Joy

The flooded marshland glittered under the cold winter sun, a mosaic of reflected blue sky and golden reeds. The icy breeze felt exhilarating but gradually seeped into our bones, leaving a long-lasting chill. But the cold was worth it to experience the sheer profusion of wildfowl. Green meadows were darkened by hundreds of Brent geese peacefully grazing, maintaining contact with gentle guttural grunts. Alongside were thousands of wigeon who suddenly exploded into the air, spooked by a passing scimitar-winged peregrine (see extra). As the flock flew low over me I cried out with joy.

Rather than head to the hides, we set out along the sea bank, exposed to the full blast of the gale. In one direction there was saltmarsh stretching as far as the eye could see with flooded marsh on the other. The only sounds were the rushing of the wind and the calls of the birds. Splendid solitude.

Goldfinches balanced on tall teasel stems, carefully prising out seeds, while  a group of skylarks were fossicking along the muddy creek edges, searching for insects and other tasty morsels. Every now and then the air would fill with birds - more flocks of Brent geese moving from one feeding place to another, or vast numbers of lapwings, their dark wings and pale breasts scintillating against the sky. Even the ploughed fields of the neighbouring farmland contained flocks of whooper swans and pink-footed geese. Eventually we need a respite from the chill and headed to a hide where we watched a lapwing pull a juicy worm from the soft salty silt and gobble it down voraciously.

As the sun headed towards the horizon, we hunkered down on the sea bank, sheltered from the worst of the wind, waiting, waiting. Eyes scanning the horizon for the slightest movement. And suddenly there it was - a distant flicker of pale wings. A short-eared owl appeared over the saltmarsh, only visible for a moment before it dropped down into a creek. It must have caught something, because it was a long wait before it appeared again, heading closer, quartering the marsh, and stopping to hover when it spotted a movement in the vegetation. The sun slipped into a sheet of silken cloud and the last of the light seeped away. As we headed home two wildfowlers were setting out across the marsh to hunt under the light of the moon.