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Feet in the sand, June 2002

Spring has passed over to summer. Amongst the sand run some of this year's nestlings, whilst other birds still retain eggs in the hollow nest. Life is out there. I must be careful where I place my feet.

Along the shore lies driftwood from the stormy winter days. A dune provides good back support - I have found my sketching place. I bury my feet into the warm sand. At that moment a Common Whitethroat announces his presence.

A White Wagtail trips along the sand line. Now and then he darts at one of the many insects. He seems to succeed almost every time he tries. I follow him for a while until the Ringed Plover nestlings capture my attention again. Just a few days old. They run fast but their intentions and their performance do not always have the same direction. They go sprawling.

My initial sketches become the only ones. I prefer to sit with my feet in the sand on a day like this.

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A hundred wing-beats, August 2002

Early morning and the light starts to break across the horizon. I park the car behind a clump of trees. Usually European Robins appear at this spot. I can hear them but the light is still too weak so I continue driving. I make a mental note to return later.



The landscape is flat. Still five miles from the sea bit I can already see diffuse outlines of the shoreline. Each time I approach the landscape it appears to meet me with a new face. For a moment I start to imagine that every shadow is a bird, today maybe a flock of geese

Where the road ends I leave the car and start to walk. There are few things that are comparable to early morning footsteps towards your favourite birding location.

Suddenly I hear familiar sounds. I pick a spot to sit down, near a stone and start to wait. The sound intensifies and in a short moment they land just next to me.



They are at least 50 and have arrived from the tundra....Dunlins. Maybe they are tired or maybe they have their thoughts somewhere else, because they don't seem to be bothered by my presence. I just sit there like a stone among the other stones. Nothing more happens until a young Common Redshank lands among them. He is more observant and it doesn't take long before he calls out my present in a loud warning. For a moment everything goes silent, everyone looks in my direction. Then a signal and the sky fills with a hundred wing-beats.

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