Super Scilly

The magic of The Isles Of Scilly somehow conjured up a week of almost constant sunshine as the mainland was battered by relentless rain. We could see the enormous billowing clouds, and rainfall, over Cornwall only thirty miles to the east.

It wasn’t without wind however, and the crossing from Penzance was quite bouncy as Scillonian III punched through the swells. There were a lot of green faces on board, and even the dogs were sick.

I hired a couple of kayaks, a single and a double, from Ravensporth Sailing Base watersports centre on Tresco island. They were waiting on the grass when we arrived.

The first day was a bit of a battle against the wind but the next two were perfect to enjoy Scilly at its best. Clear turquoise water and a perfect white sandy beach in every direction. And not another soul in sight!

Classic Scilly Beach (Samson)

….and another

We renamed this sandbar Belgian Bun Beach. Can’t remember why…..

Belgian Bun Beach

And this became Popmaster Point:

Oystercatchers were, as usual, the most evident seabirds because they were (are) so loud and cheerful. One pair was nesting close to the shore beneath a tree.

Scilly Oystercatcher

Oystercatcher nest

Whimbrel were the second most obvious bird. Not many hours went by without hearing the tittering whistle of a flock as moved to another shore to poke about amongst the weed. They are the classic May bird along the coast as they stop off on migration to their breeding grounds in the north.

Whimbrel

It was great to see a few pairs of Ringed Plovers running (and repeatedly stopping, in typical plover fashion) along the sand. These beaches are quiet enough for them to find somewhere to nest without too much disturbance.

Ringed Plover

A handful of Great Northern Divers were fishing off Pentle Beach. Some in non-breeding plumage (left), some nearly in breeding plumage (right):

Great Northern Divers

In Tresco Abbey gardens the wildlife was as exotic as the amazing plants from all over the globe. At least it was trying to be. This Blackcap has a face covered with yellow pollen which makes it look very tropical.

Blackcap

The jury was out whether the Red Squirrels, which had been introduced, were a benefit to the gardens. Whatever the verdict, they are very cute and photogenic. This one’s ear tufts are being blown by the wind.

Red Squirrel, Tresco

The butterflies appreciate the limitless supply of nectar. This is a Common Blue.

Common Blue

If you are like me and like beaches and birds, the Isles of Scilly are the place to go.

Lisa and Roge

Pete and Bron

The farmland and garden birds are exceptionally tame because there are few predators to worry them.

Scilly Robin

Unforgettable.

Baby Bird Boom on the River Wye

River Wye

Riverbanks in early May are hard to beat for birdsong. Within ten minutes of setting off downstream from Ross-on-Wye Hezzer, Kim and I had heard the song of over twenty species. Supporting the more familiar garden birds such as Blackbird, Robin, Wren, Song Thrush and Blackcap were the slightly less familiar Sedge Warbler, Garden Warbler and Reed Bunting. High overhead were Skylarks and the first screaming Swifts of the year.

The small heron perched amongst the bushes close to the water made Hezzer gasp in amazement when he recognised it as a Night Heron. I was similarly dumbfounded as it was the first one I had ever seen in the UK. But almost as remarkable was that Hezzer knew what it was…that’s ma boy!!

We got a really great view as we drifted past silently on the current:

Black-crowned Night Heron

Night Heron

A real rarity!

I had been hoping for some duckling action and first up were a charming little posse of Mallard chicks which surrounded our boats.

Mallard Family

Every so often the youngsters would break rank and scoot across the surface like a jetski to gobble up a mayfly.

I got very excited when we saw that the female Goosander close to the bank was accompanied by a load of little fluffy chicks just a few days old. Goosanders are the ‘real deal’ when it comes to truly wild ducks.

Goosander family

After lunch the birdsong eased off but the scenery looked good when the sun occasionally popped out.

River Wye

At Symonds Yat the raptors flying about today were Buzzard, Sparrowhawk, Peregrine and Hobby. Excellent viewing from the comfort of the inflatables.

Kim and Henry

The long last couple of miles (the last couple of miles always seem long, no matter how far you have paddled), were livened up by another Goosander family, with Mum sheltering her large brood under her wing.

Goosander Family, River Wye

Another Top Trip.

Large Pod of Dolphins (but only just)

On a calm day I paddle offshore. How far depends on how much fuel I feel I have got in the tank and needless to say it gets a bit less each year.

However the prospect of meeting up with a pod of dolphins always makes the effort worthwhile.

St. Michael’s Mount

So I found myself sitting far out to sea in millpond-calm conditions, listening hard for some sort of blow, having set out from Penzance shortly after sunrise. It was so still I could hear a dog barking on the shore three miles away, and the Whimbrel and the Sandwich Tern that I heard calling were too distant to actually see. If any cetacean surfaced within half-a-mile I would know about it.

But I heard no blows and I saw no fins at the surface. I did however see a chunky brown bird floating buoyantly on the surface: a ‘Bonxie’ Great Skua. It had stopped off here on migration to harass some gulls or terns and steal their catch. A real bruiser of a bird.

Great Skua

Incidentally, I never take binoculars on my kayak. There is usually too much movement for them to be of any use. I just have to use my naked eyeballs. Inevitably I see a lot less than observers with binos on a boat, but this is partly offset by the fact that I can hear a lot more than a boat with a noisy engine.

As I dug in for the eight-mile paddle back, I received a tip-off from a passing yacht that there were a load of dolphins a mile or two ahead of me. Just follow the cloud of gulls. I probably missed them on the way out because I was too far offshore. Typical!

I bumped the pace up to a fast cruise and my temperature gauge was soon nudging into the red. I was in full thermals and drysuit gear to combat the early morning chill when I set off. The sun was now burning down and there was not a breath of wind to siphon away the steam.

As I approached the area all I found were some very plump-looking gulls settling down for an after- dinner siesta. Not a dolphin in sight, although I could sense that they had literally only just left the scene.

It was a great relief to strip off a layer beside a nearby island, watched by a Purple Sandpiper and a Glaucous Gull. (Ornithology from the kayak seat is a lot easier than looking for dolphins)

With a new lease of life as my temperature reverted to the survivable side of critical, I took a final swing across the bay towards St. Michael’s Mount, just in case. Half-a-mile ahead an incoming yacht suddenly turned around and performed a slow loop. I guessed that something had attracted their attention and they had stopped to look. I squinted into the distance and just caught a glimpse of the sun twinkling off some fins not far from the yacht. Bingo.

Common Dolphins of every size

Fifteen minutes later I was watching a very active pod of Common Dolphins surging, splashing and jumping all over the place. They ranged in size from small calf to large adult, with a lot of adolescents in between. It was probably a group of dolphin mums with their extended family. (I think the males prefer to hang out alone in bachelor pods, which I have seen from time to time)

Adults in front, junior behind

Mother and calf Common Dolphin

This pod really gave me the run around. They were on a bit of a mission and sped off far faster than I could ever hope to paddle. They would briefly stop to feed every so often and then hurtle off again in a cloud of splashes. All I could do was anticipate where they would go next and sit in their path. This proved to be spectacularly unsuccessful apart from once when they all powered past quite close.

Excellent. I would have guessed it was a pod of about 40, but the rule of thumb when counting dolphins is to take your best estimate and double it (some say triple!), so it could have been 80, or even 100.

And I so very nearly missed them.

Splashy Dolphins and Scenic Backdrop

Mayday Magic at Looe

Mark, Dave, Simon, Dale…the previous day.

Having clocked up a lot of miles under the blue skies of the last week, I was half-tempted to have a more slovenly day. That’s what old geezers are supposed to do.

However the first melodic notes of the Blackbird outside the window as dawn flickered into life was all the inspiration I needed to get moving. I was on the water at Looe soon after sunrise. It was another beautiful day although it was chuffing chilly with the thermometer just below freezing point as I set off.

For the first time ever I was able to paddle beneath Looe Island’s ‘Bridge over the Atlantic’. It is only passable during the very highest tides.

Bridge Over the Atlantic, Looe Island

A flock of a dozen migrating Whimbrel tittered on the rocks on the exposed side of the island. The call of the ‘Seven-Whistler’ is the classic sound of the spring along these coasts.

Resting on the barnacle-encrusted rocks were seven very well-camouflaged Purple Sandpipers.

Purple Sandpipers, Looe Island

They are very tame so one of my favourites. They are winter visitors to our shores and are in no hurry to leave in the spring because their nesting areas around the northern coast of Scandinavia and the arctic tundra take a while to defrost! Definitely a speciality of the kayak driven by an ornithologist. Nobody else seems to notice them.

The sandpipers were accompanied by a single Sanderling. A great name for a cracking little bird, and a bit off its patch because there wasn’t a grain of sand within sight!

Sanderling, Looe Island

Rather more familiar were the Oystercatchers that were in full voice, as usual. It just gets even louder at this time of year when they have to impress their prospective mates (and rivals).

Oystercatcher giving it a lungful, Looe Island

Of course, because it was a calm day, I couldn’t resist heading out into the ‘big blue’, and paddled five miles directly offshore.

I hadn’t gone far when a Great Northern Diver, in full breeding plumage, surfaced close in front of me. I’m not sure who was more surprised. I think I got a PB time for scrambling my camera out of its dry bag, although the risk of it disappearing overboard increases proportionally with speed of extraction.

You can see the bird is a bit alarmed as it has part-submerged its body.

Great Northern Diver (aka Common Loon, across the pond)

What a beauty. Whoever thought of giving them a half-necklace of white spots?

The best encounter of the day was during the long paddle back, just after a lengthy coffee break soaking up the silence. Bizarrely it was so still that the only sound I heard was a dog barking somewhere on the coast four miles away.

A tiny dot over to my right looked dumpy enough to be a Puffin and when I paddled over to investigate…hey presto, it was.

It was still in non-breeding plumage and had a narrowish beak so was almost certainly a juvenile from last year.

Immature Puffin, Looe

As I watched, it uttered a long crooning call as another Puffin approached… an adult looking very smart in full breeding plumage. This bird performed a funny little greeting ceremony involving cocking its tail, spinning around and dipping the tip of its beak into the water, something I have never witnessed before.

Lovely, lovely, lovely.

Puffin, adult and immature, Looe

Crystal Clear

The sea around SW England is usually fairly clear in April and early May, and even more so this year with the lack of rain and associated sediment.

The cloudless blue skies have further enhanced the enjoyment of kayaking, making the local coast look rather tropical:

Porthcurno Bay

Porthcurno Bay

So when I came across a handful of seals that were loitering around an island off Roseland in south Cornwall, I could see them cavorting about beneath my kayak as clearly as I have ever seen them underwater.

There’s an interesting comparison between these seals as they slide past a few inches from my kayak, and the Basking Sharks that came equally as close last week. The Sharks knock the seals in to second place when it comes to shock and awe, and alarmingly enormous proportions.

The seals, however, are brimming with personality and charisma and their eyes have a sparkle and a depth that is in stark comparison to the blank stare of the shark. There can be no doubt the seals are very intelligent. I’m not so sure about the shark.

Just to remind you, here is the shark….

Basking Shark 18 April 2021

Now enjoy the charm of the seal…

As usual there were plenty of other nuggets of natural history for me to enjoy as I continued on my way along the coast. The exceptionally large tidal range exposed a lot of Sea Urchins along the rocky shoreline. They really are extraordinary creatures, and apparently come in a variety of colours!..

Purple Sea Urchin

Yellow Sea Urchin

There are still a handful of magnificent Great Northern Divers in the bays around South Cornwall. They are in no hurry to migrate north to their breeding grounds in Iceland and Greenland, because they probably havn’t thawed out yet!

They are just changing into their staggering beautiful summer plumage. The bird on the right is in its breeding outfit, the one on the left is in transition…

Great Northern Diver pair

To finish off my day I was very excited to get a ‘first’. A pair of Oystercatchers were seriously agitated as a Raven flew overhead, and they seemed reluctant to fly too far. As I sat and quietly watched, the female flew to a ledge and settled down with a bit of a shuffle so she must have been sitting on eggs! The first incubating Oystercatcher I have ever seen from my kayak in Cornwall, despite doing an awful lit of looking.

Fab.

Incubating Oystercatcher