Curlew Sandpipers, Clouded Yellows and a Severn High Tide

Picture Courtesy of Paul Joy

I returned to Severn Beach on Saturday, this time accompanied by my friend Paul Joy. After my previous visit I was keen to get back amongst the waders again, particularly with Curlew Sandpipers still moving through on autumn passage.

We arrived a couple of hours before high tide and made our way down towards the shoreline, settling at a respectful distance from the waders that had already begun gathering at the water’s edge.

The weather could hardly have been better. The sun was shining, the sky was blue and it was one of those glorious early autumn days when it still feels as though summer is reluctant to let go.

I am also still waiting for a haircut.

My daughter, who normally keeps my hair under some sort of control, has been rather busy lately and consequently my usual Action Man-style haircut is rapidly being replaced by an increasingly impressive greying bouffant.

The wader flock was made up mainly of Common Ringed Plovers, Dunlins and Turnstones, and once again I found myself carefully scanning through them in search of something slightly different.

This is much easier said than done at Severn Beach.

When the waders settle amongst the rocks and pebbles they can almost disappear. Their plumage is superbly adapted for camouflage and even when you know exactly where a bird has landed, looking away for a few seconds can result in it apparently vanishing into the shoreline.

A Curlew Sandpiper in amongst the wader flock (central bird).

Dunlins in particular seem capable of transforming themselves into small grey stones whenever they feel like it.

I was hoping to find another Curlew Sandpiper and eventually one appeared amongst the flock.

There is always something satisfying about picking one out amongst dozens of Dunlins. The slightly longer legs, subtly different proportions and gently curved bill eventually reveal themselves once your eye becomes tuned into the flock.

As the tide continued to rise the birds were initially rather unsettled and took flight several times.

From a photography point of view this wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

Curlew Sandpiper in flight.

A swirling flock of small waders provides wonderful opportunities for flight photography, particularly when the birds twist and turn together and their pale underparts suddenly flash in the sunlight.

I concentrated on photographing the flock whenever they lifted from the shoreline before watching them circle and drop back amongst the rocks.

It wasn't until later, when going through the photographs at home, that I discovered something I hadn't realised at the time.

There were actually two Curlew Sandpipers amongst them.

That is one of the pleasures of photographing large flocks of waders. The camera sometimes records things that your eyes simply miss in the few seconds the birds are airborne.

Dunlins, Common Ringed Plover and Curlew Sandpiper

And these particular birds had already travelled considerably further than I had to reach Severn Beach.

Curlew Sandpipers breed far to the east of us on the Arctic tundra of northern Siberia. During autumn, a relatively small proportion of the population passes through Britain and Ireland as the birds make their way south towards wintering grounds in Africa. Most British records occur between August and early October, with juvenile birds making up an important part of the autumn passage.

Their numbers here can vary enormously from one autumn to another, influenced both by breeding success in the Arctic and by weather conditions encountered during migration. Britain lies towards the western edge of their main migration route, so seeing one is never something I take for granted.

The Severn Estuary has, however, proved an important stopping point for Curlew Sandpipers in some autumns, reinforcing just how valuable these huge tidal feeding areas can be to migrating waders.

I find that aspect of migration endlessly fascinating.

Here we were sitting amongst the rocks at Severn Beach watching two tiny waders which, not very long ago, may have been feeding on the Siberian tundra. They had somehow travelled thousands of miles across continents and coastlines before briefly dropping into the Severn Estuary.

For us, Severn Beach was a Saturday morning birdwatching trip.

For the Curlew Sandpipers it was merely a service station on an extraordinary journey south.

Curlew Sandpiper, Common Ringed Plover and Dunlins.

That thought alone makes encounters with migrant birds feel rather special.

Eventually the flock settled down again as the tide pushed higher.

Unfortunately I wasn't settling quite so comfortably.

The rocks at Severn Beach had apparently become significantly harder since my previous visit.

I shifted position.

Then shifted again.

Then found what appeared to be a comfortable rock, only to discover several minutes later that it had been specifically designed by nature to inflict lower-back pain.

Another move followed.

Paul, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content.

Mr Joy

The light was also becoming increasingly harsh. With the sun reflecting from the water and pale rocks, the glare eventually began making my eyes ache.

It was time for a leg stretch.

Paul was quite happy watching the roosting waders, so I left him there and trundled off along the coast towards New Passage for a bit of a reconnaissance.

Birdwise it was fairly quiet.

A solitary female Wheatear was a nice sighting and I also picked up a Pied Flycatcher, but otherwise there was surprisingly little movement.

Northern Wheatear (female)

Wheatears are themselves on the move at this time of year, so even a single bird adds to that wonderful feeling of autumn migration gathering momentum.

Eventually I turned around and headed back towards Severn Beach.

When I found Paul again he had abandoned the rocks entirely and was lying on a grassy bank photographing Clouded Yellow butterflies.

A very sensible decision, I thought.

Clouded Yellows are always exciting butterflies to encounter. Their bright yellow wings seem almost ridiculously tropical on a British coastline, particularly when illuminated by strong sunshine.

Clouded Yellow Butterfly.

So a morning that had begun concentrating almost entirely on waders ended with Paul photographing migrant butterflies on the sea wall.

There is something rather appropriate about that.

Autumn migration isn't confined to birds.

The landscape at this time of year can be full of movement , birds travelling between continents, butterflies arriving from further south and countless insects quietly dispersing through the countryside.

Eventually hunger and the prospect of a nice coffee became more appealing than either waders or butterflies.

Paul and I therefore finished the morning in the traditional manner.

Refreshments at the local café.

Two Curlew Sandpipers, a Pied Flycatcher, a Wheatear, Clouded Yellows, some excellent wader photography and several hours spent sitting on increasingly uncomfortable rocks.

Not a bad Saturday's birding at Severn Beach.

Although before my next visit I really must arrange that haircut.