A Winter Warmer
When it comes to wildlife, setting yourself specific targets only leads to disappointment. Focus your attentions on a single subject and you limit your chances of striking lucky, and no matter how much experience, feildcraft or knowledge you have, so much boils down to luck.
With that in mind, I set off to put myself in exactly that position last friday morning. An early start before first light saw me struggling to drag myself out from under the covers, knowing full well the futility of what lay ahead. I was in for a pleasant surprise however.
The subject of my early morning foray were otters, and the destination was Colyford Common Local Nature Reserve, on the Axe Estuary. I have mentioned in this column recently about the otters that have been seen on the estuary recently, and my exasperation at being left out of their particular loop. It would seem everyone in the team who spends any time out of the office, which in fairness is only Dave and Fraser, have both caught glimpse of the pair, cavorting in the water, fishing in the ditches or galloping over the grass. I am being left out and I don’t like it!
So I examined the forecast, looking for the prime opportunity to seek out the elusive mustelid. That approach failed as every day looked as bleak as the next, so I plumped for the morning I was on the Axe Estuary anyway. I got up before dawn, threw a hot coffee down my neck and got to Colyford as the sun was just rising.
Trudging down the frosty track, the previous evening thick mud mortified into ankle-threatening runnels, my breath erupted in the sharp morning air. This was a good morning, what luck. A clear night had spun crystals of hoar frost on the surface of the gates and fences, and the early trickles of light were already playing on these tiny surfaces. Goldfinches chimed in the hedgerow, while a wren gave it both barrels from beside the path, blasting out the announcement of my arrival.
I got to the reserve entrance and was taken aback by the spectacle. This was worth the early start in itself. The morning tide was just beginning to ebb away off the saltmarsh, but the flat calm conditions meant that the vast saline pools were like mirrors, steaming gently in the first light of day. A little egret burst into the air from the left of the gate, not accustomed to such early morning disruption.
Gangs of meadow pipits flocked from tussock to tussock, making the most of what little grass was left uncovered by the tidal flood water. In amongst them was bound to be the occasional pink-flushed water pipit, but I could not get a clear enough look at them, so dazzling was the light.
I crunched my way across the boardwalk, and soaked up every crisp step. The waters surface which had on my arrival been a dark violet was now tinted with pink and yellow hues as dawn got into the swing of things. A matter of minutes later and the landscape around me looked almost martian, the centre of pink water reaching an almost crimson tone, reflecting the full moon sky above.
Five green sandpipers scooted around the water edge, not used to having this embarrassment of shallow riches. They whistled and sang at each other, as they picked off tiny isopods from the water surface and bounded on in front of my approach. Two mute swans were visible through the mist on the marsh, gliding on their own private pool at the southern end of the reserve. A cascade of chacking made me look upwards as a flock of jackdaws, glossy black and blue like crude oil, flew across the pink sky in perfect colour combination.
There were no otters to be seen on the reserve, but to be honest I had moved on from this singular quest and was too enthralled in the morning to pay it much heed. It was impossible to get to the bird hide as the tide was too high, so I set off across the reserve using the network of secret little ranger bridges to have a look at black hole marsh. This is definitely the ultimate perk of this job, knowing that in the course of “keeping an eye on the reserve” I get to ignore the polite ‘no access’ signs and explore like a six year old! Apart from a flock of greenfinches hungrily chomping away on sunflower seeds from the feeders nothing was spooked in my off-piste ramble.
Standing in the gateway on stafford marsh, the golden sunlight warming my face just the tiniest amount, I took a moment to remind myself how fortunate I am to count this as my office. Sure, the otters don’t seem to want to let me catch sight of them, but on a morning like this I honestly let it slide. I had my spirits lifted by a magnificent sunrise and the freshness of the common left me breathless.