Cold enough for snow

The sand was frozen solid. The usual shifting and sinking associated with walking on sand gone, replaced by a cold hard mass with frozen tufts of maram grass and silvery white patches of frost. It was a very cold, blue dawn. As the light brought definition to the sand dunes, the beach and the pale blue ocean, just one cloud became tinged with pink. On the sand and pebbles of the beach below the dunes the light also revealed our whoosh net, set under the cover of darkness. With the dawn birds started moving around the beach, a wave of small passerines moving as one, settling on one patch of sand before lifting, dashing off, turning sharply and landing on another. Small waders woke from their roost on the angular rocks of sea defences and started the same process, settling down in one area, running with legs working overtime before lifting off again. Large gulls and cormorants streamed by, ignoring the dance being played out on the beach. The team of ringers waited patiently for birds to settle in the catching area. When one or two came in, it was then a mind game of when to catch. Wait for one more and risk the whole flock lifting off at the last moment? 

Waiting patiently among the sand dunes

Finally the moment arrived and the net fired. It was then a dash down the beach to stop any birds wriggling out from under the net and to get them out. It is a small group of snow buntings that we have caught. A scare breeder in Scotland, large numbers from Iceland and Scandinavia come to Britain in winter where their flocks and often confiding nature brightens any winter’s day along the cold coast. 

Most of the birds caught today were already ringed. While many may see that as a disappointment this is the most important part of ringing. Re-trapping ringed birds provides us with the detail on movements, longevity, survival – all the answers to why we ring. It can also help with the process of ageing and sexing birds. With snow buntings however the process is not just about ageing and sexing, it is also about identifying the race the bird belongs to. There are four races of snow bunting, with those wintering in Britain falling into one of two; the nominate nivalis which breeds in Arctic Europe, North America, North West Russia, Greenland and Scotland tends to be much whiter than insulae which are darker and breed in Iceland. 

Adult female nivalis

Juvenile female insulae

Race identified the next job was to check whether it is male or female. One might assume straight off that the whiter individuals are all male, but with females of nivalis showing extensive white amongst the mottled sandy brown wash of their winter plumage it is not always that clear cut. It is under the wing that the secret is revealed, with males having a clear inky black along on the primaries, almost like they have been dipped in paint. While in females it is much more washed out. Today’s catch, in keeping with the past few, are mostly female, throwing up interesting questions about the sex ratio of wintering flocks. Ageing is not as easy and a question of looking at feather quality, shape of patterning and wear of the feathers.

The only male caught, an adult insulae

Ultimately it was a privilege to be standing under a bright winter’s blue sky, the sand slowly defrosting beneath our feet, discussing and learning about these beautiful little buntings.

The Early Bird Catches... The Bird!

‘Pray for rain’, it’s not what you usually hear from bird ringers. When mist netting we usually want calm, dry, overcast conditions. Not rain. But this morning we were not aiming to catch birds with a mist net. This morning we were joining Tony Cross, a mid-Wales based ringer, who is a dab hand at catching birds using a method called 'dazzle and net'. It was also the first time in a very very long time, that my alarm was set with a two in it! Even New Year celebrations saw me hopping into bed at just after midnight. But with a nearly full moon, and recently clear skies, our best chances were to be had in the early morning and to take advantage of that forecast for wet weather. 

Once again in the pitch dark, and climbing higher into the hills, the forecast rain certainly made an appearance. Only as we climbed suddenly it switched, through the headlight beam the rain drops turned to snow flakes, soon it was snowing heavily and the view ahead looked more like hyper-drive on the Millennium Falcon. On arriving at the site it was off into the wind, snow, the ground sodden and crunchy all at the same time. In places it sucked at your feet, creating loud squelching noises, not good for a stealthy approach to birds!

It was not until the third field, and having flushed a fair few Snipe and Golden Plover, that our luck finally came in and Tony landed a Woodcock.  The first bird for Tony in 2015 and by the light of the torch it was clear the bird was already ringed. Closer inspection however revealed that this was not a British BTO ring, it was a ring from the Latvian ringing scheme! In five years of catching Woodcock, and ringing over 2000 different birds unbelievably this was the first one to be caught with a foreign ring on it! Cue delighted whoops from Tony! What a privilege to be there on this morning.

Star of the Show - the Latvian ringed Woodcock

As we explored more fields, we managed to catch a few more birds. A couple more Woodcock, both unringed this time, a Snipe (have had a lot of practice ageing those recently!), a Fieldfare, and an absolutely cracking Golden Plover. Only the Latvian ringed Woodcock could top that bird for me!

Stunning Golden Plover

As dawn approached the snow eased, to be replaced by misty, drizzly fog. The seeping blue light of dawn revealed a still snowy landscape, with trees and the edges of fields hidden by mist, and a trio of rather soggy, cold but very happy ringers.

Read more about the Latvian Woodcock at Tony's blog Ruffled Feathers. 

A Tale of Two Snipes

Winter had finally arrived. After months of mild, wet weather with the feeling of October rather than December, things had finally turned cold, crisp and frosty. It was still pitch black, the rather dim light of the head torch swept the bramble hedges and grassy banks, the frost glittering briefly in the torches beam. The grass beneath brand new Christmas wellies crunched, the ice breaking at the edges of puddles. The sky above was clear, stars sparkled in the inky black, while a hint of orange glowed on the horizon hinting at the lights of the nearby city. Slowly the inky black began changing through shades of deepest blue, cancelling out the orange glow, as dawn began to break. With enough light now to see, we walk the frozen grassy and muddy tracks between raised banks beyond which the ground dips into pools. The reeds and grass within which have been strimmed, maintained and managed for birds. Stretching across two such pools is a series of strategically placed nets. We climb the bank and look out over the pools, we walk down the slope and step down into the frozen water. It is not deep, the ice cracks as we slowly walk across, skirting piles of reed and grass, purposely left for birds to roost on just above the waters surface. Reaching the first set of nets we find they have done their job well! 

The set of nets and habitat managed for Snipe

As we approach the second set, which skirts a slightly deeper pool, walking through taller, dried grass that rustles as we pass, we flush more birds. They rise up out of the long grass, calling as they dash zig zagging away; only some of them encounter the nets. Our catch increases and is a good one; the birds are small mottled brown above, with pale, buff stripes down the back and on the head, a straight long bill and comparatively big dark eyes. They are Common Snipe. But some are smaller still, with a shorter bill. Those are Jack Snipe! In total there seven Jack Snipe and 12 Common Snipe, a cracking total even when you were aiming to catch them! But it just goes to show what maintaining and creating habitat specifically for such species can do. 

Common Snipe (right) and Jack Snipe (left)

Both are listed as Amber due to declines in numbers. Common Snipe breed and winter in the UK and numbers have dropped especially in lowland wet grassland. Jack Snipe winter in the UK, but are a Species of European Concern. To have even seven Jack Snipe on site means it is Nationally Important. 

Jack Snipe

Beyond the tall trees at the edge of the site the brilliant golden sun breaks the horizon, casting its yellow rays across the glittering greens, browns and dun yellows of the pools. In the beautiful winter sunlight we ring and process, learning about these wonderful, cryptic waders. It is brilliant to be able to compare both species at the same time. When complete we release each one, the Common Snipe zoom off quickly, not hanging around. The Jack Snipe however tends to rely more on its camouflage, crouching down until the last moment, flying low and then dropping down again. So when set down carefully after processing, for a moment that is where they stay. 

Lee releasing the fourth of our seven Jack Snipe

A huge thank you to Matt Prior and Graham Deacon of North Wiltshire Ringing Group for taking us out and letting us join them. Why not check out their blog to see what they are up to ringing wise. 

Dipping In

It was dark, the steep slopes, rising either side of the road, a denser, deeper black shadow against the night sky. A cloudy sky that hid the stars, with only a few twinkling lights from nearby houses and the flashing amber of a sign on the road warning of ice as it wound higher into the mountains, a black snake through a black landscape.  The water rushing below was a muted roar against the muffled night. In the light of a torch the water tumbled over itself and the submerged rocks, before disappearing from view, swallowed by the night. The torch swept past ledges and holes, searching. It only took a second to see what we are looking for. The torch light sweeps past again, the far side then assessing the rushing water in between.

Slowly he crosses the water, the white water pushing and swirling against the rubber wellies, reaching the top and then plunging down the gap between leg and welly. It is cold, enough to take the breath away, but not cold enough to put him off.

It is a short distance to cross to reach the roosting site of a small bird synonymous with the rushing streams of upland areas. With the bird safely ensconced in a bag it is a short wade back across the river.

Back on the road, and having emptied the wellies of what seems like half the stream, it is safe to ring and process the bird. Removing it from the bag, the torch light reveals the short-tailed, plump, stocky little brown bird, the feathers on its dark brown back fringed with silvery blue, its brilliant white throat and chest contrasting starkly with a deep chestnut band across the midrift that quickly becomes the deep brown again. Its grip is strong. It needs to be. The bird is the Dipper, and that grip will hold it under rushing water as it searches for food.

The Dipper, ready to be released

That night the bird is roosted in our house, safe and quiet until the morning when returning to the same bridge we release it into the grey drizzle of a winter morning. 

Of course all of this was done with a licence to approach and handle wild birds. 

Scrub Bashing and Bird Ringing

The day was spent managing the habitat at Cranwich. Our lovely reed bed and gravel pits were slowly being over taken by trees such as willow and alder. While stands of such trees do provide habitat for a range of wildlife, it is not so good for the species were are trying to promote here, namely our reed warblers but also a number of other specific species. The spindly alders and willows simply have to go. And so throughout a rather murky day we chopped and cut and removed. Piling up the branches to be burned, clearing the grassy areas up to the edges of the pools. 

Making a start!

While we cleared the winter wildlife of the reserve proceeded with its daily routine. Flocks of duck and geese collected on the larger pools. Little grebes ducked and dived, creating ripples on the calm, dark surface of the water. Fieldfare and redwing streamed over head, and small passerines like bullfinch and robin called from the surrounding woods. Amongst the vegetation we removed there were the signs of summer use, an abandoned nest of a small mammal (a tiny knot of grass at the base of the brush) and even an old Reed Bunting nest (much to the disgruntlement of the Chief Nest Recorder, Dave who had spent many an hour watching that pair disappear into that thicket over the summer but never successfully located the nest!). We even saw a water shrew legging it for some new cover. And while we may be removing seemingly good habitat each of these creatures will find new places to sleep and nest with plenty of excellent habitat remaining. 

Lee and the old Reed Bunting nest

But what would a trip to Cranwich be without an attempt at ringing. As dusk approached, into the reed bed where already the water levels are rising, a net was set. The aim, to catch Starlings coming into roost. The result? Two Starlings and two Redwings, and one very wet pair of legs (teach me to turn up to a reed bed with no waders). 

Clad in a fresh pair of warm socks and a fortunate pair of coveralls, and now in pitch darkness, there was only one thing left to do…. Put a net up and try to catch the Tawny Owls of course! The result? One beautiful, adult male Tawny Owl, caught ringed and released, oh and one very sore hand from getting the bird out of the net (teach Lee to let an owl grab his hand). 

The Owl

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