Bills of the unexpected

We're not talking invoices here, like being charged a fortune for a glass of wine in a restaurant or your energy supplier upping your monthly payments threefold without mentioning it to you. No, this post is about beaks. Bird's beaks, or birds' beaks to be more exact.

Island-hopping for work had carried on apace, and yesterday I visited Sanday for various connectivity issues. As per usual, after the customers were reunited with tv signal, I had a few hours to spare waiting for the return ferry. Oddly, for me, I was quite organised, and had prepared a picnic in advance, so was able to head to a beach for lunch.

I should say that there was also a bitingly chilly easterly breeze which strived to deploy my salad leaves downwind if I wasn't concentrating.

Whilst working my way through some coronation chicken and pitta bread, it was pleasant to watch a couple of Gannets out in the bay, plunge diving for fish. There were waders galore in the rock pools and along the tide line, and this rather smart Pied Wagtail.

The work of Belinda Carlisle?! Windblown seaweed creating circles in the sand.

With lunch over, I could turn my attention to a spot of twitching. A few weeks ago, a North American wader (or shorebird) was discovered in Sanday. Usually I don't have the opportunity to take advantage of such things, but this bird is rather long-staying, here I was on the correct island and why not go and visit such a much-travelled creature?

I was given directions by several local birders, so parked up my van at the appropriate place ready to begin looking for a small to medium-sized wader with a long bill. My first scan of the pools revealed this...

An Avocet, not what I (or anyone) was expecting, as it used its decurved bill to sift the sediment for tasty morsels.

There's less than a couple of dozen records of Avocet in Orkney, I'm told, so now I was in the position of having to put the shout out about this bird, before I could recommence the search for the trans-Atlantic wandering Long-billed Dowitcher. Eventually I found it, in the company of a Redshank, which gives a reasonable size comparison.

Redshank (left), Long-billed Dowitcher (right)

Whilst watching the waders, my ears pricked up at the sound of a Snipe drumming nearby. Scanning the sky over the rough ground behind me, sure enough there was a male Snipe in full-on display flight mode, his tail feathers creating a wonderful ethereal noise.

By now I had been joined by RN, one of the guys who had helped me find this spot, and who had responded to my text alert about the Avocet. I was relieved that someone else could see it before it continued its journey to who knows where. R also mentioned another spot where I might find some more migrating or returning birds, so I drove there and wandered along the shore, looking at mudflats on one side and grazing pasture on the other.

Before long, I became aware of a commotion amongst some distant waders, and looking through my bins, I could see why. A Great Skua or Bonxie was making repeated sorties across their nesting area and the waders were intent on seeing it off. After the carnage of the the last few Summers and bird flu, when Bonxies were hit really hard, no-one was sure if there would be any to return, but here was one. I was more pleased to see it than the Lapwings.

 
And a movement on a dry stone wall showed itself to be another migrant, a Wheatear, what a dapper wee thing.

Today is a lot less exciting and rather humdrum, but the weather forecast for the weekend is looking good, so I think we're going to look for beetles.