I’m off to Staffordshire tomorrow, in search of the holy trinity of woodland passerines Pied Flycatcher, Redstart and Wood Warbler. In view of that, and it having been a while since I last posted, I’m going to brave the slow desktop computer, substitute for a laptop which, it turns out, was far to fragile, to share a few highlights, from a week in which the sky remained ashen and the drizzle rarely abated, except to pour.
Saturday 28th April and the RSPB local group took us up to Paxton Pits in Cambridgeshire, in search of spring passerines, and other wildlife. Paxton is a sort of patchwork of beautiful wetland, scrub and open water, and, on the day of our visit, the wetland got wetter by the minute. Not long arrived from Africa, Swallows hugged the surface of the pits, as they hunted for insects taking their first weak wing beats of their adult lives above water. Swallows depend on flying insects and these tend to be hard come by in such wet conditions. One of the few places they still congregate is over water, and, as such, hirundines tend to gather over water when the weather is wet or turning. A single Swift, something of an early arrival, passed over our heads as we walked, and occasionally the fluid, musical notes of Nightingale, a species for which the reserve is particularly noted, could be heard emanating from the scrub. I must confess I have always found the nightingale somewhat overrated as a vocalist, finding blackbirds just as pretty, but yet having inspired, it seems, a somewhat smaller body of poetry. But there is something different about those notes, something bigger and fuller, a distinct quality of sound which sets the nightingale apart from other birds. Maybe it is something that has to be heard to be understood, and, like many musicians, is definitely best experienced live. Eventually a small, robin sized bird, a robin, it seemed, without a red breast, appeared on the ground behind one of the hides and started hopping around. Its back was chestnut brown and its underside a pale grey. Nightingales are often called drab, but that isn’t a word I’d use. They are impeccably smart, elegant, and very clean looking. They lack the bright colours of some related species of chat, yes, but there is something fine about their appearance as well as their voice.
Nightingales being the main attraction at Paxton Pits, we saw several other passerines, including several pairs of Blackcap, a few Common Whitethroat, lots of singing Robins and Blackbirds, and a very showy Willow Warbler. Resembling a Chiffchaff but with a much more tuneful, varied song, Willow Warblers are thought to be declining in this country, so this handsome individual, sitting on top of a hedge singing his heart out, was a very welcome sight. Walking around we came to the less pretty side of the reserve, where sand and gravel workings continue and signs warn visitors not to attempt to swim in quicksand.
In the afternoon I left the rest of the local group in the visitors’ centre, hiding from the drizzle, and glanced into the small pond outside the visitors’ centre. After a couple of false starts as little Smooth Newts came up for air, I made out the black shape on the stony bottom of the pond I was looking for. It was easily twice as long as the Smooth Newt, many times the volume, and looked jet black through the water. Eventually one came up for air and I saw the huge, deep tail of the Great Crested Newt, as it turned and dived under the water. It’s not a species I’ve really taken the time to see before, and it is quite impressive. There are few places I have come across where they can be observed just by looking, and where they cannot be observed by just looking they cannot be observed, being protected from disturbance by non-licence holders, such being their status under law, a necessary result of their increasing scarcity.
I ended the day at Paxton watching the Common Terns wheeling and diving, and chasing each other’s tails, over one of the pits. Three of these elegant white birds, with their thin wings and long tail streamers, were fishing here. One would dive for a fish, and then the other two would dive in for a tailchase, noisy, and demonstrating the agility of these birds in the air. I’d seen Sandwich terns battling with Arctic Skuas on a windswept Kentish beach before, and this was a similar display of the terns incredible agility, their quick turns, their ability to stop in the air and go into a dive almost instantaneously, over the green water and brown reed beds. If you happen upon some Terns, I would strongly recommend hanging about to have a look, they are well worth watching for a while. Many visitors were disappointed by the rain, which probably did limit the amount we could see, but I for one was satisfied with good views of a Nightingale, a number of passerines and my first encounter with the terns typical of these Atlantic shores since I was attacked by Arctic Terns on the Farne Islands in Northumberland last June.
Tuesday May 1st
Saturday May 5th and I took a walk around Upminster with a freind, starting in Clockhouse Gardens by Waitrose in St Mary's Lane. Here Feral Ducks mingled with wild coots and moorhens, and a brood of yellow Canada Goose goslings were catching the attention of several people. Clockhouse gardens is a small urban park with a small pond and carefully manicured flowerbeds, no doubt enjoyed by grazing geese and picked over by Moorhens. We continued onto Cranham Marsh where the calls of noisy Parrots mixed with the more melodious songs of Blackcap and Whitethroat, and passed through that lovely reserve to Parklands and Bonnets wood beyond, where Skylark could be heard. A Grey Heron and a kestrel flew over, and Apple Blossom provided a welcome spot of colour against the grey sky and among the mixture of cultivated trees which have been planted there.
Sunday May 6th and I went for a walk at Thorndon Country Park near Brentwood with the Matriarch. Mum spotted a pied wagtail as we left the visitors centre, but I missed this, though both of us saw a smart Great Spotted Woodpecker just a few paces later. Chiffchaffs and Great Tits sang in the canopy, but in the rain few birds could be seen as we walked the muddy woodland paths. The woods are truly coming alive now, the canopies closing as the spring leaf burst nears completion, and parts of the park were carpeted with nodding English Bluebells. We made our way to a hide beside a small lake, and a pair of blackcaps could be seen in the understory, disappearing into higher branches as we appeared. When we reached the hide we were entertained by three sweet little Mallard duckings, swimming at speed in all directions as their parents tried to keep up. The male Mallard was, unusually, also in attendance. A couple of Greylag Geese also had a little yellow gosling with them, sticking close. A pair of smart Little Grebes swam across the water in front of us, and there were a couple of pairs of Tufted Duck about. A show of parental defensive behaviour was put on by the Greylags when a Canada Goose came a little too close to the pair. The reaction was instant, both adults lowering their heads and hissing at the intruder. When he didn’t get the message immediately, one of the Greylags ran at him on the water, hissing and flapping, as the confused Canada hissed back, and lowered his neck too, until the Greylag pressed home his attack and he retired a few feet to a safe distance. Such was the speed and violence of the Greylag’s defensive action, I was breifly concerned for the welfare of the youngster, as the water was churned and splashed in all directions as the two Geese clashed. Once the Canada had retired a distance peaceful Greylag family life appeared to resume, and they made their way off, amongst the marginal vegetation.
A pair of grey herons nested among the trees by the water, the male bringing back food to his sitting partner. A few chaffinches fluttered about in the trees, and Jackdaws made entertaining noises with their contact calls in the treetops, as Grey Squirrels, typically, were everywhere. The rain probably kept most of the bird life quiet, but Thorndon's woods are special, and an overlooked habitat in a county probably best noted for its wetlands, and well worth a couple of hours on a quiet afternoon. saw me heading down to Stone near Bradwell on Sea in north-east Essex, and I took the opportunity to wander down the sea wall, past some beautiful and very friendly pigs in a field, to see what was about. May is an important time for migratory birds, with several species piling into the country for the breeding season, and I wondered if anything interesting might be found in this coastal spot. A line of shelduck flew over, and on the mud of the river Crouch were a few dozen Brent Geese. These birds were presumably stragglers from the huge flocks of geese which winter here on the Essex rivers. A handsome male wheatear, with a slate grey back and black bandit mask, perched on the sea wall, and some waders sat by a reed-lined pool inland of the sea wall. As they took off, most turned out, with the diagnostic white triangle on the trailing edges of their wings, but one, lacking these triangles, but similar in size and shape to its fellows, was probably a migrating Spotted Redshank. It was still, more or less, in its drab winter plumage. Round here, we rarely see their smart, black summer plumage, which they tend not to acquire until they have moved further North. A dunnock and a whitethroat sang in nearby bushes, and my attention was caught by a large, brown bird flying low over the reedbeds. It held its wings in a slight V, and had pale tan markings on its head. An unexpected Marsh Harrier was certainly a pleasant sight, as were two Avocets picking about daintily in the shallows. As I left I was fortunate enough to see a young fledgeling blackbird being fed by its father in one of the garden hedges, further sign that, while many long range migrants, like the Wheatear and the Spotred, were still very much on the move, our resident passerines were already well advanced with their breeding season.
Wednesday May 2nd was volunteering and Roding Valley again. We contended with the mud to build some steps for access, and were over flown by plenty of Swifts and Swallows, but what amazed me was how the lower fields by the River Roding itself were flooded, and flowing. There were lakes where the meadows should be. Periodic flooding is part of the history and the ecology of the meadows, depositing nutrient rich fluvial soils on the grassland. Often, these low lying meadows are host to abundant wild flowers and butterflies, but on Tuesday, they had mallards floating on them. A kingfisher flew out of an oak tree, hundreds of metres from where it would usually have lived, and over to vegetation emergent from the water, but previously standing on the riverbank. One of the volunteers wandered out a few metres and found the water approaching the tops of his wellies, and said he could feel the water flowing. No doubt, unless there is much more rain, the river will already have begun to return to its channel, but the nutrient levels in the adjoining fields may have been topped up. Walking in the fields after the work party, an adorable, big-eyed Harvest Mouse, the colour of wet straw, scampered out of a tussock and briefly into view, allowing us a glimpse of an infrequently seen small mammal.
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