In search of a Redstart

Every time I go out looking for a Redstart, I invariably find one of these instead...

Lady Wheatear at the Water End horse paddock, Friday (digiscoped)

Not that I’m complaining really. Better a Wheatear than a whole lot of nothing-but-the-usual.

Yesterday, after a couple of Whimbrel briefly joined the Spotted Redshanks at College Lake, I followed in their wake, hoping something else might alight in the shallows. Optimism eventually gave way to a practical realism and I left the Octagon Hide to walk a circuit of the reserve. I was hoping for Cuckoo but, at this time of year, there’s an openness to the possibility that anything could turn up, anywhere. And so it did…

As I walked down through the scrub at the NW end of the reserve, I saw a flash of red as a bird flew from the fence line to a tangle of leafless bramble in the enclosure. It called and then I spotted it at the base of the bush, a beautiful male Redstart. At last! I had been looking for one of these for the past month or so and there he was, a blaze of orange and black and white, with those lovely slate grey upper parts. Unfortunately, I had only seconds to drink in the sight before he skilfully tucked himself away, completely out of view. I waited another 20 minutes but he’d studied the Redstart manual in skulking and there was no way he was going to give me another glimpse.

Still, nothing beats the thrill of the chance encounter with a hoped for passage migrant. I walked back along the west bank footpath, smiling, with House Martins and Sand Martins swooping barely a metre above my head, snatching insects from the air. The nippy NE wind had deterred every other butterfly except for a single male Orange-tip, my first of the season, which perched briefly on a pretty Dog-violet.

When I got up this morning, I was content with the weekend’s birding. Little did I know that the best was yet to come…. More on that tomorrow.

What's better than a Wheatear?

....a FLOCK of Wheatears

Yesterday, a sunny day and a morning off BMT monitoring. I headed for the hills. After a single Wheatear at Pitstone Hill and assurances that the beacon was “dead, no sign of migrants”, I was happy just to saunter in the sunshine. As it turned out, the SE slope of Ivinghoe Beacon was very much alive, with at least 6 Wheatears. Unfortunately, the moment I spotted them, a screeching child ran along the footpath not far from the flock, and they all took flight. I relocated 5 but there could well have been a few more around. I plonked myself down on the grass and just watched the little group.

One pair took it in turns to have a dust bath. Another male was actively watching insects in the air, following them with his gaze and then jumping up to catch them. He was great entertainment, with the flash of his white rump and the bouncy way he launched himself up and then down again.

The slog back up to the car park was a lot less painful knowing it hadn’t been in vain!

Wheatears hit Water End

Well, hello everyone. It’s been a fair old while! Where do I begin? How about I just dive in with today’s stuff. The remnants of storm Katie, followed by a flat car battery and an hour’s wait for “home assist” made sure I didn’t leave the house this morning. That fiasco was closely followed by an afternoon fighting the urge to snooze, until, at about 16:30, I crowbarred myself off the sofa and out into the blustery sunshine.

With not a lot of energy, the horse paddock just north of Hemel, at Water End, seemed like a good plan. I really wasn’t expecting anything, sure that others would have checked the site earlier in the day. But, hey, I got lucky. Not one but two gorgeous Spring male Wheatears: a much needed antidote to the winter hangover and proof that spring really is taking hold, thank goodness.

One bird would occasionally hop over the paddock fence line into the adjacent ploughed field, blending in perfectly with the earthy tones

Spot the birdie

The two Spring males: one had a stubby tail (top bird), the other had a pronounced/very striking white supercilium (bottom bird)

Serenaded by a Wheatear

Last Spring, I had a severe Meniere's flare up (degenerative inner ear condition) and was essentially confined to home or to within a 5 mile radius of home….for 3 months. I missed Spring migration! It's not surprising then that this year's sights and sounds are especially fresh and exhilarating. Every Wheatear is a bonus! And, when 23+ were reported on Ivinghoe Beacon on Wednesday, it seemed silly not to go and take a look. I didn't bother counting them. I just enjoyed them. I sat on the hillside, in the sunshine, and watched these pretty little travellers flitting and calling and even singing.

I'd never heard a Wheatear sing before. I'd heard the tongue-clicking "chack", which these guys also did but, in flight, and especially from a prominent perch on the hillside, one male in particular was singing.

The best, similar recording I can find on Xeno Canto is this one:


What made my day, though, was, as I sat in the warmth, that male (photographed above, in the messiest setting possible!), stood tall on his mound of earth, just a few metres from me, and sang his subsong. Quietly but determinedly as if he was unable to hold it in any longer. As he sang, he looked left and right and backwards and forwards, projecting the quiet, sure sound all around him. Having never seen or heard it before, it was pretty special.

A similar subsong recording from Xeno Canto


You can never see too many Wheatears!

The Wily Wheatear

Hemel: The little tinker! Sunday midday, I’d watched him fall gracefully from the sky - obviously coming from the south - and alight on the grass verge by the side of the road. After getting his bearings and taking a good look around, he’d flown into the crop field. The area is exposed, higher ground and the cold wind was gusting hard. I achieved the obligatory record shots and some video footage, which, incidentally, is probably best watched when you’re half drunk. After that, I lost him and presumed he’d flown onwards.

Yesterday, I checked the area again. No sign of the African beauty but I did spot a couple of Partridges waaaay off in the distance. Couldn’t eliminate Red-legged without a scope so planned to do that another time. Today, I was busy most of the day but got out for an hour in the morning. Perfect conditions: light wind, blue sky and blazing sunshine and....as I approached the crop field, a glowing dot seemingly moving. The wily Wheatear was still here! I was pushed for time but improved on Sunday’s record shots (even if they are cropped to within an inch of their lives!) and took some hand-held camera video footage, at long range, which means it’s even worse than Sunday’s efforts. Still, it’s a fabulous little Wheatear, in a field in Hemel Hempstead, happily preening in the sunshine and being dive-bombed by singing Skylarks. Bliss!


Shocking(ly bad) footage of the White-arse...

Skylarks Sing, Wheatears Fall: Spring has Sprung!

Startops reservoir, 26 March 2013

Hemel: I’d like to say that I went out this morning with a cunning plan to find a sparkly migrant. Actually, the situation was fairly similar to my first Hemel Wheatear in October 2012. Back then, I’d just popped out to the local shops to buy a loaf of bread and walked home to find a Wheatear hopping around my driveway! Bonkers eh.

Over the last week, I’ve felt extremely drained and much of my time has been spent doing very little. This morning, I felt particularly washed out and thought what can I usefully do that involves the least amount of effort but enables me to enjoy the outdoors. Having listened to Jerry Hoare’s beautiful Skylark recording last night, I struck on a plan. It involved sitting in my car - window open - watching, listening and recording the Skylarks on local farmland. It required virtually no effort, meant I was comfortable, but gave me the sense of being outside.

There were perhaps 7 or more Skylarks within view. 4 at least were males, singing hard for love and land. In the half hour that I’d sat quietly listening and watching, there had been only 3 bursts of song that were close enough to record. These lasted for between 2 and 3 minutes but I was still waiting for a bird to come right up close, as it had done early on, when, in my weakened mental state, I’d failed to press the record button (ahem)...

…so, anyway...there I was, sitting comfortably, binoculars in hand, when a bird dropped onto the verge about 30-40 meters in front of the car. A WHEATEAR! And, a bright, smart Spring male to boot (not dissimilar to the Startops bird in 2013)! Fantastic! I leaned out of the car window and grabbed some record shots (below). The bird then flew into the crop field and I hauled myself out of the warmth and attempted some video footage. If you watch it, you’ll understand why I never try to video anything with my camera unless it is an extremely still day, but, hey, it’s a Wheatear in Hemel so that’s got to be worth a wobble or two…thousand. The soundtrack is one of the Skylarks from the morning - it’s not great quality but the best I could manage today (barking dog essential apparently).