The Farne Islands...and more!

Continuing our avoidance of any mention of republican-unfriendly events in the capital, from Newcastle we travel to Beadnell. And from there, well, there's a place we really have to go...

This post covers from the evening of May 17th through to May 19th 2018. Pronoun guidance: AB1's bird tourettes make him no nautical friends.

Thursday night

After a united effort phone-nagging from AB2, Kate and I, Dixon returns from work. We shove all manner of useful bedding into a car (note to self: shoving large amounts of bedding into a small car can make a journey a lot more comfortable) and set off North. Kate's side of the family have a place in Beadnell Bay that they've kindly let us borrow for a couple of nights.

It's a drive of two halves - the first, a speedy but forgettable jaunt up the A1. The second; a gentle mosey around quiet country roads as the sun sets. What a treat to be driven around all day!

Despite a concerted campaign of snacking on the way, a trip for further supplies is deemed necessary before we bed in for the night, so Beadnell is temporarily bypassed in favour of Seahouses. Parking is difficult, so a daring drop off manoeuvre of AB2 and Kate is performed. I stick around to keep Dixon company.

By which, I mean, to mischievously disappear off to the pub in the harbour for a quick pint (well, it was the only place we could park). A quick bonus tick is obtained (every time I've been here there have been Eider in the harbour and this visit is no exception).

After a brief period of amusing vexation (a WhatsApp message arrives "Oi, husbands. Where are you?"), our respective other halves appear with supplies, and we head for Beadnell to consume our co-operatively sourced pizzas in excellent spirits.

A tardy Friday morning arrival at Seahouses.

The next day, we're back in Seahouses. In a hurry. We're booked on the 10am boat to Staple Island. At around half past nine, we read the small print on the booking that reckons we should attempt to be there around half an hour before that time, i.e now. Much haste ensues. "I'm in the car" is shouted at various times to chivvy folks along. Dixon, in the rush, forgets his binoculars. Honestly.

We career back into Seahouses with moments to spare, only to be told that the boat isn't going to land on Staple Island at all - there's too much swell, and it isn't safe. We're advised to try the boat just after 12 instead; alrighty then. We rearrange our plans; the afternoon trip to Bamburgh now becomes the morning trip to Bamburgh.

The Grace Darling RNLI museum is duly visited (Dixon, Kate and I wait outside for several hours while AB2 reads every single item of text within it), and the castle (universally agreed to be overpriced) is gawped at from the car park. We return to Seahouses in time to pick up lunch items from Trotter's Family Bakers (enough for four people for under a tenner; we are gobsmacked) and then pile back to the harbour in plenty of time to catch up with the later sailing.

Staple Island

The boat heads out towards Staple Island, stopping off to look at the seal colony on the way. I make a minor nuisance of myself by pointing out a few Puffins and Gannets (both right next to the boat, phwoar) before the man in charge of the PA system does; I can't quite tell if the rebuke I receive is in good cheer or not so I take the safe option of being quieter.

We get a good look at the stacks of Staple Island from the boat; the flat sections of the cliffs are covered in Guillemots, Razorbills and Kittiwakes. The smell and the noise vie for the award of 'most in your face'. Oddly, I find that acrid guano smell quite relaxing - it hasn't got anything like the immediate heaving power of, say, dog poo.

It's only when we've circuited more than two thirds of the island that I realise that there is a subtle difference to the later sailing - it lands on Inner Farne, not Staple Island. That's mildly upsetting as the views of puffins are superior on the outer island, but this might actually be better for the bird list.

We've already seen all three auks, plus Fulmar, Kittiwake and Gannet - Staple Island will only give us better views of those birds. Inner Farne, on the other hand, will get us both of Arctic and Sandwich Tern; neither of which are too tricky to find across the year, but why not find them today?

Inner Farne

We alight on Inner Farne and are not immediately attacked by hordes of angry Arctic Terns. We guess that only starts to happen once the chicks are hatched; the last time we were here, it was a couple of weeks later in the year.

A circuit of the island is made - we pick up Rock Pipit as well a both of the tern species we were after. I spend a while trying to photograph Fulmars in flight; good practice, but no good results.

Oh, and there are a lot of puffins.

We could go on. So we will.

Yes, the views are even better on Staple Island. A few other species were also worthy of a snap or two:

We pause for a brief nap by the picnic tables near the lighthouse while AB2 introduces herself to some nesting Eider ducks. One gentle walk to the jetty later, and, uh, is that our boat leaving? Oh. Whoops.

I guess we'd better do another circuit then. One more brief nap and attempt at Fulmar-snapping later, we manage to board an alternative boat home.

It turns out we errored correctly - for this one encountered a pod of dolphins on the way back to the harbour, so we get a bonus display from them as we go.

We return to Seahouses for four or five; we treat ourselves to a pint after some further excellent Eider views.

...and let's get some Eider sounds as well (these were even recorded in Seahouses!)

Brilliant. I challenge anyone to listen to that recording and not be cheered.

Long Nanny at dusk

We're not quite done for the day - we've got one Tern species left to find. The National Trust look after a reserve at Long Nanny, which, conveniently, lies a half-hour walk from Beadnell Bay. We set off along the beach in the hope of catching them before it gets dark.

We reach the part of the beach where there are a great many signs warding us inland - the parts of the beach where Brunton Burn ebbs into the sea is an area reserved for breeding birds, and humans are kindly asked to stay off it. One curiously dressed individual has decided these signs aren't for him and marches obstinately straight across. We can't work out if he's drunk or stoned; hopefully the birds won't have minded his incursion too much.

As we head off the beach, we enter a small village of Stonechats; delightful. Our next landmark is the bridge across the Burn, and then, with a bit of luck, there'll be a warden on duty at the reserve who can point us at some Little Terns.

On the way to the bridge from the beach, there's a distraction. A lamb has managed to get itself out of a collection of fields and is in some distress. I take a laissez-faire attitude: if it can get out, it can get back in. Unfortunately, both Dixons are scout leaders, and this is not a situation they can allow to continue.

Just before we start attempting to corral the lamb into a corner, however, I spot a pale shape floating off South at the back of the fields. Barn Owl! I try, unsuccessfully, to distract anyone else from the lamb before it disappears; the best anyone else gets is a fleeting glimpse as it ghosts off into the distance.

After a few failed capture attempts, the team splits in two: AB2 and I head off to the reserve before it gets dark, Dixon and Kate go after the lamb. I wonder out loud if we'll ever see them again.

We cross the bridge and scoot into the reserve. There is indeed a warden, equipped with the usual scope. A lot of chat follows, but none of it is tern-related, so I get my own scope set up and have a stare down at the large group of terns sitting on the edge of the beach.

There are, handily, two disparate groups, and the one slightly further away is a bundle of perhaps twenty Little Terns; I can just about pick out the beak colouration from here, and they are tiddly in comparison to the mixture of Common and Arctic Terns in the group to the immediate right.

AB2 and I swap roles; I do the talking for a bit while she has a look at the terns. To our surprise, the Dixons then arrive, having successfully deposited the stray lamb back in a field.

The Dixons proceed to have an identical conversation with the warden, which, for everyone other than them, is completely hilarious. Eventually we extricate ourselves from the warden and head back to Beadnell by the light of our mobile phones; we really did let it get a bit too late.

What a day!

And more?

The Saturday is spent gently lazing around in Beadnell. No further ticks are acquired. We eventually return to Newcastle to allow for the completion of some transactions related to beds. Emma and I make ourselves scarce while this occurs; it's clearly been a source of domestic tension and we won't be able to resist stirring if we hang around.

Sunday has possibilities - a walk along Hadrian's wall (Kate and I angrily stomp past some charity walkers whose lack of pace offends us) is augmented with a trip to have a look at Grindon Lough on the way back; there's an American Wigeon being sporadically reported there. We can't find it despite some pretty enthusiastic searching, and away to a nearby pub for a refreshing beverage instead.

There isn't quite time for the length diversion up to Kielder for Osprey, so we head back to the city to avoid missing our train home. Which is already an hour delayed by the time it reaches Newcastle; voiding the remaining value of our tip-top planning ahead!

Still. Four excellent days with friends in the North have been had, several ticks were achieved, and all exposure to the royal wedding has been avoided. Both average birders undertake a victory nap on the journey home.

A successful May; so much so that the late Bank holiday is dedicated to fossils rather than birds. The Little Terns from the 18th end up being the last tick of the month; scandalous really.

May total: 166. I seriously consider trying to plot the log curve in the spreadsheet to find out if we get to 200 in time.