Being and Nothingness

“Hell is other People”, claimed JP Sartre, and today I could not have agreed more.

Having driven 55 miles to Morfa Madryn, I was looking forward to plonking myself down in the hide and watching the tide come-in. What I hadn’t budgeted for was the fact that two blokes had decided the structure would make excellent temporary accommodation and had duly set up camp. Indeed, when I arrived they were mid-way through a picnic.

I pointed out that people may wish to use the building for its intended purpose, but this plea fell of deaf ears. I called the warden at Conwy borough council. “There will be someone down this afternoon.” Great.

Given that the tide was now practically in, I decided to check the pools from the other two hides. Two Sandpipers: a Green and a Common with a dodgy leg showed very well from the first hide, whilst the second pool held a good smattering of Lapwing, Redshank and a Greenshank, whilst just out to sea an immature Gannet prospected.

With the camp campers still in residence, I walked to the marsh to scan the spit. It was teeming with birds: if hell is other people, then heaven may very well be other birds!
Hundreds of Oystercatchers and Curlew were roosting on the shingle, joined by similar numbers of Sandwich Terns. Patient scanning revealed an Arctic Tern, a brace of Whimbrel and two superb adult winter-plumaged Mediterranean Gulls.

Returning to the motor a dragonfly sped past and landed on a flower. Incredibly, as I crept towards the critter it remained stationary – close enough for me to take a snap with my mobile. Back at Casa del Shenton a Golden-ringed Dragonfly was confirmed!

On the way back to Chester, I decided to nip into RSPB Starbucks. The five juvenile Red-crested Pochards reported yesterday were still dabbling around near the new screen. The provenance of this species is difficult at the best of times, but the appearance of this number of young birds seems bizarre to say the least. No tick.

I then repaired to the Benarth hide for a spot of lunch where I encountered a less uncommon species – the trigger happy photographer. As with many of this ilk, he seemed incapable of judicious shot selection and fired a battery of shots at flying Curlew running into the hundreds. He will probably still be looking through them next spring.

Until later.