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Nowhere in Britain gives you as much birdlife for as little effort as the coast. You do not need to creep through woodland or master a dawn chorus. On an estuary or a cliff top, the birds come to you — often in their thousands, often within easy viewing distance, and often while you are still holding a flask of tea. Coastal birds are also unusually generous to beginners because so many of them are big, distinctive and noisy. A curlew is not going to be confused with much else. An oystercatcher in smart black and white, with a carrot-coloured bill, practically introduces itself.
The trick is knowing where to stand, when to go, and what you are listening for. Get those three things roughly right and your first few trips will deliver far more than you expect.
You do not need expensive gear. You need sensible gear.
Leave the drone at home. Leave the playback of bird calls at home too — it stresses birds and it is banned on many reserves.
Britain's estuaries are internationally important. The Severn, the Wash, Morecambe Bay, the Dee, the Humber and the Thames all hold tens of thousands of waders and wildfowl through autumn and winter, arriving from Arctic breeding grounds. The best time to visit is roughly the two hours either side of high tide, when the rising water pushes feeding flocks closer to the shore and into view.
Start with the easy ones. Oystercatchers pipe and bicker along the waterline. Curlews probe the mud with those extraordinary downcurved bills. Redshanks bob nervously at the edge of the channel, and dunlin and knot gather in tight, shimmering flocks that turn as one when a peregrine passes. In sheltered corners you may find shelduck, looking like small, overexcited geese, and dark-bellied brent geese grazing on the saltmarsh.
A scope helps on a big estuary, but binoculars plus patience will do. Scan slowly. Look for movement, then identify.
From April to July, cliff colonies are the most dramatic birdwatching in the country. Gannets plunge like white arrows off Bempton and Rathlin. Guillemots and razorbills line narrow ledges, with puffins usually lower down or on the sea. Fulmars glide past on stiff wings, kittiwakes call their own name from the rock face, and shags stand with wings held out to dry.
The single most important rule is distance. Nesting seabirds are easily disturbed, and a flushed bird may knock eggs or chicks off a ledge. Stay on the path, keep at least 50 metres from any nesting ledge, and use your binoculars rather than your feet to get closer. If birds start calling in alarm or taking off in numbers, you are too near — back away quietly. Keep dogs on a short lead, and never approach a nest for a photograph.
On an estuary you will usually hear birds before you see them, especially in mist or at dusk. Learn half a dozen calls and the whole place becomes legible.
A few minutes listening to recordings before you go will pay for itself many times over. Then go and stand still on the shore and simply listen for ten minutes before you start looking.
Wind direction matters. A stiff onshore blow in autumn pushes seabirds and skuas close to headlands, which is when sea-watching gets exciting. On estuaries, a hard frost concentrates birds on the remaining open water. Check tide tables before every trip: a falling tide spreads birds out, and a spring tide can cut off unfamiliar ground alarmingly quickly.
Finally, remember that you are a guest in a working landscape. Stick to marked paths and never cross saltmarsh or mudflats on foot. Take your litter home, including bait bags and line. Give roosting flocks a wide berth in cold weather, when every unnecessary flight costs a bird precious energy. Do those things and you will see more, not less — and the coast will keep giving.
Riverbay shares practical, down-to-earth guidance on uk coastal and riverside living for readers across the UK.
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