Nov 30
It was a case of sea watching between showers during the morning, and getting a list of a good variety of small numbers of common winter coastal birds. As a lunch‑time downpour ended a flock of small birds swooped into some puddles about twenty metres away and began bathing: pipits, goldfinches, greenfinches, house sparrows, serins and crested larks. Now we had a good opportunity to study the last two species.
The larks had similar plumage pattern to skylarks, but their short tails and deep bellies gave them quite a portly appearance. Generally they kept in the sparse vegetation, and were the last to leave if danger threatened ‑ they seemed to check first if it was really worth the effort of flying, perhaps it was just the sparrowhawk that had made them so nervous yesterday.
The male serins showed off their bright yellow breasts and rumps alternately as they faced us and dipped their heads into the water to bathe; the females were a little less bright. However, a closer look revealed more subtle individual plumage differences, particularly in the streaks on the face and breast. Some just looked streaked while others had stripes, and on some these stripes appeared to be continuous with the face markings. Their flight pattern was fast with short undulations, though they often spent time flying in circles before deciding where to go. Like the other finches they were feeding on the seeds of grasses and crucifers.
The serins had a jangly call reminiscent of corn bunting, while the crested larks had a flight call similar to, but not so strident, as the woodlark, and also a shrill but slightly off‑key kwee‑tee call.
Several black redstarts came to the same scrubby area, mostly to feed. We didn't see them bathing, though some looked wet when they left. They spent most of the time on the harbour wall picking up insects from the crevices and seaweed. Talking of seaweed, someone came along with tractor and trailer and took away several loads of the stuff, perhaps for fertiliser or processing.
Plants in flower included sea rocket, white campion, slender thistle, groundsel, nightshade, also lots of thorn apple with seed pods splitting open.
30 Nov 2008
29th November - Ile de Noirmoutier
The Ile de Noirmoutier is connected to the mainland via a toll bridge at its southern end, but there is also an old causeway across the southern part of the bay which is only passable for a short time at low tide. Information about tide times is prominently displayed in the village of Beauvoir sur Mer as well as at each end of the causeway, and instructions are provided in English and German as well as French. We arrived at 10 am only to find that low tide was at 3 pm.
It had been raining all morning, but rather than miss the area completely we decided to park at the end of the causeway and watch through the drizzle. As the tide fell, exposing sandy mudflats and saltmarsh, birds started to return from their high tide roosts: a few dozen brent geese, a variety of waders, duck, grebes, gulls etc. When the rain did stop, Jim found an adult mediterranean gull. We went for a short walk along the sea wall and found a first winter mediterranean gull ‑ just shows they do really exist. There were also pipits, wagtails and larks along the shore.
A few vehicles had gone out onto the causeway but they were for servicing the shellfish farms alongside it and near the shore. At about one o'clock someone came through quite fast, onto the causeway past everything else and kept going, sending up white spray so we could follow its progress. He got across, but even though the water was shallow the salt can't have done the vehicle much good. At about 1.20 pm other vehicles arrived and crossed at a more sensible speed; we followed more slowly. You are not allowed to stop on the causeway and there is nowhere to pull off to the side.
It was raining again as we drove north on the Ile de Noirmoutier to the fishing village of l'Herboutiere which is said to be good for sea watching in the right conditions. We had just found a parking place between the harbour and a (closed) campsite when a half dozen larks flew onto the rough grass and sand track in front of us. I took a second look at them because one appeared to have white on its wing, though this proved to be just feather blown out of place in the wind. But what sort of larks were they? Their short tails were reminiscent of woodlark but they had more noticeable crests.
Consultation with the field‑guide indicated they were, indeed, crested larks. Unfortunately someone came through with a bike and the birds left. We saw them a couple of times later but only for brief views, they were very intolerant of both humans and the local sparrowhawk.
When the rain had eased off again we walked along the coast. Amongst the trees providing shelter for the campsite we found chiff‑chaffs, robins, blackbirds and serins. The low cliffs were formed from a very soft sand and shingle conglomerate and were very eroded in places. Below them the low tide exposed a rocky shore of seaweed covered rocks. There were gulls, cormorants and turnstones on the rocks, and a black-throated diver feeding in the water between. The diver spent most of the time swimming with just its head underwater, diving only when it saw something worth diving for. Divers prey on fish and crustaceans, small items being swallowed underwater while large or spiny fish and crabs are brought to the surface and mutilated before being swallowed.
In the late afternoon fishing boats were returning to l'Herboutiere harbour each with an entourage of gulls; they were mostly herring and black-headed gulls in the harbour itself and a single little gull amongst those following boats still out at sea. Rock pipits and black redstarts hunted along the sea wall.
It had been raining all morning, but rather than miss the area completely we decided to park at the end of the causeway and watch through the drizzle. As the tide fell, exposing sandy mudflats and saltmarsh, birds started to return from their high tide roosts: a few dozen brent geese, a variety of waders, duck, grebes, gulls etc. When the rain did stop, Jim found an adult mediterranean gull. We went for a short walk along the sea wall and found a first winter mediterranean gull ‑ just shows they do really exist. There were also pipits, wagtails and larks along the shore.
A few vehicles had gone out onto the causeway but they were for servicing the shellfish farms alongside it and near the shore. At about one o'clock someone came through quite fast, onto the causeway past everything else and kept going, sending up white spray so we could follow its progress. He got across, but even though the water was shallow the salt can't have done the vehicle much good. At about 1.20 pm other vehicles arrived and crossed at a more sensible speed; we followed more slowly. You are not allowed to stop on the causeway and there is nowhere to pull off to the side.
It was raining again as we drove north on the Ile de Noirmoutier to the fishing village of l'Herboutiere which is said to be good for sea watching in the right conditions. We had just found a parking place between the harbour and a (closed) campsite when a half dozen larks flew onto the rough grass and sand track in front of us. I took a second look at them because one appeared to have white on its wing, though this proved to be just feather blown out of place in the wind. But what sort of larks were they? Their short tails were reminiscent of woodlark but they had more noticeable crests.
Consultation with the field‑guide indicated they were, indeed, crested larks. Unfortunately someone came through with a bike and the birds left. We saw them a couple of times later but only for brief views, they were very intolerant of both humans and the local sparrowhawk.
When the rain had eased off again we walked along the coast. Amongst the trees providing shelter for the campsite we found chiff‑chaffs, robins, blackbirds and serins. The low cliffs were formed from a very soft sand and shingle conglomerate and were very eroded in places. Below them the low tide exposed a rocky shore of seaweed covered rocks. There were gulls, cormorants and turnstones on the rocks, and a black-throated diver feeding in the water between. The diver spent most of the time swimming with just its head underwater, diving only when it saw something worth diving for. Divers prey on fish and crustaceans, small items being swallowed underwater while large or spiny fish and crabs are brought to the surface and mutilated before being swallowed.
In the late afternoon fishing boats were returning to l'Herboutiere harbour each with an entourage of gulls; they were mostly herring and black-headed gulls in the harbour itself and a single little gull amongst those following boats still out at sea. Rock pipits and black redstarts hunted along the sea wall.
30th November - Baie de Bourgneuf
The Baie de Bourgneuf is a huge square bay, open to the ocean on its north-west side, but sheltered on the southwest by the Ile de Noirmoutier. Its vast intertidal mudflats, mostly in the southern part of the bay, make it one of the primary wetland areas of France. Some 7000 ha of mudflats, and 43,000 ha of marshes receive partial protection as a wetland of international importance.
The Baie de Bourgneuf Nature Reserve consists of a stretch of coastline extending from close to Bourgneuf en Retz in the north to La Barre de Monts in the south. An area of sand, sandy mud and rocky outcrops, with shallow water lying offshore, the reserve attracts many wildfowl in autumn, winter and spring. Brent geese have been recorded in numbers from 3‑5000 and normally there are many hundreds of teal, wigeon, pintail, scaup and shelduck. Waders, such as dunlin, curlew, oystercatcher, grey plover and avocet may be present in their thousands.
Access to the shore of the bay was somewhat restricted, there are a few resorts at the northern end, but with the tide up there was little to be seen. Much of the rest is surrounded by salt marsh which has become rough grazing land with a few salt pans, and only one or two roads going anywhere near the coast ‑ providing access to hamlets based on shellfish industry. These coastal marshes provide the essential feeding areas at night for the dabbling ducks which roost on the sea or mudflats during the day. There were plenty of gulls plus a few marsh harriers and little egrets to be seen, and every section of telegraph wire seemed to have a kestrel staring intently into the vegetation below.
The Baie de Bourgneuf Nature Reserve consists of a stretch of coastline extending from close to Bourgneuf en Retz in the north to La Barre de Monts in the south. An area of sand, sandy mud and rocky outcrops, with shallow water lying offshore, the reserve attracts many wildfowl in autumn, winter and spring. Brent geese have been recorded in numbers from 3‑5000 and normally there are many hundreds of teal, wigeon, pintail, scaup and shelduck. Waders, such as dunlin, curlew, oystercatcher, grey plover and avocet may be present in their thousands.
Access to the shore of the bay was somewhat restricted, there are a few resorts at the northern end, but with the tide up there was little to be seen. Much of the rest is surrounded by salt marsh which has become rough grazing land with a few salt pans, and only one or two roads going anywhere near the coast ‑ providing access to hamlets based on shellfish industry. These coastal marshes provide the essential feeding areas at night for the dabbling ducks which roost on the sea or mudflats during the day. There were plenty of gulls plus a few marsh harriers and little egrets to be seen, and every section of telegraph wire seemed to have a kestrel staring intently into the vegetation below.
28th November
Chores Nov 28
While French shopping hours were similar to Britain, banking hours seemed rather strange. We needed cash this morning (Monday), but the banks were all closed; travellers checks could be changed in post offices in large towns. This was a small town and we were told to go to St Nazaire, the next city. We got there with the petrol gauge looking worryingly low, but at least the banks were open. It seems that outside of large cities the banks are open Tuesday to Saturday, in the cities they are open Monday to Friday.
In another small town, the manager one of the banks had looked rather vague when I asked to change a cheque. He hunted around in a few drawers, then admitted defeat. His computer had broken down and he could not cope without it; would I please go to another bank across the road.
Launderettes were another problem ‑ I got plenty of practice at asking people if they knew where a launderette was, and then trying to follow the directions they gave me. Often, however, launderettes just did not seem to exist, and we were left to do the washing by hand in a campsite.
Open campsites also often eluded us ‑ but that was an expected hazard of travelling in mid‑winter. We could have a wash of some sort in the camper, but we did occasionally need a proper shower. However, it was still frustrating to waste much time and petrol looking for places that the AA book said were open all year. I even tried phoning a couple to see in advance if they were open ‑ I hate phone conversations in English, never mind another language, fortunately all I needed were simple yes or no answers. Local tourist offices were no help, they were all closed, either for the winter or just for that day. There was even one with a 'back in five minutes' sign on the door, and that was still closed an hour later.
For the most part we used supermarkets or hypermarkets for shopping. The hypermarkets were usually situated in commercial zones on the outskirts of large towns, with plenty of parking space and often a petrol station too. The price of petrol was quite variable, and we often filled up at one station only to pass another a few kilometres up the road with petrol at five pence a litre cheaper. After a while we realised that the cheapest petrol was to be had at the hypermarkets.
Most of these hypermarkets had the wandering shopping trolley problem sorted out. To get a trolley you put a F10 coin in a slot in the handle in order to release it from the line; when you have finished with the trolley you chain it to the line and in the process get your F10 back. There was no problem of trolleys being abandoned either in the middle of the car park or in the nearest river.
Inside the supermarkets there was usually a good range of fresh and frozen vegetables; the meat counters held a variety of produce including horse-meat and veal ‑ it is something I suppose we'll get used to; we could even afford the luxury of a glass of wine with our evening meal ‑ cheap red plonk, usually from a cardboard box or plastic bottle, was a quite acceptable. A notable omission from the supermarket shelves was peanut butter, and Jim was getting withdrawal symptoms.
France is on central European time, an hour ahead of Britain, so here on the west coast daylight arrives at about 7 am but it does not get dark until after 6 pm. We can get up a dawn and feel quite civilised about it.
After what seemed like a wasted morning of mundane chores, we moved on again. We crossed another huge suspension bridge, this one over the mouth of the Loire. The light was too grey to make out anything on the mudflats below, and the weather too raw for us to want to stop on the south side and walk back for another look. We stopped for a late lunch at St Michel Chef‑chef overlooking the Bay of Biscay where Jim said there were hundreds of great-crested grebes and very little else.
While French shopping hours were similar to Britain, banking hours seemed rather strange. We needed cash this morning (Monday), but the banks were all closed; travellers checks could be changed in post offices in large towns. This was a small town and we were told to go to St Nazaire, the next city. We got there with the petrol gauge looking worryingly low, but at least the banks were open. It seems that outside of large cities the banks are open Tuesday to Saturday, in the cities they are open Monday to Friday.
In another small town, the manager one of the banks had looked rather vague when I asked to change a cheque. He hunted around in a few drawers, then admitted defeat. His computer had broken down and he could not cope without it; would I please go to another bank across the road.
Launderettes were another problem ‑ I got plenty of practice at asking people if they knew where a launderette was, and then trying to follow the directions they gave me. Often, however, launderettes just did not seem to exist, and we were left to do the washing by hand in a campsite.
Open campsites also often eluded us ‑ but that was an expected hazard of travelling in mid‑winter. We could have a wash of some sort in the camper, but we did occasionally need a proper shower. However, it was still frustrating to waste much time and petrol looking for places that the AA book said were open all year. I even tried phoning a couple to see in advance if they were open ‑ I hate phone conversations in English, never mind another language, fortunately all I needed were simple yes or no answers. Local tourist offices were no help, they were all closed, either for the winter or just for that day. There was even one with a 'back in five minutes' sign on the door, and that was still closed an hour later.
For the most part we used supermarkets or hypermarkets for shopping. The hypermarkets were usually situated in commercial zones on the outskirts of large towns, with plenty of parking space and often a petrol station too. The price of petrol was quite variable, and we often filled up at one station only to pass another a few kilometres up the road with petrol at five pence a litre cheaper. After a while we realised that the cheapest petrol was to be had at the hypermarkets.
Most of these hypermarkets had the wandering shopping trolley problem sorted out. To get a trolley you put a F10 coin in a slot in the handle in order to release it from the line; when you have finished with the trolley you chain it to the line and in the process get your F10 back. There was no problem of trolleys being abandoned either in the middle of the car park or in the nearest river.
Inside the supermarkets there was usually a good range of fresh and frozen vegetables; the meat counters held a variety of produce including horse-meat and veal ‑ it is something I suppose we'll get used to; we could even afford the luxury of a glass of wine with our evening meal ‑ cheap red plonk, usually from a cardboard box or plastic bottle, was a quite acceptable. A notable omission from the supermarket shelves was peanut butter, and Jim was getting withdrawal symptoms.
France is on central European time, an hour ahead of Britain, so here on the west coast daylight arrives at about 7 am but it does not get dark until after 6 pm. We can get up a dawn and feel quite civilised about it.
After what seemed like a wasted morning of mundane chores, we moved on again. We crossed another huge suspension bridge, this one over the mouth of the Loire. The light was too grey to make out anything on the mudflats below, and the weather too raw for us to want to stop on the south side and walk back for another look. We stopped for a late lunch at St Michel Chef‑chef overlooking the Bay of Biscay where Jim said there were hundreds of great-crested grebes and very little else.
27th November
Nov 27
During the last couple of days we have heard a trilling which we haven't been able to identify. This morning the song came loud and clear from an aerial on a nearby house, and was being sung by a bright yellow male cirl bunting. The field guide describes it as a monotonous hurried jingle re¬calling lesser whitethroat; it solves a mystery of a bird we heard when we visiting Sussex last s¬pring, and decided it was probably a lesser whitethroat with the sound distorted by wind and distance.
We eventually got sorted out, packed up and on our way south again persuading the telescope to get in the van was the hardest bit it always wanted to look at yet another bird.
A dead mammal by the side of the road caused us to stop for a second look. It was a beech marten, similar to a pine marten but with a cream throat patch instead of white, and a pink nose instead of brown. This animal had probably been struck a glancing blow by a passing vehicle, there wasn't a mark on it; it was cold and stiff but not unpleasant to handle so we took the opportunity to look closely at it, particularly the feet and the tracks they would leave.
The beech marten ranges from central and south¬ern Europe eastwards through Asia to Mon¬golia. Although we found this one in an area of woodland, it is quite common in built up areas where it gets into buildings and can cause con¬siderable damage, mainly to the outer panelling and insulation of houses. Thus it is often con¬sidered a harmful pest and is widely persecuted.
The Rural Code contains a whole section on the destruction of animal pests. The concept is outdated but it still carries a lot of weight in France, and the regulations make it possible to destroy any wild animal by any means and in any season at the slightest excuse. Foxes, badgers, magpies and crows are traditional victims, with weasels and stoats being more or less wiped out in some areas.
Briere
Our journey had taken us through several areas designated Parc Natural Regional. Basically these were special land management zones (equivalent to British National Parks), where the aim was to ensure the safe keeping of the country's natural heritage while permitting the develop¬ment of compatible economic activities recreation, farming, non polluting industry, environmental education, etc. Within these zones there may be areas of wildlife interest, eg the vast marshes and reedbeds of Briere, which were protected against drainage and other development, but where shoot¬ing was still allowed.
From the map and one of our books we knew the Parc Regional Natural de Briere consisted of wet¬land and farmland with a few towns and villages. At the centre of the area was la Grande Briere, totalling some 7000 ha of marshes and lagoons, one of the largest such areas in inland France.
The basin containing the marsh was formed by earth movements which caused the underlying rocks to sink. Over millions of years the sea has occasionally flooded the basin, laying down deposisits of sediment. Then about eleven million years ago the basin was completely cut off from the sea by the formation of a littoral bar. The landscape has been subjected to human activities such as fishing, reed cutting, grazing and hay making preventing the drier bits of land becoming woodland. Instead there is wet heath merging into boggy meadow. At the end of the summer the fields are reputed to be blue with heath lobelia. Many birds are known to breed in the park, including bearded tit, cettis, savis and grasshapper warblers, bluethroat, garganey and bittern. In the winter wild duck and geese visit the flooded areas.
What we have seen so far of the wetland is vast areas of phragmites cut by drainage channels and with patches of willow scrub developing on drier ground. We stopped at a pic¬nic site hoping to find footpaths or tracks but with no luck. There were, however, some punts padlocked to their mooring and that form of trans¬port could prove most interesting. The place was deserted except for a few fishermen and hunters one hopes that in a place of this size wildlife could find some refuge from such activities.
Where there are reedbeds one expects to find marsh harriers and we were not disappointed. There were up to four birds in view at a time and the show was almost continuous. Mostly they were brown birds but there was at least one adult male. In contrast to the flying displays we were watching a couple of days ago, most of these birds were get¬ting down to business - hunting.
As their name suggest, marsh harriers show a preference for shallow fresh or brackish water, fringed or extensively invaded by tall standing reeds, reed mace and other similar vegetation without too many trees. Briere must look like heaven to them.
The harriers quarter the reeds in a low lei¬surely flight, flapping steadily in today's calm weather but gliding slowly forwards in a strong wind. All the while they scan the herbage beneath for any sign of movement and, when a victim is located, the harrier checks its flight, sometimes almost turning over, before plunging vertically with legs out¬stretched. We have not seen them fly out of the reeds with prey, so presumably they consume the victim immed¬iate¬ly on the ground.
Twice we saw birds carrying vegetation. On the first occasion the vegetation was dropped as another bird approached and they called to each other; they came together several times, twisted and turned once or twice each time then parted. On the second occasion the same type of interac¬tion continued for some time and the bird with the vegetation kept hold of it for longer. The birds often called when they were coming together, a shrill weak version of the courtship call. This out of season activity is thought to be play, or young birds practising for the spring.
At last we caught up with short toed tree¬creep¬er. A bird with a strange call flew over our heads and landed on a nearby willow tree. We could see clearly the buffish flanks and the longer bill which distinguish it from the ordinary treecreeper.
A bearded reedling bounced out of the reeds and called attention to himself, others were heard but not seen. Two Cetti's warblers had a dispute about fifty metres behind us, they shouted chewey¬ chewey ¬chew chew at each other in the fading light visual identification was impossible. Other distinctive sounds came from water rails; silhou¬ettes of water voles crossed the channels and a merlin zoomed over the reeds.
During the last couple of days we have heard a trilling which we haven't been able to identify. This morning the song came loud and clear from an aerial on a nearby house, and was being sung by a bright yellow male cirl bunting. The field guide describes it as a monotonous hurried jingle re¬calling lesser whitethroat; it solves a mystery of a bird we heard when we visiting Sussex last s¬pring, and decided it was probably a lesser whitethroat with the sound distorted by wind and distance.
We eventually got sorted out, packed up and on our way south again persuading the telescope to get in the van was the hardest bit it always wanted to look at yet another bird.
A dead mammal by the side of the road caused us to stop for a second look. It was a beech marten, similar to a pine marten but with a cream throat patch instead of white, and a pink nose instead of brown. This animal had probably been struck a glancing blow by a passing vehicle, there wasn't a mark on it; it was cold and stiff but not unpleasant to handle so we took the opportunity to look closely at it, particularly the feet and the tracks they would leave.
The beech marten ranges from central and south¬ern Europe eastwards through Asia to Mon¬golia. Although we found this one in an area of woodland, it is quite common in built up areas where it gets into buildings and can cause con¬siderable damage, mainly to the outer panelling and insulation of houses. Thus it is often con¬sidered a harmful pest and is widely persecuted.
The Rural Code contains a whole section on the destruction of animal pests. The concept is outdated but it still carries a lot of weight in France, and the regulations make it possible to destroy any wild animal by any means and in any season at the slightest excuse. Foxes, badgers, magpies and crows are traditional victims, with weasels and stoats being more or less wiped out in some areas.
Briere
Our journey had taken us through several areas designated Parc Natural Regional. Basically these were special land management zones (equivalent to British National Parks), where the aim was to ensure the safe keeping of the country's natural heritage while permitting the develop¬ment of compatible economic activities recreation, farming, non polluting industry, environmental education, etc. Within these zones there may be areas of wildlife interest, eg the vast marshes and reedbeds of Briere, which were protected against drainage and other development, but where shoot¬ing was still allowed.
From the map and one of our books we knew the Parc Regional Natural de Briere consisted of wet¬land and farmland with a few towns and villages. At the centre of the area was la Grande Briere, totalling some 7000 ha of marshes and lagoons, one of the largest such areas in inland France.
The basin containing the marsh was formed by earth movements which caused the underlying rocks to sink. Over millions of years the sea has occasionally flooded the basin, laying down deposisits of sediment. Then about eleven million years ago the basin was completely cut off from the sea by the formation of a littoral bar. The landscape has been subjected to human activities such as fishing, reed cutting, grazing and hay making preventing the drier bits of land becoming woodland. Instead there is wet heath merging into boggy meadow. At the end of the summer the fields are reputed to be blue with heath lobelia. Many birds are known to breed in the park, including bearded tit, cettis, savis and grasshapper warblers, bluethroat, garganey and bittern. In the winter wild duck and geese visit the flooded areas.
What we have seen so far of the wetland is vast areas of phragmites cut by drainage channels and with patches of willow scrub developing on drier ground. We stopped at a pic¬nic site hoping to find footpaths or tracks but with no luck. There were, however, some punts padlocked to their mooring and that form of trans¬port could prove most interesting. The place was deserted except for a few fishermen and hunters one hopes that in a place of this size wildlife could find some refuge from such activities.
Where there are reedbeds one expects to find marsh harriers and we were not disappointed. There were up to four birds in view at a time and the show was almost continuous. Mostly they were brown birds but there was at least one adult male. In contrast to the flying displays we were watching a couple of days ago, most of these birds were get¬ting down to business - hunting.
As their name suggest, marsh harriers show a preference for shallow fresh or brackish water, fringed or extensively invaded by tall standing reeds, reed mace and other similar vegetation without too many trees. Briere must look like heaven to them.
The harriers quarter the reeds in a low lei¬surely flight, flapping steadily in today's calm weather but gliding slowly forwards in a strong wind. All the while they scan the herbage beneath for any sign of movement and, when a victim is located, the harrier checks its flight, sometimes almost turning over, before plunging vertically with legs out¬stretched. We have not seen them fly out of the reeds with prey, so presumably they consume the victim immed¬iate¬ly on the ground.
Twice we saw birds carrying vegetation. On the first occasion the vegetation was dropped as another bird approached and they called to each other; they came together several times, twisted and turned once or twice each time then parted. On the second occasion the same type of interac¬tion continued for some time and the bird with the vegetation kept hold of it for longer. The birds often called when they were coming together, a shrill weak version of the courtship call. This out of season activity is thought to be play, or young birds practising for the spring.
At last we caught up with short toed tree¬creep¬er. A bird with a strange call flew over our heads and landed on a nearby willow tree. We could see clearly the buffish flanks and the longer bill which distinguish it from the ordinary treecreeper.
A bearded reedling bounced out of the reeds and called attention to himself, others were heard but not seen. Two Cetti's warblers had a dispute about fifty metres behind us, they shouted chewey¬ chewey ¬chew chew at each other in the fading light visual identification was impossible. Other distinctive sounds came from water rails; silhou¬ettes of water voles crossed the channels and a merlin zoomed over the reeds.
26 Nov 2008
27th November 1988 - Briere
Briere
Our journey had taken us through several areas designated Parc Natural Regional. Basically these were special land management zones (equivalent to British National Parks), where the aim was to ensure the safe‑keeping of the country's natural heritage while permitting the development of compatible economic activities ‑ recreation, farming, non‑polluting industry, environmental education, etc. Within these zones there may be areas of wildlife interest, eg the vast marshes and reedbeds of Briere, which were protected against drainage and other development, but where shooting was still allowed.
From the map and one of our books we knew the Parc Regional Natural de Briere consisted of wetland and farmland with a few towns and villages. At the centre of the area was la Grande Briere, totalling some 7000 ha of marshes and lagoons, one of the largest such areas in inland France.
The basin containing the marsh was formed by earth movements which caused the underlying rocks to sink. Over millions of years the sea has occasionally flooded the basin, laying down deposisits of sediment. Then about eleven million years ago the basin was completely cut off from the sea by the formation of a littoral bar. The landscape has been subjected to human activities such as fishing, reed‑cutting, grazing and hay making ‑ preventing the drier bits of land becoming woodland. Instead there is wet heath merging into boggy meadow. At the end of the summer the fields are reputed to be blue with heath lobelia. Many birds are known to breed in the park, including bearded tit, cettis, savis and grasshapper warblers, bluethroat, garganey and bittern. In the winter wild duck and geese visit the flooded areas.
What we have seen so far of the wetland is vast areas of phragmites cut by drainage channels and with patches of willow scrub developing on drier ground. We stopped at a picnic site hoping to find footpaths or tracks but with no luck. There were, however, some punts padlocked to their mooring and that form of transport could prove most interesting. The place was deserted except for a few fishermen and hunters ‑ one hopes that in a place of this size wildlife could find some refuge from such activities.
Where there are reedbeds one expects to find marsh harriers and we were not disappointed. There were up to four birds in view at a time and the show was almost continuous. Mostly they were brown birds but there was at least one adult male. In contrast to the flying displays we were watching a couple of days ago, most of these birds were getting down to business - hunting.
As their name suggest, marsh harriers show a preference for shallow fresh or brackish water, fringed or extensively invaded by tall standing reeds, reed mace and other similar vegetation without too many trees. Briere must look like heaven to them.
The harriers quarter the reeds in a low leisurely flight, flapping steadily in today's calm weather but gliding slowly forwards in a strong wind. All the while they scan the herbage beneath for any sign of movement and, when a victim is located, the harrier checks its flight, sometimes almost turning over, before plunging vertically with legs outstretched. We have not seen them fly out of the reeds with prey, so presumably they consume the victim immediately on the ground.
Twice we saw birds carrying vegetation. On the first occasion the vegetation was dropped as another bird approached and they called to each other; they came together several times, twisted and turned once or twice each time then parted. On the second occasion the same type of interaction continued for some time and the bird with the vegetation kept hold of it for longer. The birds often called when they were coming together, a shrill weak version of the courtship call. This out of season activity is thought to be play, or young birds practising for the spring.
At last we caught up with short‑toed treecreeper. A bird with a strange call flew over our heads and landed on a nearby willow tree. We could see clearly the buffish flanks and the longer bill which distinguish it from the ordinary treecreeper.
A bearded reedling bounced out of the reeds and called attention to himself, others were heard but not seen. Two Cetti's warblers had a dispute about fifty metres behind us, they shouted chewey‑chewey‑chew‑chew at each other ‑ in the fading light visual identification was impossible. Other distinctive sounds came from water rails; silhouettes of water voles crossed the channels and a merlin zoomed over the reeds.
Our journey had taken us through several areas designated Parc Natural Regional. Basically these were special land management zones (equivalent to British National Parks), where the aim was to ensure the safe‑keeping of the country's natural heritage while permitting the development of compatible economic activities ‑ recreation, farming, non‑polluting industry, environmental education, etc. Within these zones there may be areas of wildlife interest, eg the vast marshes and reedbeds of Briere, which were protected against drainage and other development, but where shooting was still allowed.
From the map and one of our books we knew the Parc Regional Natural de Briere consisted of wetland and farmland with a few towns and villages. At the centre of the area was la Grande Briere, totalling some 7000 ha of marshes and lagoons, one of the largest such areas in inland France.
The basin containing the marsh was formed by earth movements which caused the underlying rocks to sink. Over millions of years the sea has occasionally flooded the basin, laying down deposisits of sediment. Then about eleven million years ago the basin was completely cut off from the sea by the formation of a littoral bar. The landscape has been subjected to human activities such as fishing, reed‑cutting, grazing and hay making ‑ preventing the drier bits of land becoming woodland. Instead there is wet heath merging into boggy meadow. At the end of the summer the fields are reputed to be blue with heath lobelia. Many birds are known to breed in the park, including bearded tit, cettis, savis and grasshapper warblers, bluethroat, garganey and bittern. In the winter wild duck and geese visit the flooded areas.
What we have seen so far of the wetland is vast areas of phragmites cut by drainage channels and with patches of willow scrub developing on drier ground. We stopped at a picnic site hoping to find footpaths or tracks but with no luck. There were, however, some punts padlocked to their mooring and that form of transport could prove most interesting. The place was deserted except for a few fishermen and hunters ‑ one hopes that in a place of this size wildlife could find some refuge from such activities.
Where there are reedbeds one expects to find marsh harriers and we were not disappointed. There were up to four birds in view at a time and the show was almost continuous. Mostly they were brown birds but there was at least one adult male. In contrast to the flying displays we were watching a couple of days ago, most of these birds were getting down to business - hunting.
As their name suggest, marsh harriers show a preference for shallow fresh or brackish water, fringed or extensively invaded by tall standing reeds, reed mace and other similar vegetation without too many trees. Briere must look like heaven to them.
The harriers quarter the reeds in a low leisurely flight, flapping steadily in today's calm weather but gliding slowly forwards in a strong wind. All the while they scan the herbage beneath for any sign of movement and, when a victim is located, the harrier checks its flight, sometimes almost turning over, before plunging vertically with legs outstretched. We have not seen them fly out of the reeds with prey, so presumably they consume the victim immediately on the ground.
Twice we saw birds carrying vegetation. On the first occasion the vegetation was dropped as another bird approached and they called to each other; they came together several times, twisted and turned once or twice each time then parted. On the second occasion the same type of interaction continued for some time and the bird with the vegetation kept hold of it for longer. The birds often called when they were coming together, a shrill weak version of the courtship call. This out of season activity is thought to be play, or young birds practising for the spring.
At last we caught up with short‑toed treecreeper. A bird with a strange call flew over our heads and landed on a nearby willow tree. We could see clearly the buffish flanks and the longer bill which distinguish it from the ordinary treecreeper.
A bearded reedling bounced out of the reeds and called attention to himself, others were heard but not seen. Two Cetti's warblers had a dispute about fifty metres behind us, they shouted chewey‑chewey‑chew‑chew at each other ‑ in the fading light visual identification was impossible. Other distinctive sounds came from water rails; silhouettes of water voles crossed the channels and a merlin zoomed over the reeds.
27th November 1988
Nov 27
During the last couple of days we have heard a trilling which we haven't been able to identify. This morning the song came loud and clear from an aerial on a nearby house, and was being sung by a bright yellow male cirl bunting. The field guide describes it as a monotonous hurried jingle recalling lesser whitethroat; it solves a mystery of a bird we heard when we visiting Sussex last spring, and decided it was probably a lesser whitethroat with the sound distorted by wind and distance.
We eventually got sorted out, packed up and on our way south again ‑ persuading the telescope to get in the van was the hardest bit ‑ it always wanted to look at yet another bird.
A dead mammal by the side of the road caused us to stop for a second look. It was a beech marten, similar to a pine marten but with a cream throat patch instead of white, and a pink nose instead of brown. This animal had probably been struck a glancing blow by a passing vehicle, there wasn't a mark on it; it was cold and stiff but not unpleasant to handle so we took the opportunity to look closely at it, particularly the feet and the tracks they would leave.
The beech marten ranges from central and southern Europe eastwards through Asia to Mongolia. Although we found this one in an area of woodland, it is quite common in built‑up areas where it gets into buildings and can cause considerable damage, mainly to the outer panelling and insulation of houses. Thus it is often considered a harmful pest and is widely persecuted.
The Rural Code contains a whole section on the destruction of animal pests. The concept is outdated but it still carries a lot of weight in France, and the regulations make it possible to destroy any wild animal by any means and in any season at the slightest excuse. Foxes, badgers, magpies and crows are traditional victims, with weasels and stoats being more or less wiped out in some areas.
During the last couple of days we have heard a trilling which we haven't been able to identify. This morning the song came loud and clear from an aerial on a nearby house, and was being sung by a bright yellow male cirl bunting. The field guide describes it as a monotonous hurried jingle recalling lesser whitethroat; it solves a mystery of a bird we heard when we visiting Sussex last spring, and decided it was probably a lesser whitethroat with the sound distorted by wind and distance.
We eventually got sorted out, packed up and on our way south again ‑ persuading the telescope to get in the van was the hardest bit ‑ it always wanted to look at yet another bird.
A dead mammal by the side of the road caused us to stop for a second look. It was a beech marten, similar to a pine marten but with a cream throat patch instead of white, and a pink nose instead of brown. This animal had probably been struck a glancing blow by a passing vehicle, there wasn't a mark on it; it was cold and stiff but not unpleasant to handle so we took the opportunity to look closely at it, particularly the feet and the tracks they would leave.
The beech marten ranges from central and southern Europe eastwards through Asia to Mongolia. Although we found this one in an area of woodland, it is quite common in built‑up areas where it gets into buildings and can cause considerable damage, mainly to the outer panelling and insulation of houses. Thus it is often considered a harmful pest and is widely persecuted.
The Rural Code contains a whole section on the destruction of animal pests. The concept is outdated but it still carries a lot of weight in France, and the regulations make it possible to destroy any wild animal by any means and in any season at the slightest excuse. Foxes, badgers, magpies and crows are traditional victims, with weasels and stoats being more or less wiped out in some areas.
26th November 1988
At about 8.30 this morning the water was still higher than last night but going down. In fact it did not disappear back into the channels until about midday.
The first bird we saw was a kingfisher which landed on the nearest reserve sign, but realised there were humans too close for comfort and zoomed off to perch on the next reserve sign instead. Birds were generally as yesterday with the addition of about a dozen ringed plovers feeding with a small group of dunlin.
When the tide was low enough to allow it, we walked behind a row of houses along the shore line. We soon came to face a small islet with thirty of so brent geese preening or roosting on its shore. Through the telescope we studied their plumages carefully. In most species of geese the adults have pale fringes to the wing coverts and mantle feathers while in first winter birds the fringes are narrower and browner. Brents, however, are exceptional in that the adult lacks the pale fringes, yet the young bird does have them and so appears to have mottled upper-parts and barred wings. The bird undergoes a partial body moult during the winter, gaining the white collar of the adults, then losing the mottling on the mantle and finally, in the following spring and summer, losing the barring on the wings.
One particular goose caught our attention as it was very dark on the upper-parts and belly but had pale striped flanks, its collar was more pronounced than that of any other bird there. We did a sketch and took detailed notes, and later consultation with the books confirmed our suspicions that the strange bird was a black brant, probably an eastern Siberian bird as it was with dark-bellied brents, rather than a western Canadian bird that would more likely be found with pale-bellied brents.
As the tide receded small groups of brent were leaving the area, and eventually the group on the islet left too, except for one bird with a damaged wing. Beyond the islet we could see about a dozen black‑necked grebes. A couple of harriers were hunting over a bigger offshore island. Several of the islands are also nature reserves, managed by the Societe d'etude et de la protection de la nature en Bretagne, one of the oldest naturalist societies in France.
It was quite cold and we were heading back along the road to the van for a hot drink when a car stopped and the driver asked if we were English and could he help us, meaning could he tell us some places for observation. He introduced himself as Sylvain, and talked, in fairly good English, about the area and its birds, and invited us to his house for a cup of coffee in the afternoon.
One of the places Sylvain mentioned was a very marshy area where there were a number of reed buntings, flicking their wings and tails as they perched on bushes and overhead cables, perhaps in agitation at our presence. A little egret fished in a pond, stirring up water and mud with its foot and grabbing at anything that tried to escape. Sylvain told us this species had been wintering here in increasing numbers for about fifteen years. In a drier area there were fifty or so goldfinches disturbed from their lunch and twittering in the treetops.
After lunch we took up the coffee invitation. Sylvain's garden backed down onto the shore and he took us to the shelter of some Corsican pines he had planted fifteen years ago. He was going to cut them down because they obscured the view from the house and did not provide the expected shelter from the wind. Had the tide not been right out we would have benefited from being able to get close to birds unseen by them. Hundreds of pintail and a few other wildfowl were still out there, and the number of black-necked grebes in the deep channel had risen to thirty.
A marsh harrier flew the length of an offshore island two or three times then flew low across the water and circled a few times, scattering great black‑back gulls and other birds. It got nearer to the water, legs dangling, and hovered for a few seconds. It repeated the circling and hovering and may have touched the water with its talons but it did not pick anything up. Afterwards it gained height and flew off into the haze. Marsh harriers have occasionally been recorded taking items from the water surface.
There was a log fire burning in the house and the coffee was most welcome, even if rather strong for our tastes. Sylvain talked about his visits to Britain ‑ he was a school teacher and took students with him; he told us more about the Golfe, and explained the workings of his local hunting association. He was very much aware of the reputation that French hunters had, and believed that things were changing, but slowly.
Hunting Associations were legally obliged to set aside reserves where birds could take refuge from the shooters. The birds, he said, were not stupid and soon took to using the reserve and non‑hunting areas all the time ‑ last year the only bird he had shot was a pigeon!
The members of the Hunting Association were each allocated a certain section of their commune's hunting area on each hunting day on a rota system; anyone caught in the wrong section would be fined. Outsiders were not allowed to hunt in this area under any circumstances; a group of people who had tried hunting on the reserve and had had their car, boat, guns, duck etc confiscated, and were fined F8000 each. The Association regulated its own hunting, for example, there was currently a three year ban on hare hunting because numbers had declined. And local landowners could state whether hunting was permitted on their land, either for themselves privately or for the hunting association, or whether it was forbidden to everyone.
One could easily get the impression that French hunters were not as bad as we are sometimes led to believe, but Sylvain did point out that hunting is seen differently in different areas and the rules are not the same everywhere.
The first bird we saw was a kingfisher which landed on the nearest reserve sign, but realised there were humans too close for comfort and zoomed off to perch on the next reserve sign instead. Birds were generally as yesterday with the addition of about a dozen ringed plovers feeding with a small group of dunlin.
When the tide was low enough to allow it, we walked behind a row of houses along the shore line. We soon came to face a small islet with thirty of so brent geese preening or roosting on its shore. Through the telescope we studied their plumages carefully. In most species of geese the adults have pale fringes to the wing coverts and mantle feathers while in first winter birds the fringes are narrower and browner. Brents, however, are exceptional in that the adult lacks the pale fringes, yet the young bird does have them and so appears to have mottled upper-parts and barred wings. The bird undergoes a partial body moult during the winter, gaining the white collar of the adults, then losing the mottling on the mantle and finally, in the following spring and summer, losing the barring on the wings.
One particular goose caught our attention as it was very dark on the upper-parts and belly but had pale striped flanks, its collar was more pronounced than that of any other bird there. We did a sketch and took detailed notes, and later consultation with the books confirmed our suspicions that the strange bird was a black brant, probably an eastern Siberian bird as it was with dark-bellied brents, rather than a western Canadian bird that would more likely be found with pale-bellied brents.
As the tide receded small groups of brent were leaving the area, and eventually the group on the islet left too, except for one bird with a damaged wing. Beyond the islet we could see about a dozen black‑necked grebes. A couple of harriers were hunting over a bigger offshore island. Several of the islands are also nature reserves, managed by the Societe d'etude et de la protection de la nature en Bretagne, one of the oldest naturalist societies in France.
It was quite cold and we were heading back along the road to the van for a hot drink when a car stopped and the driver asked if we were English and could he help us, meaning could he tell us some places for observation. He introduced himself as Sylvain, and talked, in fairly good English, about the area and its birds, and invited us to his house for a cup of coffee in the afternoon.
One of the places Sylvain mentioned was a very marshy area where there were a number of reed buntings, flicking their wings and tails as they perched on bushes and overhead cables, perhaps in agitation at our presence. A little egret fished in a pond, stirring up water and mud with its foot and grabbing at anything that tried to escape. Sylvain told us this species had been wintering here in increasing numbers for about fifteen years. In a drier area there were fifty or so goldfinches disturbed from their lunch and twittering in the treetops.
After lunch we took up the coffee invitation. Sylvain's garden backed down onto the shore and he took us to the shelter of some Corsican pines he had planted fifteen years ago. He was going to cut them down because they obscured the view from the house and did not provide the expected shelter from the wind. Had the tide not been right out we would have benefited from being able to get close to birds unseen by them. Hundreds of pintail and a few other wildfowl were still out there, and the number of black-necked grebes in the deep channel had risen to thirty.
A marsh harrier flew the length of an offshore island two or three times then flew low across the water and circled a few times, scattering great black‑back gulls and other birds. It got nearer to the water, legs dangling, and hovered for a few seconds. It repeated the circling and hovering and may have touched the water with its talons but it did not pick anything up. Afterwards it gained height and flew off into the haze. Marsh harriers have occasionally been recorded taking items from the water surface.
There was a log fire burning in the house and the coffee was most welcome, even if rather strong for our tastes. Sylvain talked about his visits to Britain ‑ he was a school teacher and took students with him; he told us more about the Golfe, and explained the workings of his local hunting association. He was very much aware of the reputation that French hunters had, and believed that things were changing, but slowly.
Hunting Associations were legally obliged to set aside reserves where birds could take refuge from the shooters. The birds, he said, were not stupid and soon took to using the reserve and non‑hunting areas all the time ‑ last year the only bird he had shot was a pigeon!
The members of the Hunting Association were each allocated a certain section of their commune's hunting area on each hunting day on a rota system; anyone caught in the wrong section would be fined. Outsiders were not allowed to hunt in this area under any circumstances; a group of people who had tried hunting on the reserve and had had their car, boat, guns, duck etc confiscated, and were fined F8000 each. The Association regulated its own hunting, for example, there was currently a three year ban on hare hunting because numbers had declined. And local landowners could state whether hunting was permitted on their land, either for themselves privately or for the hunting association, or whether it was forbidden to everyone.
One could easily get the impression that French hunters were not as bad as we are sometimes led to believe, but Sylvain did point out that hunting is seen differently in different areas and the rules are not the same everywhere.
25 Nov 2008
25th November 1988 - Golfe du Morbihan
The Golfe du Morbihan is basically a giant version of Pagham Harbour in Sussex ‑ some 15 km across inland and a one km opening at the sea end. Apart from a few islands, some inhabited, the area consists of vast mudflats, encroaching salt marsh and deep channels. At low tide the water empties out to leave vast wader and wildfowl feeding grounds; this is the principal French haunt of dark-bellied brent geese from Siberia ‑ some 20,000 over-winter here. The map showed several possible access points, and we chose the D780 on the western side.
bout two kilometres from the main road, the D780 runsan alongside the shore of the Golfe. We find a place to pull over and for the next two hours watch from the van. Jim uses the telescope for harriers and other distant birds, while I peer over his shoulder with binoculars at the nearby gulls and scribbled down notes of what we see as it happens.
There are shelduck, dark-bellied brents and gulls on the mudflats, plus a few coot. Further away are curlew, dunlin and redshank, and cormorants fishing in the channel. A great black‑back gull close to the road is stabbing viciously at a flatfish; Jim reports two buzzards and two marsh harriers in the distance. The gull carries the flatfish around, puts it down and stabs it again, eventually getting a chunk off.
The harriers are showing well, the first one has a pale head and pale flashes on the primaries, the second is a fairly uniform rich brown with darker wing tips. An egret flies out of the channel but disappears down again before it can be identified. A stonechat perches on a nearby fence post. Harrier I goes to ground, harrier II disappears downstream.
The egret reappears ‑ dark bill, dark legs, yellow feet ‑ and lands out of sight again. It is a little egret, although our books say it should have gone to southern Spain for the winter. About 150 avocets come in to roost. The great black‑back continues to struggle with its flatfish, taking it down into a small channel for a wash then coming up onto the mud again. The fish is shaken vigorously and then stabbed again.
Two more little egrets put in brief appearances, two green sandpipers fly off into the distance and a heron lumbers past. The frustrated gull redirects his aggression at a nearby clump of spartina, then repeats the washing and stabbing procedure. Harrier I takes to the air again. The gull finally swallows the fish whole, rather to the annoyance of a nearby first winter herring gull who then takes it out on a couple of nearby adult lesser black‑backs.
A third harrier appears ‑ more the classic female marsh harrier this time, with pale head and pale lesser secondary coverts, but with less obvious pale primary flashes. Harriers I and III came together briefly, flying in unison as they twist and swing through the sky, then one goes to ground. The swollen neck of the gull looks most uncomfortable and he can stand it no longer. He regurgitates the fish, washes it and gives it another good shake. Other gulls loiter nearby, but this one has no intention of giving up its meal.
Another ten minutes ‑ we have been here an hour ‑ and the gull swallows the fish again, going into all sorts of contortions as he tries to work it down. Jim finds a single miserable-looking avocet hiding behind a clump of spartina, it has oil on its plumage and is perhaps suffering from the effects of swallowing some while preening. Meanwhile harrier III soars and zooms around as if enjoying itself in the sun.
The gull seems to have recovered somewhat from its meal and struts off the way only great black‑backs can. A common gull flies in to join a group of black‑headed gulls, all adults again. A fourth harrier appeares similar to the first but a duller, paler brown with dark flight feathers. Then another harrier ‑ a ringtail hen harrier this time, lighter built and with a paler, more chequered, underwing than the marsh harriers. It flies over the avocets and disappears upstream. Some avocets seemed confused and leave the group, flying in a circle before returning to roost again.
In the downstream direction a kestrel flies heavily low over the geese, getting a few of them worried. It lands on a hummock in the saltmarsh and begins plucking its prey ‑ Jim remarks that feathers were flying, unfortunately without their bird! A lapwing calls as it passes overhead. An egret flies along the channel, the low sun making its flight feathers look translucent. Small birds are coming and going in the hedge and scrub near the camper: robins, wrens, fieldfares, blue tits, chaffinches and greenfinches.
We drive on, using minor roads to keep close to the shore. Near the village of Hezoc a causeway has been built across a finger of the Golfe and transformed it into a reed‑fringed freshwater lake. Disappointingly there are only a handful of gulls in residence. However, there are small birds twittering in the nearby shrubs and hedges so we look at those.
A tseep-tseep call comes from one hedge but locating the caller is not easy. When a bird does show it is against the light, we can make out a yellowish body and pink feet, but it definitely is not a yellowhammer. After a while we get better views of a female bunting sitting on a twig half way up the side of a hedge, looking back at us. She is a cirl bunting though we can't be sure of her identity until she flies away and shows off her olive rump. There are others around, they are mostly heard but not seen.
Watching was interrupted by an enthusiastic frenchman who tells us of a nearby place with thousands of birds. He is walking a dog and a small child, they don't go far along the road and on the way back he repeats his message but now telling of two places.
The tide is still well out and the first place looks decidedly empty of both birds and water. The second place is much more hopeful and more accessible. Signs proclaim it to be public maritime reserve with hunting forbidden at all times. The mudflats are crawling with dunlin ‑ thousands of them, with a handful each of knot, grey plover, redshank, curlew and godwit, and several hundred coot busily wading and poking about.
The edge of the rising tide is just coming into view, shooing the waders ahead and followed by hundreds of pintail, then a hundred or so shelduck, then about a hundred dark-bellied brents. In amongst them are more coot plus a few teal and wigeon, more waders come in, including a few hundred grey plover. A little egret joins them, wading in an ungainly manner along a channel. Most of the waders go towards a causeway which joins an island to the mainland. As the tide fills the bay the wildfowl form a necklace around the edge. Darkness falls before the tide is fully in.
24th November 1988
We are woken up at dawn by a peculiar creaking noise, Jim dresses hurriedly and explores outside only to startle a small covey of grey partridge pecking in the sand close by.
The day warms up after a frosty start, and it is quite pleasant even with a light offshore breeze. We walk along the shore over low flat dunes where most of the vegetation has been grazed down by rabbits. Sea rocket is in flower, and a charm of goldfinches feasts on the seedpods of other crucifers, their red, black and gold markings showing brightly in the sun. There are meadow pipits and white wagtails, stonechats and reed buntings, blackbirds, song thrushes, robins, dunnocks, wrens and linnets all in small numbers. Larger numbers of skylarks and starlings twitter as they scour the dunes for breakfast, and a single snow bunting calls from the shore.
The tide is out and so are the bait diggers. A crow, too, finds some prize on the beach and its mates are threatening hell if they didn't get a share. A lone ringed plover plays stop‑start amongst the worm casts. Magpies make their usual complaints but the appearance of a female kestrel causes hubbub from most species.
The sea surface and the rocky islets are occupied by black‑headed and herring gulls, cormorants and shags. Eight small duck, which appear to be the same as those we saw at dusk yesterday, are, in daylight, clearly long‑tailed duck, all females and immatures and not a long tail between them. Watching is difficult because of their habit of diving almost simultaneously and then reappearing 15 ‑ 20 seconds later a short distance away, meanwhile our attention has been taken by a cormorant or something else flying through. When the long‑tails preen they sit up in the water on their tails and bob around like corks.
Away from the shore the dunes are even lower and flatter; one area has been set aside for recreation, and includes a go‑kart track. As it is deserted of people, we just wander around. Behind a patch of gorse showing off its yellow flowers, there is a development of holiday villages and campsites. A sympetrum dragonfly lands on a half-built wall to sun itself, and proves unusually cooperative when I take its photograph.
Meanwhile Jim had finds a dartford warbler skulking in a gorse bush. It stays around long enough for me to get a glimpse of it through the telescope ‑ grey upper-parts, rufous under-parts, red eye and long cocked tail were quite distinctive. Its call is a sort of explosive rattle, and is a useful identification point.
The impression of spring increases when a red admiral butterfly flies past; as we stop for a closer look at it, a sparrowhawk flies up out of the ditch in front of us and disappears between the empty holiday camp buildings. It must have been either hunting low along the ditch or perhaps taking a drink in the bottom and was unable to tolerate our presence any longer.
Conifers and shrubs have been planted in the campsite to screen the pitches (continental campsites seem to be good at this) and they are full of chiff‑chaffs, goldcrests, thrushes and great, blue and coal tits. Firecrests show themselves particularly well.
Some of the conifers have a few branches tipped with white candy floss, which, on closer inspection, proves to be the silken tents of pine processionary moth caterpillars. These caterpillars live communally in the tents from autumn to spring; at night they march out in single file to feed on the pine needles. A few caterpillars are outside the tent today ‑ small orange and brown hairy creatures with a reputation for having extremely irritating properties. They are common in central and southern Europe where they are considered a serious forest pest.
The sand here is soft and dry and generally so littered with human and dog footprints that the presence of other animals is hard to discern. However, we do find one 'clean' bit of sand that is quite interesting. A weasel has gone through at some speed, a small dor beetle moved through leaving a set of parallel tracks ‑ another larger beetle had left a similar track nearby, at least three different birds had used the place ‑ one hopped and two ran, one of the latter being a pipit with the impression of its long back claw showing clearly.
As we return to the beach, a woodcock flies past, going north at a height of about a metre and a half. It isn't in a hurry ‑ unlike in most sightings when a bird has been disturbed and all you get is a back view of whirring wings.
Out at sea are plenty of scoter, a single guillemot, and two sandwich terns going south ‑ we are now just north of their wintering area.
The day warms up after a frosty start, and it is quite pleasant even with a light offshore breeze. We walk along the shore over low flat dunes where most of the vegetation has been grazed down by rabbits. Sea rocket is in flower, and a charm of goldfinches feasts on the seedpods of other crucifers, their red, black and gold markings showing brightly in the sun. There are meadow pipits and white wagtails, stonechats and reed buntings, blackbirds, song thrushes, robins, dunnocks, wrens and linnets all in small numbers. Larger numbers of skylarks and starlings twitter as they scour the dunes for breakfast, and a single snow bunting calls from the shore.
The tide is out and so are the bait diggers. A crow, too, finds some prize on the beach and its mates are threatening hell if they didn't get a share. A lone ringed plover plays stop‑start amongst the worm casts. Magpies make their usual complaints but the appearance of a female kestrel causes hubbub from most species.
The sea surface and the rocky islets are occupied by black‑headed and herring gulls, cormorants and shags. Eight small duck, which appear to be the same as those we saw at dusk yesterday, are, in daylight, clearly long‑tailed duck, all females and immatures and not a long tail between them. Watching is difficult because of their habit of diving almost simultaneously and then reappearing 15 ‑ 20 seconds later a short distance away, meanwhile our attention has been taken by a cormorant or something else flying through. When the long‑tails preen they sit up in the water on their tails and bob around like corks.
Away from the shore the dunes are even lower and flatter; one area has been set aside for recreation, and includes a go‑kart track. As it is deserted of people, we just wander around. Behind a patch of gorse showing off its yellow flowers, there is a development of holiday villages and campsites. A sympetrum dragonfly lands on a half-built wall to sun itself, and proves unusually cooperative when I take its photograph.
Meanwhile Jim had finds a dartford warbler skulking in a gorse bush. It stays around long enough for me to get a glimpse of it through the telescope ‑ grey upper-parts, rufous under-parts, red eye and long cocked tail were quite distinctive. Its call is a sort of explosive rattle, and is a useful identification point.
The impression of spring increases when a red admiral butterfly flies past; as we stop for a closer look at it, a sparrowhawk flies up out of the ditch in front of us and disappears between the empty holiday camp buildings. It must have been either hunting low along the ditch or perhaps taking a drink in the bottom and was unable to tolerate our presence any longer.
Conifers and shrubs have been planted in the campsite to screen the pitches (continental campsites seem to be good at this) and they are full of chiff‑chaffs, goldcrests, thrushes and great, blue and coal tits. Firecrests show themselves particularly well.
Some of the conifers have a few branches tipped with white candy floss, which, on closer inspection, proves to be the silken tents of pine processionary moth caterpillars. These caterpillars live communally in the tents from autumn to spring; at night they march out in single file to feed on the pine needles. A few caterpillars are outside the tent today ‑ small orange and brown hairy creatures with a reputation for having extremely irritating properties. They are common in central and southern Europe where they are considered a serious forest pest.
The sand here is soft and dry and generally so littered with human and dog footprints that the presence of other animals is hard to discern. However, we do find one 'clean' bit of sand that is quite interesting. A weasel has gone through at some speed, a small dor beetle moved through leaving a set of parallel tracks ‑ another larger beetle had left a similar track nearby, at least three different birds had used the place ‑ one hopped and two ran, one of the latter being a pipit with the impression of its long back claw showing clearly.
As we return to the beach, a woodcock flies past, going north at a height of about a metre and a half. It isn't in a hurry ‑ unlike in most sightings when a bird has been disturbed and all you get is a back view of whirring wings.
Out at sea are plenty of scoter, a single guillemot, and two sandwich terns going south ‑ we are now just north of their wintering area.
23rd November 1988
The south‑west coast of Brittany is indented with harbours similar to those of Portsmouth, Pagham and Poole on the south coast of Britain. The first such indentation we look at is the Etel estuary. At high tide on a calm day it belongs on a picture postcard, but it could also be an interesting place for birds sheltering from a storm. There are many islands, some inhabited, which would increase the sheltering effect of the place and make a boat almost a necessity for exploring it properly.
A woman who was walking two dogs and a child along the shore tells us that, this winter, a large flock of white storks has turned up. She is obviously interested in birds but, as her English is like my French, the conversation does not go any further.
We stop for the night at Kerhillion Beach, facing the Atlantic. The weather is very calm, and there is a full moon. Out on the sea there are hundreds of black headed gulls ‑ all adults ‑ and more gulls roosting on rocky offshore islets. Also great-crested grebes and cormorants, and three small duck unidentifiable in the fading light.
A woman who was walking two dogs and a child along the shore tells us that, this winter, a large flock of white storks has turned up. She is obviously interested in birds but, as her English is like my French, the conversation does not go any further.
We stop for the night at Kerhillion Beach, facing the Atlantic. The weather is very calm, and there is a full moon. Out on the sea there are hundreds of black headed gulls ‑ all adults ‑ and more gulls roosting on rocky offshore islets. Also great-crested grebes and cormorants, and three small duck unidentifiable in the fading light.
22nd November 1988 - breakdown
Generally our time in France has been pleasant, though occasionally frustrating. This day, however, should be forgotten as a bad dream. There is a horrible knocking sound from the engine end of the van; we can't see the cause so we call out Avonaid Continental Breakdown Service. I try three telephone kiosks before I find one that works properly!
We are taken first to a garage in another town, the van is jacked up and the mechanic pronounces 'transmission kaput'. The breakdown people arrange that we should be taken to the VW agents in Caen where we spend the rest of the day dreading a large bill for parts ‑ the insurance covers the labour and towing. To our surprise the bill is only F340 (£34). It seems they took something apart expecting to replace it, discovered it only needed lubricating, and so put it back together with plenty of grease.
Having got this all sorted out, we try to find our way out of Caen. The problem is that, as we had been brought into the town by some-one else, we are totally disorientated. We go around a few circles before finally getting on the correct road towards Vannes on the Atlantic coast.
We are taken first to a garage in another town, the van is jacked up and the mechanic pronounces 'transmission kaput'. The breakdown people arrange that we should be taken to the VW agents in Caen where we spend the rest of the day dreading a large bill for parts ‑ the insurance covers the labour and towing. To our surprise the bill is only F340 (£34). It seems they took something apart expecting to replace it, discovered it only needed lubricating, and so put it back together with plenty of grease.
Having got this all sorted out, we try to find our way out of Caen. The problem is that, as we had been brought into the town by some-one else, we are totally disorientated. We go around a few circles before finally getting on the correct road towards Vannes on the Atlantic coast.
21st November 1989
Last night there was the sound of sleet and hail beating on the roof and the wind trying to blow the camper over; thunder and lighting had caused the radio to crackle all evening. This morning there are just occasional rain drops and the sound of the sea pounding the beach. We had moved yesterday from sandy shores and dunes to chalk cliffs and steep pebble beaches at St Aubin‑sur‑Mer.
The tide is fairly well in and the sea is quite rough even though the wind seems to have dropped. There is a selection of gulls inshore, including immature and adult plumaged little gulls and kittiwakes. In the distance gannets are plunge diving, and groups of velvet scoter and wigeon are moving through.
At Veules les Roses we buy groceries then go sea watching from the promenade. Great-crested grebes and black- and red-throated divers are added to the day's list, but I am cold and so go back to the shelter of the van. Jim stays out, getting very cold and buffeted by the wind, but returns eventually with news of a slavonian grebe and two juvenile sabine's gulls ‑ late migrants driven inshore by last night's gales
Continuing west along the coast, we cross the Seine via the massive toll bridge at Tancarville. One end is set into the chalk cliffs and the whole structure ‑ a suspension bridge ‑ is very high. It looks most impressive when we look back at it from the Seine valley. From the bridge itself the view downstream towards the sea is spectacular in the evening sun but looking upstream the scene is dominated by smoky factories.
The tide is fairly well in and the sea is quite rough even though the wind seems to have dropped. There is a selection of gulls inshore, including immature and adult plumaged little gulls and kittiwakes. In the distance gannets are plunge diving, and groups of velvet scoter and wigeon are moving through.
At Veules les Roses we buy groceries then go sea watching from the promenade. Great-crested grebes and black- and red-throated divers are added to the day's list, but I am cold and so go back to the shelter of the van. Jim stays out, getting very cold and buffeted by the wind, but returns eventually with news of a slavonian grebe and two juvenile sabine's gulls ‑ late migrants driven inshore by last night's gales
Continuing west along the coast, we cross the Seine via the massive toll bridge at Tancarville. One end is set into the chalk cliffs and the whole structure ‑ a suspension bridge ‑ is very high. It looks most impressive when we look back at it from the Seine valley. From the bridge itself the view downstream towards the sea is spectacular in the evening sun but looking upstream the scene is dominated by smoky factories.
21 Nov 2008
20th November 1988 - le Crotoy
Winter seems to have caught up with us again. It rains more or less continuously until lunchtime when we finally manage to get out and stretch our legs on the beach at le Crotoy. Nevertheless hunters are out in force ‑ we hear shots from 9 am until noon, though most of the birds to be seen are gulls which take no notice of the disturbance. Sunday morning joggers aren't put off by the weather either.
Near the upstream end of le Crotoy there is quite a gathering of gulls and a constant stream of more coming to join them. This area may be the source of the raw sewage washing up along the shore. The noisy throng consists of herring, common and greater black‑backs in all varieties of winter plumage, and several hundred black-headed adults but only one first winter bird ‑ sooner or later we should find lots of first winter birds and no adults! Another thousand gulls roost on the sandbanks beyond the channel, we check amongst them all and satisfy ourselves there are no Mediterranean gulls in sight. Beyond the gulls are a few each of curlew, redshank, oystercatcher, grey plover and knot, and a thousand or so dunlin. Seven woodlarks work their way restlessly along the base of the dunes. Then the cold drizzle drives us back for shelter and coffee.
The afternoon shooters and fishermen are now walking over the estuary and we look for another viewpoint. To the south of le Crotoy the road runs alongside the saltmarsh; a few parking places are provided for the benefit of shooters, but we use one anyway and watch from the shelter of the van. The rain stops eventually and the huge black clouds drift slowly away to show the evening sun.
One hunter walks out onto the marshes and takes a few live duck out of his bag; the birds are tethered to a weight and calmly accepted the situation ‑ they are probably quite used to being used as live decoys. Several times we see harriers quartering the marshes, often paying particular attention to the channels. The shooters ignore them. Small birds to be seen are mostly starlings, including an albinistic individual, skylarks, meadow pipits and house sparrows. A welcome sight is our first continental kingfisher zooming though, just above the top of a channel, over the road and continuing along the channel on the other side. Kingfishers can bring a touch of magic to the gloomiest of days.
Near the upstream end of le Crotoy there is quite a gathering of gulls and a constant stream of more coming to join them. This area may be the source of the raw sewage washing up along the shore. The noisy throng consists of herring, common and greater black‑backs in all varieties of winter plumage, and several hundred black-headed adults but only one first winter bird ‑ sooner or later we should find lots of first winter birds and no adults! Another thousand gulls roost on the sandbanks beyond the channel, we check amongst them all and satisfy ourselves there are no Mediterranean gulls in sight. Beyond the gulls are a few each of curlew, redshank, oystercatcher, grey plover and knot, and a thousand or so dunlin. Seven woodlarks work their way restlessly along the base of the dunes. Then the cold drizzle drives us back for shelter and coffee.
The afternoon shooters and fishermen are now walking over the estuary and we look for another viewpoint. To the south of le Crotoy the road runs alongside the saltmarsh; a few parking places are provided for the benefit of shooters, but we use one anyway and watch from the shelter of the van. The rain stops eventually and the huge black clouds drift slowly away to show the evening sun.
One hunter walks out onto the marshes and takes a few live duck out of his bag; the birds are tethered to a weight and calmly accepted the situation ‑ they are probably quite used to being used as live decoys. Several times we see harriers quartering the marshes, often paying particular attention to the channels. The shooters ignore them. Small birds to be seen are mostly starlings, including an albinistic individual, skylarks, meadow pipits and house sparrows. A welcome sight is our first continental kingfisher zooming though, just above the top of a channel, over the road and continuing along the channel on the other side. Kingfishers can bring a touch of magic to the gloomiest of days.
19th November 1988 - Quand Plage
Quand Plage is a typical small holiday resort, now boarded up for the winter and the promenade deserted except for ourselves. The high tide has just turned and we have an excellent view of the shore from the top of the sea wall. Birds are much the same as yesterday. The scoter have separated into groups of either males or females and immatures, at close range the cheeks of the latter look very pale. Both red- and black-throated divers fly close to the shore, one black-throated having a particularly smudgy face and neck (some birds do not finish moulting until mid‑winter), all show a clear pale flank patch when they swim on the sea. Well out from the shore a few gannets are plunge diving, and little gulls display an almost barn‑owl like flight as they search for food. There are also a few auks which are too far out to identify specifically. About fifty sanderling scurry along the shoreline.
We had walked a few hundred metres along the beach when nine shore larks announce their arrival with twittering calls, and land on an area of shells and small stones, some twenty metres in front of us. The adults are distinguishable by having more black on their faces and tiny 'horns' above the eyes while in first winter birds the broader feather fringes make the black markings less distinct. Their well‑feathered thighs give the impression that they are wearing warm pantaloons - needed in the cold wind.
The larks move along the beach in a loose group, often in twos and threes rather than in a single party as they searched for seeds trapped between the stones. Their bills are noticeably shorter and stouter than those of the woodlarks. Mostly they hold their shortish wings above the back, but one bird that seems a bit agitated has an upright stance, cocking its tail and holding its wings low. They move away when a group of people with dogs come along the beach.
We move on towards Fort Mahon Plage, another small holiday resort a few kilometres to the north but miss a turning and the road takes us to l'Authie, a small broad estuary that is the haunt of hunters. The place is littered with cartridges and each of the several small ponds hold a contingent of black decoy ducks, overlooked by one or more shooting bunkers. A few gunshots come from the inland end; but the only live bird in the area is a black-headed gull which is paddling the bottom of a pond with its feet, then dipping its head in to grab at disturbed crabs etc. There are roe deer slots on the saltmarsh but no other non‑human animals in sight.
We do not linger on the estuary, the tide is now well out, exposing an expanse of sand in one direction and saltmarsh in the other. Keeping as near to the water line as practicable we walk towards Fort Mahon Plage, and discover that the place is not quite as deserted as earlier this morning. It being a weekend, the beach is now well populated with dog walkers, joggers, etc and the local sand yachting school is giving its first lesson of the morning. Nevertheless we are able to continue watching, scanning through the gulls roosting on a sandbar for Mediterranean gulls that aren't there (just being hopeful), though there is one bird with Med gull shape but black‑headed gull markings ‑ hybrids are not unknown.
Of the dunes between the beach and the estuary, part is open access, part is under the auspices of the Conservatoire de l'Espace Littoral, and the remainder is posted 'chasse gardee' ie hunting area. We walk through the first part where the vegetation is mostly fairly dense but through which an assault and fitness course has been constructed. The birds include tree sparrows and reed buntings, and a single male hen harrier.
The weather is now less windy than yesterday but there is a huge black cloud just to the south and another coming in over the sea. At about three o'clock the rain forces us to give up watching.
We had walked a few hundred metres along the beach when nine shore larks announce their arrival with twittering calls, and land on an area of shells and small stones, some twenty metres in front of us. The adults are distinguishable by having more black on their faces and tiny 'horns' above the eyes while in first winter birds the broader feather fringes make the black markings less distinct. Their well‑feathered thighs give the impression that they are wearing warm pantaloons - needed in the cold wind.
The larks move along the beach in a loose group, often in twos and threes rather than in a single party as they searched for seeds trapped between the stones. Their bills are noticeably shorter and stouter than those of the woodlarks. Mostly they hold their shortish wings above the back, but one bird that seems a bit agitated has an upright stance, cocking its tail and holding its wings low. They move away when a group of people with dogs come along the beach.
We move on towards Fort Mahon Plage, another small holiday resort a few kilometres to the north but miss a turning and the road takes us to l'Authie, a small broad estuary that is the haunt of hunters. The place is littered with cartridges and each of the several small ponds hold a contingent of black decoy ducks, overlooked by one or more shooting bunkers. A few gunshots come from the inland end; but the only live bird in the area is a black-headed gull which is paddling the bottom of a pond with its feet, then dipping its head in to grab at disturbed crabs etc. There are roe deer slots on the saltmarsh but no other non‑human animals in sight.
We do not linger on the estuary, the tide is now well out, exposing an expanse of sand in one direction and saltmarsh in the other. Keeping as near to the water line as practicable we walk towards Fort Mahon Plage, and discover that the place is not quite as deserted as earlier this morning. It being a weekend, the beach is now well populated with dog walkers, joggers, etc and the local sand yachting school is giving its first lesson of the morning. Nevertheless we are able to continue watching, scanning through the gulls roosting on a sandbar for Mediterranean gulls that aren't there (just being hopeful), though there is one bird with Med gull shape but black‑headed gull markings ‑ hybrids are not unknown.
Of the dunes between the beach and the estuary, part is open access, part is under the auspices of the Conservatoire de l'Espace Littoral, and the remainder is posted 'chasse gardee' ie hunting area. We walk through the first part where the vegetation is mostly fairly dense but through which an assault and fitness course has been constructed. The birds include tree sparrows and reed buntings, and a single male hen harrier.
The weather is now less windy than yesterday but there is a huge black cloud just to the south and another coming in over the sea. At about three o'clock the rain forces us to give up watching.
18th November 1988 - Baie de Somme
The Somme estuary might be best known for wartime events, but it is also one of the most productive bird-watching areas on the Channel coast. The Parc Ornithologique du Marquenterre is closed for the winter so we continued along the road and found some other interesting places.
The coastline of chalk hills is broken here by another extensive area of sand dunes. From the hamlet of St Quentin en Tourment a broad track leads through the dunes ‑ the Grande Dune Domaine du Marquenterre ‑ to the beach. The Domaine comprises some 2,000 ha of Corsican pine plantation, plus stable and mobile dunes closer to the shore.
The 3 km long sandy track is fenced on both sides, showing clearly the amount of erosion on the path compared with the untouched land on either side. Every few hundred metres there is a board hung on a fence postdepicting some local animal or plant, together with another board giving some information about the species.
Thus we learn that there was a strong population of wild boar in the dunes but they are not often seen as they are nocturnal and can wander several kilometres per night. However, the fencing is insufficient to contain them for, in several places, they have pushed under the fence on one side of the path, crossed the track and made another boar-sized hole in the fence on the other side too. All we see of them are their footprints between the fences. Roe deer are another numerous mammal here, having adapted well to the dunes and plantations, but again all we see are slots.
We walk about a kilometre along the track and now it starts to rain, we wait it out and continue the walk. After another kilometre the rain comes again, we are out of the forest and the small pine tree under which we huddle soon begins to drip on us. I am ready to turn back but Jim votes to continue, pulled on by patches of brighter sky. By the time we reach the sea the sun is shining in a blue sky with cotton wool clouds.
Beyond the pines, the dunes have a dense covering of sea buckthorn, the berries of which, we are told, are high in vitamin C and an important source of food in winter, especially for thrushes. A ringtail hen harrier quarters a distant section, but there are plenty of small birds, including bullfinches and blackcaps in the scrub nearby.
Out near the sea the dunes are still quite mobile and efforts have been made, by planting marram grass and five rows of netting, to try to stabilise them. In one place even the two metre high fence along the path has been buried by the sand.
The beach itself is part of the 3,000 ha Baie de Somme Marine Reserve. Access is discouraged because of the maze of sand bars and creeks that can cut you off on a rising tide. The area is of international importance for passage waders and wintering wildfowl. Thousands of gulls roost on the beach ‑ herring, common, black headed and greater black‑back ‑ while ten adult little gulls feed out at sea.
The tide is almost out and the water quite rough, but sea-watching is not impossible. One group of duck near the shore consists mostly of eider, another group consists of common and velvet scoter. In the sun the white eye patches and specula of the latter show up well, better than indicated in the field-guide. The birds take to the air one after another, showing off bright white secondaries, and fly north parallel to the coast. A single black-throated diver flies close to the shore, and a handful of grebe are quite active; these include great-crested and red-necked in flight and two slavonian fishing nearer the shore. A red-breasted merganser completes the line up.
Although we did not appreciate it until later, the Baie de Somme Maritime Reserve was where most of the duck in the area were to be found. And since the area has been protected, the wintering populations of several species of wildfowl have increased.
Wagtails have so far been conspicuous by their absence, one expects to see white wagtails as common on the continent as the pied subspecies is in Britain. But here is another species where the continentals have different habits. Some pied wagtails do breed along the coasts of France, Belgium and the Netherlands, often pairing with white wagtails (which also occasionally breed in Scotland). Both subspecies are migratory here and we have only just moved into their winter range. Even so we see just one today.
Soon after midday the sun disappears behind clouds again and we make our way back. Two ringtail hen harriers now quarter the dunes. Across the path there is a fresh ridge of sand where a mole has burrowed underneath. The only mammals we actually see are rabbits, which the notice boards tell us had been so badly reduced by myxomatosis in 1953 that they no longer have much effect on the vegetation.
Back in the pine forest we find great-spotted woodpeckers and have a glimpse of a treecreeper. Jim thinks it has the white flanks of the ordinary treecreeper but in this area it should be the short‑toed species. Unfortunately it does not hang around for further identification.
The coastline of chalk hills is broken here by another extensive area of sand dunes. From the hamlet of St Quentin en Tourment a broad track leads through the dunes ‑ the Grande Dune Domaine du Marquenterre ‑ to the beach. The Domaine comprises some 2,000 ha of Corsican pine plantation, plus stable and mobile dunes closer to the shore.
The 3 km long sandy track is fenced on both sides, showing clearly the amount of erosion on the path compared with the untouched land on either side. Every few hundred metres there is a board hung on a fence postdepicting some local animal or plant, together with another board giving some information about the species.
Thus we learn that there was a strong population of wild boar in the dunes but they are not often seen as they are nocturnal and can wander several kilometres per night. However, the fencing is insufficient to contain them for, in several places, they have pushed under the fence on one side of the path, crossed the track and made another boar-sized hole in the fence on the other side too. All we see of them are their footprints between the fences. Roe deer are another numerous mammal here, having adapted well to the dunes and plantations, but again all we see are slots.
We walk about a kilometre along the track and now it starts to rain, we wait it out and continue the walk. After another kilometre the rain comes again, we are out of the forest and the small pine tree under which we huddle soon begins to drip on us. I am ready to turn back but Jim votes to continue, pulled on by patches of brighter sky. By the time we reach the sea the sun is shining in a blue sky with cotton wool clouds.
Beyond the pines, the dunes have a dense covering of sea buckthorn, the berries of which, we are told, are high in vitamin C and an important source of food in winter, especially for thrushes. A ringtail hen harrier quarters a distant section, but there are plenty of small birds, including bullfinches and blackcaps in the scrub nearby.
Out near the sea the dunes are still quite mobile and efforts have been made, by planting marram grass and five rows of netting, to try to stabilise them. In one place even the two metre high fence along the path has been buried by the sand.
The beach itself is part of the 3,000 ha Baie de Somme Marine Reserve. Access is discouraged because of the maze of sand bars and creeks that can cut you off on a rising tide. The area is of international importance for passage waders and wintering wildfowl. Thousands of gulls roost on the beach ‑ herring, common, black headed and greater black‑back ‑ while ten adult little gulls feed out at sea.
The tide is almost out and the water quite rough, but sea-watching is not impossible. One group of duck near the shore consists mostly of eider, another group consists of common and velvet scoter. In the sun the white eye patches and specula of the latter show up well, better than indicated in the field-guide. The birds take to the air one after another, showing off bright white secondaries, and fly north parallel to the coast. A single black-throated diver flies close to the shore, and a handful of grebe are quite active; these include great-crested and red-necked in flight and two slavonian fishing nearer the shore. A red-breasted merganser completes the line up.
Although we did not appreciate it until later, the Baie de Somme Maritime Reserve was where most of the duck in the area were to be found. And since the area has been protected, the wintering populations of several species of wildfowl have increased.
Wagtails have so far been conspicuous by their absence, one expects to see white wagtails as common on the continent as the pied subspecies is in Britain. But here is another species where the continentals have different habits. Some pied wagtails do breed along the coasts of France, Belgium and the Netherlands, often pairing with white wagtails (which also occasionally breed in Scotland). Both subspecies are migratory here and we have only just moved into their winter range. Even so we see just one today.
Soon after midday the sun disappears behind clouds again and we make our way back. Two ringtail hen harriers now quarter the dunes. Across the path there is a fresh ridge of sand where a mole has burrowed underneath. The only mammals we actually see are rabbits, which the notice boards tell us had been so badly reduced by myxomatosis in 1953 that they no longer have much effect on the vegetation.
Back in the pine forest we find great-spotted woodpeckers and have a glimpse of a treecreeper. Jim thinks it has the white flanks of the ordinary treecreeper but in this area it should be the short‑toed species. Unfortunately it does not hang around for further identification.
17th November 1988 - Usine des Dunes
The sign points to Usine des Dunes, and refers to a huge noisy industrial site set in the middle of an extensive area of coastal dunes. The dunes themselves are the southern end of the line that continues along the Belgian and Dutch coasts to the Waddensee Islands. Near the factories is a car park provided by the Conservatoire de l'Espace Littoral et des Rivages Lacustres for visitors to the dunes.
The dunes by the factories have limited provision for public access ‑ a single footpath winds through the thickets of sea buckthorn to the beach. In some places the path is reinforced with some sort of gravelly concrete, and often, where it goes uphill, steps are provided with a wall of pine posts either side to keep people to the path and so reduce erosion. Motorcycles are prohibited.
It has been quite foggy all morning and birds don't really want to be seen; they just occasionally pop out of and back into the dense scrub. Most can be located and identified by their contact calls. One caller eludes us for a while, though we suspect that it is a firecrest. Our patience is rewarded when it does eventually show, very briefly and almost at our feet, allowing us time to see only the stripes on its head.
After the noise of the factory, the vast expanse of open sandy beach is a haven of peace. There are a few hundred gulls along the shore ‑common, black‑headed, great black‑back and herring gulls, the odd oystercatcher flew past, and out at sea are a couple of great-crested grebes. A fisherman comes along on a tractor to check lines of nets exposed at low tide.
The return walk to the van was uneventful.
Continuing our journey southwards along the coast we discover hills just south of Calais ‑ chalk downland and the French end of the Channel Tunnel. Even these gentle hills seem like mountains after so much flat land (in the Netherlands and Belgium). As dusk falls we came across a valley with a reed‑fringed lake. A male marsh harrier quarters the area in search of supper.
The dunes by the factories have limited provision for public access ‑ a single footpath winds through the thickets of sea buckthorn to the beach. In some places the path is reinforced with some sort of gravelly concrete, and often, where it goes uphill, steps are provided with a wall of pine posts either side to keep people to the path and so reduce erosion. Motorcycles are prohibited.
It has been quite foggy all morning and birds don't really want to be seen; they just occasionally pop out of and back into the dense scrub. Most can be located and identified by their contact calls. One caller eludes us for a while, though we suspect that it is a firecrest. Our patience is rewarded when it does eventually show, very briefly and almost at our feet, allowing us time to see only the stripes on its head.
After the noise of the factory, the vast expanse of open sandy beach is a haven of peace. There are a few hundred gulls along the shore ‑common, black‑headed, great black‑back and herring gulls, the odd oystercatcher flew past, and out at sea are a couple of great-crested grebes. A fisherman comes along on a tractor to check lines of nets exposed at low tide.
The return walk to the van was uneventful.
Continuing our journey southwards along the coast we discover hills just south of Calais ‑ chalk downland and the French end of the Channel Tunnel. Even these gentle hills seem like mountains after so much flat land (in the Netherlands and Belgium). As dusk falls we came across a valley with a reed‑fringed lake. A male marsh harrier quarters the area in search of supper.
17th November 1988 - France
It iswith some trepidation that I go into a small grocery store and ask the classic question "Bonjour Madame, avez‑vous du pain, s'il vous plait?" I get the gist of the answer ‑ no, but the patisserie over the road opens at three o'clock. I had survived my first venture into spoken french.
I remember the year of French that I did at school for the times that I was reduced to tears or just made to feel useless. Having done two years of German with its strict rules of grammar and the pronunciation of every letter in a word, I found French something akin to Martian ‑ there were too many silent letters, and strange sounds and intonations. I swore I would never visit France, the language terrified me and I was afraid of making a fool of myself by not being able to understand it.
Feeling that, on this trip, it would be useful to have at least some basic knowledge of French, I had embarked on various self‑teaching programs. My computer proved a useful learning aid, and I felt I was doing quite well. Unfortunately the computer did not talk back and, while I seem to be able to make myself understood, I have great difficulty in understanding a spoken answer that contains more than about three words. But, yes, it was worth the effort. Contrary to something we had heard on the radio, away from the tourist areas few French people are willing to speak English, and they are certainly quite enthusiastic, and sympathetic, about other people at least trying to communicate in their language.
As regards French bread, we now know out why French people walk or cycle home breaking off bite‑sized chunks from their baguettes. It is delicious, but only when fresh, hence it is baked several times a day.
I remember the year of French that I did at school for the times that I was reduced to tears or just made to feel useless. Having done two years of German with its strict rules of grammar and the pronunciation of every letter in a word, I found French something akin to Martian ‑ there were too many silent letters, and strange sounds and intonations. I swore I would never visit France, the language terrified me and I was afraid of making a fool of myself by not being able to understand it.
Feeling that, on this trip, it would be useful to have at least some basic knowledge of French, I had embarked on various self‑teaching programs. My computer proved a useful learning aid, and I felt I was doing quite well. Unfortunately the computer did not talk back and, while I seem to be able to make myself understood, I have great difficulty in understanding a spoken answer that contains more than about three words. But, yes, it was worth the effort. Contrary to something we had heard on the radio, away from the tourist areas few French people are willing to speak English, and they are certainly quite enthusiastic, and sympathetic, about other people at least trying to communicate in their language.
As regards French bread, we now know out why French people walk or cycle home breaking off bite‑sized chunks from their baguettes. It is delicious, but only when fresh, hence it is baked several times a day.
17 Nov 2008
16th November, Yser River
There are two reserves along the Yser river, De Blankaart is four square kilometres of reeds and lake, while the other reserve is part of a small estuarine basin. Permits are required to see each reserve properly but the books says good views can be had from public tracks and paths.
We find de Blankaart reasonably easily, though we have to look hard for the small wooden signpost just south of the town of Woumen. There is a chateau there, with stuff being taken in from delivery vans. We are not sure that we are in the right place, but then we find an information board with a map, a list of the usual dos and don'ts, and some background information in Flemish, including, for example, that two or three pairs of marsh harriers nest every year.
The map shows a footpath to the lake and we follow that. It takes us on a short circular route through deciduous woodland and onto a bridge which overlooks a large lake fringed with reeds. The lake occupies an area of former peat diggings in the Yser valley; it has gradually silted up, resulting in a wide expanse of reedbed and alder carr. Some 20,000 wildfowl overwinter, together with a similar number of waders. Only a small part of the lake is visible from the bridge, but that contains a variety of common water birds. A green sandpiper announces its presence with a repeated whistle. The surrounding woods hold a selection of smaller birds. Guided tours are available about once a month, but we cannot wait the fortnight for the next one.
Back on the coast we are unable to find the estuarine reserve. A sign on a roadside says something about nature information and birds if you take the next turn left. We do, but there are no further signs; the two dead-end roads lead only to a marina and a building site. From the marina Jim can see a gull roost on a beach so we go for a closer look at that. Access to the beach, Lombardsijde Strand, is through a campsite next to a military base.
By now we are feeling thoroughly fed up of driving around in Belgium and not finding places; now we are just killing time waiting for the campsite to open after lunch. The beach looks rather unpromising ‑ the gull roost, a few oystercatchers and, out at sea, a few duck.
As we look at the gulls there comes a "lee‑to‑lee" call from nearby, and Jim locates a lark almost overhead. Its call and its short tail are enough to identify it as a woodlark. After a few minutes of territorial display the bird dives down and lands just out of sight, followed by another woodlark. We move around for a better view.
Both birds are on the beach at the bottom of the dunes, seeming to play tag around a lump of concrete, then out in the open for a brief bill‑to-bill confrontation before going off in different directions. The bird which comes our way searches along the beach for about ten minutes, allowing us plenty of time for further study. The species has three other obvious plumage characteristics: supercilia which meet behind the head to give it a capped appearance, a very short pointed crest, and a distinctively patterned feather in the allula ‑ all clearly marked on this bird.
The woodlark pecks around in the sand, investigating all lumps and hollows. A discarded paper cup invites inspection but after two long looks the bird leaves it alone ‑ going in would cut off its field of vision too much for comfort. We are just delighted to have the bird stay in our field of vision for so long.
Our few minutes of serendipity are rudely interrupted by a loud bang from the military camp. A small remote controlled plane towing an air sock has been catapulted into the air; it spends the next half hour or more buzzing in figure of eights over the beach in front of us. It comes low over the gull roost and puts most birds to flight. The gulls come back but the woodlark flies into the dunes and stays there. The plane's flight path is stabilised and firing practice begins. We wish they would shoot the plane down, the noise is awful. The woodlark calls and flies back to where we first saw it, however it seems unsettled and soon disappears again. So do we.
In Belgium off‑site camping is allowed, a situation which provides welcome relief for our budget. However we still need showers occasionally, and this evening we retire to a convenient campsite that is open all year round, though we seem to be the only customers on this occasion. Unfortunately the laundry room is locked up, so we haveto wash clothes by hand; but, without the benefit of a spin drier or tumbler, it will take the next week to get them dry in the damp drizzly weather.
Birds around out campsite this evening include robins, wrens, blackbirds, two chiff-chaffs and some magpies holding a noisy council over two dead cats.
We find de Blankaart reasonably easily, though we have to look hard for the small wooden signpost just south of the town of Woumen. There is a chateau there, with stuff being taken in from delivery vans. We are not sure that we are in the right place, but then we find an information board with a map, a list of the usual dos and don'ts, and some background information in Flemish, including, for example, that two or three pairs of marsh harriers nest every year.
The map shows a footpath to the lake and we follow that. It takes us on a short circular route through deciduous woodland and onto a bridge which overlooks a large lake fringed with reeds. The lake occupies an area of former peat diggings in the Yser valley; it has gradually silted up, resulting in a wide expanse of reedbed and alder carr. Some 20,000 wildfowl overwinter, together with a similar number of waders. Only a small part of the lake is visible from the bridge, but that contains a variety of common water birds. A green sandpiper announces its presence with a repeated whistle. The surrounding woods hold a selection of smaller birds. Guided tours are available about once a month, but we cannot wait the fortnight for the next one.
Back on the coast we are unable to find the estuarine reserve. A sign on a roadside says something about nature information and birds if you take the next turn left. We do, but there are no further signs; the two dead-end roads lead only to a marina and a building site. From the marina Jim can see a gull roost on a beach so we go for a closer look at that. Access to the beach, Lombardsijde Strand, is through a campsite next to a military base.
By now we are feeling thoroughly fed up of driving around in Belgium and not finding places; now we are just killing time waiting for the campsite to open after lunch. The beach looks rather unpromising ‑ the gull roost, a few oystercatchers and, out at sea, a few duck.
As we look at the gulls there comes a "lee‑to‑lee" call from nearby, and Jim locates a lark almost overhead. Its call and its short tail are enough to identify it as a woodlark. After a few minutes of territorial display the bird dives down and lands just out of sight, followed by another woodlark. We move around for a better view.
Both birds are on the beach at the bottom of the dunes, seeming to play tag around a lump of concrete, then out in the open for a brief bill‑to-bill confrontation before going off in different directions. The bird which comes our way searches along the beach for about ten minutes, allowing us plenty of time for further study. The species has three other obvious plumage characteristics: supercilia which meet behind the head to give it a capped appearance, a very short pointed crest, and a distinctively patterned feather in the allula ‑ all clearly marked on this bird.
The woodlark pecks around in the sand, investigating all lumps and hollows. A discarded paper cup invites inspection but after two long looks the bird leaves it alone ‑ going in would cut off its field of vision too much for comfort. We are just delighted to have the bird stay in our field of vision for so long.
Our few minutes of serendipity are rudely interrupted by a loud bang from the military camp. A small remote controlled plane towing an air sock has been catapulted into the air; it spends the next half hour or more buzzing in figure of eights over the beach in front of us. It comes low over the gull roost and puts most birds to flight. The gulls come back but the woodlark flies into the dunes and stays there. The plane's flight path is stabilised and firing practice begins. We wish they would shoot the plane down, the noise is awful. The woodlark calls and flies back to where we first saw it, however it seems unsettled and soon disappears again. So do we.
In Belgium off‑site camping is allowed, a situation which provides welcome relief for our budget. However we still need showers occasionally, and this evening we retire to a convenient campsite that is open all year round, though we seem to be the only customers on this occasion. Unfortunately the laundry room is locked up, so we haveto wash clothes by hand; but, without the benefit of a spin drier or tumbler, it will take the next week to get them dry in the damp drizzly weather.
Birds around out campsite this evening include robins, wrens, blackbirds, two chiff-chaffs and some magpies holding a noisy council over two dead cats.
15th November 1988 - Zwin
The nature reserve at Zwin is the Belgian equivalent of Slimbridge, complete with wildfowl collection, tea room and refuge area. We dispense with the wildfowl collection and head for the refuge, and there the similarity to Slimbridge more or less ends.
The refuge comprises what was the mouth of the River Zwin before it was canalised, a 1.5 km line of sand dunes separates it from the sea; its other boundaries are dykes. A shallow creek, linking it to the sea at the eastern end, feeds a system of four brackish lagoons, though the whole area is often flooded at spring tides. The reserve itself is only 150 ha but it is surrounded by a 1500 ha buffer zone of coastal grasslands.
Visitors are free to walk along the top of dykes in some places ‑ there are even seats and giant binoculars provided ‑ to look over the largest lagoon which holds various duck, geese and waders, though not in large numbers. The rest of the area is saltmarsh, where people are actually allowed to walk ‑ no hides or screens here! Access is limited only by an individual's desire to wade through mud and water, and, of the few that do explore, not many go very far off a single, rather wet, track across the middle of the refuge.
The birds are mostly the waders and wildfowl one would expect for the time of year, except for a group of white storks on the marshy area. We view them sceptically, thinking they are probably pinioned birds from the collection, and anyway, storks are supposed to have migrated south by now. However it soon becomes clear that these are free flying birds, and inquiries reveal that the local population, some thirty to forty birds, are resident. In fact, they are mainly descended from sick and injured birds brought to Zwin for treatment, and, having got used to being fed, they do not bother to migrate.
The storks seem to dwarf the herons, which are similarly numerous, so it is surprising to find they are only some 15 ‑ 20 cm taller and have a shorter wingspan. The stork's body is, however, rather larger than the heron's; and its striking plumage probably increases the effect of bulk.
Occasionally one or two take to the air, flying with the head and legs drooping somewhat below the body, and with each wing in a slight arch when viewed head on. At this angle the primaries stick out at the ends of the wings like untidy brushes.
Most of the storks have clean black and white plumage with red legs and bill, but a few are smudgy looking with finer, black‑tipped bills; these are juveniles and they will remain distinguishable until they moult in December.
The birds stalk slowly through the water, occasionally putting in a few long fast strides to reach potential prey items. Several times we heard some bill clattering, but the noisy birds are always out of sight so we can't watch the display that is said to go with it.
Amongst the other birds are about a dozen whitefront geese, which are quite tame and include some of the Russian race. Like the storks, they are descended from sick and injured birds brought to the reserve for treatment.
There is also a turnstone feeding along the edge of the channels, turning over goose droppings where there are no stones to turn.
The refuge comprises what was the mouth of the River Zwin before it was canalised, a 1.5 km line of sand dunes separates it from the sea; its other boundaries are dykes. A shallow creek, linking it to the sea at the eastern end, feeds a system of four brackish lagoons, though the whole area is often flooded at spring tides. The reserve itself is only 150 ha but it is surrounded by a 1500 ha buffer zone of coastal grasslands.
Visitors are free to walk along the top of dykes in some places ‑ there are even seats and giant binoculars provided ‑ to look over the largest lagoon which holds various duck, geese and waders, though not in large numbers. The rest of the area is saltmarsh, where people are actually allowed to walk ‑ no hides or screens here! Access is limited only by an individual's desire to wade through mud and water, and, of the few that do explore, not many go very far off a single, rather wet, track across the middle of the refuge.
The birds are mostly the waders and wildfowl one would expect for the time of year, except for a group of white storks on the marshy area. We view them sceptically, thinking they are probably pinioned birds from the collection, and anyway, storks are supposed to have migrated south by now. However it soon becomes clear that these are free flying birds, and inquiries reveal that the local population, some thirty to forty birds, are resident. In fact, they are mainly descended from sick and injured birds brought to Zwin for treatment, and, having got used to being fed, they do not bother to migrate.
The storks seem to dwarf the herons, which are similarly numerous, so it is surprising to find they are only some 15 ‑ 20 cm taller and have a shorter wingspan. The stork's body is, however, rather larger than the heron's; and its striking plumage probably increases the effect of bulk.
Occasionally one or two take to the air, flying with the head and legs drooping somewhat below the body, and with each wing in a slight arch when viewed head on. At this angle the primaries stick out at the ends of the wings like untidy brushes.
Most of the storks have clean black and white plumage with red legs and bill, but a few are smudgy looking with finer, black‑tipped bills; these are juveniles and they will remain distinguishable until they moult in December.
The birds stalk slowly through the water, occasionally putting in a few long fast strides to reach potential prey items. Several times we heard some bill clattering, but the noisy birds are always out of sight so we can't watch the display that is said to go with it.
Amongst the other birds are about a dozen whitefront geese, which are quite tame and include some of the Russian race. Like the storks, they are descended from sick and injured birds brought to the reserve for treatment.
There is also a turnstone feeding along the edge of the channels, turning over goose droppings where there are no stones to turn.
14th November 1988
Information about the other reserves in the Campine is rather vague, nevertheless we decide to try to find them. I think we did actually find one reserve, the Ronde Put, near Postel, but there are no signs to say that it exists there, no obvious parking place or information boards, and the only sign of public access is a waymarked path with no indication of where it is going to. Not very satisfactory. The information board at a carpark in Postel itself was no help either. In fact, we are rapidly coming to the conclusion that the information we have gathered before leaving Britain is a useful guide, but it cannot all be relied upon. (and I expect some of the information in this diary will be out of date when somebody else tries to use it).
Further exploration reveals only farmland and woods with tracks marked 'no entry'. Eventually at a place called Ravels, we discover a state forest (Staatsbos). It consists of mixed plantation, with picnic areas, parking space, footpath and toilets provided.
Rain threatens a few times but we manage to walk for a couple of hours around and between blocks of trees ‑ red oak, pedunculate oak, sweet chestnut, beech, scots pine, larch, and other conifers. There does not seem to be much in the way of birdlife ‑ great‑spotted woodpecker, nuthatches, goldcrests, tits, chaffinches, robins, wrens etc.
In the evening we head west along the Dutch border towards the reserve at Zwin near Brugges. On the way a barn owl flies across the road ahead, the yellow motorway lights illuminating its bat-like flight.
Further exploration reveals only farmland and woods with tracks marked 'no entry'. Eventually at a place called Ravels, we discover a state forest (Staatsbos). It consists of mixed plantation, with picnic areas, parking space, footpath and toilets provided.
Rain threatens a few times but we manage to walk for a couple of hours around and between blocks of trees ‑ red oak, pedunculate oak, sweet chestnut, beech, scots pine, larch, and other conifers. There does not seem to be much in the way of birdlife ‑ great‑spotted woodpecker, nuthatches, goldcrests, tits, chaffinches, robins, wrens etc.
In the evening we head west along the Dutch border towards the reserve at Zwin near Brugges. On the way a barn owl flies across the road ahead, the yellow motorway lights illuminating its bat-like flight.
13th November 1988
Yesterday's gloom disappeared overnight and we awake to blue skies and sun, though it becomes increasingly cloudy and is quite grey by mid-afternoon. The improvement in visibility makes for a better day's birding. We choose a 7.5 km waymarked path to the south of yesterday's ramble. The route starts near wet ground but is mainly over open sandy heath with birch, young pine and a few oak trees.
With the sun behind us, Jim peers through the telescope at a distant and partially obscured lake ‑ canada, greylag and barnacle geese are amongst the wildfowl present. Then something in the background ‑ it must have been half a kilometre away ‑ catches his eye and, with the telescope on full magnification, he manages to make out a great grey shrike. When I look through I just glimpsed a pale belly and black mask before it flies off. According to the field-guide, the great grey is the only shrike to winter in northern Europe, the Dutch name is klapekster ‑ Flemish was a dialect of Dutch so the bird name is probably similar.
We continue the walk and after a while met three native birders who tell us of a klapekster that they have seen a few hundred metres back. We find it too. It swoops through the dunes and disappears for a few minutes then flies past us and up into the top of a small birch tree ‑ only fifty metres away but against the sun.
We take a good look at it from where we are, then continue along the path hoping the bird will stay put, but, of course, it doesn't. It swoops out of the tree and up into a hover ‑ holding its body much more upright than a kestrel and fanning its tail to show the black and white pattern below the pale grey rump. It looks around, then flies off to a further birch tree and again perches near the top. Now the shrike is in full sunlight and showing how well it can be camouflaged. The blue‑grey back hardly shows against the pale blue sky, and the pale belly, in shadow, also looks sky coloured. This leaves the dark wing, tail and head markings looking like a continuation of the twig it is standing on. The bird makes a brief sortie from this tree and lands on the next, repeating the pattern until it is out of sight.
With the sunshine to create thermals over the open terrain, there must surely be raptors around. Eventually three birds do appear above the horizon; one soon disappears again, the second is a crow and the third, a goshawk, comes towards us.
Viewed through the telescope, the distant hawk looks pale and plain underneath with very white undertail coverts. As it comes closer, its dark crown and cheek patches with an obvious white supercilium in between become clear. When it is level with us the broad‑based wings with an S‑shaped trailing edge become apparent. Its flight pattern consists of half a dozen heavy flaps to a glide, unlike the sparrowhawk's easy two or three flaps to a glide. The bird goes on past and disappears into the distance, keeping quite high and in a more or less straight line. If only all birds would show their copybook characteristics like that!
In the afternoon we take a short route starting from a pub car park in Kalmthout itself, and discovered the continental habit of going for a Sunday afternoon constitutional. It seems as if the whole population is out and the part of the reserve nearest the town is overrun with humans and dogs; we see no birds other than pipits and tits.
The saga of klapekster is not yet over. A woman asks what we are looking at ‑ nothing in particular at this time ‑ so Jim tells her about some of the birds we had seen and shows her a picture of the shrike. She says she has them in her garden, but they are not quite the same ‑ more blue than grey. I wonder if she means magpie, which is superficially like a large shrike, and the field guide confirmed that the dutch for magpie is ekster. The word for shrike is klauvier and this is found in their names for all the other shrikes. Serious continental bird-watchers were usually quite familiar with latin names, thus avoiding this sort of confusion.
Another pair of confusing birds are the marsh and willow tits. It seems strange here to find only willow tit and not marsh tit here when their habitats so often overlap in Britain, and also strange that the willow tits are in conifers with coal and crested tits. In fact, they are two of several species whose continental habits are not quite the same as their British ones. The marsh tit here occurs in broad-leaf forest and more rarely in mixed forest, while the willow tit occurs mainly in lowland and mountain conifer forest but sometimes in broadleaf forest and scrub in wet areas.
With the sun behind us, Jim peers through the telescope at a distant and partially obscured lake ‑ canada, greylag and barnacle geese are amongst the wildfowl present. Then something in the background ‑ it must have been half a kilometre away ‑ catches his eye and, with the telescope on full magnification, he manages to make out a great grey shrike. When I look through I just glimpsed a pale belly and black mask before it flies off. According to the field-guide, the great grey is the only shrike to winter in northern Europe, the Dutch name is klapekster ‑ Flemish was a dialect of Dutch so the bird name is probably similar.
We continue the walk and after a while met three native birders who tell us of a klapekster that they have seen a few hundred metres back. We find it too. It swoops through the dunes and disappears for a few minutes then flies past us and up into the top of a small birch tree ‑ only fifty metres away but against the sun.
We take a good look at it from where we are, then continue along the path hoping the bird will stay put, but, of course, it doesn't. It swoops out of the tree and up into a hover ‑ holding its body much more upright than a kestrel and fanning its tail to show the black and white pattern below the pale grey rump. It looks around, then flies off to a further birch tree and again perches near the top. Now the shrike is in full sunlight and showing how well it can be camouflaged. The blue‑grey back hardly shows against the pale blue sky, and the pale belly, in shadow, also looks sky coloured. This leaves the dark wing, tail and head markings looking like a continuation of the twig it is standing on. The bird makes a brief sortie from this tree and lands on the next, repeating the pattern until it is out of sight.
With the sunshine to create thermals over the open terrain, there must surely be raptors around. Eventually three birds do appear above the horizon; one soon disappears again, the second is a crow and the third, a goshawk, comes towards us.
Viewed through the telescope, the distant hawk looks pale and plain underneath with very white undertail coverts. As it comes closer, its dark crown and cheek patches with an obvious white supercilium in between become clear. When it is level with us the broad‑based wings with an S‑shaped trailing edge become apparent. Its flight pattern consists of half a dozen heavy flaps to a glide, unlike the sparrowhawk's easy two or three flaps to a glide. The bird goes on past and disappears into the distance, keeping quite high and in a more or less straight line. If only all birds would show their copybook characteristics like that!
In the afternoon we take a short route starting from a pub car park in Kalmthout itself, and discovered the continental habit of going for a Sunday afternoon constitutional. It seems as if the whole population is out and the part of the reserve nearest the town is overrun with humans and dogs; we see no birds other than pipits and tits.
The saga of klapekster is not yet over. A woman asks what we are looking at ‑ nothing in particular at this time ‑ so Jim tells her about some of the birds we had seen and shows her a picture of the shrike. She says she has them in her garden, but they are not quite the same ‑ more blue than grey. I wonder if she means magpie, which is superficially like a large shrike, and the field guide confirmed that the dutch for magpie is ekster. The word for shrike is klauvier and this is found in their names for all the other shrikes. Serious continental bird-watchers were usually quite familiar with latin names, thus avoiding this sort of confusion.
Another pair of confusing birds are the marsh and willow tits. It seems strange here to find only willow tit and not marsh tit here when their habitats so often overlap in Britain, and also strange that the willow tits are in conifers with coal and crested tits. In fact, they are two of several species whose continental habits are not quite the same as their British ones. The marsh tit here occurs in broad-leaf forest and more rarely in mixed forest, while the willow tit occurs mainly in lowland and mountain conifer forest but sometimes in broadleaf forest and scrub in wet areas.
13 Nov 2008
12th November 1988 - Kalmtout Heide
There are several fragmented reserves of heaths, forests, plantations, lakes, marshes, and ponds in the Campine, of which the Kalmthout Heide (Heath) National Reserve in the west is the largest. The habitat is described as Lowland Atlantic Heath, and is said to hold black woodpecker, black grouse and long‑eared owls. Definitely worth a try.
After the neat brown and green Dutch landscape, the browns and yellows of winter vegetation give this heathland an aura of wilderness. There is long grass everywhere, covering both the open heath and the floor of the semi‑natural pine forest. Scots and Corsican pines were once planted here, but are now largely naturalised. The open areas are decidedly wet‑looking with purple moor-grass and cross‑leaved heath dominating the scene, while the drier sandy areas near the trees have common heather as well.
A flock of tits forage in the canopy above while we have breakfast ‑ mixed great, coal, willow and crested tits. We have seen crested tits once before, in Scotland where we really had to search for them. Here they seem to be quite common, if sounds were anything to go by, spending most of the time high in the canopy.
About one hundred hectares of the reserve is designated a protected area for breeding birds. A waymarked path around the perimeter of this area takes-in open heath, pine-woods and farmland. Following this path we find a variety of thrushes, tits, great‑spotted and green woodpeckers and one each of buzzard, ringtail hen harrier and sparrowhawk. I keep an eye on the path for mammal tracks and find a few deer slots. A red squirrel (grey squirrels have not colonised the European mainland yet) gives his presence away by rustling through the dry autumn leaves of an oak tree, and several rabbits scuttle off ahead of us.
Black woodpeckers are elusive, though Jim hears something that resembles the field-guide description of their call. We find a number of dead trees and stumps with evidence of woodpecker attack, almost certainly the work of the black woodpeckers as they hack open rotten tree stumps and prefer to feed at ground level. One of these trees has a large area of slime mould half way up its trunk.
After a few of hours searching for black woodpeckers, we spend an hour or so just watching the heath, hoping for raptors. The weather has been damp and misty all day but the lack of wind means that standing around is not too uncomfortable. For our trouble we find a few meadow pipits, fieldfares and lapwings. At dusk we spend another hour or so watching a different area in hope of seeing owls, but again without luck. Nor is there any sign of black grouse. There are plenty of noisy corvids, mallard are having a party and groups of small ducks fly overhead on whirring wings. But no sounds of long-eared or any other owls.
About The Campine
The Campine or Kempenland lies in the Flemish-speaking part of Belgium along the Dutch border. It is a low‑lying sand and gravel area formed by the meandering of the river Meuse in the great ice age. Originally a sparsely populated heathland interspersed with oak and birch, much of the area had recently been converted to farmland. Success was achieved by the heavy use of fertilisers and by cultivating leguminous plants to increase the level of soil nitrogen. In other areas there were extensive plantations of spruce, fir and larch. With the discovery and development of underlying coalfields earlier this century, the Kempenland acquired a new look, with modern coal mining villages and a variety of industries such as petrochemicals, and glass and electrical goods.
After the neat brown and green Dutch landscape, the browns and yellows of winter vegetation give this heathland an aura of wilderness. There is long grass everywhere, covering both the open heath and the floor of the semi‑natural pine forest. Scots and Corsican pines were once planted here, but are now largely naturalised. The open areas are decidedly wet‑looking with purple moor-grass and cross‑leaved heath dominating the scene, while the drier sandy areas near the trees have common heather as well.
A flock of tits forage in the canopy above while we have breakfast ‑ mixed great, coal, willow and crested tits. We have seen crested tits once before, in Scotland where we really had to search for them. Here they seem to be quite common, if sounds were anything to go by, spending most of the time high in the canopy.
About one hundred hectares of the reserve is designated a protected area for breeding birds. A waymarked path around the perimeter of this area takes-in open heath, pine-woods and farmland. Following this path we find a variety of thrushes, tits, great‑spotted and green woodpeckers and one each of buzzard, ringtail hen harrier and sparrowhawk. I keep an eye on the path for mammal tracks and find a few deer slots. A red squirrel (grey squirrels have not colonised the European mainland yet) gives his presence away by rustling through the dry autumn leaves of an oak tree, and several rabbits scuttle off ahead of us.
Black woodpeckers are elusive, though Jim hears something that resembles the field-guide description of their call. We find a number of dead trees and stumps with evidence of woodpecker attack, almost certainly the work of the black woodpeckers as they hack open rotten tree stumps and prefer to feed at ground level. One of these trees has a large area of slime mould half way up its trunk.
After a few of hours searching for black woodpeckers, we spend an hour or so just watching the heath, hoping for raptors. The weather has been damp and misty all day but the lack of wind means that standing around is not too uncomfortable. For our trouble we find a few meadow pipits, fieldfares and lapwings. At dusk we spend another hour or so watching a different area in hope of seeing owls, but again without luck. Nor is there any sign of black grouse. There are plenty of noisy corvids, mallard are having a party and groups of small ducks fly overhead on whirring wings. But no sounds of long-eared or any other owls.
About The Campine
The Campine or Kempenland lies in the Flemish-speaking part of Belgium along the Dutch border. It is a low‑lying sand and gravel area formed by the meandering of the river Meuse in the great ice age. Originally a sparsely populated heathland interspersed with oak and birch, much of the area had recently been converted to farmland. Success was achieved by the heavy use of fertilisers and by cultivating leguminous plants to increase the level of soil nitrogen. In other areas there were extensive plantations of spruce, fir and larch. With the discovery and development of underlying coalfields earlier this century, the Kempenland acquired a new look, with modern coal mining villages and a variety of industries such as petrochemicals, and glass and electrical goods.
11th November 1988 - Belgium
There is no physical barrier to tell us where the Netherlands ends and Belgium begins, but we suddenly become aware of differences in both pedestrians and drivers. Pedestrians have a tendency to step off the pavement without worrying about the traffic, while motorists all seem to be in a hurry. Even at zebra crossings it is not clear who has priority.
Towns, too, are different. They seem to go on and on, with very little open country in between. In fact they have expanded along roadsides and the open country is often just behind the row of buildings. Cobbled roads, where they occur, are real boneshakers, the builders must have used the largest stones they could find ‑ the Flemish name for them translates as 'children's heads'.
Another hazard is the tramlines. We haven't actually came face to face with a tram, but every major town has them. Often the tracks run down the middle of the road, effectively making a dual carriageway, but then they shoot off in other directions without warning - or perhaps we just don't recognise the signs. Their overhead cables interfere with radio reception and the crackling, in turn, interferes with our concentration.
We need some cash. It is lunchtime so we head for the town of Kalmthout and wait until two o'clock for the banks to open. At five past two the banks, and most shops, are still closed so I made enquiries as to what is going on. It is, I am told, a National Day (bank holiday) and the banks will be open again tomorrow. So, we go back to the Netherlands for cash, groceries and petrol.
Although our books suggest that most of Belgium is more interesting in the summer as far as natural history is concerned, we have to pass through the country and so decide we will visit a few sites anyway.
Armistace Day is marked on the Sunday closest to 11th November back in Britain, so we hadn't thought of it is being any different in the rest of Europe. Here in Belgium, it is given more prominence.
Towns, too, are different. They seem to go on and on, with very little open country in between. In fact they have expanded along roadsides and the open country is often just behind the row of buildings. Cobbled roads, where they occur, are real boneshakers, the builders must have used the largest stones they could find ‑ the Flemish name for them translates as 'children's heads'.
Another hazard is the tramlines. We haven't actually came face to face with a tram, but every major town has them. Often the tracks run down the middle of the road, effectively making a dual carriageway, but then they shoot off in other directions without warning - or perhaps we just don't recognise the signs. Their overhead cables interfere with radio reception and the crackling, in turn, interferes with our concentration.
We need some cash. It is lunchtime so we head for the town of Kalmthout and wait until two o'clock for the banks to open. At five past two the banks, and most shops, are still closed so I made enquiries as to what is going on. It is, I am told, a National Day (bank holiday) and the banks will be open again tomorrow. So, we go back to the Netherlands for cash, groceries and petrol.
Although our books suggest that most of Belgium is more interesting in the summer as far as natural history is concerned, we have to pass through the country and so decide we will visit a few sites anyway.
Armistace Day is marked on the Sunday closest to 11th November back in Britain, so we hadn't thought of it is being any different in the rest of Europe. Here in Belgium, it is given more prominence.
11th november 1988 - Veersemeer
At breakfast time, two or three great tits are fluttering around the small trees at the campsite. One even lands on the open camper door and looks in. Unfortunately the breadcrumbs we put out for them attracts one of the tame rabbits which had escaped from a pen near the camp reception. The tits are not too sure about this creature. It is about the size and colour of a domestic cat, yet it isn't quite the same. Sometimes a tit nips in and grabs a morsel from behind the rabbit's back, but eventually they looked elsewhere for food.
After a while the rabbit moves off and a great tit reappears. It views the situation from a low branch, then hops down onto a plate left outside for washing up, it looks into the van, hops along the door sill, picks up a piece of macaroni spilt from yesterday's supper and flew off with it ‑ cheeky sod!
The weather is generally damp‑looking again as we head for our last Dutch birding site. The Veerse Meer is another cut‑off part of the old delta, an island in the middle holds a nature reserve and the brackish water is attractive to waders and wildfowl. There are well sign‑posted minor roads along the north side of the Meer leading to picnic and parking places.
A mixed flock of lapwing, golden plover, fieldfares, woodpigeons and starlings moves restlessly from field to field as if there is a bird of prey about. Some of the lapwing weave and swoop amongst the flock in an erratic display flight, making a strange whiplash noise with their wings; a sound that is normally associated with their spring song flight.
Two curlew engage in some determined-looking marching up and down the beach. They appear to be male and female, judging from the very conspicuous size difference, but this display has nothing to do with courtship: it is purely territorial. Although curlew often feed in large flocks, some birds defend a feeding territory for at least part of the non-breeding season. An intruder into the territory is likely to be vigorously chased off, but border disputes like this are more ritualised.
The neighbouring birds walk side by side with head feathers slightly raised and tails angled down. Occasionally one or both birds make short runs and peck at vegetation, seaweed or shells, then continue walking. Sometimes they stop and face each other, with one drawing itself into a very upright posture and flapping its partially folded wings at the other, who usually responds in kind. The female often initiates the display, and if she gets no response she goes in front of the male and repeats the action, as if trying to make a point, then twisting and tilting towards him and fanning her tail until he does respond. They walk up and down the shore, from the top of the beach down to water that is belly deep. When the dispute is over, after at least ten minutes, both birds resume feeding in their respective territories.
Now there is persistent light rain and we head on south towards Belgium.
After a while the rabbit moves off and a great tit reappears. It views the situation from a low branch, then hops down onto a plate left outside for washing up, it looks into the van, hops along the door sill, picks up a piece of macaroni spilt from yesterday's supper and flew off with it ‑ cheeky sod!
The weather is generally damp‑looking again as we head for our last Dutch birding site. The Veerse Meer is another cut‑off part of the old delta, an island in the middle holds a nature reserve and the brackish water is attractive to waders and wildfowl. There are well sign‑posted minor roads along the north side of the Meer leading to picnic and parking places.
A mixed flock of lapwing, golden plover, fieldfares, woodpigeons and starlings moves restlessly from field to field as if there is a bird of prey about. Some of the lapwing weave and swoop amongst the flock in an erratic display flight, making a strange whiplash noise with their wings; a sound that is normally associated with their spring song flight.
Two curlew engage in some determined-looking marching up and down the beach. They appear to be male and female, judging from the very conspicuous size difference, but this display has nothing to do with courtship: it is purely territorial. Although curlew often feed in large flocks, some birds defend a feeding territory for at least part of the non-breeding season. An intruder into the territory is likely to be vigorously chased off, but border disputes like this are more ritualised.
The neighbouring birds walk side by side with head feathers slightly raised and tails angled down. Occasionally one or both birds make short runs and peck at vegetation, seaweed or shells, then continue walking. Sometimes they stop and face each other, with one drawing itself into a very upright posture and flapping its partially folded wings at the other, who usually responds in kind. The female often initiates the display, and if she gets no response she goes in front of the male and repeats the action, as if trying to make a point, then twisting and tilting towards him and fanning her tail until he does respond. They walk up and down the shore, from the top of the beach down to water that is belly deep. When the dispute is over, after at least ten minutes, both birds resume feeding in their respective territories.
Now there is persistent light rain and we head on south towards Belgium.
10 Nov 2008
10th November 1988 - Schelphoek
The Natuur‑reservaat Schelphoek consists of a landscaped freshwater lake surrounded by mixed deciduous woods. It is possible to walk around the lake itself or through the woods around the perimeter. In a country where finding public conveniences has been like finding a needle in a haystack, we are amazed to find that a small toilet block had been provided along the route, discreetly out of sight behind some trees. (We did eventually discover that public conveniences were to be found at garages, cafes etc)
Birds on the water are much as expected ‑ coot, wildfowl, one red-necked and a dozen great-crested grebes, and about thirty dabchicks. A ringtail harrier circles the trees at one end of the reserve for a few minutes, a sparrowhawk hurtles past twice, a kestrel put in an appearance, and a buz-zard watches us go through the woodland where the usual birds are to be found, with the addition of chiff-chaffs.
Just to the east of Schelphoek are some wet meadows and an area that looks like a giant wader scrape, all of which form an important high tide roost for waders and wildfowl. The waders mostly come from the Roggenplat, a mud-bank just offshore in the Oostschelde Estuary, but out of sight in today's gloomy weather. To the delight of the local gulls there is also a municipal rubbish tip. This is the only place where we've seen any litter ‑ mostly plastic blown off of the tip.
We park the camper at the top of a dyke and have both telescopes in use for the next four hours. A huge cloud of geese appears ‑ four or five thousand mixed brent and barnacle coming in off the estuary. The brents land on the scrape and spend ten or fifteen minutes drinking and bathing before going off in groups of about a hundred to join the barnacles which went straight onto a field already occupied by a few hundred wigeon. After the inevitable grunting and honking which heralds their arrival, the feeding flock is relatively quiet. Most of the agitation is between the brents ‑ there always seemed to be another brent in the way.
A couple of fields away, on cultivated land, thousands of oystercatchers are roosting. When a group of jackdaws lands amongst them, there is much waking up, stretching and scurrying off to find a quieter place to go back to sleep. One oystercatcher stands out because of its relatively brown wings, perhaps a leucistic bird.
About fifty Bewick swans share the oystercatchers' field, and we take a close look at their plumages. Adults and juveniles are obviously different, but second winter birds are said to retain some grey‑brown feathers on the head and neck. We found the difference can be detected if there is an all‑white adult nearby, but some birds just look as though they have been feeding in dirty water. Just before dusk several groups of eight to fifteen birds fly in, or pass overhead. The latter are watched by those on the ground with an expression of 'am I missing something if I stay here?' Also in the field are curlew, golden plover, teal, pintail and a few hundred sleeping gulls ‑ the four common species and a single little gull.
The wader scrape is busy too as avocets, dunlin, redshank, godwits, snipe, turnstones and goodness knows what else come in to roost, along with thousands more oystercatchers, and hundreds of wildfowl roost on the water. Several times we hear a spotted redshank call and eventually locate one preening in a ditch by the road. For five minutes or so we are able to study its immaculate plumage from closer proximity that ever before, its clean white under-parts suggest an adult in winter plumage. It spends most of the time in water almost up to its belly, but moves into shallower water to feed, showing off its long red legs. Then it flies off trailing its bright red feet. We find it again (or another) feeding with a bar‑tailed godwit which make it look rather small.
In another part of the ditch an adult grey plover stalks through the water like a miniature heron. Every now and then it pecks at something on the surface, but occasionally probes deeper and gets hold of a worm on which it pulls slowly, and with great concentration, to extract it from the mud, and then gulps it down.
Birds on the water are much as expected ‑ coot, wildfowl, one red-necked and a dozen great-crested grebes, and about thirty dabchicks. A ringtail harrier circles the trees at one end of the reserve for a few minutes, a sparrowhawk hurtles past twice, a kestrel put in an appearance, and a buz-zard watches us go through the woodland where the usual birds are to be found, with the addition of chiff-chaffs.
Just to the east of Schelphoek are some wet meadows and an area that looks like a giant wader scrape, all of which form an important high tide roost for waders and wildfowl. The waders mostly come from the Roggenplat, a mud-bank just offshore in the Oostschelde Estuary, but out of sight in today's gloomy weather. To the delight of the local gulls there is also a municipal rubbish tip. This is the only place where we've seen any litter ‑ mostly plastic blown off of the tip.
We park the camper at the top of a dyke and have both telescopes in use for the next four hours. A huge cloud of geese appears ‑ four or five thousand mixed brent and barnacle coming in off the estuary. The brents land on the scrape and spend ten or fifteen minutes drinking and bathing before going off in groups of about a hundred to join the barnacles which went straight onto a field already occupied by a few hundred wigeon. After the inevitable grunting and honking which heralds their arrival, the feeding flock is relatively quiet. Most of the agitation is between the brents ‑ there always seemed to be another brent in the way.
A couple of fields away, on cultivated land, thousands of oystercatchers are roosting. When a group of jackdaws lands amongst them, there is much waking up, stretching and scurrying off to find a quieter place to go back to sleep. One oystercatcher stands out because of its relatively brown wings, perhaps a leucistic bird.
About fifty Bewick swans share the oystercatchers' field, and we take a close look at their plumages. Adults and juveniles are obviously different, but second winter birds are said to retain some grey‑brown feathers on the head and neck. We found the difference can be detected if there is an all‑white adult nearby, but some birds just look as though they have been feeding in dirty water. Just before dusk several groups of eight to fifteen birds fly in, or pass overhead. The latter are watched by those on the ground with an expression of 'am I missing something if I stay here?' Also in the field are curlew, golden plover, teal, pintail and a few hundred sleeping gulls ‑ the four common species and a single little gull.
The wader scrape is busy too as avocets, dunlin, redshank, godwits, snipe, turnstones and goodness knows what else come in to roost, along with thousands more oystercatchers, and hundreds of wildfowl roost on the water. Several times we hear a spotted redshank call and eventually locate one preening in a ditch by the road. For five minutes or so we are able to study its immaculate plumage from closer proximity that ever before, its clean white under-parts suggest an adult in winter plumage. It spends most of the time in water almost up to its belly, but moves into shallower water to feed, showing off its long red legs. Then it flies off trailing its bright red feet. We find it again (or another) feeding with a bar‑tailed godwit which make it look rather small.
In another part of the ditch an adult grey plover stalks through the water like a miniature heron. Every now and then it pecks at something on the surface, but occasionally probes deeper and gets hold of a worm on which it pulls slowly, and with great concentration, to extract it from the mud, and then gulps it down.
9th November 1988 - Westschouwen
For a change of scenery and birds we head for a forest nature reserve on the island of Schouwen. The Boswachterij Westschouwen consists of Corsican pine plantation on sand dunes which are mountains compared to anything we've seen in the Netherlands so far. Offshore westerly winds have blown up an almost continuous line of dunes, up to five kilometres wide, from the northernmost part of the French coast, through Belgium and Holland, ending in the Friesland Isles that stretch along the coast of West Germany to Denmark.
In the Boswachterij (tree 'factory') Westschouwen there are a number of way‑marked paths through the plantation, as well as bridleways and a paved wheelchair track. We know from a big map in the car park that we can wander around at will but following blue or yellow markers will bring us back to the van when we have finished.
In some places we note a very sweet orangey smell which we trace to over-ripe sea buckthorn fruit. There are plenty of rosehips, privet and honeysuckle berries too. Fungi include lots of small earth‑ball types and various little brownish jobs.
From the car park we walk through a grazed area, then scrub, then plantation. Most common (British) woodland birds were present, and there are heron, mallard, coot etc. on the few small lakes. Frequent drizzle tried to spoil the day somewhat but it is nice to get out and stretch our legs.
About Dutch dunes
Dutch dunes as a whole are considered to be among the best developed and best preserved dune systems in the world. A natural function of the dunes is protection of the hinterland from flooding, and with about 25% of the Netherlands lying below sea level, protection of the dune system is as important as the maintenance of the ditches and dykes that keep the land surface drained. In the 14th century laws were introduced to reverse the degradation that had been caused by clearance of the natural forest in the 12th century and the overgrazing by rabbits following their introduction in the previous century.
Nowadays most dunes are managed for a variety of purpose including their scientific interest, biological resources, and landscape recreation. A few hundred hectares are maintained as strict nature reserves with access limited to scientific purposes only, and many reserves on the Friesland Islands are closed to the public during the bird breeding season. Access to the other 90% of the system is usually either free or very cheap. Recreation includes walking, hunting, plant and bird‑watching, riding, cycling etc, with the provision of paths, tracks, car parks. picnic areas etc.
The fruits of various shrubs, especially sea buckthorn, are collected commercially, and maritime pine has been planted for timber. However the plantations also stop soil erosion and are usually managed for recreation. Sea buckthorn, privet and hawthorn make up the most obvious scrub vegetation, while the grassland which covers the inner parts of the system contain a large variety of plant communities and species. These grasslands are said to resemble scottish machair. The flora and fauna of the dunes is generally rich, with some 1100 species of plant ‑ some 80% of Dutch plant species occur in the coastal dunes, as do about 80% of the total breeding species of bird. (ref Maarel 1979)
In the Boswachterij (tree 'factory') Westschouwen there are a number of way‑marked paths through the plantation, as well as bridleways and a paved wheelchair track. We know from a big map in the car park that we can wander around at will but following blue or yellow markers will bring us back to the van when we have finished.
In some places we note a very sweet orangey smell which we trace to over-ripe sea buckthorn fruit. There are plenty of rosehips, privet and honeysuckle berries too. Fungi include lots of small earth‑ball types and various little brownish jobs.
From the car park we walk through a grazed area, then scrub, then plantation. Most common (British) woodland birds were present, and there are heron, mallard, coot etc. on the few small lakes. Frequent drizzle tried to spoil the day somewhat but it is nice to get out and stretch our legs.
About Dutch dunes
Dutch dunes as a whole are considered to be among the best developed and best preserved dune systems in the world. A natural function of the dunes is protection of the hinterland from flooding, and with about 25% of the Netherlands lying below sea level, protection of the dune system is as important as the maintenance of the ditches and dykes that keep the land surface drained. In the 14th century laws were introduced to reverse the degradation that had been caused by clearance of the natural forest in the 12th century and the overgrazing by rabbits following their introduction in the previous century.
Nowadays most dunes are managed for a variety of purpose including their scientific interest, biological resources, and landscape recreation. A few hundred hectares are maintained as strict nature reserves with access limited to scientific purposes only, and many reserves on the Friesland Islands are closed to the public during the bird breeding season. Access to the other 90% of the system is usually either free or very cheap. Recreation includes walking, hunting, plant and bird‑watching, riding, cycling etc, with the provision of paths, tracks, car parks. picnic areas etc.
The fruits of various shrubs, especially sea buckthorn, are collected commercially, and maritime pine has been planted for timber. However the plantations also stop soil erosion and are usually managed for recreation. Sea buckthorn, privet and hawthorn make up the most obvious scrub vegetation, while the grassland which covers the inner parts of the system contain a large variety of plant communities and species. These grasslands are said to resemble scottish machair. The flora and fauna of the dunes is generally rich, with some 1100 species of plant ‑ some 80% of Dutch plant species occur in the coastal dunes, as do about 80% of the total breeding species of bird. (ref Maarel 1979)
8 Nov 2008
8th November - the Grevelingenmeer
On the Grevelingenmeer two fishermen work from a small flat boat with a couple of hundred gulls in attendance, mostly black‑headed plus a few of other species. The first few catches contain many small fish which are shovelled straight back into the water ‑ much to the delight of the gulls - while bigger fish are kept aside. Later catches hold a greater proportion of large fish; since there is less waste, the gulls lose soon interest and disperse.
Meanwhile, Jim is studying a large duck which was preening on the shore a couple of hundred metres away. Detail is difficult to make out against the light but its dark cap, pale cheeks and pale underwings suggest a red-crested pochard, while its uniformly pale bill suggest an immature rather than female which has just a pale tip to the bill. There is a small feral population of this species breeding in the Netherlands, but unlike the truly wild birds, they do not normally migrate.It is not often than we see mergansers and goosanders together ‑ goosanders prefer deep fresh water in winter but are not uncommon on brackish water, while mergansers are predominantly marine in habitat, but favour enclosed waters including brackish ones. Hence both species are found on the Grevelingenmeer and had an excellent opportunity to study their plumage variation. We we get quite confused with ageing the mergansers until we realise that the illustrations in 'Wildfowl' were wrongly labelled.
Several pairs of mergansers are displaying, performing various postures including head shaking and jerking, wing flapping etc. Although courtship is more usual in late winter, pairs are sometimes seen in November. Here most of it was being done by first winter males - practising for the future?As we drive along, a brown rat moves ahead of us, searching for titbits amongst the boulders and rubble which formed the base of the track. It doesn't seem to take much notice of us until I try to take a photograph, then it takes evasive action. How to animals know when there is a camera around?
At the northern end of the Brouwersdam there is an extensive area of sea buckthorn and other scrub with plenty of berries. It may be a nature reserve and certainly looks impenetrable to humans. There are few birds to be seen ‑ chaffinches, blackbirds, magpies, and wood-pigeons; then a harrier flies over heading south, though we can't identify which species against the light.
Meanwhile, Jim is studying a large duck which was preening on the shore a couple of hundred metres away. Detail is difficult to make out against the light but its dark cap, pale cheeks and pale underwings suggest a red-crested pochard, while its uniformly pale bill suggest an immature rather than female which has just a pale tip to the bill. There is a small feral population of this species breeding in the Netherlands, but unlike the truly wild birds, they do not normally migrate.It is not often than we see mergansers and goosanders together ‑ goosanders prefer deep fresh water in winter but are not uncommon on brackish water, while mergansers are predominantly marine in habitat, but favour enclosed waters including brackish ones. Hence both species are found on the Grevelingenmeer and had an excellent opportunity to study their plumage variation. We we get quite confused with ageing the mergansers until we realise that the illustrations in 'Wildfowl' were wrongly labelled.
Several pairs of mergansers are displaying, performing various postures including head shaking and jerking, wing flapping etc. Although courtship is more usual in late winter, pairs are sometimes seen in November. Here most of it was being done by first winter males - practising for the future?As we drive along, a brown rat moves ahead of us, searching for titbits amongst the boulders and rubble which formed the base of the track. It doesn't seem to take much notice of us until I try to take a photograph, then it takes evasive action. How to animals know when there is a camera around?
At the northern end of the Brouwersdam there is an extensive area of sea buckthorn and other scrub with plenty of berries. It may be a nature reserve and certainly looks impenetrable to humans. There are few birds to be seen ‑ chaffinches, blackbirds, magpies, and wood-pigeons; then a harrier flies over heading south, though we can't identify which species against the light.
8th November 1998 - the Brouwersdam
The sun is shining again and visibility is normal, but a cold easterly wind is not good for sea-watching on a west facing coast! Nevertheless we go back to the Brouwersdam to see it really looks like.
Things are much the same as yesterday on the North Sea except for a red-throated diver which circles overhead and inspects the camper while we are having breakfast, then disappears towards the Grevelingenmeer. There are also many more great-crested grebe further out.A different group of eider roost near the sluice gate; close scrutiny reveals a few adult females amongst them. These have plain brown head and neck, white tips to greater coverts and, at close range, a pale eye‑ring, but no supercilium. Just to complicate matters of identification, it has recently been found that a few female eider show male plumage characteristics. The reason is thought to be that eider have been protected for so long in the Netherlands that some females may be suffering from old age. Their reproductive organs are degenerating and no longer providing sufficient female hormones to stimulate the production of enough feather pigment. Thus old females can look like young males!
Something disturbs the turnstone; and the eider, too, become alert as a sparrowhawk flies low round the sluice gates. It goes through the waders but makes no attempt to strike, then continues across the water before disappearing over distant dunes, scattering small birds in its path.
As the tide goes out, a couple of herring gulls are intent on poking about in the crevices between rocks on the tideline looking for lunch. A first winter herring gull finds himself a clump of mussels which he carries up about four or five metres and drops into a pool of water. He succeeds in cracking open one mussel and repeats the process twice, on more suitable surfaces, to get at the rest. Several other immature herring gulls are also feeding this way. Oystercatchers are also feeding on mussels, using the stabbing technique to get at the flesh.
After a couple of hours we decide to try the other side of the dam, detouring first to a petrol station where a ring‑necked parakeet noisily announces its arrival in a nearby tree. We also disturb a covey of grey partridge on an area of short turf by the road.
Things are much the same as yesterday on the North Sea except for a red-throated diver which circles overhead and inspects the camper while we are having breakfast, then disappears towards the Grevelingenmeer. There are also many more great-crested grebe further out.A different group of eider roost near the sluice gate; close scrutiny reveals a few adult females amongst them. These have plain brown head and neck, white tips to greater coverts and, at close range, a pale eye‑ring, but no supercilium. Just to complicate matters of identification, it has recently been found that a few female eider show male plumage characteristics. The reason is thought to be that eider have been protected for so long in the Netherlands that some females may be suffering from old age. Their reproductive organs are degenerating and no longer providing sufficient female hormones to stimulate the production of enough feather pigment. Thus old females can look like young males!
Something disturbs the turnstone; and the eider, too, become alert as a sparrowhawk flies low round the sluice gates. It goes through the waders but makes no attempt to strike, then continues across the water before disappearing over distant dunes, scattering small birds in its path.
As the tide goes out, a couple of herring gulls are intent on poking about in the crevices between rocks on the tideline looking for lunch. A first winter herring gull finds himself a clump of mussels which he carries up about four or five metres and drops into a pool of water. He succeeds in cracking open one mussel and repeats the process twice, on more suitable surfaces, to get at the rest. Several other immature herring gulls are also feeding this way. Oystercatchers are also feeding on mussels, using the stabbing technique to get at the flesh.
After a couple of hours we decide to try the other side of the dam, detouring first to a petrol station where a ring‑necked parakeet noisily announces its arrival in a nearby tree. We also disturb a covey of grey partridge on an area of short turf by the road.
7th November 1988 - the Brouwersdam
The six kilometre long Brouwersdam separates the Grevelingenmeer from the North Sea. It carries one major and two minor roads and has plenty of parking space facing the sea. We drive slowly along the now-deserted parking area and stop after about 500 metres to look at the gulls roosting there at high tide. Thick fog preventsd us seeing anything on the water.
They are almost all herring gulls and we have ample opportunity to study adult and immature winter plumages. With all types together the different ages are obvious ‑ quite brown for those still in juvenile plumage; much paler heads and bodies for those moulting into first winter; grey mantles and scapulars with brown still in the coverts for second winter. Third winter birds look like adults on the ground but in flight they show more extensive black tips to their wings.
A few turnstone and a purple sandpiper run in between the gulls, picking up small items; and large numbers of oystercatchers roost further along.
The fog suddenly lifts and birds became visible up to 400 metres out on the sea. There are several great-crested and about a half dozen red-necked grebes. This is the first time we have seen the two species close together and the difference in shape is quite marked; the red-necked look more like overgrown little grebe with an extra large, yellow‑based bill. Two of them have a brief encounter of the aggressive kind, growling and wing-flapping, and showing clearly their double white wing‑patches.
A small group of eider float close to the shore. Eider first breed at three to four years and males show a great variety of plumage before attaining adulthood. Amongst this group are several variations, including one with white speckling on the mantle and scapulars, probably a first winter, while another has a rather dirty looking version of adult plumage. The more plain brown birds had an indistinct buff supercilium, indicating juvenile plumage, and of these some had dark backs suggesting males.
The birds start feeding, diving directly from the surface and opening the wings as they were half way under. Food, mainly mussels and crabs, is often swallowed underwater, but sometimes a bird comes up with a bunch of mussels which it seems to turn and crunch a few times before swallowing.
The tide is going out and exposing a sandy shore. In places the sand has been blown in to form quite large dunes, some of which have been stabilised with marram grass and thistles while others are being fixed with brushwood to prevent them blowing over the road. It is hoped that these dunes would become nature reserves for breeding birds.
A small wader hurries along the beach like a clockwork mouse, obviously a sanderling. In fact, there are several at intervals along the shore; they seem to have established feeding territories for there is often calling and chasing when two birds met on their invisible boundaries.
In the same area there are the remains of four large fish on the beach ‑ whole heads with backbone and tail still attached. The first of these is being eagerly attacked by an immature great black‑back gull, the next by a second winter herring gull. The black‑back abandons his prize in favour of that held by the herring gull who in turn goes across to attack the first fish. The third fish is the possession of an oystercatcher while the fourth is commandeered from an adult herring gull by another immature great blackback. The herring gull, and a mate, stand by to await their next opportunity.
They are almost all herring gulls and we have ample opportunity to study adult and immature winter plumages. With all types together the different ages are obvious ‑ quite brown for those still in juvenile plumage; much paler heads and bodies for those moulting into first winter; grey mantles and scapulars with brown still in the coverts for second winter. Third winter birds look like adults on the ground but in flight they show more extensive black tips to their wings.
A few turnstone and a purple sandpiper run in between the gulls, picking up small items; and large numbers of oystercatchers roost further along.
The fog suddenly lifts and birds became visible up to 400 metres out on the sea. There are several great-crested and about a half dozen red-necked grebes. This is the first time we have seen the two species close together and the difference in shape is quite marked; the red-necked look more like overgrown little grebe with an extra large, yellow‑based bill. Two of them have a brief encounter of the aggressive kind, growling and wing-flapping, and showing clearly their double white wing‑patches.
A small group of eider float close to the shore. Eider first breed at three to four years and males show a great variety of plumage before attaining adulthood. Amongst this group are several variations, including one with white speckling on the mantle and scapulars, probably a first winter, while another has a rather dirty looking version of adult plumage. The more plain brown birds had an indistinct buff supercilium, indicating juvenile plumage, and of these some had dark backs suggesting males.
The birds start feeding, diving directly from the surface and opening the wings as they were half way under. Food, mainly mussels and crabs, is often swallowed underwater, but sometimes a bird comes up with a bunch of mussels which it seems to turn and crunch a few times before swallowing.
The tide is going out and exposing a sandy shore. In places the sand has been blown in to form quite large dunes, some of which have been stabilised with marram grass and thistles while others are being fixed with brushwood to prevent them blowing over the road. It is hoped that these dunes would become nature reserves for breeding birds.
A small wader hurries along the beach like a clockwork mouse, obviously a sanderling. In fact, there are several at intervals along the shore; they seem to have established feeding territories for there is often calling and chasing when two birds met on their invisible boundaries.
In the same area there are the remains of four large fish on the beach ‑ whole heads with backbone and tail still attached. The first of these is being eagerly attacked by an immature great black‑back gull, the next by a second winter herring gull. The black‑back abandons his prize in favour of that held by the herring gull who in turn goes across to attack the first fish. The third fish is the possession of an oystercatcher while the fourth is commandeered from an adult herring gull by another immature great blackback. The herring gull, and a mate, stand by to await their next opportunity.
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