I often wonder just how easy and how quickly we fall back into the ‘normal’ after a big event. How speedily such things are forgotten, until the next time, and we get back into what we consider a routine. And, when it comes to New Year and new birding, how quickly our plans can fall by the wayside, how quickly we return to old habits, or even to what's easiest, the path of least resistance. And how much we lose out on by doing so. With this in mind, I found myself on the second ‘real’ weekend of the year determined that I would get out, somehow, somewhere.
The intervening week was spent garden watching, counting down the days until I could get out next, get my next blog- worthy adventure. The garden count itself is not too bad lots of house sparrows, as always, but also up to 7 long- tailed tits at a time. the odd chaffinch and odd greenfinch, along with dunnock and robin were notable. I still don't have coal tit, despite it being a 2024 garden regular, and still lack siskin despite being places where they are regularly seen. Such omissions, even as early as January, pain me. One of my many birding vows during the Christmas hiatus was to put my garden lists on birdtrack. I toyed with the idea of signing up again for the BTO's Garden Bird Watch Scheme (separate from the RSPB yearly one) but while I'm all for citizen science, I object to paying for the privilege. Birdtrack will do fine, thanks.
My next day out found myself at Baron's Haugh again. Twice in one year, and that year being less than 3 weeks old. I had a bit longer to spend there than before, although being car- less and it being a Sunday, my travel arrangements required pinpoint precision. Somehow, I was let down neither by myself nor by ScotRail, and arrived at the reserve in good time. My targets, if you could call it that, were the green sandpiper noted on t' internet days earlier, along with hopefully jay, siskin, coal tit, and kestrel. In the hope of seeing the latter, I took the long way to the hides, hoping to get a kestrel at the top of the braes. No such luck, but I did hear a mistle thrush from the woods on my left. At the Marsh Hide, I bumped into Gerry and Willie from the RSPB local group, and I knew instinctively it was ging to be a good day, a day of good chat and birding tales.
The water at the hide held good numbers of ducks teal, wigeon, a single shoveler in the distance, moorhen and coot. A mistle thrush was spotted in a close-by tree, cueing one of those special birding conversations as we tried to guide others to where it was. "not that tree, the green tree" and "the tree with the mud underneath" being of dubious value. Eventually, though, all present got it, including the gaggle of toggers. While I was pleased to get the mistle thrush relatively easily, I was annoyed at myself for not getting the kestrel which was initially stationary in a distant tree, and then was flying above the treeline, letting everyone bar me see it.
A pair of Jay showed remarkably well on the path, flitting in and out of the trees, surprisingly difficult to pick out despite the lack of foliage. A quality 15 or so minutes watching them, before they were disturbed by approaching people. Much much better than my "that’s a jay's arse" tick from last year. No siskin or coal tit, the latter now becoming some concern (by mid- January....) No sign of fieldfare either, and I just knew instinctively I'd have to put some work into it.
A wander along to the Causeway Hide didn't pick up anything new. The Hide itself showed relatively low water. The pool to the left had the first signs of reeds and grasses growing, causing some concern about what a potentially dry summer may result in. We agreed we have to trust that the RSPB will know what to do, albeit all of us there are old enough and experienced enough to have doubts that the RSPB will know what to do. In terms of birds, there was no sign of little grebe, sadly. Lapwing, though, showed easily, and a search with the scope got me a group of 3 and a second group of 4 green sandpiper. The light was pretty good, and it was great to watch all 7 birds busying themselves about doing sandpiper-y things. No other notable birds- I dipped on the peregrine that everyone else saw- but the birder chat was top notch.
The rest of the week took the familiar pattern of work and dreaming of birding trips past and future. Garden birds counted diligently, there were days when I took pause and just thought it couldn't get any better. Such days, I've thought more than once, were the best.
Friday was meant to be a big day out, with the car. Targeting those out of the way areas that public transport either doesn't reach, is prohibitively expensive, or I'm never awake early enough for the logistics to work. Such plans, however, fell slightly by the wayside as a result of Storm Eowyn and a red warning that you could die if you set foot outside. So, a day of enforced lockdown, not made any more pleasant by the realisation that the person naming the storm was a fellow Tolkien geek.
Saturday, though, meant that the risk of death had subsided, and I was determined to get out, somewhere. BY sheer luck I still had the use of the car, albeit I was on a tighter schedule. Damn it, though, I was still birding.
A couple of errands in the morning and I headed to Lochwinnoch RSPB, in the hope of coal tit and siskin on the feeders. A vague idea formed to visit Hogganfield on the way home, if time allowed. The drive to Renfrewshire was almost aborted by horizontal rain. I rationalised continuing my journey by noting that I was more than halfway there, by about 2 miles. "Ach, I'm almost there" was not a convincing argument, but I couldn't face 2 days in the house. I arrived just as the rain was morphing into sleet, and I waited in the car hoping for a glimpse of the picnic area feeder. No such luck, and nothing was flying about from where I was parked. Once the precipitation eventually lessened I ventured out. Collared dove and great tit on the feeder, and I scurried into the visitor centre. Usual warm welcome, I think I was the only birder they'd seen all day. A GW egret had been seen on the Barr Loch earlier, which was enough motivation to tempt me out onto the path. The woodland fringes were mostly silent, bar raindrops falling from sodden branches. The feeding station had lots of action, including a nuthatch directly overhead. No coal tit, or siskin, sadly.
I gathered myself, and wandered onward along an increasingly waterlogged path. A familiar 'cronk' noise made me pause and look skyward, easily watching a passing raven. As it disappeared into the distance I realised I had stopped dead in a fairly deep puddle. My feet were cold and wet for the rest of the day. The path was eventually blocked by a fallen tree, and I opted to turn back rather than try anything adventurous like climbing over the tree. A wander back to the car park added to my general state of waterlogged-ness; the car park feeder notable only for a moorhen on the feeding table. Highlight though was the treecreeper on the tree adjacent to the visitor centre toilets. Best views of the year, albeit only the SECOND views of the year.
I resisted the temptation to have a nap (very unlike me, you may agree) and began the drive to Hogganfield, hoping my feet might dry out en route. Upon arrival I was spoilt for choice for car parking spaces, and I set off on my usual clockwise wander around the loch. The usual collection of wildfowl was at the car park, but I paid attention only to rule out anything notable being there. I'm a bit of a purist about birds being fed stale Warburtons by hand.
A hundred yards or so beyond the car park there's a space that allows great views of the island, whilst being away from the jostling hubbub of the car park feeders. A scan of the water quickly got me 2 little grebe near the island. Year tick, the light was just good enough to make out the colours of the bird's head. Relieved at the tick, but I'd have liked better/ closer views. Further scan got 2 pairs of great crested grebe. Closer in, a third pair saw one chasing the other. They drifted back toward each other, and no more than 20 feet away from me, they began their mating dance. Something I've seen countless times on TV, but now I was seeing the live version. One of those golden moments of birding perfection I often speak about. All too soon they drifted away together, and I moved onward with a smile on my face.
Not too far up the path I stopped again to scan the top end of the island. Slight movement caught my eye, and I trained my bins on the strandline of the loch proper. Unmistakeably, a grey wagtail, and I quickly focussed the scope on it. Spent a good 10 minutes watching it doing its thing, among the rocks and human- made debris. Year tick 3 of the day, and while I was confident I'd get a grey wag at some point this year, I didn't think for a second I'd get one at Hoggy. A surprise, actually, an incredibly pleasant surprise.
I continued my walk to the 'beach' where my suspicions about the Loch being a pochard- free one were confirmed. I turned to retrace my steps, and thought I heard the 'chack-chack' of a fieldfare. It wasn't repeated, and I could see nothing in the trees. An older gentleman was on the path, surrounded by mute swans, feeding them bread from a well- used plastic bag. I paused and was considering whether to intervene and explain that the bread was pretty bad for the birds. Instead, though, I stood and watched. This was a man who was taking great joy in what he was doing, who had clearly spent some time getting ready for this. This was HIS birding, this was what brought HIM enjoyment. I let it pass, and I got the feeling, the instinctive knowledge, that feeding the birds at Hoggy was a highlight of his day. Who am I to stop him?
THOUGHTS
So, still managing to keep to my 'little and often' diet. Despite plans going awry, I still managed to get out. Despite, or maybe because, of this my trips out were deeply enjoyable. The older guy at Hoggy got me thinking about this, what enjoyment we take from birding, how its a deeply personal thing, and how it changes. I was reminded the other week of Jimmy Maxwell, doyen of Lanarkshire birding, and his view that we each take something from our birding, whatever that something may be. So, as individuals, what gives us the bigger pleasure? Finding something that we were expecting to see, thus reaffirming our own skill and knowledge? Finding something completely unexpected? A lifer or near- lifer? Finding something run of the mill but in an unexpected place? So far, 2025 has been entirely pleasurable. Very little has gone entirely to plan, but I realised that the pleasure is to be found in birds. In going birding. In BEING birding.
Stay heathy, stay brilliant folks.
John
The intervening week was spent garden watching, counting down the days until I could get out next, get my next blog- worthy adventure. The garden count itself is not too bad lots of house sparrows, as always, but also up to 7 long- tailed tits at a time. the odd chaffinch and odd greenfinch, along with dunnock and robin were notable. I still don't have coal tit, despite it being a 2024 garden regular, and still lack siskin despite being places where they are regularly seen. Such omissions, even as early as January, pain me. One of my many birding vows during the Christmas hiatus was to put my garden lists on birdtrack. I toyed with the idea of signing up again for the BTO's Garden Bird Watch Scheme (separate from the RSPB yearly one) but while I'm all for citizen science, I object to paying for the privilege. Birdtrack will do fine, thanks.
My next day out found myself at Baron's Haugh again. Twice in one year, and that year being less than 3 weeks old. I had a bit longer to spend there than before, although being car- less and it being a Sunday, my travel arrangements required pinpoint precision. Somehow, I was let down neither by myself nor by ScotRail, and arrived at the reserve in good time. My targets, if you could call it that, were the green sandpiper noted on t' internet days earlier, along with hopefully jay, siskin, coal tit, and kestrel. In the hope of seeing the latter, I took the long way to the hides, hoping to get a kestrel at the top of the braes. No such luck, but I did hear a mistle thrush from the woods on my left. At the Marsh Hide, I bumped into Gerry and Willie from the RSPB local group, and I knew instinctively it was ging to be a good day, a day of good chat and birding tales.
The water at the hide held good numbers of ducks teal, wigeon, a single shoveler in the distance, moorhen and coot. A mistle thrush was spotted in a close-by tree, cueing one of those special birding conversations as we tried to guide others to where it was. "not that tree, the green tree" and "the tree with the mud underneath" being of dubious value. Eventually, though, all present got it, including the gaggle of toggers. While I was pleased to get the mistle thrush relatively easily, I was annoyed at myself for not getting the kestrel which was initially stationary in a distant tree, and then was flying above the treeline, letting everyone bar me see it.
A pair of Jay showed remarkably well on the path, flitting in and out of the trees, surprisingly difficult to pick out despite the lack of foliage. A quality 15 or so minutes watching them, before they were disturbed by approaching people. Much much better than my "that’s a jay's arse" tick from last year. No siskin or coal tit, the latter now becoming some concern (by mid- January....) No sign of fieldfare either, and I just knew instinctively I'd have to put some work into it.
A wander along to the Causeway Hide didn't pick up anything new. The Hide itself showed relatively low water. The pool to the left had the first signs of reeds and grasses growing, causing some concern about what a potentially dry summer may result in. We agreed we have to trust that the RSPB will know what to do, albeit all of us there are old enough and experienced enough to have doubts that the RSPB will know what to do. In terms of birds, there was no sign of little grebe, sadly. Lapwing, though, showed easily, and a search with the scope got me a group of 3 and a second group of 4 green sandpiper. The light was pretty good, and it was great to watch all 7 birds busying themselves about doing sandpiper-y things. No other notable birds- I dipped on the peregrine that everyone else saw- but the birder chat was top notch.
The rest of the week took the familiar pattern of work and dreaming of birding trips past and future. Garden birds counted diligently, there were days when I took pause and just thought it couldn't get any better. Such days, I've thought more than once, were the best.
Friday was meant to be a big day out, with the car. Targeting those out of the way areas that public transport either doesn't reach, is prohibitively expensive, or I'm never awake early enough for the logistics to work. Such plans, however, fell slightly by the wayside as a result of Storm Eowyn and a red warning that you could die if you set foot outside. So, a day of enforced lockdown, not made any more pleasant by the realisation that the person naming the storm was a fellow Tolkien geek.
Saturday, though, meant that the risk of death had subsided, and I was determined to get out, somewhere. BY sheer luck I still had the use of the car, albeit I was on a tighter schedule. Damn it, though, I was still birding.
A couple of errands in the morning and I headed to Lochwinnoch RSPB, in the hope of coal tit and siskin on the feeders. A vague idea formed to visit Hogganfield on the way home, if time allowed. The drive to Renfrewshire was almost aborted by horizontal rain. I rationalised continuing my journey by noting that I was more than halfway there, by about 2 miles. "Ach, I'm almost there" was not a convincing argument, but I couldn't face 2 days in the house. I arrived just as the rain was morphing into sleet, and I waited in the car hoping for a glimpse of the picnic area feeder. No such luck, and nothing was flying about from where I was parked. Once the precipitation eventually lessened I ventured out. Collared dove and great tit on the feeder, and I scurried into the visitor centre. Usual warm welcome, I think I was the only birder they'd seen all day. A GW egret had been seen on the Barr Loch earlier, which was enough motivation to tempt me out onto the path. The woodland fringes were mostly silent, bar raindrops falling from sodden branches. The feeding station had lots of action, including a nuthatch directly overhead. No coal tit, or siskin, sadly.
I gathered myself, and wandered onward along an increasingly waterlogged path. A familiar 'cronk' noise made me pause and look skyward, easily watching a passing raven. As it disappeared into the distance I realised I had stopped dead in a fairly deep puddle. My feet were cold and wet for the rest of the day. The path was eventually blocked by a fallen tree, and I opted to turn back rather than try anything adventurous like climbing over the tree. A wander back to the car park added to my general state of waterlogged-ness; the car park feeder notable only for a moorhen on the feeding table. Highlight though was the treecreeper on the tree adjacent to the visitor centre toilets. Best views of the year, albeit only the SECOND views of the year.
I resisted the temptation to have a nap (very unlike me, you may agree) and began the drive to Hogganfield, hoping my feet might dry out en route. Upon arrival I was spoilt for choice for car parking spaces, and I set off on my usual clockwise wander around the loch. The usual collection of wildfowl was at the car park, but I paid attention only to rule out anything notable being there. I'm a bit of a purist about birds being fed stale Warburtons by hand.
A hundred yards or so beyond the car park there's a space that allows great views of the island, whilst being away from the jostling hubbub of the car park feeders. A scan of the water quickly got me 2 little grebe near the island. Year tick, the light was just good enough to make out the colours of the bird's head. Relieved at the tick, but I'd have liked better/ closer views. Further scan got 2 pairs of great crested grebe. Closer in, a third pair saw one chasing the other. They drifted back toward each other, and no more than 20 feet away from me, they began their mating dance. Something I've seen countless times on TV, but now I was seeing the live version. One of those golden moments of birding perfection I often speak about. All too soon they drifted away together, and I moved onward with a smile on my face.
Not too far up the path I stopped again to scan the top end of the island. Slight movement caught my eye, and I trained my bins on the strandline of the loch proper. Unmistakeably, a grey wagtail, and I quickly focussed the scope on it. Spent a good 10 minutes watching it doing its thing, among the rocks and human- made debris. Year tick 3 of the day, and while I was confident I'd get a grey wag at some point this year, I didn't think for a second I'd get one at Hoggy. A surprise, actually, an incredibly pleasant surprise.
I continued my walk to the 'beach' where my suspicions about the Loch being a pochard- free one were confirmed. I turned to retrace my steps, and thought I heard the 'chack-chack' of a fieldfare. It wasn't repeated, and I could see nothing in the trees. An older gentleman was on the path, surrounded by mute swans, feeding them bread from a well- used plastic bag. I paused and was considering whether to intervene and explain that the bread was pretty bad for the birds. Instead, though, I stood and watched. This was a man who was taking great joy in what he was doing, who had clearly spent some time getting ready for this. This was HIS birding, this was what brought HIM enjoyment. I let it pass, and I got the feeling, the instinctive knowledge, that feeding the birds at Hoggy was a highlight of his day. Who am I to stop him?
THOUGHTS
So, still managing to keep to my 'little and often' diet. Despite plans going awry, I still managed to get out. Despite, or maybe because, of this my trips out were deeply enjoyable. The older guy at Hoggy got me thinking about this, what enjoyment we take from birding, how its a deeply personal thing, and how it changes. I was reminded the other week of Jimmy Maxwell, doyen of Lanarkshire birding, and his view that we each take something from our birding, whatever that something may be. So, as individuals, what gives us the bigger pleasure? Finding something that we were expecting to see, thus reaffirming our own skill and knowledge? Finding something completely unexpected? A lifer or near- lifer? Finding something run of the mill but in an unexpected place? So far, 2025 has been entirely pleasurable. Very little has gone entirely to plan, but I realised that the pleasure is to be found in birds. In going birding. In BEING birding.
Stay heathy, stay brilliant folks.
John