Eyemouth, 8th & 9th November '26

After the previous week's adventures birding the hell (heaven?) out of Filey, it was time to head for Scotland, and two weeks in the Highlands (more of that to come). As usual, I pit-stopped at Eyemouth (on the coast of the Scottish Borders) for the night, and as usual as I took the opportunity to bird and run before heading up to Grantown-on-pey the next day.

With more lingering possibilities thanks to the preceding week's easterlies (which had now slackened, but remained promising), it was actually bird and run and bird - a couple of hours birding before dusk on 8th, a run after dark, and then a good few hours out birding on the morning of the 9th before the drive north.

The late session on the 8th was quiet on the land (a few Goldcrests, two Woodcocks, lots of Robins), but surprisingly busy over the waves, and so I focused on looking out to sea, where intense feeding frenzies were developing offshore. Tight, swirling groups of gulls, gannets and auks also attacted a Pomarine Skua, a Sooty Shearwater, and 25 Little Gulls - all bonuses under the circumstances.

The morning of the 9th was cloudy, calm (after a gentle north-easterly overnight) and initially with a little drizzle, which burnt off and brightened up later - definitely worthy of scrutinising the land. Out for first light and with a few hours to play with, I covered the coastal paths and golf course (with a keen eye out for wheatears or pipits - no joy this time) and then focused a favoured stretch of willow-dominated scrub close to the sea.

Again with little late-season warblers very much in mind, it was at least partially successful, and very enjoyable. Plenty of apparently fresh-in arrivals feeding up on the wealth of insects and berries, with Chiffchaffs, Goldcrests, Robins, Blackbirds and various finches present, as well as two more Woodcocks and the pick of the bunch - two cracking Siberian Chiffchaffs, and an Eastern-type Lesser Whitethroat.

I really love Sibe Chiffs, such an underrated scarcity of the late autumn, and kind of unfairly overlooked amongst more striking and/or desired eastern Phylloscs; those subtle tones are hard to beat, and considering where they've come from, I reckon they deserve a lot more respect....

I also really love the beautiful mess (at least, for now - looking forward to more advances here) that is the Lesser Whitethroat complex, and this little one was particularly interesting. A lovely warm brown above, extending well onto the nape, and indeed crown; a strong but restricted dark mask (with a neat subocular); warm buffy underparts (especially around the flanks, which appeared almost streaked from some angles!), contrasting with a pale throat;

plenty of white in the tail, with what appeared to be entirely white outer tail feathers (although no clear views of T5); often to be seen tail-cocking, with an (admittedly anecdotal) impression of a longish tail and short wings; and while I didn't hear it call, I tried some playback to see if I could get a response - no reaction to nominate calls, but instant reaction to halimondendri. Hmmm. Cracking bird, whatever part of Eastern Eurasia it originated from.

I finally had to call it - and, by extension, the east coast - quits by midday, and headed to the Highlands for a fortnight's work, rest and play. More to follow shortly.

Late autumn magic - Filey, 4th-6th November '26 (part two)

"I believe in miracles; where you from?" "A very long way away, as it happens"

Leaving the shrike to its own devices and with other admirers beginning to arrive, it was time to move on. With birds continuing to arrive on the coast, and conditions looking good, it felt like there was no time to waste; and there's no better fuel for finding a rarity than just having done so.

Gravitating (and partially levitating) towards Carr Naze, I had one intention... it's easy to say in retrospect, but looking at the latest reports and considering my next move, I was fully focused on finding a rare wheatear. Of course I've done similar things a million times before and resolutely failed, but if there was ever a time when the odds were more in my favour, it was now.

The first clear views on the clifftop of Carr Naze

Along the southern edge of the plateau, scanning the slopes slowly and thoroughly, the best I could do was three Robins - three more than I'd seen on my last circuit there a couple of hours earlier, so a good sign of new arrivals. Looping round and slowly checking the northern side, I glanced to my left and saw a bird flying along the cliff, quickly disappearing below the edge - but not quickly enough to avoid giving the heart-stopping impression of what looked like a white rump....

Legging it through the umbellifers between me and where the bird disappeared, I approached the incline slowly, looked along the side of the slope - and immediately flushed what must be a wheatear, black-and-white flashing tail and all. A couple of seconds of blind panic (because of the topography and general disturbance, many promising birds disintegrate before your very eyes here) later, and thank the gods, it landed on the opposite cliff edge.

I laid down on the slope and fired off some record shots before getting mt first extended, slightly calmer views - rare wheatear, yes; Pied Wheatear, most likely. Jesus! At this exact second Paul (Tymon) walked past with a bigger, better lens (my camera has been at death's door for too long now), and I quickly waved him towards me, somewhat rudely instructing him to open metaphorical fire on the little gem perched nervously in front of us (which he did more than ably as these initial images show - thanks Paul, and also Chris for the below).

From there, more excellent views as it fed on the slope about twenty metres away, and more opportunity to get proper detail; by now, it was almost certainly Pied (but caution is never a bad thing in these situations and so it was put it out as probable), and within a couple of minutes, the crowd twitching the shrike had covered the all-of-two-minutes walk to the wheatear.

At least, to where the wheatear was - it'd disappeared behind us, somewhere around Carr Naze Pond (well, hopefully anyway - it could also have just carried on, like so many wheatears do in this area). Thankfully we quickly refound it, and it even hopped up on the nearest fence for the assembled crowd to enjoy, before making its way over to the far side of the field and getting into a brief disagreement with the local Stonechats.

For the rest of the day and the next, it hunkered down in increasingly strong winds and poor conditions, but then chose to return to Carr Naze and happily fed on the slopes for many more visitors to enjoy, usually at respectable distances, over subsequent days.

Two much prayed-for national rarities, dropping in within minutes, and metres, of each other; what a day. And with the Coues's Arctic Redpoll the day before, a hat-trick of BBRCs, the latter of which I found in the same spot on Carr Naze as the wheatear - which was also coincidentally the same spot I found an Olive-backed Pipit in April 2012, a couple of weeks after moving to Filey - my first BBRC rare there; maybe that's where some mystical rarity leylines meet....?

The next two days (5th and 6th), again spent dawn-to-dusking it at Filey, were enjoyable, without being quite as memorable - highlights included lots of Mealy Redpolls, a Siberian Chiffchaff, an Eastern Lesser Whitethroat, a few Twite, two Lapland Buntings and a scattering of other migrants (but no little leaf warblers, despite best, lengthy efforts).

With the benefit of a few day's hindsight (I'm typing up here in Scotland, where i'm guiding for the next couple of weeks), I'm even more appreciative of last week's adventures. One the one hand, almost inconceivably lucky, and doubtless unique in how it played out; but on the other, as the cliche goes, you make your own luck, by putting in the hard yards and staying stubbonly focused.

Water Rail, freshly arrived in Top Scrub

As a swings-and-roundabouts aside, autumn 2016 springs to mind (with plenty of coastal birders comparing that autumn with this for delivering exceptional eastern rarities and scarcities); I still vividly remember doggedly patrolling my Filey patch, hour after hour, day after day, week after week, and finding almost nothing (bar a couple of always wonderful Pallas's Warblers and a few other scarcities), while sparkling rarities rained down either side of me for what felt like months on end.

The Filey Church fish pointing east in early November!

This autumn? Far less opportunity and effort than those days of obsessive tunnel vision, and yet Filey repaid my faith, yet again, and then some. Eventually, even the worst of the ghosts get exorcised.

Late autumn magic - Filey, 4th-6th November '26 (part one)

So, the 4th was day three of my five days' distraction-free birding time on the coast. As mentioned in the last post, I'd blocked out the time off on the calendar well in advance, and from there, the conditions (and rewards) were in the hands of the birding gods; whichever way that went, I'd be out birding somewhere within a stone's throw of the North Sea anyway, it being my favourite time of year and my favourite area to enjoy it.

A bench and some vegetation on the south side of Top Scrub. Hang on a second 

Those gods had been kind, especially the day before, with a fluffy Arctic snowball dropping in before me on Carr Naze; and they promised more, with the easterly airflow holding firm overnight and beyond.

After the redpoll (a welcome harbinger), my plan was simple - stick to focused, steady patrols of the northern coastal area at Filey, and keep the faith. (It's worked for the last fifteen years or so, so it was a case of if it ain't broke, don't fix it).

The wizened peninsula of Carr Naze and its weedy plateau are more often than not the centre of my attentions during such times, augmented with regular checks of Top Scrub, North Cliff, the Rocket Pole Field, Long Lane, Arndale and Church Ravine: all within a small, easily walkable area, and each one the venue of multiple rarity self-finds over the years (and thus fuelled by happy memories and plenty of inspiration).

A word on the wider picture this week: those prayed-for easterlies have delivered many a rarity and scarcity along the coast between Yorkshire and Suffolk, with legendary hotspots like Spurn absolutely chocful of killers; wonderful stuff, and while I fully understand why birders gravitate to those honeypots, my instinct is and always has been the same - to get out and find my own birds.

For no particular reason or ethos, I have at best limited, and usually zero, interest in twitching other people's birds; by no means a judgement on those that do, but simply a reflection of what gets my pulse racing. I appreciate it's not everyone's bag, but for me, the thrill of the self-find is unparalleled.

Alright, so back to the birding. I (and comrades birding neighbouring coastal sites) had high hopes for the morning of the 4th, with those easterlies, combined with low cloud, promising much. Again driving the A64 in the dark and arriving at Filey for first light, those first few hours were muted at best; despite forensic sweeps, very few new arrivals were either grounded or incoming, and as the morning passed it looked as though it may have been somewhat of a false dawn.

As midday approached, I arrived at the seaward end of Top Scrub for another patrol; birds were beginning to arrive elsewhere on the coast, and so there was no question of losing focus. Joining my friend Linda and her dad for a sedate chat, just like that, it suddenly turned into def con one - having tantalisingly disappeared into the deep scrub, after a couple of anxious minutes it returned nearby (nice one Linda!), and right in front of us, there was a beautiful, sandy-toned, red-tailed, anime-eyed Daurian (type) Shrike....

Scarcely believable in its tameness and disregard for our presence, we watched it pursuing various insect prey just a few metres away, disappearing for a while into the depths of the scrub but always reappearing along the sheltered edge before us. Incredible - such as special bird - I mean, aren't all shrikes, but just look at it - performing beautifully for us, in a spot I've spent so many hours scrutinising (with plenty of success, although not to this extent....).

Game on, and then some.... After more fabulous views, and then putting the news out, I took a long breath to enjoy the situation, bade a celebratory farewell to Linda and her dad, and, after checking the latest rarity updates on my phone, made a singular decision.

Spoiler alert - there's a part two, to follow shortly - and if you like vicariously enjoying this whole self-find thing, it's worth tuning in....

(This bench needs a new plaque)

Filey - 2nd & 3rd November '26

Alright, time for a quick recap, and then into the last few days of quality coastal birding....

Coues's Arctic Redpoll, Carr Naze, 3rd November '26 

It's been a very busy autumn - as they always are these days - with guiding, surveying and the School of Birding all (happily) taking up much of the season; coupled with the fact I've been living in York for two years now, the reality is I only get a fraction of the opportunity to hit the coast compared to the preceding twelve years, when good birding began (literally) on my doorstep.

But that's life, good decisions made and no regrets, and I didn't exactly waste my time when I was there.... (For my article in British Birds magazine summarising my time living and birding at Filey, click here for a free download).

Grey Partridges, Rocket Pole Field 

Scroll through my last dozen or so posts (in the right hand column) and you'll see a by-now familar autumnal mix of guiding summaries from Spurn, Flamborough and elsewhere, a School of Birding or two (usually based in the Highlands), scattered surveying days (often on the Humber or thereabouts), and then these entries - i.e., personal birding days on the coast.

Short-eared Owl arriving in off the sea on 2nd (above and below) 

These personal birding days are of course dependent on opportunity: not just in the sense of time off, but also in the distance involved - while a prerequisite of moving here was that we still needed to be within striking distance of the coast, there is of course no more "just nipping out for half an hour" (one of my more annoying and overused catchphrases, as my wife will doubtless testify).

So what used to be carpet-bombing is now a case of surgical strikes; hence, I appreciate my coastal birding even more. Not that I didn't during my twelve years living there, and as anyone who knows me will tell you, I'm eternally grateful for, well, every single birding opportunity I had; now, however, these opportunities are even more precious and I savour them to the hilt.

Little Egret arriving in off, 2nd 

Back to the near-present, and a couple of sessions sneaked in at the end of October were pleasant dress rehearsals for this week - which I'd steadfastly blocked off on the calendar off long ago, and remained mercifully resistant to accepting work or commitments (the guilt-ridden curse of being self-employed).

But as regular readers will know, this is unequivocally my favourite time of year for birding on the Yorkshire coast, and I was going to rinse it, whatever the weather. Naturally, as the week approached, my checking and re-checking of the weather forecasts intensified; surely those easterlies, stretching from as far as western Russia and western Asia, wouldn't hold? Or would they?

Jay in off, 3rd

While I've varied my choice of locations to keep life interesting in recent years, Filey has the strongest pull, for various reasons - including the fact I do plenty of autumn guiding at Spurn and Flamborough, it's the nearest coastal hotspot (under 55 mins), it's the most accessible (and birder-free) of all the best spots, and in truth, it has a birding grip on me that is nigh on impossible to loosen thus far.

Come the 2nd, and I drove through for first light, and with the winds in the north (and no apparent arrival of landbirds), I perched on the end of Carr Naze for a seawatch. A heavy passage of Kittiwakes (almost 3,000) and Little Gulls (over 300) were highlights, as were lots of Auks (including a single Little Auk), wildfowl (including two Velvet Scoters), two Med Gulls, two Great Northern Divers and more besides; after lunch, incoming arrivals included two Short-eared Owls and two Little Egrets among others.

Circuits of the clifftops and nearby cover revealed very little in the way of new arrivals, but overnight, the winds swung into the north-east as forecast - a direct line over the North Sea from Scandinavia and beyond.

A first calendar year Kittiwake over the Country Park (and my car) 

Back up onto Carr Naze early on (I could drive the A64 with my eyes closed at this point), and a modest selection of new arrivals on the first of many patrols - hardly the hoped-for fall (which never really came during the week), but pulses of finches, a few thrushes, and then a Jay in-off and ridiculously close.

A little while later, another patrol of the coastal path, and bang - a snowball descending from above and onto the cliff edge. Aware of how flighty freshly-arrived redpolls can be, and also of how nuanced their (sub)specific ID can be, I was praying for conclusive views before it inevitably exited the exposed runway of Carr Naze for more fruitful habitat.

Which, luckily, I managed, with a bit of stealthy fieldcraft and subsequently excellent views (if not photographs). Frosty overall, plain white undertail coverts, stonking suger-cube rump, tiny bill, distinct face pattern - Coues's Arctic Redpoll, a bird I've been trying to find here for many years. Bingo.

Two Lapland Buntings in off, a Siberian Chiffchaff in Arndale and a scattering of other migrants (including a handful of Mealy Redpolls) was otherwise as good as it got for the rest of the day, but with great views of a bird I've long since tried and failed to nail here, all was well with the world.

Back out on the 4th? Absolutely..... watch this space!

Grey Partridges (above), summer-plumaged Great Northern Diver in the bay (below)