Forget the Masai Mara and get snap-happy at the ‘Snettisham Spectacular’
Sarah Marshall explores The Wash on a wildlife escape with photographer Paul Goldstein
It’s difficult to get excited about a solitary knot. Lacking the flamboyance of flamingos or the elegance of egrets, the small grey wading birds shuffle apologetically along Britain’s shores, vanishing into mud.
But en masse, a bundle of lacklustre feathers becomes a shape-shifting spectacle. Craning my head, I watch thousands of the winged performers create patterns across Norfolk’s big skies, their white underbellies flickering in the honeyed morning light.
I’ve always been struck by the magic of seeing animals in large numbers. From monarch butterflies fluttering above the oyamel fir forests of Mexico, to wildebeest thundering across the Mara River in Kenya, an individual creature becomes a powerful force when multiplied.
Right now, the great migration is reaching its zenith in East Africa. But with red list restrictions preventing travel, I have settled for a wildlife aggregation much closer to home.
From late summer onwards, up to 140,000 migratory knots gather in the saline lagoons, salt marsh and mudflats of The Wash estuary at Snettisham. Propelled upward by high tides and hunting peregrines, they whirl into the air like tornadoes, a phenomenon nicknamed the “Snettisham Spectacular”.
Joining a short tour to coincide with one of the events, I’d been up since 5am. At that hour a duvet of mist had clung sleepily to cornfields, snuggling a fuzzy cast of hares in its dreamy embrace. Early starts are part and parcel of safari holidays, and it felt good to once again be out ahead of sunrise, capturing those crucial wildlife waking hours.
Birds are always more active first thing, but Snettisham’s “waderations” are dependent on tides not time. Treated to a brief introductory taster display shortly after our arrival, we now sit patiently waiting for the The Wash to slowly flood the mudflats.
Across a network of silver channels, trees loom like giants in the low light and spindly legged oyster catchers ripple in the haze. As the tide creeps closer, a gust of 80,000 wings flaps above me, soaring into an arrowhead and rounding to form the nose of a plane, its flight path disrupted only by the arrival of a predatory harrier hawk.
“Like a combine cutting through August barley,” muses photographer Paul Goldstein, our tour leader and tutor, as we furiously try to capture the ever-evolving mass.
Paul started coming regularly to Snettisham last year after travel restrictions prevented him from guiding in the Masai Mara Conservancies, where he co-owns three Kicheche safari camps.
“In some ways it’s like a wildebeest crossing,” he says, squirting brown sauce into a bacon sandwich. “It gives you scope to try different things. Every time you press the trigger it’s a different pattern.”
Rather than sit around at home doing nothing while we wait for long-haul destinations to open, he wants to inspire and motivate his students to capture images of wildlife on their doorsteps. Along with sharing technical tips on shutter speeds and ISOs, his biggest lesson focuses on “field craft”.
“Patience is a must,” he insists, as we head for one of the RSPB hides overlooking a lagoon busy with parading godwits. “Research, planning, study… Pressing the shutter is only 2 per cent of the pilgrimage.
“Once in a while those desperately needy ducklings will line up in a row. The joy is knowing that shot is out there somewhere.”
In addition to honing their wildlife photography skills, everyone in our nine-person group is relishing an opportunity to be in the countryside away from city life.
Owned by Paul’s cousin, John Carrick, Castle Farm has been in the family for almost 100 years and has roots in the 12th century. Set on the banks of the River Wensum in Swanton Morley, it has featured in several TV productions and has been restored with six guest bedrooms in the main house and two cottages in the former stables.
It’s the idyllic, ivy-clad escape urbanites pined for during lockdown: Lincoln red cattle graze on 500 acres of land, tawny owls hoot at night and the Milky Way arcs above red brick chimney pots.
After a late breakfast much fuller than the average English, our group disperse to relax beneath willow trees or photograph red admiral butterflies settling on buddleia flowers.
Paul wades waist-deep into the river to take pictures of damselflies. Unsurprisingly, none of his disciples follow. His efforts, however, are rewarded with images of tiny Tinkerbells waving their emerald wands in an enchanting dance.
In the same river, Paul has set traps to catch invasive crayfish. We enjoy our haul of sweet candy pink tails on the veranda that evening with sundowners, followed by a dinner of locally produced lamb and spuds dug to order from a neighbouring acreage. It is true farm to fork feasting, a modern interpretation of the hunter-gatherer life.
During our three-day trip, we focus our lenses on more than just wildlife. There are opportunities to practise slow shutter skills at a waterfall on John’s land, where Paul proudly claims hundreds of children have learnt to swim – including his own. And one stormy evening, we attempt to capture waves crashing against Happisburgh’s sea defences, quickly wrenching our tripods from the sand as the tide sneaks in. Tuition is a mixture of tips and suggestions. But the real learning (and laughter) comes with the after-dinner review.
Sheepishly, as if lining up in front of a firing squad, Paul’s students hand over memory sticks containing their 10 best shots taken in lockdown. There are some excellent images, raising the stakes and creating an even greater comedy crescendo when novice photographer Gareth takes his turn.
An image of a stationary, limp bird flashes up on the screen. Silence.
“Perched birds are avian heresy,” grunts Paul, eventually. “They have the faculty of flight; I need to see this.”
Next a shot of a squirrel on a park dustbin, followed by a heron on a wooden post. By now even Gareth is sniggering at Paul’s pained expressions, too comical to be offensive. And when a picture of two langur monkeys grooming their bottoms pops up, provoking Paul to jest, “My crack?”, it’s all too much to contain.
Paul has a reputation for being a task master and he admits the lockdowns have made him more critical “because we need to emerge from this stronger and better”. But once Africa reopens and more exotic wildlife is accessible, is there a risk Snettisham’s knots might pale once again into the mudflats? Paul vehemently shakes his head “Not at all. In full flow, these birds are a spectacle. I’d stop anywhere in the world for them.”
Exodus (020 3553 1347; exodus.co.uk) offers a three-day Norfolk Photography Weekend with Paul Goldstein from £499 per person (based on two sharing), including all meals, accommodation at Castle Farm and tuition. A car is required to travel between locations. Next departure Oct 10.