A week on the shingle

It was but a month ago that I suggested that staying at Dungeness Bird Observatory (DBO) might be a thing of the past for me. Seeing that I have just returned from a week’s residency at that very same establishment proves that I really do not know my a*** from my elbow…

And what an enjoyable week it was. There may not have been the volume of migrants that were hoped for,  but there was rarity, there was a more than passable passage at sea, the invertebrates were forthcoming and the pleasure to be gained from meeting up with friends old and new was priceless. It will come as no surprise to even the most casual of visitors to this blog that the shingle, once again, burrowed its way deep inside of me and on more than a few occasions I found myself stopping in my tracks to take in special moments - I will try to put these moments into words, although words can rarely evoke the feelings that these jolts of joy produce.

Star billing went to Dungeness’s third Iberian Chiffchaff, found singing just before 05.30hrs on May 4th by the birding whirlwind that is DBO’s assistant warden Jacob Spinks. The bird started off at the southern end of the trapping area and then lead us all on a merry trudge across the shingle until settling at the top of the long pits (quite a fair distance). It performed well enough if you were prepared to be patient. Supporting cast came ably from DBO’s flagship species, the Pomarine Skua, which were recorded on most days with the strongest passage on April 30th and May 1st (59 birds combined), my own tally not reaching such heights which demonstrates nicely how I was dipping in-and-out of sea-watching to do other things. However, two of my birds were rather special - on the early evening of May 2nd I was sky watching from the observatory top floor landing window (in-between spells of rain) when two lumbering spooned skuas appeared flying east some 150m inland. From where I was watching they flew behind the old lighthouse but passed in front of the new one (in effect flying between them). I have on rare occasions seen Pomarine Skuas fly along the beach but never cut a corner to cross land like this. 

One of the highlights of late-spring is the wader passage, mostly over the sea, where mixed flocks provides the observer with a kaleidoscope of pattern and colour as summer and winter plumages spangle and shimmer, red knots, orange godwits, silver and black Grey Plovers, checkered Turnstones and - my favourite - the more sober and stately Whimbrels (above). Each passing group to be savoured and leave you wanting more.

At this time of year, on any calm and sunny day, Dungeness possesses a most agreeable aroma, a warmed fragrance that comes from the vegetation. I can only guess that it is a combination of gorse, broom, sea kale and sweet vernal grass, a perfumer’s mix of honey, coconut and that special, unidentified scent that just finishes it all off. It is pungent in wafts, subtle in the main. It is catnip to me. Out on the open shingle, watching the late-spring gathering of Corn Buntings, the combination of sight, sound and smell took me over. I was at a loss to be able to put my finger on what emotions were being shaken. Nostalgia? No, it wasn’t that. Happiness? Calmness? Then it came to me. It was ‘belonging’. Fancifully, it was as if these senses had come together as an act of welcoming me back to the beach, as I had been away for 18-months. I stood still for some time, trying to take it all in, a vain attempt to bottle it for later. But, as these things do, it quickly faded and I was left with the realisation that such moments come unbidden, a glorious surprise. It is useless trying to hunt them down, they do not work like that. I was not to wait long for the next though.

I had felt tired after several days of being up at 04.40, walking miles on the strength sapping shingle and then falling into bed no earlier than 22.30hrs. By the late afternoon of the day in question I was weighing up my options, one of which was to stay close to the observatory and potter about within the confines of the moat looking for insects. However, my decision to walk the shoreline from the point northwards, regardless of fatigue, was fortuitous. Starting at the new lighthouse I checked the low broom and gorse vegetation, scanned the fishing containers and industrial bric-a-brac and kept an eye skywards and seawards. Apart from a few Wheatears and Stonechats all was quiet. Once I reached the Pilot Inn I struck out to the shoreline where the low tide had exposed the underlying sand. Climbing down from the steep-banked shingle beach and out onto the sand I looked northwards at the great expanse of Lade Sands. It is slightly disconcerting to have the sea lapping at your feet at right angles to the shoreline, which I hope the accompanying picture can convey. 

My quest was to count those birds feeding or at rest within the DBO boundary for the daily census, so started scanning with my optics. A settled group of four Sandwich Terns were close by, with a small gull in their number - a first-summer Little Gull (below). Nice. I took a few pictures before the terns moved off, but the gull stayed. It did not seem bothered by my presence so I moved closer, getting to within 10m of it. I was mesmerised. Here in front of me was a bird that you don’t usually get to be so close to grounded. Was it a bird hatched in north-west Russia last summer, having wintered off the coast of North Africa? Had it seen a human being before? Was I no different to it than a wooden groyne, a floating buoy or a small boat? This small gull before me had just happened to stop for a preen and a rest at exactly the same time as I had appeared over the horizon. Fate. The light was ethereal, pearly. The sand and sea sparkled, the air warm. And yes, I was once again lost in a special moment. It was quite moving. After 20 minutes I backed away, wanting to leave the gull in peace, aware that this was a birding moment up there with the best. Dungeness. One of my happy places.

One of the reasons that I was visiting was to join my fellow Dungeness birders in attending the celebration of Tony Greenland’s life. Tony, a lifelong birder and frequenter (latter resident) of the Dungeness area passed away recently. His sons Ian and Andrew had organised a gathering at the clubhouse of a local golf course which was well attended by family, friends, birders and aficionados of Tony’s military models and books. Together with Tony’s sons, DBO warden David Walker gave a speech in which he skilfully (and diplomatically) shared with those gathered Tony’s rich and colourful past. Before we left, a team photograph was taken of those birders present. It was a time for reflection. Tony may well have reached a respectful age, but that is of small consolation to those left behind. We stood around remembering others of the birding community who have recently passed, too many of them for our liking. Getting older is a privilege but one of the downsides is that if you remain then you will see others leave. The cliches can come tumbling out - ‘Carpe diem’, ‘Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think’ - but they are cliches for a reason, in that they hold more than a grain of truth. I looked around at my fellow birders, the umbilical chord of Dungeness tying us together, a lifetime of acquaintance and a shared history, which is at times taken for granted. Days like these makes me realise how special such friendships are.

My next post will look at the special invertebrates that came my way during the week. And less navel gazing...