The Booby Prize 2nd September 2019

Are you sitting comfortably? Then I will begin my latest twitching tale. It always starts this way. 

First there came a vague and even now, currently unconfirmed record of a Brown Booby at Swalecliffe, Kent on 19th August, which if true would be a first ever for the British Isles. It subsequently all went quiet for a few days and the sighting became one of those 'might have beens' to be discussed in a pub or on social media.

A week later, on 26th August, a well respected Cornish birder, Kester Wilson (of Alder Flycatcher fame amongst others!) reported a probable Brown Booby seen near St Ive's, Cornwall but as he had only seen the bird without optics from a beach it could not be fully confirmed but everyone interested in rare bird chasing now started to sit up and take serious notice.

Rare birds such as this, more often than not, are found in the furthest and often remotest parts of Britain which I suppose is not unexpected. St Ive's is almost at the westernmost tip of Cornwall so is certainly distant but St Ive's itself is a renowned tourist spot and can hardly be called remote.

The next day the suspicions of a Brown Booby frequenting British waters were confirmed when a subadult Brown Booby was identified in the early morning at St Ive's Bay, fishing briefly with Gannets.Two subsequent sightings claimed in the afternoon proved to  be contentious and confusing as they were thought to be of an immature Gannet which can look similarly brown from a distance.

Nevertheless throughout the land birders made hurried plans to travel to Cornwall from all parts of Britain and maybe beyond. Some had already headed west and arrived in Cornwall.

On Wednesday 28th August the Brown Booby was seen well and photographed passing Carbis Bay and fishing near Godrevy Point on the opposite side of the bay from St Ives. It was aged as either a second year bird or older but not an adult. A full blown twitch was now commencing.

Birders rapidly descended on St Ive's to add to its already chronic parking problems and somehow managed to find an elevated location from which to survey the broad sweep of St Ive's Bay which includes to the east, Carbis Bay, the Hayle Estuary and then beyond to the cliffs of Gwithian Towans, Mexico Towans and Godrevy Point Lighthouse.

On Thursday 29th August the Brown Booby was seen again in the morning, this time fishing close inshore off Gwithian Towans and gave superb views. It then disappeared and was not seen again that day.

Friday the 30th August found many birders ranged at first light along the cliff top at Gwithian Towans in anticipation of a repeat performance from this mega rarity but to their considerable frustration and disappointment there was no sign of the Brown Booby all day. 

Many birders refused to accept defeat and remained overnight, sleeping in cars or finding bed and breakfast accommodation wherever they could, convinced the bird was still around. To add to an already bizarre and unprecedented situation another Brown Booby, an adult, was seen and photographed well, off the northwest coast of Brittany in France.

Saturday the 31st August dawned and the Brown Booby was again found fishing off Gwithian Towans in the morning, much to many a tired, strung out and anxious  birder's relief. It then disappeared only to be sensationally found, at noon, perched on rocks at Porth Gwidden by St Ive's Island. Here it gave point blank views to those lucky enough to be nearby and to those that managed to make the drive through holiday traffic from Gwithian Towans to St Ive's, in time to see it before it flew off. Later a Brown Booby was reported flying west past Pendeen at just after 1pm.

Brown Boobys are normally found in tropical oceans around the world and are common in The Caribbean. Could it be the recent bad weather in that area of the world has displaced one or two to our shores? It seems the most likely explanation.

Where was I in all this you may ask. Well, back in Oxfordshire, cursing my luck as it was impossible to get away from, first a family social commitment on Friday and then a business conference in London on Saturday. It was a waking nightmare of frustration but there was nothing I could do about it but from Saturday night onwards I was at last free and planned to drive overnight to arrive at Gwithian Towans before dawn on Sunday.

For some reason, recalling the on/off appearance of the booby, I booked myself into Penzance Youth Hostel for Sunday night just in case the booby did not show up on Sunday. It turned out to be one of the luckiest decisions I have made for quite some time with regard to twitching rare birds.

On returning from the conference in London I informed my wife of my departure to Cornwall a few hours hence.Well used to such events she wished me well and I set off at midnight to undertake the four hour drive to the far west of Cornwall. The M5 motorway was closed for two junctions and a tedious diversion through west country towns commenced in the wee hours but finally I was back on the motorway.

I was tired and had to stop for a cat nap, then another stop for coffee in the death hour of three am to keep me awake, then finally I crossed from Devon into Cornwall but now came vicious rain showers hitting the windscreen with some force. My wife had told me it was predicted to be sunny in Cornwall. Had she got it wrong? I consulted the weather app on my phone and it showed rain showers until six am at St Ive's then sun, so my spirits, currently sinking ever lower with tiredness and the rain, revived somewhat.

I came to Hayle and turned up a side road, rising upwards for some miles to reach a deserted and rough track and following the Satnav instructions came to the large car park at Gwithian Towans looking out directly onto the wide sweep of St Ive's Bay and Godrevy Lighthouse to my right. It was still dark and raining.The lights of St Ive's, far off across the bay, flickered through the rain water  streaming down the windscreen. Revelling in the fact I had finally got here and there was no more driving I put the seat back and settled into a fitful sleep. It would not be dawn for another hour. I dozed rather than slept, conscious of other cars drawing up alongside and further about me in the car park. Birders were arriving en masse.This was going to be a big one. The rain showers continued to rattle on the car and then dawn was upon us.

The rain, as predicted, cleared and I put on warm clothing to counter the strong northwest wind blowing directly in from the sea and up and over the low cliff. The door of the car next to me opened and out stepped Gary Bagnell. 

'Hello Baggers I thought you had already seen the booby?'

He told me he was not satisfied with the views he had got on 27th August as they were so inconclusive and could easily have been an immature Gannet. He had decided to drive all the way from Sussex to try for a second time. Rather him than me but there again that is the obsessive compulsion that compels us to go twitching

Slowly everyone arranged themselves along the top of the grassy cliff top, while some stood lower down in the grass below and we all commenced scanning the sea as the light slowly improved.There were quite a number of Gannets fishing in the bay but many were distant, flying near to St Ives which is about 4kms away across the bay. It was not long before someone lower down in the grass claimed to have the booby in his scope. A surge of birders hurtled towards him and anxious demands for directions came thick and fast. It turned out the bird in question was miles away just under the beach huts at St Ive's and was no more than a brown speck that disappeared almost as fast as it had materialised.There was no way this could be ticked although there were some willing to do so. Tired, dishevelled and frustrated, my eyes watered with the effort of viewing at such a distance and I gave up looking for it.

Through the next few hours various shouts went up, all concerning large brown birds flying near to St Ive's. All were probably brown coloured immature Gannets but we would surely learn from the birders ranged on the Coastguard Lookout at St Ive's if the booby was indeed over there. It turned out it was not. As predicted the morning became sunny but still rather cold due to the strong wind blowing in off the sea. Further back from the cliff it was warmer and some birders had retreated to there.

Far out to sea birds were moving across the bay. Gannets, shining white in the sunlight and stark against the blue sea, fished and dived in spectacular fashion. Manx Shearwaters started to appear about an hour after sunrise, hundreds of them, their small shapes flickering black and white as they rounded Godrevy Point and crossed the bay to pass by St Ive's Island. Arctic and Great Skuas were called but again were eye wateringly distant. Finally a closer bird passed by, a Grey Phalarope, that flew through the surf over a beach now exposed by the falling tide and becoming populated by dog walkers and surfers.

For six hours we stood and looked out to sea but there was no sign of the booby. Many birders had given up looking and were either asleep. chatting or waiting to see if anyone else would find the booby. Occasional calls were made but they all involved distant birds, frankly unidentifiable at such a distance and probably reflected hope rather than expectation. The car park was now almost full, mostly with birder's cars and the cafe began to do a brisk trade from holiday makers, surfers and birders alike. A coffee sustained me but by noon I knew the game was up. The booby had never been seen in the afternoon. It was now a question of contemplating spending a night in the youth hostel, sharing a dormitory room with strangers and hoping the booby might show up tomorrow.

I now had an entire afternoon in which to go and find something to occupy me.What could I do?

I settled on going to see a Western Bonelli's Warbler at Trevescan, a forty five minute drive west. The day was now hot and sunny and under normal circumstances would have been a delight but the lack of a Brown Booby hung like a malignant shadow over me.

At Trevescan I stood on a grassy path by a hedge and looked at a large conifer and a pittosporum bush in the corner of a cottage's back garden.Twenty minutes later a pale, open faced phylloscopus warbler flicked into the trees and showed itself briefly. Its call was distinctive. It was the Bonelli's. It disappeared and another wait of forty five minutes ensued before I got another view. After this I called it quits. There were many people coming to see the warbler, far more than would be normal and presumably this was an overspill of birders disappointed at not seeing the booby and determined to make the best of it.

I left the quaint and pleasant little village of Trevescan and headed back to Gwithian but tiredness had finally got the better of me and I had reached that point of really having no idea of where to go or what to do. Dazed, I contemplated giving up entirely, heading for home  and forgetting all about staying at the Youth Hostel.

After messing around at Hayle, filling up the car with diesel at Tesco in Penzance and tiring of the holiday traffic I sought the leafy confines of Penzance Youth Hostel and after a beer settled into my dormitory room. It was pleasant enough as were my two companions and I was asleep by eight thirty. Dog tired, fed up and depressed, a bed  and oblivion were never more welcome.

Tomorrow I would be up at five am to once more drive to Gwithian Towans to repeat the torment of today but with, hopefully, a more positive end result. Maybe with a decent night's sleep I would feel more optimistic about matters.

When I left the hostel the next morning it was raining but as with yesterday it was predicted to cease by six am and then it would be sunny for the rest of the day. I arrived at the now familiar car park and repeated the performance of yesterday. There were markedly less birders now, only about forty. Many who were present yesterday had to go back to work, it being a Monday but others like me had elected to remain overnight, just in case. We duly lined up near to each other so we could follow calls about the booby if anyone should see it.

We stood and scanned the sea but nothing remotely like a booby was evident. The wind was now much lighter than yesterday and the number of Gannets had fallen to just a few. The Manx Shearwaters came again after an hour or so and I managed to find a Bonxie and an Arctic Skua or two, even a Pomarine Skua.

A sense of expectation descended upon us when the hour of nine am approached, as this was when the booby had been seen on Saturday from this very location but it was not to be. The time slipped by agonisingly as slowly the realisation of another no show dawned on us. Two Ravens cronked as they flew west along the cliff.

Birders started chatting, always a bad sign, others went for a coffee in the cafe and yet others admired the lady surfers in their wet suits on the beach. Concentration was lapsing rapidly and we were resigned to the fact that the chance to see a Brown Booby had slipped by.

A huge female Peregine came along the cliff edge and spotting two Woodpigeons set off after them over the sea.We were treated to a spectacular but ultimately unsuccessful chase right in front of us before the Peregrine once more did a fly past and was gone westward on the wind. An unseen stonechat repeatedly gave its alarm call from behind us in the brambles at the top of the car park and two Curlew flew in off the sea.Yet again another Grey Phalarope flew along the surfline of sea and beach.

I had accepted my defeat.We all had.What more could we do? It was not going to happen although some of us still scoped the sea, back and fore, as if willing the booby to magically appear. Some birders had sensibly adjourned for breakfast in the cafe at the back of the car park.

I cannot remember exactly what time it was when it all changed but a slight stirring and a buzz of conversation commenced to my right, somewhere around ten thirty am. I was, at that moment, mentally planning my departure for home when a birder to my right announced 'The booby is at Kynance Cove on The Lizard.' Apparently RBA (Rare Bird Alert) had just reported the Brown Booby was at The Lizard which is on the opposite coast of Cornwall to where we were. The news passed instantly through our ranks and everyone there and then, without any query, made for their cars parked row upon row behind us. Here we go. One last chance. Destiny one way or the other now lay at The Lizard.

I was unsure of the best route or even how to get to The Lizard but the two birders I had been standing next to did and I opted to follow them in their small grey car, nose to tail out of the car park with at least two other cars following me. I kept very close as I was totally dependent on those in the grey car to guide me unwittingly to Kynance Cove and it was essential I did not lose them in traffic as they would not be hanging about. It was everyone for themselves now. It took seemingly forever to get along the track from the car park as a departing holiday maker insisted on bringing his car to an almost dead halt at each speed bump. Other birders were running back up the track to their distant cars, where they had left them to avoid paying the car park charges at Gwithian. I wondered about stopping to offer a lift but could not as I had to keep the grey car in my sights.

Finally we were on the road proper and descending back to Hayle. 'Do not lose them at the roundabout Ewan' I muttered to myself. I followed them over the mini roundabout as did a car with two birders behind me, just before a bus would have cut us off. Phew almost! We were heading across Cornwall now to the southern coast on a forty minute journey, via a route unknown to me but those in front obviously knew what they were doing. Then a huge truck slowed our pace and we had no choice but to follow it for mile after mile down the winding and narrow road. Definitely no overtaking.

A million anxieties were pulsing through my head, chief of which was not to lose touch with the grey car in front of me, currently my saviour and guide to Kynance Cove. Other worries multiplied. What if the bird is no longer there? It was too awful to contemplate. What was it doing when reported? When was it last seen? I had no way of knowing. At least the car in front and behind, each with a passenger as well as a driver could update themselves en route. I was, conversely, totally in the dark, having to concentrate solely on driving and with no means of accessing any updated information about the booby.

The truck eventually turned right and we gained speed, hurtling straight on. We came to another roundabout but still I stayed in contact as did the car following me. A junction where we turned right posed more problems as a car got in front of me, separating me from the grey car ahead.We joined a long line of slow moving cars tailing a dogged tractor and trailer. Eventually that too turned off and we picked up speed again. I kept the grey car in sight as we passed the eyesore of RNAS Culdrose. On and on we went, faster, slower, then faster again. The car between me and the grey car turned off left and I was back nose to tail with my guide car. My phone rang. It was Mark who had seen the Brown Booby on Friday. Before he could say anything  I shouted in adrenalin fuelled excitement 

'Yes I know! We are almost there! 

'Good luck, let me know' he shouted back and rung off.

Stupidly, due to my over excitement, I had forgotten to ask Mark for more details about the sighting. If it was sat on a rock I was in with a chance, if flying about it was not so good. Never mind, there was nothing I or anyone else could do but just get to Kynance Cove as fast as we could. The road was open and we put on speed only for a lumbering Volvo to pull out from a side road without looking and causing the grey car in front to brake and swerve round it. I tried to follow but a car was coming the other way. The Volvo driver blissfully unaware of his or her narrow escape dawdled along and I struggled to keep the grey car in sight. I saw it turn off right, the sign indicating Kynance Cove. Good I could follow and get rid of the Volvo but no the Volvo was going to Kynance Cove too. It slowed to a snail's pace and I soon lost sight of the fast moving grey car and I had no choice but to grit my teeth and follow the Volvo. There was now no sign of the grey car and I was on my own. I came to a car park on my left but this surely was not the right one. An instant decison had to be made. I drove straight on and followed the Volvo. Eventually we came to a large car park, looking to be almost full of cars and which was obviously the right place.

Kynance Cove is owned by  The National Trust and a volunteer on the gate asked if I was a member. 

'Yes but can I show you my membership card on the way out as there is a rare bird I am desperate to see'. 

He obviously knew what was going on and let me pass. I was directed through the main car park to an overflow car park that had been just opened to accommodate the influx of twitchers cars. A young female volunteer was panicking 

'Why is everyone in such a hurry, it's getting dangerous with all these cars arriving at once'. 

I drove onwards into a field and was directed by another older lady volunteer to drive to a far corner of the field. Her directions were ambiguous and of course in my haste I got it wrong and incurred her displeasure. She had not an iota of charm or humour. The kind of person who given the smallest amount of authority and power over people promptly decides to abuse it. 

'Stop driving so fast' she commanded 'What's the hurry'. 

I was doing 20mph. She was becoming increasingly annoying and I tried to explain about the booby but she was not interested. She rounded on another fellow twitcher who had the temerity to park his car out of line.

By now I had joined the other two birders that had followed me all the way from Gwithian in their car and learned that the booby was currently perched at a place called Pyramid Rock but where was that? A headless chicken moment arrived as we panicked not knowing where to go. The charmless lady told us we had to pay for the car park.We ignored her.

There was an obvious path leading downwards to a beach. Was this the right way to the Brown Booby? I asked two ladies nearby. They were American and looked at me as if I was deranged.

We looked around and saw that some other birders were heading in the opposite direction. 

'Quick follow them they seem to know where they are going'. 

We ran up the sloping field and back through the main car park. Then we saw it. Off to our right was indeed a huge pyramid of rock standing offshore. Surely that must be it but how do we get to it? We followed another path a bit further up and then could see a line of birders scoping the rock from the edge of a precipitous cliff.

Pyramid Rock.The Brown Booby was perched on the smallest triangle of rock
to the extreme left

'They do not seem to be looking at anything' one of my colleagues said. 

'Yes they are, don't worry'. I replied although none too sure I was correct. 

We ran down a slope towards the birders and a passing couple smiled and uttered the magic words 

'It's still there!' 

I met a familiar face, Stuart, in amongst the crowd of birders and he told me where to look on Pyramid Rock. 

'It's on the left hand side of the small triangular rock by the main Pyramid Rock, just down from a Shag which is perched above it'

I had erected my scope's tripod on my hasty descent down the slope and now looked out to the rock in question and there - at last - a Brown Booby was perched, preening on the edge of the rock, in the sun, as if it had not a care in the world.

Moments like this are almost beyond words. A mental log jam of pent up emotion, worry, anxiety stress, care, panic, all melt away in a wave of euphoria, and as an inner calm replaces the tension everyone becomes everyone else's good friend. No rancour, argument or complaint for we are all as happy as can be and life is the sweetest it has ever been at this precise moment. The gamble has paid off once more and the addiction to a legal drug called twitching is confirmed and satisfied yet again.

The Brown Booby remained on its rocky perch, idly preening in the sun. It spent at least forty five minutes sorting through its feathers, wing stretching and just looking about, every so often languidly adjusting another feather or two. It looked scruffy as if in moult. Overall it was a faded pale brown on its upperparts rather than the dark chocolate brown of an adult, and white below with  a bluish tinge to its beak. Its head and breast were also pale brown and when, later, it flew, I could see broad white panels on its underwings. Amazingly it is considered to be a different bird to the one we had all been hoping to see at Gwithian Towans but others disagree so we will just have to wait and see but that, for now, was inconsequential. What really really mattered was we had seen a Brown Booby after what had been hours, nay days, of anxious hoping.

More people joined us and there was quite a gathering not only of birders but curious holidaymakers as well. The booby was perched on a rock in the most beautiful scenery you could imagine, the brown/black cliffs topped with short green turf standing magnificently above a sea of pure turquoise blue. What a way to bring an end to my quest.

After a while the booby stopped preening and started looking about which is often a prelude to a bird flying and it duly did just that, dropping from the cliff to sweep low over the sea and then fly around Kynance Cove below us, giving tremendous views in the scope as it came close by us. It circled a couple of times and dived into the turquoise waters, surfacing with a fish which it rapidly swallowed.

Then it flew out and around the small headland we were standing on and into the bay on the other side where it commenced fishing with some purpose and very much in the same fashion as a Gannet. It looked to me more gawky and angular than a Gannet, maybe smaller too although its flight was similar but with stiffer, more rapid wing beats and it dived in a similar fashion but not from quite so far up. It was successful in most of its dives, rising up from being submerged and consuming the fish on the sea's surface before flapping clumsily across the water to become airborne. It repeated its circling and diving a number of times before returning to the same rock where it had been when we first arrived  but this time perched out of sight on the other side of the rock.

I had watched the Brown Booby for an hour and a half and had seen it so well I truly felt blessed, especially to watch it fishing literally just below us.

The long drive home, tired as I was would be a doddle, undertaken in a cloud of euphoria and sense of well being.

Job done.