Glossy Ibis at Strumpshaw Fen

My birding chum Brian T is, of course, a Vol Ranger at the Fen. Today he was taking a walk round when the Glossy Ibis unexpectedly flew through: here's his mail to me and photo:-

The Glossy Ibis is back! Is it the same one which stayed over until a couple of weeks ago (sorry pic not very good -it was a long way off)?? Flew from Tower Hide direction towards Rockland just after 9am this morning - hopefully will return!!

It certainly looks to be the same juvenile. Sadly there is so much water in front of Tower Hide that the Ibis wasn't tempted to land for a poke about.

Dinner party! A trip down the Rhone...

As some of you may know, I used to co-own a hotel and am a trained chef. Not many things give me more pleasure than entertaining friends: in the past Linda and I threw some legendary soirees, for up to a dozen people. As we've grown older, we've finally realised that true friends can be numbered on the fingers of two hands, so these days we prefer to invite round people with whom we feel really comfortable and relaxed.

Tonight our good friends Sue and Peter are coming over for supper: since both enjoy a glass of wine (and are extremely knowledgeable!) I've decided to steer clear of the clarets tonight and offer a journey southwards down the Rhone Valley from Beaujolais / Chablis to Nimes and Languedoc.

The menu I've come up with is robust and Mediterranean in style: crab mousse served on the half-shell, herby 'meatballs' in a rich tomato, pepper and garlic sauce, with rosemary-roasted potatoes and some fabulous breads. Pudding is a chocolate ganache tarte with French fruits and cheeses.

Back on the patch: an unexpected Osprey at Strumpshaw!

A very brief session at Strumpshaw began in Fen Hide, where I met with Brian, Norman and Brian Shreeve. Plenty of good-natured banter, enlivened by an ever-present ('though distant) Kingfisher, several Herons, two Chinese Water Deer and a Cormorant or two.

After a while we decided to walk to the end of Sandy Wall to look for Bearded Tits: didn't connect with them, but I did pick out a distant Osprey flying south across the Yare.

Tower Hide was back to its usual depth, so no waders other than ten Snipe dozing on the grass in front of the hide.

Even further for even less!

Norman and Mike (another Strumpshaw regular) picked me up at 7.15 for another bash at the migrants: this time on the east coast.

Starting off at Winterton, we walked both the North and South Dunes, with only Small Copper, Hobby and Buzzard as definite rewards for our efforts. Lots of Stonechats and chiff-willows, as well as tantalising glimpses of an almost certain Yellow-browed Warbler below the Hermanus. Another teaser was a chunky, dove-grey warbler feeding on fruit in the same area. Its apparently broad bill made us think of Barred Warbler, but looking at the photos it seems more like a Garden Warbler. One curious occurrence: we were followed along the 'southern valley' by a large drone: no sign of the operator. I thought it was illegal to fly these large craft over public areas.

A move to Waxham added only Brent Goose to the day's tally, while a walk around Hickling - while pleasant in the Autumn sun - gave us just the usual egrets and waterfowl. One spot of colour was a mint-fresh Painted Lady...

So: nine miles in three different locations for little sign of any migration. Let's hope things pick up soon!

 

A morning on the North Coast: Dotterel at Sheringham, but little else...

Brian only had a small window of opportunity today (and the weather forecast wasn't hopeful) so we met early and were in Wells Beach car park by 8.30.

Despite a five mile walk out and back, and a long stake-out of the Dell, 'Bluetail Bushes' and Drinking Pool, all we found were several tit flocks containing some well-marked Willow Warblers and Chiffchaffs. We glimpsed a Yellow-browed and heard another calling, but that was it...

After coffee at Cley, we moved on to Sheringham, where a short walk along the coastal path found us joining a small group enjoying the long-staying Dotterel. Considering how closely people approached this bird last night (see RBA for photos!) and also how near parties of golfers parked their golf bags, the general mood was to stay back at the top of the overlooking hill. I did sneak around the side on the 'rough' to within 100m, but thought this was a case where a closer approach would have been perfectly acceptable: still - no need to get photographers a bad name!

 

A near miss!

I've always wanted to get an image of the International Space Station crossing the face of the Moon: other people have been lucky, but I never have! I knew the ISS was going to pass very near the Moon which - being just a day past full - would be a large target!

Well: close, but no cigar! Still, quite impressive in the pre-dawn sky and nice to hear the local Tawny Owls hooting their appreciation, too!

Horsey Gap to Winterton: a long walk for very little!

Linda and I had lots to do this afternoon (more carpets being laid tomorrow!) so an early start was called for! Accordingly, we were in the Horsey Gap car park by 7.30 am and on our way south through the murk before it was properly light. Occasionally we spent five minutes looking at the sea, but apart from the usual large Gulls and a few Cormorants, the only creatures that livened up the scene were Seals!

A few charms of Goldfinches and some decent flocks of Linnets fed on the seed heads, while a couple of well-marked birds feeding on the path were reminiscent of Tree Pipits: in the end, I suppose they were both Mipits.

The only other birds we came across were about a dozen Stonechats with just a single example each of Whinchat and Wheatear. Someone's had a good morning, but it wasn't us!

Perranuthnoe: a true ghost story from forty years ago!

Whenever I come across reports of the long-staying Hudsonian Whimbrel in Cornwall, I'm reminded of a most terrifying manifestation that I experienced back in the early seventies...

At the time I was a member of a somewhat popular folk-band ( 'Culverin') that managed to secure a  Summer's work at a folk club in  Cornwall. The six of us were given the keys to an old cottage in the village of Perranuthnoe, near  St Michael's Mount, in which to stay.

After a couple of weeks, the owner of the club was so pleased with our efforts that he gave us an evening off: he suggested a barbecue and provided us with crates of beer and some chops and sausages to cook on the fire. (I still ate meat in those days!)

As dusk approached we walked through the old wooden gate of the cottage, straight onto the shallow, sandy beach. The tide was out and there was the beginnings of a sea mist. The lead singer, Bob and I walked casually down to the water's edge, while John, the other guitarist, and our three girlfriends remained to tend the fire. It was Bob (a six foot six tall man who was frightened of nothing) who first spotted the figures: there, at the edge of the mist were three barely discernible outlines wading knee-deep, parallel to the shoreline. 

 Bob and I squatted down together. Could they be smugglers? Some other band of desperate criminals, up to no good on this isolated fore-shore? As the trio drew level with us, they seemed for the first time to become aware of our presence: they turned towards us. It was at this moment that I shook Bob's arm and whispered hoarsely

They're not making a wake, Bob!"

And indeed, the three figures approached the beach without the slightest disturbance of the water through which they were apparently wading. Suddenly the ravelling mist swirled and cleared: for the first time we could see the figures plainly at perhaps twenty metres range……..That sight will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life: the three 'men' (though they hardly deserved the appellation) can only be described as having the appearance of rotting corpses. Their empty eye-sockets stared vacantly towards the beach, while shreds of skin and flesh hung from their emaciated frames.
Someone screamed….it could have been Bob or me: it doesn't matter…..The sound galvanised the pair of us. We turned and ran up the beach, past the flaring  driftwood fire and into the house. From behind us we heard gasps of horror, and the panic-stricken footsteps of our companions.

That night was spent in sleepless terror of what we had seen only too well on the deserted beach. The doors were locked and barricaded with furniture, but none of us dare surrender to sleep.  As the first light of day spread from the East, we summoned the courage firstly to peep through the thickly-curtained windows, then to open the door and venture outside. John and I had abandoned our acoustic guitars in our rush from the beach.  The neck of John's £300 Epiphone was warped and twisted beyond repair by the chill sea-mists: it somehow didn't seem to matter.

Later that day the club-owner dropped by.

"Did you have a good evening, boys and girls?" he enquired " Not...disturbed at all?"

We finished the Summer season and went on to further musical success, but, by common consent, that night on the beach at Perranuthnoe was never discussed by any of us.

The bottom image is of Bob and me when we met ten years ago: he ended up as a Headteacher in Essex and I didn't!

 

 

 

Relaxing day on the North Coast

After an early pick-up, Brian and I were walking on Gramborough Hill by 8.15. Lots of Stonechats, Linnets and Mipits, but the only unusual item was John Furze! He'd seen a Redstart and a Pied Fly, but we didn't manage to connect with either, so we left him to it and moved on to Cley.

The scrape in front of Bishop's Hide was somewhat dried up, but we enjoyed distant views of Godwits, Golden Plovers, a Curlew Sandpiper and two or three Green Sandpipers. Couple of interesting birds: one of the Golden Plovers looked somewhat slim and pale, while a small, very orangey wader crept about frustratingly distantly with the Green Sands. Every now and then a Peregrine or Kestrel would put everything up, but the wader flock never got close enough for decent photography.

A move to the centre hides added nothing to the day list, but the walk back produced reasonable views of a large, bright Greenland Wheatear.

Last stop was Kelling Quags: hardly any water, but a single Curlew Sandpiper mooched about on the mud. A few Chats and Whitethroats flitted around the bushes, while a flock of Sanderlings ran up and down the shoreline: out to sea a couple of Gannets rowed past eastwards...