Puffins- the spell of the Northern Monks.

The little tourist boat out of Ulver Ferry on the Isle of Mull drew towards the towering cliffs of Lunga, largest and northernmost of the Trennish Isles, the chain of rocky little basalt islands in the Inner Hebrides, north of the famous Fingal’s Cave on the isle of Staffa, that great monument to undersea volcanism and geological forces. The water we crossed was crystal clear, and rich in life, fish weaving between fronds of waving kelp beneath the surface, moon jellies, and occasionally more unusual cnidaria, drifting everywhere. At one point even Common Dolphins were leaping beside us.  We docked at a rocky promontory on the island and made our way ashore on the columnar basalt, climbing a short cliff path. The skipper had warned us the birds would hypnotise us, that we’d risk falling into a trance on the cliff path, and would have to come back to the boat without seeing the spectacular heart of the seabird city which lines the steepest cliffs. His warning was spot on, but not heeded.

We sat up on the cliff top, among the wild flowers, the Bird’s foot trefoil and Burnett moths, on the rabbit-grazed, short grass, and watched the comings and goings of the Atlantic Puffins (Fratercula arctica) for hours. Birds flew in off the clear blue water, on wings beating rapidly, with thick, vivid coloured beaks full of silver sandeels.  Adults with food swiftly disappeared into their burrows, even Puffins are not averse to nicking their neighbours’ food, and to the gulls and skuas a Puffin with food on land is an obvious target.  So, they take their food underground hurridly, and unload it for the subterranean Puffling, the single, fluffy youngster waiting in the burrow.  Puffins without bills full of food seemed to enjoy a more leisurely lifestyle, taking some time to enjoy the sun and each other, pairs bill-rubbing and calling to each other, enjoying the bonds which hold them together, companionable, almost romantic. We were, naturally, enchanted by these entertaining little seabirds, and never made the journey across the little island to the spectacular Guillemots and Kittiwakes up on the towering sea stacks.

My paternal Grandma loved Puffins, and as such I must have drawn and painted hundreds of pictures of them, and bought puffin calendars and birthday cards for her every year. Images of them adorned her home.  They were here favourite bird, and as such have always held a special place in my heart. However I was in my mid-twenties by the time I saw one, on another chain of islands on the West coast, right down in the Scillies.  Puffins tend to live far from us, on rocky offshore islands, like the Scillies or the Trennish, or famously on Lundy, where the Bristol Channel meets the Atlantic.  They visit the coastline only briefly, setting up in April, and gone by the end of July. Their vanishing act is thorough and though wintering puffins were encountered at sea from time to time, it wasn’t fully understood until the advent of geotagging.  Once their Puffling has come waddling out under the sky for the first time, and taken to the sea, the parents remaining tie to land is severed. They shed the bright, temporary sheath which has grown around their bill, and darker feathers grow around the eye, masking the big, white face patches.  They loose the ability to fly during the Autumn moult, and spend the winter upon the ocean waves, living like the penguins of the Southern hemisphere, undertaking deep dives, wings adapted for ‘flying’ underwater. The black and white countershading Puffins, plus several related Auks share with Penguins are an example of convergent evolution, where similar evolutionary pressures lead to similar adaptations.  They retain the ability to fly only because of the need to avoid land predators, and only in the breeding season, to reach their cliff-top nesting sites, and they are at their most graceful underwater.  Then, come March or April, they return to their home island, and reunite with their lifelong partner, smartly attired once again. Some compare Puffins to clowns, given their colourful features and ‘eye makeup,’ and their scientific name compares them to monks, Fratercula arctica means ‘little Brother of the North.’ The name Puffin once applied to any burrow-nesting sea bird, hence the confusing scientific name of the Manx Shearwater, Puffinus puffinus.

Puffins are members of the Auk family, Alcidae, and are related to the Guillemot and Razorbill, as well as the extinct Great Auk. The family resemblance is apparent.  Unlike their relatives, puffins nest not on precarious ledges on the cliffs, but in burrows at the cliff-tops, usually taking advantage of those abandoned by rabbits, though they are capable of digging their own, and often do, take note of the sharp grey claws on their feet next time you are close to one.  A single egg is laid underground, in a chamber carved out for the purpose. The chick remains underground in relative safety, out of the reach of Herring Gulls and Raptors which occasionally prey on Guillemot and Razorbill chicks. Puffins also differ from their relatives in their winter habits. Razorbills and Guillemots can often be seen in winter, forming big rafts just offshore from their breeding colonies, remaining visible to birders onshore all year round, but Puffins are always absent from these agglomerations, preferring to spend the winter in the vast, open Atlantic, the Bay of Biscay and the North Sea, rich fishing grounds to which they have been tracked by modern telemetry techniques.

Puffins have a number of predators, with Gulls and Arctic Skuas all too keen to steal their hard won catch of Sandeels, which the young Puffling relies on almost exclusively, and Great Skuas, Great Black Back Gulls and birds of prey such as Peregrines, will occasionally prey on the adult Puffins. They are even, in some parts of their range, still hunted by man, though not in Britain.  Climate Change, and the loss of Sandeels as a result, and as a result of overfishing remain the biggest threats they face. They are confined to relatively few colonies around the North Atlantic, largely on islands off North America and North-Western Europe, and this reliance on a small number of sites led to the Atlantic Puffin’s listing as Vulnerable by the IUCN, and they are Red-Listed as Birds of Conservation Concern.

Yet at some of their colonies they are thriving, and one of those seems to be that of the Isle of Lunga. Rich, clear Atlantic seas offer them the food they need, and they are bothered little by the tourists who continue to visit their island breeding sites in considerable numbers. They are confiding and allow close approach, and photography. A few nest still at Bempton Cliffs in Yorkshire, alongside the Gannets and the occasional visiting Albatross, and though closed this year given the unfortunate impact of the ongoing HPAI epidemic, the Farne Islands still host a healthy population of these charming, entertaining little sea birds. Go and see them.

 

Wanderings in the Strangest Summer. 2nd-6th July 2020 Attenborough and Bempton

 On the second of July I headed, perhaps ill-advisedly, to Attenborough, and found it extraordinarily and uncomfortably peoply and doggy. The Visitors Centre, and thus the toilets, were still closed, and this unfortunately did no favours for the site. The most interesting wildlife encounter of the day was in Attenborough Village, when I encountered many, many Common Toadlets, beautiful and miniscule, some still bearing tiny tails. I managed to resuce some which had become stuck in a gutter and lurched awkwardly towards a drain grill. One Common Froglet was also among them. 

Following this rather mixed experience, I was rather unsure on the fifth, whether returning to Attenborough was a good idea, but between us Natalie and I decided Carsington was far too familiar, and Rutland Water simply too far. We did not, it turned out, regret it. I was still camera-less so there are no pictures from this trip-and I want a Bempton one for the share banner. 

We found the site again rather peoply, but perhaps the grey sky above and the stiff breeze which blew over acted as a deterrent, and it did not feel quite so busy. Dogs were again on the rampage on the central causeway, the temporary lack of wardening perhaps taken by some as licence for irresponsibility. Beside the semi-feral hounds, we saw a few passerines, and a lovely Green Sandpiper, probably a returning migrant, a hint of Autumn, was on the ridge and furrow. A huge abundance of Swifts and Sand Martins hunted insects, low over the water near the Tower Hide. A Kingfisher flashed between them, fighting the wind on a blur of wings. 

Attenborough hosted at least 10 Little Egrets, with six, later eight, counted on the ridge-and-furrow. The Common Terns which breed at Attenborough were active too, and, evidence perhaps of their maritime lineage, were apparently unperturbed by the wind. 

We walked up the riverside path as far as the Delta Sanctuary, before turning back, following the broad River Trent and its curves. There were plenty of insects about, to remind me of my paucity of Ladybird and Shieldbug ID skills. We saw some beautiful Damsels and Dragons including a beautiful male Banded Demoiselle, and a Small Tortoiseshell was an orange jewel in a moment of sunshine. 

Across the river we found half a dozen or so Black Tailed Godwit, still flushed orange in their breeding finery. Probably non breeding adults, or failed breeding birds, waders like these in July represent the vanguard of Autumn migration. As we watched them the heavens opened and the rain came down. We made our way back to the car, getting soaked to the skin. 

As we arrived at the car park the weather improved a little, and a Whitethroat and a Garden Warbler enjoyed the first of the season's blackberries. 

Birds Seen: Canada Goose, Greylag Goose, Mute Swan, Egyptian Goose, Gadwall, Mallard, Tufted Duck, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Cormorant, Moorhen, Coot, Lapwing, Black Tailed Godwit, Green Sandpiper, Black Headed Gull, Common Tern, Stock Dove, Woodpigeon, Swift, Kingfisher, Kestrel, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Sand Martin, Chiffchaff, Garden Warbler, Whitethroat, Starling, Blackbird, Sing Thrust, Robin, Goldfinch, Reed Bunting.

Metal Bird: Airbus A400M Atlas

Butterflies: Small Tortoiseshell, Meadow Brown, Peacock. 

Invertebrates: Aeshna spp, Blue Tailed Damselfly, Banded Demoiselle. 

Bempton Cliffs, Yorkshire, 6th July 2020

With lockdown restrictions easing further, Natty and I were, for the first time this year, able to make our annual pilgrimage to the RSPB's reserve at Bempton Cliffs in Yorkshire.

Puffins at Bempton

The weather was largely fine, and we explored the clifftop viewpoints of this towering seabird city, busy, distinctively perfumed, and alive with sound, the cried of Kittywakes and the chattering of Razorbills filling the air. A pair of Razorbills preened each other affectionately, and a mother sheltered her baby, standing between the brown fluffy creature and the chalky face. A large baby Gannet, still covered in down but big and ungainly, a massive white ball of fuzz as long as the adult, was fed regurgitated fish from its parent's crop. Its wings were tiny, but the black points of its juvenile flight feathers had just begun to appear. Puffins, always beautiful but never in great numbers at Bempton compared to the other seabirds bill-rubbed with their partners on their chosen ledges. Stiff-winged Fulmars breezed by- the air was full of seabirds, the white cruciforms of Gannets, the whirring wings of Puffins, and Herring Gulls, patrolling as if looking for trouble, and elegant Kittywakes. A single Common Seal was below in the water, looking up at the birds.

Gannet with chick, with Guillemot arguing with a fish behind. 

Kittywake in the sunshine.

We returned to the visitors' centre, and enjoyed a cup of coffee, something of a novelty after all these months, and found ourselves surrounded by confiding blue-eyed Jackdaws and chattering Tree Sparrows, perhaps hoping for a crumb or two of RSPB visitor centre cake. We also watched tree sparrows dust-bathing in the dry sandy soil. After our sustenance, we were treated to the graceful sight of a Barn Owl, perched on a post, then taking to the wing to seize an unfortunate rodent in the grass.

Tree Sparrows

In the sunny spells, butterflies were on the wing in the clifftop meadows. In the yellow glow of the early evening sun, two juvenile Peregrines perched upon posts. I avoided approaching too close, and enjoyed watching these two powerful predators, and was surprised when these laid-back youngsters did not flinch at oncoming walkers. The adult female flew by, and some minutes later we saw the adult male perched on a clifftop.

Gannet in flight

We turned our backs reluctantly on the seabirds, as the evening was approaching, and made our way back to the car park. Taking a last scan around, and watching some Linnets, Natty found a bird perched in a commanding position on top of a small Hawthorne bush, and identified it as a Red Backed Shrike, a scarce migrant, a life tick for Natty and only my second in the UK. The bird appeared to be an adult female, presumably a returning migrant, and sat with the deceptively cute look of the smaller shrikes, not betraying its nature as a powerful little predator of small mammals and even small birds.

Red Backed Shrike

Nearby a Yellowhammer sang from the top of a post. 

We made our way home, having enjoyed a wonderful day at Bempton, one of my favourite places, and our only day trippable seabird city. I hope we can return in 2021. 

Birds Seen: Fulmar, Gannet, Moorhen, Oystercatcher, Kittywake, Lesser Black Backed Gull, Herring Gull, Guillemot, Razorbill, Puffin*, Feral Pigeon, Woodpigeon, Barn Owl, Kestrel, Peregrine, Red Backed Shrike*, Magpie, Jackdaw, Carrion Crow, Blue Tit, Great Tit, Skylark, Swallow, Whitethroat, Blackbird, Song Thrush, Stonechat, Tree Sparrow, Meadow Pipit, Chaffinch, Linnet, Goldfinch, Yellowhammer*, Reed Bunting

Butterflies: Red Admiral, Small Tortoiseshell, Meadow Brown, White spp. 

Mammals: Rabbit, Common Seal (Harbour Seal)

Razorbill, chattering.

Wanderings in the Strangest Summer, a Retrospective. Frampton Marsh and Freiston Shore

11th June 2020

With lockdown coming to an end, but my weekdays still luxuriously free, Natty and I celebrated our Anniversary with a drive out to the Lincolnshire coast, our longest away trip since March. We deliberately chose a grey day to avoid any crowds, though, as the weather deteriorated, we realised we may have chosen a little too well. 
Under a grey sky we walked from the car park down the main path toward the 360 hide, which remained closed, before pressing on toward the sea wall. Despite the cold winds, a Sedge Warbler put on a distraction display, posing on the wire fence, a response to a predator, distracting attention from the fledgelings in the reeds.

Sedge Warbler

In a creek on our right, a Spoonbill, crowned by its breeding plumes, pale yellow horseshoe marking emblazoned on its chest, emerged, and walked close to us, unperturbed by our presence. A stunning bird, once considered a real rarity, Spoonbills have begun to colonise Britain in recent years, but to see one so close and in its breeding finery was still a great privilege. A Little Ringed Plover, surprisingly well camouflaged against the mud, almost disappeared when it turned its back to us. It probed in the mud with its short bill, before flying off into the grassy marsh, the lack of a wing bar confirming its identity. 

Spoonbill

On the pool to the left of us were many Avocets with their chicks, big headed and gangly legged. Some took shelter beneath the wings of their parents, creating the impression of a six-legged bird, while the other parent was up mobbing a passing Gull. 
From the sea wall we watched displaying Redshanks, dropping on stiff downcurved wings, and calling eerily. Avocet parents mobbed us a little, flying close and noisily, and we made our way by as quickly as we could, to avoid creating any more disturbance or exposing the chicks to opportunistic and more confiding corvids and gulls. Perhaps reduced foot traffic during the lockdown period had allowed them to nest closer to the sea wall than they would otherwise have. 
The hedges are noted for their passerine avifauna, and I was looking forward to squinting into bushes for little brown birds, when it began to rain. Indeed, the heavens opened and all the birds were driven into deep cover. There was still plenty of birdsong, Natty's musician's ears identified 12 singing Yellowhammer, though I only heard three. The rain drove us onward to the sheltered stretch of public footpath, where the seeing was easier, and at least our binoculars could stay dry. A pair of Turtle Doves flew by, and damp, bedraggled hares stood hunched in neighboring fields. 
Beaten by the rain, Natty and I retreated to the motor, and then to Boston, where we picked up a fish and chip supper and headed to Freiston Shore. 

Birds Seen: Mute Swan, Greylag Goose, Shelduck, Shoveler, Gadwall, Mallard, Teal, Tufted Duck, Pheasant, Great Crested Grebe, Spoonbill, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Cormorant, Moorhen, Coot, Oystercatcher, Avocet, Lapwing, Little Ringed Plover, Black Tailed Godwit, Redshank, Black Headed Gull, Herring Gull, Lesser Black Backed Gull, Common Tern, Woodpigeon, Turtle Dove, Collared Dove, Swift, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Skylark, Swallow, House Martin, Sedge Warbler, Whitethroat, Starling, Blackbird, Meadow Pipit, Goldfinch, Yellowhammer, Reed Bunting.

Freiston Shore

We ate our chips in the car as the rain beat down on the roof, then took a brief walk down the path. past fledgeling blackbirds, baffled by what must have been their first encounter with heavy rain. A robin sang beautifully, but was wise enough not to expose itself to the harsh conditions. The hirundines were busy, hunting insects low over the water. Mist and rain limited our visibility, so we struggled to make out any waders a reasonable distance away. 
Freiston is in many ways a smaller version of Frampton, with freshwater lagoons and saltmarsh, but it does boast a clear view of the sea, something I had dearly missed over the past few months. 

Birds Seen: Mute Swan, Mallard, Grey Heron, Little Egret, Oystercatcher, Avocet, Black Headed Gull, Common Tern, Carrion Crow, Swallow, House Martin, Wren, Blackbird, Robin (H)   

Turnstones

Just a very brief blog post to enthuse about Turnstones. You have probably seen them, in the winter, brown, unassuming and very confiding little birds, often happily tucking in to left-over fishing bait on wind and rain soaked piers, which sea anglers are often happy to provide. They can also be found on the beach, turning over stones as the name suggests, hunting for invertebrates and whatever has been washed up by the sea.

Arenaria interpres, seaside ghoul and fisherman's companion.

These angler’s companions tastes are not limited to fishing bait, and are not always so benign, historically they have been recorded feeding on the remains of deceased seafarers who became washed up on beaches. They need to retain cosmopolitan tastes, however, to survive in the harsh environments in which they spend the winter, and resourcefully will dine on almost anything it can find on the strandline, from small crustacea and shellfish to decomposing cetacea.  Birds which winter in Britain can come from as far afield as Greenland and Canada, as well as Scandinavia, and the winter can find them all around the British coast, though summer is short in many of their breeding areas, meaning in reality they can be found for most of the year, birds arriving in August and typically remaining until May. Small numbers of non-breeding individuals, resplendent nevertheless in the plumage that gives Arenaria interpres its international common name, Ruddy Turnstone.

handsome and summery looking Turnstone, Herne Bay, Kent, 6th May 2014

It is not clear whether this little crowd of Turnstone, found on a gorgeous day in May during a trip to the seaside at Herne Bay, in Kent, represents a non-breeding flock, indeed many of the individuals appear to retain juvenile plumage, or just some stragglers getting ready to head back to some remote, sub-arctic or arctic rock for their brief and frantic breeding season.   They balanced unassumingly cute and splendid very convincingly, especially those which had moulted into their summer plumage, and were confiding enough to permit photography. Indeed, they were so charming, they warranted their own blog post.

Turnstone, Herne Bay, May 2014

Turnstone in non-breeding plumage, Herne Bay, May 2014

Fingringhoe Wick in February

About a fortnight ago, I went with the Beautiful Bee Girl to the amusingly named Essex Wildlife Trust reserve at Fingringoe Wick, near Colchester.  We parked in the gravel car park beside the visitor’s centre.  We’d heard there was a bittern which had been seen in recent days from one of the hides overlooking the site’s main body of fresh water, a small lake just a stone’s throw from the centre.   I'd understood Bitterns were best seen in the afternoons, when they move between their feeding and their roosting sites, but the Bee Girl, who had yet to see a Bittern despite having spent a lot of her time raising money for them, wanted to check the hide first.  To my shame, I’d rather hoped to get out to the river Colne to look at the waders, and some grebes which had been seen in the channel.  Luckily, we decided to do it her way.  Armed with our coffees, we made our way through the late February drizzle to the hide. The bench was packed with birders and volunteers, eyes to their telescopes and binoculars.  The volunteer from the visitors’ centre talked us to the spot where the bird had, seconds before, begun to climb up on a tussock of reeds. Of course, it took a while to find the vertically striped, straw-coloured heron among the vertical, straw coloured Phragmites which lined the opposite shore. But find it we did, standing on its tussock. Through the scope we could see the dark lines running down its face, its’ long, grey beak. We could see its excellent camouflage, the camouflage which makes this scarce heron one of the trickiest birds to see in the country.  Centuries ago they were common, especially in the huge fens of East Anglia, but reedbeds are much scarcer now, and though individuals like this one can winter in relatively small sections, breeding pairs need large expanses of unbroken reeds. Efforts are underway to restore and create large reedbeds, projects such as Wicken 2100 and the Great Fen Project, both in Cambridgeshire, may see the species re-establish properly in South East England.  Staffordshire Wildlife Trust is raising money to buy Tucklesholme Quarry to help them establish there.  Have a google and give them some money. The Beautiful bee girl did, and the bitterns rewarded her with a sighting! 

I wouldn't normally trouble my blog with a record shot. But Bittern!

 There were a few other birds out on the lake, including Shovellers, again displaying, circling each other on the water, and a confiding little grebe swam close to the hide. Teal lurked among the reeds, resting, heads on wings, but all was pretty quiet and we decided to head down to the saltings and the Colne estuary.  We passed the boardwalk near to which I had seen one of my first Turtle Doves a few summers ago, which was underneath a pond swollen by the very wet winter.  The spring was in the air already though, and a few daffodils had begun to open in the wildlife garden beside the centre.

Later in the day, the flooded boardwalk. 

On our way to the saltings we came upon one of the scarcer habitats at Fingringhoe, the lichen and moss carpet that grows on the poor, very sandy soils beside some of the old military installations, which have fallen back to nature on the reserve.   These sandy heaths, fringed with Gorse and Brambles and Concrete, are rather lush. Amongst the green mosses grows the beautiful and intricately branching Cladonia lichens, the so-called reindeer moss.  These sensitive plants are found only on very nutrient poor , and often acid soils, often appearing where there is very little soil at all. Lichens dominate the vegetation of shingle apposition beaches like Blakeney Point and Dungeness. They are also found on windswept tundras. Natalie the bee girl was immediately photographing the beautiful micro-world found down in the moss and lichen carpet as the clouds parted and the sun burst out above us.

Lichen and Moss carpet.

<3

We stepped up to one of the benches overlooking the beautiful Colne Estuary. The water seemed to become curiously blue, as the sky cleared.  Skeins of the locally ubiquitous Brent Goose, something of an overlooked speciality of coastal Essex in winter, flew past, out toward the estuary. These dark geese fly in from Scandinavia and Siberia to spend the winter in the relative warmth of the Essex coast.  Across the stretch of water were a cluster of gleaming white birds, with the scope we could identify them as Avocets, the elegant black and white waders which are familiar from the RSPB logo, and an iconic conservation success here in Britain.  Some appeared to swim in the rising water, others waded on the mudflats. We had only been watching them for a moment when they took to the air, and departed downriver after the skeins of geese. A couple of oystercatchers were left behind.  A fishing boat, pursued by a flock of gulls, headed downriver too, and we scanned the flock for interesting species. Sometimes Kittywakes or Mediterranean Gulls can be seen flying behind the fishing boats, but we only saw the ubiquitous Black Headed Gulls, Herring Gulls and a few brown juveniles of various common species.

Passing shipping.

We headed down to a hide on the waters edge, where several Great Crested and Little Grebes could be seen out on the open water, and the bones of an old wooden boat protruded from the sand. Wigeon and Teal whistled on the banks, and a small party of curlew flew by.  An interesting looking grebe turned out to be a curiously grey, but nevertheless lovely Little Grebe.

Boat Bones.

We were aware that time was marching on so we headed back toward the centre, eventually finding a hide overlooking the scrape, a small body of water cut into the saltmarsh and fenced off from it. A section of fence appeared to have come down in the recent strong winds.  The hide turned out to be the best decision we ever made. The saltmarshes lay before us, full of Brent Geese, beautiful Lapwings, handsome, stately Curlews and busy Dunlins and Starlings. On the waters edge sat a handful of Golden Plovers, rather scarce, handsome birds which will soon be returning to their upland breeding grounds, which include the moors of Northern England.  The light was beginning to fade, and the saltmarsh was bathed in golden light, the trees beside the hide casting long shadows over it. A Barn Owl drifted silently past the windows, just a few metres away. A pair of handsome Red Breasted Merganser, one of the most stunning, elegantly punk looking ducks you will ever see, floated out on the water, toward the centre of the channel. They are locally uncommon, and the ragged green crest of the male sets them apart from other ducks. They are closely related to the handsome Goosander which is becoming so familiar in the North of England.  Not long after a dark shape, wings raised in a slight V shape drifted over the marsh. The grebes Every duck, gull and wading bird smaller than a curlew took to the sky,  which filled with the shapes of hundreds of Lapwing, Golden Plover, Oystercatcher, Teal and Widgeon, and echoed with their alarm calls. The Marsh Harrier, apparently uninterested, continued flying, flapping lazily Southwards and Eastwards.  A couple of Black Headed gulls made mobbing passes as the large raptor flew on.  

The Saltings.

The last species we added to our list was a handsome bullfinch, and, with the reserve gates apparently locked at five, we headed back to the centre. Natalie discussed lichens, and attempted to ID a couple of specimens with the centre volunteers while I watched Little Egrets and cormorants fly off into the sunset to roost. We left, reminded of why Fingringhoe, that beautiful spot on the Colne estuary, remains one of my favourite reserves in Essex.

oh yeah, linkies.

Bringing Bitterns back to Staffordshire!

http://www.justgiving.com/tucklesholme

And the reserve this blog is actually about, which I properly recommend, one of the most beautiful places in Essex.

http://www.essexwt.org.uk/reserves/fingringhoe-wick

RSPB Hodbarrow, or The Start of the Northern Summer

I want to blog about the buzzards, I really want to, but nothing but incoherent rage can come out of my mouth on the subject at the moment. Indeed, I cannot talk about it without incitement so I’m not going to. Instead I am going to tell you about all the trips I managed to squeeze in, between the GIS coursework, in  the last few days, the days summer arrived in Lancashire! Instead of raging against English (anti) Nature, and the game industry to whom they are in thrall, I am going to tell you all what a nice week I have had.  There will be more to come, think of this as “part one.”

Sunday took Natty and I to the RSPB and National Nature Reserve at Hodbarrow, on the West coast of Cumbria, near Millom, where apparently there is an ex RAF airfield and possibly a prison. It is also home to a large coastal lagoon where a colony of very special, on a UK level at least, Terns live. No sooner had we left the car park, and overcome the disappointment that for some reason dogs were permitted on the reserve, we were surrounded by the sound of birdsong. We could hear the scratchy melodies of Whitethroat, the full-on techno beats of Sedge Warbler, the tumbling melodies of willow warbler, and the repetitious, two-note song of Chiffchaff, the melody with flourish at the end of Chaffinch. A pair of blackcaps hopped about in an oak tree. The paths were lined with yellow flowering Gorse.  There were a few white butterflies about.

Rounding a corner, passing a pond attended by the obligatory pair of Mute Swans and large numbers of Swallows and Sand Martins, Natalie, ever the sharp-eyed entomologist, found me the season’s first Damselfly, sunning itself on a blade of grass. By the season and the red colour, it was probably a Pyrrhosoma nymphula, A large Red Damselfly. A couple of fresher damselflies were about, still to develop their adult markings.  The trees had only just entered full leaf, and one or two were still sparse. To see the first Damselfly of the year was a relief. The snow in Bowland and down into the Peaks at Easter is still a recent memory, as was Roeburndale in late April, sliding about in the pouring rain, and noticing the bluebells were still underground. We walked on and found a small cove. A few crab skins lay about on the beach. Out on the water we could see some Red Breasted Merganser, and a few Eider and Shelduck. Redshank and crows foraged in the mud. We were out of Morecambe Bay by now, having driven through the South Western corner of the Lake District National Park. Across the river Duddon the fells of South Lakeland stood out above the estuary mud.

We were crossing a small headland when we saw a bird of prey being mobbed, fairly relentlessly, by gulls. It drew toward us over the estuary. There is nothing unusual about seeing a buzzard or some such crossing a small strip of water, or getting mobbed by gulls, but raising my binoculars, this was no buzzard. Its long wings arched slightly like a gulls’, and its body was white, a dark stripe running through its eye. This was an Osprey! We couldn’t see a tag or a ring, and shortly the gulls had seen it off, back over the Duddon Estuary. To my mind this seemed too late to be a passage migrant, the internet reports the Rutland Water Ospreys already have chicks, it may have been one of the adults now nesting in the Lake District.

We had lunch on the beach and dipped our toes in the still freezing water. A few Sandwich and Common Terns flew by, some diving for fish, and some skimming the water surface. Hodbarrow is one of the few places little terns can be seen in the UK. They breed on islands left behind by abandoned Iron workings on the site. The industrial history of the Hodbarrow reserve is rich, and plain to see, the muddy soil stained red by haematite, old quarries scarring the landscape and the odd fragment of a concrete structure protruding among the rushes. We walked the sea wall to the hide were we were entertained by the pretty Little Terns, sweet looking little birds with black caps, yellow bills and short forked tails. They were feisty, defending their nest site against anything, mobbing even larger terns as they passed by. They had arrived only a few days ago, but now there seemed to be as many as forty of them, nest scrapes already established on the bare bars of stone in the lagoon, presumably stacks of spoil from some quarrying operation. Despite their aggression little terns are infamously vulnerable to predators. Here, electric fences, and broken fences, were all over the islands, presumably from attemptos to protect these nationally rare (but globally distributed) birds.  I have seen Little Tern before, but only when I was volunteering in Gialova in Greece, in a place which bore odd similarities to Hodbarrow.  A few Eider swam in the still water, one of the males very vocal, tipping his head back and making the classic Eider call, perhaps best described as an impression of Kenneth Williams. The smart sea ducks dabbled about for a while. Great crested grebes swam around, paired up, no longer dancing as the summer is now in full swing, but not yet with the little chicks on their backs, as will I have no doubt charm us in the months to come.

We ended the day with a spot of sea watching, in the distance, Gannets and Kittywakes could be seen diving for fish in the open water among flocks of terns and black headed gulls. Gulls and Eider, and a few Red Breasted Merganser bobbed on the surface. The falling temperature and building wind coming in off the sea reminded us of our latitude, but among the birds, the swifts and swallows flying all around us on the walk back to the car park, we could be in no doubt that the summer had begun.