It is curious how after the first Swallows and Martins appear, they appear to be everywhere. My first swallow of 2012 was at at Wat Tyler on the 17th, the first House Martin at Chafford on the 12th. With several at Purfleet the other day, they seem to be everywhere, I even saw one over Upminster during my driving lesson today and had to apologise to my instructor for being unable to point to it on account of the need to keep my eyes on the road.
One place where there were no hirundines however seemed to be Chafford on Thursday. On a grey morning I woke up unexpectedly early so headed down to get in an hours birding before the work party started. In Warren Gorge I was impressed by a little charm of goldfinches near the back entrance, busily feeding on catkins. It was a surprise to see these adult birds still in their charm like this, I wonder when they will pair off and begin nesting? Great tits were about carrying bits of moss and feathers to line their nests, and chiffchaffs were joined by the distinctive scratchy notes of Whitethroats. I eventually got a good look at a pair of whitethroats in a bush near the visitors centre, into which the female disappeared apparantly also carrying nesting material.
What caught my eye above the lake were not hirundines, but swifts. They look almost black against the sky, where they spend virtually all their adult lives. One by one they came in low over the water, each on a black arc of wing, curved backward like a bow, their body making the arrow. They are such streamlined aeronauts, naturally engineered for a life on the wing. Despite their agility their wing movements were imperceptible, flapping only when an insect necessitated a rapid climb. These birds are ususally late migrants, the last into the country for their breif breeding season, and the first out. They can range for several miles every day and after breeding I suppose there is little about in our dampening islands for them.
After lunch and a wall painted in the visitors centre, I cycled over to Lion Gorge, part of the reserve set in another chalk pit a short distance away. In the water, which is managed by an angling club, crystal clear and has lilly pads in, were several coots swimming, and a heron, wading in water so deep he looked like he was swimming like a duck, with a beak flushed pink and yellow, looking his smartest for the season. I walked down to the weir where I'd often seen grey wagtails before but there were none about. The wind rustled the trees angrily.
Walking on a little, between the tree lined embankment and the water, I heard some distinctive chirping in the trees and saw the recognisable shape of a long tailed tit in the understory. There in front of it was a most adorable sight, three tiny fledgelings, little balls of fluff with tails, and incredibly early, all clustered close together against the threatening elements. I walked away to give them some space. By the time I returned, I'd got my camera out, the acquisitive photographic instinct having got the better of me, but unfortunately the fledgelings had dispersed. I hope minimising my impact was worth missing what could have been a superb photograph.
It wasn't long after looking for the long tailed tits that I saw something which rather surprised me. It was a rounded bird, brown above and off-white below, and almost featureless, apart from a splash of grey around the neck area and what looked like brown stains where its wings met its breast. I'll admit I had to consult the Collin's Guide on this one, and I narrowed it down to a Garden Warbler. Garden Warblers are not common around here, they resemble fat, capless blackcaps, sing very well, and probably pass through Chafford Gorges on passage. Shortly after the Garden Warbler encounter I met a couple of its co-generics, Blackcaps, in a buddleia. Satisfied, I headed back to the Centre with a bird list.
Another hour in Warren Gorge as the day wore on, and this time I walked to Heron point, at the end of a dead-end path, to see what I could see. I added a handsome Great Crested Grebe, and, happily, a smart little Grey Wagtail, grey and yellow, to my list. The coots here had young already, scruffy little black chicks with red heads, already active on the water and being fed by their parents.
Friday 27 April 2012
Saturday 21 April 2012
Purfleet Again, with birds you can dance to...
Yesterday, my good freind Bexx and I decided, a little spontaneously, to take a wander around the RSPB's jewel on the Thames Estuary of Purfleet Marshes, that green and damp oasis which sits between industrial Rainham and Industrial Purfleet. I have described the site before, an open area, with few trees except at the Eastern end of the Reserve, now grazed by substantial numbers of large black cattle, and surrounded by fences of various kinds. When we arrived, it was, inevitably, raining, but the usual goldfinch and chaffinch were on the feeders outside the visitors centre and they were joined by collared and, more unusually, three smart looking stock doves, dark grey with iridescent green flashes on their necks. The casual observer might have overlooked these smart pigeons as woodpigeon, or even feral pigeon, but they are a different species and a very handsome one at that.
We wandered through the copse around the former explosives store, and arrived at the feeders, where we saw no less than three handsome male reed buntings, apparantly quite comfortable in each others company, although less comfortable in ours-we had to wait and stand still for a few moments before they were confident enough to move towards us and onto the well stocked sunflower seed feeders. A couple of Great tits also came down to feed, and there were blue tits about also. A chiffchaff could be heard calling among the wonderful horse chestnut trees, but he was not showing himself. We watched the charming Reed Buntings on the feeders and on the ground, among the straw laid down to save the volunteer who fills the feeders from the worst of the mud, for a little while before continuing around the reserve.
From the Ken Barrat hide we could initially see only a young Mute Swan, calmly enjoying the shallow water, but after we had waited a little while we were joined by a few ducks, a couple of Tufties and some rather manic Gadwalls, a pair, the female easily separated from a female mallard by the broad, orange lines down each side of her bill. They were both diving under the water, reappearing, and chasing each other, on the water, creating no particular impression of the male chasing the female or vice versa. 'Dabbling ducks' like Gadwall feed by up-ending, grazing, or dabbling with their bills in shallow water, they do not usually dive, so I wonder if anyone else has seen similar behaviour. I wonder if they had found some particularly tasty vegetation too deep for them to dive for, or perhaps were simply trying to impress each other.
Walking up through the reeds, on the boardwalk, among the swallows (now arrived in the country, they seem to be visible all over the place) we heard a rhythmic song coming from deep in the reeds. It was comprised of whirrs and scratches, a little electronic, and it had a beat you could tap your foot to! Whoever writes the bird books which describe Reed Warbler song as "unmusical" has clearly not heard any music released in the last 60 years, it calls to mind dance music and is, in my opinion, one of the most underrated of avian vocals, and my favourite singers. Surely no bird has a stronger sense of rhythm? Another Reed Warbler singing a few metres down sounded less experienced, his voice was not quite as strong, nor his rhythm so clear. A Cettis warbler also let forth a burst of high-pitched sound, and a small brown back seen flying between the reeds could have been either species, both nondescript in appearance, they are almost uniform brown, but so distinctive and so different in their vocalisations.
From the high-tech hide we were pleased to see a couple of very smart lapwings, some apparantly sitting on nests, and a distant Little Ringed Plover, a year tick and a spring migrant, which only seems to appear at Purfleet in late April and early May. A Little Grebe was also around doing its cute stuff, and diving about. There were several smart shelducks around and a few more flew in over our heads while we were watching.
Fortress Purfleet brings up its' drawbridge (literally, it has a drawbridge) and locks its gates, somewhat infuriatingly, at five PM, and we were faced with a rather hurried walk to the centre. We came across a couple of very obliging mute swans, big white posers that they are, who let us take a few photos, including of their massive leathery feet. Somewhere above us a Skylark was off on one, raining down its rambling techno on all below. Grey, heavy clouds, almost purple, were beginning to creep over the shooting butts, although the sun still shone in on us. Somewhere, noisy Marsh Frogs croaked and squawked, and although we saw the odd movement of water and heard the odd splash we managed not to see one. A streamlined, elegant looking bird flew over us, and I was surprised to be able to call it, immediately, a whimbrel. Whimbrels closely resemble curlews, which are more common, but the relative shortness of the beak, and the slender, far more elegant build were actually fairly obvious in flight. It darted over the marshes, over the sea wall and across the river. Outside the visitors centre, a dunnock sat on the wire fence, the fortress' perimeter, in full song.
We left the reserve as the "lock-down crew" as they called themselves, were walking the paths locking up the hides, as "fortress Purfleet" was, appropriately, put on lockdown at five PM. Bexx and I watched the swallows on the beach and chatted about future blogging, before deciding to check out one of the Reserve's local pubs, the Royal. Its atmosphere was, we found, perfectly welcoming, and a couple of pints of Titanic ale later, we stepped outside to photograph a fiery sunset, sinking behind moody clouds above the river and the city beyond.
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| View of RSPB Rainham Marshes |
We wandered through the copse around the former explosives store, and arrived at the feeders, where we saw no less than three handsome male reed buntings, apparantly quite comfortable in each others company, although less comfortable in ours-we had to wait and stand still for a few moments before they were confident enough to move towards us and onto the well stocked sunflower seed feeders. A couple of Great tits also came down to feed, and there were blue tits about also. A chiffchaff could be heard calling among the wonderful horse chestnut trees, but he was not showing himself. We watched the charming Reed Buntings on the feeders and on the ground, among the straw laid down to save the volunteer who fills the feeders from the worst of the mud, for a little while before continuing around the reserve.
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| Reed Bunting on the feeder in the Cordite store. |
From the Ken Barrat hide we could initially see only a young Mute Swan, calmly enjoying the shallow water, but after we had waited a little while we were joined by a few ducks, a couple of Tufties and some rather manic Gadwalls, a pair, the female easily separated from a female mallard by the broad, orange lines down each side of her bill. They were both diving under the water, reappearing, and chasing each other, on the water, creating no particular impression of the male chasing the female or vice versa. 'Dabbling ducks' like Gadwall feed by up-ending, grazing, or dabbling with their bills in shallow water, they do not usually dive, so I wonder if anyone else has seen similar behaviour. I wonder if they had found some particularly tasty vegetation too deep for them to dive for, or perhaps were simply trying to impress each other.
Walking up through the reeds, on the boardwalk, among the swallows (now arrived in the country, they seem to be visible all over the place) we heard a rhythmic song coming from deep in the reeds. It was comprised of whirrs and scratches, a little electronic, and it had a beat you could tap your foot to! Whoever writes the bird books which describe Reed Warbler song as "unmusical" has clearly not heard any music released in the last 60 years, it calls to mind dance music and is, in my opinion, one of the most underrated of avian vocals, and my favourite singers. Surely no bird has a stronger sense of rhythm? Another Reed Warbler singing a few metres down sounded less experienced, his voice was not quite as strong, nor his rhythm so clear. A Cettis warbler also let forth a burst of high-pitched sound, and a small brown back seen flying between the reeds could have been either species, both nondescript in appearance, they are almost uniform brown, but so distinctive and so different in their vocalisations.
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| Under an angry sky... |
From the high-tech hide we were pleased to see a couple of very smart lapwings, some apparantly sitting on nests, and a distant Little Ringed Plover, a year tick and a spring migrant, which only seems to appear at Purfleet in late April and early May. A Little Grebe was also around doing its cute stuff, and diving about. There were several smart shelducks around and a few more flew in over our heads while we were watching.
Fortress Purfleet brings up its' drawbridge (literally, it has a drawbridge) and locks its gates, somewhat infuriatingly, at five PM, and we were faced with a rather hurried walk to the centre. We came across a couple of very obliging mute swans, big white posers that they are, who let us take a few photos, including of their massive leathery feet. Somewhere above us a Skylark was off on one, raining down its rambling techno on all below. Grey, heavy clouds, almost purple, were beginning to creep over the shooting butts, although the sun still shone in on us. Somewhere, noisy Marsh Frogs croaked and squawked, and although we saw the odd movement of water and heard the odd splash we managed not to see one. A streamlined, elegant looking bird flew over us, and I was surprised to be able to call it, immediately, a whimbrel. Whimbrels closely resemble curlews, which are more common, but the relative shortness of the beak, and the slender, far more elegant build were actually fairly obvious in flight. It darted over the marshes, over the sea wall and across the river. Outside the visitors centre, a dunnock sat on the wire fence, the fortress' perimeter, in full song.
 | |
| Dunnock Maestro |
We left the reserve as the "lock-down crew" as they called themselves, were walking the paths locking up the hides, as "fortress Purfleet" was, appropriately, put on lockdown at five PM. Bexx and I watched the swallows on the beach and chatted about future blogging, before deciding to check out one of the Reserve's local pubs, the Royal. Its atmosphere was, we found, perfectly welcoming, and a couple of pints of Titanic ale later, we stepped outside to photograph a fiery sunset, sinking behind moody clouds above the river and the city beyond.
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| Purfleet Sunset |
Wednesday 18 April 2012
A walk beside the Pitsea, on the last day of Summer.
On Monday my freind Rebecca and I made our way to Wat Tyler Country Park near Pitsea on the C2C railway in the hope of catching up with some interesting passage migrants and some summer visitors. The park, on the site of a long demolished explosives factory beside Vange Creek of the Thames Estuary, gets very busy at weekends as the people of Basildon flee to their local patch of countryside. As we walked up the path to the RSPB visitors centre, which covers the wider South Essex Marshes landscape, a few swallows flew low over our heads, my first swallows of the year, and a very welcome sight! We had a cup of coffee and a delicious Easter cake as prepared by the RSPB volunteers, and elected to visit first the small RSPB reserve of Vange Marshes. We walked down a grubby footpath beside piles of building rubble, and crossed the railway. The wider landscape is a patchwork of grubby industrial areas, construction sites, landfill traffic, and beautiful areas of scrub and marshland managed for the benefit of wildlife. A building site stretches along the footpath as far as the railway crossing, but upon reaching the other side, the lanscape transforms dramatically. mature shrubs, including plenty of flowering blackthorn and budding hawthorn sit on an area of close, rabbit-grazed grass, giving way towards the river to reedbeds and an area of open water. Plenty of passerines can be heard here, and the calls of chiffchaff, robin and great tit are the most evident. Water was evidently being pumped from one place to another as part of the RSPB's management plan and large hoses had been set up at intervals along the margin of the meadow and marshland.
We walked up to the viewing point beside the water and had a look around. Birds were surprisingly few, but a kestrel hovering above us might have been responsible for some shyness among the passerines. Looking through the metal gates which separated us from the water, we could see a single sleepy Oystercatcher, head under his wing, on one of the islands, and no fewer than four elegant avocets strutting their stuff in the shallows. They seemed to be sticking together in two pairs. It seems these brackish creeks, of which there are several in the wider area of South Essex Marshes, are well used by the species. I was a little disappointed not to see any more waders, having had hopes of catching up with such old favourites from Gialova as Common and Green Sandpiper, both of which have been reported here recently and pass through in some numbers in Spring and Late Summer. A few swallows wheeled about ahead. I hope that now they have arrived, they will appear evident in larger numbers, and return to local breeding sites. Vange Marsh is flat, dotted with scrub on one side, and underwater on the other. Above it rises the hill in the centre of Pitsea, with an old church tower standing on it, and the A130 road flyover beside it. It occupies the land between the railway line and Vange Creek. It is grazed by horses, which we saw messing around and enjoying the spring. We decided not to interrupt them and turned back toward the Country Park.
Walking up the entrance track a second time, as lorries on their way to the landfill thundered by on the other side of a hedge, we were checked out by one of the landfill site foxes, who just ambled nonchalently past. Perhaps more so than even the typically urban foxes one encounters in Upminster, landfill foxes have lost much of their fear of humans, and this one seemed happy for me to get a couple of photos. He looked every bit a handsome, healthy wild mammal, with a thick red-brown coat, and a leisurely gait. When a car passed he knew to stand aside, and eventually wandered off into the bushes.
Borrowing the key from the volunteers at the visitors' centre, we went first to the hide oppposite the Green Centre, housed in the building which used to be the National Powerboat Museum, now sadly closed down. There were plenty of avocets on the scrape, and several gulls of various common species. The scrape at Wat Tyler is actually a substantial body of shallow water dotted with small islands, many of them vegetated. Behind the scrape lie gently rolling hills to the west, and beyond the water, a hedge and a line of trees screen Pitsea Landfill Site, its location betrayed by the distant, but huge flock of gulls which swarm above. Handsome, chestnut-sided Shovellers sat peacefully, scattered among the islands, heads under wings, while pochards floated about, diving occasionally, and being more active. I imagine these winter species will be soon to depart for the North. Among them were a couple of tufted ducks, and several Mallard. A few teal skulked about in the corners of the lake. Among the brown reeds, a repetitious and familiar song rose up, rhythmic, curiously electronic. Another summer visitor, a reed warbler and the singer, alighted breifly on one of the brown phragmites stems. A lapwing was also displaying a distance away. After we had been sitting a few moments, I noticed a few birds becoming agitated at the far side of the scrape, and I took a closer look with the bins. Avocets, Lapwing and teal had gone up, while the larger Gulls and waterfowl appeared unperturbed. It was actually a gentleman seated in the far corner of the hide who called the Sparrowhawk first, I had just missed it behind the reeds, but the smart little hawk soon climbed above them again and flew above us, affording us both good views of its barred underside as it flew past. Apparantly its hunting attempt had been frustrated as there was nothing in its talon.
We watched for a little bit longer and decided to carry on walking around the park, dropping off the keys to the hide with the RSPB volunteers on our way. We reached the creek and found it surprisingly quiet for birds. The tide was well out and the mud exposed. From one of the smaller hides we saw a couple of teal, and decided to wait a little while. There was something of a cool breeze but the sun held good as we looked across the seemingly barren saltmarsh, when a couple of big, handsome, rugged looking curlews arrived, unfortunately landing just a little out of site. A little egret also flew over, trailing its yellow feet, a bird which has gone, in a relatively short space of time and in defiance of a trend, from very scarce to very common around this part of the country. The park is dotted with remnants of its industrial past, when it was used to produce ammunition, and a large, concrete bowl lies beside the creek, apparently it was once used to wash guncotton. Interpretive signage, which is actually quite informative, amusingly reminds you that you are on the explosives trail.
Wandering uphill, past more chaffinches and the common tits, we were able to discern a pair of blackcaps among the hawthorn, already, in a matter of days, growing thick and green enough to disguise any birds hiding in it. The female, who unlike the male has a chestnut coloured crown, looked at me curiously through the leaves. The peak of the hill in the centre of the park, complete with a metal sculpture of what appears to be a woodlouse, but doubles as a musical instrument, affords a good view of the Thames marshes and the mosaic of habitats this surprisingly large, but innaccessible area offers.
We eventually called it a day, and elected to go to the pub. As we walked back toward town,a large bird flew over the access road. It was dark, with long wings and a longish tail, and pale, beige markings about the head. The juvenile marsh harrier, still very scarce in this part of South Essex, was our third raptor of the day. Further down we also got good views of a hovering Kestrel.
Unfortunately, as far as we could discern, Pitsea is a dry town. An old pub, a grand looking place called the Railway, stands boarded up in the centre of the town, advertising a hand carwashing service. Disappointing, but in reality a good days birding had been had.
We walked up to the viewing point beside the water and had a look around. Birds were surprisingly few, but a kestrel hovering above us might have been responsible for some shyness among the passerines. Looking through the metal gates which separated us from the water, we could see a single sleepy Oystercatcher, head under his wing, on one of the islands, and no fewer than four elegant avocets strutting their stuff in the shallows. They seemed to be sticking together in two pairs. It seems these brackish creeks, of which there are several in the wider area of South Essex Marshes, are well used by the species. I was a little disappointed not to see any more waders, having had hopes of catching up with such old favourites from Gialova as Common and Green Sandpiper, both of which have been reported here recently and pass through in some numbers in Spring and Late Summer. A few swallows wheeled about ahead. I hope that now they have arrived, they will appear evident in larger numbers, and return to local breeding sites. Vange Marsh is flat, dotted with scrub on one side, and underwater on the other. Above it rises the hill in the centre of Pitsea, with an old church tower standing on it, and the A130 road flyover beside it. It occupies the land between the railway line and Vange Creek. It is grazed by horses, which we saw messing around and enjoying the spring. We decided not to interrupt them and turned back toward the Country Park.
Walking up the entrance track a second time, as lorries on their way to the landfill thundered by on the other side of a hedge, we were checked out by one of the landfill site foxes, who just ambled nonchalently past. Perhaps more so than even the typically urban foxes one encounters in Upminster, landfill foxes have lost much of their fear of humans, and this one seemed happy for me to get a couple of photos. He looked every bit a handsome, healthy wild mammal, with a thick red-brown coat, and a leisurely gait. When a car passed he knew to stand aside, and eventually wandered off into the bushes.
Borrowing the key from the volunteers at the visitors' centre, we went first to the hide oppposite the Green Centre, housed in the building which used to be the National Powerboat Museum, now sadly closed down. There were plenty of avocets on the scrape, and several gulls of various common species. The scrape at Wat Tyler is actually a substantial body of shallow water dotted with small islands, many of them vegetated. Behind the scrape lie gently rolling hills to the west, and beyond the water, a hedge and a line of trees screen Pitsea Landfill Site, its location betrayed by the distant, but huge flock of gulls which swarm above. Handsome, chestnut-sided Shovellers sat peacefully, scattered among the islands, heads under wings, while pochards floated about, diving occasionally, and being more active. I imagine these winter species will be soon to depart for the North. Among them were a couple of tufted ducks, and several Mallard. A few teal skulked about in the corners of the lake. Among the brown reeds, a repetitious and familiar song rose up, rhythmic, curiously electronic. Another summer visitor, a reed warbler and the singer, alighted breifly on one of the brown phragmites stems. A lapwing was also displaying a distance away. After we had been sitting a few moments, I noticed a few birds becoming agitated at the far side of the scrape, and I took a closer look with the bins. Avocets, Lapwing and teal had gone up, while the larger Gulls and waterfowl appeared unperturbed. It was actually a gentleman seated in the far corner of the hide who called the Sparrowhawk first, I had just missed it behind the reeds, but the smart little hawk soon climbed above them again and flew above us, affording us both good views of its barred underside as it flew past. Apparantly its hunting attempt had been frustrated as there was nothing in its talon.
We watched for a little bit longer and decided to carry on walking around the park, dropping off the keys to the hide with the RSPB volunteers on our way. We reached the creek and found it surprisingly quiet for birds. The tide was well out and the mud exposed. From one of the smaller hides we saw a couple of teal, and decided to wait a little while. There was something of a cool breeze but the sun held good as we looked across the seemingly barren saltmarsh, when a couple of big, handsome, rugged looking curlews arrived, unfortunately landing just a little out of site. A little egret also flew over, trailing its yellow feet, a bird which has gone, in a relatively short space of time and in defiance of a trend, from very scarce to very common around this part of the country. The park is dotted with remnants of its industrial past, when it was used to produce ammunition, and a large, concrete bowl lies beside the creek, apparently it was once used to wash guncotton. Interpretive signage, which is actually quite informative, amusingly reminds you that you are on the explosives trail.
Wandering uphill, past more chaffinches and the common tits, we were able to discern a pair of blackcaps among the hawthorn, already, in a matter of days, growing thick and green enough to disguise any birds hiding in it. The female, who unlike the male has a chestnut coloured crown, looked at me curiously through the leaves. The peak of the hill in the centre of the park, complete with a metal sculpture of what appears to be a woodlouse, but doubles as a musical instrument, affords a good view of the Thames marshes and the mosaic of habitats this surprisingly large, but innaccessible area offers.
We eventually called it a day, and elected to go to the pub. As we walked back toward town,a large bird flew over the access road. It was dark, with long wings and a longish tail, and pale, beige markings about the head. The juvenile marsh harrier, still very scarce in this part of South Essex, was our third raptor of the day. Further down we also got good views of a hovering Kestrel.
Unfortunately, as far as we could discern, Pitsea is a dry town. An old pub, a grand looking place called the Railway, stands boarded up in the centre of the town, advertising a hand carwashing service. Disappointing, but in reality a good days birding had been had.
Sunday 15 April 2012
A walk around the Upminster area.
Thisafternoon I took a local walk, taking in the lake at
Parklands, and the wonderful old trees which surround it, down through the
Forestry Commission's new woodland at Bonnet's wood, set on old farmland
adjacent to the Gerpins lane tip, before doubling back on myself to visit one
of my favourite local nature reserves at Cranham Marsh, a patch of Ancient
Semi-Natural Woodland and marshland not far from the centre of Upminster.
I arrived at Parklands, a lake used by local anglers for carp fishing, in glorious sunshine, passing through the dappled shade of the copse, said to contain some of the oldest trees in the local area, many of which had just begun to come to life with the spring leaf burst. The squawks of Rose Ringed Parakeets, which roost there in the winter, could be heard in the trees, as well as the familiar calls of Great and Blue tits, and a couple of moorhens wandered about in the shallows, visible from the old bridge at the lake's Eastern end. Parklands is essentially an under-used urban park, and numerous beautiful willow trees hang over the water. I soon picked up the call of a chiffchaff, and found the bird in one of the bare Sycamores, which stand further back from the water. A song emanating from the green canopy of one of the willows was less familiar, but investigation revealed a handsome male Blackcap, a predominantly grey bird with a coal black cap, on a branch under the canopy, singing away. Although some blackcaps, probably Central and Eastern European breeders, do winter in the UK, those which sing here in the summer spend their winter around Mediterranean Europe. I recalled the last time I had seen one, I was in Gialova in Greece, last October, where they appeared in large numbers as the Autumn drew in, joining the beautiful resident Sardinian Warblers.
Walking on, bumblebees were busy around the dandelions, but the clouds were drawing in threatening April showers. I saw a female mallard followed by a brood of small ducklings on the water, and felt a few drops of rain, although fortunately the storm passed me by this time. I decided to risk it and continue to Bonnet’s wood, a newly planted area covered with a mix of species including native woodland trees, cherry and apple trees now coming into blossom, and the inevitable pines, representing future timber resources, but non-native to the South East and grown solely for their commercial value. I crossed Parklands car park and the small country lane separating the two areas of public access countryside. Chiffchaffs were here in large numbers and I thought I heard the odd whitethroat in the bushes as I followed the path. A pair of Great Tits were obviously gathering moss for a nest. Although the bulk of the trees here are new plantings, a row of older, pollarded oaks, perhaps centuries old, separated the community woodland from adjoining farmland, and such trees offer abundant nesting opportunities for hole dwelling birds like Great tit. A flock of Greenfinch, possibly passage migrants, flew between the high branches of the pollard stands. Walking onto the adjacent farmland along a footpath, I saw a skylark climbing aloft and singing. Concerned that it may have a nest around, I carefully made my way back down the way I came, as these ground nesters are very vulnerable to disturbance. A pair of Stock Dove flew over my head, and another couple perched in a dead tree. These seemed to, curiously, outnumber woodpigeon here, although a small party of these grazed happily on whatever expensive crops the farmer had planted for them, interrupted occasionally by the loud bang of a gas powered bird scarer, but always returning to the same spot. A close look at a passing Carrion Crow turned out to be worthwhile, as the bird was in fact a rook, separated by the grey base to its bill. The rook is largely a bird of open farmland, apparently less adaptable than other Corvids which have taken well to urban life. Here, however, there was no shortage of open farmland.
Making my way back towards Parklands a smart Kestrel flew low over my head and the Goodyear Blimp, which seems to be a regular feature of local airspace these days, was taking tourists out for trips from the nearby airfield at Damyn's Farm. At the lake I added Coot and Canada Goose to my day list, and saw several chiffchaffs, which do seem to be hear in very large numbers recently. Leaving Parklands through the lovely copse I crossed the suburban main road, and joined the footpath to Cranham marsh, which lead across a patch of litter spotted private land. A patch of bluebells was in flower in a woodland clearing, which I passed before the path angled around past the Crematorium, and onto the reserve. A brightly marked Jay showed me his blue wing flashes as I startled him into flight, and a wren bustled about in the undergrowth. A pheasant could be heard calling. I arrived by the stream and the kissing gate, on the little Essex Wildlife Trust reserve. It could be described as my local patch but to my shame it's been some months since I last visited it.
I took the path along the edge of the woods and saw one of the glorious and
noisy, green Rose Ringed Parakeets which live and breed in the dead trees,
which loom out of the ancient woodland canopy. The marsh itself, which suffered
badly when the M25 building caused much local land to be drained, is more of a
damp meadow, but later in the year it can be a wonderful place for wildflowers
and insects. Birdsong was everywhere, and a great spotted woodpecker flew
across the marsh to settle among the trees. Chiffchaffs and blue tits again,
and, I think, the scratching song of at least one whitethroat, although he was
not allowing me to see him and confirm his presence. The sky was blue and the
sun was shining when I entered the woods, the canopy closing at this time of
year, but, inevitably, by the time I emerged a chill wind was blowing and a
bank of threatening cloud had covered the sun. Conditions were calm enough for
a kestrel to hover over the long grass, a handsome, slate-headed male, and it
wasn't clear if it was this predator, or the changing weather that brought a
silence over the songbirds. A blackbird puffed his feathers as he perched on an
exposed branch, and I saw a few Great tit making for the shelter of the
woodland canopy. The birds seemed to read the coming weather very well. I
walked on in the open, to feel, unexpectedly, not gentle April rain on my face,
but stinging hailstones! The shower was intense enough to convince me to start
heading home! Walking backwards, I looked at the painted scene introducing visitors
to the reserve, which stands beside some impressive wooden carvings of a
Kestrel and a Stag Beetle. It showed an idyllic summer scene, not dissimilar to
the one in which I had arrived at the site. The glass accumulated white
hailstones, the size of small peas, in its corners.
I arrived at Parklands, a lake used by local anglers for carp fishing, in glorious sunshine, passing through the dappled shade of the copse, said to contain some of the oldest trees in the local area, many of which had just begun to come to life with the spring leaf burst. The squawks of Rose Ringed Parakeets, which roost there in the winter, could be heard in the trees, as well as the familiar calls of Great and Blue tits, and a couple of moorhens wandered about in the shallows, visible from the old bridge at the lake's Eastern end. Parklands is essentially an under-used urban park, and numerous beautiful willow trees hang over the water. I soon picked up the call of a chiffchaff, and found the bird in one of the bare Sycamores, which stand further back from the water. A song emanating from the green canopy of one of the willows was less familiar, but investigation revealed a handsome male Blackcap, a predominantly grey bird with a coal black cap, on a branch under the canopy, singing away. Although some blackcaps, probably Central and Eastern European breeders, do winter in the UK, those which sing here in the summer spend their winter around Mediterranean Europe. I recalled the last time I had seen one, I was in Gialova in Greece, last October, where they appeared in large numbers as the Autumn drew in, joining the beautiful resident Sardinian Warblers.
 |
| Mallard and Young at Parklands, Upminster |
Walking on, bumblebees were busy around the dandelions, but the clouds were drawing in threatening April showers. I saw a female mallard followed by a brood of small ducklings on the water, and felt a few drops of rain, although fortunately the storm passed me by this time. I decided to risk it and continue to Bonnet’s wood, a newly planted area covered with a mix of species including native woodland trees, cherry and apple trees now coming into blossom, and the inevitable pines, representing future timber resources, but non-native to the South East and grown solely for their commercial value. I crossed Parklands car park and the small country lane separating the two areas of public access countryside. Chiffchaffs were here in large numbers and I thought I heard the odd whitethroat in the bushes as I followed the path. A pair of Great Tits were obviously gathering moss for a nest. Although the bulk of the trees here are new plantings, a row of older, pollarded oaks, perhaps centuries old, separated the community woodland from adjoining farmland, and such trees offer abundant nesting opportunities for hole dwelling birds like Great tit. A flock of Greenfinch, possibly passage migrants, flew between the high branches of the pollard stands. Walking onto the adjacent farmland along a footpath, I saw a skylark climbing aloft and singing. Concerned that it may have a nest around, I carefully made my way back down the way I came, as these ground nesters are very vulnerable to disturbance. A pair of Stock Dove flew over my head, and another couple perched in a dead tree. These seemed to, curiously, outnumber woodpigeon here, although a small party of these grazed happily on whatever expensive crops the farmer had planted for them, interrupted occasionally by the loud bang of a gas powered bird scarer, but always returning to the same spot. A close look at a passing Carrion Crow turned out to be worthwhile, as the bird was in fact a rook, separated by the grey base to its bill. The rook is largely a bird of open farmland, apparently less adaptable than other Corvids which have taken well to urban life. Here, however, there was no shortage of open farmland.
 | |
| Views of Bonnet's Wood |
Making my way back towards Parklands a smart Kestrel flew low over my head and the Goodyear Blimp, which seems to be a regular feature of local airspace these days, was taking tourists out for trips from the nearby airfield at Damyn's Farm. At the lake I added Coot and Canada Goose to my day list, and saw several chiffchaffs, which do seem to be hear in very large numbers recently. Leaving Parklands through the lovely copse I crossed the suburban main road, and joined the footpath to Cranham marsh, which lead across a patch of litter spotted private land. A patch of bluebells was in flower in a woodland clearing, which I passed before the path angled around past the Crematorium, and onto the reserve. A brightly marked Jay showed me his blue wing flashes as I startled him into flight, and a wren bustled about in the undergrowth. A pheasant could be heard calling. I arrived by the stream and the kissing gate, on the little Essex Wildlife Trust reserve. It could be described as my local patch but to my shame it's been some months since I last visited it.
 | |
| View of Cranham Marsh, from the grazing meadow toward part of the Ancient Woodland | . |
 | |
| View of Cranham Marsh as the Hailstorm Passes. |
By the time I approached the top of the Chase and neared the Church of All
Saints, a lovely old church set in a beautiful, wildlife rich churchyard,
always home to some interesting finches in winter, the sky was blue again.
Dunnocks, robins and great tits had all resumed their songs. Damp, and
admittedly a little surprised by the weather, I made my way home. It's good to
spend a little time just exploring locally.
Thursday 12 April 2012
Does one House Martin make a summer?
At Chafford this morning I spent a good hour or two standing in a lake, picking up empty bottles abandoned by visitors, as April showers chucked buckets of water over me and my colleagues. It was worth it to see another part of the reserve gradually cleared of rubbish, and to see one of the lakes from an angle the public don't usually get to. We continued to work as the rain came down and the birdsong, and constant goose noise, went silent, and the storm past over us.
As we took a break for lunch, the sky began to brighten over the horizon, and gradually the rain eased. It seemed a few moments before the spring chorus began to come back to life, and a chiffchaff opened as the first rays of sunshine began to warm us as we trudged along the slippery lakeside path to pile up the rubbish we'd collected. As we headed up to the centre for a cup of tea, the birdsong, which seemed more intense after the rain, had returned, and we could hear the distinct two note, repetitious call of great tits, and the more melodic song of robins. A cormorant flew across the blue sky, perhaps on his way back from the relative shelter of the gorge to his fishing grounds on the Thames.
More showers passed that day, and sometimes I felt distinctly unspringlike, as I carried on helping with the litter pick in my wet clothes. I had returned to the visitors centre for a cup of tea, when, at the suggestion of one of the volunteers in the visitors centre, the Reserves Manager and I went outside onto the balcony overlooking the gorge-really an old chalk pit-to look at the Cowslips which were beginning to emerge on the steep bank down to the paths. Another bank of cloud was building opposite us, where the weather was coming fron, but for now there was an azure sky above our heads and bright sunshine. Several yellow Cowslip flowerheads, another pretty sign of spring, each composed of several small flowers, delicately nodding downwards with their long calyx, had emerged since my last visit a week ago. We were discussing the impending summer butterflies (a gentleman had shown us a recent photo of a speckled wood he'd taken) when something in the blue sky caught my eye, a small, sparrow sized bird with distinctly pointed wings. It flew straight breifly, climbing up in the air before expertly swooping, slowing, and climbing a little to snatch an insect before gliding in a descending arc towards us, and back over the roof of the building. As it turned the sunlight caught on the metallic blue of its wings and it's pure, bright white rump and underside. I pointed at it and exclaimed something like "House Martin, first of the summer!" It flew one more pass of the roof of the building, and, amusingly, pooed right onto the centre roof, and was gone.
A lot of people have reported swallows or sand martins passing through, but this is the first I have heard of a Housey this year, and it was my first hirundine of the season, and a harbinger of the summer season, which makes it rather a special year tick for me.
As we took a break for lunch, the sky began to brighten over the horizon, and gradually the rain eased. It seemed a few moments before the spring chorus began to come back to life, and a chiffchaff opened as the first rays of sunshine began to warm us as we trudged along the slippery lakeside path to pile up the rubbish we'd collected. As we headed up to the centre for a cup of tea, the birdsong, which seemed more intense after the rain, had returned, and we could hear the distinct two note, repetitious call of great tits, and the more melodic song of robins. A cormorant flew across the blue sky, perhaps on his way back from the relative shelter of the gorge to his fishing grounds on the Thames.
More showers passed that day, and sometimes I felt distinctly unspringlike, as I carried on helping with the litter pick in my wet clothes. I had returned to the visitors centre for a cup of tea, when, at the suggestion of one of the volunteers in the visitors centre, the Reserves Manager and I went outside onto the balcony overlooking the gorge-really an old chalk pit-to look at the Cowslips which were beginning to emerge on the steep bank down to the paths. Another bank of cloud was building opposite us, where the weather was coming fron, but for now there was an azure sky above our heads and bright sunshine. Several yellow Cowslip flowerheads, another pretty sign of spring, each composed of several small flowers, delicately nodding downwards with their long calyx, had emerged since my last visit a week ago. We were discussing the impending summer butterflies (a gentleman had shown us a recent photo of a speckled wood he'd taken) when something in the blue sky caught my eye, a small, sparrow sized bird with distinctly pointed wings. It flew straight breifly, climbing up in the air before expertly swooping, slowing, and climbing a little to snatch an insect before gliding in a descending arc towards us, and back over the roof of the building. As it turned the sunlight caught on the metallic blue of its wings and it's pure, bright white rump and underside. I pointed at it and exclaimed something like "House Martin, first of the summer!" It flew one more pass of the roof of the building, and, amusingly, pooed right onto the centre roof, and was gone.
A lot of people have reported swallows or sand martins passing through, but this is the first I have heard of a Housey this year, and it was my first hirundine of the season, and a harbinger of the summer season, which makes it rather a special year tick for me.
Sunday 8 April 2012
Tangoed Godwits
On a sunny day, after a couple of chill grey ones, I took the train down to Leigh on Sea to meet up with an old freind from volunteering and went to try and see some birds at Two Tree Island, the EWT managed reserve which sits on former landfil in the Thames Estuary, beside the industrial wasteland, holiday destination and historic flood icon of Canvey Island. After a little faff and hassle trying to find each other we strolled down the sea wall, as model aeroplanes buzzed around, part of the reserve being set aside for use by model aeroplane enthusiasts.
We wandered along the sea wall, and I realised, having visited the place what felt like not so long since, that it had started to become much greener, with leaf burst everywhere, and scattered daffodils blooming all over the place. A black, hairy, Tiger moth-type caterpillar walked across the path. We ignored the first hide, from which so little can be seen, and made our way to the hide overlooking the artificial lagoon, a shallow body of saline water, popular with waders at low tide and used by breeding Avocets. Avocets are spectacular, but have become somewhat familiar of late, so it was the Godwits that caught my eye. These grey birds, so often standing in small groups, sombre and smart, had begun their transformation into their summer plumages. The Black-Tailed Godwits, with their white wing bars, visible when they stretched or fluttered about, had been tangoed! They are not seen in this colourscheme in these parts for long, and will soon be continuing their long migration North. They looked quite spectacular in deep, rusty orange, a splash of colour among the typically grey avifauna of these muddy stretches of estuary. Bar Tailed Godwits only occur round here during their passage migration, but this time they were present in quite large numbers, mixing with their cogenerics to form a large flock of about a hundred birds, although they remained in their more sombre winter dress. A few black and white Oystercatchers, and orange-legged Redshanks completed the wader mix.
Immediately apparant on reaching the lagoon was the noise, it has become, in the past few weeks, a gull colony. The squawks of these birds seemed to fill the air. With so many of these notorious nest predators around, one wonders how the island is such an important breeding area for so many waders. Many of them seemed paired up, and only adults appeared to be present, all with the full chocolate brown hood of the breeding season, which they will retain only until about July, when they moult. The juveniles were elsewhere. Some searching revealed a pair of Mediterranean gulls amongst them, although there is clearly little chance of them reaching the same sort of numbers as I saw in Rye the other week. I was amused by one pair of black headed gulls, either relatively young and inexperienced, or having just mated, were in a curious position, as the female was attempting to walk around, while the male, perhaps enjoying the pair bond between them, stood nonchalently on her back. He was making no attempt to mate with her, just standing there looking confused, as she tried to go about her business.
As we left a sign warned us that Adders were common on the island this year. We saw none, and I wondered if the sign had been left up from last year. I would certainly be keen to see one of these venomous snakes, but Friday was not the day. In a Hawthorne bush overlooking the lagoon we found a silken nest of small, hairy caterpillars, each with orange tufts on the read end of its body. Although they were small, I am fairly confident they were Vapourer Moths, a species in which the adult female is, unusually, wingless. Vapourers often have a difficult time as pest controllers, who one would hope, given their responsibilities, know what they're talking about, often mistake them for the more dangerous brown tail moth, the caterpillars of which have urticating hairs, with sad results. large numbers of caterpillars clustered together on the silken mat they had spun, in which more were sheltering.
We wandered up a little, and could hear the sound of a skylark singing in the air, against the din of model helicopters which were now taking their turn above the model air field.
We saw a pair of linnets feeding by the path, evidently paired up and not forming part of the winter linnet flock, which also graces the island and at one point flew over our heads. There was a green woodpecker flying about too, as well as several crows and magpies. A meadow brown butterfly flew by us, and a couple of small whites were also to be seen, and a stonechat perched smartly at the top of a bush.
Ella had to leave in the early afternoon, and after saying our goodbyes I made my way over to the other side of Two Tree Island. Now also managed by the wildlife trust, it represents a more diverse, and in some ways more interesting habitat than the Western side. It contains ample scrub habitats, including some rather stunning blackthorn, it's blossom perhaps a little faded and beginning to fall, as well as reedbeds and two small bodies of fresh water. A chaffinch caught my eye with a good impression of a flycatcher, a dark bird with white on the wings darting from its perch in a tall Hawthorne to catch some of the dance flies. I've not seen this traditional seed eater feeding this way, and it was interesting behaviour. A grey Heron flew over. Blue, great and long-tailed tits all attended the peanut feeder which is kept well stocked by the reserve managers, and a male Reed Bunting, distinct with his black head and white collar, appeared startled and flew past me.
At the first body of water, a concrete edged structure, I saw a pair of Shelducks relaxing in the sunshine, and a couple of black headed gulls. Gone, it seemed, were the bulk of the winter wildfowl, without a shoveller or a wigeon to be seen all day. Mildly disappointed, I continued my walk to the short grass area with benches, which serves as a good spot to observe the bird life of Leigh Green, an area of natural saltmarsh. Out, at a great distance, were a number of curlew, perhaps forty or fifty big brown streaky waders probed with their long, decurved beaks in the mud beyond the saltmarsh vegetation. A few Brent Geese flew over, and landed near the curlews. Strikingly, they were very similar in size, demonstrating what a large bird the familiar curlew is. I scanned around for a smaller one with a shorter beak, in the hope of catching up with a migrating Whimbrel, but I saw none. A flock of brent geese stood on some vegetation out in the direction of southend pier, which stretches a mile out from the headland of southend a few miles East of where I sat. Across the river in kent a chimney spewed grey smoke into the sky, and a bank of cloud had begun to come in from the North, off the land. I walked on, taking a look among the phragmites in the hope of seeing another reed bunting, but I saw none. An explosive burst of song was from a Cettis Warbler, unseen in the reeds, and a wren, also unseen, sang too.
As I walked between the river and the small lake on the south side of Two Tree, I spotted a pair of Moorhens. These swam with their heads low, their necks stretched parallel to the water, and their tails, with their distinct white feathers under their tails displayed, in a sort of dance, rotating in the water to show each other their white undertail patches, whilst moving in a broad, synchronised circle on the water. Not wishing to disturb their courtship, I stepped down onto the saltings, and continued out of site. When I climbed the bank again, I startled a pair of Teal who took to the air. There were black headed gulls here too, but in sharp contrast to those at the lagoon, most of these appeared to be immature birds, with varying degrees of dark markings on their wings.
I reached the end of the path and stepped out, back onto the access track which leads all the way to Leigh station. A few dog walkers passed me, and the light cloud cover became almost complete. I left my favourite local nature reserve and headed back down to Leigh station, taking the time to glance about for bird life on the way, finding nothing of note. Birds were perhaps not present in the numbers I might have hoped, and there was a distinct absence of whitethroat, blackcap and hirundines, which are usually present, but I had seen a few good things and orange Godwits were a welcome, and somewhat unusual sight.
We wandered along the sea wall, and I realised, having visited the place what felt like not so long since, that it had started to become much greener, with leaf burst everywhere, and scattered daffodils blooming all over the place. A black, hairy, Tiger moth-type caterpillar walked across the path. We ignored the first hide, from which so little can be seen, and made our way to the hide overlooking the artificial lagoon, a shallow body of saline water, popular with waders at low tide and used by breeding Avocets. Avocets are spectacular, but have become somewhat familiar of late, so it was the Godwits that caught my eye. These grey birds, so often standing in small groups, sombre and smart, had begun their transformation into their summer plumages. The Black-Tailed Godwits, with their white wing bars, visible when they stretched or fluttered about, had been tangoed! They are not seen in this colourscheme in these parts for long, and will soon be continuing their long migration North. They looked quite spectacular in deep, rusty orange, a splash of colour among the typically grey avifauna of these muddy stretches of estuary. Bar Tailed Godwits only occur round here during their passage migration, but this time they were present in quite large numbers, mixing with their cogenerics to form a large flock of about a hundred birds, although they remained in their more sombre winter dress. A few black and white Oystercatchers, and orange-legged Redshanks completed the wader mix.
 |
| Avocets, Black Headed Gulls, Black and Bar-Tailed Godwits, on the Lagoon at Two Tree Island. |
Immediately apparant on reaching the lagoon was the noise, it has become, in the past few weeks, a gull colony. The squawks of these birds seemed to fill the air. With so many of these notorious nest predators around, one wonders how the island is such an important breeding area for so many waders. Many of them seemed paired up, and only adults appeared to be present, all with the full chocolate brown hood of the breeding season, which they will retain only until about July, when they moult. The juveniles were elsewhere. Some searching revealed a pair of Mediterranean gulls amongst them, although there is clearly little chance of them reaching the same sort of numbers as I saw in Rye the other week. I was amused by one pair of black headed gulls, either relatively young and inexperienced, or having just mated, were in a curious position, as the female was attempting to walk around, while the male, perhaps enjoying the pair bond between them, stood nonchalently on her back. He was making no attempt to mate with her, just standing there looking confused, as she tried to go about her business.
As we left a sign warned us that Adders were common on the island this year. We saw none, and I wondered if the sign had been left up from last year. I would certainly be keen to see one of these venomous snakes, but Friday was not the day. In a Hawthorne bush overlooking the lagoon we found a silken nest of small, hairy caterpillars, each with orange tufts on the read end of its body. Although they were small, I am fairly confident they were Vapourer Moths, a species in which the adult female is, unusually, wingless. Vapourers often have a difficult time as pest controllers, who one would hope, given their responsibilities, know what they're talking about, often mistake them for the more dangerous brown tail moth, the caterpillars of which have urticating hairs, with sad results. large numbers of caterpillars clustered together on the silken mat they had spun, in which more were sheltering.
We wandered up a little, and could hear the sound of a skylark singing in the air, against the din of model helicopters which were now taking their turn above the model air field.
We saw a pair of linnets feeding by the path, evidently paired up and not forming part of the winter linnet flock, which also graces the island and at one point flew over our heads. There was a green woodpecker flying about too, as well as several crows and magpies. A meadow brown butterfly flew by us, and a couple of small whites were also to be seen, and a stonechat perched smartly at the top of a bush.
Ella had to leave in the early afternoon, and after saying our goodbyes I made my way over to the other side of Two Tree Island. Now also managed by the wildlife trust, it represents a more diverse, and in some ways more interesting habitat than the Western side. It contains ample scrub habitats, including some rather stunning blackthorn, it's blossom perhaps a little faded and beginning to fall, as well as reedbeds and two small bodies of fresh water. A chaffinch caught my eye with a good impression of a flycatcher, a dark bird with white on the wings darting from its perch in a tall Hawthorne to catch some of the dance flies. I've not seen this traditional seed eater feeding this way, and it was interesting behaviour. A grey Heron flew over. Blue, great and long-tailed tits all attended the peanut feeder which is kept well stocked by the reserve managers, and a male Reed Bunting, distinct with his black head and white collar, appeared startled and flew past me.
At the first body of water, a concrete edged structure, I saw a pair of Shelducks relaxing in the sunshine, and a couple of black headed gulls. Gone, it seemed, were the bulk of the winter wildfowl, without a shoveller or a wigeon to be seen all day. Mildly disappointed, I continued my walk to the short grass area with benches, which serves as a good spot to observe the bird life of Leigh Green, an area of natural saltmarsh. Out, at a great distance, were a number of curlew, perhaps forty or fifty big brown streaky waders probed with their long, decurved beaks in the mud beyond the saltmarsh vegetation. A few Brent Geese flew over, and landed near the curlews. Strikingly, they were very similar in size, demonstrating what a large bird the familiar curlew is. I scanned around for a smaller one with a shorter beak, in the hope of catching up with a migrating Whimbrel, but I saw none. A flock of brent geese stood on some vegetation out in the direction of southend pier, which stretches a mile out from the headland of southend a few miles East of where I sat. Across the river in kent a chimney spewed grey smoke into the sky, and a bank of cloud had begun to come in from the North, off the land. I walked on, taking a look among the phragmites in the hope of seeing another reed bunting, but I saw none. An explosive burst of song was from a Cettis Warbler, unseen in the reeds, and a wren, also unseen, sang too.
As I walked between the river and the small lake on the south side of Two Tree, I spotted a pair of Moorhens. These swam with their heads low, their necks stretched parallel to the water, and their tails, with their distinct white feathers under their tails displayed, in a sort of dance, rotating in the water to show each other their white undertail patches, whilst moving in a broad, synchronised circle on the water. Not wishing to disturb their courtship, I stepped down onto the saltings, and continued out of site. When I climbed the bank again, I startled a pair of Teal who took to the air. There were black headed gulls here too, but in sharp contrast to those at the lagoon, most of these appeared to be immature birds, with varying degrees of dark markings on their wings.
I reached the end of the path and stepped out, back onto the access track which leads all the way to Leigh station. A few dog walkers passed me, and the light cloud cover became almost complete. I left my favourite local nature reserve and headed back down to Leigh station, taking the time to glance about for bird life on the way, finding nothing of note. Birds were perhaps not present in the numbers I might have hoped, and there was a distinct absence of whitethroat, blackcap and hirundines, which are usually present, but I had seen a few good things and orange Godwits were a welcome, and somewhat unusual sight.
Saturday 7 April 2012
Woodpecker
Wednesday 4 April 2012
Still no Swallows!
On Sunday, the sun came back, and, in recognition of the
arrival of the Easter holiday and keen to try out the new ‘scope my father
bought, we decided to head down to RSPB Purfleet, and this time, managed to
arrive during the site’s opening hours.
Lapwings were about as usual, doing their wheeling thing over the
wetlands, and Wigeon and Shoveller numbers were well down on what we had seen
during the winter. We proceeded at first to the wooded area around the former
Cordite store, an area, now gone to woodland, protected by embankments designed
to contain any explosion in what was, during the site’s military days, which
lasted from the Napoleonic Wars to the 1970s, basically an ammunition dump.
More than one chiffchaff could be heard singing away with its distinct,
repetitive chiff-chiff-chaff call, and a partially leucistic blue tit, with a
white face, hung upside down in a tree pecking at the buds.
 | ||
| Partially leucistic blue tit. |
 |
| Clinging Dunnock |
We got to the area where the feeders are, past a friendly robin who perched on
the end of a handrail, and allowed us to get very close to him. A pair of
Dunnocks were around, and at one point I observed one of these clinging to the
side of one of the feeders. Surely this is a behaviour that these smart little
ground feeding birds have only mastered in recent years? Several male reed
buntings were also around, wearing their jet black hoods, part of their summer
breeding plumage. We were also surprised to see a handsome and very endearing
brown rat foraging at the base of the feeders.
I like rats and find them very charismatic beasts, I wonder if the
legendary colony of Black Rats (Rattus rattus) can still be found near the
docks in Tilbury. I would love to see one, they are among the most endangered
mammals in the country, persecution, and the arrival of the Brown Rat (R. norvegicus)
having largely wiped them out. This Brown
Rat was feeding next to a Collared Dove who seemed completely unperturbed by
his rodent dinner guest.
 |
| handsome Brown Rat |
From the Ken Barrat hide, we saw a handsome Snipe, presumably a passage
migrant, rummaging in the grass with his remarkable beak, and watched what I’m
sure was a Peregrine circling at height, a stocky falcon flying on pointed
wings. This was my first Peregrine of the year and my first at Purfleet for
some time.
Leaving the hide we made our way to one of the platforms
where a birder with another scope had his eye on a pair of Garganey across the
water. Garganeys are small, neat looking ducks, modelled in grey and brown,
without any of the metallic gaudiness of their cogenerics. The handsome male wore a bright white eye
stripe on his brown head, and the female stuck close to him. They became the first scarcer bird I saw with
the new scope. Likely to move North in the next few days, they are unusual
amongst British ducks being a summer visitor, breeding here and wintering
further south.
My folks decided the coffee and cakes of the visitors centre were calling them and I struck out alone to complete the rest of the circuit. Wader passage was in full swing, and a group of Ruff hung out by one of the pools in the Marshland discovery zone. The flock included beige-fronted youngsters, big adult males with bright orange legs, and smaller adult females. Ruffs are very variable in size and plumage and it is sometimes difficult to recognise them. The famed neck collars of the males in lek only develop when they get to their breeding grounds, and disappear soon after lekking is over, but I am sure one of the males I saw, the largest of them, had a patch of fluffy white feathers on his neck which must’ve been the beginning of his spring headgear. A spotted redshank with black summer feathers on his breast was also with them, and a familiar sound, that of Marsh Frogs calling, could be heard, a strange croaking, produced by inflating air sacs behind the frogs’ eyes, could be heard around the Marshland discovery zone. They should only get louder as the season goes on, the first time I heard them a year or two ago the sound was almost deafening and has to be heard to be believed.
My folks decided the coffee and cakes of the visitors centre were calling them and I struck out alone to complete the rest of the circuit. Wader passage was in full swing, and a group of Ruff hung out by one of the pools in the Marshland discovery zone. The flock included beige-fronted youngsters, big adult males with bright orange legs, and smaller adult females. Ruffs are very variable in size and plumage and it is sometimes difficult to recognise them. The famed neck collars of the males in lek only develop when they get to their breeding grounds, and disappear soon after lekking is over, but I am sure one of the males I saw, the largest of them, had a patch of fluffy white feathers on his neck which must’ve been the beginning of his spring headgear. A spotted redshank with black summer feathers on his breast was also with them, and a familiar sound, that of Marsh Frogs calling, could be heard, a strange croaking, produced by inflating air sacs behind the frogs’ eyes, could be heard around the Marshland discovery zone. They should only get louder as the season goes on, the first time I heard them a year or two ago the sound was almost deafening and has to be heard to be believed.
 |
| Marsh Marigold |
Outside the Marshland Discovery Zone, with its hides, stood a clump of marsh
marigold with bright yellow, cup-like flowers, and large, deep green leaves,
contrasting with the still brown phragmites. A few new shoots of the reed had
begun to emerge from the water around it. Still no Swallows, or even Sand
Martins, usually earlier to arrive, were to be seen. The waders and garganey are starting to move
through-but where are the hirundines?
Saturday 31st March at Rye Harbour
I took
the organised coach trip over to Rye Harbour, in East Sussex, with the RSPB local
group, and we arrived there at about half past ten in the morning, parking near
the strange octagonal shed which bears recent sightings lists. It was a grey
day, and as we walked along the path, following the inlet which separates the
Wildlife Trusts' reserve from the popular holiday beaches and dunes of Camber
Sands, a cold Northerly wind blew across the shingle. A grey and windswept
place indeed, the shingle banks on the South side of the reserve were very
sparsely vegetated save for the few patches where new growth Sea Kale, a rare
plant unique in the UK to a couple of South Coast areas, had begun to spring
up, ringed by the dead leaves of last year’s plants. The old farmland, near the
reserve entrance in the town of Rye, was undergoing efforts to return it to the
old shingle habitats, in what seemed like a gargantuan task for the managers.
A pair of avocets were feeding in one of the shallow pools on the former farmland, looking stunning in their white plumage, with an elegance any fashion house could only dream of. Herring and Black Headed gulls made up the bulk of a gull flock sitting on an island in the next scrape we passed, and a couple of meadow pipits flew out over the path, fighting the wind as they arced over our heads and struggled inland against the wind. I breifly went into the small visitors centre, a typically ramshackle affair, dissimilar from the modern stylings of the RSPB's visitors centres, and enquired as to what was about. I was told a lot of people came to see the Mediterranean Gulls, which breed on the reserve. Rather facetiously I told him I lived not far from Southend, where Mediterranean gulls will take bread thrown into the air. I made my way to the two hides, overlooking the Ternery Pools, artificial pools sunk in the shingle, with shingle banks and a series of unvegetated shingle islands. In the first, I looked out over an extensive gull colony. Most of the birds on the nearest islands were black headed. Some sat on the ground as if incubating, others swam in the shallow water. Many of them seemed to have formed pairs, in preparation for the nesting season. Perhaps shyer, another island, another low ridge of shingle protruding from the water, was covered in Mediterranean Gulls. These birds, all white save for a jet black head, red beak and lightly silver upper wings, are among the smartest of gulls in their summer plumage. Only a couple of duller immature birds were about, these apparently staying off the breeding colonies. They clustered in large numbers. I immediately regretted my facetiousness. Although Med Gulls are not uncommon at Southend, and good views can often be had, they are never seen in such densities. A pair sat on the nearest shingle island, their beaks pointed to the sky, engaged in some kind of courtship ritual, perhaps renewing bonds which had not been renewed for some months. One of the birds climbed onto the back of the other and they mated. Spring in the air indeed!
Spring seemed far away as I walked along the coast path, past the abandoned lifeboat station, wreaths of poppies, commemorating some wartime exploit or other, hung from its heavy grey door. The space beside it offered some shelter, so I sat amongst the Sea Kale for lunch, watching long-winged, white Sandwich Terns returning from the sea over me, many of them carrying fish for their nesting partners. The Sandwich Tern is one of the shorter-ranged migrants among the terns, some species of which fly the length of oceans to reach their wintering grounds. In Greece the Sandwich Tern's name translates, I was told during my stay there last year, as winter tern, as this species spends its winters in the Mediterranean region. The next hide overlooked the Ternery pool as well, although on the island in front of me, not gulls, but smart sandwich terns gathered in some numbers, the wind playing on their punky black crests. As the year wears on, Rye usually welcomes substantial numbers of three species of Tern, Little, Sandwich, and Common, although the Sandwich were the only ones to have returned during our visit.
After several minutes in the relentless breeze of the coast path I decided to turn inland. The chap at the visitors centre had promised there were Grey Partridge about, so I decided this was my best chance to catch up with this elusive farmland species. I crossed the old sea wall and took the path beside a curiously turquoise looking freshwater lake, in doing so catching up with some of the other members of the Havering RSPB party. A few tufted ducks and mallards floated on the open water, and a grey heron fished in the distance. I reached the shelter of some trees beyond a gate in the far corner and decided to follow the crowd inland. A singing chiffchaff posed briefly for a photo in a bush. We walked onwards into a wood. Rye is unusual in that amongst the managed nature reserve, there are a few houses and gardens. In one of them sat a pile of wood, the wreckage of disused furniture. It sat on a patch of mown grass surrounded by mature trees, and I spotted a small brown bird in the distance. I wondered if it might have been a whitethroat or some other summer visitor so I paused and waited. The bird flew out of the bushes and settled on the pile of wood. It was a Treecreeper! The Treecreeper is a small, scruffy brown bird with a delicately patterned back and a decurved beak which it uses to hunt small insects in the bark of trees, which it climbs up a little like a woodpecker. The charming little bird at one stage flitted onto a tree just in front of us, affording us brilliant views. Unfortunately it would never stay still for long enough in front of the camera for me to get a decent photo, but it flew to and fro from the wood pile, where it must have found some source of food or other, at one stage it was joined by a second. A few of us watched it for several minutes, before electing to press on.
The Barns in the middle of the reserve are used by breeding swallows, associated with barn owls, and said to be close to the favourite haunts of the grey partridges. Inevitably, we saw none of these species, although someone said a couple of swallows had been over earlier in the day. It was pleasant walking through a vegetated area rather than through the bare shingle. On top of the ridge separating us from the shingle were some of Rye’s conservation grazers, magnificent, big white goats with large, curled horns. Presumably these lovely beasts help to manage the sward. Sightings of possible partridges turned out, through investigation with binoculars, to be either Woodpigeons or Rabbits, and unfortunately they continued to elude me for the rest of the day. A couple of pheasants could be heard calling.
Redshanks fed in the shallows of one of the shingle pools, and a couple of mute swans swan elegantly on the water. One of the young lads with the group spotted a golden plover by the waters edge. It was some distance away, but with the binoculars one could make out the black face and breast this attractive wader wears in summer. It was a good spot, and a lovely looking bird. A further flock of golden plover, numbering fifty or so individuals, flew over our heads and in off the sea, towards the marshes further inland, the birds showing various degrees of summer plumage. A couple of lapwings whistled and wheeled in the air.
Although the Med gulls, golden plover and treecreepers certainly made for an interesting visit, I couldn't help but find the place all the more desolate for the grey weather and feel that I had missed out on some of the highlights the site has to offer. I amused myself photographing a couple of Herring Gulls on a roof while waiting for the coach to depart to take us home. It wasn't until the following day that I discovered my photos were unusually grainy, due to my failure to change the ISO setting on my camera.
 |
| Sea Kale |
A pair of avocets were feeding in one of the shallow pools on the former farmland, looking stunning in their white plumage, with an elegance any fashion house could only dream of. Herring and Black Headed gulls made up the bulk of a gull flock sitting on an island in the next scrape we passed, and a couple of meadow pipits flew out over the path, fighting the wind as they arced over our heads and struggled inland against the wind. I breifly went into the small visitors centre, a typically ramshackle affair, dissimilar from the modern stylings of the RSPB's visitors centres, and enquired as to what was about. I was told a lot of people came to see the Mediterranean Gulls, which breed on the reserve. Rather facetiously I told him I lived not far from Southend, where Mediterranean gulls will take bread thrown into the air. I made my way to the two hides, overlooking the Ternery Pools, artificial pools sunk in the shingle, with shingle banks and a series of unvegetated shingle islands. In the first, I looked out over an extensive gull colony. Most of the birds on the nearest islands were black headed. Some sat on the ground as if incubating, others swam in the shallow water. Many of them seemed to have formed pairs, in preparation for the nesting season. Perhaps shyer, another island, another low ridge of shingle protruding from the water, was covered in Mediterranean Gulls. These birds, all white save for a jet black head, red beak and lightly silver upper wings, are among the smartest of gulls in their summer plumage. Only a couple of duller immature birds were about, these apparently staying off the breeding colonies. They clustered in large numbers. I immediately regretted my facetiousness. Although Med Gulls are not uncommon at Southend, and good views can often be had, they are never seen in such densities. A pair sat on the nearest shingle island, their beaks pointed to the sky, engaged in some kind of courtship ritual, perhaps renewing bonds which had not been renewed for some months. One of the birds climbed onto the back of the other and they mated. Spring in the air indeed!
 |
| Black Headed Gulls |
Spring seemed far away as I walked along the coast path, past the abandoned lifeboat station, wreaths of poppies, commemorating some wartime exploit or other, hung from its heavy grey door. The space beside it offered some shelter, so I sat amongst the Sea Kale for lunch, watching long-winged, white Sandwich Terns returning from the sea over me, many of them carrying fish for their nesting partners. The Sandwich Tern is one of the shorter-ranged migrants among the terns, some species of which fly the length of oceans to reach their wintering grounds. In Greece the Sandwich Tern's name translates, I was told during my stay there last year, as winter tern, as this species spends its winters in the Mediterranean region. The next hide overlooked the Ternery pool as well, although on the island in front of me, not gulls, but smart sandwich terns gathered in some numbers, the wind playing on their punky black crests. As the year wears on, Rye usually welcomes substantial numbers of three species of Tern, Little, Sandwich, and Common, although the Sandwich were the only ones to have returned during our visit.
 | |
| Mediterranean Gulls and Sandwich Terns. |
 |
| The disusued lifeboat station. |
After several minutes in the relentless breeze of the coast path I decided to turn inland. The chap at the visitors centre had promised there were Grey Partridge about, so I decided this was my best chance to catch up with this elusive farmland species. I crossed the old sea wall and took the path beside a curiously turquoise looking freshwater lake, in doing so catching up with some of the other members of the Havering RSPB party. A few tufted ducks and mallards floated on the open water, and a grey heron fished in the distance. I reached the shelter of some trees beyond a gate in the far corner and decided to follow the crowd inland. A singing chiffchaff posed briefly for a photo in a bush. We walked onwards into a wood. Rye is unusual in that amongst the managed nature reserve, there are a few houses and gardens. In one of them sat a pile of wood, the wreckage of disused furniture. It sat on a patch of mown grass surrounded by mature trees, and I spotted a small brown bird in the distance. I wondered if it might have been a whitethroat or some other summer visitor so I paused and waited. The bird flew out of the bushes and settled on the pile of wood. It was a Treecreeper! The Treecreeper is a small, scruffy brown bird with a delicately patterned back and a decurved beak which it uses to hunt small insects in the bark of trees, which it climbs up a little like a woodpecker. The charming little bird at one stage flitted onto a tree just in front of us, affording us brilliant views. Unfortunately it would never stay still for long enough in front of the camera for me to get a decent photo, but it flew to and fro from the wood pile, where it must have found some source of food or other, at one stage it was joined by a second. A few of us watched it for several minutes, before electing to press on.
 |
| Chiffchaff. |
The Barns in the middle of the reserve are used by breeding swallows, associated with barn owls, and said to be close to the favourite haunts of the grey partridges. Inevitably, we saw none of these species, although someone said a couple of swallows had been over earlier in the day. It was pleasant walking through a vegetated area rather than through the bare shingle. On top of the ridge separating us from the shingle were some of Rye’s conservation grazers, magnificent, big white goats with large, curled horns. Presumably these lovely beasts help to manage the sward. Sightings of possible partridges turned out, through investigation with binoculars, to be either Woodpigeons or Rabbits, and unfortunately they continued to elude me for the rest of the day. A couple of pheasants could be heard calling.
 |
| Conservation Grazers |
Redshanks fed in the shallows of one of the shingle pools, and a couple of mute swans swan elegantly on the water. One of the young lads with the group spotted a golden plover by the waters edge. It was some distance away, but with the binoculars one could make out the black face and breast this attractive wader wears in summer. It was a good spot, and a lovely looking bird. A further flock of golden plover, numbering fifty or so individuals, flew over our heads and in off the sea, towards the marshes further inland, the birds showing various degrees of summer plumage. A couple of lapwings whistled and wheeled in the air.
 |
| Flock of Golden Plovers |
Although the Med gulls, golden plover and treecreepers certainly made for an interesting visit, I couldn't help but find the place all the more desolate for the grey weather and feel that I had missed out on some of the highlights the site has to offer. I amused myself photographing a couple of Herring Gulls on a roof while waiting for the coach to depart to take us home. It wasn't until the following day that I discovered my photos were unusually grainy, due to my failure to change the ISO setting on my camera.
 | |
| Herring Gulls, with beautiful lichen. |
Tuesday 3 April 2012
Yellowhammer
To bring it a bit further up to date, on Friday I went to Pages Wood, one of the Forestry Commissions new, volunteer-run woodlands, on the road into Harold Wood and set in former farmland, for a bike ride when I heard one of my favourite sounds, a sound one hears all to infrequently and which belongs to one of my favourite farmland birds. Often transribed as "a little bit of bread and no cheese" it is seven scratchy syllables followed by a longer, higher note. I found the bird not perched openly, but lower in the vegetation. It was of course, a Yellowhammer. The singer, a male with a bright yellow head and breast, darted out of the bushes and was away, but I was able to get quite close to the pretty, slight more subdued but still yellow female, who perched openly for a while in the branches of one of the low saplings. Yellowhammers are beautiful, and not infrequent about these young, planted woodlands although I rarely seem to see them anywhere else. The distinctive call, a sound which takes me back to my childhood, when I seem to recall them being much more common, is something to listen out for next time you're over there or walking across some rough farmland. A proper nice little bird.
Pages Wood also seems to be infested with Green Woodpeckers. There were so many of them, usually appearing in pairs and leaping out of the long grass in response to my approaching bicycle. (I don't like to speed around, but the hard surfaced paths there just call for it.) They are not usually seen in trees. There were also a number of long-tailed tits about and something which flew by in front of me and could have been a whitethroat. It would have been my first of the year if I was confident of the ID. The light was fading and the birds increasingly appeared as silloutes against the sky.
As the sun set on the way back, and I stopped to enjoy it from beside Hall Lane, where the hill on which Upminster sits falls away to the West, towards Hornchurch and London.
Pages Wood also seems to be infested with Green Woodpeckers. There were so many of them, usually appearing in pairs and leaping out of the long grass in response to my approaching bicycle. (I don't like to speed around, but the hard surfaced paths there just call for it.) They are not usually seen in trees. There were also a number of long-tailed tits about and something which flew by in front of me and could have been a whitethroat. It would have been my first of the year if I was confident of the ID. The light was fading and the birds increasingly appeared as silloutes against the sky.
As the sun set on the way back, and I stopped to enjoy it from beside Hall Lane, where the hill on which Upminster sits falls away to the West, towards Hornchurch and London.
Happy Wanderings
It has been a few days, and a few days of exciting weather at that! Wednesday saw Natty and I head off, by bicycle, via a blackthorn blossom-infested Ingrebourne Valley cycle path, towards the RSPB reserve at Purfleet. A breif stop at the valley revealed, in the wet area where the river spreads out, a few lingering Teal and Shoveller, as well as a grey heron, and birdsong everywhere. The familiar sound of early spring, the repetitious, squeaky wheelbarrow call of great tits dominated. The people, too, were out in force enjoying the unseasonal summer sun.
There was little to see along the river path, aside from more of the little white flowers, covering the blackthorns, and plenty of nice fat queen bumblebees, busying themselves on the blossom. Leaf burst on the hawthornes had started, causing the shrubby hedges planted to conceal the landfill and recycling site to appear a little more effective. The few Gorse bushes around the site were also in flower, as they seem to be almost continuously, "kissing is out of season when the furze is out of blossom" and all that. We hopefully kept our eyes open for spring migrants, but saw none. As we reached the RSPB site we caught sight of no less than two hunting Short Eared Owls, echoing the suggestion that these are particularly abundant this year. Large clusters of dancing flies hung on the warm summer air. The cusp of the changing season.
We were frustrated to find ourselves short of time when we arrived at Purfleet and the RSPB reserve, courtesy of the wire fenced fortress' ridiculously breif opening hours, so we hung about outside photographing a very co-operative Collared Dove and some starlings on the feeders in the wildlife garden outside the visitors centre, and the Royal Navy and Police aparantly on manoevers on the river. On the ride back we saw a few lovely linnet and a couple of Shelduck sitting nonchalently on a concrete structure. We reached Ingebourne Hill in time to see the red disc of the sun hanging over the grey smog before slipping behind the towers of the Isle of Dogs. We navigated along the ingrebourne valley back to Upminster in the dark.
Chafford on Thursday was another sunny one, with plenty of butterflies. The Warren Gorge part of Chafford Gorges was host to several peacock, a small white and, unusually, a speckled wood. Warren is a remarkable place, part urban leisure park, part urban nature reserve. The new, red-brick Barrat Homes type developments cling, smart but uninspiring, to the top of a chalk cliff, which descends sharply into the water which seems to represent the edges of the site, except where the paths climb up out of the pit. It is sheltered, and in the sunshine, very warm. Aquatic weeds are burgeoning in the water, and the white blossom of blackthorn and the pink of spindle tree are everywhere, and the hawthorne was in leaf burst, making for strange contrasts with the wintry brown of the Phragmites in the margins. The water is crystal clear and shoals of Rudd, or some other silver sided fish, have begun to emerge from the depths where they spent the winter out of site. The bulk of the floor of the site consists of short sward, kept low by the attentions of grazing Geese. Regularly fed by visitors, the Geese are quite tame, and allowed for me to get very close and take photos of their feathers. Canada and greylag are present in noisy flocks, hissing and honking often, sometimes fleeing madly when a poorly controlled dog gives chase. On Thursday, it was full of young families out with their dogs. The mess the dogs leave, and the litter the people leave, is one of the sites few downsides, and litter picking is regular work for us volunteers there on the Thursday work party.
We saw a pair of Great Crested Grebes, having regained their summer headdresses, apparantly paired off for the season, and Gordon the Moorhen. A young swan seems to have joined the old male swan, known affectionately as The Swan. The swan is a widower, his partner having died, apparantly after ingesting fishing tackle, some years ago. Fishing is now prohibited at the reserve, because of such impacts on the wildlife. Another part of the wider complex is part managed by an angling club who maintain one of the lakes, and effectively prevents poaching. It was good to see two swans on the water again, although it was hard to tell the sex of the youngster, who might indeed turn out to be another male.
We took a walk down the recently reopened path by the visitor's centre, a dead end leading to a muddy promentary into the water. A number of dead trees create something of an alien, jungle-like effect, broken by the sight of houses behind them. A grass snake, my first reptile of the year and well out of hibernation, swam through the shallows, and the most brilliantly marked peacock butterfly, the purple in its forewing eyespots almost metallic and dayglow simultaneously paused to take in the sun on the compacted mud. As the sunlight shimmered on the water it felt like summer, and so far from the hell-in-a-greenhouse of the Lakeside shopping centre, just a stones throw away in another chalk pit closer to the river.
There was little to see along the river path, aside from more of the little white flowers, covering the blackthorns, and plenty of nice fat queen bumblebees, busying themselves on the blossom. Leaf burst on the hawthornes had started, causing the shrubby hedges planted to conceal the landfill and recycling site to appear a little more effective. The few Gorse bushes around the site were also in flower, as they seem to be almost continuously, "kissing is out of season when the furze is out of blossom" and all that. We hopefully kept our eyes open for spring migrants, but saw none. As we reached the RSPB site we caught sight of no less than two hunting Short Eared Owls, echoing the suggestion that these are particularly abundant this year. Large clusters of dancing flies hung on the warm summer air. The cusp of the changing season.
We were frustrated to find ourselves short of time when we arrived at Purfleet and the RSPB reserve, courtesy of the wire fenced fortress' ridiculously breif opening hours, so we hung about outside photographing a very co-operative Collared Dove and some starlings on the feeders in the wildlife garden outside the visitors centre, and the Royal Navy and Police aparantly on manoevers on the river. On the ride back we saw a few lovely linnet and a couple of Shelduck sitting nonchalently on a concrete structure. We reached Ingebourne Hill in time to see the red disc of the sun hanging over the grey smog before slipping behind the towers of the Isle of Dogs. We navigated along the ingrebourne valley back to Upminster in the dark.
Chafford on Thursday was another sunny one, with plenty of butterflies. The Warren Gorge part of Chafford Gorges was host to several peacock, a small white and, unusually, a speckled wood. Warren is a remarkable place, part urban leisure park, part urban nature reserve. The new, red-brick Barrat Homes type developments cling, smart but uninspiring, to the top of a chalk cliff, which descends sharply into the water which seems to represent the edges of the site, except where the paths climb up out of the pit. It is sheltered, and in the sunshine, very warm. Aquatic weeds are burgeoning in the water, and the white blossom of blackthorn and the pink of spindle tree are everywhere, and the hawthorne was in leaf burst, making for strange contrasts with the wintry brown of the Phragmites in the margins. The water is crystal clear and shoals of Rudd, or some other silver sided fish, have begun to emerge from the depths where they spent the winter out of site. The bulk of the floor of the site consists of short sward, kept low by the attentions of grazing Geese. Regularly fed by visitors, the Geese are quite tame, and allowed for me to get very close and take photos of their feathers. Canada and greylag are present in noisy flocks, hissing and honking often, sometimes fleeing madly when a poorly controlled dog gives chase. On Thursday, it was full of young families out with their dogs. The mess the dogs leave, and the litter the people leave, is one of the sites few downsides, and litter picking is regular work for us volunteers there on the Thursday work party.
We saw a pair of Great Crested Grebes, having regained their summer headdresses, apparantly paired off for the season, and Gordon the Moorhen. A young swan seems to have joined the old male swan, known affectionately as The Swan. The swan is a widower, his partner having died, apparantly after ingesting fishing tackle, some years ago. Fishing is now prohibited at the reserve, because of such impacts on the wildlife. Another part of the wider complex is part managed by an angling club who maintain one of the lakes, and effectively prevents poaching. It was good to see two swans on the water again, although it was hard to tell the sex of the youngster, who might indeed turn out to be another male.
We took a walk down the recently reopened path by the visitor's centre, a dead end leading to a muddy promentary into the water. A number of dead trees create something of an alien, jungle-like effect, broken by the sight of houses behind them. A grass snake, my first reptile of the year and well out of hibernation, swam through the shallows, and the most brilliantly marked peacock butterfly, the purple in its forewing eyespots almost metallic and dayglow simultaneously paused to take in the sun on the compacted mud. As the sunlight shimmered on the water it felt like summer, and so far from the hell-in-a-greenhouse of the Lakeside shopping centre, just a stones throw away in another chalk pit closer to the river.
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