By the strength of our common endeavour…

…we achieve more than we achieve alone.

If the common starling (Sturnus vulgaris) was capable of rational thought it may well come to the same conclusion as those who crafted that phrase of the Labour Party’s statement of principles.

As we often do at Christmas we took a trip to Ham Wall RSPB reserve in Somerset to see one of the biggest starling roosts in the UK. If the conditions are right, up to 2 million birds will give an acrobatic display that will take your breath away before dropping like dark hailstones into the reeds that will form their roost for the night.

Although the numbers hadn’t yet built to their maximum (a mere 500,000 birds) the conditions were perfect. Bright, overcast with little or no breeze. And two peregrine in atrenfance to make the birds dance and swirl to confuse and distrcat the attcakers.

Here, a flock of around 100,000 birds splits in two as the peregrines (can you see them?) consider their options.

By the strength of our common endeavour...

Although the peregrines remained in attendance as the starlings continued to gather in their pre-roost murmuration, they didn’t make any successful attacks on the flock. Given the abundance of food for the peregrines in the area these may well have been simple training flights or flying for the sheer joy of it.

It is clear that birds to flock to escape predators more easily than they would do as a single bird, but the explanation of how birds achieve the extreme flight formations at high speed continues to baffle engineers and scientists. However they do it, the many species of birds which produce such displays not only achieve more together for themselves but also provide an unforgettable spectacle for us. And the starling is the master of the universe.

There will be a starling roost somewhere near you. It may only be a few hundred birds. It may be a few thousand. Go and see it. You won’t regret it or forget it.

By the strength of our common endeavour...
By the strength of our common endeavour...
By the strength of our common endeavour...

Ross’s Gull - eventually

Ross’s Gull – eventually

The cafe at Ferry Bridge, on the causeway which joins Weymouth and Portland, is not to be missed.

Any time were in the area we will likely end up there at some point. Traditional breakfast to set us for a day’s birding. Afternoon tea to cheer us up after a disappointing day’s birding. A good range of food, and wildlife shop, window seats for non-stop birding. What’s not to like?

So when we saw that the Ross’s Gull (Rhodostethia rosea) – our reason for being in Weymouth rather than Southampton – had not been seen for the last couple of hours, we decided to go straight for a Sunday morning breakfast. Always popular, the cafe was three-quarters full, but we got a window seat next to some fellow birders who were just finishing off their refuelling stop. Unusually, the table service was a bit slower than normal so we hadn’t ordered when the next message came through – the gull was back at Radipole Reserve.

We ignored the slightly smug grin of those who had already eaten, and left without breakfast. Radipole is only 10 minutes away. Eight minutes later the next message tells us the gull has flown south out toward the bay. Back where we’ve just come from.

Experienced hands that we are, we decide there’s more chance of the Ross’s Gull making its way to another regular site at Lodmoor just a few minutes away, and we can at least have a pork-pie and bar of chocolate from the goodie-bag in the back of the car. We head to Lodmoor. No one else thinks this is the place to be looking. And what’s worse, there is no goodie-bag in the boot. Still on the kitchen table apparently. Still we have a mooch round Lodmoor, and then decide we really do need food.

Back to Radipole. Lots of birders. No bird.

But we did spy a cafe a few minutes walk away opposite the station, and we discover that this is another little gem. So at least we’ve added to our food stops, if not our bird list. Anyhow, back to Radipole. Still lots of birders and no bird. We can either wait in the hope the Ross’s Gull puts in an appearance. Or we can take a bit of a stroll and see what else the reserve has to offer.

Ross’s Gull - eventuallyLast time we were here it was full of dog-walkers and child-buggy pushers. Now the cold weather and the threat of rain keeps the paths free for a quiet stroll. And was it worth it? Oh yes. Three Water Rails (Rallus aquaticus) right out in the open. Not a sight you often see. I gave half a thought to nipping back to the where the gull wasn’t to encourage the other birders to get their legs moving and see some Rails. But they would be hard to drag away from their main target so we left them to it.

As the rain started to come down, and the parking ticket ran out we decided to cal it quits and head for home. And then the next message slides in. Fortuneswell, right of the yellow buoy, in Chesil Cove, tho distant.


And we’re off. We get to the site. We find the guy who called it in. He points out the yellow buoy – just visible in the mist through our scopes – we start looking  for any gulls let alone the tiny bird we’re after and then ‘ping’. Next message. It’s back at Lodmoor.

It would appear our new found friend had misidentified the bird at the Chesil Cove. Shit happens. We all head back to Lodmoor. And now we are armed with the information from our misinformer about where the bird normally likes to roost.

Fortunately when we get to Lodmoor someone who has just seen the bird tells us where we should actually be looking and off we trot. And finally, after several hours of missed breakfast, missed birds, found breakfast, and found birds, there it is. The first Ross’s Gull we’ve seen in the UK and a splendid view it was too, although a little too far for any decent photographs.

And then, just moments later, it was gone. All the birds launched off the mud and barrelled upwards as a peregrine swooped low over the scrape.

Ross’s Gull - eventually

One man's marshes

One man’s marshes

A brilliant history of the birds, birders and landscape which combine to tell this story of the marshes of Lymington and Keyhaven – seen through the eyes of one man, Ed Wiseman. A former warden of the marshes, Ed draws from his own experience and the notes and writings of others to produce a wonderful account, evocatively illustrated by local artists Dan and Rosemary Powell.


Currently available for pre-order for Xmas at, it will also be available on Amazon as soon as the books arrive with me from the printer.

To whet your appetite have a look at these sample pages. A mere £14.99 – how can you refuse?

Ed book master 13 nov 2017_Part3_Page_1

Ed book master 13 nov 2017_Part9_Page_1

Ed book master 13 nov 2017_Part32_Page_1

Water water everywhere

We toured the pools and muddy ditches of the Azores. These are usually mere puddles, and any waders that may be around will congregate in these small feeding stations.

But it rained. The pools were ponds, the ponds were lakes. The waders that may have been eking out a living on the muddy margins now had a choice of gourmet restaurants open for business. If there were any waders here in the first place – which I doubt.

But we tried our best – hardly a lake, coastal margin, or bucket of stagnant water went unregarded in our search for something that wasn’t a sparrow. Eventually we rocked up at a large lake. There were a few mallard, and some of those weren’t exactly pure bred. But we persevered and took a little walk through some adjacent woods and small-holdings. There were plenty of Goldcrests (Regulus regulus azoricus) – there are three sub-species on the Azores – and Waxbills (Estrilda astrild), but one of our group saw a Common Yellowthroat flying away from him.

In the best traditions of birding we gathered the rest of the gang together and stood around the bush where we thought the beast had gone. I thought it had flown out into a small allotment 100 meters of so away, and I wandered off there since I had had enough of staring at the bush in question. Within a couple of minutes I had relocated the bird and within 10 minutes everyone managed to get a decent view, and some (not me) a decent picture or two.

So instead you get to see one of the local Goldcrest. Enjoy.


Ringing the neck of a duck

So here we are on the Azores, on the main island São Miguel (obviously to the people who live on the other eight islands of this well spread archipelago that may be a contentious description).

We are bumbling around looking for rare birds – although very soon it becomes self-evident we should concentrate on looking for any birds at all. The most exciting thing of the afternoon is a discussion of whether a particular duck is a Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris), a Tufted Duck (Aythya fuligula) or a hybrid of the two, This discussion is taking place leaning on the wall of a small pond on a farm that our guide, Gerby, knows from previous trips.

It all seem to hang on the extent of bill colouring, the shape of the head, and some finer plumage details. There were two duck in question – a female (definitely a Ring-necked Duck) and a male (who knows).

Given that both birds were about 150 meters away and it was almost impossible to get a decent scope view because of the wall – did I mention it was taller than Jan – I thought I would give you the impression of what we were seeing. And therefore how fairly pointless the debate was.


As you can see – very easy to sort out.

Much easier was our first actual rarity of the trip. But more of that later.

The Yanks are coming…

…or not.

After a long hard summer, it’s great to be off to the Azores. A bit of rest and relaxation and some bird watching with some fairly hard-core birdwatchers. They want to see American birds.

That poses a very immediate and interesting question. Why not go to America? That’s where the birds are. Surely it would be easier to see them there? And that is self-evidently true. But there is a deeper answer to that question.

And the deeper answer to that question reminds me of an experience from over 20 years ago. We were watching another American bird – a Ring-necked Duck (Aythya collaris) – that had happened to turn to just outside Romsey, Hampshire UK. We were chatting to other birders and one couple said that they were about to go look for a Dartford Warbler (Sylvia undata) at some place in Berkshire. Being the generous types that we are, Jan and I offered to show them a site about 15 minutes drive away that was very reliable for seeing Dartford Warblers. “That’s very kind, but no thanks,” came the slightly surprising response. “You see, it wouldn’t be a Berkshire Dartford Warbler,”

And that’s when we got introduced to the idea of complex bird lists.

Everyone keeps a bird list. Even friends who phone up and say there’s this thing the size of an eagle in their their garden with yellow and red on it. “What is it? Can you come round and tell us?” (It’s a Goldfinch. It’s almost always a Goldfinch.) Once they’ve learnt Goldfinch they’ve got a list of one.

We certainly always kept a list. One list of birds we’d seen anywhere. But the Ring-necked Duck couple were the first to make us realise that where you saw the bird could be a little important. And 20 years later we are on trip with people who want to see American birds – or any other birds for that matter – in the Western Palearctic (WP for short). The Western Palearctic is roughly Europe, Western Asia and North Africa. The United States, and all their lovely birds, inhabit a different ecozone – the Nearctic. And that’s why people come birdwatching in the Azores. It is the westernmost land in the WP, and therefore the most likely to be home to American birds that get blown off-course whilst migrating up and down in the US of A.

Some people take this very seriously indeed. The people we are on holiday with, for example. One or our companions only needs to see two more bird species in the WP and his WP list will be 800. I think that is a probably a good number and will put him well up amongst the top WP listers. By comparison, our WP list is only around 405.

Yes we now keep a WP list. And a garden list. A world list. A Hampshire list. Computerised record keeping means all lists as just the touch of button away.

So how are we getting on, on our hard-core WP listing holiday. Well, next time I get a wifi connection I’ll let you know more.

Lend me your ears

We’ve all had that problem of people in the office, at home, down the pub mouthing words at you and they just don’t register. Haven’t we?

Today that was definitely a thing. The clog and clutter in my ears, which I’d been attempting to shift with olive oil and other stuff, shifted. Unfortunately inwards rather than out and the world went largely muffled. My normal hearing is moderate to rubbish but it was getting noticeably worse last weekend when, on a short walk, the birds were clearly justing miming at me rather than singing.

Anyhow, tomorrow – the nurse, the syringe and hopefully birdsong beckon.

Just in time to listen to the great debate – where Ed Miliband will be centre stage and Cameron will once again show why he did everything possible to avoid a head to head with the Labour Leader. After last week’s shuttle diplomacy that passed for a debate-lite, there was a significant, potentially game changing, shift in people’s perception of Ed Miliband as the next PM. When on the same stage – albeit separated by the supporting cast – it will become even more apparent who has the ability and vision to lead the country and who, well, has run out of steam.


Context is everything

In 1995 we went to Ireland on a birding holiday. Just before going we bought new binoculars.

That was 19 years ago. It’s important you understand that. The context is, as I say, everytng.

So here we are on holiday in Norfolk. Mostly birding, but some good food and drink and a bit of culture and shopping. Today we thought we must visit the Birdscapes Art Gallery. Last time we were in Norfolk, 10 years ago according to our notebooks, it was still a project on the drawing board. Now it’s been open for nine years and we intend to give it the benefit of our collective cheque-books. After all, there are still, um, two shopping days to Christmas.

We find the place easily enough – it’s just up the road from us and our satnav gets us there without any difficulty.

But it’s closed. Or, at least, not open yet. But there’s plenty of other stuff to see in their little industrial estate. Including Cley Spey. The optics specialists. You can see where this is heading

We’ve parked in their carpark so it’s only polite to call in.

Cley Spey – “Can we help?”

Me – “No, just browsing until Birdscapes opens.”

Clay Spey – “Doubt if he’s up yet.”

Me – “OK, let’s have a look at those Leica Trinovids then.”

And it was all downhill from there really, ending with, “Why not have look these Ultravid HD?”

They did trade in our 19 year old Leicas, much to our amazement, and gave us a good deal on 8×42 HD Ultravids – now replaced by the new HD plus. We did decide the addition of a mathematical symbol to the name wasn’t worth an extra £400 a pop. But, even so, our bank accounts were substantially lighter than 30 minutes ago.

And now Birdscapes Art Gallery is open – but who cares. We’ve spent our money on bins. So it doesn’t matter how reasonably priced your David Koster’s are. Or that you’ve got cute little ceramic bats to hang on the wall. Or drypoint by Emerson Mayes that Jan had fallen in love with at this year’s SWLA annual exhibition. Or stuff. Don’t think you can get round us just by wrapping it up nicely.

Bugger. How can we ever be rich like this?

And there’s still one shopping day left.

PS – Birdscapes Art Gallery is one of the best wildlife galleries we have seen. It has a range to suit all tastes and most pockets. As we have said it is right next door to Cley Spey and there is a fantastic art cafe selling coffee processed in a neighbouring unit. It’s web-site, however, is shite. But don’t let that put you off. Go. Just not too early in the morning.

Buzzards make late come back

Buzzards make late come back

It’s Christmas.

It’s Norfolk.

Juvenile Rough-legged Buzzard
Juvenile Rough-legged Buzzard

Given that every time we go to Cornwall Jan falls over and breaks something – well twice – we decided that the flat landscape of Norfolk was safer territory this year. After all there is a general election to win, and we can’t play a full part in that from hospital.

Our good friend and wildlife artist, Dan Powell (most of the sentence can be rearranged without too much damage), suggested to us the other week that Kestrels (Falco tinnunculus) were seen less frequently at the roadside verges of Hampshire. We had conjectured that the Common Buzzards (Buteo buteo) which have spread eastwards over recent years have taken their patch on our motorways and byways. So, always up for bit of real science we decided to count them both on our way from Southampton to Cley Next the Sea.

In a four hour drive over 205 miles we saw 18 Kestrels and 16 Buzzards. Oh, and three Red Kite (Milvus milvus). But the interesting thing was that the Buzzards, with the exception of one or two, were all seen in the first two hours of the journey. The Kestrels, with the exception of three or four, were all seen in the second half of the journey. it would certainly seem that these two tend not to share roadside habitat. Of course there are plenty of places where you will see these birds together. But the motorways of the UK may not be one of them.

So today, to try to redress the balance slightly, we went in search of Rough-legged Buzzard (Buteo lagopus) at Burnham Overy Staithe. For those you who care about such things, Staithe is a Middle English word found in the East and North of England from Old Norse ‘stǫth’ meaning ‘landing stage’. This morning we parked up on the hard at Burnham Overy Staithe and ventured out toward the dunes. It was blowing a hooley, and whilst it wasn’t terribly cold the wind chill made it feel like we were three jumpers short of cozy. Anyhow, no sign of buzzards whatever the state of their legs. Unfortunately whilst there were plenty of people about they were hikers, dog-walkers, joggers and people out generally taking the air. But not a binocular between them. No-one looked like they might know the location of the birds in question.

Fortunately the RSPB staffer at the Titchwell reserve did. So on the way back from another chilly walk we stopped at the small car-park just east of Burnham Overy Staithe he recommended. Or, in truth, we stopped in a storage area in a field that we thought was the car park, but hey it was within a mile of where he said. Another birder saw us parking up and drove into the same field. He had an excuse. He was from Toronto and probably thought we knew what we were doing.

Still there was an inviting path. We followed it. There was a gap on the hedge where we three could stand and view the fields and dunes. We stood in it. There was a buzzard. We ticked it. This birding lark is so easy. But wait, no it’s a common buzzard.

But we didn’t have long to wait. Another buzzard hove into view. Noticeably longer winged than the Common Buzzard. Noticeably bigger overall. Noticeably back and white, with a very speckled breast. And then a second bird – another juvenile Rough-legged Buzzard, this one with the slightly, but distinctive, hunched winged gliding shape.

Our man from Toronto was happy – the first he’d seen in England. And we were happy – the first we’d seen this year. And that made the Buzzards the narrow winners over the Kestrels. Assuming the Rough-legged count. Or a narrow win for the Kestrels if they don’t. Almost a score draw in a game of two halves.