Sunday 30 July 2017

Climate Change Winners

It’s difficult to say exactly how many pairs of Dartford warblers breed on the peninsula - before last winter’s cold weather it could have been up to 20. There are probably fewer pairs this year, but the good spring weather this year may have ensured that these have done well. They breed mostly in the extensive gorse on the cliffs along the south coast, but are slowly taking to the commons. The gorse has to be just the right age to attract them, and about four to five feet high seems to be best. It takes time to find them, and I sit for quite a while before there are any signs. I usually hear them first. They sound a bit scratchy, rather like whitethroats, but the call is distinct. Seeing them is not so easy, but there’s a family party in the gorse below me, and I get reasonable views as they skulk and flit quickly through the vegetation. They often associate with stonechats, which is sometimes a good way of finding them, but unlike stonechats they rarely perch on the tops of gorse, and getting a good view is always a bit of a lottery.

Typically a bird of warmer parts of Western Europe, the Dartford warbler is one of the winners of climate change. In the 1960s they were restricted to very small populations on the south coast of England, and severe winters reduced the number of pairs in 1963 to just 11. Since then they’ve spread throughout southern England, and are now well established on the south coast of Wales, with the British population now estimated to be in the thousands.


Saturday 29 July 2017

Do-gooders

Most of us have a local patch near home where we walk and know well. Our green is a well-manicured area where children play, and all ages play football in winter and cricket in summer. Just a short distance across the road from the green is ‘my patch’. Like the green itself, it's common land, but this area has been mostly left to its own devices for generations, and is now fast reverting to woodland.

Until about a decade ago there were areas of scrub and open grassland here containing lovely wildlife features. Gorse and wildflowers attracted birds, butterflies, lots of bees, and a few small trees added to the variety of wildlife in our village. A couple of local community council do-gooders thought differently, and decided it would be a good idea to create more baron green open spaces. They removed the scrub, mowed the ground incessantly, and canalised the little stream to drain the land. It was of course a thankless task, and in the end they gave up. Nature abhors a vacuum, and in no time at all the wildflowers and scrub returned, the drainage tiles they used were crushed and blocked, and we have the birds and bees back again.

Walking through my patch this evening I’m struck by the size and density of the trees. Nature is taking its course quickly, and already this part of the common resembles mature woodland. Massive sycamores reach skywards, and there are oaks, horse chestnuts and willows getting ever taller by the year. The damp understory is lush with bramble and bracken, and buzzes with hoverflies. There are a few white butterflies too, and a late breeding blackbird comes close with a beak full of food for young I can hear in the undergrowth. The beautiful soft dappled light catches just the tops of willow herbs and foxgloves, playing tricks on the eye. It was not like this a decade ago, and I know my patch will be mostly mature woodland before very long.


Thursday 27 July 2017

Never Completely Green

A singing yellowhammer makes me stop the car in a lay-by above the village of Ilston. The lovely song sends a chill down my spine, it’s part of my soul, and their demise saddens me beyond words.  July is the best month for them, and there are still a few left breeding on Gower cliffs and commons.

It’s been hot of late, and already some grasses are turning brown. Gower commons are never completely green. By mid-July, grasses and bracken are greening, but as the weather warms, carpets of browning grass seeds appear, mixing with swaths of dancing cotton; it’s as though high summer is never able to get a grip on the land. Cattle sit chewing cud, some in the centre of the road, and all ignoring the traffic slowing down to a crawl. Ponies too gather by the roadside, but there are no sheep, they’ve probably been transported to far away pastures for the summer, or perhaps they’re in nearby fields hidden by high verdant hedges.


I look for butterflies and find only meadow browns. I’d earlier walked through the wood from Ilston Church to Parkmill, and  here too butterflies were rare, with just a couple of speckled woods in a sunny glade, and some meadow browns in the churchyard. It will take more than a spell of hot weather to redress the balance.

Tuesday 25 July 2017

No Heart

The old village of Penrice is set high above Oxwich Marsh and commands a magnificent view over the bay. The six cottages clustered around the stocky limestone Norman church of St Andrew, with its wonderful medieval grotesques, are in immaculate condition. The Penrice Estate gradually bought them back after hard times, and they’re now used as holiday lets throughout the year. There are no permanent residents around the green now, and the heart has gone from the village, some say there is no village. Up to a generation ago, Penrice was typical of many old Gower villages with its own post office, now Bay View Cottage, and shop, now Rose Cottage. The old flat red George V post box is still in use in the wall of Bay View Cottage, but is probably used only for the occasional holiday postcard.

We often come here for a picnic on the bench in front of the church to enjoy the peace, the view of the distant sea, and the wildlife. Swallows feed young from a second brood in a nest in the front porch of Sea View Cottage, dropping faecal sacs as they leave. Great-spotted woodpeckers are busy behind the enormous yew tree in the churchyard. A very pale looking robin, starting its annual moult, bobs about the hedgerow, and a beautiful pair of bullfinches allow me a good five minutes viewing as they preen amongst the fuchsias around the arbour in the garden of Bay Cottage.


Best of all though is the peace of this place. The few people that walk through the timeless village are looking for the same thing as us, but the bench in front of the church is ours for the moment, and they walk on.

Sunday 23 July 2017

Waking Up

From the beach at Oxwich, the contours of Cefn Bryn are lost in early morning mist. There are few holidaymakers about at this time of morning, and just a couple of dog walkers far away at Nicholaston Pill spoil the view of the pristine beach. The only sound is from the gentle lapping of waves and a skylark above the dunes. I’m virtually alone again in this magical place.

I need to look carefully beyond the pill for the famous cliffs at Three Cliffs Bay. The Bay is used in many tourism brochures for Wales and Gower, with photographs usually taken from the main road, from high up on the bryn, or if you are prepared to get your feet wet, from the sea. I can hardly make out the cliffs in the mist, but even on a clear day, the celebrated view looks insignificant from this angle.

It takes about fifteen minutes to reach the pill. A few non-breeding gulls loaf about in the brackish water fanning out over the sand, and the usual pied wagtails dart about catching flies on the sand; otherwise little else moves.

It’s not yet 6am, but out to sea, boats, probably from the marina in Swansea, head west for a days sailing. Some may anchor at the western end of Oxwich Bay and spend the day here, others will venture further afield to Port Eynon and beyond. But it’s too early in the day for the sea bikes to be about. These raucous machines have become popular in recent years, causing noise pollution and disturbance in what should be a peaceful place.

Just a few yards from the pill and I’m in the sand dunes; waking up after a clear still night they’re utterly peaceful. The sweet early morning dew is intoxicating, soaking my boots as I walk gingerly along the path trying not to step on the myriad of delicate grasses. Some bumblebees are out early, and the warming rays of the sun allow a common blue butterfly to take to the wing. It’s best to just sit, look out over the old salt marsh and Nicholaton Wood beyond, and watch the world wake up.


Saturday 22 July 2017

Lots of Summer Left

We get wind here, lots of it, but during the summer, mostly just sea breezes. Even when it’s perfectly still inland, there’s usually a breeze on the cliffs, but evening frequently brings with it calm and peace. There’s a slight chill to tonight’s breeze, and from on my perch high above the sea, there are signs of high summer waning, and the new season creeping in. The purples of heather are beginning to emerge and mix with remnants of yellow on the low-lying gorse, forming a glorious natural carpet typical of some parts of the Gower cliffs in autumn. Elsewhere swaths of mature bracken hide the seeds of nettles and docks, and open patches of tall grasses sway fawn-coloured in the wind. Teasels are mostly left with only purple tips, but great and rosebay willowherb are still in full flower. Blackberries have both flowers and red berries, and the one black berry I taste is still hard and very sour. Buddleia is in full flower in the gardens along East Cliff, but not much-visited by butterflies again this year. There are a few newly hatched red admirals being blown about in the wind, but on this summer evening, there are no other butterflies to be seen.

Stonechats, now independent of their parents, are beginning to lose their spotted plumage and show signs of rusty breasts. It’s the time of year when small birds are difficult to see in the dense vegetation, and even though there are lots of juveniles about, most stay hidden. Many adults have started their annual moult and will stay under cover avoiding predators.

Above Bacon Hole a pair of choughs feeds a noisy full-grown chick, and below, fulmars still wheel about above the sea. There are early signs of autumn, but there’s still a lot of summer left.


Thursday 20 July 2017

King of the Feeders

A couple of nuthatches returned to the garden this morning. Creeping up and down the branches and trunk of the willow tree, they found the peanut feeders in no time at all. They rarely come during spring and early summer, spending this time breeding in the nearby woods. It’s always a welcome sight when they reappear, and they’ll probably visit us each day now until late next winter.

It’s interesting to see their interaction with the other birds at the feeders. Great-spotted woodpeckers are kings, using their sword-like bills to repel all others at the peanuts. However apart from loosing out to the odd grey squirrel, jackdaws and jays, nuthatches do pretty well. Like the woodpeckers they use their dagger-like bills to easily deter any small bird that dare to approach. Larger birds aside, only blue tits seem to have the guts to land on the feeders when the nuthatches are around, but they’re immediately seen off. Other tit species also don’t stand a chance, and greenfinches, chaffinches and house sparrows lack the courage to even attempt a landing, preferring to hang about on the ground below with the robins and dunnocks, picking up the bits hacked out by the energetic nuthatches.


Tuesday 18 July 2017

Broad Pool

Apart from those at Oxwich, there are few lakes of any size on Gower.  History tells us that Broad Pool dates back to at least the 17th century. In mid-summer fringed water lilies cover almost all of the surface, their shimmering yellow flowers, standing proud above the water, look quite wonderful. The lilies eventually cause siltation, and the pond needed rescuing in the 1970s. Owned by the Wildlife Trust, Broad Pool is a haven for dragonflies, and on a bright July day is alive with them.

Although the pool lies in moorland bog, in July the path around is mostly dry, and it’s an easy walk. I find broad-bodied chasers, common hawkers, common and black darters, common, blue and azure damselflies, and there are probably others, but it’s the number of individuals that impress.

Away from the main pool there are five smaller ones, and all have dragonflies and damselflies, and in the adjacent bog, heather, purple moor grass, bog myrtle, rushes and much more. The whole area is alive with aquatic plants, insects and singing skylarks - it’s pure joy.

Sunday 16 July 2017

Ragged Robin

There are always those who criticise. Many years ago, when I was privileged to be Chairman of the then Glamorgan Wildlife Trust, I pushed for the acquisition of Prior’s Wood and Meadow. We were offered half the wood, and the meadow, and this is what we bought. I was not so much bothered about the wood, but really had my eye on the meadow. Since the 1930s, the UK has lost 97% of its wildflower meadows, mostly to intensive agriculture, and we have not escaped this decimation on Gower, but Prior’s Meadow remains intact. The labour intensive issue of managing the meadow was an issue at the time of purchase, but over the years volunteers have helped the Trust to take off the hay at the right time, thus ensuring its survival.

In high summer, I visit the meadow again. Access is at the end of a path bordering Fairwood Common in the village of Three Crosses, and I must walk through the wet woodland to get there.  It’s damp where the meadow meets the wood, and it was the ragged robin growing on these lower slopes that first caught my eye on a sunny June morning all those years ago. The ragged robin is still here, although many are fading now at the end of their flowering season. There are just a few other places on Gower that I’m confident of finding this signature species.  Other botanical treasures grow here; black knapweed, devil’s-bit scabious, yellow rattle and much more, and there are more than a hundred kinds of vascular plants growing in the meadow.


As I leave, I think of the project to create 60 ‘Coronation Meadows’ throughout the UK which celebrated the 60th anniversary of the Queen’s coronation. There’s a seed bank here that could be used to create another Prior’s Meadow somewhere else on Gower, and thankful that I persuaded the doubters who argued that the effort involved in taking off the hay from the meadow once a year was not worth it.

Saturday 15 July 2017

Counting Individual Butterflies

In 1977, Mary Gillham wrote in her book ‘The Natural History of Gower’ that “Cliffs as flowery as those of Gower cannot fail to be alive with butterflies in suitable weather”.  She did not predict the dramatic consequences intensive farming, and the use of more lethal pesticides would have on British wildlife.  Butterflies have suffered badly, and Gower has followed the national trend.

Even though it’s an in-between time for some species of butterflies, July should be one of the best months, but there are very few about again this year. Meadow browns and small heaths are normally all over the cliffs by now, and I’ve seen only a handful of each so far this summer. I need to search for the few common blues and brown argus that seek the more sheltered spots in Overton Mere. Both peak during July, but I find only a couple of each on the western side of the little bay. The land directly above the beach, which was once used to grow potatoes, turns out to be a little more productive. There are no small or large whites, both are between broods, but painted ladies, a small tortoiseshell, some skippers, and a fading red admiral all keep low to the ground. But it’s the small numbers that underwhelms me, and again I find myself counting the number of individual butterflies, rather than species.

There is hope. As a result of public pressure, Governments in all four UK countries are now aware of the new family of neonicitinoid pesticides, and the EU has voted for a temporary ban on their use. The half-life of some of these pesticides is measured in many years, and stopping their use might eventually help butterfly numbers to increase. We must see if our government complies with the EU directive, but even then, it may be a long time before we see any marked recovery.


Thursday 13 July 2017

A Two-handed Affair

I’m seeing many more mistle than song thrushes at the moment. It’s too early to say if song thrushes have had another poor year, but maybe there are more this year, and they could have done better this season. There are usually mistle thrushes on our local golf course in July, and a flock of 11, their white under-wings flashing as they fly, move short distances away from me when I get too near. In the last few weeks I’ve seen them regularly in smaller groups of 4 or 5, but these were probably family parties. Today’s flock is the first big one I’ve seen this summer, and hints of autumn and beyond, when flocks of 10 or more are fairly common. Mistle thrushes nest early, and at this time of year it’s difficult to tell which birds in a flock are adults or juveniles. In my ringing days catching one was always an event, but it was a two handed affair; song thrushes and blackbirds could comfortably be held in the one-handed ‘ringers grip’, but a mistle thrush always needed two.

Mistle thrushes have ceased singing many weeks ago, and just a few blackbirds and song thrushes still ring out in early morning, though not very convincingly, and only then for short periods. Maybe a few pairs are trying to bring off late broods, but the breeding season is just about over this year for all our thrushes. The pair of blackbirds feeding fledged young from a second brood in our garden will probably be the last signs of breeding I see this year.



Tuesday 11 July 2017

Wildflower Meadow Museums

My friends Rosemary and Palle are wildlife conservationists - real ones. Great activists in the worldwide campaign to ban the use of neonicotinoid pesticides in agriculture, they created their own nature reserve dedicated to wildflowers, bees and other wildlife.

They own the field beyond the bottom of their garden, and it took more than three years to convert it into a wildflower meadow, which after five years, was quite wonderful. Knee deep in all kinds of flowers and grasses, I felt that I was back in childhood. The sound of buzzing insects, butterflies flitting to and fro, and even a tiny, perfectly camouflaged bush cricket would crawl out from underneath a green leaf. Grasshopper calls, reminded me of childhood days walking through meadows scattering insects at every step. There was colour, visual diversity, and variety that only nature can provide, and at every turn something of interest. The wild flower species were too numerous to list, but the overall abundance and mix of plants was what impressed most. Tracks through the meadow suggested badgers and foxes visited during the night. Lifting a sheet of plywood by the path would often send a bank vole scooting for cover in the undergrowth, and there were slowworms here too.

Alas all this is history. Maybe the pesticide-poisoned ground could not support this amount of wildlife, or perhaps the effect of glyphosate, which now contaminates our planet was the real cause, but the meadow is now a shadow of its former self.

Although all is not yet lost in our countryside we are now falling over the cliff. Time is fast running out if we are to turn things around for our grandchildren. What a tragedy if the few fields like Rosemary and Palle’s that remain are treated as museums when our grandchildren grow up.


Sunday 9 July 2017

Marbled Whites

Like most other places in the British Isles, butterflies are much harder to find on Gower than a generation ago. I set out down Frog Lane in Llanmadoc hoping to find marbled whites.  At the bottom of the path, an old plaque marks part of the Wildlife Trust’s reserve at Cwm Ivy Woods and it’s a place that seems always to attract butterflies. It’s warm and I’m out of the wind and all I need do is sit and watch. Meadow brown is the most common butterfly on Gower, and they’re all around me, and speckled woods too are common, drifting in and out of the woodland behind. A few whites, some too quick to identify, come in and out of the little hollow, but the best are the common blues, which come close, searching for food in the patches of bird’s foot trefoil around my feet.

The hardened footpath attracts tortoiseshell butterflies soaking up the sun; so common when I was young, they’re much more difficult to find now.  In the lea of the wind on the sea wall, there are more whites and a single ringlet, which always seem to prefer damp unimproved spots. There are probably more, but I walk on towards the dunes at the other end of the sea wall, where I’m confident of finding my quarry.

I’ve found marbled whites at this spot each year for as long as I’ve lived here, and the population around this conifer plantation, and in the nearby dunes is the largest on Gower. There are other spots such as Oxwich Marsh where I can be confident of seeing them, but Whiteford is the by far the best place. So striking in dappled white and shades of grey, they’re by far the commonest of the many butterflies here. I sit and marvel, trying to recall a world before modern farming and pesticides decimated the country’s butterflies.


Saturday 8 July 2017

Safe Lookout

From my usual lookout on the top of the cliffs I can sometimes see a few harbour porpoises at this time of year. The telltale sign of large numbers of gulls feeding offshore will often announce their presence. This evening I catch sight of four just a few hundred yards offshore. It’s always difficult to be certain how many there are, they seldom breach and most of the time all I see are small triangular dorsal fins as they break the surface of the sea. They’ve become much more common in these waters in recent years; maybe more people are watching, but it’s more likely another indication of climate change, and we see them more frequently in winter now. There are other cetaceans out there too; common, bottlenose and Risso’s dolphins, and even minke whales, but I’ve never seen them.

It’s a good evening for Manx shearwaters, and groups of ten or twenty at a time move steadily west towards the Pembrokeshire islands. Manx shearwater might seem an odd choice for may favourite bird; it’s not colourful, and only coming ashore at night makes it difficult to see well. It’s the romance, its lifestyle, and association with islands that attracts me to this bird. Also the wonderful books of Ronald Lockley made a huge impression on me when I was first discovering the islands off the west coast of Wales. A night on Skomer in midsummer, with the calls of thousands of shearwaters flying around, ranks as one of the world’s greatest wildlife experiences. 

There are good numbers of gannets as well this evening. They come up the Bristol Channel from Grassholm Island about 70 miles to the west. We don’t get many, but they’re here each evening now, and watching them dive as I sit perched on my safe lookout transports me my beloved islands to the west.





            

Friday 7 July 2017

Aerial Torpedoes

A pair of magpies lands on the roof of a house a little way down the road. Immediately below them, a newly started house martin’s nest is under construction at the apex of the eaves. Within seconds the air is full of martins dive-bombing the magpies, which in reality have absolutely no chance of reaching the nest, even if it held young. Although there are only a couple of pairs of martins nesting near our cottage, it would appear that the entire village population has joined in the attack, emitting their high-pitched alarm calls. The effect is dramatic, and both magpies are driven away within a couple of minutes.

I guess one either loves, or loathes magpies; personally I love them, even though they really do take large numbers of eggs and young of smaller birds. They’re handsome, beautiful creatures, not only just black and white, but with wonderful iridescent blues and greens, and would not be out of place on an expensive bird watching trip to the tropics. The number of breeding British magpies has increased more than two fold during the last couple of decades, and it is this that has probably added to their already bad reputation. There is even an organisation whose primary aim is to reduce their numbers, in spite of the fact there is no scientific evidence that they are in any way connected with the demise of many species of our smaller birds. 

Our garden blackbirds are feeding a fully-grown brood, and attack the magpies with incessant alarm calls whenever they come close, but their acoustic deterrent is nothing like as effective as the dive-bombing techniques of the house martins, which we like to think of as aerial torpedoes.


Thursday 6 July 2017

Buddleia

It’s now the turn of the rosebay willowherb to flower. The midsummer deep greens along roadsides verges are punctuated by soft pastel-pink washes of this beautiful common plant. It does well on recently burned land, spreading quickly over large areas, and creating a wonderful splash of delicate colour. Greater willowherb is also beginning to show a few flowers, but even in its full glory, never seems to have the dramatic effect of it’s earlier-flowering cousin.

The real stars at the moment are the thousands of buddleia flowers, which seem to have appeared without notice. The recent good weather has also increased the number of butterflies, and even though there are not nearly as many as there should be, it’s good to see them feeding in reasonable numbers on the delicate lilac flowers. Newly hatched red admirals, peacocks, the odd comma, and more tortoiseshells than in recent years look splendid, but after last year’s amazing painted lady influx, I have seen none so far this year. There are also bees on many of the blooms, taking advantage of this annual food. 

We’re getting to the time of year when the vegetation is dense, and even though most small birds seem to have produced more young this year, they are difficult to see. Adults of many species are beginning their annual moult, and the parent blue tits from our nest box still frequent the garden feeder, but are beginning to loose their bright summer plumage and look distinctly ragged. The garden robin too is noticeably less red, and will soon begin to shed feathers. Small birds like these will take about a month to completely replace their feathers, and will try to stay out of sight of predators during this period when their ability to fly is diminished.


Tuesday 4 July 2017

Flying Ant Bonanza

During all this muggy weather, millions of flying ants are emerging from their nests below ground, and the sure way of knowing that this is happening are the groups of circling gulls feasting on the aerial bonanza. Newspapers are getting reports from alarmed readers seeing swarms of flying insects coming out of cracks in paving stones, and getting stuck in peoples hair, but it’s simply the annual mating ritual of the common garden black ant. On landing the ants discard their wings, and immediately go searching for a new nest site. They wait for perfectly still hot conditions, and then seem to erupt simultaneously from nests all around our village. Taking to the skies at the same time cuts down the risk of being snapped up by predators, and they’ll do this throughout July and August whenever the conditions are right. These slow-flying ants appear each year from underground nests beneath our conservatory, and are easily snapped up by house sparrows and chaffinches behaving like clumsy flycatchers.

Spread out in an orderly fashion on the local golf course this evening, dozens of black-headed gulls, rooks and jackdaws also take advantage of these rich pickings. I can’t be sure if the house martins and swallows above are doing the same, but there are many more in the sky than normal. There are no swifts, but they too must take advantage of this easy-to-catch bonanza, and I suspect that breeding success must depend to some extent on this glut of food.


It doesn’t last long, and after about half and hour the action is over, the gulls and crows disperse, and the skies clear, but there will be many more opportunities if the weather holds.

Sunday 2 July 2017

Little Real Change


Llangennith really hasn’t changed a lot in fifty years. The King’s Head is still there and doing a roaring trade on a sunny early July day. The beautiful Norman church of St Cenydd sits below the tiny green, its sturdy square tower, typical of many on Gower, dominates the church and village. The old church is open and I venture inside. Broader than others on Gower, it’s cold and uninviting, and I stay only a few minutes.

There are a few new houses in the village, but most of the old cottages remain.  One is now a surf shop, and others have been improved, but in contrast to fifty years ago, there’s an air of affluence about the place.

At the top of Vicarage Lane, the village fountain trickles with clear water, disappearing underground after a yard or so to run under and along the road to a small wetland at the bottom of the hill. I follow the sound of the hidden stream down the road past smart houses, with parked cars containing out of town number plates. Huge sycamores and ash trees line the way, and the hedgerows are filled with buttercups, red campion and wood sorrel. Where the stream resurfaces, the plants change; yellow flag, fading southern march orchids, wild mint and much more cover the ground. In a shaded glade, a spotted flycatcher sallies in and out of a willow patch, it’s the first I’ve seen this year and could be the last, this wonderful little bird is in grave danger all over the UK. The air is a mass of delicately floating dandelion seeds, and along another clear stream, a male chaffinch turns flycatcher, taking midges at will circling just above the surface.  A pony and her tiny foal block the lane leading to the back of Rhosilli Down, they look nervous and so I decide not to go any further.


Back in the village I try to remember fifty years ago. Memories can play tricks on the mind, and I can’t really recall much detail.  But the sound of wonderful modern jazz in the style of Oscar Peterson and Errol Garner played on the piano by the landlord George Rees will remain fixed in my mind forever. 

Saturday 1 July 2017

50 Years and Counting

It’s the time of year when the beach at Blackpill attracts more visitors than shorebirds, but there’s always something of interest to see. There are not many waders here in July, but it’s usually worth a visit at high water. Today’s neap tide means lots of uncovered beach around midday, so holidaymakers don’t disturb the birds too much. Black-headed gulls in summer plumage have increased in the last week, looking pristine in the emerging sunlight. They’re such a neat little gull, and go unnoticed by many, but I love them, and 30 or so bathe by the stream. Amongst the assembly a sub-adult Mediterranean gull, with its stouter bill stands out, and the first returning common gulls look clean against the motley collection of non-breeding herring and lesser black-backed gulls. Three preening little egrets wade in the shallows, and a flock of 80 oystercatchers rests on the sand spit. A couple of curlews, one motionless and asleep, the other standing by the water’s edge. Two black-bellied dunlins are busy feeding, and a single knot, head tucked under its wing and still in red summer plumage, also appears to be sleeping.

My friend along the seawall finishes his daily count of waders and gulls as he has done for over 50 years, packs up and leaves. Bob is passionate about his counts, and I wonder if he even noticed the family of pied wagtails busily fly catching on the thin line of flotsam above the encroaching tide.