The Reserve

As we planned the details of our walk in the coffee shop in the Visitor Centre at the start, the first avian challenge momentarily appeared – a distant dark speck flitted amongst the reeds at the far end of the pond. The elusive creature darted between the reeds, testing the limits of my DSLR camera’s zoom lens and a rather basic pair of binoculars we’d bought. The bird appeared quite small and possibly fluffy. Perhaps it was a baby bird? It was on its own, though, and it certainly didn’t resemble any of the species I’d seen on my bird ID course. Eventually, it swam closer. It continued to scurry nervously from one clump of reeds to another, teasing its small audience of onlookers inside the cafe. Eventually, it posed for a short while in front of us, giving me just enough time to capture a quick photo. Then as quickly as it had emerged, it disappeared into the reeds at the far end of the pond, having completed its morning performance. It was a little grebe. Well, I think it was. Certainly, so much smaller and fluffier than the great crested grebe which I’d recently seen gracing the waters of the Lisvane Reservoir in NE Cardiff. Wow! If that was the overture, what was the main performance going to be like?

We eagerly ventured along the waymarked paths into the reserve to do a hybrid walk, encompassing part of the ‘Wetlands Experience’ and the ‘Estuary Trail’ so we’d also be able to see Goldcliff as well on our short visit.

As we walked towards the shore in the reserve, we were surrounded by a sea of golden reeds, wafting gently in the breeze. Ribbons of vibrant green new growth edged the long unnaturally straight water areas which gleamed bright blue in the sun. Apart from a squishing sound as we walked across a floating pontoon amidst the reeds, it was relatively calm and peaceful. Perhaps a little too calm and peaceful? We stopped at various lookout posts where information boards tantalisingly displayed a range of possible birds we could encounter. No birds in sight today though. Hmmm. Overhead the towering pylons and power cables dominated the skyline and were reminders of the adjacent industrial site and the area’s continuing importance for power generation. Still no birds. The forbidding industrial backdrop, the scene for several episodes of Doctor Who loomed large behind the haven of the reserve. Still, no birds….

Then, just as we were about to move on, a few large birds swooped down and landed on the water in front of us. Certainly not a flock, but at least a handful of birds. And … they were easily recognisable! Canada geese! May be a grade one entry though, given their prevalence across our shores. However, as I found out later, they’re not a native bird, having been introduced from North America some 300 years ago. After some rather amorous advances between a couple of these geese, all too brief for my camera skills, I was able to capture some shots of these elegant birds, including the one here.

A little grebe entertains the café clientele

Canada goose on the reserve

East Usk Lighthouse

Blacknore lighthouse at Portishead

Walking further towards the shore, the lighthouse beckoned. However many times I’ve been to the reserve, I always seem to find myself clicking away, trying to capture a new camera angle and avoid that iconic, some might say, rather hackneyed, image of the lighthouse. Oh dear… yes, that’s my cover photo! On today’s visit, however, the ‘white cone on the water’s edge’ as Peter Finch describes it, was looking particularly fine in the golden light and seemed as popular as ever with the visitors. Glistening white, protected by its very own picket fence, this somewhat diminutive lighthouse looked more as if it belonged in a model village rather than being a working lighthouse. This is the East Usk Lighthouse though, and its light provides a vital navigation aid to ships approaching Newport. Indeed, its importance goes beyond that. It was the first Trinity House lighthouse to use a special valve, enabling the light to turn off and on remotely just using daylight. The most striking aspect to me though on our visit today, was the lighthouse’s resemblance to the Blacknore Lighthouse on the other side of the estuary at Portishead, where I’d visited only a couple of months ago. Back when the East Usk lighthouse was built in the late nineteenth century the structures would have been near-identical twins. Now, following tonnes of disposal of fly ash from the Usk Power Station which buried the legs of the East Usk lighthouse, they’re merely distant cousins!

Shelducks feeding on the rich intertidal muds

The white specks of coastal birds (gulls, shelducks and a curlew) on the silvery muds

Before we turned back to go on to Goldcliff, we strolled a little further along the coastal path, enjoying the ever-changing shoreline. The West Usk Lighthouse, which once marked the western entrance to the Usk river channel for ships heading to Newport docks, was just visible. Much more noticeable was the massive strandline. This coronet of gnarled driftwood encircled the entire coast, following the base of the embankment. The sheer scale of the mighty tree trunks engulfed in the debris were a stark reminder of the power of the winter storms which have plagued those inhabiting these shores over the millennia. Expecting to see today’s plague, plastic and other litter, I was very pleasantly surprised: there wasn’t any! I found out later that there’d been a litter pick by staff from Natural Resources Wales (NRW) and RSPB only a week or so before as part of Spring Clean Cymru when bags and of bags had been collected.

The Goldcliff shoreline

We then wove our way along narrow lanes towards Goldcliff between a patch work of fields lined with deep and dark drainage ditches, a legacy of the Romans and the medieval monks who’d captured and tried to tame this watery landscape from the sea. No environmental impact studies in those days, just the need to provide valuable agricultural land to survive.

Then a small incline gradually came into view. This was the famous Goldcliff, a ‘rocky eminence’ which had caught the attention of the celebrated medieval cleric and celebrated travel writer, Gerald of Wales/Giraldus Cambrensis back in the twelfth century. In Gerald’s account, he’d noted that ‘when the sun’s rays strike it, the stone shines very bright and takes on a golden sheen’ and he’d even suggested that the ‘skilled’ might ‘dig down into the mineral deposits to extract sweet honey from the stone and oil from the rock.’ Centuries later, on our visit, there was no honey, oil nor indeed any gold. Only the rusting plinth of the old Goldcliff lighthouse provided a dash of colour, but even that looked in a sorry state, having lost its lantern in recent years. Not quite the magical place I’d hoped for. A substantive seawall skirts around the cliff and obscures seaviews. Any remains of the old Goldcliff Priory lie were also well hidden within ‘Hill Farm’, behind the sign reading ‘private property, keep out.’

Still, there was a great view from the cliff top and indeed also from the seawall which doubles up as the track of the Wales Coastal Path. Sites of previous walks, wind turbines, docks, piers and even the Prince of Wales Bridge were just discernible across the hazy estuary. Today, however, our attention centred around birds. There were a lot to see – gulls, mallards, shelduck and the odd curlew wading across the foreshore. Perhaps my bird ID was improving after all. Then in flew a flock of seabirds. They swirled and swooped in unison high above our heads before plummeting down to momentarily settle on the distant mudflats. They took to the air again. As the flock twisted and turned, shafts of sunlight caught their plumage. Constellations of seabirds lit up the sky. What a performance and all so amazingly choreographed. I’m just sorry I couldn’t capture any of it on camera or indeed identify the birds themselves.

The only ‘gold’ at Goldcliff – the rusting lighthouse plinth perched on the top of the cliff

The seawall at Goldcliff

Mireland Pill Reen, one of many large drainage ditches across the Levels

View from Hide 1 into the Monks Lagoon, Goldcliff

The Goldcliff Saline Lagoons

On to the famous Goldcliff Lagoons, a birder’s dream and one of Mike’s favourite birding locations. Mike particularly savours his ‘memories of watching the courtship displays of the waders here’ as well as ‘witnessing the birds on migration in autumn’. A birders’ website had previously informed me that its ‘almost always packed with waterfowl and waders throughout the year’ and provides a list of ‘nice birds that can be seen’ including the Little Grebe, Avocet, Dunlin and Little Egret. However, by now, with the rapidly fading light and our limited previous successes earlier in the day, my expectations were modest at best. We scuttled along the path by the Mireland Pill Reen, an impressive reminder of the ‘hand-crafted’ landscape of the Gwent Levels to reach the saline lagoons. Today, sadly, we’d no time to contemplate the wonders of this historic landscape and the feats of generations of engineers who’d claimed and reclaimed these precious agricultural pastures from marine inundation.

Our last stop merely consisted of a short foray into the very spacious and well-constructed hide. Hide 1, The Curlew Hide, overlooks the Monks Lagoon. Given the low light and the considerable distance between us and the birds, it really was bird spotting – the birds, mere spots, were hardly distinguishable against the darkening background. A frustrating wire fence also impaired our view and taking photographs. However, as we were just about able to pick out some waders with long curved bills …may be curlews? Lots and lots of them … but far too far away to photograph. There were also a few other types of waders tucking into the lagoon’s all-you-can-eat buffet, and so I clicked away and hoped at least one photo would be useable! Hopefully, now we’ve found this place, we’ll go back there with more time to spare and better equipment.