I'm not really sure how I managed to make this happen but during the middle of May I managed to wangle a work trip to Foula - specifically between May 18th and 24th.

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May 18th

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We arrived onto Foula not long before lunchtime after a short but spectacular flight over a sunny mainland Shetland, towards the isolated, cloud-rimmed island reminiscent of something out of an old King Kong movie. On our approach, over the east side of the island, I could see the iris beds, gardens, nook, crannies and lochans that I was looking forward to getting stuck into over the next week. In case I'd missed anything, sheep on the runway meant that I had a second chance to look...

 

Not unusually for a small northern isle, we were met at the airstrip by the 'fire-team' who also happened to run the rented accommodation that we were using, up at Ristie at the north end of the island. Once all prospect of fire had been eliminated we were scooted up to Ristie, giving me a chance to glance at potential birding spots from ground level. It didn't look any less exciting.

 

At Ristie, we crested the hill to see wild, remote and staggering vista with our little dot of a home somewhere in the middle distance. My appreciation was only slightly diminished by the steepness of the hill that I suddenly realised that I was going to have to climb every morning. After settling in, and getting all of the food which had very kindly been delivered to the house prior to our arrical settled in as well, we headed out. The mission for the rest of the day was simply to get our bearings, assess the lie of the land, chat to a few folks and eat wagon wheels. So, with a pocket full of wagon wheels we set off, from Risie at the northernmost tip of the island, to Hametoun at the south end.

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Without getting anything too exciting it was a lovely introduction to the islands birdlife. Around Ristie, bonxies lingered around the bog, and redshank called from within it. I was barely out the door before I got my first taste of Foula's migrant potential. A wagtail pottering around on the short-munched turf was a white wag, and overhead, a tree sparrow called. 

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As we headed south along the road that cut through the moors, golden plover and dunlin were here and there, and red-throated divers sat on small lochans. Wheatears flitted along fencelines and even out here, other migrants could be seen. A chiffchaff feeding in a roadside ditch and a cracking male pied flycatcher jazzing up a rusty bit of old wire. The burn, fields, and walls around Harrier called out for a good grilling but unfortunately, time said no.

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Ham looked to be where it was at for migrants though. Although on this day I had to make do with 4 chiffs in the yard and gardens, and a group of 5 woodpigeons zooming through, it was clear that this would be a key place to visit every day, should work allow. However in terms of prospects for rares, Hametoun was not at all far behind. Again, on this visit it was quiet (siskin and barnacle goose) but I'd seen enough to know that I wanted to see more...

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May 19th

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Today presented me with an opportunity. My colleague woke up feeling under the weather and so had a slow morning, aiming to get out and about slightly later. I needed no further invitation to get out and spend my newly gifted free time by going birding. It was to prove to be a very jammy turn of events.

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The walk down towards Ham was uneventful, although the three carrion crows around Ristie felt rare! Things soon picked up once I arrived at Ham. I had a good look at what I later found out was Geoff and Donna Atherton's garden before dropping down the bank towards the Ham yard. I don't think I've ever seen a rarer looking scene. An iris-bed flanked stream with a couple of small trees alongside ran up the sheltered little valley and in the foreground, a little walled garden, with decent sized trees, fenceposts,  and wires for perching on, and walls complete with nesting starlings. In among the trees flitted a four chiffchaffs, and after 25 minutes or so, once I was beginning to definitely recognise each individual chiffchaff, I decided to move on. I edged past the angry goose and towards the little wooden bridge that spanned the burn. 

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At this point I suddenly heard the briefest snippet of what instantly sounded like nightingale song. Less than a secondsworth. I tried to convince myself that a starling could have made the noises but the sensible part of me wasn't having it, so I crossed over the water, and watched from the bank on the far side, listening to see if it would sing again.

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It didn't, but eventually it moved. I got some really ropey views but it was clearly a nightingale spp and the dark, cold tones of the upperparts, contrasting nicely with the warmth of the tail were suggesting thrush nightingale. I didn't think of it at the time but common nightingale are so rare in Scotland this was almost certainly the more likely option as well. After getting some news to Geoff and Donna via mainland Shetland, I waited some more. Eventually I get more on it, with nice views of the malar, messy-eater breastband, greyish underparts and huge dark eye. It was a sprosser indeed, and I was thrilled. Happily, Geoff turned up shortly after and also got some decent views, and for a while, the bird started to call. I got a wee recording of the calls before the rain set in and I was joined by me colleague, refreshed and recovered, so we set off to get some work done.

 

Luckily for me the fun and games did not end there. At Braidfit, a scan over the walled gardens produced a fine male red-backed shrike, pouncing on bumble bees and a little further along, at the next house a male black redstart hopped along the drive. All extremely jammy, and all great fun.

 

The rest of the day was a little anticlimax after that hour or so, but still entertained with wigeon, house martin, collared dove and grey heron, and it was rounded off nicely when much later, on our return to Ristie, a male blackcap put in an appearance in the tiny pocket of sheltered vegetation there. The location, at the extreme north end, of Foulas extreme isolation, meant that it was not a surpise bumping into migrants there (or indeed seeng them as the washing up was getting done, as in this case). 

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May 20th

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The work route took us south again, but Ristie didn't disappoint, with a tree pipit calling as it flew overhead. The three carrion crows remained as well. En route southward, a tight flock of four goosander whizzed past the school, and at Ham there were a few birds new in. The thrush nightingale was still around (and showing a bit better in the relative calm compared to the day before) and there were still chiffchaffs in the yard. A couple of common redpoll flitted along the burn and into one of the conifers, and up the bank in the 'village', a common whitethroat skulked. A common sandpiper bobbed around the burn mouth, under the nesting fulmars and it was all very lovely indeed - the presence of a rarity, the warm sun, the feel of new birds arriving and the backdrop of the islands stunning scenery, and fantastic 'supporting cast' of breeding seabirds and waders. 

 

May 21st

 

Another nice day (well, most of it, at least) with the odd interesting bird sprinkled over the staples of divers, skuas, and breeding waders. Nothing remarkable (the nightingale remained) but enough new stuff to quicken the pulse and to keep the promise of a new rare bird alive. Around Ham there were 8 siskin on Geoff and Donna's feeders, and a very handsome tree sparrow in the garden (possibly the same bird that I'd had a few days previously, I guess). A drake tufted duck was on the Mill loch and a black-headed gull lingered with the tiny gull flock at the airstrip. Context is everything! In the air, a house martin looked under the eaves of the school but perhaps the best was the swift that hawked around over Ham fulmar colony while we stood just a couple of feet underneath it.

 

I wasn't sure that it was possible to jazz up a swift, what with them being the best bird already, but it turns out that adding a bit of rarity (again, context is key!) does take them up another level. 

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As we trudged northward towards Ristie on the way home the heavens opened. Off in the distance an asio owl got up off the ground and jinked over the moor. It really felt and looked good for a long-eared owl but the distance, murk in the air and rain gathering on my bins rendered it unidentifiable. A shame, but exciting all the same. 

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May 22nd

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A day of weather. Some of it lovely and some of it decidedly less so. In addition, a day with yet more new birds in, even if again there was nothing too exciting to write home about. Two goosanders were on the Mill loch and later in the day, a female red-breasted merganser flew south past the airstrip. A cuckoo sang in the valley around Burns, later putting in an appearance on the chapel by the airstrip. Offshore, a great-northern diver was off the little harbour at Ham, but it was the new-in passerines that kept hopes up. My first linnet of the trip was at Ristie, and at Ham there were two each of chiffchaff, siskin and house martin, with single singing willow warbler and lesser whitethroat.

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Obviously I couldn't complain about how the grabbed birding opportunities had gone, but I was also becoming aware that I was getting towards the end of my week. I was hooked on Foula and I wanted more...

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May 23rd

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Although it wasn't scheduled to be so, this turned out to be my last full day on the island due to weather and aircraft not being guaranteed to be compatible. Much of the same in terms of birds, with very little new in. Goosanders were back on the Mill loch, carrion crows were back at Ristie and the black-headed gull remained at the airstrip. Around Ham, both common and lesser whitethroat, chiffchaffs and willow warbler sang. The two common redpoll were in the yard and again, there was a heron at Burns. 

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Some of the day was spent planning our early departure the following day, and of course there was packing, cleaning and tidying to be done around the house at Ristie. I was pretty gutted to be leaving the next day but my heavily blistered heel was more than happy to spend the following day doing a lot more sitting down than I had been doing...

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May 24th

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An early start meant that we could get about the island to retrieve the various bits of kit that we had scattered about the place before getting back to Ristie in time to get picked up and run down to the boat. It was an unremarkable jaunt but birding is hard whne you have your hands full. We got back to Ristie with a moment to enjoy the calm and sun, which naturally I spent outside, chatting with my colleague and with the person who was holidaying in the other part of the Ristie set-up. While we chatted it occurred to me that one of the birds scuttling about on the turf was not a meadow pipit so I raised my bins and was very pleased to see a spanking male bluethroat! 

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This bird proceeded to feed along the little stream next to the house, giving the most stunning views from the dining room table. It went missing every now and again and after a while I realised that it was going into the Ristie garden for a little sing. I set up the drop-rig recording kit and while for the most part it sang a wee distance away, briefly it perched right underneath the mics and blasted out green sandpiper, linnet and grasshopper warbler mimicry. 

 

It was such a pleasure to spend time with this amazing little bird and it felt like a fitting end to a short spring week.

 

Someone once wrote that finding rare birds in Shetland was as easy as putting on a hat. That certainly hadn't matched my experience of autumn (and spring) birding on Sanday but it wasn't far wrong for my week on Foula. I could very well have found some more stuff if I'd been there on a dedicated birding week but I really can't complain - I'd seen a lot, and I'd certainly seem more than enough to know that I wanted to go back...