Great White Egrets

 I stood in a hide, at the RSPB's splended Ham Wall nature reserve in Somerset, in view of Glastonbury Tor, that small tower sat atop a hill overlooking the Somerset Levels, the marshes of Avalon, alleged stamping ground of King Arthur and his Knights, where Pagan Britons and Christian Anglo-Saxons apocryphally made play for the heart and soul of what we now call England. A mighty bird stood in front of me, just metres away, filling the 75-250mm lens of my camera, all in white, bill turning from black to yellow, fishing, preening with an air of magisterial indifference. The bird stood tall, the shape of a skinny Grey Heron, or an albino woodpigeon with a snake threaded through it, wearing stilts. It stepped forward, creeping, and stared at the water, with the suggestion of intent, before continuing to preen itself.  When noisier people entered the hide, it flew away, low across the water to a new position behind the reeds.

This experience would have been unheard of a few decades ago. First recorded in Britain in the mid 19th Century, though possibly with a history here going back much further, the Great White Egret was a scarce vagrant, less than annual until the 1990s, then annual wintering, I saw my first in 2010, at Dungeness in Kent, where a wintering bird, earning the universal Great White Egret nickname of 'Sharky,' had taken up home in a far flung reedbed. It was little more than a speck in my scope, the size of the bird, its height against the reeds, and its bright yellow bill (which turns black in the breeding season) making it unmistakeable. Great White Egrets are sometimes considered confusable with Little Egrets, but in reality I find them more confusable with a swan, on account of their huge scale in comparison with the more familiar of our two white herons. If you think you might have seen a Great White Egret, you haven't. You have seen a Little Egret. If you see a Great White Egret, you know what you have seen.

My next encounter with the species was in Greece, where I worked as a volunteer for the Hellenic Ornithological Society. A flock of 30 'Sharkies' had dropped into the brackish water marsh, cleared out from their breeding grounds, looking for somewhere to spend the winter. I watched in wonder as they stood stock still in the mirror still water, harbingers of a changing season. Southern and Eastern Europe once held the nearest surviving Great White Egrets. Once common in much of Central Europe, Great White Egrets, like so many charismatic wetland species, were victims of persecution as competitors for fish, and of the millinery trade in the 19th and early 20th century, pushing the centre of their European population East, with birds shot off their nests in the breeding season for their showy breeding plumes, a bold fashion statement for a Victorian lady to wear on her hat. The species has a wide distribution spanning five continents, and many North American colonies of Great Whites faced similar persecution. It was seeing the fate of these birds on their nests which spurred into action the ladies who went on to found both  the RSPB and the Audobon Society, whose campaigns eventually saw the species have something of a repreive, on both sides of the Atlantic.  So it was from Southern and Eastern Europe that the species began to spread.

In 2012, the species bred in the UK for the first time, on the Somerset Levels, at Shapwick Heath, a stones' throw from my Great White Egret experience. In 2017 it bred in Norfolk. Its breeding population continues to grow, and all these breeding attempts have involved small colonies of multiple pairs, on stick nests in trees, not dissimilar to Herons and Little Egrets. In January this year, one flew over my house in Wirksworth, Derbyshire, easily distinguished from a little egret by the sharp bend in its neck, protruding like a keel, and by its vast size and yellow bill like a sword. I have seen them standing in the fields by the Derwent of a morning with the Grey Herons, presumably joining them in munching any small mammals driven from cover by the intense winter cold. Several pairs breed at Shapwick Heath, and it was the most numerous Heron I saw at Ham Wall, and they winter up and down the country, including at Attenborough in Nottinghamshire, where their flights to roost are a popular sideshow to the spectacular winter Starling murmurations.

The Great White Egret is doing well. And I wholeheartedly approve.  Within minutes of its departure, no sooner than the hide was quiet again, my Great White Egret was back, ducks herding their broods away into the reeds with justified concern, and back to preening, nonchalantly, at home in this place of Arthurian legend.

A chain of thought regarding Transatlantic differences, Duck Stamps and the RSPB.

 In the American Meme group I have now left, there was a lot of talk of hunting funds for conservation, through levies such as the so-called 'Duck Stamps.' Duck stamps are a type of hunting licence issued in the USA, the money raised being used to fund the National Wildlife Refuges scheme. Doubtless it is a very important stream of revenue for wetland conservation in the USA. On the meme group, there was an assertion that this money from hunting is the only, or the primary way to fund conservation, and as such the whole 'Hunting is conservation' argument came about. It was a collision of many ideas, with the pro-hunt side, which was most of the Americans, using the mantra 'Hunting is conservation,' and explaining how 'Duck stamps' funded the national refuge system and how wildfowling was fundamental to wetland conservation. So determined were the American conservationists to defend this system, that their enthusiasm for it seemed to trump concerns raised by European group members about hunting in this region and in North Africa, which were angrily dismissed as outliers.

Now I am about to compare hunting in the USA to Hunting in the UK or in Europe, not right at the moment at least. But another thought occurred to me shortly afterwards. Soon there were more posts in the Meme group, referring to how birders never invest any money in wetland conservation, refuse to pay to access reserves, that only hunting has the clout, and the public participation, to raise money for conservation to be carried out effectively. And, thought I, that is where we differ.

Water Rail at RSPB Rainham Marshes

In Britain, while for sure there are wildfowl hunters, and for sure they look after some coastal wetlands, much of it fairly well, such that it provides good breeding habitat for waders, raptors and invertebrates outside the shooting season, but the way we look after Wetland 'refuges' for conservation is thus: The RSPB, and the local Wildlife Trusts.

Stonechat at RSPB Rainham Marshes

Conservationists in the UK, by which I mean non-professionals who care about and support nature conservation, do not generally buy hunting licences. Instead, they join the RSPB, investing sums comparable with those spent on 'Duck Stamps' in the USA. We do spend money on nature, and on nature for nature's sake. And we have achieved remarkable results through this. Minsmere in Suffolk, owned by the RSPB, is a former MOD range, and it was the stepping stone Avocets and Marsh Harriers used to recolonise the UK. Now Marsh Harriers, and Bearded Tits, breed at Rainham Marshes, another former military range within Greater London. Spoonbills and Bitterns have bred at Fairburn Ings, a former coal mining site near Leeds. At Old Moor near Doncaster, Slavonian Grebes breed annually, and Lakenheath Fen, a former carrot farm in the Brecks, Bittern, Bearded Tit and Common Crane breed, a species which was extinct in Britain a century ago. All without money from hunting, with management largely built on monthly and annual donations from a million members. The RSPB is our model of conservation and it works.

Lapwing at RSPB Frampton Marsh, Lincolnshire

It coexists with free markets, taking from the state only money available to any landowners who manage their land sympathetically for nature, and heritage money from the National Lottery. It has brought back species to these islands, and become a global expert in wetland creation and restoration without shots being fired in sport at all. Its predator control is not above criticism, of course and some regard it as unduly friendly with shooting organisations, as illustrated by the debacle at RSPB Strumpshaw Fen a few years ago, where gamekeepers were allowed onto the site to kill some much photographed foxes. However it walks a tightrope here of course and deserves, in my view, some slack. There are people in the shooting community, unnerved by the RSPB's excellent work in raptor protection, who love to stir the pot and set their opponents, in mainstream conservation and largely urban hippy 'animal rights' proponents, against each other, despite their common cause at least where it comes to threatened wildlife and habitats.

View from RSPB Wallasea Island, Essex

But its achievements at a national level are remarkable. Incredible. It is our model of conservation, Britain's proof that hunting and conservation are not inextricably linked, and I think that is bloody awesome. They go beyond land management of course, into campaigning, recently becoming involved in the discussion surrounding the draconian restrictions on environmental protest being discussed in parliament, and campaigning against particularly damaging developments threatening important wildlife sites. Their membership is huge and diverse.

Goldfinch at RSPB Frampton Marsh, Lincolnshire

Compared to what they have in other parts of the world, we are extraordinarily fortunate to have the RSPB, and can be justifiably proud of it, alongside the county Wildlife Trusts and the WWT of course.

Wanderings in the Strangest Summer. Frampton Marsh, Lincolnshire, and Coombes Valley, Staffordshire.

 Frampton Marsh, 8th August 2020

On a bright and sunny day, with a fresh breeze blowing, Natty and I headed to Lincolnshire to join my old friend Brian at Frampton Marsh, the RSPB's fantastic, relatively new and expanding, reserve beside the Wash in Lincolnshire.

Spoonbills, and a Moorhen.

Here we were greeted near immediately by a flock of 17 or so Spoonbills, a sight which would have been unheard of just a few years ago, another brilliant white heron-like wetland bird establishing, or perhaps reestablishing itself,  in British wetlands. The birds largely kept their spoons concealed, tucked under wings out of the sun and wind. The flashes were covered in Knot, Dunlins, Black Tailed Godwits, the latter in all plumages from tango orange to ash-grey, as though dressed for the summer.'s funeral.  Among the waders Brian picked out a couple of Curlew Sandpipers, smart, dunlin-like waders with bold supercilliums.

Spotted Redshanks

We continued to enjoy a veritable late summer wader fest, with so many returning migrants from the far North and East, graceful Spotted Redshanks in their near white winter coats, so different in their movements to their commoner cousins, Common and Green Sandpipers, and a very smart Greenshank, his head nearly pure white. The breeding waders remained too, graceful, long-legged Avocets, brown patches on their wings revealing them to be the very same awkward, gangly chicks hiding from the rain among their parents' breast feathers just a few short weeks ago.

Whooper Swan and Common Tern

 

Shelducks floated about in their eclipse plumage, and a single Whooper Swan which had stayed the summer, perhaps too injured to make it across the North Sea though capable of flying back and forth across the reserve, lounged on an island in one of the freshwater lakes. The Spoonbill flock flew over, magnificent face spatulas forward, out towards the Wash.

Spatulas to the horizon!

There was not an overabundance of passerines, as one would expect at this time of year, with so many lying low to moult and enjoy the richness of the season, but yellow wagtails, in their muddy looking winter plumage, were active around the cattle, and a few swifts zipped about. Swallows and Sand Martins were ubiquitous. Emperor Dragonflies patrolled the ponds, and Common Darters the paths, while Small Tortoiseshell butterflies fed at the Scabious blooms. 

Common Blue Damselfly

Frampton is an incredibly special place. You should go there.

Small Tortoiseshell

 

Birds Seen: Brent Goose, Canada Goose, Greylag Goose, Mute Swan, Whooper Sean, Shelduck, Mallard, Teal, Pochard, Tufted Duck, Pheasant, Little Grebe, Great Crested Grebe, Spoonbill, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Cormorant, Moorhen, Coot, Avocet, Lapwing, Golden Plover, Little Ringed Plover, Whimbrel, Black Tailed Godwit, Knot, Ruff, Curlew Sandpiper, Dunlin, Snipe, Common Sandpiper, Green Sandpiper, Redshank, Spotted Redshank, Greenshank, Black Headed Gull, Common Gull, Herring Gull, Lesser Black Backed Gull, Common Tern, Stock Dove, Woodpigeon, Swift, Kestrel, Magpie, Rook, Carrion Crow, Skylark, Sand Martin, Starling, Yellow Wagtail, Pied Wagtail, Meadow Pipit, Linnet, Goldfinch, Reed Bunting.

Black tailed Godwit

Butterflies: Red Admiral, Meadow Brown, Gakekeeper, Small Skipper, Common Blue, Small Heath, Small Tortoiseshell, Green Veined White.

Ruff

Dragons: Common Blue Damselfly, Emperor Dragonfly, Common Darter.

Cinnabar moth caterpillars were numerous at Frampton. 

 




Coombes Valley, 9th August 2020

Of a warm but slightly overcast afternoon I went to Coombes Valley, in Staffordshire. It was surprisingly quiet, with few of the special birds out and about, perhaps down to the advancing season. However it was pretty, though a family insisted upon throwing pebbles into the stream where they Grey Wagtails breed. At least they were not building cairns and diverting the flow of water in the stream. Such disturbance in a habitat so small can have serious implications for its invertebrate diversity. A wasp was busy on the wood of the small bridge.

Wasp. 

I walked the Valley Woodland Loop, as the map called the circular footpath I wandered, and was surprised by the beautiful sight of three Red Deer- young stags- making their way among the trees. Each wore small, but different antlers in velvet. Deer often make their way through the woods at Coombes, but are seldom seen.

Freaky doll stuck to a Silver Birch tree. 

I picked up what my map called the 'Woodcock Trail' and was surprised to find Ling Heather, Calluna vulgaris once again, growing as an understory plant alongside Bilberry, Vaccinium myrtilis, as these species grow in much of their European range, but here associated with open heath and moor. I also enjoyed commanding views of the valley and the wider Stafforshire moorlands.  Someone had stuck a small plastic doll to a tree. 



The day ended with a spectacular orange sunset. 

Birds Seen: Sparrowhawk, Buzzard, Woodpigeon, Kestrel, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Coal Tit, Blue Tit, Swallow, Willow Warbler, Garden Warbler, Goldcrest, Nuthatch, Treecreeper, Blackbird, Song Thrush, Spotted Flycatcher, Robin, Bullfinch. 

Butterflies Seen: Peacock, Gatekeeper, Green Veined White. 

Wanderings in the Strangest Summer- A Trip South, 17th-21st July 2020, Part 1.

Stretching the definition of 'on the way' a little, I stopped off at Lakenheath Fen in Suffolk on my way to Upminster, from Wirksworth. Lakenheath Fen sits close to the USAF base at RAF Lakenheath, in the Brecks close to the Norfolk/Suffolk/Cambridgeshire tri-point. A new wetland, a masterpiece of habitat creation, its reedbeds and open water were once carrot fields, and they sit alongside poplar plantations, where Golden Oriole once bred, indeed, they were among the last sites used by this species in the country.

Peacock Butterfly at Lakenheath Fen

I was welcomed by friendly RSPB volunteers, who informed me the site was now fully open, the reserve open access until Dusk, and served me a welcome coffee, before I headed up beside the river Great Ouse, looking across its Lapwing and Godwit infested washlands. The thistles presented a wonderful display of Peacock and Red Admiral butterflies, so many of these magnificent but familiar big nymphalids on the wing. I made my way to the Joist Fen viewpoint, which was surprisingly busy, with a lot of people about including a man with a big camera and a sound lure, a device playing Bearded Tit contact calls. These are highly frowned upon, and thought to disrupt birds breeding behaviour, or at least distract them from foraging. After some dirty looks from the assembled he went on his way, and, satisfyingly, no sooner had he done so, than the Bearded Tits arrived, affording us brief but clear views of these charming, mustachioed denizens of the reedbeds, busy, little brown birds with reed-brown bodies, long tails, and in the males, blue-grey heads and elegant black mustaches.

Red Admiral Butterflies and Red Soldier Beetles at Lakenheath Fen.

The Beardies did not hang around, and bird-wise, the viewpoint was quiet, with no cranes to be seen, these being the other star bird associated with Lakenheath, so, making my walk a circuit, I walked back along track and boardwalk, beside open water, and yet more butterflies including a gorgeous Brimstone, toward the visitor centre.

Ruddy Darter Dragonfly at Lakenheath Fen

View of the Great Ouse, Lakenheath Fen

After this I took another, shorter circuit, up to the New Fen Viewpoint, where a Bittern flew by, and Scarce Chaser dragonflies, males tarnished cobalt blue, staining black according to their age, females a shade of gold in the sunshine, alighted on the benches. and Common Lizards sunned themselves on the boardwalk. There were bright scarlet Ruddy Darters here too. Several Marsh Harriers flew lazily above the nodding reeds, these still uncommon raptors now almost ubiquitous in the Anglian fens, and deep in the reeds, Reed and Sedge Warblers, the rave DJs of the wetlands, sang their ever changing, but distinctive, rhythmic song.

Male (top) and Female (bottom) Scarce Chaser at Lakenheath Fen.

I looped around the family trail, taking in the less explored part of the reserve, the air alive with the song of whitethroat, and more spectacular nyphalidae on the wing. Then I headed on my way, back across the country to the M11, the songs of Acrocephalus warblers still ringing in my ears.

Small Copper at Lakenheath Fen

Birds Seen: Canada Goose, Greylag Goose, Mute Swan, Mallard, Tufted Duck, Pheasant, Great Crested Grebe, Bittern*, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Cormorant, Sparrowhawk, Marsh Harrier, Moorhen, Coot, Oystercatcher, Avocet, Black Tailed Godwit, Black Headed Gull, Lesser Black Backed Gull, Common Tern, Stock Dove, Woodpigeon, Green Woodpecker, Kestrel, Jay, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Bearded Tit*, Swallow, Chiffchaff, Sedge Warbler, Reed Warbler, Whitethroat, Wren, Blackbird, Greenfinch, Goldfinch, Reed Bunting.

Banded Demoiselle (female) at Lakenheath Fen

Butterflies Seen: Near Visitor Centre: Small Copper (3) Small Skipper (4), Green Veined White (9), Red Admiral (19), Meadow Brown (19), Ringlet (2), Peacock (74), Large White (27) Small Tortoiseshell (1) Brimstone (2) 

Near Joist Fen: Small Copper (1) Comma (1) Gatekeeper (1) Green Veined White (10) Meadow Brown (22) Small White (2) Large White (17) Ringlet (4) Red Admiral (26) Peacock (50) Large Skipper (1) 

Near New Fen: Speckled Wood (2) Large Skipper (2) Meadow Brown (8) Green Veined White (2) Large White (2) Peacock (14) Red Admiral (9) Comma (3) Brimstone (1) Small Skipper (3) Small White (1) 

Other notable wildlife: 
Scarce Chaser, Emperor Dragonfly, Banded Demoiselle, Blue Tailed Damselfly, Ruddy Darter, Common Lizard, Rabbit, Grey Squirrel.

 

Cranham Marsh, Essex, 19th July 2020

Cranham Marsh is a small Essex Wildlife Trust reserve, a stones throw from where I grew up, indeed, a short bike ride for the younger me, and a place I loved to visit through my teens and 20s. Indeed, I credit walks at Cranham Marsh with reigniting my fascination with wildlife after a few challenging years I had when I was at University, first time round. It's not famous like Lakenheath Fen, but it is important in my personal headcanon of nature reserves. It has been well used by people, barely sitting outside of the leafy suburb of Upminster, but is by and large treated with the respect it deserves by many people, and I hope continues to inspire suburban people to get out and enjoy wildlife.

Mumsie's Brown Argus. 

It was another gloriously sunny day, and there were abundant butterflies on the Hemp Agrimony and Centaurea and the thistles, including a smart Brown Argus (Aricia aegestis) which Mumsie spotted, and a number of bright Common Blues and Holly Blues, all tiny lycaenid jewels in the long grass and among the flowers.

Peacock on Hemp Agrimony at Cranham Marsh

Jays, and Rose Ringed Parakeets, now ubiquitous around greater London, were calling, and a gorgeous Field Vole, Britain's most numerous mammal, but seldom seen, a small dark ball of fur, ran across the path. It was rather a trip down memory lane. 

Cranham Marsh nominally hosts wet grassland habitat, perhaps better described as seasonally wet, seldom holding much water into the high summer.  In this spell of hot weather we were enjoying, parts of the reserve seemed parched and dry.  The site is said to have suffered from the building of the M25, but it still hosts remarkable wildlife. 

I visited again on the 21st, just as a place to enjoy a cold beer and a bench with an old friend in the scorching sunshine, and on that visit, I managed to snap an unexpectedly interesting photo of bees, on the thistles.

Honeybee and Buff-Tailed Bumblebee on Thistle at Cranham Marsh. 

Birds Seen: Black Headed Gull,  Feral Pigeon, Swift, Green Woodpecker, Kestrel, Rose-Ringed Parakeet, Jay, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Whitethroat, Wren, Blackbird, House Sparrow, Dunnock, Chaffinch, Goldfinch. 

Butterflies: Comma (6) Green Veined White (22) Large White (20) Gatekeeper (12) Red Admiral (4) Meadow Brown (23) Speckled Wood (1) Ringlet (14) Small Skipper (11) Brown Argus (2) Common Blue (6) Peacock (7) Small White (11) Holly Blue (1)

RSPB Bowers' Marsh, Essex

I took half a damp day, the sun gone, to walk around this damp piece of land, an RSPB reserve sandwiched between the Essex town of Pitsea and a landfill site, to walk a circuit, and tick more bird species than I did at their fenland flagship, in drizzling rain. 

There were a few runners and dog walkers taking their permitted exercise, and to my surprise, a few motorcycle scramblers about. Under the partial reopening permitted, I caught the reserve just before it was closed again due to antisocial behaviour.

Record Image of Black Necked Grebe at Bower's Marsh. 

The birds were the stars of the day, and there were many, Avocets had fledglings on the islands in the scrape. A single Black Necked Grebe, an attractive, relatively scarce species, with Macaroni Pengion ear tufts, a distinct, sharply sloping forehead, a ruby red eye set in a black head and neck, and rich chestnut brown flanks while resplendent in breeding finery, hung out on the water with a small band of Pochards, diving frequently. In the reeds at New Marsh Viewpoint, I again encountered Bearded tits, for the second time in three days! A smart male, and two youngsters made their way between the reeds.  Common and Green Sandpipers were on a black and rubbish-strewn patch of water on the other side of the fence separating me from the landfill site. A Marsh Harrier made occasional flybys, putting all the waders to flight.

Record Image of Bearded Tit

Another highlight was the Yellow Wagtails. Summer migrants, this flock included a couple of dapper yellow adults, bright, flying dandelions, and a couple of muddy yellow and olive youngsters.  Yellow Wagtails are a widely distributed and variable species, with geographically distinct races, though these were true yellow wagtails, the near-endemic British subspecies, Motacilla flava flavissima, and had probably bred locally, though in a few months they would begin their long autumn migration to sub-Saharan Africa.  

Despite the grey, there was a Marbled White butterfly on the wing too, big and blousy, blown about by the breeze. 

Birds Seen: Canada Goose, Greylag Goose, Mute Swan, Shelduck, Mallard, Teal, Pochard, Tufted Duck, Black Necked Grebe*, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Marsh Harrier, Coot, Oystercatcher, Avocet, Lapwing, Black-Tailed Godwit, Common Sandpiper, Green Sandpiper, Redshank, Black Headed Gull, Common Gull, Herring Gull, Lesser Black Backed Gull, Common Tern, Stock Dove, Woodpigeon, Magpie, Jackdaw, Carrion Crow, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Bearded Tit, Skylark, Swallow, Sedge Warbler, Reed Warbler, Whitethroat, Starling, Blackbird, Robin, Stonechat, House Sparrow, Yellow Wagtail*, Pied Wagtail, Chaffinch, Greenfinch, Linnet, Goldfinch, Reed Bunting. 


Warley Place, Brentwood, Essex, 19th July 2020


I spent a couple of hours with the family bimbling around one of Mumsie's favourite spots, Warley Place near Brentwood, a fascinating reserve near Brentwood. The reserve's origins are interesting, they form the grounds of a long demolished stately home, once occupied by Ellen Wilmott, keen gardener and plant hunter. Many of the exotic plants she grew in her gardens still survive, though under a canopy of mature trees, the house, unoccupied since before the second world war, was demolished in the 1960s, and the gardens left to fall to ruin, though elements of them have since been partially restored. The historic structures which still stand, parts of a conservatory and a coach house, are maintained in an as-is condition, and the Edwardian glory of the gardens can easily be imagined.

Rutpela maculata on cultivated Rose. 

Two hides stand on the site, overlooking small bodies of water, one a garden pond, the other the irrigation system beneath a long demolished hot house, each with bird feeders outside, attended by Great Spotted Woodpeckers and a few common passerines. Ginkgo biloba grows alongside cultivated roses and bamboo, relics from Ellen Wilmott's day, alongside self seeded secondary woodland.

Among the curious creatures we found was a beautiful longhorn beetle,which Dad spotted atop a rose flower. We identified as Rutpela maculata.  

Birds Seen:  Moorhen, Woodpigeon, Great Spotted Woodpecker, Green Woodpecker (H) Jay, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Coal Tit, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Blackbird, Robin. 

Butterflies: Red Admiral (2) Meadow Brown (4) Green Veined White (2) Speckled Wood (1) Ringlet (1) Gatekeeper (2)

Dartford Warblers at Arne

Dartford Warblers

Dartford Warblers (Sylvia undata) are among the scarcest and most enigmatic passerines to grace these islands, and surely among the most charming. When vast tracts of heathland covered much of Southern England, the species was not uncommon, and it is named for Dartford Heath in North Kent, from which it has been absent for decades.  Perhaps more at home in Mediterranean Europe, it is on the edge of its range in Great Britain. With the increasing development and fragmentation of this habitat, sitting as it does in desirable Surrey and Dorset, it underwent decades of decline.  It is also said to be particularly vulnerable to predation by domestic cats, which can exclude it from small scraps of habitat saved from housing developments. An exclusive insectivore, and largely sedentary species, its greatest enemy is the British winter, persistent snow can wipe a colony out, and a cold winter in the early 1960s nearly did for the British population entirely, just a few pairs appearing after the snow finally melted.  However, amid great conservation effort and with possibly a small helping hand from climate change, the species is beginning to recover. 

Dartford Warbler at Arne.

There are a few places where these birds can reliably be found. Arne, and surrounding fragments of heath, and Chobham Common in Surrey, where I first met the species, host good numbers year round. They are vulnerable to disturbance, and responsible birders do not go tramping through the heather at any time of year. Occasionally individuals turn up on the coast in Southern England, undertaking short movements to avoid the very worst of the weather.

A view from Arne.

It was at the RSPB’s magnificent pristine heathland reserve at Arne, near Wareham in Dorset, that I had my most recent, and most magical encounter with these gorgeous little passerines. A solo expedition to one of my favourite corners of the country in the hope of catching up with Nightjar (I did, but not enough to blog about), I camped near this magnificent spot, a large tract of Dorset coastal heath on Poole Harbour overlooking Brownsea Island, managed impeccably for conservation, and took a long stroll among its heathland rides.  Arne was abuzz with dragonflies and butterflies and hoverflies, and 90 common spotted orchids grew along the bank of one small pond which must have hosted half a dozen different Odonata, including an iridescent Downy Emerald and a striking pair of Emperors including an Ovipositing female. It was becoming a good day.

Emperor Dragonfly (Anax imperator) ovipositing at Arne. 

 It was the song of the Dartford Warbler that first caught my attention. Imagine the song of a Whitethroat (Sylvia communis), and consider the qualities and notes which ensure the song is often described as “scratchy.”   Now distil those scratchy qualities, concentrate that Sylvia scratchiness,  andyou will begin to imagine the song of the male Dartford Warbler.  The male caught my eye first too, a small, dark coloured bird, with a longish tail, proportions somewhere between a Cetti’s Warbler and a Long Tailed Tit. He alighted briefly at the top of the heather, sang a few notes, and dropped back into the thick tangle of waist high vegetation.  He reappeared and my eyes strained to see his features in the sun glare, his dark blue-grey back and wings contrasting little with his dark pink-red underparts, and he had an air of cultivated scruffiness.  Rooting in the gorse he popped up briefly with a beak full of spiders, before dropping down to stuff his spiders into the expectant mouth of a scruffy fledgling, brown and distinctly smaller than the adult, which had emerged from the vegetation.   The fledglings and the female never left the thick heather and gorse, appearing to my eye only briefly before returning to the shelter of the thick heather canopy, but the male returned to his commanding lookout and sang, re-stating his claim to this his fragment of the coastal heath, the precious resource upon which his family depend.  Perhaps by remaining in this prominent position he also provided a distraction display focussing the attention of birders, and any would-be predators, on him, allowing the more vulnerable youngsters to slip away.

It was a magical moment with these scruffy, charismatic little survivors, and conservation icons of the lowland heath.  It was heartening to know that, with many small birds finding their breeding cycles disrupted by the late snow this spring, at least some of this most cold-sensitive warblers had successfully fledged broods. This family appeared to be doing well.

Water Rails

Water rails are typically a shy species. When I was volunteering in Greece in 2011, the very numerous Rallus aquaticus of the Gialova Lagoon, were only seen as they ran across the small bodies of water which separated the vast reedbeds, squawking anxiously. At reserves in the UK, indeed across Europe and temperate Asia, the species' range, a typical encounter consists of a sound, a squeal, not dissimilar to a distressed pig, emanating from somewhere among the reeds. When Springwatch filmed a Water Rail nest at RSPB Minsmere, and saw the pretty, fluffy black chicks, it was the first time their hatching had been filmed in the wild. They often appear on Facebook cute-memes, wrongly labelled as “crow chicks” presumably because of their jet-black downy plumage. These are such seldom seen, if not terribly rare birds, the behaviour of one at RSPB Rainham Marshes, by the Thames Estuary on the cusp of South Essex and East London, in January, was quite unusual. Pretty much every birder in the region took a few photos, and I decided to join them.

The Rail was using a pool beside one of the reserve paths, walking around its edges, occasionally leaving the shelter of the reeds to swim across the open water, looking not dissimilar to the much more familiar Moorhen (Galinula chloropus), of public parks, and posing for photographs. Water Rails are omnivorous, and can turn their attention to a range of foods, but hard times can draw birds out of the reeds, or other dense habitat as the search for energy giving foods becomes ever more pressing. Water Rails can become surprisingly confiding when cold weather dictates, and this one had, perhaps ill-advisedly, been fed mealworms, a practice which is not encouraged when dealing with scarce wild birds whose chronic shyness is an evolved survival strategy, but nevertheless, whether through familiarity or though desperation, it had come out into the open and cast off its fear of humans.

I love South Essex

Strolling on West Canvey Marshes this morning, the flat, damp expanse of grazing marshes filling the space between the snaking mud channel of Pitsea creek, and the Canvey Way Avenue of Remembrance, as the A130 becomes when it crosses onto the “island,” and in the shadow of the huge former Coryton Oil Refinery, and its docks, I was struck by something. South Essex, you are flipping beautiful. Never change what you are.

Black Tailed Godwit at West Canvey Marshes

The water on the reserve was high, and there were puddles on the paths. These wet coastal meadows are a typical local habitat, sculpted by centuries of moderately intensive human land use, the coastal grazing marshes. The reserve is still, declare the information boards the RSPB have installed about, a working farm, and cattle graze its lush swards. The pool beside the A130 was attended by busy Black Tailed Godwits, prodding about on its grassy margins, and Lapwings stood on its banks.  The gentle mews of Common Gull, and the whistles of Wigeon, striking ducks with bold yellow stripes on tops of their heads seemed to fill the air, a winter chorus, despite the constant competition from the traffic just a few metres away.   These calls are evocative of the cold winter air, these birds have travelled from distant breeding grounds in Scandinavia, or Siberia, places compared to which these windswept marshes are relatively hospitable winter habitat.

I wander on as a trio of chirping Meadow Pipits fly overhead, more seasonal refugees from the uplands. Stonechats are here too, bold, striking and confiding. Stonechats watch you as you watch them. They seem to keep an eye on the observer, and occasionally take off to snatch one of the few insects still active in late Autumn, from the air or off the ground.  As I neared the next hide I was aware of the sky filling with birds, Godwit, all the ducks, Lapwings, and smaller Starlings, so often seen in the company of Lapwings on South Essex marshes at this time of year, and previously hidden among the long grass, all taking to the air.   Presumably disturbed by all the commotion, a Grey Heron joined them too.  They wheeled and climbed, alarm calls echoing, staying airborne, indicating the presence of an aerial predator. I could not spot one.  In the photographs of the flock the roofs of passing vans on the A130 are visible, but I was not aware of them at the time. This was wild Canvey. I sat down in the hide, and as I did so the birds began to settle again, Wigeon landing on the water en masse in front of me, hundreds of them.  A circling Marsh Harrier seemed too distant to be the cause of their collective alarm. A couple of ducks took off from the other side of the water, and a shape raced toward me across the water. I couldn’t make it out at first but within a few seconds I was eye to yellow eye with a Sparrowhawk. We seemed to hold each others’ gaze for a second as the raptor climbed a little, effortlessly, giving a piping alarm call of its own, and passed over my head, and over the top of the screen, dropping in behind a hedgerow somewhere between where I sat and the Oil Refinery, and was gone from view. I have no regrets about lacking the presence of mind to point my camera at it, that would have deprived me of the eye-to-eye moments I had with the bird, and the breathless, heart racing moment.  I hadn’t recognised the bird at first because its outline was broken by the dead starling in the hawk’s talons. This was a stunning wild predator, in a stunning wild landscape.

Flocking Wigeon, with passing traffic.

Walking down the path, between the hedges, crossing the bridge over the reed beds where a few short weeks ago Natalie and I had been watching the swallows gather to roost before their flight to sub-Saharan Africa, now long gone, I could not help but wonder at this oasis, and the beautiful, underrated part of the country into which it fits, the Estuary England, the South Essex Marshes. Like so many South Essex wildlife sites, West Canvey does not exist separately from the urban and industrial places which surround it, but merges seamlessly with them to form a wider landscape, continuous and stunning and interwoven.  It is not far from Basildon, and is one of a suite of marshes the RSPB helps to look after locally. Here and in the wider area, from Fortress Purfleet, known to the RSPB as Rainham Marshes and sitting West of the Dartford Crossing, to the wintering flocks of Brent Geese and Turnstone which hang around at high tide at the foot of Southend Pier in the East, and Wallasea and Foulness Islands beyond, both noted for their wintering raptors, these sites are settle easily into a landscape shaped by human activity along the river. So many, such as the chalk habitats at Chafford Gorges near Thurrock, once a chalk quarry, or the new invertebrate reserve managed by BugLife at Canvey Wick, home to rare bees and other invertebrates, once an oil refinery, exist on Brownfield sites, shaped by industry, and these industries existed here because of the river, connecting London with the open sea.

Stonechat on Canvey Island

South Essex, I thought, as I became surrounded by the squeaking contact calls of busy long-tailed tits around me, you are bloody gorgeous and I love you. Then I thought, oh look, a Goldcrest.

Pitsea Creek.