Remarkably, reports continued to come through of the grey phalarope at Lisvane Reservoir, the bird having first been reported there the previous Friday. It was already approaching late breakfast time when I decided to go, but on checking Kev’s @kev07713 availability, it became clear that he couldn’t join me. I checked with my wife too, but she had other arrangements, so I jumped in the car and set off for Lisvane on my own. I had an appointment that evening, which meant there would be no opportunity to call in anywhere else, and with nothing else of particular interest between me and Cardiff, travelling any further into Wales simply wasn’t going to be possible.
The grey phalarope is a scarce but regular visitor to Britain, most often turning up in autumn as birds migrate south from their Arctic breeding grounds. Despite its name, it is a striking little wader, with a fine needle-like bill, often swimming actively on the surface of pools and reservoirs as it picks insects and other small prey from the water.
The journey was straightforward and along a well-worn route, as I had spent considerable time working in the Rogerstone/Newport area during my time with Alcan International. I had several secondments to the factory there and, at various points, was making almost weekly visits to support process developments and special projects. Consequently, the route was one I knew well, making the drive down to Cardiff a familiar one.
I arrived to find that parking at the reservoir was free for an hour and a half, which seemed to give me enough time to find the bird and, hopefully, grab some lunch afterwards. I collected my kit and set off along the footpath towards the area where the bird had been reported earlier that morning. I kept my eyes open as I walked, as the grey phalarope could easily have moved, although from what I could see, it seemed to have favoured the same body of water each day.
It had been suggested that the earlier report came from the viewing screen, so when I reached there I scanned the water carefully. There were plenty of little grebes, both sitting on the surface and repeatedly diving beneath it, but no sign of the phalarope. I therefore returned to the footpath and continued along, where I could now see more of the remaining water stretching away towards the far corner. I set up the scope again and, this time, managed to locate the phalarope, apparently about halfway across the water. Judging distances over water is always difficult, however, and a bird that initially appears to be close to the opposite bank can somehow seem to be much nearer the centre of the reservoir when viewed from the opposite side.
The bird swam quickly in my direction and, as it drew level with me, suddenly took to the air and flew in towards the bank, effectively halving the distance between us. I managed to get a few photographs before it began working its way back out towards the middle of the water. I updated BirdGuides to confirm that the bird was still present, but as I did so the phalarope flew further along the water and disappeared. I worked my way back along the footpath and soon relocated it, although now at a greater distance and now gradually making its way back towards where I had first seen it. I watched and waited, but it seemed quite content to remain well away from the bank and showed little inclination to give me another opportunity for those elusive close-up photographs.
Eventually I gave up leaving to grab some food and get back to the car within the free limit for parking. The journey home was inevitably slower with people starting to make their way home. I had to get home, have dinner, got out for a few hours, come home for a shower, and then prepare for a visit to New Brighton where Kev, his wife Karen, and I were hoping to connect with Leach's petrels.
New Brighton is one of the better places in the northwest to look for Leach's petrel, although seeing one is very much dependent on the weather. The best opportunities come in autumn, particularly during September and October, when strong north-westerly winds can push these normally pelagic birds towards the coast. A good sea watching day typically involves a stiff NW or WNW wind, preferably with squally showers, and ideally coinciding with a high tide.
Under the right conditions, birds can be driven surprisingly close to shore, sometimes passing just offshore as they work their way along the coast. Early morning can be productive, particularly when birds have been sheltering in the Irish Sea overnight before moving along the coast. It is, therefore, less a case of simply picking a date and hoping for the best and more a matter of watching the forecast and waiting for that combination of wind, tide and weather that might bring a Leach's petrel within range. The following day looked good on all counts.
We set off at 5.45am, working on the understanding that the best chance of seeing the birds would be during the couple of hours either side of high tide. With high tide due at around 10.45am, that should put us in position at about the right time. When we pulled into the car park at New Brighton, we could see a group of birders already set up with their scopes, so we jumped out of the car and went over to speak to them before getting our own kit out. It had started to rain, however, and several of the birders were already packing away their gear and heading back to their cars. From those who remained, we learned that they had seen a single Leach's petrel out in the estuary but had concluded that the wind simply wasn't strong enough to push the birds close enough to shore for any views. They were all relocating to Gun Point, further west along the coast, so we decided to follow suit.
We arrived at the car park and quickly set up our scopes. The birders already there had also managed to see a single Leach's petrel, along with two Arctic skuas. The wind felt reasonably brisk to us, so we were a little surprised to hear that it apparently wasn't strong enough to bring more birds within view.
We checked BirdGuides and quickly realised that we had been in the wrong place. There were reports of good numbers of Leach's petrels along the North Wales coast, particularly at Rhos Point near Conwy, where 40 had been seen before 8.00am, a further five before 8.30am, and another two by 9.00am. It seemed the birds had been pushed further down the coast and had largely bypassed our position. Despite a couple of local sightings, our five-hour vigil failed to produce our target bird - a lifer for Kev and Karen and a much-needed year tick for me. In total, there had been 29 reports of Leach's petrels along the coast here and into North Wales, yet we hadn't managed to see a single one.
We had at least salvaged two Arctic skuas, which were new for the year for Kev and Karen, and as we headed home at around 2.00pm we discussed whether we should make the detour to Rhos Point in the hope that the birds might show at the next high tide. It was around an hour and fifteen minutes from where we were, but doing so would have put us in North Wales with an almost four-hour drive home ahead of us. I would also have arrived home at a time when my wife would probably already have been in bed, having prepared for a couple of days away with friends. I could sense that Kev was keen to give it a go, and I was disappointed to have to decline. As it turned out, however, there were no further reports after 12.55pm, so in hindsight it was probably the right decision after all. Perhaps we will get another chance?
Saturday arrived and we had decided to make the journey to RSPB Titchwell Marsh, where not one but two spotted crakes had been reported - one apparently an adult type and the other a juvenile. We had missed the bird at Upton Warren, which had been a one-day affair, after I had opted instead to travel to Daventry Reservoir to see a pectoral sandpiper. The crake disappeared, while the sandpiper stayed, so with hindsight it hadn't been my finest decision! The Titchwell birds, however, seemed to be showing remarkably well for such elusive birds and had already been present for a surprisingly long time. Our main concern was the clear night, which might have encouraged them to move on, but that worry was put to rest when a report came through that at least one bird was still present while we were enroute.
The spotted crake is one of those birds that has a reputation for being considerably easier to hear than to see. A small, secretive wetland bird, it spends much of its time skulking through reeds, sedges and other dense vegetation, with the male's distinctive, repeated 'whip-crack' call often providing the first indication that one is present. It is a summer visitor to Britain, arriving from its African wintering grounds, although passage birds can also occur outside the breeding season.
The species is particularly significant in Britain because of its scarcity. The spotted crake was once more widespread and numerous, but the loss and degradation of suitable wetland habitat has resulted in a substantial decline. The national survey in 1999 recorded around 80 singing males, but by 2012 only 28 singing males were found at 11 sites. More recent estimates suggest that the British breeding population may be little more than 25–30 males. Numbers can be difficult to assess, however, as the birds are exceptionally secretive and males often become silent once they have paired.
We pulled into the car park and made our way towards the area where the crakes had been reported over the previous few days. As we approached, birders coming back along the track confirmed that one of the birds was currently showing. We joined a couple of dozen other birders gathered along the main track just beyond the hide, all peering down towards the edge of the water, and almost immediately we were onto the bird. It fed quietly, working its way along the base of the reed stems before eventually disappearing. There were another couple of dozen birders gathered in the Island Hide, but they were missing these excellent views from the track. Later, there was a suggestion that the other bird might have been showing from the hide.
We waited for a while, but there were no further views of the bird, so we decided to head down towards the beach and have a look from there, particularly as it wasn't long after high tide. On the way, we stopped at a spot where we had found wasp spiders the previous year and, remarkably, they were still in almost the same place as before.
Wasp spiders make an interesting seasonal addition to the wildlife, particularly around the rough grassland and areas of longer vegetation. Their striking yellow-and-black patterning makes the females relatively easy to spot when they are sitting in the centre of their large orb webs, while the much smaller males are far less conspicuous. September is a particularly good time to look for them, as the females are fully grown and breeding is taking place.
Their egg sacs are equally fascinating. After mating, the female produces a distinctive, roughly spherical brown papery egg sac, often suspended among the surrounding vegetation close to the web. Each sac can contain hundreds of eggs, and the female's life cycle is effectively drawing to a close by this stage of the year. The young spiders remain protected within the sac through the colder months, emerging the following spring. Finding both the spiders and their egg sacs adds another small but memorable detail to a visit, even when the focus of the trip is on rarer birds.
We reached the beach and found the usual collection of shoreline favourites: sanderlings, curlews, oystercatchers, sandwich terns, common terns, black-tailed and bar-tailed godwits, turnstones, and more besides. Out over the water, gulls and cormorants were scattered across the sea, while common scoter and terns were also present, the latter occasionally plunging into the water to feed. Then two Arctic skuas appeared at considerable distance. I tried for a photograph, although I knew in my heart that it was never going to produce anything worthwhile at that range. Eventually, we headed back towards the main reserve, intending to make our way to the Parrinder Hide and see if we could find some of the smaller waders, which should hopefully include curlew sandpipers and little stints.
As we approached the turn towards the Parrinder Hide, we noticed a group of birders looking particularly interested in something along another stretch of reeds. Naturally, we went to investigate and found that they had located a spotted crake. We watched the bird again, first from the track and then from a bench a little further along, where Kev and I both managed to take some video, although Kev's effort turned out considerably better than mine.
While we were on the track, I was also keeping an eye on the ruff and spoonbills when, suddenly, a curlew sandpiper dropped in among the waders. Curlew sandpipers breed in the high Arctic, particularly across northern Siberia, before undertaking a southward migration once the breeding season is over. August and September are the main periods for autumn passage through Britain, with adults followed by juveniles making their way towards wintering grounds in Africa and, for some birds, further east. During their passage they can often be found among mixed flocks of waders, probing the soft mud for invertebrates with their distinctive, slightly down-curved bills.
We decided to make our way back through the reserve and stop for some lunch before spending a little time checking out the woodland birds. By the end of the visit, we had logged more than 70 species around the reserve, making it another very enjoyable day at Titchwell. Whatever the time of year, it always seems to deliver a good day's birding.
Year list: 290.
