Hastings Country Park NR
2nd November 2009, Monday
All Souls’ Day 08.00.
The rain has cleared, the temperature dropped and the Woodpigeons are moving out.
I’m perched on a cold memorial bench on the Firehills (my thanks to Bernard Ince 1929 - 2005) tracking flocks as they approach over the wrinkled grey sea, heading for the cliffs where most turn left, hugging the coast in the lee of the hillside.
Some I can pick out against the water - as a dark smudge below Dungeness or by wings flashing in the sunshine as they bank upon landfall - but more often they sweep suddenly round the corner, coming over the gorsy slope.
Some flocks seem only to touch base at the headland before heading off south, higher and higher above the straits traffic of freighters and tankers, towards gloomy rain clouds over the French coast.
In 45 minutes, I’ve counted about a thousand.
Flocks of Starlings are arriving too, but most vanish inland.
Along the clifftop I can hear the calls of passing Skylarks, Meadow Pipits, Pied Wagtails, Goldfinches, Siskins, Redpolls, Linnets, Bramblings… most I can’t see at all against the bright blue sky but a big flock of 80 Redpolls passes lower down.
There are Bullfinches piping overhead but although I hold up my hand to shield my eyes against the sun, I can’t see them at all, nor the Crossbills.
Neither can I see the Firecrest calling from the willows behind me, nor the Dartford Warbler buzzing from the gorse across the path…
Just too much invisibility…
