Ring in the new...

A milestone today - our first ringing session of the year (non-garden) and somehow there's a need to include Sabina in this experience. I set off early with David and Peter, opening the nets early enough to make it worthwhile, whilst Na brought the youngest member of the group along at about 10 (bang-on 10 in fact: German punctuality strikes again!).

It was a typical day for this time of year: a couple of feeders are occasionally topped up by one or another of us so that there is some focus to the birds during the winter, and consequently much of the catch is Blue, Coal and Great Tits. However, we continue to accrue some useful information about the number of Poecile tits on site: three Willow Tits caught, two recaptures and one new bird; all of them last year's juveniles.

Willow Tit (Poecile montana kleinschmidti). A rather small and neat bib on this bird, but you can see many of the key features which indicate Willow rather than Marsh: clean white cheeks, strong bill (and longer than Marsh) with no clear white spot at the base of the upper mandible, a rather dull and extensive black cap, a hint of a pale panel in the wing - and if you look carefully, a very different tail pattern than you'll see on Marsh.

A closer look at that tail - notice that the outermost feathers are rather shorter than the innermost, and that there is a clear view of most of the feather tips at regular intervals between the extremes. On Marsh, this would not be the case; almost all the feathers being similar in length except for the outermost pair, which are rather shorter.

A bit overexposed, but here you can see that nice pale panel in the wing... as well as seeing how long the cap is.

We also caught two new Marsh Tits, a female Reed Bunting and an unusually-marked male Great Spotted Woodpecker. The woodpecker appeared to be one of last year's young as well, with new glossy black greater coverts and mantle feathers contrasting very strongly with a set of unusually pale outer greater coverts and primary coverts. You might also be able to pick out in the picture that the secondaries also appear rather washed-out.

Young male Great Spotted Woodpecker (Dendrocopos major). Those pale wing feathers stand out a mile in the hand, but would be almost impossible to see in the field, I think. Would be fascinating to catch him again after the next moult and see what's happened there.

Female Reed Bunting (Emberiza schoeniclus). The amount of wear on the tail in particular suggested to us that this was a bird born last year.

Gulls, gulls, gulls

Gulls, gulls, gulls. Yesterday evening was an indulgence of mine, though many would consider it a penance. A friend organises an annual gull-count on the Exe, which attempts to keep tabs on the number of gulls using the river as a roost - they're not monitored in any other meaningful fashion here, unlike some other wetlands where the BTO's Wetland Bird Survey volunteers note the numbers each month. To be fair, the number of gulls present on the river in the daytime is a shadow of the numbers roosting overnight, so the WeBS counts would not be particularly representative. Anyhow, three of us gathered at the Topsham recreation ground to count the birds moving south down the river.

This is the gull-count view. Birds tend to mass over and behind the bridge in the background, before moving down the river at anything between 1 and 100m height.

The gulls tend to come downriver in a particular pattern. First of all, there are always a couple of hundred birds loafing around the river when we arrive; mainly Black-headed Gulls, with a smattering of Common and Herring Gulls here and there and perhaps the occasional Great Black-back. Looking upriver past the M5 road bridge which spans the floodplain, you can see a gathering mass of Black-headed Gulls floating and swirling around the Countess Wear sewage works. The first flocks of Black-headeds start to make their way purposefully down past us, initially twenties and thirties, but soon building to a constant stream of birds. The first birds come through low down, perhaps 10-20m above the water, but the bulk of them drop down from somewhere above 100m height, slight black silhouettes against the evening's grey skies. Common Gulls are sprinkled sparingly throughout the flocks; it's tricky, but feasible, to pick out their slightly more rakish shape amongst the Black-headeds which are by now sleeting past us.


Eventually the Herring Gulls put in an appearance. At first just singles and twos amidst the smaller gulls, soon they are the bulk of the flight, many of them dropping down from even higher than the Black-headed Gulls. The numbers of Black-headed and Common Gulls dries up rapidly, leaving us with a stream of Herring Gulls floating down in gathering darkness until they too peter out. A last quarter hour of patience is rewarded with a late flock of about a hundred Black-headed Gulls suddenly hurtling past, bellies almost touching the water, and a couple of groups of Herring Gulls, necks stretched and calling as they sail past.

Spot the Common Gull.

So, limbs numbed with the lack of movement in a biting northwesterly wind, and brains slightly numbed with counting gulls past in fifteen-minute blocks, we end up with a total count that is - once again - slightly lower than the previous year. One day we'll perhaps be able to find out why the number of gulls roosting on the river is dropping, but for now we're happy to guess that it might be a combination of climatic changes across Europe, population declines of some species (especially Herring Gulls) and/or changes in food supply and availability in the catchment of the Exe.

Either the sun just came through below the cloud, or Haldon Forest has just been taken out with a tactical nuke. I favour the former personally, as though it does make counting tricky for a while, at least it means dinner will still happen.

Today (Sunday), for variety's sake we took a pleasant mid-day walk down the river Otter; Na, Sabina and myself. We started out from Budleigh Salterton and wandered upriver to the footbridge across the river, then back down the eastern bank. Despite the continued presence of the same stiff north-west wind as yesterday's gull count, the weather was pleasant enough to find an increasing presence of spring flowers: hazel catkins are out in some numbers - yellow tassels bobbing and flapping in the wind, spreading pollen on the air; Red Campion and Herb-robert shining pink-red from the longer vegetation on the side of the path; Hogweed and Cow-parsley taller still with white umbels swaying in the gusts; and a small patch of White Deadnettle by the river, with their hooded creamy-white flowers looking richly succulent amongst a spray of vivid green leaves.

White Deadnettle

The rivermouth was alive with gulls (sorry!) using the fresh water of the ebbing tide to bathe and drink. The vast majority were Herring and Black-headed Gulls, with a trio of Great Black-backed Gulls hulking in the middle and a solitary Common Gull floating serenely downriver on the breeze. Further upriver, whilst Sabina settled into her lunch, a Dipper was peacefully hunting the edge of the water, ducking into the water and pulling out what looked like water-snails, then calmly battering them on a handy rock before swallowing them. We ended the walk - throughout which Sabina remained resolutely asleep - with a coffee on the beach, relaxing out of the wind in the afternoon sunshine. Couldn't really be much better than this, I guess...

Sabina relaxes and blows some bubbles after a tiring day being carried around in her sling.

The afternoon sunshine, looking westwards along the coast towards Ladram Bay.

New year; fresh start

Another new experience at the start of the year to chalk up to life: we are now a family proper, with the arrival of a daughter (Sabina) on January 8th. It's been an interesting experience all round.

She was born at home at the ungodly hour of 3.30 a.m., which meant that all three of us slept in for quite a while on the Sunday morning. In common with the vast majority of newborn babies, she spends most of her time eating and sleeping, though she's already developing a short 'play' time in the afternoons, where she tends to lie around and wave her arms and stare intently at any moving objects in the room.

We've been out for a few walks as well - it's easy to feel a bit cabin-feverish when you're used to being out on a regular basis, so we've walked some undemanding local walks - Na's a little anaemic still, so we can't do too much yet. Fortunately Sabina sleeps readily when we go out, so she's fairly easy to please; although this means that she missed the Iceland Gull that we bumped into yesterday. Such is life...

She sleeps. A lot! I might post some more pictures when I have some with eyes open...

More New Year Cheer

(First of all, an apology - not only is this a bit of a beast of a blog, but there's no photos to relieve the monotony!)

Nice to get a new year off to a good birdy start... Pre-dawn, the peace was shattered by a Tawny Owl (according to Na - I was fast asleep and missed all the excitement), with a January dawn chorus filling the air a couple of hours later: the local Robins ensuring their territories are still secure, reminding themselves where their neighbours are - and sneakily checking to see whether next door made it through the night, and if their patch of land could in fact be annexed.

As it's been a rather mild winter so far, in stark contrast to the last two, there is a bit more to our January chorus. Dunnocks have been adding their silvery little warble to the mix for a couple of weeks now and a Song Thrush started some proper song about 10 days ago. The Blackbirds haven't yet got into full-throated melody, but a male has recently been singing to himself at the bottom of the garden; perhaps getting in tune for some early breeding, should the weather hold mild.

A little later - once there is some proper light in the sky - the Woodpigeons begin their raspy growls and the nearest Mistle Thrush can be heard shouting a simple strident series of notes into the air. Throw in some chirpy House Sparrows and there's a not-too-bad early morning chorus going on. There is something particularly satisfying about New Year's Day - there is so little traffic on the road in the early morning that the birds sound especially clear and crisp - we will have to wait until sunrise is about 4.30 in the morning before the dawn chorus is that peaceful again now.

We managed to get out before the hangover-cure walkers staggered along the river, adding a smattering of the local woodland birds to the new year's tally. The pair of Mandarin Ducks is still present and looking mighty furtive - perhaps they will settle in and breed successfully in the woods this year. Would be nice to see them more often (not something you can often say about non-native species, but there doesn't seem to be a negative impact associated with Mandarins, though I may have missed something in the literature somewhere) as they really brighten up a dull winter's day! Another early sign of spring - or perhaps a winter territory being reinforced - a couple of the local Dippers were in full song on bankside rocks, one interspersing his mix of chirps and jangles with a bit of mimicry of Grey Wagtail song.

Buoyed by a fine start to the day we returned home, collected my in-laws and  headed on out to the Exe. Although there isn't a lot of water around the marshes yet this winter, there was sufficient shallow flooding to have ducks peppered across the fields and pools. The bulk of the birds were Wigeon; males calling out their slightly suggestive whistle whilst the females growled and chattered amongst themselves as they waddle busily across the grass. On the shallowest water fringes, pairs and small groups of Teal were feeding and calling their 'preep' calls; males occasionally breaking off from feeding to surround a female and swim in excited circles, head-feathers raised to prove they really do have a neat crest.

Further onto the water again were pairs of Shoveler, powering across the pools with heads submerged, then occasionally lifting their heads clear so we could see their bright golden eyes and outsize rubbery-looking bills. Finally, deepest of all, were a pair of Pintail, supremely indifferent to the hustle and bustle of the rest of the duck, upending calmly and quietly in the depths the others couldn't reach.

Surrounding the ducks was a rustling, chattering, squalling mass of Starlings, who were swirling around a mix of Lapwings, Black-tailed Godwits and Curlew, all busily probing in the wet grass for invertebrates. Every so often something would spook this whole crowd of birds, so there would be a rush of wings, a cacophony of calls and the duck would suddenly be mid-pool, whilst the waders and Starlings swirled and dived in the air above. Opposite all this fuss and palaver, a small group of Canada Geese fed with the complacency of birds which know they are too big to be bothered by most things here - and with them, a rather fine Glossy Ibis.

We eased our way down to the Turf Locks Hotel, where hot chocolate and tea beckoned. The ebb tide had fallen enough for a broad scatter of waders busying themselves across the mud (including the Dutch-ringed Redshank C73). Avocets, Grey Plovers, Redshank and Dunlin were busily feeding in every direction, and the first gulls came drifting downriver like confetti in the breeze, to settle in to their roost on the river; which seemed a suitable cue to take for us to head home too, leaving the birds to follow the edge of the tide into the gathering dusk.

New Year Cheer

Some Chinese duck to wish you luck and bring some cheer for the coming year. Best wishes for a successful and healthy 2012...

Drake Mandarin Duck (Aix galericulata) on the river Bovey this Christmas-time

A toast to Redpolls

A short blog to share some pictures of some Lesser Redpolls we've been catching at our Dartmoor site.

Tail and primary tips of a bird born this year

Tail and primary tips of an adult

 

You can see from the pictures above how much fun it can be to age these birds: in effect you're looking for evidence of wear on the tips of the tail feathers and primaries. You'll also notice the broad fringes and darker base-colour of the adult bird's feathers: this is basically due to the better quality feathers that adults grow, compared with the feathers that young birds grow in the nest.

A nice crisp adult (perhaps a female) with a good hint of a pale rump.

A particularly dark young bird with very pale retained greater coverts (the white feather-tips across the wing)

A full-on adult male, ringed in 2010 at a nearby site by a friend, and retrapped by us recently. Not the best picture, unfortunately, but he was pink everywhere: cheeks, chin, rump, breast, flanks... smart.

Australia: a final tranche

A final internal flight; a closing of the loop. We returned to Sydney, where we were met by my uncle, who whisked us off to Lindfield where we spent the final few days of our Australian adventure. Unfortunately, the poor weather which dogged our final day in Tassie followed us up, so that most of the last week was a mish-mash of rainy spells and overcast skies, with a cool onshore wind.

Our first full day in the city began with a gentle tour of the northern suburbs and fringe, up as far as Palm Beach, courtesy of my aunt. A decidedly chill wind kept us from walking much as we explored the local surrounds, and a bout of heavy rain around lunchtime dissuaded us from exploring the Lindfield area at first. However, a bit of cabin fever threatened to set in, and the prospect of a good walk sent us scurrying out onto the Great North Walk route. The trail led us along the forested banks of the local river, serenaded by Rainbow Lorikeets, Sulphur-crested Cockatoos and Galahs - quite an overpowering racket at times. As soon as the rain eased, the wildlife began to emerge: we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of  a mixed flock of fantails, scrubwrens and honeyeaters, with White-throated Treecreepers and Variegated Fairy-wrens tagging along for variety's sake.

Having recovered and reinvigorated ourselves, we headed into the city first thing the next morning, to do the obligatory tourist thing and ogle the opera house, look at the harbour bridge and shop for some bring-home souvenirs. The harbour bridge was duly stared at and photographed; the opera house ogled and perambulated (it's much smaller than I'd imagined, and the roof has a rather nice pattern in it), but the overcast skies meant that it wasn't a great day for photos. Moody lighting, in the main.

Can you guess what it is yet?

We continued into the botanic gardens - immediately next door to the opera house - and spent some time admiring the Grey-headed Flying-foxes roosting over the information centre. Serendipity struck: when I went to ask about the bats, there was a photo of a Powerful Owl on the wall, so I asked - jokingly - if they knew where it roosted, to be told 'we'll take you over there if you like'. So we had an impromptu tour across the gardens, taking in some of the more interesting trees, the history and context of the gardens - straight over to the roost of the owl, which looked at us with some horror, then over to see a fine Tawny Frogmouth at it's nest and finishing with a visit to the memorial to the children deported from Britain under the 'Child Migrants Programme' - a practice which ended not long before I was born.

Badly-furled umbrellas. Grey-headed Flying-foxes.

Powerful Owl in the Sydney Botanic Gardens. Ask at the information centre: they tend to know where he is, or where he may be.

After this, a visit to Lady Macquaries Chair was a little bit of a let-down, but we struggled on manfully. By this time we'd had about enough of wandering, so a 30-minute ferry trip across the harbour to Manly and a wander out to see the sea seemed like a good idea. It was a good idea, but for various reasons we were flagging a bit by this stage. We made it out to the lookout at the end of the harbour, where we viewed with some disdain yet another couple of Humpback Whales sporting in the surf. As the wind freshened yet further and the rain began to spit in earnest, we headed for the nearest bus-stop and retraced our route into the city to buy gifts for our homecoming.

Making the opera house look much larger than it is.

We decided we had enough puff to head across the city the next day, to the world's second-oldest National Park: Royal NP. We hopped off the train at Engadine and headed into the park, following the walking tracks towards Heathcote through yet more dry sclerophyll forest. By the time we got to the park it was mid-morning, so the birds were getting few and far between: the best of them at first perhaps being a confiding party of Yellow-tailed Black-cockatoos stripping branches to get at sap. We then started following a trail towards Audley, which in retrospect could have been a bit of a mistake! The track led through increasingly rugged countryside - and as we trailed down into the base of a small valley we disturbed a large Red-bellied Black Snake, which uncoiled with alarming rapidity and headed straight for my feet. I executed a strategic retreat in quick time, and watched with some relief as it headed quietly into the hole under the stone I'd been standing on. Soon after this, the day improved even further with a brief burst of song from a Superb Lyrebird (if you don't know this bird, you should: watch this YouTube clip. Ours didn't have quite as varied a repertoire, but just as fine a songster).

Yellow-tailed Black-cockatoo

We finally found ourselves traipsing down to a picnic area: to an eager audience of Purple Swamphens, Dusky Moorhens, kookaburras and Sulphur-crested Cockatoos: all waiting for a scrap of food. We disappointed them by only having a couple of apples to eat, though the swamphens were quick to take the cores off us and dispose of them tidily. By this stage, however, we weren't quite sure where we were, nor how long it was going to take us to get back to the railway. There was a road opposite with regular traffic, but which way led out? Fortunately there was a small boat-hire shop open just across the creek, so we trotted over the bridge and asked, to be told that it was about 20 minutes to Loftus, headed 'that way' along the road. Hooray, we thought. Twenty minutes later we were still climbing the hill out of the valley, and began to think that the owner of the boat shop might not have suspected we were travelling on foot. Ten minutes later we reached the National Park offices, in the carpark of which a kindly man put us right, pointing us to a traffic-free path to Loftus and explaining that it was about half an hour further to the railway line. We eventually trudged into the station - after taking our lives in our hands by crossing the Princes Highway on foot - dog-tired and in the perfect state for a chunk of restorative mud-pie from the bakery across the road. Perhaps the best piece of cake I've had in ages: hunger is by far the best sauce around.

Purple Swamphen poses for a photograph...

...then gets down to some essential apple-core recycling.

Our final day in the country was spent taking a short walk around part of Garigal National Park; another of Sydney's urban national parks. We were dropped at one end of a little trail, meandered through along the riverside and eventually ran out of energy and enthusiasm somewhere in East Lindfield. Although relatively quiet and non-wildlify, we still managed to see a final new species for the trip: a pair of Dollarbirds which appeared with startling suddenness on top of a dead tree whilst we had a drinks-break. This walk was perhaps most memorable for the incredibly confiding Eastern Water-dragon who basked in the path in front of us, and then refused to be intimidated by us, posing for some beautiful portraits of what is, unarguably, a stunning lizard.

Sulphur-crested Fiend-in-feathered-form.

Unidentified, but rather fine, flower

Eastern Water-dragon auditioning for The Return of the Son of the Mask of Zorro.

Eastern Water Skink. I think.

Unfortunately, that's the end of our Australian adventure. I suspect we won't be going anywhere exotic for a little while now, but you never know what life may throw you. Watch this space...