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:
OystercatchersRedshank, Dulin and SanderlingOystercatcher, Knot and RedshankPurple SandpipersGrey SealStonechatCurlewFieldfare
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:
There has been much discussion generated by the arrival in England of a juvenile Lammergeier from the reintroduction program in the Alps this year. This reminded me of my experiences with the species in the Spanish Pyrenees, some ten years ago.
In early February 2010, I spent a few days in the mountains of northern Spain. I called into Gallacanta, the main wintering grounds of the European population of Common Crane. Many thousands of Cranes were present:
But my main target was in the mountains. I had arranged to spend a few days in a photo hide at a vulture feeding site. The site was on a ridge in the Pyrenean foothills. In the picture below, the feeding area is the open area above the dry stone walls. The photo hide can just be seen protruding from the bush on the right side of the feeding area:
A few barrel loads of goat carcasses and goat’s feet and were picked up from a local abattoir en route. As soon as I was safely locked in the hide, the animal remains were distributed across the feeding area. Immediately, about one hundred Griffon Vultures began to gather in the sky. No doubt such numbers would pull in birds from farther afield and hopefully attract a passing Lammergeier or two as well:
It took about 30 minutes for the first Griffons to land. As soon as the first birds hit the ground, the rest of the flock piled in and a true feeding frenzy began. There were Griffon Vultures everywhere, devouring the meat from the bones and often being drawn into confrontation with others. Below, this is the “glare-and-blink ” display (as described on p77 of BWP vol 2):
The sight and sound of a vulture feeding frenzy at close range is something to behold:
A few Black Vultures (now Cinereous Vulture) also joined the feeding Griffon Vultures. These are dramatic birds with contrasting dark masks, pale bill bases and pale napes:
Within a few hours, the Griffon and Black Vultures had stripped most of the meat from the bones on the feeding site. As these birds began to depart, presumably to digest for a few days, the first Lammergeier appeared in the sky above the ridge. Both immature and adult birds were present in small numbers, but I only had eyes for the adults.
The huge size of adult Lammergeiers in flight is hard to convey. They are enormous birds, the largest in all of Europe. Strangely, my overriding memory from ten years ago is not the sight of these majestic raptors, but the sounds. One of my strongest memories is of sitting in the hide at first light on my second morning. From above and behind the hide came the sound of an enormous pair of wings making a strong downbeat, a deep “whoosh, whoosh”. I felt a primeval fear rising within myself: a huge predator was in the sky behind me and there was nowhere to run! Still, I could see nothing. Then a pause, before more wing beats, whoosh-whoosh, so loud they must be nearly over the hide. Then the sky turned black as a Lammergeier blasted low over the hide and swooped down to take a large bone, before disappearing upwards. There was silence for a few moments before a loud thump to the right told me that the bone had been dropped from a height and smashed, to allow easier access to the nutritious marrow. It was like being in a hide in one of the enclosures in Jurassic Park. I was fully adrenalised!
The adults themselves quickly began to establish some sort of aerial hierarchy. There were frequent aerial confrontations between birds, some defecating and descending with talons outstretched on birds they were pursuing from above:
One pair swooped up to confront each other, locked talons, and spiraled down together, before parting. Aerial battles between such massive birds seemed to take up most of the sky, it was like watching winged-Gods wrestling each other. I sat open-mouthed in absolute awe:
The first Lammergeiers to land were young birds. Lammergeier are extremely shy when on the ground. I expect Pteranodons and Quetzalcoatlus felt the same. Juvenile Lammergeiers have a mostly dark plumage, with slightly paler underparts. The head and neck are solid black. For a brief while, I could see all three common western European vulture species together; (l-r) Griffon Vulture, juvenile Lammergeier and Black Vulture:
The young Lammergeiers began devouring the bones that were left by the meat-loving Griffon and Black Vultures. There seemed to be no limit to how large a bone a Lammergeier can swallow whole. Here a goats’s rib disappears…
… in one! The red eye-ring is aquired at very early age and is present on all birds more than a few months old:
Slightly older birds were the next to arrive. Forsman (“Raptors of Europe and the Middle East” 1999) distinguishes six plumage types in Lammergeier before full adult plumage is acquired. Compared to the image above, the bird below has a greyer face, has very worn greater coverts, and more fresh median wing coverts, making it an older bird, although still a juvenile-type:
Subadult Lammergeir also came in to feed. These birds gradually acquire more of the adult-type plumage. This bird has an adult-like grey crown and black lores, and has some of the adult golden feathering in the nape, legs and underparts. However, the mantle and wing coverts are still mottled and juvenile. It swallowed this section of goat’s spine whole:
Here the protective, transparent nictating membrane can be seen, being drawn across the eye, from front to back:
This sub-adult bird became aggressive, spread its wings, and confronted two immature Lammergeiers. Note the mottled underpart feathering, a mixture of adult and immature feathers. The necklace shown by adult Lammergeiers has not yet developed:
The bones furthest from the hide were eaten first. By my second afternoon in the hide, Lammergeiers came to take the bones closest to the hide, providing some incredible intimate views of a notoriously shy species:
The monstrous size of these birds can be forgotten in portraits. Carrion Crows are simply dwarfed by Lammergeiers, they could scuttle easily between its legs.
Eventually, mature adult birds came down to feed:
Magnificent does not do these birds justice. They were more like mythical Griffins (half-eagle, half-lion) but standing in the flesh before me:
In adults, the wing feathers are all dark. The pale central feather shaft contrasts with the dark upperpart feathers beautifully. The neck and underpart feathering in adults is uniformly golden:
The adult birds were the masters of the remaining bones. They only needed to lift a foot to send the Crows scuttling away. I almost found myself leaning back in the hide too when they walked towards my hiding place:
Apparently, Lammergeiers often form breeding units, rather than pairs. It is not uncommon to have three birds in such a unit.
Seeing adult Lammergeier on the ground at close range is an experience that I will never forget. My memories of the sounds of these birds may last even longer.
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.
ChaffinchBrambling: 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:
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.
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.
It is not only birds and moths that come out of the blue. Comet Neowise was discovered on March 27, 2020, by NASA’s Near-Earth Object Wide-field Infrared Survey Explorer (NEOWISE) spacecraft, hence the name. At that point it was heading towards the sun. It made its closest approach to the Sun on 3rd July and is currently powering its way out of our solar system. It won’t return for 6,800 years (assuming it is still intact), so if you want to see it, now is a good time!
Earthsky.org have a nice map to help you find Comet Neowise. I have modified this with my own red arrow, see below. On a clear night, once darkness has fallen (at least 10:45pm in Oxford), simply look north-west and find Ursa Major (The Plough to the English, the Big Dipper to the Americans). Follow a line down diagonally through the rectangle of The Plough and look for the faint streak of the comet’s tail. You can see it with the naked eye, but it is best in binoculars. The numbers on the graphic below refer to the position of the comet on various dates in July 2020:
Above, this is pretty much how Comet Neowise appears in the sky above Headington when viewed from the street.
To add some local interest, I walked around the corner and photographed the comet from underneath the Headington Shark. I like the way the tail resembles the open mouth of some comet-eating space monster.
This blog post looks at some of the more uncommon bird species recorded in the Lye Valley area of Headington, Oxford in spring 2020. It was a phenomenal spring for unusual birds!
Daily coverage revealed that both scarce and rare birds pass through this area, including some entirely unpredicted species. 63 species were recorded in April 2020 alone, out of a total of 81 species recorded ever. I saw the remarkable total of 6 new species for the area in April, meaning that nearly 10% of the species recorded were new for the Lye Valley area. In many ways, there may never be another month like April 2020.
Late March and early April see many species of waterbird take to the wing, moving towards their breeding areas. All the new species added to the Lye Valley patch list in April were birds that breed on or near water. The eBird list for April 2020 is here.
The month began with a regular Little Egret, that could be found feeding in the Lye Valley pools at dawn:
On 3rd April, two Little Egrets were seen to fly in from the west, presumably roosting somewhere near the River Thames. Both landed in trees above the Lye Valley pools:
Red-legged Partridge continued their odd pattern of occurrence. This species has only been recorded in late March and early April, a pattern more typical of migrating birds passing through, though partridges are not known for migration.
My first Mute Swan for the Lye Valley area flew over my head on 11th April:
Sub-adult Mute Swan, over the golf course.
April 12th, Easter Sunday, was a very memorable morning. The unmistakable insect-like song of a Grasshopper Warbler could be heard from Warneford Meadow:
Above, a recording of Grasshopper Warbler, Warneford Meadow, by Isaac West.
Not only was this the first Grasshopper Warbler for the Lye Valley, but it is a remarkable record within Oxford city. It was also the equal earliest Grasshopper Warbler recorded in Oxfordshire this year, another was heard singing in Radley on the same morning (per Ian Elkins).
Shortly afterwards, Issac West found the first Sedge Warbler, singing by the tiny Churchill Hospital Balancing Pond. This bird remained for at least a week:
Sedge Warbler, Boundary Brook Valley, 12th April. Raven, Lye Valley 16th April. With only 4 records in the whole of 2019, there were 4 records in April 2020 alone.
Any species of wading bird is a rarity in the Lye Valley area. Indeed, the only species of wader on the Lye Valley list before April 2020 was a Woodcock, in November 2019. I have often wondered what the next species of wader recorded would be, Lapwing perhaps? With no suitable habitat any species of wader would be like gold dust. As such, nothing prepared me for the shock of seeing two noisy Oystercatchers flying up from the golf course at dawn on 19th April:
Oystercatchers, Southfield Golf Course
This may be the pair that have been regularly recorded on Port Meadow. A pair of Oystercatchers were recorded over Iffley Meadows early the same morning (per Steve Roby) and were seen to fly into Port Meadow late morning (per Dave Lowe). These birds flew over the Lye Valley and away to the north-east, calling loudly:
I was delighted at having recorded Oystercatcher over Headington. But things were about to get much better: on April 25th all my wader dreams came true. Four medium-sized wading birds flew rapidly over the golf course, heading north-east. Fortunately, I managed to grab a few pictures of the birds before they disappeared, the images would prove crucial in confirming their identity. Astoundingly, the birds were 4 Bar-tailed Godwit:
A full write up of my most remarkable 11 seconds in the Lye Valley can be found here. The record has been confirmed and accepted by Ian Lewington, the Oxfordshire County Recorder.
The first Cuckoo for the Lye Valley flew over on 24th April, albeit silently. More satisfyingly, a male Cuckoo was also heard calling on 3rd May. This still remains a rare bird in Headington. Hobby is more frequently recorded, but is still uncommon. The bird below flashed over the golf course on 1st May:
All in all, a superb spring of local patch birding, at the end of my road. There may never be another like it. The full illustrated list of all bird species recorded in the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow area can be found here. Now, what will summer bring?
Spring 2020 will forever be associated with the coronavirus pandemic. With the country in lockdown, I was unable to work. As such, I took my daily walk at dawn and recorded as many bird species as I possibly could in the Lye Valley, Warneford Meadow and Southfield Golf Course area. These areas surround the Churchill Hospital and Old Road Campus, both of which are actively involved in helping the fight against the pandemic.
Below, Warneford Meadow at dawn in April 2020. My overriding memory of spring 2020 will be the crystal clear visibility and the intense (aircraft-free) blue skies:
This blog post covers some of the common bird species recorded in the Lye Valley area in Spring 2020. I made 46 consecutive dawn visits in the period from late March to early May. More coverage generally means more birds and this certainly proved to be the case. In April alone I recorded 63 species. For context, 71 species were recorded in the whole of 2019. Below are some photographic highlights of the common species of birds in the Lye Valley. The next post will examine some of the more unusual visitors.
Sub-adult Grey Heron, Lye Valley. This young Heron was a regular feature of the Lye Valley in April. 6 Cormorants pass below the setting Moon at dawn, 14th April. April is Cormorant month here, with regular sightings of birds flying overhead. They are rarely recorded in any other month of the year. Displaying male Sparrowhawk, using “slow-motion” wing-beats. Male Kestrel, one of the local pair. Red KiteMale Pheasant: a frequently heard species, but rarely seen. At least two pairs stay hidden in thickets in the area. A pair of courting Stock Doves, a small number of pairs breed in the area. Male Great Spotted Woodpecker, drumming in the Lye Valley. Woodpecker drumming was the dominant sound of the woodland in April, but ceases later in the month as the birds move onto the next phase of their breeding cycle. Eurasian Jay, Lye valleyNuthatch, collecting mud for the entrance of the nest hole, Boundary Brook ValleySinging male Grey Wagtail, Churchill Hospital Balancing Pond, March 2020. Singing Chiffchaff, Boundary Brook Valley. It was a good year for Willow Warblers, with up to 4 singing birds present. All these birds seem to move through though, with none remaining to breed. Male Blackcap, collecting nesting material, Lye Valley. The dominant warbler species. The Lye Valley is filled with Blackcap song in spring and early summer. Garden Warbler: much less frequent than Blackcap, but the odd pair may breed locally. Goldcrest, Warneford Meadow. Blue Tit with face stained yellow with tree pollen. Swallow: the first Swallows passed overhead on 3rd April, with small numbers recorded moving through all month. Two Tawny Owl chicks, found by Isaac West, high up in a sycamore. This is the first confirmed breeding of Tawny Owl, though it has long been suspected. Adult Tawny Owl.
Next: uncommon and rare birds seen in the Lye Valley area in Spring 2020.
A few minutes after 7am on Saturday 25th April I was taking my daily walk around Southfield Golf Course and the Lye Valley in east Oxford. It was my 35th consecutive dawn visit since lockdown began. The low cloud base and cold easterly wind meant I was wearing a coat and gloves and it didn’t feel particularly spring-like. There had been no evidence of any overhead migration at all, when four birds flew over me from behind. I saw them with the naked eye for a few seconds, with binoculars for a few seconds, and then fired off 6 pictures. Most of the time that I could see the four birds, they were flying away from me and slightly to the right. In terms of size and flight action, all four birds appeared identical.
Naked-eye impressions: As soon as I was aware of movement above me, I looked up, saw four birds overhead and thought “waders”! This was staggering in itself. I have made 121 visits to the Lye Valley area (including the golf course) over the last 13 months and only saw my first wader species, two Oystercatcher, six days previously. Lapwing would have been a new species for the area and Golden Plover something to be dreamt about. Any other wader species was nearly unthinkable. As the birds passed overhead, I could immediately see that they were medium-sized waders with long wings and bills. In local patch terms, I was in uncharted territory. They were not small sandpipers or Dunlin or Snipe: they were too large. In terms of their size they appeared to be in the Whimbrel-Godwit category.
Binocular impressions: By now, the birds were flying directly away from me. Probably the worst angle to try to attempt to identify a flying wader. I quickly found them in my binoculars. The birds appeared all dark in the field, I looked for but could not see any white on the wings or tail. No trailing legs could be seen, they did not call. As I was below and behind the birds, I could not see the back of the birds. My guess, on what little evidence to their identity that I had so far, was that they might be Whimbrel. But this was based more on feel, structure and likelihood rather than visible plumage features. Below is an uncropped, unedited picture of the four birds flying north-east over the golf course to show lighting conditions and the height of the birds:
The photographs:
When I looked at the pictures that I had taken, I immediately realised that the four birds were not Whimbrel. The autofocus had locked onto the far-left bird in the flock. The images clearly show that this bird has a long straight bill:
With more photo-editing (heavier cropping; exposure and saturation increase; plus shadow and noise reduction) more features become apparent. This bird appears to have chestnut-coloured underparts and importantly this colour extends to the vent. The underwings look pale, the bill is very long and straight :
Having established that the vent is not white and is chestnut only leaves one conclusion: this bird is a summer plumaged Bar-tailed Godwit. Black-tailed Godwit and all similar species of tringa waders (except Spotted Redshank which is pure black underneath) are white in this area and this would be visible in the images. With the other three birds in the flock appearing identical in size and flight action, it seems safe to conclude that the birds were all Bar-tailed Godwit. FOUR BAR-TAILED GODWIT over Southfield Golf Course, Headington in Oxford city!!! Barwits pass through Oxfordshire in very small numbers in spring and autumn. Any record away from water is good, but to see Bar-tailed Godwit over Oxford city is exceptional.
There was even a slight twist in the tale. Just under an hour later, at 8am, Luke Marriner saw 4 godwits over his local patch, the Oxfordshire Golf Course at Thame some 14km (8.7 miles) to the east, see here. It is quite possible that these were the same birds, although we will never know for sure. The joy of local patch birding is the joy of discovery. Today proved that ANYTHING is possible… given enough time!
Thanks to Ian Lewington, Dave Lowe, Andy Last and Mark Merritt for their input and thoughts.
