A Ruff Morning at Farmoor 4th September 2022

Two days ago I walked along the causeway at Farmoor in the middle of the afternoon with frankly nothing better to do than waste a bit of time. I was freewheeling in mind and body, not really birding, without a camera slung round my neck, just bins, luxuriating in the fact I was for once not weighed down by the assemblage of heavy and expensive optical and photographic equipment that one seems to need to go birding these days. I felt almost light headed with the lack of encumbrance, reprising how it used to be in the old days 

Of course I should have known better as approaching the far end of the causeway I could see two toggers pointing their lenses at a medium sized wader wandering the concrete edge of the reservoir. I knew what it was from the way it walked busily and elegantly along the water's edge. It was a Ruff. A juvenile male Ruff.

These past months of drought and sunshine have caused the water levels of the reservoir to fall dramatically  and in the process have exposed a narrow band of muddy edge, which looks ideal for hungry and tired waders to stop on and feed.Well that's the theory but so far it has not really happened.Where are all the Curlew Sandpipers and Little Stints that should be flocking here?

A Ruff is a good bird to see at Farmoor. Usually only one or two pitch up on autumn migration although they are sociable birds and can migrate in huge flocks, hundreds if not thousands strong. Invariably the birds that stop off at Farmoor are juvenile birds, making their first migratory journey from a probable birthplace in Scandinavia, moving southwards as far as tropical Africa although some will remain in Europe and small numbers can even be found in southern Britain in winter

I went back to the car to get my camera but when I returned the Ruff had gone. I walked the entire three mile circumference of the reservoir looking for it but it had gone.I had no one else to blame but myself.

The next day, Saturday I had to drive to the outskirts of London for an all day conference and forgot all about the Ruff. It was gone.No use fretting about it. Move on. There is always tomorrow.

Sunday arrived and after yesterday's long car journey I decided on an early visit to the reservoir to get yesterday's driving out of my bones. A strong but mild wind was blowing from the south but the day was grey with cloud and there looked to be little chance of sunshine.

I was not expecting to see much but there is always that frisson of expectation as you begin to walk the causeway at Farmoor. I tell myself anything can turn up but usually my hopes are frustrated. In the case of Farmoor, as with any other location it's a matter of constantly visiting and by the law of averages you will eventually encounter something reasonably exciting but this morning did not look to be the one.

A third of the way up the causeway a flock of waders took off from the concrete at the water's edge and flew out over the reservoir. It was a flock of seven Turnstones and two Ruff. The Ruff returned to the water's edge but the Turnstones kept going, rising ever higher in the sky and that was the last I or anyone else saw of them.

A good start but the two Ruff quickly flew off again. With mixed emotions I looked to the other side of the causeway and there was another Ruff wandering along by the water! Walking further I found another three all doing much the same thing but independently, each bird spaced well apart along the causeway. But then came two together, keeping close company, one markedly smaller than the other.

A Ruff and Reeve

A Ruff and a Reeve. In the end, by walking the entire length of the causeway I found no less than eight Ruff, six males and two females, the latter noticeably smaller than the males and confusingly called a Reeve.

This was easily the largest number of Ruff I have personally seen at the reservoir.

They are a joy to observe. After a diet of Sanderlings, Dunlins, Ringed Plovers and Turnstones this spring and autumn, all four species smaller and with comparatively short legs and dumpy bodies, a juvenile Ruff is a creature of elegance personified. It's the legs that do it for me. Long in the tibia and with likewise long toes they cannot but appear graceful and any movement on the bird's part is always accomplished with a smooth elegance.  In body too they are supremely neat. Their orangy buff head and breast with not a feather out of place are complemented by neatly scalloped upperparts, again the fresh feathers immaculate in their symmetry and overall pattern.

It is impossible for them to perform any action in what could be described as an ungainly manner such is the pleasing amalgam of neat plumage and long leggedness that is a Ruff.

Add to this they are invariably and ridiculously confiding, and if you had a mind to you could almost walk up to them. I never felt for one moment they would fly from me no matter how close I was and indeed they were more spooked by the large gulls and crows that occasionally flew over them, causing them to fly out over the water in a languid flight, to land further along the water's edge and resume their endless feeding.

By nine am it was all over and only one Ruff remained, tripping daintily amongst the foam flecked stones on a wind exposed shore.

A Banbury Double - 2nd September 2022

Peter joined me as I was sitting outside the cafe at Farmoor on a warm, muggy but grey mid morning. I  was enjoying coffee and biscuits courtesy of Thames Water having partaken in a Farmoor work party earlier. News had come through in the meantime of a male Ferruginous Duck and a Great White Egret being discovered on Grimsbury Reservoir at Banbury, only half an hour's drive north. Not for the first time I wished something similar would happen at Farmoor.

I persuaded Peter that Farmoor was unlikely to produce anything as good today, so we should go for the duck. It was agreed and we set forth for Grimsbury and half an hour later, despite the heavy Friday traffic, arrived in the small car park adjacent to the reservoir.

A short walk brought us to the beginning of the reservoir by the yacht club but we were uncertain as to which side to walk round on the perimeter path. Thankfully a departing birder told us our target was at the far end, on the 'riverside' of the reservoir.

On commencing to walk along the path I was surprised that there was no one else here, no other birders not even the usual dog walkers, maybe the time, just before noon  had something to do with it.

The departing birder had told us the 'Fudge Duck', how I hate that name, right up there with 'Gropper' and 'Blackwit', was swimming around with three or four moulting Mallard and would swim with them from one side of the reservoir to the other. We had to  hope it was still on our side, although compared to the huge expanse of Farmoor, Grimsbury is small and far less onerous to walk around if that were to be necessary.

Two Little Egrets and a Grey Heron, perched on the pontoons by the yacht club, were all we had to show for our efforts thus far. Half way along the track a large flock of Canada Geese, in mid reservoir were indulging in a honking session, a horrible, decibels high noise that went on and on. Passing further along we came to the end of the reservoir.

To some surprise and much delight we found the Great White Egret was still present, feeding on small fish at the edge of the reservoir. Refreshingly confiding it allowed us to approach it closely and gave us point blank views. They are striking in both size and their dazzling white plumage, that even on such a dull day positively shone. It would occasionally move position, spreading its huge white wings and slowly fly a short distance, before pitching onto the concrete edge of the reservoir, its extraordinary pipe like neck with a noticeable kink in it, supporting its tiny head and bright yellow bill.

Great White Egrets used to be a really rare bird in Britain but along with their smaller cousins, Little and Cattle Egrets, can now be said to be an established species in Britain, present all year round in increasing numbers and now breeding in Somerset. In Oxfordshire this nationwide increase is reflected in the ongoing regularity with which birds are seen, particularly at the lakes in Blenheim Park and at the small reserves created by Thames Water at Farmoor Reservoir,  but I believe they have yet to breed in the county.

The egret however, although nice to see, was not our main focus and it was Peter who first found the duck with the aforementioned Mallards, feeding on weed two thirds of the way across the reservoir .

Its arrival at Grimsbury today coincided with the absence, also today, of the long staying immature male Ferruginous drake from nearby Daventry Reservoir, so putting two and two together it seemed not unreasonable to come to the conclusion that this was the bird from Daventry.

The Ferruginous Duck is still a major rarity in Oxfordshire and although this year, remarkably, there have been two, this individual at Banbury and another at Dorchester  on Thames in February, it is likely to remain so. In Britain it is regarded as a rare visitor, generally found in Spring and Autumn. Its normal range is to the south of Britain, extending from Spain and Portugal eastwards to western Mongolia and south as far as Arabia. European populations migrate to winter in the countries surrounding the Mediterranean and Black Sea and in the western areas of its range it is in decline due to loss of habitat  and hunting.

We skirted round the end of the reservoir to the other side in order to get closer but the duck decided it was not keen on this and promptly swam with its Mallard chums to the side we had only just left! 

The shape of the head, extent of white in the wings both upper and lower and white belly all point
towards this being a genuine male Ferruginous Duck

We made our way back and this time for no accountable reason the duck was less bothered by our presence, floating at ease on the still water with the Mallards and only a little way offshore. This preceded a preening session which terminated with the duck rising in the water to flap its wings thus allowing me to take an image that shows most of the diagnostic features of a 'pure' Ferruginous Duck, confirming it has no hybrid genes, which is aways a concern and consideration with rare ducks found at unusual places inland. 

As to its origin who knows.There are so many wildfowl collections in the country it is a lottery as to whether ducks such as this are wild or escaped captives. 

Once it had ceased its preening, the star of the show tucked its bill into its mantle feathers and went to sleep.

We left it at that and departed Grimsbury.  

The Greater Sandplover at Redcar 30th August 2022

I have only seen one Greater Sandplover  before in Britain.That was at Easington in Yorkshire, on 15th July 2018 and like this one at Redcar it was an adult male inhabiting a long sandy beach.

Greater Sandplovers are very rare in Britain, only seventeen have been seen before and those that have arrived here are very far off course.Their breeding areas stretch from the semi arid deserts of Turkey eastwards through central Asia and they migrate to spend the winter in East Africa, southern Asia and Australasia.

This individual at Redcar, first discovered on the 25th of August is thought to be the same bird that was seen on a beach on the 20th-21st August at St Combs, which is adjacent to the RSPB's Loch of Strathbeg Reserve that lies between Peterhead and Fraserburgh in northeast Scotland. 

It is serendipity that I had been visiting family in Stonehaven, which is half an hour's drive south from St Combs, when the plover was first discovered, but in the end an unwillingness to curtail the time I had to spend with my daughter stopped me from going to see it. I never thought I would get a second chance but here it was at the unlikely location of the beach at Redcar.

Mark had rung me about going to see the plover when it was first discovered at Redcar but due to his domestic commitments we could not mount a joint sortie and head north until today, Tuesday. Anyway it was a Bank Holiday weekend prior to today so the disturbance on the beach would have been horrendous and there was every chance this would prove too much for the plover and persuade it to find somewhere less busy. All of which would render our plan redundant.

However the plover obviously had no problem coping with the Bank Holiday crowds as it was reported to still be there throughout Monday. We therefore decided to go for it on Tuesday and Mark, being the photographer he is, suggested we get there early in the morning, reasoning that any disturbance would be at a minimum and the light would be better.

What time do you want to go then I enquired

We should get there by seven - no later

OK, it's a four hour drive so we need to leave at 3am I added, hardly believing what I was proposing

Guess so. Where shall we meet?

We agreed to meet at Leicester North Services, a regular liason point for us and I would drive from there.

This required my leaving home at 1am to get to our meeting point by 3am.

What with one thing and another I  got to bed at 10pm and of course sleep eluded me for the most part but somehow I managed a couple of hours. Sometimes I wonder in situations like this if it is better to not sleep at all than for such a short time.

I duly blundered out of bed at the appointed time, doing everything extra carefully and slowly. I went through the familiar checklist;  bins, camera, telescope, wallet and phone all carefully laid out on the table the night before to make it easier to cope with such an early, sleep deprived start. 

Not for the first time I wondered if I was getting too old for this.

I set off into the night and arrived at Leicester Services at the death hour of 3am when, according to statistics more people give up the will to live than at any other time. I knew how they felt as I sat in the deserted car park awaiting the arrival of Mark, bringing another birder friend Les, who had asked to come with us.

A police car drew into the car park and sat with its lights on and engine running presumably watching me. Mark arrived ten minutes later, drew up alongside and we transferred all his gear to mine.The police car remained with lights on and engine running. I expected them to come over and ask what we were doing. Drugs, guns but no they just sat there. We drove off, back into the night.

Four hours and one coffee stop later we arrived at Redcar in a none too welcoming, grey and windy early morning. I have never been to Redcar and at this early hour and post bank holiday the town seemed an inauspicious and unattractive place but maybe I was being unfair. 

We parked in a large open air car park, going by the exotic name of Majuba, right behind the rather optimistically named esplanade and looked out onto the beach and sea beyond which was dominated by a row of stark and ugly wind turbines. The closeness of the turbines to the beach obviously pointed to the fact that Redcar was considered  undeserving of any aesthetic consideration.

Scenic and picturesque, the outlook certainly wasn't. Getting out of the car it was fleece time. Summer and warm temperatures had fled Redcar and been replaced by a cold northeast wind and grey cloud. The predicted sunny spells were now no more than fantasy.

A number of birders with scopes were scanning the beach from the esplanade. The beach was the only saving feature of this grim and depressing town, an immense stretch of sand that extended for 8 miles from South Gare with the ugly remains of the long defunct steelworks dominating the landscape a mile north, to Saltburn on Sea in the south. In between lay grubby looking houses and wasteland behind Redcar's seafront with little of the traditional seaside ambience one would expect. I got the impression people came to endure rather than enjoy the experience at Redcar.

None of the aforementioned birders had found the sandplover which could range for several miles along the beach but seemed particularly attracted to those areas of beach between the steelworks and the town. We were not overly concerned about its current absence as without fail it had been found every day up to now. The tide was on the turn, the sea slowly retreating and the shore was littered with the tiny hurrying bodies of Sanderlings and less hyperactive Ringed Plovers. My heart sank at the sight of dogs and their owners walking the beach but the birds seemed little bothered and the expanse of sand was so huge  there was ample room to accommodate everyone and everything.

For half an hour we acclimatised ourselves to this environment, determining what to do.Eventually news came through that the sandplover had been located a mile or more north of where we stood in the car park. Stoically we headed off along the beach with around twenty others following, trudging on the firm wet sand towards an indistinct lone figure obviously photographing the sandplover through a huge lens.

Despite the un-preposessing surrounds of Redcar and the evidence of industrial decline, graphically highlighted by the towering skeletal remains of the steel works, the sea and wind still managed to combine to bring a sense of space and  spiritual uplift as I walked by the seashore. The wet sand, from where waves had only just retreated, gleamed in the dull morning light as the scuttling ranks of small waders ran before me, then, flying a few metres, landed to once more run ahead, a constant rhythmic rising and falling of birds until, tired of this game they swept back over the sea and past me to settle on the sand behind. 

Despite the presence of fellow birders it was still possible to gain a sense of the elemental loneliness that such places can impart. As we were so spaced apart, each in our own personal world with our own thoughts, walking along the wide beach with wind roaring in our ears and waves providing a constant background of sound, there was ample opportunity to reflect on this unlikely source of spiritual uplift.

Sanderlings and Ringed Plovers were the main occupiers of the wet sand, the former running in classic overwound clockwork fashion, up and down, back and fore at the command of the waves.The Ringed Plovers were less energetic, taking a few short steps, a tilt of head and body downwards and then up, the process repeated ad infinitum. The actions were so characteristic of each species it was easy at distance to tell them apart. 

A couple of Bar tailed Godwits and some Turnstones joined the ranks of the smaller waders as did some Oystercatchers, while gulls patrolled the sea further from shore.

We walked onwards to finally reach the lone observer and he pointed out the sandplover. It was not difficult to separate its larger form from the Ringed Plovers it was associating with. 

Noticeably larger and longer in both leg and bill, it was also a shade paler on its sandy brown upperparts, which on closer examination were faded and very worn, making this bird an adult. The strong colouring and patterning of its head identifying it as a male

It was however the broad orange chest band and pantomime black eye mask, separated by a white throat and chin that caught the eye as too did its white forehead, neatly bisected and framed with lines of black. Other markings on its head were more indistinct due to moult or wear. It fed in a very similar fashion to the Ringed Plovers, running a few steps across the sand then stopping, before tilting down to seize its invertebrate prey.This process, as with the Ringed Plovers was constantly repeated. It could run at incredible speed, similar to any Sanderling and noticeably preferred to feed on the drier sand higher up the beach rather than at the very edge of the sea.

We watched and photographed this great rarity as it went about its life, following as it worked its hesitant way along the beach and, careful not to flush it or go too close, we admired it from just too far for my camera to do it justice. 

Other birders came along the beach, amongst them Richard and Duncan, two colleagues from my neighbouring county of Gloucestershire. This is part of our twitching world, so single mindedly concentrating on the bird you often fail to notice familiar faces. We exchanged tales of our ridiculously early starts from our respective homes then went back to the business of watching the sandplover.

Eventually the bird flew off and no one could relocate it. Mark was reasonably happy with his photos, me less so. 

 Five of the best from Mark

It began to drizzle, not heavy rain but annoyingly light stuff that can be just as intrusive and frustrating, especially as the wind was directly off the sea, blowing it into our faces and lenses. A dark mood began to augment my tiredness and I felt almost overwhelmed with the weariness from the long early hours journey I had subjected myself to.

Something needed to be done and fast to revitalise my flagging spirit.

Fancy a breakfast anyone?

There was immediate and unconditional assent all round.

Food and coffee would do the trick and revitalised we could return to the sandplover. Having decided to go in search of breakfast we drove into the town centre. Already depressing with its boarded up or closed shops and confusing one way streets, the rain added yet another layer of misery. It was just on 9am but could we find a cafe in this town? No sir and in desperation we settled on Morrisons to provide us with a full English or in my case a vegetarian version. When it came the half an avocado snuggled amongst the hash browns took me somewhat by surprise. 

Back on the beach and still no one had refound the bird but eventually it was located further out on the the beach, now considerably more extensive due to the tide having receded a long way in our absence.It had also become very busy with dog walkers, horseriders galloping through the surf, and sand surfers careering along the sand, all determined to make full use of the exposed beach .Even so the birds managed to find areas to feed on where they were untroubled. 

We headed out across the sand towards where the sandplover was feeding on an area of exposed seaweed near an outflow pipe. A row of birders had already formed a phalanx of admiration well short of the bird and were watching it.

We moved closer and sat on the pipe, others joined us.Here we waited for the bird to move towards us but it was not inclined to do so, frustratingly spending all its time patrolling the large area of seaweed, that formed a brown stain on the sand, near some rock pools. Its only company for now a Common Gull.

The wind began to get to me. Sitting still and exposed for almost half an hour I was beginning to feel chilled through my lightweight fleece and it was obvious the plover would not be coming nearer despite our hopes to the contrary. I suggested to Mark that we do something, anything to relieve my boredom. If nothing else some form of physical action would  allow me to get the blood moving through my veins.

We slowly walked a wide circle around the plover, contentedly feeding on its seaweed patch, anxious not to feel the approbation of the other birders who remained standing further back up the beach. Nothing could be worse than if we inadvertently flushed it. Mark who is far less concerned about peer pressure than me headed off purposefully towards the bird.

I hung back and let him go ahead. Please let the bird remain. It did and Mark squatted on the sand and began photographing the bird. OK, if he can do it so can I  and joining him, I crouched low on the wind blown wet sand.

To no little consternation on my part Mark then began crawling closer but I followed his example and soon we were as close as felt comfortable and reasonable.The plover stood for an eternity head up. Oh no its going to fly and we would be in trouble! But it didn't and resumed feeding amongst the seaweed.

Noting our success in stalking the sandplover a few others joined us and we began taking almost point blank photos of this stunner. It was finding plenty to eat amongst the seaweed.The prey looked like shrimps of some sort or  small invertebrates that it found under the wet leaves of the kelp like weed. 

For fifteen minutes we were within thirty feet of the bird and all was well. It worked its way to the end of the seaweed and then flew along the shoreline with a couple of Sanderlings.

With knees aching and other parts of my body complaining about the cramped positions I had been forced to adopt it was a relief to be able to stand up and share this special experience with Mark. 

We walked back to the car, certain we could do little to  better what had just gone before but Mark was not willing to give in yet as the plover had been relocated on that part of the beach opposite the car park, feeding with Ringed Plovers.

We repeated the exercise of slowly approaching the plover, crouching low to the sand  and waited for the plover to come towards us which it duly did. It was now feeding on worms which it pulled from the sand. For half an hour we crouched on the sand and took its photo when it came close. 

Far too many photos in my case, if I am honest, and eventually I put the camera aside and watched it through my bins.Other birders were positioned behind me, doing the same. Looking out to the beach, it again became a wild place, the dismal surrounds of Redcar and the stark outline of the derelict steel works behind  the dunes all but forgotten

The sea, the sand, the halting steps of the plovers across the beach and one in particular, were my entire focus.