Twite Place, Twite Time.

A cracking flock of seventy-two Twite – the biggest I have ever seen – was the highlight of a trip to Connah’s Quay NR over the high tide.

They must have bred like Rabbits this year as there were several smaller flocks bouncing about too - a sign of a Twite renaissance? Let’s hope so.

Otherwise things were fairly quiet, although a male Peregrine did buzz the waders roosting towards Flint before alighting on the pylon behind the Ash Pool.

A summer-plumaged Dunlin was a novelty this late in the year. I assume it must have been a female as a male Dunlin wouldn’t have taken this long to prepare its winter wardrobe!

The Bunded Pools were fairly quiet, although a quartet of Greenshanks was viewable from the middle hide.

For afters Mark Murphy and I set a course for Cop Hole and a scan of Burton Marsh.

It wasn’t too long before MM picked out a brace of Shorties, a female Merlin and a sub-adult male Hen Harrier, before my single paltry contribution of an immature female Hen Harrier.

You don’t too many male Hen Harriers on the Dee to the pound, so we enjoyed the spectacle for as long as we could before heading for home…

Until later.

Ffynnongroyw Rocks

I recently bumped in a chap I know from Oakenholt called Eddie. It was in Holywell and I was doing my shopping.

“Hello Paul, how you doin’? You’ve put on weight.”

He was right.

I had been planning to walk from Lloc to Prestatyn for a while and now it was time for action.

First port of call was the small flash at Whitford. Mallards, Mallards, Mallards, hooray a Teal, Mallards, Mallards, Mallards…you get the picture.

Then something spooked them. I was a largish falcon and although flying unusually lethargically it was definitely a young female Peregrine. Good start.

Garth Wood was next up and although I encountered two sizeable winter flocks of passerines they were both dominated by Long-tailed and Blue Tits.

After the damp and murky woodland it was good to emerge back out into the sunshine at Ffynnongroyw.

The beach and adjoining mudflats were lightly peppered with Shelducks and gulls, but it was the thin rocky shoreline parallel to the railway wall that produced the goods in the guise of a brace of Rock Pipits.

Pushing on I soon reached the old hide site at the Point of Ayr. A scan of the point revealed the unmistakable metronomic swishing action of a feeding Spoonbill – I had seen reports of one in recent days, but I had imagined the bird had probably been clocked asleep on one of the flashes on Warren Fields.

Doubly pleasing was the fact that it was a new bird for the Point of Ayr and the first I have seen anywhere for a good while.

The next leg of the trek involved a slog along the beach from Talacre to Gronant with the aim of unearthing a Snow Bunting or two.

No such luck today, with two small flocks of Linnets as good as it got.

Having nearly reached Prestatyn, I opted to negotiate the sand dunes behind the golf course. After flushing a handful of Meadow Pipits I then disturbed a larger Pipit with that flew off high and fast uttering a call more reminiscent of a Sparrow.

I immediately thought Dick’s Pipit, but I have only seen a couple before and certainly never heard one calling, so this one will have to go down firmly in the possible category…

Until later.

Llocale

I spent an enjoyable few hours performing an orbit of my cottage in Lloc early this afternoon.

First stop was the petit Pen y Gelli nature reserve near the A55. Never brimming with birds, the site was true to form today, although it did hold a circling Raven and a brace of Red Admirals, including the above battered example.

A small area of scrub near Pant y Wacco was a little more productive with the heavily berried Dogwood and Hawthorn containing a handful of buried Blackbirds and a single Redwing, plus a patrolling male Sparrowhawk.

Next up was beech woodland to the north-east of the village. After a very uneventful walk through I settled down on the edge of a field to scan the horizon above Whitford.

After adding, three Buzzards, another Sparrowhawk, four flyover Skylarks and a sextet of Stock Doves I noticed a trickle of Chaffinches working their way towards me through a row of mature trees next to the footpath.

The trickle soon became a flood as scores and scores of birds appeared on the scene seemingly out of thin air.

Soon they were flying over my head and landing in an old oak tree situated in the middle of a small pasture.

After roughly 6-700 had flown by I eventually heard what I had been keeping my ears pricked for – the more scratchy and wheezy call of a Brambling.

Eager to grill the flock further I decided to inch closer to the oak, but unfortunately I was not the only thing eyeing the finches. A male Sprawk buzzed the canopy and scattered them in all directions and in a matter of seconds they had all vanished as quickly as they had arrived…

Until later.

Black Fawr

After enduring nearly four weeks of decorating and a crisp, sunny autumnal day forecast it was time to down paint brushes and head for the mountains.

Arenig Fawr was the destination and after my sister had picked me up at 8.30, it was full steam ahead.

We rocked-up near Llyn Celyn and a cursory scan of the lake revealed it to be holding precisely one bird. It clearly had a talent for modern politics positioning itself precisely in the middle and thus remained unidentified, although it hinted at being a drake Goosander.

Out on the slopes of Arenig Fawr it was very much a day that Henry Ford (although perhaps not one JT and Freddie Mercury look-a-like Luis Suarez) would have enjoyed – we could watch any bird so long as it was black.

Thus, a handful of Carrion Crows, a pair of Ravens and a flock of migratory Starlings were all there was to be had.

Then things got a little better, although very much on theme – a trio of Choughs were flushed by a chap and his howlin’ dog a few hundred metres ahead. Nice.

After enjoying an incredible panorama that afforded lovely views of all of North Wales’ major mountain ranges it was time to descend and we had all but reached the bottom when the streak was ruined by a Meadow Pipit.

But, in a curious twist, we then spotted what must be Wales’ only black sheep farmer.

Not a farmer of black sheep ,oh no sirey, an actual sheep farmer who was black. It then struck me that apart from professional morris dancing, there could be no whiter profession than farming.

Or birding for that matter – how many ethnic minority birders do you know apart from David Lindo?

Bugger all?

Sue, Grabbit and Runne.

Dear the Black Grouse,

I noticed that you were having some copyright issues with a litigious photographer.

To avoid a tap on the shoulder from Inspector Knacker, I have an image that I would be happy to for you to use.

I’m sure it will more than adequately replace the close-up of the Dotterel at the Great Orme as it is too of an attractive young bird being pestered by an obsessive man standing far too close.

I do however take issue with your headline “If you tolerate this then your children will be next.”

Although clearly to any body with an IQ higher than a whelk that this was a warning for my species not being so confiding to the craparazzi in the future and not a threat to their familes, I really hate the Manic Street Preachers.

Yours etc,

Dott Errel.