The
Fens: at turn bleak and barren, flat and windswept, open and liberating;
perhaps a landscape difficult to love but then it is just a shadow of its
former self. Where once was a vast area of wet marsh, reed bed, bog and fen,
interspersed with shallow lakes and channels pulsating with life, now is a seemingly
featureless expanse of dark peaty soil, farmed and sterile. Surely the drainage
of this immense floodplain was the single biggest environmental catastrophe
ever to befall these isles of ours? Any thoughts of treating such an ecologically
rich area with similar contempt nowadays would court international condemnation
and be stopped in its tracks. Hopefully. But it happened and we are left with
just a few pockets of traditional Fenland; oases in a sea of ploughed fields
that stretch to the horizon and beyond. Just think what it must once have been
like; just think what’s been lost.
But
things are slowly changing for the better, giving optimism for a brighter
future. Little fragments of land are being acquired by people that care and
have a vision. That vision is to recreate as much of the old Fenland as
possible, stitching it together to once again provide wildlife with a chance to
prosper whilst giving people a chance to appreciate what a landscape scale
wetland should be. Visiting one such area, the WWT reserve at Welney, over the
weekend brought home to me just how important these areas are. The vibrant
green recreated meadowlands of Lady Fen that are visible from the Visitor
Centre were simply teeming with life. Everywhere you looked there were ducks
and geese and waders and crows, flocks of starlings, gulls and marauding
raptors. Broad winged lapwings careering about the sky on their courtship
dances, freshly moulted brick red godwits feasting before the final leg of
their journey north, or maybe thy will stay and breed here, coots chasing one
another in territorial spats; things dabbling, diving, quarrelling, courting or
feeding. Beyond the sharply delineated reserve boundary: nothing. A few
pheasants and rooks and that was your lot. Stark visual proof of how well
managed the reserve is, how informed restoration can bring about amazing change
and how important it has become now all around is hostile.
The
birding experience begins in the car park. I mentioned in a recent post how in such landscapes an isolated line of bushes takes on new
meaning, so it is here. The car park hedgerow provides a focal point for many
small passerines that relish the cover. Most delightful were the tree sparrows
chirping for all their worth and collecting twigs for their nests. Such a rare
sight in the wider countryside nowadays so a special bird but one very
reluctant to pose for a photograph. House sparrows flaunted themselves
shamelessly, tree sparrows kept to deep cover. One popped up for a moment.
Click click! Then it was gone.
With
menacing clouds of various shades of wet scudding swiftly overhead chased by a
relentless sharp nor wester, the various hides formed most welcome shelter.
From the comfort of the main observatory thousands of waterfowl could be seen,
amongst them a small group of ‘Tundra’ bean geese hunkering down against the
wind that howled unabated across the Wash. Further along a drake scaup
entertained the few hardy souls that had trudged thither. It came quite close
at one point when engaged in a spot of preening, allowing a rare appreciation
of its finery. A handsome bird albeit in two-tone, except for the bright golden
eye that occasionally shone jewel like when a parting of the clouds allowed
bright spring sunshine to flood the scene.
But the
star attractions were the whooper swans still present in good numbers grouped
together on nearly fields. Seeing them fly in white relief across the deep
blue-grey of wide threatening skies, bugling their evocative calls, was a true
delight. Later, a convenient pull in allowed quite close observation of these
impressive and graceful birds, that is until some local on an off road motor
bike decided to race up and down the fields in which they were feeding and resting,
sending them skywards towards the sanctuary of the flood. One human, 200 birds
displaced. Another reminder of how important unmolested reserves are for our
wild creatures.
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