say âDaddy, Iâm bored!â
New Year in Sussex
JANUARY 1999
New Yearâs Day is traditionally a time for renewal: for seeing the familiar, day-to-day world through new eyes. For birdwatchers, things are no different. We drag ourselves out of bed on the morning of I January, shake off the hangover from the night before, and head out to start our âyear listâ. The aim: to see as many different species as possible between the hours of dawn and dusk.
That, at least, is the theory. Unfortunately the dawn start didnât quite go as planned, and it was just before nine when Suzanne and I began the drive down to Pagham Harbour in Sussex. Pagham is one of my favourite birding sites. It has great scenery, a wide variety of habitats and a good range of birds, with the potential for surprises.
Despite the recent run of wet and windy weather, conditions were sunny and warm, with blue skies and a brisk southerly breeze. The tide at Pagham village was higher than Iâd ever seen it, lapping against the base of the sea wall, and forcing the birds to seek refuge in nearby fields.
Thousands of Golden Plovers and Lapwings were wheeling overhead, filling the sky as they twisted and turned, constantly calling to each other in a breathtaking spectacle. Hundreds of ducks were on theopen water: mainly Wigeon, Teal and Pintails. There was also a lone, smaller bird, whose black-and-white plumage reminded me of an auk. It was a Slavonian Grebe, one of Paghamâs winter specialities. Then an elegant white bird flew past: a Little Egret, once very rare, but now a regular sight on many south-coast estuaries.
After a brisk walk, we drove round to the other side of the harbour, where the car park at Church Norton was filling up with birders, dog-walkers and worshippers at the little church that gives the village its name. As the tide rose to new heights, thousands of waders flocked together, flashing light and dark as their plumage caught the winter sun. But the real prize was away from the harbour, by the little gate at the entrance to the churchyard. Here, a small crowd of birders had gathered, watching an ivy-covered tree with more intensity than it appeared to deserve.
Then a tiny bird popped out, revealing a stunning black-and-white striped head, fiery orange crown and olive-green plumage, before plunging back into the dense foliage. It was a Firecrest, a rare relative of the Goldcrest, and just as small â 9cm long and weighing barely the same as a 20p coin. After a few frustratingly brief glimpses, the bird, which is spending the winter in this sheltered, balmy place, finally revealed itself in all its miniature glory, much to everyoneâs relief and delight.
On leaving Pagham, the dayâs total stood at a respectable 58 species. To boost it further, we stopped off on the way home, at the RSPBâs Pulborough Brooks reserve. As well as the attractions of a well-stocked shop and superb tearoom, Pulborough is a magnet for wintering birds, with large numbers of dabbling ducks on the flood plain and flocks of Redwings in the fields above.
The hide was so full we could barely get a seat. We soon found out why. A Barn Owl was quartering the marshes, hovering on its broad, pale wings in search of voles. After a few near-misses, it finally caught one, only for an opportunistic Kestrel to make a smash-and-grab raid and seize the prey. Bewildered, the owl flew up to perch ona fence-post, treating us all to a splendid view as we sympathised with its misfortune.
As we walked back up the muddy path to a well-earned cup of tea, the dayâs final total stood at 65 species. But mere numbers tell nothing. Three very different images will stay in my memory: the Barn Owl floating on silent wings, flocks of Golden Plovers wheeling overhead in the pale blue sky, and that tiny jewel of a bird, the Firecrest. Happy New Year!
The unforgettable Farnes
AUGUST 1999
As a spotty teenager, I remember listening to the
New Year in Sussex
JANUARY 1999
New Yearâs Day is traditionally a time for renewal: for seeing the familiar, day-to-day world through new eyes. For birdwatchers, things are no different. We drag ourselves out of bed on the morning of I January, shake off the hangover from the night before, and head out to start our âyear listâ. The aim: to see as many different species as possible between the hours of dawn and dusk.
That, at least, is the theory. Unfortunately the dawn start didnât quite go as planned, and it was just before nine when Suzanne and I began the drive down to Pagham Harbour in Sussex. Pagham is one of my favourite birding sites. It has great scenery, a wide variety of habitats and a good range of birds, with the potential for surprises.
Despite the recent run of wet and windy weather, conditions were sunny and warm, with blue skies and a brisk southerly breeze. The tide at Pagham village was higher than Iâd ever seen it, lapping against the base of the sea wall, and forcing the birds to seek refuge in nearby fields.
Thousands of Golden Plovers and Lapwings were wheeling overhead, filling the sky as they twisted and turned, constantly calling to each other in a breathtaking spectacle. Hundreds of ducks were on theopen water: mainly Wigeon, Teal and Pintails. There was also a lone, smaller bird, whose black-and-white plumage reminded me of an auk. It was a Slavonian Grebe, one of Paghamâs winter specialities. Then an elegant white bird flew past: a Little Egret, once very rare, but now a regular sight on many south-coast estuaries.
After a brisk walk, we drove round to the other side of the harbour, where the car park at Church Norton was filling up with birders, dog-walkers and worshippers at the little church that gives the village its name. As the tide rose to new heights, thousands of waders flocked together, flashing light and dark as their plumage caught the winter sun. But the real prize was away from the harbour, by the little gate at the entrance to the churchyard. Here, a small crowd of birders had gathered, watching an ivy-covered tree with more intensity than it appeared to deserve.
Then a tiny bird popped out, revealing a stunning black-and-white striped head, fiery orange crown and olive-green plumage, before plunging back into the dense foliage. It was a Firecrest, a rare relative of the Goldcrest, and just as small â 9cm long and weighing barely the same as a 20p coin. After a few frustratingly brief glimpses, the bird, which is spending the winter in this sheltered, balmy place, finally revealed itself in all its miniature glory, much to everyoneâs relief and delight.
On leaving Pagham, the dayâs total stood at a respectable 58 species. To boost it further, we stopped off on the way home, at the RSPBâs Pulborough Brooks reserve. As well as the attractions of a well-stocked shop and superb tearoom, Pulborough is a magnet for wintering birds, with large numbers of dabbling ducks on the flood plain and flocks of Redwings in the fields above.
The hide was so full we could barely get a seat. We soon found out why. A Barn Owl was quartering the marshes, hovering on its broad, pale wings in search of voles. After a few near-misses, it finally caught one, only for an opportunistic Kestrel to make a smash-and-grab raid and seize the prey. Bewildered, the owl flew up to perch ona fence-post, treating us all to a splendid view as we sympathised with its misfortune.
As we walked back up the muddy path to a well-earned cup of tea, the dayâs final total stood at 65 species. But mere numbers tell nothing. Three very different images will stay in my memory: the Barn Owl floating on silent wings, flocks of Golden Plovers wheeling overhead in the pale blue sky, and that tiny jewel of a bird, the Firecrest. Happy New Year!
The unforgettable Farnes
AUGUST 1999
As a spotty teenager, I remember listening to the
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