Excluding those closest to me, not many people will know that for seven years now I have been living with a severe hearing impairment. Partial deafness caused as a result of numerous ear infections as a child. Infections which lead, first, to several attempts to install grommets during my younger years and later, at 17, a rather serious operation designed to remove infected scar tissue from my left ear. This operation, a mastoidectomy (removal of the mastoid bones), eventually leaving me with only 14% capability in one ear, with the other languishing at a measly 50%. Essentially, my hearing is not all that good and though I cope rather well, I do tend to struggle with situations boasting excessive background noise (wind, traffic, tv, radio, additional conversations), and find it difficult to track noises back to their original source due to my inability to triangulate sounds correctly.
Over the years since my operation, despite struggling, I have never made an effort to get hearing aids: perhaps due to vanity, perhaps due to the perceived stigma associated with the nifty little devices. A grievous error on my part; my decision meaning that for some time now, I have struggled to enjoy the natural world in all its glory. The song of thrushes and finches, while audible, muted and dull and the shrill calls of smaller birds – particularly Goldcrests – almost inaudible and extremely difficult to pinpoint. Indeed, such is the nature of the problem, that even louder birdsong leaves me struggling to find exactly where it is coming from – a bird calling behind me often finds me staring in the opposite direction to no avail. Such is the nature of my knackered ears and, truth be told, it isn’t all that great for someone who spends so much time outdoors.
Well, fast forward to this morning and a surprise intervention from my Mum found me kitted out with a new hearing device. Just a cheap one to trial, for now, but a hearing aid all the same. A brief pre-lunch spell in the garden proving more than sufficient to drastically brighten up my day. The sound of a Robin belting out a familiar, seasonal tune from the Hawthorn at the bottom of our yard; the sound of Starlings cackling as they scrounged leftovers from next doors lawn and even the sharp notes of a Goldcrest audible as I sat, enraptured. These sounds, these humble, everyday sounds coming as a breath of fresh air and, quite literally, music to my weary ears.
I fear it was rather silly of me to avoid joining the hearing aid club until now; though now it makes not a shred of difference. From now on my woodland walks and forays elsewhere look set to take on a whole new level of clarity and, more than anything, I am very grateful for the gift of birdsong this Christmas.
Bonus, they don’t look half as bad as anticipated…
Now, this is a post for the avian-inclined individuals out there…
For those of you who didn’t know, I set myself a challenge at the start of 2017. One which would see me attempt to glimpse as many bird species as possible in my home county over the course of a single year. No easy feat given the fact I do not yet drive, and instead rely predominately on public transport and the goodwill of others. (Thanks for the lifts this year Jack, Sacha and others).
As we approach year’s end, I can reveal that I will be finishing said challenge on a total of 222 species. Now, this falls below my initial target of 230 and well below the dizzy heights reached by other regional birders, but despite this, I am happy with it. While my own tally may yet increase (doubtful), what I have had the pleasure to enjoy so far has worked wonders when it comes to confirming my view of Northumberland as an incredibly diverse, beautiful and wholly interesting county. Truly, I’ve had a blast dashing around like a lunatic during 2017 and despite my mediocre score, have enjoyed some truly wonderful spectacles.
Below is a short summary of the highlights of this birding year omitting, of course, a few of the more abundant odds and ends in the interest of efficiency.
Bean Goose – 2/3 Tundra race seen at Hemscott Hill, Druridge on the 7th January.
Mandarin – Lone drake on an urban pond at Hexham on the 24th of February.
Garganey – Drake at Arcot Pond, 17th March.
Green-winged Teal – Drake at Hauxley Nature Reserve on the 18th of April.
Ferruginous Duck (County Tick) – Superb drake at Gosforth Park on the 19th of March.
Ring-necked Duck (County tick) – Drake on Hauxley Nature Reserve on the 26th March.
Black Scoter (Lifer) – Drake at Cheswich Sands on the 16th of January.
Velvet Scoter – Immature drake in Blyth Estuary on February 20th
Ruddy Duck (County Tick) – Drake at Bothal Pond on the 8th of June.
Mandarin
Ruddy Duck and Mandarin
Black Grouse – 1 male and 2 female birds at Swinhope on the 25th of February.
Quail (County tick) – One seen and another two heard at Stobswood on June 19th.
Pacific Diver (Lifer) – the long-staying individual at East Chevington on January 20th; seen again and enjoyed on multiple occasions thereafter.
Great Northern Diver – two at Bamburgh on the 7th of January.
Red-necked Grebe – a single individual at Bamburgh on the 3rd of March.
Slavonian Grebe – four at Bamburgh on the 7th of January. Another confiding individual in Blyth Harbour thereafter.
Black-necked Grebe – two.
Spoonbill – One at Druridge Pools on the 10th of April, three thereafter.
Great White Egret – One at Druridge Pools on the 26th March.
Common Crane (County Tick) – One at Druridge Pools on the 9th of April.
Curlew Sandpiper – two at Cresswell Pond on the 2nd of August.
Little Stint – one at Cresswell Pond on the 9th of October.
White-rumped Sandpiper (Lifer) – the Showy individual at St. Mary’s Island on the 7th of August.
Pectoral Sandpiper – One on the 3rd of July at Druridge Pools.
Red-necked Phalarope (Lifer) – Single bird on the 3rd of October at Druridge Pools.
Glaucous Gull – Flyover individual at Warkworth on the 7th of January.
Iceland Gull – Immature on rocks at North Blyth on the 6th of January.
Iceland Gull
Caspian Gull – Returning bird at Amble on the 6th of August. Ring no: PKCS.
Black Tern – Cracking adult at East Chevington on the 21st of April.
Long-tailed Skua (Lifer) – Birding experience of the year; single bird showed down to a matter of feet on Goswick Golf Course. 27th September.
Short-eared Owl – fantastic year for this species; ten individuals seen by December including six together at one site + two on breeding territory.
Long-Eared Owl – seen regularly at two reliable sites.
Cuckoo – singing birds at Beacon Hill and Catton, first 2nd May. One seen on Holy Island.
Nightjar – three individuals observed (and more heard) at an inland site. Incredible views.
Bee-Eater (Lifer) – Long-staying bird at Druridge Pools on the 21st of October.
Great Grey Shrike – Prestwick Carr, 12th January.
Waxwing – 180 seen in total; first flock of c60 at Bedlington on 26th January.
Waxwing – Bedlington
Shore Lark – four at East Chevington on the 1st of January.
Short-toed Lark (Lifer) – single bird at Catton Moss on the 10th of May.
Red-rumped Swallow (British tick) – lucky encounter; single bird at Druridge Pools on April 10th.
Cetti’s Warbler (County Tick) – Seen briefly and heard for a good hour at East Chevington, 14th October.
Yellow-browed Warbler – Seven in total; first Hauxley NR on the 16th September
Barred Warbler (Lifer) – Showing very well at Druridge Pools on the 7th of October.
Citrine Wagtail (Lifer) – Fantastic views on two occasions at Lynemouth Flash, first seen on the 13th of May.
Citrine Wagtail – Lynemouth flash
Hawfinch (County tick) – Two individuals at Abbey Mill on the 6th of November.
Honourable mentions to Wood Warbler, Willow Tit, Pied Flycatcher, Black Redstart, Hen Harrier, Osprey, Goshawk, Snow Bunting, Water Pipit, Roseate Tern and Little Auk.
Greatest ommissions? Well, missing Night Heron, White-winged Black Tern, Spotted Crake, White-billed Diver and Black-throated Thursh hurt somewhat; though failing to catch up with Bittern and Sooty Shearwater is pretty inexcusable. And let’s not talk about Temmick’s Stint.
The RSPB’s Project Puffin has taken the first steps towards solving the mystery of why some puffin colonies in the UK are in dramatic decline. To do this, RSPB scientists analysed more than 1400 photos sent in by the public, helping them to build a better picture of what these iconic seabirds are feeding their chicks.
Each Spring, the UK coastline comes alive with the sight, sound and smell of puffins nesting and raising their young, known as pufflings. With their bright orange bills and distinctive eye markings people from around the world visit puffin hotspots in the UK and Ireland to photograph the bustling colonies. However, in recent years puffin numbers have plummeted at some colonies, and experts estimate that without help more than half the global puffin population will disappear within the next forty years.
In the summer, RSPB scientists set out to understand more about the differing fortunes of puffins around our coasts. The project aimed to capture a snapshot of what puffins are feeding their young at as many colonies as possible, as it is thought their food supply has been negatively impacted by warming seas and shifting ocean currents. By enlisting the help of the public, also known as the ‘Puffarazzi’, 1402 photos of puffins bringing food to their chicks were sent to the team.
The photos have helped scientists identify areas where puffins are struggling to find the large, nutritious fish needed to support their chicks. Early results suggest that the diet of puffins vary significantly around the UK – in the northern isles of Orkney and Shetland, where serious puffin declines have been seen, puffins appear to be consistently finding smaller prey compared to most other colonies.
Traditionally puffins feed on a mixture of fish, but with nutritious sandeels making up a high proportion of their diet. The photos from puffin colonies in northwest Scotland show that sandeels are making up about half of their diet compared to the two-thirds at colonies in southern Scotland, northern England and Wales.
Ellie Owen, RSPB Conservation Scientist leading the Project Puffin team, said: “Puffins colourful bills and unique eye markings make them a favourite bird to photograph. The huge response to our appeal for photos has been incredible, with more than a thousand submitted. It’s taken the team of staff and volunteers more than three months to go through them all.
“For a young puffin waiting in its burrow, its life hangs on whether its parents return with enough food. An abundant supply of large, nutritious fish such as sandeels, sprats and herrings is key to healthy colonies. The public response means we’re getting data on a scale that we’ve never been able to collect before; showing what puffins are managing to find to feed their chicks around our coastline. The next stage of the project is to look more closely at the diet of puffins compared to their breeding success to pin down what part diet plays in the decline of some puffins.”
From May to August, 602 people joined the Puffarazzi, gathering 1402 photos of puffins taking food to their chicks. Pictures came from almost 40 colonies around the UK, including those on the Farne Islands, Skomer and the Isle of May. The project is supported by Heritage Lottery Fund Scotland thanks to money raised by National Lottery players. To see more of the pictures and to learn about the RSPB’s Project Puffin, visit www.rspb.org.uk/projectpuffin
Another week, another adventure, this time to the tourist hotspot and renowned centre of debauchery that is Benidorm. A location I first visited on a family getaway two years ago that, much to my surprise, I found to be a rather fantastic spot for some urban wildlife watching. Well, fast forward a couple of years and this past week, once again, I found myself pacing the cities sunny outskirts, hectic streets and forgotten areas in search of some of the party destinations less conspicuous inhabitants. Between festival activities, that is – this was not a birding holiday per say.
Staying in the Belroy Hotel, my first encounter came on our first day when, at dusk, the characteristic call of wagtails was heard from our balcony. Scanning the adjacent rooftops, it soon became apparent that the opposing hotel was favoured by the local White Wagtails as a roost site; with upwards of 100 birds arriving in loose flocks during the proceeding hour. A spectacle which, much to my delight, repeated each and every night during our stay.
Early morning watches from the comfort of the balcony saw the wagtails long gone – the monochrome ones rising far earlier that I – though that same rooftop later yielded Spotless Staring, Black Redstart and my first Blue Rock Thrush of the trip – a rather pristine male. Not to mention the many Crag Martins elegantly traversing the skies at eye-level with my makeshift viewpoint, accompanied on occasion by the odd Pallid Swift.
Venturing out into the streets before the inevitable rise of my fellow Britons proved worthwhile; the roadside palms and plain trees chiming with the merry twittering of Serin and Goldfinch and, of course, the familiar chirrup of the cities many House Sparrows. It was the larger gardens and scant parks that yielded the greatest reward, however, with one particular visit to a nearby skatepark producing 13 Sardinian Warbler (the first of many seen throughout the trip), Long-tailed Tit, Firecrest and, best of all, Crested Tit. The experience here amplified by a hovering Kestrel and a handful of Little Egrets passing overhead at first light.
Perhaps the best birding of the trip was had amid the more luxurious villas located along the cities boundary with Serra Gelada National Park to the west. Here, the cherry on top of an outing on the second day came in the form of a stunning, and very confiding, male Black Wheatear; though a surprise Short-eared Owl came a close second. Indeed, I had no idea this species could be seen here, and seeing one quartering above Mediterranean coastal shrubbery was a far cry from the windswept moors of Northern England or the Scottish Highlands. Similarly, a covey of five Red-legged Partridge here was also nice to see – a familiar species in the UK, yes, but one I had not yet seen in their natural environment.
Red-Legged Partridge – Benidorm
The fringes of Serra Gelada were the focus of much of my birding exploits during the week: with two more Black Wheatear seen during my last visit, alongside a trip-tick Dartford Warbler, two Raven and a further four Blue Rock Thrush. Not to mention countless more Black Redstart, Sardinian Warbler, Crag Marten and Firecrest and a few more familiar additions to the weeks tally: Meadow Pipit, Greenfinch, Chiffchaff, Linnet and Robin. A flyover large raptor here, far too distant to properly scrutinise, providing a tantalising hint of things to come upon a brief outing on the bus to nearby Calpe.
Having heard much of Calpe before our trip, it was only fitting that myself and Matt set some time aside for a proper outing before we were forced to head home. We did this on the third day; arriving at the inner-city Salt Lake early in the morning and immediately finding ourselves greeted by 47 Greater Flamingos feeding contently by the roadside. A first for me, having never before seen this species in the wild, and a queer sight to behold, in truth. Flamingos with a backdrop of high-rise accommodation and passing traffic, not something I had thought to see anytime soon. Also here, a number of Shelduck, Cattle Egret and Moorhen provided new additions to the growing trip list and a passing birder was kind enough to draw our attention to an overhead Booted Eagle – another lifer. What a bird!
Greater Flamingo – Calpe
The real highlight of our stay at Calpe, however, came in the form of a lone gull sitting alone towards the Northern shore – far removed from the squabbling hoards of Yellow-legged and Black-headed Gulls amassed in the interior of the lake. Drawing closer, the identity of the pristine-looking bird soon became clear: Auduoin’s Gull – perhaps my most hoped for target of the trip and, by all accounts, a splendid bird to behold. The gull was enjoyed until our busy schedule forced us to depart for a whistle-stop tour of the Pobla de Ifac, where another male Blue Rock Thrush was the highlight of a decent cast of more familiar species. Including the ONLY Great Tit seen throughout the entire trip.
Audouin’s Gull – Calpe
Back in Benidorm, our final ventures of the week saw us add Iberian Green Woodpecker to the trip-list; while a single Crested Lark was unearthed on a local building site. Taking a much more touristy trip to Benidorm Island, it was similarly great to immerse ourselves in the resident Yellow-legged Gull colony; while the short boat voyage to our destination provided sightings of Shag, Greater Cormorant and Sandwich Tern.
A brief mention should be given to Benidorms non-avian inhabitants that also amused throughout the week. With butterfly sightings including Swallowtail, Clouded Yellow, Painted Lady, Red Admiral, Wall, Long-tailed Blue and Lang’s Short-tailed Blue, there was plenty to look at on this front. A notable bonus coming in the form of my first ever Silver-striped Hawkmoth (pictured below) found hiding in the shade cast by a local supermarket.
Unless you have been living under a rock, or are simply disinterested in this sort of thing, you will surely have heard by now that this Autumn has seen an unprecedented number of Hawfinch arriving in the UK. Indeed, at present, Britain appears full to bursting with these usually scarce, cherry-stone splitting finches – the invasion marked by uncharacteristically high counts of migrating birds at coastal watchpoints and the presence of Hawfinches at numerous locations well outside of their traditional range.
After nearly a fortnight of enviously glancing over celebratory tweets and jubilant Facebook posts and following years of missed opportunities, yesterday I found myself presented with an opportunity to finally get to grips with my first Hawfinch on British soil. An opportunity that I quickly seized, enjoying a sensational Autumn day in the wilds of Northumberland.
Making the one-mile walk from Morpeth to Mitford, all the ingredients for a perfect Autumnal day were seen in abundance. Crisped leaves of a hundred hues tumbling elegantly downwards from the denuded canopy, fieldfares passing overhead in rowdy, cackling flocks and the occasional seep of a passing Redwing making for a most enjoyable morning. Indeed, during the short walk to the intended site – a tranquil area of mixed woodland near Mitford – the local wildlife performed admirably. Minutes into the journey a Marsh tit sneezed from the cover of a roadside thicket while, by the river, a Kingfisher fished for ten minutes or so in plain view, before darting upstream and out of sight of its enthralled admirers. A sight which, coupled with sightings of Siskin, Grey Wagtail, Jay and Dipper, left me feeling altogether optimistic.
Arriving on site and after issuing the usual pleasantries to the assembled bird folk, I soon set about scanning the tops of the golden Hornbeams the finches had apparently been favouring. Nothing, no sign at all – my attention soon turning to the other species going about their business nearby. Behind me, in the wood, a Jay wailed from the upper echelons of a naked Oak and the machine-gun rattle of a Mistle Thrush was enjoyed briefly. With other points of interest including a number of showy Goldcrest, a few Bullfinch and a second flock of Fieldfare heading West with haste. Lovely, each and all, but still, no Hawfinches in sight; thus I decided to break off from the crowd and wander – I have always disliked the standing in one place approach to birding.
Rounding a corner into a nearby paddock, my attention was immediately drawn to a dumpy bird hopping about in the shade of a Hawthorn. The fearsome, preposterously large bill of the individual leading to an inevitable conclusion: Hawfinch. Opting to alert the other birders on site to its presence and pulling my focus begrudgingly from the bird itself, it was soon lost to sight. At least until emerging a few minutes later in the branches of one of the aforementioned Hornbeams – enormous bill and piercing stare accentuated in the jaded Autumn sun. From here, the bird showed wonderfully: sitting stone-still on its chosen branch as the amassed crowd scoped, photographed and admired to their heart’s content. Only moving from its favoured spot when a Grey Heron, of all things, passed overhead – enveloping the finch in shade and surely causing a slight bit of alarm.
This encounter, the first of its kind for me, personally, was an altogether marvellous one. An encounter which brought back memories of admiring the species on TV – watching the outlandish finches as they cracked beech masts and wondering whether I would one day, be lucky enough to see one. To date, that possibility had seemed a long-shot, given the species virtual extinction as a breeding species in my native Northumberland and the difficulty associated with getting to the sites at which they still thrive further afield. Clearly, patience does pay off; though it would be difficult not to see one this Autumn given their prominence in the countryside. I hope that readers of this blog are equally lucky in their endeavours.
The photograph in the header was borrowed from Pixabay to highlight the theme of this post. I fear my phone-scoped efforts (shown below) would not have had the same effect…
Aside from being an unlikely location in respect of such an evocative title, Wormwood Scrubs is a name which is familiar for all the wrong reasons. The infamous prison to which the words are most often associated was built at the end of the 19th century, during a 16 year period up until 1891. Thanks to such 1970s and 80s TV gems as The Sweeney and Minder ‘The Scrubs’ earned a place in the consciousness of even the most law-abiding of citizens. Its full title is neither of the above and is officially referred to as ‘HMP Wormwood Scrubs’. The ‘Wormwood Scrubs’ proper are something quite different and, as I was to discover, rather a pleasant surprise.
I am not much of a city person. The town where I live, I am very happy to say, has always provided me with bolt-holes where nature still holds sway, be they the ancient woods that resisted the onslaught of suburban development, south-facing slopes of flowery grassland and even some wide-open expanses of coastal marshland beside the estuary of the Thames. There is something of an irony, therefore, that I should find myself on a beautifully sunny, cold January morning heading off for a day out in London, not to one of the many wonderful galleries, to one the vast museums, or to enjoy the amazing architecture of the city, but to none other than Wormwood Scrubs. At 67 hectares the Wormwood Scrubs Open Space is the largest such place in the London Borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, which the council website proudly describes as “a tranquil area loved by local residents and visitors.” Such notions of peace and quiet are, in my experience, often a relative thing. The tranquillity of a spot in the middle of a large city, although very pleasant, is likely to seem rather different and somewhat busier than which someone like myself might be used to within one of my leafy suburban bolt-holes. By the same token, someone visiting my neck of the woods from more rural circumstances would probably notice all of the sounds of neighbours and distant traffic that for me fade into the background. What I have to admit to however, is on finding the place how genuinely surprised I was. The main incentive for my visit there I shall keep you guessing about for a short while longer.
When travelling on the London Underground it is very easy to forget that there is a huge city going on above your head. It is a mode of transport that makes it difficult to have a very accurate sense of distance and, for very obvious reasons, changes in the city-scape above ground. The short walk from Fenchurch Street overground station to Tower Hill tube allows a brief taste of busy central London: the footfall of people between stations; tourists visiting the Tower, St Kathrine Docks and such like; the stream of traffic rumbling across Tower Bridge. Quite often after your journey underground and when you reach your destination and re-surface, you notice little, if anything at all, by way of the city’s change of character. There is, however, a substantial difference between the surrounds of Tower Hill in the middle of town and East Acton station half an hour westwards on the Central Line. I emerged into the unexpected peace and quite of suburban London, complete with the avenues of pollarded London Plane trees, their bare fists clenched to the sky as if to decry this act of butchery wrought upon them (melodrama aside, I’m sure these tough old trees will be good and green, if not rather stumpy, come the spring).
From the station, it is a straight road up to the Scrubs and the location of my unlikely expedition into the exotic. Directly outside it I could already make out the green fringe of the park from where I stood. As I approached I was pleased to see a fair amount scrub near the edge – something to afford some shelter and seclusion – but was still not expecting anything more than that pleasant parkland setting, with its scattering of bushes and large trees, typical of large city parks. I wandered across the mown grass and in between two mounds of thorn and within an instant felt removed further from the city. What I hadn’t fully appreciated was the extent to which the park has been given over to wildlife. Ahead of me lay an expense of rough grassland, looking winter-tired, but which I’m sure twitches with the movements of insect life in the summer. Further away stood the woody fringes of the park and a large, circular copse surrounded by the playing fields. This wood and grassland comprise more than half of the area of the park which also includes areas designated as a Local Nature Reserve.
It was a cold and clear day, but the sun had a warmth to it. The sounds of bird life could be heard everywhere – tits twittering in the thorn bushes, blackbirds rummaging in the leaf-litter, wrens ‘tutting’ among the brambles. I was sure I heard meadow pipits calling, not the most usual of sounds in the middle of London. They apparently still breed here, but in declining numbers, as explained by a sign asking visitors to avoid certain paths for fear of disturbance to these ground-nesting birds. And there were stonechat, a male and a female and another bird species not very readily connected with your typical city park. There is something special about finding wildlife in the city, something uniquely poignant for its resistance to the concrete sprawl and tolerance of the disruptive human animal.
It was indeed a genuinely tranquil place. Away from the busy road over on the other side of the park it was also very quiet, enough for me to hear the languid swishing of a crows wings as it passed overhead. I was here for a very specific reason, but had arrived in good time to allow the chance to explore and see the woodpeckers investigating the bone-bare branches of long dead tree, or the sparrowhawk sliding through the shadows of the tree canopy of the woody fringes and hear the song thrush belting out its call of melodiously repeated phrases. I also came across a pair of ring-necked parakeet, gloriously green in the sunshine amid the denuded winter branches. The sight of these last two birds had a special significance.
The visage of kestrel-sized green parrots living wild in the UK is a distinctly odd one to many, but an increasingly familiar one to some. In the space of nearly 50 years, and as a result of escapees and introductions, the feral British population has grown, according to the RSPB, to some 8,600 breeding pairs chiefly centred around London and the Home Counties. The total, including non-breeders, could be as high as 30,000. The debate as to the continued viability of their current success, in terms of potential nuisances to fruit growers, the general public and our native hole-nesting avifauna is ongoing. They are great dividers of opinion.
Outside the breeding season ring-necked parakeet are birds given to communal roosting. Such gatherings can often be in large numbers and I had heard that one such roost of thousands of birds occurs, or at least did occur at the Scrubs. I wasn’t certain that the spectacle I had come to see was one that still took place here. I hadn’t been able to find any mention of it after 2013, which seemed a little surprising given that a roost of 5000 (one figure that I had read of) bright green parakeets in the middle of London you would think is something much talked about. The birds didn’t feature at all on the council webpage for the park and neither was there any mention of them on the wildlife information boards on site. Perhaps the local naturalists prefer to draw attention to the native wildlife of the park, or maybe (with my not knowing a great deal about the roosting behaviour of parakeets) the mass-gathering has moved on to another green space in another part of town. With a distinct paucity of the birds present at the time, there were a few doubts wheedling their way into my mind.
I continued my wanderings in search of Little Wormwood Scrubs, a smaller area (a tenth of the size) just across the road at the eastern edge of The Scrubs proper. This is another enclave of greenery that must presumably also be much cherished by the city-based naturalists in the district, with a large chunk of it kept as scrubby grassland and on this occasion satisfyingly full of the movements and sounds of small birds. It was getting on for 3 o’clock and not really knowing how the hoped-for roosting spectacle would proceed and also having no idea exactly where it might occur, I decided to head back to the larger expanse to find myself an adequate vantage from which to view any likely locations. Better to be early and wait.
It was not long after re-entering The Scrubs before I heard the distinctively shrill call of a parakeet and found a pair of birds in the trees close to where I stood. One of them called again and this time was answered. I walked a short way further to where that other bird had called from and found what I presumed to be the two that I had seen in the first instance, still perched in the same tree. One of them called again and in a few moments the other pair flew up to join them. Together they took to the wing, four sleekly contoured shapes, slender wings tapering back either side of the long, narrow pointed tail. Several times they swept round in a tight circle around the tree, the low-angled sun drawing out all of the colour from their brightly pale green plumage, calling raucously to each other before settling again. Was I witnessing the beginning of the roost? They continued to call intermittently, perhaps as if to advertise their location to any others arriving in the vicinity. This seemed like the obvious place to position myself. I found a park bench close by but a discrete distance away, sat down and began to wait, with my hopes very much raised. When they flew off and out of sight a quarter of an hour later I did feel a little deflated and somewhat disappointed. Those embryonic feelings of doubt grew larger.
Continuing to wait I drank some tea, scanning the area for flashes of green and straining my ears for any distant squawking calls. It was almost 4 o’clock; if the roosting extravaganza was to happen surely the first arrivals should be trickling in by now, with the sun edging towards the horizon. I walked across some football pitches towards that sizeable island of trees and shrubs rising conspicuously from the flat expanse of the close-cropped sward and with distinct possibilities as the potential sight of a huge bird roost. I walked around it, optimistically inspecting the bird shapes among the treetops, but found only magpies and the odd woodpigeon. With sunset fast approaching did I sit tight and wait for something which I was convincing myself was not going to take place or look somewhere else?
I decided to follow the direction that I’d seen the four birds depart to. They were nowhere to be seen or heard, so I decided to revisit Little Scrubs where I had heard a parakeet calling earlier. I was rather relieved to see half a dozen birds alight in some trees near the play area close to the entrance and beside the high brick wall running the length of the park’s boundary and separating it from the adjacent road. I sat and watched them, hopeful of a subsequent gathering. Perhaps the roost had moved across the road to here? But dusk was starting to set in and these few birds hardly comprised a mass roost. With a tinge of disappointment I started off for the other park and my eventual departure for the station. A larger group of birds swept in to join the other six before I could take more than a few steps. Not quite the thousands I had hoped for, but to see these 40-odd birds together in their tree was a nice enough sight and not one I had witnessed before.
Back in The Scrubs I had resolved to take a slow walk across the park for the tube station. It was about 4:30 as I approached the bench where I had sat waiting an hour or so before and heard a few birds, close to the same tree that those four had briefly raised my hopes. There were more there now, a few dozen. A few more slightly larger parties sped in low over the ground to join the others. There were probably about 200 of them now, chattering shrilly to each other in what fancifully seemed like the conversation of re-acquaintance, each having returned from their own patch of London. Then things really started to happen.
I had wandered towards the shrubby trees that the parakeets had gathered in. Then, once more, low over the ground and along the thicket of trees that runs the length of the park boundary, another hundred or so dashed past me and into the growing flock. Then another, this time tearing in from behind me and over my head. In the glow of the setting sun and the failing light they seemed like so many shards of shining green glass shattering out of nowhere to become embedded in the branches. The noise grew with their number, raised now from a chatter to a cacophonous clamour of shrieks and squawks. And they kept on coming, wave after wave. I looked through some low scrub and across the playing fields and the direction of the day’s afterglow and caught sight of dozens of flickering wings. Then slipping briefly out of sight a hundred birds rose across the tops of the bushes. Coming towards me, more or less at head height, the group parts either side of me and into the melee. I looked for more following the same route, but the next flock materialises along the line of trees as they had before. I caught sight of a few birds arriving from the other side of the trees and realised that of course they must be coming in from all directions, although it did seem that the majority were flying in across the breadth of the park. And so it went on; for twenty/twenty five minutes the birds kept on coming. It seems perfectly probable that for 15 of those minutes they were arriving at a rate of 200-300 every minute, which even at the more conservative estimate suggests a total in excess of 3000 birds, all crammed into a stretch of modest, shrubby trees of only some 40 metres in length. It is easy to appreciate why the collective noun for a group of parrots or parakeets is a ‘pandemonium’. The noise was immense, quite piercing to my ears as I walked closer, into their midst, that solitary, shrill ‘kyik’ amplified and combined to tumultuous effect.
It was an extraordinary spectacle, especially that it was witnessed in the middle of London. It was 5 o’clock and the dusk was thickening into night and aware that I had to make my way across the park in the dark reluctantly pulled myself away and made for the station. Half a kilometre away I could still hear the racket. Rather that than the drone of the rush hour traffic.
The above post is an extract from an upcoming book by Ross Gardner. For more from the author, you can check out his personal website or read his blog.
To those familiar with this blog, you will know that I owe my passion for nature almost entirely to my Grandmother. The lady who first introduced me to the joys of a life outdoors and who, through no end of weekend adventures, provided my first insight into the world of trees, birds, bugs and bees. An insight gained through regular forays into the dappled, imperfect depths of the Half-Penny Wood – located a mere stones throw from where my Gran once lived on the fringes of Bedlington.
It is been a long time since these early visits to the wood; a long time since I gathered conkers and marveled, absent care, at the beauty of fruiting Fly Agaric under the watchful gaze of my childhood walking companion. Despite the passing of time, however, my relationship with the wood remains the same: I still visit Half-Penny, I still enjoy its wildlife throughout the seasons and I still, despite visiting the site near constantly for two decades, find myself continuously surprised by new and unusual finds. My attitude to the wood itself has not changed either, it remains a place of wonder, a retreat of sorts to which I venture whenever time allows; though I cannot say that the wood itself has remained the same. Much has changed over the years.
Since my earliest visits, Half-Penny has changed beyond recognition: a shift reflected not in its general appearance, size nor shape, but in its very foundations – in the cast of creatures that now call the wood their home and together, form the green, beating heart of this special place. Indeed, some prominent fixtures of my early years have been lost entirely from the wood and her surrounds. The song of the Cuckoo, once an eminent fixture of springtime outings, has fallen silent in the wood – the result of the increasing scarcity of cuckoo across the local area. Red Squirrels too have disappeared, for the most part; while in recent years, once reliable Redstarts appear to have vanished. Poof.
Given the absence of the aforementioned species, you would be forgiven for thinking that my visits to the wood now must take on a somewhat mournful tone, though this could not be further from the truth. As for every species lost from the wood, for whatever reason, another one appears to have found a foothold. Little Egrets are now a daily sight on the river where a mere decade ago the sight of the pristine white herons would have been thoroughly out of place. Green Woodpeckers have colonised too, as have Spotted Flycatchers; while other once scare fixtures of life here have risen to such heights as to now be labeled as common and widespread. Tree bumblebees, Comma’s and Willow Tits: all give cause for celebration. As do the otters which can now be seen regularly, but never often, by dusk within the woods more secluded reaches.
Of course, not all new arrivals in the wood are to be cherished, and I have previously covered the growing presence of various invasive species in Half-Penny. These, the balsam, knotweed, snowberry and grey squirrels that now grow and scamper widely across the wood, do give cause for concern and, in some cases, warrant action. Although all can be seen as a clear and apparent sign of the times in which we live.
Taking pause to assess the changes currently rocking the very foundations of Half-Penny, it is easy to draw parallels with the wider changes currently taking place across Britain. Changes born of our own actions as a warming climate spurs range expansion in certain species, and hinders the good fortune of others; and as conservation actions strengthen some wildlife populations at the same time as human ignorance facilitates the spread of non-natives across the landscape. The decline of the Cuckoo and Red Squirrel, the good fortune of Little Egrets and Otters, and the creeping advance of Himalayan Balsam, all indicative of nationwide trends. Half-Penny, to me, stands as a microcosm of wider-Britain: rife with both the highs and lows that come cheek by jowl with a life in nature. As certain species flourish and others fade while we watch, worried and intrigued in equal measure. It’s all very educational.
In a groundbreaking study on sparrowhawks, scientists have found that city birds in Scotland are more successful than their country cousins. In this study, researchers from RSPB Scotland and the Scottish Raptor Study Group examined differences between populations of the birds in Edinburgh and in the Ayrshire countryside over four years from 2009 to 2012.
They found that territories in the urban environment (Edinburgh) were occupied far more frequently than those in the rural study area (Ayrshire) and that the city hawks also had significantly higher breeding success than the country hawks.
Of the twenty breeding attempts that failed throughout the study, only two were recorded in the urban study area, the rest in the rural. The number of nest desertions was also much higher in the latter. It was this complete failure of numerous nests that caused lower breeding success in the rural sparrowhawk population.
In total, 195 sparrowhawk pairs were located in the two study areas across 117 separate sites or ‘territories’. The paper has been published in the journal Écoscience.
Michael Thornton, lead author of the paper and member of the Lothian & Borders Raptor Study Group, said: “This study clearly shows that urban green spaces, such as parks, gardens and golf courses provide both suitable nest sites and an abundance of prey species to support high breeding success in this charismatic predator, and it is important that we protect these areas for urban wildlife and for our own health and wellbeing.”
Staffan Roos, Senior Conservation Scientist with RSPB Scotland and one of the authors of the paper, said: “Urban environments offer a huge variety in quantity and quality of natural habitats, particularly for bird species such as house sparrows, starlings, oystercatchers and, as this study shows, sparrowhawks”.
“The availability of food appears to have played an important role in the differences observed between sparrowhawks living in the city and those in the countryside. Gardens and parks hold large numbers of songbirds, which these raptors feed on, and the structure of urban landscapes in Edinburgh and other European cities, with parks and woodlands right next to private gardens, provides an ideal hunting environment for sparrowhawks.
“We would like to see further studies carried out, with nests being monitored by camera, to learn more about the impacts of food abundance on these birds in different parts of Scotland. The more we know about various wildlife species, the more we can do to protect and conserve them in future.”
Sparrowhawks were one of the first raptors to colonise urban areas across Europe, in the UK this happened in the 1980s. The European sparrowhawk population is estimated to be up to 582,000 pairs with the UK holding around 35,000 pairs, 12,000 of those in Scotland.
A copy of the paper ‘Breeding success and productivity of urban and rural Eurasian sparrowhawks Accipiter nisus in Scotland’ can be found online here:
By large, birders are a nice bunch and bad behaviour and poor etiquette among devotees is, thankfully, rather scarce – though this does not mean it does not occur. Many of those boasting a penchant for the hobby will have witnessed such behaviour, the practice of tape luring birds during the breeding season for example, and I doubt I am the only one to cringe whenever the term organised flush is uttered. Which it is, whenever a particularly cryptic species turns up and onlookers desiring more than just a fleeting glimpse take it upon themselves to deliberately scare it from cover.
Generally, bad behaviour among birdwatchers falls into two distinct categories: actions which cause damage to property or habitat (bad) and actions detrimental to the bird itself (very bad). Both of which appear to have been rife at the recent Pallas’s Grasshopper Warbler twitch in Norfolk.
The video below, kindly posted to Youtube by SuperPeckinpah, demonstrates perfectly the behaviour which, at present, is giving birders a bad name. Trespassing, damage to habitat and organised flushing, coupled with arrogant individuals behaving like petulant, kaki-clad children. Hat’s off to the wardens of Holkham Hall Estate for confronting these individuals and acting in the best interests of both the bird and the law – it must have been hard keeping a cool head given the selfish and, at times, patronising drivel being spoken by some within the crowd.
Ultimately, if behaviour like that displayed in the above video continues, it will be we birders who lose out. If the ignorant minority continues to do as they please, ignoring best practice and the wishes of landowners, bird news will simply stop being published – leaving all of us in the dark. It is promising to see so many within the birding community highlighting and pouring scorn on this behaviour – just look at this thread – but it is up to all of us to remain vigilant and ensure that idiots like those featured above are kept in check.
This past week has been one of a distinctly salty theme, with each one of my sporadic outings over the past few days connected, in some way, to the coast. All things included -spectacular wildlife, tantalising rarities and some intriguing, conservation-themed visits – it has been a jolly good one, providing a welcome reprieve from tedious paperwork and job hunting.
Starting off on Saturday and early morning found myself and Matt setting out for Amble, more specifically, for to the Northumbrian Seafood Centre where we spent a pleasant half-hour educating ourselves on all things Lobster. Yes, the relatively new centre is home to the Amble Lobster Hatchery – an ambitious scheme established in an effort to restore the areas lobster population to its former, numerically superior a glory. This is done by rearing individual crustaceans from egg to larvae to juvenile lobster, before releasing them back into the wild in the chilly North Sea. The hatchery serving a dual purpose by bringing visitors up-close and personal with crustaceans of all sizes, and making for an interesting stop-off point should you find yourself visiting Amble with time to spare. We certainly had fun!
Moving on from the hatchery, a short search for the day’s target species – Caspian Gull – drew a blank and, for a short while, we made do with admiring the moulting Eiders foraging for chips within the barnacle-crusted confines of the harbour. That, until we made a spur of the moment decision to embark on an impromptu Puffin cruise around the RSPB’s Coquet Island reserve. The venture culminating in splendid views of numerous Grey Seals alongside a whole host of endearing seabirds, the latter unsurprisingly including, you guessed it, a number of Puffins. The undisputed highlight of the forty-five-minute voyage coming from the sites Roseate Terns which performed admirably as we ogled the island from the boat. Luckily, we also managed to catch up with the wayward Caspian Gull upon our arrival back to the harbour. Hooray – species number 211 for my Northumberland year list.
Later on Saturday, another short bus journey found us paying a quick visit to Druridge Pools where two Little Owls showed wonderfully in the intermittent afternoon sun and a Merlin passed briefly overhead on route North. An unexpected highlight here coming in the form a large mixed-flock of perhaps 300 or so House Sparrow, Tree Sparrow, Yellowhammer and Reed Bunting, all feeding en masse in a nearby wheat field. Not something you see every day given the recent, disheartening declines in these species within the wider countryside.
Another day, another adventure, and following a thesis-themed meeting in Newcastle, I made my way to St. Mary’s Island, in order to catch up with the visiting White-Rumped Sandpiper, unearthed earlier that morning by local birder, Alan Curry. Sure enough, immediately upon arrival, the charming American wader put in an appearance foraging amid the wrack. This time in the company of a few rather lovely Summer-plumaged Turnstone, as well as the odd Sanderling and Dunlin. Truth be told, the bird itself exceeding all expectations – it wasn’t half as “dull and brown” as I had anticipated – and provided a useful lesson in the identification of this particular species. A lesson which may well come in useful given the likelihood of one turning up on my own patch at Blyth this Autumn.
Finally, this week’s coastal antics concluded on Wednesday with an early morning visit to Newbiggin where, in the company of a few familiar faces from the birding scene, I enjoyed a two-hour stint of blustery seawatching. The high-points of the morning coming in the form of a superb Great Skua powering North above the breakers, and a pair of much more dainty Arctic Skua harrying the Sandwich Terns just offshore. Other interesting titbits here included approximately c750 Gannet moving past among smaller numbers of Kittiwake, Fulmar, Common Scoter, Arctic Tern and Golden Plover; though before long I was forced to depart in order to work on something else boasting a clear, coastal theme: my dissertation. It will all be over soon, James…
In dire need of a break from thesis writing, yesterday I set off for Druridge Bay in search of a little wild respite. The proceeding three hours, mercifully, filled with no end of fantastic wildlife – just what the doctor ordered to cure my current mood.
Starting off at Cresswell Pond and the highlight here came in the form of three Spoonbill feeding on the flood just North of the causeway – always a nice species to see in the North. With these, two Avocets did their best to defend their rather small chicks from a marauding heron and a Grey Partridge wandered across the road in front of a passing car. The best of the rest at the pond coming in the form of two Common Sandpiper, a female Marsh Harrier and a Stock Dove trying and failing to blend in with the farmyard pigeons. A lone Wheatear was observed in the dunes as I made my way elsewhere.
Taking a leisurely wander South along the beach, the first thing that struck me upon arrival was the sheer number of terns feeding in the bay. Mostly Sandwich Tern, as is the norm here; though Common and Arctic were by no means scarce. A single Roseate feeding close in behind the breakers was a tad more surprising – not a bird to be scoffed at and only my second of the year! Also here, a large raft of perhaps eight hundred Common Scoter fed – diving and rising in perfect unison – and a pair of Summer plumage Red-Throated Diver were also seen. Add to these a good haul of Kittiwake, Gannet, Puffin, Guillemot and Shag, and things were looking rather positive by the time I reached Druridge Pools.
Plodding up to the Budge Screen where a cast of familiar local faces had assembled to ogle the visiting Pectoral Sandpiper, it wasn’t long before I laid eyes on the bird itself – namesake markings clearly visible as it fed in the glorious Summer sunshine. Alongside the vagrant, a selection of more regular waders were also seen, including a splendid Ruff, singles of each Wood and Green Sandpiper, one Whimbrel and fifty-eight Black-Tailed Godwit. Most of the latter still clad in their delightful, auburn garb. Waders aside, the rest of my time at Druridge was split between admiring the resident Little Owl perched in the usual spot along the farm wall, and photographing a few of the sites smaller residents: Five-spot Burnets, Blue-Tailed Damselflies and numerous Red Admirals providing a welcome touch of colour to conclude the trip.
Five-spot Burnets
Back home and another night of garden moth trapping turned up a few pleasant odds and ends. A female Ghost Moth and a dapper Buff Arches the stand our individuals of a catch that also included Purple Clay, Buff Ermine, Straw Dot, Light Emerald, Clay and Bright-line Brown-eye. The only new species for my slowly increasing garden list comprised three Yellow-spot Tortrix and a lone Single-dotted Wave.
Though I started off well, my #30DaysWild posts seem to have faded over the past few weeks. This due to some wild commitments elsewhere – blog post to follow shortly – and not due to laziness or disinterest. Despite this, and in keeping with the theme of the month, I have persisted in my efforts to do something a little wild every day, and in doing so, have found myself face to face with some truly remarkable wildlife. From nocturnal wonders and scarce birdlife to butterflies, flowers and some rather cool fish, the highlights of the last fortnight can be found in this post.
Nocturnal Antics
Just over a week ago, I set off for a secluded plantation in inland Northumberland: arriving at the site just after 9 pm and spending a few hours engrossing myself in the best of the British nighttime. By this, of course, I mean Nightjars – with a total of three individuals seen during my stay. Among these, a particularly obliging bird which showed marvellously, singing its otherworldly song from the top of a quivering spruce. This encounter marking only my second experience of this species and easily my most enjoyable: the sight and sound of the elusive bird standing out not just as a highlight of the year, but of my entire birding career to date. They really are fantastic!
Of course, Nightjars were not all to be seen here, and during our stay, we were lucky enough to catch up with Tawny Owl, Woodcock, Crossbill and Cuckoo: with the equally enthralling sound of a drumming Snipe heard as we made our way back to the car. I should head out at night more often… *pens plan for future blog posts*
Chance encounters
Although there has not been much time to chase rarities of late, I have managed three targeted jaunts this week. The first taking me to an unassuming pond not far from my house where, to my delight, a drake Ruddy Duck loafed on the water just out from my position by the road. The duck, blue-billed and clad head to toe in glorious rust-coloured feathers, representing a species I have never before seen in Britain which, despite its controversial nature – they are, after all, subject to a government lead cull at present – was enjoyed to its fullest potential. Who knows, it may well be the only Ruddy Duck I see in the UK anytime soon.
The other two outings mentioned focused on some less polarising residents- Black-Necked Grebe and Quail – both of which were seen (or at least, heard in the case of the latter) within the local area; thus adding a welcome touch of spice to my usually tame summer birding.
Ruddy Duck – excuse the dreadful phone image
Pastures new
The most recent of my explorations found me venturing to a new site in Northern Northumberland: into the mosaic of fields and hedgerows that surround the site at which we now keep our three horses. Ever critical of farmland – at least the plowed, poisoned empty deserts that exist in some places – I was pleasantly surprised to find the area teeming with life. Here a superb Yellow Wagtail was observed carrying food towards a hidden nest and a pair of Redstart could be seen feeding young inside a cavity. Both fabulous birds that I do not see half as often as I would like. The pleasant feel of the day amplified by sightings of a bounding Brown Hare, the song of countless Skylark and an up-close and personal encounter with a rather confiding Buzzard. Birds and mammals were not, however, the highlight of my time here: that honour going to the butterflies who, spurred on by the sweltering Summer sun, had emerged in abundance.
Here my first Meadow Browns and Ringlets of the year fluttered lazily across the grassy banks lining a small stream and both Wall and Small Tortoiseshell were noted sunning themselves on scant areas of bare rock. Numbers bolstered by the occasional occurrence of Large and Green-veined White and a very breif Speckled Wood. The best coming towards the end of my jaunt, where no less than twelve Large Skippers were unearthed along one particular field boundary. A delightful, energetic butterfly and one of my all time favourites – a pleasure to observe and enjoy in such bright and beautiful conditions.
Sensational Seabirds
As many diligent blog readers may know, I have spent the last few weeks marooned on the fantastic Farne Islands. Enjoying the clamour of a sprawling seabird colony as I endevor to complete my master’s dissertation. Well, I will focus on this at greater length in a future blog post though earlier this week – and thanks to a kind offer from Liz Morgan – I was able to help out with some proper seabird monitoring. Specifically, the ringing of Shag chicks to provide data for Liz’s PhD project. Words truly fail me when trying to sum up this experience: it was both a pleasure and privilege to see these serpentine seabirds up close and, despite leaving covered head to toe in putrid excrement, I departed with a huge smile on my face. I many be studying Puffins for my thesis but it seems that it is the islands Shags that have stolen the limelight.
I have been rather quiet on the blog of late, at least when compared to my usual, rather vocal self. This is due, at least in part, to poor internet reception at my current place of residence – the Farne Islands – but also due to an increasing workload. With my MSc Wildlife Management course reaching its conclusion and various other occurrences eating up my free time of late. Still, silence on the virtual front should not imply that things have been dull, and as it happens, things are ticking over rather nicely. Here is a short life update for those who regularly tune into this site…
Dissertation. I am currently working to complete my postgraduate thesis entitled Comparison of monitoring techniques used to predict Atlantic Puffin breeding density. This is taking place, as I mentioned earlier, on the fabulous Farne Islands – a site I have visited yearly since boyhood and one that I have come to wholeheartedly adore over the years. I have been made to feel most welcome by the National Trust rangers on the islands, and while I cannot disclose too much at this point, my project is going well. Spirits lifted further by the chance to observe some truly mesmerising wildlife in one of Britain’s most idyllic locations.
Fundraising. I am still in the process of fundraising for the BTO Curlew Appeal and my sponsored three peaks challenge will be taking place later in the Summer. For those looking to donate, I am now only £195 short of my personal £1000 target and remain optimistic that I can hit this prior to the event. Alongside friend and fellow conservationist Sacha Elliott, I will be giving a talk at Boldon Castle this weekend regarding my fondness for this species, our walk, and, of course, life as a relatively young environmentalist. I look forward to maybe seeing a few of you there.
Writing. While my blogging here has been minimal over the past fortnight, I continue to contribute to my regional wildlife column on the website of Northumberland Wildlife Trust. I also recently authored a rather lengthy piece about moths within my home county that will feature in the trust’s quarterly Roebuck magazine, very soon.
Social media. Having enjoyed a splendid tour with them last year – one in which I enjoyed an eclectic mix of regional specialities from Pine Martens and Ptarmagin to Red Deer and Bottlenose Dolphins – I am now managing the social media activity of UK Wildlife Safaris. It is a pleasure to join such a dedicated, enthusiastic team of ecologists and I would advise anyone to consider UKWS for the next holiday. At least if you are fond of great wildlife, food, lavish accommodation and surreal vistas. A write-up of our recent Mull trip can be found here.
New Nature. The youth nature magazine continues to go from strength to strength, bringing the thoughts and views of Britain’s young naturalists to an increasingly large audience. Our June issue is set for publication very soon, and I am currently in the process of recruiting a new Creative Director to help design the magazine and take us to new and exciting heights in the future.
As you can see, things have been wonderfully hectic recently. The above post going without mentioning the fabulous wildlife I have enjoyed of late, a small sample of which can be seen below. To say I am dreading the enevitable bout of post-university unemployement set to come my way very soon would be an understatement, though I am at least feeling optimistic given recent developments.
My attention was recently drawn to an interesting article authored for The Conversation by the esteemed and eloquent Dr Robert Lambert. Centred on the logic behind birding (or twitching, if you prefer), I found the piece highly interesting, both as a birder who spends a great deal of his time observing our feathered friends and as an individual intrigued by birdwatching culture. The article itself really was rather good, and I agree with many of the points stated; though, for me, the social media debate surrounding its publication was equally fascinating. With some choosing to criticise and others choosing to compliment based on the various points stated within. Well, to cut a long story short, this – coupled with a few queries from curious friends – got me thinking. Why exactly do I spend so much time and, in some cases money, in pursuit of rare birds?
My interesting in twitching is somewhat of a developing one: with long-distance trips and costly jaunts taking place more frequently now that they did in years prior. Why is this? Well, as Dr Lambert states, there are many reasons one may choose to pursue rare birds. There is, of course, a competitive element: with birders attempting to score points over their rivals and surpass them in ranking. While I do not profess to do this on a national scale, I am taking place in a “bird race” this year so I guess this applies, equally, to me. There is also the thrill of rarity itself; the buzz associated with observing the new and unfamiliar; something which, again, I feel applies to my own birding forays. I, like many others, certainly enjoy revelling in the sight of a new and intriguing bird species. There are, however, other arguably more important motivations underpinning my avian obsession.
Rare birds, while intriguing, are not always the most memorable feature of a twitch. No, for me, chasing rarities is only the beginning; and the thrill of a life on the move is of equal importance. Birding has a habit of taking you to some truly surreal locations – whether you are looking for eagles amid the sweeping vistas of the Cairngorms or searching for a dusky thrush Turdus eunomus amid the quaint stone houses of a quiet village in Derbyshire. These locations are always different and each boasts their own unique appeal; whether that be the chance to sample local food or drink (Caol IIa whisky springs to mind), the opportunity visit a new pub and engage with the locals, or the chance to engross yourself in natural spectacles far removed from your regular haunts. Indeed, on twitch earlier this year, I spent equal time enjoying large flocks of locally common farmland birds as I did our intended target, the Dunnington pine bunting Emberiza leucocephalos. For me, birding is paramount to wanderlust.
More important still, at least in my opinion, is the sense of community that comes with outing yourself as a birder. I am sure I speak for many people when I say that life for younger people boasting an interest in nature can often be a lonely and tedious affair – our interests met with indifference by some and outright ridicule by others. It can be frustrating at times and disheartening at others; though thankfully, the birding community is, for the large part, an incredibly supportive and caring fraternity. Sure, as with any hobby there are a few intolerable characters – those people you do your best to avoid amid the amassed crowd surrounding your chosen vagrant – but for each one of these there are ten more willing to offer advice, guidance, support and friendly chitchat; enough to lift the spirits of even the most downtrodden individual. I owe an awful lot my local birding network, the characters here in Northumberland that have nudged me in the right direction over the years, but also to groups such as Next Generation Birders for keeping my interests alive and preventing me from regressing to a more socially acceptable state. One that my peers at school would have preferred but I, myself, would have quietly hated.
At this point, the individual characters that make up the birding community are also worth a mention. As with any hobby, the sheer level of diversity here is great; ranging from the quirky, outspoken and cantankerous, to the incredibly genuine and accommodating. Those who will bend over backwards to make you feel at home. With so many personalities abounding, the likelihood of finding someone you “click with” in birding is substantial; and some of my greatest friends were first encountered amid the throng surrounding a wayward rarity. I am sure Sacha Elliot will not mind be saying that we met over a wryneck. Birding provides an opportunity to make the acquaintance of others; to bond and make life-long friends. Something which, in itself, far surpasses the importance of competition. Of course, these friends also add to the experience and come rain or shy, arduous ten-hour car journey or short walk to your local nature reserve, these people help make birding the wonderful affair it is.
To conclude: birding, for me, is about many things. It is about competition, the allure of rarity and, of course, the joy of experiencing nature first hand. It is, however, equally about a sense of belonging and friendship; about the people you meet and the laughs to be had. It is about post-twitch trips to the pub, communal meet-ups, carpools, inadvertant hilarity and the opportunity to enjoy surreal settings in the company of people you have come to know and trust. Birding, despite its name, is about a lot more than just birds. This is what I will tell those who ask in the future.
