This Birding Life (19 page)

The New Year saw us back in one of our favourite haunts, north Norfolk, with three whole days to enjoy its many delights. Apart from fine pub food and the county's magnificent churches, these included exactly 100 species of bird – not bad for the middle of winter.

On the very first afternoon, I confess that I broke my ‘no twitching' rule. The bird in question was a Pallid Harrier, and although I have watched these in their more usual surroundings of Israel's Negev Desert, I decided that any bird this far away from home deserved the courtesy of a visit. Unfortunately, after we had tramped along a muddy track and joined several dozen nervous twitchers, the bird itself failed to appear. As the mist closed in and dusk fell, we retreated to the
comforts of a local hostelry for a meal the size of a small horse, though considerably more tasty.

Next morning dawned cold and wet, but we headed off in high spirits. First stop was the RSPB reserve at Strumpshaw Fen just east of Norwich, where after a slow start we caught a glimpse of Britain's loudest songbird, Cetti's Warbler. Great views of Marsh Harriers were followed by the discovery of a flock of Siskins, among which two Bullfinches were an unexpected and welcome sight.

In some years, hundreds of Waxwings visit our shores in search of winter food, but this year there must be plenty of berries in Scandinavia, because only a single bird has been reported. Rather foolishly, we attempted to find it, following precise instructions from Birdline East Anglia, which directed us to the nearest bush. Or at least they would have, had I not misheard them. So after a consolatory cup of coffee we headed off to the Broads, in search of easier birds to see.

And we found them. A Barn Owl, performing beautifully just outside the village of Hickling; at least a dozen Marsh Harriers, and two or three Hen Harriers, coming into roost at nearby Stubb Mill; and the pièce de résistance, three cranes flying overhead in the gathering gloom.

On Saturday, we followed the well-trodden path of the north coast, the highlight being a flock of 50 Shore Larks in a blizzard on Holkham Beach. Another try for the Pallid Harrier produced distant and deeply unsatisfying views, and the spectacle of mass doubt among the gathering hordes of twitchers – could they count it or not? Dinner with friends at the George in Cley fortified us for our final morning at Titchwell, though a diversion to see several thousand Pink-footed Geese feeding in a beet field meant that our first priority on arrival was lunch. Our hunger satisfied, we enjoyed close-up views of a variety of waders, including Snipe, Spotted Redshank and the resident Black-winged Stilt (rumoured to be an escape from a nearby bird collection), before being drawn back to the pleasures of the reserve's café.

So, a stone or two heavier, we headed home, suitably relaxed and prepared to return to work on Monday morning. By the time I reached Bristol, Norfolk – and its pubs, churches and wonderful birds – seemed a million miles away. It took a solitary Blackcap, gorging itself on mimosa berries outside the BBC canteen, to remind me that you can enjoy watching birds almost anywhere.

If you want to see lots of different birds in winter, you could do a lot worse than head down to Devon. A mild climate, a range of habitats and plenty of food attract large numbers of wintering birds, most of which are pretty easy to see.

A great place to start is Bowling Green Marsh, by the River Exe at Topsham. I have a soft spot for this little riverside town, as my grandmother was born and brought up there, so it was good to sit in the plush RSPB hide and watch the action. As it was still low tide, this mainly consisted of ducks such as Wigeon, Teal and Pintails – some already displaying to each other in the first week of February. Two unexpected bonuses were a Spoonbill, and the even rarer Glossy Ibis, both of which have been here for some time now, to the delight of local birders.

For another local speciality, Cirl Bunting, we headed down to a National Trust farm south of Brixham. Conservation work and a return to traditional farming methods have brought this species back from the brink of extinction as a British breeding bird, and we saw at least half a dozen, including some splendid males. It seemed fitting to be watching Cirl Buntings so close to the home of the man who first found them in Britain, the nineteenth-century ornithologist George Montagu.

You can't go to Devon without visiting the seaside – even in February! A walk along the beach at Broadsands produced several Mediterranean Gulls, as well as a motley collection of birds on the sea, including Razorbills and a Black-necked Grebe.

Away from the coast, we dropped in on some friends, who have moved down from London to a splendid Edwardian house surrounded by woods and paddocks, on the edge of Dartmoor. Their garden produced a wonderful free show: Blue, Great and Coal Tits; a Nuthatch and Treecreeper; and dozens of Chaffinches and House Sparrows – all coming to the well-stocked feeders. Seven-year-old twins Donald and Hattie eagerly pointed out the different species, and I was able to add Marsh Tit to their burgeoning ‘garden list'.

For an unexpected spectacle, we visited the unlikely location of a pedestrianised shopping precinct in the town of Newton Abbot. Just as the shops closed, and people headed home, we could hear the sound of birds calling to each other in the sky above. At first they seemed reluctant to come down; then one or two landed on the shop roofs, confirming their identity as Pied Wagtails. As dusk fell, dozens of them plunged down into a couple of trees outside Marks & Spencer's, where they spend the night huddling up against each other for warmth, safe from any predators beneath the neon lights. With at least 400 individuals, it was like a benevolent version of Hitchcock's
The Birds
.

The experience was a timely reminder of the true wonder of birding. For no matter how long you have been watching birds and how many rare vagrants you see, the real thrill comes from seeing a common and familiar species in an unexpected setting. So next time you're wandering through a shopping centre at dusk, listen out for the telltale sounds of a wagtail roost.

One of the great advantages of birdwatching – compared with most other forms of watching wildlife – is that there is always something to see, no matter what the time of year. Nevertheless, there are still quiet months, and August can be one of them, especially away from the coast.

Fortunately, August is a great time to check out other flying creatures, such as butterflies, moths, dragonflies and damselflies. And for the birder who wants to extend his or her horizons, watching butterflies or dragonflies is a good place to start. There are about 60 different kinds of butterfly breeding in Britain, and fewer than 40 different dragonflies, so it's not too daunting – especially if, like me, you have spent most of your life ignoring anything that doesn't have a full set of feathers.

Recently I've spent some time in Wiltshire, one of the best counties in Britain for a wide range of flying insects. Sunny mornings and afternoons are the best time for ‘dragons and damsels', and fortunately my visits coincided with fine weather. At Cotswold Water Park almost every piece of vegetation was festooned with Common Blue Damselflies, their bodies glowing in the sunshine. Nearby, larger dragonflies such as Emperors, Southern Hawkers and Brown Hawkers cruised up and down, patrolling their territory like First World War biplanes. All three are easy to identify: the Emperor has a bright blue abdomen, while that of the Southern Hawker is emerald green. The Brown Hawker lives up to its name: not only is its body brown, but the wings are a sort of yellowish buff.

But this summer, for me at least, the butterflies have been the real stars of the show. Like most people, I've always been able to identify obvious ones such as Red Admiral, Peacock and Small Tortoiseshell; and over the past few years I've made an effort to learn other common
species such as Meadow Brown and Gatekeeper. But this is the first time I've gone in search of more specialised butterflies: in this case, those found on the chalk downlands of southern England.

I started off by learning to identify the most obvious kinds, such as the exquisite Small Copper, and the striking Marbled White. Then, as I gained in confidence, I managed to tick off Common Blue, Ringlet and Brown Argus – the latter with the help of my colleague Mike, who is a real expert at butterfly identification.

Then, as we searched the ramparts of the Iron Age fort at Barbury Castle, I had a moment of pure beginner's luck. Scanning through my binoculars, I caught sight of a butterfly with strikingly pale under-wings, marked with a scattering of spots. As it opened up, revealing delicate, pale powder-blue upperwings, I heard myself call out ‘Chalkhill Blue!' Fortunately my instant identification was correct, and for the next hour or so we watched these beautiful insects as they fluttered back and forth to feed.

In that moment, I remembered what it was like to be a novice birder again: to see a special bird for the very first time and, by a combination of luck and judgement, to put a name to it. Now I'm well and truly hooked, and can't wait until next spring, when I shall go in search of more beautiful British butterflies.