Staines Moor

I had been avoiding lone wanderings since I moved into the area, this combined with the fact that there had been highlighted reports on attacks on women due to the Sarah Everard case coming to light had diminished my confidence. But to experience wildlife one cannot remain indoors, so my journey took me to a suburban park with crisp packets crackling underfoot and Wood Pigeons sauntering suspiciously through uncut winter grass.

I came across a muttering woman in her early seventies, training her Yorkshire terrier and picking up aforesaid crisp packets as I moved closer to the creaking apple tree branches and nettles on the outskirts of the playing field. I struck up a conversation and realised that she was a fellow animal enthusiast. Right on cue, as she was about to tell me about a local birding site, we both paused as we heard an unfamiliar chirping. It had the same 4 part rhythm as a Wood Pigeon’s KooKoo, Koo-Koo but more high-pitched and much faster. I had no idea what it could be. My birding friend gave me a knowing look and directed me towards a thorn-ridden path, I had until now overlooked.

In a clearing that opened up 5 minutes along the trail, I found an information board notifying me that I was at Staines Moor, a biological site of special scientific interest. The board noted that it was an area that Skylarks were particularly fond of. I wanted my high-pitched singer to be one of these. Wouldn’t that be a thrill on one of my first ventures back into nature?

As I followed the path further, I was confronted with an open plain of land, so open in fact that I had stumbled into the wild. This wasn't Narnia, I could still very clearly hear and smell the sounds of the nearby Heathrow Airport, but, I could also smell the peaty moorland scents and hear layers and layers of birdsong. Flat river beds interrupted my amblings, clear and shallow with peach-pudding-coloured gravel on the river beds.

As I took a moment to sit on a decaying log, I felt watched. To my delight, I realized that I was sharing the company of a Yellow Wagtail, something I knew only after franticly flipping through my well-loved, pocket RSPB bird guide. The Wagtail bobbed its head in confusion at my sudden appearance, and with a quick twitch went about its business flying into the distance in dipping and rising sequences.

As a Coot honked at me from its fortress of reeds, I realized that I was also being watched by the river community. Three Little Egrets were standing guard over the riverbanks. Unlike the Wagtail, they were motionless while passing judgment, but once they had accepted me, they regally went about their day splashing about for fish in the shallows.

My visit to my hidden moorland was short-lived as it began to get dark. I had gained courage on my adventure but wasn't willing to find my way back to civilisation after sunset. As I slowly made my way back, I was greeted by the soft honks of two sleepy Cygnets. Their parents were downstream, but they were floating lazily along the banks, secure enough to only monitor my presence with half-open eyes.

In the grainy dusk, I returned to civilisation via dark paths with suspicious bushes, dark corners and barely visible beginnings. My sense of unease had returned, and it stayed until I arrived in the human world. Another open space, in a different type of wilderness.