counting coots

Yesterday, same as the day before and the day before.

Staking out areas that migrants can be seen from, whether they are passing through or expected to stay.  No joy.  Not a sausage.  The birds in the sky are gulls.  Or Cormorants.  Or both. But not raptors. The birds on the ground are pigeons.  Or Moorhensn.  Or both.  But not waders.

My only consolation yesterday was a pair of Stock Doves on the foreshore. Delicate little things.  Nervy.  Not like the bolshy pigeons.  Nice, subtle birds.

Not migrants though.

It is at this point, as this is the second year of incarnation, I think that the patch blog must become repetitive.  The seasons change, and pretty much the same things happen time and time again, year after year.  For all I know I could be writing exactly the same shit this year as I did last year with perhaps very minor differences in dates and numbers, but I'm not checking.  As far as I'm concerned, if it was good enough for Gilbert White...