Sunday May 12th - Birdwatching and Paella

As we all know Sunday is a day of rest. That's my excuse for not writing acres of blog. R has decreed that today should be birdwatching. It's a bit grey and gloomy but forecast to stay dry. We head for a place about 10 miles away called El Astillero which features on the internet as somewhere to go birding.

Our route follows a secondary road that is basically a series of roundabouts connected by 100 yard stretches of road. Some of the roundabouts feature lighthouses.

When we get to El Astillero navigation is by guesswork but we get lucky and find the car park for the Marismas Blancas (White Marshes). Basically this is a salt water lagoon surrounded by patches of swampy reeds and trees. It was reclaimed from derelict industrial land in the 1980s and is now very much back to wilderness. Squeezed in between the docks and the zone industrielle and bordered by the sea on one side and a motorway and a railway on the other. The sort of tranquil location that one associates with nature. 

We hear birds all around but only fleeting glimpses are forthcoming. As we progress into the reserve we hear noises that are more frog than bird. Finally we see birds, Cattle Egrets in breeding plumage. Lots of them but they are not inclined to pose for photographs. There are joggers, cyclists and dog walkers about but not many birdwatchers. The reserve is big enough for all.

R's knee holds up well as we walk around the lagoon. On the water we see several types of duck and some Little Grebes.

 When we get to 270° on our circuit there is the option to take a boardwalk under the motorway and railway that leads to the Marismas Negras (Black Marshes). These are freshwater marshes and lagoons, protected from the sea's incursion by a weir.

There are nesting rafts for terns and a few terns about, but otherwise not much to see. When we get to the entrance/exit of this part of the reserve D is dispatched on foot to collect the car. 

There is another site listed as good for birdwatching 10 miles north east at a place called Langre. We drive there through well heeled villages, passing smart yacht clubs on the bay looking across to Santander. We are guided to a car park on the cliff top above a spectacular sandy bay. It is quite windy and there are no birds to be seen. We decide that R's knee would not enjoy the descent and ascent of the stairs to the beach. 

We cut our losses and go in search of coffee which we find at some sort of surfers hostel/bar. The sugar sachets advertise various Family Excursions in the region. The one with D's coffee offers a hike to some Spanish Civil War trenches and fortifications. Not really our thing. 

The rest of Sunday is spent as God intended. R recovers from her exertions and D cooks paella.