Skip to main content

Herringfleet

The marshes of Suffolk and Norfolk are steeped in heritage and history, where folk come and go, leaving behind stories and markers on the landscape. The smock mill at Herringfleet is one such example, its name derived from its likeness to smocks worn by farmers in days gone by. Today the mills are not in use but instead provide a way-marker for visitors and walkers. As was so on a breezy Wednesday, the mill being the target for a there-and-back walk that took in the small natural scrapes that had opened up on the marshes thanks to sympathetic land management. 

A pair of Greenshank, piping and barrel-rolling, alighted one scrape and fed on a secluded muddy bank out of our gaze. At least 2 scaly-looking juvenile Wood Sandpiper were less bothered by our presence on the bank and represent a drop in the ocean regarding the recent invasion of this species on migration. Not to be cast into the margins, Green Sandpiper were omnipresent throughout the amble and without these visitors, some may argue the Wood wouldn't seem quite so special. But that's not really fair, and a view I try to avoid. I find that with birds, we compare when perhaps we shouldn't. We apparently 'need' the blackbirds so that when a Ring Ouzel does pass through, we elevate it purely for rarity value. Today, with big skies and time on our side, it was a pleasure to consider the individual worth of each species and watch them go about their business. 

A search online of the origin of the name Herringfleet provides no clues, but for me it is evocative of boats working the water ways, heading out to sea for a catch before returning to Somerleyton. In the early hours they would have been guided by lanterns on board, or on some nights the ghost lights of will-o-the-wisp adorning the marsh, what we would explain today as bioluminescence. Somerleyton hall itself has a resident ghost, frequenting the long corridors and cellar, hinting at past dynasties. These stories stand the test of time, somehow suited to the open skies and feeling of isolation out here. Even the rattle and clank of the train does not detract from the moment, for the swirl of the reeds and the grumbling of a Reed Warbler seem amplified in these surrounds. Red Admiral Butterflies glide past, lured by the Hemp Agrimony on show. As it always was, the landscape clinging on to what is worth keeping in an age of flux.


Comments

  1. David Bryant8 August 2019 at 21:23

    What a delightful piece of writing: most evocative...

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Jim9 August 2019 at 01:50

      David, many thanks as always for your kind words about the blog. It is a great site for Waders and more. Jim.

      Delete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Everything is about edge

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 ...
Post a Comment
Read more

Grey Phalarope- a new patch bird

The 7th of April was another bitterly cold Spring day, hats and gloves in prime position on pegs and in bags ready to be deployed. A few brave Garganey have been reported north of the river, but it was a bird from the north itself that had me rushing for the thermals and the telescope late in the day.  I was thankful for the local Whatsapp group who were quick to report that a Grey Phalarope had been seen on Rockland Broad. This tiny Wader would have come in on the northerlies over the last few days, although to grace one of the broads is a real surprise, since most stick pretty close to the coast before moving on. Indeed, my experience of the birds has usually been on a sea watch in the Autumn, waves crashing and foam flying, my eyes straining to pick them out as they fly low just above the surf. They are fantastic birds, and now one was here on the patch. I had a brief panic when I realised my scope was in my car at the garage (thankfully I do have a much older spare) but once th...
Post a Comment
Read more

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 ...
4 comments
Read more