Storm Force Sanderlings 21st May 2021

I was greeted this morning by a gale force wind and heavy rain. May had become October! I groaned, fell out of bed, still dizzy from sleep and adopting my version of autopilot, dressed for wet weather and left the house, buoyed by that sense of optimism every one of us feels at the start of another day of birding.

It was going to be 'interesting' on the causeway at Farmoor Reservoir, to put it mildly. A 40mph wind would be taking no prisoners and I was guaranteed a severe buffeting and a good soaking. However foul weather would hopefully mean that migrating waders would be only too grateful to touch down to ride out the worst of the weather on the causeway's edges and await a change to better flying conditions. Something which would certainly not happen today, so hopefully any waders that did arrive would stick around.

The Causeway and concrete shelving the
Sanderling frequented

Nearly blown off my feet by the sheer elemental force of the wind on the exposed causeway I battled my way to the recently re-opened 'Causeway Hide' that is situated two thirds along the narrow strip of concrete dividing the two basins. Swifts were doing their usual trick of flying as close as possible to me as I progressed, their speed even more impressive than usual, as they used the wind to propel their sooty brown bodies at incredible speeds along and across the causeway, then to skim low out over the water before performing a wide sweeping arc and returning towards me at a similar speed.Their numbers were steadily increasing as more and more arrived to take maximum advantage of the abundant insect life on the reservoir. It is hard to imagine that tiny flies can endure such a forceful wind but somehow they do and the Swifts know it and are quick to take advantage.

Grateful for a chance to get some relief from the mauling by wind and rain, I staggered into the hide having seen precisely nothing but the Swifts. To my surprise the hide was occupied by Roger trying to photo the Swifts rocketing past the hide. Looking out from the hide and down the remainder of the causeway, it looked pretty bleak and there was nothing to get excited about.

I briefly chatted to Roger and then looked once again along the water's edge and in the distance saw that a flock of small waders had arrived and were scuttling around by the water, busily feeding. It was difficult to see what they were from such a distance but leaving the hide I walked closer.The wind was so ferocious it was hard to hold myself steady, let alone train my bins on the tiny birds. I crouched on the boundary wall and now, less of a target for the wind, saw that the flock comprised of ten birds,  three Sanderling and seven Dunlin  but they had not really settled and were flighty, a low flying crow causing them to disappear over the tossing waters before I could get any closer.

A recently dead Swift lay with crossbow wings spread wide on the concrete edge of the causeway.So sad to see it lying there, having come all the way from Africa to meet its end here. It seemed diminished compared to its living brethren that were flying about me and somehow upsetting that such an aerial bird should now lay here lifeless and rain sodden on the unforgiving concrete, the magic and mystery of the bird gone just as certainly as the life that once pulsed through it.

Eventually the three Sanderling returned to land not far from the hide but the diminutive Dunlins had opted to continue their migration and were gone. Roger briefly returned to tell me that another six Sanderling had arrived and were feeding on the exposed wind and wave blasted southern side of the causeway. By the time I got to see them the other three had joined them making a nice flock of nine Sanderling.

Sanderling are birds of open beaches and exposed strands and are well used to dodging waves and spray and being blown sideways by strong winds. They were totally unphased by the conditions today, either feeding or standing stoically head into the wind and in the case of one or two, snatching a few seconds of sleep as the elements raged around them. The little flock kept close company, compacting into a huddle when uncertain and then dispersing into a straggling line as they searched over the concrete apron for food.You have to admire their spirit and it is hard not to think they almost revel in these rougher conditions.

Presumably these nine birds are bound for Greenland or possibly the Arctic Circle to breed, so harsh conditions are probably par for the course and Farmoor Reservoir, even on such a day as this, has nothing to cause them undue concern.

Sanderlings display a great variation in their breeding plumage and this flock provided a perfect example of this.Some birds were suffused with orange and black, imparting a rich saturated orange brown tone to their head, breast and upperparts, whilst one at the other end of the spectrum was very pale, its white and grey plumage showing only a minimal amount of orange and black colouring on its back. In between these two extremes were birds of varying intensities of colour. Whether this is evidence of some individual birds having moulted into breeding plumage faster than others is uncertain as it is known that some Sanderlings never attain a really strong colour to their breeding plumage. Probably it is a mixture of both.Whatever it is, the sheer delight at seeing those that are in their richly coloured breeding plumage is always something to look forward to.

The above images show the variation in colour tones of the Sanderling seen today

So I left the Sanderlings wandering the wave washed concrete and walked further but there was little to see.In the more sheltered northwest corner of the reservoir Swifts and House Martins had congregated to feed on the insects, clouds of them arising from the grass where the wind could not permeate and disperse them.

A brief diversion to the Pinkhill Reserve resulted in a pleasant surprise when a hepatic (rufous coloured) Cuckoo flew past the hide and settled in a nearby tree for ten minutes. This form of Cuckoo is rare and I have never seen one at Farmoor  so my day was brightened even more.

I walked back along the causeway to find that another Sanderling was keeping company with a Ringed Plover, both having arrived on the causeway in my absence. However these two were enjoying the comparatively tranquil conditions on the north side of the causeway, that was sheltered from the wind.

So now there were ten Sanderling. My favourite wader here in comparative abundance for a landlocked body of water. An excellent outcome to a truly awful morning of weather but now the rain was becoming more persistent and making life uncomfortable. It was time to leave. I had been here six hours. A coffee would be welcome in the reservoir's Waterside Cafe with my friends Amanda, Dave and Phil.

A Tale of Two Wagtails 20th May 2021

It is always nice to see scarce and unusual birds at my local Farmoor Reservoir but when it is going through a quieter period, such as today, I can always find something else of interest to occupy me. In fact there is never a day when I can say I have found nothing to catch my attention.

This morning, apart from a single nervous Sanderling running along the reservoir's causeway there was little to see, so I made my way down to the River Thames, silently flowing past the western end of the reservoir. I know that here a pair of Grey Wagtails are nesting, having watched them building their nest a few weeks ago and now they are feeding their growing young in the nest.

There are at least two pairs of Grey Wagtails breeding around the reservoir and they can be seen all year round, although they are not nearly as obvious as the more extrovert Pied Wagtails and you rarely see them on the causeway. They prefer the quieter areas of the reservoir, if such a thing exists, since the covid pandemic has brought so many people to the reservoir, and more often the wagtails now seek the quiet, forgotten and neglected backwaters around the reservoir.

Grey Wagtails are sometimes mistaken by non birders for Yellow Wagtails and I have more than once had to explain to a confused passerby that they have not seen a Yellow Wagtail but a Grey one.They invariably respond 'but it was really yellow' and I reply 'yes they are yellow but only on their breast and hindparts.'

The colour of their head and upperparts is an overall mid grey, the flanks are dull white but the breast, belly, under and uppertail coverts are to a variable extent bright lemon yellow. In Spring the male develops a black bib and distinct white stripes running above the eye and beside its chin, and looks very smart, whilst the female retains the buff white chin that both sexes have for the rest of the year. She does however show the same yellow patches as the male but more muted.

Male Grey Wagtail

Female Grey Wagtail

Grey Wagtails are a bird of pleasing proportions and the long tail, the longest of any of our native wagtail species, gives them a markedly different profile to the more dumpy Pied Wagtail and indeed the 'real' Yellow Wagtail, both of which have proportionately shorter tails.

This morning was dull with the threat of oncoming rain so I made haste to the riverside and stationed myself unobtrusively by some bushes and waited. I did not have to wait long before the female announced her arrival with a loud chisssick call and, carrying a beakful of food, slipped under the culvert to feed her young. The nest is impossible to see or indeed access which is fortunate as it is close to a path frequently used by dog walkers and joggers.

This worked in my favour as the birds are obviously accustomed to people being  near to their nest and showed little alarm at my standing and awaiting their arrival. Soon the male flew in with a beakful of food and with much tail wagging, an action exaggerated by its long length, waited while the female fed the young, then left, whereupon he flew in to deliver his offering.

They did not have to venture far from the nest to find food for their young, only needing to fly across the river into the overhanging willows on the other side to seize various insects, one certainly being identifiable as a mayfly. Once they considered they had collected enough food, they would perch in the lower branches of the willows or on a convenient protruding tree stump in the river before flying across to the nest site.

Up on the reservoir it had been cold, due to a strengthening southwest wind but here by the river, which lies below the elevated banks of the reservoir, it was sheltered and although hardly warm there was little wind to chill me and it was not unpleasant to while away an hour or so with the wagtails. 

The sounds of Spring were all around. A Garden Warbler chortled his rich notes from a hawthorn as the insistent jerky refrains of Reed Warblers emanated from deep within the reeds. The pungent smell of  emerging may blossom brought its distinctive fragrance to the still air.

I left the wagtails to feeding their family.

It's my Hobby! 16th May 2021

With little on the twitching front to get me excited I have spent most of my time in Oxfordshire these last two months, mainly visiting Farmoor Reservoir and occasionally roving wider to other locations in the county. 

Today I took a fancy to go to a place just a few miles from my home to try and see Hobbys.I had no idea what to expect but knew they were often seen there at this time of year and sometimes would come close which is often not the case at another favoured location, the RSPB's Reserve at Otmoor.

For  a while I saw nothing of them but was aware it was probably too early in the day. Hobbys are late risers, only becoming seriously active as the morning warms and the dragonflies and other large insects they prey on, take wing. Finally, after a long wait I saw the distinctive angular profile of a Hobby across the lake,  sweeping and swerving at great speed above the reeds.It soon pitched onto a fence post and sat there for a very long time.Scanning the northern shore, where I sat in a hide, I found another perched on the ground and also remaining immobile for a considerable time.

After an hour or two, the sun had warmed the air sufficiently and there was suddenly much more action, as up to eight Hobbys began cruising along the hedgeline behind me, sweeping low over the grass and lakeside in search of their prey.

Their flight is a marvel of speed and dexterity. First, beating pointed wings rapidly and powerfully they gain speed, then sweep low and fast over the grass, before looping up into the higher airspace, sometimes clutching an insect they have captured in their talons, bending head to their raised and bunched feet to consume the insect, all the while gliding on long pointed wings. Then the whole process is repeated over and over with a flight which is both consistently graceful yet purposeful. It is not only insects that form their prey, as their flight is so rapid and agile they are capable of catching such fast flying birds as Swifts and House Martins, even bats.

They are pretty birds with an upperpart plumage of dark slate grey, and white underparts heavily streaked black-brown.The underwing coverts are profusely barred dark brown but most distinctive of all are the rust orange thighs and undertail coverts. Its head is black and white with prominent black moustaches.

Hobbys are summer visitors to Britain, having spent the winter in southern Africa. They are communal for most of the year outside of the breeding season but even when breeding birds will seek out opportune places to feed and be content to share with others of their kind, although they usually breed solitarily, often utilising an old crow's nest. Whether the eight birds I was watching were local breeders or transiting the county I do not know but I do know that now is the time when I can see them very close and that the opportunity will soon be gone until next year.

One encounter was particularly memorable.I was sat in the hide and looking out through the viewing slat when a hunting Hobby approached low over the grass, heading at high speed directly towards the hide and the viewing slat behind which I sat. Closer and closer it came until I felt it would collide with the hide or, at the least, I feared it was going to come through the viewing slat and collide with me but at the very last moment it lifted above the side of the hide and pitched on the roof, no more than a foot or two above my head. So close was it I could hear its talons scratching on the rooftop.Never in my life have I been able to truthfully say I have been eyeball to eyeball with a Hobby.

Five minutes later the falcon dropped off the roof and recommenced its low level hunting before returning and repeating the same manouevre. It did this at least three times more to give me the same thrill each time and then departed to another part of the lakeshore.

It was too fast for my camera and way beyond its focusing abilities but that really did not matter. The experience was enough.and these encounters will go to join all the other memorable moments I have had whilst birding.

And a Nightingale Sang ........ 15th May 2021

I went this Saturday, a morning of light rain and pewter grey cloud, to a neighbouring county to listen to a Nightingale. The location could hardly be less in harmony with this bird of legend and folklore, possessing a song like no other and that has captured the imagination of poets and writers down the ages. The place I chose was the small car park of a nature reserve right by a busy road, the noise of passing traffic hardly conducive to a tryst with this bird of romance and mystique.

At first there was no inkling of any Nightingale singing and for some time I heard nothing. Irritated by the endless traffic noise  I wandered into the birch scrub, idling down wet and muddy pathways but the only songsters were Garden Warblers and Blackcaps.

I returned to the road and then I heard those familiar, incomparable and rich notes that seem to touch the souls of men and women like no other bird. How so small a bird can sing so loudly is incredible but it is the pure beauty and variety of notes uttered that catch at one's heart. Secreted in a bush, invisible for now, a russet brown and grey bird, as nondescript as its hiding place, poured forth notes of pure gold. Maybe the volume

`` of its song is counteracted by its subdued plumage to act as a deterrent from predators that may be attracted by its loud song.

I eventually found the bird, low down, deep within a twisted tangle of hawthorn and bramble twigs singing for all its worth against the background roar of cars. Its spirit, encapsulated in its song, transcended the chaos of the human tragedy currently enveloping us. Its song also, for me, a proclamation, as here on almost the edge of its northern distribution it is slowly being extirpated from our land by loss of habitat, ceaseless development and climate change.

I am glad to have known its song and discovered its secretive life and to be able to hear it, for now at any rate every year, although today not in the most ideal of locations

I formerly lived in rural Sussex, where I could go out on a warm May night, into a bluebell wood deep within the folds of the South Downs and listen to Nightingales singing. There were many birds, the nearest loud, with others more distant as if an echo but all bringing a sense of romance and wonder to the silent moonlit land. Impossibly romantic yes but as I age, these are the memories, the waymarks of my life that I  lovingly recall and use to re-assure and renew my faith in the natural world and the joy it brings.

Nightingales in England are secretive birds, not showing themselves readily but they will sing loudly in April and May wherever they decide to settle. They seem to be provoked by noise, such as from my current location, whilst others have been heard to sing during bombing raids in the last war.

Their song is charged with emotion, finding a lost chord within one during times of turmoil and uncertainty - a song ringing out against all the ills of the world, indomitable and defiant. Of course the birds themselves know nothing about such things and are singing for themselves but I rejoice that such a natural sound can bring forth such emotions from within me.

The nature writer Richard Mabey wrote that he has never been able to feel entirely excluded from a nightingale's performance or from its habitat. When he listens to one singing he knows that the singing is not for his benefit or even for the benefit of other birds but is composed and directed at neighbours of the same species. But still the song seems too public, too indiscriminatedly thrown into the air, too capable of arousing human emotions to be ignored.

The Nightingale sang on and standing quietly I eventually watched it fly up into a tree and sing from a bough. It was the moment I sought and for a minute I was granted the opportunity to view it almost in the open before it once more flew down to hide.

I left it there, the bird singing from deep in its tangled twiggy home and retraced my steps, my annual Nightingale fix once more energising body and soul.

John Keats in his poem Ode to a Nightingale, written in 1819, called it 'Immortal Bird'.

And indeed it is.

Foulweather at Farmoor 8th May 2021

What a difference a day can make.

Yesterday was benign with sunshine and a light but chilly wind. Overnight a transformation took place bringing strong winds and heavy rain and for a while I debated whether it really was worth the effort to go to the reservoir.

I would get very wet I knew but as every birder knows bad weather can often mean good birds and so I took the chance. Needless to say I was the sole visitor to the reservoir at 8am and found myself on the eastern bank, temporarily sheltered from the strong southeast wind but there was no hiding place from the incessant rain.

Swallows had also sought out this sheltered area to swoop in graceful curves along the grass bank and under the trees, gliding and twisting at speed, almost at ground level as they hunted  hatching insects. The rain was causing them problems too and many sought to perch on railings in the small marina, to twitter amongst themselves and preen rain sodden dishevelled feathers, perching shoulder to shoulder as if to comfort each other and looking thoroughly unimpressed with the weather conditions.

I stood under a tree which kept most of the rain from me and watched as a number of swallows swept across the ground literally by my feet, heedless of my presence, flying as low as possible over the grass, for that was where the insects were. One bird stalled in its flight and hovered as if uncertain how to deal with the unusual conditions and then dropped, to stand unsteadily on the short grass, looking about itself as if not quite sure what it should be doing. Others immediately followed its example and soon a small gathering had resulted, many glad to rest their wings from the relentless battling with wind and rain, whilst others hunted for insects, hopping in ungainly movements on short legs, picking insects off as they clumsily manouevered their slim bodies across the sodden grass, their long wings sometimes acting as props. Such a contrast were these laboured movements to the effortless elegant flying that is their normal feeding technique.

Through binoculars, at a distance, their upperparts appear almost black as they skim the ground or the adjacent waters of the reservoir but the images captured by my camera reveal their true colours and they are transformed into a creature of sublime beauty with royal blue upperparts and terracotta brown throats and foreheads.

A group of five Yellow Wagtails also took advantage of the sheltered conditions here and ran about on the short grass in leggy pursuit of insects and flies. All were, as far as I could see, females and one looked very much like a female Blue headed Wagtail, possibly a hybrid or just an aberrant Yellow Wagtail. The taxonomy relating to Yellow Wagtails is bewildering, and not helped by the fact that many of the different races of the Yellow Wagtail interbreed, sowing confusion amongst those of us who seek to identify them. It is all a bit of a birder's nightmare as the plumage variation amongst Yellow Wagtails is legendary.

I ventured out from under the tree and resolved to walk the causeway. An act of supreme folly in hindsight as there was no hiding place from either the wind or the rain.However I was determined to walk to the end of the causeway and then back again. Battling the elements, unsurprisingly I saw very little, with the causeway being battered on one side by wind propelled waves and surf whilst remaining relatively calm on the other. Four Common Sandpipers were feeding on the sheltered side but nothing else. Half way up the causeway I came across a mixed flock of waders running around on the very top of the causeway itself, where I stood. I tried to count them but the wind was so ferocious it was hard to hold my binoculars steady but eventually I noted thirteen Dunlin, two Ringed Plovers and a Turnstone, running hither and thither on the concrete. What they found to feed on was beyond me but they seemed happy enough but soon decamped to the water's edge.  

A pleasing reward for my stubborn persistence.

Turnstone

With that I gave in to the elements and retreated as fast as I could to my car and headed for the sanctuary of home.

The rain was predicted to ease by noon and I learned, whilst drying out at home, that many more Dunlin, over thirty, had arrived on the reservoir, presumably forced to call a halt to their northward migration by the rain and wind. Much more of interest was the fact there were three Sanderling reported to be with them. Sanderling are my favourite wader and one I seek out every year at this time, when they briefly touch down at the reservoir on the way to distant northern breeding grounds.

Fortunately I  managed to dry out my clothing and boots during my time back at home, so donning them once more I made for the reservoir and the causeway. Now it was an increase in the windforce that made my life uncomfortable, rather than rain, as I traversed the causeway.

There had also been quite a change in the numbers of Swallows since I left and as far as the eye could see the reservoir's churning waters were covered by the flickering, flying shapes of swallows, almost two thousand of them.This morning there were around five hundred but many more had arrived since, no doubt desperate to feed on the insects which are here in profusion despite the foulest of weather. The swallows flew almost at wavetop level, sometimes stalling into the wind, held in a delicate balance as they bent their heads to pick insects from the surface of the water. Back and fore they swept with around a hundred Swifts and two hundred Sand Martins in their midst.

But where were the Sanderling? Had they gone? The flock of Dunlin certainly had. Naturally I had assumed any waders would  be feeding on the sheltered side of the causeway but not a bit of it. I found the Sanderling feeding on the exposed, wave lashed side of the causeway. Maybe the froth and waves made these essentially coastal birds feel more at home. Of the three reported, one was remarkable in that it was festooned with plastic rings of various colours.

Sanderling

I am not sure what I think about all that bling on just one tiny bird. On its left leg was a metal ring and two colour rings,  one green and one white. On its right leg two blue, flag shaped rings. Is this really necessary? It does seem excessive.

The rings did serve the function of identifying this individual as having been caught and ringed in Greenland in July of last year, so presumably if it has survived this long the bling has not inconvenienced it too much. I have to confess that I have great reservations about attaching so many rings to one bird but if they serve a legitimate purpose for beneficial research then so be it.

I have always wondered about the Sanderlings that spend a day or two at Farmoor in May of each year. My main questions being, where have they come from and where are they going? This ringed bird has answered the latter part of the question. Greenland. Absolutely phenomenal.What an amazing journey it is embarking on and presumably its companions are also on the same odyssey.

Sanderling

I also speculated on where it had come from.Was it the coast of Africa or nearer in mainland Europe? This bird was heading northwest but was currently crossing the heart of England and so presumably had come from the east which would make an African origin less likely but not impossible. Had it spent its winter on the east coast of Britain as some do or had it come from a European coastline further east still? Unless it is seen in a subsequent winter we will never know. So many questions are still to be answered.

The Sanderling kept very much together and were a bit flighty due to constant alarms from windsurfers coming close to the causeway but they eventually allowed me to sit on the wall near them without taking fright and running off like clockwork toys at an incredible speed, for such a small being.

Sanderling

The ringed Sanderling was noticeable as being by far the boldest and showed less fear of a human presence than its two companions. Then suddenly there were four. Presumably another bird had been passing over the reservoir and decided to join the other three. Sanderling's plumage varies tremendously at this time of year and many birds still look pale, almost white as they slowly replace their white and grey winter plumage with variable amounts of rich chestnut feathering.

I left them standing on the concrete shelving, dodging the breaking waves and flying spray, facing into the buffeting wind.They seemed perfectly at home.

Sanderlings

I went back the next day with the wind no less but the rain thankfully banished.Would the Sanderling still be here? The answer was yes and they had now been joined by seven Dunlin. The birds huddled

together, resolutely facing wind and wave, uncertain about my presence. 

Dunlin and Sanderling

The Dunlin soon left but the Sanderling chose to remain and were joined by another Dunlin. Yet another unsuspected lone traveller, transiting Oxfordshire skies and deciding to tarry for a while.

Dunlin

The last I saw of them was as they ran back and fore on the wet concrete, dodging the wave splash and feeding as fast as they could. Greenland is a long way, across a hostile environment of unforgiving seas. Maybe they will make other stops on the west coast of Britain or Ireland, maybe even Iceland or The Faeroes before reaching Greenland.

Dunlin and Sanderling

The presence of these tiny waders brings with it the sense of glamour and wonder that sometimes accompanies international travel. The irony that these birds can go anywhere in the world without fear or restriction whilst we are constrained by humanity's self inflicted folly and unable to go freely in the world was not lost on me.

Free as a bird was never more apt or poignant.