With the easing of restrictions we were relatively free now to go birding virtually anywhere we chose and Norfolk is always a good bet for birds, although the poor weather has meant that there have been precious few chances to see what we would term 'good' birds.
We were staying at the hostel in Burnham Deepdale, a place we have stayed at before so we knew what to expect which was comfortable and basic self catering accommodation at the eminently reasonable price of £25.00 per person per night. In fact we had a very large room with en suite facilities so could have no complaints. There is a well stocked village store next door where you can buy food and drink. The North Norfolk coast has been gentrified within an inch of its life and the store reflects this by being rather upmarket with prices to match. I'm talking Bollinger Champagne and Quails eggs amongst the other more expected artisan loafs, cheeses, olives and other delicacies.
We arrived at noon and quickly settled in. Then, having triumphantly solved the toilet roll dispenser initiative test in our room, we were all set for an afternoon of birding along the adjacent coast. We chose the nearby RSPB Reserve atTitchwell which was, as it always is, relatively populous, but it was very disappointing as there were very few waders in evidence, in fact very few birds at all. Even the Avocets which are usually abundant were notably scarce.
There had been reports earler in the day of a swift with a white rump being seen from nearby Holme and currently there were a lot of Common Swifts flying low over Titchwell's lagoons and main path, hunting insects in the cold wind.We thoroughly checked the flock for over half an hour but there was no sign of any swift with a white rump. It was no great loss as it was thought the bird involved was an aberrant Common Swift, masquerading as a mega rare White rumped or Pacific Swift.Now wouldn't that get the adrenalin running? However a photo published on the internet showed that the swift in question undoubtedly had a white rump but also white on its undertail coverts as well. So near but so far, and content we had not missed a mega rarity we left the swifts to their endless hawking of insects and walked out to the beach.
On the way I found a pair of Little Terns on the last lagoon before the dunes.The female had stationed herself on a distant mud bank and remained rooted to the spot while her mate busied himself hovering above the lagoon, close to the path and every so often dropped like a stone to seize a small fish which he took back to his mate, who noisily and greedily accepted it while her mate returned to find yet another fish to keep her happy.
I presume this was a form of bonding prior to nesting but could not help but reflect on how the male tern seemed to have got the short straw in all of this, having to constantly feed his very demanding mate.
The male, when seen close, was a smart and charismatic little bird with a tern's typical bouyant, energetic flight and blessed, courtesy of long pointed wings with a touch of elegance. Slim and angular are the adjectives that spring to mind when regarding this bird, neatly patterned in maritime shades of white and grey with a large head, capped with black apart from a white forehead and a long yellow dagger of a bill tipped with black. An attractive combination of colours, the female looking virtually identical to her forever active and solicitous mate.
We moved onwards to the beach. The wide expanse of sand and sea never fails to entrance me.Here the soul can lose itself in the sound of surf and the cries of seabirds. The stretch of sand is so wide and extensive it is impossible not to feel a benign isolation and oneness with the elements. The sea and its distant horizons always do this to me, bringing the hope and expectation that there must be something better beyond.
Reigning in my fantasies I scanned the shoreline for any wading birds. The tide was slowly coming in, gentle waves describing lazy curves on the sand's contours but vast areas of sandy beach were still to be covered and right out at the confluence of sand and sea small shapes, about a dozen, were running back and fore.They were Sanderling, bound for the Arctic Circle to breed but for now stopping to refuel before making another prodigious long flight northwest.
A Sanderling's life is one of virtually constant motion, running, picking at and probing the wet sand, stopping to double back and examine something and then speeding up to catch their fellow Sanderlings feeding twixt sand and sea. They live constantly in the open. Night and day. No hiding place but in perfect harmony with such an existence. Following the retreating wave lines, they run out in the shallow water as the sand is exposed then return shorewards in the vanguard of another incoming wave rippling across the sand.They are the natural harvesters of the countless tiny morsels being borne in on the seawater.
If they stop it is only for a moment in time, a brief sleep maybe, with one eye closed, one eye open, for this is how they rest, half the brain shut down at a time.They twist their body so the open eye scans all around whilst with bill snuggled into fluffed back feathers they embrace a brief moment of comfort and stillness.
I walked out on the sand to get closer to them and as is often the case they showed very little concern at my presence. If you get too close for comfort you soon know as they run away parallel with the sea at an incredible speed on blurring black legs, like some clockwork toy that has been wound up, released and abandoned to run its random course. Flight comes as only a very last resort.
I watched them countless times. fussily squiring the lapping sea as each ripple moved in, all the while probing the soft sand for food. I reflected on how different it was for them here to the Sanderling I see at my local reservoir, where they have to pick morsels from the unforgiving concrete.Here in a more natural environment their black stub of a bill has free access to probe the soft sand and seawater.
There is a wildness here, out on the sand, that can catch one unawares. Space enough to forget any fellow humans on the beach as it is never crowded, all of us give each other a wide margin as if aware that we cherish this connection with wildness and semi solitude in a crowded world.
Reluctantly I turned my back on the shore and headed back into the reserve
Time was pressing and we were going for an early evening meal at the Jolly Sailors and then back to our room with a couple of beers to share. Even now the covid pandemic weaves its malignant influence into our lives as we forewent the opportunity to sit in the hostel's lounge. Safer on our own. This accursed virus has so affected human behaviour. Like a spectre it forever haunts one's thoughts and actions.
to be continued
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