Ah, 2024. A year of ifs and buts, of yin and yang. Year of what was and wasn’t, of what could have and couldn’t have been. A year of highs, and lows. A year of expectations exceeded, a year of expectations not met. Year of exhilaration, a year of being brought crashing back down to Earth. A year of perpetual autumn, and a year without a birder’s autumn. A year of doing well, a year of must do better. A year of feast, a year of famine. A year of being out, a year of not being out enough. In short-
A Very Green Sand Year.
______________________________
First, the numbers. Birdtrack is telling me that I got 142 ticks, with Bubo telling me that this was my third lowest since records began- and the lowest non- COVID total. (you can bask in the irony that the most disorganised man in birding has been trying to collate and interpret info from Birdtrack and Bubo.) Included in the 142 is a lifer- a Steppe subspecies Great Grey Shrike. The records (and the year’s blog posts) will show that while there were a few unexpected ticks, there were also quite a few seasonal birds I didn’t get.
Musselburgh was my most commonly- visited site, although I’m pleased that I managed to find time to do multiple visits to a good number of places. I uploaded 75 full lists onto Birdtrack, which means that I mist do better with my records as this doesn’t really cover much of the less- formal birding I did. Every bird seen or heard is worth recording, even if it’s only on my way to the train station.
My target was to average fewer than 10 miles per year tick, and despite some long trips, I managed that reasonably comfortably. The birds I dipped on and the ‘bonus’ birds’ balanced this out, I think.
The year started off with the usual hopes and expectations. I have certain unmoveable things in birding, and Dumfries & Galloway in January is one of them. This, of course, has its potential pitfalls and the excitement of a new birding year and a big trip to the wild south- west is usually laced with trepidation. What if its peeing down? What if its frozen and they’re closed? What if it’s really dull and cloudy? What if it’s just a disastrous day and I spend the rest of the year thinking I’m a crap birder?
Putting those neurotic thoughts back in their box my Caerlaverock trip was highly enjoyable, with the usual warm greeting and sense of homecoming. I’ve said it before, but as much as this is a visitor centre nature reserve, it’s definitely a birder’s reserve. I’m not exactly well travelled compared to some other birders, but it stands out among my other places.
Notable was a slightly lower tick list for the day than I was hoping for, and glowering, grey skies.
A local trip made me realise how much I love mud, following another vow to spend more time splashing about locally. It works for My Mate Bill, so it should be good enough for me. I spent more time at Baron’s Haugh this year, and after initially musing whether the work being done at the site of the old Phoenix Hide was possibly having an effect on the birdlife, I had to admit that the Haugh is now better than it’s been in years. 2024 saw my affection for the place re-invigorated.
Having promised to spend more time locally, this paid off with winter thrushes and calling nuthatch. I also fitted in trips to Fin Me Oot. My happy place, my place of mindfulness, of reflection. My place to get dipper and grey wagtail and moan about the encroaching urbanisation.
My first of a good number of trips trip Eastward was in the broad category of “I’m here now” as I ignored a tickly cough, raging headaches and chaotic blood sugar to visit Musselburgh. I suspected that it would be the first of many trips over the year, proving I may have psychic powers after all.
Mussy, as expected, didn’t disappoint, with good birds, good chat with knowledgeable locals, and an enlightening encounter with a birder/ photographer, which made me suspect the whole birder/ togger dichotomy is more nuanced than my usual set-in-concrete beliefs would suggest. The whole togger issue was fairly constant through the year, and I suspect it ain’t going away any time soon.
I made a point of spending more time in Ayrshire, remembering that a few short years ago Lothian was as difficult to bird as Ayrshire is now. An unfortunate habit of sleeping in meant my plans usually needed changed somewhat, and not for the first time my Ayrshire day saw me chasing daylight. There’s a quirk of Scottish geography and transport that Ayrshire and East Lothian are about equi- distant from my house, but transport East is far, far better. And as much as it pains this Lanarkshire farmboy to admit, the East coast is much better bird- wise.
I still haven’t learnt my lesson about either Aberlady or about Ardmore Point, though. The birding equivalent of playing football on red ash pitches.
A few New Years ago My Mate Bill put January into perspective by pointing out we were only about 10-12 weeks away from chiffchaffs arriving. Time can easily overtake you if you’re not careful.
Mrs GS would be amazed at how flexible I can be when it comes to birding days out. Apparently, I don’t do well with change, but when the plans you spend all week making, all week dreaming about, end up relying on either waking up on time, or are amended significantly by mother nature dumping storm water right where you were intending to go, then you have to be flexible.
This flexibility got me an unfulfilling tick at one of Glasgow’s Easternmost ponds, and a wholly fulfilling visit to Hogganfield Loch, that big public park in the city. Mud-on-boots guy somehow likes this place. That trip also was the start of something, and some place special. Being too early to head home I stopped off at the quarry/ woodlands in Daldowie that I’d always meant to visit. Failing light, sure, but a tantalising glimpse of something potentially great, and something that rekindled my spark of adventure, even at 50 years old. The perfunctory, the ‘meh’ birding days, the days that don’t live up to expectations, make it all the sweeter, make the Goldilocks days all the better.
Maybe it’s a matter of perception, but birding in January and springtime always seems easier than later periods in the year. The sense of pent- up activity whilst we’re waiting for the first distant ‘chiff- chaff, chiff- chaff’ call is almost painful. Thankfully this year I had chiffchaff, blackcap and willow warbler in or near my garden, and what a way to wake up. Nothing, I feel, ever replaces the excitement of the first warbler call of the year.
Summer this year maybe proved my theory that some parts of the year are easier. My woodland trips always involve logistics, and luck. Summer seabirds involve travelling, and as it turns out, also luck. Sadly, luck was mostly hiding when I needed it in 2024. My mate Bill had told me of his successful day out in the Loch Lomond woodlands. Having forbidden myself from going to Inversnaid (Inver- snide), I settled for RSPB Loch Lomond and areas nearby. I didn’t get anywhere near the birds Bill got, nor what I had hoped for, but looking back, a day out in the woods, any woods, isn’t time wasted.
The dull weather- I described the seasons as First, Second and Third Autumn- meant that my summer insect fiesta was absent this year. Worrying signs confirming species collapse? Or a blip amidst a steadier decline. Either way, it wasn’t good, and led to thoughts about the future we’re leaving for our kids (and Willie Nelson) and despair that not more of us are absolutely raging about it.
My self- imposed mileage limit, and the practicalities of having 1 car between 2 adults, meant that a trip to a seabird city for spectacular summer species (yeah, try saying that quickly) wasn’t possible this year, and I relied on Ayrshire and Lothian for my summer seabirds. Gannets were still nowhere near as numerous as they should be, I still curse bird flu and its human enablers. Puffin and guillemot were notable absentees from my year list, and as the year drew to a conclusion I decided that 2025 would be a seabird city year, somehow.
In saying this, summer did offer some of the best times and places. The abiding memory of the summer months (where it was warm and dull, rather than cold and dull) was time spent sitting, quietly at the SUDS ponds at Daldowie. Sand Martins, swallows, whirling overhead. A place to soak up the birds, and should we be blessed with sunlight in 2025, somewhere for a relaxing day out with Mrs GS. Summer can often be a time of limbo, the excitement of the New Year, the hectic activity of spring migration are long gone and its too early to really allow your mind to wander too far into the future.
I still don’t know what happened during the autumn migration season this year. Normally, I get a bit lucky and pick up an exotic sandpiper or two, but this year drew a blank. This is balanced by my holiday on Skye, the stunning scenery, the joy of birding in new places, and the very GS thing of dipping on eagles on an island which is famous for them. I’ll do better next time around, though.
Late autumn tends to be quiet each year, but this year I benefitted from a renewed sense of adventure in my second Dumfriesshire visit of the year, and a rekindling of something special in the woods at Ken- Dee Marshes.
So, a year of contrasts. A year of highs and lows. Every day out, looking back, is a high. Even if it doesn’t seem so at the time, even if it seems a crushing disappointment, you have to take some positive out of it. Or else, why bother?
A lowlight was the emergence of the ultra- togger, or maybe they’ve always been there, and I’ve only just become aware of them. A highlight was the realisation of just how many people are interested in nature and the environment, even if only in passing, and the hope that that gives us. Some of these people even have cameras. The forces of light and good are still more abundant.
A further lowlight however was the toggers behaviour with the Steppe Grey Shrike, which took away much of the lifer joy I should have had. A further highlight was, ironically, just how disastrous that trip became, with my terrible bus journey and accidentally ending up back in Edinburgh. If anything sums up Green Sand birding, it’s that, and if you can’t laugh at yourself, don’t bother laughing at all.
A lowlight was how quiet the new scrapes at Musselburgh can be, especially in low light. A highlight- and it’s a massive highlight- was spring and summer there. Stock doves and skylark, oxeye daisies everywhere, stonechat on the fences, the occasional burst of sunlight and warmth, the birdsong… a beauty that defies words.
The highlight of highlights was watching 20- odd seals on Skye with Mrs GS in seal heaven, and watching Mrs GS not notice that the tide was washing over her ankles. Such moments define GS being out in the wild. Each day out, though, had its own highpoints within it, its own positives that contributed to the general glow of what was a damned good year.
_________________________
And onto 2025. I will hope for 145 species. I think it’s do- able, with luck and effort. I will hope to visit more new places, whilst not allowing my time at my regular patches to suffer. I promise to make the most of the time, and resources, I have available. No more sleeping in, and having to change a week’s worth of plans because I like a kip. If I have the chance to be in my local woods at night, I’ll be there. If I have the chance to get to the Sma’ Glen as dusk falls late on a summer evening, I’ll be there. Sitting on the doorstep as the evening chorus plays out all around me? I’ll be there.
Most of all, as with every year, I intend to go out birding, to enjoy birding, to BE birding.
Have a wonderful New Year folks. Slainte.
John
A Very Green Sand Year.
______________________________
First, the numbers. Birdtrack is telling me that I got 142 ticks, with Bubo telling me that this was my third lowest since records began- and the lowest non- COVID total. (you can bask in the irony that the most disorganised man in birding has been trying to collate and interpret info from Birdtrack and Bubo.) Included in the 142 is a lifer- a Steppe subspecies Great Grey Shrike. The records (and the year’s blog posts) will show that while there were a few unexpected ticks, there were also quite a few seasonal birds I didn’t get.
Musselburgh was my most commonly- visited site, although I’m pleased that I managed to find time to do multiple visits to a good number of places. I uploaded 75 full lists onto Birdtrack, which means that I mist do better with my records as this doesn’t really cover much of the less- formal birding I did. Every bird seen or heard is worth recording, even if it’s only on my way to the train station.
My target was to average fewer than 10 miles per year tick, and despite some long trips, I managed that reasonably comfortably. The birds I dipped on and the ‘bonus’ birds’ balanced this out, I think.
The year started off with the usual hopes and expectations. I have certain unmoveable things in birding, and Dumfries & Galloway in January is one of them. This, of course, has its potential pitfalls and the excitement of a new birding year and a big trip to the wild south- west is usually laced with trepidation. What if its peeing down? What if its frozen and they’re closed? What if it’s really dull and cloudy? What if it’s just a disastrous day and I spend the rest of the year thinking I’m a crap birder?
Putting those neurotic thoughts back in their box my Caerlaverock trip was highly enjoyable, with the usual warm greeting and sense of homecoming. I’ve said it before, but as much as this is a visitor centre nature reserve, it’s definitely a birder’s reserve. I’m not exactly well travelled compared to some other birders, but it stands out among my other places.
Notable was a slightly lower tick list for the day than I was hoping for, and glowering, grey skies.
A local trip made me realise how much I love mud, following another vow to spend more time splashing about locally. It works for My Mate Bill, so it should be good enough for me. I spent more time at Baron’s Haugh this year, and after initially musing whether the work being done at the site of the old Phoenix Hide was possibly having an effect on the birdlife, I had to admit that the Haugh is now better than it’s been in years. 2024 saw my affection for the place re-invigorated.
Having promised to spend more time locally, this paid off with winter thrushes and calling nuthatch. I also fitted in trips to Fin Me Oot. My happy place, my place of mindfulness, of reflection. My place to get dipper and grey wagtail and moan about the encroaching urbanisation.
My first of a good number of trips trip Eastward was in the broad category of “I’m here now” as I ignored a tickly cough, raging headaches and chaotic blood sugar to visit Musselburgh. I suspected that it would be the first of many trips over the year, proving I may have psychic powers after all.
Mussy, as expected, didn’t disappoint, with good birds, good chat with knowledgeable locals, and an enlightening encounter with a birder/ photographer, which made me suspect the whole birder/ togger dichotomy is more nuanced than my usual set-in-concrete beliefs would suggest. The whole togger issue was fairly constant through the year, and I suspect it ain’t going away any time soon.
I made a point of spending more time in Ayrshire, remembering that a few short years ago Lothian was as difficult to bird as Ayrshire is now. An unfortunate habit of sleeping in meant my plans usually needed changed somewhat, and not for the first time my Ayrshire day saw me chasing daylight. There’s a quirk of Scottish geography and transport that Ayrshire and East Lothian are about equi- distant from my house, but transport East is far, far better. And as much as it pains this Lanarkshire farmboy to admit, the East coast is much better bird- wise.
I still haven’t learnt my lesson about either Aberlady or about Ardmore Point, though. The birding equivalent of playing football on red ash pitches.
A few New Years ago My Mate Bill put January into perspective by pointing out we were only about 10-12 weeks away from chiffchaffs arriving. Time can easily overtake you if you’re not careful.
Mrs GS would be amazed at how flexible I can be when it comes to birding days out. Apparently, I don’t do well with change, but when the plans you spend all week making, all week dreaming about, end up relying on either waking up on time, or are amended significantly by mother nature dumping storm water right where you were intending to go, then you have to be flexible.
This flexibility got me an unfulfilling tick at one of Glasgow’s Easternmost ponds, and a wholly fulfilling visit to Hogganfield Loch, that big public park in the city. Mud-on-boots guy somehow likes this place. That trip also was the start of something, and some place special. Being too early to head home I stopped off at the quarry/ woodlands in Daldowie that I’d always meant to visit. Failing light, sure, but a tantalising glimpse of something potentially great, and something that rekindled my spark of adventure, even at 50 years old. The perfunctory, the ‘meh’ birding days, the days that don’t live up to expectations, make it all the sweeter, make the Goldilocks days all the better.
Maybe it’s a matter of perception, but birding in January and springtime always seems easier than later periods in the year. The sense of pent- up activity whilst we’re waiting for the first distant ‘chiff- chaff, chiff- chaff’ call is almost painful. Thankfully this year I had chiffchaff, blackcap and willow warbler in or near my garden, and what a way to wake up. Nothing, I feel, ever replaces the excitement of the first warbler call of the year.
Summer this year maybe proved my theory that some parts of the year are easier. My woodland trips always involve logistics, and luck. Summer seabirds involve travelling, and as it turns out, also luck. Sadly, luck was mostly hiding when I needed it in 2024. My mate Bill had told me of his successful day out in the Loch Lomond woodlands. Having forbidden myself from going to Inversnaid (Inver- snide), I settled for RSPB Loch Lomond and areas nearby. I didn’t get anywhere near the birds Bill got, nor what I had hoped for, but looking back, a day out in the woods, any woods, isn’t time wasted.
The dull weather- I described the seasons as First, Second and Third Autumn- meant that my summer insect fiesta was absent this year. Worrying signs confirming species collapse? Or a blip amidst a steadier decline. Either way, it wasn’t good, and led to thoughts about the future we’re leaving for our kids (and Willie Nelson) and despair that not more of us are absolutely raging about it.
My self- imposed mileage limit, and the practicalities of having 1 car between 2 adults, meant that a trip to a seabird city for spectacular summer species (yeah, try saying that quickly) wasn’t possible this year, and I relied on Ayrshire and Lothian for my summer seabirds. Gannets were still nowhere near as numerous as they should be, I still curse bird flu and its human enablers. Puffin and guillemot were notable absentees from my year list, and as the year drew to a conclusion I decided that 2025 would be a seabird city year, somehow.
In saying this, summer did offer some of the best times and places. The abiding memory of the summer months (where it was warm and dull, rather than cold and dull) was time spent sitting, quietly at the SUDS ponds at Daldowie. Sand Martins, swallows, whirling overhead. A place to soak up the birds, and should we be blessed with sunlight in 2025, somewhere for a relaxing day out with Mrs GS. Summer can often be a time of limbo, the excitement of the New Year, the hectic activity of spring migration are long gone and its too early to really allow your mind to wander too far into the future.
I still don’t know what happened during the autumn migration season this year. Normally, I get a bit lucky and pick up an exotic sandpiper or two, but this year drew a blank. This is balanced by my holiday on Skye, the stunning scenery, the joy of birding in new places, and the very GS thing of dipping on eagles on an island which is famous for them. I’ll do better next time around, though.
Late autumn tends to be quiet each year, but this year I benefitted from a renewed sense of adventure in my second Dumfriesshire visit of the year, and a rekindling of something special in the woods at Ken- Dee Marshes.
So, a year of contrasts. A year of highs and lows. Every day out, looking back, is a high. Even if it doesn’t seem so at the time, even if it seems a crushing disappointment, you have to take some positive out of it. Or else, why bother?
A lowlight was the emergence of the ultra- togger, or maybe they’ve always been there, and I’ve only just become aware of them. A highlight was the realisation of just how many people are interested in nature and the environment, even if only in passing, and the hope that that gives us. Some of these people even have cameras. The forces of light and good are still more abundant.
A further lowlight however was the toggers behaviour with the Steppe Grey Shrike, which took away much of the lifer joy I should have had. A further highlight was, ironically, just how disastrous that trip became, with my terrible bus journey and accidentally ending up back in Edinburgh. If anything sums up Green Sand birding, it’s that, and if you can’t laugh at yourself, don’t bother laughing at all.
A lowlight was how quiet the new scrapes at Musselburgh can be, especially in low light. A highlight- and it’s a massive highlight- was spring and summer there. Stock doves and skylark, oxeye daisies everywhere, stonechat on the fences, the occasional burst of sunlight and warmth, the birdsong… a beauty that defies words.
The highlight of highlights was watching 20- odd seals on Skye with Mrs GS in seal heaven, and watching Mrs GS not notice that the tide was washing over her ankles. Such moments define GS being out in the wild. Each day out, though, had its own highpoints within it, its own positives that contributed to the general glow of what was a damned good year.
_________________________
And onto 2025. I will hope for 145 species. I think it’s do- able, with luck and effort. I will hope to visit more new places, whilst not allowing my time at my regular patches to suffer. I promise to make the most of the time, and resources, I have available. No more sleeping in, and having to change a week’s worth of plans because I like a kip. If I have the chance to be in my local woods at night, I’ll be there. If I have the chance to get to the Sma’ Glen as dusk falls late on a summer evening, I’ll be there. Sitting on the doorstep as the evening chorus plays out all around me? I’ll be there.
Most of all, as with every year, I intend to go out birding, to enjoy birding, to BE birding.
Have a wonderful New Year folks. Slainte.
John
