Risso’s, Osprey, Loons, Seals. All before Breakfast.

Risso’s Incoming!

Will and I were on the water near Torquay at 0550 yesterday. Why so appallingly early?

For a multitude of reasons: there’s no other cars to jostle with in the car park, no queues for the ticket machine, the wind was due to pick up at 9am, it’s a lovely quiet time of the morning and most importantly the wildlife viewing is often best when the rest of the world is aslumber.

Oh, and Will had to get to work.

The wildlife sightings did indeed kick off in spectacular fashion. I heard the local gulls start making an appalling racket behind us just as we paddled out to sea. It took a while for my early-morning brain fog to defuzz and realise the gulls were probably anxious about a big raptor. My first glance skywards was worth the crunching of a few cervical vertebrae, because circling overhead was an Osprey!

Osprey escorted by crow. Ospreys are BIG birds

It was lazily wheeling around being ineffectively mobbed by a Carrion Crow. En route to the north of England or Scotland, no doubt.

Superb. A spring Osprey is a rare sight. From the seat of my kayak, anyway.

It was a good omen for our next target, which was a very specific and very unusual one. Rob Hughes who runs Devon Sea Safari out of Teignmouth had kindly contacted me to tell me that there was a lone Risso’s dolphin which had been loitering about in essentially the same area for the last two days. It seemed to be busy munching its way through the local cuttlefish population.

Rob at the Helm of ‘Whistler’, the Devon Sea safari Rib.

As the Lone Kayaker is a particular fan of the mysterious and enigmatic Risso’s Dolphin, going to have a look was a no-brainer. Likewise Will…he was keen to experience one from the insubstantial platform of a kayak having seen a pod off the local headland a couple of years ago. They were being shadowed by some old bloke in a kayak…I wonder who that was?

Finding dolphins in a kayak is never easy as they can move an awful lot faster than we can paddle. Fortunately the sea was smooth which makes spotting those fins easier and we were aware that the dorsal fin of the Risso’s is the tallest of all dolphins so if it was around we had a good chance of eyeballing it.

Despondency was just beginning to kick in as we started our second lap of the local islands, but this time nosing a little further north in the swirling tidal current. Swirly, just like early, is always good for sea creatures.

Both Will and I gasped in harmony as we simultaneously saw that big fin break the surface a hundred metres ahead. Wow, what a beast! It looked so big.

Risso’s fin. Quite a Scimitar.

It surfaced a few more times and then submerged with a bit of a splash as the tail flukes broke the surface.

Risso’s going down

So that was our entertainment sorted for the next two hours. We hardly paddled anywhere…just a bit of repositioning as the tidal current dragged us around. We didn’t need to paddle because the dolphin remained in the same area for the whole time. There was no point in paddling towards it because when it next surfaced it might be where you had just been sitting.

It dived for long periods…four or five minutes…and covered a lot of ground underwater. Occasionally it popped up only just within view, but usually it stayed close enough to have Will and I gaping with wonderment every time.

We never missed it when it reappeared after a dive even when it was behind us, because it had a very loud blow. This is one of the great benefits of watching from a kayak…not only do you have an uninterrupted view, you have uncluttered audio as well.

The blow of a breathing cetacean is, in my view, one of the great kayaking experiences and a Risso’s blow is particularly loud. This is maybe not surprising as they are approaching the size of a small whale…adults are 14ft long and weigh about five times as much as a Common Dolphin.

We watched its surfacing sequence of four or five breaths thirty or forty times. So it was statistically likely that on at least one occasion it would come up right beside my kayak. But it didn’t…it chose to come up right beside Will’s kayak instead…twice!

Will and Risso’s…right place, right time

Risso’s are notoriously shy so it may have been deliberately avoiding us. It wouldn’t be the first time I have been given a wide berth by one of these exotic-looking creatures.

Risso’s. No beak and a creased forehead. Not your typical-looking dolphin.

Rob Hughes arrived with a boatful of enthusiastic Devon Sea Safari clients and we all sat quietly and watched the dolphin busy feeding. Between breaths at the surface it constantly changed direction as if it was actually feeding on a cuttlefish at the time. Although we didn’t see any cuttlefish bits a seal was demolishing the remains of one unfortunate cephalopod and a posse of Great Black-backed Gulls, which have a particular taste for cuttlefish, prowled the sky.

I was so engrossed that I completely forgot about breakfast. It wasn’t just the Risso’s, it was the supporting cast of creatures that allowed no let up to contemplate a meal break.

Four Great Northern Divers flew overhead. All heading west and all in their spectacularly smart summer plumage featuring a diamond necklace. They will be en route to their breeding grounds in Iceland.

They are powerful birds but their wings look a bit unsubstantial to carry them all that way. And why on earth do they fly with their beaks open? All four which passed had their mouths gaping wide.

Great Northern Diver

We were also befriended by an exceptionally cute Grey Seal pup who slithered about through the water in a typically effortless and balletic fashion. It also took a worryingly intense interest in the back of my kayak

Grey Seal Pup

Grey Seal pup nosing about

At last the pangs of hunger could wait to be depanged no longer…

Sumptuous Breakfast

Unfortunately I hadn’t brought enough milk to float my 50/50 Muesli and Country Crisp (with freeze-dried Raspberries) combo in the manner of my liking so it was more akin to eating horse feed. However it did the job so no complaints.

What a tremendous morning with the star of the show undoubtedly the Risso’s.

Will and the Risso’s. This photo looks weirdly fake but it isn’t as I wouldn’t have a clue what to do. Pressing the shutter is the limit of my ability.

First Fins of 2023

Porpoise, with a smile, on collision course

2nd January, yesterday, was forecast to be a day of sparkling winter sunshine. Just one blue-sky day to interrupt the endless run of wind, rain and monochrome dreary greyness. I can’t remember when the last one was, and there is no sign of another for the foreseeable.

So a coastal kayak trip was not an option…it was a necessity.

Torbay was the venue as it is so reliable in terms of protection from winter swells and consistency of wildlife encounters.

We were a motley trio indeed. I cut a thoroughly unprofessional image in my Gumotex inflatable kayak* which I thought would be easier to lug about following a hip replacement only a month ago. Simon looked slick in his Disco although he too was nursing an injury (or two). Isabelle probably cut the sportiest image on her SUP.

*although it is astonishingly seaworthy

Snack time already?

A very large number of seals were enjoying a hint of warmth in the winter sun in the heart of the harbour.

Hat-trick of Grey Seals. Dead to the world.

Given our state of questionable fitness and post-festive paddling power, we initially headed into the protected water of the inner bay.

For me, having spent a large part of the previous month flicking between Bargain Hunt and Homes under the Hammer, it was an absolute thrill to be out on the water. Even better when one of my favourite seabirds, a Great Northern Diver, popped up from a dive right beside me.

Great Northern Diver. What a beauty!

Poking about amongst the barnacles which encrusted the old jetty was another of my winter favourites, a Purple Sandpiper. A little bird with a big personality. Knowing that they have flown thousands of miles to get here makes them even more appealing. Like the Great Northern Diver this bird may well have come from Iceland.

Purple Sandpiper

Astonishingly there was one more bird from the north which may too have flown from Iceland. This was the rarest…a Long-tailed Duck. Known as an Old Squaw in North America.

Long-tailed Duck

It always makes me smirk when the British name is so scientific and a bit dull, in comparison to the more spontaneous sounding American name.

The same applies to the American name for the Great Northern Diver, the ‘Common Loon’.

All was going so well in terms of thermoregulation and enjoyment of the day that we decided to take a look out by the headland for some dolphins. Our urgency was fuelled by a report from Henry, who was installed on top of the cliff, that he thought he had seen a ‘blow’ far to the southwest. If it was indeed a blow, it was probably a Humpback.

Eyes in the Sky. Henry (right) on the cliff top.

We saw no whales and no dolphins, but enjoyed a great display from the resident porpoises who rolled and even surged all around. 50% of the fun of a porpoise encounter is hearing their explosive little puff as they breathe…a speciality from the silence of a kayak…or SUP!

At least half-a-dozen, probably double that number.

Porpoise in a hurry. They usually roll with barely a ripple.

If the year continues in this sort of a manner, it’s going to be a good one.

Loon with a Drip

Winter Magic up the Creeks of Cornwall and Devon

Curlew, Teignmouth

Much as I love the thrill of staring eyeball to eyeball with cetaceans around the coast of SW England, it’s actually quite unusual for the sea to be flat enough to venture out to where they live in a kayak. Especially in autumn and winter. Particularly this autumn, it’s been very windy.

There have been just a couple of days, including this little porpoise adventure with Dave. Lovely to hear a dozen or so ‘Puffing Pigs’ doing their stuff in their quiet and unobtrusive manner.

Dave and Porpoise Friend

So it’s time to head for the shelter of the creeks. The stronger the wind, the further inland you need to go. Fortunately there’s a lot to choose from around the coast and there’s always somewhere to baffle anything the weather can throw at you.

Early morning during winter in the upper estuaries is a good time to sneak a view of an otter, providing you are absolutely completely and utterly quiet and scrutinise every inch of bank as you glide silently along. Blink, and you’ve missed it…

Otter, Torridge

Carrick Roads adjacent to Falmouth is wide and exposed and although only moderately sheltered from the wind it is protected from swell, of which there has been a lot recently. It attracts a nice range of open coast birds such as these beautiful Great Northern Divers which have migrated in from Iceland or Greenland to spend the winter with us. Back news if you’re a snack-sized fish…look at that dagger of a beak!

Great Northern Divers, Carrick Roads

A surprise sighting when I paid a visit to the area a couple of weeks ago was this Black Guillemot (black only in summer plumage). A rare visitor to the south of England, they breed up north.

Black Guillemot

Teignmouth estuary in Devon has the combined attraction of waterbirds AND trains. Although chilling at high tide just feet from the thundering carriages, these Oystercatchers don’t stir from their slumber as the trains clatter by.

Roosting Oystercatchers (and HST 43016!)

It was good to see Oli, the unusually-marked Oystercatcher with the white head, at Teignmouth during my last visit. He’s been around for at least five years now.

Oli the leucistic Oystercatcher

The Fowey estuary takes a lot of beating. The water is exceptionally clear because the Fowey river originates on the granite uplands of Bodmin Moor.

Dave, Paul and I ventured far, far up the creek during our last visit.

Paul and Dave, Lerryn

Providing you keep paddling at a steady rate and keep quiet the roosting Redshank will let you pass without spooking (them…or you!).

Redshank relaxing , Fowey Estuary

Likewise the local harbour seal. Not as absurdly curious as the Grey Seals, but certainly casually interested in a passing kayak.

Cornish Harbour Seal

As a last resort I take to the canals to seek some sheltered paddling. There’s not a lot of choice. Bude, Exeter and Grand Western Canal (GWC) in Tiverton.

If you like autumnal scenes it’s got to be the GWC:

Grand Western Canal, Extreme Photogenicity.

It’s even better of you are a Kingfisher fan:

Kingfisher, Grand Western Canal

Otter vs Octopus

Anyone for a swim? Stunning west coast of Uist

Although there was a sniff of sunshine between weather fronts which brought the true colours of the Outer Isles to life, much of our two week to Barra and North Uist was monochrome grey with plenty of rinsing.

A touch of weather

Remembering that their is no such thing as bad clothing, only unsuitable weather (or something like that), we ventured out despite the deluge and were rewarded with a smorgasbord of signature birds.

Ringed Plover…quiet and polite

Great Northern Diver…check out that bling!

Arctic Terns…relentlessly chatty and cheerful

Short-eared Owl…eye don’t come more penetrating than that

White-tailed Eagle (juv)…a great slab of a bird

Becky and I paddled silently up a tidal channel hoping to see an otter, and hastily parked up on the weedy rocks when we glimpsed a chocolate-brown back rolling at the surface in front of us, with tail flicking up before it disappeared.

Unfortunately we then found ourselves in the thick of the otter action. One climbed out on a rock just in front of the kayak. A bit too close.

Otter close encounter

This turned out to be a pup and as its mum huffed its disapproval of us from a nearby rock, the youngster started to call out for its parent. Video:

Chirping Otter Pup

Becky and I remained completely still, and the two were soon united and continued fishing on the other side of the channel, coming up with a crunchy snack after every dive, as usual. So we didn’t give them too much of a fright.

My most remarkable otter sighting was saved till the last day on the islands. It was windy again and I was tempted to remain on dry land. Paddling against the wind was virtually impossible, with significant forward progress only achievable during lulls in the gusts. I ventured downwind to some islands yet to be explored. Not a good idea maybe, as I usually go upwind first to ensure the trip back is easy.

Navigational concerns evaporated when I saw a mother and pup otter fishing in the choppy water beside a low-tide islet. Staying downwind of the pair was no problem although I had to paddle hard just to stay in the same place.

Teeth whiter than Rylan Clark and Jurgen Klopp

I watched them for over half an hour moving between the small islands, climbing out onto the highest stone and ‘marking’ them with urine or faeces. They stuck together closely although occasionally the pup seemed to get lost and would chirp to its mum, who replied with a softer contact call.

Mum emerged with a crab and deftly manoeuvred it around so she could prise off its carapace in one piece, like taking the lid off a tin. Wouldn’t want any nasty little bits of splintered shell in her seafood lunch.

Impressive, but not so good if you are a crab. You can see it all here:

Otter eating crab

I was beginning to get a bit edgy about the long paddle back into the wind when the mother popped up with a large octopus whose legs were flailing about all over the place. OMG!!

She swam directly to the nearest dry land, as otters always do when the catch a sizable meal.

She emerged onto the weed and passed the flapping octopus to the excited pup, who carried it across the rocks in front of me before settling down to consume it out of sight behind a weed-covered boulder.

Otter plus octopus

At one stage the octopus had an arm wrapped completely round the pup’s nose, and one around its neck.

Otter plus octopus

Video:

Otter vs Octopus

Tremendous, can’t wait for my next visit to the Western Isles to check out their most magical mammal.

Hebridean Otter

The Laugh of the Loon

One of the great joys of paddling around the coast in the middle of winter is the chance of an encounter with a Loon.

Loons (as they are called in the USA, they are known as Divers this side of the pond) are arguably the most attractively marked of all the breeding birds in the UK. They nest in Scotland and other countries further north, and migrate south in the autumn.

Here’s the three species that visit the coast of Devon and Cornwall during the winter:

Red-throated Diver (aka Red-throated Loon). Looe, October 2019

Black-throated Diver (aka Arctic Loon). Roseland April 2018.

Great Northern Diver (aka Common Loon). Mevagissey May 2018

To see one of the Diver species in full breeding plumage is unusual in the south. For most of their stay they are clothed in very much more modest winter garb.

They exploit slightly different niches along the coast. Great Northerns have a taste for crabs and flatfish so favour big open bays. They can dive deeper, further and longer than any other diving bird so although their favourite snacks are on the sea bed they don’t necessarily need to be close to the shore. They are the most numerous of the three species.

Red-throats eat shoaling fish so are quite happy far out to sea. They seem to prefer the north Cornish coast and particularly my local patch between Bude and Hartland Point (which is just over the border in Devon). I have seen them in flocks of over 100.

Black-throats are the most scarce, and favour a couple of bays in South Cornwall, where they hunt for small fish.

I was very pleased to come across my first close-up Great Northern in Mevagissey Bay a couple of weeks ago.

Great Northern Diver, Mevagissey

In fact it was part of a small flock of Great Northerns, which is unusual. At the time I was straining my eyes staring into the far distance to see if I could see any fin or splash appear beneath a circling Gannet which was about a mile away. I was convinced there would be a porpoise below but it was just too far off to see.

My attention was diverted by a soft, repeated call and I saw a dozen Loons sitting on the surface only a hundred yards in front of my nose.

Great Northern Divers, Mevagissey

They appeared to be taking time out… resting and preening and having a quiet chat. Probably all the local birds gathered together for a bit of a social. Listen to that very subdued and personal soft calls:

Divers at Mevagissey

I never carry binoculars on my kayak. I spend enough time staring through the lens of my camera, and that is challenging enough. There is usually far too much movement of the kayak to make observation through binoculars any value.

Even so, using my naked eyeballs, I could see that one of the Divers looked significantly smaller and leaner than the rest, and appeared to be more wary as it loitered at the back of the group. I immediately suspected that this was a rare Black-throated Diver, even though I have ever only seen one around the Cornish coast twice before.

My suspicions were confirmed when I glimpsed its white flank patch, which is diagnostic:

Great Northern Divers and Black-throated Diver (at the back).

The two Diver species provided a guide-book-type contrast-and-compare snapshot when they slipped past each other:

Black- throated (left) and Great Northern Diver

But best of all was the contact calls of the Divers. I have heard this laugh quite frequently, but usually as a single call and usually far away across the water.

I have never heard it repeated at such close range.

It is undoubtedly a call between one member of a family to another, and I think it is a parent to an offspring. I’m not sure what makes me say this because most of the calls of families on migration are the youngsters making demands of their parents. Sandwich Terns are a good example: the juveniles spend the entire time from the UK to the Med squealing at mum and dad.

See what you think in this video. It just sounds like a parent to me…

Laughing Loons

A great encounter with some of my favourite birds.

It’s interesting that my trusty old bird identification book states that these particular birds are ‘silent at sea’. No doubt because when it was written there was nobody paddling around in a kayak watching them, and they were always too far from the shore for their laugh to be heard from a shore-based observer.

To add to the ornithological excitement, a Peregrine was watching the show from a perch on the adjacent cliff.

Peregrine

To round the afternoon off nicely, the porpoise which I was willing my eyes to see at enormous range an hour before, surfaced with a puff close to my kayak. The Gannet was still in attendance, circling overhead.

Mevagissey porpoise

Happy New Year.

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.

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

Loonatic

In the last couple of weeks I have done more groaning in dismay than usual. Age, Covid 19 and the garbage on radio and TV all play a part.

So there is even more reason than usual to get immersed in nature, which is immune to gloom. How fantastic to hear that Humpy the Humpback whale was doing its stuff off the coast of Northumberland and Freddie the Harbour Seal was entertaining the crowds beside the Thames in the middle of London.

A couple of really good, healthy stories to brighten up the news on a national level. Smiles all round.

Until Humpie got tangled up in a lobster pot rope and washed up on Blythe beach, and Freddie was mauled by a dog and had to be put to sleep. Just a few days apart.

Double Mega Groaaannnn.

So the sight of a magnificent Great Northern Diver sitting on the sea in front of my kayak in the middle of Plymouth Sound was a welcome return to normal levels of excitement, enjoying the positivity of nature. Great Northern Divers are the Loons of North America, and their haunting wail drifting across a misty lake in the Canadian wilderness is one of the great sounds of the wilderness.

They also appear on the Canadian Dollar coin which is dubbed the ‘loonie’.

This particular bird was probably born in Iceland or Greenland, and has flown over a thousand miles to spend the winter in the fish-filled and sheltered waters of South Devon.

It is always a thrill to see one so I took a photo and then had a quick check of the image to see that it was in focus. And then groaned even louder than all the previous groans put together. Punctuated by a few choice expletives. There was fishing line wrapped around its beak and probably around the base of its wing as well. Poor blooming bird. It has flown all this way to enjoy the protection of our coast and it is greeted with a mouthful of fishing line which has probably got a hook on the end of it.

Loonatic looking like he is doomed

A far as I was concerned there was going to be a hat-trick of catastrophe…this bird was heading the same way as Humpy and Freddie.

I sent my photo to environmentalist Claire (in a despairing sort of way) who lives on the edge of the Sound, and she circulated it via Rame Wildlife Rescue Network. She said that a lot of pairs of eyes would be looking out for the stricken bird, but I really didn’t have any hope that it would be picked up. Divers rarely come ashore away from their breeding areas.

So I nearly fell of my seat when Claire contacted me a few days later to say the Loon had been found on a slipway beside a marina in the middle of Plymouth and taken into care by a local rescue centre, Athena Wildlife and Bird of Prey Rehab. They removed the tangle of line which was thankfully not attached to a hook and fed the bird sardines for a couple of days. When it appeared to be as healthy as it was going to get they released it back onto the water and it swam away strongly, dipping its head underwater searching for its next snack!

Here’s some pics from Athena Facebook page (thanks for allowing me to use them):

Loonatic

Fishing Line down the throat

Looking for someone to peck

Absolutely amazing! It must be the most fortunate Loon on the planet.

According to Lianne from Athena, who I spoke to on the phone, it was also the most feisty. It spent so much of its time in care trying to stab people with its dagger of a beak, they christened it ‘Loonatic’. This fighting spirit will hopefully ensure its full recovery and allow it a successful return trip to the far north. Maybe I will even bump into it again next winter.

This is not the first time I have seen a Great Northern Diver tangled in fishing line. Here is a very similar image from a remote loch in the north of Scotland a few years ago. This bird unfortunately will not have benefitted from a team such as Claire and Lianne, so almost certainly did not survive.

Scottish Loon entangled in fishing line

The rescue of Loonatic is an incredibly heartening story. Thanks to the fantastic work by Lianne and her team from Athena, and Claire and Rame Wildlife Rescue Network, a hat-trick of gloom and despondency has been avoided.

Humpie fell foul of fishing gear and Freddie died as a result of a thoughtless dog owner. But Loonatic, against all odds, was saved by the dedication and diligence of a group of wildlife volunteers.

Good job!

Terrific Torbay: A Dozen Dolphins, Score of Seals, Pair of Porpoises, Loads of Loons

Torbay was a winter wildlife wonderland today. It’s hard to believe you can see this variety of mega sea creatures from your kayak, right here in Devon, on a day which is as close to the darkest depths of winter as it is possible to get. During a five hour, ten mile circuit of the southern half of the bay.

There she blows!…..(sort of)

A small pod of quietly cruising dolphins were well within the bay in the calm water in the shelter of Berry Head. So absolutely perfect for a bit of relaxed observation, although the dolphins did seem to want a bit of sport and came over to bow ride so Mark and I felt obliged to pile on the paddling power from time to time.

These were Mark’s first kayak-seen dolphins, and I think several hundred, possibly thousands, of miles will pass under his OK Prowler before he gets another view as close up as this…….

That one’s almost on your lap, Mark

This was as good a Christmas show as we could have ever expected, and it had all the ingredients of a full-on festive panto:

IT’S BEHIND YOU!

The calm of the early morning was slowly swept away by a steadily increasing offshore breeze, so we didn’t nose our kayaks far out into the more lumpy sea off Berry Head. Just far enough to have a couple of close-up views of a pair of porpoises. I was hoping that Mark would hear the classic porpoise ‘puff’, and told him to sit absolutely still with ears on red alert. Then a porpoise surfaced within a few feet of him and almost blew his beanie off! ( a wee bit of exaggeration, but you get the gist).

The three-mile offshore stretch to the sheltered beaches of Paignton were a bit of a slog as the headwind was increasing and the sky was leaden. However the sea felt very alive and Gannets were circling and Kittiwakes were dipping to the surface. Lots of Guillemots and Razorbills about too. We didn’t see any more fins, but a very acceptable substitute were the number of Loons we passed.

Mostly Great Northern Divers (Common Loons), several of which were in family groups of three. Mum, Dad, and offspring. I’m sure that’s what they are because they talk to each other, using a very quiet little laughing call, like a family. I find it amazing to think that they manage to stay together during migration from their breeding lakes in Iceland, or somewhere like that, to here in Devon.

Great Northern Divers (Common Loons)

More of a surprise were the pair of Red-throated Divers closer to the shore. They prefer the north coast of Devon and Cornwall and are not so frequent down here.

Not that easy to distinguish from the Great-Northerns, but the upturned beak is distinctive.

Red-throated Divers (loons)

We had lunch on a beach in the drizzle. A token tasteless ham sandwich followed by a much more exciting biscuit, chocolate and fudge fest.

Then we followed the coast back to the slipway.

And came across this extremely inquisitive seal pup. I suspect it is one of the pups I saw as a few day-old bundle of white fluff on a beach five miles away.

If Mark starts to think that this sort of close up encounter happens every time he goes out in his kayak, he is on a collision course with disappointment…..

Seal pup

Inquisitive seal

sniggering seal

First Dolphins for Blinking Ages

Queen Mary 2, Torbay

I havn’t had a good encounter with cetaceans for over two months, mainly because sea conditions have not been conducive to paddling offshore. So I’ve been getting a bit twitchy. Especially as my efforts to see the Humpback whales near Land’s End recently were a spectacular failure.

I flogged fifteen miles from Penzance to Tater Du lighthouse and back, and the whales were a few miles further down the coast. And I missed a pod of Bottlenose dolphins which were close to shore……typical! Although as a consolation I did see ten porpoises and a couple of breaching tuna.

Winter paddling is harder work than in the summer. You are wrapped up in thermals and a drysuit which restrict arm movements, and the cold doesn’t enhance muscle function. Not to mention the lack of feelgood factor with the warmth of the sun on the back of your neck. The end result is that the mileage at the end of the day is a bit lower.

Today was forecast to be the last day of lightish winds for a while, so I opted for Torbay. There is always plenty going on to keep a kayaker amused. Brixham is constantly busy.

Brixham Trawler

And the seals around the harbour are always entertaining:

Brixham Seal

I paddled out to Berry Head, expecting a porpoise or two in the more swirly water off the end of the point. However instead I saw a couple of dolphins hurling themselves about in the distance. I ratcheted up the speed and paddled towards them, but after half an-hour I hadn’t really closed the gap. This is part of the frustration/fun of watching dolphins from a kayak. Pods typically cruise along at about 4mph. So no problem if you are in a boat with an engine, but when you are paddling a kayak which only goes at 4mph when you really push it, and 5 (or possibly 6 in smooth conditions) if you give it everything you’ve got, the best view you might get is a load of fins disappearing off into the distance.

(very) distant dolphin

I was a couple of miles off the headland and beginning to lose heart, but fortunately the dolphins suddenly changed direction and charged towards me, apparently to say hello. A couple of youngsters surged about in my insignificant bow wave, and continued to splosh about, apparently out of curiosity, as I did a bit of filming.

juvenile dolphins

Excellent. Great to see them again. Interestingly, two of the adults were launching their noses well out of the water during each breath, and falling back with a splash. I have previously thought this was some kind of abnormal surfacing action, possibly as the result of an injury, but having seen it quite often (including in Spain), I think it is the adults taking a look around above the surface. It is very possible that this is complete rubbish, and it is just the way they sometimes swim. See what you think…..

This pod of about eight then moved on, but I bumped into another little group of five, which appeared to be all adolescents, as I headed back towards Berry Head. Being young and inquisitive, they spent a long time sloshing about around my kayak.

It was a long haul back to the headland, against the tide and wind, which was fortunately still quite light. But it was spiced up with four interesting nuggets of wildlife, three very good, and one very bad.

Here’s the good:

1, A Great Northern Diver flying past:

Great Northern Diver

2. A couple of Porpoises:

Harbour Porpoise

3. A couple of huge silvery fish leaping, accompanied by a mighty splash…..Giant Bluefin Tuna!! Wow! Not a hope of a photo. Far too quick.

Here’s the bad:

A freshly dead Common Dolphin.

dead dolphin

But overall a very enjoyable day: