What happened to summer?

It’s fair to say that 2020 has been a very strange year. A global pandemic, a spring in lockdown, an incredibly wet late winter followed by the hottest, driest spring on record... and now here we are in early July and weather and birding-wise it’s already feeling distinctly like autumn.

Late June/early July is traditionally the slump of the birding year, with weeks often passing without any new additions to the year list. In the past three weeks though I’ve added a handsome six species to the patch year list: Wood Sandpiper, Crossbill, Siskin, Redstart, Cattle Egret and Common Tern.

I've recently finished reading Simon Barnes' excellent On The Marsh, the following extract from which seems particularly apt...
"...we had seen a delightful gathering of golden plovers. They were still in their summer breeding plumage and yet these sumptuous colours were beginning to fade, were already a little rough round the edges.
They had gone over. They had completed their breeding: they were on the move. For them, autumn had arrived. Just think: all those people getting ready for what they thought were their summer holidays, unaware it was already autumn.
Jeremy Sorensen, former warden of the RSPB's Minsmere in Suffolk, used to claim that summer didn't exist at all. Looking at the world in his entirely bird-centred - avicentric - way, he was convinced that there were three seasons only: you might call them breeding, dispersal and survival. We were already in the second of those seasons, so far as some species were concerned."

When we went into lockdown, back in March, spring was just getting into its stride. Now, with pubs and hairdressers about to reopen, we birders are already looking ahead to the promise of autumnal delights, and recent days have delivered a very satisfactory selection of dispersing birds to Pulborough Brooks.

Waders in particular seem to be moving through earlier than usual, presumably indicative of failed breeding attempts. The Pulborough-grown Avocet family remain on the North Brooks, the juveniles now looking very grown up and stretching their wings in between extended naps. Today there were seven adults present too, let's hope some of them take a liking to the Brooks and return next year and we have more than one breeding pair in 2021. Black-tailed Godwit numbers are starting to increase again now after the first handful returned from Iceland last weekend; today there were 39 present, all still looking resplendent in their breeding colours. Other classic early returning species such as Green Sandpiper, Common Sandpiper and Little Ringed Plover have been on the increase too, with up to 9 Green Sand and 14 LRP in the past week. Less expected was the Temminck's Stint found by Jon Winder on Monday afternoon and seen again by Matt Palmer on Wednesday.

An adult Common Tern made a brief pitstop on the North Brooks on Sunday morning before flying south, while an adult Cattle Egret flew straight through heading southwest early on Monday. On Friday evening Pete Hughes broke the news of an adult Spoonbill on the North Brooks, which was still present as of this lunchtime; the third record of the species at Pulborough this year, and perhaps the fourth different individual. Then, early this afternoon, Lyn and Mike Hunt found two Redstarts in the species' eponymous Corner; a remarkably early date for returning birds, although evidently Matt Palmer also had one on Wednesday.

If it's this good in the doldrums, then my hopes are high for an excellent autumn to come!

Spoonbill

Common Tern (honest!)

Redstart

To blog or not to blog?

A short post about blogging and mental health

If you’re a regular reader of this blog you may have noticed the ever decreasing frequency of my posts, for which there are various reasons. I’ve been thinking about things a fair bit lately and, in light of the recent Mental Health Awareness Week, I felt like sharing some of my thoughts here.

My blogging and other computer-based activities always tend to take something of a back seat in the spring and summer months, with the longer days allowing for more time in the field, as well as allotmenting and tinkering in the garden at home, but I’ve found it to be even more the case this year, what with the extraordinary circumstances we've all been living through.

I started my first blog in 2012 when I was working as a gardener for the Church of England; it was a solitary role and I was keen to share what I was seeing with others so began tweeting then blogging about my day-to-day sightings. I’ve always enjoyed producing special trip reports too, to look back on in years to come, but there’s no denying that regular blogging can sometimes end up feeling a bit like just another chore. What with recording sightings, catching up on nocmig, emails and countless other computer activities, combined with a physically draining job, I've found it can be all too easy to lose sight of why one first loved something; in my case birding which developed out of a general fascination with, and love for, the natural world.

I've always been a bit of a worrier, and the recent loss of an old friend during what are already strange and unsettling times has reminded me of the importance of valuing the present even more. My wife jokes that she’s never seen me spend so much time at home as I have in recent weeks - I’m usually rushing about all over the place - but there’s no denying I’ve learned to take more time to notice and enjoy what’s right in front of me (the BWKM0 challenge was great for that and I'm aware I never took the time to blog about that once it was over either!). It turns out that sometimes it is okay to just lie flat on your back on the lawn and do nothing, which has been a bit of a revelation for me, to be honest.

I know I’m not the only one who's found the desire to blog wane somewhat during lockdown, and even before that birders and naturalists I’ve known have said they’ve struggled to maintain prolonged enthusiasm in it, as much as they love their subject matter.

I’m not sure quite what I imagine the purpose of putting these words on here is exactly, and I'll stop soon before it gets any more self-indulgent. I’m certainly not suggesting I’m going to stop blogging altogether nor wishing to detract from the continued prolific efforts of others whom I admire - Ed Stubbs, Peter Alfrey and Steve Gale to name just three - but I suppose my message if there is one at all is, if you’re finding elements of something you love are causing you unnecessary anxiety, don’t be too hard on yourself and remember to keep focusing on what it is you enjoyed about it all in the first place.

If you're anything like me many of the things you're worrying about are not as important as you might think they are, and your physical and mental well-being will be all the better if you allow yourself time to pause.

The author in rarely seen static mode, surreptitiously photographed by Mrs Matt

Crepuscular delights

As much as I've been enjoying the BWKM0 garden birding challenge, this time last week I still hadn't actually had any new additions to the garden list as a result - unlike many others taking part. All that changed in the past few days though, with three garden ticks, one of which was in fact a new species for me in the UK!

It started on Monday morning with the classic drizzly, misty conditions producing the hoped-for Little Gull out on the North Brooks scoped, of course, from the attic. The day soon turned dry and the very calm, chilly evening seemed a good opportunity to get the nocmig recording gear out again. As I did so heard a 'twit twit twit' call which, although immediately familiar, I just couldn't place. A few minutes later I heard it again and the penny dropped, or at least sort of. I text Ed Stubbs to ask if it would be too early for a Spotted Crake, to which he replied 'early but not impossible'. Sure enough, going through the recording the next day I was able to confirm it was indeed a Spotted Crake, which sang several times up until 22:30, after which it wasn't heard again. What an amazing 'garden' record, and a lifer to boot! It's hard to imagine how I can better that on the lockdown list really.

The final garden tick of the week came on Good Friday morning. Mrs Matt and I had decided to get up extra early to listen to the dawn chorus from home. No sooner had we sat down in the garden with coffee and blankets than I heard what sounded like a Nightingale giving its 'huweet' call. Now, obviously the species breeds on the RSPB reserve, so it's always been one I'd hoped to hear from home one day, but I still struggled to contain my excitement when this one started belting out its song from the scrubby bank just below and along from the garden. A Red-legged Partridge 'singing' somewhere beyond the Arun wasn't a new one for the garden but represented an equally welcome lockdown tick. Added to a singing Goldcrest this morning, the BWKM0 list now stands at 89, out of a garden total of 129. What next, I wonder?

Locked down....but not out

Well, what a strange few weeks it's been since my last post on here. It's hard to keep us birders away from our passion though, wherever we are and whatever challenging situations we're put into, and it's been wonderful to see the 'BWKM0' (birdwatch kilometre zero) challenge take off so strongly on Twitter. Inspired by similarly locked down birders in Italy, Steve Gale has taken on the impressive task of curating the light-hearted competition over here, posting daily updates on his blog.

The rules are simple: to see how many bird species you can record from your house or garden (seen or heard) and ultimately discover what your final tally represents as a percentage of your overall garden list. So far I'm on 78 species out my garden total of 126. I should point out this includes nocmig records as well, of which six are on the 'lockdown list' now, but more on that later.

As anyone who follows my Twitter ramblings will have probably noted, I do a lot of my BWKM0 watching from my attic skylight, which offers fantastic views across the North Brooks, with the South Downs in the background. It's ideal for a scan of the Brooks early morning but I tend to migrate to the garden mid-morning (when I'm not at work) for a better view of the sky, and to concentrate my efforts on looking south down the Arun, which is presumably a flyway of sorts.

Highlights from the attic since the lockdown listing began include a Great Egret on 1st and 5th April, a ringtail Hen Harrier on 30th March and 1st April, and my first Swallow of the year on 28th March; the latter pleasingly followed by others among a steady trickle of Sand Martins this weekend. 

In the warm sunshine this morning it was great to watch a couple of Ravens tumbling over the garden, as my first Sedge Warbler of the year started chattering away down by the Arun. Then this afternoon a drake Goosander flew south along the river, only my second garden record.

Raven over the garden

Raptor-wise, Buzzards are numerous, Red Kite and Peregrine are regular, while Kestrel and Sparrowhawk have put in occasional appearances. Sadly, I'm still yet to join either the Osprey or White-tailed Eagle lockdown club, but here's hoping! 

Peregrine over the garden

Onto nocmig, and it's been an eventful week on that side of things too. The star species at this time of year is of course Common Scoter, with many thousands of them moving overland when conditions suit. A busy night over the north of the country on the night of 1st-2nd April seemed to largely pass the southeast by, but the following night delivered the most spectacular passage of the species I have experienced since I started nocmigging in 2017. I recorded two sizeable flocks over Pulborough at 22:23 and 22:40 on the 2nd (second video below) and almost anyone in their garden or with a recorder out heard calls too - clearly helped by the reduction in traffic and aircraft noise. Other bits of note this past week were a Whimbrel over on the 1st (first video below) and fourteen calls from at least two Oystercatchers on the 2nd. 

The warmer weather has really brought out the butterflies too with plenty of Brimstones and Peacocks visiting the garden this weekend, plus the odd Comma and Small Tortoiseshell and, best of all, the first male Orange-tip of the year this morning. 

Brimstone in the garden

Every Little helps....

It's been over a decade since I saw my first ever Little Gull at Pulborough Brooks, and since I started regularly patch watching the reserve three years ago it's been a species I've wanted to catch up with again but failed to do so - until today!

The low cloud and hint of drizzle, combined with a shift to northeasterly wind, promised something in the way of a grounded migrant or two as I arrived at the Brooks this morning. The North Brooks was relatively quiet, but as soon as I sat down in Winpenny hide and scanned the South Brooks I picked up an adult Little Gull flying back and forth with its distinctive flight style, bobbing down to the water here and there to pick up a morsel or two.

After a while it landed and, as I struggled to get a photo or some video in the increasingly poor visibility, a second bird dropped out of the sky to join it. Later in the morning Paul Davy had two at nearby Widney Brooks and by lunchtime there were four at Pulborough.

I'm pleased to say this takes me to 105 for my Pulborough year list; my best start to a year here yet.

My shaky camera video attempt below of the first bird early morning, and a lovely slow-mo clip from Paul Davy.

Signs of spring

The water levels remain very high at Pulborough but it's still been an excellent week on the reserve, with several new birds for the year, taking the 2020 site total past the hundred mark, with my own year list now teetering on 99.

Despite the seemingly ceaseless barrage of Atlantic storms in recent weeks, the steady (and early!) emergence of various Prunus blossoms, Grey Willow catkins and early wild flowers in increasingly vibrant spells of sunshine truly herald the transitioning seasons - and the birds are playing ball too.

First up was a Brent Goose, of the pale-bellied race hrota, found by Gary Trew on the 25th, and still present as of today. Then on the 26th an unusually early drake Garganey turned up - possibly the first true spring migrant of the year. It's also stuck around for a few days, and was certainly still present as of Sunday. 

The weekend saw some signs of early wader movement with the first Redshank of the year at West Mead on Saturday - probably wondering where all its nesting habitat has gone, as site manager Julianne pointed out - followed by the first Curlew of the year on Sunday. Adding to the spring feel was a Chiffchaff flycatching and intermittently singing at Redstart Corner on Sunday morning, my first one on the reserve proper this year after one on the edge of the sewage works on 6th February. 

Winter isn't quite done with us yet, however, with three White-fronted Geese still present this morning plus the usual selection of ducks, though numbers are admittedly starting to dwindle.

Garganey at West Mead, 26th February. Photo: Chris & Juliet Moore

Redshank at West Mead, 29th February

Curlew at West Mead, 1st March

Chiffchaff at Redstart Corner, 1st March

Stormy Spoonbill surprise

After a relatively quiet but clement morning on the patch on Saturday I - no doubt like many other birders around the country - spent Sunday catching up on various household chores and computer stuff, interjected with just the odd glimpse out of the window with the bins as and when the rain eased off.

Around 16:30 the rain stopped again and I decided to brave opening the bedroom window to have a quick scan of the North Brooks with the scope. I almost immediately clapped eyes on a large white bird among some Canada Geese which, despite the wind and poor light, I quickly realised was a Spoonbill!

Only my second patch record, and the first one at Pulborough since 2018, I hurriedly got some record shots and circulated the news. A little while later it flew off, presumably just to roost, as it was back on the North Brooks again this morning. At closer range and in better light, Alan Kitson was able to observe it was an adult and bearing a yellow flag on its left leg, indicating it's of Dutch origin. (thanks to Ed Stubbs for pointing this out)

Photo: Alan Kitson