The wildfowling wonders of Lindisfarne

As the summer haze fades away revealing the clarity of September light, the great migrations begin, subtly at first, with perhaps 300 wigeon dropping in, then as the moon brightens in the autumnal sky, they come in their thousands. Great packs of wigeon, strong and wild, abandoning their breeding grounds in the north, driven on by an ancestral instinct, they have come to feed on the abundant zostera, or eel grass, which has flourished in the bay throughout the summer months. 

Shortly thereafter, a strong northerly wind will bring down the clamouring skeins of grey geese, the pink-foot mainly, they too have come in chevrons hundreds strong. Their clamouring calls stirring the soul and awakening the primeval part that resides in us all.

For the wildfowler, there is no experience quite like it. Having checked the weather, tides, and maps, rising early, well before sunrise, with minimal disturbance they move quietly into position, walking towards the mudflats and finding a creek bank to rest against, settling down to await the coming dawn. 

The tide is out, and the mudflats start to shine as the sunrise creeps forward, backlighting the castle on the Holy Island. This is a rare opportunity in the modern world to truly be in the moment, to listen to the bay waking up, to hear the calls of the wildfowl against the distant breakers, to pit one’s wits against a truly wild quarry and follow a tradition hundreds of years old.

Not every outing is successful, wild duck and geese are wary, but the wildfowler never comes away empty handed. To experience a winter’s dawn, to hear skeins of geese lifting in their thousands, to see rafts of wigeon riding the tide, there is wonder in the experience, a few sustainably harvested birds a welcome bonus.