Hugh, a birding friend of mine who lives near Peterborough had called me a week earlier to suggest a day's birding on the Norfolk coast and I was happy to concur as winter birding in Norfolk is generally rewarding.
So it was that I spent the night at Hugh's house in order that we could make an early start and get to the Norfolk coast by dawn.We had a vague plan to bird the coast from east to west, based on recent sightings of birds along the Norfolk coast, so our first point of call was to be at Happisburgh (pronouced hazeburra) in the east of the County.
Happisburgh is a small, relatively unspoilt village where, in 2010, flint tools were discovered that dated back 800,000 years making this the oldest evidence of human occupation anywhere in Britain. The location also has the less welcome reputation of being a spectacular example of coastal erosion. The village used to be some way from the sea but continual cliff erosion, now accelerating due to climate change, bringing increased storms and higher sea levels, mean that in the last fifteen years no less than twenty five houses have been lost to coastal erosion, having collapsed into the sea. The process is likely to continue with the acceptance that little can be done to halt the erosion which will lead in the future to further losses of both houses and farmland.
The erosion is obvious all around and a road we examined abruptly ended at the top of one of the low sandy cliffs, the rest having fallen into the sea.
The erosion has created sandy beaches below the cliffs and there is also a footpath at the top of the cliffs, running close to the edge, with numerous signs warning of the dangers of standing too close to the cliff edge, which is just feet away, and that the cliff could collapse at any moment without warning, possibly taking you with it.
We arrived at Happisburgh right on time, at seven thirty, just as the sky was turning a delicate shade of peach yellow,gradually becoming flushed with pink as the hidden sun began to rise in the east. We drove down a small lane and turned into a deserted car park near to and below the iconic lighthouse that stands well back from the cliffs on a mound, surrounded by huge farm fields, sown with winter wheat.
After enjoying the warmth and cosiness of the two and half hour drive from Hugh's house it was a shock to step out into the bitter cold of a frosty morning and with a numbing but light northwest wind blowing in from the sea. Despite the cold, which with our warm winter clothing was only a minor inconvenience, the morning promised to be a good one, in fact a beautiful one as the still invisible sun slowly strengthened and shed a delicate and soft golden light across the landscape. We had the place virtually to ourselves with just the occasional dog walker but they soon disappeared so all was well.
This was no time to stand about so we set off along the coastal footpath with the cold, ice blue sea and white surf roaring onto the beach below the cliffs to our left, and vast acres of winter farmland to our right.
Snow Buntings and Shore Larks had been reported from here yesterday, hence our interest, but we were unsure as to the precise location. A hundred or so metres along the path we spotted a small group of birds running around on the bare path and there were the Snow Buntings but in the very next second they flew up high and away over the farmland. This was a bit depressing as, yes we had seen the Snow Buntings, but being one of my favourite winter birds and one that I do not see that often I would like to have seen more of them and for longer, and the same went for Hugh. We walked along the path a bit more and then another similar sized flock of birds flew back over the fields. We assumed this must be the Snow Buntings returning but we were totally wrong. They were Shore Larks, fifteen in all and as they passed over us we followed them in our bins to see that they landed in the field fairly close to the path, back near the car park.
Excitedly we returned along the path until we were opposite them.They were running between the furrows of winter wheat, feeding and occasionally stopping to preen feathers being made wet by shoots of wheat, defrosting in air that was now just above freezing. Their fawn brown chunky bodies were well concealed against the brown earthy furrows but their sulphur yellow heads with black bandit like masks made it easy to pick them out as they scuttled along. One particular bird, presumably a male, was very well marked and in Hugh's scope we could watch it raise the black horns on the sides of its yellow head. They are always a delight to see and being both scarce and nomadic at this time of year not always easy to catch up with but here they were right in front of us. In some years they can be very hard to find and on average only seventy four winter in Britain each year although in some years they can be more numerous and others less so.
We followed their progress from the side of the field and must have watched them for half an hour before they suddenly rose as one, up into the blue sky and departed, calling as they went, over the village and heading west.They did not return but it was no matter as we had seen them so well and indeed, if you included the brief view of the Snow Buntings, we had seen both our target birds.
We turned to face back east and resume our walk along the cliff path just as the sun rose, deep orange and fiery above the horizon. It was a wonderful scene as the landscape became silhouetted by the sun's rays as the huge flaming orb rose above the sea.
I was convinced the Snow Buntings were still somewhere around and a small group of about half a dozen flew over us as we walked along the path but did not land anywhere we could see. A loud squealing, bickering commotion came distantly from the sky and looking up, what at first appeared like a faint scribble against the blue slowly materialised into the firmer image of lines of geese. Hundreds of them. Pink footed Geese, their classic V shaped formations scrawled across the sky, the individual geese calling excitedly to each other. They passed over us, high up and heading west, no doubt making for a safe feeding place on fields inland. The sight and sound of hundreds, even thousands of wild grey geese such as these, flying in vast winter skies above bare fields and skeletal trees is surely one of the classic sights of winter and why so many people, not just birders, come to Norfolk at this time of year.
The geese were soon gone and we walked on, separating as we did. A European Stonechat sat on top of a bare stem right on the cliff edge before dropping down to the beach below. Curious I walked to the edge and looked down to the beach some fifty or sixty feet below. There was no sign of the stonechat but Turnstones and a few Sanderlings were running over the sand and around outcrops of pebbles and rocks by the sea. Another single Shore Lark flew over me, calling and heading west but did not stop.This meant I had now seen sixteen Shore Larks which is pretty good going.
I looked more closely at one of the banks of pebbles on the shore, near to the sea and there, dotted about on top were the Snow Buntings, twenty one in all. As I watched, one, bolder than the rest flew towards me and settled at the base of the cliff right below. It was soon followed by its companions until the entire flock was feeding below me on the seeds of plantains. I called to Hugh but he had already noticed them and joined me. The buntings fluttered about on the sandy outcrops, the white showing in their wings and tails as they fed and flew from one spot to another close by.
Then, after a couple of minutes, a Sparrowhawk hurtled along the base of the cliff and the Snow Buntings fled high into the sky with the Sparrowhawk in hot pursuit but after a brief chase it gave up and flew off.
We had no idea where the flock had gone and for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, there was no sign of them but then they returned and settled on the top of the cliff, to feed in the docks and sorrel growing by the side of the coastal path. This was our chance to get close to them and with no one else around we had every chance of doing so successfully. Slowly and carefully we approached and they allowed us to get near and admire them. All appeared to be young males, females and juveniles.There was no sign of any of the much whiter adult males but this did not really matter as Snow Buntings, any Snow Bunting are well worth seeing. They have a benign aspect about them, this impression maybe caused by the gentle expression on their face.There is no fierce supercilium, eye stripe or staring eye but a smooth rounded head with a small yellow bill and liquid dark eye imparting a gentility and appeal that belies the harsh existence they endure in both winter and summer. The low sun shone on them, illuminating their yellow bills and the tawny brown flushes on their white heads and breast, so that they almost glowed.
They shuffled in and out of the vegetation on their short black legs, manipulating seeds in their buttercup yellow bills and following each other, never happy to be isolated from one another for long.
For twenty minutes we admired them and followed them as they slowly fed along the path and then they rose once more as a flock and flew back down to feed at the base of the cliff which is where we finally left them. It was half past eight.
We moved on to nearby Bacton to check the gulls on the beach or standing sentinel on the wooden posts of the breakwaters and sea defences. A juvenile Glaucous Gull had been reported from here yesterday but today there was no sign of it. An adult Herring Gull stood on a post had a yellow ring on its leg with the numbers and letters 6Y5B on the ring. Subsequent enquiries informed me that it had been ringed in Great Yarmouth on 22 November 2015 and had subsequently been reported ten times in the intervening period from nearby Walcott, the last time being 30th October this year. On our way back to the car from the beach, crossing a field adjacent to the large Gas Terminal, a late Swallow flew past.
Steadily working our way west, as planned, we decided to move on to Cromer. On the way the Glaucous Gull came up on my RBA app as having being seen on the beach at Sidestrand, an hour earlier, before flying west. We had just passed Sidestrand and thought there may be a chance of seeing it at Overstrand just a mile or so to the west.
Stopping here, we left the car in a small road by the cliff top and descended down steeply sloping paths to walk along the deserted promenade below the cliffs. Being winter time, the line of pastel coloured beach huts under the cliff were now firmly secured against the elements until next year's holiday season came around, when they would come to life as each tiny hut had its door opened to the sea and its owners would cram into the tiny space within. Snug and secure, they would look at the sea that one distant day would be lapping at their very feet. Nothing is forever, least of all here.
The anti cyclone bringing this fine weather had created a visibility that allowed one to look northwards for miles across the sea, to a horizon where the sun hung low, shining blindingly white. There is a calmness, a sense of abandonment that is not unattractive about such places as Overstrand in winter, as gone are all the visitors and the associated humdrum human clutter of summer. Today there were just a few human figures walking a dog or wandering the strand, their isolation in such an expansive area of sea and sand adding to the sense of space and quiet.
We checked each and every gull on the beach but there was no Glaucous Gull. So the next stop, moving west, was Cromer where for some days past a couple of first winter Caspian Gulls had been hanging around the pier and on the adjacent beach.
I had bought a loaf of sliced white bread at a store in Bacton with the express purpose of enticing the gulls at Cromer and armed with this we descended yet another winding set of steep steps from a busy Cromer Seafront, onto the beach by the pier. The contrast between here and Overstrand could not have been more marked. Many more people were about, mainly attracted to the pier and its various commercial entertainments and cafe. The beach was, however, relatively untroubled and we walked out onto the wet sand to cast slices of bread in front of some large gulls standing idly on the sand.
The bread had its desired effect but regrettably there was no sign of any Caspian Gulls in the ensuing melee of screaming squabbling Herring Gulls of various ages, that were seizing the slices of bread. Turnstones came running too, eager to pick at the bread but they had no chance against the large gulls and retreated.
Now feeling somewhat deflated, having gone from the exuberance of immediate success at seeing the Shore Larks and Snow Buntings only to now fail to find the gulls we thought would be easy to see, we retreated from Cromer and headed further west. We were uncertain as to what to do next although our vague plan was to finally finish at the RSPB's reserve at Titchwell, much further west along the coast.
We were approaching Kelling when Hugh suggested that we make a brief stop at Kelling Heath to try and see a Dartford Warbler. I was keen to do this as we would be back in pleasant rural surroundings, undoubtedly in our own company and neither of us had seen a Dartford Warbler this year. We took a side road through golden leafed wooded countryside and came to a small car park with a gate leading on to the gorse covered heathland that is Kelling Heath. We did not even know if Dartford Warblers were here in winter and certainly had no idea where they might be exactly, even if they were, so we selected a likely looking grass ride running between two large areas of gorse. Hugh heard a Dartford Warbler and then located it calling from a small birch tree before it dropped back into the gorse. We never saw it again despite trying for another thirty minutes.
Our next stop was Stiffkey Marsh, where two Cattle Egrets had been present in a marshy field with some cows. It is very difficult and dangerous to park here, as it is such a narrow road and where cars pass at some speed, so we pulled into the only available layby, somewhat prior to the location and took a path alongside the road to walk onwards to view the marsh and field with the cows but we could find nothing apart from a couple of Black tailed Godwits, some Teal and Shelduck. We returned to the car and drove on past the marsh and as we did Hugh spotted the egrets at the far side of the marsh amongst the cows. We stopped and I reversed the car into the entrance to a field, well no one would mind for a few minutes, and we walked over to view the egrets. Again, although I have seen quite a few in Britain it had been some while since I had last seen them, so we scoped the two yellow billed white birds as they followed the cows, seizing prey disturbed by the cow's hoofs in time honoured fashion.
A Black Brant at Cley was our next bird to seek out but before we did we turned off at Salthouse and drove up the road to the end and got a coffee each from the mobile van that has been here for more years than I can remember, and long may it last as the coffee is good and a third the price you are charged by the likes of Starbucks and Costa. Also, it is a great place to drink it, stood quietly in contemplation on the wild coast of north Norfolk surrounded by geese, ducks and seabirds and lest I forget, the much photographed Turnstones that are just as much a feature of here as the tea and coffee van. A little further on we turned off onto another side road leading to the Cley Coastguards car park. The Black Brant, which is from North America, was associating with a large flock of Dark bellied Brent Geese in fields alongside the approach road and we soon found it at one end of the flock looking utterly distinctive amongst its duller companions with its white flanks, almost black back and huge white neck collar. Black Brants are the North American version of our more familiar Dark bellied Brent Geese and from once being a great rarity, scattered birds are now found annually in Britain, usually with flocks of Dark bellied Brent Geese.
The short winter days were now beginning to have their effect and time was not on our side. We had three more hours and then it would be dark, so we made haste for Titchwell where we would end the day. Hugh had a plan to find a Water Pipit there, so we set our minds to achieve this if at all possible. On the way we made a very brief stop by the roadside near Burnham Overy which produced the hoped for covey of Grey Partridge, as well as a flock of Egyptian Geese, and then it was full speed for Titchwell.
Coming towards the end of the day this very popular and well known RSPB reserve was not its usual crowded self, although there were still plenty of birders about. Some Siskins were feeding in the Alders outside the Visitor Centre but apart from this not a lot was happening on the feeders nearby so we made our way out onto the track that runs past a series of three freshmarshes and finally ends after one kilometre at the dunes and beach at the far end of the reserve.
A Marsh Harrier, its wings held slightly upwards, swung about in the sky, high above the reeds. We stopped to check an area of wet mud and shallow flashes of water to our left. Hugh said this was a traditionally good spot to encounter a Water Pipit and then thought he heard one but we could not find anything for at least twenty minutes. On the point of giving up a Water Pipit then just appeared on the closest piece of mud to us. Utterly distinctive with its grey upperparts and dull white underparts and sporting a large white supercilium it paraded for all of twenty seconds before disappearing again. We gave it another half an hour in the company of other interested birders but it never re-appeared and as time was running out we moved on.
I stopped to look at the waders and ducks on the lagoon called Freshwater Marsh. This was the most bird populated of the three freshmarshes. Teal and Ruff were feeding very close to the bank on which the path runs and gave me some excellent photo opportunities. The tiny male Teal are now in their best breeding finery and looking at them I reflected on the sheer beauty of most species of male duck's plumage. Teal are no exception, with their chestnut heads and bottle green eye patches, breast of cream stippled with tiny dark spots and vermiculated flanks, the vermiculations tiny and intricate and so closely aligned they create an impression of unsullied grey. They fed unconcernedly, sifting the shallow mud below the water with dark bills and hiding their gorgeous head colours underwater as they constantly dabbled the shallows.
Titchwell always seems to have a good population of wintering Ruff and this evening was no exception. Many of the Ruff were adult males, now moulted out of their extravagant breeding plumage and looking comparatively dull. The males are larger than the smaller female, which is called a Reeve and seem to be more populous here. In flight Ruffs are supremely elegant, possessing a languid grace that seems beyond the scope of other large waders. On the ground or wading, as they were here in the shallow water, they present a curious appearance. The long legs enable them to at times appear graceful as they strike attitudes but the head always seems too small for their body which itself is often hunched and rounded on the back, making the bird appear neckless and misshapen. Nevertheless it was good to see so many in one place.
Further out on the lagoon, gulls large and small clustered, with Black headed and Herring Gulls predominating but at least one adult Yellow legged Gull was amongst them. Knot, grey now and dull as winter, huddled together and a flock of Black tailed Godwits kept their own company too. Tiny in comparison, individual Dunlin, forever hungry ran amongst the larger birds and clusters of Little Grebes sat on the water. A flock of Dark bellied Brent Geese arrived, settling on the water and maintaining a continuous rippling contralto growl as they communicated with each other.
We walked out to the seashore. The light was darkening noticeably now as we looked out to sea. The beach was, at this late hour, pretty much deserted and the birds had it to themselves. Far out on the horizon were many Common Scoter, betraying their presence as they took brief flights in small groups and were silhouetted against the sky. Nearer to the shore were another two, a male and a female sleeping on the waves. Along the shoreline waders and gulls were gathering in a loose congregation, slowly being moved up the beach by the incoming tide. Bar tailed Godwits and countless Oystercatchers massed together while Turnstones and the occasional Sanderling and Dunlin moved amongst them. Doubtless during the day the beach is much populated by visitors but now with their departure it had reverted to a wild and bleak aspect, accentuated by the mournful cry of a Grey Plover, perhaps the most evocative of all wader calls..
We eventually turned from the sea and retraced our steps along the path by the freshmarshes. A single resplendent drake Northern Pintail had arrived un-noticed on Visitors Marsh and a lone Avocet roosted on a shingle spit with Northern Shovelers and a flock of Dunlin. A single Snow Bunting passed low in flight over us as we looked over to the distant reed bed, the dead reed stems now forming a band of buff brown in the dwindling light, and watched as the Marsh Harriers came in to roost. Arriving singly they circled around and above the reeds, floating effortlessly with only the occasional flap of long fingered wings. We counted twenty two gliding and circling like large spectral moths over the reeds before each bird decided it was their time to put down in the reeds for the night.The adult males stood out in the dusk light as their grey flight feathers showed pale against the dark background of trees beyond the reeds. The overall dark brown plumage of the females and juveniles made them appear and disappear, as if a mirage, against the dark backdrop of trees and marsh. Soon there was just one old male circling and it was not long before he too sank into the reeds.
Freshwater Marsh was becoming ever more busy and populated with birds arriving to spend the night standing in the cold waters or on the wet mud banks. A large flock of Golden Plover had arrived, settling in a long line, body to body and strangely quiet, but the rest of the birds were noisy, calling and restless and still to settle. I looked to the west and the land was dark but the sky burned a narrow defiant strip of red.
Dawn to dusk and our day in Norfolk had come to its satisfying conclusion.
Happisburgh is a small, relatively unspoilt village where, in 2010, flint tools were discovered that dated back 800,000 years making this the oldest evidence of human occupation anywhere in Britain. The location also has the less welcome reputation of being a spectacular example of coastal erosion. The village used to be some way from the sea but continual cliff erosion, now accelerating due to climate change, bringing increased storms and higher sea levels, mean that in the last fifteen years no less than twenty five houses have been lost to coastal erosion, having collapsed into the sea. The process is likely to continue with the acceptance that little can be done to halt the erosion which will lead in the future to further losses of both houses and farmland.
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| Happisburgh's Coastline |
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| The road ends here- reclaimed by the sea |
We arrived at Happisburgh right on time, at seven thirty, just as the sky was turning a delicate shade of peach yellow,gradually becoming flushed with pink as the hidden sun began to rise in the east. We drove down a small lane and turned into a deserted car park near to and below the iconic lighthouse that stands well back from the cliffs on a mound, surrounded by huge farm fields, sown with winter wheat.
After enjoying the warmth and cosiness of the two and half hour drive from Hugh's house it was a shock to step out into the bitter cold of a frosty morning and with a numbing but light northwest wind blowing in from the sea. Despite the cold, which with our warm winter clothing was only a minor inconvenience, the morning promised to be a good one, in fact a beautiful one as the still invisible sun slowly strengthened and shed a delicate and soft golden light across the landscape. We had the place virtually to ourselves with just the occasional dog walker but they soon disappeared so all was well.
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| Happisburgh Cliffs and coastal path |
Snow Buntings and Shore Larks had been reported from here yesterday, hence our interest, but we were unsure as to the precise location. A hundred or so metres along the path we spotted a small group of birds running around on the bare path and there were the Snow Buntings but in the very next second they flew up high and away over the farmland. This was a bit depressing as, yes we had seen the Snow Buntings, but being one of my favourite winter birds and one that I do not see that often I would like to have seen more of them and for longer, and the same went for Hugh. We walked along the path a bit more and then another similar sized flock of birds flew back over the fields. We assumed this must be the Snow Buntings returning but we were totally wrong. They were Shore Larks, fifteen in all and as they passed over us we followed them in our bins to see that they landed in the field fairly close to the path, back near the car park.
Excitedly we returned along the path until we were opposite them.They were running between the furrows of winter wheat, feeding and occasionally stopping to preen feathers being made wet by shoots of wheat, defrosting in air that was now just above freezing. Their fawn brown chunky bodies were well concealed against the brown earthy furrows but their sulphur yellow heads with black bandit like masks made it easy to pick them out as they scuttled along. One particular bird, presumably a male, was very well marked and in Hugh's scope we could watch it raise the black horns on the sides of its yellow head. They are always a delight to see and being both scarce and nomadic at this time of year not always easy to catch up with but here they were right in front of us. In some years they can be very hard to find and on average only seventy four winter in Britain each year although in some years they can be more numerous and others less so.
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| Shore Larks |
We turned to face back east and resume our walk along the cliff path just as the sun rose, deep orange and fiery above the horizon. It was a wonderful scene as the landscape became silhouetted by the sun's rays as the huge flaming orb rose above the sea.
I was convinced the Snow Buntings were still somewhere around and a small group of about half a dozen flew over us as we walked along the path but did not land anywhere we could see. A loud squealing, bickering commotion came distantly from the sky and looking up, what at first appeared like a faint scribble against the blue slowly materialised into the firmer image of lines of geese. Hundreds of them. Pink footed Geese, their classic V shaped formations scrawled across the sky, the individual geese calling excitedly to each other. They passed over us, high up and heading west, no doubt making for a safe feeding place on fields inland. The sight and sound of hundreds, even thousands of wild grey geese such as these, flying in vast winter skies above bare fields and skeletal trees is surely one of the classic sights of winter and why so many people, not just birders, come to Norfolk at this time of year.
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| Pinkfooted Geese |
I looked more closely at one of the banks of pebbles on the shore, near to the sea and there, dotted about on top were the Snow Buntings, twenty one in all. As I watched, one, bolder than the rest flew towards me and settled at the base of the cliff right below. It was soon followed by its companions until the entire flock was feeding below me on the seeds of plantains. I called to Hugh but he had already noticed them and joined me. The buntings fluttered about on the sandy outcrops, the white showing in their wings and tails as they fed and flew from one spot to another close by.
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| Snow Buntings |
We had no idea where the flock had gone and for fifteen, maybe twenty minutes, there was no sign of them but then they returned and settled on the top of the cliff, to feed in the docks and sorrel growing by the side of the coastal path. This was our chance to get close to them and with no one else around we had every chance of doing so successfully. Slowly and carefully we approached and they allowed us to get near and admire them. All appeared to be young males, females and juveniles.There was no sign of any of the much whiter adult males but this did not really matter as Snow Buntings, any Snow Bunting are well worth seeing. They have a benign aspect about them, this impression maybe caused by the gentle expression on their face.There is no fierce supercilium, eye stripe or staring eye but a smooth rounded head with a small yellow bill and liquid dark eye imparting a gentility and appeal that belies the harsh existence they endure in both winter and summer. The low sun shone on them, illuminating their yellow bills and the tawny brown flushes on their white heads and breast, so that they almost glowed.
They shuffled in and out of the vegetation on their short black legs, manipulating seeds in their buttercup yellow bills and following each other, never happy to be isolated from one another for long.
For twenty minutes we admired them and followed them as they slowly fed along the path and then they rose once more as a flock and flew back down to feed at the base of the cliff which is where we finally left them. It was half past eight.
We moved on to nearby Bacton to check the gulls on the beach or standing sentinel on the wooden posts of the breakwaters and sea defences. A juvenile Glaucous Gull had been reported from here yesterday but today there was no sign of it. An adult Herring Gull stood on a post had a yellow ring on its leg with the numbers and letters 6Y5B on the ring. Subsequent enquiries informed me that it had been ringed in Great Yarmouth on 22 November 2015 and had subsequently been reported ten times in the intervening period from nearby Walcott, the last time being 30th October this year. On our way back to the car from the beach, crossing a field adjacent to the large Gas Terminal, a late Swallow flew past.
Steadily working our way west, as planned, we decided to move on to Cromer. On the way the Glaucous Gull came up on my RBA app as having being seen on the beach at Sidestrand, an hour earlier, before flying west. We had just passed Sidestrand and thought there may be a chance of seeing it at Overstrand just a mile or so to the west.
Stopping here, we left the car in a small road by the cliff top and descended down steeply sloping paths to walk along the deserted promenade below the cliffs. Being winter time, the line of pastel coloured beach huts under the cliff were now firmly secured against the elements until next year's holiday season came around, when they would come to life as each tiny hut had its door opened to the sea and its owners would cram into the tiny space within. Snug and secure, they would look at the sea that one distant day would be lapping at their very feet. Nothing is forever, least of all here.
The anti cyclone bringing this fine weather had created a visibility that allowed one to look northwards for miles across the sea, to a horizon where the sun hung low, shining blindingly white. There is a calmness, a sense of abandonment that is not unattractive about such places as Overstrand in winter, as gone are all the visitors and the associated humdrum human clutter of summer. Today there were just a few human figures walking a dog or wandering the strand, their isolation in such an expansive area of sea and sand adding to the sense of space and quiet.
We checked each and every gull on the beach but there was no Glaucous Gull. So the next stop, moving west, was Cromer where for some days past a couple of first winter Caspian Gulls had been hanging around the pier and on the adjacent beach.
I had bought a loaf of sliced white bread at a store in Bacton with the express purpose of enticing the gulls at Cromer and armed with this we descended yet another winding set of steep steps from a busy Cromer Seafront, onto the beach by the pier. The contrast between here and Overstrand could not have been more marked. Many more people were about, mainly attracted to the pier and its various commercial entertainments and cafe. The beach was, however, relatively untroubled and we walked out onto the wet sand to cast slices of bread in front of some large gulls standing idly on the sand.
The bread had its desired effect but regrettably there was no sign of any Caspian Gulls in the ensuing melee of screaming squabbling Herring Gulls of various ages, that were seizing the slices of bread. Turnstones came running too, eager to pick at the bread but they had no chance against the large gulls and retreated.
Now feeling somewhat deflated, having gone from the exuberance of immediate success at seeing the Shore Larks and Snow Buntings only to now fail to find the gulls we thought would be easy to see, we retreated from Cromer and headed further west. We were uncertain as to what to do next although our vague plan was to finally finish at the RSPB's reserve at Titchwell, much further west along the coast.
We were approaching Kelling when Hugh suggested that we make a brief stop at Kelling Heath to try and see a Dartford Warbler. I was keen to do this as we would be back in pleasant rural surroundings, undoubtedly in our own company and neither of us had seen a Dartford Warbler this year. We took a side road through golden leafed wooded countryside and came to a small car park with a gate leading on to the gorse covered heathland that is Kelling Heath. We did not even know if Dartford Warblers were here in winter and certainly had no idea where they might be exactly, even if they were, so we selected a likely looking grass ride running between two large areas of gorse. Hugh heard a Dartford Warbler and then located it calling from a small birch tree before it dropped back into the gorse. We never saw it again despite trying for another thirty minutes.
Our next stop was Stiffkey Marsh, where two Cattle Egrets had been present in a marshy field with some cows. It is very difficult and dangerous to park here, as it is such a narrow road and where cars pass at some speed, so we pulled into the only available layby, somewhat prior to the location and took a path alongside the road to walk onwards to view the marsh and field with the cows but we could find nothing apart from a couple of Black tailed Godwits, some Teal and Shelduck. We returned to the car and drove on past the marsh and as we did Hugh spotted the egrets at the far side of the marsh amongst the cows. We stopped and I reversed the car into the entrance to a field, well no one would mind for a few minutes, and we walked over to view the egrets. Again, although I have seen quite a few in Britain it had been some while since I had last seen them, so we scoped the two yellow billed white birds as they followed the cows, seizing prey disturbed by the cow's hoofs in time honoured fashion.
A Black Brant at Cley was our next bird to seek out but before we did we turned off at Salthouse and drove up the road to the end and got a coffee each from the mobile van that has been here for more years than I can remember, and long may it last as the coffee is good and a third the price you are charged by the likes of Starbucks and Costa. Also, it is a great place to drink it, stood quietly in contemplation on the wild coast of north Norfolk surrounded by geese, ducks and seabirds and lest I forget, the much photographed Turnstones that are just as much a feature of here as the tea and coffee van. A little further on we turned off onto another side road leading to the Cley Coastguards car park. The Black Brant, which is from North America, was associating with a large flock of Dark bellied Brent Geese in fields alongside the approach road and we soon found it at one end of the flock looking utterly distinctive amongst its duller companions with its white flanks, almost black back and huge white neck collar. Black Brants are the North American version of our more familiar Dark bellied Brent Geese and from once being a great rarity, scattered birds are now found annually in Britain, usually with flocks of Dark bellied Brent Geese.
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| Black Brant |
Coming towards the end of the day this very popular and well known RSPB reserve was not its usual crowded self, although there were still plenty of birders about. Some Siskins were feeding in the Alders outside the Visitor Centre but apart from this not a lot was happening on the feeders nearby so we made our way out onto the track that runs past a series of three freshmarshes and finally ends after one kilometre at the dunes and beach at the far end of the reserve.
A Marsh Harrier, its wings held slightly upwards, swung about in the sky, high above the reeds. We stopped to check an area of wet mud and shallow flashes of water to our left. Hugh said this was a traditionally good spot to encounter a Water Pipit and then thought he heard one but we could not find anything for at least twenty minutes. On the point of giving up a Water Pipit then just appeared on the closest piece of mud to us. Utterly distinctive with its grey upperparts and dull white underparts and sporting a large white supercilium it paraded for all of twenty seconds before disappearing again. We gave it another half an hour in the company of other interested birders but it never re-appeared and as time was running out we moved on.
I stopped to look at the waders and ducks on the lagoon called Freshwater Marsh. This was the most bird populated of the three freshmarshes. Teal and Ruff were feeding very close to the bank on which the path runs and gave me some excellent photo opportunities. The tiny male Teal are now in their best breeding finery and looking at them I reflected on the sheer beauty of most species of male duck's plumage. Teal are no exception, with their chestnut heads and bottle green eye patches, breast of cream stippled with tiny dark spots and vermiculated flanks, the vermiculations tiny and intricate and so closely aligned they create an impression of unsullied grey. They fed unconcernedly, sifting the shallow mud below the water with dark bills and hiding their gorgeous head colours underwater as they constantly dabbled the shallows.
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| Male Common Teal |
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| Ruff- adult male in winter plumage |
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| Dark bellied Brent Geese |
We eventually turned from the sea and retraced our steps along the path by the freshmarshes. A single resplendent drake Northern Pintail had arrived un-noticed on Visitors Marsh and a lone Avocet roosted on a shingle spit with Northern Shovelers and a flock of Dunlin. A single Snow Bunting passed low in flight over us as we looked over to the distant reed bed, the dead reed stems now forming a band of buff brown in the dwindling light, and watched as the Marsh Harriers came in to roost. Arriving singly they circled around and above the reeds, floating effortlessly with only the occasional flap of long fingered wings. We counted twenty two gliding and circling like large spectral moths over the reeds before each bird decided it was their time to put down in the reeds for the night.The adult males stood out in the dusk light as their grey flight feathers showed pale against the dark background of trees beyond the reeds. The overall dark brown plumage of the females and juveniles made them appear and disappear, as if a mirage, against the dark backdrop of trees and marsh. Soon there was just one old male circling and it was not long before he too sank into the reeds.
Freshwater Marsh was becoming ever more busy and populated with birds arriving to spend the night standing in the cold waters or on the wet mud banks. A large flock of Golden Plover had arrived, settling in a long line, body to body and strangely quiet, but the rest of the birds were noisy, calling and restless and still to settle. I looked to the west and the land was dark but the sky burned a narrow defiant strip of red.
Dawn to dusk and our day in Norfolk had come to its satisfying conclusion.
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