The Dee and Thereabouts

Tag: birds

Goldcrests at Loggerheads

(Sunday 28^th December, 2025)

    Sometimes you just get lucky. We were just about to leave Loggerheads Country Park, in Denbighshire, and head home. Before we did so, we thought we’d take a last quick look from the little bridge opposite the We Three pub. Looking upstream, we caught glimpses of yellow as tiny birds darted around the lower foliage of a tall conifer. (Judging by the leaves, I think the tree is a cypress of some sort, but I’m not entirely sure). These birds were not easy to track but, looking through the binoculars, I could see that they were Goldcrests – the smallest bird in the British Isles and, in fact, Europe. These tiny birds are rarely longer than 9.5cm (3.7 in), with a wingspan no greater than 15.5 cm (6.1 in). On average, they weigh just 6g ( less than 0.25 oz) and are often described as weighing the same as a twenty-pence piece.

    Goldcrest

The Goldcrest has whitish-grey underparts, olive-green upperparts and two contrasting white wing bars, and a distinctive yellow crest on its head, from which it gets its name. The male has a smudge of orange running through the centre of its yellow crest, although this is not always visible: presumably it becomes so when it ‘displays’ during the breeding season. So, the Goldcrest in the photographs could be either male or female. And kudos to Stu – considering how active these birds were as they probed the cones and leaves for food – the photographs turned out really well.

    Goldcrests are actually quite a common bird in the British Isles, where resident birds are joined by migrant birds from Scandinavia during the winter months, although neither of us had actually seen them ‘live’ before. And despite our climate becoming warmer, Goldcrests are still susceptible to the cold: they can ‘burn off’ a lot of body weight overnight when the temperature drops, even when they huddle together. It had been a cold night – and it didn’t climb above 5°C for the whole of the morning – so probably these Goldcrests were replenishing lost energy.

Dipper about to submerge itself

    Earlier in the morning we had seen a White-throated dipper – in fact we traced it to a couple of different spots along the River Alyn. Over time, we’ve noticed that Dippers seem to favour the faster-flowing white water of the river. This one first performed its characteristic bobbing dance, before submerging itself in the river in search of food. Very entertaining!

Dipper showing white eyelid feathers as it blinks

Grey wagtails also hunt in areas of the river where there is fast-running water, but though both species’ territories overlap, somehow they’re both able to share the river’s resources without too much disputation, as far as we can make out. We often see both species out and about at the same time, as we did today.

Grey wagtail on the roof of the mill house

The Grey wagtail flew off before it could be photographed although it – or perhaps another wagtail, we can’t be sure – appeared a little later on the roof of the old mill which is the one in the picture. While some birds are camera-shy, the same can’t be said of our old friend the Robin: a born star that just loves being photographed!

Robin posing for the camera

The important stuff

The Mill House café (Tŷ’r Felin) provided us with much needed sustenance after all that hard work. A cappuccino and a Chocolate Biscoff each soon restored our equilibrium!

30.12.2025
At Heswall Beach

(Sunday 21^st December, 2025)

    This morning, we went across to Heswall Beach on the Wirral side of the Dee Estuary. The car park at the bottom of Riverbank Road was deserted when we arrived, which may have been down to the weather: although it was dry and the temperature was a reasonable 8°C, there was an easterly wind making its presence known. And this wind was sufficiently icy to keep people indoors, apart from one or two brave souls.

    Black-headed gull on waymarker…

…later dethroned by a usurping Carrion crow

Anyway, there was a single Black-headed gull (in winter plumage) which seemed impervious to the weather and spent a good deal of time perched on top of the red waymarker on the beach. (Well, I’m referring to the wooden structure that resembles a lampshade, which I’m guessing is some sort of waymarker or indicator – and on which the gull seemed quite content until it was later dislodged by a pugnacious Carrion crow).

   Little egrets

There were some Little egrets mooching about along the channel several metres out and several Carrion crows foraged individually here and there. At one point, a Marsh harrier emerged briefly from the thin mist and quickly disappeared inland.

Pink-footed geese

We saw several Pink-footed geese nearby. These were resting on the ground about 30 metres out but every now and then they’d take off – presumably to their roosting place. Pink-footed geese are used to the cold conditions of Iceland and Greenland but spend their winters in the United Kingdom. They are known to be wary birds so it’s probable that we inadvertently disturbed them with our presence. In fact, we saw quite a few geese flocks flying across the estuary although most were too far away for us to establish which species they were. As we’ve mentioned elsewhere in the blog, the area is vast, and today this vastness seemed to be emphasised by the general quietness.

    Heswall Beach – as you can see, the wildlife was having a duvet day

After an hour or so, we decided to call it a day: the wildlife just didn’t seem to want to drag themselves out today, and we couldn’t blame them really. So we headed back towards Chester Road and detoured via Boathouse Lane to Parkgate. Here, we again saw geese flocking over the Dee Estuary – well, I did, while Stu drove. It was a nice little diversion before we eventually arrived at the Ness Gardens café. And it’s always a joy driving through these roads and lanes and seeing the old sandstone buildings which are characteristic of the area.

The important stuff

As we headed towards the Ness Gardens café, which is officially The Botanic Kitchen, we were serenaded by a Robin that was singing loudly from a small tree at the side of the path. (Blimey, they make some noise considering their size). Once we were inside though, and this will hardly surprise our regular readers, we each consumed a cup of cappuccino and a slice of Bakewell. Lovely!

26.12.2025
The Rivers Dee

    Until recently, I thought that there were two rivers known as the River Dee – one in Scotland, and one in Wales (which is the one, plus its estuary, that this blog, The Dee and Thereabouts, centres on). But I’ve recently learned that altogether, there are five rivers named Dee: two in Scotland, one in Cumbria, one in Wales, and one in the Republic of Ireland.

River Dee, Aberdeenshire, Scotland.

    This River Dee begins in an area of the Cairngorm Mountains known as the Wells of Dee. It’s the highest source of any river in the British Isles, the river source’s plateau being approximately 1,220 metres high. The river is 87 miles long and flows through Aberdeenshire, eventually spilling out into the North Sea at Aberdeen Harbour.

River Dee, Dumfries and Galloway, Scotland.

    Another Scottish River Dee, this time in the south-west of the country. The river originates at Loch Dee in the Galloway Hills. It travels for 38 miles before reaching Kirkcudbright and then discharging into the Solway Firth on the Irish Sea.

River Dee, Cumbria, England.

    This River Dee is formed by several smaller streams radiating from Blea Moor Moss, in the Yorkshire Dales National Park, in Cumbria[1]. The river travels through Dentdale, which takes its name from the village of Dent ,and flows for about ten miles before joining the River Rawthey, near the town of Sedbergh. (The River Rawthey is in turn a tributary of the River Lune, which eventually – after 50 odd miles – empties into Morecombe Bay).

River Dee, Republic of Ireland.

    This River Dee flows from Bailieborough (Bailieboro) in County Cavan for 37 miles through County Meath and County Louth. The river joins the River Glyde at Annagassan village in County Louth, and both of these rivers then form a short confluence before they discharge into Dundalk Bay on the east coast of Ireland, out to the Irish Sea.

River Dee (Afon Dyfrdwy in Welsh), Wales.

    This River Dee flows through several counties in North Wales: namely, Gwynedd, Denbighshire, Wrexham County Borough, and Flintshire; and briefly enters England at points in Shropshire and Cheshire. The Dee Estuary acts as a natural dividing line between the western side of the Wirral Peninsula, in England, and the eastern side of Flintshire, in Wales.

    The River Dee’s source is on the mountain of Dduallt in Snowdonia, at about 450 metres high. The 68 miles of river flows through Bala Lake (Llyn Tegid), Corwen, Llangollen, Bangor-on-Dee, Farndon, and Holt. Once it reaches Chester, the River Dee becomes tidal and is noteworthy for its tidal bore which is usually produced during a spring or autumnal equinox, although tidal bores may occur at any time of the year if conditions are favourable.

    The River Dee at Chester…

…and some local residents. (Above: Cormorants. Below: Grey heron

After Chester, the river crosses the border to Saltney, which lies mostly in Wales, although some of the town is in England, as the aptly named Boundary Lane reminds us. (Here, the border technically runs down the middle of the road! This is the only suburban street which divides England and Wales in this way). The River Dee travels on past Queensferry to Connah’s Quay, where it opens out into the Dee Estuary. The estuary itself is about 12 miles long and 4.5 to 5 miles wide: note that these are approximate figures, as information varies, depending on which sources you look at.

    Towns on the Welsh side of the estuary include Flint, Holywell, and Mostyn. On the Wirral side of the estuary, lie Neston, Parkgate, Heswall, West Kirby and Hoylake. Just north of Talacre in Flintshire is the Point of Ayr, which is the northernmost tip of Wales, and between here and Hilbre Point, near Hoylake and West Kirby on the north-west of Wirral Peninsula is where the Dee enters Liverpool Bay on the Irish Sea.

    From Chester to Connah’s Quay, the Dee has a very straight ‘canalised’ section. This artificial channel was dug out by Dutch engineers between 1732-36 in an attempt to return Chester to its historic importance as a port. However, this was only partially successful as the River Dee eventually silted up again. The work also effectively diverted the river away from places it once meandered around, including Blacon, Saughall, Shotwick, Burton, and Parkgate.

Further reading

Much of the information for each of these Dee rivers was gained from just looking at the various maps available on Google Maps, OS maps, and Wikipedia. I also found the following sources useful:

https://chester.shoutwiki.com/wiki/River_Dee

https://www.keithatkinson.me.uk/history-of-shotton/5-the-river-dee-the-latchcraft-pits/

https://www.liverpool.ac.uk/~cmi/dee/dee1870.html

https://ntslf.org/tides/about-tides/tidal-river-bores

https://www.parkgatesociety.co.uk/

[1] I take a childish pleasure in reporting that there is a Mossy Bottom as well as a Hazel Bottom near Blea Moor Moss. And there you were, thinking I was all grown up!

16.12.2025
A Visit to Royden Park

(Sunday 30^th November, 2025)

    We were at Royden Park today – more specifically Roodee Mere near the miniature railway. It was quite a cool 6°C, although the very light wind (WSW) and the occasional burst of sunlight belied the temperature. Mind you, it was much warmer when we were last here in August: the Grey heron was having a leisurely feast at the time, if you remember? Today we saw the heron again: first very briefly before it slinked away through the undergrowth; and a little later we caught a glimpse of it flying above the trees. We suspected it was on its way to Frankby Mere, though we couldn’t be sure.

   A very still Roodee Mere…

While the Grey heron shied away today, there were plenty of Moorhens and Mallards to be seen. Stu got a couple of shots of one of the Mallards just after he’d dipped his head beneath the water (the male Mallard that is – not Stu) and you can see the beads of water on him. The majority of these Mallards were males – I counted only two females.

…until a Moorhen created some ripples

“Just like falling off a log”, said the Moorhen

Now, something I only recently learnt about is what is known as an ‘eclipse plumage’. This occurs in Mallards and other ducks at the end of the breeding season, when the males moult their feathers and replace them with less colourful brownish feathers – similar to the females’ in fact. From this point until their second moult, several weeks later, the males are unable to fly as they also moult their flight feathers at the same time as discarding their ‘breeding’ feathers. Consequently, they are vulnerable to predators and the male Mallards often disappear to separate areas away from the females and their nests. Clearly, this bunch of male Mallards had all recovered their plumage after their second moult, which probably accounted for the greater number of males than females. And they were once again able to fly. There are several interesting resources on the subject of eclipse plumage and the article on the Scottish Wildlife Trust blog is a good place to start: https://scottishwildlifetrust.org.uk/

Mallard just after he immersed his head in the water

    Meanwhile, a solitary Black-headed gull appeared at the mere and, despite being one of the smaller gulls, they are very loud: there were several noisy Magpies in the treetops making their distinctive rattling sound but they were all drowned out by this small gull! To be clear, the Black-headed gull was in its winter plumage, which is when they lose their black heads, retaining only a dark spot behind each eye. Just to add to the confusion, the dark head of the summer plumage is more a chocolate brown than black, although it certainly looks black from a distance. The beak and legs on the Black-headed gull are red, as you can see.

    Black-headed gull in winter plumage

There are a few birds that have a summer plumage that’s distinct from their winter wardrobe – Knots and the Black-tailed Godwits which lose their lovely, rusty red colouring, come to mind – and it’s generally thought that the more subdued winter colours help the birds blend into their environment and offer protection from predators. This change in plumage doesn’t apply to all birds though. Adult Robins of both sexes, for example, retain their red breast year-round: it’s thought to be a territorial warning to other birds.

This Robin played hide-and-seek with the photographer

The important stuff

We enjoyed our usual cappuccinos and a good-sized Bakewell slice each at The Courtyard Café. Ah! Bliss!

03.12.2025
The tail-end of the storm

(Sunday 16^th November, 2025)

    Over to Loggerheads Country Park in Denbighshire, this morning. The River Alyn was running very high in the aftermath of Storm Claudia – Friday and Saturday had been particularly wet and, though it was a cool 8°C when we arrived, the rain had ceased and the day was dry. The rebuilding of the river wall that was completed in 2024 has clearly been successful: in past years, the old mill, the café and the visitor centre have all been subject to flooding after persistent heavy rain, whereas today there was no such damage.

    I thought it was worth including a photograph of the river from earlier this year, just to show the difference that prolonged spells of dry weather and wet weather can produce. As has been mentioned elsewhere on this blog, the Alyn is particularly affected because of the river’s ‘disappearance’ underground (see The River Vanishes, Sunday 27^th July, 2025).

The bed of the River Alyn back in July this year…

   …compared to the aftermath of Storm Claudia on Sunday.

Our Grey wagtail put in a guest appearance this morning and we’re certain it was the same one that we saw only last month: while we recognised the bird, I wonder did it recognise us? (Oh! It’s those two again!). There were several House sparrows, Great tits, Robins, Common crows, and a lone Grey heron flying high above the trees, its legs extended horizontally behind it.

    A Robin practicing its ‘winter calendar’ pose

But it was the sight of a pair of Nuthatches that drew our attention: we were sitting beneath an old oak tree and, for some reason, I looked up. I don’t recollect hearing any noise, or being aware of any movement, so I’m not sure why our attention was suddenly locked onto the oak branches above. Pure luck, I suppose. As I raised my binoculars, the nearest bird walked headfirst down the trunk. The way I’m describing it, you might be imagining a stately descent but, really, the bird performed a sequence of rapid steps before turning around in the opposite direction, and then quickly hopped up the branches of the tree. This was a female Nuthatch, given the paleness of its red/orange breast (I’m discounting its being a juvenile given the lateness of the season, but I may well be wrong). I’m guessing that the other Nuthatch was male, although it was a little higher up the tree and I was concentrating on the nearest one. No photographs, unfortunately, as they are such quick, darting creatures, but we’ll maybe see them again the next time we’re here.

Above: Velvet shank. Below: unknown bracket mushrooms

    Late autumn is a good time of year in the British Isles to see various fruiting bodies of fungi although this is one area in which we’re admittedly lacking in knowledge. (Only one?!) But, looking online, I think the buff-coloured spherical fungus is a mushroom called Velvet shank. I’m hesitant to say anything too detailed on the other fungus apart from it appears to be some form of bracket mushroom.

No change at the coin tree

The coin tree, which we generally pass without consideration, is thought to be the modern version of the traditional practice of making offerings to wood deities and spirits. The coins have been hammered into the bark and are almost impossible to extract – allegedly!

The important stuff

We sat outside The Mill House café (Tŷ’r Felin) with our customary cappuccinos, each tucking into a slice of Bakewell. Very nice!

20.11.2025
Parkgate, early November

(Sunday 2nd November, 2025)

    Early November, and it was a reasonably mild 11°C at Parkgate, Wirral, this morning, although the (SW) wind-speed increased later, turning the day a little cooler. We parked up at the Old Baths car park and watched as a flock of thirty or more Greenfinches flitted by. A Kestrel hovered over the marsh, swooping from one viewing position to another.

   Grey heron

We spotted a Grey heron standing statue-like in the reeds. I’m always impressed by these birds’ forbearance as they wait for their prey: certainly this one barely moved all the time we watched. We moved off towards the Boathouse and witnessed a dozen or so House sparrows feasting on Teasel seeds on the other side of the wall. Further out across the marsh were separate flocks of geese, although they were a little too far away (and too quick) for us to identify clearly.

    We kept scanning the marsh through our binoculars as we went along The Parade, which made for slow progress: then again, it’s only natural really, given the wealth of wildlife that inhabits this vast area. There were one or two Little egrets stalking the distant ditches, and we spied several more Grey herons, separately watching their own areas of the wetland.

   Another Grey heron

So engrossed were we that we almost missed the Marsh harrier that suddenly appeared from out of nowhere. It flew quite low, scattering a lot of small birds as it went, although one or two Feral pigeons flew by seemingly oblivious to the threat that this raptor represented! The Marsh harrier flew further out, staying low, until we lost sight of it eventually.

    Marsh harrier (male)

At the Donkey Stand, we looked out to the pond and could see a family of Northern shovelers, several Mallards and Moorhens at the margins of the water, and what we took to be some Black-headed gulls in their winter plumage. We also counted four Little grebes, each of which kept diving below the water only to resurface quite a while later in a different part of the pond. We were unable to capture the birds on camera, unfortunately.

    The Marsh harrier re-appeared, this time accompanied by its mate, though each of the birds concentrated on different areas of the marsh. Again, a mini-panic ensued as several of the smaller birds desperately flew away from the pond. A lone Carrion crow flew towards the female harrier, loudly cawing as it did so. A second crow joined it and both of the harriers made a tactical withdrawal. It’s always fascinating to watch crows in such situations: they never seem to be deterred by the risk of danger.

Mallard family

On our return journey, we carefully scrutinised the marsh and spotted some of the Grey herons again, still standing motionless in hunting mode. There was a family of Mallards hidden amongst the vegetation, and the Kestrel returned and hovered nearby, allowing Stu to get a picture. Before all that though…

The important stuff

We remained at the Donkey Stand and had our refreshments al fresco. Stu went across the road to the nearby Elephant café for the regulatory cakes and cappuccinos. a chocolate brownie for Stu, and a shortbread for Col – and, even better, the café very kindly supplied a biscuit with each of our drinks!

Female Kestrel facing into the wind

06.11.2025
Along the Chirk Towpath

(Sunday 12^th October, 2025)

    Over to Chirk this morning in Wrexham County Borough. We parked up at Canal View in Chirk Bank, which meant we actually started our walk in England (the village of Chirk Bank is in Shropshire), and crossed over to Wales just a short while later. We walked west along the towpath towards the Aqueduct and Viaduct, passing the community gardens and allotments as we went. Although it was a little misty, it was very tranquil and the bushes and trees that line the canal were showing off their autumn colours. And, as you might expect, there was also plenty of colour in the narrowboats that we encountered along the way.

    The Chirk Aqueduct overlooks the spectacular Ceiriog Valley. Looking down from our high vantage point, we could see why the rushing water below has given the River Ceiriog its reputation as the fastest flowing river in Wales. Just east of Chirk, the Ceiriog empties out into the River Dee.

   Chirk Aqueduct and Viaduct

The Aqueduct was built between 1796 and 1801 and rises 21 metres (70 feet) above the valley floor. The Chirk Viaduct runs parallel to the Aqueduct, although it’s a little higher at 30 metres (98 feet), and this was built between 1846 and 1848, nearly fifty years later. It’s always fascinating to see the building work involved with these wonderful pieces of architecture. During today’s visit, we noticed that the extra height of the Viaduct is clearly favoured by scores of Jackdaws: in fact, they regularly broke away in smaller groups to investigate the inside walls of the arches, presumably looking for small insects. What was particularly intriguing was the Jackdaws’ upright stance as they gripped the bricks and masonry with their claws: I’d never before seen Jackdaws demonstrate such ability.

    Jackdaw gripping tightly while grubbing

We paused just before the Chirk Tunnel and decided against entering. Not that we’re scaredy-cats, of course! No, the tunnel is quite a stretch without a torch (421 metres apparently, or 1,381 feet) and it looked pitch black inside. We could see two beams of light penetrating the darkness as we peered down the tunnel, and these lights eventually revealed themselves as belonging to a narrowboat as it slowly emerged near us. The tunnel is only wide enough for one narrowboat at a time, hence the one waiting in the foreground of the photograph. The towpath carries on through the length of the tunnel and we saw walkers as well as cyclists following it or, more accurately, we saw their torches!

    The narrowboat gradually emerged from the darkness

There is a distinct current in the canal which flows generally southwards. It wasn’t so much because of the narrowboats that we noticed it, but the Mallards and Moorhens. Well, the one pair of Moorhens we saw were characteristically shy and quickly disappeared behind the vegetation overhanging the far bank of the canal. The Mallards, though, were having to put some effort into paddling northwards across the Aqueduct and thus against the flow, although they seemed to have adapted to it. (It was like water off a duck’s back as far as they were concerned).

    We re-traced our route, carrying on past the car, and then crossed the road to re-join the towpath on the other side. We passed the Chirk Bank Post Office Collection Box on the corner and noticed some very interesting gardens on the opposite bank of the canal, and some very quirky ones too! We kept going along the path, just savouring the tranquillity, until we reached a point where the canal begins to sweep gently south. Here, we decided to turn back and go in search of refreshments.

The important stuff

Just a short trip to Caffi Wylfa in Castle Road, where we had our usual cappuccinos with Bakewell (Stu) and Date and Walnut cake (Col). Very appetising!

16.10.2025
The River Returns

(Sunday 5^th October, 2025)

    Over to Loggerheads Country Park in Denbighshire this morning. It was 12°C with occasional westerly gusts of wind, although we were pretty much sheltered by the trees either side of the Leete path. In stark contrast to our recent visits when the riverbed ran dry after just a short distance, this time the River Alyn was in full spate and flowing strongly after all the recent rain. We’ve reported elsewhere in the blog seeing Grey wagtails and White-throated Dippers along this stretch of water and, today, we were fortunate enough to witness individuals of both species here, happily sharing the same habitat while exploiting the surge in water.

    Grey wagtail

First to arrive was a Grey wagtail – female, judging by the absence of the black bib. She may have been collecting for her brood, or maybe just herself (we saw no sign of a male today). She re-appeared further downstream a little while later, flying low to land on a rock mid-stream from where she scanned the water, her long tail steadily moving up and down as she did so.

    We moved further through the woods, noticing varieties of fungi as we went. The clusters of fungi decorating the moss-strewn tree trunks appear to be Fairy inkcaps, which are quite common mushrooms throughout Britain. I don’t know what type of mushrooms the bracket fungi are, though: initially I thought Dryad’s saddle, but I’m not so sure now. Until further notice, this shall remain a mystery!

  Fairy inkcaps (top) and bracket fungi (bottom)

We pressed on through the woods always with an eye on the river. Our patience and peering paid off as very soon we saw a brown blur approach from the far bank and land in the water, half-submerging itself. Yes, this was a White-throated Dipper.

White throated Dipper

The bird shifted to a small rock to the side of a naturally formed weir and began its comical, characteristic bobbing. It’s apparently this action that gives the bird its name, as it ‘dips’ up and down: and there was I thinking it earned its name because it enjoyed dipping itself underwater! Trying to identify the sex of a Dipper is very difficult as there is little to distinguish between males and females. On the whole, though, males are larger: looking at this one (and we’re sure that it was the same Dipper that we saw put in a couple of separate appearances), I’d say it was male.

There are a couple of photographs where Stu caught the Dipper with its eyes closed as it was blinking: you can see the white feathers of the eyelids contrast strikingly with its brown head and face.

We watched the Dipper plunge into the water in search of food, which it did tirelessly again and again – in fact, you can see in one of the photographs that it has caught something in its beak. Dippers have a taste for the larvae of Caddisfly but will eat aquatic insects and worms, crustaceans and even small fish, although I can’t identify this particular appetiser here.

   The pleasantly plump Dipper with its beak full

While their solid appearance could be described as ‘pleasantly plump’, their squatness helps make them strong swimmers – they beat their wings rapidly both in and out of the water. Mesmerising. We were exceptionally lucky to have seen both a Grey wagtail and a Dipper along the same stretch of water on the same day.

The important stuff

While building work continues at Loggerheads, this doesn’t mean that travellers like us have to remain hungry and thirsty – oh no! You can get refreshments from The Mill House café (Tŷ’r Felin) next to the mill at the visitor centre, so we had our customary cappuccinos and Bakewell slices as we sat in the lee of the stone wall. Lovely!

08.10.2025
On Silent Wings
(Thursday 2^nd October, 2025)

    I was in the back yard this evening just getting a breath or two of fresh air after work and, without consciously realising, I had fallen into my usual habit of scanning the treetops and rooves of nearby houses. There was neither sight nor sound of any birds – even the familiar chacking of my numerous Jackdaw neighbours was absent. I didn’t think anything of this really: it was approaching dusk and I assumed all of our avian friends had settled in for the night.

    However, as I was looking around me, something caught my attention higher up in the sky. I saw a dozen or so birds flying quite high. They were together, but in a loose flock if you know what I mean, and they were flying silently. These birds had me puzzled to tell the truth: I hesitantly identified them as gulls, but they disappeared from view before I could be sure. I leaned back, trying to see if there were any more birds, and after a few moments I spotted another group. Again, these were quite high up and I didn’t have my binoculars, but judging by their outlines, these were definitely gulls, although I don’t know which type of gull.

    Over the next fifteen minutes or so, several more of these eerily silent gulls flew by, all seemingly heading north-west towards the Wirral side of the Dee estuary. I would never have seen them, even known that they were there, because of their uncharacteristic silence – well, gulls are often the most raucous of birds we encounter!

    I looked online later to see if this was usual behaviour for gulls flying across the evening sky and, as you might expect, there was no definitive answer, although others have evidently witnessed gulls passing in similarly quiet circumstances. One or two people suggested that the gulls were heading out to sea in the knowledge that fishing boats were in the vicinity (presumably with their hauls). This may or may not be true, but this evening’s high tide was around 20:00 hours (although the high tide time varies depending on exactly which part of Wirral the gulls were heading). Nevertheless, the gulls flew past me about an hour or so beforehand, so it’s possible that the intention was to be onshore as the tide began to retreat, exposing the crustaceans and molluscs that they favour. I can’t help thinking that this theory is a bit limited though, given that most gull species will eat anything!

No photographs for this post I’m afraid – just an observation. (The gulls were too far away for my humble camera-phone anyway). ¹
1. I witnessed this phenomenon again on the following evening although the gulls were flying lower this time. It was windier than the previous night due to Storm Amy (although Scotland bore the brunt of the winds) and I thought possibly the storm might have had a bearing on the gulls’ behaviour. However, I’m inclined to think that it’s more the timing of the tides. I’m writing this three days later (Monday 6^th October) and I haven’t seen any similar activity in the last three evenings. Anyway, something to look out for – well, if you’re me at least!
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03.10.2025
Low tide at Thurstaston beach

(Sunday 14^th September, 2025)

    Over to Wirral Country Park this morning. Although there was barely any wind (SSE), it was overcast and the temperature had dropped to a cold 12°C. Mind you, even at low tide when the sea had retreated, there was still activity on Thurstaston beach as various birds searched the mud and the shallow waters of the channels for pickings. There were Shelducks, Redshanks, Oystercatchers and the inevitable Carrion crows, amongst others.

Shelducks and Redshanks

I could hear a Curlew calling across the sands but was unable to spot it – have you ever noticed how difficult it is to pinpoint where a sound is coming from over a vast area? Luckily, though, Stu managed to capture a pair of Curlews scraping the beach for worms: the picture is a little grainy, but all the photographs today were taken from the clifftops.

    Curlews

I’m still not absolutely sure whether the gull wading in the channel near the Little egret is a Yellow-legged gull or a Lesser black-backed gull, but I’m opting for the latter. While both gulls have yellow legs, this gull’s plumage is the dark-grey which I associate with that of the Lesser black-backed gull. However, gulls are notoriously difficult to identify – well, for me they are, and that is my get-out clause, should I be wrong!

   Lesser black-backed gull and Little egret

The Little egret that’s moving in the opposite direction to the gull (whatever type of gull it may be) later joined up with another four Little egrets, and together they stood motionless on the banks of the channel, until occasionally one would swiftly extend its neck downwards and spear its prey in its long beak. I mention this only because I wondered, for no particular reason, what collective noun describes a group of egrets. ‘Congregation’ seems to be the preferred noun, although there are others. I suppose the term might be apt, but only for a well-behaved congregation that is not moving much. Maintaining a spiritual tone, a collection of godwits is known as a ‘prayer of godwits’, although it’s a little more difficult trying to trace where the term ‘godwit’ actually originates.

    This set me on wondering where all these names come from. Some collective nouns do make sense – a ‘murmuration of starlings’, for example. ‘Murmuration’ is described in Merriam Webster as ‘the utterances of low continuous sounds’, which perfectly describes the noise made by the beating pairs of wings of a huge Starling flock swirling around the sky. Others seem a little more obscure: ‘a committee of terns’, ‘a desert of Lapwings’, ‘a curfew of Curlews’, for instance. A ‘parliament of owls’ seems particularly incongruous, seeing as how owls are generally recognised for their sagacity, whereas Parliament, well…

    Eventually, we left the group of Little egrets and all of the other groups to it and headed back. One thing we noticed was, although there seemed to be a plentiful supply of blackberries, rosehips and sloes in the surrounding hedges, these fruits were all small, no doubt a result of the long, dry spell of weather over the last few months, when the plants have had to spread out moisture much more thinly than usual. And, while I realise that we’re now entering autumn, the leaves on many of the trees have already turned and fallen. Food for thought.

The important stuff

Talking of food (well, you just knew that was coming), Flissy’s café had plenty of Bakewell slices, so there was no quarrelling between your correspondents today. Highly recommended – the Bakewell, of course, and also not quarrelling!

18.09.2025