The Curious Incident of the Coot in the Morning

Oh dear.

Things were going pretty well, but have just taken a rather disturbing turn.

Part of the baby-in-tow plan was for a focus on my local patch, and then along came local patch year-listing via Patchwork Challenge (@PatchBirding) and January local pedestrian listing via Footit (@footit1) - PERFECT! A great focus for local birding, with a competitive edge. Just my scene. Combined with @BirdTrack to ensure that my sightings were put to good scientific use, it all seemed to be working out rather well.

My good friend Chris Pendlebury (@UForthBirder) was was also up for the challenge - so I had some camaraderie with a bit of friendly local rivalry to boot.

We both had the first six days of January off and used it productively, working our way to the top of the national footit leader board (see blog post here).

This week, going back to work for @BTO_Scotland, was always going to present a challenge for birding. The short January days up here in Scotland mean that pre or post-work birding are almost impossible. I can get out on my PWC 'patch' at lunchtime (which includes the Stirling University loch), but my smaller footit patch is a 30 minute cycle away.

Oh well. I would just have to wait until the weekend for further #footit additions. Or so I thought.

This morning, cycling in to work, I passed a major Dunblane birding hotspot (a little duck pond). A quick scan, just to check, and... COOT! Mega! In 6 solid days of local birding neither of us had seen one. What to do?!

The rules of footit are strict - "All counts must be done on foot on a return journey from your home". I was on my bike on the way in to work. I had two choices:

1. The sensible option. Get the news out to Chris via Rare Bird Alert (or text), cycle in to work, and hope that it was still there tomorrow morning, or...
2. Cycle the mile home, don running gear, sprint a mile for a coot, sprint the mile back again, then cycle in to work. What a ridiculous idea.

A momentary pause... a hurried apologetic phone call to work ("Sorry, I'll be late in to work, I've had an incident with a coot")... and I was off!

Our two cats looked very perplexed as I dashed back in through the door, stripped off, threw things out of my rucksac, sprinted up and down the stairs and then out of the door.

I'm afraid that I am no Mo Farah, but tired legs after 6 solid days of footit walking did their best to propel me coot-wards. Wheezing, in through the gate, elbows out to wade through the hoards of tesco-value-bread-wielding children*... Was it still there... had I dipped...?

Then...

Success! Success surpassed only by the joy in hearing a meadow pipit fly overhead a few days previously.

And here, in all of it's grainy and pixelated glory, is camera phone evidence for any doubters. Yes folks, it's true, I really DID see a coot.

All that remained was the small matter of running home, cycling in to work (it was now raining, heavily), and explaining myself to perplexed colleagues. But all the time with a smile on my face.

Surely there is no better illustration of the joys of patch birding (or the folly of man?) than this heart-warming tale?



*no children were harmed in the ticking of this coot