Encounters of the Shrike Kind

I'll have a hard time forgetting a memorable encounter with this stonking male Red-backed Shrike, one of four to be frequenting Fair Isle during late May. All were very mobile, and would pop up anywhere, any time. This particular bird completely blindsided me by the Haa, a croft who's occupants have gained celebrity status over the years for their ability to attract ridiculously tame Waxwings to feed out of their hands.

The Shrike flew in from nowhere, and perched in full view for a couple of minutes, not appearing to give even a little bit of a shit at me being just a few metres away from it. He then started to do a bit of fly-catching, slowly moving further up the road, before perching on a wooden fence and beginning to sing. You couldn't make this stuff up.

Apparently this, or another male had been catching, beheading, and eating the heads of tired Hirundines down on the beach that very morning... mad stuff.

Nice Buntings

... One of a decent influx of spring passage Snow Bunting that landed on the island during freezing, North Sea gales. A nice bonus to add to Rustic and Ortolan Bunting, bagged earlier in the week.

After being given a morning run around by two non-showing (and probably absolutely stunning) summer-plumage males on Meoness (the windiest, coldest, and generally the least warm place to be on Fair Isle at that moment in time), Bed's birder Barry Nightingale and I managed to tracked down a couple of females along the road back to the obs, one of which showed itself in full Snow Bun style, beak and all- was close enough at one point to hug the thing, had I actually had any feeling in my arms, which I didn't. Oh, and did I mentioned it was cold?

By the next morning the wind had completely dropped off to nothing. The whole island was calm. It was quite surreal, and I took the opportunity to catch up with a Lapland Bunting that had stayed loyal to a tiny patch of hay by the roadside for much of the week. Like everything else on Fair Isle, it didn't disappoint...

I think it's about time we turned it up a notch and introduced the big guns... how about some Shrikes, yeah?

Long-tailed Duck, Fair Isle

We need another montage...

At the other end of the scale from Tree Pipits, here's a very smart pair Long-tailed Duck that graced North Haven- just to the east of the bird observatory- for much of the week on Fair Isle. Both showed down to a few metres at times, feeding in the relatively sheltered waters by the Haven pier during gale force northerly winds. Let's just say it felt a bit breezy at times.

The female often came too close for a frame-filling photo.

Genuinely don't think I've ever gotten this close to a Mallard before, let alone a wild sea-faring duck. We were looking down on her, for god's sake.

Brace yourselves, more montages are coming...

Loads of Tree Pipits

Let's get Fair Isle photo montage rolling with a hell of a load of Tree Pipits. The island was knee deep in them whilst I was there, and a good spring passage was recorded at the evening logs- daily counts reaching 50... just a bit of a step up from the single one I had on Stokes Field back in April. Great little birds to watch.

Back from Fair Isle

Absolutely knackered... but back from a ridiculously brilliant 10 days travelling around Shetland, based at the bird observatory on Fair Isle for a week, before hiring a bike, and spending a cheeky few days cycling around the south mainland of Shetland.

This kind of travelling is something that I've had my mind set on for a few years now, so with some time booked off work, and a bit of saving up, I finally managed to make it possible. The scenery, and sheer remoteness of Fair Isle made it seem like the perfect location for a spring hike, combined with the possibility of a rare bird or two. No doubt you've come across Tommy Hyndman's blog at some point, keeping the world up to date on Fair Isle life, but not even that could prepared me for the sheer beauty of the real thing...

No, but seriously. After 10 hours sat in an overnight sleeper train, a 45 minute flight from Aberdeen to Sumburgh, and then a fantastic bumpy 15 minutes in the 'Islander' aircraft to Fair Isle, the most remotely populated island in Britain, 20 odd miles south of Sumburgh Head, David (head warden) picked up a plane load of us from a remote airstrip, and took us back to the Observatory via a thin road built into the moorland, that connects the northern part of the island to the more arable southern half, where all working crofts are located. We were given a welcome talk from Susannah, and after meeting the rest of the Obs team, it was time to crash out.

I eventually went for a brief stroll around the north of the island later in the evening, eagerly anticipating the scores of migrants that would be sheltering under every cliff. Unfortunately, north-westerly winds (a feature throughout the week) didn't produce ideal conditions for bringing in 'biggies', but I got twatted by some Bonxies, and located the smart male White-spotted Bluethroat that had been kicking about a ditch for the past few days, so that was all good. The evening was filled up with cake, banter, Tennant's, log and more cake. I could get used to that place.

Bonxie in twatting mode...

Arctic Skua, surprisingly not in twatting mode...

Most of each day consisted of walking pretty much the same circuit around the island in search of birds, coming back to the Obs for a ridiculously filling lunch and dinner that varied every day of the week, and making use of the well stocked bar till late into the night. Rather than doing a separate post on each day, it'll probably make more sense to do lots of posts on different stuff that I took photos of.

Fair Isle really is an amazing place. It has such a great community spirit about it that I've never witnessed before; not even on Scilly. Everyone trusts everyone to the point where locals have no problem with people bunking over fences and walking over through their land. Birders give the locals respect, and because of that, they get respect back. It's like some kind of fictional happy land where nothing bad ever happens. I got so used to waving at everyone who passed, that I actually got a bit disappointed when I subconsciously carried on doing it on the mainland, and didn't get quite as many waves back. Civilisation, eh?

If you are thinking of going up that way, I can't recommend the bird observatory highly enough, and for the price, you can't get better. All rooms are pristine and well looked after, the food is brilliant- three course meals served at 8:00am, 13:00pm and 18:00pm, and the cooks will happily rustle you up a packed lunch if your planning an intense day in the field. There was a new dish for every day of the week, and your never more than an arm's length away from a bloody good piece of cake. The 'communal' lounge has plenty of comfy sofas, and there's a large conservatory area with shelves stocked full of literature and field guides, so you can sit with a cuppa and watch migrants drop into the famous Obs garden when your feeling lazy. It's all so informal that guests and staff happily mingle together, and a Tennant's from the bar is only two quid- lifesaver drink if your on a student income.

It's all up on the website, but I'd really recommend joining one of the warden's on the early morning trap round. Anything can turn up, and I was lucky enough to watch the team ring both Eastern Subalpine Warbler and male Red-spotted Bluethroat, before I had to rush off to catch the plane back to the mainland. Also a must if your visiting is one of the weekly guided walks organised by Teresa, the resident Obs Ranger.

Though it may not be relevant to many, it is worth bearing in mind that the obs runs a half price discount offer for 13-21 year olds, bringing the price down to £30, pretty reasonable considering that includes daily three course meals, full use of all the obs facilities, and most importantly, free cake.

Just go there, innit.

North and South Haven in the evening sun...

Mist over some cliff, somewhere. Think I was a bit lost at this point...

Be Right Back, Just Going to Fair Isle...

Just a quick update on the patch year list front, which finally passed the 400 species milestone with the scarce Oak feeding micro moth, Caloptilia leucapennella, netted from a blossoming hedge last week. The poor weather this past week has rendered any evening trips to Stokes Field completely useless, but a brief visit yesterday added a few new flora/fauna to the challenge list, bringing it up to 409.

400- Caloptilia leucapennella (Micro moth)
401- Tingis ampliata (Hemiptera)
402- Speckled Bush-cricket Leptophyes punctatissima (Orthoptera)
403- St. Mark's Fly Bibio marci (Diptera)
404- Sitona sulcifrons (Coleoptera)
405- Sitona lineatus (Coleoptera)
406- Harpocera thoracica (Hemiptera)
407- Common Green Shieldbug Palomena prasina (Hemiptera)
408- Syndemis musculana (Micro moth)
409- Spanish Bluebell Hyacinthoides hispanica (Plant)

Caloptilia leucapennella...

Syndemis musculana...

Spanish Bluebells- note how the flowers are present on all sides of the stem, keeping the stem relatively straight, unlike in 'English' Bluebells...

Harpocera thoracica (a female)...

Only a very quick one today I'm afraid, as I'm heading off to Shetland this evening for a bit of late-spring hardcore birding; situated at the bird observatory on Fair Isle for a week, before stopping off on the mainland for a couple of days (with Red-necked Phalarope and Storm Petrel in mind), and then heading back on 28th. It's going to be absolutely rubbish. Probably won't be any birds at all, especially not rare ones. In the unlikely event that I do happen to stumble across anything decent, you can bet you're bottom dollar I'm going to be tweeting about it like mad, and I certainly wouldn't suggest following me on twitter @billsbirding for up-to-the-minute bird action. Oh no.

Been planning this trip for ages now, but in true fashion, have saved all the sorting out to the last minute. Just measured my 40x36x20cm camera bag up against the 40x35x18cm hand-luggage requirements of Logan air... FRUSTRATION.

See you on Fair Isle!

Bookham Survey

A productive day was had at Bookham Common on Saturday for the on-going LNHS ecological survey- more information on which can be found here: http://www.lnhs.org.uk/surveys.htm

There was a fairly decent turn-out for the survey considering the weather, and it was nice to catch up with the Bookham regulars; Stuart Cole, Tristan Bantock and Sarah Barnes, as well as meeting fellow 1000for1ksq-er Rob Wallace for the first time. It's always a privilege to spend time in the field with experts, and with the guarantee of some decent invertebrates, and a good bit of banter in the LNHS hut over lunch, Bookham is the place to do it.

The sun attempted to shine though on a couple of occasions, but generally there was a steady drizzle that didn't make ideal conditions for searching out invertebrates. Bird action was pretty good though, with a Nightingale singing to the west of the LNHS hut, and a cuckooing Cuckoo remaining long enough on an exposed perch at Little Bookham Common for a grainy sound recording to be made...

A lot of time was spent surveying in Great Mornshill Wood, an under-recorded section of the Bookham recording area.

Diaperis boleti on it's host, Birch Polygore (Piptoporus betulinus). A previously rare and restricted species that has started to increase it's range in the last couple of years, and is now quite common on birch fungi throughout Bookham Common...

A bird-dropping mimic weevil, Cionus alauda, swept from Figwort (Scrophularia sp.) at Mornshill Wood...

Another weevil on Figwort, in the company of the above species, was Cionus hortulanus...

Whilst I could only provide the moral support when it came to identifying beetles, there was a few day-flying lepidoptera to keep the camera, including the first Adela reaumurella, Nematopogon swammerdamella and Esperia sulphurella (below) of the year...

Weevils for Everyone

Curculio glandium- on oak

Attactagenus plumbeus- swept from damp grassland

Sitona suturalis- swept from willowherb

Rhinoncus pericarpius- swept from a damp meadow

Trichosirocalus troglodytes- crawling around on Ribwort Plantain

Rhinoncus pericarpius- Very common on nettles

Here are just a few of the weevils that have found their way into the net on my recent rounds of the patch. Out of the 600 or so species known in Britain, I've so far managed to identify about 10. Good going, eh? The six that I've represented above have been fairly numerous on the patch, especially around patches of nettles, and in damp wildflower meadows. So far, only Attactagenus plumbeus has turned out to be anything remotely 'notable', having an apparently patchy distribution in England, with records up to Carlisle.

Out of all the different Coleoptera families, weevils (Curculionoidea) have got to be the most loveable.  They are just so variable, and don't have the un-cooperative tendency to scuttle away at the first sight of a human, unlike those damn Carabids. There are big weevils, little weevils, fat weevils, thin weevils, red weevils, green weevils, black weevils with white spots; there's a weevil for everyone.

Unfortunately, with so many species in one family, it's inevitable that many are going to show extreme similarities to one another. I've got my eye on a few books that should come it handy with getting to grips with the more obscure genura, namely this interesting German resource. In the meantime though, the Watford Coleoptera Group website provides a very helpful photographic archive of a healthy representation of British species, which makes it fairly easy to at least reach genus level with an identification.

On another note, plenty of Cuckoo Flower coming into flower recently. No Cuckoos though. Bit of a let down.

  

The Long Process of Reporting a Rare Moth

Promising weather conditions prompted me to put the moth trap out in the garden last night, and amongst the usual haul of Common Quakers, Hebrew Characters and a Clouded Drab was this nationally scarce monster of a moth. It's a Dotted Chestnut, and is the very moth that has acted as my motivation for trapping through the poor weather this spring. The rough order of events as they unfolded this morning...

Wake up; go downstairs; unlock the back door; go into the garden; chase away Robin; yawn; stare into moth trap; lift up egg box; see Dotted Chestnut; do a doubt take; do another double take; realise it's a Dotted Chestnut; swear with joy; run to fetch camera; take pictures; run back into house; upload pictures onto laptop; resize pictures; upload pictures onto internet, add satisfying boastful text about how I've caught a Dotted Chestnut; have breakfast.

And it's that rush of morning adrenaline that keeps me, and indeed every other moth-trapper, coming back for more.

Ode to a Nightingale

Found myself heading off to Bookham Common yesterday evening to catch up with a bird- or rather a bird sound- that I've been hoping to hear for years. Up until yesterday evening, I've never heard the song of a Nightingale. It's one of those sounds that everyone needs to experience in their life at least once, and with almost one fifth of my life gone, I'm running out of time fast.

It's no secret that Bookham is one of the best sites in Surrey for Nightingale, and on this occasion, I wasn't disappointed. Almost immediately upon stepping out the car at Little Bookham car park, a distant male started up amongst the late evening dusk chorus. Initially locating the source of the song was easier said than done, with a loud mix of Blackbird, Song Thrush and Blackcap all singing from various perches throughout the maze of bushy scrub, not helped by the fact that the Nightingale would often go silent for long periods of time, before starting up again further down the path.

I eventually pinned him down to a row of blossoming Blackthorn hedges, where he sang uninterrupted for a good fifteen minutes. It was absolute bliss to listen to. I've heard various recordings, but nothing compared to the real thing- blossom, sunset and all. Sublime.

I attempted a few grainy sound recordings; the first time I've tried with the D300s. The camera picks up quite a bit of annoying wind, as well as a nearby Blackbird competing with the Nightingale for the title of loudest songster in Bookham, but you can get the gist of things. If you want the full shebang, have a listen to this. Here are the attempts though, just for the record. The bird went a lot quieter in the second clip, but I liked the signature burst of Nightingale at the end.

Enjoy.



*Queue compulsory copying and pasting of the final part of that random old-fashioned romantic poem about a Nightingale written by that bloke in the olden times to make the post have more effect and seem more emotional and intellectual and stuff* ...

Adieu! Adieu! Thy plaintive anthem fades,

Past the near meadows, over the still stream,

Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep

In the next valley-glades:

Was it a vision, or a waking dream?

Fled is that music:- do I wake or sleep?