Don't count your robins before they've hatched

It may be one of the most iconic and recognisable garden birds in Britain. With its long, spindly legs, hopping across lawns, pecking at seed and insects on the ground, perching on wall, fence, branch. That beautiful orangey red breast and olive brown back, big dark eyes. Everyone knows the robin. From bossing your feeders (for such a delicate looking bird it is actually the one that tends to rule the roost at the feeder in winter) to it’s confident, melodious song that is heard often well before sunrise and throughout the year. This cheeky bird adorns our Christmas cards as well as often being so confiding they will learn to take meal worms and sunflower hearts from the very tips of ones fingers. It is hard to believe they are disdained in other European countries (which I was shocked to hear from a friend who sent a Christmas card with a robin on to a friend in Denmark!). On these fair shores the robin remains a firm favourite even if it will defend its territory to the death. 

The beautiful robin

For me I love ringing and handling robins. Catching them and learning how to age them (sometimes not as straight forward as they first appear). I also love finding their nests. For a bird that is so ubiquitous their nests can sometimes be quite hard to find. Hidden in all sorts of places on trees, on banks, in a wall or hedgerow, or even more unusual places like a horses muzzle hanging from the back of a door on a shelf in a workshop. The small, delicate nest is made from moss and dead leaves, lined with hair and wool, sometimes so perfectly blending in with the rest of the tree trunk or hedge row. Here usually four or five small eggs ranging from off white with brown speckling to a reddish brown all over, are carefully laid and incubated. The naked blind chicks, with just a bit of almost fuzzy down hatch after a couple of weeks and barely fill the bottom of the nest, squirming over each other, huddling to keep warm as mum and dad begin the furious job of finding enough food to feed them all. The instinctive reaction to lift their heads, mouths wide open showing a bright yellow mouth (a perfect target for a parent in a rush) means that when one checks a nest this is often the heart melting sight they are greeted with. 

Within a couple more weeks they are huge, pretty much full size and filling the nest to bulging point. A careful peer in will now reveal bright eyes, alert and looking back. Time to be really careful. Very very soon the next visit reveals an empty nest, trodden down with poop around it revealing that the chicks have left. It lucky you may catch a glimpse of the brown speckled young in the surrounding trees still scrounging a couple of meals from mum and dad. Soon they will be fully independent and shortly begin a partial moult that will, for all intents and purposes, make them look like an adult. Only in the hand will an experienced ringer be able to tell if a bird hatched that year or the previous. And so the cycle will begin again, where possible birds will spread out and maintain a territory for the winter before looking to pair up and breed themselves the following year. 

One of the more unusual locations of a robin nest

Each year it is my pleasure and honour to find a couple of robin nests, to monitor them where possible from building to egg laying, hatching to fledging. Always they have been nests with four or five eggs. This year though, in the crook of a small stump of a tree, overhung with ivy, I found a nest that once more had five eggs. However a return visit revealed a surprise. Not five, but nine eggs sitting in the bottom of this perfect little nest! Never in all my years of nesting (which are not that many to be honest) have I seen a robin nest with nine eggs, but more than that neither have many of the more experienced nesters I work with! Whether this is just a particularly fecund female, or whether another female has come along and dumped her eggs into the nest to save making her own, I will never know. But the female was good. 

Nine eggs! (last one tucked out of sight)

A couple of visits revealed her sitting tight, and I would leave her be, others she would not be there but I could hear her scolding me in the surrounding leafy foliage, ticking above the rush of traffic beyond. I was unsure how many would hatch but the next visit revealed another pleasant surprise. Eight tiny, squirming chicks crammed in. But how many would survive? How many would mum and dad be able to feed. Only time would tell, but a few days later and all eight were still alive and growing, ready to be ringed. Each now marked with a unique metal ring. Whoever or however many do fledge and survive, if they are ever found again by another ringer or a member of the public I will be able to tell straight away they came from my little miracle nest. 

Eight chicks in  a bag ready for ringing

It is worth saying here both Lee and I are qualified and experienced nest recorders and ringers. These chicks were safe during the whole process, which was quick and completed efficiently. 

A day in the reed bed

With the changing seasons things have really started to pick up pace at the reed bed site at Cranwich. Reed warblers have returned in force and their song can be heard all over the site. In the past few weeks ringing has resumed with the most recent session catching a range of returning warblers, from those reedies to sedge warblers, garden warblers, blackcaps and chiff chaff. While nesting amongst the reeds has largely been restricted to coot, moorhen and swan it will not be too long before the first reed warbler nests are active once again. 

This morning mother nature seemed to have sent a little reminder that things are still early and that despite the warm sunny days we have experienced of late, winter has not quite completely finished with us. It is not quite swim suit weather just yet...

The morning dawned frosty with opaque white crystals covering the grass and the thermometer reading a rather chilly -1. Mist hung low over the pools and there was barely any wind, with the only movement coming from the small ripples created by ducks, swans and the occasional goose gliding gracefully across the smooth, dark surface and through the swirling mist that quickly began to rise like steam off a hot bath. 

Morning mist at Cranwich

At this cold hour of the morning there is little in the way of food for birds awoken by the dawn. Instead they sing. Proclaiming their newly established territory, competing with each other in the most melodious of ways. Among the reed warblers and reed buntings that dominate the chorus of the reeds comes that wonderful call of cuckoo; it is a relief to have them back on patch. From the surrounding trees comes the song of garden warbler, blackcap, chiff chaff, blue tit and wren. 

As the morning progresses and warms up, the skies become filled with swifts who have only just returned to the party and join the swallows and house martins who have been back for a couple weeks. Low over the tallest trees those sickle shaped swifts are joined by another, larger bird with a similar pointed wing appearance. Skimming the tree tops, before circling back up and around, high above the pools are no less than eight hobbies. They streak through the sky chasing down flying insects with acrobatic ease and superb speed. They zip overhead causing us to pause in our work and watch in awe as occasionally one reaches out and grabs an insect that is invisible from ground level. 

A hobby catches a meal mid air

Our work today is to move through the reed bed setting up short mist nets to catch those singing reed warblers. A part of the ongoing study on site our aim is to catch and colour ring as many adult reed warblers as possible, so that once their breeding season does kick off in earnest we will be able to monitor nests and find out which birds are associated with which nests. 

Another reed warbler colour ringed

The most wonderful time of the year

It is that wonderful time of the year when spring is really starting to, well spring! The days are getting longer, and after months of cold, dark and let’s face it generally wet weather, things are starting to feel really warm. Daffodils, crocuses and primroses are all sprouting up along road sides and under trees. Verdant green leaves are starting to sprout from dark brown branches, and many have beautiful white or delicate pink blossom that ‘snows’ on to grass, pavements and cars, jostled free by a wind that is keen to remind you that it is only the start of the warm season. 

Spring with the beautiful blossoms

In bright blue skies overhead, racing the white clouds, come the calls of swallows just returning from Africa. From the developing cover of hedgerows, bushes and trees, comes the singing of birds, some resident and almost relieved to see the warm weather, some having only just arrived from warmer climes where winter and cold are things of myth. Chiffchaff, blackcap and the twittering of those swallows mingle with the more local birds like robin, wren and a variety of tits. 

Despite being only the start of the season, and with many species not yet returned to our little island, many birds were already well into the swing of breeding. Long-tailed tit nests were springing up, hidden amongst the spikes and thorns of bramble and gorse, lined with soft feathers ready to cradle precious eggs. Blackbirds were even seeing the first of their young leave the nest and call from the cover nearby, still hoping for food from mum and dad. 

A walk along the river, its smooth brown surface dabbled with sunlight, revealed the first few nests of my recording season. Hidden in nooks of branches surrounded by draping, deep green ivy leaves, I find secretive robins. Their mossy nests lined with hair and grass, holding four or five white and spotted reddish brown eggs. Further along and hidden high up in a tree, a blackbird nest reveals two very small chicks, still blind, with just a tuft of fuzzy feathers on the head. 

Robin nest 

At our ringing site, before that wind blew in to try and take back a wintry grip on the spring landscape, the garden was full of finches, with most of the tits squirreled away in the woods laying their clutches of eggs. Greenfinch, siskin and goldfinch made up the bulk of the catch, they themselves showing the turn of the seasons with brood patches in evidence on their tummies. 

Stunning male siskin

And yet it is that time of year where many things are still rather wintery, just like that wind, and mixed with the swallows and nesting birds, you still find redwings and fieldfares, gathering for one last time in paddocks and fields before making their journeys east and north. In the mist nets, side by side with greenfinch that are clearly incubating eggs (you can tell by the stage of the brood patch), are two bramblings; full of fat in readiness to leave for their breeding sites in Norway and Scandinavia. It is that mixture of winter favourites and spring nesting that makes this time of year so wonderful to the ringer and nest recorder. 

Female brambling

WhaleFest 2015

Since crossing the Bay of Biscay my attention, energy and focus has been for WhaleFest 2015. This annual festival held in Brighton is the world’s biggest celebration of wild whales and dolphins. Since its beginnings in 2011 I have been involved with the virtual whale watch. There are not too many opportunities to go whale watching off Brighton, with perhaps the odd harbour porpoise to be encountered. But what is a whale and dolphin festival without whale watching? So each year we have set up boats, used some clever props and a screen and taken people responsible whale watching from the comfort of the venue. 

So once again I found myself sitting in a small inflatable boat with a group of kids and adults dressed in bright orange life jackets, bouncing on our new banana-type boat, cast in a blue glow. Only this time there is not one massive screen ahead of us. Around the boat stand up waves are positioned behind which a team of volunteers crouched, hidden from view. Above birds swoop from the ceiling, suspended in this magical blue light. Ahead are positioned two screens, not just one. The trip starts with me again requesting the life jacket whistles not be blown, and for people to remain on board our boat. We run through the responsible whale watching guidelines we will be sticking to should we be lucky enough to see whales and dolphins. Then we are leaving harbour and the calls of gulls and general background noise disappears as the engines gear up. A lighthouse just ahead moves away as we head out to sea. For the next 10 minutes or so whales and dolphins and even a beautiful turtle, appear not just from up ahead but from all sides. The massive dorsal fins of a pod of orca, a head as one spy hops, a stunning turtle swims past (it’s the most amazing turtle I have ever seen anyone make!), a giant sperm whale’s tail gloriously lifts up from behind one of those waves, while yet more whale backs are seen surfacing amongst the waves. The spray of their blow catches the blue light, swirling briefly before disappearing, catching the nearby passengers and making them call out in delighted surprise. 

The Virtual Whale Watch set up

We remove netting from over the side of the boat, before putting down not only a hydrophone to listen to the clicks of sperm whales, but also, its seems everyone’s latest toy, a GoPro. On one of the screens ahead a sperm whale appears out of the blue abyss, swimming upside down and then disappearing again. The kids love yelling every time something appears, screaming out what they reckon it could be, taking in the whole adventure and for the most part accepting the odd appearance of an arm or top of a head from behind a wave. As the trip nears its end, the setting sun appears behind the larger screen before the shadows of dolphins begin breaching against its orange glow. Out of nowhere more dolphins appear from behind the waves, the kid’s head whipping round as groups of three or four dolphins appear simultaneously from all angles. Then, seamlessly, footage of dolphins appears on the bow at the front of the boats, they are riding the pressure wave a boat creates, effortlessly keeping up. They are so close, seeming to peer up at us as we gaze down at them. As the trip ends the lighthouse reappears and there is one last chance to say thank you before the passengers pile off the boats and make their way out. We may in reality have never left the room, but it’s amazing what a little bit of imagination and one rather excitable guide can do to get kids and adults alike inspired by our truly breath taking ocean world. 

The Virtual Whale Watch at WhaleFest 2015

Once again WhaleFest has reached out to thousands. It was so easy to forget the thousands of people passing through outside the doors to our blue watery world of the virtual whale watch. There were sea shanties being sung, a shark zone with life sized inflatable sharks and a cave experience, hundreds of stands of whale watch companies and charities, campaigners and researchers giving inspirational talks on their work, people dressed as sharks and orca, life sized inflatable whales and dolphins surrounding a main stage where people like Steve Backshall, Monty Halls, Micheala Strachan, Gordon Buchananan, John Hargove, Ric O’ Barry and Will Travers talked to audiences of hundreds about their experiences with whales and dolphins. There was an auction of amazing experiences, kindly donated by World Cetacean Alliance partners, and 52 whale tails representing the wild soul of each of the orca currently in captivity. All raising money for the Wild and Free Campaign run by the WCA and Born Free Foundation. Out on the beach there was an emotionally charged arts installation of a mother and calf orca, made up of over 5000 crosses each representing f a whale or dolphin that has died in captivity. Through social media and by live streaming interviews with celebs, researchers and campaigners from the whale and dolphin world, the festival reached out to thousands more around the world who could not attend in person. Not only that, the Whale Graveyard on Brighton beach was seen by thousands, not just those who attended the festival itself, making passers-by stop and think about what we are doing to these sentient emotional beings locking them in tiny bath tubs and making them perform. 

The WCA Whale Graveyard on Brighton Beach

The power, passion and inspiration of WhaleFest, the ripple effect of what a few dedicated volunteers are doing and the difference we are making across the world never ceases to amaze me, and I am so proud to be involved. 

To find out more about WhaleFest please go to the website. To find out more about the WCA and the Wild and Free campaign please click here. 

A Winter's Bay

The sun rose blood red over an ocean that was silvery blue. Despite the saying red sky in the morning sailor take warning the waves were calm and the swell low. The conditions were good for sighting those often elusive whales and dolphins. With the breaking dawn spreading light over the rolling water a couple of figures stood on the back deck of the ferry eagerly scanning out to sea. Having never crossed the Bay of Biscay in February I was not sure entirely what to expect. I know that some species are present in these deep waters year round, but for others like sperm whale and fin whale it felt a little early in the season. There are sightings of these giants at this time of year but they are fewer than later in the spring and summer. Still ever the optimist and always of the mind you just never know, I was one of those figures standing in the cool morning light, watching the blood red sun rise and then disappear behind a bank of cloud, scanning the silver waves. 

As morning progressed still no dorsal fin or blow split the waves. The clouds soon vanished leaving a brilliant blue sky and azure ocean. Even though it was February the sunglasses and sun cream both came out. 

Then mid-morning and an almost squeal of delight from one of the others gave away our first sighting. Three Cuvier’s beaked whales broke the surface right alongside the ferry, their brown scarred backs rolling and then disappearing again amongst the waves. Four or five times we watched, with each surface met by accompanying squeals that for me only a whale or dolphin could produce in someone.

Cuvier's beaked whale

As the ferry continued its journey south the snow covered mountains of the Picos appeared almost like billowing clouds on the horizon, growing ever more distinct. More sightings followed; two groups of striped dolphins almost sneaked past, only to leap clear of the blue water once beyond the stern; more beaked whales were picked up at distance, their size and position of the dorsal fin giving away their identity but the distance not allowing certain identification to species level.

Striped dolphins

As more of the Spanish coastline came into view, the wind dropped further until the water was smooth and oily. A small group of bottlenose dolphins broke the surface, mother and calf clearly defined even from this distance and height.

The turnaround in Santander brought more sun and ice cream, it felt more like early summer than February. The return journey started with only an hour or so of light left. Once again the group was back on deck, willing the ferry to get out of the harbour and into the open sea once more. Although light was failing as mist and cloud gathered blocking our setting sun, perseverance was rewarded with a distant group of dolphins, silhouetted against the setting sun, and then a group of long-finned pilot whale, also dark but distinct with their bulbous, round heads and broad swept back dorsal fins. 

A wonderful end to a winters day in the Bay of Biscay.

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.