A Scilly Diary. (1 Viewer)

[chowchilla]

I may regret this...

As the last embers of January died, I found myself on Tresco, having been deposited there by a helicopter that was meant to be flying to St Marys. I headed down an unmade track, hoping I was going in the right direction.

Tresco was certainly a little odd. Much of the plant life was barely recognisable; a miscellany of strange plants from far away lands grew amongst the natives, and sometimes dominated them. I had heard many a tale of the unique nature of these islands, and already a sense of having stepped through the Looking Glass to a slightly tilted version of Old England, had taken hold. But there was the familiar here too... birds I recognised, and so I gradually compiled a mental list of them as I wrestled with heavy luggage on the uneven track. House Sparrow, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove... Herring Gull, Carrion Crows aplenty. Nothing that would even turn heads in British birding circles. To me however, these seemed a little exotic for a few minutes at least. I was used to seeing Honeyeaters, Sunbirds and Lorikeets. But in truth, they were old familiar names to birds I had grown up with, and they were a reassuring part of the tapestry of the islands- anchors in the oddness of much of the plant life.

Much of Scilly's birdlife is a modest selection of familiar UK land birds and coastal birds. Chaffinches, Greenfinches and Goldfinches are common- Wrens and Dunnocks even moreso. Song Thrushes, unusually, outnumber the Blackbirds; something I find strangely reassuring. The islands are more surprising in terms of what is absent. A Magpie would cause a bit of a stir, as would Long-tailed Tits or a Great-spotted Woodpecker. And as you'll see later, other common British birds can cause a mini-twitch of the local birders. Scilly is, of course, more famous in birding circles for national rarities hailing from further flung places. It being January, I had to contend myself with the local birds for now. But then, I did have the not insurmountable task of working out where the hell I was meant to be going, even as I noted my first Great Tits, Mallards and Pheasants. Half an hour later, I was 'found' and brought back to the heliport by the transport that was supposed to have taken me to the ferry. I shan't elaborate too much on what went wrong here, but suffice it to say, that a certain driver had been a little impatient earlier, and in the time it had taken me to use the toilet at the terminal, had left without me. Two women had similarly been stranded. OK, so I did elaborate a bit... but then what was the rush? I looked about at the complete and utter lack of traffic and concluded that there was no need ro rush at all. This isn't London. Far from it... Scilly moves at a different pace, and to a different beat.

The ferry to St Marys yielded my first Great Black-backed Gulls, Oystercatcher and Little Egret. By now, having dragged heavy luggage halfway across Tresco, I was flagging. My brain literally began to shut down. I was ready for sleep. As a result, the trip across the island to my accommodation dissoved into a blur of indistinct memory. Jetlag had barely left my system, and then had one last hurrah.

I had relocated myself in my later middle age to a new country, or rather an old one; one that I had lived in fifteen years earlier. I've been told I'm mad many times since... But so far at least, I would argue that Scilly, the place I now call home, is just a little bit special. Even when the birding isn't exactly stellar.

 

[delia todd]

There's nothing quite like island life, is there Tony. Even though I really only know the Scottish ones.

I'm glad you've got yourself there and settled in.

 

[chowchilla]

There's nothing quite like island life, is there Tony. Even though I really only know the Scottish ones.

I'm glad you've got yourself there and settled in.

Indeed! There are many ups to living here, and a few downs, and I'm still weighing them in my mind, but it's hard not to be impressed with life here.

 

[3Italianbirders]

Islands are great. Well done. I look forward to know how you get on!

 

[chowchilla]

Thank you. For the first two months or so, I was by no means certain to stay on the islands. Accommodation has been a nightmare to find, and I have only just secured something long term. I was also by no means certain I'd stay in my current job. I'm resolving some issues there too now, so with my circumstances looking more stable, I finally decided to begin this diary.

I may still leave, but it's looking less likely, now.

 

[Mike Crawley]

Looking forward to reading your future contributions.
I’ll be there for the last two weeks in May and the first three weeks in October.

 

[chowchilla]

Three Redwings were feeding on the lawn outside the glass door. I could see them from my bed in the tiny shepherd's hut that I now called home at Watermill, on the far side of the island from Hugh Town. I crept out of bed, and immediately regretted it. It was freezing. For someone acclimatised to the tropics, it felt like a bucket of ice water had just been tipped over me. OK, maybe not quite that bad, but my entire body instantly rebelled. I grabbed the matches from the draw with numb hands and fumbled with a fire log and a bit of wood to get the woodstove lit, getting soot everywhere in the process. Before long, soot was on me, the sheets, the pillow case, the towels and the bathmat. Everything was white and spoke of my incompetence with a woodburner. This went on for six frigid weeks through February and into March.

Adapting to the cold is an ongoing process when you've been living in warmer climes, and I don't deny at times I've struggled with it. Cairns was effortlessly warm. But no... I'd committed to these changes, and I would adapt. I dived into the shower, trying to avoid hypothermia as the water gradually warmed, and donned thermals and about four other layers. I felt scarcely warmer. I still hadn't gone outside as the strong wind rocked the entire hut. It was a whole lot colder out there.

My fingers refused to work properly and so I climbed back into bed in the hope of thawing them out. I had recently been added to the Scilly Whatsapp groups and checked for messages to see what was about. Not very much, as it turned out. It was, in birding parlance, pretty dead; at least on St Mary's, of which more later. This continued to be the case in the coming days, but seeing as I hadn't yet started work, I headed out anyway to brave the elements. I needed to explore, and I needed to see birds, even common ones. The birds were so far a rinse-repeat of that small collection of common species already mentioned. I'd often comb the hedges and fields to see the same modest selection of species, or quite often, nothing at all. I found myself on Porthcressa Beach, soaking up the scenery instead. I had the perfect excuse, as the local laundry was attempting to remove the soot from my bedding.

A Black Redstart called from the far side of the beach. Try as I may, I couldn't see it, and my windswept vision kept blurring, which hardly helped. It would however be the first of many. This is not a rare bird here at all and weeks later I counted at least six together at Porthloo. A very nice bird to see, especially a smart male perched on a rock.

I decided to go for a little walk to Penninis Head as I was in no hurry to pick up my washing. The weather had other plans and drew in its collective breath to blast me with powerful winds and the first drops of promised rain. It was practically pushing me back to town. I paused briefly to wipe my glasses, my streaming eyes and my bins. A largish bird tumbled past which for a change wasn't a Carrion Crow or a Herring Gull. It revealed itself as a Kestrel as I donned my glasses once more. The Kestrel briefly mastered the art of flight before the wind once again snatched it away over the allotments beside the track. The sky warned me that it would bring holy hell on me if I proceeded further so I retreated back to town, beaten for now. I took shelter in a cafe just as the heavens opened. I later discovered that Kestrel is a pretty good record for Scilly. I had failed to report it as I didn't even know!

As I collected my washing, a brief interlude in the squall revealed a Grey Heron on the rocks fishing alongside a Little Egret. A pair of Shelduck just offshore was a welcome change from all the mallard-types that proliferate here. Then I saw my first Rock Pipit. This, it turned out, is also a common winter species here. A few days later, I would see a flock of dozens flying around the main quay that takes you to the outer islands. A lot of good stuff was being reported from those islands, especially Tresco, so going there in a break in the weather became my next goal. Two species in fact would be lifers, and so I made my plans...

 

[davercox]

Good stuff Chowie, keep it up please.

 

[chowchilla]

With meticulous plans made and ready for execution, I looked forward with excitement to going to Tresco to hopefully add some more exotic avian treats to my Scilly list. The weather ensured that on my days off the boats were all cancelled. So bad was it in fact, that we endured the worst storm Scilly has had since 2014, or thereabouts. Plan B involved not going to Tresco and not seeing rare birds. Or at least it involved trying to see at least one rare bird from St Mary's that was hanging around just offshore from Tresco. A female Surf Scoter had parked itself just off Skirt Island (which by the way isn't an island, but a part of Tresco) for the winter and was apparently viewable from MacFarland's Down with a scope on the northern coast of St Mary's. There was just one teensy problem. Having just moved from Australia, I had my scope but not my tripod. And so it was that I found myself balancing my scope on a hilltop bench on an exceptionally windy day and pointing it in the general direction of Skirt Island. For at least an hour I perused the avian dots off the island. Plenty of Shag were availing themselves of the local fish. Shag outnumber Cormorants here by probably ten to one, and as I type this, are looking very dapper in their breeding plumage. They are easy to see around the coasts here. I clocked a Cormorant somewhere over the last week or two, but have literally no idea where I saw it. But I digress... There was at least one very distant bird that was probably a Diver, but such is my incompetence, that I failed to see any bird I could convince myself was a Scoter, even though there were clearly a few distant ducks. I mean, one of them probably was the Scoter- it was very faithful to this spot- but I wasn't just going to count it like that. I needed to get myself to Tresco. I didn't panic, but I was disappointed. A consolation Whimbrel picked its way along the rocky shore below before flying off. I left in search of more modest fare.

Back in town at Porthcressa I had a brief scan of the gulls; two of them in particular that sat on a small rock a short way out that would normally be covered by the incoming tide. I was pleased to discover they were Mediterranean Gulls. This is yet another example of a less common UK bird outnumbering a common bird on Scilly. Black-headed Gull occur here in winter at least, but are typically outnumbered by the Meds. Weird. BH Gull was already on my Scilly list, but again I have no idea where I saw it!

The Lower Moors are a wee nature reserve on the edge of town that can be accessed at either end from neighbouring roads. They are a pleasant mix of reedbeds, alder-willow carr, scrub and pasture on an island that is dominated by fields of narcissi and endless monotonous hedges of Sweet Pittosporum, an Aussie import that has literally taken over in many areas. I'd visited before many years ago in my only previous visit back in 2000. The reserve hosted a Wilson's Snipe which I distinctly remember sat amongst a group of Common Snipe. Neither were here today, but another Snipe was. For much of the winter, a Jack Snipe had been feeding in front of the main hide on the far side of the water, and doing that typical JS thing of not really showing itself particularly well. Today it decided not to show itself at all. Ah well, another day perhaps. Meanwhile, a few Teal, and a pair of Gadwall amongst the usual mallards, provided some entertainment with their smart plumage. My first Goldcrest for Scilly finally gave itself up as well.

As I left the hide heading in the direction of Old Town, several Water Rail squealed from reedy vegetation on my right. As I came to the exit, a Cetti's Warbler struck up briefly. Both are found here throughout the winter and I knew I'd catch up with them eventually. I mulled over whether to add them to my Scilly list as they are both currently 'heard only's'. My world list would be substantially longer if I added birds I heard but did not see (including several species of tapaculos and tinamous), so I decided in the name of consistency not to add them unless I saw them. I've seen both species well enough times to not concern myself too much at this stage with getting good views. I'm sure they will give up their presence visually before too long.

As I was living at Watermill, I decided to head out to Holy Vale on foot. Holy Vale is a wee hamlet in a deep dip in the landscape and as such offers shelter to migrants and overwintering passerines. It also provides access to the Higher Moors by way of a nature trail that picks its way through wizened old trees that have, like most of the trees on Scilly, been tortured into shape by the wind. No sooner did I head off the nearest road, then the first of three Chiffchaff showed itself amonst the tall trees at the begining of the trail. One of the extraordinary things about Scilly is that many flying insects remain active throughout the year, and it was here that I saw my first bumblebee, helping itself to winter pollen from the flowers that were scattered along the hedges. This in Febuary. Quite remarkable. A Grey Wagtail bobbed and ducked around the muddy puddles under the trees. This was also a good record for the islands, and again I didn't report it, because I had no idea this was the case! I am learning what is 'good', but it has taken a while.

At the other end of the trail, I crossed the road to another reserve, or rather an extension of the same reserve that most birders tend to think of as Porth Hellick, presumably to distinguish it from the other bit, that tends to be described just as Holy Vale. They are both the Higher Moors, I think. I'm sure someone will enlighten me.

Here, there is habitat much like that found on the Lower Moors, but there is also a fairly large lake that can be a real magnet for water birds. As I tried and failed to avoid sinking my ill-equipped footwear into the muddy trail, a Sparrowhawk bombed past heading in the direction I had just come. A few minutes later, more Water Rails squealed from cover. The lake itself revealed more of the same fare duck-wise, but yielded several Wigeon, a pair of Shoveler, a pair of Mute Swan, another Cormorant and a few rather smart-looking Pochard. Still nothing amazing, but I was enjoying myself immensely. I was slowly but surely settling into life on this little group of islands and exploring them was part and parcel of that. The list was growing slowly, but had the potential to grow quite a bit more in the coming days. A break in the weather was expected, and so once again, Tresco beckoned...

 

[chowchilla]

I was down at the quayside as the little boat drew in; the weather was mild, and the sea was barely ruffling itself. The sun thought twice about coming out, but at least no rain was predicted. We descended the steep stone stairs and found what seats we could. Most people made for the tiny cabin- they knew the wind would noticeably pick up once we left the harbour- bundled as they were in layers. I naturally stayed outside, and like a dog leaning out of the window of a speeding car, anticipated the wind doing its worst as we pulled away from the quayside. As it turned out, it wasn't at all unpleasant and I was quickly rejoined by a couple of others.

About halfway out, the first of several Razorbill bobbed past the boat like an avian cork on the gentle swell. I scanned the pinnacles of Samson, the main uninhabited island we passed en route. On top of each of the two peaks was a Peregrine; a pair have been here the whole winter. They were just close enough to be identifiably falcon-shaped. Another, much stranger looking bird was flying towards the boat from that island. As it approached, I had no doubts as to what it was as it flew right over the top of the boat, making for Tresco. A Spoonbill! Three birds had overwintered on Samson and were very gettable, even from St Mary's, had I been bothered to scan Samson from The Garrison at any point. The bird gradually descended and disappeared over Tresco, apparently making for one of the lakes on the island.

A few minutes later we pulled up to Bryher. Wait... I'm going to Tresco! I mean, Bryher looks lovely and all but... Oh that's Tresco over there. This is a two-island trip then? Oh, no one told me. For the record, Bryher and Tresco are two of the five inhabited islands, and are so close together that it is actually possible to wade between the islands at the lowest tides they experience. The boat journey between the two is less than a minute, or so it seemed. I made a mental note to come back to Bryher some time soon; it really does look very inviting.

Tresco is, for the most part, flatter than St Mary's. I had rare birds to find, but a tight schedule. I walked at an indecent pace around the bay from the quay, leaving a handful of people in my wake. This surprised precisely no one because the behaviour of birders traversing between the islands comes as no surprise to the locals. We're an odd bunch from the outside looking in. I hired a push bike from a place near the main tourist centre and whizzed off in the direction of my first quarry.

I decided that I had enough time to give the Great Pool, the largest of Tresco's lakes, a quick scan en route, and so I disappeared down a rough track that cuts across the island along the pool's northern periphery. As I reached the first hide, I saw a useful addition to my Scilly list in a field opposite; a bird I have seen many many times before, but still a welcome addition to the day: a Glossy Ibis, feeding a few tens of metres off. The bird stopped feeding at my approach and regarded me warily. Little doubt this was genuine wild bird, then. As it happens, not only have I seen this species in large numbers in Australia, I've seen them in Europe before as well, as well as one in Kent many moons ago. Still, I'm not complaining. I shifted my position. With a loud 'hark!' the bird took to the air and flew over the distant hedges, disappearing from sight.

The hide revealed at least a couple of hundred assorted ducks of previously recorded species, but nothing new. What was new however, were several Greenshank among a much larger group of Redshank on the reedy edges at the western edge of the lake. I decided not to hang around, even though it was possible that something rarer lurked among the massed ducks. I had yet to see my quarry- either of them- because I was after not one, but two rare birds. And it wasn't the three long-staying Cattle Egret that were here somewhere either. I've seen millions of Cattle Egret.

And so it was I found myself at the south-eastern corner of Tresco, struggling through impossibly-dense ground cover towards Skirt Island. To my left, a large wader roost of several hundred birds yielded numbers of Ringed Plover and Sanderling, as well as more Greenshank and Redshank. Further up the beach, dozens of Turnstone picked and plucked among the banks of seaweed, making it look like the seaweed itself had come to life. The birds seemed unconcerned at my presence, but I didn't risk going any closer and disturbing them.

At what seemed like a suitable spot, I lifted my bins to scan the sea southwards. It didn't take me long to find what I was looking for. A single duck revealed itself; and so close was it, that there was no mistaking a female Surf Scoter as it drifted slowly along, exactly where I was told it would be hanging out; and I had it all to myself! The bird had an impossibly lumpy bill, distinguishing itself from female Eider. Apart from diving for food occasionally, the bird wasn't doing much, and so after giving it my full attention for several minutes, I headed off. I retrieved the bike from the bushes and pushed on. Rare bird number two beckoned, and time was pressing. Several minutes later, I disturbed the first of many Red-legged Partridge which here at least, are ridiculously tame. Rather than explode into the air, these birds, toddled away several metres and watched me to see if I would follow. I didn't. I was more interested in something else.

And so it was that I found myself at the Abbey Pool, the second largest lake on Tresco, scanning for another duck. A Lesser Scaup had overwintered here among the other wildfowl and was apparently quite easy to see. I was feeling suitably smug after the quick and easy manner of finding the Scoter, and so I was completely confident in the few minutes I had that the Scaup would give itself up, on what appeared to be an easy lake to find any duck, let alone a rare one. Ten minutes later, I still hadn't found it. Checking the time I knew that even giving it another few minute ran the risk of me missing the last ferry back to St Mary's that day. I cycled frantically around the lake towards the direction I needed to be going to see if the bird was behind the only island on the lake. Still no sign. But everyone who comes here looking for it, sees it, right? Where the hell was it? Had it flown to the Great Pool (it had done this before), or had it gone completely after being here for months? I would never know, because the bird remained unfound. In the meantime I had the fastest cycle ride of my life back to the hire shop and a tired sprint to the ferry.

I had missed what I thought was a dead cert. I was in a state of mild shock. Even as I recovered my breath on the boat back, I contemplated how I had managed to miss it. Had it been sitting in the reeds, maybe? Every scenario presented itself in a manner that suggested that maybe overconfidence on my part meant that I had relaxed too soon. Was there time to come back? A heavy work schedule beckoned.

In the following days, I had received assurances that it would still be there if I went back, say, a week from now. I tried to relax. It would be fine. The bird had been around for months. I'd get back there. Sure enough, it was seen several more times, and so I prepared for a return trip. But the duck had other plans and promptly disappeared for good.

I don't consider myself to be a twitcher, but this felt like a bit of a punch in the midriff. I really should have seen this bird. Literally everyone who went for it saw it. I still don't know how I missed it. Right there and then, I felt like the unluckiest birder on Scilly, or perhaps the most incompetent.

 

[davercox]

Bad luck with the Lesser Scaup. You're right about Bryher, very much worth a visit or three.

 

[Evan Atkinson]

Loving this, very captivating.

 

[chowchilla]

Surely I've seen a Greenfinch by now? I added Greenfinch to my Scilly list as it clearly wasn't there. I didn't recall seeing any in the first week or two since arriving, so maybe I missed it that way? I certainly wasn't lacking for Greenfinches up at Spider's place behind Star Castle. I spent an hour or so peering out of his bathroom window seeing lots of greenfinches and a variety of other common birds, but not the Hawfinch that had been paying frequent visits of late. I practically had a dead leg upon leaving as I had had to stand in such an odd position in order to see out. You can't get them all...

A few days later, The Garrison did yield a Meadow Pipit, presumably on passage as they are not regular on the islands. Others had reported Meadows with a rosy flush to their chest. One of the races apparently has this. The one I flushed from the edge of the playing field didn't appear to have this, though I didn't get the greatest of views as it raced off over the trees. A few days after that I managed to latch onto a Firecrest that was moving through the conifers on the Garrison alongside a few Willow Warblers. I'd seen WWs before about a week or so earlier, near Porthloo and there were soon plenty of them around, but the Firecrest was more of a one-off. Some birders saw it, others didn't. I got lucky.

I was still pissed over not getting the Scaup, even though weeks had since passed. I needed other birds to cheer me up, a bit at least. I spent a windy day adding a couple of new birds to my list. At MacFarland's Down, I balanced my tripodless scope on a bench that overlooks the sea at the precise spot I had previously tried for the Scoter. This time, it yielded a distant large blob on the sea that could really only be one bird. A Great-northern Diver. The irony of Scilly, is that this is the commonest diver species here. I've seen a fair few of them since, notably from the deck of The Osprey, a large (for inter-island trips) ferry run by a man who is himself a keen birder. There's an anecdote attached to this fact that I will regale you with in a later episode.

With the GND under my belt, I headed off to Pelistry. Pelistry is a hamlet of sorts on the East coast of Scilly along a particularly scenic stretch of coast. Here, and at Deep Point just to the south is a marvellous place to spend a few hours, if dramatic coastal scenery is your thing. It also yields interesting birds from time to time. The coastal scrub, replete with dense aggregations of gorse, is home to a lot of Stonechats which can be seen on Scilly throughout the year. It is a curious fact that the first one I saw since moving here was on a hedge right in the centre of the island near Longstone, where they are far less frequent. The Stonechats are often joined by a miscellany of migrants that take cover in sheltered spots here and there or brazenly feed in the open, if you're lucky. On this particular day, I was peering into a muddy field of cows at a large flock of Chaffinches until I managed to latch onto what I was looking for, a pair of summer plumage Brambling that stood out like sore thumbs amongst the 100+ Chaffinches that worked their way through the disturbed soil in the field. The flock was flighty, but yielded excellent views nonetheless.

According to local birders, we have had a record influx of Brambling over the previous couple of weeks. Work and other fun commitments had prevented me from seeking them out before now. As it happened however, I was able to watch quite a few of them feeding on seed in someone's garden at Longstone about a week later.

A few days after my first Scilly Bramblings, I found myself at Porth Hellick overlooking the lake with three other birders. We were all waiting for the same bird to put in an appearance. After about fifteen minutes or so, a beautiful drake Garganey flew out of the reeds off to our left and landed on the lake affording excellent views at it preened and then promptly went to sleep. Of course, this was the day I didn't bring my camera with me for reasons I still cannot fathom, hence no pictures... A calling Jackdaw (a rarity here) near the reserve entrance hardly compensated. Still... at least I do have some finchy offerings in the picture department, even if they are not fantastic quality:

 

[Evan Atkinson]

Surely I've seen a Greenfinch by now? I added Greenfinch to my Scilly list as it clearly wasn't there. I didn't recall seeing any in the first week or two since arriving, so maybe I missed it that way? I certainly wasn't lacking for Greenfinches up at Spider's place behind Star Castle. I spent an hour or so peering out of his bathroom window seeing lots of greenfinches and a variety of other common birds, but not the Hawfinch that had been paying frequent visits of late. I practically had a dead leg upon leaving as I had had to stand in such an odd position in order to see out. You can't get them all...

A few days later, The Garrison did yield a Meadow Pipit, presumably on passage as they are not regular on the islands. Others had reported Meadows with a rosy flush to their chest. One of the races apparently has this. The one I flushed from the edge of the playing field didn't appear to have this, though I didn't get the greatest of views as it raced off over the trees. A few days after that I managed to latch onto a Firecrest that was moving through the conifers on the Garrison alongside a few Willow Warblers. I'd seen WWs before about a week or so earlier, near Porthloo and there were soon plenty of them around, but the Firecrest was more of a one-off. Some birders saw it, others didn't. I got lucky.

I was still pissed over not getting the Scaup, even though weeks had since passed. I needed other birds to cheer me up, a bit at least. I spent a windy day adding a couple of new birds to my list. At MacFarland's Down, I balanced my tripodless scope on a bench that overlooks the sea at the precise spot I had previously tried for the Scoter. This time, it yielded a distant large blob on the sea that could really only be one bird. A Great-northern Diver. The irony of Scilly, is that this is the commonest diver species here. I've seen a fair few of them since, notably from the deck of The Osprey, a large (for inter-island trips) ferry run by a man who is himself a keen birder. There's an anecdote attached to this fact that I will regale you with in a later episode.

With the GND under my belt, I headed off to Pelistry. Pelistry is a hamlet of sorts on the East coast of Scilly along a particularly scenic stretch of coast. Here, and at Deep Point just to the south is a marvellous place to spend a few hours, if dramatic coastal scenery is your thing. It also yields interesting birds from time to time. The coastal scrub, replete with dense aggregations of gorse, is home to a lot of Stonechats which can be seen on Scilly throughout the year. It is a curious fact that the first one I saw since moving here was on a hedge right in the centre of the island near Longstone, where they are far less frequent. The Stonechats are often joined by a miscellany of migrants that take cover in sheltered spots here and there or brazenly feed in the open, if you're lucky. On this particular day, I was peering into a muddy field of cows at a large flock of Chaffinches until I managed to latch onto what I was looking for, a pair of summer plumage Brambling that stood out like sore thumbs amongst the 100+ Chaffinches that worked their way through the disturbed soil in the field. The flock was flighty, but yielded excellent views nonetheless.

According to local birders, we have had a record influx of Brambling over the previous couple of weeks. Work and other fun commitments had prevented me from seeking them out before now. As it happened however, I was able to watch quite a few of them feeding on seed in someone's garden at Longstone about a week later.

A few days after my first Scilly Bramblings, I found myself at Porth Hellick overlooking the lake with three other birders. We were all waiting for the same bird to put in an appearance. After about fifteen minutes or so, a beautiful drake Garganey flew out of the reeds off to our left and landed on the lake affording excellent views at it preened and then promptly went to sleep. Of course, this was the day I didn't bring my camera with me for reasons I still cannot fathom, hence no pictures... A calling Jackdaw (a rarity here) near the reserve entrance hardly compensated. Still... at least I do have some finchy offerings in the picture department, even if they are not fantastic quality:

Nice view of the ring on that greenfinch. Can’t quite make out what it says.

 

[MKinHK]

Just found this enjoyable thread and recalled your wonderful write-ups on birding in Cairns. Best wishes for your move to Scilly!

Try to remember Scilly is probably the warmest place in the UK!

Cheers
Mike

 

[chowchilla]

Thanks, everyone. I'm enjoying writing it!

Several rarities coming up, including a self-found, so watch this space.

 

[chowchilla]

A Jack Snipe had been overwintering on the Lower Moors, and I was informed that it could be seen in pretty much the same spot most evenings from the main hide. And so I went to the hide and waited for it to appear. It didn't. I tried again. And again. And again. I think it was about the fifth time that I finally got lucky, and the little bugger finally showed itself, bobbing amongst the sedges across the water. The pictures I got of it are so bad, you'd barely recognise it as a bird!

This was one of a few 'reliable' winter birds I had missed to date. Another was a supposedly fairly reliable Long-eared Owl. With this one I was not so lucky, and in fact I was informed that it wasn't reliable at all, and this particular bird tended to move around quite a bit; assuming that it was one bird we were dealing with and not several. Either way, I didn't see it, and probably now won't until next autumn at the earliest. And as we all know, autumn can be a mad time for all kinds of much rarer stuff...

Spring hadn't quite sprung yet. Well, I say that... Locals were talking about 'warm days' whilst I still shivered in thermals and four layers. I will say this, however: I was slowly adapting, and so the thermals finally came off some time in late March. It was almost liberating! After birding in shorts for fifteen years, and not much else, I knew I would just have to lump it; and anyway, I'm reliably informed that the summers here can be glorious.

Now as it happens, as I was failing to connect with the owl, I did have a fly-by Woodcock near the entrance to the Lower Moors. This wasn't a new Scilly bird for me (I had several on St Agnes many moons ago), but it's always a nice bird to see. Just as well I got it for my new list however, as they will soon be leaving, more than likely.

"It's dead", I was told not just once, but several times with regards to the spring migration through March and into April. I couldn't really argue with this. We were getting a tiny trickle of hirundines (ones and twos- none of which I connected with for weeks), a thin scattering of Willow Warblers and Blackcaps and the odd Wheatear. I did finally connect with Wheatear- two, in fact- on Porthloo Beach, where they skittered and perched amongst the Black Redstarts that seemed to litter the rockier areas of the beach. But it was still meagre offerings. Where the hell were all the migrants? To be fair to them, we had had some brutal northerlies, and yet oddly, it was during this period that a 'funny looking bird' turned up in a work colleague's garden in Maypole.

The previous day, this bird (or a different one) was first located on Peninnis Head: a very flighty Hoopoe. I spent a fruitless three hours trying to locate it without any success, as did several others. It was mostly seen in flight fleeing from the observer and ducking into cover or disappearing over the nearest hedge. Be that as it may, when the bird was then reported in said-colleague's garden, it then relocated itself to a neighbouring field opposite the riding stables. I know this, because two of us went to the last reported location for it and there it was, feeding peacefully in the middle of the field, instead of fleeing in terror. Not a 'mega', but who would begrudge a Hoopoe? They are cracking birds, regardless of what anyone says.

Here's a pic- not very good, I'm afraid- and a gratuitous Gadwall, one of my favourite ducks, taken at the Lower Moors:

 

[Farnboro John]

When I finally saw my first Hoopoe on Scilly it was in my final run-in to 300 for the islands, and I ran all the way for it. As it was October, the number of people who ran after me and then stopped in disappointment/disgust when I told them what I was running for was remarkable!

John

 

[Jon Turner]

Keep writing Chow, it brings back many memories.

 

[MKinHK]

Lovely shot of the Gadwall.