Senegal: a final taste (the waffer-thin mint)

All good things come to an end, and a ringing/birding trip is no exception. The final morning at Bidiel was spent packing and clearing up, a short walk in the scrub to bid farewell to some avian - and non-avian - friends and then the taxi was there for the long drive back to Mbour. We took a different route back towards St Louis, eschewing the main road for a dirt road parallel with the river (in effect this meant a good 90 minutes on a surface alternately rutted and pitted with caterpillar track marks from grading, rather like driving on the most extravagant rumble-strip you could imagine. Being off the main road did have some advantages though: we saw a few more isolated villages, had tantalising glimpses of some nice habitat where there must have been some decent birding (oh, for transport while we were at Diadiam!) and encountered a scattered troupe of patas monkeys foraging on the roadside. Needless to say, achieving semi-decent photos through the car window wasn't really possible.

By the time we finally hit tarmac, we were all grateful for the smoother surface and the dust-free breeze finally able to blow in through the windows (at which point the driver's mate insisted we shut the windows so he could turn on the air-con, leading to a general rise in the temperature at the back). St Louis felt like a major conurbation in comparison to the villages we'd grown used to over the past couple of weeks. The drive along the riverside was again a feast (!) of sewage, rubbish, herons and gulls, processed at a brisk 50 km/h. 

Scrubby-looking Cattle Egrets hanging out with a Western Reef Heron

Grey-headed Gulls doing their thing

Another Western Reef, with Black-headed Gulls and a Lesser Black-back

The journey down to Mbour was mercifully faster than the trip out, and we were back at the hotel well before sunset. Time for a walk along the beach (footballers, walkers, huge kettle of yellow-billed kites, osprey, western reef heron, whimbrel, potter wasps and a couple fascinated by the view through my binoculars) before settling down for the night. With the usual tropical speed darkness fell, food was eaten and it was time to retire - only to discover that there was no light in my room. Fortunate that a mobile phone has a torch function, eh? And that an e-reader has a backlight...

Part of a kettle of kites

Departure from the country was late evening the following day for everyone, so we spent the morning on a trip to the Bandia 'game reserve' about half an hour away from the hotel. Our local fixer (thanks Saliou!) arranged a vehicle, we crammed ourselves into the back and pottered off. The journey was enlivened by a shed load (cement sacks) across the middle of the main road, the lorry somehow being stuck between two trees on the roadside. Fortunately the roadsides are wider than the road surface, so three lanes of traffic could develop on either side of the obstruction, merging vaguely in turn to get back on the two lanes of road on the other side of the pile. 

Just... how?

Bandia is a 1,500 hectare enclosure with a fairly representative selection of the native large mammal fauna that used to exist across this part of Africa. All carefully kept inside and with no predators, it's more safari-park than safari, but there were a few things which stood out in particular. The first and most lasting was the difference in the vegetation. Yes, it's a little further south than the Sahel scrub near Djoudj, so in Guinean-Sahel savannah, but the lack of people and the low-intensity grazing means the flora perhaps resembles a less modified vegetation (pre-westerner?) much more closely. It was really very impressive. Light acacia-rich woodland with what looked like a rich herbaceous layer and much more mammal and bird life than outside the fence: Helmeted Guineafowl (the only ones of the trip), Abyssinian Rollers, loads of Long-tailed Glossy Starlings, plenty of pigeons of various descriptions. Loads of finches/waxbills/weavers. African Wattled Lapwings in company with Spur-winged Plovers. Griffon Vultures overhead, Mottled Spinetails sweeping over the canopy. And - at least these weren't captive - more patas monkeys fossicking through the vegetation. 

 

Glossy starling with a long tail

Horse in pyjamas

Finally a decent picture of a Patas

African Wattled Lapwing

Green monkey looking oh so innocent

Mottled Spinetail

Griffon on the prowl

Even cuter than a monkey: today's squirrel is African Striped

Cattle Egret with dinner table

Gloriously blue Abyssinian Roller

The reintroduced fare was nice to see too - impala, derby eland, zebras, a couple of ostrich, wonderful giraffes and so forth, but somehow not as cool as the truly wild life. The visit rounded off with a visit to the crocodile pool, where green monkeys loafed on the restaurant tables and kept an eye out for goodies that could be snatched from an unwary tourist. A little stream feeding the pool was a welcome source of predator-free water for the monkeys and a variety of birds: within a few minutes African Thrush, Vieillot's Barbet and a couple of Bearded Barbets had come to drink.

The remainder of the day was spent at the hotel - final packing, bill-settling and general relaxation. 

A walk in the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried

This is a short walk (about 4-5 km) around the southern end of the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried. If you don't know, this is a large rewetted lowland moor in the middle of some pretty intensively-farmed countryside in upper Swabia. 

About 40 minutes drive north of Friedrichshafen you'll find the town of Wilhelmsdorf, where we start out today. Park up at the visitor centre, make sure you have optics and good boots on. It's grey and spitting with rain today: very early-spring-feeling. The centre has a bunch of nestboxes on the wall, mainly occupied by House Sparrows, but there are always some Tree Sparrows among them too. A pair of Kestrels use the roof space and are often hunting in the little meadow on the east side of the road. The woods directly adjacent to the centre are not massively exciting, but there's a representative bird fauna to be heard: today Woodpigeons and Collared Doves, Song Thrush, Robin, Blackbird, Carrion Crow, Blue and Great Tits all make themselves heard. A flock of Starlings - only back within the last couple of weeks - pile in to the top of a pine, only to head off again immediately.

We head off left along the road and turn immediately right towards the ponds, taking the second path through the complex. A pair of Coot are busily diving for plant food directly in front of us, several pairs of Mallard are swimming around further back on the pool. A lone male farm duck ditches on the pool and tries it on with one of the female Mallards, who responds with intense loud quacks and swims off with her preferred (standard-coloured) mate. Tough being the odd-looking bird. Some Teal are skulking at the back of the pool, the males 'pleep' and head-bob to attract the females, who don't seem any more impressed than Ms. Mallard.

A Short-toed Treecreeper belts out a couple of rounds of song from the birches next to us. We pass some intensive beaver action - gnawed poplars are lying on the deck - and admire a Muskrat paddling across the water; tail waving serpentines at the surface gives away that it can't possibly be a juvenile beaver.  

Crossing the watershed between the Rhine and Danube (bet you didn't notice that!), we head left towards the road again. The first Yellowhammer of the morning is chinking in the hedge, a Blackbird busy hauling worms out of the grass on the path-side. A Wren blasts us with song suddenly and then darts off into the undergrowth.

We walk back to the road, turn right and follow along the side of the 'overgrown lake', now hidden below willows and reed. Another Yellowhammer sits on top of a dead tree and sings, below him are Long-tailed Tits working their way through the scrub with shrill cries. A Reed Bunting sits, half-hidden, near the top of a dead birch sapling and sings his three-phrase song. Maybe we stop for a little too long and he loses his nerve, flying away from the road. Fieldfares are calling from the birches on the other side of the road - maybe they're back setting up territory already, but I suspect these are just passing through. As we walk on, first one, then three Roe Deer appear in the meadows to the right, staring nervously at us before bounding wildly away into the distance, white rumps bobbing. Finally they feel safe and stop, turning heads back to watch us but ever-ready to bounce off further the moment we turn towards them. 

We take the second track on the left, remains of tarmac surfacing still keeping the vegetation at bay. Passing low willow scrub on the right we approach some ponds neatly created by more of the many beavers living here - the first one has no more than a pair each of Mallard and Coot. The scrub behind had one or two Chaffinches tuning up, a mixed flock of tits includes a Marsh Tit sneezing indignantly at us. Great Spotted Woodpeckers are now drumming in the background, staccato rolls echoing across the meadows from every patch of woodland. The next pond holds another small flock of Teal, who completely lose it and rocket into the air as we stop to listen for birdsong. Almost lost among the Great Spotted Woodpeckers, a Lesser Spotted is also drumming - longer, steadier and ever-so-slightly slower than their larger cousin. It's a way off though, somewhere in the poplars behind the next pool. 

As we walk on, a Buzzard lifts heavily out of a tree near the pond and flops across to the next line of trees, accompanied by raucous cries of complain from a pair of crows. The next woodpecker makes itself known: a Green Woodpecker laughing its socks off at us (so it seems). The Lesser Spot is drumming again, and this time it's visible, albeit distantly: a stumpy blob at the top of a broken-off poplar patiently drumming, listening, drumming again. Good thing the telescope came! A bit of zoom and it's clear enough, despite the grey day. A solitary male Goosander speeds overhead, aiming for the nearby fishing lake. Unexpectedly, a Sparrowhawk bursts out of the tree next to us and slips away through the scrub. Shame we didn't pick it up before it flew... The Jays certainly noticed when it headed off though!

On a sunnier day...

Out of the trees and across what used to be a grazed meadow - now being altered to keep people (and dogs) and cattle apart to prevent any misunderstandings. The ground is squashy peat under out feet, water oozing to the surface with every step. A pair of Greylags eye us as suspiciously as the deer did earlier: they also move away, though with far less speed and elegance. A silvery warble gives away the presence of Stonechats in the field - hardly a common bird generally in this overmanaged landscape, but fortunately quite abundant at this site. A female perches up nicely for us, flitting from vantage point to vantage point across the field, dropping occasionally onto some tasty morsel in the plants. A couple of Cormorants flap southwards over us, away from the fishing lake. Just behind the line of the trees, a group of crows have found something they really don't like: they circle and divebomb the canopy just where we can't see, shouting insults - or maybe calling attention to their compatriots. Whatever it is (likely a Goshawk) moves off without our ever being able to see it. Disappointing...

Turn left again and follow the ditch and hedge southwards. More Yellowhammers and Fieldfare, and finally our first Willow Tits of the day - a pair of them working their way northwards along the hedge, bleating at us for being in their territory. Another Green Woodpecker calls, then flies along the treeline to our left; just for the sake of comparison, it seems, a Grey-headed Woodpecker pipes a sad-sounding series of whistles at the same time from the woods behind us. We join the gravel track leading down along the west edge of the woods, a young mix of pine, spruce, oak and willows with hazel and dogwood scrub between. Goldcrests twitter through the low scrub, Crested Tits purr from the middle of the spruces and Coal Tits seesaw their way through the canopy. Song Thrushes are belting their hearts out everywhere now, Robins dash on and off, and across the path, snatching invertebrates from the gravel. 

As we leave the woods at their southern end, a Kestrel rises off the rough meadow and sits at the top of a nearby tree. We turn left once more, through a stand of older trees on the fringe of the town, where Nuthatch and Hawfinch are lurking in the canopy - the former far easier to see than the latter! At the end of this track, the carpark is visible on our left, but there's a final treat to enjoy: a pair of White Storks have their nest on top of the telephone pole across the road. One bird stands on the nest, its mate on the neighbouring rooftop, both carefully preening their plumage with those long red bills. For the first of March, it's not a bad day - grey and occasionally spotting with rain, but still over 40 bird species on a short walk.

Senegal. A fourth helping. Something of a mixed course.

After a few days at Lampsar, we were back in the rattletrap bus and heading back to Diadiam III - for reasons not quite clear to me, we stayed in different accommodation - this time the Campement Bidiel in the centre of the village - for some ringing around the biological station at the park entrance. This entailed a brisk walk of about 1.5 km to get the nets opened in the morning, then a walk back for breakfast for 8 and back again for the next few hours, then back again when we packed up in the heat of the day. 

From the back of the van this time. Note the securely-latched back door.

As you might imagine, breakfast back at the lodge soon fell by the wayside (the food in Senegal was perfectly fine, but the breakfasts were generally the least interesting option, being baguette with either mango jam, hibiscus jam (delicious, highly recommended) or mystery jam plus instant coffee). The loss of the lodge breakfast was eased by discovery of a lovely lady with a kiosk at the entrance to the park, who sold coffee (also instant, but what the hell) and made omelette sandwiches on a half baguette for the princely sum of €1.30 for the whole package.

Coffee at the kiosk!

 

The other significant flaw with ringing here was the wind. The entire time we spent here, the wind was up and blasting by 9 at the latest. Given sunrise is only at 7:15 and there was really no pre-dawn activity, this left a really small window available for ringing. What about the afternoon, I hear you ask (really!) Well, by the time the heat was out of the day there was probably an hour, max two for ringing. 

The harmattan kept us dusty most days

 

The idea had been to put up nets in the thorn scrub near the village, but this produced next to nothing the first couple of evenings, and by that point there was little enthusiasm for traipsing round empty nets every 20 minutes, so - aside from one net aiming for nightjars and other oddities - the idea was shelved. So, I ended up doing a lot more exploring of the thorn scrub to the south of Diadiam III than I'd expected, but this was not really such a bad thing. I've never really had the chance to walk and wander at will in Africa before, so the chance to wander off, explore even a small area and see what was out there was too good to ignore.

A trek across the bleak saltflats to the east of the village took me to another shallow pool, drying gradually out. The biggest inhabitants were a herd of donkeys, who weren't too impressed with my presence, but didn't go rushing off into the distance either. They just kept a wary eye on me, presumably in case I attempted to rope one up. The usual assortment of waders was hanging out on the mud: mainly Wood Sandpipers and Little Stints, but a little group of Kentish Plovers trying to blend with the sand made a nice addition. A Grey Heron lurked in the middle of the pool, keeping itself well away from both me and an intruding Purple Heron. 

Kentish Plovers - a long way from Kent

Nicest of all, an Osprey was hunkered down on the ground at the other end of the pool. After a while it got fed up with me watching it and headed off northwards. I worked my way gradually around the pool, just to see what was around. The north side was linked to a zigzag series of wet ditches, mainly banked high and thickly grown with tamarisk, but occasionally with tramped patches where animals had been crossing. The dragonfly fauna was as disappointing as before: mainly Crocothemis erythraea and the ever-present Ischnura senegalensis; just a lone Orthetrum (sp.) to add variety. Part-way along the ditches I heard a whistle, then saw a man striding through the bushes towards me. To be honest I was expecting to be told that I was somewhere that I shouldn't be, but he just wanted to know the name of the village - though he also instructed me that I wasn't allowed to take photos here: on the road was OK, but not here. Smile, nod. Scratch head metaphorically and wonder why...

Orthetrum species - maybe just trinacria?

As the pool was less interesting than hoped, I focused on spending the rest of my free time exploring the thorn scrub. A different route out and across each day to slice it up into new sections. It was, despite the aridity and sometimes desolate appearance, surprisingly productive. Key to finding birds seemed to be finding fruiting and, to a lesser extent, flowering shrubs, but when there were birds there were often reasonable numbers and diversity. Yes, the bulk birds were seed-eaters (Sudan Golden Sparrow mainly, and lashings of weavers and queleas) and pigeons (Mourning Collared, Namaqua and Laughing, in order of abundance), but there was plenty more to find. 

Sudan Golden Sparrows en masse

Little groups of Northern Red-billed Hornbills were often to be found munching the fruits of some trees, bounding up to the tops of the trees when I got too close. Palearctic migrants were spread through the scrub too: plenty of Western Olivaceous and Western Subalpine Warbler, the occasional Common Whitethroat, lots of Common Chiffchaffs and a few Western Bonelli's Warblers, one or two Common Redstarts and Woodchat Shrikes and a couple of Hoopoes. More exotic - for me - were Senegal Batis, sounding vaguely like a Great Tit, and the purring trills of Brubrus. Every so often a flash of electric blue revealed a Striped Kingfisher had been waiting patiently in the shadows. Near the cemetery (where else?) was a reliable spot to find Senegal Thick-knees and Orange-breasted Waxbills; tiny splashes of colour in an otherwise sand-and-green landscape.

Hoopoe. As if you didn't know that...

Western Bonelli's Warbler

Western Red-billed Hornbill

Senegal Thick-knee

Orange-breasted Waxbill

...and a whole flock of 'em

Interestingly, there were also plenty of dragonflies in this arid area too: not just roving bluetails, but also a very pale spreadwing - maybe Lestes pallidus? - and an apparent Pseudagrion species. Neat! Possibly the nicest sightings were a couple of predators: a random Peregrine and an equally random African Wolf, which trotted past me, paused to check whether I looked like trouble, and then trotted on. Very, very cool.

Deciding I'm just not worth the hassle

 

Dung beetle's gotta roll

Perhaps Lestes pallidus

Definitely Trithemis annulata

Plain Tiger (butterfly)

This is getting more tricky. A leopard tiger beetle (there's a cat theme developing)

Still not adult, but already bigger than a European Mantis: African Giant Mantis

Pioneer White

A beautiful ichneumon-type wasp

What ringing there was at the biological station was a little bit comme ci, comme ça. Again something of a tendency to weaver overload, but nonetheless some nice additional birds too. A patch of scrub to the east of the abandoned hotel produced a nice mix of Palearctic migrants and Afrotropical goodies - lots of Curruca warblers (including our only Westen Orphean) and Chiffchaffs, a couple of Yellow-crowned Gonoleks and some Camaropteras. Attempting to catch waders was nigh-on pointless, with isolated nets and the ever-present wind - with the exception of these:

Greater Painted-Snipe

which came piling in to the swampy grassland in the early morning, from wherever they'd been munching overnight. And ringing reedbed passerines was heavily influenced by the wind and the weavers, though we did catch a British-ringed Sedge Warbler and a Common Redstart with a South African ring. 

Still, whatever the ringing situation might have fallen short on, there was generally plenty going on on and around the pools, so boredom was kept fairly well at bay.

Yellow Wagtail action round the pools: this one looks like Spanish (iberiae)...

...while this one looks like a standard Blue-headed (flava)

The flamingos were usually quite distant, but occasionally came close enough to photograph

Kittlitz's Plover and Common Ringed Plover

Great White Pelicans overhead were frequent, sometimes in massive flocks

Little Stint

Looking north across the pool to the new biological station

Little Egret

Western Orphean Warbler

Amongst the White-faced Whistling-Ducks were usually a few Fulvous

Occasional obstacle on net rounds