Cley Marshes, NWT’s oldest reserve, never disappoints. Autumn transforms this pristine area of coastline into a living stage for migration, turning something you might only have seen on a screen in a documentary into an experience you can see, hear, and feel all around. 

Thousands of pink-footed geese, mere pinpricks against the brassy-washed sky, fill the air with a spectacle of sight and sound. Over the ominous waves tumble streams of common scoters, their nifty wings flickering silver amongst the angry, grasping spray. Stints zip across the scrapes in search of invertebrates, pausing for only minutes on route from bracing Arctic tundra to sub-Saharan wetlands. You will never run short of things to see here, and every time I go, I’m shocked by the mass movement of birds unique to this North Sea migration haven.

The NWT purchased Cley Marshes in 1926, and since then have developed a smorgasbord of scrapes and dykes, and managed hundreds of hectares of reedbeds for some of the county’s most iconic breeding birds. Deep in the reeds, bearded tits creep between stems with nimble hops, whilst the ditches are abounded with sticklebacks, silently stalked by sleek otters. The reserve has come so far in its time: a suite of more than 300 bird species, likely thousands of insects, is not to be sniffed at. 

Waders and wildfowl are surely the stars of the show here, and in summer, an influx of ruff arrives from breeding grounds in Scandinavia. This is by far my favourite of Cley’s bird species: after fledging, the juveniles move south in packs, their freshly moulted plumage is bright ginger on the breast and belly, with neat, loopy edges to russet back feathers. They elegantly stroll through the reserve’s shallow brackish pools, bills grazing the surface to probe for aquatic invertebrates. Anywhere else in England, the ruff is considered a rarity whose discovery heralds congratulations and sometimes news stories. Here, it has become an everyday feature, but no less special or fascinating for birders like myself. 

Feeding among the ruff weaves a far more striking bird, and one that nearly everyone is familiar with. The avocet is a symbol of hope for wildlife; it shows that even in the darkest times, nature bounces back. At the time of WWII, the Suffolk and Essex coast was considered a very vulnerable place to attack from across the North Sea, so a plan was devised to make it less traversable for both infantry and tanks. Scaffolding and large stone tank defences were placed along a shingle ridge at Minsmere, and the marshes behind the defences were flooded with seawater to create an extra line of defence. The formation of these new scrapes was a huge attraction for Britain’s new kid on the block – the avocets had colonised that area and began nest-building very soon after. Since that first year of successful fledging in the 1940s, the trend has been up and up. According to the British Trust for Ornithology, there are now 1950 breeding pairs across Britain, and Norfolk attracts more than its fair share. Last spring, I took a count of avocet numbers on Pat’s Pool at Cley and found 73 birds! Many of these were passing through as overshoot migrants, but a large number of pairs still breed on the pools in front of the hides (especially Teal Hide). The recently fledged young are an absolute joy to watch, with their joyous piping calls and downy summer jackets. This remains to be one of the few spots in the UK where avocets reliably breed, and I sorely hope they will remain a symbol of pioneering conservation efforts for years to come. 

Perhaps the most recent addition to Cley’s fauna is the spoonbill. In 2022, spoonbills began to nest in North Foreland Wood and on a private site nearby – a long time coming if you ask me! It was 2010 which brought the first successful spoonbill nest in the UK; after a 400-year extinction, they had recolonised the beautiful Holkham NNR, a mere handful of miles along the coast from Cley. These majestic animals are now easy to see in late summer at Cley, when the young have fledged local nests and are learning to feed by themselves. Juveniles are easily told from adults by the slim black edge to wingtips and dull, mucky-coloured bill. The breeding adults are a stunning spectacle, and are best seen in February, their elegant chest and head plumes drizzled with lemon, and stormy grey bill dipped in rich butter. Always worth looking for, the spoonbill is more than welcome on the British list. The best place to spot it is from Daukes’ Hide, where they often sift through the shallows for sticklebacks and shannies. 

There is one feathery migrant to Cley that all visitors, expert or beginner, can appreciate equally. Throughout the summer, the hides are occupied by swallows. They spend hours trawling the surface of Pat’s Pool for midges and gnats, and are essentially the reserve’s aerial hoovers! To some, they appear ash-grey and black, but in the sun, their plumage is a different story. The dark upper wings are bejewelled with azure specks, like stars amongst the swarthy marine sky. A swallow’s face is layered as an oil painting – iridescent navy on the nape, buff-tinted cream chest feathers and (slightly tainting the metaphor here!) a splash of ketchup-orange on the face. Their risk antics are perhaps far more entertaining, as when in flight, they fear no one and nothing! Many a time, I have been dive-bombed by the returning adults, and I think it’s a huge step that these birds no longer fear humans. I don’t know of any other species like it in Norfolk, but surely this is a start in the long journey towards a trust I hope will last long into the future. 

At any time of year, this internationally revered nature reserve is a productive and glorious place to spend a day or even more: you will always leave with a little more knowledge and, hopefully, a little more appreciation too!