James Chubb

Taking notice of what is around us

New Year, new beginnings. A fresh start; its both exciting and cathartic. I am, of course, alluding to the annual January rush to get one’s “year list” off to a flying start. Yes, I admit it – since having a light-hearted competition with Fraser two years ago to see who would see the most bird species in 2006, I have got wrapped up in keeping a list of what I’ve seen from year to year. Perhaps it was because I got off to such a good start, thrashing Fraser comprehensively, as he was charitable enough to have a baby that year and suddenly bird lists were something of a secondary concern to him. Or perhaps it is because, once you’ve got a certain way along the birdwatching road, wanting to collect information about what you’ve seen and where you’ve seen it is compelling.

The above confession undoubtedly imparts something of a social stigma but, as with any quasi-religious practice, you’ve just got to be careful who you discuss such matters with in casual conversation.

Anyway, the listing gene is a powerful agent and it will come as no surprise to hear that January 1 is an important date for birders wanting to give their lists a shot in the arm early in the year. I must admit that I have yet to succumb to this urge, a stinking hang-over is normally sufficient to keep me under the duvet until well past midday, but many birders I know were up well before dawn on the first to make a day of it. They aim to collect sightings of about 100 birds in a single day, planning the logistics of it with military precision to ensure being in the right place at the right time to pick up those all important key species.

Volume is no longer the motivating factor with my list and so I am in no rush to strikeoff species quicker-the-better, preferring to enjoy the slow trickle of sightings and scratch my head come next November why I didn’t get round to finding a ring ouzel for yet another 12 months! But that said, last weekend did see me out on the Exe estuary, getting some easy winter species under my belt before things start warming up. And, as is so often the case, the day threw up a couple of unexpected treats.

Gavin and I started at Mudbanks Lane, and took in a large loop out on to the estuary and back, during which time I was reminded yet again of just what a special place this vast expanse of sand and mud really is.

Crossing the railway tracks on to the East Devon Way, we spent a few minutes scanning the gulls preening in the freshwater. This is a place where such local rarities as spotted redshank have been seen in the past but, alas, if one were in the vicinity, it did not make itself known to us. Gavin did spot a kingfisher however, flying low over the eelgrass beds. Now this is by no means a rare bird on any of East Devon’s estuaries. There will be tens of individuals wintering in the Exe estuary most years but, no matter how common they are, kingfishers are always a joy to see.

Walking back towards the lorry park, turnstones, dunlin and redshank were seen feeding amongst the pebbly mud alongside the seawall. All the while we were watching these birds, the soundtrack to our afternoon was a combination of brent goose grunts and oystercatcher piping, punctuated by the bubbling plaintive flutes of curlew. Three more for the list.

Out on the sand the first bird we came across is something of a recent addition to our winter population. Greenshank were feeding along the edge of the little estuary watercourse, known as the gut. Once a wholly migratory bird, stopping off in East Devon on its way to West African winter grounds, greenshank are now sticking around through the winter and are a glorious addition, as long as you can ignore the disturbing potential reasons behind this behavioural change. Greenshank are pale waders, with long graceful legs and an elegant proportioned body. When disturbed from feeding they take off with a loud whistle, repeated three times – very diagnostic.

Out on the river there was a large flock of brent geese, doing well to ignore a jetskier whizzing about among the moorings. I was hoping to see another Exe estuary winter speciality in this area, the Slavonian grebe, but the presence of the jetski pretty much destroyed all hope of this. Grr. However, it was not all lost, as a few dark shapes, swimming low in the water, looked interesting from a distance. As we neared the ducks, Gavin and I could make out a pair of red-breasted merganser, a strange diving bird with serrated beak perfect for catching hold of slippery fish. But as well as the merganser were six ducks with over-large triangular heads. The females were uniformly bland brown, made even more lacklustre by the overcast late afternoon. The drakes, however, were stunning. Brightly contrasting black and white plumage, with a white spot at the base of the short stumpy bill, a glimpse of the startling eye was confirmation of these as goldeneye, a winter visitor to the estuary when the weather gets particularly stormy.

The year’s list total was only progressed by one, but the pleasure of seeing these gorgeous birds was out of all proportion to its single digit value on the spreadsheet. It is not the list itself, or the statistics, that are the motivating factor in a lists compilation.
The reason why it’s so fulfilling to keep note of what you’ve seen is that it encourages you out into the world and you take notice of what is all around you. Too many people live with their eyes down and a personal horizon of a few feet. Living among such incredible and important animals, it is such a pity if these things pass by without comment. So every now and again, wander out on to the sand and let your horizons retreat in spectacular style.