Wonderful Elmley

My father and I spent today at the RSPB's stunning Elmley reserve in the North Kent Marshes, on the Isle of Sheppey, making our way over the Dartford Bridge and to the opposite side of the estuary. The entrance track to Elmley is a couple of miles long and provides an impressive introduction to the strange and barren landscape. A couple of partridges took off as I stepped out of the car to run and grab the binoculars, and flew a short distance to disappear behind a stand of Sedge, but returning to it, I was pleased to see several lapwings, standing on the grass, and in the further distance, wheeling and tumbling in their spectacular display flights, flashing white and green as they roll from side to side in the air.  The car allowed us to get a little closer to the birds than we would otherwise be able to, and the Lapwings afforded good photo opportunities.

Lapwing.

We reached the car park and made our way to the first hides. One of the first things that struck us about this remarkable reserve at this time of year, was the sound. There were skylarks everywhere, rising out of the grass, singing at their absolute, jangling techno best.  The grass of the grazing marsh had been grazed short by the sheep which are kept on the reserve through with winter, and it presents a strange, empty landscape, with little cover, few trees beyond the small cluster of buildings which house the RSPB's office, windswept and a little desolate even on a bright, clear day. A couple of abandoned constructions, perhaps vestiges of Victorian drainage schemes, sit forlornly on the flat land. A hunting Kestrel hovered over the grassland. Rabbits and Hares, of which there were plenty, seemed to be filling in for the sheep while they were away. As we were walking down to the hides, another mile or two, we saw a couple of hares, one pursuing the other frantically across the grass, the kind of behaviour hares are well known to be disposed to in March. Unfortunately they did not box. I find hares magical, they seem to have an old, wizened appearance, like some mythical hedgerow magickian, with an ancient wisdom. I'm dimly aware they are important in Saxon and Celtic folklore, an association I wish I knew more about, but I can see how these surprisingly large, highly secretive and slightly ghostly looking mammals would have caught the imagination.

Hare.

At the first hide we looked out over a scrape which was covered in the typical range of resident and passage waders and wildfowl. There were several handsome widgeon, a couple of Pochards, Gadwall, smart Shovellers with russet flanks, and mallards. The white of avocets and little egrets was bright in the sunshine, and some of the Black-tailed Godwits were already resplendent in their summer plumage, with bright orange on their breasts. A couple of bumblebees buzzed about over the short sward, and a flock of little Dunlins flew across the water while turnstones prodded busily in the soil. Not long after we had arrived the birds took to the wing and we saw our second raptor of the visit, a smart female Merlin, her face markings creating the impression of a large, dark tear on her face, streaked past above us.

We made our way to the next hide which also overlooked the shallow water. The RSPB's web site describes the water level as somewhat lower than usual, and raises concerns about how the drought, which has prevented the RSPB from abstracting water to keep the marshes well irrigated, will affect wildlife. Historically these sites have been able to remain wet naturally, and this damp wasteland in its vastness was described in some of the works of Dickens, but today, their increasing isolation, and drainage schemes in the 19th and 20th centuries, spurred on in part by the honorable, and successful, aim of eradicating Marsh Fever, a temperate world form of mosquito-borne Malaria, has left them somewhat dry. The management aims to address this shortage of water, but this is difficult to justify in this coming summer of hosepipe bans. Grazing maintains a short sward for nesting skylark and lapwing, but the invertebrates on which they depend are reliant on wet soil.  The second hide was relatively quiet, although we saw a couple of little egrets there and got good views of a second kestrel, this time a male.

The walk to the sea wall hides, overlooking the Swale, a body of water separating the Isle of Sheppey from the Kentish mainland, was a long one, and not long after we set out we had our second "wow" moment of the trip. From behind the sea wall rose a Marsh Harrier, a male, with black primaries on his brown and grey wings. He flew over us as I fumbled for my camera, and unfortunately he was away before I could get a good shot. He dropped into the grass and emerged with something brown and round- I suspect either a little grebe or a water vole, in his talons. He climbed away and continued floating across the marsh, on wings raised in a slight V. It was only for a few seconds, but he was close, almost immediately above us, a matter of a couple of metres away.

The sea wall hide was a long walk, past several shelduck, and little pools surrounded by Phragmites, the tallest vegetation around, which hosted little grebe and in one case a small sunken dingy. A small flock of Oystercatchers gathered on the bank of one, becoming a little agitated as we past but thankfully retaining the confidence not to be flushed. We looked at every large bird which passed over us in  the hope of Hen Harrier, but most turned out to be Greater Black Backed or Herring Gulls. From the sea wall hide, perhaps another mile across the reserve, we could see several Turnstone and Avocet, as well as a good number of smart Grey Plover. Silver would be a better way of describing the striking markings on the backs of the charming Plovers.  There were turnstones and several Dunlin, which were put up by the surprise appearance of another Marsh Harrier. Black headed gulls followed the line of the surf, feeding both by wading and on the wing. Nearly all of the adults had the full, dark hood of their summer plumage. Large, mottled Curlews probed in the deep mud with their long decurved beaks, some distance from the gentle surf, while the avocets used their recurved beaks to feed where the water was shallowest. We watched the waders for a while before beginning our long return journey. Not long after we had left the hide did Elmley provide us with another moment, when hundreds of Brent Geese took to the air and flew over the sea wall, arriving on the grass of the reserve where they settled to feed. For a few seconds the blue sky was full of these big, dark and noisy geese, and they formed a stack to land beside one of the marshland pools.

From the hide which represented our half-way point on our walk back to the main reserve, we saw a pair of mute swans in front of us, preening themselves, while waterside life continued in front of us. A couple of little egrets sat hunched in the distance, while Greylag and Canada geese, more familiar species, grazed over the water. An Owl-like shape could be seen above the distant sea wall, and through the binoculars it looked like a Short Eared Owl. Views were distant and a little unsatisfying. It was then that a bird of the most unexpected shape appeared overhead. It was pure white and flew with its neck outstretched, making the shape of a cross. I stared at it with a sense of disbelief as it landed breifly on the marsh in front of us. A species that had eluded me a few times at Dungeness and Poole Harbour, and only caught up with me before in Greece, had landed in front of us. As I fumbled for my camera it inevitably took off again, to settle further away, but a spoonbill, even without a photograph! The beak of a Spoonbill is amazing, it looks so thick and heavy, as much a club as a spoon. On this individual it appeared slightly pale, suggesting a bird not yet fully in its adult plumage. I imagine it may have been on its way to the Oosvardersplassen, or some other wetland in Holland or northern France to a breeding area there, chancing upon this amazing wetland habitat en route.

We walked back, buzzing from our encounter with a Spoonbill, to the first hide we'd visited, and I went in to see if I could re-find my spoonbill for a photo but it had gone. I stayed for a short while discussing sites to visit with a gentleman in the hide, he recommended Cliffe Pools, also in Kent, but upon leaving I saw my dad on top of the grassy bank gesturing frantically. I couldn't see exactly what he was pointing at until I caught up with him. He had found, hunting silently along the bank, not one, but two Short Eared Owls. At one point I could see through my binoculars two Owls and, in the distance, a Marsh Harrier. It has been said the Owls had a good breeding season last year and unusual numbers had been seen in the country this winter, a phenomenon which appears to have given me the second, third, and fourth Short Eared Owl sightings of my life. On our way back to the car the light had begun to fade, marsh harriers were picked out by their distinctive sillouettes against the sunset, hares ran about, oddly conspicuous in the short grass, and a spectacular male pheasant also crossed our path and disappeared into the reeds. A mist had come to settle on the landscape.