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)   

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.

Heybridge Basin

Saturday afternoon took me and my good friend Becky up to Heybridge Basin near Maldon, in the car to hone my driving skills. It lies where a canal meets the River Blackwater, effectively the estuary of the river Chelmer in North Essex.  We parked up in the free, council run car park on a grey afternoon, and wandered down a short length of canal to the village which stands beside the ‘basin,’ a sort of parking area and maintenance yard for canal boats. There were a number of Common Terns fishing around the spot where the fresh water of the canal passes through lock gates into the Blackwater.  A few black-headed gulls were there too, more powerful birds than the terns in many ways, which kept out of their way. The Black-headed gulls did not compete with the Terns in the grace and style stakes though, the forked tailed, almost angelic “sea swallows” made the larids look dumpy and inelegant. That said, the last time Bexx and I had met Terns, on a sunny day in Northumberland almost exactly a year previously,  they had attacked us. We were in the Farne Islands, and on one of the islands they just dive bombed any visitor stepping withing the colony, making contact with their beaks! Terns look pointy at the best of times. When they're going for the top of your head they are very pointy indeed. Today, however, they just allowed us to stand impressed by grace and fishing prowess. 

Beautiful Common Tern.

The salt marsh which borders the estuary separating Hebridge from the historic town of Maldon was alive, the vegetation was green and though of course the wintering birds are long gone, and the Autumn passage migrants yet (but soon) to arrive in any numbers, the peeping calls of Oystercatchers regularly broke through, and, as we walked the sound of Gulls became louder. A lone Little Egret shook his feet in the shallow, muddy water, and moved with elegant high-stepping motion across the mud. He seemed to dislike having a camera pointed at him and was soon on the wing, steadily, almost casually, making his exit from view across the saltmarsh. 

Little Egret at Heybridge

A number of old sand or gravel pits near Heybridge, between the canal and the Blackwater, have been turned over to nature, and black headed gulls, apparently in their hundreds, have taken to nesting on the small, gravelly islands. Tufted Ducks were about, some of the males still in their striking black and white but some turning over into their duller eclipse plumage, as were some of the drake mallards which were about too. A few swallows were hunting insects, sweeping around near the waters surface and over its grassy margins, never appearing to cross the Blackwater.  A cormorant flew overhead, straight and true, a jet-black adult.  There were a few Whitethroats and Acrocephalus spp. warblers singing in the bushes and lakeside vegetation, but passerine activity was a little disappointing, a couple of greenfinches flew over our heads. I’d seen a cuckoo there a couple of years ago, with my father who always seems to find cuckoos, but there wasn’t one about today. This breeze probably wasn’t helping, and nor was the cold. 

View of the River Blackwater from Heybridge.

Maldon’s sea front is dominated by bright building fronts, an old church and the wide Marine Park, the fountains of which could be seen from across the river. A stretch of tidal river, lined with lush saltmarshes, separates it from Heybridge. Here a number of shelducks filter-fed in the mud, and a couple more of these lovely, big white and black ducks flew over. Shelducks congregate in Northern Germany to moult, evidently these birds had yet to leave, and retained their smart breeding plumage, which includes an iridescent green head and red bill, and a chestnut band around their chests, in both sexes.  These handsome birds specialise in life around river estuaries, and are common in places like this but scarce in other habitats, some wintering on gravel pits, but rarely far from the coast.

Maldon

Maldon is a pretty town, when viewed from back here, and today there was some live music coming out of it, apparently from one of the towns old pubs.  Its sea front is dominated by bright building fronts, an old church and the wide Marine Park, the fountains of which could be seen from across the river. As the sky began spitting rain on us, I wondered if a boat over the river would be a good plan.  We walked on, past several cute, small rabbits, and reached a bank of spectacular, and very photogenic wild flowers.  These bordered some new build housing, presumably a backwater of the one-horse town of Heybridge.  Perhaps they had been put down as a seed mix as mitigation for the loss of habitat resultant from the building. Poppies nodded in the wind, beside camomile and some of the most brilliantly electric blue cornflowers I have ever seen. The flowers were popular with bees, and I wondered if more invertebrate fauna might be forthcoming were the weather a little less grey, and becoming colder. 

A wildflower mix. Instant wildlife for developers.

Luckily the rain continued to hold off as we walked back up the canal to the free car park which stands by it. We passed the narrowboats on the canal, which looked far more charming than the millionaires’ motor yachts which sat alongside more elegant sailing craft in the Basin itself. Although the two, appropriately nautically-themed pubs looked appealing for a glass of branded cola and a warm up, we had a dinner invitation in Witham to take up. Oh yeah, because I can drive now. Which is win. 

Black Headed Gull at Heybridge Basin. These breed in substantial numbers on the old gravel pits.