On the margins of Land and Sea

It was a wonderful weekend just gone, one spent on sparse, sloshing fields stripped of seed, flower or scent, but still full of promise as the seasons reach their ebb.

On Saturday, with a bright winter sky rising, I set off early for East Sheppey, one of my favourite destinations at this time of year. I pondered my plan for the day en route before settling on the usual walk. I crawled along the Harty Ferry Road where the fields were subdued under a heavy frost and little stirred besides a breakfasting kestrel. Past Capel Fleet, house sparrows picked at gutter grit and disappeared into the hedgerows as I passed. Abandoning machine for mind, I soon set out down the track towards Sayes Court looking forward to the day ahead. The copses and hedgerows sparked into life with winter thrushes, woodpecker and finch. Down towards the marsh a hundred and more linnet clung to weedy stems of maize while the first of a dozen stonechats performed nimble aerial feats in a survey of their surroundings.

On the old, grassy seawall I stood somewhere on the margin of land and sea, but safely separated from the realm of water on either side. Small flocks of brent geese flew in off the Swale to join an impressive thousand-strong flock snaking across a distant field like an exposed coal seam. In the small hide I was joined by another birder and between us we traded a Hooded Crow on the marsh for a ring-tail Hen Harrier patrolling a strip of setaside. I quietly admired the handful of White-fronted geese, their tiger-striped flanks, which kept company with the greylags.

Swale NNR, Sheppey; looking west to Shellness

Hooded Crow (Corvus cornix)

Redshank (Tringa totanus), Shellness point

The tide was up at Shellness point where a large mixed flock of waders were packed into the roost, all legs and huddled grey bodies.

At Muswell Manor I walked the track back to Harty as shadows grew ever longer; although not much past lunchtime, the sun's plight was already perceptible. On a fence post a Peregrine flexed its wing before taking off on a lazy swoop at some woodpigeons. Watching its flight I caught sight of another and between the two of them a perfect chaos ensured in the blue skies. Back at the top, sparrows still squabbled in the dirt as I made my way to Capel Fleet. In keeping with the day, the mound was almost deserted. A ringtail Hen Harrier soon appeared quartering a ditch at some distance, before a male ghosted across its path. Ghosted is the word. For in the impeccable winter's light softly falling behind me, teasing each detail, he glowed - all save those inky black wingtips.

Dusk bought the cold back and fingerless glove regret but it was tempered by a fiery evening sky. A woodcock fluttered over and starlings whistled restlessly in the reeds before, in the dim light, two short-eared owls could be seen making silent swoops over the grassland. I squinted after them until even that became too much, the fields merging into one against a blazing sunset.

Hen Harrier by ATM, Shellness

Sunset over Capel Fleet

(Title by JS - thanks, I always liked it)

Bang

Source: http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Circus_cyaneus_female_Seewinkel.jpg

There's not much I can add to what's been said already, other than how appalled I was to read earlier this week about the killing of another Hen Harrier on a UK grouse moor - a cowardly act driven by the greed and stubbornness of a small group of people pandering to the demands of a lucrative hobby (it's no wonder we're the destination of choice for Maltese hunters abroad). But this bird was perhaps not your average Hen Harrier, this bird was known as 'Bowland Betty' - a bird carrying a satellite transmitter as part of a Natural England project. She was in her second year and yet to breed when the tag failed in June this year. A few days later she was found, shot down with a fatal wound to her leg. Interestingly, this news was only just released because, for the first time, high-level tests were successfully completed to determine the details of her death. The story was covered brilliantly on various sites including here and here and perhaps most pertinently, here.

As has been said, I guess it's true that the death of one bird will ultimately count for little, it's fate no worse than any of the countless other raptors illegally killed in the UK each year. But with hen harriers in the final, tragic throes of extinction as a breeding species in England, acts like this are critical. Perhaps we should focus again on that e-word, Extinction, because it seems to have lost it's power to shock and shame mankind. It has flickered briefly in the conscience of the government, who identified hen harriers as one of six priority species in England. Their 2011 'Biodiversity 2020' strategy maintained too that "By 2020, we will see an overall improvement in the status of our wildlife and will have prevented further human-induced extinctions of known threatened species". Yet just a year on, it's clear where we stand again: no urgency, no leadership, no action. Natural England claim they are "deeply concerned" by this event, perhaps they'd like to start demonstrating it. We know a lot about hen harriers and their ecology, we know about diversionary feeding on grouse moors for example...we know the consequences of a failure to act. So how come we find ourselves here?

The RSPB is trying to raise £600,000 by 20th December in order to fund investigations into wildlife crime, including helping to safeguard hen harriers from persecution and supporting efforts to ensure that birds of prey are adequately protected. Good on them - with the season of goodwill upon us, I think this is a gift that could really make a difference.