Ducking

Garganey is our only summer migrant duck, arriving in small numbers from wintering quarters in Africa, and as well as one of the first spring migrants, it is also one of the most attractive. We had several at Swineham last year but none so far this, so news of one at nearby Longham Lakes saw me heading there yesterday. The bird, a handsome drake, hugged the edge of the South Lake, keeping company with a family of Mallard, the female of which tweaked his tail a couple of times when he got too close to her newly hatched ducklings.

Drake Garganey, Longham Lakes (#137)

I stayed with this bird for a couple of hours as it fed in lakeside vegetation

This one even does impressions: here, the Sydney Opera House...

...and here Mick Jagger

Eventually it did flush when a stoopid poodle type almost jumped on it...

...fortunately it did a circuit and gave a close flypast

A more intimate shot in the vegetation

It was feeding intently but remained alert to passing joggers and dogs

The Garganey was close enough to hear it's distinctive call which is likened to a finger being run across a comb - and a bit like a Ptarmigan being played at the wrong speed, I reckon. Probably the smartest duck of the week, and also the closest, but a good selection of commoner species at Abbotsbury were also pretty obliging during my visit on Good Friday.

Drake Pochard

Drake Shoveler

Drake Wigeon

Drake Teal

Daring to dream

While the focus of this blog is generally faithful to the subjects in the title - 'wildlife', and, to a lesser extent, 'Peter Moore' - I occasionally confess to an interest in football, something of a Marmite subject among birders, I've noticed. Even if you feel about football how I feel about Marmite - i.e. ill-disposed - read on, it's as much a morality tale about loyalty and disappointment as about the beautiful game per se.

Jamming in on the Citrine Wagtail which graced Portland Obs for half a minute on Sunday would have been too much to ask - I was nearby at the Bill where this Pom was some consolation

My references to football are generally in the context of the Wareham Rangers Under-11s for whom my eldest regularly turns out (congratulations to them in their promotion season, by the way, which would have ended with a parental chorus of 'going up as Champions' but for some dubious refereeing decisions at a certain seaside town which shall remain nameless, but about which, being good middle class mums and dads, we had to bite our tongues at the time). Premier League football has never been an all-consuming passion, but out of boyhood loyalty I have followed the progress of Liverpool FC with fluctuating degrees of interest.

You'll never walk alone: not when there is a chance of a good seawatch at the Bill. Most seawatchers were standing in the lee of the lighthouse in a fierce westerly.

Like anyone who supports a team which has ever won anything but isn't from the place where the team is based, I have been accused of being a glory hunter. A bit harsh, as I actually declared my allegiance while lying on the floor of the school playground being punched by the school bully as he demanded to know what team I supported. Our nearest Football League side to the Forest of Dean was probably Bristol Rovers at the time (this was before the heady days of the Cheltenham Town insurgency) but we were brought up to mistrust Bristolians - so impossibly distant and exotic - so I blurted out 'Liverpool' as it was the only other team I'd heard of. While this no doubt had something to do with the fact that they were winning just about everything in the late 1970s, the declaration of support was, in truth, borne more out of ignorance of the alternatives than any transient hunt for glory.

Just the one drake Garganey left at Swineham this weekend having peaked at five last weekend.

Despite constant references to my fickle relationship with Swineham via this medium, loyalty is one of my more enduring faults, so the allegiance to Liverpool has stuck. All was well for the rest of my childhood, perms and mullets notwithstanding, as they continued to sweep all before them. I still have my Umbro replica shirt with Steve Heighway's number 9 on the back (I regarded new signing Dalglish as something of a Johhny Come Lately at the time). Then after the tragedy of Heysel, my enthusiasm waned and I developed other interests, but maintained just enough of an attachment to enjoy the odd highlight. Principal among these was the 2005 Champions League final, which I watched on my own while wife slumbered upstairs with bairn, in a holiday let on the Isles of Scilly where we spent a week in May (birding highlight of the week: Garganey. Yes, it was that bad). Like so many others, I almost switched off at half-time but fortunately persevered to witness one of the great footballing comebacks of all time. If only all 3-3 draws could end so well.

Sedge Warblers continue to entertain around Swineham and Bestwall

Having enough to be neurotic about these days, I try to avoid getting emotionally involved in Liverpool's prospects, but this season it all started to look on again, and, at the risk of resurrecting the glory hunter accusation, I inexorably got more and more bothered about the chance of them winning the Premier League. Predictably it all ended in tears yesterday. Thus was learnt a valuable lesson in daring to dream which I shall be passing on to Wareham Rangers Under-12s right-back before he gets too carried away about next season's prospects. At least I didn't post anything prematurely triumphalist when they were 5 points clear. And at least with birding there is usually some consolation even if you don't secure the big prize, as a trip to Portland proved this weekend.


The pits are alive....

...with the sound of music. Apart from an amusing diversion to Portland on Bank Holiday Monday, my birding over the long weekend was dominated by warbler song around Wareham. Reed Warblers were the most numerous, with 47 singing males around the perimeters of the Bestwall reserve and the main gravel pit at Swineham.

Sedge Warbler: the song is often said to have a jazzy feel compared to the more rhythmic percussion of Reed Warbler. This one was also indulging in some enthusiastic song-flight.

Reed Warbler: last week most of the singing Reed Warblers remained unseen. This week they were more showy - perhaps getting a bit more desperate among the fierce competition at Bestwall.

Reed Warbler - backlit in the early morning light at Bestwall



Male Blackcap

Next most numerous among the warblers was Cetti's, one of our rarest nationally. 20 of these noisy chaps had me jumping out of my skin with their aggressive blasts from largely unseen songposts. Sedgies seem to be having a good year (11 singing males), while a few Blackcap (6), Chifchaffs (3) and singles of Whitethroat and Willow Warbler added variety.

Cetti's Warbler - defying the Cetti's Warbler rulebook by giving any view at all

Whimbrel

Reed Bunting also numerous at the moment - 10 singing males around Swineham



This Long-tailed Tit was not long out of the nest

Warblers weren't the only interest on the patch though: a pair of Whimbrel defied the Whimbrel rule-book by flying conveniently over-head for some photos; the first Swifts of the year entertained with screaming displays; and trios of Garganey and Egyptian Goose added a touch of class and trash respectively.

A touch of class: two of three drake Garganey I saw at Swineham this weekend

And a touch of trash: Egyptian Geese at Swineham

I fancied finding a rare heron in the reedbeds this weekend - but Grey Heron and Little Egret were the only ones in evidence.

All in all a timely reminder of my good fortune in having all this on the doorstep. And probably the best bird of the weekend went unseen by me, but was heard by some of the Poole Harbour night-owls: a Spotted Crake singing in the Wareham area. Best not to ask what they were doing out at that time of night...

I don't know my snails but this one has some intricate markings

Sedge Warbler

New arrivals

Spring migrants continue to arrive - those that haven't been needlessly slain in Malta, that is - click here for details of the problem there and what you can do about it. If the Nightingales which return to Dorset to breed in small numbers every year follow a similar route to this one tagged with a geolocator a few years ago, they don't have to go through Malta, so that's at least one peril they don't have to face.

Nightingale

Nightingale

When I lived in Kent we had some healthy colonies nearby and competing males singing almost constantly throughout the day could be almost showy, particularly early in the breeding season. Not so in Dorset, where there are just a few small colonies, and where any view is a good view. An early start took me to one of the traditional sites where an unusually visible male had a melodic duel with a nearby rival.

Not quite the repertoire of a Nightingale, but always nice to hear Yellowhammer

Another male Yellowhammer

Garganey, our only summer visiting duck, is another migrant to get the pulse racing. So a report of three drakes on the patch at Swineham saw me hot-footing it down there last night in a race against the weather and the twilight, which I just about won. Fortunately they weren't on the distant floods which those who saw them insist on calling 'the Stilt pools' (grrr) but on the much closer ones next to the main path.

Female Blackcap

Male Bullfinch

Twitching this trio deprived me of the opportunity to sit poolside in 40 degree temperatures surrounded by the shrill echo of parental encouragement as various children, including my own, performed at a swimming gala. They did well, and while I was sad to dip out on that, I'm sure there will be other opportunities. There were not to be for the Garganey, which had moved on by the time I dragged my own little dabblers back down to Swineham this morning.

Stonechat are well into their breeding routine - this is the male

And this the female

Speaking of new arrivals, we had a couple ourselves today. Not human ones, I hasten to add - even I would have mentioned that higher up the post - para 2 at least. No, I have been under pressure to accede to getting a family pet for some time. I agreed to stick insects but these weren't cuddly enough apparently. A cat was clearly out of the question, and, having stepped in too many of their by-products over the years, so was a dog.

Garganey at Swineham

You wait for ages...

Fearing another veto, the rest of the family decided to not even consult me about the latest acquisitions - and so today arrived a pair of Guinea Pigs, donated by friends who presumably have enough to eat. At least they are quiet, don't need walking, keep the grass to a nice short sward and are sufficiently low maintenance to not get in the way of birding. Plus, being the long-haired variety, they look like they might come in handy when I get home from Swineham and my mud-caked wellies need a shine. In conclusion, about as tolerable as possessing a rodent could be. 

Raptors were also on the wing this weekend around Purbeck - Peregrine

A Buzzard was making off with some kind of rodent. Guinea Pig?

Whitethroat - many now back on territory

 

Another Nightingale...

After yesterday's success with Nightingale (see post for 23 April), the last thing I expected on the walk from home on Poole Quay to Upton Country Park today was a singing Nightingale. But as I approached the viewing screen on the west side of Holes Bay, a short blast of unmistakable song gave its presence away. I wasn't able to get a look at it, but put the news out and others did manage to see and hear it later. A pair of Wheatear, Raven (pictured) and Stock Dove added further interest, and in a return visit in the evening a drake Garganey (bottom picture) was also present.

Garganey at Longham

I located the pair of Garganey reported at Longham Lakes today within minutes of arriving as they hugged the edge of the eastern-most lake. A jogger with dog accessory flushed them (see flight shot) but fortunately they re-settled near the bank in the south-east corner of the lake where the top picture was taken.