the meaning of life not contained within this post

Yesterday was dominated by one thing. Fog. As the day progressed, the fog got worse. By nightfall (or perhaps more accurately, midafternoonfall) the visibility was down to a miserable forty or so metres, and was turning the edges of bushes to ice. Not the trees. Not sure if I’ve actually got any trees here. Needless to say that the birding was lousy. So bad in fact that I actually counted the Herring Gulls.

There were 43.

If there had been one less then I could have pontificated about the number of Herring Gulls on a foggy east Norfolk beach in December being linked to the meaning of life and everything. But 43 there was. And very little else.

Today has improved weather wise and bird-wise as I managed to get a crafty peek at a socking great 60 Snow Buntings behind the beach.

Niiiice.

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