My jam jar overfloweth

A brief visit home between holidays sans famille on Wednesday meant I could indulge in a walk around Swineham and a Chinese takeaway. The first of these was pretty good, adding a drake Garganey and Black-necked Grebe to my patch list and the number of birds I've seen within walking distance of home - a rare double these days. Both birds had been found by Marcus at the weekend and while I was doubtful they would await my return, my run of jamming in appeared to be continuing. Still a few Wigeon, Teal, Shoveler and Tufties on the gravel pits, and after that it would have seemed wrong to have crispy duck for supper, so I eschewed it in favour of an untickable but palatable sweet and sour chicken. But after three consecutive posts based on jam, the jar had to run out eventually - and so it did today as I started a short holiday in Cornwall to hear that a pair of Black-winged Stilts were on the patch. Doh!

A Little Gull on the pits was the third good bird of the evening.

A terrible photo - but summer plumaged Black-necked Grebe is a glamour bird for Swineham so any picture will do.

 

Another dollop of jam

Last year I made a habit of arriving at the scene of a rare bird sighting just hours after it had vanished or suffered an untimely death. This year, I seem to be catching up with them just before they disappear. Which I must admit is preferable.

Red-rumped Swallows have a habit of turning up in Dorset the minute my back is turned so it was no surprise one was found at Lodmoor the morning after I headed off for a long weekend in Devon. I headed back to Dorset early enough on Tuesday to look for it before work more in hope than expectation. On arrival I had the good fortune to bump into the finder Daragh Croxson who gave me the low down on its routine and minutes later it was swooping, hovering and chattering low over my head in brilliant early morning light. I couldn't stay long but the few pictures I took came out OK. A very characterful bird, which had gone within a couple of hours of my departure.

Beer with a large helping of jam

We're spending the weekend with the extended family in South Devon (one house, eight grown-ups, five children, several degrees of mayhem) so Claire picked me up after work on Friday night to head off. Checking the pager before leaving I could see that a Great Spotted Cuckoo had spent the afternoon on Beer Head. Barely a detour from our planned route, and after a sweaty canter, I arrived in its chosen field to jam in on it sitting in a hedge where it had apparently spent the previous couple of hours. 20 minutes later the sun went behind a cloud and it dropped into the hedge and it had not been seen again at the time of writing.

 

On good form(osa)

Lest further proof were needed that my family comes before birding (apparently, there are still some doubters out there), I must start by pointing out that I did not ditch Claire on Mother's Day to twitch the Baikal Teal in Cambridgeshire. And she's not even my Mother. Having spent the weekend tending to her every need it was back to work on Monday, followed by further slaving away on Tuesday, before I could book a day's leave yesterday in the hope of catching up with the Teal.

Drake Baikal Teal Anas formosa. It was like a composite of the best bits of a load of other good birds: elongated scapulars like a Garganey; the vertical white stripe on the fore-flank like a Green-winged Teal...

...and the long white crown stripes meeting at the back of the head like a Cream-coloured Courser. As for the teardrop below the eye, it's just pure Alice Cooper.

Jol Mitchell had agreed to co-pilot and we arrived at Fen Drayton RSPB shortly after 0800. Jol and I have a (so far) successful record of twitching together but a more neurotic and indecisive pair you would struggle to meet. So between us we proceeded to doubt and double doubt our perfectly clear site directions and the obvious brown signs pointing us to the reserve. Based on a Google Map we had convinced ourselves we needed to be heading down a road called 'The Busway'. It was a good job we didn't find it and try to drive along it as we may have found ourselves splatted by one of Cambridge's guided buses which were hurtling down their dedicated track at quite a lick.

The Baikal Teal was with a small flock of Common Teal and Wigeon, without which it's origin would undoubtedly be more suspect. Here with a Wigeon....

...and here with a Teal for comparison. A few decades ago Baikal Teal was thought to be heading for extinction, and while the population is still vulnerable to a variety of threats, it is growing rapidly.

On finding the right car park, we set off on the 20 minute hike to Moore Lake. While it was a longish walk by comparison to, say, going to the loo at home, it was flat and mostly on a massively over-engineered cycle path (complete with built in floor-level solar powered lights). So it was quite a shock that a steady stream of birders later followed us into the hide puffing and complaining about what a slog it was. Even allowing for Saharan smog, it did suggest that some of our brethren need to get a bit more exercise.

Not quite as pretty: Egyptian Geese at Fen Drayton

Baikal Teal was not the only tick at Fen Drayton for some birders - many had not seen a guided busway before either. At first it looks like a road but with all the flexibility and cars removed; but think of it like a cheap railway with rolling stock that can be used anywhere and it makes more sense. Trust me, in a previous life I was a columnist for a niche publication called Tramways and Urban Transit. I kid you not.

When we were a few hundred yards from the hide where the Baikal Teal had been seen consistently since Saturday, the pager delivered some unwelcome news: 'No sign of Baikal Teal...' Having convinced Jol I was not playing a sick April Fool joke, we carried on to the hide feeling pretty crestfallen. On arrival, the door opened, and a lady birder beamed at us: 'it's still here!'. I could have kissed her, and seconds later we were scoping one of the most exquisite ducks you could hope to see.

Just time on the way home to twitch a Red-breasted Goose at Stanpit Marsh - our second rare and stunning wildfowl of the day.

Stock Dove, Stanpit Marsh: best of British among the glamorous foreigners.

It was a particularly sweet moment as Baikal Teal was the 2nd of 3 birds which I missed whilst out of action before Christmas but have since caught up with. Only Orphean Warbler left to complete the grip-back hat-trick...

An open letter to Mr Cadbury

After the success of my last open letter, which was followed by an immediate opinion poll boost for the 'Yes' campaign in Scotland, I thought I would have another go:

Dear Mr Cadbury, also Messrs Walkers, Mars etc

I have been consuming your products for over 40 years now. I hope to have another 30 years before they kill me, so I reckon I'm well within your target demographic. I'm also incredibly brand-loyal, eschewing cheap copycat products for yours, and, when the mood takes me, will stop at almost nothing to procure my favourite snack at almost any price. So your dream punter in many ways. Lots of my fellow birders are too: I've been on long distance twitches in cars full of blokes who consume little else. The problem is that just lately I've been buying my usual treats and it's left me, well, dis-satisfied. There are two possible explanations for this:

1. Over the four decades I've been buying your stuff, I've got a lot bigger, and by a quirk of perception my chocolate bars and crisp packets just appear a lot smaller.

2. In a misguided attempt to remain price competitive you've been reducing the amount I get for the same money on the sly and hoping I won't notice.

I appreciate that times are hard, that you've been real busy with all those mega-mergers and wotnot, and that your pre-tax profits have shrivelled to mere telephone numbers in recent years as a result. And I'm equally sure you are motivated by nothing more than a desire to keep me fit by feeding me smaller amounts of unhealthy food whilst trousering an increasing proportion of my disposable income so that I can't fritter it away on yet more unhealthy food. I'm touched, really.

But clearly there is a dearth of ideas at work in your business plans, so here's a few to chew/suck/crunch on:

• Cut out some of that unnecessary packaging instead of the actual product. My Twix today was like a couple of skinny arms in a wizard's sleeve. Apparently it's down to 50g from 58g then 62g a few years ago. If the trend continues I calculate by 2020 I'll be leaving the newsagent having paid 59p for an empty bag.
• Save money on expensive advertising campaigns. Half of it only ends up in the noses of over-paid creatives so you'll be helping the war on drugs too.
• Just be honest and if the price of cocoa goes up, tell us you're going to charge us more. You could even drop the price when it goes down. Even energy companies have cottoned on to that, and they're really unpopular.

On second thoughts forget it. Stuff your shrinking chocolate and your stingy snacks. I'm going to take up fruit. Yes, I'm that angry.

Nothing to do with birds or chocolate. But he's licking his lips at least. Brown Hare at Elmley in Kent, taken in February.

Post Script: while conducting the usual in-depth research for this post I came across this fascinating post on a foodie blog. It contains a statement from a Mars Chocolate UK spokesperson when challenged on the shrinking size of a Twix. It bears repeating: “As part of our commitment to promote responsible consumption, and as a signatory of the Department of Health’s Responsibility Deal calorie reduction programme, we made a pledge to ensure that all of our single-serve chocolate products would contain no more than 250 calories per portion by the end of 2013.  To meet this commitment, after taking product reformulation as far as we can for now without compromising the great taste of the product, we have reduced the portion size of our TWIX bar to bring down the calorie content.” So what I thought was a smart-alec jibe about hiding behind concern for public health to sell me less for the same price is actually true. If I hadn't just done so, I'd say you couldn't make it up.

Coming and goings

Still some winter visitors around in Dorset providing plenty of interest as they overlap with the incoming spring migrants. Not that I've seen many of those yet, though a flock of 40 Sand Martin at Swineham on Friday evening lifted the spirits.

Spoonbill at Swineham on Friday - a winter visitor



Sand Martin at Swineham - an incoming spring migrant

Saturday took us to Weymouth for a children's party - fortunately the weather held and even more fortunately I was let loose during the festivities to check out Chesil Cove for a long-staying Iceland Gull. It had been seen shortly before my arrival but despite walking halfway back to Ferrybridge along the mighty barrier beach I still hadn't seen it.

Marsh Harrier - one of three at Swineham on Friday

Male Shelduck at Swineham getting into breeding condition

As I turned back it was reported at Ferrybridge and a leggy canter saw me arriving breathlessly just as a dog walker put it to flight. I took my eye off it and didn't see it land but took a punt that a white blob further along the beach might be my bird so headed in that direction. Forgetting Brett's advice to take a loaf of bread, by which it had been tempted at times apparently, I still managed a reasonably close approach.

Iceland Gull at Ferrybridge yesterday

Shocking pink legs!

Today was spent around Poole Harbour due to a home game for Wareham Rangers U-11s. We were 2-0 up after 7 minutes and then converted a penalty. The Arsenal fans among us were in cold sweats having flashbacks to yesterday at the Bridge. Unlike profligate Chelsea, however, who only managed another three, Rangers bagged a further eleven goals to boost their promotion prospects.

Ringed Plover, Ferrybridge

Turnstone, Ferrybridge

Son George, watched by a capacity crowd including proud cousin Harry and partner Bron, scored the critical 14th goal, a deft left foot volley from close range redirecting a mis-hit overhead kick from a team-mate. Good job too, I think a comeback was on the cards.

Dark-bellied Brent Goose - still a few in Brands Bay by they will soon be heading off for their breeding grounds

And for those who doubt I ever spend any time with my family - you know who you are - here's the proof. Middle Beach, Studland where we spent a whole hour this morning.

Before that we'd managed a family meander around Studland, where the over-wintering juvenile Surf Scoter was still present in a blustery Brands Bay. Last time I saw this bird was the day I broke my collarbone, and today was the first day I've really carried the scope any distance since that, so there was some closure of sorts on that chapter. A pretty good weekend really. Roll on the next.


Six of the nine Spoonbill at Swineham on Friday

An open letter to the People of Scotland

Dear People of Scotland

While I completely recognise that it would right a wrong of history, and would almost be worth it just to see the look on the faces of certain English people, I feel obliged to point out some of the unintended consequences of voting for independence. For starters, it would play havoc with my UK list. My monster twitch for your American Coot recently would have been a waste of time. And both my American Herrings Gulls would have to be binned. Not to mention the Masked Shrike, the Snowy Egret, the Harlequin Duck, the Black-browed Albert, the Greater Yellowlegs and a fistful of Scottish specialities. Just over a dozen deletions in all, I reckon, and that's damage I can ill afford at this stage of life.

Snowy Egret? Snowy Reject more like, if Scotland votes for independence.

Yes I know I could persevere with a British list based on the old one in the event of a 'yes' vote. But then that would be based on a sort of biogeographical unit rather than an arbitrary national boundary. And once I've crossed that rubicon, there's no reason not to include Ireland is there? Stuff it, why not the whole Western Palearctic? The whole world? I'll tell you why, because keeping an arbitrary national list stops me going too far, spending money I don't have, travelling to places I would want to go back to thus neglecting family, career, friends etc. That arbitrary national boundary, dear People of Scotland, is all that stands between me, destitution and probably divorce. Do you really want that on your conscience?

Take the high road? Tell me about it: I bust a puny English lung fighting gale force winds to get up into Coire an Lochain on Cairngorm to photograph this beauty. We don't get many of these in Poole Harbour.

No, I thought not. So let's make a deal. You can keep the oil revenues. We'll amend the Act of Succession so Nicola Sturgeon can be next in line to the throne. We'll bail out your banks if it all goes pear. And in return, all we ask is that the English get to keep Scottish birds on their list. If that's not enough, you can even have Northumberland, just like the old days. Besides, I've never had a tick there.

In the middle of this picture is a tiny black and white speck. That speck is a Black-browed Albatross, digiscoped on a tiny Scottish rock with a tiny camera from a tiny boat in the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.  You can take my list, but you'll never take my memories.