Indeed! My favourite duck too!
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A Scilly Diary. (1 Viewer)
- Thread starter chowchilla
- Start date
chowchilla
Well-known member
Over the last few days I'd seen several continental White Wagtails amongst the sprinkling of migrants. There was a general feeling that migration might begin to pick up as we transitioned into April. It was still bloody cold at times, however. Scilly doesn't get windy, it gets WINDY. Even a bright sunny day can be tempered by this. Undeterred, I headed out in the hope of adding to the occasional continental offerings.
My first stop was for some 'unmissable' Purple Sandpipers on the Old Town quay. I missed them. I would continue to miss them until they stopped being reported. Quite astounding. Rather more cooperative were a pair of Stock Dove feeding in a field just east of Old Town. Unlike the abundant Woodpigeons and Collared Doves on Scilly, these birds exist in very small numbers here and can be a bit shy. I was genuinely surprised though that it had taken me so long to connect with them. The complete lack of migrants meant that they were a compensation of sorts. I picked my way east across St Mary's.
There were lots of Linnets around, another common Scilly staple. Nice birds, but hardly edge-of-the-seat stuff. As I got closer to Porth Hellick, I began to see a few Willow Warblers, so that was something. Wheatears were also still trickling through. Then I heard, and eventually saw, my first Blackcap of the year. Promise of better things? Alas no, and indeed Porth Hellick itself was pretty quiet, apart from a couple of very vocal Cetti's Warblers. I have subsequently learned that Cetti's are a relatively recent regular breeder here, and indeed, they can be heard from dense wet cover in many parts of the island. It would be interesting to discover how many pairs there are currently breeding. Interestingly, a common UK bird was drawing birders to Porth Hellick, today, including me. Seeing as the migrants were still a bit of a let down, a Dabchick on the main lake ended up being the main highlight. Meagre pickings indeed. What's more, the damn thing was proving elusive, and it was a good half hour before it emerged from the reeds to give distant far-side-of-the-lake views.
A few days later, better luck was to be had on a WINDY Porthcressa beach, where several Sandwich Terns gave decent, albeit distant, views, either in flight or resting on the distant rocks. They continued to move past Scilly over the coming weeks in small numbers, but generally didn't hang around St Mary's much. Better still, they were joined on this particular day by a cooperative Yellow-legged Gull that sat placidly on the same rocks allowing good scopable views.
Easily the best bird of the week, however, was up on the Garrison. Here on a cold, dull evening, I found myself watching the bushes behind the changing rooms for a tiny migrant. After half an hour or so, it didn't show and I moved further in towards the pines. Almost at once I found it. A Firecrest that had been reported the previous day was actively feeding in the lower branches of the nearest pine. There were Willow Warblers in the same tree, and the whole group were moving pretty fast. I lost the Firecrest, which gave brief, not-fantastic views, and found myself watching the Willow Warblers instead. I couldn't relocate the Firecrest which I thought I had seen fly out, and so I had to settle for what I'd had. It turned out that no one else reported it thereafter, so I consider this the one that nearly got away!
At least, the dull weather was not a patch on what I had experienced on the Garrison the week before. I was up here in a howling gale perusing the vicinity of the playing pitch trying to find birds without being bowled over. A woman staggered past me so bundled up in layers that I could barely see her face. I knew how she felt; the weather here is changeable, even within the space of a single day, but... it was slowly, almost imperceptibly, getting warmer, and the warm spells were lasting longer. Days like this were gradually giving away to better weather, and, as it turned out, the improved meterological prospects held promise of some pretty good birds... Of which, more soon.
My first stop was for some 'unmissable' Purple Sandpipers on the Old Town quay. I missed them. I would continue to miss them until they stopped being reported. Quite astounding. Rather more cooperative were a pair of Stock Dove feeding in a field just east of Old Town. Unlike the abundant Woodpigeons and Collared Doves on Scilly, these birds exist in very small numbers here and can be a bit shy. I was genuinely surprised though that it had taken me so long to connect with them. The complete lack of migrants meant that they were a compensation of sorts. I picked my way east across St Mary's.
There were lots of Linnets around, another common Scilly staple. Nice birds, but hardly edge-of-the-seat stuff. As I got closer to Porth Hellick, I began to see a few Willow Warblers, so that was something. Wheatears were also still trickling through. Then I heard, and eventually saw, my first Blackcap of the year. Promise of better things? Alas no, and indeed Porth Hellick itself was pretty quiet, apart from a couple of very vocal Cetti's Warblers. I have subsequently learned that Cetti's are a relatively recent regular breeder here, and indeed, they can be heard from dense wet cover in many parts of the island. It would be interesting to discover how many pairs there are currently breeding. Interestingly, a common UK bird was drawing birders to Porth Hellick, today, including me. Seeing as the migrants were still a bit of a let down, a Dabchick on the main lake ended up being the main highlight. Meagre pickings indeed. What's more, the damn thing was proving elusive, and it was a good half hour before it emerged from the reeds to give distant far-side-of-the-lake views.
A few days later, better luck was to be had on a WINDY Porthcressa beach, where several Sandwich Terns gave decent, albeit distant, views, either in flight or resting on the distant rocks. They continued to move past Scilly over the coming weeks in small numbers, but generally didn't hang around St Mary's much. Better still, they were joined on this particular day by a cooperative Yellow-legged Gull that sat placidly on the same rocks allowing good scopable views.
Easily the best bird of the week, however, was up on the Garrison. Here on a cold, dull evening, I found myself watching the bushes behind the changing rooms for a tiny migrant. After half an hour or so, it didn't show and I moved further in towards the pines. Almost at once I found it. A Firecrest that had been reported the previous day was actively feeding in the lower branches of the nearest pine. There were Willow Warblers in the same tree, and the whole group were moving pretty fast. I lost the Firecrest, which gave brief, not-fantastic views, and found myself watching the Willow Warblers instead. I couldn't relocate the Firecrest which I thought I had seen fly out, and so I had to settle for what I'd had. It turned out that no one else reported it thereafter, so I consider this the one that nearly got away!
At least, the dull weather was not a patch on what I had experienced on the Garrison the week before. I was up here in a howling gale perusing the vicinity of the playing pitch trying to find birds without being bowled over. A woman staggered past me so bundled up in layers that I could barely see her face. I knew how she felt; the weather here is changeable, even within the space of a single day, but... it was slowly, almost imperceptibly, getting warmer, and the warm spells were lasting longer. Days like this were gradually giving away to better weather, and, as it turned out, the improved meterological prospects held promise of some pretty good birds... Of which, more soon.
chowchilla
Well-known member
Rising at dawn is something I'm getting better at. You'd think as a birder I'd have had years of practice, but in truth I've never been much of a morning person. In Australia, I was utterly hopeless at getting up early, or if I did, I'd be back in my bedroom by 09.00 to escape the heat. It was an exhausting way to live. I think the air here must be cleaner; I do seem to be sleeping better, but in most instances of early rising, I'll be honest... it's because I have to go to work.
And so it was on this particular wishy-washy day that I got a message on Whatsapp about a rare bird whilst I was at work. There was the possibility of going for it during my short break, because this particular bird, a 'probable' Spanish Yellow Wagtail- the iberae subspecies of the Yellow Wagtail complex- was on Porthcressa Beach, or more accurately at Little Porth, an arbitary division of that same beach; literally a stone's throw from work. I was flat out at work, but kept my alerts on to see what strategy was best: to go for it during my break, or wait until after work. In the end, the latter won out, primarily because the bird was clearly showing well and not giving any real inclination of wanting to leave its little corner of the beach. And so it was that I had time after work to go home, change out of my uniform, grab my bins and camera, and head for the bird; a process that took barely ten minutes from clocking off.
As I approached Little Porth, I could see two people who did not appear to be birders apparently telling me to stop approaching them. It was only as the bird took off, that I realised that it was on the path between us! For those that know the area, that's the beach-side path that runs to Little Porth. So they were birders it would seem, but without bins? I never figured that one out.
As luck would have it, the bird hadn't gone far and was quickly relocated on the beach; mulling about on the rocks, and occasionally chasing some insectile morsel onto the nearby sand. And it was close! What a lovely bird it was too. Birders were strolling to the location getting fantastic views then strolling off again. It really was the most leisurely of twitches, if one could call it that.
I stayed about an hour and took lots of, quite frankly, terrible pictures, including these:
And so it was on this particular wishy-washy day that I got a message on Whatsapp about a rare bird whilst I was at work. There was the possibility of going for it during my short break, because this particular bird, a 'probable' Spanish Yellow Wagtail- the iberae subspecies of the Yellow Wagtail complex- was on Porthcressa Beach, or more accurately at Little Porth, an arbitary division of that same beach; literally a stone's throw from work. I was flat out at work, but kept my alerts on to see what strategy was best: to go for it during my break, or wait until after work. In the end, the latter won out, primarily because the bird was clearly showing well and not giving any real inclination of wanting to leave its little corner of the beach. And so it was that I had time after work to go home, change out of my uniform, grab my bins and camera, and head for the bird; a process that took barely ten minutes from clocking off.
As I approached Little Porth, I could see two people who did not appear to be birders apparently telling me to stop approaching them. It was only as the bird took off, that I realised that it was on the path between us! For those that know the area, that's the beach-side path that runs to Little Porth. So they were birders it would seem, but without bins? I never figured that one out.
As luck would have it, the bird hadn't gone far and was quickly relocated on the beach; mulling about on the rocks, and occasionally chasing some insectile morsel onto the nearby sand. And it was close! What a lovely bird it was too. Birders were strolling to the location getting fantastic views then strolling off again. It really was the most leisurely of twitches, if one could call it that.
I stayed about an hour and took lots of, quite frankly, terrible pictures, including these:
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Jon Turner
Well-known member
Very smart: this is the only one of the Yellow Wagtail complex that I have ringed. It was in Morocco, so the default ssp there.
chowchilla
Well-known member
You're very kind. I was looking at some of your pics only yesterday and they are very impressive! I struggle to get that sharpness in the images a lot of the time.
chowchilla
Well-known member
A curious thing happened the other day... A well known birding regular to Scilly was on Bryher and encountered a man whom he described as the sort one associates with a more casual form of birding; or perhaps a newbie. It was a snap judgement, and may not have been accurate, but that's not what was remarkable about the encounter. What was remarkable is what the gentleman in the immacuate new Barbour with the top-of-the-range-bins said when asked if he'd seen much:
"Oh yes, a Crag Martin and a Woodchat Shrike." Or words to that effect...
The conversation more or less ended there, perhaps because the relayer of this story was too surprised to follow up with any more questions.
Now, if you've been paying any kind of attention to the birds that have turned up on Scilly of late, then you'll know what happens next; but otherwise, you'd be forgiven for thinking that this bloke was a beginner who had no clue what he was looking at. Or, like me, you might just be puzzled as to what he actually did see. Meanwhile, our storytelling regular didn't see either bird, nor did anyone else, which appeared to reinforce the notion that they were- if you'll pardon the pun- flights of fancy.
Herein lies a cautionary tale of why the casual birder and more than a few non-birders aren't always clueless; or perhaps it's a cautionary tale not to judge a book by its cover. Either way... a couple of days later, a Crag Martin- a first for Scilly- was found on Bryher... Again it would seem; because either this was one hell of a massive coincidence, or it had been around for days and somehow missed by everyone, except Barbour Man.
I awoke that morning with the intention of researching literary agents and continuing the never-ending process of refining my novel pitch. I left my phone switched off; after all... there hadn't been 'much about', and I didn't want to be disturbed. After a couple of more-or-less productive hours, I switched on my phone for a quick check. For at least an hour, the alerts not only confirmed that the Crag Martin was very real, but that there had been a mad scramble to charter The Osprey (A inter-island boat rather helpfully piloted by a birder by the name of Jo) for a morning crossing, but that I had already missed its scheduled departure time! Gaah! I read more of the alerts. Phew... they had failed to gather enough birders (they needed a dozen) and the next boat would be at 14.00. Once I had established that I could just turn up at the quay, I made absolutely sure that I wasn't going to miss it.
And so it was, that a boatful of local birders (and a few bemused tourists), set off in The Osprey, destination Bryher. En route, as a nice little bonus we had a few moulting Great-Northern Diver, one of which was almost completely into its summer finery. As I type this, summer-plumage GNDs are all over the place right now!
We alighted at Bryher Quay (nickname Anneka's Quay as she did a Challenge Anneka thing on the telly where they built a bigger quay than the old one), on an exceptionally low tide. For those of you not in the know, Bryher lies very close to Tresco and at ultra-low tides you can actually walk between the two islands, sometimes in ankle deep water- though for most people it's more of a wade, often at waist height. Over the years, it has become a bit of an old tradition for everyone to attempt the crossing at least once. They even set up food stalls and such for that purpose! But not today... In fact, if the bird had travelled over to Tresco, it did look marginally too deep for the average birder carrying cameras and scopes. As luck would have it, Jo the boatman hung around for a bit in case we decided en masse to head to Tresco. The main reason for this was because the bird had disappeared. As we stood on the quay contempating whether to stay put or go to Tresco, those with scopes could clearly make out a number of hirundines- mostly Swallows plying the coast of Tresco, but none on Bryher. At least none we could as yet see. Seeing as we were here, most of us opted to stay put and explore, because it really was a case of hedging one's bets now, and second-guessing the bird could lead to missing it entirely; or jamming straight into it. Either way, a decision had been made (by most of us, at least) and we left a few stragglers on the quay and headed off.
We checked around the Fraggle Rock Cafe where it had last been seen. We scanned the coast, the rocks, the surrounding hills. Nothing. There was a general consensus that the bird had indeed flown to Tresco. In retrospect, this was an odd collective decision. Firstly, because we had barely begun to explore Bryher, and secondly, because every report of the bird said that it was not associating with other hirundines. Thankfully Jo, bless him, was still waiting, and we piled back onto the boat. About halfway across, a few of us just happened to be scanning Bryher with our bins. I spotted a large chunky hirundine making its way up a ridge just as there was a shout that the Crag Martin had been spotted. I was looking right at it!
I had seen it, but not for very long. The bird disappeared over the ridge, and not everyone had seen it. Jo, FTR, had seen it, and was gracious enough to turn the boat around and land us back on Bryher at no extra charge. Now that's impressive. The group charged off in pursuit- and scattered. We literally had no idea where the bird had gone, though the majority did make their way up a steep track in the general direction the bird was last seen. At the summit, magnificent views across the island were to be had, but there was no martin. The promised rain showers had held off and the sun even threatened to come out. An alert came through. The bird had been found, and it was over the West side of the island over the main settlement, and especially Hell Bay Hotel but had been commuting over to the nearby Great Pool.
There was a stampede along a perilously steep track down which my momentum carried me at the sort of pace that could have seen me tumbling over if I wasn't careful. We came to a road and continued our sprint rather more safely- only adrenalin carrying us. I for one wanted better views; others just wanted to see it. Some of us got as far as the Great Pool; no sign of it anywhere. We were told by at least three observers that the bird had been merrily feeding over their heads for a good fifteen minutes, leading to crippling views and a few cracking photos. Then another alert came through- it was back up the ridge again!
I was already knackered by this stage, but off I went. Several breathless minutes later, I was bent over double heaving in air as the bird had once again disappeared. Then there was a shout. And there it was! The bird came over the ridge, circled around, and disappeared once more. We didn't have long to wait before it returned, seemingly on a circuit and excellent views were had by all. Phew... I even managed to get a few, quite frankly, dreadful pictures. In the meantime, a few of us got onto a distant falcon that was very likely a Hobby. A brief search for a recently reported Hoopoe came up empty, however. We returned to the ferry triumphant, and not a little relieved.
So that 'casual' birder we had heard so much about was right! But didn't he also report seeing a Woodchat Shrike? The following day (or possibly two days, I can't remember), a Woodchat Shrike was found on Bryher. Again.
Here, for your delectation, is a crap picture of a Scilly first:
"Oh yes, a Crag Martin and a Woodchat Shrike." Or words to that effect...
The conversation more or less ended there, perhaps because the relayer of this story was too surprised to follow up with any more questions.
Now, if you've been paying any kind of attention to the birds that have turned up on Scilly of late, then you'll know what happens next; but otherwise, you'd be forgiven for thinking that this bloke was a beginner who had no clue what he was looking at. Or, like me, you might just be puzzled as to what he actually did see. Meanwhile, our storytelling regular didn't see either bird, nor did anyone else, which appeared to reinforce the notion that they were- if you'll pardon the pun- flights of fancy.
Herein lies a cautionary tale of why the casual birder and more than a few non-birders aren't always clueless; or perhaps it's a cautionary tale not to judge a book by its cover. Either way... a couple of days later, a Crag Martin- a first for Scilly- was found on Bryher... Again it would seem; because either this was one hell of a massive coincidence, or it had been around for days and somehow missed by everyone, except Barbour Man.
I awoke that morning with the intention of researching literary agents and continuing the never-ending process of refining my novel pitch. I left my phone switched off; after all... there hadn't been 'much about', and I didn't want to be disturbed. After a couple of more-or-less productive hours, I switched on my phone for a quick check. For at least an hour, the alerts not only confirmed that the Crag Martin was very real, but that there had been a mad scramble to charter The Osprey (A inter-island boat rather helpfully piloted by a birder by the name of Jo) for a morning crossing, but that I had already missed its scheduled departure time! Gaah! I read more of the alerts. Phew... they had failed to gather enough birders (they needed a dozen) and the next boat would be at 14.00. Once I had established that I could just turn up at the quay, I made absolutely sure that I wasn't going to miss it.
And so it was, that a boatful of local birders (and a few bemused tourists), set off in The Osprey, destination Bryher. En route, as a nice little bonus we had a few moulting Great-Northern Diver, one of which was almost completely into its summer finery. As I type this, summer-plumage GNDs are all over the place right now!
We alighted at Bryher Quay (nickname Anneka's Quay as she did a Challenge Anneka thing on the telly where they built a bigger quay than the old one), on an exceptionally low tide. For those of you not in the know, Bryher lies very close to Tresco and at ultra-low tides you can actually walk between the two islands, sometimes in ankle deep water- though for most people it's more of a wade, often at waist height. Over the years, it has become a bit of an old tradition for everyone to attempt the crossing at least once. They even set up food stalls and such for that purpose! But not today... In fact, if the bird had travelled over to Tresco, it did look marginally too deep for the average birder carrying cameras and scopes. As luck would have it, Jo the boatman hung around for a bit in case we decided en masse to head to Tresco. The main reason for this was because the bird had disappeared. As we stood on the quay contempating whether to stay put or go to Tresco, those with scopes could clearly make out a number of hirundines- mostly Swallows plying the coast of Tresco, but none on Bryher. At least none we could as yet see. Seeing as we were here, most of us opted to stay put and explore, because it really was a case of hedging one's bets now, and second-guessing the bird could lead to missing it entirely; or jamming straight into it. Either way, a decision had been made (by most of us, at least) and we left a few stragglers on the quay and headed off.
We checked around the Fraggle Rock Cafe where it had last been seen. We scanned the coast, the rocks, the surrounding hills. Nothing. There was a general consensus that the bird had indeed flown to Tresco. In retrospect, this was an odd collective decision. Firstly, because we had barely begun to explore Bryher, and secondly, because every report of the bird said that it was not associating with other hirundines. Thankfully Jo, bless him, was still waiting, and we piled back onto the boat. About halfway across, a few of us just happened to be scanning Bryher with our bins. I spotted a large chunky hirundine making its way up a ridge just as there was a shout that the Crag Martin had been spotted. I was looking right at it!
I had seen it, but not for very long. The bird disappeared over the ridge, and not everyone had seen it. Jo, FTR, had seen it, and was gracious enough to turn the boat around and land us back on Bryher at no extra charge. Now that's impressive. The group charged off in pursuit- and scattered. We literally had no idea where the bird had gone, though the majority did make their way up a steep track in the general direction the bird was last seen. At the summit, magnificent views across the island were to be had, but there was no martin. The promised rain showers had held off and the sun even threatened to come out. An alert came through. The bird had been found, and it was over the West side of the island over the main settlement, and especially Hell Bay Hotel but had been commuting over to the nearby Great Pool.
There was a stampede along a perilously steep track down which my momentum carried me at the sort of pace that could have seen me tumbling over if I wasn't careful. We came to a road and continued our sprint rather more safely- only adrenalin carrying us. I for one wanted better views; others just wanted to see it. Some of us got as far as the Great Pool; no sign of it anywhere. We were told by at least three observers that the bird had been merrily feeding over their heads for a good fifteen minutes, leading to crippling views and a few cracking photos. Then another alert came through- it was back up the ridge again!
I was already knackered by this stage, but off I went. Several breathless minutes later, I was bent over double heaving in air as the bird had once again disappeared. Then there was a shout. And there it was! The bird came over the ridge, circled around, and disappeared once more. We didn't have long to wait before it returned, seemingly on a circuit and excellent views were had by all. Phew... I even managed to get a few, quite frankly, dreadful pictures. In the meantime, a few of us got onto a distant falcon that was very likely a Hobby. A brief search for a recently reported Hoopoe came up empty, however. We returned to the ferry triumphant, and not a little relieved.
So that 'casual' birder we had heard so much about was right! But didn't he also report seeing a Woodchat Shrike? The following day (or possibly two days, I can't remember), a Woodchat Shrike was found on Bryher. Again.
Here, for your delectation, is a crap picture of a Scilly first:
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chowchilla
Well-known member
Hot on the heels of the Crag Martin was a report of a Purple Heron that flew in off the sea at Porth Hellick. I couldn't get away to see it, but fortunately it not only stuck around, but made it's way to the Lower Moors, necessitating a much shorter trip from home.
Having recently missed a similarly commuting Marsh Harrier, I was keen to connect with this bird. Upon arriving at the Lower Moors, it was evident that we'd had quite the influx of hirundines, with lots of Swallows and House Martins, and a not inconsiderable number of Sand Martins. It was equally evident that there had also been an influx of other summer migrants as both Sedge Warbler and Reed Warbler sang from cover in the surrounding reedbeds. Spring was finally in full swing, and not before time.
The Lower Moors are quite a pleasant place to spend an hour or two even if you're not chasing scarce birds, and offer views back towards town over what is pejoratively known as the Dump Clump. This appears to be a reference to the fact that the main island rubbish dump lies in that general direction, though you can't really see it from the main path through the moors. Be that as it may, this was where the Heron was last seen heading towards.
A small group gathered, as is fitting for any uncommon bird around here, to see if it would put in an appearance. As we chatted and scanned, and chatted again, a large heron went up and there was a shout. All bins focused on, a Grey Heron. False alarm, but at least we were all alert. Time moved on and there was no sign of the heron. Some folks headed off, having seen it earlier or because they had given up. A small group of us moved in the general direction of the hides and stood beside the main hide watching in the general direction of the Dump Clump. There we took in common migrants, the views, and... not much else. This went on for over an hour. People were getting restless, but as ever when you're not on a schedule, we waited. And waited.
I must admit, that at this stage my stomach did a rare thing and reminded me that I needed to eat- plus it was sort of 'tea time', and I didn't rate the prospect of seeing the bird. A few folks had already drifted away, and so I eventually left the group by the hide and headed North back towards the Telegraph Road entrance. Halfway there, a large heron got up out of the reeds and flew north, gradually changing its trajectory towards the East. A Purple Heron! I was all alone and managed to rattle off a few pics before running back to the group by the hides to see if they had seen it. They looked at me, aghast. From their position they had missed the bird entirely.
Having stood with them for well over an hour, I had chosen the time to walk up the path to perfection. Had I not done so, I would have missed it. It is these happy accidents that keep birding exciting and unpredictable. It can also be incredibly frustrating if you happen to be part of a group that misses it.
And so here, for your delectation, are a couple of my usual incompetent visual records of Purple Heron:
Having recently missed a similarly commuting Marsh Harrier, I was keen to connect with this bird. Upon arriving at the Lower Moors, it was evident that we'd had quite the influx of hirundines, with lots of Swallows and House Martins, and a not inconsiderable number of Sand Martins. It was equally evident that there had also been an influx of other summer migrants as both Sedge Warbler and Reed Warbler sang from cover in the surrounding reedbeds. Spring was finally in full swing, and not before time.
The Lower Moors are quite a pleasant place to spend an hour or two even if you're not chasing scarce birds, and offer views back towards town over what is pejoratively known as the Dump Clump. This appears to be a reference to the fact that the main island rubbish dump lies in that general direction, though you can't really see it from the main path through the moors. Be that as it may, this was where the Heron was last seen heading towards.
A small group gathered, as is fitting for any uncommon bird around here, to see if it would put in an appearance. As we chatted and scanned, and chatted again, a large heron went up and there was a shout. All bins focused on, a Grey Heron. False alarm, but at least we were all alert. Time moved on and there was no sign of the heron. Some folks headed off, having seen it earlier or because they had given up. A small group of us moved in the general direction of the hides and stood beside the main hide watching in the general direction of the Dump Clump. There we took in common migrants, the views, and... not much else. This went on for over an hour. People were getting restless, but as ever when you're not on a schedule, we waited. And waited.
I must admit, that at this stage my stomach did a rare thing and reminded me that I needed to eat- plus it was sort of 'tea time', and I didn't rate the prospect of seeing the bird. A few folks had already drifted away, and so I eventually left the group by the hide and headed North back towards the Telegraph Road entrance. Halfway there, a large heron got up out of the reeds and flew north, gradually changing its trajectory towards the East. A Purple Heron! I was all alone and managed to rattle off a few pics before running back to the group by the hides to see if they had seen it. They looked at me, aghast. From their position they had missed the bird entirely.
Having stood with them for well over an hour, I had chosen the time to walk up the path to perfection. Had I not done so, I would have missed it. It is these happy accidents that keep birding exciting and unpredictable. It can also be incredibly frustrating if you happen to be part of a group that misses it.
And so here, for your delectation, are a couple of my usual incompetent visual records of Purple Heron:
Attachments
Well done. Always a nice bird to see.
chowchilla
Well-known member
Yeah, normally I can't get onto flying birds with my camera, but it worked this time! I suppose herons are pretty slow fliers.
chowchilla
Well-known member
It just so happens that I was up at the gold course randomly hoping to see something good. Now, for those of you unaware, birders are generally not welcome to walk around the course looking for birds without advance permission. The relationship between birders and the golf club is a somewhat uneasy one these days. Permission can be granted to walk the fairways however, if you ask nicely, and then only if no one is actually playing golf when you're there.
I hadn't obtained permission and so I watched the nearest fairway from the rope divide that separates it from the car park. It only took a few minutes to get my first, definitely not continental-looking, Yellow Wagtail, dancing about on the fairway itself. There were also a lot of Wheatears. I mean, a ridiculous number of them. I counted about fifty before giving up- and there were many more. That was just on the single fairway that was visible.
I scanned the long hedge that divides the first fairway from the next, and focused on a Woodchat Shrike. I blinked, refocused and there was no bird there. I didn't see a Woodchat Shrike I told myself, but I had been thinking about said bird from the one I had so recently missed on Bryher. With nothing else of note, I whizzed back down the hill on my bike and within minutes had located a Water Rail picking its way around the edge of a field close to the northern end of the Lower Moors, giving excellent views. My phone pinged. A Woodchat Shrike had just been found on the golf course. My brain sort of did a flip at this stage. I got on my bike and cycled all the way back up to the golf course, by which time, a few birders had beaten me to it. I told them where I'd seen it and got a few puzzled looks. 'Yes, I did see it, honest guv', I said, or words to that effect. I'm not sure everyone believed me, and I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, because I hadn't put it out! I literally hadn't trusted my own senses. I saw it for a second and then it wasn't there. It was a very weird moment.
We quickly learned that we now had permission to go onto the course and look for it. Several of us fanned out and began our search. As we came up the adjoining fairway, we located the first of three Ring Ouzels. Their pale wings, pale chest crescents and flightiness, make them quite distinct from Blackbirds. A few minutes later, and we had a Golden Plover- my first for Scilly. Still no Shrike. As we circled around to the first fairway, quite a birding crowd had gathered. Well OK... not October numbers, and this bird isn't super rare, but there were at least 20 of us. We got back to the car park. No sooner had we done so, then the Woodchat Shrike popped up onto the long hedge that divides the fairways- in the exact place I'd 'found' it.
I learned two things today: firstly, to trust my senses, despite my 'problematic' eye issues these days. Secondly, that Kris Webb is a seriously nice bloke. He gave me the credit for finding the bird, even though I hadn't put it out. And so my first self-found Scilly rarity was in the bag! Alas, no pics. I didn't have my camera with me, because I'm still an idiot.
I hadn't obtained permission and so I watched the nearest fairway from the rope divide that separates it from the car park. It only took a few minutes to get my first, definitely not continental-looking, Yellow Wagtail, dancing about on the fairway itself. There were also a lot of Wheatears. I mean, a ridiculous number of them. I counted about fifty before giving up- and there were many more. That was just on the single fairway that was visible.
I scanned the long hedge that divides the first fairway from the next, and focused on a Woodchat Shrike. I blinked, refocused and there was no bird there. I didn't see a Woodchat Shrike I told myself, but I had been thinking about said bird from the one I had so recently missed on Bryher. With nothing else of note, I whizzed back down the hill on my bike and within minutes had located a Water Rail picking its way around the edge of a field close to the northern end of the Lower Moors, giving excellent views. My phone pinged. A Woodchat Shrike had just been found on the golf course. My brain sort of did a flip at this stage. I got on my bike and cycled all the way back up to the golf course, by which time, a few birders had beaten me to it. I told them where I'd seen it and got a few puzzled looks. 'Yes, I did see it, honest guv', I said, or words to that effect. I'm not sure everyone believed me, and I suppose I shouldn't be surprised, because I hadn't put it out! I literally hadn't trusted my own senses. I saw it for a second and then it wasn't there. It was a very weird moment.
We quickly learned that we now had permission to go onto the course and look for it. Several of us fanned out and began our search. As we came up the adjoining fairway, we located the first of three Ring Ouzels. Their pale wings, pale chest crescents and flightiness, make them quite distinct from Blackbirds. A few minutes later, and we had a Golden Plover- my first for Scilly. Still no Shrike. As we circled around to the first fairway, quite a birding crowd had gathered. Well OK... not October numbers, and this bird isn't super rare, but there were at least 20 of us. We got back to the car park. No sooner had we done so, then the Woodchat Shrike popped up onto the long hedge that divides the fairways- in the exact place I'd 'found' it.
I learned two things today: firstly, to trust my senses, despite my 'problematic' eye issues these days. Secondly, that Kris Webb is a seriously nice bloke. He gave me the credit for finding the bird, even though I hadn't put it out. And so my first self-found Scilly rarity was in the bag! Alas, no pics. I didn't have my camera with me, because I'm still an idiot.
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Jon Turner
Well-known member
We all have moments like that!
Mike Crawley
Emeritus President at Burnage Rugby Club
I wasn’t sure whether I would bump into you on Monday afternoon’s twitch to Bryher for the Black-headed Bunting.
Quite a few of the local birders seemed to have good bosses who allow some “flexibility”. With visiting birders, I guess there was a little group of 20 on Rusty Bay enjoying the bird.
Quite a few of the local birders seemed to have good bosses who allow some “flexibility”. With visiting birders, I guess there was a little group of 20 on Rusty Bay enjoying the bird.
jogresh
Bimble and patch
Yep, seems like a genuinely nice guy.
chowchilla
Well-known member
I was recovering from night shift, so I think we missed each other. Managed to get over yesterday and will detail my exploits here, anon.
chowchilla
Well-known member
The weather on Scilly can be very changeable in the space of a single day. It can be cold, wet and windy in the morning, only to end up warm, still and sunny by the afternoon. Conversely, it can be a lovely morning, and deteriorate into a showerfest by tea time. Today was a sort of mix of the two. The weather didn't know whether it wanted to be winter, spring, wing or sprinter. Only the other day, a bright sunny start had deteriorated into thunderous sleet, which later became mild and balmy.
The wind was doing odd things too. Some persistent northerlies had dumped numbers of migrants on our shores including not one, but several Red-rumped Swallows over a number of days. I missed them all. They clearly werren't hanging around except for lucky observers who happen to jam into one- or three, as happened up on the Garrison. Other migrants were passing through as well: the odd Whitethroat, a Lesser Whitethroat, and a Garden Warbler (very rare in Spring, here) were reported at various locales. plus occasional sightings of Whinchat. I missed them all. I did manage to catch up with a Cuckoo however, as it bombed through a field at Watermill, a stone's throw from the shepherd's hut I had stayed and shivered in for six weeks upon arrival.
Today, undecided weather and 'funny' winds, dumped a Serin on Peninnis. For reasons I won't bore you with, I was unable to get up there straight away, despite it being a day off. Once able, I struggled up the hill towards Old Town on the rustiest bicycle in the world, peeling off at the top for the health centre turn off. As I wheezed past the centre, the road that takes you up the middle of Peninnis deteriorated into a rutted stony jumble of a track that attempted to unseat me more than once. I did eventually negotiate this part of the track and before long could see a number of birders gathered in one place. There must have been a good fifty odd people - more even than the group that had gone for the Crag Martin. Very few of them had binoculars raised. Most were standing around chatting, and were strung out across the track. My heart sank as I rode up to them. It didn't take long to confirm that not only could the bird not be seen, but most in the crowd had not seen the bird at all, despite gathering for a good couple of hours.
I wandered down the track in the spirit of independent thought (could the bird have simply wandered off to a neighbouring field?). I examined the next field down. No Serin, but I heard a Bee Eater call briefly. I looked up in panic, trying to see it as it presumably went over. Nothing. I put 'probable' Bee Eater on the alerts as I failed to see anything remotely resembling one. I'll cut a long story short here, but here's the gist of it: the day before, a Starling had been heard in this very field doing a perfect impersonation of a Bee Eater. In fact, there had been talk of refusal to accept heard-only birds, because apparently there have been a few Starling mimics over the years. Needless to say, no one else saw a Bee Eater. Still, I'm glad I put it out as I didn't want a repeat of the Woodchat Shrike saga. Better to be safe than sorry, and I don't mind being in error.
So, back to the Serin. The bird had been commuting between two weedy fields either side of the track. Yes, it had been seen doing this for some time early this morning. I and a few others checked the other field further up the track, just because. There were plenty of common finches amongst the flowers, but not our quarry. It could easily lose itself in there however if it had decided to feed on the ground.
More gen came to us. The bird occasionally sat up on the Pittosporum hedges along the track. It was evident that a few dedicated souls were scanning here and there. Still nothing. The crowd began to drift away. Occasional dog walkers wandered by with rehearsed huffy looks on their faces. With the crowd down to single figures, I decided to head back into town. Five minutes later, I threatened to break the sound barrier as I bottomed out of the steep descent into Hugh Town. I nearly collided with a small van pulling out of a side turning. I was annoyed at the van, at myself, and at the Serin. I resolved to return home, wondering if I'd see any new birds ever again.
My phone pinged as I got indoors. The Serin had been relocated in the exact field the group had stood beside all that time. I got back on my bike and struggled back up the hill, my legs protesting at the effort. As I arrived, distinctly desperate to see the damn thing quickly, a group of about half a dozen were, once again, standing around despondently. It had been seeing flying over the track but had since disappeared. Again, we wandered up and down, hoping it would reappear. Another ping on my phone. A Serin had been located on St Agnes. We could see St Agnes in the distance from our position. Surely it wasn't the same bird already, was it? Had we lost our bird for good? I was beginning to think this really wasn't going to be my day. Thoughts of coffee entered my mind as the wind picked up. There was a shout. I spun around to see that not one, but two people had just spotted it fly up onto a hedge. Mad panic ensued!
"It's gone down again."
"I can't see it."
"None of us can."
"There it is! Oh.. nope, that's a linnet."
"There!"
"It's a linnet."
"No! The other bloody bird!"
Or words to that effect. The 'other bird' took off. I saw it as it flew away from us and disappeared over a hedge on the other side of the track. It had a yellow bum.
"That was it!" I heard.
It certainly was!
I'd seen it. I've seen Serins before, in Turkey, and the yellow bum is as distinctive a feature as you'll get. It was a crap sighting, but there was no mistaking it. And so finally I was able to relax and try and mop up a few commoner spring sightings that had been reported today.
About twenty minutes later, and I was watching a male Pied Flycatcher in a sycamore by the entrance of Carreg Dhu botanical garden. By comparison, this bird was almost ridiculously easy, hawking as it was from this particular tree. Always a nice bird to see. About fifteen minutes after that, and I was watching a Hobby soaring over Longstone Cafe in bright sunshine. You wait for a migrant - any migrant - and three come along at once.
Only the Flycatcher made it onto my camera today, and even then, not particularly well, but I didn't care. It was a decent day which rewarded persistence, I'm glad to say.
The wind was doing odd things too. Some persistent northerlies had dumped numbers of migrants on our shores including not one, but several Red-rumped Swallows over a number of days. I missed them all. They clearly werren't hanging around except for lucky observers who happen to jam into one- or three, as happened up on the Garrison. Other migrants were passing through as well: the odd Whitethroat, a Lesser Whitethroat, and a Garden Warbler (very rare in Spring, here) were reported at various locales. plus occasional sightings of Whinchat. I missed them all. I did manage to catch up with a Cuckoo however, as it bombed through a field at Watermill, a stone's throw from the shepherd's hut I had stayed and shivered in for six weeks upon arrival.
Today, undecided weather and 'funny' winds, dumped a Serin on Peninnis. For reasons I won't bore you with, I was unable to get up there straight away, despite it being a day off. Once able, I struggled up the hill towards Old Town on the rustiest bicycle in the world, peeling off at the top for the health centre turn off. As I wheezed past the centre, the road that takes you up the middle of Peninnis deteriorated into a rutted stony jumble of a track that attempted to unseat me more than once. I did eventually negotiate this part of the track and before long could see a number of birders gathered in one place. There must have been a good fifty odd people - more even than the group that had gone for the Crag Martin. Very few of them had binoculars raised. Most were standing around chatting, and were strung out across the track. My heart sank as I rode up to them. It didn't take long to confirm that not only could the bird not be seen, but most in the crowd had not seen the bird at all, despite gathering for a good couple of hours.
I wandered down the track in the spirit of independent thought (could the bird have simply wandered off to a neighbouring field?). I examined the next field down. No Serin, but I heard a Bee Eater call briefly. I looked up in panic, trying to see it as it presumably went over. Nothing. I put 'probable' Bee Eater on the alerts as I failed to see anything remotely resembling one. I'll cut a long story short here, but here's the gist of it: the day before, a Starling had been heard in this very field doing a perfect impersonation of a Bee Eater. In fact, there had been talk of refusal to accept heard-only birds, because apparently there have been a few Starling mimics over the years. Needless to say, no one else saw a Bee Eater. Still, I'm glad I put it out as I didn't want a repeat of the Woodchat Shrike saga. Better to be safe than sorry, and I don't mind being in error.
So, back to the Serin. The bird had been commuting between two weedy fields either side of the track. Yes, it had been seen doing this for some time early this morning. I and a few others checked the other field further up the track, just because. There were plenty of common finches amongst the flowers, but not our quarry. It could easily lose itself in there however if it had decided to feed on the ground.
More gen came to us. The bird occasionally sat up on the Pittosporum hedges along the track. It was evident that a few dedicated souls were scanning here and there. Still nothing. The crowd began to drift away. Occasional dog walkers wandered by with rehearsed huffy looks on their faces. With the crowd down to single figures, I decided to head back into town. Five minutes later, I threatened to break the sound barrier as I bottomed out of the steep descent into Hugh Town. I nearly collided with a small van pulling out of a side turning. I was annoyed at the van, at myself, and at the Serin. I resolved to return home, wondering if I'd see any new birds ever again.
My phone pinged as I got indoors. The Serin had been relocated in the exact field the group had stood beside all that time. I got back on my bike and struggled back up the hill, my legs protesting at the effort. As I arrived, distinctly desperate to see the damn thing quickly, a group of about half a dozen were, once again, standing around despondently. It had been seeing flying over the track but had since disappeared. Again, we wandered up and down, hoping it would reappear. Another ping on my phone. A Serin had been located on St Agnes. We could see St Agnes in the distance from our position. Surely it wasn't the same bird already, was it? Had we lost our bird for good? I was beginning to think this really wasn't going to be my day. Thoughts of coffee entered my mind as the wind picked up. There was a shout. I spun around to see that not one, but two people had just spotted it fly up onto a hedge. Mad panic ensued!
"It's gone down again."
"I can't see it."
"None of us can."
"There it is! Oh.. nope, that's a linnet."
"There!"
"It's a linnet."
"No! The other bloody bird!"
Or words to that effect. The 'other bird' took off. I saw it as it flew away from us and disappeared over a hedge on the other side of the track. It had a yellow bum.
"That was it!" I heard.
It certainly was!
I'd seen it. I've seen Serins before, in Turkey, and the yellow bum is as distinctive a feature as you'll get. It was a crap sighting, but there was no mistaking it. And so finally I was able to relax and try and mop up a few commoner spring sightings that had been reported today.
About twenty minutes later, and I was watching a male Pied Flycatcher in a sycamore by the entrance of Carreg Dhu botanical garden. By comparison, this bird was almost ridiculously easy, hawking as it was from this particular tree. Always a nice bird to see. About fifteen minutes after that, and I was watching a Hobby soaring over Longstone Cafe in bright sunshine. You wait for a migrant - any migrant - and three come along at once.
Only the Flycatcher made it onto my camera today, and even then, not particularly well, but I didn't care. It was a decent day which rewarded persistence, I'm glad to say.
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chowchilla
Well-known member
Speaking of commoner migrants -or rather, those that are not considered national rarirties, but which may be uncommon on Scilly- these birds are really the bread and butter of any Spring birding, and can make for a great day out on these wonderful islands; especially during the glorious Spring weather we've been having.
Manx Shearwaters were often passing Giant's Castle and Peninnis Head in numbers or were easily viewable from the inter-island ferries. I managed to snaffle my first Tree Pipit up on The Garrison, as one flew over my head calling. A short while later, and I saw my first Spotted Flycatcher of the year. The sort of migrants that the UK mainland take for granted often just pass through in small numbers -or even just ones and twos- here on Scilly. This is a stark reminder of the avian impoverishment of Scilly; but it isn't just confined to the migrants. The irony is that despite being a magnet for rarities, there are glaring omissions here: There are no Woodpeckers; no Magpies or Jays; no Long-tailed Tits, for example. Therefore, it is not unusual for 'common' birds to cause people to travel. And right now, most of us were feeding off scraps.
I'd booked two weeks off in the first half of May precisely to catch something interesting, including hopefully a nice selection of migrants. With my usual incompetence, I missed a singing Wood Warbler over at Helvear; not one, but four Golden Oriole (though admittedly I did hear one calling at Carreg Dhu, and another was singing for me in a pine belt near the Lower Moors -Golden Orioles like pine belts here); and Turtle Doves, which seemed intent on bombing through, affording only brief views for the occasional lucky observer.
And so it was that my two weeks off gave me sweet bugger all on the bird front. To date, my only lifer on Scilly was the Surf Scoter seen from Tresco way back when, so I was a little disappointed I hadn't as yet added to this tally either; and it wasn't like I hadn't been putting in the hours; I was on holiday, so I had time. The not-seen Golden Orioles were particularly galling, as they would also have been a lifer. I've seen most members of this family somewhere or other, but not the European one, which must surely be one of the hardest orioles to see. I mean, I've seen Black-naped Oriole feeding happily in a scrappy tree on an urban street in the heart of Kuala Lumpur; and I had three species of Oriole on my garden list in Australia!
At time of writing, I have conceded that it isn't to be this Spring; and so I focused on other things. In fact the only highlight of my time off were three Turtle Dove (finally...) that settled into a stock field alongside Sandy Lane for a few days and often fed out in the open. They attracted quite a crowd, because, as I said, we were feeding on scraps at this point. I'll take it. They may be literally the only thing added to my list in the second half of my holiday, but I'll take it.
I incorrectly assumed that the Spring excitement was over as we headed towards Summer. As you will soon read, I could not have been more wrong.
Manx Shearwaters were often passing Giant's Castle and Peninnis Head in numbers or were easily viewable from the inter-island ferries. I managed to snaffle my first Tree Pipit up on The Garrison, as one flew over my head calling. A short while later, and I saw my first Spotted Flycatcher of the year. The sort of migrants that the UK mainland take for granted often just pass through in small numbers -or even just ones and twos- here on Scilly. This is a stark reminder of the avian impoverishment of Scilly; but it isn't just confined to the migrants. The irony is that despite being a magnet for rarities, there are glaring omissions here: There are no Woodpeckers; no Magpies or Jays; no Long-tailed Tits, for example. Therefore, it is not unusual for 'common' birds to cause people to travel. And right now, most of us were feeding off scraps.
I'd booked two weeks off in the first half of May precisely to catch something interesting, including hopefully a nice selection of migrants. With my usual incompetence, I missed a singing Wood Warbler over at Helvear; not one, but four Golden Oriole (though admittedly I did hear one calling at Carreg Dhu, and another was singing for me in a pine belt near the Lower Moors -Golden Orioles like pine belts here); and Turtle Doves, which seemed intent on bombing through, affording only brief views for the occasional lucky observer.
And so it was that my two weeks off gave me sweet bugger all on the bird front. To date, my only lifer on Scilly was the Surf Scoter seen from Tresco way back when, so I was a little disappointed I hadn't as yet added to this tally either; and it wasn't like I hadn't been putting in the hours; I was on holiday, so I had time. The not-seen Golden Orioles were particularly galling, as they would also have been a lifer. I've seen most members of this family somewhere or other, but not the European one, which must surely be one of the hardest orioles to see. I mean, I've seen Black-naped Oriole feeding happily in a scrappy tree on an urban street in the heart of Kuala Lumpur; and I had three species of Oriole on my garden list in Australia!
At time of writing, I have conceded that it isn't to be this Spring; and so I focused on other things. In fact the only highlight of my time off were three Turtle Dove (finally...) that settled into a stock field alongside Sandy Lane for a few days and often fed out in the open. They attracted quite a crowd, because, as I said, we were feeding on scraps at this point. I'll take it. They may be literally the only thing added to my list in the second half of my holiday, but I'll take it.
I incorrectly assumed that the Spring excitement was over as we headed towards Summer. As you will soon read, I could not have been more wrong.
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chowchilla
Well-known member
Now, it just so happens that I had come off night shift and, unable to keep my eyes open, I crashed on my bed for a few hours. I woke up some time around 2.00pm to discover on my alerts that a Black-headed Bunting had been found on Bryher. The first one in years!
Some years ago, I had spent two weeks in Montenegro not seeing these birds. They were one of my main targets back then, and all of a sudden there was another chance to see it; and what's more it would be only my second lifer since the Surf Scoter way back in February. Unfortunately... I'd missed the last boat that would take me there! I sat on my bed grumbling about these bloody night shifts when my phone pinged again. The bird was giving crippling views down to a few metres as it fed peacefully in the flower-filled hollows of Southern Bryher. I tried not to grind my teeth with irritation, but I was helpless to do anything about it. About an hour later my phone pinged once more... A Short-toed Lark had also been found on Bryher; this bird being on Shipman Down at the Northern end of the island. Double grrr.... This bird would also be a lifer. I had no choice but to pray that the birds both stuck around until tomorrow...
In the meantime, I took consolation of sorts with a Wood Sandpiper that was showing well at Porth Hellick. I went to bed cursing my rotten luck at my shift pattern.
The next morning, I and about two thousand other people, were looking to get on boats to the outer islands. I was astonished at the sheer numbers of people on the quay. I was also worried that I wouldn't be able to get on the boat to Bryher with the sheer numbers ahead of me. The first Bryher boat filled up and took off; so did the second; the third and final boat of the morning pulled up. It was more than two thirds full by the time I was able to get on board. Phew. Off we went.
There was a curious absence of other birders on the boat as there had been on the quay; I knew that a whole bunch had gone over the day before. Was I too late? No sooner did I disembark, I set off across the island, and immediately got lost. Bryher is not a big island, but every track I took inland took me to a dead end. I'm not that familiar with the island but it was nonetheless incredibly annoying that I couldn't just go in one direction. I eventually found myself following the coast path- an incredibly circuitous route to the Bunting site at Rushy Bay. I decided that at least this way, I would get there eventually. The good news at least was that the bird had been relocated but, worryingly, was flightier.
I arrived at site to find several birders all looking in different directions. The bird had disappeared, and no one seemed to know in which direction. So it remained for the next half hour or so. Then our phones pinged. The bird had been found again on Heathy Hill, to the West of our location. Off we headed, until we found a couple more birders looking up the hillside. It had been perched up on a rock for them for a couple of minutes, but had of course disappeared by the time we arrived. Considering how much waiting I'd done of late for rarities, I figured I'd be in for another long wait this time as well. The bunting took pity on us however and flew up onto a rock from God knows where and gave us all brief but decent views before disappearing over the top of the hill. We gave chase, by following a circuit around the base of the hill - chasing it over the rocks would likely have led to a nasty slip; far too hazardous, and besides... the circuit was short and soon we were heading around the far side, and with another ping of the phones, picking up our pace as the bird was apparently now feeding once more in the open. Black-headed Bunting, for those not familiar with the species, is an absolutely cracking bird. This was one I did not want to miss getting extended views of.
A few minutes later, and several of us had got onto the bird as it fed contentedly on the ground about twenty metres off. It was in the company of Linnets, mostly, and gave opportunites for pictures, even if not crippling close ups; we didn't want to spook the bird. After some half an hour of decent views, I wandered off with a few others happy with the result and a big smile on my face that the main target of the day had been bagged. Suddenly, the events of yesterday seemed like a distant memory. And so on to Shipman Down.
Shipman Down is pretty hard to miss as it dominates the Northern end of the island, and so I left the others and headed off to the post office to get some cash back on a purchase, knowing I wouldn't get lost this time - I still needed to pay for my ferry trips as they wouldn't accept cards! And so it was that some half an hour later, I found myself alone on Shipman Down looking for the Lark, and no sign of the others. The sun had not only come out, it was beating down on me in a location that has absolutely no shade. I had no hat, having left for the ferry this morning in heavy cloud with flurries of light rain. I am still getting used to just how changeable the weather is here.
After at least an hour, there was no sign of the Lark. I eventually saw two distant birders and hurried over to see if there was any news. They were looking for it too and hadn't seen sight nor sound of it either. I headed off back to the Southern slope of the downs in the fading hope this bird would show up. No one had reported it today and I was not hopeful. Clearly, the birding Gods didn't care about this however, as a Short-toed Lark popped out from behind a Lark-sized tuft of grass and wandered off across my field of view not ten metres away. There was no question of what it was - it's one of those LBJs that's actually pretty distinctive- overall quite pale, and very streaky above, completely unstreaked below, with a dark spot on the neck, chunky bill, and pale ring around the eye. Its most distinctive trait however must be its behaviour. It was more mouse than bird as it scurried about on short legs.
And so it was that I rattled off several, quite frankly, appalling pics of the bird and posted one on Whatsapp as proof that I had located it. I then saw the two birders from earlier heading my way. I mimed the position of the bird and soon I had witnesses. In the meantime, the bird continued to wander around, mostly away from our location, never once taking flight. Despite the complete lack of bushes or trees, the bird still somehow managed to disappear over the ridge, just as other birders turned up. We spread out and searched, but it took a full hour I'd say, before it was relocated. The bird didn't allow close approach and would wander away, but still never taking flight whenever we approached; and so we settled for reasonable views, but a somewhat distant prospect for good photography. And thus it was that I got dozens and dozens of pics of the bird, none of which were any good, and many of which were barely recognisable even as a bird!
The day had been a success - two lifers on the same day! And the weather had turned out fine in the end. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how clear the air is on Scilly, and something that never happened to me once in Australia, happened to me now, here on Scilly... I got sunstroke. My whole head swelled up, including my face. I took on the appearance of an exceedingly ruddy puffball. I had to go to work like this the next day. As I got progressively worse during the course of the shift, I knew I would not be in the next day when the swelling was at its worst, and so I took the day off and hid in the dark like the freak I had become. It took a full week, all told for the swelling to go down. I looked really weird.
Object lesson, wear a hat next time.
And yes... that is the best pic of the Lark that I took.
Some years ago, I had spent two weeks in Montenegro not seeing these birds. They were one of my main targets back then, and all of a sudden there was another chance to see it; and what's more it would be only my second lifer since the Surf Scoter way back in February. Unfortunately... I'd missed the last boat that would take me there! I sat on my bed grumbling about these bloody night shifts when my phone pinged again. The bird was giving crippling views down to a few metres as it fed peacefully in the flower-filled hollows of Southern Bryher. I tried not to grind my teeth with irritation, but I was helpless to do anything about it. About an hour later my phone pinged once more... A Short-toed Lark had also been found on Bryher; this bird being on Shipman Down at the Northern end of the island. Double grrr.... This bird would also be a lifer. I had no choice but to pray that the birds both stuck around until tomorrow...
In the meantime, I took consolation of sorts with a Wood Sandpiper that was showing well at Porth Hellick. I went to bed cursing my rotten luck at my shift pattern.
The next morning, I and about two thousand other people, were looking to get on boats to the outer islands. I was astonished at the sheer numbers of people on the quay. I was also worried that I wouldn't be able to get on the boat to Bryher with the sheer numbers ahead of me. The first Bryher boat filled up and took off; so did the second; the third and final boat of the morning pulled up. It was more than two thirds full by the time I was able to get on board. Phew. Off we went.
There was a curious absence of other birders on the boat as there had been on the quay; I knew that a whole bunch had gone over the day before. Was I too late? No sooner did I disembark, I set off across the island, and immediately got lost. Bryher is not a big island, but every track I took inland took me to a dead end. I'm not that familiar with the island but it was nonetheless incredibly annoying that I couldn't just go in one direction. I eventually found myself following the coast path- an incredibly circuitous route to the Bunting site at Rushy Bay. I decided that at least this way, I would get there eventually. The good news at least was that the bird had been relocated but, worryingly, was flightier.
I arrived at site to find several birders all looking in different directions. The bird had disappeared, and no one seemed to know in which direction. So it remained for the next half hour or so. Then our phones pinged. The bird had been found again on Heathy Hill, to the West of our location. Off we headed, until we found a couple more birders looking up the hillside. It had been perched up on a rock for them for a couple of minutes, but had of course disappeared by the time we arrived. Considering how much waiting I'd done of late for rarities, I figured I'd be in for another long wait this time as well. The bunting took pity on us however and flew up onto a rock from God knows where and gave us all brief but decent views before disappearing over the top of the hill. We gave chase, by following a circuit around the base of the hill - chasing it over the rocks would likely have led to a nasty slip; far too hazardous, and besides... the circuit was short and soon we were heading around the far side, and with another ping of the phones, picking up our pace as the bird was apparently now feeding once more in the open. Black-headed Bunting, for those not familiar with the species, is an absolutely cracking bird. This was one I did not want to miss getting extended views of.
A few minutes later, and several of us had got onto the bird as it fed contentedly on the ground about twenty metres off. It was in the company of Linnets, mostly, and gave opportunites for pictures, even if not crippling close ups; we didn't want to spook the bird. After some half an hour of decent views, I wandered off with a few others happy with the result and a big smile on my face that the main target of the day had been bagged. Suddenly, the events of yesterday seemed like a distant memory. And so on to Shipman Down.
Shipman Down is pretty hard to miss as it dominates the Northern end of the island, and so I left the others and headed off to the post office to get some cash back on a purchase, knowing I wouldn't get lost this time - I still needed to pay for my ferry trips as they wouldn't accept cards! And so it was that some half an hour later, I found myself alone on Shipman Down looking for the Lark, and no sign of the others. The sun had not only come out, it was beating down on me in a location that has absolutely no shade. I had no hat, having left for the ferry this morning in heavy cloud with flurries of light rain. I am still getting used to just how changeable the weather is here.
After at least an hour, there was no sign of the Lark. I eventually saw two distant birders and hurried over to see if there was any news. They were looking for it too and hadn't seen sight nor sound of it either. I headed off back to the Southern slope of the downs in the fading hope this bird would show up. No one had reported it today and I was not hopeful. Clearly, the birding Gods didn't care about this however, as a Short-toed Lark popped out from behind a Lark-sized tuft of grass and wandered off across my field of view not ten metres away. There was no question of what it was - it's one of those LBJs that's actually pretty distinctive- overall quite pale, and very streaky above, completely unstreaked below, with a dark spot on the neck, chunky bill, and pale ring around the eye. Its most distinctive trait however must be its behaviour. It was more mouse than bird as it scurried about on short legs.
And so it was that I rattled off several, quite frankly, appalling pics of the bird and posted one on Whatsapp as proof that I had located it. I then saw the two birders from earlier heading my way. I mimed the position of the bird and soon I had witnesses. In the meantime, the bird continued to wander around, mostly away from our location, never once taking flight. Despite the complete lack of bushes or trees, the bird still somehow managed to disappear over the ridge, just as other birders turned up. We spread out and searched, but it took a full hour I'd say, before it was relocated. The bird didn't allow close approach and would wander away, but still never taking flight whenever we approached; and so we settled for reasonable views, but a somewhat distant prospect for good photography. And thus it was that I got dozens and dozens of pics of the bird, none of which were any good, and many of which were barely recognisable even as a bird!
The day had been a success - two lifers on the same day! And the weather had turned out fine in the end. Unfortunately, I underestimated just how clear the air is on Scilly, and something that never happened to me once in Australia, happened to me now, here on Scilly... I got sunstroke. My whole head swelled up, including my face. I took on the appearance of an exceedingly ruddy puffball. I had to go to work like this the next day. As I got progressively worse during the course of the shift, I knew I would not be in the next day when the swelling was at its worst, and so I took the day off and hid in the dark like the freak I had become. It took a full week, all told for the swelling to go down. I looked really weird.
Object lesson, wear a hat next time.
And yes... that is the best pic of the Lark that I took.
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