Category: Oxfordshire Birding

An April Snowstorm

On Monday 12th April I awoke to astonishing scenes. Not only had there been a significant overnight snowfall, but intensely heavy snow was still falling. I staggered out to Warneford Meadow to begin my daily pre-dawn search for migrant birds, but could hardly see across the meadow for the snow:

The view across the trees of the Lye Valley, towards the Wood Farm towerblock, from the golfcourse. This is April!

I was in a state of shock. The conditions were more like the Cairngorms (though with less crampons, see here). Needless to say, bird activity was severely reduced by the heavy snow. Indeed, the only bird of note was a fly-over Grey Heron, nicely illuminated from below by light reflected from the fallen snow:

I wondered what effect such heavy snow would have on the blossom of the many trees, just in bloom?

And how would the insectivore bird species possibly find anything to eat in such alien conditions? My questions were answered as I approach a pair of silver birch trees at the south end of the golf course. Incredibly, both trees were alive with phylloscopus warblers, feeding in the snow-covered branches:

I came to a conservative total of at least 8 Chiffchaffs, but the trees were filled with constant movements. Some of the Chiffchaffs had snow frozen to their feet as they moved through the trees:

But best of all were 2 Willow Warblers, both singing frequently. To stand in heavy snow, at times a near white-out, and listen to the liquid, descending notes of summer left me almost unable to reconcile what I could see, with what I could hear, my senses conflicted.

A Willow Warbler, feeding and singing, in heavy snow.

By 7:30am the snow had stopped falling. With the temperature just above freezing, the melt began. I was lucky to glimpse one of the local Tawny Owls, left absolutely bedraggled by the snowstorm:

Other birds appeared completely untouched by the snow. This Eurasian Jay perched for a moment on a branch above the stream, absolutely pristine in pink, blue and black. The colours were back.

By late morning, after taking my daughters’ sledging, the sun was out and most of the snow was gone, as though it was never there at all. The bushes were filled with singing Blackcaps and Chiffchaffs and there were insects in the tree blossoms. The early morning white-out was a monochrome memory.

Sky-listening: scooters and scoters in Oxford

Common Scoters are sea ducks. Their winters are spent off the UK and Irish west coasts, they migrate to Scandinavia and Russia to breed in arctic pools in the permanent daylight of the northern summer. As such, they spend most of their lives well away from land-locked Oxfordshire. Small numbers of Common Scoters appear in Oxfordshire in spring, mid-summer and autumn (see here for a few more details). The majority of records come from the county’s largest waterbody, Farmoor Reservoir, as birds drop in during their migration.  Common Scoter migrate at night and are perfectly camouflaged. The males are sooty black, the females dark brown. They will not be seen at night. Fortunately, they have evolved to make frequent and distinctive flight calls to each other. It is these calls that betray their presence in the night sky. And until up to 2019 that was the story of Common Scoters in the Oxfordshire. Then came the global covid pandemic.

Common Scoters, Bolt Tail, Devon, August 2020

By late March 2020, hundreds of birders were forced to be at home in the first national coronavirus lockdown. As news broke that a significant nocturnal movement of Common Scoter was occurring across northern England, lockdowned birders across the rest of the country began listening out for the flight calls of Common Scoters. Something was happening. It became apparent that Common Scoters not only used the Wirral-Humber flyway in northern England, but also the Severn-Thames flyway across southern England, and in fact, were being reported right across southern England as they migrated east overland (see here).

As early spring 2021 came around, Isaac West and I discussed the possibility of trying to hear Common Scoters on nocturnal migration from our local patch of the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow in Headington, Oxford. This area, comprising of a local nature reserve, a meadow and a golf course has no open water and until 8th March 2021 over 368 patch visits had only produced one species of duck: Mallard. The 8th March saw a flock of 7 Goosander flyover, a completely unexpected new species for the area and a remarkable record. Even so, trying to add a species of sea duck to this list seemed like complete madness. But the first covid spring of 2020 had taught us something: the skies are alive with the sound of scoters. Sometimes.

This week we spent three evenings, socially distanced, on Southfield Golf Course listening to the sky. Isaac prefers the expression “live noc-mig”, but I like “sky-listening”. Like “sea-watching”, it captures what you actually spend most of your time doing. Almost immediately I heard the sound of Wigeon passing overhead. A satisfying start and duck number three for the Lye Valley area! Shortly afterward, we heard the sound of a very loud scooter revving up and driving through east Oxford. But above it, the flight call of a Coot:

Scooter and Coot (at the 3-4 second mark). Nocturnal flight call, Southfield Golf Course, Oxford 23rd March 2021. Recording by Isaac West.

So we had scooter, but not scoter. The best moment of the evening was at 21:30 when the first Barn Owl for the area hissed at us:

The first 90-minute sky-listening session had produced three new species for the area. I was hooked. With little wind forecast for the next night, we tried again on Tuesday 23rd March. Very early on we both heard the pyu-pyu-pyu calls of a migrating Common Scoter flock. They were very distant, to the east, so distant in fact that Isaac’s recorder did not pick up the calls. Success, but we wanted proof. We wanted a recording. We tried again on Wednesday 24th March. It was desperately quiet, not even a Redwing called. By 21:30 we were both cold and about to give up, when the ringing calls of Common Scoter were heard again, this time from the west. The flock passed over, heading east, but was just loud enough to be audible on the recording:

Scooter and scoter were in the bag! You don’t need special equipment to hear these migrating flocks of sea ducks. Although distant, both the flocks we heard on the nights of 23rd and 24th March were quite clearly audible over the sounds of east Oxford. An overhead flock would be quite an experience.

Find a quiet spot on a still night, be familiar with the flight call (Teal and other duck species are also on the move at night and are also vocal) and be patient. We spent a total of 4.5 hours listening across three successive evenings to hear the two Common Scoter flocks pass over. Last year the major movement of Common Scoter across England occurred in the first week of April, so we may not be at peak scoter yet. The next few weeks provide a real opportunity to get Common Scoter, an arctic-breeding sea duck, on your Oxfordshire patch and garden lists. Incredible stuff.

Tree Pipit: calls, evidence and birds.

Two recent local patch visits have produced a species that I spent much of last August listening and looking for, but without success: Tree Pipit. This species is a scarce migrant in Oxfordshire, but one that has history in this area. I spoke to Steve Heath early last year. Steve grew up in Cowley and used to watch the Southfield Golf Course area many decades ago. Steve told me that Tree Pipits used to be regular up on the golf course and even now I could see why. The open grassy spaces on top of the hill, the many mature pine trees combined with the sandy bunkers on the golf course, look as if they could tempt a passing migrant Tree Pipit down to investigate.

There was a significant movement of Tree Pipits across England in late August 2019, but despite many hours of observation by myself and Dave Lowe we did not record a Tree Pipit in the Lye Valley area. Last week I was in south Devon and saw, heard and photographed a number of Tree Pipits as they migrated down the coast. Their calls were fresh in my memory as I headed out on Tuesday morning.

Devon Tree Pipits

First encounter: no confirmatory second call

As I descended from the golf course towards the trees of the Lye Valley on 25th August, I was stopped in my tracks by a buzzing “tzeep” flight call of a bird passing high overhead. I immediately called out “Tree Pipit!” I scanned the skies, cupped my ears and listened out another flight call. It never came.

I have long since stopped identifying birds on the basis of “what else could it have been?” If I find myself going down that particular avenue, it simply means that I have not gathered enough evidence to confirm the identification of the bird in question. There must be evidence from my own observation to substantiate the identification. Identification based on ruling everything else out that is not present, is by definition, much less secure.

I reflected that had I been on the Devon coast I would have simply added Tree Pipit to my eBird list and carried on. But in an Oxfordshire context, Tree Pipit was a new species for the Lye Valley area and a species that I had neither seen nor heard in the county. I needed more evidence. I needed the confirmatory second flight call. The one you hear when you are fully alert and listening. Not the first flight call, that can catch an observer unawares, where the mind can play tricks or the wind can distort the call of a more common species. For me, I needed to hear more than one call to reach a satisfactory evidence threshold to add a new species to my patch or county list. I gritted my teeth and headed into the woods.

Second encounter: the confirmatory call!

About eight minutes later, as I passed between the Churchill Hospital and the 18th green of the golf course (this is a strange local patch), I was stopped in my tracks by an explosive buzzing flight call from a bird high overhead. Again I stopped and scanned the skies and listened and this time the flight call was repeated as the bird moved south, sounding just like this recording:

[Albert Lastukhin, XC495491. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/495491]

It was a Tree Pipit! And I had heard the second confirmatory call. The one that for me, reduces the risk of an overactive imagination or wind distortion and nails the ID. Tree Pipit was on my patch and county lists. I went home a happy man.

Third encounter: “chip” calls

This morning I was back on the golf course at first light. I was unnaturally optimistic about finding a Redstart for some reason, but as usual drew a blank. As I searched the southern end of the golf course I once again heard the distinctive sound of a Tree Pipit’s standard flight call. This time it was relatively low and I managed to photograph the bird as it circled around overhead.

I watched and listened to it fly over the hilly southern edge of the course before losing sight of the bird. Then I became aware of some high pitched “chip” calls coming from a pipit-like bird flying back north over the golf course. These calls were unfamiliar to me. About 15 minutes later the bird making the “chip” calls flew back overhead, before inserting a classic Tree Pipit flight call between the chips notes. The “chip” calls were Tree Pipit alarm calls, just like this recording:

[B Whyte, XC566189. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/566189.]

The Tree Pipit continued flying east and I watched it leave East Oxford and fly until it was lost from view. An instructive morning and a small ambition fulfilled. It is good to know that this hilltop golf course in Oxford city can still attract migrating Tree Pipits in autumn.

Rose-coloured Starlings: from Christmas Pie to Oman.

I have always enjoyed seeing Rose-coloured Starlings. Their bright pink and black plumage, the contrast with our Common Starlings and even their name, seems exotic and foreign. I saw my first bird in November 1987 in the wonderfully named Surrey village of Christmas Pie. My notes, taken as a feisty 17-year-old, are critical of how bright Rose-coloured Starlings appear in field guides compared to the dull bird that I was watching in Surrey in November. The distinction between their bright summer plumage and their dull winter feathering was clearly lost on me, as I watched the bird, somewhat disappointed.

I now know that in winter Rose-coloured Starlings lose their glossy black tones, especially on the head, where dull grey-pink feathering appears. The bill also changes colour from a sharply demarked black and pink, to a more uniform thrush-like yellow:

Adult winter plumaged Rose-coloured Starling, Oman, November 2015.

In the summer of 2002 I saw two different summer plumaged birds, one at Happisburgh in Norfolk and one at Dawlish Warren in Devon. Both birds were distant, but the Dawlish bird was memorably so. I found myself in the hide at Dawlish with a Yorkshireman, who had moved to Cape May. Richard Crossley went on to produce the photo guides to North American birds that bear his name. Richard was good company and as we chatted a report of a long-staying adult Rose-coloured Starling came through. It was on view on the roof of “the pink house in Starcross” some 1.3 miles (2.25km) distant across the estuary. We trained our ‘scopes on Starcross, found the pink house and were delighted to make out the (absolutely tiny) pink-and-black bird sitting on the tiles of the roof over a mile away! It is still probably the smallest bird that I have seen in the UK.

My next record of Rose-coloured Starling was a juvenile bird in early September 2003 on Lundy. This was a special moment for me as it was the first rarity that I had found in the UK and it was also my birthday. It is a double that I can recommend. Later that same month I saw another juvenile bird at Kelling Water Meadows in Norfolk, before a period of eight Rose-coloured Starlingless years began. This rosé drought was broken in style, by the appearance of two juvenile birds on Lundy at the same time in October 2011. One bird was even feeding in the very same field that I found my first juvenile bird in, eight years beforehand:

Juvenile Rose-coloured Starlings are not rose-coloured. They are the colour of the desert sand and rock where the adults breed in noisy colonies in the countries around the Caspian Sea. In flight the pale rump stands out, but perched they have none of the dramatic colour tones of summer plumaged adults:

Juveniles seem to vary a bit in their plumage tones. One of the two birds present in October 2011 was strikingly pale:

My next experience of the Rosy Pastor was in Oman in November 2015. Here the adults were in their dull pink winter plumage, but now I could appreciate their subtle tones and their funky undertail covert markings:

The adult summer plumaged bird that I saw yesterday in East Challow, Oxfordshire, was the 9th Rose-coloured Starling that I have seen in the UK, but the first summer plumaged adult since the Norfolk and Dawlish birds of 2002. It perched up on a telephone wire with the light behind it, but those pink and black tones still stood out:

I’m still waiting for really good views of an adult summer bird, but its good to have something to look forward to.

Oxon Birding Awards 2019

Last night was the annual Oxon Birding Awards, held as usual in the Abingdon Spice restaurant:

It is always great to see so many of the birding community turn out, even if they do have to tolerate me reviewing the birding year and hosting the awards ceremony. I forgot to take a picture of the room this year, but one from last year sums up the atmosphere: birds, beer and good company:

Reviewing 2019 was a tough task, as with only 200 species recorded, it is regarded as the least diverse year for bird species on record. However, there are always some superb birds recorded and always some deserving winners:

Despite the alleged comedy value of the award categories, the real function of the Awards is to thank members of the birding community for their work over the last year, although finding a good bird helps too! Jon Uren represented all the volunteers who do so much to maintain Otmoor as our premier wildlife site and there was recognition for all his database and bird record work over the years. Peter Law, who unfortunately could not be present, got an award and thanks for his beautifully written monthly summaries that appear on the Oxon Birding Log every month. Badger, who along with Adam Hartley, runs the website and organised the dinner, was also thanked for the countless hours that he puts in every month. Without these people there would be no Oxfordshire birding community – we thank them all!

Bird of the month: Hoopoe

This is an article that I wrote for the July 2019 edition of the Cumnor Village Magazine:

This month’s Bird of the Month is a summer holiday special: the Hoopoe. This is one of the most distinctive birds in the world. Hoopoes do not usually nest in the UK, but are found widely across most of Europe and Asia. Every year some reach England in the spring and summer. Some years there are a few dozen sightings, sometimes up to one hundred birds are recorded. In Oxfordshire the Hoopoe is a rare bird, with about 8 records in total. It is quite large bird, about the size of a Jay, but has a long downcurved bill and a fabulous crest. The wings and tail are boldly marked with black-and-white, whilst the head and back are cinnamon-pink.

Hoopoe, France, July 2012

In flight, the rounded wings are very obvious, flashing black and white. The wings have a slow-motion action in flight, leading to comparisons with a huge black-and-white butterfly flapping past. Despite this, Hoopoes are strong fliers. Most of the European population migrates across the Sahara to southern Africa, although a few birds remain in southern Spain or north Africa over the northern winter.

Hoopoe, France, July 2012

Like last months bird of the month, the Cuckoo, Hoopoes have an onomatopoeic name. Their simple repetitive song has led many human cultures to name this species after the sound that it sings in spring. In Afghanistan it is “poppoo”; in the middle east “hud-hud”; in Portugal “poup” and in English “hoopoe”. Phonetically the song is best written as “hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo”. It sounds as if one is blowing gently across the top of an open glass bottle.

Hoopoe, Oman, November 2015

For millennia Hoopoes have nested in holes, in trees or in cliffs. With the relatively recent development of human structures, Hoopoes have also taken to nesting in man-made cavities. This, combined with their distinctive and obvious appearance, means that Hoopoes have a long and rich association with human culture. The Hoopoe is an Egyptian hieroglyph, but also appeared to have a medicinal function. Mark Cocker (in “Birds and People” 2013) describes ancient Egyptian prescriptions that were smeared on the eyelids to inspire visions that contained Hoopoe blood as an ingredient. Cocker goes on to describe the broad-spectrum application of the Hoopoe for a wide range of ailments in mediaeval times:

“The left pinion is good for the man who is in thrall to his wife; Tie up the right shoulder in a piece of new rag… and hang it over a woman who is ill in her body and she shall have relief;  Dry its skull, macerate it in oil and rub it on any part of the body thou wishest and it shall destroy hair; Having salted the heart of this bird… give it to the woman whose child will not come from her. Let her grasp it in her left hand and the child will come from the womb straightaway”

The Hoopoe also has an important role in middle eastern culture. In the Qur’an the Prophet Muhammad forbids Muslims to kill the Hoopoe. The bird has an important status as a messenger between King Solomon and his bride-to-be, the Queen of Sheeba.

Remarkably, a Hoopoe has been recorded in Cumnor. Steve Heath has provided an account of finding this exotic species in April 2006: “I frequently used to take my dog for a walk down Leys Road to Bablock Hythe and particularly during the spring to look for migrants and early butterflies. The route has good views across Farmoor Reservoir and Wytham Woods to the north and passes through farmland flanked by hedgerows and some traditional hay meadows. Along this route lies Long Leys Farm. Over the years I had got to know the resident gardener Michael Collins. Walking my dog back home on the morning of 23rd April Michael remarked that he had seen an odd bird briefly around the Farm gardens the day before. Knowing Michael, I felt this was worth a look. After a fairly long search a Hoopoe came into view close to the orchard, at the rear of the house. The word was put out and several people managed to see the bird before it became elusive. It was not, to my knowledge seen again after the morning of 23rd April”.

A very wet Hoopoe, Sichuan, China, May 2016

If you are going on holiday into Europe this summer, watch out for this beautiful and distinctive bird. It can often be found feeding on the ground in sand dunes behind the beaches. If you are exceptionally lucky you could catch a glimpse of a Hoopoe in Oxfordshire, a dazzling flash of black, white, pink, crest and bill. Seeing a Hoopoe is always a moment to treasure.

Words and pictures by Tom Bedford. Many thanks to Steve Heath for his contribution.

Bird of the month: Cuckoo

This is an article that I wrote for the Cumnor Magazine for their June issue:

Although the traditional harbinger of spring, it is hard to argue that the Cuckoo is in fact a British bird. Cuckoos spend 9 months of the year in sub-Saharan tropical African forests, where the distinctive call that has led to their name, has never been heard. They winter as far south as Angola. In early March they begin their long flight north. Most British Cuckoos cross the Sahara, before flying over the Straits of Gibraltar, continuing north through Spain and France. In early April the first birds arrive in the UK and the males immediately begin singing their onomatopoetic song. Female Cuckoos do not sing “Cuck-oo”. Their call is a liquid bubbling sound, similar to the sound the last water makes as it drains from a sink.

The song of the male Cuckoo is far better known than the appearance of this large migrant bird. In flight, Cuckoos have a rather hawk-like appearance, with a long tail and rather pointed wings. From above they appear all grey, with a number of pale spots on each long dark brown tail feather:

From below, the pale breast with grey stripes running across it can be seen. Cuckoos have a well-patterned underwing, with a pale bar running across the wing and pale spots in the outer flight feathers:

Having attracted a female Cuckoo, this species then begins its famous breeding behaviour. Cuckoos are well known for not building their own nests, but rather they parasite the broods of other bird species. Over 120 species of bird have been recording raising Cuckoo chicks, but 90% of all Cuckoo eggs are laid in Reed Warbler, Meadow Pipit and Dunnock nests.

Cuckoos have evolved, quite remarkably, to lay eggs that match both the colour and size (breadth) of their host species’ eggs. This prevents the host species immediately realising that there is an alien egg in the nest and removing it. The first act of the Cuckoo chick, whilst still featherless and blind, is to push any other egg or chick out of the nest. The Cuckoo chick reverses up the side of the nest cup, with any unhatched eggs on its back, and tips them over the edge. Now an only-child, the Cuckoo benefits from the attention of both adult hosts. Quickly the chick dwarfs it’s host parents in size. They are unable to resist the bright yellow-orange gape of the huge chick and relentlessly keep feeding it. After fledging juvenile Cuckoos spend a few weeks feeding up in preparation for their long flight south. Like human juveniles, they are spottier than adults. Juvenile Cuckoos have pale edges and spots on most of their flight and back feathers:

The nature-nurture debate is conclusively settled in favour of nature, at least as regards Cuckoos. No young Cuckoo ever sees its parents. Unlike geese, the parents do not guide young birds on their first migration. Guided purely by genetically inherited instinct, each young Cuckoo finds its way back across Europe, across Africa, to the tropical forests of central-west Africa, alone. Some Cuckoos will not meet another member of their species until they return to the UK the following spring.

Unfortunately, the Cuckoo is in decline in UK. The latest research indicates that 40% of our Cuckoos have been lost since 1994, although in the last five years numbers have begun rising slightly (BTO 2018).  Cuckoos are dependent on large hairy, sometimes toxic, caterpillars, which are often avoided by other birds. Some species of Cuckoo have evolved a mucous membrane in their gizzard, to which the toxic hairs of the caterpillars they eat stick. Periodically, these membranes break off and are regurgitated, allowing the cuckoos to rid themselves of the toxins. In the UK, as moth and butterfly populations decline, so does the food supply for Cuckoos.

Globally, Cuckoos are widespread, with some 127 different species. Many are more brightly coloured and exotic than our Eurasian Cuckoo, for example this Diederic Cuckoo from Africa. But only one species calls its own name in that distinctive fashion, our own Eurasian Cuckoo.

Bird of the Month: Northern Wheatear

This is an article I wrote for the Cumnor Village Magazine for their April 2019 edition:

A walk around the fields surrounding Cumnor this month could easily produce a sighting of one of the most remarkable migrant birds on earth: the Northern Wheatear. Wheatears are ground loving birds. They feed on insects and invertebrates found in short grass in exposed fields and meadows. They are attractive birds. Spring males have a black mask and a blue-grey back. But whilst most often seen on the ground they are most easily detected when they fly. Their lower back, just above the black tail, is pure white. When a Wheatear flies, the flash of white is very obvious.

Wheatears do not breed in Oxfordshire. The birds we see in the fields around Cumnor are pausing on their migration between their wintering grounds and their breeding grounds. The story of Wheatear migration is quite incredible. Every Wheatear on earth spends its winter in Africa, on the vast dry plains just south of the Sahara. This is their ancestral home. Their winter range stretches in a wide band across central Africa, from Mauritania in the west across to Sudan in the east.

Every spring, Northern Wheatears leave their wintering grounds and fly north in their millions. But unlike the Swallows, House Martins and warblers that migrate with them, most Wheatears do not finish their journey in England. In fact, for some birds their journey has only just begun. Some populations of Northern Wheatears continue across the UK and fly directly to Greenland and north-east Canada. Recent research has shown that these birds undertake a sea crossing of over 3,000km (1,500 miles) in a single flight. Quite an achievement for a bird that only weighs as much as four ten pence pieces.

Every autumn these Northern Wheaters repeat their epic journey and fly from Canada and Greenland, back to central Africa. They are one of very few bird species that breed in the new world, but winter in the old world. These populations are known as “Greenland Wheatears”. They have longer wings than the birds that breed in Europe, reflecting their much longer migrations. Greenland Wheatears are more richly coloured than European Northern Wheatears, often having rich, apricot-coloured underparts:

Probable Greenland Wheatear, Cuddesdon, April 2011

But Greenland Wheaters are not the most travelled Wheatears. The incredible migration of Greenland Wheatears from Africa, into Europe and then out across the Atlantic is dwarfed by the distances covered by their eastern cousins. Northern Wheatears that winter in east Africa breed right across northern Russia, and have even spread into Alaska. A single spring migration for these birds involves flying across Asia for some 15,000km (9,000 miles). They then raise young and depart the short northern summer for their African homeland, crossing half the world in order to do so.

The Northern Wheatears we see in Oxfordshire in autumn are a different colour to the birds seen in spring. They replace their breeding finery with their winter plumage, one suited to the dry brown shades of the plains of Africa:

Nothern Wheatear, Cuddesdon, August 2013

If you are out walking this month and flush a bird from the ground which shows a clean white rump as it flies, then you have probably found a Northern Wheatear. These birds like a view and often perch on rocks, mounds of earth or even hedgerows. Make the most of your views of them. For those very same birds could be in Greenland or Canada within days, having completed one of the most incredible flights of migration.

Northern Wheatear, Lundy Island, October 2010. 

Oxford Ornithological Society AGM and talk

I was honoured to be invited to talk at the AGM of the Oxford Ornithological Society last Wednesday, 8th May.  I recounted my experiences of birding the Oxfordshire green belt to a turn-out of over 50 members. Inevitably this also involved looking at the massive declines in farmland birds in the last 30 years and the role of intensive agriculture in these declines. But I tried to throw in a few jokes as well. Dr Alan Larkman, OOS Chairperson, then gave an excellent presentation about the valuable conservation efforts taking place on City Farm, near Eynsham. It was great to see some familiar, and some new, faces and to receive some positive feedback too. Special thanks to comrades Badger and Mark for their support.

It was also a pleasant surprise to come across this blog post from OOS secretary Barry Hudson the following morning. Thanks Barry!

Blenheim Bonaparte’s

Bonaparte’s Gulls don’t create the stir they once did. The bird at Farmoor in mid-May 2000 was a major event. Since then there have been another four, all in spring, with birds being found on 18th April 2006; 1st May 2007; 11th April 2009; 8th April 2017. The bird found yesterday by Nic Hallam (who has found most of the county records) is the 6th for the county, by my reckoning. 

I had two children in tow when I arrived at Blenheim Palace this afternoon. Badger and two other birders were already watching it dip-feed at the back of the main lake. It was distant and the light was terrible. The Bonaparte’s Gull could be picked out from the many Black-headed Gulls just because it looked so clean and bright, an impression created by the pale inner primaries on the underwing. 

I  needed to tempt it closer. Feeling determined, I took my children up back into the main house and into the cafe. I didn’t buy them anything, but instead found myself wondering what the Bonaparte’s Gull would prefer: scones or sausage rolls? Despite the fact my wife does not eat pork and that a well known vegan Oxonbirder was looking after my ‘scope by the lakeside, I went for the meat. It worked a treat.

Black-headed Gulls noticed me tossing food into the air and came over to investigate. The Bonaparte’s came with them. It’s dark head – not really black, but darker than the accompanying Black-headed Gulls – was not quite complete: 

The leg colour was visible at quite some distance:

I even had the satisfaction of seeing the Bonaparte’s Gull, take a piece of my sausage roll:

Although this made it a target for other gulls…

…causing the Bonaparte’s Gull to react furiously:

Within a couple of minutes the food was gone and all the gulls returned to patrolling the far side of the lake. I took my children back to the cafe, to reward them for their patience, and we spent the rest of the afternoon enjoying the sunshine at Blenheim. Easy birding. 

 

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