A celebration of birding and natural history, generally within a 10 mile radius of Ely Cathedral, Cambridgeshire, UK.
It would be great if you wanted to share your Ely 10 birding news, experiences, photos, art and video through this blog. Please contact hairyfolkster@gmail.com with your post or to join the authorship, I'll get you on the list quicker than a fly over Alpine Swift.
The Great Reed warbler. Big flopping hulk of a thing. My first attempt to see it had failed. It was my own fault. I wandered along the bank in the early afternoon with the breeze rising. A few grunts - from the bird that is - was all I heard, and that was it. So a couple of days later, I decided to get there at dawn, on a still morning. Passing a couple of Turtle Doves and a Grasshopper Warbler on the way, I arrived at the thick block of reeds where the G'Reed had been, and was greeted - or should I say 'greeded'...no - I shouldn't say 'greeded'..it's silly and not funny. Would that it were. But as I say, it's not. Do you get the impression I'm trying to pad this out? Because I have to tell you - you're right.
I arrived. It was there. And I saw it. I won. And the man who asked me 'has it been singing' just after it had literally just stopped singing after ten minutes of actual singing while we both stood waiting for it to appear on my last visit...lost. As I said. I won, and I had defeated him. And I'm not ashamed to admit that. Am I Alpha Papa?
you decide - but I think I can guess your answer...
Oh yeah. And there was some other stuff there as well, but I'm not complaining. Had quick look, got back to the car, driving gloves on, and rode home listening to some classic Brit-pop from T'pau.
Ringing at Chippenham Fen is a different prospect. Stuff not found in the usual places is pretty common here. The Sedge Warblers have just fledged, and we caught a few - plus an adult, still in pretty good condition.
A Treecreeper was a bit of a surprise. it must have trailed a couple of Blue Tits to reach the net nearest the trees.
Along the rides, the orchids are blooming, gorgeous purple amongst the grasses.
Grasshopper Warblers are positively abundant on the fen. The route across to the ringing site crosses three territories of singing birds, and more birds find their way into the nets every visit.
But, much as the Gropper will excite the purist, the morning's haul of Kingfishers was the sparkling highlight.
Upon returning to Burwell, the local owl posed for pictures.
I don't always use the fortnight of the school Easter holiday fully, in a birding sense, unless I've headed abroad. In the UK late March/early April is a bit of a limbo period with a trickle of summer migrants making their way through and the tail end of wintering birds quietly departing overnight. So we by-passed thoughts of spring and headed back into late winter with a trip up to the Highlands. The girls are both now old enough to manage a longer road trip so we headed to the Cairngorms with 2 day stop overs in York and Edinburgh on the way up.
I never need an excuse to spend time on the Great White Cape of Flamborough Head, in early spring the draw is the cliffs covered in seabirds. The return of the Black-browed Albatross made a trip to Bempton irresistible. I went with my Dad and although we were not fortunate enough to see this icon wheeling around the cliffs we did see it bobbing around offshore as it drifted out towards the headland. The guttural cacophony of Gannet business echoed up the sheer chalk face. Kittiwakes, with a vocal mantra akin to fingers rubbed on polished glass, threw themselves into the updraft joining the clouds of auks navigating their summer home. A Short-eared Owl was a little bonus quartering the rough clifftop grassland where Corn Bunting, Tree Sparrows, Yellowhammers and Skylarks were all making up the arable soundscape.
An early start allowed for a few hours pottering along the Northumberland coast spending time at favourite spots including Beadnell, Seahouses and Bamburgh. I had a good look for the wintering Black Scoter off it's regular haunts but there were few Scoter visible on choppy seas and no big custard splashes on the bills I could see. The rain set in as we left my last spot at Cocklawburn and was heavy by the time we crossed the border.
Next morning the Edinburgh pavements were glistening damply in the orange glow of street lamps as I made my way to Musselburgh. I was hopeful of connecting with a trio of belting seaduck which had been frequenting the River Esk mouth off and on the previous week. Surf Scoters are a steady fixture here during the winter, a young drake King Eider was a great bird to look for and the possibility of re-locating the super rare White-Winged Scoter was tantalising.
As the dawn broke the extent to which the mizzle was to restrict viewing became clear. Over time spells of this did clear and the sea was very calm allowing for birds to be picked out readily. There were 2 smart drake and a bulbous headed female Surf Scoter showing quite well alongside small flocks of Velvet and Common Scoter, Long-tailed Duck, Eider and lone Slavonian Grebe and Black-throated Diver. Despite persistence I couldn't find the King Eider and, perhaps unsurprisingly, the White-winged Scoter. Great spot though and as the mist cleared to give views across the Forth I had to drag myself away. I woke early next day but a strengthened northerly wind put me off a return, there was no height to the viewing and with a choppy sea looking through seaduck is a very frustrating proposition.
Our base in the Cairngorms was just inside the National Park near Laggan. The bothy cottage had spectacular views down the upper Spey valley and at night Snipe were drumming and Curlew trembling their display over the moor. Early morning saw Black Grouse arrive to feed on pine needles in the small copse nearby. Pink-footed Geese were on the move with several hundred each day seen heading high and north across the mountains. Taking early drives out up the Spey valley produced some great expriences with roadside Divers, Greenshank and White-tailed Eagle. Mammals almost stole the show though with rutting Red Deer, boxing Hares and a Pine Marten that froze in the road watching us watching it, before hiding under a road bridge strut and then vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.
The special places gave up their treasures readily with Ospreys, Crested Tit, Ring Ouzel, Snow Bunting and Ptarmigan all seen at traditional viewpoints and roadside stops. A dawn walk around the forest looking for Capercaillie was fruitless but did produce Goshawk display over nearby plantation once the air warmed. A visit to the RSPB hide at Loch Ruthven gave stunning viewing of Slavonian Grebes and it were only Golden Eagle and Black-throated Diver that eluded.
It was a magical family holiday, the day climbing Cairngorm in the snow being particularly memorable, and the week flew by. We headed south via Glencoe and took a few more days rest with friends near Leeds. They have a Red Kite nest visible from their garden which gave great viewing and also provided an opportunity to visit the wintering site of the long staying Belted Kingfisher near Preston, a fantastic bird.
The chunterers and Jazz freakists usually hunker down in the reeds, never to be seen as they rattle off their noise. Sometimes you'll see a Sege Warbler bounce up and frittle back down during a particularly bold melodic motif, but usually they remain heard and not seen.
This bird decided otherwise, and perched up for a few minutes, sitting right in my eyeline as I was trying to watch the Godwits.
The northlands beckoned and I have just returned from a much needed break in the Cairngorms. More of that to follow but before I left I finished splicing the photo's and video from a different trip to the north a decade ago.
Thanks to Ben, Mark and Simon for images and great companionship - with the exception of Hawk Owl, Finnature guided us to the Owls and managed our engagement with them.
For years, the copse next door has hosted a winter roost of Rooks and Jackdaws. The Jackdaws spend the summer on the rooftops. Two pairs regularly nest in the chimneys, but the Rooks nest communally out in the open, choosing tall trees with big open canopies.They are very faithful to traditional sites, so it's unusual to see new colonies begin, but this year, a lone Poplar tree across the road has given the chance to see one develop. Three nests quickly appeared, with a fourth soon following. There seem to be more than just four pairs of birds using the tree. It's possible that some members of the loose association are single young birds having around for the safety in numbers - but as with any community, closeness brings antagonism from time to time. Birds steal from each other's nests, and every now and then a real argument breaks out - black silk ragged wings tangling and flapping as sharp bills gape and caw.
As the afternoon warms the air, the rookery quietens down, as all the birds are out in the fields or dozing on the nests. It's the cool mornings when most of the activity happens.
The nestbox Stu helped me install is definitely being used this year. I set the camera up and left it recording for ten minutes, and captured the activity.
A few metres away, at the garden edge, a Song Thrush took a break from the morning chorus, and started wing flashing and tail flicking. I'm not sure if this is a display aimed at a rival or a potential mate, or even some sort of predator response to the neighbour's cat to be honest, but it's behaviour I've not seen before in Song Thrush.
Just before the winter returned with cold iced mornings and grey winds, the first Project Godwit returned to the Washes. It was lounging on Lady Fen, preening and then wading out to feed on the main scrape. By coincidence, this bird is named 'Lady', and was released in 2017. She has been faithful to the floodplains of East Anglia ever since - stopping it at Welney before heading off to the pilot project to breed.
This time of year sees large numbers of Godwits huddling together on the narrow spits of exposed land in front of the main hide, and most of these birds are Icelandic breeders of the smaller, brighter race. Most are already in their rufous finery, with heavily barred backs and bills beginning to flush orange. They seem excitable and just waiting for the moment when they'll leave for the far north. Other passing waders join the throng, small Dunlin, Ruff - all of which will move on during April for the shores and boggy uplands of Scandinavia.
The more muted Welney Godwits won't attain the brightness of their northern cousins, and arrive before their black and orange summer plumage has fully emerged. By May, their spangled colours will hide them in the mixed vegetation in the wash valley.
A continental morning, pine fresh plantation, looking out across a hazy heath with Larks already melting into the shimmer.
A day in the Brecks, so near and yet so different to the wet plains to the west. A Nuthatch was busy bringing flakes of bark to its hole, every minute or so while others announced their presence with great whooping and piercing calls.
A lighter song, tinsel fine, betrayed the presence of the Firecrest. Tumbling through the coniferous finery, gleaning the branches of the tall Birch, then disappearing into the Holly bushes in the shady understorey.
Across the open heath the larks fell silent. The dribbling and tootling stopped in expectation.
Gos.
A young bird circling casually, emerging from the Sun's glare.
A brief lunge from a Crow didn't disturb the young Goshawk overly, and it carried on, slowly circling, drifting away, presence felt.
For years the House Sparrow has been an uncommon visitor in the garden. Their old barn was renovated nearly two decades ago, and the upshot was no more Sparrows chirping on lazy Summer's days. No more chittering on the chitting shed roof.
But this Spring - for some reason - a couple of males have taken up residence at the back of the house behind my studio. Maybe it's because the bramble has mushroomed into a great basilica of intertwined sprays of thorns - who knows. I've not yet seen a female around, so it's not clear if they're back properly, but finger's crossed....
Tuesday, 15 February 2022
Late winter among the Teal. While the weather hasn't been extreme, temperatures dropped during January, culminating in a day of ice at hte settling beds. But clear skies and stilled wind combined to produce some amazing views in hte early morning as the Sun started to flood the morning. And always the chirruping and twirling Teal brushed across the canvass.
The art of wintering has been on my mind, having read a thoughtful book of the same name pre-christmas I then had my wings clipped with a long bout of Achilles tendonitis which rendered me painfully immobile, followed by a daubing by the brush of Covid.
So I have hunkered down, become one with the duvet with some frequency and searched for the restorative aspects from the confinement and restrictions imposed. However I was out and about before Christmas taking a couple of trips to the coast and enjoying the winter fayre of seaduck, divers, larks, pipits, buntings and geese. The Shorelarks at Holkham were particularly beguiling creeping closer towards us as we took a statue like vigil at the base of the dunes. Watching them bathing in the pristine sand was a joy and a flurry of Snow Buntings were equally confiding. The earlier trip in the month produced a great bonus in the form of a Raven pair kronking their way along the piney treeline before heading out Eastwards along the coast.
As Christmas approached we took ourselves up to Yorkshire to join the family on the coast at Sandsend near Whitby. It was fantastic to step out onto the patio, following a stunning sunrise over tje thunderous surf, and set up the scope for a seawatch on Christmas Day with a strong NE wind blowing. You'd have thought that an optimistic proposition however there was some local passage of RT Divers, Scoter, Gannets and Fulmar but nothing to compare with the discovery of a Brown Booby heading south off Flamborough some 40 miles down the coast.
Returning to the Fen I kept local over new year with daily visits to Ely Beet Pits as Teal numbers were swelling and diving duck were feasting on some flourishing food source at Roswell Pit. A walk out at Welney seemed to trigger aches and pains in my foot which quickly became painful joint pain. I had to rest up and in ceasing my daily check of the duck I was both over the moon but felt just a little hard done to when a smart drake Green-winged Teal was discovered amongst the dabblers at the Beet Pit. It was a real cracker and remained for the Ely Wildspace bird race in early January where over 70 species were recorded cumulatively in 3 hours by 3 teams - not bad for an urban fringe. Highlights included Crane, Mandarin, Green-winged Teal, Egyptian Goose amongst the more expected Marsh Harriers, Stonechat, Cetti's Warblers, Chiffchaff, Kingfisher and Little Egret. Tony Juniper, head honcho of Natural England joined the race, great to know that he enjoyed and values the Wildspace and it's SSSI's.
Covid came to our house through the smallest member of the family and whipped through us quickly leading to a week or so of houseboundness. I escaped on Saturday and took in an hour or two watching Chfifchaffs at the sewage works with a candidate Siberian Chiffchaff showing too fleetingly to fully ascertain. The gull roost at Witcham Gravel slowly drained the warmth from my body yielding just a couple of YL Gull and a Caspian type amongst a healthy mob of large gulls. On the soggy fields of Byall Fen a ringtail Hen Harrier worked the bank but settled too ground too quickly to enjoy fully - it's small size and agility leaning towards a male but smaller ringtail harriers in winter always demand a decent grilling, yet this bird didn't re-appear either staying down to roost or perhaps slipping away quietly, unseen.
As the Teal chirp and gather at the reed edge, other birds appear in the periphery. The frost melts on the reed heads and for the first time this year, Reed buntings show themselves. Down below, in the shade, a narrow grey thing eagerly slips along the edge. The Water Rail ducks into cover and moments later its shrill call squeals from the tangle. A Cetti's Warbler darts across the small channel, too quick to record.
