It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…..
Having just got back from the Isle of Skye and family priorities intervening my next day out was Saturday September 14th. Now, I’m not a twitcher, I’m an ‘immerse yourself in the birding day’ kind of guy. I’m also not a togger. At one point I’ll finish my ‘Type of birder’ summary (along the same lines as the birding places one I did a few weeks ago) in which twitchers and toggers will feature heavily.
Now that my traditional denial of twitching has been put in writing, Saturday the 14th saw me travelling to Dunbar to try and get the Steppe Grey Shrike which had taken up residence. A Grey Shrike- actually a shrike of any colour- would be a lifer for me, and being confident in my knowledge of Dunbar from past family visits, I was hopeful of getting it. To compensate for the twitchiness of this, I also planned to head to Musselburgh for some ‘immersive’ birding to cleanse my conscience. Such was my way of rationalising it.
Being a public transport day- and that public transport being a bus- this required a feat of logistics never seen before in GS’s birding. And- as you can probably work out- a feat which still hasn’t been seen in GS’s birding.
Getting to Edinburgh was simple enough, getting the express bus to Dunbar equally simple. Once there, I found that my years- old memories of public parks and street names had faded somewhat. Took 25 minutes to find the park where the celebrity shrike was hanging around. Eventually found it by back tracking for 20 minutes, and guessing that the gaggle of badly- dressed folk with cameras and tripods were a massive clue. The vague sense of embarrassment, and my discomfort at being a twitcher after all, did little to make me feel good about being back in Dunbar.
The shrike itself was showing embarrassingly well, and clearly had had little or no contact with humans before. A lifer ticked off, and I spent some time watching it go about its business. At that stage, though, I stopped enjoying it. I realised I had never seen such a piss- poor exhibition of fieldcraft in my life. Toggers with zoom lenses crawling to within 6 or 7 feet of the bird, regardless of their effect on it. I could only see 2 other pairs of binoculars in among the toggers, both of whom looked uncomfortable at what was unfolding in front of them.
Eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and after a brief chat with a like- minded local (her husband, who is a birder, refused to even try for the shrike, such was his distaste for what was happening) I headed off. I had my bus times all planned, and allowed myself to be vaguely optimistic for a birding bonanza at Musselburgh. The only possible blip was that the second of the busses I needed was one I’d never taken before. Oh, and I didn’t really know where it stopped in relation to where I was needing to go. Other than that, flawless planning.
It turned out that the bus, in technical terms, went “absolutely nowhere near” anywhere I wanted to go. By the time I got my bearings, we were on the main road back to Edinburgh city centre. I briefly toyed with the idea of getting off and catching a bus back towards Musselburgh, but by this point I was so fed up I called it a day and headed home. Anger, frustration and disgust overwhelmed any thrill I got for the lifer.
By the time the next weekend rolled around, the seasons had clearly changed, and there was less ‘immersive’ bird life. My body and soul craved the positive endorphins that a dawn chorus, or even a solitary song thrush can give you. The only spark left, incidentally, have been chiffchaff calling as late as September 27th.
So, the weekend rolled around, and I again aimed for Musselburgh, mostly out of stubbornness. That and some sense that I must go there. A tad inflexible, a tad limited in my thinking. Public transport Eastward on weekends is variable and problematic, at best. Not aided, of course, by my inability to get up at a decent hour. Such are the reasons I arrived at the scrapes at 12 noon., a full 4 hours after leaving home.
The chill in the air was noticeable, and a stark reminder of the passage of time. Just because my birding had been on a mini- hiatus, didn’t mean that bird- life had been. It was now clearly autumn, and my days of strolling about the coast in a short sleeved shirt and fleece were far, far behind me. So much for my fieldcraft.
I started at the middle scrape, as always. Pretty quickly ticked Canada and greylag geese, plus teal and mallard. A handful of dunlin, plus similar numbers of redshank, were constantly moving. Other than this, the scrape was very quiet. A wander down to the sea wall was similarly quiet, though a large raft of velvet scoter was excellent to see. Nothing more exotic among them, but velvets in good numbers is always something to appreciate.
Having frozen myself solid at the sea wall I wandered back to the scrapes, this time settling into the left- hand one. Much more active, I was glad to see. More redshanks, and a mysterious sandpiper-y bird flew off suddenly. I searched skywards for any sight of a marauding peregrine, but no such luck. I didn’t have my collins book- or reading glasses- and by the time I looked it up at home, my memory was too faded. One that got away, or something like that. After 10 minutes the birds hadn’t returned, and I wandered again to the sea wall for scoters, and not much else. I love tranquillity, as you’ll know, but there was something un- peaceful about the level of quiet. Unnatural.
I moved onto the new scrapes, more from force of habit than anything else. I was met with a Hitchcockian scene- masses of birds sitting still, staring, but not actually doing anything. Oystercatcher, Canada geese, barwits, and 1 blackwit, doing not very much at all. Birdlife- less. The highlight, though, was a pair of swallows over the water, and I knew this would most likely be my farewell to them for the year. The place is still very bare, very stark on the scrapes. The approach areas which are in summer so full of life are now starkly bare, a pale reminder of summer riches. I’m still sure that the new area will mature into a top quality site, but my impatience- unfairly- grows.
So, a summer hiatus that dragged onward, my hopes for the year suitably amended to an optimistic 140. The upcoming bank holiday, and a planned big day out to Fife, had me putting all my birding eggs in the one basket.
Fife is an awfully big place, and specifically my aim was to revisit the riches that me and My Mate Bill had plundered a couple of years ago. In the back of my mind was the absolute disaster last year, but I put these fears to one side. I did my research and planning, packed a lunch, got up at a reasonable hour, and forgot to check the weather.
Started at Crail Golf Club, after a pro-longed and seemingly never- ending drive along quaint and not so quaint country roads. Immediately upon arriving I was glad to have worn a jacket and layers underneath. The wind from the east was cutting, and it was only when my cap blew off that I realised that as well as being cold, the wind was also a smidge strong.
Well, I’m here now, I thought, and after paying my quid for parking (far be it for me to encourage golf clubs to extort money, but a quid is good value), I headed off to the vantage point at the lighthouse. My cap blew off again, and I settled on having a cold head for the duration. The wind was strong enough to make the scope unsteady, and I found myself holding it into my body when using it. The wind also made sea watching problematic- as in impossible. .
I realised that I’m not a sea- watcher. Sure, Musselburgh and East Lothian are probably my favourite birding places, but sitting staring at a patch of sea, hoping that good stuff will pass into sight, really isn’t my thing. I’m also not very good at it, in all honesty. More power to those who enjoy it, and who are good at it, but it generally leaves me cold. It is most definitely not my “thing” either in desire or ability. A local birder tipped me off about Manx shearwater and divers on the water, but I saw nothing the latter, and noting of the former that I could be sure of.
Gannets showed well and in good numbers. Having moaned all summer about the lack of gannets, it would have been churlish of me to complaint too much, but I really was hoping for more. I managed to get something that may have been a skua of some sort, and something else that may possibly have been a shearwater. “May” and “possibly” don’t even come close to being tickable, and the views I got of both were awful anyway. Not birdlife, not a tick.
It dawned on me then that I was wasting my time. There was far more birding on offer in Lothian and in the West that day than was available in Fife. Just because I had had one magnificent September day there, didn’t mean that I HAD to spend time trying to replicate it. My inflexibility (and stubbornness) had led to precious birding time being wasted. I wanted to go to Fife, even when common sense suggested that this was going to be a poor choice.
Having had my epiphany, I was faced with what to do next. I had a deadline, as I had to be home to accompany eldest mini- GreenSand as she bought her first car. Lothian was therefore out of the question, and I decided to answer the call home to Baron’s Haugh. The internet had listed ruff and blackwit, along with a visiting Great White Egret. I hadn’t had ruff this year, and the appeal of this and a possible unexpected year tick, was enough to sway me.
I arrived and worked out I had about an hour to spend on site. Had I not been so set in my ways, I could have had 8 hours there, but lets not dwell. The Haugh was quiet enough, and I walked down to the Marsh hide via my favourite ‘primordial’ pathway. A young birder was in the Marsh Hide, who put me onto the GW egret quite quickly. A year tick, an unexpected one at that. I wrote ages ago about how some birds are ‘rescue’ birds- a tick or a sighting which makes up for earlier disappointments. The egret was one of those, but tinged with a bit of regret that I didn’t have longer there. The CLydebirds twitter page (I refuse to call it ‘X’. Space Karen can sue me) had listed all the local riches over the weekend, but being set in my ways I had tuned them out. You live and die by your choices.
The water level was a bit higher than expected, and I realised that with all the changes to the Haugh that had passed me by I was very much re- discovering the place. As someone who has criticised the RSPB often, and at length, I’m so glad that they’ve really got it right with the Haugh. Plenty of exposed mud, plenty of movement to catch your eye. The chat with the other birder was refreshing. A young man, studying ecology, who wanted to make his living in wildlife. A self- proclaimed novice, I was able to reassure him that we all start somewhere, and that we all continue learning. None of us knows everything (though My Mate Bill is possibly an exception) and it was great to exchange birding tales with him. We moved onto the Causeway Hide, where I feasted on spectacular views of snipe and blackwit. No ruff, and I again resigned myself to 2024 being a ruff- less year. Mind you, I still don’t have red kite, so Ruff are in good company.
The next weekend saw Sunday being my allocated day out. All week I had watched social media for what was likely to offer me the best day, balancing birding riches with actually being able to access them. Ultimately, it came down to something as mundane as public transport- never great on a Sunday. Musselburgh had offered vague promises of sea-borne riches, the West offered wildfowl treasures at Lochwinnoch. It transpired that transport to Lochwinoch was easier. In the back of my mind was the nagging reminder that my relationship with Lochwinnoch was problematic, and had never been a place I had thrived in.
The weather was distinctly autumnal- I’ve realised that although I normally like autumn, this tends to be after a year with other seasons. This year has been autumn for months on end, and I’m fair fed up with it.
Anyway, cold, damp, soggy and already fed up I arrived in due course, and started at the visitor centre. The light was awful, at noon, which wasn’t the greatest portent at a site where the birding is often disappointing at best. The car park was full, although I’m fully aware that this is no guarantee that its full of birders. The volunteer on desk duty was friendly, and smiled as she told me that the reserve had been quiet. Great…..hopes for the festival of wildfowl I had dreamed of on the train there disappeared in front of my eyes.
As if to dare fate to prove me wrong, I ventured over to the Barr Loch, where said wildfowl festival had originally been noted. One of my geek hobbies is astronomy, and when I was a student I used to spend clear nights out in remote fields with a telescope. The Barr Loch is so big that an astronomical telescope is really needed to do it justice. An ordinary spotting scope leaves you relying on guesswork when searching the far extremes. Not great.
Moorhen showed well, as did wigeon and a good number of tufted ducks. Great crested grebes showed, in various stages of winter/ summer plumage. Very interesting to see them together. Pintail and pochard- the birds that had attracted me there- were nowhere to be seen, unfortunately. The sky was getting darker, somehow, and loch- watching was now too difficult. I returned to the reserve- proper for a walk through the woods. In keeping with the day’s themes, the woods were quiet, and I loitered at the feeding station watching coal tits and chaffinches mostly.
Satisfying, but not inspiring or earth-moving. But birding doesn't always need to be.
BUT!! The reserve was replete with families, with kids jumping about in massive clumps of fallen leaves, splashing in mud. Kids making lists, kids asking parents questions, kids being interested in what they were seeing. Kids enjoying themselves in nature. I’m a firm believer that if you want someone to love something enough to fight for it, to protect it, then they have to know it. Getting kids started in nature, is the way to go about it. A quick chat with a togger who actually loves the beauty of nature was a welcome end to the trip.
THOUGHTS
I’m all about challenging myself, and doing new things. I’m also a creature of habit, and set in my ways. The rigidity of planning too far in advance, then stubbornly sticking to it, doesn’t actually benefit me. I came close to wrecking a big day out, and had to rescue it with a frantic drive westward to a place that I neglect, my baseline for birding. Things didn’t go to plan at Lochwinnoch either, but that’s the danger of making a plan.
But, from these low points- the worst of times- came real highlights. A visit to the Haugh recaptured my sense of excitement and discovery, more than even recent visits had. I’ll need to re-learn all about it. The Haugh, the place of my first real birding adventures, and I was able to share some time with a birder who was just starting out on HIS own adventures. Visiting Lochwinnoch offered mediocre birding, but the wonderful sight of kids enjoying nature, being out in nature, putting down the roots of our future.
Definitely, the best of times.
Stay healthy, stay safe, stay brilliant.
John
Having just got back from the Isle of Skye and family priorities intervening my next day out was Saturday September 14th. Now, I’m not a twitcher, I’m an ‘immerse yourself in the birding day’ kind of guy. I’m also not a togger. At one point I’ll finish my ‘Type of birder’ summary (along the same lines as the birding places one I did a few weeks ago) in which twitchers and toggers will feature heavily.
Now that my traditional denial of twitching has been put in writing, Saturday the 14th saw me travelling to Dunbar to try and get the Steppe Grey Shrike which had taken up residence. A Grey Shrike- actually a shrike of any colour- would be a lifer for me, and being confident in my knowledge of Dunbar from past family visits, I was hopeful of getting it. To compensate for the twitchiness of this, I also planned to head to Musselburgh for some ‘immersive’ birding to cleanse my conscience. Such was my way of rationalising it.
Being a public transport day- and that public transport being a bus- this required a feat of logistics never seen before in GS’s birding. And- as you can probably work out- a feat which still hasn’t been seen in GS’s birding.
Getting to Edinburgh was simple enough, getting the express bus to Dunbar equally simple. Once there, I found that my years- old memories of public parks and street names had faded somewhat. Took 25 minutes to find the park where the celebrity shrike was hanging around. Eventually found it by back tracking for 20 minutes, and guessing that the gaggle of badly- dressed folk with cameras and tripods were a massive clue. The vague sense of embarrassment, and my discomfort at being a twitcher after all, did little to make me feel good about being back in Dunbar.
The shrike itself was showing embarrassingly well, and clearly had had little or no contact with humans before. A lifer ticked off, and I spent some time watching it go about its business. At that stage, though, I stopped enjoying it. I realised I had never seen such a piss- poor exhibition of fieldcraft in my life. Toggers with zoom lenses crawling to within 6 or 7 feet of the bird, regardless of their effect on it. I could only see 2 other pairs of binoculars in among the toggers, both of whom looked uncomfortable at what was unfolding in front of them.
Eventually, I couldn’t stand it anymore, and after a brief chat with a like- minded local (her husband, who is a birder, refused to even try for the shrike, such was his distaste for what was happening) I headed off. I had my bus times all planned, and allowed myself to be vaguely optimistic for a birding bonanza at Musselburgh. The only possible blip was that the second of the busses I needed was one I’d never taken before. Oh, and I didn’t really know where it stopped in relation to where I was needing to go. Other than that, flawless planning.
It turned out that the bus, in technical terms, went “absolutely nowhere near” anywhere I wanted to go. By the time I got my bearings, we were on the main road back to Edinburgh city centre. I briefly toyed with the idea of getting off and catching a bus back towards Musselburgh, but by this point I was so fed up I called it a day and headed home. Anger, frustration and disgust overwhelmed any thrill I got for the lifer.
By the time the next weekend rolled around, the seasons had clearly changed, and there was less ‘immersive’ bird life. My body and soul craved the positive endorphins that a dawn chorus, or even a solitary song thrush can give you. The only spark left, incidentally, have been chiffchaff calling as late as September 27th.
So, the weekend rolled around, and I again aimed for Musselburgh, mostly out of stubbornness. That and some sense that I must go there. A tad inflexible, a tad limited in my thinking. Public transport Eastward on weekends is variable and problematic, at best. Not aided, of course, by my inability to get up at a decent hour. Such are the reasons I arrived at the scrapes at 12 noon., a full 4 hours after leaving home.
The chill in the air was noticeable, and a stark reminder of the passage of time. Just because my birding had been on a mini- hiatus, didn’t mean that bird- life had been. It was now clearly autumn, and my days of strolling about the coast in a short sleeved shirt and fleece were far, far behind me. So much for my fieldcraft.
I started at the middle scrape, as always. Pretty quickly ticked Canada and greylag geese, plus teal and mallard. A handful of dunlin, plus similar numbers of redshank, were constantly moving. Other than this, the scrape was very quiet. A wander down to the sea wall was similarly quiet, though a large raft of velvet scoter was excellent to see. Nothing more exotic among them, but velvets in good numbers is always something to appreciate.
Having frozen myself solid at the sea wall I wandered back to the scrapes, this time settling into the left- hand one. Much more active, I was glad to see. More redshanks, and a mysterious sandpiper-y bird flew off suddenly. I searched skywards for any sight of a marauding peregrine, but no such luck. I didn’t have my collins book- or reading glasses- and by the time I looked it up at home, my memory was too faded. One that got away, or something like that. After 10 minutes the birds hadn’t returned, and I wandered again to the sea wall for scoters, and not much else. I love tranquillity, as you’ll know, but there was something un- peaceful about the level of quiet. Unnatural.
I moved onto the new scrapes, more from force of habit than anything else. I was met with a Hitchcockian scene- masses of birds sitting still, staring, but not actually doing anything. Oystercatcher, Canada geese, barwits, and 1 blackwit, doing not very much at all. Birdlife- less. The highlight, though, was a pair of swallows over the water, and I knew this would most likely be my farewell to them for the year. The place is still very bare, very stark on the scrapes. The approach areas which are in summer so full of life are now starkly bare, a pale reminder of summer riches. I’m still sure that the new area will mature into a top quality site, but my impatience- unfairly- grows.
So, a summer hiatus that dragged onward, my hopes for the year suitably amended to an optimistic 140. The upcoming bank holiday, and a planned big day out to Fife, had me putting all my birding eggs in the one basket.
Fife is an awfully big place, and specifically my aim was to revisit the riches that me and My Mate Bill had plundered a couple of years ago. In the back of my mind was the absolute disaster last year, but I put these fears to one side. I did my research and planning, packed a lunch, got up at a reasonable hour, and forgot to check the weather.
Started at Crail Golf Club, after a pro-longed and seemingly never- ending drive along quaint and not so quaint country roads. Immediately upon arriving I was glad to have worn a jacket and layers underneath. The wind from the east was cutting, and it was only when my cap blew off that I realised that as well as being cold, the wind was also a smidge strong.
Well, I’m here now, I thought, and after paying my quid for parking (far be it for me to encourage golf clubs to extort money, but a quid is good value), I headed off to the vantage point at the lighthouse. My cap blew off again, and I settled on having a cold head for the duration. The wind was strong enough to make the scope unsteady, and I found myself holding it into my body when using it. The wind also made sea watching problematic- as in impossible. .
I realised that I’m not a sea- watcher. Sure, Musselburgh and East Lothian are probably my favourite birding places, but sitting staring at a patch of sea, hoping that good stuff will pass into sight, really isn’t my thing. I’m also not very good at it, in all honesty. More power to those who enjoy it, and who are good at it, but it generally leaves me cold. It is most definitely not my “thing” either in desire or ability. A local birder tipped me off about Manx shearwater and divers on the water, but I saw nothing the latter, and noting of the former that I could be sure of.
Gannets showed well and in good numbers. Having moaned all summer about the lack of gannets, it would have been churlish of me to complaint too much, but I really was hoping for more. I managed to get something that may have been a skua of some sort, and something else that may possibly have been a shearwater. “May” and “possibly” don’t even come close to being tickable, and the views I got of both were awful anyway. Not birdlife, not a tick.
It dawned on me then that I was wasting my time. There was far more birding on offer in Lothian and in the West that day than was available in Fife. Just because I had had one magnificent September day there, didn’t mean that I HAD to spend time trying to replicate it. My inflexibility (and stubbornness) had led to precious birding time being wasted. I wanted to go to Fife, even when common sense suggested that this was going to be a poor choice.
Having had my epiphany, I was faced with what to do next. I had a deadline, as I had to be home to accompany eldest mini- GreenSand as she bought her first car. Lothian was therefore out of the question, and I decided to answer the call home to Baron’s Haugh. The internet had listed ruff and blackwit, along with a visiting Great White Egret. I hadn’t had ruff this year, and the appeal of this and a possible unexpected year tick, was enough to sway me.
I arrived and worked out I had about an hour to spend on site. Had I not been so set in my ways, I could have had 8 hours there, but lets not dwell. The Haugh was quiet enough, and I walked down to the Marsh hide via my favourite ‘primordial’ pathway. A young birder was in the Marsh Hide, who put me onto the GW egret quite quickly. A year tick, an unexpected one at that. I wrote ages ago about how some birds are ‘rescue’ birds- a tick or a sighting which makes up for earlier disappointments. The egret was one of those, but tinged with a bit of regret that I didn’t have longer there. The CLydebirds twitter page (I refuse to call it ‘X’. Space Karen can sue me) had listed all the local riches over the weekend, but being set in my ways I had tuned them out. You live and die by your choices.
The water level was a bit higher than expected, and I realised that with all the changes to the Haugh that had passed me by I was very much re- discovering the place. As someone who has criticised the RSPB often, and at length, I’m so glad that they’ve really got it right with the Haugh. Plenty of exposed mud, plenty of movement to catch your eye. The chat with the other birder was refreshing. A young man, studying ecology, who wanted to make his living in wildlife. A self- proclaimed novice, I was able to reassure him that we all start somewhere, and that we all continue learning. None of us knows everything (though My Mate Bill is possibly an exception) and it was great to exchange birding tales with him. We moved onto the Causeway Hide, where I feasted on spectacular views of snipe and blackwit. No ruff, and I again resigned myself to 2024 being a ruff- less year. Mind you, I still don’t have red kite, so Ruff are in good company.
The next weekend saw Sunday being my allocated day out. All week I had watched social media for what was likely to offer me the best day, balancing birding riches with actually being able to access them. Ultimately, it came down to something as mundane as public transport- never great on a Sunday. Musselburgh had offered vague promises of sea-borne riches, the West offered wildfowl treasures at Lochwinnoch. It transpired that transport to Lochwinoch was easier. In the back of my mind was the nagging reminder that my relationship with Lochwinnoch was problematic, and had never been a place I had thrived in.
The weather was distinctly autumnal- I’ve realised that although I normally like autumn, this tends to be after a year with other seasons. This year has been autumn for months on end, and I’m fair fed up with it.
Anyway, cold, damp, soggy and already fed up I arrived in due course, and started at the visitor centre. The light was awful, at noon, which wasn’t the greatest portent at a site where the birding is often disappointing at best. The car park was full, although I’m fully aware that this is no guarantee that its full of birders. The volunteer on desk duty was friendly, and smiled as she told me that the reserve had been quiet. Great…..hopes for the festival of wildfowl I had dreamed of on the train there disappeared in front of my eyes.
As if to dare fate to prove me wrong, I ventured over to the Barr Loch, where said wildfowl festival had originally been noted. One of my geek hobbies is astronomy, and when I was a student I used to spend clear nights out in remote fields with a telescope. The Barr Loch is so big that an astronomical telescope is really needed to do it justice. An ordinary spotting scope leaves you relying on guesswork when searching the far extremes. Not great.
Moorhen showed well, as did wigeon and a good number of tufted ducks. Great crested grebes showed, in various stages of winter/ summer plumage. Very interesting to see them together. Pintail and pochard- the birds that had attracted me there- were nowhere to be seen, unfortunately. The sky was getting darker, somehow, and loch- watching was now too difficult. I returned to the reserve- proper for a walk through the woods. In keeping with the day’s themes, the woods were quiet, and I loitered at the feeding station watching coal tits and chaffinches mostly.
Satisfying, but not inspiring or earth-moving. But birding doesn't always need to be.
BUT!! The reserve was replete with families, with kids jumping about in massive clumps of fallen leaves, splashing in mud. Kids making lists, kids asking parents questions, kids being interested in what they were seeing. Kids enjoying themselves in nature. I’m a firm believer that if you want someone to love something enough to fight for it, to protect it, then they have to know it. Getting kids started in nature, is the way to go about it. A quick chat with a togger who actually loves the beauty of nature was a welcome end to the trip.
THOUGHTS
I’m all about challenging myself, and doing new things. I’m also a creature of habit, and set in my ways. The rigidity of planning too far in advance, then stubbornly sticking to it, doesn’t actually benefit me. I came close to wrecking a big day out, and had to rescue it with a frantic drive westward to a place that I neglect, my baseline for birding. Things didn’t go to plan at Lochwinnoch either, but that’s the danger of making a plan.
But, from these low points- the worst of times- came real highlights. A visit to the Haugh recaptured my sense of excitement and discovery, more than even recent visits had. I’ll need to re-learn all about it. The Haugh, the place of my first real birding adventures, and I was able to share some time with a birder who was just starting out on HIS own adventures. Visiting Lochwinnoch offered mediocre birding, but the wonderful sight of kids enjoying nature, being out in nature, putting down the roots of our future.
Definitely, the best of times.
Stay healthy, stay safe, stay brilliant.
John