Weedon’s World
Read all about Mike’s recent ‘vis-migging’ experience
Last month, I was whinging about being ‘stuck’ on my local year list, and some of you were possibly worried how frequently I was sneaking out for crafty twitches at Frampton Marsh RSPB. Well, I am pleased to report that things are back on track in my never-ending quest for Peterborian goodies (in the Birding with Bill Oddie sense, not the other… ). On 15 September, I found a nice Pectoral Sandpiper (my second ever find of one around Peterbrough), and four days later added the predicted Little Stint to my Peterborough area 2018 list. And on 23rd, a few hours staring into a northerly in the far east (ie the extreme east end of the Nene Washes, at the beautifully named Ring’s End), hoping for seabirds moving inland off The Wash, produced a superb juvenile Gannet which flew just about overhead. So, today (in mid-october) I am on 187 for the year around here (two shy of the all-time record). The Pec and the Gannet added to Goshawk, Bluethroat, Green-winged Teal and Cattle Egret, making this comfortably my most productive ‘finding’ year, close to home. All of these crackers, apart from the Goshawk, I was able to share with other birders, which is something I enjoy. Those other birds hung around long enough for me to get a few folk onto them. Apart from the Gannet, that is. That was a bird I shared just with my friend Will Bowell. It was the two of us who were daft enough to sit on the cold grass on the north bank of the River Nene, some 20 miles from The Wash, to stare over the A47 and agricultural fields and dream of seabirds. After about half and hour, I picked up a large bird powering quickly south when it was not much more than a dot in the north. Cormorant? I got Will onto it, as it grew in size. Within a second we both announced juvenile Gannet, and we revelled in it, as it briefly circled high over the road, then continued strongly south over March. Then it was gone; a Peterborough area tick for Will, a local year tick for me. Superb. But, that is the essence of ‘vis mig’ (ie visible migration). You have to be in it to win it; blink and its over, and all sorts of other pertinent clichés and mottos come to mind. If you are not out there in the field, staring, listening, hoping and yearning, you are never going to see the birds that go over; perhaps calling, perhaps not. I love ‘vis mig’, and for most of the year I forget quite how much I love it. Last year, I came late to the autumn party and missed such glorious local goodies as Rock Pipit, but was still in time to bag 30-odd Hawfinches, Brambling and so on. This year, I have started reasonably early, joining a couple of dedicated vis mig addicts. And after three days of dawn-ish starts, I am already deeply engrossed. The action, as in previous years, is centred around a small, elongate hillock known as The Mound, at Ferry Meadows CP, Peterborough (only a mile and a half from the office). For some reason, this little ridge seems to act as a guide for flocks of winter thrushes, and finches, as well as affording decent panoramic views. It is not as though things have started with a rush. But things have started. So, on the first day (8 October) some 100 or so Redwings seeped over (in flocks of up to 20 birds). There were Sparrowhawks to watch, and distant Golden Plovers, and best of all, a silent flock of about 30 crisply beautiful Fieldfares (my first of the autumn) swept through at eye level. On the second day, thrush numbers were down, but compensation came from a singing Cetti’s Warbler (scarce in the park), the first Lesser Redpoll of the autumn and a steady dribble of Sky Larks over (incidentally, I am much more a fan of the lark’s squidgy flight call than its much lauded song). And today, in among the 45 species recorded, there was a Little Egret to tickle our fancy, a hint of increased Meadow Pipit movement and a Water Rail continuously doing the strange Coot-like ticking call they do sometimes; and a piercing Kingfisher ‘battle of words’. The main visible migration season is only just really getting going, but already I am hooked. And I know that if I don’t cycle up The Mound every morning on my way to work, I am certain to miss something special. Who dares wins. Who watches sees.