A Reed Warbler ringing encounter

Reed Warbler (Acrocephalus scirpaceus) Scheme: ESI Ring no: 2L29368
Ringed as an adult, April 28th, 2013, La Veguilla, Codorba, Córdoba, Spain

Retrapped on the south Medway, July 2nd, 2014.
Duration: 430 days. Distance: 1559 km (16deg NNE)

And retrapped again on the 3rd.

Posting on the fly #2; Supersizing the problem

Anyone carrying a drone-sized rucksack out along the private edge of Motney Hill is always going to pique my curiosity. And concern me when, as today, the tide is in and the roost is formed.

Thanks to one of the landowners I can get close to the beach, and was able to watch closely. Never expected what happened next.

Kneeling by the small undercut shoreline edge, the elderly gentleman opened the rucksack and pulled out three full plastic shopping bags and a half-dozen fast food restaurant cups. Through the scope I could see, pressed tightly to the thin plastic, fast food logos. A rucksack full of once happy mealtimes, being tucked tightly into the sea-purslane.

So, I politely (but firmly) asked what he was doing.

"I'm only throwing away a little bit of rubbish" came the reply.

So, I politely (but firmly) explained why he shouldn't really be doing that. I persuaded him to take the litter elsewhere and, hopefully, dispose of it appropriately. I made sure he knew I had taken photographs, so, also hopefully, I won't be coming upon the rubbish further down the Peninsula any time soon. I also made sure he knew I had his registration and was passing on to the landowners so, hopefully, he wouldn't be coming back.

I'm hopeful, but...

I actually had some sympathy for him. Because, like him, once a week, I pick up several fast food wrappers from my front garden. I grimace at the half-eaten contents and drop carefully into the rubbish sack. I always do it on refuse collection day, I refuse to take in other people's shite off the streets. And this chap had had enough. Something had clearly snapped, and he was no longer going to associate all that mess with his bin, his home. He'd make the futile gesture of throwing it as far as possible from his sanctum as he could, to exorcise these demons. Here really was a case of rubbish driving someone insane.

Just under a decade ago, I too made my own futile stand. I stopped using fast food outlets. I knew my small gesture wouldn't register on their registers, but I had to do something to 'own' my situation. (Anyone who knew me back then will know it was a big thing for me! They'll never believe how much of a rice and a bit of veg skinny boy I am now.)

Yesterday's newspapers were full of reports on the continuing rise of rubbish on the UK's shoreline. As the articles say, much of it, fast food 'leftovers'. Up around 10% since I started my rather hopeful anti-burger stand. Yeah, that's how much I'd stuck it to the Man. I could only be hopeful today's efforts might have an effect. As the company behind the plastic bags he was going to dump always likes to say, 'every little helps'.

A Motney morning

The first chill morning for ages, with a cold wind to boot, was not enough to dampen my enthusiasm for getting out early on a morning without rain. I chose the eponymous hill of Motney as a viewpoint, as it had been a while since I'd enjoyed being buzz-bombed by Collared Doves there.

They roost somewhere on the 'mainland', but each morning race up the peninsula to check out one particular garden, where the owner has a very generous feeding regime; flighting past low, in groups of up to eight, I counted 120 through in the first fifteen minutes after sun up; an average morning.

Woodpigeon also come past in numbers, though thankfully a little higher. They usually cross the narrow Otterham Creek heading for the industrial-sized seed feeders dotted about the commercial shoot on Bayford Marsh. If for any reason the Motney garden cafe is shut, the Collared Doves head over to join them.

I appreciate that is not every birdwatcher's cup of tea, but it made for something to count. And I'd have missed the small flocks of Siskin going north as well.

For the hour I was stood there, I was serenaded continually by a Song Thrush, perched up and out against the wind. While I've been used to them singing these past few weeks during the mild weather I really thought the colder night might have dampened the hormones. Keen bird in a keen wind.

Fighting Curlew

Curlew, like Grey Plover, can be 'territorial' or 'non-territorial' while overwintering. Ringing and colour-marking have revealed some will defend the same area of mud year after year. They are not tied to the area (they will leave with others for the fields if tides deny timely feeding opportunities), but when in situ, they will keep others away by voice and posturing.

Today was different. A Motney Hill bird was tolerating a second in close proximity when a third walked much too close. The territory owner went on the offensive and, with a flurry, upended the intruder to sit astride him, flapping down hard to keep him tight to the mud. The third Curlew stood, head bowed, closeby, watching intently. After a couple of minutes the defender dismounted, and the interloper hurried away, chased off to the creek at the edge of the territory.

Most references will point to pair-bonding not happening until March, and wintering ground interactions are usually two birds and little physical violenece. Certainly this was a level of interaction I had not seen before.

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.