Claxton-on-sea!

 Although it was not quite the Christmas we wanted here in the valley, the rain has bought its own gift. A grim vision of the future, perhaps. But right now, the patch is peaking and is alive with birds, and for that I am thankful. On Christmas eve, it was a job to navigate away from the village due to standing water that had left abandoned cars and undelivered presents in its wake. The rain had been persistent and unforgiving, the ground, saturated. Over on the marsh, where there had once been a muddy puddle amongst the pasture, a city had sprung from the leak, with a plethora of new occupants noisily laying claim to a patch of sodden marsh. Wigeon and Black-headed Gulls in their thousands now wheeled and whistled over and amongst the newly formed pools, accompanied by smaller numbers of Teal and Shoveler. A flock of two hundred-strong Lapwing enjoyed feeding on the less damp spots where green grass was still exposed, and thrown in for good measure have been a couple of Ruff, the first on the deck I have had this side of the river. With this watery metropolis seeming chaotic with sound, some law and order was needed. The raptors have obliged. As many as five Marsh Harriers patrol at once, with Barn Owl, Kestrel and Buzzard all on call if needed. One false move, and the Wigeon scramble for take-off, a loud hum as their wingbeats collide with the sky. It really is fantastic stuff! Has the patch ever been better? I tried an evening visit to compare, and with added backdrop of satellite roosting Corvids, surely there had never been a more pertinent time to be here, in this place, with this much life. I stood and recalled patch highlights- a good run of Waders at Church Marsh, Black Tern and Little Gull together at Rockland Broad, the odd scarcity. Time will tell how I look back on this period, but typing this I cannot imagine this spectacle being bettered. Peak patch.

     Christmas passed peacefully and quietly for the three of us. We agreed anything would be better than last year, and so it was. We went where the days took us, which was often to Hardley. At least two Short-eared Owls are resident as winter visitors, my daughter flushing one that unbeknownst to us must have been roosting on the ground less than twenty yards away. It has been a privilige to watch the Owls this winter, especially since they seem thin on the ground. Not only that, the people here seem decent, familiar faces after a while who come with no listing or twitching agenda. The locals stop to talk, fascinated that their seldom-walked corner of South Norfolk should be getting this much attention.

    Back at home, during another firepit and grill evening, two Woodcock blazed over the garden when the moon was milky and large, to their liking. Siskin and Redpoll are semi-regular calling over the marsh, and I bought home a perfectly intact Chinese Water Deer Skull. A victim of the winter and all that it brings. 

    I took a break from Twitter before Christmas, and that seems to have continued into 2021. I haven't really missed it. Perhaps unsurprisingly, timelines had become toxic places and the experience was very different to when I started. Plenty of those 'Gotcha!' types around. One, who had apparently been reading my blog, proceeded to criticise, had the situation explained, he whinged some more, and then blocked me. I was dumbfounded. How was I the bad guy here? This cancel culture is dangerous and an easy way out for those who do not wish to listen, concede, and offer a way forward. I have a voice, I will use it, but seeing folk disappear on holiday during a pandemic, or twitch a Waxwing, does make me wonder if there is any hope or point! Anyway, at risk of getting dragged in/down by it all, a hiatus was needed and I feel better off for it. I will probably link this blog there just to remind folk I'm not dead, the patch is great etc but in the long term, I am more productive away from the platform so will check in little and rarely for now. I read a great piece by Tom Cox recently, he has left Twitter. Of course he puts it far more eloquently than I can: "To me, Twitter's speed, bile, backpatting rewards for negativity and kneejerk opinions, its violation of attention spans, makes it the worst side of social media. So even when it’s given me moments of quasi-pleasure, I feel that by devoting time to it I’m being a traitor to myself, as it’s so at odds with the way I want to live". That gets straight to the nub of it. 

    To conclude, some photos of the new nature reserve that has arrived on my doorstep.