On the outskirts of Southwold, between Buss Creek and the River Blythe, there’s a marshy wonderland with curlews and lapwings, and the whole sky rings with oystercatchers. I’m looking for geese. I don’t know which geese, or where they will be, but I’m determined to find them.
I admit to never having much interest in geese before now. But last Christmas I read Nick Acheson’s The Meaning of Geese and experienced something of a goosey awakening. On my first day here, as I traipsed the old railway line towards the harbour, thousands of honking birds flew overhead. I raised my binoculars to a cloud of cream‑white faces, black necks, black-and-grey wings and white bellies – my first ever barnacle geese. Hello!
