Glossy Ibis and a curious blind spot

You'd think that Glossy Ibis is pretty unmistakable as a bird in the UK.  Nothing really looks like one; bigger than Curlew but not as tall as Egrets, iridescent plumage and a comical Gonzo-style bill.  Yet looking for one on saltmarsh meant moments of confusion with Carrion Crows, Ravens and even Cormorants as I searched in the misty distance.  This isn't really an ID problem, more one of scale and visibility.  Turns out the Ibis was a lot closer in than I expected.

By time I'd set up optics, this Spotted Redshank had tucked its head away to sleep and remained like this for the next 45 minutes before flying away over the saltmarsh...

Spotted Redshank is one of those birds I have a real blind spot about.  One of many, lots of people who have been birding with me would argue.  In full summer plumage it's an easy ID, and in winter when next to a common Redshank they look so different it's hard to ever wonder how they can be confused.  But when I'm searching for one, every pale Redshank in half light begins to look halfway to being a Spotted Redshank and I almost have to stop and reset my eyes, if that makes any sense at all.  In reality, the godwit-like length of the bill and the pale uppers of the Spotted Redshank are easily enough to clinch an ID, and these are not difficult birds.  I just have a weird blind-spot.  I'm certain all birders do for one species or another.  I know plenty of people who can pick out a Caspian Gull at 200 metres, and equally, I know some people for whom life is too short to even bother trying to decode a confusing species that barely seems worth the effort.

This blind spot became relevant last weekend at Hesketh Out Marsh.  I had been on my usual January tour of Lancashire where I start north at Gait Barrows for Hawfinch and work south, this time stopping for bad views of Snow Bunting on the beach at Lytham St Annes before circling the Ribble and looking for Hen Harriers on the salt marsh.  A pair of Barnacle Geese distantly with the Pink-feet and Canada Geese hunkered down in the grass as a male Merlin flushed from his perch when a big Ringtail Hen Harrier buzzed him low.  I was searching for Spoonbills and a Glossy Ibis and failing to see either, when I came across a pale Redshank.  A wintering Spotted Redshank has been reported from Hesketh for a few days, and this bird was just distant enough to make me wonder.  

I was birding alone.  Sometimes birding alone is just what a person needs.  Solitude, time and space to think, to clear the mind and take away the pressure of socialisation in a hectic life.  Yesterday was not one of those days for me.  A week with much alone time had left me introspective and spiralling into a bit of negativity.  Nothing major, just a melancholy that I find irritating in myself and struggle to break out of while alone.  So I was irritated with myself for feeling alone, and irritated for not being able to clinch the ID of a bird I should be able to with the experience I have in the field.  In that situation there are two options (with the ID - the melancholy is more complex): either decide on a bird on a whim, or leave it to be one of those things, a bird I can't ID.  I always try to be as honest with myself as possible because there's no benefit to claiming an ID I can't stand by, so I was reluctant to just arbitrarily choose a species.  That said, I was embarrassed that I was finding this simple identification so difficult.

Irritated and on the verge of spoiling a day in the field for myself (a bit pathetic, I know, but I promised to be honest in these blogs and this was the truth) I was bumped from my introspective mood by a familiar face.  Neville is a local birder and good company, a trove of local knowledge and someone who has helped me see and ID gulls at roost a few times in the past.  We got chatting and he immediately identified my Redshank as a common, breaking through my mist of confusion.  We walked the east side of the pools and he picked up the actual Spotted Redshank sheltering in a bay by Wigeon.  It was so blindingly obvious with the long bill which was red on the underside nearest the face only.  Pale and elegant this bird stood out a mile.  Hard to believe I'd made such a meal of this identification!

While this is hardly the bird of the year, this illustrated the benefits of birding in community.  I found the Glossy Ibis that had been hidden and followed it in cover until Neville and a couple of other birders could get on it.  It showed very well in the end, but had been hiding in the long grass for a couple of hours.  We shared expertise (or blind luck in my case). I've observed in the birding community an interesting trait - many of us are very slow to admit that we have areas we're better or worse at in terms of ID.  So many people pretend to have all the knowledge at their fingertips, and this can be very off-putting for those of us honest enough to struggle with bird ID, us average birders who haven't swallowed all the ID criteria of every unusual species, those of us with other interests to put our time into, those of us who don't have the mental capacity to dedicate to memorising the finer points of feather moulting until we're some sort of Rain Man.  It's easy to fall foul of comparing ourselves to those high-profile birders who don't seem to struggle with identification but it's worth remembering that they have their weaknesses too.  The deafening silence after the recent identification of the Grackle species on the south coast was an illustrative point; plenty of people arguing for one identification over another and shouting down opposing points of view stayed pretty quiet once the DNA profile came back and they were proved wrong.  The truth is that we all need other people to help us learn or to cover our blind spots.

A few recent experiences have reinforced how laughable it is that people invest so much of themselves in being a "better" birder than others, as if this is a competitive sport or as if it attaches some value to a person.  Hearing a person's (correct) identification of a Russian White-fronted Goose in a large flock of Pink-feet dismissed as a "weird Pinkie" because this particular hide regular hadn't found it himself and then refused to back out of the strange corner he'd backed himself into and lose some face over the ID was objectively hilarious but speaks to a problem of self-esteem to me.  A big lister I was birding with managed to take credit for every one of the six rare or unusual birds I found during a couple of days searching, as though he couldn't stand for anyone else to be competent.  Irritating, but not something that really bothers me in terms of credit; more an illustration of the brittleness of needing to be "the expert".  We're such fragile little creatures of ego and over-awareness of our social-status.  Quiet and humble, helpful confidence like Neville had about the Spotted Redshank is to be admired; while fount of all knowledge style infallibility claims draw a wry smile and a gentle gentle roll from me these days: the most common way people mask an insecurity to the world is to pretend it's our greatest strength.  It's transparent once you see it.  

I had a good day birding and enjoyed learning.  I hope you can forgive me my failings - I have a blind spot with Spotted Redshank but I don't mind if you know about it.