The Hala Starling Experience

The last few evenings, on the way home from uni, assuming I’ve coincided my arrival with the fading light, I have had the honour of what I can only describe as the Hala Green Starling Experience.  Hundreds, or thousands, of the birds have taken to roosting in the bushes which separate our gardens from those of the houses which back on to us, and, morning and evening, their flocks arrive and depart. When I was a kid I clearly remember walking with my dad and watching murmurations of starlings blackening the sky in Romford. The birds would roost in the trees which grew out of the roundabout, the junction of underpasses outside the library.  This must have been the late 1980s or very early 1990s, and birds change their distributions, and now, as far as I’m aware, spectacular murmurations in Metropolitan Essex are pretty much unknown. The Starling has declined in numbers by something like 70% since then, and murmurations do not happen over metropolitan Essex any more. 

Over suburban Lancaster, however, the situation seems to be rather different. There have been some huge flocks these past few days, I cannot hazard a guess as to how many birds were involved, but it must have been in the thousands, cloud-like flocks twisting and changing shape, the birds moving in close formation, coming in through the darkening sky, making several passes of the roosting bushes, a few individuals dropping out and perching there. A sparrowhawk at one point landed on one of the bushes into which they’d been flying and put some of the starlings up. Those deeper in the branches, presumably feeling protected by their enclosed position. The hawk went after those in flight, which swiftly joined the murmuration.  It went in for an attack and the birds avoided it, in a coordinated formation, a burst of speed moving like a wave through the flock. The predator seemed to manage to grab one, and was off pretty quickly.

Despite the paintwork on my car appearing to pay the price of these spectacular murmurations, it feels like something of an honour to watch such a wildlife spectacle over my home of an evening.  They continue chattering in their roost sites well into the night, especially if disturbed. Starlings generally behave like this only in winter, and the flock may have included birds which bred over a wide area, perhaps many of them breeding beyond these shores. Their murmurations are unpredictable, they may use one site for several nights in a row, and then, perhaps in response to weather or feeding conditions, they are not seen there for some time. Certainly, come the spring they will disperse again to their breeding habitats, and will perhaps disperse or move elsewhere long before that, but for the past few days the Hala Green Starling Experience has been a wonderful, and nostalgic, suburban wildlife spectacle!

Species Involved: European Starling (Sturnus vulgaris) Eurasian Sparrowhawk (Accipiter nisus)

Gateway to the Nuclear Wasteland?

The government is planning to dump nuclear waste in Cumbria, on the doorstep of the stunning Lake District National Park, and,  perhaps unsurprisingly given this knowledge, Saturday took me up to the town of Bowness in Windermere on the shores of the lake, to demonstrate.

The lake district is a remarkable landscape, its precipitous crags, high rolling hills and still, deep lakes inspiring poets over the centuries. Indeed, their descriptions were such that probably very little more is needed. The point is that Cumbria is remote, and as such, it lends itself all to readily to sites like this. The infamous Sellafield power station sits on the Cumbrian coast,  where it is processes nuclear waste from around the country, and beyond.  Suggestions of releases of radioactive material causing cancer in domestic pets and poisoning the catch of Norwegian fishing boats have never quite been proven but we all know they have been made.

Lake Windermere, Cumbria.

Current plans are to site a nuclear waste dump in West Cumbria, perhaps inside the National park, perhaps outside, the precise site is not clear. Previous surveys and reports have revealed concerns about the Geology of the area. The ideal site for a repository of nuclear waste repository, if such a thing exists, would comprise hard, non-porous rock, in a geologically stable area, under low relief.  West Cumbria was rejected for just such a dump in the late 1990s, at which point our government made advances toward to government of Australia to consider siting said waste there.  Unsurprisingly, their advances were rejected. And so the plan came back to Cumbria.  The rocks of West Cumbria sit about the Lake District Boundary Fault, which has produced tremors in historic time, and historic time isn’t that long in the lifetime of some of the country’s most dangerous nuclear waste.  It is not far from the places in which Britain’s adventures in Fracking shale gas will soon be commencing, the practice which caused such phenomena as burning tap water and earth tremors in the United States, dismissed in Britain as the result of “poor regulation.”  They also lie under some of the subterranean aquifers which provide water for some of the most populous parts of Western Europe- Greater Manchester depends on the Cumbrian hills for its water supply, as does much of the North West.  The Lakes are famous, too, and welcome millions of tourists from far and wide. Some local businesses can be forgiven for their concerns that some of their would-be customers may remain further South for fear of the nuclear waste. 

Dayglo Standards.

Those supporters of nuclear waste dumping in Cumbria, including the few local councillors who declared, much to the surprise of the people they represent, that the communities were “willing” to accept it, claim that “jobs” will be available to the local people, although they are less forthcoming about how many. These will largely be in digging out the holes in which the waste is to be stored, it is unclear whether they have accounted for the personnel needed should there be a serious radioactive accident.  Accidents and near meltdowns are dismissed by the nuclear lobby as something that only happens abroad, where workmanship is inexplicably considered poor, and management even worse. The Fukashima plant in Japan may have been poorly maintained, but what is Japan?  This is the land of the public private partnership, the Ladbroke Grove Rail Disaster and the filthy hospital, the land which would never fail to adequately maintain its vital safety equipment.  If the most technological advanced country in the world cannot safely deal with nuclear power, what is to be said for a country whose engineering record since the 1950s consists mainly of entries in Richard Hammond’s Book of Crap Cars?  The Cumbrian site, which leading geologists say is unsuitable, which was dismissed as unsuitable twelve years ago, will be accepting waste from all over Europe and perhaps beyond.

The problem remains of somewhere to site our domestic nuclear waste, especially following the decision to build a new generation of nuclear power stations as an alternative to coal and gas. I do not have any answers to this problem, but the consensus remains, that Cumbria is not suitable. With that in mind, a few good friends from Lancaster People and Planet gathered on the shore of England’s largest lake, the stunning Windermere, in the heart of the Lake District, and an icon of the country’s natural beauty, with concerned locals, to wave banners and sign petitions, and have a presence to express our profound anxiety pending the conclusion of the public consultation on Friday.  The demo was extremely friendly, a small crowd of fifty or so people from the local community gathered among the pigeons and jackdaws and ice in a beautiful place. Day-Glo flags stood in a row on the jetty, and it was disheartening but appropriate to realise they spelled out the word “Sold” against the backdrop of the Mute Swans and still water, snow-capped hills behind. Banners declared “no nuclear waste facility for the lakes” and beer mats, handed to passers by promoted the demo and declared that the nuclear waste was “for you, for eternity” a play on some marketing strategy used by the National Park Authority.  We signed some petitions and agreed to bring some literature back to Lancaster to make people more aware of what was occurring.

Mallards, Black Headed Gulls, Mute Swan, Feral Pigeon.

There were some hardy souls out , or some dedicated ones, who hung on in the cold for an hour or so. It was good to see some colour and hear some music, in aid the hope it would contribute to the cancellation of this frightening project. They were a good crowd and seemed pleased to meet the Lancaster crowd. After the demo we dispersed a little bit, some of our band making their way to a lovely little cafe up the road in Bowness, while three of us stayed a little while, to look at the bird life (this is, after all, a birdy blog, here comes the birdy bit...) and reflect on the potential impact of the development on this stunning place.  Mute swans and mallards ate out of the hands of demonstrators and tourists.  Further out on the water floated Tufted Ducks, and in the distance, smart Goldeneye, another diving duck, gathered in a flock, their white bodies and cheek patches separating them from the more familiar tufties. A couple of Goosander were about, a female swimming up and down not far from us.  Further out was a bright white drake goosander. This species used to be pretty scarce, perhaps partly as a result of historical persecution by fishery interests, but seems to be in the process of making a comeback. Goosander are big ducks, slightly larger than a mallard, and sit low in the water. Their toothed bills, they are among a sub family of ducks known as sawbills, mark them out as fish-eaters.  Unlike the Mohawk of the co generic Red Breasted Merganser, their crests are thick and give the impression of an oddly shaped head.  Also out there was a familiar bird I hadn’t seen yet this year, a great crested grebe. This common species had somehow evaded me this year and it was nice to see one out here.  I’d always thought of the lakes as something of an avian desert, host to plenty of wildlife, sure, remarkable invertebrates in the woods fringing many of the deeper, oligotrophic waters, and in the sediment of Windermere’s shallows. I’ve always been aware of remarkable fish, ice age relics like the Vendace and Arctic Char which live in the deep, cold waters, but I was under the impression these mesotrophic (like Windermere) and oligotrophic (like most of the others) lakes were of relatively little value for birds; their true wildlife value lying beneath the surface, but here was a good assemblage of species.

Mute Swan

A couple of swans strutted and waved their heads and necks in a courtship dance.  Someone got out a packet of Mini Cheddars, and within seconds, she was covered in pigeons. Handsome, white doves, none other than leucistic feral pigeons, descended in dozens.  The mute swans, clearly very familiar with people, climbed cumbersomely out of the water, and waddled towards us. Black headed gulls took up perches on the railings beside us. We’d watched other people feeding the birds, and then getting intimidated by the pigeons, and I’d always felt a little smug about it. I enjoy watching feral pigeons,  I find their behaviour fascinating and just think they’re very watchable, so I wasn’t adverse to borrowing a mini cheddar myself and crumbling it a little, offering it to a handsome white pigeon. Immediately the bird took up position on my arm. Several others surrounded me, perching on my back, my head, arms, shoulders. They felt very light, their wing feathers, even as they flapped about, very soft, but one of the birds beaks felt quite hard as it pecked me in the face. I didn’t look so smug and handed the Mini Cheddars to someone else, although not before we’d all posed for photos with the pigeons.

The Author With Pigeons.

Leaving the birds and the waterside behind we headed up to the cafe, and for an explore of Windermere and Bowness, and their outdoor shops. It was a great day. We’d stood up for something good, and we’d made friends with some pigeons. A couple of beers and a snowball fight later and we hit the train back to Lancaster.

Edited To Add: Links to petitions on 38 Degrees:

http://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/no-nuclear-dump-in-the-lake-district

http://you.38degrees.org.uk/petitions/stop-plans-for-a-nuclear-dump-in-the-lake-district

And for the benefit of Laura's bird notebook:

Canada Goose (Branta canadensis) Mute Swan (Cygnus olor) Mallard (Anas platyrynchos) Goldeneye (Bucephala clangula) Tufted Duck (Aythya fuligula) Goosander (Mergus merganser) Great Crested Grebe (Poediceps cristatus) Carrion Crow (Corvus corone) Jackdaw (Corvus monedula) Feral Pigeon (Columba livia) Common Gull (Larus canus) Black Headed Gull (Chroicocephalus ridibundus) Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo) Collared Dove (Streptopelia decaocto)

Arctic Waders and Icicles at Heysham Head.

If our proximity to the sea has denied me the pleasure of walking in the snow here in Lancaster, I thought, after throwing my Wildlife Monitoring Techniques “The Bird Survey” and “The Insect Survey” into the drop box at the University, the culmination of months of fairly to moderately hard work and procrastination, I may as well go for a walk  by the sea. 

Song Thrush at Heysham.

I drove to the prettier end of Heysham, the Port Town  Morecambe, and parked up outside the Half Moon Beach Cafe, the one with the disconcerting flags, and stood where the road turns to approach the port, and the two imposing structures which are the two nuclear power stations. Heysham itself remains in the running for a third, but it would, it seems, take a lot of destruction to squeeze in such a building on this site, where archaeological remains, caravan sites, an active port and huge flocks of wading birds are already pressed together.   I do not know which other Northern sites are in the running for the dubious honour, and nuclear seems like a grubby compromise, with the emphasis on the grubby, for the future of energy, but Heysham doesn’t need it.

View of Heysham Power Stations.

A song thrush hopped about and posed for a couple of photos on the bank near the fence, and a cluster of Knot huddled together against the biting cold.  The grey winter plumage of the Knot, Red Knot in acknowledgement of their rust coloured breeding plumage, and their hunched posture against the wind, just seems fitting on such an icy day. Appropriately too, these birds breed in the arctic. Even their scientific name, Caladris canutus, invoking the Norse king Knut, speaks of wintry coastlines and the power of the tide which governs their lives. .  The breeze was not strong  but it was bitter. Smaller Turnstones had a different strategy, busily gathering food, picking about among the pebbles. A flock of finches flew in from over the two imposing cuboid power stations. I got breifly excited, scanning their number for some of the elusive passerines, Snow Buntings and Twite, which sometimes use this coast when the cold weather forces them off their more normal, upland habitats. They can deal with the rocky substrate. The birds turned out to be greenfinches, and they foraged in the bushes. I walked down the beach. The water flowing out of the red soil had formed large icicles, like vitreous stalactites,  which hung from the subtle overhangs of the eroding sections at the top of the beach, as if just to underline the fact it was cold.

Icicles.

A flock of noisy, piping little birds flew in low over the waves.   My binoculars revealed them to be Ringed Plovers, with bold black masks on their faces and dark collards. These smart, and inevitably cute little birds looked hardly resilient to the cold, but they joined the foraging turnstones in frenetic activity on the beach. I walked up onto Heysham Head, the green promontory of land with National Trust signs on it. Wrens hissed angrily in the bushes, there were several of these feisty little birds of the scrub around.  How tiny bodied birds cope with the ice is a constant source of wonder, but they do.

I kept my eye on the rocks below. A couple of curlews sat with their heads and long beaks under their wings, with turnstones at their feet, and a ringed plover wandering about. One looked up, irritated by the small birds, and eventually took off over the waves. I scanned the surface of the sea, hoping for some interesting sea birds seeking the shelter of Morecambe bay, or better still a dark dorsal fin rising out of the water. I saw no fin, but a little crowd of Oystercatchers, black with white bands on their wings, which flew around the headland and settled somewhere out of sight.  Distant gulls were Common Gulls, far from the commonest of gulls, but winter visitors to most of England and largely breeding birds of further North than this, marked out by the big white mirrors in their black-tipped primaries.  A brown bird over the water turned out to be one of the sleepy curlews, perhaps irritated into flight by busy Turnstones.

Wakey Wakey!
Note the Ringed Plover at the bottom left. I knew he was there when I took the photo. Honest!

I walked up to the top, close to the chapel of St Patrick, a ruin which stands on the top of Heysham head, overlooking the town of Morecambe and its promenade, with its mysterious open stone graves, hewn into the rock, presumably the reason the head has been spared from industry and providing the interest of the National Trust.  By now the cold which numbed my fingers was creeping up my arms and I thought perhaps it was time to turn around. A dog, out for a walk with a few canine comrades and their master, put up a couple of Lapwings. I descended a little and saw the Oystercatchers on the rocks below me.  There must have been a couple of hundred, and they looked settled for the night, although more birds were flying in to join them. A duck caught my eye and closer inspection revealed it to be a fish-eating merganser type. She was a female with a brown head and grey flanks splashed with white. The brown of her head and grey of her body seemed to fade into each other, and the white patch beneath her beak was edged diffusely with brown feathers. The crest was thin, and looked like a Mohawk. I managed to take a couple of photos, blurry, distant record shots in the fading light, so I stand to be corrected, but I wrote down Red-Breasted Merganser, less common round here than the very similar, and currently range-expanding Goosander.  It dived frequently, as did the few cormorants which also sat on top of the waves.

Female Red Breasted Merganser

As I walked down the path toward the car park, joined by increasing numbers of dogs and dog walkers, signalling the end of the working day, I made my way back down the head toward the car park, and the welcome opportunity to warm up after a day by the coast.  Twite and Snow bunting less, but nonetheless having enjoyed the opportunity to do a bit of coastal birding and  newfound, and temporary freedom from impending essay deadlines.

Oystercatchers

Bird List for Heysham head, 18^th January 2012: (International Common names/Authors preference)

Song Thrush (Turdus philomelos) Red Knot (Caladris canutus) Turnstone (Arenaria interpres) Common Redshank (Tringa totanus) Greenfinch (Carduelis chloris) Northern Lapwing (Vanellus vanellus) Greater Cormorant (Phalacrocorax carbo) Oystercatcher (Haematopus haematopus) Common Gull (Larus canus) Herring Gull (Larus argentatus) Black Headed Gull (Croicocephalus ridibundus) Wren (Troglodytes troglodytes) Carrion Crow (Corvus corone) Ringed Plover (Charadrius hiaticula) Red Breasted Merganser (Mergus serrator) Blackbird (Turdus merula)