Cyprus!

YEAH.

(more soon)

Spring's sentinels

Whether we realise it or not and wherever we live, we probably all have our own wild indicators that tell us the season's are changing. It might be the morning light creeping through the curtains into what was before a comfortable darkness. It could equally be a sound.

For me, it's my local corn buntings that herald the return of spring. In winter, they are fleeting specks in the muddy fields, blending cryptically into hedgerows and stubble, only spilling into my consciousness with sudden flight and soft, rippling calls.

But come February they have grown bolder and by the middle of the month the first males are seeking out perches from which their rattling song can transmit. Tucked somewhere about them must be a small bag filled with shards and shiny fragments which they juggle and swing, because this is how I can best describe the song that stirs the fields from their wintry pallor. Unlike many other birds, my corn buntings are oddly confiding, happy to let an observer into their realm down to a few metres. The song draws me into a landscape that has changed significantly over the decades, the fields have expanded and people have retreated. But atop telegraph poles and hedgerows these birds still return at this time, perched like streaky sentinels, ever alert to the season's sneaking presence.

Corn Bunting, North Kent, February 2015

The Grenadines & Dominica, Jan 2015

Looking North to Union Islamd from Carricou, Jan 2015

This is the second part of my Caribbean trip write up from January this year, a little later than planned but such is life. It all feels like a dream now.

Following Grenada our trail took us north via the Osprey ferry to Carriacou, a small and exceedingly relaxed island. Brown pelicans greeted us in the small harbour where royal terns flickered over the gentle surf. A quiet walk around the northern tip of the island that afternoon resulted in good views of a mangrove cuckoo in amongst the dense, wiry stands of coastal scrub. From a secluded beach, little more than a thread of white sand between the mangroves and the sea we could see the islands of Petit Martinique, Petit St Vincent and Union, the path between them dotted with reefs and several shipwrecks. The next afternoon, our own journey to Union Island was underway, albeit with a delay due to the small cargo vessel that agreed to take us suffering engine trouble. Eventually we set off, crossing the sea (and the international border between Grenada and St Vincent and the Grenadines) as the sun set, a deckhand using the trip to catch two barracuda from the back of the boat.

My short experience of Union was a pleasantly odd one. Arriving at dark and stateless from our delayed border crossing we were bundled into a van and off to the airfield's 'immigration department'. En route the driver proudly showed us his pet iguana, held in one hand while the other prodded the steering wheel. The island offered little in the way of birdwatching opportunities in our short stay but I was pleased to find the salt lake holding a number of blue-winged teals and best of all, four whimbrel that flushed out from a shallow edge. A flock of barn swallows swung wild circuits around the peak of a nearby hill.

Another ferry and another day, this time to Bequia, a stop for a few days to recharge literal and metaphorical batteries. Ultimately I thought the place was pretty dull but sometimes dull is ok and I still enjoyed our grandest accommodation of the trip in Port Elizabeth and one of its best meals at Sugar Reef cafe. A meandering Sunday walk to the latter also took us to the Old Hegg turtle sanctuary tucked away on a remote beach on the east coast. The owner was happy to show us around and tell his story, of how he fished and free dived for hawksbill turtles as a boy on the island before coming to realise their critical plight. "More fishermen...less fish" was his answer to the state of the seas on his island when I asked him. He was an admirably determined old sort, doing things his way. From a blustery headland we had a great views of an osprey riding the wind over the cliffs, while I was pleased to find a single American Oystercatcher on the beach in Industry Bay.

Hawksbill sea turtle (Eretmochelys imbricata) at Old Hegg turtle sanctuary, Bequia

Mangrove Cuckoo (Coccyzus minor), Union, St Vincent, Jan 2015

Port Elizabeth stadium groundsman at work, Bequia

An epic day of travelling via ferry and planes took us on to Dominica but not before a whirlwind stop on St Vincent. With no time to head up in to the hills we used a few hours between connections in Kingstown's botanical gardens. Although I didn't realise it at the time, the gardens host a St Vincent Parrot reintroduction project with a number of birds visible in outdoor pens. Captive they may have been, but with their pale crown plumage they are perhaps the most stunning of the Antilles Amazona parrots.

Flying in to Dominica felt a bit like the opening scene of 'Jurassic Park', a lush, mountainous island emerging from the sea beneath heavy, grey skies. This impression stayed with me for much of our visit, such was the magnitude of forest that greeted every turn of the road. With three days on the cool Atlantic coast and two on the Caribbean side we were able to explore much of the island. There was good hiking around the village of Grand Fond where a steep trail led down to the Derniere Falls, a pretty, remote spot sheltered under a stunning canopy. I found Plumbeous Warbler here and luckily flushed a Ruddy Quail-Dove where the path twisted through some gardens at the forests edge. An enjoyable birthday whale-watching trip from just south of Roseau paid off with distant views of a group of Sperm whales, one obliging with the 'tail shot' that everyone wanted. I'd hoped for tropicbirds on the trip but birds were scarce, bar a Red-footed Booby that kept pace with the boat for a while and, more surprisingly, a single Pomarine Jaeger (ok, skua).

For our final day of the trip, we met Bertrand, aka 'Dr Birdy' - a passionate conservationist and Dominica's birding oracle. It was straight down to business and from Portsmouth we headed up to the Syndicate National Park principally in search of Dominica's rarest resident bird, Imperial Parrot. En route we worked some low-level coastal forest which gave up Red-legged Thrush and Caribbean Elaenia but dipped on Ringed Kingfisher. The key to finding Antillean Euphonia was apparently mistletoe trees and a stop on the road up to Syndicate eventually resulted in views of this colourful bird just as we were about to leave. After an extensive search for a Lesser Antillean Pewee which proved unusually elusive, we headed to the parrot watchpoint mid-afternoon. With views over a deep, forested valley and mountainside it offered the best chance of seeing the 'Sisserou' or a bird Bertrand described as "the ghost". Having been told we could wait several hours, it wasn't long before some Red-necked parrots appeared and then after fifteen minutes or so, with the guide looking the other way, I spotted a large parrot flying across the valley below us. Bertrand turned and shouted 'that's it!' pointing out the lack of yellow tips to the tail. Somehow, in a flash, he pinpointed its landing perch which led to some good scope views, it's deep, bruised facial plumage and large size evident. With the parrot in the preverbial bag we then enjoyed the remainder of the afternoon watching Lesser Antillean swifts plunge overhead as we explored more of the fertile, farmed valleys in the park.

And that was it, trip done bar an early morning flight the next day to Antigua for the international connection that evening. After a delayed arrival due to a plane not turning up ("probably gone somewhere else" - airport official) we had half a day on Antigua where I managed to jam in a few more bits. A walk along Dickenson Bay led me a short way inland to a massive brackish lake full of birds. Upwards of thirty black-necked stilts were present, plus many white-cheeked pintails, masses of egrets and my first genuine ruddy ducks! White-crowned pigeon was also present there to round off a decent 80 species for the trip.

A hugely memorable trip to a lovely part of the world.

Recommendations:

3 Rivers Eco Lodge - a unique and commendable lodging on the Atlantic coast run by Jem  = a really helpful guy. There is a little bar there too serving the best homemade rum punch we had
Steve's Bar - Grand Fond. Steve is a cool guy and also provides meals at 3 Rivers
Whales
Cabritts - pretty interesting place, good for snakes and lizards. Visit the little gift shop just outside to learn about the local 'miracle oil' from an amazing guy who'll show you photos of his unlikely (and amazing) previous life
Bertrand 'Dr Birdy' can be reached via drbirdy2@cwdom.dm
If you need to go anywhere on Dominica ask for Winston (everyone knows Winston)

A river reaching the sea near Grand Fond, one of 365 rivers on Dominica

Red-necked Parrot (Amazona arusiaca) in an orchard, Dominica, 16/1/15

Lesser Antillean Flycatcher (Myiarchus antillarum), Syndicate NP, Dominica, 16/1/15

Goodbye Dominica

The light returning

Estuary sunset. Looking across Cliffe creek to Gravesend and Tilbury.

Out on the marshes the light lasts longer; it travels for miles, through reeds and scrub, across rank fields dotted with grazing livestock, it blazes across the pools, pink, blue and purple.

I made a late visit to Cliffe yesterday, arriving with the mixed throngs of wigeon and lapwing already uttering their restless pre-roost assurances from the causways snaking across the site. From their midst, the barks of noisy greylag geese drifted across the water. The pools were flat calm, so much that a little grebe diving under the surface fifty metres away was more of an event than usual. Not much stirred but I was able to pick out the wintering male scaup among some tufted ducks on radar pool. 

In the peachy dusk cast over Flamingo pool, coots made for their corners and a distant harrier stirred up all manner of squeals as it passed. A pair of goldeneye drifted close by, the resplendent male head bobbing as it went. Wild swans have been scarce in the area this winter so I was pleased to catch up with a party of seven bewick's swans, one of my favourite seasonal migrants, roosting on the beach. Paddling serenely or half-asleep, it's a wonder to think of all the land that will be passing beneath their powerful wings on the journey they'll soon be taking back to Siberia.

From the sea wall I watched the sun's fiery slick across the water meander to nothing as it dropped into some untraceable suburban shadows beyond Gravesend. In its absence, under the clear evening sky, misty patches appeared along the edges of the track like snagged wool on a wire fence. The mist clung low to the damp fields but I could still make out the shapes of harriers drifting in, gliding silently over the reeds, ever lower until they too were gone.

From the track, teal and mallards called in the dim light but above it all rose the formidable shrieks of a song thrush deep within its guarded hawthorn thicket. Although not quite at its peak, a little rusty perhaps, there was no mistaking its sure understanding that the light will soon be returning.  

male Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula), Cliffe Pools, 15/2/15 

Bewick's Swan (Cygnus columbianus bewickii), Cliffe Pools, 15/2/15

A Good Day

1. This morning I watched a pair of dunnocks from my window, a pair I assume, as each followed the other without chase or threat. They inspected the dense realm of ivy sagging on the garden fence, a pair of dunnocks have nested in that same spot for several years. One of the birds showed an odd interest in my car parked below and, as I watched, made repeated attempts to peck the wing mirrors and windows. It mistook its reflections for a rival bird and wasn't taking any chances.

2. At work this afternoon a buzzard sailed overhead with crows on its case like streamers on a kite. I'll argue it's always a good day when you see a bird like this. It followed the shady, wooded ridge of the reserve west and out of sight, perhaps considering a place to roost. I looked at my watch and it was 4.09pm. I could sense the dusk around me, through that last blast of chatter from birds, the searching gulls overhead, that stillness. But instead of sweeping down, it stalled and I was very aware that the evening was getting longer.

3. I came home and heard the news that Lodge Hill has been called in. The right decision after many, many wrong ones. It doesn't mean anything yet, but still, it capped a good day.

Grenada, 1/1/15-7/1/15

St George's, Grenada, 7/1/15

The Lesser Antilles never featured much on my radar as a place I’d ever likely visit. During wishful journeys I've traced in the atlas I suppose my eye immediately wandered to the two great continents sandwiching this chain of small islands. So it was my girlfriend’s idea and her plea for some winter sun coupled with a steadfast refusal to spend another holiday “standing in a ditch wearing waterproof trousers” that saw us packing the lotion and heading off from Gatwick in the murk of new year’s day morning.

Researching the trip was lots of fun and relatively straightforward since there are only two international airports covering the region (and Barbados). That, along with an amazing deal on a flight to Grenada, helped us cobble together a two and half week journey travelling South – North, from Grenada, through St Vincent and the Grenadines, before spending time in Dominica and flying out from Antigua. I knew embarrassingly little about the region and hadn't heard of half the islands, but I knew it would be hotter than Kent in winter. Besides booking some accommodation, I arrived having read relatively little, opting for the adventure of it all. I did read about the wildlife of the region even though “not a birdwatching holiday” was given as the party line. Happily for me though, that wasn't always the case and I’ll mostly stick to that here.

For all the anticipation, we were greeted at Grenada airport with the kind of downpour that causes (light-hearted) consternation among a holiday crowd, most of whose very reason for being there was to avoid such a thing. But happily it soon abated and the smell of rain on hot tarmac began to permeate through our first wide-eyed glimpses of a lush, green island. That first hour made quite an impression as we bounced around in the back of small minibus on the way to our lodge in Crochu on the Atlantic coast. It’s the colours of the gardens and trees that whizzed by that sticks in my mind, the lurch of breaks and the urgent, jumbled rhythms of soca music on the bus stereo. That was followed by the realisation of how quickly the warm afternoon light gives way to night here. In a blur we’d been introduced to our lovely host, Ingrid, and were following the sound of yet more blaring music to a nearby street party where we drank ice cold Caribs on the kerb, surrounded by locals on motorbikes and the sweet, humid, tropical night.

The next morning I awoke and was soon smiling stupidly at our colourful surroundings, a postcard blue sky and all manner of new sights and sounds. The gardens held a nice variety of birds and searching the lime tree sprawled over the balcony I could soon make out the first exotic, feathered shufflings of the trip. Tropical Mockingbird, Lesser Antillean Bullfinch and the ‘black’ race of Bananaquit were all conspicuous as were scaly Common Ground-doves, a perfectly proportioned dove not much bigger than a sparrow. A superb Gray Kingbird whistled and darted from a prominent perch nearby. Everything was so new, except one thing - a familiar, drawn out song rattling in the lime tree belonging to a House Wren, the tanned cousin of our own troglodyte.

A visit to the picturesque capital, St George’s bought my first view of a Magnificent Frigatebird over the harbour - a truly prehistoric looking bird and well-deserving of its name. Getting acquainted with the ‘squeeze in and hold on’ customs of the local buses we saw a lot of the island. One of my favourite sites was Levara Pond at the north eastern tip which we reached after walking from Sauteurs. Huffing through the heat of the day (as only an English person would) the walk was briefly enlivened by the appearance of an enterprising young boy who seemed concerned that we were destined to get lost. His generous offer of guidance also came with the offer to buy a tablet which, unfortunately for him, I declined. I explained I think he’d picked the wrong tourists as I am still not entirely sure why I’d ever need one. The walk was great, taking in the beautiful and remote turtle-nesting beach of Levara, before a track inland led us via a boardwalk through dense mangroves to a viewing tower overlooking a large lake. Here on the fringes, among the exposed, spidery mangrove roots lurked Snowy egrets, green and great blue herons, an Osprey looked on and a Caribbean Coot and Pied Billed Grebe made the only ripples on the water’s surface. The site is part of a wider Ramsar-designated protected area in recognition of its biodiversity and importance to sea turtles.

My first encounter with a Magnificent Frigatebird (Fregata magnificens)

Yellow-crowned Night Heron (Nyctanassa violacea), Rex hotel gardens

Carib Grackle (Quiscalus lugubris), Grenville

Levara beach, Grenada

From a birder’s perspective though and indeed Grenada’s own, there’s one bird that holds sway over the island and one I was especially keen to see. The secretive Grenada Dove is the island’s national bird and, regarded as critically endangered, a genuine world rarity. Confined to small pockets of woodland in the south west, but more frequently encountered on posters or painted on village walls, seeing it takes a bit of luck and local expertise - or both. Before leaving I’d arranged to meet a local guide, Jerry, who knew the island’s birds better than most since he’s pretty much Grenada’s only dedicated birdwatcher! Imagine that.

On the day, Jerry picked us up at 6.30am and we headed off on a circuitous route of the south, first taking in some mangroves near La Sagesse for a smart vagrant Tri-coloured Heron. A stop at a mangrove viewpoint near Woburn held a good variety of North American waders including a Least Sandpiper, several Semi-palmated sandpipers and Wilson’s Snipe. With the sun well up, we then made our way to the Mount Hartman Estate to begin our search for The Dove . All the while Jerry talked passionately and knowledgeably about Grenada’s wildlife and his love of the forests. Despite the Grenada Dove walking a fine line with an estimated population of well under 200 males and development in the area an ever-lurking issue, he was positive about the role of eco-tourism and the various local efforts to preserve it. Walking the narrow, winding trails on the estate, under a dense canopy of scrub, our first stop found nothing. Moving on we saw Grenada Flycatcher, Yellow-bellied Elaenia and bulky Scaly-naped pigeons before Jerry picked out the plaintive, sighing calls of three doves nearby. None showed but it was a quietly rewarding moment in the heat of the morning. Another target on the estate was the Grenada race of Hook-billed Kite, thought to be endemic and worth further study. Unfortunately these had been scarce for some weeks and we didn't see any but we still had good views of a pair of Broad-winged hawks, the commonest raptor by far on the island.

Returning to the entrance, Jerry suggested we try the first spot one last time which we did. This time, as we resumed the same positions, he instantly hushed and pointed a little way to our left and the pale form of a Grenada Dove quietly picking its way across the woodland floor. A subtly pretty bird with a bold white crescent where wing meets breast, it was a privilege to share a moment with it in the woodland it calls home, the only place on earth.

Mt Hartman peninsular, home of Grenada Dove; photo showing land lost to a new marina on right, 4/1/15

Village mural, Crochu

Some time later we finished the day in Jerry’s garden watching hummingbirds on his sugar water feeder. He showed us around his garden pointing out the dizzying array of fruits, herbs and spices growing in a small area: cocoa, cinnamon, nutmeg, avocado, bread fruit, golden apple, lemon grass and callaloo to name just a few. It was wonderful to smell their warm scents, straight from the earth. I had the feeling that if I ever stopped moving for long in Grenada the vegetation would reclaim me and make me an ungainly scarecrow, with binoculars round its neck. And I mean that in the very best way.

One bird I hadn't expected to encounter as much as I did on the islands was Merlin, a bird that for me conjures up images of my local marshes on bleak, winter days. Yet stopping at the abandoned Pearl's airfield on the east coast one afternoon, I saw just that - a male Merlin chasing barn swallows...successfully too! Completing the unusual scene were several old cuban planes parked on the edge of the runway, relics of Grenada's 'socialist experiment' in the late 70s and long since air-worthy. Faded, dented and stripped in places, the planes were otherwise eerily real with only the restorative limbs of flowering creepers and trees deciding their fate now.

As well as discovering its turbulent history, it's incredible to think that only ten years ago Grenada suffered catastrophic damage from Hurricane Ivan, an event which shredded the island's basic economy by devastating key cash crops such as nutmeg and damaged 90% of homes. Jerry showed us traces of it that are still visible on hillsides and villages, but I was struck by the good-natured stoicism of people we met. Equally impressive were the novel attempts at diversifying the agricultural sector through local cooperatives and eco-tourism. For a country I knew so little about, Grenada was a real surprise and wonderful place to explore.


Recommendations:

Big Sky Lodge - excellent garden lodges in Crochu
Birds
Buses - do it
Chocolate - Grenada Chocolate Company and Belmont Estate
Jerry - forester and bird guide, knows the birds of Grenada inside out. Email: tonydove200@yahoo.com

Brown Pelicans over main street, Carriacou, Grenada

A Hummingbird

An Antillean Crested Hummingbird to be precise...

I took the above photo a few weeks ago on the beautiful island of Grenada in the Caribbean. It was a bit of luck, I was actually photographing the flowers when it flickered into view. I like the blur of its wings, the hint of its iridescent green and blue plumage and its well-defined crest, I especially like its feet. I'd never considered hummingbird feet before.

You rarely see hummingbirds perched, as I found, instead rain or shine they kept to wing and flower, the habit fueled and demanded by their incredible metabolism. In Grand Etang forest, at the cloudy peak of the island, I frequently heard the Rufous-breasted hermit hummingbird before I saw it, an insect-like throb of tiny wings far too quick to follow. The sound of a bird living life in the fast lane.

It was a great trip.

A belated Happy New Year to everyone, more from the Caribbean shortly.