A Swift End to a Game of Cat and Mouse

The Swift
A lovely Sunday afternoon digging potatoes came to an abrupt halt with news of a rare Swift in Yorkshire.
Initially identified as a Pacific Swift, this would have been rare indeed, but not one to set the panic alarm going as I was lucky enough to catch up with one in Suffolk a few years back.
But the identification soon came round to White-rumped Swift, the first ever record for Britain! It was surely brought up from North Africa on the same unusual southerly airflow that had Holbeach setting record temperatures in the same week - 79 degrees F in mid October.
A quick calculation told me that I could never get there before dark - news an hour earlier and I wold have been busting a gut to get there.

A couple of hours sleep and I was up again, heading through the night toward Hornsea Mere on the Yorkshire coast. I wasn't the only one. In the dim light of dawn a steady stream of birders were heading across the fields to the last known place where the bird was seen as it drifted off in the gloom last night. Our best hope was that it had headed to roost or hooked up with a group of house martins and would return to feed over the mere in the morning.

But birding does not always go to plan. Six hours stood in that field and I finally succumbed to the idea that this rarest of rare birds might just have slipped the net. Reluctantly I returned to the car and began the journey south. I was hoping to be home in time to accompany Sue to the vets with Boris - nothing too worrying but I did want to be there.

I tentatively drove back across the Humber Bridge (I am not great with heights and don't like crossing this bridge), but no sooner was I across than I started receiving messages that the swift had been seen at Spurn, a long promontory off South Yorkshire which funnels migrating birds along a narrow spit of land. Details were sparse, but I had no option but to turn around and head at breakneck speed back over the Humber Bridge, through Hull and along the torturous country roads which lead down to Spurn.
By the time I arrived the sparse details of the sighting had become even murkier. Today was starting to feel like a waste of a day, one to forget. The first sniff of a really good bird all autumn, for it has been a poor one birding-wise, and it had ended up with a disappointing end.

The Cat
As we stood dejected on a windy and desolate stretch of Yorkshire coast, the birding gods looked down and decided to shuffle the pack a little.
Phones and pagers whirred into action as news of a Grey Catbird came through - at Land's End in Cornwall, a mere 8 or so hours away.
Grey Catbird has a certain reputation among twitchers. The only previous record was on Anglesey. It was found on an October Thursday 17 years ago. The bird was highly elusive, but stayed around until the Friday. At that point I was confined to waiting for weekends to see rare birds and so I joined a small army of weekend birders in the hunt for the bird. There were various shouts and alarms, but to cut a long story short most people left disappointed. A compound full of tall gorse had been pretty much flattened over the course of the day but there had been neither sight nor sound (yes, it does miaow!) of the bird all day... except that some people were adamant they actually had seen it - these people became known as the Saturday Catbirders.

And that was it, Grey Catbird into the annals of birding history but not onto most people's lists.

I decided to head straight for Cornwall. The earlier I could get there, the more sleep I could get in the back of the estate car. And so at 1 in the morning I rolled up in a field in deepest south-west Cornwall. There was one other car there but we knew there would be many others arriving through the night. I put the seats down, laid out a selection of coats that live in the car, and tried to get some shut eye.

The Mouse
Well, that was the plan... until I heard scuttling in the roof of the car. It couldn't be, could it? Then chewing and more scuttling. The mouse (though it sounded like there might now be a family) which had been setting my car alarm off for a couple of weeks now, was clearly still living in the innards of the car!
A sleepless night ensued, only enlivened by an unsuccessful game of splat the mouse as it scuttled around in the roof space above my head.

This probably explains my bleary-eyed lack of sharpness in the morning. As the sun rose there were a couple of hundred birders ready for the Catbird show, a couple of hundred birders bearing the scars of that Anglesey bird of 17 years ago. We stared into the bushes where the bird had last been seen. For two hours we stared.
This was turning into a bad couple of days.

Then suddenly the mood changed. People were seeing the bird. A woman next to me was excitedly exclaiming that she was watching it. But the only words that came out were "I've got it. I've got it". My bleary eyes were not seeing whatever she was seeing and pleas for directions were met with "I've got it. I've got it".
Other people had it too. In fact just about everybody... except me. There's always one person who doesn't see what everyone else is seeing. And on this occasion it was me. Not a nice feeling.
By the time the bird flew I was surrounded with people quietly celebrating and congratulating each other. This was not going well for me!

Then another call, further up the line. By the time I got there the bird had disappeared again. This sighting was less convincing and I just didn't know whether to stay put or go back to where I was when the bird was first seen. 

Then another call, from where I had been standing! By the time I got there, the bird had dropped into thick cover, but I was more certain that I was just a few seconds away from seeing the bird.
Time to control the breathing and have faith that fate would indeed be cruel if the bird were never to show itself again. A really helpful birder next to me did everything he could to help me get onto the bird and then up it popped into the middle of a small sallow.
Grey Catbird!
All the effort had been worthwhile. I went from being ready to quit birding forever to enjoying the bird and celebrating with everyone else.
I never heard it miaow, but the Catbird eventually gave itself up and showed very well.

Hopes of more American birds turning up in Cornwall were high so gradually people left the site and fanned out into the valleys of Cornwall to find that elusive mega. I found myself down by Minack Theatre following the coast path. Really I just needed some wind-down time before making the journey back to Lincolnshire.

I was supposed to be chairing an open meeting of the Smallholders Committee in the evening, but it was unlikely I could make it back in time and I would be in no fit state.
And so I slowly headed back across country. My car was almost broken as one of the exhaust brackets was detached and the brake disks were badly warped. The long journey had exacerbated the problems which were combining to make for some very uncomfortable car handling. By the time I rolled back onto the farm I was feeling pretty bumped and bruised myself.

Arthur keeps me company in bed

The next five days are a blur. I don't know whether it was pushing myself so hard (but I've always done that) or just unlucky, but I almost immediately came down with a fever which had me laid up in bed for five days.

Anyway, I am just about fixed now, though still a bit tender. The car is fixed too.
We are raring at the bit, ready for more rare birds!

The Mouse (Part Two)
On the second day of my sickness I heard a dripping inside the wall of the downstairs toilet. We have been looking for a leak as a couple of long-term damp patches and a drop in boiler pressure indicated there was a problem somewhere. The drip was getting worse through the day so we eventually took the decision to call an emergency plumber - not a step to take lightly. Astronomical does not describe it, but eventually we managed to get somebody to come out without having to sell all our limbs.
It didn't take long to find water. As the plumber investigated downstairs, I started unscrewing floorboards upstairs, where the cause of the problem quickly became apparent.



Mr Mouse had been at it again!
As for the car, two trays of bait have been consumed and one field mouse has been caught in a trap.

I Finally Got To An Apple Pressing Day

Saturday 13th October 2018
26 degrees! Holbeach is setting all-time temperature records yet again.
So far as rare birds are concerned, the weather patterns this autumn have meant one thing  - there haven't been any, which is a relief in a way since the car is poorly and might not make too many long journeys. It has also rendered my life somewhat more uncomplicated.

The reason I mention this is that for the last three years I have managed to miss the Smallholders Club Apple Pressing day. Not this year though. I actually managed to show my face.

One of the club members kindly opens up his orchard so even those without their own apples can pick their own windfalls. Others bring along apple presses and scratters (an apple crushing / chopping device).

The whole process was very friendly and many hands certainly made light work. In fact I spent most of my time chatting while Sue got on with turning our bagfuls of apples into delicious cartons of fresh juice. Even the apple pulp doesn't go to waste as the poultry very much appreciate it.

Under the blue skies it really was a very delightful day.

Equipment set up, windfalls collected

Apples going into the scratter

Fruit presses in action

Chickens on the prowl

While we were there we took up a friend's offer of some spare quinces he had along with a few bags of sweet chestnuts. It was lovely to visit his smallholding for the first time too. Like us he started with a blank canvas but his plot has been maturing and developing for a few years longer than ours.

Quince jelly on the boil

Stocking up for Winter

Sunday 7th October 2018
The first winter thrushes arrived today, first a lone fieldfare followed by small flocks of redwings heading in across the fields.
Doubtless they looked down on me as I harvested some of this year's pumpkins and pulled potatoes out of the ground. Some of the pumpkins have fared poorly this year, but the Giant Pink Bananas (which are indeed pumpkins) have excelled, as have the Naples Long.

Sue was doing a sterling job making inroads into the wood pile. We won't need to skimp on the woodburners this winter.



Tuesday 9th October 2018
We can provide most of our own fruit and veg. We can provide our own meat. But there are some items which we cannot provide for ourselves. Loo roll, flour, cleaning products - none of these are totally out of our reach but some things are not so practical to produce at home.

In an ideal world I would buy organic, ethical and environmentally friendly, but unfortunately prices are sometimes prohibitive. I know there is often a hidden price to buying cheap, but economics do have to come into account.
Personally I think that some of the worst products should be taxed to directly support some of the most ethical products, but that is never going to happen is it? Until then, ethical shopping unfortunately remains the preserve of the middle classes.

My posh shopping

But I have come across a scheme which offers these products at very good discounts, bringing their price down close to their bulk standard cheap unethical counterparts. It is a national scheme which supplies local food clubs with a delivery once a month.
So not only can Sue and I now afford some of the products we want to be able to purchase, but we can run a food club to encourage local people to do so too.
Ok, we will probably be preaching to the converted, but we can only do so much for the cause.

Anyhow today our order arrived. All this for just over £30! (we did enjoy a twenty quid introductory discount). Now we know it works, we will be looking to get our food club up and running.

Wednesday 10th October 2018
A while back I discovered Priscilla (daughter of Elvis) ensconced in the stables harbouring a nest of eggs. Since we don't actually want more chickens, I left her with just three eggs and forgot about her.

On my way down to the chickens today I heard a familiar cheeping. There under the hedge was Priscilla leading two tiny chicks down to the rest of the chickens.

We set up a house for her in with the Silkies. The two little chicks are certainly very confident and seem strong

Meanwhile, by way of contrast to our harmonious country ways, the farmer next door was doing his best to erode the rest of his topsoil. I would be grateful for his gift, but I don't particularly want my whole smallholding covered in his denuded and chemicalised dust.

Pink Fir Apples - Late Developers come good

Nothing much was expected of this year's potato harvest. A dry, dry start to the year ensured the tubers never had time to grow well.
The rain arrived just in time to avert a total disaster but the yield was still appreciably down. Many tubers were not much more than pea size and the more prone varieties were pretty scabby.

Pink fir Apple potatoes are weird and wonderful shapes, branching like grotesque ogre's fingers

The only positive is that for the first time in years we have not had blight in the potatoes or tomatoes.

So far I have harvested the Arran Pilot, earlies which were surprisingly good considering conditions. However, my favourite Red Duke of Yorks pretty much disappeared without a trace.
I harvested the Charlottes and Kestrels a while back. These Second Earlies are normally the most reliable of all the spuds, but I only got half a sack of each this year.

And so into Autumn. I wanted to begin harvesting the maincrops a couple of weeks ago, but the earth has again been too dry to make digging much fun. After Saturday's prolonged rain I decided to have another go, but it was still hard going. The Desirees were somewhere between ok and disappointing and then I came to the Pink Fir Apples.

Yes, Pink Fir Apples are actually spuds! They are a very late variety. In a blight year the harvest can often be all but lost as the tops (haulms) have to be taken off before the tubers have had time to even begin swelling.
As I pulled out the nasturtiums and marigolds which had invaded the Pink Fir Apple bed, it became apparent that these late developers might actually have done quite well.
I scraped the dry soil away and they just came tumbling out of the ground. They are weird and wonderful shapes, branching like grotesque ogre's fingers, but that doesn't matter for they don't need peeling. We don't have a great problem with slugs any more since the duck slug patrol was introduced, but Pink Fir Apples really don't seem attractive to these slimy little blighters anyhow.

The success of my Pink Fir Apple potatoes is a victory for diverse growing, whereby several varieties of each vegetable are grown as an insurance policy. Something is bound to succeed!
If my recollection is correct, last time we had a bumper Pink Fir Apple crop was a similarly dry year.

Orange Fenland

Autumn brings dramatic sunsets on the farm. Given clear weather, almost every evening sees the western sky ablaze.
The only trouble is the days are really drawing in now. But that is part and parcel of the beauty of the seasons.

My last picture shows an increasingly common fenland upside down sunset.

Fields of pumpkins to satisfy the annual demand at Halloween. In an age when any sort of deep beliefs seem rare, the public seems to increasingly need to throw itself into more and more festivals, the origins and meaning of which are completely lost. 

Wisbech's historically famous orchards are thin on the ground now and Spalding's bulb and flower fields are scarce too. Times change and pumpkins are just as widespread now.

One day I must put in the effort and capture an orange sunset behind a field of orange pumpkins.

Just one final plea. If you do purchase a pumpkin, please don't just throw it away at the end. If you don't want to make soup out of it, at the very least add it to the compost bin or feed the wildlife with it. Alternatively seek out a pumpkin recycling point. They do exist.