This afternoon, after the inevitable fortnightly trip to the
job centre and a struggle to find the only veggie pastie in Hornchurch, I took
a bike ride over a gloomy Hornchurch Country Park. I rode up to the view point
over the Ingrebourne Valley SSSI. If the spring had reached Chafford Gorges
yesterday, it didn’t feel like it had reached Hornchurch. The sky was a muddy
grey, and there would be no butterflies for me today. A pair of handsome Jays,
taking flight in front of my bicycle, provided a welcome to one of my favourite
local birding sites. Flocks of woodpigeon, in substantial numbers, appeared to
follow the river towards the Thames, suggesting some form of mass migratory
movement, the grey birds clawing their way through the murk. The woodpigeon is
usually considered a resident species, but in winter its numbers are bolstered
by irruptive migrations from the North and East. Where the river widened into reed
beds and open water, two Little Egrets fished. In other seasons the roosts of
these dainty white herons, familiar to anyone following this blog who spent
time with me in Gialova, reach quite impressive proportions. The dazzling birds
looked out of place on a day like this.
A couple of juvenile Grey Herons looked much more in keeping with the
scene, standing like sentries in their field grey uniforms.
Hornchurch Country Park is set on the margin of the former
RAF Hornchurch, a Second World War airfield, which once echoed to the sounds of
Spitfire engines and bombs. Pill boxes and the concrete bases of AA gun
emplacements dot the landscape, once looking out across the marshes of the
Ingrebourne for approaching enemy paratroopers. I paused to sit on one of these
to scan the reeds for life. A couple of teal flew low over the reeds, but
nothing could be seen beneath them. Bitterns have been known to appear here in
the winter, but I saw none. As I rode on I passed a sombre memorial, not to the
young men of Fighter Command but to a local man who had recently passed
away.
The park lake was still undergoing work to restore some of its banks to make it safer for visitors, and it seemed all the bird life had left, disturbed by the continuing earthworks. A few Canada geese and coots were all that had stuck around. In summer Grebes and other waterfowl breed there. The earthworks seemed to have left rich pickings for moorhens, which forages on the banks. I rode on, past a few little flocks of long-tailed tit and under a seemingly continuous stream of woodpigeon. A few Canada geese flew over recalling a scene from the prairies of North America. I continued up to Ingrebourne Hill, a commanding view over Berwick Ponds, a lake used for fishing, and the industrial Thames Gateway and the town of Rainham. On a clear day commanding views of London can be had but this was anything but a clear day. The tower blocks of Romford and the wind turbines outside the old Ford plant in Dagenham made for a view to be reflected upon more than enjoyed. I scanned the grassland for birds and caught sight of a large bird flapping lazily on broad wings over the edge of the open space. The white patterns on its underside and its brown, rugged appearance, together with its proportions made it a Buzzard. Marsh Harriers have also been seen to use this site.
I turned and rode down the hill until a familiar rhythmic babbling sound made me stop. These birds always call to my mind techno music, although they are one of the typical sounds of the English countryside, becoming scarcer as their habitat falls victim to intensive agriculture. It was a Skylark. Through the binoculars I could make out a small bird circling in the grey sky on short triangular wings, singing its heart out. I listened for a few minutes, as the bird climbed higher, almost disappearing from view, to a mere dot in the field of my binoculars, before deciding it had reached the end of its song flight and dropping rapidly back down into the grass, leaving me in silence. Perhaps summer is not so far away as the gloom made it seem. Lovely stuff. In the small patch of woodland on the main cycle track I saw a couple of handsome male Chaffinches, their worn spring plumage looking very smart indeed. I stopped briefly at the viewpoint again and saw the teal having a leisurely swim in the shallows. A green woodpecker with a brilliant red crown and yellow rump flew by with its distinctive, undulating flight. By now the light had begun to fade and I rode back down the hill to the river Ingrebourne, and I followed its meanders back towards Upminster through the succession of small urban parks which border it. I stopped to look at one of the crows. A rook is an unusual bird to see so close to towns these days, but one of these archetypal country corvids was still foraging in the short, mown grass, the grey on its beak and face setting it apart from the carrion crows. A few paces later an attractively leucistic individual of the latter flew by into a tree, with symmetrical white patches on its primaries. My journey past Hornchurch stadium, home of Hornchurch AFC, and through Upminster Park was uneventful, with few birds to be seen. But a Buzzard, a Rook and the enchanting song of a skylark had already made the trip thoroughly worthwhile.
The park lake was still undergoing work to restore some of its banks to make it safer for visitors, and it seemed all the bird life had left, disturbed by the continuing earthworks. A few Canada geese and coots were all that had stuck around. In summer Grebes and other waterfowl breed there. The earthworks seemed to have left rich pickings for moorhens, which forages on the banks. I rode on, past a few little flocks of long-tailed tit and under a seemingly continuous stream of woodpigeon. A few Canada geese flew over recalling a scene from the prairies of North America. I continued up to Ingrebourne Hill, a commanding view over Berwick Ponds, a lake used for fishing, and the industrial Thames Gateway and the town of Rainham. On a clear day commanding views of London can be had but this was anything but a clear day. The tower blocks of Romford and the wind turbines outside the old Ford plant in Dagenham made for a view to be reflected upon more than enjoyed. I scanned the grassland for birds and caught sight of a large bird flapping lazily on broad wings over the edge of the open space. The white patterns on its underside and its brown, rugged appearance, together with its proportions made it a Buzzard. Marsh Harriers have also been seen to use this site.
I turned and rode down the hill until a familiar rhythmic babbling sound made me stop. These birds always call to my mind techno music, although they are one of the typical sounds of the English countryside, becoming scarcer as their habitat falls victim to intensive agriculture. It was a Skylark. Through the binoculars I could make out a small bird circling in the grey sky on short triangular wings, singing its heart out. I listened for a few minutes, as the bird climbed higher, almost disappearing from view, to a mere dot in the field of my binoculars, before deciding it had reached the end of its song flight and dropping rapidly back down into the grass, leaving me in silence. Perhaps summer is not so far away as the gloom made it seem. Lovely stuff. In the small patch of woodland on the main cycle track I saw a couple of handsome male Chaffinches, their worn spring plumage looking very smart indeed. I stopped briefly at the viewpoint again and saw the teal having a leisurely swim in the shallows. A green woodpecker with a brilliant red crown and yellow rump flew by with its distinctive, undulating flight. By now the light had begun to fade and I rode back down the hill to the river Ingrebourne, and I followed its meanders back towards Upminster through the succession of small urban parks which border it. I stopped to look at one of the crows. A rook is an unusual bird to see so close to towns these days, but one of these archetypal country corvids was still foraging in the short, mown grass, the grey on its beak and face setting it apart from the carrion crows. A few paces later an attractively leucistic individual of the latter flew by into a tree, with symmetrical white patches on its primaries. My journey past Hornchurch stadium, home of Hornchurch AFC, and through Upminster Park was uneventful, with few birds to be seen. But a Buzzard, a Rook and the enchanting song of a skylark had already made the trip thoroughly worthwhile.
No comments:
Post a Comment