The wind had turned Easterly on Friday and bits and bobs had started turning up - the 8 striped sprite, gorgeous Pallas's Warblers had started a flurry and Red Flanked Bluetails having had a bonza breeding season in their westerly frontier, were also arriving. I want to find one of those for myself so opted to start early on Saturday morning on the under watched but briliantly positioned Gypsy Lane between Titchwell and Brancaster. I checked around Titchwell Church at dawn and then started down the lane. I'd been in touch with Ben the day before, he and Rich were heading towards Warham and Stiffkey, I'd commented "enjoy the hoards" a phrase that would haunt me for the rest of the day. I'd slowly walked 100 metres of the lane, I'd forgotten quite how good it looks for autumn migrants and moved very slowly. Just before 8 I got a message from Birdo - was I on my way for the Bushchat?? What The Force!
A quick check of the bird news revealed the startling news that a Rufous-tailed Bushchat had been found just after daybreak at Stiffkey. I decided to stick to plan and keep looking for a Bluetail but with each step I found myself unable to focus and observe, my mind was wandering ceaselessly to whether I could afford to play this cool. Another 10 minutes and I broke, trotted to the car and got myself down to Stiffkey.
It was already bonkers when I arrived, I managed to squeeze myself a parking spot amidst the snaking lines of cars along both sides of the narrow road. Joining the crowd there was an odd scene before us. The tide was very, very high yet the bird had flown from the hedgerow where it had shown well out to a small island of sueda. Opinion was split as to whether it had stayed there or flown further out to the far ridge. Long and short there were plenty of twitchy twitchers assembled but on the edge. Shouty arguments, accusations of stringing and general bad vibes were evident and then the patience broke. 10 then 20 then 30 folk started to edge out along the submerged path desperate to get looking for the chat.
The original patch of sueda looked the only reasonable proposition to me so I decided to grill this from the now emptying bank top. As the tide dropped the birders spread widely across the saltmarsh and out to the furthest ridge, I kept focused on the good looking spot. Something moved flicked up and down again and the birder who'd gone to that patch of sueda's bins went up, stayed up and then he waved his arms. The ensuing scene was carnage - a sopping, sploshing, sliding, jogging beige army honed on the spot from all sides and all distances. It seemed to have dissappeared again, but then a blur of movement, a big cocked tail a top the sueda and jerky movement here, there and gone again. A bit later it sat out for longer, motionless. The crowd had got ridiculous the distancing was non- existent and the sueda was virtually surrounded.
Having seen the bird and with no desire to join the hoard, I decided this was not for me and went for a look at the Pallas's Warblers in the wood. I saw one of these well and drunk it in beneath the oaky canopy. As I left birders were arriving from Yorkshire and the crowd had got even bigger - it made the national news for the wrong reasons with the police threatening social distancing fines. I was due in Cambridge by 1 so slunk off having done little birding, seen a mythical blocker and feeling like I'd let myself down not sticking to the plan. In fact the best bit of the experience was relaying the ridiculous scenes, the wading out, slips and mud baths to Rich, Ben and Jono as I drove home.
Here's Mark Hawkes video of the Bushchat from the next day.
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