Among the Birds in Northern Shires

by Charles Dixon

Spring migration is scarcely over for the year when signs of the return movement begin to be seen. Indications of the southern exodus first become apparent upon the coast with the arrival usually of a few northern wading birds by the middle or towards the end of July. Records kept along the coast also show that Wheatears, Swallows, Martins, Pied Wagtails, Song Thrushes, Robins, Goldcrests, Wrens, Whitethroats, Starlings, Cuckoos, and Landrails are certainly on the move. In August migration becomes stronger, not only as regards birds that are coming into our area for the winter, or simply passing over it to more southern latitudes, but also those that, having bred in this country, are now leaving it for winter quarters beyond the English Channel. Among Passerine birds that are now entering the British area may be mentioned the Missel-thrush, the Song Thrush, the Redwing, and the Blackbird. Each of these, however, will continue to arrive in much greater numbers during September and October, the migration dying down again in November. Stonechats are now returning to us, as also in small numbers are Robins and Hedge Accentors, both of which will arrive in greater abundance during the two succeeding months. The same remarks almost exactly apply to the Titmice, the Goldcrest, the Wren, and the Pied Wagtail. Amongst the hard-billed Passeres such birds as Linnets, Greenfinches, Chaffinches, Yellow Buntings, and Tree Sparrows are also returning; as are also Sky-larks, Starlings, Rooks, and Short-eared Owls. Among the Duck family and the Waders, the Bernacle and Brent Geese, the Mallard, the Teal and Wigeon, the Scaup and the Scoters; Plovers, Turnstones, Woodcock and Common Snipe, Ruffs, Redshanks, Curlews, Godwits, Dunlins, Knots, and Sanderlings are now migrating, but their numbers will enormously increase during the two, or in some cases even three, succeeding months. But few of our own summer birds depart from the northern shires in August, but there is certainly a coasting movement apparent among most of the species—individuals coming from more northern areas and passing over Britain to winter homes in South Europe and Africa. There can be little doubt, however, that many individual Whitethroats, Willow Wrens, Spotted Flycatchers, and Turtle Doves move south from their summer haunts in the northern shires during August. During this month the Swift and the Cuckoo leave us, although some few of the latter may remain into September. Speaking of Swifts brings to mind a very extraordinary migration of this species that we witnessed in the early part of August, 1879, on the Yorkshire coast at Flamborough. There must have been tens of thousands of birds passing down the coast just below the lighthouse; all day the birds kept migrating on in a leisurely sort of way, feeding as they went, and a very large percentage consisted of young ones. During late August many bands of Terns migrate south along the Yorkshire coast, not only from the Farne Islands, but from more northern stations still.

Migrants at a Lighthouse.

During September most of our own summer migrants disappear, but the Ring-ouzel, the Whinchat, and the Wheatear prolong their passage into October, as also does the Whitethroat, the Chiffchaff, the Willow Wren, the Sedge Warbler, the Swallows and Martins, the Common Sandpiper, and some others, but all in a more or less exceptional manner. Up to the end of this month birds are constantly pouring into our islands from the north and north-east; in October the general trend of migration falls to nearly due east, and from this date onwards some of the most wonderful scenes imaginable are to be witnessed upon many parts of our eastern coast-line, more especially between Spurn in Yorkshire and the Wash in Lincolnshire. Our own observations principally refer, so far as this grand avine movement is concerned, to the latter district. Here season after season we have watched during the late October and early November days that wonderful influx of feathered life that breaks like the waves of the ocean upon the shore, often in such multitudes as to defy estimation. Indeed, we know of no other place on the entire coast-line of the British Islands where the fascinating phenomenon of migration can be studied to better advantage. Along this coast, at intervals during the autumn, birds literally pour in from across the North Sea, or are tempted to loiter upon it when following the entire line of our eastern sea-board to winter quarters far to the south of the British archipelago. Few wilder districts can be imagined, few more monotonous, and even dreary, than the vast expanses of mud and sand that fringe the Wash. At high-water the tide comes up close to the huge banks that extend along the coast here, erected for the purpose of keeping out the sea from the adjoining farms; although it is said that these earth-works are the remains of Roman roads. At low-water the sea is several miles from the banks, and the vast expanse of mud is scored in many directions with tortuous streams and long narrow pools. In summer few birds frequent the place; in autumn it is a grand resort of birds, being in the direct pathway of that vast stream of migrants that flows across the wild North Sea from regions possibly as remote as Siberia.

The Hooded Crow.

Although a very large proportion of indigenous British birds are migratory—probably the greater number—a great many of these undertake their annual journeys in such a very modest and undemonstrative way that they escape general notice. On the other hand, there are a certain if small number of species that migrate in such vast numbers that even the most casual observer cannot fail to remark the fact. Of this small proportion the Goldcrest, the Sky-lark, and the Hooded Crow are certainly amongst the most prominent. The migrations of the first-named bird in autumn are sometimes on a prodigious scale. The autumn of 1882 was remarkable in this respect, especially as regards the Yorkshire and Lincolnshire coasts. This migration appears to have first been recorded from Redcar on the 13th of August. During this month the birds came in comparatively small numbers, which did not appreciably increase during September, but in October they poured across the North Sea in countless thousands, and from all parts of the east coast came reports of the unusual visitation. Two nights in October were especially remarkable for the marvellous migration waves of this tiny bird, which not only spread across England, but reached Ireland, and possibly spent themselves in the Atlantic beyond! So far as concerns our own special length of coast-line, the migration appeared to reach its climax on the 8th and the 12th of October, when vast numbers were recorded from Whitby lighthouse; at Flamborough it was reported in unusual abundance between the 7th and the 14th; at Spurn on the 7th and 8th, crowding into the hedgerows and fields near the sea; whilst on the Lincolnshire side of the Humber the 8th was remarkable for these migrants, many of which actually sought refuge amongst the piles on the quays and in the timber yards at Grimsby; in the district of the Wash the poor little birds came on to the coast in a more or less exhausted condition three or four days later, many migrating at night. One favourite line of migration into inland districts of the northern shires, not only of this species, but of Titmice, Chaffinches, Bramblings, and some others, is along the Humber, and down the valley of the Don, which brings them into the coppices and fields of South Yorkshire and North Derbyshire. We have upon many occasions, during the twenty years or so that we resided in Sheffield, met with these waves of migrant Goldcrests and Titmice in the birch and alder coppices of the Rivelin Valley. This district, as the crow flies, is sixty miles from Spurn, at the mouth of the Humber, and about thirty miles from the head of that vast estuary, with an abundance of suitable haunts by the way. Yet this vast tract of intervening country has not absorbed the waves of birds, and we have found them literally swarming in these Rivelin coppices during October. It is also somewhat remarkable how confined these waves of birds in many cases are. For instance, we never met with these birds in numbers at all indicating a strong migration anywhere beyond the somewhat narrow limits of this rock-girdled valley. To have reached it the birds must absolutely have passed over Sheffield in incredible numbers; they also appeared in rushes, that corresponded with similar extensive incursions on the distant coast.

The Sky-lark is perhaps even more interesting in its autumnal invasion of the coasts of the northern shires. Every autumn, especially towards the end of October or early in November, incredible numbers of Sky-larks cross the German Ocean both by day and by night, and land in the district of the Wash, to name but one locality, although similar phenomena may be witnessed here and there from one end of our eastern coast-line to the other, from September onwards. Year after year have we seen this autumn invasion of the Sky-lark. Day and night the migration continues, the birds coming in from the sea in flocks and smaller parties, flying at a moderate height, say from thirty to fifty yards above the earth, and in a by no means hurried manner. We have repeatedly noticed a few birds commence to warble the moment they left the sea and reached the land. Many thousands of these birds continue their way south along the coast, doubtless in some cases to follow the rivers inland; others fly inland over the fields, continuing the exact direction of the course followed over the sea. In the same district the autumnal passage of the Hooded Crow is little if any less impressive. This migration usually commences about the middle of October, and lasts about a month. The arrival of this bird in the Wash district is almost regarded with as much interest as the appearance of the Swallow in spring. Fishermen and farmers in the locality say that the two birds are never seen in the air together, meaning by this that the Swallow has gone to the south before the Crow comes in from the east. Unlike the two other species we have just alluded to, the Hooded Crow migrates exclusively by day—at least that is our invariable experience. During the periods of its passage the bird may be remarked coming towards the land from the sea in parties, in twos and threes, and now and then in a large open flock, flying at a moderate height and in a somewhat slow and deliberate manner. Hundreds of thousands of this species must enter the British Islands by way of the Wash alone. Many of these do not penetrate inland far, but live during the ensuing winter on the farms and saltings; others, however, follow the river-valleys to more central areas. It is interesting to remark, however, that the Hooded Crow does not migrate down the Humber and the Don valley to South Yorkshire, where at all seasons it must be regarded as a rare bird.

There are many other migrants that enter our islands by way of the Wash, some of them specially interesting. One of the most remarkable of these is the Short-eared Owl, another the Woodcock. Very often these two birds arrive together, making the sea passage from the Continent during the same night. The Woodcock, however, appears to fly high; the Owl at no great distance from the water. Large numbers of wading birds also pass along this low coast in autumn; in October the mud-flats there used literally to swarm with them. Here might be seen great flocks of Knots and Dunlins assembled upon the marshes, whilst on the banks of the many tidal streams and pools Redshanks, Curlews, Bar-tailed Godwits, Plovers, and Sanderlings, in parties or singly, might be watched. Keeping us at a more respectful distance were large flocks of Brent Geese, whose noisy clamour came clanging in fitful clashes across the mud-flats; whilst Wigeon, Scoters, and various other Ducks bore them more or less close company. After a migration night it was a most fascinating experience to wander out at dawn among the birds. As we reached the second of the banks nearest to the sea, that crosses the mile or so of straight road that leads from the cockle and shrimp famous village of Friskney, we often used to flush Woodcocks from the ditches at the bottom of the tall white-thorn hedges, and this fact we always regarded as a sure indication that the past night had been a favourable one for migrants. Then more Woodcocks would be flushed from the long dry grass, on the sea-banks; perhaps an Owl; but the latter birds we found to have a greater preference for the large flat turnip-fields just over the earth-works. Then perhaps the warbling cry of the Sky-lark would sound from the still dusky sky—the note of tired pilgrims that had been winging their way across the wild sea whilst men slept, and music which never failed to inspire a feeling of sympathy in us. Poor tired and hungry little birds—we always wished them well. Sometimes we should find the bushes and even the long grass on the banks crowded with tired Goldcrests; some of them, poor little mites, so weary that we have stood and watched them sitting fast asleep or swaying on the twigs utterly overcome with fatigue and hunger, quite exhausted and apparently indifferent to their own safety any longer. Then on some lowering November afternoon an occasional flock of Snow Buntings would suddenly appear on the wild salt-marshes, little strangers from an ice-bound region far away to the north. They would settle upon the weed-grown places, or perhaps amongst the drift and tangled sea-weed upon the shore, and there busily search for food. On other days, earlier in the autumn, vast flights of Finches would arrive, and occasionally immense numbers of such familiar species as Hedge Accentors, Redwings, and Fieldfares; whilst far overhead at intervals during the short autumn days, company after company of Golden Plovers would be noted either flying down the coast towards Norfolk or passing inland. A gale, especially about the time of a new moon, would be sure to bring us interesting birds to the coast. Then the Fork-tailed Petrel would as likely as not be driven ashore; and at such times we have seen Stormy Petrels flitting about over the roofs of the cottages at Friskney—lost birds that had rashly entered the enclosed waters of the Wash and been blown before the stiff nor'-easter right on to the land. Now and then a Fulmar would be caught in the flight nets, and Little Gulls and Great Gray Shrikes appear, whilst the late autumn days sometimes brings a succession of flocks of Ring Doves and many odd Bitterns. Now and then a rare Lapland Bunting is detected along the shores of the Wash; we have shot it there in November close to Wainfleet haven. The Shore Lark is also occasionally met with in this district.

The mortality amongst these autumn migrants can scarcely be over-estimated. Young birds of course predominate in every species, and it is among them that the death-rate is highest. Gales and dark nights, with driving rain or fog, are exceptionally fatal to these journeying birds across the German Ocean. Some of the scenes at the lighthouses and light-ships along the coasts of these northern shires are most impressive on such nights as these. The lost bewildered birds, attracted by the glare of the flashing brilliant lamps, crowd round the lanterns, and many of them not only kill themselves by dashing against the glass but are observed to fall exhausted into the sea below. Birds of many species compose these lost and bewildered flocks. Adversity makes strange companions, as the old saying has it, and never perhaps was it better illustrated than by a crowd of birds at the lantern of a lighthouse. Significantly enough, the return passage in spring is invariably undertaken by numbers scarcely a tithe as great as in autumn—the bulk of the little pilgrims having met their fate either on passage or during the intervening winter.