Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Portland Bill
We left fairly early yesterday morning and drove down to Dorset and onto the Isle of Portland. In pouring rain we pulled into a free car park near the Bill to eat lunch. Several gannets were flying elegantly over the sea in the gloom and Greger pointed out a willow warbler in a nearby bush.
By the time we reached the Bill it had stopped raining, and the big grassy area opposite the car park was alive with wheatears. I counted nineteen and thought this was great; but I would later learn from the Portland website that 150 wheatears were counted at the Bill!
Stopping to look at four oystercatchers on a flat shelf of rock, I realised there were turnstones and sanderlings there as well.
We saw four common sandpipers, a little egret, and several rock pipits.
As we walked past the huts and the paddocks, it was difficult to look in any direction and not see a wheatear.
Coming back past the paddocks we had good views of a spotted flycatcher on the fence; and we decided on a quick walk down to the rocks beyond the lighthouse, despite the crowds of people and the deafening fog-horn.
A greyish wader was asleep with its back to us. People clambering on the rocks and unaware of the bird were getting dangerously close, and I thought if it was going to be flushed anyway I might as well get a better look. We advanced carefully until we could see the greenish legs and took turns studying it through the bins. I knew now that it was a knot and later I would identify it from the book as a juvenile.
The knot suddenly roused itself and looked all round, quite indignantly, as if to say "Who woke me up?" I thought it would be off, but it just gave its feathers a shake and went back to sleep. 
Beyond the knot, a dark bird came flying low and landed on the water. I wondered if the head wasn't a bit too knobbly for a cormorant; didn't it have the steep forehead of a shag?
Regaining the grassy bank, we found the bird drying itself on the rocks. Again, I thought it would fly off when a couple of boys came scrambling past but it seemed completely oblivious to them. When we walked away, both it and the knot were still there, yards away from the throng and seemingly less bothered than us by the fog-horn. (Just as we got round to the other side of the lighthouse, they turned it off. Typical!)
We drove to the hotel Greger had booked in Weymouth and ate a good dinner. Greger had a pint of lager beforehand, and we shared a bottle of red wine. Afterwards, he decided on a whisky nightcap and ordered a double of Glenfiddich. For some reason he paid with his card, but when he'd done so the barman realised there wasn't enough in the bottle for a double. Not only that, but they didn't have any single malts left at all. Rather than going through the kerfuffle of crediting him, the lads behind the bar suggested they could make it up in a cheaper brand. They worked out that this would amount to a quadruple measure and gave him quite a large glass of whisky!
Greger thought this a fair deal, but back in the room he got through just half and then fell fast asleep, propped up on the pillows with his reading glasses on. When I woke him up he couldn't face the rest of the whisky and poured it away. The sad thing, I pointed out, was that he probably never even got down to the expensive stuff. :o)
// posted by Christine @ 3:14 PM 
