LET'S PLAY ON TOP OF THE WORLD....

I look out across and almost empty expanse of inter-tidal mud.

A moulted feather is drifting slowly towards me on an un-spring-like chilly breeze. Off to the north west a dense bank of pewter clouds is about to deliver an unwelcome squally shower.

Until recently these mudflats were teeming with wading birds, alive with their hustle and bustle. They buzzed with the chatter and spatter of calls and feeding.

There is the odd thing wandering around. A Shelduck chuckles way of to the left. There are a few Curlew probing the edges of a turbid channel of water, if I look hard enough amongst their ranks I'm sure I'd find a Whimbrel or two...

But the big flocks have gone. Headed to the arctic, much like the departure of the Blackwits that I documented in my previous post, and I am left wondering what to do with myself....

There is just one thing I can think of....

Follow them.

So I am packed and in the morning I am off. Following the birds North.

North to Varanger in Norway to rendez-vous with some of the Knots that have kept me company on long winter days on the Dee.

The trip is part of the Norwegian Knot Project, a research mission that has been running for several years now. Last year we went to Porsanger and I couldn't resist going agin this year. The Knot are transformed from their grey winter plumage into brick red breeding colours and will feed at your feet.

In the constant daylight they feed like crazy until they are fuelled up for the last leg of their trip to breeding quarters, a flight across open ocean to Greenland and Canada. They are the most amazing eating machines...

and flying machines....

By looking for colour ringed birds and catching and colour ringing some more we can further understand the population dynamics of this species and help with its conservation, but is is also tremendous fun.

On the way home last year I saw a banner in the airport in Alta. It was advertising an arctic football competition, but it seemed to sum up how I felt about the trip....

So tomorrow I join the rest of the expedition team for 10 days in the arctic studying, appreciating and photographing Knots.

Ready to work (and play) on top of the world....

Chasing Blackwits....

I look out across an almost empty field.

A moulted feather drifts left to right on a gentle and warm summery breeze. A (feral) Barnacle Goose wanders nonchalantly in the same direction as the aforementioned feather.

24 hours before the field was buzzing with the chattering calls of 1,500 Blackwits. Blackwits that as I look on the abandoned field will be in the air, closing in on Iceland and their breeding grounds.

For a couple of weeks I and a couple of other Blackwit obsessives have been chasing this now departed flock around the Dee. From Caldy Steps to Gilroy to this field next to the A540.

We chase Blackwits because they are stunning wading birds and also because we are involved in Operation Godwit, a research programme that colour rings some of these birds in an effort to understand their migration ecology.

But now thay are gone and I don't quite know what to do with myself....

As I collected data I took the opportunity to take a few pictures of these special birds. Collecting sightings of colour ringed birds can take a long time and can be quite frustrating (I have blogged about it before). My note book is testament to hours spent hunched over the scope but I never tire of it as I get to spend a huge ammount of time watching these stonking birds.

I took several thousand pictures of them, just recording their days in the sun prior to departure for Iceland.

The flock is mixture of adults in breeding plumage and some juvenile birds still in their paler garb. They are busy being Blackwits.

Washing....

feeding....

fighting....

swimming...

a bit more fighting....

I just can't get enough of these birds. Their chattering calls and graceful swaying around the pool are a treat to watch and photograph.

I look out on an empty pool, where Blackwits waded just 24 hours ago. Paddling the shallow edges or wading up to their bellies.

The Blackwits are in the air, flying north and I can't follow, the are out of my range. What am I going to do now...?

....now I can't go chasing Blackwits....

The John Peel Express....

WARNING: This story starts in my bedroom when I was in my mid-teens.

You might think what on earth the following preamble has to do with birds and the photographing of birds (absolutely nothing truth be told) but stay with it, it sets the scene and I can't seperate it from what hapenned later that day....

On my bedside table was a white Bush radio alarm clock. As well as setting an alarm you could use a function called "sleep" to set the radio to play for either 59 minutes or 1 hour 59 minutes (why not one or two hours? I used to think, but this is not important to the story).

On a Sunday evening I would set this function to the maximum time and drift off to sleep listening to (nearly) two hours of John Peel playing wierd and wonderful music from all over the world. It is where I first heard bands that came to define and shape my musical taste, attitude and sometimes my hairstyle (and looking back at some of those haircuts, not always in a good way!). Via Peel I was introduced to Nirvana, Half Man Half Biscuit and my favourite band in the world to this day, the incomparable Teenage Fanclub.

I'd adjust the volume so I didn't disturb my sister across the landing then hit the lightswitch at around 11pm plunge the room into darkness leaving just the glowing red of the clock's LED display, the music and the understated enthusiasm of  the greatest DJ ever.

I loved this show, it made Sunday night cool, it didn't matter that it was the pre-cursor to a Monday morning return to school. Great music, great banter.

When I graduated from Uni in 2001 John Peel was the celebrity guest on hand to dish out the certificates at the ceremony and I got so look him in the eye and shake his hand. That was cool.

I remember the shock and sadness I felt when I found out he had died. I had listened to him so much over so many years that it was just weird that he wasn't on the radio anymore.

For me John Peel will forever be associated with good things and good times. I see or hear anything to do with him and it reminds me of those alarm clock days and nights and a good feeling follows.

Fast forward to 2013. It is a Sunday evening, I am off on Monday and I plan on spending all of the day out on the Patch looking for Wheatears and any other migrants that have dropped in.

I set the alarm for crazy o'clock and drift off to sleep thinking about what kind of day I'm going to have. As I get the kit together on Monday morning I wonder what I'm going to see. Will it be a good day? Where to go for the best? I've only got today, time is precious and I want to make the most of it. I suppose I'm kind of worried that I'll go to the wrong place at the wrong time and miss out on some good pictures.

I decide to head to Leasowe Lighthouse so head out for the early train still munching on some toast. Ticket purchased I walked down platform to board the train. As I do this I got a sign that I'd made a wise choice and it's going to be a good day.

The local train operator has named the odd carriage after famous(ish) locals. I've not seen many, there is not always one on each train so I took finding the John Peel coach as a good omen for the day.

With a spring in my step and good vibes buzzing in my head I hop off the train at Moreton and cross Kerr's Field to the lighthouse. From there I have a mooch along the path by the paddocks as this is a good spot for Wheatears. I am not disappointed. There are about 30 mooching like me about the horse fields. They are a little distant and standing on horse deposits that make for interesting but not attractice pictures...

My mobile phones rings and it's my dad. He is free today and fancies a day out on the camera. He is heading this way and we arrange to meet on the path by the sea wall. I work my way around the paddocks and drift towards our rendezvous. Soon I come across the old man.... deep in conversation with a toad.

This comes as no surprise, @ronthomasphotog (to give him his Twitter title) is known to attempt to converse with whatever wildlife he has been photographing. The conversation seemed to be going well and the resulting pictures secured him a BBC Springwatch "Photo of the Day" award.

After the toad had hopped off we continue along the path seeing plenty of Swallows and my first House Martin of the year. We decide to go back around the paddocks to see if the Wheatears are being a little more obliging.

The sun is out, the wind is light and the birds are singing. This is turning into a rather fabulous day. We drift around talking about nothing in particular just enjoying not beeing cold and wet for a change.

The path we are on is narrow and there is tall grass between us and the field we are looking across. A stunning male Wheatear is hopping towards us from the far side of the horse pooh strewn muddy paddock.

I think that Wheatears are my favourite bird to photograph. I wait for it to come closer. It is feeding much like the plovers that you can find on the shore. It stands still, looks for a grub then dashes after it. I lie on the path and poke the lens through the grass and take its picture.

The colours are subtle and delicate, lovely soft peach on the front and a gentle blue-grey coloured head and shoulders. It is also the limited time that they are here that makes them my preferred subject to photograph. Soon this and the other birds will move on and I won't see them again until autumn migration, and then only for the short time it takes for them to pass by on the way to Africa.

I fill a memory card trying to get a decent portrait. 300 pictures are taken. I could spend all day taking pictures of Wheatears.

Eventually I realise that I have! A day well spent. A glance at the watch reveals it is time to head to the station. In the style of @ronthomasphotog I whisper a thank you and best wishes to my subject and catch the John Peel Express home.

Hilbre Time....

Looking out from the remains of the old lifeboat slipway on the chilly windswept northern tip of Hilbre Island it is hard to know what centuary it is.

A thick mist (not viscous enough to be called a fog) obscures the offshore wind turbines from view, No planes can be seen or heard through the thick low clouds. There is nothing in view that you could assign to a specific age or time. Just birds, seals, waves and sandstone rocks.

In fact time is currently an irrelevance. It matters not if I have an appointment elsewhere or I am requested to go somewhere. The tide is in and I am going nowhere until it has gone out.

This is Hilbre Time. It is either high or low water, light or dark. Nothing else really matters.

I am contemplating this from inside my fleecey lined parka and under a wooly hat as, even though I am here for a chance encounter with some spring migrants, it still feels distinctly wintery.

I am soon rewarded with my first Sandwich Terns of the year as 3 lazily drift past from left to right. Keeping to Hilbre Time they are in no rush and I can get a few pictures. Nothing too special, they remain distant, but I know that decent pictures take time...

There are plenty of migrants on the island, masses of Meadow Pipits have been piling through. They are often overlooked for the more traditional (Swallow) or colourful (Wheatear) migrants so I make an effort to get some pictures of these birds.

The salt heavy breeze has bleached the fence from a yellowish beige to an ash grey and I fear that all this time spent on these islands in this wind I'll start to look as weathered as the local woodwork.

On the other side of the fence is some scrubby vegetation  that is just coming into leaf. An incongruous sight in this still chilly weather. In the tangle of twigs I spot a swift darting flash of tiny bird. Waiting for a while I pick it up again and get a good enough view to recognise a Goldcrest. These delicate birds are actually hard as nails. It is difficult to imagine these birds making the trip over open water to these islands but that is exactly what this little battler has done.

The metal ring on its left leg is testament to the work of the boys from the Hilbre Bird Obs. It is zipping about gleaning grubs from the buds. It won't keep still! It is so fast that it is almost impossible to get a clear shot. Time, I remind myself, a decent picture will take time. I stand in the rain and wait.

It's worth the time spent.

Once I am satisfied with the 'Crest pictures I drift down towards the Birds Obs. In a garden I spot what I was really after today. A Wheatear.

I love these birds, they are possibly my favourite sign of spring. They have been late this year, migration stalled by the cold north east winds that have dominated our weather for so long. At last they are here.

 I knew they would come, spring had to arrive eventually. It was just a matter of time. In the background I notice recently flowered dafodils, I frame the picture so that the Wheatear and the dafs are in shot, a double whammy of spring.

It is still a bit distant and remains so for the time I spend leaning on the bleached fence. I walk back towards the north end. I bump into another Wheatear. This one is more confiding and in no time at all I have the portrait of spring I was looking for.

My first Wheatear pictures of 2013 are in the bag, roughly a month later than planned, but it was just a matter of time. Hilbre Time.

There's no rush.....

The Old Familiar Click....

A long standing ambition has been realised. We saved for an eternity, planned for ages and it was over in the blink of an eye. I have been right off the Patch. Inter-rail tickets got my wife and I from Paris to Budapest via Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague and Vienna. We had a fantastic/exhausting experience/adventure around some of Europe’s finest capital cities and I’m sure, in time, a few of the 1,000 pictures we took will dribble out on to my blog. It was a totally different experience for me, holidays are usually total relaxation on a Greek beach or a crazy wildlife photography trip to somewhere northern and cold. I loved it, my senses stimulated in a completely different way to usual. Museums, art, architecture and food replaced birds, bugs and mud.

By going at the end of February and the first week or so of March I managed to be away at a fairly quiet time on the Patch. Some of the winter visitors were starting to drift away and the first migrants of spring were still a fair few miles away so I missed very little Patch action.

I returned to grotty weather too, so I had fairly limited opportunities to get back in the Patch saddle after the grand tour of Europe. Eventually the sun reappeared, I just happened to be on Hilbre Island when it did and I was able to get some pictures of a soon to be Arctic-bound Purple Sandpiper – a Patch favourite of mine.

 

Here is what happened....

The clock and my stomach were telling me it was lunch and time for a bite to eat. So I took a pasty and my camera to a sheltered sunny spot on the south end of the island. Above me was the clearest of blue skies, dazzling in its vibrancy, away to the west was a bank of clouds fluffed up into a cotton wool cliché. The sun felt warm on my face but was tempered by a cool northerly wind (a wind holding back Sand Martins, Wheatears and other migrants). I found a suitable perch on a low sandstone ridge overlooking glinting waves across to Point of Air and Talacre and tucked in.

I was chomping through my rather dense lunch when my jaw juddered unpleasantly on a very elastic piece of pasty gristle, when spat out it ricocheted off my outstretched hand and fell to the ground where it bounced un-naturally high for a foodstuff advertised as edible. As I was cursing the well-known pasty producer, and questioning my lunchbox judgement in the shop that morning, I noticed a swift darting movement off to my right. A Purple Sandpiper (otherwise known as a Purple Sand or Purp) was mooching about the edges of a seaweedy rock pool.

The letter of pasty complaint I was composing in my head was quickly forgotten as I exchanged food for camera. The sun was over my left shoulder and was illuminating the Purp perfectly, I had to have a go.... Disappointing pasty discarded I was ready to take my first Patch pictures for a while.

It had been more than 3 weeks since I was last out but I was soon back in the swing of things, that old familiar click of the shutter ringing in my ears. I lay down to get a better angle as the Purp continued to dip the pool for its lunch.

 

I had walked past its pool a few minutes ago and I saw very little in there but the Purp seemed to be finding plenty of morsels to make a meal.

 

The odd meaty treat disappeared down its bill but I also saw it taking a bit of green algae from the edge of the rockpool. I have seen this before in small sandpipers, most recently in Norway when I saw Knots scraping seaweed from rocks. This was just prior to them making a mammoth migration flight and I’m wondering if this vegetation contains something that helps with this flight. Perhaps their usual shellfish prey is in short supply after a winter of heavy grazing by Hilbre’s waders. Hmmm.... a little research needed methinks!

 

After lying down for the low angle I started to wriggle across the rocks to get a little closer and to get a better composition so I can record these great little birds before they head north for the Arctic summer.

 

As I fired off a few shots I became aware of where I was lying. The sandstone was loose and grains came away as I moved. Bits got stuck under my fingernails and in my clothes, I could “feel” the Patch again. I detected an acrid ammonia-ish whiff and turning my head to the right I noticed that the gulls, roosting here for a while earlier, had left a few droppings that were right next to my wind and sun-reddened face. While the pooh may have been freshly deposited it smelled anything but fresh. Even though it is not exactly pleasant I could “smell” the Patch again. The Purple Sandpiper was still busily feeding and its bill made a creaky spattering sound as it wandered through the pool – I could “hear” the Patch again.

Once it had finished its lunch it strutted over to the waters edge for an after dinner preen.

 

For a while I just watched the Purp as it attended to each primary feather in turn. I wondered if it was thinking about the journey north it was about to make. Is it nervous? Excited? Not thinking about it at all? It must know it has to prepare... I thought of the feelings I had before my recent epic trek across a continent. The plans I made, the expectations I had, the excitement and apprehension. The feeling upon locking the door on departure and opening it upon our return.

I was looking at and thinking about the Patch again. The Purp shakes itself down and flies off towards the north end of the island.

 

So after 3 weeks away just half an hour with a Purple Sand reconnected me and my senses with my natural habitat, the muddy banks of the Dee, the Patch.

 

 

Chasing a Bee....

Sunshine and Siskins.    Or....

Chores...

Sunshine, Siskins.            Hmmm.....     chores.

So I decided to go for Siskins in the sunshine.

They were hanging about between some tall alder trees and the thistle seed feeders at Burton Mere Wetlands. They were coming down to the feeders next to the path allowing for some close up shots...

In the bright sunshine they looked stunning. Colours vibrant for the upcoming breeding season. The males in particular were smart looking birds, they were engaging in some branch acrobatics to impress the nearby females...

However the females were having none of it. They remained unimpressed preferring to preen and scratch while the boys showed off...

But as impressive as all this was to look at, the sound is what was most impressive for me. The males were giving it some serious beans with the display calls. A sort of buzzzzz. Like a tuneful white noise, like an electronic bee getting chased.... inside a jar.

Chores can be done after dark when pictures can't be taken, right?

The 5ive Fields....

The number five is on my mind.

Five.  5

The third prime number, the atomic number of boron, the number of digits on most mammals hands.

The number of European Cups Liverpool FC have won (good)
The band 5ive (not so good)

From when I was a kid the number 5 meant the Famous Five, Enid Blyton's finest creation (in my humble opinion) and a packed lunch favourite too, it was a good day when I lifted the lid of my lunchbox to reveal a carton of Five Alive juice ( the original citrus variety rather than the tropical stuff).

More recently the number 5 has come to mean the fields that I go looking for birds in that make up part of the microPatch in the Patchwork Challenge.

In my recent post "The Hunters in the Snow" is alluded to these fields and said I would elaborate on them when time allowed. So here it is the story of possibly my favourite part of the Patch.

Passing through the gate at the bottom of the old Thurstaston campsite you arrive at the First Field.

This is not the most inspiring of names I realise but I didn't set out to name these fields, it has just sort of happened. I usually start a mooch about the fields from the this end so it is the first field I scan. If I am heading to the shore first then back along Wirral Way this becomes the last field but to avoid real confusion the name First Field has stuck. This is good for Lapwing, Brown Hares and the occasional Grey Partridge.

Watching these fields is great fun, there is much to be seen, but it requires patience. They are big and there is plenty of cover for the wildlife. They are all bordered by wonderful mature hedgerows that teem with nesting birds in the summer and play host to roving flocks of winter thrushes in the chilly season. I have become very familiar with these hedges and know the best spots to occupy for a good mornings birdwatching...

Passing by First Field you go under Dungeon Bridge and reach the Shelter Field. I love this one...

This one in particular has been hot this year. Yellowhammer, Reed Bunting, Peregrine and a family of Grey Partridge have been the highlights. I once saw a Redstart in the hedge on the far right of the above picture. It gets its name from the old derelict building in the back left corner. It looks like an old air raid shelter. I'm not entirely sure if this a correct assumption (and truth br told I haven't bothered to find out!) but again, the name has stuck. One time I saw a fox come out of the shelter.

If you continue in the direction of Heswall on your right you will see the field known as the Yarnsie.
I found this out from a local birder called Dave. Dave has been watching the Dee for years and years. He has forgotten more stuff about the Patch than I will ever know - a real expert. He told me that he was looking at some old papers in the local library when he found an anceint map with this field marked as the Yarnsie. I recently Googled this word in an effort to find out more. All I got was a website that sold bracelets... The mystery remains. Here is the Yarnsie...

This is the only field on the south side of the Wirral Way and looking at it from this footpath its is the only one with a view to the river. The Yarnsie was briefly know as Mini Martin Mere over the winter as plenty of geese were hanging around there. They are all gone now and have been replaced by corvids, some are just visible as black spots on the right of the picture.

Directly opposite the Yarnsie is the Exhibition Field. So called because of a fantastic day of wildlife watching a few years ago. In this one field in a few short hours we saw Lapwings with chicks, Yellowhammer, Golden Plover, Grey & Red-legged Partridge, Buzzard and Brown Hare. It was like a farmlad wildlife exhibition. It has never been that good since but the name has stuck. Here it is...

I particularly like this field and especially the bottom left hand corner. I just love sitting quietly looking along the hedge to the Wood Pigeon Tree (so called because, yes, you guessed it, there is almost always a Wood Pigeon sat in it). This is a great spot for Brown Hare.

Then we come to the 5th and final field. What to call this? It is sandwiched between the Dungeon woodland and the Exhibition. There are usually cattle on it so the grass is kept short. In it you usually get Lapwing, Golden Plover, occasionally Black-tailed Godwit. Redwing and Fieldfare are usually there towards the end of winter (although not today!). I have sometimes seen a Green Woodpecker feeding on grubs by cow pats. The 5th field... I'm not happy with that as a name, too similar to the First Field. No distinguishing features, it has a pond, but so do Shelter and Exhibition so can't be Pond Field, plus that sounds rubbish too.

This leads me to ponder the number 5. I'm not going to call it Boron or digits... What else has a series of 5? Then it dawns on me. New York City - the five boroughs. Bingo. Now all I have to do is remember them and pick one as a name for my final field. I can recall Bronx, Manhattan, Queens and Brooklyn. The 5th escapes me. I'm thinking Long Island but it turns out to be Staten Island... close!

I decide on Manhatten simply because the trees of the Dungeon break the skyline in something (very) loosely resembling skyscrapers. Here is Manhattan....

So there you have it the Five Fields. As we edge closer to Spring I am starting to anticipate the birds I will find here, the encounters with hares and foxes.

Bring it on...