The return of the Scandinavians

I've got to get back into blogging...

So here goes.

I had a couple of free hours this afternoon so decided to wander round the woods at Edwardsville, about 5 minutes stroll from the house, in the hope that the wintering Chaffinch flock was back this year.

In the 14 years I've lived in Quakers Yard, there has been a winter flock of Chaffinch numbering anything between 50 and 200 birds. Even when the flock is around I find small parties, usually 2 - a dozen birds, not mixing with the flock. I presume these smaller groups are the locally breeding birds whilst the big flock is visitors for Scandinavia, or further afield. The flock is always worth working through as most years there is a Brambling tucked in.

Last winter the flock did not appear to turn up - I certainly never saw any sign of it, despite looking a number of times. It had been getting smaller in numbers over the previous few winters, so presumed they had either died out or found somewhere new, and closer to home, to spend the winter.

The walk this afternoon produced small groups of Chaffinch but no decent sized flock until I'd almost gone through the woods and suddenly a large number of birds took off from the floor into the trees. Chaffinches and plenty of them. I settled myself against the trunk, and waited for the birds to resume their feeding on the ground. It didn't take long, and almost everywhere  looked there were Chaffinches flitting across, turning leaves, etc. There must have been some 300+. I worked through the constantly restless flock several times before a splendid male Brambling hopped into view. Result. A few minutes latter, part of the flock took to the tree tops and another white rump was noted, a second Brambling. Result indeed.

There is a bumper crop of Beech seeds, so the flock should be around for some time, though tracking them down can prove difficult - if the decide to feed on the other side of the river, you have little chance of catching up with them.

Lots and lots of Ravens

The Raven count I made this morning marks a significant personal milestone, as it was the 250^th solo count of the Ravens, since I first discovered the presence of the roost, in 2000 and having then been excluded from it for most of 2001, I began monitoring it in earnest in 2002. To mark the occasion, here are some rambling reminiscences, related to the counts, but not really about the Ravens themselves.

I described them as solo counts, for on four occasions I was accompanied by  avid monitor of breeding and passage birds at Rhaslas Pond, Mike Hogan. It was with the help of Mike that I confirmed my suspicion that at times, a significant number (up to 20%) of the roost’s population were leaving the roost to the east, completely unseen and uncounted by me.

On one occasion, when I was away, Mike also completed a solo count for me and although this count and the ones made jointly with him are included in the ever growing set of data for the roost, it is the personal tally of solo counts that I am marking here.

Thank you Mike, for your invaluable help and good company on those counts we did together. I’ll always be grateful: such a pity you never saw the hoped for Woodcocks.

  

Those in possession of the Raven Counts spreadsheet, may well be wondering if I have lost the ability to count, as there are far less than 250 count totals included in it. Amazingly (it certainly amazes me, as I look back on it) for the first three years, the counts were not monthly as they currently are, but were made fortnightly and it was only when I began to keep them in spreadsheet form, with the potential for graphs and tables, that I decided to enter only one count per month (I had already reduced my counts to one per month by then) so I chose the fortnightly counts closest to the time of the month I was then counting them; IE, the beginning of the month, when transferring the data to the spreadsheet.

When I began the counts, I could not drive, so had to walk the three and a half miles from my house, in the darkness, over the hill tops to the roost and then back again in daylight, after the count was over. In winter, although not particularly early in the morning, it often meant a long trudge through mud, snow and ice in the darkness, while in the summer, it meant getting up at 02:00, in order to get to the roost before the pre-dawn twilight began.

Over the years, to preserve my dark adaptation, those yomps, in the early hours were made as mostly without any artificial light and produced some interesting highlights, such as meteor showers, displays of noctilucent cloud and the Aurora Borealis. I recall one winter’s morning, almost stepping on a Jack Snipe, which bobbed up and down alongside my foot for a couple of seconds, before flying off a to a another spot a couple of metres away.

Perhaps the strangest incident occurred as I was walking over to meet up with Mike, for a joint count. It was Sunday the 5^th of December 2005 and as I walked across an open area of hill top between conifer plantations, I suddenly heard a strange rumbling boom, which came from the south east. It was obviously the sound of an explosion, or several, but it was about twenty past six in the morning, so couldn’t have been blasting in a quarry and the sound came from the wrong direction for it to have been artillery fire, on the Senni ranges. The mystery was solved when I got home, after the count and the TV news was reporting the huge explosion at the Buncefield fuel depot, in Hertfordshire; 128 miles away, as the crow flies.

One notable morning, in a very wet August, I had arrived at the spot, from which I would count the Ravens and as I began setting up my chair, I noticed my footprints glowing pale blue, in the pre dawn darkness. Looking closer, I could see that within each footprint, in the short, wet turf, even in the ones which within shallow puddles, there were many tiny specks of intense blue light; like miniature LEDs. Some were even on the toes of my wellies. I had no idea what was causing this bioluminescence  and as I didn’t have reading glasses with me, my attempted close inspection proved fruitless. I did collect as specimen of vegetation with a couple of glowing specks, but when I examined them at home, nothing could be found to account for the phenomenon. I was later in contact with Roy Perry, who suggested that it may have been caused by nematodes.

Of the winter counts, one of the more uncomfortable, but beautiful occasions was in early February 2012. There had been a heavy fall of snow, followed by a prolonged severe freeze and as there was no hope of getting my car out of the street, I walked to the roost, through knee deep snow, on top of which was a thin frozen crust. As I trudged through it, each step was accompanied by lots of tinkling; like bridle bells. The prolonged freeze had caused masses of beautiful blade-like hexagonal ice crystals, up to 10-15mm across to form over the surface of the snow, each standing on edge. As I walked, I sent them scattering in all directions, tinkling as they went. The count that followed was less magical, as it involved sitting still for 90 minutes in temperatures around -14 C!

 

As for the counting itself, I have had, over the years, had to move my counting spot three times, in response to the evolving nature of the roost; changes which altered the flight paths from the roost. Due to the often very poor light when they first begin flying out, I have to find a counting spot, from where I can see all of them against a background of sky, for in that early pre dawn twilight, they are invisible against a background of the land.

Until fairly recently, the counting spots have been close to the roost, which really connected me to the birds. It was a magical experience, sitting in the darkness, watching the first glimmerings of twilight begin to appear in the sky and then hear the first calls from the senior pair in the roost. Ravens have individual and often recognisable voices, so it was obvious that it was the same pair each time, which would begin the calling and then be joined after a minute or two, by the rest of the roost in a chorus, which typically lasted ten minutes and at the end of which, the first groups would fly out. The senior pair would continue calling throughout the time it took for the roost to empty (typically one hour) and then would be the last to leave. Sometimes they remained in the roost, with no intention of leaving.

In that former counting place, the winter counts would be further enlivened by a trickle of Woodcock flying in from wherever they had been feeding, overnight, to roost in the forest plantation behind where I sat. There were never large numbers, but it was entertaining to try spotting them coming in, fast and low, while the ravens were flying out and thrilling when they occasionally flew past so close that the wind in their feathers could be heard. Once during a summer count a female Nightjar passed so close in front of me, that in the still air I could smell its feathers.

Over the years; particularly the ones when I used to walk to the roost, I had a few hair-raising moments. I don’t believe in the supernatural, but that does not prevent ancestral instinctive reactions kicking in, when confronted by a sudden and unexplained sight or sound. Trudging down a dark forest ride, one winter morning, I suddenly heard a loud, hoarse cry repeated over and over and coming up fast from behind. I quickly realised that it was a freaked out Woodcock flying up the ride and over my head, but not before the flight or flight instinct had kicked in and although and although 21^st century man knew it was just a frightened bird, my ancestral instincts insisted on raising the hair on my neck, quickening the heart rate and pricking sweat on my forehead.

Along the same ride, on a different morning, at a place where the ride opened up onto a clear-fell area; he paler gap between black conifers suddenly sprouted a small forest of horns. I switched on my torch, to reveal a heard of cattle completely filling the ride. Luckily, they moved aside to let me pass through.

The weirdest apparition occurred one dark winter morning. I was walking the ride through a clear-felled area, near the roost, when on the slope above the ride I noticed something white. As the ride took me closer, I was a little perturbed to see that it seemed to be a figure, with longish, pear shaped body, a head and two legs, but no arms, standing motionless. Ancestral man had taken over by this point and although I knew there was a rational and possibly laughable explanation for the figure, that didn’t prevent the inevitable raised hair, sweat and pounding heart. I kept walking and watching it as I drew level with it and closer to it and suddenly it sprouted two more legs and a pair of pointy ears. It was a white horse and had been standing facing me square-on, its white coat illuminated by the street light glow from Merthyr.

How long will I be able to continue counting the Ravens? Well, things are changing and I can foresee and end to the roost. The first potential reason for the end to my counting will come fairly soon, when the NRW Forestry fell the plantation it is currently in. That won’t be the end to the roost, which will almost certainly move to another plantation nearby. Whether I will be able to count them leaving the new roost site remains to be seen. The other reason and the one that may cause the roost to eventually decline (it is already declining) and fizzle out is that the roost is where it is because of the nearby refuse tip and far less food waste is now finding its way onto that tip. As RCT encourages more food waste recycling and the domestic refuse is no longer taken to the tip, the core, non breeding population of the roost will find it far less attractive and the roost may eventually disperse. Whatever happens, I am not getting any younger, so it is extremely unlikely that I will ever reach my 500^th count.

Is it a blizzard?

A nice day out with Phil and Martin Bevan. Not too early a start at Kenfig was rewarded with two Otters just outside the AM Hide. The female/juv Scaup remained with the Tufted flock, along with 12 Pochard which soon took off - presumably over to Nun' Eg'. Lots of Goldcrest around, especially by the south pool, but no sight or sound of the recent Yellow-browed Warb.

Just finishing our coffee and news came in of a Snow Bunting at Sker/Pink Bay. Since Martin had dipped the Blorenge bird last weekend, we headed off that direction. No sign of the bird on our arrival, but lots of golfers looking for birdies probably meant it was keeping a low profile. We wandered about a bit, picking up a nice group of Golden Plover on the rock. Back to the Snow Bunting, and there it out on the open on the neatly manicured tee.

Back up to the center car park, via Sker rocks and another failed attempt to re-locate the Yellow-browed'.

We then headed over to Portobello, where a couple of Common Sandpipers were the best of the pick. We then took a walk up Pant Norton, 3 Blackcaps and at least 7 Greenfinch were the highlights, with plenty of Redwing and Blackbirds flitting between the the bushes. The lack of Yellowhamers was a surprise.

My attempts at some photo's of the obliging Snow Bunting

 

3000 up and a sea watch spectacular

I had been unsure of here to go on Saturday, initially thinking of trying a bit of vis-mig'ing at Lavernock, then payed with the idea of Ogmore for the Wryneck but, following the report of an Aquatic Warb at Llangorse on Friday, I decided to head into Powys.
Not expecting the Aquatic to show but the forecast looked decent to drop a few terns onto the lake. Alas, no terns drooped in during the showers. The best birds were two Hobbies hawking for dragonflies, and a Spotted Flycatcher around the car park/church at Llangasty.
I did pick up a few new ticks for my pan species list, picking up my 3000th species in the UK. Initially I thought this was the Rhubarb growing in the car park at Llangasty, but checking through yesterday it was actually the less conspicuous, but slightly more interesting, fungus Ustilago succisae - an anther smut of Devil's-bit Scabious. I was more pleased to pick up Water Ladybird - a species that has eluded me despite being classed as common in suitable habitat - reed beds.
It was good to meet Mark Waldron and Chris Dyson during the day.

 Ustilago succisae, Small, but actually easy to see as it turns the anthers of Devil's-bit Scabious white.

 Water Ladybird - smaller than I was expecting, and paler.

Sunday was set aside for the annual trip to Strumble Head. The forecast looked good with not-too strong North-westerlies, swinging round to Westerly winds, dry with good visibility. Anticipation grew after seeing the log from Saturday.

It was a late departure for myself, Phil and Martin Bevan (04:00am) getting us to Strumble just as it was getting light enough to watch. In fact the Master of Strumble, Richard Stonier, was on a Balearic Shearwater as we set up, though only Bevan got onto that one.

Those first two hours must have been some of the best sea-watching I've experienced at Strumble with multiple Bonxies, and Arctic Skua's, a single Long-tailed Skua, several Leach's Petrel and a Sooty Shearwater. Risso's Dolphins and Harbour Porpoises providing mammal interest.

If the first two hours were great, the rest of the morning didn't dissappoint - check the Strumble Head Seawatch Facebook page for a full list for the morning - we only missed the Little Gull and Black Tern as we left just after Midday. We didn't get onto every Skua of Leach's Petrel, but we enjoyed great views of many of those we did see.

From Strumble, we dropped into Fishguard Harbour to see if the Black Guillemots were still around. Unfortunately, they had taken their leave, but a few Sandwich Terns were fishing and loafing around the harbour, with a Wheatear on the breakwater.

With the weather being good, we then traveled down to West Williamson, for our annual try for Brown Hairstreak. Although a bit breezy, Phil did manage to pick out a single Brown Hairstreak - a lifer for him.

Pretty in Pink

An unexpected free day yesterday saw me wander round Parc Penallta and Nelson Bog. Bird life was rather quiet, though a Greylag on the fishing ponds was a surprise. No sign of any Willow Tits at Nelson, to be honest, wasn't a surprise. I hope they are still hanging in there.

Last year I found a couple of spikes of Broad-leaved Helleborine near the fishing lakes. This year I counted 19 spikes, unfortuatelly all now in seed.

There were plenty of Painted Ladies on the wing, with quite a few Peacocks. A female Brimstone showed their second generation was on the wing. I picked up what I think is only my second or third Silver Y of the year - is anyone else seeing these in number or are they scarce this year?

A second moth, flying close the ground over an open area of spoil, I initially expected to be another Silver Y, until I noted the red/orange sides to the body. A Hummingbird Hawkmoth, my first of the year. Unfortunately couldn't get a photo.

Walking round another area of sparsely vegetated spoil and a noticed a small bright pink flower, clearly not Common Centaury. A couple of photo's and I'm thinking a Pink, Dianthus. The flowers showed a variable amount of small white spots on the deep pink petals. A check of the guide, brought me to Deptford Pink, D. armeria, a nationally rare species.

A check on Aderyn when I got home showed over a 100 Welsh records, including a record from 2016 from the same area. In a small area I counted 18 plants, but the total number could be much greater as I only worked a small part of the total area.

When I went to count the number of plants, a flash of gold brought a Clouded Yellow to my attention. As with most insects, the wind made photography almost impossible, so again no photograph.

WeBS (a bit late)

I only realised on Tuesday that the WeBS weekend was the weekend just past, as it was very early this month. So I undertook the count round Parc Taf Bargoed on Wednesday evening, the first chance I had. Unfortunately when I arrived at the lakes, it didn't look promising as the local canoe club were just finishing packing up, having spent much of the day out on the water.

Nothing unusual on the count, though it did return good numbers of some species. The 124 Mallard (plus the 4 domestics) is my highest ever August count. Given the poor breeding season this year - I can't think of more than 6 broods of ducklings this year compared to the 10+ of previous years - I wasn't expecting  that sort of number. The new BTO website shows this is 10% of all Mallards recorded [so far] on WeBS surveys in East Glamorgan.

Coots produced an all time high of 8. 2 pairs bred, but never got beyond the chicks first couple of days after hatching, the resident Lesser Black-back looking like the most likely cause of the mortality. One pair hatched at least 3 clutches, whilst the second probably matched that number.

Little Grebes returned an August record count of 8. There is, however, no sign of breeding this year. Most years the grebes vacate the lakes in April with a pair returning in June. The growing iris and bulrush clumps usually provide a site for them to build their nest and at least one brood is raised. This year, at least 4 birds were back on the lake by late June, and whilst there was a lot of display and territorial disputes, there was no indication of nest building. The 8 that were present yesterday were all adult birds suggesting that they were all failed breeders this year. Surprisingly, the 8 birds represent over 40% of Little Grebes recorded in this months WeBS in East Glam.

August Raven Count

The first weekend of the month, so time for the Raven count.
Up at 02:45 and the first thing I heard, on entering the bathroom was a Barn Owl, flight call from the field behind us. This was the first I've heard here for over a year, so nice to know we still have at least one in the locality.
Driving through the dark past Llwydcoed, I saw a large bird about four metres above the lane and around ten metres in front. I quickly stopped and in the light of the headlights, watched it fly away from me for a few seconds and then turn to the right, giving me a nice side view, as it headed off into the field alongside the lane and confirming what I already knew: that it was a Barn Owl and my first view of one, this year.
After that I was on a high, as I travelled to the Raven roost; a high slightly dampened by the sight of all the fresh fly tipping where I park the car.
As I walked to the place I count them from, I heard a Tawny Owl calling from further down the slope and from some disused pit feeder ponds, the unmistakable trilling call of a Little Grebe. This was the first time I had ever heard LG up there, so quite pleased with that.
Once I had set up and sat down, I immediately heard the flight calls of a hunting Nightjar, these being then heard several times over the next half hour.
As usual, I spend the time, waiting in the fading darkness before dawn, listening for and noting any early bird song and calls. This time, the Tawny Owl, Little Grebe and Nightjar were joined by Blackbird (call) Robin (song) and Wren (call).
Later, they were joined by, in no particular order, Dunnock, Lesser Redpoll, Reed Bunting, Herring Gull, Whitethroat, Chiff Chaff, Willow Warbler, Meadow Pipit and Linnet, which to my relief, are still there in good numbers.
In the week after the July Raven count, the part of the hillside adjacent to my counting spot, was burnt. Unfortunately, this was mainly an area of gorse and heather and it was in the gorse that the Linnets nest. As they don't tend to arrive back at the breeding site until quite late on in the spring and nesting still seemed to be underway, when the fire occurred, I feared the worst, but the presence of a flock of 50+ flying about, suggests that at least a proportion of the nests had fledged before the fire.
As for the Ravens: well it has been a funny old summer for them, with low counts in June and July, but at least this month, they were back to something like their usual numbers, with the total of 295 being slightly above the monthly average. It was a treat to see them leave in large groups, rather than in the trickle of pairs and threes that marked the May, June and July counts.