Here is another of those “eventually I got up and went” scenarios. Normally I prefer this journal to be about the wildlife I observe rather than myself and what I do. But what can I add to all that has been published on-line concerning this bird over the past week? So I will instead indulge myself a little, which seems the best way to make a story out of all this.

In BirdGuides’ weekly review (see here) today’s item was described as a “true ‘giga’ rarity”, a phrase I had not heard before. It had been confirmed as the uber-scarce east Asian vagrant Long-toed Stint seven days ago on the evening of my previous twitch for the Hants’ Western Sandpiper. My own wish-list of still required European lifers is derived from their inclusion in the Hamlyn pocket field guide I used in my first phase of serious birding in the 1980s and 90s. I have two copies, one of which is marked up as my British and the other my European bird list. These prized personal relics include two pages of what the book terms “Accidental small sandpipers”, comprising some 12 species of which I still require just two.

The two most recent conversions illustrate just how rare some of these “peeps” as small waders are also known are. Western Sandpiper is cited by Collins (that like most birders I now use) as one of the group’s rarest visitors to Europe, five individuals so far in 2021 being a year record. The Long-toed Stint at St Aidan’s RSPB “nature park” in West Yorkshire (LS26 8GE – SE 399286) is the third for Great Britain and just 13th for the Western Palearctic. The first accepted national record was in June 1970 and a possible Sep 2011 record in Sussex is still in circulation with the BBRC. The Yorkshire bird is the first twitchable one since Aug 1982, meaning every British travelling birder would wish to connect.

My own concerns when the news broke were two-fold. Firstly I dislike and avoid heaving mass twitches, so would wait for things to calm down a bit. Secondly I wanted to gauge how distantly the bird was being viewed and how different from a Little Stint it might look at that range. When visual matter and other Oxon birders’ blogs began to appear online earlier this week my mind was put at rest concerning the latter. For the RBA gallery of this bird see here, including some images that capture the elongated middle toe that gives this Stint its name. The five minute video in the BirdGuides review linked higher up this post is most excellent, revealing a truly distinctive appearance and jizz.

By now I appreciated this might be my only opportunity to record a LTS and so one that warranted going to the extended 180-mile limit of my preferred driving range. When the RBA and BG weekly reviews landed in my inbox midweek they contained tales of thousands strong twitch lines and how the cream of British hard-core had relocated en masse from abandoned early October sojourns in Shetland and the Scillies. The removal of this “blocker” for a whole generation of birders had indeed inspired a huge national event.

It remained to actually feel motivated to make the conversion and my gut feel was that like the still present White-tailed Lapwing at RSPB Blacktoft Sands this latest bird would be a long stayer. I need to be in a particular frame of mind to take the road, which though not a precise condition usually involves pent up energy to burn. On waking this morning (14th) at 2:30 am there was a choice of spending time on the computer until sleepy again or getting out of the door. The moment had come to embark upon the four hour journey north.

Arriving on site at 8:30 I made my way out to it’s eastern reed bed where maybe 20 birders were already in place. I was put onto the Long-toed Stint straight away, which was some way off amongst a group of Northern Lapwing and Dunlin. Like last week’s Western Sandpiper this looked distinctive in both appearance and jizz, both small birds being restless and busy in their feeding behaviour and not at all like Little Stint. I then watched the visitor going about its business for around an hour before proceedings began to get a little too crowded for my liking.

LTS is a Tundra breeder and considered to be the Eastern Palearctic equivalent of the Nearctic region’s very similar Least Sandpiper. Most winter in south-east Asia with smaller numbers reaching Australia and possibly east Africa. To quote the Helm guide to confusion species Long-toed at a distance can look quite square-headed, flat-backed and pot-bellied, with a straight bill and rather truncated rear end. The relatively long, yellowish legs appear about equal to the body depth, and the bird often tilts forward when feeding. Close up the most obvious diagnostic is the strikingly long central toe of the species’ name.

As more and more observers arrived after 10 o’clock, all asking for and receiving directions as I had done, things became both repetitive and confusing compared to earlier and so I chose not to extend my stay. I could only imagine what the constant chorus of “just right of the Lapwing”, “moving in front of a Dunlin”, “there’s a Moorhen next to it now” and similar utterances must have sounded like over the previous weekend. Likewise, back at the car park I considered just how the facility might have coped with visitor numbers then, though the roadside verges for some way outside bore ample testimony to that.

The 400 hectare (990 acre) expanse of St Aidan’s Nature Park, also known as Swillington Ings covers a former open cast coal mining complex in the Aire Valley to the south-east of Leeds. Visiting it today provided an insight into this country’s industrial past that southerners such as myself possibly do not usually get the opportunity to appreciate. One thing I didn’t notice so much in this part of the world is the blanket over-development with characterless, high density housing around every small town and village that to my mind blights my native south-east of England, and which I personally detest.

Coal extraction in this area began in the early 1940s and continued at the St Aidan’s site until March 1988 when a major landslip alongside the River Aire caused the surface mining workings to flood over four days creating an extensive lake. It was 10 more years, during which the river’s course was diverted, before work could recommence to dig out the remaining coal reserves. Once that was complete ownership passed to Leeds City Council which created a charitable trust to re-wild the land. The present nature park opened in 2013 and four years later was leased to the RSPB which now manages the site for both wildlife and recreational activity. Habitats here include wetland, reed bed, meadows and woodland.

Before leaving today I took the opportunity to appreciate a prominent local landmark. The big brooding beastie (pictured above) is variously claimed to be Europe’s oldest or only preserved large walking drag-line excavator and the first I can ever recall seeing. These gargantuan products of heavy engineering were the main workhorse in open cast mining for around 50 years through the second half of the 20th century, before becoming superseded by newer technology. Electrically driven, they walked by means of rotating cam-driven feet, one on either side that lifted the structure off the ground and moved it forward at a rate of two metres a minute.

Manufactured in the US in 1946, this Bucyrus Erie 1150-B was one of three such machines purchased by the National Coal Board in 1953. Taking in it’s huge bulk my mind boggled at their being lifted onto and off the vessels that shipped them to Blighty, and how this one was partially dismantled and moved between three sites here through it’s working life. Presumably the heavy lifting and haulage technology of the day could cope since I doubt if it walked all the way! “Oddball” as the pictured machine is nicknamed weighs 1200 imperial tons and was operational at St Aidan’s between 1974 and the site closure of 1988. It is now maintained by a charitable trust (see here) aided by National Lottery and other grants.

Having become fascinated by this historical item I am happy to include it here, as I like to do in my mainly wildlife journal from time to time. Moving swiftly on and returning to birding matters it next seemed sensible being so close to go back for second helpings of the White-tailed Lapwing that has become a fixture 40 miles away at Blacktoft Sands since my first visit there on 28th August (see here).

Today the bird had been present in front of one of the reserve’s hides for quite some time prior to my arrival. When I got there in the early afternoon it was easy to pick out dozing it’s time away in the middle distance. The gloomy light at both sites might have suited the redundant presence of the walking drag-line, but definitely not my efforts at capturing pictorially this excursion’s second avian celebrity (below) any more than the first.

Some fairly local birders then told me about a Baird’s Sandpiper seen earlier just 27 miles in my own direction home. So after the Lapwing eventually went walkabout and I had become satisfactorily re-acquainted with it I opted to attempt a third item on what was becoming a busy day. But what would have been my second career Baird’s proved a step too far as it was not reported again in the afternoon and I didn’t locate it either.

And so I headed back south to complete a solo round trip of 410 Velvet Revolver, Thunder and RHCP-accompanied miles; nothing to proper hard-core birders of course, whatever their choice of in-car entertainment but not a distance I attempt too often myself. Worth it though? … Given the energy to burn mind-set of this particular day, I should say so!

This was a very satisfying British and WestPal list addition, especially as I had dipped the same species at Snettisham in Norfolk already this year. Checking national bird news on Thursday evening (7th) I found a vagrant Nearctic wader present on the Hampshire Solent for the previous three days had been confirmed as one of the required conversions on my dwindling wish list of more regularly occurring British passage scarcities.

The adult bird in question had been cited as either Semipalmated or Western Sandpiper that are closely related and very similar. I had observed the first of those twice previously – at nearby Keyhaven Marsh (Sep 2013) and Slimbridge WWT, Glos (Oct 2015 see here) – but the second only on my January 2018 visit to Florida. Now it seemed the great and good of Hants birding society had settled opinion in favour of the species I needed nationally, and I at once resolved to go for it in the morning.

Notes attached to an entry on Hants Going Birding explained the local birders’ decision as being “based on posture, position of the legs, body shape, jizz when walking around, and thin-tipped bill shape.” The previous archive picture of my own (below, left) and outsourced image (right) possibly support all that, and having experienced Western at close range previously I felt reasonably confident of being able to recognise it again.

My quest was being reported each day after 10am and so I opted to arrive on site around an hour earlier. In the event parking without causing obstruction was easy at the junction of Maiden and Normandy Lanes to the south of Lymington, where there are several roadside car spaces. Walking out from there onto the sea wall, small groups of birders were at once visible scanning Normandy Lagoon (SZ 332938). On joining them the scarcity had not been viewed yet so it was a matter of waiting for carrier flocks to fly in with the incoming tide.

Time passed and more birders congregated in two main groups at different points on the sea wall as roosting wader numbers built up. Just before 10:50am a nearby pager owner announced the day’s first news on RBA, so the bird must have been seen by the other group. I headed over straight away but on joining them only two of their number were confident of the sighting. Some discussion then ensued as people confused two Little Stint, an adult and a juvenile, with what we all sought. And so the excitement subsided and a need for patience set in once more.

Nobody was locating the object of our intent in the nearest wader roost, but maybe it was amongst other large congregations too far away to be picked out. Another hour passed then a pair of Peregrine entered proceedings, putting up all the waders around the lagoon. After the latter re-settled a clearly knowledgeable birder standing right next to me began to issue very good directions concerning a bird on the nearest island … and there was the Western Sandpiper that to my mind immediately stood out.

For me the most telling features were this bird’s dainty jizz, strikingly black slim legs and bill, and fine-tipped bill shape. All that was quite distinctive as it moved around amongst numbers of larger Dunlin and Ringed Plover in the middle distance, while the short bills and rounded shape by comparison of the two Little Stints people had kept calling earlier were equally plain to see. This outsourced graphic (below) presents more detail on separating Western from Semipalmated Sandpiper, with emphasis on bill characteristics.

More in line with my own experience today, the Helm guide to confusion species advises observers to think of Western Sandpiper as a miniature Dunlin. The two species are similar in shape and share other characteristics, most notably the down-curved bill. WS is a Tundra breeder in eastern Russia and Alaska, winters on both the US eastern and Pacific coasts, and is one of the rarest visitors to Europe in its group. 2021 has been a record year for the species, with the bird at Snettisham and another on the south coast of Ireland in July and at least two elsewhere on the continent.

This has been a very good national birding year for me personally with 10 list additions so far of which six are lifers. Those are White-throated Sparrow, River Warbler, Blyth’s Reed Warbler, Pacific Golden Plover, Black-browed Albatross and White-tailed Lapwing. The British list additions are Whiskered Tern, Great Reed Warbler, Black Stork and today’s bird that is number 370 on my British and 510 on my Western Palearctic lists. Still not having been to either Scotland or the Scillies, if I wait patiently and scan the daily bird news these things keep turning up within manageable range. So what remains for me to record nationally keeps getting whittled down … onward then!

This local item has provided some welcome motivation in the present autumn wind-down to the dreaded and detested dark season. A “probable” Purple Heron was first reported on Going Birding from Blenheim Palace’s grand water features on 14th September, then again two days later. That prompted my ever restless birding colleague Ewan to make an early conversion on Friday 17th (see here), and in contact with him I visited a little later on the same morning.

Ewan and another birder had located this juvenile wanderer in Willow scrub along one shore of the estate’s Queen Pool (SP440164). Having moved on he had asked his fellow to wait for myself and other Oxon birders to arrive. But as I approached there, two disappointed departees told me my quest had been chased off by Grey Herons onto the adjacent Lake. Another phone call revealed the likely viewing point and so I joined several birders scanning a particular area of reeds on the far side of Capability Brown’s watery creation.

Cue a patient wait for something to flush what is a notoriously skulking large bird. Horse riders were visible through the cover beyond and fly-by Grey Herons were also willed by all present to shorten our sojourn. Eventually a commotion between two Mute Swans erupted close to the area under scrutiny. The consensus was they were getting it on and fortunately their ardour spilled over into the part of the reed bed we were all watching. How fortunate!

Yes, up then indeed popped a very brown-toned Heron that perched in a lakeside tree for a few minutes before flying off to the far end of The Lake. Thus I had observed my third national Purple Heron; the others, both autumn juveniles having been at RSPB Ouse Washes (1997) and RSPB Otmoor (2016). I remained in position for the rest of the morning without viewing the Blenheim bird again, and it was not reported subsequently until early evening.

The weekend was the occasion of the Blenheim International Horse Trials so was not a good time for on-site birding. Some intrepid Oxon birders nonetheless connected again early on Sunday (see here). Having endured a motivationally low weekend I now elected for an early start of my own, returning at 7:30 am on Monday 20th. On arrival I found myself at first to be the only birder present, then scanned the margins of both water features without success as well as tall trees on the island in Queen Pool. First impressions were of looking more or less directly into the rising sun, which didn’t help.

Having arranged to meet another of my more regular wildlife colleagues Sally, when the phone next rang she was heading for a picnic area on the far side of Queen Pool. Rendezvousing there we found the best possible vantage point to watch both the island and margins and so time progressed as we settled in and waited patiently. Shortly before 9am a brown looking Heron flew in from one side then over us to land on the far shore to one side of the Grand Bridge (pictured above). And so, stopping my talkative companion in full flow I announced: “That’s it!” Cue a pre-agreed call to other on-site Oxon birders who could not yet see it and the Purple Heron was re-announced to the airwaves.

Through the next hour this county and national scarcity offered very good value as mostly showing well it foraged in the marginal vegetation (above). Achieving adequate pictures at the distance was hardly likely though, but those herein convey how this bird was seen by myself and so must suffice. The juvenile bird’s onward path took it ever closer to a largish group of Mute Swans (below) and so we waited for the inevitable to happen. Sure enough the resident Swans took exception to the interloper and went into the threat posture, at which the Purple Heron took off and flew to the opposite shore, and so we followed.

More birders and interested general public gathered round as we then watched the Purple Heron’s neck and head moving and foraging through deeper cover (see here). There seemed little reason for the bird to re-locate from there unless it was spooked by something, and so in late morning we went on our separate ways. This Oxon rarity had without doubt put on its best show to date this morning. It was one of a small September influx nationally with other individuals occurring in Norfolk, Essex, West Sussex, Kent and Somerset.

Recent “neglect” of the Blenheim lake margins has undoubtedly enhanced their quality as wildlife habitat, which is currently evidenced by the presence of five different Heron species in the park. Earlier this year Cattle Egret bred in Oxfordshire for the first time ever in the island heronry and Great White Egret are regular at the site in autumn and winter. But Queen Pool is due to be drained and dredged soon, the work having been postponed through the Covid pandemic, so how the “wildlife friendliness” here may then be affected remains to be seen. Right now I just feel pleased to enjoy the situation while it lasts.

After three recent bird lifers – Pacific Golden Plover, Black-browed Albatross and White-tailed Lapwing – I have now completed what I regard as the “regional set” for Lincolnshire and East Yorkshire for this late summer. A long staying juvenile Black Stork in the first of those counties has been bugging me for some time.

This long-legged bird visited RSPB Frampton Marsh briefly while I was connecting with the PGP’s on 14th August (see here). Then I spent four hours searching for it on 22nd at nearby RSPB Freiston Shore, a day on which it went temporarily AWOL. But in between and since those dates it has been reported regularly from one reserve or the other. So on not sleeping past 4am this morning I upped and went to try to get the job done properly.

This was forecast to be a very hot “Indian summer” day, and what a contrast to my previous attempt it produced! Arriving on site at 8:45am I opted to first check out the location of my quest’s last report on RBA the previous evening. That was a field just to the north of Frampton Marsh with a grid reference TF355398. Parking at the top of an access track into it, I set out to scan Wyberton Marsh towards the sea and what should be standing there right ahead of me and directly into the sun (pictured below) but the Black Stork of my intent.

The initial connect today was as simple as that. There was already a significant heat haze that combined with glare throughout the morning to come rendered all the images in this post no more than “record shots” that show I am not making all this up. For the RBA gallery of this bird, which has wandered East Yorks and more especially Lincs since 7th August see here.

I will admit to then putting the bird up, since I was not as careful in my approach than if other observers had been present. But whether people might have been watching from afar and so witnessed my misdemeanour I didn’t know. So moving on to RSPB Frampton Marsh (PE20 1AY – TF357390) I kept quiet. But I was soon exonerated as the Black Stork flew in, making a low aerial pass in front of the visitor centre before settling in the middle distance.

Hence every birder in the vicinity enjoyed very good views. When the Stork next took flight it circled overhead before heading back towards where I had first stumbled upon it. The idea formed in my mind of sneaking back out there away from the crowds, but I hung around a while longer. And when a birder walking back from that direction said: “It was on the farm track just near me in that field where the sheep are 15 minutes ago,” things sounded familiar.

Continuing along the visitor trail I noticed an open gate through the reserve boundary. Then checking out the farm track beyond it I realised I was back where my visit here had begun, but at first there was no sign of what I sought. Then the Black Stork flew in again (pictured below) to settle on the track away to the right, before relocating on my left at 300 metres.

Maybe this had become a favoured location for the wanderer. Now I took much more care over not spooking it and began to attempt pictures keeping in semi-cover, but I soon had company. As visitors walking the trail noticed the open gate, more and more came and went as numbers reached double figures at times over the next hour and a bit. For all that time the Stork just stood unconcerned in the same spot, panting in the heat and occasionally preening.

Having by this stage attempted endless unsatisfactory images I actually hoped someone might flush the bird so I could get flight studies, but it fell to the grazing sheep to eventually do the deed. Thus irritated the Black Stork at length took off again, circling ever higher before flying off north, and my own submission at that point was the last on RBA today.

I had observed Black Storks previously in Holland (Aug 1988), Greece (Apr 2017) and Turkey (June 2019). The species breeds in forested regions and marshy wetlands of east and south-eastern Europe and western Asia, wintering in tropical Africa, India and south-east Asia. Today, after those recent frustrations, this much chased British list addition (369) served extra helpings over and again on my third attempt for it, and is now well and truly dealt with.

I don’t usually do madcap, through the night twitches to jostle for elbow room at first light in cramped hides with scores of grumpy, hairy, ugly men – but for an Asian Plover species I am prepared to become a proper birder for the day. That group of birds holds a special fascination for me and one of it’s number, a White-tailed Lapwing turned up on south Humberside two days ago. This was a must-see.

Being both a local and national mega and the first in Great Britain for 10 years the bird on its first two days attracted huge crowds to the RSPB’s Blacktoft Sands reserve (DN14 8HR – SE843232), and more of the same could be expected today. Tales abounded on social media of long queue’s for limited viewing time in two different hides. All this was tolerantly and well organised by the RSPB in the populist charity’s now more enlightened stance towards those of it’s traditional membership and support who wish to observe particular rare birds.

As things transpired, my twitch leader Mark’s strategy was to get here later in the day by when numbers of people would have subsided and the light might hopefully be better for taking pictures. And after our near seven-hour vigil for the Black-browed Albatross at our first stop, we did not arrive on site until 16:30. Greeted by the reception staff we were at first able to gain brief, unsatisfactory views from there of my day’s second lifer the White-tailed Lapwing (or Plover). The question then was which of two hides to attempt proper observation from.

The bird had commuted through the day between two of the reserve’s six shallow brackish lagoons, in front of the Xerox and Townend hides that are around 350 metres apart. Ewan and Mark reasoned it would be preferable to wait for it to return to the latter where better views might be gained. I joined them at first but before long it seemed sensible to split up and stake out both hides, so I transferred to the Xerox. En route I was told our quest was on view from there but when I walked in it had just moved behind a large, reed-covered island. Ho hum, such is birding.

Feeling a little disgruntled with how things seemed to be turning out I sat down and waited, while enjoying the variety of other waders present – Black-tailed Godwits, Ruff, Greenshank, Common Snipe, Green Sandpiper and a Spotted Redshank. I learned that the star visitor prefers to feed in sheltered locations rather than out in the open. Things did not look good but eventually something flushed more ducks and waders from behind the island. Now on the far side of the lagoon before me, of a sudden and in all its sublime elegance stood the White-tailed Lapwing of my intent. I alerted Ewan then scoped the quite delightful Plover as it moved along the reed edge back towards the island.

This slender and graceful, even dainty looking Lapwing may be described as having rather plain beige upperparts, greyish breast and creamy brown belly; with a pale brown crown, short black bill, large black eyes and strikingly long, bright yellow legs. It breeds in former Soviet central Asia west to Iran and Iraq, and normally winters in the Indian sub-continent and north-east Africa. Very small numbers may migrate to south-eastern Europe.

In it’s home range this is the only Lapwing likely to be seen feeding persistently in deep water or submerging it’s head while doing so. It is rarely found far from the margins of still or slow-flowing water, preferring well vegetated river or canal edges and either saline or fresh water pools rather than open mud flats. By comparison with the familiar Northern Lapwing this distant cousin is rather skulking with a preference for cover. A very scarce vagrant to western Europe, today’s bird is just the seventh ever British record.

I had got lucky today, then my own earlier experience was repeated as my two colleagues arrived just after the bird became lost to view again. So we all settled down and waited for it to emerge from its hiding place once more. Fortunately two Marsh Harriers were active over the reed bed beyond the lagoon and other large birds, Herons and Egrets that might flush waders would fly through the channel behind the island at intervals. Two more instances occurred without the WTL appearing again, so was it still there or had it headed in the other direction?

After another flush that question was answered and our day became complete. Now the White-tailed Lapwing was much closer to the hide than earlier and commenced to go walkabout around the lagoon, offering decent enough picture opportunities in the fading light. But my own camera was ineffective at the distance in those conditions, so I am indebted to my two companions for the images in this post. For the RBA gallery of this bird see here.

It was now early evening and so we set off on the four hour journey home in a contented frame of mind. It had been a very long but ultimately successful day. As a back seat passenger of two real birding “professionals” I had gained two mega life list additions beyond my own preferred twitching range and without the scenario of this post’s opening paragraph that also normally puts me off. My grateful thanks are due to Mark for doing the driving today and to Ewan for inviting me along in the first place. My British bird list now stands at 368, and my western Palearctic list at 509.

There is nothing I can really add to what has already been published online about this bird. So here I will merely recount my own day spent catching up with what is possibly Great Britain’s most popular rarity of 2021. Since his arrival there on 28th June the seasoned Black-browed Albatross commonly known as “Albert” has drawn thousands of admirers, both birders and general public to RSPB Bempton Cliffs in Yorkshire. I have waited for an opportunity to observe him without driving beyond my preferred range, and that came today.

Arriving on-site (TA 197739) at 6am, in company with Ewan and his regular long-distance twitching buddy Mark, we headed out to the Staple Nook viewpoint. There Albert likes to wile away his time loafing amongst the breeding Gannets before putting on impressive flight displays when the mood takes him. Between them my day’s 500+ British list colleagues have successfully converted almost every new national mega of recent years, including this one twice before, so I had chosen my carriers consciously. On taking up position with something-teen other early birders we learned our quest had flown in to the cliff face around 20 minutes previously, but was now out of sight somewhere below us all.

Cue a wait for the show to commence … quite a time as things transpired. The longest I have ever waited for a bird to take the stage was seven hours for a Baillon’s Crake at Rainham Marsh, Essex in September 2012. Then I concluded that other lifer must have been a female exercising her prerogatives. Being a chap, the reputed half-centurion Albert really ought to have known better. He has not been noted for spending such lazy mornings as today too often, but local birders around me said his routine is never predictable. And so we waited for flight to commence … on and patiently on.

After three hours word came through that Albert was visible on the cliffs from 500 metres or so away to our right, where some birders had picked him out. This being a lifer for me but not my two colleagues, I went over while they stayed behind. I was put onto a rather indistinct grey form nestled amongst the Gannets someway down the sharp top edge from the viewpoint I had vacated, that I was assured was Albert’s back. Eventually this blob raised the white head and pink bill of the Black-browed Albatross I had seen so many images of online, while he alternately dozed and preened. So I thus added this nationally famous mega rarity to my life list … first priority achieved!

Returning to the Staple Nook viewpoint in relaxed mode I then chatted to other birders and friendly volunteer wardens around me, while Albert lazed his time away below and, yes upon checking quite definitely out of sight. Three more hours on at 12:18 the shout at last went up as the BBA got his act together and headed out to sea, landing on the water’s surface. At this stage I was informed by a regular local birder standing nearby this was what he usually does on first taking flight, and he was likely to fly inshore again soon. And so it transpired.

Cue an eventual aerial display that had my trip’s new colleague and ace photographer Mark Rayment enthusing for the rest of the day. Over the next 20 minutes or so Albert performed to his adoring audience like we had all been waiting to see, gliding around and banking on those huge outstretched wings. First out to sea, then close in to the cliff face, out of sight away to the left and around all over again. Since that early arrival here I had been assured this was what the bird would sooner or later do.

Though I will not be entering any of them into competitions, I am frankly astounded at having gained such half-decent images of my own for this post. With my ancient “photographic” artefact these were as usual achieved through altering the basic settings as I went along and hoping for the best. Mark told me the underside studies are the most difficult to achieve, and were the main reason he had wanted to come here again today.

Thus sated the by then hungry and thirsty gathering at Staple Nook mostly dispersed, the three of us included. It being just past midday on a bank holiday weekend, lots of general public who all seemed to know about the Albatross had joined the earlier birders on the cliff top to enjoy his eventual flight spectacular. My own party had a second mission for this day, a mega-rare Asian Plover, White-tailed Lapwing also in Yorkshire around 90 tortuous local driving minutes to the south. And so we went on our way.

Through our seven hour sojourn here we of course had the spectacle of Great Britain’s largest mainland Gannetry to keep us entertained. My best pictures of the morning are presented below. Though the other breeding seabirds have now dispersed, small numbers of Guillemot, Kittiwake and Shag were still active offshore. This was also the first occasion on which I have managed to capture Fulmar pictorially, and at one point two Porpoises swam past.

For the record, the Black-browed Albatross, whose home range is the oceans of the southern hemisphere, is thought to be the same individual that has wandered the North and Baltic Seas visiting coasts in Germany, Scandinavia and Great Britain since the 1960’s. No spring chicken now, Albert is likewise thought to be the only one of his kind in European waters and might survive for another 15 years into his seventies as this species often does.

If indeed the same bird he first visited Bempton Cliffs in 2014, then again in 2017 and 2020 always briefly, but this summer has been more or less a fixture for almost nine weeks. Though eternally lost throughout his long life to date, he must clearly feel very much at home here and I feel glad to have belatedly made his acquaintance on this day.

The following is presented in all seriousness. Today by way of doing something quite different I enjoyed Oxfordshire’s best fringe wildlife attraction of the moment, the Radley Wasp Spider. This thing of great beauty and mystique was found within a former gravel pit complex (SU520977) six days previously by my wildlife colleague Wayne (see here), then viewed and blogged subsequently by Ewan (here). So when I ran into the latter this morning and he said he was about to have another look, I gladly accepted his invitation to go along too.

This strikingly colourful arachnid, Argiope bruennichi originates from the Mediterranean region and occurs locally through much of central and northern Europe and beyond. It was first recorded in England in 1922, and through the rest of that century mostly from south coast locations. But with more recent global warming there has been a northward range expansion that has attracted some media attention. The name derives from the female of this post’s Wasp like colouring. Males are somewhat smaller and brown so hence less noticeable, even should they survive mating during which they are most often eaten alive.

Well we’ve all known one or two of those, haven’t we chaps? Today we re-located the femme fatale in question quickly, still spread-eagled across her intricate web (pictured above) low down in the vegetation to one side of a track to where my colleague led me. She was busily engaged in cocooning an ensnared fly as some of these pictures show. The large web is termed an “orb web” with an ingenious vertical zigzag pattern running down its centre, known as a stabilimentum that is said to reflect ultra-violet light to attract prey insects.

Females are roughly the same size, between 140 and 180mm long as a larger Garden Spider (Araneus diadematus), that appear in profusion almost everywhere at this time of year. The latter species varies greatly in form but is never black and yellow. The former’s crossways abdomen pattern mimicking the colouration of a wasp is a clever survival mechanism, since predators will mostly leave such stinging insects alone.

The diminutive males are typically between just 4 and 5mm in length and for the reason stated earlier very few remain by this stage of the season. To avoid being consumed sooner they build webs of their own within the edges of the larger one. There they are able to remain undetected until the occupant completes her final moult and reaches sexual maturity, when her jaws will also be softer. Then the intrepid mini-suitors dart in to take their chance but soft jaws or not invariably become a convenient snack once the business is done.

That’s the way to treat ’em, hey chapesses? I am sure there must be more scientific if less entertaining explanations for all this. One is that males of a certain size are able to “plug” the female after mating with their entire bodies to prevent any other male from fertilising her eggs. But perhaps the divas in question might not wish to grant such exclusivity and so tuck in anyway. Maybe it’s time to move on!

Since Wasp Spiders have a particular liking for Grasshoppers as a food item they are rarely found in gardens but more usually unmanaged rough grassland in the countryside. There the web is typically spun in long grass a little above ground level, as with today’s example. Upon a prey item being caught in the web it is immobilised by being wrapped in silk, then bitten and injected with a paralysing venom.

The above picture shows our subject dealing with a newly trapped fly in that way. Being quite pleased with these images I wanted to return with my macro lens and so re-visited in the afternoon with another wildlife colleague, Sally who also wished to see this highly attractive spider. By then the food item was fully cocooned (pictured below), but the morning’s telephoto pictures are probably better. I believe the three of us are the only Oxon birders, other than its finder to take in this alternative local experience so far.

The subject of this post does not, however always receive such a good press as herein. Cue the DAILY STAR from 9th September 2020:

Hmmm … having now been properly introduced, I have to say I rather like them too. For the record, this similar looking number (above) that I stumbled upon in Morocco in November 2015 is the biggest spider that I myself have ever seen. This lady, as I’m now sure she must have been was the size of my hand … so for “terrified staycationers” her kind could be a further “nemesis sublime” were they also to “march across” to these shores. ID anyone?

Footnote: “She’s my nemesis sublime” is a lyric from a 2015 Thunder (English rock band) song about a dominatrix.

In its most recent weekly birding round-up: 3 – 9 August, RBA posed the question: “What’s better than an adult Pacific Golden Plover?” Their answer: “Two together at the same site”, was prompted by the arrival on 5th of a second individual at the RSPB’s passage wader mecca of Frampton Marsh at the south-west corner of The Wash. So this seemed an ideal opportunity to add to my bird life list what I had thought of as a tricky Nearctic species and so had not bothered to attempt before.

Pacific and American Golden Plovers were split by the BOURC in 1986, having previously been treated as a single taxon “Lesser Golden Plover”. Since then the former has been an almost annual vagrant to the British Isles, averaging three or four a year, while the latter is a species I have observed just once before in Oxford’s Port Meadow in November 2012. Most British Pacific records occur immediately after the birds leave their breeding grounds in July and early August. These have been well scattered historically, usually on the east-coast, the Northern Isles and in Cornwall.

Two together in breeding plumage (see RBA gallery here) just 125 miles from home, that would not have to be picked out from carrier flocks of European Golden Plover, was therefore the kind of national birding opportunity I seek. In the event this was an easy conversion. Arriving at RSPB Frampton Marsh (PE20 1AY – TF357390) just after 10am it was good to actually be welcomed as a green clad optics carrier in the visitor centre, and I was directed out to the sea wall beyond which the two birds were still present on salt marsh. This sightings board (below) that is also published online was likewise very helpful.

As I walked the main track through the freshwater marsh the exact location was obvious from a small group of people standing atop the embankment. When I got there the first person I enquired of muttered negatively: “Good luck, I haven’t seen it.” But several others were scoping some pools away to the east, and one of them pointed out the area to scan myself. I soon picked out the two Pacific Golden Plover moving up and down the edges of those pools and continued to watch them over the next hour. But I stood little chance of gaining acceptable pictures of my own at that distance looking into the hazy light.

By comparison with European “Goldies” these are smaller and slighter, with a longer neck more easily apparent when alert; a deeper-based, shorter bill and larger-headed appearance. In flight the toes of PGP extend beyond the tail tip and the wings are much slimmer. For an authoritative ID guide to all three GP species see here.

Pacific Golden Plover breed across the Siberian tundra from northern Russia eastward and into western Alaska. The species is highly migratory, with the main wintering range extending through the Indian subcontinent, south-east Asia, southern China and Japan; and across the Pacific islands to Australia and New Zealand. Small numbers also winter in Kenya and the Arabian Gulf, and some in southern California. Departure from the winter quarters takes place from March to early May, and they reach their breeding areas in the first half of June, leaving again in July and early August.

Though they are very similar in appearance, where the breeding grounds of Pacific and American GP overlap in Alaska the two are said to inter-breed only very rarely if at all. The latter species’ migration route is also quite different, with almost all birds wintering in South America. By contrast the wintering range of PGP extends across nearly half of the Earth’s circumference.

Having researched this post and especially found this outsourced image (above) I now realise it must be far less difficult to pick out PGP from carrier flocks than I had previously imagined. So having made the effort this was a day very well spent. This latest gain is items 366 and 507 respectively on my career British and western Palearctic bird lists.

When I was out at the sea wall, the reserve was re-visited briefly by a fly-through Black Stork that had frequented this area of Lincs since 12th, most often at the nearby RSPB reserve of Freiston Shore 6km (in a direct line) to the north-west. In my post-tick exploration of Frampton Marsh (as if I wouldn’t do that?!), I took a route through where the potential British list addition had circled for a time, but it had gone on it’s way. Enquiring at the visitor centre I was told it had last been reported heading north from that other location, so I decided not to chase it before heading home.

The bird did return to Freiston Shore (TF 397423) later in the day and not seeing it rankled slightly through the ensuing week when it was also reported there on most days. So on feeling the need to hit the road again after a seven day mainly dismal weather interval I went for it on Sunday 22nd. Arriving on-site just after 10am I spent four hours making a very long circuit and a half of the marshes there, but the Stork had well and truly gone absent and was not reported anywhere on that date. This at least illustrated how it might also have been a long search for me, without getting lucky eight days previously, but such is birding.

With two of my three latest bird twitches having ended in failure, the other being Western Sandpiper at Snettisham in Norfolk, the time seemed right to do a bit of history instead. At Frampton my attention was caught by the prominent local landmark of St Botolph’s Church tower in Boston that by road lies mid-way between the two RSPB reserves. I now resolved to get closer to and take pictures of the 83 metre structure of what is England’s tallest, non-spired parish church tower, popularly known as the “Boston Stump” (pictured above and below).

The ornate Gothic building dates from 1309 when Boston was a thriving commercial port, England’s second largest at that time. Construction of the tower began in 1452 and was completed by 1520 in the by then popular perpendicular style. The tower is topped with a highly decorated octagonal lantern ringed with pinnacles, one of very few surviving medieval examples in England. Standing at the foot of this magnificent edifice, looking upward and imagining the bygone effort and expertise involved in its construction was to my mind quite awe-inspiring. I have always held an interest in historic buildings and so now include the occasion’s different kind of uplifting experience in this mainly wildlife journal.

The final item on my 2020 wildlife agenda, re-scheduled to 2021 has been to experience one of Great Britain’s most difficult to observe butterflies in possibly it’s least documented location. High Brown Fritillary being greatly reduced in it’s former Cumbria strongholds, extinct in Worcs’ Malvern Hills and viewed poorly by myself only in difficult habitat in Devon – all places in which I had tried for the species previously – I decided to see if things would be any easier with a population near Bridgend in Glamorganshire. The outcome after three attempts may best be described as more of the same hard work though ultimately satisfying.

The Alun Valley Project (see here) involves management by Butterfly Conservation (BC) and partnership organizations of some hillsides and downs above them for HBF. That conservation effort has succeeded in increasing adult butterfly counts many fold since it began in 2002. The longer standing colonies are on Old Castle Down, but since December 2019 BC has attempted to create more habitat on Ogmore Down. That involves opening up dense bracken and scrub with hand tools and mechanical brush-cutters, followed by winter pony or cattle grazing since sheep grazing is unsuitable for producing an even distribution of required habitat.

Like other Fritillaries High Brown is a very picky habitat specialist, requiring unimproved semi-natural grassland in which to breed, and within that habitat pockets of very specialised micro-conditions. Achieving then maintaining all this (bullets) is a very delicate balance:

• A sheltered, usually south-facing, open and sunny slope below 300m altitude
• Bracken stands where the ground is littered with a light covering of dead bracken with sparse grass cover. This needs to be deep enough to provide a warm air pocket, but not so deep that it shades out the food plant
• The sole larval food plant Common Dog Violet amongst that sparse ground vegetation, with relatively high spring ground temperatures when the larvae hatch in March
• A grazing regime that breaks up the bracken by trampling but doesn’t remove the grass or Violets
• A minimum area of 2 to 5 hectares of suitable habitat to support a breeding colony

From a lay-by (CF32 0TA – SS902757) on the B4265 St Brides Road south of Ewenny and just north of Pant Quarry, paths lead west up to Ogmore Down and east onto Old Castle Down that both have open public access. I first visited here a year ago, without realising that Covid travel restrictions had not been eased in Wales as in England. Overhead gantry messages along the M4 proclaimed STAY LOCAL PROTECT THE NHS but didn’t say “If you have come from England turn around and go back”, so how was I to know? Vehicle traffic volumes suggested little attention was being paid to the restrictions which were not being enforced.

That day I first explored Ogmore Down above the working Pant Quarry, encountering Dark Green and Small Pearl-bordered Fritillaries but no HBF. Then I met a friendly local who as well as making me realise I shouldn’t really be there explained the last-named’s established colonies are on Old Castle Down. In the afternoon I crossed the road to that second area but still without success, and so resolved to come back a year later.

I have found published information on HBF in both Devon and Glamorgan to be very scant. Neither county has a BC sightings page and I don’t do social media so the first question is when to visit if a wasted journey is to be avoided. Adults normally fly in June, through the second half of which this journal’s other reference on the Devon sites (see here) became the most consulted post herein, suggesting the HBF season was indeed underway. Then a picture of the butterfly from today’s site featured in BirdGuides’ most recent weekly photo awards, so I awaited a next suitable weather window.

On 5th the BBC Breakfast weather forecast suggested it was indeed worth risking the 127 mile journey in what looked set to be another rainy week. Arriving just after 10:30am the dark grey stuff was stacked up against higher ground to the north of the Vale of Glamorgan, but the site of my intent was still sunlit. That situation lasted for around an hour, during which I surveyed Old Castle Down more or less randomly coming across some Dark Green Fritillaries amongst the more plentiful flying Meadow Brown, Ringlet, Small Heath and Large Skipper.

Then I crossed paths with another local who knew the area and had seen HBF earlier, showing me a picture on the back of his camera. He directed me to what he described as the reliable hotspot, a bracken slope at one end of the public right of way that runs along the southern edge of the open access land between a ford in Cwm Arun and St Brides Major (see map higher up). This was at once recognisable as suitable habitat, with many tall Thistle plants growing amongst the bracken that was noticeably less dense than at the Devon sites of my previous experience. Indeed it was possible to walk in at various points without damaging habitat, to investigate the butterflies that were active here and there.

Midday had now passed and conditions had become largely overcast with the sun attempting to break through on and off. But large Fritillaries were showing at intervals and I resolved just to keep walking up and down the tracks on either side of the favoured patch and persevere. Before too long gaining the poor quality underside study (above) of a High Brown Fritillary meant that mission had indeed been accomplished.

I was now reminded of visiting Aish Tor in Devon in similar weather conditions in 2018. Calling the colleague who had briefed me on that site his advice then was the butterflies would still need to nectar in the early afternoon to fuel up for the rest of their day. That was indeed what transpired here as perhaps three or four individuals, some of them worn all became active, moving around quickly and restlessly while rarely settling or showing their undersides for long. But I was able to obtain other unsatisfactory pictorial records (below) that confirmed the IDs.

This was presumably one of the managed Alun Valley Project colonies, of which there are more. By 14:30 conditions had become cooler and darker grey and the Fritillaries were no longer so visible. I was a long way from my start point of the morning and walking back around the site periphery immediately above the Alun Valley I appreciated having made what was a quite thorough exploration of Old Castle Down for future reference.

Hence my 2020/21 national wildlife agenda had been converted 100% successfully, and I had visited all the British High Brown Fritillary sites of recent history, viewing them poorly at just three. It now remained to re-visit Old Castle Down in the next suitable weather window to seek satisfactory pictures and maybe further colonies both there and on neighbouring Ogmore Down. So three days later (8th) I returned, being concerned to arrive earlier to catch the butterflies as they warmed up with the day.

That plan was scuppered by the mishap of realising after setting out for the hotspot I had left my phone on view in the car, so not wanting to invite a rock through the window I went back and the first hour was lost. Eventually getting down to the task in hand at past 10:30 the HBF were by then quite flighty and showing no inclination to settle on the Thistles to nectar. In bright sunshine they would instead keep landing in the shade of deep cover, eventually to re-emerge far less frequently. More poor quality records were gained including those above that show the top-side male diagnostics clearly enough.

Through the ensuing hour I felt sure the Fritillaries I was watching were High Browns but could not gain the underwing pictures that would remove all doubt. But as three days earlier I reasoned the butterflies would have to fuel up again in the early afternoon, and especially since they were expending a lot of energy. So I next wandered off to check out some other parts of Old Castle Down noted previously, in which differences in the bracken habitat to the managed hotspot were all too apparent.

Retracing my steps after 13:00 the HBFs were flying again but still not settling on the Thistles. Then I noticed a little ground level commotion to one side of the track where an interloper was attempting to muscle in on a mating pair. The next intruder on the scene, myself caused the female to be transported anew to the short grass sward of the track itself where they carried on. Cue a close encounter of the macro kind with which the happy couple were unconcerned.

Observing one of the scarcest British butterflies this well must be an infrequent opportunity, and to get so close to a mating pair in such pristine condition might be a rarer one still. But three times? Yes I encountered what must have been the same pair twice more through the early afternoon. Just look at all those lovely red occoli and the other red bit in the images that kind of stands out! It possibly goes without saying that acceptable pictures for this post had now been attained.

On eventually walking away I met BC’s conservation officer for Wales, Andrea Rowe and a colleague and so took the opportunity to learn more about this site and its HBF project. They confirmed the other managed areas above the Alun Valley are not on publicly accessible land, and that High Browns may also be viewed on the slopes up to Ogmore Down above the B4265 St Brides Road where a deal of volunteer work has taken place. But checking those out would have to wait for another day. It had been a hot and tiring five hours in the field and my legs were aching, so it was time to move on and head home.

2025 update: I revisited here on a very hot 10th July, joining a BC-led guided walk, and learned the prime location on Old Castle Down described herein may no longer be productive due to habitat management constraints. The best alternative for HBF on this occasion was along the roadside just south of the layby on the B4265, at the foot of Ogmore Down

Any visit to Blean Woods as in the previous post is easily combined with observing Green-eyed Hawkers at the dragonfly’s Kent stronghold of Westbere Marshes. This large, gingery-brown item with bright green eyes, plain wings and a small yellow triangle at the top of the abdomen is one of a number of Odonata to expand it’s English range over the past decade; as well as one of my favourite species. So today I elected to re-visit, also for the first time since 2015.

Though widespread but localised across much of the European mainland, Green-eyed (or Norfolk) Hawker is a rare and protected dragonfly nationally. They first emerge in early June and continue flying until late August. As the Victorian British name suggests, this species was historically confined to Norfolk and a few sites in Suffolk. The British Dragonfly Society (BDS) first recorded two separate individuals from Kent in 2011, with a further report from Westbere Marsh in 2012 by the now county recorder Marc Heath.

A year later a female was observed egg-laying in a dyke at the same site, then 2014 produced sightings of at least 10 individuals. Since then GEH’s population increase has been documented regularly on the excellent Kent Dragonflies blog published by the county odo recorder. These are seriously beautiful entities, even by dragonfly standards, and in my experience especially photogenic even when captured pictorially in the middle distance.

From the end of Walnut Tree Lane in Westbere (CT2 0HG – TR196610) a right of way leads over a railway crossing then out along the eastern edge of a large former gravel pit to the River Stour. On the opposite side of the track, where my quest is to be found lies Westbere Marsh itself, an area stretching towards more lakes and eventually Stodmarsh NNR. Walking out in the early afternoon in bright sunshine I soon crossed paths with a first Green-eyed Hawker in long grass to one side of the track, but it didn’t linger to offer a close picture opportunity.

My previous records at this site were all near the end of the track just before it meets another along the north bank of the Stour, and that was where the serious action came again today with several individuals noted. To me these seemed quite slow flying by comparison with a Blue Emperor or other Hawkers. The first two I observed were also prone to hovering so I was able to gain my first ever flight studies of the species which was both satisfying and evolved.

Then they began to settle on Bulrush stems on the far side of the dyke but a little frustratingly not closer. That situation would benefit from a 600mm camera lens and there was ample evidence along my side of the channel where such batteries must have been set up. But even using my own ancient 300mm telephoto, images of GEH from here always seem to scrub up in the editing suite better than for other dragonflies. Those herein will suffice for my purposes.

Things that stand out in these pictures are the rather cloudy quality of the largely uncoloured wings, and those huge, wrap-around green eyes. This dragonfly is unmistakeable in the field as the closest thing to it, the later flying Brown Hawker displays iridescent brown-toned wings, blue eyes and blue spots along the sides of the abdomen.

Another site speciality is Blue (or Scarce) Chaser (pictured below), of which I noted a number of individuals in the same dyke. Previously I had found these here only along the River Stour, and the opportunity to gain a first English (if as fuzzy as the male) pictorial record of a female offered further evolution from this quite exceptional day.

By 3:30pm I considered it time to brave rush hour on the M25, which in the event was an easy journey save for the usual queue into the Dartford Tunnel. And so I departed for home, the east Kent insect double bill of my intent having been converted most successfully.