Recently a friend and I had been listening to bird song in a wooded area not far from my house and had carried out a frenzied RSPB website search every time we heard a different type of song or call. The RSPB have very kindly put recordings of the birdsong for most UK birds on their website. They’re the RSPB, they’re allowed to be geeks about birds, it’s what they do best. Some of the written descriptions of the sounds are quite funny (especially if you have a slightly childish sense of humour) but the main thing that occurred to me was that birds singing “live & unplugged” don’t sound like they do in recordings – a bit like pop stars.
Tentsmuir Forest is the perfect place to hear birdsong, it's the largest Nature Reserve in Fife and the road leading to it is a zigzag of tarmac edged with sand that twists through bright green farmland. At the borders of the fields, huge Scots pine trees stretch their branches to the sky, their orange trunks glowing in the sunlight. It’s a road that requires a driver’s full attention; so narrow that as 2 cars approach each other, they dance in and out of passing places, the drivers waving their thanks. It really isn’t the best road to slam on your brakes and stare out of the side window at a hovering kestrel as it scans the ground for lunch, but it was too beautiful to ignore and reminded me of a line from a William Henry Davies poem: “A poor life this, if, full of care, We have no time to stand and stare.” I stared until the kestrel was gone from sight.
Since you all know me reasonably well by now, you’ll be aware that my walks usually involve a little bit of drama and today’s drama was 40 pence. The Tentsmuir car park is entered through an automated barrier; or rather, if you are 40 pence short of the admission fee the car park is not entered through an automated barrier. I thought about the available options; stopping other barrier users to ask if they had change, walking up to the car park and buying something at the crepe shack then walking back to pay or parking my car at the entrance next to the very polite “Please do not park on the roadside” sign. None of these options seemed very appealing, especially since I was meant to be meeting my friend at a specific time. I suddenly realised that my friend might be (would almost certainly be) better prepared than I and might have 40 pence I could borrow. She was and she did – I may have mentioned previously how grateful I am to have such kind, well-prepared friends but I’m happy to say it again.
After a life-affirming lunch at the crepe shack, we started the walk by heading into the forest. The signs for The Fife Coastal Path direct walkers to the straight gravel roadway heading towards the Icehouse. Although the gravel path might be easy on the joints, it offers less for the eyes and ears than the forest paths and sand dunes that crisscross this whole area. So we opted for the off-road detour rather than the gravel path and it was well worth the effort. The forest was alive with birds rustling through the moss-covered shady floor and singing and calling to each other high in the trees. It would have been impossible to recognise all the birds, even with the help of the RSPB website, so I was content to just listen and appreciate the chirps, caws, tweets and warbles.
One of the hazards of the off-road detour was losing the path. We turned and re-joined a different path heading towards the beach. It brought us out of the treeline at the top of the sand dunes and the view took in the Tay estuary where it joined the North Sea. After my friend patiently explained some basic geography, I agreed that we could see Broughty Ferry across the water but the wonderful view also took in the huge beach and the blazing sunlight bouncing off bright blue water and silver white sand.
We followed our new path along the dunes until we reached the Nature Reserve fence and as we looked at the map displayed there, we could see tiny images of tiny cartoon seals and realised that according to the sign, it was possible we might see seals at this time of year. This seemed much more exciting to both of us than seeing the Icehouse and we agreed that since we had come this far, we might as well go “off-road” a little further to the beach to see if we could spot any seals. Sure enough, as we reached the water, we could see a small colony of seals sunbathing on a sandbank. They were too far away to see them clearly, but although I may have grumbled about not having my monocular, seeing and hearing them made us grateful we had made the effort. At this point, we had lost the path again and headed back to the trees to see if we could find a way off the dunes. We walked over a huge rabbit warren, past some lonely dead trees and through a long line of concrete anti-tank coastal defences that still stand as a reminder of the fear of wartime invasion.
At this point, my friend took pity on me and agreed to a rest on the dunes, both of us sinking onto the springy moss to soak up the sunshine. The only sounds we could hear were the gentle whispers of the wind and warbler birdsong filling the air all around us and I thought again of the beautiful things we can see and hear if we stop to look and listen.
One of the things that amazes me about this stretch of the Tentsmuir Sands is how dynamic it is. It changes constantly as over 4 metres of sand are added to this stretch of coastline each year. That doesn’t sound much, but when we arrived at the Icehouse, we read the small sign which explains that when the Icehouse was built in 1888 it was near the waterline and was filled with ice from local ponds to keep the caught salmon fresh. The Icehouse is now so distant from the waterline that the beach can’t even be seen past the dunes and that makes it easier to visualise how much ground this area has gained over the last 130 years. The Icehouse itself has long abandoned its original purpose and it’s grassy roof helps it blend more easily into the surroundings and serve in its new role as a roost for a colony of Natterer’s bats.
Today was a day to make some time to appreciate the grace of kestrels, the delight of birdsong, the expanse of blue sky, the warmth of golden sunshine and the contentment of sunbathing seals.
"Leisure" by William Henry Davies
What is this life, if, full of care,
We have no time to stop and stare?
No time to stand beneath the boughs
And stare as long as sheep and cows.
No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.
No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night.
No time to turn at Beauty’s glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance.
No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began.
A poor life this, if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.
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