Dolphin Magic off Mevagissey

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.

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.

Re-united with Nudger, Cornwall’s Most Engaging Seal

Nudger in 2018 (you will be relieved to know that hat is now gone)

The magic and wonder of the marine life of Cornwall seems to know no limit. Every day brings entertainment and amazement, and it’s even better when witnessed from the seat of a kayak.

OK, winter is a bit more challenging with weather bombs like Arwen and Barra sweeping through, but it’s always worth making the effort to get out during the lulls between the blows.

After my last Dolphin and Tuna trip in Mevagissey Bay on 29 November, I was paddling back to my launch site near Mevagissey, fairly tired and moderately cold, when I met up with an old friend.

As I approached the final headland I heard a loud snort and saw a fairly chunky-looking seal swimming directly towards me. It was throwing up quite a bow-wave and did not ease off the throttle as it drew close.

Had I not had many a seal encounter I might have been a bit disconcerted by the boldness of this seal, who didn’t take it’s foot off the gas till it was a couple of feet from my craft. It gave my paddle a bit of a sniff and a quick playful nip. Loads of personality there. It then stared straight into my eyes and there was a flash of recognition as the penny dropped…this was Nudger! My favourite seal!

Nudger, 2021 version

I was as sure as I could be anyway. The loud snorting, the complete absence of wariness, the look in the eye. He had certainly beefed-up a bit since I last saw him in 2019, when he was a rangy youth. He still appeared to be in glowing health, apart from a minor scratch on the bridge of his nose.

Nudger, 2021 version

I sent my photos to Sue and Kate at Cornwall Seal Group Research Trust (CSGRT) and they replied back, with their usual speed and enthusiasm, that this was indeed Nudger.

His characterful and incredibly appropriate name was given to him by the CSGRT when he was a youngster prior to my first meet up with him near Looe on 23rd July 2018. Twenty miles east of Mevagissey. What a meeting that was…still my most extraordinary seal encounter yet.

Nudger appears, 2018

(ignore the date…wrong)

On that occasion he also approached me with no hesitation, but underwater…and upside down! I immediately got the impression he was absolutely thrilled to see me. So much so he repeatedly rolled himself up in bootlace seaweed. Just for the fun of it. No other explanation.

wrapped up in bootlace weed

This continued for a while before the playful glint in his eye became a gleam of mischief. He quite deliberately and very accurately doused me with a shove of his flipper which sent up a wall of water. Extraordinary.

He wasn’t finished yet. For the finale he clambered onto the front of my moderately tippy kayak and took a look around, seemingly glancing at me for approval.

As far as I was concerned that was it. We were friends for life.

Later in 2018 he introduced himself to my daughter, Peggy, and also to Becky and chums Jeremy and Jane. Smiles, laughs and gasps of amazement all round. Such is the aura and personality of seals. Especially Nudger with the biggest persona of them all.

Nudger meets Peggy

…and Jeremy, Jane, Becky

In 2019, in a similar sort of location in south Cornwall, I was approaching the coast after an offshore venture and heard howls of excitement coming from a couple of kayaks. I had a pretty good idea of who was at the centre of attention even before I saw a seal. Sure enough it was Nudger up to his tricks again.

2019…still up to his youthful tricks

I felt such a connection with this extraordinary animal I ‘adopted’ him via the CSGRT Wild Seal Supporter and Adoption Scheme, and looked forward to our next random rendezvous.

It was a long wait. Two-and-a-half years and approx 5,000 miles of kayaking, making our reunion the other day even more special.

Seals never cease to amaze. They are staggeringly intelligent, and all their senses are acute. If a dog barks on a beach many miles away, they will whip their head round to look. They are the only wild creature I have ever known to glance up at a vapour trail jet five or six miles overhead. Even so, eyesight appears to be optional because it is quite common to see old seals with opaque eyes (from cataracts) which are in the rudest of health, because their other senses are sharp enough to allow them to catch fish.

In the water they tend to be very inquisitive and, like Nudger, can be very bold. Out of the water they feel much more vulnerable and can be very nervous. Sometimes terrified and prone to panic. Once, many years ago, I paddled past a seal haul-out beach at what I thought was a safe distance of many hundreds of yards, and precipitated a mini-stampede as they dashed to the safety of the water. Bad.

I now avoid all the regular seal haunts completely, or bypass them at a distance I know will not disturb the seals. If I see a random resting seal, I swerve offshore to make sure I pass without making it take to the water.

Disturbance to resting seals is completely unacceptable but an increasing problem, originally from kayaks with their ‘go-anywhere’ ability, but now from the vast number of stand-up paddleboards (SUPs) which are even more mobile than kayaks.

This problem is being addressed by CSGRT and Cornwall Marine and Coastal Group. Good Job.

Being approached by a seal in the water is a different matter, as long as it is completely ‘on their terms’. I stop paddling and keep very still and quiet, apart from fingering the shutter of my camera, obviously!

Certainly nothing beats being approached, and closely scrutinised by the seal with the most charisma in Cornwall, Nudger.

Take a look at these two images. The first taken in 2018, the second a couple of weeks ago. He is showing the whites of his eyes in exactly the same cheeky manner, just bursting with personality. I’ve never seen that before in any other seal.

I wonder when we will meet again. Soon, hopefully.

Loads of Dolphins and Tuna in Mevagissey Bay

Mevagissey

Mevagissey Bay is my latest favourite place. Although technically I’m talking about the southern fringe of the bay heading down to Dodman Point. This is where the slack current further into the bay starts to get moving. Moving water means more fish.

It has been absolutely bursting with marine life over the last week. There was a calm day either side of Storm Arwen which allowed a bit more offshore exploration, following the big Tuna sightings I reported in my last blog.

On the first day I saw a moderately large ‘work-up’ (a circling and diving flock) of Gannets ahead as I passed the Gwineas (aka Gwinges) cardinal buoy. I could see large creatures splashing about beneath the flock from far off, but before I got anywhere close I was ‘mugged’ by a pod of about thirty Common Dolphins. It seemed to consist entirely of juveniles which, needless to say, could not resist a major and prolonged interaction with me and my little craft.

I could see a few adults, with larger fins, standing off supervising the performance of the youngsters from afar. No doubt tut-tutting.

That’s Gorran Haven straight ahead, by the way.

A really great start to a grey day at the end of November. Not really what I was expecting.

And the action didn’t stop there. Quite the opposite in fact. For the next four hours not a second went past when I couldn’t hear a splash of a dolphin or a Tuna breaching. OK it was very still so I could hear the violent raking swoosh of a tuna from half-a-mile away, but it was still remarkable.

Most of the Tuna, however were feeding in a very restrained manner more like a dolphin. In fact in this video you have to look twice to see which is Tuna and which is dolphin. (hint: the first to appear is a dolphin, the rest are modest-sized Tuna).

There was a supporting audio cast of mewing gulls (including Kittiwakes), cackling auks (I passed many Razorbills and Guillemots sitting on the surface), and the squeak of Gannet’s wings as they swept over my head. Occasionally the Gannets would cackle with excitement the moment they closed their wings to dive onto a fish.

Gannets

For about three miles of paddling down to level with the tip of Dodman Point there were Dolphins and Tuna scattered about all over the place, all feeding in a very relaxed manner. About a hundred of each, I estimated. Plus a single Porpoise, recognisable by its characteristic puff of breath and small triangular fin.

On the way back in I ran into another more compact pod of dolphins, which like the first immediately took up the roll of escorts. You will see one has a white tip to its fin, plus a white patch on its side.

Back along the shore were some nuggets of bird life. The local Oystercatchers…

Oystercatcher

and a couple of my favourite little coastal birds just outside the harbour at Mevagissey. Purple Sandpipers, winter visitors from the far north. They were fast asleep.

Purple Sandpiper

Day two, when the wind had dropped after the storm, followed a similar theme although numbers were less. A mere twenty-five dolphins, six Tuna, one Porpoise.

Here’s another headcam video, because if you’re on the same wavelength as me, you can’t have too many dolphins.

Isolation

It is fortunate that nature is not affected by corona chaos. It just steadily gets on with doing its stuff, slowly adjusting to the seasons. Spring is trying its best to appear….the primroses in the bank, the occasional bumble bee and butterfly in a sunny corner, a chiffchaff singing from a copse and the superb blackbird singing outside the bedroom window at the first hint of dawn (it piped up at 5.43 this morning).

Coronavirus can’t mess up the coastal scenery either. In fact, unbelievably, it has made it a bit better, because there are no vapour trails in the sky. It is an extraordinary coincidence that only a month ago I was saying that the cherry on top of the iced bun that is the remoteness of Antarctica was that there were no vapour trails overhead, which kept the absence of human influence absolutely complete.

And here it was (or wasn’t). Right here on our doorstep in Cornwall. not a plane in sight. You would normally expect to see up to a dozen trails lined across a morning vista such as this.

No vapour trails here…..

Portmellon Dawn

No vapour trails there……..

Vault Beach

No vapour trails anywhere……

Chapel Point

Not having the exhaust fumes from 100,000 flights per day around the globe can only be of benefit to the inhabitants therein (or thereon).

Enough of the heavy stuff, let’s go for a bit of a paddle and see what we can find!

C’mon Everybody

Oystercatchers are always good. Everything about them is extrovert and full on. They make absolutely no attempt at camouflage or being quiet and unnoticed. They kick up an enormous racket. And they are common enough to liven up virtually every trip I do.

This one is obligingly perched with a waterfall in the background, making the image even more easy on the eye.

Oystercatcher and waterfall

Oystercatcher

Further offshore (and opportunities to paddle out have been few and far between due to wind) it’s quite quiet. There are not many hunting Gannets around, and few hunting Gannets tends to mean few dolphins or porpoises.

Gannet looking for fish

So to find some cetaceans I had to make a bit of an effort to paddle out beyond one of the most notoriously hairy headlands of the south coast…Dodman Point. It has a reputation for wild seas, which get thrown up when the wind and the tide race have a disagreement. However, with a bit of cunning planning, and a windless morning, I managed to find three Harbour porpoises rolling very quietly at the surface at the tideline, where the water moving past the end of the point shears past the more static water of Mevagissey bay.

Dodman Point

Harbour Porpoise (Portloe behind)

Of course I had to take a bit of a spin around Mevagissey’s inner harbour….its charm seems to increase each time I drop by.

Back out in the open sea the Guillemots are just deciding that it’s time to put on their summer outfits. The one on the left is still in non-breeding (winter) plumage, the one on the right is in full breeding (summer) colours.

Guillemots

You can see why these members of the auk family have the nickname of ‘northern penguins’ *. They are remarkably similar to penguins such as the Gentoos I watched a month or two ago. Guillemots use their wings to propel themselves underwater in exactly the same way penguins do. See the similarity yourself.

*if they haven’t, they should

I was joined by a very smart looking Fulmar Petrel off Polperro. Like most birds of the open sea, they can’t resist coming over to have a look.

These are part of the ‘tubenose’ group of seabirds that have a salt extraction gland located on top of their beak to enable them to survive using the sea as their only source of water.

Fulmar

Here’s a close up of the tube. And study at that beak; it looks as though it’s been air-brushed and polished like a car at a vintage rally.

Eric the Eider isn’t so curious however. He’s doing his best to go unnoticed.

Eider

Grey Seals are a constant source of fascination. They too are inherently inquisitive but some are very much more shy than others. This one could be either. It is fast asleep (bottling) with just the tip of its nose above the water. My main job is to not wake it up. That would be unfair (and completely unacceptable). Observe the wildlife, don’t frighten it.

Grey seals come in all sorts of shapes and sizes. This (I think) is a this-year’s pup. It puts on a good show with a perfect three-point turn. (And you can hear a Dunnock (aka Hedge Sparrow) singing in the background)

In major contrast to the fine features of the juvenile seal, this is a grizzled old bull. I think this could have been the largest seal I have ever seen in the UK. When it rolled at the surface its back was more like a small whale. It also had a very nasty-looking scar on the end of its nose.

Huge bull Grey Seal

And I didn’t come within ten metres of another person (apart from passing cars) all day.

Polperro

Mevagissey Surprise

I already can’t remember the last time I saw the sun. It’s at least a week. Today there was the slight slackening in the winds, so I couldn’t resist a quick jaunt to the Cornish Riviera. It’s east facing so there is good shelter from the westerly swell, and there is good access to open clear sea, so I was going to venture as far offshore as the conditions would allow. Which I didn’t think would be very far.

It was a monochrome grey day and the sea didn’t look welcoming, but I followed the  coast towards Mevagissey about half-a-mile offshore. After a quick coffee break on a gravelly beach, that is. Water, water, everywhere.

 

 

I was very pleased to see this particularly large Barrel Jellyfish appear ghost-like beneath me. They have had a very long season this year (I saw the first on the first day of March) , and have been around in record numbers.

This one was unusual in that it was playing host to large number of little fish (about 30) that took refuge behind the pulsating umbrella for a bit of protection from fish-shaped snack-hunters.

 

 

Over a mile further out I saw an intense circling flock of Gannets. Dilemma, do I go to investigate or do I do the sensible thing and stay near dry land?

No choice really, and although the sea looked grey and unfriendly the wind was still light, with only the odd whitecap. So I headed out.

As usual, by the time I arrived upon the scene the feeding activity was over and about fifty Gannets were sat about on the water looking very replete and full of fish, but fortunately a pod of about twenty Common Dolphins were milling about in a relaxed many clearing up the leftovers.

Very difficult to photograph with the movement of the kayak, and nobody really wants to see dolphins in a grey sea under leaden skies, but here they are. Because it’s always a thrill and I really wasn’t expecting to see any today. I thought it would be yet another trip  cringeing and cowering up a creek out of the wind.

 

 

 

 

 

Dolphins brighten up even the most dingy days.

August Wildlife: Up the Creek to Open Sea

The encounter with the Humpback  (on 2nd Aug) is the most exciting wildlife spectacle I have witnessed from my kayak, by quite a long way.

Explosive drama.

Humpback Whale

The scene is rather more serene at the upper tidal limit of the River Torridge. In fact not a lot could be more serene.

Torridge Swans

The Swan family are thriving and drift about in the complete silence of a late summer morning.

 

 

 

 

Unfortunately the family with three cygnets on the River Tamar is not doing so well.

Morwellham Swans

They are now down to one youngster as I passed the corpses of the other two cygnets yesterday floating at the surface, over a mile apart. ????

Most birds stopped singing at the end of June when their breeding season came to an end, but swallows are an exception and are not only still singing, there are still young in the nest. Some pairs will rear a third brood which may not fledge until early October.

The soundtrack  of the summer.

 

The top of the tidal estuaries are fresh water and are the home of Dippers who just can’t resist bobbing.

 

 

 

 

One of the bonuses of choosing Devon and Cornwall as a kayaking destination is the hundreds of miles of sheltered creek to explore when the exposed coast and open sea is lashed by wind, as it has been on and off for the last couple of weeks.

 

 

 

 

It’s great to see the pretty little Mandarin Ducks that seem to have made the Upper Torridge their home. They originate from escapes from collections and have only been in this area for a few years.

Mandarin Duck

Heading down towards the sea Curlews demonstrate how to spruce oneself up despite an enormous bill, and Little Egrets spear little fish in the shallows.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The flock of Black-headed gulls is irresistible to a passing Peregrine that slices through the middle of them. You will see it cut through the flock from right to left. Unsuccessfully, on this occasion. It looks brownish so it is probably a this year’s youngster.

 

 

 

 

This next clip is a bit depressing. A Herring gull with a plastic bag wrapped round its leg. I don’t fancy its chances.

 

 

 

Seals sometimes venture far up the estuaries because there is the potential for good fishing. Even if salmon and sea trout are not as numerous as they used to be, there’s plenty of mullet that follow the tide in.

This is a Harbour Seal well up the Fowey estuary. It clearly wants to take a mid-morning nap  but is unfortunately spooked by the approach of a rowing scull.

 

 

I have sneaked out along the coast during the very few spells of lighter wind during the last few weeks. The Turnstones have returned to the barnacle encrusted rocks. Here one is still in full summer plumage (the smarter-looking bird) while the other is in the less smart winter plumage.

Turnstones, Mevagissey

It was a bit of a surprise to see a Redshank out on the rocky coast…they usually prefer the mud of estuaries. On migration, no doubt.

Torbay Redshank (looking a bit knock-kneed)

The problem with wearing Crocs for kayaking is that when you stop for a cup of coffee and a Crunch Cream and walk across a beach they have an almost magnetic attraction for the most painful and spiky stones and shells to get inside and poke the soles of your feet.

It’s a common occurrence, but this is the first one to have been alive.

Hermit Crab in Croc

At Mevagissey this is the first Crystal jellyfish I have seen this year…didn’t they star in Avatar, by the Tree of Life?

 

 

Grey Seals always make me chuckle when they are ‘bottling’ i.e. sleeping vertically in the water. They can be really deep asleep and I have actually accidentally bumped into them before.

This one at Mevagissey was certainly fairly well gone and you can hear it snoring. Fortunately I didn’t disturb it at all and managed to depart the scene without it apparently waking.

 

 

I came across more seals in Torbay; a woolly-looking bull Grey Seal and a perky Harbour Seal. Harbour seals used to be rare in SW England but they seem to be slowly invading.

Grey Seal bull, Thatcher Rock

Harbour Seal, Thatcher Rock

There has been a single window of opportunity for an offshore paddle during the last couple of weeks, lasting only a few hours and early in the morning. The Cornish Riviera at Mevagissey was my destination and I was very pleased to see half-a-dozen Porpoises and a little pod of four Common Dolphins.

Way beyond my expectations on a choppy day.

As usual a couple of adults came over to assess the threat I posed to the juvenile that they were escorting. Fortunately I was quickly deemed to be safe and they carried on feeding close to the kayak. I sometimes half-wish that they would hesitate for a split second before making up their minds, as if they had mistaken me for an impressive creature such as an Orca or a Great white. But they don’t. One glimpse and they have got me pigeonholed alongside floating logs and marine detritus.

Gorran Haven Common Dolphin

 

 

 

 

Common Dolphin and Tectona (sail-training ship)

For the next week or so the dolphins wont have to worry whether I am a Killer Whale or piece of flotsam, because I will not be out there in the strong wind. The weather is currently so poor and all other paddling venues so chopped-up, or with unfavourable tides, that the only suitable location is the good-old Bude Canal.

 

Summer in Full Swing

Oh dear. The traditional style of English summer seems to have had a bit of a revival.

 

At least the sea’s nice and warm.

Here’s a selection of pics and clips of all the sea and beach lovers doing their stuff around the coast of Devon and Cornwall, defying the uninspiring August weather. Despite gloom overhead nearly everyone I meet during my paddling expeditions is smiling and enthusiastic….it’s the magic of the sea.

And it’s not just people on holiday.

Pete the Teignmouth lobster fisherman is just as cheerful.

Pete with a decent brace of Lobster

The Teignmouth seals are not fussed about the coasteerers (or their rosy language):

 

 

Many fishermen at Mevagissey  now take tourists for a spin around the bay:

 

 

 

 

 

How excellent is this?….

Morning Swim/float, Gorran Haven

 

What on earth is the matter with the children on this beach? Have they no souls? They should be staring at this stunning locomotive with their jaws hanging open in awe and wonderment ( and maybe noting the number). But instead they are wandering about like zombies. They should be taught trainspotting at school.

 

 

 

 

 

Paul, Teignmouth

Grand Hotel, Torquay

Dogs, dogs, dogs.

Babbacombe

lunchtime tipplers

Gorran Haven

Paul again

Daphne du Maurier

Fabulous Fowey

Just one class of boat makes me grind my teeth…..

 

Oh no, they’re coming back.

 

…….but everyone is essentially happy and smiling.

 

 

Magical March Morning at Mevagissey

A succession of storms running in from the Atlantic have limited kayak trips to the most sheltered tidal creeks. These are well protected from the worst of the wind….but not the rain:

 

The deluge is currently so relentless that even the ducks seem fed up.

Dripping Drake (Mallard)

But just before the unsettled weather arrived I managed to sneak out for a morning on the open coast along the Cornish Riviera.

It was ironic that after travelling half way round the world in the hope of seeing a whale (I as hoping for a ‘Blue’) from my kayak, I had a better view of a pod of dolphins a couple of days after we got back.

Also we somehow managed to miss the record-breaking February temperatures here in the UK, enduring some very mixed weather in the USA and Mexico. We touched down at Heathrow in sunshine and eighteen degrees, but by the time we were back in Devon it had started to rain.

I thought the best way to combat jetlag and the stickiness of airports and travelling, was to go for a bit of a paddle and the sheltered open coast at Mevagissey was beckoning, and temperatures were back to normal (i.e. quite chilly).

Mevagissey light

Rounding Black Head to the north of Pentewan I was surprised to see Mevagissey Bay looking so flat, so I headed directly for the Gwinges (aka Gwineas) rocks on the far side of the bay. This would take me far enough offshore to give me the chance of seeing a porpoise, or maybe a dolphin.

A couple of handfuls of Gannets were circling and I was moderstely confident there would be porpoises underneath, but the had dispersed by the time I rolled up.

However suddenly half a dozen Gannets plunged in directly in front of me (I’ve got no idea how such a large bird can just instantly appear out of nowhere) and I saw a fin break the surface beside them. I was absolutely thrilled to see half-a-dozen Common Dolphins feeding on a baitball of fish which were just beneath the surface creating a sizeable ‘stippled’ area.

Conditions for dolphin-spotting weren’t great because there was a bit of a swell and an increasing wind which makes seeing fins a bit tricky, especially with the bouncing movement of the kayak.  

 

 

There were a couple of juveniles in the group and one small calf. The calf can be seen surfacing just after its mother submerges in this video.

 

 

 

They suddenly disappeared and I wasted no time in getting to the shore as the swell was picking up and cloud building ominously from the south. I couldn’t resist a quick slingshot around the Gwineas cardinal buoy however, because I don’t think I’ve paddled around it before.

Gwineas cardinal buoy

Mevagissey was as quiet and quaint as ever:

Mevagissey

Just a single Purple Sandpiper was poking about the rocks in the company of a handful of Turnstones, just outside the harbour mouth.

Purple Sandpiper

I did a bit of a double-take when I glimpsed a ghostly white shape under the water beneath me, and was very surprised to see a Barrel Jellyfish, about three foot long, going slowly on its way. The earliest one I have ever seen, by quite a few weeks.

Barrel jellyfish

A pair of Peregrines were very excited about something on the way back…..

Peregrine

And to finish off an unexpectedly varied and successful morning of wildlife viewing from the kayak, the nesting Shags were looking smart in their bottle green breeding plumage and punked-up headgear.

Shag

Shag

Loons, Lifeboat and a Load of Dead Fish

A very brief lull in the winds followed on from days of wind and rain. The residual ten foot swell from the west sent me looking for shelter on an east facing bit of coast and Mevagissey Bay seemed to fit the bill nicely. It’s very scenic and varied and the sandy shore at Porthpean, just outside St.Austell, is one of the most protected of all open coast beaches in Cornwall when the weather and waves are coming from the west.

Porthpean beach

The ‘Cornish Riviera’ (as this bit of coast is known) rarely fails to deliver some interesting marine wildlife, and within five minutes of paddling out from the beach I came upon that most charismatic of all the diving birds to visit the UK, a Great Northern Diver.

Great Northern Diver.

I think I prefer the more characterful American name of Common Loon, although the ‘common’ bit doesn’t do this magnificent bird justice. It is the biggest diving ‘duck’ (although strictly speaking it’s not a duck, it’s a Diver), has a colossal spear of a beak, and spends longer underwater when it dives than any other UK species.

They are winter visitors to the UK and this bird probably could well come from Iceland or Greenland. Their winter plumage is a bit drab (certainly in comparison to their summer plumage). Compare and contrast today’s bird with a pic I took in May this year :

 

Loon in Breeding Plumage

The call of the Loon is the sound of the wild and you are a heathen if this doesn’t send a shiver up your spine. Listen carefully:

 

As I rounded Black Head on the way to Mevagissey I could see a huge milling mass of Gulls a mile or to ahead, about a mile offshore. When I saw that they were not associated with a fishing boat I was very excited because I thought they were probably over feeding dolphins.

I engaged top gear which today wasn’t very fast as I was using my inflatable (Gumotex Safari) kayak. About four mph max. The Gulls were still active as I arrived amongst them, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many in one feeding group…every gull in eastern Cornwall must have been there.

 

I still hadn’t worked out what they were feeding on and was surprised I hadn’t seen a single fin at the surface. Then a Lesser Black-back flew past with a small fish…

Lesser Black-backed Gull

I paddled further into the thick of the action and was staggered to see that what I had initially thought were patches of foam on the surface, were actually thousands of dead fish. Probably tens of thousands.

 

These were pilchards. I’m sure they had just been dumped (either deliberately or accidentally)by a netting trawler, as they all looked fresh , and I could see a couple of big trawlers on the horizon. If you are a pilchard it was incredibly unfortunate for your well being that you were rebranded as a Cornish Sardine several years ago, but very good for the Cornish fishing industry.

Today’s pilchard carnage seemed a terrible waste as these fish would have been a meal or two (or ten) for a pod of dolphins or a Minke whale, or fed a load of loons for a year.

I sat around hoping for some larger sea creature to be attracted to the easy feast, but none appeared. I guess they prefer live fish. It was a consolation however to see all seven of the more common species of UK gull represented in the milling throng, including the neatly-plumaged Kittiwake,

Kittiwake

and a single Mediterranean Gull. These used to be rare in the UK but are fast increasing.

Mediterranean Gull

I paddled over to Mevagissey for a quick tour around the harbour and then headed out to the gull frenzy again, just in case.

Mevagissey

As I ate my cheese ‘n pickle sandwiches watching the gulls I noticed a police helicopter moving slowly along the coast, and both the inshore and offshore lifeboat from Fowey speeding across the bay. They started to ‘comb’ the coast starting at Black Head.

Black Head, Fowey Lifeboat

I suspected they might come over and see what on earth I was up to, and to check if I was in trouble. It must be quite unusual to see someone sitting in an inflatable kayak a mile out to sea in early December.

They did indeed come over and as I explained I was absolutely fine and was photographing the birds. They said they were looking for a missing person and saw me so came over to see if I was OK. I thanked them very much and looked closely at the crew to try to get an insight into what they REALLY thought of this idiot in his inflatable kayak. But needless to say they were totally professional and totally polite and objective.

Fowey Lifeboat

Visit from Fowey lifeboat

A single small Grey Seal and a couple more Loons and a couple of paddleboarders provided a bit of interest on the paddle back to Porthpean.