There are extensive saltpans to the east of Setubal, and fifteen kilometres of flat coast road is no problem for the old clutch; we stop where the road degenerates into a bumpy dirt track, though the saltpans extend some distance ahead.
There are plenty of Kentish plovers feeding as the tide recedes, but with far fewer ringed plover to harass them here. Other waders include a lame greenshank, a quiet and unobtrusive group of knot, and two little stint.
In one of the salt pans a dozen little grebe are putting on a peculiar display: every so often they all disappear underwater with a splash of wings then bob up again within a few seconds with their plumage puffed up. They do not move far in these submersions, but gradually the dives become less frequent and less synchronous, and the birds eventually disperse. It may be connected with some crows flying and calling overhead.
Having found bluethroat to be secretive skulking birds, we are pleasantly surprised to see two out in the open. First a female advertising from the top of a bush, and later a male feeding along the muddy edge of a saltpan. He has a darting, decisive action as he tugs out a few worms.
Chiffchaffs and robins are singing from the eucalypt and pinewoods behind the saltmarsh. Plants in flower include ramping fumitory, stinking mayweed and other compositae, and broad‑leaved stork's-bill.
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