Marsh Sandpiper, Red-necked Phalarope and Siberian Stonechat - being strong when we're weak
Birding is a passion that can be time consuming. When I played rugby it was a couple of hours of training and a couple of hours on a Saturday morning to play. Easy to squeeze in after work and around family time. Getting to the gym on the way home from work was simple. But birding, especially birding away from the patch, takes time. Even my local patch has a 6 mile route to check every habitat, and with the best will in the world that's 3 hours when stopping to see birds. Arranging a 12 hour period where I can travel, twitch, and get home can be difficult when also trying to live a balanced life with kids who have complex and busy lives of their own.
The disappointment of having arranged childcare, social time and work to fit a calendar leaving me mostly free across September and October to be flexible, only for an entire set of circumstances conspiring to leave me with almost no free time in September just when the autumn migration really hit is something I should be able to shrug off, and in all honesty probably would be able to if not for the broader problems of the year. Struggling to not feel depressed by the birds I'm missing (and simultaneously very aware of the incredible birds I'm seeing!), I put my hope into a trip for the Lesser Grey Shrike in Norfolk, but knowing I'm not able to cope with the long solo drive, I arranged to travel with others. Three separate times that trip was cancelled, leaving me with no chance to see it, and, worse, having squandered all my childcare and freedom! I genuinely try to face it all with equanimity, but there are certain testing realities of parenthood and adult life that break down the stoic facade!
Having missed Brown Shrike, Red-breasted Flycatcher, Yellow-browed Warbler and more, I had a day free and not wanting to waste it, I drove off to finally see the Marsh Sandpiper at Musselburgh. In hindsight this was probably a poor choice. The site is not easy to navigate, and though it always looks easy when you view it on the apps and social media, it's a bit of a maze. Not what I needed after a long and difficult drive. Flustered and simmering with negative emotion, I finally got eyes on the beautiful bird. The Marsh Sandpiper showed really well, and I got 40 odd photos of it that helped stir the excitement back in me. I drove home somewhat restored and happy to have finally seen the bird I've put most effort into this year, and came to process my photos, only to find that my SD card had corrupted and self-formatted. You can imagine it not being my finest hour, and I felt so weak at my lack of self-control over my own sadness - though I am thankful for the BlueSky community who were really supportive and positive.
Ian Strickland suggested that I try early for the Red-necked Phalarope at Nosterfield since it had been present at dusk. Having woken up from a strange dream (not that kind) at just before 4am, I was waiting at the viewing screen before light to see the Phalarope. I love these little pocket whirligigs! They're the hyperactive "too-much-sugar" birds that never fail to make me smile. Superficially similar to Grey Phalarope, my experiences of these birds could not be more different. I've never been physically closer to any wild bird in my life than I have been to Grey Phalaropes in the field. They simply do not have human threat in their frame of reference. My views of Red-necked have universally been distant, but the delicacy of the bill and the slight differences in motion even when they both look like stop-motion steampunk waders set them apart from each other. I watched the distant clockwork bird in the shallow water as the sun rose fully, and spent three hours just observing and taking photos. This was restorative birding - helping a dozen people see the bird for the first time, and having some excellent conversations with birders who taught me a wealth of knowledge. I enjoy being with other birders seeing a new bird for the first time almost as much as seeing new birds for myself - there's something infectious about the joy of the new that has a mature echo in me. Rejoicing with those who rejoice is just as valuable as mourning with those who mourn.
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A short hop up to the Durham coast and a long walk along the edge gave me fleeting views of the Siberian Stonechat perched in a fragment of hedge and I fired off a couple of photos more in hope than expectation. And then home, to process pictures. To find that my SD card had corrupted again. I managed to save three photos of the Phalarope, and lost all the rest. I bet you I'd have provided a thorough education in swearing for most of you as I ordered a new card online. The feeling of being overwhelmed by negative emotions has been almost irresistible at times this last week, and this even though I've seen some amazing birds in great settings and gorgeous weather.
Most people don't know that I have an academic background in philosophy of religion, that as part of my effort to try and fit in with people I searched wide and far and deep to work out what makes people tick. My home library is about 50/50 works on nature, environment, wild world and books about religion, philosophy, cultural worldviews.
And here's the link to the philosophy. It's a common principle in philosophy and religion that strength is not what we possess when we feel good, when we feel strong. That's simply an absence of struggle, an absence of testing in the crucible of whatever circumstance pushes us to feel bad. It's easy to feel strong when things are easy, we have no responsibilities, no limitations. No, strength is what we possess when we feel weak, when there is struggle, when perseverance and persistence is called for simply to exist and be and hold all the parts of your life in equal tension. It takes strength to go out when all you want to do is curl up and sleep for a week. It takes strength to recognise that time alone isn't always good for you. It takes strength to try again, and again, and again no matter the circumstances. It is strength to put your foot forward one more time than you feel you can. It takes strength to choose to endure. In a week of let-downs, breakdowns, failures and breaking equipment it takes strength to admit that I am weak.
I'll be back out on my patch tomorrow morning before work. That's how weak I am.
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