Splashing Out

Do or die this morning to get some birding in despite the cloud and rain.

Dodging the showers, using the car as cover or just waiting in the pouring rain I managed a couple of hours on the moss before the winds picked up again before midday as the showers turned into more persistent rain.

The barn is as good a place as any to start where at least a couple of wagtails are guaranteed but three this morning with a Grey Wagtail then both a male and female Pied Wagtail. It was interesting to watch the pecking order around the choice feeding spot the pile of tailings, the male pied was dominant followed by the female Pied Wagtail with the Grey Wagtail at the bottom of the hierarchy.







A couple of Blackbirds scuttled around, as did a Song Thrush newly taken to the pile of debris.



It was here that 6 Whooper Swans flew over heading due north towards Pilling and Cockerham, also my cue for splashing down the track in the same direction to check out the Tree Sparrows. There were lots of Woodpigeon in escape mode today because of another shoot on the adjacent farm coupled with the attentions of a Peregrine. Twice I saw it fly purposefully across the moss, once east to west and then west to east, on both occasions causing a grey flurry of Woodpigeon activity against the depressing grey skies as in places the tree tops changed from green to neutral where they settled.





I parked up opposite the Buzzard spot where sure enough the two hung around long enough to call a couple times before going deeper into the wood out of sight. I have decided that Buzzards, these two especially, are very adept at hiding themselves if they wish and there’s not much I can do about it yet, but roll on a nice sunny day. Over 200 Tree Sparrows and the dozen Chaffinch hugged the hedge today, reluctant to fly across even to their usual alternative but preferring to hedge hop to where I had just come from; they must have known I was turning left instead of doing a backtrack.



It was a very overcast morning, the sort of occasion when concealed Roe Deer see someone coming to leave a glimpse of white backside and swaying vegetation as they melt into the background. They saw me this morning but gave themselves enough time to casually disappear and for me to get a couple of distant pictures.



There was lots of activity up the path where a few well laden hawthorns held several Blackbirds and a Song Thrush, together with 10 or 12 mobile Chaffinch and some of the Tree Sparrows I had just disturbed from the food. This is a regular spot for Reed Bunting where I found the expected two but no sign of the Stonechat today. I splattered through the plantation, not altogether surprised to almost stand on a Snipe near the foot of a tree but little else apart from a Kestrel doing the rounds. I just coped with turning the car on the sloping muddy field entrance but until the ground dries somewhat I don’t think I will risk it again.

Back at the barn I spent more time watching the wagtails feeding around the fast running stream that now forms part of the road.





My time proved productive when two groups of Chaffinch flew over, first about 30 then a smaller flock of 14. I added these to my earlier ones to get a figure of 65, easily the best count here this autumn. But in the past we have noticed that there can be numbers of Chaffinch in the area that do not necessarily use the provided seed but continue to forage naturally, even if the weather turns cold.

From the Archive

There’s not a lot to be done today with a weather warning out for North West England of heavy rain and floods. I did my swimming yesterday, but not outdoors in the floods even though lately I do appear to be growing a useful pair of webbed feet and I swear I contracted swimmer’s ear from the ingress of rain rather than pool water. I have an acquaintance who swims in the sea off Fleetwood in all weather; apparently there are a group of them that do so, but I don’t know if Seumus has spotted any when sea watching, unless they went down in the notebook as “unidentified mammal sp”. So it’s not just birders who are mad.

This morning I’m stuck in again in front of the PC trying to keep the blog going with a few old pictures to entertain other troubled British birders who need a bird fix during these inclement times.

This morning’s theme is “Birds I Don’t See In The Hand Much Any More But Here’s A Picture Of Some” with a bit of a story, a touch of reminisce and a smidgeon of nostalgia. And by way of an apology, because it’s so long since I have actually witnessed them in the hand, the pictures are by definition fairly old if not quite sepia toned which adds to the authenticity of a walk down Memory Lane.

The first photo is of a Manx Shearwater being released in the early morning following keeping overnight after becoming a casualty of the infamous Bardsey lighthouse. If my memory serves me correctly the hand in the picture belongs to one Colorado Dave, so called not because he hailed from Colorado but because he could demolish a plateful of spuds quicker than a Colorado Beetle.



There are many thousands of pairs of Manx Shearwaters on Bardsey Island where they breed in the rabbit warrens and tumbledown old walls. I spent many nights on Bardsey, not only going out ringing them but often waking up in Cristin hearing their harsh cackling, wailing and moaning sounds coming from the mountainside. A description of their voice on The Isle of Man in 1731, where they were originally known as Manx Puffins, reads: "The spirit which haunted the coasts have originated in the noise described as infernal. The disturbed spirit of a person shipwrecked on a rock adjacent to this coast wanders about it still, and sometimes makes so terrible a yelling that it is heard at an incredible distance. They tell you that houses even shake with it; and that, not only mankind, but all the brute creation within hearing, tremble at the sound. But what serves very much to increase the shock is that, whenever it makes this extraordinary noise, it is a sure prediction of an approaching storm. . . . At other times the spirit cries out only, " Hoa, hoa, hoa !" with a voice little, if anything, louder than a human one."

Well that is a bit of a dramatic description fit for the times I suppose, but I agree the calls are very spooky, especially from yards away in the pitch black of a windy wet Welsh island whilst trying to find the outside loo. And not the best sudden awakening experience from a bad dream when the previous night’s entertainment consisted of consuming a week’s supply of red wine during an extended round robin of the day’s sightings.

Talking of nausea, this isn’t the best video for anyone liable to sea sickness but it does show some manxies.



Ringers that live south of a line drawn from the Mersey to the Wash will be more familiar with Nightingale than us in coastal Fylde where news of a local Nightingale would create a stir amongst those that list. A stir?, I should probably change that to another word or phrase all the way up a scale from mild interest at the bottom to blind panic at the top. This is another Bardsey picture where just south of the imaginary line it is also rare, however not only did this one sing briefly, it also ended up in a mist net.



I contrast this scarcity with my limited experience in the south of England (where is Watford?) where I believe Nightingale is very common despite being confused with night singing Robins by softy southerners.

I am much more familiar with Nightingale from my visits to the Balearics and Menorca especially, where in May Nightingale is the most common species, more abundant even than Sardinian Warbler. As we tour the island most of that we hear through the open windows and sun roof are Nightingales and Corn Buntings from respectively below, middle or the top of proper hedgerows.

Then on Menorca there's always the Balearic Shearwaters at Cap de Cavalleria in a landscape so reminiscent of Bardsey, but that's a tale for another day.

But let’s all cheer ourselves up with a Nightingale song and pretend it’s spring again.



And Bardsey again where one autumn I walked this Ring Ouzel into the withies Heliogoland. Even up here in coastal Lancashire not far from the Pennines, Ring Ouzels are very scarce in autumn and getting rarer in spring, where I always reckoned to find one on my April 19th birthday somewhere close to the coast but now I’m lucky to find one in April full stop and this year it’s too late again.

ISO Fed Up

Not the perfect morning but at least it didn’t rain, much.

I thought a walk across the moss would be fairly productive, and for someone fairly anti-social like me there aren’t too many people out there, plus I can always hide behind a hedge or the odd tree if I see someone coming.

Bits of the old barn flapped in the wind as did the plastic covers over the bales of hay, and both a Pied and a Grey Wagtail flew away from the spoil heap at my arrival. But I parked up for a while to see what might occur, waiting to watch the resident Robin, Wren and Dunnock scuttle through and over the farm machinery and paraphernalia, then after a while the wagtails returned. I took pictures of all but it was only back home downloading when I realised the camera had been set at ISO 800 from the previous grey days and I had forgotten to change it for the fairly bright sunny few hours. That’s my excuse for some fairly poor record shots that follow. But at least with ISO800 I did manage to get one action shot of a first for the Western Palearctic – Jumping Wren.









At the feeding spot I walked carefully along so as to get a whole count of the Tree Sparrows, but however it’s done they always scatter in convenient countable groups if not all in the same direction. Well I reckoned 200 today, an excellent count so early in the mild winter but they are probably the best catered for flock of Tree Sparrows in the country with regular feeds whereby all they have to do is turn up. Chaffinch numbers of 15+ were similar to most days here whereas the first ringing session will show that more come and go throughout a morning than our regular counts suggest.



Where I parked the car I could hear Buzzards calling so looked across the pasture to a small copse where sure enough a pair flew in and out of the tree tops with the usual corvid attendants. On the telephone wires a Kestrel watched the grass below.



Further up the track I dreamt I would find a good weather forecast where the foot of the rainbow bisected the fir wood, but of course it was just an illusion with a dark grey backdrop the promise of a normal afternoon’s rain to come then a dreadful Wednesday, Thursday and Friday.



I did find some new birds up near the plantation where about 20 Skylarks seemed especially active, then on the edge of the trees where the grass was soggy, 5 Reed Buntings with 15 Meadow Pipits were newly in. Within 10 minutes the Meadow Pipits disappeared west and the Reed Buntings found the nearby overgrown ditch more to their liking as did a male Stonechat. Here I also found the roaming flock of Goldfinch with 18 today, so not only does the flock roam, it also breaks up and reforms according to the Goldfinch predetermined rules.



In the plantation I took the ropes off the net rides, no more autumn ringing here where in the depths of winter it is fairly desolate with few birds in evidence. Anyway as I assured Will, the ropes are in good hands despite the undeserved reputation I have for acquiring bits of ringing equipment from far and wide.

Near Curlew Barn a small handful of four Redwing flew calling from the hedgerow but the three or four Blackbirds simply moved along to a different spot.

I carried on down the track where I bumped into Seumus, empty bucketless and like me shaking his head at the unbelievable weather. Well it can only get worse for a few days. Looks like a morning at the gym tomorrow.

The Good, The Bad and The Ugly

Nothing doing today, no birding, no ringing, unless you count a walk around the bird free zone that is Stalmine in November. Well I tell a lie, there were a few Dunnocks, one Lapwing – yes one, a couple of Grey Herons and somehow a single Fieldfare, with the best bit a flock of 30 Goldfinches around the village hall as Sue and I neared home after a couple of miles trek completed with always one eye each on the dark grey cloud to the south.

I changed the header picture because the Redwings have gone. Gone to the pleasant, warm Med where we would all be if we had more sense rather than here in the UK where it just rains, and rains, and rains….

Over in the right hand column on the map of the world some of my readers live in warm or even hot countries where rain or wind is something out of their daily experience, where generally they can bird each and every day without weather hindrances. They must read some UK bird blogs and wonder why UK birders obsess about the weather. Well it’s true we are preoccupied by the weather and so would they be if they had to live here. Here I am assuming that most of the red dots readers are loyal participants and examine my blog regularly through choice and their love of birds, not as an accidental result of Googling “long-legged dark female”.

So I put a Robin at the top. A nice seasonal but unexciting bird that is very winter appropriate as we near the dreaded “C” word, the word that even the most dedicated birdwatcher dare not utter for fear of conjuring up visions of their mother-in-law in a red outfit, but which may entail submitting to worldly pressures to soon lay down the bins for a day, or with luck a half day.



So whilst it’s goodbye for a while to Redwings I hope to see some more soon where they might qualify again for pride of place at the top of the page. But I worry that in using a Robin, it isn’t a “good” bird but the opposite, a “bad” bird. I read a piece in a newspaper last week aimed at Joe Public where the author two or three times used the phrase “good birds” in listing exotic birds that can or should be sought, then by implication that common birds should not be entertained. Now of course we all know what was meant by “good”, as in rare or semi rare, exciting or exceptional etc., but excuse me, aren’t for all birders but especially those just setting out or contemplating birding, all birds “good”? So I shouted “you plonker, what use is that to a novice” and in a rage screwed the paper up, vowing not to read such nonsense again.

So here’s a bad bird, a bird so bad it rarely merits a mention on bird blogs or websites, so awful that a few lines in a bird report is all it can muster. A bird that even ringers avoid, unless they are Trainers who can at least then pass it on to a trainee with a sigh of relief and a knowing smile. A Wren, admired for climbing up your sleeve from a bird bag or flying through the open hatchback and crapping on the dashboard before disappearing under the seat, escaping from the weighing device prematurely or wriggling through three net pockets then spinning like a top. Don’t we just love them really?



Amongst the overall dross there are a few good birds, as I recalled when I set up the slide copier again. Several hundred slides divided by three at a time = a lot of hours clicking away, but at least it’s raining as I may have mentioned previously. Undeterred I came across three crackers from Canada that stuck together in a box avoiding all those common, over populous bad birds like Chipping Sparrow, House Wren or White–throated Sparrow that clog up the best birding lists.

I could change my mind about Rose-breasted Grosbeak being good, probably the most vicious bird I ever encountered, a bill like a blunt pick axe and a grip like an ever tightening mole wrench. Oh the joy of looking along a net ride to see six awaiting my attention as happened one memorable morning at Old Cut.



Not much doubt about Black and White Warbler, the goodest bird ever, closely followed by Yellow-billed Cuckoo. Not the usual exhausted, moribund, soon to expire October specimen that turns up on Scilly to furnish many a tick list, but an example from May as fresh as a Canadian spring daisy.





Now here is a really ugly bird, brown and black with more hairs on its face then your old granny and a gape like the Mersey Tunnel, a Whip-poor-will. Actually I suppose it could be good because it’s a good tick but it might be bad, especially if I have seen one and you haven’t but that’s what it all about I think. Now I’m really confused.



Well at least we can hear one sing.

Start at the End

As usual it was just a dash out after lunch when the clouds looked a little brighter to the west and by 1330 I was walking from Fluke Hall towards Knott End hoping to pick up a Snow Bunting. Or if I got really lucky and the sun came out, perhaps grab one or two pictures of the Black Redstart if it was still around. We used to get more Snow Buntings, a party of 7 or 8 or maybe more, but thanks to whatever, now we get singles if we are lucky, but if there’s one around surely there are others to find?

I’d judged the sky well by beating the crowds out as I walked the sea wall alone. Ridge Farm was well flooded, but at least the puddles held some birds to look at with 5 Pied Wagtails and a dozen Meadow Pipits making the most of the damp ground. Further back, out of harms way I counted 750 Pink-footed Geese on the old potato field and on the field behind the gorse hedge 40 Curlew picked through the edge of a flood where it was their moving about that may have flushed a couple of Snipe from the mud.





When I got closer to Knott End a group of 9 Whooper Swans came from inland then over Preesall Sands but two broke off to head towards Fluke leaving seven on the shore. I recently discovered that Whooper Swan is the Finnish national bird, not many people know that. Good choice.



By now I had counted 6 Little Egrets at various spots on the way, then at Cocker’s Dyke 2 Mistle Thrush perched in an obvious manner on the trackside wires where I guess they hold winter territory, but in what doesn’t look an obvious spot for this species. Just down from here I came across the Black Redstart darting around the rocks where there were lots of insects in the shelter of the sea wall. With the grey skies, getting a picture was out of the question so I will post another one of Paul’s excellent pictures from Friday when he skipped work to go birding. Some things just don’t change.



No sign of the Snow Bunting from Friday nor any other Snow Bunt.

Nice!

Paul sent me some pictures of both the Black Redstart and the Snow Bunting that were at Pilling yesterday, apparently at one stage hundreds of yards apart.

Just my luck of course on one of the few mornings I’m not out but choose to go for a good healthy swim rather than a walk.

Anyway, nice pictures Paul. Looks like all those trips paid off, when as knee high to a Grasshopper Warbler he swore he’d done his homework and cadged a lift from his dad to the mere or Leighton Moss.

The third picture is courtesy of the US Fish and Wildlife Service. Let's hope we dont get weather like that.

Half Term

A funny time of year this, autumn migration just about finished, not many thrushes left behind after the big rush and no winter finch flocks yet, all a bit humdrum until or if the weather gets a little colder elsewhere. Those were my thoughts this morning when I was half way across Rawcliffe Moss without seeing anything truly exciting or even large numbers of a species.

Back to the beginning then by collecting a bucket of seed for the feeding station where I bumped into the gamekeeper who recently told me the shoot costs several thousand pounds each year to maintain whereby each member of the syndicate contributes hundreds of pounds. If only birders were so generous towards ensuring their hobby can exist.

At least the Grey Wagtail was in the area of the barn but not so accommodating that it hung around for pictures, therefore the picture below is from a week ago of probably/possibly the same bird. If there is one thing that ringing has taught me it is never to assume that the bird I see today is the same one as yesterday or the one I will see tomorrow.



I parked at the track where in the distance I could see Carrion Crows and Pheasants helping themselves to plenty of expensive Winter Picnic Mix, but the sight of my car door opening was enough to scare them away. The actual food drop point is about two hundred yards from the car so the noise or lack of from the assembled Tree Sparrows is a hint to how many there are; today they were obviously there in numbers. They scattered in groups as I walked the length of the pathway until my count of the combined gangs was a minimum 130, maybe a bit down on recent counts which do vary to a degree. Let’s hope we get to ring some soon and find out the turnover of individual birds.



Also scattered from the hedge by my walk were a dozen Blackbird, a Song Thrush and four Redwing but I didn’t see a single Fieldfare today in my walk. My hopes and prediction of a second wave didn’t happen yet.

It can be difficult to count the Chaffinch at the feeding station as they mix in then fly off with the sparrows in all directions but safe to say at least 15, but by no means the beginning of a winter flock.



I drove up the saturated, muddy moss road to park down in a field entrance, maybe a bit risky after the recent rain, but after a little wheel slippage the old Honda didn’t let me down.

Alongside the road I disturbed a little flock of 30 Goldfinch that twittered off over the plantation, and then over in the same place as weekend, I heard a couple of Grey Partridge rasping away. I walked through Fir Wood, hoping to see some evidence of the weekend’s Tawny Owls and although the Chaffinch “pinked” here and there they didn’t seem to mob anything. Then over at the north side I flushed a Woodcock from the floor which flew directly from the wood to an adjoining wood on the next farm. Here is an old picture of a Woodcock from Singleton Hall in the 1990s.



I walked back to my car through the deserted plantation, just a few Blackbirds and here in the middle of the cool and by now windy moss, a party of 10 -12 Long-tailed Tits searching through the alders. I also searched through some of the denser parts of the new but thriving plantation in the hope of finding one or more of the owls, but all I got was wet socks through my waterproof boots. I found the road again to stand at the car and watch a party of 150ish pinkfeet over as they headed towards St Michaels. Over at Nateby the gathering of crows has now reached several hundred, mostly Carrion Crow with perhaps 10% Jackdaws, where they all seem to spend an awful lot of their time just flying around over the wood calling excitedly, unlike the one below.



I set off back south to park half way along the moss, where my car could act as a hide. Most of the Skylarks from a few weeks ago have gone, just leaving a few to rise from cover now and again, and although I added a single Stonechat and 2 Reed Bunting to the morning tally, it was a pretty quiet session. Then to the south I could see the promised rain clouds heading towards me again. But what a nice way to finish with a super Reed Bunting.