I don't get on very well with Yorkshire when it comes to twitching. I've dipped on several major rarities in the area over the past few years, and this year have already failed to see a Franklin's Gull and, on the 10th of July, the famous Black-browed Albatross that has taken up residence at Bempton Cliffs in earnest this summer. Yorkshire as a county gets more than its fair share of rare birds, unfortunately it doesn't seem to want to share them with me!
Fast forward to Friday the 16th of July. I was still annoyed at missing out on the Black-browed Albatross on the Saturday before, our early start that day just wasn't early enough and the big black and white seabird with longgggggg wings had headed out to sea on one of its fishing trips about an hour before we made it to the cliffs. At least we'd got closer than we had in July last year when we'd missed it by a day. In 2020 the Albatross never returned after that day so we never got another chance. This year it had repeatedly returned to the cliffs at Bempton every three days or so and would remain for a similar period before disappearing out to sea once more, presumably to feed. It was just a matter of timing a visit to coincide with the Albatross coming ashore. But I do have to do some work sometimes and the summer is always a busy time for me so my next chance wouldn't come until the following weekend. The Albatross returned to Bempton on the Wednesday so it could be expected to stay until Saturday. However I decided that going at the weekend was too risky plus the RSPB reserve at Bempton would be very busy so I decided that I'd take the Friday off and go then but only if I heard positive news of the bird still being present first.
Another very rare visitor from an entirely different oceanic slice of the globe, an Elegant Tern, had been found on Anglesey as well during the week so I hatched a plan to go to see that as well. However, Yorkshire to Anglesey is actually further than it is from our home to either of those places so an overnight stay would be required somewhere between the two destinations. The round trip would be some 700 miles altogether!
We played it cool on the Friday morning, even doing our weekly supermarket shop as normal at six o'clock. News came through that the Albatross was still at Bempton so after putting the groceries away, we packed an overnight bag and headed off northwards. We would arrive around midday which wouldn't be a problem because the wanderer from the southern oceans would surely still be there. An uneventful drive saw us arrive at Bempton before twelve and luckily we slid (figuratively speaking not literally, I wasn't in that much of a hurry) into a newly vacated parking space in the main carpark. The reserve appeared busy but not bustling like it was the weekend before. We hurried down to the cliff edge, knowing where we needed to get to in order to see the Albatross which was resting on a certain part of the cliff, a spot which I'd spent hours staring forlornly at six days before.
As we turned along the cliff path a very helpful chap informed us that, "If you've come for the Albatross, it's flying around the cliffs right now". Brilliant, I thought, now was my big moment to see the massive ten foot wingspan up close and personal and to fill my boots with frame filling photographs! We reached the first place from where you could see the stack and arch where the Albatross liked to be. With excitement running at fever pitch, I needed to know where the bird was so asked the nearest person to me. "It's flying above the arch, out to sea, back in again" and so on. Should be easy then. Except it wasn't. I spent the next five minutes frantically trying to find the enormous Albatross that was flying around within the constant whirl of Gannets. I knew it was still flying around because my new friend was giving me a constant commentary. But for some reason I just couldn't find it. If I had any then I'd have been tearing my hair out in frustration. Mrs Caley casually announced, "I've got it" which just increased my angst even further. What was I doing wrong? Where the bloody hell was it?! After what seemed like a lifetime of agony I finally clicked onto the fact that the "arch" was actually just the actual arch (obviously) that was set into a much larger stack of rock. Stupidly I had been studying the top of the stack and above it and not right down by the sea where I now realised the Albatross was soaring. As I locked onto it the Albatross disappeared around the other side of the rock stack giving me no chance whatsoever to even appreciate it.
We took the Albatross's temporary disappearance as a cue to move forward and closer so walked down to the New Roll Up viewpoint. With fewer people around we were able to claim a place that overlooked the Gannetry and were now able to spot the Albatross when it came flying back towards the cliff face again. The bird landed in its favourite spot but, before I could train the scope on it, flew off once more and was flying around the base of the cliffs again. At least now I could follow it easily enough but not for long because it then turned towards the open sea and kept going pursued by a bullish Herring Gull. The few hurried shots that I took with my camera were next to hopeless.
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| Black-browed Albatross |
We hurriedly moved to the northern end of the viewpoint anticipating that the Albatross would turn and fly past us. Hardly anybody else seemed to be as clued up as us or even wanted to be, probably because they'd just watched the bird at length and were too busy comparing stonking close up photographs. We had at least chosen right though because the Albatross sailed into view, flying closely to the surface of the sea which it promptly dropped onto. The bird was floating around about half a mile off the coast so my next group of shots were again very much of the record shot variety.
Of course I was safe in the knowledge that Albie the Albatross would soon take off and return to his patch of crumbling limestone on the cliff and then I'd get my chance to take those frame filling and crippling images that I so desired. He (everybody calls the Albatross a he but I suppose it could be a she) was suddenly in the air again, I steadied myself, located the bird, engaged the back button focus so that it'd be in sharp detail when it eventually got close enough and started taking photos, but still from half a mile away.
The Albatross glided to our left and then right and left again. It turned briefly towards shore and my excitement notched up a gear and then to my utter dismay, it turned again and flew strongly out to sea. I couldn't believe my luck (or lack of it) as I watched the Albatross get smaller and smaller and fuzzier and fuzzier as it neared the limit of my visibility and then totally disappeared. The feeling I felt was akin to my team losing a big match in the last minute of extra time. Not quite as disappointing as losing a Champions League final on penalties in the pouring Moscow rain but not far from it. As unlucky Alf would say, "Ah, bugger!".
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| "Bye then" |
As we did the week before, we stayed on site for another five hours. We had to, in case the Albatross came back, which it didn't. There were two ways of looking at what happened. We were either lucky that we'd arrived when we did and been able to see the bird for all of forty minutes at a minimum distance of half a mile (a very similar slice of luck that we had when connecting with the Brown Booby in Cornwall in 2019) before it disappeared. Or you could say that we were really very unlucky to only see the bird for forty measly minutes from half a mile away. Glass half full or half empty time. I'll be honest, I was gutted. Probably the most exciting addition to my life list ever and yet the anticlimax was overwhelming. What should have been a fantastic close experience with a door sized bird was reduced to a pathetically distant and distinctly rubbish encounter. But, hey, we saw it and we can always travel 400 miles again to see it another day. That Albatross owes me one, and a full pint at that. So many birders talk of the "Wow factor" that the Albatross possesses. It's a real shame that we didn't get to experience any of it.
On the plus side, Bempton Cliffs is a terrific place and there is lots more to see and we'd normally be delighted to make the trip to see the Gannets, Puffins and other cliff dwelling seabirds. On this Friday afternoon however, I felt cheated. It took me ages to stop looking at the horizon for the expected returning Albatross. Eventually though I gave up and appreciated the other birds that were wheeling around. The Gannets in particular offer great entertainment and photo opportunities. If you think hard and imagine that the Gannets in the images are the Black-browed Albatross then you'll understand why I was so miffed at not getting a close view of the latter.
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| Gannet |
We spotted all of the other special birds of the cliffs, Puffins, Guillemots and Razorbills all flew in and out from their nesting burrows and ledges. I even got my first Shag (fnarr, fnarr) of the year, quickly followed by another, our 213rd species of the year (the Albatross was the 212th).
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| Puffin |
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| Shag |
Fulmar is possibly my favourite species of seabird and I consoled myself further by paying close attention to them as they effortlessly soared along the clifftops. They are odd looking birds with the super sensitive tube-nosed attachment stuck on top of the bill but are superlative fliers, gliding along unhurriedly, inches away from the cliff face. They wear a comical expression too which lends itself almost to a smily face look. I love them and never tire of photographing them. Of course a Black-browed Albatross resembles a giant Fulmar. Bah!
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| Fulmar |
Our vigil was enlivened a shade by a Peregrine speeding past overhead although my settings were all wrong to capture it correctly. Its always a problem when you're set up to photograph bright white birds such as Gannets, Fulmars and Kittiwakes, and then a dark bird flies past. But how I wished another different dark winged bird had sailed into view.
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| Peregrine |
I took photos of Kittiwakes and more Gannets before calling it a day at just after five o'clock. We still wanted to see the Elegant Tern the following day so needed to get on the road and find somewhere to stay overnight.
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| Kittiwake |
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| Gannet |
I stifled my disappointment at only getting a less than expected view of the Albatross, reminded myself that I'd seen an Albatross, in the UK which is incredible really and looked forward to a, hopefully, more exciting encounter with the Elegant Tern on Anglesey. I still think one of the humble little Tree Sparrows that proliferate around the visitor centre was mocking me as I walked back to the car.
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| Tree Sparrow |
We drove for three hours and ditched into a rudimentary but satisfactory Travelodge near Chester for the night. We quite like Travelodge's, (not so) cheap and cheerful where you can check in at any time and leave when you like (unlike a certain hotel in California) without having to wait for a breakfast to be sabotaged by an imposter posing as a wannabe chef. Anglesey and Cemlyn Lagoon specifically was about an hour and a half's further drive away. We'd be there by eight-thirty which would enable us to see the Elegant Tern and the other Tern species before any heat haze, a hot day was forecast, would rear its ugly head. We found an adequate Bacon Roll at a kiosk next to a filling station and were on our way. We'd spent some time on Anglesey (see here) and had visited Cemlyn just a month before so I was familiar with the winding back roads once we'd reached Ynys Mons. Quite a few birders had already arrived at the carpark and another would have beat me to it had he been able to pass me on the narrow roads. The driver of that car and his partner got kitted up so quickly that when we leisurely made our way along to the shingle beach we met him running back towards his car to collect the scope that he'd left leant up against and forgotten in his haste!
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| Tern watchers |
The eager chap overtook us before we reached the designated viewing spot for the islands where the Elegant Tern would be. It had already been reported that morning so we knew that there was no need for any frantic rushing about, not that we're ever very quick anyway. When we arrived alongside the Tern Islands there was no sign of the Elegant one on its adopted stone that sits atop one of the nest boxes provided. It had flown out to sea about half an hour before according to a birder that I asked. I wanted to remind the chap in a hurry about the Tortoise and the Hare but thought of a caramel chocolate bar instead, the satisfaction of the Bacon Roll had already worn off. When a friend of mine visited for the Elegant Tern a few days before it had stayed out at sea for nine hours. I certainly didn't want another repeat of a disappearing Albatross scenario so secretly said a few begging prayers. Ten minutes later I saw the Elegant Tern land on the stone. "It's back" I loudly pronounced to everybody within earshot which included the chap in a hurry who was now struggling to find it. He should have just followed and waited for me. Anyway we got him on it and I remembered how just less than a day ago I frantically searched for a bird twenty times as big and couldn't find it. We all struggle sometimes.
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| Elegant Tern |
The "Wow Factor" that disappeared over the horizon with the back end of the Albatross the day before returned in spades with the Elegant Tern when after flying up and away at the threat of a predator passing overhead, the days star bird flew back a few minutes later and I excelled again by picking it out as it skimmed over my head. I locked onto it immediately and followed it through the viewfinder of the camera. After waiting less than patiently for the autofocus to finally catch up with the bird, I rattled off a volley of shots to add to my flying Tern's portfolio. I was pretty impressed by them too but once again was kidding myself when entering a few into the Birdguides weekly competition. I might be quick in capturing the birds on camera but it seems that I'll never be deemed worthy of taking worthy photos until I get top end kit which appears to be a prerequisite for winning any accolades. Not that I beat myself up about it, well not too much anyway.
The Elegant Tern was certainly an elegant bird. And it was a Tern. But all Terns are pretty elegant birds so I wondered what particular "elegant" attributes that the species must have had to persuade somebody to actually name it Elegant Tern above all others. Maybe it should have been called "The Most Elegant Tern". Anyway The Elegant Tern, elegant by nature, let itself down a shade by being a right noisy beggar and when settled back in on its adopted stone boisterously set about any other Tern that came near apart from the Sandwich Tern that it's been trying to cop off with and which joined it in some fine synchronised display whereby the odd couple would sky point their bills and utter forth some melodic (to a Tern) shrieks and whistles. Having said that they may have been miming for all I knew since it was impossible to pick out individual shrieks and whistles amongst thousands of similar shrieks and whistles.
If any potential predator such as a large Gull, or Peregrine, a Grey Heron, or, on one occasion, a microlight aircraft passed too closely to the colony then the entire Tern population would launch into the air and either take evasive or deterrent action. I watched the Elegant Tern closely, hoping to get more flight action shots, but it wasn't always an easy task to stay on it when it was amongst the whirling Tern hordes. The Elegant Tern helped by usually being one of the last Terns to go airborne, perhaps it lingered in an attempt to gain the judges eyes and hence win in those elegant stakes. The fact that it did dawdle before flying up did allow me to take shots as it took off and on a couple of occasions follow it as it flew out low over the water. I was enjoying myself immensely and the Elegant Tern certainly restored more of that "Wow Factor".
Of course in normal circumstances, in the absence of a rare visiting Tern from California, Cemlyn Lagoon is still home to lots of other Terns and after taking several hundred photos of the Elegant variety, I backed away from the line of twitchers and sought a quieter spot further along the shingle beach. Four weeks before Mrs Caley and I had come to Cemlyn to seek out a Roseate Tern for our year list. I knew exactly where to look for the Rosy one so set about searching the spot where it had set up home with a Common Tern. Nobody else present appeared to be the slightest bit interested in any other birds bar the sheer elegance being exhibited on the main island. Initially the Roseate Tern didn't seem to be in, maybe it had gone out fishing, so I studied some of the other birds that were resting on the bank just a few metres away from the boundary rope. Young birds were lined up here waiting for their parents to deliver a healthy meal. Both Common and Arctic Terns breed successfully at Cemlyn but, considering we have the Common type breeding in Oxfordshire, it was the Arctics that I spent time looking at. I found a recently fledged chick that was half hidden amongst the vegetation. Arctic Terns are the most incredible of migratory birds flying the longest distance of all of their kind. Each year some of them choose to fly from the Southern tip of Argentina to breed at the very top of the Northern hemisphere, a journey of some ten thousand miles! Then once the chicks have been raised they make the return journey again. Considering that an Arctic Tern can live for twenty years or more, then an individual bird can travel a very long way indeed and that's without totting up the feeding flights that it makes continually throughout its lifetime. So, as I stood looking at the little bundle (unkind expression because Terns are, well, elegant) of feathers stood before me, I wondered if it knew that soon it would be flying off to the other end of the world. Some of the chicks had already begun practicing their flying skills and were taking short circuits of the lagoon.
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| Juvenile Arctic Tern |
Whenever a likely looking adult Tern passed closely overhead then all of the waiting chicks below would become animated and beg for the fish that was being delivered. Quite how an adult bird manages to find its own offspring always amazes me since all the chicks look the same but I guess it must be down to the individual calls that each bird possess. The constant noise created by a Tern colony isn't just idle chatter amongst birds, all those shrieks serve a useful purpose. When a fish carrying adult bird found its impatient youngster it invariably would tease it for a while, landing a few feet away and then running rings around the hungry chick. Once the adult was happy it had got the right destination for its catch it would allow the young bird to approach and feed it. Unfortunately for me the hand off always took place hidden behind the sea cabbage plants so I was unable to capture the transfer on my camera.
The colony was airborne again, this time irritated by a Peregrine which flew past but well out in the bay. The Common and Arctic Terns on the beach were up first, a few brave ones followed the falcon as it flew towards the headland to the West, the island nesters flying up as a reaction to the commotion above the beach. When the birds settled I found the Roseate Tern in its usual place at the extremity of the main island. In just a few seconds though it had moved into the vegetation and disappeared from view. I put the sighting out anyway.
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| Roseate Tern (right) |
When we were at Cemlyn a month ago, I became reasonably adept at following the Roseate Tern in flight, the quicker but shorter flaps giving it a "punchy" look that made it stand out amongst the similar Common and Arctic Terns. I was still in the zone on this visit because I picked the Rosy out straight away in the whirling flock and grabbed some decent close range shots of it as it passed by. The shorter wings gives the Roseate a much more compact shape although the tail is still long. I noticed that the bill had changed from all black a month ago to only partly black with a red base. The rosy flush to the breast was much reduced from before but still just about evident.
The news of the Roseate had hit the airwaves and birders sated with their own views of the most elegant one began to look for the rosy one so after pointing out its favoured spot to a few, we walked back the other way ready to return to the car. I spotted the Elegant Tern again just as it flew up and out to sea. We decided to sit for a while and just take in the sights and sounds at leisure. It was still only mid-morning and we had no plans to go anywhere else. Half an hour later I saw the Elegant Tern again. It was flying around and around the island and was carrying a fish in its bill. It seemed to be openly advertising its wares to any Sandwich Tern that showed a passing interest so maybe it wasn't already paired up after all. The Elegant Tern may be the most elegant one but as the tiddler that it was showing off testified it certainly wasn't the most desirable one to the Sandwich Terns. It would need to up its fishing game in order to impress the females.
We left the Terns and went for a walk out onto the headland seeing Black Guillemots in the bay and a Curlew that was surprised off some rocks by three idiots charging past on Jet Skis. After the slight (massive really) anticlimax of only getting brief and distant views of the Albatross, the Elegant Tern and the supporting cast had reinstated some of the Wow Factor. It's not often that we get two lifers in two days. Double lifer delight!
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