High Rid Reservoir

Dabchick

I really don't know why I use the Met Office app, it's good for telling you what the weather's going to be like for the next hour or two but beyond that it's like playing Russian roulette. Today being a case in point. It was still persisting down with rain in the morning but looked to be easing later on and was almost sunny by lunchtime. There were showers forecast later, heavier in the South so I headed for Bolton with the aim of going to High Rid to see if the black-necked grebe was still about and then heading for the woodland walk through Old Hall Clough which should provide a bit of shelter against any showers.

Things didn't go to plan.

High Rid Reservoir from Fall Birch Road 

It was cloudy and blustery when I got off the 575 bus and started up Fall Birch Road. Magpies and carrion crows bounced around the golf course, woodpigeons sang from the rooftops and robins sang from the trees. On the approach to the reservoir a flock of swallows was hawking low over the fields.

High Rid Reservoir 

The most conspicuous birds on arriving at the reservoir were the thick cloud of hirundines hawking over the water. At least a couple of hundred swallows hawked low over the grassy banks, swooped over and across the reservoir, dozens of sand martins and house martins fed high over the land and low over the water. Walking along this stretch of bank was like walking through a cloud of giant midges, though mercifully they didn't bite.

Juvenile pied wagtail

Yesterday's dearth of wagtails was more than made up for today. Dozens of pied wagtails foraged on the stone banks of the reservoir in the company of three or four grey wagtails. A few of the juvenile pied wagtails were pale enough for a second look but I couldn't turn any of them into white wagtails. Mallards dabbled round the edges while a raft of a dozen tufted ducks dozed in mid water. Beyond them a dozen lesser black-backs loafed and bathed with a couple of black-headed gulls. The noise at the far end of the reservoir was about forty Canada geese leaving the reservoir to go and feed on the field on the other side of the wall.

Walking along I kept scanning the water for any sign of a black-necked grebe. A juvenile great crested grebe swam in close and while I was looking at it another pale pied wagtail flew across my line of sight. Except that this one was very pale. I panned across the wall of the reservoir where it had landed and after a couple of minutes found it fossicking at the water's edge with a couple of juvenile grey wagtails. It took a while for the whole bird to be seen, when it perched on a stone my suspicions were confirmed, not just a pale grey back but also white flanks. My first white wagtail of the year, which came as some relief after a barren Spring passage.

Dabchick and swallows

Returning to the grebe hunt I checked out each of the small objects peppered round the water and they all turned out to be dabchicks, a lot of the younger birds having pale cheeks and one even still having some of its baby stripes on its head. I'd reconciled myself to having been too late to the party when something black and white bobbed up like a cork far out amongst the gulls, disappearing almost immediately underwater. I found it again when it resurfaced and for the next few minutes I watched and marvelled at how long it stayed underwater. Black-necked grebes go under deeper and longer than dabchicks and even, I reckon great crested grebes.

By High Rid Reservoir 

I'd noticed earlier that it looked like Leigh and Wigan were copping for a rainstorm. I'd hoped to be away before it reached here but the black clouds suddenly arrived as I got to the corner directly opposite to the entrance to the reservoir. I should have taken the hint when the swallows and martins suddenly disappeared. Without any preamble, once the clouds were overhead there was a crack of thunder and they opened. It was a deluge. Even wearing waterproofs and a cap I felt like a drowned rat. The gulls and ducks weren't bothered at all. Oddly, the dabchicks dived underwater out of the rain, eventually collecting together in a raft close to the bank where they seemed to manage some shelter from the wind. The other grebes I lost in the mist. There comes a point where you're so wet any more rain doesn't make a ha'porth of difference. At this point your binoculars steam up.

Starting to ease off

A breather between showers 

Looking over towards Winter Hill 

I reached Fall Birch Road just as the storm abated to a downpour. I decided against the walk through Old Hall Clough and made for the main road and the bus back to Bolton.