The Lone Kayaker

A Fin and Feather-filled Start to 2026

January 16, 2026January 17, 2026 by rupertkirkwood, posted in common dolphin, Great Northern diver, Torbay

Getting a second onesie over the top of the first is appallingly difficult and unpleasant, because the material seems to stick and the contortions generate nasty crunching noises from my shoulders.. The two thermal t-shirts below the first layer probably don’t help. The gilet, thick socks and balaclava are simple but by that time I’m getting a bit sticky sweaty!

Why do I put myself through this idiotic Houdini routine on a pitch black January morning with temperature way below freezing and flakes of snow wrung out of the gloom?

Scrunching my posterior down onto an ice-encrusted kayak seat as I paddle out into the glow of dawn doesn’t help.

However, self-doubt vanishes in an instant when the first golden nugget of nature makes itself seen, or heard. All the effort and stupidity of a kayak trip in early Jan is suddenly worthwhile.

A couple of days ago it was the tremulous call of a Great Northern Diver that grabbed my attention as I paddled out. A contact call to a nearby bird, possibly its own offspring.

I stopped paddling and drifted closer to the beefy and impressive diving bird with the dagger-like bill. What a cracking sight and a great start to the day, and the year,

A couple of recent trips have been out of Fowey. It’s not only superbly scenic but also superbly sheltered so a perfect place to dodge the winter waves of the open sea.

Just out along the coast I heard a soft noise which rang a bell in the back of my brain but initially couldn’t place, as I have certainly never heard it south of the Scottish Border before…the cooing of Eider Ducks!

Far ahead I could see a line of gleaming gems bobbing on the surface and as I got closer these resolved into a tight pack of 18 birds…11 smart black-and-white drakes competing for the attention of seven neatly dappled brown females.

They were so busy rearing up and uttering their ‘caw-hooooo’ they didn’t notice me sneaking up nearby.

Cooing Eiders…a Cornish first for me. I have heard that a single pair have successfully bred nearby in recent years so hopefully I can report on the arrival of some fluffy Eider chicks in May.

Bear with me if this is a bit ornithologically esoteric…yikes, beginning to sound like Melvyn Bragg.

I was very pleased to catch a glimpse of this ‘duck’ in the grey monochrome of St. Mawes Bay yesterday…a Red-necked Grebe.

It’s not much to look at but quite a rarity and as a lifelong bird fan it made my day. I have only seen less than ten of this species.

And so to the the major excitement of the start of the year….DOLPHINS.

For the Lone Kayaker dolphins are off-the-scale excitement every time. They are challenging enough to observe from a kayak during the calm seas and t-shirt order of high summer, but in winter that challenge escalates enormously. Mainly due to the weather.

Take a close look at this wind map of Storm Goretti, the most extraordinary I have ever seen. It is a hurricane-esque scene with Bude, and Holsworthy where I live just ten miles further east, right in the eye of the storm.

Green and Royal Blue are light winds, red, pink, purple, violet and (hardly ever used) lilac are strong/very strong/ very very strong winds.

You can see that in Bude the wind is lightish from the south, with complete calm. the royal blue banana shape, twenty miles to the west. Only twenty to thirty miles further, however, past the red line of a ‘normal’ gale, the wind is blowing a violent storm from the northwest, at 70 knots plus.

Incredible, in fact I heard the wind approaching like a freight train while I was in the shower…with the window open to let out the steam (hot air)

Anyway, this sort of crazy weather means the sea is a complete no-go for the next few days, possibly a week, whilst the swell subsides.

Fortunately the sea dis subside a week later so the dolphin door was opened…destination Torbay!

Although the open sea was still quite lumpy on 6 Jan the Common Dolphins performed. They were busy feeding and not as curious as normal about the weirdo wrapped up like Shackleton in his yellow kayak, but an absolute joy to watch as always.

Dolphins exude 100% positivity and I always end up with a vacuous grin after an encounter. Despite not being able to feel the end of my nose with the chill.

There is always something interesting going on. This time it was the cameo appearance of a trio of very large and dark-looking Common Dolphins…probably blokes, I suspect.

Two days ago, also off Torbay, conditions were just, but only just, OK for another dolphin hunt. Although the wind was light there was a residual easterly chop and once again it was a parky sub-zero start.

It is very worth getting out to the action hotspot as the sun appears, however, because that is when the Gannets are circling and the guls are swirling. Lots of baitfish near the surface.

Companions for the Lone Kayaker were Will and Isabelle, The Dolphin Lady.

The Dolphin dream-team.

And boy, were we treated to a memorable three hours. There were dolphins everywhere, scattered about feeding in the swirling waters off the headland.

They seemed to be mainly juveniles or sub-adults, but there were several mother-and-calf pairs including one or two very young and very pale-looking young calves who zipped about in our bow wave as though it was the best time of their lives.

Will being investigated by a larger individual

I tried to estimate numbers but it was almost impossible. A very conservative tally would be 60, but it was in reality probably well over the ton. I’ll record it as 60.

Isabelle was certainly in her element

Just when we thought that the area was full up with dolphins, another pod would come speeding in to join in:

One individual, which looked like an adult, had a dorsal fin so mangled it was virtually missing…a speedboat injury or being caught up in a trawl net, I suppose.

A good one for individual id by DolphinZone…

Being a cold mid-winter morning there were not many other craft on the water. However Mr. Fish was being his usual enthusiastic self and enjoying the dolphins as much as the fishing:

For ten minutes the engrossing entertainment was interrupted by a completely bizarre interlude and a first for me:

I noticed a long pale ‘streamer’ trailing behind Will’s kayak and thought something was falling out of his kayak’s tankwell, although I couldn’t imagine what.

OMG, it’s a fish and OMG on steroids…it’s a Lamprey!!! A good 2ft long!

Stuck with it’s sucker mouth onto the stern of Will’s kayak…..WHAAAATT?

Absolutely extraordinary…what on earth did it think it was doing, and where did it come from, and how on earth do they ever find anything to stick to in the vast ocean? Obviously not very much or it wouldn’t try to get a mouthful of rotomoulded plastic!

As is evident in this video, I do find them a bit creepy.

It looked a bit soul-less and very alien and I wouldn’t trust it not to suddenly un-suck and attach itself to my neck, or wherever.

This is the first up close Lamprey I have ever seen, although I have come across them twice before.

Once on the bank of the River Wye…half eaten by an otter.

Lamprey. Part Hoover, Part Boeing 737, part horror movie

And once attached to a Basking Shark near Land’s End in 2021…you can see a clutch of Lampreys waving about on this behemoth’s pectoral and anal fins…look closely.

Basker with Lamprey attached

So…there we go…a wonderfully varied, thrilling and quirky start to the year.

Will it continue in the same manner…yes please!

A Dazzling December Day

December 21, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Great Northern diver

It’s a tough time of year for spotting fins from a kayak.

Keeping warm and dry isn’t a problem if you’ve got a decent drysuit, although writhing in and out of it does require Houdini-like contortions.

The biggest problem is the wind. It just doesn’t seem to stop. Even if it does ease it takes a day or two for the residual swell to subside. I just don’t feel happy paddling offshore in choppy conditions…not just because of safety but when the kayak is bucking and heaving the chances of seeing a fin are small.

So Friday was an absolute gem. It wasn’t promised to be so pleasant…the wind was forecast moderate so I was expecting to be hugging the sheltered coast. But, lo and behold, Torbay was flat and welcoming as I nearly dislocated my shoulder trying to don my waterproof top just as dawn was phasing in.

The wildlife encounters kicked off immediately. Two young seals followed me out of the harbour, their initial loud snort making me jump out of my skin, as usual. As I cranked up the speed they became really fired up and bumped and pushed the stern of my kayak around. I am getting used to this sort of treatment from the locals now, having been recently wobbled by Reggie the Bottlenose Dolphin. No complaints…I am the stranger in their home. And that’s what I’m here for anyway!

The currents were swirling around the headland and were attracting a mass of circling gulls including Kittiwakes, with the odd Gannet circling with intent. There’s got to be a fin here somewhere, I thought. There was…I caught a flash of a spiky fin out of the corner of my eye…dolphins…my first for many weeks.

I gingerly approached at an angle and saw it was a little pod of about half a dozen, including a very small and very active calf. Aha…this could be fun.

As our paths converged they disappeared below and although this sounds daft I wonder if the calf’s mum was assessing my level of threat…I could be a hostile such as an aggressive Bottlenose or even an Orca.

It appeared that I was given the green light because the little calf slashed across the surface just in front of my kayak and for the next five minutes dashed about like a mad thing. At one stage an overexcited manoeuvre sent a plume of splosh into my face.

Another not so small calf was not quite so animated and the older dolphins were cruising alongside just keeping an eye on proceedings and possibly trying to restrain the manic little calf. Unsuccessfully.

Dolphins at dawn…a memorable encounter.

I sat off the headland enjoying the rest of the wildlife action. Loads of Razorbills and Guillemots were whirring past amongst the random throng of gulls.

A stream of Gannets were pouring out of the bay.

The silence was broken but the snorty puff of a couple of porpoises which rolled at the surface close by, suddenly changing direction as porpoises do. A total of six in the area I reckon.

I was very twitchy about the forecast wind and this suddenly arrived so I dashed to the shelter of the coast…and the wildlife spectacular continued…

Loons! Great Northern Divers! A whole load of them. I had actually seen ten on my way out, as squat dark shapes on the surface before the sun came up.

Now the sun was behind my shoulder I could enjoy them properly.

They are magnificent birds with a great dagger of a bill that must strike terror into any flatfish or crab below. They stay underwater for an improbable length of time and so can access much deeper water to feed on bottom-living creatures…their particular favourite…than any other diving bird.

One particular individual showed was completely unphased as I drifted very close, but keeping very still, on the wind. What a beauty.

My connection with these spectacular birds goes back a long way. They are the first bird listed in most guidebooks so have an extra appeal if that is the weird way you are wired up. ( I always wanted to see the first diesel locomotive listed in my trainspotting book, but failed), I had longed to see one for a decade before I eventually observed one in the flesh.

These birds will spend the winter here having migrated from Iceland, or maybe Greenland where they breed beside freshwater lakes.

A final feathery fling as I approached the slipway…half a dozen Purple Sandpipers roosting on the rocks. They are extraordinarily charming as they constantly chat to each other with very soft calls and seem to spend much of their time here fast asleep.

Plump and personable…that’s the Purple Sandpiper.

This was an unexpected bonus day because the wind has now picked up again, closing the door for offshore paddling.

Not bad for nearly the shortest day of the year.

Light is at the end of the gloom-tunnel, however. The local shags are already sporting their breeding quiffs! Spring is just around the corner!

A festive thumbs-up from The Lone Kayaker

Cornish Gems

November 25, 2025November 25, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Avocet

I thought I was quite good at planning a paddling location to eek the best out of the weather, wind, tide, currents, scenery and potential for wildlife.

However last Thursday, paddling up the Lynher estuary in Cornwall, was an assault on my confidence as well as morale. The temperature was below freezing, the wind was in my face and sleety snow spiked my nose. I was making very slow headway against a stiff ebbing tide and all I could see was a vaste expanse of mud.

I was thinking I had got it all appallingly wrong.

Until…that is…I saw a line of pearls at the edge of the water in the far distance. They were almost luminous and even though they were far away I could see they were moving in an animated fashion…

Avocets!!

Suddenly everything was OK and I switched from drudgery mode into wildlife excitement mode in an instant.

Avocets and I go back a long way. I still clearly remember the first one I ever saw…flying past the beach at RSPB Arne, way back in 1971, when I was a knock-kneed geek.

Blimey, that’s nearly 55 years ago.

I was beside myself with excitement at the time, and not far off on this occasion. I just love Avocets.

I quickly formulated a cunning plan. I could flog up-current on the other side of the river and then drift back down in front of them. Hopefully my lack of movement would allow a decent pic or two without disturbing them.

At precisely the right moment the sun came out from behind a snow-packed cloud and shone from directly behind me…perfect.

I paddled way upstream past the busy birds so I didn’t frighten them, and then sat tight and let the current did the work.

A posse of a dozen Avocets were doing what they do best…striding along on their long blue legs in a tight pack, sweeping their impossibly delicate beaks from side to side in a search for invertebrates swirled up in the sediment.

What a sight to see.

I drifted on down the river and started to enjoy the free ride. The feeding waders considered me no more of a threat than a floating log.

A little posse of Dunlin didn’t stop probing as I drifted past a few metres away.

A gang of gangly but impressive Black-tailed Godwits, which birders sensibly call Blackwits, weren’t too fussed as I sneaked past munching a Kitkat (chunky).

More Avocets ahead! At least two dozen. They are so impossibly white, like a t-shirt from a Persil advert from long ago. There were gulls on the shore too, and they are also essentially white.

But they don’t glow like Avocets.

Most of these were resting although a couple had not quite satisfied their appetites…

Another squadron flew in overhead to join in with the socialising.

Without binoculars I could see one bird had coloured rings.

I sent the pic off to try to find out where this bird had come from. They are ringed as chicks.

Just today I have received an enthusiastic reply about this sighting from a couple of ringers. They are always enthusiastic. Chris Brown from Tees Ringing Group tells me that this is Avocet EY04838 which was ringed as a chick on the Long Drag, Seal Sands, Cleveland on 9 July 2014.

So it’s 11 years old!

It has been resighted on a number of occasions both here in Cornwall and en route back to (and from) the north-east. It is also great to see it has been seen at Brownsea Island in Poole Harbour only a couple of miles from Arne where I first encountered the species all those decades ago.

Tremendous stuff.

Like so many of the remarkable creatures I observe, both feathered and finned, Avocets have a remarkable back-story.

They disappeared as a breeding bird in UK in 1840, partly as a result of drainage of their wetland habitat and partly ‘thanks’ to the Victorians liking for stuffed birds.

During WW2 some coastal areas of Norfolk were flooded to make them less attractive for a German landing. The pools left behind after the war were considered perfect for a few pairs of visiting Avocets from the continent so they stayed and nested…and have gone from strength to strength ever since.

They are the emblem of the RSPB and are the flagship conservation success of the organisation and probably the first in the UK as a whole.

Avocet. Be careful where you swing that beak.

I am absolutely thrilled that hundreds choose to spend the darkest months in The Exe Estuary in Devon and here along the edge of the Tamar on The Cornwall/Devon border.

They have the ability to brighten up the drabbest of winter days.

Unexpected Tern

November 18, 2025November 19, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Arctic Tern, Oystercatcher

Arctic Tern, Adult with a hint of Winter Plumage

It seemed like the best location for a nearly full-day paddle. Although the wind was light the open coast was no-go because it was still battered by a short-chop swell after the recent wind. An estuary was the answer and the perfect midday high tide lured us to the Lynher River, an arm of the Tamar estuary.. I havn’t paddled here for a year or two so it promised a cracking day out. Plus it was supposed to be dry and unfeasibly warm.

Good, good…and good.

Dave, Simon and I flogged against the incoming tide beneath the Tamar Bridges before we caught the favourable flow at the entrance to the Lynher.

A small-looking gull flew over my head and I did a double-take when I clocked it was in fact a tern. Eh??? In November…surely not. The last one I saw was 25 September. Terns are long-distance migrants and spend the winter, depending on species, in the Atlantic from the West Africa right down to the Antarctic. So this little creature should be a lot further south by now.

This was a frustratingly brief view as it floated around the corner but I hoped we would see it again a little further on. I cranked up the speed and was thrilled to see it heading back towards us over the shallows of a crescent beach, diving in with a splosh every so often to catch a tiny fish.

It flew right over my head allowing the perfect view and, hopefully, the perfect pic.

It was an Arctic Tern, the most buoyant and elegant of all the UK terns, aptly nick-named the Sea Swallow. This was as good as it could be as far as I was concerned, because ‘Arctics’ are my favourite species of tern. Their impossibly cheerful chatter is the wilderness soundtrack of the Scottish islands.

I don’t see them very often around Devon and Cornwall, but this was as good a view as I have ever had of one.

Arctic Tern. An unusual sight with Christmas berries behind!

It was an extraordinary sighting because it is so late in the year to see one…these birds are in fact the world’s longest-distance migrants and if this individual doesn’t get a move on it won’t get to Antarctica before it is time to turn around and flap the 10,000 miles back again.

Dave and Simon had carried on while I was tern-stuck and so I had a bit of catching up to do.

I found them admiring HMS Brecon, the Royal Navy cadet training ship.

Then the estuary opened right out into a vast lake. I had forgotten how huge it is, although I did then recall that I had paddled its entire 32 mile rim in one hit when I used to grind out big mileages, long ago.

We wandered into a large inlet perforating the north shore and it just went on and on into the golden embrace of the autumnal trees. So we just went on and on with it and very much enjoyed just going with the flow, not really knowing where we were.

It was all extremely pleasant, extremely relaxing and extraordinarily warm. Maybe best of all is that we had the whole massive estuary to ourselves…most of the large recreational boats are now out of the water for the winter.

The wintering wildfowl and waders amazed. There were huge numbers of duck in the larger inlets, mainly Wigeon. Wigeon are absolutely beautiful birds.

I didn’t know it until I studied this photo later, but there were a couple of Shoveler too! Can you see them?…the ducks with the heavy beaks.

There were lots of Shelduck too, looking smart after spending the autumn moulting in the Bridgwater estuary or the Wadden Sea.

I cricked my neck trying to identify all the waders scattered about on the shore and the air. Curlew, Oystercatchers, Black-tailed Godwit, Greenshank, Redshank, Dunlin, Snipe and a trio of Grey Plovers…exceptionally finely marked birds and one of my favourites.

They are so neat and prim.

I don’t use binoculars on my kayak, by the way. It’s difficult enough using a camera. Two lots of optics would be just too much to handle. I rely on eyeball and ear for bird i.d.

Dave headed back for a zoom call while Simon and I sped on nearly as far as St Germans before returning. Simon was very pleased with his new South African surfski which we have christened the knife because it really does slice through the water.

We sped back at competition speed before I became distracted by the throaty roar of a Class 66 diesel locomotive about to cross the Tamar Bridge. It was en route to the Potteries at Stoke-on-Trent with a load of china-clay trucks.

Embarrassing maybe, but I just can’t shake off my trainspotting roots.

Fortunately for my credibility, it’s the global wanderer that stole the show today…the beautiful Arctic Tern.

Creeks and Canals…They’re not all bad

November 10, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Beaver, Harbour Seal, Otter

Fowey Estuary…probably the most beautiful Cornish creek

Winter time, even though we’re not strictly there yet, is creek and canal time.

For maximum enjoyment of wildlife from a kayak, flat water is a priority. The flatter the better. Any sort of ripple makes your viewing platform start to move about and the probability of seeing something in/on a confused surface is greatly reduced compared to smooth conditions. The open coast is just too bouncy at this time of year.

Much as I would prefer to be miles offshore amongst a pod of dolphins, I cannot resist the lure of a glass calm estuary or creek. So that’s where I spend most of my paddling time during the stormy months.

Cowering and cringing up a creek.

Apart from anything else it’s a great way to appreciate the blaze of gold that the deciduous trees along that line the valleys have on show at this time of year.

In some respects it’s even more compelling than offshore paddling. Just like wildlife-watching in the open sea your eyes have to be on maximum alert the whole time of course, but up a creek or along a river and canal your ears have to be tuned to perfection as well.

Binoculars are no use from a kayak as they just exaggerate any movement, so most bird sightings involve hearing their call first. Kingfishers are the perfect example…you can hear their high-pitched peep from afar…long before you see the turquoise streak. In fact a kayak offers a much better chance of seeing everyone’s favourite waterside bird than a motorboat precisely because you are ready and waiting for the flash of colour as soon as your hear the call.

There is rarely a dull minute for a lifelong birder such as myself when I am sliding silently along a sheltered creek in ‘stealth’ mode…totally silent, totally concentrating. I was thrilled to be able to drift in amongst a small posse of Black-tailed Godwits beside the Exe Estuary a couple of weeks ago. I sat absolutely still as the gentle current obligingly ran me aground on the mud in the perfect viewing position.

They are beautiful birds with an improbable beak…and a great name. Perhaps most surprising of all is their contact call which is a puppy-like yelp.

On the same mudbank was a Ruff, another long-distance migrant that I see only once every few years.

I had a memorable and very close encounter with one of the UK’s most slinky, and skulking, waterbirds in the uppermost reaches of the Fowey estuary last week.

It was a Water Rail, and as usual I heard it before I saw it. In fact In quite often hear them as I pass a patch of dense reeds…a weird and sometimes spooky wail which is entirely appropriate for the halloweenish time of year.. Unless you are in the know, you really wouldn’t think it came from a bird…it sounds more like a piglet or a cat.

The call from this particular bird was very close so I poked the nose of the kayak into the reeds and just stared into the mass of stalks…and there it was, only a couple of metres away, having a bit of a preen but still finding time to have a bit of mini-wail.

Superb, it made my day. The cherry on top of the Belgian Bun was this beautiful little Teal that appeared very close by as I was sitting stone still.

It’s not just birds. The estuaries are home to aquatic mammals as well. Beavers don’t seem to be so ‘showy’ during the early morning as they were back in the spring, probably because they have finished their nocturnal activities and are tucked up in bed before dawn. Despite many early-morning sorties, I’ve only see two since mid-summer.

Fortunately for me otters are a bit more unpredictable and a few are still active for the first half of the morning, especially if it is raining. I have seen three or four over the last couple of weeks. They are so busy they generally don’t sense my presence unless they are really close. The trick is to see those big swirls in the distance and then approach very very slowly along the opposite bank. Otters are fast swimmers so generate quite a bow wave…much more noticeable than any other river swimmers such as beavers or ducks.

I absolutely love otters and a sighting, no matter how brief, justifies the appallingly early starts in what is frequently absolutely foul weather.

A few seals venture up the tidal creeks even as far as the fresh water of the rivers. I have seen Grey Seals hunting salmon and sea trout just below the weir at Gunnislake on the River Tamar, twenty miles from the open sea.

Some seals are actually more at home in the estuaries. Just a handful of Harbour Seals (aka Common Seals) have taken up residence in the larger inlets of the South Devon and south Cornish coast. One individual who I have had the pleasure of observing on many occasions is Serena Lowen.

Here she is enjoying a breakfast of Flounder, one of two she caught in quick succession.

Serena vs Flounder

Canals are wildlife magnets…little strips of watery wilderness full of fish and abuzz with dragonflies, even at this time of year.

It’s birds again that are the main attraction for me and you never know what is going to turn up next. This beautiful Little Grebe swam right past my kayak a few days ago…

and during my previous visit a little cloud of feathers being tossed in the air revealed a Sparrowhawk tucking in to a pigeon, right beside the water. Once again I was able to manoeuvre in very close, SAS style, and enjoyed a ringside seat as the predator demolished the feast. So close you can hear the flesh tear!

Sparrowhawk. No eye is sharper than that of a raptor

Lone Kayaker, Lone Dolphin

October 31, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Bottlenose Dolphin

Lone Kayaker, Lone Bottlenose. (many thanks to Ray Harrington for the pic)

This was an extraordinary but weird encounter, or in fact series of encounters over the period of a week.

It was bizarre not only because of the behaviour of the dolphin but also because it was all a bit too easy…a few hundred metres from terra firma along a very calm and sheltered coast. For me dolphin-spotting from a kayak usually involves a huge amount of paddling effort in challenging seas far from the shore.

The dolphin concerned was Reggie, a male Bottlenose who had spent much of the summer around Lyme Regis and had become a local celebrity as he spent much time close inshore amongst the swimmers and recreational craft.

As a ‘Solitary Sociable Bottlenose Dolphin’ he seems to prefer the company of watercraft and humans rather than his own species. It is a well-recognised phenomenon and there have been scores of records of such behaviour involving Bottlenosers as well as other dolphin species, and even Orcas and Belugas, from across the world.

By coincidence, the first dolphin I ever saw from the seat of a kayak way back in 1991, was Fungie, the celebrity Bottlenose who delighted visitors to Dingle Bay in SW Ireland for 35 years.

The next lone Bottlenose I met was Dave at Ilfracombe in August 2013. I remember the day very clearly because I had flogged 30 miles out and back along the Exmoor coast specifically looking for dolphins and had seen absolutely nothing. I was nearly back and within sight of the car park in a state of exhaustion when Dave burst out of the water in front of me.

Reggie departed Lyme Regis and clearly felt it was time to move along the coast to the wild west of Torbay. As I was paddling several miles from the shore I got a call from Rob Hughes who was at the helm of his Devon Sea Safari RIB ‘Whistler’. He had dicovered Reggie close in to the coast…six miles away! Could I be bothered to dig in for a two hour paddle with the high possibility that the dolphin had moved on by the time I arrived upon the scene, as so often happens?

Yes, of course I could!

The dolphin hadn’t gone. I knew precisely where it was from a mile away because I could see a small boat circling slowly around with a couple of paddleboarders in attendance…a sure sign they were looking at something of interest.

When I first saw it the size of the fin took me by surprise. Bottlenose dolphins are big creatures, very much larger than the more familiar and almost delicate Common Dolphins.

They make you say ‘wow’. Even if you are alone.

I approached slowly and kept well away, just watching what was going on. It was all very relaxed…flat calm, nice and sunny and close to the shore.

The dolphin was fascinated by the little boat, swimming round and round and then rubbing the back of its head for a prolonged time on the bow. Or was it trying to push the boat around?

The boat motored away, the paddleboarders had gone so I was the next source of interest and the dolphin sped over to see me. I sat tight, it checked me out and then swam away, apparently unimpressed. Probably because I wasn’t moving, I suspect.

Rob Hughes turned up with his second tour of the morning and his Devon Sea Safari passengers were treated to quite a spectacle.

Rob and delighted Devon Sea Safari Passengers

The dolphin cruised round and round the boat and then spent a long while more or less stationary between the two outboards. Rob, of course, had cut the engines as soon as the dolphin was close, but it was no surprise that there were some propeller scars visible on Reggie’s back. No doubt from previous motorboats with skippers less wildlife-aware than Rob.

Lunch time!. Up came the tail flukes as Reggie deep-dived, reappearing with a sizable Sea Bass which he consumed half-heartedly. Dolphins are such efficient hunters they seem to leave a lot on the side of their plate.

As if sensing that the onlookers were expecting a bit of a show, Reggie then obliged with a series of perfect arcing leaps. It would appear that I pressed my camera shutter at precisely the same instant as Ray Harrington, who was in a small boat just behind me. Thanks once again for this picture, Ray, which nicely encapsulates what the Lone Kayaker is all about. Here’s my pic:

Here’s Ray’s:

Lone Kayaker, Lone Bottlenose. (pic: Ray Harrington)

A few days later Dave, Simon and I were paddling along the coast a few miles away when we were ‘mugged’ by Reggie. He just appeared beside us, surging along with an impressive bow wave. He was in a particularly excitable mood and showed absolutely no wariness or restraint whatsoever.

I’m not sure who he was talking to…I suspect it could only have been us. There’s no other Bottlenose dolphins within 20 miles of here…at least.

Reggie having a bit of banter

Extraordinarily, when we stopped he reached his head right out of the water and nudged Simon’s paddle with his beak. We all paddled forward which the dolphin seemed to appreciate, and then when we halted he nudged Simon’s paddle again. Simon was in the faster kayak, surely the dolphin didn’t recognise this.

I honestly think it did, because when we all ‘sped’ off because we wanted to leave Reggie alone anyway, he followed only Simon because Simon went faster than Dave or myself.

It was all absolutely remarkable but all a bit weird and somehow not quite right.

I was in my fast kayak when I met Reggie a third time a few days later, and I knew precisely what was on mind as he started to bump my kayak with his beak.

I didn’t particularly want to interact with him but on the other hand the only way to ‘shake him off’ was to paddle away so I piled on a bit of ooomph.

Yes, that was definitely what he wanted and he surged along just in front of the bow of my kayak. He was so powerful that he created his own bow wave which I could surf on so we both went even faster!

He rolled over onto his back as he effortlessly matched my limp attempt at speed before he put in a little jump of appreciation and completely disappeared. I think he had decided that a passing crabber offered more entertainment than the old guy in the appallingly slow kayak.

This all happened a month ago and Reggie appears to have moved on. It will be interesting to see where he turns up next.

Hopefully he has linked up with a pod of his own species and so his behaviour can get back onto a more natural track.

One thing remains certain. Wherever he goes, whoever he meets, he will still be smiling:

Blue Shark!

October 5, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in common dolphin, Falmouth Bay

Adrian and I had BIG plans for last Monday. Fin Whales, the second largest creatures on the planet had been seen a dozen or so miles off the coast near Falmouth. So we took a punt at paddling out to find them. We wouldn’t get that far out but it was forecast to be a rare windless day and there was just a chance the whales might nose a bit inshore. It was going to be so quiet that we would be able to hear, and probably see, their blows from several miles away.

Dark blue symbols means ultra light wind

We were full of excitement and expectation and we were sure it was going to be a fulfilling day on the water whatever.

Our plan was to get out at least as far as the 60 metre depth contour. That’s about as deep as you can sensibly access by kayak around SW England and that’s where I felt the whales would be hanging out.

Falmouth Bay depth chart. 60m was our target (bottom right)

As dawn broke it took us 40 mins to wind our way down the Percuil River to exit the mouth of Carrick Roads and into the open sea.

We pointed offshore towards a submerged reef known as Old Wall which is usually good for a porpoise or two. Nothing.

However it wasn’t long before a glint of a fin caught my eye…Common dolphins! Far ahead. Ten minute’s paddle. It’s just so exciting to see these dynamic little, or not so little, creatures. It injects my muscles with power and as I surge towards them my kayak seems to move far faster than I could ever hope to paddle normally. And it’s effortless.

We were soon joined by a scattered pod of a dozen individuals as they checked us out but they rapidly lost interest in us because they were more intent on feeding.

This encounter set the tone for our planned two hour paddle out to the deep water, which ended up taking a lot longer. There were small pods of dolphins scattered about all over the place and not very minutes went past without a sight of a leap or the sound of a splosh. We think we saw the occasional glimpse of a tuna gate-crashing the dolphin party but were never completely sure.

These Common Dolphins never cease to amaze. Most pods were quietly feeding, although the youngsters can’t resist throwing in the occasional jump. However one pod of about twenty were surging through the water at quite a speed, leaving quite a trail of disturbed water behind them. They zig-zagged about all over the place and disappeared for a few minutes at a time, but when they surfaced they just carried on surging.

They looked about the size of older youngsters…so they were teenagers on the rampage!

They sped off to the west and we continued on out, eventually arriving at my planned ‘mark’ 6 miles offshore at 60 metres depth. We had been so delayed and diverted by a host of dolphin-style distractions, 110 individuals in all I think, that we were nearly overdue for lunch.

lunch ‘spot’ 6 miles offshore, Falmouth Bay

As Adrian and I munched our meagre scrape in the absolute silence of total calm, a movement at the surface caught my eye…SHARK!

Just a few yards away a triangular dorsal fin steadily sliced the surface while a backward-slanting caudal fin swept from side-to-side behind.

We were looking directly into the sun so I immediately paddled a loop around the shark to get a less glary view with the sun behind.

We suspected a ‘Blue’ but I wanted to see the blue colouration…I thought perhaps it was a young Basker but in retrospect it was far too small for that.

We shadowed the shark at a respectful distance as it cruised along a about 2 mph. The distance between the dorsal fin and caudal fin was about 2.5ft, so the shark was about 5ft long…not a whopper by any means.

Blue Shark, Falmouth

However we could clearly see the blue sheen on the top of the tail fin which confirmed it was a Blue Shark. This is an iconic species so no matter what the size it was a thrilling species to encounter…especially from our kayaks. They rarely come within 10 miles of the coast and apparently like more than 55m of water beneath them…so as far as Blue Shark spotting was concerned my 60m contour plan was perfect!

I have seen them just a couple of times before long ago off Eddystone on precisely the same sort of day…flat calm, warm sunshine and the sharks just ‘finning’ at the surface, apparently enjoying the warmth on their backs.

Fab…quite an unexpected surprise.

We tucked into the paddle back to shore and as the afternoon wore on it seemed as though the distant shore wasn’t getting any closer and we were paddling through treacle.

The dolphins had completely disappeared but I was hopeful of another exciting species…I always set the target of at least three ‘goodies’ per trip.

We achieved that…but only just. We heard a distant faint ‘puff’ above the drone of a passing tug. Surely a porpoise. We stopped, listened and watched for many minutes before the puffs resounded again far behind us and we caught the faintest glimpse of a couple of fins.

About as fleeting a view as is possible, but they were porpoises for certain. The style of their exhalation is quite characteristic.

That was about it…21.8 miles and eight hours on the water. Another tremendous fin-filled adventure in our home waters, and a very special sighting of a Blue Shark from a kayak. We can look forward to seeing the whales next time. Maybe.

Filming with ‘The Boy’

October 3, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Chough, common dolphin, Giant Bluefin Tuna, Sandwich tern

My son Henry and I recently spent a tremendous three days in the wild west gathering material for his forthcoming film about the greatest fish of them all…Atlantic Bluefin Tuna.

I was in charge of kayak logistics, he was in charge of photographic paraphernalia…and lunch. Oh, and pink accommodation.

Before we left I spent a long time pawing over weather forecasts, wind and swell predictions and tidal currents which don’t always change direction when you think they will.

I carry a load of safety gear in case of disaster but after several decades of doing all this stuff and moderately confident about my abilities.

The forecast was perfect: very light winds, wall-to-wall blue skies, 0-1ft swell.

So how on earth did this happen? It was not a proud father moment.

As we paddled through an archway in the cliff an unexpected swell, followed by a second, nearly struck catastrophe.

A capsize in here would have been nasty.

Fortunately we emerged unscathed and upright into the clear blue sky and completely calm (?) sea and the serious scrutiny of the horizon for fins or splashes could commence.

First up…a glint of a fin below a couple of circling gulls…dolphins!

They were quite busy feeding so after a quick snoop we left them to get on with it. This big adult looks a bit ‘ribby’ so could certainly do with a good meal.

We were so focussed on the wildlife that, as usual, it was easy to overlook the inspiring coastal scenery of bare cliffs and blue waters. From where we were sitting the only sign that humans have ever existed were a few wispy vapour trails high above.

A tuna erupted from the surface ahead and we both gasped in amazement. It is an absolutely characteristic explosion of water as nothing else that big travels at that speed. We had been hoping to see precisely this sight but the energy involved is quite staggering and exceeds anything that you might have been expecting.

We sat and waited, and waited. One tuna lunging at an unsuspecting usually means another will follow soon but not necessarily. It might be close but it might be half-a-mile away.

It was close…

Atlantic Bluefin, 6-7ft, making the leap

We spent much of the day watching, waiting and filming. Henry did most of the latter, I did most of the former.

There is no place for boredom because there is never a dull moment along the coast. It’s a feast for the ears as well as the eyes. It is an absolute joy the hear the enthusiastic and animated calls of the Choughs which are now back along the cliffs in SW England in decent numbers. Once you are tuned in to their quite characteristic cry it raises a smile every time you hear it…not just because they are such big personalities but because they have returned from the brink. In fact they did disappear from around here for decades but reintroduced themselves in 2001!

Other passing coastal birds that drew attention to themselves with characteristic calls were a Whimbrel and a couple of Sandwich Terns.

The Whimbrel is interesting although a bit confusing as it looks very (very) similar to a Curlew. They are long distance migrants and pass through SW England in large numbers heading north in Spring, but only ones and twos on the way back in autumn. The majority must take a different route south. They are familiar in folklore and used to be called ‘May Birds’ but this needs to be rescripted because now, almost certainly as a result of global warming, most pass through in late April and spring migration is largely finished by May.

The two Sandwich Terns were also VERY interesting because they both had rings on their legs:

A bit of internet dibbling revealed that both birds had been ringed on 12 August at Ynslas Nature Reserve in west Wales 44 days previously. They will now be en-route to wintering quarters along the coast of West Africa.

All these coastal birds, overlooked by most, have an astonishing story of migration to tell.

An unexpected human bonus was a meeting with some adventurous swimmers who had clambered down the cliffs and spent several hours exploring the coastline. Their bursts of laughter echoed around the amphitheatre of rock. It was great to meet Sam, Abi and the gang.

After a tough day sitting on the water basking in the sunshine we treated ourselves to a swift half as we watched the sun sink over the horizon.

The next two days followed a broadly similar theme. Choughs and Tuna.

Operating a drone from a kayak isn’t easy but Henry managed to launch and retrieve successfully despite the drone’s last minute reluctance to be grabbed.

The tuna looked glary and mean and little shoals of garfish fled in panic.

Top time.

It’s Tuna Time

September 12, 2025September 15, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Uncategorized

Last week Will, Adrian, Mark and myself took full advantage of a lull in the wind. Summer seems to have transitioned into autumn very suddenly so opportunities for paddling out to sea have been dramatically reduced over the last few weeks.

The sun was out and the sea looked very turquoise and welcoming so we nosed offshore. It just felt like it was going to be one of ‘those’ days so we were full of beans:

Dream team. Adrian , Will, Lone Kayaker (yes, that’s me), Mark

We gave the seals resting on the rocks a wide berth and were amazed at the Red Admirals flying in over the sea from goodness know where.

We were stopped in our tracks by an enormous raking splash directly ahead, followed a second later by a huge silver-and-gold fishing arcing out of the water in a rather more controlled manner.

Tuna!!! They were only a hundred metres ahead so were soon in the hit zone and braced for action. All was quite for fifteen minutes. Had they moved on or were they still lurking below?

Still lurking below because…woooosh, another explosion of water away to the east. A 7ft tuna burst from the surface in an unsuccessful pursuit of a Garfish which was sent cartwheeling away in front of the predator.

We sat and gaped and to cut a long story short we just sat and watched the show for a few hours. It seemed like a blink of an eye because the performance played out in front of…and often behind…us was so engrossing.

A Garfish came skittering across the surface towards us in an effort to escape an unseen pursuer.

This one was lucky as no beast emerged from below, but further away another garfish sailed into the air as it was attacked from below:

In fact the majority of attacks seemed to fail. Tuna hunt in a similar way to Great White Sharks targeting a seal. They launch an assault from below. ‘Pinning’ the Garfish against the surface limits the victims options for escape and the great speed, with hopefully a victim in the jaws, carries the tuna into the air.

Another miss:

It seems like an awful lot of wasted effort to have such a low success rate of what seems like quite a small snack, but it clearly works out for the tuna.

Success at last!

These tuna are 6-7ft long so that puts them at about 150kgs, almost large enough for them to be called a Giant Bluefin Tuna. They will be 7-8 years old.

We had a single view of a very much bigger fish but that one only surfaced once.

But hang on…the one in this next pic is quite a size. This beauty is jumping about 50m in front of Adrian…pic taken on telephoto. It looks to be about the size of an adult Common Dolphin or maybe a bit bigger. That’s a minimum of 8ft, 250kgs and 12 years old.

A Giant for sure…and it’s had a successful hunt.

It’s hard to believe that we were watching the world’s largest species of tuna just off the coast of Devon.

In my view probably the most exciting fish in the world.

What makes them even more compelling for me is the staring eye and mean expression…it’s all totally punk!

Bluefin Tuna. Bad Boy* expression

*or Girl

Big Tuna season is only just getting going. The first to arrive in late summer appear to be smaller fish, with the whoppers moving inshore a bit later.

So Henry, my filmmaker son, and I are waiting in eager anticipation for a repeat of last autumn’s encounter with the giant fish of the ocean…

We think that the fish in this photograph, which is a screengrab from a video filmed by Henry, is the largest tuna ever imaged in the UK in recent times,

I am a mere strippling at 80kgs and this mighty fish must weigh at least five times that much so approaching half a ton!!! Yikes.

It’s probably a good thing I was looking in the other direction.

Especially as it was giving me the glare.

Ospreys! A Day on the Dart

September 10, 2025 by rupertkirkwood, posted in Harbour Seal, osprey

On Monday the sunny forecast and the very high spring tide lured me south to Totnes for a current- assisted saunter down to Dartmouth and a current-assisted saunter back. A 20+ mile trip, so I hope I had read the tide tables properly.

It was the perfect start:

River Dart early morning…heavenly conditions

I habitually paddle along these rivers in complete stealth mode and scrutinise the water close to the banks for the slightest hint of a ripple which might betray an otter.

No otter, but a very slinky Little Grebe aka Dabchick:

There were lots more green scenes before I did a double-take on a large bird perched on a bare branch beside the river.

Osprey!

Perfect…it was sitting and preening in the complete silence of the autumn morning…apart from the cooing of pigeons and mewing of juvenile buzzards.

I felt I was already a bit close for comfort so I sat absolutely still and just drifted on the current…closer and closer.

To my surprise the bird just sat and watched me float past, no more than 20 metres away.

I was surprised to see that this was an adult bird with a more or less unmarked dark brown back. Juveniles have white edges to the feathers on their back creating a scalloped effect.

Previous adults I had seen have been very spooky and it is the youngsters who seem to be more tolerant of humans.

Eyes do not get a lot more piercing than this…

Around the next bend another Osprey was circling above the water with intent. Before I could gather my wits it dropped from quite a height and slammed into the water with a huge splash, completely disappearing from view for a couple of seconds. At last it lumbered up with a fish, fairly modestly-sized, held by a single claw.

Obligingly it performed a large and slow circle, dambuster-style, while I clawed and fumbled my camera out of its dry bag. It was worth the bungling effort:

I was keen to see what species of fish had succumbed to the Osprey’s extraordinary lunge, as I have seen them catch Bass, Grey Mullet and Dab in the estuaries before. This appeared to be a member of the Herring family…probably a herring, possibly a pilchard (although I don’t think they usually venture this far up the creeks) or maybe a Shad.

It flew off to a distant bare branch on a waterside tree to consume the fish as I paddled off down the river. My track converged with a couple in a Canadian Canoe and as I was enthusing about the Ospreys I caught sight of another perched in a broken pine. When this one took flight it was soon followed by another which swept in over our heads…Ospreys three and four.

Osprey number five, which circled into view ten minutes later, has just thrown up a bit of a surprise. I was just sorting out a photo which I was tempted not to include in this blog because it is very poor quality. However it nicely shows the white smudging on the back typical of a juvenile bird…and the bird certainly gives the general appearance of a scruffy and unkempt youth.

There’s a ring on its leg! And you can just about read the number…21.

I have just submitted a report to the Roy Dennis Wildlife Foundation’s website so will hopefully hear back soon with information about where this beautiful bird was hatched. Watch this space.

Would you believe it?..I’ve got a reply already. Thanks to Tim Mackrill and Joanna Dailey for their quick and comprehensive response. This juvenile Osprey is part of an Irish translocation program: brought in from Norway this summer and ringed and released in Dunvegan, Co Waterford around 20 August.

It clearly has itchy feet as it has already been seen at Lopwell Dam, River Tavy a couple of days ago.

Extraordinarily, five minutes later I bumped into another tagged animal.

This was Gnome, a Harbour Seal who had been rescued as a pup in autumn 2023, nursed back to health and released in spring 2024. He owes his contented and relaxed look to The Seal Project and RSPCA West Hatch.

My turnaround point in the estuary was the Dartmouth Lower Ferry. My timing to cross the river was perfect because I was treated to the huffing and chuffing departure of the Kingswear to Paignton ‘express’.

The 11 mile return trip was a slog. As usual I was an hour early so I had to paddle against the tide for two hours. A nasty headwind and acres of sludgy and grey low-tide mudbanks made the time drag even further.

As Always nature came to the rescue, such as this energetic little posse of Redshank:

I only dibble with the River Dart once or twice a year…maybe it should be more often…

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