The BNG at Banbury 13th April 2018

Banbury lies on the northern edge of Oxfordshire and is about thirty minutes drive from my home. It is a small and unremarkable former market town that like so many in our crowded island has been enslaved by housing and traffic, the latter running both through its heart and around its perimeters to the nearby M40.

Banbury is not the most likely of places to go birding but on its northern extremity lies a small part that has not been built on. This consists of Spiceball Park which is an area of protected woodland and fields leading onwards to a small reservoir called Grimsbury Reservoir and then another small wood between the reservoir and the railway, both of which are designated as a local Nature Reserve. All in all, pretty unremarkable you might say, but because this green and watery refuge is surrounded by an urban landscape it attracts an extraordinary variety of birds and even Otters have been seen on the adjacent River Cherwell. All seem untroubled by the constant traffic noise, the disturbance from human recreational activities and the prolific dog walkers, so consequently the reservoir and its surrounds can receive visits from some unusual and exciting birds, chiefly at times of migration.

Grimsbury Reservoir

Such an occurrence came this last Wednesday when one of the regular watchers of the reservoir  found a summer plumaged Black necked Grebe gracing its north east corner. 

This week there has been a plethora of sightings of this small and attractive grebe from various inland waterbodies across southern England as they make their way to their breeding areas, some of which are further north in England and central Scotland. In winter they mainly reside on the sea, in estuaries around the southern coastline of England or more distantly on the coastlines of Europe. The breeding population in Britain is very small, and the last estimate was of less than 50 pairs in 1997. Individuals found on migration here can comprise of both British breeding birds and those from continental Europe. 

I decided to make the short trip to Grimsbury Reservoir on Thursday to see the grebe  as they are supremely attractive when in their breeding plumage. Gone is the uninspiring black, grey and white non breeding plumage of autumn and winter to be replaced by a colourful creature that looks so very different it could be another species

Black necked Grebe in non breeding plumage - Farmoor Reservoir 2016

Black necked Grebe in breeding plumage - Grimsbury Reservoir 2018

My visit on Thursday afternoon turned into a bit of a disappointment as the vile weather contrived to thwart my ambitions. I did see the grebe but an all pervading gloom of mist and greyness descended over this part of Oxfordshire and in the end it was just too depressing and I left for home. Even a Common Sandpiper, my first for this year, and some Swallows at the reservoir could not lift my feeling of frustration with the current successive days of foul weather.

Black necked Grebes are small and compact, about the size of a Moorhen, with a dumpy body, the roundness of which is accentuated by a tailless rear which rises up like a powder puff so the bird looks almost as if it is front heavy but nonetheless possessing a pleasing visual symmetry. From a distance its distinctive profile looks all black but on getting closer it can be seen the colours of the body and wings are rich chestnut on the flanks and matt black on the wings, upperparts, head and breast. If it flaps its wings you will see prominent white wing bars but it is the head which forms the focal point. It is impossible to ignore, for here is a creation of nature which causes one to wonder at the marvel of evolution and how such a bird can appear so totally beautiful. Its head looks large due to its complicated assemblage of feathers.The black feathers of its forehead and crown form, when viewed head on, a busby like appearance, its forehead rising almost vertically upwards from its bill to where the crown feathers stand proud of and slightly extended outwards, above the rear of its head. The feathers across its cheeks are adapted to form an ostentatious fan of unallayed gold colour, splaying outwards, in an extravagance of brightness, from immediately behind its eyes to the sides of its neck, and then finally we come to perhaps the most unsettling and striking feature of all. 

The eyes are vivid red, tiny and demonic, the stuff of horror movies and those fanciful creatures drawn in comics, but no demonic monster was ever so beautiful or benign. The bright red eyes stare fixedly, expressionless and fathomless in a coal black face. Their alien appearance is accentuated by the fact they have hardly any pupil, just a pinprick of black surrounded by a thin circle of orange in a fire of red. They draw you inexorably to speculating on an existence that is other worldly and beyond our experience.

Determined to see the grebe in a better light I was pleased and relieved to see it was still at Grimsbury on Friday and, together with Moth, I made another trip in the late morning to see it. When we got there it was still in its favoured north east corner.

I sat on a grass bank with Moth and regarded this tiny, fragile being, currently the sole focus of our attention and admiration, a demure and buoyant bundle of feathers floating on the water and I pondered its journeying and how it got here. I looked around at all the hazards that it had negotiated to achieve an unscathed arrival on this unremarkable rectangle of water. It must have passed, in the night, over the urban conurbation of Banbury and its many tall buildings, negotiated a flightpath  through the  pylons and their cables strung alongside the reservoir and the confusion of lights on the surrounding roads. I tried to imagine this tiny bird flying high over an illuminated Banbury as it approached in the night and on seeing the glistening waters of Grimsbury Reservoir,  recognised a temporary sanctuary and miraculously put down there to rest and feed. It is all the more remarkable as Black necked Grebes are noted for their poor flying ability and yet they cover hundreds even thousands of miles on their migrations.

The Black necked Grebe showed little concern about our arrival, as initially it swam some distance away from us, picking hatching flies from the surface of the water, but we waited and it slowly swam back to its favourite corner where it commenced diving for food. Being small grebes they do not dive in deeper water so it was naturally inclined to come close to the bank where it was shallower and our close presence seemed to be of no consequence to it..

We watched it diving and surfacing, bobbing up like a buoyant cork, then turning on the water, looking around to check all was well, until it dived once more. On one occasion, while it was surfaced, it scratched its head with its highly adapted legs and feet.The toes were black and lobed like paddles, on legs positioned almost at the end of its body. Prior to diving it would sleek its feathers and take on a much more compressed and slimmer appearance, raising its head and neck high and slightly backwards before, jumping upwards and forwards, it plunged head first below the water. 

I took many pictures but then who wouldn't with such a lovely creature just a few metres away. Opportunities such as this do not happen very often. I found the images of it when swimming in the green and white reflections on the water particularly pleasing. 

A quite exquisite creature gracing mundane surroundings, not that it cared and for the time we were in its company I felt the exultation of living in what is still a world of wonder and great variety.

The Black necked Grebe left in the night and was nowhere to be seen on Saturday

Snowy Owl in Pembroke 6th April 2018

Moth usually has Friday's off from work, so we endeavour to find something to do and somewhere to go involving birds on that day. Having got back from the long trip to Wales yesterday when I went to see some Black Grouse, I thought it prudent to go to a local birding spot today so suggested Otmoor, our local RSPB Reserve. We could amble round there and not get involved in anything too strenuous. Maybe we would see a harrier or two, perhaps even a Bittern.

It was all set up by text on Thursday evening and I informed Moth that there was no need for an early start as I fancied a lie in after my exertions of yesterday and I would pick him up at around nine thirty from his home in Eynsham. Before going to bed,  as I always do I checked RBA (Rare Bird Alert) and saw that a female Snowy Owl that had been discovered in far off Pembrokeshire in Wales  was still there for its second day, hanging about on a rocky outcrop named Carn Llidi, at a location called St David's Head above Whitesands Bay on the Pembroke coast. After a few years of this owl not making an appearance, this winter Britain has been visited by possibly four different Snowy Owls at widely dispersed locations; one in Norfolk, another in Orkney, one on the Isles of Scilly and now this one in Pembrokeshire.The possibility that they are the same bird has been considered but dismissed as unlikely, although all the records  have been of a female bird.

I put the Snowy Owl in Pembroke to the back of my mind but decided to check on it in the morning hoping it would have gone, thus removing the usual self inflicted torment of temptation about a twitch, in this case, back to the Land of the Red Dragon.

In the morning I checked RBA and was relieved to see that there was no report of the Snowy Owl. I informed my wife of the fact and told her I was definitely going to Otmoor and all was well. A cup of tea and slice of toast later and I checked RBA again, just to make sure,  and there was the dreaded news. 

Pembroke SNOWY OWL fem still NW of St Davids at St David's Head on north side of Carn Llidi in rocks +gorse. Park at Whitesands Bay+walk to the head+inland along stream

'That b****y owl is still there' I grizzled. 'What owl is that dear? my wife replied 'The Snowy Owl in Pembroke.' I informed her. 'You went to Wales yesterday.'  'I know' was all I could say.

I headed off for Moth's home with the matter still unresolved but by the time I got to Moth I was wavering badly. After all it was a beautiful Spring day, sunny and mild and the Pembrokeshire coast would be nice.

Moth opened the car door. 'Ever seen a Snowy Owl Moth?  'No'  'Fancy seeing one?' 'Absolutely'. 'Right we are going to Pembroke.'  'OK!'

I got the postcode for St David's Youth Hostel, the nearest relevant postcode I could find on the internet and put it in the Satnav. That would at least get us near to the location and we could seek further instructions when we got there. I noted the travelling time, as indicated on the Satnav, was to be four hours and inwardly groaned. What had I let myself in for this time?

There was no guarantee the Snowy Owl would stick around although they do tend to remain in one spot during the day but a lot could happen in the ensuing four hours. The Snowy Owl in Norfolk, for instance, had moved to another location every day and had not stayed put. The doubts and familiar anxieties were already rushing to renew their acquaintance with my impetuous nature.

This, as I say everytime, is the essence of twitching. It is gambling with one's emotions. That familiar rush of excitement which then slides inexorably into anxiety and doubt, almost a feeling of guilt in my case but always over ridden by the hope of seeing a fantastic bird and beating all the odds. It is a heady mix and I am still addicted.

We set off west, driving across rural Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire in lovely sunshine, onto the M5 and then joining the M4 near Bristol and crossing the Severn Bridge into Wales. It was already approaching noon as we passed the industrial stain of Port Talbot and I had noted how traffic on the opposite carriageway had already begun to be jammed static around Cardiff and Swansea as the Friday afternoon rush began. This did not bode well for getting back home and I suggested to Moth that we would need to find another route back out of Wales.This, however, was well in the future as we first had to get to Pembroke and find the owl. Our estimated arrival time at St David's was two pm.

Our journey continued uninterrupted as we passed through central Wales. Marge the Satnav lady astounded both of us by suddenly becoming bi-lingual and pronouncing all the road sign names in Welsh! We could just about follow them and thankfully the rest of the instructions were in English. Moth kept checking the RBA app on my phone and at first there was an ominous silence about the owl. We called RBA to request them to put out a rfi (request for information) about the owl. This they duly did and after some delay some kind soul responded and posted that the owl was still there. Suddenly I felt a lot more optimistic. We might be in with more than a slim chance now although we were still ninety minutes out from St David's.

The sky turned dull and then became menacingly grey and it was not looking good weatherwise. Rain had been predicted in the west so we tried to be cheerful and told each other we had our wet weather gear and a drop of rain would not hurt anyone.Who were we trying to kid? Ourselves of course. Looking for an owl on an unfamiliar, exposed and desolate headland, in the rain, on the coast of Wales was  not an alluring prospect but we had completed two thirds of the journey and were now committed. There was no turning back but would the return journey be the drive of shame or triumph? The odds were now going back against us as the change in the weather sought to confound our earlier optimism.

Near St Clear, it was our turn for traffic torment as we finally hit our very own monumental traffic jam, as road works and temporary traffic lights combined to bring us down to a seemingly interminable stop start snail's pace.

It did not help that I  could see the traffic on the road ahead of us backed up for over a mile.This would take forever. It began to rain, quite heavily and we reflected that at least being in the car we were in the dry and not out getting soaked on a Welsh headland. We checked XC Weather on my phone app and it predicted the rain would pass after 1500 hrs which was one hour after we were due to arrive at St David's. Maybe, we debated, we could find a cafe and wait until the rain passed before searching for the owl. Slowly we inched forward towards the roadworks and finally we cleared them and we were on our way again. The rain continued but then gradually cleared and having passed Haverfordwest, the last big town before St David's, we were driving on comparatively empty roads.

We had no idea where Carn Llidi was and decided we needed an Ordnance Survey Map of the area to help us out but by now we were in rural Wales and finding even a  garage was going to be difficult let alone a place that sold such specialised things as maps. We came to a pleasant little touristy village on the coast called Solva and one shop in particular seemed to sell everything that a tourist might want.Would it sell maps?

I pulled over and  Moth jumped out and went in search of a map. By some miracle he returned from the shop with an Ordnance Survey map held up in triumph and we were all set. Close to our destination now, we followed the winding road that led to Whitesands Bay and we could identify Carn Llidi, courtesy of the newly acquired map, on our right, looming high on the skyline.

One more turn on the road, down a small hill and there was a large car park and Whitesands Bay before us. A stop at a hut to be relieved of £5.00 for the pleasure of parking and finally we were within walking distance of our destiny. The car park attendant told me the rain had passed for good and was not coming back and I noted there was also a very nice cafe situated on one side of the car park. Having not eaten all day this would be a handy place to revive body and soul but first there was a Snowy Owl to get to grips with. The weather was now benign with even the hint of some sun but it was very wet underfoot. We need not have bothered with a map as it was obvious where we had to go, as a footpath, the only one, led upwards to the top of the cliffs and the very obvious Carn Llidi and then all we had to do was find the stream RBA had referred to and walk inland.

We got ourselves and all our gear together and I debated whether to wear wellingtons or walking boots. I went for the latter, surmising that we would be climbing upwards, so therefore it would be drier. Moth sensibly chose wellingtons. It was an error on my part to opt for walking boots but by the time we were traversing the lake like puddles and first world war mud high up on the cliff path it was too late to turn back. I had also equivocated about taking the scope as this would add another heavy unwieldy encumbrance to the bins and camera bag already hanging from my overburdened shoulders but I finally opted to take it, just in case.

We trudged upwards and met two birders coming the other way. I enquired of the owl and they said it was showing really well on the hillside on the other side of Carn Llidi and gave us instructions as to where to go. Brilliant. We had almost done it. The Snowy Owl was but a few minutes walk away and Moth would see his first genuinely wild Snowy Owl.

We reached the top of the ascending path and started descending down into a little valley at the bottom of which was a bridge across a stream flowing down to the sea. Half way down I lost my footing on the slick mud. Weighed down with a scope, camera bag and bins I was out of balance, so down I went, sustaining no damage to the expensive optics and camera but gaining a mud smeared right trouser leg and no little wounded pride but I would survive this.

We crossed the little narrow bridge and then turned right and inland up another rising path that ran parallel to the stream. Although this was the stream  we had been instructed by RBA to follow, due to all the rain that had fallen the path had also now become a shallow stream. It was also muddy, very muddy and almost impassable in places. Why did I not wear my wellingtons! In an endeavour to avoid the worst of the mud I tried walking on a slope beside the waterlogged path with the predictable result. Down I went again, my foot slipping and yet another generous portion of welsh mud was transferred to my clothing as I rolled around cussing and swearing.

Moth tried not to laugh as the elements combined to deprive me of any credibility or dignity.

Upright again I pressed on and Moth said he could see some birders clustered on the path looking up at the hillside to our right.The Snowy Owl at last!

We staggered up the path and joined a small group of birders scoping the owl, high up on the bleak hillside of gorse and small rocky outcrops in front of us.

The North side of Carn Llidi

Moth (on the left) with some local birders

The Snowy Owl was just at the base of the rocky outcrop shown in the right
half of the image

The Snowy Owl perched just above the large rock in the centre of the picture

At first I could not find it, confidently identifying a white rock as the owl before Moth put me right. I got the scope on the owl and there it was, snuggled onto a small plateau of grass covered rock, shielded from the strong southerly wind by a convenient small gorse clump. Like they always do it looked completely relaxed, with eyes closed and head resting at an angle, looking slightly upwards. It looked so comfortable and secure in its little alcove in the rocks and gorse.

It was about three hundred metres away from us but  even at this distance its sheer size and bulk was apparent. Being a female it was larger than its male counterpart and its feathering was a lovely combination of white, overlaid by grey barring on its underparts and black scalloping on its upperparts. Its face was predominantly white as was the centre of its breast but its crown and neck were densely spotted with black.

Most of the time it appeared to be asleep although they never really are asleep, as any sound or movement got its instant attention, its huge head swivelling round to face the source of disturbance. For the most part its eyes remained closed but occasionally it would half open them and you could just about see the vivid yellow if looking through the scope. Its black bill was all but invisible, being covered in white feathers but every so often it would move and preen a little and then more of its features were evident, such as its huge and powerful feathered feet. When a Raven passed overhead cronking, it became instantly alert and swivelled its neck an eye watering one hundred and eighty degrees so it was literally looking backwards as the Raven flew over.

It was a little too far away for any decent chance of photography but we did what we could to record the moment.Thankful that I had brought the scope with that last minute change of heart in the car park, I now made good use of it and we got really great views of the owl, and giving up on the photography I just watched the owl as it dozed and shuffled about on its secure resting place, high on the hillside.

We watched the owl for over an hour in the company of no more than a dozen birders. Apart from the Raven we saw very little other birdlife on Carn Llidi except a male European Stonechat, a few Meadow Pipits and a headless and obviously dead Lapwing. After such a marathon journey it seemed a shame to leave the owl but we had devoted almost ninety minutes looking at it and it was not going to fly or move and there comes that time when you know it is right to walk away. There was also the not so pleasant prospect of a four hour drive at least, to get back to Oxfordshire.

We left the birders and the Snowy Owl and slithered our way back down the muddy path/stream to the coastal path.

The cliffs and beaches here are rather lovely and endeavouring not to fall over this time, I took time to admire the attractive rugged coastline. On the way back we met several birders  making their anxious way out to see the owl and we were rewarded with views of at least three Red billed Chough that flew past us and along the cliff edge, their distinctive chack calls and long red bills instantly identifying them. This was a definite bonus and a nice way to end our birdng day.

Back at the car and with some relief I removed my mud covered jeans, gloves and boots and put on my wet weather overtrousers and some clean shoes.That felt much better and we entered the very pleasant cafe where Moth kindly treated me to a jacket potato with a tuna filling and a soya milk mocha. My first food of the day and very welcome. It was about five pm now and as we returned to the car a man, of about my age, walked up to us enquiring about the owl and we told him it was still there.We got talking and then somehow the conversation turned to Scotland and I asked him where he was from. 'You will never have heard of it'  he told me. 'Go on tell me'. 'Invergordon' he replied. 'I know it well' I told him 'My father was born there and all my paternal ancestors are from there and my grandfather was The Clerk of Works in the Royal Naval Dockyard in Invergordon.They lived at number 75 High Street, up by Munro's Garage and The British Legion!' We instantly embarked on a series of reminiscences and in the end I had to reluctantly stop as we would never get home otherwise.

Here we were in a car park in rural Pembroke and by sheer chance and strangers to each other, the two of us found ourselves with a common bond from a location many miles and a lifetime away. This is the joy of birding and the chance encounters it brings. United by a mutual interest in birding, you never know who you may meet or who you may talk to and what the conversation will reveal. I am now never surprised by such occurrences as they have happened too often, but without fail I always take enormous pleasure from them.

This rounded the day off perfectly.

The Snowy Owl was not seen the next day and had moved on