Late afternoon on Saturday 10th, a Yellow-billed Cuckoo was found in Cot Valley. I was on Portland so knew I had no realistic hope of getting there before dark, but I had to try. I ran out of light somewhere near Redruth, so I wasn’t even close. Worse, I got done for speeding on the A30 and the cops took my licence off me to have the penalty points added. So when a (much-needed at the time) Swainson’s Thrush broke from western Cork on the Sunday evening, I knew I would have to take the car over, as I couldn’t hire a car without a licence to show them. And it was due to be a clear night. I chickened out.
Predictably, the Swainson’s stuck, so plans were laid. A spanner in the works was another Yellow-billed Cuckoo found on Tresco late afternoon, but we assumed it wouldn’t stick, so stayed with the original plan.
So, on the Monday night a carload consisting of Rich Bonser, Brett Richards, James McGill, and myself jumped on an overnight ferry from Pembroke Dock, picking up Chris Batty (who had flown into Cork airport) on the way to Garinish out on the tip of the Beara. No sign of the Swainson’s Thrush on Tuesday 13th, and we found out on the way across southern Ireland that we were missing a Veery in Cornwall too. Swear! Back on the ferry overnight, and belated news of a Bobolink on Skokholm just piled on the pain for Chris and Rich as they needed it too and we sailed right past it in the dark. Having done all the driving I was a spent force when we got back to Somerset, so I fell asleep on the back seat of Rich’s car to the sound of happy hardcore as we headed down to Cornwall for dawn.
The next day was pretty manic too – the Veery had bunked overnight, so we spent the morning at St Levan miserably dipping, but then mega alert again – Blue Rock Thrush on Scilly! Only the third one ever, and everybody needed it! And we were very well placed. Chaotic scenes in the car during the short but hectic drive to St Just, trying to book whatever flights we could get (e.g. ‘I’ve got two on the 1215, what’ve you got?’). Skybus staff looked out into the terminal, saw the gaggle of desperate birders, and put on extra flights (back in the days when they were prepared to do that) – we had lost Brett at St Levan but he turned up at St Just and made it over OK too, and we all got good views of the Blue Rock Thrush on Taylor’s Island, St Mary’s.
In the meantime the Yellow-billed Cuckoo had been refound after going missing for a couple of days, so we jumped over to Tresco in the afternoon to try for that, but no joy. Never mind, we’d seen the rarest bird of the lot, and that night we enjoyed the sheer luxury of actually eating food, and I got to sleep in a bed (the young lads kipped on a floor for the third night running).
On the morning of the 15th, as we pottered around Old Town, the Yellow-billed Cuckoo was seen again by the Great Pool. A quick boat trip later we found no-one looking at it or even for it – OK, we’ll have to refind it again ourselves. Happily, and against the odds, Chris picked it up in the top of a tree. Apologies to the birder who appeared at that point and who I swore at when he dived in on Chris’s scope before I got a look, but I think it was his admission that he’d seen 3 previous Yellow-billeds, and 2 Black-billeds, that sent me over the edge! My one and only British Yellow-billed Cuckoo to date. A crazy, nerve-shredding, rollercoaster week, but it ended pretty well.
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