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Fourth time lucky

The early days of summer can be a time of surprises. The local Swifts arrived a while back, yet a few days ago almost ninety appeared by the river, feeding for an hour above the water meadows before moving on, presumably to points much further north.

It’s a time not only of surprises but also of uncertainty. Waders appear in summer plumage, but whether they are laggards journeying to the arctic or the first returning birds isn’t clear. The absence of bird song may indicate not an absence of birds but a frenzy of nesting. And it is a time when a Hobby scything past may be a very late migrant, or an undiscovered local breeder.

Then there are the things that are simply perplexing, like the Black Guillemot seen occasionally between Climping Beach and Elmer Rocks since December 2017. Sightings in early May were late enough, but its continued presence on June 11 is unaccountable. The bird also called tystie or doveky should be well north of here by now, in Scotland, Ireland or beyond.

Perplexing, but a happy circumstance since I’ve missed the same bird three times before and it’s a rare species in these parts. This could be the last chance to see this bird, possibly even to see the species in the area – it is that uncommon. A fourth visit can’t be avoided, especially since the bird was seen just hours ago by Bola, the local expert.

But seeing it is far from guaranteed, as my previous visits bear witness. This bird has a habit of disappearing. Very small and mobile, haunting a large stretch of coast, it can be almost impossible to see at distance in a heavy sea or harsh light. And it is now after noon, the tide is going out, the wind freshening, and the sun getting stronger.

In the event the bird takes a couple of hours to find and is distant, but fortunately the swell isn’t too bad and the sun goes behind clouds at just the right time. So there is no uncertainty about the identification, or for that matter surprise that it’s in the area after this morning’s sighting. And the fact that it is still lingering on this crumbling stretch of coast may be perplexing, but it is also my good fortune.

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Mist

The valley is cocooned in mist during the morning dog walk, bird calls more important than ever in identifying their presence. Robin numbers have been increasing and today each riverside bush appears to host one, all of them reciting the same sad notes. Cetti’s Warblers are vociferous but even more difficult to see than usual. In the distance a Raven croaks ominously several times, postponing its flight until the mist clears. That will not take long, even in these breezeless conditions. The mist clinging to the riverside earth is already thinning. The Robin in the next bush along is visible, drained of colour but its image sharp. Spider’s webs decorate the reeds and teasels as well as a disintegrating wooden fence, the drops of moisture on the gossamer glinting in the awakening light. Thrushes have been scarce so far this autumn, but a group of at least six Blackbirds are cloistered in the next bush, chuckling and moving occasionally before finally erupting and disappearing into th