Taking advantage of the extra light in the evening, and avoiding the gun club, I headed out for a Sunday evening stroll round the patch. I expect the Chiffchaffs have been here for most of the week, but I counted 3 birds on site, one in particular showing well. Also from the scrub, 2 of both Reed Bunting and Bullfinch. Across on the mud at Wood's End, the faithful Green Sandpipers were present, just 2 today though. On the river, a Great Crested Grebe was behaving with some attitude, and I noticed that the nest (or beginnings of a nest) had disappeared. Perhaps the female had fallen prey to a fox, and the male was starting over again. 4 Shovelor on the lagoon were new for the year, as was a flyover Herring Gull. A couple of Cettis called and a Chinese Water Deer gave good views. Later, presumably the same animal was chasing a smaller individual, crashing through the reedbed, oblivious to my presence. 2 Snipe flew over and the 4 Lapwing remain. Finishing just off the reserve boundary, I watched a Barn Owl hunt the riverside at close quarters. A Little Egret flew towards the marsh to round off a good species haul. Grebe and the deer:
Hardley, where it is often confusing to define where the garden ends and the marsh begins. Tumble-down houses and rickety shacks, away from any bus route and Team Sky sorts wrapped in lycra, this is a village that by choice is cut off. The secret is out, and pre-storm Ciara as many as 10 large lenses littered the river bank firing at will. Their target- Winter ghosts. First, the classic Scooby-Doo type, as a Barn Owl responds to an ill-advised squeak in the grass and heads towards the onlookers. Another quickly joins the hunt, their formation a picture of double-edged stealth. But these year-round residents are not the key objective today, that honour is given to the Short-eared Owl. 3/4 of these can be seen from the staithe at the minute, floating like giant moths over the tussocks and edges. In a recent article in The New Yorker, Jake Fiennes states "Everything is about edge". Hedges, ditches, scrub, forgotten tracts of land that link nothing and no-one. Fiennes, now ...
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