With the Yellow Wagtail still around, I figured enough time had elapsed to allow for the swathe of twitchers to have died down. I left it til Monday to make extra sure to avoid the weekend midland birders.
I was wrong. As I arrived at Sedgeford and got out of the car, a burly feller with a slightly crazed look in his eye started shouting at me not to worry because it was still there sitting in a bush. I might have worked that out for myself just by looking at the crowd of old duffers gathered there- but you never know.
The bird flew down to a big heap of earth and I took a few pictures and left without a word. It just wasn't worth it.
I decided to drop in at Wells to hopefully enjoy the Roughleg - still one of the best birds out there in my opinion. I found myself driving up the road that leads to the small parking place at Burnham Ovary, and as I approached, I noticed that the field next to it was scattered with pinkfeet. Luckily there was a nice gap in the hedge to pull up by, so I could enjoy the geese at close range without leaving the car and causing a flush. The sun was horrific - far too bright to take decent photos with my digiscoping equipment and I soon lost hope of capturing any worthwhile images. I figured I'd have a quick scan for Beans - and immediately got lucky. The third bird in this little group stayed in the shadows, and it was only when I cropped it to upload here that I noticed that it seems to be a Whitefront.
The Roughleg at Wells was just as easy to find. Just outside town a couple of cars were parked in a gateway looking at a pale bird in a conifer. I took one look and assured them that it was just a Common Buzzard, and continued to where the Roughleg has been reported from for the past god-knows-how-many weeks. Perched in a bush beyond the sewage farm by the car park, it was a touch distant, but sitting pretty. Immediately I was accosted by a couple asking if this really was the Roughleg, since they had fallen foul of more midland birders the previous day who had been gawping at the Holkham Imposter - did they not know who they were talking too?
Apparently not. The buzzard eventually took off, perched on a further bush briefly and then took to the air again, disappearing over the bank.
At Lady Anne's Drive, the birds were closer. Wigeon padded on the wet meadow, and a flock of unruly Brents gargled in the still bright sun. I watched a Common buzzard as it slowly swooped from perch to perch - each time taking a few minutes scanning the rough grass, and once dropping down to pounce and miss a lucky vole.
Surely the days' birders would have had their fill of the wagtail by now. As I strolled over to the field corner, the sky rent with a sharp call, and the Wag dropped in about thirty metres in front of the idiots - yes, idiots - present. It was the same little posse I'd had to disabuse at Wells. Needless to say, they hadn't noticed the bird, despite its call being the equivalent of a lightning strike. Luckily they left after the bird flew further off, leaving just one bloke and myself. We waited ten minutes, and the wagtail flew back in, and as we held still in the shelter of the hedge, it followed a couple of pied Wagtails down the ruts in the soggy corner, closer and closer.
After a while, it flew up and over us, and onto the earth pile it had been feeding on in the morning. It stuck to the shaded side - the more sheltered side, and was drunk in.
