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UK500: Birding in the Fast Lane
by James Hanlon
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| 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. |
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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 1: The Rescue
Coming across a shrike whilst birding in Britain or Ireland is always likely to get the pulse racing. Several species occur here on an annual basis but none is common. Sadly, we have recently lost the Red-backed Shrike as a breeding species but it occurs regularly as a migrant and the smart-looking Great Grey Shrike is a rare winter visitor.
The night of the 4th November 2000 saw a number of birders heading to the Isle of Skye to take a ferry to South Uist, Outer Hebrides, when the first ever Long-tailed Shrike for Britain was identified on the island. I first saw this species around the resort of Kuta in Bali in 2000 where it is common, but this didn't make me any less keen to go and see a "British" one.
Leaving at around 9.00pm, my carload of birders, embarked on the 12-hour journey to Uig on the Isle of Skye. It was my second trip to the Western Isles and the third time I had been on Skye. It is a beautiful part of the country but, as usually happens on these trips, there was insufficient time to explore it and we had had to enjoy the spectacular scenery from the car. We made arrangements to be taken across to Uist on a small fishing boat which would bring us back the same day - to the envy of many others who would be forced to miss work, as the main ferry was not due to return until Monday.
The boat was a little late in arriving and small was not the word. This was a bathtub. I wondered if there were enough paddles to go round. But it was a bright day. The weather was not as bad as had been feared. The bird was still present and to me it seemed to be in the bag, so to speak. There were twelve of us on the boat and we were excited about the prospect of seeing a British first to round off the autumn.
It wasn't long before we were overtaken by the big passenger ferry which rapidly became a disappearing dot on the horizon. We also soon started to get rather wet. We held on tightly as the boat rolled and swayed violently.
After an hour and a half of such gyrations, we were only about halfway across when an unexpected problem arose. The engine conked out and we were suddenly stranded in the middle of nowhere. We drifted helplessly for two and a half hours. Attempts to repair the gearbox failed and I was wondering if there was a marine equivalent of the AA when it gradually began to dawn on me that this was potentially a rather serious situation we were in. We were stuck in a tiny boat halfway to the Hebrides, with a storm forecast to hit the Scottish west coast perhaps within the next 24 hours. But the incident had more sinister implications: it might actually mean missing the bird altogether.
Soon two of the passengers were being sick over the side. Anxiety swept through the boat. Some did manage to remain cheerful, chatting and laughing, but others just looked depressed. By now my feet were soaked from the water swirling round the deck.
For what seemed like an eternity, no one knew what was happening. Then we heard the lifeboat was on its way along with a coastguard helicopter. A Swedish tanker appeared to be heading straight for us. It pulled to a halt nearby, seeming to do an oil tanker equivalent of a handbrake turn, and remained on standby. The helicopter arrived and circled above us for half an hour or so. We had a rather stilted conversation with the occupants of the tanker, stilted partly because only one side had a loud hailer and partly because they spoke mainly Swedish, but even so, kindly managed to communicate to us the fact that the lifeboat was on its way. The lifeboat was now approaching and we waved a goodbye to our Scandinavian friends.
It took another hour and a half to be towed back to the Isle of Skye. News of the air-sea rescue had already reached birders at the Shrike site, and I had a phone call from Franko who yelled at me down the phone to arrange another charter. He had been trying to do this, but all I desperately wanted now was a change of dry socks.
There was more confusion as everyone decided what to do next. A miniature influx of rarities had hit the UK and more than half of the crew needed at least one of the two rare American thrushes which had just turned up further south.
Looking back, there was one question that bothered me on that boat and which may well have crossed the crew's minds during the ordeal "why didn't I just stick to stamp-collecting?"
Does he get to see this particular bird?
Next month James recounts the siege of Anglesey.... But if you can't wait, buy the book now.
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