Chronicling a Climate Journey – Connecting with Birds
3rd September 2022
Down on the south coast of England is a little patch of heaven. A patchwork of habitats offer wonderful places for birds to rest, breed and feed. Great habitats for birds are often a positive result from human activities – former landfill sites and gravel pits as well as managed nature reserves.
I heard someone describe the Keyhaven area as a kind of bird airport and I cannot think of a more apt description. There are birds who are taking a stopover on their way to other locations, plenty of visitors all year round, along with the resident populations; Birds heading north, south, east and west; Birds arriving for the winter and birds leaving after a warm, maybe too warm, UK summer.
A squadron of Canada Geese fly over in V-formation. They are perhaps numerous and an introduced species, dismissed by many in the same way they do Feral Pigeons, but it is hard not to cast eyes skyward and smile as they pass overhead. Although they are resident, they remind me of the coming seasons and the prospect of the long-haul arrivals.
Redshanks come in to land, their smart white “ailerons” give a sense of a row of tidy uniforms. The effect is mesmerising. Perhaps a potential predator might be similarly stopped short to take in the spectacle. Standing on the sea wall is a feast for the senses. The sea breeze lifts my spirits and the smell of seaweed transports me from my whirring mind into a blissful awareness of my singing heart. Every day here seems different. In every direction there is drama – a huge flock of Starlings periodically take to the air in a mini murmuration. It is a little like a crowd practising a Mexican wave in the warm-up to a sporting event. In a channel close to the wall a Black-Headed Gull tap dances for lunch, his red feet drumming up several tasty rewards. A line of Turnstones, barely skimming the water’s surface, are almost silhouetted against the sun’s light reflecting off the waves. They are as enchanting in flight as their shoreline shuffle between the upending of stones that gives them their name.
All eyes, though, are on the drought-cracked lagoons. Sizeable groups are gathered to catch a glimpse of passing guests – Pectoral and Curlew Sandpipers, who have caused quite a stir. Sadly, in the excitement, they have been disturbed by an over-enthusiastic photographer. A trio of Knots obligingly forage between the cracks in the mud close to the path, where they are caught by the happy snappers. Maybe it is my bio-euphoria, but the Knots seem blissfully happy to continue their search for food, unperturbed by the avian paparazzi.
This latest visit is as part of a group with the Hampshire Ornithological Society. The care and enthusiasm of the members leading us is as heartening as the surrounding nature. There is an eagerness to teach and share insights. There is also a sense that we are being recruited as additional guardians for this special place. I am, of course, rather taken with the prospect of that opportunity!
Climate change is ever-present on my mind. It is hard to escape it, looking around at the parched, cracked land, which had been largely covered by water on previous visits. Drought is one thing, but rising sea levels threaten the salt marshes. Storms and unusually high tides threaten ground-nesting birds. Changes in salinity due to melting ice might also be an issue. This is a specialist environment and rapid change leaves little time for adaptation. Already there are changes in the ranges of many species – some birds are becoming a more common sight, such as the Mediterranean Gull, or a more common sound, like the Cetti’s Warbler. However others are adversely affected. Seabirds seem to be particularly sensitive as their prey species face the brunt of the rapid changes. A notable example is the Puffin, whose diet is largely composed of Sandeels. Puffins, though, like many of the other seabirds, are not commonly sighted in this area, with its distinct lack of cliffs. Even so, changes in the timing of seasons, so-called phenological changes, mean that the food chain can get seriously out of sync. Breeding is usually timed with miraculous precision to coincide with an abundance of food for hungry chicks. In years where spring starts early or where there is a late, harsh cold snap, it can spell near-disaster for population numbers. Not disastrous perhaps when it is an unusual blip, but terrible news when it happens repeatedly.
Other pressures on the wildlife are also apparent – not just the seekers of close encounters of the bird kind, but also with unwitting dog walkers. Although we are out of the breeding season, the dogs loose on the marsh cost the birds precious energy at a time when food must surely be harder to come by. I cannot help but wonder whether my presence is an added pressure. I feel this tension keenly between our need to connect with the rest of nature, to engage and enthuse others and the potential to unleash yet more human clumsiness on our seemingly-fragile wild family. Another wicked problem.
(With grateful acknowledgement to the Hampshire Ornithological Society, Wild New Forest and Milford Conservation Volunteers and Keith Betton’s “Where to Watch Birds in Dorset, Hampshire & the Isle of Wight” – I hope you will feel inspired to look them all up and support them!)