A busy week 5: odds and ends

The recent stonechat extravaganza continued, with sightings at my local nature reserve, Marton Mere. It's a good round trip of about 5-6 miles, depending on the route I take, and although I often go and see nothing of consequence, it's good to get out to the edge of the countryside (Blackpool being a strip of urban development along the coast means you're never very far from the fields). On the way, I found a massive patch of almost entirely purple crocuses, shining in the sunlight, so I took a lot of shots. It's hard to know quite how to photograph flowers like this, so I tend to do every variation I can think of, and check through them later.

No stonechats were on Lawson's marsh, a newish wetland where they'd been seen recently, so I carried on to the mere. Early blossom (blackthorn?) has started to open, really adding to the springlike atmosphere.

But no birds. As I got towards the northeasternmost corner, I got a text from my local wildlife guru David M, who had just arrived back where I'd come from. I returned, and we walked together, bumping into another local birdwatcher, who said he'd seen two male stonechats at the far end of the reserve, right on the edge of the countryside. We went there, and soon saw them - two small, bright birds, flitting up and down in the long grass. Sadly, they went to ground soon after we sat down, and that was the last we saw of them. I got just one shot, from a great distance, but it shows the wonderful adult male plumage of this species (the light was poor by this point, so it wouldn't have been a great photo opportunity anyway).

Then we went to see an owl. Long-eared owls regularly roost in the scrub north of the reserve, but their camouflage makes them all but invisible - even if you know where to look. Thankfully, David is a past master at this after years of practice, and he found the bird without too much difficulty. Once I knew where to point my lens, I could see it clearly too, and I took lots of shots - although it barely moved for the 15-20 minutes we were there, I was focusing manually (all those twigs and intervening brambles confuse the autofocus too much), and shooting at very long exposure times to make up for the low light (it was getting towards sunset by now, with lots of cloud). These shots needed 1/100sec exposure at ISO 1600-2500 (f/5.6, 700mm).

Two days later I got another text from David M, who had spotted a flock of common scoters (dark-coloured sea ducks, usually found too far offshore to photograph) fairly close to the Promenade, and suggested I go down to the southern end of town to check them out at high tide. Sadly, by the time I got there, they had floated away, but we spent a few minutes scanning the waters for anything of interest. In his scope, and my long lens, they could be seen, but were little more than black spots. We did see a seal eating a fish, accompanied by a flock of hungry gulls, but that was it.

However, walking back north, I had another go. Maybe the ducks had come closer again, or perhaps it was using all three of my teleconverters (devices that extend the focal length of a lens), but either way, I was able to get actual ID shots - the first time I've managed with this species. So that counts as a new one on my list (previous photos were too poor to be unambiguous). The following shots are very rough - but these birds were many hundreds of metres offshore. The first of these was taken at 1400mm, the rest at 2800mm, towards the upper limit possible for taking any kind of useable shot - at these focal lengths, softening tends to rob any detail gained by the extra focal length, and atmospheric distortion makes focusing very difficult, with contrast and saturation are greatly diminished. Still, you can see them - dark males with bright yellow bills, and two-tone females. This was all done by hand - I didn't even have a tripod, so had to use the seawall as a support (though some shots were taken fully handheld - hard work!).

One of the initial shots, uncropped. A single scoter at 1400mm. Virtually invisible.

A pair (female left, male right) in flight, with a third on the water.

Part of a flock of 20-30 birds. They often disappeared as they bobbed up and down, and intervening waves obscured them. To get any kind of attractive photograph of this species, I'd need to get at least a mile offshore, or go somewhere that they approach much more closely.

So nothing pretty, but it was still good to finally get some ID shots of a new species, however rough. Before I'd even got home, I received another text to say stonechats were back in the area - half a dozen on Lytham Moss, a few miles south, which boded well for the mere. I took a chance, as the weather was glorious. It would be a nice walk even if I saw nothing, and if I did, the light was perfect for getting good shots.

At first the birds were silhouetted; later I was able to get round the other side.

Almost as soon as I reached Lawson's Road wetland, I saw a stonechat, then a second. They were flitting as usual, but quite far off, between long grass and a line of low hawthorns. I spent some time edging as close as I could, but I only got some record shots again - they were simply too far, and without a tripod, I didn't want to risk manually focusing, so I stuck to 1000mm my current autofocus limit. They are pretty birds, and a pleasure to watch, but I do wish they had come closer. Perhaps if I'd waited longer.

It's amazing how tiny a branch, or even a single stem, will support a songbird. They must weigh next to nothing.

I walked all the way to the far end of the mere again, but there were no more of them. In the fields, fieldfares, pheasant, geese, and across the whole area, male reed buntings were perched on shrubs. I returned in the hope that the first two stonechats had moved closer to the path, but they were nowhere to be seen. But then, I noticed a pale bird gliding low over the marsh, and immediately realised it was a barn owl.

It flew off, but then returned, and spent a few minutes circling, landing, and retracing its path. Two of these are seen regularly in a roost box at the eastern end of the mere, so this was not such a surprise, but I really never thought I'd see one hunting. I was still far away, and the autofocus is not really up to tracking birds in flight at 1000mm, but these shots are still by far the best I've had of this species - it helped that the light was perfect again, the last golden sunlight at the end of the day.

In the final panel above, a reed bunting is perched on the foreground shrub - it was not happy about the owl, and flew off immediately after this.

And finally a heron. Good light can do wonders for even the most mundane of birds.

A busy week 4: back to the coast

Drilling cores. This whole section of already pretty epic coastal defences is set for replacement, and I guess they need to know exactly what's underneath before they proceed. A couple of teams were taking samples for analysis.

The day after my south Lancashire adventure, I went up to Fleetwood. Having seen my first-ever stonechat the day before, I wanted to get some better photographs of this species. They have been sighted at various locations around the Fylde coastline, but most consistently at Rossall Point, the north-westernmost tip. There's a golf course with scrub and dunes there, with a shingle beach and massive sand- and mudflats at low tide. On the landward side of the seawall, you can sometimes see nice passerines, but if they don't show (as on my last visit), you can usually find something on the nearby Marine Lakes (manmade bodies of water behind the dunes) or by/on the sea.

Photographing small birds in flight is not easy, even when they aren't moving about a lot. This one was quite high - maybe a hundred feet - and I had to resort to manual focusing as the camera can't handle something so small against the sky (these shots are massively cropped).

So I went not so much in expectation as mildly hopeful, especially as I wasn't looking for anything new this time. I walked up from Rossall Square tram stop to the coast, and followed the sea defences round until I got to the southwestern tip of the golf course. There wasn't anything notable on the beach or the sea (the tide was especially low, so everything was far off, and from what I could tell it was just gulls, and the odd cormorant). I crossed to the rough track between the golf course and the sea wall - it's always an amazing difference between either side, one noisy and often very windy, the other calm, and in this case bathed in mild sunshine (very different birds either side too, though gulls and oystercatchers cross over sometimes).

On the ground, striking a classic pose.

Aside from the stonechat(s), I kept an eye out for skylarks and snow buntings (one of the latter had been seen there recently). The former were greatly in evidence. I love skylarks, especially their song, and although they are resident in the UK, I tend only to see them (or more accurately notice them) in spring when they sing. On the golf course itself, several were feeding - I counted 12 later on, and there were probably even more than that. Widely spaced, some would periodically fly up and sing - I guess these are the males. I spent a couple of rather frustrating minutes trying to photograph them, using a fence post to support the lens (holding it near-vertically is hard work with no support, and the wind was strong enough to make framing very difficult even so). Then I edged onto the rough grass and got some closer shots of one of them on the ground. They aren't too shy, so long as you don't rush towards them. I suppose feeding on a golf course, they must be used to people.

Male linnets are quite colourful, but when feeding in rough grass and on sand, they blend into the background nonetheless (especially when facing away). Females are more cryptic.

Then I continued on the path, towards a scrubbier area where I hoped a stonechat might be lurking. But immediately I found something else - a flock of around half a dozen linnets, feeding on the grassy sand. I got fairly close, and once or twice a male perched - on the sea wall, then a wire fence - but dog walkers coming the other way eventually flushed them. These are not uncommon birds, but I rarely see them very close, so it was a bonus.

A quick shot to show how vast Morecambe Bay is when the tide is out. The sands stretch miles into the distance.

No sign of anything else, round the north side of the golf course. I walked back south round the other side, along the road, but the hedges are dense here, and it's hard to see onto the course. Here and there are gaps - what look to be cut throughs, although I don't know the rules of walking out onto the greens, so I've never tried. But at last I saw something promising - a small bird, alternately feeding on the ground and perching on shrubs. My goal! It was too good an opportunity not to push my luck, and as there were no golfers within sight, I walked through a gap onto the rough grass, and the stonechat (a male, although not in full breeding plumage) actually flew towards me and afforded good shots - not top-notch, as it was still quite distant, but the light was perfect and the background separation ideal. I will still try for better, hopefully with a fully mature male (they have amazing black heads, with white and brick red bodies), but this made my day. I headed home satisfied.

Pretty much the shot I wanted.

A male house sparrow, one of the common birds I saw on the way home (gulls, starlings, etc). Still handsome though.

A busy week 3: chasing more birds

A winter plumage black-tailed godwit.

We left a still cool and cloudy Mere Sands Wood and headed to the coast a couple of miles to the west. This is more familiar territory - I've walked the Ribble Estuary salt marshes before, albeit always on the northern side. Just north of Southport (but on the southern bank of the river) is a huge expanse of open ground, forming RSPB Marshside. On the landward side of the coast road are a couple of massive stretches of (I guess fresh)water and grass, while on the other are marine mudflats, sandbanks, and apparently some dunes.

Wigeon are such cuties. This is a male...

 But the females are lovely too, many subtle shades of brown.

Straight away my companion spotted some pintails far off, and there was a massive flock of roosting waders, but they were so distant as to be unidentifiable, even in photographs (though judging by size and colour, I'd say they were mostly godwits). We walked down to the main (only?) hide, which was positively luxurious, staffed, and full of visitors with serious-looking scopes and cameras. By this point the sun was out and the light perfect, and out of the wind it was pretty mild. Immediately in front of the hide a lot of birds were feeding, with wigeon, teal, and the odd black-tailed godwit coming especially close, and further off linnet, curlew, and gulls - with a massive flock of golden plover a few hundred metres away.

Sleekness or plumpness are often misleading identifiers in bird photographs. This is the same curlew - looking svelte...

 ...and dumpy with almost no neck, simply by virtue of having puffed up its feathers.

After taking some photographs, we went back out and followed the road. It's raised up above the marshes, so we had good views across and down, and saw more species - lots of pink-footed geese, some little egrets, pintail closer-to, and at last something new to me - a stonechat. She flushed as we walked along, but only to the nearest low hawthorn, and although partially obscured by twigs, I got photographs good enough for ID. I left satisfied.

Just part of one of the flocks of geese.

A closer crop reveals some diagnostic criteria (though where I live, all big flocks of geese seem to be pink-footed). Note the brown heads, and pink beaks with dark bases and tips. And pinkish feet, of course.

Once again, many thanks to David M for taking me along, and all his helpful and interesting advice and information. This is his take on the day.

A little egret in flight. A similar shot proved popular on Flickr, getting over 11,000 views in a week.

Part of a flock of hundreds of golden plover, taking flight due to a hunting great black-backed gull. Mixed in are lots of starlings, and there were some more godwits and a few lapwings, too.

 A male pintail. It was in a pool by the road, affording unusually good views.

A busy week 2: chasing birds

Sometimes you have to take a chance, especially when the reward is something special. Green sandpipers are a rare bird (less than 1000 wintering in the UK, according to the RSPB), so three together within walking distance was worth checking out. "Todderstaffe Hall" is a rather grandly named farm with a small caravan site alongside the railway line, and to the east the fields often flood. They border Main Dyke, the major drainage channel for the Fylde coast (and formed part of the lake bed of Marton Mere before it was largely drained over the last few centuries according to my local contact Davd), and often attract interesting birds. But the view is distant - between 75 and 400 metres (and even further to the next set of fields, which also had birds in them).

I didn't have much hope. I've been thwarted here before - it's a long walk, nearly 8 miles round trip, partly across very rough ground - and even if a species has been seen earlier in the same day (as the sandpipers had), chances of catching it are slim. As it turned out, I was not in luck. There were birds - though it took some staring through my 1400mm lens setup. A pied wagtail, a very distant flock of lapwings, a pair of shelduck in the further field, and a couple of crows (which might have been ravens, as they were reported there, but as I didn't know this at the time, so dismissed them as uninteresting, and took no shots that would later allow me to be sure). The main source of interest was a mixed flock of fieldfares and starlings - and from carefully examining my photographs, at least one redwing too. But all the shots were for record purposes only. No pretty pictures from this distance (see below).

 This is the sort of image I was combing for birds. I took lots - although I did check for signs of life before I took each shot, ultimately you can't see much in the viewfinder, and it's easier to look on a computer screen.

 One of the birds that was present (a fieldfare). You don't get good quality at this distance, but it's enough for ID purposes.

The most attractive view of the day was just as I was returning home, and the sunset turned into something special. Alas, I was at an ugly road junction, but you get the idea. Anyone on the sea front would have had an excellent photo opportunity.

The next day I had an appointment with a very helpful and knowledgable local wildlife expert, David M (whose blog is here). He very kindly invited me to join him on a south Lancashire odyssey, which would give me the opportunity to visit some places I've heard about but never visited (though accessible by train, it's a lot easier in a car).

After a brief, unsuccessful trip back to Todderstaffe to look for the green sandpipers again, we went to Mere Sands Wood, a series of freshwater pools and wetland surrounded by woodland (mostly mixed birch and oak, with a stand of pine in the middle). It was chilly and overcast, not the forecast weather, so I didn't expect much in the way of good shots. Plus, there were very few birds close by, even viewed from the hides.

Three or so gorgeous red-legged partridges were feeding in a freshly-ploughed field just beyond the reserve, along with a pheasant. Blogger has mangled this photo a bit - it seems to apply extra compression to uploaded photographs, especially apparent in areas of grey.

One of many high-quality shots of a great crested grebe. It came close, and the water was very still. Very little cropping was needed, and the light cooperated at last.

 A pair of teal also came close. This is the female.

Back by the visitor centre, the feeders were manic. At least nine tree sparrows fed along with a greenfinch, plus other common birds and a couple of mammals - a surprisingly large brown rat (my first ever) and a rabbit.

Every other bird we saw seemed to be a robin. One was very tame - feeding from David's hand, and making a very odd, quiet songlike purring. This one by the car park was singing normally. 

Aside from being a nice location, it was great to hear from one of the people who'd set it up in the first place. My companion helped establish the reserve over thirty years ago, and pointed out what was original, what had changed, and lots of other interesting titbits. I'll have to go back sometime - we didn't see the red squirrels, a species I had no idea lived so close to home.