Saturday 17 September dawned with us at Reculver Towers in Kent, looking for a Richard’s Pipit, but without success. Next target was a juvenile Woodchat Shrike seen at Thorpe-le-Soken, Essex the previous day, but we dipped on that too. So far, so not good, and the morning was almost gone. Then a Baird’s Sandpiper broke at Eyebrook Reservoir in Leicestershire, so we started towards that. We were most of the way there when a Great Snipe was found at Sheringham in Norfolk. Classic year-listing dilemma: both were ticks for me and year ticks for Paul, the snipe was the higher value bird, but we were closer to the Baird’s and the only realistic way we could do both was to go to Eyebrook first. So we did, and happily the Baird’s showed well and quickly. I didn’t get long to savour it though – Sheringham, here we come!
Arriving late afternoon, we were overjoyed to find the bird showing, if not very well, in a roadside field by the edge of the golf course. Head and neck views only, but it was clear what it was. Everyone wanted to see it better, and there was some pressure on the local birders stewarding the twitch to allow an organised flush. By that point we knew our mate Greg Brinkley, who needed it, was on his way up from London and getting close, so we argued against – after all the bird (or part of it) was on constant view! But then a storm hove into view heading towards us from the west, the clamour for a flush became louder, and the local birders caved. The bird was duly flushed, showed well circling the field a couple of times, and flew over the wall towards the golf course. A matter of a few seconds later, the rain started, the crowd turned towards their cars, and Greg walked into the field. We were gutted for him, and flamingly angry with the other birders. We did eventually manage to find the bird again for Greg to see it, but it took another hour and a half in the pouring rain and another (this time inadvertent) flush. By dusk we were back at our cars, soaked through.
Greg headed home pretty happy, but Paul and I considered our next moves, based on the day’s news. An Arctic Warbler had been found in Tynemouth and a Booted Warbler near Hartlepool, both again ticks for me and year ticks for Paul. Go for it! We were both much younger then and could handle the lack of sleep, and Paul’s little Astra was a pocket rocket.
Sunday 18th dawned in the little park at the base of King Edward’s Pier at Tynemouth, and we quickly refound the bird, though it looked a little odd. Later, of course, it turned out that it was in fact a Greenish (yes, that one) – we’d already seen Greenish in Norfolk a couple of weekends before. On, then, to Seaton Carew, where the ‘Booted Warbler’ was still present. Birders had the clump of bushed it was in surrounded, when suddenly it shot out and landed in a small bush right next to me, and showed very well for a brief moment. Eek! I was still a bit of a tyro then, especially as far as rarities went, but even so the rufous tones told me that was no Booted! Local ringers had set up a net near the main clump and only a minute or two later it had been trapped – Paddyfield! Great views in the hand, and in the field soon after too. Paul was over the moon, as it was a tick for him (and for me, naturally).
We were heading away south along the A19 when Paul’s pager went off – he looked at it and swore. I tried seeing what he had seen, but got cut off by a line which neither of us has ever forgotten: ‘Never mind the pager, get me a route to f***ing Filey, now!’ I scrabbled through the map book and worked it out – we were well placed. The bird in question was a Yellow-breasted Bunting – a much more regular bird back then, of course, than now, but a tick for both of us. Both of us had missed a really confiding bird on Portland the previous year (Paul through work, and I was in France that week), but Paul had had much more of a mare with the species the year before that. In September 1992 he went to Fair Isle, but was stuck on mainland Shetland due to fog while there was one on the isle (which disappeared before he got on) and also showy birds on the Farnes and in Norfolk, then he missed one at Landguard by seconds, actually seeing it disappear into the distance as an untickable bird sp. So this was important.
No sign when we arrived at North Cliff Country Park, but it hadn’t gone far. A shout, and as we turned to run, Paul twanged a hamstring. Ouch! False alarm too. But then it was seen again, in a clump of trees down a dell below the clifftop, and at least we saw it that time, albeit not conclusively. We waited. And then came one of the most extraordinary experiences of my whole twitching career: the mass bleeping of pagers followed by the sound of about 150 birders being metaphorically punched in the stomach all at once – ‘Norfolk, Siberian Thrush, Burnham Overy dunes’!
Some started running towards their cars, before realising that there wasn’t an earthly of them getting there before dark. We weren’t going anywhere – partly because of that, but also because Paul didn’t need Siberian Thrush but did still need to see YBB tickably. And we did, quite soon after. Result!
Paul couldn’t drive with his leg, so I had to do the full session back to Bristol – fair play, as we had shared the driving up to now, but he had done the lion’s share. The thrush showing till dusk cast a shadow, but I couldn’t really complain about a four-tick weekend. Back at Paul’s we discussed options. We were both free for the Monday, and so was his fiancée Jude, who offered to drive us to Norfolk.
And so Monday 19th dawned at Burnham Overy. Predictably there was no sign of the Siberian Thrush, despite a long search, though I did see a Barred Warbler and a brief Common Rosefinch. In the afternoon we went to Minsmere and dipped a Penduline Tit. So a bad day, but after two good ones, and I eventually got home that night, knackered but still pretty happy.
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