My Christmas/New Year break was spent in England. In many ways it was idyllic: Bracing walks over the fields, visiting childhood haunts with the Labrador, decorating the Christmas tree, turkey dinner with all the trimmings and traditional family arguments — one mysteriously provoked by chutney. But what made it really Christmas-y was that it was a white Christmas.

My native village of Harpenden was coated this holiday season with a deep blanket of snow, giving what normally passes for bland suburbia a truly festive frisson. And of course, being England, we were totally unprepared for it. No one talks about the weather quite as much as the English, and this year we had big weather. So naturally there was back-to-back, wall-to-wall TV weather coverage. Twenty-four/seven, to use the vernacular. Snow-drenched roads iced up and became impassable as temperatures dropped as low as minus 20 degrees Celsius. Schools closed, for once not because of swine flu, and commuters cursed as the trains ran “emergency,” a euphemism for minimal services. Eurostar locomotives became stuck in the Channel Tunnel, supposedly because the snow was “fluffier” than train designers had expected. It recalled that famous, doubtless apocryphal headline: “Fog in Channel — Continent Isolated.” In London, policemen were told off for using their riot shields as shovels. I very nearly did not get back to Egypt as planned because of massive delays at Heathrow. They were not caused by some nutter trying to blow everyone up with explosive underpants, nor by my airline’s threat of a strike; instead, a frost-inspired inability to load and unload baggage from the planes threatened to cancel my trip. As one observer succinctly noted, they managed to land jumbo jets weighing 700,000 pounds but couldn’t cart the suitcases over a few meters of frozen runway. It was chaos, but a very merry chaos. Everyone seemed to revel in the national moaning and communal grumbling.

In spite of these problems, the weather was great for birdwatching. I had stocked up on mixed nuts, freeze-dried mealworms and suet fatballs and put them out in the garden. Much to my delight, they attracted flocks of appreciative birds. There were Coal Tits and Blue Tits and Great Tits, Blackbirds and Song Thrushes, Robins and Wrens. There were Gray Squirrels too, commonly despised for displacing our native Red Squirrel, but undeniably attractive in their thick winter fur finery. The neighborhood Red Fox even put in an appearance. Elsewhere, the unexpected cold spell had forced such exotic visitors as Woodcocks and Bitterns into gardens. On the continent, the scenario was similar — which is where we come to Egypt.

Given the severe weather over Europe, a number of normally rare bird species might be expected here this year, particularly along the North Coast and the Nile Delta. One such bird is the Starling. The Starling is superficially similar — but biologically unrelated — to the Blackbird. It is dark, appearing iridescent in good light, and in winter is spangled with pale spots. The bill is, again in winter, dark and sharply pointed. The best way to distinguish it from the Blackbird, though, is by its gait. On the ground the Blackbird moves with two-footed hops while the Starling walks with a curious jerky action. In Egypt, small flocks, properly called murmurations, of Starlings may be expected in the north, and I have found the most luck with this species in the reed beds of the Delta lakes. In Europe, where this species is much more common, flocks can number in the hundreds of thousands, performing spectacular swirling aerial maneuvers at dusk prior to settling to roost at night.

Another potential winter visitor here is the Rook. This is a relative of the familiar urban Hooded Crow but is all black, almost a glossed purple, lacking the gray back and belly of the crow. It has a very different jizz, that collection of characteristics that give a bird species its own individual look. In the Rook’s case, it appears ‘baggy-trousered,’ a reference to the elongated belly feathers that render it somewhat unkempt. The head shape is different as well, with a steeper forehead, a peaked crown and a bill that in mature birds is pale gray at the base and longer and more slender. All in all it is surprisingly distinctive for a plain black bird. Again, in Europe it is a sociable bird, breeding in colonies not unsurprisingly known as rookeries, a collective noun also now used for breeding seal and sea lion colonies.

Rather more colorful than the Starling and the Rook are two species of winter thrush that breed in the high arctic and spend winter further south, sometimes as far south as here. The first is the Fieldfare. The Fieldfare is around 25 centimeters long, a beautiful pale gray above, darker on the mantle, and dark-spotted ochre and white below. In flight, the pale rump is distinctive, distinguishing it from the darker Song Thrush, a more common winter visitor. The other rare thrush is the Redwing. It is characteristically smaller and darker than the Fieldfare and with more densely-spotted underparts, a more strongly marked facial pattern with a clear white supercilium (eye-stripe) and deep rufous flanks. I have personally only seen the Redwing twice in Egypt, once at Abu Sir and once in Wadi Rishrash.

This second sighting was most unexpected. Wadi Rishrash is somewhat south of Helwan and one of a number of wadis that run from east to west across the Eastern Desert. Wadi Rishrash is a special locale. Deep in the wadi are the ruins of a home used by King Farouk for hunting trips for the Nubian Ibex. The lodge and wooden gazebo are more or less intact, and there is a small garden, now overgrown, but still with a pool of standing water. From the buildings it is a short walk to a picturesque clump of Date Palms that makes an idyllic camping spot sheltered by the towering cliff faces from what can be an unforgiving sun, even in winter.

It was here, amidst this stunning desert scenery, that I found my first Egyptian Redwing. It did not register in my mind at first because it was so out of context. I had seen Redwings in the UK, but I was most familiar with them from an expedition to Iceland some years ago. Iceland has relatively few breeding birds and those that do breed are mostly sea birds: vast colonies of Guillemots, Common and Brunnich’s, Razorbills, Fulmars and Northern Gannets. Inland, there are many species of ducks, the Harlequin Duck and Barrow’s Goldeneye being real Icelandic specialties. Although there are few breeding passerines or songbirds, one that can be found is the Redwing.

During my grueling month circumnavigating the island and camping on the tundra, the Redwing became a much loved and much appreciated companion. To suddenly find it in the shelter of Date Palms in an Eastern Desert wadi caught me totally off guard, but focusing in with binoculars on the small size, dense spotting beneath and characteristic head pattern, it was clear that I had spotted a Redwing. The brick red flanks sealed it.

All the species above are uncommon but worth watching for over the winter. With weather as harsh as it has been in Europe this year, something truly special might turn up. I was once a winter guest of the British Consul in Alexandria, the incumbent at the time being an enthusiastic birdwatcher. The most memorable experience, other than being undefeated at pool in the Spanish Club, was early morning birding in the Consulate garden. The male Black Redstarts were particularly stunning and I found my first European Robin in Egypt.

All good stuff, but had I timed my visit two weeks later I would have got a real prize of a bird. I received an email two weeks later with the news that a Hawfinch had been spotted at the Consulate birdbath. Wow! That really is a diplomatic incident. The Hawfinch is a large, stout finch with an impressively large bill that can crush cherry stones. It is also very, very rare in Egypt and even more annoying would have been a life bird for me. Perhaps this winter it’ll be my turn. et