Farmoor Reservoir: Red-necked Phalarope

Another day, another great bird at Farmoor Reservoir. This time the first Red-necked Phalarope at the reservoir in decades. Like yesterday’s Little Stint, it was a juvenile, very confiding and a pleasure to spend time with:

 

These birds have an incredible migration strategy. They breed on pools in arctic tundra, but winter at sea in warm tropical oceans. I have seen flocks of Red-necked Phalarope in the Arabian gulf in November – see here – and assuming this bird was from one of the northern European populations, it could be heading to join them. The small UK population that breeds on Shetland and the Outer Hebrides makes an even more incredible journey to the Pacific Ocean. They spend their winter around the Galapagos Island, off the west coast of South America – see here– one of the most remarkable migrations of any British breeding bird.

Farmoor Reservoir: Little Stint

An unexpectedly free morning allowed me to spend a couple of hours at Farmoor Reservoir today. The highlight was a bright juvenile Little Stint on the F2 side of the causeway, found by Dai Johns this morning, I think. It is always a treat to see these tiny arctic breeding waders in Oxfordshire. This bird, hatched this summer somewhere in the tundra of northern Norway or Russia, may never have encountered humans before. It fed quite happily on the shoreline, ignoring myself and passing walkers only a few meters away:

Below: This is my favourite picture from this morning. All the fabulous colours of the upperparts are visible here, plus the split supercilium. The bird also appears to have three wingtips, as the rufous-fringed tertials on the right wing, feathers which normally cloak the folded primaries, have been blown to one side:

Below: The short-tailed appearance is apparent here – it appears almost tail-less! The tertials are nearly as long as the primaries and cover the tail. After a short while, the Little Stint became less active…

… and then settled down for a nap, which was how I left it.

Farmoor can, at times, appear to be something of a depository for the near-dead and dying. Today’s ghouls included:

The living dead 1: adult Great Black-backed Gull. This bird is close to paying the ferryman. In fact, perhaps Farmoor Reservoir is where the ferryman lives? That would account for the number of dead and dying birds. There were at least 5 adult, 1 second summer and 2 first winter Yellow-legged Gulls on the reservoir, plus at least one first winter Great Black-backed Gull.

The living dead 2: the single juvenile Shag is still hanging on. This coastal species never seems to survive inland. This is the only remaining bird from the influx of 11 on 27th August. It has survived 24 days at Farmoor to date. How long to go?

Below, adult Cormorant. For bill and forehead shape comparison with the Shag, above. Cormorants have amazing eyes, both in colour and function. They work perfectly well underwater and in air.

Not dying, but a variant, the leucistic Coot is still present:

There were a couple of Common Sandpiper on F2 this morning, some of the last birds of year. Several hundred Swallow, with smaller numbers of House and Sand Martin were also present.

Switzerland 4: Mürren, Schilthorn and Mr Bond

Having explored the east side of the Lauterbrunnen valley, it was time to discover the west side. Mürren sits on the edge of the precipice and is the access point to the Schilthorn summit:

We got the train down to Lauterbrunnen from Wengen, then the funicular railway up to Grütschalp. From there we walked through the pine woods south to Winteregg, and then onto Mürren. The walk is pleasant and easy, with the main peaks clearly visible across the Lauterbrunnen valley:

Just before Winteregg we were stopped in our tracks by the rapid, deep drumming of a woodpecker from what sounded like only a few tens of metres away. Imagine a Great Spotted Woodpecker on steroids (like this):

(Sonnenburg, XC355459. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/355459)

“Black Woodpecker!” I exclaimed. Almost immediately it began calling, a distinctive almost cat-like call (like this):

(Annette Hamann, XC382687. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/382687)

But, despite our efforts to get a glimpse of Europe’s largest woodpecker, the bird remained hidden. There were good numbers of butterflies along the railway line from Grütschalp to Winteregg. As always, I am happy to be corrected over my butterfly ID, so from the top, Heath Fritillary, Titania’s Fritillary, Large Wall Browns and the abundant Chalk-hill Blue:

The highest peak behind Mürren is Schilthorn, at just under 3000m high. The Swiss have built a revolving restaurant on top of this peak and the associated cable car gives easy (albeit expensive) access to the high alpine peaks and their wildlife. My wife and I visited Schilthorn in 2008 and had fantastic views of Lammergeier. Two juveniles birds soared below  us and indulged in a couple of memorable low passes just over our heads. At that time fledglings (an inappropriate expression for a bird with a wingspan of between 2 and 3 meters) from the introduced population in the Swiss Alps had a single primary and single secondary feather bleached white. We watched one juvenile Lammergeier with bleached feathers and one without chasing each other around in front of the magnificent vista of the high peaks (top two pictures below). We also got good views of Ibex (bottom picture):

Reflecting on that fabulous 2008 visit peaked my expectation levels. We chose a clear morning by simply checking the Schilthorn webcam – if there is no visibility on top, don’t go. At 7am it was crystal clear. We took the train down to Lauterbrunnen then the bus to Stechelberg Schilthornbahn, where we climbed onto the first of the three cable cars that take you to the summit. As we ascended from the valley floor we rose past the vast cliffs of the Lauterbrunnen valley:

At the top of the cliffs we changed cable cars. At Gimmelwald cable car station we noted a sign outlining a “Moral Code for Basejumpers”. Lauterbrunnen has a global reputation amongst the basejumper community. The attraction of hundreds of meters of vertical cliff, easily accessed by cable car and funicular railway makes getting to a jumping spot easy. The tricky part appears to be surviving the jump. Whether basejumpers use parachutes or wingsuits, fatalities are common. Unfortunately (for all concerned) it is often the local farmers who find body parts in their fields at the bottom of the cliffs, hence the polite request in the sign at Gimmelwald. There was a fatality the day after we arrived, reported here. Up until 2016 a base jumping fatality list was kept here, Lauterbrunnen features quite often. Like most extreme sport enthusiasts, my personal view is that they confuse the overwhelming surge of adrenaline that such an experience generates with happiness. But enough reflection on life and death. We continued our journey up to Birg, where the views were opening up magnificently and climbed into the final cable car up to the summit:

Above, looking down from Birg. Mürren is visible on the edge of the Lauterbrunnen valley, the big three (Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau) are visible on the centre skyline, with their respective glaciers.

Below, looking up towards Schilthorn. Piz Gloria, the bizarre revolving restaurant on the Schilthorn summit came into view… just as the clouds rolled in! Disaster, we were too late!

Clear skies are a must up here, but as we stepped out at the Schilthorn summit visibility quickly reduced to zero. The picture below illustrates the gathering cloud. On the left, the side with views of the peaks, a complete white-out. On the right of the ridge, clear skies looking down into the valleys.

Within a few minutes only the odd patch of the outside world could be seen. We stayed up there nearly an hour but there was no indication that the cloud would lift. In fact it remained just below the Schilthorn summit all day. There would be no Lammergeier extravaganza today, just the odd Alpine Chough calling from somewhere in the clouds.

The Schilthorn’s own website gives a better impression of how spectacular this place can be. And given the remarkable feat of building, of all things, a revolving restaurant in such a stunning natural setting, I am saddened at the degree to which the James Bond film that was filmed there (On Her Majesty’s Secret Service, 1963) is used to advertise the place. Do we really need guns to attract people to a place that should inspire peace and quiet? The incessant playing of the James Bond theme tune, even outside on the viewing galleries at Piz Gloria, is completely at odds with the reasons that most people go to mountain peaks: silence. This is a missed opportunity to educate people about the spectacular scenery, the wildlife and the silence of the high peaks. Next time: less Bond and more Lammergeiers please.

Switzerland 3: Männlichen

I had arranged to get up early and get the first cable-car up to Männlichen. With time a precious commodity, I wanted to maximise some early morning birding on this 2300m high ridge. My day began, as every day did, with the steep walk up from our accommodation to Wengen and the cable-car station. Serins and Black Redstarts sang, Nutcrackers called and the sun shone. It looked like being a perfect morning to photograph some of the high altitude species and Snowfinch and Citril Finch were top of my list and at the forefront of my mind. What could possibly go wrong? Then the idyllic walk up to Wengen came to a brutal halt. I am familiar with the sound of expensive camera equipment hitting tarmac. At Niagara Falls in Canada, a camera body I had placed on luggage at the back of the boot, was propelled forward when I closed one of the rear doors of the car. It continued it’s journey over the lip of the boot, fell for nearly a meter before hitting the tarmac of the car-park. The sound is a unique combination of metal and glass crashing, as brief as it is violent. That traumatic memory came flooding back to me, as the horrendous crash of my 100-400mm telephoto lens smashing onto the road reached my ears. It had slipped from the side pocket of my backpack, where I had used two separate straps to to secure it. The same straps my wife had mentioned every day, as not looking totally secure. Instantly I knew there would no more big lens photography on the trip.

For a few moments I could not bring myself to examine the lens. I simply stood, looking down, feeling increasingly nauseous. When I could bring myself to kneel and pick up the lens, there was a moment of hope. The main objective lens was intact, could it somehow still work? I pulled out my camera body, removed the cracked hood from the lens and twisted the lens into place. It still fitted. I turned on the camera and peered through the viewfinder. I could see an out of focus image. I gently pressed the auto-focus button. There was a horrible grinding sound as the lens screamed in protest. It really was broken. I hunched over my crippled lens, feeling sick and helpless.

After a few minutes, having run through the options available to me, I packed the shattered lens into my backpack and decided to continue with my morning plans.  I hoped that not having a big lens with me would guarantee that I would get point blank views of the key species, as life is often like that. And the sun was still shinning. The ascent in the cable car up from Wengen to Männlichen has stunning views that partially distracted me from my nausea:

Above, looking down: the view down onto Wengen from the Männlichen top-station. Lauterbrunnen can also be seen, nestling right down in the valley bottom, just behind Wengen.

Below, looking up: the view of the peaks from the Männlichen ridge. From left to right: The Eiger, Mönch and Jungfrau. The Silberhorn is the all white peak on the right flank of Jungfrau. Most of the snow visible on these peaks sits on glaciers.

Although quite touristy, I love it up here. The views are world-class, there was nobody about, the slopes were covered in flowers and the flowers were covered in bees and butterflies. Even the sound of smashing camera equipment was beginning to recede:

There were birds too. In fact the first passerine I saw was a Citril Finch flying past and then over the ridge, all green wing-bars and rump, with a nice grey head. It was quickly followed by two more and then a small flock of Linnets. I instinctively reached for my big lens, before sadly realising my mistake. Further along the ridge I heard a Snowfinch calling and located one perched on the wires of a nearby gondola. It was carrying food in it’s beak. I waited and watched and eventually the bird flew into a metal tube on the underside of a gondola pylon. A pair of Snowfinches was nesting inside the ski-lift pylons! With my large lens, I could have got some nice shots of Snowfinchs as they came and went with food. However, armed with only a 100mm macro lens, I did well to get any record shots at all. Below, an adult Snowfinch dropping out of the nest site:

The most abundant birds were Water Pipits. In two hours of trekking on the eastern flank of the Männlichen ridge I counted over 200, they were omnipresent. Alpine Chough were around the top-station and there was also the occasional Northern Wheatear, Black Redstart and fly-over Raven. Raptors were strangely absent. The butterflies were also great, though I am happy to be corrected if any are misidentified here. Below, Titania’s Fritillary, Chalkhill Blue, Swallowtail.

Very few places in the world are unspoilt and this includes the Männlichen ridge. Since my last visit here in 2008 this enormous wooden beast has appeared, a sort of Swiss Trojan cow. You really can climb inside and slide down the tongue, before emerging into a fabulous mountain vista.

My family came up to meet me at the children’s play area, which can lay claim to having one of the best see-saw panoramas on the planet. Snow-capped peaks and huge glaciers make up a majestic backdrop:

So ended a very pleasant morning, one with lots of exercise, fabulous scenery and a good views of a nice selection of Alpine passerines.

Next: Mürren, Schilthorn and Mr Bond.

Switzerland 2: Kleine Scheidegg

Kleine Scheidegg is a small cluster of hotels around a station that sits on top of a pass well above the Lauterbrunnen valley, at over 2000m above sea level.

Kleine Scheidegg is completely dominated by the north face of the Eiger, or in English, the Ogre. This vertical slab of rock rises right behind the town and extends vertically to a summit at nearly 4000m. It is from the hotels in Kleine Scheidegg that guests used to train their telescopes onto climbers as they attempted to climb the “Mordwand”, the murder wall. The north face of the Eiger was only climbed for the first time in 1938 and “The White Spider” by Heinrich Harrer is still an excellent account of this ascent.

Above: the north face of the Eiger rising through the clouds. I felt sick just looking at it, let alone imagining what it must be like to attempt to climb such an enormous vertical wall of rock and ice. It used to take up to three days to climb the north face. Climbers risked constant rockfalls and freezing to death where they slept, even in summer. Nowadays the current record for a North Face climb is under two and a half hours. Ueli Steck makes it look easy in this short video. Sadly Ueli died less than 3 months ago whilst training for a new route to the summit of Everest:

But I was not in Kleine Scheidegg for the Eiger. I was there for the Alpine Choughs. These fabulous high altitude corvids, with bright yellow bills and bright red legs are full of character. I have been to Kleine Scheidegg once before in summer and a few times in winter. This time I had a camera with me. We arrived in town after a 90 minute walk down from the Männlichen cable car. Whilst the family got together some lunch, I went to work on the Alpine Choughs.  They were not difficult to see. The first flock I located were perched up on a hotel roof:

But with an increase in diners at the outdoor restaurants, they soon moved much closer. First onto the roofs above the station:

Then down onto the posts by the railway, opposite tables full of feasting tourists. Some adult birds looked quite smart:

Some less so:

At even the slightest break in human activity, they would swoop down onto the tables and devour left-over food.

There is something rather ignominious in seeing these majestic high mountain birds fighting for scraps at restaurant tables. But it does make getting frame filling pictures easy. Once in a while the flock would rise and fly in front of the Eiger, the evocative call of these birds echoing around the mountains. Then they would return for more chips:

In mid-July most of the adult birds were in active moult, replacing their inner primaries and their central tail feathers. This was particularly obvious in flight:

There were also good numbers of juvenile Alpine Chough in town. These youngsters followed their parents everywhere, loudly begging for food. Immature Alpine Chough do not have the bright red legs of adults and the bill is pale yellow with a dark smudge on the upper mandible, near the tip:

But whether adult or young, Alpine Chough are charismatic birds and you won’t get much closer views than in Kleine Scheidegg:

Next: high mountain finches on Männlichen.

Switzerland 1: Wengen

In no way could this be called a birding trip. It was a holiday with my wife, our 5 year old and 7 year old daughters and both my parents, now into their 70s. On two mornings I got up early and spent a couple of hours doing dedicated birding. Most of the time it was family time, with me picking up whatever birds or butterflies we came across during our day.

We flew to Basel and then made the easy three hour train journey, via Interlaken, up to the Lauterbrunnen valley. This stunning valley, at just over 800m above sea level, has been carved out of the rock by glaciers from the Jungfrau range. Lauterbrunnen sits in the valley bottom, with vertical cliffs towering above it. Our destination, Wengen, sits perched up on the flanks of the valley at 1274m. The scenery, even in the valley bottom is world class. There is no access to Wengen by car. Instead a rack railway winds its way up from Lauterbrunnen. The train only takes 20 minutes to climb up the steep sides of the valley, but the journey must lay claim to some of the best views of any rail journey anywhere. Below, Lauterbrunnen from the train up to Wengen. The waterfall on the right is the Staubach Falls. The town is coated in early morning mist:

Below, the Lauterbrunnen valley from the train as it approaches Wengen. As the train climbs the views of the Lauterbrunnen valley open up below, whilst up above the glacier covered massif of the Jungfrau range towers up into the sky. Lauterbrunnen is still visible, the town at the bottom of the valley, some 450m below Wengen:

We disembarked in Wengen, once again appreciating the feel of a small town with no cars. It was a 10 minute walk to our appartment, 10 minutes of increasingly steep downhill walking. The last section, down to our apartment, was challengingly steep and meant every day began with a brutal uphill start. This holiday would keep us fit if nothing else. Any disquiet about the steep climb up from our apartment was negated when we saw the views from our accommodation:

We looked out over the whole Lauterbrunnen valley, with the snow capped peaks of Jungfrau and Silberhorn standing out against the sky above us. We never tired of this view, which constantly changed with the interactions of sunlight, shadows and clouds. There was access to a small garden, complete with stream. My children, particularly our eldest daughter, have always been drawn to butterflies and insects more than birds. This is fine by me and something which I have tried to foster. So there was excitement when the very first thing I saw in the garden was a feeding Hummingbird Hawk Moth:

It took the girls no time at all to discover the huge number of grasshoppers in the garden:

And, of course, there were birds. Local songsters on territory included Serins and Black Redstarts (below):

Chaffinches (below), Goldfinch and Greenfinch were common:

The hillside below our apartment held a pair of Red-backed Shrike. The male…

… and the female:

One morning I walked a few kilometres along the Hausenegg road. This is one of the few roads around Wengen that does not involve a brutal uphill or downhill slog, as it runs along the valleyside, due south of Wengen. It passes through alpine meadows interspersed with patches of deciduous and coniferous woodland. As such bird species of the woodland edge dominate. There were Spotted Flycatchers, Great Spotted and Green Woodpeckers. Great Tit and Blue Tit were common, as was the continental race of Coal Tit (Periparus ater ater) complete with their smart slate-blue backs. There were also Willow Tits…

… and Crested Tits:

I regularly heard Nutcrackers call, but after 90 minutes had only achieved flight views or distant views of perched birds:

As I returned back into Wengen, I heard another Nutcracker call from right outside our apartment. Typical! Looking out, I saw that there was one perched on top of a nearby tree, showing off it’s spotted body feathering and white tips to the tail feathers. These are cracking birds, by name and nature.

Next: a Chough frenzy at Kleine Scheidegg.

Otmoor: 17th May

I made a brief visit to Otmoor this morning, with only enough time to scan Big Otmoor for waders. The overnight rain had continued and was torrential at times. I set up my ‘scope and scanned the rear pool of Big Otoor and immediately my viewfinder was full of waders. This is how it should be! 7 summer plumaged Dunlin were nice, but it was a glowing white Sanderling that stood out, complete with black legs and thick black bill. With 3 Sanderling at Rushey Common yesterday and 3 at Farmoor and 1 at Grimsbury Reservoir the day before, it looks as if small numbers are passing through the county at the moment, presumably grounded by the recent rain.  I also got a brief view of a Black-tailed Godwit (perhaps one of the three present on Monday?) before it disappeared behind one of the islands, never to be seen again. If a wader of that size can go missing, what else might there be at the back of Big Otmoor, between the islands?

I am never ceased to be amazed at the detail modern cameras can capture. Taking record shots of calidris waders at that distance in the rain is probably a form of photographic madness, but you can make out the Sanderling in with the Dunlin… if you squint just a little:

It would have been good to have had another hour or so this morning, although I was saturated after 45 minutes. It felt like there should be more good birds waiting to be found on the reserve.

Common Scoters in Oxfordshire

Common Scoter winter off the coast of Western Europe, from northern Norway to Western Sahara. Spring migration sees birds moving north into the Bay of Biscay and then east across the North and Baltic Seas before an overland route to their breeding grounds in northern Scandinavia and Russia.

A recently published web article by The Sound Approach records the nocturnal migration of Common Scoter over the Iberian Peninsula and also includes this map of the breeding range:

© The Sound Approach 2017

The Sound Approach team mapped hypothetical migration routes, plotted from nocturnal sound recordings, as green dotted lines on the map above. By joining up the green dotted lines that pass from Iberia to those that pass across the English Channel, to those that represent the Baltic flyway, one can plot a path that passes across south-east England and potentially, Oxfordshire. Although these green lines are hypothetical migration routes, they neatly explain the pattern of records of Common Scoter in Oxfordshire.

Common Scoter in Oxfordshire is considered to be an annual scarce passage migrant, see the table below. An analysis of records submitted between 2002 – 2012 show three peak periods of occurrence. The first is in spring, with frequent records in March and April, which coincides with birds moving from wintering areas towards their breeding grounds.

The second peak of Common Scoter records in Oxfordshire is in July. These mid-summer records are noteworthy, as the table reveals that one of the best months for recording Common Scoter in Oxfordshire is outside of the expected spring and autumn passage periods.

This spike of mid-summer records may be explained by the complex post-breeding behaviour of Common Scoter. After breeding Common Scoter move to favoured moult sites. In the UK large gatherings have been reported off the east coast of Scotland and in Carmarthan Bay.  The numbers involved are far greater than the small UK breeding population of under 200 pairs, so must involve birds from other breeding areas. In Europe, an extensive moult migration takes place, with large gatherings of moulting Common Scoter in the Baltic, the eastern North Sea and off western France (The Migration Atlas, BTO, p.689) . The number of records of Common Scoter in Oxfordshire in July could be explained by birds moving towards moult sites after breeding.

The main bulk of Oxfordshire Common Scoter records are from the autumn and early winter period of September to December. This coincides with the movement of birds from their moult sites to their wintering grounds. Studies of the British breeding populations show that birds disperse widely to a range of wintering sites. The Icelandic population is the same: birds from the same breeding areas spend their winters in different wintering areas over a large geographical range. As such, birds from a wide range of breeding areas will move south and west in autumn and some of these birds may be attracted to large water bodies within the county as staging posts on their migration. Virtually all records of Common Scoter come from Farmoor Reservoir, in the period 2002 – 2012 there was just one exception, a bird at LWV pit 60 on 18th September 2006. As summer approaches, so will post-breeding Common Scoters, heading to a reservoir near you.

An Alfrey, two Robeys and a Garganey

With only a short time free on Monday morning, I popped into Otmoor in the hope of seeing a few waders. The cold northerly winds may have been keeping some migrant birds back, but the windchill was surprising for May and made using gloves essential. With limited time, I restricted myself to scanning Big Otmoor. The only waders present were all distant on the pools at the far side of Big Otmoor: 2 Little Ringed Plover, 2 Dunlin plus the usual breeding Redshank and Lapwings.  Then two familiar figures appeared on the bridleway, Pete and Steve Roby, two thirds of Team Greylag, one of our competitors on The Big Day last Saturday. They were moving around to get better views of a drake Garganey, perched up in distant poolside vegetation. They relocated the bird, which was mostly asleep, but occasionally it raised its head to show off the boldest supercilium in the birding world. I took a few speculative records shots with my camera, though this bird was small even in a ‘scope:

Above, drake Garganey, Big Otmoor. Below, Cuckoo in the bridleway hedgerow:

It is always good to see the Robys. But the biggest surprise of the morning was a figure that appeared leaving Otmoor as I arrived. Someone I have never met before, but who was immediately recognisable: Peter Alfrey. Peter is best known for his sterling work at the Beddington farmlands in south London, where he is partly based and for putting the Azores on the map as one of the western Palearctics migration hotspots. His epic 2005 visit is part of birding folklore. I looked up and there was the distinctive figure of Peter Alfrey, walking towards me. “Mr Alfrey?!” I exclaimed. I explained that we had never met, introduced myself and we chatted birds. Peter is now partly based in Oxfordshire, so may be seen more frequently on Otmoor. Look out for a dashing figure with a long bird list. We discussed his morning and the general lack of waders that we had anticipated. Speculation then turned to a Red-rumped Swallow joining the gathering of hirundines over the reedbeds or the possibility of a Red-footed Falcon joining the Hobbys over Greenaways. I reminded Peter where we were: this is Oxfordshire. He may require a period of adaptation. Welcome to Oxfordshire Peter, I hope you can cope!

A Big Day in Oxfordshire

It began over a Christmas meal. Dave Lowe talking about trying to break the record for the number of bird species seen in a 24 hour period in Oxfordshire. Pete Roby, Steve Roby and Jon Uren set the record of 114 species on a May day some years ago. They were sitting near Badger, Dave, Andy Last and myself. I don’t remember volunteering to be in on the record attempt that evening, though now I look back some of the post parandial conversation did follow an interview format. By the end of the meal, a record attempt this year seemed quite likely. By the end of February, two other teams of local birders had registered their interest. A date, chosen by Dave, was agreed. There would be three teams, all competing to see who could record the most bird species in the county on Saturday 29th April 2017.

The Greylags, a superb typically self-deprecating name for the team of the Robys and Jon Uren, were the current record holders and have as much experience of Oxon Big Days as anybody. If not more so.  The Biffin Boys are Ewan Urquhart, Tom Wickens and Mark Merritt. A team heavy with recent local birding knowledge and experience. Indeed, Tom Wickens, had recorded 101 species single-handledly the weekend before on foot, covering some 47 miles. This Herculean effort set an extremely high bar for the Big Day weekend. Our team – The Acronaughts – were Badger, Dave Lowe, Andy Last and myself. Like God, in the beginning our plans were immaculate. We had spreadsheets of target species, potential and probable sites and agreed dates for carrying out pre-Big Day surveys of interesting areas. But the Lord also “knows all human plans; he knows that they are futile” (Psalm 94:11). And so it proved to be the case. Five days before the Big Day, Dave was still in South Africa, Andy was in Norfolk and Badger in Texas. Our only reconnaissance trip consisted of me spending of two hours on the downs with Andy one evening, which was really informative. We decided we would not begin our Big Day there. Indeed, so caught up in external events were we, that Badger realised he was only due to return to the UK the night before the Big Day. Badger, aka Jason, felt that he would would have to pull out, being up for 24 hours is tough enough without adding extra jetlag. So four became three. The the biggest loss was that I was deprived of the opportunity to use the team name Jason and the Acronaughts. There would be no Jason.

Dave arrived at my house, with Andy, at 3:30am yesterday morning. We drove to Otmoor and incredibly there was another car heading down the access road from Beckley – the Baffin Boys! So two teams were starting at the same place, at exactly the same time. We greeted each other and wished them luck, but neither team really wanted to be out birding next to another team, so we kept our respective distances. Our first bird was Tawny Owl, a hooting male, at 03:48. We walked out onto Otmoor in the dark, with singing and calling birds all around us: alarm calling Redshanks, singing Sedge and Grasshopper Warblers, drumming Snipe, calling Curlews. It was atmospheric and exciting. We settled in at the first screen and let the Baffin Boys head past to the second screen. We could just about identify some of the dark shapes out on the water: Coots, Moorhens. Other birds were beginning to wake and sing – Blackbirds, Robins. Then more footsteps and in walked The Greylags! There was much amusement, with all three teams now watching the same area of reedbed on the same reserve. Great minds obviously all thought alike. They left shortly afterwards to go up to the second screen. In the true spirit of bird racing, we checked that they had not stolen any of our optics and then we concentrated on the serious business of breaking their record. One of the original rules of a bird race is that at least three members of a team of four have to see or hear a bird for it to count on the list. This creates a dilemma if one member of the team fails to hear a certain squeak. Or in our case, a certain squeal. A Water Rail squealed from deep within the reedbed, but only Andy and myself heard the call. “Don’t worry, we are bound to hear another” I reassure Dave.

We were picking up new species quickly and gradually at around 5am it began to get light. We knew we needed a glimpse of a Bittern or of the still wintering Hen Harrier, to add some quality birds to our growing list of common species. Finally the sun rose, flooding the reedbed with a gorgeous orange light:

At precisely the time I was taking the above picture, 2 Bitterns flew into the reedbed, seen by The Greylags but unseen by us. Marsh Harriers began hunting, an Oystercatcher flew over our screen. After two hours at reedbed, we decided to check out the rest of the reserve. Although the day was only just beginning, we felt we were behind. We had not seen either Bittern or Hen Harrier. This feeling would remain with us for the rest of the day. We hit 50 species at 06:30, without actually seeing anything of note. Recording the next 50 species would take another 14.5 hours. Welcome to Oxfordshire!

We walked around to the Noke side of the reserve, an area known for holding Wheatears and Whinchats in the spring and our only solid site for these species in our day. We scanned the fences, the fields, the sheep, the roads, pretty much everything. But there were no chats at Noke. This was a bodyblow for a good total. We had a nice lift as we headed along the main track, a Water Rail squealed and we all heard it. “I have never been so relieved to hear the sound of a pig being slaughtered in all my life!” said Dave. Then we met Pete Barker, Mark Chivers and others on the main track. They confirmed that the Greylags had seen Bittern. We WERE officially behind. We walked over to Long Meadow for a chance encounter with Redstart. Long Meadow was a long shot, too long for us. No Redstart, or indeed any chat of any kind. We left Otmoor with 63 species under our belt, with all the likely ducks and all ten species of warbler recorded. This looked good on paper, but we felt it was already not enough. As we drove out of the reserve car park we saw Mark Merritt, one of the Biffin Boys, walking towards us up the road. Now, we are all very fond of Mark, but as he was officially the opposition, we felt we should modify our behaviour towards him. So Dave swerved the car towards him, as if to run him off the road and I waved a clenched fist from the rear back window as we flashed past. Unfortunately I am not sure Mark recognised Dave’s car or any its passengers as we sped past, so apologies to you Mark for the attempted murder – its just a Big Day, you know! We picked up House Sparrow and Collared Dove as we passed through Islip and made our way to Farmoor Reservoir.

Farmoor has been home to a Bonaparte’s Gull, a rare visitor to the county, for the last couple of weeks. We saw Dai Johns leaving the reservoir and he confirmed that the gull was still present first thing. The change in habitat led to a rapid increase in new species as we saw a selection of late April migrants and water birds: all three wagtails, plus White Wagtail; all the hirundines, plus Swift; Common Sandpipers and Dunlin. But where was our American visitor? We scoured the south side of FII, turning up the female Goosander…

.. and a few of the more expected bird species:

At 10am a sailing competition started taking place, disturbing many of the birds on the larger side of reservoir. We gradually had to accept that the Bonaparte’s Gull had left with most of the other Black-headed Gulls. Reflecting back, we spent too long at Farmoor searching for one species. As we left I said to Andy and Dave “I can’t believe we have not seen a Bonaparte’s Gull“. To which Dave replied “And that is the first time that line has ever been used on an Oxfordshire Big Day“. Below, the stinking headless corpse of a dead Cormorant. Somehow that summed up our time at Farmoor:

From Farmoor, to Dix Pit:

There were large numbers of Black-headed Gulls here, all feeding low over the water, picking up insects. It felt completely reasonably that the Bonaparte’s Gull could be here, feeding with the local gulls. And we were almost right, it was located at Rushy Common later in the afternoon. Scanning through the Black-headed Gull flock produced one of the moments of the day. I was checking gulls that were flying past into a small bay, hidden behind vegetation on the shore of the gravel pit. Suddenly, a small gull with a black “M” pattern on its upper wing flies through my binocular view, before instantly being obscured by a bush. “I’ve just had a small gull with a black carpal bar fly into the bay” I call to Dave and Andy. We check each gull as it emerges from the bay. Andy gets there first: “Ah! Little Gull!”.

A cracking first winter Little Gull, our own find and a nice little lift for our morale. The bird also had a nice pink flush to the breast. Whilst the image below is not in focus, it does show the pink colouration nicely:

We leave Dix Pit for nearby Rushy Common:

Green Sandpiper was reported from this site only 24 hours previoulsy. We check every wader we come across, but they are all either Little Ringed Plovers or Common Sandpipers. Dave then picks out another Little Gull perched out on the sandy island. Could this be our bird of earlier from Dix Pit, which did vanish a few minutes after we first located it? The picture below is massively cropped, so detail is lacking. But to me it seems as if the pattern of grey on the crown is rather more solid at the back of the head compared with the Dix Pit bird:

We may never know. Either way, after working Rushy Common and then Pit 60 (where disappointingly there were no Great White Egrets, another first time that line has been used on an Oxfordshire Bird Race) we had 85 species by early afternoon. By now we have been up since 3am, but we still had energy and were feeling focused. We were just aware that we lacked the quality big birds that we needed to get a really good total. Our rather random morning was captured perfectly by the picture below:

Oxfordshire birding at its best, a random bird in a bizarre location: Egyptian Goose up a tree at Rushy Common!  Realising that we are a couple of hours behind our rather ambitious schedule, we drive into the Chilterns for some hill and woodland species.

Above, Andy scanning from Linkey Down. Ever since I wrote this article at the end of the March monthly review on the Oxon Birding Blog, noting Linkey Down’s reputation as a reliable site for Ring Ouzel in spring, the site has failed to produce the goods. There have been a couple of reports of Ring Ouzels being present (by a member of Team Greylag, no doubt in Big Day planning mode) but this year at least, reports have been very thin on the ground. Nevertheless, as we walk to Linkey Down, Andy and I agree that strangely we have a positive feeling about getting Ring Ouzel today. A mood that persists despite passing a woman leaving who says that there are no Ring Ouzels present. Has she been paid by The Greylags? We sit and scan the lower slopes. Suddenly a loud harsh “tack, tack, tack” call, followed by a burst of song, comes from a tree above us. “Hello, that’s a Ring Ouzel!” I instinctively call out.  I locate a dark thrush at the back of the tree. It has a pale wing panel and pale fringes to the flank feathers. Even better, it turns around slightly to reveal the edge of a mighty white collar: it is a singing male Ring Ouzel. With a report of Redwing singing in the county in March, at least 5 species of thrush have now been heard singing in Oxfordshire this year. Is this a record? The picture below is certainly a record shot, though you can make out the key features. Nevertheless, it is another species on our list:

Then into the woods at a site in the south of the county. The list pushes on slowly, with Treecreeper, Coal Tit and Marsh Tit all being added. The highlight was a superb Firecrest:

Above, Andy; below Dave, both birding in bluebells:

Our woodland peace is broken by bird news. Steve Roby posts on the Oxon Birding Blog that Team Greylag have found a Wood Sandpiper at Rushy Common. Our tortured screams cut through the sunshine and bluebells. We fall to the ground writhing in birding pain (metaphorically, but only just). We were there 90 minutes ago and specifically checked every wader in our hunt for Green Sandpiper. Why did we not find that bird?! It must have just flown in. Not only is this a great find, but we can feel Team Greylag extending their lead.

Being behind schedule was finally beginning to catch up with us. We planned to head north to Banbury and/or south to Henley, depending on time. We now had time for neither. It was 5pm, we had 3.5 hours of light left and we realised that we would now struggle to get much past 100 species. Now 100 species in a day in Oxfordshire is a good total, but not a record breaking total. We convene a council of war and make our decisions. Our early failure to see any chats or Wheatear was coming back to haunt us. And we still had not all seen Mistle Thrush. We decide to head back to Otmoor, as there are five potential new species there for us and that still leaves us time to finish in light on the Oxfordshire downs.

Otmoor is bathed in blue skies and beautiful late afternoon light. The common species, simply shimmer in colour:

Unfortunately, we are not interested in those common species. We claw back Mistle Thrush and Wheatear at Noke (really, where were they at dawn?) but still do not connect with Bittern in or above the reedbeds. At 6:30pm Dave calls time, we have to get to the car and drive south.

We end our first Big Day at Churn, above Blewberry in southern Oxfordshire. We rapidly add Grey Partridge and Corn Bunting. A Little Owl on the posts above the railway cutting becomes species 100 at 8pm. We quietly high five, but we reflect at the time that we are probably 5 to 10 species short. Which, as it turns out, was exactly right. The Greylags recorded an impressive 110 species, just pipping The Biffin Boys with an excellent 109 species. We finished with 104 species seen by the group as a whole.

It was great fun and I loved every minute of the day. Dave and Andy were superb company and are great birders. We all participated, all found new species and helped get the others others onto them. As a group we worked well together. It was not as physically exhausting as I anticipated, though we did walk 15.2 miles during the day and were birding for nearly 18 hours. So much seems to depend on how much migration occurs on the day. Saturday 29th April was a very average day. Had we chosen today, 30th April 2017, for our Big Day, then the county record could have fallen, as an influx of waders has been reported across the county. Migration events cannot be predicted, there is a large slice of luck associated with them. However, our virtual lack of planning counted against us. Next time, we need a couple of weeks with regular reconnaissance  trips before The Day. Our schedule was, with the benefit of hindsight, overly ambitious. Congratulations to The Greylags, temporary Big Day winners (till next year!) and to The Biffin Boys. We look forward to sharing your experiences of the 2017 Big Day over a drink sometime soon. And then beating you next year.

The Acronaughts (left to right) Andy Last, Tom Bedford, Dave Lowe. Next year with Jason?

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