onionbagblog

To Fingringhoe Wick! …on New Year’s Day for something of a head cleaner from the hangover of the night before. But seeing as though I am still foot loose and booze free, it made something of a mockery of waking up the morning after and falling out of bed like a Dodo.

No worries. The wonderful Essex Wildlife Trust out towards our friends in Fingringhoe had lined up another series of themed events for the first day of the year. Nothing as daring as Swim Across the Colne Wearing a Feathery Costume Styled in the Cut of your Favourite Bird – that’s for next year, I hear.

Nope – a Family Guided Walk and the glamour of Optics Day delighted any estuary twitcher that managed to emerge from the duvet bright (ish) and early. Absent of a family for the day, and with the optics situation already under control (Bring Yer own Binoculars) @AnnaJCowen and I strolled off in search of birds.

Don’t fancy yours much, luv.

Our last visit to Fingringhoe Wick during the fag end days of the glorious Indian Summer left us with memories of bushes still heavy and laden with all the berries that bring our little friends halfway around the world to gorge upon each winter.

Some three months later and some of the autumnal leaves were still left hanging to the branches, like baubles begging for a stay of mercy ahead of 12th Night, slightly out of sync with the season, but beautiful all the same. Mother Nature messed up big time when we walked into a swarm of midges down towards the old Wick jetty.

But what of the birds?

A Peregrine greeted our arrival, standing proud and at full mast (steady) from the vantage point of the viewing gallery. We were tipped off by a charming and very helpful volunteer at the Reserve to look out for the star guest of the afternoon. But birding is a pastime that is ushered about in whispered volumes. I didn’t like to admit that we couldn’t actually hear the name that we were on the lookout for. It may have been a Great Grey Shrike; possibly it was a pigeon.

No worries The Girl and I waded out towards Robbie’s Hide (sadly not a nightclub) and walked the walk with the rest of the twitchers. We couldn’t quite talk the talk, but I like to think that birding is all about appearances. Never mind the length, feel the thickness, etc. My binoculars require a firm grip of a manly hand to get the best results.

“Do you see it?” enquired a fellow friendly twitcher. “Um, yeah, I think so. Down there on the old jetty, the white, um, thing?”

Turns out the star guest of the afternoon was actually black.

Whoops.

Back at base and in the sanctuary of the Fingringhoe Wick Visitor Centre, the volume levels had raised – possibly in all the excitement of having seen the thing, possibly something to do with the hot chocolate machine being fired up.

Ah, so it’s a Glossy Ibis that that we should have been placing a firm grip on the shaft of the binoculars upon. Well I never. And whaddya know – the charming and very friendly volunteer from Fingringhoe Wick then invited us to look through his scope, where the glorious Glossy Ibis was giving it a bit of star attraction strut. The birding book was given another tick in the plus column, with the same degree of pride that my bedpost use to notch up back in the day.

The bicycle ride back to base was a bit of a wade, being nice weather for ducks ‘n all that. I think that the scientific term is total saturation. I rather like the conservative wetness of bird watching. It’s the acceptable face of a tweed lining lifestyle, with a bit of New Year G & T statched away in the inner pocket that somehow managed to get past the teetotal police.

Chin chin.