Christine's walking & birds blog

Under the wide Norfolk sky, waders at Titchwell pause in their feeding as something unseen by us causes momentary concern.


But soon the avocets were back to their tricks, chasing all and sundry - including a spotted redshank.



A solitary golden plover looked uneasy on one of the islands on the freshwater marsh, and two juvenile little ringed plovers were feeding on the extensive mudflats near the bank.


When everything on the marsh went up for the second time, a knot that had flown past with dunlin landed briefly on the mud.


These are black-tailed godwits. Whether they are all the same race, I don't know. I've researched this on the internet and remain baffled.


Leaving Greger on a bench on the main path, I retraced our steps to the hide to snap a small wader (which turned out to be a dunlin) at the back of the marsh behind a fence. Without the scope, I couldn't quite make out the three waders near the duck - and took a picture (without realising  it at the time) of two (maybe three) wood sandpipers. I can't include them on my year list as I didn't identify them. Meanwhile, Greger had been told that two wood sandpipers were in the corner of the marsh by a passing birder, one of those who, without any preamble, informs you in passing of something they think you might be missing, and carries on walking by. He knows now why this irritates me so much!


We carried on to the beach. With a falling tide, everything was distant. Right on the edge of the waves a bar-tailed godwit was feeding; and now and then a whimbrel could also be glimpsed.



Common terns flew to and fro, and Greger spotted a stunning grey plover, really too distant to photograph.

The bearded tits were lovely to see, foraging on the ground.

 

We saw a group of eleven at Titchwell, but the following day at Cley we would have closer views of five spoonbills.


Sandwich terns, a common scoter, and a solitary sanderling were seen from or on the beach at Cley.

Greger had found and booked our holiday home - a former artist's studio in Plumstead Green, near Holt. It was a lovely property, and very reasonable, probably because it's a bit off the beaten track along single-track roads. Well, we're used to them, living here - only in the Highlands, they have thoughtfully also provided passing places. On one occasion, meeting a large tractor towing some of the harvest along a tunnel-like lane, Greger had to reverse and then just drive up onto the sloping verge to let it pass. And on another occasion we encountered, in the field to our right, a little convoy just ready to depart; first a truck with a flashing orange light on, then three mighty combine harvesters, and finally another tractor towing a trailer stacked with hay. "Thank goodness we got past before they pulled out!" Greger exclaimed.  But thinking about it afterwards, we assumed they just went a short way to another field - because we stood outside when we got "home" to see them go by. And they never did go by. (We lead rather quiet lives.)

The barn owl was across the road from the property, hunting over a field full of thistles, and then flying into an oak tree.


Sitting on a wooden bench in the garden, I saw what I thought was a huge insect flying around; but when it landed, I realised it was a bee carrying a leaf. I suppose it was a leaf-cutter bee - although I thought they cut neat little patches out of a leaf, rather than carry the whole thing around. Anyway, it flew into the flower urn, and disappeared down a hole - one of several it had evidently made in the soft soil and moss in the urn.


On the last day we wandered around Holt in warm sunshine, and then headed back north. Greger had sworn he wasn't going anywhere near the A1M again (we'd come down it from Scotch Corner), and suggested going up the M1 and then crossing to the M6. In the event, I picked out a route that included a short stretch on the A1M, but there were no hold-ups this time, and we arrived in Glasgow in good time to break our journey overnight. It was already much colder than it had been down south.

The following day we made our way up through Scotland. It's all so familiar to us now, and it was good to see it again - the lonely hills and the bleak moors, all so very beautiful, and beginning to feel like home. But it's still bloody cold!