Lesser can be more

I'm really enjoying the office patch at the moment, both for its regular finds and the occasional bonus birds it throws up.

I get to cover this small patch pretty well because rain or shine I have to be at the office a couple of times a week - and being pretty remote there's not much else to do at lunchtime but take a walk around the nearby countryside.

First up is normally the cormorant count - four this week but as high as 11 a couple of weeks back.

Second is a scan of the lake: at the moment that normally turns up a combination of either greylag and / or canada geese, mallards, 1-3 little grebe, the occasional great crested grebe, a couple of lurking moorhens, a grey heron and, somewhere about, a kingfisher.

And then it's on to the fields and hedgerows where most of the excitement has been over the last few weeks.

Over the course of two short walks this week (Monday and Wednesday) I was able to find birds including: all three common raptors (kestrel, buzzard and sparrowhawk); a decent-sized flock of yellowhammers; a regular marsh tit; treecreeper; nutchatch; goldcrest; bullfinch; plenty of long-tailed and blue tits; skylarks dotted about the place; both common woodpeckers; goldfinch and chaffinch - plus Wednesday's star bird, the lesser redpoll.

Approximately 18 lesser redpolls in fact, clustered high in a skeletal oak tree and quietly chirruping away (not a distinctive sound - 'a plainsong goldfinch' was the phrase which occurred to me at the time). 

Having not seen a redpoll for quite some time, let alone this many in one place, it took me a moment or two to identify them. But a quick scan of streaky beige back and underparts, red / darkening patches around the throat and the short forked tail soon confirmed these LBJs as lesser redpoll - an office patch first and a welcome find on any autumnal birding walk.

Bird of the week: Lesser redpoll (Carduelis cabaret), a much more common bird in the UK than its paler winter-visiting cousin the common (or mealy) redpoll (I know, bird names seem designed to confuse at times) - but still not all that regular a find in these parts. 

Come sunshine, rain and pie

I started a busy birding weekend in driving rain and finished it in fine autumnal sun; the funny thing is that both were equally enjoyable.

Napton Reservoir can be bleak enough at the best of times - it seems to attract winds that nowhere else can find. With some cold heavy rain added to the mix it wasn't the most promising start to a weekend, but there was enough about to make for a rewarding hour or so.

No notable wildfowl on the water, just c.80 coots, c.30 tufted ducks, c.40 black-headed gulls, a handful of common gulls and a great-crested grebe - plus a big flock of 50 canada geese and a single greylag.

There were only a few fieldfares and redwings around the perimeter - I've yet to see a large flock of either this year - but there were well over 100 starling moving. Three snipe flew while I was there, and two groups of lapwing flew east - three then five, the latter group touching down momentarily. A male bullfinch and a kestrel were also present.

The sun was out by Sunday morning, and my customary bike ride was considerably enlivened by passing views of a flock of c.20 golden plover in fields near Long Itchington.

Male Goldeneye (Credit: Bill Thompson/USFWS)

Later that morning it was off to Brandon Marsh for what is becoming something of a family routine - lunch then birding.

Pie Week went down well with the troops (steak and mushroom, thanks for asking) and then we headed off for a reasonably thorough look around the reserve.

Our reward was a total of 42 species found: highlights including a sparrowhawk and three snipe at East Marsh Pool, great views of great spotted woodpecker and nuthatch at the feeders, and three goldeneye - a male and two female, back at East Marsh.

Bird of the weekend: Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula), a gorgeous diving duck (well, the male at least); a winter-only visitor in these parts with the tiny UK breeding population confined to Scotland.

Chat-tastic

Napton had been in the finest possible birding form last weekend (see previous post) with plenty on and around the reservoir and a few extra ticks on the hill.

My favourite birds at the reservoir were the small flock of meadow pipits I finally located in hedges at the back of the water, but also of note were: four lapwing flying south; plenty of snipe flights (who knows how many individual birds on site?); 12 common gulls among the black-headed; two big arrivals of starling (c40 in the first group, close to 100 in the second); three fieldfare overhead; a male sparrowhawk dashing low over a nearby field; and nine wigeon.

But, as previously reported, with brunch beckoning I forced myself to drive past the Long Itch diner and on to Brandon Marsh, conscious that the long-staying stonechats were still being reported. One Full English later and I was in the new Ted Jury hide, looking at not one but two neat little 'chats - a female and a male, the latter with fairly muted head colouring rather than the striking black I'm more used to seeing in spring. A first winter male perhaps?

Both were extremely obliging, hopping from bush top to reed stem to post to tree stump, only occasionally dropping from view.

With a sprinkling of wildfowl on the East Marsh hide, plus a kestrel, a buzzard and some regular visitors to the Brandon feeders I was able to conclude a day with a creditable 47 species. 

Bird of the day: Stonechat (Saxicola torquata); much as I loved the little 'mipits' at Napton, the stonechat has to be the bird of the day. A regular but scarce find for most inland birders, it's a distinctive and attractive bird with the commendable habit of sitting at the top of bushes and vegetation (unlike some birds I could mention - yes, cettis warbler, I'm looking at you). 

Patch Wars! Leam Valley vs Napton (vs Brandon Marsh)

No two sites on my local birdwatching patch are the same. This is by design, of course, since the perfect patch is one which has as many habitats as possible; and different habitats mean, in turn, different species.

But besides habitat, there is another crucial difference between the different sites - productivity. Never mind the quality, feel the quantity. 

Take for example the case of Leam Valley vs Napton (reservoir and hill). 

A typical walk through Leam Valley, such as the lunchtime one I took earlier this week, can often turn up very little for much of its duration. Sure there will be from common birds some song and movement around the trees and hedgerows; an occasional moorhen disturbed from its bankside shelter; and perhaps a buzzard calling high overhead. 

But often there will be next to nothing, and the real hope all the way out will be that the scrape will deliver. And often it does - but with more meagrely measured offerings than some other sites (as we shall see in a moment). 

This week's visit was one such occasion, with those meagre but no less rewarding highlights on and around the scrape including: great and repeated views of a kingfisher fishing in front of the hide; a small flock of brightly-coloured chaffinches and goldfinches; and - star bird of the day - three shovelers, a male and two females (initially overlooked as mallards by a stupid and over-eager eye).

Compare and contrast with Napton on Saturday morning. It was my first full session at Napton for many a long while, and it was fantastic in every respect. Great weather, high spirits and a monumental bird count. 

Where to start? On the reservoir itself there were fairly typical numbers of coot (80+), tufted ducks (25), mallards (18) and gulls - 70-odd black-headed and about 20 common. Snipe seemed to flush from every bank and reedbed, I counted more than a dozen flights in all. New on the water were 9 wigeon; 4 lapwing flew south; three fieldfare flew past; and decent numbers of starlings arrived in two biggish groups - 50 then 100+.

Away from the water I was teased for a while with distinctive 'seep, seep' calls; eventually I was able to track them down and identify a little flock of meadow pipit, a welcome bird which I don't see often enough. Plenty of skylarks passed in good voice overhead, a mistle thrush did likewise, a few pied wagtails moved around the reservoir edge, and a male sparrowhawk made a spectacular, but unsuccessful, low pass over a field of starlings. 

By contrast the hill was quiet, but I still managed to add jay, great spotted and green woodpeckers plus another mistle thrush to the morning's tally. 

So there you have it. Both rather wonderful trips, but in such different ways - one a detailed and close study of a handful of birds, the other an overwhelming spectacle of everything that autumn birding has to offer.

And by way of a final comparison, it was on to Brandon.  So what does a specialist nature reserve managed to perfection for more than 20 years have to offer? Well, a bumper crop of wildfowl for one; plus (and saving the best 'til last here), a pair of stonechat from the new Ted Jury Hide.

Oh, and a tearoom serving a full English breakfast. The perfect end to a morning of 46 bird species - a happy marriage of quantity and quality in equal measure.  

Bird of the week: Stonechat (Saxicola torquata) - I could honestly have picked any number of birds this week, but this little gem has edged it. Normally a bird of western and southern heathland and coast, they disperse more widely in the winter, so a real possibility wherever you are. More on them in the next post.

All change - the new office patch

My office patch has long formed a small but important part of my birdwatching life, and for more than a decade that patch has been in and around the small market town of Henley-in-Arden.

With plenty of fields, some shrubby woods, a small stream and a canal all just a lunchtime stroll away, my Henley office patch has turned up plenty of memorable moments over the years - my best cuckoo encounter, mandarin duck and little egret, and - rarest of all - my only county wood warbler.

So it was with some trepidation that I joined my colleagues in an office relocation in 2013. The tiny hamlet of Langley is less than 10 miles from Henley, and undoubtedly the shiny new offices are good for business - but what would it do for my lunchtime birding?

Well the good news is that there is plenty of potential.

The office is surrounded on all sides by farmland, mainly for sheep and cattle so certainly no shortage of jackdaws. Half way along the track is a large, almost hidden lake, fed by a small stream and surrounded by trees. This of course brings an entirely new dimension to things. And high on the hills either side of the valley is mature woodland.

Today showed just what a rewarding mix that can all be.

At the lake I found 11 greylag, a little grebe, a moorhen, a grey heron and a calling kingfisher somewhere nearby. Six cormorants jostled for perch points on a single tree in the island, watched by just a single female mallard. She wasn't alone for long though, joined in short order by a total of 29 incomers.

As I moved into the main farmland, the most obvious feature was the number of pheasants on show. Clearly a local pen had been emptied in the last day or two - every field was literally lined with pheasants. Above and around them were the usual wood pigeons and jackdaws, with carrion crows and a few rooks among them.

A buzzard called loudly from nearby woods, a female kestrel gave great views while sitting on a wire, but it was the hedgerows that shone brightest: whether in ones or twos or in small flocks, I found just about everything I could have reasonably expected: blue tit, great tit, long-tailed tit, chaffinch, goldfinch and, slightly less common, coal tit, marsh tit, goldcrest and yellowhammer - the latter being the sight of two fantastic cock birds sitting high in a hedge and ignoring the increasingly wet and windy weather.

And when you add the other species picked up here and there along the way - the magpies, robins, wrens, blackbirds and pied wagtails to be precise - you have a very satisfying 30 species. Not at all bad for a 40 minute lunchtime stroll from the office.

Bird of the day: Yellowhammer (Emberiza citrinella): the stridently yellow male yellowhammer is as stunning a bird as you could wish to see, as the photo from www.andymorffew.com shows. A real farmland classic which is unfailingly generous to birdwatchers - as well as being almost luminous yellow it likes to sit high atop hedgerows, and it has one of the most distinctive and diagnostic calls you could wish for. Mind you, the females on the other hand...

Time for a chat?

I suspect my son's enthusiasm for Brandon Marsh might have as much to do with the tearoom milkshakes as it does for the wildlife, but I wasn't complaining as once again he chose it as the destination for a family trip :-)

East Marsh was lively, the lapwings and black-headed gulls being kept company by good numbers of teal and shovellers; with a handful of common and lesser black-backed gulls, a single cormorant and two snipe on the far bank.

The long-staying green sandpiper was on the Teal Pool, and of course there were plenty of other birds around (Charlie enjoyed particularly good views of a great spotted woodpecker on the feeders).

Wild is the wind

The week started breezy and squally; by Tuesday we were seeing the tail end of Hurricane Gonzalo.

A showery Monday stroll around the Langley office turned up three new visitors - cormorants high in a tree near the lake. A kingfisher flashed by, and not far away I found a field full of skylarks.

The next day's lunchtime stroll from the Radford Semele office was carried out in the teeth of Gonzalo.

This made most sightings fleeting at best, as the birds either hunkered down or belted past with the wind at their tail. The biggest birds were, of course, easiest to see and ID - a grey heron disturbed near the pond, a buzzard on the return track, a sparrowhawk flashing low over the house.

A goldfinch struggled overhead near the highest point of the hill, but a small flock of finches flitting in and out of stubble fields proved harder to identify - my best guess is a mix of juvenile and female yellowhammer, pale and washed out in the poor light.

And talking of difficult ID, I was pleased to read in Birdwatching magazine this month the trials of birders trying to ID a particularly pale and grey buzzard in and around the Staffs / Leics border region - variously called as either an osprey or a rough-legged buzzard. Having had a virtually identical wobbly ID moment with a buzzard only couple of weeks ago (see here), it was nice to see that I'm not the only one to be fooled by the hugely variable plumage of Buteo buteo.

There was, however, no mistaking the one I saw on the Fosse Way on the following day: for a moment I thought I would hit it as it struggled to gain height from the verge. Fortunately it cleared the top of my car in time, and a long scaly tail hanging beneath confirming a freshly-caught rat as the reason for this unusual struggle for altitude.

Bird of the week: Cormorant  (Phalacrocorax carbo), once very much a bird of shore and sea, now a regular sight at lakes and rivers around the UK, particularly as autumn arrives.

Young eyes

OK, so I'm no Ian Wallace*. But I had thought my ID skills would remain better than my young son's for a few years yet...

So it was something of a surprise when, as I guided him around the view from Brandon's East Marsh hide with the words "...and there on the far island you can see three greylag geese...", I received the reply: "well that one's not!"

Into the valley

A breezy, overcast but still very warm Saturday morning saw the family opt for a leg stretch along Leam Valley, with no complaints from me :-)

It was quiet on the outward stretch, so we passed our time finding moss, bugs and unusual fungi to amuse a young naturalist determined to use his new magnifying bug jars.

Not much seemed to improve when we got to the scrape, with just a grey heron and a couple of moorhens (plus of course countless wood pigeons) to watch from the hide.

But a move to the screen at the other end did improve matters somewhat - a pair of gadwall and two pairs of teal greeted us at the low water edge.

The gadwall in particular is uncommon on this site; indeed a brief search through notes suggests these may be a first for me at Leam Valley.

We picked up plenty of jays on the return journey, a pair of sparrowhawks displayed and danced around each other briefly, and the final treat was a biggish flock of goldfinch and chaffinches, feeding determinedly on thistle and teasel heads at the north edge of the meadow.

Bird of the day: Gadwall , resident in small numbers during the summer, but much more frequent from autumn through winter - though still by no means common. Most often found around the edges of deeper water than Leam Valley offers, so a nice surprise.

Deer deer

The air was still, dry but not yet properly warm ; everything was recovering from what had felt like a week of rain.

Admittedly it had been much needed rain, but it had still come as something of a shock after such a long and dry start to autumn. If it rained at all in September, I don't remember it.

This suddenly-quiet weather was matched by suddenly-quiet trees, hedges and waterways as I nipped out for another lunchtime walk through the fields near my office.

At first almost nothing showed, just a small blue tit flock passing around me. Then, as I paused to consider which way to turn next, I noticed movement on the far side of a neighbouring field.

My binoculars initially picked up a handful of pheasants working their way along the edge of the field, but then I found something much more interesting.

Two deer were standing stock still. They were small deer, larger than a large dog but not by much, with heads just a bit too small for their body size. Both were dark in colour (reddish? hard to tell in what was still fairly gloomy light), and each had a pale patch around the tail and some white around the mouth.

Roe deer, one of the two native British species, and not a species I encounter as much as I would like. Both proceeded to pick their way along the hedgerow for a couple of minutes, clearly unaware of my presence, before finally slipping through a gap which was too small for me to even see.

I was still staring into the space they had left behind when the distinctive 'cronk' of a raven caught my attention. I turned and found it flying low and directly over my head. Satisfied with my lunchtime stroll I turned for home - only for a female sparrowhawk to join in with a slow and low flap-flap-glide across my path.

In case you're wondering about the image, I'm afraid the chances of me getting close enough to a wild roe deer to take a photograph are pretty slim. Where I haven't got a photo from now on I've decided to include whatever sketch I may have done during (and often completed after) the sighting. That I'm no artist you'll be able to work out yourself, but for me a birding notebook isn't really a birding notebook unless it's got pencil sketches in it - however good, bad or indifferent they may be.

Species of they day:  Roe deer (Capreolus capreolus), a mammal natural to the British Isles but, in a wearyingly familiar pattern, needing to be reintroduced several times having initially been hunted to extinction by 1800. Now abundant enough in England and Scotland, but not always easy to find, particularly around parts of the Midlands apparently.

Fish, no. Birds, yes!

Day two of the fishing weekend started predictably slowly: 6.30am is a hell of a start time when 2.30am was the previous night's finish time...

Still, not to worry. Lessons had been learned from the misadventures of previous years, so consumption had been, if not entirely quashed, then at least half-heartedly moderated. So, come Saturday morning, spirits were high, sausages were consumed, and fly fishing was on!

Or at least it was for the others. The elbow injury that had kept me off the waggler and on the pole the previous day certainly wasn't going to hold up for six hours of constant fly casting, so reluctantly I had to admit that this was nothing more than a social trip for me. A bit of internet research also proved that there were plenty of local opportunities for a quick bit of birding if I got bored with watching my friends cutting a dash in their fly gear.

And it turned out that this wheeze was a bit of a masterstroke. Because as my friends thrashed the surface of a sluggish lake to absolutely no good effect at all, I discovered Whelford Pools, a smashing local nature reserve in the Cotswold Water Park run by Gloucestershire Wildlife Trust.

Formerly a pair of gravel pits, the site has been carefully nurtured and now features a wonderful blend of wooded edges, tiny pools, deep water, shallow scrapes and islands.

Well stocked feeders at the first hide gave me an opportunity to get the camera out, and the second hide offered a splendid view across the main water.

A little egret perched amid grey herons and three cormorants on the far side; more than 120 lapwing called and wheeled around the site;, a shelduck slept on in their midst; four great crested grebes sailed majestically over the deeper water; and there were good quantities of some favourite winter wildfowl - 28 teal, 6 shoveller and 4 gadwall.

A quick walk round to a yet-deeper pool behind added a pair of wigeon to the haul.

In all I found 25 species of bird, not to mention an amazing wasp's nest, in a visit lasting less than 90 minutes. A disappointing fishing trip had turned into a delightful birding one.

Bird of the day: Little Egret (Egretta garzetta) - an almost unheard of sighting when I started birding as a boy, still uncommon when I started again a decade or so ago, and still capable of raising the pulse rate after all these years, despite having become a far, far more normal sight at sites right across the UK.

An autumn lunchtime

It's as if somebody pressed a switch marked 'Autumn'.

While the fields and waters around my office have been stuck in an all-too-dry post-summer lull for many weeks, today's wind and rain brought the whole area bursting into autumnal life.

First up, geese - and is there any sight more autumnal than 100+ geese grazing their way across a field of stubble? I scanned this flock of greylags for a good while hoping to pick up the odd straggler - a pink-footed or perhaps even a bean. Sadly, when I did find the odd-one-out he turned out to be a lone canada. Top marks for trying, and all that.

My thanks go to the nearby buzzard which had them constantly lifting their heads for my closer examination; a female kestrel was also in close attendance on nearby wires, although her attention was mainly taken by mobbing magpies.

On a neighbouring field, the wood pigeons and jackdaws were joined by a loose, mobile flock of 12+ skylarks. A few chaffinches, dunnock and blackbirds edged along the sides of nearby farm hedges, and a big flock of starlings flew into a nearby oak. Carrion crows criss-crossed, a few rooks called loudly from the tallest trees and, out on the lake, a couple of moorhens swam with one each of great crested and little grebe.

A kingfisher, heard by not seen, was a treat on a short but sweet lunchtime walk; an authentic autumnal experience in which only one or two late-calling chiffchaff struck a discordant note as reminders of a summer finally gone.

Bird of the day: Greylag goose (Anser anser), the classic British wild goose: widespread and common, but in flocks no less redolent of autumn than its scarcer cousins.

Curlew Sandpiper and not-an-Osprey at Brandon

Today was a family outing to Brandon Marsh - a trip which often rewards and frustrates in equal measure.

Brandon is always a great place to be, and of course I'm delighted that my good lady and lad both enjoy spending time there. It certainly offers better birding opportunities than a morning shopping. 

What I have had to learn on family trips, however, is that I'm unlikely to ever be able to explore every inch, visit every hide or find every bird. Many is the time I have got home after a family trip to Brandon, logged on and browsed the blogs only to find I missed the weekend's star bird.

Not this time though. With everyone in the family team bright eyed, bushy tailed and enthusiastic, we walked into East Marsh Hide to be greeted by the words: "There's a curlew sandpiper over there." 

Marvellous - 30 seconds in and I'm on to a county tick, my first curlew sandpiper since some in 2005 (and those more predictably in Norfolk). A textbook juvenile this: smooth buff upperparts and chest, white supercillum, elegant black legs and slightly decurved bill - altogether longer and more elegant than the similarly-attired dunlin. It was giving great views on the nearside of the main island, at least whenever it wasn't being harrassed by some of the 60+ lapwing.

Also on East Marsh were good numbers of wigeon, teal, shovellers and black-headed gulls; some gadwalls, mallards, tufted ducks, a cormorant, a grey heron and a couple of greylag geese. A sparrowhawk twice put everything up.

On the Teal Pool behind us we had already enjoyed what I assumed would be the day's highlight, with everyone getting a full scope view of the elusive water rail. And back at the tearooms we added a host of feeder species including coal tit, reed bunting and the ever-welcome nuthatch. 

With 33 species in the bag, there was still time for a final dash right the way back to Newlands to investigate uncertain reports of an osprey. Well, I don't know what was there earlier in the day, but when I arrived I quickly clapped eyes on a largeish, greyish, pale and tatty raptor sitting atop a mid-distant bush. 

My head was full of thoughts of osprey, so I called 'osprey'... followed immediately by 'that doesn't look right'. It wasn't - too broad, too dark and with bright yellow legs and feet. Since I was now pretty sure it wasn't an osprey I spent a minute trying to convince myself it was a marsh harrier instead. It wasn't - unless I read reports otherwise I'm reasonably sure it was a young, pale and patchy buzzard (I should add that the horrible photo, taken via iPhone through scope, makes it look much more like a buzzard than it did in the flesh).

I added a male kestrel (with vole in claws), and left, happy with 35 species and just the one county tick for the day.

Bird of the day: Curlew Sandpiper (Calidris ferruginea), a passage migrant more often seen on the east coast than on an inland site like Brandon.

Lost in the bushes

The penny only dropped a week or so ago that my new offices are just a couple of miles from Snitterfield Bushes, a Warwickshire Wildlife Trust reserve I'd not so far visited. Lunchtime presented an opportunity to put that right.

It was only a quick 40 minutes recce but it was enough to form an extremely positive impression of this little gem. 

The reserve straddles both sides of the Brearley to Snitterfield road, although I only had time to explore the north side. Damp clay soil below, a lush ground and field layer particularly rich in ferns, and a canopy above full of oak, maple and ash.

Birds were predictably hard to come by at lunchtime in such a heavily wooded environment. I heard the tap, tap of a great spotted woodpecker as I arrived, and some 15 minutes later got good views of him, or another like him, deep in the reserve. A large tit flock moved through, plenty of adults among the blue, great and long-tailed tit juveniles. I searched in vain for the oft-accompanying treecreeper, but did hear the explosive call of a nuthatch near by instead.

Fruit rich scrub was full of blackbirds and a couple of song thrushes, but no winter thrushes yet. A buzzard broke cover, plenty of jackdaws called overhead, and robins and wrens called all around. It was a lovely lunchtime walk, so no hardship at all to get slightly lost among the maze of paths. 

After work I swung by Napton Reservoir to see if I could find the apparently elusive whinchat. It proved elusive, but I enjoyed a quiet stroll as the sun went down, with 6 wigeon and a couple of female shovellers having joined the throng since I was here on Sunday. The tufted duck count had also risen considerably to 28. 

A couple of snipe took wing, a few quiet chiffchaff calls were heard, but most notable of all was undoubtedly the large flock of pied wagtails on the bridge as I arrived - well in excess of 20 here and around the reservoir, a highly mobile mix of adults and juveniles with the majority of them flying off to the west at sunset.

Ufton Pools - normal service resumed

Having really enjoyed yesterday's return to patch birding I was keen to get out again today, if only for a short while. 

In the event I could only find an hour or so mid-afternoon; hardly the best time of day for birding but sufficient for a quick stroll around one of the sites I missed yesterday, Ufton Pools.

Marsh Tit - you can look for the two-toned cheek
panel all you want - but you'll only be sure it's not a
willow tit once it sneezes 'pitchoo-pitchoochoo'!
Photo: Neil Cheesman

I like Ufton, or at least I admire it - if only for its stubborn refusal to easily offer up its secrets. In theory it should be full of great birds, and I'm sure it is. But in practice it's damned hard to find them. The trees and scrub are close-packed, the perimeter path leaves a lot of the interior out of range, and the number of walkers and dog-walkers seem to encourage the birds to stay out of sight.

As ever then, this was a pleasant stroll without too many birds. Plenty of coots and moorhens on the Horseshoe Pool, a welcome grey wagtail, a few chiffchaff working around the edges, and across the rest of the site large numbers of highly mobile small birds in flocks.

Blue tits were very much in evidence, three marsh tits were kind enough to call when an identification was required (the call being the only reliable way to ensure they weren't willow tits), and finally I was delighted to add treecreeper to my weekend haul.

The whole weekend was great, and served to remind me of patch birding's great paradox: while doing it I spend virtually every moment hoping and straining to find an unusual, rare or otherwise 'special' bird; but whenever I reflect afterwards on why I continue to do it, I come to the conclusion that it's because I enjoy the way it grounds me in my normal everyday surroundings, helping me find joy, uniqueness and wonder in even the most ordinary finds - the wood pigeons, the house sparrows and the blue tits.

Bird of the weekend: None of them, and yet all of them. Nah, that's not true - it was definitely those sky-dancing ravens ;-)

Back on the birds

The birding bug has been gently stirring in me of late; today I gave it free rein with my first full day of patch birding in a long, long while.

My patch, should the occasional reader (unsurprisingly) need reminding, comprises a mosaic of sites strung broadly along the two main watercourses which run east out of Leamington: the Grand Union Canel and the river which gives the town its name, the Leam.

While most birders would probably say that the ideal patch should be based around a single site, I suspect they would also add that this site should have as wide a range of habitats as possible. The fact of the matter is that individually none of my sites quite has everything I would want in a patch - but together they pretty much have it all.

A quick tour

Leam Valley, Newbold Comyn and the neighbouring Offchurch Bury Estate are at the heart of things. Not only are they closest to home but together they offer the widest variety of habitats within the scope of a single walk, albeit a long one.

A few miles east you'll find Ufton Pools, a unique patchwork of dense scrubby wood and shallow pools. North of there is a different kind of wood altogether - a rare surviving example of ancient Warwickshire woodland at Cubbington. Go further east again and you'll arrive at the furthest points of my patch, Napton Reservoir and Napton Hill. The former provides the deep water every good patch should have; the latter a distinctive geographical landmark which often serves as a migration marker for birds on the move.

Those of you who know the area will notice at once that this selection seems almost perverse in missing out the two best birding sites in the area: Brandon Marsh and Draycote. Both are of course brilliant sites; I could happily call either my patch and not want for much else. But there is something about choosing less popular spots which appeals to me: there seems more value in keeping an eye on them when few others are; there's generally more peace and quiet to be found; and if the day-to-day birding experience can be a little 'understated' from time to time, that simply serves to make anything unusual all the more exciting.

Early at Leam Valley

The Leam Valley scrape: not much water, but just enough
water rails!

It seemed to make sense to begin at Leam Valley, walking the circuit from the car park, through parts of Newbold Comyn, along the river to the scrape, and then back via Offchurch Bury.

The first thing that became apparent was the amount of birdsong in the air at 7am; the second thing was how rusty my birdsong identification skills were. I picked the hard tack-tack-tack of the robin and the fast trill of the wrens quickly enough, but everything else was slow going at first. As was the birding, with little showing itself at first. There were aforementioned robins and wrens aplenty, and regular groups of 20+ black-headed gulls headed south / south-west overhead, but it was half an hour before I found the first head-turner - a marsh tit foraging its way along the banks of the river. Moments later my first three redwings of the year flushed and flew away from me and I felt properly 'back in the game'.

There was evidence of Warwickshire Wildlife Trust's excellent management throughout the site, and nowhere more than at the hide, recently restored after some infuriating vandalism. The hide looked great, some scrub had been cut back to allow better views from the screen - and a patient 20 minutes at the scrape was rewarded with not one but two water rails scurrying across gaps in the now substantial reed beds. These may well be a first for me at Leam Valley; certainly I can find no record of any on this blog or in my notebooks.

I headed back via the Offchurch Bury estate, my long detour rewarded with a pair of grey wagtails, a kingfisher and, foraging on paths alongside some very mature hedgerows, a pair of yellowhammers. A nuthatch called from ivy-covered trees near the car park as I finished, making it a tidy if unspectacular 30 species for the morning so far.

The Napton One-Two

If Leam Valley is the closest part of my patch, Napton is arguably the best - certainly it offers the best prospect of rarer birds. So it seemed the obvious next port of call on this 'back on the patch' day.

The reservoir seemed quiet at first, with very much its standard offering; 80 coot, 11 moorhen, 12 tufted ducks, a great crested grebe, two mute swans and some mallards. But as is so often the way, further investigation was rewarded: three snipe flew while I was there, a pair of grey wagtails flashed by, and I spent a very enjoyable 20 minutes in the far corner watching sedge warblers and chiffchaffs flitting through scrub and reed.

It was while I was sat there that a raven flew towards Napton Hill. It turned out to be an early indication of how my day would end. For having trekked across the hill and down the other side with little to show for my efforts apart from three bullfinches, I was stunned when I reached the quarry side. Not one, not two but 20 or more ravens were in the air - I say 'or more' because counting was impossible. The ravens were highly mobile and acrobatic, flying in twos and threes with rolls, somersaults and sudden dives; the air was filled with their distinctive 'cronk-cronk' calls.

In January 2007 I watched a similar number of ravens in fields close to Radford Semele, but had long-since dismissed that as a freak one-off. And although I had seen reports that the numbers of birds locally had been steadily growing, I was total unprepared for this. I was a brilliant encounter that helped remind me just what thrilling birds ravens are to watch.

It was a fitting end to a long day's birding back on the patch.

My old feathered friends

While The Hornet's Nest started life (a long, long time ago) as a birding blog, things turned decidedly fishy as I rediscovered angling from about 2011 onwards. But in times like the last few months, I thank God that I never lost my love for birds and birding - because while appalling angling conditions seem to have driven fish completely from my life, my feathered friends have remained faithfully by my side throughout.

The less said about those angling conditions the better. Almost every time I've been able to get out it's been too cold, too wet or more often both. On the one occasion when The Leam looked 'right', I blanked. My total haul in 2013 is a pair of Leam bream, and two small roach from the Grand Union. 'Poor' doesn't quite do it justice.

Birds, however, are more constant in their affections. Whenever you take the trouble to look and listen for them, they will be there. Not necessarily the super-rare twitchable specimens, but the normal everyday sort that can lift any heart with their flash of colour, snatch of song or perhaps just their sheer numbers.

Such as the two flocks of golden plover I have seen in recent weeks, one from my car and one from a train, both wheeling and turning unmistakably this way and that; one minute a tightly-packed mass of sharp-winged silhouettes, the next a block of warm tones shimmering in the sun.

Of more modest numbers have been the bullfinches and jays which have both brought their vivid white rumps into my garden for regular visits throughout this interminably long winter; the treecreeper whose delicate little tap-tap-taps kept me company as I sat blanking on the Leam last time out; the three oystercatchers which so caught my son's imagination as we peering from a Brandon Marsh hide in the snow last weekend; the little egret that crept along a tiny Oxfordshire brook as I swept past on the train; and the several sparrowhawks which have flashed through, past and around my life in recent weeks, each with the distinctive fleetingness which makes them both too fast to see properly and yet also unmistakably 'sprawk'.

Even a bird I didn't see or hear was able to bring joy to my heart: the early chiffchaff that was reported as being ringed at Brandon last weekend in the snow. A much-sought hint of spring indeed.

But among all these fine feathered moments, there's only been one show in town for my family in recent weeks - the starling flock, or murmeration, that has been steadily growing in numbers and performing nightly behind and over my own house.

This spectacular, shape-shifting cloud has entranced us all as it has formed and grown in the gathering gloom of every evening - swirling, splitting, reforming, turning, occasionally touching down on huge farm oak trees before setting to flight once more.

A still photo can only hint at the glory of a murmeration of hundreds if not thousands of birds, but if you've not seen one before you should definitely check out the YouTube video here.

Saying goodbye to Mr Toad

The glorious textures of unpredictably and diversity that elevate the river fishing experience so far above its stillwater equivalent can, to be honest, become a bit of a mixed blessing from time to time.

Certainly of late it's been those very themes of unpredictability and diversity that have been driving me mad, and although part of the fault lies with the river, the bulk is sadly mine.

For the rivers' part, the main problem lies in its changing moods. So having spent the whole of last winter getting to grips with a sulky, sullen, plodding River Leam, this year has seen me struggling with unaccustomed flow, swamped swims and, on all too many weekends of late, a completely unfishable river.

For my part, the fault lies in my short attention span and desire to do (and to know) everything at once. It's what J calls my "Mr Toad mode" (a comment to which she often appends a cheery "toot toot"). So after one session trotting a float, I'll decide it's time for a session on the feeder. Next up is the pole, before I head back to the float, this time seeing how a waggler behaves. One week I'll be convinced the answer is worm; the next it'll be all about bread.

The net result, of course, is that no two sessions are ever even remotely the same. Exciting and varied on the one hand; but difficult to build any real depth of expertise on the other. Meaning that as in so many of my hobbies and interests, I end up building a broad but shallow level of expertise.

In short, I find myself able to do a lot of things, but to do none of them notably well :-(

So invariably comes the time when a line must be drawn in the sand (well, the damp mud). "Here it must stop," I mutter determinedly, and I vow to stick to one plan until I consider myself at least reasonably adept.

This is that moment, and this is the plan.

Based on (a) an oft expressed view that the Leam could still contain big roach and (b) Jeff Hatt's oft expressed view that bread is the only bait for big roach, it is my intention to stick to legering bread in the Leam until the end of the season in March. I may experiment a little of course: perhaps bread in a feeder, perhaps loose-fed mash; sometimes the hook bait as flake, sometimes as large punch; I might nail it to the bottom or let it waft mid water; if I can hold bottom with a link-leger I will, or if it's hammering through a bit I might fish a small bomb. But fundamentally it'll be the same tactic on the same river throughout the winter and into very early spring.

A modest but encouraging start...

Since I arrived at the plan last month, the weather, my work and my family commitments have combined to leave only one opportunity to put it into action - a two-hour session on three swims upstream of the Radford Road car park which produced plenty of taps and nudges before finally yielding one pristine 8oz roach.

Modest results perhaps, but I consider them promising. And I am certainly looking forward to the next few months, during which time I hope to develop a modicum of ability in at least one of angling's diverse disciplines; as well as to prove, or disprove, to my own satisfaction the validity of assertion (a) above.

It should be stressed, by the way, that I take (b) as gospel. However my own experiments go, you'll hear no dispute from me on that one. I think it's fair to say that Jeff's roach record speaks for itself in that respect. As authors are so fond of remarking, any success I may have in the months ahead will owe a great deal to the advice and information I have received from Jeff and the  great many other bloggers out there who so freely and generously share their knowledge and experience week-in and week-out. Any failures will be mine and mine alone.

Toot toot.

The trophy shot

Once upon a time, angling evidence was all about the fish on your plate; or possibly stuffed in a cabinet if it was a particularly noteworthy specimen. It was either there for all to see else it was time for the eternal fishy tale of 'the one that got away'.

Early birdwatchers had a similarly emphatic definition of proof. Before binoculars replaced guns as the naturalist's chief instrument, all bird sightings could be neatly divided into two categories: "what's hit is history; what's missed is mystery."

Of course things have changed greatly in this era of conservation and fish care, and catch and release is now the cultural as well as legal norm in UK coarse fishing.

All of which means is that the proof of the plate (or taxidermist) has long since been replaced by the ubiquitous trophy shot - the posed photograph of the grinning angler, usually on one knee with his latest capture thrust towards the lens for all to see.

The trophy photo is as much an art as that of the taxidermist, and much has been written about it over the years - how to get the background just so, how to cradle the fish safely throughout and, most importantly of all, how to get the angles and distances just right to portray the fish in all its glory without attracting the accusation that one might be trying to deliberately distort the fish's true size (perhaps in support of that other timeless fishing phrase: "honest, it was this big").

Many angler take the trophy shot very seriously indeed. When they fish in pairs, both will be well versed in the requisite technology and technique. When alone they have tripod and remote control set up in advance to allow them to capture that all important shot.

All of which would be dead handy for me as a blogger looking for regular images for the website, except that a) I generally fish alone and b) I can't be bothered with the hassle of self-portraiture by the bank side.

Instead I find myself relying very much on the kindness of strangers. If I am to get anything more complicated than a photograph of the fish in a landing net then I must ask a passer by or fellow angler for their assistance; and, since the human race is generally a great deal more decent than the Daily Mail would have us believe, the vast majority are only to pleased to help.

So, while there's not always someone to hand at my moments of triumph, I generally get at last a few trophy shots along the way - of, admittedly, widely varying degrees of quality.

But blimey what a difference it makes when a 'proper' angler is on hand to do the honours. At Stockton last week (or at least it was 'last week' when I first drafted this article; I'll post again shortly to catch up on about four weeks of lost blogging in the meantime) I managed to drag another low double out of the margins on the pole, and the chap next to me offered to photo it.

I has already deduced he was a 'proper' carper by the bombardment of bait I had witnessed raining out from his peg, and sure enough he was soon taking me through the proper trophy shot ritual: "up a bit", "forward a bit", "higher, higher", "just angle it a bit towards me" and so on.

What a palaver I thought. But blimey what a difference. The photo in the previous post was of me holding an 11lb 4oz carp - my personal best in fact, and very nice it looks too. But the one of me in this post is with a fish weighing just a few ounces over 10lb - and I know which of the two I think looks more impressive.

So there you have it. On the one hand I'm delighted to have my own 'proper' trophy shot for once (thanks to my friendly carper). But on the other I shall be looking with a great deal more scepticism at everyone else's trophy shots from now on ;-)

Pole position - the appliance of science or pure coincidence?

With a young son wanting an introduction to fishing, I recently found myself in Baileys of Warwick getting to grips with the intricacies of whips and elasticated whips.

Thanks to the expertise on hand, that issue was quickly settled and my boy is now the proud owner of a 4m elasticated whip - no doubt a report will follow soon on its maiden voyage.

The real problem was that the whole exercise left me thinking about all those times when some sort of fishing pole would have been useful in my own fishing - margins, tight swims, windy days and so on. And, as sure as night follows day, that led me back to Baileys for the purchase of my own lightweight lump of carbon fibre.

It would be hard to explain just how crack-handed I felt, and doubtless looked, as I shipped this beast out over the Leam for the first time on Sunday morning. I'd never even watched a pole angler in action, let alone used one myself, and the learning curve was fierce.

I'd tied a couple of river float rigs the night before, and soon had one shotted and plumbed just the way I wanted it. I experimented with various lengths of line between pole tip and float, and tried to work out how the beast could be shipped back and forth across the river with any sort of speed and smoothness (in truth I never really managed this, but the next night I snuck back for an hour and discovered that correct placement of the bag I was using as a roller absolutely transformed the whole process, ensuring smoothness and balance where before there had been nothing but tension and panic).

a typical Leam perch, next to a 25cm pole winder -
not the best fish of the morning, nor the best of photos, but
I'm afraid I had my hands pretty full most of the session!

The whole process felt uncomfortable and alien throughout, but here's the rub: I caught, and caught at levels I have never managed before on the Leam. Sure I lost a few fish to cack-handedness and inexperience, but despite that I caught perch after perch after perch, with plenty of roach in between. Nothing over half a pound, but perhaps 30 fish in all over the three hours I was fishing. Thirty fish! My previous best over a similar period wouldn't have reached double figures. So was this sudden bonanza down to the pole? Or was it pure coincidence?

On the side of coincidence was the fact that I have done a lot more winter fishing on the Leam than summer fishing, so the results would almost inevitably be poorer. Also it's true to say that fishing is prone to erratic results - one day you catch and feel like a fishing god, and the next (and often the next and the next and the next) you are scratching around for a bite wondering what you're suddenly doing wrong.

But there were a couple of factors which suggest the pole may have had a part to play.

For a start I almost certainly wouldn't have fished this swim with my normal 13ft rod and line. There was a lot of vegetation behind and around me that would have made casting difficult, and I was fishing beneath a far bank willow on a line which would have been all but impossible to reach with stick or waggler.

Perhaps most critically of all though, the pole allowed me to hold the float back hard against the flow and inch it through the swim bit by bit, something that would have been impossible at that distance using a rod and float. Since it was generally while holding back that I got the perch bites, I don't know how I'd have got on with either the waggler or stick.

So, was this bumper haul due to the sudden introduction of an 11m lump of carbon fibre to my fishing, or was that just a total coincidence? Only time will tell, but I'm fascinated to find out how it performs next time out on the Leam, as well as on the Grand Union canal and, of course, in those carp-filled stillwater margins for which I really bought it in the first place.