Shetland 2023: waving, not drowning

Andy Last and I spent the final days of September and the first days of October on Shetland, taking the ferry from Aberdeen to Mainland. Having arrived in Lerwick, we took in some of the best birds in the town itself. Birding in Shetland can be a bit surreal at times and this year was no exception. Things started with something slightly blue, in a dung pile:

Bluethroat

Followed by something citrine, all wrapped up in a cloak of grey and white, on a nearby football pitch:

Citrine Wagtail

Was this the most costly Tescos visit ever?

We then made our way to the local supermarket to stock up on supplies to take with us to Unst, the most northerly of the Shetland Isles, and our home for the week. We had just entered the fruit and vegetable aisle when monumental news reached us: there was a Blackburnian Warbler at Geosetter.

With hindsight, our decision to casually finish our shopping before going to see the bird was a mistake. Whilst our bodies appeared calm, our minds were in a state of utter chaos, as we attempted to remember what food we needed, through an adrenaline haze of double white wing bars, black and yellow. This was also reflected in the bizarre contents of our shopping trolley. I asked the question of Andy, what would our friend Dave Lowe do? We already knew the answer. Dave would drop the shopping basket at his feet and take the most direct route to Geosetter, even if this meant punching a hole in the plate glass windows of the store. Think Terminator. 

But we took the risk, finished our shopping, and then drove to Geosetter. Almost immediately we realised we had made a mistake. Having performed brilliantly for fourty five minutes, Britain’s fifth-ever Blackburnian Warbler had flown from the more open area near the top of the ravine, into the impenetrable scrub of the lower section. Unsurprisingly, it had not been seen since. We experienced a nasty feeling of despair, rising like an anxious tide. Was this the most costly Tescos visit ever? We forced patience. We joined those searching for a small bird in dense cover. Half an hour passed, with no further sign of the bird. Then another half hour. We scan through the dwarf trees and shrubs again and again. By now our decision to keep shopping was looking catastrophic. I decided to climb to the top of the ravine, I look back and take this picture of Geosetter:

Then there is someone waving in my viewfinder. I put the camera down. He is still waving. I look down at him, at the bottom of Geosetter. A birder has both arms above his head and is waving. This can only mean one thing. “WAVING” I shout at the nearest birders, whilst pointing down the hill at the waving man by the edge of the cover. Everybody looks up at me and then starts running away. Running to him. He has the Blackburnian. And moments later, so do we:

It was not the bright yellow face and breast or the double white wing-bars that struck me most when watching this bird move through the vegetation. It was the sheer amount of white in the tail. The outer two pairs of tail feathers were almost entirely white, creating bright flashes as it flicked around:

The sheer blinding luck of it. We had only been on Mainland a few hours and already had an American warbler in the bag. Plus we had completed our shopping. The pressure was off. We began making our way north towards Unst, taking in an Arctic Warbler on Yell on the way, just to remind ourselves what a proper Eurasian phylloscopus warbler should look like. Very nice it was too:

Then we began our stay on Unst. Our days often began at Hunter’s Wood, a scrubby field with a few dwarf birches and willows in central Unst, near our accommodation:

This area often held migrants and we enjoyed our birding here. We had Tree Pipit, Wheatear and Whinchat on our first visit; Andy found a nice male Crossbill and a Barred Warbler on our second visit, plus there was a Spotted Flycatcher, a Lesser Whitethroat and a flyover flock of Snow Bunting later in the week.

Male Common Crossbill
First-winter Barred Warbler

Elsewhere, I found a Little Bunting on the road to Valyie, an individual with a strangely long deformed bill (the Little Bunting, not me):

Little Bunting, big bill.

We also flushed an unstreaked acrocephalus warbler from the burn at Burrafirth. This bird didn’t play ball though, we had four brief flight views (noting the lack of a rufous rump) and then it was gone, flying strongly south.

Hunter’s Wood also illustrated the importance of favourable winds when birding Shetland. Some southerly winds had deposited migrant birds in Hunter’s Wood at the beginning of the week but then began days of relentless, blasting south-westerly winds. The migrants that were initially present on the island moved on, but nothing replaced them. We recorded 18 species on our first visit to Hunter’s Wood, 23 on our second, but only 11 on our third, and a meager 7 species on our fourth visit. By the end of the week, Unst had a strange birdless feel, and even common migrants could not be found.

We left Unst to see the Veery at Luna, in north-east Mainland. This lovely new world thrush was a delight to see, feeding happily in the leaf litter under a small row of sycamores. We both agreed, that despite some serious competition, this was our Bird of the Trip:

Veery

Just a hint of a yellow juvenile gape was visible, evolved to stimulate its parents’ feeding response. Would it ever see another Veery again?

Find the snowman.

Our week on Unst came to an end and we travelled south early on October 3rd, with plans to search for the adult male Snowy Owl that had been reported from Shetland’s highest hill (450m) the previous evening. We joined perhaps five or six other birders, searching the alpine-like landscape of Mid-Field, up on Ronas Hill:

There are a lot of rocks up there. And more large white lichen patches than you may think. The cloud base was just below the summit, visibility came and went. We kept searching, coming across Mountain Hares, hiding in the rock field:

Eventually, once again, someone is waving. We walk down the north side of the hill to where the fabulous Snowy Owl has been located:

Male Snowy Owl

No stranger to harsh weather, the Snowy Owl had chosen a spot fully exposed to the north-westerly winds powering in from the Atlantic Ocean, but it seemed unconcerned, as we admired it from afar, a fabulous end to a memorable trip.

Watching the Snowy Owl.

Our complete trip list, with more photos and audio, can be found here.

August Highs

After the lull in migratory bird movement that is June and July – a period that I just about get through with gritted teeth – August brings more hope. The species that I target are Yellow Wagtail, Spotted Flycatcher and Tree Pipit. None are guaranteed in urban Oxford, but most years see one or two records of some of these species. Passerine migration kicked in early in the Lye Valley this year, with small numbers of juvenile Willow Warblers and the first Lesser Whitethroat of the year all being recorded in the first week of August. The first of the scarce August trio fell on 9th August, when a Yellow Wagtail flew over Warneford Meadow, calling loudly. There was then another quiet period, although large roving flocks of Tits, Chiffchaffs, Blackcaps and Willow Warblers kept up interest. Almost as soon as we entered the second half of August, I struck patch gold. A chunky-looking brown finch was flushed by a dog walker on Warneford Meadow. The movement and the call instantly attracted attention: a hard “tic, tic, tic“, a call like nothing else I had heard on the meadow in over 500 visits. Fortunately the bird perched for a few seconds on a distant oak:

A Corn Bunting! Almost as soon as I said the words, it took off and flew strongly south, over the golf course and away:

Although Corn Bunting now breed quite close to the city, records from within the ring road are exceptionally rare. There are no Oxford city records of Corn Bunting on the OOS database or on eBird. Asking around within the local birding community revealed that the last confirmed record of Corn Bunting in Oxford city was a breeding record in 1980, some 43 years ago! (Bayliss (1982) per Ben Sheldon). Ian Lewington commented that this looks like a juvenile bird, perhaps engaging post-breeding dispersal. Many thanks to Ian and Ben for their input.

My adrenaline levels had only just recovered, when two days later, on Saturday 19th August, I heard a loud clear flight call, the classic high-pitched, buzzy “tzeep“, from a migrating Tree Pipit. Looking up revealed two pipits flying south-west, not that high above trees of Warneford Meadow. I used to try to photograph flyover migrants, but in many ways a recording of the flight call is more definitive evidence of the identification. The challenge of recording Tree Pipits is that they go over quickly and don’t call constantly. As soon as I heard the first flight call, I hit record on my phone, but by the time the birds called again they were too distant for my phone to pick up the call clearly.

Nevertheless, I was stoked, the second of the August trio had fallen and this was the earliest Tree Pipit I have recorded here by two days, plus the first record of more than one bird. Overall, this is the seventh Tree Pipit record at this site over the last four years, some details of the other records are here. Now for Spotted Flycatcher to complete the set!

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

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.

Red-backed Shrike

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:

Black Kite

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:

Calling Alpine Chough

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:

Crag Martin

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

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.

Lac Achard

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.

Night Heron

Great to see the satanic red eyes of an adult Night Heron in Oxfordshire today, especially as the first wild bird for the county in recent times was only identified from photographs on Otmoor this spring and was not seen by anyone else. This bird was found at the southern end of Peep O’Day Lane, near Abingdon, by Tom Wickens, this morning, and was a popular draw for local birders.

Good work, Tom Wickens!

Devoured by dragons

Both the local meadows, Warneford Meadow and Churchill Meadow, were being patrolled by Britain’s largest dragonfly this morning, the huge Emperor Dragonfly. They cruised up and down the paths, glowing blue, aggressively investigating any passing insect, butterfly or human. Sometimes they approached at eye level and paused, hovering, a few meters in front of my face. Despite the fact that dragonflies have been pretty much unchanged for most of the last 300 million years, the experience was more akin to being scanned by a remote AI drone. The Warneford Meadow male had been in the wars and had damage to three of his four wings:

The Churchill Meadow male was immaculate. It had a bright green thorax, without the thick black lines and yellow “headlights” of a Southern Hawker, and with an obvious black line running down the length of the long, blue abdomen:

As I watched this male take patrolling flights up and down the path towards me, he suddenly jinked off to the left and plucked a Small Skipper butterfly from the air. Quickly settling down on a grass stem, the Emperor Dragonfly then proceeded to devour the butterfly, head first!

Below, using the front legs to finish the meal. Literally devoured by dragons:

Black-winged Stilt

Richard Rae has known Dave Lowe for a long time. Richard came down to visit Dave in Oxford on Saturday and, fortunately, said that he would like to try to see the Common Cranes on Otmoor. They duly came across a pair of Common Cranes on the reserve and then began to scan the area known as Big Otmoor for other birds.

That was when Richard exclaimed, “Am I going mad?“. Dave, immediately responded “Yes“. Dave has known Richard for a long time, he could confidently answer, without knowing any of the context of Richard’s rhetorical question. Richard followed up with “Is that a Stilt?“, whereupon Dave began taking Richard’s questions much more seriously. For there was indeed, a fabulous Black-winged Stilt, feeding on one of the pools close to the main bridleway:

The rain on Saturday afternoon seems to have brought this migrating bird down to feed in the wet pools and marshes of Otmoor, but it was keen to keep moving. After a short period of time, Dave and Richard watched the Black-winged Stilt depart, flying up into the cloud base, heading north. Perhaps the low cloud deterred it from continuing its journey, for fifteen minutes later it was back, on the same pool. Even better, I was just about to arrive on Otmoor. The Stilt then moved to feed further away, where the video below begins, before returning once again to its favourite pool, the final few scenes on the video, which are taken through quite a lot of reeds:

Richard “The Stilt” Rae (right) and Dave Lowe (centre) being photobombed by Wayne “Spotted Crake” Paes.

Stilts are not only unmistakable and beautiful birds, but are also very rare birds in Oxfordshire. Ian Lewington, the county recorder, passed on the fact that this was the fifth Oxfordshire record (and the eighth bird) after one at Shipton Quarry in June 1993; three at Radley in June 1993; one at Pit 60 in April 2012 and two there in May 2017. So, all in all, a quality find from team Lowe-Rae. Unfortunately, the Black-winged Stilt departed overnight and was not seen the following morning. This bird continues a remarkable run of rare birds on Otmoor this spring, following the long-staying Spotted Crake and the very brief Night Heron. A long-staying Purple Heron would be much appreciated next. It would help bury the trauma of the Blenheim Purple Heron.

Five chicks and seven eggs

This morning, a glorious still, warm morning under blue skies, saw me undertake the first of two annual bird surveys along the River Thame near Cuddesdon, my old patch. The first surprise was a pair of small dark duck flying towards me, one with a huge pale supercilium. Desperately hoping that these were Cuddesdon’s first Garganey, I got onto them in the binoculars only to discover that they were in fact a pair of Mandarin Duck. A good record, although this species has bred on the river here in the recent past.

The second major surprise was the first Cuddesdon record of Goosander, a female with five young were on the river. Goosander only began breeding in Oxfordshire in 2020, at nearby Waterstock. I contacted Nick Marriner and we compared notes. He had last seen the birds at Waterstock, a female with five young of about the same size, a few days ago. We agreed that it was more likely that these were the Waterstock birds relocating, rather than another breeding pair of Goosander in the county – but both hoped to be wrong about this! Here are the birds at Waterstock on 21st April:

There were good numbers of singing Reed Warblers in the margins of the river, lots of Whitethroat were back and singing, as was a single Lesser Whitethroat. There were no Kingfisher or Cuckoo on this visit, but I almost trod on this huge Mute Swan nest, temporarily unattended, although the pair quickly returned when they saw me, and I retreated quietly. Seven eggs!

My eBird list for this BTO Waterways Breeding Bird Survey, is here, https://ebird.org/checklist/S135900188

Spotted Crake

Wayne Paes was on the main bridleway at Otmoor, at dusk on Tuesday. The Otmoor soundscape is stunning in spring, with booming Bitterns, drumming Snipe, reeling Grasshopper Warblers and the loud calls of displaying Lapwing and Curlew. Wayne decided that he would try to record some of this atmosphere on his phone, thinking that he could use it to create an interesting and personal alarm tone. As he began recording, a loud, almost electronic, call rang out from the marsh in front of him: “whip – whip“. Wayne had just found a Spotted Crake. Then nothing for about 5 minutes, before the bird began calling, this time incessantly. It was indeed, a Spotted Crake.

For a long time I thought that I had seen Spotted Crake in Oxfordshire. I could recall a juvenile bird at a tiny reservoir one September, in the far north of the county, that fed on the shoreline in perfect autumn sunshine, even coming right out into the open on occasion:

However, when I entered all my sightings onto eBird a few years ago, this site, Wormleighton Reservoir, came up as being in Warwickshire. The very far northern tip of Oxfordshire meets Northamptonshire to the east and Warwickshire to the west. Turns out that Wormleighton Reservoir is about 500 meters west of the county line (Oxfordshire is in green on the map below):

This meant that I was especially grateful to Wayne for finding the Spotted Crake on Otmoor on Tuesday. At dusk on Wednesday, I made my way to the main bridleway on Otmoor and joined a great bunch of local birders: Wayne, Terry, Pete Roby, Ben Sheldon and Conor MacKenzie, amongst others. The previous day the Spotted Crake had begun calling at 20:47, although Ben Sheldon, ever-the-scientist, pointed out it that should start slightly later today, as there were two minutes more daylight than the day before. He was right. And the bird followed exactly the same pattern of singing as on Tuesday: two calls, as if to warm up, then five minutes of silence, before beginning calling constantly, once every second or so from 21:00:

Using only my phone, I recorded a few other night-singing species whilst we were admiring the sound of the singing Spotted Crake. Here is an audio-montage of Otmoor at dusk in late April, complete with Spotted Crake. It is a fabulous place:

Otmoor soundscape montage

A Christmas Jack Snipe

My youngest daughter suggested making the theme of this year’s Christmas cake the fabulous Jack Snipe that graced the Lye Valley earlier this month. After a bit of experimentation with modeling clay and spaghetti (not natural companions of the usual Christmas cake), we came up with this!

Happy Christmas to everyone!

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