Biking Birder I January 25th Back on the Road Again!

Hello Sunshine Person!

Welcome to my Biking Birder blog.

My name is Gary Brian Prescott and I am known as The Biking Birder.

Since my first Biking Birder adventure back in 2010, the story of which I am currently telling, I have had five other Biking Birder adventures.

From I to VI, here goes . . .

BBI – 2010 A whole year cycle around the United Kingdom visiting every RSPB, Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, nature reserve and W&WT, Wildfowl & Wetland Trust visitor’s centre. (251 bird species seen)

BBII – 2015 A repeat of 2010 but with more RSPB reserves to visit and a change of route in order to add some of the summer migrant bird species missed in 2010.

BBIII – 2016 Just continued cycling with the aim of trying to beat The European BIGBY record. Big Green Big Year, Ponc Feliu Latorre of Catalonia, Spain held the record having seen 304 bird species by cycling in NE Spain/Catalonia.

The story of my BIGBY is in a book available on Amazon . . .

BBIV – 2018 A six month Peruvian adventure, I cycled from Lima to The Manu National Park, three months of cycling over The Andes. In the Manu, having given the bike away, I used an Alpaca packraft to paddle down an Amazon tributary called the Madre de Dios.

BBV – 2019. Well the aim was to cycle back from the Ebro Delta Bird Festival in Spain/Catalonia. Unfortunately the bike’s back wheel had other ideas as I cycled in the Pyrenean foothills!

BBVI – 2022 No fossil fuel transport of any kind being allowed for a ‘clean’ BIGBY, I spent the whole year cycling on the British mainland, most time spent along the east coast, trying once more to break Ponc’s European BIGBY record.

So there you have it.

More Biking Birder adventures to come!

25^th January                               Hymn to The Fallen.                 Theme to the film, Saving Private Ryan

               And so with a lighter bike, I arrived back at Canterbury in order to set off yet again exactly where I had caught the train back to my family. My rule was that I would not gain any distance on the journey by 'carbon' means. Canterbury was where I had left my route and so Canterbury was where I would take it up again. Now the train had gone via Ashford, which was a lot closer to my destination than Canterbury but the thought of cheating only entered my head as a sort of laugh ridiculing my own honesty. Yet those wonderful guardian angels of mine sought to reward me almost immediately on me getting back on my bike. Whilst leaning the bike against a five-bar gate, there by my feet was a wet and dirty five pound note! Brilliant. Thanks Angels.

              I rode down the incredibly straight B2086 road and found a freshly dead Redwing; another species on my 'killed by a vehicle' list and photographed it. Along the same road there was a dead Badger and four Pheasants; the latter all within one hundred metres of each other! Then it was almost my turn as I nearly went into some brambles whilst counting a covey of Red-legged Partridge in the field to my right as I cycled past them! Twit. Eventually I cycled down a lovely, long steep hill at speed. Then a turn off right was taken in order to cross the M20 before riding past Folkestone Racecourse as the sun was setting behind it.

              I stopped at Dymchurch Post Office, where Loren and Lola served me, La la la la Lola, to buy a few food items to keep me going and then went along a long sea wall. It was dark by now and I could see distant orange neon streetlights over the sea, over The English Channel. They were on the French northern coast not that far away; quite surprising how close they seemed. This made me ponder on why Hitler had not crossed The Channel after Dunkirk in WW2.

              Cycling in the dark with the sound of the sea to my left, I suddenly came across a whole section of sea wall that must have only just recently been put down, for the concrete was still wet and clung to my wheels. I had not been able to see it in the dark and there were no barriers to prevent one from cycling onto it all. I quickly got off and dragged the bike to an adjacent road and found puddles to quickly wash off the grey sticky stuff before it had chance to solidify.

              Back on the cleaned-up bike, I was surprised at how quickly I reached Dungeness and was also surprised to find a smashing Bed & Breakfast; Pluto, named after Operation PLUTO – the extraordinary Pipeline Under The Ocean. This was a WW2 operation to construct undersea oil pipeline between England and France. The pipeline helped fuel the advancing liberating armies from the Normandy invasion.

PLUTO WW2 Pipeline

              The house had been built to disguise a pump room and fuel was indeed pumped through the pipeline from this house to the Normandy beaches during the D-day landings! Enemy aircraft did not know what the building contained so did not bomb it. My choice of today’s music better suits the feelings of that conflict than the trivial theme from The Longest Day. I have visited the D-day beaches before and know the solemn feeling that sitting on Omaha beach brings. How devastated one is when faced with the mass graves of the dead in British, American and Canadian cemeteries and what awe overcomes you when the remains of the Mulberry artificial harbour can be seen from Arromanches-Les-Bains' cliffs and seafront.

 31.03 miles                                             760 feet elevation up   1009 feet down

26^th January   Battle of Britain Theme             Ron Goodwin & Sir William Walton

               Usual early morning start, awake at 6:00 a.m. and breakfast taken at 7:45 a.m. Huge breakfast it was too, full English, washed down with cups of coffee. Thanks Betty! In the breakfast room on top of a sideboard was a framed newspaper article of a Dark-eyed Junco, an American Passerine, seen in Betty's garden some years before. I knew I was in a good birding area. Well I knew that already. Just the previous year, 2009 I had rushed down here with my friends Ian – Bearded Tit and Ste - Great Tit, in order to see a Crested Lark. I had seen hundreds abroad, especially in Spain and Tunisia but never before had I seen one in Britain.

              Now I do not really bother that much about my British list. Yes, I have got one and it is over four hundred so I must have done quite a bit of twitching. Actually, and its sacrilege to say so but I prefer my European list as it lists birds that I have found for myself. Mind you the opportunity to have a day out birding at a place I had not been to that often, with great friends and a new bird to see, had me lying in the dark, locked in the back of Ste's van before we got to Ian’s house to collect his car. More luxuriously we got down to Dungeness to be greeted by the sight of an extensive line of birders along the approach road to the lighthouse area.

              Maybe my memory serves me wrong but I seem to remember that the 'over the top' order was given for 8:00 a.m. and that a whistle went just after the warden gave instructions. Over the top went the birders, armed with telescopes, tripods and bins; over the shingle they marched and through the low vegetation until someone shouted, “there it is” and a small lark tazzed over all of our heads. It went over the road we had all just left and disappeared onto the shingle behind that. Well it felt like that. It felt like the last episode of Blackadder, the World War One series. All it needed was Baldrick and his cunning plan and George carrying his stick.

              Here was a small lark, maybe not that far from home but lost anyway and for an hour or so it was chased and flushed, flushed and chased until it gave up and stayed put in a small depression of open shingle. Here it allowed everyone to see it properly and list all of its diagnostic features; a lark to be sure with a long bill and a larger crest than the more plentiful Skylarks, greyer too. I was not enjoying this and maybe the First World War analogy was a little unfair but I wanted to go home. I had seen enough.

              As the birders flushed it on one occasion, the bird flew off over towards the lighthouse about half a mile away, to be followed by them. They must have had splendid views already but some wanted more views. So we left them to it and drove all the way to a much more satisfying twitch. This one had the birders corralled behind a rope set up in a field corner, which gave views for every one of the large trees on the opposite side of a small field. In those trees, very obligingly, was what we had come for and for the next hour or two we three watched it perform admirably and undisturbed by the admiring throng. Portland Bill, Dorset, 2009 and a beautiful male Collared Flycatcher to view and tick off with pen onto a BOU British Bird list. A brilliant bird with a wide complete white collar around its neck, it sat out in the open on a Sycamore's branch and did what flycatchers do. It caught flies with spectacular sallies into the air. A collection was being made, for the Air Ambulance, I think. I wonder how much they raised.

              Today I had the world's largest expanse of shingle to explore. I cycled to the 'Patch,’ a large boil of warmer water piped into the sea from the nuclear power station. Only one such boil now as reactors are closed. The weather was very cold with a wind chill factor due to a stiff easterly. Cloudy too with no sun to warm me. On the beach and around the swirling waters were hundreds of gulls; mostly Herring and Black-headed Gulls with a few Common Gulls. Then the first-year tick of the day came past, one of my favourite birds, large white seabirds with black-tipped wings, large yellow heads and grey-blue dagger like bills – Gannets [110]. I settled behind a hide, not in it due to the unfortunate use of the building as the local toilet and counted the birds for the next hour. I always like to do that when seawatching; count for an hour and then either start a new list for the next hour or move on.

              Fifty-seven Gannets, all adults, sixty eight Great-crested Grebes, fourteen Brent Geese, heading west. c.one hundred Wigeon, heading likewise as were eighteen Cormorant and four Oystercatchers. Then there were the year ticks: Red-throated Divers - two, Black-throated Diver - one, Guillemot – around forty, Razorbill – two. [111-4] Not a lengthy list for Dungeness but at least there were birds and I always love watching the sea.

              Next it was to the bird observatory to meet the warden for the last twenty plus years, David Walker. David had been out and done a sea watch at 7:30 a.m., whilst I had been enjoying my sumptuous breakfast. He had seen twenty-four Red-throated Divers, over a hundred Great Crested Grebes, over two hundred Gannets, a Bonxie or Great Skua if you prefer, over nine hundred Auks and six Kittiwakes. Sea watching rule: get out there early!

              A Snow Bunting [115] had been reported the previous day by the fishing boats and I soon found it as I photographed some anglers using a bulldozer to push their boat into the sea. Next, I cycled to Dungeness RSPB reserve via the ARC pit with three red-headed Smew [116], one male Gadwall, nineteen Teal, fifty-one Shovelor, one female Goldeneye, eight Shelduck and good numbers of Pochard, Tufties and Mallard.

 

               As I approached the entrance, I noticed rabbits along the grassy verge. Suddenly not ten metres in front of me, a stoat jumped onto a rabbit and wrestled him to the ground, his teeth rigidly attached into the creature's neck. I stopped to watch as the stoat dragged the moribund rabbit across the road and then tried to get it through the fencing alongside. This it could not do as the mesh was too small.

              Now some people would say I was cruel but I went across to help. Indeed I did. The stoat disappeared into brambles as I approached, leaving the almost dead rabbit by the fence. I picked the rabbit up and lifted him over the fence for the stoat to enjoy his meal.

                Along the stony approach track I went after this incident, stopping to look over each grassy area, pool or stony, bramble patch. Common birds I had already seen I noted down and I arrived at the superb visitor's centre. Greeted by the RSPB staff, I spent a warm half hour or so looking through the large windows out over the immense pits and enjoying the explanation displays and bird photographs. The shop there looked to be extremely well stocked with a variety of birdy things; books, cuddlies, bins and scopes.

              Then it was out into the cool outside, to go from hide to hide counting and listing the birds seen. A Slavonian Grebe [117] was amongst a few of its commoner cousins, Great Crested Grebes. There was also a male 'he who should not be named', Ruddy duck [118]. There I can say it now as this particular bird will be long gone, in one sense or another. Either it has flown to pastures new or been shot as part of the controversial Ruddy Duck cull.

              In fact a really enjoyable few hours as I explored the reserve before the late afternoon was spent in a hide hoping for Penduline Tits. Reported in the area the day before, unfortunately they did not show. A remarkably close group of Bearded Tits [reedlings][119] became another mark on the year list. A stunningly beautiful sunset made up for this dip. What made the scene particularly memorable was a World War 2 Spitfire flying overhead!

RSPB Dungeness Facebook page

Biking Birder I January 22nd Kent College Visit and Canterbury Cathedral

 

January 22^nd                                      Goodbye Mr Chips                                                             Richard Addinsell

               I awoke incredibly early and wrote notes for an hour or two before a large breakfast and a lot of chat. Too much of both in fact as I was late for my next school appointment at Kent College, a large independent school for the well to do. Now this was going to be an interesting day as I had never visited such an educational emporium before, Private not State. Indeed all of my teaching career had been in more working-class areas and inner city schools. How different it all was soon becoming apparent as I was taken on a tour of the school with the Reverend Paul. Mind you this was after yet another assembly with a shorter version of my now usual performance.

              The chapel or hall in which the assembly took place was a beautiful oak panelled auditorium; amphitheatre like with rows of descending pews all looking down onto an old traditional stage. On the stage were seated the Head of the school, bedecked in a large flowing black gown, the Reverend wearing the same and me holding onto my frog and albatross!

              From an overlooking extensive balcony, the school choir, fresh from their success on BBC radio, sang a sweet anthem just after the children, years seven to nine, marched in row after row. They all sat there motionless and silent; no fidgeting or gossiping with this lot. In fact it was a hard job to get anything from them when my turn came and in the ten minutes allotted to me, I had to thank the eventual participation of a boy named Diego. Thank goodness for him as he was the only one who put his hand up and asked a question. The children otherwise were strangely docile but not negatively so, just conditioned to be so in chapel.

              The tour of the school proceeded after a chat with a Mr Chips-like character named Gerald in the staff room. Gerald had been at the school for fifty years. He was very institutionalised and terrified of school holidays. He had heard about why I was visiting and told me in no uncertain manner and at some length, that Climate Change was a con, hypocritical and that nobody really cared anyway. Oh well, I beg to differ and I can only hope that people do care. To me Climate Change is the greatest challenge to human civilisation.

              I was guided after this less than pleasant encounter in the staff room by the vicar for the school. Around the school we went, into learning block after learning block, the resources were amazing with very neat, functional displays usually devoid of any children's work. In the music learning block I met the music technician, who talked of the school's rock bands and together we shared 'Zappa' jokes.

              Into the Reverend's hybrid car, a snip at £14,000 and the first time I had been in one. At least my carbon ride was in an eco-friendlier vehicle but I presume these hybrids will be the shape of the future. A short ride we went too, to the school farm just down the road. Pigs and piglets, ponies and an ass-licking cow. My backside receiving a friendly lick through the bars of the gate! The girl who worked here was also a harpist and she proudly showed me around. Next it was off to their junior school built with the money given by a Victorian artist, John Sidney Cooper. It was an impressive set of older buildings set amongst immaculately kept garden, which Paul said had over seventy species of tree.    

                       It was then back to the main school building for a longer assembly with the older students. They came in as the younger ones had done so, silently and row by row, filling up from the front to the back. At least these young people were a little more responsive than the younger children as one volunteered to be the frog and another the albatross!

              I would have liked to stay for the afternoon recital but I wanted to visit Canterbury Cathedral with the time left in the day. So I gave my thanks and left behind the opulence for the few.

              I cycled past the fish and chip shop that gave me my first and last taste of a hot chilli around twenty years ago. 

              Back in 1990, I hitch-hiked my way around Kent during an extremely hot week in August and getting to Canterbury after walking from Wye, I treated myself to a kebab with salad and an unnamed sauce; all presented delectably inside a pitta bread. Soon I cried for help and a drink. I have never liked spicy food; rather a plain eater really, just give me a bag of apple doughnuts and I am happy. Well, that or my favourite meal to eat, egg and chips with ketchup, bread and butter, followed by apple crumble and custard. I am a man of simple tastes, and of constant sorrow. Nowadays my diet is bereft of such delights; being wholefoods, nuts and pulses, fruit, vegetables, spices and herbs with small protein foods such as fish, salmon or mackerel and definitely no more of the packet after packet of my biscuits diet of old.

              That week was memorable for sleeping rough whilst exploring Kent's finest nature reserves, including Stodmarsh for instance. Great reserve, massive reedbed and I can still remember a flock of Bearded Tits that came down onto the path at my feet to collect grit.

              I also remember hitchhiking a lift by the then warden of Ramsgate prison, who told of flights in his own small Cesna plane along the east coast to fly to Shetland. Four hours it would take on a good day. I should have asked him to take me there one day but did not have the nerve.

              Back to the present day, I reached the Cathedral and was offered a safe place for the bike and panniers after paying the necessary £7.50 to enter the hallowed ground. A Cathedral of many layers, with steep steps to reach the high altar. I did my usual search of the unusual upon the gravestones and memorials and came across a marble tablet dedicated to a Major General Henry Richard Abadie. He had died in 1915 but not before three of his sons had beaten him to death's portal. First Harry had died in 1901 at Norvil Point in South Africa, aged twenty-eight. Then George had died in 1904 at Zarea in Nigeria aged thirty. Next to go was Eustace, aged thirty-seven when he died in 1914 at Messines, Belgium. Even a fourth son died just after his father. Named Richard, he died at Neuport in 1917. All of this sounded like an extended Saving Private Ryan and I just stood there and wondered about their unnamed mother, poor girl. Another memorial stone detailed the names of 180 dead soldiers from the Sutlej Campaign against the Sikhs in 1845 to 1846. The Empire was won by such deeds.

              An interesting Tudor ship memorial next showed the burial at sea of one James Hales in 1589. Now you might be wondering about why I find all of this so interesting. I think it is my quest to find a more ironic memorial than the one I found in Lancaster Cathedral a few years ago. How did a Captain Dolphin die? Go to Lancaster and find out. His memorial is there somewhere, erected by his grieving regimental comrades. Or I could just tell you. He drowned!

              What have Pope John Paul, Archbishop Robert Runcie and Thomas Beckett have in common? Well the Pope and the Archbishop knelt together at the spot where Thomas was forced to kneel before being murdered and it was there that I stopped next. Back in 1982, May the 25^th to be exact, the Catholic and the Protestant joined together in prayer. Would the two churches ever be so close again?

              Down steep steps into a beautiful crypt and then to a higher plane with the funeral artefacts of one Black Prince, Edward Plantagenet on display; a large metal helmet and a gruesome mace. Friendly items for a church but they had been there a long time, from 1376, so any complaints of their appropriateness in such a setting might. One may be pummelled by the mace for commenting.

              Into St Anselm's chapel and a lovely painting on view; a 12^th Century painting entitled St Paul and the Viper.

              The large stained-glass windows at this the eastern end of the Cathedral reminded me of my favourite cathedral, Chartres in France and the fabulous medieval stained glass windows there. I remembered my first visit there back in 1980 with my first fiancé, Joy. We had spent a week in Paris before catching a train to Chartres and there we stayed for a few days in the youth hostel there. I can remember so well the hostel, not least because we were given a double bed in our own single room. This was the first youth hostel that had ever offered us such and the rusty bedstead with sunken mattress only added to the noisy pleasure we had there!

              Chartres Cathedral back then was very dark inside and one had to get one's eyes adjusted to the gloom before one could appreciate the amazingly fabulous stain glassed windows. Joy and I went there three days running, mostly to be guided around by a young academic enthusiast named Malcolm Miller. He would talk about just one or two windows and each day different windows were chosen so his talks were always fresh and fascinating. I returned there in 2008 and again in 2009 with my daughter Rebecca and Mr Miller was still there guiding the tourists, now with a small handheld microphone. A whole life spent inside one of the World's greatest cathedrals, Malcolm has been there since 1958. A life well spent I say.             

               I wonder what Chartres will look like the next time I go. Indeed I must go back one day. It will be a totally different experience because I saw in 2009 that they were cleaning the brick work inside, in order to get back to the original cathedral of light. Now if only they took the brave step and got rid of the wedding cake-like Baroque altar then I would think of it as the perfect cathedral.

              The 13^th Century stained glass windows in Canterbury Cathedral reminded me of Chartres because of the use of a rich cobalt glass. Two beautiful sets of windows; one the 'Miracle' windows, the other the 'bible' windows and both looking gorgeous. One of them I looked closely at and it told the story of the healing of Adam the Forester, who was healed by St Thomas after he was shot in the throat by a poacher.

              Now people asked me throughout the year whether I ever went home to see my Mum and Dad and have a rest. Someone told me that Michael Palin did just that whilst filming such adventures as Himalayas and Sahara. Well, maybe he did and maybe the same reasons were why I caught a train to first London from Canterbury and then, after cycling from Charing Cross station to Marylebone, via Trafalgar Square, Piccadilly Circus, Regent Street and Oxford Circus, I caught a train to Warwick to see family, sort out equipment and have that rest. I always wonder if Chris Mills used a car on the days when he was not Green Birding? 

A few days away from birding and cycling to gather thoughts. I took a couple of trains to see my children, Rebecca and Joshua and my Mum and Dad.

 

Biking Birder I January 21st 2010 Who Remembers The Great Storm of 1987?

 

21^st January                                           Albatross                                              Hank Marvin & The Shadows

 

              Off early to reach Blean Woods RSPB reserve, near Canterbury, with Dave leading the way. Now this may have been a punishment for my selfish thoughts when cycling to Cliffe Pools with David Saunders but Dave Rolfe was faster than my little legs could cycle and he had to occasionally stop for me to catch up. Well my excuse for my tardiness was that my bike was heavy laden, unlike Dave's. Still fifteen miles or so, along the back-village route, through Faversham before that lovely downhill stretch adjacent to the A2 just before Canterbury. Reaching the reserve entrance it was goodbye to Dave, my companion for the last couple of days. A man of few words yet pleasant company. I found Blean Primary School, the place for my next school visit and left my panniers there whilst I returned to Blean Woods to bird away a couple of hours.

              I surprised myself by remembering woodland areas that I had last visited twenty years ago. Then it had been an extremely hot summer's day as I explored the woods, stated to be the largest broadleaf woodland in Britain. I had entered via an entrance near to a village called Dunkirk, where trees had been felled by the hurricane of 1987. 

 The 1987 storm, famous of course for Michael Fish and his weather forecast, 

“Earlier on today, apparently, a woman rung the BBC and said she heard there was a hurricane on the way. Well, if you’re watching, don’t worry, there isn’t.”

              What happened after that was were winds around 100mph, eighteen people killed and 15 million trees across the country blown down!

https://www.metoffice.gov.uk/weather/learn-about/weather/case-studies/great-storm 

             Three students of mine, from when I was a Secondary School teacher in Wolverhampton, had skived school to spend a week birdwatching on The Isles of Scilly. Fifteen years old at the time, Jason, Alex and Richard, had taken a tent to sleep at the campsite on The Garrison, St Mary's. With trees crashing down around them, they spent the night in the toilet block!

             The rest of their holiday was spent sleeping on the floor of a local birder's apartment and enjoying the many very rare American songbirds found on the islands in the aftermath of the storm.

             Birds the lads had that week included :-

Philadelphia Vireo

Red-Eyed Vireo

Hermit Thrush

Blackpoll Warbler

Baltimore Oriole

              Really to be honest, back in 1990 I got lost in the immense forest but eventually found parts of the RSPB reserve and exited the way I was now coming in. A local school had a minibus in the car park and teachers had brought  teenage boys to the woods who were enjoying cross country runs in the cold. I walked around the laid-out paths but there were few birds; titmice, Chaffinch, Green and Great Spotted Woodpeckers, a couple of Jays and over sixty Wood Pigeon.

              Back to the school for an afternoon assembly with over four hundred lively children with attendant static staff. I almost lost my voice as they had given me forty-five minutes to fill with similar things as at the last Primary school in Rochester. Mind you, doing the albatross 'dance' was a mistake as some of the children took the opportunity to mess around. I should have had a crossbow! Order restored, eventually prizes were given to the frog and albatross. 

21.69 miles                                                                                            762 feet elevation up   570 feet down

 

Biking Birder 2010 Onward with more RSPB Reserves in North kent Visited

 

20^th January                                   Ghost riders in the sky                                                    Johnny Cash

                                  A good night's sleep in my sleeping bag on a sofa bed folded out in the lounge, I was up early and having written up my birding notes and having been given some breakfast by Dave, we were off together, each on our bikes to Green Bird Elmley RSPB Reserve. The cycling was easy paced due to the flat nature of the grassland roads. Elmley was only six miles away and after having gone over the old bridge overlooked by the high arched new road bridge, which recently had failed to let cars get across because of thick ice and snow, we entered the reserve via the dirt track over the marshes. We met Steve Garden, the manager of the Elmley Conservation Trust by the RSPB reserve sign. He talked of discord between themselves and the RSPB and the possibility that the RSPB's lease would not be renewed in a few years time. He also told of the reserve's size; 3,000 acres of which seven hundred were under the stewardship of the RSPB. Breeding bird numbers in 2009 had included a huge 250 to 300 pairs of Lapwing, 180 to 200 pairs of Redshank, eighty pairs of Yellow Wagtail and a few pairs of Grey Partridge. Steve had originally been a shepherd here but now there were mostly cattle.

              Dave and I cycled down to the RSPB reserve boundary and chained our bikes to the fence. Hazy sunshine with no wind, we walked the sea wall to the far end of the reserve, going into the hides along the way and again on the return journey. A flock of thirty three Barnacle Geese [104] were feeding with a sizeable number of Greylag, together with a few Brent Geese. This was the area where on a ridiculously hot sunny summer's day many years before, back in the '80s, the lads, Alex, Jason and Richard and I had had our first Great Reed Warbler. We had been able to hear the bird from near the entrance despite its raucous song being almost drowned out by the singing marsh frogs.

              It was also the area where Steven Allcott, a member of the T.I.T.S, The Terpsichorean Inspired Twitcher Society, and another ex-pupil of Coppice High School, had relocated the American Wigeon back in 1991. Well found, Steve! 

               Now there is a story of yet another rare bird we saw at Elmley. In 1991 my car was an old, an incredibly old Mark whatever Ford Escort. It was a pale blue wreck of a car and Ian Crutchley and Steven Allcott and I had made our way down from Wolverhampton to Elmley in order to see and tick off a Marsh Sandpiper. Unfortunately, the banging, smoking car decided to it was time to meet its maker when the sump blew off with a large bang, whilst driving along the A2 near the aptly named Gravesend. With a long oil slick on the road and a defunct car, we were dragged to the nearby famous café where we awaited rescue in the form of my former girlfriend, Diane. Diane was then a Senior Sister at the private Portland Hospital in London and, bless her little cotton socks, she came and not only picked us up but took us on to Elmley RSPB reserve to ensure that we all got our Marsh Sand'.

              Two things died that day; the car, which was towed away for fifty quid and my Swift Audubon binoculars. These had seen many better days and had been with me for over ten years. Sand had got in them the year before when I had been sleeping on the sand dunes of the Camargue in Southern France and they were now almost useless with misaligned prisms and knackered focussing rings. I left them in the departing car.

              Even today Diane is mentioned by the lads on our birding trips, fondly remembered with manic laughter, mixed with terror as we recall another time Diane came birding with we three. On the way to Cornwall, this time to see an American Red-eyed Vireo in Cot Valley, Cornwall, Diane was driving at speed, too fast for her skills anyway and way too fast to try to go up an exit road suddenly on her own whim, whilst we were going down the M5 south of Bristol. The sound of the screeching tyres was drowned out by the terrified screeching from we men! Shaking still, we got to a café where Diane could not explain why she had suddenly decided to leave the motorway at eighty miles an hour.

              This is the time to remember other death-defying feats during excursions in the car with Diane driving, like the time she almost went up the backside of an obvious police car whilst travelling way over the speed limit in the middle lane of the M6 near to Carlisle. The police car pulled inside, allowed Diane to overtake and calmly pulled her over to the hard shoulder. Now maybe it was Diane's beautiful pale blue eyes that caught his attention as the police officer asked her what speed she was doing or was it the large cleavage that Diane possessed. Anyway she received no more than a cautionary “don't do it again,” and no caution. There will be more tales to tell of Dynamic Diane when I reach John O' Groats but that is a long way off.

              At Elmley RSPB Reserve, into the first hide we went, Dave and I but there weren’t many birds; most of them having gone over to the continent to avoid the harsh winter weather. Along the sea wall on the way were six Marsh Harriers [105] quartering along each dyke and over areas of saltmarsh and reed. Two of them had come out of the Great Reed Warbler reed bed and were remarkably close. What fabulous birds.

              Into the Swale Hide overlooking the Swale with the tide out and large areas of exposed mud. Over three hundred Black-tailed Godwits, eighteen Grey Plover, over six hundred Oystercatchers, twelve Avocet, over three hundred Shelduck, one Little Egret, three Turnstone, nine Great Crested Grebes, around two hundred Dunlin and about five hundred Lapwing all present and correct. Lots of birds then, I can remember reading Bill Oddie saying that he always felt that he needed to count every bird in front of him. Well he could have tried here but the distant flocks of thousands of what we thought were Wigeon and Teal would have defeated him as they defeated us too. Great to see so many birds though.

              The final walk along the base of the sea wall to the final hide of the reserve, Spit End, was muddy and progress was slow. On reaching a hide there and looking out through the windows, there was a remarkably close female Hen Harrier [106], a ringtail, which was sitting on a post preening. Also seen form here were eleven Bar-tailed Godwits [107] and a passing Common Seal.

              Dave saw a Short-eared Owl in the distance but I could not make it out before it disappeared into the grass. It would take me many months to catch up with one. Walking back, we met a young man doing a survey of wintering Green Sandpipers for a wind turbine company. The unwelcome news for the company was that there were high numbers of the sandpipers, good news for birders.

              Back at the Swale Hide again and this time all changed as the tide had come in, with ducks replacing the waders. Still there were eight Ringed Plover on the last bit of exposed mud. Over the far side I could make out a Red-necked Grebe [108] and it swam down the river as Dave got onto it too.

              A car reversed to meet us as we approached a hide in the middle of the reserve and so we met Gordon the Warden. A friendly man who said he had been looking out for us. Back at the RSPB office buildings, the notice board told us that there were 6,000 Wigeon on the reserve, along with 1,600 Teal and 775 Shelduck; also ten plus Marsh Harriers were in the area. As we were reading a Barn Owl passed by and we followed it along a track which gave views of Lapwings, winter thrushes and ten Golden Plover [109]. We then met a London cabbie down birding for the day in his London Hanson cab, photographing from his open window. He talked about his remission from cancer just as another barn owl flew past. As soon as we left the reserve Dave had a puncture and as we had no repair kit, we walked the six miles back to his home, after stopping at the Bobbing Apple yet again for another meal.

 

18.58 miles                                                                                                                376 feet elevation up and down

Biking Birder I January 19th 2010 More RSPB Reserves and More Year Tick Birds.

19^th January                                              Substitute                                                                 The Who

 

              I left the panniers in a storeroom at the hotel and made my way into Rochester crossing the large bridge over the river. The weather was dry again, cloudy and cool and after finding out that Rochester Castle would not be open until 10:00 a.m. I made my way to Rochester Cathedral and put the £3 suggested donation into the offering box. No chance of a quiet ecclesiastic visit here as workers were hammering away in a back corner. Then it was to the cycle shop where I paid £21 for the new back brake and a cleaned and sprayed chain.

Past ten o'clock, so back to the castle, a superb high walled square keep with dark passageways. The cube-like keep is actually the tallest of its kind in England! Well, I explored every nook and cranny of the castle, eventually getting to the top where there were fabulous views over the town and the river. It was an absolute gem of a castle with lovely, extremely helpful staff. Another great English Heritage site visited.

                Back to collect the panniers, I loaded up the bike and cycled to Riverside Country Park, from there to view Nor Marsh RSPB reserve. There I met Dave Saunders and Dave Rolfe again and also the RSPB wardens for coffee in the large visitor's centre. Out onto headland to view the actual reserve and to do some birding, Nor Marsh is actually an island in the middle of the Medway, viewable from the end of the interestingly named Horrid Head. Brent Geese, [99] were swimming along the salt-marsh edge and the hundredth bird of year turned out to be a Turnstone [100]. Quite a few Red-breasted Mergansers [101] were out on the water together with larger numbers of commoner duck such as Wigeon, Shelduck and Mallard. Lots of waders were there too; Oystercatchers [102], Dunlin, Knot, Grey Plover and Redshank with a few Curlew.

              A local press photographer arrived to take photos for the local press. Strange that. I had not expected this but Dave Saunders had organised it. With we three lined against the RSPB notice board and with Nor Marsh just viewable behind us, the photographs were taken.

On leaving, mid-afternoon, Dave Saunders said “See you later.” A puzzling comment as I would not be back this way again this year. Anyway, Dave Rolfe accompanied me on his bike to the next RSPB reserve, Motney Hill. Arriving there we locked our bikes to a fence and walked over the grass to get views of the reserve's water edge from adjacent a large sewage works. From the top of the rise there were misty views over the Medway water to a power station made famous by a Greenpeace protest some time before.

               More waders were here at a high tide roost and similar duck species too. Then skirting the creeks of the saltmarsh was a winter-plumaged Black-necked Grebe [103]. There were very few passerines around with just a few House Sparrows in neighbouring gardens. Dave and I set off on a long cycle ride along the back lanes eventually reaching the Bobbing Apple restaurant near Sittingbourne. Rarely has gammon and eggs been so keenly appreciated, as I tucked in. We got to Dave's house eventually. Coincidence occurred when upon entering his house, a house with birds everywhere, paintings, books, magazines and ornaments. Well some of the paintings were by a friend of many years ago who I had lost touch with, Steve Cale. A number of beautiful, framed pictures of Green Sandpipers, Red Kite and Little Ringed Plovers by Steve adorned the walls in both front and back rooms.

              The rest of the evening I thought was to be spent in the company of Dave Rolfe at his house but after having showered and shaved I was whisked off by carbon transport in a car back to Rochester, there to attend the local RSPB's meeting and talk. A well-attended meeting it was too, with an excellent slide show. At half time, I perused a used bookstall, the proceeds from which were to go to the RSPB. From it I bought three great Rock music books; books about The Who, Led Zeppelin and Bob Dylan. Dave Saunders kindly posted them back to my parents’ house. Then I was introduced to everyone and had to give a small speech about my trip and plans. Well received, I sat down again. So that's why Dave Saunders had said “see you later.”

The Who, Led Zeppelin and Bob Dylan, well in the past I had seen all in concert. Let’s start with the WHO.

 

A band I saw many times yet two concerts from the Seventies stick out in my memory the most. At an appalling venue, Bingley Hall, Stafford, on a Saturday night, October the fourth 1975, The Who played their skins out. 

https://www.setlist.fm/setlist/the-who/1975/bingley-hall-stafford-england-63d76e3f.html 

From the same ‘Who by Numbers’ Tour I saw the Charlton gig. Stated by The Guinness Book of Records to be the loudest gig, it rained for most of the day but The Who came on stage with Roger and Pete with brooms to mop the stage and Keith standing on his drums introducing everyone. 

Laser beams and a nutter swinging from the football stadium’s high floodlights and incredible music.

https://www.ukrockfestivals.com/who-ptbin-76-recordings.html 

 

17.69 miles                                                                                                649 feet elevation up   607 feet down