While the ‘Little & Often’ approach this year has been a positive and enjoyable experience it has run the risk of some of the birding being, at best, average. My last post hinted at that, and while I try to be positive, and still appreciate the very fact that I’m out in the fresh air, in nice places, seeing birds, and enjoying nature, some of this year has been fairly bland. Not really blog- worthy, in my fevered mind, which is a bit of a conceit, since that’s something which should be up to my loyal readers to decide. Little & Often also means I’m a tad behind in posting those events which are blog- worthy. Maybe not ‘Winds of Winter’ levels of tardiness, but definitely later than they should be.
My disappointment after the Cathkin/ Coulter visit was tempered not only by the SWT’s response but also by the fact I had another flexi day booked shortly afterwards. Previous years ‘disappointing’ days had been followed by a week of waiting, so this year’s lax approach to paid work offered a chance of prompt redemption. Birdtrack again formed the basis of my ‘where to go’ deliberations, both in terms of recent sightings and in identifying gaps in the year list which needed rectified. My exploration of new places in 2025 has also expanded my horizons, so that I decided a further trip to Dunbar was in order. This should secure me kittiwake and fulmar at the harbour, plus a plethora of other things I’d have to work for on the golf course.
With that plan settled, I allowed myself to feel the sense of excitement, of anticipation, to build up. Not only for the likelihood of ticks, or for a reasonably- sized day out birding. But that I was going back to the golf course area, where my childhood sense of wonder, sense of exploration had so recently been rekindled. This sense of exploration meant that I factored in a longer walk to Barns Ness. My feet started aching at even the thought of the extra distance, but my birding soul compensated for it easily.
The journey from Uddingston passed without event- a pleasant combination of a nap and a read on the train, plus having my fillings shaken out by the shakiest East Coast bus in service. My thoughts were definitely of the “should get” combined with “what if I don’t get” with regards fulmar at the Harbour, with the ‘what if’ part striking terror when it came to kittiwake. No such worries, as my ears confirmed kittiwake from a couple of hundred yards away. Year tick, and pretty much a guarantee in summer, but still definitely a birding spectacle for the eyes and ears.
I walked around, hoping I’d get fulmar in my usual place. No luck. I then scanned the rocks and infrastructure closely, with a couple of possibilities, but nothing I was sure enough to tick. Hmmm……
Any disappointment was quickly tempered by the growing excitement about returning to the golf course (and my friends, those are words I still don’t feel comfortable saying) and the sense of trepidation about the longer walk to Barns Ness. Being an expert now, I made it to the golf club without much delay. Birdtrack had offered much in terms of seabirds- gannets, terns- and waders. I managed my expectations somewhat, but was generally happy to be there. Any ticks would be a bonus, as long as the experience was as enjoyable as the first time.
Skylark and chiffchaff announced themselves almost immediately, and definitely set the tone. A spring day out, sun shining, reasonably warm, beautiful scenery, and skylark. I’ve had worse starts to a day out. The sea held much of the same birds as before, albeit the tides were different from last time. Redshank, shelduck and various gulls in good numbers, both in the water and in flight. Further into the course, meadow pipit called unseen. The course was busy, but it was not exactly a hardship to pause and sea- watch whilst the golfers skelped their balls along the fairways.
Unlike last time there was no hint of hostility or resentment, and I was taken by just how pleasant the golfers were. I can’t help comparing them their generally malevolent counterparts at Bothwell Castle golf club. I’m starting to sound like a groupie for the East Coast, which is a smidge disconcerting for someone born and bred in Lanarkshire. One golfer in particular was actually also a birder, and we paused to chat about spring migrants, and a mystery hirundine he’d seen earlier that week. I couldn’t shed any light on it from his description, and unfortunately his bird books (!) hadn’t been any help. One of the wonders of this thing of ours is that sometimes, despite all our knowledge, things will stay a mystery.
Eventually I moved onward, the different areas of exposed rocks having different birds on them, but with the sounds of spring being a background constant. Oystercatcher started appearing in decent numbers, and a pair of red- breasted merganser floated Westward toward Dunbar. Being a country boy, RB Merganser are one of those coastal species that I try to make the most of and I spent some time watching them.
Moving further along the coast the course becomes somewhat wilder, the number of golfers (never huge to begin with) drops off, and the final destination Barns Ness comes into (distant) view. Scanning ahead to Whitesands was a little disappointing after last time’s sanderling bonanza, and bird life was restricted to gulls. The start of the school holidays, combined with decent weather, meant that the beach had plenty of families, plenty of children on it, which I couldn’t really grudge. The argument that people need to love something in order to fight for it is still a compelling one, and exposing children to nature as early as possible is the best way to go about it.
I stopped at my previous end point, and scanned the sea. The tell- tale screech of terns was absent, but distantly I saw the glide and dive of a pair of gannets. The massive wingspan and style of flying sets them apart. Year tick, albeit distantly, and all too soon they moved out of worthwhile range. I carried on walking, a little unsure of what the continuing path would be like- I was approaching areas that I had only previously visited by car, and even then, very infrequently.
Meadow Pipit called in a number of areas at Whitesands, with yellowhammer also calling at the far end of the beach. Sadly, no ‘bread/cheese’ calls, but I’ll take yellowhammer wherever I can. The shoreline was empty, with only gulls further out. A pair of dogs chased anything which ventured close in, and bearing in mind my theory of having to visit a place to love a place, this somehow annoyed me greatly. I moved on up the path and through the gate toward the Barns Ness lighthouse, by now admitting that Torness Power station was just out of reach. If I’d birded less, and walked faster…..
Meadow Pipits called again, as did more yellowhammer. I took the wrong (and painful) route through the gorse until finally making it to the lighthouse and setting my scope up at the seaward side of the building.
Just in time for the sea fog to roll in.
I was reliably informed by a chatty holidaymaker that this was ‘haar’ and that since I was on the North Sea coast I shouldn’t really be surprised. Visibility at sea was cut drastically, and I quickly made the decision to retrace my steps. In the last blog about Dunbar golf course I mentioned the film The Fog, and I was taking zero chances…..
Thankfully, the ‘haar’ was absent further back along the coast. Just as I reached the boundary with the golf course a bird popped up from the long grass onto a fence post. A female stonechat sat, almost daring me to move forward. I was more than happy to stay rooted to the spot watching her, until she gradually flew further and further along the fence. A definite bonus, though admittedly it was perfect habitat for her.
The walk back along the gold course path was uneventful mostly. Another brief chat with the ball- whackers was pretty pleasant. I had a longer chat with an English birder, and when I tried impressing him with my walk from Dunbar, he casually mentioned he was 10 days into a coastal walk from Northumberland. Levels…..
Before he walked on he let me know that he had had wheatear near the start of the course and I should be on the lookout. Birders sharing information always gives me a warm glow. A group of golfers were taking their shot, and I stopped to let them play. Scanning seaward, I could see a lot of gull activity, and heard the screech of a tern. I couldn’t quite make out the tern species, but did sea a handful of auks in the water. Careful scrutiny confirmed that they were razorbill, year tick 3 for the day, albeit they were floating in the water not actually doing much. A better sight was 5 gannets flying eastward, much closer in than before, and with the sun showing their colours much clearer. One of those things which puts a smile on a birder’s face, and keeps it there.
The walk back to the train station was without incident (or wheatear) and I had the enjoyment of a relaxed and sleepy journey home.
THOUGHTS
Three year ticks is pretty much consistent with previous days out. The kittiwake were very much expected, but the size of the colony, the sight and sound of it, elevates it above the predictable, above the everyday. The walk through the golf course was every bit as enjoyable as last time, the sea and shore being different enough to be almost new discoveries. I still envy people who have the opportunity to spend their time exploring the shore. Being second time around I knew a little of what to expect from the visit, which allowed me more time to focus on birds. Both the razorbill and gannet were rewarding in their own ways.
Meeting friendly people- birders and non-birders alike- is sometimes good for my grumpy old soul. As are the sounds of birding springtime. The birding this day wasn’t spectacular, its unlikely its going to be written about in any birding magazines. As a birding trip however, it was the accumulation of small things taken together that set it apart. I use the phrases ‘damned fine birding’ and ‘damned fine birds’ when discussing My Mate Bill’s birding trips. This day had neither, but you know what, all the individual elements came together to give me a damned fine DAY.
And I’m damned happy with that.
Stay healthy, stay fantastic.
John
My disappointment after the Cathkin/ Coulter visit was tempered not only by the SWT’s response but also by the fact I had another flexi day booked shortly afterwards. Previous years ‘disappointing’ days had been followed by a week of waiting, so this year’s lax approach to paid work offered a chance of prompt redemption. Birdtrack again formed the basis of my ‘where to go’ deliberations, both in terms of recent sightings and in identifying gaps in the year list which needed rectified. My exploration of new places in 2025 has also expanded my horizons, so that I decided a further trip to Dunbar was in order. This should secure me kittiwake and fulmar at the harbour, plus a plethora of other things I’d have to work for on the golf course.
With that plan settled, I allowed myself to feel the sense of excitement, of anticipation, to build up. Not only for the likelihood of ticks, or for a reasonably- sized day out birding. But that I was going back to the golf course area, where my childhood sense of wonder, sense of exploration had so recently been rekindled. This sense of exploration meant that I factored in a longer walk to Barns Ness. My feet started aching at even the thought of the extra distance, but my birding soul compensated for it easily.
The journey from Uddingston passed without event- a pleasant combination of a nap and a read on the train, plus having my fillings shaken out by the shakiest East Coast bus in service. My thoughts were definitely of the “should get” combined with “what if I don’t get” with regards fulmar at the Harbour, with the ‘what if’ part striking terror when it came to kittiwake. No such worries, as my ears confirmed kittiwake from a couple of hundred yards away. Year tick, and pretty much a guarantee in summer, but still definitely a birding spectacle for the eyes and ears.
I walked around, hoping I’d get fulmar in my usual place. No luck. I then scanned the rocks and infrastructure closely, with a couple of possibilities, but nothing I was sure enough to tick. Hmmm……
Any disappointment was quickly tempered by the growing excitement about returning to the golf course (and my friends, those are words I still don’t feel comfortable saying) and the sense of trepidation about the longer walk to Barns Ness. Being an expert now, I made it to the golf club without much delay. Birdtrack had offered much in terms of seabirds- gannets, terns- and waders. I managed my expectations somewhat, but was generally happy to be there. Any ticks would be a bonus, as long as the experience was as enjoyable as the first time.
Skylark and chiffchaff announced themselves almost immediately, and definitely set the tone. A spring day out, sun shining, reasonably warm, beautiful scenery, and skylark. I’ve had worse starts to a day out. The sea held much of the same birds as before, albeit the tides were different from last time. Redshank, shelduck and various gulls in good numbers, both in the water and in flight. Further into the course, meadow pipit called unseen. The course was busy, but it was not exactly a hardship to pause and sea- watch whilst the golfers skelped their balls along the fairways.
Unlike last time there was no hint of hostility or resentment, and I was taken by just how pleasant the golfers were. I can’t help comparing them their generally malevolent counterparts at Bothwell Castle golf club. I’m starting to sound like a groupie for the East Coast, which is a smidge disconcerting for someone born and bred in Lanarkshire. One golfer in particular was actually also a birder, and we paused to chat about spring migrants, and a mystery hirundine he’d seen earlier that week. I couldn’t shed any light on it from his description, and unfortunately his bird books (!) hadn’t been any help. One of the wonders of this thing of ours is that sometimes, despite all our knowledge, things will stay a mystery.
Eventually I moved onward, the different areas of exposed rocks having different birds on them, but with the sounds of spring being a background constant. Oystercatcher started appearing in decent numbers, and a pair of red- breasted merganser floated Westward toward Dunbar. Being a country boy, RB Merganser are one of those coastal species that I try to make the most of and I spent some time watching them.
Moving further along the coast the course becomes somewhat wilder, the number of golfers (never huge to begin with) drops off, and the final destination Barns Ness comes into (distant) view. Scanning ahead to Whitesands was a little disappointing after last time’s sanderling bonanza, and bird life was restricted to gulls. The start of the school holidays, combined with decent weather, meant that the beach had plenty of families, plenty of children on it, which I couldn’t really grudge. The argument that people need to love something in order to fight for it is still a compelling one, and exposing children to nature as early as possible is the best way to go about it.
I stopped at my previous end point, and scanned the sea. The tell- tale screech of terns was absent, but distantly I saw the glide and dive of a pair of gannets. The massive wingspan and style of flying sets them apart. Year tick, albeit distantly, and all too soon they moved out of worthwhile range. I carried on walking, a little unsure of what the continuing path would be like- I was approaching areas that I had only previously visited by car, and even then, very infrequently.
Meadow Pipit called in a number of areas at Whitesands, with yellowhammer also calling at the far end of the beach. Sadly, no ‘bread/cheese’ calls, but I’ll take yellowhammer wherever I can. The shoreline was empty, with only gulls further out. A pair of dogs chased anything which ventured close in, and bearing in mind my theory of having to visit a place to love a place, this somehow annoyed me greatly. I moved on up the path and through the gate toward the Barns Ness lighthouse, by now admitting that Torness Power station was just out of reach. If I’d birded less, and walked faster…..
Meadow Pipits called again, as did more yellowhammer. I took the wrong (and painful) route through the gorse until finally making it to the lighthouse and setting my scope up at the seaward side of the building.
Just in time for the sea fog to roll in.
I was reliably informed by a chatty holidaymaker that this was ‘haar’ and that since I was on the North Sea coast I shouldn’t really be surprised. Visibility at sea was cut drastically, and I quickly made the decision to retrace my steps. In the last blog about Dunbar golf course I mentioned the film The Fog, and I was taking zero chances…..
Thankfully, the ‘haar’ was absent further back along the coast. Just as I reached the boundary with the golf course a bird popped up from the long grass onto a fence post. A female stonechat sat, almost daring me to move forward. I was more than happy to stay rooted to the spot watching her, until she gradually flew further and further along the fence. A definite bonus, though admittedly it was perfect habitat for her.
The walk back along the gold course path was uneventful mostly. Another brief chat with the ball- whackers was pretty pleasant. I had a longer chat with an English birder, and when I tried impressing him with my walk from Dunbar, he casually mentioned he was 10 days into a coastal walk from Northumberland. Levels…..
Before he walked on he let me know that he had had wheatear near the start of the course and I should be on the lookout. Birders sharing information always gives me a warm glow. A group of golfers were taking their shot, and I stopped to let them play. Scanning seaward, I could see a lot of gull activity, and heard the screech of a tern. I couldn’t quite make out the tern species, but did sea a handful of auks in the water. Careful scrutiny confirmed that they were razorbill, year tick 3 for the day, albeit they were floating in the water not actually doing much. A better sight was 5 gannets flying eastward, much closer in than before, and with the sun showing their colours much clearer. One of those things which puts a smile on a birder’s face, and keeps it there.
The walk back to the train station was without incident (or wheatear) and I had the enjoyment of a relaxed and sleepy journey home.
THOUGHTS
Three year ticks is pretty much consistent with previous days out. The kittiwake were very much expected, but the size of the colony, the sight and sound of it, elevates it above the predictable, above the everyday. The walk through the golf course was every bit as enjoyable as last time, the sea and shore being different enough to be almost new discoveries. I still envy people who have the opportunity to spend their time exploring the shore. Being second time around I knew a little of what to expect from the visit, which allowed me more time to focus on birds. Both the razorbill and gannet were rewarding in their own ways.
Meeting friendly people- birders and non-birders alike- is sometimes good for my grumpy old soul. As are the sounds of birding springtime. The birding this day wasn’t spectacular, its unlikely its going to be written about in any birding magazines. As a birding trip however, it was the accumulation of small things taken together that set it apart. I use the phrases ‘damned fine birding’ and ‘damned fine birds’ when discussing My Mate Bill’s birding trips. This day had neither, but you know what, all the individual elements came together to give me a damned fine DAY.
And I’m damned happy with that.
Stay healthy, stay fantastic.
John