Furtive Fieldfare
Footsore in East Lothian
The forecast sun and light easterlies for Wednesday came good, so I drove the van over to Aberlady, pulled on the welly boots, layered up, screwed on the 800mm lens onto the Manfroto tripod and shuffled across the picturesque wooden bridge that spans the Peffer into the Local Nature Reserve. The tides last week were neeps and I was already at least 1 hour after high water: the tidal muds below the bridge were already well drained. Distant peeps betrayed the presence of Wigeon, shriller cries from Redshank, a few Pinkfoot overhead, snatches of Graylag honks in the far distance carried in the light airs. A solitary deer grazed far out on the saltmarsh. We’ve had seemingly endless dismal grey cold dank easterly airs for the last fortnight. On Monday the seas piled high, thunderous waves crashed over harbour walls, ripped out loose mortared stone. Fearsome sucking froth laden surge and undertow tumbled massive boulders. Spray-soaked salt-laden aerosols clung. By Wednesday the sea had lost its frenetic wildness, but still waves pounded, racing up the beaches to spill the unwary. Now, the oppressive greys had briefly lifted. Eerie condensing trailing wisps briefly formed and evanished in the dank coastal woodland. Wafts of aromatic Sea Buckthorn and chuckling furtive Fieldfare.
Fieldfare on Sea Buckthorn - late January 2026 https://flic.kr/p/2rUb3f5
Last year the Fieldfare were here in early December (2024), this year they’ve seemingly just arrived, perhaps because of a milder winter. I managed some shots of a photogenic electric foil board and optimistic surfers hoping to catch desultory waves off Gullane beach.
I was footsore and weary by the time I fetched the west beach at North Berwick, the only other birds worth photographing were a pair of active Bar-tailed Godwit working to the west of the Weaklaw Rocks, running up and down the beach, wave dodging the racing surf in a falling tide.
Bar-tailed Godwits near the Weaklaw Rocks https://flic.kr/p/2rUanVd
A million squabbling gulls, a sorry dead seal, a few stationary Heron and the endless unrelenting thunder of the sea was all I saw for the rest of the walk until I came upon the same flights of Siskins and Rock Pipits near the Cowton Rocks.
I caught the bus at Chapel Street. It was running late so I didn’t need to stand around in the cold. Back at the van I was content to sit, watching the soft evening light over the empty flats, engine ticking over. Seat heaters on, cranked up to max.