A Swift Return

The first Swift of the year over our house appeared yesterday, 7th May. As we only moved here in March this year, this was also the first we’d ever had here. Interestingly, despite the unseasonably warm weather we’ve been having, date was later than usual for this area. I had a look in my old journals and found that they usually arrived (or, at least, were spotted by me) in this area early in the first week of May. Here’s the entry from 29th April 2005:

“Jenny and I were changing [our daughter] Rowan’s nappy in her room, and after some bad singing by me, Rowan did her first laugh! The warm sun was low in the sky and shining right into the room. I looked out of the window and caught the briefest of glimpses of two birds flying at speed over the house opposite. These were Swifts, with their familiar thin, semi-circular wings and forked tail, unmistakable, even without hearing their trademark screeching. I opened the window and could hear the buzzing-wheezing of a calling Greenfinch”

Ahh, happy days. I was so moved, I even drew a picture of the scene (including the Swifts overhead and the Greenfinch in the tree):

 Swifts - the view from Rowan's room, 29th April 2005

Anyway, a few birders I’ve spoken to this week have also mentioned the low numbers of House Martin this year. I’ve only seen one myself so far, in Lincolnshire, on the English east coast. I was over there last Sunday, 1st May, twitching a Collard Pratincole at Immingham. I saw Swift, Swallow, House Martin and Sand Martin, all in the same view - for the first time, and what will possibly be the last time, this year.

As well as the fantastic Pratincole, I managed to add another bird to my UK on that trip: the Nightingale. While on holiday in southern Spain last summer, I enjoyed great view of them in the garden of our casa rural; but they’d so far eluded me in the UK. I’d heard that Whisby Nature Park, near Lincoln, was a great place to hear and (with patience) see Nightingales, so I popped down while I was in the area. I heard at least six singing (and oohing, cooing, rattling, whistling, nattering, warbling, and making all kinds of other noises) from the deep within dense brambles and hawthorns. After a couple of brief glimpses of a shy individual, I eventually got a wonderful prolonged view of a showy male belting out his song. Whisbly NP is probably the species’ most northerly stronghold in the UK, and well worth visiting, if only for these wonderful songsters.

My 2011 Year List was improved after a brief trip to Fairburn Ings RSPB yesterday morning. I went with photographer Paul Marfell, hoping to see a Common Crane that was on the reserve. Unfortunately, the Crane was hiding while we were there, but a calling Cuckoo in the Lin Dyke area and very tame Red-legged Partridge from the Pickup hide were the first I’d seen this year.

Red-legged Partridge, Fairburn Ings RSPB (Paul Marfell)

The Lin Dyke area in particular is great for warblers during Spring, with Blackcap, Chiffchaff, Willow and Grasshopper Warbler, and Common and Lesser Whitethroat all calling near the path.

Willow Warbler, Fairburn Ings RSPB (Paul Marfell)

With all these new birds, I've totted up my lists. So, for what it's worth, as of 8th May 2011, they stand at:
- British Life List: 268
- British 2011 Year List: 129
- Garden List: 21 (after only seven weeks at this address)

A Royal Disappointment

We all love a Royal Wedding, don’t we? We were all given a day off work so we could sit in front of the TV for hours, coo over dresses and hats, and celebrate all that’s great about Britain (i.e. the Royal Family - a fundamentally undemocratic system of choosing our head of state). Or, thanks to that day off work, we could choose to spend some quality time with our families in the quieter-than-normal countryside.

Unsurprisingly, our family decided on the latter option, with a trip to the Lake District to take a walk, have a picnic, and view the Bassenthwaite Ospreys from Dodd Wood.

Before I go any further, I should say that I have nothing against the couple who were getting married – all the best of luck to them, in fact – but, as my wife pointed out, I wouldn’t have survived more than five minutes watching their wedding, and particularly the build up to their wedding. Listening to hours of mindless drivel from royal correspondents, fashion commentators, and sloany rich kids about “pageantry”, “royal destiny”, and “fascinators”, would make the chip on my shoulder get very, very twitchy. And I reserve particular anti-monarchist ire for the groom’s wildlife-loving brother: best man Prince Harry.

So, on Friday 29th April 2011, we escaped all that and shot off to the Lakes. The weather was great and the journey straightforward, and there was plenty of space at the Dodd Wood car park. We made our way to the upper view-point nice and quickly - apparently 45 minutes in "RSPB-time" (they always assume you walk at a snail’s pace); about 25 minutes in real time. We even got a to see a Red Squirrel just by the path.

So what, exactly, was I disappointed about? Well, it was the Ospreys - or, rather, the view of the Ospreys – that the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds led us to believe we would get. According to their Ospreywatch site, "Our open air viewpoints offer spectacular views of the Ospreys on and flying to and from their nest". We didn’t really get much of a view at all. Instead, we get an incredibly dim and distant view of a nest from the other side of a valley, with a tiny spec – the female’s head – poking out of the top.

The thing is, I’m a birder, and I know that wildlife lives by its own rules, and if a bird doesn’t show, then it doesn’t show – fair enough. But the Ospreys do show – the RSPB has telescopes trained on their nest, so you can see them all the time. But they put the viewing point so far from the nest that even more experienced birders can hardly tell what they’re looking at. Then, they invite us all to see the great spectacle of these birds, and put up massive close-ups of Ospreys on the walk up to the viewing points, getting children and adults alike excited at the prospect of seeing these great birds. When we get there, the view way too distant to satisfy anyone, and certainly not one to inspire kids. We are told we can see the birds hunting over the lake, but again, you’d need some powerful optics, which most casual visitors, and more importantly their kids (i.e. the ones we want to attract to nature) do not have.

It wouldn’t disturb the birds to put the view point closer to the nest – like within a mile of it maybe. They certainly won’t stop determined egg-collectors or other persecutors by putting one so far away. It’ll only put off people making the journey to see these birds, because the dissatisfaction they felt, which was obvious in the expressions of some of the people as they came back down the track.

Now, I really like the RSPB – I’ve been a member for years (including when I was as a child back in the 70s), and I even volunteer for them; so I don’t go along with the minority of po-face and snobbish birders who have a pop at them at every opportunity.

What I'm saying is: don't pin all your hopes (and your children's hopes) on great views of Ospreys from the RSPB's viewpoint. It's a nice walk up there, but you if you really want to see Ospreys, you might want to try a different tactic. On a previous visit we drove across to the layby on the A66, on the other side of Bassenthwaite Lake (still well away from the the nest site). From here you can look east across the lake to view the Opreys hunting, and look west to the high ridge, where we saw an Osprey hanging on the updraft. My two-year-old daughter could pick that one out with little assistance. And I'm sure, with a bit of research, there are other places to get good views from too.

Anyway, I feel bad now - I didn't start writing a blog so I could spend all my time whinging about things. One thing certainly had changed in the four years since our last visit: my daughter’s skill with binoculars...

 Dodd Wood, Cumbria, 29th April 2007

Dodd Wood, Cumbria, 29th April 2011 

And I guess, in the interests of balance, I should also post a picture of my son. Here he is, on his first twitch, at Potteric Carr YWT reserve near Doncaster, watching breeding Black-necked Grebes.

My son, the twitcher - Potteric Carr, South Yorkshire, 5th June 2009

Double Buzzard!

Once is lucky, twice looks like a pattern...

I saw a Common Buzzard in Roberts Park, Saltaire, the other day. Not something you see every day in a manicured, suburban, West Yorksire park, but a Buzzard nonetheless. It was a particularly pale individual, but these are variable birds. Its markings and general size and shape all added up to Common Buzzard - broad, pale underwings with dark primary tips, shortish wide tail, cream-coloured underside with brown speckles, darker brown upperparts, right size and shape, etc. I also checked with Salts Estates at the nearby Salts Mill that no falconer had been operating in the area (they have previously used Harris Hawk and Lanner Falcon to control pigeons on the Mill), but they stopped using falconers in 2010.

But today, I saw another one, but half a mile away. I was picking my daughter up from Rainbows (Brownies for under 7s), when a large bulky bird caught my eye, seemingly quartering the park in the distance. I watched it for maybe 30 seconds, then a further 10 seconds from a longer distance. My two-year-old son was running around the busy car park so I was struggling to concentrate, but I did get my bins on it for 10 seconds or so.

The bird was maybe 300 metres away at first, heading slowly west - it came slightly closer. It was over Northcliffe Park when I first saw it and appeared to be hunting. At first I thought it might be a Red Kite, as it had a lazy flapping motion and slightly shaggy appearance, holding it's wings in a shallow V (almost Marsh Harrier-like, though not so pronounced). There ware no marking on the upperwings - they were pretty uniformly dark brown. I ruled out female Sparrowhawk because of the bulk of the bird (it was much bigger than the Jackdaws that eventually came to mob it) and the slow, almost laboured, wing-flapping.

It was a much darker bird than the one I saw last week in Saltaire - a different individual. This bird's underwings had mostly thick dark brown/black edges, white/buff away from the edges. The breast/belly on the Roberts Park bird was the colour of pine furniture (I've just moved house, so I'm in soft-furnishings mode) whereas this guy was more mahogany. The wings were broad and the breast  deep. I saw no barring underwing, under tail, or on the breast.  Not an escaped Harris Hawk, and no Sparrowhawk - too big, dark, shaggy and bulky. No pale rump, tail-base, or flanks.

So, I'm certain it was a Common Buzzard, and a different individual than last week's bird. Believe me, Buzzards are not common round our way. Could a pair have taken up residence somewhere nearby? Seems unlikely, but... I'll keep 'em peeled.

Learning songs

Earlier this week, at this month's local bird group meeting, I'd been discussing bird songs and calls, and tips on learning them, with my colleague Paul. During a couple of lunchtimes this week, I'd been out birding in local park in the warm weather, and heard a few calls of resident birds and newly-arrived migrants that would be good for a newbie to learn, or for a birder to "get their ear in" in time for the main Spring invasion. So, on Thursday this week we took an hour to wander along the River Aire by Roberts Park in Saltaire.

As ever, the loudest, most bold song was the one that bursts forth from the diminutive Wren. I’m always impressed when the little fella pops up and belts out that busy-yet-controlled call at such high decibels. This was soon followed by the familiar cadence of a Chaffinch. It’s often likened to a fast-bowler’s run-up and delivery in cricket, and having just spent seven weeks watching the beautiful game during the brilliant 2011 Cricket World Cup, I have to agree it’s a great way to remember the rhythm of that call.

The newly arrived Chiffchaff called his name from over the river, in between pecks around the branches and sorties for insects on the wing. At the same moment, an obliging Great Tit did his “teacher teacher” call, to help us eliminate the only vaguely similar call from our Chiffchaff enquiries. Its cousin, the Blue Tit, did its familiar song too. It’s often the first recognisable song of Spring I hear, often starting in early January. It starts with a high “peep”, then goes rapidly down a short scale, and finishes (if he’s allowed) with a short section of relatively lower notes that really characterise the song.

Then, one of my favourites; the true sound of Summer: the Willow Warbler. With a song that sounds like someone coming to the end of a long laugh, it has the vibe of a hot summer’s afternoon that reminds me of the lazy summer days of my youth in the Pennines. We’d cycle up the Woodhead Pass to the reservoirs, and after some pranks and dips in the water, I’d sit and listen to the songs of Meadow Pipits and Willow Warblers and dream of seeing a Common Buzzard (yes, they were rare then!).

I find when learning calls, it helps to see the bird as it sings, to cement the connection. Paul managed a shot of the Willow Warbler in full voice.

Willow Warbler, Saltaire (Paul Marfell)

Robin and Dunnock were the next songs to be separated. I find they have similar voices; but the Dunnock has a repetitive song, as if sung from sheet music, whereas the Robin is more of a jazzer, taking the improv approach. Amongst all these calls and the sounds of Blackbird, Wood Pigeon, Magpie, Mallard - not to mention the rushing weir - we picked out a tuneful almost thrush-like warble. Up At the top of the tallest tree, a large grey-white warbler with a black crown sang as it looked for insects in the buds: a male Blackcap.

Blackcap, Saltaire (Paul Marfell)

So, a steady introduction to the sounds of breeding season, and on the way home from work that evening, I had the pleasure of seeing my first Swallow and Sand Martin of the summer.

But most memorably, at 5pm, straight out of the doors from work, I saw a Common Buzzard flying up out of Roberts Park, mobbed by crows, gulls, and practically everything else. Who’d have thought that possible 30 years ago..?

Moving House Sparrows

A couple of days ago I saw the best bird I’ve seen all year: a House Sparrow. Of course, I’ve seen thousands of these chirpy chaps over the years, and quite a few this year already; but this bird was different - this bird was in my garden. I’ve not seen one House Sparrow in my garden during the 11 years I’ve lived in this area. Unfortunately, the only way to get one in my garden was to move house.

I saw the bird on the day I moved in, while I was unpacking. The smart male sparrow sat on the ornamental bush in the front garden; it didn’t seem at all fazed by me grinning, pointing, and shouting the good news to my family.

House Sparrow, Howden (Paul Marfell)

We’d lived at our previous address for over a decade, and despite watching out for spadgers all through that time, I didn’t pick one out among the 27 species I did see. Probably due to all the cats. But now we’ve moved a mere 200 metres to a new house, and they’re everywhere. In fact, I’ve spotted them coming in and out of a hole under the eaves of our house – hopefully they’ll nest here – and I’ve seen them carrying nest material in the neighbour’s garden.

It feels apt that I should move in and get excited about these little sparrows on the same weekend as World Sparrow Day. The House Sparrow has been in serious decline over the previous 15 years or so, particularly in England. There's extra bad news for the sparrows in my garden - the second bird I saw over the house on moving day was a Sparrowhawk…

Since moving in I’ve also been watching one of my other favourite birds – Jackdaw. Late in the afternoon I watched as a flock of Jackdaws appeared over the nearby houses, wheeling around acrobatically. It took me a moment to realise the loose flock was made up of pairs, with each pair flying close together, following one another. I'm not sure I’ve seen this paired “sky dance” before – I’m sure I would have noticed this graceful formation flying if I had. It was a dramatic sight, with at least 25 pairs over the garden. After a couple of minutes, the sky cleared and the birds went back to their respective rooftops and continued to drop sticks down chimneys…

More of Paul’s photos from Howden, North Yorkshire, are on Flickr:
Howden Wildlife

You live and learn

Here’s a story: A fastidious birder in Chipping Norton, Oxford, spotted an unusual pigeon during a BTO Garden BirdWatch survey. And although it wasn’t ID’d by the finder, an equally fastidious BTO worker ID’d it as a Rufous Turtle Dove, of the form orientalis (we’re talking, like, really rare.) Fortunately, it was refound a few weeks after the ID was confirmed, in Steve Akers’ back garden, (that’s Number 41, The Leys, Chipping Norton). And Steve, being a generous and laid-back guy, invited everyone round to see it.

Ever since, this bird has been causing a stir in twitching heartland, and twitchers have been causing a stir in the national press. Many people have since visited Steve’s cosy home, stood in stocking feet on the warm tiles in the back room, looking through the French windows at the bird’s singular beauty, while Steve made cuppas on his Aga and totted up the money he was making for BirdLife by way of the £5 entrance fee. And to top it all off, each visitor got to add a new bird to his/her British list. The whole thing sounded like so much fun, I had to pay a visit.

So, one Saturday, I took what I like to call a Don Draper day (you’ll know what I mean if you watch Mad Men). Except I didn’t slink off to spend time with my boho mistress or watch some arthouse movie. I went twitching in Oxfordshire.

It’s a bit of trek from West Yorkshire to Middle England, so I got through a fair few CDs, opting for a couple of easy straighteners to help me along the pre-dawn motorway (Black Sabbath’s Black Sabbath and The Pixies’ Surfer Rosa). I then tried another listen of Deerhunter’s Halcyon Digest. Well, it starts off promisingly enough, with a superb Slowdive-like epic, and takes some interesting turns with sparse solo tracks, great lyrics, and simple guitar-pop (Memory Boy is ace); but ultimately it’s a patchy record. But “patchy” is a lot better than “boring”, which was my thought when I caught them live in 2009…

Felt Mountain by Goldfrapp was the accompaniment to the journey trough the grey pastoralism of the Cotwolds. This record is always a joy to hear, and is surely one of the best records released this century. I mean, how great is Deer Stop?! It’s almost the perfect song, except it doesn’t include a guitar solo, so I’m not sure it qualifies...

Chipping Norton town centre was busy with local people, as you’d expect at 08:30, and so was The Leys, although mostly with birders (plus a wary bloke washing his car and a bemused Tesco delivery guy). I briefly joined a group of purposeful-looking birders stood staring at a fence, before our man Steve beckoned us silently from further up the road, and I was soon stood sweating next to the Aga in the now famous kitchen.

The bird had flown as we filed in, and most people left immediately to go chasing it around the side streets and back gardens. A few of us more patient types waited, sharing tea and conversation with our host, while watching the Bullfinches (seven at once!) and Brambling, among the commoner finches in the garden. The dove teased us for a while, sitting in a tree in next door’s garden. I could just make out the dark grey-black of the tail among the ash keys.

Soon the dove from above came down from its resting place and perched unsteadily on a fence. Lots of cooing from in the kitchen. Then it settled on a stone plinth close to the windows for all to see. Lots of commandments to “keep still!” from the home-owner, and clicking of DSLRs, something like this:

And what a beautiful bird it was – particularly the pristine black-and-white neck lines and those dark, dark wing coverts with their rusty orange fringes. A truly exotic Turtle Dove in Britain, as if the “usual” ones weren’t exotic enough. Well worth the trip.

Now then, while I’d had my feet up at number 41, the news came through the infamous Slat-backed Gull had been seen again that morning on the River Thames. That news, added to a report from previous day, made me decide to go for the gull again. So I jumped in the car and grabbed the nearest CD, which happened to be Granddaddy’s classic The Software Slump, and I was off.

There’s always been something slightly “ELO” about Graddaddy. Maybe it’s because, like Jeff Lynne, Jason Lytle writes songs about things like robots and the weather, as much as about love and death. And like best of Jeff’s often-pompous output, Jason somehow manages to combine cheesy synths with old school song writing and instrumentation. There’s just a vague similarity to both bands that I can’t put my finger on... I dunno, maybe it’s just that their initials are the same.

As I drove, I remembered hearing that it was quite easy to see Red Kite over the M40, and during the course of just two Granddaddy songs I saw an impressive 31 Red Kite over the car and a pair of Common Buzzard. There were certainly more, but I really needed to keep my eyes on the road.

Two hours later, I’m stood staring at the landfill beyond Rainham Marshes. Again. Here's some film, to give you an idea of the scene...

I learnt a lot about gulls in the 2.5 hours I stood there (even picking out a Yellow-legged Gull among the blizzard of gull wings). I also learnt a lot about myself. I don’t think I’ll twitch a rare gull at a tip again, unless it’s nailed on. I mean it: actually nailed on to something. I can’t face many more dips like this. My mood wasn’t helped by suggestions later that the previous days’ sightings were a bit dubious. I’ve no reason to doubt the claims, but if I’d considered the lack of recent convincing photos of the gull, I probably wouldn’t have attempted the twitch. You live and learn.

So, home via the traffic jam known as South Mims on the M25. At least it gave me time to give Radiohead’s new album The King of Limbs a listen or three. I’ll freely admit that I’ve long been indifferent to Radiohead (apart from their first two albums, which I simply don’t like), although they have been pressing all the right buttons and ticking all the right boxes for years. I just haven’t been able to get excited by them. But this album, with its unobtrusive, half-formed ideas and abstract demos that sound like sketches, is actually brilliant. The vocals are bare yet impenetrable, and the brass is both subtle and bold. Despite my previous misgivings about the band, I’ve always rated Radiohead’s rhythm section, and this record belongs to them: simple and complicated. My ears will be open from now. You live and learn…

Mink Encounter

I did my monthly WeBS count of the River Aire on the way to work this morning (a day late, but Monday was so hectic with the house move happening this week). I walked through Hirst Wood to get to the start point at SE125380. Despite the foggy conditions, the wood was filled with song, as you’d imagine for March: Blackbird, Mistle Thrush, Robin, Wren, Great-spotted Woodpecker, Nuthatch, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Chaffinch, all heard but not seen.

Conversely, it was very quiet on the River Aire around Hirst Wood and Dowley Gap, with just one Mallard and Goosander. As I rounded the corner to the aqueduct, I realised the birds had probably been spooked further downstream by the Mink standing by a small wooden bridge. It glared at me as I approached, allowing me to get within four metres, before it slid into the small stream. It sat up on the opposite bank and stared at me, as bold as brass, twitching its nose, while I cursed myself for forgetting to bring my camera.

The Mink was dark brown all over, save for a whiteish spot on the chin and another blotch on the chest/belly. Smallish, slimmer than a cat, like a big, dark stoat. Otters also frequent this stretch of river, but this was easy to ID as an American Mink, Mustela vison. It eventually swam away, completely unperturbed, as I got a couple of poor shots with my rubbish phone camera. Regardless, it was a pleasure to have shared a few moments with the wily character.

American Mink, Hirst Wood, Shipley, March 2011

As I suspected, the water birds were further on, including seven more Goosander on the flat stretch above Hirst Weir, a Grey Wagtail and two Dipper on the wier itself, and a Kingfisher at Salts Sports.