Woolston Eyes

Moorhens and teal

I haven't been making the most of my Woolston Eyes permit, nobody to blame but myself, it's been sitting there waiting to be looked at. It wasn't actually raining this morning so I got the bus to Partington and from there got the 5a to Latchford Locks, crossed over and walked down Thelwall Lane to No.3 Bed.

Latchford Locks 

Latchford Locks was festooned with pigeons, with yet more on the surrounding rooftops. A dozen or so black-headed gulls loafed with a lesser black-back and a pair of mallards. The only birds I could see on the canal was a pair of Canada geese a few hundred yards upstream.

Thelwall Lane, Manchester Ship Canal on the right

The walk down Thelwall Lane was quiet. A greenfinch flew over. A magpie rattled in the trees. A pied wagtail flew into a builder's yard. It didn't get a lot busier as I passed through the gate and walked down to the permit holders' car park. A couple of robins tutted in the undergrowth. A cormorant flew by. I told myself I was doing it for the walk and started to worry because the boots were feeling far too comfortable. All the small bird noise and movement was leaves and branches in the wind. Even in the shelter of the trees there was a strong wind. I put my cap in my pocket. (Note to self: glue a strip of velcro on your forehead to keep your cap on.)

Just past the car park I turned and followed the path to the bridge. It took three goes to open the padlock to the gate, confirmation that I need to visit more often. All the while I was fiddling about gangs of mallards, tufted ducks and shovelers gave a running commentary as they drifted and loafed on the river. Once through the gate and padlock locked behind me I scanned the river, just in case, mindful that I saw a ferruginous duck here in March so no assumptions should be made. In the event there were no surprises but don't look don't see.

River Mersey

I'm never sure if I'm actually encountering more wobbly bridges or if the harmonics of walking over a bridge emphasises the unsoundness of my knee. Either way it was a relief to get onto the island that is No.3 Bed and terra firma. It was also a relief that suddenly the hedgerows and trees were full of bird life: robins, wrens, blackbirds and a squeaky chiffchaff. There was shelter from the wind but rain in the air, I put my cap back on in the superstitious hope that may ward it off.

No.3 Bed

The first Hide I came to gave a view of the pools from this end and a view of distant gadwalls, teals and shovelers dabbling out there. The sky had taken on ominous tones and the water visibly darkened while I watched. I wondered what I thought I was doing.

It was a short trudge along an acorn-littered path to the Sibyl Hogg Hide where a squirrel had worked out that the way to defeat a squirrel-proof feeder is to hang upside down and take the sunflowers from underneath the base. Why it was indulging in these gymnastics amidst a bumper acorn crop I do not know. For a few minutes I thought the squirrel and a couple of chaffinches was all I was getting but then a mixed tit flock — a dozen great tits, a couple of blue tits, a nuthatch and a couple more chaffinches — flew in and worked round the squirrel.

Walking towards the meadows

Walking through the trees towards the meadows I became aware of more small birds mostly quietly flitting about. There were more mixed tit flocks — great tits and blue tits, sometimes with chaffinches, sometimes with chiffchaffs, never with long-tailed tits. Mixed flocks of finches bounced between trees and bushes, mostly chaffinches in the trees, mostly goldfinches and greenfinches in the hawthorns and blackthorns, a bullfinch with one flock, a handful of siskins with another. Every so often the tit flocks and finch flocks would merge into a confusing mass of small objects rattling the dead leaves.

Skirting the edge of the meadows

A great spotted woodpecker flew overhead as the path led me to the edge of the meadow. Woodpigeons and magpies clattered about between treetops. Robins, wrens and dunnocks tutted and squeaked. I was surprised to see a couple of fieldfares fly over, I'd have been less surprised had it been a couple of dozen. Blackbirds bustled about in the undergrowth. And I heard a noise.

I was passing a stand of blackthorn when I heard a sound like a squeaky wheelbarrow. A yellow-browed warbler had been reported earlier in the week but given the distances they travel it was probably in a rectory garden in Dorset by now. I heard the squeak again, a two-note sound that needed a good oiling. I dismissed it as the creaking of an old elder bush growing into the willows on the opposite side of the path. Then I saw the yellow-browed warbler make the noise. It was like a larger, more high-contrast and even more hyperactive goldcrest to look at but the plain olive green of its back continued onto the top of its head. The buff wing bar was obvious as it flitted about in the depths of the bush, I just got one brief glimpse of the buff eyebrow as it jinked towards me then dived under cover. Last I saw was a small body squeaking painfully as it flew over into some willows. I have to wonder that people manage to get photos of yellow-browed warblers.

Canada geese 

I climbed into the Morgan Hide and looked over the pool as the weather decided to stop playing at raining. The teals rummaging about on the near bank took this as a signal to run into the water and have a bath. The Canada geese and moorhens on the bank seemed less delighted. Out on the water small rafts of gadwalls, teals and shovelers drifted about, a couple of lapwings flew in and a heron lurked in the reeds on a tiny island. Somewhere in the brambles at the base of the hide a Cetti's warbler decided to start singing.

Teal

From the Morgan Hide 

The rain seemed well dug in so I decided to quit while I was ahead. I thought it best to retrace my steps and over the bridge then walk up into Woolston for the 100 to the Trafford Centre. One of the mixed tit flocks along the edge of the meadow was almost entirely long-tailed tits, which might account for their notable absence earlier. A mixed flock on the rise above the bridge included a couple of goldcrests.

Heading back to the bridge

I crossed over and walked along the path above the river towards Woolston Weir. The hawthorns and gorse bushes were fizzing with small birds. One of the goldcrests skipping about in one bush was a very excitable male with a vivid orange crown, for a moment I thought I'd struck lucky again, this time with a firecrest. I told myself not to be greedy. The tit flocks on this side of the river all included long-tailed tits. The sun made a cameo appearance and for five minutes I felt distinctly overdressed. 

Walking to Woolston Weir 

Woolston Weir 

The river downstream of the weir bridge was quiet, just a couple of Canada geese and a moorhen. It wasn't a lot busier upstream, just a dozen mallards drifting by the far bank. 

The electricity company bought dirty great plastic owls to put on top of the pylons to scare away the starlings. It obviously works.

I checked the bus times. I had plenty of time for the bus and still had some legs on me so I strolled down the New Cut as far as Bridge Lane then walked up to Manchester Road for the bus. The bird life in the cut was settling down for the night, the last few blue tits bounced through willows, the robins and blackbirds started the twilight shift. Overhead starlings started congregating on the power lines and sat on plastic owls. I had a ten minute wait for the bus and was glad of the sit down out of the wind when it came.

The New Cut

Bempton

Gannets — nearly full-grown chick and adult, Bempton Cliffs 

I had rather a lot of rail travel vouchers that needed spending so I thought I'd put some of them to use on a trip out to Bempton Cliffs to see if I could twitch the red-eyed vireo that's been there the past couple of days.

The journey out to Scarborough was uneventful right up to Malton where we got stuck behind a freight train so I got off at Seamer and made the connection with the Sheffield train there. (The schedule had originally allowed me ten minutes for getting a cup of tea at Scarborough.) The fields of North Yorkshire and the East Riding were busy with flocks of woodpigeons, rooks and jackdaws. Perhaps it's only South Yorkshire and West Yorkshire that have the barren fields.

First sight of the sea 

It was warm and sunny when I got off the train at Bempton and walked down to Bempton Cliffs. Warm enough for red admirals and large whites to be fluttering about the roadside and migrant hawkers to be patrolling the hedgerows. The house sparrows of the village gave way to the tree sparrows of the fields and a couple of skylarks trilled as I walked by.

The vireo had been reported as being at The Dell which is the little wooded hollow by the car park. A few people were scanning The Dell but the crowd was over in the car park by the entrance. I had a quick scan of The Dell myself and found a chiffchaff and half a dozen tree sparrows, which is a nice way to start proceedings. A rather noisy buzzard flew over accompanied by mobbing jackdaws.

I followed the crowd which was staring into some bushes and trees in the middle of the car park. It turned out they were looking for a yellow-browed warbler. I'm not so blasé about them as to be able to ignore one so I spent ten minutes having a look for it. It was phenomenally fidgety and views were fleeting. Ironically, it showed best when it flew over into the trees on the other side of the car park. There was a mass holding of breath as a sparrowhawk slowly glided over but it carried on out towards the clifftop fields. Looking for the warbler my eye kept being drawn to passing bees and wasps, and the occasional common darter. A mating pair of emerald damselflies landed on the bush next to me just as the warbler was showing well. Luckily they lingered for a couple of minutes before moving on so I managed to identify them properly.

Somebody shouted over that the vireo was in the bushes at the edge of the overflow car park so we all trotted off thataway. I was reminded why I don't like twitches with all the jostling for position that entails. There were a couple of fleeting glances of something with a green back and a silvery underside but I saw more of the back of somebody's head as they ducked and dived and jumped about to try and get a better view. I moved away a bit, which turned out to be lucky as I got twenty seconds' worth of an excellent view when the vireo came out and sat near the top of the bush. It was a lovely bird, like a very chunky blackcap in shape with bright olive green upperparts and silvery grey underparts. There was a very conspicuous pale eyestripe and its crown was dark steely grey, the feathers at the back of the crown were slightly raised from the nape, forming a sort of flattop crest. A very nice bird and my first vireo of any sort anywhere.

Pigeons, Bempton Cliffs 
As close to wild rock doves as you're going to get in England

Having got my tick I moved on so that other people might have a chance of seeing it. Flocks of pigeons and jackdaws were flying about the clifftops and linnets, goldfinches and tree sparrows were fussing about in the fields and hedgerows. Most of the pigeons looked as near as dammit like wild rock doves, a few were unmistakably feral pigeons. There are no true wild rock doves left in England, these flocks of pigeons are as close as they get these days.

Gannets, Bempton Cliffs 

There were plenty of gannets about, mostly at sea but there were still some nestlings being looked after by parents on the cliffs. Nearly all the gulls were herring gulls, a few black-headed gulls flew over the fields and I saw one lesser black-back out at sea. I very nearly missed the shag swimming near the bottom of the cliffs.

Pigeons, Bempton Cliffs

Flocks of pigeons were loafing on the cliff tops like their rock dove ancestors would have done in the days before monks kept dovecotes for the eggs.

Red-eyed vireo
An awkward devil but at least here you get to see most of the bird and its strange flattop crest.

On the way out I had a remarkable stroke of luck: the vireo was showing well in a hawthorn bush on the edge of The Dell. It showed very well indeed for a few minutes but was phenomenally fidgety, only ever staying still when it was in cover. Still, I'd seen it and very nice it was, too.

Red-eyed vireo
Another awkward pose

Bempton Cliffs 

Martin Mere

Siberian chiffchaff, Martin Mere

It was a grey Winter's day with a hint of mist in the air, the sort of day for a visit to Martin Mere. The aim was to get the train to New Lane and walk to Martin Mere via the reedbed walk in the hopes of connecting with either the yellow-browed warbler or the Siberian chiffchaff lurking in the trees by the water treatment works. The plans went awry: the way the timetable works now I had a three-quarters of an hour wait somewhere along the way for the stopping train so when I got off at Burscough Bridge I decided to tramp it.

Red Cat Lane 

At first glance the fields along Red Cat Lane were a bit quiet. The woodpigeons, dozens of them, were mostly perching in the trees by the houses, a big flock of rooks and jackdaws was on a ploughed field a couple of fields behind the stables. Half a dozen stock doves flitted between the barns by Crabtree Lane with a few jackdaws. Family groups of pink-footed geese flew overhead towards fields somewhere towards Rufford. There was a lot of distant honking which got louder as a flock of hundreds of geese rose up and flew over towards fields over by New Lane. As I approached Brandeth Barn half a dozen whoopers flew by and off up Curlew Lane.

I got to Martin Mere but instead of heading to the entrance at the visitor centre I followed the public footpath that runs along the margins of the reedbed walk and the water treatment works. The field by Marsh Moss Road was busy with jackdaws, fieldfares and linnets and the trees by the reserve busy with chaffinches, great tits and mistle thrushes. I got a bit of hedgerow practice in with a mixed flock of greenfinches, goldfinches and reed buntings in the alders by the gate.

Martin Mere 

There was nobody around as I walked down the path, which was great because it meant I could relax and let myself hear any bird calls. There were more reed buntings and a few wrens and dunnocks, a Cetti's warbler took exception at my passing by and a mixed tit flock passed through the willows by one of the screens by the reedbeds.

I got to the hedgerow by the water treatment works just as a couple was trying to work out how to get out of the reserve into the outside world. Much to my surprise the gate was unlocked, I showed them the path and the hedge where I've seen Siberian chiffchaffs in the past. They walked down while I checked out the hedgerow by the path, just in case. I found a Siberian chiffchaff in a mixed tit flock moving deep in the trees. It took me a few looks to be sure of what I was seeing and kept getting distracted by long-tailed tits. The clincher came when it popped out into the open: brown above, beige and white below, a strong, pale eyebrow and no green tones in the plumage. I walked further down the path and found the couple in a group by the treatment works fence. They were getting a much better view of the Siberian chiffchaff, it was showing well at the edge of the trees with a crowd of long-tailed tits and goldcrests. And the yellow-browed warbler. 

Siberian chiffchaff, Martin Mere

The  fence seemed to be a magnet for insects and small birds alike and the warbler kept flying over to glean from the wire links. It was great to get prolonged good views and not need to spend any time trying to construct an identikit picture from fleeting glances and eliminating suspects. A really lovely little bird but such a fidget! I quickly gave up any hopes of getting a photo, it was worse than the goldcrests. Half a dozen wrens turned up in the bush behind me with a common chiffchaff in tow and this gave me the chance to compare and contrast with the Siberian chiffchaff in the bushes in front of me. The common chiffchaff's tones were olive browns and buffs rather than milky coffee browns and white and there was a lemon yellow tinge to its relatively short eyebrow. Oddly enough, for all the time we were watching all these birds not one of them called.

Mallards, Martin Mere

I wandered back to the reserve. I knew I didn't have enough gas left in me to comfortably walk back to Burscough Bridge so I checked the trains from New Lane. I only had enough time and energy to spend half an hour checking out the mere from the Discovery Hide. The mallards were out in force, quacking and squeaking amorously at each other. Pairs of pintails and shelduck floated about, half a dozen pochards dozed on one of the islands and a crowd of wigeons grazed on the far bank. There weren't many whooper swans, barely a dozen, and not many more greylags and it took a while to find the pink-feet on the far bank. The mere was littered with black-headed gulls but unusually there wasn't a single large gull about. As usual half a dozen black-tailed godwits twittered about on the bank in front of the hide.

Black-tailed godwir, Martin Mere

Whooper swan, mallards and shelducks, Martin Mere

Pochards, black-headed gulls, mallards and shelduck, Martin Mere

Pintails, Martin Mere

Marsh Moss Road 

I walked to New Lane by Marsh Moss Road accompanied by the chatterings of fieldfares and goldfinches in the roadside trees. The field across the road was empty save for a single buzzard digging for worms by the side of a drain. The field behind the houses at the corner before the station was full of pink-feet, at least five hundred of them. I got a good view of them between the trees and scanned round to see if there was anything else in there. I found a tundra bean goose. Pure dumb luck: it happened to look up when I got to that group of geese and the shape of the bill stood out a mile. A nice end to a very good day's birding.

Tundra bean goose (centre) with pink-footed geese, New Lane

Pennington Flash

Cormorant

We're all made different, in my case the days where I can't be bothered going out for a walk are the days when I need to go out for a walk. Days like that I need the exercise and whatever sunlight's going. And so today I set out later than intended for Pennington Flash.

As I waited for the bus to Tyldesley at the Trafford Centre (I'd missed the Leigh bus) I was joined by Hoppy the pied wagtail who turns out to be female (last time I saw her she was still in juvenile plumage) and possessor of two legs. But no toes. Whether by disease or happenstance I don't know but she's lively enough.

Hoppy the pied wagtail objecting to having her photo taken

It was sunny when I arrived at Pennington Flash but was spitting with rain ten minutes later when I got to the car park. This cleared quickly but the weather stayed unsettled all afternoon.

The usual suspects were out on the water though there were a lot fewer large gulls than usual, just a couple of dozen lesser black-backs. The water was high: most of the spit by the Horrocks Hide was underwater. A couple of lapwings flew off just before I got to the hide (well, the side of the hide, they're all still closed), nothing else was on the spit, even the cormorants roosted higher up. A kingfisher shot by, the only one I saw this visit.

The spit by the Horrocks Hide was largely underwater

As I walked down the path between the Horrocks Hide and the Tom Edmondson Hide a small mixed tit flock flew across about ten yards ahead. A couple of great tits, some blue tits, some "probably blue tits," I didn't think much about it until I heard a strange call. A small green bird, larger than a goldcrest, smaller than a coal tit, disappeared into the bushes. Try as I might I couldn't find it again. If I hadn't heard it calling after it had disappeared I'd still be wondering if it was a yellow-browed warbler. That two syllable slightly metallic squeak clinched it for me. I'm still on the nursery slopes of my learning curve with this species, it's nice to get even an irritatingly fleeting encounter with one.

Buzzard

A little further on a buzzard sat in one of the willow trees disdaining even to acknowledge a carrion crow's attempts to mob it.

More mallards and shovelers on the pool opposite the Tom Edmondson Hide and a dozen gadwall on the pool by the hide. The water was too high at Ramsdales for anything but shovelers and teal, there was no exposed mud for any waders to use.

An uncooperative oystercatcher

I sat and had an ice cream in the company of the car park oystercatcher, which is as bad as the cat for not cooperating with having its picture taken.

On the way out I bumped into a slightly larger tit flock which included a couple of goldcrests.

A reluctant couple of hours' walk cheered me up a bit and brought the year list up to 172.

From Ramsdales Hide