Tag Archives: little egret

The elemental and the mysterious at Dawlish Warren

I wasn’t sure what to expect today. Major engineering work had been carried out at Dawlish Warren over the past year to stabilise the beaches and dunes and this was our first visit since the project had been completed. I hoped the area hadn’t been changed too much as it’s a special place.

Dawlish Warren is a massive sand spit that extends north-eastwards for about 2km across the mouth of the River Exe from its western bank. It reaches out like a giant hand towards the town of Exmouth but fails to make contact, leaving a narrow channel where tides and the waters of the Exe flow in vast amounts each day. The sand spit is about 500m wide but incomplete; a huge bite has been taken out of the inner side creating the inland bay, leaving the tip of the spit, Warren Point, attached by a thin strip of dunes. Some of the recent stabilisation work was aimed at strengthening this dune strip against future increases in sea level. Much of the Warren is now a nature reserve with several rare habitats including vegetated dunes, mud flats and salt marsh and has been designated as a Site of Special Scientific Interest.

Dawlish_Warren
Aerial view of the Dawlish Warren sand spit, showing the inner bay and the dune strip connecting to Warren Point, also the proximity to Exmouth at the top. (from the Exeter Daily)

The Warren was once used for breeding rabbits for food, hence the name, but with the arrival of the railway, it became a popular holiday resort. It now also has a golf course, fun fair, shops, cafes and a pub although these are concentrated at the western end and do not detract appreciably from the nature reserve.

Despite heavy overnight rain, the day was dry, and warm for the time of year (11 degrees) but feeling cooler in the stiff sea breeze. Layers of dark cloud dominated the sky but occasional linear shafts of sunlight broke through towards the steel-grey sea. There were clear views from the promenade along the outer sea-facing beach with its many groynes and across the water to Orcombe point, the start of the East Devon/Dorset Jurassic Coast.

We left the promenade via a boardwalk descending to the central, low-lying part of the reserve, once a tidal lake but long since filled in. Today the area was puddle-strewn and barren; later in the year, it will be a colourful mosaic of wild flowers. A large pond with wildfowl lay behind a tree screen where an exquisitely pink male bullfinch showed for a while. On the water, two swans performed like synchronised swimmers.

A sandy track led us up to the marram grass-fringed path along the crest of the outer dunes with views over the golf course and inner bay to the north and across the outer sandy beach and sea to the south. A large flock of Brent Geese were feeding on one of the greens, no doubt to the irritation of the golfers. Dropping down to the inner bay we walked along the stony foreshore, finding it littered with large amounts of debris, mostly wood and reeds but also industrial pellets and shards of plastic.

On one side of the inner bay there is a large bird hide that looks across mud flats and salt marsh at low tide. Huge numbers of waders can be seen here. Yellow gorse sparkled near the hide together with several small stands of flowering ragwort; fuzzy, lime green lichen coated some bushes. From the hide, we watched ghostly black cormorants on a mud bank spreading their wings to dry and saw hundreds of oystercatchers huddled together, the colours of their plumage merging into discrete layers of black and white. A little egret flew across displaying its yellow feet and a curlew probed the mud with its long curving beak.

From the inner bay we accessed Warren Point and the soft sandy beach that leads around the tip of the sand spit. At the back of the beach there were dunes clad with marram grass, a subtle mixture of green and yellowish-brown spikes. This part of the Warren is both strangely beautiful and unsettling and as we circled the Point, we were conscious of the vast amounts of water passing at the foot of the sloping beach and the apparent proximity of Exmouth just across this turbulent channel. Again, there were huge amounts of debris on the beach, wood and reeds predominantly but mixed with plastic including more industrial pellets. On the inner beach, we also saw as many as eight green tennis balls, many plastic bottles, several golf tees and many fresh green leaves. I presume this waste had come down the Exe propelled by the heavy rain that had fallen inland over the past few days. Once we had rounded the Point and started walking back along the outer beach, the nature of the debris changed and we saw mainly plastic rope and twine, probably fishing-related.

By now it was mid-afternoon and the low tide gave us the chance to walk below the end of the newly reinstated groynes that stalk, triffid-like, across the wide sandy beach. The sea was calm but the gentle waves were enough to satisfy a lone, silhouetted surfer. Then, for a few minutes, the low sun broke through the layers of grey cloud, casting an intense yellow light across the dunes at the back of the beach, creating a mysterious, unnatural landscape where, surrounded by pink sand, the marram grass had turned to gold. At the same time, the western view was filled with an intense white light, bleaching grey out of the cloud and sprinkling silver across the sea.

Eventually, we reached the commercial part of the Warren where the mystery might have ended, but there was one final treat in store: a queen buff-tailed bumblebee as large as my thumb, collecting pollen from purple Hebe, presumably to stock her nest.

My concerns about the effects of the engineering work turned out to be mostly unfounded. Only one part of the Warren is visibly different, the narrow dune strip which is now topped with bare sand. The area has, however, been planted with marram grass which will take over in time. Overall, Dawlish Warren remains a special, elemental place.

The featured image shows the outer beach and groynes viewed from the dune strip, with, in the distance, Orcombe Point and the start of the East Devon/Dorset Jurassic Coast .

We visited Dawlish Warren on January 22nd 2018.

The sun breaks through
Shafts of sunlight breaking through

 

Dawlish Warren, the sandy dune track
The sandy dune path with views over the golf course

 

Cormorants on mud bank, river Exe
Cormorants on mud bank, river Exe – with friend

 

Oystercatchers on mud bank, river Exe
Oystercatchers on mud bank, river Exe

 

Debris by Warren Point
Debris on the sandy beach approaching Warren Point with dunes and marram grass to the right and Exmouth ahead

 

Debris by river Exe 2
beach debris

 

Debris by river Exe
beach debris with several industrial pellets

 

Warren Point and river Exe looking to Exmouth
Looking across the channel to Exmouth from Warren Point. The sand bears the marks of strong currents from the morning’s high tide combined with excess flow of water down the Exe

 

The sun turns the marram grass to gold
The sun turns the marram grass to gold

 

The sun breaks through - view to the west
The sun breaks through – bleaching grey out of the cloud and sprinkling silver across the sea

 

Bumblebee
Queen buff-tailed bumblebee on shrubby purple hebe

 

A seal steals the show

The smooth sheet of water ahead of me alternates between sparkling and dull as the low sunshine and grey clouds compete on this mild, early December day. Across the water, bordering the beds of tea-coloured reeds at the river’s edge, a thin strip of brown mud holds on tenaciously against the high tide and a few curlews and one little egret take advantage of the drier land. I am standing on the raised viewing platform looking across the confluence of the Rivers Clyst and Exe just south of Topsham in east Devon; this is the western end of Bowling Green Marsh, a local nature reserve.

As I scan hopefully with my binoculars I hear someone nearby say “Did you see the seal?” I hadn’t, but when I lower the binoculars I can see great swirls of mud in the shallow water. Then, about twenty feet away, a shiny black shape breaks the surface; with its domed dog-like head this is unmistakably one of Devon’s grey seals. It looks about furtively and raises its head at an angle displaying thick, grey, wiry whiskers. Now we can also see a large flat fish in its mouth, still alive judging from the twitching tail. There’s a bit of a battle on; the pale fish is resisting and the seal is trying very hard to gulp it down with a little help from gravity. Eventually the seal gets its way; the fish disappears and I can almost hear the belch! It swims a short victory lap, dives and disappears but we count ourselves fortunate to be treated to such a display.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
The view from the road near the Bird Hide

 

The Bird Hide is a short walk away; it’s a new and rather luxurious building and I have never seen so many birders in one place. This human parade is trumped by the avian display outside the windows. Plump, brownish-grey wading birds with long legs litter the riverside grass across from the Bird Hide. There are up to a thousand of these Black-tailed Godwits on Bowling Green Marsh at present but I can’t see much detail from the Hide, the birds are too far away for my binoculars. From the nearby road I get a better view: the birds are rarely still, continually and edgily moving about probing the grass with their long spear-like beaks as they feed.

But the Black-tailed Godwits don’t have it all to themselves; I notice several elegant black and white birds picking their way cautiously among the flock as though trying to avoid something unpleasant on the ground. With their prominent black bibs over white chests and elegant swept-back, black crests these Lapwings look like a cross between a posh waiter and a 1920s flapper. On the edge of the main flock a few wigeon and teal are enjoying the shallow water. The teal spend much of their time searching for food from the river bed, paddling frantically to maintain this unorthodox tail-in-the-air position. When the low sun shines, their yellow, under-tail patch glows like creamy butter.

Before I leave, I walk back to the viewing platform. The tide is now falling rapidly, water giving way to mud and I almost miss the first major arrivals. A large group of waders, probably Black-tailed Godwits, appears suddenly as if from nowhere, descending rapidly, wheeling and banking as they come in to land. The low sunshine picks out their pale under-parts and once they are safely down, they create a dark slick on the shallow water and concentrate on the important job of feeding.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
Looking across the water from the viewing platform, the slick of waders is just visible

Bowling Green Marsh, Topsham, December 4th 2015.

The featured image is a view across the Exe near Topsham.

Autumn leaves

Leaves littered the wide pavement, skittering about in the wind like children in a playground. The man with his broom, a council employee, was trying to instil some discipline by sweeping them in to neat heaps before taking them away. But it was hard work; there were many leaves and they continued to fall even as he swept. The leaves were large, some as large as my hand, a mixture of golds, yellows, browns and greens, each leaf carrying away a fragment of our summer.

Away from the busy main streets, nobody bothers about the leaves; they are left where they drop. They fill the gutters, lie along the roadsides, clog the drains. Their autumn tints look attractive for a while, but come the rain and they turn in to an annoying, brown sludge. Cars skid on it, people slip, shoes are sullied but eventually it gets washed away. On the whole, though, it’s a small price to pay for having the pleasure of a tree-lined street in summer, the dappled light, the cool of the shadows.

Down at the river I stand on the quay and look. The tide is very low today exposing wide mud flats decorated with intricate patterns left by the receding tide. There are whole mud landscapes with shallow pools and snaking rivulets separated by mud uplands. In truth the uplands are not very “uppish” but today I notice a surprising effect. The higher contours in the mud have been picked out in shades of gold and yellow. Small leaves blown here by the wind from nearby trees seem to reach the mud uplands first and that’s where they stay. They emphasise the patterns in the mud rather like a gigantic brass rubbing. Fascinating as they are, the patterns don’t last. They dissolve with the rising tide as it distributes the leaves far and wide along the river.

The low tide is not generous to the boats moored here. They lie there unmoving, literally “stuck in the mud”, losing any semblance of elegance they previously had. By contrast, a little egret looks quite at home, prospecting for food in a shallow mud pool. Its brilliant white plumage stands out against the dark grey mud like a star in the night sky. Pottering about, it dipped its head in to the water, seemingly unaware of the nearby habitation.

While I watch the egret, two smaller birds fly fast and low over the mud, screeching in a way I interpret as fearful. Their cries reverberate off the tall concrete quays heightening the effect. I haven’t heard this cry before but the birds were too quick for me and I saw no identification cues. Later, one of these birds flies back and forth above the mud below me, shrieking again. Now I see the unmistakable electric blue back of a kingfisher in flight. When I check the Collins guide at home I learn that this screeching is normal and just the bird’s way of making its presence felt.

Totnes, October 26th 2015