Wirral (again)

Meadow pipit

It was another day of eternal twilight with the promise of rain. I quelled ideas of yomping over hilltops or the wide open spaces of the mosses and found myself on the Liverpool train heading back to Leasowe Common where the firecrest and yellow-browed warbler were still being reported and had been joined by a Lapland bunting. Surely with three scarcities kicking about I'd have a fighting chance of seeing one of them.

The journey was notable for an absence of woodpigeons most of the way along. It started raining as the train passed through Hunts Cross. The rain was steady when I arrived at Moreton but eased off a lot once I reached Kerr's Field and it became an okay afternoon for a squelch about in muddy puddles.

Kerr's Field 

Kerr's Field was busy with magpies, carrion crows and lapwings. The hedgerows were quiet again though a couple of robins sang in the hawthorns. There was a steady, and heavy, traffic of herring gulls to and from the industrial estate to the seaside. A buzzard sat on a fencepost in the field, dropping down every so often to grab an earthworm snack.

Lapwings 

Buzzard and magpie

The hedgerows behind the lighthouse were chock full of house sparrows, chaffinches, greenfinches and goldfinches. The meadow pipits and skylarks passing overhead between the fields were vocal but tricky to pick out in the dull light. 

It was a quieter squelch through the woodland on Leasowe Common. Long-tailed tits and blue tits passed by in ones and twos. A couple of chiffchaffs squeaked. Magpies rattled and carrion crows croaked. I passed a stand of reeds and a Cetti's warbler took exception, jumping out, making a very rude noise, and jumping back again.

A birdwatcher passed by and asked me if he was heading the right way for the yellow-browed warbler. I told him where I'd been told it and the firecrest had been and wished him luck. He told me the Lapland bunting was still in the field with the tyres in it. Oddly enough, I knew precisely which field he meant, last time I was there I was looking at wheatears.

I walked past meadow pipits, chiffchaffs and blackbirds up to the bridleway that goes up to Park Lane. Walking down the bridleway I stopped every so often to scan the fields. The horses were being moved between fields, a bunch of magpies supervising the operation. Way over I could see a group of birdwatchers standing on the little path by the appointed field, which boded well.

The field with the tyres in it
(They're embedded in the ground near the top of the fence post at the right.)

By the time I got to that point the group had dwindled to three, two of whom were walking off and the third packing up. They'd seen the Lapland bunting but it was being very elusive. It had sat on the fence long enough for the chap I was talking to to get a photo of it but it disappeared into cover as the horses were being taken into the field. So then there was just me. I hung on, taking in the group of half a dozen little egrets and couple of herons loafing in the next field along, the carrion crows and magpies fossicking about in the fields, the immature kestrel pounce-hunting from the fence and the greenfinches passing overhead. 

Kestrel

Little egret 

I'd been there about a quarter of an hour when a couple of pied wagtails bobbed up onto the fence on the far side of the field. They bobbed back to the ground and disappeared behind clods of broken-up earth. Then bobbed back up again. This was oddly reassuring: just because I wasn't seeing the Lapland bunting didn't mean it wasn't about. A few minutes later I started hearing a couple of reed buntings in the reeds by the path a little further down. I'd just started getting used to them as a background noise when I heard another call that was similar but definitely not a reed bunting, there was something of a wader-ish echo in there. I followed the call but couldn't see the bird. It took a while but just as I'd reconciled myself to a heard-only, probably, half-tick for the bird it bounced up onto the fence rail. It was a good way away and the light was worsening but it was an obviously chunky bunting with a surprisingly conspicuous thick chestnut brown bar on its wing coverts. I walked back along the path a bit for a better view but I wasn't going to get a closer look. After a minute or two it bobbed down into the ground and I lost it. But at least I'd managed to see it.

As close as I was getting to the Lapland bunting (the pale protuberance by the top of the middle fencepost)

I carried on down the path onto Leasowe Common, passing a few more birdwatchers along the way. I told them where I'd seen it and wished them luck. They included the lady and her son who I'd met at Oglet, they didn't get to see the shore lark in the end. I wished them better luck this time, I hope they had it.

Carrion crows 

I was nearly back into the woodlands when the heavens opened. I decided I wasn't going to stop and look for any scarce warblers. A chiffchaff squeaked from the depths of a bramble patch to tempt me into folly but I was having none of it. 

Looking towards Wallasey and Liverpool Docks
(I promise you, this is a colour photo.)

I did, however, take the five minutes detour to go and have a look at the sea. You can't go to the seaside and not do so. It was high tide, the weather was filthy, the herring gulls on the water looked thoroughly browned-off and I couldn't blame them.

Leasowe Lighthouse 
(Also a colour photograph.)

I was surprised to find I'd spent two hours dawdling round. It was a productive effort and I can't really complain that a November's day had  November's weather.