Tag: Northumberland

The floodgates are opening, at last

Migration really is a wonderful thing: one minute you can be gazing forlornly at a decrepit stand of brambles, hoping against hope to hear the faintest hweet from an elusive Chiffchaff; and next, you can be dashing around like a lunatic wholly surrounded by birds. Such is the nature of Spring, as the frustrating trickle of new arrivals that coincides with late March soon gives way to an exhilarating flood of colour as the season advances.

The floodgates appear to be opening here in Northumberland, with the few intrepid warblers and martins now joined by many and more familiar faces. And a few more unusual characters too. Druridge, as ever, continues to prove its value as a hotspot for weird and wonderful bird life with the past two days alone providing two standout species. With yesterday’s Common Crane – a species I have wanted to see in the UK ever since I was able to make out the words in my childhood bird book – a definitive highlight; though one outshone, on this occasion, by an altogether unexpected treasure today: a Red-Rumped Swallow. The latter, having been unearthed five minutes before at East Chevington, careering overhead as I stood, entranced, on the coastal path. A wonderful bird which, by merit alone, eclipsed the aforementioned crane entirely. Though both left me equally giddy.

Glaring rarities aside, today alone provided a host of other goodies; with a Spoonbill at Druridge Pools foremost among them. This being only my third of these lethargic waders in the county, and a most welcome addition to this years county list challenge to boot. Visiting Druridge Pools early this morning, I was also lucky enough to pick up a Red Kite flying south above the floods. A reasonably common bird elsewhere in Britain (where they are not ruthlessly persecuted or fed KFC to such an extent that they do not spread) though one that, for some unknown reason, remains scarce in Northumberland. The raptor sailing overhead just as my attention turned to the call of a likely Sedge Warbler emanating from the South corner of the deep pool. I missed the warbler, but kite and Spoonbill provided more than fair recompense.

Elsewhere, common migrants were abundant throughout Druridge Bay. Wheatear being particularly apparent – at Cresswell, Hemscott Hill and Chevington – and a beautiful Yellow Wagtail picked out in the company of a lone Alba Wagtail in a nearby field. Sand Martins were the most numerous new arrival on show, with around 120 birds seen throughout the day, while 14 Swallow and a single House Martin were also observed. The best of the rest, at least in terms of migrants, consisting of a male Marsh Harrier, 2 Sandwich Tern, 14 Willow Warbler, 10 Chiffchaff and 11 Avocet at Cresswell Pond. No Grasshopper Warblers to be heard yet, and no chance encounters with the likes of Ring Ouzel or Cuckoo, but there is plenty time for that.

Spring visitors aside, there was plenty to keep me entertained elsewhere today. With some highlights including two Grey Partridge, a male Yellowhammer and 15 Tree Sparrow at Cresswell. Where a good-sized flock of 22 Linnet and loose gathering of 7 Shoveler were also seen. Druridge Pools held the usual variety of wildfowl, alongside the added bonus of both European White-Fronted Goose and Whooper Swan – the latter being constantly terrorised by the resident Mute cob during the duration of my stay – while 10 Twite fed in one of the nearby paddocks. Finally, at Chevington, a Water Rail was heard giving its best stuck-pig impression from the Northern reedbed and a Kestrel hunted the dunes, much to the alarm of the plentiful Meadow Pipits and Skylark who temporarily abandoned their vocal antics to hassle it.

As you can tell, lots to see and hear of late, and I, for one, have had a marvellous time. This week looks set to centre around planning for my upcoming Masters thesis though, given the way of things of late, I can see myself being drawn out of hiding again in the very near future.

Cover image: Tero Laakso, Flickr CC, http://www.flickr.com/photos/talaakso/3775104351/

Walking the coast road

Monday saw me embarking on a lengthy 10-mile stroll along my favourite stretch of coastline. A rare free day allowing for a leisurely saunter between the reserves of Druridge Bay; to engross myself in the various sights and sounds of Spring and rewild myself following an altogether monotonous week of university work. The day marked by pleasant sunshine, returning migrants, seasonal blooms, bees, butterflies and, of course, no end of fascinating birdlife – this is Druridge after all.

The route – not overly long or strenuous but good practice for August’s Curlew walk

The day started at Cresswell Pond: which I found surprisingly devoid of human life upon arrival. No birders, no farmers and, better still, no photographers harrying the local Barn Owls to within an inch of their life – bliss.

Here, as the rising sun painted the poolside Phragmites a pleasing gold, I enjoyed a spectacular dawn chorus. One dominated by the uplifting song of Skylark and the descending tones of Meadow Pipit, both singing en masse from within the surrounding fields. Their calls interspersed, in enjoyable fashion, by the repetitive notes of Chiffchaff, the metallic sound of Lapwings and, occasionally, the familiar song of a nearby Yellowhammer. Indeed, all of these species were observed in abundance as I made my way to the vacant hide, in addition to two Grey Partridge, twelve Tree Sparrow and a confiding pair of Stock Dove making the most of a pile of spilt grain beside the path.

Things remained interesting during my stay in the hide: with no less than ten Avocets observed immediately upon arrival, including six on the foreshore. The birds squabbling, courting and copulating in a flurry of activity as other waders – Redshank, Turnstone, Curlew and Snipe – slept, disinterested nearby. It is hard to believe that only a few years back these pristine, monochrome waders were a relatively scarce sight within the county. Their presence here, and at other local sites, testament to their ongoing recovery in Britain.

Avocets aside, the rest of the lagoon stood relatively quiet by comparison; a pair of Shoveler and a single Little Ringed Plover the only sightings of note. With the latter promptly taking flight, only to be relocated, half an hour later, at Hemscott Hill. Where, in the company of a few gulls, it gave good views on one of the roadside floods. A mixed flock of around twenty Linnet and eight Twite was also nice to see here; though they remained flighty and I soon found myself itching to move on.

Greenfinch also nice to see on route – far from the common bird they used to be

Next stop Druridge Pools and another hour spent languishing in the increasingly warm sun.  The shelter belt here proved interesting; with the years first Willow Warblers – four to be precise – noted in full song alongside numerous Chiffchaff, Linnet, Song Thrush and Wren. Two Stonechat were observed here also, watchful yet approachable, as ever, though the real treat came from the floods – where a confused jumble of lingering Winter migrants and fresh new arrivals made for queer viewing. The Great White Egret was easily picked out – despite attempting to conceal itself amid a small tussock – and a Water Pipit fed outside the hide. Giving me my best views of this species to date and allowing for ample notes to be taken so that I may find one of my own in the future (and not misidentify a queer looking Scandinavian Rock Pipit).

Elsewhere on the budge fields, three Pintail made for a pleasant sight amid the massed bodies of Wigeon, Teal, Shoveler and Mallard; while a Eurasian White-Fronted Goose looked rather worse for where as it sat beside the nearest pool. With other highlights including eighteen Snipe, a few Dunlin, a Little Egret and a female Red-Breasted Merganser. Departing via the deeper pool to the North, the resident Great Crested Grebes appeared rather amorous and a lone Sand Martin hawked in solitude above the water.

Tree Sparrow at Cresswell

The short walk between Druridge and Chevington, as ever, proved enjoyable; the ground here, poached and muddied by the incessant footfall of the local cows, always good for a bird or two. Indeed, here, among the bovids, a number of Meadow Pipit, Skylark and Stonechat fed – with closer scrutinty of the cow feeders revealing four Twite and, on a more exciting note, the years first Alba Wagtail. The fields on the alternate side of the foothpath held a pair of Whooper Swans – perhaps the last I will see this Spring.

My time on the Chevington reserve itself started well: with the enigmatic sight of a male Marsh Harrier quartering the path-side scrub. The raptor rising and falling, hovering and diving until, eventually, it emerged with something small and brown clutched within its talons. A vole perhaps? Though it could equally have been a small bird. Also here, a Kestrel hunted around the Southern reedbed and a brief scan of Chibburn Burnmouth revealed a twittering flock of another 20+ Twite alongside the Littoralis (Scandinavian) Rock Pipit which, until that point, had been vexing birders for a number of days. A smart little bird with a definite Water Pipit look about it.

The North pool at Chevington was quiet by recent standards with no Scaup, Pochard and Slavonian Grebe to speak of, and certainly no Pacific Diver. The resident Great Crested Grebes (six of them) did, however, put on a go show; while a few more Sand Martin passed speedily through on route North.

Willow Warbler – my first of the year

 Onwards from Chevington and little new was observed for a short while; although various common bits and bobs remained very much apparent. More Willow Warbler, Chiffchaff and Sand Martin; flyby Stock Doves and another pair of Grey Partridge. Things did, however, pick up as I wandered past Hauxley Nature Reserve where the raucous calls of descending geese caught my attention – the precursor to a flock of  c200 birds dropping in to visit the pools and nearby fields. Greylags and Canada Geese were, of course, numerous; though thirty Pink-Footed Geese were somewhat suprising by comparison, my first in weeks. With these, eight White-Fronted Geese – looking altogether more fit and healthy than the earlier bird and doubtless just stopping in for a break on route back to their breeding grounds. A nice surprise and an unexpected addition to the day’s tally.

The day ended at Amble, with a brief bout of seawatching and the addition of Puffin to the year list. The sight of a few birds milling about on the sea a fitting precursor to what is to come later in the season; when I depart for the Farne Islands to carry out my MSc dissertation. A project centred entirely around these charismatic little auks.

Winter’s Gibbet

Winter’s Gibbet, a decrepit relic of a bygone age when the public display of corpses was deemed acceptable, is a rather eerie place to visit. The structure, standing on the site of an ancient boundary stone, marking the spot where, following his execution for the 1791 murder of Margaret Crozier, the body of William Winter was displayed for all to see. It is, however, also a rather beautiful location; overlooking the shady depths of Harwood Forest and surrounded on adjacent sides by rolling expanses of moorland. Perfect for a touch of upland birding.

 Today’s visit to the gibbet started well; blazing sun and soft winds providing the prime conditions for raptor watching, and the ever-present chorus of upland passerines lending the day a distinctly atmospheric feel. Indeed, our stay was accompanied start to finish by the singing of Meadow Pipit and Skylark and, from within the wood, the incessant calling of Siskin, Goldcrest and Coal Tit. With the undulating notes of some not too distant Curlew thrown in for good measure – the birds observed later, back on territory alongside many and more Lapwing, Golden Plover and even Snipe.

As mentioned previously, raptors were, of course, the target of our venture; this is, after all, a vantage point known to many as a prime location from which to ogle a great number of our predatory bird species. Our hopes soon rising as more and more Buzzards (I counted nine in total) lifted as if from nowhere to ride the thermals above the bottle-green wood. Lazy wingbeats striking a sharp parallel to the rapid hovering of a nearby Kestrel who hunted the roadside heath for the duration of our stay. The unhurried, almost fatigued, flight of the Buzzards allowing for easy recognition of a male Goshawk when it eventually joined the fray. Showing well, albeit distantly, as it broke cover – circling a few times in the company of the larger birds before dropping, once more, from sight.

A Raven was nice to see here too – gliding across the distant wood on inky wings and marking my first encounter with this species in 2017.

Heading home via the coast; a handsome drake Ring-Necked Duck was at the Northumberland Wildlife Trust’s Hauxley reserve and a Great White Egret was observed at Druridge Pools. With other interesting titbits including Avocet, at Cresswell, Scaup and Slavonian Grebe, at East Chevington, and many more Kestrels and Buzzards enjoying the radiant sun along our route home.

Header image: Copyright Phil Thirkell and licensed for reuse under this Creative Commons Licence.

Writing for Northumberland Wildlife Trust

For the select few readers of this blog who also follow me on social media, you may have noticed that I recently volunteered my services as a would-be nature writer to Northumberland Wildlife Trust. With the organisation, following a couple of very friendly and supportive meetings, gladly accepting my offer.

For the foreseeable future, I will be contributing regular blog posts to the NWT website under a self-titled column; one focused entirely on the wonderful sights to be seen around my home county. Hopefully, highlighting the wealth of wildlife to be seen at Wildlife Trust sites around the region – with over 60 to choose from, I may well be busy – but also giving mention to accessibility. All in the hope of encouraging people to get out and about and visit the sites that have enthralled me since childhood. Stay tuned for posts regarding Druridge Pools and East Chevington, sites most regional naturalists know very well, but also writing regarding less publicised sites – hidden gems such as Big Waters, Prestwick Carr and Holywell Pond. My first post, centred on Northumberlandia, can be found here.

While writing for the blog, I will also be contributing articles to the trusts regional magazine: Roebuck. A fantastic document released quarterly to NWT members which touches upon everything from local conservation to seasonal wildlife. I am, of course, very excited to contribute to the magazine, and my posts here will take a similar tone to the above; focussed on the wildlife to be seen on NWT reserves. The only difference, in this case, being a greater focus on more elusive or underappreciated species – butterflies, moths, beetles and botanicals.

I am very grateful to the trust for the chance to better my writing skills and, of course, am delighted at the exposure set to be gained from such. More importantly, however, I am thrilled to find myself actively promoting my own region and its fantastic wildlife. At the very least, I hope that someone, somewhere, will be encouraged to experience a new place or a seek out a new species as a result. Who knows!

Metamorphosis

There has been an intermediate feel in the air of late; as Winter begins to release its frigid grip on the landscape and the welcome rejuvenation of Spring begins. Birdsong, amorous amphibians, butterflies and bursting buds marking the start of the new season while loitering relics of Winter remain very much apparent. It has all been rather wonderful, and I, for one, very much enjoy this time of the year. The sight and sound of nature as old yields to the new, utterly enthralling, at least for those, like me, beginning to grow weary of the chill.

This week has seen a number of firsts brought about by the tepid weather and advancing calendar; not least the sight of spawning frogs. With a grand total of fourteen descending on my small garden pond – depositing their spawn in a rowdy scrum of flailing legs and hormonal calling. The pond now jampacked with conspicuous globules of eggs – sure to give rise to a bumper crop of tadpoles as the season advances. Testament to the value of such humble places for our embattled amphibians.

Frogs aside, this week also saw my first Peacock butterfly of the year – making the most of the late Winter sun amid the blooms of a nearby garden – while other invertebrates are also on the wing. Wasps, hoverflies, White-Tailed Bumblebees and a number of small, brown, unidentifiable moths all appearing as if from nowhere in the house, in the garden, in the wood and elsewhere around the local area.

Change is clearly afoot in the local avian community too; marked by the resurgence of Goosander and Grey Wagtail on the local river – species too long absent from the confines of my local patch. The resident Dippers are nesting, tucked away beneath the crumbling arch of a nearby bridge; while the wood finds itself positively abuzz with the singing of lustful passerines. Robin, Blackbird and Great tit, the species who have sung since January, now joined by the undulating notes of Goldcrest and the flutey tones of Song Thrush. Five of which were noted in full song during my last foray into the depths of Half-Penny.

A trip into the uplands at the weekend was also characterised by the sights and sounds of change; the most obvious of which coming from the Lapwings. Their shrill calls carrying far and wide over the windswept heath, joined, at times, by the sound of Curlew, fresh in from the coast. With the presence of Golden Plover back on their traditional breeding territories not going unnoticed either, though all of these soon fell into insignificance upon the sight of three Black Grouse – one male and two females – foraging at close quarters in a roadside field. Not a sight particularly representative of Spring but an enjoyable one nevertheless.

As I mentioned in the opening paragraph of this Spring-inspired ramble; species most often associated with Winter remain very much in evidence also. Pochard on a number of local lakes – a rare sight in present day Northumberland – and no end of Pink-Footed Geese, Goldeneye and mergansers. The nearby bay pebble-dashed with the silhouettes of  Red-Throated Diver, Common Scoter, Guillemot and Razorbill; all yet to depart for their Summer abodes. Though it cannot be long now and here too, on the sea, the signs of Spring abound. An increase in the number of Gannets a clear sign of things to come, and the return of Lesser Black-Backed Gulls to the surf most welcome.

All in all, this week has been an enjoyable one; characterised by a wave of fresh life and mounting anticipation for the joys to come as the year trundles on. I look forward to warmer days full to the brim with swallows, wheatears and Summer warblers, but, for now, am happy to revel in the fluid, dynamic fortnight before the true Spring begins.

Snatching some wild respite

The last few weeks have been manic; jam-packed with university assignments and other, more menial, tasks. All of which, combined, have greatly impacted upon my ability to get outside and enjoy the sort of things I usually do at this time of year. It has all been rather frustrating in truth, and may well have proved somewhat depressing had it not been for a spontaneous outing this weekend past. A scarce free morning finding myself and the significant other darting off to Druridge Bay for a morning of wild respite.

The morning started well, the sounds of Spring filling our ears as we wandered aimlessly about the woodland that fringes Ladyburn lake; robin, great tit, greenfinch and goldfinch in full song from their respective, denuded perches. The experience here amplified by the sharp, chortling, call of a nearby willow tit and, better still, the sight of two kingfisher perched in close proximity amid the branches of a haggard waterside alder. Sapphire tones alive in the late Winter sun and content to watch as we ambled by. A good start.

Moving on to the lake itself and the usual suspects – tufted duck, coot and goldeneye – were starkly apparent; the sight of a small group of pochard amid the flotilla uplifting given their rapid and glaring decline in the county. The red-headed ones taking a backseat, on this occasion, however, as a familiar figure surfaced amid their ranks: the pacific diver. Not the target of todays venture following numerous visits over the past month but nice to see regardless. The close views obtained more than sufficient to highlight the various ID features of the rather delightful bird; one which we enjoyed in solitude for twenty minutes before it flew off South. Only to emerge moments later on East Chevington.

The feeders at the visitor centre were typically busy; with eight tree sparrows the highlight here amid the assembled ranks of the local tits and finches. Our pitstop proceeded by a leisurely stroll to Chevington where a small flock of scaup amused on the North pool. Further scanning later revealing a slavonian grebe – always a pleasure –  as well as a further eight pochard. The seasonal feel continuing here too; with eighteen black-tailed godwit passing speedily overhead (on route to their breeding grounds, perhaps) and the near constant passage of pink-footed geese; all heading North with some haste. Our time here accompanied the whole time by the sound of singing reed bunting which, in the weeks to come, will surely be joined by grasshopper warblers, sedgies and cuckoo fresh from Africa. I cannot wait.

Heading home; the beach at the burn mouth thronged with Twite – 95 to be precise – each making use of the grain supplied by some kindly local birders. The shorelarks were present too, albeit a little further out, and a total of eight skylarks ascended from the sand dunes to sing their merry tune above our heads. A sound which evokes warmer days, blooming wildflowers and emergent insects, and one that I hold incredibly close to heart.

Excluding a rather painful (and comical) encounter with some brambles towards the end of our trip, we enjoyed a nice day at Druridge. Now back to those pesky assignments…

Birding Northumberland Absent Wheels: January

The year start on a characteristically chipper note; my annual 1st of January foray with Sacha kicking off the year list with a decent 84 species. Though not before a dawn wander around my local patch – the Blyth Estuary – saw the usual commodities, Robins and what not, added in droves. Back with Sacha and the highlights of the day comprised ringtail Hen Harrier at Low Newton, 6 Shorelark at East Chevington, drake Pintail on Druridge Pools and a superb Peregrine on my old patch at Widdrington. Stag Rocks proved exciting, as always, with a dozen Long-Tailed Ducks close to shore in the company of the usual Red-Throated Divers, Guillemots and Common Scoter; while a mixed flock of Twite and Linnet fed in the nearby game-cover during the duration of our stay. Kittiwake and Gannet, provided nice winter ticks here, with Red-Breasted Merganser and Eider also new, though our attentions soon wandered and we set off South; noting Whooper Swans at Chevington and Woodhorn, Tree Sparrow and Little Egret at Cresswell and, finally, a flock of 8 Goosander at QEII County Park.

The ensuing week provided little of note on the run up to the county bird race; a juvenile Iceland Gull on patch at North Blyth the only exception to the rule. With Rock Pipit, Dipper, Grey Plover and Razorbill likewise new around the local area. The bird race proved much more exciting; a fantastic day out with Jack, Dan and Michael ending in victory with an impressive tally of 120 species. The highlights of the day including the discovery of a Glaucous Gull at Warkworth, a drake Scaup on East Chevington, White-Fronted Goose and Spotted Redshank at Budle Bay, Slavonian Grebe and Great Northern Diver at Stag Rocks and the Iceland Gull again at Blyth. Early morning found us adding not one but two Barn Owls near Bedlington, followed by Woodcock, Red Grouse and Tawny Owl further North; while belated year ticks included Kingfisher at Cullercoats, Pochard at Widdrington, Grey Partridge, Great Crested Grebe, Purple Sandpiper and Mediterranean Gull. A trio of Tundra Bean Geese at Hemscott Hill were also nice to see – a long overdue county tick for this limping Northumbrian birder – and a Chiffchaff near Amble came as somewhat of a suprise.

Outings over the following week were scant due to university, though a day out on the 12th with Jack came up trumps with distant views of the Cheswick Black Scoter and, towards dusk, Great Grey Shrike and Willow Tit at Prestwick Carr. The next tick coming on the 21st with exceptional views of Druridge Bay Pacific Diver as it fished on Ladyburn Lake, mere meters from amassed ranks of its admirers. Water Rail was likewise new here while a Willow Tit and an impressive flock of c100 Siskin entertained on route home. The next day finding me picking up Little Owl at Blyth Links and Brambling at Northumberlandia – the latter conveniently landing outside the window during a meeting with Northumberland Wildlife Trust.

The month wound to a close with the sight of 17 Ring-Necked Parakeets roosting in Newcastle – a queer sight up here in the North but one I suspect we will be seeing more of. A later trip around Morpeth allowed for the addition of Marsh Tit and Green Woodpecker – both difficult county birds in my opinion – while the female Black Redstart was finally unearthed at North Blyth. Two separate Waxwing encounters were also had this week; with c60 at Bedlington and a smaller group of 3 at Exhibition Park, Newcastle.

As it stands, January ends on a respectable (for a full-time student who does not drive) 136 species. My biggest omissions coming from Lesser Redpoll and Velvet Scoter; and some frustrating misses including Bittern, Short-Eared Owl, Long-Eared Owl and Merlin. The latter of which being the only one I am particularly worried about, for now at least.

Here, there and everywhere in between

A busy week in the birding stakes with numerous trips around dear old Northumberland – as I attempt to stay true to my county year list promises – and a few jaunts further afield. This week’s haul of avian goodies taking my “Northumberland 2017” list up to a respectable (I think), 136 species for January – it would seem that I am on track, though I doubt that in the long-run I will be able to keep pace with the others attempting the same. Due to both my complete reliance on public transport and my unwillingness to hold my cards almost selfishly close to my chest. Though it is all for fun in the end and thus far, I am enjoying it.

Where to start? Well, last weekend found me dashing off for another look at the Pacific Diver languishing, at the time, at Druridge Bay Country Park. A short bus journey culminating in fantastic views of the vagrant as it fished, unphased by its admirers, some 10m offshore amid the assembled ranks of the local Tufted Ducks. The views obtained here far better than on my previous two trips and the experience amplified as the grating call of a Willow Tit emanated from the lakes scrubby peripheries. Later, a good sized flock of 80+ Siskin were noted on route home while a second Willow Tit was at Hadston.

The next (and less arduous) bus journey found me heading to Blyth; to a spot not far from my home in Bedlington where, after a few moments of gazing eagerly at some ramshackle farmland ruins, a Little Owl hopped politely into view. The first individual of this species I have seen in some time and a personal favourite to boot, despite their perpetually perturbed appearance. The trip home, after an hour alone with the owl, coming up trumps with a surprise flock of c60 Waxwing at Bedlington. The birds perched in a roadside Sycamore a mere 1/4 mile from my front door. Always nice to see and followed by a dusk jaunt to Northumberlandia where, despite missing my target species, a female Scaup and a few dozen Brambling were seen.

Next, a wander into the murky depths of Newcastle with the significant other in search of what has, for quite some time, been my nemesis species in the region: Ring-Necked Parakeet. Seventeen of which were quickly noted following a kind tip-off. The green-ones showing characteristically well as they jostled for position in their “favourite” tree, occasionally making breif flights over the nearby houses. A delightful sight in truth and always one I look forward too, despite the alien nature of the birds themselves.

Finally, the fourth bus of the week, today, took me to Morpeth; where an enjoyable few hours were spent combing through the various patches of woodland that line the banks of the River Wansbeck as it approaches the town. A dozen Brambling were nice to see here, as ever, and good counts of other common yet endearing species were obtained, with Jay, Nuthatch, Treecreeper, Bullfinch and Siskin present en-masse. Though these soon fell into obscurity when the sneezing call of my target species – Marsh Tit – was finally heard from the gnarled branches of a riverside oak. Followed, in quick succession, by an altogether surprising addition to the day’s haul: a Green Woodpecker. The bird heard on a number of occasions but giving only the briefest of views as it flew between trees. Not an easy bird to come by up here.

Sunny Morpeth this morning

 Further afield and I managed a few more prolonged jaunts this week, slotted between university commitments and other more menial tasks. The first taking both myself and Matt to the WWT’s Washington reserve where the adult drake Ferruginous Duck showed particularly well. A charming bird that I have put off going to see for some time whose copper colouring looked simply divine in the low Winter sun. A good rummage around the reserve – it would have been rude not to – turning up Willow Tit, Kestrel, Sparrowhawk, Siskin, Jay and, to my astonishment, 24 Bullfinch. I honestly don’t think I have ever seen so many in one place.

Heading even further South, this time in the company of some friends, yesterday provided another, even more alluring, lifer – White-Billed Diver. A bird that, given my unwillingness to travel to the far extremes of the country, I had accepted I would probably never seen. The quaint Lincolnshire river on which this hulking brute of a bird currently resides on a far cry from its usual abode and the views obtained – down to a matter of feet at times – superb, as opposed to distant and barely discernable. An attempt to end the day on an even higher note resulted in failure as we were outfoxed (twice) by the Yorkshire Pine Bunting; though the sight of 100+ Yellowhammer, c25 Corn Bunting and dozens of Tree Sparrow here was nice. Corn Bunting especially so, given the complete absence of the species in my local area and the woeful state of the UK population.

A few shots from Washington

The Waiting Game

Sometimes it is nice to just sit still; to abandon the urge to chase nature and allow wildlife to come to you. To wait; a moss-clad boulder, park bench, bank or fallen branch the ideal perch from which to watch the natural world go by, and from which to admire the myriad secretive creatures set to creep into consciousness as the minutes dwindle in quiet solitude.

This is exactly what I found myself doing yesterday evening; opting for an uncharacteristically patient approach to wildlife watching along the weathered banks of my local river, the Blyth. My seat for the duration of my stay – a mere half an hour – a fallen birch; her trunk slick to the touch and crumbling as a result of the trees prolonged and unrelenting decay. This particular tree, a favoured seat of mine for many years now, located midway through the Half-Penny Wood: a cherished childhood haunt that I discuss quite frequently on this blog, and one of only a scant few designated nature reserves in my local area. A rather nice place, in truth.

Waiting, as the light faded and the washed-out tones of the Winter day faded, gradually, into crepuscular darkness, all remained quiet. At least at first. The pronounced trickle of the Nesquick coloured river, rife with sediment, and occasional rustle in the jaded leaf-litter the only sounds to be heard. Abiotic notes, only noticed in my more quiet moments, soon cast into obscurity with a series of shrill screeches from the yellowed riverside grass. A vole, though who knows which species. The rodent clearly perturbed at the presence of some unseen being; voicing its displeasure from deep inside its fortress of rotten foliage.

A Dipper came next – though, as is often the case, I missed it. The electric call of the bird as it passed unseen, a painful indicator as to an opportunity missed. My head, on this occasion, turned the other way; the call heard once more above the soft rumble of water as the small bird, obscured by a bent, passed further upstream. The blow of its departure softened somewhat by the sight of another sought after woodland denizen. It’s arrival marked by a brief serious of maladroit notes as the bird – a bullfinch – dropped into the lower branches of a denuded alder. Watchful yet content at the far side of the river.

 Bullfinch have always been one of my favourite birds – so much to that, to my shame, I once considered a tattoo of one. The sight of the splendid little bird before me – plump, rosy red and sporting a delightfully glossy cap – a sight for Winter-weary eyes. A bird table regular whose appeal cannot be overstated: the birds themselves, resplendent in their vermillion finery (the males at least), surprisingly shy and reclusive for such a stocky songbird. Prone, at this time of year, to traversing the wood in small groups, or pairs; and rarely as single birds. The presence of the lone bachelor on this day, in this sense, somewhat surprising. Did his mate fall victim to the Winter weather? Mild though it has been. Or was it the local hawk? Maybe she is just waiting, pink feathers obscured behind the bottle-green veil of needles shrouding the nearby Yew.

Minutes pass after the finch departs, calling once more as it lifts, flying overhead and out of sight in a series of undulating motions. Gone, for now; biotic silence returned to the river and wood once again, albeit momentarily. Broken again with a sharp “zrik” and the familiar sight of a white/brown blur hurtling towards me from upstream. It is the Dipper again, flying back the way it came; seemingly having hit the invisible yet clearly defined force-field that separates his territory from that of the adjacent bird. The unseen territorial barrier than splits this small stretch of river in half – a barrier whose crossing, for the Dipper at least, carries the threat of retribution. Or, at the very least, a serious scolding courtesy of his peeved neighbour. Ready and willing to fight to maintain his borders and thus ensure his dominion over any nearby aquatic invertebrates.

The Dipper passes by in a flash; enjoyed briefly before it fades, once more, from sight. I follow suit, heading home in the same direction. My evening concluded in enjoyable fashion absent the need for far-ranging adventure nor physical excursion. The patient approach, when applied here, as with all places, forever fruitful.

Cover photo:  © Francis C. Franklin / CC-BY-SA-3.0, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=37675952

Beauty amid the breakers

The jaded sun shone, the air felt warm, spring-like even, and a Robin uttered its charactaristic, spritely song from the rusted pinnacle of a nearby fence. It did not feel much like Winter this morning, despite the month. The only tell-tale signs of the season coming in the surf; where the white-horses of the North Sea galloped ever closer to shore before breaking upon the algea clad rocks of the beach.

Here, amid the bubbling white water, purple sandpipers fed. Conspcious yellow feet working two to the dozen as they scurried to-and-fro over the jagged rock, dainty bills pecking and prying incessantly. Their vigour matched only by the black-headed gulls who, further out, danced swallow-like in the surf. Pale wings rising and falling in rapid succession as the birds snatched invisible titbits from the waters surface. Occasionally pausing; their bodies still momentarily, before upending – faded heads obscured as the birds dove deeper in search of food.

The waves kept coming; one after another, their arrival proceeded by a shower of saline spray. The birds did too: turnstones, cryptic colours blending seemlessly with the taupe rock underfoot and, later, ringed plover, masked and petite. The sight before me, one of pleasant coastal familiarity, accompanied by the ever-present chortle of gulls. Herrings and black-backs, the larger members of the Larus genus, far more imposing than the graceful black-heads foraging nearby. Their laughter ringing in my ears as I sat, watched and waited.

Waiting which, eventually, yielded fruit – a pale spectare falling, subtly, into line alongside the silver-grey bodies of its pre-assembled kin. Another gull, yes, but one of alien beauty; of elegance and a softer, much more diminuative appeal. A gull I have not seen here before, nor anywhere else of late: an iceland gull. A scarce visitor to our shores that, like the frost that adorns the ground by night, or the redwings that traverse the hedge in straggly flocks by day, occurs predominately in winter. Pale plumage setting it apart from bodies of its more boistrous cousins positioned nearby – the black-backs – like a lonesome pearl amid dozen shards of jet.

I am rather fond of iceland gulls, and always have been. Birds such as this – white-wingers – adding a touch of the exotic to many a walk in Winter; much as this one, a juvenile, did today. Admired until it lifed, white-primary feathers splayed in the flight, drifting slowly and carelessly from sight. Above the heads of the purple ones, still feeding in the spray, and that of the heron stood motionless in the shallows but a few feet away.

I follow suit, departing my watchpoint. Eyes wandering, breifly, to another winter visitor – a red-throated diver; rising and falling with swift repetition on the more tumultuous expanses further offshore. Far less appealing now than in summer – when its namesake throat flushes a delightful crimson – yet beautiful nonetheless. A sight which, much like the gull, dispels the decitful springlike aura brought about by the sun and the singing songbirds. Reminding me that winter still reigns, and will do for some time now; with the potential for treats such as these set to continue for another few months, at least.

Header image: By Andreas Trepte – Own work, CC BY-SA 2.5, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=716747

Walking in a Winter Wonderland

I have not ventured outside much recently: due to Masters work, plotting for New Nature and various other, more tedious tasks. All of which, combined, has lent a distinctly special feel to recent ventures. The first of which, taking place in the company of the lovely Sacha Elliott, found me dashing off up the coast, towards Druridge Bay, and the second, ambling about closer to home at Blyth. With both forays yielding fruit (albeit of the feathered kind) and solidifying my fondness for my native Northumberland in Winter.

Our visit to Druridge started well, albeit on a rather familiar note: with skeins of Pink-Footed Geese raining down like confetti and scores of flashy ducks. The floods at Druridge Pools holding a pleasant assemblage of Wigeon, Teal, Gadwall, Shoveler, Tufted Duck and a particularly handsome drake Pintail – ever one of my favourite birds. Here too a female Long-Tailed Duck, delightfully monochrome, gave good views and other waterfowl on show included a group of Red-Breasted Merganser and veritable legion of Canada Geese. Species, each and all, whose numbers swell in Winter as a result of their annual migration or, as is the case with the geese, much more localised movements.

Ducks aside, the morning began to progress quite nicely as we made moves to depart: a close encounter with a Sparrowhawk signalling the beginning of what was to be a rather excellent morning for raptors. The hawk soon followed by a Kestrel – the first of four noted during the morning – two Buzzard and, better still, a Merlin. The latter making a brief pass through a Starling flock before whizzing off, with characteristic speed, never to be seen again. The high derived from the Merlin soon amplified: with a tantalisingly brief encounter with a female Hen Harrier – a scarce occurrence these days – and, arguably better, a superb female Peregrine watching the world go by on the shores of a nearby lake.

As the raptors dwindled, more delights followed: Tree Sparrow, Yellowhammer, Stonechat, Snipe and yet more geese keeping us entertained until we made the decision to head a short way North, in search of a much more sought after seasonal scarcity – Shorelarks. Six of which we enjoyed in solitude after a brief saunter over the sands at Chevington. This flock not half as confiding as other birds I have seen elsewhere this year, yet no less enjoyable. Their characteristic yellow and black markings providing a welcome change from the varying shades of taupe currently setting in across the area as the season advances.

Back home, on the patch, things were far less thrilling: no brightly coloured larks or majestic harriers here. Not to say that the avian signs of the shifting season were not abundant – the estuary now brimming with a plethora of waders. Curlew, Dunlin, Redshank and Lapwing the most numerous this day yet interspersed, in places, by a few others: with Grey Plover, Black-Tailed Godwit and a lone Sanderling. The channel too holding life: with Teal numbers having increased to a modest c130 and Gadwall to 14. With Goldeneye present too –  represented by a pair of handsomely iridescent drakes – and other goodies including Little Egret, Eider, Goosander and a wayward Guillemot. The real treat coming later, on route home.

Heading back along the bridleway, the hedgerows teemed with life. Redwing, Fieldfare and Mistle Thrush, those habitual signs of the season, common-place, and finches awfully abundant. A trend stretching, surprisingly, to two of the scarcer species here: with both Greenfinch and Bullfinch plain and obvious amid the fray. Both soon forgotten as, moments later, a small flock of Waxwings – nine in total – dropped in to exploit the few Hawthorn berries not yet snaffled by the thrushes. A familiar sight this year – I alone have seen over 300 this winter – yet no less beautiful as they feasted. Their vibrant colours uplifting in the jaded sun and their crests buffeted by the building breeze.

At home, the Grey Wagtail which, rather oddly, appears to have taken up residence on my street remains in evidence, and a quick peek into the summer house revealed an impressive hoard of seeds. Sunflower kernels pilfered from next-door’s feeders no less: the Wood Mouse currently residing among the pillows who rendered the shed unusable some weeks ago, still quite at home. To my delight, and the annoyance of other family members.

Living North Awards 2016

Okay, I confess, I have been a little vocal with my excitement over attending the Living North Awards this week, and over my shortlisting in the ‘promise and potential’ category. I have mentioned the awards quite a few times on this blog and now, having attended the ceremony on Saturday, I am going to mention it once again, for the final time.

The ceremony, held in Newcastle’s St. Nicholas Cathedral, was exquisite. Far surpassing anything this humble nature lover has attended before. And it was both dumbfounding and amazingly gratifying to find myself in the company of so many wonderful, accomplished people. From those committing to outstanding feats of charity to those who manage some of regions most iconic tourist attractions. Everyone in attendance had done something wonderful, for other people or the region itself, and to say I felt out of place would be a whopping understatement. Truthfully, the event was phenomenal: flowing drinks, live music, and amazing food. Indeed, two days later and I still find unable to move courtesy of the sheer amount of venison, pheasant, scallops, pate and champagne I wolfed down during the night. Best to make the most of it though, eh?

On a serious note, however, being nominated and, better still, shortlisted in this category has done wonders for my self-esteem. And while I did not win – the winner, Brandon Bailey, deserves every second in the limelight – it was extremely rewarding to find myself in such company due to my passion for the outdoors. Being praised for doing something you love is a real pleasure, and I am very grateful to Living North for a much needed confidence boost at time when I had begun to doubt my myself and my capabilities ever so slightly. I now feel motivated, perhaps more so than ever before, to double my efforts and solider on with my writing and, more importantly, more desire to do something meaningful for British wildlife. It really is amazing what a pat on the back can do for you from time to time.

Congratulations are definitely in order to Northumberland National Park, for taking home the award for ‘Contribution to the North-East’ and to my partner for making regular forays to the gin bar as I sat and fan-girling over the various award winners.

The Heralds Of Winter

When my mind wanders, I struggle to think of a bird that raises a clamour among those of an avian inclination half as much as the Waxwing. A species which, to me, embodies everything endearing about British wildlife: confiding, colourful, charismatic and a joy to behold, whatever the weather. Living on the East coast – often the best place to encounter Waxwings, should they arrive – these birds are the true heralds of Winter. And following last week’s fleeting encounter, a few days past I was lucky enough to find a flock of my own. Enjoy the visitors in welcome solitude as they fed for half an hour in the grounds of my local pub.

Setting out after first light, the jaded sun of the transitional period between Autumn and Winter ascending, I had expected to find a few Waxwings. They are, after all, rather numerous this year: with flocks numbering well into the hundreds prevalent right up the coast, and smaller parties cropping up in almost every county in Britain. I was not, however, expecting to find one such large flock mere five minutes from my front door. But I did, with over 140 Waxwings unearthed in the grounds of the Bank Top pub, in Bedlington. The birds showed marvellously in the breeze, punk-rock crests blown into a whole manner of comical shapes as they scoffed the few remaining Whitebeam berries still clinging to the denuded trees. The flock occasionally rising, calling and returning once again, as dog-walkers passed, oblivious, under their perch. It was all rather lovely.

Spurred on by the seasonal spectacle unfolding on the edge of my local patch – where urban sprawl meets Country Park. I soon opted for a walk around the estuary, where two more Waxwings fed amid a tangle of Spindle in the company of a few Redwing and a lone Mistle Thrush – yet more winter visitors to the patch. Birds which, alongside the numerous Blackbirds exploding from every thicket, made for a most enjoyable half-hour amid the thorns. The real treat, however, came on the estuary itself where yet more Winter visitors fed on mud left exposed in the wake of the retreating tide.

Here some 120 Dunlin fed, dainty feet working flat out as they swept the flats in an unruly rabble of pale feathers. Redshank were numerous, with at least 100 observed, while other familiar characters had likewise arrived in force: Curlew, Oystercatcher, Ringed Plover Turnstone and, better still, a dozen Black-Tailed Godwits. A species that I seldom recall seeing during my childhood here, that now appears to have replaced the dwindling number of Bar-tailed Godwits on the Blyth. I wonder why? Topping off the leggy smorgasbord, 50 Lapwings soon dropped in, metallic calls resounding over sludge; quickly followed by 300 or so Golden Plover. A quick scan of the flock as they descended revealed a single Grey Plover huddled amid their ranks. Surprisingly inconspicuous, despite the colour difference.

Elsewhere on the Blyth duck numbers remained low – last weeks Wigeon having departed and still no Goldeneye or Gadwall back from their travels. Sixty Teal, two-dozen Mallard and a dapper drake Red-Breasted Merganser the best I could muster. There is still time yet. The blow softened somewhat by the presence of a somewhat out of place Little Grebe in the harbour, a Little Egret and three Grey Wagtails looking far from grey in the growing light. The journey home revealed a Dipper, a little upstream, delving in and out of the river where it narrows and the saline waters of the estuary blend with the fresher outflow of the River Blyth.

Checking back in at the pub, the Whitebeams stood bare: of both berries and Waxwings. The earlier assemblage gone and two peeved birders the only indicator as to their former presence. It mattered not.

Is It Winter I feel?

Today was exquisite: somewhat underwhelming in the rarity stakes, not outlandish in the volume of species seen and bitterly cold, but exquisite nonetheless. A day off from my studies providing the perfect opportunity for an excursion to the coast, to my local patch, where the wildlife to be recorded, observed and of course, enjoyed, appears to have taken on a distinctly wintery feel.

The day started well, though on a somewhat startling note. A short walk through a stand of now naked Whitebeams resulting in near cardiac arrest as a Woodcock burst forth from the leaf litter in a typically startled fashion, right in my direction. This marking the first of these cryptic waders to grace my patch in quite some time.  My nerves rattled once again – as I departed the grove – where a covey of Grey Partridge promptly followed suit, rising frantically from the patch of rank grass in which they fed before my arrival. Both delightful birds and both species suffering woeful declines at present. I am glad to harbour them both here.

Onwards, into my favoured stretch of waste ground and yet more signs of the shifting season became plain to see. A charm of Goldfinch, perhaps forty or so, calling as they dropped into the denuded branches of an Alder, promptly joined by a handsome male Siskin – another Winter visitor here. Bullfinch could be seen, as could Lesser Redpoll, while a lone Willow Tit issued its characteristic – and somewhat unmelodic – call from a nearby hidden place. Secreted amid the scrub. The real treat coming later, my attention transfixed by movement in some nearby Hawthorns. Waxwings, I hoped, though proper examination soon dispelled my expectations. And here no less than five species of thrush fed in close quarters, tossing back the quickly diminishing berries with gusto. The best of which, in my humble opinion, comprising a pair of Fieldfare – both of which offered my best views of the species so far this year.

Sorry to be stereotypical but it is almost Winter…

Onwards to sea, my arrival delayed somewhat as skein of Pink-Footed Geese passed overhead followed, seconds later, by an altogether more exciting sight. A female Peregrine gliding into view, overhead and beyond, soon carried out of sight by her powerful wingbeats. Another winter visitor to the patch, endearing yet unfortunately breif. Said raptor contributing greatly to my soaring expectations as I took up my favoured spot in the dunes and set about scanning the undulating water of the bay before me. The usual characters, those that fish close to shore, soon becoming apparent. A Red-Throated Diver, two Red-Breasted Mergansers, a Guillemot and a Razorbill. The latter two species diving side by side, synchronised almost, allowing for excellent scrutiny of their contrasting yet superficially similar winter plumage.

An hour later and things picked up, abolishing my desire to leave. Many and more species now passing North and South in loose flocks, bisecting each other’s paths like determined motorists at a T-junction. Ducks were numerous – Teal and Wigeon the most so, followed by smaller numbers of dabber Common Scoter, Mallard and some twenty-five Goldeneye. Gannets too passed by, mostly dull juveniles but also an adult, its yellow head alive in the growing sun. These followed in turn by tapering lines of Cormorant and the odd Shag, Kittiwake and Fulmar. The highlight, however, coming moments before departure – a final scan of the water before me revealing a conspicuous silhouette tagged to the back of migrating group of Scoter. Quick wingbeats, minute size and monochrome appearance immediately giving away its identity – a Little Auk. One of the most sought after winter visitors (after Waxwings, of course) and the underlying reason for today’s excursion. Sometimes it pays to have expectations.

Oh yes, and yesterday on my way to university I FINALLY caught up with some Waxwings. The below photo was taken last year but you get the picture.