Jurassic Coast Day 4: Abbotsbury to Weymouth

We awoke to a sunny, nearly hot morning.  Nothing small and stuffed had murdered us in our sleep.  Time to hit the trail for a final stretch- walking along the coast to the town of Weymouth, where a train would haul two dirty tired hikers back to the Big Smoke. 

The best part about this walk was to watch springtime happen before us.  The weather went from cool and cloudy to warmer and sunnier each day until we got a amazingly beautiful one.  We saw herds of heavily-pregnant ewes start to turn into fields of ewes with tiny freshly borne lambs.  The swallows were returning from Africa, and skylarks were chattering away in almost every field we walked through, and the little bits of forest and wooden hillsides were tinged with green.  This time of year is pure magic, and my favorite time to walk.  

 Instead of heading straight for the trail, we headed up the big hill to St Catherine's Chapel, the larger-than-all seafaring chapel that announced to sailors that they were near Abbotsbury.

Ah, first, we had a bit of a distraction.

 Trail side tyre swings are never left alone.

It's not an easy climb up through a terraced cow pasture, but the views from the top are worth it.

 The downs, the town, the sea.  Really spectacular, helped by the fact the sky was cloud-free.

 The coast path winds its way around the privately-owned Swanery, through farm fields and hills before settling down to sea level along an enormous body of still saltwater called the Fleet Lagoon.  It is a place to bring binoculars- this long, still body of water is of great importance to birds of all kinds.  I had to keep reminding myself of the non-refundable train that left Weymouth at 6.  There was just so much going on.  Without even trying, I saw dozens of waterfowl and songbirds.  The unique protected lagoon coupled with farmland and pastureland and a nearby beach meant this was birdy heaven.

Corn Bunting

Yellowhammer

Terns

Greenfinch

Oystercatchers

Long-tailed tit

Little Egret

Goosander

 It was pretty amazing.  In the space of an afternoon, I saw more birds appear in front of me than I had all winter.  Understandably, the lagoon was fiercely protected, with a few scientist having access to the water and that was it.

Finally, after passing a military firing range and some large industrial estates, we were back in civilization.  There was a very well-reviewed lagoon-side crab shack that we wanted to try, but they were closing post-lunch just as we walked in.  Which was fine: there were no fewer than three Ferraris in the front lot, all of them parked at "asshole parking space" angles for maximum "LOOK AT ME" exposure.

The Southwest Coast trail crosses the bridge and continues to do an 8-mile loop of the Island of Portland.  The island is connected by a bridge from Weymouth.  Before there was a bridge and if you didn't want to hazard the ferry crossing, you would have to go all the way to Abbotsbury to cross the Fleet, and walk all the way to Portland via the beach.

Portland is famous for its stone- the creamy-white limestone quarried for use of some pretty famous buildings- Buckingham Palace, St. Paul's Cathedral, and the far-off UN building in NYC.  

I won't be visiting this trip.  I looked at the map.  The train station was at least three miles away (!) and we had over an hour to make it there and find something eatable to bring for the journey.  Hustle the bustle, as my grade-school bus driver would yell at the pokey kids not willing to make good time.

So a small gripe:  I got the idea for this 4-day walk on the Southwest Coast Path website.  Not only do they have a great system of planning your trips along the trail, they have suggestions as to where to go for multi-day walks.  I booked the trip based on their recommendations and reasonable mileage between stops, but little did I know:

1.  The mileage they gave on the website was off by about 20% every day.  Meaning, we walked 20% more than what we planned.  We walked 9 hours the first day, and nearly 7 hours the next three days.  Even when we stuck strictly to the trail, we ended up doing 3-4 miles more each day than we though we would.

2.  They didn't include the trail closures adding miles to our trek, and that bumped up the total to 12 extra miles (which is a full days walk for most!).  At least 10 miles were done pounding the pavement on a diverted path alongside busy roads.  That is not enjoyable:  it's exhausting.  

3.  It would have been nice if they kept the website updated with the landslips; I only knew about the first one.  We would have planned ahead and taken a bus further down the trail instead of waiting and paying for a cab.

In the end, we did a whopping 70 miles over 4 days.  Even with that cab ride to shave 7 miles off, it was about 10 more than we thought we would be doing.  Three of the days were exceedingly difficult, with many steep ascends and descends.  I was exhausted and ready for a break, and my new-ish boots have proved to be less cooperative than the last pair and I was tending to several blisters and general sore feet.

Alas, it was a lovely walk.  The coast was stunningly beautiful and wild and remote in spots, and so civilized and charming in between.

From Weymouth, you could see the next bit of coastline:

More cliffs!  Lovely limestone ones.  The next bit of trail stretches between Weymouth and Poole along the Dorset coast.  I think I can do it in 3 days.

Weymouth was the biggest town he had been through on our walk, and it sprawled out quite a bit.  Being a beautiful bank holiday day, we were quite sad that the only ice cream flavor to be had was "natural", meaning not even flavored.  A seaside town that runs out of ice cream is a poor excuse for a seaside town, the calender be damned!

I had read about a pie shop that did excellent homemade pies near the train station so I jetted off to place an order before we had a long 3 hour train ride back to London.  I put an order in, mindful of the fact that the disclaimer on the menu said it might take up to 20 minutes to get our order since everything is homemade and from scratch.   I even checked with the server- we had about 35 minutes before the train left- and she assured me it would all be good.

Except a halfhour later, there were still no pies, and a few other patrons had left because they had been waiting so long.  Ah, the joys of bank holiday skeleton crews.  I begged the server for pies, and asked to refund my card because we had to go (with no time to find a backup sandwich) and she scrambled back from the kitchen with a paper bag in hand.  I grabbed it, breathless and thanked her before dashing across the square to the train with just a minute to spare.

I probably should have checked to make sure she had remembered to add cutlery of sorts.

Because she didn't.

The pies were easy enough as they were the delightful kind you could eat like a cornish pasty, but the mash potato and broccoli presented an issue.

I asked the train conductor if there was a cafe car and was told we picked one up in Bournemouth, about a  half hour down the track.

We got to Bournemouth, rushed the cafe car and was told nope, no cutlery- they only serve pre-packaged sandwichs.

So I improvised.  I tore up corners of the takeaway container, and used them like pita bread.

We had hiked 17 miles in the heat, I was starving.    Not my proudest moment.

Thank you, Hawk

Fair warning:  a bit of gore ahead.  

Last weekend was a bank holiday, meaning in the EU and UK we got a 4 day weekend to encompass Good Friday and Easter Monday.  My standard response "every Friday is a good Friday" never flies.  Just like this pigeon!  

We took the opportunity of the free days to head out for a walk along the Jurassic Coast, a stretch of dramatic red sandstone and limestone cliffs in East Devon and Dorset.  The train dropped us off in the seaside town of Exmouth and we were making our way to our lodging for the night when I noticed total pandemonium break out with the roosting gulls and pigeons.  For good reason: this handsome sparrow hawk had just made a kill right before us.

My camera had been in my pack, so it took me a few minutes to pull it out and get set up, but at this point, the hawk was plucking feathers on a still-struggling bird.

The hawk would pause and look around from time to time, the pigeon would take the opportunity and hop about a bit and the hawk would act like it's no big deal to be surfing a pigeon.

I don't think the sparrowhawk meant to bring it down in the middle of an intersection, so  I directed traffic around the scene and the few cars that came by seemed pretty keen to rubberneck the bloody drama playing out on the village streets.  A few bystanders took photos and explained to their kids what was going on.

 Yes, it was brutal to witness.  However, I am a hater of pigeons (they are currently busy shitting on my drying laundry and picnic table out on the balcony) and I always root for the hawk in this situation.

 Finally, the pigeon ceased to struggle, and the hawk went to work ripping out the feathers with glee.

 

 Bry kept uttering "ew...ugh, ew" with each rip, and a local recording it on his iphone said, "Brilliant!".  Which is my favorite word to describe this entire scene.  

The hawk didn't seem to mind the small crowd that had gathered to watch, but eventually he either got tired of being so exposed or the paparazzi just got to him, and with a huge effort, he took his dinner in the talons and flew off awkwardly to a nearby tree.

It looked like a pillowfight had gone down in the street.

I felt really fortunate to witness this- I've always been a fan of raptors and this is the first time I saw one take down prey up close.  When I got back to London, I noticed an eviscerated pigeon and a load of feathers blowing around on the rooftop below my flat, so I know there is something in the neighborhood that is hungry.  I just wish he would eat more.  

Wetlands

I had been wanting to get out to the London Wetland Centre since I had heard about it.  This sprawling marshland was very close to central London- you can take the Piccadilly line and walk across the Thames to get there.  That's pretty amazing.  Not too many cities have the kind of foresight to decide not to drain a swamp, let alone create one where there had once been a reservoir.

I waited until I had a nice sunny day and headed out with my giant telephoto lens.  Autumn is a great time to birdwatch here in England as all the birds who had spent the summer at points north are on their way to Africa then, and there are other winter visitors that start trickling in.

One thing I didn't realize about the Wetland centre is that it was set up as a bit of a zoo.  They had a big cafe and visitors centre, and they accommodate school groups regularly.  They had a lot of birds from all over in open-air enclosures with their wings clipped, with the common theme of "these are all birds that depend on wetlands all over the world".  I don't know how I feel about that, and they have come under fire from the public and from naturalist about this practice.  I guess they figured the general public wouldn't be satisfied paying admission for sitting in a blind hoping to see something other than seagulls and mallards.

Still, it afforded the ability to get good close-up shots of birds that normally would be a far-off smudge on the screen.  This was fine by me as some of the birds were just fantastically beautiful.

Tundra Swan

Bufflehead Duck

White-headed duck

Eider

Pintails

After a jaunt around the zoo, I made my way to the marsh, where they had blinds set up all around, and a tall fence as well.  You were invisible to the wildlife, and if there weren't too many screaming kids around, you could see quite a lot.   Tons of ducks and gulls, lapwings, lots of herons, a handful of divers.  It was bountiful, and some of the blinds had telescopes and binoculars, which were really handy. 

Red-breasted Merganser

Grey Heron

It took me most of the afternoon to walk around the marsh, stopping at each blind for a vantage point, studying what was there.  Hoping for a sighting of a shorebird or a peregrine falcon, but no luck there.  A falcon supposedly lives on the roof of Charing Cross hospital right across the Thames, and swoops on over from time time time when he is sick of dining on pigeon.

  

Jackdaws

Parts of the trail they had planted with local meadows, with beautiful wildflowers and the songbirds and butterflies they attract.

It seemed very remote, but at some points, you look across the marsh and ah, it is indeed London.

Shags

Gadwalls, with their black bottoms

Great crested grebe

My favorite sightings were those of the Shoveler ducks, with their comically oversized beaks.  They flock to the Thames in huge numbers in winter.  

I also so quite a few Teals with their painted hussy faces.

All this kissing-close to Central London.

I also saw a water vole, nimbly climbing up a bird feeder cage while his cousin the Norway Brown could only watch.  I got a glimpse of one last summer at Rainham Marsh- they are acrobatic little climbers that shimmy up and down reed stalks in the marshland.

Worth a trip out?  I guess...I was happy with my sightings and the ease of access from the city.  Having the zoo there kind of put a damper on things, and if I did it again I would probably find an RSBP site to give my money to instead.  Some online research showed much outrage not only about the clipped wings of their birds, but they also had allegedly gotten in the habit of shooting mallards that had gotten into the exhibit enclosures.  I hope that they were at the very least enjoying some roast duck if they were going to be shooting the wildlife they were claiming to protect.