Wildlife

And so ended our Shetland sejourn. Nine days of birding with mates, of searching high, low and lower for Yanks and Sibes, and of boozing the evening away. Walks, wildlife and whisky. Best team finds: Arctic Warbler, OBP and two Little Buntings. Seven BB rarities all told, and around 43 scarce. Then there's the idiosyncrasies of Shetland birding. Little Buntings outnumbered Redstarts. There were far more Yellow-browed Warblers than Goldcrests, as many Barred Warblers as Pied Flycatchers. And there was always the promise of The Biggy, of Yankage, in the very next ditch or behind the very next garden wall. The adrenalin never stopped flowing, our mood was always high. 

By now it was late afternoon, and thus clearly time for a ‘five o’clock warbler’ to tantalise and frustrate our weary eyes. This time it was Levenwick – which was to host a male Siberian Rubythroat a few days later – and this time it was a Sylviawarbler. Small, pale and long-tailed, our thoughts turned to Subalp rather than Lesser Whitethroat. But we couldn’t refind it and, aside from a possible Barred Warbler glimpsed by a couple of the group, we finished the day bird less. We resolved to return on the basis that third time surely meant lucky. 

28 September 2014

The following day dawned without us, lost in a plethora of blazing hangovers. When we eventually stumbled out, we realised that the wind had largely abated, and the sun was largely shining. This – our final day on Shetland, our final few hours before we returned to WAGs and bairns – was surely our Day of Yankage. Staring at Hellendale in Lerwick, we managed a Yellow-browed Warbler that surely ought to have been a Yellow-rumped, and a Pied Flycatcher, but nothing else.  

Nevertheless, this was enough to whet our appetites. Yankage awaited. The Biggy was out there. We just had to find it.  

Which we did not. Or,indeed, anything at all. Yesterday’s mystery Sylviawas nailed immediately upon arrival at Levenwick, but proved to be Lesser Whitethroat. Groan. There was nothing in the gardens at Grutness that hosted a Yellow-rumped Warbler 48 hours later. We were within a kilometre of the garden that hosted a White’s Thrush 36 hours later, but didn’t know of the house's existence and thus failed to check it. Quendale was birdless. Everywhere else, likewise. Joe and I passed our final hour before checking in for the long journey home by papping waders on the beach at Sumburgh. The Dunlins held no Baird’s, the Ringo was not a Semi-P. It was not to be.

For those who like urban birding, a single tree elsewhere in the housing estate held a few other birds: Yellow-browed Warbler, Pied Flycatcher and – on a personal level, most welcome of all – a Wood Warbler. I don’t keep year lists, so I may be wrong, but I’m not sure that I have seen one of these this Millennium! So not a 'scarce' – but scarcer!

Here, in an old lady’s garden, a chicken coop to our left, an extrovert Red-breasted Flycatcher flaunted its booty to our admiring audience. Lenses clattered away in reverence. Quite the best views I have ever had of this scarce migrant. So forgive me for maxing out on images. 

For most of the day we searched for sheltered gardens along the ‘northern part of the eastern side of the southern half’ of Mainland, as one of the team eloquently put it, without finding anything of note. So we abandoned the pretence, cut our losses and headed to Cunningsburgh to watch someone else’s birds for one glorious hour.  

En route home, just as light was failing, we passed Veensgarth where a Hornemann’s Arctic Redpoll had been found an hour or so earlier. It would have been rude not to call in, so we did. We just about managed fleeting views before the bird went to roost. 

27 September 2014

As anticipated, we returned to Veensgarth for proper views of the Hornemann's Arctic Redpoll the following morning. Which, at the second attempt (and after a forlorn traipse to a sealoch for Long-finned Pilot Whale), we did. Whilst not quite a snowball, this Horny Redpoll was still relatively distinctive, dwarfing the Mealy it was feeding with. A few other redpolls bombing around were reportedly Greenland, which would have been a new taxon for all of us, but none offered themselves for inspection by perching.  

Then, at Kergord, we had our second ‘five o’clock warbler’, another Acro. The bugger gave us a right run-around, offering only occasional glimpses and favouring wholesale obfuscation during attempts to flush it. I got one reasonable view, and – influenced by a monster bill and strong loral supercilium – excitedly called it as "looking like a Blyth’s Reed, lads!". When we eventually nailed it, I was proved wrong. Even if the bit I photographed looked very interesting (see photo below: note bill length, black subterminal bit on lower mandible, monster super), the wing formula that Joe consigned to memory card (see below) was distinctly that of a bog-standard Eurasian Reed Warbler. Groan. Without any suggestion of white tips to the rectrices I don't even have a chance of busking it as Caspian Reed. Double groan. 

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25-28 Sep 2014  The five o'clock warbler

25 September 2014

​Having left Fair Isle a day earlier than scheduled, the advance guard took advantage to speed to Unst and have a crack at Pechora Pipit, a potential tick for all of us.  The grassy patch frequented by this much-wanted Sibe – Baltasound – is just 38 miles by road from Lerwick, where we picked up our 9-seater minibus. Unfortunately there are also two ferry rides to wait for then wait on, so it was well into the afternoon by the time we arrived.  

Fortunately we did so at the same time as world-birding legend Dave Willis, who had glimpsed the pipit earlier in the day. After a bit of wild-pipit-chasing, Dave and Joe flushed a suitable candidate (“long winged and chunky”) from the Pechora’s reputed favoured grassy patch, and – as Dave had predicted – it flew into an adjacent garden. Arenalin rising, fags lit, we waited… until Joe picked up the brilliant Pechora Pipit sat stock still at the rear of the garden, barely 10m away. Result! First – and only – tick of the trip! The bird gave unimpeded views for 2-3 minutes before disappearing into adjacent vegetation and vanishing, never to be seen again… Boy, were we lucky. 

For dessert, Dave kindly taped out the male Eastern Subalpine Warbler that was in a nearby garden. He had promised that it would be in a specific sycamore tree, unseen, and he was right. It responded instantly to hearing its own vocalisations, but gave only brief, occasional views – so no photos. Very different to the stunning, confiding male Eastern Subalp at Landguard last year. It irks me that I have now seen two Easterns, but no Westerns, which is ostensibly the commoner taxon. After a brief scoot around the vicinity, failing to find the longstaying Rustic Bunting, we headed back across Unst, then Yell, to mainland so that we could meet up with the late Fair Isle-departers before our cheeky twitch got embarrassing. On Yell, we couldn’t help but call in at an isolated house on the main road where Stitch had found an Arctic Warbler on a previous trip. Sure enough, Joe found something interesting enough to mean we missed our ferry: an unstreaked Acrocephalus. Try as we might, we couldn’t get views of it – despite it responding to Blyth’s Reed tape with an identical soft tak tak. Frustrating. Our first ‘five o’clock warbler’ – discovered late in the day, with the light fading – was born. 

Wildlife

James Lowen 

Where else in Britain could you end up with such a haul in such a short time – and still feel rather robbed? There is, we collectively realised, something very special indeed about Shetland. These nine days, I suspect, will have changed our birding outlook forever. Birding life will never be the same again. Shetland: you made us happy. Shetland: we’ll be back. Shetland: thank you.