Rise of the Curlews

A half-hour before dawn, and a lone Curlew calls over, would you believe it, Curlew Avenue, Lower Halstow. I hurry on down to the sea wall to beat the rising tide. Sixteen more Curlew go south, calling. I scan the flats. A gathering of Curlew are by Twinney Creek. Usually when gathering to roost Curlew gather alongside Millfordhope, never this close to shore. These are going inland. Twenty more take off. Then some singletons, then thirty-one together, and so on until 106 have made the flight to south of the village.

Scanning Millfordhope, just fourteen on the favoured flat. Another 26 around and about the creeks. Roughly 70% of the Lower Halstow Curlew had gone inland. Some would be on the fields at Forge Lane, others will go as far as Gore, or the Rift Valley.

Whilst some of the Curlew to the west of Ham Green head on land at Horsham and Bayford, birds further west have nowhere else to go, thanks to the urban sprawl of the Medway Towns. East of Lower Halstow, birds spread all along the Callum ridge.

This accounts for one of the routine WeBS problems during the winter months; the 'mid-day' counts underestimate the number of birds using the Medway as an evening roost. Unless you count Curlews at dawn, you will lose a fair number inland; a trawl around the fields between Iwade south to Bobbing, west to Newington then Moor Street, will turn up two or three times the number I'd had pass overhead this morning. Many get disturbed as the day goes on, but often they move further inland to keep field- feeding, rather than head for the mud.

Then there's Queenborough. Stand on that wall just before dawn, and you'll soon appreciate how many birds out in the fields around Sheerness use the Medway for their evening roost (mainly heading back over to the Shepherds Creek/Tailness area).

Of course, this won't bring the numbers up anywhere near the nationally important minimum, but explains why the estuary total can be exceeded along the south shore from time to time.
All an excuse to explore inland a bit more I guess..

Taking the bait

Lower Halstow on the rise is usually good, but as I cycled to the end of Lapwing Drive I spotted something I hadn't seen there for many a year. A man, in waders, with bucket and a pitchfork. 

When the Parish Council set up the Brickfields community space, the arrangements included 'no bait digging'. Still clear as estuary mud on the entrance sign. There aren't many places left for baitdiggers along the southern shore. The Country Park doesn't allow it, the Wildfowlers don't at Funton. It shouldn't happen along the western side of Motney, but it does. Concentrated numbers are there Thursdays and Fridays before big weekend matches, most I've counted was 32 (sometimes the Sheppey lads come over when they feel their spot near the docks is exhausted). Otherwise, it is 'locals', and i find them very easy to get on with, being able to see their argument that they aren't causing that much disturbance (an essay in itself, another time- essentially the waders don't spook around them so much as the diggers don't stare them down).

But today was an ornithological opportunity. An area where no digging takes place has had a body out digging along it. I'd still count, but I was more interested in disturbance levels.

Clear from the start the flightiest wader had put off- just two Lapwing. The two Whimbrel were also missing from their shared haunts (the rocks along the shoreline and the causeway), the first time this winter I haven't turned them up. Had the chancer been concentrating along the shore? More crabbing than lugging? The local diggers have been telling me we're into the harder times now, but there's still a few if you know the signs (made me think of adult waders feeding better than juveniles- ask look in a visiting diggers' bucket and it'll have about a third of that of a local's). It is the time of year for lower numbers, and many of the remaining interstitial prey go in for self-preservation by keeping deeper in the mud during the colder times.

Crabbing would make sense. Old hands turn the rocks by hand, chancers usually don't like getting dirty, use the fork, and forget their bait-diggers' code of conduct and not put back. The Ringed Plover pre-roost assembly just past the causeway helped confirm- down by three-quarters to about a dozen. Hang on though, one or two look much 'darker' than last week's birds- there might have been some changeovers? Mind you, the Greenshank have gone too. One or two of these changes on their own might be circumstantial, this might be too many.

The wildfowl weren't much use, most staying a distance out regardless. Brent normally like to drop in to Twinney Creek for fresh water and ablutions. None. None on the fields, less than a hundred out around Gull Island. A few would sneak in by the end of my hour and a half there, but they seemed at sorts today.

Mind you, I don't know why I'd bothered. The embarrassed glances the digger gave me as I went past him had confirmed it for me. He'd read the sign.

Undercover pic of man.
In waders, in bucket.
Apparently.

A reassembly of Rooks

Dawn on New Year's Day, and a slow saunter looking for Woodpigeon flight lines (many returning to the Medway Towns after being bombed out of their roosts at midnight). I stop to watch the sunrise over Hawes Wood (a busy Woodpigeon roost itself at times, not today) close to the Brent Cottages rookery on the western edge of Upchurch. Veteran nesters have already been reasserting their ownership rights here for several weeks now. 

This 'early activity' is not down to global warming as some would have it; Rooks always stake their claims in the winter months. Perhaps such actions give time for further dispersal by the unsuccessful? Perhaps sorting rank and position in a colony takes time that they can ill-afford in the true breeding season? Whatever the reason, their return to the nests is another promise of Spring.

To start, the birds mainly just pay short visits at first light, but they then start to stay a little longer each day. For this particular gathering, the pasture between rookery and Lower Halstow provides excellent feeding so, even when away from their nests, they are usually very close by now. This morning they were happy to assemble on wires just over the hedge from the main road.

The complex of associated satellites of the Funton rookery are also just as busy now. Last year more of the low trees atop Raspberry Hill were removed. These clumps had only been adopted as satellites after surrounding orchards were grubbed out several years ago now. Suitable nestsites are at a premium. It will be interesting to see if 2016 brings the establishment of a new satellite slightly further out, or if breeding numbers contract. Again, good feeding habitat is plentiful, and the Funton Rooks are catholic feeders, often to be found out on the mudflats searching the algal mats.

Funton

Hopefully these birds will remain a fixture in the years to come.

(If anyone comes across it, there is a lovely old book, "The Life of the Rook", by G.K. Yeates. First published in 1934, it describes their nesting habits in great detail, based on observations made just down the road in East Kent. It carries a lovely dedication to 'The George and Dragon' at Fordwich and all its inmates.)

It all kicks off

Berengrave

23:59, New Year's Eve. I'm standing in Berengrave LNR at the viewpoint over the flooded chalkpit quarry. The odd Magpie and Woodpigeon are giving unsettled calls around me. Fireworks have been going off intermittently for the past five hours, and it is clear quite a few birds have already shifted out from their main roosts over the deeper water to the chalkpit edges. The annual  New Year's celebrations are something that causes a great deal of disturbance to birds, and the 250 or so Magpie and 550-odd Woodpigeon calling the LNR home were about to experience fireworks 'shock and awe'.

00:00. It all kicks off. Woodpigeon start to crash out of the trees around me, hurrying away. In contrast, the magpies go quiet as they pass low over me. Strangely, no sound of passerines. It might be many have moved on the earlier explosions. Their roost numbers have also dropped away in recent years, and so if they do not alarm, you may well miss them. Instead, Lapwing can now be heard overhead, moving inland from the estuary- the annual mass disturbance is now well underway. 

Lower Halstow wharf and church

I've had an interest in this event since the Millenium, when I was witness to a large disturbance over the mouth of the Medway, from Sheerness to Grain, as masses of winter thrushes fled the huge bombardment. Then my years at Rye had proved disturbance flights a given. The large organised display lights up the surrounding marshlands, and I used to record wildfowl fleeing Castle Water heading for the Tillingham valley, with big numbers of passerines, flighting in all directions.

Tonight's big rush was over. I moved down to Motney Hill to try to gauge events there. The flats were pretty much vacant. One or two Teal called, and several lost Dunlin alarmed overhead. A handful of Brent circled the Hill.

Twinney

The waders and wildfowl clearly hadn't enjoyed the experience. I had mused whether they simply head for the main channel where They might feel safer but, then again, several fireworks displays were still in full swing over the Hoo skyline With such a level of disturbance, where would these birds feel safe?

On to Lower Halstow. 01:15. Again, many fewer sounds of life than expected from the creeks, and for a while I was more focused on the squabbling Little Owl with birds on Great Barksore, in the Brickfields and along by Frog Farm all squabbling with each other. Then the call of Dunlin overhead reminded me why I was out. These birds were going inland, high. A distant Grey Heron called from the direction of Ham Green, continuing south and heading off towards Callum Hill.

By the time I reached Funton, the disturbance seemed to be all over. Though the tide was making, little could be picked out. I headed home for rest at 02:00.

Later that day I was pleased to receive a timely retweet linking to a Dutch paper on the subject of fireworks. Clearly there is a lot of real disturbance happening, and the paper hints at a clearly observable level of fatalities. As more birders become aware of this issue, will they start to make the noise? Only time will tell. I take some hope from seeing just nine Chinese lanterns sail over the estuary during my two hours in the field. The message on their dangers seems to be getting through.