WP birding – Out of the blue

Falsterbo at 1%

September 12, 2024September 12, 2024

Warning: the wind is in the cheese sector

Google Translate version of the Falsterbo Bird Observatory blog from 9^th September 2024, Swedish to English:

“Finally, a change of weather! The last time has been a bit stressful. Day after day of sunny and very hot. The wind has been steadily blowing from the cheese sector. In the morning sometimes reasonably weak, but then usually increasing to become healthy towards lunchtime.From Nabben, the counters have recorded fewer than 1,000 birds for several days in a row. It’s probably some kind of record low. Unfortunately, we have several groups of foreign visitors here right now. They get the wrong impression, as there are very few birds to see”

The confusion between the Swedish word for east (öster) and cheese (ost) produces a splendid mistranslation here. But this apart, spare a thought for those poor Falsterbo bird counters. Barely 1,000 migrating birds a day, producing record low numbers of migrating birds when the wind is in the east/cheese. For those of us with inland local patches in the UK, where nowhere near 1,000 migrating birds a year are seen, these record-low numbers still seem incredibly high. Context is everything.

Wanting to experience bird migration with an eastern flavour and on a greater scale than that which we usually see in the UK, Ben Sheldon and I arranged to visit Falsterbo Bird Observatory, at the very southern tip of Sweden. Ben knows Sweden well and despite denying that he is fluent in the language, he can happily chat away in Swedish, he knows all the bird names plus the slang name for Montagu’s/Pallid Harrier (Stängshök – a contraction of Stäpphök and Ängshök). Raptors are a particular attraction at Falsterbo. Last year Ben visited Falsterbo and saw fourteen species of raptor in a day, including all four species of Harrier within thirty minutes.

The week before saw a record-breaking 11,750 Tree Pipits recorded in a single day, with a nice backup cast of Citrine Wagtail, Ortolan Bunting and over 150 Honey Buzzards. We were not expecting those numbers to be repeated, but we hoped for some decent raptor and passerine migration. But then disaster: the wind turned to the east.

Easterly winds in September are high on the wish list of many birders in the UK, particularly those on the east coast. Migrating birds, on land and sea, are often pushed towards our shores from continental Europe, sometimes resulting in high counts or records of unusual birds. However, easterly winds do not bring joy to the birders at Falsterbo. What they want are light south-westerly winds. In these conditions, migration can be truly spectacular. Easterly winds hold up migration in southern Sweden, the stronger the wind, the more of a barrier it presents. Our first full day, Friday 6^th September, was a hot 28 degrees, with strongly gusting easterly winds. Bird migration effectively ground to a halt.

We stayed at Falsterbo Bird Observatory, which provides self-catering youth hostel-style accommodation:

From the Observatory it is a 25-minute walk, or a 5-minute drive, towards the end of the peninsular. The watchpoint of Nabben is the base for the official bird counters and a pre-dawn gathering place for visiting birders. The counters start before dawn and are allocated different species to count. Even before the sun rises, the dominant species of Western Yellow Wagtail and Tree Pipit pass overhead, calling constantly.

A Nabben watchpoint sunrise selfie (TB left, Ben, right).

There is a large pool with wide muddy margins opposite the Nabben watchpoint. This area attracts many waders:

Over the sea, a Caspian Gull flew north and two Black-throated Divers, in fine summer plumage, migrated south:

Standing and listening

Eurasian Sparrowhawk migration was immediately obvious, with a regular stream of low-flying birds heading south down the peninsular all weekend:

Falsterbo is famous for its pipit and wagtail migration and even on a quiet day the calls of Western Yellow Wagtail (presumably mostly thunbergii) and Tree Pipit are constant. This one was screaming to make itself heard above a passing aircraft:

We recorded nearly 150 Tree Pipits during our two-and-a-half days at Falsterbo. Whilst this would be a huge number by UK standards, by Falsterbo standards it was positively dead. Our 150 Tree Pipits were barely 1% of the 11,750 Tree Pipits recorded on the previous Tuesday: a 99% decrease in migrating Tree Pipit numbers! But even 1% of the peak Falsterbo migration is still greater than the number of birds recorded at most UK sites and it is always a joy to see and hear Tree Pipits:

We enjoyed birding next to the Lighthouse, at Falsterbo fyr. We spent several hours watching visible migration here and were joined by Liam Langley, his friend Vicktor and Richard Hall on Sunday morning.

The trees in the lighthouse garden provided shelter from the easterly wind, allowing us to hear flight calls more clearly. The trade-off was that this sheltered spot, filled with warm-blooded humans, provided the perfect feeding station for early morning biting insects. I had the novel experience of sustaining multiple mosquito bites through my long-sleeved shirt. Migration highlights here included a fly-by Wood Sandpiper, a few Western Marsh Harriers, an Osprey and a Red-necked Grebe over the sea, plus a Common Cuckoo, a Common Reed Bunting and the usual overhead stream of Western Yellow Wagtails and Tree Pipits.

Ben “*no liquid, except coffee, shall pass my lips in daylight hours*” Sheldon kept me well supplied with coffee. Here he pours out the holy liquid in the pre-dawn light, next to Falsterbo lighthouse.

Show me the honey!

Having spent the mornings watching and hearing gentle passerine migration, including 10 Common Crossbills over Kolabacken, we would then move the short distance to the large open heath at Skanörs Ljung. This is a well-known raptor watchpoint and we were joined by Ray Scally, who was also staying at the Observatory over the weekend. We spent a total of 7.5 hours here and eventually saw eleven species of raptor, but it was hard going. After standing for so long, we found ourselves throwing envious glances at those that had the foresight to bring portable chairs:

Finally, we saw some Honey Buzzard passage. Few sane adult Honey Buzzards were going anywhere in those winds. They were probably hunkered down in woodlands across southern Scandinavia digging out wasp nests, waiting for a nice south-westerly airflow. The few Honey Buzzards that we saw were all juveniles, with the vast majority being dark birds:

Dark juvenile **Honey Buzzards** over Skanörs Ljung

In some ways, this plumage most resembles Common Buzzard, although structurally they appear very different. This composite image from the weekend shows some typical Honey Buzzard shapes:

The long head and neck stand out, as do the long tail and bulging secondaries. We eventually had a close approach from this gorgeous pale juvenile Honey Buzzard:

Ben skilfully picked out a trio of Black Kites from one kettle of soaring raptors:

Other raptors we saw here included Osprey, Western Marsh Harrier, Hen Harrier, Eurasian Sparrowhawk, Red Kite, White-tailed Eagle, Common Buzzard and Common Kestrel.

Birding The Bridge

We also explored Lilla Hammars näs, just to the north of the Falsterbo peninsular. This headland holds a large waterbird roost at high tide. We parked at the end of the wonderfully named Kumliens väg…

… before walking out to the headland, where thousands of waders, a huge gathering of over 600 Mute Swans, plus various other waterbirds including 12 Great White Egrets were all seen.

Lilla Hammers näs provided good views towards the Øresund Bridge. This 15 km-long structure links Sweden to Denmark. It’s a pretty special drive over the bridge, especially when the road leaves the bridge and descends into a tunnel under the sea, via an artificial island. But it is not a cheap drive. The full price bridge toll is 673 Swedish Krona, or £50, each way. We finished the weekend in Denmark, birding a wetland site near the airport, shamelessly padding out our Danish lists on eBird.

**Western Marsh Harrier** and the Øresund Bridge

It is always something of a risk visiting a migration watchpoint, you are at the mercy of the winds and the weather. We were unlucky to visit Falsterbo during a period of strong easterly winds, which temporarily held up much bird migration. But the great thing about Falsterbo is that even when it is operating at only 1% of its potential, it is still a fabulous place to witness bird migration. Our next mission: to return in weather more conducive to bird migration to experience Falsterbo at something nearer 100%.

The eBird trip list for the weekend can be found here.

Lammergeiers in the Spanish Pyrenees, 2010

October 10, 2020February 14, 2024

There has been much discussion generated by the arrival in England of a juvenile Lammergeier from the reintroduction program in the Alps this year. This reminded me of my experiences with the species in the Spanish Pyrenees, some ten years ago.

In early February 2010, I spent a few days in the mountains of northern Spain. I called into Gallacanta, the main wintering grounds of the European population of Common Crane. Many thousands of Cranes were present:

But my main target was in the mountains. I had arranged to spend a few days in a photo hide at a vulture feeding site. The site was on a ridge in the Pyrenean foothills. In the picture below, the feeding area is the open area above the dry stone walls. The photo hide can just be seen protruding from the bush on the right side of the feeding area:

A few barrel loads of goat carcasses and goat’s feet and were picked up from a local abattoir en route. As soon as I was safely locked in the hide, the animal remains were distributed across the feeding area. Immediately, about one hundred Griffon Vultures began to gather in the sky. No doubt such numbers would pull in birds from farther afield and hopefully attract a passing Lammergeier or two as well:

It took about 30 minutes for the first Griffons to land. As soon as the first birds hit the ground, the rest of the flock piled in and a true feeding frenzy began. There were Griffon Vultures everywhere, devouring the meat from the bones and often being drawn into confrontation with others. Below, this is the “glare-and-blink ” display (as described on p77 of BWP vol 2):

The sight and sound of a vulture feeding frenzy at close range is something to behold:

A few Black Vultures (now Cinereous Vulture) also joined the feeding Griffon Vultures. These are dramatic birds with contrasting dark masks, pale bill bases and pale napes:

Within a few hours, the Griffon and Black Vultures had stripped most of the meat from the bones on the feeding site. As these birds began to depart, presumably to digest for a few days, the first Lammergeier appeared in the sky above the ridge. Both immature and adult birds were present in small numbers, but I only had eyes for the adults.

The huge size of adult Lammergeiers in flight is hard to convey. They are enormous birds, the largest in all of Europe. Strangely, my overriding memory from ten years ago is not the sight of these majestic raptors, but the sounds. One of my strongest memories is of sitting in the hide at first light on my second morning. From above and behind the hide came the sound of an enormous pair of wings making a strong downbeat, a deep “whoosh, whoosh”. I felt a primeval fear rising within myself: a huge predator was in the sky behind me and there was nowhere to run! Still, I could see nothing. Then a pause, before more wing beats, whoosh-whoosh, so loud they must be nearly over the hide. Then the sky turned black as a Lammergeier blasted low over the hide and swooped down to take a large bone, before disappearing upwards. There was silence for a few moments before a loud thump to the right told me that the bone had been dropped from a height and smashed, to allow easier access to the nutritious marrow. It was like being in a hide in one of the enclosures in Jurassic Park. I was fully adrenalised!

The adults themselves quickly began to establish some sort of aerial hierarchy. There were frequent aerial confrontations between birds, some defecating and descending with talons outstretched on birds they were pursuing from above:

One pair swooped up to confront each other, locked talons, and spiraled down together, before parting. Aerial battles between such massive birds seemed to take up most of the sky, it was like watching winged-Gods wrestling each other. I sat open-mouthed in absolute awe:

The first Lammergeiers to land were young birds. Lammergeier are extremely shy when on the ground. I expect Pteranodons and Quetzalcoatlus felt the same. Juvenile Lammergeiers have a mostly dark plumage, with slightly paler underparts. The head and neck are solid black. For a brief while, I could see all three common western European vulture species together; (l-r) Griffon Vulture, juvenile Lammergeier and Black Vulture:

The young Lammergeiers began devouring the bones that were left by the meat-loving Griffon and Black Vultures. There seemed to be no limit to how large a bone a Lammergeier can swallow whole. Here a goats’s rib disappears…

… in one! The red eye-ring is aquired at very early age and is present on all birds more than a few months old:

Slightly older birds were the next to arrive. Forsman (“Raptors of Europe and the Middle East” 1999) distinguishes six plumage types in Lammergeier before full adult plumage is acquired. Compared to the image above, the bird below has a greyer face, has very worn greater coverts, and more fresh median wing coverts, making it an older bird, although still a juvenile-type:

Subadult Lammergeir also came in to feed. These birds gradually acquire more of the adult-type plumage. This bird has an adult-like grey crown and black lores, and has some of the adult golden feathering in the nape, legs and underparts. However, the mantle and wing coverts are still mottled and juvenile. It swallowed this section of goat’s spine whole:

Here the protective, transparent nictating membrane can be seen, being drawn across the eye, from front to back:

This sub-adult bird became aggressive, spread its wings, and confronted two immature Lammergeiers. Note the mottled underpart feathering, a mixture of adult and immature feathers. The necklace shown by adult Lammergeiers has not yet developed:

The bones furthest from the hide were eaten first. By my second afternoon in the hide, Lammergeiers came to take the bones closest to the hide, providing some incredible intimate views of a notoriously shy species:

The monstrous size of these birds can be forgotten in portraits. Carrion Crows are simply dwarfed by Lammergeiers, they could scuttle easily between its legs.

Eventually, mature adult birds came down to feed:

Magnificent does not do these birds justice. They were more like mythical Griffins (half-eagle, half-lion) but standing in the flesh before me:

In adults, the wing feathers are all dark. The pale central feather shaft contrasts with the dark upperpart feathers beautifully. The neck and underpart feathering in adults is uniformly golden:

The adult birds were the masters of the remaining bones. They only needed to lift a foot to send the Crows scuttling away. I almost found myself leaning back in the hide too when they walked towards my hiding place:

Apparently, Lammergeiers often form breeding units, rather than pairs. It is not uncommon to have three birds in such a unit.

Seeing adult Lammergeier on the ground at close range is an experience that I will never forget. My memories of the sounds of these birds may last even longer.

Madeira 5: cetaceans, reptiles and butterflies

August 27, 2019August 27, 2019

And finally, some non-avian wildlife that we came across in Madeira. Monarch butterflies have been recorded on Madeira since at least the 1890s. Presumably, these are migrants blown across the Atlantic from North America where they are famous for their migratory feats. A resident population has been established on Madeira and they are common, even in the capital Funchal. One wonders if Madeira may be the source of the occasional record of Monarch in coastal southern England after south westerly gales? All the photographs below were taken in our hotel garden in Funchal:

Monarch: a butterfly so large you can photograph it in flight!

The Monarchs were fabulous to see and lit up anything that they landed upon:

There were also two small species of blue butterfly in the gardens. Both were fast fliers that always settled with their wings closed and only for a few seconds at a time, so some speed was needed to photograph them. One species was smaller than the other. The smallest was Lang’s Short-tailed Blue. This species has a thin tail protruding from the rear hindwing:

Similar to Lang’s Short-tailed Blue but sightly larger, were Long-tailed Blue butterflies. The vertical pale line on the underwing helped pick them out.

We also came across a single Clouded Yellow in the Botanical Gardens:

Maderian Lizards were everywhere. It was a constant delight to my daughters to see lizards on every wall. The females have dark brown lateral stripes:

Some of the males are bright green:

Not only were they everywhere, but they also ate everything: from cigarette butts to fish and chips to insects, even each other:

The cetaceans around the islands are also easy to see. Even just outside Funchal Harbour there are pods of Short-finned Pilot Whales:

These may be some of the smaller whales, but there is still a lot of whale underwater. Occasionally we got glimpses of more than just the dorsal fin:

Below, adult Short-finned Pilot Whales with a calf, far right:

Bottlenose Dolphins were often seen around the island. One pod played around our boat as we headed out on our final pelagic trip:

These are large beasts. Some males weigh up to 600kgs.

And yes, the sea really is that colour! We only saw a fraction of the island and none of the mountains. Nevertheless, Madeira provided a nice easy family holiday with some great seabirds and a decent selection of other wildlife too.

Madeira 4: land birds

August 24, 2019August 24, 2019

During our time on Madeira I took the conscious decision to prioritise seeing sea birds over land birds. It was only due to the generosity of my wife and parents that I managed to negotiate three afternoons and evenings at sea during what I believe is called a “3G holiday”, when three generations go together. As such, there were no brownie points left in the bank to spend looking for land birds. These I would only see if they happened to appear near me when I was out with the family or they happened to feed in our hotel gardens. Fortunately, most did! It is not too difficult to catch up with the passerine endemics, or near-endemics, on Madeira and I saw pretty much all of them. I had no time to visit the various small water bodies on the island where waders may be found, nor did I visit any of the native laurel forests, which was a shame but was a consequence of my decision to spend more time with sea birds. Here are the land birds that I saw:

**Plain Swift**. From our hotel room balcony. These were the default swift species over Funchal. This is a small dark swift with little, if any, pale throat patch, a fluttering flight action and a deep tail fork (apparently).

**Maderian Firecrests**. Smart birds, but strangely leggy! Adult on the left, juvenile on the right.

**Trocaz Pigeon**. The pale band is visible here on the long tail. This one flew past at eye level over the Botanical Gardens as we were visiting. This was something of a relief, as I had no time to head into the laurel forests higher up the mountains.

A candidate for the worst picture of **Atlantic Canary** ever? I saw or heard this species every day, but most were unapproachable. There were lots of female/juvenile types.

Female “Madeiran Chaffinch”. Not a full species but the subspecies *Fringilla coelebs maderensis*. On the female, note the greenish mantle and undertail coverts.

Male “Maderian Chaffinch”, *Fringilla coelebs maderensis*. The orange colouration is pale and restricted to the face and upper chest. The breast and underparts are off-white. The mantle is grey with some green rather than the chestnut of north-west European birds.

**Grey Wagtail**, of the subspecies *Motacilla cinerea schmitzi*. Paler upperparts and a less obvious supercilium than seen on most European birds.

**Common Waxbill**. I enjoyed seeing (and hearing) these birds with Fabian, who pretended to be pretty ambivalent about seeing an introduced species until we were offered the opportunity to hop out and scan for them. Suddenly he became really quite keen to see them. As soon as they were safely on the list, the ambivalence returned! To be fair, I felt the same.

I also saw the local subspecies of Blackcap, which has the eye-catching Latin name of Sylvia atricapilla heineken. Should we be calling this subspecies Heineken Blackcap? Or would that lead to confusion with a Heineken nightcap? Things might get messy.

Next: Madeiran cetaceans, reptiles and butterflies.

Madeira 3: pterodroma petrels

August 21, 2019August 22, 2019

The main reason that most birders come to Madeira are the pterodroma petrels that breed on and around the island. Modern taxonomy describes the pterodromas that breed on the Desertas Islands as Desertas Petrel; those that breed on highest peaks of Madeira as Zino’s Petrel and the birds that breed on the equatorial Cape Verde Islands as Fea’s Petrel. As Desertas and Fea’s Petrels are virtually indistinguishable in the field, many simply lump them together under the general title “Fea’s Petrels”. Here I am going to call them Desertas Petrels, in order to distinguish them from the Cape Verde breeders.

Neither Desertas nor Zino’s Petrels are particularly common birds, even around the islands. Flood and Fisher (2013) estimate that there may be some 150-200 pairs of Desertas Petrels on Bugio and a total world population of perhaps some 3,000 Fea’s-type birds (including those breeding on the Cape Verde Islands). Estimates of the Zino’s Petrel population on the peaks of Madeira are difficult, but there may be as few as 50 pairs remaining after the catastrophic forest fires of 2010 which affected their breeding colony.

I did visit Pico do Arieiro with Hugo and Catarina to try to hear Zino’s Petrels returning to their colony at night, but we were unlucky with the weather. Whilst it was a humid 28 degrees in coastal Funchal, at 1818m on the summit of Pico do Arieiro, it was only 8 degrees and that was without the significant windchill. The clouds were rolling in and it was not deemed safe to head out onto the edges of the mountains to listen for petrels:

The view from the summit of Pico do Arieiro, the top of the volcano.

So, my chances of seeing pterodroma petrels would be limited to the three consecutive afternoons and evenings at sea that make up the Windbirds pelagic trips. Getting far enough out to sea to have a reasonable chance of attracting pterodroma petrels takes a little work. Fortunately, Hugo and Catarina make this as straightforward as is possible, but hours at sea are required and sightings are not guaranteed. The boat is a 12 seater RIB, the “Oceanodroma”, fitted out with compression seats, that absorb the impact of the boat bouncing through the waves:

There were 9 birders on our trips, 7 Germans, a Frenchman and me. I teamed up with Fabian Bindrich, a German birder, who I sat next too on all three trips and who has provided some of the pictures in this post. He took this one of me (third from right) and the rest of the team as we waited to depart in Machico harbour, some 20 minutes drive from Funchal.

The trips all follow a similar pattern: we travel for up to two hours out to sea. We then spend 4 – 5 hours chumming and drifting, before returning the 1.5- 2 hours back to the island. Our first trip, on Wednesday 30th July, was the most demanding. There was a brisk, force 6 northerly wind and a 1.5-meter swell. These were good conditions for spreading the smell of rotting fish and fish oils from the chum that would attract seabirds, but would make for a demanding afternoon. As Zino’s Petrel was our first target, we would head north, directly into the wind and waves. We were warned on our departure that the journey out would be “extremely wet”. They were right.

It started innocently enough. We sped out of Machico harbour and headed east, sailing parallel to the long headland that makes up the far eastern tip of Madeira. At the end of the long headland there is an offshore island, Ilhéu do Farol, with a lighthouse on top. Between the two is a narrow gap with a fierce tide race. As we approached, Fabian and I glanced at each other nervously. A two-meter high wall of waves was being thrown up as the wind driven waves from the north attempted to power through the small gap in the headland. The way the waves stood out against the calm of the bay that we were crossing was incredible. “I’m glad we are not going through there” I said to myself, in the same instant that Catarina turned the boat to the port side and we headed straight for the standing mass of turbulent waves.

It was not possible to capture this with our cameras. Our equipment was stored away in dry bags and we were holding on for dear life. I took a picture of the gap on a completely calm day, on our third afternoon. It is the idyllic gap above the splashing Bottle-nosed Dolphin. It certainly was not like this on our first day:

We shot up the first wave and slammed down into the trough behind it, landing with a loud thud. We were heading directly into the northerly wind so there was no escaping the wind or the waves. The compression seats were fantastic, absorbing much of the impact of landing, but it took all one’s concentration to anticipate the hard landings as we hit the bottom of the troughs. Having nothing to do except hang on, I spent some time trying to produce an accurate description of the experience. The nearest I got was this: imagine trying to ride a bucking broncho at the fair. It thrashes around all over the place, but you manage to hang on, constantly using your arms and legs to balance. Add to that image the fact that someone is throwing a cold bucket of saltwater in your face, about once every minute. For 90 minutes. That was our ride out north of Madeira.

After 90 minutes of being slammed up and down, we arrived. It says something about the journey out that I was actually looking forward to spending the next 4 hours drifting and chumming, an experience that usually turns me green. Fortunately, we were well advised by Hugo and Catarina and my system was filled with Stugeron, which kept all sensations of seasickness at bay on all three afternoons.

… now you don’t. Flick between these two images for four hours and you’ll get an idea of what the swell was like.

Catarina on the lookout, Hugo dishing out the chum. He also served biscuits, sandwiches and quiche to us birders. Photo by Fabian

Zino’s Petrel

Our main target. Although we had a distant pterodroma petrel in the late afternoon, it appeared directly in front of the sun and then disappeared, unidentified. The afternoon turned to evening. We were surrounded by Cory’s Shearwaters and Bulwer’s Petrels. The light faded. At 20:25 Catrina picked up an incoming Pterodroma, coming towards us from the south. It was slender and lightweight:

As it approached the slim bill confirmed it’s identity, our first Zino’s Petrel! I awaited cheers or some sign of celebration from the other birders on board, but none came. I expressed my surprise to Hugo later and he explained “Germans celebrate inside”.

Zino’s Petrel at sea. The shape of the horizon gives some idea of the sea state: decidedly lumpy!

This bird had large white underwing coverts and a slim bill, a straightforward Zino’s Petrel.

The journey back, with the wind behind us, was a breeze. We skimmed over the waves as darkness fell. And then at 20:56 another Pterodroma appeared. It zipped past in the middle distance in really poor light. It was not conclusively identified at the time but was recorded as a possible Desertas Petrel. I tried to photograph it, but it was too dark and the results hardly qualified as record shots. But on reviewing those images back at home, the bill of this bird appears tiny and one shot appears to reveal a moderate amount of white on the underwing. A probable Zino’s Petrel?

Unidentified pterodroma petrel in the dark 1. Note the tiny bill.

Unidentified pterodroma petrel in the dark 2: pale underwing coverts?

Crossing the tiderace between Ilhéu do Farol and the peninsular was like surfing. We rode the waves across the gap and gently body boarded into the calm waters south of the headland. We were home, having seen Zino’s Petrel.

Cory’s Shearwater and Atlantic Spotted Dolphin from day one. We heard dolphins calling before we saw them. Dolphins on call!

Desertas Petrels

The second and third afternoons were spent to the south of Madeira looking for Desertas Petrel and storm-petrels. Conditions were calmer, with less wind and swell, which was physically easier, but less helpful in dispersing the chum. Day two was the quietest of the three days. There were hundreds of Bulwer’s Petrels around the chum slick, but very little else and no pterodroma petrels were seen.

Eventually, at 18:30, two storm-petrels appeared in the chum slick. All storm-petrels are good, but when White-faced, Maderian and Wilson’s Petrels are all distinct possibilities, seeing 2 European Storm-petrels was something of an anti-climax. Especially when we learnt that the trip after ours saw all the specialist storm petrels, see here. Our only consolation was being accompanied by over 40 Atlantic Spotted Dolphins as we returned to Maderia. The sea was bathed in orange from the setting sun, a large pod of dolphins was all around our speeding boat, bow-riding just for the fun of it, just fabulous.

Nevertheless, even after a quiet day two, I was still looking forward to going out to sea on a third consecutive afternoon. Day three had the calmest conditions and once again we headed south. One hour and twenty minutes into our journey to the Desertas Islands, I see a shape behind and high to my left, in my peripheral vision. I glance up and find myself looking into the dark eye patch of a pterodroma petrel. Micheal, who was sitting behind me, and I shout “pterodroma” and instantly the engine is cut. Unfortunately, the bird departs directly away from us, giving no-one any sort of decent view. Fortunately, 15 minutes later, it returns, wheeling around the boat. One minute in the sky, the next skimming through the troughs:

(left to right): two Bulwer’s Petrels; Desertas Petrel; Cory’s Shearwater

There was then a long period of just Cory’s Shearwaters and Bulwer’s Petrels. Fabian picked up a passing pterodroma in the middle distance, heading towards Bugio, but it didn’t stop. At 20:05 a Desertas Petrel was finally attracted to the chum slick and spent some minutes wheeling around us. This was not a particularly thick-billed individual but had enough chunkiness and weight to be identified as a Desertas Petrel. Note how the colouration of this bird changes depending on light conditions over the following nine pictures:

The upperwing “M” is just about visible here.

The all dark underwing and contrasting white body are visible at long range.

In very low evening sun, appearing brown and white.

Desertas Petrel in front of Bugio, their breeding island and the most southerly of the Desertas chain.

All in all, I really enjoyed the Windbird pelagic trips and would recommend them to any birder with an interest in petrels. We were unlucky with storm-petrels, but that is the risk you take with wildlife watching, nothing is guaranteed. Hugo’s summary of our three trips is here on the Windbirds website.

Next: Maderian landbirds

Madeira 2: Bulwer’s Petrel

August 12, 2019August 12, 2019

The main target species of the Windbird pelagic trips are Pterodroma petrels and Storm-petrels. But one of the many nice things about the trips is that the supporting cast of common seabird species is still interesting, from a European birding perspective. Bulwer’s Petrel is a very rare bird in north-west Europe but is common in the seas around Madeira.

Madeira, and the associated Desertas and Selvagens Islands, host between 6,000 and 10,000 pairs of Bulwer’s Petrel (Fisher & Flood, 2011). They breed during the northern summer, so at the time of our visit in late July and early August the majority of breeding pairs may well have been feeding chicks. At sea they were an abundant species. On the second of our pelagic trips Bulwer’s Petrel significantly outnumbered Cory’s Shearwaters.

Whilst silent at sea, on their breeding grounds Bulwer’s Petrel have a strange barking call, issued from the nesting burrow and from birds in flight:

My first sighting of Bulwer’s Petrel was from Ponta da Cruz on a landbased seawatch, when one buoyantly glided and twisted past in calm conditions over a flat sea. At mid-distance the bird appeared completely black, the long slim wings and body being obvious. These are unique Nightjar-sized petrels. There is something of the Storm-petrel in some of their flight actions when they are sharply zipping about in high winds, although they are twice the size of most Storm-petrels. But when in travelling flight, powering down a trough parallel to the wave, there is almost something of the tringa waders in their flight action: the head is held above the body, the wings are elevated, quick flicks of the primaries power the bird forward. They have a distinctive flight action all of their own.

At sea, and with better light, more plumage details became apparent. The pale carpal bar was visible at mid-distance in good light:

The paler secondary coverts of the upperwing create the pale carpel bar. The closed tail is long and attenuated. The upperwing primary bases are dark, with no pale patches as is seen in the much smaller Swinhoe’s Storm-petrel:

The pale upperwing carpal bar is pretty much the only stand out plumage feature. The body, head, tail and underwing are to all intents completely dark, unless the views are exceptional and in perfect light.

The wedge-shaped tail, so often mentioned in field guides, was not so obvious in our experience. We only saw the wedge as birds braked hard to hover, before dropping onto prey items:

But all dark birds are not easy to photograph. The light levels become even more critical. And that’s before you add the fact that you are in a small boat in potentially heavy seas, trying to photograph a small bird zipping past at speed. Eventually, I figured out that to get the best pictures of this species I would need to wait until early evening, when the light was soft, on a day when the sea was relatively calm. I had to be low down in the boat, at eye level when the birds skimmed past. On our third afternoon at sea, such conditions presented themselves and finally, the results were satisfactory! At close range and in perfect light Bulwer’s Petrel has a dark, hooded appearance. The feathers of the head and neck are the blackest of all on this all dark bird:

In exceptional light and at close range the underwing primary bases can reflect light and appear silvery. But mostly, these are black seabirds.

Having enjoyed the common supporting cast, it was then time for the main act. Next: Pterodroma petrels

Madeira 1: Cory’s Shearwater

August 10, 2019August 11, 2019

We spent last week on a volcano in the Atlantic Ocean: the fabulous island of Madeira. I was with my family and my parents, but with their consent I managed to negotiate three afternoons at sea on the Windbirds pelagic trips run by Hugo and Catarina. Like most endemic island birding, the total number of species recorded was small but specialised. So, for a change, I’m going to write up this trip by species, rather than day-by-day accounts. First, the most abundant seabird species, Cory’s Shearwater.

Madeira is home to some 3,000 pairs of Cory’s Shearwaters and whilst this is a common species, it was always a joy to see them, especially at close range.

Cory was an American ornithologist who first described the species. Madeira has long been a stronghold for Cory’s Shearwater. Throughout the nineteenth century an annual harvest of up to 30,000 chicks took place on the Selvagens Islands, some 267 km to the south of Madeira. The birds provided local meat, whilst their feathers were sold to England as eiderdown. In 1969, following the decimation of the species, hunting was banned. In the last fifty years, numbers of breeding Cory’s Shearwater have recovered significantly and it was the most abundant seabird species that we saw.

On our third day, I got an early morning bus out from the capital Funchal to the south-facing headland of Ponta da Cruz for a brief land-based seawatch. It felt appropriate to get some land-based views of Cory’s Shearwater, before heading out to sea. My short journey was so efficient and sunrise is so late in the tropics, that I arrived in total darkness at 6:45am. Over the next half hour the sky lightened and revealed flocks of resting Cory’s Shearwaters on the water. As the sun rose above the eastern horizon, they gradually took to the wing, passing Ponta da Cruz, all flying west. There was absolutely no wind and the sea was flat. The birds were in the middle distance so gave pretty good views. My first Bulwer’s Petrel appeared amongst them, a black shadow, all slim long wings and tail.

Later in the week our family group ended up at Port Moniz, the far north-westerly point on the island. You know a site is good for seawatching, when there are notice boards with pelagic species on them positioned by the sea:

Below: “Oh, we appear to be at one of Madeira’s best sea-watching spots… and I just happen to have my ‘scope in the car!” Behind me are the famous natural swimming pools, where we spent the afternoon. The light was fabulous for seawatching here, Cory’s Shearwaters streamed past in the middle distance, glowing brown and white against a deep blue sea.

A short whale watching trip in Funchal harbour showed just how abundant and close to the shore Cory’s Shearwaters are in Madeira:

At night you can hear Cory’s Shearwaters calling everywhere, even close to the capital, Funchal. The higher-pitched calls of the male contrasting with the lower-pitched calls of the female:

But it was the pelagic trips that brought the most memorable encounters with Cory’s Shearwater:

On one occasion, we spotted a huge feeding frenzy of Cory’s Shearwaters on the horizon to the south:

As we approached, with the Desertas Islands in the background, birds could be seen sitting on the water:

The latin name for Cory’s Shearwater is Calonectris borealis, literally “beautiful swimmer of the north”. This is a slightly surprising name for a species that is usually associated with flight, although after feeding and in calm conditions many were resting on the sea. From a distance, their size and grey-brown colouration combined with their large yellow/orange bill was slightly reminiscent of a seeing distant flock of Greylag Geese on the sea! Close up however, these are great birds.

Some birds had eaten so much, that they appeared to be in difficulty on the water. This bird was not bathing, it was just floating, partially submerged:

Cory’s Shearwaters have no crop, but like most birds have a large glandular forward stomach and a smaller rear stomach, the gizzard, where the more resistant undigested items are broken down, for example, squid beaks (see here). Hugo thought that the behaviour we were witnessing helped recently taken food settle in the glandular stomach before the birds could take off again. They certainly looked odd, either partially submerged or holding their wings outstretched, but then would happily take flight.

Cory’s Shearwaters have huge bills. The tip of the upper mandible curves right around to form a sharp hook. Presumably, this helps secure captured prey items, as well as being a fearsome cutting blade. Our close views allowed us to study the bill and tubes in detail:

Some birds passed within a few metres of us, giving point-blank views. Note the white crescents above and below the eye. Not the kind of detail that you get to see in UK waters very often.

Below, an uncropped shot from the boat, giving some idea of how just close these fabulous birds sailed past:

Cory’s Shearwater and Atlantic Spotted Dolphin.

Next: Bulwer’s Petrel.