November has arrived, with a flood of winter thrushes and a notable arrival of Hawfinches. The landscape is golden, with the senescent leaves lighting the hedgerows, thickets and copses with burning fire tones.
It isn't quite the end of autumn, but with the clocks having changed, it certainly feels like the beginning of the end of autumn. A stomp round Flamborough on Saturday morning yielded typical late autumn migrants, lifting my melancholy brought on by the shortening days. Every migrant is a miniature marvel of physiological stamina and navigation and the hardships they endure is beyond our experiences and fills me with wonder.
A loop of Old Fall and then Thornwick was the plan and as always, didn't disappoint. Woodcocks dashed up the hedges in front of me, hedges that were clad in Norse Blackbirds and steely foreign Song Thrushes. A few Goldcrests defied gravity, hanging among the last few Willow leaves to glean unseen aphids and spiders, oblivious to my presence and delight.
A single Yellow-browed Warbler had found the only Hawthorn in Old Fall to hang on to its leaves, and rapidly morphed into two birds, zipping around the small bush. Delightful sprites as ever, and most likely the last I will see this autumn. It has been such a thrill to see good numbers of these little warblers again this autumn after a couple of poor years.
A Wheatear that flicked past was only unusual because of its tardiness; I was hoping for something rarer at this time of year. A few Bramblings were seen during the day, but it was 2pm before the fresh wave of last night's migrants made landfall, with a garrulous flock of 50 Redwings tumbling westwards, joyous at having reached land and safety - for now. Several bnoisy Fieldfares appeared too, along with more Blackbirds and more Song Thrushes. It was time for me to head west too, happy with my last sprites of the autumn, and feeling ready to welcome the winter.
