We are at Blakeney Point, Norfolk – a spit that points four miles west out into the North Sea from Cley Beach
Each week Metro flees the city in search of birds. And sometimes other things. This week, we’re at… Blakeney Point
An iron sky bears down heavily upon a band of blue at the horizon. Where they meet the clouds are silver.
The wind has dropped to nothing and the rain has stopped. There is an uncanny quality to the light – something like twilight but brighter. A light without sun.
The moment passes and the wind and rain return. A meadow pipit ‘tseeps’ as it flies overhead, bringing an end to the silence.
We are at Blakeney Point, Norfolk – a spit that points four miles west out into the North Sea from Cley Beach.
It is a wild place that begins in shingle and ends in dunes covered in grass. Suaeda, a close-growing, pink-tipped green succulent also known as sea blite, is mixed in with sea campion, mosses and lichens.
The point is four miles now but it wasn’t before and it won’t be soon, with estimates of it growing at around 20ft per year.
The sand is firm at the shore on the peaceful beach (Picture: Shutterstock / Jan Duplnszki)
Blakeney Point is a spit that points four miles west out into the North Sea (Picture: Shutterstock / Rusana Krasteva)
The land is owned by the National Trust and is a nationally significant place for breeding terns and seals – but not at this time of year.
We are hoping for migrants – birds heading south that may be forced down by weather or fatigue and seeking temporary shelter on this exposed spit.
We walk out close to the shore where the sand is firmer and easier than on the shingle.
Red-throated divers and razorbills ride the sea swell, diving occasionally to feed – the former almost reptilian, the latter chubby little black and white things. Gannets glide by on huge white wings further out towards the wind turbines.
We pass the Halfway House and the dunes soon rise above the shingle. There is no one here now – few walkers come this far.
Beyond the brow of the dunes we see the point itself – dominated by a smart-looking boathouse now used for university field studies. There are also a handful of huts.
To the right is the Plantation, the only trees on the point. There around a dozen and have grown stunted because of the conditions. They were planted in 1916/17 either as an experiment or to give shelter to migrating birds, none of which are here now.
The first grey seal pup of the year on Blakeney Point (Picture: PA)
The grey sea bulls gave us the eye (Picture: PA)
To the left is a clump of flowering yucca – native to southeastern United States and looking as incongruous here as a surfboard in the snow.
To the right of the Plantation and growing by the side of a red-roofed single storey building is a tamarix shrub, also known as salt cedar, another non-native species, this one from south-western Europe and North Africa.
We approach and hear a squeaking like a mouse. We move closer, to within 10ft. Then there, tiny, pale green and flicking low among the foliage with a flash of yellow. It’s a goldcrest, our tiniest bird.
Further round, another one but orange where that was yellow. The yellow crest is the female, the orange the male.
The pair flit among the salt cedar, gleaning insects off the branches.
These birds are tiny, just three-and-a-half inches long and weighing no more than a 20p piece.
And they must be on migration – around 30 species of bird breed here and these are not one of them. How do they survive – they look as robust as dandelion seedheads?
The Old Lifeboat station at Blakeney Point Norfolk (Picture: Shutterstock / Martin Charles Hatch)
A hefty chap in the background (Picture: PA)
We watch them flit and fuss as the rain falls under skies that threaten thunder. We can see their bills that are fine as needles open and close as they squeak to each other. We can see the wind ruffle the feathers on their chests.
The thunder never arrives and we walk back with the sun coming into view over our right shoulder.
The waves slap and fizz on the shore, eating up the sand and forcing us up on to the shingle.
As we do, huge grey seals that look for all the world the size of walruses give us the eye as they slide by just offshore, then slip beneath the waves.
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We are at Blakeney Point, Norfolk – a spit that points four miles west out into the North Sea from Cley Beach.