I'm pretty sure that to a lot of folk it seems that I wander about with my head in the clouds/ up my backside, lost in my own thoughts. Ruminating about things, predominantly wildlife, the environment, the state of the planet, and at this time of year how bloody hard it is to pick warblers out among the foliage. which in turn got me thinking as to how quickly we adjust to changes in our local environment. Not large, wholescale changes, but the simple things, like the tipping point from bare trees to budding leaves to full- blown foliage. I couldn't identify the day or week that this had happened, but strangely could attribute it in terms of birding. Chiffchaffs to be precise, the last warbler ticked before pesky foliage started making me work hard.
What struck me though was that its a natural, instinctive acceptance of these changes, something deep- rooted in our primordial brain. Our primitive ancestors would have looked at it in terms of food. I looked at it in terms of seeing birds becoming challenging. There's nothing wrong with a challenge.
The weeks since my last post have been punctuated by a comfortable rhythm- work days spent looking at my bird feeders rather than, you know, working. Weekends spent either doing 'proper' birding or squeezing in as much time outdoors as possible given conflicting demands as an Uber driver for my offspring- albeit Uber drivers get paid. Its an artificial rhythm, though, something which deep in the favourite parts of my subconscious doesn't seem quite 'right.' We must make do, though, with what life gives us. And that I have done.
I've mentioned before that the initial Covid lockdown gave me the opportunity to fall in love again with my local patch, and my regret that it had taken a global pandemic for me to realise the treasures under my nose. Spring 2023 has been another of those times where circumstances have allowed me to immerse myself in the simpler things. Trips down to the River Clyde near home, trips to Cathkin Marsh SWT when I'm Uber- ing for Mrs Green Sand, and even the thrill of a pair of greenfinch on my feeder wheezing themselves into life at 5am. I say 'thrill'.......
Its not unusual for me to find myself with a couple of hours of unexpected freedom, and I've shared with you before how I've learned to seize the opportunities. Thus, in late April I found myself one Saturday desperately trying to find Balgray Reservoir, a new site for me. Now, I'm not a twitcher, but yon internet thing had reliably told me that this reservoir was currently hosting a ring- necked duck and a scaup. I justified my trip with the hope/ expectation of there being more than just these 2 species, and also the novelty of going somewhere new. So, half a twitch then.
And I half- twitched successfully. The reservoir itself wasn't too difficult to find (despite my sat- nav trying to take me elsewhere in deepest, darkest East Renfrewshire) and I was pleasantly surprised at what it offered. Sure, its a reservoir next to a large- ish town, but being surrounded by farmland it had plenty of other species. Initially, though, my search for the celebrity ducks failed miserably, and I set off exploring. Plenty of willow warbler created a wall of noise, with sand martins and swallows dive- bombing folk along the path. The sand martins numbered in their hundreds, and I set the scope up in the hope of finding a house martin among them. The afternoon was bright, and I was hopeful of seeing the unmistakeable flash of white. Within a few minutes, my luck was in, and I watched 4 sand martins moving frantically, feasting on insects just above the water's surface.
I congratulated myself on my skill (ahem) and within a minute the wheeze of a sedge warbler called from behind me, deep in a reedbed. Year tick 2. Time was getting on, and my failure to get the ducks was tempered by the 2 ticks I did get. That and the fairly dazzling sight of hundreds of sand martins (and 4 house martins) feeding en masse. I was happy to call it a draw. On the way back I opted to stop off for one last look. Figuring that scaup and RN Duck aren't too difficult to pick out among the quarter million tufted ducks on site (possibly an exaggeration, admittedly) I set up to systematically scan every black and white duck on the water. Somewhat surprisingly, I got both together within a few minutes. Spent a fairly brilliant 20 minutes afterwards standing watching the pair of them as they went about their business. The sheer joy of bird 'life' once again, it wasn't about ticking them, I wanted to drink in every aspect of their behaviour, what they were doing, how they were doing it. The scope (gift of sight restored....) allowed me to view them up close, the wind ruffling their feathers, the ripples in the water rising and falling as they swam.
It took me back to Hogganfield a few months ago and my conversation with the photographer who claimed he wouldn't cross the road for a Little Gull. I pity him for the joy he's missing out on.
The theme of 'making do' continued the next day with a quick visit to Cathkin Marsh where grasshopper warblers had made an appearance. Duly ticked, the MArsh was in one of its 'special place' moods, or maybe I was in one of my Cathin Marsh moods, and an hour's stroll amidst the combined noise of the grasshopper warblers and willow warblers brought more than a little joy. Enhanced greatly by a chat with a bloke whose patch this was. Insect expert, its was one of those 'learning by osmosis' experiences. Also triggered one of those wistful moments where I wonder why I wasted so much of my teens chasing alcohol and women rather than wandering around nature reserves.
A stroke of good luck meant that Mrs Green Sand had to work on that Sunday afternoon, and I was able to sneak down to the Clyde for a couple of hours. No new year ticks, but it met a lot of expectations for a spring walk on a sunny afternoon. Willow warblers, blackcap, song thrush, chiffchaff, nuthatch, and of course the obligatory wren trying to drown everything else out. The kind of afternoon to re- charge even the most depleted batteries.
I enjoyed it so much that, having the next day off work, I re- traced my steps. My mate Bill had given me added incentive by telling me that a pair of ring- necked parakeets were setting up home in the trees across the river, within easy viewing. Barring a half- heard screech that didn't meet my arbitrary standard for ticking, there was no trace of the green monsters. I did, however, get my first whitethroats of the year, plus a common sandpiper on the river. 2 year ticks, plus everything I had seen and heard the day before, and a morning spent in fresh air, by a river, in Spring, and you'd be hard- pushed to describe a better day.
I've mentioned before, though, that in terms of tangible 'results' my birding years often follow a sine wave patter. For every ying of a successful day, there's a yang of hard, hard work. Thus the following Saturday I resisted the temptation to watch Charles Saxe- Coburg und Gotha's big day and headed to the SMa' Glen. It was about the right time of year for ring ouzel and wheatear. There's also always the hope of cuckoo, and the remote chance of red grouse. Being the Sma' Glen, red kite would be falling over themselves to be seen by me, surely......
I was about 20 miles along the motorway before I noticed the fog. Umbelievably, the mist and fog did not clear the higher I drove up into Glen Almond. Visibility was down to 50 yards at most, and often much less. The valley sides were shrouded in clouds, meaning red kite had gone from almost guaranteed to highly unlikely. However, my motto in such adverse conditions is "well, I'm here now" and I made the most of it. Within 10 minutes of walking I heard my first cuckoo of the day. A slight diversion off the path and I saw it sitting on a telegraph wire, with a meadow pipit calling frantically beside it. I was then treated to the sight of the much larger cuckoo being mobbed by the mipit. Year tick and bird life combined in a few precious minutes.
My day of bird listening (the fog making 'watching' somewhat problematic) continued to pay dividends. Red Grouse called from either 3 foot in front of me or 30 metres up the hillside- it was often difficult to tell. Still a tick, but I'd have loved to see a wee head sticking up out the undergrowth. I set up shop in one of the derelict shielings. Visibility up to about 100 feet now, so was giving hope of improvement. False hope as it turned out. Got a male wheatear out of nowhere- no calls or anything, it appeared in front of me, allowing me to watch it until it buggered off up the glen. At least 4 ring ouzel were calling, but naturally I couldn't see any. The mist was coming back down by now, so it became a bit of a thankless task. My plan to stay until dusk was abandoned, and at 4 year ticks, I figured to quit while I was ahead, and wandered (slowly) back through the fog. The drive home was a bit nervy, mind, but allowed me to think and plan what to do with the rest of the month........
_________________________________________________
Thoughts:
A theme or trend through these posts seems to be the two separate (and not always complimentary) parts of my birding. The yearly tick list, with all that that involves, and the less tangible, less quantifiable 'birding life.' I seemed recently to have gone through a period where both parts of it have clicked into place. I was getting year ticks, but getting them whilst spending quality time outdoors. Whether it was somewhere rugged like the Sma Glen, or a walk along the Clyde within a mile of my house, each time outdoors was overwhelmingly positive. The year ticks are an added bonus, but this year more than any I realise that they are not, for me, the ultimate goal. Everyone is different, with our own individual needs and wants, of course.
For me, this year more than ever has made me feel as though I'm living as part of the outdoors, and that I'm making the most of the time I have doing so. Being part of it, rather than a visitor- or worse, an intruder- is surely something we can all appreciate. I hope so.
Anyway, stay healthy, stay safe, lets keep looking out for each other.
John
What struck me though was that its a natural, instinctive acceptance of these changes, something deep- rooted in our primordial brain. Our primitive ancestors would have looked at it in terms of food. I looked at it in terms of seeing birds becoming challenging. There's nothing wrong with a challenge.
The weeks since my last post have been punctuated by a comfortable rhythm- work days spent looking at my bird feeders rather than, you know, working. Weekends spent either doing 'proper' birding or squeezing in as much time outdoors as possible given conflicting demands as an Uber driver for my offspring- albeit Uber drivers get paid. Its an artificial rhythm, though, something which deep in the favourite parts of my subconscious doesn't seem quite 'right.' We must make do, though, with what life gives us. And that I have done.
I've mentioned before that the initial Covid lockdown gave me the opportunity to fall in love again with my local patch, and my regret that it had taken a global pandemic for me to realise the treasures under my nose. Spring 2023 has been another of those times where circumstances have allowed me to immerse myself in the simpler things. Trips down to the River Clyde near home, trips to Cathkin Marsh SWT when I'm Uber- ing for Mrs Green Sand, and even the thrill of a pair of greenfinch on my feeder wheezing themselves into life at 5am. I say 'thrill'.......
Its not unusual for me to find myself with a couple of hours of unexpected freedom, and I've shared with you before how I've learned to seize the opportunities. Thus, in late April I found myself one Saturday desperately trying to find Balgray Reservoir, a new site for me. Now, I'm not a twitcher, but yon internet thing had reliably told me that this reservoir was currently hosting a ring- necked duck and a scaup. I justified my trip with the hope/ expectation of there being more than just these 2 species, and also the novelty of going somewhere new. So, half a twitch then.
And I half- twitched successfully. The reservoir itself wasn't too difficult to find (despite my sat- nav trying to take me elsewhere in deepest, darkest East Renfrewshire) and I was pleasantly surprised at what it offered. Sure, its a reservoir next to a large- ish town, but being surrounded by farmland it had plenty of other species. Initially, though, my search for the celebrity ducks failed miserably, and I set off exploring. Plenty of willow warbler created a wall of noise, with sand martins and swallows dive- bombing folk along the path. The sand martins numbered in their hundreds, and I set the scope up in the hope of finding a house martin among them. The afternoon was bright, and I was hopeful of seeing the unmistakeable flash of white. Within a few minutes, my luck was in, and I watched 4 sand martins moving frantically, feasting on insects just above the water's surface.
I congratulated myself on my skill (ahem) and within a minute the wheeze of a sedge warbler called from behind me, deep in a reedbed. Year tick 2. Time was getting on, and my failure to get the ducks was tempered by the 2 ticks I did get. That and the fairly dazzling sight of hundreds of sand martins (and 4 house martins) feeding en masse. I was happy to call it a draw. On the way back I opted to stop off for one last look. Figuring that scaup and RN Duck aren't too difficult to pick out among the quarter million tufted ducks on site (possibly an exaggeration, admittedly) I set up to systematically scan every black and white duck on the water. Somewhat surprisingly, I got both together within a few minutes. Spent a fairly brilliant 20 minutes afterwards standing watching the pair of them as they went about their business. The sheer joy of bird 'life' once again, it wasn't about ticking them, I wanted to drink in every aspect of their behaviour, what they were doing, how they were doing it. The scope (gift of sight restored....) allowed me to view them up close, the wind ruffling their feathers, the ripples in the water rising and falling as they swam.
It took me back to Hogganfield a few months ago and my conversation with the photographer who claimed he wouldn't cross the road for a Little Gull. I pity him for the joy he's missing out on.
The theme of 'making do' continued the next day with a quick visit to Cathkin Marsh where grasshopper warblers had made an appearance. Duly ticked, the MArsh was in one of its 'special place' moods, or maybe I was in one of my Cathin Marsh moods, and an hour's stroll amidst the combined noise of the grasshopper warblers and willow warblers brought more than a little joy. Enhanced greatly by a chat with a bloke whose patch this was. Insect expert, its was one of those 'learning by osmosis' experiences. Also triggered one of those wistful moments where I wonder why I wasted so much of my teens chasing alcohol and women rather than wandering around nature reserves.
A stroke of good luck meant that Mrs Green Sand had to work on that Sunday afternoon, and I was able to sneak down to the Clyde for a couple of hours. No new year ticks, but it met a lot of expectations for a spring walk on a sunny afternoon. Willow warblers, blackcap, song thrush, chiffchaff, nuthatch, and of course the obligatory wren trying to drown everything else out. The kind of afternoon to re- charge even the most depleted batteries.
I enjoyed it so much that, having the next day off work, I re- traced my steps. My mate Bill had given me added incentive by telling me that a pair of ring- necked parakeets were setting up home in the trees across the river, within easy viewing. Barring a half- heard screech that didn't meet my arbitrary standard for ticking, there was no trace of the green monsters. I did, however, get my first whitethroats of the year, plus a common sandpiper on the river. 2 year ticks, plus everything I had seen and heard the day before, and a morning spent in fresh air, by a river, in Spring, and you'd be hard- pushed to describe a better day.
I've mentioned before, though, that in terms of tangible 'results' my birding years often follow a sine wave patter. For every ying of a successful day, there's a yang of hard, hard work. Thus the following Saturday I resisted the temptation to watch Charles Saxe- Coburg und Gotha's big day and headed to the SMa' Glen. It was about the right time of year for ring ouzel and wheatear. There's also always the hope of cuckoo, and the remote chance of red grouse. Being the Sma' Glen, red kite would be falling over themselves to be seen by me, surely......
I was about 20 miles along the motorway before I noticed the fog. Umbelievably, the mist and fog did not clear the higher I drove up into Glen Almond. Visibility was down to 50 yards at most, and often much less. The valley sides were shrouded in clouds, meaning red kite had gone from almost guaranteed to highly unlikely. However, my motto in such adverse conditions is "well, I'm here now" and I made the most of it. Within 10 minutes of walking I heard my first cuckoo of the day. A slight diversion off the path and I saw it sitting on a telegraph wire, with a meadow pipit calling frantically beside it. I was then treated to the sight of the much larger cuckoo being mobbed by the mipit. Year tick and bird life combined in a few precious minutes.
My day of bird listening (the fog making 'watching' somewhat problematic) continued to pay dividends. Red Grouse called from either 3 foot in front of me or 30 metres up the hillside- it was often difficult to tell. Still a tick, but I'd have loved to see a wee head sticking up out the undergrowth. I set up shop in one of the derelict shielings. Visibility up to about 100 feet now, so was giving hope of improvement. False hope as it turned out. Got a male wheatear out of nowhere- no calls or anything, it appeared in front of me, allowing me to watch it until it buggered off up the glen. At least 4 ring ouzel were calling, but naturally I couldn't see any. The mist was coming back down by now, so it became a bit of a thankless task. My plan to stay until dusk was abandoned, and at 4 year ticks, I figured to quit while I was ahead, and wandered (slowly) back through the fog. The drive home was a bit nervy, mind, but allowed me to think and plan what to do with the rest of the month........
_________________________________________________
Thoughts:
A theme or trend through these posts seems to be the two separate (and not always complimentary) parts of my birding. The yearly tick list, with all that that involves, and the less tangible, less quantifiable 'birding life.' I seemed recently to have gone through a period where both parts of it have clicked into place. I was getting year ticks, but getting them whilst spending quality time outdoors. Whether it was somewhere rugged like the Sma Glen, or a walk along the Clyde within a mile of my house, each time outdoors was overwhelmingly positive. The year ticks are an added bonus, but this year more than any I realise that they are not, for me, the ultimate goal. Everyone is different, with our own individual needs and wants, of course.
For me, this year more than ever has made me feel as though I'm living as part of the outdoors, and that I'm making the most of the time I have doing so. Being part of it, rather than a visitor- or worse, an intruder- is surely something we can all appreciate. I hope so.
Anyway, stay healthy, stay safe, lets keep looking out for each other.
John
