My eldest daughter had been encouraged to take some of her annual leave before the end of June and asked when we might next be heading north to visit my mum in West Kilbride, as she hadn't been to see her for some time. With my mum also having been ill, it seemed the perfect opportunity to arrange a trip.
Once the bank holiday weekend was over, we set off and made the journey north, arriving in time for lunch with Mum and later dinner with her and my brother.
As is often the case on these visits, I like to rise early and spend a few hours birding before breakfast, or at least for as long as the sunrise and available daylight allow. The only question was where to go.
I had been thinking that I should focus on species I hadn't yet seen this year, and a series of posts on the Ayrshire WhatsApp group the previous week helped make the decision. Jason McManus had reported from Saltcoats: "Arctic Skua – 2, Pomarine Skua – 2 singles north, Long-tailed Skua – 23 north." There had been various smaller counts through the month.
Although I was a little late to the party and the wind conditions had changed since those sightings were reported, you never know. With that in mind, I decided that Saltcoats would be my destination for the morning.
I'd never met Jason before, but I knew he was often sea watching from behind Oscar's Café throughout May. So, when I collected my scope from the car and walked around to the usual spot, I assumed the chap sitting on a chair scanning the sea was him. After introducing myself, I discovered it wasn't Jason at all, but a local birder called Dave, who apparently spends quite a bit of time there as well. He explained that Jason had been celebrating his son's football team's latest success and wouldn't be making an appearance that day.
A couple of text messages later, Jason confirmed that the easterly winds were expected to persist until Thursday before swinging round to a more favourable westerly on Friday. That would make Friday the best day for sea watching - and, as it happened, my last day in the area.
Although the conditions weren't ideal, you never know what might turn up, so we set about scanning the water while enjoying long conversations about local birding and sites. At first there was little activity offshore, but then a lone tern passed overhead. I initially assumed it would be a sandwich tern, the species I most commonly encounter along this stretch of coastline during late spring and summer. However, it proved to be an Arctic tern - a welcome surprise and one I had somehow missed on passage through my local region earlier this spring.
Arctic terns are extraordinary birds. Despite their delicate appearance, they undertake one of the longest migrations in the natural world, travelling from their Arctic breeding grounds to the waters around Antarctica and back again each year. It is a journey that can cover tens of thousands of miles and allows them to experience more daylight than any other creature on the planet.
In the field, Arctic terns can be a challenge to separate from common terns, but this bird showed well enough to reveal the long tail streamers and graceful, buoyant flight that make the species so distinctive. Watching it pass by on a breezy Ayrshire morning, it was hard not to marvel at the incredible distances it may already have travelled - and the many thousands of miles that could still lie ahead.
Despite being famed for their extraordinary migrations between the Arctic and Antarctic, Arctic terns are also a familiar breeding bird around Scotland's coasts. They nest in colonies on islands, coastal headlands, beaches and even some freshwater lochs. Indeed, Scotland supports most of the the UK's breeding population, with colonies scattered throughout Shetland, Orkney and the Hebridean islands. As a result, this may well have been a bird remaining relatively local rather than one merely passing through on migration, and given it was heading south at the time.
The UK breeding population is generally estimated at around 53,000–54,000 pairs, of which approximately 47,000 (close to 90%) breed in Scotland.
Manx shearwaters gradually began to appear, although all were at considerable distance and I didn't bother attempting any photographs. The usual common guillemots were present offshore and were joined by a few black guillemots, presumably birds from the harbour, along with several razorbills and what I suspected was a puffin, although the view was too brief and distant to be certain.
Three gulls passed through that caught my attention. They appeared noticeably smaller than the expected herring and lesser black-backed gulls and, at first glance, I wondered whether they might be fulmars or perhaps kittiwakes - they weren't black-headed. A closer look at the photographs later suggesting common gulls.
Most Scottish common gulls move inland to breed, nesting around lochs, moorland, peatlands and islands. By late May many adults will be on breeding territories, so coastal numbers tend to be reduced compared with the large winter flocks seen around harbours, beaches and farmland. That said, it's still perfectly normal to encounter non-breeding or immature birds lingering along the coast or birds commuting between feeding areas and inland breeding sites.
It was an enjoyable morning, with plenty of gannets and shag moving back and forth offshore, although there was surprisingly little activity from any divers and an absence of any skua candidates.
The following morning I decided to return to Saltcoats and repeat my vigil, this time finding myself alone at the watchpoint. A few spots of rain had fallen overnight, but nothing significant or enough to make the ground wet, and the easterly wind was exactly as forecast, accompanied by temperatures a few degrees cooler than the previous day.
From the moment I set up the scope, Manx shearwaters were visible offshore, while good numbers of common guillemots passed by in small groups of between one and eight birds. Looking out towards Lady Isle, around forty gannets were circling and occasionally plunge-diving, presumably after shoals of mackerel.
Lady Isle Lighthouse provides an excellent reference point when communicating sightings to other sea watchers and serves as a distinctive feature on the horizon. It stands on Lady Isle itself, approximately two miles south-west of Troon in the Firth of Clyde. The island was once home to a chapel dedicated to St Mary, from which it takes its name.
Situated on this low-lying island, the lighthouse warns mariners of the dangers posed by Half Tide Rock and Scart Rock, while also aiding navigation through the Firth and towards the harbours of Troon and Irvine. The site's maritime history stretches back to around 1776, when Glasgow merchants established a pair of beacons to assist shipping. One of these was later removed, and the present lighthouse was eventually constructed on the remaining site. When aligned correctly, it guided vessels into a safe channel and anchorage and provided sheltering access for ships bound for Irvine.
This morning proved rather different, with several divers visible offshore almost from the outset. Most appeared to be red-throated divers, although one bird looked rather more like a black-throated diver. Unfortunately, it remained too distant for a confident identification. By the end of the watch, I had counted around half a dozen divers in total, a marked contrast to the previous day's complete lack of activity.
The sighting was particularly encouraging given some of the impressive diver counts recorded recently along the Ayrshire coast. Combined counts reported from the Turnberry to Girvan and Ballantrae to Girvan stretches on a single day produced totals of 39 red-throated divers, 25 black-throated divers and an impressive 104 great northern divers. Quite a tally, and a reminder of just how important these waters can be for divers at this time of year.
Two large birds appeared from the north and steadily worked their way past offshore. As they drew closer, I was able to identify them as a pair of red-breasted mergansers. They would prove to be the only individuals of the species that I saw during my time at Saltcoats.
I was a little surprised not to encounter more. Stevenston Point is only a short distance away and I have traditionally seen much larger numbers in the bay there. During the winter and early spring, this stretch of coast can hold good concentrations of red-breasted mergansers as birds gather in the sheltered bays but by late May, many breeding adults have likely dispersed to their nesting areas, while those remaining along the coast are spread over a much wider area. Non-breeding and immature birds may still be present, but generally in far smaller numbers than earlier in the year.
Three gulls passed at considerable distance and immediately appeared different from the more usual large gulls, such as herring and lesser black-backed gulls. Equally, they were clearly not black-headed gulls. Identification remained uncertain until one bird banked, briefly revealing the distinctive upper wing pattern of a first-summer kittiwake.
Despite the range, the bird's age was apparent from the bold black "M" pattern across the upper wings. Formed by dark markings on the outer wing, coverts and shoulder area, this striking zig-zag pattern is a classic feature of immature kittiwakes and stands out particularly well when a bird turns in flight. Retaining some of the dark markings of its first-winter plumage while beginning to acquire a more adult-like appearance, it proved to be a pleasing identification and a useful reminder to keep an eye on even the most distant gulls.
With black guillemot resident in the harbour, it is perhaps no surprise that they venture out along the nearby coastline from time to time. The first bird flew in directly in front of me, providing great views, and was soon joined by a second.
Their visit was brief, however, and after spending a short while offshore, both birds took to the air and headed back in the direction of the harbour, from where they had almost certainly originated.
One bird attracted my attention as it worked its way across the water among a line of Manx shearwaters. At first glance it appeared to have a strikingly white bill, prompting a closer look through the scope. As it drew nearer, the mystery was resolved - it was simply a cormorant, the apparent white bill being nothing more than the conspicuous white wedge at the base of the lower mandible catching the light.
By now, Manx shearwaters were a constant feature of the watch, with dozens visible offshore at any one time as birds streamed past in both directions.
Three terns appeared together offshore and immediately had me reaching for the scope, hopeful that they might be Arctic terns like the one that had passed through the day before. Sadly, it wasn't to be. A closer look revealed them to be sandwich terns, a much more expected sight at this time of year.
They powered their way along the coast, barely pausing and showing no interest in fishing. Within a few minutes they had disappeared from view, perhaps continuing towards Stevenston Point or Irvine.
My time ran out again and again there was no sign of any skuas.
My final morning arrived and, for the third consecutive day, I found myself heading to Saltcoats. This time, however, I did so with the knowledge that the wind had finally swung around and was now blowing in the favourable direction that Jason had predicted.
After parking up, I unpacked my scope from the car and was about to walk around behind Oscar's when I heard someone call out from behind me. Looking round, I spotted Jason sitting on the steps of the tower overlooking the tidal pools. I wandered across, introduced myself, and joined him for the morning's watch. Apparently, the stronger wind was far less punishing from our position. By way of comparison, Jason pointed out Dougie Edmond, who was perched on top of the tower at the end of the harbour wall, far more exposed to the full force of the elements.
No sooner had I set up my scope than Jason picked up a peregrine hunting offshore. As we followed it through the scopes, he explained that peregrines are sometimes seen making optimistic attempts to catch Manx shearwaters, although their presence can also indicate storm petrels moving through the area. We kept a close eye on it for a while, but eventually lost sight of the falcon and, despite our hopes, there was no sign of any storm petrels.
Three red-throated divers flew through, and I hurriedly tried to get a photograph. Unfortunately, by the time I got the camera onto them they had climbed higher against the sky and were already heading further offshore, leaving me with little chance of a good image. A little later, Jason picked out a common scoter far out to sea, followed shortly afterwards by a puffin, my first of the year, and then I spotted 12 kittiwakes.
As we continued scanning the horizon in the hope of finding a skua, conversation flowed between sightings. We talked about all manner of birding topics, his son's football team and their recent successes, the match he would be attending that evening, and eventually discovered that he knew my youngest brother. Meanwhile, the steady procession of razorbills, common guillemots and Manx shearwaters continued, but still there was no sign of a skua.
Time was slipping away and I had been watching for over two hours when a WhatsApp message arrived from Dougie. He was alerting us to a dark-morph Arctic skua heading in our direction. I hadn't seen the message before the bird suddenly materialised, appearing from the gap between our position and Dougie's watchpoint before powering past behind a shag. At last, a skua!
The encounter caught me slightly off guard and I struggled to get the bird in the camera's viewfinder. By the time I managed to lock onto it, the skua was already some distance away, meaning most of my photographs were taken as it passed in front of us or disappeared into the distance, resulting in a collection of increasingly poor images taken from behind.
I remained for another half hour, hoping for a repeat performance or perhaps a second skua, but none materialised. Eventually I had to head back to the hotel for a shower before breakfast and checkout. Later that afternoon, however, I saw a message from Dougie reporting another dark-morph Arctic skua from Stevenston Point, suggesting there may have been more birds moving through the area that day.
I set off for home with the family in mid-afternoon, eventually arriving back a little after 10.00pm. During the journey, I had been exchanging messages with Kev Heath about the possibility of another birding trip the following morning.
Fortunately, Kev offered to do the driving, which was much appreciated after a long day on the road. We eventually settled on a visit to RSPB Ham Wall, where both a Savi's warbler and a blue-winged teal had been showing from VP1. Kev had attempted to see a different Savi's warbler in Northamptonshire a couple of times in recent days but had only managed to hear it - this offered another opportunity. There was also the possibility of a great reed warbler, although reports suggested it was proving far easier to hear than to see, spending most of its time hidden away in the bushes.
That prospect didn't particularly concern me. Only a few weeks earlier I had spent a considerable amount of time listening to a great reed warbler skulking in the bushes at Belvide Reservoir, so I didn't feel a pressing need to repeat the experience.
We decided against stopping for breakfast on the journey south. With toilets available at the reserve and no real need for a break, we made good progress and arrived at the car park in good time. Better still, an update had already come through confirming that the blue-winged teal had been seen that morning.
Making our way along the track to VP1, we found Kev's sister Karen @hobbylovinglife and her partner Dean @worlebirder among the dozen or so birders already gathered there. Although the teal had apparently been seen earlier, none of those present had apparently seen it but there was a rough indication of where it had last been observed before disappearing into cover. With that as our only clue, we joined the search and began scanning the area in the hope that it would reappear.
Bitterns were exceptionally active throughout the morning. Between bouts of booming, birds regularly took to the air, presumably on feeding flights, and in total through the visit we enjoyed more than half a dozen prolonged views, including many lengthy flights.
A couple of hobbies also appeared over the treeline in front of VP1, providing plenty of distraction while we searched for the teal - there were large numbers of dragonflies and damselflies on the wing. Despite carefully checking every likely candidate, there was still no sign of the target bird. Large numbers of gadwall were scattered across the water's edges, and the blue-winged teal had reportedly been associating with them, but none of the flocks we examined contained anything unusual.
Meanwhile, we could hear the distinctive reeling song of the Savi's warbler carrying from some distance away to our right. Kev swung his scope around in that direction, but for the moment the only bird we could pick out among the reeds was a reed warbler.
Eventually, Kev called me over to his scope and pointed out a bird that we quickly agreed was the Savi's warbler. It was now showing more towards the one o'clock position from the platform. We alerted the other birders nearby, but the warbler promptly dropped back into cover before many could get onto it. Our first for the year.
Fortunately, it proved to be a creature of habit, repeatedly reappearing on almost the same broken reed stem. Although distant, the first few views were particularly satisfying as we were able to link the bird's distinctive reeling song to its movements and exact location. Before long, several others had joined us and were enjoying views of the bird. The bird stayed too distant to allow any photographs and Kev shared that even videoing through a scope was very challenging.
One birder standing behind me stepped forward to look through my scope so that he could get a line on the warbler. Unfortunately, I had neglected to lock the scope head, and it shifted slightly when his binoculars caught it. By the time I managed to relocate the bird, it once again slipped from view into the reeds.
Only later did I discover that the birder was Leon Rice @LeonRice861481 and although we follow each other on X, we had never actually met. We chatted about the day's birding, and he shared that earlier that morning he had visited Dawlish Warren to see his first broad-billed sandpiper before travelling up to Ham Wall, where he was hoping to connect with what would also be a new bird for him - the blue-winged teal.
We continued to enjoy intermittent views of the Savi's warbler, although as the morning wore on it became increasingly reluctant to sing loudly enough for us to hear and there were longer periods between appearances. With the excitement of the warbler beginning to fade, our attention returned to the search for the blue-winged teal.
At one point a report circulated of a garganey out in front of us, but none of us knew who had made the identification and there were plenty of puzzled expressions as we scanned the area without success. Despite many pairs of binoculars and scopes covering the pools, nobody could find a garganey.
What we really needed was for the ducks to shuffle themselves and reveal anything hidden from view. Before long, a marsh harrier drifted across the reserve and provided exactly the disturbance we had been hoping for. Ducks lifted from the margins and shuffled around the pools, prompting a frantic effort to work through every bird both in flight and newly exposed along the water's edge. Despite our best efforts, however, there was still no sign of the blue-winged teal.
Meanwhile, black-tailed godwits wheeled gracefully around the pools before dropping back down, only to repeat the circuit again a few minutes later, adding a constant sense of movement to the scene.
Once this excitement died down, we spent time casually scanning looking for any change in front but also chatted more with the birders around us. Karen and Dean left to go and attempt to connect with the great reed warbler and I started to pay a bit more attention to the dragonflies and damselflies around us. A large chaser dropped on the rail in front of us and then down onto the platform and then onto the grasses beyond.
As I took photographs, I assumed it was a broad-bodied chaser but reviewing the photos I could see it was actually a scarce chaser. Despite their name, they are now more widespread than they once were, although they remain a local and much sought-after species. The Somerset Levels are one of their strongholds in Britain, and late May is an excellent time to encounter them.
The males are particularly striking, their powder-blue abdomens catching the sunlight as they darted back and forth over the water. At first glance they can resemble broad-bodied chasers, but the dark tip to the abdomen and distinctive wing-base markings quickly give them away. Their eyes are bluish-grey, often matching the bluish tone of the abdomen in mature males. Watching them patrol their territories provided a welcome distraction while the search for the blue-winged teal continued.
Other dragonflies were also active, including the more familiar four-spotted chasers patrolling the pools and ditches. I took the opportunity to wander back to the ditch behind the viewpoint, where I found a greater variety of damselflies. Among them were several striking (large) red-eyed damselflies, their vivid crimson eyes standing out immediately in contrast with the otherwise dark, bronze-black body. At a glance they can resemble the more familiar blue-tailed damselfly, but the combination of ruby-red eyes and the metallic sheen to the body makes them distinctive once seen well. The species is widespread across much of England and Wales and has expanded its range significantly over recent decades. It is particularly common on well-vegetated lakes, gravel pits, reservoirs, canals and wetland reserves but less so in northern England and Scotland.
Eventually it was time to call it a day and begin the journey home, stopping only briefly for a sandwich enroute. We had managed to connect with one of our target species, the Savi's warbler, but the blue-winged teal had managed to evade us.
Reports over the following days suggested that we were far from alone in our frustration. The bird continued to prove remarkably elusive, often appearing for only a matter of seconds before disappearing back into cover or flying out of view. I'll continue to keep an eye on the reports, however. It's a smart-looking duck and one that would be well worth another attempt should the opportunity arise.
Year list: 260.
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