The closing stages

After success last weekend adding Storm Petrel and Spotted Sandpiper to the non-motorised year list, I managed a couple more year ticks in the weekend just gone. Best was a Snow Bunting at Studland but I also made the effort to get down to Weymouth in the hope of seeing a lingering Ferruginous Duck - it didn't appear, but consolation came with my first Red-throated Diver of the year, keeping company with a couple of Great Northerns way out in a flat calm Weymouth Bay.

Snow Bunting, Studland

Snow Bunting, Studland

At this time of year, with not many weeks left until 2023 draws to a close, and the chances of getting out on the bike before or after work pretty much eliminated by the lengthening nights, thoughts inevitably turn to the number on which the non-motorised year list might land by the time 31st December comes around. The Diver brought my 2023 tally to 214 species travelling under my own steam, exactly half way between the 210 I had seen by the same date in 2021 and the figure of 218 I had reached by this point in 2022. 

Snow Bunting, Studland

Snow Bunting, Studland

But in 2021 I had a belting end to the year, picking up scarcities/rarities like Red-necked Grebe, Little Auk, Black-throated Diver, Pallas's Warbler, Velvet Scoter, Hawfinch, Ferruginous Duck, Tundra Bean Goose, White-fronted Goose and Cirl Bunting. The good birds kept coming and everything I went for fell into place. By contrast, last year, from this point on, all I could manage was a bit of low hanging fruit (Water Pipit, Woodcock, Jack Snipe), a Snow Bunting and an American Wigeon over the border in Hampshire.  

Snow Bunting, Studland

Snow Bunting, Studland

So whether 2023 closes on a high will very much depend on whether it ends like last year or the year before. Most of those 2021 scarcities (except Cirl Bunting and Velvet Scoter which I saw in January) remain absent from this year's list, and there remains some low-hanging fruit to be plucked in the form of Jack Snipe, Bittern and Black-throated Diver. The Whooper Swan and grey geese which turned up during a cold snap late in 2021 and which stuck around into 2022 have not materialised thus far in 2023, and my seawatching efforts have also had mixed fortunes - Sooty Shearwater and Storm Petrel were full-fat 'bike ticks'; but I haven't been able to muster any skuas other than Arctic, nor a Leach's Petrel, Sabine's Gull, Little Auk or Iceland Gull. 

Snow Bunting, Studland

Snow Bunting footprints in the sand

So my own record of 224 is certainly not unassailable - but it's going to need a cold snap, or some big storms, and probably both, to get there. With the extreme weather being seen globally and locally, it's possible - though I'm certainly not willing that to happen (well, except for perhaps the cold snap of a 'normal' winter), and would happily see the list stick on 214 in exchange for a stable climate!

Red-throated Diver in Weymouth Bay against the backdrop of the Jurassic Coast

A weekend of plenty

My local patch at Swineham was inaccessible this weekend due to flooding, providing the perfect excuse to neglect it once again for more exotic locations. In truth I had no intention of heading out on Saturday morning, so poor was the forecast. But when local news came through from Shaun Robson that Storm Petrels were passing him at Branksome I started to reconsider. A phone call from Jol Mitchell offering a lift to Durlston was politely declined - if I was going to head for the coast it would have to be by bike.

Spotted Sandpiper, Studland

Spotted Sandpiper, Studland

When unusual seabird movements are taking place on the Dorset coast, time can be of the essence - witness the massive movement of Cory's and Great Shearwaters recently which was over in a morning and therefor completely passed me by due to work commitments. With this in mind I decided to head for Peveril Point in Swanage from where local birder James Leaver had seen storm driven Leach's Petrels earlier in the week. Not only would this spare me the punishing climb up to Durlston Head, it would knock about 15 minutes off the journey to maximise my time sea-watching.  

Spotted Sandpiper, Studland

Spotted Sandpiper, Studland

Heading east would also mean the strong wind would be sort of behind me, hastening progress to the coast. Foresaking a shower and breakfast I was away in no time. I'd gone less than 2 miles when the heavens opened and despite wearing a waterproof jacket and trousers, reached the drowned rat stage of events within minutes. I thought 'maybe this isn't such a good plan' - but the mental image of Storm Petrels struggling against the wind in precisely these squally showers drove me on. Another extreme cloud burst near the half-way point at Corfe Castle forced me into a bus shelter, but I could see brightness behind it and pressed on as soon as it had cleared.

Spotted Sandpiper, Studland

Spotted Sandpiper, Studland

Shelter at Peveril Point is provided by a coastguard tower on the clifftop, so I set up scope, wrapped up warm and hoped for the best. Within 10 minutes I had seen my first European Storm Petrel. A couple more distant birds followed, so distant that I was unsure about the ID at first, but on reflection they were almost certainly also the same species. I phoned local birder Steve Smith between the 3rd and 4th birds and he joined me shortly after. With superior optics he picked out a few more Storm Petrels and while two birds were sometimes on view at one point, we couldn't quite be sure whether we were seeing a steady stream of different birds or the same few birds heading south, then landing on the sea before drifting back north only to try again a bit later to push around the Point but not quite making it.

Knot, Studland

Knot, Studland

Try as we might we couldn't find a Leach's, though three were seen from nearby Durlston Head - but given the conditions required to bring them to inshore waters, any species of Storm Petrel was always going to be a prized addition to the bike list. I went home contented and despite a headwind, stayed mercifully dry for the full 11 mile journey.   

Sandwich Tern, Peveril Point

Kittiwake, Peveril Point

I felt I'd earnt a lie in this morning but tea and toast were rudely interrupted by a phone call from Steve relaying news of a probable Spotted Sandpiper at Studland, found by top Dorset bird photographer Mark Wright, and identified from his photos by Paul Morton, who was on the way back to Dorset from a wedding up north. 

The Storm Petrels at Peveril Point were too far out to photograph - but I tried anyway

A pattering Storm Petrel off Peveril Point (honest!)

By the time the bike was packed and ready to roll it was already 0950, and I started to worry that the chances of a rare shorebird not being flushed by Studland's massed ranks of dog walkers were pretty slim, particularly on a sunny Sunday morning. The flooded causeway just south of Wareham was still passable by cycling on the raised pavement, so with this hurdle cleared I quickened my pace, reducing the normal journey time of 60 minutes to 50, and arrived at Bramble Bush Bay where a short line of birders with telescopes pointed in the direction of the Sandpiper. Initially out of view, it soon wandered out onto the beach where we enjoyed good views for an hour until the inevitable dog walkers ignored our pleas to give it a wide berth and flushed it around the corner and out of sight. 

This was the cue for lunch, but a scan of Studland Bay from Middle Beach over a pie with Phil Saunders - reprising the theme of our recent birding trip on Shetland - failed to produce anything more than a few Brent Geese, so I headed back to Bramble Bush Bay for another look at the Spotted Sandpiper. I was hoping the light would be a bit kinder than the harsh side-light of the morning and so it was. I got a few more record shots before retracing my steps to Wareham and adding the latest rarity to the notebook, bringing my non-motorised yearlist to 212 and non-motorised life list to 266.

White's Thrush: the rematch

On the final day of my Shetland trip this time last year I had frustratingly poor flight views through misted spectacles of my first White's Thrush as it tazzed around Clickimin Loch in torrential rain. By the end of that day my clothes were wet through and my camera had packed up, as a result of which White's Thrush remained one of about a dozen birds I have seen but never photographed.

White's Thrush, Bressay, 5th October

The discovery of another on Bressay on the afternoon of 4th October this year saw us heading out from our accommodation on Muckle Roe well before dawn on the morning of the 5th. The early start was necessary to get in pole position for the first ferry from Lerwick, which can carry only about 20 cars, at 0715. The plan seemed to work as we were the 6th vehicle in the queue, comfortably near the front. We then had to suffer an interminable wait for the ferry, particularly as Shetland Council in its wisdom doesn't open the public toilets in its largest metropolis until 0730, adding an additional layer of stress for the middle-aged men among us who were already clenching at the very thought of seeing a White's Thrush.

White's Thrush, Bressay, 5th October

Having just about managed to avoid soiling the quayside, the next stomach-churning moment came on attempting to board: despite being near the front of the queue, the callow youth waving cars onto the ferry appeared to ignore conventional lane discipline and beckon vehicles from the 2nd and 3rd ranks of parked cars to squeeze as many as possible onto the vessel. Just as we were about to mutiny, he summoned us forth to occupy the last remaining space on deck, thus avoiding what I believe is known in those parts as an almighty stramash.

White's Thrush, Bressay, 5th October

We disembarked and joined the small convoy of vehicles making the short journey to the dense plantation at Gorie, where the White's Thrush was last seen the night before. After an unnecessarily brisk yomp up to the plantation, the assembled birders formed an orderly line outside the wood awaiting advice from the finders, Gareth and Kevin Clements, who were staying on Bressay, on the best way to view the bird. They offered to go in to the plantation to search for it, a proposal which met with agreement from all present as a free-for-all would surely have sent the bird high-tailing it to who knows where.

White's Thrush, Bressay, 5th October

After a few traverses of the plantation, the Clements's reported no sign of the bird, and it looked like our early start had been in vain. Then a shout went up to our left, and the unmistakable shape of a large, black-and-gold-spangled Zoothera loomed over the edge of the plantation and banked to reveal the distinctive black and white underwing pattern. There were smiles and appreciative noises all round as the early morning gamble had paid off.

Magpie - first for Bressay - rarer than White's Thrush on Shetland!

The view of the Thrush had been excellent but too brief for a photograph, so we re-positioned ourselves on the other side of the plantation between the trees and the garden of the cottage where the Clements's were staying as the previous day the bird had been commuting between the two locations. I treated myself to a new Canon R7 last Christmas but it had let me down a few times when attempting flight photography, so today I came armed with my trusty 7D MkII and 400mm lens combination. This is the set up I carry on my bike as it's more robust than the R7 and 100-400mm zoom lens, but I had a feeling my only shot at capturing the Thrush on camera would be in flight and that, if so, the old gear wouldn't let me down.

Black Guillemot from the Bressay Ferry, 5th October

Eventually the Thrush burst out of the garden towards the plantation, giving a long, parallel fly-past, long enough for the camera to lock on for a series of record shots, two of which were reasonably sharp, albeit at high ISO. I was pleased to have got anything on it to be honest, and spent most of the rest of the day singing the praises of my old lens and admiring the grainy flight shot which had the feel of an old school rarity photo from back in the day. 

Guillemot from the Bressay Ferry, 5th October

Further excitement was caused when a Magpie landed in the plantation and then on the roof of the cottage - a first for Bressay and a much rarer bird on Shetland than White's Thrush. With birders still arriving we concluded it was unlikely we would get a better view and headed back to the mainland where a Common Rosefinch at Billister could only muster the title of the 3rd best bird of the day.

This Common Rosefinch took off just as I pressed the shutter - Billister, 5th October