ESPAÑA ESCAPADE

 ¡HOLA

As you can see, I’m now fluent in Spanish. Such as the joys of four days away in Malaga. I am now back in the UK and genuinely considered turning the heating on. It’s June. So, what did I get up to? The usual combination of chillaxing and sunburning but that wasn’t all. I somehow managed to stuff binoculars in my hand luggage because of course, I went birding. I couldn’t resist. Most tourists barely bat an eyelid at the bounty of beautiful birdlife that Spain has to offer but I was fully geared up to soak it in. Normal people research decent restaurants and where the best attractions are. Me? I googled where are the nearest nature reserves and where I can find a hoopoe. I was so ready.

Malaga is an ideal tourist destination. Long beaches, baking sunshine and it’s also one of the three places that (London) Southend Airport flies to. Not bad when it’s ten minutes from your door. Even better when airport security only takes you FIVE MINUTES. I could’ve arrived fifteen minutes before the plane left the tarmac and still had time to browse duty free. What an airport. So if you want to fly to (checks notes) MALLORCA or DUBLIN then you’d also be in for a treat. Anywhere else and Stansted or Gatwick will have to do.

A two and a half hour flight saw me quickly swap drizzle for sizzling temperatures. It was well hot. Might be too hot. After what felt like a day navigating the steep steps of Torremolinos, which may have well been a Super Mario map, we finally dumped our luggage and could try and relax. I however had a sore neck from constantly checking the skies. Rare birds are difficult to see in England at the best of times but my Spain logic was that booted eagles and wallcreepers would land at my feet. I lived in hope. What I soon learned was that everything is not as it seemed when even looking at pretty plain birds. The monstrous gulls circling overhead weren’t herrings, they were yellow-legs. The gregarious common starlings were in fact spotless starlings. There were pallid swifts mingling with their common cousins. Even the invasive parakeets were different from those that flock in London. The arguably boring stuff here was a British twitchers gold-dust.

While everyone else holidaying on the Costa Del Sol was looking forward to tapas and sangria, I was itching to visit a nature reserve I had earmarked as being somewhere special. With the prospect of otters, flamingos and one of Europe’s most endangered species… I couldn’t resist. The mouth of the Guadalhorce river was right next to the airport and flanked a busy motorway, so it was pretty much Rainham Marshes on steroids. I figured that if I was going to see anything half decent, I needed to wake up at the crack of dawn. Begrudgingly, for the birds, I did so. One short Uber and I’d landed in what felt like a ridiculously rural backwater. Good. The less people the better. Upon walking up to the entrance, it was impossible to ignore the grandeur of the landscapes surrounding me. Imposing mountains with dotted villas at their feet surrounded me, with the Mediterranean Sea itself glistening in the morning sunshine. If I saw nothing today, it was still worth it.

As I crossed the river into the main body of the reserve, the connecting bridge served as something of a service station for swifts and hirundines. I had to duck to avoid the onrushing swallows and house martins. As much as these are standard British species, I couldn’t help but think of how unlikely it would be to see these scenes back at home. It really cemented how dire the biodiversity in the UK has become. A bit further along, I was drawn to a small flock of yellow passerines chattering away in a bush just off the path. Yellowhammers? Siskins? Definitely not. Serins. This is a species that even the most seasoned birder would jump in joy for and they were literally feet away. Early doors and I’d already ticked a lifer off the list.

Amongst the cacophony of Sardinian warblers, I’d reached my first hide. The sight of black winged stilts gliding overheard indicated that I was near water, just what I needed. The one endangered rarity I hoped of seeing loved lakes such as this but of course, knowing my luck, I’d likely be unsuccessful. Globally, their population is only at 10,000 and bred infrequently in Spain. It was a bird that if I managed to see, I’d likely never see again. One lift of my binoculars and there they were. A flock of white headed ducks. A British sighting of one of these bad boys would crash the birdguides website and probably make the news. But here they were, about six of them, just paddling around without a care in the world. A bright white head is a pretty damning camouflage but ultimately made them a simple spot. Birding is never usually this easy.

Granted I’d set off for around 8am, I was still surprised at how few people were also visiting the reserve. This place was on par with Minsmere in terms of appeal but had no visitor centre, staff or carrot cake filled cafe. A plethora of wildlife found next to one of the largest cities in Spain but I had the entire place to myself. Begs the question how passionate the general Spanish public are about nature? Maybe it was just too early for most folk. Treading the empty dust path, the next hide was a treat for the eyes. Avocets were rubbing feathery shoulders with sandwich terns whilst more black winged stilts dabbled in the shallow pools. A silvery cormorant look on proudly as it perched on a bare branch. In a flash, a gaggle of frenetic screeching was following by a fleeing spree, with the terns taking to the air in a flash. My instant reaction was to check the sky and I was disappointed. A mid-mobbing Osprey glided over the scrape and over the horizon. Undeniably a bird that never fails to catch the eye.

Onwards I went and the early morning chilled breeze was soon burned out by the intensity of the Spanish solar rays and soon, my already sunburnt skin started to sting. My successful day out needed to be wrapped up but before I hobbled home, I decided to find the highest point on the reserve have one final scan of the surrounding pools. Swifts again were on a vendetta to take off my head as they whizzed at eye level beside me. A single male pochard was a familiar face but wasn’t exactly the waterbird I had come to find. Every bush was trilling with warbler song which only added to the audible experience. In typical birdwatching fashion, the moment I turned my back, a heron-like silhouette floated up from the reeds. The same size as a little egret but far from white, a binoculars check confirmed another lifer for me, a little bittern. Normal bitterns warrant cheering so spotting their miniature cousin left me speechless. Yet more ticks!

After two hours or so, I was birded out. My dreams of seeing flamingos, bee-eaters and hoopoes fell short but in short, I would have to be quite the snob to play down the day’s haul. Perhaps I was a month too late during the peak sub-Saharan migration or maybe all the other lifers were on the beach. I may have travelled to Malaga with the intention of a tan but I left in the knowledge of knowing that I was lucky enough to witness one of Europe's most exclusive rarities. Based on other reports, my small list of sightings is only the tip of the iceberg, with plenty more surely out there. Fancy a piece of this spicy Spanish omelette? Remember, airport security at Southend only takes FIVE MINUTES.

What a trip.

Adios…