Common Yellowthroat in Gwent
February 2012 saw the finding of Britain's 10th ever Common Yellowthroat at Rhiwderin in Gwent, south Wales. Local birder Darryl Spittle, who was instrumental in helping release the news to the masses, takes up the story...
Everything in the following account consists of absolutely 100% unadulterated truths and verifiable facts without any hint of half-truths, hyperbole or humour1.
The morning of Thursday 16th February had dawned the same as many other in the SE corner of Wales; everything was, more-or-less, in its right place, everything was, more-or-less, in Gwentish equilibrium – grey above, moist below and only minimally disturbed by a light nippy breeze. Then, within a brief, semi-garbled splutter of a telephone conversation, everything was very much not where it should have been, it was all expletives and panic, sharp corners and jagged edges, slammed doors, squealing tyres and grannies left spinning on zebra-crossings.
BOU/IRBC Status: A
RBA status: Extremely rare
Accepted British records: 9
Accepted Irish records: 1
Most recent accepted record:
23 Oct 2006 - Penryn, Cornwall
Prime month to occur: October
By the time I was abandoning the car in Rhiwderin, I’d pretty much stepped into a surreal South Wallian, otherworld. For a start, the sun had come out; secondly, I now found myself stood in the most unprepossessing field, next to the most unprepossessing hedge with Matt Broome (local birder, Labrador owner and newest member of the ‘First for Gwent finders’ club’) explaining to me the wheres and whens of the male Common Yellowthroat, he had photographed that morning.
Hold on. Deep breath,… count to ten. Gwent. Common Yellowthroat. Pinch,... still here,… pretty sure this is real.
Matt had seen the bird in fading light the previous evening, returned in the morning, relocated it, rushed home for the DSLR, grabbed a photo and then dropped an ornithological bombshell into the county recorders MMS inbox [NB. I later realised Matt had briefly seen the bird, without optics, on the previous Friday but family and work commitments had intervened and the bird had had to wait]. Unfortunately, the fact was, it had now gone missing and, as a further three local birders rocked up, the hedgerows were subjected to intense systematic peering by increasingly drawn faces. Taught lips and furrowed brows were confronted by inscrutable bracken and bramble. There we were, dotted about the field, all not finding the bird to the very best of our ability. The cumulative weight of the passing hours pressed down on the failing collective, forcing us outward, widening the search area (one chap even checked out the local chippy,… the bird was not there). Then, three and a half hours of torment were relieved as I heard a ‘tchh’, and almost instantly, saw the little sulphur throat that had uttered it. Whistling, waving, running, shutters firing (some more than others) and we were taken on a 900 m, almost hour long, now-you-see-me-now-you-don’t circuit of the nearby hedgerows. Then it evaporated, it was just there, then it wasn’t. It was still here though.
There then followed discussions of the likelihood of seeing the bird from the footpath, land ownership, availability of parking and volunteer stewardly types. Nothing seemed insurmountable, and after an hour or so of knocking on doors (both wrong and right), explaining the likely result of news dissemination to Sue, the very understanding and helpful landowner, and the identification of a suitable site for car-parking for the following morning, and we were pretty much ready to ‘put it out’. Homes were dashed to, directions and maps were produced, news was released and a Christmas Eve sort of night’s sleep was endured.
Barring a nifty change of parking field, a few people turning up before the allotted hour and ineffectually attempting to secrete themselves in nearby lanes, and a very limited amount of headless chickenry as the bird was initially relocated, Friday went pretty much as planned. Unfortunately, on Saturday, a morning of rain had a predictable effect. Several deliveries of aggregate shored up the ground but the entrance to the field was slowly starting to resemble a quagmire. The younger, festival-going, generations sploshed confidently to and fro; middle-aged, shiny car drivers began to shoot worried glances at the tyre-ploughed slope; and the oldest were all but in apoplexy as flashbacks to the Somme rendered them gibbering, flask-clutching, digestive nibbling wrecks – a plan B was needed,… and produced, by the county recorder and a helpful local councillor.
Subsequent days pretty much went off without incident, most people, with the time and inclination to persevere, saw the bird; those with a fair amount of time and inclination to persevere, saw it really well. Actually, from where I was, it all seemed very serene, peaceful even, but then, by this stage, I was safely ensconced 500 km north of the Arctic Circle in NE Finland sipping champagne and partaking of a reindeer fillet steak,… which did help.
To date, thanks to the largesse of the twitching community and the relative paucity of people willing to openly invite ridicule by ineffectually sneaking by without donating, we (see list of voluntary parking and stile stewards below2) have collected approximately £1,700 to be shared between the landowner, the Gwent Wildlife Trust, the RSPB and the local community centre. Grateful thanks to all who chucked a nugget, or three, in the bucket.
Darryl Spittle
www.gwentbirding.blogspot.com
7th March 2012
1. The opening paragraph may contain half-truths, hyperbole and/or humour.
2. The following, in strict alphabetical order, all helped the twitch pass off just as well as could be expected: Brian Adcock, Nathan Casburn, Tom Chinnick, Richard Clarke, Trevor Fletcher, Hugh James, Julia James, Roger James, Chris Jones & Matt Meehan (apologies to anyone I have omitted, I know I have forgotten someone). In addition, thanks to all those birders who helped push a car when the going got soft.
