The story begins well before the 18th June, commencing with the discovery of a male Cretzchmar's Bunting on the island of Bardsey which lies off the Lleyn Peninsula on the North Wales coast and is a National Nature Reserve with its very own Bird Observatory. In fact Bardsey ticks all the right boxes for anyone interested in the natural world, being a Site of Special Scientific Interest (SSSI), a Special Protection Area (SPA), an Environmentally Sensitive Area (ESA) and last but by no means least an Area of Outstanding Natural Beauty (AONB).
The bunting was discovered on the 10th June by two visiting birders, photographed and subsequently identified.
The Cretzchmar's Bunting was originally found here on the hill at the North end
of the island
It then promptly disappeared and after much searching was re-found singing near the Lighthouse compound at the South End of the island on 12th June but remained elusive. Only five have been seen before in Britain and usually in remote and difficult places to access. The last one to be found was another male on Fair Isle in the Spring of last year. Whilst Bardsey is an island, it is normally relatively easy to access by a half hour boat trip from Porth Meudwy on the Lleyn Peninsula and so a major operation swung into action to try and allow as many birders as possible and indeed anyone else interested, to see the bunting.
Seed was laid down in the Lighthouse compound and this persuaded the bunting to adopt a reasonably regular feeding pattern whereby it would visit for a few minutes at approximately hourly intervals before flying off, but the area from which to view it was so restricted that only a maximum of thirty six birders could be accommodated at any one time.
An additional logistical difficulty is that the only way to access the island, as I said, is by boat from Porth Meudwy but the boat could not be booked in advance and only took twelve people and there were only five sailings a day.
It was going to be chaos as hundreds of the birding fraternity rushed to Wales to try and get on to the island to see the bunting.
I called Justin on Sunday and asked him if he wanted to go on Monday. He could not make it due to work commitments but suggested Tuesday. I agreed and we liased about the trip on Monday morning. We discussed the boat situation and I was worried about the fact it was first come first served and it was an awfully long way to drive over two hundred miles with a good chance of not getting on the only regular boat across to the island. In the end we chartered our own boat, which could take a maximum of twelve people, at the cost of £50.00 per head. Justin found the boat to charter, and four of us from Oxfordshire formed the nucleus of the charter and I agreed to find the rest of the people to fill it by putting out details on Rare Bird Alert (RBA) offering the spaces on a first come first served basis. It took about ten minutes after the appeal went out on RBA to get the first phone call and half an hour later the boat was full but the phone just kept ringing. I got RBA to put out another message that the charter was now full and life or at least the phone returned to normal.
We planned to sail from Pwhelli to Bardsey at 9am on Tuesday morning. This journey would take an hour and a half and was longer than the normal half hour crossing from Porth Meudwy but before anything else Justin had to ring Tony, the skipper of the boat, on Monday afternoon to check about the weather on Tuesday as there were doubts about the increasing wind strength and an approaching weather system. The bad news came in the early evening that we would not sail on Tuesday or Wednesday for that matter due to adverse weather conditions. Thursday was the earliest opportunity. I then had to ring everyone booked on our charter and advise about the delay. Fortunately all but two were happy to wait until Thursday, but would the bunting? My anxiety levels grew.
After a more than usually hectic Monday I went to bed that night happy in the knowledge that the boat was now chartered, we had a full complement of birders and we would sail on Thursday weather permitting.What could go wrong?
Tuesday morning arrived sunny and warm and my phone rang with an enquiry from one of the birders booked on our charter asking me if I knew that my three Oxfordshire colleagues had driven to Wales last night and were now on Bardsey presumably looking at the bunting! I felt my heart sink not only in the knowledge that for whatever reason I had been left behind by my colleagues but I also now had the dubious responsibility, apparently not thought of by the other three, to tell each of the eight birders booked on the boat what had happened and that it was all off.
I sat, blankly looking out of the window and absorbed the unwelcome news. Upset as I was experience has taught me that a period of quiet contemplation is wise before doing or saying anything which I might regret later and would serve no constructive purpose. I thought about it for some considerable time before picking up the phone not to call the other eight birders but to call Justin. I thought at least I could salvage something from this unfortunate situation through keeping the charter and filling the extra spaces on the boat left by my impetuous three colleagues. I planned to fill the charter by putting out yet another appeal on RBA but first I had to get the name of the charter skipper and his phone number to confirm everything. Justin was the only person who knew it.
I tried calling Justin but could get no reply, doubtless because there was no phone reception on Bardsey or wherever in North Wales he was. I tried the phones of the other two but with the same negative result. I kept trying to call Justin from about ten in the morning until finally I got through to him at about three in the afternoon. Once I got the charter details from Justin I rang Tony Bruce, the charter boat skipper, explained what had happened and confirmed that I was now in charge of this operation and the charter should still go ahead on Thursday as planned. I asked for details of where we would meet and at what time, which Tony said he would give me on Wednesday once he was certain the weather would be OK to sail on Thursday. I then put out an appeal on RBA, called a couple of birder friends in Sussex and by Tuesday evening had another full complement of birders for the charter.
Finally I could relax apart from the nagging doubt that we had to wait another day before we could get to Bardsey. Surely the bunting, currently miles too far west from its usual home in the eastern Mediterranean would up and leave. It's happened before!
That evening was not exactly untroubled as some of the other birders booked on the boat betrayed their anxieties by calling me with various questions. 'Is the charter definitely on?' 'Yes it is'. 'Where do we meet exactly?' 'I do not know yet. I am speaking to Tony again on Wednesday and will call you with exact details afterwards'.
Eventually the phone went quiet.My wife forgave me and we settled down to watch yet more of The Sopranos.
Wednesday arrived and the bunting was seen again on Bardsey. Phew - now there was only one anxious day to go but much could still go wrong in the meantime.
My fears appeared to be confirmed when I looked at the Bardsey Observatory twitter feed that evening and anxiety gripped me even more as I noted that they were specifically asking no-one to charter any boats and only use the regular sailing from Porth Meudwy! My heart sank again. Surely I and my fellow charter birders were not to be thwarted at the last moment. Oh dear! I just could not not contemplate cancelling this charter after all the effort that had been put in. It was just too late now to do anything about it although I certainly did not want to upset the wardens on Bardsey.
The regular boat in the meantime had increased the number of sailings to Bardsey to try and meet demand. Only thirty six people were wanted at any one time on the island to view the bird from the restricted area by the Lighthouse. Each boatload of twelve would be given three hours on the island before they had to leave and the next boatload would arrive. All the sailings from Port Meudwy were now fully booked for the next three days and still the demand was insatiable.
I feared that our independent charter would not be allowed on the island so I rang Tony and he laid my worries to rest, telling me he had spoken to the Chairman of the Island Trust and been assured there was no problem in us landing and anyway he was one of only two boats licensed to land at the island and no one could prevent him from doing so. As a parting shot he told me that if we encountered any problems on landing he would deal with it. I got the distinct impression that Tony was not a man to be messed around and also he did not care too much for the other person running the regular sailings to Bardsey from Porth Meudwy. Local politics but definitely to be diplomatically avoided on our part if possible.
Tony told me the weather was good for Thursday so we would sail at nine from Pwllheli and land at Bardsey at 1030. I rang the others giving them confirmation that the charter was going ahead as well as specific instructions where to meet at the Marina and at what time. We were now, finally, all set, with me vowing never to allow myself to get involved in anything like this again.
I left the house at two am on Thursday morning in a glass half full frame of mind. Maybe it was a result of all the setbacks and disappointments of the last two days and the effort in surmounting them but I felt drained of the usual nervous energy and excitement such a twitch brings. It was a four hour drive to Pwllheli and I deliberately left early so I could drive at a modest speed, not be rushed and arrive in good time to meet my fellow participants. I left Kingham and drove through the dark deserted rural roads from my home towards the Motorway. A Badger ambled across my route and shortly afterwards two Muntjac stared, unmoving from the verge as I passed by.
The year is at the summer soltice now and pale fingers in the sky were prising apart the dark curtain of night even at the early hour of two thirty as I joined the M6 Motorway hell circumventing Birmingham and, turning west after Birmingham, found the M54 closed between junctions 3-5. This seems to happen more and more these days or should I say nights. The unwelcome diversion took me around the dubious delights of Telford's industrial parks and in almost full daylight, at three thirty am, I rejoined the M54 Motorway and eventually crossed into Wales. The road signs were now bi-lingual with tongue strangling, eye straining spellings that I am sure were not pronounced the way they appeared. Thankfully the Satnav continued talking English.
I was alone in a still sleeping rural Wales and the Satnav took me on a wonderful scenic switchback route up and over the Snowdonia National Park with the sun just beginning to clear the surrounding crags and hills. The drive was just sublime through the most beautiful scenery of deep green valleys, high rounded hills and gentle mountains, lit by the rising sun and all carpeted in the full green lushness of high summer. Then I crossed a wide expanse of purple brown moorland before I descended from the hills through wooded slopes and arrived shortly after in Pwllheli at just after six in the morning.
Snowdonia National Park
I drove to the huge Marina where we were due to meet at eight thirty and found three of my boat companions already there, Dave from Lancashire, Tony and Derek from Hertfordshire. We chatted for a while and then I went in search of something to eat but soon learned that Pwllheli does not open before seven am so I was left to cool my heels for an hour and a half. At this time in the morning a deserted Pwllheli looked an attractive compact little place by the sea with narrow one way streets but I could imagine it would be hellish once the traffic got moving in a couple of hours and the summer tourists arrived later in the year.
Finally I assuaged the pangs of hunger with a bacon roll and hot chocolate from Costa Coffee when they opened their doors promptly at seven am. I sat outside on a bench and watched Pwllheli wake up as I ate and then I drove the short distance back to the Marina and rejoined the others. Some more participants had arrived and we introduced ourselves and indulged in the usual birder drivel and bravado to while away the time. Checking the pagers there was no news about the bunting.The laughter and joking took on a slightly more edgy tone as the pager continued to give no news about the bunting. It was unsaid but all of us were aching for the re-assurance that the bunting was still on Bardsey. News should have come through by now as the first boat from Porth Meudwy had landed at Bardsey an hour ago.
Time drifted by, five, ten, fifteen, twenty minutes or more. All twelve of us were now ready and waiting for our charter boat to arrive. Dave made yet another pager check and YES YES!! the bunting was still there and had just been seen feeding on the seed in the Lighthouse compound. We relaxed. Well not really, as all we wanted to do now was get to the island and see the bunting. I called Tony who said he was fifteen minutes away and just bringing his boat along from Porthmadog. We went down to the landing stage and sure enough fifteen minutes later Tony steered the blue and white 'Highlander' securely into the dock and we boarded what was a relatively spacious and powerful boat with even the luxury of a toilet. Slowly we sidled out of the expansive up market Marina goggling at the conspicuous array of boating wealth tied up to the various landing stages.
Looking back as we leave the Marina
Once out of the Marina Tony opened up the engines and trailing an impressive wake we hurled ourselves westwards across the briny deep towards the still invisible Bardsey Island. We headed first for two small islands, one owned by the scriptwriter and playwright Carla Lane and reputedly never visited by her in years, the other, nearby, was the home of Bear Grylls who when he is there lives in the lighthouse at the very top. We passed these two celebrity islands and headed out into rougher open sea, receiving a generous soaking of spray from the wind tossed waves we were either bouncing over or ploughing through. Tony was not hanging about but we were not complaining as the quicker we got to Bardsey the better. Manx Shearwaters and Razorbills whizzed past and around us as we careered onwards. We chatted amongst ourselves and finally Bardsey and the tiny, rudimentary landing stage were upon us. The red and white Lighthouse where all the action was taking place was clearly visible and a short ten minute walk would get us there. We could already see the knot of birders crammed into the restricted viewing space as we walked up from the beach and took the stony track towards the Lighthouse. A Northern Wheatear flirted along the seaweed strewn shoreline of the bay.
The Lighthouse built in 1821
We were greeted half way up the track by two wardens who told us to stop. My heart skipped a beat. Were they going to turn us back? No, as it turned out they just wanted to tell us to approach the Lighthouse compound quietly in one group as the bunting was very susceptible to noise and disturbance.
The track back down from the Lighthouse to the harbour where we had landed
They led us up the track and we joined the throng of birders. To say 'we joined' is possibly a misnomer.We had to insinuate ourselves as best we could through tripod legs, scopes and bodies all tightly crammed into a very small area indeed. Space was at an absolute premium. I ended up stood at the back on a stool looking over heads and bodies in front of me. Despite the lack of space everyone was very friendly and co-operative. A birder, muttering 'You're the lucky one then' directed me to the bunting which was feeding on the seed in amongst pink Thrift and yellow Horseshoe Vetch flowers. I could not see it at first, then I had it in my bins. Excitement enveloped me as I clapped my eyes for the first time ever on a Cretzchmar's Bunting. A lifer for me. The trials and tribulations of the last three days were extinguished in this blissful moment and I was swept away by a feeling that is just indescribable when it all comes to a successful conclusion such as this.
Showing brown streaky upperparts, a grey head and orange underparts, the male Cretzchmar's Bunting shuffled into full view and then in a trice flew between the Lighthouse and a cottage and was gone. Such good luck that I had seen it immediately on arriving as the other birder told me he had waited over an hour to see it. The sighting was not brilliant as it was only brief and through binoculars but I had seen the bunting. That for now was priority number one taken care of but now priority number two was to watch and enjoy it at leisure
I erected my tripod and scope, not without difficulty and a lot of 'sorrys' and 'excuse me's' as I inadvertently prodded and skewered random legs and bodies with the tripod's legs before sighting the scope between one birder's head and another's shoulders, focusing it on the area where the bunting had been feeding.
My original view through the crowd to the Lighthouse Compound
Then we stood and waited. All of us were remarkably and of necessity quiet which meant there was no one indulging in a tedious monologue about past twitches, trips abroad, how many moths they had caught last night in their garden or whatever, and which can be so intensely irritating to those forced to listen. Some people seem to have such a problem in just standing and remaining silent but thankfully here they were constrained by the vigilance of the wardens and the rest of us.
Time seemed to stand still but it was not unpleasant in the sun with the blue sea off to our right. It must have been an hour or so before the bunting returned. In the meantime we had been entertained with various ornithological cameos such as four or more Chough flying around calling loudly, a pair of House Martins nest building under the Lighthouse cottage eaves and a Herring Gull making off with an Oystercatcher's chick.
Red billed Chough c Matt Eade
Suddenly the bunting appeared for a second time from behind the Lighthouse cottage, a dark bulky shape flying in at great speed and then settling in the thrift before coming right out into the open to feed on the seed. The scope now came into its own, apart from when a fellow birder's hand or head got in the way but generally it all worked out fine. I absorbed the plumage features, the grey head and breast, orange underparts, white eye ring, pink bill and streaky upperparts. What a beauty. Four minutes passed very quickly and as before and for no apparent reason it flew off fast and was gone. This had been its behaviour in the previous days so we knew that in another forty five to sixty minutes it would be back.
Cretzchmar's Bunting c Matt Eade
After the bunting had flown for the second time the birders in front of us left as they had to catch their allotted boat back to the mainland, so we were now in the front stalls so to speak with an unobstructed view. Our view looked out over the small unkempt Lighthouse compound covered in Thrift, Horseshoe Vetch, grass and gravel, bounded by a retaining wall on one side and the Lighthouse and associated buildings on the other.
c Matt Eade
The Lighthouse compound. The bunting would land at the far end of the white
cottage amongst the Thrift and Horseshoe Vetch to feed on the seed put out for it
I noticed that despite the dire warnings about the numbers of birders that could be accommodated there was now only thirteen of us here, my group plus Keith Vinicombe who provided a minor birding celebrity twitch for us all.
Cretzchmar twitchers c Matt Eade
The tiny restricted area we viewed the compound from. Note the stools in the
background. Normally there would be three times as many birders here but for
some reason at this time there was only thirteen of us so we made the most of it
While we were waiting for the bunting to re-appear someone mentioned to the warden it would be nice to see a Thrift Clearwing, a very rare species of moth found on the island and to be found, especially, near the Lighthouse. One had been found and photographed a couple of days ago. Ten minutes later he was back with a very much alive clearwing in a small see through plastic container.What a great gesture and this saved us having to look for one. I doubt we would ever have found one as they were a lot smaller than I imagined and there was an awful lot of Thrift to choose from. It was widely admired by one and all and I gave Emma, the lady warden, a tenner for the collection bucket.
Thrift Clearwing c Steve Smith
The Donation bucket containing many ten pound notes from happy birders!
The warden requested that when the next boat arrived we should make way for the newcomers but no one was inclined to do that as we had also to wait our turn with the other birders earlier. In the end it worked out that the bunting came and went before the other boat load of birders arrived so all was well and there was no potential for conflict. We stood silent and or talking in whispers. Twenty minutes passed and then without warning, from behind us, the bunting swooped down onto the thrift and vetch in the compound, much closer than before and gave eye watering views as it fed for five wonderful minutes before flying off as before. I turned to the others and we were all agreed we had done very well and were all satisfied with events.
In what was now a glorious day of blue sky and sunshine we wandered back down the track to the landing stage, all of us in that incomparable haze of benificence that comes after a successful twitch especially one as fraught as this. We passed the next arriving group of birders, intense with anxiety and expectation and intent on getting to the Lighthouse compound as quickly as possible.No time to stop and talk. Great blubbery Atlantic Grey Seals were hauled out close inshore on the seaweed and rocks in the bay, wailing, snorting and roaring constantly. I have never known them to do this kind of thing before and we speculated that it was maybe something to do with mating.
The bay where we landed. The landing stage is at the far side of the bay
While we were watching the bunting at the Lighthouse compound Tony had no choice but to take the Highlander back out to sea as the tide ebbed, as he did not want to be grounded. He inflated a dinghy and came back to ferry us, three at a time, back to the waiting Highlander moored a little way offshore.
Tony the skipper ferrying Matt, Jake and Dave back to the Highlander
Then it was up, up and away, heading back to Pwllheli at speed. Some of us fell asleep, the early start and subsiding adrenalin bringing on a pleasant drowsiness. Tony produced a large pot of tea, some milk, sugar and cups. 'Help yourself lads.'
Tony did, however, have one more treat in store and on the way back made a diversion that took us in close to 'Puffin Island' where not un-naturally we saw many Puffins, flying, swimming, carrying beakfuls of sandeels and generally being their charming charismatic selves. It was good to see them as indeed it was to see the ever so smart Razorbills, one of my all time favourites when in summer plumage, and the sleek chocolate brown Guillemots clustered together on their breeding ledges. Matt even found a 'bridled' Guillemot amongst them. Sensory overload was achieved with a sickly stench of guano and fish coming downwind, accompanied by the incessant raucous cries of Kittiwakes echoing amongst the cave ledges on which they were nesting.
We headed for home, stopping briefly to admire a group of Bottle nosed Dolphins playing around the boat. Back on shore it was goodbye and thanks to Tony and my great bunch of companions before I took the long drive home, retracing my route across Snowdonia, the land now bathed in the warm sun of early evening and the trees and valleys possibly looking even greener than this morning.
Quite a day.
Yours truly - happy and relieved that everything went according to plan
Many thanks must go to the Observatory staff who were unfailingly helpful and did their utmost to make our stay welcome and pleasurable despite having such an extra workload coping with the hordes of birders coming to see the Cretzchmar's Bunting day after day.