|
UK500: Birding in the Fast Lane
by James Hanlon
|
|
|
| James Hanlon was born in South London in December 1974. By his mid-teens he had established himself as a keen 'birder'. In 1996 he graduated from Bangor University with a degree in Zoology and then shortly after this embarked on a round-the-world adventure that saw him birding, busking and bungee-jumping across Australasia. The prospect of seeing nearly 500 species in the UK before his 30th birthday spurred him on to return to the UK. Few people have achieved this. James would have to be prepared to travel anywhere in the British Isles at the drop of a hat. |
|
This book is more about the 'chase' than the birds themselves. Getting to some wayward rarity in a hurry can be the most horrendously nerve-racking experience. Personal relationships can be tested and so can the chequebook, but have the rewards been worth all the effort? Never mind it has meant being dragged from the Minch by a lifeboat or having a small piece of ear glued back on after a car crash.... James Hanlon thinks so.
And exclusively for surfbirds readers he shares three of his chases from UK500: Birding in the Fast Lane. If you've felt the adrenalin flow on hearing the news of a rare bird near your home then read on.....
Chase number 2: The Siege
Any bird turning up on the British mainland, which has never before been seen by the birding community, can expect a lot of attention. In the competitive world of twitching, many individuals think of certain sightings in the same way as an antique collector looks on his most prized piece. There are always short-staying birds which are seen by relatively few people and, for those individuals concerned, it can be a very privileged feeling to have been one of the "lucky few". Many birders are often torn between wanting their friends and other birders to connect with a bird which has just given them much pleasure, and wanting the little blighter to disappear, thus making them feel all the more lucky for having witnessed such an exclusive sighting. Of course, few openly admit to this. I genuinely want most birds to be accessible to everyone but when you take the trouble (and expense) to get to a bird quickly, it can be frustrating when that bird goes on to stay for a month. It can cost hundreds of pounds to reach an offshore island the same day, but there is often a cheaper alternative if you’re not in a hurry. So it’s nice to have a few exclusive sightings as a reward for your dedication. That said, most birders (myself included) tend to help others as much as they can to see a bird by quickly relaying any news of its initial presence or continued whereabouts. So it is altruism that wins over elitism in the end.
When a Gray Catbird turned up near Holyhead mid-week during October 2001, it was exceptionally difficult to see and consequently only around 70 people saw it during its two-day stay. The first for mainland Britain, it followed sightings in Jersey in 1975 and Ireland in 1986.
I had taken two weeks off work and it was on the 4th October that my plan looked as though it was to pay dividends. When news of the catbird broke, with nothing to keep me in London, I swiftly packed a bag and left on my now annual jaunt to the South-West via the usual route of everywhere that’s not really on the way to the South-West. On this day the previous year, I had flown to Cork for the Blue-winged Warbler and, like that bird, the catbird was to be the highlight of the birding month.
The journey to Anglesey was largely uneventful. Upon my arrival, news broke of a ‘vireo species’ at the same site. But I missed this bird by seconds and after 45 minutes there was no further sign of it, so I pressed on toward the ‘catbird crowd’.
It was a dispiriting sight to behold. An army of five-legged soldiers (every birder carries a ’scope on a tripod) formed a battle-line from which they glared at the ‘enemy’ – a clump of gorse bushes. These bushes may have attracted the bird in the first place but now they stood between us and the star of the show. And the star had a serious case of stage fright. Perhaps there would be no show today. It started to rain. Between this and the wind, there was little chance that our quarry would show itself.
Two hundred people buried their heads in their hoods and wished they had never become birders. After some four hours, darkness fell and so I set off to find my ‘luxury accommodation’, which eventually turned out to be the Nissan Micra I had arrived in. It wouldn’t quite get the full five stars but it kept me dry for a night and even allowed me some sleep.
Dawn saw a resurgence of troops back to surround the thick gorse compound the catbird had last been seen flying into. By mid-morning, it was a full 24 hours since the bird had been seen but we would not be deterred. The stand-off continued. This was a siege.
Then, sometime around lunchtime, two birders were standing inside the compound when they saw it. The troops pressed forward in a mad dash. Previously assumed to be impenetrable, the head-high spiky gorse now became a challenge, a kind of assault course as a few brave souls with little regard for their own personal discomfort attempted to flatten some paths through it. It worked. About half an hour later I was standing on the edge of a group of people at the start of one of the newly created ‘pathways’, wondering how anything could possibly be so elusive as this particular bird. Then suddenly, as if by magic, a long-tailed dark grey bird with a black cap flicked across and perched briefly on the bracken barely three metres in front of me, before disappearing into the depths of the gorse – it was the Catbird and a moment I will never forget.
Unfortunately, the feel-good factor was dampened almost immediately when I realized I had lost my mobile phone. By the time it turned up some while later, the bird had been showing again. The group further up on the hill were treated to views when it appeared along the field edge. Needless to say, there was much panic and frantic running around as birders tried to anticipate where it would show next. By far the most amusing sight was that of a fanatically keen birder attempting to cross from the compound to the field. I can still see in my mind’s eye in slow motion what happened next: like the opening credits of ‘Lassie’, he gracefully leapt over the wall, diving head first into the thick brambles growing alongside it. Shaking himself free of the thorny tangles, he sprinted across the field. Nothing would stop this man from getting his bird!
The small crowd in the compound, of which I was a part, had been having a hard time. Soon afterwards, however, the Catbird appeared on the wall in front of us and cocked its tail. In a flash it was gone and no one could quite believe what they had just seen. Smiles erupted and backs were slapped. There was even some cheering. I had seen the bird after a ten-hour wait, or 22 hours if you count the time spent sleeping in the car. I left 24 hours after my arrival. There were one or two more sightings after I had left, but the Saturday crowd the following day were to be disappointed.
When I think of the most memorable moments I have had during my birding ‘career’, the one when I first saw the catbird will always stand out as a highlight – because, in that moment, despite the fact that it had never turned up in Britain before and that practically no one had yet connected with it, it was just me and the bird exchanging eye contact. And that was just a bit special."
Next month, in our final instalment from UK500: Birding in the Fast Lane, James is all at sea.... But if you can't wait, buy the book now.
|
