.... and it was all going so well.
It serves me right, to be fair. All smug and self- congratulatory last time around, 'Making Hard Work Look Easy' was just begging fate to intervene. After my more-successful-than-I-Could-Have-Hoped-For day in East Lothian, the rest of February into March was a bit of a trough after the early February peak. Family commitments meant that my next venture out in fresh air was February 26th. Mrs GS had been a bit poorly, so as much as she kicked me out the house for doing her head in, I thought it best to stay local. Had a very pleasant couple of hours down at the River Clyde, which gave me yet another reminder not to take my local patch for granted.
Started off pretty well with male bullfinch and wren at the train station car park. I followed this with a pair of grey wagtail inside the Uddingston Grammar School grounds, visible from the path down the side. I couldn't get a photo and they were awfully mobile, but it was definitely nice to tick them. I did wonder why they were so far away from their patch at the river, and it transpires that Network Rail are using the path as a car park while they carry out engineering work on the bridge.
Crossing the river, the walk up to the farm was notable for its absence of anything spectacular- LTTs and a song thrush singing somewhere distant. A singing song thrush in spring, mind you, isn't something I'll ever complain about. The dead woods at the top of the path were dead, so I turned back pretty quickly rather than waste my time. Re- crossed the river, and headed along the river path toward Bothwell Castle. Before long I got a pair of nuthatch, one of which was whistling frantically at something. I could hear loads of goldfinch in the trees nearby, and in among them I got a glimpse of what could have been a redpoll, but I didn't get a good enough look to tick it. I only had binos with me- so the gift of sight had been withdrawn. Walking up to the castle I got loads more nuthatch calling, plus moorhen and goosander on the Clyde, and a half dozen Greylag Geese across the Clyde on the opposite bank. Year tick 3, and much better than getting them being fed stale bread at Strathclyde Park.
Heard a Great Spotted woodpecker calling in the woods across the river, but didn't tick it. It was too far away, and I couldn't see it. Which got me thinking again about how arbitrary our own individual ticking rules can be. That, and I was hopeful to get a proper one further up the path. But, in true GS fashion, I didn't. Frustratingly, still no goldcrest either. Overall, though, 3 ticks on a local wander isn't anything to complain of. I reassured myself that I would probably have got GSW eventually if I'd hung around, but ultimately I ran out of time.
Mrs GS was due at Monklands Hospital for a scan, and I took the opportunity to nip to Drumpellier country park for an hour or so until summoned to pick her up. Spent an hour or so on Woodend Loch (the loch which is the SSSI and is without the visitor centre) No ticks, but great views of GC grebes coming into breeding plumage which I'm never going to complain about. A smattering of Teal were also looking pretty impressive. Quality, immersive, being-outside birding.
Had a spare couple of hours a couple of days later, so wandered off to the Haugh. I'm officially renaming it Barren Haugh as its becoming an awful lot of work for little reward. Maybe I need to stop going in the afternoon, but its definitely lost any spark, any sense of belonging. I can't even generate any 'happy place' thoughts about being outdoors when there. Its a stark place now. Maybe all the dog walkers have exhausted my patience?. Sad, but it seems that the Haugh has reached a tipping point and is no longer be the place I knew. The changes that are planned, and the ones taking place which aren't, will alter the place immeasurably. It won't be the place where I first visited, was taken under the wing by other, experienced birders, and where I first got my confidence that I wasn't the only birdwatcher on earth. And that makes me a little sad.
On the plus side, I did get talking to a retired chap who was a novice birder, and an ordinary punter who was interested in me telling him about birds while he told me conspiracy theories about a robin thats followed him to his past 3 houses. I'll never get bored talking about birds to people. Its probably the only thing I'm extroverted about.
Somehow, I still had some Brownie points in reserve for the next day, and had an hour at Cathkin Marsh. A few teal on the pond, a heron preening itself, and a redwing in a distant pine tree were the highlights. No reed bunting. This site used to be a banker for yellowhammer and reed bunting, back in the old days. Going back to me being arbitrary, I'm less affected by Cathkin Marsh being desolate than I am by the Haugh. Its not like GS to be fey and quirky.
Took a sneaky day off at the start of March, with circumstances dictating that I stay local again. Absolutely no joy seeing the elusive redpoll (my mate Bill is of the view that my possible redpoll was the definite redpoll which definitely comes into his garden.) and the river was quiet- ish, bar a few absolutely stunning goosander. Nuthatch still making their presence known. Took a walk to Redlees Quarry, hope/ expectation in equal parts for a Raven. I mean, they nest there, but my lack of reed bunting and GSW had shaken my confidence somewhat. I'd already given up on goldcrest.
Once I had gotten past all the commercial dog walkers I made it down to the pond, setting my scope up with a view to the electricity pylon where the ravens nest. Feeling peckish, I sat and had a bit of lunch. Literally a bite before a raven flew in and landed. A view through the scope saw plenty of nesting material. Spent some time watching them before both birds flew off. Lots of positive vibes in the sun, obviously ticking the Raven helped. Back down at the Clyde, movement in a tree got my eye. Patience rewarded with golcrest flitting about. Year tick 2, so it was a happy GS who trudged home.
Family stuff and a horrible head cold (I dunno if its age or diabetes that means I take ages to recover from stuff like this) kept me indoors/ busy until this past week. Booked a day off work on flexi, and was determined to head East to Lothian. Worse- having been out of practice for what seemed like forever, I was determined to go to Aberlady, where one has to work hard for one's birds. It seemed a good idea at the time.
Everyone else setting foot in Lothian was going for Alpine Swift, I'm not a twitcher, so headed to Aberlady as planned. First day out in however long, and I head to Aberlady. Nice one Macca.
Loads of skylark singing mean an automatic good mood. Loads of stonechat showing really well, but zero reed bunting (we're nearly at April and I haven't had one yet. Or GSW for that matter. Shameful....) Cold and breezy weather didn't help. Thanks to a combination of doing the morning school run/ train times/ bus services I had got there at high tide, which wasn't ideal. I did get a handful of sanderling on the beach, so can't complain. Year tick, so sort of made the incredibly tired legs worthwhile. On the way back, rather than retrace my steps I opted to follow the signs saying 'foot path.' Which led to flooded pools and marsh, with no actual human- made path. Lots of bird action, none of which I could identify due to awful light/ distance/ and eyes watering in the wind. Not one other birder to be seen, possibly because there were no Alpine Swifts.
Had a pleasant half hour chatting to a couple of locals on the path, which meant I missed my bus. Decided, on the principle of "I'm here now", that my day was not yet over, so got the next bus to Musselburgh, which technically is nowhere 'near.' Got off at Wallyford, and got greenfinch at the station then further downhill at the new housing estate. Not a tick, but for me any greenfinch is a victory these days.
Got to the scrapes, and as unbelievable as this may seem, I realised it as ten past 4 rather than ten past 3. I genuinely don't know how I managed to misjudge it. Anyway, time was short, so it literally was a flying visit. All the usual suspects at the middle scrape, checked the fringes for small things skulking, but nothing. A look to the left, though, got me a bit of success. At the far edge, and again I thank the scope for restoring the gift of sight, I got what I was 99% confident were winter- plumage knot. Too big for Sanderling and for Dunlin (of which there were two kicking about next to them) and leg colour says they can only be Knot. However, I know better than to trust t' internet, or Collins Guide for that matter, but my mate Bill confirmed my I.D from my awful, hand- held phonescope photo.
Within yards of the exit path, though, I did get a chiffchaff. At least that one I was 100% certain of right away. Year tick 3 of the day.
Light was failing, the walk along the seawall got something pipitty, and the teasing noise of plenty of action in the new site. Just managed to get the train I was aiming for, which got me onto my homeward train and a well- deserved sleep on the way back to civilisation. Dunno if its age (I'm hitting 50), the after- effects of the man-flu, or just being out of practise but my legs were absolutely aching on Thursday night.
Thoughts:
I blame the internet. Technically, I blame myself for looking at the internet. Looking at other people out birding while I can't is never good for the soul. Or blood pressure for that matter. I'm at 99 ticks for the year, which I can't complain about (it'd be 100 if I ticked the GSW) Putting the past few weeks into writing, its actually been ok, and nowhere near as bad as my own internalised perception had been. Maybe the trough of the Haugh's decline was deep enough that the peaks of local birding didn't really seem all that significant? Perspective has maybe been restored. But, to return to a familiar theme, we're the sum total of all our experiences in life- good and bad. No thing and no person can stand still, and its naive to assume that things will never change. 2 'dry' weeks in March, where the birding 'seasons' change anyway, is hardly a catastrophe. Putting these words down makes me realise I'm actually having a damned good year.
And for that, I'm glad.
Stay healthy, stay safe folks.
John
It serves me right, to be fair. All smug and self- congratulatory last time around, 'Making Hard Work Look Easy' was just begging fate to intervene. After my more-successful-than-I-Could-Have-Hoped-For day in East Lothian, the rest of February into March was a bit of a trough after the early February peak. Family commitments meant that my next venture out in fresh air was February 26th. Mrs GS had been a bit poorly, so as much as she kicked me out the house for doing her head in, I thought it best to stay local. Had a very pleasant couple of hours down at the River Clyde, which gave me yet another reminder not to take my local patch for granted.
Started off pretty well with male bullfinch and wren at the train station car park. I followed this with a pair of grey wagtail inside the Uddingston Grammar School grounds, visible from the path down the side. I couldn't get a photo and they were awfully mobile, but it was definitely nice to tick them. I did wonder why they were so far away from their patch at the river, and it transpires that Network Rail are using the path as a car park while they carry out engineering work on the bridge.
Crossing the river, the walk up to the farm was notable for its absence of anything spectacular- LTTs and a song thrush singing somewhere distant. A singing song thrush in spring, mind you, isn't something I'll ever complain about. The dead woods at the top of the path were dead, so I turned back pretty quickly rather than waste my time. Re- crossed the river, and headed along the river path toward Bothwell Castle. Before long I got a pair of nuthatch, one of which was whistling frantically at something. I could hear loads of goldfinch in the trees nearby, and in among them I got a glimpse of what could have been a redpoll, but I didn't get a good enough look to tick it. I only had binos with me- so the gift of sight had been withdrawn. Walking up to the castle I got loads more nuthatch calling, plus moorhen and goosander on the Clyde, and a half dozen Greylag Geese across the Clyde on the opposite bank. Year tick 3, and much better than getting them being fed stale bread at Strathclyde Park.
Heard a Great Spotted woodpecker calling in the woods across the river, but didn't tick it. It was too far away, and I couldn't see it. Which got me thinking again about how arbitrary our own individual ticking rules can be. That, and I was hopeful to get a proper one further up the path. But, in true GS fashion, I didn't. Frustratingly, still no goldcrest either. Overall, though, 3 ticks on a local wander isn't anything to complain of. I reassured myself that I would probably have got GSW eventually if I'd hung around, but ultimately I ran out of time.
Mrs GS was due at Monklands Hospital for a scan, and I took the opportunity to nip to Drumpellier country park for an hour or so until summoned to pick her up. Spent an hour or so on Woodend Loch (the loch which is the SSSI and is without the visitor centre) No ticks, but great views of GC grebes coming into breeding plumage which I'm never going to complain about. A smattering of Teal were also looking pretty impressive. Quality, immersive, being-outside birding.
Had a spare couple of hours a couple of days later, so wandered off to the Haugh. I'm officially renaming it Barren Haugh as its becoming an awful lot of work for little reward. Maybe I need to stop going in the afternoon, but its definitely lost any spark, any sense of belonging. I can't even generate any 'happy place' thoughts about being outdoors when there. Its a stark place now. Maybe all the dog walkers have exhausted my patience?. Sad, but it seems that the Haugh has reached a tipping point and is no longer be the place I knew. The changes that are planned, and the ones taking place which aren't, will alter the place immeasurably. It won't be the place where I first visited, was taken under the wing by other, experienced birders, and where I first got my confidence that I wasn't the only birdwatcher on earth. And that makes me a little sad.
On the plus side, I did get talking to a retired chap who was a novice birder, and an ordinary punter who was interested in me telling him about birds while he told me conspiracy theories about a robin thats followed him to his past 3 houses. I'll never get bored talking about birds to people. Its probably the only thing I'm extroverted about.
Somehow, I still had some Brownie points in reserve for the next day, and had an hour at Cathkin Marsh. A few teal on the pond, a heron preening itself, and a redwing in a distant pine tree were the highlights. No reed bunting. This site used to be a banker for yellowhammer and reed bunting, back in the old days. Going back to me being arbitrary, I'm less affected by Cathkin Marsh being desolate than I am by the Haugh. Its not like GS to be fey and quirky.
Took a sneaky day off at the start of March, with circumstances dictating that I stay local again. Absolutely no joy seeing the elusive redpoll (my mate Bill is of the view that my possible redpoll was the definite redpoll which definitely comes into his garden.) and the river was quiet- ish, bar a few absolutely stunning goosander. Nuthatch still making their presence known. Took a walk to Redlees Quarry, hope/ expectation in equal parts for a Raven. I mean, they nest there, but my lack of reed bunting and GSW had shaken my confidence somewhat. I'd already given up on goldcrest.
Once I had gotten past all the commercial dog walkers I made it down to the pond, setting my scope up with a view to the electricity pylon where the ravens nest. Feeling peckish, I sat and had a bit of lunch. Literally a bite before a raven flew in and landed. A view through the scope saw plenty of nesting material. Spent some time watching them before both birds flew off. Lots of positive vibes in the sun, obviously ticking the Raven helped. Back down at the Clyde, movement in a tree got my eye. Patience rewarded with golcrest flitting about. Year tick 2, so it was a happy GS who trudged home.
Family stuff and a horrible head cold (I dunno if its age or diabetes that means I take ages to recover from stuff like this) kept me indoors/ busy until this past week. Booked a day off work on flexi, and was determined to head East to Lothian. Worse- having been out of practice for what seemed like forever, I was determined to go to Aberlady, where one has to work hard for one's birds. It seemed a good idea at the time.
Everyone else setting foot in Lothian was going for Alpine Swift, I'm not a twitcher, so headed to Aberlady as planned. First day out in however long, and I head to Aberlady. Nice one Macca.
Loads of skylark singing mean an automatic good mood. Loads of stonechat showing really well, but zero reed bunting (we're nearly at April and I haven't had one yet. Or GSW for that matter. Shameful....) Cold and breezy weather didn't help. Thanks to a combination of doing the morning school run/ train times/ bus services I had got there at high tide, which wasn't ideal. I did get a handful of sanderling on the beach, so can't complain. Year tick, so sort of made the incredibly tired legs worthwhile. On the way back, rather than retrace my steps I opted to follow the signs saying 'foot path.' Which led to flooded pools and marsh, with no actual human- made path. Lots of bird action, none of which I could identify due to awful light/ distance/ and eyes watering in the wind. Not one other birder to be seen, possibly because there were no Alpine Swifts.
Had a pleasant half hour chatting to a couple of locals on the path, which meant I missed my bus. Decided, on the principle of "I'm here now", that my day was not yet over, so got the next bus to Musselburgh, which technically is nowhere 'near.' Got off at Wallyford, and got greenfinch at the station then further downhill at the new housing estate. Not a tick, but for me any greenfinch is a victory these days.
Got to the scrapes, and as unbelievable as this may seem, I realised it as ten past 4 rather than ten past 3. I genuinely don't know how I managed to misjudge it. Anyway, time was short, so it literally was a flying visit. All the usual suspects at the middle scrape, checked the fringes for small things skulking, but nothing. A look to the left, though, got me a bit of success. At the far edge, and again I thank the scope for restoring the gift of sight, I got what I was 99% confident were winter- plumage knot. Too big for Sanderling and for Dunlin (of which there were two kicking about next to them) and leg colour says they can only be Knot. However, I know better than to trust t' internet, or Collins Guide for that matter, but my mate Bill confirmed my I.D from my awful, hand- held phonescope photo.
Within yards of the exit path, though, I did get a chiffchaff. At least that one I was 100% certain of right away. Year tick 3 of the day.
Light was failing, the walk along the seawall got something pipitty, and the teasing noise of plenty of action in the new site. Just managed to get the train I was aiming for, which got me onto my homeward train and a well- deserved sleep on the way back to civilisation. Dunno if its age (I'm hitting 50), the after- effects of the man-flu, or just being out of practise but my legs were absolutely aching on Thursday night.
Thoughts:
I blame the internet. Technically, I blame myself for looking at the internet. Looking at other people out birding while I can't is never good for the soul. Or blood pressure for that matter. I'm at 99 ticks for the year, which I can't complain about (it'd be 100 if I ticked the GSW) Putting the past few weeks into writing, its actually been ok, and nowhere near as bad as my own internalised perception had been. Maybe the trough of the Haugh's decline was deep enough that the peaks of local birding didn't really seem all that significant? Perspective has maybe been restored. But, to return to a familiar theme, we're the sum total of all our experiences in life- good and bad. No thing and no person can stand still, and its naive to assume that things will never change. 2 'dry' weeks in March, where the birding 'seasons' change anyway, is hardly a catastrophe. Putting these words down makes me realise I'm actually having a damned good year.
And for that, I'm glad.
Stay healthy, stay safe folks.
John
