A new Oxfordshire Big Day record – and set by bike!

Good weather to find migrating birds inland, is not good weather. The wind must swing around to the compass’s cooler side, ideally the east or north-east. The clouds need to roll in and frequent showers help ground birds that would otherwise pass high overhead, undetected. Good weather for cycling is rather different. Light winds, moderate to warm temperatures and dry roads are the cyclist’s dream. So, if you want to find lots of good birds by bike in Oxfordshire, you need to be prepared to brave the elements. Or see nothing.

I am very experienced at seeing nothing. I did Big Days in 2017 and 2018 that saw glorious, hot sunny days with blue skies, but with precious few birds. We crawled to a total of 104 species in 2017 and 106 species in 2018.

Ben Sheldon, Thomas Miller and I first discussed doing an Oxfordshire Big Day early in 2023. This Big Day would be different. We would not use a car, but would rather see how many species of bird we could record in Oxfordshire, just using our bikes. Unfortunately, I was unavailable at a family wedding on the best date that they could both make in late April 2023. Ben and Thomas spent a full day in the field and saw an incredible 112 species as a team, all by bike. This was only just short of the all-time record of 117 species, set by Wayne Paes, Tom Wickens and Manoj Noir on 9th May 2021. We were sure that the record could be broken by a team using just bikes, providing the weather cooperated. We agreed to set aside the weekend of April 27th and 28th for our 2024 Big Day attempt and would make a decision on which day to use based on the weather forecast.

The forecast leading up to the weekend changed on a daily basis. Like most of the spring of 2024, it would be cool to cold. The winds were forecast to swing around to the north-east on Friday evening. Cloud cover was guaranteed. And there would be rain. How much rain was forecast seemed to vary between the different weather forecasts. All agreed there that would some light rain at first on Saturday, but that Sunday morning would be dominated by a heavy band of rain. We agreed Saturday looked best and made plans for a Big Day on Saturday 27th April. Then on Friday night, the forecast changed, predicting a very wet end of the day, as well as the beginning. We gritted our teeth and decided to stick with Saturday. Sunday looked even worse.

I opened my front door at 04:15am on Saturday morning. The petrichor was strong in my nostrils, and it was beginning to drizzle. I could smell the rain. I cycled down to The Plain roundabout, at the bottom of the High Street in Oxford, and met up with Ben and Thomas. At just after 4:30am we began the hour-long ride out to the Chilterns. The rain caught us before we had left Oxford. By the time we passed Stadhampton, some 10km/6 miles from Oxford, we all had soaking wet feet. I had hoped that the moment that I became soaked through would happen much later in the day than this. By the time we began the long hill up past Watlington and onto the Chiltern escarpment, we were all drenched and the temperature was only just above freezing.

Watlington Hill is a well-known climb amongst local cyclists. The first section is quite steep and favours the stronger, lighter riders. Everyone goes up it at their own pace. Thomas led the way, being a strong cyclist and a good climber, I followed next, followed by Ben, laden with a rucksack containing a small scope. There is always a nice feeling of satisfaction on completing the climb. Thomas and I waited at the top and Ben cycled up towards us, but with some horrifying news. Halfway up the hill, a Long-eared Owl had flown across the road in front of him. Climbing Watlington Hill in the pitch dark and freezing rain is painful enough. To miss what could be the bird of the day, and so early in our Big Day attempt, was excruciating. As all three of us had not seen the owl, we could not count it in our team total. Things went from bad to worse, as our first stop, for a scarce local breeding bird, was a failure and we did not see or hear it. Things then went from worse to downright dangerous. On top of the Chiltern escarpment, the cold north-easterly wind was strong, chilling our wet bodies to the bone. I have never felt so cold and so wet on a bike.

We cycled to Cowlease Wood to get some woodland species at dawn, but by the time we arrived, Thomas was going hypothermic. He was shaking like a leaf and was unable to use his hands to change from cycling to walking shoes. Ben had an emergency down jacket in his backpack and gave it to Thomas to try to raise his body temperature. Hypothermia commonly causes impaired cognitive function. I could tell that Thomas was beginning to lose it, because a short while later he said that he thought he had heard a Redpoll flight call.

We began birding, whilst I tried to keep the thoughts of hypothermia from my mind. I tried to use eBird to record the species that we saw, but I could not feel or use my fingers. Birding was also made difficult by the sheer number of Firecrests singing. This species has dramatically increased in the county over the last twenty years. It was hard to hear anything behind the curtain of constant Firecrest song. Then Ben said “Redpoll!” Was he going hypothermic too? I tried to blank out the high-pitched screaming from the Firecrests and there, in a rare quiet moment, was a classic Redpoll trill. A singing male Lesser Redpoll, and even better, a flyover Siskin too. Two species that we had not anticipated recording in late April. Singing Mistle Thrush, Nuthatch and Treecreeper also added three species onto our list that can be tricky on Big Days. As it turned out, we found at least 10 Lesser Redpolls in the woods, including several singing males.

We cycled back to our scarce local breeder, who finally showed itself and then we began the ride to the Oxon Downs in the south of the county. The rain had stopped, the cycling warmed us up and we were seeing birds. What could possibly go wrong?

Despite smashing into a submerged pothole and puncturing my front tyre, our visit to the Downs was productive. There are not many pairs of Stonechat or Meadow Pipit breeding in the county and a Tree Pipit was a real quality bonus, as was a Wheatear and a flyover Cuckoo. However, our misses here balanced out the positives. Despite much scanning of an appropriate area, we could not pick out a Stone Curlew and we did not see Grey Partridge either. We met up with Tom Wickens, who had provided us with much invaluable information beforehand, was doing his own personal Big Day by bike and was carrying his own ‘scope. Incredibly, he was braving the sub-zero windchill and regular rain showers in shorts:

From the Downs we headed back into the flatlands and visited Appleford Gravel Pits. Open water brought a rapid increase in our trip list with a few Swifts and all the hirundines present, plus Little Grebe and our only Grey Wagtail of the day. A flooded field between Didcot and Abingdon looked superb and produced our first waders of the day: 3 Little Ringed Plovers, a Green Sandpiper and a first-summer Ringed Plover, expertly picked out by Ben and Thomas. A fine male Yellow Wagtail took us to #84 species, just after midday.

Then there was the second-longest ride of the day, to Farmoor Reservoir, where news had reached us of Little Gull and Arctic Tern passage. Sure enough, both species were on F1, three fabulous summer-plumaged adult Little Gulls and at least 2 Arctic Terns, both great species to pick up on a Big Day:

The café at Farmoor provided much-needed hot food and coffee, before we walked over to the Pinkhill hide and the River Thames. 4 Common Sandpipers were on the bank of F1 and 2 Snow Geese flew over, a feral surprise. There were no Kingfishers visible from the hide, but one was calling and briefly glimpsed on the Thames, our only Kingfisher of the day. A singing Garden Warbler at Pinkhilll was species #93, as we left Farmoor for Wytham Woods. Could we get to Otmoor with 100 species already seen? If so, we knew we would be on course for a great day total.

Despite it being after 2pm we had not seen or heard a Green Woodpecker, so it was a relief to hear one yaffling at Wytham, where Marsh Tit and Little Egret were also added.

We skirted around the north part of Port Meadow, but failed to pick up any Cattle Egrets, despite some being present all week. We met Adam Hartley at the Port Meadow floods, in a very efficient five-minute stop where we added 2 Great White Egrets, Shelduck and our only 2 Dunlin of the day.

2 Ring-necked Parakeets in Marston Meadows became species #100, as we began the cycle ride out to our final destination: Otmoor. We were on target.

We started on the Oddington side, scanning the flood field for waders, ducks and gulls. I had become aware that it was very reassuring to have one of the country’s leading gull identification experts with you on a Big Day. If there was anything slightly white-headed or immature in the gull department, we just pointed Thomas Miller at it and waited for an identification to come out. So, I was completely shocked when, as he scanned the Otmoor floods, he declared “What sort of gull is that?!” I was flabbergasted. It must be NEW TO SCIENCE! Further examination revealed a first-summer Black-headed Gull, half a mile away, with the sun behind it and mostly hidden in vegetation. These amateurs, eh?

The flood field was very productive. Wigeon and Pintail were new ducks; Grey Plover, Curlew, Black-tailed Godwit and Redshank were new waders. An unringed Eurasian Crane was present and there was a Barn Owl perched in a hedge.  

By 7pm we were on the Otmoor bridleway, having seen 108 species, more than either of my car-based Big Days. We were now trying to get as many species on the list before a heavy band of rain moved in and dampened down bird activity. We saw the Otmoor Barnacle Goose, finally connected with a calling Bullfinch, before a Peregrine became species#111.  We walked up to the screens and added Pochard, a booming Bittern and a Marsh Harrier. It took a while, but eventually we heard a squealing Water Rail and at least 2 Grasshopper Warblers began reeling in the carpark field.

As the light went and the rain started we were on 116 species, including two species of feral geese (Snow and Barnacle) and an unringed Eurasian Crane. We had not heard or seen a Snipe yet, so walked back towards the Wetlands Watch hide. Eventually, in little light, we heard a Snipe singing, and then one drumming too. This species took us level with the 2021 record total of 117 species. Then a superb end-of-day magical moment was provided by Thomas finding a Short-eared Owl quartering The Closes. Species #118 for the day, the most species seen in a day in Oxfordshire and all recorded by bike and on foot!

Could we go further? In total darkness and pouring rain, the day ended as it had begun. We cycled back into Oxford in the rain. We gave the Lye Valley Tawny Owls a few minutes to call, but it was always a long-shot in the heavy rain. We finished, tired but very happy after 142km/92 miles cycled and some 16km/10 miles walked, on 118 species. With Ben’s Long-eared Owl flypast and Tom Wickens hearing a Tawny Owl on the way home, 120 species were recorded in Oxfordshire on 27th April 2024 by just the four of us, using only bikes.

One of these men is not called Tom, but between them they have seen 120 species in Oxfordshire in day. Left-to-right: Ben Sheldon, Tom Bedford, Tom Miller & Tom Wickens. Otmoor at dusk, 27th April 2024.

For comparison, a combined across-county effort by birders in neighbouring Buckinghamshire on the same day, produced 124 species, only four more species than our small group of bike-powered birders in Oxfordshire. We did not see Cattle Egret, Red-crested Pochard, Stone Curlew, Grey Partridge, Hobby, Sparrowhawk, Redstart or Whinchat in our total, so there is still scope for the record to be extended. If the record is broken again, those involved may have to endure similar weather. May they suffer less than we did!

Many thanks to everyone who helped us out with information and scouting, both before and during the Big Day, and the support from the local birding community. Ben has helpfully provided the list for the day:

(Well spotted, Linnet does appear twice on this list! One of the entries should read “Jackdaw”, so the overall total is not affected)

New book alert! The Birds of The Lye Valley Area, 2019-2023.

I began exploring the Lye Valley area in early 2019, following a serious running injury, which meant that my first few visits were on crutches. The Lye Valley area is an eclectic mix of habitats, containing what was “Oxfordshire’s first lunatic asylum“, a WWII hospital, a golf course and an 8,000-year-old alkaline fen with Special Scientific Status. These are not typical habitats for finding a variety of birds and there was no open water, but the position of the Lye Valley area, in an elevated location on the edge of a small escarpement overlooking east Oxford and the River Thames, meant that some migrant birds might be found too.

With regular coverage, a surpringsingly diverse selcetion of bird species were recorded, including the first county scarcity, a Pied Flycatcher, found in August 2019 with Dave Lowe. This new booklet, published by the Oxford Ornithological Society, describes the birds found in this green corner of urban east Oxford over the period 2019-2023.

Here is a little preview of the booklet:

This new booklet uses data from over 800 eBird checklists submitted during the 2019-2023 period to describe the occurrence, arrival/departure dates and high counts of local breeding birds. As hoped, this green area surrounded by housing and hospitals also attracted a variety of migrant birds. Through their migration routes, these birds connect urban east Oxford to sub-Saharan Africa in the south and to the Arctic tundra in the north. The Birds of the Lye Valley Area draws all these bird records together, beautifully illustrated by the author’s photographs. Or so he tells us. Order a copy today!

Birds of the Lye Valley, 2023: the gift that keeps on giving.

Having equalled my all-time total of 81 bird species recorded in the Lye Valley area of Headington in 2022, what would 2023 bring? This area (the Lye Valley LNR, Southfield Golf Course, Warneford Meadow and the Boundary Brook Wildlife Corridor) is surrounded by the housing of east Oxford and has the Old Road Campus and the Churchill Hospital within it. I have had an MRI scan and COVID-19 vaccinations on my local patch, bringing new meaning to the concept of total birding.

January 1st 2023 could have hardly begun any better: 40 species recorded, my best on this date, and a new species for the area – Firecrest – all in the first couple of hours of light. The checklist is here. That the first visit produced 45% of all the bird species that would be recorded in the whole year says much about the variety of urban birding and the patience needed. That first day also saw a flyover Skylark and a wintering Chiffchaff, neither guaranteed in January:

A bitterly cold spell in the second-half of January, covered the local Moorhens in ice…

… but brought in some common winter birds, such as Redwings:

There were also uncommon visitors. The second Common Gull ever flew over, and a Snipe was seen on several visits. January 23rd was a Lapwing day, with 58 flying south in small flocks:

There then followed a superb burst of good birds. Steve Sansom glimpsed a Water Rail on 24th, and I managed to relocate it the following morning, the first for the Lye Valley area:

Two Goosander flew over on the 28th, yet another second-ever record here, one of the themes of the year. This brought the January total to 55 species, and already 63% of the total number of species for the year had been recorded:

February was much quieter, but more new species for the year were added in March, with a flyover flock of Golden Plover on 8th and the beginning of waterbird migration which saw Canada Geese and Cormorants overhead and this Little Egret on the golf course:

And there were Grey Herons, both adults and young birds:

1st April saw the first trans-Saharan migrant arrive, a Willow Warbler, but the spring of 2023 turned out to be desperately quiet, with the only bird of note being a Brambling on April 17th:

Local breeders were all that I had to show for near-daily effort between mid-March and early May:

2023 was a good year for Garden Warblers, with one pair probably breeding:

It was superb to be able to hear Garden Warbler song on most visits between early May and early June:

With the addition of the common Warblers, Swift and Hobby, the year list stood at 74 species by 31st May, the highest total ever reached by this date. This total included the second patch record of Egyptian Geese, as a pair spent a long weekend on the golf course:

But as is often the case, the period between late May and August, the “death zone”, produced no new birds at all. I was reduced to photographing other things:

Fox cub

Emperor Dragonfly, devouring a Small Copper butterfly
I saw this Magpie, presumably feeding on ticks on this male Muntjac, on several occasions.
Juvenile Green Woodpecker

The local Sparrowhawks had a successful season, fledging three young. Only when the first week of August arrived, and with it a returning Lesser Whitethroat, did the year list move on. An excellent January had been followed by a quiet spring and summer, but then came a truly astounding August. A number of Yellow Wagtails were heard and seen flying over. This year I made more efforts to record the flight calls of migrating birds:

This recording of a flyover Yellow Wagtail came out nicely. I like the way the flight call emerges from a background of calling Blue Tits and lawnmowers on the golf course, before the bird passes overhead, typical August birding here:

Nothing prepared me for the next three weeks. On 17th August I found a Corn Bunting on Warneford Meadow, the first Oxford city record since 1980 and the third new species for the Lye Valley in the year. It was quite a moment:

August 30th saw my first, and the Lye Valley’s second, Redstart. It very nearly stayed for a photo…

… and 2 Spotted Flycatchers on the same day:

Both these birds were eclipsed by a superb Pied Flycatcher, the second I’ve found in the Lye Valley area and found on my birthday and was the 81st species for the year, equalling my previous best annual total, so all the more sweet! This bird was one of only three seen in all of Oxfordshire during 2023:

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A new Lye Valley area species total was set on September 16th when this Reed Bunting flew over calling. They all count!

The decline of House Martins across the county is very sad. This species has only been recorded in late September in recent years, as small flocks migrate south, passing low overhead in the first few hours of light. This year birds were recorded on September 20th and 23rd. A flyover Lesser Redpoll was species number 83 and was the last regular species that I needed… unless I got lucky with a Woodcock in the autumn. Then a couple of real surprises lifted the total to phenomenal heights. First, a Great White Egret circled over Churchill Meadow, followed a few days later by not one, but two, Great White Egrets and a Little Egret, amazing records for an area with no standing water:

Another flyover finch, the Lye Valley’s second Linnet, was seen and recorded flying south on October 23rd, species number 85:

There was also some decent Woodpigeon migration, with a peak movement of 920 birds in 90 minutes on 20th November:

I only had one target for November: Woodcock. Nearly all the previous Lye Valley records have been in this month, all four of them. On November 18th, in pouring rain, after much tramping through wooded areas, a Woodcock lifted from the ground under the trees by Boundary Brook stream, species number 86 for the year. And that was that. Or so I thought. I still visited regularly throughout December, but held out no realistic hope of adding another species. On December 27th, again in the rain at dawn, I splashed across a very wet Warneford Meadow and was astounded to flush a snipe, from just in front of me, on the edge of this wet patch:

In 573 previous patch visits, I have not flushed a snipe from Warneford Meadow. Even better, this bird looked tiny, rose silently, and flew low and direct into the long grass in the background. Surely this was a Jack Snipe? I walked towards the grass and the bird rose again, this time I got binocular views of it, and noted no obvious white on the trailing edge of the wing and two prominent gold scapular streaks. I thought it would land again, but at the last moment, it lifted off the meadow and flew north, at rooftop height, a stonking garden tick for somebody, if they were quick enough. An end-of-year surprise, species number 87 for the year, a cracking Jack Snipe!

What a year. I visited the Lye Valley area 153 times in 2023, recorded 87 bird species, three of which were new for the area (Firecrest, Water Rail and Corn Bunting). I walked some 800km, or 500 miles, and spent over 230 hours hours birding there. It has been a constant source of joy. Except for the Death Zone. Next year I will walk 500 miles more and will see what I can see. There is a song in there somewhere.

An illustrated checklist of all the bird records from the Lye Valley area, with photos and audio, can be found here: https://ebird.org/hotspot/L8899589/media?yr=all&m=

The Cowley Parakeet Roost

Whilst at work last week, I popped outside of the building to take some meter readings, only to find that there was a flock of 15 Ring-necked Parakeets in the tree at the back. A few local birders have suspected that the parakeet roost that held over 40 birds last winter in north Oxford, had moved into east Oxford. Ring-necked Parakeets seem like much more of an east Oxford kind of bird, so it felt appropriate to see them on this side of town. But where was the roost site?

I saw the flock of 15 birds fly over the building and leave to the east, but I lost sight of them behind the local houses. Intrigued, I kept an eye open at dusk on the following few evenings and discovered that a large flock of parakeets routinely gathered in an alder tree on Henley Avenue, visible from my workplace. There were a lot of birds. On December 12th, I counted at least 56 Ring-necked Parakeets in the top of the tree:

Birds arrived from about 15:30 in small groups and gradually worked their way up to the top of the tree, calling noisily. At 16:25, in near-darkness, the entire flock left and flew to roost in a couple of tall conifers in the back garden of a house on the corner of Florence Park Road, a short distance away. Both the pre-roost tree and the roosting trees are marked on this map:

I think this is the highest count of Ring-necked Parakeets in Oxfordshire to date. Birds have been breeding in the city for a few years and from the numbers present at this roost site, the local population is clearly doing well.

Despite being an introduced species, and one that may present some challenges for some native bird species, I always enjoy seeing and hearing parakeets. They are brightly-coloured and charismatic birds. The pictures below, taken in London, show the faint pink neckband on male birds that gives the species their other common name, Rose-ringed Parakeet. The tail is blue on the upper surface and yellow underneath and their grey-blue irises are also pretty cool:

Shetland 2023: waving, not drowning

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:

Bluethroat

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

Citrine Wagtail

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.

Male Common Crossbill
First-winter Barred Warbler

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

Little Bunting, big bill.

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:

Veery

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:

Male Snowy Owl

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.

Watching the Snowy Owl.

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

August Highs

After the lull in migratory bird movement that is June and July – a period that I just about get through with gritted teeth – August brings more hope. The species that I target are Yellow Wagtail, Spotted Flycatcher and Tree Pipit. None are guaranteed in urban Oxford, but most years see one or two records of some of these species. Passerine migration kicked in early in the Lye Valley this year, with small numbers of juvenile Willow Warblers and the first Lesser Whitethroat of the year all being recorded in the first week of August. The first of the scarce August trio fell on 9th August, when a Yellow Wagtail flew over Warneford Meadow, calling loudly. There was then another quiet period, although large roving flocks of Tits, Chiffchaffs, Blackcaps and Willow Warblers kept up interest. Almost as soon as we entered the second half of August, I struck patch gold. A chunky-looking brown finch was flushed by a dog walker on Warneford Meadow. The movement and the call instantly attracted attention: a hard “tic, tic, tic“, a call like nothing else I had heard on the meadow in over 500 visits. Fortunately the bird perched for a few seconds on a distant oak:

A Corn Bunting! Almost as soon as I said the words, it took off and flew strongly south, over the golf course and away:

Although Corn Bunting now breed quite close to the city, records from within the ring road are exceptionally rare. There are no Oxford city records of Corn Bunting on the OOS database or on eBird. Asking around within the local birding community revealed that the last confirmed record of Corn Bunting in Oxford city was a breeding record in 1980, some 43 years ago! (Bayliss (1982) per Ben Sheldon). Ian Lewington commented that this looks like a juvenile bird, perhaps engaging post-breeding dispersal. Many thanks to Ian and Ben for their input.

My adrenaline levels had only just recovered, when two days later, on Saturday 19th August, I heard a loud clear flight call, the classic high-pitched, buzzy “tzeep“, from a migrating Tree Pipit. Looking up revealed two pipits flying south-west, not that high above trees of Warneford Meadow. I used to try to photograph flyover migrants, but in many ways a recording of the flight call is more definitive evidence of the identification. The challenge of recording Tree Pipits is that they go over quickly and don’t call constantly. As soon as I heard the first flight call, I hit record on my phone, but by the time the birds called again they were too distant for my phone to pick up the call clearly.

Nevertheless, I was stoked, the second of the August trio had fallen and this was the earliest Tree Pipit I have recorded here by two days, plus the first record of more than one bird. Overall, this is the seventh Tree Pipit record at this site over the last four years, some details of the other records are here. Now for Spotted Flycatcher to complete the set!

French Alps 2: the Chartreuse Massif & life and death in the skies of France.

The Chartreuse Massif lies to the north of Grenoble and with the Vercours Massif, forms part of the pre-Alps:

In the picture below is Rob, one of the finest of men. He and his partner Am are building a house on the massif and are about to start a new life in the mountains above Grenoble.

The local bird life is typically alpine, with Black Redstarts being common and a pair are already nesting on Rob and Am’s house:

Their land also holds breeding Red-backed Shrikes, White Wagtails, Goldfinches and Greenfinches.

Red-backed Shrike

Ravens and Kestrels are frequent overhead, with the occasional larger raptor, such as Golden Eagle, being seen. Buzzards and Black Kites are the default medium-sized raptors:

Black Kite

One weekend we camped out, the valley below us illuminated by the lights of Grenoble. Tawny Owls were very vocal in the local woods. It was fantastic to hear a pair duetting, using the “xylophone trill” call, as described in the Collins Bird Guide, just audible on this recording at the 3-second mark, above the huge number of insects calls:

Higher up on the Chartreuse Massif, there were spectacular views from the ridges:

The view from the Fromagerie du Charmant Som.

There were large flocks of Alpine Choughs, totalling over 60 birds, up here. Some calls can be heard here, with cowbells ringing in the background:

Calling Alpine Chough

Further north is the fabulous Cirque de Saint-Même, a huge natural amphitheatre towering into the sky, with many waterfalls cascading down:

At the top of the cliffs, flocks of Alpine Swifts fed above the tree tops:

Some birds had visibly bulging crops, presumably they breed on the uppermost cliffs:

Alpine Swift, with a full crop of insects.

Favouring lower altitudes, a few Crag Martins fed amongst the Alpine Swift flocks:

Crag Martin

On the way back through central France we visited the grave of Conrad Wenyon, an uncle on my mother’s side of the family. He was a wireless operator in the Royal Air Force, but was killed when his Lancaster was shot down over Bourges in July 1944, as the Allied forces moved through France after D-day. The pilot, Harry Taylor, survived and submitted this report on the loss of the aircraft:

“I abandoned the aircraft at approximately between 400 to 600ft. Unfortunately I did not give the order to abandon aircraft as the intercom failed as soon as we were hit. However I informed the Engineer and Navigator by visual means. Whether the Navigator informed the Wireless Operator I am unable to say. I am also unable to say whether anyone baled out of the rear exits or not. I was unable to approach the persons whose parachute had not fully opened as there were several people around him and consequently I am unable to identify him. The whole of the port wing was on fire and I was unable to put it out by the Graviner switches. I believe it must have been the petrol tanks that exploded”. From the Aviation Safety Network website.

Whether our relative was killed as the aircraft crashed, or whether he was the unfortunate soul who baled out of the aircraft only for his parachute did not open, we will never know. What we do know, is that Conrad was of a generation with the terrible luck to be born to be of fighting age in a time of world war and sadly he paid the ultimate price.

“Through adversity to the stars“, the RAF motto.

The trip report of all the bird species that we saw in France, plus photos and sound recordings is here.

French Alps 1: hail, heat and heavy breathing

We drove from England into the super intense heat wave in southern Europe. By the time we reached Grenoble, temperatures on the road were high enough to make it frightening to get out of the car:

On our first full day in Grenoble, the severe temperatures generated thunderstorms. The wind felt like a hair dryer on the hottest setting, blasting hot air onto our faces. Pitch-black cumulonimbus clouds swirled above us before unleashing an incredible hail storm, with massive hail stones:

There was only one way to go: up. We headed up into the mountains, where the elevation is slightly cooling, bringing the temperatures back into the mere 30-degree celsius range.

Lac Achard

We walked up through the pine forests from Chamrousse to Lac Achard, at just over 1900m elevation. But even at this altitude, the crushing heat was oppressive. Instinctively we only stopped in patches of shade, grateful for the trees:

The lower meadows, just above Chamrousse, held a small flock of Citril Finches, dropping down to feed on seed heads:

There were small flocks of Common Crossbills in the pines, always vocal and mobile:

A nice female alpestris Ring Ouzel was collecting food on the path, the white-edged flank and undertail feathers just visible, forming a chequered effect:

Spotted Nutcrackers were in the forest. We had a number of flight views, but heard them calling regularly:

By the lake were singing Lesser Whitethroat and Blackcap and these Alpine Choughs dropped in, serenading us with their electronic flight calls:

My next mountain ascent was by bike, up and around the incredible balcony road of Combe Laval, in the Vercours massif. This is not a road for the vertiginous. There is a vertical drop of 500m/1,500 feet on the other side of this low retaining wall:

Alpine Swifts zipped past at eye-level and a pair of Kestrels were feeding noisy young in a nearby nest. The scenery and views were breathtaking:

But the real cycling challenge was the climb up from La Chambre to the Col de la Madelaine, at 2000m elevation. This 19km climb at an average 8% gradient is a climb that has featured many times on the Tour de France. On the final stage of the ascent, as I left the treeline, I became aware of birds calling. There were calling Water Pipits, joining the background chorus of Eurasian Skylarks, Meadow Pipits, Linnets and Goldfinches. I pulled over and made a recording of the Water Pipit calls, a recording that was ruined by my audible hyperventilation as I completed one of the hardest climbs in the Alps at high altitude!

The views from the summit were incredible, with the Mount Blanc massif visible to the north. As I drank in the views, a Quail began calling from the vegetation in the foreground, a real surprise at 2000m elevation:

Mont Blanc, 4807m, as viewed from Col de la Madeleine at 2,000m

Next: the Chartreuse Massif; life and death in the French skies.

Night Heron

Great to see the satanic red eyes of an adult Night Heron in Oxfordshire today, especially as the first wild bird for the county in recent times was only identified from photographs on Otmoor this spring and was not seen by anyone else. This bird was found at the southern end of Peep O’Day Lane, near Abingdon, by Tom Wickens, this morning, and was a popular draw for local birders.

Good work, Tom Wickens!

Devoured by dragons

Both the local meadows, Warneford Meadow and Churchill Meadow, were being patrolled by Britain’s largest dragonfly this morning, the huge Emperor Dragonfly. They cruised up and down the paths, glowing blue, aggressively investigating any passing insect, butterfly or human. Sometimes they approached at eye level and paused, hovering, a few meters in front of my face. Despite the fact that dragonflies have been pretty much unchanged for most of the last 300 million years, the experience was more akin to being scanned by a remote AI drone. The Warneford Meadow male had been in the wars and had damage to three of his four wings:

The Churchill Meadow male was immaculate. It had a bright green thorax, without the thick black lines and yellow “headlights” of a Southern Hawker, and with an obvious black line running down the length of the long, blue abdomen:

As I watched this male take patrolling flights up and down the path towards me, he suddenly jinked off to the left and plucked a Small Skipper butterfly from the air. Quickly settling down on a grass stem, the Emperor Dragonfly then proceeded to devour the butterfly, head first!

Below, using the front legs to finish the meal. Literally devoured by dragons:

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