Feeling the Fea: the 2001 Scillonian pelagic

In 2001, as an inexperienced birder who lived far inland, I decided that I needed to see some more seabirds. I had read reports from the Scillonian III pelagic trip in 2000 (see here) and was inspired. Sooty, Great and Cory’s Shearwaters, Sabine’s Gulls and European Storm Petrels were frequently seen on these all day trips from Penzance that headed south west into the Western Approaches of the Atlantic Ocean. But the Holy Grail was Wilson’s Petrel, which in recent years was being seen with increasing frequency. Not having the sort of job where I could drop everything and drive to Cornwall if the weather looked promising for seabird passage, such a trip seemed the best opportunity to maximise my chances of seeing some of the oceanic species of seabird on the British list. However, there was a downside. As the trip report from 2000 noted:

“The trip is not for the fainthearted. Many people refuse to set foot on the Scillonian fearing hours of sea-sickness for a brief moment of elation”.

Despite the warnings, I booked my place. In 2001 the Scillonian pelagic was scheduled for 12th August. Then five weeks before the trip, on 8th July 2001, news broke of a huge seabird event off the Scilly Isles. Bob Flood and Ashley Fisher were on their regular pelagic trip from St Marys when a pterodroma petrel was attracted to the chum slick they had dispersed behind their boat. It passed close enough to be seen extremely well and good quality photographs were taken. It was conclusively identified as a Fea’s Petrel, the first accepted British record:

Fea’s Petrel is an extremely rare seabird in British waters. Between 1950 and 2000 there had been just 21 accepted records and none of these could be identified to species level. Instead such sightings were lumped together as “Fea’s/Zino’s Petrel”. These birds are the only northern hemisphere representatives of the Soft-plumaged Petrel group of the southern hemisphere.

Thanks to the experience and skill of the observers, combined with the excellent photographs, the bird seen off Scilly in July 2001 was identified as Britain’s first ever Fea’s Petrel. For those of us waiting to head out into the Atlantic on the Scillonian III in mid-August, this generated mixed feelings. Rare seabird events are, by definition, exceptional. It felt like the big seabird moment of 2001 had happened some five weeks before I would be anywhere near the ocean.

The weekend of 11th and 12th August arrived and I drove down from Oxford to Penzance on the Saturday, an horrendous journey that took nearly 12 hours with the roads filled with stationary holiday traffic. I had fish and chips in Penzance then tried to have an early night at my B&B, near the docks.

It was cloudy and windy as I awoke at 4:30am and forced down some breakfast. I couldn’t quite bring myself to take some seasickness pills, even though I knew that they took 2 hours to work. It was a reflection of my inexperience with the sea that I decided that I would see how conditions were and would then take the medication as required. This was to prove a costly and traumatic decision.

I queued up in the dark and boarded the Scillonian III at 5am. We left Penzance at 5:30am and as soon as we were clear of the mainland, the extent of the swell became apparent. The wind picked up and loud crashes could be heard from the bar and dinning areas as glasses and cutlery were thrown around and smashed. I began to wonder if this was normal for a pelagic trip. After 45 minutes I was feeling terrible. Being outside and looking at the horizon did not help at all. The horizon was thrashing around all over the place as the boat crashed through the swell. Frequently we could hear a loud juddering roar as the propellers were lifted out of the water as the boat pitched violently forward. The smell of the diesel fumes nearly brought up my breakfast. I forced down some seasickness tablets with some water. The complete lack of any seabirds seemed to be upsetting some people, but I had more important things on my mind: I had turned green and I felt like I was going to die.

At 6:45 the inevitable happened. I rushed into the toilets. Every cubicle was locked and the occupant of each cubicle was lying on the floor with their legs protruding out from under the door. As the boat rolled from side to side a large slick of vomit washed from one side of the toilets to the other, coating the legs of the prostrate occupants in stomach contents. I grabbed hold of an urinal, prayed to a God that I did not previously believe to exist, and violently threw up. In a stunned state I opened my eyes slightly and to my horror I saw two, mostly undigested, seasickness tablets, smiling back at me from the urinal. I had thrown up the only two things that were going to make me feel human again.

I crawled back through the vomit lake and managed to get back to my seat, despite the ship pitching and rolling like a roller coaster. I looked out of the porthole next to me and saw my first European Storm Petrels, flying alongside the ship. Never has a British tick had so little feeling attached to it. I forced down more two seasickness tablets, then two more, just in case. I had lost all interest in birding, I was exhausted, covered in vomit and most of it was not mine. The thought occurred to me that there were 15 hours remaining before we were to dock in Penzance. I wondered how I was going to survive this experience.

Fortunately for me the only major side-effect of taking an overdose of seasickness tablets was fatigue. With a recommended dosage of 2 in 24 hours, I had taken 6 in 2 hours, although not all of these were digested. As a result, I passed out in my seat.

I am woken a little while later by a tannoy announcement: “Sabine’s Gull behind the fishing boat at 3 o’clock”. I jump to my feet, but instantly feel violently sick, so I sink back into my seat. I let the Sabine’s Gull go, feeling disappointed as it would have been my first.

By now there are people being sick everywhere. Some hunch over sick bags, some find the downwind rail of the ship. Some attempt to enter the toilets, but it resembles a scene from hell, bodies and vomit were everywhere. And yet, others are not only coping but are birding on the stern of the ship. How anyone could manage that was completely beyond me.  Very few birds were seen during the first eight hours of the trip, fortunately for me as I was incapable of getting up to see them. There was talk of this being the worst pelagic trip in British birding history.

For the next few hours I drift into and out of consciousness, sometimes sleeping, sometimes vomiting. Gradually the winds and swell recede slightly, the seasickness medication finally begins to work and I manage to eat something. Around lunchtime, I feel brave enough to go out on deck and to try to begin birding. We are now at our destination – a featureless piece of the Atlantic, known as the Wilson’s Triangle. Chumming begins, a mixture of rotting fish and fish oils are dumped from the ship, as pelagic bird species are attracted by the appalling smell. I was at the side of the boat, about half way along, reasoning that the centre of the ship moves less than the stern or bow. This position also protected me from the smell of the chum.

The chum began to work its magic. Appearing out of nowhere, bird numbers began to build up. Several hundred Gannets wheel around, plunge diving for larger pieces of chum. European Storm Petrels were everywhere, zipping and flittering over the surface of the sea. Perhaps 200 birds were present. We scanned through them in the hope of a glimpse of a Wilson’s Petrel.

A second Sabine’s Gull was called from the other side of the ship, but I didn’t make it round in time to get onto it. Then my side of the boat had a treat, a Great Shearwater did a close pass, giving fantastic views.

At just after 14:30 there was a tannoy announcement that will stay with me forever: “Soft-plumaged Petrel in the wake!”. I had no idea what this meant. All I knew was that there was a bird so rare that I had not even heard of it, somewhere behind the boat that I was standing on. Simultaneously, every single birder tried to get to the stern of the Scillonian III.

The wake behind the Scillonian III, 12th August 2001 © Tom Bedford

If my senses were working, rather than having been dulled by sleep deprivation, eight hours of vomiting and recurrent seasickness tablet overdoses, then I would have quickly worked out that the bird following the ship was a Fea’s Petrel, one of the Soft-plumaged Petrel group. As it turned out, it was the very same bird seen from the Scilly pelagic five weeks beforehand.

I began scanning through the mass of feeding seabirds in the wake of the ship, just looking for something, anything, different. I got lucky. After ten seconds I got onto a pale grey and white seabird that, as I watched, looped up from just above the sea, wheeled up high above the horizon before skimming back down low over the sea again. I saw the dark “M” across the upperwing and the white body contrasting with the dark underwing.  And then it was gone.

© British Birds 99, August 2006,  p402.

My notes from 12th August 2001, including attempts at recording the bird’s distinctive flight pattern.

There was a moment of silence and then a spontaneous outbreak of joy and applause from those birders that had seen the Fea’s Petrel. Strangers high-fived and shook hands. Unfortunately, only about half the birders on the boat had connected with the bird. They need not have worried. Almost immediately the Fea’s Petrel was located again off the side of the ship, whereupon it proceeded to give a close fly-by down the entire starboard side. As it glided past us, just below eye level, there was complete silence on board, as everyone drunk in dream views of a dream bird. In fact, the Fea’s Petrel remained around the ship for one hour and 15 minutes, still the longest ever viewing of this species in British waters.

2 Wilson’s Petrels were then located, pretty much simultaneously at the front and rear of the boat. The tannoy announced “Wilson’s Petrel with the Soft-plumaged Petrel at 3 o’clock” and was greeted with delirious, incredulous laughter. We could not believe what was playing out in front of us. We had suffered so much, but the rewards had been incredible. At 16:30 we began our return journey. The sea was flat and the sun was shining. The horror of the morning was behind us, we all knew we had experienced something pretty special.

Calm scenes on the upper deck of the Scillonian III on the return journey © Tom Bedford

Postscript:

Just four days later, back home in Oxfordshire, Nic Hallam found a superb adult Sabine’s Gull at Farmoor, only the second record for the county. Even better, it stayed for three days and I saw it. At 25 metres range in lovely evening sunlight. Somehow, pulling back an adult Sabine’s Gull so soon after missing two from the Scillonian III pelagic just added to the magic of the Scillonian experience.

The bird seen from the Scillonian on 12th August was written up and accepted before the record of the bird from Scilly on July 8th 2001, so for a short period it was the first Fea’s Petrel for Britain:

James Lees’s account of the Scillonian III Fea’s Petrel in British Birds:

Since 2001 records of Fea’s/Zino’s Petrel have been almost annual. There were no records in 2006 and 2012, but 6 records in 2009 and 7 in 2013. Most years see just one or two accepted records: 

Contemporary pterodroma identification: Cape Verde Fea’s, Desertas Fea’s or Zino’s Petrel?

To date, there are just 6 accepted species level records of Fea’s Petrel (as opposed to the lumped Fea’s/Zino’s Petrel group):

2001 Isle of Scilly (July 8th, see above)

2001 Western Approaches (August 12th, the Scillonian III bird)

2004 Isles of Scilly

2014 Easington, Yorkshire

2014 Isles of Scilly

2015 Isles of Scilly

There is also a pending record from 2008 of a bird 10km NW of the Galway coast. It is no coincidence that 6 of these 7 records are from pelagic trips. These give a better chance of a close approach and provide the opportunity to gain photographs to allow species level identification of this difficult group. Species specific identification of Fea’s-type petrels is extremely difficult, as addressed in this article by Bob Flood:

The future? 

With Fea’s Petrel firmly on the radar of British birding community, the new pterodroma holy grail of UK seawatching is probably either Zino’s Petrel or Bermuda Petrel. The latter has already come tantalising close to Ireland, see here. Both species have tiny breeding populations and are globally endangered. There have also been some quite remarkable reports of pterodroma petrels, from much further afield. Birds bearing resemblances to Atlantic and Trindade Petrels have been reported on a number of occasions (including this year from Cornwall). There is also a well discussed bird, widely thought to be a Herald Petrel, seen from Dungeness in January 1998:

Finally, if a lucky birder finds a Fea’s-type pterodroma petrel in British waters, they must also eliminate the possibility of Soft-plumaged Petrel, after this outrageous record of a southern hemisphere pterodroma species in the high arctic. The attraction of these magnificent seabirds is partly their  ability to travel vast distances. The challenge for the lucky finder is getting adequate documentation of birds that often pass at distance and at speed. As the BBRC Herald Petrel article notes, a change in seabirding culture towards pelagic trips will help with closer views and allow better photographs to be taken. It is then just a matter of huge luck and of surviving the trip if the weather is inclement!

The Big Blue: the new Abingdon super-reservoir

And still they torture us with talk of an enormous reservoir near Abingdon:

http://www.oxfordmail.co.uk/news/16393158.abingdon-reservoir-ed-vaizey-demands-second-consultation/

I see the future of Oxfordshire birding… and the future is good!

Emperor Moths, from egg to cocoon in 6 weeks

Earlier this year we were fortunate to be given some Emperor Moth eggs by Martin Wainwright, author of the excellent “Martin’s Moths” blog. I saw a blog post by Martin offering eggs and took him up on his offer. Martin used to be the northern editor of the Guardian and unbeknown to him, the Country Diary section of that newspaper was something of an influence on my early adolescent self. I would turn to the Country Diary page (yes children, imagine turning pages of paper to find something of interest!) to see if there were snippets of information or descriptions of bird life from around the UK. It was a brief wildlife moment in the chaos of a large family breakfast routine. I recently discovered that Martin has published a collection of writings from The Country Diary, “A Gleaming Landscape: 100 years of the Guardian’s Country Diary“. Martin helps publicise moths enthusiastically and can be said to have brought moths to the people! The Emperor Moth eggs he gave us were tiny and sat attached to the corner of an eggbox: 

Little happened for a few days and then on May 16th the eggs began to hatch. Below, the freshly emerged caterpillars having their first taste of Hawthorn leaves. The eggs are visible in the background:

The first caterpillars are nearly entirely black in colour. There is just a hint of green at the base of the hair nodules: 

We then embarked on a month of daily Hawthorn leaf gathering. Fortunately, Hawthorn is one of the most abundant trees:

The caterpillars grew very rapidly, but their skin can only stretch to a certain limit. After nearly two weeks, the first caterpillars (known as first instars) shed their skin to reveal a larger black and orange skin. These are the second instars, the second stage. Below, Emperor Moth caterpillar transformation from tiny black first instars to huge green fourth instars in the space of just over a month. My left thumbnail is being used to give some idea of scale: 

Below, a fourth instar Emperor Moth caterpillar emerges from it’s third instar skin: 

The fourth instar caterpillars were big beasts. After a month the tank was filled with alarmingly active, huge green, black and yellow caterpillars. We were now up to three feeds a day!

The largest caterpillars were between 6 and 7 cm in length:

Emperor Moths are related to silk moths. After 6 weeks some of the adults began spinning their cocoons: 

The silk that they produce is silvery white in colour at first. They gather twigs and leaves in around them: 

In the centre of the picture below, you can make out the head of the caterpillar through the hole in the top of the cocoon: 

The silk then dries and ends up being a gingery colour. It sets as hard as steel. The caterpillars will spend the rest of the summer and all winter in their cocoon, before they emerge in April as adult moths. The energy that they derived from the Hawthorn leaves will sustain them all winter and for all of the adult life of the Emperor Moth. The adult moths do not feed. Their purpose is to emerge and mate and then they die. The moths (and butterflies) that we see on the wing are only the brief final adult stage of an insect species that spends far longer as a caterpillar and as a pupae, sometimes in a cocoon, depending on the species. In April 2019 we await the delight of the adults emerging, although Martin mentioned that sometimes they may skip a year and emerge two years after they have pupated. Emperor Moths are fantastic, large, beautifully marked moths. The larger females emit pheromones, attracting the males (below) with scent. And then it all begins again: mating, eggs, caterpillars and cocoons.

[image © www.ukmoths.org.uk]

Many thanks to Martin for his generosity and enthusiasm in our Emperor Moth project.

The new Handbook of Western Palearctic Birds

The fabulous new two volume Handbook of Western Palearctic Birds, by two giants of Western Palearctic bird identification Hadoram Shirihai and Lars Svensson,  arrived today. This was a bit of a surprise as the advertised release date was July 26th, but I am not complaining, as it appears to be superb: 

It is a photographic guide, but one with forensic attention to detail, covering all plumages for all age groups, as well as examining subspecies and geographic variation. Usually looking at a photographic field guide involves looking at other people’s pictures – but not this time! Back in 2008, having just returned from a trip to Morocco with Richard Campey, I read a request for pictures of certain species and plumages advertised in (the now extinct) Birding World. I sent in two pictures. Producing two volumes with such a wealth of detail obviously takes time, so it was ten years later that I received confirmation that both images have been included. There are 5,000 fabulous photographs across the two volumes but I went straight to page 469 and page 506, where my female Western Subalpine Warbler… 

… and my Western Olivaceous Warbler (now re-named Isabelline Warbler) awaited me. 

It was also a novel experience getting payment for a picture. At £25 a photo (assuming all photographers were paid the same amount) the photographic costs alone of the two volumes must be in the region of £125,000. The book will have provided a useful spike in income for some well-known bird photographers. It is expected that this book will become the standard identification text for the region for years to come, which combined with the photographic costs, may explain the RRP of £150. I have only flicked through both volumes, but already I would recommend it to anyone. Especially pages 496 and 506  🙂

A morning being licked by the Emperor

Bernwood Forest this morning and immediately there was a Purple Emperor flying around the main track, attracting a small, friendly group of admirers: 

This individual did not settle for long and appeared reluctant to show off the purple iridescence on the upper wings:

Perched on an old piece of dog poo, we could see that this was a rather worn male, with a distinctive chunk missing from the trailing edge of the left hind-wing:

Having flown around us for a little while, it then landed by my right foot, it’s shadow also revealing the damaged left wing:

Sensing something attractive, it then climbed onto my sandal. My wife entertained us by reading out the preferred food sources of the Purple Emperor butterfly: “dog poo, urine, animal carcasses“. I reassured her that it must be after a drink human sweat from my perfectly fragrant feet. On a previous visit, I recall fresh fox faeces being left out to attract the Emperors. 

It then began feeding from the skin of my foot. The honour – I was being licked by the Emperor! I could feel the faint tickling of the yellow proboscis on my skin: 

Content, it spread it’s wings, revealing a little purple hue: 

Having enjoyed helping sustain this magnificent butterfly, we had a short wander down the track before returning to the car park.  A different male Purple Emperor was waiting for us. This one had an intact left wing and a little more purple haze, but did not stay long: 

I tried to recall other wildlife encounters that involved something being on my foot (as opposed to me treading on it!). My favourite was in the Australian outback in November 2007. I was with Phillip Maher in search of one of the most difficult birds to see in the entire continent, Plains Wanderer. These tiny quail-like birds inhabit the vast flat plains of New South Wales, are nocturnal and are nearly impossible to see. It took hours of spotlighting in the early morning hours before we struck gold – a female. This species exhibits reversed sexual dichromatism, so the female is the better marked of the pair. We stood silently and she just walked towards us. I took the picture below…

.. and then felt a soft thud on my right foot (obviously my lucky right foot now) as the female Plains Wanderer walked over it!

The only other wildlife-on-foot incident that I can recall was in eastern Poland with Ian Reid one night in May 2011 when a Corncrake dropped into the marshes right in front of us. I think it may have gone over or at least very close to Ian’s foot. His fabulous photograph of the bird confirms that it was certainly nearby: 

I can now lay claim to the first internet post that mentions Purple Emperor Butterflies and Plains Wanderer. The common connection: my right foot!

Lime Hawkmoth

Another day, another long anticipated Hawkmoth! After our first Privet Hawkmoth two days ago, this morning’s treat was a vision of stylish pink and green, a beautiful Lime Hawkmoth: 

The head pattern is a cool, green and stripey:

Glorious greens:

Two new Hawkmoth species in three days. Which new Hawkmoth species will be next?

Also-rans today included 2 Large Elephant Hawkmoths, our first Marbled White Spot and the return of the small, but delicately marked Spindle Ermine: 

Hot moths

There is nothing like a heat wave to bring the moths out, even in suburban Headington. It had already been a busy morning, and in amongst the Scarlet Tigers, Hearts and Darts and Common Footmen was our first Lackey Moth:

…our first Twenty-plume Moth:

…and not one, but two, Large Elephant Hawk Moths:

Then my youngest daughter noticed a long, dark shape the size of a small aircraft in the moth trap:

At last a Privet Hawk Moth had visited our garden! It was an absolute beast. The eye is enormous: 

The black back and face are separated by a wide light grey go-faster stripe that wraps around the head:

This is Britain’s largest resident moth, it dwarfed the Large Elephant Hawk Moths: 

The pink and black body becomes visible as it spreads it’s wings:

Wing detail:

A source of much pre-breakfast joy, we were delighted to admire this stunning garden visitor: 

A sudden influx of elephants

Last weekend we were treated to some colour in the moth trap. Two nights in Wokingham (Berkshire) produced our first Small Elephant Hawk Moth. It was a rather worn individual:

Hawkmoths were the order of the night. We have still yet to find a Poplar Hawk Moth in the trap, but fortunately one appeared in a bedroom on our first morning!

They are fabulous beasts that repay close study:

Is there a grumpier looking moth?

Wing detail:

With Small Elephant Hawk Moth for size comparison:

The second morning produced a Large Elephant Hawk Moth, the bigger stripier relative of Small Elephant: 

There was also a brace of Buff-tips, the broken twig of the moth world and still one of my favourite moths (more here also): 

Spot the real broken branch:

Back in Oxford, the pink theme continued with another Large Elephant Hawk Moth, this time in our Headington garden. It was briefly photo-bombed by a Bumblebee:

 

Oxfordshire Big Day 2018

After our abject failure to break the record for the number of bird species seen in Oxfordshire within a 24 hour period last year, we felt compelled to try again this year.  A change in personnel was required as, incredibly, Andy Last accepted an invitation to spend the weekend away with two young women, rather than spend 24 hours birding with two middle-aged men. Into Andy’s place, stepped the mighty Badger, aka Jason Coppock, Lord of the Oxon Birding website, joining Dave Lowe and myself. Having called ourselves “The Acronaughts” last year, this year we could claim to be Jason and the Acronaughts. What could possibly go wrong?

We moved the date from late April to early May and actually spent a little time planning and researching. Our research also confirmed that the record (see here and scroll down) set in 2000 by Jon Uren, Pete Roby, Dave Dunford and Simon O’Sullivan totalled 114 species, but included an American Wigeon at Dorchester that was later deemed an escape. So, 113 was the record, still a very high bar. Also like last year we had competition. This was our first mistake. Our opposition were “The Probables”: Ewan Urquhart, Mark Merritt and Tom Wickens. Few people spend more time in the field than Mark and Tom. Combined with Ewan’s grit they presented a formidable challenge. The usual rules applied: a bird species had to be seen or heard by 3 team members in Oxfordshire to count; no tape recording of birds could be used to attract them.

History dictates that an early start is required. Some teams have started at midnight to maximise every minute, others have started in the very early hours. But no matter how we did the maths, we were not sure that this would pay dividends, as only a small number of species are available in the dark. We felt we could probably record these before dawn or in the evening. This was our second mistake. Our Big Day began at 4am on Saturday 5th May when Dave and Badger arrived at my house in Headington to a loudly singing Song Thrush. Species #1, we were off! We travelled to Otmoor in the dark and began counting the night singers: Grasshopper Warbler, a booming Bittern and a background cacophony of a thousand Sedge Warblers. The moon shone down, it was clear and dry, it felt good. We were at the second screen by 04:45 when one of our target species here, a Barn Owl, appeared in front of Badger’s face, before gliding away:

As light began to creep in, we were recording new species constantly: a calling Curlew; Black-headed and Lesser Black-backed Gulls passed overhead. We walked down to the first screen, where we got our first indication that the weather was not going to be on our side. This was not simply a light covering of early morning mist, thick fog seemed to be building up. In no time at all visibility was reduced to less than 100 meters. We had not planned for this and the fog was not in the weather forecast that we saw last night. Much of birding is about identifying species on call, but things were getting ridiculous. Even the bushes on the bridleway were invisible in front of us: 

We could not scan Big Otmoor for waders, we could not see anything at Noke. We had no choice but to listen hard and wait for the sun to burn off the fog. In a touching and supportive manner, I hoped that this fog was county-wide and was devastating our opposition’s birding too. I was wrong. 

Half an hour of poor visibility became an hour, which dragged out to two hours. The disc of the sun was often visible through the fog, but did not appear to be making any inroads into the mist. The frustration was intense. Badger pulled out a Wheatear, sitting on top of the barn at Noke, a Kingfisher called, not an easy species to record in May.

We were now up against it and up against it so early in the day. At about 8am, after about two and a half hours of white-out conditions, the fog suddenly, dramatically, lifted. And with it so did every migrant bird in Oxfordshire. The skies were crystal clear, the sun was hot. It was a perfect day to continue your migration north, away from Oxfordshire, away from us, away from our Big Day: 

When the sun comes out on Otmoor, so do the snakes. When you’ve been standing alone in the fog for nearly three hours on your Big Day, who do you really not want to meet? The current holders of the Oxon Big Day record perhaps? “Morning Pete, morning Oz!“. Actually, it is always fun to bump into the the Robeys and Oz. They asked about all the tricky species, most of which we had not seen, which depressed us. They gave us tips as to where we might see some of them, though we did note most of these locations were miles away, on the periphery of the reserve. Funny that. Pete’s parting words were “good luck for 112!” – one short of their record. But they didn’t look too worried: 

A Grass Snake sunbathing near the bridle-way.

A Big Day is more of a marathon than a sprint. We knew there would be lows and that we would have to push through them to reach the highs. We work our way back along the bridle-way, also bumping into Pete Barker leading a large group on his regular Saturday morning Otmoor birding walk. There then followed a nice little burst of useful species. A Raven flew over calling, not a guaranteed species on Otmoor:

I wandered down the bridleway to confirm a singing Garden Warbler, the last of the 10 common warbler species that we still needed. Glancing out across Greenaways I saw a Little Egret flying in. My phone rang – it was Dave, further down the track alerting me to the Little Egret. Having already seen it, I test his resourcefulness by feigning poor phone reception. Not much throws Dave on a Big Day, but the way he began miming “Little Egret” on the public bridleway, surprised even me. So, it’s a little bird, about knee height?…with a long bill?

It was a worthy performance. I gave him 30 seconds and called back to confirm I’d seen the bird. What the passing member of the public on the right thought about Dave’s Little Egret impression is obvious from his face (above). We saw a Great Spotted Woodpecker near the feeders, now we only really needed Turtle Dove. We bumped into Mark Chivers on the Bridleway who helpfully pointed out the crippling views of Turtle Dove he had just had as he photographed it, moments before it flew away and before we got there:

We gritted our teeth and did another circuit. We were discussing plans, when a gentle purring call crept into the back of my consciousness “Turtle Dove singing!” I called. It was on the list. Last year we left Otmoor with a poor 67 species. This year we left Otmoor with exactly our target number of species, 80. In one sense we were ahead. But thanks to the fog, we were hours later leaving than we had planned.

As we leave Otmoor we get a text from the Pete Roby: the Great White Egret that had been frequenting the peripheral areas of Otmoor had been found on floods to the north. But all species are equal on a Big Day and even though Great White Egret would be a county tick for me (I have never quite summoned up the energy to travel to see one in the county) I take the hit for the team. We have a more important species in mind: Collared Dove. We drive through the Otmoor villages and into Oxford, scanning roadside wires and rooftops, but without luck.

Our next port of call was Port Meadow, hopefully for some waders. But due to our fog-induced lateness, it was now lunchtime on a hot bank holiday weekend and the car park at The Perch was heaving. We could barely park. The meadow was even worse, filled with people enjoying themselves in normal ways: sailing, rowing, drinking, kissing. Fools! If only they had got up at 3am and stood in the fog for three hours before failing to see Collared Dove, then they would know real pleasure.

We arrived at the Thames and took in the above view. You can just make out a thin dark line of animals running across the meadow, away from the crowds…

…and straight into the floods. The level of disturbance was staggering! No-one was more surprised than us when we managed to locate a Ringed Plover and a Shelduck, hiding from the herds. A Pink-footed Goose had been present for three days on Port Meadow. The timing of its arrival and the fact that it had chosen to associate with a feral goose flock were not great for its claim to be a wild bird. In fact, I had muttered that I had bought free-range chicken from Tesco that had better credentials. In one sense, the best thing Pinky could do was disappear immediately, hanging around for weeks would only weaken its case.  However, it would have been nice if it had held on for another few hours, just so we could see it. It didn’t. We left The Perch and immediately got stuck behind a cart pulled by two shire horses. They crawled along at less than walking pace.  We had no choice but to crawl after them. Never has Binsey Lane seemed so long. I tried to keep things positive by leaning out of the window and blowing into my cupped hands to impersonate the call of Collared Dove. How those long, hot afternoon hours flew by.

Farmoor Reservoir. It was now 1 o’clock and baking hot. We planned to be here by mid-morning to catch up with Swift, hirundines and perhaps some waders. I can honestly say that I have never seen Farmoor so quiet. There was not a single bird in flight above the water. There were no waders and no gulls. This was catastrophic. Even worse, we learn that our opposition saw a fly-over Osprey at the time we were originally panning to be at the reservoir. Ian Lewington was taking groups around for an open day for the Oxford Ornithological Society. Ian helpfully asked what we needed. Our reply included Common Sandpiper, Swift, hirundines, Great Black-backed Gull and Mistle Thrush. But none were present. We held a quick council of war and decided to radically alter our itinerary and would return to Farmoor at dusk. Furthermore, Badger had gleaned some useful knowledge of a private site for a scarce local breeding species, which we were given permission to visit.

The site was not too distant. We quickly found the area where some nest boxes had been put up, there were lines of feeders up too. Surely this would be straightforward? The sun here was as intense as I have ever experienced in an Early May Bank Holiday, indeed it was record-breakingly hot. We waited, wilted and applied sun lotion. 40 minutes later we have only heard the calls of chicks from inside the nest boxes – not really countable on a Big Day. House Sparrows called and flitted about, Reed Buntings and Yellowhammers visited the feeders. Where were the adults?! This was a new low and morale sunk, not least as we knew that the opposition had recorded the target species at this site. Eventually we dragged ourselves away, empty handed.

Dave Doherty called with news of an Osprey at Blenheim, we’re tempted but it is not in view and would burn up a lot of time. We continue towards Dix Pit. A Mistle Thrush on a front lawn in Sutton secured a species that can be tricky in early May: 

Dix produced Red-crested Pochard, but more frustration too. Firstly, a distinct lack of the usually omnipresent Egyptian Geese and secondly, by more news from the opposition. They have just found an Avocet at Rushey Common. Last year we were beaten by a team who had a flyover Osprey at Farmoor and who found a good wader at Rushy. The sound of history repeating itself was deafening. Twitching a bird found by the opposition, how low could we go? Real low. We drive to Rushy Common. Dave finds the Avocet (below), I find a couple of Little Ringed Plovers, but it is massively hard work to produce new species.

We head for the Chilterns. A ban was placed on saying out loud “I can’t believe we haven’t seen a Collared Dove!” because one of us was repeating this mantra at any single moment in time and it was the constant thought running through all our minds. I close my windows at home in Headington to keep out the sound of calling Collared Doves. Now, when we most need to find one, we are unable to, for love nor money.

I am in the back of the car as we pass through Nettlebed. A pale grey shape huddled on top of a wooden utility pole makes me scream out loud, “Collared Dove!”.  Badger twists around in the front seat violently enough to require my services as an osteopath for quite some time to come. Dave throws the car onto the opposite side of the road and mounts the pavements of Nettlebed. His door bursts open, pushing passing pedestrians out of the way. Lifting his binoculars up he screams “Got it!” as we look at one of Europe’s commonest breeding birds, one of an estimated one million breeding pairs in the UK. What have we become?

It was hard to escape the conclusion that this was not going to be our day. In the Chilterns the woods were silent, it was too hot and we were too late. We do pick up some woodland species, including Goldcrest and Coal Tit, but can’t materialise a Marsh Tit, Treecreeper or a Jay. Having left Otmoor on 80 species, the next 4 long, hot hours in the afternoon only produce another 9 species.  Game over. We see Ring-necked Parakeet in Henley and then drive up onto the downs. Here there are Grey Partridge, Corn Bunting and Little Owl: 

We hit species number 100 at around 6:30pm. Or so we thought. As we headed back to Farmoor for dusk, I added up the totals again and discovered that we were only on 99 species. Three more rounds of adding up produced the same answer, 99 species. Personally, this was my lowest part of the day. In Oxon Big Day terms, seeing 100 species is barely competent. Beating last year’s target of 104 was our minimum target, I hoped we that would get somewhere between 105 and 110 species, any more would be weather-related luck. As it was, we approached our final site still in double figures. Our only hope was that there were several common species that we still had not connected with.

We arrived at Farmoor at 7:20pm, we had about 90 minutes light left and were still not on 100. We scanned the sky, where were the Swifts? There were none. Yellow Wagtail was our real number 100 species for the day, quickly followed by an uplifting mini-rush of new species: Great Black-backed Gull and an adult Yellow-legged Gull on a buoy.

Dave then notes a Kestrel sitting on a nestbox. It had been a long sweltering day, with much frustration. Our dreams lay scattered around our feet like broken diamonds. Unfortunately, my ‘scope had got soaked the day before whilst I was out scouting sites and due to the heat, condensation was now forming in the eyepiece. I found myself unable to locate the building the nestbox was on, let alone the bird in the nestbox, due to my scope misting up. “Where is this KestreI?” I ask, unable to conceal my frustration.

Dave: Listen to the panic in his voice”! The nestbox is on the very large building, right in front of us. 
Me: Don’t you patronise me!
Dave: I think you’ll find it’s pronounced “patronised”
Me: WHERE’S THE F*****G KESTREL?!

I give up and use his scope, Kestrel, species number 103. Despite the central vision in my scope being completely misted up with condensation, I am pleased to pick out a distant Common Sandpiper on the north bank of F1 only using the peripheral edges of my viewfinder: species number 104 which equals our target of last year. Suddenly we all feel much more buoyant, even though darkness is coming.

We now need a bolt from the blue. Step up Mr Terry Sherlock! He calls and tells Badger that the Great White Egret is now on the Closes at Otmoor and is visible from the Otmoor carpark.  Could we? We could! We speed-march down the causeway and drive over to Otmoor, as the sun sets and dusk closes it. We pull into the carpark and at 8:35pm rush over to the gate that looks over the Closes.

There in the gloom is a long, white snake-like neck and a long yellow-orange bill: Great White Egret, species number 105, which takes us past our total of last year. I enjoyed watching the bird feed, for perhaps 9 seconds. Then we head out to Big Otmoor to try to grab back a Teal. At 8:55pm, in near darkness, Badger shouts “Teal!” and we all get brief views of a drake, before the light goes completely. Species number 106. Can we go any higher? We try for two more species in the dark.  The first is an act of sheer madness. We go to Hinksey Lake and try spotlighting an Egyptian Goose. We will never know what the local teenagers thought we were doing, but it was a miracle that we were not arrested. We saw no goose.

Our final act of desperation found us near Bagley Woods, listening for Tawny Owl. Dave and I had pair calling here just two nights ago. This evening, there was nothing. Nothing except our aural hallucinations. Being on high alert for bird calls and songs all day, combined with fatigue, led us all to independently experience a weird phenomenon. We could hear birds singing. I had Sedge Warbler, Badger could hear Grasshopper Warbler. They weren’t there, but our brains were conjuring up birdsong, that intruded into our tired consciousness. At about 10pm we give up and finish our Oxon Big Day on 106 species, two more than last year, but about five less than we hoped for.

The next day we compare notes with The Probables. They recorded an impressive 111 species, also 2 more than they recorded last year and only 2 species short of equalling the record. They trialled an innovative strategy that did not involve starting at Otmoor and thus they also avoided the fog. With better weather, they could have easily threatened the record. Thank God it was hot and sunny!

With hindsight we started too late and we were unlucky with the early morning fog on Otmoor, which set us back for the rest of the day. Incredibly, neither team saw Treecreeper, Jay, Meadow Pipit or Swift, all species that should be expected in early May. The magic ingredient is one that we have no control over: the weather. A baking hot cloudless day is not conducive to migrants occurring in the county. We still wait for that perfect combination of planning, weather and luck. As with last year The Oxon Big Day was hugely enjoyable. Badger, Dave and I functioned well as a team, we all contributed species and all took turns to pick up morale when needed. Many thanks also to all those mentioned above who helped us out and to anyone else that I may have neglected to mention.

Doing a Big Day reminds me that I prefer my birding to be calmer with less travel. A Big Day once a year is about as often as I would want to consider it. The camaraderie is great, as is visiting some of Oxfordshire’s best birding sites.  Otmoor first thing is incredibly atmospheric, even more so if Bitterns are booming and a pre-dawn visit is something that I would recommend to anyone. Full marks to The Probables for turning the usual itinerary on its head and successfully seeking out some tricky species. There is already talk of another Big Day next year, with the Greylags, the current record holders, also expressing interest. Everyone acknowledges that, with a little luck, setting a new county record is achievable. Will next year be the year that we get that perfect combination of good weather and good planning? One thing is certain – we will be starting much earlier.

 

The Acronaughts (left to right):

Dave Lowe, Tom Bedford, Badger.

Oxon Big Day 2018 total: 106 species.

Position: last.

 

Slavonian Grebe, Farmoor

After a great spring for Black-necked Grebe (see here and here), what are the chances of a breeding plumaged Slavonian Grebe turning up in the county as well? A fabulous bird was found this morning by Dai Johns. It was early afternoon by the time I got there, the light was harsh and I had two children in tow, but the Slavonian Grebe was present, feeding a little way out from south west shore of F2 and showed superbly:

The golden ear tufts stand out at distance, looking fine against the black head and chestnut neck. When we arrived the head plumage was dry, the bird had not dived for a little while. When the bird turned downwind, the ear tufts puffed out:

But as we watched, the bird began diving and swimming, getting closer with each dive: 

Soon it was wet and very close. Slavonian Grebe shares the red eye, with white-ringed black iris, with Black-necked Grebe. Unlike Black-necked Grebe, Slavonian have a pale tip to the bill in summer: 

These were dream views of Slavonian Grebe, it was an absolute stunner! 

The bird remained feeding close to the shore, until a fisherman went down to the shoreline to pack up his gear, whereupon it flew, landing slightly further out but still in the south-west corner of F2. We also bumped into this Ringed Plover:

What a great spring for stunning grebes in Oxfordshire. First this… 

…and then this!

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