The enchanting Pale-bellied Brent Geese that so epitomise the late-autumn and winter period at Wig Bay were, understandably, few in number this month, with the last of 10 birds having been registered on the 6th. A pair of Mute Swans were in residence at Loch Connell on the 12th, the cob bird making threatening gestures towards a solitary Whooper Swan that was also present. Meanwhile on the other side of that loch a delightful, stunning-looking, drake, Garganey had the sense to keep clear of all this posturing and basked in the morning sunshine next to a pair of Teals. At the same site but later in the month (the 26th) I saw a duck Mallard tending her seven recently hatched offspring. On the 4th the silhouette of a Shoveler caught my eye as it raced across the sky heading west.
A relatively unusual record (for the time of year, at least) was that of five Great Crested Grebes - all in breeding plumage - at the Wig, on the 19th. Red-throated Divers were seen over much of the month, though their numbers plummeted towards its end, with a peak count of 62 birds on the 21st reducing to just four on the 24th. A Great Northern Diver, also in breeding attire, was observed here on the 2nd, 6th and 8th. A Pacific Diver, coming out of winter plumage, was an exceptional find in the bay on the 3rd and, just as remarkable, was a White-billed Diver here on the 7th; the latter sighting was however eclipsed by the presence of a second bird on the 21st, which merits a digressional comment herewith, given the circumstances and nature of that encounter: ‘From my house I am able to view the P&O Ferry Port on the other side of Loch Ryan and consequently have been fortunate to snap numerous digital images of vessels docked at night, with all the artificial lights showing as glimmering reflections in the water. The Stena Ferry Port (now located to the north of the first mentioned terminal) is, however, obscured from my view by the presence of the tree-line on the western side of the loch, making any photo of it from my house impossible. The solution I devised was to make a three mile round-trip on foot to a vantage point that I knew had the potential for the task in hand. Thus, I ventured out and made ready as twilight faded into darkness. The stage was set. What I hadn’t anticipated was a rolling, incoming mist (nor the associated pesky midges!), or the evocative song of a White-billed Diver that accompanied it. The mist cleared but the wails of the loon (not so piercing and lower pitched than Great Northern) persisted: eerie, spine-chilling cackles, and memorable on all counts. Wow!’
Back on track … five Bar-tailed Godwits at the Scar on the 31st was my only observation of this species. Sightings of Curlews were spread across the month but with few birds noted, and two being the highest count at the Wig on the 10th. Dunlin were probably more frequently occurring than my five records might suggest, with 14 being the largest flock at the Scar on the 16th. A solitary Grey Plover was the one and only observation of this species at this same site, on the 5th. Just two Lapwings were noted, at Loch Connell on the 12th. Ringed Plovers faired considerably better in both frequency and the number of birds involved: approximately 40 were at the Scar on the 6th. The spring passage of Sanderlings on my patch can be as varied as the weather is predictable; a mixed species flock of birds was encountered at the Wig on the 22nd, including Sanderlings, but later, on the 31st, six were definite records. Just five Turnstones were logged here on the 7th, which summaries that species’ passage. Whimbrels were perhaps the species seen to be waving the flag in support of the wader fraternity this month, even though the largest flock of them was only five strong at the Wig, on the 5th.
There seemed to be an abundance of Herring Gulls about Wig Bay but the same cannot be said for any of their cousins: I noted Common Gulls on only three days, with 14 being the highest count in the adjacent fields, on the 15th, and Lesser Black-backed Gulls on but two occasions, comprising three birds on the 1st and 2nd. Arctic Terns were also scarce, with two on the 9th, one the following day, and another on the 20th. Common Terns faired no better, with three at the Scar on the 6th and two on the 14th. Thankfully, Sandwich Terns were observed most days, including a high of 48 at the Scar on the 4th and a respectable 34 on the 16th.
My only observation of Guillemots - a reflection of their uncommonness on Loch Ryan during May - involved two birds at the Wig on the 5th. Cormorants breed locally and are thus an expected species to see on any day’s birding: 28 was my largest count of them at the Scar, on the 15th. Manx Shearwaters, on the other hand, are scarce on the sea-loch in any season so it was nice to bag four of them, so to speak, on the 1st. Not surprisingly the large size and whiteness of Gannets makes them readily discernible, even to people without field glasses. It was only on days with persistent heavy rain (and poor visibility) that they evaded detection. At other times I saw them patrolling the sky above the loch with eyes fixed on the water below, scanning for a potential meal.
For some people, either through choice or circumstance, birdwatching is a solitary pursuit. Certainly, there can be many advantages in doing so alone, but there are drawbacks also. I like to believe that a shared experience is preferential in many ways, not least because another set of eyes and ears working together towards a single goal can lead to an awareness of additional species which might otherwise be missed during the concentration required, and exercised, by an individual recorder. I know, for example, that a number of species of birds of prey hold territories on my local patch but there are very few days when I actually catch a glimpse of even one of them. The consequence is that my log book remains blank for often days (and sometimes even longer) at a time in this respect. A neighbour recently brought this phenomena home to me when he happened to mention that a Sparrowhawk had become a daily visitor to his bird table; I realised that I myself had not seen this species in quite a while. I flicked through my notebook looking for records of other predatory species, such as Kestrel and Peregrine, and found them also to be lacking. An Osprey, however, was a notable entry on the 5th, as was three hooting Tawny Owls on the evening of the 21st.
A single Cuckoo on the 19th proved to be the month’s only record of this once more common summer visitor. Similarly I had just one observation of Water Rail - a juvenile on the pool at the Corsewall Burn outlet at the bottom of Fisher’s Lane, on the 30th. This species is elusive and probably more common than the general paucity of records suggests. The trio of one off records presented here is completed by a Jay heard calling in the Corsewall Estate gardens on the 15th.
With each year’s passing there seems to be an ever decreasing number of pairs of House Martins and Swallows that occupy Kirkcolm and its surrounds. This of course is related to the problems and hazards the birds face upon return to their breeding grounds as well as in their wintering quarters and along the routes they have to take in order to complete their yearly cyclic journey. These factors obviously affect all migratory species to a lesser or greater extent, but is particularly evident on my patch in the family of ‘Hirundinidae’ (swallows and martins). Please spare a thought for their plight, dear reader, whenever you next see any of these harbingers of spring. Swifts are somewhat similar-looking aerial insectivores but are not in the same family of birds as the aforementioned. They have never been a common entry in my village notebooks: a single bird over my house on the 19th, and two above the Wig Fields on the 31st were all I saw this month.
Walks through the Estate woods and grounds resulted in the usual array of warblers being heard in song, including five Blackcaps on the 16th, 12 Chiffchaffs on the 20th, but only five Willow Warblers on the 15th. A new addition to the log was a Garden Warbler, in full song, also on the 20th, representing my first confirmed record of this species on my local patch during a 15 year tenure! Numbers of singing Sedge Warblers and Whitethroats were significantly down on previous years’ totals, even though the habitats they more regularly occupy do not appear to have changed.
A preponderance of rain during the month kept many a Skylark hidden from my view. A walk on the 15th, however, passing the Wig Fields, revealed at least 10 birds a singing.
I have mentioned before in previous articles that there are numerous so-called common birds that go about their daily lives without much thought ever being given to them by we humans. Such birds are unassuming enough for them to ever warrant our attention. I like to think that that I give equal consideration to any species I happen upon but in truth I know that is not always so. Sometimes a more concerted effort on my part is required/necessary in order to address that inequality: after all, for example, whosoever of us bothers to record every sparrow we encounter? I made a conscious effort on the 20th to in some way remedy that very human deficiency when I followed a route through the Estate woods, recording 28 Blackbirds (14 singing), 20 Chaffinches (18 singing) and 16 Wrens in song. Some so-called common birds are in fact scarce, depending where you happen to be, of course. On my patch, Bullfinch, Greenfinch and Mistle Thrush fall into this category so any observations of these species are eagerly logged by myself; of the first mentioned, one was heard calling in the Estate gardens, on the 1st; of the second - a male singing in my garden, also on the 1st; and of the last mentioned - a bird seen collecting food (presumably to feed its offspring), on the 8th.
And so concludes this month’s offering. Until the next time, continue to appreciate, enjoy, and savour any moments of natural history that present themselves to you.
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