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Winners - 1. Little Egret

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This is the first in an occasional series looking at bird species that have fared well - and those not so well - across the uberpatch over the last 50-odd years. When I began birding in 1974 there had been under 200 Little Egrets recorded in Great Britain and Ireland and at that time this total had only recently been bumped up by the unprecedented numbers recorded during what was referred to as an invasion in 1970, which appeared to be very much an anomaly. Out of those records the Surrey contribution was a big fat zero. (It is worth mentioning that an excavation at a site in Southwark - part of the VC17 recording area - had discovered remains of this species dating back to 1500-1700 AD. It would have taken some juggling of the concept of time for a 1974 vintage birder to have been able to claim that one on their county list.) Needless to say, the idea that I might see a Little Egret at all, let alone in my home county of Surrey, was very small indeed. It is hard to appreciate that thi...
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Old School

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  I fancied a change today. The thought of a day being spent on the North Downs didn't power up my ornithological enthusiasm, so I considered the areas that are adjacent to the uberpatch, looking for inspiration. Out came the trusty OS map, unfolded as far as it would go, hardly manageable yet strangely satisfying and absorbing - you can really lose yourself in the intricacies printed before you, following the contour lines with your finger, taking in the place names, deciphering the symbols - rituals that have been undertaken for many years by those who stride out across the land, something that loses its warmth and connection if you choose to stare at a phone screen instead. Old school. And there it was, my inspiration. Burstow Park Farm. Served by several footpaths that cross the farmland between Bransland Wood and Outwood Common. I hadn't just plucked the location out of the air though. A few years ago my very good friend Gordon Hay had located a wintering flock of Yellowha...
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Touchstones - from Portland Bill to Denbies

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Time, its passing and the effects that it has upon us is something that readily colours my birding. Apart from being a handy hook to hang a rare bird or spectacular movement on, a date can also bring to memory a place, people, a conversation, a feeling. A bit of a Proust's madeleine cake moment. I was idly daydreaming about birding places recently and my mental rolodex randomly settled upon Portland Bill. September 1977 sprang immediately to mind. Why then and not the date that I saw a Yellow-billed Cuckoo (September 1979) or Ivory Gull (February 1980) on that fair island? I then recalled that September 1977 visit - not blessed with loads of birds, certainly no rarity - but blessed with a calming, restful, place defining moment. Us young birders (for we were young back then) were crammed into a smallish car, parked on the road that heads downhill towards the car park and obelisk. The observatory was full, so no bed was to be had there. Our student pockets would not stretch to a hot...
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Urban plants

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  Most of my plant hunting has taken place in what could be described as urban and suburban settings. For every search of a Scottish Mountain or an English saltmarsh there have been hundreds across the streets of south London and northern Surrey. This may at first suggest that the rewards in such man-made habitats will be somewhat lacking, but, as much as my chance of finding a Drooping Saxifrage here is nil, the cross-section of plant families and species composition will be much higher. I was therefore delighted to discover that Bloomsbury had published 'Urban Plants', a book in their 'British Wildlife Collection' by the notable botanist Trevor Dines. It is a wonderful book, crammed full of information that will ensure that you will never look at urban botany in the same light again. From grass verges, pavements, trees, wasteland, walls and street furniture, the scales will drop from your eyes as you are expertly introduced to a world fit for exploration and discovery...
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The rise of the Goshawk

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Last Saturday morning I had four encounters with Goshawks within an hour's birding along the Mickleham Valley (above). The first was a loud, robust and piercing call from an unseen bird; the second an enormous female, flying along a hillside of yew and box showing off its muscular athletic build, long neck, long wings and rounded tail, with a dark mask beneath a thick white supercillium; next a distant displaying bird big-dippering; and lastly a streaked juvenile, just at tree top height, circling the hillside giving fine views (but for the thin tree canopy great photographs could have been obtained). It would take a highly inattentive birder to wander across my part of the Surrey North Downs and not realise that Goshawks are doing rather well here. For the past three years I've been able to expect to see them in the late-winter/spring with some regularity and so far this year if I don't see at least one when I'm out and about then I am rather surprised. It wasn't a...
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H is for Hawfinch (and hearing)

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I have touched upon my hearing loss previously in ND&B posts, but since then there has been developments. It must have been back in that strangely blame-free pre-Covid year of 2019 that I first noticed that my ears were not fully functioning. On a mid-summer walk through a meadow with my eldest daughter, she commented on the noise that the 'grasshoppers' were making. I stood still and listened. I couldn't hear a single one. This was soon followed by my failure to pick up the screams from a high flying flock of Swifts; the realisation that migrant Tree Pipits had not really become exceedingly rare but was down to the fact that I couldn't hear them call; and that most evocative of autumn night noises, calling Redwings, were out of my aural reach (unless they were very close). The final straw that broke this birder's back was last winter, standing with another birder on Ranmore Common, he picking up and announcing incoming Hawfinches whilst I stood there in a silen...
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Barry Banson

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Back in the summer we lost another of the birding family, Barry Banson. Had I been maintaining this blog at the time I would have written about him there and then, so please accept my belated words of celebration of the man, one who was a great influence on me, moulding my natural history interests with the result that it took me to the four corners of Britain in pursuit of wild flowers. I first met Barry while birding at Beddington SF in the mid-1970s. He was, at the time, a schoolmaster at Alleyn's, a public school based in Dulwich. I think it is fair to say that the schoolmaster never fully left Barry, who did not suffer fools gladly and treated many people as if they were a pupil in one of his classes. regardless of their age or station in life. Having said that, once you got beyond that veneer of authority he was an utterly charming and interesting person to spend time with, a man of many interests, with natural history and sport at the top of a long list. In those early days ...
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