27th May 2010
I am sailing Rod Stewart
Early
morning I was up and out to catch the ferry to Belfast. Then, after a relaxing
sail over flat calm seas, past large numbers of huge wind turbines and past a
few ships, just as the Calf of Man was viewed on the horizon, another text from
my 'buddy' Phil . . . WHITE-TAILED PLOVER at . . . Seaforth Docks!
If I could have swam back, I would have done so. In birding and twitching
terminology this counted as a double dip, maybe over the space of a few days
but it still hurt. A double dip of mega proportions to be honest with the later
bird being so extremely rare in this country.
Instead
of bemoaning this I gave thanks to the birds and to life for teaching me that
birding is not easy and that double dips of Mega proportions will always teach
me a lesson and motivate me to learn new skills. Learn how to swim in the
Mersey!
By
a strange coincidence, the first ever White-tailed Plover to be found in
Britain was found by two good friends, way back in 1975, at an area of gravel
pits at Packington, Warwickshire, John Fortey and Eric Phillips. Indeed, Eric
Phillips is also a cyclist as well as a brilliant birder and I have the
greatest respect for him, his birding and his cycling.
I had stopped crying over the plover by the time the Northern Ireland coastline
was viewed and with excellent numbers of sea birds off Copeland Island, I
enjoyed watching those, Manx Shearwaters and Auks mostly, together with the
beautiful lighthouse being easily viewed from such a short distance.
Into
Belfast Harbour, Black Guillemots and Eider on the water, I started to feel
better. OK, I will not be so melodramatic. I know birding does have moments
when a dip or two is inevitable and really, I do not mind that. It would not be
the same if one saw every bird. Anyway, a beautiful double rainbow in the sunny
rain shower, as we came to the dockside, made me feel even better.
I
was actually feeling very chipper as I cycled away from the ferry to find the
Shore Road, famous as being an important arterial road into the city. Yet that
was to change as I came to the traffic lights that denoted that I had found it.
There across the road from me was a large block of flats. Graffiti at its base
should have warned me but the sign in front of the flats stated that one was
welcomed into Northern Ireland, all well and good and very pleasant. The huge
mural though above this on the side of the tower block, of a Northern Ireland
balaclava-wearing terrorist, holding a large sub machine gun of some sort, told
of other priorities over being nice to everyone. I could only reflect on the
juxtaposition of the two images and hope that in the not too distant future
(how about tomorrow?) the negative is gone forever and the positive welcome is
the way for all Northern Ireland's peoples.
A
previous text and phone call, received from one Stephanie Sims from the RSPB,
had asked me to meet her at the Errigle Pub on the Ormeau Road, Belfast. So,
having cycled through heavy showers along the Shore Road, having cycled through
Belfast's fair city centre, I found the necessary road and entered the pub.
Well, it was not just Stephanie. There was a large group of RSPB people there.
They were saying goodbye to a colleague leaving for Australia. I felt like a gate
crasher yet was soon handed my first pint of Irish Guinness. Actually I
couldn't have been made more welcome and many, many thanks to all there.
On leaving the pub, and after arranging to meet Stephanie again the next day, I
found a B & B not too far away on the suggestion of one of the RSPB people; Roseleigh Guest
House. Superb accommodation and many thanks to James and Donna, not only for
the bed and breakfast but also for their gift. I was still a little wet from
cycling through Belfast in the rain and my so-called waterproof trousers were anything
but waterproof. “No problem,” said Donna and she proceeded to give me John's
waterproof trousers!
If
this is what I was to expect with three weeks in Northern Ireland ahead of me
then I would forgive the violence of the murals and get to understand that, as
everywhere, most people in Northern Ireland are wonderful, no matter which side
of the wall they live on!
Whilst speaking of wonderful people. A complete stranger had stopped me along
the Shore Road and asked who I was and what I was up to. John White was his
name and he then gave me a donation, saying that each £5 note, and there were
three of them, was to go to each of the charities I was supporting. Kindness to
a stranger, the theme of this amazing year.
Tickle My Feathers
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