The Great
Northern
Bullfinch Hunt
by Anthony McGeehan
| When DIM Wallace addressed the audience at an All Ireland conference in the late winter of 1995 he took as his subject those species and subspecies that were, he felt, being missed in latter-day Ireland. His ideas were not fanciful and his evidence was empirical: several currently ‘missing birds’ used to occur in Ireland, albeit before the time of most members of the audience. He cited examples. An old specimen Greenland Redpoll (one of a pair) from Rathlin Island in Antrim, dated 25th September; a handful of reports of big redpolls, some with white rumps, from Tory Island in Donegal; and an autumn passage of whole flocks of Lapland Buntings, again from Tory. These and other birds had not gone the way of the Corncrake, they ought still to be out there and slipping through headlands and islands along the under-watched north-western seaboard of the country. As a wake-up call, he suggested that we must be overlooking Scandinavian Rock Pipits, Anthus petrosus littoralis, around the coast in early spring (a season when moult into breeding plumage makes them identifiable), and he cast his net for the source of new Irish riches as far as the legendary ornithological Northern Isles of Scotland. The starry cast of Scandinavian and Siberian migrants that grace the likes of Fair Isle and Shetland each September hail from the east and depart to the west. Surely, they don’t all die in a watery grave? Of course, he was right. Indeed, DIM Wallace has been in Donegal every autumn since, and helped in the ‘rediscovery’ there of the very birds that he had talked about. But not them all. Northern Bullfinch remained an exception. Turn the pages of Witherby’s The Handbook of British Birds to Bullfinch and you find an additional two-page entry for Pyrrhula pyrrhula pyrrhula: ‘The Northern Bullfinch’. There is a pen-and-ink drawing comparing the heads of Northern Bullfinch with P.p.pileata (the subspecies occurring in Ireland and Britain) and a colour plate depicts the two subspecies side-by-side. What are the differences? The text reads, ‘Even at little distance distinctly larger and brighter looking than British Bullfinch. Adult male: Like British form but larger, and purer and paler blue-grey on upper parts and brighter pink on underparts, tips of outer greater coverts generally whiter, not so buff. Adult female: like British form but larger and much greyer and paler on upperparts and underparts (the nape paler grey than even in male British); lesser and median coverts blue-grey, inner greater coverts tipped pale grey, and outer greyish-white. Voice: note slightly different from British race, though somewhat variously described; louder (H.F. Witherby), also decidedly harsher (J.A. Anderson), richer and lower (L.S.V. Venables).’ The status of the subspecies was given as an ‘Irregular autumn and winter visitor to Britain and Scotland’. The occurrences listed for Scotland painted a picture of occasional small-scale arrivals in October or November in Shetland, Fair Isle and Orkney, with late-winter detection further south (presumably following onwards passage from initial landfall predominantly in the Northern Isles), exemplified by reports in Aberdeenshire, Fife, Lothian and Berwickshire. Remember that specimens supported most, perhaps all, records. While it is unsavoury to think that such splendid birds were shot, it means that an accurate spatial and temporal pattern of previous influxes exists for posterity. Then, in 1965, a male reached Ireland. It was caught at Ballinasloe in Galway on 14th February. It was trapped by Oscar Merne and JG Duane. The description reads, ‘Trapped and examined in the hand and compared with several P.p.nesa [the trinomial Latin name for the subspecies has subsequently been changed from P.p.nesa to P.p.pileata]. Similar, but noticeably larger, feeling more of a handful. The grey of the back was paler than in nesa and rather ‘purer’ in texture. Similarly, the pink of the underparts was paler and purer. The wing measured 94mm.’ Measurements in The Handbook are 78-84mm for P.p.pileata, and 90-98mm for P.p.pyrrhula. In fact, there may be older Irish occurrences. Although it will never be known for sure, the credentials of a male Bullfinch at Maidens Lighthouse, Antrim, on 2nd November 1944 are exemplary in terms of date and timing. Equally, as a ghost of undocumented influxes past, on 29th October 1964 a flock of 20 Bullfinches arrived at Black Head, Clare. They came in high over the sea from the northwest, landed, joined others already present, and then all flew away southward.
Female Northern Bullfinch, Norfolk, 29th October 2004 (Photo: Richard Millington). The realisation in the minds of contemporary Irish birdwatchers that migration watchpoints in the northwest of the country can be the place to witness a spill-down of rare migrants with a default southwesterly orientation from Fennoscandia – towards Ireland – has only recently taken root. In the last decade, almost annual autumn coverage of locations such as Tory Island, Arranmore Island, and Rocky Point in Donegal, as well as The Mullet peninsula in Mayo, have all borne out a post-Northern Isles scatter down the west coast of Scotland to Ireland. However, numbers are small, principally because ‘reverse migration’ (affecting a tiny minority of a species’ overall population) seems to be the mechanism that urges the birds to go west, rather than (correctly) east. Setting aside outright rarities such as Citrine Wagtail and Pechora Pipit, if conditions suit (notably northeast winds on the northern flank of low pressure, or an area of high pressure extending west from Scandinavia across the northern North sea), then a weather wormhole draws Fennoscandian Redwings, Bramblings, Jack Snipe and occasionally Waxwings southwest to Ireland. In the small coastal valleys surrounding Rocky Point in southwest Donegal, calm sunny conditions followed a crisp star-lit night on 9th November 1999. Thrushes teemed west all morning, by far the commonest being Redwings and Fieldfares. Goldcrests, Blackcaps, Siskins and Crossbills were also involved in a movement whose direction was southwest, and many of whose participants had a home in northern Europe. My attention was drawn to a high-flying passerine uttering an unfamiliar call from the skies over the treeless expanse of Rocky Point. I looked up to see the unmistakeable silhouette of a Bullfinch – the first record for the area – bounding along the coast. It never stopped and the call failed to cement in my memory. Only later did the penny drop. Maybe it was a Northern Bullfinch? I will never know, but voice references in The Handbook of ‘louder … decidedly harsher … richer and lower’ suggested that there was a difference between the calls of P.p.pileata and P.p.pyrrhula. I made a mental note that, next time there were reports of Northern Bullfinches in northern Scotland, I should raise not just visual, but also aural alert levels to red. During the middle fortnight of October 2004, word arrived that Northern Bullfinches were flooding south through the Shetlands. Successive waves of reinforcements signified that this was not merely an influx: it was an unprecedented invasion. On Fair Isle, as many as 115 were counted on 16th October, and birders all over Shetland were adding Bullfinch, a traditional rarity, to their garden lists. However, the story did not end there. For me, the big surprise was not the anticipated shared arrival along the northern North Sea coast of eastern Scotland and northern England (where more were seen, right down into East Anglia and along the Dutch coast); it was the startling discovery of parties of Northern Bullfinches on the Outer Hebrides (where up to 70 a day were recorded). In fact, a few kamikaze individuals even reached Iceland. Barra, the most southerly island in the Hebridean chain and just 120 miles north of Donegal (the distance from Dublin to Galway), started to receive Northern Bullfinches on a regular basis from 18th October onwards (when the first four arrived). Put another way, if a Northern Bullfinch flies, like most passerines, at roughly 30 mph, then a southbound Northern Bullfinch from Barra would hit north Donegal in four hours. Cripes! I felt a kind of rallying call to go west to westernmost Donegal immediately, but the Real World intervened. Instead, I emailed Roger Riddington (editor of British Birds) up in Shetland. Yes, he had seen loads of Northern Bullfinches, even in his postage stamp garden (with Waxwings). What about their voice? His reply, received on Monday 25th October, thickened the plot. He wrote, ‘Heaps of them are calling, and most of the time you hear them before you see them – which is quite something for a Bullfinch the size of a Starling. The call is incredibly distinctive. I think it is tinny, maybe even slightly squeaky; it is fairly nasal, and it could easily be made by a toy trumpet.’
Female Northern Bullfinch, Tory Island, October 2004. (Photo: Paul Kelly www.irishbirdimages.com). Next day, 26th October, working outdoors on Belfast Harbour Estate, and probably dreaming about what must be in Donegal, I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the intense rose-pink of a male Bullfinch in dark undergrowth. In almost daily records spanning the previous seven years, only one Bullfinch had been seen on the Harbour Estate, and that was in May. The conclusion, that this was a Northern Bullfinch in the nearest trees to the north-facing shore of Belfast Lough, seemed inescapable. I had no binoculars but I could see the bird well. It was relatively tame and was quietly munching clusters of rowanberries, as seemed to befit a migrant from Scandinavia. However, it was not alone. At least two females were with it, their more sombre plumage initially camouflaging them. I concentrated on the females. I remembered that male Northern Bullfinch, P.p.pyrrhula, in comparison with P.p.pileata (the Irish and British subspecies) was less unequivocally different, whereas females had blue-grey napes; wide, white wingbars; and paler (less ‘murky’) underparts. Even without binoculars, I could see all these features. I left the birds and returned with optics. Ah, that’s better! Although there was no chance of making direct comparisons with P.p.pileata, I felt that the male had a chest of the deepest rose-pink, rather than rose-red. The analogy of ‘Andrex toilet roll pink’ came to mind. His back was a clean blue-grey, less ‘smoky’ than P.p.pileata. The wingbar was wide and white – looking more like a panel than a wingbar. The females had wide white wingbars and dun-coloured backs, the dun appearing almost as a final wash on what began as a grey base. The underparts were more fawn in tone: not unlike Waxwing breast colour. Shortly after, the birds melted away into impenetrable cover and, despite waiting and waiting, I never saw them again. Unfortunately, the only calls they made were a quiet, conversational ‘bit … bit’ that, according to Birds of the Western Palearctic, is used occasionally ‘by birds feeding in parties, probably as short-distance contact call’. A few days later, I managed to see a pair of P.p.pileata. Setting aside subjective differences in size and colour, there was a clear distinction in the greater covert bar. On male P.p.pileata, the wingbar was dull grey (not white), and it was clearly narrower than P.p.pyrrhula. The width difference applied equally to females. Moreover, on female P.p.pileata the colour was an impure, buff-grey. As a corrective steer to the plumage description for female Northern Bullfinch in The Handbook (see above), it should be noted that a grey nape is also shown to varying degrees by female P.p.pileata.Assuming that the Bullfinches portrayed in the Collins Bird Guide are Northern Bullfinches (the wide white wingbars indicate P.p.pyrrhula), then the female ought to have a grey nape contrasting with brown-tinged (not grey) upperparts. I telephoned Eric Dempsey to give him the news. In fact, Eric had Bullfinch news for me. A female Bullfinch had been seen on Tory Island, Donegal, the previous day, Monday 25th October. Holy Moses! So why was that not a Northern Bullfinch too? I explained the importance of establishing its exact appearance and, in particular, voice. Eric contacted the observer, Paul Kelly, who luckily managed to relocate the bird, obtain excellent photographs, and get the trumpet call! Paul echoed
everything that Roger Riddington had said. There was no doubt:
Ireland was now sharing in the spoils of a once-in-a-lifetime
invasion. However, the almost simultaneous arrival of Northern
Bullfinches at Belfast and Tory was not a fluke. Dave Suddaby,
way out west on The Mullet peninsula in Mayo, was alert to the
unfolding events on Ireland’s northern doorstep. Bang on
cue, he too got his first (a female) on 26th October. A total
of five moved through the peninsula between 26th and 31st October
(see below for a complete, all-Ireland, list of dates and numbers).
Breaking
news
Male Northern Bullfinch on left, photographed beside typical central European race Bullfinch (similar to those we get in Ireland), Holland, October 2004 (Photo: Arnoud van den Berg).
At the heels of the hunt, Finnish birdwatchers are reporting that they hear the call most years (although others say that they have never heard it). One source states that ‘tooters’ breed as far west in northern Russia as the shores of the White Sea (close to Finland). Another fact that must not be lost sight of is that, irrespective of dialect, Bullfinches from across most, if not all, northern Europe have irrupted west in the autumn of 2004. The first waves pushed west through Norway, Shetland, northern Scotland, and the Hebrides: and thence to Ireland. Subsequent movements have been noted in southern Sweden, Germany, Hungary and Romania. I am grateful to Mike Pennington in Shetland for most of the above information. Furthermore, he added that 250 Northern Bullfinches had been trapped on Fair Isle during October. The growing size of the sample was throwing up variation in male underpart colour - some were redder than others - and a few birds had narrow white edges to the outer primaries (see male Northern Bullfinch in accompanying Dutch photograph). Events continued to hot up in Ireland. On 29th October, weather conditions were perfect for migrants and winter visitors to shift west from northern Britain to Ireland. A light northeasterly air-stream was in place and hundreds of Waxwings arrived from Scotland, many along the west coast. Actually, the Waxwing vanguard had already reached west Donegal – at least 50 were near Carrick on 27th. Ivan Quail and I saw four Waxwings in Glencolmcille on 29th, but a greater prize was a Bullfinch that called loudly overhead. It was calling ‘peu’, in a similar vein to a typical Bullfinch – yet louder, more strident, and without the soft melancholy that personifies P.p.pileata. We felt that the bird was belting out the note in the hope of attracting others. Unusually for a Bullfinch, the bird was high up and flying strongly like a Skylark – not ‘yo-yoing’ feebly as Bullfinches often do. The bird came from the seaward end of the Malin More valley and, presumably spotting some of the first trees back from the ocean, it landed. We had time for a good look. Alas, it soon left and carried on inland. In summary, it was big and bulky in overall impression (but gym-toned, not fat) and sported a fawn shawl across all its upperparts, save a wide band of grey that shone through the fawn across the nape. Its underparts were buff-brown, with a cleanness verging on a grey cast (dull light accentuated grey in the plumage, sunlight highlighted brown). The bird’s colours were smart: not the dirty tints of an Irish resident. The wingbar was wide and white but was grey-washed on the inner greater coverts. Unknown by us then, John O’Boyle visited the district later that afternoon. He saw a male Northern Bullfinch in a nearby garden, and witnessed a pair arriving in off the Atlantic, viewed from the cliffs at Malin Beg. Then, on the morning of 31st October at Malin More, we heard the sound. Bramblings, Siskins and dozens of Chaffinches were calling in active flight as they commuted to feeding areas within sight of the coast. Standing out from the crowd was a weird, ventriloquial monosyllable, best described as a toot like a cartoon Roadrunner. Neither of
us had heard the sound before but we knew exactly what it had
to be. The tooter kept tooting, ‘meeep … meeep’
but we could not find it. We knew where it originated –
from in there, among that group of wind-shorn Sycamores –
but it took a nerve-racking eternity (about two minutes!) to find
it. What had begun as curiosity in Bullfinch call variations had
culminated in a close encounter with the living enigma. Migration
never disappoints, but it helps when you know what to expect.
Acknowledgements: Anthony McGeehan, November 2004.
Recent
sightings 25th October Tory Island, Co.Donegal (female until 26th). 26th October: Belfast (three); female, The Mullet, Co.Mayo (the first of five here between 26th and 31st October). 29th October: four (single female, single male, pair), Malin More and Malin Beg, Co.Donegal. 31st October: new female, Malin More, Co.Donegal; one, Baltimore, Co.Cork; 2, Tacumshin, Co.Wexford; one, Cape Clear, Co.Cork; one, Clogher Head, Co.Louth. 1st November: 10, Clogher Head, Co.Louth. 8th November: 1, Arranmore, Co.Donegal. 27th November: 2, Ardcath, Co.Meath.
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