Winter at Walcott

It is always interesting to spend a couple of hours at Walcott on the NE Norfolk coast. Here you can park directly next to the beach (the only place in the county where this is possible), and thereby witness close up the antics of the myriad gulls and the ever scurrying Turnstones that between them seem to exist entirely on hand-outs provided by human visitors. The gulls are mainly Herring Gulls, dominated by a vociferous pair, the male of which is intolerant of any gull of any other species, sending them packing with an aggressive lunge, wings raised, beak gaping. After every successful sortie he will throw back his head and give voice to the typical laughter like cry of his tribe. The only bird he does tolerate, in fact the bird that plaques him constantly, is his offspring from the previous summer that even now well into the new year, begs him for food with a squeaky whining call. It is a mystery to me how on Earth they recognise one another, but the family bond is still strong. 

The 'Boss' and His Offspring a Few Weeks Ago

I always reward him for his machismo and dedication to his family by ensuring choice lumps of bread are thrown into his maw. He is quite bold in this regard and will stand there waiting for his crust just a couple of feet from where you stand. He is quite handsome and very large; without doubt the boss of the beach. 

The Turnstones, some 30 or 40 in number, zip about under the radar picking up small crumbs and seeds discarded or ignored by the larger and squabbling gulls. Some thoughtful folk (us on the occasion we remember), put out piles of seed for them which they hoover up gratefully. They virtually ignore passing people, although will take flight for a short distance when an accompanying dog trots past. It occurred to me today that having originated from Greenland and the wilds of Canada, some of them may never have encountered a human before until they turned up on the stone sea wall at this popular Norfolk outpost. They certainly are happy to waddle around on the footpath where the gulls fear to tread. 

Sometimes a Sanderling Will Brave the Human Traffic

Between feeds they can be found loafing around on the decaying sea defences, or splashing around in beach pools created by the run off rainwater from the road. Lots of people stop and watch these pied pipers, no doubt wondering what on Earth they could be. With binoculars slung around my neck providing a clue to my neediness, I’ve sometimes been asked the question and am happy to oblige. The answer never fails to elicit a show of wonder at how such small creatures decide to fly thousands of miles to peck around their feet on a windy winter day, when the crashing waves of the North Sea should surely deter anything from setting foot or wing anywhere near its latent ferocity.

Turnstones That Dare to Steal a Crust are Ruthlessly Pursued