The light returning

Estuary sunset. Looking across Cliffe creek to Gravesend and Tilbury.

Out on the marshes the light lasts longer; it travels for miles, through reeds and scrub, across rank fields dotted with grazing livestock, it blazes across the pools, pink, blue and purple.

I made a late visit to Cliffe yesterday, arriving with the mixed throngs of wigeon and lapwing already uttering their restless pre-roost assurances from the causways snaking across the site. From their midst, the barks of noisy greylag geese drifted across the water. The pools were flat calm, so much that a little grebe diving under the surface fifty metres away was more of an event than usual. Not much stirred but I was able to pick out the wintering male scaup among some tufted ducks on radar pool. 

In the peachy dusk cast over Flamingo pool, coots made for their corners and a distant harrier stirred up all manner of squeals as it passed. A pair of goldeneye drifted close by, the resplendent male head bobbing as it went. Wild swans have been scarce in the area this winter so I was pleased to catch up with a party of seven bewick's swans, one of my favourite seasonal migrants, roosting on the beach. Paddling serenely or half-asleep, it's a wonder to think of all the land that will be passing beneath their powerful wings on the journey they'll soon be taking back to Siberia.

From the sea wall I watched the sun's fiery slick across the water meander to nothing as it dropped into some untraceable suburban shadows beyond Gravesend. In its absence, under the clear evening sky, misty patches appeared along the edges of the track like snagged wool on a wire fence. The mist clung low to the damp fields but I could still make out the shapes of harriers drifting in, gliding silently over the reeds, ever lower until they too were gone.

From the track, teal and mallards called in the dim light but above it all rose the formidable shrieks of a song thrush deep within its guarded hawthorn thicket. Although not quite at its peak, a little rusty perhaps, there was no mistaking its sure understanding that the light will soon be returning.  

male Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula), Cliffe Pools, 15/2/15 

Bewick's Swan (Cygnus columbianus bewickii), Cliffe Pools, 15/2/15

A short walk

I took a short walk today. A lap of Cliffe, then home for the rugby, that was the plan.

The trouble is it was just one of those autumn days you never want to end. It was both crisp and mild, with barely more than jet trails to spoil the blue sky. It sucked me in hopelessly 'til I lost track of time. It was gone dusk when I got back home.

Cliffe was heaving with birds. On Radar I found my first Goldeneyes of the winter, a handful of handsome males with a couple of females. Wigeon, shoveler, teal and grebes were all present in high numbers. Checking the causeways with the recent Glossy Ibis in mind turned up a Greenshank in with the reds. Along the Saxon Shore Way, a Brambling flew over and a male Blackcap caught the morning sun perched among some rosehips. As I was walking along to Flamingo I spotted a couple of swans out on the pool that I'd seen sleeping way back from Radar. Closer in I could see they were awake now and sporting nice 'stiff' necks with yellow around their bills. Finding a better view of the birds, I could see the small extent of yellow did not reach the nostrils which confirmed I had a cracking pair of Bewick's Swans. It was an unexpected treat and a new site tick for me.

Bewick's Swans (Cygnus columbianus), Cliffe Pools, 16/11/13

The shifting shapes of thousands of waders

Coots (Fulica atra): always overlooked, never outnumbered

From being pretty quiet a couple of weeks ago, Flamingo pool was full to the brim this morning. Not only has the current dredging campaign pushed water levels right up, seemingly attracting more wildfowl in the process but it has increased the bank of mud on the far side. I only needed one look at the thousands of Dunlin spiralling and twisting over the pools to see it was high tide on the river. The birds put on a stunning show and I spent quite a bit of time just watching them jostle about on the mud before taking off again. Their restlessness seemed to distract the Bewick's who pitched up and flew off high to the east. Everything was restless it seemed, fleeting appearances from a young Marsh Harrier hardly helped but a Peregrine coursing the skies was the more likely culprit.

I'm not sure why I decided to follow the seawall out to the 'coffins', but I'm glad I did. Some way along, past Lower Hope Point, a single Snow Bunting popped up without calling and landed no more than ten metres from me. It even had the decency to allow me to take some crap photos before darting off.  

Snow Bunting (Plectrophenax nivalis), adult male on rocks at Lower Hope Point, Hoo Pen.

The changing horizon at Cliffe Pools

One of the dredging tugs on the river at Cliffe, not sinking apparently.

I love this stretch of the river but it struck me how quickly its landscape is changing. As I walked another few miles east without seeing another person, the only sound I heard the whole time, aside from the calls of birds, was a distant, endless clanging and whirring from the vast Thames Gateway port on the other side of the river. I ended up missing the Richard's Pipit at Egypt Bay (a great find by Paul Hawkins - here) although I gave it a quick go. A noisy Water Rail, a Bearded Tit and two Green Sandpipers were present but the light was disappearing rapidly as it does these afternoons and I didn't fancy walking those miles back in the dark. So I re-traced my steps along the wall as the light went from orange to pink, ending with a greyness that smudged the marshes and the velvety ooze of the river.

Some way along a small flock of Redwing flew over tseep-ing in the dusk and a bolting Pheasant nearly gave me a heart attack. But a great day out was sealed by a small raptor coming off the sea wall ahead, although only a silhouette, its size suggested a Merlin that was heading back to roost.