[Wildlifewriter]

N54º 57.921 W3º 32.157
20th October 1994 16.00 hrs....

Thirteen kilometres south of Dumfries, off the B725, a long narrow lane led to a parking place opposite some slightly down-at-heel farm buildings. The big Citroen's turbodiesel growl, which had been a constant companion since leaving Birmingham that morning, cut off abruptly to be replaced by other, subtler sounds.



Two chaffinches played duelling banjos from their hawthorn trees, while a wren tried to get its own word in edgeways. A collection of mallard and grebe were splashing around in a large pond to my right, joined by four mute swans flying in from the north.

Underlying all this activity was a more distant background noise - high pitched and confused, like a thousand fox terriers all barking at once.

The sound of the Solway Firth in Autumn.

This is the Wildfowl Trust centre at Caerlaverock – one of my favourite places, and home to one of the most extraordinary wildlife spectacles to be seen anywhere in the UK.

From the back of the car, green pullcord jacket and wellies, binoculars, spotting 'scope and tripod, gloves and a woolly hat completed my transformation from suave business executive to Bill Oddie lookalike. Birders dress like this for good reason – it's the only way we don't freeze to death, for sunset was less than an hour away and a chill was already in the air.

I set off past the small office building and rain shelter – no air-conditioned interpretive centres here – towards the shore about 900 metres away. The route follows an old, tree-lined drove road with high banks from which the fields beyond cannot be seen. The only clue to what's going on is the rising crescendo of noise: countless yelps and barks overlaid in a wall of sound – birdwatching with a Phil Spector soundtrack.

At the end of the lane, I came to a forbidding concrete tower, three stories high: the main observation gallery. I climbed to the top floor, to the familiar view at last of Caerlaverock's sprawling water-meadows, and the saltmarsh of the firth beyond. And there were the geese...

Barnacle Geese in their thousands, and tens of thousands.

Fifty-five acres of grazing land, covered with geese – and more were arriving as I watched, echelons of five or six birds at a time, gliding in along the shoreline. The noise of their contact calls was deafening.

The Solway Barnacles spend the summer on the Arctic Circle, around Svalbard off the northern tip of Norway. There they breed and raise the new additions to their extended families, before the rapidly shortening days tell them that it's time to head south. South to the Solway Firth, where almost the entire population winters.

One of the Assistant Wardens was scanning the flocks on the landward side. “What's the count” I asked, keeping my voice neutral. It's a dangerous question, for these guys know me and there's always a risk that the reply will be: “We haven't done it yet – fancy giving us a hand...?”

(Counting wildfowl is a wearisome and mind-numbing task, for which you don't volunteer without a very good reason.)

“Twelve thousand, six hundred – on the reserve, as of yesterday.”

It was a good figure. Not by any means a record, but healthy for the time of year. Estimates of the total wintering population in the whole area vary, but 45,000 seems reasonable. The debates on land use and development – particularly on the English side – had raged all year and do so to this day, for this fragile environment is critical to the life cycle of the geese. They have nowhere else to go.

I watched the birds until the light went, and then trudged back to the car. The A75 and a ferry home to Ireland waited, but I wouldn't have passed up this visit for the world.


-Wlw
(All images (c) Wildfowl & Wetlands Trust)

[Firth of Forth]

I've missed Wlw's stories from the forums This alone was a worth a visit here tonight.