At Chafford this morning I spent a good hour or two standing in a lake, picking up empty bottles abandoned by visitors, as April showers chucked buckets of water over me and my colleagues. It was worth it to see another part of the reserve gradually cleared of rubbish, and to see one of the lakes from an angle the public don't usually get to. We continued to work as the rain came down and the birdsong, and constant goose noise, went silent, and the storm past over us.
As we took a break for lunch, the sky began to brighten over the horizon, and gradually the rain eased. It seemed a few moments before the spring chorus began to come back to life, and a chiffchaff opened as the first rays of sunshine began to warm us as we trudged along the slippery lakeside path to pile up the rubbish we'd collected. As we headed up to the centre for a cup of tea, the birdsong, which seemed more intense after the rain, had returned, and we could hear the distinct two note, repetitious call of great tits, and the more melodic song of robins. A cormorant flew across the blue sky, perhaps on his way back from the relative shelter of the gorge to his fishing grounds on the Thames.
More showers passed that day, and sometimes I felt distinctly unspringlike, as I carried on helping with the litter pick in my wet clothes. I had returned to the visitors centre for a cup of tea, when, at the suggestion of one of the volunteers in the visitors centre, the Reserves Manager and I went outside onto the balcony overlooking the gorge-really an old chalk pit-to look at the Cowslips which were beginning to emerge on the steep bank down to the paths. Another bank of cloud was building opposite us, where the weather was coming fron, but for now there was an azure sky above our heads and bright sunshine. Several yellow Cowslip flowerheads, another pretty sign of spring, each composed of several small flowers, delicately nodding downwards with their long calyx, had emerged since my last visit a week ago. We were discussing the impending summer butterflies (a gentleman had shown us a recent photo of a speckled wood he'd taken) when something in the blue sky caught my eye, a small, sparrow sized bird with distinctly pointed wings. It flew straight breifly, climbing up in the air before expertly swooping, slowing, and climbing a little to snatch an insect before gliding in a descending arc towards us, and back over the roof of the building. As it turned the sunlight caught on the metallic blue of its wings and it's pure, bright white rump and underside. I pointed at it and exclaimed something like "House Martin, first of the summer!" It flew one more pass of the roof of the building, and, amusingly, pooed right onto the centre roof, and was gone.
A lot of people have reported swallows or sand martins passing through, but this is the first I have heard of a Housey this year, and it was my first hirundine of the season, and a harbinger of the summer season, which makes it rather a special year tick for me.
Thursday, 12 April 2012
Sunday, 8 April 2012
Tangoed Godwits
On a sunny day, after a couple of chill grey ones, I took the train down to Leigh on Sea to meet up with an old freind from volunteering and went to try and see some birds at Two Tree Island, the EWT managed reserve which sits on former landfil in the Thames Estuary, beside the industrial wasteland, holiday destination and historic flood icon of Canvey Island. After a little faff and hassle trying to find each other we strolled down the sea wall, as model aeroplanes buzzed around, part of the reserve being set aside for use by model aeroplane enthusiasts.
We wandered along the sea wall, and I realised, having visited the place what felt like not so long since, that it had started to become much greener, with leaf burst everywhere, and scattered daffodils blooming all over the place. A black, hairy, Tiger moth-type caterpillar walked across the path. We ignored the first hide, from which so little can be seen, and made our way to the hide overlooking the artificial lagoon, a shallow body of saline water, popular with waders at low tide and used by breeding Avocets. Avocets are spectacular, but have become somewhat familiar of late, so it was the Godwits that caught my eye. These grey birds, so often standing in small groups, sombre and smart, had begun their transformation into their summer plumages. The Black-Tailed Godwits, with their white wing bars, visible when they stretched or fluttered about, had been tangoed! They are not seen in this colourscheme in these parts for long, and will soon be continuing their long migration North. They looked quite spectacular in deep, rusty orange, a splash of colour among the typically grey avifauna of these muddy stretches of estuary. Bar Tailed Godwits only occur round here during their passage migration, but this time they were present in quite large numbers, mixing with their cogenerics to form a large flock of about a hundred birds, although they remained in their more sombre winter dress. A few black and white Oystercatchers, and orange-legged Redshanks completed the wader mix.
Immediately apparant on reaching the lagoon was the noise, it has become, in the past few weeks, a gull colony. The squawks of these birds seemed to fill the air. With so many of these notorious nest predators around, one wonders how the island is such an important breeding area for so many waders. Many of them seemed paired up, and only adults appeared to be present, all with the full chocolate brown hood of the breeding season, which they will retain only until about July, when they moult. The juveniles were elsewhere. Some searching revealed a pair of Mediterranean gulls amongst them, although there is clearly little chance of them reaching the same sort of numbers as I saw in Rye the other week. I was amused by one pair of black headed gulls, either relatively young and inexperienced, or having just mated, were in a curious position, as the female was attempting to walk around, while the male, perhaps enjoying the pair bond between them, stood nonchalently on her back. He was making no attempt to mate with her, just standing there looking confused, as she tried to go about her business.
As we left a sign warned us that Adders were common on the island this year. We saw none, and I wondered if the sign had been left up from last year. I would certainly be keen to see one of these venomous snakes, but Friday was not the day. In a Hawthorne bush overlooking the lagoon we found a silken nest of small, hairy caterpillars, each with orange tufts on the read end of its body. Although they were small, I am fairly confident they were Vapourer Moths, a species in which the adult female is, unusually, wingless. Vapourers often have a difficult time as pest controllers, who one would hope, given their responsibilities, know what they're talking about, often mistake them for the more dangerous brown tail moth, the caterpillars of which have urticating hairs, with sad results. large numbers of caterpillars clustered together on the silken mat they had spun, in which more were sheltering.
We wandered up a little, and could hear the sound of a skylark singing in the air, against the din of model helicopters which were now taking their turn above the model air field.
We saw a pair of linnets feeding by the path, evidently paired up and not forming part of the winter linnet flock, which also graces the island and at one point flew over our heads. There was a green woodpecker flying about too, as well as several crows and magpies. A meadow brown butterfly flew by us, and a couple of small whites were also to be seen, and a stonechat perched smartly at the top of a bush.
Ella had to leave in the early afternoon, and after saying our goodbyes I made my way over to the other side of Two Tree Island. Now also managed by the wildlife trust, it represents a more diverse, and in some ways more interesting habitat than the Western side. It contains ample scrub habitats, including some rather stunning blackthorn, it's blossom perhaps a little faded and beginning to fall, as well as reedbeds and two small bodies of fresh water. A chaffinch caught my eye with a good impression of a flycatcher, a dark bird with white on the wings darting from its perch in a tall Hawthorne to catch some of the dance flies. I've not seen this traditional seed eater feeding this way, and it was interesting behaviour. A grey Heron flew over. Blue, great and long-tailed tits all attended the peanut feeder which is kept well stocked by the reserve managers, and a male Reed Bunting, distinct with his black head and white collar, appeared startled and flew past me.
At the first body of water, a concrete edged structure, I saw a pair of Shelducks relaxing in the sunshine, and a couple of black headed gulls. Gone, it seemed, were the bulk of the winter wildfowl, without a shoveller or a wigeon to be seen all day. Mildly disappointed, I continued my walk to the short grass area with benches, which serves as a good spot to observe the bird life of Leigh Green, an area of natural saltmarsh. Out, at a great distance, were a number of curlew, perhaps forty or fifty big brown streaky waders probed with their long, decurved beaks in the mud beyond the saltmarsh vegetation. A few Brent Geese flew over, and landed near the curlews. Strikingly, they were very similar in size, demonstrating what a large bird the familiar curlew is. I scanned around for a smaller one with a shorter beak, in the hope of catching up with a migrating Whimbrel, but I saw none. A flock of brent geese stood on some vegetation out in the direction of southend pier, which stretches a mile out from the headland of southend a few miles East of where I sat. Across the river in kent a chimney spewed grey smoke into the sky, and a bank of cloud had begun to come in from the North, off the land. I walked on, taking a look among the phragmites in the hope of seeing another reed bunting, but I saw none. An explosive burst of song was from a Cettis Warbler, unseen in the reeds, and a wren, also unseen, sang too.
As I walked between the river and the small lake on the south side of Two Tree, I spotted a pair of Moorhens. These swam with their heads low, their necks stretched parallel to the water, and their tails, with their distinct white feathers under their tails displayed, in a sort of dance, rotating in the water to show each other their white undertail patches, whilst moving in a broad, synchronised circle on the water. Not wishing to disturb their courtship, I stepped down onto the saltings, and continued out of site. When I climbed the bank again, I startled a pair of Teal who took to the air. There were black headed gulls here too, but in sharp contrast to those at the lagoon, most of these appeared to be immature birds, with varying degrees of dark markings on their wings.
I reached the end of the path and stepped out, back onto the access track which leads all the way to Leigh station. A few dog walkers passed me, and the light cloud cover became almost complete. I left my favourite local nature reserve and headed back down to Leigh station, taking the time to glance about for bird life on the way, finding nothing of note. Birds were perhaps not present in the numbers I might have hoped, and there was a distinct absence of whitethroat, blackcap and hirundines, which are usually present, but I had seen a few good things and orange Godwits were a welcome, and somewhat unusual sight.
We wandered along the sea wall, and I realised, having visited the place what felt like not so long since, that it had started to become much greener, with leaf burst everywhere, and scattered daffodils blooming all over the place. A black, hairy, Tiger moth-type caterpillar walked across the path. We ignored the first hide, from which so little can be seen, and made our way to the hide overlooking the artificial lagoon, a shallow body of saline water, popular with waders at low tide and used by breeding Avocets. Avocets are spectacular, but have become somewhat familiar of late, so it was the Godwits that caught my eye. These grey birds, so often standing in small groups, sombre and smart, had begun their transformation into their summer plumages. The Black-Tailed Godwits, with their white wing bars, visible when they stretched or fluttered about, had been tangoed! They are not seen in this colourscheme in these parts for long, and will soon be continuing their long migration North. They looked quite spectacular in deep, rusty orange, a splash of colour among the typically grey avifauna of these muddy stretches of estuary. Bar Tailed Godwits only occur round here during their passage migration, but this time they were present in quite large numbers, mixing with their cogenerics to form a large flock of about a hundred birds, although they remained in their more sombre winter dress. A few black and white Oystercatchers, and orange-legged Redshanks completed the wader mix.
 |
| Avocets, Black Headed Gulls, Black and Bar-Tailed Godwits, on the Lagoon at Two Tree Island. |
Immediately apparant on reaching the lagoon was the noise, it has become, in the past few weeks, a gull colony. The squawks of these birds seemed to fill the air. With so many of these notorious nest predators around, one wonders how the island is such an important breeding area for so many waders. Many of them seemed paired up, and only adults appeared to be present, all with the full chocolate brown hood of the breeding season, which they will retain only until about July, when they moult. The juveniles were elsewhere. Some searching revealed a pair of Mediterranean gulls amongst them, although there is clearly little chance of them reaching the same sort of numbers as I saw in Rye the other week. I was amused by one pair of black headed gulls, either relatively young and inexperienced, or having just mated, were in a curious position, as the female was attempting to walk around, while the male, perhaps enjoying the pair bond between them, stood nonchalently on her back. He was making no attempt to mate with her, just standing there looking confused, as she tried to go about her business.
As we left a sign warned us that Adders were common on the island this year. We saw none, and I wondered if the sign had been left up from last year. I would certainly be keen to see one of these venomous snakes, but Friday was not the day. In a Hawthorne bush overlooking the lagoon we found a silken nest of small, hairy caterpillars, each with orange tufts on the read end of its body. Although they were small, I am fairly confident they were Vapourer Moths, a species in which the adult female is, unusually, wingless. Vapourers often have a difficult time as pest controllers, who one would hope, given their responsibilities, know what they're talking about, often mistake them for the more dangerous brown tail moth, the caterpillars of which have urticating hairs, with sad results. large numbers of caterpillars clustered together on the silken mat they had spun, in which more were sheltering.
We wandered up a little, and could hear the sound of a skylark singing in the air, against the din of model helicopters which were now taking their turn above the model air field.
We saw a pair of linnets feeding by the path, evidently paired up and not forming part of the winter linnet flock, which also graces the island and at one point flew over our heads. There was a green woodpecker flying about too, as well as several crows and magpies. A meadow brown butterfly flew by us, and a couple of small whites were also to be seen, and a stonechat perched smartly at the top of a bush.
Ella had to leave in the early afternoon, and after saying our goodbyes I made my way over to the other side of Two Tree Island. Now also managed by the wildlife trust, it represents a more diverse, and in some ways more interesting habitat than the Western side. It contains ample scrub habitats, including some rather stunning blackthorn, it's blossom perhaps a little faded and beginning to fall, as well as reedbeds and two small bodies of fresh water. A chaffinch caught my eye with a good impression of a flycatcher, a dark bird with white on the wings darting from its perch in a tall Hawthorne to catch some of the dance flies. I've not seen this traditional seed eater feeding this way, and it was interesting behaviour. A grey Heron flew over. Blue, great and long-tailed tits all attended the peanut feeder which is kept well stocked by the reserve managers, and a male Reed Bunting, distinct with his black head and white collar, appeared startled and flew past me.
At the first body of water, a concrete edged structure, I saw a pair of Shelducks relaxing in the sunshine, and a couple of black headed gulls. Gone, it seemed, were the bulk of the winter wildfowl, without a shoveller or a wigeon to be seen all day. Mildly disappointed, I continued my walk to the short grass area with benches, which serves as a good spot to observe the bird life of Leigh Green, an area of natural saltmarsh. Out, at a great distance, were a number of curlew, perhaps forty or fifty big brown streaky waders probed with their long, decurved beaks in the mud beyond the saltmarsh vegetation. A few Brent Geese flew over, and landed near the curlews. Strikingly, they were very similar in size, demonstrating what a large bird the familiar curlew is. I scanned around for a smaller one with a shorter beak, in the hope of catching up with a migrating Whimbrel, but I saw none. A flock of brent geese stood on some vegetation out in the direction of southend pier, which stretches a mile out from the headland of southend a few miles East of where I sat. Across the river in kent a chimney spewed grey smoke into the sky, and a bank of cloud had begun to come in from the North, off the land. I walked on, taking a look among the phragmites in the hope of seeing another reed bunting, but I saw none. An explosive burst of song was from a Cettis Warbler, unseen in the reeds, and a wren, also unseen, sang too.
As I walked between the river and the small lake on the south side of Two Tree, I spotted a pair of Moorhens. These swam with their heads low, their necks stretched parallel to the water, and their tails, with their distinct white feathers under their tails displayed, in a sort of dance, rotating in the water to show each other their white undertail patches, whilst moving in a broad, synchronised circle on the water. Not wishing to disturb their courtship, I stepped down onto the saltings, and continued out of site. When I climbed the bank again, I startled a pair of Teal who took to the air. There were black headed gulls here too, but in sharp contrast to those at the lagoon, most of these appeared to be immature birds, with varying degrees of dark markings on their wings.
I reached the end of the path and stepped out, back onto the access track which leads all the way to Leigh station. A few dog walkers passed me, and the light cloud cover became almost complete. I left my favourite local nature reserve and headed back down to Leigh station, taking the time to glance about for bird life on the way, finding nothing of note. Birds were perhaps not present in the numbers I might have hoped, and there was a distinct absence of whitethroat, blackcap and hirundines, which are usually present, but I had seen a few good things and orange Godwits were a welcome, and somewhat unusual sight.
Saturday, 7 April 2012
Woodpecker
Wednesday, 4 April 2012
Still no Swallows!
On Sunday, the sun came back, and, in recognition of the
arrival of the Easter holiday and keen to try out the new ‘scope my father
bought, we decided to head down to RSPB Purfleet, and this time, managed to
arrive during the site’s opening hours.
Lapwings were about as usual, doing their wheeling thing over the
wetlands, and Wigeon and Shoveller numbers were well down on what we had seen
during the winter. We proceeded at first to the wooded area around the former
Cordite store, an area, now gone to woodland, protected by embankments designed
to contain any explosion in what was, during the site’s military days, which
lasted from the Napoleonic Wars to the 1970s, basically an ammunition dump.
More than one chiffchaff could be heard singing away with its distinct,
repetitive chiff-chiff-chaff call, and a partially leucistic blue tit, with a
white face, hung upside down in a tree pecking at the buds.
 | ||
| Partially leucistic blue tit. |
 |
| Clinging Dunnock |
We got to the area where the feeders are, past a friendly robin who perched on
the end of a handrail, and allowed us to get very close to him. A pair of
Dunnocks were around, and at one point I observed one of these clinging to the
side of one of the feeders. Surely this is a behaviour that these smart little
ground feeding birds have only mastered in recent years? Several male reed
buntings were also around, wearing their jet black hoods, part of their summer
breeding plumage. We were also surprised to see a handsome and very endearing
brown rat foraging at the base of the feeders.
I like rats and find them very charismatic beasts, I wonder if the
legendary colony of Black Rats (Rattus rattus) can still be found near the
docks in Tilbury. I would love to see one, they are among the most endangered
mammals in the country, persecution, and the arrival of the Brown Rat (R. norvegicus)
having largely wiped them out. This Brown
Rat was feeding next to a Collared Dove who seemed completely unperturbed by
his rodent dinner guest.
 |
| handsome Brown Rat |
From the Ken Barrat hide, we saw a handsome Snipe, presumably a passage
migrant, rummaging in the grass with his remarkable beak, and watched what I’m
sure was a Peregrine circling at height, a stocky falcon flying on pointed
wings. This was my first Peregrine of the year and my first at Purfleet for
some time.
Leaving the hide we made our way to one of the platforms
where a birder with another scope had his eye on a pair of Garganey across the
water. Garganeys are small, neat looking ducks, modelled in grey and brown,
without any of the metallic gaudiness of their cogenerics. The handsome male wore a bright white eye
stripe on his brown head, and the female stuck close to him. They became the first scarcer bird I saw with
the new scope. Likely to move North in the next few days, they are unusual
amongst British ducks being a summer visitor, breeding here and wintering
further south.
My folks decided the coffee and cakes of the visitors centre were calling them and I struck out alone to complete the rest of the circuit. Wader passage was in full swing, and a group of Ruff hung out by one of the pools in the Marshland discovery zone. The flock included beige-fronted youngsters, big adult males with bright orange legs, and smaller adult females. Ruffs are very variable in size and plumage and it is sometimes difficult to recognise them. The famed neck collars of the males in lek only develop when they get to their breeding grounds, and disappear soon after lekking is over, but I am sure one of the males I saw, the largest of them, had a patch of fluffy white feathers on his neck which must’ve been the beginning of his spring headgear. A spotted redshank with black summer feathers on his breast was also with them, and a familiar sound, that of Marsh Frogs calling, could be heard, a strange croaking, produced by inflating air sacs behind the frogs’ eyes, could be heard around the Marshland discovery zone. They should only get louder as the season goes on, the first time I heard them a year or two ago the sound was almost deafening and has to be heard to be believed.
My folks decided the coffee and cakes of the visitors centre were calling them and I struck out alone to complete the rest of the circuit. Wader passage was in full swing, and a group of Ruff hung out by one of the pools in the Marshland discovery zone. The flock included beige-fronted youngsters, big adult males with bright orange legs, and smaller adult females. Ruffs are very variable in size and plumage and it is sometimes difficult to recognise them. The famed neck collars of the males in lek only develop when they get to their breeding grounds, and disappear soon after lekking is over, but I am sure one of the males I saw, the largest of them, had a patch of fluffy white feathers on his neck which must’ve been the beginning of his spring headgear. A spotted redshank with black summer feathers on his breast was also with them, and a familiar sound, that of Marsh Frogs calling, could be heard, a strange croaking, produced by inflating air sacs behind the frogs’ eyes, could be heard around the Marshland discovery zone. They should only get louder as the season goes on, the first time I heard them a year or two ago the sound was almost deafening and has to be heard to be believed.
 |
| Marsh Marigold |
Outside the Marshland Discovery Zone, with its hides, stood a clump of marsh
marigold with bright yellow, cup-like flowers, and large, deep green leaves,
contrasting with the still brown phragmites. A few new shoots of the reed had
begun to emerge from the water around it. Still no Swallows, or even Sand
Martins, usually earlier to arrive, were to be seen. The waders and garganey are starting to move
through-but where are the hirundines?
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.
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!
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
 |
| 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. |
Tuesday, 3 April 2012
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.
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)