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Country diary: a silent predator disturbs huddling grey plovers


Even in the midday gloom, two newly emerged red admiral butterflies shine as they dance along the tree-lined path to the harbour. At the end of the path, where it opens out to run alongside tidal pools, the autumn high tide means that water is already rippling against the vegetation at my feet. Further out, the mudflats and channels are submerged under grey water. Above, the heavy sky is bruised blue-black.

Large numbers of hirundines – forked-tailed swallows, house martins with white rumps, and just a few brown sand martins – are swirling over the pools, turning and feeding on rising insects, before flying on. They head out over the shingle bank and away to sea. Below them, grey plovers huddle together along the edges of the water. The plovers, all now in their winter plumage, are mottled grey above, dirty grey to white below, with short dark-grey bills and legs, and black eyes. More are arriving all the time from their breeding grounds on the high Arctic tundra. The coastal mudflats in Sussex, particularly here at Pagham and at nearby Chichester Harbour, are thought to account for 5% of the total number of 40,000 grey plovers that winter in Britain. However, recent years have seen the wintering population reduce in Sussex and increase in northeastern Britain as warmer temperatures further north at this time of year change the plovers’ habits.

Sky above Pagham harbour



‘The heavy sky is bruised blue-black.’ Photograph: Gerry Penny/EPA

There’s a sudden movement of birds. More waders – whimbrels, knots, redshanks – and ducks fly in to join the grey plovers. Looking across the middle of the harbour, I see the cause. Flocks of small water birds and starlings are twisting backwards and forwards against the dark sky in constantly flexing shapes, as if in a huge monochrome lava lamp. Above them, the unmistakable sharp-winged silhouette of a peregrine falcon tracks a cloud of starlings. It matches each curling movement of its quarry, turning and climbing with them. They get closer and closer, flying low over the water towards me before they suddenly turn away inland, behind the trees, and I lose sight of them. I wait and watch but they don’t return. I feel the water splashing over my feet and I decide to retrace my steps as the rain begins to fall.



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