Blizzard of Beauties

Avocets. What’s with the one leg thing?

It wasn’t quite a meteorological blizzard as I drove south towards the River Tamar a couple of days ago, but it wasn’t far off. The air temperature was -3C and the flurry of snow was making road conditions interesting.

My resolve to go for paddling adventure was wavering. Not just because it was chuffing cold, but also my usual car with the kayak roof-rack was undergoing major surgery so I was forced to use plan B…my Gumotex inflatable kayak called ‘Puffing Pig’ which was neatly curled up in the back of my daughter’s Fiesta.

However, Puffing Pig seemed keen for an outing to wash off the layer of accumulated dust so I felt obliged to carry on.

The scene at my put-in point was as welcoming as I could have hoped. The water at the estuary was glass-flat, the sky was blue and I could just about feel a therm of warmth from the recently risen sun.

Even so, a dog-walker looked long and hard at me as if I was completely bonkers as I set off. A slight shake of the head. Even the dog did a double-take.

I soon warmed up as I paddled upstream.

Far ahead I could see a long line of white in mid river, like a string of pearls.

Avocets! And a whole load of them!

Avocets chilling

Wow, how fantastic. Everything about Avocets is remarkable. They are impossibly elegant and have long legs that look prone to snap, with beaks which are even more delicate.

Needle thin beak

I remember my first view of one in Dorset on a similarly freezing day when I was eleven. It was massive excitement and was the sighting that sealed my lifelong interest in all things ornithological. Even though I was as cold as a Calippo.

They were a rare species in the UK in the early seventies because they had been absent as a breeding bird for a century. The Victorians loved nothing more than a stuffed Avocet on the mantlepiece in the sitting room, which didn’t help.

Thanks to habitat restoration and protection offered by reserves since the war the Avocets are breeding again in significant numbers and in winter their numbers are swelled by birds from the continent.

Fortunately for Avocet fans like the Lone Kayaker, they seem to enjoy life in the estuaries of southwest England during the dark months.

Even so, I was surprised to see so many in the floating raft in front of me…well over a hundred.

In addition there was a posse of about twenty taking it easy on the nearby shore in the company of a chunky looking shelduck.

Shelduck and Avocets

The sub-zero temperatures were taking their toll on my toes so I put in a bit of ooomph and paddled further upriver.

Three species of raptor flew past in quick succession…a Buzzard and a Peregrine which I might have been expected. And a Marsh Harrier which I might not. This was the first I have ever seen beside the Tamar.

Marsh Harrier

By coincidence they, like the Avocets, have benefitted from recent protection and habitat restoration. They are ground nesters so prone to disturbance/persecution/predation. This one was just doing a bit of winter wandering, presumably.

It was lovely to see a handful of Redshank on the shore. On a cloudy day they are borderline drab. When the sun comes out, however, the light illuminates their orange legs like glow-sticks.

Redshank. and bored Egret

On the way back the Avocets were spooked by a low pass by the Peregrine and performed a couple of flypasts with me in the prime ringside seat.

Snowstorm of Avocets

When the danger was past, they dropped in over my head to resume their effort to complete forty winks before the tide dropped enough to expose the expanse of mud wherein lurked their lunch.

But what was going on? There was a single leg dangling from every bird as they dropped in. Undercarriage failure or an avian airbrake?

Whichever, their touchdown proceeded without a hitch and they soon settled down, chattering with quiet little chuckles.

Avocets at rest

I left them to it.