Cooling Marshes, Kent, 7th December 2014

Tuesday 10 September 2013

St Mary's Bay


The estuary, looking north towards St Mary's Bay from the top of Decoy Hill, Hoo, Kent

Having worked to some extent over each of the last four weekends, watching in frustration as bushes everywhere seemingly groaned under the weight of scarce migrants, Sunday was a day off that I gladly wrestled free of my diary. As the early weekend showers parted and left a fresh, bright autumn morning, I made an early start and temporarily ditched my plans to head out to east Kent in favour of somewhere closer to home.  

The walk out to St Mary's Bay from High Halstow is one of my favourites. Walking down from the farm at the top of Clinch Street, the view is underrated - looking north the estuary spills into the low ground between Kent and Essex and large, irregular arable fields amble downhill to be met by livestock grazing the marshes below the sea wall. A short way along I stopped and took a detour by the Hill, scattering numerous warblers as I pushed through the dense banks of hawthorn. Common whitethroats and Blackcaps tutted their frustration at being disturbed from their foraging as tits pinged here and there. A male Sparrowhawk sunned itself on a discreet perch before spotting me and bolting off with a loud, repetitive cry. Further down the lane a Willow warbler whistled and swallows buzzed by continuously, a Green woodpecker hugged a telegraph pole.

I took my time along the track at Swigshole to Egypt Bay, checking the bushes on the way. A young Reed warbler that hopped from cover momentarily was probably a local bird. Several Yellow wagtails flew over, their little sneezing calls giving them away. Scanning the fields to the east over Decoy Fleet, bought a large harrier that momentarily confused me as it soared to a great height, but there was no mistaking the male Marsh Harrier as he descended over his kingdom. As I reached the top of the wall overlooking Egpyt Bay, five Red-legged partridges flushed from the beach and thudded past me. The tide at Egypt Bay was lower than I've ever seen it and I fancied I could even wade across to Canvey at a push. But out on the distant tide line, amongst the vast tracts of rich, exposed mud, shapes flicked about and calls passed me on the breeze. Curlews were notable in number, pushing forty easy, it was good to see these birds back for winter.


Heron Meat: St Mary's marsh, south from the sea wall
The London Gateway container port from Egypt Bay, dominating the river.

I love the vantage point that following the seawall from Egypt Bay to St Mary's Bay brings; the river on one side, the marshes on the other. I always remember the misty morning two winters ago that Simon and I found a pair of Shore Lark here. This morning, from the same spot, a Wheatear pops up on the rocks and proceeds to leapfrog down the track ahead of me. In the field, I picked out a Hobby perched conspicuously in the short grass and two kestrels squabbling with each other in the distance. Save for a small group of Black-tailed godwits and some listless Black-headed gulls, St Mary's is empty, so I sat a bit, messing about with some digiscope shots of a Wheatear - probably the same one, as it darted among the debris of the high tide line in the bay.

I continued looking for chats along the access track that runs back south from St Mary's but it was rather quiet until I spotted a small, dark raptor zipping low over the fields to the left. I watched it alight on a distant fence post and, through the scope, discounted hobby and kestrel before clinching a female Merlin in the scope. Great stuff. Moments later I was buzzing again as I caught a brief chat-shaped bird shooting across the field. Scanning the fence posts in the direction of flight I quickly landed on four spanking Whinchats, jostling together on a strand of barbed wire. All lined up like that, the views were great.

Heading back up the lane to complete the circuit, my progress was followed by noisy squadrons of rooks overhead. There were a thousand and more, shifting this way and that; and it occurred to me that perhaps this more than anything else that morning, reminded me that autumn is here again.

Wheatear (Oenanthe oenanthe), St Mary's Bay
Rooks in flight over St Mary's marsh

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