Picture this (1)

I'm a great believer in living for, and in, the moment. To not worry about the where, the what or the need to put that moment down on paper, on a computer spreadsheet or manifest itself as an assemblage of pixels on a memory card. But sometimes, if you have a camera on you - and you utilise it -  you can capture that moment in a meaningful way. And a reviewing of that captured image can help you relive that moment in a far more vivid way - it isn't always the case and rarely does it happen. The following images are not necessarily pin-sharp (almost certainly not so!) but can convey, to me at least, something beyond them being but a record shot. There will be others, these being the first in a series. The captions should be self explanatory.


Dungeness, Kent: in recent years the Cormorant has become a plague bird - thousands wintering on the point, roosting on the RSPB reserve and flying out to feed over the sea across Rye and Lade Bays. They have - at least to my eyes - become avian vermin. However, there is also something endearing in their angular shapes, reptilian demeanour and the possession of a disturbing vibe which makes them a force to be reckoned with. The top picture reminds me of a Japanese pen illustration, the Cormorants mingling with Godwits and Lapwings as if they are calligraphic script. The bottom image is more ‘end of days’, a Hitchcockian warning that these birds can - and will - take over if allowed. You can hear the birds guttural squawking, smell the guano and appreciate that no other species will get a look in while they are around.

A June dawn saw me at Pagham Harbour in West Sussex, ready to meet up with some old birding friends. The day was already a happy mixture of nostalgia and wonder, but the weather on that glorious morning was something else. Warm, flat calm and an ethereal light the likes of which I had rarely witnessed. Everything was magnified  - sight, sound, smell - the harbour shone, sparkled, glittered; the bird calls carried further than you could imagine; the mud and vegetation fragranced the air with a benign fug. It was spiritual. I'm so glad that I took this photograph of a Curlew, against the light at some unfeasibly early hour. It encapsulates what was one of the most magical mornings of my life.

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