The Magnificent Magnolia Warbler in Pembrokeshire 21st September 2023

September is the time of year when storms and hurricanes can sweep across the Atlantic and this year has proved exceptional with Hurricane Lee coinciding with the peak southward migration of North American passerine birds over the Gulf of Mexico.The result has been an unprecedented landfall on our shores of various species of bird from North America. A North American Cliff Swallow in Kent on 19th September preceded the discovery of an Alder Flycatcher and a Magnolia Warbler in Wales on 20th September, the flycatcher on the island of Skokholm  and the warbler at St Govan's Head, both in Pembrokeshire.

Having seen both a North American Cliff Swallow on St Mary's, Isles of Scilly in September 2016 and an Alder Flycatcher at Nanjizal, Cornwall in October 2008 I was not too fussed about travelling to either but the Magnolia Warbler was a different proposition altogether. It was only the third example to have been found in Britain and was an absolute must see if humanly possible.The first recorded in Britain was on St Agnes, Isles of Scilly as long ago as the 27th-28th of September 1981 and the second was in a Fair Isle geo on the evening of the 23rd of September 2012. The next day it had gone. 

Magnolia Warblers breed over much of Canada and in northeast USA where they are found from the Great Lakes east as far as New England and the northern Appalachian Mountains.They are a long distance migrant and spend the winter from eastern Mexico to southern Panama and a few can fly as far south as the West Indies. Apart from the vagrants to Britain it has been seen in the Western Palearctic only once in Greenland and twice in Ireland.

A long dead dessicated bird was found in Shetland on an oil tanker which had sailed from Delaware in the USA via Mexico and Venezuela to Sullom Voe in mid November 1993 but this record has never been accepted.Another was found 1500 kilometres east of New York on the Queen Mary oceanliner on the 30th of September 1963 but failed to be accepted

There was no question. This bird's arrival in Wales was a 'drop everything and go' moment as I have never seen one before. A new tick and a lifer.

To add a twist to the story I nearly missed the breaking news about the warbler which came as late as 7pm on the evening of Wednesday the 20th September.I had spent the day doing a whole stack of backlogged administrative work and had turned my phone to silent to avoid any distractions. I then forgot to turn the phone  back on or remember to check it until eight in the evening as I was settling down to watch Bayern Munich play Manchester United in the Champions League. Scrolling through my various WhatsApp messages and BirdGuides latest news I viewed the report of the Magnolia Warbler in a state of shock. 

I rang Mark immediately to be told he had been trying to contact me but my phone was turned off so.in the meantime he had filled his car with the rest of our twitching crew. Fair enough. At first a slight sense of panic ensued but then calming myself and thinking about it there was nothing to prevent me going on my own and meeting them at St Govan's Head. The rest of my twitching pals live in counties to the east  of London whereas living in Oxfordshire, which is to the west, meant I was relatively closer to Pembroke.

Thinking further I am no stranger to long, solo, night drives to far flung places in Britain and if I am honest I quite relish travelling on my own, master of my own destiny, with no arguments about radio stations, coffee stops etc. On solo drives to twitches I usually listen to Radio Three or, now a new discovery, Radio Four Extra which broadcasts some really good spy and detective plays  to keep me awake through the night.

Thus I was all set and finished watching the end of the football.match at around 10pm.It is a four hour drive to St Govan's Head from my home so I got a couple of hours sleep before leaving home at midnight.This would get me to my destination pre-dawn. I knew the Magnolia Warbler would draw a huge crowd as it was only the  third for Britain and was relatively accessible, being on the mainland and not, like the other two on an island.The directions on BirdGuides pointed to a car park at St Govan's Head but I had no idea how big or small it was so thought  it best to get there early to secure a place just in case.A classic example of how anxiety can distort a twitcher's frame of mind and magnify matters out of all proportion.

The drive was long and at times tedious, traversing two motorways that for once were not closed for roadworks. I entered Wales over a speed restricted Severn Bridge (now renamed Prince of Wales Bridge) to follow the M4 past Cardiff, Port Talbot and Swansea and eventually found myself in rural Pembrokeshire. I hardly saw a car on the minor roads I was now following but near my destination  came across four cars following each other, their red rear lights bright in the pitch darkness of the unlit road.It was 3.45 am.They had to be birders cars with the same destination as me. Who else would be out at this hour in such an isolated location? I slowed and joined the end of the line and we travelled in convoy. 

At a fork  in the road we stopped as BirdGuides directions pointed us down the left fork but it seemed the right fork was the one to follow.After some deliberation and consultation of Google maps we took the right fork and drove through a tiny village and out into what I could only sense in the darkness was open, uninhabited countryside. We arrived at a large car park already two thirds full with presumably birders cars.

I drew up by a boundary fence and at last could cease driving. What a relief. Dawn was another two hours hence so I dozed as did my fellow birders in the cars surrounding me. Periodically the pitch dark was illuminated by the headlights of yet another car arriving and slowly the car park filled to capacity and beyond.There must have been close to a hundred parked cars by the time dawn arrived.

In  the half light at five thirty, as the world slowly turned and the sky paled, the ragged billows of huge storm clouds became fantastical shapes against the lightening sky. A vicious rain squall battered the car windscreen but was over in five minutes. Birders began to stir. Car doors opened and shut, murmurs of conversation could be heard. Stepping out I joined others donning birding gear and sorting out bins telescopes and cameras. Everyone has a camera these days, a must have birding accessory now being enhanced by thermal imagers as if we did not have enough to carry already.

Half awake I found my twitching pals; Mark's car being unknowingly just three cars from mine. We, along with other birding crews formed groups of strange spectral figures in the half light, as if risen from the dead.  After a brief spell of  acclimatising ourselves, as if at an unknown signal, everyone in the car park commenced moving off in the direction of the valley where the warbler had been seen to go to roost yesterday evening in some stunted blackthorn.

It was only a short walk to the narrow, steep sided valley that ran down to the sea and when we got to the designated spot opposite the blackthorn there must have been almost  sixty birders already there. perched at various heights on a steep slope or standing on the track at the bottom looking over to an opposite slope of bracken, gorse, stunted bushes and trees.

Within a few minutes of arrival, a laser eyed gent announced  

I can see it. It's movng through the bush with the red berries. 

You could almost touch the pulse of tension and anxiety that coursed through the crowd as everyone directed their eyes to the opposite side of the valley.

Bins were raised en masse, telescopes trained on the area in question. 

It still being half light most of us could not locate it. 

Cries  rang out.

Where exactly? 

Which red berry bush? (There were several). 

How high up the slope?

Is it still showing?

. 

Tension, anxiety, desire were writ large on most people's faces. Others located it, a tiny bird in a sea of tangled vegetation and they cried out in triumph at their success in seeing such a mega rarity.

I could not find it as indeed was the case with many others.Seasoned by previous such situations I knew I would have to curb my personal worries and wait until the light was better as my eyes were just not up to it in the current conditions. I knew I would eventually see the bird, I always do in situations such as this but it is hard to resist getting swept up in the contagious anxiety racked atmosphere of a big twitch.

The warbler was tracked, moving into some bracken near the top of the slope opposite.Occasional glimpses of it came and went but it was nigh on impossible to get onto a  mostly hidden, hyperactive bird that inevitably had moved by the time you got your eyes onto where it was seen in the bracken.Constant updates of where it was came and went, the directions varying from precise to totally inept. A gorse bush with five yellow flowers featured strongly as a reference point. 

It's in the bracken just above the gorse flowers became a familiar refrain.

I saw a brief flick as presumably the warbler shot from one bracken patch to another but it always remained mostly hidden from view.Others claimed better views but they were only very brief.

Exclamations came thick and fast

Look at that yellow!.

.

Those wing bars are stunning!

The white under its tail really shines!

Such comments only served to frustrate those of us unable to get such priveleged views. For forty five minutes all I saw were sudden  movements in the bracken and the odd flash of yellow.

Then finally, at last came the moment when I saw it properly, virtually in the open and perched for a few precious moments on a twig of one of the berry laden bushes. Now I too savoured the wing bars, grey and moss green upperbody, bright yellow underparts and a very noticeable pale eye ring.It was for seconds only but it was enough.Its spread tail flashed prominent white panels as it fluttered amongst the berries.

Fellow twitchers were already leaving the valley. Content with their views, although I found this hard to understand. Myself and Mark were determined to stay.This was a very rare bird after all and I wanted to enjoy the experience for as long as possible.It might be years before another such occurrence.This was only the third of its kind in forty two years.Stop and enjoy it.

For the next hour the warbler gradually became more visible although still for the most part elusive and half hidden but with so many eyes tracking it, its immediate whereabouts were known and could be scanned in anticipation of another brief view as it emerged from concealment.

Eventually the warbler moved up the valley and disappeared into a thicket of wind battered stunted hawthorns on flatter ground. All of us duly surrounded the bushes at a respectable distance and waited for it to reveal itself. 

As long periods of 'no sign' passed, it became obvious to all that the  warbler was becoming more elusive and unwilling to show itself but on two ocasions it showed well enough for me to attempt to take a photo of it although from some distance.

For the most part however, only frustrating glimpses of it in the deep tangle of vegetation came and went and a truculent Robin, also inhabiting the same bushes, did not help matters. While standing waiting for it to show in a now pleasantly sunny morning reports were coming in on BirdGuides of other American passerines being discovered along various parts of the west coast of Britain and it soon became apparent that something truly exceptional and unprecedented was happening involving migrant small birds from America.

Nearby Bardsey Island reported a Black and White Warbler and Skokholm had not only an Alder Flycatcher but a Bobolink, all from across the Atlantic.Then came the most sensational news of all from Ramsey Island just twenty miles north of where we were. What was originally thought to be possibly a Pine Warbler, also from America, was re-identified as a  Bay breasted Warbler, only the second to be found in Britain.

Mild panic ensued. Could we by some miracle get to see it today by taking the ten minute crossing on the ferry to Ramsey Island, a RSPB Reserve. Twitching two mega American warblers in one day would be unprecedented for us 

Adrian, one of our twitching crew, rang the 'Thousand Islands' boat company that ferries people to the island. We also called the RSPB but it was not good news.There were no boats sailing to the island today or Friday due to high winds and rough seas.The one and only day there might be sailings would be Saturday and then there would be no more for a week.

Anxiety reached stratospheric levels as we tried to get on one of the only four sailings to Ramsey Island on Saturday Just 125 people are allowed on the island on any one day. so spaces were at a premium Needless to say many other twitchers had the same idea as us. At first we were told the sailings on Saturday were fully booked but then we rang again on the off chance and were told there were eight spaces available on the third sailing which left for the island at 12 noon.The earlier two sailings and the last were fully booked with twitchers.We took all eight spaces so we were now guaranteed to get to the island. The main worry now was would the warbler move on before Saturday.We would have to hope it stayed but at least we were in with a chance and had done everything we could to be successful.

I reflected on the unwelcome fact that in two days time I would be repeating my long and tiring journey to west Wales for yet another rare American Warbler.

Regaining some equanimity we re-concentrated our attention on the Magnolia Warbler

An hour passed and there was no sign of it..Had it gone? No, it suddenly appeared and gave a tantalising seconds only view, no more than a flash of yellow, white, grey and green. I moved my position and five minutes later got lucky as the warbler suddenly emerged from the bushes and perched openly on a branch of dead blackthorn, for half a minute, in front of a dark hollow. I made the most of it and hoped something would come out.There was no time to think or check camera settings as I knew the bird was, from bitter experience, so hyperactive.

True to form it promptly returned into the thick vegetation and despite waiting for a long time it did not re-emerge

My photos revealed aspects of the bird's plumage I had not noted before, namely the prominent yellow rump and dark streaking on the flanks. An absolute avian jewel, colourful and ultra rare.A total twitching delight.

It was only nine in the morning but it had become pleasantly sunny, almost warm. Ten Choughs circled above us, their distinctive cries coming from the sky as they wheeled, in unison, to be borne away on the wind towards the sea cliffs. In broad daylight I could now see what a magnificent and beautiful part of Wales we were visiting with open countryside and wide skies all around us and the sea just beyond.

I tried to envisage this tiny bird's incredible journey,  a fragile few grammes of feather and bone hurled with unimaginable force by high velocity winds, trying to survive, helpless as it was borne at speed over the trackless Atlantic to finally, in the dark of night plummet to earth and sanctuary on this extreme part of the Welsh coast. How many others had not been so fortunate and perished?

In the end I had viewed the Magnolia Warbler many times, some good, some  not so good but I always know when the time comes to call a halt.It was only 11am but I had been here for seven hours and now fatigue was setting in and I was faced with a four hour drive on busy roads back to Oxfordshire.

I left the others to it, treated myself to an ice cream from the van in the car park and then set off for home.

Another new species on my British list (529)

Magnolia Warbler.