Over five decades on, I still recall my excitement in browsing through Peterson, Mountfort & Hollom's “A Field Guide to the Birds of Britain and Europe” for the first time particularly  discovering all those exotic non-British birds of whose existence I'd previously been in blissful ignorance.  One bird that stood out, was the gloriously evocatively named Andalusian Hemipode; Andalusian because that was the only place it was found in Europe and 'hemipode' from the Greek meaning 'half foot' on account of its lack of a hind toe.  The illustration was easily missed and strangely apt too, being pretty much an "hemi-icon" showing the head and shoulders only.  Today, you would look in vain for this bird both in Andalucia and in bird books.  Sadly, the fashion for nomenclatural uniformity has consigned the name 'hemipode' to ornithological history since the family has always been more widely known as 'buttonquails'.  Apart from its tiny European enclave, buttonquails range across sub-Saharan Africa, India, south-east Asia and Australia. Exactly where they fit in taxonomically has always been a puzzle.  Early ornithologists put them with gamebirds, but they're now usually regarded as being most closely related to cranes and rails although they may be closer waders and gulls!  Buttonquail in itself is a charming name, but descriptively it is both helpful and confusing.  Helpful as the bird superficially resembles Common Quail, but confusing as they aren't quails or even gamebirds at all and as it's a name aviculturists often attach to Chinese Painted Quail.  Presumably the 'button' element in the name comes from the old meaning of the word, a bud, as the plump bodied small headed and almost tailess birds do look bud-shaped.  The species to which the European subspecies is the nominate form, is found across sub-Saharan Africa, India, Indo-China, the Philippines and Indonesian islands. So the march towards the rationalisation of bird names has meant that the parochial moniker 'Andalusian' just had to go hence it's now more prosaically called the Small or Common Buttonquail (and the South African race Kurrichane Buttonquail).  However, in this account I do not feel compelled to be 'rational' so will adhere to the old name! 

If the loss of such a euphonious name is grievous, then the loss of the bird itself would be tragic indeed.   At one level this is unlikely to happen since the species, although declining, remains widespread across it's huge range, but the nominate form Turnix sylvaticus sylvaticus, which was always found only in Europe and North Africa, has been teetering close to the abyss of extinction for decades.  It's even been declared 'probably extinct' more than once.  This form – the original  Andalusian Hemipode – is, for reasons nobody's quite sure of, distinctly larger than other forms although, as it has a similar plumage and scarcely any difference in its DNA.  Had it only looked somewhat different or had more a distinct DNA profile, then elevation to a full species might have galvanised conservationists to take more vigorous action to save it.  Whilst they're not too dissimilar to Quail above, below they have a bland face, spotted flanks and a warm pale orange chest and lack the Quail's hind toe.  The latter is not a good field character admittedly, but a clear identifier in the hand or when reading somewhat opaque older reports. In flight their wings make a characteristic whirring noise and show a pale covert patch.  On landing the body is held upright and the wings briefly, albeit characteristically, outstretched. For would-be searchers they combine the dis-spiriting character of both Quails and small crakes – that is they're furtive to the point of invisibility and have a notoriously ventriloquial call.  Hemipodes share with phalaropes and the Dotterel, a reversal of the usual sexual roles with the female having brighter plumage, defending a territory and uttering the distinctive call whilst the duller male tends the young.   The female's call is often likened to the distant lowing of cattle from which comes the Spanish name – torillo or “little bull”.  As with all these comparisons, it is only an approximation, but thanks to the wonders of the internet you can make your mind up for yourself by listening to it at http://www.xeno-canto.org/species/Turnix-sylvaticus (click on the recording from Morocco). 

Hunters doubtless knew of it long before, but how was this remarkably elusive bird finally drawn to the attention of the European scientific community?   In his Naturalis Historiae Pliny the Younger (61 – c113 AD) wrote about a small bird from southern France that sounded like a bull and was hence called Taurus (‘bull’). Was it a hemipode?  The parallel with the Andalucian experience, where the bull-like call also provided the bird with its bovine local name, is compelling.  With the netting of Quails being a popular activity around the Mediterranean for millennia, there's some evidence that hunters had long known that there were two kinds of 'quail'.  However, the written record is silent for the best part of 2,000 years.  It was the French botanist, René Louiche Desfontaines, who formally “discovered” it and published an account of it in 1787. However, he didn't find it in his native France, but 'les côtes de Barbarie' where he reported that it was common in Algeria and collected the 'type specimen' near Oran, Algeria.  He wrote of the two kinds of 'quail' in the area accurately describing the hemipode's distinctive three toes and that it was a  resident, not summer visitor. If you want to read his account (in French) of discovering this species it can be found in his “Mémoire sur quelques nouvelles espèces d'oiseaux des côtes de Barbarie” (p501 which is online at http://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/item/48340#page/21/mode/1up ). Desfontaines called the bird “La Caille de Bois” or “the Quail of Woods” (since abandoned by French ornithologists in favour of Turnix d'Andalouise).  Unfortunately, the scientific name has inherited Desfontaines' error and remains the inappropriate and  misleading  “sylvaticus”  (= of woods).  The family name he used,  Tetrao (= gamebird), has long been substituted by Turnix, a shortening of Coturnix (= quail) apparently  to reflect that these quail-like birds have a reduced foot missing the Quail's hind-toe. 

For most species, in terms of its scientific discovery and description, that would be it, but for the ever  cryptic  Andalusian Hemipode there's an added mystery. Surprisingly, the authoritative article on the species in Dutch Birding (“History, status and distribution of Andalusian Buttonquail in the WP” by Carlos Gutiérrez Expósito et al Dutch Birding 33: 75-93; available online via www.researchgate.net ) and on which much of this account rests, claims that the first notice of the Andalusian Hemipode's presence in Spain was first published almost fifty years later in 1834.  This was when Captain S E Cook (after whom Spanish Azure-winged Magpie is named) mentioned it in his   “Sketches in Spain during the years 1829-30-31, 1832”.  Yet the frustratingly brief text - “Hemipodius or Andalucian Quail. Near Cadiz and Gibraltar, but I have never seen the Gibraltaricus' -  clearly suggests there's more to the story. 

Field sports were very popular amongst off duty British officers 'at liberty' from Gibraltar (a British possession from 1713 onwards) so it's not surprising, given the species was still described as 'abundant' nearby as late as 1887 (Arévalo), that they knew of the species. In fact, it was noted in Spain long before Cook reported it, even the name 'Andalucian Quail' predates Cook's book and its existence was known to ornithologists even before Desfontaines 'discovery'!  In his  'A General Synopsis of Birds' (Vol II Part 2 p790 – see  http://biodiversitylibrary.org/page/33730435), published in 1783, John Latham (1740-1837) notes under “partridges with three toes” - a clear reference to the hemipode's unique digital inadequacy -    the existence of the “Gibraltar Quail” which he saw “in the collection of Sir Ashton Lever” who, not surprisingly, “had it from Gibraltar”.  However, the same source also describes, and illustrates on the title page, the 'Andalusian Quail' – also with three toes – which, not surprisingly, “inhabits Andalusia”.  A footnote in Latham adds that, in the opinion of Thomas Pennant, that this is 'most likely' the 'Three Toed Quail' of Shaw. Dr George Shaw (1751- 1813), well known naturalist of the time, gave popular lectures based at Sir Ashton Lever's private museum so was very familiar with his collection this seems highly probable.  Whilst this information could have come from his talks, it's likely that he penned a note about the bird, but, despite searching several likely sources online, I've yet to locate any published information on Shaw's discovery.   The illustration itself, whilst not up to modern field guide illustration standards, shows a brownish three-toed gamebird  that can only be an Andalusian Hemipode.  It even (pace Peterson) even seems to show a pale iris! This confusion between these two 'quails' (Andalusian & Gibraltarian) seems to stem from a misidentification of paler young birds as a separate species. 

In Latham's later work, “A General History of Birds” (1823) he still treats two 'species' of 'quail', but clearly suspects that they're one and the same.  He also enlarges considerably on his account of the 'Gibraltar Quail'  by adding that his source of information was 'Mr White' who added that English sportsmen knew it “by the name of Trail, or Terrail” (see - https://archive.org/details/generalhistoryof08lath) which is surely an Anglicised version of the Spanish name, 'Torillo', for Andalusian Hemipode.  The 'Mr White' here is none other than John White, younger brother of Gilbert White of Selbourne.  John White, who was also interested in natural history, was chaplain to the garrison on Gibraltar 1756-1772.  Fortunately, we still have Gilbert White's letter to Thomas Pennant (dated July 1770) where he mentions a box of specimens sent by from Gibraltar his brother which included “Tetrao coturnico similis, pedibus tridactylis - Smaller than the quail, and called trail, or terraile” which he later passed on to Thomas Pennant.  This is thought to be the bird that later found its way into Sir Ashton Lever's collection.  Quite why Desfontaines later account have precedence over that of Latham's four years earlier I'm unsure particularly as the 13th edition of Systema Naturae (1788) by Johann Gmelin listed “andalusicia” and “gibraltaricus”, but not  “sylvaticus”! Perhaps that's the rub and the continuing confusion between these two supposed forms allowed Desfontaines' claim to slip in unchallenged.   For whatever reason “sylvaticus” became the preferred name.   

Outside of Iberia, the only other place in Europe that the species once nested was on the southern coast of Sicily where its decline seems to have been precipitous.  Described as 'plentiful' in 1880, only sixteen years later it was considered 'on the verge of extinction' a prediction considered to have been realised by 1920 (or perhaps earlier as the last specimen dates from 1913).  It demise came about from habitat loss and, above all, hunting.  This is scarcely surprising given that in the 1860s one hunter boasted that he could shoot 10-15 hemipodes daily on the Sicilian south coast which, even allowing for exaggeration, suggests it was once very common.  It was once also found, and may yet persist, along the North African Mediterranean coast from Libya to the Straits.   They were certainly present into the 1960s in Libya, the 1980s in Tunisia and although there have been very few reports from Algeria, a sighting in 2007 gives hope that they may still occur there.  Many areas of suitable habitat still exist, but unrest in Algeria through the 1990s and beyond make investigations difficult.  Events in Morocco give hope that they may still be found along the Mediterranean coast of North Africa.  Although reports from Morocco continued into the 1980s, the species was considered extinct by 1990 so removed from the protected list.  However a small population we rediscovered in the 2000s in the extreme south-west of the country and has been recorded every year since.  Worryingly, this tiny relict population is now threatened by a new motorway. There have also been recent reports elsewhere in Morocco and evidently a good deal of unsearched, but seemingly suitable habitat, persists along the Mediterranean coast of Africa.  In this context it seems hopes of finding more birds in North-west Africa are not entirely misplaced.  

Whatever the British gentlemen sportsmen thought of the bird, the local campesinos would have doubtless have been long aware of its presence even if, according the White, they thought it was merely a young Common Quail.  Unfortunately, the average Spanish peasant then, as many were well into the 20th century, were illiterate and left no record.  Although, the written record through the 1800s is  pretty thin and lacking in detail, compared to the following century there's a cornucopia of information! Much of this comes, as in the 1700s, from 'sportsmen' and hunters.  The best review comes, as so often from Irby.  In 1875 ('The Ornithology of the Straits of Gibraltar') he described it as being a very local bird near Gibraltar inhabiting palmetto scrub particularly near the coast and most frequent east of Queen of Spain's chair (esp. the Lomo del Rey & Los Agusaderas).  He also noted a nest at San Roque (1869), found it to be 'scarce' between Algeciras and Tarifa, present near Vejer and 'tolerably plentiful' on La Mesa then a palmetto covered high ground above Casa Vieja (Benalup).   Certainly the high land near Benalup is no longer 'palmetto covered'.  In the mid-1800s it was found in Granada and said to be 'abundant' along the Andalucian coast (a little later it was called 'abundant' more specifically near Algeciras and Malaga).  Towards the end of the century reports came from various sites in Cadiz province (La Barca de La Florida and Algeciras), Malaga and Gibraltar. Surprisingly, given that it seems to have been a stronghold in the 20th century, it was only towards the end of the century that reports came in from Donana.   Presumably they began to disappear around Algeciras and Gibraltar as the area was developed although even as late as the 1970s a nest was reported near La Linea (although this record is omitted in De Juana & Garcia).  

Unfortunately, the early 20th century was a time of turmoil culminating in the Spanish Civil War (1936-39) which was itself followed by a period of hardship persisting into the 1950s.  This largely explains the dearth published information about Spanish birds in the first half of the 20th century and means that more is known about the Andalusian Hemipode's its distribution in Iberia in the 19th century than the 20th.  What is clear is that somewhen between the close of the 19th century and the 1950s the species suffered a sharp decline.  British wildlife artist W H (Bill) Riddell, a resident in Arcos de la Frontera (c1929-1946) and with links to Jerezano collector/sportsmen  knew it well enough to have painted it very accurately at least twice; one painting being dated 1944 and another in the collection of Mauricio Gonzalez-Gordon – a sherry grandee and Spanish translator of Peterson's field guide. There's a story in “The Portrait of a Wilderness” (1958) by Guy Mountfort that when Mauricio Gonzalez-Gordon (to whom the work is dedicated) and Roger Tory Peterson were chatting the conversation turned to they eye colour of Andalusian Hemipode. Gonzalez-Gordon claimed Peterson had wrongly painted the bird's iris dark brown, not pale whitish, and offered to show Peterson a hemipode there and then to settle the dispute.   This was a surprise since they were walking through the centre of Jerez at the time! Yet he was as good as his word since his barber had one caged nearby in his shop. The bird had been caught nearby (one of the last reports from the area nd apparently in an area now built over) and Mountfort reports that the species still frequented an estate near near Jerez.  In some versions of the story it continues that Peterson then went off and altered the eye colour in subsequent editions.  It's a great story, but, unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be entirely accurate as the eye's still shown as dark in the 5th edition (1993) 

The one sure thing about its current status in Spain is that it's very desperate.  According to the recent 'Birds of Peninisula Iberia' (de Juana & Garcia - 2015) have been eight published records in the 1950s, one each in the 1960s and 1970s,  four in the 1980s, five in the 1990s (one considered doubtful)  and five (two considered doubtful) in the 2000s.  The three problematical reports involve birds heard briefly near Cáceres, Extremadura (2002) and two reports from flushed birds at the Cabo de Gata, Almeria (1994 & 2002); both areas well outside the species known historic range (although it's previous occurrence in Almeria has been suspected).  Incredibly, this record includes reports of 'several hunted'  near Doñana and S W Cadiz in 2000/2001. Quail hunting has now been banned in areas that once had hemipodes to avoid unintentional 'by catch' – you can almost hear the slamming of stable doors! A clutch was found near Utrera (Sevilla) in 1960 by which time one authority thought hemipodes were close to extinction although it's been subsequently claimed that even at this late date it was 'locally common' in a few areas. There's also claim of a nest with eggs from La Linea in 1973 but this seems to have been discounted by de Juana & Garcia. In addition there have been unconfirmed sightings in Doñana National and Natural Park in 1997, 2000, 2003, 2004 and 2007 and one 2005 at Fuente de Piedra, Malaga (Dutch Birding 33: 75-93 - Carlos Gutiérrez Expósito et al) plus rumours of one being present “somewhere in Cadiz province” in 2005.  Both the recent Spanish Atlas and recent surveys (2005-2008) have failed to locate any birds at all in its former haunts. With most of its old habitats buried beneath concrete and fairways the outlook is grim.  Even the conservation measure of banning quail hunting is a Catch-22 as it denies us the most consistent primary source of records.  However the pioneering methods that relocated them in Morocco weren't used in recent surveys so there may yet be hope.   In nearby Portugal the record is even thinner – largely, perhaps, because there weren't so many eccentric British hunter/birdwatchers to record them!  In the 1860s in southern Portugal (Alentejo & Algarve) was said to be 'common' and present in the coastal lowlands south of Porto (where it still seems to be present in the 1890s). It was then said to be 'not rare' around Abrantes (NW of Lisbon)  and in the 1920s and was still in the area in the 1930s.  Apparently, there are no confirmed reports from 1940 onwards until a pair were said to have been flushed 'south of Lisbon' in 1973.  Despite this de Juana & Garcia report “anecdotal and unconfirmed information that some survived in coastal scrub near Cape St Vincent into the 1980s”.   There's also an intriguing sight record from Cape St Vincent in November 2002 of a briefly seen bird that may well have been this species (see- http://www.birdforum.net/showthread.php?t=68400&highlight=andalucian+hemipode).  Whilst there's a real hope more birds may be found in parts of North Africa which are rarely explored by ornithologists, it's difficult to be quite so sanguine about comparatively well watched Iberia particularly since several careful surveys.  My gut feeling is that whilst the odd bird may yet be found somewhere in Iberia, the species is now effectively extinct in Europe.  If, against hope, some are discovered it will probably only mean there'll be witnesses to their final extinction on the continent.

If the Andalusian Hemipode has, or is about to, become extinct in Europe there seems little chance that they could return other than by way of a careful reintroduction scheme. A local zoo, Zoobotanico of Jerez, has experience of re-introducing Bald Ibis and has also a track record for raising buttonquails having, in 2008, raised more than 40 chicks from six closely related Asian species (Barred Buttonquails).  Irby reported that they were easy to keep in captivity which gives some hope. However, removing sufficient birds from the tiny known population is risky.  If it can be done then this seems the best route to restore the species fortunes but only if the pressures that brought it to near extinction can be controlled.  The two main causes were hunting and the loss of suitable habitat (low palmetto and broom scrub and low intensity farmland). It would be surprising if any suitable habitat now remains between Gibraltar and Malaga (where the species was once common) although apparently suitable areas remain elsewhere. Recolonisation of Iberia by naturally occurring vagrants seems even less likely.  The number of living birdwatchers, as distinct from hunters,  that have seen the species in Spain must be vanishingly small and it's a mark of its extreme rarity that it's said that it eludes all of Spain's top birders.   It's probably no coincidence that the ground breaking article in 'Dutch Birding' on the species' rediscovery in Morocco was authored by some of Spain's finest birders.  If you ever fancy looking for the species in Spain this check list (adapted from Gutiérrez et al): - 

• Before starting your search offer up prayers to whatever deity you prefer (if any) and, if successful, quickly buy a lottery ticket.

• Respect the species' critical conservation status and the sensitivities of landowners by gaining permission to search fields. Some accounts of those who've visited the site seem to me to have broken or at least 'bent' the cardinal rule that the 'bird comes first'.

• Look for their tracks (three toes symmetrically spread like an arrow) and distinctive droppings (small cylindrical and pale greenish) rather than scanning the habitat (chances of seeing them without finding other evidence of their presence is extremely low).

•  Listen for the distinctive call – note that the use of 'playback' is probably illegal without proper permissions and ineffective since female do not seem to respond.

•  notify the relevant authorities asap (contacting Carlos Gutiérrez would be a good start - [email protected]), but be circumspect about who else you tell as failure to observe point 1 could have catastrophic consequences.

Postscript: The British 'record'!
Mention of the claimed British record is just too tempting to be neglected! The improbability of vagrancy seems obvious today, but in the early days of ornithology the background knowledge we so easily take for granted was entirely absent.  Even so it is somewhat startling to discover that Andalusian Hemipode briefly had a place on the British List! Although not directly relevant, I can't resist retelling the story. In 1845 “The Zoologist” published a letter from a Mr Thomas Goatley which reported that on 29th October 1844 an Andalusian Hemipode was shot by a Mr R Webb gamekeeper to Miss Pennyston of Cornwell near Chipping Norton and followed by another a few days later.  Mr. Edward Newman, to whom Mr. Goatley sent the bird, accompanied by a photograph, later, composed a fuller account, complete with an engraving, for 'The Zoologist' (1849 see - (http://www.biodiversitylibrary.org/item/123055#page/303/mode/1up). It's hard not to speculate which of those persons mentioned had a relative or friend stationed in Gibraltar! Whilst the record must be spurious, it is surely one of the first rarity claims to be supported by a photograph! Newman wrote that more reports would be bound to follow and, sure enough, another was claimed for Yorkshire in 1865. 

Sometimes a bird's name can be an impediment to understanding.  It took me a long time as a tyro birdwatcher to realise that 'Garden' Warblers didn't favour gardens and only a little longer to grasp that Honey Buzzards didn't actually eat honey.  It's not a problem that's unique to English bird names and is a common problem across Europe. Sometimes names are accurate enough, but don't necessarily filter the possible candidates efficiently.  For example, there is no disagreement that the bird which Italians call 'Rosy Gull' (Gabbiano roseo) often has a rosy blush, but obscures the fact that it's a trait shared with a number of  closely related gulls. However, the Catalans seem to be a little colour blind as they call it 'White-capped Gull' (Gavina capblanca)! The same species is called by the French 'Mocking Gull' (Goeland railleur) as its call has a laughing ring to it.  As these calls resemble those of Black-headed Gull it's not surprising to find that that species has the scientific name ridibundus which means laughing.  Naturally, the bird with the scientific name that actually does mean 'black-headed' (melanocephalus) is called the Mediterranean Gull! This only illustrates that scientific names are no more helpful as it's here that things begin to get really complicated.  With 'ridibundus' already spoken for the American species we call Laughing Gull has to make do with being called Larus atricilla meaning 'black-tailed gull'.  This is a bit awkward as not only do the adults not have black-tails (though young birds do), but it gazumps a real Black-tailed Gull (both adults and young birds of which do have black on the tail).  It's scientific name is 'crassirostris' meaning 'heavy-billed' would be fine except that its bill isn't particularly heavy!    Naturally the gull with the tag 'rosea'  isn't the Italian 'Rosy Gull', but the arctic Ross's Gull! However, none of these inappropriate or misapplied names actually managed to confuse ornithologists unlike the Italians' 'Rosy Gull' which in English known as Slender-billed Gull.  It's a name shared by most European languages as no matter which language you pick - Kaitanokkalokki (Finnish),  Dunbekmeeuw (Dutch),  Dunnschnabligemowe (German),  Tyndnaebbet mage (Danish), Racek tenkozobý (Czech), Mewa cienkodzioba (Polish), Vékonycsórú sirály (Hungarian), Smalnabbadmas (Swedish) Gaviotta picofina (Spanish) and Gaviota-de-bico-fino (Portuguese) – the name means 'slender-billed'.  With such a consensus it's pretty clear that the bird must have an impressively slender bill …. except that it hasn't!  Although longer, the bill is no more slender (indeed it's actually thicker) than several closely related small gulls. 

What we call Slender-billed Gull was described in 1839 by the Marquis de Breme (1807-1869) who was himself was no slouch at this name game being variously known as Ferdinando Arborio Gattinara di Brême, François Brême or Ferdinando Arborio di Gattinara!  He named it Larus genei after his fellow Italian and friend Carlo Guiseppe Gené.  Presumably Brême, or another early writer, described the bill as being 'slender' and this simply stuck.    Even the first edition of the famous Peterson field guide (published in 1954) claimed, wrongly, that the bill was "noticeably more slender" than a Black-headed Gull's.  This myth was firmly slapped down by the inimitable D I M Wallace (DIMW) who wrote in a paper in British Birds (1964) which opened with the words  “First and foremost, in spite of statements to the contrary in several authoritative handbooks …., the Slender-billed Gull … does not have a slender bill. Compared with that of the species which it most closely resembles …. the bill …. is clearly longer, deeper and heavier-looking ….”  Newer editions of Peterson got it right and by 1972 the new “The Birds of Britain and Europe” (Heinzel et al) confidently stated that the species resembled Black-headed Gull  but with a “.... longer stouter much darker red bill ...”  However, old habits die hard and “The Hamlyn Guide to Birds of Britain and Europe” (both the 1971 original & the 1978 revision) perpetuated the myth that the bill was slender by writing “... notice the white wing-tips of adults, lack of hood, and long thin bill ...”  It also introduced an error of its own since  although the fore-wing is largely white, the wing-tips themselves are actually finely edged in black.   

The gravitational centre of the species population still remains in the east with the up to 230,000+ birds around the Black Sea and 150,000 more further east, but over the past few decades there's been a remarkable increase in the west. Although Irby reported finding a nest and eggs on the marismas as early as 1879 this population never seems to have been very secure and, despite several hundred thought to have bred there around the turn of the century, breeding seems to have ceased (or gone unrecorded) until nests were found in the early 1960s.  Initially the increase was a mere trickle with literally a handful breeding on Fuente de Piedra (from 1965) and a few more on the Ebro Delta from 1975.   Through the 1970s and into the early 1980s numbers remained low, but from the mid 1980s numbers started to see-sawed between zero and several hundred pairs until, by the 1990s, the population increase began to accelerate.  Since 2000, although numbers still fluctuate, the Spanish population has remained above 1,000 pairs with the bulk being found on the Ebro delta and the lower Guadalquivir.  This remarkable increase has held true across the western Mediterranean with Sardinia and the Po delta being colonised (now c3,300 pairs) in Italy and the Camargue in France, (where it was previously only an irregular breeder in small numbers) which now hosts up to c900 pairs.  At the same time birds expanded along the western Mediterranean coast of North Africa and even reached Mauritania on the Atlantic coast (now thought to have up to c20,000 birds this country was probably colonised in the 1960s.  Although nobody's quite sure of the reason behind this shift in population the front runner is the degradation of the wetlands around the Black Sea (particularly in Romania where they species, formerly common,  is now rare) which forced birds to look elsewhere.     

Whilst I've a vivid memory of seeing my first British Slender-billed Gull at Dungeness in 1971 (the third British record), I can't recall at all whether I saw them in Andalucia or on the Camargue which I'd visited a couple of years before – I suspect not.   Any visitor to those two areas today would certainly expect to see them, but back then, as noted above, only a handful bred (if at all) at either site.  Embarrassingly, when I twitched the Dungeness bird, I recall worrying about how easy it would be to pick out from multitudes of Black-headed Gulls.  In theory this should have been easy since the adult Slender-billed Gull has a pure white head whereas winter Black-headed Gulls always have black smudges, but theory was one thing and sifting thorough large packs of gulls on the beach or out on the patch was quite another!  Even if Peterson had now made clear that the bill wasn't 'slender', the only illustration in our edition of that book was small, monochrome and showed a bird that seemed identical in wing-pattern, size and shape to Black-headed Gull!  The new Hamlyn guide was a lot better as, although it got the head shape approximately right, much else was wrong!  In my defence it wasn't that long ago that even the fearsome D D Harber, the notoriously opinionated chairman of the UK rarities committee and finder of the first British record, had had to go up to London to check skins before he was confident of his identification!  It's a reflection of how well traveled modern birders are compared to those in the 1960s that neither Harber nor other observers of this bird had ever seen one before!

Back in 1971, we'd just split up to crunch along the beach to look for the bird, when suddenly there it was flying up over the shingle and above our heads. The immediately obvious thing wasn't its unmarked white head or its greater size, but the long drooping bill, the long flat forehead and flatter head shape which merged into a distinctively long neck.  The pinkish glow was noted almost as an after thought.  In fact, although some books stress little more than the white head and that Slender-billed Gull is larger than its cousin, the striking thing about the bird I saw in Kent was its characteristic long-necked appearance.  Even the size difference can be overstated as there is some overlap between the largest Black-headed and smallest Slender-billed Gulls.  Unfortunately, between a marriage, children and mortgage meant I didn't see another one until one conveniently turned up at Grove Ferry in May 1999.  

Fortunately I didn't have to wait quite so long for my next sighting since, now divested of a mortgage and responsibility for my children, but, happily, not my wife, I was able to start visiting souther Spain regularly from 2005 onwards. If much had changed in my life then so too had things changed in the fortunes of Slender-billed Gull!  Happily following its resurgence there are now three regular colonies in western Andalucia – all three, Marismas del Guadalquivir and Veta la Palma (Seville) and Bonanza (Cadiz), within the broader confines of the Coto Donana.  Any one of these sites is sometimes unoccupied, but one at least always has some birds so the local population fluctuates between 150 - 550 pairs.  I've also seen birds in early spring behaving as if they might nest on the Mesas de Asta marshes. For good views, though, nowhere beats the salinas at Bonanza. So this welcome increase means that it's been my good fortune to see this handsome gull regularly over the past few years and my initial impression of its distinctiveness has only increased.  Adult birds with a pinkish hue can be seen at all seasons, but it's in the breeding season (April-June) that they're at their best.  At this time too the red legs take on a slightly darker shade and the bill, scarlet over the winter, becomes dark almost to the point of being black.  Seen at close quarters the iris can be seen to be pale straw and there's fine red rim around the eye itself.   But it's the colour of the underparts that can be really striking and truly earns the species its Italian name 'Gabbiano roseo'.  Some, it's true, are hardly more pink that the odd Black-headed Gulls, but others are much brighter.  Fewer still are a bright day-glow pink on the head and underparts with a delicate pink suffusion invading tail, the white wedge on the forewing and even, in the most excessive examples, the pale grey back. This sets of the mascara'd bill wonderfully.  Add to all this the elegantly long neck supporting the somewhat aesthetically stylish flat head and you have the image of a gull masquerading as a top Paris supermodel on the catwalk.  It's all delicacy and refinement!  Even one who often suffers from Laridae-phobia couldn't fail to be impressed.  Then, as if that weren't enough on the water with its head held high, its giraffe neck inclined at an angle and its rear parts raised it looks like a phalarope wannabe (see Wallace's drawing from 'BB').  In short they're very handsome birds and well worth a trip to Bonanza.

There’s a certain etiquette to writing a book review. First you describe the book physically, then its content, then nit-pick about various errors or omissions (real or imagined) to prove you’ve actually read it and finally condemn or recommend it in the closing paragraph. It's also customary to bemoan any short comings without regard to the economic necessities of book publishing. It is, however, sometimes refreshing to break with the customary approach. I do so here (although I retain the right to make unrealistic demands!) and urge readers to go to their local bookshop or get online and order this superb book. Now! To put it simply if you’re a birdwatcher living in Iberia or a regular visitor to that peninsula this is a book you cannot afford not to own even if you have to beg, borrow and steal (which I know you won't) to do so.  

This book has an impressive pedigree.  It's published by Helm,  co-written by Ernest Garcia (co-author of the two Spanish volumes in the  “Where to Watch birds in ….”  series) and Eduardo de Juana (whose 'Guía de las Aves de Espaňa' was, until now, an indispensable source for population figures and accurate maps) and has dust jacket illustrations by Juan M Varela Simó.  Hence, even before opening the book expectations are high.

The book covers Andorra, Gibraltar, Portugal and Spain (including the Balearic Islands, but not the Azores, Canaries and Madeira). The first fifty odd pages are devoted to a series of short essays on the history of ornithology in Iberia, geography and climate, habitats and an overview of the area's birdlife (the latter two sections are illustrated by a series of handsome colour photographs).  These accounts are concise yet informative, detailed yet readable.  Eleven useful tables highlight such aspects as endemic and near-endemic species, increasing and declining species, regular raptorial migrants, etc. Personally I'd have liked to see more on migration across the Strait of Gibraltar, but that reflects my own interests rather than any want in the book.   Sixteen of the sixty-four colour photographs show habitats and the rest birds.   Of the sixteen habitat photos one is given no location (but is probably Spain), another is from Gibraltar, two from Portugal and the rest Spain.  Surprisingly there isn't one of the Corto Donana arguably Iberia's most iconic birding location.  Not surprisingly the bird photos are of a generally high standard and illustrate those species closely associated with Iberia.   It's a personal choice, but I'd have preferred more illustrations of habitats than birds (with which most readers will be very familiar). It's a pity, though, that more space couldn't have been found for further artwork by Juan M Varela Simó either colour plates or monochrome vignettes. 

The bulk, all 1.9 kilos of it, of the book's 688 pages is devoted to species accounts.  These vary in length according to status of the species discussed.  The rarest birds have between a few lines and half a page of text.  Rarities that are (or approach being) annual generally have almost a page of text including a graph showing monthly distribution of records and a map showing the total of records for each autonomous regions (Spain) or north/south (Portugal).  Unfortunately Spanish regions vary enormously in size so make an uneven filter which may obscure precise distribution.  The region of La Rioja, for example, is smaller than many provinces whilst that of Andalucia comprises of eight provinces as large as or larger than La Roja.  These Andaluican provinces stretch from Spain's Atlantic coast, the length of its southern Mediterranean littoral to a wedge of its east coast.  A map based on provinces would have been more precise, but would have doubtless involved far more work and presented problems of its own. I also suspect that some species are less infrequent than the details given suggest as far too many 'foreign' birdwatchers fail to report their sightings.  In this context Appendix 5 of the book should prove useful as it gives the website of the Spanish Portuguese and Gibraltarian rarities committees (although not, surprisingly, Ricard Gutiérrez's very useful  www.rarebirdspain.net).   

Naturally,  birds that are found more regularly are given proportionately more space.  Where needed they have excellent monochrome distribution maps; one each for birds that are exclusively summer or winter visitors and sedentary birds, but two for species whose ranges alter significantly between summer and winter.  The maps are further refined by distinguishing between 'core' and 'low density' populations.  Understandably species with a very small and patchy distribution (e.g. Baillon's Crake) aren't mapped, but the absence of a map for Collared Dove must surely be an error. Although coloured maps would have been more satisfying, these monochrome ones work well (and have doubtless helped to keep the costs down). The texts for these species varies from one to three, four or even five pages reflecting the complexities posed by different birds.  Thanks to a small typeface – a necessary evil - these accounts pack in pretty everything you could hope for – status, detailed population figures, matters of conservation concern (where relevant), phenology, etc.  

Back in March 2011 I wrote on this blog about distinguishing between Thekla and Crested Lark (scroll through and have a look).  For some reason the clarity of the table was poor and for some reason I don't seem able to replace it so I've revisited it and have posted a more legible version here.  I've made some changes and improved the layout, but it's substantially the same as my earlier effort.  If I was doing it again from scratch I'd probably omit the 'weighting' which I did for a bit of fun, but am now uncertain whether it really helps. I'd probably stress a little more strongly that birds found over c1,000m are very likely to be Thekla whilst those on agricultural land are likely to be Crested.  I'd also add that whilst some Cresteds have an obviously long and curved bill others aren't quite so striking (and they're not all young birds as I've seen them at the wrong time of the year).  Although I happily identify most 'Crested/Thekla Larks' I still see some that make me scratch my head and think are they hybrids?