I'm at at the huge rocks marking the boundary between the public right of way and National Trust protected land at Orford Ness. I lean over on my elbows; bright orange lichen there stains my jacket. A strong wind hounds the coast and rain is never far away. I scan the spit of land ahead. A couple of fishermen have set up a beach tent, sea-rods resting to one side and faces staring straight ahead waiting for a bite. A small party of walkers takes a break and splits, some to the water's edge, others resting up on the path.
Through the grey glower lies Orford Ness with its eleven radio masts and sound-reflective control block, and those strange mushroom-like nuclear testing silos further along. An air of mystery and of desolation. A nether world; still slightly evil despite its long-term military redundancy. I think of rust, rubber tubing, porcelain tiles, huge Bakelite dials and tweed suits, and deadly experiments. Here they prepared for 'total warfare' 1950's style.
Between the masts, over an inland pool caught by the sea defences, a vast crowd of gulls swarm. They move incessantly in a treadmill motion, slowly, out of time. I think at first that they must be waiting to pick and feed at something caught in the pool, some shoal of fish perhaps, but then I realise that none of them are dropping to the surface and that the water is possibly too stagnant to support anything they might be interested in eating. So what are they doing there? Maybe they are attracted to something the aerial masts are transmitting or receiveing; some magnetism or signal they are picking up and returning to over and over?
In the riverside wetland close by, beneath the Martello Tower, a pair of Little Egrets explore the pools and shallows, disappearing behind grasses or where the water becomes deep and the land caps them; then the snow white heads appear momentarily, bobbing up as they stalk and watch the shallows. Then they fly in unison; caught in the wind they barely make any effort, turn back into it and use it to land very gently and gracefully. Last time I saw Egrets was in Italy, a far cry from this cold, wet place.
Through the grey glower lies Orford Ness with its eleven radio masts and sound-reflective control block, and those strange mushroom-like nuclear testing silos further along. An air of mystery and of desolation. A nether world; still slightly evil despite its long-term military redundancy. I think of rust, rubber tubing, porcelain tiles, huge Bakelite dials and tweed suits, and deadly experiments. Here they prepared for 'total warfare' 1950's style.
Between the masts, over an inland pool caught by the sea defences, a vast crowd of gulls swarm. They move incessantly in a treadmill motion, slowly, out of time. I think at first that they must be waiting to pick and feed at something caught in the pool, some shoal of fish perhaps, but then I realise that none of them are dropping to the surface and that the water is possibly too stagnant to support anything they might be interested in eating. So what are they doing there? Maybe they are attracted to something the aerial masts are transmitting or receiveing; some magnetism or signal they are picking up and returning to over and over?
In the riverside wetland close by, beneath the Martello Tower, a pair of Little Egrets explore the pools and shallows, disappearing behind grasses or where the water becomes deep and the land caps them; then the snow white heads appear momentarily, bobbing up as they stalk and watch the shallows. Then they fly in unison; caught in the wind they barely make any effort, turn back into it and use it to land very gently and gracefully. Last time I saw Egrets was in Italy, a far cry from this cold, wet place.
A pair of Rock Pipits continually chatter to each other as they forage low to the scrub, almost invisible until they rise and reveal the pale stripe of their tail feathers, beaks full of grubs. The male rests up and calls, the female twitters in reply and this keeps on going however distant they are from each other.
A flash of white and russet out the corner of my eye. Maybe a Bullfinch? But the activity and habitat aren't right. The bird saunters back behind the boundary line rocks then appears on the tip of one. I get a good look at it: a male Wheatear. Stunning little bird. He bobs there for a moment; black eye stripe, pale citrus breast and smoke grey back. Excellent sight. My first for many years. Excitement takes over and I start talking in a low whisper - it happens often when I'm out in the land alone, so to who I'm speaking I'm never sure, but it spills out of me. Maybe it is simply to the universe?
As I'm walking homeward, through the new build estate at the north end of the town, taking in diversions and future paths, up alongside the caravan park there, I happen to look skyward and straight at a passing male Marsh Harrier. I can't believe it; he's low, just above the tree line and he passes right overhead. I bound after him, taking a cut at the back of the houses that leads me into a meadow. But the Harrier has gone. A tantalising and awesome glimpse. At which point, as I'm coming down from this, a Whitethroat starts to sing right by me and hops onto a prominent branch in full view; closely followed by a pair of Blackcap. The three birds sit there shuffling easily around each other then take wing and are gone. Birder's paradise.
Aldeburgh
21/5/06
As I'm walking homeward, through the new build estate at the north end of the town, taking in diversions and future paths, up alongside the caravan park there, I happen to look skyward and straight at a passing male Marsh Harrier. I can't believe it; he's low, just above the tree line and he passes right overhead. I bound after him, taking a cut at the back of the houses that leads me into a meadow. But the Harrier has gone. A tantalising and awesome glimpse. At which point, as I'm coming down from this, a Whitethroat starts to sing right by me and hops onto a prominent branch in full view; closely followed by a pair of Blackcap. The three birds sit there shuffling easily around each other then take wing and are gone. Birder's paradise.
Aldeburgh
21/5/06
No comments:
Post a Comment