The Greater Sandplover at Redcar 30th August 2022

I have only seen one Greater Sandplover  before in Britain.That was at Easington in Yorkshire, on 15th July 2018 and like this one at Redcar it was an adult male inhabiting a long sandy beach.

Greater Sandplovers are very rare in Britain, only seventeen have been seen before and those that have arrived here are very far off course.Their breeding areas stretch from the semi arid deserts of Turkey eastwards through central Asia and they migrate to spend the winter in East Africa, southern Asia and Australasia.

This individual at Redcar, first discovered on the 25th of August is thought to be the same bird that was seen on a beach on the 20th-21st August at St Combs, which is adjacent to the RSPB's Loch of Strathbeg Reserve that lies between Peterhead and Fraserburgh in northeast Scotland. 

It is serendipity that I had been visiting family in Stonehaven, which is half an hour's drive south from St Combs, when the plover was first discovered, but in the end an unwillingness to curtail the time I had to spend with my daughter stopped me from going to see it. I never thought I would get a second chance but here it was at the unlikely location of the beach at Redcar.

Mark had rung me about going to see the plover when it was first discovered at Redcar but due to his domestic commitments we could not mount a joint sortie and head north until today, Tuesday. Anyway it was a Bank Holiday weekend prior to today so the disturbance on the beach would have been horrendous and there was every chance this would prove too much for the plover and persuade it to find somewhere less busy. All of which would render our plan redundant.

However the plover obviously had no problem coping with the Bank Holiday crowds as it was reported to still be there throughout Monday. We therefore decided to go for it on Tuesday and Mark, being the photographer he is, suggested we get there early in the morning, reasoning that any disturbance would be at a minimum and the light would be better.

What time do you want to go then I enquired

We should get there by seven - no later

OK, it's a four hour drive so we need to leave at 3am I added, hardly believing what I was proposing

Guess so. Where shall we meet?

We agreed to meet at Leicester North Services, a regular liason point for us and I would drive from there.

This required my leaving home at 1am to get to our meeting point by 3am.

What with one thing and another I  got to bed at 10pm and of course sleep eluded me for the most part but somehow I managed a couple of hours. Sometimes I wonder in situations like this if it is better to not sleep at all than for such a short time.

I duly blundered out of bed at the appointed time, doing everything extra carefully and slowly. I went through the familiar checklist;  bins, camera, telescope, wallet and phone all carefully laid out on the table the night before to make it easier to cope with such an early, sleep deprived start. 

Not for the first time I wondered if I was getting too old for this.

I set off into the night and arrived at Leicester Services at the death hour of 3am when, according to statistics more people give up the will to live than at any other time. I knew how they felt as I sat in the deserted car park awaiting the arrival of Mark, bringing another birder friend Les, who had asked to come with us.

A police car drew into the car park and sat with its lights on and engine running presumably watching me. Mark arrived ten minutes later, drew up alongside and we transferred all his gear to mine.The police car remained with lights on and engine running. I expected them to come over and ask what we were doing. Drugs, guns but no they just sat there. We drove off, back into the night.

Four hours and one coffee stop later we arrived at Redcar in a none too welcoming, grey and windy early morning. I have never been to Redcar and at this early hour and post bank holiday the town seemed an inauspicious and unattractive place but maybe I was being unfair. 

We parked in a large open air car park, going by the exotic name of Majuba, right behind the rather optimistically named esplanade and looked out onto the beach and sea beyond which was dominated by a row of stark and ugly wind turbines. The closeness of the turbines to the beach obviously pointed to the fact that Redcar was considered  undeserving of any aesthetic consideration.

Scenic and picturesque, the outlook certainly wasn't. Getting out of the car it was fleece time. Summer and warm temperatures had fled Redcar and been replaced by a cold northeast wind and grey cloud. The predicted sunny spells were now no more than fantasy.

A number of birders with scopes were scanning the beach from the esplanade. The beach was the only saving feature of this grim and depressing town, an immense stretch of sand that extended for 8 miles from South Gare with the ugly remains of the long defunct steelworks dominating the landscape a mile north, to Saltburn on Sea in the south. In between lay grubby looking houses and wasteland behind Redcar's seafront with little of the traditional seaside ambience one would expect. I got the impression people came to endure rather than enjoy the experience at Redcar.

None of the aforementioned birders had found the sandplover which could range for several miles along the beach but seemed particularly attracted to those areas of beach between the steelworks and the town. We were not overly concerned about its current absence as without fail it had been found every day up to now. The tide was on the turn, the sea slowly retreating and the shore was littered with the tiny hurrying bodies of Sanderlings and less hyperactive Ringed Plovers. My heart sank at the sight of dogs and their owners walking the beach but the birds seemed little bothered and the expanse of sand was so huge  there was ample room to accommodate everyone and everything.

For half an hour we acclimatised ourselves to this environment, determining what to do.Eventually news came through that the sandplover had been located a mile or more north of where we stood in the car park. Stoically we headed off along the beach with around twenty others following, trudging on the firm wet sand towards an indistinct lone figure obviously photographing the sandplover through a huge lens.

Despite the un-preposessing surrounds of Redcar and the evidence of industrial decline, graphically highlighted by the towering skeletal remains of the steel works, the sea and wind still managed to combine to bring a sense of space and  spiritual uplift as I walked by the seashore. The wet sand, from where waves had only just retreated, gleamed in the dull morning light as the scuttling ranks of small waders ran before me, then, flying a few metres, landed to once more run ahead, a constant rhythmic rising and falling of birds until, tired of this game they swept back over the sea and past me to settle on the sand behind. 

Despite the presence of fellow birders it was still possible to feel a sense of the elemental loneliness that such places can impart. As we were so spaced apart, each in our own personal world with our own thoughts, walking along the wide beach with wind roaring in our ears and waves providing a constant background of sound, there was ample opportunity to reflect on this unlikely source of spiritual uplift.

Sanderlings and Ringed Plovers were the main occupiers of the wet sand, the former running in classic overwound clockwork fashion, up and down, back and fore at the command of the waves.The Ringed Plovers were less energetic, taking a few short steps, a tilt of head and body downwards and then up, the process repeated ad infinitum. The actions were so characteristic of each species it was easy at distance to tell them apart. 

A couple of Bar tailed Godwits and some Turnstones joined the ranks of the smaller waders as did some Oystercatchers, while gulls patrolled the sea further from shore.

We walked onwards to finally reach the lone observer and he pointed out the sandplover. It was not difficult to separate its larger form from the Ringed Plovers it was associating with. 

Noticeably larger and longer in both leg and bill, it was also a shade paler on its sandy brown upperparts, which on closer examination were faded and very worn, making this bird an adult. The strong colouring and patterning of its head identifying it as a male

It was however the broad orange chest band and pantomime black eye mask, separated by a white throat and chin that caught the eye as too did its white forehead, neatly bisected and framed with lines of black. Other markings on its head were more indistinct due to moult or wear. It fed in a very similar fashion to the Ringed Plovers, running a few steps across the sand then stopping, before tilting down to seize its invertebrate prey.This process, as with the Ringed Plovers was constantly repeated. It could run at incredible speed, similar to any Sanderling and noticeably preferred to feed on the drier sand higher up the beach rather than at the very edge of the sea.

We watched and photographed this great rarity as it went about its life, following as it worked its hesitant way along the beach and, careful not to flush it or go too close, we admired it from just too far for my camera to do it justice. 

Other birders came along the beach, amongst them Richard and Duncan, two colleagues from my neighbouring county of Gloucestershire. This is part of our twitching world, so single mindedly concentrating on the bird you often fail to notice familiar faces. We exchanged tales of our ridiculously early starts from our respective homes then went back to the business of watching the sandplover.

Eventually the bird flew off and no one could relocate it. Mark was reasonably happy with his photos, me less so. 

 Five of the best from Mark

It began to drizzle, not heavy rain but annoyingly light stuff that can be just as intrusive and frustrating, especially as the wind was directly off the sea, blowing it into our faces and lenses. A dark mood began to augment my tiredness and I felt almost overwhelmed with the weariness from the long early hours journey I had subjected myself to.

Something needed to be done and fast to revitalise my flagging spirit.

Fancy a breakfast anyone?

There was immediate and unconditional assent all round.

Food and coffee would do the trick and revitalised we could return to the sandplover. Having decided to go in search of breakfast we drove into the town centre. Already depressing with its boarded up or closed shops and confusing one way streets, the rain added yet more misery. It was just on 9am but could we find a cafe in this town? No sir and in desperation we settled on Morrisons to provide us with a full English or in my case a vegetarian version. When it came the half an avocado snuggled amongst the hash browns took me somewhat by surprise. 

Back on the beach and still no one had refound the bird but eventually it was located further out on the the beach, now considerably more extensive due to the tide having receded a long way in our absence.It had also become very busy with dog walkers, horseriders galloping through the surf, and sand surfers careering along the sand, all determined to make full use of the exposed beach .Even so the birds managed to find areas to feed on where they were untroubled. 

We headed out across the sand towards where the sandplover was feeding on an area of exposed seaweed near an outflow pipe. A row of birders had already formed a phalanx of admiration well short of the bird and were watching it.

We moved closer and sat on the pipe, others joined us.Here we waited for the bird to move towards us but it was not inclined to do so, frustratingly spending all its time patrolling the large area of seaweed, that formed a brown stain on the sand, near some rock pools. Its only company for now a Common Gull.

The wind began to get to me. Sitting still and exposed for almost half an hour I was beginning to feel chilled through my lightweight fleece and it was obvious the plover would not be coming nearer despite our hopes to the contrary. I suggested to Mark that we do something, anything to relieve my boredom. If nothing else some form of physical action would  allow me to get the blood moving through my veins.

We slowly walked a wide circle around the plover, contentedly feeding on its seaweed patch, anxious not to feel the approbation of the other birders who remained standing further back up the beach. Nothing could be worse than if we inadvertently flushed it. Mark who is far less concerned about peer pressure than me headed off purposefully towards the bird.

I hung back and let him go ahead. Please let the bird remain. It did and Mark squatted on the sand and began photographing the bird. OK, if he can do it so can I  and joining him, I crouched low on the wind blown wet sand.

To no little consternation on my part Mark then began crawling closer but I followed his example and soon we were as close as felt comfortable and reasonable.The plover stood for an eternity head up. Oh no its going to fly and we would be in trouble! But it didn't and resumed feeding amongst the seaweed.

Noting our success in stalking the sandplover a few others joined us and we began taking almost point blank photos of this stunner. It was finding plenty to eat amongst the seaweed.The prey looked like shrimps of some sort or  small invertebrates that it found under the wet leaves of the kelp like weed. 

For fifteen minutes we were within thirty feet of the bird and all was well. It worked its way to the end of the seaweed and then flew along the shoreline with a couple of Sanderlings.

With knees aching and other parts of my body complaining about the cramped positions I had been forced to adopt it was a relief to be able to stand up and share this special experience with Mark. 

We walked back to the car, certain we could do little to  better what had just gone before but Mark was not willing to give in yet as the plover had been relocated on that part of the beach opposite the car park, feeding with Ringed Plovers.

We repeated the exercise of slowly approaching the plover, crouching low to the sand  and waited for the plover to come towards us which it duly did. It was now feeding on worms which it pulled from the sand. For half an hour we crouched on the sand and took its photo when it came close. 

Far too many photos in my case, if I am honest, and eventually I put the camera aside and watched it through my bins.Other birders were positioned behind me, doing the same. Looking out to the beach, it again became a wild place, the dismal surrounds of Redcar and the stark outline of the derelict steel works behind  the dunes forgotten

The sea, the sand, the halting steps of the plovers across the beach and one in particular, were my entire focus.