Finders in the Field: Brilliant Barra
by Bruce Taylor
Over six days, an extraordinarily short time, the bird gods have conspired to give me the most intense and thrilling – not to mention exhausting – birding experience of my life. If even half of this had come to me in a dream, I’d have thought it too far-fetched. But as a form of therapy, I’ve set out in diary form the highlights of what I’ve been through, to help me to get my head around a highly unlikely chain of avian events:
Thursday 21st September
After a day and night of near-continuous rain, we woke at first light to find it still lashing down, but the remnants of Hurricane Lee, which had battered Barra for the previous 24 hours, were beginning to subside. We’re not fair-weather birders for the simple reason that if we waited for good weather here, we wouldn’t get out much! Kitted out in full waterproofs and wellies, Kathy and I set out to check bushes in the hope of finding an American passerine. We started in Castlebay by the football pitch then checked a few sites on the west side of the island in the persistent rain. We didn’t see a single migrant, American or European. My mood began to sink. The previous day had seen an arrival of Yankee passerines to our south, with coastal Ireland and Wales seeing most of the action. I’d followed a few discussions online about the potential for this weather system and the consensus was that the Hebrides would likely miss out on the birds. So there we were, getting a good soaking and seeing zilch. I’d found myself in this position many times before and experience taught me to soldier on. Tempting as it would be to go home, get dry and put my feet up, a nagging voice in my head would be asking me what I was missing: the big ‘what if?’. By mid-morning we arrived at Eoligarry at the north end of the island. The rain turned to showers with an occasional glimpse of the sun. Behind the church there’s a tiny clump of sycamore trees and a small patch of brambles where I’ve made a number of good finds over the years, most notably the American Redstart in 2017. Peering over the church wall at the trees, there were no obvious birds, so after a minute or two I walked a few more metres, crouching down at a gap in the wall to make a few ‘pishing’ noises. A moment later a movement caught my eye: barely 2 metres away was a Red-eyed Vireo at eye level, staring me out. It watched as I fumbled for my camera, waiting for me to get a record shot before melting back into the canopy. Kathy soon got on the bird and the two of us watched it bouncing around the trees. As it came closer, I set about getting more photos and as I did so, Kathy said, ‘There’s another one!’
We enjoyed some fabulous views of them hunting bluebottles among the sycamore leaves. My mood had soared: it felt absolutely incredible to be watching two Red-eyed Vireos together on Barra, especially as there had only ever been three records here before. It was suddenly evident that Hurricane Lee had worked its migrant magic on our isle. What else had it delivered?
We leapt into the car and sped off on a mission to cover as many sites as possible in the hope of finding more rarities. Just before midday, we arrived at Nask. The two of us stood at the roadside gazing into a well-vegetated garden. Kathy remained while I wandered down the road and off towards the shore, where a bird flew up into a low tree ahead of me. Raising my bins, I saw it was a bright green warbler with yellow underparts, like a Wood Warbler. But there was something not quite right about it. A moment later it dropped into cover, leaving me wondering what I’d just seen. Maybe it was a funny Wood Warbler, but as we’d just found two Red-eyed Vireos, there had to be a chance of it being a Tennessee. I looked around to see that Kathy was still watching the garden. I tried to catch her eye to wave her over, but she was oblivious. I tried to whistle but my mouth had gone dry; I was quietly panicking in case the bird had disappeared, never to be seen again. Hoarsely shouting her name, I got her attention at last. She ran towards me but was intercepted by Ali, the friendly road-mender who was filling a pothole and just about to start using the noisy whacker-plate to tamp it down. He asked what we’d seen and kindly offered to come back and finish the job after lunch, so he didn’t scare our birds away. What a star! With Kathy by my side, we moved a bit closer to where I’d last seen the bird, whereupon it broke cover, flew over us and dropped in to feed on some weedy vegetation barely twelve feet away. It was a gorgeously bright bird with lush green and yellow plumage, clean white undertail coverts and really bold white tips to the primaries. I’d just found a Tennessee Warbler only two hours after we’d found two Red-eyed Vireos. On Barra. And it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.
After putting the news out to RBA and pinching myself to make sure I wasn’t dreaming, we pushed on to try our luck elsewhere. In the early afternoon we found another bright and colourful Barra rarity: a Kingfisher, only the third island record.
The following day, several birders came across from Uist hoping to twitch the Tennessee and Vireos, but although the latter showed well, high winds and heavy squalls meant that the Tennessee wasn’t seen.
Saturday 23rd September
At last we had a calm, bright day. We started our birding at Nask soon after dawn, where I had another brief view of the Tennessee, this time feeding very low down in fuchsias. By 9.30 we’d reached the bushes next to Castlebay football pitch. The two of us stood on the pathway that runs through the trees on the east side of the pitch. At first glance, there was no obvious sign of migrants, so I tried ‘pishing’ and a few seconds later in the alder canopy above us I saw a movement. It was another Red-eyed Vireo. We stared in astonishment as it flew over the path into the sycamores to join another one! Things were getting a bit crazy. There was no reason for the two from Eoligarry to come all the way here, was there? Besides, the two birds we’d just seen were both brightly plumaged, whereas one of those at Eoligarry was much duller. If there were four, could there be even more?
We were clock-watching by now as we were due our winter flu jab at the hospital, so there was no time to find out. I quickly phoned Ian Ricketts to let him know about the Vireos, and just as we moved towards the car Kathy called, ‘There’s a yellow bird with darker wings up there’. She’d seen the bird just for a second at the top of the canopy. We hung on for a couple of minutes trying to see it again but had to tear ourselves away just as Ian arrived. We told him where the Vireos had been and what Kathy had just seen: just a tantalising glimpse that we all sensed was likely to be another Yank. It had happened so quickly and at the very time when we had to dash for our appointment.
We burst into the hospital waiting room out of breath and looking stressed. The concerned nurse came over to ask what was wrong. ‘Nothing,’ I panted. ‘But we’ve found five American passerines in the last 24 hours and Kathy’s just seen what’s probably another one!’ As I said this I was stripping off my outdoor layers, so she got the picture, stuck me with the needle and did the same for Kathy. Given our heart rates at the time, the shots must have hit our systems in record time. We pretended to listen to her aftercare advice before barrelling outside and back to the pitch.
Ian hadn’t seen the Vireos or Kathy’s bird so the three of us split up to search before reconvening ten minutes later. The Vireos seemed to have vanished, so as a last-ditch attempt to get Ian onto them, I played a Red-eyed Vireo call on my phone. Soon after doing this, we all heard a quiet call, very similar to the one I’d played but to my ear a little shriller, coming from the alders right beside us. Something caught my eye on the opposite side of the alders. Getting my bins on it, I saw the silhouette of a bird bouncing around, feeding. It looked less chunky than the Red-eyed Vireos we’d been watching earlier, though when it lowered its head its rear crown feathers raised in the same way. This had to be a Vireo. It moved closer, into clearer view, and we all drew a breath. It was a cute-looking bird with yellow underparts and darker wings.
In disbelief Ian softly said, ‘It’s a Philadelphia, isn’t it?’
Over the next surreal few minutes, the Philadelphia Vireo, a first for Scotland and only the second British record, flew back and forth over the path, passing at one point barely two feet over my head. It perched atop an alder, had a good look at us, posed for photos then disappeared back into the canopy, leaving us all shell-shocked and shaky. Did that just happen? I checked the back of my camera. Yes, it did! We stood there, trying to take in what had just occurred: a joint find for the three of us from out of the blue. ‘Do you mind if I phone this one in?’ said Ian.
As the day wore on, once again the weather deteriorated. The wind got up and rain arrived in the late afternoon. Although the two Red-eyed Vireos remained at the pitch, despite our best efforts, nobody saw the Philadelphia again.
Sunday 24th September
It was another wet day with near gale-force winds hampering our redoubled efforts to find migrants. The two Red-eyed Vireos at the pitch remained, as did the other two at Eoligarry. That morning, the only new bird we found was a dead Moorhen lying in the road crossing the machair at Borve, an area where we’d never seen one previously. You’ve got to wonder what this unlucky bird was doing there. Given recent events, I did wonder whether it could be an American bird. I checked out a useful article in Martin Garner’s book, concluding that it must be European, based on the shape of the top of its facial shield. But I kept a feather just in case…
It's a challenge to find shelter at any site on windy days like this. Shortly after 3pm, we arrived at Creachan community woodland. There are magnificent sycamores here and a good understorey of bramble, willow, alder and fuchsia. Most importantly, it offered some shelter from the rain and howling wind. As I went through the small metal gate into the wood, I noticed a Treecreeper on the trunk of the ash tree at the bottom of the flight of steps. These are scarce migrants on Barra so I took out my camera, hoping for a photo. As I waited for the Treecreeper to come back around the trunk, I noticed another bird low down in twiggy growth at the base of the ash tree. Raising my bins, I was astonished to see a green warbler with a yellow throat and breast, white undertail and those now familiar white tips to the primaries. It was another Tennessee Warbler. With trembling hands, I fired off three shaky record shots from a crouching position on the steps before the bird flew up into the canopy, calling a few times. That call was the last thing the local Robin wanted to hear on a wet, windy Sunday afternoon. It proceeded to chase off any bird that went near its ash tree for the next hour. Although my views had been brief, I was certain that this was a different individual to the one that was still at Nask the day before. This bird was nowhere near as bright, and since the Nask one was in an area with heaps of perfect habitat, why would it move several miles over the hill in bad weather when there’s plenty of food and cover where it is?
I’d been out in atrocious weather since first light. The cumulative effect of intense birding over the past weeks was really catching up on me. On top of that, I’d just had another extraordinary find when my head was already buzzing with the excitement of the past few days. It was all too much, leaving me feeling something like what marathon runners describe as hitting The Wall. Disbelief and self-doubt flooded over me, I stood under a tree in the rain and looked at the fuzzy image on the back of my camera, checking and double-checking Sibley on my rain-spattered phone. I could only come back to the same conclusion each time: that I’d just found another Tennessee Warbler. But this sort of thing doesn’t happen: rare birds are just that – rare – and in the case of the Tennessee it has only been recorded in Britain six times prior to this autumn. And I’d now found two in just a few days. How could this be happening? I finally pulled myself together and phoned the good folk at RBA with the news. I’ve been speaking to them more than usual in the past few days, which meant that when I said, ‘Hi, this is Bruce Taylor on Barra,’ the reply was, ‘Oh, God. What have you found now?’
Monday 25th September
Thankfully, it was a brighter day, though still windy. We had to go to Nask that morning as Kathy had a quick job to do at the holiday cottage she looks after. While she was inside, I walked up the road and peered at the bushes in the garden where I’d last seen the first Tennessee Warbler. I guess it may have been there but I couldn’t see it and it was a proper skulker anyway. But I couldn’t help but notice another Red-eyed Vireo popping up out of an escallonia bush, fixing me with its beady eye then flying into deep cover further up the garden. I knew there were still two at Eoligarry and two in Castlebay, meaning there were at least five on Barra that day. I’m paraphrasing when I say a veteran birding friend told me I was taking the mickey now!
Tuesday 26th September
A morning visit to the football pitch in the pouring rain produced one Willow Warbler, one Blackcap and a flock, yes, a flock, of three Red-eyed Vireos! It may well be that the third bird was the one from Nask the day before but equally, given the way this week is going, it could have been a new one. We’ll never know. Either way, it’s currently the largest gathering ever seen at a single site in Britain.
The 21st - 26th of September were beyond my wildest dreams. We had no fewer than eight BBRC rarities: Philadelphia Vireo, two Tennessee Warblers and a minimum of five Red-eyed Vireos. There may well still be surprises lurking around the island that we haven’t yet discovered. I have a sense that this has been a once-in-a-lifetime experience and perhaps a benchmark to which all future autumns will be compared.
Bruce Taylor
October 2023
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