12th June 2010
A week too late but with eternal hope Gary, Adam & I set off for everyones favourite shingle ridge. On the way Adam announced his latest plan to gain credibility from his birding peers, by calling binoculars "binos" (pronounced "bye-nose"). You may laugh now, but remember when you hear people talking in a hide at Titchwell, you heard it here first. The walk along as far as Long Hills was uneventful, a Great Crested Grebe on the sea the only bird worth stopping for. As feared, the Subalpine Warbler was long gone, and (Subalpine) Skylark and Meadow Pipit were little consolation. The ghost of Pallas' Reed Bunting and some mating Sand Digger Wasps later and we had reached a new low in birding. A Gannet offshore upgraded the trip from "complete bollocks" to "nearly complete bollocks."
With time in North Walsham before we got our train back, we went to the Bluebell for a drink. A nice beer garden round the back of the pub was teeming with birds, which was a nice change. Blackbirds, Starlings and Goldfinches zoomed around, and we were serenaded by a Song Thrush from the corner of the garden. That means "singing" for all you Reservoir Cats fans, I apologise for attempting to use an unrestricted lexis. The bird of the session was a recently fledged Great-spotted Woodpecker clinging on for dear life to a dead tree on the other side of Bacton Road.