Irlam Moss

Irlam Moss 

The blackbird made another early start for the dawn chorus and provoked an answer from the one claiming the school grounds. The collared dove and woodpigeons waited until there was signs of daybreak. It was a busy morning for errands and by the time I'd finally got a pot of tea I didn't have a lot of get up and go about me, or even less than usual. I dragged myself out of the house, got the train into Irlam and had a nosy round Irlam Moss — walking up Astley Road and walking back down Roscoe Road and marvelling at the difference a six inch thickness of tarmac can make to a road surface.

Astley Road 

House sparrows, greenfinches, goldfinches and great tits fidgeted about in the hedgerows and blue tits foraged in pairs in the trees. I didn't see or hear any chiffchaffs or long-tailed tits until I got to the junction with Roscoe Road. Robins, wrens, blackbirds and a song thrush sang by the wayside, chaffinches sang in trees on the field margins. The woodpigeons were busy either feeding in the fields or clattering about amorously in the treetops. 

The fields between Astley Road and Moss Road were busy with jackdaws and carrion crows. The stripped turf fields between Astley Road and Roscoe Road looked very quiet at a glance but the binoculars quickly picked up the pheasants and magpies in the field margins and the blackbirds and song thrushes on the ground. A lesser black-back that flew in for a few minutes was pleasingly conspicuous. I heard the pair of lapwings a good ten minutes before I finally saw them.

A buzzard floated high overhead and drifted down towards New Moss Wood. I was disappointed not to see any kestrels on the fields by Astley Road, as I walked down Roscoe Road I bumped into the male kestrel that's usually kicking around. In the distance a clod of earth in one of the fields moved and turned out to be a male grey partridge out on a walk by itself. Being a grey partridge it was more of a scuttle than a walk and it very quickly became invisible again despite the lack of vegetation on the field.

Roscoe Road
The chimney stacks in the distance are the Carrington Cloud Factory

I pottered about for an hour. It was one of those afternoons that was "a bit quiet" or "plenty about," depending on your mood. I decided I was in a *plenty about" mood despite my pretty much sleepwalking along the way. The knees confirmed the weather forecast's prediction that tomorrow's going to be cool and wet. Ah well, the bird baths in my back garden needed topping up.

Lazy Sunday

Spadgers

The weather did change, the knee forecast it correctly. The cooler, greyer weather didn't stop Spring's carrying on a-sprunging. The great tits are taking turns to come to the feeders, the male announcing his arrival every time, the female almost creeping in. The blue tits are doing similar, which suggests they both have nests on the go. Apart from the occasional mid-morning song the coal tits have vanished from the scene, as have the long-tailed tits. Except they haven't really, two or three times a week I'll spot one of either coming to the suet balls by a very circuitous route via the conifers at the bottom of the garden and a low-growing Viburnum. The dunnock, the wren and the robin are singing and the starlings are nesting in next door's roof again.

Spadgers
The pine cones had been larded with suet and seeds, the magpies and spadgers love them and at this stage there's still enough bits of fat lodged in crevices to keep the titmice going. The pine cones lodged in the top of the feeder is to stop the squirrels taking the fat balls and running away with them.

As well as revising the songs of blackcap and garden warblers, and listening to recordings of lesser whitethroats so I don't think I'm mishearing chaffinches, I'm going to have to listen to a lot of recordings of hunting bats. Pipistrelles are straightforward because they have Morse code calls for echolocation and noctules sound like 90s techno dance tracks. Unfortunately for me there are quite a few species of bat that call on roughly the same frequency so when I pick them up in my bat detector I can't use that to identify them down to the particular species. Also unfortunately for me I can't read sonograms, or more pertinently I can't "hear" them, I've never been able to translate what I'm seeing on the sonogram chart into a sound or series of sounds in my head. I have the same problem with music, I can play the dots mechanically but I can't "hear" what they should sound like. So I'll have to dig around and listen to lots of recordings.

Urmston and Irlam

Teal, Davyhulme Millennium Nature Reserve

It was another fine May morning in March. I woke to the dawn chorus, missing the blackbird but catching all the rest of the current cast, and asked myself what I was going to do with it. It didn't take long to amass a long list of what I wasn't going to do with it so I decided I'd pick up and run with yesterday's plan and just to make sure I didn't do a repeat of yesterday I walked over to get the 15 bus which runs every quarter of an hour and stops near the Davyhulme Millennium Nature Reserve.

I could walk there from home but it's three miles of not unduly enervating suburban road walking and I did plenty enough of that during lockdown to last me a while yet. I got off a couple of stops early, though, just to make sure I was getting a little bit of exercise in for the day. It also meant I could walk down Daresbury Avenue from the start instead of walking in from the bus stop, getting to the crossroads and wondering which of the three Daresbury Avenues I need to be walking down.

Willow catkins

The reserve was awash with Blackthorn and cherry blossom but it was the catkins of the goat willows that made the biggest visual splash. 

Blackthorns 

Peacock butterflies, of which there were many, basked in the sun as they fed from the blossom at the tops of the cherry trees. Long-tailed tits favoured the catkins and the abundance of small insects feeding on them. The blue tits, great tits and chiffchaffs preferred the lower reaches of the willows though one chiffchaff did have a rummage about in some catkins and got chased off by a pair of long-tailed tits. The songscape was turned up to eleven with great tits, chiffchaffs, chaffinches, dunnocks and woodpigeons trying to be heard over the wrens and robins.

Goat willow 

Manchester Ship Canal 

The Ship Canal, viewed through the trees, was littered with waterfowl. As I crossed over Bents Lane Brook I noticed a couple of teal dabbling upstream of the bridge. A dozen more dabbled and dozed where the brook ran into the canal. Pairs of mallards and gadwalls hugged the canal banks, great crested grebes cruised midwater and cormorants fished. Most of the cormorants were working solo but there was some cooperative fishing going on, including three swimming upstream in a line abreast, taking turns to be the one in the middle capitalising from panicked fish coming in from either side.

Davyhulme Millennium Nature Reserve 

A couple of blackcaps sang in the bushes at the corner where the path splits. The creaking sound turned out to be my left knee rather than the whitethroat I'd hoped it was, the weather must be on the turn.

Barton Lock 

I walked round to the canalside at Barton Lock. For all that there were loads of gadwalls about there wasn't a single coot or tufted duck to be seen. Half a dozen black-headed gulls made enough noise for a crowd and a lesser black-back sat on a lamppost. I already knew where the heron's preferred fishing point was and felt a bit smug at having been proved right again. It'll be elsewhere next time I visit.

Heron on Barton Lock

I walked round and followed the dead straight path along the reserve boundary. Yet more peacock butterflies, some of them barging comma butterflies off favoured basking spots. A treecreeper added to the songscape. I'm never sure if I really am hearing a treecreeper and it always comes as a relief when I see the bird fidget up a tree trunk. A buzzard called loudly as it flew overhead, I wondered if it's the same pale-headed bird I've seen a few times on Cadishead Moss.

Gadwalls and moorhens drifted about a pond that will soon be all but invisible behind reeds and flag irises. It's still many weeks too early to start expecting to see dragonflies, which didn't stop me looking.

The pond

I got talking to a couple walking their dog and we both joked that if we were here the kingfisher that's often seen on the canal won't be. I'd taken three steps when it shot down the canal past me. I shouted over to thank them for being lucky mascots and hoped they'd see it on their way back. I hope they did.

The afternoon was yet young so I decided to go and have a look at Irlam Locks. I could have got the 15 to the end of its route on Lytham Road and walked down from there, it's five stops so I guess that would be defensible. But it's only five stops, slightly over an extra mile, so I walked it. Lytham Road Park is a few acres of green space between the road and the canal, every time I go past I feel sure there should be a path down to Irlam Locks despite my knowing full well there isn't one. I stopped and asked myself if I was sure and had to look at two maps before I was convinced. The rookeries on Woodsend Crescent Road were bustling with activity but no sign of youngsters yet.

Rookery

The house sparrows in the hedgerows down Irlam Road were noisy and fussy, which set me wondering if some didn't already have mouths to feed. Robins, blackbirds and dunnocks were doing most of the singing in the background.  

Irlam Locks 

The clamour of the black-headed gulls on the locks and the water treatment works almost drowned out the songbirds' efforts. I scanned through the crowds in the hopes I might get my first Mediterranean gull of the year but they were all right and proper black-headed gulls, even the second calendar year birds that were keeping their white heads awhile.

Black-headed gulls

A couple of cormorants loafed on the locks. A string of fourteen of them fished downstream under the railway bridge. The great crested grebes favour fishing here but they'd obviously been outnumbered by larger birds and so were loafing with the gulls in the lock.

River Irwell Old Course 

I sort of drifted over the locks and up Cadishead Way and over to the Irwell Old Course. Great tits, chiffchaffs and woodpigeons sang in the trees. They were joined by blackbirds, robins, wrens, dunnocks and a song thrush as I dropped down the steps and walked along the bankside. Moorhens, coots and mallards pottered about on the water and a terrapin basked on a log. Some of the mallards succumbed to the fires in the blood which scandalised a couple who shouted, clapped their hands and threw sticks at them. Looking at them and their only child I got the impression that somebody had done the same to them.

Moorhen

Collared doves joined the songscape and goldfinches twittered in the treetops. I decided I didn't have the legs for a wander up Irlam Moss so I walked over and got the 100 to the Trafford Centre and thence home. It had been a nice, chilled sort of walk and I was glad I hadn't badgered myself into anything more frenetic.

Local patch

Blue tit

It was one of those nights. The blackbird kicked off the dawn chorus at half four, a carrion crow joined in at five, the robin at half-past, a woodpigeon ten minutes later and after a passage of lesser black-backs overhead the collared dove and a starling joined the chorus. I must have finally dozed off before the Count Basie Orchestra were counted in.

I woke up more tired than I was when I went to sleep and shelved the plans for the day. I replenished the feeders and got a lot of impatient feedback from the robin and one of the dunnocks because I insisted on grubbing up some brambles and sycamore seedlings. 

It was a cooler and cloudier day that still had a touch of late April to it and I felt I should make use of it. I decided I'd have a circuit of Davyhulme Millennial Nature Reserve. As I saw the bus pass by a minute early I decided that rather than wait twenty minutes at the bus stop I'd walk to the park and give my local patch a proper going over rather than the passing glances it's had the past couple of weeks.

Lostock Park 

There were plenty of birds about though I was disappointed no chiffchaffs had arrived yet. Then I reminded myself it's still mid-March. A pair of siskins bouncing through the trees at the back of the park served as a reminder.

• Blackbird 11, 3 singing
• Blue tit 5
• Carrion crow 3
• Dunnock 1 singing
• Feral pigeons 4
• Goldfinch 6, 3 singing
• Greenfinch 3, 1 singing
• Herring gull 1
• Jackdaw 1
• Lesser black-back 1
• Long-tailed tit 1
• Magpie 14
• Robin 10, 9 singing
• Siskin 2
• Song thrush 1 singing
• Woodpigeon 15, 2 singing
• Wren 5 singing

The 250 was due soon so I decided to get that to the Trafford Centre and get the 245 which goes by Davyhulme Millennial Nature Reserve. The 250 was running a couple of minutes early so I'd not have long to wait for it. Four minutes later it was running fourteen minutes late. That turned out to be an optimistic estimate. As we got into the Trafford Centre bus station the 245 pulled out. Three hours' sleep told me to jack it in and go home. Which I did.

Barton Clough

Urmston

The long-tailed tits by Old Eeas Brook were nest-building

It was another gloriously sunny day. I'd had two pretty intense days' birdwatching and was still feeling the effects of yesterday's travelling and late homecoming but I had plans for the day. Then I sat myself down and reminded myself that this isn't a job. It would do no harm to chill out for the day. So I had a wander about locally. The spadgers in the back garden made a point of letting me know I needed to pick up a bag of sunflower seeds on the way home.

House sparrow
I think this lad's coming up to his third birthday this year. 

I walked over to Cob Kiln Wood. The gardens along the way were noisy with magpies and robins, the rooftops and trees busy with starlings, jackdaws and woodpigeons, and great tits and robins sang in the allotments. I'm going to be doing a lot of my birdwatching by ear this Spring.

Old Eeas Brook 

Old Eeas Brook was running high. Titmice and blackbirds bounced through the trees while robins sang and parakeets screeched and woodpigeons clattered about. 

Cob Kiln Wood 

Chiffchaffs and a song thrush joined in the chorus as I walked past the dragonfly pond. Somebody's given it a clear-out and it looks like it might not dry out completely this year. Just beyond, the warm weather had opened the alder cones and a mixed flock of goldfinches, great tits and blue tits was hoovering up the seeds from the path. They dispersed as I apologised and walked past but were back again when I was barely five paces ahead.

Comma

The brambles in the electricity pylon clearing were busy with butterflies and long-tailed tits. A great spotted woodpecker drummed in the trees and a couple of buzzards circled on the thermals overhead. Blackthorn and wild cherry were in full bloom, comfrey leaves were poking out of the frost-blackened debris, even the path at the top of the steps down to Cob Kiln Lane was only muddy. All the signs of Spring were there, including drifts of primroses on the banks and carpeting swathes of cuckoo pint leaves under the trees. I must remember to come back in a couple of weeks' time to see if there are any buds showing, I'd expect the flowers in April or early May but the seasons and the calendar aren't aligning anymore. It promises to be spectacular when it happens and I want to catch it.

Peacock 

Primroses 

The walk down Cob Kiln Lane to the river was punctuated by robins, wrens and great tits. The robins were in fearless mode, giving passing dogs and people hard stares at close quarters.

Robin

Cob Kiln Lane 

Looking downstream from the weir

The Mersey was high, making the salmon ladder by the weir pretty much redundant. I didn't think I'd be seeing much on the river in these conditions so it was a nice surprise to see a pair of goosanders fishing over the shoals downstream before retreating to the bankside for a rest.

Goosanders

I walked back down Cob Kiln Lane. I fancied a walk round Urmston Meadows and on a whim I decided not to walk into town and past the cemetery, instead I'd take the rough paths between the river and Old Eeas Brook. I wouldn't ordinarily do this in Winter or Spring but the weather's been mostly dry this past few weeks so I thought I'd take a chance.

The old, mostly dried-up, ox-bow 

Is it so very long ago that this was open meadow with linnets singing in trees and skylarks singing overhead? Well, yes, it was a long time ago. There are still open patches of grassland with brambles round the edges though the riverside has been invaded by Japanese knotweed. Wrens, dunnocks and long-tailed tits fidgeted about in the brambles. Some of the wrens and dunnocks stopped to sing. Some of the long-tailed tits had beakfuls of moss and if they saw that I saw them they'd make themselves very conspicuous as they turned and flitted away from the nest site before zipping back under cover of leaves.

It must be forty years since I last took the low road on this path outside a midsummer drought. It'll probably be forty years before I do it again. The high road involves playing Tarzan among the elder bushes, hollies and willows to get over the collapsed gaps. 

Chiffchaffs and a song thrush sang in the trees by the open ground. I followed the main path into the trees by the old ox-bow lake which is now mostly just a muddy deep depression. A flock of redwings stole through the canopy, they're definitely in migration mode now and only stopping to eat. Robins and chaffinches sang by the path. I'll have to remind myself of the subtle differences in tone and tempo between blackcaps and garden warblers and be wary of robins: the one at the station has retained its willow warbler descent at the end of its song and quite a few of the local robins have blackcap-like trills in their warm-ups. I was so intent on delivering this homily to myself I almost didn't notice that the bird singing in the elder bush by the path was my first blackcap of the year.

The ox-bow lake by Urmston Beach

I'm old enough to remember when the current ox-bow lake was still, just, technically a river meander and was only an isolated lake in Summer. A pair of mallards seemed to have it to themselves as they dozed and preened under the roots of a very old willow.

Old Eeas Brook 

I crossed the bridge over Old Eeas Brook, which was looking younger and more vigorous than it did upstream in its rush to meet the river. It was a short walk past the corner of the cemetery to the path into Urmston Meadows.

Blackthorn 

Urmston Meadows 

The woodland beside the meadows was noisy with song. Coal tits and goldcrests joined the soundscape though the latter struggled to be heard over the robins and wrens. More redwings passed through the trees. Bullfinches whistled as they disbudded wild cherries, chaffinches pinked as dog walkers went by but ignored dogless pedestrians, and somewhere in the background a ring-necked parakeet was shouting the odds. A nuthatch called from some of the younger trees between the fields. A kestrel was harassed by jackdaws in another corner. Magpies, jackdaws and carrion crows shadowed the horses in the fields. Watching them I wondered how long it would be before I'd be seeing a cattle egret here. That thought reminded me to keep an eye out for little egrets though I didn't see one today. 

Urmston Meadows 

A moorhen pottered about in the damp corner of one of the fields. I followed the path beside the field drains hoping for a sight of a water vole but not even seeing much sign of their being about.

It had been a nice, laid-back afternoon stroll. I headed into Urmston and made my way home.

Ribble Estuary — Hesketh Outer and Banks Marshes

Banks Marsh 

It was very tempting to give up on today's jaunt. My train into Manchester was held up at signals at Cornbrook for quarter of an hour and I would have missed the Barrow train had it not been cancelled. Being bloody-minded I waited for the Blackpool train which was due quarter of an hour later and got the one that arrived into Oxford Road an hour and a half late, which became the late-running 10:37 train, much to the surprise of the train crew, and which set off at 11:13 just before the 11:08. We steamed through towards Preston without stopping, with every prospect of arriving ten minutes before the originally planned scheduled time, then we ground to a halt outside Buckshaw Parkway, where Preston North End weren't being put through their paces on their training ground so we just had an empty field to stare at. The delay was because the signals South of the Preston area had been damaged and were not to be trusted so the signal controllers were having to radio the drivers to move each train one stretch of line at a time as it became free and the drivers were on visual caution each time they were told to move one space ahead because the train in front was now out of the way.  Given the large number of trains going through Preston — local and West Coast Main Line —  you can imagine the results. I include details like this in case any of my readers decide to use the trains and get dismayed by chaos. This is the normal. There's no slack and decades of underinvestment and tinkering about means the system runs at all by the deployment of spectacular improvisation in the face of systems failures and the train crews are ofttimes as baffled as the passengers as to what's going on. On the plus side, even if the failure's as big as this one at such a critical part of the network nine times out of ten you'll still get where you're going and ninety-nine times out of a hundred it'll on the right day. You've every right to get dismayed by the disruption but you'll survive it easier if you see it as a side-quest to the adventure.

Which is a long-winded way of saying I went out for a walk between Hesketh Bank and Banks and had a very productive time of it.

On arriving at Preston I'd missed the number 2 bus to Southport, which stops in Hesketh Bank. It's an hourly service and I'd half an hour to wait for it. The 2A was due in five minutes, I could get that, get off at Longton Brickcroft for a short potter about then get the next 2 from that stop. A lunchtime dawdle round the pools and woodland sounded more fun than idling at the station bus stop. And so it was.

Longton Brickcroft 

Woodpigeons, great tits and blackbirds sang by the bus stop and they were joined by robins and chiffchaffs as I walked through the car park. Mallards and mute swans dozed in the midday sun, moorhens pottered about, tufted ducks drifted about the pool and a great crested grebe barked at passersby.

Woodpigeon

There wasn't long enough to visit the top pool. The trees around the middle pool were lively with woodpigeons, squirrels, titmice, blackbirds and chaffinches while the undergrowth fizzed with robins, wrens and dunnocks. An invisible song thrush belted out a number and invisible nuthatches called maddeningly close by. A couple of redwings flew in and nestled into the deep cover of the canopy.

Redwing 

I glanced at the time and realised I had to put a toddle on for the bus. I would have liked another half hour or more but time was short if I wanted a walk by the Ribble Estuary marshes.

Mallard 

I got the bus and got off at the first bus stop as it turned out of Hesketh Bank onto Shore Road. It was a short walk to the end of Dib Road and it was accompanied by singing robins, great tits and chiffchaffs. I heard a noise inland and saw two buzzards calling as they rode the thermals together and a male sparrowhawk having to get out of the way as they barged through his display flight.  

Crossing over to Dib Road I noticed a little egret lurking in the drain by the road.

Little egret 

I was offered a lift most of the way up Dib Road and accepted it with thanks. It saved me quarter of an hour's walk. I was dropped off by the field sports centre. The sound of shotguns didn't put off the singing robins, chiffchaffs or song thrush, nor the chaffinches singing in the hedgerows further along. A male sparrowhawk skimming the hedgetops made everything go quiet for a minute or two. Linnets fussed in the fields, peacock butterflies basked on the road and my first tree sparrow of the year — at last! — was a billy no mates in the hedges by the farmstead near the end of the road.

Farmed mossland on the left, Hesketh Out Marsh on the right and I've chosen to walk with the sun in my eyes for the next few miles

Moorhens fussed in the drain inland of the bund. I could hear black-headed gulls and the whistling of wigeons from over the other side. I climbed up onto the bund and started walking along the path. It's impossible not to skyline here but most of the birds weren't unduly bothered, even the redshanks and avocets out there. It must be said, though, that they're happier when you're moving.

Hesketh Out Marsh 

There were scores of avocets and black-tailed godwits on the pools. The godwits were feeding up ready for the off, most of them in rusty brown breeding colours, the younger birds still mostly in Winter greys. The avocets were new arrivals and spent more time socialising than feeding. A few were already paired up and some looked like they were trying to establish territories amongst all the hubbub. There were even more redshanks peppered across the marsh.

Avocets

The wigeons and teal were in unobtrusive hundreds, there's a lot of marsh for a lot of ducks to spread themselves over. There were scores of shelducks, mostly in pairs and a handful of pairs of mallards. Little egrets pottered about in ones and two in the pools and creeks. The heads of a few Canada geese rose above the long grass in the distance.

Wigeons, teal, avocets and shelducks

A couple of spotted redshanks had been reported here earlier so I kept an eye out. Which wasn't easy as the redshanks were silhouetted against the sunlight. I shuffled along a bit to get between the sun and a few of the redshanks, established they were all redshanks and shuffled along a bit more, and repeat. A lady walking back with a telescope said she'd found one spotted redshank and lost it again almost immediately as the waders were being so active. She'd seen enough to note that it was moulting and was quite dark above where the black breeding plumage was coming through. Which was a good tip, I'd been assuming they'd still be Winter ghosts.

Whooper swans 

The mutterings inland were small flocks of whooper swans feeding in the fields. I looked for any Bewick's swans, just in case, as you do.

Whooper swans 

Up on the bund skylarks were very much in evidence, rising and singing at head height before dropping down out of sight. Conversely, the meadow pipits were being very inconspicuous and almost had to be trodden on before they'd rise out of the grass. The linnets, meanwhile, were feeding in the fields or fussing about noisily in the trees on the field boundaries. Peacock butterflies fluttered about and there was an abundance of small, orange ichneumon wasps I've not yet been able to identify. 

Ichneumon wasp

A marsh harrier put the ducks and waders up, giving me the hope I might pick up the spotshanks in flight. No luck and everything settled back down again once the harrier moved on. It was pure chance I noticed one preening at the edge of a small pool a little further on, I was looking for geese far out in the marsh and the movement closer in caught my eye. It looked a different bird to the one the lady saw, it was mostly still paler than the redshanks though a dark shadow across its back hinted of the black Summer plumage.

Mute swans 

I glanced inland and realised that the pair of swans standing away from the flock of whoopers in one of the fields were mute swans. If I could miss mute swans I could miss Bewick's so I scanned the flocks anew. One of the birds in a flock of a couple of dozen a few fields away looked distinctly smaller than the others but I couldn't be sure it wasn't just the angle of view. In the end I concluded it was just another whooper, it would have been obvious had it been a Bewick's swans and I wouldn't have been asking questions.

In the past when you walked along this bund you reached a locked gate. Twenty yards ahead was another locked gate. You had to turn and walk the best part of half a mile inland along a bund to Marsh Road, annoying the sheep in one field, walk twenty yards along the road then walk the best part of half a mile along another bund to get to the other side of the other locked gate, annoying the sheep in another field along the way. Since the new National Coastal Path has been inaugurated we can pass through thd gates. Which came as a relief today.

Between the two gates
I didn't know this creek was here.

A great white egret flew over and headed for the river. I started being able to see geese on the distant marsh. At first they were just dark clouds rising from the marsh as aircraft flew overhead. As I progressed along the bund I started to see dark lines of geese — thousands of them — on the marsh, then some lines became black dots, then discernable geese and then some were close enough to be identifiable though even the closest stayed a couple of hundred yards away.

Pink-footed geese 

Predictably, most everything I could identify was a pink-footed goose. Then I had a bit of luck as an aeroplane flew over and spooked the geese: the light caught the faces of some slightly heavier, distinctly darker geese as they flew up in a panic. There were at least three Greenland white-fronted geese out there. Further along I picked up a Russian white-front, possibly two, in a crowd of pink-feet near a fence. 

Pink-footed geese and a couple of Russian white-fronted geese (you'll probably just have to trust me on that)

A bit further along the clouds of geese rose up again as the aeroplane flew back over a few times and the pilot got his licence miles in. The grey and black patch in the mid-distance one time was a dozen or more barnacle geese. Another time at least eight Russian white-fronts settled back down and disappeared into a sea of pink-feet. One of the sentinels staring up from one mass of pink-feet was a good head taller and tawnier and I found me a tundra bean goose. Someone with a telescope would have been having a bonanza today, God alone knows what I was missing out there. Probably not a white-morph snow goose but all other bets are off.

Pink-footed, and probably a few other, geese rising up after being spooked by a passing aeroplane…

…and coming back down again

Curlews, oystercatchers, lapwings and redshanks called from the marsh, skylarks sang from the bund and reed buntings sang from the inland fields. The smells of cabbages and leeks being harvested made me wish I'd brought a casserole with me. 

Banks Marsh 

I got to the point where Marsh Road meets the bund, dropped down and walked into Far Banks for the bus. I could barely have hoped for a more productive walk beside the marsh, I could think of half a dozen birds I would have liked to have seen besides but that was like wishing for a meal after a feast.

Walking to Far Banks

There was a twenty minute wait for the buses either way. Train services from Preston still looked a bit fragile, the problem seemed to be sorted but the knock-on effects were still apparent, so I got the bus into Southport and thence home. The timetable for my local train service being what it is I walked home from Urmston and was ready for a pot of tea.