Dorset Downs - and Ups

My last post chronicled some minor ups and downs in my birding week but those were as nothing compared with the ones I experienced today. The morning started as several others have recently, with an early report of Bee-eaters at Portland Bill. We had friends coming over and they were kind enough to delay their departure to allow me an attempted smash and grab. I knew the chances were slim, but having dipped one earlier in the week I had the hump and sometimes I would rather have a go than sit at home and wonder if I could have made it. En route the phone rang but I couldn't take the call from Steve Smith as I was driving. Having reached the Bill and found precisely no Bee-eaters, I made my way back to high ground to return the call.

Short-toed Eagle, Morden Bog: possibly my worst record shot ever. But am I bovvered?

At this point it emerged that our mutual friend Paul Morton had reported a Short-toed Eagle at Morden Bog, less than 10 minutes from my house in Wareham. There was talk of photos, which Steve hadn't yet seen, and of the bird flying off to the east. Over the course of the next half-hour, Paul's photos were circulated and I received one text and one email from Steve. These contained a total of 9 words, 5 of which were just four letters long and began with an 'F'. I repeated the same word several times myself as I tortured myself with the thought that, had I stayed at home, and taken Steve's call at 0958, I might just have made it to Morden Bog in time to see the Eagle before it flew, never to be seen again.

We had a family walk to Dancing Ledge planned with our non-birding friends, who had now arrived, so I did my best to put thoughts of Short-toed Eagle out of my head, and prepared to knuckle down to some hard-core Puffin-spotting. Four birds were present and this calmed my mood considerably as all cooed at them appreciatively. At least until some character in a rib flushed the Puffins and all the Guillemots off the cliffs by going in for too close a look.

Just as we got back to the car, the pager wailed a mega-alert for the second time today, which could only mean one thing: Short-toed Eagle re-found. I imagined it would be somewhere in the New Forest by now but no - it was back up the road at Morden Bog. More potty-mouth action ensued. Steve lives near where we were parked so I arranged to meet him at his place, having secured permission to bale out on family and friends - I say permission, well, I certainly asked, but I've been informed since I didn't exactly wait for an answer. I underestimated the distance to Steve's, but ran it anyway, with camera, scope, rucksack etc swinging inelegantly off my back. But this was no time for dignity.

Puffins at their traditional site off Dancing Ledge

A rapid scuttle through Purbeck followed, past the tourist buses doing three point turns in Corfe Castle and the Nissan Micra drivers doing what Nissan Micra drivers do at times like this, until, released from the thraldom of traffic, we reached Lawson's Clump where the Eagle was last reported. The high ground at Oven's Hill gave us a good vantage point, but all I could see was a distant Andy Mears, last spied when we shared a car for the Gull of Kintyre twitch. We made our way over to him and were joined by Nick Hopper and Claire. Scanning forlornly, we speculated about the remoteness of the chance of picking this bird up sat in a tree in the tree-filled landscape which lay before us. Steve then took a call from George Green, author of the wonderful Birds of Dorset, a scholarly work which after today will need a little update. George had called to say he thought he had the bird: sat in a tree.

Adonis Blue: a classic species of Dorset coastal downland, seen on our coastal walk before things all got a bit crazy, Eagle-wise

After more cursing, a short drive and a wheezy jog we were hauling ourselves up on the high ridge above Morden Bog's Old Decoy Pond, to find George, God forever bless him, alone but with his scope trained on a Short-toed Eagle! Cue more swearing, this time with added backslapping and then some frantic phone calls to get news out to all and sundry. At this point, around 1700, just seven of us were watching the bird. By the time I left at 1930, the crowd had swelled to over 100. My own selfish need for a tick met, it was then a question of talking in friends who were in transit.

Ian was just down the road in Wareham. Brett was on the way from Weymouth. Jol, Joe and Caroline Mitchell were on the way back from London, somewhere in the New Forest. Paul was legging it from Surrey. They arrived in roughly that order, in varying stages of hyper-ventilation. Brett confessed to some stressful and moderately aggressive driving, Jol had fallen over and sustained a nasty cut, and Paul phoned in a panic from a place called the The Gurkha Restaurant pleading for directions. Fortunately it was The Gurkha in Wareham not the one in Weymouth or that would have been seriously off course. Ian works for Natural England, so as well as seeing the bird he was able to organise some off-road parking, and keep good order on this, his employer's excellent National Nature Reserve (if you go tomorrow, please stick to the paths to protect the ground-nesting birds). Happily, everyone connected: I counted them in, and I counted them out.

An unbelievable day. Unbelievable. So glad we decided to holiday at home this week. Well done Paul for the find - even though it ruins my chances of claiming the Dorset raptor of the year award, it couldn't happen to a nicer bloke. And a big thank you to George for sticking it out on at Morden Bog when myself and others had given up hope.


Lesser Whitethroat near Langton Matravers - a ringed bird

Ups and downs

A day of contrasting fortunes today. I resolved not to get up early for another crack at the Great White Egret which has been summering in Poole Harbour. An enigmatic bird this, it gets seen only by early birds or night owls, either flying up, or sometimes down the River Frome. Or sometimes the River Piddle. Or sometimes both. But never when I'm watching, it seems.


First summer Ross's Gull, Bowling Green Marsh RSPB, Devon

Having promised myself a lie in, however, no 2 son had other ideas and woke me up at 0400 shuffling into bed between his mum and I. Waking up is the hard bit, so thus stirred, I thought I might as well go and have a look for the Egret. No joy.

As well as the white head with a hint of a neck-ring, the Ross's Gull was slightly larger, longer-winged and longer-tailed than the Little Gulls I've been watching at Swineham recently

I went back to bed and fell into a sufficiently deep sleep to miss several texts informing me that a Bee-eater was at Durslton, less than 20 minutes away. Getting dressed for the second time today, I scooted off for another dose of disappointment. Mitchells Senior and Junior, dipping on Bee-eater for the second time this week, were also there. Just after they headed home, vowing to jack in birding and have their tripods/scopes etc melted down for scrap, things started to look up, for me at least: a flyover Serin jangled north overhead.

Here in flight with Med Gull (above right) and Black-headed Gull for comparison

Just as I was about to give up on the Bee-eater, Steve Smith called with the offer of a lift to Bowling Green Marsh in Devon to twitch a first summer Ross's Gull present for 9 days (!) but identified only this morning. I saw an adult years ago but the chance of seeing this High Arctic vagrant close to home and in a new plumage was not to be missed. I thought my luck might have turned for the day after the Serin but on arrival the Ross's Gull had just flown, leaving a breathless and satiated group of photographers looking visibly stunned at the close views they had enjoyed minutes before. Another dip in morale threatened, but legging it to the nearby estuary I relocated the Gull distantly on the mud and took what can only be described as an insult to record shots - my 400mm lens was woefully inadequate even with 2x converter.

Another view of the diamond-shaped tail and wing pattern

With the pressure to see the bird now off, we figured waiting for high tide to bring it back in would be a good plan, and this gave us a few hours to relocate the Gull again off Exton Station further down the Exe, and check out the facilities at nearby Darts Farm (Cotswold Camping, RSPB shop, posh loos, basically retail heaven for dudes just getting kitted out for a new career in birdspotting).


Also at Bowling Green Marsh, but not attracting quite so much attention...

It was then time to sit and wait. We did so until 1800 when the Ross's Gull flew in from the north east and landed in front of the robust, breeze block hide at Bowling Green Marsh. We were glad of this as the rain set in, and we discussed our longing for a similar structure at Swineham. The Gull gave a few brief fly-arounds, allowing the photos above to be taken showing the diagnostic diamond-shaped tail. It was said to have been 'masquerading as a Little Gull' the previous day when views were partially obscured, but with clear views today it was less a masquerade, more of a wholly unconvincing impersonation of a Little Gull. Honestly, these birders who need their tricky rarities re-identified for them...

Barnacle Goose

The privations of island life

I've written before about how one of the more miserable aspects of life in Dorset is the thankless chore of visiting Brownsea Island at least once a year. After the endless, gut-churning 5 minute boat ride, comes the relentless slog across at least 100 yards of boardwalk to the nature reserve where you are forced to sit and wait in annoyingly well-appointed hides for literally seconds before seeing waders and breeding terns at point blank range. Honestly, I don't know why I bother, I should just go seawatching at Branksome or something for some proper close-up action. As if all the quality birds on the lagoon weren't enough, during this weekend's visit with the family an impudent Hobby almost took my head off in a low stoop after a dragonfly. The cheek! And as for those squirrels, well don't get me started...

Black-tailed Godwit

Black-tailed Godwits

Common Tern in front of the houses on Brownsea Quay

Common Tern

Drake Gadwall on the lagoon

Hobby

Did a couple of passes and then it was gone

Stunning birds

Red Squirrel near the Church

Red Squirrel

Sandwich Tern

The colony is doing well thanks to netting erected to keep out Sika Deer

Yellow-legged Gull with chick

Common Heath

Shelduck

An oasis of sanity

I've got into the habit recently of visiting the patch on a Friday night. Not that much about lately but it's a very good way to draw a line under the craziness of the working week. And sometimes, I think, the only thing that stops me going completely loco. Last night there was definitely something to write home about though: a Turnstone, common as muck around much of the coast locally - they almost take chips out of your hand on nearby Poole Quay - but a bit of a mega at Swineham.

Turnstone: patch gold. Well, gold dust at least.

Here it is with the second best bird of the evening: Little Gull

The Little Gull was spending most of the time feeding on the flood.

Normally seen in flight distantly over the gravel pits, the Little Gull has spent a couple of evenings on the flood close to the path.

Presumably the same bird from earlier in the week looking a bit muddier.

This week's rain has topped up the flooded field near the path which was rapidly drying out, so looking promising for waders again. As well as the Turnstone, this Lapwing dropped in for the evening.





'You'll have to be quick to catch them' suggested a well-meaning passer-by. Fortunately, I am quick.





A screaming display from a flock of Swifts always lifts the spirits.

Some noisy, irritable juveniles with insatiable appetites around at the moment. So I leave home to get away from them and what do I bump into? 

Cuckoo: keep hearing but not seeing them recently at Swineham - so this sighting was welcome confirmation that I'm not going completely cuckoo myself.



Siesta time at Swineham

Swineham had a high summer feel to it this weekend, despite it only being the middle of May. The cacophony of singing Reed Warblers of recent weeks has calmed down a bit as they have paired up or moved on to try their luck elsewhere. Whilst mostly untroubled by good birds, today's visit was enlivened by a couple of Little Gulls, a selection of odonata and some other unidentified insects intent on draining me of blood. Perhaps it was the heat, or maybe I'm getting old, but by the time I got home I just wanted a siesta.

Living in Dorset, it's compulsory to go to the beach at least once every weekend, so I had to leave Swineham in good time to get down to Studland with the family this afternoon. I read recently that a survey said that going to the beach made 75% of people feel instantly more relaxed. I must be in the 25%. I'm just no good at sitting around waiting for a melanoma. As a result I spend my time building industrial scale sand installations which probably require planning permission under Purbeck's strict policies on such matters. Enough wittering, time for some pictures:

1st summer Little Gull at Swineham

I wondered precisely what they were catching in the air - this photo suggests damselflies

This Brown Argus in the car park at Studland made a visit to the beach almost worthwhile

I thought this was a female Beautiful Demoiselle at first but having checked the books I'm now thinking its the narrower-winged Banded Demoiselle.

This Little Egret has been frequenting a ditch by the footpath at Swineham for the last couple of weeks.

Male Reed Bunting still very much in evidence

Drake Teal still hanging around at Swineham this weekend despite most of its congeners having left some time ago. Surely conclusive proof that any Teal which remains in Britain until May (including Baikal) has simply got to be a wild bird? Or does that sound just a little needy?



Despite heavily baiting the garden I haven't been able to tempt in one of the Red Kites which have been seen recently over the Wareham area.

Hairy Dragonfly at Swineham

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