Category: UK birding

Shetland 21, part 3: pipits and ditches

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tree Pipit: Lars Edenius, XC668177. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/668177.
Olive-backed Pipit, but at the less obvious end of the spectrum:
Jelle Scharringa, XC653907. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/653907.
Obvious Olive-backed Pipit:
Nicholas Galea, XC533890. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/533890.

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

Next: goodies from the east, despite the winds.

Shetland 21, part 2: a blast from the north

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Next: pipits, ditches and cars.

Shetland 21, part 1: rainbows, lows and highs

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

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

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

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

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

Above, Shetland Wren, below, Fulmar.

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

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

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

Isle of Skye 2: boat trips

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Isle of Skye 1: local birds & wildlife

There are many reasons why one would want to go to Scotland. There are mountain bird species, breeding seabirds and waders, spectacular scenery and a real sense of the wild. It is said that when the sun shines in Scotland, it is one of the greatest landscapes on earth. Unfortunately, the sun rarely shines in Scotland. The summer weather is notoriously unreliable, perhaps one reason why the most popular Scottish word is “dreich“, meaning dreary, gloomy, miserable, grey, depressing and devoid of sunshine. So when planning a family holiday, suggesting that we go to Scotland always held an unacceptably high degree of risk for precious time-off.

But then came the pandemic. Sunshine abroad did not feel right, whilst accommodation in the south and west of England rocketed in price, but still sold out months in advance. So, when a friend hinted that there may be some availability at his family’s house on the Isle of Skye, I began to look at Scotland once again.

Fortunately, the weather gods were on our side. We left southern England in a heatwave that traveled north with us throughout the first week of our trip. We passed through the highlands of mainland Scotland under blue skies with perfect visibility. Below, the Glen Coe range behind Lochan na h-Achlaise:

Our first day on the Isle of Skye was dawn till dusk sunshine. The highest peaks on Skye, the Black Cuillins, formed a backdrop to the view from our house. The views were unbelievable. Time to begin some local birding:

The most obvious local birds were Lesser Redpolls. Large family groups were noisy, conspicuous and everywhere. The valley rang with the “chett-chett” flight calls of adult birds. Below, juvenile Lesser Redpoll:

The local Stonechats appeared to have had a good breeding season, with many juvenile birds, being fed by adults:

The commonest local warbler was Willow Warbler, with only one Chiffchaff recorded. There were many juvenile Willow Warblers in the garden:

There was a singing Grasshopper Warbler in the field next door, Whitethroats in the bushes and a Sedge Warbler passed through mid-week. Wheatears could be seen on the nearby headlands, the adults moulting out of their breeding plumage:

There were small numbers of Rock Doves in the valley. One morning, a flock of five landed on the roof of our house:

There was at least one pair of Raven in the valley, but all the local crows were Hooded Crows:

There was a Sand Martin colony by the river. This must be one of the most north-westerly colonies in the UK, though I believe there are breeding birds on the southern Outer Hebrides which may take that title. Although the breeding season was coming to an end by late July, there were at least two active nests. This bird is returning to the colony with a full crop of insects:

The abundant gulls around the river and beach were Common Gulls, with only the occasion Herring, Lesser or Greater Black-backed Gulls joining them:

A flock of Greylag Geese spent the days alternating between feeding in the farmland opposite our house or bathing in the river:

In the evenings, the geese were joined by Red Deer, including this stag:

The shoreline held Rock Pipits, including this very worn adult:

Juvenile Rock Pipits have surprisingly bright pink legs and have yet to develop the long dark bill of adults:

There were small numbers of waders around the river. Small groups of vocal Oystercatcher and Curlew were common, with Ringed Plover on the beach. Common Sandpipers were seen frequently, by the sea and the river. Twice I saw Greenshank here, though they were always distant. I think the small number of dark-centered scapulars mean that this is a summer plumaged adult, so possibly a local breeder:

Below, this surprise wader flew around Loch Brittle and then back out to sea. It appeared nearly all-white in flight and when I first got onto it, as it flew directly towards me, I had no idea what it was. This oddly pale Whimbrel is either extremely heavily worn and abraded, or is a leucistic bird:

Further out in the loch were small groups of Red-throated Diver, up to 15 in total, though they were always very distant. I had good ‘scope views of these birds, which were very socially active. Below, this pair of Red-throated Divers submerged their bodies and cut through the water with necks held stiff and erect, driving away other birds:

Whilst walking up into the mountains or along the local peninsular, I often head a harsh “ka-ka-ka-ka” call, that initially I thought may be Red Grouse calling. Eventually I located the source of these calls, they were high-flying Red-throated Divers, coming in over the mountains to feed in Loch Brittle:

On one afternoon we flushed a Short-eared Owl from just by our feet, not far up the hillside behind our house:

Local insects included Golden-ringed Dragonflies:

This male Common Darter:

… and abundant Scotch Argus butterflies, a species only found in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland:

Next: boat trips from the Isle of Skye.

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.

A late October Swift in Scotland

With our house undergoing significant building work, we were relieved to be offered the use of a friend’s house during half-term. Even better, their house was right at the end of Fife Ness, on the Scottish east coast. My luck did not extend to having ideal winds, the coast was battered by relentless strong southerly and south-westerly winds all week, probably the least productive wind vectors for late autumn migration on the east coast.

Above, looking inland from the extreme tip of Fife Ness. The wooden hut is the Fife Bird Club seawatching hide, closed under covid regulations. Behind it is the lighthouse. Our house was just behind the lighthouse. The small woodland of Fife Ness Muir can just be seen on the right of this picture. Each morning I would check the woodland and have a brief seawatch.

We had a great week, though visible migration was very quiet all week. The best moment came as I completed a run in the late afternoon of October 26th. It was clear a torrential rainstorm was just about to break, the wind had picked up and the sky darkened. I picked up my pace to get back before the rain, sprinted back to our house and glanced up at the sky as I reached for the front door. As I did so, I noticed a swift flying in from the sea. Being late October, and being so far north, I was immediately aware that there was a chance that this bird may be a Pallid Swift. Fast-moving storms crossing the Atlantic pull up air from southern Europe, creating strong southerly airflows across Europe, which can displace swifts well north of their usual range. Martin Garner found a Pallid Swift at Flamborough on the same date in 2013, see here. My first reaction was that I would need photographs of this bird.

I kicked down the front door of the house and grabbed my camera, which I had left on the hall table (just in case I needed it quickly!). I was back outside in less than 5 seconds and to my relief, the bird was still in sight, just about overhead, still heading west along the coast, at a medium height. I took photographs of the bird, then watched it disappear inland. Thirty seconds later, the skies opened and a torrential downpour began and it rained until dark.

And the lack of light was the problem. I processed the pictures immediately, but no amount of altering exposure, contrast, brightness or shadows could produce any plumage features at all. If there was an eye-mask, a pale throat or mantle saddle, let alone pale edges to the body feathering, then they remained invisible to me. Another, possibly better, explanation is that this bird was an adult Common Swift, in which case it would appear pretty uniformly dark anyway. Either way, there simply was not enough light to get any useful plumage details. This bird remains on my eBird list as “swift sp”.

The second best bird was a juvenile Red-backed Shrike found by another birder in nearby Kilminning early in the week. It matched the autumn leaves nicely:

The rest of week, I enjoyed the local birds and kept an eye open for whatever migrants were around:

Oystercatchers
Redshank, Dulin and Sanderling
Oystercatcher, Knot and Redshank
Purple Sandpipers
Grey Seal
Stonechat
Curlew
Fieldfare

Early one morning, the skies were suddenly filled with the calls of Pink-footed Geese. Nearly a thousand birds passed south down the coast, presumably heading for the north Norfolk coast.

We spent our final day on the coast at Tentsmuir Forest, a superb combination of beach, forest and Red Squirrels:

Spurn Point, Yorkshire

Richard Campey, Andy Last and I were meant to be in Shetland this week. However, with our accommodation cancelling our booking two weeks ago due to COVID cases rising and it being illegal in Scotland for members of more than two households to meet indoors, the message from Shetland was clear: come back after the pandemic is over! Richard opted to stay at home in Norfolk, so Andy and I looked around for somewhere nearer where we could still get a taste of autumn migration. With easterly winds and rain forecast all day Saturday, we opted to spend Sunday and Monday at Spurn Point on the Yorkshire coast and expectations were high! At the last minute, Dave Lowe and Wayne Paes, both from Oxford, also decided to travel independently to Spurn and stay locally. We would see both of them in the field over the two days.

On Sunday morning, one of the two Red-flanked Bluetails that were found the day before, was still around Cliff Farm, intermittently dropping down to take insects from the lawn. It was beginning to attract a small crowd, so we did not linger.

Instead, we worked our way around the Kilnsea area, checking bushes, fencelines and the sky for migrant birds. The conditions were perfect and autumn migration was in full swing: there was a constant stream of thrushes and finches passing overhead. Song Thrushes were most numerous, nearly 1000 arrived on Saturday, followed by Redwings. In contrast, very few Blackbirds and hardly any Fieldfares were on the move. Small flocks of Chaffinches, Linnets and Goldfinches passed over all morning and the sound of calling Siskins overhead was ubiquitous.

Dave Lowe and Andy Last on the Canal Path

Good birds came along regularly. We saw two Short-eared Owls, one roosting next to the Canal Path, the other sheltering from the wind behind a hedgerow:

Coming across good numbers of common migrants was a real treat. We saw a total of 3 Whinchat, but most places held Redstarts. It is always lovely to see Redstarts and was special to see Firetails and Bluetail on the same day:

There was a light scattering of Wheatears:

Mediterranean Gulls seem common at Spurn now, they were regular over the Humber:

This apporachable Golden Plover was on the path to Sammy’s Point:

The bushes there held a very late Wood Warbler, an unexpected surprise in October:

Siskins and Lesser Redpolls were everywhere at Sammy’s too, including birds feeding on the verges of the road at our feet:

On Saturday afternoon, we walked south, all the way down Spurn Point:

Andy, Wayne Paes and Dave at The Breach, Spurn Point.

The numbers of migrant Robins on the Point was amazing. There were hundreds, virtually every moving bird would turn out to be a Robin:

After Robins, the commonest birds on the Point were Song Thrushes. The birds arriving on the Yorkshire coast were very different from mainland birds. They had cold grey mantles and a clean, white ground colour to the breast, which seemed to glow white on a grey day:

Black Redstart

Warblers were represented by Chiffchaffs, Blackcaps, the occasional Willow Warbler, one Garden Warbler and one Yellow-browed Warbler.

Chiffchafff, the commonest warbler species on The Point

Raptors seen were Kestrel, Sparrowhawk, Merlin and a fly-through Marsh Harrier, some of which were hunting the Chaffinches, Goldfinches, Siskin and Brambling in the bushes at the end of The Point.

Chaffinch
Brambling:
The sun sets as we return from the long trek out to The Point. Wet and tired, but happy!

Sunday was a quieter day for overhead migration, but we caught up with a couple of scarce birds. A mobile and elusive Red-breasted Flycatcher at Terminal Wood eventually showed itself, before flicking off through the wood again. The Barred Warbler, originally found by Dave Lowe 13 days ago but still present, could be glimpsed in Listening Dish Hedge:

I recorded 101 species over two days of superb autumn migration. The big find still eluded us, though one of my favourite moments took place in the Crown and Anchor car park on Sunday morning. We had all commented on how we had been expecting more Yellow-browed Warblers to be present, but as yet, we had not seen any. A heavy shower had passed through, followed by sunshine and then a rainbow:

I took the picture above before a movement in the tree on the right caught my eye. A Yellow-browed Warbler was feeding in the branches on the edge of the tree. I called to Dave “Yellow-browed Warbler”

“Where are you looking?” he replied.

I savoured my response: “At the end of the rainbow!” Without doubt, the first time I’ve used a rainbow as a point of reference. And at the end, a nice little pot of Siberian green and gold:

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.

A chilled-out day in Norfolk

I spent Friday in north Norfolk with Richard Campey, who lives and works near the coast. It was a relaxed day, with some morning sunshine, before showers moved in from the south-west during the afternoon. We didn’t travel out of north-west Norfolk and saw nearly 70 species without really trying. 

Barn Owls were very obvious, perhaps after rain preventing them from hunting last night. We saw at least 6 during the day, including this early morning bird, perched on the way to Holkham Bay, our first stop after Richard had dropped off his son at work.

An area of the marsh at Holkham has been fenced off to allow regeneration of the saltmarsh. This area has been attracting Shorelark this winter. When we arrived 4 birds were right in the middle of fenced off area, but as we watched and waited they worked their way over towards us. Eventually, we had superb views in lovely early morning sunlight:

There were also at least 40 Snow Bunting on the saltmarsh, with over 1000 Common Scoter, 5 Red-breasted Merganser, 4 Long-tailed Duck and 2 Great Crested Grebes on the sea.

As always, the skies and fields of north Norfolk were filled with thousands of Pink-footed Geese, some quite close :

The Rough-legged Buzzard at Wells announced itself by putting up hundreds of Lapwing, Golden Plover and thousands of duck. We had superb ‘scope views of it hunting in front of the pines and frequently hovering before it returned to its regular perch on a building viewable from the road:

The sunshine after yesterday’s rain had brought out the raptors with lots of Kestrels, Marsh Harriers, Common Buzzards and a Sparrowhawk all seen throughout the day.

A wintering Black-necked Grebe on Holkham Hall lake was a nice addition to the day list:

Mr Campey at Holkham Hall

The afternoon saw a change in the weather, with regular heavy rain showers. As darkness fell we popped in to see if the Eastern Yellow Wagtail was about still about, as it’s favourite dung piles are only 10 minutes from Richard’s house. We discovered that it hadn’t been seen in over two hours, so called it a day and went back to Richard’s for afternoon tea. Hard-core birding it wasn’t, but it was a superb chilled-out day with a good friend. We finished the day as we had begun it, with a Barn Owl. We watched this bird hunting by the road near Sedgeford. On one occasion it hovered right above our car, starring down at us, providing the sort of view that is the last thing that countless mice and voles ever see. They are fabulous birds:

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