Mike Hitch reports on Slapton Ley's wildlife resilience amid weather woes

What a tumultuous time Slapton Ley had over the first eight months of the year, first the howling winds and pounding sea, then what seemed like continuous rain, interrupted by a week of soaring temperatures before the pounding rain once more, before the abrupt switch to searing temperatures and drought.

During the wild weather, the waterbirds had deserted Ireland Bay and most of Slapton Ley, but they hadn’t abandoned the Ley altogether. Torcross was packed with birds. The houses on the promenade might have presented to we humans a desolate picture, so badly damaged by the raging sea and winds, but for the birds they provided an invaluable haven. So, there they all were, packed almost shoulder to shoulder: coots, mallard, tufted ducks, gadwall and mute swan, but perhaps not that keen on intermingling.

When the storms finally abated, the reeds might have still looked a sorry sight, but the Ley soon filled back up with birds, and the herons started to build nests in the heronry, often alongside old nests destroyed by the winds.

As the mute swan cygnets started to appear, it soon became clear that we were in for a bumper year. Some of the broods were just so big, with eight or nine youngsters. In all, there were some thirty cygnets, and the cygnets were surviving. At my last count in late August, there were still twenty-seven. The two pairs at Beesands Ley were equally successful, with ten cygnets between them. The “right” waterweed was obviously abundant.

The herons also seemed to be doing well, but all that rain meant that the ivy grew very rapidly, soon obscuring the nests from view. Kieran’s drone, however, revealed one nest full of eggs with a parent in close attendance. In July, I managed to count ten grey herons around the Ley, mostly youngsters. Also, for the first time in many years, we had little egrets nesting in the heronry.

The great crested grebes have been less successful. Four pairs had young, but only one each. Does this suggest that the females were less fertile this year? Perhaps all those turbulent waters earlier in year meant that the fish were less visible and more difficult to catch at a critical time.

The almost continuous high winds and storms also brought large amounts of sand and shingle on to the top of bank and down on to the coastal path, burying everything. Would any plants survive?

What resilience these pioneer plants have. By the second half of June, Viper’s Bugloss had fought its way through the Sahara-like top of the

ridge and managed to flower, whilst on the better protected back slope it was blooming luxuriantly, as was the Yellow Horned Poppy, both alive with nectar seeking insects. What was their reward? Months of drought. The Line at first glance looked like a barren waste once more, but even in these conditions there was life. In the most exposed, sun-baked conditions yellow Rock Samphire was thriving and growing in large clumps, and the Fennel growing tall. At this time of year one would expect the Line to be bright blue from the Chicory, not sand coloured. Despite first appearances, some Chicory had managed to survive and bloom; a little struggling on by the coastal path, but most to be found where there was a little more shelter and maybe moisture. They were in the drainage ditches that run down from the road towards the Ley, and even where the crumbling road gives a little more protection.

What have thrived in Slapton Village in these hot dry conditions are the swallows and house martins. Not very many years ago their nesting sites were spread around the Village, but now both groups seem to have gone for the “safety in numbers, colonial approach”. All the swallows are nesting in a barn on the Nursery. Certainly it offers ideal nesting conditions, with a high shelf running around the inside. A couple of times Holly and Marcus have invited me to venture inside the barn. What a delight it is to stand inside its entrance as birds whip in and out over one’s head and peer down from the safety of their shelf.

In a similar way most of the house martins are nesting together under the protection of the soffit of one old farmhouse, and in one group of converted barns. Perhaps when one realises that this year all their various broods seem have fledged successfully, and on the farmhouse alone there are some ten nests packed closely together, it is no surprise that we have had the delight of a sky filled with chattering birds, unfortunately soon due to depart.