This autumn keeps on giving. A Pallas’s warbler was found at Lower Kilminning this morning. There were lots of birders about yesterday looking for the firecrest in exactly the same area the Pallas’s was found today, and I worked the area a bit in the morning. So it must have come in yesterday afternoon when the rain showers sent the birders home, or last night. Anyway, it was obvious today and really nice contrast to the last Pallas’s warbler in 2019 at Upper Kilminning which was hard to find and hard to see. Pallas’s are rare on the Crail patch – before the 2019 record there was one in 2013, 2009 and 2003, all in Denburn Wood. They are associated with mid to late October and lots of rain and easterlies, so perhaps one turning up again wasn’t that surprising.
The Pallas’s at Kilminning – I wasn’t fast enough to get it out in the open. You can see its two coloured supercilium and the stripe on the top of the head. A small bill, like a tit or a goldcrest too. Another less than satisfactory photo, but it also captures a lot of the bird today – the really bright pale rump for example, and the stripes. In almost exactly the same spot where I saw the Siberian thrush in 2020
I was in St Andrews at work when it was reported and had to wait a few hours before I could go down to Kilminning. It would have been very unlucky for it not to stay around until at least this evening (warblers are all nocturnal migrants) but I was still a bit tense about missing it. I cycled down eventually, mid-afternoon, and joined the small crowd staked out at Willie’s bench, overlooking the elders, ashes and roses that consistently provide habitat for rare migrants. It only took a few minutes before the Pallas’s reappeared for me: a ball of green and pale yellow exploding out of a bush after a fly before jumping around the elders. Like the firecrest of the weekend – that also popped into view at more or less exactly the same time – it was a restless, ball of energy. Feeding high and low, hovering to glean for insects under leaves like a goldcrest, picking away like a tit, or flycatching, well, like a flycatcher. But all on speed. I had some of my best views of a Pallas’s warbler in the sense that I could really watch it for a long period behaving normally in a relaxed fashion, sat comfortably on Willie’s bench. Not the closest views but well close enough to really appreciate its bright pale yellow rump, its seven stripes of yellow, and even the orangey tinge to its supercilium in front of the eye. And when the Pallas’s was out of view, the firecrest was often visible, behaving much like the Pallas’s but looking a little more sedate and less frisky – which is saying something about the Pallas’s because the firecrest was behaving like every branch and twig it landed on was giving it an electric shock.
Composite of the firecrest doing its in constant movement thing in the whitebeam behind Willie’s bench this afternon
I have never been to Mongolia – it’s pretty much top of the list of where I would like to go – but a bit of Mongolia came to Kilminning today. Pallas’s are real long distance vagrants. The nearest breeding site is Russia, as far east as the Mongolian border. The nearest wintering site is Thailand. That means the warbler today was about 8,000 km off course. The interesting thing is that if you fly 180 degrees in the wrong direction from eastern Mongolia you get to Scotland. Pallas’s warblers have not been blown a bit off course, they have done the complete opposite to what they should do. And optimistically it will take a Pallas’s warbler two weeks at minimum to get from their breeding area in the far east to us. It is probably not an accident. Some individuals do different migrations: most die because they end up in unsuitable places. But some get lucky and discover new wintering grounds, which they then return to, and they pass on the now successful directional trait to most of their offspring after they retrace their steps in the spring. Having some of your offspring bet hedging in this way is proof against climate change, and migrant birds are spectacularly successful in tracking and exploiting climate change on a global scale.
Pallas’s Warbler Lower Kilminning today (John Anderson). Who knew the eyestripe was lichen camouflage?
Back to the rain and storms today, although it stayed reasonably dry this morning. But I stayed out too late at lunchtime and ended up hunkered down under a pine tree in The Patch at Fife Ness during a very intense squally shower. I felt very much at one with the at least eight woodcocks nearby that were doing the same. Before this I was at Kilminning again. First, looking at a northern bullfinch. Part of the current Continental invasion. A Scandinavian or Russian version of our bullfinch – larger, chunkier looking, with longer wings and tail, and waxwing like hues to its underparts. Like the mealy redpoll – northern versions are larger to better manage their energy budgets with smaller surface areas to volume, and larger reserves to tide them over in more unpredictable climates. I also saw another part of the invasion later – a Continental coal tit in The Patch – with a bright blue grey back rather than the British olive colour. All of these European versions – bullfinches, redpolls, coal tits – make it here in small numbers every winter, but this autumn everything seems to be turned up to 11.
Kilminning was pretty much like yesterday. The firecrest was still around. I refound it straight away on the tarmac again, jumping about restlessly, never staying still just like yesterday. I put the news out about how visible it was and it promptly dived back into the trees by the ruined toilet block, not to reappear for a couple of hours. There were lots of more visible thrushes – mostly blackbirds and fieldfares today – some woodcock, bramblings, chiffchaffs, blackcaps and goldcrests. Instead of merlins chasing the migrants, it was sparrowhawks, although often the sparrowhawks were chasing each other. Some of the many sparrowhawks that have been chasing the thrushes for the last two weeks might well be migrants themselves. And still more easterlies and rain on the way next week, hopefully bringing more and extending the autumn migrant season a little bit longer.
The never still firecrest at Kilminning. You can bounce around a bit when you only weigh 6 grams.
This morning I went out in the continuing rain showers to look for Lapland buntings. If any are going to come this winter then they should have arrived by now in the easterlies with the skylarks. Lapland buntings like weedy stubble fields. Every few years the local crop rotation gives us big stubble fields from here to Wormiston, but there are not many stubble fields left this autumn. There are some good ones still at the air field, but its not worth the aggravation checking those. The closest, most likely fields that remain are at Randerston: these fields by the sea along with those of Hillhead and Wormiston are always the best areas in the East Neuk. So I spent an hour and a half walking through the stubbles of Randerston, cursing the showers that made it impossible to use my binoculars. But finding Lapland buntings doesn’t really need binoculars. They flush near to you, and identify themselves by their call and the way they fly off. There weren’t any to see anyway. I did find lots of companion species – the ones that Laplands associate with when here to reassure me that I was looking in the right place. Lots of skylarks, corn buntings, meadow pipits and reed buntings. There is a field of brussel sprouts next to one of the stubble fields and this was full of corn and reed buntings as well. A female merlin flew over the field and everything disappeared down into the leafy cabbage plants, suggesting to me that part of the appeal of a brussel sprout field must be its value as cover. Despite the weather and the absence of Lapland buntings, it was nice to see so many corn buntings again.
I headed back to Crail along the minor road to Wormiston House. There are hawthorns thick with berries on either side of the road, and blackbirds erupted from every bush as I passed, chacking in alarm. Probably over 100 by the time I reached the big house and from the last bush a deeper, metallic chacking as a male ring ouzel departed. I followed it to the edge of Wormiston House wood but it disappeared, as they do, deep into another hawthorn. A good view of a ring ouzel is a rare thing. I came into Crail through Denburn Wood: some goldcrests, chiffchaffs, redwings and blackbirds. The lack of understory because of the ill advised tidying up and ivy clearance has made Denburn a much poorer place for birds.
The weather finally improved after lunch. I spent the afternoon at Kilminning, dry and warm for the first time in a while. The birds were happier too I’m sure, coming out to feed in the sunshine after six days of damp and gloom. Another firecrest was found today at Lower Kilminning. This bird, in contrast to last week’s, was feeding out in the open on the tarmac. It was jumping around like the ground was red hot and never keeping still for a second, but at least not obscured by leaves. Lots of goldcrests were feeding on the tarmac too. I think it must have warmed up in the sun attracting insects.
The fircrest on the tarmac at Lower Kilminning this afternoon
As I headed back up to Upper Kilminning, a passing birder told me they had just had some waxwing. Sure enough I found John Anderson watching eight in a tree next to the golf course. I was just about to enjoy the more than a brief flyby view when they took off and headed rapidly away, a female merlin following close behind. It began climbing up rapidly after them but waxwings are fast and the merlin gave up almost immediately. I thought that was it, but the waxwings returned about fifteen minutes later. They then spent over an hour perched on an ash tree adjacent to the golf course, occasionally flying down to a berry bush below. Perched waxwings are often quite tame and John and I could approach this group to appreciate just how exotic they are. The wind kept on catching their crests adding to their outrageous look.
Waxwing Upper Kilminning this afternoon – in sunshine too!
I went out to Kilminning again as soon as it was light. It isn’t the best plan in weather like today’s – steady easterlies and showers throughout the day. Things tend to arrive from late morning onwards. But my plan was to refind the little bunting before it got disturbed back on to the airfield. In any case, there was no sign of it anywhere. In fact many fewer birds to begin with than yesterday afternoon. And only a handful of mealy redpolls remaining. There were still some goldcrests, blackbirds and the occasional blackcap, chiffchaff, redwing and fieldfare. Yesterday, I forgot to mention there was an unusually late garden warbler feeding with the blackcaps and chiffchaffs at Upper Kilminning: no sign of it today. I headed home after an hour to save up my time for tomorrow afternoon when I think more birds will turn up, although the conditions are good right through to Sunday. As I passed the airfield I saw in the distance 250 or so golden plover and a single lapwing towering above Sauchope. I didn’t see what had disturbed them but I was reminded of some unfinished business – there might well still be an American golden plover in among them.
Last Saturday afternoon a small bunting flew up in front of me from the south-west corner of Kilminning. It looked odd – i.e. not quite right for a reed bunting – as it flew into the airfield. A little bunting crossed my mind but it was gone into non-searchable territory. And the American golden plover and the great grey shrike distracted me for the rest of the afternoon. On Sunday the same thing happened, but the bird flew into the low trees of the south-west corner. I was leading a group so couldn’t do more than have a quick look for it and we didn’t see it again. And then firecrest intervened. On Monday, I had forgotten about it. Today, this came back to haunt me when a little bunting was found in more or less exactly the same spot. I cycled down straight away to hopefully claw back my carelessness of the weekend. No chance. Little buntings are proving to be something of a bogey bird for me. Quick, inconclusive views, but never a nice, easy bird, in full view. And in this case, not in view at all today. Perhaps it was all a coincidence and it was just wishful thinking on my part over the weekend. It was a fresh little bunting that came in today. Certainly lots of birds were arriving after the wind went back easterly yesterday afternoon. But probably not. I missed my opportunity, although I will try tomorrow morning again before work just in case.
There were consolations though. A waxwing flew overhead trilling, coming in off the sea with some fieldfares. And there were perhaps 15 mealy redpolls around (perhaps many more). Mealy redpolls are the continental version of redpolls, being larger, paler and colder looking in tone, and with distinctive whitish rumps. They have been (are still by some people) considered a separate species. As you head further north redpolls get larger, and paler and eventually become almost white – Arctic redpolls. These have also been (are) considered a separate species. But I once had a discussion with the expert, John Wingfield in Alaska, who has looked in detail at the genetics of redpolls all over the Arctic and much further south: “they are all just redpolls…” Redpolls are a classic clinal species. They increase in size and paleness as they get into colder (more northerly) climates. Lots of species do this, it’s just most species don’t spectacularly move from one end of the spectrum to the other. A white redpoll from the Arctic stands out a mile when it arrives to sit next to a stay at home brown Scottish redpoll. They look like different species, but only if you ignore all the intermediates. After all this cold water on the concept of mealy redpolls, I really enjoyed how distinctive they were this afternoon. Really conspicuous pale rumps; cold whitish tones predominating on the belly, rump and wing bars; obviously larger and chunkier than the usual redpolls we get. I flushed one from the ground at Upper Kilminning and it looked very distinctive, like a bullfinch with wing bars, the rump was so obvious. We have had a mini-invasion of redpolls since last Friday and when they fly over in a flock calling there is no way to tell which “type” they are – perhaps most of these were mealy too, coming in from the continent with the siskins, redwings and bramblings.
Mealy redpolls on the tarmac at Lower Kilminning (John Anderson). The bottom photo showing nicely all the features that characterise this type of redpoll – the pale rump and cold tones. John also got a helpful photo in this sequence showing the thick central dark undertail covert – as the redpoll underneath gets attacked by the one above.
A clear night and light winds. There were barely any bramblings, goldcrests, redwings or fieldfares this morning, although the blackcaps and chiffchaffs were still hanging on at Upper Kilminning. The storm has moved on and so have the migrants. This morning the sea was nearly flat again. I could count the red-throated divers spread out to the horizon at Fife Ness, sitting quietly in a swell that couldn’t hide a snail. But it is still chaotic on the beach with the aftermath of the storm. Creels, kelp, starfish, monkfish and quite large octopi (not a word you write often) in their hundreds washed up from much deeper water.
One of the many large octopi washed up onto the beach after last week’s storm. My son’s photo and his shoe top left (size 8 for scale)
The Crail annual patch list record tumbled today. And before the sun rose too. I had to take my son to Kirkaldy to catch an early bus back to Glasgow and we left Crail at 6:45. Pitch dark still and no sooner had we passed Sypsies when an owl flew up from the hedge alongside the road and crossed above and in front of the car. I was able to take in a dark mark on the carpal joint (the bend of the wing) and broad wings. The former ruling out barn owl and the latter short-eared or long-eared. A tawny owl – not uncommon around Crail but it takes nocturnal forays out of the village to hear them, unless I get lucky and encounter one being mobbed at an otherwise hidden roost. Then, only a couple of kilometers up the road at the Anstruther crossroads, the white ghost shape of a barn owl lifting off from the side of the road. Well worth getting up early for: two problematic species added to the year list in a few minutes.
I spent the day walking the Wormiston loop with a small group of my students from St Andrews and the Fife Bird Club as part of migration big day, where different separate groups tried to get the biggest aggregated day list. It’s my favourite kind of birding. Trying to see as many species as possible in a day focuses you on everything, and a goldcrest becomes as valuable as a firecrest (more on that later). We started at Crail Kirk, went up to Wormiston Farm and the Yellow House, along the shore to cut across the golf course at Balcomie, and finished at Kilminning. 79 species in total for the day (counting my two owl species that started the day. Not a bad total, and with a telescope and some sea watching we could have got some more easily. But what we missed – like razorbill and buzzard – other groups will have got. It will be interesting to see the final total. Over 100 species I expect, and that is without a dedicated team sea watching or covering the Eden Estuary. I was really pleased to hear that one of the other teams got the great grey shrike, still at Buddo, and another a pomarine skua loafing on the rocks at Fife Ness. We got nearly all the species I might expect on an autumn walk around Crail: I was pleased to get some difficult species like twite and bar-tailed godwits, and there were lots of migrants showing well like redwings, bramblings, fieldfares, redpolls, siskins and even a couple of late barn swallows sunning themselves on a wire by the kirk. Our group rarity was a handsome male black redstart at Balcomie Farm cottages. It had been found half an hour before, and we diverted across the golf course to see it – picking up meadow pipit and dunnock on the way. One of the students refound the redstart as it was being chased by a robin. It perched nicely on a nearby wall, flying down to pick up insects of the ground and flashing its bright red tail for everyone to see.
Goldcrest (John Anderson). The 23rd species recorded today in Denburn Wood. A nice-looking bird, but trumped by its rarer cousin…
The separate big migration day groups met up at Lower Kilminning for a late lunch and to compare lists. We had spent the last hour at Lower Kilminning listening out for a dusky warbler that was heard there yesterday evening, but not much was calling. Official group part of the day over I went back to the likely bushes to listen again. I had just sat down when I got a message on my phone – a firecrest at Upper Kilminning. I scrambled up and speed walked up the road to Upper Kilminning, with the rest of the big migration day groups following close behind or overtaking me as they drove. A nice local twitch – 700 meters of travel – and less stressful than the shrike the day before. Firecrests are pretty rare on the Crail patch, this would only be the 4th in 21 years, but not a new species. A big crowd of about 20 people gathered at the sycamores where the firecrest had been see a few minutes before I arrived. It had been with goldcrests and there were still plenty in the area, raising our hopes every time one popped out from behind the leaves. Despite the winds of the last few days, most trees were not ready to give up their leaves, and so it is still pretty difficult to pick out a warbler in a canopy. After ten minutes of goldcrest after goldcrest, I invoked the Sherlock Holmes principle and started looking somewhere else. I soon refound it (while also adding a woodcock to the day list) in the dense green canopy of a small oak tree, only about 40 meters from where it had been found. It was hard to keep track of, keeping to the canopy and in cover, and moving constantly. But everyone got to see it from just a few meters away, if only for brief glimpses. But it was great light and its back was bright green, its shoulders gold, and its head brilliantly striped. They are a much more handsome, almost gaudy version of a goldcrest, which itself is not a shabby bird, with its own crown. One of my favourite birds, but earlier it was the black redstart and yesterday it was the great grey shrike. To be honest, my favourite bird is usually the one I am looking at, and today every bird was a favourite bird as I added it anew to the day list.
Firecrest (John Anderson). Nicely illustrating its lively nature today at Kilminning. Number 179 for the Crail local patch year list, now deep into record breaking territory.
Today was a good day. The storm finally ended with the wind veering northerly at lunchtime and then westerly by the end of the day, dropping down to a breeze. It was still fairly wild for the first few hours of day and I had to shelter in the lee of Kingsbarns beach sauna house to be able to sea watch there. I finally connected with some close Leach’s petrels with two birds passing in a couple of hours this morning. The first within a minute of finding a suitably sheltered spot. I spotted a white rumped wader-looking bird flying over the rocks directly in front of me, and then it started looping and dipping down to the water, dragging its feet and behaving like a kite. A classic petrel, and close enough for me to see the paler bar on the upper wing and the forked (but the indent being quite rounded in shape) that made it a Leach’s. A minute and then it was gone further down the beach towards Fife Ness. Another came by about 90 minutes later and did the same thing. Quite wonderful and with a supporting cast of little gulls behaving just like petrels themselves.
Leach’s petrel – this one at Guardbridge yesterday (Steve Buckland). Feet down to create friction, so the bird can kite along the waters surface at relatively slow speed, even though it is facing into a gale
John Anderson arrived so we moved out onto a small rocky peninsula that took us right out to where the petrels were performing and gave a little bit of shelter. We waited for another hour but no more petrels. We did have very close views of a pomarine skua zooming in to attack a herring gull, and then an arctic skua to harry the black-headed gulls. And because we were just another pair of rock like lumps on a windswept beach, there were little gulls, and then some purple sandpiper, dunlin, turnstone and a knot right beside us throughout. With the surf and crashing waves as a backdrop. Really magical even if the petrel show had finished.
The pomarine skua at Kingsbarns Beach this morning (John Anderson). The skua whacked into the herring gull directly after this photo.
I went to Kilminning in the afternoon. Upper Kilminning was full of blackbirds, redwings and fieldfares, chacking away in the hawthorns and whitebeams as they fed on berries. There was a ring ouzel in the usual corner, again its deeper chack and a brief flash of blackbird but with much paler wings were the only clues that it was there. Other winter migrants were about: two big flocks of siskin and lots of bramblings. A single chiffchaff a hint that something rarer might be about.
One of the many brambling at Kiminning today
I continued on to Lower Kilminning. I picked up a goose flying along the coast which looked like a bean goose, but really too distant to be sure. The Scottish wintering population flies along the south coast of Fife to its wintering grounds in central Scotland every year (the GPS tracks show this – even passing directly over Crail). And then the biggie. I heard a wader calling – like a ringed plover on steroids. A cloo-ee, dysllabic and rising at the end. Like a golden plover calling but not mournful. An American golden plover! It called several times – I always need to hear something twice before I definitely call it as a particular species – but this bird obligingly kept calling and I could locate it flying above the airfield. Definitely one of the golden plovers by sight, but flying away from me towards Sauchope so no chance of seeing the sooty underwings. Not that I would have trusted that character on a lone bird against the sky, in gloomy conditions. But the call is very distinctive – I hear golden plovers every day around Crail – and today I was transported back to Alaska where I used to hear American golden plovers every day. My last American golden plover in Crail was in 2011 when I found one amongst the big golden plover roost at Sauchope. Hopefully today’s bird will reappear among them later in the week.
The rest of the time at Lower Kilminning was not quite as exciting as the start, but still would have rated as a very good visit. More thrushes, siskins and bramblings, but with added blackcaps. I then sat on the bench overlooking the Forth – high enough to see above the still very big waves crashing along the shore. There were kittiwakes and little gulls feeding everywhere, brightened up with interesting birds passing. Another Leach’s petrel, three pintail (another good patch bird), velvet and common scoter, my first goldeneye of the winter, red-breasted mergansers, wigeon, barnacle geese and small flocks of redwings and fieldfares coming in off the sea. And then I heard a couple of barn swallows – my first for a couple of weeks – and as I swiveled round to look, I picked up a small dunlin like wader with them, but with a creamy buff breast, a long bill and white rump – a curlew sandpiper. Another great patch bird. There were more swallows passing along the coast later – adding up to a total of about 12. But the sea was the real star again – huge dramatic waves with the kittiwakes and little gulls giving scale as they dodged and plunged between them.
Kittiwakes at Kilminning
I headed home via Suachope to check the golden plover there just in case I could relocate the American one. Just as I found the flock of about 300 birds, up in the air above the caravan park, I got a message that a great grey shrike had just been seen at Buddo Rock, on the coastal path just north of Boarhills. The plovers could wait: I cycled home immediately and begged a lift to Boarhills. In my time in Crail there have only been two great grey shrikes – and I missed both by about 15 minutes. Neither stayed longer than a few minutes themselves, and over the years great grey shrikes have become rarer and rarer as a winter visitor to the UK. I didn’t want to miss this one. It was close: I was at Boarhills twenty minutes later (doesn’t seem possible but I was hurrying) and then after a shuffling sprint, was at Buddo Rock ten minutes later. The shrike had just been seen again but had disappeared further up the path. It had been staying around Buddo Rock but I took a chance and continued north up the path. They are obvious birds, perching right on top of bushes like little falcons, and this one clearly wasn’t in the immediate area. It took another five minutes when to my enormous relief I spotted it on a berry bush further up the path. Three seconds of looking at it and drinking it in, and then I reached for my camera and it was gone further up the path. I followed it and let the other observers know I had refound it. They caught me up and after another 5 minutes I spotted it even further up the path, but again prominently sitting on top of a bush, with the sea behind it. This time it stayed put for a couple of minutes – enough time to grab some photos, although very much of the atmospheric, bird in the distance kind. I was so glad to get great grey shrike on the patch list after so long: number 243 and taking the Crail local patch year list total (with the American golden plover and the curlew sandpiper of earlier) up to equal to my record of 176. And it was a beautiful evening on the way back regardless. The waves breaking into rainbows as they caught the evening sun (nice to have it back), greenshanks calling and a final pomarine skua heading south.
Great grey shrike at last, on the coastal path below Fairmont. Distant but very distinctive.
The very strong winds continued throughout today but the rain became showery. By this afternoon there were some quite dry spells. Enough to do some sea watching even if it was still too windy and gloomy to find any migrant land birds (although there were more redwings about and a woodcock first thing in Beech Walk Park). I tried at Fife Ness this afternoon but the waves were incredibly high – worth going down just to see them. Even a great northern diver was only visible for a few seconds between wave troughs as it flew relatively close by. Let alone petrels – there were many seen in the inner Forth today but only a few around Crail. Height was needed to see into the troughs and the only identifiable petrel I saw today was a storm petrel briefly standing out against the white horses from the elevated vantage point of my house (a window about 32m above sea level). There were flatter seas out from Roome Bay but an hour or so of watching there didn’t turn up any more petrels, or indeed anything other than kittiwakes, the occasional razorbill and gannets. There were a couple of little auks passing today – the first of the winter – and some arctic, pomarine and great skuas. Everything was going east today into the wind. I was really looking for grey phalaropes, and most of my watching in Roome Bay was in the hope that the more sheltered waters there might attract one close in. But as with the petrels, most seem to have been in the inner Forth. But what goes in must come out, and as the winds die down over the weekend there should be an exodus out past Crail and Fife Ness. Well that’s the plan for tomorrow, with an afternoon check of Balcomie and Kilminning when the wind has died down enough that any movement is likely to be a bird rather than the wind, and anything calling might possibly be heard.
As I write this the wind is howling around the house and the sea sounds like it will be coming through the window at any moment. My weather station has just clicked over to 100 mm for the month, which is fairly record breaking even when we still have nearly half the month to go. It was frustrating today, the weather conditions will be bringing in the birds, but it was nearly impossible to see them. I walked through Denburn first thing and although I could hear many redwings, they were just dark shapes in the gloom and rain. Walking by the sea was worse – a haze of sea spray – and hard to stand up, let alone watch for anything. Some kittiwakes were obvious as they flew east right along the beach. Pushed as far as they could go without becoming terrestrial. There were a few windows in the weather today when I could scope the sea from the shelter of my house. The waves were over ten meters high at times and gannets disappeared easily between them. I could see kittiwakes, razorbills and shags passing, but anything smaller would have been tricky. A dark phase pomarine skua beating steadily into the wind like a goose flying backwards was frustrating in the sense that other interesting birds will have been passing further out – or from the perspective of my house, very close in, but blocked by the houses along Nethergate.
Yesterday, this problem of actually seeing the birds was really brought into focus. A corncrake turned up in The Patch. Probably not that rare a migrant, just impossible to ever see, even in good weather. Chris Broome flushed it a couple of times as he did his net rounds and we converged on The Patch shortly afterwards to try to see it. But it had disappeared into cover and there was little hope then of seeing such a skulking bird, whose response to disturbance is to freeze. The last one seen was August 29th 2015 at Boarhills. Again, flushed by someone accidentally and then lost in a big grassy field. I went to look for this needle in a haystack, of course, with the same obvious result.
Tomorrow is more of the same but there may be a respite, and conditions will certainly improve on Saturday. I had a brambling feeding in the back garden today – I think my first or certainly my second there other than flyovers – so birds are arriving. The corncrake and a hawfinch found at Lower Kilminning yesterday also shows that. And with the wild seas, there will be a readjustment in grey phalaropes over the weekend. Fife Ness, Balcomie and Kilminning are waiting, just not currently visible.
Razorbills and the storm (John Anderson). Thousands have been passing Crail every hour for the last three days.
After going round in circles all day trying to work out how to calculate population persistence of corn buntings across Europe I had to get outside for a bit. I cycled down to Fife Ness with my dog – who was also pleased to finally get out. The wind was just going round to an easterly – this will set in for the next five days with some gales and rain forecast from Thursday to Saturday. All good for some rare migrants, with the wind blowing straight in from central and eastern Europe. The sea will be lively too – if we can see it. This afternoon it was still pleasant and quite a few things were being carried quickly north on the south-easterly: hundreds of kittiwakes and razorbills, four arctic skuas and a great skua in an hour, and a single great northern diver, looking much less clunky than usual with the wind behind it. The arctic skuas were going very fast too, and all were hunting as they went, chasing common gulls. Bucking the trend and heading south were a couple of good sized flocks of barnacle geese. There has been a very good and extended passage of them this year. Around the corner at Stinky Pool the little egret was about, but I disturbed it and it flapped off to the high tide roost with the shags and gulls where it disappeared. I suspect it is there most days, just another white bird among the large gulls, even when it is not down among the rocks. As I watched it fly away I noticed a grebe on the sea by Stinky Pool. A little grebe, diving vigorously in the surf even though they are usually freshwater birds. I should think this was a young bird dispersing along the coast, looking for its own pond.
One of the juvenile arctic skuas passing Fife Ness this afternoon (John Anderson). A really dark bird that chased a common gull very vigorously. John was on the rocks in front of the hide and I shouted out to him that the skua was coming: sadly this chase happened a little way out but you still get the idea.
I was running an errand before breakfast, and heading back along the High Street in Crail when I heard a clear trilling coming my way. A waxwing – flying along the road, above my head. It circled around a few times and headed back to Marketgate before dropping down into one of the gardens there. By this time I was back in my own garden to watch it fly over again – I have already got waxwing on my garden list, but good to get it again. It’s a shame the rowan berries on the tree we planted in my front garden have all gone – the blackbird was working hard last week – so the waxwing wasn’t tempted to stop. Waxwings are unusual on the Crail patch – 8 years out of the last 21 – and most records are in November. This was an early bird and on its own. But glorious in the early morning sunshine, greys and pinky browns with its bright yellow tail tip catching the light, and of course the brilliant call. My sighting is one of the first mainland sightings this winter – they have been appearing in the northern Isles in small numbers for the last week. Hopefully we are now in for a waxwing winter, with a few flocks hanging round the area. There are plenty of berries everywhere for them still.
Kingsbarns to Kenly Water along the coast and back along the river, through Falside and Pitmilly: one of my favourite Sunday morning walks. With a coffee stop at Kenly Water, overlooking the hundreds of birds that are always there. There was some harrowing going on in the field behind so the hundreds became many more as black-headed, common and herring gulls took turns to roost by the river in between bouts of following the tractor. I checked through the flocks carefully looking for a Mediterranean gull to add to my patch year list. Frustratingly they have been scarce this year in the East Neuk, with my only sighting being one at Elie, well outside my 10 km patch radius. I did find a little gull loafing on the beach at Red Sands, a little bit further down the coast. A closeup little gull is nice: like kittiwakes, they are very marine when they are with us. Little gulls breed in lakes and marshes in continental Europe but then shift over to the sea late summer. They used to – famously – gather inland in big numbers at Kilconquhar loch in late summer which is quite like some of the places I have seen them breeding in Romania. But no longer. There are still thousands a few kilometers out at sea every autumn though.
Little Gull, at red sands, half way between Boarhills and Kingsbarns. This is an adult – no black in the wing at all and the traces of its summer plumage black hood
The numbers of Canada Geese at Kenly Water are going down again as they finish moulting and head back down to England. Today there were only about 25 flying in to roost and bathe in the river. Among them were some ducks: mostly mallards, a couple of teal and a single pintail. Never a reliable bird on the Crail patch so I was very pleased to see one. A few years’ ago there was a female that spent every winter at Kilrenny Mill with the mallards. But after 2017 it disappeared – I assume it died. Perhaps today’s pintail will be another long term resident and make adding the species to the year list an easy thing again. I’m now up to 172 species this year, and only 5 more are needed to break my annual record. I need to trawl all the gull roosts from Cellardyke to Pittenweem to find a Mediterranean gull, track down the local barn and tawny owls and hope for some randoms on the easterlies forecast for next week.
Pintail, Kenly Water. This is an eclipse bird – a male in inconspicuous female type plumage while it moults and is less able to fly. The two coloured blue and grey bill gives it away as a male.
It’s now been eight days since I saw a barn swallow. I think it is fair to say they have all gone now, except for perhaps a vagrant or two. Today the only summer visitors I saw were a few common terns out at Fife Ness, a northern wheatear on the beach at Balcomie and a chiffchaff at Kilminning – the last being arguable as a summer visitor as many chiffchaffs winter in the UK. But I saw plenty of winter birds: there were flocks of pink-footed geese heading south all day, a flock of five barnacle geese at Wormiston, the first flock (20) of twite of the winter on the rocky shore just north of Balcomie Beach, a redwing and lots of blackbirds at Kilminning, and best of all a snow bunting coming in off the sea at Fife Ness. I picked up a chunky small bird far out to sea with the distinctive grey colour and hint of white in the wings that young snow buntings have at a distance. It was also flying like a snow bunting: a buzz of wingbeats and then a glide on closed wings. I watched it coming closer to confirm what it was. Snow buntings are always a bit special – their name for a start and the association with either the very high tops in Scotland or windswept, bitterly cold beaches and saltmarshes. And they are not ever guaranteed in any year on the Crail patch.
There was still a yellow browed warbler at Kilminning yesterday morning, and a lot of chiffchaffs. No redwings at all, although the extra blackbirds are still there. Today I only had time for a quick walk to Roome Bay and through Denburn. I enjoyed the turnstones on the beach as they dug into the seaweed piles and bulldozed the debris of the strandline to reveal titbits. I like turnstones a lot. Why? Because they will still be here on the beach long after we have left the building. They are global survivors. Super generalists. Smart. Adaptable. Their only Achilles heel is breeding in the high Arctic which will not last for more than a few hundred years. But the predators which keep them to these high latitude, lonely places will probably go too, so turnstones will be able to adapt. I also like them because they are individually recognizable: their head and breast pattern varies between individuals and stays constant through their long lives. They can recognize each other and have their little bits of beach that they defend. They have a complex social structure as a result. Watching turnstones on a beach is a mini soap opera.
Turnstones at Roome Bay this afternoon – everyone an individual
I spent the day trying to fit some birding into a working Monday. An hour first thing at Balcomie cottages; a lunchtime seawatch from Crail; a coffee break dash to the Patch and an after work hour again at Balcomie. In contrast to yesterday I didn’t see a single redwing. They had all left to go inland. There were still goldcrests everywhere and a couple of ring ouzels. One was caught and ringed at The Patch – the coffee break bird. It was great to see a ring ouzel really close up. They are such shy birds you only see them in the distance, obscured by vegetation or most usually, flying away. The bird was a male, with a big white breast band and white edged feathers. A blackbird on steroids and with an appropriately angry rattling check as it flew off, heading eventually for Morocco or Algeria. The lunchtime seawatch for just 30 minutes turned up two great northern divers, an arctic skua and a variety of ducks heading into the Forth including the first long-tailed ducks of the winter. There always seems to be a good passage of ducks the day after a very rainy day. Little gulls and shearwaters were conspicuous by their absence, but there was little wind. My Balcomie cottages visits both involved little buntings, and both unsuccessful. The first was purely speculative because this is where I saw my only Crail little bunting, and three were on the May Island yesterday. There were plenty of buntings – reed and yellowhammers with the meadow pipits and linnets around the asparagus fields this morning. But I didn’t find a little bunting. Later in the afternoon, however, one was found in the next door asparagus field. I tried to refind it in the gathering dusk – again it was only yellowhammers, reed buntings, linnets and meadow pipits. Little buntings sometimes stay a while – even for the winter – so it may resurface where it is more visible. As I prowled the asparagus field, in the distance, there was a constant background sound of yipping barnacle geese coming from the newly harvested potato field at Wormiston. The flock flew up because of a disturbance at one point and revealed itself to be at least 100 birds. Barnacle geese hardly ever stop over with us in big flocks, but a field covered in missed potatoes is probably irresistible. I left just before the sun started to set – evening birding opportunities are nearly over for the year. I was starting to feel disappointed, so it was time to quit. It has been a good three days and it is best to appreciate what you have seen rather than dwell on what you haven’t. Although I was also hoping for an early barn owl hunting over the airfield on my way home, making up for the last couple of nights when it would have been impossible to hunt.
The male ring ouzel caught at The Patch today. Because of the rings put on birds like these, we know that they come from Scandinavia and that they winter in North Africa
The rain continued – another 41 mm in the last 24 hours giving the rain storm a total of 82 mm. It is already an exceptionally wet month and only a week in to it. And the rain and easterlies delivered. I ventured out after 11 as the rain became just light showers. Kilminning was alive with thrushes: a proper autumn fall. We call it a fall because the birds seem to fall out of the sky, everywhere. There were thousands of redwings flying over, or descending down to the trees, or exploding out of bushes. The sparrowhawks were having a red letter day, and bush explosions were often caused by a hawk hurtling itself into a group of redwings. Any one tree might have had 50 redwings in it today. This was the pattern throughout but the morning was particularly exciting. And with redwings, other thrushes. Lots of blackbirds, although they were more noticeable in the afternoon when most of the redwings moved on leaving the blackbirds. There were two ring ouzel at Balcomie Cottages. A shy male at the beehives, doing the usual, keeping to the dense cover of the middle of a bush and only making itself noticeable by its chacking call. It was also typically flighty, leaving Balcomie after a couple of flushes, and picking up a second bird, a female or juvenile, as it circled above. Both left, heading towards Kilminning. There were a few fieldfares amongst the redwing flocks – my first for the winter. Also first for the winter, a flock of five brambling at Balcomie. Like the redwings, they weren’t hanging around and headed straight off inland. There were others flying over calling during the day.
Where’s the redwing. I can count 18 in this photo – but this is just one tiny bit of bush in the walled garden at Balcomie. A sparrowhawk stooped onto it a few seconds afterwards and 150 left.
There were plenty of other scarcer birds, like the first yellow browed warblers of the season at Upper Kilminning. Something of a relief. It feels wrong when Crail doesn’t get yellow browed warblers, and the trend in recent years is for them to be scarcer in autumn. There were probably two about Upper Kilminning, but perhaps more were around generally. In about 90 minutes spent at Upper Kilminning I only heard a yellow-browed warbler call for 15 seconds. Enough time to find it and see it well, but other silent ones will easily have got lost in the still very leafy tree canopies. And indeed, lost among the goldcrests. I checked out well over a hundred goldcrests today – perhaps double this number, I wasn’t keeping count. They were everywhere, which was exciting, but also distracting. A single moving warbler thing in a tree gets lost among 30 goldcrests: both the confusion and the dilution effect in operation. The goldcrests were fresh in like the redwings, but many more of them had stopped off at Kilminning for the day to replenish their tiny and much more depleted fuel reserves. There were a couple of pied flycatchers. One at Lower Kilminning and a second feeding in the canopy of the sycamores by Balcomie farm buildings. Late season pied flycatchers always keep to the dense canopy and are always hard to see, perching motionless, and so invisibly, for much longer periods than usual, before dashing after prey. Today, the robins were helping. One would chase the flycatcher every so often, blowing its cover. The robins – themselves recent migrants – were being intolerant of the newer arriving migrants – chiffchaffs in particular – and once or twice a redwing (which surely must have been like stopping the incoming tide, even for the most persistent and xenophobic robin). More scarcer migrants for Crail – occasional siskins and redpolls flying over, and two short-eared owls hunting over Crail golf course. There was no-one there – rain stopped play of course – but every cloud has a silver lining and the owls took advantage of the empty rough.
Yellow-browed warbler (John Anderson)
Although nothing very rare turned up around Crail today, it felt all day that something might. These are great days – when it feels “birdy”. There will almost certainly be an overlooked gem from today, waiting to be found in the better conditions tomorrow. Although the wind is now back gently in the south-west and the rain is over, it is very dark tonight. Nothing will be going anywhere.
It has been a very wet 24 hours – 41 mm in total. Most months in Crail have lower totals than this. The wind went easterly early evening yesterday after a low wind day so good conditions for migrants to have started out and then to have got blown across the north sea. The continuing rain tonight should bring some down for us tomorrow. Things were coming in today as well. There were flocks of redwings around Denburn, coming down out of the rain as if the wood was the first bit of vegetation they had seen in a while. I stayed indoors for most of the rest of the day after checking Denburn out and getting soaked. The rain eased off slightly late afternoon so I went out to Kilminning. The first five minutes were great: a short-eared owl came out of a tree right next to me as I got out of my car, doing its characteristic peering, hard stare as it went by. It landed in the grass by the tarmac and I flushed it again a bit later. This time it flew off towards Crail after a couple of circuits, being harassed by some jackdaws. In between my owl sightings I flushed a green sandpiper feeding on the tarmac. The third one on the Crail patch this year, for this usually very uncommon wader. Another Scandinavian migrant arriving for the winter like the short-eared owl. There was plenty of standing water on the tarmac area today, so it was probably looked a good temporary stopover site to the newly arriving sandpiper. Soon afterwards I saw and heard a couple of redpolls – they looked like British redpolls rather than the Scandinavian type, but it was pretty dark, wet and I don’t much believe in different redpoll types (or even species, but I may revise this if we get a nice Arctic looking one on the Crail patch though). A pretty good first five minutes and it inspired me to work Upper Kilminning, Balcomie Cottages and Lower Kilminning hard for the next couple of hours despite the rain. I found a lot of redwings, chiffchaffs and goldcrests – always a good sign – but if there was a yellow-browed warbler out there, it was elusive and certainly not calling tonight. Plenty of hope for tomorrow though.
Short-eared owl demonstrating that hard stare as it passes you by (John Anderson – from a much brighter day than today)
It’s still prevailing westerlies but there is a hint of some easterlies at the weekend. Kilminning had a lot of chiffchaffs this morning. I counted at least 8 at Upper Kilminning, and the same again at Lower. Lots of goldcrests, a blackcap and an unusual flock of 16 mistle thrush. These are possibly migrants. There were reports of the first redwings from Fife Ness and the May Island today, so why not? We just need a good easterly gale to really bring the thrushes in now. I saw only one group of three barn swallows today. They are getting really uncommon now.
There was a short sharp rain shower this morning, where a couple of millimeters fell in a few minutes. I was looking out into my back garden congratulating myself for not having gone out for my Sunday morning walk just yet when I noticed a pair of collared doves apparently semaphoring to each other. Well that’s what it looked like – two doves on a wire each stretching a wing out in a synchronized way. It was bizarre, and I wondered if it was some kind of threat display. Then I made the connection with the rain. They were getting the undersides of their wings wet and were taking a shower. Why they were doing it in time with each other I have no idea, but then again why not? I looked it up and pigeons – particularly woodpigeons – do take advantage of strong rain to have a bath, stretching their wings out like reverse cormorants.
Synchronised showering by the pair of collared doves in my back garden during this morning’s rain storm
I walked down Kittock’s Den and back along the coastal path to Boarhills a bit later. A bad idea – Kittock’s Den is all brambles and bracken at the moment and the usual 20 minute walk took twice as long. I was rewarded with two or three jays (a family group?). Never common in the East Neuk, this is the first time I have seen them in Kittock’s Den. There are some big trees there, some dense woodland and quite a few oak trees so it should be a good site for them. There were also quite a few chiffchaffs and the occasional swallow. Along the rocky shore on the way back, at least 4 territorial greenshanks, an increase again in the wintering numbers along that stretch of coast.
Wild Crail 