Druridge Bay
The Druridge Bay Heritage Coast can be a cracking place to spend time with a camera. Apart from the fantastic beach (which – to get it out of the way right now, turned up no waders for me) there’s Cresswell Pond, Druridge Pools and East Chevington, all fine birding and photography sites on their day.
My plan, as usual, was to get to Widdrington and then walk through the fields to the coast – about a mile and a half, taking me past plantations and copses that would be full of interesting LBJs – right?
Well yes, but they weren’t what you’d call obliging: Willow Warblers, Whitethroats and Sedge Warblers were everywhere to be heard and (distantly) seen, but nothing got within realistic shooting distance.
On reaching the beach road, I figured I’d be good for Stonechats, Meadow Pipits, Skylarks on the walk north to East Chevington.
But my first encounter was with this Shoveller drake. This is a heavy crop, but as I’ve said before, the 40D and careful conversion/PP can pull out a surprising amount of detail from dots in the frame:
Shoveller
I did get some Stonechats (including a handsome male doing that typical “perching on a thin stalk in front of a lovely clean background” thing we love ‘em for, but the images don’t really make the grade – no catchlights and the facial features a bit too dark to recover – and the Sedge Warblers in the little reedy pools along the way were vocal but camera shy.
Besides, I was vaguely conscious of the fact that the sky was rapidly getting darker and darker…
Sure enough, what had been a bright, beautiful, blue sky had sneakily turned black and threatening behind my back: and then the heavens opened.
It really was torrential, “come down, bounce back up six feet and come down a second time” stuff.
I’d brought waterproof trousers, but within a few tens of seconds I learned that the jacket I’d brought was about as waterproof as toilet roll!
And there was of course the small matter of a camera and lens to worry about…
As luck would have it I’d brought a bin bag with me (intended as a way to keep sand off, as it happens) but it did a sterling job of keeping the kit dry.
I put the camera (in its bin bag) down, and for the ten minutes of the downpour I stood over it to deflect the worst of the rain, getting wetter and wetter (I reached absolute saturation point about five minutes in), chuckling about the “sunny and dry all day” weather forecast, wondering why the hell I’d decided not to bring a waterproof top, and hoping that the bin bag didn’t have any holes in it!
I swear that at one point, a bloke with a long beard and a clipboard went by, ticking things off and mumbling “two Sedge Warblers: check; two Stonechats: check; two Common Terns: check...”
Eventually though the rain stopped so I gathered myself together, scraped the sodden jacket off (I always wear quick-dry “technical” clothes when I’m out and about so I knew my shirt would dry quickly in the warm sunshine), checked that all was well with the kit – it was – and squelched on my merry way.
I came across this Skylark gathering food, and although this is another heavy crop, it’s as good as most Skylarks I’ve managed:
Skylark
With nothing more from the coast I decided to head back to Widdrington for my bus (which – like the bus in – was late: f**king useless Arriva tossers) and while sitting on a bench giving the kit a last once-over and packing things away, I spotted a House Martin zip past and onto a small muddy puddle to collect nesting material.
I’ve always wanted some images of House Martins doing this, so the camera came out again, and I got as low as I could.
This was a little bit awkward, as I was lying right next to a road near the entrance to a popular farm shop and cafe – folk driving by might think I’d been hit by a car!
So for the time I was there, every time I heard a car approaching I would sit up, wave the camera around or do something else “look, I’m not dead”-ish!
It wasn’t an ideal set-up really, but I got a few images I was reasonably happy with:
House Martin
House Martin
House Martin
Watching them begged a question: how, when they’re up to their bellies in claggy, mucky mud, do they stay so pristine white?