Wanderings in the Strangest Summer: A trip South, Part 2. 20th-21st July 2020

 A walk from Stone

Mum and Dad and I went up to Stone, on the South side of the River Blackwater, up in the wilds of Essex. I spent a few hours strolling the sea wall, strolling and wildlife spotting in the glorious sunshine, as my Dad played with boats.  Birds were surprisingly few and far between, with, in what must be a first for a walk by the River Blackwater,  no waders spotted, though Common Terns flew by with characteristic grace. However there was a veritable feast of butterflies. Mumsie spotted a Marbled White, and as I walked I counted many of these big Satyrids, and a pair danced among the parched grass.  Their dance, presumably a courtship display, was rudely but accidentally interrupted by a Small White, causing one of the Marbled Whites to abandon the dance, and the other, if one can imagine a butterfly angry, chased the intruder furiously for 50 metres or more along the sea wall, until they were out of sight.

One of the 101+, female Gatekeeper at Stone. 

Butterfly highlight was a pair of Clouded Yellows, which flew up and down the sea wall at speed, full of the sun's energy, and then ascended, twisting and turning around each other, into the blue heavens. Clouded Yellows are a scarce, accidental migrant from continental Europe, some years irrupting into Southern England across the channel. Sadly they are continuously brooded, and seem unable to survive a British winter, and little correlation is seen between their numbers one year to the next.

View of the Blackwater at Stone

A curious, large black bumblebee was not identified, and I think subsequent investigation led us to the conclusion it was probably a melanistic example of one of the Cuckoo bee species.

Melanistic form Cuckoo bee spp. 

A single small copper, and a number of little orange Small Skippers flew, but Gatekeepers were by far the commonest butterfly, indeed I maxed out the counter on the iRecord butterfly app, which settled, curiously, on '101+.' A beautiful Great Crested Grebe fished on the shimmering water, and Dad enjoyed the song of a Wren from one of the sailing club chalets.

Small Skipper butterfly at Stone

Birds Seen: Great Crested Grebe, Grey Heron, Black Headed Gull, Great Black Backed Gull, Herring Gull, Common Tern, Woodpigeon, Feral Pigeon, Great Tit, Swallow, Wren, Starling, House Sparrow, Dunnock, Pied Wagtail, Chaffinch, Linnet. 

Butterflies: Comma (1) Holly Blue (1) Green Veined White (19) Gatekeeper ('101+') Small White (19) Meadow Brown (24) Small Skipper (14) Marbled White (4) Large White (17) Small Tortoiseshell (1) Clouded Yellow (3) Small Copper (1) (210+ of 14 species) 

Canvey Wick, 21st July 2020

Mumsie and I found our intended destination, the excellent RSPB reserve at West Canvey, was still closed as a result of the coronavirus, so we headed over to the Buglife/Land Trust/RSPB reserve at Canvey Wick, a former industrial site, its concrete now home to some rare and unique invertebrates, including Shrill Carder Bees, one of the country's rarest bees, and Brown Banded Carder Bees.

The summer sun was high, and bright, and the air was calm, the weather glorious. 
 
Sadly, during lockdown the dog walkers had been doing their worst, and the path up from the car park was rather unpleasant, but entering the reserve 'proper' we found a riot of floral colour, from tiny alpines, to large and unfamiliar blooms, scarcities and garden escapes leaf by petal, no doubt. They rather made me wish I was I was a better botanist.

Note figure of 8 on hindwing, leading edge. Brown Argus at Canvey Wick

Note absence of figure 8 on hidwing and additional spot on forewing. Common Blue at Canvey Wick.

From a high wooden platform stretching over the Thames, we saw the unmistakable shape of a Whimbrel, probably a returning migrant, probing about in the mud with sharply downcurved bill, while Godwits flocked in the distance. A Little Egret flew out from under us, brilliant white in the sunshine. There were plenty of Carder Bees of various descriptions about, and beautiful little solitary bees. Whitethroats sang, and we saw many fledglings of this charming warbler. Mumsie found a Wall Butterfly, and a stunning Holly Blue, which invited photography.

Mumsie's Holly Blue

 

Birds Seen: Little Egret, Oystercatcher, Whimbrel*, Curlew, Bar Tailed Godwit, Redshank, Black Headed Gull, Lesser Black Backed Gull, Common Tern, Woodpigeon, Collared Dove, Great Spotted Woodpecker, Green Woodpecker, Magpie, Carrion Crow, Blue Tit, Chiffchaff, Lesser Whitethroat, Whitethroat, Wren, Dunnock, Greenfinch, Goldfinch.

Wall 

Butterflies seen: Small Skipper (1) Comma (1) Speckled Wood (1) Peacock (5) Large White (1) Wall (2) Holly Blue (3) Common Blue (1) Small Tortoiseshell (1) Red Admiral (1) Marbled White (2) Brown Argus (1) Meadow Brown (3) Gatekeeper (13) Small White (3) 

Burnet Companion Moth

I love South Essex

Strolling on West Canvey Marshes this morning, the flat, damp expanse of grazing marshes filling the space between the snaking mud channel of Pitsea creek, and the Canvey Way Avenue of Remembrance, as the A130 becomes when it crosses onto the “island,” and in the shadow of the huge former Coryton Oil Refinery, and its docks, I was struck by something. South Essex, you are flipping beautiful. Never change what you are.

Black Tailed Godwit at West Canvey Marshes

The water on the reserve was high, and there were puddles on the paths. These wet coastal meadows are a typical local habitat, sculpted by centuries of moderately intensive human land use, the coastal grazing marshes. The reserve is still, declare the information boards the RSPB have installed about, a working farm, and cattle graze its lush swards. The pool beside the A130 was attended by busy Black Tailed Godwits, prodding about on its grassy margins, and Lapwings stood on its banks.  The gentle mews of Common Gull, and the whistles of Wigeon, striking ducks with bold yellow stripes on tops of their heads seemed to fill the air, a winter chorus, despite the constant competition from the traffic just a few metres away.   These calls are evocative of the cold winter air, these birds have travelled from distant breeding grounds in Scandinavia, or Siberia, places compared to which these windswept marshes are relatively hospitable winter habitat.

I wander on as a trio of chirping Meadow Pipits fly overhead, more seasonal refugees from the uplands. Stonechats are here too, bold, striking and confiding. Stonechats watch you as you watch them. They seem to keep an eye on the observer, and occasionally take off to snatch one of the few insects still active in late Autumn, from the air or off the ground.  As I neared the next hide I was aware of the sky filling with birds, Godwit, all the ducks, Lapwings, and smaller Starlings, so often seen in the company of Lapwings on South Essex marshes at this time of year, and previously hidden among the long grass, all taking to the air.   Presumably disturbed by all the commotion, a Grey Heron joined them too.  They wheeled and climbed, alarm calls echoing, staying airborne, indicating the presence of an aerial predator. I could not spot one.  In the photographs of the flock the roofs of passing vans on the A130 are visible, but I was not aware of them at the time. This was wild Canvey. I sat down in the hide, and as I did so the birds began to settle again, Wigeon landing on the water en masse in front of me, hundreds of them.  A circling Marsh Harrier seemed too distant to be the cause of their collective alarm. A couple of ducks took off from the other side of the water, and a shape raced toward me across the water. I couldn’t make it out at first but within a few seconds I was eye to yellow eye with a Sparrowhawk. We seemed to hold each others’ gaze for a second as the raptor climbed a little, effortlessly, giving a piping alarm call of its own, and passed over my head, and over the top of the screen, dropping in behind a hedgerow somewhere between where I sat and the Oil Refinery, and was gone from view. I have no regrets about lacking the presence of mind to point my camera at it, that would have deprived me of the eye-to-eye moments I had with the bird, and the breathless, heart racing moment.  I hadn’t recognised the bird at first because its outline was broken by the dead starling in the hawk’s talons. This was a stunning wild predator, in a stunning wild landscape.

Flocking Wigeon, with passing traffic.

Walking down the path, between the hedges, crossing the bridge over the reed beds where a few short weeks ago Natalie and I had been watching the swallows gather to roost before their flight to sub-Saharan Africa, now long gone, I could not help but wonder at this oasis, and the beautiful, underrated part of the country into which it fits, the Estuary England, the South Essex Marshes. Like so many South Essex wildlife sites, West Canvey does not exist separately from the urban and industrial places which surround it, but merges seamlessly with them to form a wider landscape, continuous and stunning and interwoven.  It is not far from Basildon, and is one of a suite of marshes the RSPB helps to look after locally. Here and in the wider area, from Fortress Purfleet, known to the RSPB as Rainham Marshes and sitting West of the Dartford Crossing, to the wintering flocks of Brent Geese and Turnstone which hang around at high tide at the foot of Southend Pier in the East, and Wallasea and Foulness Islands beyond, both noted for their wintering raptors, these sites are settle easily into a landscape shaped by human activity along the river. So many, such as the chalk habitats at Chafford Gorges near Thurrock, once a chalk quarry, or the new invertebrate reserve managed by BugLife at Canvey Wick, home to rare bees and other invertebrates, once an oil refinery, exist on Brownfield sites, shaped by industry, and these industries existed here because of the river, connecting London with the open sea.

Stonechat on Canvey Island

South Essex, I thought, as I became surrounded by the squeaking contact calls of busy long-tailed tits around me, you are bloody gorgeous and I love you. Then I thought, oh look, a Goldcrest.

Pitsea Creek.