Hove Actually! 8th January 2014

A little anecdote to start with.

Having lived and worked near Brighton and Hove for ten years of my life I came to know the area intimately. One of the many anomalies about the place is the inherent snobbery of some of the residents. Brighton, as Keith Waterhouse once said,  'Is a town that should be helping the police with their enquiries' whilst Hove which is conjoined to Brighton is considered much more genteel and up market and whilst Brighton and Hove are for administrative purposes combined and in reality are one and the same, woe betide any stranger asking the more snobbish residents if they come from Brighton. In answer to a question such as 'Do you live in Brighton? The person addressed, if living in Hove will invariably reply, 'Well no, Hove actually'. It is an in joke with everyone who lives in and around the city and for some miles beyond, and many non snobby residents of Hove will often say with self deprecating humour they live in 'Hove Actually' as if the place is really called that.

I visited 'Hove Actually' today, full of the post Christmas blues and feeling thoroughly in the doldrums, arriving in the dark with the dawn just breaking over the sea to the east and Brighton and Hove coming to life. The motivation for revisiting my old haunts was a Grey Phalarope which for the last few days had been frequenting a tiny paddling pool in a children's play area, located just behind the beach huts on the seafront and adjacent to a small cafe and the much larger Hove Lagoon which I would have thought much more suitable for a phalarope. The paddling pool was hardly deep enough for the bird to swim in but it seemed quite happy tootling around the kiddie friendly, gently sloping edges of the pond which frankly, more closely resembled a giant puddle than a paddling pool.

No matter. I left the Black Audi parked by the side of the road and walked a short distance down the sloping path to the pool. The Grey Phalarope, ridiculously confiding, sat quietly at the edge of the pool preening and then going to sleep briefly. It took not one iota of notice of me or anyone else before commencing to do a circuit of the pool feeding on tiny red blood worms which it seized from the water's surface or plunged it's head under the water to capture. 

Under normal circumstances this grey and white mite should be far out in the Atlantic braving the tropical waves off West Africa or even further south but doubtless due to the almost incessant high winds had got well and truly blown off course and was now seeking, presumably temporarily, a sanctuary in the most unlikely of habitats but seeming to be perfectly happy and content nevertheless.

I had to wait a bit for the light to improve before taking any photos so leant against the railings and chatted to curious residents out walking their dogs and later being joined by a few more birders cum photographers but with never more than half a dozen people present at any one time. The phalarope went round and round the pool, stopping to preen and sleep at a particularly favoured spot before re-commencing its circuit. All you had to do to get a point blank photo was to wait quietly by the edge of the pool and it would soon come round to you, so close that at times it was almost impossible to get all of it in the frame. A couple of photographers prostrated themselves full length on the wet concrete presumably to get an eye level image. Rather them than me. 

The phalarope carried on feeding and just being a phalarope, totally ignorant of its star status. There was something poignant and touching about this tiny scrap of life going about its tenuous existence and, with its confiding nature, innocently, blissfully unaware of its vulnerability and all the many perils that surrounded it in its temporary home.

I remained at the pool for over an hour and left at about 8.30am. The post Christmas blues and doldrums long gone and forgotten. Life's routine has begun again as has another birding year.

Dutch Courage 2nd January 2014

c Terry Sherlock

Well here we go again! 

The ideal antidote to any excess on New Year's Eve. 

Yes, let's go to Holland to see a very rare owl!  

A Pygmy Owl to be precise, which had taken up residence in a wooded nature reserve called Ijssellandschap near Lettele in the north of Holland. The news first came out about the owl well before Christmas but after a few days it all went quiet and everyone assumed the owl had returned from whence it had come. However it later became clear the owl was still present and that the Dutch birding 'authorities' whoever they may be, had in their wisdom kept all sightings off the internet to deter too many people going to see the Pygmy Owl and possibly disturbing it. A bit extreme in my opinion and anyway it's now an open secret with anyone and everyone knowing where the owl is and if they have a mind to, travelling to see it.

So on Wednesday evening we left Oxford at 1130pm and early, horrifically early on Thursday morning, the three of us, Badger, Terry and yours truly driving the Black Audi, boarded the 3.30am  Eurotunnel train at Folkestone and then left Calais forty minutes later for a four hour drive to hopefully an appointment with the pint sized terror of the forest.

We drove north through the dark and rain, out of France, across Belgium and into Holland. It was a dull and somewhat sombre morning when we got to Lettele with dark rain clouds superceding the clouds of night but thankfully the rain stayed away and the wind's strength was only mild. Despite being given a hand drawn map by Chris, a colleague who had visited the owl earlier, we still contrived to make a couple of wrong turns down some narrow country lanes before we found a small car park by the woods with ten or so cars and a group of birders getting set to walk off into the wood. This must be it. Surely?

We parked alongside the other cars, we were the only foreign car there, and got ourselves sorted out with cameras, scopes, bins and suitable footwear for a walk into the wet woods. It was all a bit of a struggle after no sleep and such a very long drive but all things considered we kept it together remarkably well.  

Ijssellandschap-entrance sign to the wood

Badger walked off down the track into the woods with the map that Chris had drawn for us forgetting to take us with him. I spoke to three Dutch birders that were following Terry and myself down the track, asking if they could direct us to the Pygmy Owl. In my experience Dutch birders are always friendly and communicative so I have no qualms about speaking to them. One of them replied and spoke to us in perfect English. So embarrassing and he was really helpful too. 

'Come with us and I will show you where it is.'  

He asked about rarities we had seen in Britain and chatted about this and that as we walked along the track into the wood and came to a sort of crossroads of tracks. The Dutch birder told us this is where the owl was yesterday but it became apparent that it was not here today. 

Now what do we do?

In my mind I wondered where all the other birders had gone that we saw earlier in the car park? Did they know something we and our new found friends did not?

A Crested Tit flew across the track from one conifer to another as we stood around. Badger had wandered off further down the track looking for the other birders. I alerted Terry about the Crested Tit, for whom it would be a lifer, but he missed it. 

Never mind, we can find it later, what about the owl? 

Just at that moment another Dutch birder appeared out of the bushes carrying one of those howitzer sized camera, lens and tripod set ups. We asked him if he had any idea where the owl was. 

'Sure' he said in gallingly perfect English 

It's just along there, I will show you. 

And he did. 

He ushered us a few metres up a less obvious narrow track obscured by some bushes and trees from which he had just emerged. The owl, still invisible to me, was apparently to be found high up in a maze of ash tree branches adjacent to the track. Incidentally, I now knew where all the other birders we had seen earlier had got too. They were looking at the Pygmy Owl from this track! 

One of our new found Dutch colleagues took my scope and focused it on the owl for me to save time. He must have felt sorry for me but I was not complaining as I looked at my first ever Pygmy Owl. I reciprocated his kindness by letting him and his two colleagues continue to look at the owl through my scope.

Tiny, the size of a Starling or possibly a tad larger, it was perched way up on a branch of a bare ash tree surrounded by other similar scattered trees and conifers. My initial impression was of a tiny owl whose upper-part plumage was dull brown with numerous white spots whilst it's underparts were dull white with brown streaking. It's tail was quite long and was brown with narrow, widely spaced, white bars. Bright yellow staring eyes in a small brown  head with narrow dark rings around it's greyish white face looked down on me. It had a preen at one point and stretched so we could see it's white feathered legs and white spotted wing feathers. We watched it for around two hours during which time it remained firmly rooted to the branch it was perched on, facing away from us into the light wind but constantly alert and often turning it's head to look over it's back at the slightest noise and giving the impression that it would not take much if you were a vole or small bird to receive it's unwelcome attention and become it's next meal. Some would call it cute and I suppose it was but those eyes when seen head on told a different story. This was another killer, albeit a tiny one, but lethal, make no mistake. 

Pygmy Owl c Terry Sherlock

Common Crossbills flew over us, calling loudly and another Crested Tit alerted us to it's presence with a rattling alarm call. A Marsh Tit called further away and Goldcrests, invisible in the dense conifer foliage betrayed themselves with pin pricks of high frequency calls.

Despite the well meaning concern for the owl's welfare by the Dutch 'authorities' everyone while I was there was perfectly behaved and maintained a sensible, discreet and muted distance from the owl to save any possible disturbance. There were indeed only about twenty birders present at any one time.

Dutch birders enjoying the Pygmy Owl

The Pygmy Owl was perched high up in the bare tree in the centre of the picture

The owl was, sadly, too small and too far away for me to do real justice with my lens but Terry and Badger with different equipment to mine managed to get some more than acceptable pictures of the Pygmy Owl and some of Terry's images grace this blog.

A Dutch birder chatted to Terry and asked where we had come from. He told him England and the Dutch birder was amazed we had come all that way for just the day. To be frank so were we but now that we were here we determined to make the most of it. A lifer for all three of us and only a few weeks after we had been to Holland  to see the Northern Hawk Owl which was still in residence only thirty minutes drive up the road at Zwolle. Indeed, Holland seems to be the place for displaced owls at the moment, as not only are there the Northern Hawk and Pygmy Owls gracing it's shores but now a Snowy Owl has been found as well.

Having felt we had done both justice to the Pygmy Owl and our huge effort to see it, we wandered back through the woods heading vaguely for the car park. Not long after leaving the owl we stopped at another crossing of tracks and surveyed some conifers and deciduous trees where a tit flock was feeding. This kept us on our toes for some time as various shapes of birds flitted annoyingly briefly in silhouette through the branches. Slowly as we got accustomed to the conditions their identities were revealed. Along with the commoner tits such as Great, Blue, Coal and Long tailed Tits we found another two Crested Tits and some Goldcrests feeding in the trees. One, possibly two Short toed Tree Creepers accompanied the tit flock and best of all a male Lesser Spotted Woodpecker put in a brief appearance before disappearing, only for a female to be found by us a little while later. Flocks of presumably Common Crossbills were regularly flying over and we found one group of half a dozen or so perched high in a tree. A look through the scope confirmed that these five at least were neither Parrot or Two barred Crossbills, only Common Crossbills but none the worse for that.

We moved on and stopped further down the main track leading to the car park, where it bordered some grassy areas to our right. Badger had heard a Willow Tit calling. We walked across the grass towards some thick and tangled hawthorn bushes by a wet ditch and there we found at least three Willow Tits, their fawn plumage strikingly pale against the dark bare twigs of the bushes. A trio of Bullfinches called plaintively, the males sumptuous in their pink and grey plumage. A  flock of Siskins crossed the sky like a starburst, twittering excitedly and showered on high into the topmost bare branches of a large tree. Another Dutch birder, anxiety etched on his face came over to us. 

'You have the Pygmy Owl?' 

 'Sorry no.' I replied. 

He looked downcast. 

'We can however tell you where it is. Take the first turning right from this track and that will lead you to the location'. 

'Thank you so much'.  

'My pleasure.'  

At the end of the track a large flock of Chaffinches were now feeding by the small muddy car park but despite checking we found no Bramblings with them but over the road in a field of short grass a Green Woodpecker was busy hunting for ants and yet another Crested Tit suddenly appeared by the parked cars. 

Our window of opportunity in Holland was rapidly closing as was the weather. We had about three hours left before we needed to head back on the four hour journey to Calais. We decided to go for another look at the Northern Hawk Owl, still at Zwolle. It was, after all, only half an hour's drive from Lettele and we knew how to get there rather than probably getting lost looking for the elusive Baikal Teal at Driel which was an hour's drive away.

So back to Zwolle we went and the Northern Hawk Owl was not in it's usual place on the industrial estate. Nor were there more than a couple of birders present which was strange. Slight panic ensued. I enquired of one Dutch birder who was just leaving and he told me not to worry. The owl was only some two hundred metres away by the railway track. We walked up the road to the railway embankment and there were all the 'missing birders' admiring the owl which was sitting on top of one of the gantries over the railway line. 

It was now drizzling and getting unpleasant. I said I would go and get the car and bring it round to the others. I duly did so but on returning was told the owl had now flown back to where the car originally was! So we got back into the car. Before I drove off Terry noticed a tripod and scope stood forlornly on the bank. 

'Whose is that?' he enquired. 

'Yours Terry' we replied. 

So tired he had forgotten to pack it into the car. It gets all of us that way Terry. Spirit willing but flesh weak. I am sure anyone would understand.

I drove back the two hundred metres to our original point and the Northern Hawk Owl, now becoming somewhat flighty, gave us some photo opportunities but seemed to be getting a little fed up with the attentions of a minority of photographers who were getting too close. Not such good behaviour now from the local birders. The owl flew to perch high up on an electricity pylon before taking a wide flight around some waste ground and then departing back to the railway track where it once again perched on one of the gantries carrying the electric cables to power the trains passing below. It showed not one jot of notice to the trains even though they were very close and noisy as they passed only a few metres from it. Terry got a good picture of it perched on a cable and we watched it hovering like a Kestrel for some thirty seconds. 

The rain was now setting in with a purpose.

c Terry Sherlock

Northern Hawk Owl

We left the owl still maintaining its vigil on the gantry and set off for home.

The drive home has been variously described as 'interesting, hair raising or an out of body experience' depending on who is recounting the journey. Suffice to say with no Satnav we contrived to get lost on more than one occasion. This resulted in a series of circumstances and conclusions, the first of which is that I will never trust the AA Get Routes service again. Nor drive such a distance (950 miles round trip) without sleep and which led to my having an imaginary conversation about root vegetables with Terry whilst approaching a place in Holland I cannot even remember. This then led to my sampling a large can of double strength Red Bull for the very first time at the suggestion of both Terry and Badger who were becoming concerned about my state of mind and lack of sleep. Combine this with the time lost getting lost, finding ourselves miles off course and even coming close to Gouda, home of the famous cheese with the red rind, and inadvertently ending up on the Rotterdam Ring Road going the wrong way at rush hour then what should have been an easy and stress free journey back to Calais resulted in a mad cap high speed chase to get to Calais in time for our booked train which we were under the impression was the last one of the night. We made it with ten minutes to spare and there were three extra trains. 

Just as well though as it took an age for us to get through Passport Control.

We were back in Oxford at 1030 pm on Thursday. 

The rest of me caught up a few hours later! 

Festive Birding 28th December 2013

The minute I published my previous post I knew in my bones that something would happen to confound me and make me look foolish. This duly happened on Thursday 26th December when news broke that a 'strange guillemot' that had been frequenting Portland Harbour for a few days prior to Boxing Day had finally been identified as no longer a 'strange guillemot' but a Brunnich's Guillemot, an extreme rarity, way south of it's normal winter range in northern Scandinavia and a much desired bird for any self respecting birder to see. If they do occur in Great Britain they are almost unheard of away from the far north of Scotland, Shetland being a favourite location if they wander and often those that are found soon succumb.This one I believe was the forty third to be found in Great Britain

So you can imagine the stir this one made as, for once, it was readily and reasonably accessible, on the mainland and apparently in robust health. Many plans, I am certain, were laid the length and breadth of Britain and families abandoned as birders made their way as fast as possible to Portland Harbour. Heroically I resisted the urge and remained at home to comply with family festivities and frankly I felt the better for it. If I had upped sticks and gone immediately I would only feel guilty and not have enjoyed the experience as much as I should. So Thursday and Friday were out and I made plans to go on Saturday which in itself was fortuitous as the weather conditions on Friday were very bad with high winds, making viewing an auk on the sea difficult to say the least. Saturday's forecast bode much better with light winds and only the occasional shower to contend with.

I contacted Terry, Badger, Clackers and Andy without delay. Terry was keen to go, Badger decided to drive down from his family Christmas get together in Lincolnshire that very night and then return the next night, Clackers confirmed he was also ready and willing whilst Andy decided to remain at his family home in Suffolk. We were set to go at 5.30am on Saturday, meeting Terry at Badger's home and Terry would make the three hour drive with us in his car to Portland. I went to bed early but as usual sleep eluded me as the pending excitement of Saturday was just too much to contain. Finally I drifted off. My personal start tomorrow would be at 4.30am from my home to get to Badger's house in Abingdon via collecting Clackers at Witney on the way. 

Getting on for one in the morning my mobile pings a text alert. 'What the.......?'  from Clackers. His text advised that he could not make it due to food poisoning and was as he spoke suffering the awful consequences. I was now wide awake again. Oh well. I lay there in a semi comatose state half sleeping half awake. I got up at four. Had I been asleep? It did not feel like it. Downstairs for a quick slice of toast and cup of tea before departure. How are England doing in the cricket? I turned on the TV. Sky brought the inevitable news of yet another England batting collapse. I turned the TV off, tried to forget about the cricket and headed off into a cold Cotswold night, the car slipping slightly on the icy country roads. 

Terry and Badger were ready and waiting when I arrived so with a quick transfer of all my gear into Terry's car we were away and back into the night. Few cars were around at this early hour as we drove south into the enveloping darkness. I tried to remain awake but it was hopeless and I nodded off, waking and dozing at intervals on the journey and finally coming to my senses as we approached Weymouth with dawn just breaking. We were soon at the designated area around Portland Harbour and drew up in a car park where we could see other birders that were already getting set to look for the Brunnich's Guillemot. It was cold and windy as we left the car, the weather most definitely not as forecast. The ghost of Michael Fish hung in the air. 

We scanned the bay. A Little Egret flew low, showing startlingly white in the dull light and against the steel grey sea. A distant Guillemot brought a flurry of excitement. The cold wind made my sleepy eyes water. Then the pager advised that the Brunnich's Guillemot had already been seen this very morning but further along between the Castle and the Aqua Centre by the Marina. We were in the wrong car park and the wrong place! 

Hurriedly we got back into the car and off we went the short distance required. We took a wrong turning. Wrong direction. A rapid U turn and back onto the right road and then making a left turn we quickly came to an enormous car park that was free, yes free, in Portland! Crammed with birders and cars, everyone acting with a quiet purpose. We made our way rapidly to the adjacent promenade cum sea wall that skirted around yet another area of cold sea between the Castle and the Marina.

This whole area comprised of very new and modern buildings, doubtless a legacy of last year's Olympics, ( the sailing competition was held in nearby Weymouth) with the huge modern glass structure of the Aqua Centre at the end of the promenade. There were already many birders present. Some were relaxed having just seen the Brunnich's, others like us, newly arrived, desperately running as fast as they could to catch up with the auk which was diving repeatedly, swimming parallel with the promenade and heading inexorably away into the distance towards the Aqua Centre. 

The Brunnich's was only ever on the surface of the sea briefly before diving, moving fast underwater and coming up many metres away. It was every one for themself. I met Paul, also from Oxford and a good friend. An instant dilemna. I must say hello but desperately wanted to see the auk. Good manners prevailed and I stopped.

 Hi Paul. Have you seen it'?

Yes mate, it's heading off that way. 

He pointed in the direction birders were running. 

See you in a minute I gasped and ran off after the birders and the auk. I passed grown men, lugging scopes and cameras who looked like they had not had any exercise in many years but had now cast off the years of bodily abuse and were attempting to run to get ahead of where they anticipated the Brunnich's would surface. The Fat Lady may sing but the fat birders around me running to catch up with the auk had no breath left to speak let alone sing. I saw the back end of the Brunnich's Guillemot distantly and very briefly by the Aqua Centre before it dived and then it completely disappeared. Not a sign of it. I could only assume it had disappeared in amongst the millions of pounds worth of yachts moored along the pontoons in the Marina. A strictly no go area for birders.

Tiredness does not help the thought process but eventually, standing in mute frustration, I got it together to think matters through. I walked back to where I had met Paul. All the previous reports from Thursday onwards said that the area of sea I was looking at was it's favourite place. I deduced I had two options; stand here and wait for it to turn up again or rely on other birders finding it and alerting me. Either way it was best to just stand still and wait which I duly did. Many others caught up in the dual clasp of anxiety and uncertainty wearied themselves by following the crowd moving back and fore along the promenade in response to presumed sightings of the Brunnich's Guillemot which were consistently erroneous.  Badger and Terry had been lost in the crowd but this often happens to us at events such as this and we always find each other eventually. Hugh, another colleague who was spending Christmas at his parents in Taunton stood next to me. We had not noticed each other. Via text last night he had arranged to meet me here. 

Hugh it's me! I said as I recognised him. 

I tried to call you twice this morning he told me. 

Sorry my phone's ring tone has given up. 

We teamed up, chatted and whilst waiting for the Brunnich's to show up again did a bit of quiet birding of the sea before us, standing and pointing out to each other the various species that came into view. Two Great Northern Divers swam into sight, grey bulky hulks low in the water, heavy and ponderous in movement but yet, still graceful. Flotillas of spiky headed Red breasted Mergansers, were scattered across the sea, frenziedly fishing and courting, each group diving and surfacing in synchronicity. Three Black throated Divers, to my mind the most elegant and evenly proportioned of their genus flew over us, then circling, as if thinking better of it, flew back out to sea and a Sparrowhawk incongruously flew, distantly, across the open sea. A Razorbill surfaced. Best of all we found the wintering Black Guillemot that has been here for some weeks. Immature Shags, fearlessly swam within metres of us, diving and fishing and giving great photo opportunities.

It was stimulating to find all these birds but still the Brunnich's remained elusive. The promenade cum sea wall fortunately allowed the huge number of birders to scatter along it so everyone could view, unobstructed, the area of sea before us. By now there must have been over 400 birders ranged along the sea wall with more arriving every minute. A phalanx of green and beige clad humanity formed a living wall as far as you could see.The optical and camera equipment present must have run into the hundreds of thousands of pounds but still no Brunnich's.

I recognised other birders I had seen at other twitches. Some are familiar enough to be on speaking terms others just familiar faces. I am sure it was the same for many others present. A Grey Heron floated over the sea and joined some Shags and Cormorants roosting on an arm of the Marina. The wind had died away. It was now quite pleasant and the sun had risen enough to bathe everything in a golden light. The crowd away to our left by the Aqua Centre stirred, arms pointed, scopes swung to point in one direction. Other birders around us ran off in that direction. I looked in my bins and there was the Brunnich's Guillemot precisely where I had seen it disappear much earlier.There was now a big scrum of birders opposite it. An elbow job. I was too tired for this. Hugh and I remained where we were, now with much more space around us, vacated by anxious birders. The Brunnich's appeared to be slowly coming towards us, close in to the sea wall. If we remained here we would get a grandstand view as it passed us rather than we run around breathlessly as so many others were doing in their anxiety to see and photograph it, and, that is precisely what happened.

It surfaced after one of it's dives almost opposite us.

A typical auk, dull sooty black above and white below. Unlike the winter plumaged Razorbills and Guillemots it's head was entirely black apart from a dull white line running along the bottom half of the upper mandible and a thin line in the feathers, barely discernible, curving down each side of it's head behind the eye. It's chin was grizzled white but the rest of the neck was dull brownish black. A thin white line bordered the outer edge of the inner wing. Slightly bigger than a Razorbill with a short pointed bill it gave an impression of solidity as it sat with wings slightly akimbo, resting them on the sea. The reason for this became apparent as it dived, using the half opened wings to propel itself underwater.

It dived once more and this time we did move, fast to our right, trying to anticipate where it would surface. It really was a game, with droves of birders overtaking others as we progressed leap frog fashion down the promenade but the the effort was well worth it. We got fabulous views as it fished close in. Then it started to move back the way it came and the whole leap frog process was repeated in reverse.We arrived back at our original point and the auk now remained on the surface preening and washing.

Two red, sea going rowing boats crewed, one by men and one by ladies, left the Marina and passed within inches of the auk. It hardly moved when the laughing ladies passed by, oars flashing, but the men's boat came on a collision course and the auk unseen by the crew members was forced to make a crash dive to avoid the blade of an oar.

We relaxed. Half an hour watching the Brunnnich's brought to an end the initial adrenalin rush and a soothing calm took control of our senses.The auk drifted further out into the Marina and we watched as it moved up and down before us, repeatedly diving and surfacing.

The others joined us and we enquired of each other how we got on. Terry did well with his camera as did Badger with his video. The light was terrible for photography but I was reasonably happy with what I had managed to achieve. It is always important that everyone gets their desired result and there is an unwritten understanding amongst us that no one goes anywhere until we are all satisfied with our images, video, sightings or whatever. The comradeship of birding with friends is just as important and as vital a part of the process as seeing the bird

It was now eleven o clock. We had been here for three hours. A discussion ensued as to whether we would stay in the general area and go look for other birds in some nearby locations. Hugh opted to remain and go and look for an Iceland Gull that had been seen nearby yesterday. I was equivocal as was Terry but Badger decided the issue by stating he would quite like to see the White billed Diver that was currently inhabiting Brixham Harbour. Poor Terry, but without complaint he cheerfully drove us another eighty miles west to Brixham, through two driving rain storms and where we arrived just as the rain ceased.

Brixham Harbour containing three species of diver

The wind had now dropped entirely and we parked at the start of the long concrete breakwater that enclosed the western side of Brixham Harbour. The breakwater was already occupied by some twenty to thirty birders presumably with the same idea as us, plus some bemused locals out for a constitutional.

Birders on Brixham Breakwater looking at the White billed Diver

We walked out and initially could see nothing. Then a dark diver shape surfaced distantly amongst the scattered boats in the harbour. The White billed Diver, it's huge bill gleaming white in the weak sun. I cannot describe adequately the sheer bulk and enormity of that upturned bill. It really is enormous with, consequently, a large head necessary to balance it. The diver was an adult in winter plumage. It was too far out for any reasonable chance of a good photo and constantly played a game of hide and seek as it dived and resurfaced amongst the boats.

Underwater it would cover fair distances and would surface in totally unexpected places, it's grey brown plumage at times blending with the similar coloured sea and rendering it hard to pick out. Initially it rarely remained on the surface longer than a few seconds but as time passed it would remain on the surface for longer so we all got good scope views. Another lifer for Terry. It still, however, remained well out of decent camera range. Two Black throated Divers, fortunately, came much closer to the breakwater and we moved down opposite them. This was much better, and we happily clicked away with our cameras.  An adult and a juvenile, they remained in close formation, swimming, diving and surfacing almost in unison. The adult even called as, later, so did a Great Northern Diver, a really strange, surreal sound very much out of place amongst the boats and the buildings surrounding the harbour.

Black throated Divers with juvenile in front and adult calling behind

The White billed Diver came closer, and closer and yet closer to the breakwater. We hurried down towards the seaward end of the breakwater. It dived. Where would it come up? 

There! 

We moved rapidly even further down the breakwater. It dived again. Now where? 

Bingo! 

There it was right in front of us and very close. It remained there diving and surfacing repeatedly at short intervals. I noted how, at times, it could submerge it's body so the head and neck appeared to be detached from the body.

It seemed to have found a small shoal of fish and was joined by a Black headed Gull. Terry and I sat on the wall taking photos. Badger went into overdrive with his video. This was such incredible luck. Many of the other birders had departed. Our patience had well and truly been rewarded. It lasted all of ten minutes but that was enough. The diver went under again and re-surfaced back out in the middle of the harbour. Show over but it did not matter now. We had some excellent pictures and video and were very happy, very very happy.

Now came the time every twitcher recognises when the desires and anxieties are sated and you enter a state of grace and, totally relaxed, go looking at anything that takes your fancy. Badger and Terry went down to the end of the breakwater to photograph a Black Guillemot fishing off the end. Six or seven Purple Sandpipers roosted on the rocks, a couple of ridiculously tame Turnstones ran along the sea wall and a Rock Pipit flew up and over the same sea wall .

I looked out to sea from the wall and dotted around on the flat calm sea amongst the many Shags were upwards of twenty Great Northern Divers. A couple of distant Gannets flew around and then a small but very distant duck surfaced next to an orange buoy. I turned the zoom lens of my scope onto maximum and found myself looking at a female or immature Long Tailed Duck. I called to Terry and Badger and they saw it too. A good ending to the day or was it? 

Well no, as with still some daylight left, we drove round to nearby Broadsands to look at a well known location for Cirl Buntings, adjacent to the car park. We were not disappointed as upwards of ten Cirl Buntings were feeding on the seed put out for them under the bushes.The majority were males but they were joined by a few females, some Chaffinches, a couple of Dunnocks and a female Reed Bunting.

Male Cirl Bunting (lower image c Terry Sherlock)

A restored Great Western tank engine huffed and chuffed it's way across a viaduct behind us with coaches full of trippers, recalling a bygone age. It was that kind of a day

A quick look in the scrub and wet ditches surrounding the back of the car park looked unpromising but with a little persistence we found a Siberian ChiffChaff, it's milky coffee coloured upperparts and almost white underparts ghostly in the failing light. A Water Rail squealed from the ditch. Hugh sent a text. He had found an adult Glaucous Gull at Portland.

What a day! A four hundred mile round trip but in all our estimations well worth it. It's not often we all get a lifer but today we did. Terry got two but he richly deserved them for heroically doing the driving for which I offer grateful thanks as I am sure does Badger - but please no more megas before the New Year!