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.
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.
Relieving the monotony of wintering by revisiting the summer adventures seems a reasonable way to spend a few hours. I was lucky enough to have the time to spend a month of high summer in the south west enjoying seabirds and out on the waves (thanks to Scilly Pelagics). Here's a little video of our Birdo weekender.
Waiting for the Green Winged teal to drift across the clear water. Close by, sleeping among the tall reflections of reeds the locals settled down after a bout of courtship at dawn. By late afternoon, they were skimming the pink and peach, drifting into the shade, then back again, water droplets on bill tips.
The cold has crisped the grass white for the past few mornings and now the thrushes gather under the apple trees, lunging and pecking at the ripe flesh. Blackbirds steadily increased after Christmas, and today I counted thirty at one time, mostly feeding on apples, but the whole garden is alive with them. Chacking down from the hawthorn come the Fieldfares, a dozen or so, and they soon puff out their chests in ownership of the juiciest fruit. A Redwing sticks to the periphery, rarely venturing among the apples, preferring to glean along the hedgerow, close to cover. Two Song thrushes bound across the garden, pausing under the bird feeders while above them Goldfinches and Tits spill seed on the ground. The feast lasts all day, from bright sunned dawn to isabelline dusk. The chinking Blackbirds call on the night.
Early November saw just a brief opening of the eastern window on the 5th and on 6th I was able to make a dawn start on Gypsy Lane. Blackbirds were pouring inland along the coastal hedgerows joined by Redwings and as dawn broke Fieldfares chuckled overhead. It was cold and other passerines in the undergrowth and sycamore stand were scarce. I headed out onto the marsh where breeding Seals were hauled up above the main creek. Starlings were moving inland in numbers and finch movement was steady, I heard a couple of subtle "tics" overhead. Loosely assosciated with a small flock of Chaffinches, 2 hulking Hawfinch flew West, flashing swathes of white through the wing. Wading boot high across the path on the falling tide I headed to the dunes and sunk into the sands.
It was really busy offshore, 100's of Lapwing headed W in flocks of 20. Teal and Wigeon heading East. Merganser, Eider, Goldeneye and 1000's of Scoter at various distances plus the usual smatter of GC Grebe and RT Diver. Starlings and Skylark over the steel grey sea added to the subtle spectacle. After an hour I dragged myself away and back to the bushes. By mid-morning I felt I'd worked what I could pretty thoroughly and headed up the road to Titchwell where a Red Breasted Flycatcher had been seen. The chosen spot seemed a little dark and dank but a flurry of excitement revealed a grey and white Chiff with a bright yellow wing panel. It was being called as a tristis but was the Bonelli's looking type of eastern grey and white Chiff I have longed to see. I saw it a few times around the loop and, fickle with light, it did look browner with "tobacco" ear coverts at times, at others monochrome with shafts of highlighter yellow in the primaries. A cracking looking bird and one I'd have liked to have heard but alas it remained silent.
I chose to seek out the best interface, thinking specifically of how Ian Wallace (dimw) had shown me and Rich Baines the art of reading the lines of a canopy to locate where flycatchers can best locate insects against the light. I thought I'd found the best spot and another birder or two joined my speculative vigil. The fella behind me whispered, "I've got it" and with a few flicks the RBFly was sitting proud and spanking out in the open. I drunk it in and it moved back into cover, I decided to wander. Doing a loop around the fen sallows I slowly came back around to the chosen interface again but with the sun just breaking the clouds. In no time the Flycatcher perked up activity, the grey and white Chiff showed itself well and one, then two sprites revealed themselves, my first Yellow-brows of the autumn. I got home to learn the sad news that Ian Wallace had died - a birding hero since my early teenage days, in the late eighties and nineties, reading his hugely engaging and inspiring articles in Birdwatching magazine. Rich's work on Flamborough allowed me and Ben to meet with Ian on several occasions. They say best not to meet your heroes but in this case that proved wrong. A gentleman, full of insight and reflective humour, a total bird obsessive alert to all the potential and possibilities and keen to share his thoughts about the journey with those willing to listen with an open mind. Ben got to see in his briefcase once.
Last week the wind turned Northerly and I was able to get to the coast again for dawn with Mark Hawkes and later joined by Elyers - Mark x 2, Will and Ben. Our minds were on Dovekie, Little Auks, tiny pied bullets on a seawatch. The wind was raging in and shelter proved hard to locate but we found a sweet spot and after a few drenchings the skies cleared and the viewing was good. There was plenty to look at with steady movement of Kittiwake flocks into the wind being most enjoyable - these resilient gulls at their pelagic best. Eider, Mergansers and Goosander, Shelduck and Scoter all put in a show as did Divers with plenty of Red-throats, a decent view of a Black-throat and a distant Great Northern. A Black-necked Grebe made a short inshore flight but gave all the details it needed to before dissappearing into the swell and 4 Bonxies helped keep the idea if passage alive. A pale phase Skua defied specific identification, tempting to assume a Pom with several along the coast during the day but the plumage just didn't click. I had to be back in Ely for lunch but the return past the freshmarsh yielded an adult winter Grey Phalarope hectically feeding and a Water Pipit not far beyond it on one of the newly sculpted banks.
A quick look off the cliffs at Hunstanton produced little extra but more Kittiwakes and the odd auk cutting across the churning mouth of The Wash.
