector at all. The local birders complained of the lack of common migrants in persistent westerly winds. We certainly saw far fewer common migrants, especially Goldcrests, Yellow-browed Warblers and Common Redpolls, compared to our visit at the same time of year in 2019. But everything is relative. Compared to Oxfordshire in October, it was fantastic! As a group, we saw 103 species, one more than our 2019 total. Here are some pictures of some of the common migrants and residents that we did see:

Above and below, Yellow-browed Warbler at Quendale. One of only three we saw all week.

Above, Blackcap. This species took the title of “Most Common Warbler”, in 2019 Yellow-browed Warblers outnumbered Blackcap. Not so this year. Below, Wheatear.

Above, Shetland Wren, below, Fulmar.

Above, Dunlin on Lamba Ness; below Common Snipe probing for worms in a garden on Unst:

Above, Dave Lowe, our very own pot of gold.

Next: a blast from the north, White-billed Diver, King Eiders and a host of northerly breeding species.

Isle of Skye 2: boat trips

August 5, 2021August 18, 2021

We drifted silently on blue water under a blue sky. The amazing rock formations of the Macleod’s Maidens towered above us, visibility was perfect. The sea was as flat as glass and equally reflective. I turned around asked our boatman, Jordan, how often are conditions like this? He simply said “never”.

Jordan was right. Typically Skye has rubbish summer weather. The 30-year average for the number of days with complete sunshine in July is 0.9 days per month – ie not even one full day of sun, on average, in the whole month! In fact, July and August have the least number of days of full sunshine of any month, except December, which is pretty much dark, being so far north. We got so lucky.

We arrived in a heatwave that lasted throughout the entire first week of our ten days on the island. A week of blue skies, sunshine and crystal-clear visibility. We hardly saw a cloud in the first week, or indeed, a wave. Even at the end of our trip when there was more cloud cover, the wind remained absent and the sea completely flat. Below, the view from above Uig, looking out towards the Ascrib Islands, across a wave-less sea:

Looking west to the Outer Hebrides, across the Little Minch, the sea between Skye and the Hebrides:

Having suffered many times on boats at sea (most graphically recorded here), a flat sea is my idea of heaven. We took three boat trips in these ideal conditions: one east from Portree; one west from Carbost and one in the north from Uig to the Ascrib Islands.

Our first trip was from Portree, a 6pm departure on The Stardust. This is a well-known trip for seeing and photographing White-tailed Eagles. The local eagles are habituated to taking fish thrown from the back of the boat. We did not come across any eagles on the cliffs closest to Portree, so then headed across the sound to Raasay. As soon as we approached the island, a large and distinctive shape appeared in the sky heading towards us:

This was, apparently, a 14-year-old female White-tailed Eagle, who is feeding a large chick on the island. She circled a couple of times…

… before making a low-level pass (harrassed by the local Oystercatchers), to take the fish from the sea:

We also came across a small pod of Common Dolphins in the Sound of Raasay, including this adult and calf:

There were more cetaceans on our second boat trip, on a RIB with SeaSkye Tours, from Carbost on western Skye. We exited Loch Harport, passed the Macleod’s Maidens (see above) and entered the open ocean, which was completely flat and blue. It could have been the Mediterranean. Splashes in the distance indicated that a large pod of Common Dolphins were actively feeding offshore. As we approached, the dolphins became interested in our boat:

With the sea so still, the closer dolphins were clearly visible underwater. Their skin tells their story: tooth rake marks, from interactions with other dolphin’s teeth, are common in cetaceans, many can be seen on this Common Dolphin:

The feeding dolphin pod performed magnificently, providing some amazing, intimate views. They were so close that it was almost like doing underwater photography!

Even better, two Minke Whales surfaced behind the feeding dolphin pod. We all saw their long grey backs sweep up and then down as they exhaled and then inhaled, before diving. Below: a Common Dolphin jumps. The long dark line and the wave in the background is a Minke Whale, just submerged:

Further out, on the outskirts of the feeding pod, were Harbour Porpoises. Unlike the dolphins, porpoises are shy of boats and they kept their distance. These are darker cetaceans than the Common Dolphins, with smaller, more triangular, dorsal fins:

Still photographs never do cetaceans real justice. Video captures their speed and agility much more accurately. My daughters made the video below using my phone:

Our third, and final, boat trip was on our last full day on Skye. It departed from Uig, in northern Skye, with SkyeXplorer boat trips. These trips head out to the Ascrib Islands, where there are many breeding seals, Common and Grey, and seabirds. Below, Common Seals:

Below, this adult Gannet came by to investigate our boat. You know you’ve had a good view of a Gannet, if you can see the blue eye-ring:

As we approached the islands, we began to come across groups of auks resting on the water. A few Common Guillemots were present, with recent fledged young. Closer still to the island we saw Black Guillemots, with their fantastic red legs:

But the Puffins were the stars of the show. By late July only a few remained, we saw about 120 in total. Those adults that were present were losing the colour on their bills and their white faces were beginning to darken. Their plumage was changing from their breeding plumage to their winter plumage. These birds spend all winter out in the Atlantic Ocean, an incredible feat of survival. By early August, nearly all have departed for the open sea.

Some birds still retained some of their summer colour. Everyone loves a Puffin!