In Search of Myrtle 11th February 2014

I made a call to Clackers on Monday. 

"Fancy going to see the Myrtle Warbler on Tuesday?" 

A short pause.

"I will try to get the day off and call you back". 

Clackers later confirms he has the day off and we arrange to leave Oxford at 4am on Tuesday.

A little backgound to our latest jaunt may be in order now.

A Myrtle Warbler or as it is now less romantically called, Yellow-rumped Warbler had been found during the recent Garden Birdwatch survey on a somewhat upmarket housing estate of mainly detached houses in a place called High Shincliffe near Durham. This transatlantic waif should be in the USA but now becomes the 18th of its kind to be found in Britain. After protracted negotiations between two local birders and the residents of the estate, lasting many days, a compromise had been found to accommodate the numerous birders wishing to see the warbler and the local residents concerns. The bird was originally found in a private garden with no access, so some feeders were set up in a hedge by the perimeter road round the estate that was away from any potential invasions of privacy and the warbler co-operated perfectly and fed on two fat filled half coconuts placed strategically in the hedgerow. So everyone was happy.

The hedgerow favoured by the Yellow-rumped Warbler. The fat filled coconuts

were deep in the hedge either side of the middle tree

We had four hours driving in the dark, with, as usual, a dire weather forecast to look forward to so whiled away the miles chatting in the cosy warmth of the Audi as we progressed up the A1 heading ever northwards. The gentle red glow of the dashlights and the darkness was comforting, a metaphorical cushion softening the hard world of concrete and latent Motorway danger outside the car. The hours and miles passed with us regaling each other with birding tales, a little political ranting and raving about politicians to add some spice and then we made a stop at the inappropriately named Scotch Corner (it's nowhere near Scotland).

We drove up the slip road off the Motorway. Clackers says 

"What's that white stuff ?" 

Me "Errr." 

Clackers responds "It's snow!". 

The grass beside the roads was white with a covering of snow. We departed the cocoon of warmth and security provided by German engineering and entered the fluorescent hell of Scotch Corner Motorway Services as dawn broke.  In recognition of the weather conditions we took our waterproofs and boots from the car to change in the services. The bitter wind howled around our legs. 

"Maybe some extra body clothing too Clackers?" 

Suitably attired we retreated back to the car then headed northwards towards Durham as the dawn slowly rose, grey and unwelcoming. The sleet turned to rain and as we neared High Shincliffe it had stopped and a grey all pervading gloominess took over, accompanied by the relentless bitter and chilling wind.

We parked the car and walked down a winding road called Whitwell Acres meeting birders already returning who had seen the warbler. Their comments were re-assuring. It was being seen well and frequently in the hedgerow. We turned a corner and we could see a small group of birders standing on a grass mound  looking intently at a thirty metre length of hedgerow with some taller trees on the other side of the narrow perimeter road. 

A familiar figure was coming up the road towards us. Or at least half the figure I remembered. It was Chris and he had lost a lot of weight. 

"Hi Chris. You're looking good" 

"Cheers mate. Lost two stone. I can now see below my stomach." 

"That always helps Chris". 

We got to the mound and some other acquaintances from Sussex were also there who had come with Chris but they had arrived at first light, already seen the warbler and shortly after left for home. Clackers and myself set up our scopes and waited. A large flock of Pink footed Geese flew over, very high above us. We did not have to wait very long for the warbler. Various small shapes flitted like ghosts through the tangled mass of twigs and stems. A Robin, Great Tits, Blue Tits, Coal Tits even a Marsh Tit arrived, all presumably attracted by the free food and finally the warbler turned up and perched on some fat balls hung in a tree before descending to pick at the fat in one of the coconut shells. My first view was of a grey brown warbler about the size of a robin but more delicately built. It was not there for long before being chased off by an aggressive Robin. However it was persistent and regularly returned to the fat filled coconut shells and slowly I got to see its plumage details as the morning passed and it returned at regular intervals to feed. The upperparts were dull brown with a distinct grey caste and had four or five black lines running lengthways. The underparts were dull white with some faint streaking and a brief splash of pale yellow on the breast sides. The tail was black with prominent and large white 'windows' in the outer tail feathers and best of all was a bright lemon yellow rump contrasting with the darker body feathers. We watched it until we had seen enough to feel satisfied. It was mainly visible when feeding on the coconut shells but on just a few occasions it perched  in the open on the low branches of the  trees giving full and unobscured but all too brief views of it. 

Photography was very difficult as the coconut shells were obscured by a mass of twigs. I gave up trying. With a scope you could focus on the shells easily through the twigs but the camera's autofocus was hopeless. I did get some really good images of the twigs however.  Our final view in the morning was of it flying into the top of the tree under which we were standing and then flying off over the houses behind us. It was by now 1130.

"Something to eat Clackers?" 

"Why not". 

We drove a short way into Shincliffe itself and found a pub called The Seven Stars with a banner outside offering breakfast. It looked pretty rundown from the exterior and breakfast had apparently stopped at 10am  but enquiries within found a friendly, welcoming response and we were accommodated with a minimum of fuss in a surprisingly luxurious interior. The breakfast was also superb, cooked really well and served with an attention to our welfare that would shame many a similar hostelry. We sat in the cosy pub and enjoyed the post twitch euphoria and sense of well being that a successful dice with the birding fates always brings.

Replete, we bade our farewells and returned for some more warbler action. However on returning we found we had just missed three Waxwings literally a few hundred yards round the corner and further up the perimeter road. This was just too tempting, having already seen the warbler so well. We headed off up the road but the Waxwings had departed. The whole place was alive with birds and it soon became clear that the residents of High Shincliffe certainly cared for their garden birds. Many gardens had feeders and two gardens had at least ten to fifteen feeders hanging from their trees. It must cost a fortune to fill them but they certainly attracted the birds. We stood near to the rowan tree which the Waxwings favoured waiting in the hope they would return. Another birder came from further up the road and told us about ten Grey Partridges in a cabbage field a few hundred yards up the road. We went to have a look and sure enough there were ten Grey Partridges in the  middle of the field fluffed up against the cold and  looking like brown footballs. We returned to the rowan tree but still nothing. Other birders left. Tired of waiting. So little patience. We were alone. We amused ourselves watching all the various birds coming to the feeders. Bullfinches, Greenfinches, Chaffinches, Goldfinches, House Sparrows, all the commoner tits, as well as a Marsh Tit and a Lesser Redpoll, were all regular visitors. 

Another birder came up the road and stopped by us. 

"Any sign of the Waxwings?" 

"Sadly no," we replied "but there are ten Grey Partridges further up in a field by the road".

The birder went off to see them. We carried on with our unofficial garden bird survey. The birder later returned. 

"Did you see them?" 

"Not really. I only saw one and it was being eaten by a Sparrowhawk!" 

He carried on down the road back to the warbler site. Two other local birders joined us and gave us a brief history of the estate. They were friendly and communicative and suggested that we should try Saltholme RSPB reserve in nearby Billingham as there was a Green-winged Teal and a Long tailed Duck there. They gave us directions for later

Clackers suggested we go and look at the warbler one last time and then travel on to Saltholme. 

"Let's give the Waxwings just fifteen minutes more Clackers". 

Five minutes passed and I looked at the rowan. Three familiar shapes were now perched in the top of an adjacent taller tree. Waxwings!

They sat unconcernedly and then individually descended onto the rowan and gobbled berries frantically for a  minute before returning to the higher tree.

They repeated this process regularly even hovering to pluck the berries from the stems.

We left them to it and returned to the warbler.

Just a handful of birders now remained. The warbler had been absent for some time. We stood around and discussed leaving and going to Saltholme to see the ducks. Slowly the number of birders increased - all waiting. The sun came out and the sky turned blue. I became aware of a quiet tek tek call. I had heard this in the USA. 

"That's a Yellow-rumped Warbler!" 

The call was coming from a tall tree opposite. I looked up and at the very topmost twig was the Yellow-rumped Warbler. It sat there for all of two minutes giving great views in the telescope before zipping off to a hedgerow on the other side of the cabbage field behind the hedge. Everyone saw it. A little while later the warbler came back and fed on the coconuts. I did my bit for public relations by letting some interested local residents look through my telescope as it fed on the coconut. Clackers did the same. It made us all feel good.

The warbler came to feed on the coconut one more time. Possibly due to the angle we viewed the coconut and the position of the bird we had the best views we had managed all day and saw it for an extended period in all it's understated glory. It then flew off. This completed the cycle. We were fully satisfied now and every birder will tell you that there comes that time when you feel all the effort has been positively justified by the time spent looking at the bird in question and it is time to go.

We headed off in brilliant sunshine to Saltholme RSPB. Dominated by a futuristic industrial skyline of silver pipes and towers that would do any science fiction movie justice. It is a really strange place. We found the area of water filled pits where the ducks were meant to be but the conditions were totally against us. We were looking straight into the sun and also a strong cold wind blew full into our faces. It was almost impossible. We did identify various ducks and waders the best of which I suppose were two Golden Plover. A local birder told us we were looking in the wrong place for the Long tailed Duck. It was on a pit the other side of the road. We duly found it. A female. A Water Rail sharmed in the reeds.

I would like to say we then left and had a trouble free drive home but a literally wild goose chase then ensued prompted by someone telling me seven Tundra Bean Geese were nearby. They were not. We only found Greylag and Canada Geese at the spot and I still wonder if our informant had misidentified the geese. Whilst checking for the geese we had a chance encounter with an almost hysterical Lee Evans and associate who were also looking for the geese.The colleague of Lee Evans then promptly left us in his car to go look for the two Golden Plover I had seen as he needed them for his Cleveland County List. Insane! We left Lee Evans standing in a layby with the light failing, on his own in the wastes of Billingham. I hope his friend remembered to come back for him.

We headed for home at 5pm. A major traffic jam out of Billingham confronted us. A confusing road diversion on the A19 somewhere near Sowerby added to our woe. The police then closed the A1 due to an accident. It took us two hours just to get out of Yorkshire. A four hour journey took six. We got home at 11pm. 

It was worth it though.

Oh I do love to be beside the seaside! 9th February 2014

Saturday evening and I contemplated the prospect of a Sunday with little to do and a bleak weather forecast. I decided late in the evening on another birding adventure despite the forecast for rain and high winds. I'm getting more than a little resigned to it now!  A Kumlien's Gull and an adult Glaucous Gull had both been seen yesterday at Littlehampton, West Sussex and it was just too much to resist. So a 5.30 early morning start found me wending my way down wet Motorways and finding the grey dawn on the Surrey/Sussex border. The rain had stopped but I was made very aware of the gale force winds as periodically the car would be shuddered by vicious gusts of wind funnelled through the embankments shouldering the road. I also periodically skirted random large tree branches hurled onto the road by the force of the wind. By the time I reached LA (Lil 'ampton - as the locals call it) there was the novelty of sunshine breaking through but the wind was still ferocious.

The Kumlien's Gull had been seen yesterday at the mouth of the River Arun as it flows through Littlehampton and out into the sea. I decided to try the west side of the river mouth for no other reason than everyone yesterday saw it from there. Driving up to the car park by the west side beach I could see some birders already cowering behind the cafe and trying to look at a mass of gulls feeding along the east side beach on the other side of the river outflow. 

I did not even bother to get out of the car as the gulls were all on the other side of the river and consequently distant. I just turned around and drove back the way I had come, back over the River Arun and headed for the east side of the river mouth. I would be much closer to the gulls as I would now be looking directly onto the beach over which they were feeding. I got out of the car in a deserted car park and was promptly blown against the car by the force of the wind. In wind such as this all sorts of inanimate objects seem to take on a life of their own. Car doors unexpectedly blow shut and anything not firmly attached suddenly takes to the air like a mad thing. Try putting on waterproof overtrousers in a Force Eight. It's not easy believe me.

Finally I got everything to my satisfaction and headed for the nearby seafront.The wind was coming from the southwest but there were some closed and shuttered cafes right on the seafront where I could shelter in the lee of the wind and hopefully use my scope on the feeding gulls. It worked a treat, the buildings providing an oasis of calm but there were hundreds of gulls to look at. Some feeding in the roiling brown surf and others sheltering on the beach, standing stoically head into the wind. The roar of the surf and the wind was incredible and exhilarating. Normally the seaside at a town like Littlehampton is a very sedate place but with weather such as today it took on a much more elemental and unpredictable character. 

There was just one other birder nearby braving the elements but between us we could not find anything resembling the Kumlien's or the Glaucous Gull. It was dizzying trying to scan through the swirling mass of gulls but we kept at it, sadly with no success whatsoever. Thirty minutes passed and I resolved to wait for as long as it would take. It was going to be attritional but so be it. The other birder, who was local came over to me and told me that he had just received a phone call telling him the Kumlien's had been found sheltering on the Golf Course. The Golf Course was, inevitably, on the west side of the river so it was back in the car, back over the river and back to where I had originally started. A short walk up a very muddy footpath resulted in my joining another ten or so birders looking forlornly at the alleged top of a Kumlien Gull's head. The rest of the bird was virtually invisible as it was hunkered down out of the wind in a fold of ground somewhere near the seventeenth tee. It appeared to be asleep in the company of about thirty other assorted gulls.

Can you see it? It's the gull asleep just left of the flying gull!

I waited and sure enough, gulls being gulls, it woke up, moved and now I saw not only its head but the top half of its body.Woooeee! Then at last the flock rose in the air, at some unknown concern and the Kumlien's was visible for a minute in flight. Its pale brown primaries almost translucent in the morning light and its body plumage slightly paler than any other juvenile gulls around it. Then it returned to earth and again sunk behind a fold in the ground rendering itself once more almost invisible. A little deflated at such brief and disappointing views, my mood was depressed even more when I learnt that the adult Glaucous Gull had been seen just minutes before I got to the Golf Course, flying over towards the East Beach.

I gave it up and decided to return to the east side of the river. Others were of the same opinion as me. Sooner or later the Kumlien's would come to the river mouth to feed and join all the other gulls or that was the theory anyway. So back I went and indulged myself in some more fruitless gull scoping. I met some young Sussex birders, the names of two I recall were Luke and Dan and we teamed up. It was so refreshing to see their enthusiasm and their friendliness and let's face it they are the future so should be encouraged as much as possible.

Littlehampton East Beach

Our combined forces nevertheless failed miserably and turned up just one partially summer plumaged Mediterranean Gull. That was it. Time dragged on, the wind remained at jet velocity and we cowered meekly behind the sheltering walls. Finally the Kumlien's was spotted by Dan coming to the river mouth to feed, joining all the other gulls in a melee of feathered forms dipping up and down above the waves. We all went out to the end of a small concrete pier as this would bring us nearer to the gull. The wind was at our backs but was so strong it made holding a scope or bins very difficult as the buffeting gusts kept blowing one forwards or sideways. It was not fun. The light was also atrocious with bright sun reflecting off the waves and wet sand. The Kumlien's, not without some difficulty, was re-found and lost again at frequent intervals amongst the feathered throng. Whoever found it  or re-found it then had to try and give directions to the others which was impossible. 'It's by an adult Herring Gull' - there were hundreds. 'It's at the edge of the waves' - there were miles of waves but what can you do, and we all did our best with some humour and birders being birders we all eventually saw it or re-found it. 

Having spent many years braving the wind on Newhaven Pier seawatching I decided a bit of advice might not go amiss with my young friends. "Why don't we go down on the beach and stand in the lee of the pier. That way we will be out of the wind and get much better views?" Agreed. We descended onto the sandy beach with the tide receding fast. This was much better. Perhaps because they are used to dogs and people wandering the beach the gulls here seemed less fearful of people than usual and just carried on feeding at the edge of the tide. If you were cautious you could get relatively close to them. Noting the gulls seemed unworried by some members of the public standing very close further up the beach I suggested we move across the sand to a nearby groyne as this would bring us really close and enable us to get some good views and photos of the Kumlien's Gull. Agreed again and that is what we did. 

The next hour or so was spent happily taking the  Kumlien's photo although we  had huge problems concerning the light, with dazzlingly bright reflected sun coming off  both sand and sea. The Kumlien's seemed to be less troubled by us than any of the other gulls and was usually the nearest to us, feeding frantically with the other gulls as they picked off crabs and other crustaceans from the shoreline, driven onto the sand by the strong tide and surf. It really was a feeding frenzy and in itself an incredible sight to see as gulls walked, flew and inevitably squabbled amongst themselves on the shore

Shouldn't the dark tail band be at the tip of the tail?

The Kumlien's I suppose is a birders bird. Not even a species but considered a hybrid between Iceland Gull and Thayer's Gull its subtle differences and rarity mean it is always a welcome sight. The main features of its plumage are the pale brown flight feathers, not very dark brown like a juvenile Herring Gull nor usually as pale as a juvenile Iceland Gull. They can vary tremendously in the strength of colouring on the primaries and some it has to be said cannot safely be separated from a juvenile Iceland Gull. This one however was strongly marked brown on the primaries which removed any doubts on that score

Eventually we all had our fill of the Kumlien's Gull and slowly various birders drifted off. I was left alone on the beach and contemplating whether to go to nearby Shoreham to see if I could  find the second winter Glaucous Gull that has been hanging around the Southwick Canal. I decided to look at the gulls on the beach for a few more minutes. The tide was now fully out and gulls were scattered far and wide over the exposed sand, making the most of it before the tide would shortly start to come in again. I scanned them with my scope and there was the adult Glaucous Gull stood amongst the throng of gulls.

A really mean looking gull with its pale eye and hulking presence but a real prize and no one was more delighted than me to find it. I walked slowly out on the sand, closer and closer and it did not appear to be concerned in any way. I noticed how other gulls maintained a respectful distance from it as it picked desultorily at bits of seaweed. Another birder joined me as I watched it and the Kumlien's. Half an hour with the Glaucous was enough and you know when it is time to go. For me this was the time.

From an inauspicious start I had now seen both the Kumlien's and Glaucous Gull. It was only one o' clock so I had the whole afternoon before me and decided to go to try and see the other Glaucous Gull at Shoreham. A half hour drive further east found me parking by Hove Lagoon and making the short walk to the head of the Southwick Canal in what can only be politely termed an industrial area.

Southwick Canal looking west from the head of the canal

 There is a fish shop here and the trawlers berth alongside the nearby quay to unload their catch

The Glaucous Gull apparently has sussed that there are easy pickings here and if not it can always mug a Cormorant  or two which come to fish in the canal.

Great Cormorant

I walked through the gates and up to the quay and the first bird I saw was the second winter Glaucous Gull. Startlingly white and close to the quay, riding out the choppy waves blowing up the canal. If I thought the Glaucous at Littlehampton was mean this one was in another league. It looked even bigger, a monster of a gull and fixed me with a stare that left me in no uncertainty that it was not to be trifled with. Periodically it would fly around with the other gulls, riding the wind surges with consummate ease and grace. I watched it for an hour or so, listening to the ceaseless waves slap against the trawler hulls and watching an adult Kittiwake which also came very close to me, picking scraps from the restless water. 

Glaucous Gull

Kittiwake

A sudden stinging hail shower sent me running for cover and then the sun returned. A flock of Starlings, hurled through the sky by the wind, careered over the warehouse roofs like a demented hologram. The cause of their alarm followed upwind. A Sparrowhawk. Being Sunday all was quiet by the quay and the hustle and thrust of a weekday was temporarily stilled. I stood quietly at the back of the fish shop contemplating the world  and the  wide canal,  amongst old nets, fishing boxes, plastic buoys and all the other paraphernalia that goes with fishing at sea and watched the Glaucous Gull riding the wave chop. This one was, unlike the adult at Littlehampton almost bleached white on its upperparts, with only brown barring prominent under it's tail and occasional brown marks on its body and underwings. Its eye was only just beginning to turn pale but if anything the dark eye made it look more sinister.

I love this kind of environment. Industrial, tacky, cluttered with the junk of human endeavour but always with the romance of the sea and the boats moored along the quay to give it a semblance of difference, elevating it above the mundane. A promise of wider horizons

To the Woods 7th February 2014

Well to the Forest to be precise. The Forest of Dean. A modest little jaunt in Terry's car from my home in northwest Oxfordshire, traversing the northern Cotswolds, across the River Severn and into the Forest of Dean, where time seems to come to a halt in a huge area of woodland betwixt England and Wales.

The weather was not good as we left Kingham but  crossing the Cotswolds we could see the retreating edge of the weather front and by the time we arrived in the forest the rain had gone and the sun was high in an azure blue sky with just a breath of wind. We knew it would not last as yet another weather front of torrential rain and winds was heading our way from the wastes of the North Atlantic but thankfully for today the weather was going to be pleasant. Personally I blame the Tories and that disgrace of an Environment Minister and global warming denier Owen Paterson. Greenest Government ever Mr Cameron? I don't think so but as long as one has gone to Eton who gives a toss.

Our first destination was Serridge Ridge near Brierely. This is an area of Larch trees with a woodland track running along the top of the ridge and from which it has been possible for some weeks now to see various numbers, estimated from three to seventeen, of Two barred Crossbills feeding in the tall larches beside the track. Well that was the theory but the practicalities were somewhat different today. 

The short walk up to the ridge from the car was pleasant enough. Three Jays, one after the other flew across in front of us whilst a Raven went cronking over the approach road and away above the trees into the forest. We turned onto the track and walked down it and then back again and back down it and back and ... well I guess you get the picture. It was not an unpleasant stroll back and fore but there were no crossbills.

The track atop Serridge Ridge looking West with larches on the left

The track atop Serridge Ridge looking East.
The Two barred Crossbills were feeding in the tops of the larches on the right

Over an hour or so later it was not looking good. We had seen a few Chaffinches, assorted tits, a Tree Creeper and I even heard a flock of Two barred Crossbills briefly, flying around above the trees calling but then frustratingly they disappeared into the distance. The words highly mobile used in previous reports to describe the antics of the Two barred Crossbills were now beginning to haunt me. There is an awful lot of forest in which they could be and some people have been several times and still failed to see them. A Nuthatch went through its entire vocal repertoire and a Great spotted Woodpecker volleyed out its explosive alarm call, clinging to an impossibly thin twig at the top of a tree. We split up. Terry walked up and down the track. I stood half way along the track and just waited. A couple of lady runners in lycra provided a brief interlude of distraction and fantasy. A lone Brambling flew over me, calling just once, and Coal Tits occasionally moved in the tops of the larches. A couple of Goshawks were calling loudly but intermittently, a short way off in the woods below the ridge. 

Two and a half hours had now dragged by since our arrival. I persuaded Terry to come off piste with me and we walked down a mossy ride into the depths of the wood. The Goshawk called again. On soft, spongy, bright green moss we cautiously trod our way through the obviously thinned out and spaced larches towards the call. Another call came from further away. The Goshawk had clearly moved. We followed more in hope than expectation. Then a huge accipiter took off from one of the larches and winged its way across in front of us. A female Goshawk. No doubt about it. It was huge. Greyish brown above and barred white below. We followed it as it circumvented us and disappeared from view.

This partial success raised our spirits and we ascended yet another mossy ride and back onto the track. Still nothing and certainly no crossbills. Terry suggested we go and look for Hawfinches at Parkend and come back later to try our luck with the elusive crossbills. Three hours had now elapsed. I agreed that this might be for the best. We set off down the track and as we passed some larch trees I could hear a subdued singing coming from some invisible birds high in the larch trees to our right. 

Hang on Terry! I can hear a flock of small birds singing in the trees. 

Follow me, they are up there somewhere but I cannot see them from here. 

I don't think they are the crossbills. 

I don't know what they are but would like to find out. 

We went back a few metres and off the track into the wood. 

"Damn it they have stopped singing. 

We stood for a moment under the larches. The singing started again. Where were they? Which larch were they in? I walked a few paces right and saw two birds perched high up on spindly twigs on the left hand side of a larch tree. 

Two barred Crossbills

Bins up. The first one I saw was bright cherry pink with two huge white wing bars. 

Terry! 

They're here! 

Look! 

Hurry! There's a male Two barred up on the left of that tree! 

Terry promptly joined me and quickly saw it too and he in turn alerted another forlorn birder wandering the track of shame who also quickly joined us. No wonder I could not recognise the singing as it was a male Two barred Crossbill that was singing. I had never heard one sing before. A male with its red flank feathers fluffed out, sat on high in the sun, a picture of contentment, singing away as a green female fed on tiny larch cones just below him. Occasionally he would stop singing to preen and then recommence singing. Others previously un-noticed joined them from the tops of adjacent larches. It was incredibly hard to pick them out in the tangle of branches and cones. We counted four, five, then no, six at least. Five males and one female. We circled around beneath them to try and get some photos but they were too high up so we were mainly looking at their undersides. I went back up to the track and managed to get some not very good images as they fed avidly on the larch cones. 

Always they were at the wrong angle or obscured by branches and cones but I did my best. It was however just great to see them, especially after such a long wait and the males in the scope were simply magnificent in their pleasing combination of  pink, white and dark brown. We watched them for around fifteen minutes and then, as is the way with crossbills, loud, excited metallic chipping calls signified their imminent departure and they flew as one flock out of the tops of the larches and away. 

Another lone one followed a few seconds later which made a total of seven. We tried to follow where they went but despite searching they had clearly travelled some distance and we could not find them again. No matter we had achieved our aim. I recollected that there had been no calls to alert us as to their arrival and but for the pure chance that the male was briefly singing as we passed we would never have known they were there.

Thrilled with our success we headed for Parkend for a try at the Hawfinches. Perceived wisdom was that to see them close, if at all, it was sensible to remain in the car. You could park relatively close to the Yew trees below which the Hawfinches would feed if undisturbed. My heart sank as we arrived at the Yew trees to see a small line of very obvious birders standing out in the open scanning fruitlessly for Hawfinches, which being the ultra shy species they are were remaining well hidden in the trees if they were there at all. Eventually all these birders left and we were alone in the car with just one other person insisting on standing under a tree out in the open on the other side of the Yew trees. Needless to say no Hawfinch came down to feed under the Yews. We did however have the satisfaction of seeing no less than five or six Hawfinches arrive and perch, as they do, at the very tops of some high trees under which the annoying person was stood and noting that he was totally unaware of their presence. 

Distant Hawfinch cTerry

After some thirty minutes he disappeared and we thought no more of it. Chaffinches, Greenfinches, Blue and Great Tits, a Nuthatch and best of all at least one male Hawfinch, immediately started to come down under the Yew Trees to feed. Imagine our dismay when he then appeared behind us and boldly walked up to our car and asked if we had seen any Hawfinches. It gave me immense pleasure, despite seething inside at his inconsiderate behaviour to tell him we had seen at least six. 

Where were they? says he, to which with even more pleasure I told him 

They were in the tall trees over there "

Not the tall trees under which I was standing?

Yes those trees. 

I didn't see them 

"No" I said.It is best to remain in your car as then they come down to the ground. 

I left it at that hoping he got the message. But no. He then stood behind our car having effectively scared off the commoner birds we were looking at in the Yew tree near to us. I was about to get very cross when he walked off and went back to standing where he was before. Some people never learn. 

Needless to say he saw nothing. Nor would we with him now back in his former position. While he was around no Hawfinches would show themselves so we resigned ourselves to the fact the day was to all extents and purposes over, congratulated ourselves on having seen three very good and elusive species of bird and headed for home.