South Polar Chills

 

It’s taken me a while to get around to more posting following a hectic August and back to work with a vengeance in September.  My first experience of being there at the finding of a mega will live long in the memory.

The second day on the Scillies gave us a chance to see Red-backed Shrike and a small number of migrants, but the late afternoon saw us take to the sea again in our second pelagic.  The target was Wilson’s Storm Petrel, and as we would be drifting and chumming, we were confident we would see at least one.  The sea was choppy but nothing too wild, and we buzzed past Bishop Rock (saw the Red-footed Booby there no fewer than four times, and it pretty much didn’t move on any of the four trips!) before heading out the the very edge of the Atlantic ridge to fish for blue sharks.

The sharks were obliging, and the experienced fishermen caught and tagged two, an incredible sight itself.  Corys Shearwaters surrounded us in a constant stream, literally hundreds of these graceful beauties gliding past us or sitting in rafts on the water, until the chum slick began to attract fulmar, gulls and then the magical sight of European Storm Petrels.  I last saw these in the mid 1990s, and I’d never seen one up close, so this was special and I spent a long time studying their bat-like flight and the way they fluttered but with directness in disregard of the elemental sea below.

A shout went up, Wilson’s!  Two of them, close in, stained glass feet dangling, yellow translucence beneath smoky plumage, walking on water as if to demonstrate their namesake who walked on the water, but without losing their faith and sinking.  They danced over the slick for a few minutes, here and then gone, butterfly to the Euro’s bat; elegant in comparison, and ephemeral over dark seas.  I was elated, an ambition fulfilled, a serious seabird seen and studied, and the sun was westering slowly, promising good sleep.

Then Scott and Bob, both experienced birders, clocked a skua overhead.  They’d been absent from the pelagics so far, and in total we only saw a single great skua and five arctics.  This was no ordinary bonxie.  Scott knew it, and he shouted “get photos of that bird!”  We all had read of the extraordinary find by Bob Flood earlier this year, the fourth ever South Polar Skua seen in British waters, and I had read his excellent guide to identifying them, though I couldn’t have assessed the moult so quickly like he did.  We all knew it looked good for SPS, but none of us dared breathe it until Bob had had a chance to study the images properly.  We watched the Skua circle and disappear, and the frisson of excitement on the boat was like nothing I’ve ever experienced.  We sailed back to harbour, absolutely buzzing with the sighting, and six of us piled into the Mermaid on a packed Friday night, cameras, binoculars, waterproofs in the middle of a very drunken scene.  Catcalls and wolf whistles were very much ignored by the second pint when news came through that the South Polar Skua was confirmed!  We cheered loudly, much slapping of backs (there may have been a small jig of joy, but I couldn’t confirm that) and there was more beer (Bishop Rock bitter, of course)!  It was excellent to meet Jack and Joe, people I’ve followed on Twitter, but never met until then.  

I think this experience goes the longest way to explaining why people who have patches in areas with potential go birding so often.  The thrill of being there when a super rare bird was found is like nothing I’ve ever known.  Even writing a month later, it’s giving me goosebumps, knowing that only the 40ish people on board on that night saw that incredible bird, and that I was privileged to be there amongst excellent company and real shared experience. 

The final note goes to Fraser, a friendly Kiwi with very sharp eyes and seriously good birding skills who, alone among us, noted that we were watching a South Polar Skua, and said quietly to himself, “damn, I was really hoping for a Bonxie.  I see South Polars all the time…”