osprey – The Lone Kayaker

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

May 11, 2024May 11, 2024 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Great Northern diver, Grey Seal, osprey, Risso's Dolphin

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.

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

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.

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 nosing about

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

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.

The Flight of the Ospreys…Scotland to Senegal, via Fowey!

December 16, 2022 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Fowey, osprey

Two of the Ospreys I had the great pleasure of watching in the Fowey estuary in September and October had blue ‘Darvic’ rings on their left leg, which means they come from Scotland. English and Welsh birds have the ring on the right leg.

The first was a bird that flew over my head on 21 September. Not easy to photograph from a kayak…one second you are paddling, ten seconds later after the Osprey has appeared you’ve got to be zoomed in and ready to click that shutter. So I was pleased when one (and only one) of about twenty images was not a blurry disaster, which is usually the case with my efforts with birds in the air.

It was only when I reviewed the pics when I got home that I noticed the ring on the left leg:

I didn’t see that bird again, unlike the second Scottish Osprey that hung around the upper estuary for a fortnight in mid October. Appropriately, its favoured haunt was a horizontal branch under the canopy of a ragged Scots pine overlooking the water.

Blue 541, a taste of home amongst the gnarled boughs of an old Scots Pine

The ring on this bird was moderately easy to read when I zoomed in…

The ring, when I zoomed in on pic when I got home, was fairly easy to read. So I made some enquiries and pinged out several emails to Osprey groups and ringing websites but without success.

Until a couple of weeks ago when some of my friends fell into conversation with a fellow passenger on the aeroplane back from a birdwatching trip to Gambia. This passenger was Joanna Dailey from the Kielder Osprey Project in Northumberland and within a few hours of sending her my images of the ringed birds she had replied with their origins.

The first tag she thought was Blue 195, although it was indistinct on the photo. This bird was ringed in Abernethy, Cairngorm in 2019, so was an adult bird. Interestingly, this is the only adult Osprey I have seen at Fowey. All the others have been juveniles, which are quite easy to distinguish with pale margins to the feathers of their back.

Amazingly, this bird has been observed in Senegal by Osprey fan Jean-Marie Dupart, who surveys the Ospreys there. Here’s his photo:

Osprey Blue 195, pic by Jean-Marie Dupart

The second bird, Blue 541, is also involved in another mega-coincidence which is arguably even more remarkable. It was ringed in the nest by Brian Etheridge in Millbuie Forest, Black Isle, Highland on 21 July this year.

While attempting to apply the next ring to its nest-mate the bird, which was close to fledging so full of feistiness, struggled and the ring fell out of reach, so Brian had to use the next number in the sequence, 543.

And, would you believe, Joanna saw Blue 543, nest-mate to the Osprey that was at Fowey for a fortnight, in Gambia a couple of weeks ago!

Hopefully the two youngsters will now BOTH be safely installed in their wintering grounds in West Africa, and with a bit of luck I might even renew my acquaintance with them next year.

The Ospreys of Fowey

October 30, 2022 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Fowey, osprey

It’s almost too good to be true. Our most spectacular bird of prey, which had been just about blasted out of existence in the UK by Victorian shooters, is now a regular visitor to the creeks of Devon and Cornwall. After a gap of half a century, it nested again in Scotland in the fifties and has been expanding territory ever since, with the help of some reintroduction schemes such as at Rutland Water and Poole Harbour.

I have dreamed about seeing an Osprey ever since I was a little chap with legs like pipe-cleaners and saw a picture of one in my Observer’s Book of British Birds. That was when their was just one UK nest near the Cairngorms in Scotland.

Now they can be seen fairly reliably during the autumn as they stop off to refuel in southwest England during their 3,000 mile migration down to the coast of Gambia or Senegal in West Africa.

Watching Ospreys from the seat of a kayak is hard to beat. It’s quiet and unobtrusive and can get you places where others can’t go. Best of all you get an uninterrupted view and can look around continuously. This may seem obvious, but if you are walking you spend half the time looking where you are putting your feet, and in a powered boat there are a lot of distractions, not least the drone of the engine which fuzzes your concentration.

Only one problem with the go-anywhere kayak. You can easily approach too close and frighten the Ospreys. Yes I have done this and I now do everything I can to avoid it. I know most of their favourite trees around the estuary so can usually spot them from afar.

They often get ‘moved on’ by a passing boat, paddleboard or kayak who aren’t tuned in to Ospreys, but the birds don’t seem to mind too much and settle on another tree.They tend to move around a lot anyway as they follow the influx of Mullett which move in behind the incoming tide as soon as the water is deep enough.They are easy fliers with a buoyant flight on very long wings.

Some are very much less wary than others. Last year’s two juveniles, which I think must have come from the same nest, were extraordinarily tame. On one occasion a couple of chums and I were sharing a slab of Madeira cake on a creek-side beach, when we heard some crunching coming from a branch above our heads. An osprey had just started to munch it’s way through a Sea Bass, not twenty yards away. Happy as Larry (although the Bass wouldn’t have been best pleased)

Last year’s birds certainly had a refined taste. Every one of the fish I saw them catch and eat was a Bass. Quite an impressive feat because the vast majority of meal-sized fish in the estuary are Grey Mullet. I would guess they outnumber Bass by ten or twenty to one and look very similar from above the water. It must be even more difficult to distinguish between them when perched, or hovering, thirty or forty feet above the water as Ospreys like to do when hunting.

During the three weeks I watched them their success rate at catching fish improved significantly. They are fed by their father when at the nest so have to hone their hunting skills ‘on the hoof’ during migration, so when they arrive in Cornwall are actually very inexperienced when it comes to catching a meal.

This year’s birds seem to have had more of a taste for the Mullett, Or maybe individual birds have specific fishy tastes, who knows? I came across one which had just caught a hefty fish and had clearly been unable to lift it from the water so had just floundered ashore to eat it. I would have overlooked it had it not been ‘chipping’ loudly to a friend* in a nearby pine.

*one of the Osprey’s friends, not mine.

All of the Ospreys this year have preferred the quieter upper estuary where there is less boat traffic, unlike last year’s pair that were quite happy to crash into the water in amongst the flotilla of moored, and motoring(!) craft. They are big birds, with a five foot wingspan, and their white breast makes them easy to spot when perched. It’s even simpler when they are in flight because all the local gulls go berserk and make an enormous racket. Impossible to ignore, and easy to give a wide berth.

A pair of binoculars (which I don’t usually carry on my kayak because there is too much movement) and my camera’s 600mm lens has allowed disturbance-free viewing.

For an amazing six weeks there have been up to four, maybe once five, Ospreys around the estuary. It’s very difficult to be certain of the number because they rarely sit still for long and by the time I have paddled my kayak from one creek to another the Ospreys which I had seen an hour ago might have followed me round.

They think nothing of riding an updraught till they are a dot in the sky, and then half-closing their wings to slice back down the the water’s edge, where they are most happy.

The young birds also seem to enjoy sparring with the local heavies which harass them relentlessly. Crows, Ravens, Sparrowhawks and on one occasion a juvenile Peregrine…

As far as I can see every one this year has been a juvenile bird which has hatched out this summer. They are recognisable by the white edging to the feathers on their back, giving a scalloped effect. Adults have entirely dark backs.In fact all the Ospreys I have ever seen on the Fowey estuary have been youngsters. Maybe they HAVE to stop off in the south of England to learn how to fish efficiently, while the adults who migrate solo might fly direct to the continent.

Some certainly become streetwise, and work out other ways to secure a meal…such as trying to steal it from a chum!

Two birds have had leg rings. Both were blue ‘Darvic’ rings, which have large numbers/letters that can be read at distance, on the left leg. This means that they came from a nest in Scotland. English birds have blue rings on the right leg.

I photographed the first one on 21 September as it flew over my head. The tag is very indistinct but I would take a punt at 155:

The second I saw on 14 and 17 October and I’m fairly confident the ring number is 541.

I am in the process of trying to find out where these birds have come from…wouldn’t it be great to know? Watch this space.

I think they are now all gone on their way south. The last one I observed was on 20 October.

Good luck to them, because it’s not a straightforward trip with a load of potential hazards eg the vastness of the Bay of Biscay or Sahara Desert, navigational error, bad weather, being shot in southern Europe.

Over half of juvenile Ospreys fail to return from their first migration.

But you never know, maybe I’ll watch them from the comfort of the kayak seat up the most scenic of Cornish creeks again next year. I hope so.

Carry on Up the Creek

October 24, 2022 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Fowey, Kingfisher, osprey, Uncategorized

You’ve heard it all before. No matter what sort of meteorological mood the weather decides to be in, there is always a patch of water somewhere around Devon and Cornwall where you can find shelter. When the open sea looks hostile you can seek out a more protected bit of coast. When the hefty swells of autumn make the coast unappealing you can resort to the sanctuary of the estuaries and creeks.

There’s over a dozen inlets along the south coast including some very long and very large ones. The Tamar penetrates twenty miles inland, and the Fal/Truro river complex provide over seventy miles of protected shore to investigate.

The north coast isn’t so obliging. It’s a bit of an unbroken battlement of cliffs. The old seafarer’s saying

‘From Hartland Point to Padstow Light, ’tis a watery grave by day or night’,

gives you an idea of the lack of watery refuges along the north coast. In Cornwall the only significant estuary is the Camel, and in Devon the Taw/Torridge.

My current personal favourites are the Tamar and The Fowey estuaries, both in the south. They are both relatively close to home and are both fairly narrow and steep-sided, so provide good protection from a bit of a blow. Both are also flanked by broad-leaved woodland so you can enjoy the golden colours of the autumn leaves as a bonus.

That is if you have time to look away from the huge variety of animals that amaze, both above and below the surface…

Sometimes the animals and bronze-tinged backdrop combine in a satisfactorily aesthetic manner…

The mud of the tidal creeks is incredibly fertile and choc full of slithery creatures, which are nourished from upstream by trillions of decomposing fallen leaves coming down with the rivers, and from the other direction by the tides.

Wading birds arrive from the north to spend the winter here in very large numbers to sift and prod and probe the muddy shorelines. Some have been around for months already. I think my favourites are the Greenshank, whose loud piping calls provide a fitting soundtrack to these winding strips of mini-wilderness. They are lovers of wild places and nest in the remotest of desolate boggy places in the north of Scotland.

The locals are represented by Herons and Egrets which are present year round. I would estimate that there are twenty to thirty times more of these species along the shore of the estuaries compared to the fresh water of a river or a lake. So that means there is twenty to thirty times more food for them to eat. Mainly thanks to the tide. The sea is a staggeringly fertile habitat.

Some Kingfishers nest nearby but most arrive from elsewhere to spend the winter here. You can’t paddle very far without hearing the high-pitched ‘peeep’ of a Kingfisher as it zips past.

Down in the lower reaches of the Tamar Estuary, close to where it emerges into the sea at Plymouth Sound, it is an absolute joy to hear the lively calls of Sandwich Terns which visit in the autumn. They are en route to West Africa and the youngsters seem hardly to pause long enough to gather breath before squeaking demandingly at their parents. After every call the parents diligently (if a little wearily) reply, and every so often the conversation reaches fever pitch when an adult arrives with a sandeel.

They are really great little birds, bursting with personality.

Their favourite resting places are buoys.

If there’s eight in a row, that is just perfect!

From an ornithological perspective, it was extreme excitement and extreme gloom in equal measure up the Fowey estuary a month ago. I paddled past corpses of several adult Gannets two miles from the open sea (which is their normal home). Worse than this I watched a few more about to breathe their last in a patch of seaweed on the shore.

Our biggest and most magnificent seabird, with its impressive six foot wingspan, seems to have had its UK population completely poleaxed by Avian Flu.

On a more positive note, during the same trip, I was thrilled to see a couple of Ospreys looking for fish in the clear water of the Fowey River.

If you are a Grey Mullett or Sea Bass and are enjoying following the incoming tide, feasting on plentiful food stirred up by the currents, there’s one thing you really don’t want to see if you happen to glance upwards.

This. Panic!

The thrilling (and not so thrilling) sights and sounds of the creeks did not finish there.

I thought my grey matter was playing tricks on me when I heard the blast of a horn than instantly transported me back to the last place I heard such a noise. Platform 4, Reading General Station, 1974. I could even see my trainspotting chums, smell the oily grime and taste my Aztec bar.

Yes indeed, it was a legendary Class 37 locomotive. Built in 1965.

They don’t make them like that any more.

To quote one of my primary school chums, Alan, who had wisdom beyond his years, ‘Once a trainspotter, always a trainspotter’

Watching Ospreys up a Cornish Creek (part 2)

October 22, 2021 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Fowey, osprey

I had already spent so much time staring at the Ospreys sitting in a tree (the birds, not me) and watching their every move, I was really getting on their wavelength.

They noticed, and scrutinised everything that moved in their field of view. A raven croaking overhead, a sparrowhawk zipping past, a fly being very irritating, They never sat together in the same stretch of creek, but I knew the other bird was approaching when the Osprey I was watching called with a piercing chirp.

I actually started to think like an Osprey and paddled upstream when I saw the first surge of Grey Mullet moving below me through the clear water of the incoming tide. Amongst them I thought I saw the odd Bass. One Osprey flew overhead and landed on a dead branch overlooking the water.

It was clearly looking for fish and every so often bobbed its head as it worked out the range.

I tucked in to the bank and waited with camera poised, absolutely still. With a bit of luck it was going to catch a fish right in front of me. Conditions were perfect: dead still and silent, sun behind. After half-an-hour the camera was heavy in my hand and my eyes going a bit screwy, so I poured a cup of coffee.

The bird was being pestered by a Raven so I thought its concentration would be compromised.

Wrong. At that precise moment I slurped my first draught the Osprey literally fell off its branch and angled almost vertically down and smacked into the water with a huge splosh only twenty yards away. My coffee went flying as I grabbed the camera. The Osprey spent about twenty seconds in the water as it grappled with a fish, and then lumbered into the air with its prize, a Sea Bass, well pinned by its talons. Excellent.

Osprey with Bass (you can clearly see the bass’s spiky dorsal fin)

The fine weather continued so I returned to the estuary with the motley crew. Yet another perfect day (yawn).

James and I found the Osprey in its usual tree and sat and watched…and watched…and watched…for four hours! It kept giving the impression it was going to do something dramatic, but then settled down to preen. Again. Simon and Dave paddled many miles up the estuary and back and were rather surprised to find us still in the same place.

As soon as my paddling chums had departed, the action started. I found the other Osprey sitting further up the estuary, and it was clearly poised for action, bobbing excitedly as it caught sight of a fish below.

I was ready with the camera poised, but when it launched itself downwards I still managed to miss the moment. What a bungle. Here’s what I managed to get…

It’s a pity it was an unsuccessful plunge. But it caught a fish a few minutes later. I saw it smack into the water quite a long way off, and then flap at the surface for a surprisingly long time. I then lost sight of it as I passed behind moored boat, and assumed it had flown off. But as I approached I was amazed to see it was still floundering in the water several minutes after diving in.

Eventually it managed to get airborne and it flew past down river. Its prize, another Bass, was slung perfectly beneath its body, fish’s head pointing forwards as always, and feet positioned one in front of the other. Like a torpedo beneath a WW2 bomber. This Osprey was learning fast!

I watched it disappear off a couple of miles downstream, and I knew it would be going to its favourite plucking post on the horizontal branch.

When I arrived on the scene, being very careful not to alarm the bird, it had just started feed. It wasn’t the Osprey in a flap, it was the Bass!

As I had observed before the inerds seemed to slip down best. No nasty bones to worry about:

As I paddled back to the slipway I heard a clamour of crows overhead and the other Osprey was circling in a majestic fashion, with an entourage of corvids in disarray around it. It really didn’t seem to mind the ‘mobbing’ of the smaller birds at all. If anything, it was enjoying it, every so often dropping a wing and chasing one of its pursuers. Definitely a young bird larking about.

Osprey pestered by Rooks and Carrion Crows.I

I was just about to ‘pack up’ for the day when the second Osprey flew over my head, landed on a nearby branch and started to eat its prey, another Bass.

Osprey eating Bass

The word ‘amazing’ keeps springing to mind, but it doesn’t really do all these extraordinary sights justice.

I’ve left the best video clips till last. If you’ve already lost interest and are watching Richard Osman’s House of Cards, then you will be missing out.

Although the two Ospreys never perched in the same tree together, they were very vocal whenever the other flew past. In this video the first call you will be able to hear is the passing bird, which generates a begging response from the perched bird before it ‘chips’, very loudly, a reply.

Half-an-hour later, the same bird, in the same tree, with me still sitting below looking upwards, had finished preening and suddenly stared very intently at a patch of water nearby. It started to do a bit of range-finding by bobbing its head, and I could sense something was about to happen.

It did…

What a splosh! Just a pity that it didn’t catch that fish!

Two days ago was my final sight of the Ospreys. I cannot resist putting in this quite long video clip. I nicely sums up the whole experience of the last two weeks for me.

It certainly ticks all the boxes of the stuff that is supposed to be beneficial to our health at the mo. Nice little bit of exercise, mindfulness, engaging with nature, rebooting reality.

A super-peaceful and remote Cornish Creek, drifting along in my kayak in complete silence, with one of the UK’s most renowned and majestic mega-predators chilling out and sprucing itself up on a tree nearby.

The next day (yesterday) they were gone. I paddled up and down the estuary looking at all their favourite perches, but I could tell they had moved on. The gulls were quiet, the crows were silent. When the Ospreys are on the wing both of these species make a relentless racket. I actually felt a bit sad.

Their departure was not a surprise. The wind had shifted to the north overnight so they had a decent tailwind for their onward migration to West Africa.

I very much hope I make my acquaintance with them again next year.

Watching Ospreys Up a Cornish Creek (part 1)

October 19, 2021 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Kingfisher, osprey

Over the last two weeks I have spent many hours completely absorbed in watching one of the UK’s most magnificent birds of prey right on my doorstep here in Cornwall (although I actually live a couple of miles over the border in Devon).

It’s been absolutely terrific for a whole host of reasons, not just the Ospreys, although they are very much the stars of the show. While sitting around in my kayak in complete silence for hours on end, waiting for the raptor to stop preening and go and catch a fish, I have seen all the other stuff that goes on unnoticed by the average passing boat/kayaker/paddleboarder. Hunting Herons and Egrets, piping Greenshank and Redshank, Kingfishers, a pair of Godwits, croaking Ravens, a slinking seal and more.

Oh, and there’s a bit of scenery too.

The weather has been extraordinarily pleasant down here in the southwest during this period. Great for photography. So great in fact, I have got to split this blog into two parts, because I just can’t work out which pics to ditch.

I think I might have a ‘thing’ about Ospreys. I just can’t believe what incredible views this stunning Cornish estuary has provided. About a hundred times better than my previous encounters at their breeding sites in Scotland and on migration in SW England. Catching sight of an Osprey is always a ‘wow’ moment, but it is usually a far-off flypast or, if I am lucky, a distant bird in a tree.

This was all from the comfort of a kayak seat with coffee and millionaire bite in hand. What could be better?

On the first day I paddled up to the head of the estuary, and enjoyed the ‘usual’ sights and sounds of the sheltered creek.

I heard the squeak of wings from this pair of swans as they approached from behind:

The Greenshank were roosting at their usual site, and every so often one piped up with it’s ‘teu-teu-teu’ call which split the silence.

My eyes came out on stalks when I saw an Osprey sitting, eagle-like, on a dead branch as I came back down the river. I had just appeared around a corner and was very close so I froze completely, but the Osprey didn’t seem at all fussed and continued bobbing its head as it searched for fish in the clear water.

I just sat and watched. totally still, totally silent. I was even more gob-smacked when the Osprey suddenly made a couple of piercing calls as a second bird appeared around the bend.

They then joined forces and did a couple of impressive synchro flypasts:

Superb, Osprey spotting can’t get better than that. Well, yes it can, and yes, it did. A lot better.

The next day I ventured out to see the big birds with Becky in the inflatable Gumotex Seawave kayak. One bird was on its usual tree and looking very relaxed as we drifted past on the outgoing tide.

It was maybe wishing that the staple diet of Ospreys was squirrels, because there were a lot of these fluffy-tailed creatures searching for snacks along the shore. Easier to catch than fish, I’m sure..

Grey squirrel (although it seems to have a touch of red!)

As soon as the tide started to flood the Osprey was up and away, and soon joined by the other bird circling over the low-tide lagoons, looking for fish.

One of them hovered, then closed its wings and dropped like a stone, hitting the water with a huge splash. They don’t make much of an effort to streamline their entry in the manner of a Gannet. A good move, because the water is only a couple of feet deep. They need to catch the fish unawares, but don’t want to hit the bottom.

Their plunge proved difficult to catch on camera from the kayak seat, but here’s my best effort:

On this particular day they did a lot of stoops into the water without catching any fish. I could see from their plumage that these were both juvenile birds and so inexperienced at hunting.It made great viewing but it was a bit disheartening to see them thumping into the water with an enormous splash without reward.

A couple of days later I was on the estuary with Dave and Sally, and it was a cracking morning. Glass-calm water and clear blue sky.

There was the usual stuff going on. Shags preening on the mooring buoys,

and Kingfishers sorting out their breakfast along the shore. In this case a well-battered sandeel.

Redshank were roosting in their usual place on the wall at high tide.

Roosting Redshank (plus Common Sandpiper, top left, and Dunlin, bottom right)

All superb stuff, but I wasn’t going to be happy unless we saw that Osprey. I felt it just wasn’t around, because all the local gulls take to the air and make a huge racket when an Osprey flies past, and they were all quite happy just loafing about.

Not a second after I said to Dave and Sally that I feared the Ospreys had moved on because ‘I could sense there were none around’, I heard a crunching in the tree above our head, and there was the Osprey standing on a horizontal bough tearing at a fish! Whaat!

I hissed at Dave and Sally to freeze because I felt we would frighten the bird, but as we drifted to a halt it carried on ripping it’s way through the fish and showed absolutely no interest in us whatsoever.

The big bird picked it’s way through the modest-sized fish very carefully, until all that was left was the tail, and that disappeared down the hole in one big gulp.

BLINKING HECK.

Lots more Osprey action in the next blog coming soon.

Look out for it.

	rupertkirkwood on River Wye: Watery Wildlife…
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