Well it was never intended to be a twitch but somehow it just happened. Let me go back to the beginning.
I called my birding buddy Clackers and told him I was of a mind to go to the RSPB's reserve at Frampton Marsh in Lincolnshire on Monday. Clackers has been going slightly stir crazy due to being partially immobilised by a bad leg and confirmed he would like to come if it did not involve too far to walk.
This I could accommodate, as my plan was to restrict myself to one hide at Frampton, namely the 360 Hide near to the car park and so named because it had an almost 360 degree view out over the scrapes and flashes of water that was currently home to a veritable horde of autumnal wader species.
I collected Clackers from Witney in the dark and drizzle of a 5am Monday morning so we could accomplish the three hour drive to Frampton Marsh and get in the hide before it became crowded. We drove East along roads becoming increasingly busy with commuter traffic. Dawn rose on a drear and mizzled landscape which became even more depressing as we entered the flat, featureless drained fens of north Cambridgeshire and then into Lincolnshire. Flocks of Rooks, like some portent of pending disaster added to the downbeat scene as they sat in bedraggled lines on the telephone wires alongside the road.
Long and straight, the road stretched for miles into an uncertain, misty and gloomy landscape. Eventually we turned off at Frampton and proceeded through a corner of Lincolnshire that time seemed to have forgotten. The vast expanse of The Wash was nearby now, the busy road of a few minutes ago with its helter skelter maelstrom of heavy lorries and speeding cars could have been a lifetime away.
We drew into the small car park opposite the tiny RSPB Reception Centre at Frampton Marsh at just before 8am. Just three other cars were parked there so our plan was working and the 360 Hide would be comparatively empty. In no time we had loaded up with scopes, bins and in my case camera and set off on the few hundred yards to the Hide. Although gloomy, the air was warm and humid and we were uncertain if we really did need all the clothing we had currently donned. Two Whimbrel tittered as they flew high above us, heading inland.
We entered the Hide and took our places, each of us at a viewing slat, and looked out on the scrapes and flashes of water.Wading birds were scattered all over and it was hard to know where to look first. Slowly the tension and stress of the long drive dissipated and we settled down to go through the waders and see what we could identify.
Dunlin were everywhere we looked, their hunched, slightly hump backed forms running busily over the exposed mud. Looking at them more closely it was obvious how different the bill lengths were amongst them, some being long and some shorter. The predominantly three races, schinzii, alpina and arctica that pass through Britain are to a certain extent identifiable by their bill length but I was not about to embark down that difficult path at this early hour.
Huge numbers of Black tailed Godwits stood in the water of the flashes, hunkered in large flocks, an amalgam of adult birds in winter plumage and pale orange brown coloured juveniles
Ringed Plovers moved hesitantly in their distinctive run-stop-run mode of feeding, suddenly tilting downwards on stiff legs to pick prey from the mud. Flotillas of Teal swam with heads submerged, sifting the mud and the occasional Shoveler, drab in eclipse plumage, filtered the shallow water through their outlandish bills. Further out the white form of a Spoonbill, another species with an extraordinary bill, waded thigh deep through the water as it swept its black bill energetically from side to side . A group of at least eight silvery grey, winter plumaged Spotted Redshanks mirrored the spoonbill's feeding action as they waded belly deep, almost frantically speeding through the water searching for food.
A flurry of wings heralded the arrival of a juvenile male Northern Pintail that sat nervously in the centre of a flash, isolated and radiating nervous tension. It did not remain for long. Shelduck, pied black and white with rusty orange bands around their breast flew heavily from the marsh as Avocets, also black and white, flew more elegantly across the scrapes. A small party of Golden Plover flew in, as ever edgy and flighty but finally settled to wash and preen, some still in their summer plumage of golden spangled upperparts and white fringed, black underparts.
Then it began to get even better as Clackers announced he had found a juvenile Curlew Sandpiper. We all got onto this most elegant of small waders, a bird of perfectly balanced proportions complemented by neat scaly upperparts and a beautiful peachy flush to its breast. A local birder then found another to keep honours even but not for long.
Clackers was in fact on a roll and was rapidly putting all of us to shame. Next, he announced he could see a Marsh Harrier flying beyond a Mute Swan. 'Hang on, it's not a Mute Swan, it's a Whooper Swan!' he informed us. Indeed it was and we were told by a local birder that the swan for no known reason had spent the summer here. There was, however, still a grand finale to come from the Clackmeister as he announced he had now found a juvenile Little Stint running around amongst some Dunlin and followed this with 'Oh, and there is also a Red necked Phalarope swimming in the water just to the left of it.' A local gasped 'I have been looking for that all morning'. We all looked and there was the juvenile phalarope, spinning and endlessly dipping its bill to the water's surface.
I managed to redeem some semblance of pride by finding a second Little Stint, much greyer than the other and obviously an adult, consorting with four Dunlin.
It then, for a brief spell, went quiet in the hide as Oxonbirding reigned supreme. I moved over to the other side of the Hide with the camera, which due to the appalling light had remained unused. Here there were a couple of juvenile male Ruff and a Common Snipe, feeding in a narrow channel and close enough to maybe give a decent picture or two but most of the other waders were far too distant. The Ruff's buff plumage and leggy elegance was somewhat offset by their disproportionately small head.
I duly took some images that were, as feared, quite hopeless and then returned to sit by the current star birder of the 360 Hide, our very own Clackers. It was now approaching 10am and we had seen virtually all that was available here, apart from the Pectoral Sandpiper and an elusive Garganey.
I checked my RBA app. for news of one particular bird, a Baird's Sandpiper, a small North American wader that had been found on the Cuckmere Meanders in East Sussex two days ago. The news was positive, in that the sandpiper had been seen that morning. The rest of my week was taken up with business matters so today was the only opportunity for me to see it but I was in Lincolnshire, a long way from Sussex.
Baird's Sandpiper is exceedingly rare in Sussex, there being only seven records until this one and the last one recorded in Sussex was as long ago as 1996. It is also a rarity in Britain as a whole and although one or more occur regularly each year, it is well worth the effort to go and see. They breed across the Arctic from western Alaska to Baffin Island and northern Greenland and normally winter in South America.
Some years ago a much loved and now sadly deceased Managing Director of a company I worked for gave me some friendly advice that I have never forgotten. He said, 'Ewan, there are two kinds of people in this world. Those who make it happen and those who sit and wonder what the hell happened. Make sure you subscribe to the former.'
It took a few minutes to summon up the courage to ask the obvious question, well for me anyway. 'Clackers, do you fancy going to Sussex to see the Baird's Sandpiper?' It's not too far to walk when we get there and I know exactly where it is on the Cuckmere.' I added hopefully.
He looked at me in what I took was astonishment rather than pity but then thought about it. 'OK, if you are alright with the driving.' I needed no further encouragement. We departed the Hide and made our way back to the car. Back at the Reception Centre we had a brief chat with the warden to tell him what we had seen from the Hide, as Clackers stocked up on some sustenance for the four and half hour journey to Sussex.
Before departing Frampton Marsh we drove to the far end of the reserve for a brief visit, as the warden told us this was where a Great White Egret and Wood Sandpiper had been seen yesterday. We failed on both counts but did have the pleasure of finding a Common Greenshank on a roadside pool, looking ghostly grey and white in the dull light.
It was time to go and we headed for Sussex. I would like to say it all went without a hitch but such a huge gamble was bound to have its dramas. My Audi has so many technical gizmos that sometimes it seems inevitable that something will inform me that all is not well. Half an hour out from Frampton and with a triumphant ping, up on the dashboard screen comes a message telling me that my tyre pressures are causing concern and need checking. Now from previous experience I know that the Audi's electronic wizardry can be temperamental and sometimes too clever for its own good. I was not about to stop, as once before, a few weeks ago, the same message had come up and had been erroneous. Nonetheless in the highly stressful circumstances it was not, to put it mildly, helpful.What if, for once, the message was correct? I resigned myself to the fact that I would find out soon enough if it was correct or otherwise.
We carried on South listening to a selection of tracks on the I-tunes app. on my phone.We turned onto the southbound AI, and to no one's surprise, a little while later joined the back of a static two lanes of traffic. Slowly we edged forward at a snail's pace to finally come to the cause of the hold up, roadworks and a forty mile an hour speed limit. Traffic enforcement cameras and signs threatened dire consequences if we transgressed. The weather was also taking a turn for the worse with regular pulses of fine rain and low cloud arriving on the strong southwest wind before clearing again. As if that was not enough Clackers checked my RBA app. to learn that the Baird's Sandpiper had flown off at 10am and not been seen for two hours. A gulp of disappointment became a gasp of relief as a later post advised it had returned to its favourite spot on a bend of the Meanders.
We cleared the roadworks and then made good time to the Dartford Crossing, dizzyingly rising up and over the Thames on the mighty bridge. I made a mental note, as advised by huge illuminated signs, not to forget to pay the toll charge online by midnight tomorrow. The other side of the bridge was a multi lane lottery of heavy lorries and cars negotiating which lane they should be in. I forget what road we were now on as I was too busy concentrating on keeping the car in the right lane and dodging the lorries of various nationalities. Thankfully my tyres seemed to have no problem. After some miles we took the slip road for the M25 and headed for Gatwick. The Satnav intoned the directions although by now I knew where we were going and how to get there. Another brief delay ensued getting onto the M23 and then we were heading rapidly south towards Brighton but the fates had not finished with us yet. Just beyond Pease Pottage as the M23 Motorway became the A23, the traffic came to another three lane halt and we could see it stacked up for miles ahead. Now what?
We endured the intensely annoying Jeremy Vine on Radio Two in the hope of gleaning some traffic news but when it came there was nothing about the A23. With some relief I silenced the babbling Vine.
'Hold on Clackers, this is familiar territory for me. I know a way round this.' We turned off at a conveniently placed slip road and doubled back over the blocked road and headed west for Horsham. My plan was to gain the coast somewhere near Worthing and then make our way back along the coastline to the Cuckmere. Marge, the Satnav, was predictably going berserk as we countermanded every one of her instructions. Finally beyond Horsham she got it together, worked out what we were trying to do and started directing us back to the A23, hopefully beyond the mystery hold up further north.
It worked perfectly and back on the A23 we sped southwards, turning east as we had done only two days ago, just north of Brighton and making our way past Lewes and out along the A27 towards Eastbourne. Marge now instructed us to turn off for Newhaven but I again ignored her as I had a better plan. We carried on along the A27 and I turned off to take us onto a back road to Litlington which would eventually bring us out almost opposite the car park at the Cuckmere where we could park and then walk out to see the Baird's Sandpiper.
Half an hour later we drew up into the Seven Sisters Country Park. Paid our money for parking and got ourselves together, body and soul. It was now almost 3pm. I had, with all the delays and unscheduled detour been driving for five hours and it felt like it!
We walked out along the South Downs Way, which runs along the eastern side of the Cuckmere Meanders. We could see a huddle of birders stood by a bend of the Meanders some quarter of a mile away. This was it. Destiny called. This is where we would find the Baird's Sandpiper.
Err no!
On getting to the huddle of birders it was apparent that there was no sign of the sandpiper. Enquiries elicited the fact it had been flushed minutes earlier by some kayakers coming along the Meanders. My heart sank to my boots and would have gone beyond if possible. Thwarted again. It was just not fair after all our efforts. We could see another birder standing in the distance along the raised footpath alongside the further side of the Meanders, some hundred metres away. He seemed to be looking at and photographing something by the side of the Meanders. Could it be the sandpiper?
A brief discussion ensued amongst us and then we all decided to go through a gate and walk out onto the grass and across to our side of the Meanders and opposite the lone birder, to see if we could see what he was looking at. Clackers remained where he was as he felt his leg was probably not up to the walk over the uneven ground. We got to the edge of the Meanders and looked at what the birder was apparently so interested in. All I could see were half a dozen Dunlin standing in the water, sheltering under a bank from the strong wind. There then ensued a comedy of errors as various of our group thought they could identify the Baird's Sandpiper but it was hope exceeding expectation.They were all Dunlin.
I stood in the field, confused and dazed from the long drive and confronted with the now all too real prospect that we had ultimately failed in our epic journey. The birder on the other side of the Meanders seemed pretty hopeless about communicating with us, so in the end I decided to do something, anything, to hold at bay my disappointment. I decided to join the birder on the other side of the Meanders in the forlorn hope he could indeed see the Baird's Sandpiper but we could not. This entailed a quarter mile walk south to the end of the Meanders and then doubling back along the far bank on the other side of the Meanders to join the birder.
Eventually I got to him. 'Any sign?' I enquired. 'No, nothing,' was the reply. I felt a hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I had been convinced, quite without reason that he could see the sandpiper but I had deluded myself. Now what? There was only one thing and that was to make the half mile walk back to the other side of the Meanders and rejoin Clackers with the vague hope the sandpiper might return to its original spot as it had done once before, earlier in the day.
I had got half way when my phone rang. It was Clackers. 'They have found the bird!' I looked and could see my erstwhile fellow birders looking intently along the narrow shoreline of the Meanders on their nearside and Clackers, bad leg or not, making his way out to them. I put on a spurt of pace that belied my weariness, jumped a fence and made haste across the field. I joined the birders, just after Clackers, and he let me look in his scope at a now obvious juvenile Baird's Sandpiper. Brilliant. We had done it, courtesy of an unknown birder in the group who had found it when all seemed lost.
The Baird's was feeding some fifty metres away and I was wary about getting any closer, in order not to flush it. That would not be popular. Strangely, most of my fellow birders soon left, having watched it for just a few minutes but some of us remained, determined to make as much as possible of this rare opportunity. The sandpiper carried on feeding and emboldened by its unconcerned attitude, one or two birders with cameras moved closer. I still held back but on seeing no alarm signals from the sandpiper I too joined them. Still the sandpiper fed along its muddy margin, wading in the water and submerging its head to seize what looked like bloodworms from the mud and silt at the bottom of the shallow margins.
I stood quietly as the sandpiper came closer and yet closer, showing no alarm at all as it carried on busily feeding, wading through the water and coming ever closer. This was getting quite ridiculous. Now it was right opposite me just feet away. I clicked away with the camera as the sandpiper repeatedly dunked its head into the clear water to find yet more tiny worms in the mud, and so it went on for another thirty minutes as we followed its progress by the bank. Close up and personal and an absolute delight with the sandpiper feeding quite unconcernedly and three or four of us standing feet away and taking photographs. Can it get better than this? I don't think so and all the preceding trials and tribulations were forgotten in an instant.
The Baird's Sandpiper was a juvenile and looked exceedingly clean and smart in its fresh plumage. It is smaller than a Dunlin and its wings project markedly beyond its tail giving it a somewhat attenuated, rakish look. The white fringes to its upperpart feathers provided a pleasing scaly or scalloped look whilst its neck and head have a buff wash overlaid with darker streaking creating a distinct pectoral band contrasting with the rest of the pure white underparts.The bill is fairly short and black and the legs and feet are similarly black.
A man called Peter came up to me and said how much he enjoyed my blog having met Clackers a few minutes earlier, having identified him from his picture on my blog. What a nice man he was and it was a pleasure to meet him and enjoy his kind words.So if you are reading this Peter and I know you will be, best wishes and thank you. It was very nice to meet you.
Clackers called over to me that he was satisfied with his views of the sandpiper and was going to make his way back to the car. I held on for just a few more minutes and then joined him, leaving just two other birders with the sandpiper.
What a day! We finished our epic adventure by walking slowly back to the car, and as we did accepted a request from a group of young Chinese to take their picture on an i-phone and finally ended up twitching Dominic Mitchell, owner of Birdwatch Magazine in the car park. I was pleased to be able to save him four quid by giving him my car park ticket and we had a pleasant chat before going our separate ways.
The day ended with myself and Clackers sitting in the car eating fish and chips on Seaford seafront as the sea rolled timelessly onto the shingle. I miss Sussex but reluctantly had to turn the car for what is now home in Oxfordshire and we were there two hours later.
We entered the Hide and took our places, each of us at a viewing slat, and looked out on the scrapes and flashes of water.Wading birds were scattered all over and it was hard to know where to look first. Slowly the tension and stress of the long drive dissipated and we settled down to go through the waders and see what we could identify.
Dunlin were everywhere we looked, their hunched, slightly hump backed forms running busily over the exposed mud. Looking at them more closely it was obvious how different the bill lengths were amongst them, some being long and some shorter. The predominantly three races, schinzii, alpina and arctica that pass through Britain are to a certain extent identifiable by their bill length but I was not about to embark down that difficult path at this early hour.
Huge numbers of Black tailed Godwits stood in the water of the flashes, hunkered in large flocks, an amalgam of adult birds in winter plumage and pale orange brown coloured juveniles
Ringed Plovers moved hesitantly in their distinctive run-stop-run mode of feeding, suddenly tilting downwards on stiff legs to pick prey from the mud. Flotillas of Teal swam with heads submerged, sifting the mud and the occasional Shoveler, drab in eclipse plumage, filtered the shallow water through their outlandish bills. Further out the white form of a Spoonbill, another species with an extraordinary bill, waded thigh deep through the water as it swept its black bill energetically from side to side . A group of at least eight silvery grey, winter plumaged Spotted Redshanks mirrored the spoonbill's feeding action as they waded belly deep, almost frantically speeding through the water searching for food.
A flurry of wings heralded the arrival of a juvenile male Northern Pintail that sat nervously in the centre of a flash, isolated and radiating nervous tension. It did not remain for long. Shelduck, pied black and white with rusty orange bands around their breast flew heavily from the marsh as Avocets, also black and white, flew more elegantly across the scrapes. A small party of Golden Plover flew in, as ever edgy and flighty but finally settled to wash and preen, some still in their summer plumage of golden spangled upperparts and white fringed, black underparts.
Then it began to get even better as Clackers announced he had found a juvenile Curlew Sandpiper. We all got onto this most elegant of small waders, a bird of perfectly balanced proportions complemented by neat scaly upperparts and a beautiful peachy flush to its breast. A local birder then found another to keep honours even but not for long.
Clackers was in fact on a roll and was rapidly putting all of us to shame. Next, he announced he could see a Marsh Harrier flying beyond a Mute Swan. 'Hang on, it's not a Mute Swan, it's a Whooper Swan!' he informed us. Indeed it was and we were told by a local birder that the swan for no known reason had spent the summer here. There was, however, still a grand finale to come from the Clackmeister as he announced he had now found a juvenile Little Stint running around amongst some Dunlin and followed this with 'Oh, and there is also a Red necked Phalarope swimming in the water just to the left of it.' A local gasped 'I have been looking for that all morning'. We all looked and there was the juvenile phalarope, spinning and endlessly dipping its bill to the water's surface.
I managed to redeem some semblance of pride by finding a second Little Stint, much greyer than the other and obviously an adult, consorting with four Dunlin.
It then, for a brief spell, went quiet in the hide as Oxonbirding reigned supreme. I moved over to the other side of the Hide with the camera, which due to the appalling light had remained unused. Here there were a couple of juvenile male Ruff and a Common Snipe, feeding in a narrow channel and close enough to maybe give a decent picture or two but most of the other waders were far too distant. The Ruff's buff plumage and leggy elegance was somewhat offset by their disproportionately small head.
I duly took some images that were, as feared, quite hopeless and then returned to sit by the current star birder of the 360 Hide, our very own Clackers. It was now approaching 10am and we had seen virtually all that was available here, apart from the Pectoral Sandpiper and an elusive Garganey.
I checked my RBA app. for news of one particular bird, a Baird's Sandpiper, a small North American wader that had been found on the Cuckmere Meanders in East Sussex two days ago. The news was positive, in that the sandpiper had been seen that morning. The rest of my week was taken up with business matters so today was the only opportunity for me to see it but I was in Lincolnshire, a long way from Sussex.
Baird's Sandpiper is exceedingly rare in Sussex, there being only seven records until this one and the last one recorded in Sussex was as long ago as 1996. It is also a rarity in Britain as a whole and although one or more occur regularly each year, it is well worth the effort to go and see. They breed across the Arctic from western Alaska to Baffin Island and northern Greenland and normally winter in South America.
Some years ago a much loved and now sadly deceased Managing Director of a company I worked for gave me some friendly advice that I have never forgotten. He said, 'Ewan, there are two kinds of people in this world. Those who make it happen and those who sit and wonder what the hell happened. Make sure you subscribe to the former.'
It took a few minutes to summon up the courage to ask the obvious question, well for me anyway. 'Clackers, do you fancy going to Sussex to see the Baird's Sandpiper?' It's not too far to walk when we get there and I know exactly where it is on the Cuckmere.' I added hopefully.
He looked at me in what I took was astonishment rather than pity but then thought about it. 'OK, if you are alright with the driving.' I needed no further encouragement. We departed the Hide and made our way back to the car. Back at the Reception Centre we had a brief chat with the warden to tell him what we had seen from the Hide, as Clackers stocked up on some sustenance for the four and half hour journey to Sussex.
Before departing Frampton Marsh we drove to the far end of the reserve for a brief visit, as the warden told us this was where a Great White Egret and Wood Sandpiper had been seen yesterday. We failed on both counts but did have the pleasure of finding a Common Greenshank on a roadside pool, looking ghostly grey and white in the dull light.
It was time to go and we headed for Sussex. I would like to say it all went without a hitch but such a huge gamble was bound to have its dramas. My Audi has so many technical gizmos that sometimes it seems inevitable that something will inform me that all is not well. Half an hour out from Frampton and with a triumphant ping, up on the dashboard screen comes a message telling me that my tyre pressures are causing concern and need checking. Now from previous experience I know that the Audi's electronic wizardry can be temperamental and sometimes too clever for its own good. I was not about to stop, as once before, a few weeks ago, the same message had come up and had been erroneous. Nonetheless in the highly stressful circumstances it was not, to put it mildly, helpful.What if, for once, the message was correct? I resigned myself to the fact that I would find out soon enough if it was correct or otherwise.
We carried on South listening to a selection of tracks on the I-tunes app. on my phone.We turned onto the southbound AI, and to no one's surprise, a little while later joined the back of a static two lanes of traffic. Slowly we edged forward at a snail's pace to finally come to the cause of the hold up, roadworks and a forty mile an hour speed limit. Traffic enforcement cameras and signs threatened dire consequences if we transgressed. The weather was also taking a turn for the worse with regular pulses of fine rain and low cloud arriving on the strong southwest wind before clearing again. As if that was not enough Clackers checked my RBA app. to learn that the Baird's Sandpiper had flown off at 10am and not been seen for two hours. A gulp of disappointment became a gasp of relief as a later post advised it had returned to its favourite spot on a bend of the Meanders.
We cleared the roadworks and then made good time to the Dartford Crossing, dizzyingly rising up and over the Thames on the mighty bridge. I made a mental note, as advised by huge illuminated signs, not to forget to pay the toll charge online by midnight tomorrow. The other side of the bridge was a multi lane lottery of heavy lorries and cars negotiating which lane they should be in. I forget what road we were now on as I was too busy concentrating on keeping the car in the right lane and dodging the lorries of various nationalities. Thankfully my tyres seemed to have no problem. After some miles we took the slip road for the M25 and headed for Gatwick. The Satnav intoned the directions although by now I knew where we were going and how to get there. Another brief delay ensued getting onto the M23 and then we were heading rapidly south towards Brighton but the fates had not finished with us yet. Just beyond Pease Pottage as the M23 Motorway became the A23, the traffic came to another three lane halt and we could see it stacked up for miles ahead. Now what?
We endured the intensely annoying Jeremy Vine on Radio Two in the hope of gleaning some traffic news but when it came there was nothing about the A23. With some relief I silenced the babbling Vine.
'Hold on Clackers, this is familiar territory for me. I know a way round this.' We turned off at a conveniently placed slip road and doubled back over the blocked road and headed west for Horsham. My plan was to gain the coast somewhere near Worthing and then make our way back along the coastline to the Cuckmere. Marge, the Satnav, was predictably going berserk as we countermanded every one of her instructions. Finally beyond Horsham she got it together, worked out what we were trying to do and started directing us back to the A23, hopefully beyond the mystery hold up further north.
It worked perfectly and back on the A23 we sped southwards, turning east as we had done only two days ago, just north of Brighton and making our way past Lewes and out along the A27 towards Eastbourne. Marge now instructed us to turn off for Newhaven but I again ignored her as I had a better plan. We carried on along the A27 and I turned off to take us onto a back road to Litlington which would eventually bring us out almost opposite the car park at the Cuckmere where we could park and then walk out to see the Baird's Sandpiper.
Half an hour later we drew up into the Seven Sisters Country Park. Paid our money for parking and got ourselves together, body and soul. It was now almost 3pm. I had, with all the delays and unscheduled detour been driving for five hours and it felt like it!
We walked out along the South Downs Way, which runs along the eastern side of the Cuckmere Meanders. We could see a huddle of birders stood by a bend of the Meanders some quarter of a mile away. This was it. Destiny called. This is where we would find the Baird's Sandpiper.
Err no!
On getting to the huddle of birders it was apparent that there was no sign of the sandpiper. Enquiries elicited the fact it had been flushed minutes earlier by some kayakers coming along the Meanders. My heart sank to my boots and would have gone beyond if possible. Thwarted again. It was just not fair after all our efforts. We could see another birder standing in the distance along the raised footpath alongside the further side of the Meanders, some hundred metres away. He seemed to be looking at and photographing something by the side of the Meanders. Could it be the sandpiper?
A brief discussion ensued amongst us and then we all decided to go through a gate and walk out onto the grass and across to our side of the Meanders and opposite the lone birder, to see if we could see what he was looking at. Clackers remained where he was as he felt his leg was probably not up to the walk over the uneven ground. We got to the edge of the Meanders and looked at what the birder was apparently so interested in. All I could see were half a dozen Dunlin standing in the water, sheltering under a bank from the strong wind. There then ensued a comedy of errors as various of our group thought they could identify the Baird's Sandpiper but it was hope exceeding expectation.They were all Dunlin.
I stood in the field, confused and dazed from the long drive and confronted with the now all too real prospect that we had ultimately failed in our epic journey. The birder on the other side of the Meanders seemed pretty hopeless about communicating with us, so in the end I decided to do something, anything, to hold at bay my disappointment. I decided to join the birder on the other side of the Meanders in the forlorn hope he could indeed see the Baird's Sandpiper but we could not. This entailed a quarter mile walk south to the end of the Meanders and then doubling back along the far bank on the other side of the Meanders to join the birder.
Eventually I got to him. 'Any sign?' I enquired. 'No, nothing,' was the reply. I felt a hollowness in the pit of my stomach. I had been convinced, quite without reason that he could see the sandpiper but I had deluded myself. Now what? There was only one thing and that was to make the half mile walk back to the other side of the Meanders and rejoin Clackers with the vague hope the sandpiper might return to its original spot as it had done once before, earlier in the day.
I had got half way when my phone rang. It was Clackers. 'They have found the bird!' I looked and could see my erstwhile fellow birders looking intently along the narrow shoreline of the Meanders on their nearside and Clackers, bad leg or not, making his way out to them. I put on a spurt of pace that belied my weariness, jumped a fence and made haste across the field. I joined the birders, just after Clackers, and he let me look in his scope at a now obvious juvenile Baird's Sandpiper. Brilliant. We had done it, courtesy of an unknown birder in the group who had found it when all seemed lost.
 |
| Baird's Sandpiper |
The Baird's Sandpiper was a juvenile and looked exceedingly clean and smart in its fresh plumage. It is smaller than a Dunlin and its wings project markedly beyond its tail giving it a somewhat attenuated, rakish look. The white fringes to its upperpart feathers provided a pleasing scaly or scalloped look whilst its neck and head have a buff wash overlaid with darker streaking creating a distinct pectoral band contrasting with the rest of the pure white underparts.The bill is fairly short and black and the legs and feet are similarly black.
A man called Peter came up to me and said how much he enjoyed my blog having met Clackers a few minutes earlier, having identified him from his picture on my blog. What a nice man he was and it was a pleasure to meet him and enjoy his kind words.So if you are reading this Peter and I know you will be, best wishes and thank you. It was very nice to meet you.
Clackers called over to me that he was satisfied with his views of the sandpiper and was going to make his way back to the car. I held on for just a few more minutes and then joined him, leaving just two other birders with the sandpiper.
What a day! We finished our epic adventure by walking slowly back to the car, and as we did accepted a request from a group of young Chinese to take their picture on an i-phone and finally ended up twitching Dominic Mitchell, owner of Birdwatch Magazine in the car park. I was pleased to be able to save him four quid by giving him my car park ticket and we had a pleasant chat before going our separate ways.
The day ended with myself and Clackers sitting in the car eating fish and chips on Seaford seafront as the sea rolled timelessly onto the shingle. I miss Sussex but reluctantly had to turn the car for what is now home in Oxfordshire and we were there two hours later.
Ha! Excellent. Almost derring-do. Pls find one at Farmoor Ewan. But before Tues as I'm sidling off.
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