World 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.

French Alps 2: the Chartreuse Massif & life and death in the skies of France.

July 27, 2023July 27, 2023

The Chartreuse Massif lies to the north of Grenoble and with the Vercours Massif, forms part of the pre-Alps:

In the picture below is Rob, one of the finest of men. He and his partner Am are building a house on the massif and are about to start a new life in the mountains above Grenoble.

The local bird life is typically alpine, with Black Redstarts being common and a pair are already nesting on Rob and Am’s house:

Their land also holds breeding Red-backed Shrikes, White Wagtails, Goldfinches and Greenfinches.

Ravens and Kestrels are frequent overhead, with the occasional larger raptor, such as Golden Eagle, being seen. Buzzards and Black Kites are the default medium-sized raptors:

One weekend we camped out, the valley below us illuminated by the lights of Grenoble. Tawny Owls were very vocal in the local woods. It was fantastic to hear a pair duetting, using the “xylophone trill” call, as described in the Collins Bird Guide, just audible on this recording at the 3-second mark, above the huge number of insects calls:

Higher up on the Chartreuse Massif, there were spectacular views from the ridges:

The view from the Fromagerie du Charmant Som.

There were large flocks of Alpine Choughs, totalling over 60 birds, up here. Some calls can be heard here, with cowbells ringing in the background:

Further north is the fabulous Cirque de Saint-Même, a huge natural amphitheatre towering into the sky, with many waterfalls cascading down:

At the top of the cliffs, flocks of Alpine Swifts fed above the tree tops:

Some birds had visibly bulging crops, presumably they breed on the uppermost cliffs:

**Alpine Swift**, with a full crop of insects.

Favouring lower altitudes, a few Crag Martins fed amongst the Alpine Swift flocks:

On the way back through central France we visited the grave of Conrad Wenyon, an uncle on my mother’s side of the family. He was a wireless operator in the Royal Air Force, but was killed when his Lancaster was shot down over Bourges in July 1944, as the Allied forces moved through France after D-day. The pilot, Harry Taylor, survived and submitted this report on the loss of the aircraft:

“I abandoned the aircraft at approximately between 400 to 600ft. Unfortunately I did not give the order to abandon aircraft as the intercom failed as soon as we were hit. However I informed the Engineer and Navigator by visual means. Whether the Navigator informed the Wireless Operator I am unable to say. I am also unable to say whether anyone baled out of the rear exits or not. I was unable to approach the persons whose parachute had not fully opened as there were several people around him and consequently I am unable to identify him. The whole of the port wing was on fire and I was unable to put it out by the Graviner switches. I believe it must have been the petrol tanks that exploded”. From the Aviation Safety Network website.

Whether our relative was killed as the aircraft crashed, or whether he was the unfortunate soul who baled out of the aircraft only for his parachute did not open, we will never know. What we do know, is that Conrad was of a generation with the terrible luck to be born to be of fighting age in a time of world war and sadly he paid the ultimate price.

“*Through adversity to the stars*“, the RAF motto.

The trip report of all the bird species that we saw in France, plus photos and sound recordings is here.

French Alps 1: hail, heat and heavy breathing

July 21, 2023July 21, 2023

We drove from England into the super intense heat wave in southern Europe. By the time we reached Grenoble, temperatures on the road were high enough to make it frightening to get out of the car:

On our first full day in Grenoble, the severe temperatures generated thunderstorms. The wind felt like a hair dryer on the hottest setting, blasting hot air onto our faces. Pitch-black cumulonimbus clouds swirled above us before unleashing an incredible hail storm, with massive hail stones:

There was only one way to go: up. We headed up into the mountains, where the elevation is slightly cooling, bringing the temperatures back into the mere 30-degree celsius range.

We walked up through the pine forests from Chamrousse to Lac Achard, at just over 1900m elevation. But even at this altitude, the crushing heat was oppressive. Instinctively we only stopped in patches of shade, grateful for the trees:

The lower meadows, just above Chamrousse, held a small flock of Citril Finches, dropping down to feed on seed heads:

There were small flocks of Common Crossbills in the pines, always vocal and mobile:

A nice female alpestris Ring Ouzel was collecting food on the path, the white-edged flank and undertail feathers just visible, forming a chequered effect:

Spotted Nutcrackers were in the forest. We had a number of flight views, but heard them calling regularly:

By the lake were singing Lesser Whitethroat and Blackcap and these Alpine Choughs dropped in, serenading us with their electronic flight calls:

My next mountain ascent was by bike, up and around the incredible balcony road of Combe Laval, in the Vercours massif. This is not a road for the vertiginous. There is a vertical drop of 500m/1,500 feet on the other side of this low retaining wall:

Alpine Swifts zipped past at eye-level and a pair of Kestrels were feeding noisy young in a nearby nest. The scenery and views were breathtaking:

But the real cycling challenge was the climb up from La Chambre to the Col de la Madelaine, at 2000m elevation. This 19km climb at an average 8% gradient is a climb that has featured many times on the Tour de France. On the final stage of the ascent, as I left the treeline, I became aware of birds calling. There were calling Water Pipits, joining the background chorus of Eurasian Skylarks, Meadow Pipits, Linnets and Goldfinches. I pulled over and made a recording of the Water Pipit calls, a recording that was ruined by my audible hyperventilation as I completed one of the hardest climbs in the Alps at high altitude!

The views from the summit were incredible, with the Mount Blanc massif visible to the north. As I drank in the views, a Quail began calling from the vegetation in the foreground, a real surprise at 2000m elevation:

Mont Blanc, 4807m, as viewed from Col de la Madeleine at 2,000m

Next: the Chartreuse Massif; life and death in the French skies.

Horned Lark: the lark that keeps on giving

January 28, 2018March 10, 2018

Shorelark, one of my all time favourite birds. But first a word about their name. For the British birder “Shorelark” seems perfect, as we only come across this species on the coast in winter, or more rarely in coastal-type habitats, such as the edges of inland reservoirs. But across their global range, these are mountain birds. Only the European subspecies flava spends any time on the coast, so the name Horned Lark is much more appropriate: in their breeding plumage across their whole range these birds have fabulous black horns. However, all my formative associations with this species are connected with the British name “Shorelark”. As such I shall refer to “Shorelark” when describing the European subspecies flava and use the term “Horned Lark” for all other forms. It is a personal thing!

As a boy I can remember studying pictures of Shorelark, of seeing their amazing horns and their yellow-and-black patterned head. On reading that these birds could be found on the Norfolk coast in winter, I immediately started dreaming of a visit to Holkham Bay. Being a young teenager with no income, it seemed impossible that I would ever get to such a remote place. But I worked out that if my paper round could somehow pay for my train ticket, then I could sleep in the bird hides at Cley and make my winter dreams come true. I even got as a far as persuading my parents to let me practise sleeping in the shed in our garden on a bitter winter night, as preparation for my nights in the Norfolk bird hides. I think I made it to about 10:30pm on the first night before the freezing feel of sleeping on concrete drove me back inside.

It was some years before I made it to the north Norfolk coast and fortunately I never had to endure a night in the hide to do so. My early notebooks record my most memorable UK Shorelark experience, a close encounter with a flock of 32 in front of the dunes at Holkham Bay. I crept out alone onto the freshmarsh before dawn and waited for daylight. As light arrived a large mixed flock of birds flew in and landed right in front of me. Scanning through the flock I came across the Shorelarks, which were feeding together with Twite and Goldfinches. In those days special moments were recorded on paper in the form of some rather dodgy drawings, rather than by camera:

Not only was this a memorably close encounter, but once in a while the flock would fly up and circle around me, the air filled with calling Shorelarks, before settling down to feed once again.

Sounding something like this:

[Matthias Feuersenger, XC41283. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/41283]

When I was young it seemed impossible to imagine that one day I would travel widely, often just to look for birds. I have always been drawn to the mountains and so, as life turned out, I have come across Horned Larks in many countries and in many different forms. This week Dave Lowe got in touch and asked if I would be interested in joining him to go and see what is widely regarded as an individual of the North American form of Horned Lark which has somehow found it’s way to Staines Reservoir in Surrey. I believe that this bird is suspected of being of the form hoyti, from the north central part of the North American range, breeding on arctic islands. Neither Dave nor I travel to see birds out of the county much these days, but a nearby vagrant Horned Lark would be a treat. Dave, incidentally, was also the finder of the Farmoor Reservoir Shorelark, some years ago.

Last Saturday afternoon at Staines Reservoirs in late January was dark, with gusting wind and rain showers. The Horned Lark was present, but was feeding some distance away on the west shore. We could make out that the bird we were looking at was a Horned Lark, but seeing the finer plumage details were impossible at that range. Fortunately others have had closer views, so I have borrowed a image from fellow Oxfordshire birder Ewan Urquhart:

Horned Lark taxonomy is changing rapidly. This paper splits Horned Lark into five palearctic species and one nearctic species. Never needing a second invitation to look at my Horned Lark pictures, I’ve dug out a few images from various locations over the years for comparison:

American Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris alpestris, Rocky Mountains, Jasper, Alberta, Canada, June 2013. Many subspecies of Horned Lark have been described from North America and their distinction and identification is not fully understood. Future DNA studies may help clarify the situation. This bird was in the far west of North America, high up in the Rockies, so would not be expected to bear a close resemblance to the bird at Staines Reservoirs. The ground colour to the face and throat is white with no yellow, although many other nearctic forms inlcuding hoyti, do have yellow in these areas. The eye mask is clearly separated from the throat patch. The mantle feathers are dark centred on this bird, creating a streaky and contrasting feel to the upperparts. There are pinkish tones to the nape and lesser covert feathers.

Shorelark, Eremophila alpestris flava, Hardangervidda National Park, Norway, May 2008. A European bird on it’s Scandinavian breeding grounds. This is a bird of the population that are thought to winter on the English east coast. There is an intense yellow to the forehead, supercilium and throat, the black eye mask does not extend below the ear coverts. The lesser coverts are not noticeably pinkish.

Atlas Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris atlas, Oukamedian, Atlas Mountains, Morocco, April 2008.

Perhaps my favourite form of Horned Lark. In spring these birds have dense black eye masks, that curve down to nearly meet the large black throat patch. There is a slight yellow wash on the throat and forehead and best of all a lovely pinkish-rufous nape that contrasts with the light grey back. The upperpart feather tracts have slightly dark centres, but this does not create a very streaky or contrasting pattern to my eye. Compare the upperparts on this bird with those of the American Horned Lark above.

Caucasian Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris penicillata, Caucasus Mountains, Kasbegi, Georgia, April 2013

In the form pencillata the black eye mask extends down to meet the black throat patch. The throat and forehead are slightly washed with yellow and the nape is pinkish in colour. The lesser coverts and mantle are greyish in colour without much streaking or contrast.

Sogut Pass, Taurus Mountains, Turkey, May 2007

This bird, below, from south-west Turkey is also of the form pencillata and shows much black on the head and throat. The eye mask extends down from the eye to join the large black throat patch, which extends up onto the lower throat and is more extensive than that in the forms above. This was a particularly horny bird!

Horned Lark, Eremophila alpestris elwesi, Tibetan Plateau, near Zioge, Sichuan, China, May 2015

Much further east there is little yellow on Horned Larks. This bird was feeding in late afternoon sun at 3500m in a restaurant car park. The ground colour to the face is white, not yellow. The eye mask and throat are clearly separated by white. The lesser coverts and nape had a light brown tone (maybe a hint of pink?). As I lay flat out on my front photographing this bird, it ran straight past my right shoulder to take a breadcrumb from the road behind me.

Temminck’s Lark, Eremophila bilopha, Tagdilt track, Morocco, April 2008. A monotypic species from north Africa and the desert cousin of Horned Lark. Superficially similar to the elwesi subspecies of Horned Lark from China, see above, with no yellow on the forehead or throat. However the throat band is much thinner and the upperpart colouration is a rich desert brown, perfectly matching it’s habitat.

I still think Horned Larks are fabulous birds. They not only provide much interest with their subtle plumage variations across their enormous range, but they are beautiful birds found in very special places and that is part of their appeal.