Staying Local 2nd August 2022

Having determined in my sleep befuddled mind that nothing much would be around birdwise at Farmoor Reservoir today I opted for tackling some long delayed admin matters at home. 

My phone rang. It was Paul

Hi Ewan, are you at Farmoor?

No Paul. I am at home.

A familiar sinking feeling of dread spiced with anticipation entered my soul. 

I knew what was coming. A good bird had been found. 

Paul would not ring me otherwise.

There's an Osprey here that has just caught a fish and is eating it on top of one of the electricity pylons in the farm fields by the reservoir

There was never a doubt in my mind what to do next and ten minutes later I was on my way to Farmoor.I met Paul who had kindly remained near the distant pylon to keep an eye on the Osprey. Phil joined us and for the next half an hour we watched as the Osprey fed on an enormous trout it had caught in the reservoir, before it flew to a more distant pylon with a now half eaten trout hanging from its talons.

Delighted to have caught up with the Osprey we retired to the reservoir cafe for a coffee and a slice of Mary's celebrated bread pudding, any thoughts about waistlines temporarily banished.

The Osprey was not seen again that day and I assumed it had probably continued its journey south. The next morning I was resuming the abandoned admin when my phone rang. 

It was Peter this time.

Are you at Farmoor?

No. I groaned and just knew what was coming. My morning rapidly began turning sour, yet again.

The Osprey is here.

I abandoned my work and in mental disarray arrived at the reservoir half an hour later to meet Peter but this time there was not such a happy result. I had missed the Osprey by twenty minutes. We walked round the reservoir but it failed to re-appear so it was back to the cafe for a coffee and commiserations while Peter returned home.

Now I was at the reservoir but with little to see apart from a couple of juvenile Dunlins and a long staying Turnstone, I decided to go and see a Green Sandpiper that had been showing very well in front of the Shrike Meadow Hide which lies by the River Thames on the reservoir's western side. I was, as is often the case, on my own in the hide and looking out onto the placid scene of water and lush summer vegetation, the sandpiper did not disappoint as it waded through the shallow water on long green legs, like some highly strung athlete, wandering in and out of the dark green spiky clumps of rush and shocks of bright pink Purple Loosestrife. They are such elegant birds, perfectly proportioned and although possessing similar characteristics to a Common Sandpiper, both with gently undulating hindparts, their longer legs and slightly larger size bear no semblance to the prosaic, crouching dumpiness that seems such a part of the Common Sandpiper's appearance.

The feeding was good and allowed the sandpiper to periodically stop to rest or preen before resuming its quest for food, all the while keeping a careful eye out for the resident Moorhen pair, one or other of which would rush at it when they saw it. This would result in a flash of startling white rump and barred tail as the sandpiper flew to put some distance between it and the truculent Moorhen. The surprise of revealed white was made even more distinctive by way of contrast with the sandpiper's dark brown upperbody and wings. 

After an hour I felt that quiet satisfaction that comes over one when communing with a bird that is often hard to get close to and began wondering how best to spend the rest of the day. An idea came to hand. Last year, courtesy of Wayne, I saw for the first time ever a Wasp Spider, at Radley which is but twenty minutes drive from Farmoor.

I set myself the challenge of going to the same spot to see if I could find a Wasp Spider for myself. 

Parking the car at Radley I set off along the old railway track and followed another smaller track garlanded with bramble, grass and a profusion of the yellow daisy like heads of Fleabane. There was little sign of any spider's web and I began to lose heart. Maybe lightening does not strike twice in this case after all. The spot where the spider had spun its web last year was unoccupied. I walked on a few  metres and there hung, suspended as if in air, on virtually invisible threads of silk, a glory of black. yellow and white bands encircling a plump body, no bigger than my fingernail. It was a female Wasp Spider.

It hung head down and motionless in the centre of its web, eight legs, spreadeagled in four pairs, balanced the  spider on its trapeze of silk. Could it see me? Was it aware of my presence? If it was then it gave no sign and I  tiptoed around it taking images from all possible angles. This was a jewel of a find in this tangle of vegetation, no more than eighteen inches from the ground and I marked the spot carefully in my mind, for certainly I will want to come and see it again. They are not truly native to Britain, although as they colonised Britain from southern Europe from 1920 onwards  I guess they can be accepted as one of our own spiders now.They are certainly a spectacular addition to our countryside and very welcome as far as I am concerned.

It was by now early afternoon and my thoughts returned to the Osprey at Farmoor. Galvanised by my success with the spider, I became enthused with the thought it might return to fish the reservoir as it had not caught a fish in the morning when Peter had watched it. I had nothing better to do and the sunny weather and warm wind would make the reservoir a pleasant place to be.

That was it decided then. Back to Farmoor. The reservoir these days is very busy post covid and many yacht's were criss crossing the larger basin as groups of schoolkids were being taught the rudiments of sailing.This did not augur well for an appearance by the Osprey if it was still here, as it would be put off by all the activity and unable to fish.

I wandered to the far end of the causeway which gave me an uninterrupted view of both basins.If an Osprey arrived I would be sure to see it. Forty five minutes later all I was enjoying was the pleasant warmth of the sun and a gentle breeze. I scanned the reservoir for the umpteenth time and noticed a gull harassing a larger brown bird quite high above the reservoir. A close scrutiny revealed it to be an Osprey but it made off towards the river and I lost sight of it behind some trees.

Brian joined me and said he had just seen the Osprey earlier, trying unsuccessfully to catch a fish. Another half an hour passed and then the Osprey returned but it was very high in the sky and circling amongst a group of large gulls which made it hard to pick out. Again it seemed to be put off coming lower by the yachts on the reservoir and headed once more for the river where it made one unsuccessful stoop at a fish.

Another period of on and off distant sightings ensued before at last it came fully over the reservoir and not too high, circling the larger basin first, then crossing over to the smaller basin where it turned at the far side and flew back above us as we stood on the central causeway. Frankly we could not have asked for better views as it sailed over our heads and made its way back towards the river.

Both of us, happy with this ultimate Osprey fix, called it a day as the sun slowly slipped down the sky and the reservoir was bathed in that incomparable golden light that comes at the end of a sunny day at Farmoor.

Turnstones at Farmoor 25th July 2022

After the departure of the Sanderlings (see my previous post) Farmoor Reservoir reverted to type and the concrete shores could offer little in the way of birding excitement, in fact nothing at all. However with strengthening winds, armed with the knowledge that the autumn migration of waders is now well under way and an entirely unjustified sense of optimism I decided to visit the reservoir yesterday evening. It is quieter then as most people have departed for home and waders, if there are any often tend to arrive on the reservoir at this time. Don't ask me why but it is a well known fact amongst us regulars that watch Farmoor.

The southwest wind was ferocious which made walking the causeway 'interesting' but it was disarmingly warm if that is not a contradiction. Gulls and terns were making full use of the swirling capricious air currents rising up from the causeway and turbulent water to dip and sway above, feeding with minimum effort on wings constantly adjusting to the contrary wind currents 

I had almost reached the far end of the causeway with nothing to show for my effort when I saw two small dark shapes silhouetted by the sun, standing on the wave lashed concrete shelving, facing the oncoming wind. Their size and sturdy shape precluded any thoughts of Sanderling or Dunlin and it was obvious they were Turnstones. They had, for certain, not been here in the morning when I had dutifully checked the reservoir, so must have arrived in the afternoon or even just lately.

Like most waders that arrive here they were relatively confiding but being troubled into flight by the large gulls and crows swooping around feeding on the numerous dead trout, a product of the recent heat wave, lying at the water's edge. 

I watched them for a  few minutes and then walked on. I had foregone carrying my camera and lens, deciding for once to leave them at home, bringing a welcome feeling of release to not have their weight dragging on my shoulder. Sometimes I wish I could go back to pure birding with nothing more than a pair of bins around my neck and a notebook just like it was in those golden times that never really existed except in my imagination!

Today I returned, armed with camera and lens hoping to renew acquaintance with the tortoiseshell coloured duo but there was not a sign of them. A smirrr of soft, gentle rain enveloped the reservoir  and I sat out its brief inconvenience in a shelter hoping the conditions would pressage a fall of waders that I was convinced were passing at this very moment, high overhead. Well one can dream but enough of such fantasy, the rain cleared as suddenly as it had arrived and the reservoir settled into a warm humid day as reality returned.

Tired and with that familiar feeling of resignation that comes with the territory at Farmoor, I went home disappointed but philosophical and took to the local cafe in Chipping Norton for some welcome breakfast. At about midday, a local birding WhatsApp group I belong to informed me that Conor had found three Turnstones on the reservoir causeway! They must surely be different to the two I saw yesterday and this news prompted me to immediately set off for the reservoir as Turnstones in summer plumage are a joy to behold and are always highly photogenic in such plumage.

On getting to the reservoir I made haste up the ramp to the perimeter track in front of the Yacht Club. With the school summer holidays now begun, scores of small children are having private yachting lessons here. It's quite a business  and the result of all this is hordes of very small, highly  excited children milling around and looking much like outsized beetles with their brightly coloured red or yellow crash helmets and black wet suits. Such innocent disturbance is not good for birding so I was surprised to hear almost instantly the hard twittering call of a Turnstone. Looking in the direction of the call I found all three Turnstones running along the edge of the concrete standing nearby, that is used to launch the kid's dinghys. They were pattering along and over the flotsam and foam being driven to shore by the still strong wind but were flighty due to all the ongoing disturbance from kids, crows and gulls. Running back and fore in some agitation they endeavoured to feed but were subject to continuous alarms and interruptions.

In the end it was too much and they flew low and fast past another army of kids, away across the water to the nearby causeway where it was much quieter. I followed but they had now separated and each was finding its own way along the concrete edge of the causeway seemingly quite content to be on its own.

I sat on the wall and allowed them to walk towards me and so long as there was no sudden movement on my part they were quite content to approach me, feeding all the while and eventually to pass me by untroubled as I sat on the low retaining wall of the causeway

Turnstones undertake equally mind blowing migrations to that of Sanderlings, possibly even more so. The majority of Turnstones seen here probably come from breeding grounds in northeast Canada and northern Greenland. Just think about it for a moment and absorb the fact that these featherlight beings successfully traverse such phenomenal distances back and fore every year. Many birds will use Iceland as a stopover both in Spring and Autumn and who can blame them in taking such a break from their marathon journey.

After a while I was content to sit and watch as the Turnstones went about their lives. Their presence brought a brief period of fulfilment and satisfaction after all the days and hours of looking and finding nothing on the reservoir, so it is best to enjoy such a time as best one can.

Many of the returning Turnstones in autumn, such as these three at Farmoor are not necessarily going to spend the winter in Britain. Where these three birds are bound for is unknown but they will not remain for long, only long enough to refuel and press onward to maybe France or Iberia even Africa

The first returning birds in late July are failed breeders of both sexes, followed a little later by successful breeders of which the females arrive first, having left the male to tend to the juveniles, both of which follow later in August.

Turnstones are difficult to sex both in summer and winter plumage. The subtleties are so acute it is often impossible to tell and a prolonged spell of scrutinising these three left me little the wiser. Maybe the extent and purity of the white patches on the sides of the breast and the less intense black streaking on the head was enough on one individual to indicate it was a male but I was far from certain.

As to be expected the Turnstones had one thing on their mind - food. How far had they flown and how much energy had they expended before touching down at Farmoor and how far had they still to go? The reservoir at this time of year provides a bounty of invertebrate food in the form of flies and bugs, hiding in the weed and cracks in the concrete shelving and the Turnstones fed avidly, rarely stopping for more than a few seconds, the urge to replenish their reserves paramount. There are no stones to overturn here so for the most part they picked off flies on the surface or winkled out small invertebrates from cracks in the concrete.One even spent minutes picking the remaining flesh from a long dead trout.

Turnstones are annual visitors in mainly single figure numbers at Farmoor. Some years being better than others. Three together is a good count so I felt well satisfied having seen two yesterday and three today. 

Hopefully there will be more to follow. 

They're Back! 21st July 2022

As some know and others have guessed, my favourite wader is the Sanderling. One of the smallest waders that inhabit Britain, where they are not uncommon during migration periods and in winter. Sanderlings do not breed in Britain but many miles north, thousands of miles in fact, achieving incredible feats of endurance and distance as they make their way to breed in the high arctic tundra of northeast Greenland and Siberia, even Canada.

My local reservoir at Farmoor in Oxfordshire receives a small number of these diminutive waders, both on their spring and autumn migrations and I feel fortunate to be able to look forward to seeing a few each year. Late July through August and into early September attract to the reservoir only a miniscule proportion of those migrating south but that is enough to satisfy my desire, the birds dropping  from the sky to the reservoir to refuel and rest before completing their journeys, be it only as far as the coast of Britain, maybe further to the coasts of western and southern mainland Europe or even as far as South Africa.

They are truly global travellers, a miracle of evolution and I always welcome their presence on the reservoir. In Spring they are in a hurry and rarely tarry longer than a day. According to The British Trust for Ornithology's Migration Atlas, Sanderlings, weighing no more than 95gms, complete their northward migration of up to 5000 kilometres in three long flights with only two refuelling stops. The total journey time being around seven weeks. However on returning in late summer they are more relaxed, the all consuming urgency to breed is over for another year and as the pace slows they feel content to remain at the reservoir for a number of days.

Without fail, with each encounter, I look at them in wonder and admiration, a beautiful entity comprised of nothing more than feather, bone and instinct, their tiny forms so inconsequential  on the vast expanse of concrete and water that is Farmoor Reservoir. It is easy to gloss over what an extraordinary existence is the life of a Sanderling. Migrating birds in Spring can have come from as far away as Southern Africa migrating up the coast of West Africa or going overland across The Sahara Desert, then following the east coast of the Atlantic to northwest Europe before heading onwards to Siberia or Greenland. It is not unreasonable to contend that many of the Sanderlings that arrive at the reservoir in both Spring and Autumn are making their way to or from breeding grounds in Greenland. An indication that this is so came from a colour ringed bird that arrived at the reservoir on 8th May 2021.The combination of rings identified the bird as having been ringed in Greenland in July 2020. 

A Sanderling at Farmoor Reservoir in May 2021 with colour rings identifying it as having been ringed in Greenland in July 2020

The return journey from the arctic breeding areas is through Iceland and the counries bordering the Baltic and North Seas. Sanderlings in winter can be distributed along the Atlantic Coast anywhere from Britain, south through continental Europe and along the coast of Africa as far as its very southern point.

Sanderlings that are seen on the reservoir this early in July are adults, either failed breeders or females that have left their partner to tend the offspring, as many wader species do, until they too make the return journey later in August.

The reservoir was quiet today. A mid week Wednesday with the fishermen temporarily absent and only the occasional person walking the reservoir as a sky of light cloud, backlit by a reluctant sun, brought a hint of humidity to the warm air. Today there was a single adult Sanderling walking along at the water's edge, unusually for a Sanderling not hyperactive although typically confiding, finding rich and easy pickings in the spaghetti like strands of lurid green weed, cast up along the shore after a long period of drought and the recent exceptionally high temperatures.

It regarded me, as I approached, with a bright enquiring eye and if a bird can shrug its shoulders that is what it did and carried on with the business of feeding, uncaring of my presence. 

Its plumage, now aged by weather, travel and time, no longer showed the rich chestnut tones of Spring but was much abraded, fading to a paler shadow of former finery and soon to be discarded for new feathers of white and grey to see it through the winter to come.

As I watched, the now inevitable jogger came, with thumping feet and gasping breath, along the causeway and the Sanderling up to this point relaxed and at ease took fright and flew out over the reservoir. Its pedestrian progress on the shoreline abandoned to a flight of quicksilver rapidity, low over the water, twisting instinctively one way then the other at mesmerising speed, the bird was at times hard to follow. As it flew it was unexpectedly joined by another, presumably just arriving onto the reservoir from the sky above  and the two synchronised, to  fly a circle of speed before making landfall on the sunbaked concrete further along the shoreline. The transition from high speed flight to standing motionless was accomplished in an instant, both bird's stood with feathers compressed, their slight bodies compacted into quivering slimline alertness and ready for an instant return to the air if necessary.

They soon settled, relaxing into a more familiar roundness of form and being sociable birds remained together, keeping close as they fed but like excited childen trying to outpace each other to be first to get the choicest morsel.

Sanderlings were not the only wader present today. An adult Dunlin was feeding on the other side of the causeway which was hardly unexpected as Dunlins are often to be found here at the same time as Sanderlings and are, by default the most frequently encountered wader at Farmoor although Common Sandpipers can run them close

Adult Dunlin