By Lesley McLaren
Inspired by Robin and Martine's visit to the Aiguamolls de l'Empordà wetlands in February, I was keen to witness the abundant birdlife for myself, and an opportunity came two days ago. With my husband minding the dog at home, I could make a full day of it, and intended to explore the southern end of the reserve further than previously.
Laden as always with camera, binoculars and rucksack, plus the added weight and challenge of a newly purchased spotting scope, I set off from the main car park at about 11.30. On emerging from the information centre with a map of the whole reserve, I was passed by a raucous, swift-flying flock of parakeets. (The book lists two species in the reserve, but I couldn't say which they were.) Even more raucous, was a much larger flock of Spanish primary schoolchildren on a day trip. Happily for me, they were heading for the north end. For now.
I'd asked the man at the information centre if there was anything of special interest around, given that migration is now underway. I was hoping for ospreys but he said it was too early for those. As expected, there were marsh harriers, though. And cranes were in the area. That perked me up, until he told me that they spent the daytime in fields near to - but not in - the reserve, and at night would fly into the wettest part of the reserve - the area nearest the sea and least accessible to birdwatchers like me.
No cranes, then, but I did see a lot of other things - most of the species recorded by Robin and Martine, although notably no geese or lapwing. I undoubtedly missed some too, but my tally came to 43 nevertheless, and included at least two new ones. There were some surprises too.
Once before, Robin and I thought we might have heard a water rail, but I rather despaired of ever seeing one. It was wonderful, therefore, to glimpse one this time, quietly poking around a marshy area of dead grasses and reeds, not far from the track to the first hide. Later in the year I would never have seen him or her through all the foliage.
Inspired by Robin and Martine's visit to the Aiguamolls de l'Empordà wetlands in February, I was keen to witness the abundant birdlife for myself, and an opportunity came two days ago. With my husband minding the dog at home, I could make a full day of it, and intended to explore the southern end of the reserve further than previously.
Laden as always with camera, binoculars and rucksack, plus the added weight and challenge of a newly purchased spotting scope, I set off from the main car park at about 11.30. On emerging from the information centre with a map of the whole reserve, I was passed by a raucous, swift-flying flock of parakeets. (The book lists two species in the reserve, but I couldn't say which they were.) Even more raucous, was a much larger flock of Spanish primary schoolchildren on a day trip. Happily for me, they were heading for the north end. For now.
I'd asked the man at the information centre if there was anything of special interest around, given that migration is now underway. I was hoping for ospreys but he said it was too early for those. As expected, there were marsh harriers, though. And cranes were in the area. That perked me up, until he told me that they spent the daytime in fields near to - but not in - the reserve, and at night would fly into the wettest part of the reserve - the area nearest the sea and least accessible to birdwatchers like me.
No cranes, then, but I did see a lot of other things - most of the species recorded by Robin and Martine, although notably no geese or lapwing. I undoubtedly missed some too, but my tally came to 43 nevertheless, and included at least two new ones. There were some surprises too.
Once before, Robin and I thought we might have heard a water rail, but I rather despaired of ever seeing one. It was wonderful, therefore, to glimpse one this time, quietly poking around a marshy area of dead grasses and reeds, not far from the track to the first hide. Later in the year I would never have seen him or her through all the foliage.
After the Observatori de las Daines (Fallow doe hide), which overlooks a field beloved by storks and - of course - deer, I continued for about another fifteen minutes, alongside the narrow canal (huge carp splashing about, spawning, in there), stopping next at a big hide on stilts (Observatori Pallejà), looking east towards the sea. This is in the section we've previously driven on to from the main car park.
I spent a very peaceful twenty minutes or so here, with the hide to myself most of the time, watching a few ducks, coot and little grebe on the water, as well as storks on the grassland and marsh harriers drifting south to north over the marshes beyond. A pale form booted eagle came close several times and was mobbed briefly by a kestrel. Then another falcon appeared, which at first glance I expected to be the kestrel again, only to realise it was giving chase to small birds flying over the water. Kestrels don't hunt this way and, when it later circled round, a flash of its dark face confirmed: peregrine falcon - the first I've seen in the region, either side of the border!
Booted eagle
With the day shaping up nicely, it was time for a spot of lunch.
I was just finishing my sandwich, when the hide was besieged by schoolchildren. As they claimed every bit of space on the benches around me, it was all I could do to stash my lunchbox, gather all my gear, sling it across my shoulders and stand up before getting trampled. The teachers looked mildly apologetic as they vainly called for hush, and I escaped.
Round the corner, heading for the Camargue horses, I met a handful of British birders with telescopes trained on a wet field full of shelduck. The leader pointed out water pipits not far from us. I have never knowingly seen one of these before and probably wouldn't recognise one again unless in its ideal watery habitat. Like most pipits, they were unremarkable - dunnock-like - even through binoculars or scope. The sun was much too bright on the water to see much colour in anything, however, and I didn't linger there either.
The horses were close to the fence, having an afternoon kip, when I passed them, and a few minutes further on, after three more hides, it was a short stroll to the sea.
I was just finishing my sandwich, when the hide was besieged by schoolchildren. As they claimed every bit of space on the benches around me, it was all I could do to stash my lunchbox, gather all my gear, sling it across my shoulders and stand up before getting trampled. The teachers looked mildly apologetic as they vainly called for hush, and I escaped.
Round the corner, heading for the Camargue horses, I met a handful of British birders with telescopes trained on a wet field full of shelduck. The leader pointed out water pipits not far from us. I have never knowingly seen one of these before and probably wouldn't recognise one again unless in its ideal watery habitat. Like most pipits, they were unremarkable - dunnock-like - even through binoculars or scope. The sun was much too bright on the water to see much colour in anything, however, and I didn't linger there either.
The horses were close to the fence, having an afternoon kip, when I passed them, and a few minutes further on, after three more hides, it was a short stroll to the sea.
Penultimate hide before beach - looking towards the old grain silos converted into observation towers
Little to see from these last hides that day - all the birds were further inland, where they were more sheltered from the wind
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Last hide before the beach
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On the beach, a sand dune regeneration project is underway, and a line of wooden poles marches north, marking the eastern perimeter of the reserve, for as far as the eye or binoculars can see. Signs warn against walking on the inland side of these posts, so as not to disturb ground-nesting birds in the breeding season, as well as plants. This means you can't avoid the sand.
After consulting my map, I was interested in getting to a hide about halfway up the beach, because it was on the edge of where I'd been told the cranes spend the night. While I had no expectation of seeing any (it was still much too early), I thought there might be other stuff about. Plus, according to the map, at another hide some distance beyond that, a dotted line showed an "alternative route" which would eventually bring me full circle to the visitors centre. Marked as "closed from 1st April to 30th June" (breeding season), it should be OK now. Except that it appeared to cross quite an expanse of water. Perhaps there was a boardwalk?
It turned out that I had about a mile's hike ahead of me, on very soft sand, into the gale. Even at the water's edge the going was no easier, and I needed my fleece and hat now. I dismissed the idea of giving up; if I didn't explore this area now, I probably never would but would wonder what I'd missed.
Apart from driftwood, there was little obvious plastic or other rubbish, which was gratifying. It was close to pristine - and completely deserted apart from me.
Short, plodding steps got me to the first hide. But there was nothing to see here today.
After consulting my map, I was interested in getting to a hide about halfway up the beach, because it was on the edge of where I'd been told the cranes spend the night. While I had no expectation of seeing any (it was still much too early), I thought there might be other stuff about. Plus, according to the map, at another hide some distance beyond that, a dotted line showed an "alternative route" which would eventually bring me full circle to the visitors centre. Marked as "closed from 1st April to 30th June" (breeding season), it should be OK now. Except that it appeared to cross quite an expanse of water. Perhaps there was a boardwalk?
It turned out that I had about a mile's hike ahead of me, on very soft sand, into the gale. Even at the water's edge the going was no easier, and I needed my fleece and hat now. I dismissed the idea of giving up; if I didn't explore this area now, I probably never would but would wonder what I'd missed.
Apart from driftwood, there was little obvious plastic or other rubbish, which was gratifying. It was close to pristine - and completely deserted apart from me.
Short, plodding steps got me to the first hide. But there was nothing to see here today.
Accessible from the beach (after a 20 minute walk), this hide looks across the area where cranes spend the night. Allegedly.
Grim determination had got me close to the next hide, when I came upon a few tiny waders standing facing into the wind, near the wooden posts. Brilliantly camouflaged against the sand, they were relatively tame, running a few feet ahead of me as I approached, before stopping and again facing the wind - and flying sand. Presumably they face this way so their feathers aren't blown about.
I'm out of practice as far as waders are concerned, not having watched them much since my teens at the Northumberland coast, but I'm fairly sure two were sanderling and the others, Kentish plovers. The latter was another first for me. So it was worth the slog - just about - to see those.
I'm out of practice as far as waders are concerned, not having watched them much since my teens at the Northumberland coast, but I'm fairly sure two were sanderling and the others, Kentish plovers. The latter was another first for me. So it was worth the slog - just about - to see those.
Sanderling
Kentish plover (winter plumage)
At this last hide, although I wasn't surprised, my heart sank to find the whole area well under water. No sign of a boardwalk, track or dotted line of an alternative route anywhere inland. If I wanted to attempt a short cut to the visitors centre, I would have to get my feet wet. If not swim. There was nothing for it but to plod back the way I had come.
It took half an hour but felt like forever, and the only other birds I saw were a migrating kestrel (skirting the coast northwards, perilously low over the sea as it battled the wind), one yellow-legged gull, one marsh harrier and a male stonechat. I don't think I'll soon repeat that walk, beautiful though the views are.
It took half an hour but felt like forever, and the only other birds I saw were a migrating kestrel (skirting the coast northwards, perilously low over the sea as it battled the wind), one yellow-legged gull, one marsh harrier and a male stonechat. I don't think I'll soon repeat that walk, beautiful though the views are.
The depressingly long walk back, retracing my footprints, which were disappearing fast in the wind.
It was 4pm by the time I regained firm ground and, not far from the horses again, I found myself walking through huge swarms of mosquito-like flies. Apart from a few butterflies and a single dragonfly, these were the only insects I'd noticed all day.
By now there were few people around. The children had long gone, the sun was much lower and there was a pervading sense of calm. It's in quiet moments like these when you tend to feel less like an observer and more like a participant in the natural world.
Close to the information centre once more, I couldn't resist checking out the first hide again before leaving. The skies showed no sign of cranes, but some birds seemed to be gathering for the evening. Among egrets great and little, at least twenty grey herons now occupied the area where I'd seen fallow deer earlier. The deer themselves were further round; a lone coypu was enjoying high tea in the water, and two terrapins were taking advantage of the fading sun on a half-submerged tree trunk.
By now there were few people around. The children had long gone, the sun was much lower and there was a pervading sense of calm. It's in quiet moments like these when you tend to feel less like an observer and more like a participant in the natural world.
Close to the information centre once more, I couldn't resist checking out the first hide again before leaving. The skies showed no sign of cranes, but some birds seemed to be gathering for the evening. Among egrets great and little, at least twenty grey herons now occupied the area where I'd seen fallow deer earlier. The deer themselves were further round; a lone coypu was enjoying high tea in the water, and two terrapins were taking advantage of the fading sun on a half-submerged tree trunk.
Late afternoon serenity
Despite the earlier relentless and relatively unrewarding beach walk, a feeling of peace descended as I hobbled - weary but happy - to the car. The day had held a number of surprising highlights, and perhaps the cerise sur le gâteau came during the morning: an albino buck among the deer.
Here he is in a short clip - after a pair of beak-clacking storks. I gather he's quite famous among regular visitors to the reserve.
Here he is in a short clip - after a pair of beak-clacking storks. I gather he's quite famous among regular visitors to the reserve.
Aiguamolls de l'Empordà from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.
Bird list:
Little grebe, great crested grebe, cormorant, great egret, little egret, grey heron, white stork, glossy ibis, flamingo, shelduck, mallard, shoveler, garganay, teal, water rail, moorhen, coot, booted eagle, marsh harrier, buzzard, peregrine falcon, kestrel, ringed plover, Kentish plover, snipe, sanderling, yellow-legged gull, wood pigeon, parakeet, lesser spotted woodpecker (heard), sand martin, water pipit, white wagtail, stonechat, black redstart, robin, chiffchaff, Sardinian warbler, fan-tailed warbler, Cetti's warbler (heard), starling, cirl bunting, Spanish sparrow.
Little grebe, great crested grebe, cormorant, great egret, little egret, grey heron, white stork, glossy ibis, flamingo, shelduck, mallard, shoveler, garganay, teal, water rail, moorhen, coot, booted eagle, marsh harrier, buzzard, peregrine falcon, kestrel, ringed plover, Kentish plover, snipe, sanderling, yellow-legged gull, wood pigeon, parakeet, lesser spotted woodpecker (heard), sand martin, water pipit, white wagtail, stonechat, black redstart, robin, chiffchaff, Sardinian warbler, fan-tailed warbler, Cetti's warbler (heard), starling, cirl bunting, Spanish sparrow.
