It isn’t entirely clear just what has happened to my summer. A check back on my records showed that I hadn’t been over my doorstep on a birding trip since June 6th. Life hadn’t so much intervened, as impacted unavoidably. No blame, it was just one of those things. Reduced to the passive ‘being aware’ of birds for such a time made me fear that any birding skill I could modestly claim to have would have atrophied. The one bright hope was a fortnight’s leave at the start of July, a time I was confident would be turned into a birding extravaganza.
Being foolish and naïve my enforced hiatus didn’t stop me from checking social media, watching on in envy as other birders made the most of their time in the big, wide world. In among all the sightings I’m used to missing due to bad luck, bad timing, and bad choices, this was somehow different. Social media was awash with tales of a collapse in pollinator populations, a wet spring, poor summer, etc being the obvious causes, but there was I unable to get out and see for myself. Taking other people’s word for it wasn’t my first choice. I was restricted to checking my garden, which to be fair did confirm the trends noted by other people. Despite having wildflowers in my beds, the garden was a pollinator- free zone. Not good.
Quiet moments did get a pair of goldcrest in my bramble patch (yes, my garden is that wild) and noticeably, chiffchaff and blackcap still in full song in late June. My record keeping isn’t good enough to tell me for sure, but some instinct told me that we should have been in the ‘quiet’ season when moulting birds go into hiding after the rigours of rearing young. One of the set in stone events of summer is the sudden change from a wall of noise (normally warblers) to an almost eerie silence. Singing blackcaps doesn’t fit this model, though, and wasn’t what I expected at all.
My 2 weeks leave in July loomed ever- closer and my birding hiatus led me to abandon all thoughts of caution. Being a bit superstitious, I’m normally wary of jinxing myself. However, this time I had each birding day planned out in meticulous detail. Where, when, what to see, how to see it. Clothing planned out, packed lunches planned. Every possible scenario set in stone for this upcoming festival of birding. Not only was caution abandoned, so was realism, as it turned out.
So, during the 3 hours I ended up having at Musselburgh I felt very out of practise. It had only been a few weeks, but I was deeply concerned that any birding skill I originally had would have atrophied. Can you de- skill in a month? If anyone could, it’d be me, I was certain. Something had been weighing on me, it seemed.
Having gotten the train to Wallyford it was obvious that things had changed. The warblers which had been in song at the station were now silent. I made my way quickly towards Levenhall, aiming for my usual path, which has always been good for bugs, bees and butterflies. Except this day. There were no pollinators or other insects. The area was devoid of any noticeable insect life.
I did, though, have chiffchaff and whitethroat calling from the path which runs adjacent to the reserve. There were some sounds and other signs of activity from within the reserve, but by no means to the extent that my birding- deprived mind had grown to expect. The weight of expectation in a hobby where so much is unpredictable.
The scrapes themselves were quiet. Sand martins still flying, oystercatcher, and the obligatory shelduck. Patience got me a black- tailed godwit in breeding finery- never something to take for granted. I dare anyone to ever get blasé about this. Gadwall, dunlin and common gull also noted- I’ve said this before, and I still don’t have the answer for why getting common gull always seems so noteworthy.
The sea, however, was shockingly quiet. Single, fast moving terns- too fast to make out species. No gannets, a few eider, red- breasted merganser, and distant gulls in a feeding frenzy. But no real ‘life’. A walk to the new scrapes got reed bunting and stock dove, with the scrapes themselves having good numbers of curlew and oystercatcher. The vegetation has grown significantly outside and inside the scrapes, and it seems to be maturing as a site. Something about ash rather than proper mud, though, makes it look not quite right.
A pleasant 3 hours, not overly productive, and left with a feeling of disappointment that 2 weeks holiday had been reduced to this. An object lesson, though, in managing expectations, over- planning, and the danger of taking things for granted.
My next venture outdoors was the following Tuesday, and an evening walk over to my Mum’s house. She only lives in the next village over, so I wasn’t on too much of a trek. Starting off walking to the Clyde, then over the fields, paths and backroads which had been my childhood playground. All lost now, of course. Identikit Lego houses and bland housing estates where in my childhood there were fields, trees, a castle, swamps and pools, and lots of cow dung, most of which I had managed to tread in.
Two things were noticeable in what was a very pleasant walk in fresh air. Firstly, the summer of silence had hit Uddingston, finally. Secondly, despite the blaze of flowering plants, there were no insects where last year they had been abundant. Not for the first time, I wish I’d paid more attention to life in the undergrowth years ago.
A quiet, but overall good, week at work followed, and I fell back into the easy rhythm of looking forward to the weekend and any birding opportunities offered. I aimed for- and succeeded in- travelling back to Musselburgh. The train service to Musselburgh was cancelled, and I found myself in the unusual position of having to get a bus through some of Edinburgh’s mysterious areas. Such was the sense of adventure, I expected- no, hoped- that at any moment a wild bear would leap out or even be seen randomly walking along the road.
I arrived at Wallyford far sooner than expected, and sadly bear- free. Edinburgh maybe isn’t all that wild after all. The usual route to the scrapes got me a very pleasant chat with a local dog walker, and a number of fluttering butterflies. Too fast for a phone photo, but I got a good enough look to confirm they were ringlets. Finally, some signs of life.
The path got me chiffchaff and whitethroat again, with the latter posing near the top of a bush, its head shape and poise making the silhouette unmistakeable. Not a year tick, but for me, still really pleasing to see. The middle scrape was lapwing heaven, with redshank giving them a run for their money. Dunlin pootled around, and a scan of the flooded area got me a knot in summer plumage. What I said before about blackwits in summer plumage? Magnify tenfold for knot. Wonderful! I’m always glad to get knot, but in breeding plumage is a high point of most days.
Patience ultimately got me little gull, as one landed next to a handily- placed black headed gull. A second one appeared in among the lapwing. Year tick, and one which I’d been worried I wouldn’t get. I don’t always get them anyway, but having had success last year I now seem to have expected to tick them again. Scanning the muddy edges got 2 common sandpipers doing sandpiper- y things. No other sandpipers, though, and no greenshank. Its July, its migration season, so I had expected there to be one casually hanging around.
I had hoped- or expected- that the rise in wader numbers would have enticed the peregrine to make an appearance. For the life of me I can’t explain why I haven’t bothered my backside making the 20 minute car journey to see the breeding peregrines at Glasgow University. Baffling, even by my standards. The calling lapwing formed a soothing and pleasant backdrop. A chat with a ranger was excellent- continuing my run of luck in the East. There are right good birdy folk along the M8. He agreed about the pollinators, so I wasn’t imagining things.
The seafront was noticeably quiet. Sure, plenty of eider on the water making the occasional warbling call, but still quiet. No gannets- Bass Rock through the scope looked bare again- and the occasional tern was again too fast to identify. I started thinking (not planning) where I’d have to go to get a decent tern tick. A passing birder asked if I’d seen the Stejneger’s scoter. I reassured him I hadn’t- without going into the “I’m not a twitcher” debate. I did get a half dozen velvet scoter, all sleeping. The new scrapes offered nothing new; my bus journey back into Edinburgh was again, disappointingly, bear- free.
A decent day out, which appeared to regalvanise my confidence in my birding ability. It was time, I decided, for some guerilla birding. There’s a scene in the film The Wild Geese where a clearly ageing mercenary is trying to convince his recruiter that he has one last mission left in him, despite it being physically obvious he hadn’t. That was my level of guerilla birding as I found myself at Cathkin Marsh SWT on Sunday. A quick trip to one of the more unpredictable places I go to. It turns out the Marsh was having one of its fey and moody days. Dull, overcast and a bit chilly. Swallow noted at the top of the path was good, and a magpie in the field was the sum total of bird life. The plants bordering the path were insect- free, and the pond was similarly lacking in anything with wings. A pair of goldfinch broke the near perfect silence.
The circuit path was again bird- free, with plants in flower being noticeably insect free too. Plants where I’d had hoverflies this time last year were now bare. The lack of life put me into ‘Cathkin Marsh Introspection Mode’ where I just enjoyed being there. A quiet mission for the birding guerilla. I bumped into a local expert who I’ve spoken to before. A genuine bug expert, although his fieldcraft stretches to birds as well. As if to reward us, a sedge warbler erupted into ‘song’ in the reeds. The walk around the path to its end got more goldfinch and reed bunting.
The sun had, by this time, come out, and as the path warmed up, I was able to tick hoverfly and beetle species on plants. Still nowhere near the quantity that you could expect, but still, at least it was something. The best thing that happened though was while driving along the narrow country road, the breeze brought me the familiar but much missed call of a yellowhammer. Formerly a guaranteed tick at the Marsh, its damned good that they’re still in the area.
Given that my guerilla birding skills were now finely honed I sneaked out in the afternoon under the guise of “errand running.” I had the choice of either going to Baron’s Haugh, hopefully for greenshank, or Lochwinnoch for greenshank and mandarin duck. I opted for Lochwinnoch, in the expectation of getting 2 ticks in the one trip.
The car park feeder was very quiet, which possibly wasn’t a good sign. The usual friendly welcome by the volunteers was tainted somewhat by the bad news the greenshank had gone, and the mandarin hadn’t been seen in hours. The scrape was very quiet, and I didn’t stay in the visitor centre for long. I was tipped off that there had been pochard on the Barr Loch, and I figured it was worth a try. The Barr Loch is an area of the reserve which alternates between “difficult” and “this place hates me.” Never mind expectations, I barely had hope.
Fortune favours the bold and I set out along the path, determined to go beyond my usual 20 feet before getting fed up and calling it a day. Vegetation was thick, so viewing places was difficult. Good numbers of GC grebe were obvious, though, including some young. Another one of those species which, while common, is still a marquee tick for birders. Once I stop appreciating GC grebes in summer plumage, you can take my scope and bins off me. I don’t deserve them.
The walk along the path got plenty of tufted duck, including one which- briefly- teased me with its scaup- like markings. A better look though confirmed it was a tufty. No pochard visible, though, albeit the loch is so large that My scope was at the ragged edge of its magnification. I did manage to tick my ‘Barr Loch Path’ bucket list challenge. Added to the grebes and the usual birder chat, not a bad trip at all.
Oh, in case you were wondering, greenshank were at Baron’s Haugh all day.
THOUGHTS.
Some valuable lessons to be taken from this. Obviously, never jinx yourself by planning too much in advance, as then you only have yourself to blame. Life happens, some things are unavoidable, so never, ever get blasé about the chance to be immersed in nature. Things can change very quickly. We can’t take things for granted any more. Just because last July gave us hoverflies and pollinators in abundance doesn’t mean every July will. We have to make the most of every moment we have, as if its our first AND last. We need to treat each day as if its Day One, each day should be a John Lennon day- a day that we’re starting over, a chance to do better. We’re transient, but our impact isn’t. Its up to us to make that impact a positive one.
Lets keep on being good to each other folks.
John
Being foolish and naïve my enforced hiatus didn’t stop me from checking social media, watching on in envy as other birders made the most of their time in the big, wide world. In among all the sightings I’m used to missing due to bad luck, bad timing, and bad choices, this was somehow different. Social media was awash with tales of a collapse in pollinator populations, a wet spring, poor summer, etc being the obvious causes, but there was I unable to get out and see for myself. Taking other people’s word for it wasn’t my first choice. I was restricted to checking my garden, which to be fair did confirm the trends noted by other people. Despite having wildflowers in my beds, the garden was a pollinator- free zone. Not good.
Quiet moments did get a pair of goldcrest in my bramble patch (yes, my garden is that wild) and noticeably, chiffchaff and blackcap still in full song in late June. My record keeping isn’t good enough to tell me for sure, but some instinct told me that we should have been in the ‘quiet’ season when moulting birds go into hiding after the rigours of rearing young. One of the set in stone events of summer is the sudden change from a wall of noise (normally warblers) to an almost eerie silence. Singing blackcaps doesn’t fit this model, though, and wasn’t what I expected at all.
My 2 weeks leave in July loomed ever- closer and my birding hiatus led me to abandon all thoughts of caution. Being a bit superstitious, I’m normally wary of jinxing myself. However, this time I had each birding day planned out in meticulous detail. Where, when, what to see, how to see it. Clothing planned out, packed lunches planned. Every possible scenario set in stone for this upcoming festival of birding. Not only was caution abandoned, so was realism, as it turned out.
So, during the 3 hours I ended up having at Musselburgh I felt very out of practise. It had only been a few weeks, but I was deeply concerned that any birding skill I originally had would have atrophied. Can you de- skill in a month? If anyone could, it’d be me, I was certain. Something had been weighing on me, it seemed.
Having gotten the train to Wallyford it was obvious that things had changed. The warblers which had been in song at the station were now silent. I made my way quickly towards Levenhall, aiming for my usual path, which has always been good for bugs, bees and butterflies. Except this day. There were no pollinators or other insects. The area was devoid of any noticeable insect life.
I did, though, have chiffchaff and whitethroat calling from the path which runs adjacent to the reserve. There were some sounds and other signs of activity from within the reserve, but by no means to the extent that my birding- deprived mind had grown to expect. The weight of expectation in a hobby where so much is unpredictable.
The scrapes themselves were quiet. Sand martins still flying, oystercatcher, and the obligatory shelduck. Patience got me a black- tailed godwit in breeding finery- never something to take for granted. I dare anyone to ever get blasé about this. Gadwall, dunlin and common gull also noted- I’ve said this before, and I still don’t have the answer for why getting common gull always seems so noteworthy.
The sea, however, was shockingly quiet. Single, fast moving terns- too fast to make out species. No gannets, a few eider, red- breasted merganser, and distant gulls in a feeding frenzy. But no real ‘life’. A walk to the new scrapes got reed bunting and stock dove, with the scrapes themselves having good numbers of curlew and oystercatcher. The vegetation has grown significantly outside and inside the scrapes, and it seems to be maturing as a site. Something about ash rather than proper mud, though, makes it look not quite right.
A pleasant 3 hours, not overly productive, and left with a feeling of disappointment that 2 weeks holiday had been reduced to this. An object lesson, though, in managing expectations, over- planning, and the danger of taking things for granted.
My next venture outdoors was the following Tuesday, and an evening walk over to my Mum’s house. She only lives in the next village over, so I wasn’t on too much of a trek. Starting off walking to the Clyde, then over the fields, paths and backroads which had been my childhood playground. All lost now, of course. Identikit Lego houses and bland housing estates where in my childhood there were fields, trees, a castle, swamps and pools, and lots of cow dung, most of which I had managed to tread in.
Two things were noticeable in what was a very pleasant walk in fresh air. Firstly, the summer of silence had hit Uddingston, finally. Secondly, despite the blaze of flowering plants, there were no insects where last year they had been abundant. Not for the first time, I wish I’d paid more attention to life in the undergrowth years ago.
A quiet, but overall good, week at work followed, and I fell back into the easy rhythm of looking forward to the weekend and any birding opportunities offered. I aimed for- and succeeded in- travelling back to Musselburgh. The train service to Musselburgh was cancelled, and I found myself in the unusual position of having to get a bus through some of Edinburgh’s mysterious areas. Such was the sense of adventure, I expected- no, hoped- that at any moment a wild bear would leap out or even be seen randomly walking along the road.
I arrived at Wallyford far sooner than expected, and sadly bear- free. Edinburgh maybe isn’t all that wild after all. The usual route to the scrapes got me a very pleasant chat with a local dog walker, and a number of fluttering butterflies. Too fast for a phone photo, but I got a good enough look to confirm they were ringlets. Finally, some signs of life.
The path got me chiffchaff and whitethroat again, with the latter posing near the top of a bush, its head shape and poise making the silhouette unmistakeable. Not a year tick, but for me, still really pleasing to see. The middle scrape was lapwing heaven, with redshank giving them a run for their money. Dunlin pootled around, and a scan of the flooded area got me a knot in summer plumage. What I said before about blackwits in summer plumage? Magnify tenfold for knot. Wonderful! I’m always glad to get knot, but in breeding plumage is a high point of most days.
Patience ultimately got me little gull, as one landed next to a handily- placed black headed gull. A second one appeared in among the lapwing. Year tick, and one which I’d been worried I wouldn’t get. I don’t always get them anyway, but having had success last year I now seem to have expected to tick them again. Scanning the muddy edges got 2 common sandpipers doing sandpiper- y things. No other sandpipers, though, and no greenshank. Its July, its migration season, so I had expected there to be one casually hanging around.
I had hoped- or expected- that the rise in wader numbers would have enticed the peregrine to make an appearance. For the life of me I can’t explain why I haven’t bothered my backside making the 20 minute car journey to see the breeding peregrines at Glasgow University. Baffling, even by my standards. The calling lapwing formed a soothing and pleasant backdrop. A chat with a ranger was excellent- continuing my run of luck in the East. There are right good birdy folk along the M8. He agreed about the pollinators, so I wasn’t imagining things.
The seafront was noticeably quiet. Sure, plenty of eider on the water making the occasional warbling call, but still quiet. No gannets- Bass Rock through the scope looked bare again- and the occasional tern was again too fast to identify. I started thinking (not planning) where I’d have to go to get a decent tern tick. A passing birder asked if I’d seen the Stejneger’s scoter. I reassured him I hadn’t- without going into the “I’m not a twitcher” debate. I did get a half dozen velvet scoter, all sleeping. The new scrapes offered nothing new; my bus journey back into Edinburgh was again, disappointingly, bear- free.
A decent day out, which appeared to regalvanise my confidence in my birding ability. It was time, I decided, for some guerilla birding. There’s a scene in the film The Wild Geese where a clearly ageing mercenary is trying to convince his recruiter that he has one last mission left in him, despite it being physically obvious he hadn’t. That was my level of guerilla birding as I found myself at Cathkin Marsh SWT on Sunday. A quick trip to one of the more unpredictable places I go to. It turns out the Marsh was having one of its fey and moody days. Dull, overcast and a bit chilly. Swallow noted at the top of the path was good, and a magpie in the field was the sum total of bird life. The plants bordering the path were insect- free, and the pond was similarly lacking in anything with wings. A pair of goldfinch broke the near perfect silence.
The circuit path was again bird- free, with plants in flower being noticeably insect free too. Plants where I’d had hoverflies this time last year were now bare. The lack of life put me into ‘Cathkin Marsh Introspection Mode’ where I just enjoyed being there. A quiet mission for the birding guerilla. I bumped into a local expert who I’ve spoken to before. A genuine bug expert, although his fieldcraft stretches to birds as well. As if to reward us, a sedge warbler erupted into ‘song’ in the reeds. The walk around the path to its end got more goldfinch and reed bunting.
The sun had, by this time, come out, and as the path warmed up, I was able to tick hoverfly and beetle species on plants. Still nowhere near the quantity that you could expect, but still, at least it was something. The best thing that happened though was while driving along the narrow country road, the breeze brought me the familiar but much missed call of a yellowhammer. Formerly a guaranteed tick at the Marsh, its damned good that they’re still in the area.
Given that my guerilla birding skills were now finely honed I sneaked out in the afternoon under the guise of “errand running.” I had the choice of either going to Baron’s Haugh, hopefully for greenshank, or Lochwinnoch for greenshank and mandarin duck. I opted for Lochwinnoch, in the expectation of getting 2 ticks in the one trip.
The car park feeder was very quiet, which possibly wasn’t a good sign. The usual friendly welcome by the volunteers was tainted somewhat by the bad news the greenshank had gone, and the mandarin hadn’t been seen in hours. The scrape was very quiet, and I didn’t stay in the visitor centre for long. I was tipped off that there had been pochard on the Barr Loch, and I figured it was worth a try. The Barr Loch is an area of the reserve which alternates between “difficult” and “this place hates me.” Never mind expectations, I barely had hope.
Fortune favours the bold and I set out along the path, determined to go beyond my usual 20 feet before getting fed up and calling it a day. Vegetation was thick, so viewing places was difficult. Good numbers of GC grebe were obvious, though, including some young. Another one of those species which, while common, is still a marquee tick for birders. Once I stop appreciating GC grebes in summer plumage, you can take my scope and bins off me. I don’t deserve them.
The walk along the path got plenty of tufted duck, including one which- briefly- teased me with its scaup- like markings. A better look though confirmed it was a tufty. No pochard visible, though, albeit the loch is so large that My scope was at the ragged edge of its magnification. I did manage to tick my ‘Barr Loch Path’ bucket list challenge. Added to the grebes and the usual birder chat, not a bad trip at all.
Oh, in case you were wondering, greenshank were at Baron’s Haugh all day.
THOUGHTS.
Some valuable lessons to be taken from this. Obviously, never jinx yourself by planning too much in advance, as then you only have yourself to blame. Life happens, some things are unavoidable, so never, ever get blasé about the chance to be immersed in nature. Things can change very quickly. We can’t take things for granted any more. Just because last July gave us hoverflies and pollinators in abundance doesn’t mean every July will. We have to make the most of every moment we have, as if its our first AND last. We need to treat each day as if its Day One, each day should be a John Lennon day- a day that we’re starting over, a chance to do better. We’re transient, but our impact isn’t. Its up to us to make that impact a positive one.
Lets keep on being good to each other folks.
John
