4am, and the insistent ringing of the alarm prises me out of bed.  Stagger down the stairs, get dressed, find binoculars/hat/gloves and head out into the chill early morning Southeast Northumberland air.  The Dawn Chorus is in full flow; Blackbirds are leading the way, and dominating the soundscape around our house, Chiffchaffs are singing from the churchyard and I make a mental note to do this again tomorrow to get some sound recordings.

Walking along the River Wansbeck I can see a pointed snout sticking out of the water distantly.  Closer inspection reveals a Grey Seal.  A Grey Heron flies by, croaking and screeching as a pair of Carrion Crows harrass it until it turns through 180 and heads away from the annoyance.  I move on as well, heading towards Druridge Bay.  With ethereal mist rising from a coastal pool, Sedge Warblers are singing from the bushes around me, and I’m concentrating on the mimicry that they employ, when a group of Rabbits suddenly scatter and Lapwings, Black-headed Gulls and Common Terns begin circling and alarming.  A movement in the grass reveals itself as a Red Fox; wary, immaculate and healthy – this isn’t the urban scrounger so familiar to many people, but rather what a recent client described as “that’ll be one of those rural foxes then”. 

Then, one of those moments that take me back the best part of four decades; a Cuckoo starts calling.  My first Cuckoo, all those years ago, was on an early morning birdwatching cycle ride to a site several miles from home.  With nobody else anywhere to be seen, and all of the sounds of the early morning to myself, that haunting sound carried from nearby trees before the pointy-winged long-tailed shape of the bird raced across my field of view.  I stand and marvel at the bird.  It’s fascinating breeding ecology and migration still grip me the way that birdwatching did when I was a little lad.  Perhaps I need to start setting the alarm for very early every morning 🙂