The headwind whistles straight into my face at full force. This is already the third day in a row with headwinds. Grains of sand are literally flying across the road, making my teeth grind in the most literal sense. Despite pushing over 200 watts, I crawl along at not even 20 km/h and need more than five hours to cover 100 km. Slowly but surely, the wind starts to wear on my mood. At the latest when I realize that I won’t be able to reach my desired destination that day, my spirits sink for a while. A hearty meal and several slices of cake for dessert lift my mood again. Refreshed and re-energized, I set off toward the beach. After several weeks in the desert, during which I had essentially only seen water packaged in plastic bottles or in hotel rooms, the feeling of walking barefoot through the wet sand is indescribable. With deafening noise, the waves roll against the shore while the wind sweeps across the beach. The seagulls, however, seem completely unfazed by all of it.
During my walk, I also come across a few “long-knowns” who, unlike me, spend the cold season here in the south every year. A few ruddy turnstones are wandering about on the rocks.
On the sandy beach, sanderlings run back and forth along the water’s edge. The little guys are truly quick and nimble in their movements.
In this way, I unexpectedly still manage to get a few shots on this stormy day.
The next morning, I set out for the exploration of the intended area, a day later than planned. The landscape is impressive: the sand dunes of the Sahara meet a lagoon and the Atlantic Ocean.
The lagoon is a real magnet for birds – not because of the beautiful landscape, but because of the abundant food in the mudflats. After the rather lonely weeks in the desert, during which I saw only a few birds, I am now almost a bit overwhelmed by the sheer number of birds congregating in such a small area.
Even though many of the species could be observed in Switzerland on an exceptionally good day -and I wouldn’t have to cycle nearly 6,000 km one way for that – the surroundings, with the dunes in the background, particularly fascinate me.
Ever since I came across a few photos of this lagoon while researching Morocco, I’ve been wanting to visit this region. In my mind’s eye, I’ve already taken countless photos. But once on site, once again, some things turn out to be more complicated than I had imagined. For example, the flamingos are far shyer than I’m used to from the Camargue.
My tension on the first evening rises with every passing minute. A photo of a flamingo with the Sahara dunes in the background at sunset is my dream. To my surprise, there are relatively few flamingos present, so I don’t have many chances. I cannot afford any mistakes while approaching them. Therefore, I decide to wait as long as possible at a safe distance first, hoping the flamingos won’t fly away before sunset. Impatiently, I check the time almost every minute – I can hardly endure the waiting. After what feels like an eternity, the light finally turns reddish.
Now I have a few minutes at my disposal before the whole magic is gone. I can position myself so that a group of flamingos stands in front of the sand dunes, illuminated by the last rays of the sun.
A moment just as I had dreamed of. Preserved not only in my memory, but fortunately also on the memory card 😉
This magical light fades far too quickly.
In the following days, despite many attempts, I don’t get a similar opportunity again. One morning, it even starts raining as I make my way to the flamingos. I already wonder whether I shouldn’t just turn back and get cozy again in my warm sleeping bag. But by now, it’s somehow too late for that. A few minutes later, I’m still walking barefoot through the mud in a sort of daze when suddenly a section of a rainbow lights up. Instantly, I’m wide awake. I try as quickly as possible to find a few flamingos that I can photograph with the rainbow in the background. A shot I definitely hadn’t expected – but sometimes, fortunately, surprising opportunities do present themselves 😉
As the intensity of the rainbow over the flamingos fades, it now appears even stronger on the other side.
Moments like these make up for the many days when things don’t go as planned, and the memory card remains almost empty. The wind is a constant companion practically throughout my entire stay in the area. At least during these days, I don’t have to fight against it on the bike for hours. In slightly stormy conditions, the flamingo demonstrates its balancing skills with a one-legged stance.
The sun rises quickly each time, causing the contrasts to become harsh very fast.
On the last evening in the area, I manage to photograph a small group of flamingos with the full moon. Due to the haze, the moon is only visible relatively high in the sky, and I nearly missed this shot.
On most days, however, luck isn’t entirely on my side – or I handle things too clumsily – and the flamingos take off before I can get even a halfway decent photo. It works out well, though, because I encounter many other species. The number of different bird species in the lagoon amazes me anew every day. Instead of the flamingos, I manage to photograph, among others, a slender-billed gull in flight.
When the flamingos are absent, the numerous shorebirds naturally take center stage. While individual shorebirds can be very tame during migration in Switzerland, here they move in groups. As soon as I approach them, usually one bird takes flight far too early, and the whole group disappears with it. Sneaking up through the mud is definitely not one of my strengths. Waiting in a suitable spot doesn’t work very well either, especially since I don’t have the equipment to properly conceal myself. True to the motto “struggling and having a hard time,” I fumble with the shorebirds, hoping that eventually a tame individual will appear among them. It still doesn’t really work. Eventually, I do manage to catch a curlew – a species that is generally quite shy. Among the shorebirds here, only redshanks and black-tailed godwits are similarly wary, often flying off from dozens of meters away – and to my annoyance, they always have to call loudly while doing so. This successfully alarms all the nearby shorebirds, making any further approach even more difficult for me.
Spending the winter here like a migratory bird in the warmth definitely has its appeal. The days are longer, and without the nasty wind, it would be pleasantly mild. I’m almost a bit envious of the migratory birds that head south anew every winter, and at the same time, I marvel at their endurance. It took me quite a while on the bike to make my way to southern Morocco. If I could cover long distances as quickly as these long-distance travelers, I’d probably come back again next year. Mentally, however, I now have to prepare myself to slowly but surely head back north, and thus into colder regions.
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