THE Biking Birder - Green and Carbon Birding Adventures Over the Years
A UK Green and carbon birder, Gary Prescott aka The Biking Birder, is planning for yet another Biking Birder adventure or two this year.
Gary will be volunteering with the RSPB at Sandwell Valley RSPB reserve, as well as birding locally around his home village, Romsley, Worcestershire, and at his 'patch,' Upton Warren Worecestershire Wildlife Trust reserve.
Cliffe Pools RSPB reserve, famous for the long fight against the
proposed Fourth London airport, was my next RSPB reserve to visit and Dave and
I rode towards it early in the morning. Now Dave’s bike was a large, chunky
mountain bike and with me on my sleek Cannondale road bike I had trouble
staying behind him as he rode along roads that I thought were leading me the
long way to the reserve.
I am now ashamed to say that I was getting little frustrated as I wanted
to get to the reserve ASAP and I hope that Dave will forgive me for my
selfishness. Obviously, Dave knew better than me and we soon reached a deep
water- filled quarry area but not before I had another puncture, the back tyre
this time. Dave took over the repair job and we were joined by another cyclist,
one that looked the part dressed in skin-tight Lycra. One for the ladies, a
William’s furniture man! “Could we help his brother?” Another cyclist with a
puncture but one with no repair kit. Of course we could and did.
It was a lovely day weather-wise, warmish with cloudless skies and
almost no wind. Perfect day for cycling. Before reaching the reserve proper, we
stopped several times to look at birds; mainly finches and winter thrushes but
also a lovely bright yellow male Yellowhammer and a Jay. At the quarry Dave
told of the manager being up on manslaughter charges. A driver working there
had gone down into the depths of the water still within his lorry as it sank due to
an accident.
On the opposite side of the road to this stretch of water was another
huge old quarry lake covered with hundreds of birds, Tufted Duck and Pochard
with some gulls and a couple of Little Grebes. An old, battered Land Rover
passed us and turned to greet us. It was the warden of Cliffe Pools.
Pleasantries exchanged; it was always great to meet the sunshine RSPB people.
In through the back way to Cliffe Pools RSPB Reserve, or so it seemed to
me but a large car park was there with a large RSPB sign. I had been to the
reserve a couple of times before but had entered via a long pot-holed dirt road
via Cliffe village. The first visit back in 2005 had been to dip on my bogey
bird, a Terek Sandpiper. I have still to see one of those snobbish Common
Sandpiper types with their upturned bills but one day I will latch onto one,
won't I? What a sweltering day that had been and an insect bite on my shin that
went septic caused a problem for a couple of weeks. The infection spread down
the leg, creating a long deep red scar. A course of antibiotics luckily cleared
it up.
My other visit here at Cliffe had been a couple of years later when I had called in on the way to Dover for my then annual ferry ride over to Dunkirk and my extended
summer holidays spent travelling, birding, exploring and mountain walking in
France and Spain.
Cliffe Pools turned out to be a superb and extremely large reserve, 230
hectares made up of massive old saline lagoons, freshwater pools, grassland, saltmarsh
and scrub. Yet when I had visited the reserve on those previous occasions the
talk had been of so much more. The RSPB's hope had been that it would become a
new ‘Minsmere', another Titchwell for the south. A working partnership with
Westminster Dredging PLC would create a Flagship nature reserve and the focus
for visitors to the RSPB's Northwest Kent reserves. Unfortunately, funding had
recently been pulled and the reserve at this moment had few facilities other
than a car park and a couple of notice boards.
We soon cycled around to where a small crowd had gathered up on a sea
defence wall all trying to see the reported Shore Larks. Not on view so we
chatted. To my right the nearest bloke, David Rolfe, was a cyclist. He was soon
discussing my broken back brakes and noticed that a small spring was missing.
"What's this small bird with a yellow face?" said Dave Saunders.
Dave had found four Shore Larks
[95] on a muddy shore. Good old Dave. Good one to get as well and onto the
year list they went along with Grey
Plover[96] and Knot [97]. The visit to Cliffe ended
with a list of forty-eight birds, the previously named birds together with
Goldeneye, Pintail, and Black-tailed Godwits being the highlights. Yet, as
usual, the real highlights were the birders met. Richard Cockerill, who had
come from Hemel Hempstead (!) to see the Shore Larks. What a coincidence of meeting
a birder from my not so long-ago place of sanctuary from the worst winter
weather for decades. Then there is the two Dave’s; Dave Saunders with his kind
hospitality and Dave Rolfe, who offered the same a couple of nights later and
helped with the bike. When you are at a twitch you strike up conversations and
immediate bonds are made, the shared love of birds making for an understanding
of where another is coming from. You can talk about past birds and with
rarities other birders met will recall them and know that your love is genuine.
Dave and I cycled to Northward Hill RSPB Reserve, via narrow
country lanes. The weather was being kind to us with little wind and no rain.
Along the way we passed an impressive set of castle walls which Dave explained
was the house of Jules Holland, the musician, Cooling Castle. A beautiful
castle, it is just a shame that one cannot look around it because of Jules.
Maybe you can but the house gates were locked and heavy curtains were drawn.
How New Year's Eve would be missing something wonderful when Jules finally stops
his Hogmanay celebrations of cool music on TV.
Nearby was Cooling Church and there were the 'nine lozenges', the graves of Pip's brothers in Great Expectations
according to Dickens but there are actually a lot more children's graves in two
rows, thirteen in all.
The cycling was slow and
easy as we made our way to Northward Hill RSPB reserve and on reaching there,
we were invited into the offices. We were given coffee and the site manager,
Julian, was an Arsenal fan which meant that immediate fun ensued with football
talk. Being an Aston Villa fan, I had to discuss the incident between our
thug-like centre forward from many years ago, Sammy Morgan and the Arsenal
goalkeeper, Bob Wilson. I was in the Clock End of Arsenal's ground, Highbury
for a F.A. Cup tie when Bob pretended to have been kicked by Sammy. Sammy was
sent off and the Villa fans that day were close to the deception and showed
their displeasure vehemently. We all saw that Sammy Morgan had leapt over the
prone cheating goalie but Clive Thomas, the ego maniacal referee saw things
differently that day. The match ended 1 – 1 and the replay at Villa Park
attracted a full house. Maybe the massed Winston Churchill salutes by The Holte
End masses directed at both Bob Wilson and Clive Thomas were not too friendly
but the final score of 2 – 0 to the Villa was justice done. Sadly nowadays
cheats do prosper in football. My love for the game has dissipated over the
years, I see shirt pulling, diving, abuse to referees and ‘my ball’ cheats too
often now to enjoy the game as once I did. How many times do you see players feigning injury?
Northward Hill RSPB reserve
was a large reserve that had extensive low grazing grasslands to the north of
the road and newly planted tree areas on hill slopes yet we were heading for
the large old broadleaf woodland to the east. It was getting late in the
afternoon as we walked across the reserve and I had just one thought; how come
no one else was here to see the thousands of corvids that is Carrion Crows,
Jackdaws and Rooks, coming into roost? Surely (don’t call me Shirley) Corvids
coming to roost numbering in the tens of thousands is one of the avian wonders;
a spectacle to be enjoyed, not only to be viewed but heard.
When we arrived at a small
viewpoint the sun had gone down and four Tawny Owls were calling. A large owl
came overhead but I could not get any detail on it in the growing gloom. We had
been told that Long-eared Owls were around but I could not honestly say it was
one so it did not go onto the year list. It was almost silent as we looked at
the thinnest of crescent Moons and the nearby Jupiter through Dave’s telescope.
The four Galilean Moons were easy
to see. Then we heard it, a distance sound of many cawing, chacking and calling
birds, coming closer and closer by the second. Eventually over they came
filling the sky, thousands of Rooks, Jackdaws and Crows and what a cacophony!
Many times they landed on the trees in front of us only to rise and circle repeatedly.
Truly a wonderful spectacle and all just for Dave and I. Nine Grey Heron came
over in a ‘v’ formation and fourteen Woodcock
[98] came zooming out; a couple so close that features could be seen. This
was one of the most wondrous, beautiful evenings of my birding life. Who needs
rarities for birding magic? Do yourself a favour if you live close by, go and
see this wonderful avian event.
In the dark we cycled back
to Strood and after saying goodbye and thanks to Dave, I made my way to an
uncomfortable 'hotel', which was overpriced at £18! I will not dwell on it too
much but the landlady's request for me to name the place when I was interviewed
by the local press the next day was a bit too much for her to expect. No luxury
this. The small room was in the attic, six floors up and no lift. The mattress
on the single bed had exposed springs and the dripping tap from an old sink in
the room, may have constituted water torture except for me placing a sock under
the tap to stop the noise. Now I may be sounding ungrateful and snobbish,
especially considering what happened later in the year but this was early in
the year and I still had visions of being comfortable most nights.
Out early into heavy rain and a ride to Tilbury library, whose wonderful
librarians, Gill and Denise were incredulous over my journey and with internet
access for an hour and a half, the blog was updated, emails were answered and I
dried out! A young couple next to me in the library, asked for help over
ordering a pushchair online. Jacqueline and her husband, whose name I did not
jot down but who was an Aston Villa fan, good lad, were looking to buy one from
a Littlewood’s catalogue at £5 a week. Which one to choose? I could not help
but point out that the 29.9% APR was a bit excessive; though cheap compared to
the evil of 'pay day loans'. They were not the most well off people and because
of their circumstances they were having to pay for a buggy on the ‘never never’
and were being charged over the top for the privilege. Such is our society.
The road to the Tilbury Ferry docks passed a large squat fort surrounded
by large water channels complete with modern drawbridges. This was the
impressive Tilbury Fort, one of many built by Henry VIII to protect his ports. Next
the question was how to get across the Thames and into Kent. A purist Green
birder would have cycled all the way back to the Isle of Dogs and gone through
the tunnel there. I decided to take the ferry. As punishment for my lack of
green credentials, I did not see much of the Thames. As I crossed aboard the
ferry, The Duchess M, I could not find my only tenner in my many pockets. I
spent the smooth ride over the river frantically searching for the money. Just
before docking, out fell the bank note from within the pages of my small WWT
notebook.
It had been a quick trip over the calm water but one that was possibly permissible in the rules of Green Birding as the ferry was timetabled, making
this Public Transport. Maybe I had stretched the rules a bit and to tell the
truth I still feel a little guilty about taking this short cut when the forty-mile
round trip was available. Now boats are not allowed when one is doing a pure Green non-motorised year list! My aim was to visit every RSPB and WWT nature reserve - visitors centre. Whether it was pure Green or Dirty Green was neither here nor there. I needed to get to all the reserves, including those on remote Scottish islands.
Some people, more than one, joked that I should be Flintoff like and use
a pedallo to get to Outer Hebrides and other such islands. Now that would have
been fun and ultimately lethal. I would have ended up in Iceland!
With the ferryman paid and a huge container ship moored up in Tilbury dock, Wallenius Wilhelmson, photographed, I made my way along the main road
towards Shorne Marshes RSPB Reserve. After being given instructions from
a well-spoken young girl on a horse, I found the small lane that would lead me
to my next RSPB destination. The only problem was that this lane was blocked by
an extremely high, black spiked fence, with equally high reinforced gates,
preventing access across a railway level crossing. This road would not be
taking me to the river. Signs on the gates asked one to phone for access. Where
was the phone? On the other side of the level crossing. To the right of the
gates was an access road to half a dozen or so small business units and outside
one was a gleaming red Zephyr car. Now this was the same make of car that had
been my Dad’s first ever car bought when I was about eleven years old.
Before
then Dad had at first cycled to work and then he had a Vespa scooter to do the
same journey. I still remember how Dad used to take both my brother and I to
Edgbaston Cricket Ground to watch Warwickshire CC play a Sunday league match
with sometimes both of us on the back of the scooter. That was back in the
Sixties when Denis Amiss opened the batting and Rohan Kanhai, Alvin
Kallicharan, Lance Gibbs and John Jameson played for us. Edgbaston on a Sunday
in the Sixties would be almost full and my brother and I would jot down every
detail of the forty overs each match in our large cricket score books.
Sadly, nowadays its one man and his dog that comprise a crowd at cricket
matches except for Twenty20 and Ashes Test matches. Indeed, the last time I had
attended a packed Edgbaston had been on that fabulous day when Australia almost
won the second test of the Ashes series in 2005. England needed just two
wickets on the final day; Australia required 107 runs. It was going to be a
quick victory for England, wasn't it? My wonderful son, Joshua and I sat in the
main members stand and watched in nervous agony as the supposedly impossible
runs target was slowly eked away by dogged resistance from first the great
Shane Warne, who was to stand on his wicket; a particularly bizarre way to get
out, and finally the very brave Brett Lee and Kasprovich.
The tight knot of yellow and green bedecked Australian supporters to our
left sang out how many more runs were needed to win after every run. “59 to go,
59 to go, ee i adio, 59 to go.” The agony turned to despair and disbelief when
the Aussies got down to single figures and it seemed inevitable that they
should win. Simon Jones had a chance to take that final wicket but his forward
dive had the ball bounce off his outstretched hands.
Three runs to get and Steve Harmison sent a ball in short and aimed it towards
Kasprovich’s body. He fended it off with the ball just brushing the glove. It
flew down the legside and Geraint Jones took a superb low catch to his left.
England had won what was later described as the best test match ever by the
press. Joshua and I leapt about with the rest of the crowd. Michael Vaughan and
the England team ran about screaming before massing together in celebration. The
place went crazy, with everyone lost in the moment. Well, everyone that is
except Andrew Flintoff who, in a gesture of complete genuine respect and
sportsmanship, had gone over to the battered, shattered and forlorn Brett Lee
to offer his hand, his commiserations and congratulations on putting up such a
fantastic rear-guard action. A match that had so very nearly brought Australia
a very unexpected victory, was now a moment of national celebration.
How wonderful it was to be part of the crowd with my son on that Sunday
morning. We will always have the memory of that moment to remember. How loudly
we all sang “you should have batted first,” to the Australian captain, Ricky
Ponting after Joshua and I had relocated to the Barmy Army in the Eric Hollis
stand. Ricky had won the pre-match toss of the coin and put England into bat.
Michael Vaughan’s smile grew at that moment. Vaughnie knew Ricky was wrong to
do so.
Once more I digress down memory
lane. These are the things I think about when cycling those long miles, hour
after hour. I think about the past or sing. Now which would you prefer me to do
here? “When you’re feeling down, try positive thinking . . . “
I was photographing the Zephyr car, when the
door to the unit opened and out came the car’s owner. He invited me in for
coffee and for the next hour I was treated to a tour of several old classic
cars being restored lovingly by Paul Burnham, the manager of Burnham Motors. I did
not understand a word of what he said as he took me to each of his cars. “Took
six off the top with this one.” “The Wankel rotary engine needed reverting.”
Still for an hour it had been a
pleasure to see these old cars and the Zephyr in particular, with its car wide
seat as I remembered it back when a car seemed like a luxury item beyond a
young boy’s dreams. Thanks Paul.
Beyond these units, the road
ended with a large GWR shunting yard and despite knocking, shouting and illegally
entering the offices there in order to try to ask for assistance, I could not
find anyone to ask about how I could get across the rail track. The Marie
Celeste of railway offices.
Sensibly, for a change, I was not
prepared to push the bike along the Eurostar track. I could just imagine the
headlines. ‘Biking Birder ends trip in Brussels – stuck to and out of my brain
on the front of the 5.15.’ Out of my brain on the train!
Instead I made my way back along
the country lanes towards Shorne and found the way down to Lower Highnam. A
long road from there followed the overgrown Thames – Medway canal and ended
with an entry road with large industrial
buildings and a lone small bungalow nearby, Bridge House.
I wondered where the bridge was as I could not
see one but that was not what I asked when I rang their doorbell. A man named
Bill answered the door, with his curious wife looking out from behind a nearby
curtain, and he soon directed me towards the excellent cycle path, which went
all the way back to Gravesend. If only I had known, or done a bit more
research, all that cycling up hills along a busy A road, and all of that
searching and palaver over the level crossing would have been avoided.
Half a mile later, the cycle path crossed a concrete road leading down
to the Thames and the reserve. At last a small notice board, tucked away beside
old, ruined buildings adjacent to the expanse of the estuary, had that
wonderful blue and white Avocet logo denoting Shorne Marshes RSPB reserve on it
and information of the old fort’s use as a starting point for the D-Day
landings.
It was 3.15pm! A lot later than I had hoped
to arrive here and time was short if I was going to explore the reserve and not
just tick it off. Still in the brief time available before dusk there were Avocet [91] and Dunlin [92] with Redshank
[93] too. Not large numbers of Avocets, in fact there were only three and
just five Redshank but the Dunlin flock was a couple of thousand and brilliant
to watch as they wheeled their spectacular, murmuration way over the water
before settling on the exposed mud on the other side of the river. Five sorts
of gulls; Greater and Lesser Black backed, Herring, Common and Black-headed
were there and twenty-eight Wigeon. A male Stonechat sat on the broken brick of
the fort and a few Fieldfares took off from the fields. Thirty-two species of
bird seen in around an hour and two huge ships seen going down towards the sea;
Cobelfret Ferries – Celandine. All of these were seen from this isolated,
expansive and fabulous RSPB reserve with not a soul around to share it all
with.
I cycled back to the cycle path with the gloom of dusk descending and
stopped to find the Little Owl [94] calling
whilst sitting on a wire tight against a telegraph pole. Further along I came
across a large obelisk dedicated to the canal workers of old and here a couple
more Little Owls were exchanging calls and glances.
A phone call from an anxious Dave Saunders asking how I was doing and a
few miles later, after cycling along the local country lanes in the dark, he
had his answer. I was doing fine despite having got a little lost, again,
trying to find Dave’s house. A pair of Polish men; Kamel from Krakow and Wlodek
from Gdansk, gave me directions and after storing the bike in Dave’s garage, I
was invited into this until then stranger’s home to meet the family, to have a
shower and be fed.
I do not know how Dave, a local CID officer and his dear wife, Leslie
had found out about my journey but they had got in touch to offer accommodation
for the night. What I do remember is their friendliness to this stranger in
their midst and the spread of food that greeted me all laid out so beautifully
in their lovely dining room. Small pancakes with caviar, mussels on crackers as
hors d’oeuvres were followed by chicken tikka, washed down with a very
palatable red wine.
The evening’s conversation was about birds but also included families,
children and work. Leslie was an English teacher at the nearby Strood Academy.
A couple of years before they had moved out to Spain, to a small villa near
Cadiz but had returned disillusioned with their retirement dreams in tatters.
15th
JanuaryOne wheel on my wagon but I’m
still rolling alongNew Christy Minstrels
Full of the full English from an extremely comfortable Bed &
Breakfast, Jay's B & B, I made my way towards Southend reaching Vange
Marsh RSPB Reserve, having cycled to Vange with an unadorned by panniers
bike. I was going to have another night at Jay’s B & B so I had left
everything there. Not a wise move as it turned out. On the first road a Green
Woodpecker was disturbed by me as I turned a corner. It flew off yaffling and a
Starling on a rooftop gave the call of rattling keys, mimicking a Corn Bunting.
The weather was cool and cloudy but at least it was dry. Actually I took a
wrong road and ended up on top of Langdon Hill after a very steep climb. Here I
was invited to enter a small church by a couple of ladies arranging the flowers
inside, who gave me tea and biscuits. The names on the church’s WW1 memorial
included two Jays, brothers and a Swan; the names of soldiers who had died so
many years ago but still remembered and rightly so.
Out again and speedily down
the hill, I saw two foxes in fields on the way down and a couple of Jays
coincidentally. I eventually found Vange Marsh RSPB Reserve after being
given the wrong directions and having once again gone down a wrong route. An
old couple stopped me because of the large RSPB sticker on the back of my
fluorescent high visibility jacket. They wanted to tell me about a Red Kite
they had seen in Wales weeks previous and they did so at some length! No
problem, it is always a pleasure to have people share their nature stories with
such glee.
I was met at the reserve by Glenn and Alan Shearman at the excellent
RSPB centre there and photos for the press were taken. I had last been here
around 20 years to see an Olive-backed Pipit with those young twitching lads,
Richard, Jason - Olly and Alex - Bear. After a coffee and chat and more
photographs, I was off by myself to Vange Marsh itself.
It was difficult to find with no signposts and just a few scribbled
notes from Glenn’s instructions. One had to follow the concrete road back to
the level crossing, immediately over that turn left and go through a muddy
factory unit’s yard. Then go along an icy, dirty, pot-holed road, under the
noisy underpass of the main A13, turn left, go over a railway line, turn right
and find the notice board. Phew!
The miracle was that I actually found it!
A super marsh too with very wild duck; Wigeon and Teal, with numbers
into the hundreds but also Shovelor, a lovely male Stonechat, a couple of
Cetti’s Warblers and a Water Rail. Around twenty Fieldfare and Redwing were in
the hawthorns, as was a flock of eleven Long-tailed Tits. I explored every path
after leaving the bike locked to a fence behind small but all concealing
bushes. One path ended with large five bar gates barring the way but after
climbing over them I found a way down to a large dyke. I did not cross that but
instead walked to the far end of the reserve where a long sea wall gave views
over the whole of the marsh. Here Meadow Pipits were feeding and a number of Greylag
flew off towards some distant fields. Time was getting on so it
was back to the centre to say thanks and goodbye. I watched the area by the
centre’s feeding station where there were not only the expected birds; titmice,
Chaffinch, Robin, House Sparrows and Dunnocks but there were also four Brown
Rats looking very plump, with their fluffed up fur protecting them from the
cold. Or maybe it was the large amount of fallen birdseed that they were
consuming that made them look so large. Now I do enjoy watching rats and these
four were entertaining, as their antics included chasing each other around the
feeders. I know they are not everyone's cup of tea but sorry, I like them.
The scene made me think of my dear Mother. No, not the UB40 song
involving a kitchen! Mum, on seeing the rats, would have had a fit if she had
been there. Mum has a phobia about both rats and mice; something to do with the
hairless tail. Hamsters are fine! As a nine year old I played a cruel trick on
her using a large piece of window putty nicked from a building site not far
away; a building site that ruined my favourite play area, the site of a
derelict stately home grounds with very overgrown gardens and masses of fabulous,
deserted fruit trees. Oddly ironic that the housing estate it was to become has
every road named after finches! Anyway I moulded the putty into a mouse shape
and went up to Mum in the back kitchen claiming that I was holding a dead mouse
that I had found in the back garden. Did she want to look? I can still remember
how agilely she climbed on top of, what seemed to me back then, quite a high
stool and screamed. What I cannot remember is whether I was punished for so
terrible a trick. Probably.
From the centre I cycled
around to West Canvey Marsh and Bowers Marsh RSPB reserves via a
long descending main road high above the expansive fields. A bridge over a
tidal river had a Little Egret[90]
feeding along its edges, another year tick. In fact, this was the only year
tick of the day. Never mind, I enjoyed watching the four foxes out on the marsh
and searching through the large numbers of gulls here, mostly Herring Gulls.
I turned back after
photographing the bike against a large gate as evidence for having been there
but the bike seemed sluggish as I climbed the long hill. A puncture! My first
puncture of the trip and the back brake was knackered too. I struggled yet
managed to repair the latter but I had to push the bike back to Orsett. No
puncture repair kit on me. I had stupidly left it with all the panniers at the
bed and breakfast. One wheel on my wagon and I’m still strolling along.
A large Tesco’s a couple of miles later were able to help me out with a
can of car tyre foam with £2.00 off the price. Into my punctured cycle tyre
went the foam and with a rock-hard front tyre I soon reached the B & B.
It had been an enjoyable day cycling around
an area that I had really never been to before. Well, except for a targeted
trip many years ago to see a Sibe, the Olive-backed Pipit.
Now the name of that bird brings back memories of an amazing day's
birding back in the 1980s. It was the first time Richard, Jason and Alex had
been birding with me and it had started with a warning from my then wife, Jane.
As I got out of bed at around 3:00 a.m. she pronounced that something bad was
going to happen and that I should not go. Ignoring the portent of doom from my
sleepy princess, I picked up the excited lads at 4:00 a.m. from outside a pub
in Wolverhampton. On the national news days previously, there was a report of an
extremely rare bird found in the back garden of a birder; an Olive-backed Pipit
no less and hundreds of people had queued up to take their turn at going into
the birder’s lounge to view the bird.
We four arrived at the house in Huckleberry Close, Bracknell, to find
around twenty birders gathered there and a note on the door requesting that we
give them a rest and go around the back of the house. There we would find a
school field that allowed one views over the same gardens. We all did so and
were all soon ticking off a superb smart-looking pipit. Pipits are usually
little brown jobs – LBJs, Little Brown Jobs, which are not that inspiring to
look at except in spring when they perform a variety of song flights according
to species; a parachuting Tree Pipit, a ski slope falling Meadow Pipit. You get
the idea.
Here was a pipit worthy of a real good look. At first it sat on a branch
of a nearby pine tree but it soon flew down to the short grass in the gardens.
The same size as a Meadow Pipit but more heavily marked, darker streaks on the
breast and that colour on its mantle, olive.
What a great start to the lads twitching life! Olive-backed Pipit UTB, Under
the Belt. Where to next? Well, a male Ferruginous Duck regularly been seen for
days on lakes near to the Packet Boat House Inn near to Uxbridge. We soon got
there and found the lane down to an area of gravel pit lakes but which one had
the bird? We searched for a couple of hours finding the area a mass of scrubby
bushes with bomb like craters everywhere. Here Londoners had been digging in
search of Victorian bottles. It turned out that the area had been a rubbish tip
back in those far off days and bottle digs were all the rage back then in the
1980s. I had collected them myself years before, digging down into an old
rubbish tip near to my home in Redditch, Worcestershire.
Anyway, a fruitless search of the area's lakes had the lads and I waning
but not too downhearted. A dip, a missed bird but no problem, it was off to the
nearby Wraysbury Reservoir where three Smewhad been reported. Now in those far off days before pagers, before the
internet and the like, bird information was via the grapevine. Older readers
will remember the ritual of phoning birding friends and saying those immortal
words, “anything about?” and then jotting down as fast as you could the details
of the better birds so that one could decide where the best chances of a lifer
were. Maybe it was because the pipit had been the main bird and Smew was not a
lifer for me but my notes from the previous night’s phone call to John Holian
stated that the smashing little ducks were on Wraysbury Reservoir and it was
there that we arrived. Jauntily we waved to the workers painting the large
metal gates as we drove past them and circumnavigated the reservoir oblivious
to the fact that the rare birds were actually on a gravel pit nearby and not on
this particular reservoir. We were still oblivious to this fact when, after an
hour of circumnavigating this massive expanse of mostly bird free water, we
arrived back at the newly painted large metal gates to find that the workers
gone and the gates locked!
Four hours of watching all the aeroplanes taking off from Heathrow later
we were free but not until we had been approached by the local constabulary.
They had received a phone call saying that a group of shifty looking teenagers
with an older gent were trying to steal the gates. We were trying to lift them
off their hinges so that we could get out when the police had arrived! After
laughing at our predicament, the boys in blue had said that they would arrange
for someone with a key to release us. Well they did but it was still over an
hour later before an old man on a rusty bike cycled up to us and let us out. We
never did see the Smew that day as with our tails between our legs we headed
back to the Midlands. So, a lifer and two dips on the lads first ever day
twitching. What an eventful, unforgettable day! Getting home that evening my second
wife, Jane on hearing about our adventures, could only say, “I told you so.”
14th
January Every Little Thing She Does is Magic The
Police
6:30 a.m. It was raining heavily outside. I watched the news about Haiti
over breakfast and felt that I should change the charity that I was supporting.
Over fifty thousand dead and three million people homeless. As one does
whenever a disaster of such proportions occurs, I felt small and impotent. You
will notice that I rarely talk about my feelings and emotions. If there was a
song that would explain why I do not talk of elation and despair, wonder and
sadness, happiness and loneliness, it would be Tears of a Clown by Smokey
Robinson.
Outside I hope I show positivity, pleasure and personable qualities,
a deep love of all people. My fears, disappointments and anger; all felt when I
am confronted with racist hatred, a self-centred lack of empathy, concern and
compassion towards others by too many people and the apathy of governments over too many social
issues, well, I will keep all of these feelings inside. A carrot and not a
stick approach to people; laughter, fun and bonding are far better qualities.
To this end of being the clown I always wear my bright yellow smiley tie. You
can see this on my Biking Birder logo. The tie I bought back in 1989 when I
became a Primary School teacher in Wolverhampton. I actually bought it from a
charity shop for 50p! It portrays around fifty round yellow smiley faces of many
sizes together with one large red smiley face. I always joke with people that
the red one is me as I am so shy and reclusive. Actually I am neither of those
things. People, usually children sign it! Take a look at my logo, the one with a cartoon-like me standing next to my bike which carries four cuddly toys. My tie is there! The tie is a constant reminder of one Patch Adams, the famed American
doctor so wonderfully portrayed by Robin Williams in the film about this
incredible human being.
Every day Patch wears a clown costume and a red nose. I
wear a bright yellow tie with a red-faced me. Of my future desires and dreams,
well they depend on my beautiful wife becoming well again. A forlorn hope that
something can be achieved by her doctors. (This thought was written before my
dearest Karen died in 2012. I will leave it here as the sentiments and hopes
were so relevant at the time. Later in the book, I will refer to Karen as my
late wife. Editing for publication of the final chapters took place during the
year of the tenth anniversary of this adventure and Karen has been gone for
over twelve years. I still love her! Always will. Every little thing she did was
magic.)
I left the youth hostel after saying goodbye to a lovely Turkish lady
from Anatolia, Jacky. “Come to Turkey with me” she joked as she poked my chest
to emphasis the request. Out into the rain I loaded up the bike, got onto the
saddle and promptly cycled down a lane only for it to be a dead end. I turned
around and found a way down to the River Thames, whereupon I cycled along it
towards The Tower of London and Tower Bridge. A quick stop to photograph these
iconic landmarks, then it was off towards the Isle of Dogs with sleety rain
falling and the spray from the traffic stinging my eyes. It was piercingly cold
and what with the rain and sleet, I should have been miserably struggling. Yet
I was actually enjoying the ride.
Onto the A13 I came across sections of cycle paths but they were
unusable due to the compacted ice covering them. A six-lane busy road out of
the city, I had to cycle on the inside lane. It was terrifying yet
exhilarating. Even when one of my panniers fell off due to a pothole and I had
to jump off and retrieve it before a lorry, car or bus squidged it, I was unphased!
The route went over a large river basin with Teal on it. Then there were
bushes that held some Redwings. Birds kept me going and thoughts of visiting Rainham
RSPB Reserve, my destination for the day. I had previously been to Rainham
RSPB Reserve back in early December 2005 when a Sociable Plover was present.
What a cracking bird that was! In fact what a fabulous year that was. I have
already mentioned the T.I.T.S and this bird was to be my 287th bird
of that fantastic birding year.
Another memory of Rainham was of visiting the area looking for Water
Pipits back in the late 1980s. During the 1980s another group of Wolverhampton student
twitchers; Richard Southall, Jason Oliver and Alex ‘The Bear’ Barter was the
main crew for twitching excursions and on this occasion the lads were with me
looking for rarities around the capital. We had already seen an American
Ring-billed Gull in a park in Uxbridge; well only seen after Alex had been to
find a nearby shop to buy a loaf of bread. This had become a regular thing for
Bear to do. Bonaparte’s Gull at New Brighton was brought down to the foreshore
of the Mersey in front of us by a loaf bought by Alex.
The stop at Rainham had been as we were on the way to see a Great Grey
Shrike, which performed brilliantly for us later on but for now we were
searching around dock roads with large numbers of lorry containers stacked up high
everywhere. Now Alex had recently started to work for a haulage company and to
our amazement that day we found a container that had ‘BART’ scrubbed onto it in
the dirt. There were thousands of containers and there was the one Bart had
personalised with his nickname. Unbelievable!
Those three lads were fanatically keen birders; two of them still are. Sadly,
Alex, The Bear, died suddenly of a heart attack when in his late twenties. A
massive shock to everyone who knew him, his family and close friends, Alex’s
funeral was a very well attended affair. Alex’s other love to birding was power
lifting and the church was full of weightlifting giants of men and puny looking
birders. Still missed after all these years since that incredibly sad day, Alex
is buried in a woodland so that he can continue to bird.
Whilst cycling along the main road, somewhere along the way to Rainham I
got stuck behind a funeral cortège, the sort you can see in the film, Oliver!
with Leonard Rossiter as the undertaker. The hearse was one of those exceptionally
large, mostly tall black structures with large glass windows on every side,
which was being pulled by two large horses. Inside the hearse, the coffin was
draped with white flowers. Top hatted attendants rode atop despite the now
drizzly rain. Two large Bentleys carrying the mourners were behind. This sort
of hearse is also used in a wonderful song routine in Monty Python’s Meaning of
Life film. Even the corpse’s sperm are sacred!
I rode alongside the long queue of
traffic which had built up behind the cortege but did not want to overtake as I
thought that would be disrespectful. The procession lasted for about half a
mile when suddenly an impatient driver tried to overtake the whole traffic
queue in one go but failed to do so and had to tuck itself in between the two
Bentleys. At its next attempt, the leading Bentley tried to block his way but
he managed to squeeze through. Two ways of looking at all of this to my mind.
One, why does one need to overtake such a parade desperately and dangerously?
Yet also why does one need to have such an ostentatious and awfully expensive
send off? The attempt to prevent the overtaking could have caused the hearse to
have been in action again sooner than expected.
Eventually I arrived Rainham RSPB reserve; after receiving some friendly
directional advice from the lads at a nearby Asda store and I was greeted
wonderfully by Howard Vaughan, Brenda and others. 'What do you want to do?'
asks Howard. 'Birding or a cake and coffee?' Howard expected my answer to be
for the latter for I was covered in grit, damp from the wet weather and still
shivering from the terror of cycling along the A13. Two minutes later, outside,
Howard had the answer to that and to cut it short, we were out birding together
for the next three hours.
Howard proved to be a brilliantly talented and cripplingly good, chatty
birder with superb birding skills and enjoyable conversation! Howard had been
surprised and delighted by my answer over the choice of cake or birding. He
admitted that he thought that I would arrive at the reserve and be keen to
cycle on for the next reserve; sort of tick Rainham off on my reserve list,
done that, been there, got the t-shirt and set off for the next reserve. Now
that my choice was to go birding Howard had a great excuse to get away from the
office and watch those creatures that he and we loved so much, the birds.
And was he skilful at avoiding going back to the office too soon?
Without giving it away too much Howard’s tactic was to say what he had just
seen and forget to put a time into the message reply over when he would return
to the centre.
These days Howard has his own business giving bird tours in the UK and abroad, especially Costa Rica. There cannot be a better bird guide anywhere else in the world than Howard!
Howard also gives evening lectures. How fabulous they must be, Howard's amazing sunshine personality would guarantee an evening of fun whilst he shows his incredible knowledge of all things nature.
Then there is his blog. Here I must say I am so jealous as Howard is a superb photographer and his prose is always so erudite and fascinating.
Howard, the Blue-eyed Birder, one of the best people I have ever met! Thanks Howard.
The views over the magnificent Thames were misty and atmospheric with
icy marshes stretching into the distance and birds were everywhere. Finches
were feeding around ‘accidentally’ dropped bird seed, flocks of ducks were
floating on the Thames, together with Fieldfares and Starlings flying over; all
seen and enjoyed. Howard found a few Ruff
[78] and together we walked along the old Victorian sea wall adjacent to a
small area of phragmites. The duck on the river were mainly Wigeon with Teal,
Mallard and Shovelor. A flock of fourteen Black-tailed
Godwit [79], together with a single Curlew
[80] flew over. Other birds seen included Rock Pipit [81] down by the shore with Howard’s thinking being that
he could tell the different subspecies. There were Snipe, whichwe flushed as we
walked through the salt-marsh shoreline but no Jack Snipe. The occasional pipit
went up and the occasional flock of waders flew either over or up the Thames,
including a flock of twenty-four Ringed
Plover [82].
Then there was astunningly
beautiful, yet strangely plumaged pale female Stonechat [83] and Skylarks
[84]. Now to me the strange monochromatic female Stonechat was the most
beautiful bird I had seen so far. It has been interesting since the visit to
compare its plumage with a female Siberian Stonechat, for that is what one
would imagine it to be. Yet Howard said that the bird had bred and had normal
Stonechat young the previous spring.
Next Howard found a Water Pipit but I did not get good enough views to
count it before it disappeared into an inaccessible marshy bit. I had better
luck with a Corn Bunting [85] that
flew overhead. None of the reported Serins were on view at the Serin mound,
shame as they had been seen just the day before but what I did manage to see were the
juvenile GlaucousGull, an adult Yellow-legged Gull and a Peregrine, the last bird
Howardpointed out in 2.6 seconds,
scope to Peregrine, a new British record. Well done, Howard! These were Green
Year list birds, numbers 86 to 88. We ended up seeing at least two
more Peregrine, maybe even more as we enjoyed repeated views of them flying
around the reserve; the size difference between the male and female being very
obvious.
Along one section of the reserve
we were stopped in our tracks by a passing herd of the reserve’s cattle. It
reminded me of the previous summer when I had had to wait for a lengthy line of
cows to pass over the Spanish – French border on a road in the Pyrenees. Just
as then, there was one cow later than the others. This one was being persuaded
to hurry up by Terry Morris on his quad bike, the assistant warden. Later I
enjoyed Terry's story of a famous Shire Horse, named Winston present at Rainham,
famous because of Winston’s unfortunate and deadly bouts of flatulence!
Howard and I talked about
our best birding moments as we walked around the reserve. Both of us mentioned
the fabulous Great Bustard, the heaviest living flying animal, or is that
another bustard? Howard’s birding story detailed his incredibly finding of three
Great Bustards in Felixstowe; how they had flown over his head. I talked of my
late friend Gordon Barnes and how he had found a Great Bustard on Fair Isle back
in 1970, back when Gordon was a crofter there.
Along a boardwalk, we talked of the
possibility of a Bittern in the area. It was amazing to me that the recent
building of rail track for the Eurostar train had increased the chances of this
charismatic bird being present at the reserve. When the track was being built,
they insisted that some of the dykes from outside the reserve area be unblocked
and this has allowed not only fresh water to enter the reserve at that point
but also Rudd, a favourite food of Bitterns. Around this area, alongside the
elevated train track, new scrapes were being developed with plenty of muddy
wader feeding margins and plans for a large new hide to be erected in the
Spring. This was to be constructed from a prefabricated kit with a totally new
window design; actually designed by Howard. Clever!
Next up was Alveley Flash and a few resplendent Pintail [89] were swimming around on the water, quite close to. It
is easy to understand why so many people have this wonderful bird as one of
their favourite ducks. Males are stunningly smart with silver and grey plumage with
extensive pin tails. They made a beautiful picture when viewed closely.
With a surprise at every turn, the next one was upon entering the
amazingly comfortable Ken Barratt hide; the comfort being due to the fact that
it was kitted out with seats thrown out of the famous Drury Lane theatre. Now I
knew of Drury Lane because of Monty Python. In fact I knew a lot about Monty
Python because my dear brother Paul used to buy me something Pythonesque for
Christmas every year. These presents included every Monty Python book. Who
could forget the magnificence of page 72 in Monty Python's Big Red Book? What a
memorable page. Then there were the vinyl records from way back in the
seventies. These were as important as videotapes were later to become. One of
my Christmas presents from Paul included ‘Live at Drury Lane’ and the chairs in
the hide were definitely ‘comfy,’ NOT the comfy chair! After all no one forgets
the Spanish Inquisition.
At least ‘Brud’ never gave me the same present twice, unlike Mum and Dad
who gave me the AA Book of the Countryside as a Christmas present two years
running. Given the circumstances though this was an improvement on the
‘Princess Book of Animals,’ a young girl’s comic’s annual I had received when a
teenager!
More birding chat included the thought that maybe a dozen Penduline Tits
had been on the reserve at one time over the previous year; Howard had seen at
least six together. Twelve would be an amazing number for anywhere in Britain
but for a reserve within the London area, astounding. This had been
immortalised on a long mural at the back of the hide which included the
previously mention Sociable Plover flying with a flock of Lapwings.
We talked of ‘ones that got away.’
I told of a small passerine I had seen briefly near the top of the cliff at
Peveril Point, Swanage, Dorset back in 2001. It flew immediately over the cliff
edge and I could not relocate it. I ran to get birding friends but it did not
turn up until later that evening when it repeated the performance of going over
the cliff edge, this time because of being flushed by a dog walker. I knew what
it was, having seen quite a few in the Pyrenees and the Gredos Mountains
before; an Alpine Accentor but I did not submit it. What was the point? A
single viewer with two briefly snatched views that were not sufficient to get a
full description.
Speaking of one that got away; Gordon Barnes, mentioned above, kept a
journal of all his birding days on Fair Isle and within the foolscap pages of
one notebook, there are the details a gull he saw flying past in 1969. The
notes are extensive with colourful crayon drawings. A Great Black Headed Gull,
never before seen in Britain but then Gordon did not submit records at that
time. I wonder if the observatory knows. Howard asked for an email of the
pages.
Howard picked up a snail at this point and there and then I learnt that
there are two types of hedge snail: dark lipped and white lipped. This one was
dark lipped. You learn something new every day, especially when you love nature
and you are walking with a man with extensive knowledge and boundless
enthusiasm.
Eventually we were back at the centre, coffee and cake were kindly
provided and I was in full swing chatting with new ‘friends; talking so much
that I did not notice the subtle way Howard hinted that it was time to leave. I
should be on my way and Howard emphasised this by closing the visitor centre shutters
on the fabulous sunset over the Thames. Howard made me promise that Rainham
RSPB reserve would be the only RSPB reserve that I would visit twice in 2010.
Howard’s last words were ringing in my ears as I made my way down the drive in
the fading light and drizzle, which had now returned to make my evening a
little unpleasant, “write a book the way you talk. I will buy it!”
Ticking off the birds on a Rainham Tick Sheet, I found that I had
recorded exactly sixty species with twelve year ticks, not bad for a soggy day
in early January. The best thing had been the sunshine people. Thanks everyone
at Rainham RSPB reserve. You are wonderful! It had been a real privilege to be
shown around. Thanks. I will be back. Rainham, so good you go there twice. .
.And
then twice more!
By the way Howard, the clue is in the name - Biking BIRDER!
