A Good Week at Farmoor 12th December 2023

These interminable grey days of December bringing dark mornings and early nightfall are about as welcome as a christmas card from your broadband supplier and enough to test the resolve of even the most optimistic of us. Visits to Farmoor Reservoir are not high on the list of antidotes to the general malaise that besets me at this time of year.

I would be the last person to suggest Farmoor could bring some rare seasonal cheer apart from the fact that there is the opportunity to drink far too much coffee and eat too much cake in the reservoir's Waterside Cafe which under new ownership has blossomed into quite an attraction.

It was after having sat far too long with Phil in the cafe talking football and trying to put the world to rights that I learnt of the arrival of a Great Northern Diver on the reservoir. Great Northerns are occasional winter visitors to Farmoor, by no means annual but when one is present, adding a little bit of birding glamour amongst the usual Tufted Ducks, Great Crested Grebes, Cormorants, belligerent Coots and noisy Greylags. They can often remain for an extended period and provide some excitement as one tries to relocate it on each visit to the reservoir.

The diver currently gracing Farmoor is a juvenile as are most that arrive here. Initially it preferred to remain relatively well offshore but like the others that have preceded it in years past has become more confiding as it grows used to the  human traffic on the causeway and dodging the weekend yachtsmen, windsurfers and paddle boarders on the reservoir.

On days when winter's gloom has descended and the reservoir is foresaken by the human race the diver can come reasonably close to the reservoir's causeway or perimeter which allows some photo opportunities and the chance to observe this special bird at close quarters.

Little Grebes winter in small numbers, up to a dozen, on the reservoir but do not breed here. It always strikes me as strange that such a self effacing bird opts to spend the winter exposed on the open and expansive waters of  F2, the larger of the two basins. They are almost never seen on the smaller basin F1. In the breeding season they are absent from Farmoor, leaving to lead a highly secretive existence in the stands of reeds on small ponds and lakes, so why they seek  the most exposed habitat available on which to spend the winter at Farmoor is a mystery.

On the reservoir they prefer to remain close to the shoreline where it is shallower.This is where the small fish such as sticklebacks and minnows on which they feed are to be found and where the grebes can dive to the bottom to catch their prey. Further out seems too deep for them. Often they can be found sheltering in the lee of the various buoys on the reservoir or hiding by the yacht club pontoons in the small marina.

Looking for all the world like circular Yorkshire Puddings and with plumage colours to match they dither around on the water, never straying far from a buoy or structure to cower beside and convince themselves they are secure. 

An adult female Greater Scaup has been at the reservoir for well over two months now, consorting with the wintering flock of  mainly male Tufted Ducks, following the flock as it moves from one basin to the other. It is always in a loose company with 'the tufties' and rarely found on its own.When asleep, which is its default behaviour, and at some distance offshore it can be difficult to separate from other sleeping female Tufted Ducks around it. The diagnostic white circle around its bill is hidden as the bill is tucked into its mantle feathers but careful examination of its plumage reveals an ashy grey wash to the brown upperparts and paler flanks than on a female Tufted. It is also marginally larger and broader in the beam than the Tufteds which is also a giveaway to its identity.

This bird may well be the one which spent last winter here and there is always hope it might attract others. Although unlikely it did happen one year when a male, female and juvenile spent the winter together on the reservoir.

For the last three years a Common Sandpiper has spent the winter at the reservoir.Normally they head for Africa but possibly the warming climate has allowed a bird that needs winter warmth and a plentiful supply of invertebrates, to tough it out through the worst of our winter. Farmoor is probably as good a bet as any to chance its luck as there are always insects along the water's edge.

I doubt it is the same individual that has been here three years running but who knows. Common Sandpipers at Farmoor on spring and autumn migration are notoriously wary and fly before you can get anywhere near them but this bird allows relatively close approach which may be a sign it is struggling to find food and has not the will to flee but rather concentrate on finding as much sustenance as possible in these short days of winter.

A couple of Common Redshanks have developed a liking for the northern bank of the reservoir causeway. Their prolonged presence for over a week is unusual as this is a bird that does not normally frequent the reservoir in winter and is only occasionally seen on spring and autumn migration.Much more suitable habitat is relatively nearby on the floods at Port Meadow but this pair have stubbornly proved the exception and in constant close company remain faithful to the reservoir and in the process have become quite confiding even when the causeway is well populated by passers by. Their melancholy calls bring a suggestion of wild lonely places to the prosaic soulless concrete of the reservoir as they mildly protest about being disturbed and fly out over the water, only to return and settle further down the causeway. 

Another species that undoubtedly is taking advantage of our warming climate are Cattle Egrets which were formerly a great rarity in the county but in recent years, along with other parts of southern and middle England, have rapidly colonised and now breed as near to Farmoor as Blenheim Palace in Woodstock, only a few miles away.

Near the reservoir, by a busy road running along the north side of Farmoor Village, a flock of no less than twenty one Cattle Egrets have been feeding in the grass fields of a dairy farm for the last two or three days. Like a line of errant washing the egrets spread out across the fields hunting for food in the grass. The whiteness of their plumage gains a luminosity in the sun, possessing a purity and intensity far beyond that of any gull.

To view them is a precarious business as there is no footpath or parking place beside the road but I  took a chance and walked along the grass verge at the roadside to view them over a hedge. They can in fact be viewed from the reservoir's perimeter track, albeit very distantly and unsatisfactorily.

Ten years ago I would have been dreaming if I thought I would be looking at a flock of Cattle Egrets feeding in a field. in the middle of England. in the depths of winter. 

How times have changed.

So this week, by Farmoor's undemanding standards, has proved exceptional and hopefully other 'good' birds may follow in the coming months. Somehow I doubt it but eternal hope and an unflinching optimism goes with the territory at Farmoor Reservoir these days.

Happy Christmas everyone.

A Great Northern Diver visits Farmoor 12th December 2023

On a Monday, in the late afternoon with the sun just slipping below the trees I left Farmoor Reservoir for my home. Not ten minutes later D rang to tell me about a Great Northern Diver that was out in the middle of the larger basin that is known as Farmoor 2. I had just crossed the toll bridge at nearby Eynsham but fortuitously there is a roundabout a few hundred metres beyond the toll where I was able to about turn the car and head back to the reservoir, while at the same time putting the news out so other birders would be aware of the diver's presence. Sadly this sometimes does not happen at Farmoor for reasons best left unsaid.

Dusk was rapidly approaching and it was by no means certain the light would hold to enable me to find the diver. To attempt to walk around the reservoir at this late hour would guarantee failure so with the kind permission of Mark, one of the Thames Water Rangers, I was able to drive around but even then, stopping at various points, I could not find the diver. It was only, having almost completed  the full circuit and returning down the causeway, that I saw two birders obviously looking at something. It had to be the diver. Stopping the car I jumped out and there was the elusive bird swimming not too far out from the causeway.

There was no chance of a photo as the light had virtually gone but I had at least seen it Remarkably B, another local birder actually made it to the reservoir on his bike just as I was leaving and managed to see it virtually in the dark. Top effort!

I resolved to return to the reservoir the next morning but the weather, unlike yesterday was foul. A pall of grey, wet mist was settled  upon the reservoir creating an overall dankness but there was cause for optimism as it became obvious there was better weather to come as the light improved and some insipid sunlight began to shine through the dispersing mist and cloud.

The diver however was nowhere to be seen as I walked a third of the way up the central causeway. It certainly was not where I had last seen it yesterday. Looking for a large dark bird on the silvery waters of the reservoir was made complicated by the fact that a number of Cormorants were energetically and communally fishing, their dark profiles superficially similar to that of the diver. 

The Cormorants, up to twenty, kept close company feeding in what can only be described as a mass frenzy, frantically diving after trout with which the reservoir is stocked by Thames Water at huge expense. When an individual Cormorant caught a fish and surfaced with it all the other ones would converge and a free for all commenced, the bird with the fish frantically endeavouring to swallow its prize as quickly as possible to avoid being mugged by its 'friends'. If the captured fish was large and proved hard  to swallow it resulted in the particular Cormorant swimming in a very unnatural manner with head and distended neck held vertically out of the water while its body remained completely submerged as it endeavoured to force the fish down its gullet.This often took some minutes but was usually successful.

Then another Cormorant would catch a fish nearby  and the entire flock would hurtle over there in a confusion of thrashing wings and paddle feet noisily slapping the water. It was as if the birds became swept up in a communal hysteria. Subtle it certainly was not. Every Cormorant for itself with no quarter given. I have only seen this phenomenon here on the reservoir and can only wonder if it occurs elsewhere. 

In the past a Cormorant has even been found choked or starved to death here, unable either to regurgitate or swallow a large trout which had become stuck in its throat.

Eventually I espied the diver over towards the far side of the larger basin and walked round to be closer, although on arriving opposite I found it was a fair way offshore, loosely in the company of two Great Crested Grebes. The diver submerged and anticipating where it might re-surface I walked another thirty metres along the perimeter track and sure enough the diver surfaced roughly where I had anticipated and crucially much closer to me. Now for some photos.

It fed intermittently but for the most part lethargy held sway as it drifted dreamily on the water with eyes closed and in no apparent hurry to feed or do anything but idle the time away.

It indulged in some light preening, rolling over onto its side in the water to reveal pristine white underparts, then came a bit of snorkelling, where it dipped only its bill, forehead and eyes under the water but did not dive. Presumably it was looking for passing fish.

This latest individual to visit the reservoir is a juvenile, as are the majority that arrive here, told by the pale fringes to its upperpart feathers which produce a  neat  and distinctive scalloping effect. A plumage of predominantly greyish brown and white was evident for most of the time in the dull light but when the sun made a belated entrance the bird was transformed as head and neck were rendered a paler brown, highlighting the wine red eyes. The red in their eyes is a pigment in the retina that filters light below the water and aids the diver as it hunts its prey below the surface.

Its large bill and  head contributed to an overall impression of a big, bulky bird, almost ponderous in its movements as it cruised the reservoir. It is a bird that has evolved to live an almost exclusively waterborne existence. When it did submerge there was no hasty Cormorant like jump and dive but rather a bend of head and neck and an elegant glide below the surface.

Great Northern Divers do not breed until they are three years old so this bird will not gain its adult breeding plumage until 2025.They do not breed in Britain, only coming here from October to May to mainly winter on the coast but sometimes can be found inland on sizeable lakes or reservoirs.This bird possibly was blown inland by the gales of last weekend and found sanctuary at Farmoor as have others that have been discovered inland lately, such as at Frampton and Draycote in the neighbouring counties of  Gloucestershire and Warwickshire respectively.

Worldwide the majority of the population breeds from the Aleutian Islands, Canada and northern USA to southern Greenland and winter along both the western and eastern seaboards of the USA as far south as Mexico. In North America they are known as Common Loons and their eerie haunting call is a favourite mood creator for countless films, sometimes in a wildly inappropriate context.

The only European breeding population is in Iceland which is probably the origin of the bird now at Farmoor. Around four thousand individuals annually winter around Britain,  mainly off the coast of northwestern Scotland with others wintering on the coasts of northern, eastern and southwest England, Wales and Ireland

Let's hope this bird will make its winter home at Farmoor.

They have often done so in the past.

Aerial Waxwings 29th November 2023

A recent visit to Norfolk was enlivened by the presence of a small flock of twenty plus Waxwings in a cul de sac at the back of the genteel market town of Holt.

This winter has become what is known as ' a waxwing year' where these colourful and charismatic birds pour out of their forest homes in Scandinavia and Russia in search of food, due to their usual food sources having failed in their native lands.It does not happen every year but when an irruption looks likely to arrive in Britain it brings an added frisson of excitement and expectation.

The invaders invariably seek out berry bearing trees to sustain themselves through the winter with a marked preference for cotoneaster and rowan berries and are often quite fearless wherever they settle to feed. 

The first arrivals are not unexpectedly in the north of Scotland, sometimes in large flocks which gradually split up into smaller flocks as they move southwards, roving the land. When they find some source agreeable to their needs they perch high in a tree and survey the chosen berries  below, which can be in a hedge or small tree. Any  location can be chosen, there seems no rhyme or reason apart from the fact there are suitable berries available. A cotoneaster hedge by a busy road or ornamental rowan in a supermarket car park or garden are typical favourites and the birds will seek out elevated perches in surrounding larger trees where they will wait on high and then at random intervals descend to frantically gorge on the berries as fast as they can swallow them.

Rarely remaining long, a matter of a few minutes, they then fly back up to their tall tree and sit until hunger prompts another descent.

The Waxwings at Holt were no exception and spent much of the time either in very tall trees surrounding a public school playing field or sitting on a tv aerial on a house roof before circling around and eventually flying down to scoff the berries on a rowan tree in a nearby back garden. 

The tree's position did not allow close approach but sometime the birds would happily sit on the tv aerial for some time and which was adjacent to the cul de sac, so I made the most of this opportuity to photograph them on a cold November day of grey cloud and intermittent rain.

Not the best conditions to show off these lovely birds at their best but one has to take whatever opportunity presents itself.

Hopefully, as the winter progresses more Waxwings will move southwards and there will be other opportunities to go and see them closer to home.

A Funky Fungus - 21st November 2023

I went to a beechwood on a late autumn Monday, a wood that forms part of an estate that refreshingly is happy to welcome anyone to wander at will through its trees.

I had been here ten days ago with Peter on one of our fungi forays, having taken up a suggestion from another colleague that this wood was a good one in which to search for fungi.

We found various kinds and the day was considered a success.Toward the end of that day, tired and with concentration wavering I had casually glanced down to a tangle of leaves and grass at my feet and saw some unidentifiable fungi which looked as if they were well past their best and turning black as they rotted.

A casual glance and a dismissal. I thought no more of it.

Back at home, on consulting a guide to fungi I found an image of the supposed rotten fungi which informed me that far from rotten they were in fact a black fungus called Horn of Plenty or Trompette des morts (Trumpet of the dead).

The guidebook further informed me they are said to be occasional but where they do occur can be locally abundant and are highly prized as an edible delicacy, being found in the leaf litter of mainly beechwoods from late summer to late autumn. I resolved to return to the wood and look at them with the respect and enthusiasm that I had previously denied them, that is if I could remember where they had been in the wood.

A few days later I walked through an ancient churchyard and followed a track into the woods to be dwarfed by huge beech trees, their smooth grey trunks disappearing upwards into a counterpane of yellow and gold leaves yet to fall to earth. 

Below, my feet riffled through an orange and yellow mosaic of countless fallen leaves, so prolific the hard ground was rendered soft and yielding to my tread whilst not a breath of wind permeated this cathedral of colour. So overwhelming was the sense of tranquillity, I involuntarily stood in contemplation to embrace a rare moment of natural quiet and solitude. 

A Marsh Tit called, a sharp explosive note that broke the silence and ended my reverie. I resumed my quest for the Horn of Plenty, scanning the woodland floor, my world for now diminished to a circumference of a few metres as I searched. Kicking through drifts of leaves and thin trailing bramble shoots that creep across the ground to catch at your legs and trip you, finally I found what I was looking for. Black with maybe a tinge of midnight blue they looked as I had remembered them, an impression they were long past their best, rotting and slowly returning to the earth from which they had risen. Now I knew better.

I stooped to check my identification was correct and then indulged in a little gardening, removing dead leaves to better reveal the fungi, pulling back tendrils of bramble to expose the full shape of them. Like a black tulip head that has fully opened they sat, snug in their bed of leaves  with wrinkled wavy recurved edges encompassing an open mouth. The similarity to a trumpet there for all to see.

I chided myself for dismissing them in my ignorance and stood to now admire and appreciate them.

So unremarkable in their mute presence, anyone passing would surely be unaware of them, half hidden amongst the leaves and to be rewarded with neither a second glance or recognition.

The sense of achievement and delight at finding them was palpable and I went on my way with a lightness of heart at having discovered another of nature's inconsequential  treasures.

PS

I deplore the popular trend these days to forage for fungi. At a number of woods to which I go, you now often encounter people with plastic bags stuffed full of fungi, far more than is necessary. I was glad my Horns of Plenty had escaped notice and remained to live out their natural cycle.

A Slavonian at Farmoor 18th November 2023

Saturday and plans to visit my local reservoir at nearby Farmoor were put on hold as, glancing out from the bedroom window, I could see nothing but an oppressive greyness and rain drops ricocheting off the road below.

Still there were plenty of those tedious tasks one puts off until the proverbial rainy day and now I had no excuse as here was that very day.

Towards late morning the sky lightened as did my mood, the rain ceased and so my thoughts returned to Farmoor once again. My mind was made up when news came through via the local Oxon Bird Log of a Slavonian Grebe being found at the reservoir.

Slavonian Grebes are a rare winter visitor to Oxfordshire, and, when they occur at Farmoor do so almost exclusively in the winter months, involving single individuals. They rarely remain for long, a few days at most and are probably making their way overland to the south coast of England where they spend the winter in sheltered areas offshore. Both Pagham in Sussex and Hayling in Hampshire are well known wintering areas. 

Farmoor Reservoir gets very busy on weekends with various watersports and fishermen, so often unusual birds such as the grebe get moved on by the constant disturbance on the water. The grebe was reported to be at the far end of the reservoir near to the central causeway,so was unlikely to be disturbed and depart prematurely as it was well away from the windsurfers congregating by the yacht club at the opposite end of the causeway, preparing to take advantage of the strenghthening wind. 

With camera and bins I set off to walk to the far end of the causeway and having traversed two thirds found the grebe swimming amongst a gathering of Coots and Tufted Ducks fairly close to the causeway. Sometimes they choose to settle far out in the centre of the reservoir but this individual was content to remain reasonably close to the causeway but was slowly moving further out and away from me. I followed it by walking along the causeway.

In winter plumage they are a shadow of their spectacular appearance when in breeding plumage. Overall they appear brownish grey and white, darker above and paler below, with a noticeable white breast and a head capped blackish brown and cheeks a contrasting white.The only semblance of colour are the eyes which are a demonic red. In size they are slightly larger than a Little Grebe.

Slavonian Grebes are a scarce breeding bird in Britain, nesting exclusively in the Highlands of Scotland  and since 1994 the population, which is prone to fluctuation, has fallen from 73 to 53 pairs and by 2016 there were only around 25 pairs on 15 lochs. Worryingly this long term downward trend of pairs breeding in Scotland has continued to date.There is however evidence of movements of birds between Scotland and Iceland, where over a 1000 pairs currently breed. Where our wintering birds, including the current individual at Farmoor, come from is anyone's guess, probably Scotland but maybe not.

I watched the grebe for twenty or so minutes, in the process discovering two Common Goldeneye amongst the Tufted Ducks and Coots. Goldeneyes used to be regular winter visitors to Farmoor but in recent years have become very scarce, so to see these two and so early in the winter was a pleasant surprise.They were both males, one in adult plumage and the other in transition from immature or eclipse plumage.

On reaching the end of the causeway I turned left and followed the perimeter track around the larger basin. The grebe was now swimming parallel to me.but a little far out for a reasonable photo. It slowed its progress and preened for a while and then sunk its head back into its shoulders as grebes do and went to sleep.

Not for long though as when a Little Grebe approached it became alert and began calling almost as if it had mistaken the Little Grebe for one of its own.

It ceased calling when the Little Grebe had passed by but then took to the air, flying low across the water.I followed its flight in my bins praying it was not going to rise higher and depart the reservoir. It continued flying low over the water and to my relief settled just off the distant southern bank of the reservoir.

I now had a decision to make, carry on around the reservoir, a  distance of around half a mile or call it a day.I chose the former. Arriving at the area where I thought the grebe had landed I could not see any sign of it. I walked further and there it was some way off from the bank, beyond one of the yacht club's pontoons. Slowly it commenced swimming towards me. It dived and surfaced literally just metres off the bank where I stood looking down on the water. 

I could hardly believe my luck. It must have been able to see me as there is no hiding place on the concrete perimeter track.Maybe it thought I was just another post!

Whatever the reason I made the most of this unexpected opportunity.

It dived again and surfaced with a Three spined Stickleback in its bill. However the fish, in defence had erected its spines which caused the  grebe some problem in swallowing it.The grebe swam around alternately dropping and picking up the fish from the water, uncertain what to do, persistently trying to swallow the fish but the spines stuck in its throat. Eventually the ordeal proved too much for the fish which succumbed and it was swallowed.

The grebe swam further out into the reservoir and recognising that I was not going to get any better opportunities I left to return the way I came, finding the wintering female Greater Scaup with the Tufted Ducks and Coots in a quiet corner at the top of the causeway. I cannot be certain but this may well be the same female that spent last winter on the reservoir.

A windsurfer came careering across the grey water and the whole gathering took to the air and fled in alarm. Sadly an all too frequent occurrence on the reservoir especially on weekends.In past times part of the reservoir was set apart for wintering ducks but now it is not so and on busy weekends the ducks have nowhere to rest and are forced to depart the reservoir.

It was lunchtime and by now the waters were host to a mass of windsurfers, their brightly coloured triangular sails scudding over the entire area of the reservoir. There would be no rest for the wildfowl or the grebe from now on so for me to remain any longer would be pointless.

There was no sign of the Slavonian Grebe the next morning. I was hardly surprised.