May 22nd 2025

 

At last. Another spring trip to Sanday. A short one, alas, but an opportunity not to be sniffed at. Before we all started doing silly things like having kids we used to squeeze in a spring trip, but that all stopped in 2017 when the first of us decided it was time to grow up a bit. We had reasonable success as well, with a decent set of scarce birds on each trip and notable highlights such as a pectoral sandpiper and a red-necked phalarope on the same small flooded field.

 

The real lure, for me though, was the chance to see another Northern Isles spring. The weather is better, the breeding waders and wildfowl are fantastic, there are hatfuls (hats full?) of arctic bound shorebirds and of course, there’s still a pretty good chance of bumping into something juicy.

 

What also appeals is the pace, the vibe of the trip though. In autumn we do our best to set expectations to ‘have a nice walk’ but the focus is still squarely towards finding rare birds. In spring it feels a little more relaxed, and more ‘let’s go birding…’

 

So I did.

 

I travelled up to Kirkwall on the morning of May 22nd, arriving in time to illicitly stash my case at the Peedie Hostel and get caught doing so, before birding a few local spots. The obvious choices were the Peedie Sea and Muddiesdale, both just a short walk from the waterfront in Kirkwall. The Peedie Sea was quiet, with only a handful of tufties, mallards and loafing gulls. Muddiesdale was quite lovely though. It’s the first time I’ve been there and it was full of life. At least 6 willow warbler were singing, and one was seen carrying food. A sedge warbler also sang, as did a blackcap - probably something that isn’t happening in too many places on Orkney. Greenfinch and goldfinch were also prominent, setting a scene quite different to what I’d be experiencing over the next few days, away from the ‘mainland’.

 

After a quick lunch in Helgi’s (nice pub, good pub food and beer, recommend) I jumped on the north-bound ferry. The crossing was a bit slow but it’s great to be out among the isles, with tysties all over the place and the odd great northern and red-throated diver drifting by. I had one eye on my phone as the other team members had already arrived on the island and I was expecting to get gripping news, but the first I heard from anyone was when I was met at the ferry terminal.

 

I was keen to get out but first needed to drop my enormous case at the accommodation at Castlehill. This was a first time for us at this house and it was good, but the location was fantastic, with big windows looking out over the Bea Loch. It is also right next to the big shop, so pretty handy. Less good for the east end of the island, but you need a car for that anyway and it just adds a few minutes on to the journey, and the birding on foot around the Little Sea and Over-the-water can be great. Another recommend…

 

One dumped case and brief window-gawp later and I was dropped off in Lady village. Not a lot going on in the gardens but plenty of sand martins were a bit of a surprise, song thrush were breeding and twite, becoming less easy to find up here, were lovely to hear. I was really here so I could watch over the Cata Sand on the rising tide however, so I settled in under the house at Bressigarth and waited.

 

It was pretty wadery. I counted 437 sanderling, and there were about 70 each of dunlin and ringed plover too, with the ringo’s being tundrae types on there way much further north. Spangly grey plovers were dotted around and a few dozen bar-tailed godwits were beginning to red-up nicely. Both bonxie and Arctic skua were resting on the sands but the obvious highlight here were the two curlew sandpiper - one quite wintery but the other looking pretty summery and hot.

 

From here I walked towards Cleat and was picked up on the way. One others had just had a little stint there so we had a wee look at that, enjoying a short-eared owl at the same time. We then headed up towards Newark where a glossy ibis had made a home a few weeks before our arrival. After a moment the ibis stalked out from behind some long grass among ringed plovers, shoveler, the omnipresent greylags, and noisy nesting lapwings and redshanks. Bliss.

 

And then back to the house but with one last stop and one of my abiding memories of the trip. In a field next to the airport, what looked like a patch of sandy soil turned out to be a tight-packed flock of 172 tundrae type ringed plover. A reminder that even if things are quiet on the passerine front, and away from the main wader spots, the island is just rammed with migrating birds.

 

May 23rd 2025

 

I’d been looking forward to today for the last few days. The forecast was for a completely flat, still day, and that’s exactly what was delivered. I was excited about this as it would provide a great opportunity to do some sound recording, and I was keen on capturing the sounds of breeding waders and generally experiencing the sounds of the Northern Isles spring. I've scattered links to some of the recordings made throughout this post. I find recordings more immersive and evocative than a photograph - I hope you enjoy them (although some are quite long and I won't be offended if you don't get to the end!)

 

With this in mind I took a long walk around the top of Burness. I started by walking along the north Roos road. The first main stops along here were the loch and ‘Roos Jungle’ at the end of the road, but along the way there were the ever-present lapwings, greylags, redshanks, and loads more singing sedge warblers than I had expected. The loch was quiet but the jungle was anything but. It’s the sort of place a Blyth’s reed warbler would love (or at least, that’s what I had been telling myself). There was nothing rare, but there were singing linnet and sedge warbler all over, and wren, meadow pipit, redpoll, song thrush and blackbird were all breeding. Had it been a little more migranty this spring, I strongly suspect other stuff would have been there too.

 

From here I walked along the shore of the Rooswick towards Whitemill bay, and there were recording opportunities all over. Juvenile starlings called from within a wall and were visited by a parent with a bill full of grubs, and on the shore, a pile of seaweed had attracted squabbling ringed plover, sanderling, and turnstone, with a couple of stunning, brick red knot stalking about in a rather more dignified fashion.

 

All along the way I was surrounded by the sounds of breeding waders, and at a couple of spots, Arctic terns were beginning to settle in places where they had bred last time we were here in spring, in 2017. Both skuas cut about the place, swallows and sand martins dashed around with the latter obviously breeding in the dunes by the track. Below the dunes, the beaches were scattered with groups of sanderling and stunning looking turnstone. It was all pretty heavenly.

 

At Whitemill Bay, when the weather allows, there are abundant pools surrounded by thick vegetation that must hold so many breeding birds. Unfortunately this year it was mostly bone dry, apart from the loch by the car park which looked to hold plenty of shoveler and a couple of little grebe, among the mallards and greylags. Even though the rest was dry, it was still suitable for snipe, curlew, lapwing and redshank, all breeding in the vicinity of a small colony of great black-backed gulls, which can’t have been any good for their blood pressure…

 

I headed back down the road, reminded by passing hen harrier (that don’t breed on the island) and a flyover redpoll that it wasn’t just waders on offer.

 

Lunch was hasty - it was far too nice to be sat inside - and after a sarnie and a two-bite cherry bakewell I was back out, this time exploring around Lady and Cleat again.

 

Cleat is, on the surface, a couple of roadside pools, but once you explore the tracks and fields you find there is a lot more to it, with a few more hidden bits of water to find birds on. This was my intention this afternoon, but I began to regret it straight away. As I wandered along one of the tracks it was clear that I was causing quite the disturbance to several pairs of redshank. Not wanting to disturb those birds further by doubling back, I pressed on. Unfortunately I pressed on past more breeding redshank and towards a small colony of common and black-headed gulls. So, I decided I would just walk on by, and get out of there as quickly as I could. This meant that I didn’t manage to see the drake garganey until it was in the air flying past me. A real stunner, but it was all marred a little by feeling uncomfortable about causing so much disturbance. I beat a hasty retreat and recorded the gull colony from a respectable distance.

 

Back out on the road, away from the nesting birds, I enjoyed a short-eared owl and headed down towards the Little Sea. Even though the tide was right out there were still groups of waders close to the roadside, including breeding plumage sanderling and gangs of feisty ringed plovers. At Over-the water, groups of dunlin fed and and the common gull colony sat quietly in the afternoon sun. The calm was broken by angry common terns, whenever one of the gulls decided to get up and have a fly around. Probably not the most pulse-quickening birding but very nice, and a sound recorders dream.

 

After dinner we had an evening drive, hoping to hear crakes and quails. We heard no crakes and quails, but ended up watching the glossy ibis again, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the breeding season on a tiny flooded field in Orkney, a scene with a brood of young shoveler and ringed plover, redshanks and lapwings getting jumpy at the drop of a hat, and greylags, sitting quietly for once. This sort of scene would unfold at a hundred other little wet corners across Sanday, and likewise across the rest of Orkney, and when you scale it up like that you realise how important these islands must be for breeding populations of these, and other ground nesting species in the UK.

 

May 24th 2025

 

A substantially less pleasant day, definitely not one for sound recording (although the parabola would have been handy to keep the rain off), but nice and birdy all the same. It hadn’t been very passeriney and I was clearly feeling the waders more than anything else, which might explain why I ended up looking around the Cleat area again in the morning.

 

After a quick look at the Lady gardens, where a redpoll (such a relief to be able to get away with just writing that these days…!) and a sedge warbler were the best of it, I headed down to the lagoon at Cleat. Here, I jumped down into the field and settled in to a nice sheltered spot in order to get close views of the waders.

 

It’s an odd little spot, Cleat lagoon. There’s masses of wader habitat on the island and numbers of waders that use Cleat lagoon (or Black Rock, as it should really be known) are really pretty piffling compared to elsewhere. However, it has a brilliant track record of bringing in more interesting stuff. I’d say at least half of all of our curlew sandpipers and little stints have been at Cleat, it’s had a couple of pecs, and more often than not, it seems, there is a long-billed dowitcher there. Whatever it does for these birds, it does it well.

 

Today was no different, if you’ll tolerate me getting a little nerdy. I was loving the close-up views of the ringed plover and the sanderlings, but the stars of the show were the displaying dunlin, strutting about with one wing raised, giving that long, slowly descending raspy whistle, in scope-filling views. I was really enjoying spending time watching this action at close quarters. I then chanced upon a sleeping wader with its back to me. It was smaller, and much colder toned than the dunlin around it, but it was a dunlin all the same, with that reduced, white-flecked black belly patch. I kept my eye on it and it soon started wandering around, revealing a really pale face, light chest streaking, short bill, and, essentially the full suite of features for a dunlin of the arctica subspecies. Now, I get it, dunlin subspecies are not everyones cup of tea but this bird was striking, great looking, and crucially, identifiable. A little research suggest these birds are scarce passage migrants in the UK (and are globally scarce) and this one was, as far as I could make out, the first one recorded in Orkney. You may well consider this clutching at straws but it was genuinely bird of the trip for me!

 

Back at the ranch for lunch, and the wind and rain had brought a couple of house martin from somewhere to the skies over the Bea Loch. After lunch it was a trip out to the east end for me, with a brief stop to look at the glossy ibis once again.

 

Once at the east end I opted to look around the Buryan area, in the hope that some migrant passerines might have turned up. That hope was mostly misplaced. It was pretty much migrant free, and at first the main action came from quick glances out to sea, where a few manxies were passing by, along with the odd bonxie and great northern diver. A couple of whimbrel were also kicking around on the rocks.

 

From there I went up to do the North Loch loop. On the way into the garden at Salties I scanned over the sandy field behind the house and was totally unsurprised to see it full of tundrae ringed plovers. I was slightly more surprised, when scanning through, to rest my eyes upon a patch of rich rust colour, which then trotted along, revealing itself to be a a fine female dotterel. A really good looking bird and very confiding too. I let the others know and then wandered up towards the other gardens and the loch. A sparrowhawk darted through the garden at the gallery, and out over North Loch, a whimbrel and a wee bunch of bar-tailed godwits wheeled around. I then ambled back towards Salties to join one of the other guys enjoying the dotterel, where a spotted flycatcher popped up. Fresh in and the only real migrant of the trip! We then went on to the other side of North Loch where, from the field above the concrete buildings, we watched two breeding plumage male ruff feeding in the shallows, and a barnacle goose head emerging from the vegetation, sitting very tight in the same spot, apparently, that it had been sitting the day before. Read into that what you will.

 

And that, unbeknownst to me, was to almost be that. I was scheduled to leave the island the following afternoon but a cancelled afternoon ferry meant that I was going to have to join the morning boat to Kirkwall.

 

So, a lovely little flying visit. Mostly dry, much of it calm, all of it birdy, with some sound recording and a nice wee haul of dotterel, garganey, curlew sand, little stint, a dunlin that only I got excited about, hen harrier, shorties, breeding waders, a glossy ibis, arctic bound ringos, and much more.

 

I’m now looking forward to the autumn, which will mark 15 years of visiting this fantastic, under watched place.

 

post script.... just this week, not far from North Loch, an adult barnacle goose was seen leading three plump youngsters. The adult was neck collared and therefore (likely) from the feral breeding population. First time they have ever bred on Orkney.