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.
A picnic trip to the Ouse at Over was a double whammy. Firstly finding a great spot for some serene kayaking on the fen and also a scarce damselfly around these parts, White-legged, having a bumper year. Hopefully a resurgence that'll continue beyond this year.
A handful of beautiful Blues from the summer, a battered Adonis at Thursely Heath at the end of the springs emergence, role on the second brood. A Common Blue amongst the flurries of Chalk Hill Blues on the Devils Dyke.
Leaving a visit to the Devil's Dyke a bit late in the season, I went for an afternoon walk along the A11 end of the Dyke with the kids. Loads of butterflies to look at and the Lizard and Pyramidal Orchids turned but just about offering flowers to enjoy.
A 7.45am high tide at Snettisham on Tuesday was a worthy distraction and meant the second very early start of the week. Mark H swung by Stuntney Heights at 3.30 and just after 4 we were out on Dersingham Bog catching the tail end of the Nightjars nocturnal activities. This proved very successful and we had fantastic views of a male and some fledged young birds. A party of 8 Crossbill flew over and a Grasshopper Warbler reeled as the sun rose.
Arriving at Snettisham to a brisk and cool breeze we found various sheltered spots to watch the spectacle unfold. It was noisy, very noisy, with the chattering of waders and the incessant begging and contact calls of Sandwich Terns alongside the visual spectacle of tens of thousands of birds moving around frantically, it became almost overwhelming at times.
As the tide pushed on the waders became more concentrated the swirling masses of Knot and Dunlin billowing like smoke across The Wash.
It wasn't high enough to push all the waders on to the sanctuary of the pits but they still held thousands of waders including a posse of Spotted Redshanks.
A family of Med Gulls occupied the peak of a pebble island, the adults doing their best to push some independence upon the youngsters.
We heard and saw a few Turtle Doves, which I savoured every opportunity I get. On our return to the car park a lone bird held territory and displayed.
I picked Ben up just after midnight for a nocturnal hack up the A1 and across to Sheffield and the Dark Peak beyond. By 3.30 we'd guzzled some coffee and headed out into the night, Bens cigarette winking, a firey star in the inky dark. Before long we were surrounded by heather and the churring of moorland Nightjars -magic.
The sky lightened over Sheffield and the Red Grouse grumbled in the gloaming, we wanted to get our timing right as the last kilometer of the route was rough sheep tracks across a boggy plateau above the gorge we were aiming for. We needed the first daylight to tackle this part of the route.
We tagged beside some seemingly knowledgeable locals who managed to lead us through the middle of the bog, typified by the tufted heads of cottongrass and avoid the correct (and drier) path for much of the trek. Eventually we arrived at the edge of the small gorge, perched ourselves on a handy ledge and surveyed the cliffs.
The sight before us surreal, a juvenile Lammergier roosting on the rock face - huge and pre-historic in it's brutish malevolence. The sun rose in tiny rose and peach slivers across the banks of greying sky and the Vulture became active. Preening massive, laden wings - the wind lifting huge tracts of feathers as it caught them in the updraft of the cliff.
The presence of any vulture in the UK will raise an eyebrow amongst the good, great and otherwise of the birding community. There is a common assumption that the flight over seas to reach our shores provides a barrier for the largest soaring raptors, reliant upon thermals to carry their hulking mass over distance. The arrival of a Lammergier in 2016 and again now, in 2020, does put the increasing numbers of wandering Griffon Vulture firmly on the possible list for the future. The provenance of this Lammergier is not up for much debate. It is an un-rung, un-tagged, immature bird that has most likely originated from the nest of one of the re-introduced birds in the Alps. This population is not yet considered self- sustaining and therefore for the sake of listers not to be ticked. Semantics of lists aside the story of this bird has been published for some months. Due to it's distinctive tail moult this bird had been tracked over Belgium and the Channel Islands before settling down, for now, in the Peaks.
At 6am, limbered up but not yet ready for a full flight, the Lammergier took to the air. Magnificent. I have had fantastic times watching Lammergiers in the Himalayas so the grace and mastery of flight were not a surprise but within this gorge, on the moorlands of Yorkshire, it was a bit special. It didn't go far and landed on the lip of cliff, bouncing and clambering around.
Having drunk in the bird, managing within the limitations of it's bulk on land, it was time for the show. Launching itself off onto those huge wings it became a magician of invisible forces. Harnessing and responding to every nuance of air movement, over and under those perfectly evolved contours of feathers the Lammergier circled around and along the gorge. Passing within a few hundred feet of the assembled audience there were gasps and moans of appreciation, alongside the omnipotent shutter clicks of the big lens masses.
After 5 minutes of grandstand views the Lammergier gained some height and slowly drifted off northwards. There was no likelihood of us having better views so once the vulture had disappeared over the ridge we packed up and headed back to the car. Single Buzzard and Kestrel across the moor suggesting that raptors are just not tolerated up here on the upland desert. Curlew and a lone Golden Plover called. It is high time these huge tracts of heather and grassland were left, ungrazed to rewild themselves and revert to some primary succession - there's never been a better time to end the strangle hold of the managed Grouse moorlands.
Where's Lammie??
On our return to the car we were welcomed by a family party of Ravens and a Redpoll, Ben had the foresight to bring cereal for us so I tucked into a welcome breakfast, with strong black coffee.
We pottered home with a first stop at Welbeck to look for more raptors - a Honey Buzzard was seen pretty quickly, if distantly. We waited another 3 hrs for more views of this enigmatic wasp grub lover. Red Kite, Hobby, Peregrine and 5 or 6 Buzzards all put in appearances and at 12.30 a rufousy phase Honey Buzzard took flight and crossed the shallow valley towards us and and away. There was still an afternoon to make the most of and Frampton Marsh RSPB on the shores of The Wash had been hosting a visiting Caspian Tern intermittently.
Once we arrived at Frampton our luck was in and the steroid pumped Tern was sat amongst the gulls and godwits crowding the islands. A handsome thing, it didn't hang about long heading purposefully towards Boston, disappearing amongst a throng of distant gulls.
Frampton is a cracking reserve almost dreamlike in the number and variety of birds it has to offer, it reminds me of how I remember the scrapes of Titchwell and Minsmere at their best. It didn't dissappoint today. A flock of Spoonbill had gathered, loafing on the islands amongst the waders and wildfowl which included Golden Plover, Knot, Whimbrel, Greenshank, Dunlin, Ringed and Little Ringed Plover, Oystercatchers, Avocets and Ruff.
Out towards the seawall a further vegetated flood held a dusky Spotted Redshank and 3 young Black-necked Grebes.
I had a a little recuperative snooze on the bank before heading back to the car. The tide had risen and I was surprised that the Caspian Tern hadn't returned. An old boy put us onto a fine adult Med Gull amongst the roosting gulls, as if from nowhere the Caspian Tern appeared, front of the throng, affording excellent views. Of course, busy day, the phone had 2% battery - too little to take pics or video. Ben was firing away though so hopefully will have some nice pics.
Back at home the day had one more offering, albeit a sad one. Ben produced a dead Long-eared Owl from his freezer. Imogen had found the owl, post collision (it's, not hers), with a smashed wing by the roadside near Burwell. A beautiful bird, such a shame.
