Is it really worth going out for a paddle in an autumnal deluge, when you could be in a dry place drinking tea and eating Victoria sponge?
Yes, if you’ve got a decent drysuit. It’s actually quite fun. And there’s no jetskis on the water. Nobody else at all in fact.
It was great to see that the remaining cygnet on the river had survived following the mysterious death of its two siblings a few weeks. The parents were their usual feisty selves and had a bit of a go at my GoPro. The cob (male) swan had a real go at me when the cygnets were young and came whop-whop-whopping directly at me which was a tad alarming.
This very pale buzzard wasn’t phased by the torrential downpour. It was like water off a….er…duck’s back.
Buzzards which have this much white are frequently mistaken for other species, but it is not abnormal. The French name for Buzzard is ‘Buse Variable’.
Even though I havn’t seen an otter here for over a year, I was hopeful of seeing one. Although the best time to see an otter is a twilight, they do seem to put in an appearance when it is raining. I’m not sure why this is…..could it be that it is because it gets darker when it rains (and so mimics dusk), or is it that they feel they are not going to be disturbed when it is absolutely hosing down because only the daft venture out?
Because it was really chucking it down I felt that an otter couldn’t resist coming out.
And it did. I saw a smallish otter carving a ‘v’ in the water far enough ahead of my kayak that I could easily glide over to the bank and sit absolutely quietly tucked in the middle of a (very drippy) bush without it noticing me.
This is my video in its entirity. It nicely shows the weather conditions, which was not great for my completely unwaterproof camera. It also shows how difficult it is to track a diving otter, which doesn’t usually surface in the same place it dived…..although this one did.
Apologies for the shaky camera work…it’s really not that easy from the kayak seat.
I think this was a bitch otter because it isn’t that big. I noticed it had a rather fetching little pink patch in the middle of it’s (usually black) nose.
I managed to sneak past up the river without disturbing it, and then picked it up again on the way back down twenty minutes later.
There’s not much doubt it was the rain that lured this otter out. The photos were timed at 1215. It’s not very often you encounter otters at midday, they are usually well tucked up in bed.
I thought Igor had it buttoned. His display in the Ukrainian Sukhoi Flanker at Fairford was my favourite of the year, and it was unlikely to be bettered.
But it has been. By a load of dolphins in Torbay this morning.
Looking at these pics closely I think that this is an adolescent dolphin, so probably about six foot long (adults average seven foot). The colour and markings are a bit more wishy-washy and less well demarcated than the adult dolphin in the pic in front of Brixham breakwater. The individual breaking the surface in the pic off Berry Head is also juvenile with an ill-defined yellow patch and no black eyestripe or ‘beard’ that the adults have.
I think that it is probably the same exuberant youngster doing the jumping on each occasion. I think it topped out at well over ten foot of air. It did sequences of two or three jumps which was great for photography because I could get zoomed in and ready after the first leap. However the first jump was always higher than the next ones, so it could have been pushing fifteen foot.
Common Dolphins are always lively and splashy and full of energy, that is a large part of their charm. On a calm day I have been alerted to the presence of a pod purely by the sound of distant splashing, before I could actually see them.
But I have only seen jumps like this once or twice before, and never repeated so often. Here is a Gopro video from Penzance last year. The dolphin is only a speck so you’ll have to look closely, but it certainly gets some height:
It was great to see other wildlife enthusiasts enjoying the show off Berry Head today led by Nigel Smallbones.
Thanks for the pic Nigel. I seem to be looking in the wrong direction, which is not unusual.
It’s Seawatch National Whale and Dolphin Watch this week, and I was keen to match, or improve upon, my last year’s total of 96 (80 Common Dolphins and 16 Porpoises).
Two days of windless conditions were forecast so I was well fired-up for a couple of big offshore trips. Early starts, of course, early is always better.
On the first day I paddled 22 miles round Veryan and Gerrans bay to the east of the Roseland peninsular. Normally I would have been thrilled with the forty porpoises I saw, with a lot more heard puffing but not seen, but when I practically leapt out of my kayak seat as a whale surfaced and breathed behind me, but I never actually saw it, I was a little deflated.
At least I had the consolation of my first Ocean Sunfish of the year…..
and a reluctant to be photographed Red-necked Grebe in breeding plumage.
I was absolutely focused on trying to see a whale on Day 2. I haven’t yet seen one for certain this year despite two close encounters. My plan was a trip to the Eddystone but when I checked the wind forecast before I left the house (at 4.30am) Mount’s Bay looked the best bet…more or less smooth all day. So off I went to Penzance.
I was on the water just after sunrise and the sea was like a pond. No wind, no chop, no swell. Absolutely perfect. Any fin or disturbance at the surface for up to half-a-mile away I was going to see. Although the best guide were the Gannets. They only have to circle round once to make me paddle over to check for porpoises, or even better, dolphins.
First up were a couple of porpoises, a mother and a calf. Always great to see as they go about their business in an unobtrusive manner, and a speciality to see from a kayak because their loud puff can be heard from quite a distance as you slide along in complete silence. Any sort of engine noise would drown them out (so to speak).
Fantastic….. there were slightly bigger fins ahead. A little pod of Common Dolphins, including a couple of youngsters. Then a couple more small groups of about half-a-dozen.My Seawatch survey was gathering pace.
I kept two to three miles offshore after Mousehole as I was hoping for the big stuff, and sea conditions were exceptionally relaxing. It was still and sunny and I was beginning to regret wearing wetsuit trousers….humidity overload!
Just after Lamorna the sea was suddenly boiling with life. The surface was stippled with shoals of little fish which covered areas the size of tennis courts, all over the place. I found myself in the middle of several compact shoals and I could see through the crystal clear water that they looked like sandeels.
Manx Shearwaters hunted the eels by diving from the surface, and some little posses loafed about at the surface doing a bit of preening.
Just listening was extraordinary. There was the puff of porpoises everywhere, the thoomph of diving Gannets, and the splash of shearwaters. Then an almighty, powerful slashing, splash right in front of me that can only have been a Giant Tuna, although I never saw the fish. It must have been way bigger than a Common Dolphin. Blooming heck.
I was drifting past Tater Du lighthouse, two miles offshore. I knew that it was a very big Spring tide today and the current was up to two miles per hour dragging down towards Land’s End. I already had an eight mile paddle back to Penzance, and with my cruising speed of three miles per hour, it could be a long paddle back. Especially after yesterday’s twenty plus miles.
Any sort of wind would have chopped the surface up significantly and I would have turned back, and I would have missed what was coming next. It was however completely still….the perfect un-storm.
Then I heard what sounded like an extended breath, but far far away. Could have been a prolonged tuna splash, but I hoped it was a whales breath. I sat and had a cup of coffee and a think about what to do, and listened. There it was again. Then nothing more. I turned to head back to Penzance but just couldn’t drag myself away. I was just about to start paddling when I heard the breathy noise again, and then another in a different place. So can’t have been a whale…..unless there were two!
Total excitement overload, I couldn’t resist it. I was off in pursuit.
Half-a-mile ahead a great grey bulk emerged from the water and disappeared in a huge splash. What?!? Must have been a lunge-feeding Minke Whale…wow.
I powered on and I saw a whale’s blow! So no Minke because they don’t show a blow, so even more amazing.
By coincidence Duncan and Hannah Jones from Marine Discovery had just arrived in Shearwater II to watch the action, having also seen the whale’s splashes from afar.
I stopped and waited and the whale came a bit closer. This is my first decent sight and it is heading directly towards me. You can hear my shaky excitement breath…must get my heart checked out some time.
It was a blinking Humpback!
Then the REAL excitement started. It lunged at a patch of sandeels close by and I started the video. As I waited for it to surface a dark patch of sandeels came steadily closer , which was a bit (in retrospect, VERY) worrying. I could clearly see two large patches of sandeels at the surface, and I was sitting right in the middle of one of them.I knew the whale was about to engulf one of the shoals so when the sandeels started to leap out of the water all around me I peered down into the water to see if the whale was on the way up! You can see in the video I hang a leg over the side o the kayak to provide a bit more stability in case of a tidal wave, (and hear me catch my breath). Unfortunately the whale chose the other shoal.
How can this be happening just off the coast of Cornwall? I would have pinched myself if there had been a gap in the action.
Next up it lunged directly towards me.
Unbelievably a Minke Whale then appeared on the scene, right beside Shearwater II. My closest and best ever view of a Minke, and what I was really hoping to see today, but it was a sideshow compared to the Humpback. At one stage they both surfaced together in the same eyeball-bite.
It was then time for a bit of fin-slapping. Yes, that white thing is the Humpback’s pectoral fin.
Next a pod of about ten Common Dolphins appeared on the scene and shadowed the whale in search of an easy bite. The whale played up to the crowd.
The last time I saw a Humpback (a couple of years ago in South Devon) I was a bit disappointed not to capture the classic image of the tail flukes coming up when the whale does a deep dive. That was corrected today…big time:
and how convenient, it dived with legendary St. Michael’s Mount as a backdrop.
I was getting a bit twitchy as I had now drifted as far as Porthcurno, and the current was only going to get stronger in the build-up to Gwennap Head. Four hour paddle back, hope they havn’t run out of Raspberry Flake McFlurries at MacDonalds.
So the humpback put on its final display, Common Dolphins as a support act.
Lots of superlatives today. Not least that I saw four species of cetacean within half an hour (Humpback, Minke, Common Dolphin, Porpoise). Last year it was only three species. And a Giant Bluefin Tuna leapt clean out of the water right in front of me as I was just starting to paddle back.
And today’s total was 1 Humpback, 1 Minke, 36 Common Dolphins, 25 porpoise bringing my week’s total and contribution to National whale and dolphin watch to 105 individual cetaceans.
Destination Eddystone, but I didn’t get there. I set off from Cawsand in thick mist, so followed the coast round to Rame Head to review my plans, hoping the visiblity would clear. It did, but only slowly, as I breakfasted on the tiny beach.
A big gnarled old bull seal watched me munch.
It had a huge scar on its back which must have been a very nasty injury when it happened, probably from a boat propeller.
As the murk cleared a great grey shape merged out of the mist. HMS Queen Elizabeth.
I opted not to paddle all the way out to Eddystone, but craftily reconfigured my route to include a close pass of the mighty ship. I paddled five miles offshore to the Halfway Reef marker buoy to check out the offshore wildlife scene. It was still a bit disappointing with hardly a Gannet to be seen, no fins and only a handful of shearwaters and a single Bonxie to liven things up.
The most interesting creature was floating motionless on the surface, four miles from the shore. A Painted Lady butterfly which had clearly failed to make the crossing from France. I scooped it up and to my astonishment it was still alive.
It spent a couple of hours drying out on my deck and then (amazingly) it flew on its way. About a dozen of its compatriates flew past during the morning, miles out to sea. Remarkable because it was a cloudy morning, and also because I know that this little army of winged invaders started their journey in the deserts of the Middle East earlier in the year…..because I saw them there, in their thousands. They swarm northwards and a few months later they (or their immediate offspring) are flying across the English channel to arrive in the UK, providing the weather conditions are favourable. Hopefully these immigrants will give rise to a good number of offspring which will be flitting round our gardens in six week’s time.
My focus then shifted from back from wildlife to hardware.
I looped around the Half-Way Buoy and headed east to slingshot around the Mew Stone, swinging back west towards the carrier that was at anchor outside Plymouth breakwater.
My approach precipitated an interception by the prowling police launch. I don’t think the Merlin helicopter was scrambled as my presence was detected, it just happened to be going for a bit of a jaunt as I passed.
As I completed the final leg of my 22 mile paddle back to Cawsand the helicopters continued to buzz.
And even as I trolleyed my kayak back up the ramp at Cawsand, the hefty ship completely dominated the view.
We were venturing to the other side of Offa’s Dyke to attend Guy and Lynn’s wedding, so decided to check out the Llangollen canal the day before. It had qualified for Unesco World Heritage status so must be worth a visit, and from a kayaking point of view the lure of paddling over the highest aqueduct in the world was hard to resist.
All the local rivers were in flood anyway so there wasn’t a lot of option.
We started off at Chirk, which is actually in England.
Becky walked as I paddled along. Fortunately our cruising speeds were just about the same. It was all pleasantly scenic and quiet and peaceful, and very green.
First up, on the remarkable feats of canal engineering, was the Chirk aqueduct, which at only seventy foot high was trifling compared to what was to come.
Chirk tunnel followed immediately after the aqueduct. 460 yards long and a bit creepy in the middle where it is so dark you can’t even see your paddle.
Although I had a pathetic little torch I wouldn’t trust a narrowboat entering the other end to notice it. Fortunately one didn’t appear.
Not surprisingly because of all the boat activity wildlife was a bit thin on the ground today, but it was great to see several families of Mandarin duck on the canal.
My timing for the passage past a swing bridge was perfect because a narrowboat was approaching and a very cheerful Canadian gentleman was working the hand winch.
The increasing number of sightseers bulging out of the canal boats hinted that something remarkable was just around the corner.
Of course they would all have preferred to be travelling by kayak, or at least that’s what they said.
It was time for the BIG viaduct. Pontcysyllite…..the Stream in the Sky. With less than a foot of parapet to protect you from a 126 foot drop it is not for the faint-hearted. Peering over giddy ledges usually makes my head spin but if I’m sitting in the seat of a kayak it doesn’t seem to be a problem. And if Thomas Telford’s creation had stood firm without losing a drop of water for 214 years then it was probable it would see me to the other side and back (twice, because I couldn’t resist going over it again).
The canal somehow managed to maintain a very high level of visual appeal over the next five miles to Llangollen.
Sweeping through green fields,
past a cliffy bit,
and through neatly pruned gardens. As a bonus at one stage the sun almost threatened to come out, but then it started drizzling again.
We stopped for lunch at Llangollen wharf and consumed tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches. Unfortunately they were a bit fizzy because I had made them yesterday morning before we left Devon.
The canal side was busy with tourists spilling out of the town for a boat trip. Both conventional and horse-drawn were on offer.
Following refuelling ( on the high octane sandwiches) the nine mile paddle back was relatively easy for me because there was a significant flow of water in the canal, but not so easy for Becky because the towpath remained motionless.
The Mandarin family attracted admirers;
and the afternoon swelled the number of visitors to the viaduct, many of whom were more interested in phone screens than the staggering view or mindboggling feat of engineering.
Time for one last sweep of the Gopro to take in the dizzying height.
For the final four miles to Chirk I was sucked along in the wake of a narrowboat.
Blooming heck. It was warmer in February! Relentless rain and cold is not only hard work for a kayaker who was looking forward to easing in to a nicely ironed (Joke) pair of swimming shorts, it is also very bad news for nesting birds. The Sand Martins and Kingfishers that I saw beside the river Wye a couple of weeks ago will have had their nest holes flooded by the exceptionally high water levels.
This little family of Mallard can at least find their own food as they paddle along, but they are very vulnerable to the cold and wet. They definitely know the best pace to avoid the rain, although getting there isn’t so straightforward.
Further down the Fowey estuary I witnessed what was nearly a family catastrophe as a mother Mallard was leading her brood down to the water for the first time. The nest had been in the foliage at the top of the bank, far above high tide level. An opportunist crow had spotted the posse and was looking to take advantage of their exposure as they made for the (relative) safety of the water. Only the awareness and courage of the mother saves the duckling that ends up momentarily floundering on its back, which the crow was just about to whisk away.
On this particular day I nosed out of the estuary for a good look at the open sea, but once again their didn’t seem to be a lot going on so I reverted to watching the wildlife of the creek. Even Lantic Bay beach, one of the best strands in Cornwall, didn’t look particularly welcoming. It was steely and grey. Not only did it look cold, it WAS cold.
Back up the estuary Herons were doing their thing:
and I got the impression that this Gull had ‘dealt’ with crabs of this size before. It avoids the (very large) claws and knows how to flip the crab over to expose the underside before hammering it with its beak.
The rain has eased and the temperature is getting back to where it should be for mid June. Time to get moving…..
Above the surface the open sea remains very quiet with hardly a circling Gannet in sight. There are just a few Guillemots, which nest on the local cliffs, sitting about doing a bit of fishing. They are sometimes very inquisitive about kayaks and paddle right up close for a bit of a look.
This one all but climbed in my kayak. So close you can see the refection of me (plus boat) in its eyeball!
Below the surface it’s a different story, with large numbers of Barrel Jellyfish still wafting about, concentrating along the tidelines. They always give me a bit of a start when they are close to the surface because not only are they a bit ghostly but they are very BIG.
The marine wildlife has been so thin on the ground I have even had to resort to looking at the scenery, like a normal person. Tough.
Along the shore I came across an ornithological treat near Marazion….this little pack of Sanderlings, rushing in and out with the waves, which is what Sanderlings do. You can see why; this one has just caught a snack-sized sand shrimp exposed by the waves:
This is them in action:
These Sanderlings were sporting a variety of colours because they were in transit from grey winter plumage to very smart buff breeding plumage. Although you might think it was getting a bit late in the season for this, they nest above the arctic circle so are not in any particular rush because their nesting area is still probably frozen solid.
Although these little birds are only on the cusp of smartening themselves up for the breeding season in the land of the summer sun, birds local to Devon and Cornwall are in full swing.
I did a bit of a double-take when I saw this Shelduck on the river Torridge. I assumed it was an adult because it could fly well and had classic Shelduck plumage apart from a bit of a white face, although it was significantly smaller than its parent.
It must have been this year’s chick and a combination of cunning sleuth and smart mathematical calculation (incubation is 28 days and the young fly at 45 days) would suggest that it was the abnormally mild weather in late February that prompted the duck to lay her eggs three months earlier than usual.
A more seasonal brood of Shelduck was a bit further upstream:
All along the coast as well New life is bursting forth. These are the first Herring gull chicks I have seen this year.
And nearby the nestling Shags are swaying about in the nest in a very reptilian way.
Similar to the Shag the parent Canada Goose has a ‘yellow alert’ warning to its offspring (and me) when they perceive I am a bit close for comfort. The Goose does a bit of head-bobbing as well.
The youngsters don’t tend to take much notice of their parents (not a surprise) and anyway I always back away because it is unfair to worry them.
The Swans on the Torridge are still sitting on eggs. Although swans on the water cut a classic image of grace, elegance, and whiteness, they are quite cumbersome when on land. And a bit clumsy…this one makes a bit of a horlicks of the housework and actually falls out of the nest. The husband, no doubt.
The breeding cycle for birds is challenged by problems and threatened by danger from start to finish. These Housemartins from Bideford, like the ones down at Looe, have been forced to use estuarine mud to build their nests because there is no freshwater alternative as all the puddles have dried up due to lack of rain. I have never seen them using this source before, and hope the salty mud from brackish water is a good enough building brick.
Lovely to see, but suddenly the whole lot took off at speed amid a clamour of trilling alarm notes as a Hobby falcon (which catch and eat Housemartins) raked overhead.
Life as a family of Mallard isn’t all fun and games either, as both mother and newly-hatched ducklings seem to attract unwanted attention. This little posse are lucky not to end up as dinner for a crow as they are left exposed when their mother is nearly mugged by a group of lairy males, and takes a while to get back to protect them.
You can clearly hear (and see) the angst from Mrs.Mallard as the family are pursued by unwanted suitors, and the casual-looking crow on the bank which is thinking of a duckling-sized lunch.
The drakes force the mother to leave the little family vulnerable to attack from the prowling corvid.
Fortunately she soon returned and managed to guide them away from the aggressors and they found somewhere to chillax and process in the Spring sunshine. Happy ending. Phew.
Everywhere you look is a baby bird-fest at the minute. And drifting along in complete unobtrusive silence in a kayak is the best way to enjoy it.