Ingrebourne Yearlisting

So, as expected, I've been a bit lax with the whole getting-to-the-patch-five-times-a-day thing. I don't really think that's a huge surprise. As a result, the Ingrebourne list has been moving slowly and only really took off again last Sunday with the addition of the white-fronts and red-crested pochard. Usually if I wake after 7am I decide against going to the patch as it will generally be full of people and dogs doing stupid people-and-dog things. Today I spent several hours touring the valley with another local birder and it reminded me just how good it is, even in the middle of the day. I think from now on I'll probably try and get out a bit more. I'm lucky to have a local patch that, for London certainly, is pretty fucking awesome

We picked up the white-fronts and the pochard still on Berwick Reservior straight away, stepping on a woodcock in the process. The bunting flock on the farm trail wasn't around, but we did have a group of 13 snipe on the fields and a skylark doing it's best yellowhammer song impression. Further up, behind the White Hart pub there were well over 100 fieldfare, a few mistle thrushes and an impressive flock of around 50 linnets. A quick bash around the forest and a lengthy look for little owls produced nothing.

It was also pretty quiet down at Berwick ponds, but stunning views of a pristine male bullfinch made up for that. Lunch and social niceties at Rainham afterwards, where the rain stopped us going penduline hunting. Another time.

Also today I had a read of Mr Lethbridge of Wanstead's article in the March issue of Birdwatch magazine. So thought provoking it was that I was reluctantly provoked into actually thinking, mainly about birding, and all those formative trips along the Wirral to escape the city. Hours and hours spent looking at and misidentifying common waders (knot vs dunlin? not a chance), all those nearly-med gulls at West Kirby, those 12 mile walks up the big empty coast below Southport... And of course all the long walks round Thurstaston searching for the clearly fictional yellowhammer... It was all very much "birding as therapy", and for the best part of a year pretty well the only thing that kept me sane. There's an article in here somewhere, I could almost be moved to produce something thoughtful.

"But wait!" I hear you cry, "this blog is an irredeemably awful example of bird writing that makes even Yahoo Answers seem intelligent! Reading this is only marginally more enjoyable than wading through a neck-deep ocean of shite! A post involving thought? On this blog? Not fucking likely!"

Well, perhaps it's more likely than you think. Stay tuned.

Semi-related yellowhammer from Stubb Mill the other week. Not fictional after all.

Honestly, don't hold your breath for that post. I mean, sure, it's possible to do, I have the time, and there probably is a good and worthwhile essay in there. Something personal yet easy to relate to, with a humourous and touching edge that causes jaded-old-bugger readers to recall with a sad fondness their own early birding forays that were as much about escape as anything feathered... This does not mean I will actually write it.