An Asian Desert Warbler on Holy Island 17th June 2020

It had been a hectic weekend for me, first going to see a Blyth's Reed Warbler near Hull on Saturday and then catching up with Large Blue Butterflies in Gloucestershire and a Rose coloured Starling in Dorset on Sunday. On Monday I determined to do nothing but recover from my exertions and was well into achieving this when, in the early afternoon, my phone rang.

It was Mark. 

'Do you need Desert Warbler?' he asked before I could say a word. 

'Err yes' was my limited and guarded response. I knew what was coming. 

'One has been found on Holy Island today' Mark continued. 

We discussed this momentous find and what I should do about it. Mark had already seen one in Yorkshire twenty years ago so was not fussed about going to see this one.

The last Desert Warbler to be seen in Britain was at Samphire Hoe Country Park in Kent on the morning of 19th November 2012. Only one person saw it, managing to take a few photos during its brief, minutes long presence, feeding by a track. There was no trace of it when others rushed to see it. The one before that was at Easington in East Yorkshire, remaining from 7th-11th of May 2000, twenty years ago. There have only been twelve seen in Britain, excluding the one now on Holy Island, so this was a true mega and many birders would want to go and see it. Just as interesting to me was that up to 2004, when it was formally split, Desert Warbler consisted of two subspecies Sylvia nana nana in Asia and Sylvia nana deserti in Africa. This bird on Holy Island was the Asian species, now called Asian Desert Warbler Sylvia nana. I have seen the African species, African Desert Warbler Sylvia deserti, in Morocco but never one from Asia.

Asian Desert Warblers are a long distance migrant, unlike the African Desert Warbler which is virtually sedentary. They breed in northern Iran and around the northern perimeter of the Caspian Sea through the deserts of Kazakhstan and Mongolia to northwest China. They spend the winter in the deserts and arid regions of northeast Africa, the Arabian Peninsula and east to Pakistan and northwest India.

If I left immediately it was still possible to get to Holy Island to see the warbler before nightfall, as it is a five and a half hour drive from my home, it does not get dark until 1030 and my arrival would coincide with when the causeway to the island, which is impassable at high tide, would allow me access to the island. It was so tempting but I was exhausted after my busy weekend and just could not muster the willpower to immediately get up and go.

'I will just have to wait until tomorrow Mark and hope it is still there' I told him, feeling more than a little despondent. 

Then I groaned as I realised that I had to honour a longstanding arrangement with my wife on Tuesday which I dare not break.There are those that would put marriage and relationships at risk to see a bird such as this but I am not one of them. My wife has shown infinite patience with my obsessive nature and now was not the time to test its limits.

I had no choice but accept that Wednesday would be my day of destiny but whether the warbler would still be there was the big question hanging over me. The logistics were easy, in that I would leave home on Tuesday evening at 11pm and, after the five and a half hour drive, arrive at Holy Island at 4.30am the next morning. The tide on Wednesday allowed access onto the island from 3am onwards so that would be perfect.That was the plan but all would be for nought if the bird had flown in the meantime. 

If I was less impetuous I could have waited until Wednesday morning for news and if the bird was still there commence the long journey north but I knew I would not sleep on Tuesday night and therefore rather than toss and turn in bed and be thoroughly unbearable I would spend the time 'enjoying' myself on the highways of Britain, driving north in the night. It was taking a big risk, true, but for me was much the more appealing option.

Tuesday morning arrived and the warbler was reported to be still there, showing really well and even singing. This was a good sign, for vagrant birds such as this, heard singing, indicate a prolonged stay as the bird is often seeking to establish a territory. I remember a similar situation with a male Spectacled Warbler in Norfolk some years ago which as well as singing commenced building a nest!

As if my anxiety levels were not high enough from the ongoing threat of the corona virus pandemic, the warbler's continued presence had now added to them considerably as had the rapidly increasing number of images of it appearing on social media.

I got everything I needed prepared and ready on Tuesday morning, carried out my social obligations with my wife in the afternoon and then retired to get some rest until my departure north at 11pm. Sleep was out of the question but I managed to doze a little.

At just before eleven I left my home and drove across country to join the motorways that would guide me northwards.These current times are so strange, as every day seems like a Saturday. There is no difference from one day to another now and often I have to ask what day it is. Such was the case tonight as I tried to remind myself this was a weekday. Nightfall came and soon I was in another strange but not unfamiliar world, that of night driving to a distant twitch. A thousand and one thoughts pass through my head, as if I am dreaming awake, stimulated and driven by three familar sensations, anxiety, excitement and anticipation. I broke my journey at Tibshelf Services in the death hour of 2am although that is not a good analogy in these difficult and for some tragic times.

Tibshelf Services has seen better days and I was the only one in the place, startling the young lad cleaning the floor. 

'Can I help you mate?' he enquired. 

If only he knew. I was beyond all help. I was twitching and only other fellow twitchers knew the drug I was on. 

'I'll have a decaff latte'. 

'You'll have to help yourself from the machine'. he advised. 

My heart sank as I realised I would have to get my brain into gear to master the simple controls. I achieved the deed without embarrassing myself as he watched me.

I paid for the coffee and a little act of humanity passed between two strangers alone in the night and whose lives will touch just this once. 

'You take great care mate. Look after yourself'''.

'You take care too' I replied. 

He shrugged, 'Sure will'.

My driving marathon northwards resumed and the sky lightened at just after 3am as I passed Doncaster. The Angel of The North at Gateshead told me I was well on my way and soon afterwards I passed over the mighty River Tyne at Newcastle, bypassing and leaving the sprawling city behind me and then driving into a grey, windless early morning and decidedly misty landscape as I headed into the gentle rural contours of The Borders.

Not another car was on the road as I drove the last leg of my journey north. I came to the notorious roadsign for Shilbottle. Everyone undoubtedly replaces the l with a t and giggles with childish glee or is that just me? I noticed that someone had gone further and actually doctored the sign so it really does say Shi*bottle. I started to smile. I just could not help myself.

The turn for Holy Island finally appeared and I wound my way down a lane to the famous causeway.The mist was now really noticeable, lying like an amorphous wet blanket across the flat land, literally at sea level, swallowing the horizon so you only saw opaque outlines of distant features. I crossed the bleak, flat, exposed sands that stretched into an infinity of dreariness on either side of the causeway. I was headed for The Snook and its car park, beyond which, after a quarter of a mile walk the Asian Desert Warbler was to be found in an area called Half Moon Slack.

I was just going on Mark's directions now. 

'You just park at the Snook, its easy, you cannot miss it' he had told me when he called on Monday. 

I came to a layby with two cars in it. This must be it? I had just got myself ready when another car drew up and the two occupants got out. 

'Is this the place for the warbler?' they enquired. 

I could but say 'I think so' but was far from sure. 

They were from Bristol. I waited until they too were ready and we set off into the hinterland, a mist shrouded expanse of flat ground and undulations, called slacks around here, with scattered bushes and isolated wind stunted trees, some just looming shapes in the miasma of mist. The land was quiet, no wind, no bird calls, nothing, all sound deadened by the mist as if time had come to a halt. We wandered around in the wet grass looking for the occupants of the other two cars, birders surely, who might know the exact location of the warbler but we could neither find nor see anyone. Nothing moved. Doubts set in and we returned to our cars and drove further along the road and discovered our error as we turned onto a potholed track that led to a large unsurfaced car park. signposted The Snook.There were half a dozen cars already here but still we could see no one, the all enveloping mist preventing any possibility of checking into the distance.

Another largely fruitless wander ensued and then we saw six other birders walking across the ground out of the mist, to our left. We walked towards them and I found they were birders from Sussex who I knew well. Together we walked on and up and over a slight rise and there below was a small conifer tree and a semi circle of around ten birders scanning its dark interior. We had found Half Moon Slack.

The light was truly appalling and visibility low. I joined the birders and almost instantly heard an unfamiliar and melodic song coming from within the tree. It was the Asian Desert Warbler singing. A short, pleasant trilling of notes that allowed one to sense where it was hidden in the tree. A minute or two later I saw it, only briefly but that was enough. I got an impression of a dull featureless bird, its plumage consisting of pale sandy brown upperparts and buff white underparts and then it was gone. For long periods we could hear it but not see it but every so often it would be found by one of us and thus alerted we all made for the spot, which often meant we had to go round to the other side of the tree but no one rushed and no one gave any reason for complaint.

And so we followed this vagrant warbler's progress, more by sound than sight but soon everyone of us had seen it well enough. It was hard to locate at times, its small drab body melting into the dull light and dark foliage and branches. I looked at my phone. It was only 5.30am  and I had to remind myself that I had only been here for an hour although it seemed so much longer.

There were never more than twenty or so of us standing round the tree and because of the nature of the open habitat and isolated trees and bushes there was never any possibility of overcrowding and everyone behaved impeccably. No rushing, no loud voices, no inane chatting, with everyone standing silently awaiting the next appearance of the warbler from within the dark recesses of the tree.

The warbler flew from the tree to another and we duly followed. The light was slowly getting better but still remained very dull due to the ever present low lying mist. The warbler, unlike most of its hyperactive relatives  was slow in its movements, unhurriedly hopping from tiny twig to tiny twig, often stopping for up to thirty seconds to diligently examine the undersides of the surrounding leaves, picking off minute prey before moving on. It sang frequently and when you saw it singing  its whole body and wings shivered as it did so.

It moved regularly from small tree to bush and back again and definitely had certain trees it favoured. My best views of it were in a deciduous tree where the foliage was less thick than a conifer and for a good half hour we watched it threading its way through this tree, showing itself well and allowing you to study its plumage and general behaviour. On occasion it would sit still, in the open, on an exposed twig and do nothing. Cue the cameras going into rapid fire as everyone recorded the moment for their own personal pleasure. I looked again at my phone as the warbler fed in the tree and saw it was only 6.30am but it seemed as if it was hours later.

Its plumage could only be described as drab, being pale sandy brown on the upperparts with maybe slightly more rufous tones on its wings and tail, while the rump was distinctly rufous. The underparts were greyish white and similarly non descript.The outer tail feather on each side of the tail was broadly fringed white, a diagnostic feature of an Asian Desert Warbler. Its head was just as dull as the body, sandy brown, the only striking feature being the staring  pale yellow eyes. The bill and legs were also pale yellow. In size it was smaller than a Common Whitethroat, more about the size of a Willow Warbler although its head appeared rather large and rounded and body more substantial.

I followed the bird around with the rest of the small gathering of birders. Some left, having had their fill whilst others joined us. I was tired, very tired and retreated to the car for something to eat and drink. My body was shaking from the combined effort of driving all night and then yomping a quarter of a mile across the undulating terrain to see the warbler. I needed to recuperate and sat in the car for a good while, reflecting on another twitching triumph. I was too tired to feel the usual buzz of elation at seeing a new bird but was nevertheless quietly satisfied.

I went back for a second look but there was a different atmosphere to the twitch now. An unfortunate altercation between a foul mouthed birder and an over zealous photographer threatened to disrupt what had, up to now, been a pleasurable experience. The initial thrill of early morning had already gone as had all bar one of my fellow twitchers from earlier. It was time to leave.

I was conscious that the latest time to leave the island in order to get across the causeway was 1115am so I made my way back to the car and said farewell to Holy Island. On the way back to the car I found the time to admire the many Northern Marsh Orchids growing in the grass plus a fine spike of Viper's Bugloss near the car park. If I had the time and energy I would have searched for the Lindisfarne Helleborine but it will have to wait for another time.

Northern Marsh Orchid

Viper's Bugloss

I had been watching the Asian Desert Warbler for five hours, on and off.

On my way south I called Nic, a fellow Oxonbirder who was driving up during the day to see the warbler, to appraise him of the current location of the warbler, hoping to save him too much searching. He in turn suggested I go and see a Rose coloured Starling at Collingham which is  near Leeds. It was favouring a cherry tree just like the one I saw on Sunday at Weymouth and just like the one at Weymouth it was an adult male and showing well. 

Why not? Collingham was just off my route south on the A1 and it was only lunchtime after all. I duly found Compton Lane, a small road that took me to Start Farm and the hedge and cherry tree the starling favoured. Sadly, when I got there I learned from the birders standing by the metal entrance gate that the starling had been showing really well for the previous hour but had then dropped into the hedge below the cherry tree and was nowhere to be seen.

I was not too worried about this but an hour later there was still no sign of the starling.The farmer came along in a tractor and opened the gate to the field and left it open for us to stand inside. With this new found opportunity to view more of the hedge the starling was discovered perched, partly visible, in the top of the hedge! 

We waited another hour, feeling certain it would eventually move back into the cherry tree to feed but it never did and dropped further down into the hedge to become totally invisible.

There was the prospect of a long drive home for me and I reflected that I had seen another Rose coloured Starling very well only days ago. 

It was definitely time to go.