Cranes, Flamingoes and French Bread - The Camargue January 2020

The last week of the UK as an EU nation found five of us in the south of France to spend some quality time exploring the magnificent Camargue region. The area is squeezed between the Mediterranean and the two arms of the Rhone delta and is made of up marshland with a huge salt water lagoon, the Etang de Vaccares as a centrepiece. I had wanted to visit this place since I first saw the name at maybe 14/15 years old in some (frankly strange) fantasy novels written by Michael Moorcock (you might need Google for that reference)

Leaving some of our party waiting for the owner outside our gite, a quick shopping trip to Arles to stock up with essentials (beer, wine, cake) was topped on the return journey by the site of thousands of starling gathering on the roadside telephone wires (and on the ground both to the side of and across the road) to such an extent that the wires were bowing dramatically. These starlings were to be a continuing theme of the week.

The first morning dawned….at least I think it did, there was so much rain, thunder and lightning, it was sort of hard to tell. Having sat out the morning in our gite (with one abandoned attempt to get out), the afternoon cleared and we spent a few hours exploring the edge of the etang. We found a number of common waders such as redshank, dunlin and grey plover, finishing at Fangassier, a major site for flamingos, of which more anon. 

Day two really did dawn beautifully but turned very misty as we neared the etang. The mist did make some for some nice, atmospheric images and having stopped once of twice on the way, we pulled up at La Capaliere, a nature reserve and information centre for the Camargue. Graham managed to slip and hit the deck during the morning stroll (a once a trip occurrence for Graham) but the walk produced nice views of, indeed contact with the ‘other’ local speciality, white horses. We moved onto Le Badon for the afternoon, good for marsh harrier, and then drove back to Fangassier (having seen our second male hen harrier of the week). Fangassier produced for us with nice views of flamingo coming into roost.

For Tuesday, we headed into the high country to the north east of Arles and away from the Camargue. We stopped at Les Baux hoping for wallcreeper and alpine accentor but without luck. We did get nice views of firecrest in the car park however along with blue rock thrush and black redstart in the village. We then went onto St Remy hoping for bonelli’s eagle again with no luck albeit booted eagle was fair compensation. The trip into the high country perhaps wasn’t a roaring success but still pleasant and we headed back to the Etang de Vaccares for the sunset and a crane flyby past as they flew towards their roosting site which at this stage, we hadn’t quite properly located.

Wednesday morning saw us at the Musee de Camargue which in spite of the name, is a nature reserve. We were early but the warden wandered out and started to talk us through the site and also where we might find that crane roost. The reserve itself was excellent and gave us some good views of low flying cranes plus kingfisher and bearded tit. You could also see how brilliant this could be in April/May with the mixture of reed bed, a bit of open water and scrub. We returned back to the gite for a mid-afternoon break, finding glossy ibis close to the road on the way back to which we would add moustached warbler and great white egret the next day at the same site. However, having stopped for a cuppa and cake, we were back on the road for the crane fly in and got the parking spot on. The sight, and as always, the sound, of thousands of crane flying in from all points of the compass, some in small groups, some in long lines remains a wonderfully evocative memory.

Apparently, we couldn’t get enough of the cranes so we were up before sunrise for another go and after a little indecision as to where precisely we should park up, we just stopped the car at a point they were starting to go and saw them depart, again for all points of the compass. The main part of the day was a little quiet as we explored a small reserve right next to our ‘home’ village of La Sambuc. That stroll did however highlight where we thought might be the best place to see the starlings of an evening. Later that day, we were back on a viewing platform overlooking the reserve and again watching the build up of starlings on the wires until they started to fly directly in front of our position. I can’t tell you how many there were – 100,000, 200,000? – difficult to say. It got more difficult to say when a peregrine went through them causing the amount of panic you might expect.

Our last day and we headed to the south western part of the Camargue, and after some nice flamingo view, finished at St Maries de la Mer with the sea on one side and the etang on the other. I Love a good gull (I really don’t) but yellow legged gull and particularly slender billed gull were good finds. Best part for me was getting close to black necked grebes, with that amazing red eye seemingly staring you down. The same spot gave equally close views of little egret and a common sandpiper.

Our week in the Camargue has, inevitably, made me want to go back (I haven’t even mentioned black stork and great spotted eagle) and explore this magnificent area in the spring. One day.

Grasslands and Grass Lands

Grasslands is a small area of Horsell Common and the subject of a heathland restoration programme and whilst there is a little way to go with that project, my walk today across the site produced five or six woodlark. These are birds largely restricted to lowland heath and in particular, they need very short habitat in which to breed and feed. My woodlark therefore were most likely a family party (and this pair fledged four young last year), not long out of the nest and what a brilliant endorsement of the still young management programme. A dip into my Birds of the Western Palearctic (volume 5 Tyrant Flycatchers to Thrushes, anybody else still have this?), reveals that they can have a second brood and as autumn begins, the parents add both sets of fledglings together to form an extended family party, bouncing around the heath (their flight is very undulating in the same way as a woodpecker).

My Grasslands walk turned into a full Horsell Common walk, seven miles from home and back again in a wide loop taking in the common itself, McLarens Park and Heather Farm. Having bumped into my wife’s hairdresser (not a line I ever saw myself writing in a blog), I cut off the main path and found myself being assailed by the clicking stone call of a stonechat. This proved to be a female but as always with this less than shy heathland jewel, the male was close by and whilst a bit more relaxed, it dawned me on that I might be near a nest so I moved on………

….and almost immediately bumped into, almost not quite literally, a female dartford warbler as it zipped across the pathway in front of me, heading for a nest. This would be disappointing except that the male stopped in a low lying bush just to one side of the path. These, even more than stonechat, are true lowland heath specialists, famously vulnerable to hard winters (that we don’t have any more) and at the northern end of their range. They really are stunning to behold; red/brown underside, smart grey uppers setting off the amazing red eye ring.

It is not however, just heathland that remains under threat in our county and elsewhere. What about, ironically, grass lands (actually lands of grass as opposed to the now misnamed end of Horsell Common). Mclarens Park, overlooking the hi tech site of hi tech world polluters, McLaren Racing (to be fair, I have an interest in F1 handed down to me by my father who watched Moss, Fangio and Hawthorn at Silverstone and the Nurburgring) is a sea of grass and flower and meadow and on this May morning, alive with meadow pipits (including one signing from a tree which had me thinking about tree pipit for way too long) and the aerially delivered song of the skylark, which still has the power has stop me in my tracks and just listen.

Too many of our remaining heaths and meadows are threatened with destruction and decay but today did remind me that local actions, and partnerships with organisations that are anything but local, can preserve and allied to projects looking to connect these places, make a real difference.

Wild Shetland - Sumburgh and Noss

Wild Shetland – Sumburgh and Noss

Leaving Unst, at the very northernmost tip of Shetland, we travelled to the very south of mainland at Sumburgh Head. On route, we stopped at Burravoe on Yell, somewhat short of time, and walked briskly out to the shoreline for black guillemot and a colony of arctic tern. Initially, there seemed to be just the one distant black guillemot perched up on a low rock but as if by magic, the other rocks seemed to sprout handsome black auks with the glorious contrast of the big white side patch and red feet. In some places, odd singletons just appeared, in others, there was suddenly a line of three or four birds, sometimes restless, always engaging.

The local terns were equally fascinating if sometimes a little too close! There was certainly a moment where the call seemed very adjacent indeed to my left ear and it did cross my mind that they would dive bomb me for being too close or maybe just for the fun of it. All this I should stress was at some distance from the colony itself. 

Our base for this part of the trip proved to be a cottage attached to Sumburgh lighthouse, a property with real character in a stunning setting. The cliffs on all sides of the head seemed to feature fulmar, with short stacks of rock home to guillemots, some razorbill and the odd shag. The seas were patrolled by gannets and marauding skuas, including one dashing, falconesque arctic skua, slimmer and quicker than its heavier great cousins. All eventually gave way to the setting sun, albeit in Shetland in June, it barely sets at all and then, not for very long.

The morning brought somewhat higher winds and after a brief foray pre breakfast, we headed out to explore this southern part of Shetland. At length, we found a small, sandy cove near Loch Spiggie and a second on the way to Bigton. This second cove boasted Caribbean clear water, moving around under the surface of which we could see a number of seals, eventually totalling some thirty animals when they later hauled out onto the sands. Yet another stretch of sand bordered by turquoise waters, this time on both sides, connects Bigton with St Ninians Isle. The sand curves cleanly out towards the isle with barely a footprint to mar its surface. This is said to be the largest ‘tombolo’ in the UK, disappearing for long stretches of time during the winter before becoming a more permanent feature in the summer months.

Our day finished this time with a post dinner walk around the now largely deserted lighthouse environs, peaceful if breezy (still no puffins).

Next day was all about the Isle of Noss, reached by a small car ferry from Lerwick to Bressay and then an inflatable taking three to five people onto Noss itself. The leap up from the boat to the top of a rock at low tide was something of a nervous exercise in itself but having accomplished this particular challenge, we were met by Bob the bonxie, a semi tame great skua which seemed content to sit on the grass and watch the birders. Noss is a National Nature Reserve, a relatively flat western part leading up to a high point at the ‘nose’ itself. A few stray bonxies and fulmar on the two mile walk out give no warning of what awaits; a huge amphitheatre of rugged, vertical sea cliff lined with the sight and sound of thousands of gannet. At this point, I simply sat down, a bit stunned actually, and drank in the experience, forgetting the camera altogether until it dawned on me that the photos might actually be quite good. Whether or not they are is for others to judge but even if they are brilliant, they can’t do justice to the reality.

The following day was all about puffins, specifically those at Sumburgh which had been largely absent over the preceding couple of days but which today, as if by magic, reappeared on the cliff tops around the head. The assumption was that conditions had taken nearly all of them out to sea en masse and all of them, en masse, decided it was time to return. Now we had small groups gathered close to the wall on which we were leaning in a bid to take close up images with, crucially, an attractive background featuring the sea, the cliffs, the gorgeous pink thrift or indeed all three.

Friday, our last day in Shetland, dawned cloudy. I say dawned because we were up at 3.30 am in order to catch the early boat back to Noss, this time to experience the gannet colony from the sea and what an experience it proved to be. Looking up the cliff face at the multitude of gannet was stunning, looking up above the boat to see them criss crossing over our heads in their hundreds even more so and then having them dive bomb the water around the boat as they aimed at fish thrown out for their, and our benefit, was beyond words. The water from splashes as they hit the sea was reaching us in the boat and a stray piece of fish thrown up in the inter gannet battles for nourishment landed on my camera. This was another moment where I just had to put the camera down, and marvel at one of nature’s spectacular displays. 

Aside from the bonus of a very close visit from a seal in Lerwick harbour, that was that. Shetland proved to be all that I had hoped; wild coastlines, steepling sea cliffs covered in nesting seabirds, moorlands boasting nesting waders and very friendly people. Neil McIntyre had proved to be knowledgeable, helpful and good company and I certainly learned a great deal in his company besides the whole week just being hugely enjoyable

Wild Shetland - Unst

After 2 years away, I have decided (again) to reboot the blog. I will start with a bit of time travel as this trip was indeed from 2 years ago but it seems like a good place to start before getting back to 'normal'.

Shetland had been in my consciousness for a long time as somewhere I wanted to visit. The name spoke of a certain rugged, bleak beauty and these are the kinds of places I like to experience. We travelled overnight on the ferry from Aberdeen (absolutely flat calm seas!) arriving into Lerwick at 7.00 in the morning in thick fog, or haar as it is known locally. Not quite what I might have hoped for! I had come to Shetland with professional photographer Neil McIntyre, his partner Jackie and some long time friends to photograph the wildlife and the landscape. Unst, was to be our base for the first few days, and is the northernmost of the islands but typical of Shetland in many ways, bleak perhaps but it’s mixture of open moor, sheep pasture, dry stone walls and collapsed crofts all had a beauty of their own. These inland characteristics were complimented by endless bays and in places, rugged cliffs which make so Shetland special.

Sunshine soon appeared and having settled into our accommodation, I was to be found wandering the roads adjacent to some rough pasture, perfect wader habitat and the redshank and oystercatcher were clearly nesting as they loudly warned me off. The fields and moorland however were alive with the sounds of curlew, whimbrel, skylark, meadow pipit and those oystercatcher. 

After an early dinner, we ‘tootled’ out and found a local bay helpfully signposted ‘otters and seals’. Seals we found along with more waders including dunlin and turnstone; a beautiful spot with the water in the bay like a mirror. At one point, I managed to see an indistinct shape on a small, calm lochan not far from the road. On becoming more visible, we were treated to surely one of the most wonderous sights in nature, a breeding plumaged red throated diver in all its glory.  We finished the day looking at an amazing flock of great skuas (never thought I would say that) bathing in a freshwater loch and then overlooking Muckle Flugga and its famous lighthouse as the sun set, throwing out gorgeous orange tones to complete the day.

Day two dawned with more of the dreaded haar, not attractive and impossible to penetrate. It did at least mean that the threatened 5.00 a.m. start had to be postponed for another day for which I was secretly grateful! The haar cleared after a while and we were back with the seals and oystercatchers of Northwick Bay, with the seals relaxed enough to interrupt their play to have a closer look at us.

In the afternoon we drove up to Hermaness and having done so, walked the two miles or so through a goodly number of great skua until reaching the cliffs. These skua are huge, threatening presences, particular when they fly low over your head. The cliffs were immediately impressive but it is when we turned a corner and were confronted with seemingly thousands of gannet crowding all available space that ‘impressive’ became jaw dropping. To add to the crowds of gannet on the cliff, there were scores more gliding and wheeling effortlessly through the air currents, in glorious contrast to the blue and grey hues of the sea.

A particular fascination for me were the fulmar, looking ancient but displaying an undoubted mastery of the updrafts, cutting through the air on characteristically straight wings. Puffins are of course another feature of these great seabird colonies. Those at Hermaness were not great in number but displayed all the character and charisma which makes them something of poster bird for conservation, loved as they are by those who know little about birds or nature in general. Such places are a reminder that it is a real privilege to experience truly wild places like Hermaness, populated by wild and beautiful creatures such as these, something few people get to do or in many cases, wish to.

Day three and we were back at Hermaness, this time with the cliffs initially shrouded in mist and in all honesty, we considered turning around. However, as we stood close to the edge trying to photograph fulmar dancing on the updrafts, the mist threatened to clear and eventually did so. Whilst that process was going on, we spent some time watching the puffins at very, very close range and trying to get successful flight images. Having walked west along the cliffs yesterday, this time we walked east for one of the wildlife experiences of my life. First becoming aware of the noise, we then came across a series of rock stacks just offshore covered in gannets. These colonies seemed to fill every available space with seemingly hundreds of gannet in the air at any one time wheeling around or gliding by. At different points, I just put the camera down and enjoyed the spectacle.

Unst had been brilliant for us, what of Shetland Mainland?