A Bristol Weekend

A couple of weeks pass. We have a growing collection of people (spawners, indeed!) we know in Bristol that require a visit. Planning occurs.

Having bumped into Mum and Chris in January, plans are afoot for a further trip with a less coincidental teaming up.

Pronoun guidance: AB1 did the planning, for once. This post covers the 17th and 18th February 2018.

Where to go?

What's near Bristol and worth a visit at this time of year? There's one obvious candidate, and that's Slimbridge. While its trademark cranes are already on our list, they aren't on Mum's, and there are plenty of other things we might catch up with.

To Slimbridge, then!

Luxuriously, we are collected from London on the Friday evening and driven to Slimbridge. Well, not quite - we're staying in the gargantuan Tudor Arms nearby. After a sizeable breakfast (choose just the bits you want) we set off. I've read somewhere that the fields either side of the road between the canal and reserve proper are worth a solid look, so we're on foot. Indeed, the fields are full of waders and geese. Very nice. No ticks though.

The reserve itself is busy. Our plan is simple - wander down to the Tower hide that overlooks the Severn, making a stop in each hide along the way. The first hide is jam-packed; it becomes clear why - roughly four square feet of it currently has a view of a Little Stint. We wait our turn; by the time it turns up we're almost alone again, so we get a good look. We also pick up Bewick's Swan here. Leaving the location of the stint in the hands of some newcomers, we move on.

The next hide has a view over a much larger area of wetland. It sets the tone for the trip - the number of birds is the impressive bit; wodges of Wigeon, gaggles of Greylag Geese, plenty of Pintail (a very smart duck, all told). Gallons of Golden Plover? (That's enough alliteration - Ed).

There's a flock of several hundred Golden Plover that wheel around now and again; it's quite something. A Ruff (well, a Reeve, technically) or two amble around the muddy edges. Several Redshank are examined under suspicion of being of the spotted variety, but they're all found not guilty. A Common Buzzard chilling out on the fence to the extreme right of the area provides a nice break from the watery lot.

Onwards again; the next real stop is the Tower hide. Again, it's very busy. How is Slimbridge more jam-packed than WWT London? I'm torn between being pleased that there's so much birding enthusiasm and feeling mildly claustrophobic.

Mum doesn't seem comfortable either. Although this may be because the surfeit of Greylag Geese has brought into focus the total lack of any of the white-fronted variety. Having stuffed myself into a seat at the side of the hide, I happen across a remedy - a bunch of six White-fronted Geese flies in and lands. There's something quite prideful about a goose and the white around the beak this lot have seems to amplify it. This is our reserve, we'll have you know.

In other goose news, there are a few Barnacle spotted around in the mud in front of us; probably wild, according to the professionals in the hide. To complete Mum's target list, there are also several cranes poking about.

We beat a retreat from the Tower hide and, after a brief discussion, from the reserve itself; we have a lunch plan to make and some more exploring to do - birding-wise not a lot happens, but we can recommend The Red Lion if you're in need of a meal and the world and his wife (+ several large dogs and inappropriately large vehicle) have already flooded Frampton.

Aust Warth

We trespass further on parental time the next day by commandeering a lift to Bristol. There's a hook though; we're going via Aust Warth, where, by all accounts, there ought to be a Short-eared Owl or two for us to catch up with.

Aust is between the two Severn bridges. The land feels quite broken up - "it's neither fish nor fowl" cries AB2; a remarkably unbruised idiom, for her vernacular. I'm reminded of various Pratchettian descriptions of parts of Lancre. The RSPB would probably describe it as having 'big skies' (please, make it stop). It's definitely wild. And a bit grubby.

There's a reedbed at the North East end (the M48 crossing), and an old ferry crossing. We park nearby (it seems to be the only appropriate road) and have a bit of an explore.

There's no sign of the owls, but the place is sufficiently interesting to not matter. Some inquisitive Stonechats pop up to say hello - a year tick for Mum. A Water Rail makes a brief appearance; annoyingly I completely miss it. We make our way out to the old jetty and stare into the distance a lot. Still no owls. Humph. Back to the car; we're supposed to be meeting parent/newborn combo #1 in half an hour.

Just as the car pulls away, Mum triumphantly spots an owl off to the right. It floats around over the wasteland between us and the river and is already worth the wait; how cool are owls in flight? Utterly effortless. The owl tires of quartering before too long, and alights on an agreeable open stump a hundred metres or so away. The car is stealthily manoeuvred alongside, and we have a good look at it.

It's a fine beast, and before long it treats us to a bit more surverying of the general area, and a bit of squawking.

A second owl makes an appearance. It considers getting in the first one's face briefly, but then thinks better of it, heading to a perch a safe distance away. These owls, apparently, know how to share. We spend a good quarter of an hour drinking in the behaviour of these birds before it becomes plain to us that, sadly, it's time to make a move. Given we'd given up, we're now all the more appreciative of the treat we've just had.

February total: we're up to 109. A mid-March finish may have been overly optimistic.