Baird's Sandpiper - back to the warmth of the Wirral

In September 2023 I saw my first (and only, until this morning) Baird's Sandpiper.  It was on the beach at Meols, just down the road from the tennis courts, and I'd raced there one evening after work, hoping the light would hold as I negotiated the M6, M56 and M53 in a stranglehold of traffic.  When I got there, three years ago, the Baird's was so far out on the beach I had to rely on local birders bringing more powerful telescopes to see the bird at all.  A distant buff blob could be identified based on the distinctive horizontal stance and length of the silhouette, being more stretched out than confusion species like White-rumped Sand.  It was an unsatisfying view.  The bird did come in a little closer, but by the time I could properly identify it from plumage it was getting dark and, if I'm honest, I don't truly believe I could have picked it out from a flock of Dunlins in those conditions.  Still, it was a lifer, and I ticked it and then thought no more about the rubbish views.

When our little WhatsApp group chat lit up around discussion of a picture of a White-rumped Sandpiper photographed brilliantly with a Little Stint at Meols this morning, something about the bird felt wrong.  I'm no wader expert at all, so I shrugged and appreciated the photo for its merit - how lucky to see these species so close together and so close in!  Ten minutes later and a BirdGuides alert popped up with Baird's Sandpiper and I knew the lucky photographer had been even more fortunate than I'd thought.  Hurriedly rearranging my day, I dashed over to the same hundred metre stretch of promenade from which I'd viewed my last Baird's.  I ummed and ahhed about taking my camera with me - the beach at Meols is vast unless the tide is fully in, and I assumed that the waders would be distant.  I took it, just in case, and joined the growing crowd on the front.  I love birding on the Wirral - the birding community here always seems kind, welcoming, warm and funny, not to mention knowledgeable but in the least pompous way, if you know what I mean.  I lived in Liverpool (not Wirral) for six years and I do miss the character of the people of the area.  There are other parts of the UK birding community that could learn a lot from those on Merseyside.  

Scanning the middle distance and hearing people say encouraging things like, "it's there, behind the third clump of grass," but not being able to see it is a weirdly frustrating experience.  I don't know if anyone else feels the same, I always find it socially difficult for a few minutes to break into what feels like an established group of observers and ask where exactly the bird is.   A birder I've met a few times spotted me and told me I was looking too far out.  "No mate, it's here," he said, pointing straight down off the raised promenade to the sand 30 feet away.  At first I couldn't see it, and then a little movement caught my eye and I couldn't believe how close in the Baird's Sandpiper was.

For the next hour I took photographs and observed a bird I've never really seen properly, making up for the hopeless views I had in 2023.  I drank in the subtle buff and cryptic patterns of the plumage, the movement along the edges of the puddles on the sand flats, and the delightful double peep of its call.  When it flew to relocate it never went far and always came back to the sand beneath the prom.  When it was out of sight, there were three Curlew Sandpipers and dozens of Ringed Plovers to watch, and I got a kick out of the peach plumage of the former and the comedic antics of the latter.

It's been a week or two of very close views and good birding experiences.  In the last ten days I've spent time close up with Spotted Flycatchers, a Red-necked Phalarope, Barn Owl, White-winged Tern and now a Baird's Sandpiper; a quality line-up no matter where you're birding.  I'm no photographer, and the drive of my birding is very much about mindfulness and mental wellbeing rather than getting some perfect photo, but it's been an interesting experiment to approach this week as though each species is a study in itself.  Trying to take photos of different angles, behaviours and attitudes has meant that I've spent longer appreciating the features of each bird, getting to know each species better, rather than creating a day list of sightings or tapping away at eBird.  Rather than moving on and walking my usual 5-10 miles when out birding, I've stayed with one bird for longer, and other sightings have been incidental, coming to me rather than me searching for them.  This has given me a deeper appreciation of each species, and that state of almost meditative contemplation has driven a feeling of autumnal wellbeing.  There's no one right way of engaging with wildlife, or appreciating interesting birds, but perhaps I should vary my approach a bit more.  I've always loved the big days out, the 16 hour days that put miles in my legs and give me a hundred plus species to see; but there has to be room to appreciate the birds for what they are in a deeper way.  

It was a real pleasure to spend time with the Baird's Sandpiper and a welcoming crowd which couldn't believe its collective luck at how close it was to the bird.  Thank you to those people in the last few days who have mentioned to me in person (in positive terms!) reading the blog - it makes my day to know that there are people who read my ramblings.  I appreciate the encouragement!