A day in the Bay of Biscay

The deep blue of the Atlantic Ocean stretched to the horizon, mirrored by a blue sky that was a just a shade lighter. The sea rolled, the occasional white cap broke the surface, small dark waves rippled. The ferry steamed ahead, leaving a path of pale turquoise and white water. Once again I am back heading across the Bay of Biscay.

After a quiet morning, with only the occasional adult gannet swooping by, finally comes the shout of dolphins. Common dolphins sweep past the vessel quickly reaching her wake. Surfing through the waves, they start to leap, clearing the waters surface by meters, as exuberant as those onboard watching.

Common dolphins 

Breach!

The wind picks up, more white horses are scattered across the deep blue. Still we stand, still we watch, we wait. Then from the depths… a tall, ephemeral jet of vapour, the telltale sign of a whale, followed by a large, dark, sleek body that slices out of the waves. Not just any whale. A fin whale. The second largest animal on the planet, a few hundred meters from the ferry. Again it surfaces, heading in the opposite direction, before after the third time it is lost from view.

Fin whale!

We resume our watching but it is not long before something else catches our eye. A dark shape beneath the waves… a huge dark shape beneath the waves, but not breaking the surface. This time it is the second largest fish on the planet, a basking shark! As the ship passes, the tip of its dorsal and tail fin breaks the surface, before it is also lost beneath the waves at the stern.

My head turns back to look ahead, and once again I see that ephemeral wisp of a whale blow. But where is the whale? It must be close…then whoosh! not one but two whales, an adult and a juvenile!

Adult and juvenile fin whale

Through the hazy cloud the Spanish coast comes into view, mountains still capped with snow, towering over the rocky coastline. Our whale watching adventure is almost over for the day, but not quite with one final sighting of long-finned pilot whale. They surface close together, a tight-knit group, black bodies gleaming in the sun and topping off yet another brilliant day in the Bay of Biscay.

Wax Lyrical

I am sitting tucked up in my office, eating lunch, reading a book (a very good book I might add) and occasionally gazing out the window watching the world of Great Yarmouth go by. The hazy sun filters through the dust on the window. It’s the holidays and kids are playing outside, their shouts carry across the hazy sky, it could be the middle of summer. Step outside and a bitter, cold easterly wind quickly reminds you it’s not quite here yet. Little generally happens during these lunch breaks, the office slows down, people head off for lunch. Later, once it is warm I will venture more often out to the beach, but for now I am content to watch from the warmth.

Into the quiet of the lunchtime office a colleague bursts, with one word on his lips. Waxwings. Having braved the cold wind for a stroll, he had picked up these superb winter visitors at the end of the road. It’s getting late for them, they will soon be heading back to Scandinavia to breed. Most years less than 100 head over to the UK. In some years when the winter food source fails, hundreds arrive on our shores in search of food, namely berries. In those years, in Eastern areas, find a rowan or hawthorn bush and you have a great chance of finding waxwings.

Waxwings in Great Yarmouth

Leaving the warm we venture out into the haze, the cold wind scouring our exposed faces. It’s worth it. Two minutes down the road, and at the top of a telegraph pole are the plump silhouettes, with distinctive crest of 13 waxwings. So confiding we walk right up to the pole. They sit, preening, the tinkling bell of their contact call rings out, and is echoed back by the mimicking starlings on roof tops. The subtle beauty of the waxwing is now clear to see, its buffish pinkish plumage with striking black bib and mask, not to mention the bright yellow and red in the wings and tail.

A stunning bird

Within a moment or two, a couple lift off from the pole, rapidly followed by the rest; dropping down to a small spindly tree, its thin branches bending under the weight, before they all rush into a low berry laden bush over a low wall. Here they start shovelling berries into their bills, swallowing them whole. A passerby flushes most of the group out, only one or two are brave enough to stay a little longer, before rejoining their companions in the lofty safety of the tree.

It is tempting to stand and watch all day, and I could, I really could. But work calls and it is time to leave them to their banquet. They’ll stay till their satisfied or the bush is completely stripped, and then head off in search of another, until finally they’ll head for home…

A murmuration

The steady thwap and thwump as the fork dug into the deep brown soil rang out over the patchwork of the allotment. Working down the plot the green of grass, dandelions and other small plants gave way to the rich brown of recently turned over soil, ready for the vegetable seeds to be planted. Beyond the fences the parcels of greens, browns and yellows, of polytunnels and vegetable beds, not only provide a place of escape for people, but a haven for wildlife. In the three months we have been digging there have been waxwing feeding on berry bushes amongst the snow and fieldfare, song thrush and various species of gulls flying over. 

The newly dug allotment!

Easter weekend, and despite British 'summer time' having started it still feels like we are in the midst of winter, with the snow only just having melted, and a bitter easterly wind still ravaging the country. Undeterred the birds are in full song, goldcrest, dunnock, song thrush and blackbird all singing from the ivy hedgerow surrounding the allotment. 

Waxwings feeding 

As the sun drops pale yellow and pink streaks stretch across the deepening blue sky. Whirling above the allotment and across this canvas, is one of the best wild displays of nature. A black swirl of starlings, undulates across the darkening sky, moving as one creating shapes and patterns. A murmuration. 

A rush of air and wings as the groups swoops low, before heading up again. When one moves, with lightening quick reactions the rest follows. During the last few moments of dusk this party plays out, before the flock dips one final time, piling into a tree or bush. A reassuring chorus of twittering greets you as you walk past such roosts before finally all goes quiet...and its time to sleep.

A murmuration of starlings over Thetford

Snow holding back

Cold, white flakes fell steadily from a grey sky. Fine crystals of ice, falling silently, being blown around in shivering gusts of an icy cold wind. As the morning progressed small patches of white  began to gather on the ravaged grass. In the harsh conditions the birds flocked to the feeders and fallen seed at the farm. Wave after wave of blue, great and in particular coal tits darted from tree to feeder and back again. Large numbers of bramblings assembled in the tops of the trees before swooping down to the fallen seed, frantically feeding amongst the settling snow. The snow continued to fall, the birds continued to feed. It was the traps that were mainly catching today, with bramblings, lesser redpolls and goldfinches all being caught as they searched for the seed within. In one sheltered part of the garden a solitary mist net continually filled with tits, and the odd surprise...the best being a stunning adult song thrush. 

What a beaut! adult Song Thrush

By morning a thick layer of white covered everything, softening the lines of the trees, cars and houses. The crisp snow crunched underfoot, flurries whipped up by the wind created brief blizzards before fading away. Each branch of the trees was defined in white, each leaf had a snow cap. Tucked in, safely protected by the overhanging ivy, the robin sat low and tight on her nest, protecting her eggs from the chill air. 

Following the rush of the river and there was one of the black-bellied dipper's, the cold water slipping over its back; a grey wagtail bobbed along the bank, picking its way through the snow in search of food. 

The black-bellied dipper ã Lee Barber

And there, among the tangled branches at the river's edge, dipping in and out of the water, was Thetford's local celebrity. The otter. Seemingly to ignore the snow, and the small crowd of onlookers, he continued his search. Popping up every so often with a fish, spending a few minutes chomping, before dipping back into the river. 

Despite the snow and despite the cold, there's no holding back for our wildlife...

The lovely otter ã Lee Barber

The first of the year

After ten days bouncing around the frothy blue waters of the Caribbean in sublime heat, it was more than a bit of a shock to the system to return to the icy cold of Norfolk. Hail storms, remnants of snow and it felt like winter's grip had not lessened in the time I had been away. Yet, there were signs that spring was at least on its way. Blackbirds, song thrush and dunnocks were all in full song. More and more patches of snow drops were unfurling their delicate petals, clustering together in splashes of brilliant white. Daffodils sprung up along the borders, adding yellow to the palette. After months of dull greens and browns, they bring a welcome breath of colour and hint of spring. 

The beauty of snow drops

The paths around Thetford, through its historic castle mound and along the swollen rivers, remained muddy. Barley's paws and tummy were splattered as we made our way along the trails. Passing a piece of ivy hanging over a crumbling wall, a robin flitted down and out. Its tail flicking. Something about this birds behaviour piqued my interest, the nester in me, having been in hibernation, stirred. I ducked under and there in my line of sight was a neatly woven nest tucked amongst the branches gripping the wall. 

The beautiful robin

The season had started, here was my first nest of the year. Three warm eggs, waiting for a couple more. A visit a few days later reveals four warm eggs. For the next few weeks the progress of this individual nest will be monitored. The eggs, chicks and outcome recorded. Although one nest, it is hopefully the first of many I might find this year, and its record will be added to a national database, from which any number of questions can be answered. 

The nest with its four eggs

An Otter Day

Finally a day dawned bright and sunny. Clear blue sky, interrupted by only the occasional whisp of white cloud, arched above the river meandering its way through shady woods. Despite the thin layer of frost covering the ground this morning, it felt like spring was well on its way. Birds sang out through the clear air, hidden amongst the branches and evergreens of the wood. A muntjac stag, with small but prominent antlers, stood firm but wary in the undergrowth watching the dog and her owners pass by on the muddy path. The swollen, murky brown river swept past, its smooth surface undisturbed until reaching a turn in its path where it swirled in small eddies.

Ahead a sleek, brown body rolled, breaking the calm surface of the river. Following a trail of bubbles and the mystery resident surfaces again, an otter. Working his way along the far side, the otter repeatedly dived, surfaced and dived again. Often he would appear chomping on some morsel of food, occasionally he would stop for a rest before continuing along his mission up the river. 

Munching on a morsel of food

Following a dramatic decline in numbers between the 1950s and mid-70s, legal protection, cleaner rivers and management has led to a resurgence in the UK otter population, with otters now returned to every county in England. Although many may not agree to me it is a welcome return, a true conservation success story. 

In the rivers, streams and estuaries of England otters are usually elusive and secretive, coming out to hunt between dusk and dawn, and shying away from human activity. Many however, are becoming more active during the day reflecting their increasing distribution but also with less persecution these wild animals may becoming less wary of people. Along the rivers and lakes of Thetford the otter has become somewhat of a local celebrity, often being seen hunting and playing in broad daylight. In the past few years a female, her cubs as well as a male or dog otter have all been encountered along a stretch of river that runs right through the center of town. 

The otter and his mustache!

Today's encounter was with a dog otter with a rather distinctive muzzle, the pale fur above the upper lip and beneath the nose making it look like he has a mustache! Along the rivers edge, dappled with sunlight, he continued to work his way up river before finally, having had his fill, disappearing into the undergrowth of the bank. 

On his way again...

Rubbish Ringing

The huge mound rose out of the hole in the Earth, a mountain not of rock or soil, but of rubbish. A huge compactor with spikes in the wheels and a massive bucket on the front beeped and revved as it moved piles of waste around the plateau at the top of the tip. Above hundreds upon hundreds of gulls circled, a swirling mass of grey and white, calling and screaming, peppered with the black shadows of crows and small flocks of starlings.

Dwarfed by the compactor and the other trucks on the tip, a white Landrover and trailer bounced and slid its way to a corner of the tip face and near to the sloping edge of the mound. On opening the door a sweet, sickly smell of rotten food and rubbish assaults the senses, but surprisingly you soon become immune only occasionally getting a strong whiff as the morning progresses.

The gulls and the tip

Amongst the piles of rubbish, seven intrepid ringers set a net. Not a fine mist net strung up between two poles, but a net lying on the ground and attached to rods which protrude from canons. Yes canons. On firing the canons fire the rods out taking the net with them, up and over the birds beneath.

With the net ready, we retreat and the compactor pushes over a load of fresh rubbish, laying it in front of the net. All there is left to do is wait, wait for the gulls to settle and feed, wait for the right time to fire the net, wait for the right kind of rubbish to come, and all the while trying not to think about what exactly it is your standing on. A continual stream of trucks brings fresh rubbish to the tip face, dumping their contents before the tractor and compactor spread it around. The minutes tick by, it gets colder, our feet and fingers go numb. With a fresh load spread out in front of us, finally there is interest. A moment later and a muted boom echoes out, the net had been fired. In an instance we go from waiting to action, scrambling up and over the piles of rubbish, towards the net beneath which are a hundred or so gulls.

With the gulls removed from under the net and placed into Hessian sacks, we could settle down (as settled as one can be on a rubbish tip) to process the catch.

First off a treat - a yellow-legged gull. Like lesser black-backed gulls and true to their name, yellow legged gulls have well yellow legs. In adults the back is a shade lighter than a lesser black-back and a shade darker than a herring gull. Capiche? There are of course other more subtle differences…

Adult yellow legged gull

Next there were 99 black-headed gulls, each one ringed with a uniquely numbered metal ring and a bright red and white colour ring. Small and dainty, black-headed gulls are easy to handle, and since they attain adult plumage after one breeding season they are relatively easy to age.

Then there were 70 lesser black-backed gulls. Bigger, meaner, with a bill that’ll draw blood if your not careful, and even if you are! Aging in larger gulls gets more tricky as they will go through four juvenile plumages before they reach the full adult plumage that we all recognise. Most, if not all the birds today were adults, with only one or two retaining the odd juvenile type feather. Again each one was ringed with a metal and a colour ring. Recapturing gulls is unusual, so in order to increase the sightings rate of these birds colour rings are added which can be read in the field without having to catch the bird again.

Lesser black-backed gull

After the lesser black-backed gulls we moved onto 19 herring gulls, this time with more juvenile birds and a range of ages, providing an excellent opportunity to see how the plumage varies.

The last bird of the day was a beast, they are not called great black-backed gull for no good reason. Not only are they larger overall and their back blacker, their bill is monstrous. With this bird you can’t even give it a chance to bite, do so and it may well snap a finger. Still never one to dodge a challenge, here I was with this adult bird lain across my lap, head safely tucked away beneath my arm, wrestling to put one of larger and harder rings in the BTO ringing scheme on its leg.

Me and the beast that is the great black-backed gull

So why, why stand in the cold on a smelly tip in the middle of February? Why run the risk of injury handling such big, mean birds? Landfill site may be stinky horrid places for us, where we hide our wastefulness underground, but for gulls they are the perfect place to feed and loaf during the winter. And they do so in vast numbers, providing the perfect opportunity to catch them in large numbers. By catching and colour ringing these birds we can find out where they move during the winter, where they breed and how this may vary between different species, ages and populations. It may surprise you but many of our large gull species are declining, and ringing is just one tool to help establish why.

One bird in particular during today’s catch highlighted this perfectly, a black-headed gull with a Lithuanian ring on. Hatched last year and in all likelihood ringed as chick in the breeding colony. Now here it was feeding on an English rubbish tip.

As they say… It’s a dirty job but someone’s got to do it….

Black-headed gull with a Lithuanian ring on,
we then added the colour ring