Yesterday a couple of members of the Kirkwood family combined like the smoothest of zips to bring to you the best of the Spring wildlife from the coast of South Devon.
Henry Kirkwood of henrykirkwoodfilmmaking and Rupert Kirkwood the Lone Kayaker and old geezer in the not too distant future.
Although it was essentially sunny the fog came and went in a rather worrying fashion from a heading offshore in a kayak perspective. A monstrous car transporter that was picking up a pilot simply disappeared as a spooky veil of mist enveloped it. I nearly leapt out of my seat when it sounded it’s foghorn…so boomingly loud my ribcage and fillings reverberated in unison. And my spleen as well, I think. Something down there, anyway.
The sea was initially quiet so, steering well clear of the main seabird breeding colony to avoid any possible disturbance, I sneaked along the coast to admire the coastal birds which were looking fine in their breeding-plumage summer outfits. Smart enough to attend any ornithological summer ball.
Razorbill
Most of the Shags had already cast off their teddy-boy quiffs but one was reluctant to let go of its hall-mark hairstyle.
Shag…looking cool
The local seals were full of the joys of spring. As I paddle past an island two swam behind me and huffed and puffed as they followed, as they so often do. One was a big bull Grey Seal but the other, to my great surprise, was a Harbour…aka Common…Seal, and a really attractively marked individual.
Harbour Seal
These are not common at all and only the second I have encountered along the open coast along this area of South Devon.
During a lull in the wildlife action I partook in a spot of kayak speliology. I really don’t like caves as they are always cold and dark and frequently have weird noises coming from the darkest corner. However I couldn’t resist a quick ‘nose’.
There’s no need for me to drone on any more because the whole day is summed up nicely in son Henry’s five minute film. He was my companion yesterday and was the first to spot a small pod of dolphins when I had just about given up hope of seeing any. A day with dolphins is a day complete, so I was very pleased to see them indeed.
Henry has two prime qualities: he has eyes as sharp as any Peregrine Falcon and he puts together some outstanding film sequences. No coincidence as he is Henry of henrykirkwoodfilmmaking of the wildlife variety.
Just one comment about the following minifilm. You will hear me explain that I am ‘surrounded’ by a family pod of four Common Dolphins. The mother and young calf are a little wary so stay at a distance. The two juveniles are about as unwary as it is possible to be and cavort around my kayak at unbelievable speed, in a more playful manner than I have probably ever seen.
Ruminating about this encounter today, I think that these two young dolphins might be last year’s twins from the mother with the young calf…or maybe the year before. There was no other mother nearby and these two looked a bit too young to be without a guardian nearby.
Maybe I am wrong and have overthought all this…but they look to be exactly the same size and certainly have a strong connection when it comes to larking about!
Enjoy the film:
Amazing May Day in South Devon. Film by Henry Kirkwood
Here’s the view from the kayak seat…look at those little dolphins go!!
We couldn’t resist the lure of a rare calm winter’s day. Hardly any wind and minimal groundswell meant an open coast day with a chance of offshore paddling was on the cards.
Torbay was our destination and dolphins were our target species.
I met up with son Henry in the car park. He was keen to add to his impressive wildlife portfolio in ‘Henry Kirkwood Filmmaking.’
Henry Kirkwood Wildlife Filmmaker
Our usual two-pronged approach, with me on the water and Henry on dry land, was today enhanced by the use of a pair of Christmas walkie-talkies. The desperate panic to answer a mobile with wet fingers without send it spinning into the depths was a thing of the past. Instant and simple communication…yippee.
The only issue was there were no dolphins. I paddled around for four hours up to a mile offshore and there just weren’t any around. Hezzer, with his eyes sharper than any Peregrine, saw a large pod many miles offshore with a few individuals leaping. I wasn’t going all the way out there in my floating steed of the day, my Gumotex Safari inflatable kayak.
No problem…that is the challenge, and fun, of looking for dolphins. They are highly mobile and a no-show is common. It makes it all the more rewarding when they do appear.
Porpoise approaching
However, there is always something to enjoy, and today there were Porpoises. They are resident in the Torbay area and hunt along the current interfaces off the headlands which are conveniently marked by lines of smooth water at the surface. They are extremely unobtrusive and surface without a splash and cruise around singly or in small groups so are very much more difficult to spot than a pod of dolphins.
They are overlooked by most.
Porpoise. Being slinky, as usual
They are a speciality from seeing from the silence of a kayak because you can hear their characteristic puff as they surface, especially the first one after a dive, which is the loudest.
Today one gave me quite a jump as it popped up just a few feet behind me.
Our total for the day was ten or eleven… a couple of groups of three including a calf, and a few singletons.
Pair of porpoises. Being slinky, as usual
It’s always a bit of a pity when cetacean observers report that they had ‘only’ seen porpoises. OK, they are not a showy, splashy sociable or as engaging as dolphins, but their shy aloofness makes them none the less endearing. Nothing ‘only’ about them at all.
They are the Thomas the Tank Engine of the cetacean world. Small and chuffy but with lots of personality.
Out on the sea, there are always seabirds, especially in this area. The headlands of Torbay generate swirling tidal currents which mix up nutrients that attract fish. Kittiwakes and other Gulls dipped to the surface and the occasional Gannet roved overhead.
Guillemot Squadron. Loose Formation.
Most remarkable were the large number of Guillemots, most already sporting a smart breeding plumage, who were crammed together on their breeding ledges. A bit early for that sort of thing, I would have thought.
Guillemot cleared for landing. Undercarriage down.
Every so often the entire lot would pour off the cliffs like a liquid, do a circuit around the bay and then attempt to squeeze back onto their favourite spot like commuters on the underground.
A bit tight for space.
Just getting ready for the forthcoming season, I suppose.
After enjoying the Guillemot show, I couldn’t resist an interlude of high speed kayak-caving…
A handful of Purple Sandpipers were dotted about on the most exposed barnacle-encrusted rocks. They are also very endearing, because they are exceptionally tame. They are overlooked by all but dedicated ornithologists because they are small, cryptically camouflaged and spent a lot of time immobile.
Purple Sandpiper. Plump and Personable.
They are also another eyeball speciality from a kayak. You will only see them if you spend your whole time scrutinising long stretches of coast for long periods of time. Fortunate, because that’s what I do.
The action didn’t stop there. Back in the marina I was befriended by an extremely playful seal pup who started his performance by pulling at my kayak fin with his teeth and bumping the bottom. He then followed very closely, swimming upside down, before being distracted by a couple of absurdly fluffy dogs on the breakwater.
Impish seal pup take 1Impish seal pup take 2
After losing interest in all things human and canine, it locked on to a Garfish and chased it with an exasperating turn of speed. The unfortunate fish repeatedly leapt clear of the surface while the bow wave from the seal was surging just behind.
November has provided lean pickings for the Lone Kayaker.
My camera has made very few excursions from the cosiness of its dry-bag.
The weather hasn’t helped. Most of my paddling trips have been along the rivers and up the estuaries to provide a bit of protection from the wind. I’ve seen a few Kingfishers, a handful of seals and several otters which is always a thrill.
Most have been fleeting glimpses although during the one prolonged view of a otter fishing in the River Torridge my camera decided to go on strike.
Out along the coast I have encountered the occasional porpoise and witnessed a tremendous dogfight between a pair of peregrines and a woodpigeon. Clouds of feathers flew everywhere but amazingly the woodpigeon made a successful escape into a chink in the cliffs.
All of which I failed to capture on film.
The big kick up the pants came a couple of days ago.
Fantastic Fowey
A day which promised blue skies and oily calm seas. BIG excitement.
I didn’t decide my launch location until I was in the car heading for the south Cornwall coast. It had to be Fowey…such an easy kayak put-in and only a mile paddle to the open sea. There are no real tidal currents to worry about so I could spend as much time as I liked far from the shore in about as relaxed a manner as possible.
As I emerged from the mouth of the estuary I checked in with the National Coastwatch Observers at Polruan and paddled directly offshore.
It was all worryingly quiet. No Gannets, very few gulls and no sound of any splashes or puffs. I kept stopping but all I could hear was deafening silence.
Until I reached about four miles offshore, that is.
That’s where things suddenly started to hot up. I paddled over to investigate a little flurry of Kittiwakes that were circling around a fizzing patch of water.
Pilchard baitball
It was a compact baitball of small fish which looks like Pilchards (aka Cornich Sardines).
Also in attendance were a large numbers of auks that were scattered about, croaking in a strangely primeval manner.
They were mainly Razorbills…
Razorbill, looking smart in winter plumage
With a handful of Guillemots thrown in for good measure, and comparison…
Guillemot
I was intrigued by a very small, pale floaty bird which I thought may have been a Phalarope, but it turned out to be a Little Gull. I’ve only seen two or three of these before from the kayak seat…
Little Gull
A short distance further out the BIG action started to kick off.
The silence was torn up by an explosion of water behind me which I knew must have been a tuna. I swung round just in time to see an enormous fish, far bigger than a dolphin, jump clear of the water.
In keeping with my photographic failures of the last month, I spectacularly missed the opportunity for the big pic and just managed to snap the spiky fin as the fish disappeared. It didn’t reappear, needless to say.
Where a tuna was.
I was relieved when I heard a small posse of Common Dolphins approaching, with their characteristic polite and delicate splashing…in great contrast to the explosive chaos of the Tuna.
Even better, they were swimming towards me so all I had to do was wait.
Dolphin and the Dodman
As usual the little group came over to investigate the weirdo in the mould-covered kayak and then seemed to lose interest and moved on.
Dolphin and Fowey
But then they seemed to have a change of heart and came back to the side of my kayak, as though they had decide that I might be an item of interest after all.
In the manner of puppies waiting for the ball to be thrown, they seemed to be egging me on. So I stoked up the boilers and cranked up the speed.
The dolphins responded as I had hoped and somehow got some enjoyment out of my pathetic pressure wave. They seemed to be gliding along beside me without twitching a muscle.
I spent a prolonged period staring eye to eye with one adult dolphin as it cruised effortlessly just below the silky smooth surface. As it tilted on its side to get a better look I tried to convey a similarly relaxed expression even though I was twanging every fibre of my being in paddling fast enough to keep their attention.
Dolphins are far to clever to be fooled, however. They took pity on me, probably when they saw the veins on my temples starting to bulge, and dashed off to look for a fishy snack.
A memorable minute of dolphin magic…
Yesterday the mini-dolphin bonanza continued, this time off the South Devon coast in Torbay. The see was bursting with little silver fish. Kittiwakes were circling everywhere with Guillemots, Razorbills, Gannets and a few Divers joining in the feast.
Where there are feeding seabirds, there are usually porpoises and/or dolphins. On this occasion it was both!
Juvenile Dolphins attacking small shoal of baitfish in mouth of Torbay
Observing such a perky little creature around the coast of Cornwall is not easy, however, because only a handful of birds breed on islands close to the mainland.
I have encountered them at two, possibly three sites. An island off Boscastle where there are two or three pairs; Puffin Island near Polzeath where there are approximately half-a-dozen pairs; maybe a pair on The Brisons off Land’s End.
I like to get a Puffin ‘fix’ each year, so when I noticed a forecast of slack winds and sunshine for a few hours one morning a couple of days ago I was braced for an early start.
As I paddled out into Port Isaac Bay at 6am the sea was completely flat and I could see the sun. There was only one problem…it was above a layer of dense fog.
I stuck close to the cliffs until the mist started to lift and I encountered my first major fog-bow. How cool is that?
Fog-bow…Port Isaac Bay
Equally as enthralling were hundreds, probably thousands, of Manx Shearwaters that were zipping past a few hundred metres offshore. They normally pass far out to sea but were clearly disorientated by the murk so, like me, were hugging the coast.
I couldn’t resist paddling out so that I could hear them whisk past my earholes.
Manx in the Mist
My approach to Puffin Island was timed to perfection because the mist was clearing just as I was ready to head offshore.
The mist thinneth
Picking out one or two Puffins bobbing amongst a throng of several hundred Guillemots and Razorbills might seem like an impossible task as they all look similar from a distance.
Fortunately it’s easier than you might think because they tend to be aloof of the main crowd and their white faces and dumpy deportment are visible from afar.
Today only one Puffin was on show.
It was extremely challenging to photograph as it was swimming in the strong tidal current between island and mainland which exaggerates any sort of waves.
The camera zoom also magnifies the movement of the kayak so as I was being bounced around I ended up with several hundred images of blurred patches of sea where a Puffin had just been.
To make matters worse my coffee tipped over.
Fortunately one or two pics made the cut:
Puffin Island Puffin
Taking photographs from only two feet above the surface of the water gives a very photogenic perspective of all the creatures I love to see. The lens is looking into their eye on just about the same level…nice!
Throw a few waves into the equation as well and you can actually be looking UP at your chosen subject…very nice indeed!
A view you could never get from a powered boat which is the normal, and sensible, way of getting out to see the Puffins of Cornwall.
Puffin on highCornish Puffin
The Puffin got peckish and disappeared below the surface, so I let the current carry me past the face of the island where the next item on the wildlife agenda was a large Guillemot colony. Many hundreds of birds were packed together on the ledges like ninepins.
Guillemot Colony, North Cornwall
A truly remarkable sight, made even more so when you appreciate the beauty of an individual bird up close. Paddling up to a Guillemot on the water is not necessary…if you sit absolutely still they will come to you!
Guillemot
The moment the wind started to blow I turned for the shore, but my bee-line was bent when I heard the pigeon-like cooing of a raft of Manx Shearwaters having a bit of a social.
I paddled quietly over to investigate and sat in the middle of an Improbability (the correct collective term for a group of shearwaters) of about three hundred individuals, soaking up the extreme natural and wilderness experience that few are lucky enough to enjoy.
Manx Shearwaters
All this was played out with a backdrop of dramatic Cornish cliffs which were still smouldering with the last of the early morning mist.
After a near miss on the previous day with otter, seal, porpoise, dolphin, whale and a bonus Puffin but no eagle, I had rather given up hope of the complete McFlurry.
Even so I was on the water early and paddling out of Mallaig harbour, trying to avoid a confrontation with the mass of boat traffic including Calmac Ferries which looked like they meant business.
Mallaig Harbour
Once again there was no wind and the sea was smooth. The only down side to the weather was that it wasn’t actually sunny and a bit of cloud clung to the tops of the nearby hills.
My plan was to paddle the three miles across the mouth of Loch Nevis to the super-remote Knoydart peninsular. I could see a few tasty-looking sandy beaches in the far distance which needed to be lounged upon.
However I was only half-a-mile offshore when I was distracted by the wildlife. This is not unusual, but the scale of the spectacle was quite remarkable.
The background noise was provided by a mass of Guillemots and the occasional Razorbill.
Razorbill
Their was an incessant chatter between the squeaky juveniles and the more raucous-sounding parents. Interestingly none seemed to be able to fly because they were all moulting their flight feathers. There was actually no need to fly anyway because they seemed to have as much food as they needed just down below.
Have a listen to the noise. Must be exhausting as a parent.
Above the water the Manx Shearwaters wheeled around. Nice to see them en masse in front of their island home, the Isle of Rum, in the background. 100,000 breed there.
Manx Shearwaters and RumManx Shearwaters (in front of Skye this time)
I was very surprised to see a single Balearic Shearwater zip past. Didn’t realise they made it this far north.
A porpoise puffed and a whale blew loud behind me so I swung the kayak round to watch the action. I am forever cranking my neck around when I hear exciting stuff behind me and have cricked it on numerous occasions, so am a bit more self-preservative now. Restraint is not my strong point when a whale is around.
However it was all very relaxed. Two Minke Whales spent half an hour criss-crossing the area in a very leisurely manner.
Minke Whale
I lost track of where they went when I was mugged by an exuberant pod of Common Dolphins which appeared from nowhere.
One pair were particularly jumpy.
This was all totally tremendous and exactly what I was hoping for when I drove the 635 miles from home in West Devon a couple of days previously. I never expected to see all these marine mega-creatures only a mile from the coast, however.
The dolphins settled down a bit and made a perfect foreground to the Knoydart hills behind:
Common Dolphins, Loch Nevis
After soaking up the scene with a cup of coffee and a Viennese Whorl I continued across the neck of Loch Nevis towards Knoydart. This is a truly magical place as there is no road access, so there are virtually no people.
Fantastic for wildlife. When I camped here in 2014 and was supping a cup of tea in my tent, a Pine Marten bounded across the beach a few yards away. The first one I had ever seen.
It was the same today. The unmistakable slow motion bulk of a White-tailed Eagle came in to land on a promontory straight in front of me. Looks like a youngster.
Juvenile White-tailed Eagle
Hang on a minute! I’m on for a Mcflurry! I’ve seen porpoise, dolphin, whale and eagle…only need to see seal (piece of cake) and an otter (rather more tricky).
And it’s not yet 10 o’clock. Challenge on!
I should point out that all six of the monumental wildlife species that I have selected for the McFlurry Challenge are creatures which roam the open ocean or open sky. So it’s impossible to know where they are going to turn up. Failure is almost guaranteed. Seals are the exception because they are quite common around the coast here. I threw them in because I didn’t want to go home with nothing.
Otters are enormously difficult to observe, especially when you are specifically looking for them. They are not uncommon but are unbelievably slinky. They are super-shy and preferentially nocturnal but in really remote locations like this they will come out in early morning or even during the day if it very quiet. Anywhere that a dog will show up they will avoid completely.
They also prefer low tide so that the can slither through the cover of waving fronds of kelp. It was currently high tide.
To make things worse, conditions didn’t feel at all ‘ottery’ to me. They seem to feel much more inclined to venture out on a dark and dreary day with a bit of drizzle. It was currently dry and bright.
Anyway, I was going to do my damnedest to find an otter, so I tucked in tight to the coast and paddled along slowly and completely silently.
Lovely to see a couple of beautiful Red-throated Divers fly in, crooning in an exceptionally loud and wailing manner which suited the wildest of environments perfectly.
Red-throated Diver
I could see the silhouette of a couple of hauled out seals on a mini offshore island, so paddled over to investigate, keeping a respectful distance as usual. It’s completely unreasonable to frighten them into the water.
I certainly didn’t disturb this one. He was absolutely flat out and loving life!
Harbour Seal in relaxed pose
Out of the corner of my eye I glimpsed the slightest swirl in the water between me and the seal…it was a blooming Otter!
Coming straight towards me…
Otter approacheth
I slammed into super-stealth reverse gear and managed to keep out of the otter’s panic zone. It started to dive for food and was completely unaware that I was sitting in my kayak, completely enthralled, less than twenty metres away.
Otter munching a crunchy thing
If the otter sensed I was there it would crash-dive and be gone for good. Not so the juvenile Harbour Seal that arrived upon the scene. The are as inquisitive as the otter is wary. They just can’t help it.
Harbour Seal with puppy-dog eyes.
This individual was bursting with personality and seemed a bit irritated that I was paying so much attention to the otter. Couldn’t take its eyes off me.
Harbour Seal, Knoydart
As I had been distracted by the seal the otter had slunk on to the island and was having a snooze. Video:
Otter having a nap
In typical restless otter fashion it was only ever completely still for a few seconds before it changed position or had a bit of a scratch. Cracking set of gnashers…
For just a minute it took a tip from the hauled out seal and stretched out on its side completely flat out. Legs all over the place. As relaxed as I have ever seen an otter.
Super-relaxed Otter
I had been watching it for forty minutes and was absolutely determined to depart without it being aware of my presence, so paddled away without making the slightest splish.
McFlurry Challenge completed!!
It hadn’t taken all day, it had taken precisely two hours and twenty-eight minutes from my first sighting of a porpoise to when I saw the Otter. Unbelievable, though I say it myself.
Maybe I should have made it more difficult.
Precise timings, as recorded on my photographs, were: Porpoise 0841, Dolphin 0920, Whale 0939, Eagle 0957, Seal 1108, Otter 1109.
Just one more mysterious marine creature to add to today’s list. The mesmerising Lion’s Mane Jellyfish:
The weather was absolutely stunning for our family fun week based in an apartment perched on top of the cliff between Mevagissey and Portmellon. The sun shone for longer each day and the visibility out to sea was staggering throughout. The coast was looking stunning and there was a nice variety of wildlife to enjoy. Henry saw a Tuna leap out in the middle of the bay. Families of Peregrines and Kestrels whinnying from the cliffs, Oystercatchers with chicks, seals dotted about and the first returning migrating waders in the shape of two Common Sandpipers and a Greenshank on the Gwineas rocks… definitely not a normal sight.
Below the water we could see vast numbers of sandeels in the shallows. More than I have ever seen before by quite a long way. In the evening large schools of small bass would raid the sandeels shoals with quite a lot of splashing at the surface.
A promising sign for the coming months…lots of sandeels means lots of megafauna…hopefully. They are the number one high-energy snack for virtually all of the wandering sea creatures.
Through Henry’s telescope we could see small pods of dolphins splashing at a range of up to four to five miles. They were usually marked by circling gulls or gannets, but on the calm mornings we could see some which were just cruising along. One morning there were in excess of a hundred scattered across the bay.
Peering through the telescope is rather easier than dolphin-watching from a kayak. In a few seconds you can cover a distance that would take an hour or two of steady paddling!
For my first dolphin encounter I was ‘guided in’ by Henry with his ‘scope. Not easy as the pod he thought was ‘very close’ to me was actually half-a-mile away.
The pod of approximately twenty Common Dolphins, consisting of a few adults and a load of adolescents, came over to check me out very briefly before they got back to a bit of feeding.
Common Dolphin off Chapel Point
On the calmest day of the week I paddled straight out to sea for five miles. Not a lot happening at the surface, just a few passing Gannets. One interesting sighting however: a Guillemot accompanied by a ‘jumpling’ chick. Guillemot chicks hurl themselves off their home on cliff ledges when they are only two to three weeks old and only half grown. Their wings are just about functional enough to allow them to glide away from any rocks below.
This one probably came form Gull Rock about ten miles away.
Guillemot adult and Jumpling
Lovely to see…
I was just about to head back when I thought I could hear splashing further out. I rang up Henry who had his telescope focussed in and could just see me as a tiny dot on the ocean, but no sign of any dolphins. I decided to paddle a bit further out to investigate and then upped the speed when I saw a dolphin leap into the air far ahead.
Common Dolphin getting big air
At last I approached a busy pod of Common dolphins, and the juveniles wasted no time in coming over to investigate when they detected me. In fact they might have been the most inquisitive pod I have yet had the pleasure to meet. Even when stationary, when they typically fairly quickly get bored, they stayed around the front of my kayak.
Dolphins below!
They seemed to be out for some fun, so I duly obliged and cranked up the paddling speed.
Superb…
There were a couple of adults nearby, and I think I caught a glimpse of a small calf beside a more wary adult.
Adult Common Dolphins
A really great encounter and as so often has happened in the past I very nearly missed it. Just the slightest hint of some sploshing half-a-mile away gave me a heads-up. Remember that binoculars are more or less useless from a kayak out to sea because there is too much movement of the surface.
The paddle back was spiced by a single porpoise that passed close in front. I havn’t seen many of these recently…their season hasn’t really kicked off yet.
On our final morning as we were about to move out of the apartment, we saw a pod of dolphins surprisingly close to the coast. By the time I had scrambled my kayak and surged out to see them they were already on their way out of the bay, so not a great viewing although the sea was completely flat smooth.
There was a very interesting observation here, however. I would have recorded the pod size to be eight from watching them break the surface from the viewpoint of my kayak seat .However Henry’s drone footage of the pod shows an incredible twenty individuals. I was absolutely amazed as I am aware my estimates are always very conservative, but no way did I think there would be that number.
Funnily enough it is an accepted principle of dolphin-watching that the number present is two or three times what you think it is. I am now convinced.
Boscastle is not often kayak-friendly. Any swell is reflected back out to sea by the vertical cliffs and if you throw in a bit of wind chop and tidal swirl, the ride is more akin to the Calgary stampede.
But Thursday was one of those rare days when the surface was as flat as a lake.
Puffins were top of the agenda for myself, Suzanne and Paul. Legend states that there are a handful of pairs nesting on the islands and over the last fifteen years I have had fleeting glimpses of one or two birds on the water, or zipping passed as my kayak has been bounced around.
I didn’t see them at all last year.
The islands were raucous with the chatter of hundreds of Guillemots and Razorbills which thronged the cliff ledges and sat about in large groups on the sea. A really fantastic spectacle in what is arguably the most scenic and dramatic coastal location in the whole of Cornwall.
Guillemots
Take a look at these birds up close and they really are staggeringly exquisite, especially the Razorbills….
GuillemotsRazorbills
Time for a coffee…
Second breakfast?
Although the handful of Puffins were vastly outnumbered by their fellow auk cousins (Guillemots and Razorbills), they were easy to spot from afar with their white faces.
World-class seabirds in a world-class location.
Enjoy this Cornish mindful moment:
Boscastle Puffins
So there they were, the gems of the sea, three of them. A pair and a singleton. We sat around watching them for half-an-hour. It was a bit of a struggling to drag ourselves away from this stupendous location in such perfect conditions. Wall-to-wall blue sky as well!
We paddled past the extraordinarily craggy and eroded Long Island and on down the coast.
Long Island
Then we witnessed another major ornithological spectacle, only a few minutes after the images of the Puffins had faded from our retinas.
A Peregrine Falcon came streaking down towards the cliffs in a shallow stoop, and struck at a small pigeon which had appeared from nowhere. Somehow the pigeon avoided a full hit although it left a few feathers behind.
There then ensued the most incredible pursuit as the pigeon twisted and turned as close to the cliff face as it could, with the Peregrine repeatedly gaining a bit of height and stooping again as its victim, which somehow managed to avoid being caught by a whisker on several occasions, even when another falcon joined in with the hunt. The pigeon disappeared behind a rock close to the water and the Peregrine perched above.
Here it is:
Juvenile Peregrine
I was very surprised to see this is a juvenile bird, recently out of the nest. It still has some downy feathers on the back of its neck. An usually early brood.
You can see how close it came to securing a meal…pigeon feathers are still stuck in its talons!
We found the terrified pigeon just around the corner, cowering on a tiny ledge close to the water. Actually very clever, because it’s about the only place the Peregrines can’t reach.
Collared Dove
Not for the first time today I was totally amazed. What on earth was a Collared Dove doing along a super-exposed open cliff? They prefer a more cosy life of parks and gardens and are very much resident and reluctant to wander. I have certainly never seen one in this sort of environment before.
The most likely explanation is that the second falcon, the juvenile Peregrine’s parent, had caught the Collared Dove some way inland where it lived, and ‘live-dropped’ the poor bird for the youngster to chase.
Nature in the raw, but a happy outcome for the Dove…just. (Unless it got caught when it tried to escape its ledge)
Incidentally, I have no idea why the dove has a feather in its beak. Perhaps it doesn’t know either, and probably doesn’t care. It will be majorly traumatised…but relieved to still be alive.
Phew, lunch on a beach was in order after a surfeit of excitement:
North Cornish beach…not too shabby.
Of course we had to have a quick look at Tintagel, and the new bridge to the ‘island’, a couple of miles further down the coast. As Paul pointed out, the vast number of tourists on the island were packed in like the Guillemots on the cliffs.
Better to visit by kayak, that’s for sure.
Tintagel
The paddle back was super-enjoyable and just a little less eventful.
However I was very pleased to see a trio of Puffins on their ledge high up on one of the islands. I have never managed to locate this ledge before and suspect that nobody ever has, because looking with binoculars from a boat is impossible on 99 days out of 100 here, due to swell.
Puffins on their ledge
Puffins usually breed in burrows but do occasionally nest on ledges, such as in Dorset. These may have been ledge-nesting or have a burrow in one of the few vegetation-covered patches on the island nearby. Who knows, it is just great to see them apparently doing well here.
In fact we think we saw five Puffins in total, so there are probably three pairs here at present.
I must stop using so many exclamation marks…but I can’t help it!!
A rarity for the end of March…hardly a breath of wind for the whole day. Calm sea means the door is open for offshore paddling, so that’s what we did. Mark and I set off from Brixham, took a close look at Berry Head and then crossed the mouth of Torbay to Hope’s Nose. Then we paddled back.
I had only just poured my first cup of coffee and we had barely got into our long-distance paddling rhythm when a small fleet of fins broke the surface in front of us. Excellent: five Common Dolphins.
Common Dolphins
As usual a couple came over to check us out and surged beneath our kayaks, but the group were not in a particularly sociable mood and steadily made their way towards Berry head. Common Dolphin pods cruise at about four miles per hour so it takes a bit of ooomph to keep up with them over long distance (in our fairly slow sit-on-top kayaks).
The jetskis were already out and about and I was wishing we had been on the water earlier to avoid the engine noise. I watched the behaviour of the dolphins closely as we followed the little pod at a respectful distance, with jetskis buzzing about all around. It was heartening to see that the ski drivers who noticed the dolphins steered away or throttled back, and as far as I could tell the dolphins were not directly disturbed by any of the multitude of passing craft which included fishing boats, speedboats and yachts. I don’t suppose this is always the case.
Common Dolphins and Jetski
The largest dolphin had a multicoloured dorsal fin and landed with a bit of a belly flop and splash every time it surfaced to breathe.
Common Dolphin, Torbay
The dolphins accompanied Mark and I past the focal point of boat activity off the end of Berry Head, and headed on out to sea. We swung north and aimed for the Ore Stone, four miles away across the mouth of Torbay. It was only just visible through the mist.
En route we passed a multitude of Razorbills and Guillemots that were in the process of changing into breeding plumage and saw a couple of small flocks of Manx Shearwaters heading south. We heard the puff of the porpoise but failed to eyeball the creature.
Moulting Guillemot
The Ore Stone was a flurry of activity with hundreds of auks sitting on their nesting ledges, doing a lot of cackling.
We looped around Thatcher rock where there was a handful of hauled-out seals. My first couple of Sandwich Tern of the season called out as they flew north.
After an early lunch on a shingly beach we couldn’t resist an inspection of the sleeping Eurodam, a cruise liner moored in the middle of Torbay.
That’s me !!The
We then pointed back to Berry Head to see if any new ‘fins’ were visible. We bumped into Simon on the way, and had a lengthy chat while bobbing about a mile offshore.
Simon and Mark relaxing
As the three of us rounded Berry Head a ferociously fast and ferocious-looking black RIB sped past and spun to a halt in front of us… the ‘Raptor’ from Torquay. It was powered by a staggering 900 HP….that’s more than sixteen Vauxhall Chevettes! I’m not quite sure what the residents porpoises will think of this addition to the line-up of craft that they have to listen to, and dodge, but the captain seemed tuned-in to the local cetaceans and they are accredited wildlife-friendly operators.
The Raptor
We finished off with a slingshot around the little island of Cod Rock, where I was exceptionally pleased to see half-a-dozen Purple Sandpipers poking about amongst the weed, dodging the splash of the swells. They are my favourite coastal wading bird and are a speciality of the kayak because they favour remote rocky locations which are not visible from the land, such as islands.
Purple Sandpiper, Cod Rock
Six-and-a-half hours in total (inc. leisurely lunch), sixteen miles.
This was my twentieth trip out to the Eddystone, and as usual I was full of expectation of encounters with amazing marine megafauna. Mind you, I am always full of expectation when I go out to the ‘Eddy’, and have often been disappointed, not just exhausted, when I get back. Its a minimum twenty-three mile round trip from Cawsand, and more if you have not done your tidal homework, or go chasing after distant dolphins. But dolphins don’t always appear….
Cawsand dawn
I was on the water just before six. Too early, as usual. I was hoping for absolutely smooth conditions but a land breeze chopped up the surface making viewing tricky for the first few hours. Although there was a nice flat patch tucked in behind Rame Head.
Rame Head
Even so, I soon heard the puff of a couple of Porpoises when I was a mile offshore. It was nice to be able to see the blow condense in the chill of the early morning, something I have rarely observed before.
Porpoise blow
I was tempted to go and investigate a huge circling work-up of Gannets a couple of miles west, but this was just too far off my route, and previous experience has shown that by the time I roll up the feeding frenzy has finished.
I thought there were bound to be dolphins beneath that number of Gannets, but as a consolation I came across my own minipod of three, racing past. Not a good view.
Dolphins in a hurry
I watched another pod of what I thought were male Common Dolphins, with tall fins, seven miles offshore, and then it was all quiet until I reached the lighthouse after about four hours.
Arrival at Eddystone
For the return leg the sea smoothed off completely. My favourite conditions. Paddling was absolutely effortless as the kayak slid over the glassy surface, and I really got in the zone and scanned the surface for fins and feathers, and could have heard a pin drop from a mile away. I could certainly hear the drone of boat engines from five miles away, and the thud of marine artillery from a warship which was over the horizon.
A couple of Balearic Shearwaters zipped passed amongst the steady stream of Manx, and I think this is a juvenile (jumpling) Guillemot with its parent.
Guillemot pair
I swung a mile or two east because there was still a bit of push left in the tide. I might as well gain a bit of benefit before the current started to head west again.
A couple of miles from the lighthouse I thought I heard the blow of a whale. Very distant and only just audible. I sat absolutely still and then heard the same noise when my PFD (lifejacket) scuffed against my kayak seat. False alarm…..but no, because there was the noise again when I was sitting absolutely motionless. I sped towards the source of the noise and after going flat out for ten minutes saw a big slow motion back break the surface…a Minke Whale!
Absolutely fantastic, this is why I paddle hundreds of offshore miles per year. Precisely to have this kind of thrilling encounter, and to hear that blast of air……in my opinion the most evocative sound in the animal kingdom. Even better when it’s on your own patch here in Devon. And sitting in the seat of your own kayak, eight miles from shore.
It’s difficult enough to find a whale in a boat with an engine, but finding one far offshore with a kayak is so challenging that few are daft enough to try. So the reward is great.
Minke Whale number 1
I sat and watched as the whale had a series of breaths. At one stage it was about to come up right beneath my kayak and left an an enormous tail fluke print of swirling water at the surface. So swirly that my kayak twisted round 180 degrees.
It then moved away so I paddled after it, and then it popped up precisely where I had been sitting ten minutes previously. Typical. Minke whales travel fast and cover very long distances between breaths. On a couple of previous occasions I have heard a whale blow once, and heard, or seen, nothing more.
Minke Whale
Minke Whale
Minke Whale
I watched the whale surface about twenty times over the next hour. My camera was usually pointing in the wrong direction, but I managed to succeed on a couple of occasions.
This is the first time I have managed to capture the nose breaking the surface:
and this one shows that this whale did venture over the Cornish border into Devonian water…that’s Plymouth in the background….
I had difficulty dragging myself away, but eventually headed in when the whale seemed to disappear off to the west. However, that wasn’t the end of the Minkes. For the next couple of hours, hardly a couple of minutes went by without me hearing the puff of a porpoise, or the extended blast of a distant whale. Sends a shiver down my spine every time.
Harbour Porpoise
I observed a total of ten porpoises and heard a lot more that were too far away for me to see. The breath of a whale carries a huge distance, but it didn’t seem to subside as I clocked up the miles in towards the coast.
Just after the half-way reef I saw another long black back roll slowly at the surface, about a mile ahead. I couldn’t believe it…I have never seen two Minkes in a day before. I surged ahead and this whale did appear to be very large , but still clearly a Minke.
Minke Whale number two
And if you think this is a different whale, this is number three!
Minke number 3 (maybe)
Here is the second, and possibly third, whales fins in close-up. Are they a different whale? What do you think? It certainly popped up far from where I was expecting number 2 to surface.
Minke 2
Minke ?3
The action did not let up for the final four miles back to the coast. I ran straight into a pod of twenty-five Common Dolphins.
Common Dolphin
Plymouth Common Dolphin
Arriving back at busy Cawsand, with all the coastal kayaks and paddleboards and icecream and excited shrieks from the swimmers, was a bit of a culture shock. After nearly ten hours, and almost twenty-nine miles, of watery wilderness…… and whales!
The Rumps is another north Cornwall headland that hardly ever opens its doors to the casual kayaker who likes flat water and lots of loafing about taking photos (and supping coffee) . It catches every little bit of swell, current and wind that is around and mixes and magnifies them all up into a confusion of clapotis (technical term meaning confused sea bouncing back off a cliff, that likes to cause havoc amongst small boats).
Portquin
The big carrot for me, as I paddled out of the absurdly sheltered harbour at Portquin was the little colony of Puffins that I hope to observe in less bouncy conditions than I did last time, a couple of weeks ago.
I was thrilled to see them again, and the busy crowds of Guillemots and Razorbills, but the tidal current working against the wind made surface conditions tricky for photography again, especially when zoomed in. No complaints…that’s all part of the challenge, and fun, of taking pics from a kayak (and probably why very few other people do it).
Just like the seabird colony in full swing on the Exmoor coast, this seemed to be a very successful breeding season. Lots of adults flying past with fish, and several large baitballs of sandeels just below the surface.
It may just be an impression, because if a seabird colony is going to be busy at any time, it is now when the youngsters demand for food is greatest.
Here’s the gallery of seabird pics from the day:
Bridled Guillemot
Razorbill
Puffin and Guillemot with fish
flypast Puffin
Puffin
I continued down the ‘alley’ between Rumps point and Pentire Head and Newlands island.
Pentire Head
A flopping fin of a Sunfish was on the surface in front of me, but disappeared long before I could get my camera out. Then another, equally shy. And then one breaching just in front of me. In fact over the next hour or so, I saw five or six more random splashes which I’m pretty sure were all sunfish. They like areas of tidal movement like this, and hopefully this heralds a good season of sightings….I only saw one last year.
The Mouls and the Rumps
Newlands, The Mouls, The Rumps, Pentire Head (in that order)
For a final fling I was lured a mile (or more) further offshore by a mini Gannet feeding frenzy. Usually where there are diving Gannets, there are cetaceans. But on this occasion there were no fins visible at the surface.
It was great to see the Gannets hurling themselves into the water, with a splosh that can be heard from far away. They often cannot contain themselves and utter a cackle of excitement as they twist prior to their plunge.
That’s it for the north Cornwall coast for a few days. There’s wind and a swell on the way.
So the Puffins won’t have to worry about being pestered by kayakers for a while.
Great Name. Spectacular location.
The Lone Kayaker 