Four Very Rare Thrushes 23rd February 2022

The presence of an American Robin in Eastbourne this month (it is still there as I write) caused me to reflect on the fact I have now been fortunate to have seen four, very rare, large thrushes in Britain during the last couple of years. Two were relatively easy to see and did not entail a long distance and nerve racking twitch but the other two were the exact opposite.

It started just an hour from my home, when on the 11th December 2019 a Black throated Thrush was discovered, of all places, at Whipsnade Zoo in Bedfordshire and found a particular cotoneaster bush, close to the children's play area, very much to its liking. At first it was a little coy but eventually over the ensuing weeks of its stay became used to people and allowed a very close approach. Even better, it was a photogenic adult male in its full black throated glory and posed beautifully amongst the rapidly diminishing red cotoneaster berries. It remained over Christmas and well into the New Year, being last seen on 14th March 2020. The zoo were very grateful for its presence as the number of birders visiting boosted their revenue in what is traditionally a quiet time of year for them.So it was a win all round. I went to see this highly popular bird three times but others made far more visits over its long stay.

Including this bird, there have been 85 found in Britain up to the end of 2020, averaging about 2-3 per year.They breed in the central Urals, across southwest Siberia and eastern Kazakhstan to northwest China and spend the winter from Iraq to northern India, ranging eastwards through the foothills of The Himalayas to Bhutan.

The next thrush was not quite so easy to see, in fact it looked nigh on impossible. It was a bird of legend and mystical allure, namely an Eye-browed Thrush and it was found on North Ronaldsay in Orkney, remaining for only seven days from the 2nd to the 8th of October 2020. Only 23 have ever been seen in Britain up to and including 2020 and on average one occurs every 2-3 years. They breed in Siberia eastwards to the Sea of Okhotsk and Kamchatka  and south to Lake Baikal and northern Mongolia, migrating across China to spend the winter in Taiwan, Indochina and Thailand, south to Singapore, Sumatra, The Phillipines and northern Borneo. So this one was very, very far from home.

Two of us made a logistically complicated and arduous trip to 'North Ron' in an endeavour to see it. It was a huge gamble and on arriving on Orkney we thought we had blown it, even before we were due to take the flight from Kirkwall to North Ron, but news came through of its continued presence just before we were due to fly and after a nerve racking search for it around an abandoned croft, there it was perched on the remains of a dry stone wall. We saw it on the afternoon of the 7th October, its penultimate day on the island and had two hours to enjoy it before we had to take our return flight to Kirkwall and make the two day trip home.

Next was a Varied Thrush, that was discovered on the 27th October and was last seen on the 1st of November 2021. Again it was on Orkney but this time on the island of Papa Westray (Papay to the locals).This was easily the rarest thrush of the four, having somehow arrived here all the way from the Pacific northwest of North America. It was only the second time one has been seen in Britain, the first being way back in 1982 at Nanquidno in Cornwall. For us it entailed the most arduous and complicated twitching journey to date, involving a long overnight drive, a ferry to Orkney and a charter boat from Kirkwall to Papa Westray. It was the most extreme of gambles but then such a huge rarity surely merited the  large measure of difficulty, uncertainty and supreme effort required for it to be seen.  We saw it  on the 29th of October after a long and tense wait at a place called 'house of Links' and finally reaped the dividend of our gamble as it emerged onto a wall and then performed in the rain on a wet and sodden grass field.

And that brings us up to the present day and the very obliging American Robin at Eastbourne, found on the 8th February 2022, still present today and doubtless will be around until the cotoneaster berries run out! Only 28, including this one have been discovered in Britain and on average one is found every 2-3 years, often being found in mid winter. They breed commonly throughout North America from Alaska and northern Canada to southern Mexico and spend the winter anywhere from southern Canada to southern USA then southwards to Guatemala. 

Eastbourne being on the English mainland and in the south coast county of Sussex, thankfully did not entail a particularly arduous and involved journey to see it. I even went to see it twice it was so good, for who knows whether there will be another so obliging. I saw it first on the 10th February and then again on the 14th. This is the third one I have seen in Britain but the two previous ones were before I owned a decent camera!

Farmoor's Long Staying Great Northern 17th February 2022

Having indulged myself with some very special birds this last month, culminating in the excitement of going twice to see the American Robin at Eastbourne( see here )today it was back to a more sedate kind of birding at Farmoor Reservoir, renewing acquaintance with the long staying Great Northern Diver, now only granted the most casual of glances as the novelty of its presence has long since worn off. It first arrived on the reservoir on 12th December 2021 and has been here for 67 days, one of the longest stays of this species that I can remember since I began visiting the reservoir years ago.

Today provided a window of opportunity between two violent storms. The first, Storm Dudley  did its worst yesterday, the ferocious wind churning up the waters of the reservoir into white horses and making walking out along the causeway hazardous. That storm passed overnight, leaving today still windy but pleasantly sunny. However this is only a temporary respite as now we are bracing ourselves for the arrival of Storm Eunice which is predicted to be much more violent and has prompted Thames Water to close the reservoir tomorrow, Friday, due to an amber weather warning.

I walked around the larger basin to the far western side where I was sheltered from the worst of the chilling westerly wind. A welcome respite indeed. I sat on the retaining wall and scanned the waters of the reservoir in front of me which were calm here, in the lee of the wind, and as a consequence numbers of Coot,Tufted Ducks and Great crested Grebes had congregated to avoid the exposed rougher water further out.

I was looking for the Great Northern Diver and it did not take long to find as it surfaced almost in front of me for a minute before diving again, but above or below water it remained always relatively close to the reservoir bank. With nothing else to divert my attention, I was in no hurry and decided to spend a peaceful hour or more here, out of the strong wind, entirely alone, observing the diver going about its life. For the main part it was fishing but would intersperse this with bouts of preening and even a brief sleep.

Looking closely at its plumage there was evidence it was commencing to moult some of the feathers which it has worn since it first became independent. Its plumage now no longer quite so pristine but with small gaps where feathers have been moulted and new ones have yet to fully replace them.  It will gradually moult into a more adult type plumage with the passing of the coming days but not into as smart a plumage as a full adult, for it will probably not breed this year but only next year, assuming it survives to full adulthood. 

This is a Great Northern Diver in full breeding plumage taken 
on The Isle of Arran in May

Some birds are thought to breed in their second year of life but are very much in the minority. I am hoping it will remain for as long as possible so I can watch the progress of its moult as such an opportunity does not come often.The diver seems untroubled by the increased footfall, post covid, around the reservoir nor the disturbance from the various waterborne activities that prevail on the larger basin that it prefers. Eventually it will doubtless leave the reservoir in its own time, maybe to migrate to its birthplace which could be either Iceland or southern Greenland.

It was obviously feeling the itch of renewing feathers coming through or maybe old feathers that needed discarding and spent some time nibbling at and removing downy under feathers. It raised a huge paddle of a webbed foot as it tilted to one side, its head held low to the water and then as it slowly rotated in the water, with infinite delicacy it scratched an irritation on its cheek many times, an action one would have thought impossible with such a blunt instrument as the giant foot.

After each session of preening it would invariably stand on its feet in the water and  extending head and neck raise its body up and flap its wings before sinking back into the water.

 

It is impossible not to think of a submarine as you watch its long body moving low and slow through the water, the whole bird perfectly adapted for a life spent virtually entirely on or under water.The only time it will come to land will be when it breeds and constructs a rudimentary nest as close to the water's edge as possible, for its legs and feet are set so far back on its body, it has great difficulty in standing on land.

When it turned its head and the sun shone on the side of its head its eye was highlighted and could be seen to be red, not that I could see this without examining the images on the back of my camera. I have been told that the red pigment in the eyes is an aid to catching fish underwater but have no idea if this is true or not.

The diver brought up a tiny fish which it held briefly in the tip of its bill. Often its bill would be entwined with the thin strands of silk weed, which superficially can look like fishing line, but each time it surfaced, with a shake of its huge bill it would dispense with the clinging weed. 

It dived again and this time came up with a large rainbow trout in its bill.The size of the fish made it an impossibility to swallow but the diver would not relinquish its prey without giving it a good try although it was clearly a hopeless task and the constant prodding by the diver's mandibles inevitably brought about the demise of the trout. It was only after ten or so minutes that the diver finally conceded defeat, left the dead fish floating and re-commenced diving for something smaller and more manageable

So a much more eventful hour than I could have imagined came to a minor climax. I have never seen a Great Northern tackle such a large fish before and learnt something new this morning as yet again I  reflected on how, taking time to sit quietly, watching birds or any wildlife can bring the benefit of inner peace to one's being.

Nature is wonderful,it is all around and free for everyone to enjoy and treasure.

Rare Birding at the Seaside 14th February 2022

Valentine's Day found me and Mark (P) embarking on a distinctly unromantic journey to Sussex, enduring the traffic hell of three motorways but with an enticing prospect at the end of our journey.

Mark had been wanting to see two special and rare birds, an American Robin and a Hume's Leaf Warbler, which would be lifers for him and are currently spending the winter months at Eastbourne in Sussex. Unfortunately he was unable to come with me when I went to see them four days ago due to various social commitments, so today was the first day he was free. I was more than happy to accompany him as it would give me another chance to see the American Robin which has rapidly become a favourite of mine and also to revisit my old haunts in Sussex which is never a hardship.

This Monday promised to be sunny in Eastbourne with a strengthening wind but that was all still to come as we departed Oxfordshire at 6am, in the dark, and sunrise only greeted us as we approached the inevitable M25 congestion around Heathrow.

Although slow going until we reached the M23 and turned south for Sussex we chatted the miles away and eventually the looming outline of the South Downs was visible in the distance and an hour later we wound our tortuous way up the narrow roads of a large housing estate until we turned into Hill Road. Parking at the top we made a short walk to the end of the road and the now well known cul de sac from where the American Robin had already been reported this morning.

Compared to my previous visit, when I was confronted with in excess of fifty birders milling around, this morning at 8.30am was a complete and welcome contrast as there were no more than a dozen birders present.

Walking up we found a couple of birders looking over a fence at a cotoneaster bush no more than eight metres away in a front garden that sloped down and away from us and was on the opposite side of the road to that which the thrush had been favouring last Thursday. We enquired of the thrush and were told it had been seen regularly in the bush and had only recently flown off but if we stayed here it would be sure to come back to the cotoneaster, as that is what it had been doing since first light this morning.

We stood and waited, chatting to the two birders, one of whom was Rob, from Wales, who I knew from previous twitches. Rob it was who found another very rare bird last month, a Pacific Diver on a reservoir at Margam in Wales and probably the thrush, according to the residents of Hill Road, had been here for four weeks at least so maybe the two had been blown over the Atlantic by the same storm. Coincidentally I went to see the first ever Pacific Diver to be found in Britain, way back in January 2007, that was discovered at Knaresborough in North Yorkshire and then went on to see an American Robin at Bingley in West Yorkshire the same day.

It's such coincidences that provide an added spice to birding. 

It was maybe ten minutes later when the birder next to me exclamed

I can hear it!

I listened and indeed I too could hear various subdued chuckling and tooking notes and then the bird itself flew in from behind the rooftops, still chuckling away to itself and landed on a small leafless ornamental tree next to the cotoneaster, perching openly in front of us, slightly wary and looking around to check all was well.

It was a magnificent sight to see this major rarity perched no more than twenty feet from us, granting  us superb views, much better than I got on my last visit here. We were very close to the thrush but it showed little concern, perching and chooking quietly as it flicked its tail upwards, a manifestation of its nervous disposition. It was so similar to a Blackbird in behaviour and very vocal compared to four days ago, regularly making a variety of thrushy sounds, also reminiscent of a Blackbird.

Thirty seconds later it jumped into the cotoneaster and started gobbling down berries. It was obviously well fed as it soon stopped feeding and perched, partially concealed, in the bush

It hopped further into the bush and then was to a certain extent hidden from view by the mass of leaves and berries.

We waited and eventually it popped out again to perch openly before flying up onto the roof of an adjacent house, hopping about there for a while, picking at the moss and other matter on the tiles. It flew off out of view but five minutes later it was back on the roof and then flew down onto the bare tree and repeated its earlier behaviour.

Fifteen minutes later, after playing 'peek a boo' in the leaves and berries it again flew off. As we waited a couple of Blackcaps came to  steal a berry or two. First to arrive was a female followed by a male. They did not hang about and each were gone in seconds. 

The thrush returned one more time and we got yet more excellent views as it perched amongst the berries, plucking and swallowing them whole with indecent haste.

Then it flew off once more and as before there was no apparent reason that I was aware of for it to do so.

As if on cue the American Robin was replaced in its absence by the originator of its misnaming, a European Robin, which perched where its namesake had previously been and gave us a burst of song.

Unlike the previous occasions, this time the thrush did not return in a few minutes and a long wait of almost forty five minutes ensued before it returned and a minute or so after its return it sat right in the middle of the bush, partially visible, obviously relaxed and commenced a bit of light preening before sitting still and content in its secret place in the centre of the bush.

The long wait during its absence meant that more and more birders had arrived, all amassed by the fence.Those that had yet to see it were anxious and pressing in on the limited viewing space, coming uncomfortably close to me, almost cheek to cheek at times. I became uneasy, as despite what this deplorable government would have us believe there is still an ongoing pandemic. Maybe I was over-reacting but I have lived with anxiety all my life.

Expressing my concerns with a quiet word and whoever was too close demurred and generally the atmosphere was benign as those of us at the front, moved temporarily to give new arrivals space to see the bird and helped new arrivals with directions to locate the bird when it was partially hidden in the bush. 

The thrush then flew off once more. We had been here for two hours, although it did not seem like it as the continuous excitement of the thrush kept us enthralled but we now felt that the bird's appearances were probably going to be less frequent and it would not be perching so openly when it returned, due to the presence of increasing numbers of  birders.

The residents of this part of Hill Road were, as before, very friendly and curious to hear the latest about the thrush. A lady from down the road even brought her two small childen to see the thrush and at one stage the owners of the house with the cotoneaster bush came up their path, passing the thrush in the bush just feet away which showed no alarm whatsoever. Their elderly cat followed them up the steps to the gate we stood around, walking very slowly, its days of stalking birds but a memory. It was gently returned to the house.

We waited another half an hour but the thrush did not return. It was time to go as there were other birds to see yet, but not before I had a brief chat with Bob, another birding friend who lives in nearby Seaford.Bob pointed out a Peacock, my first butterfly of the year, basking on the ground in the sunshine. We were almost a hundred and fifty miles south of Oxfordshire and it was noticeable how much more advanced the season was here in coastal Sussex, almost Spring like on this day of sunshine, apart from the cold wind. Daffodils were in full bloom in gardens, a harbinger of hope and something better to come and patches of yellow gold crocus injected bright colour onto council owned grass verges.  

Both of us had not had any breakfast and with the time now approaching noon we decided that we would go to Polegate Services, ten minutes down the road and combine seeing the now locally famous resident Hooded Crow with breakfast at the Lite Bites Bistro cafe.

On arriving we were disappointed to find no crow, so ordered breakfast and put looking for the crow on hold until we were finished.Two other birders we had met at the thrush twitch were already looking for the crow and said they would alert us if it showed up. Our table also had a good view of the crow's favoured trees on the other side of the road between McDonald's and the Ambulance Station so we had our options covered.

Half way through breakfast I saw the crow flying above the opposite building and we watched it from the cafe window. Once finished with breakfast we went outside to find one of the other birders had bought a pasty, chunks of which he threw into an adjacent field and eventually the crow flew down and grabbed a piece which it flew off with to some distant trees.

Now it was time to go back to Eastbourne and the upper seafront promenade where a very elusive wintering Hume's Leaf Warbler was giving us visiting birders a run for our money as it moved at high speed, ceaselessly active, through the holm oaks and other evergreens that bordered both sides of the promenade.

Twenty minutes later we parked and walked across the grass and down to the promenade.It was easy to see where the warbler had last been seen as a number of birders were standing and gazing hopefully up into the trees on either side. Currently it had not been seen or heard for half an hour.We too stood, more listening than looking in my case, as the warbler is very vocal and this is the best way to locate the elusive bird in all the greenery. Mark unfortunately is quite deaf due to his army days firing guns but between us we would surely locate it.

Meanwhile bemused members of the public walked past or stopped to ask what all the fuss was about.

Ten minutes later I heard the warbler give its call, one that is very similar to its close relative the Yellow browed Warbler but shorter, more husky and not so high pitched. The anxious call came from behind us and in the process of alerting Mark,  we were joined by the others rushing to where we stood.There was plenty of room for everyone to stand and look and listen, the more eyes and ears the better it would be. There then followed a chase back and fore as, periodically, the tiny mite was seen flitting though the tree tops, always too fast for the camera or even bins. It never stopped, its movement constant, even more so than a Goldcrest. It would be lost to view, then seen flying from one side of the promenade to the other. Then silence. A few minutes passed and another couple of calls prompted us to rush ahead of it, trying to anticipate where it might appear. It would then call from the opposite direction! Back we all went. Another silence and then another call. It was frustrating and exciting in equal measure.

I eventually saw the warbler briefly but well enough, however Mark for whom it would be a lifer, had not seen it well enough to feel he could tick it but finally it appeared in a tangle of leaves, twigs and branches, in the clear, between two large branches, but for no more than a couple of seconds. I pointed the camera at the leaves, pressed the shutter button, took a burst of ten frames in a second and hoped. With huge anticipation I checked the images on the back of the camera Not even certain I had photographed the warbler and feeling I had probably got leaves instead, I reviewed nine images of nothing except leaves but unbelievably the last was one of the hyperactive sprite. Not exactly sharp and clear but I felt justified in some personal exultation at having even captured it in my lens.

But Mark still needed to see it well enough to feel satisfied. One more tantalising call and one more hurried advance to where it called from and finally Mark got a clinching view of it, managing to see the pale wing bars and supercilium before it fled.

Happy with this final view we left but not before Adrian Morgan introduced himself and complemented me on my blog. It does not happen that often believe me! So if you read this Adrian, many thanks for your kind comments, it means a lot and it was nice to meet you if only briefly.

On our way home we would pass Newhaven and Mark needed a Purple Sandpiper for his year list. Newhaven East Pier is a well known and favourite haunt of them and I had seen two there last Thursday on my earlier visit to Sussex, so we decided to give it a try.

We walked out across the shingle at Newhaven Tidemills to the pier and slowly checked the supporting struts below the pier. It is here the sandpipers love to hide and feed, picking at the weed and barnacle encrusted struts. We walked out all the way to the end of the pier but could not find any sandpipers. It was a bit of a dampener to our day as up to now we had been so successful. At the end of the pier I scanned out to sea, reprising my seawatching days at the end of the West Pier that juts out a quarter of a mile to sea just across the harbour from where we were standing. A dark shape caught my eye where the calmer water met the less sheltered water beyond the West Pier.

Cormorant? No I don't think so.

Closer scrutiny showed it was a Red throated Diver, a very good bird for Mark's list and dare I say it mine too as his year listing is proving contagious.

Past experience has taught me that it is always worthwhile to check the pier supports on the way back to land as well, just in case we had missed the Purple Sandpipers on  the way out, for there are areas below the pier where they cannot be seen. Two thirds of  the way back we found a sandpiper. Only one but that was enough.It looked up at us enquiringly and shuffled out of view.

That was all that was required, and satisfied we retraced our route back to the car and headed for Oxfordshire.

Another exceptional day's birding in Sussex by the Sea.