Winter Challenge

Just how many species of birds are lurking in the dead of winter within the Ely 10. One way to find out is to go and look for them. Actually, come to think of it, that's the only way to find out. You don't have to try and find every one in just one day, but in this time poor world we live in it would be virtually impossible to account for the maximum possible total without a certain self-imposed pressure from the Beast that calls itself Bird-Race; otherwise valuable daylight is lost as soon as you find the first "special birding moment", and you lapse into mere birdwatching. Accumulation not appreciation is the name of the game- a game Duncan, Will, Bruce and myself played on Sunday last.

We set ourselves the target of 100- a nice round figure that seemed to be a reasonably attainable and reasonably impressive target, and as the faded light of dawn washed across the winterworn reedbed of Wicken Fen our chances of achieving this total seemed pretty good, as, floating up from its roost, a male Hen Harrier breezed past. this was one species that i thought may be hard to see without the luxury of time, and when three Cranes flew over a bit later on, another scarce bird that can easily disappear into the surrounding countryside, things were looking good. We left Wicken with over 70 species in the bag, confident that we'd be done by lunchtime.
But just as the final ascent to the top of Everest is the hardest part of the climb, the final few species got on a birdrace can prove very difficult. Our second stop was Chippenham fen, a radical change of habitat, and one which we thought would bring us all the woodland species that are absent from the rest of the fens. A Red kite was a lucky spot as we strolled down the path to the woods, but there was where our luck changed. Almost deathly quiet. The creaking of wind battered trees. Some Great Tits on a birdfeeder. Not even any water buffalo. Maybe this wasn't going to be as easy as all that.
returning back towards the middle of the '10, we stopped at Fordham Woods, a real slice of swampy willow carr-wilderness in miniature. Unlike Chippenham, Fordham was alive with birds, and good ones too. Treecreepers, Siskins and best of all Marsh Tits. I think all of us could have easily spent the day there admiring the friendly and very vocal tits- birds that are sadly all too absent from the rest of the Ely area.
Dragging ourselves away we headed to Ely for a contrasting ten minute trip to the sewage works, where we saw Chiffchaff and Grey Wagtail, and then on to the washes at Welney.
It was make or break time now, as we knew that if we were going to get anywhere near our total, we had to take a big bite out of the target here, with all the wildfowl and waders that frequent the washes in winter. There are still 600 Bewick Swans roosting at Welney, and we picked out a few in a Whooper flock just beyond Littleport, and on the reserve itself we were fortunate to find a Goldeneye and Smew amongst the more regular visitors. Sadly the waders let us down, and without Ruff or Curlew on the list we headed down the west side of the washes with a growing sense of desparation.
Hopes were raised somewhat at Manea, with Brambling and Tree sparrows taking our total to 95. If we stopped off at Mepal for Jack Snipe, we'd only need four gull species at the roost at Witcham for a down to the wire finish.
no Jack Snipe.
Hopes blown away by the now painful wind on the wash bank. worse than that it was becoming evident that the gull roost, usually so reliable was not developing, and only a fraction of the numbers were there as the light began to fade. Finally a Ruff was found and a couple of Yellow-legged Gulls arrived. A short-eared Owl flashed across the bank to leave the final tally on 99.
well..... what would we do next year if we'd cracked it this time?

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Go Wild in the Country

A quirky day out with highlights coming from naturalised species that couldn't be viewed more differently by birders.  Off fen, an early spring trip to the woods means the mighty Goshawk is calling. We saw 3 today, 2 males that soared and tussled over several protracted flights at a traditional spot.  The third was a huge female that glided over us low at Lynford Aboretum.  Having gained height she started an impressive stooping and elastic winged display as she drifted higher and away.  We didn't find any Hawfinch but there were plenty of Siskin and woodland treats in the form of Marsh Tit and Nuthatch.  A few Goldcrests were singing but there weren't any Firecrests on territory as yet, a few weeks time and I'm sure they'll be shaking their songs out at all the usual spots. A tiny pond at Brandon CP held around a dozen gaudy Mandarin.  As with the Goshawk, these birds UK population is sustained from stock originally escaping captivity or deliberately released.  Unlike the Goshawk, the Mandarin has never existed rrhere naturally and affords a status with birders alongside the Parakeet and just above the Peacock.  Nonetheless we snapped away at these beautiful, seasonally arboreal, duck and enjoyed ourselves thoroughly.

Listing Blindly

Lists, lists, lists.  I have them and then again I don't, I get to milestones and then lose the specificity.  I did a big year a long time ago and I saw over 300 species in the UK but can't remember by how many.  My UK list is over 400 but by how many I'm not sure.  I know what I haven't seen in the Ely10 but have no idea what my actual list is. I am listing without listing

With limited opportunities to get out birding these past couple of months I decided that the one full birding day I had over the Christmas period I would see how many species I could see within the Ely10.  It was a lovely way to spend a day. 

Along the Washes Swan flocks peppered the fields and a reasonable number of Bewick Swans aggregated on the waters at Pymoor where the American Golden Plover, a great find by Neal Gates, hunkered down with a 100 strong flock of Goldies.  They took off and the diminutive plover with it's grey under wings was surprisingly easy to pick out in the flock as they wheeled around.   At Welney a Great White Egret and Peregrine were out on Lady Fen with a Tree Sparrow on the feeders.  Out to the woods at Fordham where Marsh Tit, Treecreeper, Bullfinch, Goldcrest, Coal Tit and Siskin gave themselves up in the seemingly lifeless carr.  At Burwell Fen a ringtail Hen Harrier worked low along the lode side.  A return to Ely yielded a Grey Wagtail amongst almost a hundred Pied feeding on the filter beds at the Sewage Works.  Checking through the tit flock I had a close encounter with a very likely looking Siberian Chiffchaff although I've not been able to see it again since.  Ben rang to say he had just seen a couple of Grey Partridge flying across Queen Adelaide Way and 15 minutes later I was watching them as we located them across the fields. Running through the list of birds I'd not seen Snipe, Great-spotted Woodpecker and Owls were obvious gaps.  Ben encouraged, probably demanded, that we go to Isleham Water Meadows to see Snipe.  There was not a great deal of light left but it was a great call.  A little squadge through some likely looking mire flushed a Snipe or 6, a little pool looked ideal for a Jack Snipe and within a minute one jumped from between my feet and a larger Pipit, a Water,  silently rose and settled a little further ahead. A great flurry of new birds for the day.  An impressive twisting flock of Starlings split and rejoined time over time, difficult to estimate but 7,000 was discussed before they curled a final time to become one with the Poplars.  So this list ended on 94 species making a winter day total of 100 in the Ely10 a challenging but achievable target for a busy and focused day out birding.

Although I've no idea what number it'll be on my British list I do know that I've never clapped eyes on a Serin in the UK.  I tried, my first ever twitch for this dinky finch, last week at Fen Drayton and failed seeing the pair that had been in elusive residence.  The proposition of a much easier Serin just up the road at Downham Market drew me there first thing this morning and it showed very nicely.  I pottered back into the 10 via Denver where some handsome Goosander were fishing in the relief channel, right within the sluice system. 

 

Down at Cambridge Research Park I was very fortunate that Jon and David Heath had picked up a Glaucous Gull dropping onto the lake as I was about to leave.  a great bird that departed as quickly as it arrived. 

The gulls here are great, being so close they allow close scrutiny which invariably leads to many more questions and uncertainties.  I videod an adult grey backed gull that appeared to have a paler iris but looked kind of OK for a Caspian or hybrid.  The video grab shows a pretty good wing for a Caspian with clear tongues and black dipped onto p5 and p6.

Listing badly

Like many (surely almost all) birders, I keep lists. Much has no doubt been written about this aspect of birding behaviour. Jeremy Mynott has an interesting and thought-provoking section on the listing habit in his book 'Birdscapes', exploring the link to collecting, to obsessions and eccentricity. The extent of my listing is fairly modest. A life list of course, and a year list too. Standard stuff. The closest I get to what Mynott terms "the slippery slope to eccentricity" is a 'Birds seen from Football Grounds' list, begun after seeing a Kestrel hovering whilst I stood on the terrace at Brentford's Griffin Park. A fly-over Cormorant also enlivened proceedings that day and helped to get the embryonic list up-and-running. This particular list gives a double hit, allowing a collecting crossover between birds and footy grounds. Scanning the skies fills in those rare moments when Cambridge United cease to dazzle and enthrall... Treats thus far include a Lapwing at Gateshead, Red Kite at Northampton and Rink-Necked Parakeets at Wimbledon. Disappointment still surrounds an unconfirmed Woodcock at Southend...

I'm relatively new to the year list and wish I'd started to keep one much earlier in life. It allows competition between myself and a number of friends, but chiefly with myself. As it happens 2015 was my best yet, beating my previous record by a clear 4 birds. The fact that the new record is a mere 158 species is a reflection of many things; the amount of time devoted to birding, limited travel to different areas and, most pertinently of course, birding ability (or lack of it). As with any year, there are some frustrating omissions. Somehow I managed to miss Yellow Wagtail and Garganey (again) in 2015 and that 'lost' Woodcock at Southend came back to haunt me...

Since joining the year listers January 1st has taken on added meaning and a trip out on New Year's Day is now an essential part of the festive calendar, just as it is for numerous other birders. The Common-or-Garden regain rightful significance and the House Sparrow is justly afforded the same status as rarer birds will be later in the year. So...down to Roswell Pits. Colder conditions than of late, lending the day some appropriate seasonality. The ticks mount up as many of the usual suspects are 'discovered' anew. Robin: Check. Mallard: Check. Carrion Crow: Check. Those Feral Pigeon on the Cathedral will do very nicely, thank you. No bird is ever guaranteed of course, so it's nice to nab things like Green Woodpecker and Little Grebe, who might well slip through the net... for a few days at least. Long-Tailed Tit and Dunnock evade me. Kingfisher and Marsh Harrier are particularly pleasing sightings, as they would be on any day. The highlight, however, is a fine male Stonechat, flitting about down by the river. A final day tally of 38, which I later discover is 4 ahead of last year - and which, of course, means precisely nothing!

hawk the slayer

The feeders are a hive of activity first thing in the morning, and its no wonder that the scene is noticed by the sharp eyes of a Sparrowhawk. The tits and finches suddenly vanish, and the doves clap their wings as they lumber away. All that is left is the hawk, alert and standing at the base of the tree trunk. She has something. Lifting off, she glides across to the back of the garden, alighting on the grass heap still in shadow. Green and yellow feathers blow away on the breeze- its a Greenfinch, a male. Up in the tall birch a magpie chatters- nervously watched through burnt orange eyes. The magpie chooses not to challenge the hawk, and she returns to her meal.

She's found a good hunting ground, and later on tries again- rushing at the fruit tree with the feeders in it- but this time without success. She perches among the cherry crabs, ignoring the scolding and taunting of the Blue Tits that hop around in front of her. They are defenceless if surprised, but once alerted to danger the small birds can use the dense cover as protection, and the hawk won't waste her energy.

Eventually she moves on, and with three or four quick flaps she reaches a pile of dead wood. The sun shines on her pale,barred breast, and, cover blown, she's off over the hedge.

first shiver of winter

Now comes the cold. We at last awake to a frost in the chill air, and set the nets in the winter darkness. Redwings gradually appear, floating down into the scrub in small groups of five or six. In fact all the thrushes are active in the first hours of the cold day; Blackbird, Fieldfare, Song Thrush and Mistle Thrush all seem frantic in their search for food. But it is the Redwing that is most evident at the moment and we catch three, allowing us to see up close the terracotta underwing that is usually hidden from view. The bold facial pattern gives them the look of one used to bracing weather- creased by facing the north wind, with lowered brow and puckered cheeks. 

The sun shines over the black fen and in the distance a young Tiercel is hunting. The horizon fills with swirling and turning flocks of Lapwing ,Golden Plover, Rooks and Jackdaws, but it is the ball of Starlings that are most in danger. They contract and pulse as the Peregrine jack-knives, then straightens into a low sprint across the fields.
Out on Burwell Fen the waders and ducks stay close to the tussocks of sedge and rushes. Godwits and Ruff mingle in a group, and four Dunlin trudge past a gathering of male Shovelers. The open water is empty save for a pair of Whooper Swans with their cygnet. Two more swans drop in- Bewick's this time, but they don't stay long, and when they take off they are soon followed by the Whoopers. The sun is still bright, but is sinking fast when the Phantom appears over the bank in front of us.
Ermine vest and black velvet gloves.
Using the following wind the Hen Harrier glides across towards the reserve, the epitome of simple beauty and perfect hunter-over Harrison's Drove, where a flock of fieldfare have been blowing through the willows, and onto the roost. In the fading light at least two males and a Ringtail circle low, quartering the area before disappearing in the winter darkness.

swandays

It seems that the leaves have only just dropped, but already they are being blown away by the winter wind. The water is rising on the wash and the swans have arrived- not in huge numbers yet, but their voices carry on the breeze across the fen. On Tuesday morning I stood on the bank at Welney as the first light of a grey dawn penetrated the mist, and for a few minutes I was able to count them waiting for the air to clear. The mist returned quickly, and it wasn't until a few hours later that the swans made their way out into the fields. Nearly two thousand Whoopers and two hundred Bewicks, spread out between Pymoor and Southery, with the biggest flock just west of Littleport. On the edge of one group, ten Cranes, bustles flapping in the wind, and Lapwing and Golden plover shining in the sunlight.

Yesterday the weather worsened, and as darkness crept across the sky the swans struggled into the oncoming stormwall. 

Pretty Polly

I saw a striking photo on a colleagues filing cabinet in the finance office at work.  It turns out that the photo of a Ring-necked Parakeet was taken in a Fordham garden and the bird has been visiting morning and afternoon for a couple of months.  Thanks to Wendy Vigrass for sending the pictures and especially to her daughter, Amy who took such cracking shots.

 

 

 

 

november shroud

 A veil that dissolves form, leaving only shadows of what was. The mist has turned the world into a ghost of itself, and beyond the bank the lonely cries of Lapwing are the only clue to the presence of something within the great nothingness. Swans bugle as the wash becomes real, the sun is now a weak lemon disc, the green appears, and the pond in front of us is a pearl within that green. With form comes life, the shapes of wildfowl drift on the water, and on the fringes there is a restless fidget of Snipe. They scurry about, hopping, probing and fanning their raised tails. Other waders appear, Ruff and Lapwing dropping in and preening at the water's edge. Out of the lush vegetation a pipit creeps, winding through the thick reed stems- there, then gone. The play is over and the curtain comes down, and all is nothing again.

                                     

The afternoon sun has blazed away, and as the clear evening turns pink the waders are back at the pool. The Ruff arrive first with a single Redshank, but soon there is a whirling flock of Lapwing, stirring up the mist as they circle. Further down, a gang of Rooks maraud out onto the flat-finding fence posts  protruding from the vapour like an old wreck grounded on a reef.

The mist laps around the bushes and banks as the winter swans, blue in the cooling sky, head up the wash and the Sun sinks slowly. 

home and away

Monday's stroll around Roswell Pits revealed Autumn in action. The leaves are turning and with the changing season the birds are changing too. Out on the water, the grebes have attained frosty winter plumage, while on the hawthorn covered banks the resident tits glean insects hidden in the foliage. For some time now the wood has been alive with the sharp calls of Song thrushes and Redwings, and they are harried by the more bullish Blackbirds at every turn. Down by Cuckoo Bridge the reeds stirred, and a Bittern crept into deeper cover. Redpolls and Siskins blew in but soon carried on.
Tuesday began with an all pervading mist, one that on the coast often brings flocks of thrushes crashing into buckthorn thickets and seaside hedgerows. There were signs of movement at home, with a small gang of Fieldfare restlessly flying up and down Thistle Corner Drove. They eventually found a good supply of hawthorn berries, and chattered as the sky cleared.
Duncan has been on the coast this week and had a good fall of thrushes, and this morning I joined him to see what would come of the last two days of easterly winds. After a misty pink dawn broke the weather unfortunately turned pretty miserable, and we resorted to sitting in the van, overlooking the saltmarsh at Burnham Overy. A Rock Pipit perched up on one of the boats- its colour ring revealing its Norwegian origin.
I left Dunc at Wells and headed west, arriving at Titchwell as the weather began to brighten. As always the freshmarsh was alive with birds, but it wasn't until I reached the beach that the sun began to shine with golden fervour, a fiery gold to greet the passing of the day. The sand suddenly seemed to be made of tempered bronze, and the waders on the shore glowed as they retreated from the oncoming tide. The freshmarsh was filling with roosting gulls and waders as I made my way back along the path. 

Raptor rapture

A day off and a reasonable forecast. The original plan had been to head to Norfolk, to see if Duncan and Ben et al had left any exciting birds for anyone else (well, to visit Holme Dunes, actually). However, with the Coasthopper bus being messed up for the next few weeks we plumped for Wicken Fen instead. After the customary start at the Brickpits - Greenfinch the dominant theme today - we headed over to the other side of Wicken Lode. As we emerged beyond the Visitor Centre a buzzard was being mobbed by a crow. A quick check through the bins and as it banked round it revealed the white tail-band of a Rough-Legged! It sailed off behind trees and couldn't be relocated, despite our rushing off to Baker's Fen. Instead onwards to the West Mere hide where a Great Egret once again stood sentinel, this time behind clamourous crowds of Greylag and Canada geese.

Eventually over to Burwell Fen and up onto the bank to survey the pools. Masses of birds about, with large groups of Lapwing and Golden Plover, Wigeon whistling away and Snipe seemingly occupying any spare patch of mud. A few Dunlin picked through the shallows, whilst Black-Tailed Godwits preened themselves before settling down for a siesta. A male Pintail drifted regally. Every so often the plovers would shoot up in clouds and wheel about over the pools, flickering black and white or gold and white in the afternoon sun. Then the Rough-Legged Buzzard re-appeared, once again attended by a crow. As we watched it repeatedly hovered, sometimes for at least a minute. To the naked eye it could have been a Kestrel in the middle distance - through the 'scope somewhat like an Osprey before a dive and it did indeed drop down to the ground several times. The crow became two and the Buzzard drifted away. A Common cousin headed over the Fen later on.

Heading back up Harrison's Drove a flock of Fieldfare - my first of the season. Winter not so far away, despite the late afternoon sunshine and golden leaves. This meeting of the seasons was further hinted at later when a ringtail Hen Harrier flew over us, picked out by the setting sun. However, lest we rush too soon into the colder months, bats were still out hawking about in the gloaming.

capture rapture

There’s always a desire to see more. Fleeting glimpses are not enough. The hunter within us all wants the trophy, wants confirmation of his skill - wants to capture the prey and keep the moment for posterity. The rarer the prey - the more beautiful, the higher the reward.

And so you go back and you continue the hunt until you can claim to have won. In the net, in the hand, in the camera, on the page, in the memory.

Sharp eyes, all weekend

The last few posts have looked east, to the coast and beyond, towards the homelands of rare and scarce vagrants.  With winds assisting migrants moving across the North Sea the coastal woods of North Norfolk have accumulated a smorgasbord of top notch migrants, more than enough to lure us out of the 10 and to the coast again.  A relaxed but focused walk from Wells to the western end of Holkham produced the finest quality days birding, in terms of rarities, I've had on the east coast.  Spryte's with stripes completed a flush with 2 Pallas's Warblers, Humes Warbler, Yellow-browed Warbler, Siberian Chiffchaff and 2 Firecrest all being found within the canopy foliage along the 3 miles of sheltered woodland edge.  A Red-Flanked Bluetail added to the wow factor, perching motionless within an Oak by the Drinking Pool but not for long enough to get the camera and scope working together.  This picture from the compact camera alone.

 

Between Sprytes we enjoyed a beautiful, peach scalloped Isabelline Shrike moving between favoured perches.  Bramblings wheezed overhead, Redwings poured through, Jays screamed and freshly arrived Goldcrests fed from the floor by our feet, unconcerned about anything but immediate calorie intake. 

 

 

 

 

A Great Grey Shrike arrived once a shower had passed through and took up brief sentinel.

 

 

We walked back through the woods and spent the last hour of the day locating and finally enjoying good views of a skulking and occasionally vocal Blyth's Reed Warbler.  This finished a dreamlike day of great birds, enigmatic views, sharp eyes and heightened senses.  Unforgettable.

 

Back on home turf I took the little one to get up close to bird or two at a ringing session this morning.  She was excited by seeing Goldcrests up close but not as excited as Rich was when he saw a male Sparrowhawk had propelled itself into the net.  Up close a magnificent beast, eyes of a killer, talons sharp as razors except upon the hind claw where an extended growth had formed.

 

 

Beneath the gold, the flame - Goldcrest crown