Grizzled and Dingy on the Downs

The words 'Grizzled' and 'Dingy' may not conjure up the most cheerful of images but the recent sunshine and warmth have seen an emergence of the Skippers which go by these names - enough, I would suggest, to lift any spirits. I was able to spend some time this week with both species, along with other butterflies and day-flying moths, on Fontmell and Melbury Downs, two of Dorset's finest.

Grizzled Skipper on Fontmell Down

A lot prettier than the name suggests

Dingy Skipper - a little more understated, I grant you, but 'Dingy' still seems a bit harsh

Who doesn't love an Orange Tip?



Commoner than the Skippers but no less welcome was this Green-veined White



The battered wing suggests that this Peacock has had a close shave with a would-be predator

Day-flying moths were also in evidence on the Downs, including some attractive micros. I wasn't carrying the scholarly works of Messrs Sterling, Parsons and Lewington to help with the ID, though I took the precaution of having the first one of them with me in person, which made the task a little easier!

Small Purple-barred - a day-flying macro-moth

Another Small Purple-barred - though much easier to see how it gets its name from this one

A very striking micro - Pyrausta purpuralis

The closely related Pyrausta nigrata

Ancylis unculana

There was too much to look at on the ground to look up much, but when I did this Red Kite was a handsome reward

A fine show of Bluebells in many Dorset woodlands at the moment

While I try to avoid being a camera gear-bore on these pages, a few people have asked me how I am getting on with my newish Canon 100-400mm Mk II zoom lens, so if you don't want to know, look away now. I bought it largely because I figured the closer focus (about 3 feet compared to about 10 for the 400mm f5.6) and zoom range would give me more versatility for a wider range of subjects, particularly smaller subjects, compared to my old 400mm. I like to travel reasonably light so having the flexibility to shoot distant and close subjects, of all sizes, without the need to carry around a second lens or a macro, was an important consideration.

I was already pleased with the results I was getting for bird photography with it over the autumn and winter, but this is its first spring, and after a bit of a poor summer last year which restricted the scope for insect photography, I have now been able to start putting it through its paces on a wider range of subjects than was possible with my old lens. Compared to that, I have to say it's quicker, just as sharp and the Image Stabiliser does seem to give the equivalent of a few extra stops of light, especially in darker conditions.

I have also been quite pleased with how it performs as an alternative to a macro lens, the closer focus compared to the 400mm being the key to this. Being a long zoom lens, good sized images of smaller subjects are possible without getting too close or disturbing them. Clearly, as you can see from some of these images, it was never going to be as good as a proper macro, and it's also a lot heavier (the Canon guarantee could have included neckache!). But if you like to photograph a variety of subjects, and only want to carry one lens around over your shoulder without a tripod, my conclusion is that you could do a lot worse than this. So if anyone is out there with their finger hovering over the 'Buy now' button of a consumer electronics website, I hope this helps!

 

 

 

Because I'm worth it

One of the benefits of working like a dog recently has been a few more pennies in the savings jar, enough at least for me to feel able to spoil myself with a new Canon 7D Mark II and 100-400mm f4.5-5.6 II zoom lens. First impressions of both are pretty good.

The most obvious improvements to the camera compared to the original 7D are the reduced grain at higher ISO ratings (and the increased upper limit at 16000 ISO), the ability to set the ISO range (thus giving a minimum as well as a maximum ISO), a faster high speed burst (10 frames per second compared to 8 for the old 7D), and the ability to shoot onto SD and CF cards (and both at the same time, if you want an instant back-up). Best of all, there is a release button on the main dial to stop you accidentally switching modes - the absence of this has cost me some good shots in the past.


This Willow Warbler was photographed out of the car window at an inconvenient angle in imperfect light - f5.6, ISO640 and a shutter speed of 1/500th of a second.

A distant Buzzard (f5.6, 1/500th, ISO500, handheld)

House Sparrow in the gloom at Llanuwchllyn station on the Bala Lake Railway - I was impressed with how little grain there was at ISO4000 (f5.6, 1/500th, handheld)

The only down sides so far are the loss of the AF area selection mode from the 'Quick' menu (though it's easy enough to do on the back of the camera) and the shorter battery life (though that's probably got more to do with the Image stabiliser on the new lens than the camera itself). Focusing is said to be a big improvement as well on the 7D Mk II and while I haven't tested that sufficiently yet to verify, there were certainly a few more 'keepers' in sequences of flyover Ravens and Peregrines than I would have expected from the 7D.

Peregrine over the garden of our temporary home in Snowdonia (f5.6, 1/4000th, ISO400, handheld)

Raven fly-past (f5.6, 1/1000th, ISO400, handheld)

Red Kite in horrible light, not far from our holiday home (f5.6, 1/1250th, ISO400, Exposure comp +2, handheld)

As for the lens, well it appears as sharp, if not sharper, and as quick, if not quicker, than my trusty 400mm f5.6. The Image Stabiliser provides the equivalent of a few extra stops of light, useful for my usual m.o. of hand holding the lens rather than relying on a tripod. Part of my thinking in getting this lens was that, as well as needing a second good lens if and when the 400mm keels over, as it has done a couple of times in its 5 year life, I wanted a bit more versatility for insects and landscapes without changing lenses, and the 100-400 range certainly gives that. The close focus - about 3ft compared to 10ft with the old 400mm f5.6 - promises to open up a new world of possibilities, making it virtually a macro without the hassle of an additional lens, and without having to scrabble around on my hands and knees to take pictures of small critters.

Annoyingly, with my new lens making more decent photographs of insects possible, I will now have to start identifying bees. But for now, here is a bee sp. Zoom down at 100mm, f4.5, 1/800th, ISO400, handheld.

Ditto, Hoverfly sp. x 2. f5.6, 1/640th, ISO640, handheld.

And a Meadow Brown in close-up. The combination of zoom and close-focus meant I was nowhere near flushing the butterfly but could still get a reasonable close-up. F5.6, 1/640th, ISO500, handheld.

Weight was my only real concern about the new lens - it is quite a bit heavier than the 400mm, but having invested in a new comfy sling strap at the same time, I can't say I am noticing much difference at the moment. Ask me how it feels after a birdless slog around Swineham, and I might view it differently, we'll see. But there is always the monopod option if it gets too much.

Given that it's just a lump of metal and glass, I feel strangely guilty about forsaking the old 400mm lens, though it will certainly not be retired just yet. It can just have a little rest. Like I am at the moment, in a dreamy cottage with under floor heating in Snowdonia, a holiday destination selected after I was inspired by the landscapes we passed en route to twitching the Cretzschmar's Bunting on Bardsey. And yes, I know one is not supposed to post whilst away from home as it lets burglars know you are not there. It's OK, though, we have guard guinea pigs. And, almost as fierce, my sister-in-law house sitting.

A harrowing twitch

And a long post, for which I make no apologies: writing this blog is sufficiently therapeutic to have become something of a psychiatrist's couch for me. And after yesterday, I needed a long lie down. The reason being a Cretzschmar's Bunting, an extremely rare vagrant from south eastern Europe and the Mediterranean. It was found on Bardsey Island off the coast of North Wales last Wednesday and performed erratically for a few days before appearing to settle into a routine which involved visiting seed put out in the island's lighthouse compound. It was reported as doing so every 60-90 minutes, opening up the realistic prospect of twitching this highly desirable rarity. Logistics were to prove the main obstacle as Bardsey is serviced by a small, unbookable boat with a capacity of 12, and as interest in seeing the bird grew, it became apparent that a long journey and an uncomfortable night queueing under the stars would provide no guarantee of a place on the boat.

Cretzschmar's Bunting, Bardsey Island - a monster bird and my 200th species photographed in Britain in 2015  

There was no way I and many others were willing to travel such a distance only to find I was the 13th person in line for a 12-seater boat, and I had all but written it off when, on Tuesday, a small, independent, Buckinghamshire-based travel agency called LGRE stepped in to inject some organisation into the potential chaos. The agent himself was extremely efficient, if a little eccentric, and after talking me through my options so I could check them out with my would-be travelling companions, when I was eventually able to get through again late on Tuesday evening (his phone was ringing off the hook at this point) I was able to book three seats for us on the last scheduled boat for Friday, the 7th of 7 going that day.

The White eye-ring, dark rusty orange underparts and throat patch, and lead grey head and upper breast distinguish Cretzschmar's from the closely related Ortolan.

With admirable transparency, he also published the names of travellers online, potentially embarrassing anyone anticipating being 'sick' or otherwise planning to be absent without leave from other commitments. I hasten to add I had a legitimate day's holiday booked and permission to go as an early Father's Day treat - a welcome change from the usual Father's Day principle that you have to do what people think you should want to do, rather than what you actually want to do.

The Ctretzschmar's fed on seeds among the concrete pads around the lighthouse

My travelling companions, Brett and Andy, were drawn from the small pool of regulars I have come to enjoy teaming up with. With Brett safely gathered in the dark from Weymouth, we collected Andy from a layby near the M5 as the sun rose. It looked like the sort of place which might see twilight gatherings of adults intent on nefarious activities which rhyme with 'jogging'. This set the tone for our conversation for the journey, which was enlivened by the sort of scurrilous chat which punctuates talk of plumages, favourite birds and comparison of lists on a long twitch, at least when I am involved. No-one escaped the butt of our outrageous exchanges: friends, families and each other; governments, corporations and their leaders; Next Generation Birders, retired birders and birders richer, and therefore more able to twitch distant rarities, than us. So if your ears were burning yesterday, apologies, no offence was intended.

A more substantial bird that the local Linnets as this picture shows

The journey itself was a pleasure - we opted for the scenic route over the new Severn Bridge, via Abergavenny, Three Cocks (no sniggering at the back), Builth Wells, Rhayader and Dolgellau towards Pwllheli. This took us through two National Parks where we could admire the hulking whale backs of the Brecon Beacons and the rugged peaks of Snowdonia, either side of the rolling Kite country of Powys. It was a reminder of the natural beauty of Wales, a beauty which was even easier to appreciate when an early tweet confirmed that the Cretzschmar's Bunting was still present, and a Red Kite kinked its tail at us as it flew low over the car in a sumptuously wooded valley.

Manx Shearwater, photographed on the short crossing to Bardsey

Traffic was mercifully light, and the journey enlivened by the realisation that my old satnav sounds just like Nigel Farage. 'Turn right to avoid Europe', I imagined it saying. We enjoyed the passing landscape and amused ourselves by asking Brett to read out the printed directions to the site, which included a Welsh place name with ten letters but only one vowel. A challenge at which he baulked, but to which Nigel the satnav rose open-mindedly and admirably.

Grey Seals were loafing near the quay on Bardsey

Birders had been advised to arrive at least an hour early as in the event of any 'no shows', the empty places could be allocated to those next in line on LGRE's list. We did so, and when news filtered through that one party had broken down en route, we found ourselves bumped up to the 1130 instead of a 1230 crossing. My reaction to hearing of this hapless crew's misfortune - punching the air - was, with hindsight, ungallant and shameful. I hope they got it sorted and saw the Bunting. The happy faces of those who had already done so greeted us as they disembarked Colin Evans' little yellow boat, and they gave us tips on viewing along with wishes of luck and assurances that we would all connect with our target. And so we boarded full of optimism, buoyed further by the sight of Manx Shearwaters, Puffins and other auks fizzing around the boat as we approached Bardsey. The island itself had a rugged beauty, and we hoped for a quick result with the Bunting to allow time for us to explore it at leisure.

A pair of colour-ringed Chough greeted us on our return to Port Meudwy (#201)

This was where the plan started to come apart. We arrived at the lighthouse just after 1200 and got in position. But for the wail of a mega alert on someone's pager, bearing news of a Cedar Waxwing on Scilly, the crowd stood silently, communicating only in whispers, not wishing to do anything to spook the bird should it appear. After an hour, despite no sign, we remained chipper. Optimists assured us it was 'due in', but they obviously hadn't told the wildlife. After two hours, we were starting to look nervously at our watches. And after three, we were severely doubting not just our chances of seeing the bird but our sanity for pursuing such a ridiculous passion. Earlier in the week, before we had plans to travel to see the bird, we all confessed to secretly hoping that the thing we most desired - a Cretzschmar's Bunting - would just leave so we wouldn't have to worry about it. Once plans were confirmed, we wanted nothing more than for it to stay. Now, to have made it to Bardsey and not see the bird, having missed it by less than an hour, was difficult to take.

They were agitated by a pair of passing Raven

It was also time for our own ears to burn after several hours in the baking sun. The forecast had predicted a cloudy day but the sun beat down on us with increasing ferocity as we were forced to stand shoulder to shoulder against a small wooden shack which seemed to reflect the heat onto our backs. My bag with lunch and sunblock in was just around the corner, but I dared not move to fetch it lest the Bunting appeared. My throat dried, my stomach started to consume itself, my back and calves screamed for relief, but there was no respite. It was like a scene out of Tenko. (For any NGBers reading this, that was a 1980s TV show about a Japanese POW camp in which sadistic guards cooked up cruel and unusual punishments for the inmates, like making them stand up against wooden shacks without sustenance in the baking sun). Had the warden walked past in a goose-step and spat water in our faces it would have been wholly in keeping with the scene.

Plenty of calling and flying around ensued

With about an hour to go before our boat, a report of the Bunting being seen further up the island and heading our way lifted spirits briefly, but after another half-hour of no sign they had dropped to a new low - the thought of leaving knowing it was present but not being able to see it was somehow worse than it not being there at all. The usual practice in such circumstances - spread out and look - was not an option as we all diligently followed the on-site requests to stay put and not go searching among sensitive island habitats, and risk flushing the bird to who knows where. 

Several other Chough were also seen on Bardsey

I glanced nervously at the faces of the other two. Brett's had turned redder than a tomato as the minutes ticked by - mainly sunburn, augmented by frustration as he has history with North Wales, having dipped Black Lark and Sooty Tern. He was particularly distressed at the prospect of this unwelcome hat-trick. Andy's visage was ashen, and when I caught his eye the look in it said what we were all thinking: 'not good'. As for my own, I suspect it was green, sick with the thought that our efforts had come to this, and that our luck could have been so rotten to have missed the bird by such a fine margin.

Mr Mears photographs the Bardsey scenery

We knew that we had to leave at 1545 for our 1600 boat, and as the clock ticked 1530 I finally accepted that we were going to dip. I sent my good friend Steve a text to this effect, which fate and Vodafone conspired not to send. As I put the phone back in my pocket, a quiet voice beside me said 'there it is, at the back'. And there it was, at the back. Panic. Bins. Camera. Shaking. A quick look through Andy's scope. A truly beautiful bird. The time stamp on my camera confirms I took the first frame at 1532, and the last as it flew away at 1535.

Mr Tomato Head offers his considered opinion on twitching North Wales

No sooner had it gone than it was time to head to the quay for our boat. We walked the first few hundred yards in stunned silence. Our nerves were shredded. There was none of the usual backslapping, congratulating and not even, at that point, a sense of relief. Just confused, shocked, 'what just happened there?' silence. It was broken by Andy who brilliantly voiced thoughts which were running through my head but which I could not articulate: 'That was like just avoiding a really bad car crash: too awful to laugh about'. We laughed anyway, and I was struck by an attack of verbal diarrhoea - my way of coping, I think, with the torturous experience we had just been through.

Mr Evans (Colin) comes to rescue us from an afternoon of emotional torment

Of course it wasn't literally torture, it was 'just a bird', and it was entirely our choice to go and look for it knowing there was no guarantee of seeing it. But our near failure to do so hit us surprisingly hard, and it took the revitalising effects of fish and chips in Rhayader to get us back to being anything like our old selves. Until then, Brett had been deep in thought, having flashbacks to the Black Lark, I think. Andy was convinced we were going round in circles, having seen several brown signs for the same nature reserve (we had to explain that the name of the nature reserve he kept seeing was in fact the Welsh translation of 'nature reserve' on the bi-lingual signs). Even Nigel the satnav seemed to have lost it, taking us round in actual circles in Builth Wells, where we would still be now had we not ignored him to consult a map. 'Perform a U-turn when possible' he barked, in defiance of his Thatcherite heritage.

Guillemots and Razorbill breed around the cliffs of Bardsey

So, were we lucky or unlucky to get our 3 minute view in exchange for our 23 hour round trip? While earlier in the day I had been cursing my luck, by the end of it I think I had realised how we had benefitted from several major slices of it. For example, while we thought getting an earlier boat would be a good thing, as most sailings provided a maximum of 3 hours on the island it almost cost us seeing the bird - fortunately, a quirk in the schedule gave us the crucial 4th hour on Bardsey during which the Bunting appeared.

Red Kites adorn the 'Welcome to Powys' road signs - we saw several there

But perhaps the biggest piece of luck was the fact that the bird was there at all. It has to go at some point, and everyone who gets to see it, however briefly, can consider themselves fortunate to have set eyes on this exquisite species in Britain. Thanks to the meticulous records kept by the travel agency, by Friday night I could count myself among 457 lucky souls who had done so. And on the subject of thanks, big ones must go to the team at the observatory, Colin the boatman, Lee Evans for organising the list and Andy and Brett for their company. May we never have to twitch another elusive island rarity again. Cedar Waxwing, anyone?

Chough, Port Meudwy

The lighthouse around whose base the Bunting was feeding. We watched from
beside the grey building bottom left.

Greater Butterfly Orchid on the path to Port Meudwy

Has the Eagle landed?

Well either Dorset birders are having a collective hallucination or the Short-toed Eagle is back. Four possible/probable reports this week, all within a short glide, as the eagle flies, of last year's initial location of Morden Bog. Had a quick scoot around looking for it tonight without success so here are a few almost forgotten photo year-ticks picked up on my travels in recent weeks to compensate - almost forgotten either because of the common-ness of the subject or the crap-ness of the photo.

Common Tern, Lodmoor, Dorset (#195)

Turtle Dove, Frampton Marsh, Lincs (#196)

Goshawk in the Brecks (#197)

Red Kite, Dorset (#198)

So, we're getting close to #200. Could it be the STE?

Multi-coloured kites

I had not visited Gigrin Farm in Powys since 'going digital' so took the opportunity of a day trip to see the long-staying Black Kite and many Red Kites (including a leucistic 'white' bird). Also caught up with Dipper and Goosander in the Elan Valley. A glorious day on arrival and departure, dampened only slightly by a couple of hours of overcast weather either side of Kite feeding time. In the circumstances I was pleased with this Red Kite shot taken at 1/500th second. For more photos of the Black and Red Kites click here.