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.

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.

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.

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.

Two Recent Walks

I will have to keep this fairly breif as I am looking forward to an early start volunteering at Roding Valley Meadows nature reserve, and I am a little sun drenched and tired after an afternoon wandering round Wat Tyler Park near Pitsea, but I feel the need to share a couple of walks I've done during this present heatwave.

On Saturday I went with my good freind Bexx for a walk beside the Lee Navigation where it flows close to her home in Seven Sisters in North-East London. It was a glorious summers afternoon, more remeniscent of June than March, and in walking by the river it became easy to forget that I was in London. Narrowboats use the Navigation, and many other people were using the opportunity to get some sunshine and get out on and near the water. We met a grey Heron sitting beside the Lee and he seemed happy to pose for a few photgraphs, even as cyclists and walkers passed by on the towpath, and a narrowboat passed by, it's happy occupants enjoying a pint in the sunshine.

We also saw several gulls flying about, making a commotion and diving at something in the river. It was never clear what it was, but Herring, Common and Lesser Black Backed gulls seemed keen on pursuing each other on the wing over it. The Common Gulls seemed few in number and largely immature, second summer, non-breeding birds. These are very much a wintering species in this part of the country and not generally part of the avifauna of summer here, although in the winter months adults and youngsters are one of the commonest species of "seagull" to be found on playing fields and other inland sites.

Young Common Gull diving for food in the Lee Navigation

Upon emerging from the water the Common Gull was immediately ambushed by a larger Herring Gull

It is true that the bird life here consists of species which are untroubled by the regular presence of man. There were no scarcer waterfowl, but plenty of coots and mallards, a few handsome mute swans and the inevitable Canada Geese. One more attractive non-native species found on these waterways is the Egyptian Goose, a fantastic looking goose with unusually long legs, largely brown plumage, with distinctive "eye makeup" on it's face. One of the people on a narrowboat was feeding a pair of these beautiful wildfowl from through his porthole, and the birds had climbed right up onto the deck of the boat for the bread he was offering.

We walked up as far as Tottenham Locks and a road bridge which reminded us that this waterside idyll was still in the bustling heart of London, and turned back toward Hackney where it was easy to forget. Allotments opposite Springfield park, a large area of manicured parkland with wonderful trees covered in blosson standing in it, had a Jay in them alongside some chaffinches, but by then the light had begun to fade and I was not able to get a good photograph. We stopped when we reached a pub, which sat opposide another open space, with read beds, and enjoyed a well-earned pint, as the last of the light faded.

Today I was unable to resist the opportunity to catch a little more sunshine and made my way up to Wat Tyler park in Essex. I sat on some wartime concrete beside the creek for an hour to begin with, but in the absence of birds contented myself with looking out across the network of creeks and saltmarsh toward industrial Canvey, and enjoying the heat, and the Small Tortoiseshell butterfly which was enjoying sunning itself on an exposed patch of earth on the sea wall. What struck me most about my trip was the number of butterflies which could be seen. The densities were still low but my list of butterflies for the day reached four species, Comma, Small Tortoiseshell, Peacock and Small White, the first of this species for the year. The heatwave had brought these out onto the wing. It certainly felt like summer. 

Walking round the trails I saw few birds, plenty of Robins could be heard singing their hearts out, and blue and great tits alighted on the tops of bushes. Ever present was the tea-cher tea-cher call of Great Tits, one of the sounds of the springtime. I didn't see any waders here by the creeks from the estuary, but perhaps I timed my visit badly as the tide was high and the water glittered in the sunshine.

An hour in the main hide overlooking the scrape near the former National Powerboat Museum, now sadly closed down, probably revealed the best bird life, although there was still relatively little to see. A few Teal and Shoveller were all that remained of the once abundant wintering watefowl, an exodus among these species to more Northerly climes and their breeding season having clearly begun. I watched the Rookery on the other side of the marsh, as streams of the dark Corvids flew in from the estuary, and down from further inland, some of them with nesting material in the form of sticks, and pieces of litter, to add-to and repair their massive nests, the size and extent clearly revealed through the still leafless trees. A raptor, a small, smart male Sparrowhawk, put up some of the birds as it flew away from the Corvid colony, where presumably mobbing would have become dangerous, and I saw a couple of Lapwings remaining on the wetland, taking off on their big, white wings, their shape and underwing patterns unmistakable.

I made my way home by bicycle along the footpath of the A127, a tiring experience indeed. Riding down the 127 is not so much long and difficult, although it is long and the traffic fumes begin to make themselves known after a while, but it is boring. A long straight road.

A breif note before I go to mention the remarkable Great Spotted Woodpecker I have seen in my garden of late. He seems to have developed an elongated and slightly decurved beak. One wonders what effect this would likely have on his day to day activities but he seemed perfectly happy on our bird cake feeder. Interesting. We've also had goldfinches through recently making garden birding all the more interesting. I might have to send a copy of this photo off to the BTO to make enquiries but see what you make of it:

Wonderful Elmley

My father and I spent today at the RSPB's stunning Elmley reserve in the North Kent Marshes, on the Isle of Sheppey, making our way over the Dartford Bridge and to the opposite side of the estuary. The entrance track to Elmley is a couple of miles long and provides an impressive introduction to the strange and barren landscape. A couple of partridges took off as I stepped out of the car to run and grab the binoculars, and flew a short distance to disappear behind a stand of Sedge, but returning to it, I was pleased to see several lapwings, standing on the grass, and in the further distance, wheeling and tumbling in their spectacular display flights, flashing white and green as they roll from side to side in the air.  The car allowed us to get a little closer to the birds than we would otherwise be able to, and the Lapwings afforded good photo opportunities.

Lapwing.

We reached the car park and made our way to the first hides. One of the first things that struck us about this remarkable reserve at this time of year, was the sound. There were skylarks everywhere, rising out of the grass, singing at their absolute, jangling techno best.  The grass of the grazing marsh had been grazed short by the sheep which are kept on the reserve through with winter, and it presents a strange, empty landscape, with little cover, few trees beyond the small cluster of buildings which house the RSPB's office, windswept and a little desolate even on a bright, clear day. A couple of abandoned constructions, perhaps vestiges of Victorian drainage schemes, sit forlornly on the flat land. A hunting Kestrel hovered over the grassland. Rabbits and Hares, of which there were plenty, seemed to be filling in for the sheep while they were away. As we were walking down to the hides, another mile or two, we saw a couple of hares, one pursuing the other frantically across the grass, the kind of behaviour hares are well known to be disposed to in March. Unfortunately they did not box. I find hares magical, they seem to have an old, wizened appearance, like some mythical hedgerow magickian, with an ancient wisdom. I'm dimly aware they are important in Saxon and Celtic folklore, an association I wish I knew more about, but I can see how these surprisingly large, highly secretive and slightly ghostly looking mammals would have caught the imagination.

Hare.

At the first hide we looked out over a scrape which was covered in the typical range of resident and passage waders and wildfowl. There were several handsome widgeon, a couple of Pochards, Gadwall, smart Shovellers with russet flanks, and mallards. The white of avocets and little egrets was bright in the sunshine, and some of the Black-tailed Godwits were already resplendent in their summer plumage, with bright orange on their breasts. A couple of bumblebees buzzed about over the short sward, and a flock of little Dunlins flew across the water while turnstones prodded busily in the soil. Not long after we had arrived the birds took to the wing and we saw our second raptor of the visit, a smart female Merlin, her face markings creating the impression of a large, dark tear on her face, streaked past above us.

We made our way to the next hide which also overlooked the shallow water. The RSPB's web site describes the water level as somewhat lower than usual, and raises concerns about how the drought, which has prevented the RSPB from abstracting water to keep the marshes well irrigated, will affect wildlife. Historically these sites have been able to remain wet naturally, and this damp wasteland in its vastness was described in some of the works of Dickens, but today, their increasing isolation, and drainage schemes in the 19th and 20th centuries, spurred on in part by the honorable, and successful, aim of eradicating Marsh Fever, a temperate world form of mosquito-borne Malaria, has left them somewhat dry. The management aims to address this shortage of water, but this is difficult to justify in this coming summer of hosepipe bans. Grazing maintains a short sward for nesting skylark and lapwing, but the invertebrates on which they depend are reliant on wet soil.  The second hide was relatively quiet, although we saw a couple of little egrets there and got good views of a second kestrel, this time a male.

The walk to the sea wall hides, overlooking the Swale, a body of water separating the Isle of Sheppey from the Kentish mainland, was a long one, and not long after we set out we had our second "wow" moment of the trip. From behind the sea wall rose a Marsh Harrier, a male, with black primaries on his brown and grey wings. He flew over us as I fumbled for my camera, and unfortunately he was away before I could get a good shot. He dropped into the grass and emerged with something brown and round- I suspect either a little grebe or a water vole, in his talons. He climbed away and continued floating across the marsh, on wings raised in a slight V. It was only for a few seconds, but he was close, almost immediately above us, a matter of a couple of metres away.

The sea wall hide was a long walk, past several shelduck, and little pools surrounded by Phragmites, the tallest vegetation around, which hosted little grebe and in one case a small sunken dingy. A small flock of Oystercatchers gathered on the bank of one, becoming a little agitated as we past but thankfully retaining the confidence not to be flushed. We looked at every large bird which passed over us in  the hope of Hen Harrier, but most turned out to be Greater Black Backed or Herring Gulls. From the sea wall hide, perhaps another mile across the reserve, we could see several Turnstone and Avocet, as well as a good number of smart Grey Plover. Silver would be a better way of describing the striking markings on the backs of the charming Plovers.  There were turnstones and several Dunlin, which were put up by the surprise appearance of another Marsh Harrier. Black headed gulls followed the line of the surf, feeding both by wading and on the wing. Nearly all of the adults had the full, dark hood of their summer plumage. Large, mottled Curlews probed in the deep mud with their long decurved beaks, some distance from the gentle surf, while the avocets used their recurved beaks to feed where the water was shallowest. We watched the waders for a while before beginning our long return journey. Not long after we had left the hide did Elmley provide us with another moment, when hundreds of Brent Geese took to the air and flew over the sea wall, arriving on the grass of the reserve where they settled to feed. For a few seconds the blue sky was full of these big, dark and noisy geese, and they formed a stack to land beside one of the marshland pools.

From the hide which represented our half-way point on our walk back to the main reserve, we saw a pair of mute swans in front of us, preening themselves, while waterside life continued in front of us. A couple of little egrets sat hunched in the distance, while Greylag and Canada geese, more familiar species, grazed over the water. An Owl-like shape could be seen above the distant sea wall, and through the binoculars it looked like a Short Eared Owl. Views were distant and a little unsatisfying. It was then that a bird of the most unexpected shape appeared overhead. It was pure white and flew with its neck outstretched, making the shape of a cross. I stared at it with a sense of disbelief as it landed breifly on the marsh in front of us. A species that had eluded me a few times at Dungeness and Poole Harbour, and only caught up with me before in Greece, had landed in front of us. As I fumbled for my camera it inevitably took off again, to settle further away, but a spoonbill, even without a photograph! The beak of a Spoonbill is amazing, it looks so thick and heavy, as much a club as a spoon. On this individual it appeared slightly pale, suggesting a bird not yet fully in its adult plumage. I imagine it may have been on its way to the Oosvardersplassen, or some other wetland in Holland or northern France to a breeding area there, chancing upon this amazing wetland habitat en route.

We walked back, buzzing from our encounter with a Spoonbill, to the first hide we'd visited, and I went in to see if I could re-find my spoonbill for a photo but it had gone. I stayed for a short while discussing sites to visit with a gentleman in the hide, he recommended Cliffe Pools, also in Kent, but upon leaving I saw my dad on top of the grassy bank gesturing frantically. I couldn't see exactly what he was pointing at until I caught up with him. He had found, hunting silently along the bank, not one, but two Short Eared Owls. At one point I could see through my binoculars two Owls and, in the distance, a Marsh Harrier. It has been said the Owls had a good breeding season last year and unusual numbers had been seen in the country this winter, a phenomenon which appears to have given me the second, third, and fourth Short Eared Owl sightings of my life. On our way back to the car the light had begun to fade, marsh harriers were picked out by their distinctive sillouettes against the sunset, hares ran about, oddly conspicuous in the short grass, and a spectacular male pheasant also crossed our path and disappeared into the reeds. A mist had come to settle on the landscape.

Jumbles CP, Bolton and the Manchester Museum.

At the weekend I took another trip up North, to visit some freinds and check out an open day at Lancaster University. Although proper wildlife watching opportunities were relatively few, due to a full social schedule (Cheers guys!) my mate Vince and I went to Jumbles Country Park on the outskirts of the sprawling and lively town of Bolton, Lancashire.

The Jumbles Reservoir

We went up there on the afternoon of March 19th, a Monday, and walked down into the woodlands. This site also takes the form of a wooded valley, with a substantial reservoir at one end. We didn't see any rarities, but a goldcrest entertained us from some pine trees, set in a natural theatre provided by an outcrop of the local sandstone. Long-tailed tits, apparantly unharmed by the breif cold snap in february, were present in good numbers, as were Coal Tits. It was good to see these species still thriving at these latitudes, especially as I hadn't actually caught sight of a Coal Tit this year before these couple of excursions, and because goldcrests, long tailed tits, and other small bodied birds do not thrive in cold winters, such as those of 2010/11 or 2009/10.  A Grey Heron was seen flying above the trees on its way to the Jumbles reservoir.

Poser Great Tit

In one end of the park sits the Jumbles reservoir, a substantial body of water, bordered by woodlands and only partially open to the public. Among the emerging daffodils were notices warning of the dangers of swimming in the reservoir. Not much chance of that, despite a blue sky a chill wind was blowing. We had our lunch in a sheltered spot near the waters edge, and a great tit breifly alighted in the flowering blackthorn shrubs, kindly posing for a photograph. On the water a pair of great crested grebes were swimming. They seemed to be relaxed together and wore their full summer plumage, evidence that soon perhaps small grebes, stripy headed, will be about, taking rides on their parent's backs. Canada Geese were there in numbers, as were plenty of mallards including a few which looked like farmyard escapes. Mallards are extremely common, of course, and with that being the case it is easy to forget how smart they look, and we enjoyed the graceful arrival of several on the water. Of the Canada geese, one, swimming alone, appeared to be a hybrid between a Canada goose, and perhaps another species.Looking at the photograph it may actually be a partially leucistic Canada Goose. Any thoughts?

Curious Canada Goose?

It was a breif visit and soon it was getting dark, and we had to make our return to Vince's house, for curry night, but not before we had spotted a few greenfinches in the waterside trees, been entertained by a busy wren, and seen a couple of Nuthatches in one of the twisted oaks. The country park is not quite the wild moorland of Lancashire I hope to visit on my next trip up, but nontheless it was interesting to visit another suburban wildlife site in a different part of the country.

Now I usually confine this blog to wild animals, but the following day I met up with Natalie in Manchester city centre and we visited the museum of Manchester, with its fascinating exhibitions of fossils and stuffed animals. We saw the skeleton of Confusciusornis, a bird fossil showing the continued evolution of birds from their dinosaur ancestors, with the beginnings of a bird's beak, still with reptilian teeth in its mouth however, and with imprints of the feathers which would have allowed this early bird to fly. We were also impressed by the collection of live animals, which included beautiful, tiny, jewel like Poison Arrow frogs from the Amazon, and by the opportunity, having fortuitously timed our visit with feeding time, to see a chamaeleon eating. The Madagascan Panther Chamaeleon extended it's thick, sticky tongue, slowly at first, before hurling it like a dart out of it's mouth at the unfortunate locust the museum employee placed in front of it. It chomped on the bug a couple of times before swallowing it. Having seen my fair share of Chamaeleons, in the wild and in zoos, it intrigued me to know that a captive chamaeleon was required for an encounter like that.

Panther Chamaeleon, the Vivarium, Manchester Museum.

We walked back down the canal and to the coach station. There was little wildlife in the city but we did see a Canada goose apparantly sitting on a nest beside the canal, opposite busy and bustling Canal Street near Manchester's main bus station.

Canada Goose nesting by Canal Street.

RSPB Coombes Valley, Staffordshire, 13th March 2012

The RSPB's woodland reserve at Coombes valley in Staffordshire, as the RSPB web site and the staff and volunteers who run the place freely state, is better in later spring and in summer. With that in mind, Natalie and I made our way there on a sunny afternoon in March for a stroll in the oak/birch hanger woodland, which occupies one of the walls of a wooded river valley, and through some recently replanted woodland, which occupies the other.  We walked down a steep and winding path through the young woodland, listening to birdsong but seeing little except for a few blue and great tits. We sat for a while on a bench and enjoyed the birdsong. Wrens, robins and Dunnocks sang for us but sightings were relatively few. It was a stunning day, and the sky a wild, deep blue, the sun still warming us, the leaves still being in bud. Natalie saw her first butterfly of the year, probably a small tortoiseshell but it was a little distant.

The ancient woodland is beautiful and wonderfully managed. Moss and lichen grows well here, and lines the tree trunks, relatively free from industrial pollution. Bracket fungi, and other curiously shaped fungi grow from the standing deadwood. Several birds were already singing although it was early in the season, and few were to be seen. 

Coombes valley

We sat down for a while beside a pond in the valley bottom. As we approached it the water seemed to boil with the kicking feet of randy  Common Frogs (Rana temporaria), but, wise to our presence by the vibrations our feet made through the ground, they swiftly disappeared when we arrived. A huge mat of frogspawn occupied one end of the pond, and an island with a few trees in it stood in the middle. A small brown bird appeared and began to climb up one of the boughs. It disappeared from view periodically as it climbed in a spiral up the bough, but it had a scruffy appearance, and a distinct supercillium. The Treecreeper (Certhia familiaris), a bird no bigger than a great tit, and wonderfully camoflaged in brown, grey and the golden brown which catches the sunlight, is something of a woodland icon. It has a long, downcurved beak for extracting insects from the bark of trees. Coombes Valley's most famous occupants are its Redstarts (Phoenicurus phoenicurus) and Pied Flycatchers (Ficedula hypoleuca) but these do not arrive from their wintering grounds until late April, but the treecreeper is a woodland resident. It's fascinating appearance makes it something of a favourite of mine. As we watched the treecreeper, and a few Coal Tits (Periparus ater) doing theirn acrobatics in the trees in front of us, from above the valley wall appeared a spectacular pair of Buzzards (Buteo buteo) which afforded us lovely views for several minutes.

We walked further down the woodland trail beside the river and hoped to see more dippers but did not.  Down by the valley floor seemed one of the busiest places, with coal, blue, great, and long tailed tits apparantly in every tree, smart nuthatches pursuing their upside-down lifestyle. Winter finches seemed in short supply, many of them, presumably, heading for the more boreal woodlands in which they breed, but I caught sight of the brightest male Siskin (Carduelis spinus) with a dark crown on his bright yellow head, through a small gap in the trees. There were plenty of Chaffinches alighting occasionally in the trees. Low in the valley seemed the birdiest spot, with a considerable gathering of passerines. 

Sparrowhawk!

We then took in the views offered by the large, woodcock-shaped seat at the top of the trail named after this iconic woodland species, and saw the sun beginning to set over the woodland, as long-tailed and coal tits did their last bit of foraging for the day. Hopes of a Roding woodcock were not met and we walked back towards the visitors centre. We were about to leave when a Sparrowhawk passed over our heads generating numerous alarm calls from the passerines. He circled for a few moments before departing. not long after, another buzzard, of which the site seemed to have many, soared over us. It was a wonderful place and I look forward to returning later in the year, while a few of its iconic summer migrants are back. As we walked we saw plenty of blackbirds and a Song Thrush (Turdus philomelos), an increasingly uncommon sight. As the light faded a tawny owl began to hoot somewhere in the woods below. 

In a perhaps misguided and rather epic attempt to get back into Leek via cross country footpaths, we got very muddy, but were also lucky enough to inadvertantly flush what, through the darkness, I am sure was a Tawny Owl, from one of the oak trees bordering a farmer's field. It was an epic walk to Leek.

The following morning we had one more Staffordshire site to visit before I had to make my way back home. We visited Biddulph Grange country park, another wooded valley site, although this dominated by more ornamental plantings, including various conifers, and stands of Rhododendron, the latter recently thinned as part of an attempt to eradicate a disease affecting some of the trees. Here we saw a few coal tits, and a charming pair of Grey Wagtails (Motacilla cinerea) in the brook which runs through the park. They bob about on the rocks in their fast-flowing river habitat, and, despite their name, are quite striking with yellow bellies. A couple of smart little wrens were also present in the woodland undergrowth. I could have stayed with Natty and watched the wagtails for some time, but unfortunately I had to leave the park and, having spent as much time out as we could, pick up the pace to catch my coach home from Hanley bus station.

Grey Wagtail at Biddulph Grange CP