The Little Auk at Weymouth 21st November 2021

My encounters with Little Auks have been reasonably frequent over the years.I have seen them flying over the North Sea, passing various seawatching points on the east coast such as in Norfolk and Lincolnshire. I have also, less frequently, encountered them from the Sussex coast, flying up the English Channel in winter and more memorably, once swimming around the rocks at the end of Newhaven West Pier and even one in summer plumage on the sea at nearby Seaford, also in Sussex, one May morning. Happy days.

They are tiny birds, about the size of a Starling, a miniature of their larger cousins, Puffins, Razorbills and Guillemots but similar in appearance, black and white, with a black cap encompassing an eye highlighted by a narrow semi circular white eyebrow. The contours of a squat body; blunt of head, short of neck and with a stubby conical bill present a pleasing image to my eye.They are unmistakeable and charismatic too, coming as they do from the high Arctic where they breed in their millions in the cracks and crannies of high cliffs rarely visited by man. Normally they spend their winter out at sea in northern parts of the Atlantic but winter gales result in numbers getting blown further south into the North Sea.This is a regular occurrence in November and is what brings them to Britain's shores in varying numbers each year.

Some end up much further south and occasionally one arrives in the most unexpected of places such as the individual that has been present at Weymouth in Dorset  since last Sunday and has been attracting a lot of attention from birders as opportunities to see one so close as this are rare indeed.

It was exactly a week ago that the Little Auk was discovered at Weymouth's waterfront, frequenting the outer reaches of the River Wey, where it flows between the historic and attractive surrounds of Weymouth's Outer Harbour. As is often the case with such lost individuals it was oblivious to humans, showing more anxiety about the larger gulls, which would swallow it whole if given the chance.

The Outer Harbour

Reports during the week indicated that the auk ranged quite widely between the Lifeboat Station at the further reaches of the Outer Harbour all the way upriver past the Town Bridge to the Inner Harbour where there is a large marina containing many expensive yachts and pleasure cruisers.Consequently it could prove very elusive, spending a lot of time underwater or underneath the many moored vessels in the marina. Its appearances were sporadic and you just had to be lucky enough to be in the right spot to see it when it surfaced somewhere that allowed a view of it. In other words a bit of a nightmare to pin down but birders are forever optimistic and it seemed that, given patience, it would eventually allow decent views.

Hope springs eternal they say, so I called Mark (P) yesterday and suggested we go and try to see it to which he readily agreed as he had never seen a Little Auk.We arranged to meet at my house at 6.30am on Sunday and Mark kindly agreed to drive us to Weymouth, a journey of around two and half hours.

Setting off in the dark we headed south into a breaking dawn that promised good weather as the clouds of night receded to reveal an orange glow in the distance as the sun broke the horizon. We chatted the miles away making  good time, and our spirits were raised when a report came through at 8.30am that the Little Auk had been seen near the slipway in the marina. Arriving in the heart of an already busy Weymouth at 9am, we parked on the western side of the Outer Harbour in a pay and display car park.

Mark had already seen  two birders making their way  along the Outer Harbour wall and we followed them, passing the Town Bridge  and shortly after joined a surprisingly large number of birders spread along the wall, standing and looking out at the water and not very much else. Obviously this was where the auk was considered most likely to be seen.

I was unsure what to expect.

Would the Little Auk just pop up randomly and unexpectedly - and if so, where?

Would we have to wait for some while until it was located as previous reports had indicated? 

My answer came literally minutes later as someone said 'What's that?' pointing out to the middle of the harbour. There, attended by an inquisitive Black headed Gull was the Little Auk! 

How lucky was that?

It was slightly upriver and I ran back along the wall to get level with it as it floated on the water. This gave the opportunity for some photographs, as it had stopped feeding and was concentrating on some feather maintenance.The bird remained in mid river and I found myself taking many images as the tiny bird floated amongst the reflections from the coloured boats moored behind it. It was all quite arty as corrugated swirls of gold and blue formed by the rippling water created a pleasing backdrop to the tiny black and white bird. Not classic images by any means but rather gratifying from my point of view as they were different from most of the other images that have appeared on social media this last week and trust me there have been quite a few!

Birders, many more than had been apparent when we arrived seemed to appear from everywhere as word of the auk's presence spread rapidly through our ranks, . Presumably they had been scattered further along the seawall in both directions looking for the auk. It preened for a few minutes and then swam purposefully straight towards us, coming closer and closer until it was right below me. 

I stood looking over and down and watched as it swam right alongside the wall, then submerged and was gone. Everyone stood about waiting and hoping it would quickly re-appear but it didn't. 

For some time we stood around, all of us wondering what to do, waiting, convinced the auk would soon be re-located but it wasn't. Half an hour passed and we had no sign  of it so went to the nearby Town Bridge and looked over both sides, upriver and downriver but there was still no sign. People crossing the bridge stopped, bemused by all the birders lined across the bridge and asked what was going on.

We explained about the Little Auk.

We wandered around the Outer and Inner Harbours becoming familiar with parts of Weymouth that I had never been to before. Eventually everyone congregated on the slipway in the Inner Harbour where  the auk had been seen first thing this morning. Some wag had scrawled Little Auk This Way on the wall. If only.

It was seen again, dodging in and out of the many hugely expensive craft in the marina but each time was only seen for seconds before it dived again. Little Auks can travel phenomenal distances underwater and after we had seen it in the Outer Harbour it had obviously travelled a considerable way underwater to arrive in the Inner Harbour. The other huge problem in locating it was the many craft and landing stages it could disappear under and the fact it liked to remain close to the harbour walls when it briefly surfaced.

The hours passed and by mid afternoon the wind had become increasingly chilly but the sun still shone.We never saw the auk again.We came tantalisingly close on occasions but it became clear that we would have to be content with our lucky encounter this morning.

I am not complaining as many did not see it at all.

The Peaches Revisited 15th November 2021

I returned to Standlake today for some more communing with the Wrinkled Peach fungi that Peter and myself discovered on Saturday and was delighted to find them still intact and safe, despite being very near to the track running between the woody hedges that guard it. Fortunately the still rampant nettles and bramble obscure the toadstools to a certain extent but once you know they are there they do seem very obvious, as they are pale and stand out against the darker vegetation.

In this afternoon's sunnier conditions I could not resist taking a few more photos of them, particularly the undersides which show the gills delicately tinged with pink .They really are a most attractive fungus especially when viewed from the underside.

Once I had satisfied my urge to revisit these remarkable fungi I  decided to follow the track further on its winding course, just as I had done on Saturday. It becomes wilder and narrower once it commences to run alongside a shallow stream, with gnarled and contorted hawthorns vying for the light with dead and dying elm saplings, all fallen haphazardly across the stream or leaning at perilous angles from a damp and earthy bank. It is quiet, almost sepulchral here, a place eminently suitable for the fungus to impose its understated presence on this its gloomy realm.The track has become a carpet of yellow and brown fallen leaves while above, the branches of the trees on either side meet, so one is walking through a natural tunnel of leaves and branches. I followed the track for quite some distance looking for more 'peaches' as Redwings, seeking this autumn's berries, 'chooked' in alarm and unseen Wigeon whistled from a lake beyond, hidden by the trees.

Realistically I held little hope of finding more 'peaches' but if you do not try then you will never know. Nine times out of ten this approach goes unrewarded but today was to be the exception.To my joy I managed to discover two more, growing side by side on the trunk of a still upright but dead elm, right by the track.They were at head height, say six feet up and each was at least three to four inches across.Like the others they were a pale peach or apricot colour. Looking at their position by the track I realised I must have walked past them at least twice while looking for them on Saturday and yet still failed to notice them, assuming they would be lower.

Never mind, I now had them firmly in my sights and rang Peter to let him know I had found the 'peaches' that had given us such a frustrating  runaround on Saturday. To my amazement, when he answered he told me he also had the same idea as me to revisit the 'peaches' this afternoon and was at this very moment commencing to set off along the track. I told him I would wait by my latest discovery until he joined me.

In the meantime I availed myself of this opportunity to take multiple images of my new find, from every angle possible.

Peter eventually joined me and he too set about taking his share of photos while I stood back and watched. I left Peter to it and looking further back along the track amongst the  tangle of dead and rotten branches lying by the stream, almost by chance, from the corner of my eye I saw a pinprick of bright pink perched on the green grey stem of a dead elm. I had found yet another Wrinkled Peach, so small and colourful it seemed almost inconceivable that it was one and the same as the two I had been admiring just seconds before but it was.

It was considerably smaller than the two more mature specimens I had found today but boy was it a beautiful little thing as, unlike the other larger examples which were pale peach in colour this was a deep raspberry pink. It was almost spherical and crossed by a multitude of pale veins giving rise to the soubriquet 'wrinkled'. Its size and colour can be explained by the fact it was in its early stage of fruiting, just establishing itself, when it appears like a round pink jellybean and at this stage its curved stalk exudes red and gold coloured droplets.This weeping is known as guttation.As the days pass and the fungus matures it will expand and become a paler peach colour.

It was a thing of great beauty and could so easily have been missed, a tiny jewel of nature concealed as it was, almost at ground level, by a clutter of twigs, sprouting forth on its chosen narrow stem of dead, lichen encrusted elm that was leaning out over the stream.

So in the course of three days we have found eleven Wrinkled Peaches of various sizes and hues. This track with its random complement of dead and dying elms, thankfully left to rot and not cleared away, is obviously a hot spot for this lovely fungus that thrives on dead elm and it is nice to know they will probably be here next year for us to enjoy.

Just Peachy 13th November 2021

For once my post is not about birds but about my new found enthusiasm for all things of a fungus nature and one mushroom in particular that I saw today.

On a dull day, both weatherwise and for birding I rang Peter to see if he fancied going in search of fungi, my new passion in life.Now in late autumn they too will soon be over for this year and winter will set in, so I am determined to make the most of the opportunity to see as many species as I can before the season closes.

It transpired that Peter had things to do at home in the morning but a little later he sent me a text asking if I would like to go and see an example of a remarkably attractive fungus called a Wrinkled Peach. As its name implies it is wrinkled across the top of its cap and peach coloured. This was a new one for me and so we arranged to meet at 2pm near Standlake.The opportunity to see such a rare and unusually eye catching mushroom was too good to resist and if we did see it would definitely be a cause for mild celebration.

I got to the site before Peter and parking the car set off for the location of the mushroom, which necessitated a long and not unpleasant walk along a narrow track that wound its way through mixed deciduous hedgerows growing unchecked on either side. Not another soul was to be seen or was indeed encountered and my only company on the walk was a party of Long tailed Tits, threading their way through the branches of the small hedgerow trees, calling insistently to each other in high pitched tones as if anxious not to be the one left behind by the flock.

Wrinkled Peach is one of those species of mushroom or toadstool that can bring an involuntary gasp of delight at their subtle beauty, especially after one has spent many hours and days wandering over leaf litter in damp woods trying to distinguish in what way one slimy brown toadstool sprouting from rotting leaves or wood stump is different to any other. Once in a while you come across a species that really stands out amongst the hundreds of nondescript little brown jobs that have gone before and are the usual fare when looking for fungi. When something such as a Wrinkled Peach reveals itself it makes all the previous effort seem that much more worthwhile.

Their distinctive colouring and forms are eminently photographable and make them immediately identifiable. As I mentioned, the name Wrinkled Peach accurately describes its appearance  although it has alternative  and equally appropriate names such as Rosy Veincap, Netted Rhodotus and Apricot Fungus. 

The cap of the mature mushroom can be a delicate shade of salmon pink or rosy peach in colour and has a tough, rubbery upper skin covered in wrinkles that can show almost as a vein like network.The gills which are found under the cap are a lighter shade of pink and the whole mushroom is supported by a curved, sometimes off centre thickish stem which is also pale pink.It is thought the stem is curved to compensate for the fact that the mushroom often grows from the side of a fallen cylindrical trunk of elm, which requires a sideways and outwards direction before extending upwards.

The onset of Dutch Elm disease in the second half of the twentieth century undoubtedly facilitated the Wrinkled Peach increasing, as they feed on rotting elm and for a couple of decades they multiplied although still remaining uncommon. Now most dead elm is cleared away and fallen dead elms are harder to find, resulting in one writer, Pat O'Reilly, stating 'Now there are far fewer elm trees in Britain and Europe, the beautiful Rhodotus Palmatus (Wrinkled Peach) is becoming an even rarer sight than it was 100 years ago'. He went on to add that it is 'a strong contender for the title 'Most Beautiful British Mushroom.'

The species is now on the Global Fungi Red List  and considered an endangered species across much of Europe and should not be disturbed.Thankfully it is foul tasting and thus inedible which helps in it being left alone by foragers.

Following the instructions Peter gave me on where to find the mushroom I drew a blank. I walked up and down the track checking every fallen elm sapling, of which there were a number but there was nothing remotely resembling the image of a Wrinkled Peach that I had uploaded onto my phone.

Where was it? 

Frustrated and fed up staring at dead and rotting trunks of small elms, either fallen aslant into a stream that ran parallel with the track or lying haphazardly by the track, I stood dumbfounded and disappointed. Peter joined me and we repeated the process but again with no success. We made one last walk, determined not to be thwarted and finally we found a tiny example of the mushroom, that I have to confess was singularly underwhelmimg and did not look nearly as exotic and colourful as the images on my phone but it would have to do.

We walked back along the woodland track, a Chiffchaff called in alarm and a Goldcrest fussed its way through the leaves and twigs above us. Now with 'our eye in' we spotted another type of fungus, clustered on another wet and very dead tree stem overhanging the stream. Rich dark honey coloured with white gills underneath, stacked like pies, one above the other, they were Velvet Shank, another new fungus for us to enjoy. Frankly with around fifteen thousand fungi species in Britain, virtually everything we find is a new and thrilling discovery at the moment.

We duly photographed them and moved on, congratulating ourselves on having found the Wrinkled Peach but personally any feeling of triumph rang hollow as the example we found was so small, pale and insignificant. Very disappointing.

The hedgerows here have much elm intermixed with elder and hawthorn but as the elms reach a certain age they become diseased, die and fall so there are both living and dead examples in the hedgerow and as we turned a corner Peter exclaimed 'What's this? and there on a fallen elm trunk was - yes - six superb examples of a Wrinkled Peach. I could hardly believe it! This was more like it, as they were full size, well coloured and virtually in pristine condition. Having just about given up on seeing a proper specimen, it was inevitable that the usual surge of adrenalin kicked in at this unexpected and most welcome discovery. You just cannot beat the feeling although it never lasts long enough!.

Both of us plan to go back over the coming days to keep an eye on the fungi as they mature and complete their cycle.

Snow Bunting: Third Time Lucky 9th November 2021

Lately there has been a noticeable influx into Britain of that most delightful of birds, the Snow Bunting. Small numbers have arrived in their traditional winter haunts on the coast but others have been found in less usual areas inland and none more so than a ridiculously confiding individual near Cheltenham in Gloucestershire.

Snow Buntings are always exciting to encounter. Charismatic, they are the most northerly breeding songbirds in the world, usually very confiding and as the late Martin Garner said 'It is like having the Arctic Wilderness arrive on your doorstep' when you come across them.

I do not consider my birding year complete unless I get to see one or more Snow Buntings and duly set about remedying the situation this weekend, taking advantage of the recent influx. I had noticed that there was a confiding Snow Bunting on the beach at Warsash in Hampshire and drove there last Sunday morning. I should have known better, as on getting there I found the beach inundated with the dreaded dog walkers and, not unreasonably, no sign of the Snow Bunting that had been so obliging earlier in the week. I gave it forty five minutes but there really would be no chance of seeing the bird, as more and more people and dogs arrived to take advantage of a pleasant sunny morning by the  sea. No matter, there had been another three reported this morning at Hayling Island, just over the border in West Sussex. I made my way there but now it was late morning and the place was thronged with people and I found it impossible to pin down exactly where the buntings were to be found. 

By lunchtime, with no success in finding the birds, I gave up and drove back to Oxfordshire somewhat chastened and went to watch some Red Kites, which at least co-operated and performed as well as expected, thus saving a very frustrating day from being a complete disaster.

Yesterday another Snow Bunting was found in the unlikely habitat of a bridleway at Prestbury, north east  of Cheltenham and which is not far from my home, in fact only a thirty minute drive.The images I saw showed it too was very confiding, as they often are and had found a verge by the muddy bridleway to its liking.

I resolved to try to see the bunting the next day if it was present and when, this morning it was reported as still there and 'showing well' I needed no further incentive.

At 8am I set a course for Cheltenham on a mild morning of still air and gentle sunshine. A last sigh of autumn as the countryside slips towards winter. My course  took me across the Cotswolds from east to west, driving  through a golden autumn landscape, the trees, standing sentry on the roadsides, ablaze in colours of rust orange and deep yellow while Wild Clematis spilled a profusion of grey fluffed seedheads over bushes it had chosen to smother, enacting its colloquial name of Old Man's Beard. 

I arrived at Prestbury, now almost a part of Cheltenham but still managing to retain a vestige of individuality. Turning up a quiet lane I parked my car under some beech trees and made a short walk up another narrow lane that brought me to a junction with the bridleway. This was where the Snow Bunting had decided to spend yesterday and the early part of today.

There was no problem in ascertaining if this was the correct place as another birder was just packing up his camera and, pointing to the further edge of the bridleway, there was the Snow Bunting, shuffling amongst the leaves, twigs and grass, picking at seeds it found there.

Snow Buntings in winter plumage are a lovely mixture of ginger brown, buff, grey, white and black, the cumulative effect serving to break up its profile and camouflage it, and here amongst the mosaic of fallen brown oak leaves in the grass it was highy effective. If you knew not that the bird was here you could overlook it entirely. Such was its tameness, it would allow approach to within six feet, possibly closer but I did not push my luck.

As I watched, it stretched its wing and this gave me an opportunity to record the action with my camera and when back home use the image in consultation with the late Martin Garner's book 'Birding Frontiers - Winter' in which he goes into some depth on ageing, sexing and even racially identifying Snow Buntings. Here is not the place to go into all the minutiae that I consulted on ageing and sexing this bird but from what I  could ascertain from the images and text in Martin's book I would suggest this bird was a first calendar year male.  As to its race, I cannot say with certainty but most birds that arrive in Britain are of the nominate race Plectrophenax nivalis nivalis which breeds in Arctic Scandinavia, Canada and Greenland although this bird showed characteristics of the race insulae from Iceland.

For ten glorious minutes I had the bird all to myself but I was soon made aware that this was a popular spot for dog walkers although thankfully there were to be no unfortunate incidents as the dogs were kept on leads and the Snow Bunting carried on feeding happily. For fifteen minutes I papped away, recording this winter visitor from a far distant land and seeming so very much out of place in this pastoral landscape. Another birder had, by now, joined me and we watched it for another five minutes before the local postman arrived in his red van and unfortunately had to drive up the bridleway to deliver a parcel.

The Snow Bunting, up to now so confiding, took exception to the van coming close to it and flew, not very far, circling above us, its wings flashing black and white and looking like it would come back to its favourite verge but at the last minute rose upwards and flew off across the fields and that was the last anyone saw of it.

So I was lucky on two counts.Third time lucky in an attempt to see a Snow Bunting this year and lucky to arrive when I did today, as otherwise it would have been another disappointment.