Old Caley's Diary

A quick recap of last November's birding trips. I did manage to write up the best couple of twitches at the time so this will be quite a short effort from me for a change. Hurrah, I hear you say.

This latest blog features a cracking day out at Frampton Marsh where we reached the magic Big Year total of 300 again, and an incredible day's birding at Flamborough Head. Lots of content from those two days means that the bulk of my birding in October, based around a whole week's holiday in Cornwall gets its own blog entry here.

This time next year, I'll probably be writing up October 2024. I need to retire.

We'd been having a (seemingly) tough time of it birding wise and July had been almost a bird-free month for us. The middle of the year is often referred to as the doldrums when good birds are hard to come by because they become secretive while undergoing post breeding moult, and autumn migration has yet to start. This particular July was even harder than usual because our luck had almost completely run out and we struggled to connect with anything since we had ticked a Black-winged Pratincole at the end of June. The only bird of note we added to our year list was the returning Bonaparte's Gull in Kent and we had to settle with distant views of the bird mostly dozing. We had hoped to add a fabulous Franklin's Gull to our life list when one settled in next to Crossness by the River Thames in London for four days but then disappeared just as the weekend, and our chance to go, arrived. 

The following week we travelled to Cheddar, the home of proper cheese, in Somerset hoping to see a Spotted Sandpiper that had shown incredibly well the day before. However, even before leaving home on the Saturday morning, I had reservations about whether the trip would be successful, having seen photographs proving that the bird had been hounded and continually disturbed while it fed along the reservoir edge. Flight shots of birds are to my mind, the best and most sought after, but when you see the bird flying ahead of encroaching birders then you realise that the bird isn't being allowed to settle. Cheddar reservoir has a wide gently sloping concrete apron which is exposed when water levels are low. It isn't supposed to be used as a platform for people to walk along or for dogs to run amok on but unfortunately it is. At Farmoor, most birders will wait and sit on the apron wall, allowing any bird to approach. If movement is kept to a minimum, wading birds will usually walk past, directly underneath the observer. Therefore, it wasn't really a surprise when the bird had disappeared overnight.

We weren't the only birders disappointed that we'd missed out on the Spotted Sandpiper. We also met our friends Rob & Thomas, and Nick while searching in vain. They had far more reason to be downhearted since none of them had seen the species before. We've been fortunate to see four of the North American counterpart of the Common Sandpiper. While we chatted I mentioned that I too had a few big holes in my own life list with a few "obvious" birds missing. One of those was Baird's Sandpiper, a bird that somehow I had never gotten round to seeing despite quite a few making it to British shores every year. We had never quite been in the right place at the right time to encounter one.

Prophetic then that just five days later, a Baird's Sandpiper was found at Goldcliff Lagoons on the Gwent Levels near Newport. Now, I am not a big fan of Goldcliff, I find it difficult to bird, the subjects always seem to be distant, and hard to observe because of vegetation impeding the views. But I have seen some good birds there, a Citrine Wagtail and Lesser Yellowlegs in recent years. It always seems to rain there as well, everywhere on the River Severn estuary gets a lot of precipitation. But the site is only a couple of hours drive from home so after seeing the original report of the bird on Friday, I made plans for an attempt on the Saturday. Those plans were abandoned though when the Sandpiper was seen to fly off strongly towards the sea mid-morning on Friday and it wasn't seen to return.

With no further reports of the Baird's Sandpiper, we decided to take a stroll around our local RSPB reserve at Otmoor, primarily to see if we could get a better view of the two celebrity Marsh Harrier fledglings. They have been afforded star status because both have a large amount of white feathers so are very striking looking birds. The white feathers are thought to be a result of poor diet while the birds were young when, to compensate for the lack of food, their bodies completely stopped producing melanin (the substance that makes dark pigment). Interestingly the full brood featured two normally plumaged young as well.

We didn't get any improved views of the funky Harrier twins but left the Moor happy after enjoying a bit of a social and we did see some nice birds whilst there. As we neared the carpark I noticed a report that the Baird's Sandpiper had been reported at Goldcliff Lagoons again. The report had been from quite early in the morning but I'd not checked my phone whilst being on Otmoor. A more recent report said that the Sandpiper had relocated to the mud of the estuary and was showing well from the seawall close to Goldcliff Point just half a mile or so from the Lagoons. We went home to grab lunch but once eaten thought that we should make the effort and get to South Wales pronto!

While we'd been at home the Baird's Sandpiper had flown back to the reserve but had flown off again just as we cleared the town and hit the A34 south. And that was where the day unravelled. Predictably the A34 south of the M40 was jammed. It always is. Usually though the traffic eases as you travel southwards. Usually it does, but not on this Saturday. Half an hour later we had reached Kidlington, three miles further on. It took another twenty minutes to get to Peartree on the outskirts of Oxford, and with no hint of the traffic jam easing, I turned off and decided to leave it and to monitor the reports for the rest of the day, earmarking an attempt for the following morning.

Our friends Spadge & Bryan made it to Newport and connected with the Sandpiper that day but it had again transferred back to the reserve and their views were distant. Photos of the bird emerged online, and those taken when the bird was feeding off the point looked pretty good. My friend Steve, who lives close to Goldcliff, kept me well informed of where the Baird's had been throughout the day. We would leave early on the Sunday morning and hope that the bird was showing on the mud off the seawall. 

We arrived at Newport by eight after a traffic free and easy drive, Saturday and Sunday mornings are the only quiet times to travel in Britain these days. Typically there had been no reports of the Baird's Sandpiper and I was castigating myself for not keeping going the day before. He who hesitates, generally loses. There was an amazing number of other cars parked up already, obviously a lot of local folk had never seen a Baird's Sandpiper either. We parked and spoke to a chap who had been into the reserve and he related the negative news and the fact that up to forty birders had been on site since first light. With nothing to go on, I decided that we may as well walk into the lagoons anyway even though I knew that it'd be a waste of time. After the several disappointing twitches recently, another one was almost too much to take, and my spirits hit rock bottom. I trudged to the Greenshank hide and could hardly be bothered to join the throng inside. All we could see was a flock of twenty Lapwing, a few Dunlin and a couple of Little Egrets. To top it all off, it predictably began raining. It would have been disappointing if it hadn't.

We returned to the car, and in a rare moment of inspiration, I thought that we may as well check out the seawall area where the Sandpiper had been seen so well the day before. It was only half mile away from where we were anyway. We parked and walked up to the embankment. The tide was in and lapping up against the rocks of the walls so there was no exposed mud for wading birds to feed on. However, I knew that the tide would turn soon and that the mud so cherished by many wading birds, would be revealed. We noticed around ten other birders were lined up across the path about two hundred yards away. They were all looking intently at a specific section of the rocky foreshore. I checked the rocks out through my scope and could see a huddle of small birds sheltering there. Could the Baird's be there?

With more hope now, we quickened our steps and neared the other birders. As I suspected, my good friends Kev & Karen were part of the group and Dean & Karen were also there. I always rib Kev about what a lucky birder he is so seeing him there raised my spirits up again. The whole group were completely strung out across the path so we stood ten yards behind and aimed my own scope at the group of waders on the rocks. I noted Ringed Plovers, Dunlin, and Turnstones but couldn't see anything smaller. For ten minutes not much happened although it was clear that the tide had turned, and the birds were becoming restless. Then a flock of Dunlin exploded out of their collective roosting spots. I'd only noticed about ten before but now there were well over fifty. I took a few quick shots of the wheeling flock but I couldn't spot the Baird's amongst them.

Dunlin

Birds began dropping onto the mud that was slowly appearing as the tide leaked out. First the Turnstones took to it followed by some Dunlin and later by a few of the Ringed Plovers. Suddenly I found myself mouthing, 'It's there!', and 'Running away from us'. Mainly to Mrs Caley of course because the others were probably out of earshot. I got Mrs Caley onto the Baird's Sandpiper just as the voices rose in the advance group, they had also clocked the target bird.

Baird's Sandpiper (left)

The Baird's Sandpiper, bird number #430 on my UK life list, was noticeably smaller than the Dunlin. Even at the distance of around fifty yards away, it appeared much lighter coloured with an unmarked clean white belly. It most resembled a small Sanderling and it moved energetically across the mud, always keeping distance between itself and the other birds. The shorter bill, attenuated shape and squat body made it much easier to identify and separate from the Dunlin, than I had previously imagined. The Baird's must have been secreted within the rocks and like the other birds, had been waiting for the tide to go out before it could feed.

Now the bird had been found, I caught up with my good luck charm, Kev, and we set about, along with the others, creeping forward so that we could get some better views. The flock was still a bit nervy though, and were often put up by waves that still lapped at the rocks. They always returned to almost the same spot since that was the only place that the water drained off. On one occasion I managed to capture a few record shots of the Baird's Sandpiper as it launched into flight.

With more mud being exposed with every ebbing wave, the flock of birds were scuttling towards us and it wasn't long before the Baird's Sandpiper presented itself directly underneath us. The seawall path was a good twenty feet above the mud so views were from directly above but now the Sandpiper was so close it hardly mattered. I laid flat on the ground to lessen the drop down to the bird. Baird's Sandpiper have flattened, oval shaped bodies which is most noticeable when seen head on or from behind. I've heard them called the "Weetabix bird" in reference to the flat oval shaped breakfast cereal which is also similarly coloured.

The Baird's Sandpiper fed voraciously now there was mud to probe in. The items of prey were very small, worms, gnats and other tiny morsels were all taken. The power of the modern camera and lenses, enable some of these tiny food items to be seen in the tweezer type bill of the bird.

The views now were nothing short of sensational. It felt good to actually connect with a good bird again after our pretty shoddy run of late. But then I'm always feeling hard done by and pretend that I don't have the luck that some of my peers seem to have. If I reflect on the year so far, I've actually seen every lifer that I've gone for so far, the Baird's being my seventh addition of 2024 to my life list. What was really good with this bird was gaining as many photos as I wanted for a change. It was the first prolonged photo session in a while and I took as many as I wanted to.

A newly arrived birder almost trod on me, I was still laying prone on the seawall, then settled down alongside me. I turned and stared my good mate Jim (The Standlake Birder) in the eye. I had wondered when he'd turn up. Jim and I often need the same bird for our lists so bump into each other quite often at major twitches. Now I knew why the Baird's Sandpiper was showing so well. Not for me but for Lucky Jim!

We took photos as we chatted, the benefit of having silent shutters on our not-so-new-now fangled mirrorless cameras. As we talked, we got around to discussing what "obvious" bird that's missing from our lists that we'd like to see next. After all, the fairy godmother of bird-giving had produced after my chat with Nick, Rob & Thomas the week before. Jim wanted a Terek Sandpiper (pretty rare that one), I voted for a Broad-billed Sandpiper (much less rare). Fingers crossed for either later on in the autumn.

After taking a few hundred photos, which were all becoming pretty much the same, of the Baird's Sandpiper on the flat wet mud with only its own footprints or the odd fragment of vegetation to add interest, I gave up, especially when the bird began to drift further out. We'd had the best of it.

Just to get our year back on track, we drove to Westhay Moor in the hope of seeing some Bearded Tits. The increasing wind put paid to that though. It's now been a couple of years since we had good views of the species. A Water Rail hopping across the path was the only sighting of note.

Year List addition;

245) Baird's Sandpiper

Another instalment in my ridiculously belated posts concerning birding done last year! I'm determined to write up a brief summary of my birding that year and marking every step of the way and the birds that made up my Big Year.

Late on Saturday evening when I was already slumbering, my good mate The Early Birder called me with some news and advice. Basically he said that if I wanted to go and see the long staying Pacific Diver in South Wales then I should go soon because a new fence was being erected around the reservoir to keep unwanted folk out. Unfortunately birders were classed as some of those "persona non grata". It's a long story why birders are not welcomed into the Eglwys Nunydd Reservoir near Port Talbot and I don't have the full details of why the exclusion order was implemented in the first place but it applies even to local birders. Local people do gain access to the reservoir, which is owned by TATA Steel, a company that has huge steelworks and other factories in the Port Talbot area, but they do so by negotiating a tricky little diversion around the main gates into the site which are protected by padlocks that only members of Angling and Sailing Clubs have. TATA also employ a security firm to patrol the reservoir and they, in the case of a few unlucky birders who had visited to see the Diver before the turn of the year, have the power to evict people from the site if they are not fishing or sailing.

Mark's message was to tell me that the "back way in" was being sealed off by the erection of a new two-metre high metal fence and within a week or so there would no longer be guaranteed access by using the "cheats" entrance. Of course having gained entry still wouldn't be an assurance that you wouldn't get kicked out once inside. I had a tentative "life tick" Pacific Diver from a sighting in Penzance Bay some years ago. I say tentative because I was stood next to a local birder who informed me that the third blob from the left in a loose raft of a dozen other blobs (apparently Great Northern Divers) was a Pacific Diver. Through the scope I could see a slightly more defined blob although to my eyes still undistinguishable from any of the other blobs but I was assured by the other birder that it was the real deal even though no real discernible features could be made out other than the fact that it was a Diver and was smaller than the other attendant Divers. So it went on the list but was one of those records that was pencilled in with the faintest pencil imaginable. The South Wales Pacific Diver was found at the end of November and would show to hundreds of birders as closely as "six-feet" away but I remained unmoved especially when the horror stories of the difficulty of access and the fact that getting chucked out was a very real possibility. After all I had that tentative tick to keep. Then a few of my own peers started to post some excellent photos and write blogs of their own trips to see the bird and my own pique was reignited. A couple of weeks before we had made (tentative) plans to travel to see the Diver but a wet weather forecast had put us off. Now it seemed we had to move fast, or miss out, whatever the elements threw at us. I (tentatively) put the idea to Mrs Caley and was answered with a "no way" and "we've already been out for the day and I don't want to travel three hundred miles again, thank you" which was fair enough. The reproach didn't stop me making (tentative) plans for the following morning though, like checking the route, how long it would take to get there and the access details that I'd received from a couple of friends who had been. It was to my absolute surprise then in the morning, when Mrs Caley walked down the stairs to join me in the living room and said, "Come on then, let's go, I know you want to!".

The weather wasn't great but we were ready and on the road by seven o'clock with a two and a half hour journey ahead of us. Mark was also going and would arrive ahead of us so would update us on any problems and to where the bird was. It should be an easy twitch because the Pacific Diver had taken to feeding at the end of the reservoir closest to the entry point. When it had first been found it was at the far end so a long walk was required to get good views, the water body measures some mile and a half long by half a mile wide, about twice the size of the largest basin at Farmoor. For some reason the SatNav wanted to send us via Gloucester and the Forest of Dean, I assumed that the ongoing road improvements around Swindon had necessitated road closures on the normal route. I ignored the advice of the automated traffic assistant and made my way down to the M4 at Newbury anyway and turned right, bound for the Severn Bridge. I couldn't work out why the SatNav tried to send us off at every junction and why the remaining miles to our destination was increasing with every mile we travelled. There were no issues on the route ahead whatsoever. As we passed the A49 just before the bridge when the SatNav was suggesting a seventy mile detour around the Severn estuary it suddenly dawned on me that I'd altered the settings the day before to avoid toll roads since I didn't want to be directed on to the M6 toll on my way to Carsington Water. The SatNav therefore was trying to get me to avoid the Severn Bridge. The fact that there are no longer any tolls to pay on the Bridge and that Wales now has free entry was lost on the system since obviously nobody had told it. Therein lies a problem with a factory fitted SatNav, they don't get automatically updated from the internet as your TomTom would. So once over the bridge and the SatNav finally accepting that we wouldn't need to drive around it anymore, the miles left went from one hundred and thirty to sixty odd! 

Our next "drama" came when we were around twenty miles from Port Talbot. Mark called and incredulously said aghast, "It's gone!". "What do you mean?", I replied, "The Diver, it took off from the middle of the reservoir, flew up high and disappeared over some pylons in the distance" and again, "I'm not joking mate, it's flown off!" At first I couldn't believe what Mark had said, I'm not sure I had taken it all in. A bird that had been present for nearly two months in the same place had seemingly decided to leave on the day we'd travelled to see it. I'm glad he wasn't joking because I was failing to see any funny side of what would be one of the biggest kicks in my twitching teeth since the Thursley Common Rustic Bunting (that had been present for almost four months) did a moonlit flit the night before we were finally set free from our Lockdown chains, we had taken the very first opportunity to go and see it and arrived about eight hours too late. We needed a break for the necessities and so pulled into a service area and discussed our next move while we had a coffee. We were only fourteen miles from Margam where we'd park so we considered that we may as well continue on our way and see if the Diver had returned to the reservoir. I've seen supposedly well established birds look as if they're flying away for good before, the American Black Tern in Dorset flew off high just after we arrived to see that and disappeared but came back an hour later, and I figured that the Pacific Diver which spends the majority of its time swimming on and under water had to sometimes exercise its wing muscles to keep them in working order. So I was fairly hopeful that it'd be there when we got there. Mark called again to say that he and his mate had given up and were leaving to go and photograph a Black Redstart in Somerset!

Now for the tricky part, getting in to the reservoir! As I mentioned I was armed with precise details of where to go but of course they were written by somebody who knew where to go. Relating those directions to somebody who didn't have the foggiest where he was and getting them to act on them can be hard. Quite often when twitching, it can be initially difficult to decipher directions and many false starts are made before somebody comes along to help. On this occasion it didn't seem too difficult, if we could work out which way to go from the cemetery carpark that is. I don't approach any task lightly and had studied the aerial map of the reservoir and its surrounds many times over to get an idea of what lay ahead. But on the ground everything looked very different. We (I) managed to go off in the wrong direction twice before finally finding a gap in the hedge which would take us to a gap in some tall trees which took us to a road and to the gate where privileged folk could gain access. From there we had to find a telegraph pole, surprisingly only thirty metres from the gate, negotiate a small piece of South Wales Bayou, without Wellington Boots you would probably get swallowed up by a mud gurgling swamp monster, find and follow a concrete culvert, and then climb up a bank and go through a gate to emerge at the edge of the huge reservoir, all theoretically easy but in reality not. Oh and don't forget that while navigating our way in we had to avoid the frequent security sweeps by the TATA secret police. Phew!

Mud Gurgling Swamp Monster Habitat

The Culvert to the Pacific

Eglwys Nunydd "Pacific" Reservoir

In the event we, and another chap who had no idea where to go and who was very ill-clad in training shoes and thus ended up looking like half a mud gurgling swamp monster, made it to the reservoir almost unscathed and intact. There was no sign of the Diver but because of the news imparted by Mark earlier I had carried my scope in so I set it up and scanned the furthest end of the reservoir. The very first bird I spotted looked distinctly like the Diver shaped blob that I'd been shown in Cornwall all those years before. I squinted a bit more and pulled the scope into full zoom and yes, I was pretty sure that it was the Pacific Diver. Well, I was pretty sure it was a Diver, it definitely wasn't a Grebe, but at that distance it could have been any type of Diver and it wouldn't be right just to assume that it was the Pacific one plus we'd driven a long way to see it. So we elected to run the gauntlet of the security forces and walk around the reservoir to get a closer view and therefore a positive ID and of course decent views and photos. I made a stop and scan of the far end of the water every hundred metres or so and halfway there finally convinced myself that the bird we were looking at was indeed the one that we wanted. I phoned Mark and gave him the good news which he didn't take so well since he was already thirty miles away on his way to Somerset!

Can you see it? Nope.

Two other birders had seen us walking around the reservoir and had caught us up, most people do, and inquired if we'd seen the Diver. Nobody else had a scope so they wouldn't have been able to see the bird since it was still the best part of a mile away. I assured them that the Diver was indeed present but was right under the bank at the far end and that we'd need to get much closer to really appreciate it. We were all a bit nervous but I always think that the worse thing that can happen to you, if you're somewhere you shouldn't be, is to be asked to leave and walk back the way you've come. Unless there are big dogs (or cows) involved then you might have to run part of the way and Old Caley isn't really built for running these days. We pushed on, narrowing the visually indeterminable distance step by step. Now I was sure that the target bird was in sight I gave up scanning for it and just concentrated on getting there. I was well aware that stood up on the surrounding track above the water we were very visible not just to other folk but by the Diver as well so when we got to around fifty metres away I sat Mrs Caley down on some steps and erected the scope so that she could enjoy fine views of the bird. I intended to sneak around closer using the steep embankment for cover as I often do at my local Farmoor. Our three fellow watchers however, failed to lower their profiles and the Pacific Diver sailed slowly out further from the bank. Time to take some record shots in case it flew again.

Pacific Diver (definitely)

Before I left Mrs Caley alone with the scope, I scanned around the reservoir and was delighted to find a Slavonian Grebe, a very pleasant surprise year tick. The Grebe looked tiny set against the grey and bleak vastness of water. The last Slav we'd seen was at very close quarters at Furzton Lake in Milton Keynes just before Christmas and was our last year tick of 2021. This year we have a June holiday booked for Scotland so it'll be good to see them in their summer breeding finery again rather than the nondescript grey and white dress that all Grebe species (and Divers) sport in the winter. Slavonian grebes always have that piercing red eye though but that was hard to discern at the range we were watching this one. For just a few seconds the Grebe and the Diver met up, preened mutually and then parted ways.

Pacific Diver & Slavonian Grebe

The Pacific Diver was swimming towards the bank, presumably to resume its diving and fishing again so I took my leave and walked around the embankment, keeping my profile below the skyline. I was attempting to judge when I'd be alongside the Diver and when I thought I was I crept up the grassy bank and popped my head over the top. My first two attempts failed because the Diver must have been submerged and I couldn't see it at all until it popped up a little further along from my position. I struck third time lucky when I emerged right in line with it although it was still a fair way out. 

Using my noddle a bit more, I waited until the Diver dived under and then moved along to where I thought it would resurface. This time I'd got it spot on and a minute later was staring into the eyes of a Pacific Diver from no more than twenty-feet away. After the distant Cornish blob this was a thrilling encounter. Obviously because my head was above parapet the bird instantly became aware of my presence and quickly turned tail and swam away but I hurriedly took a few shots.

My next tactic was to walk a bit further around the reservoir and settle down on a concrete ledge that runs around the wall so that my profile would be softened against the masonry background. A Grey Wagtail flew in and landed close to me so I must have been far less visible. 

Grey Wagtail

The Pacific Diver surfaced from its latest fishing sortie, a little way off than my encounter of a few minutes ago but significantly it looked at ease this time and didn't appear to realise that I was there. Pacific Divers are essentially the North Pacific version of our more familiar Black-throated Diver but differ in a few subtle ways. In winter plumage such as this bird was in, a Pacific Diver doesn't exhibit a white flank patch that a Black-throated Diver would (in fact the white flank patch is considered diagnostic for identifying a Black-throated in winter). Other differences are so minor that good views really are necessary and luckily for the finder and for most of us who have seen the bird since, this bird has shown very well indeed. The head shape of the Pacific Diver is more rounded, the neck thicker and the bill is small, almost dainty in fact. The bird I was watching fulfilled all of these criteria.

What happened next though left me well and truly gobsmacked and grinning from ear to ear when the Diver suddenly appeared so close to me that I could have almost cuddled it! I actually jumped a little bit when the superb creature surfaced and looked directly at me but still didn't appear to register my presence. Others had said that if you get low down onto the concrete then the Diver would happily feed close into the bank with no qualms at all and how true that proved to be. I rattled off a whole volley of shots over the thirty-seconds or so that the bird was in front of me. Blob well and truly banished and that faintest of pencil entries in the life list could be permanently inked in, in the darkest ink available!

When the Diver had swum past me and dived again I didn't see the need to follow it so I just sat there and watched it from afar once again. I had had my thrill. My phone rang, it was Mark again and he asked, "Where is it then and where are you?". He had sensibly turned around and returned to the reservoir to get his photos of the Diver. Leave it to me Mark, I'll find it for you! We passed him and his mates about halfway back, check his blog for some superior photos.

The walk back to the swamp was uneventful although we did spy a police car driving down towards the sailing club. We had another unexpected year tick in the shape of a Common Sandpiper that flew rapidly, as they always do, across the reservoir as we approached. The walk back through the sticky mud seemed easier now we knew where we going and we refound the car without any trouble. I'm glad that we made the belated effort to see the Pacific Diver which when seen as closely as we had seen it, is a very fine bird indeed and certainly not just a blob!

Year List additions;

119) Pacific Diver, 120) Slavonian Grebe, 121) Common Sandpiper