Beidaihe - Bird Migration Hub of the Orient

Oriental Storks, and the Grand Finale of the Beidaihe Birding Year

With each cold front, winter is a step closer. The fresh winds tug leaves from trees, the air chills, and the mix of birds changes — some of the species present before a front arrived may not be seen again during the year; with the passage of the front, there may be other species making their first appearance of the autumn.

By early November, winter visitors are returning, and the birding is somewhat as it was in March. But, for the most part, it is more varied and interesting than in March. Notable among the birds that are commoner at this time is Oriental White Stork.

Until I first read Hemmingsen's report on Beidaihe, I was unaware that there was a white stork in the Far East. From the description he gave, it differed from the bird I knew from visits to Israel — the European White Stork Ciconia ciconia. For instance, its bill was longer, and blackish, not red. Hemmingsen had seen only a few in spring, but they could be abundant in late autumn: a flock of 1000-1500 once stayed near the town for two days, probably held up by a fog; during another autumn, he estimated that he saw 1000-4000 birds one day.

By autumn 1986, when the Oriental White Stork was increasingly recognised as a distinct species from its European cousin — besides its long black bill, it is larger, and behaves differently — surveys on its winter grounds and breeding areas suggested the world population was, at most, just 1200. Because of hunting and poisoning by agricultural chemicals, it had been extirpated as a breeding bird in Japan, where it was common last century. Korea, where it was `locally common' in the 1940s, had lost its breeding birds by the late 1980s. Only southeast Siberia and neighbouring parts of China near the Amur River Valley still held breeding birds, which mostly wintered along the Yangzi valley, sharing the haunts of the Siberian Cranes.

We had recorded only 12 in spring 1985 — but, because of Hemmingsen's records, I was hopeful we might see good numbers passing in the 1986 autumn. My hopes were more than realised.

The storks began appearing in October, huge birds that rivaled the cranes for majesty but glided past in silence and were not in chevrons, but in random flocks. At dusk on 29 October, a large flock glided out of the gloom, and passed low over the plain to our west: we estimated there were 280 birds, about a quarter of the known world population. In November, we saw more giant flocks, and we soon overhauled the 1200 mark, eventually finishing with 2729 Oriental White Storks — perhaps most of the birds that were alive at that time.

But while our count had more than doubled the estimated world population — to around 3000 — we hadn't seen any flocks approaching 1500 birds, nor any days with over 1000 birds, as had Hemmingsen. And we have since failed to log more than 2000 Oriental White Storks in an autumn. Despite protection measures — on paper at least — for the species, hunting, habitat destruction, disturbance and poisoning continue; they may have caused the population to fall since 1986, and numbers will probably fall further as more wetlands are `reclaimed'.

In November, the overall migration goes into a decline. There may be interesting birds around the town — perhaps flocks of Bohemian Bombycilla garrulus or Japanese B. japonica waxwings, and one or two handsome Güldenstädt's Redstarts Phoenicurus erythrogaster. Visits to the Luanhe and Daqinghe can be productive, with a good chance of seeing cranes, geese, and Great Bustards on the ground, as well as Chinese Grey Shrikes Lanius excubitor, late Saunders's Gulls, and, maybe, Relict Gulls.

Strictly, the autumn migration will continue until late November; regular passage will then halt, and new arrivals are only likely if hard-weather movements push birds down from the frozen north.

But the passage does not just fizzle out. In November, the stage is set for the grand finale of the Beidaihe bird year: the peak of the autumn crane migration. Only after experiencing this do I feel content to leave the town in late autumn.

The largest crane wave recorded since Hemmingsen's time was on 10 November 1990: there were five crane species in all, with totals of 2728 Commons, 328 Hoodeds, 135 Red-crowneds, 6 White-napeds, and 111 Siberians, and 396 unidentified. It was another wave which did not immediately follow a cold front.

With a front already through, three of us arrived early at the Lotus Hills watchpoint on 9 November, hoping for a good day. The wind was brisk, north-north-easterly, becoming north-westerly by mid-morning, and westerly by mid-afternoon. The sky was clear, the air cold — where it was shaded from the sun, ice in a granite hollow remained frozen all day. Raptors were the day's stars: there were 13 species, including 190 Upland Buteo hemilasius and four Rough-legged B. lagopus buzzards, six Eurasian Black Vultures Aegypius monachus, three White-tailed Eagles, and one each of Greater Spotted Aquila clanga, Steppe A. nipalensis and Imperial A. heliaca eagles. There were also 135 Oriental White and four Black Storks, 14 Great Bustards, ten Red-crowned Cranes, and 491 Common Cranes, most of which passed in the late afternoon — the forerunners of the wave.

The next day, the sky was again clear, and the early wind was moderate, north-northeast. But the wind soon became light, swinging to southerly in the late morning — not so promising. By midday, numbers of migrants logged were low.

But, soon after 28 Commons flew north, a flock of 85 Common Cranes flying south marked the start of the passage.

We recorded a succession of small, medium and, occasionally, huge flocks. Just one hour, from 3pm to 4pm, produced 1504 cranes of four species. Most were traveling to the east of us, perhaps well out over the sea, and cutting southwest; this seems typical of the big autumn flocks. A few smaller flocks passed close to our watchpoint.

After 4pm, the passage ebbed, with only 26 cranes in 30 minutes. But then, in the gathering gloom, the wave gathered pace again, with more flocks over the sea. They became harder to see, and near impossible to identify; just lines of black dots against the murky grey of sea and sky. At 5:15pm, with night falling, we left the watchpoint.

It took us maybe 20 minutes to walk down from the hills. As we walked, the darkening sky resounded to those haunting, timeless sounds; the choruses of cranes, calling themselves on southwards.

If you're interested in visiting Beidaihe, you could contact Jean Wang of the town's Sky and Ocean Travel Service, which has often handled birding groups/individuals - can arrange excursions to Happy Island etc. Email: bits [at] 0335.net or bsots [at] 263.net

Birds of East Asia: China, Taiwan, Korea, Japan, and Russia (Princeton Field Guides)