We went camping in Dorset for our Summer holidays. The campsite, which overlooked the surprising Chesil Beach, was called 'Swallows Rest'. Migrating swallows obviously get across the sea and think 'this'll do, I can't be bothered to fly any further' and they spend their summer holiday at the campsite, like us, though to them it's like a winter holiday, a break from the heat of Africa to breed in the more hospitable British summer climate.
They constantly swooped around us, from barn to stable to hedge, skimming close to the ground searching for food or maybe just showing off. (I always think birds are showing off - they probably don't even realise how cool they look. Or do they?) Sometimes two of them (lovers? brothers?) would acrobatically follow one another, just inches away at high speeds like Jedis, guessing which direction the other will go, like starlings, like red arrows.
On the way to the shower block there were some swallowlings sitting on a fence. I tried to have a close look at them but the parents dive-bombed me with guano. I was hit within seconds on the shoulder and had to wash my t-shirt. I felt bad for scaring them. I just wanted to look.
Here is a video of the swallows swooping around the campsite. You can kind of get the idea.
The birdlife was more active in Dorset than it was in the New Forest where we holidayed last summer, even though this part of the Jurassic Coast was quite a barren landscape: lots of exposed treeless fields, oppressive in the heat. We had many interesting bird encounters, far too many to pack into one post, so this is just 'part one'.
A good holiday should take you out of your comfort zone and force you to examine your place in the universe. On our trip to Dorset, the birds were often the catalysts for this kind of self-discovery.
