Wirral

Curlew, Meols

I had a day out on the Wirral, the hope being to add a few waders to that tally for the month and edge it closer to that hundred mark. In the event, there weren't many around that weren't redshanks or oystercatchers but one that wasn't added to the year list. (This paragraph is an object lesson to you all not to set targets on your birdwatching. Especially if you get a bit obsessive about numbers.)

Juvenile herring gull

It was an overcast and windy lunchtime and West Kirby was the first port of call. Despite the cloud and cooling breeze, perhaps because of them after the blistering heat we've had this month, the marine lake was busy. A few herring gulls, pigeons and black-headed gulls checked out the opportunities for an easy meal and pied wagtails scampered round the car park. I wasn't surprised to see no ducks on the lake, what wouldn't be elsewhere in moulting flocks would be making a living on the estuary away from the crowds.

Dee Estuary 

It was low tide, or near as, and hundreds of waders, mostly redshanks, were liberally scattered about the exposed mud. Oystercatchers massed on distant mudbanks near the river and cormorants dried their wings by the riverside. A few curlews strutted about in the distance, gangs of turnstones still in their tortoiseshell breeding finery skittered about the rocks and unidentified somethings which were probably yet more redshanks dotted the estuary upstream and down. There were a lot of carrion crows about but I kept hearing a raven. It flew low overhead over the rooftops as I was waiting to cross the road to the station.

Small copper

I got the train back as far as Manor Road and walked down Hoyle Road to the beach. Parched though the grass verges were they seemed to have something to offer my first small coppers of the year. A dozen swifts circled overhead, a few more were with the swarms of house martins low over the lifeboat station.

Hoylake Beach 

It was still lowish tide and the broad expanse of mud ahead was like a desert. There weren't even any birds skulking about in the salt marsh. I didn't have to go far to see why. This patch of marsh is part of a land-building process, the combination of successive mud deposits and colonisation by grasses is raising the ground above sea level and parts are only ever inundated with water at the height of Spring tides. The mud here was baked hard and cracked though there was enough moisture some way underground to keep the grass and sea plantains green.

It's flying ant season. High overhead herring gulls, black-headed gulls and lesser black-backs circled to pick off the emerging ants. Even a great black-back flew inland to join in; masses of protein on the wing, easy pickings and no fighting back is a lot more energetically efficient than hunting bigger game.

Shelduck

Beyond the Parade Gardens the foreshore is lower and wetter and not yet salt marsh. Herring gulls loafed by puddles and black-headed gulls stopped for a drink. I was a bit surprised to see a lone shelduck accompanying some of the black-headed gulls.

Juvenile herring gull 

Black-headed gull 

My first common gull of the Winter season was sitting on its own, spending most of its time trying to tidy a loose primary wing feather that wouldn't either fall out or stay put.

Common gull

I joined the revetment and walked down. Small groups of redshanks and smaller groups of oystercatchers pottered about in puddles and creeks. A couple of little egrets were shrimping near one of the beached boats. And there were more herring gulls.

Curlew (left) and whimbrel

Curlews were more often heard that seen. A couple ran across the mud into a patch of grass and started feeding. There was a marked size difference, even more than the usual difference between a big adult female and a small adult male. I thought it might be a young curlew, which would have been good as I don't get to see them very often, any opportunity to get my eye in on them is welcomed. As I drew level with the grass I became puzzled. That beak on the smaller bird didn't look right for any age of curlew. And it wasn't. It was a whimbrel keeping a curlew company. The abrupt turn of the whimbrel's beak I find a better ID point than the dark crown and eye stripe, some curlews are more contrasty than others and strong directional light plays tricks with old eyes, I can easily talk myself out of a textbook whimbrel if I'm not seeing the bill properly and I've not got something readily to hand to provide scale. This is the first time I've had a curlew helpfully screaming out the size difference for me. Had I a bag of lugworms on me I'd have happily let them have the lot.

Whimbrel

Whimbrel

Looking back along the revetment towards Meols

A mixed flock of linnets, goldfinches and swallows skittered over the slope of the revetment, the finches stopping for a moment or two to feed before bundling on a few yards, the swallows hawking mere inches from the ground. A couple of swallows even landed to pick insects off the ground like the finches before flying off to join the others. It didn't look like it was ants they were after, there were a lot of very small flies about I couldn't identify. I could identify the mosquito that decided to have its last meal off my little finger. The first hint of the tide turning was swelling the pools at the base of the revetment. A young heron joined the little egrets shrimping and squabbling here and turnstones flew in to rummage about in the stranded seaweed.

Heron and little egrets 

This swallow decided to have a sit down to pick flies off the mud

The same swallow heading off to join the flock

Turnstone 

I left the revetment and dropped down into Leasowe Common and was immediately razzed by whitethroats. Having got cocky about chiffchaffs and willow warblers the other day I actually had to see the bird before I was sure it was a chiffchaff squeaking in the trees. A blackcap made it easy by singing a snatch of song. As did a reed warbler by the remains of the pond. There must have been some water or mud somewhere in the depths of the reeds because I could hear a coot muttering to itself. 

The pool had dried

There weren't a lot of butterflies about and most of they were gatekeepers or speckled woods. A brown hawker patrolled the tops of the reeds and was my only dragonfly of the day.

I walked down past the lighthouse, where greenfinches and house sparrows bounced about in the hedgerows and red admirals sunned themselves on the brambles. It was hard work seeing through the hedgerow by Kerr's Field, and hardly worth the bother: half a dozen woodpigeons, a herring gull and a magpie accompanied the horses.

Sloes

I had an all areas saveaway for the day and it was still only late teatime. The legs suggested that moving on to another site might be asking a lot of I was going to be walking up the escalator at Lime Street at the end of the trip. My head pointed out that if I got the next train from Moreton I'd only have twenty minutes to wait for the last sensibly timed train direct home. So just this once I did that.

The raven, turnstones and whimbrel brought July's tally to 99. The Canada geese on a pond outside Halewood brought the day's tally to 49. And the year list is 196. Remember kids: just say no to numbers.