Castle Howard Aythya

Heslington East was pretty quiet this morning, with a dozen Tufted Ducks and a few Gadwall and Teal. No sign of the female Scaup, which presumably has moved on. I headed up to Castle Howard as I always fancy a diver here in late autumn. Good numbers of ducks were present, including the resident Red-crested Pochard (and one of it's hybrid young), 102 Gadwall, 55+ Wigeon, 6 Goosanders, 3 Pintails and 4 Shovelers. About 100 Mute Swans were present along with a family group of two adult and two juvenile Whooper Swans, fresh in from Iceland. As I walked along, two more adult Whoopers dropped in out of an increasingly grey sky. 

 

Further along, a big raft of Tufted Ducks was feeding intensively and I repeatedly scanned the flock for something interesting, which wasn't easy as they were diving frequently. After a bit, I noticed a bird that hinted at juvenile Lesser Scaup. It was a warmer, rufous brown compared with the dark chocolate Tufty females/imms, and had a distinct peak to the back of the head and a long dark grey Scaup-esque beak with very little black on the tip. A white spot was present against the bill on the lores and the eye appeared a dull yellow. The bird was slightly smaller than the Tufties and together with the head and bill profile, I picked it up relatively easy among the flock when it surfaced. However, with 85+ feeding aythyas, it was very hard to keep on the bird and my hands were numb in the freezing wind (I had no big coat, gloves or hat - rookie error) so I really struggled to get any decent images. Sadly in the time I was there, the bird didn't stop feeding and therefore did no preening which might have yielded a wing-flap and the all important wingbar diagnosis. 

I am really not sure about this bird. It has some things going for it being a Lesser Scaup, but I am just not sure about the headshape being spot on (forehead not particularly steep, though maybe this was due to constant diving, meaning feathers were flattened?) and the mantle is perhaps too dark, offering contrast with the flanks. The black may bleed a little off the nail, but perhaps that is ok for LS in a first-winter bird? I had to leave the bird at 11:00 and head back. I put the news out as a possible just to try and get some sharper people to have a look at it, just in case.  

 

 

Flamborough MigWeek 3: Prince Fire Eye

 Holmes Gut

Opted for the northside of Flamborough Head this morning. Holmes Gut kept me occupied for a good hour, though I only pulled out two female Blackcaps, four Bramblings and a bunch of  'crests, thrushes and Blackbirds. A loud caterwauling overhead had me looking skyward at two sparring Peregrines very high in the sky. They seemed to be immatures; presumably siblings from one of the local pairs. A single Snipe and Lapwing came 'in off' sneaking under the pre-occupied falcons.

Goldcrest

Next up, I headed round the clifftop to North Marsh where I knew there was a field planted with a 'wild bird crop' (plants left to overwinter providing food for seed-eating birds) which I assumed would be pulling in finches. Sure enough, a big flock of Linnets with a few Greenfinches and Reed Buntings were feeding there and regularly flying up to the top of the bushes. I looked hard for a Twite or a Little Bunting but failed; a solitary Brambling was the best I could do. A Sparrowhawk caused panic, seemingly coming in off the sea and rapidly heading inland across the fields, scattering flocks of feeding Redwings and Fieldfares which had been until that point, unseen in the grasslands beyond North Marsh. Ten minutes later and the Linnets erupted again, I turned and this time was amazed to see an owl, no more than twenty metres away, coming in low over the field, having just arrived from its sea crossing. It paid me no heed until it landed in the scrub next to the hide and glared back at me with fiery eyes. I stayed very still and as I was by now 50 metres away, it quickly settled down and had a little preen. If I moved, however, it rotated its head and fixed me with bright orange disdain. After watching this gorgeous Scandinavian for a bit, I switched my attention back to the finch flock. A few thrushes were dropping in too, so I decided it was time to go round to the southside.

A walk round South Landing revealed a lot of birders standing or sitting around the car park, so I headed off round the trail, discovering two very vocal Yellow-browed Warblers on the east side of the ravine. They were mostly high in the Sycamore canopy and would melt away, only to reveal their new position by calling again. Apart from a couple of Chiffchaffs I didn't see much else until back at the car park, where I heard another YBW calling from the top of the road down to the landing. I walked over and found another two YBWs calling to each other from either side of the road. I spent the next 30 minutes watching this pair moving round a feeding circuit, keeping in touch with each other with occasional bouts of calling. 

 YBWs

Nearby, one of the local Tawny Owls was enjoying a little sunshine on a log, much to the consternation of the local Robins and Blackbirds who scolded it mercilessly.

 

Tawny Owl

With news from the outer head of 'crests arriving from the sea, I headed east and did the Old Fall Loop. Two more YBWs took my day's tally to six and an interesting Chiffchaff posed briefly in the hedge. It's call and general appearance looked ok for Siberian, but the lores weren't especially pale and it just didn't feel quite right, being quite sullied underneath.  Plenty of Blackbirds, together with a few tired Redwings were feeding along the path and several Goldcrests were moving along the hedge having just arrived. I headed round to the lighthouse grasslands where I stomped around in the brambly grassland for half an hour failing to flush anything rarer than a pair of Stonechats which watched my progress from the top of the tallest briars. 

 

YBW, and Chiffchaff 

News came through of a Firecrest, Black Redstart, Twite and, late on, a Red-backed Shrike on the northside. A little bit frustrating, having stomped round there earlier, but I couldn't grumble with a stonking Long-eared Owl, half a dozen sprites and a horde of common migrants. I heard later that the LEO had been flushed by birders. I hope this was accidental and not because they were trying to get too close for a photo. Certainly the one published on the Flamborough Bird Obs website shows the bird in classic anxiety pose, very different to its relaxed demeanor when I was watching it. This bird had just flown 450 miles across the open sea, so it is a shame if birders didn't give it the respect it deserved, just for a photo. 

Old Fall
 

So that was the end of my birding as part of Flamborough MigWeek. It has been a great festival of migration good numbers of common migrants arriving from Scandinavia and it was a privilege to play a small part in helping some new and less experienced birders enjoy this spectacle. It has been a bit quiet on the rarity front, but there were plenty of interesting birds to keep things ticking over. It goes westerly next week, but hopefully the winds will switch round to easterly before the month is out. 

A big thank you to the Flamborough Bird Observatory Committee for organising MigWeek and to the volunteers and birders who made it so special. Looking forward to next year! 

Flamborough MigWeek 2: October Mix

It is Flamborough Bird Observatory's Migration Week and the birding gods have been kind, with good numbers of migrants being seen since proceedings began last weekend. Today, it was my turn to co-lead a guided walk, together with John Little, around the Old Fall Loop. Huge numbers of thrushes were being counted over the inner head as I arrived, so I was quite surprised to find the outer head fairly quiet. A few Bramblings wheezed over as I waited for the guests to assemble, and one or two Redwings zipped about the gorse field. 

 In-off Short-eared Owl

We headed to the Golf Course Willows first, but they were quiet apart from a fine male Great Spotted Woodpecker investigating the willow boughs over the track. The first flock of thrushes announced their arrival with chacking: Fieldfares. Approximately 250, they headed steadily inland accompanied by a few Redwings. They were high up which indicated why the outer head was quiet if they were arriving at this altitude. 

The hedge and plantation were unusually quiet with a single Chiffchaff and a few Blackbirds all that was present. Those at the front of the group saw a brief Wheatear in a nearby field, but I missed it. As we made our way round the south side, a Fieldfare came in at head height, right past our group and immediately landing on the field nearby. We pondered whether this bird felt relief at finally touching down after its lengthy sea crossing, which had probably started an hour after sunset yesterday. Some common waders were on the rocks at the foot of the cliffs, including a rather tired looking Lapwing among the more expected Turnstones and Oystercatchers. We ended our walk with a trio of Redpolls bouncing around the lighthouse grasslands. It had been very pleasant, but fairly quiet.

After a quick bite to eat, I did a short seawatch. Johnny Mac picked up an adult Pomarine Skua lumbering north distantly, its trailing spoons indicating adulthood. Three Arctic Skuas also went north, along with a Manx Shearwater, whilst plenty of Little Gulls blogged about, along with two Sandwich Terns and a juvenile Arctic Tern. Four Shoveler, two Wigeon, three Teal, seven Pintail and a female Red-breasted Merganser were the wildfowl contenders, with a few flocks of Starlings coming in-off reminding me I needed to get back to the bushes. 

 

A very tired Redwing (above_ flopped on to the clifftop path near Cattlemere but it perked up and flew off inland. I bumped into Craig Thomas and as we chatted he noticed a Short-eared Owl coming in off the sea. It flopped casually over to the gorse field, considered landing, but then headed off across Head Farm. Round at Old Fall I soon picked up a Yellow-browed Warbler which seemed to be a new bird, as there hasn't been any here this week. It flew into a large Hawthorn and sat for half a , occasionally calling, allowing me to get a bit of video. Shortly it flitted back into the plantation where it rapidly melted into the Sycamores. A good end to what had been not a bad day, with a good mix of October birds. Still lacking a really good bird...perhaps tomorrow!

 YBW.

Flamborough MigWeek 1: Falling Down

Following the chaos of the previous week, Monday was a much needed return to enjoyable East Coast birding, on the first decent autumn fall day. The light westerlies had finally given way to northerlies, with a window of opportunity in Scandinavia for restless migrants to depart soon after dark on Sunday evening. The Yorkshire coast was fog-bound, with a little drizzle in the air, halting further movement by incoming birds, which dropped in temporarily disorientated.

Sure enough, on arrival at Flamborough, the high-pitched calls of Redwings filled the air as I tumbled out of the car ready for action. A Kestrel eyed me with suspicion from a nearby twig. I returned the suspicious eye, but a check of the face pattern and claws eliminated Lesser... 

 

Plodding down the track alongside Old Fall hedge, I continually pushed Blackbirds, the occasional Song Thrush and a few Redwings ahead of me. The winds had clearly been kind and the birds were fit, many heading off strongly west towards the deeper cover at South Landing. Nearing the plantation, and some really big flocks of Redwings erupted out of the tall trees heading inland. A few hefty Fieldfares chacked their way through the masses of their smaller cousins and I looked carefully for a Ring Ouzel. On the north side of the plantation, a flock of 16 Bramblings fed quietly in the Sycamores, gleaning a breakfast of aphids from the leaves. 

 

Trio of Bramblings

Besides these hardy finches, there was very little in the way of small stuff, with all the arriving migrants the stronger flying thrushes. As I stood watching, a noise like rushing wind enveloped me. I looked up to see Redwings literally pouring out of the sky, falling vertically down into the welcome shelter of Old Fall. This was incredible and the kind of thing you dream for on an East Coast autumn day. 

 

Flocks of birds were dropping in every few minutes, but others, having taken some rest and a Hawthorn berry or two, were quick to move on inland, despite the murk. After spending an hour and a half drinking in this spectacle, I had added a solitary Chiffchaff and a couple of Goldcrests in Old Fall but nothing rarer. I headed round the loop, spying a large pod of Bottlenose Dolphins lazily feeding off South Landing. Calling geese sounded like Barnacles and sure enough, 16 were heading over south, to my surprise; they must have been blown off course on the way over to the Solway. Little was happening on the outer head, with most stuff seemingly overflying until they spotted the cover of Old Fall. I bumped into some birders who had seen a Short-eared Owl come in off the sea, but it had headed off inland, so I paused to refuel in the cafe, before heading for a short seawatch. 

 

At the Fog Station more Bottlenose Dolphins passed by close inshore and shortly I noticed Little Gulls feeding along the Flamborough Front, where the currents meet. At least 50 were present, including a flock of 20 resting on the sea. An Arctic Skua briefly harried one of the groups before powering off north. In an an enjoyable 90 minutes, I added a couple of Sandwich and Common Terns, four Manx Shearwaters, 30 or so Barnacle Geese, five Eiders, 32 Red-throated Divers and a few Common Scoters. A Brambling called as it flew in off the sea at eye-level, reminding me that birds may be arriving again. I headed off round the loop again. Clearly some smaller birds had arrived. Several Goldcrests were likely to be new in  - a Woodcock definitely was, as it came in over Cattlemere. Three Chiffchaffs were in the hedge south of the plantation along with new Blackbirds and Redwings. I spent my last half hour watching the south side of the plantation. A very pale Chiffchaff looked promising, but moved on before I could clinch it as tristis. My totals for the day included 850 Redwings, 42 Bramblings, 120 Blackbirds and 52 Fieldfares. 

Meadow Pipit by the Fog Station
 

I will be back at the end of the week to lead a guided walk for MigWeek - hopefully it will be as enjoyable as this! 

Bouncing Back

Today, it was time to put the Needletail dip behind me, and get back to what I enjoy doing - looking at birds in the fabulous Yorkshire countryside. After a few jobs this morning, Vicky and me took advantage of the gorgeous mid-October weather and headed up Nidderdale to look for the drake Lesser Scaup. 

Back in the late '80s, I had twitched one here with my Dad which turned out to be a hybrid - I think it would have been Britain's second record (or thereabouts) back then, but it was not to be, so it was quite nice to head back over there to see the genuine article. We parked up at Ramsgill and walked south to Bouthwaite and the path to Gouthwaite Reservoir. It took me a while to locate the bird; it was not with the first two flocks of Tufted Ducks I looked through, but with a small group of birds a little further south. Having seen a number of hybrids in the York area in recent years, it was good to spend time watching this bird, soaking up its finer points, in case one turns up closer to home at some point. The bill was the key thing, with no black discernible on the bill tip at all. The head shape was the classic with a small peak at the rear crown. The upperparts were coarsely vermiculated, becoming darker towards the stern, which was quite visible even at a distance. The bird was the same size as the nearby Tufties. The distance and light weren't that good for phonescoping and it spent most of the time asleep, but I got a couple of short videos.

A large skein of Pink-footed Geese headed northwest, and plenty of Lapwings and common ducks were around the north end of the reservoir.
 

A Painful Dip

Had things gone a little differently over the last couple of days then I could have been writing about one of my most exhillarating birding experiences. Sadly, it didn't go according to plan and left me totally gutted. Let me explain.

On Wednesday, I was busy doing some wetland restoration over near Pickering with a bunch of my work colleagues. Early afternoon, my phone buzzed - incoming bird news - so I glanced down at my watch and was shocked to see the message starting with 'White-throated Needletail'. Being a Swift fan, this is a dream bird for me, an Uber Swift all the way from East Asia. Grabbing my phone to check the full details, revealed it was not on a far flung Hebridean island, but at Tophill Low, East Yorkshire. This was only 20 miles away! I re-read the message through my panic - it hadn't been seen for an hour so was assumed to have gone. I calmed down a bit, but looked up into the blue sky - just in case!

A little later and there was still no news, and having finished our work, we packed up and headed back to York. I warned my colleague that if it reappeared, I would be doing a very quick U-turn and heading off; she seemed to be fine with that. However, this wasn't necessary and I rolled into York with the Needletail still AWOL. Perhaps it would never be seen again? 

Just after 5 and the office emptied, as colleagues headed home for the night. I locked up, grabbed my bike and did likewise. Half way home and my phone buzzed again. The bird had been relocated - at Bempton Cliffs. Cue major panic! I was still 20 minutes away from home, and as I pedalled, I calculated that it would be an hour and 15 minutes to Bempton if the traffic was kind (it was unlikely to be at rush hour) which would put me on site for 6.30pm at the earliest. Any delay and I would not be there til after dark. I would not make it and so made the difficult decision not to go. For the next hour, I was masochistically fixated with the Flamborough Whatsapp group, as stunning photo after stunning photo pinged through of this spectacular swift. What a cracker, performing beautifully over the clifftop. It was last seen about 6.20pm, validating my decision not to have tried, but this was little consolation. There was a suggestion that the bird was attempting to land on the cliff face as dusk gathered, indicating the bird's desire to roost. This renewed my hope - perhaps it would be there in the morning? By lucky coincidence I had the day off tomorrow, so game on!

Thursday 

I barely slept on Wednesday night; I was too tense. Waking before my 5am alarm, I made a coffee, chucked my gear in the car and headed east along familar roads in the East Yorkshire dawn.  I was sure there would be other birders at Bempton before first light, giving themselves the best chance to connect with the Needletail, but I wasn't expecting the numbers. The main car park was already full and the overflow nearly so, as I was directed to one of the few remaining spaces by a RSPB volunteer. I hastened down the path to the clifftop and turned south towards Staple Newk. This felt like deja vu - I had done this for the Black-browed Albatross a few years ago - and I dipped! Hopefully, today would be better. As I approached Staple, I was amazed to see what looked like a forest had grown along the clifftop, but closer views revealed probably 200 birders already in position. The viewpoint itself was three or four deep! I carried on east and found a place with a good view next to the sheer cliffs. The dawn light was beginning to illuminate the sea and I could hear a Peregrine calling unseen from the cliff face. There was a palpable tension among those gathered, with whispered voices, wringing of hands and shifty glances. I now just had to wait and watch. 

6.30am became 7.30am and soon it was 8.30am and with the improving light, I constantly scanned the sky, the sea and the cliff-face, hoping to see the silhouette of a swift. Still nothing. It was cold and the westerly wind was surprisingly bitter. A little niggling doubt began to creep in; it often does in these situations and is sometimes unfounded. Gannets came in from the sea to feed well-grown gugas on the cliffs and the Peregrine went off hunting for breakfast. A few migrant finches- Redpolls and Siskins- flew by, but still not shout of 'Needletail' went up. 

By 9am, the sun came out and the air warmed. Surely now it would come out of roost? I spotted some familiar faces along the cliff, so I wandered over to exchange greetings with Darren Woodhead and Jonathan Pomroy, who had already painted the cliff face scenery, ready for the main subject to be added. We discussed theories of what the bird was up to and when it was going to appear. We chatted along with a Rob, Jane and Ollie from York, keeping our collective spirits high and despite the no-show to far, we felt the shout would go up at any moment. A pod of about 15 Bottlenose Dolphins headed north, a lovely sight in the morning sun. 

And then Ollie announced that news had come through that a Needletail was at Loch Skene in Aberdeenshire! What? I checked - this was 350km north of Bempton. All we could think was the bird must have only roosted briefly and then inexplicably headed a long way north over night. Dismay and bewilderment fell over the gathered crowds who rapidly departed. Considering the options, the Aberdeenshire report was either dodgy, a second bird, or was the Yorkshire bird that had done something totally remarkable. Definitely within the ability of the species renowned for the fastest level flight of any bird, but why would it have done that, when it seemed pretty happy cruising up and down these cliffs? I decided that it would be too risky to give up too soon, so after a coffee, I headed to South Landing, where I could chill out, do some birding and be in the vicinity should the bird show-up. 

I had an enjoyable couple of hours in the warm October sunshine, though the lack of migrants was astonishing (continual westerly winds!) Nevertheless, I added a lumbering Barred Warbler to my year-list and heard one of the Yellow-browed Warblers calling in the ravine. Four Redpolls flew over and several Chiffchaffs bounced about the Sycamores. By lunchtime, my 5am start and lack of sleep together with the come-down from the adrenaline of the early morning destroyed my resilience, and I decided to head home, for a sleep. Big mistake! 

Back in York, I had a much needed kip and then decided to do some chores. Late afternoon I was in the garden, tidying up some branches, cutting the little patch of lawn for the last time this year and generally sorting stuff for the winter. In my sleepiness, I had left my phone inside. I came back in at about 5.30pm to see a message from old mate Philip Precey saying simply 'Get to Filey!' This could only mean one thing. The Needletail wasn't in Scotland, it was a couple of miles up the coast. But I was too late. I knew immediately that I would not make it on time. This was the second time in two days this had happened. Why hadn't I stayed on the coast all day? Idiot! The hardened few who had done so, were now reaping the rewards of their resilience, enjoying views of this spectacular bird carving over Filey skies in the gathering dusk. 

Friday 

The next day would be a write-off for me, as I was back at work with an important all-day meeting over at Bainbridge in the Dales. I headed west with my colleague, Bernie, fearing the news of the Needletail. Similar to the day before, the bird had seemingly vanished and the waiting birders at Filey were to be baffled by yet another early morning disappearance. I felt a little relieved as I would be three hours west, so had no chance of getting to the bird even if it was refound. Checking my phone early afternoon and I was not that surprised to see the bird had turned up again, once again to the north, this time in Scarborough where it was apparently flying around the Castle in bright sunshine. Jeez! 

I wasn't really able to concentrate in the afternoon and just watched the time ticking by. When we left, at 3.30pm, the bird had gone missing for three hours but had been reported flying back south over Long Nab! My birding mates Duncan Poyser and Mark Hawkes were approaching having twitched up from Cambridgeshire. They were closing in. Whilst I'd be delighted for them to see the Needletail, this would be even more gripping. As we headed back east down Wensleydale, I calculated that if we dropped the work car off in York, jumped in my car, we could get over to Scarborough for about 6.20pm... which could be enough. I rang Mark and Dunc (who had not yet seen the bird) to say I'd see them there. They had done the admirable thing of heading north along the coast trying to relocate the bird themselves, rather than standing with the hordes at Scarborough. 

With my mind whirring, I hit rush hour traffic on York ring road. Minutes ticked by, and right now, minutes were very important. The window of time I would have at Scarborough rapidly closed as I sat in a traffic jam- yet again I wouldn't make it. My dreams faded. Sadly for Dunc and Mark, the bird had not turned up over Scarborough in any case, and as the time ticked on til dark, it seemed they too had dipped and could now share my pain. They too reluctantly gave up and departed. With other commitments, I couldn't persuade them to stop at mine and try again tomorrow and they headed back south. Good effort lads! 

Saturday 

Whitby West Cliff 

I had one more roll of the dice. Despite the bird having gone missing for several hours yesterday, I felt sure that it could still be on the Yorkshire coast somewhere. I arranged to pick up Duncan Bye and drag him away from his patch at Wheldrake Ings to try the coast north of Whitby to see if we could find the bird. I knew there would be other birders along the coast too, so if turned up, we'd be in the game. First up we drove over the North York Moors to Whitby, Duncan keeping a close eye on his phone for any news. Parking up we spent an hour scanning from West Cliff, which gave us views from Whitby Abbey in the south, 180 degrees to Sandsend Bay to the north. It was a gorgeous morning, but our target didn't appear, so we headed further north via the cafe at Sandsend for a second breakfast. A few Red-throated Divers fed just offshore and seven Ringed Plovers were on the beach, but nothing broke the sound barrier above us. 

 Sandsend Beach

We headed to Cowbar just north of Staithes and walked the Cleveland Way up the towering cliffs at Boulby.  Familiar territory for me, it always looks a great place for a rarity and surely it would have enough landscape character to attract a Needletail! Apparently not, as we again drew a blank. Still no news from anywhere else either, so by the time we got back to the car, we decided that our quest was futile and we should head home. It was good having Dunc along as his cheerfulness lifted my spirits out of what could have been a dark dip-pression. I drove Dunc back to his car at Bank Island having stopped to carefully check a flock of c500 Golden Plovers near Raker Lakes. 

 Looking south from Cowbar

I was fearful that as I arrived back home news would come through of the Needletail being back on the coast and sure enough, early evening a probable report of it came through.....from Northumberland! So our hunch that it had continued north was correct, but it had just gone a bit further north than us. Well, it was not to be. Writing here on Sunday evening there has been no further news from anywhere today. Will I get another chance to see this incredible swift, or will I have to keep my dream alive for a future year? For now, however, it is a truly painful dip which I know I share with many other unlucky souls, and one I won't get over until I finally set eyes on this most fabulous of swifts. 

...

Back to reality and I went for a walk along the river with Vicky and Lunar. This gorgeous fresh Painted Lady drank Ivy juice in the afternoon sunshine, seemingly without a care in the world. 

 

 

 

 

Leach's Petrels on the Wirral: Into the teeth of Storm Amy

Storm Amy arrived Friday, with her fury picking up power during the night. I woke from a restless night a few minutes before my 5am alarm, and shortly was heading out to pick up my old birding mate, Duncan Poyser from his folks' house. Up and over the Pennine Hills we went, into the City of Liverpool and the teeth of the storm. Hatches were battoned down and few folk had dared to venture forth so early with the gale raging. Through the tunnel under the River Mersey we went, before hanging a right down to the river mouth and New Brighton. Our quest for Leach's Storm-petrels had begun and the conditions seemed epic.  

We pulled up by the small marine lake which looked like a stormy sea, spying 100+ Turnstones huddling on a pontoon at the sheltered end, but no petrels or phalaropes on the water. Shelter was needed, to avoid seaspray and sand which blasted horizontally across the car park near the fort; we spied a solitary birder in a conveniently-placed bus shelter with a view over the river and the sea, so we piled in next to him, just in time, as it began lashing down. To our surpise, no Leach's had been seen so far, so we settled in to scour the waves. Shortly, a skua headed upriver, seeking shelter from the gale, a dark juvenile Arctic, quickly followed by a smart pale-phase adult. They disappeard upriver. Small numbers of terns, mostly Common, but with a few Sandwich and a single juvenile Arctic were trying to battle back out of the river, but were soon blown back in, tossed like pieces of paper against the industrial backdrop of the Mersey. The conditions looked great, but where were the petrels which this site is famous for? As hours ticked by and nothing more interesting appeared, we pondered whether we were too early and that the storm had not yet tired the pelagic species we were looking for and they had so far remained out in the Irish Sea. News from up the coast seemed positive with Sabine's Gulls and Leach's Petrels having been seen in small numbers, hinting that a movement could be starting. We needed to keep the faith...

After some much needed grub and a sit down out of the wind, we switched position to behind the Lifeguards look-out on the seaward side of the marine lake. A few more terns passed by and some Common Scoters, but still no petrels. A rain shower came in and we dived into the car as it lashed down. A rangey dark bird over the beach in front of us had us leap out of the car but it vanished....the other birders by the hut then waved - a Grey Phalarope had come in off the sea (presumably the bird we'd seen) and dropped on the marine lake! Turning round, sure enough, there was this little Arctic wader, swimming about on the lake. It didn't seem too pleased to be on the marine lake, and flitted across the strangely-green water, pausing a few times, before disappearing; we concluded it had gone back over the seawall and away.

After this exciting interlude, we drove along to the end of the promenade opposite Wallasey Golf Course as we decided the sea might be more productive than the river. The tide had turned and was dropping rapidly, revealing a wide sandy beach. Waders poured in from their distant roosts, and the muddy cockle beds soon filled with Bar-tailed Godwits and Oystercatchers, whilst flocks of Knot, Dunlin and Redshanks passed by, battling into the wind. 

 

Sheltering behind the RNLI building, we renewed our seaward vigil. After a bit, I suddenly picked up a Leach's Petrel, just offshore - boom! We were delighted - and a bit relieved - and enjoyed 20 minutes watching this storm-blown waif as it pattered through the breakers. The weather had improved with good light and visibility, so we got great views through our scopes. As the bird was lingering just offshore, we decided to get nearer, so we legged it down the beach and hid behind the concrete groynes trying to get out of the gale. The petrel appeared just off the beach, buffeting about in the wind. Closer scrutiny revealed moulted inner primaries, so presumably an adult. The angled wings, pale grey covert bar on the upperwings and forked black tail was really obvious and the size and flight style quite different to the tiny Euro Storm-petrels and Wilson's Storm-petrels which I have seen more recently. The bird seemed to be feeding, or at least trying to, dipping down constantly to the water surface, bounding up and down, with occasional high arcs to avoid passing gulls, before disappearing behind impressive waves. 

 

The Leach's began to get pestered by a young Herring Gull, relentlessly chasing it until it caught the wind and got blown back north and into the Mersey, where it was seen by other birders. Our spirits lifted, we continued to watch, adding a few flocks of Tufted Ducks to the list, along with more waders tracking south. 

Dunc suddenly announced 'Manx Shearwater' and sure enough, a dapper Manxie was arcing along the edge of the beach looking gorgeous in the early afternoon sunshine. Seeing this species over the sands, cutting through loafing Herring Gulls was totally bizarre and really cool. 

Time was, by now, getting on, so we returned to the river to try our luck there. Finding shelter along the riverside, I nipped off to the loo and managed to miss another Leach's which flew past where Dunc was standing - doh! We grilled the river for a good while, but it had vanished, perhaps back upriver. An Arctic Skua was knocking about but little more sadly. Heading home, we stopped nearer the tunnel, adding Mediterranean Gull and Little Egret to the day list, but no more petrels. Back through the tunnel and up the M62 we went, feeling pleased with the great views of Leach's Petrel and Grey Phalarope we'd had. Not quite the numbers we'd hoped for, but a really enjoyable day in the teeth of Storm Amy. As I write, there have been over 30 Leach's in the Mersey off New Brighton, plus Sabine's Gull and Euro Stormie, so it seems the day following the big blow is best. I will keep my eyes on the weather as there is still time for another go at this before the season is over.

...............

Seeing Leach's Petrel on the Wirral had long been in the back of my mind, but I'd never got round to making the effort. This species is pretty scarce in the North Sea where I do most of my seawatching and I have only seen a couple in Yorkshire and not for many years. My most memorable encounter before yesterday was from the mid Noughties, when I lived next to Grafham Water in Cambridgeshire. 

The first Leach's I found there was completely unexpected. It was 3rd October 2005 and before work I had decided to check out a report of a Ring-necked Duck. The bird had been reported with the Tufted Duck flock off the lagoons, so I headed straigh there.  Scanning through the flock of Aythyas, I was shocked when a Leach's Petrel flew through my scope view! This was totally out of the blue; the conditions were mild and anticyclonic, with very little wind, so not the kind of weather you'd expect to find an inland Leach's. I followed the bird as it flapped down the reservoir towards Mander Car Park. My old Nokia 3210 mobile phone had no battery charge, so I ran back to the car to plug it in, so I could phone Mark Hawkes and get the news out. I then drove down to Mander and after a few tense minutes refound the bird flying about, pursued by gulls. 

This was my first inland Leach's and something I'd always dreamt of finding at Grafham and given it was my birthday, I was pretty stoked. Mark and others turned up to watch this lost seabird, but after a while we realised that it had attracted the attention of a local Peregrine, aswell as the gulls. The Peg began to attack the petrel and after a couple of near misses, clattered into the little seabird and knocked it cartwheeling into the water. A Great-black backed Gull immediately swooped in, and grabbed the petrel, partially swallowing it, while the Peregrine circled overhead. Harried by other gulls it took off with the poor bird still in its beak with the wings trailing out either side, looking like a rather large moustache. Several birders had managed to see the bird before it met its unfortunate end, but one birder turned up just too late. When asking if the Leach's was still showing, we pointed out the sad sight of the Great Black-back flying around with the petrel's wings still protruding. 

Roll forward 14 months and a long spell of strong west and northwesterly winds in early December had produced a number of inland Leach's Petrels at many of the big reservoirs in the southern half of the UK. Myself and others had been out every day scouring Grafham Water trying to find out own but with no joy. Discussing this on Birdforum, I pondered why Grafham was missing out, until somebody suggested I might be looking in the wrong place. I had been checking the sheltered side of the reservoir, where in the past I'd found wrecked Northern Fulmars and Kittiwakes. The suggestion was to try the exposed side as petrels were likely to be so exhausted that they'd struggle to fight the wind and get into shelter, so they'd likely be pinned on that shore. I thought I'd try out this theory, and headed round to Church Lane which gave a good view of the north shore. 

Within moments, and to great delight, I found a Leach's Petrel, followed by a second bird. The birds were close in off the lake shore and clearly exhausted. 

 

They were flying about but frequently settling on the water. I phoned Mark and he came straight down, finding a third bird off Mander as he walked round. Sadly, one of the birds became moribund and was washed up on the shore in front of us. It was a sad sight and two local Carrion Crows immediately flew in to have a look. I couldn't bear to watch what was about to happen, so went down and picked it up. I felt I could try and get some food into it and save its life. I took it home and filled the bath with cold water and plopped the petrel in. It seemed fairly content and just paddled about. This was fairly surreal to say the least. Things became stranger when the doorbell rang and Mark walked in with a second Leach's which had succumbed to the same fate. This joined the first in the bath. Pondering what to do, we tried a little squidged tuna, but the birds were very emaciated and probably dehydrated and vomited whatever I tried to get them to swallow. Sadly, within half an hour, they had both died. 

Looking back, I feel I should have let nature take it's course and left them to die without interfering. At the time, I just wanted to help as I couldn't bear seeing them be killed by the local crows. Putting emotion aside, it was incredible to see these little seabirds close-up, and I marvelled at the intricacies of their tiny tubenosed beaks. Both had new inner primaries, old outer primaries and were missing the middle primaries (see pic above), and I pondered whether this impacted on their flight efficiency and made them more vulnerable to being wrecked by strong winds. I will never know.