Up the creek

Norfolk Wildlife Trust's David North explores Norfolk’s last true wilderness in a traditional crabbing vessel. 

Henry and My Girls, David North

Its 6.30am and I’m in Wells to meet Henry, and to board his restored crab boat, My Girls. It’s been blowing a brisk northerly for the last couple of days but fortunately the heavy skies and heavy rains of the last 24 hours have been blown elsewhere and the early morning sun is bright on Wells marshes.  And it’s the marshes I have come to explore.  Not many boats could attempt the narrow saltmarsh creeks that wind their way between Cley and Wells. And not many navigators know these creeks well enough to attempt the journey and find safe passage through this maze of sinuous, shallow and ever-changing channels. The great thing about ‘My Girls’ is her shallow draft. As long as we have a couple of feet of water under us Henry says we should be ok and that traditional crab boats were made for just this landscape.  So on a rising tide we are off, and with the town of Wells slowly disappearing behind us we head east towards Stiffkey and into a landscape as wild as anywhere on this planet.

Leaving Wells behind, David North

I love the North Norfolk coast – its wildlife and its wildness – and I think I know this coast quite well.   I have walked the marshes over many years and once was lucky enough to fly over them in a small plane, giving me a birds-eye-view and revealing intricate patterns invisible when you are on the ground.  But being in a boat brings a new perspective. Exploring the marshes on foot means being out at, or near, low tide.  Here in the boat we are out amongst the marshland on a rapidly rising tide. Everywhere is movement and change: what was solid land moments before becomes water. Water that moves in strange patterns with currents running both up and down a creek at the same time, creating swirls, mini-whirl-pools, upwellings, calm, oily flats and silver sunlit ripplings. 

 

Big skies across the Marshes, David North

We ground several times, but, on a rising tide, its usually just minutes before, with Henry at the tiller, our outboard swings us back into the current and eastwards towards Morston.  There are ancient wooden posts that jut from the mud that could easily punch a hole in a keel and in one place a low bridge where we must duck as we pass under.  From the boat of course there are those fantastic huge landscape views across samphire and sea-lavendar-decked marshes and those huge North Norfolk skies, horizon to horizon, above.  These will be familiar to all who love these marshes but for the moment, as we navigate creeks barely wider than the boat, it’s mud that holds my attention.   

'Cauliflower and mashed potato' mud, David North

The English language lacks enough words for mud: there is mud here with the texture of cauliflower and mashed potato. There is mud, shiny, smooth and silvered by sun. There is mud that is black, and brown and grey, and even orange in places. There is mud that sprouts miniature cacti forests of samphire and mud patterned with footprints of shelduck and redshank. There is join-the-dots mud, pricked with sowing-machine regularity, by the beaks of now invisible waders. As the tide rises towards its high it becomes harder to see the edges of the channels that our boat, My Girls, most move within. It’s strange to see just the tops of marsh plants waving over a sea of water. There are forests of sea asters, apparently floating, their flowers not quite open yet, but hinting at yellow and purples soon to come.

Oystercatchers, Blakeney Point, David North

Then a change of scene. We are out into open water and catching the full force of swell from those preceding days of northerly winds. It’s exhilarating, and if not quite a roller-coaster, certainly enough to make me hang on tight until we enter calmer waters in the lee of Blakeney Point.  There are black and white oystercatchers at the seaward end of the spit, roosting out the high tide which has covered their feeding grounds. A more careful look reveals dunlin, grey plovers and a single black-tailed godwit amongst them. The lives of these waders is driven more by tide than by day and night. They will feed all night if that’s when the tide is low and muddy feeding grounds are exposed.  There are common seals hauled up on the Point, but the seals that follow us across Blakeney Pit are greys, heads bobbing above the waves, giving us searching, curious Selkie stares before diving, only to bob up again even closer.

Half-way house, David North

We pass inland, or should that be ‘inwater’, of the bright blue National Trust former lifeboat house and then, sail now rigged,  past ‘half-way house’, the watch-house, where once  ‘preventative men’, the early coastguards, pitted their wits against smugglers of brandy, baccy and geneva (gin). I wonder if there are still smugglers today, but sadly, if so, then it’ more likely drugs or human trafficking that’s plied. A sad  reflection on today’s world.   There are gulls and terns that fly over the boat with raucous calls; black-headed, herring and great-black backed gulls and both common and little terns.  Little terns are one of my favourite birds, elegant, graceful with and almost ethereal beauty as they hover before plunge-diving for small fish. I’m not alone in admiring them. It was Simon Barnes who described little terns as ‘what black-headed gulls dream of becoming when they die and go to heaven’.

Coming in to Cley, David North

Our journey ends navigating the newly dredged, but still narrow, river channel through waving reeds to disembark at the quayside next to Cley windmill.  So what will I take away from this voyage though North Norfolk’s wild marshes under the lovely terracotta sails of My Girls.  What I value most is the privilege of time spent in a truly wild place where the only sounds are wind, waves and the calls of curlew and redshank.  Salt-marshes are truly wild: shaped by the forces of nature, scorched by summer sun, swept by winter storm.  Places that are home for waders, seals and some highly specialised and very fascinating plants, but where we humans are never quite at home. Fleeting visitors, like me, that pass through on an adventure, always aware that tide and change makes these challenging places to explore.

Wild places, like these Norfolk saltmarshes, are rare as hen’s teeth in our modern world.  In North Norfolk we have some of the finest, least spoilt and most extensive saltmarshes in Western Europe.  Priceless!  Let’s make sure they, and their wildlife, are protected and valued as one of Norfolk’s most precious assets.

 Exploring  the saltmarsh coast:

Norfolk Wildlife Trust reserves at Holme Dunes and Cley and Salthouse Marshes are great places to see some of the wildlife characteristic of North Norfolk’s coastal marshes.

The North Norfolk coast path between Wells and Cley follows the top of the saltmarshes providing great views over the marshes.

Under sail, David North

If you are interested in exploring the creeks by boat then details of how to book a trip with Henry on his restored, traditional crab boat My Girls, and other coastal adventure trips can be found at www.coastalexplorationcompany.co.uk  

The Ovington Ramblers: Cley and Salthouse Marshes

It was one of the hottest days of the year when we visited Cley, NWT's oldest nature reserve. We parked the car in the large car park at the modern visitor centre, which offers excellent facilities and information. The panoramic view from the cafeteria is truly amazing!

The boardwalks through the reeds are very good with occasional seating and even passing places for wheelchairs. As the breeze rustled through the reeds you could shut your eyes and imagine yourself in a ballroom full of ladies swirling in taffeta skirts.

We were able to cool down in the hides and we sat for some time engrossed in the comings and goings of wild geese, ducks, herons and the beautiful dragonflies. A goldfinch sat just outside pecking away at the thistle seeds.
 

A short distance to the east of Cley is the quieter area of the Salthouse Marshes.  These two reserves and much of the adjoining land make up a Living Landscape project managed by NWT.  Here we saw plenty of yellow horned poppies growing in the shingle and lots of wildflowers in the grasslands including harebells, bladder campion, ladies bedstraw, fox and cubs, yellow vetch and sandwort.

We enjoyed a wonderful day here and when you visit this area you will completely understand why NWT call it their jewel in the crown!

Snipe’s Marsh habitat works

Adam Pimble, Popes Marsh Warden 

As we make the transition from the cold dark winter months to the new warmth of spring, NWT will be taking advantage of a small window of opportunity to undertake some habitat management works within the reserve.  

During February we will be carrying out a small pool restoration project in an area called Snipe’s marsh. We have chosen to do these works between the dispersal of wintering wildfowl and the arrival of spring birds to prevent disturbance but still restore the habitat in readiness for the breeding season.

Snipe’s marsh is on the upland boundary of the Cley and Salthouse nature reserve running along the A149 just south west of the East Bank carpark. Snipe’s marsh was affected by the storm surge in December of 2013 where large amounts of vegetation debris which become mobile within the storm surge was swept and then deposited in this upland pool. Since this time NWT have been looking for the best time and opportunity to clear the debris and restore this pool back to a reed margined area of open water.

There will be large plant machinery undertaking this work and we expect it to take less than five days to complete.

Thank you for you continued support and we hope you will be able to enjoy watching wildlife using Snipe’s marsh after the restoration has been completed.

Cley Catch-up: 9 February 2015

Barry Madden, Volunteer Bird Guide at NWT Cley Marshes

Today started with a rainbow, a double rainbow in fact that formed a perfect arch across Cley Marshes showcasing it nicely in a multi-hued frame. Where there's a rainbow you can bet rain is not far away and sure enough a gaze out to sea from the comfort of the Visitor Centre showed fragmented curtains of moisture descending from evil looking dark clouds being pushed fast along the coast by the prevailing North-easterly wind. 

 After a while (the time it takes to sip a cup of tea and catch up with birding gossip) the skies cleared somewhat allowing my volunteer duties to commence. So, what could a walk around the hides reveal today? First off a large group of dark-bellied Brent geese, originating from Russia or western Siberia, were busy cropping the grass in meadows bordering the coast road. As luck would have it a pair of the pale-bellied race (or species if you're greedy) which spend their summers in Greenland were the closest birds to the boardwalk and therefore allowed a good look and comparison with their duskier relatives. These birds, almost certainly a romantically tied couple, sported much lighter flanks and a pure white underside which was somewhat difficult to see as they waddled through the lush grass - such food source being the main reason the geese are here.

Pink-footed Geese, photo by Barry Madden

From the central hides another flock of geese were on show. These were pink-footed geese which occur all along the north Norfolk coast in winter feasting on discarded sugar beet tops. The birds use Cley reserve as a safe resting and roosting site between feeding sojourns to surrounding arable land. The freshwater pools also provide the birds with clean water to drink and in which to bathe. Their temporary presence on the reserve provides much interest, not least because there is always a chance that less common species may be associating with the hordes. Today there were rumours of the rossicus race of bean geese being present but despite a good search I failed to locate them. These birds that summer in far northern tundra, hence their familiar name of  'tundra' bean goose, are superficially quite similar to the pink-feet, but differ in having an orange band on the bill and bright orange legs. All very well if you get a good view of a bird unobstructed by flank high grass or one that has been foraging for food in thick mud. I had to make do with a lone grey-lag.

One thing we are seldom short of in this Norfolk of ours is wind, especially on the North coast in winter where the cold Arctic air is frequently swept into the county unabated across the broiling North Sea. These winds can be cruel, whipping the mud coloured coastal waters into a churning frenzy and causing destruction to all that dares to challenge its might. We have had a spate of strong northerly gales lately which have not only caused a 'wreck' of starfish, flatfish and shellfish whose desiccated bodies now litter the strand line, but have also forced a number of unusual gulls to make landfall between Cley and Sheringham.
 

 Second winter Iceland gull, photo by Barry Madden

So, after lunch I felt duty bound to try and track these white-winged nomads and was fortunate to be able to firstly find a second winter Iceland gull, at Salthouse. This bird did not allow close approach, but was easily noticed from quite a distance thanks to its off white plumage standing out brightly from its more brown mottled cousins; the herring and lesser black-backs that are more familiar inhabitants of these parts. Simultaneously there was another bird at Cley Coastguards, this a first winter individual which was altogether more creamy brown, lacking the light grey mantle of the Salthouse bird. These gulls are giving local birders the run around with their restless movements up and down the coast, but patience will usually pay off, or if you're like me simple blind luck.
 

Fulmar, photo by Barry Madden

Whilst at Salthouse I took the opportunity to drive further east towards Weyborne and was very pleased to notice a few fulmars busy prospecting narrow ledges of the sandy cliffs for the purposes of nesting later in the year. These tube nosed petrels have become far less common in recent years. Where once a reasonably sized colony of 200 or so pairs dotted the cliffs between Weyborne and Overstrand, now only a few pairs attempt to raise their single chick on these fragile, fractured piles of sand. Masters of the air currents it is fascinating to watch these birds ride the updrafts as they joust for prime breeding plots. Their speed, once taken by the prevailing wind, is breath-taking and represents a real challenge for the photographer, but now and again they will stall into the breeze and then the shutter whirls away hoping to capture the essence of this enigmatic ocean wanderer. It's encouraging to know a few pairs cling on to this southern outpost of their breeding range. Let us hope their efforts bear fruit.
So, despite the opening scene no crock of gold today at the rainbows end, but the wealth of birds on these wonderful NWT reserves more than made up for the absence of shiny metal.

Arctic adventurers: the snow bunting

Ed Parnell, Norfolk Wildlife Trust

As well as the thousands of Arctic ducks, geese, wading birds and seabirds that spend each winter around the Norfolk coastline, the county also becomes a second home for the world’s most northerly songbird: the snow bunting.

Snow bunting, photo by Steve Bond

Barely bigger than a sparrow and with predominantly white plumage, mixed with patches of warm brown and chestnut, the snow bunting is an attractive bird. Despite this, the species can be hard to pick out as it feeds among the shingle – its plumage makes perfect camouflage, moulding into the Norfolk winter landscape. Only when disturbed into a dazzle of whirling black and white wings, accompanied by a soft, trilling chatter, does the flock reveal its whereabouts.

Snow buntings visit the UK’s coastline in small numbers each winter, with around a thousand individuals settling on the beaches of Norfolk between November and March. In summer they return north to their breeding grounds – the species is found right around the top of the globe including Greenland, Iceland, Arctic Scandinavia, Svalbard, Siberia and North America: remarkably a single bird was even observed at the North Pole in 1987, one of only three bird species to ever be recorded on that barren sea of ice. All this highlights the species’ hardiness and why it seems so at home on the windswept, tundra-like shingle of the Norfolk Coast. Not all snow buntings breed quite so far north however. Each year a few pairs nest in the Scottish Cairngorms, where they become even more striking in appearance as the males lose all traces of brown from their plumage and turn completely black and white.

Snow bunting, photo by Dave Kilbey

So where are the best places in the county to catch up with this charismatic little bird? The beaches around Caister, Winterton and Holkham can be good, as well as NWT Cley Marshes, where lots of other avian Arctic visitors will be in residence. However, arguably the easiest site is the shingle of NWT Salthouse Marshes, just east of the beach car park. Here a small flock of snow buntings is present most winters – usually along with a small flock of birdwatchers! Photographers at the site sometimes put down seed to attract the birds closer, meaning that fantastic views can often be had. If you are lucky enough to get a good look at one of these sociable little birds, you might notice a tiny coloured plastic ring around its leg – for a number of years ornithologists have been catching the birds and marking them to study where they go each summer – it transpires our intrepid Norfolk snow buntings are a mixture of Scandinavian, Greenland and Icelandic birds.