The Manchester Birder

With news of the Leach's Petrel at Idle Washlands coming through this morning plans to go birding locally changed rapidly, and I picked Kris up for the 90 minute drive at 10.30am.  This was a late and leisurely twitch!  We arrived on site and were reminded how rare it is to see these birds inland: Mission village was  busy  with parked cars and scope-toting twitchers trying to connect with a bird usually only available on the mainland from Liverpool Bay in the autumn following north-westerly winds.  We quickly got onto the bird and had a moment of strange dislocation, with a bitter wind blowing strongly across the water we were watching Sand Martins swoop above the heads of a Common Scoter and a Leach's Petrel.  The Petrel was so distant and not moving, and for a long time I wondered if it had actually died, but then it unfurled those delicate wings and danced a quickstep on the waves to avoid a Great Crested Grebe. Hydrobates leucorhous  is the scient...

Migration in Manchester is a brief spasm of hope after the dreariness of winter.  We get so little of note passing through that every unusual bird is an opportunity that can't be passed up, and we have such small populations of breeding summer visitors that their return in late March through April is a noteworthy event. The thing that catches me out every year is how long after other places get their migrants Manchester joins the party.  It seems that migration naturally occurs across coastlines and then fills in from there, but it's still a strange moment when I realise that Swallows, House Martins and Wheatears are all present hundreds of miles north of here without ever occurring here.  In my head I still have a childish picture of the UK filling up, a huge cup filling with water like some cheap TV graphic starting on the south coast and progressing evenly up the country.  The reality, when I stop and actually think about it, is of course much more nuanced than th...

A 7am set off to sunny Saltfleetby was a luxurious lie-in by spring birding standards, and we enjoyed clear skies and clear roads all the way, making good time.  We parked and made our way to the area where recent sightings included Shore Lark and Little Ringed Plover, and our actual target bird, Lapland Bunting.  I've seen a few Laplands over the last five years, but they're becoming harder to see, perhaps due to changes of migration patterns and almost certainly the spectre of climate change.  I've rarely seen one close up, but this bird seemed to be giving very good views to those with patience enough to wait for it to appear. As we approached the scrapes and dunes where it had been last reported we were stopped by a man who said, "it's not here lads, I think it flew out in the clear sky last night."  Not what you want to hear after a drive for a bird.  Nevertheless, we decided to have a walk around and see what we could see, and the first Little Ringed Plo...

One of the most important qualities to cultivate as a mature and well-balanced individual is the ability to laugh at yourself.  Though the memory I'm writing about is only from four years ago, the complete lack of skill involved in my birding and especially my photography makes me laugh at myself whenever I reflect.  I've come a long way since the summer of 2022, and it's good to remind myself of that sometimes. I bought a camera in 2020 during the lockdown, and a bit of online searching suggested that a Canon 7d mkII would be a good fit for me, along with a 400mm prime lens.  I had no experience with a camera at all before that, and no clue how to take, process or show digital photos.  I'd used my phone through my scope a couple of times, but that was such an underwhelming experience (again, operator error - the tech is good!) that I'd all but given up on trying to get any photos of birds that way.  I remember my first day out with the camera, excited to have f...

With my camera out of action and my chances of getting out birding in the immediate future slim to none, a couple of people have suggested that I use old photos in order to keep writing the blog.  That got me thinking, an activity I occasionally indulge in, and I searched through some old pen drives to find some pictures I took in previous years.   Long story short, I found some photos of birds that I'd dismissed as being too poor for public consumption.  Oh, naive and foolish younger self!  There are no  photos that are too poor, no record shot too blurry, no shite picture of a bird's arse peeping out from behind my thumb over the lens that I won't shamelessly peddle into my social media feed.  So fair warning lovely people, the next few blogs will be wandering down memory lane with a passing poor sense of direction and only the dregs of my photographic ability to guide us. I returned to birding in 2020 during the Covid restrictions, and, while I was ...

I harken back to younger days much more often than I used to.  Perhaps it's an age thing, or maybe a side effect of recovering from a period of poor mental health.  Either way, I often find my recent birding thoughts stretching back through my mind to the nostalgia that dwells in the formative memories of my teenage birding experiences. As a child my family lived well below the poverty line.  We had nothing really, and while my childhood wasn't sad it was sometimes difficult and I was very aware of what we didn't have.  My way of coping with that was to read when it was raining or dark, and go birding when it was light and dry.  I was always so grateful to be invited birding with people, and their generosity with time has had such an impact on my life.  I've written before about the incredible volunteers who gave their time and skill to teach a whole group of us how to appreciate nature, but the best thing that came out of that was the informal trips that I...