My Second Rare Shearwater this Summer 11th August 2020

The differences between Cory's and Scopoli's Shearwaters
c The Sound Approach

Mark called me on Monday to discuss where our now almost regular weekly birding trip should take us. Spurn in Yorkshire was favourite as it was currently hosting a Collared Flycatcher and other goodies such as Greenish and Icterine Warblers.

We live in separate counties, Mark in Bedfordshire and myself in Oxfordshire so we tend to arrange to meet at a mutually acceptable point between our two homes and in this case it was going to be Leicester North Services as we were going north. We alternate the driving to our chosen birding destinations and this time it was Mark's turn to drive in his car. The meeting time was to be 7am which required my getting up at 5am. I went to bed, set the alarm, silenced my phone and tried to get some sleep.

What with a combination of worries about the continued corona virus pandemic and hot humid nights, sleep does not come easily to either of us these days. It was therefore of no surprise when awaking and checking my phone at 2am it indicated I had received a text message. It was from Mark who had sent me an image at precisely 22.39 of a Scopoli's Shearwater that had been reported from South Queensferry in Lothian, Scotland and the message.

 'Ring me. I think we need to go to Scotland'. 

A second subsequent message stated. 

'Ewan. This bird has been there for two days.Will not be going to Spurn. Ring me when you get up please.' 

Initially I thought Mark was crying off the trip to Spurn but then, defuddling my tired brain, I realised he wanted to go for the Scopoli's Shearwater instead.

To go back slightly, two Cory's Shearwaters had been identified passing north off the Yorkshire coast on 9th July and one had a distinctive white patch on its upper right wing where it had moulted some feathers. Fast forward to 9th August when two Cory's Shearwaters were seen far up the Firth of Forth opposite South Queensferry, one of which showed a distinctive white patch on its right wing. They were the same two birds as had been seen passing Yorkshire in July. The two shearwaters then hung around the firth between Hound Point and South Queensferry. On 10th August good photos were obtained off South Queensferry of the distinctive individual with the white wing patch, which showed that the underwing was extensively white, reaching almost to the tip, the bill slender and the bird itself slighter in build than its companion, these being the main criteria for identifying a Scopoli's Shearwater. 

Scopoli's Shearwater has only been claimed in Britain three times before but never officially accepted so this was a true mega and as it appeared to be remaining in the area would surely result in a major twitch to South Queensferry on 11th August.

Scopoli's Shearwaters breed across the Mediterranean, on some of the Balearic Islands and other small islands off France, Italy, Malta, Croatia and Greece.They winter in the Atlantic and can be found wintering off the west coast of Africa, the east coast of Brazil and various Greek islands. I have personally seen them off the island of Cephalonia in Greece.

I lay back in bed, my head spinning and pondered my next move. Mark's message had been sent hours ago. Was he currently awake or was he asleep?  Knowing Mark is a similar sufferer from anxiety and occasional depression I took a chance and sent him a text at just after 2am.

 'Am awake you can call me anytime'. 

My hunch proved correct for Mark rang me shortly afterwards and it took minutes for us to agree to head for Scotland immediately, well, after we both got up, had a shower and made some sandwiches for the trip.

In a daze I got up, gathered everything together, including myself, and was out of the house and on the road at just after 2.45am and Mark, likewise confirmed he was on his way to our rendezvous in Leicester.

An hour later I drew up in the car park at Leicester North Services which fortuitously in these unsettled times do not restrict how long you leave your car there.Ten minutes later Mark arrived and I transferred my gear to his car and as I did realised I had left my binoculars at home but we decided  it would not matter as the shearwater would require a scope to locate it rather than bins, although I admit I would feel incomplete without them hanging round my neck. Never mind it was too late to rectify the situation.

In no time we were headed north. Another six hours of driving lay in store.There was a mild debate about what route to follow to South Queensferry which lies just north of Edinburgh on the Firth of Forth. I suggested M6 and M74 and then across country to Edinburgh but Mark was for taking the M1 and then the A1 and as he was doing the driving I acquiesced to his chosen route.

All went well as the dawn rose and we drove steadily north. I dozed on and off, having had so little sleep. We made a stop for coffee and then continued north. Mark called Cliff, a fellow twitcher and all round nice person, who told us he was one hundred miles ahead of us. Of more interest he told us of a pleasure boat that sailed every two hours from South Queensferry which did sightseeing tours around the approximate area the shearwaters were frequenting. He was booked on the 1015 sailing but we, following on later, would miss that one but could get the next sailing at 1215. We booked ourselves on it online, paying £34.00 for the two of us including the hire of a pair of bins for me! We were all set but the weather looked grim with low lying cloud and an ever increasing threat of rain. 

All was going to plan until, approaching Newcastle at 8am, signs appeared advising the A1 was closed from Junctions 65-67 and this at the peak of the rush hour. We continued on our course but soon saw brake lights ahead and a long line of vehicles stretching into the distance, signalling a monumental jam as three lanes of traffic attempted to merge into one to leave the closed motorway.

A spur of the moment decision sent us flying off on a convenient slip road and then onto a road that would take us another way north via the Tyne Tunnel. Bloody hell it was a close run thing but we had avoided a huge delay by the skin of our teeth. Two lanes of traffic wound down into the tunnel and inevitably we found ourselves in the wrong lane behind a slow moving line of trucks as cars sped by us in the 'cars only' lane but we chugged along until we came out the other side. Then yet more anxiety arrived as the realisation dawned that we had no change to pay the automatic toll. It did not take credit cards so we drew up to the  automated machine with trepidation as to what we were to do.

Thankfully a green button on the machine signified if we pushed it we would have the option to pay online within the next twenty four hours.We pushed the button, a receipt for £1.80 appeared and the barrier arose. Our anxiety subsided to what passes for near normal these days and we were on our way.

We made a final stop at Berwick on Tweed for a coffee and comfort stop, courtesy of McDonalds. The air temperature had now dropped markedly from when we left Leicester, requiring a jumper.

Now it was my turn to do the driving and we crossed the border into Scotland, heading parallel with the coast towards the ring road around Edinburgh. Ominous road signs appeared with the message 'Yellow warning. Heavy rain predicted. Drive carefully.'  Great. Could it get any worse? I was beginning to think our escapade was doomed. I looked across the landscape as drops of rain spattered on the windscreen.The far distance was invisible, subsumed in a shroud of low lying cloud. If it was raining and visibility  was as low as this at South Queensferry it would be hard to find anything on the sea. Our anxiety levels commenced to rise once more.

Finally our marathon journey came to its conclusion as we dropped down into South Queensferry and after a confused search for the harbour, where our boat would sail from, we drove through the pleasant cobbled high street and out the other side to find a large and refreshingly free, open air car park with the huge and iconic Forth Rail Bridge towering above us and stretching its not inconsiderable length across the grey and misty firth to an indistinct northern shore.

The Forth Rail Bridge. Built in 1869. Designed by John Fowler and Benjamin Baker.
It is 2467 metres in length and 110 metres high 

The time was just after 11am.

It was the school holidays and families with childen were all about us along with other folk just wandering around. The weather was dull and grey, dreich is the Scots word for it, and occasional rain showers came and went, leaving a distinctly damp feel to the place and our spirits. Having parked the car we made for the pleasure boat reception and as we did Mark called Steve, another twitching buddy, to receive the startling but welcome news that the shearwater was apparently flying about out in the firth, near to Hound Point. The news sent us into a blind panic as to what to do. Any thought of checking in for the boat was abandoned and we resigned ourselves to missing the boat and losing £34.00. I raced back for the car while Mark used the local facilities. It looked like we would have to make a long walk out to a place called Longcraig Pier, near a moored oil tanker, but we discovered at the last moment we could drive a fair way out towards the pier and took the car on the potholed road for as far as we could, trying to avoid grounding the car in the process, not always successfully. Both of us were like taut strings now. The long tiring drive with its emotional rollercoaster of minor triumphs and disappointments was now over and we were confronting, unexpectedly, a situation which demanded instant decisions and actions, any one of which, if wrong could precipitate disaster. We rapidly joined half a dozen birders lined abreast across the pier, looking east out into the firth. I enquired where the shearwater was and discovered to my dismay that not one of them could see it. The shearwater had been reported as flying towards this pier from Hound Point,a mile or so further up the coast but no one had seen any sign of it.

We scoped the murky horizon and waters of the firth but nothing was there. Patrolling Sandwich Terns flew past us calling their harsh kirrriick kirrriick call. It was suggested that we walk further east to Hound Point which would take twenty minutes. It was either this or remain where we were. We joined everyone else and made for the track that led away through the trees towards Hound Point. Onwards we tramped, about eight of us, each making as best speed as we could. I was following two birders who were leading the way and after we had got about half way one of them received a phone call telling him the shearwater was now definitely heading our way and towards the very pier we had left behind. Instantaneously we turned about and sought the first possible opportuntity to get to the shoreline where we hoped to intercept the shearwater as it passed us, assuming it hadn't already. We came to a small track leading down to the sea through some trees, which enabled us to access the shore. Five minutes later we were lined up on a sandy stretch of shoreline  looking out to an oil tanker moored at its jetty and to the firth beyond. We scoped the area for a full ten minutes and then came the familiar words from a birder down the line that send you into paroxysms of tension and anxiety. 

'I can see it. It's flying out from behind the tanker, to the left'. 

I looked but saw nothing, then more words 

'Its turned and flown back behind the tanker'. 

Damn I had missed it. Not quick enough. Then it re-appeared but I still could not locate it before it again was lost to view behind the tanker. It was appearing and disappearing at intervals from behind the bulk of the tanker. I was advised it was far out and just about discernible in the murk but I could not for the life of me find it.

My heart sank. Tired, dishevelled and disconsolate I contemplated the unpalatable fact my ageing eyes, lack of sleep and an unforeseeen temporary incompetence with my scope were combining to frustrate me at this moment of potential triumph.

Others confirmed their joyous individual discovery of the shearwater's distant presence as it continued to periodically fly out from behind the tanker. Eventually I was the only one still not able to locate it. From previous experience I knew I needed to compose myself, not panic, try to relax and not allow tension to make matters worse. I was shaking with worry. The shearwater appeared again. 

'It's flying just above the red flag', No. 

'It's turned and is flying back towards us' Still no. 

This was getting embarrassing. 

'It's flying towards the tanker's bows' 

Then, a revelation. there it was, obvious, flying low over the grey sea, a long winged languid, gull like vision of happiness. I had at last connected.

The ultimate horror scenario of having to drive home knowing I had been in the shearwater's presence but unable to see it was banished forever and now, relaxing, the pressure off, I of course found I could refind it with no great effort.

Although distant we knew it was the Scopoli's from the distinctive white patch on the upper right wing. It disappeared behind the tanker yet again and then for a long period there was nothing to see except a few Eiders floating on the sea. My birding colleagues set about calling various boat companies trying to arrange a charter boat to go out and see the bird, now we knew where it was. All attempts were confounded by social distancing issues and more pertinently price. Personally I was content with the views I had and having blown £34.00 between the two of us on unrefundable boat tickets I was not in a mind to spend another larger amount of money to go to sea looking for the shearwater.

My grateful thanks to Cliff Smith for these 'record shots' of
Scopoli's Shearwater which give a flavour of the moment

Twenty long minutes passed and we were joined by another ten or so birders who had run from Hound Point to where we were but still there was no further sighting of the shearwater. 

Then it was relocated a good way to our left near to the iconic bridge and a pair of moored tugs.We made a four hundred metre yomp  to a slightly raised area of ground that would give us a good viewpoint, trying not to slip on the  seaweed and wet rocks on the way. We set up our scopes. 

I soon located the shearwater, sat on the sea, closer now and looking surprisingly black and white in the difficult light. It was preening while it floated on the water, occasionally flapping its wings and for a good few minutes we all scoped it and some tried to take a photo but the distance was too great for anything satisfactory to be achieved. We enjoyed these magic moments and then the shearwater rose from the sea and, as it banked, showed the main diagnostic characteristic that differentiates it from the closely similar Cory's Shearwater, this being the white on the underside of its wing which extended to almost the tip unlike a normal Cory's where the white stops well short.

It flew around in front of us. A Fulmar mobbed it and was ignored by the shearwater. We used the two moored tugs to mark its progress as it flew back and fore, then slowly circled low over the sea and even settled briefly once or twice more on the sea, before making its way east, and I lost it to view as it flew further and further out and away into the firth. I guess we had watched it for around ten to fifteen minutes and all of us were jubilant at our successful encounter. 

I stood, calm now, even contemplative and looked once more at the iconic, huge cantilevered bridge towering above me. Every Scot knows of it and regards it with a mixture of awe and pride. My thoughts went back to my late father in law. He was a Spitfire pilot in the Second World War and when stationed at Lossiemouth, further up the Scottish coast, for a dare he flew his Spitfire under the bridge. I looked at the bridge and imagined his iconic aircraft hurtling at virtually zero feet below the bridge before zooming up into the sky and away. He was probably disciplined,but did not really care as all of them had a devil may care attitude to life knowing they could be killed at any time.The fleet airarm were probably not so concerned at losing a pilot but more at losing a valuable aircraft. The stunt did not do him any harm as he became a Squadron Leader, commanding a group of Spitfires, leading them on D Day over the Normandy Beaches and then flying adapted Spitfires (called Seafires) from the aircraft carrier HMS Battler in the Far East, fighting the Japanese.

Like many of his fellow survivors he was in pieces mentally by the time the war ended and with no recognition or understanding of PTSD or counselling in those days, was left to get on with it the best he could. Despite all this he remained an absolute gentleman and a remarkably modest character to the end of his days. I trust you will forgive me this slight indulgence and tribute to him that was brought to mind by seeing the bridge. It's strange the things that can trick one's mind into catching you unawares with forgotten memories.

Mark and myself walked back to the car and chatted with our fellow birders, savouring this time, extracting the last moments of pleasure from the experience. We drove back to the car park and purchased a coffee and sandwich each from a cafe and I treated us to that iconic Scottish delicacy, Tunnock's Teacakes. Two each!

It was done. Success. Another huge gamble had brought the twitcher's ultimate dividend of a new species for our British Lists.Who could have predicted that in the space of a couple of months I would have seen two very rare shearwaters of all things, in the form of a Scopoli's Shearwater today and a Yelkouan Shearwater almost exactly a month earlier from the Dorset coast.

In my case I am now on 504 species seen in Britain and left wondering what the next one will be and what it will entail physically and mentally to see it.

 Postscript 13th August

The Scopoli's Shearwater was present for just under three hours on 11th August and has not been seen since.

Postscript 15th August

The same Scopoli's Shearwater was seen passing southeast off the Norfolk coast