Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road.
If memory serves I’ve been prattling on about the need to be flexible, not set in my ways, and have ended up waxing lyrical about the best of times and worst of times.
Family stuff meant that some of my recent weekends have been busy not birding. Fortunately, I have flexi- time, I work silly hours some weeks, and usually manage at least one day off midweek each month. Or, sometimes two.
So, with the whole flexibility thing…. My plans had been to have a long weekend, involving Ayrshire, staying local, then an adventure in East Lothian- Ferny Ness/ Longniddry Bents to be precise. Family stuff meant that the weekend plans fell down, with only a flying visit to Cathkin Marsh to restore my soul. And to be fair, it did. A mistle thrush was the birding highlight, but the Marsh was in another of its contemplative moods, and it was a very ‘mindful’ walk, taking in the changing of the season (admittedly, all of 2024 has been autumn)
Being flexible and all that, my plans were revised to hit Ayrshire on the Monday, and Lothian on the Tuesday, thus making the most of my flexi days. “Staying local” took a bit of a hit, again. I’ve had it in my mind for a few weeks to visit North Ayrshire, Fairlie, Hunterston and bits in- between. The more I looked into it, the less likely I was to get ticks, but something about it just made me think it’d be a day of birds, not ticks. Lothian, on the other hand is all My Mate Bill’s fault. He messaged me to let me know about his wildly successful day at Ferny Ness/ Longniddry a few days before. Divers, LT ducks galore. A day of days, even by his high standards. That, and a chip van on site meant that I couldn’t resist.
All his fault…..
Issues with public transport meant that my initial plan for Ayrshire was scrapped. One cancelled train had a knock- on effect of taking 3 hours birding away, meaning that it was essentially pointless travelling. By this point, travelling to E. Lothian would mean time would be similarly brief, and besides, that was for Tuesday. So much for flexibility. Acknowledging that Ayrshire would have to wait I had the brainwave to make the short journey to Baron’s Haugh. IT was local- ish, easy- ish to get to (just the 2 short trains) and I was still intrigued by what it offered, after my all-too-brief previous visit. I also had a vague hope that a ruff may still be lingering. Hope, not expectation, as I was close to writing ruff off for 2024. And yes, it does sound like I was turning 2024’s great ruff search into a drama.
I arrived at the entrance to the reserve with nuthatch calling from the woods. I’m old enough to still get a thrill from this, a throwback to when they were far less common than they are now. I couldn’t get eyes on it though, as the trees were at that point still fairly leafy. I noted in passing that the car park was very full, had a vague thought that it seemed unusual to have so many dog walkers on a workday, and wondered whether something interesting had flown in to capture folk’s attention.
The walk down to the Marsh Hide was relatively quiet. Occasional calls from the woodland, even with the start of autumn, it still seemed very primordial. I passed a few people on the path, and tried to surreptitiously check if they carried binos or cameras, without looking too much like a prospective mugger. The Marsh Hide was busy, almost entirely photographers- or toggers as I tend to label them. Being a relatively quiet, shy person, I stayed quiet until folk started to talk to me. Lots of togger talk beforehand, and it was clear the focus (sorry….) was on a kingfisher which was offering great views from the pools to left and right of the hide. It took less than 5 minuets there, though, to realise that a great white egret was on site. Some of the attention was for this visitor, much of the toggering was for the KF. Great to see, in its iridescent blue finery, but my attention was drawn to the egret. Previous sighting had been of its head above the reeds, but this specimen had decided to put on a show. Great views through the scope (Gift of Sight restored) The usual selection of ducks and waders added to the tick count.
I’ll leave it to you to judge the crowd when I tell you that no- one seemed interested by a pair of gadwall in good light at reasonable distance.
I mostly drowned out the togger- talk, and my attention was drawn to an official- looking party, led by a chap in an RSPB volunteer fleece. They were discussing the recent works that had been carried out, which was highly educational. Made me wish that the RSPB had a decent magazine and website where this ad hoc seminar could have reached a wider audience. I did get the impression that the chap in the fleece was an out and out field man, not an office- based RSPB type, which was good to see in a place where the suspicion has been one of benign neglect. I was definitely in the “better off WITH them” part of the sine wave of my views of the RSPB. I did my bit by giving the visitors a look at the GW egret through the scope (Gift of their Sight Restored)
A non- toggery togger stopped for a chat. Small camera, good binoculars, clearly still on the right side of the birder- togger divide. Made me wonder if there’s a gradual evolution between birder and togger, or whether it’s a specific choice; you can choose what path to proceed along. A fork in their road
General chitchat mentioned that green sandpiper, blackwit and ruff were visible from the causeway hide. I said my farewells, and wandered off. I had the hide to myself, and immediately felt much more relaxed. I settled in, set the scope up, and saw that I’d be looking for dull birds on brown mud. A challenge, but one that I absolutely welcomed. The water was higher in the pool to the left, the area to the right and centre being an expanse of brown, stunted trunks and branches jutting from the mud tantalising me with suggestions of what lay there before.
Lapwing showed in good numbers, their calls being the pervasive sound of the trip. Scanning through the numbers I quickly got snipe near one of the aforementioned tree trunks. Once again, the scope showed them in all their finery, sunlight for once being perfect. Further scanning got me, finally, a ruff. Seemingly against all odds, definitely against all expectations. And I promptly lost it. Further searching regained it, and I spent some time drinking in the sight. I quickly added green sandpiper, and by now I was well within my comfortable “being there” birding zone.
A walk round to the river once again brought waves of nostalgia about birding and birders past, of Sunday mornings spent in good company with the fine men and women of what was then called the RSPB Hamilton local group.
The RSPB themselves appear to have given up stopping people walking along the riverside, and have place a gate in the fence they erected to block off the path. My old granny used to say “hell mend you” when one of us embarked on a risk venture, and it appears the RSPB have adopted the same philosophy. Fair play to them, I managed to tick a pair of goosander flying upstream. I hadn’t enough time to go too far before retracing my steps. I made a mental note to return next summer and revisit ‘warbler corner’, assuming another Lanarkshire winter didn’t completely destroy the path.
I quite fancied a return visit to the Marsh Hide, in the hope that the throng of toggers had thinned. I got talking to a quartet of walkers, who all seemed interested in the birds offered by the Haugh, and more importantly, seemed quite knowledgeable. An object lesson that not everyone who loves birds necessarily goes birding, not everyone who knows birds would call themselves a birder. These are people whose knowledge and potential we need to capture.
Months and months ago I was thinking about the different types of birder there are and who we come across. I made a mental note that it’d be a good idea to maybe make a list. Something to do on a stormy autumn or winter day. Readers of a certain vintage may remember the ITV sitcom “Watching” which combines both bird- and people- watching. At one point I’ll post my attempt at both.
The Marsh Hide was much quieter, with only 1 hardcore togger. A jay called from the top of the path, but naturally I couldn’t get eyes on it. I wasn’t too worried as I know where they bury their nuts…..A mother and daughter spoke quietly, as they each scanned with binoculars. A father and son both competed to take the best photographs, although they definitely gave off birdwatcher vibes, rather than out and out photographer. Lots of good natured banter between the two. I managed to get the young girl a clear, if distant, view of the kingfisher through the scope. I’ve made a point, given how much help I was given in my fledgling days, to pay it forward.
The last remaining hardcore togger was holding court, and was clearly immensely knowledgeable. Subconsciously I wondered what category I’d place him in. The toggers naturally chatted together. The teenage togger was incredibly enthusiastic, and mentioned that he’d started with a photography workshop run by Jessops. The hardcore guy was not impressed, to the extent that the boy’s Dad had to intervene. Awkward and unnecessary, his parting advice to them that there was no such thing as too close to a bird left a bad taste in the mouth.
Once the togger had left, I discovered almost immediately that both father and son were birders first, toggers second. We easily entered into the traditional ‘Tales Of The Tribe’ chat about birds seen, adventures undertaken, and birds missed. A proper birder chat, and a great way to end the day. This was a day of ticks. Sure, I ticked a ruff for my year list, but it also ticked boxes. Good weather, good selection of birds, good company with good people, and a good site.
The best thing about it was I had another adventure to look forward to the next day.
Tuesday’s adventure, as I noted, was all My Mate Bill’s fault. The tantalizing riches offered, plus a bag of chips. A cursory glance at the internet got me a rough idea of where I was going to, and that it was blessed by public transport, both wheeled and railed. A slightly more involved internet search gave me an equally rough idea of how to get to my destination from Longniddry railway station.
Reality on the ground differs from the internet, and I embarrassingly had to rely on google maps to take me in a straight line. Bill had mentioned that the best car park for viewing was the one with the chip van in it. I decided that this would be a reasonable landmark to aim for.
I crossed the main road to gain access to the shore path. A greenfinch greeted me, which was a good start. A further glance at Google Maps told me Ferny Ness was further along this path, I scanned eastward in m binos, and was worried by the lack of chip van. It must be further than it looks, I thought. I walked along slowly and steadily, pausing frequently to scan the sea and shore.
Now, I’m not a seawatcher, but I didn’t have to be a seawatcher to get a couple of dozen long- tailed ducks just offshore. There was also plenty of eider, and good numbers of velvet scoter. Eider are something that, a bit unfairly, I take for granted. They’re often ubiquitous, at the expense of other, more desirable species. LT Ducks and Velvet Scoter, however, are always notable. Particularly, the long- tails, the males still in their breeding plumage. Stunning through the scope, I will never, ever become blasé about LT Ducks.
The only downside was that the tide was on the way out.
I eventually realised that the chip van had either moved, or been a figment of Bill’s imagination. Given that Bill had visited on a Saturday and I was birding on a Tuesday in mid- October I surmised that maybe it wasn’t the most reliable landmark after all. I followed the path to its natural end, and scanned further into the Bay. A handful of seals lay basking in the (admittedly weak) October sun. The retreating tide had exposed sand and mud, with redshank, oycs and dunlin on the shore. Turnstone dashed about the rocks, and a scattering of curlew were dotted at random intervals. A brief break for lunch and a drink, and I lay back letting the sun warm my face. As close to perfection as you could imagine, and far closer than I was expecting.
I walked back to the largest car park, making a mental note to return to the path once the tide had gone a bit further out. I reconnected with the LT ducks and scoters, cormorant, but not huge amounts of other species. Geese called from the West, clearly heading for nearby Aberlady Bay, but I couldn’t see them. My ears told me pink- footed, but avid readers will recall my strained relationship with pinkies. A further look into the bay got the previous species, plus plenty of barwits on the mud.
Time eventually ran out, and I made it back to the station for my train, then to Edinburgh for my connection back to Lanarkshire. The trip lacked the riches that Bill had enjoyed (unsurprisingly) but was nonetheless a very good day out. Good birds, a new place to visit (with all the trepidation that comes with that) and time well spent birding in fresh air. Can a day like that be beat? I doubt it.
The net weekend was a bust, and I then had a full week at work before my next day out. For weeks I’ve been toying with a big day out in Fairlie and Hunterston, or a big day out in Dunbar, Barns Ness, Torness, and the John Muir Country Park. Geography means that it’d have to be one or the other on any given day. Long working days meant impatience and anticipation in equal measure, and a plan for birding on Saturday. An internet check showed snow bunting and other interesting things in E Lothian, whilst the internet was pretty poor at showing anything in North Ayrshire- and that’s with my new Birdguides subscription.
A trip to Lothian was a bit too twitchy for me, and I opted to scratch my long- standing Ayrshire itch.
Due to circumstances outwith my control I had a much later start than hoped for. Admittedly, forgetting to charge my phone overnight, then forgetting my tripod, and having to jump off the train and run home are probably completely within my control. Arriving 3 hours later than originally planned I realised that I would have to maximise whatever time I had there. Upon starting my walk along the shore road I began mudwatching, getting little egret almost immediately. Followed by oystercatcher, redshank and a handful of whooper swans. Goldfinch and chaffinch called from the bushes, and a raven cronked from the area of the ‘forbidden’ lagoon. A good number of birds in a very short time, in what was, more or less, a stop- off to set up my scope.
The walk to Hunterston was no different to any other- albeit a bit quicker than expected. I had no intentions of approaching the power station itself, and was specifically aiming for the expansive sands. I’ve had pintail there before, more precisely, the arse of a pintail, but I have plans for a Dumfries trip in a couple of weeks to meet my pintail fix for the year. I had set out with no set targets or expectations, other than to be out birding somewhere with birds. I figured setting expectations like that would be achievable.
The tide which had been on its way out at Fairlie was significantly far out at Hunterston. The weather had also remembered that it was late October, and the earlier sunshine gave way to cloud and a darkening sky. Somehow, this made viewing easier, the air clearer, offering better views of distant birds. Oycs galore, redshank, and at least 2 little egrets all showed well. I counted 5 greenshank together, and a pair of carrion crows trying to be shorebirds by probing the sand/ mud with their beaks. Teal and wigeon in good numbers, especially the latter, and Shelduck present as expected. No ticks, nothing unusual, not even a really huge amount of birds, but somehow, it just worked really well. Eventually, the weather went from ‘dull’ to ‘drizzle’, and I began my wander back to Fairlie for my train. The walk back left me with half an hour that I put to good use, adding eider and cormorant to my earlier Fairlie list. A damned good day out.
THOUGHTS
One of my workmates talks about his sliding door moment 30 years ago, when he couldn’t find the building he had a job interview in. Faced with the option to keep looking, or go home, he kept looking, got the job, and 3 decades later often ruminates about how we live by our choices. Every choice we make has consequences, there are no do- overs, we have to live with it. My birding choices over the past couple of weeks, the forks in the road where I had to decide on a path, have worked out well. Good birds, good company at Baron’s Haugh, the adventure of a new site in Lothian, and my Ayrshire itch being scratched. Not so much hopes and expectations being met, but the sheer positivity from these trips definitely saw my needs being met.
Stay healthy, stay safe, stay brilliant folks.
John
If memory serves I’ve been prattling on about the need to be flexible, not set in my ways, and have ended up waxing lyrical about the best of times and worst of times.
Family stuff meant that some of my recent weekends have been busy not birding. Fortunately, I have flexi- time, I work silly hours some weeks, and usually manage at least one day off midweek each month. Or, sometimes two.
So, with the whole flexibility thing…. My plans had been to have a long weekend, involving Ayrshire, staying local, then an adventure in East Lothian- Ferny Ness/ Longniddry Bents to be precise. Family stuff meant that the weekend plans fell down, with only a flying visit to Cathkin Marsh to restore my soul. And to be fair, it did. A mistle thrush was the birding highlight, but the Marsh was in another of its contemplative moods, and it was a very ‘mindful’ walk, taking in the changing of the season (admittedly, all of 2024 has been autumn)
Being flexible and all that, my plans were revised to hit Ayrshire on the Monday, and Lothian on the Tuesday, thus making the most of my flexi days. “Staying local” took a bit of a hit, again. I’ve had it in my mind for a few weeks to visit North Ayrshire, Fairlie, Hunterston and bits in- between. The more I looked into it, the less likely I was to get ticks, but something about it just made me think it’d be a day of birds, not ticks. Lothian, on the other hand is all My Mate Bill’s fault. He messaged me to let me know about his wildly successful day at Ferny Ness/ Longniddry a few days before. Divers, LT ducks galore. A day of days, even by his high standards. That, and a chip van on site meant that I couldn’t resist.
All his fault…..
Issues with public transport meant that my initial plan for Ayrshire was scrapped. One cancelled train had a knock- on effect of taking 3 hours birding away, meaning that it was essentially pointless travelling. By this point, travelling to E. Lothian would mean time would be similarly brief, and besides, that was for Tuesday. So much for flexibility. Acknowledging that Ayrshire would have to wait I had the brainwave to make the short journey to Baron’s Haugh. IT was local- ish, easy- ish to get to (just the 2 short trains) and I was still intrigued by what it offered, after my all-too-brief previous visit. I also had a vague hope that a ruff may still be lingering. Hope, not expectation, as I was close to writing ruff off for 2024. And yes, it does sound like I was turning 2024’s great ruff search into a drama.
I arrived at the entrance to the reserve with nuthatch calling from the woods. I’m old enough to still get a thrill from this, a throwback to when they were far less common than they are now. I couldn’t get eyes on it though, as the trees were at that point still fairly leafy. I noted in passing that the car park was very full, had a vague thought that it seemed unusual to have so many dog walkers on a workday, and wondered whether something interesting had flown in to capture folk’s attention.
The walk down to the Marsh Hide was relatively quiet. Occasional calls from the woodland, even with the start of autumn, it still seemed very primordial. I passed a few people on the path, and tried to surreptitiously check if they carried binos or cameras, without looking too much like a prospective mugger. The Marsh Hide was busy, almost entirely photographers- or toggers as I tend to label them. Being a relatively quiet, shy person, I stayed quiet until folk started to talk to me. Lots of togger talk beforehand, and it was clear the focus (sorry….) was on a kingfisher which was offering great views from the pools to left and right of the hide. It took less than 5 minuets there, though, to realise that a great white egret was on site. Some of the attention was for this visitor, much of the toggering was for the KF. Great to see, in its iridescent blue finery, but my attention was drawn to the egret. Previous sighting had been of its head above the reeds, but this specimen had decided to put on a show. Great views through the scope (Gift of Sight restored) The usual selection of ducks and waders added to the tick count.
I’ll leave it to you to judge the crowd when I tell you that no- one seemed interested by a pair of gadwall in good light at reasonable distance.
I mostly drowned out the togger- talk, and my attention was drawn to an official- looking party, led by a chap in an RSPB volunteer fleece. They were discussing the recent works that had been carried out, which was highly educational. Made me wish that the RSPB had a decent magazine and website where this ad hoc seminar could have reached a wider audience. I did get the impression that the chap in the fleece was an out and out field man, not an office- based RSPB type, which was good to see in a place where the suspicion has been one of benign neglect. I was definitely in the “better off WITH them” part of the sine wave of my views of the RSPB. I did my bit by giving the visitors a look at the GW egret through the scope (Gift of their Sight Restored)
A non- toggery togger stopped for a chat. Small camera, good binoculars, clearly still on the right side of the birder- togger divide. Made me wonder if there’s a gradual evolution between birder and togger, or whether it’s a specific choice; you can choose what path to proceed along. A fork in their road
General chitchat mentioned that green sandpiper, blackwit and ruff were visible from the causeway hide. I said my farewells, and wandered off. I had the hide to myself, and immediately felt much more relaxed. I settled in, set the scope up, and saw that I’d be looking for dull birds on brown mud. A challenge, but one that I absolutely welcomed. The water was higher in the pool to the left, the area to the right and centre being an expanse of brown, stunted trunks and branches jutting from the mud tantalising me with suggestions of what lay there before.
Lapwing showed in good numbers, their calls being the pervasive sound of the trip. Scanning through the numbers I quickly got snipe near one of the aforementioned tree trunks. Once again, the scope showed them in all their finery, sunlight for once being perfect. Further scanning got me, finally, a ruff. Seemingly against all odds, definitely against all expectations. And I promptly lost it. Further searching regained it, and I spent some time drinking in the sight. I quickly added green sandpiper, and by now I was well within my comfortable “being there” birding zone.
A walk round to the river once again brought waves of nostalgia about birding and birders past, of Sunday mornings spent in good company with the fine men and women of what was then called the RSPB Hamilton local group.
The RSPB themselves appear to have given up stopping people walking along the riverside, and have place a gate in the fence they erected to block off the path. My old granny used to say “hell mend you” when one of us embarked on a risk venture, and it appears the RSPB have adopted the same philosophy. Fair play to them, I managed to tick a pair of goosander flying upstream. I hadn’t enough time to go too far before retracing my steps. I made a mental note to return next summer and revisit ‘warbler corner’, assuming another Lanarkshire winter didn’t completely destroy the path.
I quite fancied a return visit to the Marsh Hide, in the hope that the throng of toggers had thinned. I got talking to a quartet of walkers, who all seemed interested in the birds offered by the Haugh, and more importantly, seemed quite knowledgeable. An object lesson that not everyone who loves birds necessarily goes birding, not everyone who knows birds would call themselves a birder. These are people whose knowledge and potential we need to capture.
Months and months ago I was thinking about the different types of birder there are and who we come across. I made a mental note that it’d be a good idea to maybe make a list. Something to do on a stormy autumn or winter day. Readers of a certain vintage may remember the ITV sitcom “Watching” which combines both bird- and people- watching. At one point I’ll post my attempt at both.
The Marsh Hide was much quieter, with only 1 hardcore togger. A jay called from the top of the path, but naturally I couldn’t get eyes on it. I wasn’t too worried as I know where they bury their nuts…..A mother and daughter spoke quietly, as they each scanned with binoculars. A father and son both competed to take the best photographs, although they definitely gave off birdwatcher vibes, rather than out and out photographer. Lots of good natured banter between the two. I managed to get the young girl a clear, if distant, view of the kingfisher through the scope. I’ve made a point, given how much help I was given in my fledgling days, to pay it forward.
The last remaining hardcore togger was holding court, and was clearly immensely knowledgeable. Subconsciously I wondered what category I’d place him in. The toggers naturally chatted together. The teenage togger was incredibly enthusiastic, and mentioned that he’d started with a photography workshop run by Jessops. The hardcore guy was not impressed, to the extent that the boy’s Dad had to intervene. Awkward and unnecessary, his parting advice to them that there was no such thing as too close to a bird left a bad taste in the mouth.
Once the togger had left, I discovered almost immediately that both father and son were birders first, toggers second. We easily entered into the traditional ‘Tales Of The Tribe’ chat about birds seen, adventures undertaken, and birds missed. A proper birder chat, and a great way to end the day. This was a day of ticks. Sure, I ticked a ruff for my year list, but it also ticked boxes. Good weather, good selection of birds, good company with good people, and a good site.
The best thing about it was I had another adventure to look forward to the next day.
Tuesday’s adventure, as I noted, was all My Mate Bill’s fault. The tantalizing riches offered, plus a bag of chips. A cursory glance at the internet got me a rough idea of where I was going to, and that it was blessed by public transport, both wheeled and railed. A slightly more involved internet search gave me an equally rough idea of how to get to my destination from Longniddry railway station.
Reality on the ground differs from the internet, and I embarrassingly had to rely on google maps to take me in a straight line. Bill had mentioned that the best car park for viewing was the one with the chip van in it. I decided that this would be a reasonable landmark to aim for.
I crossed the main road to gain access to the shore path. A greenfinch greeted me, which was a good start. A further glance at Google Maps told me Ferny Ness was further along this path, I scanned eastward in m binos, and was worried by the lack of chip van. It must be further than it looks, I thought. I walked along slowly and steadily, pausing frequently to scan the sea and shore.
Now, I’m not a seawatcher, but I didn’t have to be a seawatcher to get a couple of dozen long- tailed ducks just offshore. There was also plenty of eider, and good numbers of velvet scoter. Eider are something that, a bit unfairly, I take for granted. They’re often ubiquitous, at the expense of other, more desirable species. LT Ducks and Velvet Scoter, however, are always notable. Particularly, the long- tails, the males still in their breeding plumage. Stunning through the scope, I will never, ever become blasé about LT Ducks.
The only downside was that the tide was on the way out.
I eventually realised that the chip van had either moved, or been a figment of Bill’s imagination. Given that Bill had visited on a Saturday and I was birding on a Tuesday in mid- October I surmised that maybe it wasn’t the most reliable landmark after all. I followed the path to its natural end, and scanned further into the Bay. A handful of seals lay basking in the (admittedly weak) October sun. The retreating tide had exposed sand and mud, with redshank, oycs and dunlin on the shore. Turnstone dashed about the rocks, and a scattering of curlew were dotted at random intervals. A brief break for lunch and a drink, and I lay back letting the sun warm my face. As close to perfection as you could imagine, and far closer than I was expecting.
I walked back to the largest car park, making a mental note to return to the path once the tide had gone a bit further out. I reconnected with the LT ducks and scoters, cormorant, but not huge amounts of other species. Geese called from the West, clearly heading for nearby Aberlady Bay, but I couldn’t see them. My ears told me pink- footed, but avid readers will recall my strained relationship with pinkies. A further look into the bay got the previous species, plus plenty of barwits on the mud.
Time eventually ran out, and I made it back to the station for my train, then to Edinburgh for my connection back to Lanarkshire. The trip lacked the riches that Bill had enjoyed (unsurprisingly) but was nonetheless a very good day out. Good birds, a new place to visit (with all the trepidation that comes with that) and time well spent birding in fresh air. Can a day like that be beat? I doubt it.
The net weekend was a bust, and I then had a full week at work before my next day out. For weeks I’ve been toying with a big day out in Fairlie and Hunterston, or a big day out in Dunbar, Barns Ness, Torness, and the John Muir Country Park. Geography means that it’d have to be one or the other on any given day. Long working days meant impatience and anticipation in equal measure, and a plan for birding on Saturday. An internet check showed snow bunting and other interesting things in E Lothian, whilst the internet was pretty poor at showing anything in North Ayrshire- and that’s with my new Birdguides subscription.
A trip to Lothian was a bit too twitchy for me, and I opted to scratch my long- standing Ayrshire itch.
Due to circumstances outwith my control I had a much later start than hoped for. Admittedly, forgetting to charge my phone overnight, then forgetting my tripod, and having to jump off the train and run home are probably completely within my control. Arriving 3 hours later than originally planned I realised that I would have to maximise whatever time I had there. Upon starting my walk along the shore road I began mudwatching, getting little egret almost immediately. Followed by oystercatcher, redshank and a handful of whooper swans. Goldfinch and chaffinch called from the bushes, and a raven cronked from the area of the ‘forbidden’ lagoon. A good number of birds in a very short time, in what was, more or less, a stop- off to set up my scope.
The walk to Hunterston was no different to any other- albeit a bit quicker than expected. I had no intentions of approaching the power station itself, and was specifically aiming for the expansive sands. I’ve had pintail there before, more precisely, the arse of a pintail, but I have plans for a Dumfries trip in a couple of weeks to meet my pintail fix for the year. I had set out with no set targets or expectations, other than to be out birding somewhere with birds. I figured setting expectations like that would be achievable.
The tide which had been on its way out at Fairlie was significantly far out at Hunterston. The weather had also remembered that it was late October, and the earlier sunshine gave way to cloud and a darkening sky. Somehow, this made viewing easier, the air clearer, offering better views of distant birds. Oycs galore, redshank, and at least 2 little egrets all showed well. I counted 5 greenshank together, and a pair of carrion crows trying to be shorebirds by probing the sand/ mud with their beaks. Teal and wigeon in good numbers, especially the latter, and Shelduck present as expected. No ticks, nothing unusual, not even a really huge amount of birds, but somehow, it just worked really well. Eventually, the weather went from ‘dull’ to ‘drizzle’, and I began my wander back to Fairlie for my train. The walk back left me with half an hour that I put to good use, adding eider and cormorant to my earlier Fairlie list. A damned good day out.
THOUGHTS
One of my workmates talks about his sliding door moment 30 years ago, when he couldn’t find the building he had a job interview in. Faced with the option to keep looking, or go home, he kept looking, got the job, and 3 decades later often ruminates about how we live by our choices. Every choice we make has consequences, there are no do- overs, we have to live with it. My birding choices over the past couple of weeks, the forks in the road where I had to decide on a path, have worked out well. Good birds, good company at Baron’s Haugh, the adventure of a new site in Lothian, and my Ayrshire itch being scratched. Not so much hopes and expectations being met, but the sheer positivity from these trips definitely saw my needs being met.
Stay healthy, stay safe, stay brilliant folks.
John
