Avocet Recurvirostra avosetta
Aka: Cobbler's awl or Cobbler's awl duck, Crooked bill and Picarini, Shoeing Horn, Shoe Awl or Awl-Bird. All of course for that long delicate-looking and upturned beak, Also, called: Butterflip and Scooper for the way it feeds, and Yelper for its cry. Other than this Swainson is quiet. Oh, I forgot, the English name Avocet, is more commonly called world-wide 'Pied Avocet'. They just have to be different don't they!

The Avocet is lauded in the UK as a great conservation success, that is one way to look at it. The other, of course, is that it was doing just fine thank you, until we wiped it out through by a combination of: agricultural drainage of marshland, shooting (so brave huh, so manly, not), use for ladies hats, look, I love a lady as much as the next man, but give over please. Oh, and bird egg collectors too (you go figure the mentality behind that one). I suppose if you can't afford the Fabergé version wasting a few dozen birds to have a shelf full of real eggs makes up for it.

As a result of this wholesale slaughter, what a lovely species we truly are, they were extinct in the UK by the 1840s. All gone, finito, no more (I'll be doing the 'Parrot Sketch' next), this is why I drink so much. Now, owing to some German chappies in the late 1930s, much of the previously drained coastal marshes were again flooded as a sort of defence. And voila, the bird returned. Of course, these were nearly all drained again shortly after the war, but a few became preserved, and so today you can see Avocets again. Please tho', just take pictures, and don’t stick one in your hat!

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early morning
… again I’m up before dawn, quick cuppa (not negotiable that bit), then a mile stroll through the waking birds to the nearby salinas. Not much to see at first, then as the sun rises I spot this chap lit beautifully and set off by the darker waters. It’s a must, and I get a few before he flies off a few dozen metres and settles, only half visible behind a small rise dividing sections of water.

I wandered off, looking for different prey, sadly never saw him again. He was probably on passage further south to North Africa, although some do stay along the north med coast so perhaps he was just hiding from me for a larf. Either way it was the one and only time I saw one close on this short stay. So I’m doubly pleased he posed so nicely for me and, however he spent his winter, I wish him well.
Ringed Plover Charadrius hiaticula
Current name from its obvious white collar, which also gave us the local names Ring dotterel and Ringlestone (Norfolk). This species habitat lies behind: Sea or Sand Lark, Sandy Loo (?), Sandy Laverock (Orkney, Shetland), Sea Dotterel, Stonehatch and Stone Runner (both Norfolk), as well as Stone Plover. The delightful, but perhaps slightly personal, Dulwilly was was also used, although Swainson doesn't say why. Bull’s Eye (Ireland) was given because of its obvious black eye.

It cannot foretell the weather and, as far as I can find out, has nothing to do with the devil or his works. So you can enjoy this little shoreline beauty with no worries about your spiritual wellbeing, although it might rain of course.

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big beach, little bird
A long way off I spot a sweet Ringed Plover, on his own on a big beach, well just him and I. He just looks so small compared this large expanse of empty sand, and beautifully lit in the afternoon sun. I decide I want to try and capture that emptiness, so yes, it is time to lay in wet sand again, lovely. But as he comes to focus he looks beautiful. I capture a few as he slowly walks toward some stranded algae, perhaps it will harbour a supper. As I rise to try and get closer he’s off. He’s got another few miles of beach to go explore.

It will do just fine as my pretty picture of this species I think. Well until I find out where he went.
Common Sandpiper Actitis hypoleucos
A small bird, but with a striking call that lays behind a lot of parochial common names including: Heather peeper (Aberdeen), Watery peeps (Orkney Isles), Killieleepsie (East Lothian) Kittie needie (Kidcudbright), Willy wicket (North England), Dickie-di-dee (Lancs), Tatler and Weet weet.

It’s preferences for sandy littoral margins gave us: Sandie laverock, Sand lark (Ireland and Scotland), Sanny (from Sandie; Aberdeen), Sand snipe, (Yorkshire), Water junket, Water Laverock, (Roxburgh). Various other names inc: Summer snipe, Fiddler, Shad bird, Bundie (Orkney Is,) and Land tripper (Kirkcudbright).

But the best name has to be either Skittery Deacon (Stirling) or Steenie pouter (Orkney Is.), I’ll call that a draw.

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Common Sandpiper in the green, on a stick.

A few summers ago a pair of sandpipers took to nesting next door, these things happen. The exact location of this nest was impossible to locate without high risk of disturbing them, so I never bothered trying to get close-ups of those birds.

However, this little chap, or lady, realised I’d still like a picture of them and one day agreed to pose against this beautiful background of green. I took a few, thanked them, and left them alone from then on.

I want to take pretty pictures, and i think this is, although it is perhaps not the bird here doing 'the pretty'
Black-winged Stilt Himantopus himantopus
Globally, this strikingly long-legged delicate looking bird has a very wide range, but not here in the UK. As a migratory species some get lost, or over-ambitious, and do turn up from time to time. And they have bred, once or twice, so with a bit of luck, and more recovery from the last ice age, we might be able to see more of them. Of course, many folk seem to desire living under a mile of ice, just like the olden days. Funny people.

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She's a model and she's looking good ..... *
The moment I saw this bird, slowly and gracefully stepping toward me, it evoked the song ‘The Model’ by the Krautrock band Kraftwerk (if you’ve no idea of what I’m talking about which, to be sure, is pretty likely), go listen. I can’t guarantee you’ll like it, but you will know why I thought of it.

Like most bird photography it is a matter of right place right time, precisely. A few moments later and she’d strolled partly into some shadows, and the picture was gone. Luckily I’d learned this lesson many times, and that moment in time was safely on the memory card.

*acknowledgements to Emil Schult of Kraftwerk. Song appeared on 'The Man Machine' 1985
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three stilts, three legs
It is those long legs that give them that delicate, and some would say, odd-looking appearance. Of course they didn’t evolve to amuse us, rather to allow the bird to exploit deeper water than many of the wader species they compete with.

Now, while we’re on the subject of legs many might wonder why so many birds choose to stand on only one, as these three are doing here. Well, in acknowledgment of how beautiful wisdom and knowledge are, I will tell you. It’s because they can.

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it's all legs
I had been watching these birds flying about, from pool to pool, for a few days. But the short distances they flew simply didn’t give me a chance to get a nice picture. I did want one in flight tho. So, one morning, I decide to find a bird, at the right distance, nicely lit, against a nice backdrop, and just wait. I choose a track through the salinas used by numerous local folk for early morning walks, cycling to work, and even the odd motor-bike. I was certain something would send it it up.

Well I stood there for bloody ages with the camera to my eye, finger poised, when it went I wouldn’t miss it. Like a cobra I would strike. In reality I probably looked more like some civic-funded statue to the forlorn hopes and broken dreams of the bird photographer. Still, no-one came, it had gone dead. I risked everything for a moment and briefly to look up and down the track. Nada, not a bloody soul in sight. What was going-on? Back to eyepiece, wait, patiently, this idea just had to work. Arms aching, more waiting, somewhat less patiently. The bird just resolutely stood there, enjoying the morning rays.

Eventually, out of the corner of my eye I see Julie walking toward me, she would pass mere metres from where it stood. It had to fly surely. But she just walked past it ignored her. Heavenly mother-of-god what was happening, was I looking at a plastic one, held up long-legs stuck in the mud?

… then it decided the joke it was playing was getting boring and flew a few meters before settling again. My finger worked and I got a few shots. Sighing, I let the straps take the weight of the camera again and my arms fall to my side, promising to them they needn’t to anything else that day.

Then I make-out the sound of a moped in the distance and see a slowly advancing plume of dust, salt, and 2-stroke smoke, making directly for me, like a particularly determined and vindictive dust-devil. In the pools beside it birds flush, and fly. As it grows bigger I can make our a rather large gentleman perched comically atop a very small moped. Heavy-looking bags festoon the straining beast’s sides, like a mechanical burro. As he passes we share a cheerful “Bom dia”, behind him birds slowly settle and begin feeding again. I mutter a silent curse that hadn’t got out of bed 20 minutes earlier and saved my arms. Julie and I wander on, heading to Fusetta, for a coffee and mebbe a lovely pastéis de nata. I was happy that at last I knew where BW stilts put their legs when they flew.
Curlew Numenius arquata
That distinct two-part call, that sounds like 'Cur-lew' is, rather unsurprisingly, the origin of its current name, hey its onomatopoeic, I really do get so little chance to say that word. There are some variants of this in English, like Calloo, and this repeats across a number of other European languages, for example 'Courlis' or 'Corlu' (French), 'Curruliu' (Sardinia), Chiurlo (Italy). In Japanese it is シャクシク, which is pronounced, well I have idea. And that is all my fault as I was given some tuition by a Japanese professor when I was eight, I think the outcome of which was a mutual agreement that it was a waste of time as I couldn't speak English correctly in the first place ! Well, in my defence, I do come from Norfolk.

The Curlew has another harsher and guttural call that gives rise to: Whaup, Stock Whaup, Awp, Great Whaup (Orkney), Cawdy Mawdy (up 'north', and my clear winner). Has also received the names: Jack Curlew (Salop), Curlew-help (Lancs) and Whitterick (East Lothian),

Oh gosh, we're off on the weather thing again. The Danish name is 'Regen-Spaer' because its call is said to predicts rain and, in Germany, it was known as 'Windvogel' (Wind-Bird) and 'Wettervogel' (Weather Bird). I call them Curly-Wurlies, a name that has so far been neglected by all bird authorities or societies. Well, bugger 'em, I say.

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around ...

Curlews, usually heard rather than seen, that call starting slowly then winding-up, like an engine on a cold morning, but when it’s going properly you can hear it a long way off, and I do, a lot. We have them aplenty up here. You hear them. and you look, and sometimes you can catch them thro’ the binoculars, usually a field, at least, away. As they are so large, and a welcome summer visitor, I have tried and tried to get a decent image of one over the years. They are usually very aware of people trying to creep up close tho’, and it can be hard to hide behind sparse 6 inch high grass, and usually they’re off before you get close. I’ve tried to use the landie as a hide, to photograph though the windows. Nope they’re wise to that old trick, they might be somewhat desensitised to moving vehicles, but stop and they are aware, and off.

I decide to make it more of a ‘mission’ to get some images this summer. But how, what to do, how to go about it? I’m thinking all this when one takes-off calling a few metres from a meadow I’m walking past and starts flying round and round my head!

I have obviously wandered close to a pair with chicks on the ground, in the meadow next to the lane I’m on. Well, not bothering to thank any God that had arranged this in my ‘hour of need’, I unclip the camera and start spinning in a circle like a dervish, trying to track it. Thing is it’s so close and so fast I think I might fail. When I do catch a bit of a view, it’s of an odd-leg or wing, half a face, I begin to wonder if maybe I could make any money with a curlew jig-saw. Soon I’m convinced I am going to pass out with all the spinning round and round stuff and fall in the convenient ditch behind, beside, in-front, beside, behind…. me …… then it backs off a tad and at last I can find it. Still spinning I take a burst as it passes in front of some trees, then I lose it again. Actually, he's dropped into the meadow, .. ……..but he’s soon up again and ready for Round 2. He changes his tactics, flying the other way this time. Oh goody, I start spinning again, hoping the clockwise motion might unscrew the dizziness from Round 1, perhaps he’s thinking the same.
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... and around.
I am aware I’m causing this bird some distress, despite who has the right of way on His Majesties highways, I want to move on, I catch him again, almost the same position, I hit the button for a few moments running another 100 odd frames into memory.

Then he goes down again …………..
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what ?

… and settles nicely in sight, amongst all the spring meadow flowers.

Well, he wants me gone, and he obviously knows I want his picture, so he gives up and let’s me have it in exchange for me pissing off.

Not only that, but he poses beautifully for it. I mean it’s the ‘money shot’ – if anyone was paying me!

I turn and leave him, I don’t know what I have yet but I’m not going to stay any longer.
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morning on Budle bay

Up early for the tide at Budle Bay, let’s see what’s about. The first things I spot are a few Oiks, standing along the very narrow strip of shore between sea and low cliff. Beyond them a lonely curlew, just staring out to sea, obviously waiting for it to go away so he can get probing for breakfast, umm breakfast. This is why I wanted to catch the high tide, even if it means leaving a warm bed. As I take a circuitous approach along to cliff edge to avoid being spotted, I figure if the nearer oiks go he’ll spook as well, I finally manage to get directly behind him, just a few metres below. What a lovely view of his backside, some pointless effort, I could still be in bed for heavens sake. All I can do is wait, aware that any moment he might just fly away. Ho hum . . . . . . . warm bed . . . . . . . breakfast . . . . . . . ho hum . . . . . . . time passes, slowly. He resolutely stares straight ahead, that water sure is fascinating. And then he turns, he wants to look at the sea but figures I wont go until he gives me a picture. click. That’ll have to do I have other birds to find before that tide goes out and I can get breakfast, and coffee.
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supper

I once watched a sweet little Robin redbreast picking lumps of crushed roadkill from the tarmac, which I found frankly disappointing and, to be honest, a little disgusting. I’m not inviting them in again to perch on the mantelpiece next Christmas. I have also seen vultures dismantling the bloody corpse of a pregnant giraffe, from far too close a distance. That was gross from all angles, except the ecological of course.

Recently added to my bird ‘GoryStory’ list is this Curlew. I had been watching him wading up and down, probing the submerged mud for food, for perhaps half an hour. He was too far out for any decent pictures, and the light wasn’t good for anything ‘pretty’ anyway. I was hoping he’d come closer, a commonly unfulfilled desire. As I watched he swallowed a couple of morsels whole, one looking like a sand-eel. Then, perhaps five minutes later, he brought up this, probably a Carcinus maenas or Shore crab. It looks too big, surely it’s a case of eyes bigger than his belly. And besides a crab is all sharp claws and, let’s not forget, pincers, surely swallowing that still alive would be painful at the very least. His bill and jaw is ‘designed’ to probe mud, not crush.

Why do I worry, he was an old hand at this game. Firstly, he tosses it up into the air, I wonder for a moment if he’s discarding it as too big, but no, as soon as it hits the water, and thinking maybe ‘haha I got away that time’, curley has grabbed it again. This repeats, and I keep my finger working the shutter. Up it goes, down it comes, every time to be grabbed again. It reminds me of a cat playing with a mouse. As I watch tho’ something appears to be happening the crab, but I cannot work out what. Later, when I review the pictures (terrible) I can see the crab is actually losing limbs. In fact curley seems to be juggling with it, picking it up each time by a remaining claw, swinging it up, and letting the crabs mass pull it off. I can’t work out if he actually swallows these before quickly moving to retrieve the remaining body from the water, and doing it again, and again. Soon, they’re all gone and he has a safe crab supper to eat. It’s still big, but with a titanic struggle, it does down.

I have to have at least one image of this process, for behavioural interest, not prettiness, so I’ll use this one at the start of the butchery. I know photographically it’s crap, bite me.
Redshank Tringa totanus
Well, unsurprisingly, the bright-red colour of its legs gave us a number of previous names inc: Red-legged snipe, Red-legged horseman and, from those ‘bang on the ball Norfolk folk, we got ‘Red-leg’. Redshank also have an obvious piercing alarm cry which led to: Teuk (Essex), Clee, Pellile (Aberdeen) and the truly delightful Watery peeps.

A number of other colloquial names have been used such as: Sandcock, Shake and Pool snipe.

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beautiful light
In spring I spent a few sunny days, over a week or so, driving and walking parts of the Moray Firth looking for resident and transit wader and duck, picking times of high tide. The latter of course to ensure closeness, somehow getting up nice and personal is more difficult with a couple of hundreds yards of mud in the way.

I was lucky enough to catch this Redshank, illuminated in the low but bright sun, set against a darker sea and algae strand-line, as it sought invertebrates for brunch. Well I think it makes a pretty picture and, as has been said many times already, it is my website.

I think it actually looks as through I’ve over-used a fill-in flash, or cranked-up saturation, I assure you I haven’t.

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legs
A few moments later and he/she is rushing off, but still illuminated in that lovely lighting. A few more moments and she moves out of the low shadow, the sun-angle changes, and the picture is gone.

but, I mean, look at those legs, and feet! This fortuitous combination of low brght sun and dark shadow just makes those legs shine. I have seen thousands of these birds, but never once have their legs looked anything like this in the dull wintery light that I usually view them.

as a result choosing these as my pretty pictures of redshank was a no brainer
Greenshank Tringa nebularia
I’ve been somewhat left hanging here by Charles Swainson (1885), or by the country folk of yore, as the only previous names listed for this species appear to be Green-legged horseman and possibly Greater Plover. No songs, no close relationships with the devil, and absolutely no weather forecasting. That’s it!

If I find more I’ll add it sometime.

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wader, wading
A nice sunny morning, but cold biting wind. A stroll along the south side of Beauly Forth, the light and tide are right, so I’m hoping for some well-lit and close(ish) wader. After spending some time watching a hooded crow wading around looking for something tasty I look right and see a greenshank. Yes please. He looks nice in the sun, although he’s in deep water so his legs are well covered. He’s also too far out for a nice close-up, I creep as close as I can, well without wading in the cold water myself, and get a few snaps.

I wonder if some more will turn up as I progress farther along the shore. They don’t, so you get this one for now! Definitely a placeholder.

Bar-tailed Godwit Limosa lapponica
Well, this bird's name is derived from god = good and wihta= animal, essentially meaning 'tastes good', or 'good-eating', also giving rise to the alternate names Sea Woodcock, and Godwin (Ireland). Sir Thomas Browne (1605-1682), a polymath and writer of numerous works, described them as " the daintiest dish in England". The playwright/poet Ben Jonson (1572-1637) writes in 'The Devil is an Ass'

      Your eating
      Pheasant and godwit here in London, haunting
      The globes and mermaids; wedging in with lords
      Still at the table,”

Right, all that offends me on two grounds, as a naturalist, and as a veggie, so, what else do we know. Well, they had a number of other, non-gastronomically derived, names such as: Yarwhelp, Yarwhip, Yardkeep, Shreiker, and Poor Willie (East Lothian), all these for its call. Their resemblance when flying to a small Curlew gives Half Whaup (Forfar) and Half Curlew (Norfolk). We also have: Stone Plover. Pick (Norfolk) and Prine (Essex).

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looking at me looking at you

Up early to catch the high tide for walk around eastern edge of Budle bay in Northumbria, I want the birds close to the shore and the light behind me. It's migration time and who knows what blew in last night.

As I climb the slight rise I can see a lots of Oiks resting and catching the early sun. Then I see a nice bar-tailed Godwit, sadly not in breeding bloom (I should be so lucky) but in winter grey, still he looks nice. I have to drop down slightly, the cliff edge is too visible to approach, then straight line back to where I think s/he is just till my head is visible, bugger I’m a dozen metres to short. Repeat. That’s perfect, camera is already to my face and I get a quick burst. S/he sees me but but doesn’t flush, I have time for a more considered shots.
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aerial acrobatics

... an early morning walk along the rock embankments of Longman Industrial estate, who says I don't get to lovely places. I am trying to get a pair of Widgeon to pose for me, something makes me glance upwards to see a stunning display of synchronised aerobatics from a group of Godwit, with a few other species joining in for fun. Birds appear as white undersides flash brightly in the early morning sun, then disappear against the still gloaming landscape as they turn their backs .....to re-appear moments later ..... then they settle in sequence on a shingle bar. Moments later they’re up once more, to practice their aerial choreography again. This repeats over and over, I stand, in a bubble of my own, mesmerised by this awesome display of absolute precision in flight.

They don’t do it for us, I am just a lucky voyeur..... such displays have happened for 100s of thousands of years, most likely millions. Long, long before we ever arrived to fuck-up the planet with our insatiable hedonistic clamouring for more and more ‘things’. Dwelling on this thought for a moment or two I ponder letting myself fall quietly into the fast-flowing water of the ebbing tide just in front of me, and the bubble bursts. I become aware again of the sound of heavy traffic, roaring over the Kessock Bridge high above my head, all rushing to work, at the passing cars and vans and trucks down at my level, only metres away, doing the same. Not a single person pauses to watch this natural spectacle, or even notice it. I am probably, almost certainly, the only person awed by this spectacle in front of me. It may explain a lot about the ‘human condition’ and, in particular, my Majestic wine bill.

Like travelling minstrels and performers of yore, these birds will be moving on soon, they are migrants on passage. I take a few stills, moved in that strange way beauty so frequently does, by contrasting with the mundanity of our own lives. Christ, I need a coffee, I make my way a couple of miles to the nearest purveyor, perhaps I’ll have a muffin too, oooooh!

Lapwing Vanellus vanellus
Current name derives, apparently, from Old English hleáp-wince-lit which means 'one who turns about running', well there you go. This also gives rise to a three delightful variations: Lipwingle (Beds), Lymptwigg (Exmoor, and Flopwing.

Its call gives rise to a number of onomatopoeic names: Peewit (still commonly used throughout UK). Piewipe and Piewipe (Norfolk), Puit (Essex, Suffolk, Norfolk, Sussex) Peaseweep (Stirling, Forfar), Weep, Wype, Tewhit and Tee-wheep (Kirkcudbright, Orkney), Teuchit (Forfar), Tuet (Westmorland, Lancs, West Riding). The winner here, I feel, has to be Shetland with Tieves Nicket)

If there was ever a bird that so exuberantly exhibits the joy of flying, well actually there are hundreds if not thousands, but anyway please stick with me on this, it must be the old Lapwing. When it performs that ‘look at me I’m going to crash ….. oh no I didn’t’ aerobatics display accompanied by that loud drawn-out ‘peeeeeeee wit’ call there’s almost no way to look away, and you carry-on looking because you want to see it again, and again. As often as not though the bugger stays firmly on the ground, until you turn away that is. I love ‘em and the return of these birds to the hills in spring is something to look forward to.

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peeeeeee wit

I used to have a pair nesting in the field at the bottom (vertically) of the track to the house in Shetland, whenever I left for a walk one of them would fly up and mob me for a hundred metres or so. It didn’t matter how many times I said to “look it’s only me, I walk past here every day, there’s no need for this, you know I’m not going to eat your chicks” he would do it. I used to hate it, disturbing and probably distressing the poor bird for nothing. Then, sure enough, a couple of hours later, on the way back, he’d pop up and we’d go though the same ritual all over again. I can’t be sure of this, but I am damned sure I’d just hear him say “see you tomorrow” as I walked out of threat range.

I never got his picture, don’t know why. But, the first time I walked along a small road near Loch Ruthven after moving close by, another Lapwing adopted me and started mobbing me. This time I took his picture, sadly it’s far from great, but it reminds me of those times. Mebbe, I’ll try to replace it, I just hate disturbing them, whether I’m a threat or not.
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shining bright
Like many birds the Lapwing’s colours arise from the refraction of light by it’s feathers, and they look dull on an overcast day, as many bird species do. Indeed I am sure many folk believe most UK birds are dull compared to those abroad, well that has an element of truth perhaps but it’s mainly that our weather is so often shite. The lapwing shows this here, with it’s colours flashing in the sun.

Oystercatcher Haematopus ostralegus
Current name from its liking of shellfish, hence also: Oyster plover and Mussel pecker. It’s bold black and white colouration, a bit like that of the Magpie, gave rise to Pienet, Sea Pie (Norfolk, Cornwall, Lancs and East Lothian), Sea Piet and Sea Pilot. Other names for this bird include: Olive (Essex) Tirma and Trichillchan (Hebrides), Chalder, Chaldrick and Scolder (Orkney Isles). From its shrill call when its nest is threatened we get Skeldrake or Skieldrake (Orkney Isles), Krocket (Aberdeen), Dickie Bird (Norfolk: perhaps my forebears had lost the plot at this point)

This call was interpreted as ‘Bi Glic, Bi Glick’ or ‘Be wise, Be wise’ in much of the Western Highlands.

Let’s not be mistaken, if you have Oystercatchers nearby, you know it. We have a pair who return every spring to a pool 30 metres from our house. They don’t breed here, they do that farther up the hills. They pop over, wake us up, perch on a piece of wood and look at the water, every morning and evening. They seem to meditate. This is before the chicks arrive and things get busy for them. The delight we get when they move back in spring and fly endlessly round and round our house squawking at three every morning to cheerfully let us know ‘we are back’ simply cannot be measured.

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Dad and son?

I like them really, even with those 3am reminders. They just look chunky but fun, and that carrot of a bill sets off the monotone colouration ‘to a t‘. I have great fondness for them, just don’t ring me at 03:30 to ask.

As such I decided to make them something of a project in ‘24 to get some pretty pictures of them, I esp. wanted to get some of chicks being raised. On the proviso I did not violate my rule not to disturb or harm them in any way. If it can’t be done without, then it isn’t done.

There is, a few miles from home, up on the ‘tops’ a long narrow lane that crosses an area of bog with small ponds, I choose this as one of the sites I would focus on, as numerous Oiks and Curley-wurlies breed here. What makes it esp good for photography is that there are numerous patches of gorse alongside the road for concealment. I decide to walk this as often as possible during the breeding season.

Well, it works and I locate a pair using some bog pools just behind clumps of Gorse. A perfect location, for them, and me, although I will admit it was a tad prickly. That day I find ‘dad taking his kid’ out and showing him what’s what. Well, it might be mum for that matter, no way to know. Either way they make a nice couple in the late afternoon sun. I take a few, back off and quietly thank them.
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fat and juicey

Next day I’m up there again, different location but, again. lots of prickly bushes to hide amongst, I watch a family of four wandering about on some rough sheep pasture. Mum and Dad actively prodding the ground seeking food, the kids just follow behind, looking bored. Not sure what I mean, go to Sainsbury’s. Then Dad, or Mum, strikes gold pulling out a great fat larva – often called a leatherjacket, runs back a metre and tosses it a few cms to her chick, who catches it. It’s gone in a moment!

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annoyances

I was looking to try and get a few pictures of a Slavonian grebe chick being raised in a most unlikely pond, away in a sheep field. To do this I was using the Landie as a hide, lens attached to the window, and camo scrim covering the lot, I’ve noticed that most birds become conditioned to vehicles where they are common, but try and approach on foot and you alarm them.

Then I hear, well it isn’t hard, the sweet dulcet melodic tones of an oystercatcher coming in. Settling on a slight rise in the field he starts to preen. After a few moments he appears to be mellowing, perhaps relaxing a tad from getting food for his good lady, herself possibly on egg-duty. Preen here, little scratch there, yeah he’s definitely taking some ‘me time’. But this field is home to a load of new lambs, and they’re children, they want to play. At first this lamb just walks up slowly, and the bird retreats a few metres, start preening again. Lambie though has different ideas, wants a game, and follows, the oystercatcher walks off again and stops to preen again. Lamb follows, bird stops preening and wanders off again. I mean this just goes on and on, I find it quite funny and do take this as a record. And don’t try to tell this oystercatchers face is not showing obvious annoyance and exasperation. This picture being vertical doesn’t show well here so it will open in the browser with a click.
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Oystercatcher

I mentioned a while back about the harassment doled out to me by a Lapwing on every summer walk along the road from my house in Shetland, well about half a mile farther on an Oik used to do exactly the same. It wasn’t a peaceful walk, at least on that stretch of road, the near total vehicles made up for it. Anyway, I decided to take a snap of my tormentor.
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Head and shoulders

Well I did say earlier that I prefer portraits to groups. As this Oystercatcher agreed to a short shoot I took the opportunity eagerly. Whilst I do wish she’d brushed her ‘teeth’ before posing I think red, greens and black look quite nice. You can of course still think what you like, that’s your prerogative, despite what the BBC tells you what to believe.

Now, this picture shows something that I, at least, find extremely interesting. Look at the pupil of this bird, it doesn’t appear circular, in fact it almost looks elliptical. If this was so it make the birds vision crap. Something hardly likely to persist in a world where being eaten any minute of every day is a real probability. There is a reason why pilots have to have the highest visual acuity. Birds can see, trust me on this. We can discuss their intelligence later if you wish, but not their eyesight. Birds with my eyesight finish up in a cat’s (or similar) tummy PDQ.

So what is going on. It might be better to describe it as looking like the black pupil is ‘bleeding into’ the red of the iris. Well, the actual reason for this is that some pigment in the outer surface of the iris has faded or thinned allowing the black inner structure of the iris to become visible through it. This inner surface ‘has’ to be black of course otherwise reflections within the eye itself would ruin eyesight, cat’s tummy, yum yum, that sort of thing. Yeah, great Sherlock, but WHY do these ‘eye-flecks’ occur in some birds. Well …………

………….. can we talk about sex now please, well sexual dimorphism to be exact: the phenomenon that the males and females of many species, inc birds, appear very different, think most ducks for example, whereas in many other species they are essentially the same. Now, we can throw ourselves into the world of ‘adaptive story-telling’ as ecologists /evolutionary biologists call it. The question is, for what is it worth, how do boys and girls tell each other apart if they are identical in appearance. Yeah, easy for a duck right, but what of a pigeon or, yes, an Oystercatcher. Male and female are visually identical, so how do they avoid mistakes on those nice romantic beach picnics. ………….

………..now we go into storytelling overdrive ……….Guzzetti et al. (2008) reported that these eye-flecks are predominantly only identifiable in the females of Black Oystercatchers. Bringing a true meaning to the phrase ‘look into my eyes darling…..oops. nope, sorry mate’. So is this all true? I mean it is in a scientific journal right. Well it is for sure, whatever trust we pay to such stuff today. Look, I like it, but it has some methodological weaknesses, in fact quite a lot. Looking though the hundreds of images of oiks I have, well I cannot find a single male according to this idea, and all the couples I have are, well, lesbian. So who knows, I have an opinion I really do. I’ll tell you sometime.
Sanderling Calidris alba
Has been called: Sea lark (Ireland), Sand lark, Ox bird (Essex, Kent) Stint, last two also used for Dunlin. In summer plumage it was also called Ruddy plover, and two names, Towwilly and Curwillet (Cornwall) were given because his of it’s call.

I love these little birds for their mesmerising display when feeding along the shoreline, as small groups rush after a retreating wave, then rush backwards, their little legs a blur, as the next one breaks and runs up the beach. They are looking for any bubbles rising from the wet sand that indicate the presence of numerous small tunnels formed by a number of invertebrates on which they feed. Their bills can only really penetrate 1-2cm into the sand, so cannot exploit the drier parts of the beach where their prey moves deeper.

This display is such fun to watch I can only urge you to skip shopping for the afternoon and go see it yourself.

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sedentary nibble

This summer plumage Sanderling has forgotten, for a moment no doubt, the perfect choreography of bird and wave so characteristic of his species and is picking-over some Laminaria for a nibble, probably Talitrus saltator or similar tasty delight.
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.... do you want some sand with that?

you know how only a grain or so of sand in, well to be fair, a sandwich, can ruin a beach picnic? I always used to wonder how waders liked the endless grit in their grub.

I still do a bit even tho’ I suppose it has something to do with not actually chewing their food, just swallowing it whole. Perhaps if we did that with sandwiches it would easier. Of course, as birds don’t have teeth as such, and rely on swallowed grit within the muscular ventriculus (aka gizzard) to grind up food the odd mouth-full is probably just dandy.
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mind games

I guess when you often spend ages running furiously up and down sometimes just standing and looking around must be nice.

this little chap just stood there for some time, looking about contemplatively. He was well ahead of his chums, and I was sitting on the sand with a wet bum, sort of blocking his way, so he may have been playing the old ‘get security by running back to my mates or explore for more food conundrum’ over in his mind. I waited for him to advance, myself playing the ‘get up now and disturb him for certain or continue to sit motionless, hope he thinks I’m a lump of seaweed, and happily walks past me’ conundrum through mine. After a few minutes he called by bluff, I took his picture and stood up, he flew back a few metres to where his mates were.
Turnstone Arenaria interpres
Currently name derives from its behaviour of turning over small stones along the shore looking for the invertebrates that form the major part of its diet. Some regional names also derive from this habit inc. Stanepecker (Shetland) and Tangle picker (Norfolk), tangle being the name given to some bladdered marine algae. Also called Sea dotterel (Norfolk), Sea lark (Ireland), Stone raw (Armagh) and Skirl crake (East Lothian, Shetland).

This is another wader that is charming to watch, sit on the beach, pour a cuppa from a flask, and just watch one. The stone-turning seems somehow a totally familiar action, I mean we often do it, looking for ‘pretty ones’ as we walk the shore. It’s also good to see them finally find something to swallow after the effort of looking under a lot of stones. I’m surprised there isn’t a game show where contestants turn over stones to find a prize. especially if the tide is coming-in. Perhaps there is, I wouldn’t know as I don’t watch TV. But I thought of it and I want the royalties, although I’d probably waste it on an even heavier lens.


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Turnstone

these two pictures of migratory turnstone, taken early on the salinas west of Fuseta, have replaced some much earlier ones taken in Shetland, simply because of the colours here: the subtle browns of the bird against the sandy colours of, well yes, the sand. They harmonise in a way I like, oh god I’m sounding like a presenter on some dumb-arse ‘how to spend thousands and thousands and thousands of pounds on your house to impress your vacuous dinner guests rather than live in it and find something intelligent to do’ TV show.

I guess this bird, amongst a few fellow compadres nearby, might have dropped-in overnight, after a long journey from their breeding grounds in far-northern Europe. This surmise is based on no more than that I hadn’t seen any others in the previous few days. It’s more data than most people use to form an opinion. They may stay on this part of the med coast for winter, or move on further.

I was also aware of the shortage of any stones to turn over, so what to do? what to do?
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is it worth it
I popped this one in because it looks to me as tho’ he’s looking at that tiny stone in front of him and wondering if it’s worth the effort to turn it over.
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knee deep
At the same time as the 'shiny redshank' pictures shown above were taken, this sweet little turnstone turned-up to photobomb the same little stretch of amazing light, indeed the Redshank above ran past this chap just before I took his picture.
Hoopoe Upupa epops
Whilst a rare visitor to the UK, Swainson (1885) has collated a considerable amount of mythology on this species, so I have a few snippets with which to regale you. The name derives from its call, in Latin and elsewhere e.g. the french ‘huppa’.

The Hoopoe was considered an extremely filthy and unclean bird, in general habits and feeding behaviour. In Germany is called known as Stinker, Mistvogel and Wiedenhopf. This arises because its nest does indeed have an extremely nasty odour, caused mainly by the fact the birds anal glands produce a secretion that is very unpleasant to humans, if you want to know why ask one. In differing parts of France it was called Coq des bois, Coq d'été, Serviteur au roi, and Gallo di Marzo. meaning, ‘Rooster of the woods’, ‘Summer Rooster’, ‘Servant to the king’ and ‘March Rooster’ respectively. No mention of the smell, perhaps they didn’t notice. In Sweden its name meant ‘Army Bird’ because its ominous call was interpreted by the peasantry as indicating a season of war and scarcity was coming. In much of the middle east it was known as ‘the Doctor’, because it was believed it had incredible medicinal qualities, and its head formed an indispensable part of many charms.

There is so much more, including how a flock of Hoopoes saved Solomon from the sun in the desert, but I have to do have to move on. Go read Swainson (1885) pg 106-109, if you want more. Look for it on Internet Archive.

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a miserable lost bird, on miserable day
Well this species was definitely on my ‘wanted’ list for the quick jaunt to Portugal recently. I wanted it because it is such a striking bird. Black, white and pink, what a combo, plus of course that head crest, it has the best Mohican. Some hope tho’, never saw one, nil, nada.

So returning empty-handed I have revisited the bowels of the hard-discs to dig up some dreadful pictures I took in 2012 of a lost migrant in Dorset, taken on a dreadful gloomy, windy rain-swept heath. Never has a bird looked so out of place.

Well with modern de-noise algorithms they have cleaned up a lot, so they’ll have to keep the spot warm until I can get better.
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crest, not
Of course the crest, when erect is the most lovely feature of this bird. But, as you’d expect from my usual bird luck, this chap kept his flat nearly all of the time I had him in view. I suspect he was just dejected, it was a bloody miserable day.

Despite this he did manage the odd erection (stop snickering at the back) but he contrived to do it when half hidden behind the odd scrub, or, and this is where intent comes in I am sure, only when facing me head-on, just giving me a terrible view.

Then he flew-off out of sight, laughing all the way. So at least that had cheered him up a tad I guess.