Jottings for wildfowlers: the first pintail of autumn, and a dry year that keeps the duck in the estuary

Climbing the steps to the top of the sea wall is always a moment of anticipation, as the marsh and mudflats come into view for the first time since leaving the car. With the tide at about half flood, the waters were lapping the bottom of the wall. There are often one or two ducks quite close in here, and today was no exception, with several mallard not much more than a gunshot away, but there was a stranger too: a newly arrived pintail.

Despite being close in, the mallard carried on dibbling about. They are quite used to seeing people just here; dog walkers, birdwatchers, runners and cyclists abound along this section of coastal path, and club rules prohibit shooting so close to the wall. The pintail was more circumspect, lifting and flying low out along the marsh edge, before settling to join another little group of mallard a hundred yards or so further out.

The first pintail is a moment of joy

Seeing the first autumnal pintail is always a moment of joy, and I took it as a good omen, hoping there might be some more further out into the marsh. So far this season I had only seen a few home-bred mallard and the odd teal on this stretch of the south coast.

Well, my hope was realised. There is a big creek that winds into the marsh a quarter of a mile or so further out. It is hidden from view from the sea wall, and you catch a first glimpse into a big bend when halfway out. That first view caused a sharp intake of breath; the birds lining the water’s edge really were ducks. What is more, they were “thicker than jam in a pot”, as the old punt-gunners would say. As I got a little closer some heads started to pop up on the near side of the creek too, so it was time to settle in quietly and await what the dusk might bring.

Why a dry autumn keeps the ducks in the estuary

Father always said that what you really want for a bumper season is a dry autumn to keep the ducks in the estuary. A midwinter cold snap may bring a bit of icing on the cake, but once the freshwater floods are out, the ducks mostly go inland. His experience may have been almost exclusively in north Kent, but here was proof of principle a hundred miles west.

The long, hot summer has completely dried out most of the lagoons inside the sea wall, and what rain we have had has really only resulted in puddles among the dry mud, so the ducks were where I really wanted them.

An orange sunset and a thousand duck

Sadly, the wind started to die a little quicker than forecast, with the clouds breaking to reveal a wonderful orange sunset. I had been hoping that the afternoon wind, which had been gusting gale force, with a grey sky, would last till flight time, but no such luck.

Eventually, a small group of wigeon came my way, offering a crossing shot that seemed dead easy, so I still cannot fathom how I missed – both barrels at that. It was then that the scale of the arrival became clear, as close to a thousand birds lifted and swirled around. I gripped the gun tightly as a dozen pintail came my way, but just not quite close enough.

A few moments later everything had settled again, and I contented myself with watching the orange evening glow, seeing odd ducks trading across it, and dreaming of flights to come.

Mike Swan is a keen wildfowler and the senior adviser for the GWCT.