October 2019 – Out of the blue

Shetland 4: three extraordinary moments

October 25, 2019October 25, 2019

One: Horror at Sumburgh Head

This blog post describes three remarkable moments from our trip to Shetland in early October 2019. One reason we planned the trip was as part of the celebrations for my 50th birthday. I also had a party at the Jericho Tavern in Oxford, where I forced my guests to come in fancy-dress as pop stars. It was a superb evening and Andy and Dave took up the challenge too. Unfortunately, their experience of walking through Oxford dressed as Elvis and John Travolta (“Grease” style) made them swear to get fancy-dress revenge upon me. And as it turns out, revenge is a dish best served cold. As I discovered at dawn on the top of Sumburgh Head.

The afternoon before had been written off by the arrival of Hurricane Lorenzo. Gale force south-easterly winds lashed the islands, with horizontal rain from lunchtime until midnight. We sheltered inside our accommodation in Lerwick with only hot food and fine wine for sustenance. After dinner Dave presented me with a copy of the Birds of Shetland, with some handwritten messages from the group, a fabulous, thoughtful and touching present. “But to every ying, there is a yang” said Dave ominously, “to every pleasure, pain“. He then produced a carrier bag and placed it on the table. Inside was the John Travolta costume from my party, Saturday Night Fever style. “Tomorrow is going to be a great bird day. What could be better than finding a rare bird on Shetland… whilst you are dressed as John Travolta?” I had quite liked the sound of the first two-thirds of that sentence. The last third made my blood run cold. A number of options flashed through my mind, including running to the car, driving to Sumburgh and getting the first plane back to the mainland. Except there were no flights. Thanks Lorenzo. I was trapped in a room with a group of four men who were intent on forcing me to dress up as a 70s disco icon. And then go birding. On Shetland in October. The morning after a south-easterly gale. This was cruel beyond any reason. I did the only thing I could. I capitulated.

The next morning, we were up and dressed at the agreed time of 6am. It was still dark. We were all aware that today could be the big day. We had agreed to start at the quarries at Sumburgh Head and then work our way north, checking areas with cover as we went. Under my waterproof trousers, I was acutely aware that I was wearing the tightest pair of white flares ever worn by a human being. Under my waterproof jacket and fleece, a black shirt and white waistcoat acted as my base layer. They had not relented. My fate was sealed.

We drove south, the first light revealing a clear, but cold Shetland dawn. My costume underneath my outer layers was surprisingly bearable. We stopped at the quarries and appeared as normal birders. We flushed a Woodcock, found many fresh-in Goldcrests and Robins, plus the usual Twite, Rock Pipits, Curlew and Rock Doves. Then it was time. We climbed the steep path up to the lighthouse at the top of Sumburgh Head. I was about to make Shetland birding history, but not in any way that I would have ever predicted. Or indeed, in any way that any sane, functioning mind would have predicted.

As is often the way with fancy dress, once you put the wig on, you feel safe. You are not easily recognisable. You can begin to settle into the role of your character. Being John Travolta on stage, in a club with lights and music was comparably easy. You are a creature in his natural habitat: the disco. Becoming John Travolta when you are being forced to strip by the outside of a lighthouse on the southern tip of Shetland is a different game entirely. My changing room was the whitewashed external wall of a lighthouse, in a cold force five south-easterly. My mirror was my reflection in the lighthouse keeper’s window. My music was the sounds of thrushes coming in off the sea and landing in the fields below us. Imagine my shock when I realised that the image that I thought was my reflection in the window, was actually the face of the lighthouse keeper looking out at me. Then imagine his horror too. I put the wig on and prepared to face my hostage-takers.

People involved in road traffic accidents consistently describe a phenomena whereby time appears to rapidly slow down as the point of impact approaches. The actual moment of impact may take only a fraction of a second, but the consequences and the damage done can take a lifetime to come to terms with. I strode out on to the upper car park at Sumburgh Head, with Shetland stretching away to the north, beautifully lit by the rising sun. My hostage-takers had both video and still cameras at the ready. Jason hit play. The familiar sounds of Stayin’ Alive drifted across the car park. Time began to slow down.

Tom Travolta points out a passing Ring Ouzel.

Afterwards, I was allowed to change back into my birding gear. We then returned to the serious business of the day: finding birds.

Two: Otter

On the far side of Bressay, an island just across the water to the east of Lerwick, there is Noss. We saw few birds there but had a lovely encounter with three Otters. Mark found them first of all, calling loudly from the shoreline and playing in the low rocks at the tideline. A little while later Andy, Dave and I had these views as they fed on the east shore of Bressay. They are fantastic, dynamic animals:

Three: Orca

As we began our final full day, Thursday 12th October, things felt a little flat. Not only was the trip nearly at an end, but the winds had been less productive over the previous few days and we had seen most of the long-staying birds that we wanted too. We began by checking out a small plantation near Twatt. Apparently the name comes from the Old Norse þveit, meaning ‘small parcel of land’. So there you go. Mark pointed out a passing Short-eared Owl and our only Sparrowhawk of the trip flapped and glided alongside our car. The obligatory photograph of the village sign followed:

(l-r) Mark, taking one for the team, Jason, Dave, Andy and myself.

We were wondering what to do next, when news broke that an Orca pod had been sighted swimming into Busta Voe, towards Brae at the head of the sea-loch. We were all keen to see Orca and we were only 25 minutes away. We took the road to Voe, then the coast road up towards Brae. We had a quick scan from the loch-head, didn’t see anything, but hoped that we could intercept the pod as they exited Busta Voe past the Wethersta peninsular.

We scanned from the end of the road, without success. Then a vehicle filled with birders pulled up rapidly. “They are coming this way!“. There was only one thing for it: I had to get to the end of the peninsular as quickly as possible. I ran the 600m out to the end of the point, a nice test for my recovering hip stress fracture. Unfortunately, I should have probably stayed with the others at the end of the road. Their extra height and more pairs of eyes got them onto the Orca pod on the very far shore of the loch before I did. By the time I got onto them, they were very distant:

Orca and Orca blow just visible behind the fish farm.

There was some pleasure in watching these huge animals (technically they are dolphins, not whales) make their way out towards the open sea, but we were all left wanting more. Reasoning that they would travel around the south shore of Muckle Roe, they would then have a choice: north or south. We gambled north and drove up to the wonderfully named Mavis Grind in the hope of seeing the pod as they headed north. They never appeared, although there was a report of Orca off the “top end” of Muckle Roe, so maybe our hunch that the Orca had headed north was right after all. The trail went cold. We retraced our steps and headed to Sandwick, where I had one of the less meaningful Bluethroat experiences of my life.

We were just starting to consider our options again when more Orca news came through. The pod was off Hillswick – they had gone north! “Drive like you stole it” Jason ordered Andy, who as always was the model of calm at the wheel. We had 45 minutes or so before we arrived at the base of the Eshaness peninsular. This gave us time to speculate. We wanted to get ahead of the pod and watch them go past, not keep chasing them. We considered many options but eventually settled on Eashaness Lighthouse right on the end of the peninsular. The map below shows the route the Orca pod had taken during the day, we hoped that they would continue around the headland and pass below us.

The views from Eashaness were stunning. It would be incredible to see Orca pass by from up there and you would be looking down on them too. We waited and waited some more, but no Orca. Were we too late or too early? We felt we needed more information. We had noticed a number of people looking out at various points as we traveled along the headland. It seemed sensible to see if there had been any more sightings.

As we approached Braewick, we could see some impressive rock formations offshore. We could also see people jumping from cars and putting up telescopes… did they have something? No, but the Orca pod had just left the bay around the coast and were apparently heading this way. Phew, we hadn’t missed them altogether.

The Drongs, as viewed from Braewick, 5km away.

We waited for the pod to appear around the corner of a large offshore rock called The Runk. Finally, a woman on our right said “There they are!” and in our ‘scopes we could make out the huge fin of the adult male Orca.

The ‘scope views were nice, but these were distant views of a pod of four Orca. Afterwards, I measured on the map and found out that we were 2km away from the pod, who were themselves 2km in front of The Drongs:

Gradually the Orca pod worked their way across the bay, into an increasing westerly gale. I could see a headland to the west. Could we get there? I went back to the car. A combination of a local road to Tangwick and the Right to Roam seemed to indicate to me that we could. We parked up and scrambled out along the low flat headland of No Ness. No Nessie maybe, but hopefully some Orca.

Arriving at the tip of No Ness, we scanned the sea. Had they gone past, were we too late? I was scanning straight out and to the west, but it was Andy who found the Orca pod. They were almost behind us and coming straight towards us!

This was an incredible moment. We had spent all day chasing the pod, with only distant views. We were now perfectly positioned. The Orca pod was going to pass right in front of us in our last hour of daylight, on the final day of the trip. We could sit back and enjoy the experience. A Purple Sandpiper flew in to join us too. The Orca did not disappoint.

I even took the time to take some video as these spectacular beasts passed only about 100m away from us, into the setting sun. We could clearly see the calf with it’s parents, only three months old and all black-and-tan. We sat in silence as the pod passed the end of the point and continued heading west. It was an epic finale to an absolutely superb week. Thank you Andy, Dave, Jason, Mark and Shetland for an unforgettable birthday present.

Me, elated, post-Orca. Dave on the rocks, far left.

Shetland 3: rarer species

October 22, 2019December 10, 2019

Shetland is a fantastic place to see birds from all over the world. We saw birds from North America, Russia, Siberia and from Mediterranean Europe. All in one week. This is one of the reasons that Shetland attracts birders every autumn. You never know what you may see and it could have come from just about anywhere on the planet. And that very realisation is exciting every single morning and keeps one’s interest up throughout the day. That and caffeine. They are my equal favourite drugs.

This blog post documents some of the rarer bird species that we saw in Shetland in early October 2019. First, two American waders with very similar breeding distributions, Semipalmated Sandpiper and American Golden Plover:

A juvenile Semipalmated Sandpiper was found on the beach at Grutness, south Mainland, on 28th September and was still present on our first full day, October 4th. It was part of a small wader flock that also contained Dunlin, Sanderling, Ringed Plover. It was noticeably smaller than all those species:

Dunlin (left) and Semipalmated Sandpiper (right)

We had great views of the bird, a quite long-billed individual, in early evening sunlight.

Palmation alert! The partial webbing between the front three toes is visible here. This feature is only present on this species and Western Sandpiper.

It is not easy being small. Here the **Semipalmated Sandpiper** is taking evasive action to avoid a fast-moving juvenile **Ringed Plover**. So fast, that the plover is a blur even at 1/1250 of a second exposure. On the sandpiper, the dark centres to the upper two rows of scapulars create a dark band on the upperparts, visible here from behind. The pale fringes to these feathers are narrow, so that there are none of the strong white mantle and scapular lines seen on Little Stint.

The Semipalmated Sandpiper was a juvenile bird, that remained for two days after we saw it. It seems a fair bet that this bird was hatched in the North American Arctic in the summer and was then was caught up in an easterly moving airflow which brought it to Shetland.

The other North American wader species that we saw was an adult American Golden Plover. This bird arrived at Cullivoe in north Yell on 1st September. We caught up with it on 9th October. It is widely assumed that adult American birds are more likely to have crossed the Atlantic the previous autumn as juvenile birds. They have then remained on the wrong side of the pond, presumably associating with European Golden Plovers.

We went to see the bird on Yell, but without much real hope of locating it. There is a lot of suitable habitat and a lot of Golden Plover flocks. We were scanning through a large flock on the crest of a hill when Dave located a summer plumaged plover at the bottom of the valley. It was distant at first, but even at long range the white supercilium and long white flank markings were visible:

The plover flock was then spooked (not by me Dave!) and took flight. Fortunately for us, they flew straight at us and landed in the field in front of us:

Here, even though it was a bit dark for really nice pictures, the ‘scope views were fabulous. The long wings, extending over the tail were visible, and we could appreciate the smaller size and slimmer build. The black extended onto the undertail coverts and the white shawl expanded into two prominent white areas, which were especially visible when the bird was viewed head-on. The overall white pattern reminded me of a judge’s wig:

Second, a tale of two Stonechats. Both from the east, one possibly from a long way east: Siberian and Stejneger’s Stonechats:

Image © British Birds, May 2011 with my text added

“It’s behind you!” Mark, Andy and Jason at Brake, Mainland.

Our first Siberian Stonechat played cat and mouse for a while. After 45 minutes searching, we had returned to the car for food when news broke that it had been relocated in the oat field, seen on the left in the picture above. It remained distant and elusive, spending the majority of its time on the ground feeding, only sitting up occasionally:

Siberian Stonechat, *maurus*. Males have largely black underwing coverts, but females less so and this feature overlaps with European birds.

Later in the week, we saw another stonechat species on Unst. Originally identified as a Siberian Stonechat, this bird is now suspected to be a Stejneger’s Stonechat, potentially the fourth for Britain. It was even more distant than the Siberian Stonechat. It appeared darker, especially on the upperparts. The white throat was clearly demarked from the orange underparts, rendering it slightly Whinchat-like.

The inner underwing coverts were extensively black, much more so than the Siberian Stonechat at Brake, so presumably this bird is a male:

The rump is a key feature and through the ‘scope we could easily make out the deep apricot colouration. Making out markings on the rump was harder. I nearly captured a picture of the bird in flight, see below, but as the bird was pretty distant it is a miracle we have any pictures at all:

This bird was trapped and ringed two days after we saw it, so there should be some DNA confirmation of its identity before too long.

Finally, three birds from southern Europe, again with arguably similar breeding distributions. All three of these species breed in Mediterranean Europe and winter further south, in Africa or the Middle East. None should be on the Northern Islands in October:

The European Bee-eater was discovered on 29th September, the Short-toed Lark on 4th October and Western Bonelli’s Warbler on 5th October. Bee-eaters are a feast of colours, the yellow throat patch is conspicuous at some range. This bird would perch out of the wind behind houses at Ollaberry, then sail away to catch bees. We wondered what effect that this may have on the local bee population. Jason quipped, in sympathy, “we’ve made honey in this valley for 150 years!“, to which I added “…until the winged destroyer came!” But, the devastation of the local honey industry apart, it is always a pleasure to see a Bee-eater. Every feather tract is a different, rainbow bright, colour:

European Bee-eater at Ollaberry, Mainland.

The Short-toed Lark proved the hardest to get good views of, not least because we saw it as the outer fringes of Hurricane Lorenzo swept in. I could hardly hold my camera lens horizontal in increasing gale-force south-easterly winds. It is a testament to modern camera equipment that there is any sort of picture at all:

Rock Pipit hunkering down with Short-toed Lark.

The final bird brought us into the company of a number of other birders for the only time in our week on Shetland. Being near other birders is something none of us really enjoy, we are more go-out-on-your-own kind of guys. We barely tolerated each other over the course of the week. And we know that the public sometimes struggles with the behaviour of large groups of birders too. However, we saw no conflict with the local population. In fact, most people were open and friendly towards us. “Are you going to see some fantastic wee birdie?” asked one of the passengers on a local ferry, in a thick Shetland accent. He then showed us a picture of a bird he had taken in his Shetland garden. A few looks were exchanged as we in the back of the car speculated on what he may have photographed. Guesses ranged from Long-tailed Duck to Siberian Blue Robin. But no… a Shetland Wren. Fortunately.

The sign below was the only indication of conflict that we came across. This notice was stuck to the inside of a vehicle parked outside a house at Baltasound, Unst, next to Britains’s most northerly Post Office.

There is a decent area of scrub behind these buildings. The owners had understandably got fed up with birders roaming around their garden. The famous “Right to Roam” in Scotland, brought in by the Land Reform Act 2003, gives everyone rights of access over land and inland water throughout Scotland for recreational purposes, as long as they behave responsibly. Technically birders could go anywhere looking for birds. The real question is whether they should. Respect for the property owners seems only sensible.

One afternoon we had decided to head out to the west coast to see if we could locate any Orca. A pod had been reported regularly in the week before we left, but sightings had dried up almost as soon as we arrived in Shetland. Andy suggested that we drive to West Burra, where the Orca pod had been seen last week. As we headed south news broke that a Bonelli’s Warbler had been found… on West Burra. It would seem rude not to pop in and say hello.

We were aware that there would be other birders present, but none of us had any experience of twitches on Shetland, so we had no idea of how many people turn up. We had a sweepstake on the number of birders we would see, guesses ranged from 8 to 28. As we pulled up, we could see that the bird had attracted some interest:

In no time there were over 50 people present, but many knew each other and a few well known Shetland names were there too, plus Paul and Vicky Wren from Oxfordshire. Social niceties were put to one side when the Western Bonelli’s Warbler appeared in the hedge surrounding the house. Through the bare branches, a ghostly pale face appeared, the dark eye standing out against the pale head feathers:

As the bird emerged, it appeared nearly pure white from the front:

As it worked it’s way towards the sun-lit side of the hedge, the upperpart colouration could be appreciated. the bright yellow-green fringing to the flight feathers and tail bases really stood out:

The Bonelli’s Warbler then worked it’s way around towards a bath that was being used a water trough. The bird popped out of the hedge and perched on the bath. This enabled me to utter one of the more unusual sentences that I have uttered in my life: “Bonelli’s on the bath”. It then defecated and dropped back into the hedge. The two birders below rushed over to try to collect the poo sample for DNA testing. Such is the way of modern birding.

Next, the final instalment: three extraordinary moments on Shetland.

Shetland 2: scarcer species

October 18, 2019October 19, 2019

This post describes some of the scarcer species that we saw on Shetland, ones that we did not see every day, but not species that count as Rare or Extraordinary Moments. These are covered in the next two blog posts. We got lucky: we saw Woodpigeon and Stock Dove in the same week. Not exactly the birds that we came here for, but unusual in Shetland terms. Our policy was to try to find our own birds, ideally slightly more scarce than the two species mentioned above, but we would also travel on news if something good turned up. Our days began by choosing which habitat we would check. We scoured fields and fences…

… walked through iris beds, ditches and wet patches. Any tree cover we came across, we checked for migrants. Virtually every patch had a Yellow-browed Warbler. We walked along headlands, alongside dry stone walls and up and down the burns. We birded from first light to last. All in all, I would say we were pretty thorough. And we did find a number of scarce species.

Andy, birding at the end of the rainbow on Garths Ness, south Mainland.

But rare birds are rare for a reason: they do not occur often. As the remnants of Hurricane Lorenzo sucked air from Asia and pulled it towards Shetland, expectation levels began to rise. We spent the afternoon of Sunday 6th October on Unst, right at the top of Shetland, watching Yellow-browed Warblers fizzing past. I located Britain’s most northerly Whinchat at Skaw, an Otter ran across the road in front of us near Norwick and then we began to head back to base, to Lerwick. At about 5:30pm, as we took the ferry from Belmont, Unst to Gutcher on Yell, a small piece of birding history was being made some 10km away in a plantation on nearby Fetlar: Andrew Tongue had just found Britain’s fourth Rufous-tailed Robin (see here). So near, yet so far. By the time news got out, it was dark and besides the bird was never seen again.

The following day we explored Geosetter, on the south-west coast as the easterly winds picked up. The rareometer was off the scale, we were at the right place, at the right time of year, in the right weather: there must be another monster out there somewhere? But despite our efforts, and those of many others too, we found nothing more than a few Goldcrests and the statutory Yellow-browed Warblers. Rare birds are rare. And very rare birds are very rare. I could go on, stop me when you have had enough. But the bottom line is that a big slice of luck is needed too. Just ask any of Andrew Tongue’s mates on Fetlar that evening.

Geosetter in October in easterly winds: it screams rare birds.

Mark indicating exactly how many Yellow-browed Warblers he had found in Geosetter

Later in the week, we had a productive exploration of the Lambaness peninsular on Unst. Tramping the wet patches and burns produced 3 Jack Snipe and there was a flock of about 50 Snow Bunting feeding on the cliff edge:

**Snow Bunting** are perfectly camouflaged on broken rocky ground. There are 19 in this picture.

I flushed a Lapland Bunting from the track, which Andy and I managed to pin down a little while later in the same spot:

**Lapland Bunting**, with a nice black bib.

Offshore, Red-throated Divers were pretty common. We saw two Black-throated Diver (off Unst and Eashaness, Mainland) and one distant summer plumaged Great Northern Diver, also off Eashaness.

There was a Pied Flycatcher in the only wood on Unst, at Halligarth and a Tree Sparrow amongst the feeding flock of 50 Mealy Redpoll, 40 Brambling, plus assorted House Sparrow, Siskin, Skylark, Meadow Pipit and Twite at Norwick. A Short-eared Owl flew past us at Twatt (more later, inevitably), as did our only Sparrowhawk of the trip a few minutes later.

We caught up with a first-winter male Red-backed Shrike on Friday 4th October near Cunningsburgh:

The Lesser Whitethroat, below, was seen in lovely early evening light in the larger of the two quarries at Sumburgh Head. I assume, perhaps inaccurately, that nearly all Lesser Whitethroats seen this late and this far north are generic “eastern” birds. Pinning them down to a specific subspecies is notoriously difficult, though Martin Garner helpfully addresses this in the Autumn part of his Challenge Series books. This bird is not particularly grey and white, but has much brown on the mantle, extending up through nape and onto the rear crown.

The tail pattern is important and fortunately I managed to get some sort of record of it as the bird darted up to take an insect from near the rock face:

The outer tail feathers, t6, are entirely white. The tip on the next outer tail feather, t5, has an obvious pale wedge. There is a hint of this on t4 too. I think this makes it a pretty good fit for a first calendar year Siberian Lesser Whitethroat, blythi, although without DNA and in-hand biometrics, we will never know for sure.

On our final full day we visited Sandness, on western Mainland to catch up with a Bluethroat, now present for its third day. We were lucky in the sense that this elusive bird was hopping about on the track when we arrived. But it remained distant, before disappearing. It was not reported again after our early afternoon sighting.

Next: Rare birds on Shetland. And after that, some Extraordinary Moments.

Shetland 1: common species

October 17, 2019October 18, 2019

A trip to Shetland in October. Something I have been dreaming about for years. My 50th birthday gave me the excuse that I needed to visit the Northern Isles. Even better, I persuaded Andy Last, Dave Lowe, Jason Coppock and Mark Merritt to join me. We spent seven days birding there from October 3rd 2019. Shetland is bleak and beautiful, a series of coastal scenes and moorland, one opening up after the other as you travel around the islands.

Looking south, over Pool of Virkie and the airport towards Sumburgh Head in the background.

For the first two nights we were based at Toab, in the far south, just at the end of the runway and across the road from the Pool of Virkie. One unusual thing about Shetland is that the main road runs across the runway at Sumburgh. When planes take off and land, cars have to wait at the crossing:

After two nights in Toab we moved into the metropolis of Lerwick, which was centrally placed in the archipelago and has exciting things like shops and people. Over the course of seven full days of birding we visited the sites below:

We saw a respectable 103 species in seven days. Let’s start with the common species, those seen pretty much every day:

**Greylag Geese**. The only goose species we saw in the week, but nice to see wild birds.

**Golden Plover**: the most abundant wader species, with smaller numbers of Lapwing, Snipe and beach waders.

**Great Skua**: this species breeds on Shetland, a few were still hanging on, cruising around the coast and even over Loch of Spiggie.

**Black Guillemot**: always a treat to see. The birds in Lerwick Harbour fish at point-blank range.

**Fulmar**: surprisingly abundant. Whilst expected at cliffs or at sea, one could be in farmland or by one of the inland lakes and a Fulmar would swoop past, reminding us that we were on islands in the middle of the ocean.

**Gannet**: any view of the sea would produce sightings of Gannet and Fulmar.

Goldcrest migration was one of the highlights of the trip for me. Whilst ‘crests in sycamores is symbolic of autumn migration…

…there were times when we came across Goldcrests on the ground, feeding in the grass, clearly fresh in after just crossing the North Sea. Some you could almost reach out and stroke. If you felt so inclined.

Yellow-browed Warbler: the commonest warbler on Shetland. Really. We saw more Yellow-browed Warblers than Chiffchaff, we all had the pleasure of finding multiple birds. This was the default warbler species. One afternoon at Norwick, in far north-east Unst, we walked down the road by the beach and a couple of Yellow-browed Warblers zipped past at knee-height. High on migration hormones, they were completely wired. They shot around us, landing on the fences, on the road, on a pile of bricks, they never paused for more than a second, they were completely adrenalised. It was an insight into the energy that migratory passerines can tap into, a real migration high:

**Chiffchaff** on the beach. The second commonest warbler species that we saw on Shetland.

**Blackcap**, the third commonest warbler species we saw. This male has an interesting white tertial fringe. Or at least a white tertial fringe.

**Shetland Wren**, of the race *zetlandicus*. Clearly darker and longer billed than mainland birds, the difference was more obvious than I expected.

**Starling**: one of the commonest birds on the islands. There always seems to be flocks around, in whatever habitat we were in. Their wind blown calls constantly sounded like something far better. As this species is declining in southern England, it was sobering to be reminded of how common they can be.

**Brambling**: a joyously common finch. The ploughed field at Norwick, Unst, attracted a flock of at least 40 Brambling, including a number of males.

Black beauty: this male Brambling was feeding in the leaf litter at Michaelswood, near Aith. In low light levels when viewed from behind, they are perfectly camouflaged.

I have not visited a place where Twite are one of the common finches, but that is the case in Shetland. We saw them on a daily basis.

**Mealy Redpoll** were simply everywhere. Paler birds caused us much heartache. A number of Coue’s Arctic Redpolls were reported from Unst during our various visits, but they were notoriously hard to catch up with and we never came across birds with the full suite of characteristics: a small bill and face, a pale buff suffusion to the ground colour of the face and mantle, large white wing bars, limited flank streaking and at best, a central pencil mark on the undertail coverts. The birds above and below are clear **Mealy Redpolls**.

Next: scarcer species on Shetland. And a few surprises.