Shetland 21, part 3: pipits and ditches

On 5th October we visited Channerwick on the east coast of Mainland Shetland. It is a superb-looking site, with enough sheltered cover to attract migrants, but not too much as to make finding them a daunting task. Two notable things happened here. Firstly, we saw and heard Olive-backed Pipit; secondly, I put our car in a ditch as I reversed out of the site. Let’s look at both those incidents, starting with the one that has generated the most conversation. Sadly, it is not the pipit.

It was a simple, though embarrassing, misjudgment. I wasn’t even the only person to ditch their car that day, as Penny Clarke put her car in exactly the same ditch that same afternoon. Fortunately, Andy and Dave dealt with the delay without fuss or drama. They went birding whilst I called for the tow truck. Below, the resuce, with help from the tow-truck and a group of visiting birders. Thank you, to all of these people:

At times like these, it is good to know that I have friends who will quietly support me at difficult moments, who will not send pictures of my handiwork to everyone they know or say “mind the ditch” every single time that I park for the duration of the trip. Unfortunately, those friends were not with me. So the next day when I bump into Sue and Roger Wyatt from Oxfordshire, Roger greets me with the words “Who put the car in the ditch then? Ian Lewington sent me a picture!” Later the same day, Andy receives a picture of our car in the ditch from Terry Sherlock and Wayne Paes in Oxford, who ask for an explanation of how it got there. Word was well and truely out. Oh, how those long autumn evenings flew by.

Now, back to the pipit. An Olive-backed Pipit had been reported at Channerwick, but we were pleased to see that we had the site to ourselves when we arrived. We would find the bird ourselves. Andy stayed near the sycamores and tree cover, Dave headed south towards the shore, I checked the burn and the fields opposite:

Dave found the pipit in the scrub and rough fields to the south. It was elusive and only gave flight views initially, before showing beautifully to Dave and Andy. By the time I joined them I had more distant views, but twice heard the flight call. Below, Olive-backed Pipit, photo by Andy:

On 8th October we headed north to Unst, arriving at one of our favourite sites, the small woodland of Halligarth, at 8:15am. As we walked down towards the gate to the wood, I heard and simultaneously saw, a pipit flying towards us with an explosive high-pitched flight call. I called out “interesting pipit coming over” and we, and two other birders, watched the pipit drop into the canopy of the wood. Had I been visiting my patch in the Lye Valley, Oxford, I would have added Tree Pipit to my checklist and moved on, happy with a good find. But this being Shetland, in October, there is a temptation to reach for other, rarer options. So, on the basis of hearing a single flight call, which I thought similar to the Olive-backed Pipit we heard at Channerwick, I called “Olive-backed Pipit?” We needed to see, or at least hear, the bird again.

We watched from outside the wood, got a glimpse of the bird fly out and then disappear into the sycamore canopy once again. There then followed about half an hour without sight or sound of the pipit. The two other birders we had met outside of the wood then flushed the pipit from the rough fields to the south of the wood. We all saw and heard the bird fly past the wood to perch on distant wires, before dropping into a cattle field to feed. After this fly-by, none of us felt confident to identify the bird on call alone, but it was either a Tree or an Olive-backed Pipit. One of the birders we had met played recordings of the flight call of both species on his phone. Tree Pipit sounded much more similar to our bird, a fatter, more buzzy call, slightly lower-pitched than the thin, high-pitched flight call of Olive-backed Pipit. But we were also aware that there can be an overlap between the two species’ flight calls.

Dave and I decided to re-find the bird in the field and I would try to get a recording of the flight call on my phone. This worked a treat. The flight calls are at 11 and 14 seconds. The wood at Helligarth can be seen in the background:

We got some distant photos of the bird perched on a wall a little while later, but little could be seen on the back of the camera, so we parked the ID of this pipit until the evening when we could review the evidence at our accommodation. In the meantime, the two other birders we met had put the news out that an Olive-backed Pipit was present at Halligarth. By now, we weren’t quite so sure.

This is the sonogram of the key moments. The faint purple haze below 2kHz through the recording is wind noise, with a loud gust at the 3-second mark, which creates the faint vertical purple column between the pipit flight calls:

Examination of the sonogram taken from the video (for tech-geeks, a .MOV file converted to .WAV file and then processed using Audacity) shows a number of things:

Firstly, the frequency of the pipit’s flight call. Although not completely diagnostic (see this technical article by Avesrares here) Tree Pipit flight calls rarely exceed 8kHz. I would say the flight calls we recorded barely exceed 7 kHz. The Avesrares article shows Olive-backed Pipit flight calls peaking at about 8.5-9kHz, significantly higher-pitched than our bird.

Secondly, the mooing of cows is at a very low frequency, somewhere between 1 and 4 kHz. Incredibly, Dave’s broad Bolton accent is at a lower frequency than a cow moo, below 0.5kHz, though the two are rarely confused in the field. The sonogram also captures Dave’s reaction time between hearing the flight call and calling out “there it is!” The flight call ends at the 2s mark. Dave’s voice begins at about the 2.5-second point, quick work Dave.

So, to cut a long story short, we saw and heard a Tree Pipit. But now we know exactly why and more importantly, why it was not an Olive-backed Pipit. This was an educational pipit and we all felt more informed for it. However, distinguishing this species pair on flight call alone is not always straightforward. If an Olive-backed Pipit flies over your head calling, you need to hope it is one with a call at the more obvious end of the spectrum – the higher-pitched, thinner and less buzzy, the better! Take a listen to these examples from xeno-canto:

Tree Pipit: Lars Edenius, XC668177. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/668177.
Olive-backed Pipit, but at the less obvious end of the spectrum:
Jelle Scharringa, XC653907. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/653907.
Obvious Olive-backed Pipit:
Nicholas Galea, XC533890. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/533890.

Many thanks to Mick Cunningham for his thoughts and input on our pipit calls too.

Next: goodies from the east, despite the winds.

Shetland 21, part 2: a blast from the north

This year there were a number of arctic breeding species present on Shetland. A telescope was needed to view some of these species, as they could be quite distant. An undoubted highlight was the summer plumaged White-billed Diver, found by Jono Lethbridge’s group, at South Nesting. Any summer plumaged diver is a magnificent sight and White-billed Diver has that rarity value too. A stunning bird in the ‘scope, it was way too far out for photos, but I gave it a go anyway:

Below, second place in the “Diver Awards” went to the very smart Great Northern Diver, that Dave and I watched fly past from Grutness. This was one of many present in summer plumage that we saw around the islands. We also saw winter plumaged birds and Red-throated Diver.

Getting even more distant was the second-calendar year King Eider that was found with the Eider flock at Girlsta. This was the ultimate in distant birds. In binoculars, the entire Eider flock was miles away, a thin line of brown and white on the far side of the bay (*confession, I have just measured the distance on Google Earth, the flock was almost exactly 1km/0.6 miles away from us. Which is still quite a distance to pick out a 60cm long sea-duck) :

Picking out the King Eider was a nice challenge, won by Andy, on this occasion. The glowing orange bill was the most obvious initial feature. It was a minor miracle that we got a picture of the bird at that distance, but modern cameras never fail to amaze:

A telescope was also required to pick out the first-winter Glaucous Gull in the gull flock on the far side of Loch Spiggie:

Later in the week, we visited Wester Quarff, where our second King Eider, an eclipse drake, could be found. Fortunately, it was closer than the Girlsta bird. This was a smart bird in the ‘scope, though the light was very poor for photos that day:

Northern passerines were more accommodating than some of the sea-duck. We found Snow Buntings at Lamba Ness on Unst (13) and at Scatness on Mainland. They are always great birds to see:

Brambling was the dominant finch species, replacing Common Redpoll, which was everywhere during our 2019 visit. Most areas of tree or shrub cover held a few, they are always a pleasure to see and hear:

Scatness is the central line of land in the picture below, taken from the plane as we left Shetland. It has a small loch in the middle of it. Sumburgh Head is the far peninsular, although the headland is just disappearing behind the clouds in this picture. This year it was so much more comfortable to go birding there when I was not dressed as John Travolta, Saturday Night Fever style. Unlike our visit in 2019.

Instead, the loch on Scatness held 5 lovely Shorelark, which remained all week in the area south of the loch…

… and one Lapland Bunting, which made us work hard, before Andy re-located it around the wall south of the loch:

Next: pipits, ditches and cars.

Shetland 21, part 1: rainbows, lows and highs

One of the joys of visiting Shetland is that in one place you can see birds from all over the world. Andy Last, Dave Lowe and I spent 6 days on Shetland in early October, although this was reduced to about four-and-a-half usable days by various low-pressure systems that swept in off the Atlantic, bringing rain and reduced visibility:

Between the lows, we experienced a combination of sunshine, showers and the rainbows that inevitably appear between them:

We were not blessed with classic weather conditions for bringing in migrant birds. There were none of the fast-moving depressions from the US eastern seaboard that may carry North American passerines across the Atlantic and we had no winds with any easterly vector at all. The local birders complained of the lack of common migrants in persistent westerly winds. We certainly saw far fewer common migrants, especially Goldcrests, Yellow-browed Warblers and Common Redpolls, compared to our visit at the same time of year in 2019. But everything is relative. Compared to Oxfordshire in October, it was fantastic! As a group, we saw 103 species, one more than our 2019 total. Here are some pictures of some of the common migrants and residents that we did see:

Above and below, Yellow-browed Warbler at Quendale. One of only three we saw all week.

Above, Blackcap. This species took the title of “Most Common Warbler”, in 2019 Yellow-browed Warblers outnumbered Blackcap. Not so this year. Below, Wheatear.

Above, Shetland Wren, below, Fulmar.

Above, Dunlin on Lamba Ness; below Common Snipe probing for worms in a garden on Unst:

Above, Dave Lowe, our very own pot of gold.

Next: a blast from the north, White-billed Diver, King Eiders and a host of northerly breeding species.

Purple Horror at the Palace

It happens to everyone eventually. Birds are mobile and can move quickly between different areas. This means that they can turn up unexpectedly, which is one of the joys of looking out for them. It also means that they can frustrate, when they disappear as magically as they appeared. Sometimes, they just disappear, despite all your efforts. Last night was a horror show.

Most of the evening was extremely pleasant. Confirmation that there was a juvenile Purple Heron at Blenheim Palace arrived in the morning and I managed to negotiate a couple of free hours in the evening in order to try to see what is a rare bird in Oxfordshire. I arrived before 6pm and was pleased to find two friends, Dave Lowe and Wayne Paes, scanning the lake for the Purple Heron. Wayne had already seen the heron and had watched it fly away from the island, north over Queen’s Pool. All three of us were very confident that the heron would return to roost on the island in the lake before darkness fell.

The light was good, and as time passed, more and more herons and egrets began arriving to roost in the trees on the island. At 18:35 a flock of at least 15 Cattle Egrets flew in (from Otmoor perhaps?) joining a handful of Little Egrets on the island, whilst a Great White Egret fed in the shallows to the north of Queen’s Pool. Grey Herons stalked the shallows, making short flights between feeding areas. We discussed the incredible speed with which Cattle Egrets have become a breeding species in the county. Seeing all three egret species at one site is no longer the remarkable experience that it once was. As the climate warms up, the heat-loving herons and egrets of the Mediterranean find that they can now breed in Oxfordshire.

Gradually the light began to fade. Greenfinches and Starlings joined the heron roost. A Kingfisher zipped past, there was a distant Mandarin Duck, Pied and Grey Wagtails called from above, as they made their way to roost. But no Purple Heron.

By 19:30 it was virtually dark. Puzzled, we wondered if we had somehow missed the Purple Heron as it returned to the island. Or perhaps it had chosen to roost elsewhere? The moon rose behind the floodlit Palace, which was looking pretty special. I took the picture below and then we agreed to call it a day. It had been a pleasant evening, even without the Purple Heron making a reappearance. We parted, Dave and Wayne making their way towards the Palace, where they had parked. I began crossing the bridge to take the public footpath out of the grounds.

Then it happened. Less than two minutes after we separated, I heard shouting from behind me: “TOM, TOM, PURPLE HERON, PURPLE HERON!” I cursed, turned and sprinted back across the bridge. There was more shouting “PURPLE HERON, FLYING RIGHT!”. It was dark, I was running towards the sounds. It seemed to take an age for Dave and Wayne to come into view as I ran up the road towards the Palace, though it was probably less than 10 seconds. I was scanning the sky as I ran, but I could see no birds. Anything below the skyline was pitch black. The Purple Heron had just flown right in front of Dave and Wayne, in front of the stunning backdrop of the Palace and the moon, and had disappeared into the darkness of the Great Lake. I had missed it by less than two minutes.

The overwhelming emotion was frustration. Frustration that a couple of hours of effort could have ended with views of a moonlit Purple Heron flying by in front of Blenheim Palace. Frustration that sometimes in birding, the margins are very small. The choice of a view one way, or a path another way, and you miss the bird. But it happens. I know there will be other Purple Herons, the warming climate will see to that. It is not impossible that within my lifetime Purple Herons will be breeding in Oxfordshire, in the same way that Cattle Egrets have burst upon the scene this year. Still, to see one by moonlight, in front of the Palace… ouch.

Tree Pipit on the patch!

Recording the first Tree Pipit for the Lye Valley area in August 2020 was a special moment. Not least as I put in a fair few hours in the autumn of 2019 without success. This year I had failed to see or hear any Tree Pipits in the last week of August, so when a loud “tzeep” call rang out from the sky on 4th September, I was pleased to record Tree Pipit for the second successive year. That Tree Pipit flew south over the golf course, I heard it call three times as it continued its migration across the county:

For most of today’s patch visit, things had not looked particularly productive. There was little evidence of many new migrants in, a juvenile Ring-necked Parakeet practicing flying low over the golf course greens was the slightly surreal highlight.

As I crossed through Churchill Meadow, right behind the hospital, I flushed a bird from the main track. It was immediately interesting. It flew fast, low and silently to the back of the meadow, but I got enough on it to feel confident that the bird was a pipit. There is virtually no overlap in existing records of when Meadow Pipit and Tree Pipits appear over the Lye Valley, but both could be potentially recorded in early September.

I went back into the meadow and walked through it twice without seeing the bird again. As I returned along the track, once again the pipit rose up, this time flying to a small patch of silver birches on the edge of the meadow. Here I could just glimpse it through the foliage:

I could make out the fine steaks on the flanks and then it began pumping its tail up and down: it was a Tree Pipit! Finally, it turned towards me for a moment, before flying back to the far edge of the meadow:

An unexpectedly brilliant view of a Tree Pipit! I suspect that Tree Pipits pass through the Lye Valley in tiny numbers every autumn, it is just a question of whether anyone is out there to see or hear them. The next target: a nice spring record of this species?

Dragonflies in flight

Recently my friend and fellow osteopath Cathy Allan, based in Victoria, Australia, sent me some beautiful pictures of dragonflies that her father had painted. These pictures got me thinking about the practicalities of trying to photograph dragonflies in flight. This is not something that I have tried, not least because dragonflies fly ridiculously fast.

This Sunday afternoon I was sat by a pond at a friend’s farm where we were staying for the weekend. There were a few dragonflies about, including this nice male Common Darter.

Much larger was a male Southern Hawker, that kept coming over to check me out:

These are large, colorful dragonflies, with a body length of up to 8cm. I had my macro lens with me, so tried a few half-hearted attempts to get a picture of one as it flew past. In active flight, this was impossible. Even if I could get one in the viewfinder, it was gone before the camera could focus.

But these are inquisitive and territorial insects. Once every five minutes or so, a male would come patrolling to where I was sitting and hover for a few seconds before zipping off again. I wondered if those few seconds of stationary hovering would provide an opportunity for my camera to focus and take a burst of pictures. I also noticed that the male had a few special locations where he would frequently return and hover, when not chasing off other males or hawking at pretty much anything else that flew past.

My first attempts at sitting near one of these favoured areas did at least produce one of my first in-focus pictures of a dragonfly in flight, even though the male was not that close on this occasion:

Then, all of a sudden, he was back and much closer, actively investigating me.

Having tweaked the camera settings to get the shutter speed to at least 1/5000 of a second, I waited for the next return:

Much better! I was pleased that this flying insect was pretty much in focus, with even most of the wing motion frozen by the fast shutter speed. I realised I could clearly make out the incredible eyes that wrap around the huge mouthparts at the front of the head. Dragonflies are virtually deaf and have a poor sense of smell. The vast majority of the information about their surroundings comes from their eyes. Being able to fly very fast, requires superb vision and balance. Otherwise, it ends very badly.

With patience, I eventually got some good, close up, pictures in those few seconds of investigative hovering:

Being able to see such detail in the photographs made me want to understand what some of these structures were. Ray Cannon has published some excellent blog posts about dragonfly anatomy in general and dragonfly vision in particular. My first discovery was that dragonflies have at least five eyes: two obvious large compound eyes, that wrap around the side of the head, but also three simple eyes tucked in under the vertex, the ocelli. Common to many ancient insects, the ocelli have a role in keeping the insect orientated in space and level in flight. Combined with the two large compound eyes, the position of these five eyes gives dragonflies nearly a 360-degree visual field, they really can see what’s behind them!

A pleasing and educational hour by the pond with these amazing insects and thank you Cathy, for the inspiration!

A crazy triathlon: bike, run, Osprey

What are the chances of a good bird turning up in pretty much the only two hours that I have completely free in the entire month of August? That is exactly what happened at 09:41 this morning when Isaac West posted a message saying that he had found an Osprey at Farmoor.

This is a species that has always eluded me in Oxfordshire, so I make the snap decision to travel straight to Farmoor. I speak to Isaac, who tells me the Osprey has been circling the reservoir for the last 25 minutes and is still present. Aware that the bird could depart at any moment, I head straight for the door. Then I remember. I have a little free time this morning, but my wife has our car. Not to worry, I know that I can cycle to Farmoor in not much more than 20 minutes from Headington, albeit on a road bike, without optics and a camera. I throw these items into a pannier and head out on my commuter bike. Needless to say, there is a nasty headwind. I plough on, checking my phone in town and at the end of the Botley Road, as Isaac is under instructions to call me if the Osprey leaves the reservoir.

I sprint up the ramp to F2, leap from my bike and simultaneously scan the skies and call Isaac. There is good news: he has the Osprey in his ‘scope. The bad news is that it is currently about a mile west of the reservoir and flying away! Isaac gives me directions to the bird, but I only have binoculars and he doesn’t think the bird is a binocular object anymore. This is not good.

I tell him: “I’m going to cycle out to you on the causeway, keep it in your ‘scope!“, knowing full well that it is forbidden to cycle around the reservoir. Sure enough, in little more than two rotations of my pedals, I am stopped by some reservoir staff and told not to cycle. I dump the bike, pull out my optics and camera. I can see Isaac just over halfway along the causeway, watching the Osprey in his ‘scope. It is still distant, but flying away.

I have no choice. “I’m going to run along the causeway to you, keep it in your ‘scope!” With a DSLR camera and telephoto lens in one hand and my binoculars in the other, I start to sprint along the causeway. Whilst wearing cycling shoes. Chris Froome famously ran a section of Mount Ventoux in the Tour de France in cycling shoes. If he did it, so can I. And to my knowledge, Froome did not add a new species to his French list at the time either, whereas I have a full-fat county tick awaiting me, just along the causeway. Such behaviour did attract a few looks as I set off. Unbeknown to me, Bob Burgess and Steve Burch were observing me from across the reservoir, Bob commenting that there was a jogger with a lens on the causeway. Eventually, I get to Isaac and, to his credit, he is still on the very distant Osprey:

The bird is a dot in the sky! It is nearly in Faringdon. Fortunately for me, after wheeling back and forth for ten minutes or so, the Osprey begins to return to the reservoir:

Finally, I can make out some of the plumage details as the chocolate-and-white raptor heads back to F2:

And the bird performs magnificently, including a flyby over the causeway:

Superb! And massive thanks to Isaac for finding the bird and then keeping tabs on it whilst I completed my crazy triathlon. A county tick for us both, and there is also one painted on the exit sign at the reservoir:

Isle of Skye 2: boat trips

We drifted silently on blue water under a blue sky. The amazing rock formations of the Macleod’s Maidens towered above us, visibility was perfect. The sea was as flat as glass and equally reflective. I turned around asked our boatman, Jordan, how often are conditions like this? He simply said “never”.

Jordan was right. Typically Skye has rubbish summer weather. The 30-year average for the number of days with complete sunshine in July is 0.9 days per month – ie not even one full day of sun, on average, in the whole month! In fact, July and August have the least number of days of full sunshine of any month, except December, which is pretty much dark, being so far north. We got so lucky.

We arrived in a heatwave that lasted throughout the entire first week of our ten days on the island. A week of blue skies, sunshine and crystal-clear visibility. We hardly saw a cloud in the first week, or indeed, a wave. Even at the end of our trip when there was more cloud cover, the wind remained absent and the sea completely flat. Below, the view from above Uig, looking out towards the Ascrib Islands, across a wave-less sea:

Looking west to the Outer Hebrides, across the Little Minch, the sea between Skye and the Hebrides:

Having suffered many times on boats at sea (most graphically recorded here), a flat sea is my idea of heaven. We took three boat trips in these ideal conditions: one east from Portree; one west from Carbost and one in the north from Uig to the Ascrib Islands.

Our first trip was from Portree, a 6pm departure on The Stardust. This is a well-known trip for seeing and photographing White-tailed Eagles. The local eagles are habituated to taking fish thrown from the back of the boat. We did not come across any eagles on the cliffs closest to Portree, so then headed across the sound to Raasay. As soon as we approached the island, a large and distinctive shape appeared in the sky heading towards us:

This was, apparently, a 14-year-old female White-tailed Eagle, who is feeding a large chick on the island. She circled a couple of times…

… before making a low-level pass (harrassed by the local Oystercatchers), to take the fish from the sea:

We also came across a small pod of Common Dolphins in the Sound of Raasay, including this adult and calf:

There were more cetaceans on our second boat trip, on a RIB with SeaSkye Tours, from Carbost on western Skye. We exited Loch Harport, passed the Macleod’s Maidens (see above) and entered the open ocean, which was completely flat and blue. It could have been the Mediterranean. Splashes in the distance indicated that a large pod of Common Dolphins were actively feeding offshore. As we approached, the dolphins became interested in our boat:

With the sea so still, the closer dolphins were clearly visible underwater. Their skin tells their story: tooth rake marks, from interactions with other dolphin’s teeth, are common in cetaceans, many can be seen on this Common Dolphin:

The feeding dolphin pod performed magnificently, providing some amazing, intimate views. They were so close that it was almost like doing underwater photography!

Even better, two Minke Whales surfaced behind the feeding dolphin pod. We all saw their long grey backs sweep up and then down as they exhaled and then inhaled, before diving. Below: a Common Dolphin jumps. The long dark line and the wave in the background is a Minke Whale, just submerged:

Further out, on the outskirts of the feeding pod, were Harbour Porpoises. Unlike the dolphins, porpoises are shy of boats and they kept their distance. These are darker cetaceans than the Common Dolphins, with smaller, more triangular, dorsal fins:

Still photographs never do cetaceans real justice. Video captures their speed and agility much more accurately. My daughters made the video below using my phone:

Our third, and final, boat trip was on our last full day on Skye. It departed from Uig, in northern Skye, with SkyeXplorer boat trips. These trips head out to the Ascrib Islands, where there are many breeding seals, Common and Grey, and seabirds. Below, Common Seals:

Below, this adult Gannet came by to investigate our boat. You know you’ve had a good view of a Gannet, if you can see the blue eye-ring:

As we approached the islands, we began to come across groups of auks resting on the water. A few Common Guillemots were present, with recent fledged young. Closer still to the island we saw Black Guillemots, with their fantastic red legs:

But the Puffins were the stars of the show. By late July only a few remained, we saw about 120 in total. Those adults that were present were losing the colour on their bills and their white faces were beginning to darken. Their plumage was changing from their breeding plumage to their winter plumage. These birds spend all winter out in the Atlantic Ocean, an incredible feat of survival. By early August, nearly all have departed for the open sea.

Some birds still retained some of their summer colour. Everyone loves a Puffin!

Isle of Skye 1: local birds & wildlife

There are many reasons why one would want to go to Scotland. There are mountain bird species, breeding seabirds and waders, spectacular scenery and a real sense of the wild. It is said that when the sun shines in Scotland, it is one of the greatest landscapes on earth. Unfortunately, the sun rarely shines in Scotland. The summer weather is notoriously unreliable, perhaps one reason why the most popular Scottish word is “dreich“, meaning dreary, gloomy, miserable, grey, depressing and devoid of sunshine. So when planning a family holiday, suggesting that we go to Scotland always held an unacceptably high degree of risk for precious time-off.

But then came the pandemic. Sunshine abroad did not feel right, whilst accommodation in the south and west of England rocketed in price, but still sold out months in advance. So, when a friend hinted that there may be some availability at his family’s house on the Isle of Skye, I began to look at Scotland once again.

Fortunately, the weather gods were on our side. We left southern England in a heatwave that traveled north with us throughout the first week of our trip. We passed through the highlands of mainland Scotland under blue skies with perfect visibility. Below, the Glen Coe range behind Lochan na h-Achlaise:

Our first day on the Isle of Skye was dawn till dusk sunshine. The highest peaks on Skye, the Black Cuillins, formed a backdrop to the view from our house. The views were unbelievable. Time to begin some local birding:

The most obvious local birds were Lesser Redpolls. Large family groups were noisy, conspicuous and everywhere. The valley rang with the “chett-chett” flight calls of adult birds. Below, juvenile Lesser Redpoll:

The local Stonechats appeared to have had a good breeding season, with many juvenile birds, being fed by adults:

The commonest local warbler was Willow Warbler, with only one Chiffchaff recorded. There were many juvenile Willow Warblers in the garden:

There was a singing Grasshopper Warbler in the field next door, Whitethroats in the bushes and a Sedge Warbler passed through mid-week. Wheatears could be seen on the nearby headlands, the adults moulting out of their breeding plumage:

There were small numbers of Rock Doves in the valley. One morning, a flock of five landed on the roof of our house:

There was at least one pair of Raven in the valley, but all the local crows were Hooded Crows:

There was a Sand Martin colony by the river. This must be one of the most north-westerly colonies in the UK, though I believe there are breeding birds on the southern Outer Hebrides which may take that title. Although the breeding season was coming to an end by late July, there were at least two active nests. This bird is returning to the colony with a full crop of insects:

The abundant gulls around the river and beach were Common Gulls, with only the occasion Herring, Lesser or Greater Black-backed Gulls joining them:

A flock of Greylag Geese spent the days alternating between feeding in the farmland opposite our house or bathing in the river:

In the evenings, the geese were joined by Red Deer, including this stag:

The shoreline held Rock Pipits, including this very worn adult:

Juvenile Rock Pipits have surprisingly bright pink legs and have yet to develop the long dark bill of adults:

There were small numbers of waders around the river. Small groups of vocal Oystercatcher and Curlew were common, with Ringed Plover on the beach. Common Sandpipers were seen frequently, by the sea and the river. Twice I saw Greenshank here, though they were always distant. I think the small number of dark-centered scapulars mean that this is a summer plumaged adult, so possibly a local breeder:

Below, this surprise wader flew around Loch Brittle and then back out to sea. It appeared nearly all-white in flight and when I first got onto it, as it flew directly towards me, I had no idea what it was. This oddly pale Whimbrel is either extremely heavily worn and abraded, or is a leucistic bird:

Further out in the loch were small groups of Red-throated Diver, up to 15 in total, though they were always very distant. I had good ‘scope views of these birds, which were very socially active. Below, this pair of Red-throated Divers submerged their bodies and cut through the water with necks held stiff and erect, driving away other birds:

Whilst walking up into the mountains or along the local peninsular, I often head a harsh “ka-ka-ka-ka” call, that initially I thought may be Red Grouse calling. Eventually I located the source of these calls, they were high-flying Red-throated Divers, coming in over the mountains to feed in Loch Brittle:

On one afternoon we flushed a Short-eared Owl from just by our feet, not far up the hillside behind our house:

Local insects included Golden-ringed Dragonflies:

This male Common Darter:

… and abundant Scotch Argus butterflies, a species only found in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland:

Next: boat trips from the Isle of Skye.

The Lye Valley & Warneford Meadow: Spring 2021

This is a summary of the birds (and some other wildlife) recorded in the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow area between 20th March and 20th May 2021. There was a brief warm spell in late March, just before Easter, which saw the arrival of a few summer migrants. Then temperatures fell away, resulting in weeks of cold weather, including a remarkable mid-April snowfall. Nationally, spring 2021 was very cold and then very wet! April 2021 had the highest number of days with air-frost ever and was the third coldest on record. May 2021 looks like being the wettest on record. Neither of these factors are beneficial to migrant or breeding birds.

In this 61 day period, there were a combined total of 89 visits recorded on eBird to the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow area. 59 species were recorded in March; 61 in April and 53 in May. By 20th May, 73 species in total had been recorded this year. 40 or more species were recorded on four days: 20th March; 9th April; 17th April and 1st May.

Sub-zero mornings became a routine, with dawn visits beginning by crunching through heavy frost, well into May:

Female Green Woodpecker in the frost.

In the freezing temperatures, some bird species would sit facing the rising sun to gather what warmth they could:

Male Sparrowhawk

Later in the spring, the local pair of Sparrowhawks would begin displaying:

Early spring sees waterbirds on the move and occasionally such birds would pass over the Lye Valley:

Greylag Geese
Barnacle Geese

However, most waterbird migration is nocturnal. Isaac West and I spent a few nights in late March listening and recording nocturnal migrants. See this post for details of a spectacular night, on 23rd March, when we heard migrating Common Scoter, Coot and Wigeon, as well as recording the first Barn Owl for the area.

Back in daylight hours, despite the temperatures, nesting behaviour could still be seen:

Red Kite with nesting material.
Singing male Grey Wagtail.
Singing Chiffchaff.

The rarity highlight of the spring occurred on 10th April when a Ring Ouzel flew over myself and Phil Barnett in Warneford Meadow. A few hours later a male Ring Ouzel was located in Marston Meadows in Oxford, perhaps the same bird? Ben Sheldon has been regularly visiting Aston’s Eyot, by the River Thames just off the Iffley Road, some one mile to the west of the Lye Valley area. Eight days after the Ring Ouzel flyover, I received the sort of text message that sends the inland local patch birder into cardiac arrest:

We can forgive Ben his typo. I know what seeing Bar-tailed Godwit migrating over your patch does to your adrenaline levels. It is incredible that Bar-tailed Godwit have been recorded flying over Oxford city in two successive years. I ran up to the nearest point with a view of the sky and scanned desperately, but to no avail. Ben followed this with reports of Marsh Harrier and singing Redshank overhead, neither of which materialised over the Lye Valley either!

The cold weather took a dramtic turn on 12th April with a heavy fall of snow, documented here:

Fortunately, despite several centimeters of snow, it had melted by lunchtime. The surreal sight and sound of a Willow Warbler singing in the snow was remarkable:

Once the snow was gone, spring behaviour returned. I have noticed Jays flocking together in large groups in April in a number of years now:

There were also drumming woodpeckers and displaying Treecreepers, whilst Siskins and Lesser Redpolls remained into late-April this year, much later than usual:

Treecreeper

This spring was a good month for falcons, with three records of Peregrine and two records of Hobby, as well as the local breeding pair of Kestrels.

Peregrine
Hobby

By mid-April first young birds were appearing. These Tawny Owlets were exceptionally early and would huddled together for warmth on cold mornings:

Very young Moorhens, on the tiny Churchilll Hospital balancing pond

The local Pheasants provided regular entertainment, displaying from mounds on Southfield Golf Course, before literally pulling chunks of feathers from each other

When seen, Muntjack Deer usually freeze, then run. This male, choose a different approach, by attempting to hide in low vegetation, just off the main path in the Lye Valley. I walked past and noticed the glowing white horns. I took a few pictures, then moved away:

In many ways, this was a spring of hunkering down in first cold, and then very wet, conditions. The second Sedge Warbler for the area was found singing on 27th April. A Kingfisher was seen twice on Boundary Brook, on 1st and 6th May, the latter sighting by myself and Dave Lowe, as he carried out his biannual Breeding Bird Survey for the BTO. This Kingfisher was the 99th species of bird recorded in the Lye Valley area on eBird. The full illustrated list of birds seen in Lye Valley and Warnford Meadow can be found here. What, and when, will be species number 100?

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