A Parrot called Busbee 31st July 2014

Terry had never seen a Pacific Golden Plover but swears he does not really go twitching so it was inevitable that we arranged to meet up at my place to go a-twitching the PGP. Heading off in the early morning down the rural byways around my house we disturbed a juvenile Cuckoo just on the borders of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire and shortly afterwards encountered the local pack of hounds out for their constitutional which entails three youths on bikes accompanying a tidal wave of dogs surging down the narrow rural lanes that abound around Kingham. You have no choice but to stop or kill a few hounds. Terry stopped. I despise what the dogs represent. They are part of the Heythrop Hunt, a more arrogant, patronising bunch of so and so's you could not wish to meet but it's not the youths fault, on their bikes earning a living they are just the minions, so it's pointless berating them. Once clear of the hounds we carried on heading for Birmingham where just to the north lay our destination, Drayton Bassett Pits in Staffordshire and hopefully a Pacific Golden Plover in full summer plumage that had taken up residence on an area of pools which were formerly gravel pits but now formed part of a large RSPB reserve.

Terry had full instructions but on reaching the car park and after dosing ourselves with insect repellent we still required the assistance of some locals to guide us down the various tracks and openings on the reserve that led to the required pools, but in the end we found them. On the way a weasel, giving a great impression of an animated saveloy ran across the path in front of me and disappeared into the rank herbage by the side of the path. Dire warnings had been issued by the locals about the plethora of invisible biting insects that lurked in the grass and I began to regret my decision to don shorts and let my legs go alfresco.

We joined a few other birders disconsolately looking across an  expanse of water that lay before us but was apparently devoid of the plover. It had been reported earlier that morning so presumably was somewhere but just where exactly was not obvious at the moment. Terry who never does twitching found it feeding along a muddy margin by the water and occasionally disappearing into the lush plantlife growing by the muddy edge. It was a real beauty and virtually in full summer plumage. Most apparent were its long legs which gave it an entirely different demeanour to that of the more familiar, stocky and solid looking European Golden Plover. This bird was much more elegant and slimline with virtually no white on the sides of the flanks and to my mind had less brightly golden spangled upperparts compared to 'our' Golden Plover. It fed alone, nervous and edgy and often seeking shelter in the vegetation. A Lapwing pursued it and on raising its wings you could see the diagnostic grey axillaries on the underwings. The light was truly atrocious with the sun shining directly into our eyes but Terry still attempted a few distant 'record' shots. With my less sophisticated camera and lens set up I did not even bother as we watched it for an hour or so, being joined by a few others but with never more than single figures admiring it at any one time. 

I casually noticed what I thought was a distant birder coming down the track with I assumed a telescope over his shoulder. There was nothing unusual in that so I gave it no more thought. He stopped behind us and a quiet querulous squawk came from his direction. Odd? I turned and to my surprise and I must say my delight found that it was not a telescope over his shoulder as I had imagined but perched on his shoulder was a magnificent Blue and Gold Macaw going by the name of Busbee.

Like dogs and children this broke the ice instantly and we got talking whilst Busbee sidled along the track quietly remarking to himself whilst picking at minerals and stones or anything else that took his fancy on the ground. 

Busee was, we were told, forty years old and obviously devoted to his owner. I offered my scope to his owner to look at the plover which he accepted and then he asked if Busbee could also look through my scope as the PGP would be Busbee's 251st species! Not a problem. A twitching parrot - how could one refuse?

Busbee 'grills' a Pacific Golden Plover

The two of them hung around for a little while longer and then departed back along the track with us following on shortly afterwards. There was not much else to see on the reserve apart from a Turnstone still in summer plumage and a few Common Terns. Terry sadly has a deep aversion to winged insects particularly butterflies and dragonflies so I could not interest him in looking further into the numerous dragonflies zooming around and we returned to the car.

Fortuitously, only about ten miles down the road, a not quite adult second summer Night Heron had taken up its secretive residence on a fishing lake near Nuneaton. So with nothing else better to do we headed for Seeswood Lake, finding it easily. The Night Heron had been seen earlier in the morning in some willows overhanging the water at the edge of the lake. We were currently stood on a path by the road looking over a fence down to the far end of the lake. We met up with our two friends from Drayton Bassett and they told us they had waited forty minutes for a brief view before the heron had disappeared back into the willows thus making itself invisible just before we arrived. There is only so long you can look at a group of willows with nothing resembling a Night Heron or any other bird for that matter, to be seen and I was getting a bit tetchy. The lake was owned or leased by a private fishing syndicate and the gate was firmly locked with a large sign saying 'Private' so there was no way we could walk round to get nearer the willows without trespassing or incurring the wrath of the couple of fishermen fishing from the bank . It looked like it was either a long wait for a very distant view or cut our losses and head for home. As we debated our options, a large, and I do mean very large fisherman, came along the path by the road with all his gear, obviously homeward bound and I asked him was there any path that we could take to get closer to the willows. Much to my surprise instead of the 'no chance mate' attitude that often is the result of such an enquiry he was friendly and helpful and told us we could climb the gate and follow the obvious path around the lake which would get us much nearer to the willows. In the end he even unlocked the gate for us! Result. We traipsed around the lake and eventually came to an open spot directly opposite the willows but much, much closer than when we had viewed from the road.

We looked and ..........., well frankly we could not see anything that resembled a Night Heron. We moved positions to change our angle of viewing and still nothing. I focused on a dark gap behind a willow trunk and just as I did the head and body of the Night Heron appeared as if by magic. It was moving its position which gave it away and I hastily called to Terry. The heron showing various parts of itself then hardly moved for the next fifteen minutes but obviously tiring of not catching anything moved progressively more and more into the open 

until it was right out of cover and fully visible although frustratingly from a photographers view always seemed to manage to maintain a twig or two in front of it. It stood for some time with some Black headed Gulls who regarded it askance as if not quite sure of what to make of this exotic looking bird sharing their mundane fishing lake. 
 

Eventually it flew further along the lake's edge and back into cover. We called it a day happy with our morning's experience.  

c Terry

We tie the Knot 15th July 2014

An image that accurately reflects the plumage of the Great Knot we saw today.

This image was taken in Korea but due to the distance of the bird we saw today

it was impossible to get an image of 'the real thing' so this will have to do

Monday evening and I learn that a mega has been found in Norfolk, , in the form of a Great Knot in full summer plumage and only the fourth of its kind to be seen in the UK. Its precise location was on Breydon Water at Great Yarmouth. Many, many miles off course it should be heading from its breeding grounds in eastern Siberia to its wintering quarters in coastal Australia yet here it was on the other side of the world. I sent a text to Badger and Clackers enquiring if they wanted to accompany me to Breydon Water but Badger was unable to do anything until the weekend and Clackers had the sad task of helping to arrange and attend his mother in law's funeral. So it looked like I would be making a long and lonely trip to Norfolk. I then recalled I had an appointment at my local surgery at nine thirty tomorrow so resigned myself to making the trip on Wednesday as naturally my health must come first above all things.

A few minutes passed as I sat in front of the computer checking tide times and the latest reports of the Great Knot and then my I-phone vibrated on the desk  as an incoming call announced itself and I received a call from Paul Wren. "You going for the knot tomorrow? I can only do the morning so will need to leave very early" says Wreny. "Errr, what time had you in mind? I replied tentatively knowing what was to come.  "I suggest 2.30 am". This was decision time for me. Paul would be good company and we have a bond, having made two epic twitches to the Siberian Rubythroat in Shetland and the Harlequin Duck in The Hebrides a few years ago. All good intentions, worries about health and connections with sanity disappeared in a trice as I agreed with unseemly haste to meet Paul at the hallowed hour. By the way, have you ever noticed how popular 2.30 is as a suggested meeting time, be it morning or afternoon? Or is it just me?

It is now ten in the evening and I am going to die tomorrow as I will have to leave my house at 1.30am to get to Paul's on time. Three hours sleep is not nearly enough.Ye gods. Not enough but what the hell, its a Great Knot. A lifer. I can save any thoughts of imminent expiry and survive on adrenalin until after we have seen the knot which incidentally was, as always with twitching, by no means a certainty. The thrill of the chase, leaving the mainstream of everyday life for a day, an adventure, the ongoing anxiety of not succeeding but spurred on by the knowledge of the great wave of emotion and good feelings that can be expected if it all comes off is all there. It is a heady mix and irresistable.

It is the middle of the night, reality hits home as I stagger downstairs at 1.30am and move very slowly, my mind trying to function and catch up with my physical movements, I try to remember all the things I will need for a successful birding trip. I lose the piece of paper on which I have scribbled Paul's postcode or more correctly forget where I have put it not five minutes ago. I refind it where I carefully put it down. Glasses - where are they? I find them on my head and realise it is going to be a very long day but I am driven on by the prospect of seeing a much wanted bird. A lifer that I now have a chance of seeing in the flesh rather than just admiring pictures in a book and idly day dreaming of one day actually seeing one. Out into a sultry night moistened by soft summer rain and into the car with the practised routine that is almost automatic now, I have done it so often. Many moths are flying in the wet lanes and futilely I try not to hit them with the car but they are intent on suicide by car headlight. A Muntjac freezes in the glare of the lights, its fawn coat shining with rain drops as I pull up at a crossroads in the middle of the Cotswolds.  I get to Paul's far too early and park on a dark road for ten minutes. As the engine dies it is deathly quiet but a light goes on in a nearby house. I move on before anything untoward happens, only realising that in doing this I look even more suspicious.

Paul is already waiting, as eager as I am, to get on our way and we set off for the three and a half hour drive to Norfolk. The rural roads are wet and dark as we leave Paul's village but we are alone, encountering not a single car and only the occasional lorry. As we progress east more and more of the roads we encounter are being altered or dug up and we are diverted off our preferred route. I follow the dulcet tones of the Satnav's instructions and we take an unwelcome tour of Cambridgeshire, having to make an enormous  diversion but much later we reach somewhere we recognise, near Norwich. A grey blue sliver appears in the the eastern sky which slowly turns to pale pink and broadens, as the immediate world around us slowly comes into a grey focus. We stop at a garage for a tea and coffee respectively but at this ungodly hour we really do not need the attitude of the female behind the counter. Obstreperous and condescending and really she has no right to be so. We are the only car on the forecourt which is full of container lorries and such as us are given 'the fish eye' look whilst she fawns over squat, overweight lorry drivers stocking up on chocolate and all things unhealthy.

We carry on into the dawn, heading ever eastwards and slowly the miles on the signs to Great Yarmouth decrease as we head for the Rugby Club Car Park by Breydon Water. We have planned our arrival to coincide with low tide at 0530 and soon find the car park and a collection of carefully parked cars. I can see silhouettes of birders on the skyline  standing on top of  the sea wall overlooking Breydon Water but not really looking intently at anything. An ensuing short walk brings us up to the sea wall where we  contemplate narrow channels of water and a vast expanse of silver, shining mud, liberally dotted with the dark forms of various sized wading birds, all very much on the far side of the mud and therefore as we say 'distant', meaning they are hard to identify due to the extreme range. The light is not good yet but dull and sombre as if undecided whether it will let the sun shine through.

We walk west along the sea wall and I meet Matt, a friend  from Sussex and a couple of his colleagues. A bit of early morning banter ensues and then it starts to get serious as after a few minutes we simultaneously notice a wader far out on the mud that looks 'different'. It is certainly a different shape to the numerous Common Redshanks that surround it, being more attenuated with slightly shorter legs, a bill with a pronounced down curve towards the very tip, a small head and showing a subtly different jizz and feeding action. The light slowly improves and we all feel we can see a dark pectoral band on the bird's breast, markedly defined from the remaining white underparts. Still not fully confident of our identification we watch it avidly, unwilling to firmly nail our much prized reputations to the mast of Great Knot but that is eventually, by common concensus amongst us, what it turns out to be. We have found it, it is still here, the gamble has succeeded and we watch it feeding on the mud. Optimistically Paul tries to digiscope the bird but it is hopeless at such extreme range. The Great Knot patters around on the mud and then for no apparent reason flies further west upriver but then turns and comes towards us. I can now clearly see the black pectoral band, the white underparts and its rump which is pure white contrasting with the all black tail. The wings are long in relation to its size and featureless with no white wing bars. Happy, I now watch as it again turns towards us and makes to land much closer but then frustratingly retreats and flies far up river pursued by another larger wader which annoyingly makes it fly even further away. It appears to land on the mud and is lost to our view. We walk further west down the seawall to try and relocate it, on the way meeting a Frenchman who has flown from Montpelier in the South of France just to see this bird. He is a bit of a celebrity amongst us, being recognised as a kindred spirit. A true fanatic, the last time I saw him was when he marched around an oat field in Shetland last autumn clapping his hands and trying to flush a Thick billed Warbler. Ca va bien? C'est la vie! 

He had not seen the Great Knot flying past him earlier so he followed us until we stopped as a group to look out over the mud and to his credit he quickly relocated the knot. Vive La France! Merci beaucoup! We watched the Great Knot all over again from the seawall, now being joined by a steady stream of birders anxiously asking for directions to the bird of their dreams far out on the mud. It was so far out it was christened the Great Dot but with the scope eyepiece zoomed up to maximum it was clearly visible and now, crucially some of the plumage details were much more evident as the sun broke through. Paul then discovered he had dropped his digital camera and £200.00 looked like it had gone the same way as the Great Knot - west. Paul was stoical about the loss and put it to the back of his mind so as to concentrate on the Great Knot. A true birder!

The tide had turned and was inexorably advancing and covering the mud so that slowly the birds moved downriver eastwards as the rising waters pushed them off the mud. A Marsh Harrier disturbed five or six Grey Herons in the rough grassland behind us.  The Great Knot flew again, back towards where we had originally located it and we retraced our steps accordingly, looking for Paul's missing camera on the way but there was no trace of it. We arrived opposite the Great Knot to discover it was now  marginally closer although still too far out on the mud to discern too much detail and was now being surrounded by a steady procession of Avocets and Common Redshanks, arriving to join it as they were forced to flee the rising tide. A Red Knot, still with the orange face and underparts of full summer plumage and so fully justifying its name, provided a comparison in size and jizz with its rarer cousin which appeared more attenuated and slightly larger. A moulting Spotted Redshank flew in, joining two Greenshank, a Whimbrel, numerous Curlews and Black tailed Godwits feeding on the ever decreasing mud banks. Sandwich and Common Terns followed the tide, calling loudly and fishing in the channels of brackish water.

Paul received a message alert on his pager  about his camera. Another birder had found it and was in the nearby Asda Car Park, waiting, if Paul wished to be re united with it. Paul went off post haste while I kept an eye on his scope until his return. On his return, happily reunited with his camera  I suggested we relocate to the eastern bank where the birdwatching hide was located near to the Asda Car Park, as I figured the Great Knot would slowly be forced nearer and nearer to us by the incoming tide. More and more cruising boats were now making their way upstream towards the Broads slowly chugging up the now increasingly wide channel of water.The tide was rising fast.

We made for the car and drove to the nearby Asda Car Park and after a short walk under the road bridge and along the eastern seawall past the hide we came level with the Great Knot still stubbornly and in splendid isolation making its way along the last remaining exposed mudbank.  Many waders, principally Avocets and Black tailed Godwits were now flying in to their roosts in the little creeks and inlets in front of us. It was busy here as a constant stream of waders arrived to sit out the high tide. More Black tailed Godwits came, their black and white wings and tails flashing as they joined their already sleeping companions. Avocets formed a separate flock whilst the occasional Common Redshank tucked itself into the flocks and summer plumaged Dunlins, ever hungry continued feeding, running with ceaseless energy over the muddy margins around the roosting waders. 

It was now 1030am and high tide was in another hour or so. The Great Knot finally rose from the mud and treated one and all to a couple of close flybys, allowing me to scope its main features and again to notice its long wings, black breast and black tail. It flew around as if unsure of its bearings and suggested it was going to land close to us but then rising again and flying around, it came in relatively close once more and pitched down amongst a packed throng of Black tailed Godwits, the majority still rusty orange in their summer plumage. We quickly moved our position on the bank to try and pick the knot out from the godwits but at first it was invisible. Someone claimed to have found it and set everyone's pulses racing but it was a misidentified Common Redshank, however a few moments later we found the Great Knot, clearly to be seen amongst the larger godwits and now, at last we could see so much more of its plumage in detail. The densely streaked grey head and neck, the smallish head and a medium length black bill were immediately obvious as was the broad black pectoral band on the breast with the white underparts liberally spotted with black. Even the  irregular chestnut scapulars, now somewhat faded with wear on the greyish toned upper-parts were clearly visible and we felt our  vigil, almost six hours long, was well worth it to get views such as these. It was undoubtedly the crowning moment of the day for us. 

The Great Knot was fidgety in the roost, at first it spent much of its time preening amongst the longer legged godwits and was often hidden by other godwits arriving to roost that inevitably landed precisely in the wrong place and totally obscured the knot from our view but if we remained patient the knot or the offending godwit eventually moved and we could clearly see the Great Knot again. And so it went on for another hour or so with us getting occasional peek a boo, tantalisingly brief but unobscured views of the Great Knot  before it was lost behind yet another late arriving godwit. The godwits themselves presented quite a spectacular sight as they stood in a long line by the rising tide, a line of glowing orange birds.

Slowly more and more birds became confined to an increasingly small area of land as the waters rose. Late arriving Common Redshanks came to roost as did hulking Curlews, diminutive Dunlins and peevish Lapwings. The occasional Bar tailed Godwit was picked out amongst the throng whilst Common Shelducks guarded their now well grown young on the saltmarsh with Whimbrels hiding in the bright green spartina behind. Four Little Egrets sat together, hunched and motionless on a slight rise, their white forms like beacons in the roost.

As if by a given signal Paul and I  knew we had seen enough. Seven hours had passed since we first saw the Great Knot and we felt we had now done the bird justice. A quick late breakfast in the adjacent Asda  and then we were on our way home, arriving back to a sunny Oxfordshire three hours later.

PS The next day there was no sign of the Great Knot. It had gone.

The Farne Islands 9th July 2014

During the past couple of years I have been slowly catching up on visiting all those birding places that you hear a lot about and then make a mental note to go and see  but somehow never manage to get round to actually visiting.

Well, so far I have been to Fair Isle last year, Skomer earlier this year and now have been to the Farne Islands. In fact I did go to the Farnes last year to twitch a Bridled Tern with Justin  but never got to fully explore the islands and experience the amazing 'ternfest' that annually occurs in the breeding season. The Bridled Tern had returned this year but unfortunately was not around on our visit but no matter the 'tern experience' was just as good if not better.

Terry and myself set off from my home at 5am on Tuesday for the six hour drive to Seahouses in Northumberland where we had two seats booked on Serenity Boat Tours, one of the local companies that take visitors out to the islands. It is an awfully long way to Seahouses, 335 miles to be precise and never was the 'Far' in Farne Islands more apposite. Mind you we did not help ourselves by driving up the M6 when we should have gone up the M1 to join the A1, which was my fault for not concentrating and necessitated a thirty minute backtrack to get on the right road. This achieved we eventually found ourselves slowly winding our way north, caught up in the nightmare that is the A1, all average speed checks for mile upon tedious mile, and hours later passing the landmark of The Angel of the North, now orange with rust and not in my opinion quite the sensational sculpture it used to be. Then ominously, dark grey clouds covered the land and it started to rain as we passed Newcastle, coming down in torrents, flooding patches of road and my heart sank as I anticipated the purgatory of being on an open boat in this deluge and noting there was not a sign of a break in the lowering clouds. The online forecast we belatedly consulted, predicted heavy rain until mid afternoon so we pulled in to a layby and I called Serenity Boat Tours and expressed my concerns about the weather and asked about the possibility of changing our booking and to my surprise was advised that at Seahouses, only twenty miles away, it was hardly raining at all. I could hardly believe it but as we neared Seahouses the sky was indeed clear but when we got there the rain clouds caught up with us and inevitably so did the rain. We waited in the car hoping for the heavy rain to pass and miraculously, twenty minutes later it did  allowing us to keep to our original booking

Each shed contains a rival boat tour company. No lack of choice here!

Terry ready to board the boat

We had a quick look around the harbour and found a few female Eider then it was back to the car for a change into wet weather gear in case it rained again and now it was time to board onto Serenity Two, the boat that would take us out to the islands. 

Female Eider Duck

Unsurprisingly, considering the earlier downpour, there were not that many of us venturing out to the islands and those that did join the boat were mainly tourists and as far as I could see we were the only die hard birders. Instead of the ship's cat we had for company an elderly large collie type dog, presumably belonging to Andrew the skipper.

An Old Sea Dog!

The boat does an hour's sightseeing tour of the various islands before landing its passengers at Inner Farne so we got a little bit of interesting local history from the skipper over the tannoy as we progressed from island to island and the welcome opportunity to get very close to the colonies of Guillemots, Kittiwakes and Puffins. Not so welcome was the unsavoury wafts of rotten fish and guano coming from the colony but the skipper said this was a good day compared to a hot and sunny day when the smell was overpowering. I could only imagine! 

Part of the Common Guillemot colony

Also of great interest to me was the opportunity to see both an example of the uncommon bridled form of Guillemot in the colony, which is reputedly more prevalent further north and also an oddity in a Guillemot apparently in winter plumage. The skipper told us it was an old bird and no longer capable of moulting into summer plumage which did not seem correct to me.

Common Guillemot in winter plumage

'Bridled' Common Guillemot

Adult Kittiwake

Young Kittiwakes

Adult Puffin

A final stop was made off some rocks for the obligatory look at seals, Atlantic Grey Seals, including a mournful looking pup.

Atlantic Grey Seals

Grey Seal pup

and then it was a short trip across the sea to Inner Farne where we left the boat and joined others on the island and the sight that greets you is hard to describe adequately.

Another boat load for the tern experience

There are seabirds, mainly terns, literally everywhere you look and lots of them. Sandwich, Arctic and Common Terns  the latter belying their name and being the least populous here. To either side of the jetty were low rocks and small beaches providing loafing areas for off duty terns with many washing and preening or just fast asleep. Each species discreetly kept to itself and in its own area. 

Adult and juvenile Sandwich Terns with the adult beginning to moult its black cap

Adult Sandwich Tern still with its fully black shaggy cap

Displaying Sandwich Terns

Sandwich Terns - juveniles and adults

Sandwich Terns with chick

Adult Arctic Terns

The sight everyone had come to see and experience were the nesting terns and I guess the Puffins. Many of the terns now had almost fully grown young, others were with just hatched young or even sitting on eggs. The terns were completely fearless and as you walked up the path towards St Cuthbert's Chapel they stood their ground chiding you with sharp calls and then bombarding you with aerial attacks. 

The Seventh Century St Cuthbert's Chapel and the pathway from the jetty
along which you run the gauntlet of irate terns

Tern Paparazzi

We walked the gauntlet of tern alley and I received several sharp pecks on my head from outraged tern parents. These pecks are not light taps but full on stabs from a stilletto like, blood red (how appropriate) bill. 

Yours truly getting seen off by an angry tern
c Terry

It hurt so I raised my hood but still the terns persisted and pecked at the cloth. One lady took matters to extremes by wearing a crash helmet and I pitied the tern that tried to hammer that but I failed to find any with a bent beak! 

Adult Arctic Tern

The whole island and sky was full of birds, raucously calling, departing out to sea or arriving from the sea carrying sand eels for their young which scuttled around the beach or hid in the vegetation at the back of the beach. You could sit here for hours and not be bored with this constant procession of activity

Every conceivable corner of the island was occupied by nesting birds and although the wardens said many had left in the last few days there were still thousands of nesting birds here. The eggs and young of mainly Arctic Terns were often right by the path and you had to be really careful not to tread on them especially when your attention became diverted to concentrating on warding off attacks from the parent birds. 

Arctic Tern's nest and eggs 

Arctic Tern chicks

Recently fledged Arctic Tern

Adult Arctic Tern with fledged juvenile

Juvenile Arctic Tern

Second year Arctic Tern. These do not usually return  to the northern hemisphere
until they are adult although I saw at least three similar individuals
on Inner Farne during my visit

We walked to the top of the island by the Victorian lighthouse and found many people there, attracted by the Puffins. There are an incredible 37,000 pairs breeding on the Farne Islands. Here are sixteen of them!

Puffin watchers

Of more interest to me were the Shags with their emerald green eyes, sitting and nesting literally inches from us on the cliff top and showing not the slightest concern. The Kittiwakes were just as untroubled by our presence as indeed were the Arctic and Common Terns.

European Shag

The Sandwich Terns and Puffins kept more distant from us but I do not think they would be troubled about us even if they nested closer.

Sandwich Terns and Puffin

A small pool harboured some juvenile Black headed Gulls and much more interesting, a fully fledged juvenile Puffin. Grey of face and showing no sign of the adult's multi coloured bill it swam around looking a little confused at its unusual habitat. 

Juvenile Puffin

The photo opportunities were endless and many times we had to walk backwards as the birds were so close to us. There was something here for everyone, from small tern chicks, incredibly fluffy and cute for the kids, photo opportunities for those with cameras and even the bonus of an odd rarity for birders like us, when a Roseate Tern briefly joined the off duty terns down by the jetty. It was a job to know where to look and what to admire next but the abiding memory for me was the unbelievably close encounters with the terns which on many occasions stood or sat literally at your feet or perched just inches from you on a fence post completely unafraid. It will live long in my memory and I am sure I will go back again sooner rather than later.