After such a glorious summer, September’s storms came as a surprise. But they also brought a frisson of excitement, as strong winds often produce unusual birds. So on a blustery morning, I headed to my coastal patch, alongside the river Parrett. With a rising tide, the waters were choppy, and I could barely hold my binoculars steady in the strengthening wind. Meadow pipits sprang up from the grass, followed by a wheatear, whose rump flashed snow-white as it flew.
In the distance, I could see a small huddle of people. Dog walkers? Members of some weird religious sect? Well, sort of. Their profusion of optics confirmed they were birders, and as their lenses were pointed down towards a small pool, I knew immediately what they were looking at. The object of their attention was swimming along the water’s edge, feeding on tiny insects. A juvenile grey phalarope, all the way from Arctic Canada or Greenland, with tell-tale dark streaks across its back, wings and cap.
From its utter indifference to us, I suspect it had never seen a human being before. Soon it will head south, to overwinter off the coast of west Africa, before heading back north next spring. So, perhaps, it may never see one again.
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