After a frustrating week of trying repeatedly (and typically without success) to see the Kirkabister White-billed Diver, I gave up on birding over the weekend. There are only so many times you can count the number of Great Northern Divers up the east side of Shetland before going gibberingly mad. Thinking about it (not that I’m dwelling on it or anything), the last time I saw the wretched thing would probably have been the day I gave a couple of Brunnich’s Guillemot twitchers a whistle-stop tour of Shetland (including that nice Tom McKinney – he of skills-bills – read all about it in “Eco-twitching“, one down from “Fields of shit”…) – and that day it was uncharacteristically easy, doing the whole suite of raised wing flapping diverish behaviour in easy scoping range. I think Tom even took a photo of it on his phone. Never to be seen again, or at least not by me.

 Anyway. I didn’t go looking for birds this weekend. Instead, I dug. And finished the first of 3 large vegetable plots in my kale yard. Am splitting them up rather than doing one big patch to make it easier to work them in the autumn, and (ha! optimistic, this) make it easier for BM to set up a mistnet between them to catch the Gray’s Grasshopper Warbler that’s going to be skulking in them.

 That tempting of fate should ensure a crap autumn. 

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