Spring Part 2 - Montenegro

In the past I have been a bore on the subject of the Spring migration in Montenegro, and the following will be no exception. The visit from which I returned at the end of last week did not measure up to the vintage April of 2012, and I’ll go into a couple of the reasons why I think that’s the case, but I still have a smile on my face as I write this, and there barely a single day that didn’t come with a surprise. Given that we were there for ten days, that’s not at all bad.

We arrived on 28 March into Dubrovnik, with my first Spring migrant, a Hoopoe (Upupa epops), making his entrance as we passed between the Croatian and Montenegrin borders at Debeli Brijeg.

The following morning was one of a series of glorious sunny days, and as I took my first walk into Bigovo, it was clear that for birds, too, the Spring was here. Swallows (Hirundo rustica) were already in residence, there were a few Subalpine Warblers  (Sylvia cantillans) displaying, and a Nightingale (Luscinia megarhynchos) was already singing from cover. But there were clearly also birds that were simply passing through; Chiffchaffs (Phylloscopus collybita), for instance, and Blackcaps (Sylvia atricapilla), neither of which, to my knowledge, breeds in the village. And there was a single, flighty, nominate Yellow Wagtail (Motacilla flava) too. But the migrants of the day were Redstarts (Phoenicurus phoenicurus), of which there were several dotted around the village. Interestingly, two of these birds, both females, had clear white edges to their secondaries, creating the effect of a panel on the folded wing. This is a diagnostic feature of the Eastern samamisicus race, which I’d seen for the first time, on a male, in Eritrea last winter, but which surely migrates on a more Easterly path? Interesting. There was a female Black Redstart (Phoenicurus ochruros) on the garden wall, as well, this being presumably a late and more local migrant.

Looking towards the village over the wooded valley in Bigovo

On 30 March the first Short-toed Eagle (Circaetus gallicus) of the year drifted over the house and there was a Whinchat (Saxicola rubetra) in the village, but I had little time to look for other migrants as  I had to pick up my parents from Podgorica. This involved a drive past Skadar Lake, where I picked up a single Dalmatian Pelican (Pelecanus crispus) and a flock of Alpine Swifts (Tachymarptis melba). On the drive back, avoiding major roadworks on the coast, we took the precipitous mountain road over the Lovcen massif and picked up our first House Martins (Delichon urbicum) nesting, as they always do, inside a cave at the top of the road from Kotor to Njegusi.

More migrants made their first appearances on 31 March, with the first Tree Pipits (Anthus trivialis) and Cirl Buntings (Emberiza cirlus) in the village. The latter breed here and these birds seemed paired-up, so are probably here to stay. But at the same time there were lingering signs of winter, too. On 29 March a Robin (Erithacus rubecula) had made its appearance by the causeway from the Church to the village, an area of small fields and orchards with the sea on one side and woodland on the other that seems to be the focal point for migrants here. Robins are birds I have never seen later than the end of March, making them winter visitors here, in my book, and as if to confirm that timetable this Robin put in his last appearance on 31 March, and was not seen again.

The open area of orchards and fields next to the "causeway". This is migrant central for the village in the Spring.

The first day of April took Dad and I to the nearby Tivatska Solila where we picked-up the first Eastern Black-eared Wheatears (Oenanthe hispanica melanoleuca), Northern Wheatears (Oenanthe oenanthe), Spoonbills (Platalea leucorodia), Garganeys (Spatula querquedula), Corn Buntings (Miliaria calandra), Red-rumped Swallows (Hirundo daurica) and Sand Martins  (Riparia riparia) this year. Mirabile dictu, Dad and I also managed to get good views of a singing Nightingale, for the first time, it seemed to me, since I was a boy in Canterbury. A Sardinian Warbler (Sylvia melanocephala) popped-up in the village too, but they seem much less common here than they used to be.

Cuckoos (Cuculus canorus), Whitethroats (Sylvia communis), Lesser Whitethroats (Sylvia curruca) and a Collared Flycatcher (Ficedula albicollis) all put in their first appearances on 2 April. I’m always surprised at how few Lesser Whitethroats we see here, given that the entire European population migrates through the Balkans, but perhaps they pursue a more Easterly and inland route. There was only one seen on this day, and he was the only one I saw throughout our time in Montenegro.

On 3 April it was the turn of Serins (Serinus serinus)– a bird I hadn’t previously seen in the village, but which I had been expecting. More noteworthy for me was an overflying Hooded Crow (Corvus corone cornix). In more than six years I’d never seen this species in the village, though it’s common enough over the ridge in Radanovici. Perhaps its appearance is a sign of encroaching development, and I’ll know that for sure when I see my first Feral Pigeons (Columbia livia var. dom.) for the first time here.

New appearances on 4 April were Pied Flycatcher (Ficedula hypoleuca), a Hawfinch (Coccothraustes coccothraustes) near the causeway, and yet another first for the village – a lone Reed Warbler (Acrocephalus scirpaceus), helpfully perching on a reed. On 6 April the first Scops Owl (Otus scops) started calling mechanically from the scrubby forest around the house.

In the meantime, on 5 April I’d taken myself to Kotor and found most of the usual species in the usual places– Alpine Choughs (Pyrrhocorax graculus) bizarrely in the centre of the town at sea level, and Sombre Tit (Parus lugubris) and dozens of loud Western Rock-nuthatches (Sitta neumayer) behind the city walls on the walking path. I missed a Blue Rock-thrush (Monticola solitarius) this time, though.

Looking down across the Bay of Kotor from behind the walls. All you need is a soundtrack of calling Western Rock-nuthatches to bring this alive.

Throughout all of this time the weather had been an unbroken series of beautiful days, perfect for gardening, which is what we were doing almost all the time. But I was beginning to suspect that this weather, no matter how pleasant, was the explanation for the essentially unspectacular migration we’d so far been experiencing. Alas, my parents had to leave before I could put this theory to the test, because on 8 April, things changed. We woke to haze and a strong southerly wind, with showers beginning later, and exposing the haze as a miasma of Saharan sand, which coated everything in pink dust. It brought with it birds, and many more of them than we’d seen to date, with sizeable flocks of Whinchats, a single Squacco Heron (Ardeola ralloides) and a couple of apparently paired-up Woodchat Shrikes (Lanius senator) at the Tivatska Solila. A juvenile Marsh Harrier (Circus aeruginosus), which had been there when Dad I visited on 1 April, was still there, but he spiralled upward and headed North with the wind behind him as I watched.

9 April, our departure day, confirmed my hunch. It had been cloudy with occasional thunderstorms overnight, driven by the continuing wind from the South, and it was obvious from the start that there were far more birds in the village than had been the case until now, with Tree Pipits, in particular, well into double figures. But the crowning moment of the day, for me, was watching what must have been hundreds of high-flying Alpine Swifts fronting a bedraggled adult male MONTAGU’S HARRIER (Circus pygargus) as it ploughed its way North against the hills, its large black wingtips obvious even in the low light. This, again, was an expected species but it’s the first I’ve seen in the Western Palearctic, all my previous sightings having been in Africa, and it’s the fourth species of Harrier I’ve seen in Bigovo. This means that I’ve seen all four Western Palearctic Harriers in the village. I find that pretty remarkable.

An example of the perfect weather that dominated our visit. Poor us.

The drive to Dubrovnik brought two final migrants; a Turtle Dove (Streptopelia turtur) by the road near the airport, and Spanish Sparrows (Passer hispaniolensis), which breed colonially on the airport building itself, together wth House Sparrows (Passer domesticus), but which had not arrived when we did ten days before.

So, a wonderful experience, but for the most part the migration this year was a stream rather than a river in spate, as I’ve experienced it before. To expand a little on what I said earlier, I suspect the reasons for this were that we were a little early (Dad checked, and our 2012 experience was around 18 April) and that the weather was simply too good – something only a birder could say, surely? My hunch is that with the clear skies and light winds that prevailed until the last couple of days, birds were able to navigate in straight lines at night, and were not dependent on landmarks, as they are when the clouds come down and the wind blows hard. Then, they’re forced to follow the coast and to stop wherever they are for rest and feeding; that place, as often as not, being Bigovo. So, for future reference, and if you’re looking for the migration experience in Montenegro, come around the middle of April, and look out for unsettled weather on southerly winds. Luckily, that combination is common at this time of year. And luckier still, even without it there will still be wonderful show of migrants anyway, as the preceding attests.

There’s a postscript to all this. The birds I’ve mentioned were none of them the most unusual species I saw on this visit. That was that rarest of beasts in Montenegro, another birder. Dad and I spotted this outlandish creature at Tivatska Solila on 1 April and, perhaps more incredibly than seeing him at all, it turned out that he was from Belgium. I was delighted to hear that one of the reasons he’d come, and had done so on the basis of another Belgian birding friend’s recommendation, was for the birds. Montenegro needs, and deserves, much more of this and I’m overjoyed to see it finally coming onto the European birding map. I’m also very happy to have made contact with a potential birding colleague in my current home country, and I’m looking forward to a first outing with him, to the Belgian coast, this very weekend, with a report to follow in due course.

Until next time...

... in with the New. Montenegro, again.

There is a great deal to be said for travelling the world, and indeed I have myself said a great deal about it over the course of the last year in this Blog. But there is also a great deal to be said for having a sense of place - of knowing somewhere so deeply that you feel its continuities and its changes intimately.

Thanks to my work I enjoy many of the pleasures of travelling the world. But it comes with a downside, and that's the lack of a sense of rootedness. We happen now to live in Brussels, but it's not yet our home in any meaningful sense, and it may never be so because we have no idea how long we'll stay here. I still love my parents' house in the English Cotswolds, of course, but everyone's sense of belonging changes after having children of their own, and though I still take a close interest in the birds and animals seen from the house and around the village (Dad has kept a fascinating near-daily list since he and Mum moved in two decades ago), it is no longer my home.

So, where is? Well, the only place that we have that is our own and somewhere we can always go back to is our small house near Bigovo, on the coast of Montenegro, my wife's home country. I've written about Montenegro before, but not about my "home patch" in detail. Our house was built five years ago and has always been lovely; designed by an architect friend, Sanja Raonic, it deservedly won awards and has always managed to sail above the shortcomings of its own construction. But the garden was something we neglected in preparing the house, and when we arrived to take over from the builder we were presented with a stunning new house surrounded by a blasted wasteland of rock, which in due course became home to every wasp and hornet for miles around. The only bird we saw in the garden that year, perched on a rare survivor of the vegetable holocaust that was the building process, was a Red-backed Shrike (Lanius collurio) feasting on this serendipitous glut of hymenoptera.

Our lovely house, seen from the road this Spring. The garden has changed since the Red-backed Shrike made his first appearance

This singular bird, gorging himself on that blazing August day, was the beginning of a list of birds seen in and immediately around the village that has since swelled to 100 species, including an incredible 14 species of raptor. To put this in perspective, over the course of 5 years of discontinuous and disjointed visits to Bigovo, I've managed to log as many species as my Dad has seen around Ascott-under-Wychwood in 20 years of essentially continuous residence.

Bigovo - the harbour in the winter

Our visits to Bigovo may be occasional, but they've now been frequent enough, and have covered enough of the year, for me to start to form a picture of what to expect, when; and, perhaps more importantly, when to expect the unexpected.

Bigovo seen from across the bay after an overnight storm. This stretch of sea can produce surprises in bad weather, including my first ever Red-necked Grebe (Podiceps grisegena)

Summer is hands-down the worst period for birds. The variety breeding in the village is not enormous and those that do breed here are secretive and have inordinate amounts of cover. A July list of birds seen from the house can easily stop at three or four species, though if your song and call recognition is good you'll hear a few more than that. In August things tick up a little, with the beginnings of the autumn migration, but it's a shadow of the Spring, in my experience.

Later in the autumn, things get more interesting, with single species dominating for days at a time: Spotted Flycatchers (Muscicapa striata) in September; Stonechats (Saxicola rubicola) in October, with a trickle continuing well into November. But honestly this is the season least known to me and it is clearly a time when unusual birds could turn up, even if each day seems to have less diversity packed into than is the case in the Spring. I'm also fascinated as to whether the obvious raptor migration seen at the front of the year is repeated in reverse towards the end of it. And I should probably end this para with the point that the early autumn is absolutely the most pleasant time to visit the Montenegrin coast. The crowds of summer are gone, as is the sometimes oppressive heat, but the sea retains warmth enough to make a dip pleasant well into October.

Winter holds much of interest. Whatever the weather there will be legions - hundreds, if not thousands - of Blackbirds (Turdus merula) and Robins (Erithacus rubecula), with a scattering of Song Thrushes (Turdus philomelos) thrown in. I haven't observed any pattern to their behaviour while wintering. They don't flock and don't seem to move communally, as Fieldfares (Turdus pilaris) or Redwings (Turdus iliacus) would, for instance. Rather this seems to be a case of lots of birds individually wintering in the same place. The Blackbirds feed extensively on the local Strawberry Trees (Arbutus unedo), including one in our garden, but, interestingly, they seem to shun Pyracantha here, even though it's a famous bird-friendly shrub in North-West Europe. I wonder why? Is it because the Pyracantha fruits need to be "bletted" (i.e. softened by frost) as some old fruits like Medlar need to be?

All these wintering passerines of course attract predators, and the local resident population of Sparrowhawks (Accipiter nisus) is clearly augmented in the winter, with Goshawks (Accipiter gentilis) joining for the party as well. And though the field guides mark the coast as out of range for both species, this winter saw both Marsh Tits (Parus palustris) and Willow Tits (Parus montanus) in the village, in one case in the same mixed feeding flock. There are usually one or two Hawfinches (Coccothraustes coccothraustes) around the village, but in common with many other species hard weather can produce larger numbers. Hawfinches in Central and Eastern Europe don't behave as the books would have you believe; they're bolder and more obvious, and can form significant flocks. I've seen up to 30 together in Bigovo, and outside Belgrade I've seen congregations of up to 70 birds. Winter can also produce unexpected raptors. I've seen Golden Eagles (Aquila chrysaetos) twice over the village at this time of year.

The bushy garrigue around the house, blurring into oak forest in the valley bottom. This photo taken at the very end of December. Note that the large oak trees on the right hand side of the photo, and in the distance, still have many of their leaves. They lose them only at this time of year, and regain them in early March, making them barely deciduous.

But the season to long for in Montenegro, everywhere, including Bigovo, is Spring. It starts around the beginning of March with Hen Harriers (Circus cyaneus), sometimes up to ten at at time around the village. We had one over the garden, once, flying below the level of the sitting room windows, the house being at the top of a slope.

My best experience of the Spring migration at its peak in Montenegro was with Dad in April 2012, and it was a magical one; an endless, frenzied stream of birds pullulating through the village, with Wood Warblers (Phylloscopus sibilatrix), Pied Flycatchers (Ficedula hypoleuca), Collared Flycatchers (Ficedula albicollis), Blackcaps (Sylvia atricapilla), Garden Warblers (Sylvia borin), Whitethroats (Sylvia communis), Lesser Whitethroats (Sylvia curruca), Whinchats (Saxicola rubetra), Redstarts (Phoenicurus ochruros), Northern Wheatears (Oenanthe oenanthe), Eastern Black-eared Wheatears (Oenanthe hispanica malanoleuca), Woodchat Shrikes (Lanius senator), Hoopoes (Upupa epops), Golden Orioles (Oriolus oriolus), Short-toed Larks (Calandrella brachydactyla) and Yellow Wagtails (Motacilla flava) all putting in their appearances, many of them in the then still largely unformed garden. Overhead were migrating Pallid Harriers (Circus macrourus) - five at once - Short-toed Eagles (Circaetus gallicus) and a solitary Long-legged Buzzard (Buteo rufinus) as well as Alpine Swifts (Tachymarptis melba) and all the local hirundines, including Red-rumped Swallow (Hirundo daurica). On the sea Red-necked Grebes (Podiceps grisegena) have made appearances at this time of year, and I suspect it's always good for a surprise. I've seen Wrynecks (Jynx torquilla) here in the Spring too, my only sightings of this bird anywhere, to date, and I've seen Levant Sparrowhawks (Accipiter brevipes) further down the coast near Budva, so they're a good possibility from the village as well.

As Spring progresses, raptors take a prominent place, with a noticeable movement of Honey Buzzards (Pernis apivorus) in May, perhaps having passed over the Straits of Otranto from Italy. Eleonora's Falcons (Falco eleonorae) breed a little way down and up the coast and I've seen them nearby, though not yet from the village itself. And then there are the incoming breeders: Eastern Subalpine Warblers (Sylvia cantillans albistriata), Eastern Olivaceous Warblers (Hippolais pallida), Eastern Orphean Warblers (Sylvia hortensis crassirostris), Cirl Buntings (Emberiza cirlus), Black-headed Buntings (Emberiza melanocephala), and so on. But it's from this time of year that the migration, melding into breeding, becomes a soundtrack more than a visual event, dominated for two months or more by legions of Nightingales (Luscinia megarhynchos), with a backing chorus provided by Nightjars (Caprimulgus europaeus), a Scops Owl (Otus scops) or two, and the local Golden Jackals (Canis aureus) howling from the hills.

Looking down across the developing garden to the hills beyond - the haunt of Golden Jackals and Wild Boar (Sus scrofa)

I note all this not only out of pride for my adopted country and my local patch, but also in anticipation; the (Western) Easter, and with it my younger son's school holiday, falls at the end of March this year, meaning I'm likely to be in Montenegro for the peak migration season. Even now this means long evenings studying the warbler and raptor pages of the Collins Guide with a sense of avaricious longing.

But what of this New Year? In an earlier post I mentioned that we started 2016 in Montenegro, while even earlier I mentioned that I try always to spend New Year's Day birding. Well, I failed on the latter point. To explain this I have to circle back to the beginning of this post. When building the house in Bigovo we neglected the garden, and have spent the past five years correcting this omission. It's now finally coming together - the structure is defined, but what is lacking is mature plants. In Mediterranean climates winter is the optimum time for planting, as it allows plants to settle into the soil before the summer drought sets in. So on this visit to Montenegro one passion - birding - had to play second fiddle to another - gardening - while we undertook the backbreaking work of digging a hundred or more new plants into the mixture of rock and clay that is our soil. It was not a loss, of course, because it meant I was outside for much of the time for the first few days of the year. What did I see?

Well, until shortly before we left, this had not been a hard winter in the Balkans. Indeed there was a shocking lack of snow on the mountains when we arrived at the end of December. As a consequence of this many of the birds that concentrate on the Montenegrin coast as a refuge from ice and snow inland were largely or entirely absent; no Hawfinches this time, and no Firecrests (Regulus ignicapilla) either,  though they've been common in winters past. There was nothing of note on the sea either. But I've already mentioned the huge numbers of Blackbirds and Robins, and the passing flock containing both Marsh and Willow Tits. There was a Goshawk, too - an immature female, putting the fear of God into the local Woodpigeons (Columba palumbus). And high overhead on the Orthodox Christmas Eve (6 January) an adult Golden Eagle beat its way Eastward above the house. Nothing incredible. Nothing jaw-dropping, but the icing on the cake of fresh air and physical labour, and nice confirmations of, and deviations from, a local pattern which I'm slowly beginning to understand.

Looking forward to the Spring, when this photo was taken.

Montenegro 2 - The Longest Day

There are two days on which I try consistently each year to spend a whole day birding. The first is New Year's Day. The other, if I'm North of the Tropic of Cancer, is 21 June - Midsummer's Day. I'm not obsessive or anything and am not going to go out into a blizzard or a thunderstorm just because the calendar says so; a day or two after 1 January will do, and any day a week either side of Midsummer's day is also fine. But those are the target dates.

The challenge on 1 January is to kick off the New Year in style and ideally to see something juicily rare to set the tone for the coming twelve months. It's a sprint - an effort to cram as many species as possible into a short space of time. Midsummer is different - very different. For a start you've simply got to stay awake and alert for the whole day which, if you structure it the way I did this year, is no mean challenge and means basically setting yourself up for a 19 hour day. But the second element is more subtle. Unless you're very far north in Europe or North America, the second half of June is already becoming a challenging season for birding; many species will have toned down or entirely stopped singing; most trees are in full leaf, making species much harder to see; and then there's the potential problem of heat, which makes birds, and humans for that matter, more torpid and messes with your optics. So, if the New Year's day birdwatch is a sprint, Midsummer is a marathon.

I started my marathon on 22 June at 0300 and was out of the house by 0330. This is excessive, even by the standards of midsummer birding, but I had to drive most of the length of the Montenegrin coastline in order to be in Ulcinj at dawn. Ulcinj is home to the jewel in the crown of CZIP's conservation efforts, and its greatest ongoing success - the preservation of the Ulcinjska Salina (Ulcinj Saltworks) as a going concern with an emphasis on conservation. The Salina is vast. I've been twice now and have barely covered a third of it. Access is by appointment only, and you must take a guide with you. The access costs 5 Euro and the guide costs 20 Euro, and it's a bargain, not least because you're making an infinitesimal contribution to keeping by far the largest wetland on this stretch of the Adriatic coast available for migrating and breeding birds into the future. If you're visiting Montenegro, this is a must-visit location and my best advice is to contact the guide who showed me around, Azra Mujic, on +382 68 64 07 47. If she's not available she can put you in touch with another of the guides for the site.

The view across some of the smaller settlement ponds at Ulcinj. If you're able to magnify this photo there are nesting Collared Pratincoles in the centre of the frame. Alas I forgot to check my camera battery, and it was dead, so for the whole day I was dependent on my phone

I met Azra just after 0500 and we were inside the Salina within a few minutes. The first part of the walk inside the works was disappointing and difficult as we were walking directly into the rising sun, but as we reached the larger settlement ponds deeper inside the works I remembered why I was here; a Stone Curlew (Burhinus oedicnemus) ran furtively across one of the dried-out ponds, a Roller (Caracias garrulus - one half of around 8 pairs at the site) flew past hawking for insects, and then the first of at least 150 Collared Pratincoles (Glareola pratincola) appeared on the ground, followed by Kentish Plovers (Charadrius alexandrinus), Black-winged Stilts (Himantopus himantopus) and Little Terns (Sternula albifrons). In the distance a flock of around 200 Greater Flamingoes (Phoenicopterus roseus), and a single Dalmatian Pelican (Pelicanus crispus), squatting hugely like a boulder emerging from the water. A late, lonely Wood Sandpiper (Tringa glareola) was flushed from a drainage channel, and the stunning, black-headed, short-tailed feldegg race of Yellow Wagtail (Motacilla flava) flitted among the halophilic grasses. On a small bridge a tiny colony of Spanish Sparrows (Passer hispaniolensis) - my first in Montenegro, but my second of this trip after the unexpected and lively colony at Dubrovnik Airport in Croatia.

This photo gives a sense of the sheer size of this fantastic site. It basically stretches to the foot of the hills in the distance.

I spent around four hours here with Azra and added Bee-eaters (Merops apiaster) and a very unexpected Caspian Tern (Hydroprogne caspia) as the day wore on, but by 0930 it was time to move on. I had intended to visit Sasko Lake nearby, but a fuel crisis brought me back to Ulcinj and was followed by indecision. I had thought to stop at Petrovac and/or Buljarica, back up the coast, to look for the Eleonora's Falcons (Falco eleonorae) and Olive-tree Warblers (Hippolais olivetorum) that are reported to frequent the area, but laziness and the lure of the familiar got the better of me and I turned off towards Skadar Lake through the Sozina tunnel before reaching Petrovac.

Greater Flamingoes in flight at Ulcinj

Skadar Lake is a large, karstic, eutrophic lake lying between the Montenegrin capital, Podgorica, and the sea. It's shared with Albania on the Eastern side and is renowned as a major wildfowl refuge in the winter, with tens of thousands of Coots (Fulica atra) staying there regularly, for instance. At this time of year there were a few species I hoped to see, based on past experience - Purple Heron (Ardea purpurea), Penduline Tit (Remiz pendulinus), Ferruginous Duck (Aythya nyroca), Lesser Grey Shrike (Lanius minor), Little Bittern (Ixobrychus minutus) etc. But in some respects the birds here take second place to the scenery, which is breathtaking.

The beginnings of Lake Skadar seen from the road towards Rijeka Crnovejica. Just stunning.

As a reed-fringed, eutrophic lake, it's not easy to get close to lake Skadar, and I've always found the best place is a little bit past the "Jezero" restaurant (which is also home to the information centre for Skadar Lake National Park). If you're travelling from Virpazar towards Podgorica, you pass the restaurant and the tiny village of Bistrice and then take the second turning to the right, which is a gravel road which runs along a wet reedbed, fringed with willows, and ends up on the banks of the Moraca river before it debouches into the lake.

I trundled slowly down this road adding Eastern Olivaceous Warblers (Hippolais pallida) and Golden Orioles (Oriolus oriolus) to my day list. At the end I parked the car and walked up the Moraca on the small track there, which affords views back across the reedbeds - a Purple Heron flew overhead and Whiskered Terns (Chlidonias hybrida) were, as I knew they would be, two a penny. But it was now almost midday and no birds were singing. It was hard to see anything and harder still to concentrate. This I think would be a good place to end the day, but it wasn't a good one to spend the middle of it.

I headed up the spectacular, but slow, old road to Rijeka Crnojevica and from there via Cetinje, the old royal capital of Montenegro, to Lovcen National Park. The first part of this road is winding and slow even by Montenegrin standards, but the scenery is mind-bogglingly beautiful, and there are occasional forests which are worth dipping into (again, perhaps later in the day than I had chosen to be there). I added a few common species and several Eastern Black-eared Wheatears (Oenanthe hispanica melanoleuca) during this drive, but, surprisingly, the only birds of prey were a couple of Honey Buzzards (Pernis apivorus) near the village of Cukvica and a single Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo) just outside Cetinje. Montenegro is, as for many other birds, much better for birds of prey in the Spring when there is a clear passage up the Adriatic coast of birds which apparently have crossed the straits of Otranto from Italy.

The heaving metropolis of Cetinje, the old royal capital of Montenegro. Yes, that's all of it.

Lovcen was my final spot before heading home. It's a vast limestone massif and plateau full of hidden glades and copses, and I've always thought that it should be better for birding then I've ever actually found it to be, which is probably only owing to insufficient local knowledge on my part. In any case its a stunning place to spend any part of any fine day, and a wonderful escape from the heat of the coast in the summer. I elected this time to drive most of the way towards the highest peak, which is crowned by an ugly, communist era radio and meteorological tower (a lower peak is more atmospherically topped by a mausoleum to the legendary Montenegrin king Peter II Petrovic "Njegos", who was born nearby in the village of Njegusi). The views from up here defy belief - all the way down to the knotted coastline of the Kotor/Risan Bay in one direction, and down to Skadar Lake in the other, with the distant, looming, Durmitor massif to the North-East. But there were very few birds. I'd hoped to cheat my way to a Rock Partridge (Aletoris graeca) or a Rufous-tailed Rock-Thrush (Monticola saxatilis), but no dice; a couple of Linnets (Carduelis cannabina), a lovely male Black Redstart (Phoenicurus ochruros) and a Rock Bunting (Emberiza cia) were my only reward.

A poor photo of a great view. Looking down towards Tivat and the Lustica Peninsula from the top of Lovcen.

Or so it seemed. As time ticked by I headed back towards the old road I'd taken a few days before, which descends towards Troijica and thence down to Radanovici. Turning one of countless corners whilst still high on the mountain, I found myself looking at a huge bird of prey, hanging in the wind where the draft from the deep bay of Kotor is channeled up the rock-face. I grabbed my binoculars from the neighbouring seat; a Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos), and an adult to boot, its shaggy mane visible in the lowering light. It banked right, and without a movement of its wings, disappeared out of sight behind the ridge.

In total I spent 19 hours awake and birding this day and was rewarded with 77 species of bird, 2 mammals and a single identifiable reptile species. It's not the list I had hoped for, and there were 14 species of bird I saw on this trip to Montenegro that I didn't see on this day, but it contains some wonderful birds - that Golden Eagle, for instance. If I had the chance again, I'd certainly stay in Ulcinj the night before, so that I didn't have to get up so early, and I'd probably aim to end the day at Skadar Lake and sleep somewhere near there. I'd also definitely stop at Petrovac next time - the detour is probably worthwhile and I haven't seen an Eleonora's Falcon for years, nor have I ever seen an Olive-tree Warbler. One final change I'd make? Do it with somebody else. 19 hours is a long time for any activity, let alone a solitary one.

As always, it's as interesting to note what I didn't see as what I did; no Ravens (Corvus corax), for instance, and no Blue Tits (Parus caeruleus), though both are common enough in Montenegro. Overall, as always at this time of year, it was disappointing for raptors. No doubt I should have heard/seen at least some owls, but they're a very weak spot in my birding and I'm not surprised I missed them all. I've regularly seen Ferruginous Ducks at Skadar Lake, so I was surprised not to see them. And where the hell, to reiterate my question of yesterday's blog, are all the Orphean Warblers (Sylvia hortensis)? And all the Dabchicks (Tachybaptus ruficollis), for that matter?

The full day list follows, and I'll try to add a map of the routes and locations once my older son is here to help me with the technology...

List:

1. Common Shelduck (Tadorna tadorna)
2. Mallard (Anas platyrhynchos)
3. Great Crested Grebe (Podiceps cristatus)
4. Dalmatian Pelican (Pelecanus crispus)
5. Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo)
6. Pygmy Cormorant (Microcarbo pygmaeus)
7. Squacco Heron (Ardeola ralloides)
8. Little Egret (Egretta garzetta)
9. Great White Egret (Ardea alba)
10. Grey Heron (Ardea cinerea)
11. Purple Heron (Ardea purpurea)
12. Greater Flamingo (Phoenicopterus roseus)
13. Golden Eagle (Aquila chrysaetos)
14. Marsh Harrier (Circus aeruginosus)
15. Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo)
16. Honey Buzzard (Pernis apivorus)
17. Moorhen (Gallimula chloropus)
18. Coot (Fulica atra)
19. Black-winged Stilt (Himantopus himantopus)
20. Stone Curlew (Burhinus oedicnemus)
21. Collared Pratincole (Glareola pratincola)
22. Kentish Plover (Charadrius alexandrinus)
23. Wood Sandpiper (Tringa glareola)
24. Common Sandpiper (Actitis hypoleucos)
25. Redshank (Tringa totanus)
26. Whimbrel (Numenius phaeopus)
27. Black-headed Gull (Larus ridibundus)
28. Yellow-legged Gull (Larus michahellis)
29. Little Tern (Sternula albifrons)
30. Common Tern (Sterna hirundo)
31. Caspian Tern (Hydroprogne caspia) 
32. Whiskered Tern (Chlidonias hybrida)
33. Rock Dove (Columba livia) - there are apparently "pure" birds on Lovcen
34. Collared Dove (Streptopelia decaocta)
35. Turtle Dove (Streptopelia turtur)
36. Cuckoo (Cuculus canorus)- heard only
37. Nightjar (Caprimulgus europeaus)
38. Swift (Apus apus)
39. Alpine Swift (Tachymorptis melba)
40. Hoopoe (Upupa epops)
41. Bee-eater (Merops apiaster)
42. Roller (Caracias garrulus)
43. Crested Lark (Galerida cristata)
44. Swallow (Hirundo rustica)
45. Red-rumped Swallow (Hirundo daurica)
46. House Martin (Delichon urbicum)
47. White Wagtail (Motacilla alba)
48. (Black-headed) Yellow Wagtail (Motacilla flava feldegg)
49. Robin (Erythacus rubecula) - heard only
50. Nightingale (Luscinia megarhynchos) - heard only
51. Black Redstart (Phoenicurus ochruros)
52. Eastern Black-eared Wheatear (Oenanthe hispanica melanoleuca)
53. Mistle Thrush (Turdus viscivorus)
54. Blackbird (Turdus merula)
55. Whitethroat (Sylvia communis)
56. Subalpine Warbler (Sylvia cantillans)
57. Cetti's Warbler (Cettia cetti) - heard only
58. Great Reed Warbler (Acrocephalus arundinaceus)
59. Eastern Olivaceous Warbler (Hippolais pallida)
60. Chiffchaff (Phylloscopus collybita) - heard only
61. Great Tit (Parus major)
62. Red-backed Shrike (Lanius collurio)
63. Magpie (Pica pica)
64. Jay (Garrulus glandarius)
65. Jackdaw (Corvus monedula)
66. Yellow-billed Chough (Pyrrhocorax graculus)
67. Hooded Crow (Corvus corone cornix)
68. Starling (Sturnus vulgaris)
69. Golden Oriole (Oriolus oriolus)
70. House Sparrow (Passer domesticus)
71. Spanish Sparrow (Passer hispaniolensis)
72. Chaffinch (Fringilla coelebs) - heard only
73. Linnet (Carduelis cannabina)
74. Goldfinch (Carduelis carduelis)
75. Greenfinch (Carduelis chloris)
76. Corn Bunting (Miliaria calandra)
77. Rock Bunting (Emberiza cia)

Mammals:

1. Golden Jackal (Canis aureus) - one glimpsed near Ljesevici
2. Northern White-breasted Hedgehog (Erinaceus roumanicus) - one on the road near Ljesevici

Reptiles:

1. Balkan Green Lizard (Lacerta trilineata) - one on the road near Crmica

Species seen/heard on this trip but not on this day:

1. Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus)
2. Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus)
3. Green Sandpiper (Tringa ochropus)
4. Pallid Swift (Apus pallidus) - three seen between Ljesevici and Bigovo the morning after a large thunderstorm, along with many Swifts and one Alpine Swifts. These were my first Pallids for Montenegro, where, as far as I know, they do not breed.
5. Sardinian Warbler (Sylvia melanocephala)
6. Zitting Cisticola (Cisticola juncidis)
7. Wood Nuthatch (Sitta europaea) - heard only
8. Western Rock-nuthatch (Sitta neumayer)
9. Blue Rock-Thrush (Monticola solitarius)
10. Sombre Tit (Parus lugubris)
11. Raven (Corvus corax)
12. Hawfinch (Coccothraustes coccothraustes) - surprisingly common here, as it is throughout the Balkans, in my experience. On this visit seen in Bigovo and behind the walls of Kotor.
13. Cirl Bunting (Emberiza cirlus)
14. Black-headed Bunting (Emberiza melanocephala)

Not quite the end of a wearying day. I still had to wait a bit for my Nightjar.

Montenegro

I lived briefly in Bulgaria in the early 1990s. I was trying to make a name for myself and was so absorbed by politics that I didn't even bother to take my binoculars with me when I went there, an omission that seems to me now to have been bordering on insane. Like Simon Barnes, the sports and birding writer, "the idea of travelling without binoculars seems to me absurd". Or at least it does now but, what can I say? I was young and foolish. The point is that I missed almost all the birding that has made Bulgaria one of the top nature tourism destinations in Europe, and I could have been in on it from the start.

By contrast I've been visiting Montenegro since 2006, and I doubt I've been there once without binoculars. My wife is Montenegrin, and we have a house there, so there's no question at all that I'm thoroughly biased - but I'm convinced that this tiny and stunning country has as much to the offer the birder as Bulgaria or any of the other Balkan countries now setting up their stalls in the ecotourism marketplace. To give an example, although we spend only a few weeks there every year, I've seen 91 species of bird, including 12 species of raptor, in and around the village where our house is, since 2009.

Birding tours are, slowly, taking off, and, thanks to the work of Darko Saveljic and his Centre for Protection and Research of Birds of Montenegro (CZIP) there are, increasingly, facilities and information for even the casual visiting birder. Better still, and far more importantly, there are now habitats under legal protection, where wildlife tourism is promoted. But that protection is tenuous and haphazardly implemented - hunting of migratory birds is depressingly common, for instance, even in protected areas - so the more birders who come and the more the interests of local communities therefore become aligned with conservation rather than rapacious development, the better protection is likely to be afforded to these precious remaining areas.

So, as it happens, I've just come back from ten days in Montenegro - days mainly of swimming and relaxing and working on the house - but naturally with some birding thrown in, including a full day on 22 June, which I think I'll try and write about separately. There's no doubt that the summer months, even including this period of June, are not the best, bird-wise, in this part of the world. Migration season - particularly the Spring migration, and particularly April - are much better and can throw up some fantastic species; I've seen five Pallid Harriers (Circus macrourus) over my house at that time of year, for instance.

The harbour in Bigovo, from the terrace of the "Grispolis" fish restaurant. Absolutely dreadful for birding, but there are rare times when you have to say, "who cares?"

But there are still some stunners to be found, and heard, even now. I arrived at our house in the late afternoon to be greeted by a cacophony of Nightingales (Luscinia megarhynchos), Sardinian Warblers (Sylvia melanocephala), Eastern Olivaceous Warblers (Hippolais pallida), Subalpine Warblers (Sylvia cantillans), Cetti's Warblers (Cettia cetti), Blackbirds (Turdus merula), Turtle Doves (Streptopelia turtur) and Cirl Buntings (Emberiza cirlus). Later in the evening they were joined by Nightjars (Caprimulgus europaeus) and often, though not on this visit, Golden Jackals (Canis aureus) howl like Wolves from the surrounding hills and Scops Owls (Otus scops) whistle mechanically from the scrub. None of these species is particularly easy to see here - the garrigue is thick, so this is a place to get to know your songs. Thanks to my newly-downloaded Collins Bird Guide App, that's easier than it used to be. It's the book, only better.

The scrubby woodland behind and around our house. Home to countless unseen warblers and chats.

On the following morning I headed to the Tivatska Solila - an old salt works near the pleasant town of Tivat now entirely abandoned in terms of the salt, but partly used as a sewage works. Much of the upper drainage of this area has been built on and this, coupled with constant disturbance by bait diggers on the seaward side, and, alas, frequent disturbance by hunters on the landward side in winter, means that the place can be hit and miss. I've had some amazing days here; a great flock of Glossy Ibises (Plegadis falcinellus) fronted by a migrating adult male Pallid Harrier; Common Cranes (Grus grus) beating their way into the face of a raging Bora (as the Tramontana wind is known here); Water Rails (Rallus aquaticus) lined up along a drainage ditch as if in a demonstration of vanishing point perspective by Alberti. But those days have mainly been in the winter and Spring. It was now, although not very hot, obviously summer and the day was definitely on the miss side as many are at this time of year; some patrolling Zitting Cisticolas (Cisticola juncidis), a few Corn Buntings (Miliaria calandra), a Pygmy Cormorant (Microcarbo pygmaeus) or two and a desultory few Great Reed Warblers (Acrocephalus arundinaceus). Not one to write home about.

Tivatska Solila - either heaving with birds or pretty much dead. 

As the heat set in I headed up the old road towards Njegusi on the top of the Lovcen Massif. This is one of the great drives of Europe - a series of switchbacks and hairpin bends from sea level to around 1000 metres or so up what to all intents and purposes is a largely sheer rock face. It's basically a single-track road and not for the faint of heart, but then the Montenegrin bus drivers manage to bring coaches up and down it, so maybe I just need to man-up a bit. I had headed up for the birds - Yellow-billed Choughs (Pyrrhocorax graculus) and House Martins (Delichon urbicum) that nest in a cave and zip in and out like bats - a vestige of what their nesting habits in Europe must have been like until a couple of thousand years ago - but I ended up staying for my first cevapi and kajmak of the year. These words will be meaningless to the uninitiated, but are music to the ears, and the tongues, of balkanophiles such as myself.

A thatched bothy in Lovcen National Park. It's not just the birds that should bring you here. The wild flowers are out of this world, and there's great herpetology for those with the eye for it.

Inspired by this the next day I took myself to Kotor. The city itself is stunning but tiny and can be explored and savoured in a comfortable hour, but after that, tempted as you may be by the impossibly vertiginous city walls, do not try to climb them from the inside. The secret, instead, is to take the path that begins behind the small water works just outside the walls. This is the true "Ladder of Cattaro", as it was known after the city's Venetian moniker, and again it winds all the way up to Njegusi. For much of the nineteenth century this was the only road linking the tiny independent Kingdom of Montenegro, centred on the Lovcen massif, with the coast which was then under the control of Austria-Hungary, and it was built for mule traffic. Mules are sturdy animals, of course, but not known for their enthusiasm or willingness to put themselves out. As a consequence, this track, now used only for walking, climbs the rock at a stately pace and angle. It's hard going merely because it's all uphill, but it's a good deal easier than the stairs inside the wall, it's free, and its much, much better for birding. It's a reliable place for a few Balkan specialities - Blue Rock Thrush (Monticola solitarius), Sombre Tit (Parus lugubris), Western Rock-Nuthatch (Sitta neumayer) and Eastern Black-eared Wheatear (Oenanthe hispanica melanoleuca) were all seen on this visit, for instance, and I've regularly seen Eastern Orphean Warblers (Sylvia hortensis crassirostris) in the past here too. Yellow-billed Choughs come all the way down to sea level here, particularly in the winter, but they're common enough at the level of the top of the walls even now. I've also heard reports of Rock Partridges (Alectoris graeca) from that altitude upwards, but not seen them myself. One secret of this site is to come early. It is increasingly popular with hikers - a phenomenon of the last year or two which is bound to increase, because it's freaking gorgeous - but more importantly you're shaded from the sun in the morning if you start early, and it's baking if you're too late.

The country around the ladder of Cattaro and the stunning views it affords. The old road, now a path, is visible in the foreground, and this photo gives a good indication of the comfortable angle it affords, making it a long, but easy walk up to Njegusi.

On the way back I stopped between the villages of Ljesevici and Bigovo. Last year I found a few pairs of nesting Black-headed Buntings (Emberiza melanocephala) up here, and sure enough there was at least one singing male there this time too. But neither here, nor in Bigovo, nor in Kotor - all places I saw the species last year - could I find a single Orphean Warbler. What's happened to them all?

The extensive Garrigue between Ljesevici and Bigovo. Home to the common Mediterranean species and to Black-headed Buntings.