INISHBOFIN
Finding birds in solitude
Please note: an update is underway; completion is planned for 2021.
Fascination springs from studying the comings and goings of Inishbofin’s local birds while hunting for the rarities that are attracted by the island’s fortuitous position on the edge of Europe. Inishbofin’s potential had been suspected by others, notably by Major Ruttledge, who visited several times and even stayed for four weeks in the autumn of 1956: ‘the quantity of movement appears unlikely to be great, but in suitable conditions it seems that there is as good a chance as seeing vagrants as any other island on the west coast.’ (Hutchinson & Ruttledge 1978). The checklist is a compendium of all known data. All years from 2006 onward are placed in bold print to signify the commencement of regular visits.
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
In true Irish fashion, a weather forecast full of eastern promise was replaced by Atlantic gloom. Southwest winds and rain pelted Connaught through the morning of 28th October 2006. The crossing from Cleggan was uneventful, although the swell was big enough to crash spray over unsuspecting passengers when the ferry cut into wind. Knowing nothing about Inishbofin meant that picking accommodation was a stab in the dark.
The choice of a leprechaun cottage in Knock, just five minutes from the harbour, was equivalent to hitting a bulls-eye. The garden contained four alders and five sycamores: a sylvan oasis. In light rain and slight wind, the trees held three Chiffchaffs, six Blackbirds, a Song Thrush, Redwing, Lesser Redpoll and Robin. Then a Reed Bunting called, followed by a Brambling. After the desert that was two weeks at Rocky Point in County Donegal during late September and early October, Inishbofin felt like Avalon.
Itching to blitz every other tree and bush in sight, I set off eastwards. This took me past thickets of bramble, fuchsia and escallonia among which I racked up plenty of Blackcaps, Blackbirds and Song Thrushes. I scanned stone walls, weedy field corners, crop patches and an overgrown graveyard and quickly came to regard Stonechats, Linnets, Wrens and Dunnocks as bread-and-butter birds. But hey, this place felt lucky. Especially, I liked the manageability of the habitats. No impenetrable tracts of bracken or gorse. Everything that migrants required was in quantities equivalent to the temperature of Goldilocks porridge: just right.
Spirits rose higher at the sight of East End Bay. Long locks of heaped up seaweed bled into strands dotted with shorebirds. About a ton of Sanderlings and the same again of Ringed Plovers (as well as Turnstones, Oystercatchers and Curlews) indicated that there was food to be found. The rotting wrack held Rock Pipits, Meadow Pipits and Pied Wagtails. More good omens. Running back from the coast, corners of ladder fields contained willow clumps and stands of reeds. A row of cottages along the shore was backed by gardens planted with evergreen shrubs.
From the arc of the bay, a track threaded past rock pavement and lake-filled depressions to a promontory called Sunfish Rock. Panning west, Inishturk, Clare Island and Achill filled the northern horizon. The summit of Croaghaun, Achill’s mountainous sea-cliff (688 m), was shrouded in cloud, elevating the scene to the realm of Conan Doyle’s The Lost World. Lines of Gannets, Fulmars, Kittiwakes and auks streamed past, pricking out lanes of a seabird motorway running along Inishbofin’s oceanic flank.
A circular walk linked back to the cottage via the upper contours of Cloonamore, swinging past useful cover around the Dolphin Hotel and Youth Hostel. Easy peasy! Exploration of the remainder of Inishbofin marked out oases of natural vegetation at the head of Bofin Harbour, surrounding the church, above Inishbofin House Hotel and in the vicinity of homes across Fawnmore. Plots of potatoes and root vegetables were scattered across settled parts of the island, providing sustenance for House Sparrows and Goldfinches. Lough Bo Finne and its hinterland held Mallards, Mute Swans, Curlews and Lapwings. Although water levels were probably high, there was enough mud along some of the shoreline to entice wading birds to pause and expect to find food.
Beyond Lough Bo Finne, the land rises to Westquarter Mountain (highest point Cnoc Mor, 292m). This remains terra incognita. Lough Bo Finne is separated from the sea by the stony battlement of North Beach. Beyond here ‘civilisation’ peters out and the terrain is uninhabited. Dominating the western frontier, a collection of sea-stacks — The Stags — punch skywards like an intimidating row of dragon’s teeth. In conclusion, Inishbofin has the right habitats, is in roughly the right place and appears to be made of the right stuff — rare bird magnetite!
Great Northern Diver Gavia immer
In keeping with most parts of Ireland’s Atlantic coastline, Inishbofin is a good place to see Great Northern Divers arriving from over the sea in autumn. As a general rule, birds pass singly. Passage gets under way in October and the best conditions are days of onshore winds from a northwest quadrant — used by the birds to carry them south on favourable weather systems from Iceland, Greenland and even as far away as eastern Canada. So far, the numbers passing have been small, probably a reflection of minimal observer coverage. Up to four have been seen in the course of 90 minutes. In gales, a few opt for calm locations and move into bays. During the winter months, up to half a dozen (rarely more than this) can be found around the island’s more sheltered inlets, principally along the north and east coast. In calm conditions in late November 2010, nine were strung out along the coast. Of five seen well, two were juveniles.
Understanding the nature of spring passage is still a work in progress. In late April 2010, at least a dozen in breeding plumage were scattered over the sea between Dumhach, Inishlyon and East End Bay. Single-figure tallies were encountered in May. In 2011, from 27 April to 2 May, totals of between 2 and 10 were again encountered in the same areas. In 2015, during May, up to 15 were present. A secondary hot spot is off the southeast coast of Inishbofin, although no more than five has occurred here. Presumably, the birds halt for the final time before setting off towards northern breeding grounds. Overall, most seen were in almost complete breeding plumage. On calm days, some calling was heard; the same stillness prompts calls in autumn.
White-billed Diver Gavia adamsii
An adult well advanced into breeding plumage was seen from the island’s ferry a short distance east of Inishbofin Harbour on 13th May 2009. This is the seventh record of the species in Ireland and the first for Galway. In 2013, also on 13th May, John Brittain encountered a close-to-summer plumage adult White-billed Diver between Cleggan and Inishbofin. Over subsequent days he saw it again, allowing it to be relocated on several dates up to the end of May. It ranged from the northeast corner of Inishbofin to the sea west of Cleggan Head, a distance of four kilometres. Between dives it covered almost half a kilometre underwater and held its breath for around a minute. It is not inconceivable that the two records relate to the same bird. In 2019, one in winter plumage was off the east coast of Inishbofin — seen from the ferry — on 10th April. Presumably the same individual was still between Inishbofin and Cleggan over at least the following week (Seamus Concannon). Furthermore, it was also reported from the coast near Aughrusbeg, west of Cleggan (per Joe Doolin, Irish Birding website).
Red-throated Diver Gavia stellata
One was off Dumhach on 7th March 2009. Since that time the bird’s status has not wavered from that of a rare visitor. Just one has appeared during a seawatch, in late September 2012. I find this baffling, given the bird’s frequent occurrence around all parts of Ireland’s coast, including regular passage as close as the The Mullet, Co. Mayo. Three singletons have been recorded during winter trips on board the Island Discovery within one kilometre of Cleggan. There are two winter records on Inishbofin: 2010 and 2014, both off the sandy bays located at the eastern end of the island.
Black-throated Diver Gavia arctica
An adult was off Cleggan Pier on 28th December 2012. A first-winter was fishing inside Inishbofin Harbour (occasionally surfacing off the new pier) on 31st December 2013. Despite being locally common in south Galway Bay, the species is quite rare on the adjacent mainland facing Inishbofin. On 24th April 2016 an adult in full breeding plumage was off the southeast extremity of Inishbofin and gave wonderful, albeit brief views, from a RHIB. In early May 2017 and again in May 2019, an adult was off the southeast coast, between Tra Gheal and Inis Scine Mor. There seems a distinct possibility that the same individual was involved in the three sightings from 2016 to 2019.
Little Grebe Tachybaptus ruficollis
Occasionally during the breeding season, a secretive pair of Little Grebes lingers among the floating vegetation surrounding the margins of Loch-a-Teampaill. A displaying pair seemed all set to breed in May 2009. However, just one was present in June. Individuals occasionally commute through the hours of darkness between Loch a Teampaill and Lough Bo Finne. At Lough Bo Finne, a first-winter was present throughout October 2010. After an exceptional cold spell in December, two were in Inishbofin Harbour during the final days of the month. Since 2010, none were seen on Loch a Teampaill until a first-winter arrived in mid-October 2012. In 2015 a pair finally bred and reared two young. In October two first-winters were on Lough Tana in Middlequarter, the first occurrence here and — most likely — the youngsters from Loch a Teampaill.
Fulmar Fulmarus glacialis
Common around the coast. High cliffs afford updrafts for gliding and ledges for sitting. Although the species probably breeds, no proof was found in 2007 or 2008. Consequently, breeding numbers may have declined sharply since four pairs were recorded in 1968, rising to 42 in 1978, 300 in 1987 and 210 in 2003 (Gordon 2006). During the course of a visit to Inishark in early October 2008, at least 100 were present sitting on cliff ledges. Data published by Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) charted a rise in breeding pairs on Inishark as follows. 1932 30 pairs; 1943 33 pairs; 1956 40 pairs; 1965 130 pairs; 1968 238 pairs; 1975 300 pairs. Given the size of the local population, it is difficult to disentangle migrants from loiterers. Perhaps most Fulmars seen in October are coming from no further away than Inishark? However, genuine weather-related passages do occur (see below).
2008 At least 1200 passed in gale-force westerly winds on 26th October 2008; a further 500 were encountered during westerly gales on 21st November (when an exceedingly dark Blue Fulmar was seen).
2009 On 3rd October, passage in NW winds up to force 7 reached 350 from 0900–1130 hrs but at least 1000 passed later that day from 1700–1830 hrs. On 2 November, at an estimated 5000 passed in a westerly gale.
2010 During four hours on 5th October, a mere 20 passed in a southwest gale that produced 10,000 Gannets. Perhaps southwest winds tap a poor source area? Northwest winds are more productive. Alternatively, Fulmars dispersing from northern breeding grounds may not be ‘within range’ of Inishbofin’s offshore waters until later in the autumn, thereby accounting for temporal vagaries in passage totals. On 18th October, at least 100 passed in just half an hour in W winds of force 5. On 19th October, approximately 400 were passing every hour in NW winds of force 5–7. On 27th October, 300 an hour were passing every hour in SW winds of force 5.
Blue Fulmar Fulmarus glacialis
Blue Fulmar is a colour phase of Fulmar. Northern populations breeding in high latitudes contain a large proportion of ‘Blue’ Fulmars. Hence it is possible to link migrants seen off Inishbofin to a source in the High Arctic. Some are less blue than others, although even the least coloured are still distinctive and, at a minimum, show dusky underwings (invariably white on Fulmar). One was among Fulmars just east of Inishbofin on 23rd August 2008 and a strikingly dark individual was among at least 500 Fulmars that passed during the course of a westerly gale on 21st November. In 2009, on 3rd October, a remarkable total of ten solitary individuals appeared among a passage of Fulmars in northwest winds. Another was seen in similar conditions on 2nd November.
Great Shearwater Puffinus gravis
Inishbofin’s best sea-watching point is on the northern tip of Westquarter (Feich Charraig). From here, Great Shearwaters are occasionally seen when weather conditions are opportune. Unfortunately to reach the headland, a one-hour walk is entailed if setting out from lodgings at Knock. Infrequent coverage undoubtedly means that Great Shearwaters, as well as other scarce seabirds, are under-recorded. 2007: one on 11th October 2008: six 8 km west of Inishbofin on 24th August (pelagic trip) 2009: two on 3rd September; 2010: three on 5th September; 2012: two 5 km west of Inishbofin on 16th July (John Brittain); 2013: 13 on 19th August ; 2014: one on 3rd October.
Oscar Merne made a reference to both this species and Cory’s Shearwater observed from Inishark in a sea-watching summary published in the 1965 Irish Bird Report. The comment states that small numbers of both species passed on unspecified dates between 15th July and 22nd August.
Cory’s Shearwater Calonectris diomedea
One was seen from Feich Charrig on 19th August 2013. Between 1245hrs and 1630hrs other memorable sights included 13 Great Shearwaters, 4 Balearic Shearwaters, 926 Sooty Shearwaters and two Sabine’s Gulls. Without doubt, Inishbofin’s ocean-facing coast has the potential to produce the goods!
Sooty Shearwater Puffinus griseus
Regular passage migrant in autumn. Given suitable weather conditions, large numbers occur. Almost all land-based observations are from Westquarter. Because the species is regular from late August to late October, the following counts are presented to give a flavour of the species’ presence. 2007: twenty were seen on several early October watches lasting no more than two hours. 2008: twenty were seen on a pelagic trip five miles west of Inishbofin on 31st August. 2009: two passed in strong westerly winds on 2nd November 2009. 2010: 35 in 90 minutes on 3rd October; 120 between 0900–1200 hrs on 5th October. 2011: gale-force northwest winds on 16th July produced 25 over the course of two hours; about ten were seen in less severe weather on 17th July. Record counts were made in the aftermath of a former hurricane on 5th September when at least 1,000 passed over the course of the day. Subsequent three-hour counts during September were 236 (on 6th), 340 (on 12th) and 63 (on 13th). 2013: 926 passed Feich Charraig on 19th August. 2014: 120 on 3rd October. 2015: Around 20 encountered on a pelagic trip west of Inishark on 13th October, most were singletons passing south.
Manx Shearwater Puffinus puffinus
Common offshore. No spectacular movements have been recorded during autumn. However, during strong westerly winds around 27th April 2011, at least 5,000 were ‘circling’ in the western approaches between Inishbofin and Inishark. Unusually, many were rafting on the sea between bouts of flying. During a northwest gale on 16th and 17th July, a continuous passage of up to 3,000 an hour took place over eight hours spread over both days. Birds could be seen approaching in arcing glides from a considerable distance before making a transit of the bay north and east of Feich Charraig, then battling past The Stags. It is not known whether as many as 15,000 were involved over the course of this passage or if a smaller number of birds were circulating in a great wheel many kilometres wide. In high winds on 5th September, 2,100 passed during three hours.
Past evidence points to long-standing breeding on Dun na Hinine, a sizeable sea stack topped by soft soil and located very close to the northeast coast of Inishbofin. In 1920 an incubating bird (complete with its egg) was discovered and other burrows suggested a small colony. Calling birds were present in 1943, although no visits were made to establish breeding activity. In 2000, ten or more occupied burrows were found. Elsewhere, occupied burrows were located close to Inishbofin at Inishark (50), High Island (22) and Cruagh (3286). There is a need to re-survey Dun na Hinine as the surface is riddled with burrows. The pitted texture of the terrain is even obvious on Google Earth! In July 2011, a brief check of the western slopes of Inishark revealed at least 100 occupied burrows (based on smell). In October 2008, fragments of three Manx Shearwaters were found on a high vantage point near Sunfish Rock. The culprits were Peregrines. The remains were fresh enough to accord with the birds having been killed during autumn. Peregrines also hunt in the same area during spring and 14 Manx Shearwater corpses were found on a nearby cliff-top in late May 2010. Peregrines breeding on Inishark also catch Manx Shearwaters; several freshly eaten remains were located in July 2011. During autumn, Peregrines are sometimes seen flying out to sea at high speed, clearly hunting. Because, since 2009, almost all seawatching takes place from Westquarter, Peregrine forays are missed due to the birds usually stationing themselves one mile further east, above Sunfish Rock. A regular event in September is the discovery by local inhabitants of errant juveniles. Youngsters are discovered around well-lit buildings whose lights presumably dazzled them on maiden flights. None are actually harmed. Best practice is to release the bird at night on a beach. None need food as they have enough fat deposited to last them for days.
Balearic Shearwater Puffinus mauretanicus
Seven have been seen from Feich Charraig, the watch-point on the northern tip of Westquarter. In 2010 one passed on 5th October during fresh southwest winds. In 2011 one passed during blustery northwest winds that precipitated a heavy passage of Manx Shearwaters on 17th July; another was seen on 12th September. In 2013 four passed between 1245–1630 hrs on 19th August.
European Storm-petrel Hydrobates pelagicus
Common offshore. Possibly breeds in small numbers on Dun na Hinine, where Ruttledge estimated five breeding pairs on a visit made during the 1950s. Between 50 and 100 pairs breed on High Island, just four miles to the south of Inishbofin. One ringed on 5th August 1977 at Skolkholm off the Welsh coast was retrapped next day at High Island. Approximately 100 were ‘chummed’ five miles west of Inishbofin in the course of short pelagic trips on 24th and 31st August 2008. Five were seen when southerly gales veered westerly on 26th October. In 2010, in similar conditions, one was seen on 27th October. Individuals seen in September and October are almost certainly juveniles, some of which do not vacate nesting burrows until comparatively late in autumn. In northwest winds up to gale force on 16–17 July 2011 at least ten passed Feich Charraig each day. In high winds, around 40 passed on 5th and 12th September.
The following account was published on Facebook [anthonymcgeehanphotography] on 10th June 2016. The content (and sound recording) relates to encountering a Storm Petrel calling in daylight on High Island, about 5km southeast from Inishbofin.
‘I’m sure that everyone has a personal jinx, something that you feel destined never to achieve or experience. Almost by definition, the jinx has slipped through your fingers before, a fact that makes it all the more exasperating. Well, I knocked off a big jinx of my own when I managed to make a sound recording of a Storm Petrel (or, to give the bird its full name, European Storm Petrel) on a small and virtually impregnable islet off the Galway coast. The place is called High Island. It is uninhabited, even by sheep. Their absence means that the place is carpeted in wildflowers; mainly pink thrift and yellow vetches and trefoils. In the middle of that lot sits a tiny ancient monastery about the size of a six-berth caravan. And among the monastery walls came the ‘nocturnal’ hiccupping of a Storm Petrel. All this in broad daylight on a hot afterrnoon. I don’t know why the bird (or birds … there might have been two inside the stone wall, as discussed in the notes accompanying the first recording) was calling at such a bright hour but I was delighted. You can hear the amazing performance. It felt great to capture it after the frustation of being in the same company on other Irish islands but being beset by some kind of a hex encompassing dead batteries to a heavy rain shower (that silenced the birds) to ‘wrong jacket syndrome’ whereby I’d left the recorder in my reserve waterproof coat in a hut hundreds of feet below the location of calling birds. The two photographs depict Storm Petrels. The bird inside the stone cavity was on Skellig Michael, poor thing (wall ‘repairs’ take place there during the breeding season, destroying many eggs and young).’
http://www.xeno-canto.org/320811; http://www.xeno-canto.org/320816; http://www.xeno-canto.org/320817
Wilson’s Storm-petrel Oceanites oceanicus
Two were discovered among Storm Petrels attracted to chum five miles west of Inishbofin on 24th August 2008; the first records for County Galway. One passed Westquarter (Feich Charraig) in the late afternoon of 16th July 2011. Northwest winds close to gale force produced a passage of Manx Shearwaters, Sooty Shearwaters and Storm Petrels. The Wilson’s Petrel was alone, although Storm Petrels were seen before and after. The bird hove into view as a ‘big-winged’ petrel gliding into a wave trough. The sheer size of its cupped wings suggested that it was a Leach’s Petrel. It was unfazed by the conditions and flew strongly. In contrast, all Storm Petrels flew busily with continuous fluttering and scarcely any glides, except for the briefest of planing movements. Its wings were fat and the body and ‘rear section’ were long. Sometimes it deviated from travelling west and broke into puppet-on-a-string pitter-pattering. While Storm Petrels behave similarly, Wilson’s shape and ‘mastery’ of the manoeuvre make it distinctive. The long dangling legs and Lapwing-like wings were clearly not those of a Storm Petrel. At circa 500 m, the underwings were dark; those of Storm Petrel showed white at this distance. The upper wing surfaces had a narrow grey carpal bar. Had the bird been a Leach’s, the bar on the upper wing would have been more eye-catching. Given the gusting wind, the Wilson’s flew with surprising ease. It powered along in a brisk, often long-sustained glide; its wings looked ‘locked’ like a fixed-wing glider and the turn-of-speed over the sea seemed inexplicable: how could it move forward quickly without appearing to flap? The answer would appear to lie in the broad wings that cup the air and allow the bird to power forwards. Storm Petrel wings ‘miss the cut’ in these conditions and flap incessantly to maintain flight momentum, only occasionally gaining respite with a short glide.
Leach’s Storm-petrel Oceanodroma leucorhoa
Leach’s Storm Petrels are regular autumn passage migrants in Irish offshore waters. Blustery winds at times of peak passage in late September drive some close inshore along the windward coast of Inishbofin. One was seen in the course of a pelagic trip five miles west of Inishbofin on 31st August 2008. In 2009 several were seen during sea-watches from Feich Charraig on Westquarter: six on 4th September; six on 14th September and two on 2nd November. In 2010 one passed in strong southwest winds on 3rd October. In 2011 one passed in northwest winds on 17th July; three were seen on 5th September and five on 13th. In 2013 nine passed on 15th September.
Gannet Morus bassanus
Present offshore throughout the year; common at all times except in winter. During May, a few Gannets have been seen sitting atop the huge sea stack (Buachaill) on the west side of Inishark. A precursor to breeding? Migration of all-dark juveniles from northern breeding colonies (in Scotland and Iceland) does not become obvious until early October. 2008: in a westerly gale on 26th October 1,500 passed south. 2010: On 5th October, in excess of 1,000 passed per hour between 0900–1200 hrs in winds of southwest force five. The day total was at least 10,000.
Cormorant Phalacrocorax carbo
Occurs throughout the year. Cormorants do not breed on Inishbofin and the species is greatly outnumbered by Shags. Day counts have not exceeded six. Almost invariably, a non-fishing singleton is detectable on boulders close to the water’s edge on the northeast shore of Lough Bo Finne. On Inishbofin’s lakes, birds actively fishing have only been seen at three locations: Lough Bo Finne, Loch a Teampaill and Lough Tana. Along the marine coast, singletons are occasionally encountered on rocks in the middle of East End Bay, off North Beach or on rocks at the entrance to Inishbofin Harbour. Over several visits since 2011, none have been discovered breeding on Inishark. In Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) it is stated that 30 pairs nested on Inishark in 1965 and five pairs did so in 1968.
Shag Phalacrocorax aristotelis
Small concentrations of breeding birds occur at widely separated locations: around a dozen pairs on cliffs along the northeast coast (east of Doon-a-Hinine); half-a-dozen in the blowhole at Westquarter; and roughly 25 in a deep gully on the eastern flank of Knock Hill. Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) cited the number of breeding pairs at 60 in 1968 and 65 in 1978. Many more breed on the surrounding islands. A large outcrop off the coast beyond Doon More regularly holds 150 ‘wing-dryers’ throughout the year. Standing groups are also a common sight on islets north of East End Bay. Swimming parties are a regular sight on the sea just west of Inishlyon (Inish Leaghain); up to 75 have been seen in a loose flotilla. On calm days, many can also be seen beyond Inishlyon towards Davillaun. When the sea is not disturbed, birds settled on the water conduct ‘wing-drying’. A remarkably pale juvenile (resembling a juvenile Mediterranean Shag) was in East End Bay during October 2008. In the autumns of 2009 and 2010, two further pale juveniles were seen around the coast. Perhaps there a local ‘gene’ is manifesting itself? No such pale types have been encountered elsewhere around the Irish coast by AMG. In June 2010, a brief exploration of Inishlyon revealed at least 80 pairs in a large gully along the eastern cliffs.
Grey Heron Ardea cinerea
A pair nested on a cliff in 1943, although the precise whereabouts is not known. Nowadays Grey Herons are frequently seen around the coast at all times of the year. Somewhat surprisingly, the species is not a common sight around the island’s lakes. During late September and the first half of October, up to a dozen may be present each day. By a short head, first-winters outnumber adults. Numbers dwindle during November and December, hinting that small numbers of migrants pass through in autumn.
Little Egret Egretta garzetta
Mick Goggins saw one at North Beach at Westquarter in mid-January 2009.
White Stork Ciconia ciconia
In 2010 an exhausted first-winter was discovered on 3rd September in a field close to the west side of Lough Bo Finne. The bird recovered, staggered to its feet, and then spent at least a week in the same general area. It strode sedately through fields of uncut grass and rushes and was occasionally successful in gleaning small items of prey from the base of vegetation. Initially, it patrolled a cut silage field. It was seen by many islanders and, toward the end of its stay, was reported at Dumhach and also circling over the eastern end of Knock. A bird of its size and conspicuousness would, had it died on the island, probably been discovered. The assumption, therefore, is that it regained strength and departed east.
Whooper Swan Cygnus cygnus
Uncommon passage migrant and occasionally seen in winter. In some winters during the 1990s up to 60 congregated on Lough Tana (Tommy Burke). Two remained together on Loch a Teampaill and in adjoining fields from at least March to early May 2009. A breeding pair of Mute Swans in the same area regularly charged the Whoopers, putting any thought of breeding out of their heads. However, they may not have been of the opposite sex. One remained until late May and then shifted to Lough Bo Finne where it became habituated among the resident Mute Swans for almost a year. Small numbers of migrants (up to 20 at a time) pass through in autumn. In 2010 the first party passed overhead arrived on 20th October (three adults and six juveniles); others went southeast over Inishbofin at the end of the month.
Mute Swan Cygnus olor
Lough Bo Finne is the epicentre of the island’s population and holds variable numbers, occasionally amounting to almost 100 in autumn. Up to three pairs nest at Lough Bo Finne whereas single pairs breed at Lough Tana and Loch a Teampaill. Other water bodies are certainly large enough to afford adequate taxi space to facilitate take-offs and landings but are little used due to peaty substrate that does not support much edible aquatic vegetation.
An occupied nest at Loch a Teampaill failed to produce young in 2008, although two family groups were present throughout October. Forty were present on Lough Bo Finne on 1st November. Presumably, the same birds remained on the lake as the same number was counted in early January 2009. By early March, just two (a pair) remained on Lough Bo Finne. At the same time a pair was in residence at Loch-a-Teampaill, revisiting the site of the 2008 nest and using it. Three pairs nested on Lough Bo Finne, at least two successfully. Curiously, by mid-July most Mute Swans had left the island. Four on Lough Bo Finne seemed to constitute the entire Inishbofin population. Had the others flown elsewhere to moult? Or had food resources become depleted at Lough Bo Finne? Based on up-ending feeding behaviour, Mute Swans graze bottom weed on Lough Bo Finne. It is not difficult to imagine that grazing pressure periodically depletes the resource. Daytime flights between lakes and coastal bays occur regularly and, it is suspected, local movements originating from the mainland bring Mute Swans to Inishbofin. In Ruttledge’s day, Mute Swans were less common. He noted breeding pairs at two locations (one being Lough Bo Finne) and gave six as the maximum count for Lough Bo Finne. In 2010 numbers at Lough Bo Finne did not exceed 18. This is in marked contrast to previous autumns and may reflect either poor weed growth (related to levels of summer sunshine?) or grazing pressure or a combination of aforementioned factors.
In January 2013 storms battered North Beach and breached the barrier separating Lough Bo Finne from the sea, allowing seawater to flood in. Although the breach was plugged, the influence of seawater most likely had an effect. Although no water samples were taken, the lake is bound to have become more saline, a process that rainwater will eventually reverse. Since January 2013 few Mute Swans have stationed themselves on Lough Bo Finne. During 2015, several visits produced no swans. The obvious assumption is that the incursion of salt water had a deleterious impact on the supply of water weed. Probably, over time, the situation will change. A less easily explained mystery concerns the loss of most broods of cygnets since the summer of 2012. All young reared at Loch a Teampaill have vanished, as have broods at Lough Tana. One possibility is that parents lead their young onto the sea and swim to the mainland. Although this seems fanciful, the tactic is used by female Eiders that chaperon crèches of small ducklings up to 20km from nesting islands in County Down, crossing several kilometres of open sea as part of the journey. However, for Inishbofin’s AWOL young Mute Swans, the explanation may be more sinister: predation. If so, by what?
Barnacle Goose Branta leucopsis
Wintering flocks occur on Inishark and numbers there can be observed from Inishbofin. A minimum of 150 was present in late December 2007. In October 2008, 400 were on Inishark. Geese derived from the Inishark population disperse to graze on other uninhabited islands in the local district, such as Davillaun, to the northeast of Inishbofin. As yet, none have been seen at rest on Inishbofin. Migrants arrive from the northwest from the middle of October onwards. Due to a paucity of suitable winds, the first flock of 2010 (39) did not arrive until light northerly winds set in on 15th October. Approximately 350 could be seen on Inishark (with smaller numbers on Davillun) by late October. One found long-dead in July 2011 on Inishark bore a green leg band bearing white letters XTB; its ring number was 1290692. During October 2012, 110 were on Davillaun on 10th and 250 on Inishark on 13th. Early morning and late evening interchanges took place between these islands and Inishgort. It is difficult to know if the true total for the area is the sum of all (360) or no more than a shifting corps of 250. In 2015 180 were on Davillaun on 11th October. In 2016, 258 were counted (using a telescope) on the slopes of Inishark facing Inishbofin on St Patrick’s Day. Just one was on Inishark on 24th April.
Brent Goose Branta bernicla
A juvenile was at Dumhach from 5–13th October 2008. A party of six came off the sea and overflew Inishbofin, heading east, on 27th October. In 2010, an adult arrived at East Bay on 8th October and moved to Lough Bo Finne where it grazed grass until early November. In December 2012, 17 resided at Dumhach until at least early May 2013. Five were again present at Dumhach during late September and October. Commencing in December 2014 (and remaining until some time in April 2015) a group of 25 became a regular sight at Dumhach. The birds fed on algae and green weed on the shores of Dumhach and Inishlyon. In late March 2016, 50 (a record high count) were together on Dumhach strand.
Greenland White-fronted Goose Anser albifrons flavirostris
In 2008 four flew west along the north coast of Inishbofin on 27th October and seemed to continue south over Inishark. On 31st October, calls were heard from a southbound flock invisible overhead at North Beach. Based on calls, the flock was probably small. In 2016 small groups flew southwest over the line of the main road between Inishbofin Harbour and Dumhach. They appeared around 1700hrs on 26th and 28th March. They were not ‘high up’ and may well have been heading to Lough Bo Finne to roost. Perhaps they were bound for Inishark? In late April, it emerged from conversations with islanders that the birds were feeding on fields between Fawnmore and the commonage northeast of Lough Bofin. One image, taken by Pat Coyne, showed 28 together. However, according to Pat, the overall total was higher and probably in the region of 35.
Pink-footed Goose Anser brachyrhynchus
In 2008 a wary first-winter was discovered on Lough Bo Finne on 21st November. It spent the winter in fields surrounding the lake and joined three feral geese. Its behaviour grew to match that of its wannabe wild brethren. However, when approached closely, it invariably flew to the far shore of the lake, whereas its associates walked off in a strop and called loudly. It remained on the island until at least 16th April 2009. In 2010 one was seen in flight on 15th April. A singleton arrived on the shores of Lough Bo Finne on 28th September and was joined by a new arrival on 8th October; both stayed into November. Although sometimes close to a gaggle of 15 feral geese, the pair remained aloof. In 2012 one was at Lough Bo Finne on 20th September and three others on the grassy headlands between Dumhach and Glasheen. Within a short time the trio joined the singleton and all four shifted to Inishark were they were still present on 6th October.
Greylag Goose Anser anser
A seemingly wild individual arrived in late September 2009 and grazed grass on the headland west of Dumhach. The bird was unapproachable and flew off at the first sign of detection. It was unquestionably free of any signs of inbreeding. Several days later it was seen again closer to East End Bay in the company of feral geese. This fact should not undermine wild credentials. In 2010, a patently feral Greylag Goose accompanied the same individual. The ostensibly pure Greylag seemed to have lost its migratory urge. The twosome became a regular fixture on the headlands east of Rusheen throughout 2011 and 2012. A ‘wild and pure’ pair on Inishgort in early May 2011 showed every sign that they were preparing to nest. Around half-a-dozen Greylag Geese were seen in flight between Inishlyon and Davillaun in early May 2015. A single Greylag consorted with feral white geese at Lough Tana from 8th to 13th October 2015. Unlike its companions, it was alert at all times.
Shelduck Tadorna tadorna
A pair was in East End Bay in June 2008. According to Gordon (2006), Shelducks arrived on Inishbofin in the early 1990s, when nesting occurred at the eastern end of the island. In 2005, pairs bred at Dumhach and on Inishlyon. In May 2003, five pairs were present on Inishlyon. In June 2010 one on Inish Scine Mor was detected by telescope from Inishbofin. Since then singletons and pairs are occasionally encountered on most sandy coastlines. The species is, therefore, uncommon but not unusual in late spring and early summer.
Mallard Anas platyrhynchos
Almost unrecorded by Ruttledge, who saw saw just one in June 1932. Nowadays Mallards are shy but ubiquitous and encountered in small numbers, typically just a pair at a time. No more than three pairs breed annually. Except in the breeding season, all are normally found on the coast or at Lough Bo Finne, where autumn migrants peaked at 42 in early October 2007.
Wigeon Anas penelope
Small numbers pass through, chiefly in autumn. Most are youngsters. 2008: a first-winter female was seen on various small upland lakes across the NE of Inishbofin on 13th October. Another first-winter was at Lough Bo Finne in late September. 2010: a pair was along the shoreline of Lough Bo Finne in in late cember. 2012: in late September and October three first-winter females made brief appearances on Lough Bo Finne.
Gadwall Anas strepera
A flock of seven arrived off the sea during a seawatch on 19th October 2010. Winds were northwest force five at the time. The flock continued in an easterly direction and was last seen over Lough Bofin. Iceland is the probable source of Gadwall noticed arriving along the west coast of Ireland.
Teal Anas crecca
Scarce winter visitor and autumn passage migrant. Up to four have been seen together. Typically singletons or pairs (drake and duck) are encountered. All are wary and usually fly a considerable distance when rumbled.
Pintail Anas acuta
Rare autumn and winter visitor. Four were seen in January 1997 and one in January 2004. Two were on Lough Tana on 8th October 2015.
Shoveler Anas clypeata
Two drakes (moulting into courtship plumage) were at Loch a Teampaill on 29th December 2010.
Pochard Aythya ferina
A drake was on Lough Bo Finne from 4th to 8th October 2008.
Scaup Aythya marila
A female was in East End Bay on 4th October 2009.
Tufted Duck Aythya fuligula
Seven were on Loch a Teampaill during hard weather in January 2010 and a female was on Loch a Teampaill on 13th October. On 22nd April 2016, a drake was on Lough Tana.
Goldeneye Bucephala clangula
A drake was on Lough Bo Finne on 19th May 2009.
Red-breasted Merganser Mergus serrator
Occasionally recorded as singletons or pairs, mainly at East End Bay in autumn and winter. A handful of migrants pass through in spring. An exceptional record was 22 on 16th April 1995. For several days in late April 2011, five were close to the western shore of Inishlyon (Inish Leaghain).
Eider Somateria mollissima
A female was in East End Bay on 10th November 2009. Two first-winters were in Inishbofin Harbour on 27th October 2014.
Common Scoter Melanitta nigra
On all other parts of Ireland’s coastline the occasional sight of a few Common Scoters passing during a sea-watch is regarded as normal. Perhaps it is simply bad luck but this did not happen during many hours of looking out to sea from Inishbofin from 2007 to 2015. The sole record involved a sickly drake that was swimming close to the shore at East End Bay sometime between May and July 2015 (John-Michael Coyne and Paddy Lavelle). It was taken into care but died. 2016 At long last a pair of Common Scoters flew along the coast of Inishbofin! The long-awaited event occurred on the morning of Saturday 19th March when a male and female flew southeast, about half a kilometre outside the entrance to Inishbofin Harbour.
Long-tailed Duck Clangula hyemalis
A female on Lough Bo Finne in late October 2009 remained until the New Year. In December, it was noticed that one wing was broken. Quite how the injury was sustained remains a mystery. Presumably the damage occurred after the bird’s arrival. No predators are usually evident on or around Lough Bofin. The list of suspects is threefold. First, a Peregrine Falcon could have struck the bird as it passed the coast, injuring it but still allowing it to scramble ashore and reach Lough Bo Finne. Second, an Otter might have attacked it while it was on Lough Bo Finne, perhaps while the bird was roosting. Third, the local pugilistic Mute Swans might, somehow, have injured the bird if it found itself ‘in the wrong place at the wrong time.’
Sparrowhawk Accipiter nisus
Scarce annual migrant, commonest in late September and throughout October; occasionally occurs in winter and spring. Identifiable individuals have stayed for several days. The majority are juveniles and both sexes seem to be represented in equal measure. The sea crossing may deter more from reaching Inishbofin on a regular basis. In 2010 a juvenile female was present for several days around 4th September; a different juvenile female was distinguished during early October and was seen intermittently until mid October, at which time two juvenile males appeared. Sightings continued on a daily basis until 17th October. Prey included Blackbirds and a Starling. Most migrant passerines had departed by 18th October, after which the weather deteriorated and small birds became hard to find. The hawks appeared to share these sentiments and none was seen after 18th October.
Buzzard Buteo buteo
One was watched in fine weather circling high over Dumhach on 20th September 2010 and continuing high and out of sight, tracking east.
Kestrel Falco tinnunculus
Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) listed one breeding pair in 1976. During October 2007, an adult pair showed attachment to the hillside flanking the east side of Loch-a-Teampaill. Possibly the birds bred in the area because a juvenile was later seen throughout the island during autumn and winter. Most autumns one, sometimes two, Kestrels are encountered. Sightings become rarer after October. In the first half of October 2015, three different individuals were present; each was encountered more than once.
Hobby Falco subbuteo
A first-summer was found with a damaged wing near Dumhach in early June 2015. The bird subsequently died and was picked up by Jackie Jefferson.
Peregrine Falco peregrinus
Occurs throughout the year. Ruttledge (1957) recorded breeding in 1943 and again in 1956. Since then, nesting has been sporadic. A hidden ledge on cliffs at Ard Liath on the north coast seems to be the preferred eyrie. During the breeding season, Manx Shearwaters caught at sea or near land at night, appear to provide a regular food source (see Manx Shearwater account). In autumn, hunting Peregrines sometimes fly out at sea to hunt other seabirds such as Leach’s Storm Petrels and Grey Phalaropes. On land and around cliffs, Rock Doves are occasionally pursued with unknown results. However, on two occasions when plucked pigeon remains were found, they belonged to Feral Pigeons, not wild Rock Doves (see Rock Dove account for discussion of a relationship between hunter and prey).
Merlin Falco columbarius
Regular autumn passage migrant, usually seen singly and not recorded every day. Occasional in winter and spring. Although sightings encompass all parts of Inishbofin, a favoured area is the north-south aligned valley running from the graveyard towards the harbour. The topography effectively forms a funnel compressed by steep hillsides. Passerines travelling along this line, principally morning flights of Meadow Pipits, finches and thrushes, provide quarry for Merlins operating from commanding lookouts. An alternative explanation is that Merlins listen for flight calls, since migrants are vocal on passage and may belie their presence in this manner, rather than being sought by a Merlin ‘beating the ground’.
Gyr Falcon Falco rusticolus
One was found by Emmet McGloin in early February 2015, plucking a freshly killed rabbit and sitting in the open near Cnoc Mor in Westquarter. It was occasionally spotted by locals and finally tracked down by AMcG on the morning of 7th April — only to watch it disappear out to sea.
Hen Harrier Circus cyaneus
One was seen in September 1960. In August 2010, a juvenile was filmed quartering over western Cloonamore. In October 2016 two ‘ring-tails’ (presumably youngsters) spent several days hunting over the northern ‘wilderness’ of Inishbofin. In October 2017, another ‘ring-tail’ was seen on several occasions on various parts of Inishbofin, although mainly in the east of the island.
Northern Harrier Circus hudsonicus
Formerly regarded as a subspecies of Hen Harrier, this north American equivalent is nowadays treated as a species in its own right. A young ‘ring-tailed’ harrier was reported on several occasions by several islanders during late October and November 2018. Often the bird was close, enabling it to be seen exceptionally well. Everyone emphasised the bird’s dark back and underparts that were bright rufous (‘almost orange’) and, to all intents and purposes, unstreaked. Photographs were emailed by AMG to islanders that saw the bird and were designed as a blind test because a selection of images were used, including Hen Harrier, Northern Harrier and Pallid Harrier. In every instance, local observers selected Northern Harrier as the bird that was on Inishbofin.
Marsh Harrier Circus aeruginosus
One was seen quartering over the large reed-bed near Clossy in March 2002.
White-tailed Eagle Haliaetus albicilla
This species, until exterminated by Irish gamekeepers, farmers and collectors in the late 1800s, occurred right around rugged parts of the west and north coast. Also known as Sea Eagle, the species fed mainly on fish and carrion. Golden Eagles, which suffered a similar fate at the hands of Irish citizenry, were a less common resident of mountainland from whence they occasionally made forays over farmland in pursuit of lambs and poultry. White-tailed Eagles were tarred with the same brush, despite being mainly a fish-eating eagle. Writing in 1849 in The Natural History of Ireland, William Thompson gave a fascinating insight into the bird’s status in Connemara and Inishbofin. He wrote: “Mr McCalla, writing from Roundstone, Connemara, in 1841, supplied me with the following information. It is common throughout that district; has its eyrie in cliffs rising from the sea; in trees growing on the small islands of inland lakes, and in one instance built on a green islet without any trees. A pair has bred for many years on the marine island of Inishbofin, and from the nest being inaccessible, a brood of eaglets has been annually reared; these have always left the island as soon as able to wing their way elsewhere. The inhabitants of the island believe, that the pair of old birds which frequent it, not only guard, and abstain from injuring their fowl, but that they will not suffer other birds of prey to molest them.” Writing near the end of the nineteenth century, Ussher & Warren (1900) state: “County Galway. An eyrie [exists] on Inishbofin and Mr. Evatt had seen five or six eagles there.”
Corncrake Crex crex
In 1956 Ruttledge found the species to be abundant. Nowadays few remain. Ruttledge’s words make sad reading: “Ussher found it very numerous. ‘In few places in Ireland can more be found in a restricted area than on Inishbofin’ (Ruttledge et al 1954). On all my summer visits I have found it abundant, with no sign of diminution. In 1956 so many were calling at once that I found it quite impossible to make a count.” Agricultural practice has changed dramatically on Inishbofin and led to the near-extinction of breeding Corncrakes. The conversion of meadows for sheep-walk effectively removed many breeding haunts. Nowadays the best habitat consists of runs of early-sprouting nettles and flag-iris beds supplemented, as growth advances, by grassland left uncut until late summer or early autumn. Data in Gordon (2006) charts the fate of the species from 13 calling males in 1968 to none in 1994, followed by a recovery to 5 calling males in 2003. Just two were heard calling in 2006, although four were craking in 2007. No more than four were recorded in each breeding season until 2014 when a considerable upsurge occurred; minimum estimates put the number of callers at ten. At three locations pairs were seen. The core habitat ingredient for all birds was the availability of nettle patches, several of which have now established around septic tanks. Until longer meadow habitat becomes available from June onwards, nettle patches serve as a life-line. In 2015, numbers were slightly down on 2014. Nonetheless, a once parlous situation for the species has been arrested. Inishark has also attracted colonists. A pair was seen in 2012 and at least one was heard calling from among nettle beds around abandoned settlements in 2013. In 2014, four males were heard (Tommy Burke). In 2015 it seemed as if no birds had arrived on Inishark until one began calling in June (Andrew Murray). Proof of breeding is still lacking for Inishark, however. In 2016, the first was heard on the evening of 21st April among nettles and irises at Knock. By 23rd April, three males were calling at Knock.
The following article, posted on Facebook at ‘anthonymcgeehanphotography’ discusses Inishbofin’s Corncrakes in more detail.
STING OF LIFE
A few myths seem to have sprung up concerning Corncrakes and their habitat needs. With hay meadows lost to the creep of mechanisation, most Irish Corncrakes make do with whatever sheltering herbage they find. Islands that escape modern farming methods still provide a home and beds of nettles are often key to the birds’ survival. Nettles have a strong association with old human habitations. I am not a botanist but the plant seems to thrive where soil is high in nitrogen or phosphate, establishing from seed and rhizomes (spreading roots). Disturbed ground or locations where trailer contents containing some manure are tipped often flush with nettles. On fertile land used to winter sheep, the animals’ waste products boost nitrogen and clumps of nettles spread from nuclei within the pasture. Thanks to the plant’s stings, nettles are not eaten by livestock and escape grazing by sheep.
Why do Corncrakes like nettles? Does the bird glean food from among the stems or leaves? Indeed, nettles are an important food plant for many insects, notably butterflies such as Small Tortoiseshell, Peacock and Red Admiral. For Corncrakes, nettle patches certainly come in handy for nest concealment but just about any kind of dense vegetation could hide a nest. Moreover, some nests are hidden below weed-covered trash such as an old wooden pallet. The reason why nettles are invaluable is because they cast a dense shade that prevents a build-up of matted vegetation — tussocks or the thatch that accrues from un-grazed or uncut grass. Hidden by nettles, Corncrakes are able to access ‘clean ground’ and among this they find their food by a combination of sight and sound.
It may come as a surprise but Corncrakes live on much the same fare as a Blackbird. The only difference is in choice of feeding grounds: Blackbirds hunt in the open; Corncrakes are guerrillas. Sheltered by overarching greenery, Corncrakes listen intently and their body language — if you are lucky enough to observe it — is similar to a stalking thrush. To understand how birds hear food in the ground, you need to read this short paper: Montgomerie, R., & Weatherhead, P.J. 1997. ‘How robins find worms’, Animal Behaviour, 54:143–151. Alternatively, a chapter entitled ‘How Blackbirds detect worms’ in BIRDS OF THE HOMEPLACE (McGeehan & Wyllie, 2013) deals with the subject and is partly based on the work of Montgomerie and Weatherhead.
Nettle patches are, therefore, invaluable. When Corncrakes are freshly arrived in late April other cover, if it can be found, is equally acceptable. Iris beds and lengthening grass are the usual alternatives. However, fields choked with rushes or the dense understorey of dry reed-beds is unsuitable. The reason, in case you have not worked it out, is because food cannot be extricated from among matted ground vegetation. A Corncrake would need a pickaxe to uncover a beetle larva heard rustling below a clump of rushes. As summer warms the ground and longer hours of sunlight allow plant growth to forge upwards, vegetation in surrounding fields enlarges the Corncrake’s bailiwick. If sheep numbers are not excessive, a balance can be struck and there is ample fresh long grass to extend the bird’s universe. However, the ground beneath the lush vegetation still needs to be accessible, although probably most chick food consists of insects gleaned from among stems.
All of my notions are based on watching Corncrakes and constructing hypotheses that seek to explain why nettles are such a draw. Grant-aid schemes set up to encourage farmers to improve the lot of Corncrakes sometimes miss the point. To qualify, farmers are obliged to leave whole plots of grassland uncut. Fields alleged to be within a Corncrake territory are put off-limits to safeguard breeding. Such a broad-brush approach is not needed. Worse, farmers who are interested in helping Corncrakes are deterred because they need some of the fields for grazing. If know-how or common sense prevailed, just key zones (especially nettles) should be designated as no-go areas. The proof of this approach is manifest on some islands (for example, Inishark) where the only suitable Corncrake habitat is nettle beds. Everywhere else is tightly grazed but sheep avoid the nettles where the Corncrakes live. I shudder to think what might have happened to the fortunes of Ireland’s remaining Corncrakes had not the plant developed a sting.
Water Rail Rallus aquaticus
Heard throughout the year at Loch a Teampaill, which seems a suitable breeding site. Calling is most likely to be heard in the final part of the day before dusk. The species also vocalises from reed-beds behind East End Bay, west of Clossy and at Lough Bo Finne. On several dates during the winter of 2008–09, a single bird was observed feeding in the wet ditch that runs into Lough Bofin from near the back of the Doonmore Hotel. In 2009, calling was again heard in each of the aforementioned locations. Perhaps each is a breeding site? In 2010, during autumn, individuals were once again heard at traditional haunts, albeit only when the air was still. Single voices are the norm but two have responded to each other in the reed-bed at Lough Bo Finne and Loch-a-Teampaill. Evidence of immigration was provided by a ringed bird (ringed above knee, probably indicating a continental origin) discovered in a ditch near the Doonmore Hotel in late December.
Moorhen Gallinula chloropus
Most years, a pair nests at Loch a Teampaill; the only regular breeding haunt. On Inishbofin, Moorhens are amazingly furtive and shy. Singletons are rarely met with elsewhere on the island and are assumed to be Loch-a-Teampaill birds ‘on tour’. In 2010 a pair bred at Lough Gabhlan in Cloonamore.
Coot Fulica atra
Ruttledge (1957) states: “two on Church Lake [Loch a Teampaill] in May 1956.”
Crane Grus grus
A remarkable turn of events occurred during a prolonged spell of strong easterly winds in early May 2017. Perhaps the weather was responsible, although the more likely possibility is that two Cranes — or, more likely, three — in the skies above Inishbofin may have wintered further south in Ireland and were en route to breeding haunts in northern Europe. The first was above Inishbofin Harbour on Monday 1st May. Noticed because of the reaction of alarming gulls and a Raven, it was seen by several passengers on the island ferry, including Regina King and visiting birdwatchers, including Tom Macormack. Initially it drifted high to the northeast but eventually turned and was last seen high up and gliding west, towards Westquarter. On 7th May Augustine Coyne saw two Cranes travelling northeast from East End Bay towards Inish Laighean. Although the chances cannot be discounted that one of the pair was the individual seen on 1st May, it seems more probable that three separate birds passed through.
Oystercatcher Haematopus ostralegus
Common throughout the year. Oystercatchers breed at a low density. In total, maybe fewer than six pairs nest. The explanation is the bird’s highly-strung disposition and intolerance of human presence in the vicinity of nesting territory. Such watchfulness may be peculiar to Inishbofin because, in the past, most bird species were quarry. How else can wariness bordering on paranoia be explained for species that are blasé around people elsewhere in Ireland, from Moorhens to Black Guillemots? Unsurprisingly, breeding birds occupy remote parts of the coast, such as offshore islets at The Stags. Because Inishlyon (Inish Leaghain) is uninhabited, more nest there than on Inishbofin. During autumn and winter, somewhere between 100 and 200 occur around the coast. Certain headlands and remote outcrops amount to favourite roosts, such as Uaimh na Laoch jutting out beyond the northern edge of Dumhach or along the south side of North Beach Bay where 186 have been counted during autumn gales.
Ringed Plover Charadrius hiaticula
Common and present throughout the year. Several (probably no more than ten) pairs breed on stony or gravely terrain. The only saving grace for Inishbofin’s abominable airstrip has become the inadvertent creation of stony ground along the margins of the runway: ideal Ringed Plover breeding habitat. An all-island estimate of 25 breeding pairs in 2003 is, frankly, hard to believe. The feeding stronghold is East End Bay, where as many as 154 have been seen. Some commute to feed at Dumhach or roost among beach cobbles in Inishbofin Harbour, just below the shop. Rock and shingle at the base of the old pier at Rusheen is another favourite roost. First-winters decrease after late September, suggesting onwards migration by this age class. A handful of small, dark-backed [European] Arctic Ringed Plovers occur. In the past, all shorebirds were shot for food on Inishbofin, including Ringed Plovers. Perhaps this explains the skittish nature of the island’s shorebirds. On Inishlyon, 21 Ringed Plovers were killed in one shotgun discharge.
Dotterel Charadrius morinellus
One on 1st June 1992 (Kevin P. Collins). The exact whereabouts of the bird is somewhat uncertain but the observer distinctly remembers coming across it standing among cut-over bog-land somewhere across Westquarter.
Golden Plover Pluvialis apricaria
Fast-moving flocks (up to 60-strong) cross Inishbofin during autumn en route to County Galway. Plaintive overhead calls often indicate passage. Occasionally small parties are surprised from rough grassland where a group had been crouching unseen. Once startled, they are off. Flocks behaving in this manner have been encountered around Lough Tana and on the heathery summit of Cloonamore. The flat and stony hinterland of the ghastly airstrip occasionally entices some to land.
American Golden Plover Pluvialis dominica
One on 9th September 1999. Although accepted as a Pacific Golden Plover (and published as such) doubt has arisen regarding the bird’s call that, resembling a Spotted Redshank, tipped the identification in favour of Pacific, rather than American Golden Plover. With improved understanding of the full range of calls given by both species and the comparative regularity of American Golden Plover on the west coast of Ireland during autumn, the odds favour the bird having actually been an American Golden Plover.
Grey Plover Pluvialis squatarola
Uncommon winter visitor. Two were seen on strands along the east coast of the island during each winter from 200 to 2003. One was in Rusheen Bay on 28th November 2010.
Lapwing Vanellus vanellus
Ruttledge (1957) paints a picture somewhat at odds with local folk memory. Older residents talk of Lapwings being present and breeding every year across ‘The Bogs’ of Middlequarter. Named on a map of Inishbofin prepared by the Inishbofin Heritage Project in 1992, The Bogs have since been largely obliterated to make way for a ghastly unused airstrip. The original habitat consisted of damp grassland that stretched north of the High Road to Lough Tana. Ruttledge, during visits in 1932, 1943 and 1956, was only able to find one pair that ‘behaved as if they had young [in 1956]; otherwise not seen in summer and only a flock of six in December 1955.’ We will never know if the bird was genuinely absent during the middle decades of the last century. However, writing in 1978, Hutchinson & Ruttledge described a major change in status: ‘On the higher ground at the west end near Lough Bo Finne, Lapwings were recorded in flocks of up to 75 in September 1960, 120 in August 1974 and 40 in July 1975.’ Such figures strongly suggest a healthy breeding population because adults and juveniles band together in a post-breeding flock in late summer; a time when adults also moult into non-breeding plumage.
From 2007 to 2012 Inishbofin’s Lapwing population hovered around a total of forty individuals that, for most of the year, remained on the island. The breeding grounds centred on two areas. First, the flat grassy ‘bowl’ of Westquarter lying south of the extensive region of cut-over bog. Second, the remaining mosaic of damp grassland and short heathland around the airstrip. Locals relate that, right up until construction work began, several pairs nested on the grassland stretching north from behind the school. Outside the breeding season, most feeding activity is concentrated on the commonage bordering the eastern shore of Lough Bo Finne and between Lough Bo Finne and the Doonmore Hotel. Breeding data exist for some recent years: eight pairs in 1974, 11 in 1976 and eight in 2003. From this information, it is reasonable to deduce that the population was holding its own. In 2010, in the region of eight pairs bred. During October, the peak count was 29 along the eastern shore of Lough Bofin. By the end of bitter cold in December, at least 50 were present. In March 2012, despite a perilously low number of just nine adults and with no sign of young by June (due to first clutches being eaten by Ravens) a heart-lifting 33 were present in a post-breeding flock in mid-September. Numbers slowly declined after this date. By late October, just eight remained. In 2015 the situation vis-à-vis Lapwing nest predation by Ravens reached a sickening low. Around ten pairs attempted to breed but none succeeded. Ravens harassed the nesting birds several times every day. Although some chicks hatched, they too were eaten. By early July no Lapwings remained on Inishbofin. During September a few returned but totalled a mere six by 11th October; by 28th October the number had risen to nine.
Turnstone Arenaria interpres
Common around the coast from August to April. Northbound migrants acquiring breeding plumage occasionally halt on Inishbofin during May. At around the same time, small parties of non-breeding one-year-olds can often be seen. In July 2015, eight non-breeding immatures were discovered on rocks at The Stags. Especially in September, southbound juveniles arrive and may comprise the main age class in groups tossing pebbles along shorelines. Inishbofin Harbour and the coast at Dughort (the bay in front of the Doonmore Hotel) hold most of the wintering population that numbers between twenty and forty. A high count of 84 was recorded in October 2012.
Sanderling Calidris alba
All strands, be they large or small, in the arc from East End Bay to Dumhach, are the exclusive home of Sanderlings. The species has not been recorded elsewhere, even though there are sandy beaches on the eastern shore of Inishbofin Harbour and at Tra Gheal, facing Inishark. As many as 165 have been counted on East End Bay in October. By coincidence, the maximum ‘winter’ count is also 165 for East End Bay on 29 March 2005. On the other hand, numbers vary considerably year-on-year and fluctuations are caused by a high turnover of migrants. In 2010 no more than 45 were across all strands during late September yet by 20th October the same beaches held 75. By determining age ratios, it became apparent that many juveniles were passing through or remaining ‘off passage’ for a few days. The number of youngsters declined during October, suggesting that they migrate further and do not remain on Inishbofin during their first winter. The wintering population is highly variable and ranges between 20 and 150. Given the amount of suitable strands in the general district, notably a few kilometres away at Omey Island, it is likely that birds are mobile at all seasons, thereby explaining the bird’s capricious status on Inishbofin.
Dunlin Calidris alpina
Surprisingly scarce; most frequent in autumn. Among flocks of Sanderlings and Ringed Plovers along Inishbofin’s eastern strands, no more than a handful of Dunlins have been seen at a time. In 2013, 13 were on Dumhach on 10th October. Elsewhere, the species is rarely encountered. Two have been found on the muddy edges along the northeast shore of Lough Bo Finne, a seemingly attractive habitat for small shorebirds but one that, thus far, has punched below its weight. A juvenile male Calidris alpina arctica, the endemic small Dunlin breeding in NE Greenland, was at Dumhach on 6th October 2012. In all likelihood, individuals from this population are probably regular along Ireland’s west coast.
Knot Calidris canutus
Scarce autumn migrant. In 2008 single juveniles were at Dumhach on 5th and 11th October. In 2010 singletons were at East End Bay on 4th October and Dumhach on 28th November. Since 2010, the bird’s status has remained that of a scarce autumn migrant. By the end of 2015, only juveniles have occurred.
Purple Sandpiper Calidris maritima
Two were with Turnstones on the reefs leading to The Stags in early January2008. One was near the Doonmore Hotel on 18th May 2009. In 2010, ten were together on Gun Rock, at the mouth of Inishbofin Harbour, on 20th May.
White-rumped Sandpiper Calidris fuscicollis
A juvenile, probably two, were at East End Bay on 1st November 2008. A juvenile was at East End Bay on 8th October 2013 and was relocated at Dumhach on 10th October.
Semipalmated Sandpiper Calidris pusilla
A juvenile was at Dumhach from 12th-14th September 2012.
Little Stint Calidris minuta
One was at East End Bay from 25–27th September 1956. In September 2009 one was at Lough Bo Finne and on the shore at North Beach.
Curlew Sandpiper Calidris ferruginea
Up to three were at East End Bay in September 1956: from 21–27th September single birds were present but two on 23rd and 27th and three on 25th September. In 2010, one was at Lough Bo Finne on 3rd and 4th September. In 2011, two were on the east coast beaches (East End Bay and Dumhach) on 15th September. In 2015, one was at Dumhach from 12th to 18th September.
Broad-billed Sandpiper Limicola falcinellus
One was on East End Bay on 17 May 2019 (per Joe Doolin, www.irishbirding.com).
Ruff Philomachus pugnax
Scarce passage migrant. During late August and early September 2007, two juveniles frequented Lough Bo Finne’s muddy margins and also fed on adjoining damp fields among Lapwings. In 2012 an adult female was at Lough Tana on 11th May and a juvenile at Dumhach on 15th September.
Buff-breasted Sandpiper Tryngites subruficollis
One came in off the sea during the course of a southwest gale on 12th September 2020. The species was widely reported across Ireland during early September 2020.
Curlew Numenius arquata
Found mainly across grassy fields, rough grazing and dune grassland; little feeding takes place along shorelines. Published counts are 120 for winter 2002 and 165 on 29 March 2005 (Gordon 2006). The 2005 figure seems suspiciously high. In January 2008 the island’s wintering population was 55. Most have arrived by the end of September. There are no breeding records for Inishbofin yet, curiously, Ruttledge (1957) remarked: “At all seasons in numbers up to 50.” In 2009, a flock of 15 adults was on fields on 22nd July. Where Inishbofin’s Curlews breed is, of course, a mystery. The answer could be as close as Fermanagh, although they could hail from Scotland or Scandinavia. In 2010, three juveniles were among a total of 22 seen in late August. Counts during the late winter of 2015 produced no more than 33. Given the low number of juveniles and what may be a steady decline in the number of adults, the fate of Inishbofin’s population is becoming a worry.
Whimbrel Numenius phaeopus
Common passage migrant during late April and early May; much scarcer in early autumn. From 29 April to 2 May 2011, at least 40 passed; several rested and fed among heathery terrain reminiscent of Icelandic breeding quarters. In early May 2012 spectacular migration was noted in the course of a late afternoon across Westquarter. Flocks were on the ground and flying high overhead. The trajectory of airborne groups was northwest and towards Iceland. Some flocks contained approximately one hundred birds. An estimated 700 were seen. One wintered in North Beach Bay from November 2007 to at least January 2008.
A recording of a ‘night flight’ of southbound migrants calling and passing over Inishbofin in the dark (at close to midnight on 27th August 2013) can be heard here: http://www.xeno-canto.org/363207
Upland Sandpiper Bartramia longicauda
One was in rushy fields west of the Doonmore Hotel on the morning of 30th September 2020. The bird was nervous and crept among vegetation, at times sneaking behind tussocks like a female Pheasant. After a cat-and-mouse session lasting almost half an hour, it flew high and was last seen dropping in the direction of the airstrip. Follow-up searches failed to locate it until two days later when, once again, it flew up at long range from rushy pasture near the reservoir (Lough Tana). Although it remained until a final sighting on 10th October, its behaviour made it very difficult to see.
This is the second record for County Galway. The first was 175 years ago! Details are recorded in various reference books. Here is the way Ushher & Warren documented the record in The Birds of Ireland (1900), ‘the first specimen was obtained by Mr Joseph Dunn, a Dublin game-dealer, among wildfowl sent to him from Ballinasloe in the autumn of 1855, and was probably obtained in the valley of the Shannon, or in that of its tributary the Suck, on which Ballinasloe is situated.’ We shall never know where precisely the bird was killed. Ballinasloe lies on the eastern border of County Galway. Perhaps the bird was shot in County Roscommon?
Bar-tailed Godwit Limosa lapponica
Scarce autumn passage migrant and occasional winter visitor. One wintered in East Bay from November 2007 to January 2008. Since 2010 a total of seven juveniles have been seen in autumn on beaches along the eastern shore of Inishbofin; another flew over Lough Bo Finne on 8th October 2010. An adult female was on Dumhach in June 2015.
Black-tailed Godwit Limosa limosa
A juvenile was along the eastern shore of Lough Bo Finne in late August 2007.
Redshank Tringa totanus
Passage migrant in small numbers, mainly at Lough Bo Finne. Elsewhere, small numbers winter around the coast. In 2008 15 were present at Lough Bofin during late September. In 2010, 16 were at Lough Bo Finne on 3rd September.
Greenshank Tringa nebularia
Scarce passage migrant and occasional in winter. Two were along the inner part of Bofin Harbour on 5 December 1956. In 2009 a juvenile was at Lough Bofin on 16 September. In 2010 an adult and juvenile were at Lough Tana on 30th August; a juvenile at Lough Bo Finne on 4th September and another at Lough Tana on 4th October. A different bird was at Dumhach on several dates in late October. In 2012 one was at Dumhach during late September and remained into early November. In 2015 one moved between Dumhach and East End Bay on dates spanning 7th to 13th October. In 2016 two flew south over Inishbofin Harbour on 22nd September.
Common Sandpiper Actitis hypoleucos
Breeding summer visitor; six pairs were estimated in 2002 (Gordon 2006). Regular haunts include Lough Bo Finne, Lough Tana and the eastern shore of Inishbofin Harbour, particularly around the islet of Glassillaun. Migrants have been detected as early as 20th April.
Common Snipe Gallinago gallinago
Common passage migrant in autumn. Flocks are occasionally seen arriving off the sea, landing among sheltering cover or passing over. On moonlit nights or in calm conditions just after dawn and during clear mornings, calls can often be heard from unseen migrants overhead. In late September 2007 and in early October 2008 groups of 27 were seen. Once winter visitors are ensconced, the species is less frequently encountered; absolute numbers are notoriously difficult to quantify. No more than 12 have been flushed from one of the richest feeding areas: Michael-Joe O’Halloran’s field behind the beach at the west end of East End Bay. The island’s breeding population was reckoned to be four pairs (Gordon 2006); during the breeding season of 2010 drumming was heard in four areas. During bitter cold in December islanders noticed many birds along roadside ditches. Dermot Breen’s estimate for the numbers present on 23rd December was 400. By 29th December a thaw had set in and, although many were still on Inishbofin, none were approachable or visible in the open. It seemed that most cold weather immigrants had departed whence they came.
Jack Snipe Lymnocryptes minimus
Ruttledge (1957) commented, ‘winter visitor in small numbers; frequents ground far firmer than that which it usually haunts on the mainland.’ During the bitter cold of December 2010, two were seen on 23rd (one in a ditch near the airstrip, the other in swampy pools west of the community centre) and another was picked up dead on 31st in Regina King’s garden, having been killed by a cat.
Woodcock Scolopax rusticola
Probably regular in small numbers during late autumn and winter. One was flushed from rough grazing east of Lough Bo Finne on 21st November 2008. Another was seen by Tommy Burke on Inishark around the same time. In 2010 during a cold snap in late November, five were flushed around Cnocan Buffog in Cloonamore along a sheltered valley leading towards Loch na nGruan. They were in cover comprising Bog-myrtle and mature heather. In the bitter cold leading up to Christmas, ten or more were present among willow clumps at the rear of Carmel Byrne’s house at Cloonamore. On 23rd December, five were flushed from various parts of Fawnmore and Westquarter. In late December, ten were seen across Knock. Some were flushed from bracken and heather in daylight. Around dusk, others were seen flying across the road between the youth hostel and Loch-a-Teampaill. In 2012 one was beneath a willow bush at German House garden in Westquarter on 29th October. In 2016, one was flushed from heavy cover at the back of the graveyard on 27th March.
Grey Phalarope Phalaropus fulicarius
Irregular passage migrant in autumn, albeit in variable, weather-related, numbers. One was seen just east of Inishbofin from the Island Discovery on 25th November 2006. During late September and early October 2007, Grey Phalaropes were seen with surprising regularity. Eighteen were seen in less than two hours during moderate west winds on 9th October. In 2008 during west winds on 13th October, at least 51 appeared off Westquarter (Feich Charraig) many of which dallied on the sea. Up to five were seen on other days of west winds in late October. Four were seen close to the Island Discovery on 24th October and another in calm conditions after several days of east winds on 2nd November. In 2009 two passed Feich Charraig on 3rd September and two were seen from the Island Discovery. In 2010 during October watches from Feich Charraig, nine passed on 3rd; 14 on 5th and one on 27th. In 2013 four were seen from Feich Charraig on 15th September. In 2015, two moulting juveniles (that had largely acquired winter plumage) were seen down to 10 metres on a pelagic trip six miles west of Inishark on 11th October. As is often the case, the birds associated with rafts of floating seaweed among which they picked for unseen food items.
Great Skua Stercorarius skua
Regular passage migrant in autumn. Up to 28 have been seen in a day. Over recent years three pairs have bred on Inishark, the first Irish island to be colonised. Others breed on Inishturk (one pair) and Caher Island, due east of Inishturk (two pairs). One was seen between Cleggan and Inishbofin in late December 2011.
Arctic Skua Stercorarius parasiticus
Regular passage migrant in autumn. Up to 12 have been seen in a day.
Long-tailed Skua Stercorarius longicaudus
Regular in small numbers during autumn. This species, as well as other scarce seabird migrants, is under recorded due to the limited time allocated to sea-watching. In 2007 a juvenile passed Westquarter (Feich Charraig) on 9th October. Noticed at long range, the bird was observed intently over the time it took to approach with 20 m of the coast, affording memorable views. An adult was seen on a pelagic trip approximately five miles west of Inishbofin on 31st August 2008; a juvenile passed close inshore during strong west winds on 26th October. In 2010 two juveniles passed Westquarter on 5th October and one juvenile on 18th. In 2011 two juveniles passed Westquarter on 5th September.
Pomarine Skua Stercorarius pomarinus
Scarce passage migrant in autumn. Although Pomarine Skuas are expected on days of suitable weather conditions, numbers are small and, as yet, no significant passages have occurred. On 12th October 2007 an adult accompanied a Great Skua just east of Inish Scine Mor; both continued west through the sound between Inishbofin and Inishark.
Mediterranean Gull Larus melanocephalus
A first-winter was at East End Bay on 12th October 2013.
Little Gull Hydrocoloeus minutus
Juveniles passed Feich Charraig on Westquarter on 3rd and 9th October 2007.
Laughing Gull Larus atricilla
A second-winter was between Cleggan and Inishbofin on 19th October 2007. It continued south and was last seen tracking in the general direction of Omey Island.
Black-headed Gull Chroicocephalus ridibundus
Scarce visitor. Although one or two have occurred annually from 2012 to 2015, none at all were seen in 2006 or 2007. A first-winter appeared briefly in Bofin Harbour during a southerly gale on 25th October 2008; possibly the same bird was involved in another sighting there on 29th December. Three first-winters were encountered in October 2010: one at Lough Bo Finne and two together at Inishbofin Harbour. Ruttledge (1957) wrote, “A few non-breeders in summer. More in evidence in winter.” According to Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978), between 1934 and 1976 the species did not breed. However, Gordon (2006) states that six pairs bred at Cloonamore Lake, presumably Lough Gabhlan na nGabhair.
Common Gull Larus canus
Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) recorded ten breeding pairs in 1976. Since 2007 breeding has continued at a low density at The Stags on Glassillaun na mBeann, the green-capped island tight against the highest cliffs, and occasionally at Gun Rock at the mouth of Inishbofin Harbour. More breed on Inishlyon and probably on other nearby islands such as the Inis Scine Mor, Inis Scine Beag and Inis Goirt. On Inishbofin, Common Gulls are present year-round. Immigration occurs involving the return of breeding birds and, in September and October, winter visitors. As many as 75 have been counted in late October.
A short clip of Common Gulls calling in springtime on the strand at Dumhach can he heard here: http://www.xeno-canto.org/363391
Kittiwake Rissa tridactyla
Common offshore, probably at all seasons. Many hundreds of Kittiwakes breed on the southwest cliffs of Inishturk. In 2003, 230 pairs were counted on Inishark; in 2011, Inishark held only 62 occupied nests. In 2008 during a westerly gale on 26th October, at least 3,500 passed Feich Charraig on Westquarter, mainly in flocks of between 15 and 25. In 2010 morning counts in strong northwest winds on 19th October produced 500 passing per hour; during strong southwest winds on 27th October at least 1000 passed in an hour.
Sabine’s Gull Xema sabini
Scarce autumn passage migrant. An adult was at Dumhach on 27th September 2005 (Steve Dodgson). All recent land-based sightings have been from Feich Charraig at Westquarter. In 2007, on 9th October, nine (eight juveniles and one adult) passed in moderate northwest winds in little over an hour. In 2008 a juvenile was approximately five miles west of Inishbofin on 31st August; others were seen from Feich Charraig on 12th October (one) and 13th (two). In 2011 two adults passed on 6th October.
Yellow-legged Gull Larus michahellis
A first-winter was among gulls following John Brittain’s angling charter on 4th October 2015. Around forty Herring Gulls and a few Greater Black-backed Gulls were in the group and all were roughly midway between Cleggan and Inishbofin.
Herring Gull Larus argenteus
Common throughout the year. Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) recorded an estimated 110 pairs in 1968 and at least 70 pairs in 1976. Although small numbers continue to breed mainly on steep-sided islets around the coast, no systematic attempt has been made to assess the breeding population. Herring Gulls also breed on Inishlyon (Inish Leaghain); in fact, more may nest there than on Inishbofin.
Iceland Gull Larus glaucoides
A first-winter fed over fields behind Dumhach in late December 2007 and early January 2008.
Glaucous Gull Larus hyperboreus
Occasional winter visitor. Over the years from 2009 to 2014 Glaucous Gulls have been much more frequent than Iceland Gull. Two first-winters were seen on 6–8th March 2009. Tommy Burke knew of the birds and added that up to five had been present in February. A dead first-winter was found on the seaward end of Lough Bo Finne on 15th April 2009. Singletons, mostly first-winters, were recorded in the late winters (between January and March) of2010, 2012 and 2013 (three in early May). In 2014 two (one first-winter, one second-winter) were around Inishbofin Harbour.
Great Black-backed Gull Larus marinus
Common throughout the year. Large numbers (up to 155) come to land from out at sea during inclement weather offshore. Throughout the year, Lough Tana is a favourite loafing area and is used for bathing and preening. In 2003, six pairs were found breeding on Inishbofin (Gordon 2006). Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) recorded 40 nesting pairs on Inishbofin in 1968 and 46 pairs in 1978. For Inishark, the corresponding figures were 6 (1968) and 35 (1978). On both islands, fewer pairs breed nowadays (seven pairs nested on Inishark in 2011). Tim Gordon’s estimate of six pairs for Inishbofin in 2006 was still fairly true by 2015. In the overall scheme of numbers, is it impossible to know if the population has fallen or simply redistributed itself among the numerous uninhabited islands, large and small, around the west Connaught coast.
Lesser Black-backed Gull Larus fuscus
Common summer visitor and autumn migrant from late August until early October. Migrants are believed to include a significant proportion dispersing south from Iceland. No winter records for December or January, although an adult with a damaged wing eked out a living by foraging for invertebrates on grassland near a rabbit warren at Cloonamore from October 2007 to at least early January 2008. By 6th March 2009 at least a dozen were among approximately 150 Herring Gulls loitering around the coast. In 2003, 23 pairs nested on Inishbofin. There seemed to be no breeding pairs in 2008. Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) cited two nesting pairs in 1956 and seven pairs in 1968. A single pair nested on Inishark in 1968 (Hutchinson & Ruttledge 1978); seven pairs were breeding there in July 2011 (AMG).
Sandwich Tern Sterna sandvicensis
Handfuls occur around the coast in summer, especially between East End Bay and Inishlyon (Inish Leaghain).
Common Tern Sterna hirundo
In July 2009, approximately ten pairs had nests on the green-capped island that forms the eastern cluster of The Stags. Coincidentally, in June 2008, roughly the same number nested on a small rocky islet close to the western shore of Lough Bo Finne. Although none occupied the islet during the previous year (2007) locals reported that it had been a breeding site for terns in the past. Ruttledge (1956) recorded Common Terns breeding on the same islet in 1932, but not in 1943 nor in 1956. He did, however, encounter breeding Common Terns at Gun Rock (20 pairs) at the mouth of Inishbofin Harbour. In 1932, he noted a large tern colony on Inish Scine Mor, but was unable to determine whether the birds were Common, Arctic or a mixture. In 2010 one pair held territory on the islet in Lough Bo Finne but did not breed. Possibly the presence of nesting Mute Swans on the islet deterred breeding.
Arctic Tern Sterna paradisea
Breeding summer visitor and passage migrant in autumn, when the species is regular on sea-watches. Ruttledge noted just one nest with eggs in 1956 on Gun Rock at the mouth of Inishbofin Harbour. However, in June 2008, an estimated 40 pairs were nesting in the same location. From time to time, flocks assemble at The Stags at the start of the breeding season, approximately 50 pairs bred there in 2009. In 2010, roughly 40 pairs were present on The Stags and 20 at Gun Rock. When it comes to knuckling down to nest, Arctic Terns are fickle, although no doubt the birds have good reasons for not breeding or abandoning a nesting attempt. Predation, increasingly by Ravens, has caused the colony at Gun Rock to fail in recent years, probably every year from 2010. In 2015 egg aversion techniques deterred Raven raids. The result was that a minimum of forty pairs bred successfully and at least 20 juveniles fledged. At The Stags, approximately 120 pairs also enjoyed good fledging success.
Little Tern Sternula albifrons
Three were off Dumhach on 27 April 2011. One passed Gun Rock, the islet at the mouth of Inishbofin Harbour, on several dates in June 2015. The bird (although possibly more than one individual involved) was heading roughly in the direction of Davillaun.
Guillemot Uria aalge
Common offshore at all seasons. Small numbers breed on Inishark. In July 2011, 55 adults were crammed onto one ledge and several forwards-leaning individuals probably were incubating. Ruttledge (1957) remarked, “On the cliffs of Inishark the breeding population could be put at ‘thousands’.” Despite the demise of the breeding population on Inishark, many hundreds breed on Inisturk, County Mayo. Perhaps the breeding population has shifted, rather than declined?
Razorbill Alca torda
Common offshore at all seasons. The nearest breeding site is Inishturk, County Mayo. Like Common Guillemot, large numbers occur during autumn passage. During brief watches in late October 2006, Razorbills heavily outnumbered Guillemots.
Puffin Fratercula arctica
Regular offshore during summer. Hundreds breed on Inishturk, County Mayo. Scarce during autumn passage movements of Razorbills and Guillemots. One was on the sea east of Inishbofin on 25th November 2006. On 13th October 2015, at least six juveniles were encountered approximately 10 km west of Inishark.
Black Guillemot Cepphus grylle
Resident all year; somewhere between four and ten pairs breed around various parts of the coast, such as on the south shore of Inishbofin harbour and in natural recesses in steep-sided rocky coves. Outside the breeding season Black Guillemots tend to be seen on their own. On 14th October 2010, six were seen between Davillaun and Inish Lyon (Inish Leaghain).
Little Auk Alle alle
Two singletons passed Feich Charraig on Westquarter on 2nd November 2009. Although the first records for Inishbofin, the species is likely to occur during turbulent onshore winds between late October and January.
Woodpigeon Columba palumbus
Apparently (Hutchinson & Ruttledge 1978), small numbers occasionally reach Inishbofin but none was recorded between 2006–2009. One was finally found on 26th May 2010. Another was seen on 19th November (Dermot Breen). However, plucked tail feathers were discovered on 28th November (AMG). One was in Middlequarter on 20th June 2014. In 2016, one was at Clossy on 21st April.
Rock Dove Columba livia
Several pairs breed. During autumn 2007, a flock containing up to 23 individuals was centred around King’s farm at Knock. The birds were feeding on grain put out to feed chickens. In 2008, 26 were feeding (in a dense scrum) on cattle cake put out for calves in a field near Clossy. Almost all of the island’s Rock Doves are untainted by inbreeding with feral Rock Doves. Occasionally, Rock Doves fly from Inishbofin to nearby islands, such as Inishlyon and Inishark. Ruttledge (1957) recorded one or two pairs during summer. He also stated that, in 1943, “Under ten pairs were seen on Inishark.” In 2010, 37 were counted in October. In 2015, 43 were counted in October. A crisis arose during 2014 when approximately 30 Feral Pigeons were imported onto Inishbofin. The event had a happy outcome, however. The following account was published in Birdwatch Ireland’s Wings Magazine (autumn 2014, no.74, pp. 6–7).
ON THE ROCKS: IRELAND’S WILD ROCK DOVES
Rock Dove is the official title for Columba livia, the species that, domesticated over millennia, spawned the spectrum of birds that go under various monikers from Racing Pigeon to Feral Pigeon. For convenience, it is best to refer to all free-living, self-sustaining populations as Domestic Pigeon. Rock Doves that breed from Asia to Ireland have a deep-seated preference for cliffs, whether inland or on the coast. Furthermore, the word ‘dove’ is misplaced. Cliff Pigeon is, I think, a better name. In addition to being kept by ‘fanciers’ and for racing, Domestic Pigeons thrive under their own steam in cities. However, boom time for them is becoming bust for the wild species that is endangered, not through persecution or habitat destruction but by loss of genetic identity when Domestic Pigeons expand into the remaining pockets of their ancestor’s once-isolated breeding range.
Arguments about what constitutes a wild Rock Dove become foggy because — not surprisingly — large numbers of Domestic Pigeons superficially resemble their forebears. No attempt is made in modern field guides to establish consistent distinctions between ‘wild’ and adulterated ‘look-alikes’. Are we prepared, through ignorance, to let a species slip into oblivion? The best reference on gene pool issues is Johnston. R.F, Siegel-Causey, D & Johnston S.G. (see below). In it, as well as protein and skeletal distinctions, fine-line identification features are offered as a litmus test: chiefly the wild bird’s slimmer bill, less bulbous forehead, smaller cere (fleshy skin at base of bill) and lack of a white-feathered orbital ring around the eye. Based on the set of criteria, Norwegian ornithologists (Michaelsen & Refvik, 2003) took up the challenge of delineating how many pure wild birds remained along the country’s west coast. The results were a major disappointment. The last colony had been ‘infiltrated’ by Domestic Pigeons. Ironically, the wild birds’ undoing might have been instigated by Augustinian monks (an Irish order) who kept pigeons for eating at a nearby monastery. It has been argued that, like House Sparrows, Rock Doves spread to Ireland and Britain in the wake of Neolithic man. By the time of the Normans it was regular practice to erect platforms in sea caves to facilitate the harvesting of squabs or capturing adults for dovecotes. In truth, the species might have been in Ireland since our present landscape became ice-free, around 10,000 years ago.
Johnston et.al. plotted the fragmented range of remaining bands in northwest Europe: ‘The current distribution of Rock Doves includes … Faeroes, Shetlands, Orkneys, Hebrides and perhaps parts of northern Scotland.’ Ireland was excluded. Probably, if the authors were steered by contemporary literature, they would have concluded that Ireland’s birds had gone the same way as populations studied in eastern Scotland and England (Murton & Clarke 1968). Luckily, not all Ireland’s Rock Doves are kaput. I do not know of anywhere along the eastern seaboard where a pure flock can be encountered. Although present in several areas — from Rathlin Island off the Co. Antrim coast to Lambay Island northeast of Dublin — flocks are a cocktail. In parts of the west coast the picture, for now, is still rosy. The best barometer is uniformity of all flock members. Although the species is wary it can be attracted to grain and watched from concealment, when close-up views confirm pristine credentials.
Peregrines are Rock Dove’s nemesis. Yet, perversely, the falcon is also a genetic protector because occasional Domestic Pigeons that stray and gain admission to a wild flock are soon weeded out by Peregrines. If they remained and mated, genetic purity would be compromised. Bizarrely, there are rare instances of dark-rumped individuals being produced naturally (several among Faeroese Rock Doves: Salomonson 1935). It seems as though, like wild dark-rumped populations in eastern Asia, there is a latent tendency towards a dark rump. However, such individuals succumb to Peregrine attacks, leading to the conclusion that the white rump is a genetically controlled adaptation, which, through natural selection, persists in the face of a dominant gene favouring a dark rump. Research in California confirms this (Palleroni 2005). Over a seven-year period, observers compared the proportions of successful attacks by Peregrines on urban flocks of Domestic Pigeons containing both white and plain-rumped varieties. Peregrines caught far more plain-rumped birds. The researchers concluded that, during high-speed swerves, the blink of the white dorsal patch momentarily wrong-footed the assailant. Somewhat unkindly, researchers caught substantial numbers of pigeons and changed their rump colour to verify the hypothesis.
Based on personal observations, the holy-of-holy for Ireland’s (and most of northwest Europe’s) remaining ‘wild and pure’ population is the string of islands from Donegal to Kerry. In particular, islands off the Connaught coast represent crown jewels. Rock Dove is nominally protected by the Convention on International Trade in Endangered Species (CITES; EU regulations 3226/82 and 3418/83). In practice, what can be done to halt its disappearance through inbreeding? Actually, for western Ireland, quite a lot. Up to now, our native stock has been able, through isolation and (pitted against Peregrines) survival-of-the-fittest pressure, to look after itself. However, no one foresaw the near-calamity that arose on Inishbofin, Co. Galway during 2014. The island’s population of around 40 birds ranges over adjoining islands, possibly interchanging with other healthy populations as far away as Inishturk, Co. Mayo. A newly arrived pigeon fancier brought with him approximately 30 Domestic Pigeons and allowed them to roam over the island, albeit returning for food to a loft. Under current legislation, such actions are legal: because Rock Dove is not a protected species. The ramifications for probably all of Ireland’s west coast Rock Doves were disaster. Thankfully, concerned local inhabitants intervened and persuaded the birds’ owner — who is not to be criticised for his own passion for Domestic Pigeons — to remove the birds. With such a near miss, the fate of Rock Dove is more clearly human responsibility than ever.
Thanks to Inishbofin residents, Pat Coyne and Paddy-Joe King, for helping to safeguard the island’s Rock Doves.
Johnston, R.F., Siegel-Causey, D. & Johnston, S.G. 1988. European populations of the Rock Dove Columba livia and genotypic extinction. The American Midland Naturalist vol. 120, 1–10.
Murton, R.K. & Clarke, S.P. 1968. Breeding biology of Rock Doves. British Birds (1968) 61:429–448.
Palleroni, A., Miller, C.T., Hauser, M. & Marler, P. 2005. Prey plumage adaptation against falcon attack. Nature 343/21 April 2005/www.nature.com/nature
Salomonson, F. 1935. ‘Aves.’ Zoology Faeroes, part 64.
Collared Dove Streptopelia decaocto
At the peak of the species’ westward expansion across Europe, one or two nesting pairs reached Inishbofin and breeding occurred in 1976 (Hutchinson & Ruttledge) and in the early 1980s. Singles were seen in May 2003 and at Westquarter on 25th May 2008. One was seen on several parts of the island on 14th April 2009. More complete coverage in the months of April and May has shown the species to be regular in small numbers (no more than five but usually less). In almost all cases, the birds are young reared during the preceding weeks, even though, in appearance, most are superficially adult-like. In 2016, during the period 21st — 24th April, three were in various areas of Knock and Cloonamore. ‘Song’ was heard on several occasions and, presumably, two of the three were seen arriving off the east coast on the evening of 21st. The birds were not high up and arrived at approximately 10m above the sea.
Turtle Dove Streptopelia turtur
Up to the end of 2015, a dozen have been seen. Perhaps surprisingly, three of the eight records dating from 2008 have involved first-winters seen in late October and the start of November. One was seen on 18–20th September 1956. Others followed in 1976, 1990 and 2001, although dates are lacking. In 2008 a juvenile (with just a few freshly moulted first-winter feathers) was feeding in roadside fields at Knock from 28 to 30th October. In 2009 two were together near Clossy on 24th May and a tame juvenile was in an oat field at the rear of the Dolphin Hotel from 14th to 16th September. In 2012 one was seen on 25th May. In 2013 a first-winter was at Lacey’s Farm on 21st October. In 2015 an adult was at Fawnmore from 18th to 24th April. A first-winter was in a garden at Knock on 1st and 2nd November.
Mourning Dove Xenaida macroura
A first-winter was discovered near the Dolphin Hotel at Knock on 1st November 2007. However, Peter Tierney at Cloonamore had probably seen it on 28th October. This, the first for Ireland, remained until at least 7th November. Remarkably, the same individual, based on the precise shape of its constellation of black tertial spots, was seen later in Germany (at Greifswalder Oie, Mecklenberg-Vorpommern on 4th May 2008) and Denmark (Skagen, 19th to 21st) where it also constituted first national records (Dutch Birding,vol 30, no 4). A full account appears below in the narrative for autumn 2007 (under ‘Last Orders’).
Long-eared Owl Asio otus
One was discovered roosting in an alder below the Youth Hostel on 24th October 2010. Jackie Jefferson recalled a hosteler reporting an owl — almost certainly Long-eared Owl based on erect ear tufts — in the same tree in 2002.
Short-eared Owl Asio flammeus
One was found injured, and subsequently died, on 4th July 2002 (Simon Berrow). Islanders occasionally report sightings of owls seen in daylight. Probably, most are Short-eared Owls. John Burke described an undoubted Short-eared Owl that he flushed from the commonage east of Lough Bo Finne in April 2012.
Barn Owl Tyto alba
One was flushed from a building in Westquarter in 1941 (Gordon 2006). One was watched hunting around the graveyard near Loch-a-Teampaill on several occasions during, approximately, the summer of 1968 (Carmel Byrne).
Cuckoo Cuculus canorus
Islanders are familiar with the species and state that it is an occasional visitor to Inishbofin. Ruttledge failed to encounter the species in 1932 and 1943 but saw one in 1956. Calling males were heard in 2002 and 2003. In 2004, five calling males were heard and a group of eight Cuckoos seen. One was present at Knock for five days around the middle of May in 2010 (P-J King) and another was seen in late May in the same general area (J Cotter). In 2016, one was calling just west of Clossy on 21st and 22nd April.
Swift Apus apus
One was seen in July 1943. Two were seen on several occasions in June and July 2013. They accompanied Swallows and House Martins feeding over parts of Middlequarter. In 2016 one flew south low over the Dolphin Hotel on 13th September.
Wryneck Jynx torquilla
In 2013, at least one was seen in several parts of Knock on 25th and 26th September. Sightings ranged from near the Inishbofin House Hotel to the graveyard. In 2014, one was behind the Dolphin Hotel on 16th September. In 2016 one was noticed in flight (unidentified until it landed) heading west along the line of the road below the Dolphin Hotel. It landed on the top of a sycamore tree at King’s farm and was last seen dropping out of sight towards the west side of King’s garden.
Skylark Alauda arvensis
Abundant breeding species. In 2003, the island’s breeding population was surveyed and estimated to contain between 50 and 60 pairs (Gordon 2006). This is in remarkable agreement with Hutchinson & Ruttledge’s (1978) estimate of 58 pairs for the breeding season of 1976. For Inishark, where Skylarks are also common, the breeding population was estimated at 12 pairs in 1976. An impression of roughly similar numbers was gained during visits to Inishark in 2013 and 2014. Several broods are reared. Late young, just about able to fly, have been seen in early September. The entire population starts to emigrate during August. By September and October small parties pass south. A good day-total would be in the order of 20. Although Skylarks flee frozen ground in winter, during autumn they are fair weather movers. Autumn passage migrants can be expected during anticyclonic spells. Calls from overhead locate far more than are ever flushed from the ground. During winter, Skylarks are almost entirely absent. However, by the last week of February small flocks of between 10 and 25 arrive and cherry-pick grassy fields that have been used to over-winter cattle and sheep, especially where troughs containing grain are located. Even though it feels like winter, some start to sing as soon as the wind drops and sunshine peeps through. Forty were counted in a fast check of fields around parts of Cloonamore on 8th March 2009.
Sand Martin Riparia riparia
In June 2008 a small colony (approximately ten nest entrances) was discovered on a soft cliff near the base of the pier at Rusheen, east of East End Bay. Apparently, the colony dates from 2004, when it held six nests. Another active breeding site, with fewer nest entrances, was on the seaward side of ground due east of the Doonmore Hotel. The only previous breeding record involved three nests, in 1943, in a sand bank ‘near the south-east beach’ (Ruttledge 1957). Father O’Malley, Inishbofin’s priest, is quoted by Ruttledge as saying in 1956 that he had never found a Sand Martin nesting place on the island. Recent severe storms inadvertently created a new nesting escarpment on a headland between Dumhach and East End Bay. Here, in 2014 and 2015, at least twenty burrows were excavated. Ironically, coastal repairs in 2015 near the Doonmore Hotel led to the removal of that nesting site. Overall, slightly more Sand Martins currently breed than did so in the recent past. For the moment the all-island population is concentrated in one area. Feeding areas shift with respect to weather and insect availability. Loch a Teampaill is usually a reliable place to observe the species.
Swallow Hirundo rustica
Common. The breeding population probably amounts to no more than a dozen pairs. In 2007 a melanistic adult male associated with other Swallows on wires overlooking Loch a Teampaill. Close up, it was possible to see that the degree of blackness fell slightly short of pitch black because somewhat paler pigment demarcated the underparts. In 2010, on 30th August, a gathering over the school consisted of 45, in total perhaps as many as 100 were on Inishbofin at the time. In early October 2015, young were still being fed in a nest at Cloonamore; a late record on 26th October might have been a local juvenile.
Red-rumped Swallow Cecropis daurica
An adult male was with a handful of Swallows and Sand Martins on wires overlooking Loch a Teampaill on 13th May 2017. The bird fed over the lake and hillside and may have departed soon after being discovered during the morning. Subsequent visits during the afternoon failed to relocate it. This could be the first record of the species for County Galway.
House Martin Delichon urbica
Until 2013, when a pair bred, House Martins were scarce migrants. The 2013 pair was successful, largely thanks to a house-owner who was pleased to allow eaves to be used for nest construction. Based on traces of a former nest on another property, House Martins attempted to breed in the past. Sadly their attempts were sabotaged because a partly built nest was deliberately knocked down. This happened again in 2014 and 2015. Nonetheless, at least one pair raised young in 2013, 2014 and 2015. Each year, new nests have had to be built to replace homes removed by human hand. Rather than being allowed to re-use the previous year’s accommodation, energy and time have to be used to start from scratch.
Rock Pipit Anthus petrosus
Breeds along rocky shorelines; strands are eschewed as breeding habitat. No recent attempt has been made to ascertain numbers. For 1968, Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) gave a figure of between 45 and 50 pairs. Today’s breeding population, although widespread, is considerably smaller. Either Rock Pipits have declined or the 1968 data is an exaggeration. Presumably because of the relatively small size of Inishbofin, individuals can be encountered anywhere across the island, although most stick to the coast. During the winter months numbers reach their lowest ebb. Scarcity in winter might be explained by post-breeding dispersal of local birds. Conversely, larger numbers noted in early October (day maximum 40) might be a sign that migrants from elsewhere pass through. In October 2008, passage was noted along the coast between the Inishbofin House Hotel and Doonmore Hotel. On 12th October, 20 were present but had decreased to just four by 2nd November.
Meadow Pipit Anthus pratensis
Nests in variable numbers. Impressions of the size of the island’s breeding population are difficult to gauge. Indeed, numbers may be cyclical, for reasons that are not understood. Cuckoos are also erratic on Inishbofin. Because they rely on finding a high density of breeding Meadow Pipits, in whose nest they deposit an egg, the numbers of each species may operate a ‘predator-prey’ linkage. Meadow Pipits need a core of medium-length vegetation within which to forage for insects and also conceal the nest. Increasing amounts of dense and impenetrable Soft Rush do not provide quality habitat. Much better is a combination of grassy tussocks interspersed with heather. In some places steep hillsides are preferred, where vegetation is tall enough to nest among. Meadow Pipits often forage on short grass, even where it is cropped to the nap of a bowling green by sheep or rabbits. Insects are obvious on such sward and may be blown and left exposed to foraging pipits of both local species. Meadow Pipits are common passage migrants in spring (chiefly late March and April) and autumn (heaviest passage in September). In September 2007, maximum daily counts reached 300 on several dates. Loose gatherings of up to 70 occur. On passage, favourite areas include rank grassy fields that have been left ungrazed for a season. This habitat is common across Cloonamore, especially in the bowl of fields between the high road and the coast. Heather hilltops overlooking the west flank of Cloonamore provide landfall for incoming flocks in autumn. The largest movements occur in the aftermath of onshore winds, suggesting Iceland as a likely source, as well as coasting movements derived from western Scotland. Passage trickles into November. In 2008, during a spell of light northeast winds in early November, 30 were in fields at Westquarter and 50 at Cloonamore. Small numbers (maximum 20) spend the winter on Inishbofin and are generally found where cattle trample ground and reveal invertebrate prey, some of which is also attracted to the animals’ dung.
Tree Pipit Anthus trivialis
One gave outstanding views at rest (and called several times in flight) in an area of damp, rough grazing near the Galley restaurant on 2nd October 2007.
Pied Wagtail Motacilla yarrellii
Present throughout the year and several pairs breed. In mid-October 2008, a dozen roosted in reeds at Loch a Teampaill. On 17th September 2009, commencing at 1930 hrs, several gathered on telegraph wires along the roadside overlooking fields adjoining the north side of the lake. The roof of a nearby ruined house was also used as a collection point. Over the next 45 minutes, arrivals took the tally to at least 25. Bit by bit, in groups of between two and six, they dropped into the reeds along the lake’s north shore (closest to the road). In 2010, during October, a similar number arrived to roost. By late October Pied Wagtails appear to thin out. During winter, few remain. The inevitable conclusion is that, like other local passerines — including Skylark, Reed Bunting and Song Thrush — there is an autumn exodus from Inishbofin.
White Wagtail Motacilla alba
In terms of behaviour, White Wagtail is, in contrast to Pied Wagtail, highly migratory. Pied Wagtails occur across Ireland, Britain and a small region of the near continent. The breeding range of White Wagtail encompasses the remainder of Europe but also includes Iceland, the source of most White Wagtails that pass through Ireland. The two forms differ in appearance. They can be told apart easily in adult plumage but distinguishing first-winters requires more care, although it is still possible (an infallible guide is the colour of the uppertail region). On Inishbofin, White Wagtails are regular spring migrants in unspectacular numbers, albeit sometimes in small flocks. They occur chiefly in late April and early May. No more than seven have been seen in a day. In autumn, passage is from late August into September. No more than five have been in a day but, more usually, only singletons occur.
Grey Wagtail Motacilla cinerea
Scarce migrant in spring and autumn. From 2007 to 2015, just four singletons have occurred and none stayed for more than a day. The most recent was at a newly dug pond behind the Dolphin Hotel on 26th October 2015.
Yellow Wagtail Motacilla flava
Prior to autumn 2020, two Yellow Wagtails had been found. The first (photographed) was a Blue-headed Wagtail Motacilla flava, whose main breeding range is across the near-Continent. An adult was at Lough Bo Finne on 30th June 2012.
In 2015, on 9th October, Frank Turpin discovered a wagtail near the graveyard that was noticeably grey-toned but with a faint yellow wash on its undertail-coverts. Frank was among a group enjoying a bird tour. Once he drew the bird to AMG’s attention, it became obvious that this was a ‘grey-and-white’ Yellow Wagtail. The best option for the bird’s subspecific identity arose when FT and AMG checked illustrations of identical birds in Lars Jonsson’s Birds of Europe. Based on the book, two drawings depicted individuals that fitted the bird on Inishbofin (see Lars Jonsson plate). No calls were heard.
2020 In keeping with the appearance of the 2015 Yellow Wagtail, a first-winter discovered among cattle on 3rd October 2020 between Middlequarter and Knock was noticeably grey-bodied — although its undertail coverts were again suffused with yellow. Nonetheless, the bird was identified by the finders as Ireland’s second Eastern Yellow Wagtail Motacilla tschutschensis — a recently split taxon. Identification of Eastern Yellow is far from straightforward. To AMG, the case to separate the subspecies as a distinct species from other subspecies of Yellow Wagtails is dubious. The observers, four Galway ‘birders’ known in some quarters as ‘the Galway Mafia’, did not bother to spread news of the bird’s presence. Consequently, I did not see the bird on the day it was found. Fortunately it remained, and I caught up with it three days later, on 6th October, when two were present. Images of both were originally available for scrutiny on a ‘Galway birds’ Twitter account but later became unavailable when access to the Twitter account was withdrawn — except to a select, vetted audience. Such is the pathetic state of ‘birding’ in County Galway. Because the Yellow Wagtails were flighty and, more significantly, due to the discovery of Ireland’s first Tennessee Warbler, minimal effort was devoted to tracking them down. Nonetheless, two were still present on 8th when both were seen in flight. Just one was present on subsequent dates until 13th October. Because the Tennessee Warbler departed on the night of 8th October, considerable effort was invested in trying to see and hear the lone Yellow Wagtail that remained and to investigate how — or if — it differed from the range of variation exhibited by first-winter Yellow Wagtails.
Citrine Wagtail Motacilla citreola
The first for County Galway (a first-winter) was among cattle in fields behind the Dolphin Hotel on 16th September 2019. The same bird was probably seen on 15th September (Jackie Jefferson). Given that a ‘Yellow Wagtail’ was claimed — possibly only on the basis of a fly-over that called — on the coast facing Inishbofin at Maninbeg, Ballyconneely on 14th September (Galway Birdnews, Twitter account), there is a strong likelihood that the Ballyconneely individual and Inishbofin’s Citrine wagtail are, in fact, one and the same bird.
Waxwing Bombycilla garrulus
In October 2004, one was photographed and around a dozen more were present. The photograph is published in Tim Gordon’s Birds of Inishbofin (2006). The last week of October 2004 was remarkable for an unprecedented early influx of Waxwings along the western seaboard of Scotland and northwest Ireland; some reached Iceland at the same time. In 2012, two (first-winters) were feeding on hips of Rosa rugosa at the Dolphin Hotel on 31st October. Presumably the same birds were later seen in Fawnmore. Calls were heard from unseen birds overhead on 1st November and ten alighted briefly in a garden at Knock on 2nd November. Throughout November small numbers toured or passed through various parts of Inishbofin. Apples put out for the birds were eagerly consumed and attracted up to seven individuals over several days. In late December, one was present and feeding on shrivelled blackberries along the roadside between the Youth Hostel and the graveyard.
Cedar Waxwing Bombycilla cedrorum
Ireland’s first (a juvenile) was in willows close to the northwest end of East End Bay on 14th October 2009. The following account of the event was published in Birding World [vol.22, no.10, pp.420–423].
Inishbofin is one of those last-chance saloons upon which you pin the hope that, by virtue of being an outpost in the wild west of Ireland, a ‘most wanted’ outlaw might be attracted. As migration goes, the place is a bit of a backwater. Passerines arrive, not in a flood, but in a drip-feed. Five days of Indian summer weather meant that, although sans rarity, Craig Nash and I had enjoyed minor challenges such as trying to age and sex Reed Buntings. Craig is fairly new to vagrant hunting and was keen to try for a black belt in Phylloscopus identification: Willow Warbler versus Chiffchaff. One sizeable clump of willow bushes sandwiched between a boggy field and a rock outcrop contained both species. We took up sniper positions on a crag. Views were fantastic. A particularly fine lemon-chested Willow Warbler received a nomination for ‘bird of the trip’. Yes, things really were that quiet. The sunshine was soothing and the silence contemplative. Comments such as ‘Sure, where would you rather be?’ hinted that we were starting to hallucinate and imagine we were on holiday, rather than taking time out from ornithological combat. I heard a high-pitched call — or thought I did. I looked behind me and clocked a bucolic scene of cattle in a meadow and Starlings mooching around hooves. I dismissed my wannabe-piercing note (Penduline Tit sprang to mind as a possibility) as no more than a Starling’s wheeze. Back to the game of watching for the flick of a Phylloscopus warbler and attempting to name the species.
Scanning around and waiting for the next shape to materialize drew me to one that was already there. The bird was largely hidden but its general shape, colour and — from a little white I could see on a folded wing — said Pied Flycatcher. It was peeping out from a foxhole among foliage. Like a ‘magic eye’ mosaic, the image I beheld transmogrified as soon as I recognized a familiar segment. That segment was its face: the face of a Waxwing. Alarm bells started to ring. No need to tell Craig. He had spotted it too. I was about to articulate the unthinkable — that several features pointed to the bird being a first-winter Cedar Waxwing — when it exploded into flight. What was it up to? Where was it going? What was the silver bullet feature that we needed to achieve game, set and match?
I was surprised at the combination of grey, adult-like wings and yellow-tipped tail, yet streaky juvenile underparts. The bird swooped in an arc that took it away from us. Mercifully it didn’t fly far and appeared to settle in a willow-infested gully. Still, there remained an Achilles’ heel in a claim of Cedar Waxwing. We had not seen the colour of the undertail coverts. They needed to be white. I tried to stay calm. An idea came into my head. I said, “Craig, does your I-phone access a bird-call database?” It did (I-bird Explorer Pro). Hooray for technology. Craig played the exact sound that I heard earlier. It unlocked memories of birding in North America. Me, trying to learn calls and failing to hear Cedar Waxwing on two occasions when Bruce Mactavish said, “Cedar Waxwing overhead — get it?” Through being high-pitched, it had not registered. But it had this time.
Gingerly we proceeded in the bird’s direction. Thank God there were two of us. Craig as cameraman, I with binoculars at the ready. Step by steady purposeful step, we contoured around the slope, peering intently ahead. There it was — doing the same thing. It was within cover and keeping dick. We froze, remembering our quest for a glimpse of its undertail. The rear body was invisible. The cliffhanger continued. Craig rattled off a salvo of shots depicting black lores highlighted in white. Another brick in the wall of proving identification. I slithered upslope, vainly hoping for a full view. Minutes dragged like hours. Noon passed and the bird sat on, fluffed up and motionless, green leaves casting a shadow across its back in the warm autumn sunshine. It was basking and began to preen. As it did so, it hoisted the tail. Finally, my jaw dropped. The undertail coverts were creamy. We had done it!
After several minutes it was off again. This time it perched in the open and plucked Blackberries. Its demeanour was restless. Brief feeding forays were ended abruptly by a shrinking violet return to the bowels of willow bushes. Unless you knew precisely where the bird was hidden, it would have gone undetected. A quick phone call to Eric Dempsey alerted the mass media to the news. Eric also checked references that verified identity. Soup, rather than cigars, marked lunchtime celebrations. We returned later in the day and went through the same rigmarole of patiently waiting for the star to show which, eventually, it did. Still frightened that any intrusion might unsettle it, we viewed from roadsides with a telescope. Thursday 15th October ought to have been an encore for the many. Alas, the mannequin was nowhere to be seen and the crowd melted away. Although twitching rarities is a risky business, it is hard not to feel contrition when bubbly anticipation pales to disappointment.
Although I have a few Bohemian Waxwings in Ireland as early as October, none showed striated underparts. According to The Birds of the Western Palearctic, juveniles begin to moult head and body plumage (and most upper wing-coverts) in August or later. By October, most juveniles have acquired plain, velvety first-winter underparts (identical to those of an adult). Of birds examined in the hand in the Netherlands between late October and the first half of November, most had scattered, still partially grown, first-winter feathers (mainly on underparts), but no remaining juvenile body feathers. The post-juvenile moult of Cedar Waxwing follows a similar process, with the exception of timing. The species is well known for nesting late in summer, peaking from mid-June to July. In fact, some breed as late as September. Ergo, encountering a youngster with a juvenile head pattern (stumpy crest, light throat) and body plumage (blurry streaks) in October is not unusual. Although far from a hard and fast rule, you could argue that a juvenile waxwing in western Ireland or Britain in October would be odds-on for a Cedar Waxwing. With hindsight, perhaps Craig and I didn’t have to sweat blood over trying to see the colour of the undertail coverts. Moreover, there were further distinctions. Unlike all ages of Bohemian Waxwing, the primaries were dark and lacked a pale border. A thin but noticeable white line ran lengthways along the inner wing but was a product of white edges to the tertials, not the primaries. The white edge to each tertial lined up and formed a tramline. Overall, the wings were remarkably featureless and ‘blank’. White was largely absent, even (unlike Bohemian Waxwing) from the tips of the greater coverts and primary coverts. Some compensation was present in the form of light sheen along the outer edge of the primaries. Each outer primary has a white shaft, as thin as a hairline fracture. In concert, the shafts coalesced to create a narrow sliver of white that, when the bird moved during feeding movements, could catch your eye.
High pressure dominated Ireland’s weather over the few days prior to the bird’s discovery. Further west in the North Atlantic things were very different. Active weather systems delivered a cornucopia of Nearctic passerines to the Azores and, albeit just two, to Iceland. On 12th and 13th October a fast-moving Low moved east from just south of Newfoundland. Although it did not reach Ireland, perhaps its swirl of eastbound winds was responsible for steering the Cedar Waxwing towards, ultimately, Inishbofin. We will never know. The bird’s behaviour suggested that it was not particularly hungry. Maybe it had fed well and was intent on moving on. Because it occurred during a settled spell of gentle easterly winds, Japanese Waxwing should not be dismissed. So, for the record, among other distinctions, all ages of Japanese Waxwing have red rims to the tail, not yellow.
This is the fifth record for the Western Palearctic but the first involving a juvenile. Lone adults were discovered in Noss, Shetland (June 1985) and in Iceland (April to June 1989). Another adult was in Iceland on 8th October 2003. Exceptional photographs of this individual can be seen by googling The Icelandic Birding Pages and clicking on the 2003 photo gallery. The flabbergasting discovery of a wintering bird in Nottingham from February to March 1996 involved a first-winter: published photographs depict faint streaks on the plumage of the lower belly. In early November 2007 Inishbofin hosted a Mourning Dove that, remarkably, was rediscovered the following spring in Germany and then Denmark. Clearly, the Mourning Dove had continued east. Surely lightning couldn’t strike twice? The only way to tell is to pay close attention to this winter’s flocks of Bohemian Waxwings. Cedar Waxwing was also among the landbirds recorded by Alan Durand from the voyage of the Mauretania in 1962. On 8th October, five birds came on board the vessel 400 miles east of New York, at least one remaining until next day when the vessel was 1,000 miles out. For unfortunate souls who have not read Alan Durand’s wonderful account, set in splendour redolent of The Great Gatsby, here is a slice of escapism, laced with real bird lore.
“On 2nd October 1962, a tropical storm originating at about 22 degrees N, 63 degrees W, to the north-east of St. Thomas, in the West Indies, developed into hurricane ‘Daisy’ and moved slowly north-west between Bermuda and Cape Hatteras, continuing offshore up the eastern North American seaboard. Gradually spending its force, the hurricane turned to a north-east course, and by 7th October was clear of Cape Cod, brushing up past Nova Scotia to hit Newfoundland, where it subsequently caused considerable damage before swinging away north-east into the Atlantic, finally to blow itself out in the general direction of the Faeroe Islands a day or two later. The effect on the weather to the south of the hurricane’s long, steady northeast track was to give consistent high winds from between west and northwest far out into the Atlantic. It was in this setting that I sailed in R.M.S. Mauretania from her berth in the Hudson River, New York City, at 15.00 hours on 7th October 1962. At the time of sailing, the hurricane was centred 42 miles southeast of Eastport, Maine, and, as we cleared the narrows and headed for the open sea, the wind freshened considerably from the west-northwest. Migrating Monarch Butterflies and Pipe-vine Swallowtails accompanied us well out to sea in the following winds, and visibility was very clear that evening, the sun sinking into a fiery, apocalyptic sky.
Monday, 8th October, will live long in my memory. Up early in the hope of possibly seeing a few migrants, I found the ship echoing with bird calls, and parts of the open deck space almost inundated at times with small passerines. The weather was curious. The sky was heavy and overcast, and a very big sea was running, but there was clear visibility and one could walk the open decks in nothing more than light airs. Conditions were, in fact, ideal for birds staying with the ship, and at noon we were already 400 miles east of New York. The most remarkable sight on deck was of some ten woodpeckers dividing their time between the forward and after masts. These were all Yellow-shafted Flickers, though later in the day a Yellow-bellied Sapsucker and a Hairy woodpecker joined them. Hopping about the covered Promenade Deck were House Wrens and Winter Wrens, several Golden-crowned Kinglets and one or two Ruby-crowned Kinglets, and several warblers, including Blackpoll Warblers, Yellowthroats, Magnolia Warblers and one fine male Mourning Warbler. [The commonest bird] was White-throated Sparrow, I conservatively estimated a minimum of twenty. Many of these birds circulated over the open decks, of course, but the First-class Sundeck facing the after end of the ship, together with the Games deck and the open-air Swimming pool below, provided something of a magnet, as food and water were put out by the stewards. A charming sight later in the afternoon was presented by five Cedar Waxwings, which moved up between the railings around the Swimming pool and the criss-cross wire fencing at the side of the Games deck.”
In total, at least 130 individuals of 34 species were recorded. Most moved on in light west or northwest winds. However, at dusk on 12th October, a few hours before the vessel passed the Fastnet Light, off Cape Clear Island, Co. Cork, there were at least nine birds still alive: Yellow-shafted Flicker, Baltimore Oriole, Slate-coloured Junco, three White-throated Sparrows, two Song Sparrows and a Field Sparrow. The range of food and water made available by the crew, it seems, would have sustained all of them.
Durand, A.L. 1963. A remarkable fall of American land-birds on the ‘Mauretania’, New York to Southampton, October 1962. Brit.Birds 56:157–164.
Dunnock Prunella modularis
Nowadays a common breeding species but its former scarcity drew comment from Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978): ‘The absence of Dunnocks is surprising. The species nests on the adjoining mainland and breeds commonly on other Irish islands such as Cape Clear, County Cork, and the Aran Islands, County Galway. Dunnocks bred early in the twentieth century [on other Irish islands] but in 1932 Ruttledge saw no Dunnocks on Inishbofin; one pair was seen in 1943 and a singleton was present in 1956.’ It is difficult to explain the upsurge in the breeding population that has taken place between 1978 and 2006. Habitat is an unlikely influencing factor because breeding haunts existed as much in the past as they do today. A recent colonisation appears to be the only plausible explanation. Apart from local inhabitants, immigrants arrive during autumn, especially October. Migrants evidently pass through because few Dunnocks remain on Inishbofin during the winter months.
Robin Erithacus rubecula
Common breeder. Significant numbers pass through during late September and the first half of October. However, the ubiquitous nature and general abundance of the species mask this ‘secret migration’. In 2007, along a daily census route across eastern parts of Inishbofin, the maximum daily count was 113 on 5th October. Proof that significant autumn migration occurs is provided by the measure of decrease in the Robin population by the end of the year. Although still widespread, no more than 75 were estimated to be present throughout the island during late December. Following a spell of cold weather in December 2008, Robins were noticeable by their scarcity. Just ten were counted on a circular walk around Cloonamore.
Bluethroat Luscinia svecica
A first-winter female was found by S. Millar on 14th October. It fed by picking insects among roadside grassy verges beside the reed-bed on the eastern side of Lough Bofin. If disturbed by cars or sheep, it flew into the reeds but later returned. It was probably seen again next day.
Red-flanked Bluetail Tarsiger cyanurus
One on 5th October 2015. This was a momentous day. Overnight a light northeasterly airflow stretched from western Scandinavia to the west of Ireland. I had not read as much into the ornithological outcome as I should have. Before I was even out of the cottage garden I was galvanized by the presence of several phylloscopus warblers in the trees. One of them proved to be a Radde’s Warbler, the first in County Galway (see that species account). I decided to pass news of the discovery to other birdwatchers in County Galway, one of whom — Dermot Breen — duly arrived on the morning ferry. By then the morning had turned wet, although downpours stopped by noon. There was no sign of the Radde’s Warbler after the rain. It was never seen again — despite a fallacious claim by DB late in the afternoon (I too saw the bird in question, which was a Chiffchaff). About lunchtime, having concluded that the Radde’s Warbler was not in the vicinity of where it first appeared, I suggested that the young trees and bushes behind the nearby Dolphin Hotel should be checked. In September, an Arctic Warbler had moved from the cottage garden to the same spot. En route to the Dolphin Hotel I stopped to look over a well-sheltered vegetable plot at the Inishbofin Hostel. I leaned over a dry-stone wall overhung by fuchsia. In doing so, I surprised a Robin-like bird that flew below my line of sight. It flew straight into cover and vanished. It had a brownish-olive back but — without a shadow of a doubt — its tail was slate-blue. DB saw what I saw and totally agreed that the tail was blue. My misplaced priority in attempting to relocate the Radde’s Warbler for the gratification of DB (my earlier views had been outstanding, including hearing the bird call) meant I made an inadequate attempt to look for the blue-tailed chat. Stupidly, I didn’t revisit the location until next day. All my energy was devoted to assisting DB in a search for the Radde’s Warbler. But let’s get back to the chat with the blue tail. Of course it was a Red-flanked Bluetail. I have seen the species in eastern Asia and I am entirely familiar with its appearance in flight and also its shyness — especially a preference to hide and remain out of sight for long periods. Obviously my view was fleeting — but c’est la vie.
Redstart Phoenicurus phoenicurus
One on 7th October 1956. One at the Inishbofin Hostel on 4th October 2007. One was near Lough Bo Finne, 9th October 2010.
Black Redstart Phoenicurus ochrurus
One at East End Bay and then in various parts of Knock on 20th October 2007. From 2nd to 5th November, one (and then another) was seen at widely separated localities from Bofin Harbour to the rocky hillside overlooking Clossy. In 2009, on 1st November, one was briefly seen on roadside walls beside the Galley restaurant. On 10th November two more were seen by Dermot Breen at Westquarter, on the hillside overlooking Dughort. A fine male was at North Beach, Westquarter, on 27th October 2010. A spring migrant was also there in May 2012.
Stonechat Saxicola torquatus
Common breeder and autumn passage migrant. During early October 2007, 53 were counted along a roadside circuit of Knock and Cloonamore. The all-island population at this time was estimated at close to 100. In sharp contrast, no more than 20 were encountered across the entire island in late December 2007. Stonechats are famously cyclical in both numbers and distribution, as evidenced by Ruttledge’s (1957) account: “I have noted a few on each visit. In 1956 four pairs, of which three had young. Four seen in December.” Perhaps, due to widespread cultivation or some other factors that can now only be guessed at, the species was much less common half a century ago. During spring visits in 2007 and 2008, it was clear that the breeding population amounted to a minimum of 20 pairs. Freshly fledged juveniles were noted in several places on 26th May 2008. Possibly due to poor breeding success or survival of young in a wet summer, numbers were massively down during autumn 2008. An all-island estimate put the population at no more than 60 in early October. Emigration reduced the total still further and, by late October, perhaps as few as 20 remained. The species was decidedly scarce in late December 2008 when no more than eight were found across Cloonamore. In 2010, after a severe winter, numbers were much reduced. Nevertheless, several pairs bred. In October, influxes occurred in the early part of the month, after which onward migration caused a decrease. For example, during a beautiful day of calm on 21st October, just three could be found throughout Cloonamore. In 2011, after a second consecutive hard winter, only two females were encountered in late April. Both were seen on single dates and, despite extensive coverage of suitable habitats, none could be found between 29April and 2 May. By 2013, the population had bounced back. In 2015, although no concerted attempt was made to census the population, around 20 pairs seemed a realistic all-island estimate.
Whinchat Saxicola rubecula
Scarce autumn migrant. About a dozen have occurred since the first in 2002. In most cases, a singleton was involved. The occurrence period spans mid September until late October. Although seen in a variety of locations, a hot spot exists among the wilder habitat extending from the back of the Dolphin Hotel and along Clossy. Hereabouts, rank fields filled with umbellifers suit migrants perfectly. Four individuals have settled in these damp meadows since 2010.
Wheatear Oenanthe oenanthe
Common breeding species and passage migrant. Local breeding birds start arriving back during the middle of March. Although males are usually seen first, females are almost as prompt in returning. Local pairs commence nest construction in April and the first juveniles appear in the open by late May. Northbound migrants (known collectively but inappropriately as ‘Greenland Wheatears’ Oenanthe oenanthe leucorhoa) pour through Inishbofin from the middle of April onwards. Peak numbers occur in early May. Populations breeding in Iceland, Greenland and northeast Canada may all be represented in passage movements. Size is one determinant of difference between locals and migrants; so too is the acquisition of bluer upperparts in males (less obvious in females). Basically, local males are extensively blue-backed because they abrade the upperparts at an earlier stage in the breeding season. Northbound migrants delay this process and many males have a bronze mantle bordering a blue-grey back. Some, perhaps most, Greenland Wheatears spend around ten days on Inishbofin before they depart. In other words, the island is an important staging post. Pastures, rather than the more rocky terrain used by breeding locals, is where most Greenland Wheatears occur. Migrants peter out at the end of May; a few tail-end females are sometimes seen at the beginning of June. The plumage of local adults becomes noticeably blanched by late June and July. In particular, males look monochrome. During early August it becomes increasingly hard to find local adults. Perhaps they become secretive while they moult or they depart to moult elsewhere? Local juveniles seem to depart quickly; some may well quit Inishbofin still wearing some unmoulted juvenile head plumage. During September it is likely that all Wheatears are migrants from populations breeding elsewhere. As with movements of Meadow Pipits along the west coast of Ireland, waves of incoming Wheatears are probably derived from Scotland as well as Iceland and beyond. For this reason it becomes difficult to differentiate between Greenland Wheatears and nominate (that is, European) Wheatears. Nonetheless it is often clear that some autumn migrants are of a considerable size. Rich plumage tones are alleged to be an attribute of Greenland Wheatears. However, variation appears to be considerable and some noticeably large birds are pale. During the first half of September a higher proportion of migrants than later in autumn are adult males. Could it be that adults are in the vanguard of southbound migration at an earlier stage than youngsters?
Daily counts in autumn 2007 (incomplete, given the amount of suitable terrain available to migrants) frequently exceeded between 20 and 30 during late September; fewer were recorded in early October. In October 2008, passage was exceptionally poor with just six from 4th to 16th and none at all later in October. In 2010, five were seen between 28th September and 10th October and one on 14th. In the first half of October 2015, dominated by light east winds or next to no wind at all, just two Wheatears were seen between 7th and 8th October and none during daily coverage from 9th to 13th.
Blackbird Turdus merula
Widespread breeding species, although perhaps not at the high density inferred by Ruttledge’s (1957) comment, ‘breeds numerously and is widespread in the cultivated area.’ Waves of migrants begin to arrive in late September and day counts during early October sometimes exceed 50. New arrivals are restless but quickly find each other, seemingly by clustering around (and within) bushy cover. At this time, Rosa rugosa hips are a popular food. As with most passerine arrivals, the eastern side of Inishbofin receives the lion’s share. Areas that are especially favoured include the brambles straddling walls and other field boundaries in the vicinity of Granny’s Lake and the graveyard. A more intriguing collecting zone is around gardens behind the most southwesterly point of Inishbofin. Presumably, Blackbirds passing northeast-southwest along the entire length of Inishbofin are concentrated because the sheltering habitat amounts to the last available cover. It is not clear to what extent local breeders and their offspring depart and are replaced by wintering Blackbirds. By the end of December 2007 the overall wintering population amounted to at least 30, with most in the eastern part of the island. A similar impression was formed for numbers wintering in 2008. In early October 2010 migrants undoubtedly outnumbered locals. On some days, fresh waves of migrants were confirmed by the presence of individual markers which, based on plumage details, were newcomers. The bitter cold of December precipitated a massive exodus of Blackbirds from Europe and Britain to Ireland. However, once here, the birds still found no respite from ice and snow and many continued further west or south. Probably many died. Tameness, while a boon for close views of normally shy birds, was a sign that the birds were not themselves. In late December, just after a thaw, at least 200 Backbirds were on Inishbofin. Locals stated that more than this had been present during the big freeze. The birds were in all habitats and searching for earthworms and grubs. All appeared healthy, inasmuch as none displayed signs of lethargy brought about by hunger.
Ring Ouzel Turdus torquatus
In 2010, an adult male and two first-winters arrived on 10th October. All were between Inishbofin Hostel and the graveyard. In 2018, a first-winter was behind the Dolphin Hotel in early October.
Fieldfare Turdus pilaris
Regular autumn migrant in small numbers, chiefly in October. Some occur in winter. Flocks, rather than lone individuals, are usually seen. In 2007 a group of 20 fed among tussocks and heather on hillsides across various parts of Cloonamore on 20th October. The same troupe had earlier been seen arriving from the northeast. In 2010, the first arrived on 17th October, followed by a flock of 25 on 24th. In late December, approximately 30 were present: less than expected, given the severe weather and westward dispersal of many thrushes elsewhere, including Fieldfares.
Redwing Turdus iliacus
Regular autumn migrant; the first arrivals appear in early October. Small and variable numbers occur in winter, usually in a discrete flock. Uncommon in spring. Up to 120 (on 27th October 2008) have been seen. Redwings from both Iceland and continental Europe feature in movements reaching Inishbofin. As yet, no Redwings have been heard calling at night. Visible migration usually consists of handfuls seen arriving over the eastern part of Inishbofin during the early morning and descending into cover. Flocks are the norm, unlike arrivals of Blackbirds and Song Thrushes, which tend to arrive on their own. Hundreds of Redwings arrived during the bitter cold of December 2010.
Song Thrush Turdus philomelos
Of all Inishbofin’s breeding birds, Song Thrush has benefited most from the removal of Magpies. As can be read in the first paragraph below (written in 2009 and set in italics) the secretive nature of the species made for a challenge when elucidating breeding status. Once Magpies were virtually eliminated by 2013, the Song Thrush population enjoyed a renaissance. Presumably, with nest predation no longer a limiting factor, broods survived and the species multiplied. During the spring of 2015 around twelve singing males could be heard across Inishbofin. Given that no Magpies were present on Inishbofin before 1956, why was the species so uncommon before the 1950s, based on information from visiting ornithologists? It is quite conceivable that the presence of breeding birds was missed due to the bird’s retiring habits or because visits did not coincide with singing. Another possibility is that the tree cover and dense hedgerows beloved by breeding birds in the new millennium did not exist to the same extent before the 1950s.
Ever elusive, the breeding status of Song Thrushes on Inishbofin is hard to fathom. In April 2007 none was seen or heard, yet in late May two were in song. From this, it was concluded that breeding birds arrive late in the season. In March 2008 (earlier than the first spring visit of 2007) two were heard in full song for long periods before dawn and during the day. Does the species occupy breeding territories early in spring, cease singing after the first nesting attempt and then sing again at the onset of a second breeding attempt or brood? Certainly, this would explain song in March 2008, no singing in mid-April or early May 2007, and song in early June 2007 and late May 2008. Areas occupied by songsters are at Cloonamore (the willow thickets inland of coastal fields) and Knock. Ruttledge’s data (1957) seems to fit a similar pattern. From 14th to 6th June 1932 he saw none (song had probably ceased on such a late date); from 3rd to 13th July 1943 he also drew a blank (again, too late for song) but between 30th May to 1st June 1956 he heard four and saw adults carrying food. The local priest at the time, Father O’Malley, stated that he had heard the bird annually since he arrived on Inishbofin in 1952. All of which points to the species being a regular breeding species whose presence, like Corncrake, is best established by listening!
With regular visits spanning several breeding seasons (up to the spring and summer of 2015) a clearer understanding has emerged. Song commences in settled weather in January. Lulls presumably mark the arrival of broods. However, fresh breeding attempts are accompanied by a resurgence of singing until final broods leave the nest in late June. By this time adults are grey-toned and tatty. During autumn, migrants begin to arrive in strength in early October and movements broadly match those described for Blackbirds (see latter’s account). During winter, similar numbers of Song Thrushes and Blackbirds are found across Inishbofin. In 2007, approximately 30 of each were noted in late December; in 2008 there seemed to be more Song Thrushes than Blackbirds, including a loose group of eight on the fields between Dumhach and Loch a Teampaill. Censusing of Song Thrushes is relatively easy in mid-winter since the island’s cover is largely bare and the birds abandon their normal reclusive behaviour. Ruttledge writes along familiar lines: ‘In December [1956] I found it one of the most noticeable birds. It was so plentiful that I was left with the impression that it outnumbered the Blackbird; it was certainly more widespread. I estimated that 50–100 were present.’ Such a total may have been a reflection of Song Thrushes feeding openly across tilled fields, which were a common feature on Inishbofin at that time.
Another topic of interest is pondering the possibility that, among migrants, some might hail from the Outer Hebrides. Birds from this population (Hebridean Song Thrush) are swarthy and subtly distinct in minor ways and at least a proportion of the population (maybe the year’s juveniles?) are believed to migrate at the end of the breeding season. At least one migrant Song Thrush noted in southwest Donegal in a recent autumn seemed to show affinities. Based on impressions rather than concrete evidence, ‘swarthiness’ (a dusky look, heavily marked underparts and deep earth-brown upperparts) tends to be a plumage trait prevalent on some autumn migrants. Although conjecture, could it simply be that autumn migrants are simply ‘western’ stock? Meaning, west Scotland and possibly even northwest Irish?
Song Thrushes featured strongly in the major thrush influx brought about by the severe weather of December 2010. Talking to local observers, as many as 400 may have been on Inishbofin around Christmas, at the peak of the freezing weather. Following a thaw on 27th December, many returned whence they came. Visiting from 29th December 2010 to 4th January 2011, AMG counted at least 100 across all parts of Inishbofin. Among them, at least one stood out as being noticeably grey-brown above with paler-than-average underparts and, for a Song Thrush, a distinct grey rump. The suite of features supports an identification favouring ‘Continental’ Song Thrush, suggesting an origin from Eastern Europe or Russia.
Mistle Thrush Turdus viscivorus
In December 1955, two were present on 5th December and one (apparently a different individual) next day. The freezing weather of December 2010 brought an unprecedented influx of thrushes to Inishbofin (see other species accounts), among which was a total of 15 Mistle Thrushes on 22nd December. The birds were feeding on the rabbit-grazed turf across the rocky escarpment leading west to Cnoc Mor. Most appeared to have left the island once a thaw set in over Christmas, because just three remained on 31st December (AMG). In 2015, two migrants arrived on 10th October; two others (but perhaps the same) were still present a week later.
White’s Thrush Zoothera dauma
On 28th September 2008 one was flushed while feeding on the ground below a fuchsia hedge along the High Road in Cloonamore. This was the fifth Irish record of the species and the first for Galway. Here is the story of what is probably the single most remarkable example of a bird from east of the Ural Mountains reaching Inishbofin.
‘It would be hard to come up with a nicer morning. The sea was calm, the mountains of Connemara sparkled in morning mist and there was warmth in the air. I could walk about without wearing a jacket. At just after first light I watched a migrant Chiffchaff drop into the cottage garden and zoom around the place like a dervish. Maybe its high-speed zigzags were designed to shake off a potential lurking predator before it decided to settle and feed. Soon it was snatching tiny flies from the undersides of sycamore leaves. The air was so still that smokestacks of midges spiraled over treetops. In the course of the next three hours I saw a small selection of migrants, the best being a new Garden Warbler and a Pied Flycatcher that I had found yesterday.
Along the highest point of the road above East End Bay I had just checked the first of two enormous mounds of weed-covered soil lying beside excavations for a new house — nothing much, two Linnets and a Skylark — and had resumed walking when I saw a large thrush flying ahead of me. A steep bank at the rear of the new house was covered in tall fuchsia. The thrush flew below the line of the fuchsia and shot around the side of the house, out of sight. I was shaken by what I had just seen. The bird was big, about the size of a Mistle Thrush and had flashed white edges at the corners of its tail. The tail looked really dark but the colour of the rest of the bird was brown, seemingly a rich, almost chestnut shade. My first thought was that I might have just seen my first Mistle Thrush. Over recent days I had completed a root-and-branch overhaul of the Inishbofin checklist and knew that the only Mistle Thrush record was in mid-winter and over 50 years ago! So I was not going to be disappointed if the bird turned out to be a Mistle Thrush.
However, I was perplexed. Surely not a White’s Thrush, the only other species of similar size and with white tail corners? That possibility seemed unthinkable. The bird must have carried on after it rounded the front of the house for now there it was again — this time flying past low over roadside fields. It had swung towards me and then veered off and away to my left, the direction from which I had come. I clamped binoculars to my face and instantly I saw the beating wings and their unmistakeable pattern: a centrally placed pale buff (not white) underwing bar bounded fore and aft with black. It WAS a White’s Thrush!
I suppose I am very fortunate as I saw several White’s Thrushes in China in 1988 and saw the Copeland Islands White’s Thrush a few times on each of three separate days in 1993. So I knew that there was no doubt about the identification. The star continued purposefully, undulating gently in a powerful swooping flight (but much less dipping than a Mistle Thrush) and then it landed on a wall beside a ruined cottage. It was about 150 metres away and although visible through binoculars it was hard to see because it adopted a crouched pose. I started walking towards it but a farmer emerged from his house close to the ruin and when I looked again the bird was gone. Oh no.
I did not know where it went. Suitable cover consisted of a very dense garden about 80 m away from where I had seen it on the wall, or several dense willow thickets at the bottom of adjoining fields. A sinking feeling started to drown my euphoria. Being the only observer on the island, how was I to try and relocate one of the planet’s shyest species? Memories of several dozen birders encircling a small elder bush on the Copeland Islands into which a White’s Thrush had flown but remained invisible until flushed after a half-hour wait, did not inspire much confidence.
All afternoon I checked the likely spots in the vicinity of the bird’s flight direction. Nothing. However, I did find a pair of Greenland Redpolls (destined to stay for at least a week) that pleased me a lot. In the evening I returned to the same area in the hope that it might reappear, even if only to fly to roost. At about 1900 hrs I heard crow caws. They were chasing something. I latched onto it. Good grief — it was the White’s Thrush! Two Hooded Crows and a Magpie made half-hearted passes at it and then broke off as the thrush flew strongly away from them. It was coming upslope — roughly in my direction — and I had the camera at the ready. I desperately wanted to do several things at once. I wanted to follow it with binoculars; I wanted to see where it went; I wanted to try like crazy and get any kind of record shot, even a silhouette. In the event I was partially blind-sided by a house that obscured my view until I could see the bird again, still flying upslope. It reached the brow of the road and then continued southwest over moorland behind me. I could not believe that it did that. I sprinted onto a low summit above the road in the hope that it might have landed.
The same mix of emotions from the morning engulfed me again. Jubilation that I had seen it but renewed hopelessness about where it had gone and what it was ‘up to’. By now there seemed no point in walking any further in the direction in which it may or may not have flown. Maybe it has a routine and has gone off to roost? Maybe it will be back in the morning? Next morning the weather was cold, grey and windy. Several birders and myself checked all its haunts but to no avail. The sad thing is, it could have been nearby. It is frustrating that sometimes the price of finding one of the best rarities is to taste great excitement matched by black despair when it leaves you there — on your own.
I wrote down my recollections of the bird shortly after I first saw it. The body shape was as distinctive as its large size. In flight it was sleeker than Mistle Thrush; more of a javelin in flight with spool-shaped wings. There was something of a lithe Green Woodpecker in its bounding flight and also, given its colour scheme and proportions, an echo of a giant Treecreeper. It was streamlined in shape with a longish front and rear (although not necessarily long-tailed). The rich brown upperparts recalled the colour and texture of a juvenile Ruff. The measured and powerful flight had something of Ruff about it too, even allowing for the deep wing-strokes of a thrush. The vividness of the tail’s white corners was better understood after seeing the bird longer in flight. When it manoeuvred to avoid the harassment from crows, it spread the tail; that action made the corners more conspicuous, doubly so because the adjoining part of the tail was blackish. Otherwise, in direct flight, the fully folded tail overlaps the white tail corners. When folded in flight, the upper tail formed a uniform brown area contiguous with the rest of the upperparts. The upperwing was patterned but the ‘shock’ of the flashing black-and-whitish underwing drew the eye far more than the bird’s upperside. In summary, there was a weak wing-bar effect across the bird’s upperwing but it wasn’t striking even though it was obvious that a pattern existed. Oh for a slow-motion film! The underwing was outstanding. It was amazing to see a Zoothera underwing pattern flashing over green fields on an island off the west coast of Ireland. The essence of the design was simple: a broad white band along the centre of the underwing set off by adjoining black plumage. The bar did not run the whole way out to the leading edge of the underwing. Rather, it was ‘centred’. The belly was whitish and contrasted well against the rest of the brown head, body and upperwings. However, the whole of the underparts were smothered in scaly markings. No doubt the bird’s back possessed similar markings but in flight such intricate patterning was not discernible. At it flew I could see something of a big-eyed face and bold counter-shading on the side of the head and neck that make the bird so ‘other worldly’ to behold.’
Grasshopper Warbler Locustella naevia
Two were recorded singing among overgrown ditches, rank grass and low bramble (ideal breeding habitat) north of Clossy in 2004. One was singing in the same area on 4th May 2008. During 24–25th May the area was revisited without apparent success. However, the same or another Grasshopper Warbler was singing 200 m away (further west) on 25th May. Hence, it remains to be seen if the species breeds on Inishbofin or simply passes through and sings on migration. In 2010, one was singing near the Dolphin Hotel as well as in the (by now) traditional Clossy area, where two were seen. In 2011, a remarkable influx occurred. Reeling males were heard from ten areas and a pair was present in brambles at the graveyard. Several local people were fascinated by the sound and said that they had not heard it before. So the wave of Grasshopper Warblers in 2011 may well have been an exceptional event. Fewer arrived in 2012 and 2013 but reeling songsters were still in at least two areas. First, the Clossy site held one and perhaps the same bird was also heard singing from suitable nesting cover near the Dolphin Hotel. Secondly, the deep bramble-covered ditch running along the flat ground below Knock Hill. The latter location has held a singing male in the three years, 2011–2013. Grasshopper Warbler goes through inexplicable peaks and troughs. The factors that influence numbers are hard to elucidate; maybe spring rains in Africa determine how many survive the winter and are well enough fattened to reach Ireland? So much for speculation. Nonetheless, boom became bust in 2014 and 2015. None were heard. Worse still, the core area north of Clossy was almost completely destroyed by fire. The habitat is most unlikely to regenerate because the intention appears to be to graze the re-growth of grass with sheep. The fire also destroyed some of the richest, most mature heather on Inishbofin and the blaze occurred in late spring, ensuring the destruction of an untold number of nests. Almost certainly affected were Skylarks, Meadow Pipits, Linnets and Reed Buntings.
Blyth’s Reed Warbler Acrocephalus dumetorum
One was in nettles beside potato fields at Westquarter from 5th-7th October 2012. This was the sixth to be discovered in Ireland and the first for County Galway. As well as the account (below), a photograph of the Inishbofin Blyth’s Reed Warbler is contained among a review of the shocking fate of Ireland’s first record at: https://medium.com/@anthonymcgeehan/patricide-b6253a3e0fd4.
‘On Inishbofin, County Galway, Friday 5th October 2012 was a sparkling day with a light northerly breeze. Conditions were ideal for finding migrants but the occupants of the island appeared to consist of only local birds. Migration had stalled. Such had been the case during the previous three days. News of an Eastern Kingbird on Inishmore, about 50km away, meant that hope was far from extinguished. By late afternoon I had reached the southwest extremity of the island where rows of potatoes and root crops adjoined an extensive waist-high bed of nettles. Seedeaters were on my mind. I scanned for Linnets and House Sparrows and dreamed of finding a stranger in their midst. Zilch. I was on the point of leaving when a warbler flitted from among the nettles. My only view was of it skimming low and dropping out of sight. The bird’s colour temperature suggested a Willow Warbler — but a pale one, possibly a ‘northern’ Willow Warbler, some of which turn up on Inishbofin in October. It went to ground and made no attempt to perch. On the other hand, given the lack of trees or even a solitary bush, any Phylloscopus warbler would probably be quite content to feed among a forest of nettles.
I walked to the lee of a dry-stone wall and waited. Nothing stirred. I got out an Audubon bird squeaker and cranked out a few notes. That did the trick. Stems twitched and I peered among the morass. What I saw was fragments of face and body. The bird was approaching like a stalking feline. I was electrified to see a spiky bayonet of a bill that, from this angle, looked broad across the base (echo of Spotted Flycatcher) and dark along the sides of the upper mandible. Wren-like, the distal portion of the bill tapered and appeared to curve towards a thin tip. The lower mandible was clean, bright and colourless. The fore-crown was flat and, if anything, concave. Initial impressions forged a notion of a long-billed warbler. In truth, the attenuated effect was produced by a combination of a ‘stretched’ forehead and a spiky bill. In effect, the face had a muzzle (or snout) and it was this that added the true-life, ‘long-faced’ expression. Especially when the bird looked slightly downwards, the breadth of its snout was wide enough to shield a view of its face. Between bill and eye there was a neat pale handlebar — the fore-supercilium or ‘supra-loral’ stripe — bordered below by darker lores. Blob-shaped and slightly arched in front of the eye, the stripe narrowed, straightened and petered out beyond the eye. Its extension past the eye was variable. Sometimes it morphed to become elongated and tapering, although it was never bright. The frontal bulge of the fore-supercilium was further emphasised by a somewhat darker fore-crown. Where fore-crown met fore-supercilium, there was a delineating furrow. The apex of the crown looked domed and the throat was creamy and slightly puffy. The feathers of the fore-crown were ruffled as though uplifted in agitation yet the upraised plumage formed part of the bird’s standard look. A diffuse pale arc encircled the underside of the eye.
Over most of the upperparts there was an absence of any strong swatch of Phylloscopus olive or Acrocephalus rufous. Fundamentally neutral brown, the hues were neither pallid nor warm. Among other warblers with which I am familiar, I failed to find a good match to the upperparts colour. It was as though brown upperparts had been desaturated of colour until they started to hint of olive, not brown. Light and vegetation exerted a further influence. The plumage radiated the hues of the surroundings. Among sunlit, verdant nettles, the back looked olive-brown; perched in the open in overcast weather; olive was purged and replaced by cold grey-brown. The underparts were clean and, for plumage that was whitish buff, they often appeared ‘silvery’ like the chest of a seal. In strong sun, the underparts looked stony-white although, in reality, they were underlain by grey on the fore-flanks and sandy-brown at the rear flank. In dull light the underparts could look a grubby impure shade that was almost grey on the flanks, particularly when the flank plumage cloaked the folded wings. Unlike Reed Warbler, the flanks did not show a rufous wash. In that split-second of gut reaction that commits lifelong memory, a further shock was the intermittent gleam of bronze from the folded wings. Seeming to depend entirely on body angle, coppery edges across the base of the folded secondaries and greater coverts caught the eye. Once I got over the surprise of an intermittent bronze gleam from this part of the bird, I came to accept it as a regular component in most field views. By now, nothing else mattered. Finally, I had encountered my Holy Grail. This was a Blyth’s Reed Warbler.
I tried to work out my next move. The bird had already defaulted to skulking. I needed better views and, if possible, photographs. Insect-rich runnels ran among the nettles and it was feasible that such redoubts met all feeding needs. I might never see it again. Gulp! I readied the camera and decided to play contact notes from my iPod. I debated if I should sacrifice views for images. A horrible dilemma. However, the chance of bagging digital proof won. I pressed ‘play’ and prayed. It worked. Due to entanglements cloaking the subject, finding focus was fiendishly difficult. So the images were rubbish. But still acceptable as corroboration. And there was a silver lining — the wraith had clearly been attracted to species-specific calls. Several weights had lifted. Now I was in for the long haul. I wanted to see and hear everything. The sleuth was foraging among the nettles and gleaning insects while balancing horizontally or facing forwards or upwards as it peered for prey. At no time did it ‘slide’ up or down stems in the manner of a Reed Warbler. On the other hand, nettle stems are not conducive to sliding! Feeding actions were edgy. It progressed by measured vaults, intermittently gathering pace when it slimmed into a long-bodied and dart-headed posture, when the head’s contours look ‘bony’. Frequently the short wings hung partly spread and the longish tail was carried in a gentle cock above the line of the body, which came across as pot-bellied. The tail was also twitched downwards in a shallow arc. Generally, the legs looked long. The silhouette resembled a fairground swing-boat, akin to the oft-quoted likeness to a banana. Despite longish legs, the centre-of-gravity was low, while the head and tail were uplifted. However, the proportions were never podgy (in the style of Garden Warbler) but streamlined with an overall spool shape recalling Grasshopper Warbler. In afternoon sunshine, the underparts varied between buff to grey — dingy on the flanks, whitest on the belly and vent. During total overcast, the flanks turned ‘smoky’ and abutted an off-white chest. The rearmost undertail coverts were café-au-lait. Along the rear flank, a wedge of dun impinged upon and almost separated the white rear belly from the long undertail coverts. If the wing was drooped, the ‘whorl’ of dun was hidden. The tertials showed contrast. Sunlight set off a dappled look at the tips of, especially, the two innermost tertials. The rest of the wing was plain. When the wing was tightly folded, the exposed primaries formed a short point (clearly shorter than the length of the tertials). The shortness of the folded wings made the tail appear long. The ratio of exposed primaries versus tertial length reminded me of the short wing point of a Blackbird. The bill’s lower mandible always looked pale. Views were not good enough to detect a dusky tip to the pale lower mandible (if indeed there even was one). The legs and feet were a bland, variable shade; their colour fell somewhere between grey and ‘dusty’ pink.
During approximately eight hours of waiting over three days, five single calls were heard. The utterance was a tongue-clicking (recalling Lesser Whitethroat) tet. Perhaps thik or tsuk better conveys a certain ‘splatting’ quality that is hard to describe in words. Once, two deliveries were made in fairly quick succession. The note was underwhelming. At no time was the caller visible, yet the syllable was a sure bead to whereabouts.
Occasionally the phantom lingered for up to 20 minutes within clumps of nettles no larger than a kitchen table. Rare flights were made from one block of nettles to another. Airborne, it was a totally plain warbler without any plumage contrasts, such as a rusty rump. Flight views were too brief to form any meaningful impression of looking long-tailed or round-winged; both are cited as attributes of the species. Subsequent examination of photographs revealed tightly bunched primaries, at least six tips being (just about) discernible as opposed to seven or eight on Reed Warbler. In addition, the tips on Reed Warbler have a slightly wider spacing that increases towards the wing tip. The tips on Reed Warbler are also made easier to see because the folded primaries are darker, making the fringes stand out. Often the Blyth’s Reed Warbler held its wings tight against the uppertail coverts. When this happened, due to the short extension of primaries beyond tertials, the wing tip was almost ‘lost’ against the uppertail coverts, attenuating the bird’s rear profile. The position of emargination on the wing of the Blyth’s Reed Warbler produces a cut-away irregularity on the edge of the outer primaries (difficult to see clearly in photographs). Flight photographs show a gently rounded shape to the tail and no paleness on the outer tail. Had the bird been a Hippolais (confusion has arisen between some members of this genus and Blyth’s Reed Warbler), the tail would have been square-ended and the outer edges would have been pale. Fairly short undertail coverts are a further feature of Hippolais, not Acrocephalus. The bird was still present on 7th October and may have stayed beyond that date. However, its secretive nature frustrated attempts to confirm presence over subsequent days.’
Reed Warbler Acrocephalus scirpaceus
Three records. In 2013 one gave fleeting views on several occasions as it flitted between vegetation on the slope beside the priest’s house and the apple trees and bushes behind the Inishbofin House Hotel on 26th September. In 2015 one was behind the priest’s house on 14th September. In 2016, one was in the young trees behind the Dolphin Hotel on 13th September.
Sedge Warbler Acrocephalus schoenobaenus
Occurs wherever there are extensive damp thickets and reed-beds; about 20 pairs breed. Several nest around Loch a Teampaill and along Clossy. New plantations of alder, birch and willow behind the Dolphin Hotel have become an important foraging habitat. If data presented in Ruttledge (1957) and Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) is accurate, Sedge Warblers must have colonised Inishbofin around the late 1940s or early 1950s. Ruttledge did not record the species before 1956, a year for which he listed a mere two or three pairs. In 1976, Hutchinson & Ruttledge estimated five pairs; still a far cry from the bird’s population level in the new millennium.
Garden Warbler Sylvia borin
Scarce migrant in autumn. One was seen in October 1997 behind the church. In 2007, singles were seen at Knock on 7th October and 7th November. In 2008, one was at the graveyard on 27th September and another in willows at Cloonamore on 28th. In 2010 three were found in October. The first was at the graveyard on 10th, followed by along High Road on 13th and another at the graveyard on 17th.
Barred Warbler Sylvia nisoria
Six records in autumn. In 2008, one was at Cloonamore on 6th October. In 2010, one was below the Youth Hostel on 11th October. Over the course of the following five days, it fed on blackberries along the roadside leading to the graveyard. Another caught flies hovering around ivy blossom near the graveyard on 17th October. In 2012, one was among vegetation on slope beside the priest’s house on 6th October. Another was in a new plantation at Knock on 8th October. In 2013, one was in another new plantation behind the Dolphin Hotel on 24th September.
Lesser Whitethroat Sylvia curruca
Seven records in autumn. Across Ireland, Lesser Whitethroat’s fortunes appear to be on the rise. Since the late 1980s it has become an annual passage migrant and has even bred (albeit only once). In Britain, it seems to be tentatively expanding its breeding range northwest. The species name is an insult. A former name fitted like a glove — Masked Warbler. The first for Inishbofin was in the overgrown garden above the Inishbofin House Hotel. It was seen by Steve Dodgson and Joe Adamson in late September 2002. In 2007 one was in willow thickets in Michael-Joe O’Halloran’s field behind East End Bay on 9th and 10th October; another arrived at Knock on 19th October.
In 2009, a secretive individual was at Cloonamore from 28th September to 5th October. In 2011 one was at Westquarter during late September and early October; another was at Cloonamore on several dates in mid-October. In 2012 one was among cover on the slope near the entrance to the Inishbofin House Hotel from 16th to 20th October. In 2015 one was among saplings in the corner of the graveyard on 2nd November. In 2016 one was among apple trees at Knock from 16th to 19th September. Although it will never be certain, this individual might, like some or all of the others, have been of the subspecies that breeds in Siberia, Sylvia curruca blythi. The basis for this notion is the bird’s brown back, rather grey head and rich buff underparts (that seemed peachy-buff at times). Recordings of the birds call can be heard here:http://www.xeno-canto.org/335922
Eastern Lesser Whitethroat Sylvia (c.?) halimodendri
A first-winter at Knock on 1st and 2nd November 2012 could be an example of Sylvia curruca halimodendri, increasingly referred to as Desert Lesser Whitethroat (Garner, M. 2014. Challenge Series: Autumn. Pages 78–85). Ongoing research into the world’s ‘lesser whitethroats’ seems likely to result in a reclassification producing two, perhaps three, species. If that happens, the Inishbofin individual may prove attributable to a full species. A description accompanies the plate (below).
Although no other warblers were available for comparison, I am familiar with Lesser Whitethroat as a scarce migrant on Inishbofin. This bird struck me as being both smaller (by how much I have no idea, possibly just a fraction) but more importantly, aspects of its shape and behaviour said ‘Dartford Warbler’ [a useful comparison can be made with the Lesser Whitethroat image that accompanies the diary entry for 9th October 2007]. It was active and kept low (often feeding on the ground but out of sight under foliage) and had a habit of cocking its longish-looking tail. Among foliage it was acrobatic and often twisted and dangled upside down like a Blue Tit. Further structural features that did not chime with my recollection of other Lesser Whitethroats were the short wings with bunched primary tips; the dinky short-looking bill and, at times, a disproportionately big ‘puffy’ head for a small warbler (the bird’s throat was sometimes pouted or ruffled, emphasising further the quirky shape of its ‘bust’).
Plumage details match criteria that are claimed to support identification of halimodendri-type Eastern Lesser Whitethroat. In particular, the all-white outermost tail feather (T6) and, based on scrutiny other images, white tips to T5 and T4; an intrusion of brown upperparts admixed within grey plumage at the nape and an unimpressive ‘mask’ on the ear-coverts (the bird ppdid not possess the highwayman look of a ‘regular’ Lesser Whitethroat). Based on the degree of wear on the tertials, the bird was a first-winter (Neville McKee, personal communication). Moult related to age might potentially explain the odd shape of the tail: the outermost tail feathers were a step down in length from the remainder of the tail. Another eye-catching detail in the tail was bright pale edges to the central upper-tail feathers. As is normal, these feathers cloaked most of the folded tail. However, unlike other Lesser Whitethroats, the edges of the large central tail feathers — and possibly other tail feathers whose edges could not be seen at rest — were bright and pale, so much so that, depending on angle, the tail’s upper surface looked striped. Unfortunately the bird remained silent during observations.
AMG contacted Andrew Lassey, an outstanding field observer and ringer with a particular interest in ‘lesser whitethroat’ taxonomy. Andrew has, in company with Lars Svensson and D.I.M. Wallace, trapped birds across most of the breeding range.
‘Dear Anthony, Lesser Whitethroat taxonomy was always a nightmare and the recent introduction of genetic studies (link below) has not eased the situation.
http://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/S1055790313000055
I have trapped all known races with the exception of true minula which is restricted to breeding only in Northern China, this race is most unlikely to make it to Western Europe. Middle East birds we now believe to be halimodendri and not minula as previously claimed.
Recent genetic studies are apparently showing that some individuals with the appearance of typical Central Asian halimodendri are genetically closer to Siberian blythi. [One authority] is saying that several of the late UK birds are a good match for Kazakh blythi. My question to him would be where in Kazakhstan does blythi breed? All rather a mess.
Your bird is interesting in several ways, the late date is strongly suggestive of eastern origin and the ground feeding might lead one to consider the desert races, despite this behaviour and the structural features you noted I don’t see many plumage details I would associate with typical halimodendri. I would have expected to see a paler head with the crown a similar colour to the remaining upperparts, paler lores (look dark on your bird), white throat with warmish buff breast and flanks (your bird looks rather cold on the underparts). I cannot see the tail pattern on your images [AMG: unfortunately I emailed low resolution images to Andrew; the actual pattern is shown more clearly in the images above]. A feature which might give a useful pointer, halimodendri should have a fully white outer tail with pale tipping to several of the outer tail feathers.
Hadoram Shirihai discounted blythi as a valid race and my view is that the head pattern is much closer to nominate curruca than to halimodendri which more closely resembles the small and sandy coloured minula. Despite appearances DNA is showing that blythi might be considered as a full specific split! My guess is that your bird is either blythi or a northern halimodendri.’
Whitethroat Sylvia communis
Surprisingly rare. No longer breeds. None during spring and summer visits in 2007–09. In 1956, the species was noted as relatively common by Ruttledge (1957): ‘breeds and is widespread in cultivated areas; more noticeable in 1956 than on previous visits.’ In 2010 two singles remained from 10th to 12th October. In 2011 a migrant was seen briefly in May. In 2015 a migrant was near Loch a Teampaill on 12th and 13th October. In 2016 one was in the trees behind the Dolphin Hotel on 18th September and was still present on 20th.
Melodious Warbler Hippolais polyglotta
One spent at least two days, 17th and 18th September 2019, stalking and snatching insects around Austin Coyne’s crop field near the Doonmore Hotel.
Blackcap Sylvia atricapilla
Not recorded by Ruttledge (1957) or by Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978). This fact is unsurprising because the species did not begin to become a regular migrant until some time in the 1980s. In terms of a change in fortunes across Ireland, the bird has rolled the equivalent of not one but two sixes. By the new millennium, Blackcaps were breeding everywhere. Although possibly no suitable nesting habitat exists on Inishbofin, songsters have put in an appearance each May since the first in May 2012. Single males have occupied territory among the two apple trees and adjoining scrub between the road above the Inishbofin House Hotel. One, judged to be a young male based on its poorly developed song, was in willow scrub at Cloonamore at 4th June 2007. In autumn the first migrants start to appear during late September. No more than four in a day have been seen. During October, depending on weather and if it is a ‘good year’ for Blackcap migration, more can be expected. The species is normally silent on migration and furtive; two factors that conspire against gauging the true scale of numbers. Nonetheless, migrants are most numerous in the second half of October. During 2010, the entire month of October was covered daily. Arrivals began on 10th (three), increasing to five next day. Seven were discovered on 12th October, rising to ten over subsequent days. No doubt early arrivals moved on, to be replaced by others. During a spell of high pressure during 23rd-24th October, several new birds appeared. The new wave (totalling at least ten) contained a high proportion of males. Two males were seen in late November. In October 2012, migration was slow to commence and involved — in comparison to most recent autumns — low numbers. Probably the prevalence of winds from a predominantly westerly quadrant accounted for a paucity of arrivals. Only one was seen during this period. Subsequently, figures rose to a paltry four on 31st October, three of them female. Recorded for the first time in winter on 30th December 2008 (a male near the hostel).
Wood Warbler Phylloscopus sibilatrix
One on 2nd May 1994 (Kevin P. Collins). In 2014 one was at Knock from 15–17th September; another was in willows at Michael-Joe O’Halloran’s land in Cloonamore on 16th September. In 2012, on the unusual date of 12th July, one was with a migrant Chiffchaff on Inishark.
Willow Warbler Phylloscopus trochilus
For a species that is common and can be heard in song right across Connemara, Willow Warbler is conspicuous by its absence. A few migrants arrive in spring but breeding has not taken place. In truth, there is probably insufficient habitat. In 2010 a small influx occurred in late April. At least six arrived, and several sang and briefly occupied breeding territories. In autumn, migrants pass through in August and September. Elsewhere in Ireland, Willow Warbler migration is largely over by the middle of September. Yet on Inishbofin migrants occur until late in the month, as many as ten have been seen in late September, a trickle extends into October. In 2008 late records were two that remained from 19th October until at least 1st November 2008. In 2007 one on 5th October was conspicuously pallid and was considered to be a Northern Willow Warbler Phylloscopus trochilus acredula. At least one more Willow Warbler has also shown plumage consistent with P t acredula, that is, sandy-brown upperparts and pale, close to whitish, underparts with a creamy chest with just a hint of yellow. In 2016 one was found by itself on 16th September (stayed until at least 21st September) but soon gravitated among three nominate Willow Warblers. The four birds formed a lose association. Within three days just one Willow Warbler remained alongside the Northern Willow Warbler.
Chiffchaff Phylloscopus collybita
A singing bird near Loch-a-Teampaill on 10th April 2007 was thought at the time to be unusual. Surely Chiffchaffs are likely to be scarce spring migrants on Inishbofin where tall woodland, the bird’s breeding habitat, is lacking? Evidence to the contrary emerged in early May 2009 when up to six were present in gardens and most were singing. At least two remained for a week; two in June and July may have been part of the spring influx. Much the same pattern has become the norm (such as five singing males in late April 2010). It seems bizarre that Willow Warbler, breeding so abundantly on the adjacent mainland, should be rare by comparison. Summering Chiffchaffs were present in 2013 and 2014. In autumn, migrants are slow to appear until late September. However, throughout October, sightings are daily and peak in late October when up to ten is not unusual. Willow thickets and reed-beds (especially a combination of the two habitats) are especially favoured. Migrants also occur in gardens, notably around Knock where up to four have been seen together. A wintering bird was behind the church in January 2008. Despite freezing weather in late November 2010, two were detected in the course of a brief visit. Both fed on or close to the ground and gleaned aphids from the stems of Stinging Nettles. Pale Chiffchaffs, presumably examples of Phylloscopus collybita abietinus that breeds from northern Norway east across Asia and does not overlap the breeding range of western European Chiffchaffs, have appeared at twice in October.
Siberian Chiffchaff Phylloscopus tristis
Three records, all on typical dates in late October. An over-wintering bird in 2012–2013 possibly involved a migrant first discovered in late October. 2008: 26th October; 2010: 23rd October; 2012: 31st October to 5th November and 29th December until 3rd January 2013; 2015: 1st and 2nd November.
Radde’s Warbler Phylloscopus schwarzi
One at Knock on 5th October 2015. The first for County Galway. Photographs of the bird and the following account, albeit dealing with the history of the species, were published on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anthonymcgeehan/photos/a.167573230037133.33602.165798840214572/771145306346586/?type=3&theater
‘Gustav Radde (pronounced rad-eh) was German. He was born in Danzig, the capital of West Prussia, in 1831. Danzig is now part of Poland; we know it as Gdansk. He was the son of a schoolmaster and worked as an apothecary until, age 21, he quit a career in pharmacy and headed off to the Crimea on a natural history expedition. He never looked back. Other trips to southern Russia followed and he settled in the Caucasus and took up residence in Tiblisi, the capital of Georgia. He developed a great love of the Caucasus Mountains and discovered Radde’s Accentor, a beautiful relative of Dunnock. The Caucasus are a long way from Ireland but Radde’s eponymous warbler comes from much further east. On 22 September 1856 he found an unfamiliar and retiring leaf-warbler in ‘a kitchen garden’ at Kullussutajevsk near Lake Tarei Nor in eastern Transbaikalia. At the time he was exploring eastwards with the Russian Geographical Society, who intended to reach Kamchatka and ‘Russian America’, as Alaska was then known. Radde conferred the Latin title ‘Phylloscopus schwarzi’ on his warbler in honour of his friend and fellow expeditionary, Ludwig Schwarz, an astronomer who, like Radde, hailed from Danzig. In some European countries, such as France, the species is still known as ‘Schwarz’s Warbler’ (Pouillot de Schwarz).
The distribution of Radde’s Warbler hovers between the southern boundary of Siberia and northeast China as far as Sakhalin Island. The breeding range is narrow and among the hillside pine, oak and birch forest that it frequents in Transbaikalia it is nowhere numerous. The winter quarters are in Indo-China. To reach the nesting grounds in spring, the species does not cross Central Asia but migrates to the north over the middle and eastern parts of China to Manchuria. There the main route divides into two: some go a comparatively short distance to Ussuriland and Sakhalin Island, whereas others make a very long journey to Transbaikalia and the Altai Mountains along the bottom flank of Siberia. Perhaps, if autumn juveniles also depart due east (rather than south) and are prepared for a long flight, it might explain why a few miscue and finish up journeying all the way west to the very edge of Europe?
It seems incredible that such a shy, relatively uncommon Asian sylvan sprite should make it to Inishbofin off the Connemara coast, where the photographs were taken on 5th October. Although Radde’s Warbler is not an instant looker, the sight of one has the power to pitch its beholder into a dream world. It is difficult for a layperson to grasp but the cocktail of history, geography and rarity elevates the plain Jane from a grain of sand to being a whole beach. Finding one is like walking on red carpet. Quite why a Siberian warbler should head for Ireland instead of the Orient is a mystery. There are actually quite plausible reasons that account for such a phenomenon but, for the moment, it is better to just let you see the face that, 160 years ago, Gustav Radde recognized as unique. Luckily this individual, rather than continuing to hell, chose Connaught.
Radde’s Warbler is something of a chameleon. Depending on foliage and light, its plumage can look olive (as in these images) or brown. A bright ‘hot spot’ is beneath the tail; the under-tail coverts are buff or even tinged cinnamon (visible in one image).’
Mearns, B. & Mearns, R. 1988. Biographies for Birdwatchers. Academic Press. London.
Neufeldt, Irene. 1960. Studies of less familiar birds — Radde’s Bush Warbler. British Birds volume 53, number 3, March 1960, pp 117–122.
Arctic Warbler Phylloscopus borealis
One at Knock on 13th September 2015. The first record for County Galway. A photograph and the following account, that includes a sound recording, was posted on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/anthonymcgeehan/photos/a.167573230037133.33602.165798840214572/758247377636379/?type=3&theater
‘Sometimes you roll a six. Years ago I shook off Rare Bird Fever inasmuch as I decided to play a solo hand and not waste time running after other people’s good luck finds. Every man to his terra incognita. A by-product of dwelling only on birds and not the rat race that is ‘birding’ (hate the term) is that, unlike quite a few birders, I had not contracted Common Bird Lassitude. Not only do I find common birds fascinating but I worry about them. They are the bloodline and many, due to human activities, are haemorrhaging. Still, as everyone knows, it is autumn outside and that means birds are on the move across the Northern Hemisphere. For young troops embarked on massive migrations there is a possibility of miscalculation that can result in chance occurrences off the beaten track. Sifting through what turns up at the hands of the weather, especially on islands that provide temporary accommodation for drifted waifs, is just about as absorbing as any sport. Moreover, because of the cross-hemisphere reach of some migrants, it is possible to construct a wish list that contains stars from North America to Eastern Asia.
Siberia is a word with a cachet of wonder, a vast wilderness that is home to one of my favourite families of birds — the small and highly active leaf-warblers. In Ireland, Willow Warbler and Chiffchaff are our sole breeding representatives. Once you track east, variety increases. This side of the Ural Mountains, most bird migration (of all species) aims for Africa. The forested slopes, which overlook Arctic tundra and stretch south to the semi-deserts of Kazakhstan, act as a watershed. Birds breeding east of the Urals head for Southeast Asia or the Indian subcontinent. But, remarkably, some finish up passing through northwest Europe. Theories seek to explain why the birds miscue. Explaining the scenarios could fill a book.
In autumn, whatever the underlying cause of vagrancy, the chance to enjoy finding a bird whose breeding and wintering quarters are impossibly remote is a realistic possibility. In fact, you can save up the dreams and, one by one, expect to gather them if you invest time looking. Unsurprisingly, most leaf-warblers come in olive hues. They also sport suffusions of yellow, stripes of white and come in a range of sizes. And they call differently. This makes them sound boring. Nothing could be further from the truth. Each is a masterpiece. Although there are basic attributes that distinguish family members, including a habit of flitting among foliage with the speedy unpredictability of electrons whizzing around a nucleus, they are a delight.
Every tribe has a chief. King among leaf-warblers is Arctic Warbler. Despite weighing less than half the weight of a hen’s egg, the bird travels from birch forest north of the Arctic Circle all the way to Malaya. Adorable looks may not spring to mind when you look at the monarch’s sublime countenance. But of all fine — and rare — wines, Arctic Warbler is one of the finest. I know that it is, for non-birdwatchers, hard to imagine, but when I saw and heard the bird in the photograph I had to close my eyes in an attempt to uncross them. When I opened them I discovered that I had become immobile in coronary country, as though injected with quick-drying cement.
Arctic Warbler has a call like no other leaf-warbler. Inishbofin’s individual can be heard on the Xeno-canto website at XC279153; XC279152.’
Yellow-browed Warbler Phylloscopus inornatus
Becoming annual in autumn. With the exception of two in early November, all records are in October. Up to the end of 2015, 29 have been seen, all bar one since 2007. One on 1st October 1956 constituted a rarity at the time. Nowadays, through increased awareness and better identification standards, notably of the species’ voice, Yellow-browed Warblers are expected. To boot, the bird has genuinely increased and seems to have produced a viable population that migrates around the oceanic periphery of Europe to reach winter quarters — as yet largely unknown — in North Africa and the Atlantic Islands. 2007 (5). Hopes were high of at least one encounter but the species took its time, despite a widespread ‘fall’ of individuals along the western seaboard of Ireland. The first was in the graveyard on 7th October, followed by another in a willow thicket at Cloonamore on 21st October. Finally, a remarkable three were in one garden at Knock from 1st to 4th November. 2008(2). Both arrived on 6th October. They were part of a small fall of migrants that arrived after the wind switched overnight from west to light northeast.2010 (2). Separate individuals on 11th and 14th October. 2011 (1). Almost a blank until one arrived on 2nd November. 2012 (3). One at the Priest’s Garden on 7th-9th October, another there on 17th and one at the vegetable garden beside the graveyard on 18th. 2013 (7). After one on 11th October, two were present on 13th and four on 14th. 2014 (5). One on 7th, another on 10th and three on 13th. 2015 (3). One on 6th, another on 7th, a third on 2nd November.
Goldcrest Regulus regulus
Uncommon in autumn. In 2007 three were recorded in October. In 2008 five were recorded in October, including a new arrival on 2nd November. The scarcity of Goldcrest on Inishbofin is puzzling because it is a common migrant on the Aran Islands where up to 120 have been recorded in early October . Hard weather during January 2010 severely depleted the species right across Europe. Perhaps this explains the absence of sightings in autumn 2010 and 2011. Three appeared during October 2012 and two apiece featured during the autumns of 2013 and 2014. During late September and October 2015 Goldcrests arrived in large numbers across Britain from northern Europe. Probably, good numbers made it to Ireland. Taking the bird’s 2010–2014 scarcity on Inishbofin as a barometer, numbers were well above average during October 2015. One or two were seen on most days and an unprecedented three were together in one fuchsia bush near the Inishbofin House Hotel on 11th October.
Pied Flycatcher Ficedula hypoleuca
Pied Flycatchers are annual in small numbers during autumn; the main occurrence period runs from late August to the middle of October. In 2007 mobile individuals were discovered moving east along the line of the main road below the Dolphin Hotel on 6th October and 9th October. The second bird shifted ‘over the hill’ and spent the afternoon feeding in the overgrown garden of Avondale cottage on the southern boundary of Cloonamore. In 2008 one spent two days fly-catching at Cloonamore on 27th-28th September. In 2010 single birds were seen on 3rd September (Lough Bo finne), 4th September (willows behind East End Bay), 11th October (Clossy), and 14th October (Cloonamore). In 2012 singles were seen around mid-month during August, September and October (a total of three). Migrants were recorded in each subsequent autumn. By the end of 2015, around 15 individuals had been discovered since 2007. In 2016 one was at Avondale on 1st October: the third Pied Flycatcher to be here. Perhaps the configuration of tall ‘craggy’ hedge-lines — of privet and fuchsia overlooking open ground — suits the species?
Spotted Flycatcher Muscicapa striata
Annual in spring and autumn, albeit in very small numbers. So far, all spring occurrences have been in late May or early June and no more than two have been seen in a day. In autumn, migrants appear between late August and the end of October. Three were seen on 27th September 2009 and remained for three days. The grounds of the Priest’s house appear to be a hot-spot. Other reliable locations include the lee of large willow clumps anywhere around Cloonamore. Eight, a record count, were located on 25th September 2013. The high tally was produced by a combination of warm winds prevailing from the Continent and an influx of around 50 birdwatchers that arrived to look (unsuccessfully) for Inishbofin’s Eastern Kingbird.
Red-breasted Flycatcher Ficedula parva
One was at Cloonamore on 3rd October 2014. Possibly the same individual was still present on 12th October.
Coal Tit Periparus ater
In 2007 two Coal Tits travelled around various parts of Cloonamore on 2nd October. One was noticeably yellow-cheeked, strongly indicative of an origin in Ireland. Although the intensity of yellow is variable and the suffusion affects both the hind-cheek (much less so fore-cheek) and nape, it is possible to see much the same wash, albeit paler yellow, in Coal Tits in western Scotland. For this reason, the trait is not unique to Ireland. Therefore, the notion that ‘Irish Coal Tit’ is an endemic subspecies is fallacious. In 2008 at least four Coal Tits reached Inishbofin in October and early November. All were restless and toured the island, mainly feeding among willow thickets. On two watched closely, the upperparts were pure grey (lacking the olive tone that seems typical of resident Coal Tits), the flanks were paler than Irish stock and the cheeks were weakly suffused with yellowish (depending on light and angle, the cast could be reduced to cream). Based on back colour, a continental origin seems feasible. In 2012 a spectacular irruption occurred across Ireland during late September and October. Based on plumage, Irish stock was involved. Up to six in a day were present on Inishbofin. In 2018 two were among the main garden in western Cloonamore on 7th October. After a while, one left and worked its way along cover towards the sea. Typical of immigrant Coal tits on Inishbofin, this individual appear to be driven and restless. Based on plumage, both were Irish stock.
Great Tit Parus major
First records came during a major irruption of Great Tits across Europe during autumn 2012. Up to five were seen daily from 10th October; sightings continued into early November. Two birds, operating as a pair, remained until early March but were gone by St Patrick’s Day. Based on vocalisations, the pair had credentials tabbing their area of origin to Russia, east of Moscow. Recordings were matched online and agreed with the ‘fingerprint’ of Russian-based vocalisations heard across Germany. In October 2015, two were seen near the Youth Hostel on 5th October; one was still present on 9th.
Blue Tit Cyanistes caeruleus
The first was discovered on 27th October 2012. It was pecking buds on willow stems in Michael Joe O’Halloran’s fields at Cloonamore. Four were present in the same area next day. Thereafter, singles were seen in various locations across eastern parts of Inishbofin until 31st October.
Treecreeper Certhia familiaris
One was in the main garden at Knock on 3rd October 2020. It found the most suitable tree trunks on all of Inishbofin. This is a remarkable occurrence. Unfortunately, the bird was not seen well enough — it was flushed by islanders almost as soon as it was found — to establish if it might have been a Scandinavian migrant (that are subtly distinct). Treecreepers in Scandinavia are migratory and some cross the North Sea to reach eastern Scotland and England. Other Scandinavian species, such as Bramblings and Fieldfares, arrived on Inishbofin just a few days later.
Red-backed Shrike Lanius collurio
Two first-winters were found by Steve Dodgson on 26th September 2005. At least one stayed until 28th September. One was at Knock. Precisely where the other was located is not known but it is believed to have been somewhere at Cloonamore, possibly near Dumhach.
Woodchat Shrike Lanius senator
A first-winter was in Cloonamore (Henry Kenney’s fields) on 26th September 2013.
Starling Sturnus vulgaris
Common breeding bird and winter visitor. Noisy flocks tour the island after the breeding season. Initially, the flocks consist of local juveniles but by October immigrants swell numbers to several hundreds. Pre-roost counts during late September 2008 produced around 550. The chief overnight roost appears to be on the north coast, this being the direction of travel. Perhaps Starlings still use rock cavities and ledges on the sea stack of Dun na Hinine, as mentioned by Ruttledge (1957). Although no survey has taken place, in 2012 a crude estimate established a minimum of 20 breeding pairs. It is interesting to compare contemporary status with the situation half a century earlier. Writing in 1956, Ruttledge stated: ‘Ussher found it [Starling] breeding in the cliffs in 1911. I have not found it in summer and neither Father O’Malley [Inishbofin’s priest from 1952 until 1959] nor S. Baird can obtain any evidence that it breeds. In winter I found it scattered widespread and it is said to roost in the cliffs of Dun na Hinine in which direction I saw flocks of some 500 birds fly at evening.’
Rose-coloured Starling Sturnus roseus
Six records; the first was during September 2002 (Gordon 2006). In 2008 a juvenile (moulting into first-winter) was seen by Caiman Coyne around Fawnmore on 28th October. In 2010 a first-winter flew from a new tree plantation at Knock on 25th September. It perched on a nearby rooftop. In 2011, sometime in early July, an immaculate adult-like individual arrived in a garden along the High Road at Cloonamore. The retention of juvenile primaries aged it as a one-year old. It became tame, thanks to daily feeding consisting of pinhead oats, banana and green grapes. Occasionally it called to assert dominance and oust Starlings. Three harsh kitsch kitsch kitsch notes were delivered with the momentum of a clucking Blackbird, although the sound was reminiscent of croaking frog. It was still present on 23rd July. In 2014 a summer-plumaged bird was discovered on 15th June near the GAA pitch in Fawnmore (Tom Murtagh, AMG). It remained until at least 20th June. A first-winter was near Lough Bofin on 5th October.
Golden Oriole Oriolus oriolus
One on 15th April 1987. Two were seen in May 1989, one of which was later picked up dead at Westquarter by Caiman Coyne. In April 2004 one was at Loch a Teampaill. In 2010, a one-year-old male was at Knock on 26th May. It roosted there each evening until 28th May and spent the day watching, shrike-like, for large insects in various areas of thickets and shrubbery. Its favourite haunt was the vegetated escarpment beside the priest’s house. In 2013 a stunning adult male arrived unseasonably early during a spell of mild southerly winds on 24th April. It spent a few days in the vicinity of the priest’s garden, as well as frequenting trees on the slope near the Inishbofin House Hotel. Sadly, it became exhausted and died on 1st May. Its remains were emaciated, presumably due to the exigencies of a long migratory flight followed by a lack of food. The specimen was passed to the National Parks & Wildlife Service.
Magpie Pica pica
Due to the absence of tall trees, nests are often located on the top of telegraph poles in the ‘crows-nest’ position where fixings and wires are attached. In October 2008 a roost among the dense shrubbery behind the priest’s house contained at least 35. From Ruttledge’s (1957) account it seems that Magpie is a comparatively recent arrival: ‘Father O’Malley [Inishbofin’s priest from 1952 to 1959] reports that two arrived in the autumn of 1956 and have remained in the vicinity of his house, roosting in the nearby bush-covered cliff. There seems to be no previous record for the island.’ Control measures that commenced in 2013 led to a significant drop in the population. The work, much to be applauded, was undertaken by Peter Guy, assisted by Ian Day. Due to the cessation of nest-predation by Magpies, the upshot was a rapid rise in the fortunes of bush-nesting songbirds, notably Song Thrushes, which increased from no more than two pairs from 2007 to 2012, to around ten pairs in 2013 and possibly twelve or more pairs in 2015. In 2015 a total of four Magpies were around Cloonamore during autumn. It is not known whether a pair bred earlier in the year.
Chough Pyrrhocorax pyrrhocorax
Choughs can be encountered at any time of the year; sometimes they fly from Inishbofin to Inishlyon or Inishark. Although Ruttledge (1956) stated that the species was ‘plentiful’ in 1943, he failed to place any counts on record. According to Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) eight pairs bred in 1968. In November 2002 an 80-strong flock arrived from (and later returned to) Inishark and toured Inishbofin for a day. By 2003, the population estimate stood at only three pairs (Gordon 2006). In 2010 two pairs attempted to breed. At least one was successful and raised three young. During September, the maximum seen together was eight. However, on 15th October, a roost was found that attracted up to 14 on some evenings until observations ceased in early November. In 2012 a travelling flock of 52 arrived from the northeast on 9th October and continued towards Inishark. Just before the group filled the sky with calls, a pair of local adults had been seen. They did not form part of the touring group. Some local people remember groups of Choughs loosely associating with cattle. In reality, the birds were probably probing cowpats for invertebrates. In the days before cattle were injected to prevent disease from internal parasites, chemical-free dung attracted many beetles. Research indicates that ‘modern’ cowpats are poor in invertebrates and that chemicals ingested from them by beetles may lead to disorientation and paralysis among insect fauna. Chough food is, therefore, reduced. In 1976 there were an estimated 135 cattle, 25 donkeys and three horses on Inishbofin (Hutchinson & Ruttledge). If uncontaminated dung was an important element in sustaining Choughs, it is no surprise that an estimated eight pairs occurred in 1968, or that the current population may consist of no more than two pairs, as seemed to be the case in 2015. Hopefully, a group of eight Choughs in late September might comprise the island’s production of young, perhaps also including young from Inishark. Separate from the party of eight, at least one pair (and possibly a second) was seen on most autumn days in 2015.
Jackdaw Corvus monedula
Annual but uncommon in autumn and winter. So far, all have been ‘local’ stock and not migrants from northeast Europe. Jackdaws breed commonly as close as Cleggan, which might be the source of day-trippers. In 2010, a flock of 11 arrived in fine weather on 12th October. A remarkable influx followed. 350, in one dense pack, arrived just after dawn on 25th October. The majority were dull-eyed juveniles. At least 100 were still around on 26th, with perhaps 50 on 27th.
Raven Corvus corax
Ravens have increased during the period of regular visits spanning 2007 to 2015. Ruttledge (1957) was unsure if the species bred during visits made in 1932, 1943 and 1956. In 1968 and 1976, Hutchinson & Ruttledge recorded a single nesting pair (Hutchinson & Ruttledge 1978). In 2009 five young were raised from a nest at Dun na Hinane. In autumn 2010 15 were together over various parts of Inishbofin. Over recent years, although incomplete attention was paid to the fortunes of all active nests, pairs certainly bred on Doon-a-Hinine, on two cliff sites at Knock and on cliffs at Cnoc Mor. No more than two pairs bred annually, however. In 2015 pairs bred at traditional sites at Cnoc Mor and at Knock. Each produced young. By late spring and early summer the combined population stood at nine. The pair at Knock had three young; the pair at Cnoc Mor had two young. During late summer and autumn Ravens were ubiquitous. Usually croaking announced presence; Raven calls carry a considerable distance, up to a kilometre or more. Unfortunately the rise in the population has led to predation by Ravens on Inishbofin’s breeding Lapwings. In 2015 the situation reached calamitous levels and possibly all Lapwing clutches were destroyed. Although some Lapwing offspring escaped the first wave of attacks, any surviving chicks were located and eaten. By the end of the breeding season, no fledged juveniles could be found and all adults departed.
Hooded Crow Corvus cornix
It is remarkable to state that this species was absent from Inishbofin’s ornithological record until 1976. Ruttledge (1957) made no mention of Hooded Crows and Hutchinson & Ruttledge (1978) indicated that, as a breeding species, it was absent in surveys conducted in 1932, 1943 and 1956. In a table of breeding land birds for 1968, a question mark appears against the species. By 1976 Hooded Crows were ensconced on Inishbofin, although no comments elucidate breeding status. Dating from initial visits in October 2006, it was obvious that the species had become a widespread breeding resident. Whilst Hooded Crows are skilled shellfish hunters along coastlines, the lure of easy pickings elsewhere soon becomes a lifestyle choice. Sheep carrion, dumped refuse and edible waste ‘recycled’ by a variety of establishments catering for tourists (by being broadcast on the shore for consumption) boosts numbers of scavenging Hooded Crows, Magpies, Ravens and large gulls. At least six pairs of Hooded Crows bred between 2007 and 2010. Unlike several lofty Magpie nests on telegraph poles, Hooded Crows are content to breed much closer to the ground in willow bushes. In October 2007, 35 congregated around an ad-hoc rubbish dump. In October 2008, roost gatherings put the population at 37. In September 2010, 35 were around discarded food waste. In October 2011, 53 (along with several Ravens) concentrated where food waste was being burned. In 2013, a gamekeeper (Peter Guy) paid a visit and significantly reduced the population. Nonetheless, numbers have bounced back and 40 were present in an evening roost on the hillside overlooking the Youth Hostel in October 2015.
Rook Corvus frugilegus
Occasional visitor, chiefly in autumn. Although Rooks only reach Inishbofin infrequently, they breed on the outskirts of Cleggan. In 2010 a first-winter was seen from 8th-9th October, with a new first-winter on 12th October and an adult on 19th. Thirty Rooks mingled among unprecedented influx of Jackdaws on 25th October; most were youngsters. Since 2010, a sprinkling of records has become annual; the great majority of individuals are young or immature.
Tree Sparrow Passer montanus
Gordon (2006) states: ‘Nests on Clare Island. Suspected of breeding on Inishark (one pair seen in 1968 and 1971) and recorded on Inishbofin through the 1970s — maximum count five in 1977 — but no recent records.’ The species is famous for spurts of expansion that carries small flocks to (mainly) coastal districts. If requirements are met, breeding sometimes follows. Tree Sparrows retain the capacity to surprise! One was heard calling in flight on 12th October 2007 and then watched descending to feed on the only clump of oats on Inishbofin, growing at the edge of a track near the Dolphin Hotel. In 2008 another (possibly the same?) was found near the Dolphin Hotel. This individual remained on Inishbofin until early November. Although it was sometimes with House Sparrows, it also teamed up two Bramblings and the trio fed on weeds in various areas. In 2010 one was at Avondale in Cloonamore on 11th October. In 2011, from 29th April to 1st May, at least four were present; these individuals may have accounted for several sightings; alternatively, as many as dozen could have been around. One was seen on 5th July (Gordon D’Arcy).
House Sparrow Passer domesticus
Breeding resident. The population appears to fluctuate and some may emigrate from Inishbofin in winter because numbers seem lower at that season than any other. House Sparrows are opportunists and ‘extra mural’ excursions may be short-term and, presumably, are dictated by food shortages either on Inishbofin or are timed to exploit known hot-spots on the mainland. On the other hand, House Sparrows are the cleverest of birds and, even on Inishbofin, it is possible to miss most of the population if they have banded together at a food source, such as a weedy bank whose seed has become ripe. In other words, incontrovertible proof of emigration is lacking. In 2007 a patch of seeding weeds close to East End Bay attracted a flock of 26 in October. High-flying parties indicate a propensity to perform trans-Inishbofin excursions, such as from Cloonamore to Inishbofin Harbour or from the latter to Lough Bo Finne. In 2008 the breeding population might have stood at no more than six pairs. Apparently, many more bred in the days of thatched roofs. In October the largest single flock contained 26. More were possibly elsewhere and the overall total could have amounted to 40. A further hint that some leave Inishbofin during winter was provided in late December because a thorough check of all haunts yielded just four. During 2010, up to 30 were seen in early April. Dating from around 2012, the growth in popularity of bird feeders has undoubtedly boosted the population. In October 2012, 50 or more were counted attending feeders near the Dolphin Hotel.
Chaffinch Fringilla coelebs
Chiefly a scarce autumn migrant. Small numbers can be expected during winter; strays are occasional during spring and summer. Singletons start to arrive in early October but by the end of the month handfuls pass through. By Inishbofin standards, 13 amounted to a sizeable flock on 1st November 2008. The presence of a Brambling with the group was a marker to a Scandinavian origin for both species. Very few males arrive. Ten in late December was a somewhat above-average winter total. In 2010, the first migrants appeared on 11th October. From 12th on, passage consisted of transient overhead singletons, pairs and groups of up to four. Arrivals continued into late October when up to 22 could be seen together.
Brambling Fringilla montifringilla
Regular in small numbers during October. Two in November 2003 were with Chaffinches at East End Bay. In 2006, two were in the same area on 29th October. In 2007 at least five were involved in daily sightings across Knock and Cloonamore during early November. In 2008, from 27th to 30th October, a female was in the large vegetable allotment near the graveyard; by 31st October it shifted to a weed field at Westquarter. On 1st November it had been joined by a second, the latter possibly an individual seen with 13 Chaffinches earlier in the day. In 2010, on 10th October, one was near the Youth Hostel. From 12th to 24th October, several migrants were heard each day. It is likely that as many as a dozen passed through. In 2011, a handful passed through during October. In 2012, the first was detected on 15th October. Thereafter, some were seen daily (peak of seven on 17th) until mid November. Although there were comparatively few in October 2013 and October 2014, the species is a surprisingly constant component among flocks of migrant Chaffinches. Because Bramblings are a Scandinavian finch, by association a similar origin probably applies to the Chaffinches, which they accompany. Sometimes, however, Bramblings arrive solo.
Hawfinch Coccothraustes coccothraustes
One was picked up freshly dead on 10th October 1956. One was found and photographed at Knock by Regina and Paddy-Joe King on 26th April 2014.
Siskin Carduelis spinus
Although perhaps the first records for the island (Siskin was not listed by Ruttledge in 1956), the scale of the influx that occurred from mid-October 2007 was momentous. Flock after flock began to appear from 11th October and 64 was a conservative estimate for 12th. It was assumed that a few highly mobile flocks were moving around the island; in reality successive waves of migrants were passing through at an almost non-stop rate. By 19th October it was obvious that an immense irruption was underway across Ireland. En route to Inishbofin in the early morning of 19th October, several flocks flew along roads in Connemara and others passed overhead at Cleggan. Numbers were impossible to estimate on Inishbofin. No en masse accumulations were noted, just ceaseless calls in every patch of cover. Nettle patches were especially favoured, within which Siskins clamped upside-down to stems, gleaning tiny aphids. Many were tame and once-in-a-lifetime sights were groups yo-yoing like lemurs over grassland and alighting on weeds among grazing sheep. Without doubt, a minimum of 300 passed through Inishbofin from 19th to 21st October. The species was still on the move in early November, although in less impressive numbers. In October 2008 small quantities — typically singletons — passed through in October; most occurred early in the month. In general, they did not stop and were only discovered by their flight calls. In 2010 the first migrants arrived on 11th October. Thereafter, sightings (of up to six) occurred on a daily basis. From 26th, numbers increased further, and up to a dozen were present until early November. During the autumns of 2011 to 2014 inclusive, Siskins were noticeable by either their complete absence or scarcity. In 2015 signs of a return to form consisted of flyovers as early in late August, a pattern that continued during September and October. By late October the scale of passage increased, although only by a little. The highest count, by a long chalk, was a day-total of 20 flyovers on 2nd November.
Greenfinch Chloris chloris
Scarce but annual in late autumn and winter. In 2008 up to 15 were recorded in late October. More typically, single-figure totals are encountered. The hips on Rosa rugosa are a favourite food. Just one spring record in June 2014.
Common Crossbill Loxia curvirostra
Calls were heard from either an unseen single migrant passing overhead (or possibly the only calling bird in a small group) at German House, Westquarter, on 17th May 2016. Crossbills are, by nature, irruptive and singletons and small parties were on the move in various parts of western Britain, such as on Bardsey Island, Pembrokeshire, during May and June 2016.
Goldfinch Carduelis carduelis
Small parties are relatively frequent in late autumn and winter. Up to 35 in a day is not unusual. Thanks to the erection of bird feeders in several gardens, Goldfinches became a year-round sight since 2013. Breeding occurred for the first time in 2014. In 2015 at least two pairs bred and produced more than one brood.
Lesser Redpoll Carduelis cabaret
Scarce autumn migrant; rare in spring. Somewhat surprisingly, Lesser Redpoll seems to be another species with a widespread distribution across Ireland but which is reluctant to stray west over water. Chaffinches and Siskins arrive on Inishbofin during the second half of October and are assumed to have a Scandinavian origin, although some may hail from Scotland. Handfuls of Greenfinches appear during September and October; their origin is probably more local. The relative scarcity of Lesser Redpolls in autumn could be explained by the species departing from Ireland and Scotland and heading towards the near continent. Hence, unlike Chaffinch migration, Inishbofin does not lie within a vector likely to attract a ‘spillage’ of migrant Lesser Redpolls. Accordingly, a mere one or two represent the species annually during autumn; no more than two have been seen together.
Mealy Redpoll Carduelis flammea
Redpoll taxonomy is vexed. Greenland Redpoll is treated as an offshoot of north European and North American ‘Mealy Redpoll’. Populations of redpolls in Iceland are included within the same genre. Although the ‘Mealy Redpoll’ epithet incorporates populations spanning all of the Northern Hemisphere, those from Greenland (and Baffin Island in northeast Canada) are the largest and are classified as a unique subspecies, Carduelis flammea rostrata. Some are almost the size of a Chaffinch; the plumage is swarthy; the bill is large and the flight call is husky. Redpolls meeting such criteria — believed to be indicative of an origin from Greenland, rather than Iceland — have occurred on a few occasions. The first was discovered (and photographed) by Steve Dodgson on 30th September 2005. Subsequently, two were photographed feeding on Meadowsweet at Cloonamore on 28th September 2008; these or later arrivals were seen intermittently until 26th October. In 2012 a singleton appeared during northwesterly winds on 22nd September. It was feeding on the ground inside Michael-Joe O’Halloran’s farmyard. In 2014 huge excitement was caused on 21st May when a pair fed in the vicinity of the Youth Hostel. The duo was inseparable and tame; they remained until 22nd. Photographs were taken and passed to Martin Garner and Roger Riddington, both of whom are intrepid redpoll watchers with experience of all taxa. The Inishbofin couple was deemed to be classic examples of C. f. rostrata.
Linnet Carduelis cannabina
Nowadays, Linnets breed fairly commonly on Inishbofin. No systematic census has been undertaken but several nests have been seen in bramble patches, such as those beneath the line of the road leading from Knock to the graveyard. Ruttledge (1957) wrote, “Noted on each visit, but not numerous. Parker [who spent just 26 July 1956 on Inishbofin] saw ten.” Given the amount of cultivation on the island in Ruttledge’s day, it might have been expected that the species would have been more plentiful. Rather, it seems that numbers were unremarkable, even in autumn when flocks ought to have caught the eye of Ruttledge and others who spent four weeks (up to 10th October) on Inishbofin during 1956 (Ruttledge 1957). In late October 2006, an estimated 50 were present. In October 2007, approximately 100 were counted. In late September 2008 a similar-sized flock was at Cloonamore (smaller numbers were at Middlequarter and Westquarter at the same time). Depending on where they are feeding, flocks of Linnets can be overlooked during autumn. Perhaps some emigration takes place because, by Christmas and early January, numbers seem much reduced. By late March flocks are more evident. In contrast to autumn, seeds broadcast in early spring are avidly consumed (even unshelled sunflower seed) and males feed prospective mates. Dandelions, as soon as they appear in flower, are a huge attractant. Linnets pierce the green base of the flower head and strip out flossy filaments (modified sepals) whose base contains pithy ovaries. This part of the plant is then nibbled and eaten. In 2010 at least 86 were around Cloonamore in late September, with 55 still present in late October and again at the end of November. In 2012, 190 were counted across Cloonamore during August.
Twite Carduelis flavirostris
Has been lost as a breeding species. The final breeding report was a pair that nested near the school in 1979. Nowadays the species is undergoing a sweeping decline throughout its former moorland range in western Ireland. A loss of heather habitat through overgrazing by sheep seems to be an important cause in fuelling a precipitous decline. What went wrong for the breeding birds of Inishbofin is harder to fathom, especially since their demise seemed to have had its inception dating back to 1955 (Ruttledge 1957). Perhaps the factors that led to the loss of breeding Corn Buntings from Inishbofin had a similar impact on the numbers of breeding Twite? Ruttledge (1957) wrote: “In 1932 and 1943 I found a few Twites which were obviously a breeding population. In July 1943 I noted one small flock. In 1956 I saw one pair only and noted also that there were less than on previous visits. None seen in December 1955.”
Given that Ruttledge was on the lookout for Twite, it is significant that none was mentioned in the list of birds recorded during his four-week autumn visit in 1956. Recent records are as follows. 2002 two in October. 2003 six on 10th January. 2009 in early October, three were on the storm beach at Dumhach. 2010 four were in grassland near Dumhach on 18th October and three in the same area on 25th October. 2014 in early January seven were feeding on a weedy patch to the north of the Inishbofin House Hotel. By 20th, 13 were in the same general area and were located close to the base of the old pier.
On 9th November 2016, at least 20 (probably 25 or even a little more than that) were discovered in various parts of Inishbofin. The event prompted the following post on Facebook on 14th November:
‘For all the wrong reasons I fear that the occasion of learning the result of the 2016 USA presidential election will rank alongside remembering ‘where you where’ on 9/11. I was on Inishbofin, County Galway. To clear my head and escape the gloomy news that a piece of excrement would soon be in charge of one of the most powerful countries on the planet, I went out for an early morning walk. I met a few people heading for the ferry. Despite being isolated on a pretty island on the edge of an ocean, there was palpable despondency. The mood was probably analogous to how JRR Tolkien felt when he lived through the First World War and let the experience contribute the ominous tone in The Lord of the Rings. Or how Louis MacNeice came to write his book-length poem, Autumn Journey, whose verses were written as 1938 unfolded and culminated in war: ‘Today was a beautiful day; the sky was a brilliant blue for the first time in weeks. But posters flapping on the railings tell the fluttered world that Hitler speaks, that Hitler speaks.’ Trump’s pronouncements evoke and stoke evil. Because he and his grotesque red-neck rabble plan to wreck the American environment he could well wreck the earth. When the global ice-caps melt it will be too late to apologise to the rest of Homo sapiens.
So I went for a walk. I heard a bird voice that I recognised — an innocent Sweetie Pie ‘swee, swee’ — and I felt cured. A small group of Twites were somewhere nearby and I tracked them down to patches of seeding wildflowers (I refuse to call them weeds) near the coast. Soon they were off. Twites, for a host of reasons, are one of my favourite birds. On one level I like them because they are not appreciated through being lumped as some kind of ‘little brown job’ portrayed in books as a boring variation on Linnet. The illustration in the Collins Field Guide is a misrepresentation both of Twite and even female Linnet — allegedly Twite’s confusion species — because the illustration of the female Linnet contains a flaw (a white panel on the secondary wing feathers) that looks as though it has been based upon a rare mistake by Lars Jonsson in the real bible, Birds of Europe.
My favourite illustration of Twite is no more. I saw it being crafted under my own eyes. The artist was DIM (Ian) Wallace and the two of us were in west Donegal where, for ten years, we searched the headlands around Glencolmcille for migrants. A handful of Twites bred in the district and grouped together with others from possibly nearby — or maybe Scotland — into an autumn flock. The band of brothers fed on Sea Aster in a small salt marsh but sometimes popped into freshly dug crop fields near the coast where wild seed could be nibbled from the annual wildflowers of cultivation. Two glorious Greenland Redpolls — the size of Chaffinches — were in the same crop patches and Ian started working on a painting of the scene. By evening he had sketched all the key players. The background vegetation was about to break into life and his first wash of colour picked out the unique ‘curry colour’ of the Twites’ faces (the likeness was coined by Lars Jonsson). For the one and only time I suggested to Ian that he should stop the painting right there. It was perfect. He had captured the essence. I thought the half-made birds had more life in their ghostly skins than they would when fully painted. But he disagreed. Maybe he felt that he was on a roll if my enthusiasm was at fever pitch for a painting that wasn’t even finished. The final job was terrific. But I preferred the prototype. He sold the painting at some art exhibition or other. No doubt the purchaser liked the atmosphere of the west of Ireland more than the birds’ personalities.
Personality it was Twite is all about. The English name is reputed to be derived from an eponymous ‘twit’ call. That snippet is contained in the entry on Wikipedia. What utter tosh. Parties of Twites often — but not always — utter a rising ‘tswee, tswee’ than can be a single note or delivered randomly in series. How you get ‘twit’ out of that beats me. I don’t have a good recording of the species but you can get a fair idea of its sounds here:
It was great to have Twite banish Trump. My day went from strength to strength. Although it took a lot of walking to find them again, I discovered far more than a handful. There seemed to be either skeleton bands in several places or a bunch of scouting parties drawn from a single large flock. Because the bird has drastically declined in Ireland, these might have been immigrants from Scotland? Our population has been decimated by a variety of changes across Ireland’s uplands, traditionally the breeding stronghold (although some bred on lowland heathland too). Twites are somewhat unusual in that they feed on seed throughout the year and even rear their chicks by feeding them seed, not insects. When the great outdoors contained a wealth of plants the birds were able to follow the calendar and know that seed was available in every season. Hence the breeding birds descended to coastlines in winter for food. Upland pastures replete with wild flowers are now a thing of the past, as is the tall heather among which Twites like to breed. Sheep have grazed mountainsides into a state where next to nothing can set seed and ‘reclamation’ schemes have converted wild hill land into fertilized sheep walk. Other human habitat-wrecking schemes have added to a kind of nuclear winter across Ireland’s uplands but I’ll quit the depressing news.
The attached images show most the features that lift Twite into a class of its own (for comparison, the inset depicts a female Linnet). Shape-wise, the bird is somewhat longer-tailed than Linnet, although a fraction smaller in size. Basically, it has the proportions and wing pattern of Redpoll rather than Linnet. The face is cute dint of plumage (to the eyes of Neville McKee, Twite looks as though it has been hit with a custard pie) but also structure because the bill is, compared to Linnet, more feathered at the base; a fact that makes the bird appear more ‘dinky-billed’. As is often the case, the Latin name hits the nail on the head. Translated, the second word in the couplet ‘Carduelis flavirostris’ means yellow-billed, a failsafe identification feature.’
Common Rosefinch Carpodacus erythrinus
On 29th October 2006 one was in roadside brambles at Cloonamore, along the new piece of road from the beach leading up the hill past Irene Coyne’s garden. This was the first rarity found by AMG on Inishbofin and was a tipping point in making the island a new destination. The following account records the event.
‘Walking, automaton-like, in steady lash on 29th October 2006 was a mechanical process with one aim — a return to base. I had been sea-watching on the northern cliffs during late afternoon until rain stopped play. Because of the rattling showers and dreary light, I packed away my binoculars. Traversing a grassy track, I reached a tarmac road at the west side of Cloonamore. I could tell that the road was comparatively new because its margins were weed-filled; a rash of chickweed had sprung up on the freshly exposed soil. Good nosh for a rare bunting, or so I thought.
Off to one side I noticed a songbird drop from the sky. It appeared uniform grey-brown save for a light belly. Its flight was dipping and it alighted some distance ahead, invisible in the murk. My boring guess was Blackcap; more optimistic hopes hinted at Garden Warbler or Spotted Flycatcher. I walked on, binoculars redeployed and affixed like a bayonet. But there was no trace of the fugitive. I decided it was a Blackcap. In such nasty weather, I reckoned that it had pitched up among brambles and did not expect to see it again. Wrong. Farther ahead, I saw the yo-yoing silhouette. Its flight action was smooth — the ‘silky flight’ of a Common Rosefinch? It was looking less and less like a warbler, although Barred Warbler remained a possibility.
This time I could see where it landed. It dived into weeds beneath an embanked section of the road. I jumped into a field and walked gingerly towards the spot. Nothing stirred. Surely, it hadn’t given me the slip? If I was going to be lucky, it might be sitting tight or feeding among the tangle of vegetation. And there it goes! It was up and away but my view said it all: longish plain tail with a cleft tip, beady eye and stumpy bill. Luckily, it was not too skittish and soon settled on a roadside wall. It looked magnificent; a sparkling rarity at the end of my first full day on Inishbofin. It was a bright juvenile with crisp plumage and a veneer of olive and russet glazing its mousy upperparts. Salient features were seen to perfection: striated upper chest, drab wings brightened by long wing-bars and pale-edged, Spotted Flycatcher-like secondaries and tertials.
I tried hard to get a grab-shot. It was having none of that. After several minutes it flew just too far to track it down again. The light was hopeless and the rain was soaking binoculars and camera. So what! Feathered ray of sunshine ecstatically enjoyed, I packed my gear and, later that evening, celebrated in the luxury of the Inishbofin House Hotel. Can this really be Ireland?’
2011(nine): one on 14th September; up to 8, 24th to 25th September. One of the birds was an adult female. Of the eight recorded, a pair and a trio made up the numbers. 2012 (two): 3rd October; 9th October. 2013 (one): 25th September. 2014 (four): 17th June (singing but not seen); 25th September; 2nd and 3rd October; 9th October. 2015 (two): 12th June (singing red adult male); 14th September. 2016 (one) 4th October. 2017 (one) 15th October. 2019 (two) a young male (lacking any red plumage) sang every morning at the end of Clossy from 14th to at least 16th June. In autumn, a juvenile was in various areas — such as Austin Coyne’s crop field and feeding on blackberries along the roadside towards Lough Bofin — from 16th to 18th September.
This is a recording made of the song of the young male Common Rosefinch in the photograph above: https://www.xeno-canto.org/481692
This is a recording of the calls made by the bird in the photograph: https://www.xeno-canto.org/498719
Corn Bunting Emberiza calandra
As throughout the length and breadth of Ireland, Corn Buntings used to be common on Inishbofin. The species is now extinct as an Irish breeding species and has become almost unknown even as an occasional winter stray from Britain (where it is has also declined hugely). Before presenting Ruttledge’s (1957) Corn Bunting account, it is worth drawing attention to one comment that he makes concerning Ussher and Warren (1900) and the list that they made documenting those Irish islands on which Corn Buntings occurred. Inishbofin was not one of them. Ruttledge felt that Ussher and Warren had overlooked Inishbofin and that the species was indeed present. Yet the factors triggering colonisation of far-flung western islands (even reaching and breeding on Saint Kilda) are as fascinating and mysterious as the reasons for the bird’s disappearance, although the latter is directly linked to changes in farming, especially a switch from hay-fields, oats and potatoes, a system that was commonplace across rural Ireland until the late 1960s. In other words, perhaps Ussher and Warren were correct and, in 1900, Corn Buntings had not yet reached Inishbofin.
Reading Ruttledge’s 1956 description of Inishbofin it is hard to imagine a more idyllic setting for a breeding population of Corn Buntings: ‘The island consists of 2,312 statute acres, the greater part of which consists of undulating, hilly moorland. Less than half the area is under cultivation, oats and potatoes being the chief crops, while meadows of very small acreage are numerous.’
Here, in full, are his Corn Bunting observations. ‘A remarkable decrease has taken place. Ussher and Warren (1900) did not mention its presence on Inishbofin when listing the marine islands that it haunted, but it must, one feels, have been present. In 1912 Ussher records it as breeding. In 1932 I found it throughout the cultivated area and in 1943 it was noted as ‘plentiful, singing everywhere’ and I believed that it had increased since 1932. But in 1956 I could only find six in song and noted a very marked decrease from previous visits. In December 1955 none was found. Though not seen on Inishark in 1932 or 1943, two breeding pairs were found by Parker in 1956, one of which had flying young.’
Then, after spending from 14th September to 10th October 1956 on the island, Ruttledge wrote: ‘On Inishbofin, where nowadays so scarce in the breeding season, none recorded September 14th to 22nd, but on the following dates, 23rd (5), 26th (2). 29th (1), 30th (6), October 1st (2), one on 2nd and 3rd, a flock of 17 suddenly appeared in the evening of 8th; on 10th, three.’
Tim Gordon (2006) writes, ‘Ruttledge recorded as many as 11 pairs in 1968 [and in] 1976, eight pairs. Inishbofin remained Galway’s stronghold to the last, with a final record from August 1989 (Marianne ten Cate).’
Yellowhammer Emberiza citrinella
Not recorded in recent visits from 2006 onwards. Ruttledge (1957) commented, ‘Ussher [1900] knew it on Inishbofin and Cott [June 1920] mentioned it. I found a few in 1932; only one pair in 1943 and none in 1956 and December 1955.’ It seems as though, although much less common than Inishbofin’s Corn Buntings, Yellowhammer’s fate was still linked, inasmuch that changes in agricultural practice became the death knell for both.
Ortolan Bunting Emberiza hortulana
One was at Knock from 16th to 18th September 2012 (Craig Nash).
Reed Bunting Emberiza schoeniclus
Breeds in most areas where the habitat is suitable. The population certainly exceeds six pairs but probably amounts to less than ten. Reliable breeding locations include the mixed reed-beds and scrub along Clossy, the young trees in the east corner of the graveyard and along the swampy margins of Loch a Teampaill. In autumn, migrants pass through. Influxes are obvious in October. Typically, singletons call overhead and then alight on wires. The species is remarkably sociable and lone migrants are likely to join others located by calling. Migrants seem to arrive from the northeast on fine mornings. Because it is oriented roughly north-south, the line of the Low Road from the graveyard to Inishbofin House Hotel serves as a kind of highway. Incoming migrants often pause anywhere along this route. The young trees and reed-beds at the rear of the Youth Hostel and Dolphin Hotel act as an attractant and migrants not infrequently descend and call. The distinct impression is that the newcomers are looking for companions. In November 2008 15 were between Clossy and Middlequarter village. In 2009 a party of migrants amounted to nine individuals. In 2010 on 12th October, the peak count was 11 counted from roadsides in Knock and Cloonamore. Curiously, Ruttledge encountered the species only once: a singing male at Loch-a-Teampaill in May 1956. Perhaps Reed Buntings have established themselves comparatively recently? By way of corroboration, the absence of any autumn migrants in four weeks of manning in 1956 (Ruttledge 1957) may indeed indicate that the species is commoner now than formerly. During winter, fewer are seen. Bare muddy ground around livestock amounts to a key habitat in winter. By February small bands can be found, consisting predominantly of males. Areas where sheep are fed supplements of grain are a magnet. Possibly, these are winter visitors. Local breeders depart in late summer, a similar strategy to that of Inishbofin’s Skylarks. In 2015 in early March, 12 males were together around troughs used to feed sheep behind Dumhach.
Little Bunting Emberiza pusilla
One landed briefly on overhead wires behind the Dolphin Hotel on 22nd October 2020. The time was around 1000hrs and the weather was sunny and calm. A few freshly arrived migrants were in evidence — especially a Reed Warbler that was feeding among willows in the same area. The Little Bunting was not for staying because it had a brief look around, then flew on. It could not be found later, despite a check of likely habitats. Little Buntings, however, require very little — any patch of short vegetation with seed from annual ‘weeds’ will do . Later it emerged that another Little Bunting was found on Inishmore. County Galway, at around the same time. These constitute the first records for County Galway, although a 1970s record was not submitted when, contradicting the belief of the observer in the record’s authenticity, authorities at the time stated that the bird, due to its pink legs, could not be a Little Bunting. This is wrong — Little Buntings do have pink legs!
Snow Bunting Plectrophenax nivalis
Scarce autumn migrant and winter visitor. One spring record: two were seen together in April 2004. Snow Buntings (and probably Lapland Buntings) are undoubtedly more frequent on Inishbofin than the low number of records suggests. The knack of encountering migrants is to walk across rocky terrain thinly carpeted with heather along the island’s ocean-facing coast. Migrants are derived from Iceland and Greenland and arrivals generally coincide with winds blowing from a southwest to northwest quadrant. In 2008, one was near Dumhach on 7th October; two were on bare stony ground near Sunfish Rock on 26th October (and another next day); one was at Westquarter on 1st November. In 2009, singletons were seen on tracks leading to Sunfish Rock on 11th October and at the ‘sea-watching wall’ at Westquarter on 1st November. In 2010, two were at the Sunfish Rock hotspot on 3rd October; five singletons were scattered across Westquarter on 5th (one was watched arriving over the sea); a male flew west over Dumhach on 16th; four were heard passing over Westquarter on 18th.
Lapland Bunting Calcarius lapponicus
During the second half of September 1956 Inishbofin produced the first evidence that Lapland Buntings were regular autumn migrants in small numbers along the Irish west coast. Arrivals derive from the northwest and involve Lapland Buntings breeding in Greenland and possibly northeast Canada. Sightings were daily from 15th to 24th September. Although absolute numbers were not quantified, the turnover meant that up to five were seen on some days. In 2007 one called overhead at Cloonamore on 1st October and then settled among short heather on the hillside overlooking Irene Coyne’s garden. In 2010 an invasion occurred. Here are the details. 29th August: two separately in flight at Westquarter. 30th August: five over Lough Tana and two over Westquarter. 31st August: a walk from Sunfish Rock to Bunamullen Bay produced a total of 38, consisting of flocks of 15, 13, 6 and four single birds. On 7th September two were seen across Westquarter. In total, 49 were recorded during early autumn. In2011 one was heard calling in flight high over the blowhole along the Westquarter coast.
Red-eyed Vireo Vireo olivaceus
One was found (and photographed) by Steve Dodgson on 26–27th September 2005. This was the first North American passerine to be seen on Inishbofin. In 2016 one was found on 29th September and remained until at least 3rd October.
Inspired by the 2016 individual, I posted the following short note n Facebook:
‘Some bird families have a global distribution and although species differ, the prototype remains fundamentally the same, such as gulls. On the other hand, certain families are parochial. When it comes to vireos — of which there are many — America is home. The name is derived from Latin and indicates a green bird. So, years ago, when North American birdwatchers called their several vireo species ‘greenlets’ they weren’t too far off the mark.
Vireos are small foliage-dwelling hunters of big insects. They prefer to sit and peer before striking and are not ‘flicky’ and mobile like a Willow Warbler or Chiffchaff. However, on this side of the Atlantic, their hallmark is rarity. Most years one or two appear along the Celtic fringe from Shetland to Brittany: landfall for a New World waif running on empty. At autumn migration time, unlike on our side of the pond, a lot of North American songbirds fly from the continental interior toward the coast. When the season changes in September, the passage of a cold front ushers departures. Birds have good reason to follow it. The front provides a tailwind for millions of migrants ready and waiting to head south. For many, journey’s end is South America.
Individuals prepare for departure by fattening on insects and berries. They gorge and put on weight rapidly. In fact, they lay down more fat than at any other time of the year because the excess is fuel for (depending on species) a ‘moon-shot’ marathon scheduled to last for two days and nights. En route, aeronauts weighing little more than a ballpoint pen fly non-stop from New England to the north coast of South America. Some fly deliberately out to sea on a south-easterly heading. There is method in what seems to be madness. By flying southeast the birds’ trajectory is boosted by northwest winds behind the advancing cold front. Although some risk slamming into bad weather at the front’s low pressure epicentre, the majority avoid inclement conditions by getting far enough south to tap a new fair wind: the northeast trade-winds blowing over the West Indies. Here, to avoid strengthening easterly winds at lower elevations, migrants climb higher, to as much as 10,000ft, where the air is calmer but still likely to operate as a weak tailwind carrying them over the line and across the mainland South America.
The Red-eyed Vireo in the image was not, however, photographed last week in Surinam or Colombia. It was photographed on Inishbofin, County Galway. This individual does not have the species’ eponymous red eye because it is a youngster. Nearly all vagrants are rookie pilots and some blunder. How did the bird miscue? Several scenarios explain its cross-hemisphere displacement. It might have flown too close to a low pressure centre where the wind strength exceeded the bird’s fairly meagre top speed of 20 miles per hour. Hence it would have become entrained and swept along in a weather system moving faster than itself. An unknown percentage of migrants perish at sea but arguably leave the legacy of a strengthened gene pool of topgun aviators. But a handful make it to our side of the Atlantic and will survive if they find food. Technically speaking, none are lost. Although they can figure out where they are, they are up against it when it comes to catching a zephyr that will sweep them back to Brazil. The Wild Atlantic Way does not sit in the Northeast trade-wind belt!
Black-and-white Warbler Mniotilta varia
One was in the largest willow thicket lying among the reed-bed behind East End Bay on 5th October 2019. An account of this, the third Irish record, was published online on the website of Rare Bird alert. Here is the article:
‘I like the roar and rattle of wind and rain on a dark night. Snug beside a fire in a cottage on an Irish island, enjoyment of the elements is tinged with guilt when you hope that, outdoors, a howling west wind might entrain American birds and slingshot them across the North Atlantic. October 2019 was barely one day old when the Irish meteorological office went into panic mode. Its warnings were heeded by the government and the Atlantic seaboard braced itself for the remains of Hurricane Lorenzo.
I was not on Inishbofin. I was on another island — Inishturk, County Mayo. I went there to test out a different hunting ground but now it was time to leave. I faced a dilemma, however. The projected storm might prevent me getting out to Inishbofin or, if I got there, the island could take a hit. The eye of Lorenzo had County Galway in its sights. I decided to head back home to Northern Ireland and wait. Listening to weather reports, nothing much came of the fuss. A few ferries were cancelled and Inishbofin was lashed but only with rain. Apart from wondering what birds might have arrived, I had another pressing reason to get out to Inishbofin — I was to lead a bird-watching tour starting on Sunday 6th October. For reconnoitring purposes, I like to arrive at least two days in advance of a tour group. I lost the first day due to no ferry sailing and now, on Saturday 5th October, rain was constant. That was not the worst. As seems to happen more and more in the windy west, salt-laden gales had not so much stripped foliage from trees and hedges but flayed the vegetation to withered shreds. Lorenzo had turned green sylvan oases of alder, sycamore and birch into lifeless brown toothpicks, bereft of insects. Some of my favourite patches of cover looked like burnt toast.
With Angelus bells clanging on the radio at noon, the final shower passed and the wind dropped. It felt like a miracle. To save time, I decided to ignore all shorebird habitat and blitz gardens and bushy habitats, reckoning that the sudden calm would enable me to find arrivals. I had to prioritise. I headed first to a standing crop that, in late September, held a Melodious Warbler and a Common Rosefinch. The farmer had kindly agreed not to cut the crop until after the bird tour. I needed to know if he had been good to his word. He had. The place was still buzzing but the mob consisted of nothing more than Linnets and House Sparrows. I felt like I had wasted an hour. I switched tactics. Under normal circumstances I walk everywhere. Instead, I flagged the first passing car and got a lift to my next hotspot. Hotspots on Inishbofin only become hotspots when they attract a rare bird. When that happens, they acquire a reputation that never tarnishes and henceforth such places are always looked at in the belief that lightning will strike twice. And, because the range of habitats is limited, another rara avis quite often is added to the roll of rarities for a tiny garden.
The afternoon wore on. I was finding nothing. Inishbofin is not a cakewalk and off-piste effort is obligatory. Wellingtons are compulsory, dint of ploughing through boggy terrain to reach off-road habitats. Disappointment met me at every turn: frazzled vegetation and no migrants. At least I was travelling light, so I was not cursing the extra handicap of a rucksack on my back. This was a whiz-around; a pre-tour reconnaissance. By late afternoon I reached the northeast-facing side of the island. Surveying the network of fields below me I was thrilled to see that Lorenzo had not desiccated foliage in this area. Five willow thickets nestled among reeds had been spared. I knew each thicket by name — named after the first unusual bird I had found there. I squelched through cattle-poached swamp and approached. ‘Pishing’ is essential to test what lies within. Sometimes, if I have time, I just sit silent, overlook the habitat — and wait. That is often effective. However, warblers are likely to keep safe and hidden, especially when they can feed unobtrusively. So I gave the first pair of thickets a thorough ‘pish’ from close quarters. Things started to look up. The first held a Goldcrest; the second a Willow Warbler. Believe it or not, such minute rewards are significant; an omen that the next bird might be a Yellow-browed Warbler or a Lesser Whitethroat. Either of those would be Irish quality and make a fitting reward on a bird tour.
The final three thickets were farther off. Once I reached them, I still had more places to check. I knew I wasn’t going to finish the itinerary. But because of a favourable overnight weather forecast — clear skies and almost calm — I could resume in the morning. The biggest thicket was the most inaccessible. In previous years I used to beat my own way to it through a reed-bed. These days a couple who own the land have embarked on a kind of The Good Life enterprise and established vegetable plots, planted alders on the edge of the willows and excavated a small pond for a pair of aggressive farmyard geese. I no longer have to hack a path to reach the thicket. Into the bargain, what used to be a trickling waterway running through the spot has been widened and commandeered by the geese. They didn’t like it when I shoo-ed them away.
The gander was still hissing at me when I crossed the small stream and sat on a ground-level bough within the thicket. Its interior was almost cathedral-like. Lichen covered thicker boughs like tree tattoo and moss carpeted the ground. I could only see part way into deeper recesses. Everywhere was overhung by greenery. Normally I would wait, watch and listen. Not today. Time was tight. Psssh, psssh, psssh. I heard a clipped, monosyllabic call which was repeated. In a moment of brain freeze I wondered if the owners had added something else to the menagerie. What was making the sound? I peered ahead and right away picked up a shifting, fidgety silhouette. Pssh, pssh, pssh. The bird kept coming, as though magnetically attracted. My brain didn’t register the call or the incoming sprite, still slinking around tangled boughs and heading in my direction. With a quick raise of binoculars, I would be able to see enough of it to put a name to the inquisitor — a Wren, a Goldcrest, maybe a small warbler?
Identifying the bird could not have been easier. In fact, my speed of attaching a species name to the moving target was accomplished in a millisecond. Black-and-white Warbler is one of the most distinctive birds on the planet. And I know them like the back of my hand. Just two autumns ago I was in Newfoundland, Canada, on a mission to photograph Blackpoll Warblers for a chapter in To the Ends of the Earth — my book about migration. Always among the first wave of nosy-parkers coming to pishing was numerous Black-and-white Warblers. Why I even got some pleasing photographs of them. But this was different. This was the greatest Black-and-white Warbler that ever hatched since time began. Bizarrely, I had seen the species before in Ireland. In 1984 one was found in, of all places, the middle of Northern Ireland. That was my first and Ireland’s second. So I knew that Ireland’s third — the bird flitting around in front of me — had taken 35 years to materialise. Not that I care about documenting a rarity for a bird records committee but I started to feel like a man who had had his right arm amputated. I had, deliberately to save weight, left the camera behind.
How times have changed. Of about eight people who saw the Black-and-white Warbler in 1984, nobody had a camera. Lack of one did not detract from our enjoyment. But now I started to kick myself. Stupid I know, especially as the only person I am in competition with is myself. I tried to put the thought out of my mind. I backed out of the bird’s refuge and broke the news to The Good Life couple. I said that I expected it would still be there in the morning and that I too would be back at dawn. I was. I hardly slept a wink. I wanted some pixels to commemorate it. A small living thing had opened a drawer and placed a dream in it. A picture would make it real forever. The weather forecast was accurate. It was a beautiful morning after a starry night. I watched the willow leaves warm in the morning sun. Then a movement. Just a Willow Warbler. Damn. But a new migrant nonetheless. A second bird stirred, disturbing foliage that allowed me to follow its progress until — Holy Smoke! — the head of a Barred Warbler emerged. Another rarity. But not the one I wanted. Game over.’
Tennessee Warbler Vermivora peregrina
A warbler found by Steve Millar in trees (mainly one Sycamore) below the hostel on the late afternoon of 6th October was provisionally identified as a probable Bonelli’s Warbler. A second observer, John Power, thought likewise. I (AMG) did not see the bird — it had disappeared by the time I coincidentally arrived at the same place. In discussions with SM, I was happy to leave deliberations about the bird’s identity until next day, in the hope that it would still be present. However, SM had managed to obtain some blurry contra jour images of the bird. Upon looking at these, Bonelli’s Warbler was eliminated as an identification contender. Instead, I suggested that the bird was a Tennessee Warbler. And so it proved.
Blackpoll Warbler Dendroica striata
One was moving along Low Road at Knock on 25th September 2013.
Inishbofin’s second Blackpoll Warbler arrived on the heels of a conveyor-belt of southwest winds and rain and was found in Cloonamore on 7th October 2018. The occurrence prompted the following account on Facebook:
‘In terms of weather, autumn 2018 has followed the rule, ‘the further west, the worse it gets.’ Instead of looking forward to spending some time on Inishbofin, Co. Galway, I was almost dreading going there. Why? For one thing the remains of hurricane Ali had torched the entire island’s vegetation and defoliated — or burned to a crisp — almost all the insect-bearing foliage. No greenery meant no insects — meaning nothing for migrants to eat. I was obliged to show up, especially as a bird-watching tour was to take place. So the buck stopped with me. And the weather forecast? Best described as car-wash. On the other hand, autumn is a time when anything can arrive. That fact keeps me going when I am alone and the weather is horrible. But the group spirit of ten people is a different matter.
I tried to reconnoitre the best habitats before tour members arrived. They weren’t expected until late afternoon — the eve of the tour — although I reckoned most would catch an earlier ferry in case the evening sailing was cancelled or the conditions for the crossing resembled Perfect Storm. My mission was more about looking for common birds than anything rare, especially as I guessed that the visitors might not have seen the likes of Stonechats, Choughs or Sanderlings.
No need, therefore, to festoon myself with kit in the field. Binoculars will do. I will never know if the emancipation from lugging a camera meant that I had more energy. Squeezing through undergrowth or tramping over bog felt easy with nothing on my back. Although I was clocking up the miles, the results were worryingly negative. Not a single warbler. I reached a particularly sheltered garden and sat down. Was there any point in trying to look for migrants in the prevailing conditions? I might be better concentrating on shorebirds and seabirds — at least the group would see them. After several minutes of nothing to look at, I stood up to leave. Maybe the movement sparked a reaction. Something flicked among the only sycamore with bedraggled greenery. I raised my binoculars. The colours were olive but not a European shade.
Forget the colour scheme, look at that face. It’s true. Whether people or birds, you never forget a face. And there is was. A Blackpoll Warbler — a leaf-coloured gem from faraway Canada. Its migration is staggering. The entire species departs the northeast coast of North American and embarks on an at-sea flight to South America lasting three nights and two days.
Now what? I could fetch the camera and be back in the garden in about forty minutes. Getting nice images of an Inishbofin Blackpoll Warbler has been a long-term dream. Or I could check to see if anyone had arrived? That would scupper photographs and possibly achieve nothing. But it might produce a memorable tour highlight that would never be repeated. Arriving back — with a full minibus — an hour later seemed like Mission Impossible. Some people had no binoculars, no one had heard of a bird called Blackpoll Warbler and, it emerged later, everyone thought they were looking for a ‘black pole’, not a Blackpoll. But bit by bit, frustrated by miss by miss, everyone connected. The bird made sporadic sallies from a fuchsia hedge and lit a dark lee with brilliant green, white and yellow. White tail spots seared some naked eyes; white-bangled eyes made it cuter than a Robin for those lucky enough to clock it perched with binoculars.
The mite’s hemisphere-spanning flight over the full width of the North Atlantic endeared it even more. When they have a good story to tell, nothing beats a close encounter with a migrant bird. I grabbed a few long-range images as we turned to go. Maybe, after all, small is beautiful.’
Eastern Kingbird Tyrannus tyrannus
One was at the Priest’s Garden on 24th September 2013. This was the second record for County Galway but only the second for Europe. The following is an account of the bird’s discovery.
‘Tuesday 24th September 2013 started well. I was on Inishbofin, Co. Galway, there was an east wind and morning rain had cleared to reveal — well, some migrant birds, I hoped. The prospect of being the only birdwatcher on a large island with a mosaic of habitats is my idea of fun. I never know what I miss so I am never disappointed; there is a lot to be said for solo searching. Behind the Dolphin Hotel, among alders and willows that I planted a few years ago, I detected a twitch of foliage and then plumage. The autumn’s first warbler slinked into view. It was a big fat juicy Barred Warbler from Eastern Europe. It slipped back inside a wall of numberless leaves and in the ensuing wait for it to re-emerge a Pied Flycatcher, most likely from Scandinavia, flitted past and gave a grandstand view. So I had rolled two sixes, both of which might have been dropped on the island by the rain. Something said: ‘Luck runs in threes’. Was a hat trick on the cards?
At the island’s centre lies a church, backed by a steep escarpment covered in alien shrubbery that is just about useless for insects and birds — a pity because the area is wonderfully sheltered. Nonetheless, it is always worth a look. The highlight of today’s visit was hardly birds, however. I met a visiting priest (Father Connell Quinn) and he mentioned a species strange to him, which had been eating small berries on a Cordyline Palm outside his kitchen window. It was dark-fronted, pale below and grey-backed. The combination of food preference and description made me think of Lesser Whitethroat, a likely migrant. I hung around for longer than usual; watching the tree and the surrounding vegetation but nothing appeared. Mystery birds often remain a mystery. And, who knows, it could just as easily have been a Blackcap. I trudged on and spent the day in the comparatively treeless west, seeing very little but at least confirming that, after as east wind, the grass was definitely not greener on the other side of the island.
By around 1830 hrs I was all but spent and paused for a long look at a pre-roost of hundreds of Starlings not far from the church. I am interested in following the moult progression of juveniles, many of which have plain mousy plumage still remaining on various parts of the head. The day had turned sunny and almost hot. Random Starlings were flying high and hawking insects, Bee-eater style. Something caught my eye among their more distant ranks. As one swooped I thought I glimpsed a white flash: probably no more that evening sun glinting off metallic plumage. Just to be sure I scanned all of the overhead wires and tops of telegraph poles. My binoculars sifted through rows of look-alike silhouettes and then stopped dead when one showed a pale rim at the end of a broad tail, whiter than Snow White’s teeth. Back on, the combination of a vaguely pointed head on a heart-shaped body left me in no doubt that this was my hat trick in spades.
Europe’s second Eastern Kingbird (an American species of flycatcher that migrates to the tropics) seemed to sense the enormity of the moment. It turned as if to give me a reassuring peep of its ermine underparts. Then it performed a few stratospheric vertical ascents and tumbled back to earth, assaying for big-winged insects but drawing a blank. No wonder it had settled for palm berries. Indeed, this was the stranger that Father Connell had seen. Within minutes it flew high but descended out of sight beyond the greenery overlooking the church. I scanned the area from a roadside but roosting was clearly on its mind. Now what? It was a strange feeling to make just one phone call and know that a human invasion would be launched. Overnight was initially clear and starry before a dense fog shrouded the island all morning. Until the fog cleared the hopes of 80 pilgrim birdwatchers hung in the balance. But as the day wore on the expressions slowly changed. Faces, like flags fluttering fine and bright at the start of combat had, by the end of the engagement, become limp and tired, some suggesting that they had been shot to pieces by cannon fire. The bird, unfortunately, was AWOL.’
INTRODUCED AND INVASIVE SPECIES
That fact that Inishbofin is small, indeed tiny, bears no relation to its importance for some breeding species. For these, the island punches well above its weight. Wild Rock Doves, whose genetic make-up has been trashed on a global scale by centuries of cross-breeding to produce various strains of pigeons, occur on Inishbofin and few other Irish islands (see Rock Dove species account). Because ‘feral’ pigeons, especially lost racing pigeons, seldom venture west (any that do are soon singled out by Peregrines), Inishbofin’s population of pure Rock Doves is priceless. Not that you would think so, in view of their lack of national protection. Nonetheless, on Inishbofin, they seemed safe. That changed in 2014 when a consignment of 30 racing pigeons arrived. Like a plague of rats, several began settling away from their loft and started to mingle with pristine wild brethren. Given roughly similar quantities of the wild and feral populations, Inishbofin’s Rock Doves were doomed to disappear through in-breeding. Just in time, the racing pigeons were removed. Since then, AMG has lobbied BirdwatchIreland to ask for a change in the law declaring a ‘no pigeon loft’ zone within the dwindling natural range of wild Rock Doves in western Ireland. Nothing has happened. Pathetic. On the other hand, realisation of the danger to Inishbofin’s Rock Doves has raised awareness and, it is hoped, will prevent future genetic interference.
While handfuls of farmyard geese, ducks and even a couple of Peacocks pose little threat to local wild birds, the release of Pheasants is potentially calamitous, should the pest become established. Although incontestably spectacular, Pheasants are no more Irish than Budgerigars. Cocks are more heavily decorated than communist generals whereas female plumage, when motionless among stalks and stems, becomes invisible ink. When introduced onto offshore islands Pheasants have a harmful effect on native birds that compete for similar food or share parasites.
Many parasites hone their life cycle to a small range of avian hosts. When closely related birds share parasites, disproportionate harm can occur if one species proves to be less robust when exposed to a loading that is within the tolerance limits of another. In our species, a corollary is the common cold. When spread among people with no resistance — such as Inuit tribes — it can cause death. In birds, pheasants, partridges and crakes form a discrete cadre. Heterakis gallinarum, a gastro-intestinal nematode worm, is found abundantly in Pheasants. Research in Britain showed that, where introduced Pheasants and native Grey Partridges occupy the same habitat, usually as a consequence of large numbers of Pheasants being released for ‘sport’, the parasite spreads and its infective egg stage can act as a carrier for pathogenic protozoans that cause disease in only the Grey Partridges, which are more vulnerable ((Tompkins, Dickson and Hudson, 1999). Moreover, there is a far higher intensity of H. gallinarum in male pheasants, a fact confirmed in other studies (Hillgarth et al. 1990; Tompkins and Hudson, in press).
In Ireland a quite different species is at risk. Corncrakes on several Irish islands are being forced to share habitat with released Pheasants. Where this has happened, such as on Inishbofin, Co. Galway, and Tory Island, Co. Donegal, the Pheasant population has increased whereas Corncrakes declined sharply. On other islands, such as Sherkin, Co. Cork, the Corncrake population vanished completely during the 1970s, a decade in which the local population of Pheasants was on the rise. Thus a prima facia connection exists. Post haste, there is a need to remove Pheasants from Inishbofin for good. During 2012 and 2013 the late Peter Guy, a gamekeeper, severely depleted a burgeoning Pheasant population. Although no monitoring was undertaken to assess the effect on the Corncrake population, in the virtual absence of Pheasants numbers of Corncrakes rose spectacularly and almost trebled in 2014, an increase that was largely sustained in 2015. Unfortunately Peter Guy’s fantastic efforts could be undermined if the new-found surge in Pheasants is not reduced, as quickly as possible, to zero.
Hillgarth, N. (1990). Parasites and sexual selection in Pheasants. D. Phil. thesis, University of Oxford.
Tompkins, D.M., Dickson, G., & Hudson, P.J. 1999. Parasite-mediated competition between Pheasant and Grey Partridge: a preliminary investigation. Oecologia 119: 378–382.
Tompkins D.M., Hudson, P.J. (in press). Regulation of nematode fecundity in the Ring-necked Pheasant: not just density dependent. Parasitology.
GREAT DAYS ON INISHBOFIN
[The following section takes the form of narration and covers different visits over several years. This part of the content will be re-organised before Christmas 2019.]
2007 SPRING
Visits were made from 10th-13th April and 2nd-5th June, albeit as holidays with no attempt at systematic recording. Naturally, several species that had not been seen during the autumn visit of 2006 were recorded for the first time. Common Sandpipers were on two lakes, Arctic Terns were over the islands off Cromwell’s Fort, and migrant Swallows, Sand Martins, a single Chiffchaff and two Willow Warblers were seen. Sedge Warblers appeared to be the only breeding warblers (Whitethroats were absent), although possibly Grasshopper Warblers could have been overlooked, despite listening for them at dusk across most of the northern part of the island. Nesting birds regarded as ‘common’ were: Skylark (just about everywhere), Wheatear, Stonechat, Wren, House Sparrow, Starling, Pied Wagtail, Swallow and Robin. Linnets, Reed Buntings and Dunnocks were more sparingly distributed. A few pairs of Blackbirds were encountered but no Song Thrushes were found in April.
Then, in June, Song Thrushes sang from two areas. Over the course of subsequent visits it emerged that Song Thrushes are double-brooded on Inishbofin. Singing accompanies pair formation and then nesting activities at the time of the first breeding attempt, which appears to occur during March. By April, singing is seldom heard, since adults are tending young. By May a second breeding attempt is underway that ushers in a fresh phase of singing. Meadow Pipits were common on passage in April yet were noticeably scarce as breeding birds. Rock Pipits were breeding along the coast. Other nesting birds included Lapwings (at least four pairs across Westquarter), Oystercatchers, Ringed Plovers, Black Guillemots, Mallards, Mute Swans and two calling Corncrakes. Choughs and Peregrines were seen on several occasions and both probably breed. Species of casual occurrence included a few passing Sandwich Terns, Sanderlings, Whimbrels and White Wagtails. More interesting was a singing Blackcap (giving a somewhat undeveloped song, suggesting an immature male) on 4th June, which sang from willow clumps behind East End Bay. The impenetrable margins of Loch a Teampaill held calling Water Rails, Little Grebes and Moorhens.
2007 EARLY AUTUMN
The last day of August and the first two of September were spent in a recce looking for undiscovered pockets of sheltering habitat and for an optimum viewpoint from which to watch seabirds deflected inshore during onshore winds. Watches were conducted from above Sunfish Rock not far west of Dun na Hinine. Although promontories east of The Stags might offer a better ‘ringside seat’, convenience favoured Sunfish Rock that also boasted good shelter and optimum height. On 1st September in winds of SW force four, a watch from 0730 to 0900 hrs yielded at least 50 Sooty Shearwaters, deemed an auspicious start.
Shorebirds were another priority. East End Bay and associated strands held 70 Sanderling and 110 Ringed Plovers (another 64 Ringed Plovers were found roosting in Inishbofin Harbour). Other shorebirds included a Greenshank and several Redshanks, as well as small numbers of Oystercatchers, Curlews and Turnstones. Lough Bo Finne had better quality and its grassy, spongy northern shore must surely be the best North American shorebird habitat on the island? Two juvenile Ruff, a Redshank, a Common Snipe and 25 Lapwing found the damp ground attractive enough to be present over two days. Two Whimbrels flew south over the adjacent coast. Although no passerine migrants of note were discovered, there was a steady passage of Meadow Pipits, some Wheatears and a handful of White Wagtails. A Chaffinch was probably unusual. A healthy sign was a flock of 13 Choughs, ranging daily over the uplands fringing the island’s wild Atlantic seaboard. Undoubtedly bird of the trip was a melanistic adult Swallow on wires overlooking Loch a Teampaill (ruby throat, sliver of white below throat, then profuse black scaling creating uniform impression of black underparts).
The following observations struck me as interesting. Compared to their spirit-lifting abundance in spring, Skylarks were virtually absent; the breeding population had emigrated. The same could be said for Wheatears and, more surprisingly, House Sparrows; only six were seen. Presumably, a large chunk of the island’s Linnet population had banded together in a post-breeding flock of 100 birds, this being the quantity in fields around Cloonamore. Smaller groups were elsewhere. Wrens seemed to be thinner on the ground than in spring (although less visible presence may have been due to the lack of singing) and only one Dunnock was seen. Goldfinches were absent; at least six were on Inishbofin in October. Blackbirds were scarce. The only Song Thrushes was a group of three that responded to spishing close to a territory occupied in June. To complete a random sample, three Sand Martins hawked for insects every day over Lough Gabhlan na nGabhair; at least 60 Swallows and 400 Starlings were estimated on 1st September; a Peregrine and Raven were seen sporadically, 26 Mallard and a family party of two adult Mute Swans and their seven cygnets were on Lough Bo Finne and at least 30 Common Dolphins were off Dun na Hinine on 31st August.
2007 HIGH AUTUMN
For nearly two weeks in 2007 I was on Inishbofin in the wonderful company of D.I.M. ‘Ian’ Wallace. Most days we went separate ways in order to cover as much ground as possible. Each evening Ian recorded everything that we saw in a log call. His disciplined approach quickly paid dividends and daily censuses revealed influxes of Blackbirds, Stonechats, Robins and Dunnocks. Migration of ‘commoners’ is every bit as engrossing as the discovery of rare birds, perfectly summed up in Ian’s aphorism: ‘rarity hunting is an enjoyable sport but it need not lack science’ (Wallace 1972).
Saturday 29th September. Cloudy with light NE wind.
Day one began in the dark. Half awake from around 0500 hrs, I knew that the DIM tea service would signal a start to the trip before sunrise. Tea and then lashings of porridge were consumed and we where in the field by 0800 hrs. Nothing much stirred in the garden but it quickly became apparent that a small wave of thrushes had arrived through the night. By the time we walked the half-mile to the graveyard, about a dozen Blackbirds and six Song Thrushes had rocketed ahead of us from roadside brambles. A Willow Warbler moving briskly between stands of umbellifers was auspicious. Meadow Pipits were passing overhead and whilst some may have been on active migration, others were spilling down into fields and perching on anything they could find. This activity continued until early afternoon. After that, they seemed more interested in disappearing among tussocks, presumably getting ready for departure under the cover of darkness. All told, there must have been around 300 Meadow Pipits across the eastern part of the island. Nine Arctic Terns (just one adult) were in East End Bay as well as 100 Sanderlings and 150 Ringed Plovers. Three Dunlins preferred the company of the Ringed Plovers, never the Sanderlings. Overhead, occasional Skylarks called on their way south, Swallows (day total 30) included local broods and migrants, while a House Martin was an addition to my list of species seen on Inishbofin. After lunch, Lough Bo Finne produced encouragingly high numbers of shorebirds, notably 14 Redshanks, 31 Lapwings and several Common Snipes. Highlight of the day was the discovery of a secretive female Blackcap in willows beyond Loch a Teampaill. Other noteworthy sightings were one apiece of Wheatear, Merlin and Lesser Redpoll.
Sunday 30 September and Monday 1 October. Light E winds, sunny.
In what may become a traditional route, the two of us covered the eastern chunk of the island from just after dawn until 1300 hrs. The weather on both days was similar. High pressure east of Ireland produced light winds or calm. When the sun broke through, as it often did, it was as warm as a summer’s day. Dunnocks seemed to be in many places where they had not been yesterday, suggesting that possibly the majority of the 18 we saw were migrants. Because we covered areas not looked at yesterday, we bumped into a total of 21 Wheatears on western headlands and around mounds of freshly exposed soil at the airstrip; several of which were adult males, dint of their dark ear-covert masks and, in some cases, striking blue crowns. In perfect rarity-hunting weather we pretty much failed to find anything remarkable. Maybe there wasn’t anything rare to find? A flock of alarming Meadow Pipits along the road above East End Bay had a domino effect and prompted the telltale rattle of a Lapland Bunting, the first since 1956.
The rara avis could not be pinned down until I realised that it was calling from the sky and not, as I thought, from the ground. After several minutes it alighted on a carpet of short heather above the road. Thrashing after it, I discovered two Wheatears, a Golden Plover and a bunch of Meadow Pipits on the same summit. Other species unearthed over the course of the two days were a new Willow Warbler and a female Ruff at the shore of Lough Bo Finne. Each day Lough Bo Finne held a juvenile Little Grebe and juvenile Moorhen, as well as a flotilla of Mute Swans and up to 35 wild Mallard. Single Merlin, Peregrine, Sparrowhawk and Kestrel were seen (over subsequent days it emerged that two Merlins, two Kestrels, and three Peregrines were sometimes present on the island). House Sparrows seem to be in just two places and number a score or more. Linnets must be spoiled for choice of feeding opportunities. Seldom is more than a handful seen together, although 35 stripped seed from wild greenery at East End Bay. By now the trip list has hit 60. No seabirds or arriving waterfowl have been seen, due to the east winds.
Tuesday 2 October. Light SE wind, cloudy and dull.
Gone are the clear blue morning skies. Today dawned grey and overcast. The wind was palpable, although no more than a breeze and now from the southeast. The Tolkien panorama of Connemara’s Maumturk Mountains forms a spectacular backdrop and, when visible, makes the walk towards Loch a Teampaill feel like walking into a painting. This morning the domed summits were veiled behind a smoky orange sunrise above which great heaps of dark clouds hung like a sinister National Lottery finger. A feeling of foreboding hung in the air, which is more than can be said for the birds. Today was the quietest so far. Song Thrushes, Blackbirds, Reed Buntings and Dunnocks all seemed down in numbers. Nothing stirred. Close to The Galley restaurant a few unobtrusive Meadow Pipits perched low among reed stems in a muddy ‘pipit heaven’.
I found myself looking at one pipit in particular. It combined all the features of a Tree Pipit. Disbelieving, I guessed that it was just a masquerading Meadow Pipit. I said to myself, ‘check the hind claw.’ It was short! It didn’t even need to call to prove its identity. My hunch was based on fine flank streaks and a white belly set against a yellowish wash underlying the streaked breast. An obliging Meadow Pipit landed nearby and, in a flash, I could see other differences too. Notably, the Tree Pipit lacked Meadow Pipit’s quizzical look, created by a bright halo girdling the eye. By comparison, the Tree Pipit had an earnest look. It dropped to the ground and started slinking away. Its gait was deliberate and not mincing like a Meadow Pipit. A commotion caused everything to take flight and up it went. It called! It declaimed several diagnostic skeeze notes, well audible but not strident. I watched it and several Meadow Pipits fly steadily southeast. All seemed set on leaving Inishbofin. Tired tired arms forced me to lower my binoculars. But I was really pleased with the identification. Nearby, I had seen a pipit that I puzzled over the previous day, which could have been the same individual. It just goes to show that you never know how close you are to uplifting discoveries, despite coming perilously close to walking right by them. I have been enjoying looking at and trying to photograph Meadow Pipits. Neville McKee told me that the vast majority are youngsters and can be aged on the basis of having replaced one or two tertials and also between one and four inner greater coverts. Another surprise lay in wait. A pair of Coal Tits bounded through fuchsia bushes near East End Bay. There are no previous records of titmice for Inishbofin. In other words, Coal Tit is new. One was noticeably yellow on the cheeks and nape. Clearly restless and on the move, they appeared later in the garden, much to Ian’s delight.
Wednesday 3 October. Fresh NW wind, sunny.
It turned wet on Tuesday night. The wind switched into the southwest. It was a black night; sheets of lash hammered the bedroom window. Delivering early morning brew, Ian mused on what might be done in such conditions. We had no Plan B. Luckily the rain stopped at 0800 hrs. Knowing that the forecast was for winds veering northwest, we opted to go straight out to Sunfish Rock. Tramping across the island, the wind was not as brisk as predicted. Gannets were circling in the bay north of Inislyon (Inish Leaghain). I caught up with DIM, who had begun watching on the wrong headland. My hand-drawn arrow on his copy of the Inishbofin map was just slightly out, resulting in blind faith and a cold bum on a hopelessly exposed vantage point. As I told him to up sticks and follow me, an Arctic Skua drifted past and pushed west below us. Ian yelled, ‘Follow that skua!’
The combination of light and scenery was breathtaking. The vista encompasses Achill’s dizzy western cliffs, Clare Island’s mountainous top spewing a tail of cloud and, dominating the middle ground, Inishturk, the final giant closest in line. The trio of Gulliver islands directs seabirds tight against Inishbofin, a ‘must pass’ barrier before they spill south into Galway Bay. Ian commented that we could see the curvature of the Earth from where we sat. Achill’s coast at water level was tucked away over the horizon. Seabirds were not actually present in any numbers. There had not been enough wind to gather up a big passage. For the last five days, winds had been offshore. A big surprise was the presence of enormous weed rafts scattered over the surface. Neither of us had ever seen the like of it. Some ‘slicks’ were floating carpets over 100 meters long. This might have accounted for the parade of Grey Phalaropes. Nineteen were counted during the course of the day. Shearwaters were non-existent for the first 30 minutes and then a single Sooty Shearwater and a Manx Shearwater speared past into wind. At no time was there a significant quantity of any one species (even Gannets) but there was never a dull moment. A first-winter Little Gull teamed up with three juvenile Arctic Terns and all vanished high into a blue blue sky when the twin threats of a Great Skua and Peregrine appeared. A Great Northern Diver (one of two) went south at not much more than head height. In glorious summer plumage save for a white chin, its hulking shape yet graceful flight achieve full flower against the vast stage that is the North Atlantic.
Thursday 4 October. Sunny but breezy. SW, then S.
On a moonless night, millions of stars helped illuminate a scary The Third Policeman cycling mission (no lights on the bike) to East End Bay and back during which I failed to hear nocturnal flight calls from Redwings. The cloudless sky delivered a crystal clear morning. I have a yearning to build a hide beside some edible leftovers on a piece of ground frequented by Ravens and Hooded Crows. All are in superb nick because they have acquired a fresh set of robes following annual moult; they look like a bunch of New Zealand all-blacks stepping onto a pitch. Crows are mensa material so my hide would have to look authentic. I used pallets and beer barrels and fashioned a shack that Albert Steptoe would have died for. Ian was aghast when I told him that, in order to ensure that the crows did not spot me, I would be sleeping ‘extra mural’ during the next dry night.
At the hostel I paused briefly to check several silhouetted birds perched on wires and bushes. All the outlines looked familiar. However, what I took to be a Robin seemed to be missing a red breast. I put this down to the bird being back-lit. Puzzled that light could play such a trick, I looked harder. The bird had not moved and seemed to be enjoying the warmth of the sun on its back. Before I could break into a cold sweat and entertain thoughts of Red-flanked Bluetail, I saw a lighter throat set against a Bambi-eyed face. It was a female Redstart. This was the first since one on 7th October 1956. As often happens, no sooner was I one-to-one with a good bird, than it was off. It flitted around hedges and fence-posts and finally shifted to the sunny side of a sentinel fuchsia. Buoyed up that it was fresh in, I tried to be more painstaking on a route around Cloonamore. I put up at least 30 Meadow Pipits from tussocks and overgrown ditches. In the end the only additional migrant was a Silver-Y Moth. It zoomed past me but then diverted to feed on pink blossoms on convolvulus.
Friday 5 and Saturday 6 October. Southerly winds falling light SE.
Friday was a cool, grey, windy day. By the end of it Ian said he was feeling the chill, so we lit a big fire, which certainly cheered up the main living room with its one high ceiling light. The wind might have accounted for the impression of fewer birds than previous days. Meadow Pipits, Blackbirds and Song Thrushes had either departed or were hiding. Reed Buntings had certainly left. After seven a few days ago, I drew a complete blank. Now was the time to draw optimism from recent discoveries. Migrants are out there; Inishbofin is not a desert. I need not have worried. A Chiffchaff appeared in the garden, the first warbler here. Obviously new in, it was secretive and silent. Later in the afternoon I checked a nearby garden and made a short spish sound. Out popped a yellow-breasted young Willow Warbler. It was almost as good as a rarity.
By 0715 hrs on Saturday I woke up in my sleeping bag on a bed of dry pallets that kept me clear of the ooze below. I heard the Hitchcock rustle of wings at 0800 hrs but the first feeding activity did not commence for about another twenty minutes. I was not moving a muscle. The camera was already trained on the ‘best’ Dickensian composition that caught my eye. The idea was to wait for a crow to walk into shot, rather than move the camera. I was keen to take a few opening photographs to check exposure. At the first shutter noise there was instant recoil; the nearest crows reacted by leaping vertically, as though sprung from ejector seats. After initial stage fright some regained their appetites and came back. My camera settings were fine and over the next 90 minutes I got lots of chances for grisly images. It was great fun and the crows’ constant state of alertness meant that they were usually dead still when I pressed the shutter. If only other birds were as good at remaining motionless. I extricated myself from the midden by 0945 hrs. It was tempting to stay longer in the hope that a Raven might join the fray, but that was not why I had come to Inishbofin.
Heading up the road and checking everything that moved, I saw three birds swoop up and perch some distance ahead. Two were Robins but the third looked more like a Stonechat. I could not see where it went. Then I spotted it against a bramble patch. It was a Pied Flycatcher. Back in business! The stranger zipped over the hillside and away. Fortunately DIM relocated it elsewhere: over two kilometres away from where I found it. The weather became sunny. I decided to dispense with the bike and walk. Good tallies were Rooks (two for me, Ian saw four), a Grey Wagtail, 33 Golden Plover beside Lough Tana, a Willow Warbler in the willows above Lough Bo Finne and a Chiffchaff in similar habitat at the west end of East End Bay. Phylloscopus totals have reached six: two Chiffchaffs and four Willow Warblers. Let’s hope another member of the genus is next.
Sunday 7 October. Low cloud to the north but full sun elsewhere. Light SE breeze.
This morning Ian and I decided to stick together and attack Cloonamore in a pincer movement. Low cloud enveloped most of the Maumturk Mountains, producing a muted, terracotta sunrise: much better for light because we were not blinded when we walked east. A female Blackcap virtually hit us as we walked out the door of the house. No time to speculate about new birds having arrived through the night then! Yesterday’s Chiffchaff was still catching flies in the sycamores. Next, a mystery warbler shot past. It was fairly chunky and left an impression of an olive-grey back. We couldn’t relocate it then but a Garden Warbler emerged from the garden’s sycamore foliage at lunchtime. The morning was good for incoming traffic: 8 Siskins, new Reed Buntings, plaintive whistles from invisible Golden Plovers and two new Chiffchaffs in a lone alder behind the fisherman’s cottage along the shore. But that was all. After lunch a flog around Lough Bo Finne beckoned. I didn’t fancy it. Instead I decided to spend time picking through the gardens strung around the harbour. Nothing stirred. At least the ease of scrutinizing most habitats makes confirming a blank score relatively straightforward. By now there was nowhere better than to revisit the areas that had been checked in the morning. I was keen on this tactic because yesterday’s Pied Flycatcher seemed to arrive at around 1100 hrs. Maybe history would repeat itself?
I heard the piercing tsweee coming from somewhere around the far side of the graveyard. As I searched for the source of what sounded like a tap-in Yellow-browed Warbler, I was worried. The call seemed to emanate from the one spot on Inishbofin where Coal Tits had been calling two days ago. The two species can sound similar and although today’s voice sounded like the real McCoy, I needed to see the caller. I scanned the tangle of brambles and fuchsia, and then clapped my eyes on the alder clump growing in a corner of the graveyard. Seconds dragged like minutes before I saw movement and a flash of green. It was not a Coal Tit. Tension drained. I still had not seen the whole bird but its identity was just a blink away. Finally, there it was: a dazzling Yellow-browed Warbler. At last, proof that Inishbofin can draw birds from Siberia. When I got up to go, a Redwing, the first of the autumn, hopped onto a wall beside me. The purple patch continues!
Monday 8 and Tuesday 9 October. SE wind freshening and veering SW on Monday; fresh W wind on Tuesday morning, easing to almost calm by dusk.
Monday was looking wobbly. Talk of rain on RTE weather forecasts was accompanied by a pessimistic ‘all change for the worse on Monday’. Expecting a miserable morning I decided to have a final session in my crow shack. Ravens occasionally join the squabbling Hooded Crows, so I might get lucky. They did not, although it was still a fantastic experience. It is unfair to characterise the crows as squabbling. They are orderly and almost dignified; each knows its place in a hierarchy. To begin with I thought that they had spotted me because I had inadvertently arranged the camouflage net without overlapping it. The first to arrive did a lot of calling and would not approach. After an hour lying on the ground I was on the brink of quitting. Then one bird started feeding and the rest plucked up courage and joined in. At one stage I heard a ‘caw’ that drew my attention. For some reason it had a louder, more authoritative ring. I was amazed when I looked away from the viewfinder and saw that King Crow must have arrived. The gravel-voiced individual scattered the mob. Like a regal vulture dispersing hangers-on, King Crow had clout. Enjoyable to watch, but hardly migrant hunting! I got out of the hide by 1000 hrs. By the time I got to the graveyard it was raining. I got a soaking, although I stayed out until lunchtime. Dried out, I switched to the bike. This time the rain returned with a vengeance. So, after all, the day was lost to weather.
Tuesday 9 October. Stiff westerly breeze.
Abandoning the vague generality that is the RTE forecast, Ian and I were encouraged by the wind shift predicted by www.windguru.cz. By early morning a west wind blew and we were watching the sea. It was ruffled and topped with thin white crests; west of The Stags was much rougher. We concluded that all bar the western tip of the island was not receiving the full force of the wind. Never mind, seabird passage was still excellent. We watched until noon and had a constant parade of Gannets. In support were armies of auks, Kittiwakes and Arctic Terns. It wasn’t long before icing started to adorn the cake. Sooty Shearwaters (10), Great and Arctic Skuas (five each) appeared, followed by a regular run of Grey Phalaropes (18) and, drip-by-drip, a trickle of eight juvenile and one adult Sabine’s Gulls. Quality materialised in the form of a juvenile Long-tailed Skua. To begin with, the bird was a dot at 50 magnification through my telescope. Ian asked if there was any point in him trying to see it with binoculars. He laughed when I said, ‘no chance whatsoever.’ I couldn’t have been further wrong. The bird came right in. On its final pass it was visible to the naked eye. It looked like some kind of patchwork, ‘missing link’ seabird. Its head and upper breast were hooded and contrasted against a whitish belly. In sunshine, the upperparts had an ashy pallor and the tight pale barring on the uppertail stood out against an off-black tail. Another surprise was the second juvenile Little Gull of the trip. Only later did I recall that the species winters in small numbers west of Galway Bay. Perhaps the species is not as uncommon off this part of the west Irish coast as I imagined?
After a late lunch and a long birdless stare into the garden, I checked the assortment of cover around the harbour. Not only was there no sign of a migrant but also the density of local Robins and Stonechats seemed lower than over previous days, possibly a sign that migration ‘had given but then taken away’. I changed tack and blasted off in search of seabird action at Feich Charraig. The breeze was in the northwest, favouring the chance of a decent evening passage. That was probably the moment when I looked up at a couple of flitting silhouettes on roadside wires above the hostel and was astonished to see that, although the first was a Meadow Pipit, the second was a Pied Flycatcher. Over the next few minutes the bird shifted to the picnic tables outside the Dolphin Hotel before flying off. Thanking luck for avoiding the sea-watch, I spotted a Chiffchaff flying into the alder tree in the corner of the graveyard where Sunday’s Yellow-browed Warbler had been. A mild sense of panic set in. Birds appeared to be arriving, maybe coming in off the sea on the northwest tailwind?
Along East End Bay I panned through groups of Linnets and House Sparrows, hoping that a Common Rosefinch might have joined them. I had little time left to check a string of key habitats. No knowing which might be best, I opted to stake out the largest willow thicket at the bottom of Michael-Joe O’Halloran’s field. Within its yellowy foliage a monochrome bird made a move. I stood still and waited. It was clamped to stems, gleaning insects from the undersides of leaves. Fragments of a grey back and dark facial mask became recognizable puzzle pieces. It was a Lesser Whitethroat! What an afternoon. To get several migrants in short order says a lot about the potential of Inishbofin. In particular, the local geography of Cloonamore and its designer habitats makes it Nirvana. I desperately wanted a photograph of the Lesser Whitethroat, one of my favourite warblers. Somehow the camera managed to find focus in the one instant when I could see the target through a fretwork of foliage. Next a Chiffchaff called and hove into view. How many warblers by this stage? So many that I am losing count! A breakfast count next morning put the warbler tally at 15 individuals of six species.
Wednesday 10 October. Total clag: misty and murky. Fresh SW wind.
Peering out from indoors, I saw a small green blob shoot past and bury itself in withering sycamore foliage. What was that? It might have been a Goldcrest, an unrecorded species. Surely Goldcrests must reach Inishbofin? The other possibility was a Yellow-browed Warbler. Although incredible, this could be the second. Probably not, because a short time later the first bird I saw at the graveyard alder — rapidly becoming a holy tree — was a Goldcrest. Moving west, I poked around Cloonamore’s network of willow copses but got slim pickings. From the outside, the thicket where yesterday’s Lesser Whitethroat was found looked dead. I crawled among a labyrinth of dense ground-level trunks and sat down. Pssh, pssh, pssh. In less than a minute a Chaffinch, Chiffchaff and the Lesser Whitethroat were enticed into view. Remaining on watch outside, Ian saw nothing. An uncomfortable lesson: you have to get down and dirty to really know what is lurking within.
The miserable weather was not helping the birds either. Feeding conditions must have been nearly impossible in the blowing wind and rain. Sometime later I found a Willow Warbler that had either opted out of feeding or was a fresh arrival and preferred to rest. The bird was inside a fuchsia bank at the church. It was hunched, head on shoulders and the eyes were almost shut. I have seen warblers do this before. Those that have, such as early morning Yellow Warblers tired after overnight migration at Cape May in New Jersey, soon rouse themselves after a catnap and become active. Within ten minutes this bird did the same. It became hyperactive and zoomed around snatching at tiny insects. If it had known that there were alders about 100 m away it might have done better for sustenance. The upperparts were ‘olive-washed-brown’ and below the plumage was strikingly pale, virtually without yellow save for a mere hint on the upper chest. It also looked a tad bigger and plumper than usual. Its face was vaguely reminiscent of a Melodious Warbler. Ian reckoned that it was an undoubted acredula Willow Warbler, the subspecies that breeds from north Norway east across the higher latitudes of Europe and Asia. The afternoon deteriorated. I checked Lough Bo Finne and surrounding fields. Nothing seemed new, although a Wheatear probably was. Some Goldfinches and two Siskins flew west into the gloom; given their flight path in this weather the next stop could be Bermuda.
Thursday 11 October. SW wind; intermittent misty rain.
Today was a day for lateral thinking. Where to look for birds in the steady rain and low cloud that had engulfed Inisbofin so comprehensively that you could scarcely see the sea? I went on a strand-line walkabout to check through groups of Ringed Plovers for Semipalmated Plovers, a habitat shared with Rock Pipits among which there might be a Buff-bellied Pipit. Delusions both. I had been sorting through local Ringed Plovers and Rock Pipits on numerous occasions all week. In particular, Rock Pipits had become rather few in number. This morning I censused a new coast — out to Cromwell’s Castle and back — and saw just two Rock Pipits and 35 Ringed Plovers. Young Ringed Plovers are in a small minority; presumably this is the age category most likely to produce a Semipalmated. I check loral pattern (a few Ringed Plovers have airbrushed pale lores at the bill base but the ghost of continuously dark lores is still apparent); angle of the dark lower border to the cheek patch; and bill shape. Looking at photographs, and from my own memory of them in Canada, Semipalmateds have a somewhat pug-shaped, fat and bulbous bill. Some young Ringed Plovers have remarkably fine (virtually all-black) bills, whereas a young Semipalmated ought not only to have a different bill shape but also a dab of yellow or even tangerine at the bill’s base. Anyway, more practice didn’t hurt.
Over lunch Ian explained that he had watched from Feich Charraig at Westquarter where, like the albatross in Coleridge’s Rime of the Ancient Mariner, a Great Shearwater had emerged from the veil of misty rain and tracked west at point-blank range: ‘right over my boots!’ The news precipitated a hasty bash out to Sunfish Rock. En route, I got a puncture and was forced to proceed on foot. I noticed Ian in the distance pushing his bike across trackless heather and bare rock. Puzzled by the fact that he appeared to be heading east instead of west , I expected to hear an explanation when we rendezvoused at Sunfish Rock. He never arrived; he went to a higher ledge. In near total grey-out I sat for an hour and saw 5 Great Skuas and, when the mist lifted, a Sooty Shearwater. The day ended as it began. Cloud and wetness hung everywhere. Tomorrow is the last day. No more lateral thinking, just a final scrutiny at areas with proven pedigree.
Friday 12 October. Total overcast, SW wind.
At first light the DIM weather report said grey and windy. On the bright sight, it wasn’t raining. After two days sitting in sodden weather it would be interesting to see if a clearance to drier conditions marked a change in birds. The wind, however, had not changed direction. Within minutes of stepping outdoors it was apparent that migrants bottled up by two days of rain were opting to move on despite a southwest headwind. Groups of Meadow Pipits were passing south, small parties of Siskins (day total an impressive 64) were bouncing around the island and although Song Thrush numbers had continued to ebb over recent days, at least three were fresh in: restless, a bit lost and darting around places where none had been seen yesterday. Just as a vibe of optimism was being born, I got word that the identity of a warbler that had spent the last three days on The Mullet, County Mayo, had ultimately been determined as a Blyth’s Reed Warbler. The news was a bit of a wet blanket, all the more so because Ian had fleeting views of a ‘Reed Warbler type’ in willow scrub on the east side of Loch a Teampaill two days before.
Incontestably, Inishbofin had lived up to expectations. Today was the final day. Was there going to be a memorable bird to mark it? A Siberian Chiffchaff alongside a typical individual in the Lesser Whitethroat’s clump was as good as a thumping rarity. It popped up to a spish, and blew away the Blyth’s Reed Warbler blues. Its upperparts were pale, Macintosh khaki, ghosting to whitish below. The legs were the colour of black hammerite paint. You had to look carefully to see it, but there was a tinge of lime across the folded wing. The tail feathers, fanned during feeding actions, had the same dash of lime and the outermost pair glinted pale enough in flight to suggest the tail pattern of a different species. The afternoon reverberated to the ringing calls of Siskins. Parties in the cottage garden were gleaning tiny insects from curled sycamore leaves. As Ian said, they were taking the same food as a Willow Warbler that was working the tree canopy, refuelling for a long-distance destination somewhere in sub-Saharan Africa. So Willow Warbler was the last bird of the trip. Finding migrants is such a delight, made more tantalising because, in the end, they depart and leave you standing there on your own, wondering if more will arrive in the morning.
OCTOBER ENCORE
Friday 19, Saturday 20, Sunday 21 October. SE winds and overcast.
After the trauma of a long night drive followed by the ‘jeux san frontiers’ baggage loading onto the Island Discovery I was looking forward to staring at the sea on the crossing to Inisbofin. About 15 minutes out from Cleggan, where open waters begin, I saw a bird hanging low in the air and swooping over the waves. It exuded an odd jizz. It was behaving like a young Long-tailed Skua but once I caught sight of it against land, I saw dark grey upperparts and a white body. It was a gull but there was something weird about it. The wings looked elongated and possessed a long, Curlew-like arm, which was flexed downwards. Its flight was buoyant and its actions lightweight. A default identification of adult Lesser Black-backed Gull seemed the only logical explanation but I was drawn to keep looking. Besides, I know the status of local gulls and knew that Lesser Black-backeds are unusual in October, particularly adults. Unfortunately the bird was going away from me and was no closer than half a kilometer. It kept arcing high above the sea and then slipping downwards, occasionally stalling and holding itself in a hover. By now my brain was racing. Then I got a stroke of luck. A second gull swung into view at a comparable range. I had a yardstick. Although the other bird was of a similar size it was not, as I expected, a Herring Gull. Instead, it was a first-winter Common Gull. Yikes! The clouds of confusion dispersed in a flash. The bird was a Laughing Gull, what else could it have been! I considered dashing to get my camera but abandoned the idea since it was rapidly becoming a dot. I watched it recede into the distance, following a line running south of Omey Island. I can still see it in my mind’s eye: grey-backed with a long solidly black wing tip. I assume it was an adult. Head details were hard to come by. All I can say is that the front of the face looked white and, from roughly the eye backwards, there was a dirty veil of shadow. What the precise pattern was is impossible to say. Despite the frustration of not obtaining a decent view, a great start to the weekend nevertheless!
Standing in the cottage garden was instant deja vu. Siskins were still there, until I realised that they were different birds. Why? Because the species was on the move and ubiquitous. They were flying overhead, landing in the middle of roads, dropping into reed-beds, settling among alder canopy or on dune grassland and — in what appeared to be a favourite habitat — disappearing into clumps of nettles and gleaning aphids from the stems. Over the next two-and-a-bit days, few habitats escaped their attention. Numbers were difficult to estimate. Although they seemed to be travelling in a general southerly direction, mercurial bands of up to 40 could be seen anywhere, making duplication of counts hard to avoid. For sure, in excess of 250 must have been present over the weekend, maybe twice that number. Foliage movements in the garden quickly revealed that not every bird was a Siskin. Two Chiffchaffs were active and a Lesser Whitethroat threaded through sycamore canopy. The remainder of the afternoon’s birdwatching had an air of being against the clock. What else was on the island? Where should I look? A thrash around Cloonamore produced a Blackcap, three Chiffchaffs, a Siberian Chiffchaff and a Willow Warbler. Not bad. In fact, by the end of the weekend the warbler tallies were: Siberian Chiffchaff 1, Chiffchaff 10, Willow Warbler 3, Blackcap 3, Lesser Whitethroat 1 and Yellow-browed Warbler 1. The Yellow-browed Warbler was the icing on the cake. Found on a drab and windy Sunday morning, it was the reward for persistence in the face of adverse weather. It was inside the willow thicket at the far corner of East End Bay, just behind the shore. It began as ‘yet another Siskin’ until I looked through binoculars at the movement and saw the telltale olive shade that should be coined ‘pulse-racing green’. The weekend had its star; not Laughing Gull from the New World but Yellow-browed Warbler from the forested heart of the Old World. The thought of a moth-sized mite winging its way across the Urals to a windswept willow in the west of Ireland is best enjoyed with the living proof hovering in front of your eyes.
There were other highlights too. Strangely, numbers of Blackbirds and Song Thrushes were unremarkable. Fieldfares and Redwings (about 20 of each) began tumbling from the sky on Saturday afternoon. A Black Redstart on the cottage roof was the first to be recorded on Inishbofin. Chaffinches were in numbers for the first time (as many as 30) and nine Barnacle Geese flew west towards Inishark. In keeping with the ebb of their migration periods, both Skylarks (4) and Meadow Pipits (about 50) were scarce. I formed the impression that Robins and Stonechats had decreased since late September. Crows had ventured west; seven Rooks and two Jackdaws were in fields. A Sooty Shearwater flushed by the ferry back to Cleggan kept the surprises going right to the end
LAST ORDERS
Thursday 1 November. A grey day with a fresh southwest wind.
This brief trip, the last throw of the dice for autumn 2007, was all about binoculars. Fed up with a pair of heavyweight 10x50 ‘Sword of Damocles’ buckling my neck and straining my arms, I ditched the sumo Swarovskis for a pair of 10x42 EL that arrived just hours before leaving home. They are balsa wood in my hands. After ten years of views no closer than four meters and the phobia of not being able to identify a taxing rarity at my feet, weight had been lifted from both mind and body. First impressions felt like Formula One. Everything was fast and easy. But would they be lucky? In fading light at almost a kilometre range I picked out an adult Mediterranean Gull among a cloud of Black-headed Gulls following a ferry into Belfast. Honeymoon on!
Arriving next day at the cottage on Inishbofin I heard the sweet hiss of a Yellow-browed Warbler in sycamore foliage before even decanting luggage. I flung everything through the doorway and bounced into the garden. Piercing calls made pinning binoculars to bird easy. There it was, my third Inishbofin Yellow-browed Warbler. Even better, it was the first warbler of any species for the novo Swarovski. What happened over the next hour was hard to take in. Other birds in the garden included Siskins (still filling all parts of the island with their tinkling calls, although much reduced in numbers since the armada that passed through a fortnight ago), Blackbirds and a Song Thrush. The Yellow-browed Warbler was vocal and restless and at one point leapt into the air and buzzed a similar-sized bird. Presumably, a Siskin? That was the boring guess, which I did not want to believe. Fortunately, I didn’t have to. Territorial hostilities were soon resumed and there really were two Yellow-broweds. Then, mirabile dictu, a third Yellow-browed shot past me and dived into cover close to the two combatants! I had still not seen another species of warbler.
The dizzy pace of discoveries seemed to be fizzling out when I reached East End Bay. Thrushes included several Redwings and the first of nine Reed Buntings, a fresh influx since early October. Snipe were in every wet field and three Red-breasted Mergansers rode out the surf in the bay. I sat down on the beach to check through what became 157 Ringed Plovers and 75 Sanderlings. I had scarcely panned through a dozen shorebirds when I clocked the halting gait of a White-rumped Sandpiper. Have I died and gone to heaven? The species may not be the most ostentatious shorebird in the world, yet beneath a drab veneer lurks a demure creature. I wanted to savour it but before doing so I quickly scanned the rest of the flock. What? There’s another one! Growing increasingly gaga, I swung back through the flock to confirm that the first was still present. It was not. Worse still, the entire assembly was scattered by a dog. It was two hours before I finally found one individual asleep alone among boulders. It looked settled and unlike several nearby Turnstones was not bothering to feed in the gathering gloom. I took that as a sign that it was grabbing a final rest before departing at dusk. White-rumped Sandpipers wing their way from the Canadian Arctic to Argentina and migrate south down the American side of the North Atlantic. A west wind diversion to Ireland is nothing.
Friday 2 November. Low cloud and grey, dreary light. Wind light SE.
A story always goes with the finding of a rare bird. Sometimes published accounts skip the turn of events surrounding the discovery and concentrate on tedious descriptive details. Only through a convulsion of luck did I happen to be on hand when the apparition appeared. The following excerpt was written as events unfolded, its conclusion worryingly unclear until the very end.
Lying under a duvet and waiting for signs of daylight, it took just three calls to get me outdoors. A Robin ticked, Siskins twittered and then a Yellow-browed Warbler hit high notes just outside the bedroom window. As ever with this magical island, there was hardly time to wonder if there might be something fresh in, when a male Blackcap flitted past. A twitching sylph turned into a Willow Warbler, rare in November. By late afternoon I had encountered seven Chiffchaffs and five Blackcaps and amassed a total of 15 warblers of four species. When I encountered an immaculate male Brambling that perched obligingly on a post, I declared it Bird of the Day. I had to tear myself away as I was keen to squeeze time from the embers of fading light. I was trying to reach the cottage garden before dark, thinking that there might be enough time to glimpse warblers making final sorties before going to roost. I hurried past Loch a Teampaill and didn’t even break stride when I heard a Water Rail ‘pumping’ in the swamp.
Coming fast towards me but dropping low and out of sight, I saw what looked like a small dove. Although a silhouette and probably nothing more than a kamikaze Blackbird zooming off to bed, I was curious. I got to the top of a rise and there it was, standing in the middle of the road about 30 meters ahead. Before raising binoculars I hoped that its small size was going to materialise into a Turtle Dove — rather than a Collared Dove. As soon as I looked I knew what I beheld. The pointed tail, short red legs and especially the big black ‘fingerprints’ on the rear of its folded wings screamed Mourning Dove! That second was a long one. In the space of it, I experienced a pulse-rate rise from average to coronary. I had a new bird for Ireland parked on the road in front of me. I suppose a kind of panic set in. I desperately wanted to get a picture — but in semi-darkness? I needed to reconfigure the ISO setting on the camera in order to boost shutter speed. I heard voices. People were on the road ahead of me and any moment now they would walk around a bend and almost step on the dove. I shouted but it was too late; it sprang into flight with the speed of a clay pigeon. I fired the camera in what I knew was a futile attempt to immortalise an epic rarity. As the group filed past me, the only human beings I had seen all afternoon, I was in meltdown.
I should have been in seventh heaven but it felt like purgatory. The prize had been snatched away. It had flown off in the direction I was walking, so I continued, crestfallen and feeling cheated. Incredibly, it had settled beyond the bend. Proving that cruelty can be limitless, this time a cat was stalking it. In a flash, the cat saw me and bolted. That action rattled the dove and it was off again, hanging right and dropping out of sight towards the Youth Hostel. I didn’t pursue it, preferring instead to leave it in peace and pray that I might relocate it in the morning. Writing these words hours later, I do not know why I am not in a celebratory mood. I saw it briefly but well enough to identify it. Surprisingly, the hopelessly blurred photographs, handheld at one eighth of a second, contain enough information to confirm the identification. I guess that I am less than ecstatic because, when you wait 40 years for such moments you want them to consist of something better than 40 seconds of adrenaline.
Saturday 3 November. Total overcast, almost calm.
It was a night of one long post-mortem. In the wee small hours I became completely satisfied with the ability of my three photographs to resolve the indisputable image of a Mourning Dove. I started remembering Photoshop settings to boost shadows and bring up contrast. In my mind’s eye I could visualise the bird’s outline popping into a recognizable figure with short sandgrouse legs and a spiked appendage for a tail. There would be sufficient detail to upgrade it from smoke to substance. Job done, I began to pore over tactics for daybreak. Should I position myself on a height and hope to see it fly from roost and return roughly to where I saw it? What, exactly, was it up to on the road? If digesting grit, then it might not return to a specific spot? Was the best policy to walk and walk and hope that our paths crossed? At 0730 hrs the calls of two Yellow-browed Warblers were almost ignored. It felt like heresy, but nothing mattered until there was a conclusion to the hunt for Al-Zenaida [Mourning Dove’s Latin genus is Zenaida].
I walked slower than the pace of waddling Yank tourists and made long sweeping scans over roads, telegraph wires, walls and fence posts. It was a rare morning of light airs. Calls could be heard at long range. One call that forever transports me back to childhood drifted from afar. An unseen Great Northern Diver was wailing from somewhere on the sea between Inishbofin and Inishlyon (Inish Leaghain). I have heard the sound twice before in Ireland, each time on calm November mornings. The eerie yet beautiful yodel formed a backdrop in Tales from the Riverbank, the television of my toddler-hood. What a time to hear it again. Redwings, Fieldfares, Bramblings and two apiece of Chiffchaff and Blackcap were the pick of migrants that accompanied increasingly forlorn searching.
Events overtook solo bird-watching. The Island Discovery had been chartered and was due at 0945 hrs. At 1000 hrs a 50-strong column of stress-faced and olive-clad men (leavened by the presence of several lighthearted women) filled the road at the cottage gate. Could reinforcements find it? Like a cell-dividing bacterium the posse split and headed in multiple directions at successive road junctions. With so many troops deployed and six hours at our disposal, surely somebody would bump into it? That depended on the starlet still being alive. At the Clossy road junction I was with a splinter group that turned right. Scouts among those that had turned left struck off in an unknown bearing. About an hour later a jubilant phone call lit up my world. The phantom had been found. Ground zero was the edge of a stony track in the middle of Middlequarter. What a moment. Tension evaporated. Little did the assembled gathering realise that, even though I hovered at the back of the pack, this was my first view of the Mourning Dove in daylight.
Inishbofin’s Mourning Dove becomes the sixth for the Western Palearctic. The first was on the Isle of Man on 31st October 1989. Since then, others have occurred on Vestmannaeyar, Iceland, on 19th October 1995; Corvo, Azores, on 2nd November 2005; and North Uist, Outer Hebrides, Scotland, from 14th to 16th November 1999. Just a day before the bird on Inishbofin, the second for the Outer Hebrides was found at Carnach. However, once local inhabitants on both Inishbofin and Carnach saw the birds, they were able to amend arrival dates for both. Apparently, the Carnach individual was first seen on 29th October, which also proves to be the likely first date for Inishbofin’s individual because local resident Pete Tierney saw it picking gravel beside his house. He was so impressed with the oddity that he fetched binoculars and then a camera. But when he opened a window to take a picture the dove flew off. Interestingly, over the course of its stay, the Mourning Dove was not seen again anywhere near his house. Quite why it shifted is unclear, although the presence of cats is a likely factor.
The weather in late October was suitable for a transatlantic crossing from 27th. From then until 29th October, Ireland and Britain received a strong westerly airflow, especially along western coasts of Scotland and northwest Ireland. Prophetically, the strongest winds recorded in the United Kingdom were gusts of 60 miles per hour at Stornoway, Outer Hebrides, on 26th October.
Mourning Doves breeding in southern Canada, the species’ northern limit, move south in autumn. The occurrence dates for vagrants that have reached the Western Palearctic suggest that some are comparatively late migrants. Although they are one of the rarest Nearctic landbirds recorded on this side of the North Atlantic, the species was jointly the fourth most common North American passerine recorded during 100 voyages made by Alan Durand between New York and London (at all seasons) from 1961 to 1965. He recorded a total of 14, of which four arriving while at sea. A species with an identical tally was Blackpoll Warbler. Bruce Mactavish, who occasionally is at sea for weeks at a time up to 150 miles east of Newfoundland, has recorded several Mourning Doves both over-flying and landing on board ship; those that settled later flew away.
Once juvenile Mourning Doves moult, they closely resemble adults. Presumably, they undergo a fairly complete moult of body plumage, replacing juvenile feathers that might have been a handy guide to assigning them as youngsters that had moulted into ‘first-winter’ plumage. Therefore, unless some juvenile plumage is detectable across the upper parts, ageing is best achieved by referring to wing moult. Adults have a full set of fresh primaries, whereas first-winters show a contrast of old juvenile outer primaries against new, adult-like replacements. Looking at flight photographs of the bird, it seems that such a moult contrast exists, making it a first-winter. The same age classification applies to all three Mourning Doves recorded in Great Britain and also Iceland (I have no information on the age of the bird from the Azores). A photograph of the Mourning Dove at Carnach taken by Andrew Lawson on www.surfbirds.com shows the bird’s outer two primaries protruding slightly at rest. The difference in wear between these feathers and the remainder is obvious.
Mourning Doves have 14 tail feathers. The central pair is distinctly longer than the rest. Given the species’ low centre of gravity and ground-hugging propensity, it is not surprising that its beautiful tail feathers come in for a fair degree of wear. The Isle of Man individual had one central tail feather missing and another undergoing replacement. In a published account of the Isle of Man record, a comment referring to the condition of the tail and the state of wear noted on specimens housed at Tring Museum stated: ‘some of the tail feathers were quite worn, but there are late-autumn specimens at Tring with much abraded tails.’ The Inishbofin Mourning Dove was missing a few tail feathers. Given the fortuitous combination of weather and the contemporary occurrence with another on the Outer Hebrides, the bird’s gappy tail cannot be regarded as indicative of captivity. Even if it landed on a ship, there is no reason to think that it would have been confined there, leading to damaged plumage. We will never know how it came to be without some tail feathers. On two occasions cats tried to catch it. Maybe it had a closer squeak with death than we think?
The rest of the day felt like a sabbatical. It was if I was excused rarity hunting. Satisfied admirers drifted away from the Mourning Dove, leaving others from the next ferry to take their place. With so many people keen to mop up everything else that Inishbofin could offer, I was wondering what might be found. The answer appeared to be a new Yellow-browed Warbler. This individual frequented bushes around the hostel and even perched on a bird table at the Dolphin Hotel. The day’s total for warblers reached three Yellow-browed, four Blackcaps and at least five Chiffchaffs. Bramblings numbered three and the first Greenfinches that I have seen on the island arrived (three). Birds were on the move and, with reports of up to 100 Linnets, numerous Chaffinches, Goldfinches, Siskins, and two Lesser Redpolls along East End Bay, it was a good day for both finches and pulses.
Sunday 4 November. Brief sunny start, then grey. Light southerly winds.
With a second, smaller invasion of birders due, it was important to check on the whereabouts of the quarry. It was nowhere to be found. I walked every section of road and track where that it frequented yesterday. Then, in late morning and at about the time of the boat’s departure from Cleggan, I bumped into it back on the piece of road where I first saw it. Worryingly, its eyes were shut but when it spotted me it became alert in an instant. It was good to see it by myself and when a motorcyclist came past it flew up and perched on a wall, which gave me a chance to take a picture. It stayed in the same vicinity when everyone arrived, making for a stress-free twitch. For me, the need was to escape and check elsewhere. Idly looking around while standing at the rear of the assembled ranks, I saw a Blackcap fly past followed by a Black Redstart. The latter did not stop and presumably was the bird seen later by departing birders around the harbour.
I reckoned that birds had departed overnight under clear skies. The cottage garden was almost silent, although one Yellow-browed Warbler eventually appeared about an hour after dawn. As the morning clouded over it was possible to see birds coasting south overhead. The magic formula was working again. Redwings and Fieldfares were filtering through fields and heathery hilltops, pausing here and there or, in the case of Redwings, burying themselves in the thickest cover they could find. A circuit of East End Bay started to turn up Chiffchaffs. At least seven were in various willow clumps but none was showy. They must have been fresh arrivals, not sure of their next move and tentatively asserting a feeding territory. I found most of them only because they responded to spishing (emitting sound through pursed lips to imitate alarms). One bird was ghostly pale, seemingly utterly monochrome. Alas it melted away inside a reed-bed. In cover nearby, a furtive trio of Blackcaps slid among dense foliage like a moving Jaguar revealing its spots. Eight Blackbirds, four Song Thrushes, half a dozen Redwings and a Fieldfare were also present, as well as five Goldfinches. By the end of the day I had seen at least seven Blackcaps. Tomorrow normal service will be restored. I will have the place to myself. After the unexpected experiment of saturation coverage for the last two days, the good news is that one person working hard alone may be able to find most of what the island holds.
Monday 5 November. Lashing rain overnight; by dawn SW wind veering NW.
Weather conditions meant that the morning’s activities were put on hold. Through the night heavy rain pelted the cottage roof accompanied by rhythmic creaking from giant Yucca fronds outside the front door. Just as breakfast was finished the downpours ceased. Sunshine flooded house and garden and a Yellow-browed Warbler called from fuchsia at the kitchen window. I was all set for a sea-watch. My route to Sunfish Rock was deliberately indirect, taking in East End Bay. Once again, birds were incoming: Redwings, Fieldfares, furtive Song Thrushes and frenetic Blackbirds. Bramblings were flavour of the morning and no less than five flew past me without stopping or were discovered on tufts of ungrazed grass tugging at seed-heads. Blackcaps bounced down hillsides and pitched into cover, and a Chiffchaff was mooching among weeds near the graveyard. Emerging from a sheltered valley in a fold in the hills either side of Loch-a-Teampaill, I saw the state of the sea to the north. White horses were everywhere and a distant trawler was taking each of them on the nose. Half an hour later I was poring over wave troughs expecting to see lines of auks and a lot more besides. There was next to nothing. A text telling me that another birder was arriving within the hour made me high-tail it back to the harbour. John Coveney stepped ashore and together we ferreted out the Mourning Dove near the airstrip. The weather held and the bird looked its best ever. It was sprightly in everything it did. By late afternoon I bumped into it again, close to where I saw it originally. It appears to have a routine, switching between just two feeding areas. It flew up from the roadside, sat on a post for a while and then flew off in its usual direction, going west behind the youth hostel in failing light at around 1700 hrs. A good way to reach Game Over.
In a remarkable twist, the same Mourning Dove was seen the following spring (of 2008) in Germany and then Denmark (details are listed in the species account in the classified list). Although it can be inferred that the bird might have flown from Ireland to mainland Europe and spent the winter there, we shall never know. Instead, it could have migrated south, reflecting a pre-ordained migratory direction, and wintered in North Africa before returning north in spring, albeit in the wrong hemisphere. The timing of its travel between the two European locations is fascinating. It left Greifswalder Oie, a tiny island in the southern Baltic off the German coast, on 4th May and was found two weeks later at Skagen, the northern tip of Denmark. The trajectory from Greifswalder Oie to Skagen is roughly northwesterly. Although shameless speculation, it is tempting to think that it was heading home.
Durand, A. L. 1972. Landbirds over the North Atlantic: unpublished records 1961–65 and thoughts a decade later. British Birds 65:428–442.
Sapsford, A. 1996. Mourning Dove in the Isle of Man: new to the Western Palearctic. British Birds 89: 157–161.
GALES AND BIRDS: 24–27 OCTOBER 2008
Bruce Mactavish accompanied me to Inishbofin for what we hoped was going to be a shoo-in trip for Yellow-browed Warbler. With Bruce’s phenomenal spishing ability I expected that skulking American songbirds holed up after the recent run of westerly winds would appear in the open as soon as they heard a familiar Canadian twang. Alas, it was not to be. The gales that raked the west of Ireland prevented the ferry from sailing, thereby costing us a day. When we arrived on 24th October it was obvious that the high winds meant that small birds would not be feeding in the open. However, en route a titchy shorebird stole the day: four Grey Phalaropes were close to the ferry among the heaving swells. Had I been able to use the camera in constant spray, two of them would have been easily photographed. Overnight the wind intensified and became a southerly storm. Heavy rain continued during the morning and light levels were so grim that the house lights were kept on all day. A sodden Chiffchaff feeding on the ground at the back of the church had drenched head plumage (momentarily creating the illusion that it had a dark crown and huge supercilium!) and a Willow Warbler was a big surprise creeping low in a flowerbed outside the Inishbofin House Hotel. Another Chiffchaff in the cottage garden completed a hat trick of phylloscopus warblers, each of which hung around over subsequent days. A first-winter Black-headed Gull circling over the harbour was the first to be recorded since recent visits began in October 2006. This, I suppose, became Bird of the Day!
Sunday 26th October dawned cool and less grey. A fiery sunrise over the Connemara Mountains gave way to blue skies as towering curtains of cloud broke up under a west wind. Yesterday Inishbofin was pounded from the south and — except for enormous white horses — the ocean between The Stags and Inishturk was curiously flat. All that changed when the gale veered west. Looking out from a sheltered spot above Sunfish Rock, it was immediately obvious that a major seabird passage was underway. The line of passage followed the north coast of Inishbofin. In the final ‘bight’ before The Stags, birds seemed to fly more erratically due to the stronger buffeting of the wind. In a final ‘heads-down’ push, troops battled into the full force of the blast before rounding the western tip of Inishark. By a twist of fate, Bruce and I finished up losing each other on the way out to Sunfish Rock so we watched from different positions. But over two-and-a-half hours the tallies almost matched. Kittiwakes were everywhere; the vast majority came past in tight flocks of between 15 and 25. Every group was scrutinized for a slip-streaming Sabine’s Gull. But to no avail. It was encouraging to see that many were juveniles: at least half. The flocks streamed west all day. Based on fairly accurate estimates, at least 5,000 passed. Other species doing the same thing were Fulmars (1,500) and Gannets (1,200). The list of quality was short on variety, possibly because many smaller seabirds chose to ride out the conditions and sit on the sea. Nevertheless, memorable sights were a juvenile Long-tailed Skua, 5 Sooty Shearwaters, 4 Grey Phalaropes and — a lifer for Bruce — 5 European Storm Petrels. Just one Great Skua and a late Manx Shearwater beat west and auk totals were no higher than 100 (mainly Guillemots).
Next day the wind veered northerly and the sea was dead. However, the winds precipitated four Great Northern Divers, six Brent Geese, eight Whooper Swans and four Greenland White-fronted Geese. Searching for migrants on land was not easy in high wind but produced a dazzling Siberian Chiffchaff in willows at East End Bay, as well as four Chiffchaffs and the lingering Willow Warbler. Next day, 27th October, Redwings stole the show with at least 100. Migrants were undoubtedly arriving from across Ireland and beyond. Were the Redwings down from Iceland in winds that brought three Snow Buntings (two on 26th, one on 27th October) as well as the geese, or were they derived from Scandinavia, since a Brambling, Blackcap, Song Thrushes and new Blackbirds all appeared at the same time? Either way, they were magnificent in full sun.
POND’S PROGRESS
On Inishbofin, the summer of 2015 was less than memorable for spells of warm unbroken sunshine and the water table on land at the rear of the Dolphin Hotel remained close to the surface. That observation suggested to me that, if I dug down deep enough, I might be able to create a permanent pond. I knew that the vicinity was underlain by clay, another advantage that ought to help contain water in the substrate. I began by hand-digging (mainly with a crow-bar) separate hollows that quickly filled with water. Throughout November and into December there was no sign of water draining away from the experimental holes. After Christmas I made up my mind up to push ahead with the dream of creating a wetland nestling against the edge of the trees. I reckoned that if I excavated the ground lying between the sample holes I would not feel too discouraged because I could see the end product slowly taking shape, despite the enormity of the task. Rather than write a running commentary on the work, I plan to add images that will document what happened next.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Every inhabitant of Inishbofin showed interest in the island’s birds and also extended great kindness and tolerance to me, an arch trespasser, tramping all over the place and often peering into private gardens. Among the list of names below are others who helped in a multitude of ways, from accompanying me in the field (especially the enthusiastic participants on tours organised by The Dolphin Hotel ) to various contacts in Britain, Spain, Germany, Iceland and Canada who helped with identification matters. Many thanks to you all!
Aidan Day, Aileen Murray, Alice O’Halloran, Andrew Concannon, Andrew Lassey, Andrew Murray, Anne Moran, Augustine Coyne, Austin Coyne, Billy Mundo, Bobbie Lavelle, Breffni Martin, Bruce Mactavish, Caiman Coyne, Carmel Byrne, Craig Nash, Declan O’Halloran, Dermot Concannon, DIM Wallace, Eleanor Keane, Enda Concannon, Eric Dempsey, Francis O’Halloran, Frank Turpin, George Lacey, Gerry Moran, Gerry Ward, Gordon D’Arcy, Henry Kenney, Ian Day, Irene Coyne, Jackie Jefferson, James Coyne, Jarleth Ward, Jochen Diersche, John Brittain, John Burke, John Concannon, John Day, John Grufferty, John Mercer, John Murphy, John McCabe, John Francis Day, John Gerard Burke, John Michael Coyne, Kathleen O’Halloran, Kevin P Collins, Kieran Day, Lorraine McLean, Luke Murray, Mairtin Lavelle, Margaret Schofield, Marie Coyne, Mary Day, Mary Lavelle, Mary Fitzgerald, Michael Joe O’Halloran, Michael O’Clery, Mick Murray, Nick Watmough, Paddy Gibney, Paddy Lavelle, Paddy-Joe King, Pat Concannon, Pat Coyne, PJ Cunnihane, Peadar King, Pete Tierney, Penny Insole, Orla Day, Peter Guy, Regina King, Ricard Gutierrez, Richard Millington, Richella Duggan, Seamus Concannon, Simon Murray, Steve Dodgson, Steve Gantlett, Tara McKeown, Tim Gordon, Tom Murtagh, Tommy Burke, Trevor Goodbody, Veronica Cunnihane, Veronica Straberger, Yann Kolbeinsson.
REFERENCES
Gordon, T. 2006. The Birds of Inishbofin.
Hutchinson, C.D. & Ruttledge, R.F. 1978. The birds of Inishbofin and Inishark, Co. Galway. Irish Birds 1: 211–224.
McGeehan, A. & Wyllie, J. 2013. Birds of the Homeplace. The Collins Press.
Ruttledge, R.F. 1957. Birds of Inishbofin, Co. Galway. Bird Study 4: 71–80.
Ussher, R.J. & Warren, R. 1900. The Birds of Ireland. Gurney & Jackson. London.
Wallace, D.I.M. 1972. ‘An October to remember on St. Agnes, Isles of Scilly’. British Birds 65: 208–220.
