30 Days Wild - Careful With That Axe Barry

24th June - Sprowston, Norwich

The lack of rain lately has left my garden ponds in a sorry state. They always dehydrate in summer what with the heat and the insatiable thirst of the luxuriant plant growth, but this year they are really suffering. The water level has been at least 9 inches too low and the aforementioned jungle of iris, meadowsweet and a particularly resilient willow has served to starve the water surface of sunlight. Time to undertake a spot of maintenance and open things out a bit methinks.

But hang on, what on earth has made such a mess of some of the willow leaves? Let’s look a bit closer and see....well I never! There are loads of tiny sawfly larvae munching their way through the succulent new growth. Tap the leaf and they rear up to adopt a posture that breaks up their outline and makes them look like the jagged edge of the hole they have made. They make a thorough job to leave just a spectral skeleton waving limply in the breeze. As I watch I notice a tiny ichneumon wasp inspecting the wriggling larvae. It seems like it may be looking to insert its eggs into the defenceless fleshy morsels. Nothing seems safe from attack or predation in this miniature world.

Then I look at the tops of the willow sprigs and see hundreds of aphids sucking the rich sap from this pollard tree. It makes me think: maybe this plant has enough troubles without me chopping it down to ground level. A compromise then. I carefully hack and saw through most of the branches and where the sawflies are so affected I lay the severed limb across the parts I choose to keep so they can have plenty of fodder to help complete their journey to adulthood. Light reaches the pond, the young sawflies continue to feed and the willow......well its survived brutal treatment for the last 20 years so I’m confident it will sprout new shoots within a very short time. I should point out that this addition to the garden flora was not introduced by me; it just appeared, found the boggy soil to its liking and took over. I always vaguely determine to really lay into it and dig it out, but then I think why? It plays host to all kinds of small creatures, rusts and fungi. Live and let live: be careful with that axe!

30 Days Wild - Go Go Hares!

22nd June - NWT Ranworth Broad

A hare appeared at NWT Ranworth Broad today, not the brown furred, long legged, wide eyed mammal of open farmland and meadow, but a 2 metre tall fibre glass Moongazer bedecked in all things Broadland. This amazingly well painted specimen is part of the Norwich GoGo Hares trail that begins on 24th June and runs throughout the summer until early September. There will be 50 sculptured hares positioned within the city boundary and a further 18 dotted around the county encouraging people to get out and explore. Our hare, named Sydney Long Ears after the founder of the Trust, Dr Sydney Long, depicts the landscape and wildlife to be encountered within the Bure Valley Living Landscapes area. A most imaginative and engaging specimen which is sure to make people smile.

The hare arrived by water atop a pontoon constructed by reserve staff especially for the task. Sailing to the berthing spot was no problem, disembarking the hare was simple, but what about moving one and a quarter tonnes of concrete plinth from a floating plastic pontoon onto the picnic area? Ummm, not quite so easy. However, with a mixture of ingenuity, determination, experience and sheer brute force, the weighty item was eventually manoeuvred into position where it will provide a focal point for visitors for the next 10 weeks or so. 

Away from the logistical problems associated with placement of a model lagomorph, the wildlife of the reserve went about its business blissfully unaware of the human toil. The terns screeched and bickered, the grebes loitered around listlessly now that their nest has sunk whilst black tailed skimmers formed mating cartwheels amongst the widely swaying reeds. Grey-lag geese, now undergoing their post-breeding moult, formed a lengthy flotilla as they sailed snootily by from Malthouse to Ranworth Broads.

The best bit of wildlife news for me though was a lovely pair of spotted flycatchers busy feeding a nest full of young amongst the oaks. These scarce and hard to find summer visitors have been very adept at avoiding discovery to date, but now with busy mouths to feed have become more visible and surprisingly tolerant. I sat quietly on a low post and watched one bird from a distance of only 5 metres catching insects for its young. It caught craneflies, damselflies, hoverflies and all kinds of other small flying creatures, unerringly snapping them up in midair during sorties launched from a fencepost, stand of cow parsley or an overhanging branch. Such smart, alert birds and a pleasure to see once again.

30 Days Wild - 13 Elephants and a Ghost

17th June - Sprowston, Norwich

I was introduced to the magical, mystical world of moths whilst turning up for a volunteering shift at RSPB Strumpshaw Fen well over a decade ago. The then warden was busy rummaging through the catch in a moth trap and I watched transfixed at he revealed a seemingly endless variety of sizes, shapes and colours. I just never knew. Hooked from that moment, which happily coincided with the publication of a new generation of superb reference books, I built my own moth trap and for a few years trapped away merrily, enjoying every second. The enthusiasm to get up at 4am every other day to shut down the trap and move it to a safe, cool place away from prying bird beaks has waned as I’ve gotten a bit older and lazier, but I feel a resurgence of mothing activity coming on once more. This reawakening has been fueled in part by running a trap at Ranworth Broad last summer where some new goodies were present, and also by the general infectious zest of my colleague at that location who regales me with tales of rarities trapped at Weeting Heath and thereabouts (thanks Allan).

I assisted said colleague in running a mothing event at Strumpshaw yesterday morning and in that regard things have turned full circle; eager, if knowledge deficient pupil to still seriously knowledge deficient teacher. To say I was rusty is to disparage oxidised metal. No matter, those gathered had a great time discovering what mothy delights awaited in the nest of old egg boxes used as a safe sheltering place. A couple from Lancashire particularly wanted to see a privet hawk moth, no problem sir someone just happened to have brought one along and here it is your delectation. Other, quite expert folk, were hoping to see a few fenland specialties and I think were happy with the catch. Less experienced folk were just pleased to be there and have the opportunity to photograph up close species they had never seen before. Just like me all those years ago.

Buff Tip

Barred Straw

Burnished Brass

Drinker

Privet Hawk Moth

Galvanised by this success, I hauled my old trap out of the shed, dusted it down, de-spidered it, knocked a few nails in where parts had come adrift and set it up overnight once more. I even managed to stumble out of bed at 4am as of old to sort things out before the local family of great tits and those rotten robins and bloody blackbirds pilfered the catch. I do feel morally obliged to look after those tiny insects that I catch against their will. After breakfast I settled down to investigate what had turned up during the previous quite windy and cool night to be, as always, pleasantly surprised and delighted. Not only did thirteen elephant hawk moths decorate the scene, but a new moth for the garden in the form of a female ghost moth. Excellent stuff. What with gorgeously marked buff ermines, willow beauties, light arches, green silver lines and several middle barred minors I had a field day. I’m going to do this again!

The Home Set-up. Note the Essential Cuppa!

Willow Beauty

Middle-barred Minor

Green Silver Lines

Elephant Hawk Moth

Ghost Moth (Female)

30 Days Wild - Daylight Robbery

15th June - Norfolk Wildlife Trust, Ranworth Broad

You know something is amiss when the ranks of common terns and black headed gulls take to the air en masse, screeching and screaming for all their worth. Last week the culprit was an otter, today at first nothing awry could be seen until a bigger grey and white form revealed itself atop one of the nesting rafts. A herring gull had spotted a food source and had dived in to plunder. Within 10 seconds, three gulps, it had picked up and swallowed whole two gull chicks and a tern egg. Temporarily sated it decided the mobbing was becoming too much bother and sailed off low across the broad. It will be back.

A short while later we noticed the nest of the grebes, those now on their third breeding attempt, was beginning to get waterlogged. On the rising tide it was effectively sinking into the water. The adult birds got busy bringing in beaks full of drifting reed, sticks and sludge in an attempt to raise the nest above the inundation. It didn’t seem to work; if anything the increased weight hastened the emersion. But these birds act on instinct and are simply not equipped with sufficient intelligence to realise the extra material needed to be shoved under the eggs to set them free from the chill water. I doubt they will survive, but time will tell.

So far then a rather negative start to the day. I hoped the walk I was leading would result in better fortune. It did. We had hardly begun when a bright flash of yellow flitted strongly over the boardwalk; a swallowtail butterfly. What a great start, tying in neatly with pointing out the milk parsley plants and looking out for any eggs that may have been deposited thereon. Reed Warblers chuntered their rhythmic song from deep cover, a Cetti’s warbler added it’s explosive voice. Blackcaps sweetly warbled from the sallow, whilst a willow warbler softly offered his humble crescendo. Plants we saw aplenty with several just coming into flower, purple and yellow loostrife, marsh thistle, common valerian; a new wave of colour now that the yellow flag is dying away. We found a hitherto unnoticed spike of twayblade and counted at least a dozen southern marsh orchids hidden behind a thick screen of rampant reed growth. In the wood we admired the royal fern that is now crowned with rust brown spikes of spore laden tendrils. I told the group that this was the only such plant on the reserve only to be proved delightfully wrong a couple of minutes later when another was pointed out not 10 metres away. I’ve been walking long this boardwalk regularly for over a decade and have never noticed the second plant. So much for my powers of observation.

No problems though with the gorgeous metallic green and blue of banded demoiselles that landed right in front of us or with a tree creeper surreptitiously threading its way along an ivy covered bough. What with black-tailed skimmers tazzing away from us with every few steps, flowers of sweet honeysuckle twisting through the lush fenland growth, fledgling blue tits and dunnock reminding us of a successful breeding season, I think we can say the morning that began with witnessing daylight robbery ended up with us stealing a few precious memories of our own.

30 Days Wild - Normal for Norfolk

14^th June – RSPB Strumpshaw Fen

It was a windy day at RSPB Strumpshaw Fen yesterday, far too windy for swallowtails, dragonflies and the like. In fact it seemed too windy and uncomfortable for just about anything with wings; the skies of the Fen being uncharacteristically empty. The occasional marsh harrier battling the stiff westerly breeze, the odd tern and gull and in the latter part of the morning numbers of swifts hawking a hatch of some small emergent insects. But that was all. Nothing else other than grey clouds sailing briskly by and waves of wind tossed reeds rippling as they ebbed and flowed at the mercy of the air currents. Predictably human visitors were thin on the ground unlike last week when I am assured the Visitor Centre was assaulted by literal swarms of people hoping to catch a glimpse of our special butterfly. Today, instead of a torrent a trickle,  but all are welcome and all enthusiastic and hopeful.

Always Something to see - Goldspot Moth

Mating Woundwort Shieldbugs

Mullein Moth Caterpillar

After my shift I trickled through the water meadows myself, hoping to catch sight of another iconic insect that is pretty much only found in this county. Norfolk hawker dragonflies thrive where water soldier plants do well. The plants are very sensitive to eutrophication, so need undisturbed clean, clear water to grow. Happily reserves such as Strumpshaw provide an ideal network of ditches and drainage dykes where this strange aquatic spike ball can live. Contrary to my expectations there were a small number of dragonflies on the wing, zipping about very low over the water to minimise exposure to the strong breezes still whipping mercilessly across the open fields sending the carpet of ragged robin, cotton grass and orchids tossing as on a raging sea.

The Water Meadows

Water Soldier

Common Spotted Orchid

Before long the bright green eyes of a Norfolk hawker took my attention and I watched this insect patrol it’s selected territory investigating every other dragonfly that approached. In this way it saw off several broad bodied chasers and a couple of hairy dragonflies before alighting at last upon a reed stem. Wrong lens, wrong angle but a couple of record shots in the bag. It’s always fascinating watching these superbly evolved aerial predators, they miss nothing. If you look closely you will see that their heads with those huge compound eyes, are always twisting this way and that scrutinising the skies for rivals or potential mates.

If you look closer still along the untidy margins of the dykes you may be lucky to see a female laying her eggs in the stems of a water soldier plant. The Latin name for these Norfolk specialties is Aeshna isosceles derived from the yellow triangle present on the abdomen. Whatever you wish to call them, they are, as is with much of Broadland wildlife, quite special.

30 Days Wild - Urban Delights

11^th June 2018 – Norwich

Ambling along London Street in Norwich on a quiet Monday morning I stopped in my tracks as a strange, but simultaneously familiar, birdsong hit my eardrums. It can’t be I thought, as I was mentally transported to streets and parks of Mediterranean cities, but there was no denying it; I was listening to the song of a black redstart. I gazed up and eventually located the bird pouring forth his piercing jumble of notes from atop a TV aerial. Now, there have been reports this spring of black redstarts in the city, but they were some distance away from this spot so I was rather pleased to have encountered what is a very scarce bird hereabouts. A young lady sipping coffee al fresco looked at me questioningly. ‘Black redstart’ I said ‘Oh I wondered what it was, thank you’ she replied. You see people do notice out of the ordinary things and are happy when told what it is. Always good to put a name to a face, or voice in this case.

Urban birds are the cause of mixed emotions, some hate the early morning mewing of gulls, others detest pigeons, most love feeding the ducks and delight in robins and goldfinches. Whatever your personal feelings, there’s no denying they add colour, sound and interest to our towns and cities. And there can be a surprising number of different species utilising our man made nesting and feeding stations. In the fine city I call home I’ve seen sand martins setting up home in drainage pipes along the river bank, often encountered grey wagtails tripping along the selfsame river margins snapping up flies. I’ve had the pleasure to watch a merlin weave over and around the rooftops in search of sparrows, dabchicks surreptitiously hiding in the tangle of overgrowth, kingfishers arrowing blue and orange past startled office workers and cormorants that sit in prehistoric silhouette alongside busy thoroughfares. Add to that starling murmurations, pied wagtail mass roosting, woodcock tumbling exhausted from autumn skies and waxwings stripping berries from shrub fringed supermarket carparks and a rich tapestry develops. But not until today a black redstart, it made me happy.

Another urban exploiter of ample food and a secure nest site occupied my afternoon when I undertook my shift at the peregrine watch point. My, how those chicks have grown. No downy clad infants now, these birds are on the cusp of fledging with much of the afternoon spent perching on the edge of the nest platform vigorously flapping their wings. It won’t be long now before they take that leap of faith and launch themselves into the air with 250 feet of nothing very much between them and the ground. 

The parents were deliberately keeping their distance from the nest, and will soon be actively encouraging the youngsters to make that daunting first flight. They are becoming very intolerant of intruding gulls and will attack any lesser black back that innocently strays too close. Once today the female rocketed skywards to see off a harmless passing buzzard; they take no risks with threats real or imagined. The next few weeks are critical for the young falcons and will see them learning all about life in the wild, it should be a very interesting time.

The Female (GA) Seeing Off a Lesser Black Backed Gull

The Male Stooping at Another Gull

Pied Wagtail - Cathedral Close This Afternoon

30 days Wild - The Perils of Growing Up

9th June - Norwich

At this time of year when so many young birds are hopping around our gardens it is as well to ponder on the wide range of obstacles that lie between them and their evolution to adulthood. A couple of instances recently have brought home the many perils that face newly fledged or those immediately independent young of birds once they leave the safety of their nest. The first was a sad and sorry spectacle of what looked like a young starling or blackbird dangling very much dead and bedraggled from the branches of a tree growing alongside the River Tas. This poor inexperienced youngster was hopelessly entangled in fishing line that had been snagged on the overhanging branch. Perhaps a wriggling maggot attracted its attention. Whatever it must have endured a slow and painful death and all because some stupid fisherman managed to misjudge his cast. An all too familiar tale along our waterways I fear.

The second incident was quite bizarre. Whilst watching newly fledged blue tits exit their nest box at Strumpshaw Fen a couple of days ago, one flew into a tangle of cobwebs that had collected in the adjacent reed screen. These webs were so remarkably strong that they effectively glued the poor youngster’s primary feathers together rendering it incapable of further flight. It tried to flutter into a nearby tree to join its siblings but only succeeded in crashing to the ground. Showing remarkably agility for someone who can’t get out of bed in the morning without a series of grimacing oohs and ahs, I scrabbled under the benches to retrieve the tiny, almost weightless bird. I then carefully unpicked the sticky web from the fledgling’s wing whereupon it flew away uttering it’s nasal contact note none the worse for its adventure. Away from human intervention it would surely have fallen prey to the first predator that stumbled upon it.

The tangled feathers can be seen drooping underneath the chick

There are other instances over the years that have served to illustrate just how daunting the first few days of life can be for a young bird.

The peregrines at Norwich Cathedral are well loved with every action monitored by a webcam; that is until they fledge. At that stage they become immediately vulnerable to all the trappings of the big wide world as can be found in a modern city. Whilst learning to hunt, it is not unknown for these L plate falcons to fly into posts or other obstacles breaking their necks in the process. They quite often find themselves on the ground and have to be rescued, or are found dead in gardens of the Close. On one recent occasion a brood was killed by an interloping female.

They cavort at breakneck (literally sometimes) speed through the Close

Magpies, jays and herons will pick off undefended and vulnerable chicks. When I was resident at Norfolk Wildlife Trust’s Ranworth Broad reserve we nicknamed the resident heron Hannibal after his habit of systematically dispatching every mallard chick that ventured within stabbing distance. I vividly remember the sight of him plunge diving into the moat around the Visitor Centre to emerge with a wriggling baby mallard in his formidable beak. Families watched in horror, Hannibal watched them. He lopped off totally unconcerned. I cursed I didn’t have my camera with me.

Of course one of the downsides of creating special nesting areas for ground nesting species is their attractiveness to predators. The avian equivalent to McDonalds. Little terns are particularly vulnerable, for when a kestrel or hobby discovers this take away food store, they will mercilessly plunder it. A few years ago when the favoured nesting zone was Gt Yarmouth South Denes, a particularly crafty kestrel aptly nicknamed Morticia, would enter the colony from one end and leisurely fly along the whole length of the nesting zone. Every little tern would frenziedly mob her, but crucially, unlike their larger, more robust cousins, would not actually make contact. Morticia knew this and simply led all the adults to the far end of the colony where she would quickly turn in midair, dive low, bullet through the colony a foot from the ground until she encountered a chick, grab it and make off. Very clever and ruthlessly efficient. She did, of course, have chicks of her own to feed.

Similarly I watched a marsh Harrier at Cley employing similar tactics. It would cruise high over the nest area, select a target, drop down and approach from low over the reeds. The avocets would go mad and twenty, thirty or more would bombard it with their blue, dangly feet, but to no avail. The Harrier would unerringly scoop his chosen victim from the water, even though the chicks would instinctively dive under the surface. You can only admire the enterprise of the raptor; it was simply exploiting a convenient food source.

What with lapwings trying to guide their tiny petrified and bewildered chicks across a busy main road, the fledgling kestrel that mistook the shiny surface of a river estuary for solid ground, others that drown, starve or freeze, the odds of making it to adulthood are perilously slim. Spare a thought then to the rigours of being a young bird living through the first few weeks of life. It is a hostile, brutal stage, but it has been going on for millennia, certainly long before Springwatch brought such drama to our screens. Nature will ensure enough survive to further the species: left alone without housing, heating, supermarkets and so on, what do you think your chances would be?