Martin Mere

Black-headed gull

I had a few errands to do this morning then spent an hour waiting at Urmston Station for the train into Manchester, which was posted as being "on time" until the last bus that would get me in quicker had gone. The songscape at the station, while delightful, was scant consolation, the blackcap in the bush behind me has a particular case for being aggrieved at a poor audience. Luckily for me, the Southport train wasn't allowed to leave platform 5 before the train I was on had arrived and stopped at platform 4 so the habitués of Oxford Road Station were regaled with the ungainly spectacle of an old man hurtling across the platform and diving through the doors just before they closed. And so I was off to Martin Mere.

The journey to Burscough Bridge went well. Lesser black-backs in ones and twos replaced the Winter crowds of black-headed gulls in Bolton town centre. Woodpigeons and collared doves canoodled in trackside trees; magpies, carrion crows and jackdaws — and the occasional pheasant or buzzard — rummaged around in fields; and the coots, tufted ducks and Canada geese on the lake at Pemberton Park were cruising about in pairs.

The rookery at Burscough Bridge Station was in full swing and noisy with it. I had feared it largely abandoned, instead the birds have left most of the large nests by the car park and have rebuilt in the trees by the football pitch behind the supermarket. It's good to find there are still some eternal verities.

By Red Cat Lane 

It was nice walking weather. The breeze was there but not as wild and unlovely as it has been. There weren't any crowds of birds in the fields, even the jackdaws were a scant dozen, but there was a lot of birds about, mostly betrayed by song. Skylarks sang over the fields. Dunnocks, robins, wrens, chiffchaffs and great tits sang in hedgerows and gardens. Goldfinches and greenfinches sang from treetops, starlings from telegraph poles and blackbirds from chimney tops. A pair of lapwings chased off a buzzard and made a kestrel feel unwelcome. A pair of grey partridges would have done a good job of being invisible if the stubble on a field margin had been a couple of inches higher. They and I pretended that they had succeeded and I passed by without incident. I had hopes to hear the song of a corn bunting, they used to be as regular along here as the tree sparrows and it's a long time since I saw either. Perhaps next time.

Small flocks of black-headed gulls — never more than half a dozen — had been flying to and from overhead all the time I'd been walking down the road. Just past Brandeth Barn another flock came over and didn't sound right. As it got closer I picked out the call of a Mediterranean gull amongst the others — to me they sound like penguins — and I managed to spot it as they passed directly overhead. My first of the year, they'd really become a bogey with me.

Martin Mere 

At Martin Mere I went straight to the Discovery Hide as usual. The mere was transformed: the acres of wigeons, teals and greylags and noisy crowds of whooper swans had been replaced by black-headed gulls noisily asserting territorial rights to nesting sites or noisily jostling for prime loafing spots on islands, and often noisily both. There were few waders, just a handful of oystercatchers and a couple of avocets. And nearly all the waterfowl were mallards, I had to work to find the teals and shovelers and even the shelducks and coots were keeping a low profile. The cattle were grazing the far bank with cattle egrets dancing attendance. A great white egret stalked the edge nearby. In the field behind a pink-footed goose grazed on its own.

Male fern croziers

Turning towards the Mere View Hide 

I headed for the Ron Barker Hide. The trees along the path held singing chiffchaffs, blackcaps, great tits chaffinches and blackbirds. Woodpigeons lumbered about, greenfinches and goldfinches bustled through the trees, wrens and moorhens skittered about.

Little egret

At the Mere View Hide, the Kingfisher Hide as was, I had a chat with a chap who was taking his new big lens for a walk and had got some fine photos of marsh harriers. A little egret was striking poses in the trees in front of the hide and a few mallards were keeping under cover. The reason being the pair of marsh harriers building a nest in the reedbeds beyond. Every few minutes one or other would sail by with a stick in its mouth before disappearing into the reeds.

Everything at Rob Barker's was keeping its distance
Whooper swans, black-headed gulls and black-tailed godwits 

A chap was leaving the Ron Barker Hide as I approached it. "The glossy ibis is showing," he said. It took me ages to find it feeding in the grass over at the side with a flock of wigeon. I was about to give up on it when I realised there was a flock of black-tailed godwits there. If I could overlook forty-odd rusty red godwits I could be overlooking the ibis. Sure enough one of the carrion crows playing hide and seek in the grass turned side on and had a long neck. The godwits were spooked by a passing marsh harrier, rose and eventually settled on the water's edge. In the confusion I lost the ibis, it took ten minutes to pick it up again. It had run about fifty yards along and was showing better in the patches of close-cropped grass in that area. It was still only a dot in the camera viewfinder though. As was everything else, even the couple of whoopers asleep on the bank. The two pairs of marsh harriers building nests and squabbling over territories in the reedbeds were even more distant.

The marsh harriers were showing well but stayed way in the distance. This male had just dropped off some nest-building material.

Oxlips

I wandered back slowly, taking in the seasonal changes, not just the birdsong and the departure of so much wildfowl: there were oxlips and campions in bloom and a brimstone butterfly passed by.

I had time to wander over to the United Utilities Hide and perhaps have a quick look at a corner of the reedbeds but I wasn't convinced I had the energy. It had been a very productive and enjoyable walk but I needed the reserves for getting back to Burscough Bridge Station. I called it quits and headed back.

By Red Cat Lane 

It was a quieter walk back. Most of the songbirds were quietly going about their business, rather to my surprise the songscape was dominated by greenfinches. A wet field by one of the farmsteads was awash with goldfinches, blackbirds and pied wagtails. And the rooks were heading back to the rookery, each new arrival in the trees welcomed by a chorus of raucous croaks.

Burscough Bridge Station rookery

I would have got home by late teatime but I either got my second wind or had a rush of blood to the head. I got off at Bolton and went for another walk.