James Harcourt
Short days and long light
Winter on an estuary is a lesson in patience and reward. The sun sits low all day, so the golden hour stretches out, sometimes from mid-afternoon until dusk, and the light across wet mud can be extraordinary: silver, then bronze, then pink. Because the days are short, you don't need to set aside a whole day. Two or three hours on the path is enough, provided you time it with the tide.
What draws me back, though, is the noise and the numbers. In summer an estuary can feel strangely empty. In winter it fills up with wildfowl and waders, some arriving from the Arctic, some from Iceland or Scandinavia, all here for the same reason: mud that stays unfrozen and food that is buried in it.
Check the tide before anything else
That is the one thing that separates a good estuary walk from a wasted one. Tide tables are published for standard ports, and you can find one for the nearest harbour; many estuaries have their own printed tables at the harbour office or a local chandlery. Learn whether you are on a spring or neap tide, too, because the difference in how much mud is exposed can be enormous.
The best window is usually either side of low water, roughly two hours before and two hours after. That is when the mudflats are open for business and the birds are spread out feeding. As the tide pushes in, they will be shifted up towards the path, and the last hour before the water covers the flats can give you close views you would never get otherwise. Do plan an exit, though. Estuary mud can be deep and path sections flood quickly, particularly on spring tides. Never walk out onto the flats themselves.
Boots, layers and a working notebook
- Footwear: wellingtons for genuine mud, or sturdy walking boots with deep tread if the path is mostly gravel and grass. Grip matters more than waterproofing on slick clay slopes.
- Layers: a windproof outer layer, a warm mid-layer, gloves with the fingertips cut off for writing, and a hat. Estuary wind finds every gap.
- Optics: 8x42 binoculars are ideal. Keep them inside your coat when not in use; the change from a warm car to cold air will fog them instantly.
- Journal: a small hardbacked notebook and a pencil. Pens freeze and smudge; pencil doesn't care.
- Extras: a flask, a torch or head torch for the walk back, and a phone kept warm in an inside pocket.
Reading the mudflats
Scan slowly and systematically, left to right, near to far. Start at the water's edge, where waders often feed in a loose line, then work across the mud itself.
Curlews are the ones I look for first. Big, grey-brown, with a long downcurved bill, and unmistakable once you hear the bubbling, rising cur-lee call. They probe deep in the mud and often stand apart from the smaller waders. Shelducks are easier still: a big, goose-like duck with a dark green head, chestnut band across the breast and a bright red bill. They dabble in the shallows and on wet mud, and in winter you may find dozens loafing together.
Around them: redshank, piping and bobbing; dunlin in tight flocks; oystercatchers with their orange bills; grey plover standing still and grey as the mud; knot in dense, nervous packs. Out on the water, look for wigeon whistling, teal, pintail, brent geese, and a red-breasted merganser fishing. A little egret, white against the grey, is now a familiar winter sight on many estuaries. Keep half an eye on the sky, too: a peregrine will scatter everything at least once.
Keeping a journal that earns its keep
Nature journaling on an estuary is less about drawing beautifully and more about noticing precisely. Record the same handful of things each visit:
- The date, time and tide state, including whether it is rising or falling and roughly how much mud is showing.
- Weather, wind direction and temperature; wind direction explains where birds sit.
- Species seen, with rough counts. "About 40 dunlin" is far more useful than "dunlin".
- One sketch: a bill shape, a mudflat edge, the pattern of a flock in flight.
- One question to answer next time.
After a few visits you will have something better than a list. You will have a record of how the estuary changes with the tide, the weather and the season, which is what makes a journal worth carrying.
Quiet habits for a winter path
Walk slowly, stop often, and let the birds settle back into normal behaviour. Sit on a bench or a bank for ten minutes and you will see more than in an hour of walking. Keep your voice low and your movements unhurried. And do not chase the light; let it come to you. Stay until the sun drops behind the far bank, when the water goes copper and the curlews call across the mud, and you will understand why winter is the finest season on the estuary after all.
