Recently, my wife and I journeyed the short distance up the stunning Northumberland coast to the Scottish borders, an area I have always been fond of, for its quaint towns, villages and hamlets, diverse landscapes and unquestionable natural beauty.
The target location was the small fishing village of St Abbs, but perhaps more specifically - St Abb’s Head National Nature Reserve. The reserve, managed by National Trust for Scotland, is in a picturesque spot, dazzling the eye with rugged coastal cliffs, colourful grasslands and being home to the famous St Abb’s lighthouse. It is best known for its paramount importance to seabird colonies, where in the summer months you can expect to find thousands of birds present, such as guillemots, razorbills, and kittiwakes. At this time of year, I wasn’t expecting to see much more than the odd resident bird on this wild winters day, but I should have known better. Let the ramble commence.
We sauntered past a small copse, and immediately picked out a buzzard perched on a nearby alder. Sheltering from the drizzle, it looked a little disheveled as it fluffed up its feathers to keep itself warm and waterproof. We managed a better look at it as it departed from its perch as we moved closer, taking flight to reveal those distinctive ‘elbow patches’ contrasting to its paler colouration on the underside of its wings. We then headed south east, in the direction of the lighthouse, and as we ascended the fell we were treat with a first hand view of a male kestrel in full on hunting mode.
Typically you might more often find this behaviour taking place on the motorway edge, but it is always such a spectacle to witness this falcon doing its thing in a rural setting, especially this one, near the mire loch. Through the binoculars it was easy to determine the distinct colours of the male Falco tinnunculus, with its speckled, chestnut brown plumage and blueish grey head. Watching raptors in the wild could never become tiresome, and it was lovely to observe this one using that phenomenal eyesight to swoop down on unsuspecting field voles, rising and falling until he hit the jackpot.
We ambled on. As we approached the cliff edges, the landscape became breathtaking. Its geology has been primed for millions of years and the rock colours and formations, mixed with the crystal clear shoreline waters was quite something to behold. It was easy to see why this area has become such a haven for nesting birds. The bird breeding season is all but a distant memory at this time of year, but little did we know, just around the corner would prove to be a very special wildlife moment.
The rugged coastal backdrop colour palette.
For some reason, I had in my mind that this particular animals’ breeding season was also done and dusted, but after speaking to one of the rangers on site I learned that this wasn’t the case and that this is just the time when young tend to have become a little lazy, and will only leave their mothers once it finally dawns on them that they aren’t going to be provided with fresh milk on tap anymore! The seafaring animal which I am referring to, is one well known in these parts as well as the Northumberland coast - the grey seal.
This inlet provides the perfect siesta setting for grey seal (Halichoerus grypus) cows and pups.
This was a fantastic surprise. I learned from the ranger that the weaned pups will be leaving their mothers any day now and venturing out to sea for the very first time. We looked on as one pup was lounging around in a small tidal pool, seemingly having a wail of a time and the ranger questioned whether it would ever actually leave to go to sea and fend for itself. After a short while, it slid clumsily down the rock face. Wondering if this would be the moment, we watched in anticipation. The pup quickly provided us with an answer by bounding straight over to the next rock pool, which was subsequently followed by more flapping and clapping. Clearly not quite ready to take the plunge just yet, but at least it was enjoying itself.
It wasn't the only one! This walk had turned into something very unexpected and was just the perfect anecdote to the pressures that this time of year can inevitably bring. We found two more areas of shoreline that were inhabited by the greys. We watched them snooze, swim and forage - such a privilege and strangely, for such an avid wildlife watcher, I couldn’t quite remember a time where I had spent such a considerable amount of time watching grey seals. Mental note to do make sure I do this more often!
Since 2003, around 1800 grey seals have been born at St Abbs, a truly staggering number considering prior to that year, there were none. Maybe this success story is down to conservation efforts? Or perhaps the none existent pollution and relative peace and quiet that the reserve provides? Who knows. Sometimes in nature, everything just comes together to produce the perfect environment for an animal like this to prosper.
Grey seals vary dramatically in terms of colour, from gingery brown to white, to grey blue. They really are a beautiful creature, with their big round eyes and endearing facial expressions, but we paid close attention to the fencing around the area not to ever get too close to the seals, respecting their space and daily resting sites. This was especially vital, with the number of young on these shores. If you notice a pup with its head upright, then this is a clear sign that it is afraid. We saw many pups alone on the coastline, waiting longingly for their mothers to return with food so we were very careful in where we observed from. This did give us a great opportunity to watch both cow and bull seals diving and foraging in the nearby waters.
A well fed and perfectly camouflaged grey seal pup waits on for its mothers return.
Mothers will take full advantage of the high fish levels in the area during the summer months, fattening up profusely in preparation for these very times. When in calf, a mother will sometimes not eat at all, ensuring all of her nutrients go to her pup through milk suckling. They can lose around a quarter of their body weight during this time, so surely there must be a little relief when their pup finally debarks on its maiden voyage!
Mother and pup resting and digesting.
We decided it was time to prize ourselves away from these fascinating mammals and venture forth.
We followed the cliff line path south, and as we passed the lighthouse the winds were now becoming fierce. Having to divert your gaze downward can certainly have its benefits though, as I noticed that there were still a few waxcaps hanging on, which again was a more than pleasant surprise. In the short, rocky grasses they were hard to miss with their typically vivid complexions. This was a lovely patch of ground, just slightly inland from the coastal edge we found remnants of sea thrift being entirely out done by the seemingly ever flowering gorse. Here there was a small flock of meadow pipits exploring the salt marshes, as they do at this time of year. Joyful to watch.
Now nearing the end of the three mile loop, I glanced over at the shoreline as we approached St Abbs village from the north, noticing an eider drake and female with their characteristic bulkiness and the males striking black and white tones, diving under the surface in search of some premium Scottish shellfish.
A lingering grassland waxcap.
Approaching St Abbs from the north.
The end of the return leg presented us with something which I am sure many of us have seen before, but perhaps only ever wondered as to what it actually is. An inland birch tree was a pristine example of this phenomenon. If you’re like me, you’d expect to see many weird and wonderful growths on trees, particularly at this time of the year with their foliage stripped right back, but maybe not so much actually amongst the branches. You may even have mistaken them for disused birds nests, but they are in fact known as the ‘witches broom.’
A birch tree dominated by the witches broom.
Witches broom is a growth or deformity in the tree and is thought to be caused by either a fungal reaction, bacteria or insects laying their eggs within the buds. The name derives from the appearance of the deformity; a clump of twigs, densely packed together, resembling the broom of a witch. The great thing about them is that it is still not known exactly why or how they come to be. For now, a bit of a mystery. Seeing a group of them in a single tree formation can really paint quite an evocative and atmospheric canvas, as you look up towards the dimming light of winter, and certainly one to look out for over the next couple of months. Some examples really are quite extraordinary!
All in all, this little adventure in the borders was a brilliant outing and a walk down the river Till later that afternoon was a perfect way to cap off yet another day of nature watching. As is usually the case though, there is always ‘the one that got away’, and in this instance it was a little, white migratory winter bird, seen fairly often in these parts - the snow bunting. A truly exquisite bird, and one that still eludes me.
I now find myself in that familiar old scenario. Mother nature always giving so much, whilst carefully holding just a little back, to entice you ever more.
Not to worry though.
There’s always tomorrow.
