Field Notes - 14th November 2019 - Goldhanger from 13:35

Stuart Bowditch · Goldhanger - Highams Farm Sluice - 14th November 2019

Stuart Bowditch · Goldhanger - Joyce's Bay - 14th November 2019

It had been a wet morning, heavy, which had initially put me off coming out on my first scheduled recording trip for his project, but by 12 noon it had begun to brighten up so I gathered my things together and drove to Goldhanger, on the north bank of the River Blackwater. I arrived around 1pm and drove to the south end of the village that I had seen on the map earlier from where I could access the sea wall by a public footpath. I parked in Fish Lane, making a mental note of the two pubs and one cafe to retreat to later on, if need be.

​JA Baker’s book The Peregrine, which this project is inspired by, is very ambiguous about specific locations in the landscape but his maps in the University of Essex Archive have specific locations marked on them, although there is no key explaining what they are related to. Since this project is about discovery, as were Baker’s expeditions, we can interpret these locations as just that: searching for something which is yet unknown. I will however be meeting James Canton in December who has done a lot of research on Baker and his movements, so hopefully he’ll be able to shed some light on where he actually refers to in The Peregrine.

As soon as I stepped on top of the sea wall I felt a sudden wave of reality, and a connection to his landscape. Our landscape. I hadn’t been here before so this place held no previous associations for me. Looking at the map I decided to record only two locations today in the limited time available, but to spend longer than usual in each place. I walked east along the sea wall to a point where the small inlet (Joyce's Bay?) meets the river. A nearby sluice identified this location as Higham’s Farm. Almost perfectly a bench sits here indicating a desirable vantage point. A large puddle made by this mornings rain collecting in a dip created by visiting viewers, perhaps listeners, prevented it being a comfortable seat and required a rather slouched sitting position to use it. For an hour. As soon as I had set up the recorder and mic I knew that this morning would have been a better time for recording birds. The tide was high and the lapping waves dominated the soundscape. More attention needs to be paid to tides. There were quite a few sounds punctuating the dominant sonic wall of waves. Aircraft continually pass overhead on their way to London airports, which is something I became very aware of whilst working on the You Are Hear project for the Essex Record Office in 2016. A reversing beeper from a wharf or building site somewhere up river. And very occasionally, a bird. My knowledge of bird song is very limited so later in the project I’ll be walking with some keen birders in order to to educate myself and expand my knowledge and perception.

40 minutes in to the first recording and the wind drops significantly. The voices of dog walkers travels across the inlet. The presence of another dog walker behind me is revealed by a bark. The person decides to give one toy to two dogs, encouraging them to fight and growl on the small gravel beach by the sluice. Eventually I see quite a few more birds including some common gulls, and a couple of flocks of Brent geese flying in V formation along the trajectory of the river but behind me above the land. Two more follow along a few minutes behind. I’ll be sure to be less static and more observant in all directions in the future.

I pack up after an hour of recording and walk back towards the footpath and to another of the locations marked by a circle on Baker’s map, which is on the opposite side of Joyce's Bay. There are a couple of small boats moored here and it seems that the owner of one of them has arrived and is aboard, playing his music rather loudly. I set up and can hear his beats drift across on the slight breeze. The tide is receding now and there is only mud left in the bay, leaving the boat sitting high on its keels. I sit on my kit bag a short way from the tripod, making a note to bring a camping seat next time. Two people walking dogs go by, saying hello in a suspicious manner. The dogs sniff me, and the microphone and get told to leave it alone. There are crows, a wading bird, more gulls and a small brown bird (a wren?) in the hedge. The wind drops to almost nothing, just a slight cold sheen on the cheeks. The music travels more clearly but I’m unfamiliar with the songs. Something from the 70’s I’d guess.

The earth continues to rotate causing the sun to move closer to the horizon. A horse gallops by on the opposite side of the inlet. A moorhen calls. A common gull flies silently past. A distant persistent dog. A little egret, some pigeons, and a lone cormorant way up high, following the flight path of the aeroplanes above it. An unidentified brown bird. I was just settling in to my uncomfortable seat on the grass when a bird about the size of a pigeon flies around in an arc from the west, out across the bay and back to the west in front of me. It had a distinctly hawk like shape but I was unable to identify it. I hold my breath. Could it, be? I could not tell either way but in 20 or so seconds it has gone. I wait for it to reappear but it does not. The moment was short, but tantalising. I remember from Baker’s descriptions that other birds were terrified by the Peregrine, and all of the birds I can see are going about their business as usual, except for maybe the intrusion of me, the dog walkers, the music man. I doubt very much that it was.

The light is fading, its 3.15 pm, and there are more birds in general now but also more aeroplanes and more people. A microlight passes overhead. Two flocks of dart like birds fly past, as does a solitary sharp looking bird. Not very helpful for research purposes but I’ll be sure to come back and fill in the actual names of these sightings when I have more knowledge. Unfussed gulls. A large flock of distant geese, a pheasant in the undergrowth near the path, crows on the wing, a blackbird. More hellos. Three dalmations.

​I set a timer on my phone so that I don’t have to approach the recorder and record the sounds of myself in close proximity, and it was counting down towards the hour. It will take some adjusting, to feel more connected to the landscape. Life has recently been hectic, and I have been rushing about for all manner of things and I'm hoping that these moments in the outdoors, looking and listening, will afford me some much needed time, to think, and to be. I can feel the cold creeping in with every passing second, but eventually we reach an hour and I stop the recording. As is usually the way, it is then that the action intensifies and a huge flock of Brent geese flies overhead on their way to roost for the night. What a spectacle and exactly the kind of thing I had come for. After they had settled in a nearby field it was back to the Chequers Inn that I had seen on my way here for a pint in the warm and to write up my notes whilst still in the foremost of the mind. Oh, and to listen to Phil Collins ‘Sussudio’ in the bar.