This bird had been reported as showing the previous day. As I arrived on site, two birders were leaving (so much for sociability) but kindly gave me directions.I went to the place and began to scan around, not sure entirely where to look. Good birdwatching advice is often to stay put and wait. "Let the birds come to you" they say, and this I did while peering intently at all I could see.
Now Swales Moor is a rather unlovely spot at 1000 ft above sea level, surrounded by quarries and rubbish tips. On this occasion, a keen wind sapped heat and made it difficult to hold the binoculars steady. Standing still (still-ish, in the strong wind) was not a strategy conducive to warmth and the view of Halifax did little to gladden the heart (Good Lord deliver us). Similarly, the no show of a bird seen so recently was becoming rather dispiriting. Thinking I might have flushed it, I decided to walk away from the spot and approach again, more cautiously. This I did a further 3 or 4 times over the next couple of hours. As I began to shiver, I decided that I'd just take a walk round a raised area of level, stony made-ground - a landfill "cap" and in places, reminiscent of moraine - to warm up as much as anything, before giving it another few minutes and calling it a day.
Scanning around, more in hope than expectation, I came across this handsome specimen, feeding on the ground among half a dozen Skylark, no more than 20 metres from where I'd been standing. The birds gave every impression of having been there all along.
Photo is by Sean Gray. Please visit his site at Gray Images for more bird pictures.Thinking about it now, the bird was on exactly the sort of ground you'd expect of a montaine tundra dweller and in the conditions it must have felt right at home.
When I was a marine biology student at newcastle University, in 1982, i once had a goldcrest sitting on my head, INDOORS! We had returned to the Dove marine Lab on the beach at Cullercoats bay, between Tynemouth and Whitley bay, and in the lab was a tiny bird which had enterd through the open window. As tiny birds do, it flew about in a panic, concussing itself against the glass. We all stood still and it settled on a bench, then suddenly flew up and landed on top of my head. This, I assume, is because with my 'wild man of rock' hair, I looked like a bush of sorts. Anyway, it seemed to like sitting there, so i gently edged towards the window, and the goldcrest happily flew back out to freedom. How's that eh? Only time I've ever seen one. I'd have been amazed enough that it was on a suburban tyneside beach, but to have it land on my head and build a nest, successfully raising three chicks, before flying off back to the gorse thickets, was truly memorable.
ReplyDeleteActually that last bit is slightly embellished, but the rest is true.