Sand martins on the island of Poel, Mecklenburg-West Pomerania

Recently, someone asked me what my most beautiful birdwatching experience has been so far. Wow – what a tough question! Without hesitation, I replied, “That’s really hard to say.”

How can you possibly choose just one moment from so many wonderful encounters with birds? How could I decide between the common nightingales (left photo), singing their hearts out on warm Berlin nights in Prenzlauer Berg, and the Eurasian skylarks (right photo), trilling high above the wide-open spaces of Tempelhofer Feld?

And this post is all about those sand martins on the island of Poel.

But before I dive into the fascinating world of these agile little flyers, it’s worth taking a brief look at the place where they appear: Where exactly is the island of Poel? What makes it special? And what other bird species can be found there?

During my visit, I was clearly focused on the sand martins – so this part is by no means comprehensive. But I’d still like to give you a small impression of the island as I experienced it, and especially share which other birds I saw or heard along the way.

Poel lies about ten kilometers north of Wismar, right on the Baltic Sea. It’s easy to reach – even by bike. I, too, started my tour in Wismar and set off on two wheels toward this peaceful, charming island.

A bit further down, I’ll share more about my bike tour from Wismar to the island of Poel – along with a few photographic impressions captured along the way.

Even on the way to Poel, during my ride, I encountered plenty of birds.

Right at the beginning, I noticed a white wagtail, confidently strutting across the bike path, unfazed by passing traffic – constantly searching for small insects, as if it were perfectly at home there.

On the way toward Poel, I kept stopping again and again to take in the diverse bird songs and encounters. But at some point, I decided: no more breaks now — after all, I still wanted to reach the sand martins on the island of Poel.

Besides the sand martins, I heard and saw many other birds: common nightingale, common chiffchaff, yellowhammer, great tit, Eurasian skylark, and house sparrow. Once, I even caught the call of a common pheasant — just very briefly, but instantly recognizable, as this distinctive sound reminded me of my trip to Borkum.

I especially wanted to take a photo of a lesser whitethroat to show here. Unfortunately, it was too quick, and I was too slow. But I did manage to record its song — so it remains one of the most beautiful birds vividly in my memory.

Just as I couldn’t discover the entire birdlife of the island of Poel, the island itself largely remained a mystery to me. With an area of just over 35 square kilometers, Poel isn’t huge, but for someone like me who likes to linger, look closely, and not just quickly “tick everything off,” a day trip is far from enough.

By the way, the island has around 2,500 inhabitants, most of whom live in the largest village – Kirchdorf. On a bike tour to see the sand martins on the island of Poel, the route passes through Kirchdorf – unless you take the path toward Gollwitz. I didn’t venture that way, though.

Instead, I headed in the opposite direction, between Timmendorf and Brandenhusen, where there are supposed to be steep cliffs – exactly where the sand martins have their nesting holes. And indeed, I was able to see the cliffs with my own eyes.

But there was no sign of sand martins at the cliffs. Although a few swallows were flying back and forth at Timmendorf Beach, it was pretty quiet along the cliffs.

The path along the cliffs from Timmendorf Beach also seemed quite difficult and hardly passable.

So, what to do?

I wasn’t alone there, but no one really seemed brave enough to walk along the cliffs. After some thought, I finally decided to continue by bike and try to reach the cliffs from the other side. So I headed toward Brandenhusen — though not all the way into the village — hoping to find access to the cliffs there.

Photographing the sand martins was anything but easy.

How was I supposed to know exactly when one would leave its nest? And when one was approaching, everything happened so fast that I could hardly keep up with the camera.

Yes, I admit – it was frustrating at times.

But that was okay.

I was in a phase where I wanted to approach photography more calmly anyway. Not every shot had to be perfect. What mattered far more was the experience – the watching, the being there.

Still, I kept trying. And eventually – there they were. The sand martins appeared, and at last, I was able to catch them a little more clearly through the lens.

Around midday, things were still fairly quiet – only a few sand martins showed themselves now and then.

But as the afternoon went on, I noticed an interesting pattern: the birds seemed to fly off in small groups, disappear for five to fifteen minutes, and then return together to their nesting holes.

Why did they do that? Did they feel safer in a group? Were they foraging together? And why hadn’t I observed this behavior at another cliff face?

So many questions – and that’s exactly what made watching them so fascinating!

Carefully, I moved a little closer – I wanted to take a better look. It quickly became clear to me: these sand martins were noticeably smaller than the swallows I was used to.

With a body length of just 12 to 13 centimeters, the sand martin is actually the smallest swallow species in Europe.

Its appearance is as delicate as it is distinctive: the upper parts are earthy brown, while the underside shines bright white – marked by a narrow, gray-brown band across the chest. The undersides of the wings appear darker, almost shadowy. And its tail? Only slightly forked – a subtle but typical detail.

The lower bird seemed unimpressed – its behavior almost resembled a quiet scolding.

In response, the upper bird gave up, quietly settled beside it on the branch, and remained silent.

Speaking of reproduction: sand martins are typical colonial breeders.

When they return from their wintering grounds in April, they look for existing nesting holes in steep banks – or dig new ones. These burrows can reach up to 70 centimeters deep into the soil. At the end, there is a small nesting chamber, softly lined with grasses, stalks, and occasionally a few feathers.

The female lays about four to seven eggs there, which are then incubated by both parents for around two weeks. Both parents also share the task of raising the young – until the little sand martins leave their protective nest about 20 days later and set out into the wide world.

I spent several hours at the cliff, observing and waiting.

By late afternoon, the activity noticeably increased – the sand martins became more and more active. More and more of them appeared near their nesting holes, flying in and out, calling to each other, or gliding through the air in graceful arcs.

I hardly knew where to look first. It was simply beautiful – a small wonder of nature that completely captivated me.

What fascinated me most was how many of them suddenly sat in front of their nesting holes – close together, as if they had agreed to take a brief pause before taking to the skies again.

A quiet moment of stillness amid the bustling life.

For me, it was a great fortune – indeed, a true privilege – to be able to observe these sand martins in their breeding grounds on the island of Poel.

As mentioned earlier, these birds rely on steep banks – like those found here on Poel. But they are not only found along the coast: sand martins can also be observed today in sand and gravel pits.

In the past, they were almost exclusively native to natural steep riverbanks and coastal cliffs. But with the disappearance of these original habitats – due to construction, erosion, or changes in land use – they have been forced to find new breeding sites. And so they adapt as best they can – in an ever-changing world.

Since sand martins rely on flying insects as a food source, the decline in insect populations naturally might have a negative impact on them as well. According to NABU (as of 2019), between 85,000 and 135,000 pairs breed in Germany. Across Europe, the number is estimated to be around 3.6 to 8 million breeding pairs.

However, sand martins are not only native to Europe: they are also found in large parts of North America and Asia. The North American populations overwinter in South America – making the sand martin one of the almost globally distributed swallow species.

It is difficult to say exactly how the decline in insects affects sand martins – at least, I haven’t found any study so far that investigates this connection in detail.

What is clear, however, is that according to NABU, the loss of suitable habitats is increasingly becoming a problem for the species. Even so-called secondary habitats like gravel and sand pits do not offer sand martins a permanently secure breeding site.

Complicating matters further is the fact that they rely on open, vegetation-free areas near cliffs – only in this way can they freely access and leave their nesting burrows.

One aspect of birdwatching that I don’t want to leave unmentioned is the great responsibility we have towards the animals – especially when observing them in sensitive places like their nesting holes. Here, consideration is not a courtesy but a necessity.

Before writing this post, I spent a long time thinking about whether I should mention the steep bank area on the island of Poel (though one could have just googled it). During my observations, I was mostly alone, but occasionally hikers passed by. Maybe they weren’t that interested in the sand martins? In the end, I decided to mention the area – but not without clearly emphasizing what really matters:

Birdwatching requires respect – especially during the breeding season.

Disturbances can have serious consequences: many birds are extremely sensitive to approaches during the breeding season and may abandon their clutch in the worst case.

In the end, it is precisely those who observe with patience and mindfulness who are rewarded with the most beautiful moments. Because it takes both: patience – to wait until sand martins leave or return to their burrows – and consideration – because if they feel too much disturbance, they may withdraw and perhaps never come back.

I decided to write about the steep banks on the island of Poel because observing sand martins is something deeply moving for me. And I hope that even more people will become enthusiastic about these fascinating birds. Because besides insect decline and habitat loss, it is above all human ignorance that is harming many species – not just the sand martins.

I am convinced: We only protect what we know and love. That’s why it’s important to share knowledge and enthusiasm – in the hope that it spreads further. Maybe with this post, I can reach a few people who are just as passionate about these little aerial artists – and maybe inspire others in turn.

Before I conclude, I would like to share some photographic impressions of the landscapes I encountered on my bike tour.

The island of Poel is connected to the mainland by a road – so traveling by ferry is not necessary. For me, the bicycle was the ideal choice: it allowed me to stop flexibly, consciously take in the surroundings, and take a few photos.

However, I had to remind myself again and again not to stop too often or for too long – after all, my main goal was the sand martins. That’s why the photo selection is limited but hopefully still gives a small impression of the scenic beauty between Wismar and the island of Poel.