Whistling up wigeon galore
October brought a run of northerlies. The full moon followed, and the unmistakable ‘wheeoo’ of wigeon could be heard overhead on clear nights. Teal dropped into the pond at last light and departed at dawn. Ragged mobs of curlew and lapwings were arriving from northern climes.
High tide was at 4.30pm, sunset two hours later. I spied a chance to combine an afternoon tide flight over decoys with an evening flight under the setting sun. But a split hydraulic pipe, a problem with a sand delivery and a delay at a level crossing meant the drive to the shore was spoiled by a nagging sense that I was missing the best of the chances. Do others get this sensation: that things are happening in your absence; that the best
