To everything (turn, turn, turn) There is a season…..
Yeah, ok, Pete Seeger wrote the song, but ‘Pete Seeger Watching’ would make a very different blog post.
The Saturday after my agony/ ecstasy weekend I found myself covering familiar ground in Musselburgh. I still had a list of birds I felt I should have had by then, birds which appeared at the places I visited both before and after I turned up. Birds which were starting to frustrate me by their elusiveness. Musselburgh gave me, as always, the possibility of kestrel, peregrine, stock dove, and even a remote chance of some spring migrants. The emphasis being on ‘possibility.’
I shocked myself by not sleeping in too badly, and arrived at Levenhall by 11.30. The walk from Wallyford station had been notable for the numbers of calling greenfinch in the hedgerows and fields, obviously something I’d never turn my nose up at. The day was reasonably bright, and not too cold, considering I was on the coast. I started off at Levenhall Links as usual, and set up in the middle hide. The usual woodland birds called from all around. The path to the hides from the public path is, I think, one of the best places I know to get good views of bullfinch- one of the (many) birds I don’t take for granted.
A chiffchaff called among the woodland chatter, and made me wonder whether it stands out among the background birdsong because it’s a migrant, or whether its because we birders build up a sense of anticipation for its arrival. The scrapes themselves, though, were deathly quiet, with only redshank, curlew and shelduck being notable. I didn’t stay long, and headed for the sea wall, again noting the absence of stock dove in the field, where they had previously been sort of reliable. I’m guessing the number of dogs running loose, and the grass being cut, has put paid to stock dove in this area for the time being.
The sea wall was also quieter than expected, with the sense of anticipation I mentioned maybe raising expectations unrealistically high. The sea was, though, a bit better than the scrapes with Slavonian grebe being the stand-out species. Predictable numbers of eider were also there, which is perhaps as close to taking a bird for granted as I get. I moved on toward the new scrapes, looking forward to the happiness boost that skylark offer.
The path to the first hide is still barren, definitely in its winter plumage, and a shadow of the vibrant sea of colour it will be in the summer. The first hide held all the same species as before- not taking for granted, but a site being utterly predictable in what you can find. Shelduck are never bad birds to see, but I worked out that whilst I was seeing good numbers of species, there was very little bird ‘life’ going on. There was no energy, no dynamism in among the roosting flocks of redshank and oystercatcher. That’s what makes the new scrapes, in my mind, less satisfying than they could be. Potential not being met. The grey- ness of the earth also still jars, and I again doubted that I’d ever get used to it. The only saving grace were the singing skylark and calling meadow pipits in the fields. The latter being a year tick to appreciate.
I moved on to the Esk Mouth to take advantage of the mud exposed by the rapidly receding tide. This is where things came suddenly back to life. Curlew and redshank patrolled the mud, with black- headed gulls straddling the line between the mud and water. Further out toward the tide line lesser black- backed gulls, herring gulls and common gulls sat in good numbers, the scope showing feathers ruffling in the sea breeze.
My eyesight is awful, and I rely on catching movement, rather than picking camouflaged birds against a background. This day was no different, as my eyes were drawn to a group of barwits hurriedly probing the mud, a sense of urgency almost, as if struggling to meet some private deadline. To complete the array of multi- sized waders a dozen or so dunlin flitted among the redshank and barwits. Year tick 2 for the day, and it won’t surprise you to learn it’s a bird I never take for granted- albeit later in the year I’ll probably be sick of them. The walk back to Levenhall was completed with nothing more notable than skylark calling sweetly.
Two year ticks for the trip was 2 year ticks I was both glad of and relieved to get. The dunlin offered more ‘action’ given that they were busy feeding. It couldn’t quite take away, though, from the feeling that Musselburgh was becoming ‘tired’ and offering less. Its not my local patch, so doesn’t qualify for the loyalty that most, if not all of us, have to a specific site. It’s a place to visit, and the quietness of Levenhall scrapes, and the lack of activity at the new scrapes made me think it was time to try somewhere new. There’s seldom, or even never, a bad day birding, but I had fallen into a complacency where Musselburgh was my default place, ignoring the potential of so many other places.
It was time for a change.
The next day saw me making the most of my ‘little & often’ birding ethos as I sneaked a quickish visit to my newest place, Newlands Glen. The excitement of my initial visit was still there as I moved swiftly through Aitkenhead Road Bing to reach the Newlands Glen gate. A bit unfair on the Bing, actually, and I made a note to do it more justice on a later day. I made good on my earlier vow to explore those pars of Newlands Glen I had either missed, or hadn’t reached yet.
Keeping this in mind, I somehow managed to take the wrong path to the burn, and had to follow the water downstream. The rocks were suitably scat- covered, and I was absolutely certain that dipper and grey wagtail were present. The trick is, obviously, seeing them, not just knowing they’re there.
The woods were alive with birdsong- not just the usual suspects, but also enough chiffchaffs to confirm that spring was definitely springing. I used the Merlin app to aid my memory for my site list later, and it tantalisingly registered blackcap- albeit I neither heard nor saw one. Not tickable, by Green Sand’s rules.
A hundred years or so along the path I noticed a guy standing on the rive bank. He saw me, and wandered over. Expecting the usual chat about birding, I was happy to learn that he was himself a birder. Not only that, but Newlands and the Bing were his local patches. He bombarded me with information about the best places for different species, and I struggled to keep up. His tales of activism (e’s taller than me, so not a nyaff as such) were pretty inspirational, and I was confident that he wouldn’t let these special places be damaged without a fight. We fell into the easy pattern of comparing birding tales, and when we eventually moved on it left a genuinely warm, happy feeling.
Green Sand’s mantra- birding is a solitary passion that’s best shared with others.
50 yards or so further downstream movement caught my eye, and I got a dipper standing on a rock mid-stream. Showing exceptionally well through the binoculars, it flew off suddenly, before returning and resuming a perch nearby. Far better views than I got at Fin Me Oot, its also good to know that there’s another site locally where they’re present. Two sites, both within walking distance of y house, is good information to have.
I tried- unsuccessfully- to remember the paths shown on the map or what he site looked like downstream. Definitely exploration of the best kind, with great- spotted woodpecker contact calls adding to the woodland wall of noise. The path came to a natural end, and I briefly thought about jumping over to the other side at a narrow point. I opted against it, telling myself it would wait for another time I must be getting old as that kind of common sense is very unlike me.
I retraced my steps and was rewarded wit a buzzard flying gradually upward through the trees. Once above the treeline it soared, and I watched it for as long as I could before it disappeared into the distance. Much better views than last time, I’m assuming it was the same bird, or the mate of the previous one. Bird- life…..
A visit or less than 2 hours, but one which offered more or less everything a birder could ask for in a walk through the woods.
___________________________
THOUGHTS
My perfunctory, almost dutiful trip to Musselburgh taught me that its too easy to fall into a lazy pattern of behaviour. I’m lucky enough to work full time, so time spent birding is time I need to maximise. A time to challenge myself out of my complacency, a time to step away from the routine. A time to avoid the predictable, well- trodden path, a time for new things and new places.
I can make that work for me.
Stay healthy, stay brilliant folks
John
Yeah, ok, Pete Seeger wrote the song, but ‘Pete Seeger Watching’ would make a very different blog post.
The Saturday after my agony/ ecstasy weekend I found myself covering familiar ground in Musselburgh. I still had a list of birds I felt I should have had by then, birds which appeared at the places I visited both before and after I turned up. Birds which were starting to frustrate me by their elusiveness. Musselburgh gave me, as always, the possibility of kestrel, peregrine, stock dove, and even a remote chance of some spring migrants. The emphasis being on ‘possibility.’
I shocked myself by not sleeping in too badly, and arrived at Levenhall by 11.30. The walk from Wallyford station had been notable for the numbers of calling greenfinch in the hedgerows and fields, obviously something I’d never turn my nose up at. The day was reasonably bright, and not too cold, considering I was on the coast. I started off at Levenhall Links as usual, and set up in the middle hide. The usual woodland birds called from all around. The path to the hides from the public path is, I think, one of the best places I know to get good views of bullfinch- one of the (many) birds I don’t take for granted.
A chiffchaff called among the woodland chatter, and made me wonder whether it stands out among the background birdsong because it’s a migrant, or whether its because we birders build up a sense of anticipation for its arrival. The scrapes themselves, though, were deathly quiet, with only redshank, curlew and shelduck being notable. I didn’t stay long, and headed for the sea wall, again noting the absence of stock dove in the field, where they had previously been sort of reliable. I’m guessing the number of dogs running loose, and the grass being cut, has put paid to stock dove in this area for the time being.
The sea wall was also quieter than expected, with the sense of anticipation I mentioned maybe raising expectations unrealistically high. The sea was, though, a bit better than the scrapes with Slavonian grebe being the stand-out species. Predictable numbers of eider were also there, which is perhaps as close to taking a bird for granted as I get. I moved on toward the new scrapes, looking forward to the happiness boost that skylark offer.
The path to the first hide is still barren, definitely in its winter plumage, and a shadow of the vibrant sea of colour it will be in the summer. The first hide held all the same species as before- not taking for granted, but a site being utterly predictable in what you can find. Shelduck are never bad birds to see, but I worked out that whilst I was seeing good numbers of species, there was very little bird ‘life’ going on. There was no energy, no dynamism in among the roosting flocks of redshank and oystercatcher. That’s what makes the new scrapes, in my mind, less satisfying than they could be. Potential not being met. The grey- ness of the earth also still jars, and I again doubted that I’d ever get used to it. The only saving grace were the singing skylark and calling meadow pipits in the fields. The latter being a year tick to appreciate.
I moved on to the Esk Mouth to take advantage of the mud exposed by the rapidly receding tide. This is where things came suddenly back to life. Curlew and redshank patrolled the mud, with black- headed gulls straddling the line between the mud and water. Further out toward the tide line lesser black- backed gulls, herring gulls and common gulls sat in good numbers, the scope showing feathers ruffling in the sea breeze.
My eyesight is awful, and I rely on catching movement, rather than picking camouflaged birds against a background. This day was no different, as my eyes were drawn to a group of barwits hurriedly probing the mud, a sense of urgency almost, as if struggling to meet some private deadline. To complete the array of multi- sized waders a dozen or so dunlin flitted among the redshank and barwits. Year tick 2 for the day, and it won’t surprise you to learn it’s a bird I never take for granted- albeit later in the year I’ll probably be sick of them. The walk back to Levenhall was completed with nothing more notable than skylark calling sweetly.
Two year ticks for the trip was 2 year ticks I was both glad of and relieved to get. The dunlin offered more ‘action’ given that they were busy feeding. It couldn’t quite take away, though, from the feeling that Musselburgh was becoming ‘tired’ and offering less. Its not my local patch, so doesn’t qualify for the loyalty that most, if not all of us, have to a specific site. It’s a place to visit, and the quietness of Levenhall scrapes, and the lack of activity at the new scrapes made me think it was time to try somewhere new. There’s seldom, or even never, a bad day birding, but I had fallen into a complacency where Musselburgh was my default place, ignoring the potential of so many other places.
It was time for a change.
The next day saw me making the most of my ‘little & often’ birding ethos as I sneaked a quickish visit to my newest place, Newlands Glen. The excitement of my initial visit was still there as I moved swiftly through Aitkenhead Road Bing to reach the Newlands Glen gate. A bit unfair on the Bing, actually, and I made a note to do it more justice on a later day. I made good on my earlier vow to explore those pars of Newlands Glen I had either missed, or hadn’t reached yet.
Keeping this in mind, I somehow managed to take the wrong path to the burn, and had to follow the water downstream. The rocks were suitably scat- covered, and I was absolutely certain that dipper and grey wagtail were present. The trick is, obviously, seeing them, not just knowing they’re there.
The woods were alive with birdsong- not just the usual suspects, but also enough chiffchaffs to confirm that spring was definitely springing. I used the Merlin app to aid my memory for my site list later, and it tantalisingly registered blackcap- albeit I neither heard nor saw one. Not tickable, by Green Sand’s rules.
A hundred years or so along the path I noticed a guy standing on the rive bank. He saw me, and wandered over. Expecting the usual chat about birding, I was happy to learn that he was himself a birder. Not only that, but Newlands and the Bing were his local patches. He bombarded me with information about the best places for different species, and I struggled to keep up. His tales of activism (e’s taller than me, so not a nyaff as such) were pretty inspirational, and I was confident that he wouldn’t let these special places be damaged without a fight. We fell into the easy pattern of comparing birding tales, and when we eventually moved on it left a genuinely warm, happy feeling.
Green Sand’s mantra- birding is a solitary passion that’s best shared with others.
50 yards or so further downstream movement caught my eye, and I got a dipper standing on a rock mid-stream. Showing exceptionally well through the binoculars, it flew off suddenly, before returning and resuming a perch nearby. Far better views than I got at Fin Me Oot, its also good to know that there’s another site locally where they’re present. Two sites, both within walking distance of y house, is good information to have.
I tried- unsuccessfully- to remember the paths shown on the map or what he site looked like downstream. Definitely exploration of the best kind, with great- spotted woodpecker contact calls adding to the woodland wall of noise. The path came to a natural end, and I briefly thought about jumping over to the other side at a narrow point. I opted against it, telling myself it would wait for another time I must be getting old as that kind of common sense is very unlike me.
I retraced my steps and was rewarded wit a buzzard flying gradually upward through the trees. Once above the treeline it soared, and I watched it for as long as I could before it disappeared into the distance. Much better views than last time, I’m assuming it was the same bird, or the mate of the previous one. Bird- life…..
A visit or less than 2 hours, but one which offered more or less everything a birder could ask for in a walk through the woods.
___________________________
THOUGHTS
My perfunctory, almost dutiful trip to Musselburgh taught me that its too easy to fall into a lazy pattern of behaviour. I’m lucky enough to work full time, so time spent birding is time I need to maximise. A time to challenge myself out of my complacency, a time to step away from the routine. A time to avoid the predictable, well- trodden path, a time for new things and new places.
I can make that work for me.
Stay healthy, stay brilliant folks
John