A charm through the gloom

The fog lay thick through the dawn swirling in the orange glow of the street lamps. As the lights switched off one by one still the fog obscured trees and houses, a thick blanket through which the cool blue of morning now seeped through. Thought murky, damp and cool, the morning was still with not a breath of wind. Beads of water droplets gathered on the branches and last few leaves of the almost bare trees, on the spiky needles of evergreens and on the fine, black mesh of the net. Hanging, glittering in the murky light like tiny strings of fairy lights before they were shaken away.

Stunning adult male Goldfinch

Even before the nets are fully open birds were gathering in the top of the tree. Bold, brazen, perched and looking down on the activity below, and yet cautious, not willing to go any closer for now. Once the ringers are clear of the nets the birds venture down, working their way through the shelter of the tree to the food hanging so conveniently beneath its slender boughs. Inevitably and as planned, as birds leave the feeders some are caught in the pockets of the net.

As the morning progresses the dull and murky fog was never far away, so that the forest surrounding the small open patch of paddocks and garden was never more than hazy shapes of tree and branch. The gloom was only broken by the splash of brilliant colour and character by those little feathered beauties that fell into the net. A whole charm of Goldfinch. Some are adults, with bright bold colours and fresh pristine feathers. Velvet black wings, clean bold white patches, vivid red, stunning yellow and the soft chestnut brown merging into a white belly. Then then were the youngsters, feathers a little more worn, colours a little more muted.  

Female Great Spotted Woodpecker

It is not just the Goldfinches that brighten this gloomy morning. The raucous cry of woodpeckers cuts through the gloom. There is a different beauty in the bold black and white pattern and the flash of bright red of these birds. The first two caught are young females, there are brown worn feathers in the wing and their heads are completely black. The third is an adult male, the wing is completely glossy and black, and there is a strip of brilliant red cutting through the black at the back of the head.

Male Great Spotted Woodpecker

With lunch time approaching the number of birds starts to dwindle and it is time to pack up and head for home….

Birding in the rain

The small wooden hide sits on the edge of the lake overlooking its troubled water. A strong wind creates small waves and white caps on which hundreds of coot and ducks bob up and down, buffeted by the elements. The surrounding trees sway and bend, their leaves ripped from them, swirling up into the grey sky. Inside the hide it is quieter; its dusty interior smells a little musty and there were cobwebs crammed into every corner and under every bench. The sky through the open windows darkens ominously. The ducks, coot, grebes and gulls carry on swimming, milling, diving and resting. Slowly at first large heavy rain drops begin to patter on the top of the hide and on the waters surface. Still the ducks, coot, grebes and gulls carry on. The pace of the rain drops picks up. Soon they are pelting down; a torrent of water from the laden sky deluges the birds. It rains so hard the water of the lake bubbles and boils as rain drops bounce back up. Still the birds carry on. Coot bob their heads back and forth, Tufted Ducks and Little Grebes pop up like a bubble breaking on the surface then dive back beneath the waves with a little jump. 

Coot in the storm

Still the rain pounds the surface of the lake and drums on the roof of the hide. Just in front of the hide a sleek, streamlined bird with dark back and cap, a pale chest and face, and a thin dagger like bill, breaks the surface, appearing seemingly from nowhere. It is a Great Crested Grebe, and as the rain continues to hammer down the bird continues to fish. Time and again it slips beneath the bubbling water, time and again it reappears, shakes its head a little and then continues to look down into the murky shallows, searching. It disappears again, and a moment later reappears with a stocky fish clamped between its bill. The grebe manoeuvres the fish, adjusting its position before lifting its head, stretching its neck and swallowing the fish whole. Another little shake of the head and it is off searching once again. 

Great Crested Grebe feeding in the rain

The rain rolls over the lake and its feathered inhabitants like water off a ducks back. For what seems like an age the lake is pounded, its distant shore obscured, the birds along its back edge mere shadows in the mist. Until finally the rain eases, the mist lifts like a curtain and even a small glimmer of sunlight briefly streams through the clouds onto the now calm waters of the lake. 

Little Grebe in the calm that follows

The Owl, The Puppy Dog and The Meadow Pipit

Dusk was gathering as the little car bumped down the puddle filled lane heading for a small cottage shielded from view by tall blustery trees. Beyond, in the gathering gloom, the roar of the sea washing up onto a sandy beach, can still be heard over the rush of wind in grass and trees. Riding alongside in the passenger foot well, a familiar red fox Labrador sniffs the salty air trickling through the small gap in the window, her nose making smudge marks on the glass.

On pulling up to the cottage the puppy dog and driver are greeted by a small team of ringers who have been working the site all day. With the trees now mere black shadows and the sky deep indigo the last round has been completed, and the nets closed. There is just one bird left to process and arguably it is the bird of the day. In a net that had caught nothing all day, one final surprise had been waiting. A Tawny Owl. Its black liquid eyes, beautiful, dark, deep pools, watch silently. Its soft feathers barely rustle, a mixture of soft browns, white and black, while its legs and feet are covered in fine white feathers that contrast starkly with long black talons.

The Owl

The process is quick, a youngster of this year the bird is ringed, weighed, measured and soon is silently heading away down the lane that is now pitch black.

It was a cold night. The stars twinkle brightly in a deep black sky. The puppy dog finds the warmest spot in the tent… at the bottom of a sleeping bag! All around are the sounds of night; the rustle of trees disturbed by the wind, the distant crash of waves on sand, and the roar of rutting red deer. The middle of the night, and the puppy dog has moved upwards towards the coolness and freshness outside of the sleeping bag. For the rest of the night she stretches out, head poking out of the bag but still stretched out alongside the warm body and using a conveniently places arm as a pillow!

Camping - Puppy Dog style

Light breaks slowly across the now deep blue sky of pre-dawn. Pale pink washes through as the blue lightens with morning. Skeins of pink footed geese honk nosily as they pass over head, heading for fields for breakfast. The puppy dog follows through a maze of blackthorn and bramble that covers the sheltered side of the sand dune where mist nets are opened; sniffing and creating trails in dew laden grass.

It is one particular set up of nets that creates the interest for the ringers on this session. Set in a triangle, with an MP3 player in the middle, the nets are successful at catching meadow pipits throughout the day. Such elegant birds with tones of brown and buff, and bold dark streaks on back and breast, perhaps overlooked by many a birder who become used to its accelerating and the decelerating song as it rises into and then falls like a parachute from the sky, used to its high piping call, and its presence in such a variety of habitats. They seem to be everywhere. And yet even this most familiar of pipits is suffering declines. The birds this day are moving through, heading to southern areas and lowland habitats for winter.

The Meadow Pipit

For the puppy dog it is just another day of running, sniffing and chasing tennis balls...   

Absolutely Quackers

The large fat raindrops fell in torrents from the dark grey sky, bouncing off the green leaves of trees and bushes and creating puddles in the gravel track that was sandwiched between wood and fields. The rain thundered down on the hoods, jackets and wellies of a small group of people standing at the end of the track. To the left the horizon was clearing, a brilliant setting sun breaking through the clouds and illuminating the fields in beautiful golden light. To the right a wonderful rainbow arched over a small pool set in an open field surrounded by the dark still dripping trees. The sky through which the rainbow arched was still dark slate bluish grey. In the gathering dusk and as the rain eased the group set a series of nets covering the dark, muddy pool and then retreated to the cover of the surrounding wood. 

The small pool ready and waiting

With the sun set darkness crept over the pool, nets and people, the light and colour slowly draining away and shadows replacing the greens and browns of water and vegetation. Above, the clouds continues to clear, glinting stars filling the now inky blue black sky. The sounds of night fill the air; the loud raucous alarm of a group of pheasants, the kwick of a tawny owl whose silhouette then crosses the darkening sky, the low rumbling roar of a rutting red deer, echoing from some unseen place. Then in the sky above the low rapid flutter of wing beats as a number of small ducks come swooping over the trees aiming for the pool.

A 'spring' of teal

There is a swish and a splash as the ducks land on the water, with some landing in the awaiting nets. A dark, shadowed figure emerges from the deeper black of the trees, walking quickly to the waters edge and then wading into the shallow pool. ‘Kersplosh, Kersplosh’ the figure wades over to the net and carefully removes the duck, retreating with the bird to the cover of the trees and placing it safely in a bag and then a quiet box. As the evening draws on this process is repeated. With the increasing darkness there is no need to retreat to the woods and the figures simply crouch low at the waters edge, shrouded now by darkness.

For every duck removed from a net, many more simply flap their wings and escape. Still more, even in the darkness, see the nets and divert with an acceleration of wing beats, up and away. Finally the number of birds coming in dwindles to nothing, a bright silvery moon appears from behind the trees and the group calls it a night. The nets are taken down and the group retreats to the warmth and light of a nearby barn in order to process the catch. It may be small, with just five birds out of all those that came swooping into the pool, but these gorgeous little ducks more than make up for that. They are teal. Delicate, small, and at this time of year seemingly brown with none of the glorious chestnut and green in the head of the males, no bright yellow patch on the tail or brilliant white streak across a silvery grey flank. But up close there is a bright green and blue iridescent flash across the wing, and beautiful mottled, soft brownish grey feathers across the body and back. The birds are ringed and processed before being returned to a small pond behind the barn. From the hand the birds barely touch the water’s surface before head straight up and away into the moonlit night. 

Dolphin Dreams and Delights

I sit on the grassy bank at the top of a cliff, overlooking a steep drop to rocks and the sea below. Behind me are the whitewash walls of a fish factory. Stretching out ahead is the gently rolling blue green of the ocean, small dark wavelets catching the eye and the occasional ray of warm sunshine that appears and disappears behind banks of clouds. The horizon is hazy, the waves disappearing into the opaque mist while most of the coastline on either side of me is shrouded. Below me fishermen cast their line far into the water, the lures glittering briefly in the air before disappearing beneath the waves. In the clear blue green directly below the rocks you can see the fish swarming. Tiny whitebait swirl in dark shoals are followed by larger and darker shoals of mackerel. A little further beyond and the animals I wanted to see most of all, those that I long to see even once one has disappeared from view, animals I never tire of and which seem entwined with my very soul, surface with a breath that always sends a shiver down my spine and lightens my heart. Dolphins. The irrational disappointment of the boat trip that blanked only moments before is wiped away and replaced with a joy and feeling of elation that no other wildlife can bring. 

Searching for dolphins at New Quay

Brilliantly white seabirds swirl over the balls of fish, dipping down to the waters surface, chasing each other and then settling on the water as the shoals move, only to lift again as they spot the next group of fish. The dolphins have followed the mackerel which have followed the whitebait. For a couple of hours, two dolphins work the water off the headland and small bay just round the corner from the harbour wall of New Quay. At times they move a little further away, circling back in to shore, coming within 50 m of the rocks. As the afternoon progresses more dolphins have joined the feeding party, with over eight individuals within view including young calves surfacing close to their mothers. At one moment the group is spread out, surfacing in pairs, threes or on their own. The next moment the group comes together, surfacing close to, leaping high out of the rippling water, breaching synchronously. My heart leaps as I watch one dolphin breach three times in a row, another swings in close to the rocks, swimming underwater on its side flicking a fish from its mouth before grabbing it again and disappearing. Mum and baby pass close by the rocks too, the youngster hugging its mother’s side, swimming in her slip stream. Tail slapping, breaching, spy hopping, I see it all from my lofty view point. It is one of my best encounters with bottlenose dolphins and I am not even on a boat! 

Four hours pass and evening draws on, the light is fading turning the water silvery grey as clouds and that misty haze creeps closer. The wavelets smooth out as the wind disappears completely. Still the dolphins are there. Out past a fishing buoy the group continues to feed and play. I hang on as long as possible, not wanting the moment to end but it is soon time for me to leave. But the sighting remains in my heart, in my memories and in my dreams.

Photo Gallery by QuickGallery.com

The Assessment

In September 2007 I took my first steps towards becoming a bird ringer. Yes I had had an interest in birds for a few years, more so once I met my husband to be. He got me interested in birds and I got him interested in whales and dolphins. While Lee had been ringing for a couple of years, I had yet to take the plunge. Then came the Isle of Wight ringing course which he was attending and on which a space had become available. Considering Lee had just driven me to Plymouth, and hung around all day while I did a dolphin survey, and with my growing interest in birds, I agreed. So began what has become another passion in my life. The thrill of holding a bird, learning so much about moult, aging, sexing and their life histories that cannot necessarily be gained from observation alone, is a real privilege. In November that year I began ringing with Merseyside Ringing Group near Chester. Developing the basics of handling, ringing and aging passerines and learning to set mist nets and safely extract birds. Despite driving an hour to get to the site, leaving in the dark and despite braving frozen conditions on many occasions, I had been caught by the ringing bug. I remember ringing my first Greenfinch, Yellowhammer, Dunnock and Firecrest, I remember ringing my first and only Willow Tit and being almost rugby tackled out of the way as I went to remove a Lesser Spotted Woodpecker from the net.

Lesser Spotted Woodpecker

Within a year I had moved to Scotland to guide on a whale watch boat before settling in Norfolk where I was taken under the tutorship of Greg Conway. Over the next two years I ringed passerines in Thetford Forest and warblers in reed beds at the Nunnery. I ventured onto a seabird island off the top of Scotland, where I caught hundreds of Puffins and the odd Gannet or two, one of which left a mark I still bear today. I ringed hirundines at Gibraltar Point in Lincolnshire and even dabbled in a bit of wader ringing with the Wash Wader Ringing Group.

My first adult Gannet

By September 2010 I was back on the Isle of Wight ringing course and was put forward for my C permit. Now I could ring independently, although I was still responsible to my trainer. And so it continued, I set nets in my garden, my parents garden and my parent in laws garden! I went out with ringers targeting specialist birds like Nightjar and Firecrest. I started helping at a reed bed site known as Cranwich, somewhere that has become central to mine and Lee’s ringing activities. I went abroad, ringing in the Gambia where Western Palaearctic migrants and colourful Afro-Tropical birds mix. I went to the famed Icklesham and delved into hundreds of warblers, hirundines and pipits. I became a nest recorder, gaining a pullus endorsement which allowed me to ring the chicks in the nests I’d found. I wandered through woodlands monitoring Pied Flycatcher and Redstart nests. I ventured onto rather smelly landfill tips and ringed Black-headed, Herring, Lesser and Great Black Backed Gulls. I spent early mornings in reed beds, in scrub land, on beaches, on farmland, on remote islands, ringing and learning more.

Ringing a Kingfisher

Finally last year my trainer said to me it’s time, I’m ready. Ready for my A permit. Unlike with the C permit, this time I needed to be assessed by an independent trainer. Someone who I had not ringed with before. Step up Steve Piotrowski. In June 2014 I joined Steve at Minsmere for a ringing small ringing session with his team. After that there was just one stage left, one final session at my site, one final assessment. Roll on Bank Holiday Monday and with grey skies and a still wind we took to the reed bed at Cranwich for that final assessment. With the threatening rain holding off the birds seemed to make a beeline for the nets. Chiffchaff in particular seemed to be moving through the site in large numbers, with 41 caught (the highest number caught in one session at Cranwich and our usual annual total!). Intermingled with the Chiffs was a good variety of birds, with Sedge Warbler, Reed Warbler, Garden Warbler, Marsh Tit and Treecreeper also caught. With the rain closing in and the nets closed the total number of birds captured, processed and released stood at 96 and Steve’s decision was in. I had passed! Steve’s recommendation was that I should be considered for my A permit. The process is not over, it now rests in the hands of my trainer who needs to complete the paperwork and the Ringing Committee who will review the application….   

Just one of the 41 Chiffchaff caught during my assessment

A huge thank you to everyone who has helped me to learn to ring over the years, and who will help me to continue learning over the years to come. Here's hoping my application is accepted...

A Start at the end of the season...the 100th Wild Barley Post!

An industrial yard. A concrete square surrounded on all sides by tall brick warehouses. Scattered through the yard are stacks of wooden pallets, plastic drums and other working debris. Beyond tall gates is a labyrinth of roads that make up the network of industrial units sandwiched between river and sea in Great Yarmouth. A small lab leads through bolted wooden doors onto this yard. Above that is another set of offices accessed by a set of metal stairs. It is not the most obvious place you would go looking for nests, yet we know many species of birds will happily nest alongside human activity in urban areas. Most of the time you might think of pigeons, or blackbirds in your gardens, all associated with some sort of greenery. But there are some birds that will nest in the most seemingly unnatural areas. Think of peregrine falcons nesting on cathedrals and gas works, perhaps not so glamorous but gulls nesting on roof tops. Here in this yard there was also a nest. 

An unlikely place for a nest...

Tucked up under the eaves of the metal stairs, sitting on a small ledge is a rather scruffy collection of dried grass and leaves. It’s not totally inconspicuous with bits of yellowing grass hang down from this ledge. The soft tsip-tsip call of a bird from the yard gives the identity of the nest away. Hopping from roof top to pallets and back again is a small robin-sized bird. Its vent and tail are a beautiful pale red with the rest of its body charcoal grey and black. He holds himself up right, cocky almost, calling to another similar bird who has that beautiful red tail but is more drab greyish brown above. The female. The pair are Black Redstarts, and we are privileged to have them breeding in our yard. There are fewer than 100 breeding pairs in the UK and because of this the nests have extra protection through licencing to prevent disturbance.

As a licenced bird ringer, with an open nesting pullus endorsement and having an appropriate schedule 1 licence I carefully and quietly approach the stairs, hoisting myself up on a bike rail to peer into the nest. Despite the bright sunshine and heat of the yard, the nest is dark and cool. A small neat cup sits amongst the seemingly untidy mess of grass, and within this five pink, blind and pretty much bald little chicks squirm. I leave them be, letting the parents return to tend their brood.

The first glimpse of Black Redstart chicks

When I return the chicks have grown. They have tracks of feathers down their bodies, tufts of fuzzy feathers form patches over the head and body, while tiny little pins are starting to poke through on stubby wings where feathers will grow. Their legs are well developed and are ready to take a ring. The process is quick and in a matter of moments the chicks are nestled back in the cup, waiting for mum and dad to return which is not too long.

Ringed and returned to the nest

A short while later and a careful peek into the nest reveals large, well feathered chicks. I do not hang around long. These guys have grown so much, they are open eyed and alert. I am as quiet as possible, moving slowly so I do not startle them. Their parents still tsip-tsip at me from the roofs as I retreat.

My final visit and the yard is quiet, I climb slowly up to the nest, already knowing the answer. The nest is empty, the dark corner quiet, the cup well flattened. The chicks have gone. Headed off into the big wide world, five extra souls to the UK’s Black Redstart population.