Waders, Fieldcraft and a Call of Duty Sniper at Severn Beach
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| Curlew Sandpiper |
I have been missing seeing waders close up recently.
I really enjoy photographing waders, particularly when a little bit of fieldcraft is involved. There is something very rewarding about settling quietly into a position, allowing the birds to become comfortable with your presence and then watching them gradually edge closer as the tide comes in.
At Goldcliff, birds such as Dunlin, Ringed Plover and Sanderling are often frustratingly distant. You can see them perfectly well through binoculars or a scope, but from a photography point of view they can sometimes remain little more than beautifully marked pixels on the far side of the scrape.
That usually means travelling a little further afield to places such as Newton Point or Sker Point in South Wales.
New Passage and Severn Beach are also excellent locations and slightly closer to home, although there is one small complication for me — they involve crossing the Severn and venturing into England.
I know. Dangerous territory.
I often stand at Black Rock in Sudbrook, or on the seawall at Goldcliff, looking across the Severn Estuary and wondering what birds are being seen on the opposite shore at places such as Aust and Pilning Wetlands.
On Sunday morning, after photographing a spectacular sunrise at Black Rock, more about that in a separate blog,I decided it was time to investigate the English side and headed for Severn Beach in search of some close waders.
The plan was wonderfully simple.
Arrive a couple of hours before high tide, find a respectful position close enough for photography but far enough away not to disturb the birds, settle down with the camera and allow the incoming tide to gradually push the waders towards me.
There was also an important second part to the plan.
A Greggs flat white and a bacon and cheese wrap.
Good fieldcraft requires energy.
As it happened, everything was working rather nicely. The birds were settled, the tide was coming in and, remarkably, the sun was shining. I was even beginning to acquire something resembling a suntan.
The forecast rain showers had apparently forgotten where Severn Beach was.
For the moment, at least.
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| The roosting wader flock. |
In front of me was a mixed flock of Ringed Plovers, Dunlins and the occasional Turnstone.
Then I noticed something rather more exciting tucked amongst them.
Two Curlew Sandpipers.
Curlew Sandpipers can be surprisingly difficult to pick out when they are roosting amongst a flock of Dunlins. At first glance everything becomes a mass of small grey-brown waders, heads tucked into feathers, constantly shuffling position.
But once you get your eye in, subtle differences begin to appear — slightly longer legs, a little more elegance about the bird and that longer, gently curved bill.
I had found two of them.
Now all I had to do was wait.
The tide continued to rise and the flock gradually moved closer. I was quietly hoping that eventually one of the Curlew Sandpipers would wander within decent photographic range.
Everything was going perfectly.
Which, in wildlife photography, is usually the exact moment when something happens.
Suddenly the entire flock took off.
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| The flock takes to the air. |
Hundreds of wings flickered into the air and the birds wheeled away across the shoreline.
My first thought was that perhaps they had spotted a bird of prey. Waders often see danger long before we do.
Or perhaps a dog walker had appeared.
It was neither.
I looked to my left.
Creeping towards me was a photographer who looked as though he had just stepped out of an African safari. Khaki shorts, T-shirt and camera gear, moving slowly along the shoreline.
He raised a hand in acknowledgement, apparently aware that he might have disturbed the birds.
Behind him came another photographer.
He was rather more substantially built and had camouflage netting draped around his head and shoulders.
He looked considerably less like a wildlife photographer and considerably more like a sniper from Call of Duty.
I nearly choked on my Greggs.
For a few seconds I simply watched these two figures silently creeping along the shoreline towards me, one dressed for the Serengeti and the other apparently preparing to liberate Severn Beach.
The second photographer also raised a hand apologetically.
To be fair, I wasn't particularly annoyed.
I have been in their shoes plenty of times.
Both were clearly trying to use fieldcraft, moving slowly and quietly and attempting not to disturb the birds. Sometimes, despite everyone's best intentions, a flock of waders simply decides it has had enough and takes flight for reasons known only to itself.
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| Dunlins, Ringed Plover and can you spot the Curlew Sandpipers? |
The birds soon settled again and I returned my attention to the important business of trying to locate those Curlew Sandpipers.
I became completely absorbed in scanning through the flock.
Then I heard a rustling in the dry grass beside me.
I turned around.
The Call of Duty sniper was commando-crawling towards me.
For one slightly surreal moment my imagination ran away with itself and Severn Beach had transformed into a battlefield. We were no longer photographing harmless waders beside the Severn Estuary.
We were apparently stalking the enemy.
He crawled alongside me, looked across and, in a strong foreign accent, quietly said hello.
Thankfully, no artillery followed.
I stayed in my position for a while longer, waiting for the flock to edge closer again.
Eventually they did.
I finally managed to get my lens trained on one of the Curlew Sandpipers.
Perfect.
Then Safari Photographer apparently decided his knees could take no more.
He stood up and walked past the flock.
Up they went again.
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| Dunlins and Ringed Plover |
I will admit that this time I was slightly less philosophical about the situation, mainly because I had literally just found the Curlew Sandpiper in my viewfinder.
Fortunately, I had managed to press the shutter.
And luckily, I had a photograph I was very happy with.
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| Curlew Sandpiper |
The flock eventually flew across to the rocks beside the walkway, so myself and the Call of Duty sniper decided it was probably a good time to move positions and stretch our legs.
It was then that I properly introduced myself to him.
His name was Kamil, a very friendly Polish chap who, as it turned out, shares much the same enthusiasm as I do for waders and seabirds.
So much for the international mercenary.
Later, the flock returned to its original roosting area.
Kamil and I found an old tree trunk that had been washed and weathered by years of salty estuarine water and sat quietly together.
This time we let the birds come to us.
Gradually the waders settled.
Ringed Plovers shuffled amongst the stones. Dunlins preened and rested. The Curlew Sandpipers remained mixed amongst them.
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| Dunlins |
And, importantly, the birds seemed completely comfortable with our presence.
That, for me, is one of the most enjoyable parts of wildlife photography.
Good fieldcraft isn't really about creeping ever closer to a bird.
Quite often it is the opposite.
Find a sensible position.
Sit down.
Keep still.
Stay quiet.
Show the birds that you are not a threat and allow them to make the decision about how close they want to come.
Sometimes it works beautifully.
Sometimes you sit in wet grass for three hours and photograph absolutely nothing.
But that is all part of it.
It was particularly nice to share the experience with Kamil, someone I had met only because we were both lying amongst the grass pointing large camera lenses at a flock of tiny birds.
Wildlife photography has a habit of introducing you to people in slightly unusual circumstances.
And I came away from Severn Beach very happy indeed.
Not only had I enjoyed some excellent close views of Ringed Plovers, Dunlins and Turnstones, but I had finally managed to photograph one of those Curlew Sandpipers I had been carefully picking out amongst the flock.
A lovely addition to my collection.
The Greggs wasn't bad either.
and lastly ....
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| Common Guillemot. |
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