A Farmoor Saturday 19th August 2017

It's been a bit quiet on the bird front at the moment so with nothing enticing to go and see it was back to Farmoor for some more exercise of my now fast recovering injured knee. It was a sunny day with scattered fluffy white clouds high in the sky and a brisk wind from the southwest as I drove through the gates at 8.30 this morning

There had been some waders reported as feeding on the Causeway yesterday but today, sadly they had gone and walking up the exposed and now almost deserted Causeway I was glad of my coat as it was chilly in the strong wind.

So with nothing exceptional to see, let me give a mention to a few of the regulars at Farmoor and a couple of the not so regular and unexpected that were here today

Black headed Gulls

There are always a few loafing on the metal pontoons used by the yachting fraternity and at this time of year they are undergoing their moult into winter plumage and renewing their flight feathers. I looked at a small group perched at the end of one of the pontoons and saw that one had a large yellow plastic ring on its left leg with the letters and number K3*F in black. After checking Euring on the Internet I learned that this was one of sixteen Black headed Gulls that had been been ringed by the North London Gull Group between Feb and June 2015 but because I could not get the crucial third letter, as it was obscured by a piece of metal, and then the gull flew off before I could get a better angle to view the ring, it was not possible to be more precise. Maybe I will see it again and get the full code and full history.

Adult Black headed Gull with that annoyingly obscured plastic ring

Great Crested Grebes

Another permanent fixture at Farmoor with numbers reaching up to a hundred in winter but rather less during the rest of the year. Many also remain during the summer but do not attempt to breed. Pairs can be seen indulging in their elaborate and graceful courtship rituals but they are unable to nest here due to the complete lack of anywhere suitable to accommodate their floating nests. Today some were still in almost full summer plumage but many others are now adopting their less showy winter garb where the fan like plumes on the sides of their heads are moulted. I watched one sleeping with its head retracted, breast bulging and neck convoluted into a bend with its bill resting on the right side of the neck, a position that is standard for all grebes at rest,  It looks so uncomfortable but obviously is not as far as the grebe is concerned.

Great Crested Grebes

Dunlin

At this time of year they can be seen either singly, in pairs or small groups, running along the concrete apron beside the water on either side of the Causeway. By far the majority are juveniles, having often completed  a flight of more than a thousand miles from where they were born and, in some cases, are onward bound for the distant shores of western and southern Africa to spend their winter. They do not remain long, maybe a day or so and it is apparent, by noting the plumage differences in individual birds here, that many different individuals pass through Farmoor. It is easy to dismiss them as commonplace but I always try to remind myself of the marvel of migration that their presence represents, even though the dullness of the juvenile's plumage can at times be a little uninspiring. Today there was one such juvenile, typically confiding and scuttling along on twinkling black legs by the water's edge.

Juvenile Dunlin - just beginning to acquire some grey winter plumage
feathers on its upper parts

Mallards

Plump and drowsy they stand on the concrete apron in scattered groups, sheltered from the wind by the wave wall. They look at me with head cocked to one side but are unafraid and reluctant to move from their secluded spot under the lip of the wall. All are now in what is called their 'eclipse plumage' where, especially the drakes, they adopt a diluted, subdued version of their breeding plumage patterns and colours. All will be or are flightless during this time of moult, hence the lack of strong colouring so it does not attract attention, as it would with the bright colours which they will later adopt for their winter courtship and pairing. Even the brown females seem to become more drab and inconspicuous at this time and they and the drakes are noticeably quiet. Sitting and resting patiently, the ducks and drakes are a permanent feature along the concrete apron as their moult takes its course.

Drake Mallard in eclipse plumage

One female Mallard has suspended her moult while she guards and shepherds her two half grown young, the survivors of a very late hatched brood. The young snuggle up to each other on the sun warmed concrete, the very picture of harmony and innocence.

Mallard Ducklings

Common Coots

Numbers are rapidly building up now as more and more arrive to take up residence on the reservoir, preparing to see out the winter. They form small enclaves scattered around the reservoir edge but numbers in total are now approaching four hundred. For such a belligerent bird it is remarkable that they form such groups and often there are squabbles as their notoriously short temper gets the better of them. They feed on the copious amounts of dense green weed found in the shallows by the reservoir's edge or join the Mallards and Greylag Geese to indolently stand on the concrete edge of the reservoir. Their huge, grey, lobed toes look ridiculous as they pad away and into the water as I approach along the perimeter track. This is a time of plenty for all the waterfowl and other birds and the coots make the most of it, as soon enough the harder times of winter will be upon them.

Common Coots

Ruddy Shelduck

Yes, I know, it's a really exotic bird to have on the reservoir but try as I might it is impossible to remove the lingering doubts about its provenance. It has been here for weeks now and is certainly not wary enough to suggest it is of a truly wild, migrant origin. It has seen humans before and learnt to not be that wary of them. It may be an escape from a wildfowl collection or just as likely to be a wanderer from one of the feral populations breeding as close to us as The Netherlands. Nonetheless it has attracted a lot of attention from both the regulars and birders from farther afield, as it is unusual and very photogenic.Today it was idling its time away on the wooden slats of a pontoon before taking to the water. It seems to much prefer the company of the coots to any other waterfowl which strikes me as a little odd. Its rich, orange chestnut plumage and creamy white head bring to Farmoor, no matter how bizzarely, a definite buzz of excitement, pleasure and a sense of the unusual.

Little Grebes


If you look closely around the shallow edges of the reservoir from August until March you can often find one or two Little Grebes, inconspicuous amongst groups of coot or ducks. For a grebe which prefers to breed deep and hidden in reeds and aquatic vegetation it is remarkable that they favour, for the rest of the year, the wide open spaces of the reservoir with virtually nowhere to hide and their only method of concealment is to dive continuously until the perceived danger is past. Often they will congregate into just one group of five or six birds but as autumn and winter progresses they are usually to be found, only in ones or twos, scattered around the reservoir. Their total number often does not reach double figures and some may be transitory migrants but there are always one or two to be found in the quieter more sheltered corners of the reservoir or where there is a pontoon for them to hide under or buoy to hide behind. Tiny and rotund, already in their drab, brown winter plumage they float high on the water, usually with feathers puffed out when relaxed but when alarmed they become attenuated, and with flattened plumage and craning necks swim out further into the reservoir until they feel safe.

Greylag Geese

Impossible to ignore, at times the reservoir is home to many hundreds of these geese, come to idle away hours in the sun by the reservoir's edge. Their loud, harsh and intrusive cries rent the air and they bitterly complain as you walk past them lounging in the grass by the perimeter track or standing on the wave wall, reluctant to move and looking at you in none too friendly a fashion with their orange ringed brown eyes. I suppose they are wild in one sense but they are classed as feral here as the real wild ones breed only in the north of Scotland. I find them annoying and at times downright objectionable but that is not their fault. They are safe here, not hunted or greatly disturbed and they seem to be fully aware of this and take full advantage, commuting from the farm fields on the other side of the adjacent Thames where they crop the grass, flying back and fore to the reservoir by way of variety. Today there were many hundreds of them, scattered along the parts of the reservoir where it was sheltered from the wind and the sun was warm.

Amongst the throng there are often one or two examples of hybrid geese, one of whose parents may have been a Greylag Goose but the other parent could be anybody's guess. Today a smaller goose, prettily patterned, suggested maybe a hybrid between a Barnacle and Greylag Goose or possibly a Ross's and Greylag Goose, it is often very hard to tell, but it is fun speculating on the parentage of such individuals.

Meet the locals-Greylag Geese

Hybrid Goose with probably one of its parents being a Greylag Goose

Northern Wheatear


Today there was a definite 'good bird' present. An unexpected bonus. In fact there were two. They were Northern Wheatears. True migrants that had arrived the previous night and were now replenishing their depleted energy levels in preparation for their onward flight to the barren desertified wastes of North Africa where they will spend the winter. 

In its fresh, somewhat uniform sandy plumage, the individual I regarded at the top of the Causeway looked to be one hatched this year and instinctively making its first migration to its winter home. They are a true favourite of mine.Their jaunty, plumptiousness is very appealing as they stand upright, boldly watching for their invertebrate prey. This one was using the low retaining wall of the reservoir to survey the grass on the other side of the narrow perimeter track, in search of ants and spiders. It would flick across to the grass and seize the prey, swallow it and then fly back to the wall, usually giving a brief bob of its head and body, in satisfaction at landing back on the wall. Mission accomplished. In flight the striking black and white pattern of its tail flashed prominently confirming beyond any doubt its identity.

They are usually here for a day only and depart southwards the following night. That night I lay in bed and imagined it flying high up into the night sky, away from the mundane reservoir and passing, unseen and unknown over the lights of Oxford to beyond. A tiny scrap of life joining, in the dark, with thousands, millions, of similar feathered beings all migrating by instinct to winter homes far from Britain.

Northern Wheatear

At the end of the morning I sat outside the cafe in the sun, to rest with a cup of tea and noticed that a few Common Swifts were passing high above the reservoir, heading steadily south west. It is getting quite late to see Common Swifts now as they are one of the first of our summer migrants to depart. Steadily, other small groups arrived, heading into the wind, tilting and gliding, stiff winged, on the air currents. I remained sat on my bench and kept counting as they continued to arrive from the north, always flying steadfastly onwards to the south. These would be the last I would, almost definitely, encounter this year and their departure always signifies to me the end of true summer and leaves me with a sense of melancholy.They are bound for the Congo and will only return in force next May. I stopped counting at noon by which time I had counted precisely two hundred and thirty eight, all heading inexorably southwards into the strong headwind. Truly exceptional.

And so there we have it. A slightly above average day at Farmoor. Not sensational  but enough to keep one interested and with the hope it may be different tomorrow. For better or for worse that, in a way, sums up the charm of birding. Each day there is always hope of the unexpected and something different.