Kev @kev07713 got in touch to say that he and his wife, Karen, were planning a trip to Mundesley on Wednesday to see the nutcracker, followed by a visit to Cley to catch up with the desert wheatear if it was still around. Both would be lifers for Karen. He kindly invited me to join them, but having already amassed plenty of photographs of both species, I thought I might see what else I could find to visit.
Eventually, though, I succumbed to the temptation of the rufous-tailed robin at Flamborough Head. I also knew that a Pallas's warbler had been showing at RSPB Bempton Cliffs, providing a useful back-up plan should either bird depart overnight.
The only slight drawback was that the robin had been showing best at dawn and dusk, with some amazing views for an hour at dawn the previous day. An early start was clearly on the cards. I duly set off at 2.10am and, unsurprisingly, the traffic was light - unlike the sky!
Once we'd left the motorways and dual carriageways behind, I found myself following the same car for many miles, eventually turning into the car park directly behind it, in a line of four cars arriving together. Getting to the parking spot had presented a few challenges, not least negotiating some sizeable potholes in the darkness - it was still before 5.30am.
As I was changing my shoes, Kev called to see how my journey was going. He was surprised to hear that I was already there, as he was only just approaching the A14 and making good progress on his way to Norfolk. He knew how keen I would be to get into the area where the robin had been showing, and although dawn wasn't expected until around 6.15am, with sunrise another half-hour later, there was always the desire to secure a good position before the light arrived. If the bird repeated its performance from the previous day, those in place early could be rewarded with some excellent views.
After paying for parking, I joined the chap whose car I'd been following and we made our way down through the field, eventually picking up the trail towards the gully and track where the recent sightings had been reported.
The rufous-tailed robin ia an exceptionally rare visitor from eastern Asia, is a species that very few people in Britain have been fortunate enough to see, making the discovery of one at Flamborough Head an event of considerable excitement - it is the sixth recorded in Britain. Views had been generally tricky and some of the birders around me were returning as they had dipped on a number of previous occasions.
The species breeds in central and eastern Siberia, extending into north-eastern China and northern Japan, favouring damp woodland with dense undergrowth. It migrates south for the winter, spending much of that time in southern China and south-east Asia. A bird turning up on the east coast of Britain has therefore strayed a considerable distance from its normal migration route.
Despite its name, the rufous-tailed robin is not particularly similar in appearance to our familiar European robin. It is a small, rather unobtrusive bird, measuring approximately 13–14cm in length. Its upperparts are olive-brown, contrasting with a distinctive warm rufous tail, while the underparts are whitish, with attractive greyish, scalloped markings across the breast and flanks. It has pinkish legs and a relatively subtle facial pattern. One characteristic behaviour is its habit of quivering its tail, although it is often said to be difficult to appreciate this when the bird spends so much of its time concealed in dense cover.
When we arrived at the gully, around 20 people were already gathered, keeping their distance from the area beyond the bench where the robin had performed so well the previous day. Four birders joined, standing at the top of the slope, and we later learned that at least one of them had been there the previous evening. He was convinced that he had seen the robin disappear into some brambles to the side of the bench to roost. From their vantage point on the slope, they would have had an excellent view of the spot.
As dawn approached, the gathering crowd had grown to around 50 people. A robin suddenly appeared on the path, prompting a brief flurry of excitement, although it was, of course, one of our familiar European robins rather than the bird we had all travelled to see.
With the arrival of daylight, the woodland gradually began to stir, and bird calls could be heard all around us. A bullfinch, several robins, blue and great tits, a wren, dunnock, blackbird and chaffinch all put in an appearance, but there was still no sign of the rufous-tailed robin.
As the light slowly filtered through the trees, one of the birders behind me picked out a small bird at the foot of a tree. He thought he had spotted a mottled breast and suggested that it might eventually emerge into view. Others were calling it as a wren, but when I managed to get onto it, I thought it looked more like a robin than a wren. There were certainly wrens in the vicinity, at times interacting with a robin, which only added to the uncertainty.
Nothing materialised, however, and as the minutes ticked by, attention gradually shifted towards the gully below the fence. People began spreading out along the fence line, concentrating on the moss-covered log that had provided regular sightings of the elusive visitor during the previous week. It was becoming increasingly clear that we were in for a frustrating morning.
I noticed that the slender-billed nutcracker had been reported and sent Kev a message, suggesting that he was probably having rather more success than me, as my chosen bird had so far failed to appear.
After three and a half hours without any sign, I decided that the odds were beginning to look rather poor. With news that the Pallas's warbler had been reported at RSPB Bempton Cliffs, I opted to cut my losses and head there instead but would still be in the vicinity should the robin be relocated.
As it turned out, the decision was perhaps more significant than I realised at the time. The rufous-tailed robin was not seen again that day, nor did it reappear in the days that followed. My opportunity to see this remarkable visitor had come and gone.
I arrived at RSPB Bempton Cliffs and immediately went in search of the Pallas's warbler as quite a few others seem to have done. I found the group of birders, and they seemed to have just had views, but the bird had retreated into a dense area of hawthorn. I worked round the area and found a birder who soon called the bird in the top of a relatively bare tree - my camera settings were still left as I'd set them for the robin and my pictures against the sky were next to useless and the bird nothing more than a silhouette. I'd hopefully get more views.
The Pallas's warbler is a tiny but striking migrant, breeding in the coniferous forests of Siberia and parts of northern China before migrating south-eastwards to winter in southern China and South-East Asia. Britain lies well off its normal migration route, and birds arriving here are generally thought to have been displaced westwards during autumn migration, often helped by easterly winds.
Measuring just 9–10cm, it is one of our smallest warblers, but its bright green upperparts, yellow crown stripe, prominent eyebrow, twin wing-bars and distinctive yellow rump make it particularly attractive. Although once an exceptional rarity, it is now an almost annual autumn visitor. Some autumns produce a handful, while others bring significant arrivals, particularly along the east coast during October and November.
It had been present at RSPB Bempton Cliffs for several days, favouring the scrub and vegetation around the visitor centre and car park, where it was providing some good opportunities for those hoping to see and photograph this attractive little Siberian visitor. However, I was now reminded of how difficult it can be to photograph these little sprites as they work through at pace. constantly on the move as they search for tiny insects and other invertebrates among leaves, twigs and branches.
Their feeding style is rather flycatcher-like, as they flit rapidly through the vegetation, often hovering briefly to inspect the underside of leaves or picking insects from foliage and branches. They rarely remain still for long, frequently flicking their wings and tail as they work methodically through the bushes. Their agility and almost restless behaviour make them fascinate to watch.
I followed the Pallas's warbler as it worked its way through the vegetation, occasionally disappearing and leaving us waiting patiently until one of us managed to locate it again. I rather enjoyed the challenge, but during a quick check for any news of the rufous-tailed robin, I noticed that an Isabelline shrike had been reported at Out Newton. This would be a lifer for me, and somewhat frustratingly, the bird had chosen to put in an appearance just after I had left Spurn a week earlier.
Out Newton was almost an hour and a half away, which would leave me with a similar journey home to the one I was already facing. However, I still had plenty of time, so the decision was relatively easy. I grabbed a sandwich from the café and set off for Out Newton, with another new bird firmly in my sights.
I arrived at the farm where the sightings had been reported and immediately spotted three birders with scopes and cameras. That was a reassuring sign that I was in the right place.
Isabelline shrikes are a very scarce visitor to Britain, with usually only a handful of records in a typical year. It breeds across the dry, open landscapes of Central Asia, Mongolia and western China, migrating south for the winter. Britain lies well outside its normal range, making any arrival an exciting find. Identification can be complicated, particularly with first-winter birds, as the closely related Daurian and Turkestan shrikes are difficult to distinguish - I think the jury is still out on this one.
It was initially identified as an Isabelline shrike, presumed to be of the Daurian form, although the precise identification required some caution. For me, it was an especially exciting discovery as it represents a lifer regardless. Having missed its arrival at Spurn the previous week, I was delighted to find that it was still present and, even better, showing well enough to provide some excellent opportunities for photographs and video.
After parking safely, I joined them and discovered that the bird was in view. Almost on cue, it hopped out into a more open position, giving us some excellent views. It was quite mobile, moving around regularly, but fortunately kept returning to the same area. Photographing it proved considerably easier than the earlier encounter with the Pallas's warbler, and it even remained perched for long enough to allow me to capture some video as well as a good selection of photographs.
After a while, instead of flying over to the far hedge at the other end of the compound, the shrike flew to the much closer end, providing even better views and some fantastic photographic opportunities. It was a wonderful way to experience a lifer, particularly an infrequent visitor that I’d been unable to catch up with until now.
It’s been a pretty good year for shrikes, too, with great grey, two long-tailed, two woodchat, red-backed and now this Isabelline shrike added to my year list - 3 of these species were lifers.
With at least a three-and-a-half-hour journey home ahead of me, it was time to pack up and hit the road. On the way back, I caught up with Kev and Karen over the phone and discovered that they hadn’t seen the nutcracker all day - it had simply vanished. To make matters worse, the desert wheatear had also disappeared. I was absolutely gutted for them, especially after all the effort they’d put in. But that’s birding for you - you can plan, travel and wait all day, but you can never guarantee a result. You just can't get them all.
Year list: 309 (mine), 303 (BUBO).
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