Waders of the Last Auk

Yes, I'm afraid so. The punfest continues. As does the blogging about our recent trip to Orkney.

Carrying on the theme of shore birds, here are a few more photos of waders seen on North Ronaldsay.

These are a pair of Sanderling, taking a break from feeding at the water's edge in Linklet Bay. They were quite approachable, so you're allowed to wonder why the focussing wasn't crisper. Oops.

This isn't in focus either, but it was a long way off and moving quite fast and erratically. It's a Snipe in the throes of its courtship/territorial display flight. This is known as 'drumming' and is caused by the air flow over the outer tail feathers. The picture handily shows these sticking out at an angle from the body. If you've not heard this before, have a listen to the last bit of the audio in the above link. I wouldn't have described it as drumming, mind, as to me it sounds more like the world's heaviest kazoo being dropped from a great height. Not such a catchy phrase as drumming, I'll grant you.

Ah, Oystercatcher! A spectacular looking bird with an impressive range of piping calls. On this island during early Summer, it's difficult to be out of earshot of one of these beauties at any time of day. As Our Lass also has this on her ring tone, it can be (a) confusing and (b) damned annoying at 3 in the morning.

The mobile hide came in useful once more when we spotted this Lapwing chick in a pasture bordering the road. Not bad from the driving seat and out of the passenger window, obviously with handbrake applied and gearbox in Neutral!

I previously mentioned that to travel from North Ron To Westray, we had to change mode of transport from aeroplane to boat on Papa Westray. This small island (about the same size as North Ron) was sadly the place where the last Great Auk in Britain was killed in 1813. A bronze statue has been erected on Fowl Craig to mark this solemn day.

So, onto Westray itself, where the Admiral scored maximum brownie points by locating a wader that I had never seen before. In fact, even when he pointed it out, it still took me ages to see it, as its camouflage was just about perfect for the habitat it was stood in!

It's a Purple Sandpiper, which was feeding in a pool amongst the rocks and seaweed. Even when it moved, I wasn't initially aware of the shape of the bird, only the shimmering of part of my field of view. And, yes, I was sober.

Questioning the bill

I mentioned breeding waders in yesterday's tern blog, so I'd better make this a wader post.

OK, for starters, here's a wader ON a post...

We were able to approach quite close to this Curlew thanks to Our Lass's poorly knee. A hastily arranged hire car for getting about North Ronaldsay (an island only 4 miles long) meant that we had a mobile hide! The bill on this bird isn't full adult length, which made me wonder if it was a Whimbrel instead, but no, it's a Curlew.

Here's a shot of a different bird, in more congenial surroundings, again from the 'hide'.

Some waders we couldn't drive to. Around the coast were plenty of Ringed Plovers. This one, on the shore of Linklet Bay, was a ringed Ringed Plover!

When they weren't collecting jewellery, they could be a bit more shellfish...

Sorry.

One good tern...

Returning to our holiday theme, one of the attractions of Orkney in early Summer is the sheer quantity of breeding waders and seabirds, despite the decline in numbers of some species. The reduction in food supply, principally sand eels, has meant that many seabirds have not bred successfully for several years in a row. Whilst they do tend to be long-lived and so can try again another year, no species can withstand repeated failures on the scales seen in recent times without there being a major concern over the viability of the population to recover. 

There are several colonies of Arctic Terns on North Ronaldsay, which, due to the low-lying nature of the island, are in pastures or behind the beaches. However, the wardens at the Bird Observatory told us that the week before our visit, heavy rain over several days put paid to eggs and chicks alike, resulting in a total failure of the species to produce any young on North Ronaldsay for 2011. This was also true of other ground-nesting birds, where a few day's poor weather wiped out a whole generation.

Ironically, during our stay on the island, the weather was mainly warm and dry by Orcadian standards, which at least meant we could spend time watching these gorgeous birds.

The above shot was taken at the golf course, a splendid nine hole arrangement behind Linklet Bay. When I say'splendid', I mean for bird watching, as the presence of grazing sheep and the inevitable product of their endeavours would make for an interesting round of the game.

We regularly visited this spot, as it was terrain that Our Lass could negotiate without too much swearing trouble and another sojourn resulted in the surprising sighting of a pair of Little Terns. You may recall, dear reader, that on the Tense Towers team trip to Norfolk at the end of May, we had the good fortune to see a large breeding colony of these birds at Winterton dunes. And you may also remember that I did not take my camera with me on that morning. Suffice it to say, though I was now in the company of Cameron Binns, I couldn't manage other than a record shot of either of the birds as they flew along the shore and over the golf course.

The following week, we moved to another island, via a 15 minute flight to Papa Westray and then a 30 minute ferry crossing to Westray itself. Whilst we were out looking for Puffins at Castle o' Burrian, I spotted a tern sat on a rock at the far side of the bay of Rack Wick. It was too distant to be sure what it was, but I did know it wasn't an Arctic or a Common or a Little one. The Admiral came to my rescue, identifying it as a Sandwich Tern, but before we could think moving closer for a better view, an Arctic Skua harassed it into flying away. My disappointment was tempered by the fact that this was a new species for me, as my sandwiches don't normally attract the attention of piratical skuas.

A few days later, the Admiral and I were walking along the west coast path, enjoying views over the sea to Rousay and the gloriously sunny weather. A bird shot passed that wasn't the normal Fulmar or Great Black-backed Gull or Arctic Tern. This time we were close enough to hear its call, which was very different to those I already knew. Another Sandwich Tern! It made several  trips back and forth along the coast, allowing an opportunity to at least capture some sort of image.

Wishing to share these fantastic birds with other nature lovers, we contacted Graham Maben from Westraak, the local wildlife tour operator, who told us that half a dozen pairs do come to the island each year. Graham was soon able to return the favour, but that, as they say, is a story for another day.

An evening assignation with Mrs Brown

Whoa! Don't panic! This isn't a lurid tale of tasteless journalistic fervour, no mobile phones are involved and the only hacking in evidence was the loss of a small amount of undergrowth in one of our borders.

Neither is it a belated, but nevertheless, shocking revelation concerning the private life of Queen Victoria and her faithful Scottish servant, neither of whom, as far as I know, ever visited the sleepy Buckinghamshire village of Milton Keynes.

However, it is about time that we had a dragon post (and not that Rebekah What's-her-name, either). I had been hoping to return from an odonatologically abstinent holiday to discover clouds of damsels and dragons filling the skies of England (Tense... Tense... wake up, mate! You're dreaming!), but things are a bit quiet around Planet Odo at the moment. So it was a most pleasant surprise, last evening, to have a Brown Hawker, Aeshna grandis, visit us, as we sat in the back garden.

It was about 6pm, the day was still warm with plenty of sunshine and Our Lass and I were partaking of a mug of tea, whilst watching the comings and goings around the pond. Wasps were making countless trips to collect water for their paper-making exploits (or new paper sting operation, as I like to think of it) and a Lesser Stag Beetle pottered across the paving stones, oblivious to the comparative nominative slight handed out by humans.

Suddenly, a dragonfly appeared, made a few exploratory flights in the warmest corner of the garden and disappeared into an overhanging Clematis clambering over the fence from next door's garden. This seemed a little early for a Brown Hawker to settle down for the night, as we have often observed them flying quite late, towards dusk. Upon checking the vegetation, however, it did appear that this female dragonfly was intent on doing just that.

Despite still being hampered by a poorly knee, Our Lass was able to manoeuvre herself and her camera into position in order to capture the below image.

I checked the hedge at 6am this morning and this grand lady was still there.

To loosely connect this post with our Orkney holiday, the dialect phrase for 'last night' is the streen, a contraction of 'yesterday's evening'. Strangely, English use of 'today' is apparently a contraction of the day, the more correct Orcadian phrase. Whilst most bizarrely, on Orkney, 'tomorrow' is the morn. I was most confused when a lady on local radio stated that an exhibition was opening at "2.30 the morn". Jings, I thought, who's going to get up that early?

Spurious Spurrey

Going on holiday in a group can be a bit of a logistical nightmare. Admittedly, the Tense Towers team are only three in number, but as Our Lass wasn't allowed to put any weight on her left knee during the whole of our time in Orkney, things could've been rather fraught. Fortunately, all the preparation beforehand paid off and everyone we met was helpfulness personified.

Inevitably, it was occasionally frustrating for her that she couldn't go rock pooling or climb to the top of the lighthouse, but as she built up her upper body strength whilst using her crutches, new goals became possible. Lowering her sights, literally, put her in the realm of small flowers that would ordinarily have been overlooked in the search for larger Northern Isles life forms: seals, killer whales, red necked phalaropes, Simon King, black guillemots, otters, etc.

A short, grassy track from the North Ronaldsay Bird Observatory led to a five barred gate, beyond which was the preserve of the seaweed-eating sheep. From the low cliffs could be seen a rocky beach and the swirling waters of the North Ronaldsay Firth and the Atlantic Ocean.

Initially with plenty of rest stops, Our Lass trod this 300m track with a monotonous "click, thump" rhythm, in order to reach the nirvana of a wild vista beyond the sheep dyke. Whilst the Admiral and I were intent on photographing Black Guillemots, she innocently pointed out a wee flower that we had walked past umpteen times. Binoculars were wielded, cameras were deployed, Ohs and Ums were oh-ed and um-ed, heads were scratched. Then politeness cut in and we scratched our own heads, before realisation finally dawned. Yes, we definitely don't know what this is.

It's a... er...hmmm?

The small white-centred, pink flower, no more than 8mm across, had 5 petals and grew in small clumps (technical botanical term) on the bare sandy clifftop. Later, in the bar (where else), recourse to a copy of Wild Flowers of Britain and Ireland (Blamey, Fitter and Fitter), narrowed it down to a Sea-spurrey, Spergularia, but which one? Sand (rubra), Greater (media), Lesser (marina), Rock (rupicola), Greek (bocconei)? Only Greater and Lesser are known in Orkney, as Sand has supposedly not made the jump to the Northern Isles. It was definitely not Greek, as there wasn't a bouzouki player for miles, nor was it Rock which appears to be a plant of the west coast of Britain.

The defining characteristic seemed to be the comparative length of petals to sepals. Longer equals Greater, shorter equals Lesser. We couldn't even agree on this and I reckoned they were the same length anyway, which brought Rock back into the frame.

Oh, we're rubbish at botany, if you hadn't already guessed!

So, dear reader (presuming that you are still paying attention and haven't wandered off to do something more meaningful), can you help? Are you the world authority on Sea-spurrey or even someone for whom the ratio of petal to sepal is but a trifle? To be honest, I think the North Ronaldsay sheep probably stood a better chance of working it out than we did.

Full marks for Fulmars

These days, on a visit to the Northern Isles, it would be virtually impossible not to see a Fulmar, Fulmarus glacialis. Yet, according to Mark Cocker in Birds Britannica, they did not breed in the Orkney archipelago as little as 120 years ago.

Fulmar... the supermini of the albatross world, though I gather that the airscoop on the bonnet is actually a tube for filtering out salt from sea water.

Roosting on top of a sheep pund at Dennis Ness, North Ronaldsay

Encounters with these birds have become synonymous with our trips to Orkney, especially on North Ronaldsay, where they often nest at the base of the sheep dyke. This dry stone wall is maintained as a barrier to keep the seaweed-eating sheep off the fertile pasture, so a circumnavigation of the island on its seaward side is bound to bring you into close contact with many a Fulmar.

Gliding effortlessly above the storm beach adjacent to Trolla Vatn, North Ronaldsay

If I say that they have a somewhat vomitous predator response, regurgitating a foul oily substance, you will appreciate why it pays to keep an eye open for where they are roosting.

On cliffs above the Bay of Kirbest, Westray

Its Orcadian name, 'Molly-mawk' or 'Mallimack', derives from the Dutch for 'foolish gull', as its habit of sitting tight on its egg made it an easy target for hunters in times past. Whereas 'Foul Maa' is of a more Scandinavian origin, referring to the previously described habit of sharing its breakfast after the event.

Back to Normal

I don't know, you nip away for a few weeks and the blogosphere traffic goes crazy, but I think I've caught up with all my reading of posts, replying and commenting.

The Tense Towers Team have had a break in northern climes, still on British soil, but with a much different biota to sleepy Buckinghamshire. In fact, returning to MK on Saturday afternoon was a bit weird, as we saw birds that would've been regarded as quite rare for the last fortnight.

"Look! A Magpie!"

"Wow! There's a Blue Tit!"

"Listen to that amazing call, what it is it? Oh, a Goldfinch!"

So back to normal felt a little abnormal for a while, but I think we've got it out of our systems now.

As the photos featured on I&T rarely show the team, regular readers may wonder if we spend our nature-watching time back to back, in a small triangular shape, cameras pointing outward. I have to inform you that we're not such a regular polygon as that, as a scroll down this webpage will testify, taken on holiday, doing what we do best... drinking tea!

Yep, the unholy triumvirate of the Our Lass, the Admiral and myself ventured to a few of the islands of Orkney, first North Ronaldsay and then Westray. The photo in the above link is courtesy of the staff at the Bird Observatory, where we spent a fantastic week, soaking up the wildlife, local cuisine and not a little Dark Island ale. If you're ever in Orkney, I would recommend a visit.

I'm working my way through 14 days of photographs, so there's much more to come, however, by necessity, it might be more interactive than usual as there were lots of flowers that were new to us. Any help with ID in the upcoming posts will be gratefully received.