A Norfolk Island

Islands hold a particular mystique, they capture our imagination and hold it prisoner, filling our heads with romantic notions of shipwreck, isolation, escape and abandon. Who hasn’t entertained the notion of being able to own an island, be master of your own domain and sever ties with the everyday world? Well, some lucky people can do just that and a couple of weeks ago myself and Liz Dack were guests of the custodian of a Norfolk Island. Scolt Head is separated from the Norfolk mainland by a narrow channel, which at high tide runs to a depth of 4-5 metres. Low tide allows adventurous folk to wade across, but beware those shifting, unpredictable tides that can easily cut off the unwary and render them marooned to seek the services of the coastguard and lifeboat. It happens all the time, so best to take the ferry which runs from Burnham Overy Staithe and deposits visitors at the eastern end of this 4-mile-long spit of marram topped sand and shingle. Like all other places of this dynamic coastline, Scolt is ever changing, growing longer as the sea deposits spoil gouged from the north-eastern facing beaches and carries it west and south along the coast. At such places as Blakeney Point and Scolt, fingers of sand build up over the years, changing the direction of navigation channels, allowing saltmarsh to develop and forming a substantial protective barrier to coastal villages. The island is a national nature reserve owned by the National Trust and Norfolk Wildlife Trust and managed by Natural England and has status as a place of special environmental and geophysical importance.

On this initially cool and overcast June day we are picked up at Brancaster Staithe by the seasonal warden, Neil Lawton, in a small boat and transported along the rapidly filling muddy creeks to the western end of a Norfolk island where he spends the summer months looking after the breeding terns and waders. There are no facilities here (fortnightly visit to the mainland for supplies) and no mains services (solar power, compostable loo), so Neil resides here with his wife for 6 months in a well-insulated, cosy cabin with only nature as a neighbour. I ask him what is the rarest bird he has seen from his window and the list comes thick and fast, Greenish Warbler, Spectacled Warbler, Red-backed Shrike singing for 3 days from a small bush in his ‘garden’, Storm Petrel in the channel. Stop! I’m getting more and more envious. A glance eastward reveals another dwelling, now used as a base for researchers and volunteers, the historic seasonal abode of Emma Turner a pioneering woman of the early 20th century who was the first ‘watcher’ appointed to the role of custodian of Scolt. She must have had it pretty rough with no mobile communications, no solar power and being a lone woman on a remote sometimes storm ravaged pile of sand. She used flags to alert people on the mainland of her need for assistance/supplies or to signal all was well. Hardship indeed. Her hut is now a good kilometer from the present day accommodation and is surrounded by marram and scrub, but when she was resident the tern colony was just outside her door. The island has grown considerably since her day and the terns simply make use of the newly deposited sand and shingle on the westward spit. That’s where we headed next.

Our walk takes us across short sward covering the dunes which provides a sea of colour, full of orchids, trefoil and sea holly, some of which is just coming into deep blue flower. As we approach the nesting beach, the sound and smell of the terns gets more noticeable, until upon cresting a dune we see the whole colony laid out before us. This area is closed to members of the public during the breeding season; dogs are not allowed on the island between April and August, an essential element in ensuring the nesting birds remain free to go about the business of propagating their species free from unnecessary harassment. There is no hurry, no pressure; the sun has burst through, drenching the scene in an eye piercing light, so we sit on some convenient flotsam and simply watch.

Sandwich Terns are the main stars, forming a constant procession as they head to and from the sea to fish for their offspring. Most return with a sizeable glistening sand eel clamped firmly in their yellow tipped black bill. Black-headed and Mediterranean Gulls create much noise and movement and we are surprised to learn that Sandwich Terns need the presence of these raucous birds to stimulate nesting. The gulls provide protection to the terns and without them no nesting attempt will be made. There are 3300 pairs of Sandwich Terns here, a third of the UK population, and Neil reckons they will be on target to produce something like one young per pair this year. After the impact of last year’s avian influenza outbreak, which had a devastating affect on the species, this is indeed welcome news. 

The terns and gulls are not allowed to raise their chicks without the attention of predators though. During the hour or so we calmly watched we saw a Red Kite try its luck with Little Tern chicks, a Marsh Harrier make regular talon filling trips to and from the colony to its own nest on the mainland coastal marsh, and most graphically a Herring Gull that swooped into the gull colony and steal a well grown chick. Despite the aggressive attention of the smaller gulls, the Herring Gull flew a few yards from the fenced area to better attend to its prize. The hapless chick struggled free from the predator’s beak, but even though it offered much feisty protest it was doomed. The only reason it wasn’t consumed whole and alive instantly was because the Herring Gull was in the process of swallowing another chick, a sibling perhaps, that it had wolfed down before snatching the second unfortunate. Nature in the raw played out on a Norfolk island.

After having our fill of this thriving sea bird haven, and having lazily swapped birdy stories and experiences from the years, we sauntered back along the beach, inspecting the caged off nests of Ringed Plovers as we walked. In one we found a newly hatched chick, so small and vulnerable but at least given a chance. Scolt plays host to some 65 pairs of breeding Ringed Plover, an impressive population, made so by the protection afforded by this human intervention and the relative lack of people and dogs.

Further eastward I was surprised to see a substantial party of Turnstones loafing on the beach together with a few Dunlin and a pair of summer plumaged Sanderling. The Turnstones apparently spend the summer here and the other species could be failed breeders, or even returning migrants, a sobering thought of how quickly the summer can slip through our fingers.

_Sanderling

All too soon our trip was at an end, dictated by the tide and need to deposit us back on the mainland whilst the waters flowed high. From Brancaster Staithe we looked back at the island and Neil’s fast diminishing boat to see simply a shimmering strip of yellow sand on the near horizon, concealing the wealth of beauty and vibrant wildlife that calls it home. 

Many thanks to Neil, a dedicated ornithologist, doubling not only as warden of Scolt but also the Norfolk County Bird Recorder. He was a perfect host and we were indeed fortunate to experience the Scolt spectacle in such informed company. It is not easy in this 21^st century to find space and peace, but both can be found on a Norfolk Island if you’re prepared to walk a couple of miles. I would urge anyone with an interest in wildlife and truly wild spaces to pay a visit. Adhere to public areas, give the birds and the fragile dune system respect and just breathe it all in.