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.

Wanderings in the Strangest Summer, a Retrospective. Frampton Marsh and Freiston Shore

11th June 2020

With lockdown coming to an end, but my weekdays still luxuriously free, Natty and I celebrated our Anniversary with a drive out to the Lincolnshire coast, our longest away trip since March. We deliberately chose a grey day to avoid any crowds, though, as the weather deteriorated, we realised we may have chosen a little too well. 
Under a grey sky we walked from the car park down the main path toward the 360 hide, which remained closed, before pressing on toward the sea wall. Despite the cold winds, a Sedge Warbler put on a distraction display, posing on the wire fence, a response to a predator, distracting attention from the fledgelings in the reeds.

Sedge Warbler

In a creek on our right, a Spoonbill, crowned by its breeding plumes, pale yellow horseshoe marking emblazoned on its chest, emerged, and walked close to us, unperturbed by our presence. A stunning bird, once considered a real rarity, Spoonbills have begun to colonise Britain in recent years, but to see one so close and in its breeding finery was still a great privilege. A Little Ringed Plover, surprisingly well camouflaged against the mud, almost disappeared when it turned its back to us. It probed in the mud with its short bill, before flying off into the grassy marsh, the lack of a wing bar confirming its identity. 

Spoonbill

On the pool to the left of us were many Avocets with their chicks, big headed and gangly legged. Some took shelter beneath the wings of their parents, creating the impression of a six-legged bird, while the other parent was up mobbing a passing Gull. 
From the sea wall we watched displaying Redshanks, dropping on stiff downcurved wings, and calling eerily. Avocet parents mobbed us a little, flying close and noisily, and we made our way by as quickly as we could, to avoid creating any more disturbance or exposing the chicks to opportunistic and more confiding corvids and gulls. Perhaps reduced foot traffic during the lockdown period had allowed them to nest closer to the sea wall than they would otherwise have. 
The hedges are noted for their passerine avifauna, and I was looking forward to squinting into bushes for little brown birds, when it began to rain. Indeed, the heavens opened and all the birds were driven into deep cover. There was still plenty of birdsong, Natty's musician's ears identified 12 singing Yellowhammer, though I only heard three. The rain drove us onward to the sheltered stretch of public footpath, where the seeing was easier, and at least our binoculars could stay dry. A pair of Turtle Doves flew by, and damp, bedraggled hares stood hunched in neighboring fields. 
Beaten by the rain, Natty and I retreated to the motor, and then to Boston, where we picked up a fish and chip supper and headed to Freiston Shore. 

Birds Seen: Mute Swan, Greylag Goose, Shelduck, Shoveler, Gadwall, Mallard, Teal, Tufted Duck, Pheasant, Great Crested Grebe, Spoonbill, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Cormorant, Moorhen, Coot, Oystercatcher, Avocet, Lapwing, Little Ringed Plover, Black Tailed Godwit, Redshank, Black Headed Gull, Herring Gull, Lesser Black Backed Gull, Common Tern, Woodpigeon, Turtle Dove, Collared Dove, Swift, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Skylark, Swallow, House Martin, Sedge Warbler, Whitethroat, Starling, Blackbird, Meadow Pipit, Goldfinch, Yellowhammer, Reed Bunting.

Freiston Shore

We ate our chips in the car as the rain beat down on the roof, then took a brief walk down the path. past fledgeling blackbirds, baffled by what must have been their first encounter with heavy rain. A robin sang beautifully, but was wise enough not to expose itself to the harsh conditions. The hirundines were busy, hunting insects low over the water. Mist and rain limited our visibility, so we struggled to make out any waders a reasonable distance away. 
Freiston is in many ways a smaller version of Frampton, with freshwater lagoons and saltmarsh, but it does boast a clear view of the sea, something I had dearly missed over the past few months. 

Birds Seen: Mute Swan, Mallard, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Oystercatcher, Avocet, Black Headed Gull, Common Tern, Carrion Crow, Swallow, House Martin, Wren, Blackbird, Robin (H)