On a Wing and a Prayer 10th September 2017

This is probably, no, it is definitely the most memorable twitch I have been on for a variety of reasons.The title of this blog was suggested by my wife prior to my going and as I will recount became frighteningly apposite.

It all started with a text from Justin late on Thursday afternoon enquiring 'Are you going to Barra?' This could only mean one thing and I checked my RBA (Rare Bird Alert) app. to see what rare bird news had prompted him to get in touch. There it was in black and white on my phone's screen.

MEGA W.Isles AMERICAN REDSTART. Barra in sycamores behind church at Eoligarry at c6.10pm

Wow! This was a big one. I phoned Justin immediately and we had a conversation about the logistics of getting to Barra which is far from easy, especially when you are in a hurry to see a very rare bird that may fly off at any moment. Going by private charter plane was way too expensive. The cost would be anything from £500 upwards although there would be some birders who would be taking this option. The only other alternative was to drive to Scotland and take one of the Scottish Government subsidised Calmac (Caledonian Macbrayne) ferries which serve The Western Isles (The Hebrides). Barra is one of the furthest out of these islands, being classed as one of the Outer Hebrides. This would entail being away from home, if we went tonight, for four days bearing in mind the connections and sailing times. We finished our conversation and later Justin rang back to declare that, sadly he could not justify being away from his wife and three young children for such a period of time. Fair enough, I quite understood and  the adrenalin and excitement coursing through my veins subsided to form a lump at the bottom of my stomach.

The last American Redstart in Britain, which is not a redstart at all but a member of the numerous and diverse New World Warbler family, was found in 1985 at Winchester College Water Meadows in Hampshire, where it remained for three days from the 4th to the 6th of October. It was also alleged its presence was kept quiet and not publicised so the upmarket public school was not inconvenienced by an invasion of non fee paying birders keen to see the bird. So not many had seen that one.

Thirty two years had passed and now another had been found. To miss this latest one on the far flung island of Barra would probably mean I would not be seeing another in Britain in my lifetime. Many other birders would be feeling the same. 

To date there have been five accepted records of an American Redstart in Britain and two in Ireland. The one now on Barra would be the sixth for Britain. They are a very, very rare autumn vagrant to Britain.This latest record is the earliest that one has been recorded in Britain or Ireland as most records have been in October, from the 4th onwards, with two into November. One of these, a long staying bird, remained at Gibralter Point, Lincolnshire from 7th of November until the 5th of December 1982.

The normal breeding range of this charismatic flycatcher cum warbler is from southeast Alaska to southern Labrador and Newfoundland thence south across the United States to Louisiana and Georgia. Some just move to Florida to winter but others go to Mexico and northern parts of South America, I have seen them in Colombia, and many reach the West Indies.

A period of reflection on my part ensued after Justin informed me he was dropping out and then I rang Geoff, another keen Oxfordshire based twitcher and we discussed going by sea on Calmac but in the end decided that if we did anything about it we would do it independently. I was very tired and went to bed and slept, waking in the middle of the night with a plan forming in my mind. I decided to take the option of the Calmac Ferry via a tenuous journey entailing driving for ten hours to the Isle of Skye then taking my car on a ferry to North Uist, then driving another hour and a half across North Uist and then via a causeway to the island of Eriskay before taking yet another ferry from there to Barra. This would get me to Barra and the redstart at around 2pm on Saturday. It was leaving it a bit late as mega rare birds have a habit of flying off  but it was the best I could do.

That was settled then, in my mind, and I rolled over and slept. I had a plan in place. All was well in my world. As early as possible on Friday morning (8am) I called Calmac to make my reservations on the various ferries. The cheery soul at Calmac informed me there was no space on the ferries! They were full. Doubtless with other birders. My only other option was to drive to Oban and take the five hour ferry crossing direct from Oban to Barra. This left at 1pm on Saturday and would get to Barra at 6pm, leaving me around an hour to see the bird. Not ideal and a day later than my first option but it would have to do. I made the reservation and sent a text to Paul and Vicky asking if they wanted to come with me.

Unknown to me Justin, despite reluctantly dropping out from the chance to see the American Redstart had not been idle. I should have known, as he is ever resourceful and determined and will only give up when the odds are impossibly stacked against him. Minutes after ending my text to Paul I got a text from Justin. He had spoken to an airline company on Thursday evening called Hebridean Air Services. They had said they could probably fly us to Barra from Oban but we would need to find seven people to fill the plane and they in turn would have to get formal permission to land from air traffic control at Barra. The cost to each of us if we could get seven people was £250.00 return which was reasonable when other private planes were charging at least double that. 

So it looked possible that we were going by air after all and would fly from Oban to Barra direct provided Barra air traffic control were happy! However nothing was definite yet as  Hebridean Air would only be able to respond to Justin after 1030am on Friday which was the earliest they could contact  the airport at Barra to get permission to land, so Justin had left a voicemail asking them to confirm as soon as possible. A period of tense waiting ensued throughout Friday morning as we all hung on the decision of Hebridean Air and Barra air traffic control. If this failed that was it. No American Redstart.

Late morning arrived and at last Hebridean Air confirmed it was all go and we were scheduled to fly to Barra from Oban at 11am on Saturday morning. Justin had managed to fill the seven available seats with himself, myself, Paul and Vicky Wren, Matt Deans and two others we did not know, Graham and Angus, who both lived in Scotland and would meet us at Oban airport tomorrow morning. Justin had even arranged for a taxi to meet us on Barra and take us the short distance to Eoligharry. All we had to do was get to Oban airport by driving there tonight.

A plane can only be landed on the beach at Barra  as there is no runway. Even the scheduled flights by Logan Air land on the beach. Consequently the landings can only be made up to two hours before and then two hours after high tide. This restricts the landings to certain times and the airport only opens when landings are permissable, so this was why we could not depart on the forty minute flight from Oban before 11am. Consequently we had plenty of time to drive to Oban and it was settled that I would drive to Paul and Vicky's house to meet them at 1130pm. Then we would go in their 4x4 to collect Justin from his home in Bicester and head north overnight. Matt would make his own way north from his home in Suffolk.

Snug in the back of the roomy 4x4 I chatted with the others and then as the night wore on Justin and myself slept fitfully in the back as Paul and Vicky alternated with the driving. The weather was foul, with driving rain storms sweeping across the motorway and blurring the endless red tail lights of the lorries thundering along the inside lane of the motorway. We were all familiar with these marathon nightime motorway drives from previous twitches and birding excursions to far flung destinations so everyone knew what to expect but the boredom is always an unwelcome companion.

We made a stop at Lancaster Services and fortuitously met up with Matt. There was time for a relaxed coffee in the eerily deserted cafe, a chat and then we were on our way again, back into the night. Justin went with Matt to keep him company so I now had the entire back seat to myself and stretched out in comparative luxury. Dawn broke the sky with shards of grey in the east as we approached Glasgow, the usually busy ring road deadly quiet in the early Saturday morning. Beyond Glasgow and having driven through Dumbarton, we commenced passing through the wonderful panorama of Loch Lomondside. It was going to be a nice day and the rising sun turned the undersides of the broken white clouds to salmon pink.

As we followed the tortuous single carriageway road, winding ever onwards along the side of Loch Lomond a tension began to fill the car. It was fully light now and we should be imminently hearing news on whether the redstart  had been seen today. Geoff, who I  had spoken to on Thursday about going to see the redstart, had in fact driven to Oban that same night and taken the Calmac ferry  to Barra on Friday and had seen the redstart that evening. Via the wonders of mobile phone communication he was aware of what we were doing and had promised to check on the redstart first thing on Saturday and get in touch with us as soon as he saw it but so far there was no contact from him. The day before it had first been reported at 0654. I checked my phone.The time was now 0630. All three of us knew what each other was thinking, hoping and praying, but no one spoke. I checked my RBA app. every five minutes and as 0654 came and went there was still nothing about the redstart. To compound our growing anxiety we were now surrounded on all sides by the  mountainous slopes of Loch Lomond and we lost all phone signal.We were incommunicado right at the critical moment.

The tension rose a notch with the loss of a phone signal but we each maintained an outer calm. Vicky continued driving onwards. I can only speak for myself but inside my mind was racing. This really was it. We had made this huge mental and physical effort and now the point of no return, which had always been at the back of our minds as we covered all the long miles north, was staring us in the face. Would it or wouldn't it still be there? We drove on, a phone signal returned and the news came through at just after 7am.................... 

The American Redstart had been seen at 6.35am this morning in the usual sycamore trees behind the church at Eoligarry!

In an instant everything changed and it was as if the bright sun outside had flooded into my soul. Adrenalin banished any semblance of tiredness. We relaxed, confident that we could proceed and all the plans and logistics would go ahead as expected. Nothing could go wrong now as the bird would surely remain where it was for today at least.

The morning was rapidly turning into one of those rare days when you see Scotland at its absolute and totally awe inspiring, scenic best. Beyond Crianlarich, the road took us through a  breathtaking scenery of towering mountainous landscapes with the huge mass of Ben Lui dominating the skyline in the distance. Great scree slopes, forested hillsides and jagged crags rose on either side of the road to meet a clear blue sky. We passed tumbling, rocky mountain streams, and fast running rivers, the latter creating a spectacle of white water alternating with mysterious still stretches and dark silent pools. Glass smooth, deep lochans reflected  the cloudless sky and  wayward, early morning wraithes of white mist floated in shaded pockets of the land as the earth warmed. It was magical and inspiring as it always is. We stopped for a huge breakfast at Tyndrum, the gateway to the mountains and wilderness all around us. Even at this early hour it was busy with walkers, cyclists, motorbikes and outdoor activists and then, afterwards, it was just a twenty or so miles more of driving to the airport, which in fact is not at Oban but located near the village of Connell, a few miles prior to Oban. We crossed the famous Connell Bridge, spanning the entrance to the tidal Loch Etive and turned down a lane leading to the tiny, modern airport which was currently deserted. We were here at last, part one of the long trek to Barra was completed and with relish we got out from the cars and stood in the still, fresh air and warm sunshine of a perfect September morning.

Oban Airport

The friendly  airport staff arrived shortly afterwards, opened up and let us into the pleasant lounge and facilities. Angus and Graham drove up a few minutes later and now we were complete. All we had to do was await the arrival of our pilot and plane which would be another hour or so. Justin told us our pilot was an Austrian gentleman by the name of Wolfgang.

We settled down to wait. Paul pulled his hat over his eyes and slept in a corner. Matt, maybe anticipating our landing on the beach at Barra donned a very upbeat, holiday style floral tee shirt much to everyone's amusement and quickly changed it as a result. We took a group photo outside and then retreated as the first midges honed in on us. 

l-r Matt plus four heroic Oxon birders, Justin, yours truly,Vicky and Paul

Wreny (Paul) out for the count prior to take off

Matt modelling a very tropical looking tee shirt

A staff member came out of the offices to ask us about the strange bird on Barra that was causing such a fuss. I showed him a picture of the bird and told him about the circumstances. He was amazed. He told us, that apart from our plane there were five others with birders coming from various small airports in England, and all were due to refuel at Oban. 

A few minutes later he returned and our jovial mood was shaken somewhat by the news that one of the planes due to land here, with three birders and a pilot on board, had crashed on take off from an airfield near Manchester, coming down in a field very close to the M62 Motorway. He had no further news apart from the fact that miraculously no one had been killed, 'only walking wounded' as he described it. I learnt later that the pilot had been taken to hospital and one of the birders on the plane thought his end had come when the plane went down, missing the busy Motorway by metres. Thankfully he was wrong.

We digested this disturbing news and then our plane arrived and we met our pilot Wolfgang, a man of quiet and serious demeanour but perfectly charming. He gave us a little talk about safety, which in light of the events that had occurred earlier we all listened to closely and then, he too asked us why we were going to Barra. Apparently no one had told him. We informed him about the bird. I showed him the picture of the bird and he asked how big it was. I demonstrated by forming a tiny gap between my thumb and forefinger. He smiled at us, obviously thinking we were deranged.

Our plane arrives at Oban Airport

He later came back to tell us that because of an exceptional high tide on Barra this morning we would depart fifteen minutes later than scheduled, at 1115, and that we had to leave Barra no later than 1500.This would give us three hours on Barra in which to see the American Redstart. Surely that would be enough?

A tweet then came through from a birder already on Barra stating that due to the high tides no one would be able to get onto Barra today until five in the afternoon! This caused some mild consternation and anxiety amongst some of us but I said that I would rather take Wolfgang's word than that of someone who knew nothing about flying or the state of tides at Barra.

As predicted Wolfgang came to collect us at 1115, just as he said he would, and we walked out to the tiny yellow plane. I was now getting excited. We were on our next leg of the journey and it would not be long now. Forty minutes.

Wolfgang

We stowed our tripods and bags in the small hold and squeezed into the  cramped confines of the twin engined turbo prop Islander aircraft. The sophistications of a larger commercial aircraft were totally absent, just basic bench seats and a seat belt each. No soundproofing either but just metal, so when the twin propellers started whirring the whole plane juddered and vibrated and a roaring, buzzing assault commenced on our ears. Conversation had to be conducted by shouting in your neighbour's ear. It was all rather fun, this seat of the pants flying and in a way thrilling too, having sat on so many luxurious seats on various enormous planes as part of my former working life. This, if you like, was real flying.

Justin and Matt

Up, up and away!

We took off in glorious sunny weather and Wolfgang told us we would climb to 5000 feet and then level off as we headed northwest, outbound to Barra. Up we went, lifting off the runway and out over the Isle of Mull, climbing through the scattered clouds, until above them, the cabin was filled with a radiant light from the sun reflecting off the miles of white fluffy clouds laid out before and below us. Between the clouds the view below was stunning, with vast swathes of blue sea dotted with the occasional yacht and even one of Calmac's distinctive, red funnelled ferries trailing a long white band of wake behind it. Green promontories and blue distant mountains stretched away to the horizon.

I sat looking down from on high at the vast expanse of sea and pondered the wonder of the tiny bird we were going to see, just grammes in weight, making it all the way across the Atlantic Ocean to find sanctuary on Barra. We passed North Uist and Eriskay and then we commenced descending to Barra, an approaching but still distant apparition of green hills, pale sandy beaches, scattered crofts and houses. Lower and lower we came with the exciting prospect of the plane putting down on firm sand and nothing more but Wolfgang was obviously not so sure. We circled once, sweeping low over the huge bay of sand that was to be our point of contact with earth. He banked the plane hard right and we swung round over a line of spectators standing and watching us from the tiny terminal fence. Wolfgang was craning his neck to the right as he manouevred the plane to such an angle that he could look down at the beach. We circled lower still, with Wolfgang looking very hard at the sand, judging its condition and whether it was safe to land. We circled again, making a wide sweep out over the bay, the engines roaring as Wolfgang increased power and then fading as he decreased the power. Wolfgang was really concentrating now. I turned to Justin and said 'This is getting interesting'. Surely we were not going to turn back. I saw the airport Fire Engine below us, parked discreetly by the dunes at the back of the beach. Waiting. Everyone waiting. Us in the air looking down and those below looking up. Everything now rode on Wolfgang's decision. I had every faith in him. He was that kind of guy. No cheery banter just serious professionalism. He made his mind up. We were going to land and swinging the aircraft round once more, out over the sea he lined up the aircraft with the sand, approached low over the sea and we hit the sand with a slight bump and apart from spray from the still wet sand hitting the windscreen we were down safely. We taxied to a stop, Wolfgang opened the doors and now we could get off the plane ready for the final quick dash to Eoligharry. Wolfgang reminded us we had to take off no later than 3pm and with that we ran up the beach and four of us went in the pre-booked waiting taxi while myself, Angus and Graham jumped in Geoff's van, as he had kindly offered to meet us and drive us to Eoligharry to save time.

We followed a single track road for a mile and a half and there was Eoligharry, the church and the abandoned walled garden with its Sycamores, where hopefully an American Redstart awaited us. Everyone was now in a hurry as we left the vehicles. Destiny called. After passing through a rusty gate we found ourselves standing on sloping rough grassland with a wall in front of us on which to lean and observe the couple of Sycamores growing by an adjoining wall to our left and running at a right angle down the side of the sloping and overgrown garden to the road.

The churchyard wall

The view from the wall as we looked over and down the 
overgrown garden with the Sycamores favoured 
by the American Redstart on the left

We leant on the wall and looked over but there was little sign of birdlife. A reasonably strong, gusting, northerly wind was now blowing, shaking the Sycamores and their leaves and making the detection of any bird movement difficult. Also it was now cloudy, in direct contrast to the conditions we had left back on the mainland.

We leant on the churchyard wall and waited............

It was an anxious time for all of us and our nerves were palpably on edge. Here we were again at a crunch moment.We had to see it.

Geoff calmly told us the American Redstart had been showing really well earlier in the morning and it would soon come out and we would see it easily but it didn't co-operate. Five, maybe ten minutes passed and then Justin saw it ever so briefly, low down near the ground under the Sycamore nearest to us but from my angle of view it was invisible. I ran the few steps to him but all I saw when I got there was an indistinct blur as it flicked up into the depths of the tree and out of sight.

Sycamore central. It's in there somewhere!

I stood by the wall, waiting once again, agitated and frayed from the long night on the road, and then Graham located it. So did I ! It was perched on a bare branch of the Sycamore, again fairly low down and under cover but plainly visible in my bins, sitting on its chosen smooth branch of grey bark. What an absolute beauty. It was a vision of overall grey with yellow flashes but to be more specific its head was grey with a prominent white eye ring while the rest of the upperparts were darker olive green.The underparts were paler with a yellow splash of colour by the bend in its wing and its dark partly fanned tail showed almost luminous, broad, yellow flashes on each side. It was there for no more than twenty seconds before it flicked up and away, displaying to full effect the yellow on the tail but also, possibly some more at the base of the wings. The redstart's plumage indicated it was a female. I was so excited that once it had gone I rushed down to Geoff, some metres away and vigorously shook his hand. I just had to do something to release the adrenalin and tension. Geoff understood as only another obsessive birder can.

Naturally I wanted more. We still had two hours before we had to leave so it should not be a problem. But there was a current problem, in that Paul had not yet seen the redstart at all and Justin said his brief view was hardly acceptable.We waited but it did not show. To me it was obvious with the strengthening wind that the redstart was not going to come out into the open but remain in cover in the Sycamores close to the wall as this was where it was most sheltered and where insects would congregate. I walked a few steps along the wall in front of me and found there was a gap where the wall had collapsed and I could look into a corner forming a right angle where our wall met the other wall running down the side of the church garden. We were in effect looking down into what looked like an abandoned walled garden. This was where the Sycamores the redstart most favoured were growing, sheltered from the wind by the wall.  We all stood and waited. Where was it? We knew it was in the trees somewhere but it was invisible. Twenty minutes or more passed with no sign and then from the corner of my eye I caught an impossibly fast movement, no more than an impression of a bird moving towards the aforementioned corner which was less than fifteen metres from me. I whispered to Justin and Paul to join me quickly and they came and crouched low by the gap in the wall. I indicated where the redstart might fly out of the Sycamore and into the brambles growing in the corner. Five minutes later it did just as predicted and perched in full view for some seconds on a dead bramble spray before diving into the brambles by the wall. It was a brief  view but that was all that was required as we had now all seen it and we could relax knowing that no one in our group was going to be disappointed. It came out of the brambles and once again perched on a bare bramble spray in full view, so we all got a second look before it flicked at high speed into the Sycamore once again. Handshakes all round.

Its behaviour was, to put it mildly, hyperactive, forever chasing insects and invertebrates in the lower parts of the trees, perching on the thicker branches for a second before flitting off at high speed to another perch.To my mind it was behaving very much like a Red breasted Flycatcher, a similarly hyperactive sprite and also never still for more than a second or two. I tried to get photos but it was impossible as the redstart's movements were always just too quick for me. I was tired and not at my best as I endeavoured to focus my camera on it but just as I managed to get it in focus, always it was gone. Too late. I did however get some very nice shots of bare branches and leaves.

It was all too frustrating, so in the end I gave up, put the camera down and determined to just watch the redstart. By now it had moved down the garden to a more distant Sycamore at the bottom  and spent a lot of time there. As we looked down from our position by the wall we could see it at intervals as it flew around in its flycatcher way in the lower reaches of the Sycamore. It made sense for it to favour there as it was the most sheltered of all the trees. 

Not the greatest views of the American Redstart in the distant Sycamore

Whilst waiting for the redstart to show itself there was little other birdlife to observe.The occasional Blackbird flew out from or into the brambles and a couple of House Sparrows spent most of their time sheltering from the wind in a wild rose bush by the wall. A Wren sang and showed itself briefly, close in front of us, and in sheer frustration at my lack of success with the redstart I gathered up the camera and took its picture. At least the Wren sat still long enough for even me to focus a camera on it. I was also pleased to realise that this Wren was not like our Oxfordshire wrens T.t.troglodytes but was an example of the subspecies found in the Outer Hebrides called Hebridean Wren T.t.hebridensis which is darker and more heavily barred than the wrens found on mainland Britain and in Oxfordshire. Incidentally it is less of a chauvinist than 'our' wren, the male being more inclined to assist the female in looking after their young.

Hebridean Wren

Another arriving charter plane roared over us, coming into land, and soon its complement of anxious birders would be joining us  and it would begin to get a little more crowded.  We could hardly grumble as we had the place to ourselves for over an hour  and all of us by now had got plenty of views of the redstart and were satisfied, to an extent.

Shortly afterwards the birders from the other charter joined us. The redstart  resolutely remained in its distant Sycamore and we followed its movements as it spent its time on high speed chases through the lower branches of the tree.

More plane charters were now arriving although they were leaving it late. All of us, with no exception had to leave Barra by 3pm and for those just arriving, having paid £500.00 for an hour or less of viewing time, it was not in my mind good value for money. Tired of watching the redstart distantly I moved back to the gap in the wall and was on my own. I had no reason to believe that the bird would come back here as it seemed perfectly content where it was but I just had a hunch that it would eventually come back. Warblers often adopt a circuit, checking and revisiting all suitable habitat regularly. I was in a 'nothing lost, nothing gained' frame of mind.

Fifteen minutes slowly passed by. Nothing happened and then the redstart, without any warning, flew right back into the corner where the two walls met but at such speed I hardly saw it. I could just about see it moving about in the brambles but it was almost completely obscured, just an impression of pale underparts and some yellow through the leaves and stems. A scrum formed around me as everyone became alerted to where it was. We waited and shortly after, it flew at high speed back into the adjacent Sycamore, disappeared from view and people moved away assuming it would move further away through the trees. I remained where I was, as with more birders present now there was no free space to look over the wall. Then I heard it call, a sharp tchik, just once but it was close. I waited, remaining absolutely still and it re-appeared on a low branch but was gone again in a millisecond, then it was back again and by sheer good fortune perched low down,  for once unobscured by leaves or other branches and in full view for all of five seconds but it was enough.With the camera set on ten frames per second I fired away and it was hopefully recorded for posterity.

With bated breath I checked the back of my camera and found that I had managed, despite the bad light and deeply shaded area where the redstart had perched, to get five or six frames of reasonably clear images of the redstart. What one might call record shots but they would do. Better than  nothing without a doubt. I was very happy, as now all my objectives were achieved. Another plane charter had in the meantime arrived, very late, and its complement of frantic, anxiety racked birders crowded around asking where the  redstart was. 

It was fraught and tense as people politely pushed in a very British way and squeezed up to get a better view through a very limited space.The way the trees grew with branches sweeping to the ground did not help as the thick leaf cover obscured the lower branches where the redstart preferred to feed. I had been here two hours now and seen the bird  very well and also had got some half decent images of it. All was well.

I reasoned it would be selfish to maintain my prime position especially with these other birders still so desperate to see the redstart. I turned round to the large man leaning against my back and said 'Here take this spot, I have done really well already'. He was obviously taken aback by my gesture but thanked me and I left him to it, glad to get out of such an edgy and tense atmosphere. 

I think they all got to see it in the end, no matter how briefly. Let's hope so.

I was relaxed now and in a jovial mood. That golden time had arrived when you know everything has been achieved and you can stand back, enjoy life, the event and your surroundings whilst other stressed birders who had only lately arrived and were yet to see the bird crammed and crowded at every nook and cranny of the wall to see the elusive American Redstart in its favoured Sycamores.

I met a very nice couple, Bruce and Kathy, the finders of the American Redstart and who now live on Barra, having moved from Somerset. I thanked them for finding the bird. They were really nice and unassuming and we passed a pleasurable few minutes talking birds and birding. Bruce looked as if he recognised me from somewhere and when I mentioned that I and my friends were from Oxford, the penny dropped and he told me how, two year's ago he had seen on the Oxonbirds web site the videos from four local birders, one of whom was me, each telling a memorable tale, that are put on there each Christmas and how much he had enjoyed them. My tale was of an encounter with a Spectacled Bear up a tree and nearly being bitten by a deadly Ver de Lance snake in Ecuador. We had a laugh about it and then it was time to depart for the return journey to Oxford. This is one of the nice things about birding and twitching, in that you never know when you will make a connection with someone.

Bruce and Kathy Taylor-finders of the American Redstart
and lovely people

We walked away from the crowd of birders, still trying to get a view of the redstart as it endlessly zipped around inside the trees. I felt sorry for those who had arrived on the last charter to land as they had very little time to find and see the redstart having paid an awful lot of money to get here. I do hope they got to see it before they had to return to their plane.

The taxi was waiting for us by the road as we passed back through the rusted gate and four went in the taxi whilst Geoff took the remaining three, including me, back to the beach in his van. At least five planes were now parked on the beach plus the much larger Loganair regular scheduled plane. 

Wolfgang was waiting for us and seemed surprised we were so organised, had not managed to lose anyone and were all ready to go. He kindly agreed to take a group photo of us on the beach and then we loaded our gear back on the plane and clambered into the confines of the narrow cabin once again. All of us were now in a very good mood with a major rarity under our belts thanks to Bruce and Kathy and the journey home was now guaranteed to be a pleasure, discussing our various experiences and reliving our encounter with the American Redstart during the three hours we had spent at Eoligarry.

Rush hour at Barra airport. All the planes you can see have been chartered!

Are we happy! You bet!
Vicky, Paul, Angus, Justin, Matt, yours truly and Graham

Wolfgang taxied the plane a long way out onto the beach and then turned into the wind and with an increased roar the engines propelled us along the sand and then up into the sky and Barra rapidly receded behind us. Once more we passed over the land and sea spread out below us, leaving the cloud and greyness behind on Barra as the sun once more re-appeared. Far below we spotted the Calmac ferry sailing towards Barra with a lot of anxious birders on board. We all felt very smug at that moment but they too would almost certainly see the redstart in a couple of hours when the ferry reached Barra. 

Forty minutes later we were back at Oban airport where the weather was just as we had left it this morning, warm and sunny. We bade our farewells to Angus, Graham and Matt and commenced the long journey home, driving through the end of a beautiful day and watching the shadows on the timeless mountains turn blue and then deep purple as the sun began to wane.

We made various stops along the way south to stretch our legs, get some sustenance and just relax. Those of us not driving slept a little, chatted, messed about with Twitter and the Internet, caught up with other birding news and grudgingly re-entered the reality of life on the mainland of Britain. Over tired and over excited, it felt as if we had been in a dream but it had really happened and nothing could take that away from us now.

We were back in Oxfordshire by midnight and I was home in bed by 1am. Twenty seven hours on the go, non stop and it would not have been possible without Justin's determination and planning, Paul and Vicky driving us there and back, and of course Bruce and Kathy finding the sixth American Redstart ever to grace the shores of Britain.

One day we may grow up!