Number 6

It is now difficult to imagine what a wonderful and wild area Frodsham Marshes would have been before it was drained and ‘developed’. At the confluence of the rivers Mersey and Weaver there must have once stood a huge expanse of sandbanks, mudflats and saltmarsh. One can only dream of the wildlife that must have abounded.

The area is now owned by the rather clandestine Peel Group, whom utilise the land to deposit dredgings from the nearby Manchester Ship Canal. The remainder of the site is a collage of meadows, paddocks and scrub. Surrounded by heavy industry the marsh is hard to love ascetically and the potholed metalled roads make driving around the area unpleasant.

Given a little sympathetic management, many significant improvements for the benefit of wildlife could be realised; professional stewardship by a conservation body could result in a world class nature reserve on my doorstep. I can dream!

A wide range of people use the marshes from model airplane enthusiasts and joggers to rather shady looking blokes in quasi-military uniforms and aviator sunglasses.

Despite its drawbacks, I have seen many good birds here: Marsh Harrier, Black-necked Grebe, Short-eared Owl and my first ever Avocets in March 2006. Little Stint are also regular and the reason why I am standing here on a grey, still morning, overlooking the prosaically named Number 6 Tank.

These birds are not called Calidris Minuta for nothing – they are absolutely tiny. Slowing moving along the water’s edge with my telescope reveals a stunning male Ruff coming into breeding plumage but no Little Stints – again. Spreading my search to the drier sections I notice a few Lapwings on nests but little else.

The calm is then shattered by the repeated, hysterical, loud squeaky-toy-like call of an Oystercatcher. I quickly picked it up darting about three feet above the ground being pursued by a Peregrine; a very brown bird that must have been a juvenile. The chase was only half-hearted though and the bird soon gave up leaving the Sea Pie to live another day. The falcon then cruised over to a fencepost where it remained perched in that rather tense fashion, similar to that of a 100 metre runner waiting for the gun.

Also on the tank was an Avocet, although it was far away on the opposite edge – a refugee perhaps from Inner Marsh Farm? A calling – but not seen – Cuckoo was also in good voice, competing with a plethora of warblers. Not a bad morning!

Until later.