Summer Remnants

The Met Office regards September 1st as the first official day of autumn. As I stepped out of the car at Strumpshaw Fen this morning coincident with rain beginning to fall from dark lowering clouds whipped by a stiff northerly breeze, it seemed the weather was doing its best to ensure summer was indeed at an end. But slowly the thick cloud cover broke up allowing welcome sunlight to filter through the woods and transform the scene to one of riches and delights.

 
I stopped to peer into a patch of brambles at the crossroads of the woodland trail, standing stock still to slowly scrutinise the myriad leaves and twigs entwined therein. Life was everywhere. Wasps and hornets investigated each fruit cluster; the former for sweet sugars the latter for fresh flesh. Flies of many colours, sizes and shapes basked in the sun’s rays or danced with each other amongst the foliage. Dark bush-crickets sat motionless in the dappled sprays, surprisingly hard to spot until you got your eye in and then they seemed to be everywhere. Common darters perched upon the topmost sprigs angling themselves southwards to absorb the rays of the fleeting sun whilst pristine speckled wood butterflies played around them flying up to intercept anything winged that invaded their territory.

 

Speckled Wood

Plenty of these lovers of dappled shade were on the wing

 

Dark Bush-cricket

Fearsome looking but completely harmless

Several forms of shield bug, in their camouflage livery of green and brown, bedecked leaves now beginning to drain of chlorophyll and grotesque scorpion flies, banded hover flies and predatory small spiders provided a vibrant supporting cast. A fascinating show of nature’s bounty.

 

Green Shield Bug

 

 

Scorpion Fly

Another Fearsome looking creature

Along the river bank the fruits of the season clustered thickly on the verdant growth. Blackberries gleamed ripe and plump, clusters of elderberries, black and juicy, drooped invitingly, guelder rose berries shone impossibly bright and hips and haws lay ready for plunder. Many birds were already tucking into this rich harvest, blackbirds, blackcaps, robins and bullfinches I watched gorging themselves, the latter located by their soft subtle piping and only glimpsed briefly as they took flight when I clumsily made a too sudden movement. Ivy flowers proved popular with more wasps and flies, almost as popular as the lilac plumes of late buddleia adorned today with lone brimstone, a deep orange comma and several splendid red admirals.

 

Female Blackcap Tucking Into Blackberries

 

Female Southern Hawker

From the high vantage point of Tower Hide I logged what is for me a UK first in the form of the great white egret that has been present here for a few weeks. This bird flew in squawking to itself from the direction of Brundall before busying itself with making inroads into the local fish fry. The snake-like shape of this species neck is quite extraordinary. From certain angles it looked no thicker than an inch and gave the bird a decidedly ungainly countenance. But they are big birds and make little egrets look very little by comparison. Even grey herons cannot quite compete in stature although surpass the egret in bulk. This coloniser from Continental Europe spent the next hour fishing out of sight behind thick screens of browning reeds heavy now with ripening seed heads, so I contented myself with watching the other characters on display. It was a tranquil scene with the birds content to rest and bask in the late summer warmth, their hectic breeding cycle complete for another year.

Many shoveller, gadwall and teal were busy bathing, preening or taking a nap. The bathers would throw themselves forward, splashing wildly as they momentarily submerged in the clear waters. Then they would vigorously shake themselves before repeating the process a few times. A cormorant gawkily flew in, alighting on the small dead tree used as an anchor for a coots nest during spring. This bird had presumably fed well and was now content to set about anointing its feathers with oily secretions and digesting its catch. When the sun peeped from behind a cloud the plumage of the cormorant was transformed from a drab black to one of subtle green and purple lustre. A young common tern was periodically fed by its parent and a small party of ruff probed the muddy margins, a pair of buff washed juveniles amongst them. Behind them a water rail weaved amongst the reed stems ever stealthy and watchful.

Cormorant

This individual was anointing itself with oil secreted from a gland above the tail.
The bird reaches back and collects the oil on its head which it then rubs onto the
rest of its feathers.

 

On my walk back along a now sodden track thanks to a very high tide, I wondered if I might be able to catch up with the great white egret and so it proved. The bird was fishing with a heron in one of the wider channels overlooked by a conveniently sited wooden bench. I attempted to creep as close as I could with the idea of watching the bird for a few minutes and taking a few photographs. I should have known better although I did manage a few flight shots as it squawked and made its escape.

 

Great White Egret

 

Huge Wings!

But Strumpshaw was not quite finished with me yet, for despite getting soggy feet I caught up with several common lizards basking on the wooden sleepers bordering the sandy wall. I saw perhaps half a dozen dozing motionless along here, some of them young of the year. One was quite green in colour and a couple had lost their tails. With care it was possible to get very close to these creatures – smooth slow movements is the key, not easy for my creaking carcass. I sat close to what I believe to be a large female and watched it catch and crunch a spider that scuttled too close. It took the lizard quite a white to consume this hapless arachnid as all it could do was effectively crush it to a digestible pulp before swallowing it. The more I looked the more sense it made for the lizards to choose to spend their time loafing around on these exposed patches. Not only were they maximising the warming effect of the sun but they were also surrounded by prey that quite literally walked into their jaws. Spiders, ants and beetles were all scurrying along this artificial corridor – a highway to hell if only they realised.

 

Female Common Lizard

 

Munching an Unfortunate Spider

It may technically be autumn, but summer doesn’t seem to be quite finished with us yet.

 

      

Eastward Ho!

It is 7pm (Monday 24th August) and I've just noticed a party of gulls heading east over the house. They are going to their roost somewhere in the broads, maybe Wroxham or Ranworth. The season is turning and this evening flight heralds, in a small way, the transition from summer into autumn. Although at present it seems only small numbers are involved, the daily movement will soon gather pace so that towards dusk during the shortening days ahead numbers will build. By the end of November large impressive flocks of mainly the larger species will fill the sky as they purposefully seek overnight sanctuary. I attempted to count the birds one evening a couple of years back but had to give up because I couldn't keep track of the numbers involved over quite a large front. It was also getting too cold (my dedication to science only stretches so far). However by the time I jacked it in I had recorded well over 1000 birds over my own back yard travelling in loose 'V formations. My view was restricted by the house on one side and trees on the other, so I imagine from a more strategic vantage point the numbers actually using this corridor of north Norwich as a flight path would be much more impressive. As a spectacle in its own right it makes a worthy show especially when witnessed against the backdrop of a rich red autumnal sunset. Maybe I'll try again in a few weeks’ time.

Gulls are a regular feature of the summer here in Sprowston nowadays, their caterwauling rendering the area reminiscent of an archetypal seaside town rather than a city suburb 20 miles inland. I like them. We have mainly lesser black-backs hereabouts with smaller numbers of herring. They breed on the roofs of industrial units along the ring road and we are able to witness their complete breeding cycle, although blessedly not from too close a distance. The birds begin to appear during April when their mating rituals, courting flights, raucous cries and looming presence on roof tops adds spice and vibrancy to the local bird scene. The adults really are handsome birds in their spruce breeding livery and still seem incongruous to me in such a built up environment. Their presence here is of course easily explained; a wealth of predator free nest sites together with an ample supply of food courtesy of any number of discarded fast food packages (thrown carelessly from passing cars), scraps they can pilfer from overfilled bins, supermarket throwaways and the odd road kill. They will take live birds as well. I was once shown an extraordinary series of images a chap had taken of birds on his neighbour’s rooftop. The first showed a lesser black-back and a blackbird sitting idly side by side, the second showed the gull turning his head and looking down at the blackbird as if noticing it for the first time, the third showed the blackbirds legs poking out from the gulls beak; the rest of the bird was sliding down its gullet, swallowed whole in the blinking of an eye. I don't suppose that's an isolated example and I suspect many birds meet an untimely end as a mid-morning snack for one of these brutes.

 
For a birder the gulls prove themselves quite useful as a means to pinpoint passing birds of prey. Not much gets by them and when they spot a potential danger they will mob it relentlessly, drawing attention to the spiralling raptor with their barking yelps. I've been able to watch many a high flying buzzard jinking to dodge the lunges of the gulls. In this way I’ve been able to keep track of passage migrants and residents that I would never have suspected as floating above me without the keen attention of the gulls.

As summer progresses we witness the first flights of the brown mottled juvenile birds always accompanied by their parents who utter guttural notes of encouragement to their offspring. These family bands spend a few weeks marauding around the parish, forming mewing groups of maybe a dozen birds wheeling around in the soft warm breezes. And then like the swifts and pretty much at the same time, they move on, dispersing to child-free school playing fields or to pig farms on the city outskirts. Here in late summer the adults can loaf around and moult in peace, their parental duties dispensed with for another year.   

This colonisation of city environs is a relatively new phenomenon but now the birds can be found all over Norwich. A friend recently recounted how she has been watching a nesting pair in the very centre of the city from her workplace in one of the tower blocks around Surrey Street. Certainly they are to be encountered regularly in that area as well as around the cathedral. At the latter site however they play second fiddle to the territorial peregrines that waste no time in launching themselves with fervent gusto at any that pass too close to their nest site. I believe I am correct in saying that on occasion gulls have become prey items of the falcons illustrating that in nature no one species has it all their own way.

Strangely no mention of nesting pairs in the Norwich area was made in the 2013 Norfolk Bird & Mammal Report with only cursory mention of the odd pair in the previous three years. The 2012 edition does contain an article by Peter Allard relating to the large numbers nesting in the Gt Yarmouth area, but again no mention of Norwich or any other Norfolk town. There must be a couple of hundred pairs of lesser black-backs now breeding in the city with perhaps 30-40 herring gull pairs? It would be very interesting to undertake a city-wide census. Anyone interested in helping?

 

Hen Harrier Response

As a postscript to my previous post Harried Harriers, my local MP Chloe Smith did respond to me on the subject of what the government plans to do regarding the persecution of hen harriers (and birds of prey in general). I didn’t expect, and didn’t receive, any firm commitment, but at least she has promised to raise the issue with the Environment Secretary.

 Ms Smith’s Response:

           Dear Mr Madden,

Thank you for contacting me about protection for birds of prey.

I understand the concerns you raise and agree with you that raptors including buzzards, kites and hen harriers are some of our most spectacular birds, especially in Norfolk. 

I am aware that the Scottish Government has introduced vicarious liability for certain offences against wildlife committed by a landowner's employee or agent. The Law Commission for England and Wales has considered this issue as part of a broader project on wildlife law, but its interim report raised concerns that this could unjustly extend the normal principles of liability to legitimate businesses and place unreasonable burdens on them.

Currently, therefore, there are no plans to introduce vicarious liability offences in England, but I am assured that Ministers are looking closely at how the new offences in Scotland work in practice and will consider this when shaping future wildlife crime policy. I have written to the Rt Hon Elizabeth Truss MP, Secretary of State for the Department of Environment, Food and Rural Affairs, to raise with her your views on this. 

Thank you again for taking the time to contact me.

With best wishes,

If you want to add weight to the issue it might be worth contacting your own MP …..as they say every little helps.  

Stop That Pigeon!

There was a flutter of correspondence in the EDP a while ago concerning the increasing numbers of woodpigeons running riot across the land. As you would expect most of the commentary was rather negative with various solutions being presented, most of them of a terminal bent, including many opinions to the effect that they should all be shot. Whilst I’m a little dubious of the legality of this approach, I will not dispute that they can be troublesome, especially if you are a fruit or veg grower, or maybe park your car under a roost!

 

The population of woodpigeons has burgeoned greatly in recent years, and they have become increasingly urbanised. Basically they are a successful species that seems able to eat vast quantities of just about anything – a kind of goat of the bird world. Yet despite their seemingly unending appetites, general clumsiness and dull wittedness (why do they always fly towards a speeding car?), they do have another side, so I would like to offer an alternative view of these much maligned creatures.

Some years ago I was puzzled by a noise that seemed to be coming intermittently from behind our ageing gas fire. After prising a small gap in the back plate I was surprised to see my torch beam reflected back from the frightened eye of a distinctly bedraggled and forlorn woodpigeon. How on earth the fool had managed to fall down the chimney goodness knows, but there he was huddled and soot-laden in the most inaccessible spot imaginable. A dilemma had presented itself; do I leave the poor thing to expire and rot away, or do I try and rescue it? Only one choice really and a call was made to British Gas who to my mild surprise treated it as an emergency “never know what damage it’s done to the flue on the way down” the man said with much gravity. Within the hour, on a desperately cold February night, our heating system had been turned off, the gas fire dismantled and I was able to grab the bird and release it into the night. Shame we couldn’t restart the boiler and had to freeze for a couple of days, but at least the pigeon survived.

No further thought was wasted on pondering the fortunes of the bird until we noticed the fattest of his ilk loitering in the garden had a deformed wing. Putting two and two together we concluded this individual must be the one that had fallen down our chimney and caused much unnecessary shivering. Over the following 5 years we watched his antics (it was definitely male!) and grudgingly developed affection for what turned out to be a philandering, fearless thug. Despite his deformity, he would strut along the garden path heedless of the odd cat that strayed into the vicinity, he would beat up any rival that dared stray into his realm, he would muscle his way into a share of any food discovered by other birds, and as for the women in his life……!

He was a real tough character who seemed almost indestructible. He would vanish sometimes for a couple of days but always reappeared to assert authority and straighten up his patch.  But now he’s gone and we miss him. I suppose the freezing cold of winter may have finished him off, or maybe it was just old age. Without his iron rule there is a breakdown of order and we seem awash with lawless woodpigeons – we seriously need a coup (sorry, couldn’t resist that one).

As for them being a bit dumb, a neighbour told me that he watched a woodpigeon struggle to reach the contents of his feeders. After a while the bird struck one feeder with its wing and knocked it to the ground where it could happily feed on the spilled seed. This became a regular antic – so perhaps they are not as daft as they seem?  Oh yes they are, we all know they are, but our dictator provided much colour and interest during his reign and our opinion on woodpigeons changed thanks to him and his exploits.

In any event it looks like these fat, waddling and charmingly colourful characters are here to stay. They are colourful you know – take a really close look at the intricacy of their velvety plumage if you don’t believe me. I think we should all just try and live with them but if you see one in your garden with a drooping wing let me know – it would be good to think he is still alive and well and terrorising some other neighbourhood.  

Our Fearless Crooked-winged Woodpigeon

Another Garden Bird Dozing During a Snow Shower

A Juvenile at Cley

Harried Harriers

 

Hen harriers. There's been a lot of activity amongst conservationists recently concerning their perilous plight, and quite right too. And with the ‘Glorious 12^th’ having been reached, the cash crop of the (over)managed moorland can be reaped by the moneyed folk who believe blasting some living thing from the sky is good fun. But do we as a nation really care? We are supposedly a country of animal lovers, with whole industries devoted to the wellbeing of domestic pets, with charities doing sterling work looking after that icon of British wildlife the endearing and endemic donkey. Yet we stand by and allow a bunch of gun toting idiots to obliterate one of our most fantastic and beautiful birds of prey; our bird of prey, not some African or Indian species whose tenuous grip on existence would doubtless cause people to launch Facebook campaigns and empty their pockets in a vain attempt to reverse the downward trend. Nothing wrong with that of course, but hells teeth! we have a crisis here right in front of us and it's about time we started sorting out our own backyard before waxing lyrical about what Is happening in the wider world. How can we preach about the horrendous things happening to wildlife around the globe whilst allowing the seemingly unaccountable privileged few to wipe out our own precious bird life? There is simply no excuse in this 21st century of ours for a situation to pertain whereby a minority of rich landowners can effectively - and illegally - eradicate a native species for commercial interests. It stinks and quite frankly is a disgrace. And as for YFTB and that prize fool Ian Botham, let's just say I can think of an excellent use for the handle of that cricket bat loitering in the loft...stick to cricket Botham, it’s the only thing you are remotely qualified to talk about.

Why doesn't our government do something? Why hasn't any government for the past 20 years done anything? Individually there’s not much we can do, but collectively we may get our elected politicians to actually ensure the law is adhered to and our wildlife properly protected. I’ve sent a missive to my local MP asking her what the heck she is prepared to do about it, pointing out that although hen harriers do not breed in Norfolk they do use the coast and Broads as an important wintering ground. In this way they contribute, albeit marginally, to our local economy. Maybe we should all do the same? In any event I’ll let you know what she says.

My friend Darren who blogs ‘More Than Kittiwakes’ – see link opposite – recently recounted the first time he saw a hen harrier which got me thinking as to when I first encountered one here in Norfolk. It was in January 1979 when we had something of an influx with birds being widely reported all over the county. The one I saw was hunting the marshes at Buckenham and shortly after that I saw another as it floated across the road in front of the car at Surlingham. From that point I kept a lookout for these white-rumped raptors every winter and made frequent excursions to the bleak lookout point at Stubb Mill to see them coming to roost in the distant reed beds. The hobby of standing alone on a raised ridge of mud as the sun set over the flat landscape of East Norfolk is one that appeals only to the dedicated. It was, and is, mostly freezing at this spot and at times decidedly eerie. Before the current wooden platform, interpretation board and special footpath had been created the chances were you would be pretty much on your own, or possibly standing with the welcome support of maybe just one or two other hardy souls. Walking back along the lonely lane towards the car park conjured up all kinds of supernatural imaginings with various rustles and flutterings from the hedgerows and trees being magnified to take on a more spectral interpretation. Perhaps I’d read too many M R James ghost stories than was good for me. I’ve tracked down a scribbling I made after one such bitterly cold trip which gives a flavour of the feelings engendered by a dusk outing to this lonely spot.

 

I love the sight of a hen harrier quartering the fields hereabouts in search of prey.  I love to see them sailing across the vista of empty marshes dotted with silhouettes and broken sails of disused wind pumps as they silently come in to roost. I love the unexpected encounter as one tussles with a short-eared owl over the glistening reed heads at Titchwell. And I don’t want to lose them.

An encounter with a Hen Harrier on Hoy recently -

the only pic I've ever managed to take!

 

On a Summer Afternoon

Summer. The season when the fancy of every birder temporarily moves away from those avian creatures we love so much and migrates to a variety of other winged creatures - the insects - that at this time of year proliferate. The hemp agrimony, golden rod and buddleia scattered around the garden now play host to a bewildering variety of flies, butterflies, beetles, spiders and other tiny denizens of the undergrowth. Close scrutiny of the flower heads reveal a rotating cast of characters that is quite literally buzzing.

Armed with my new toy, a Sigma 105mm f2.8 macro lens, I spent some time over the weekend admiring at close quarters various striped, spotted and otherwise decorated bugs as they went about their business supping nectar, gathering pollen, mating and predating. I live in Sprowston a suburb to the north-East of Norwich in an area developed during the 1930s. Apparently our immediate surroundings once comprised fruit orchards and certainly when we moved here in the mid1980s there were plum, cherry and apple trees all around. Over the intervening 30 years many of these ageing trees have succumbed to disease or have been felled by strong winds, but a few remnants survive. Gardens from houses on adjoining streets back onto one another effectively forming large blocks of green space; in our immediate area perhaps an area of 2 acres is enclosed in this fashion. A valuable wildlife habitat. The overall viability of the area as a breeding ground for birds and insects has diminished somewhat over the years as older residents who could no longer manage their large plots sadly pass away or move out and younger folk with more vigour move in. So, whereby there were once significant areas of neglected grass and scrub, there is now decking, summer houses, bouncy castles and carefully manicured lawns. Because of this we seem to have pretty much lost such insects as grasshoppers and the hitherto large numbers of grass loving butterflies, but there are still a bewildering variety of goodies to be discovered.

A Google Earth View of Our Manor

Our particular garden covers an area of about 30m x 10m, that’s 300m² that at times resembles untamed jungle. But there is a kind of order. Over the years I've grown wild flowers from seed, the aforementioned hemp agrimony being one such. Those attractive pink spikes have seeded themselves here and there as have ox-eye daisies, red and white campion and meadowsweet. There is a small lawn, mown sparingly, which is superficially green but on closer inspection is made up of various mosses, clover, buttercups and lots of yarrow. Live privet hedging borders either neighbour and we let this flower before pruning. Ivy and honeysuckle weave amongst the hedging and over the shed whilst here and there native trees have sprung up; some from conkers, acorns and other seed planted by my lad when he was young, others arriving naturally via birds or airborne distribution. Whilst these trees are lovely to have there will come a time when they outgrow our modest plot, but for now they remain to add diversity. Then there is my pride and joy, a pair of ponds, one sited in the depression left by the extraction of an old and sadly missed Victoria plum that had terminal disease; the other dug just for the hell of it. The list of visitors to and residents in these oases beggars belief. Then of course there are lots of ornamental annuals and bedding plants as well as pots holding the sweetest smelling roses you could imagine. And there is dead wood, the rotting trunk of a cherry tree that has provided rich pickings for woodpeckers, song perches for many birds, nesting sites for solitary wasps, host for fungi and a support for our linen line. Yes, dead wood has a multitude of uses.

 

Our Garden - Note the Tree Stump Fulfilling a Vital Role

 

The 'Lawn'

 

The Hemp Agrimony Patch

So, back to that small patch of mixed hemp agrimony and golden rod. The chief diners were bees and hover flies. The bees came as several species from the humble honey bee, through various bumble bees to tiny solitary species that so far I have not been able to identify. Likewise the hover flies appeared in several forms including one monster that when seen initially from afar I mistook for a hornet. These tiger-striped sugar lovers provided the photographic challenge of the day - trying to capture one in flight. Tricky, but the results were reasonable.

 

Hoverfly - Episyrphus balteatus

 

 

Hoverfly - Sphaerophobia scripta

Monster Hoverfly. Presumably a Hornet Mimic

But all is not a bed of roses for these little chaps because death awaits them at every turn. Periodically a predatory wasp would appear swiftly inspecting flower heads for unwary bees that it would capture and carry to its nest there to feed its offspring with fresh meat. I don’t know where these ferocious predators build their nests, so further investigation needed here. Stealthier was the crab spider, well camouflaged and patient, positioning itself on the edge of the bloom awaiting some hapless insect to blunder within striking distance of its poison laden fangs. I watched this eight eyed mini monster firing a string of silk towards a more favoured position which it would then use as a tightrope to travel from one flower head to another. Fascinating. Butterflies dropped in from time to time, holly blues and green-veined whites, whilst ladybirds hunted aphids. A busy scene indeed.  I love our small slice of England, especially when it is full of life on such a summer’s day.

 

Another Fly Bites the Dust

Crab Spider - Misumena vatia

 

Ichneumon Wasp - Species Anyone?

It Is a Very Good Lens

 

An Ill Wind

It surely is an ill wind that blows no good. The winter storms that resulted in the devastating sea surge along the east coast during December 2013 caused extensive damage to the overall ecosystem of the North Norfolk marshlands and dune systems, the effects of which still resonate. Most of the affected areas are only slowly recovering. And yet........

At NWT Cley Marshes for instance there is more shingle now, piles of it; powered 100 metres inland by the uncontested might of the rampant North Sea. This mass of eroded rock fragments has covered some grassland where skylarks used to sing their sweet song and has smothered small pools where tiny starlet sea anemones once dwelled. But it has also created opportunities for those birds that love to nest on these exposed expanses and has allowed NWT reserve staff to fence off large tracts of the newly extended habitat to create larger undisturbed zones. To date little ringed plovers and avocets have taken advantage of these quieter areas and the carpets of yellow horned-poppies all along the shingle spit from Salthouse to Blakeney Point, sprouting from seeds dispersed by the flood are to die for.



Avocet Nest on Shingle Beach

 

The cinnabar moth colony that once festooned the thistles and ragwort along the south side of the raised shingle ridge was eradicated at Cley, as were small colonies of wall brown, but further east at Salthouse they thrive still to decorate the blooms of both plants. When I visited the area a couple of weeks ago every flower head had insects supping nectar, some had multiple visitors jostling for position. A joy to see.  It was also heartening to see many Essex skippers enjoying the wealth of pale purple thistle flower on offer all along the East Bank at Cley. Heartening too was an encounter with large numbers of common toadlets hopping across the footpath parallel to the coast road. Although most amphibians on the reserve were killed by the salt water inundation it seems recolonisation from those hibernating on higher ground has taken place. Good to see these tiny creatures once again. 

 

Essex Skipper

 

Six-spot Burnet

 

Meadow Brown

 

Life is Everywhere

But for me the most fascinating bonus from the storm damage can be seen at Gramborough Hill, just east of the Salthouse beach road. Here the sea has sliced a chunk off the north face of the small hillock to create a low sandy cliff which has been chosen as a nesting site by a colony of sand martins.

I spent a happy hour there watching the adults hawking insects over the grass clad slopes atop the recently formed cliff and cavorting together over the beach. Some newly fledged birds were also honing their aerial skills, whilst younger nestlings gathered at the entrance to nesting burrows waiting for the next mouthful of juicy fodder. I snapped away at these incredibly fast moving hirundines trying to capture them in pursuit of flying insects invisible to me. My hit rate was ridiculously low, but a few shots bore fruit and showed some fascinating postures, attitudes and habits. Some images captured birds preening mid-flight with their heads turned upside down to facilitate easy access for their tiny sharp claws to those awkward to reach spots. Several caught birds with throat pouches crammed full with insects showing what wealth of prey items are available to them within 100 metres of their summer homes. Others simply illustrated what graceful masters of the air these diminutive migrants are. There is no way I would have been able to properly observe these nuances without being able to freeze the action at 1/5000 of a second. Even then their movements were so swift that only a handful of my handheld efforts were acceptably sharp(ish). I do like a challenge. Lovely birds, sadly one we seldom get a chance to look at closely nowadays. However these plucky ones have shown how quickly they are able to exploit a new resource and hopefully they will be a feature here for many years to come.

An ill wind indeed blew 18 months ago, but it has, in unforeseen ways, blown much good.

 

 

Death on Wings

Great skuas are tremendously powerful birds and the northern isles of Gt Britain holds a substantial breeding population. Here they raise their chicks on the extensive moorland, protecting them fearlessly from trespassing sheep, other skuas and humans. One of their main food sources is the vast number of other seabirds using the steep cliffs of the islands as a summer home. We watched some of these pirates harassing gannets fishing offshore, forcing these much larger birds to disgorge their catch so they could pilfer the spoils. But the more sinister and ruthless side of the Bonxie was to be witnessed amongst the throng of auks nesting on Marwick Head on Mainland Orkney. Here they would cruise along the cliff face ever watchful for unattended chicks or vulnerable lone birds fishing close inshore. Once a victim had been chosen there was no escape. Impressive birds, but deadly. 

Powerful and Fast

Harassing Gannets Offshore at Hoy

Cruising the Cliff Face

And this is what they are after, some unfortunate auk caught unawares.

Tufty

Remember the Tufty Club? No, of course you don't, you're all way too young. Well, let me enlighten you. The Tufty Club was the hub of a road awareness campaign run during the 1950s and 60s, its figurehead, inspiration and main star being Tufty Fluffytail, a red squirrel. Children were urged to join the club and received a badge for their trouble. It was very successful and certainly engendered in us kids the need to be careful when crossing the road. The fact the powers that be chose a red squirrel to connect with children goes to show what a familiar and endearing creature it once was; every wood and park had them. Tufty and his pals held sway until the introduction of that Darth Vader in the making the Green Cross Code Man, aka David Prowse. It wasn't the same.

Red squirrels are, as we all know, our native squirrel, the only true wild squirrel inhabiting our countryside. Only it is now absent from most of it. Vast tracts of lowland Britain are now populated only by the alien North American imposter, that rascally rodent the grey, who by a combination of bullying tactics and carrier of a nasty virus has out-competed and eradicate our beloved Tufty from our consciousness and canopies. The sad and sorry fact is that there are generations of young people in England, south of Cumbria and Northumberland, who have never seen a red squirrel in the wild and more worryingly believe the ubiquitous grey to be the true proclaimer to the tree rodent throne. So, finding ourselves in Speyside we determined to put matters right and find our very own Tufty, representing the first I would have seen in the wild since, oh I dunno, 1968 perhaps.

What better place to commence our search then but the magnificent RSPB reserve at Loch Garten famous for its breeding ospreys. And we didn't have to wait long before we espied one of these endearing little mammals plundering the sunflower seeds from the bird feeders just outside the visitor centre. Such a cheeky and engaging little character and so agile, able to hang upside down gripping the tree trunk only with its hind claws as it contrived to force its way into the bounty. So much more appealing than those 2nd rate usurpers that plague our southern woodlands. It’s comforting to know these lovely animals still manage to find refuge in this wonderful ancient Caledonian woodland, although we were told that greys have been sighted around Perth and are moving north apace. Unfortunately it seems the only answer in order to prevent further loss of the reds is to shoot the greys (they’re good eating apparently – slightly nutty flavour perhaps?), and licenced hunters are busy doing just that. The Scottish Natural Heritage website has much interesting information about the current strategy of control, but despite proactive intervention and the setting up of special red squirrel preserves the future doesn’t look too healthy. Squirrel pox is already hitting populations of reds in southern Scotland and could move north with devastating effect. Once more we see the damage caused by the ignorance of man when meddling with the natural world.



So Well Adapted to their Environment

What a Gorgeous Tail

Earlier in our travels around Scotland, prior to ferrying to Orkney, we went for a late evening stroll around quite lanes a few miles west of Inverness. There from a stand of pine and birch we heard a strange sound, a spitting and snarling, that could only have been made by a feline. The noise felt large if you catch my drift and came to us only twice. Despite standing stock still and scanning the dusk enshrouded slopes through binoculars we couldn’t see anything. It could have been a couple of moggies having a spat, but this was a long way from any real kind of civilisation, a couple of farmhouses widely spaced and that’s all. Or, it may, just may have been a wildcat. We will never know. But of course it is now doubtful if there is such a thing as a genuinely wild British wildcat. Most, if not all, the population has been hybridised to the point of eradication as a pure species. Even if we did hear a ‘wildcat’ it would probably have been to a greater or lesser degree tainted with genes from feral cats which far outnumber wildcats nowadays. My friend Nick is currently undertaking an around the globe search for the world’s big cats, and his recent search for a wildcat within these shores is well documented in his blog Compare the Marsh Tit (see the link to the right of this post). There within you will also find much more information about the dilemma now facing conservationists regarding wildcats, another native species we’ve sadly allowed to virtually disappear.

I find it strangely ironic that within the UK we, yes that’s you and me, do not seem capable of raising sufficient steam, awareness, money or political will to solve these problems that are happening now, here, on our doorstep. Red squirrels, wildcats, many birds and a host of other animals are in deep trouble. Badgers are culled unnecessarily, hen harriers persecuted unforgivably, hares coursed unscrupulously and now the government is thinking about allowing fox hunting to recommence unbelievably. Yet there is no TV commercials outlining the plight of these creatures, no mainstream cries of protest at the inexcusable situation we have allowed develop in this 21^st century, and no countrywide campaign to generate a change in attitude and a catalyst for change. But everyone knows about the plight of the tiger, African elephant and rhino. Quite right, they should. And those causes are worthy and pressing, but let’s not forget the little things inhabiting our own island home. Once these things are gone we will never be able to bring them back. It boils down to ignorance again in that people just are simply unaware of the scale of the problems I guess. Maybe they should bring back Tufty and get the kids loving him again.

Who Could Fail to be Entranced?

The Drummer

It's been raining here in Orkney, every blasted second of this miserable, grey, cold and windy July day. Sheeting down from low thick cloud from dawn, which happened at about 1am, until dusk which will occur very soon at midnight. Everybody has been walking around cloaked in Goretex with long sleeves, long trousers and even longer faces seeking indoor means of entertainment. Not an easy task on an island that caters far more for sheep than people. Still the roses look nice.

It was a different story yesterday. Then the sun broke through around midday transforming the drab  of the moors into sheets of verdant green; the sea from steely grey to bright vibrant blue; the meadows to carpets of buttercup gold. Beautiful.

At Marwick Head on Mainland watching fulmars ride the updrafts over high sea cliffs was exhilarating. The birds stalling into the breeze at eye level, demonstrating ably their complete mastery of the air, is one of those sights that would make anyone with any sense of aesthetics stop and stare. Marauding great skuas, Bonxies as they are parochially named, cruised the cliff face looking for an easy meal in the form of unattended chicks. Huge, steely-eyed great black-backed gulls did likewise. Ravens cronked overhead and kittiwakes kittiwaked. Guillemots brayed and the stately gents of the throng, the puffins, grunted in greeting to one another on narrow ledges overlooking a sheer drop of 200 feet. But all may not be well here, for despite scanning the cliff faces through binoculars it was difficult to find any chicks. Some fulmars seemed to still be incubating, but many pairs were simply sitting in their nesting nook with no obvious sign of eggs or young. It was the same story with the kittiwakes. Times are hard for our seabirds.

Later, we watched a distant short-eared owl hunting over the heather clad slopes of the uplands whilst more great skuas and the occasional smaller Arctic Skua patrolled its nesting grounds. The RSPB have many reserves scattered around the islands all well signed, many with excellent paths and hides. From one hide we had views of a red-throated diver tending a fluffy brown chick on a small loch where wild grey-lag geese gathered and more Bonxies cruised the updrafts.

On our after dinner stroll we heard a snipe drumming over an area of wet meadow, a strange bleating sound that I last heard about 20 years ago. It was so uplifting to hear this sound of territorial dominance, more so since we have pretty much lost breeding snipe from large tracts of my home county and indeed most of lowland England. All over Orkney the skies are full of piping oystercatchers, trilling curlews and in a small wet meadow by a minor road beside a loch, a lone snipe strutting his stuff. The first time me and my boyhood mates heard a drumming snipe we couldn't for the life of us think what the heck was making the noise. We thought it must be a swarm of bees and looked around anxiously to see if we were in imminent danger of being smothered. The problem with this theory was that the noise came in short bursts of a few seconds with longer gaps between. Not a bee swarm then, maybe some kind of frog? Eventually we espied a small bird flying over the small marsh in front of us and as it executed an almost vertical dive the weird sound again reached our ears. No binoculars adorned our necks in those days, we hardly needed them, but we knew enough to identify the long billed speck as a snipe. How weird that a bird should make such an unbird like sound though; little did we appreciate that the noise is made by air vibrating the stiff outer tail feathers that are fanned as the bird dives. One of the poignant sounds of spring that sadly no longer graces the small marsh where we first heard it. Needless to say that wetland has virtually disappeared along with the snipe that made it their home. But they still find a home here in the large areas of wet meadow and bog in the low lying land around the island perimeters and it was a joy to watch this one.

We plan a trip to Hoy tomorrow. We are promised better weather.

Bass Rocks

From a distance it looks like snow. Only when you look closer with the aid of high powered optics do you realise the snowflakes have wings. Gannets. Tens of thousands of gannets. Wheeling around a tall offshore slab of volcanic rock, festooning every conceivable nook on its barren surface, carpeting the ledges, cramming onto narrow shelves and forming floating flotillas around its base. A truly awesome sight that cannot fail to impress all who make the short boat trip to experience the spectacle that is nesting season on Bass Rock.

As you draw nearer to the colony small parties of these large ocean wanderers appear close to. Some have clumps of seaweed in their beaks; males arrowing single-mindedly towards the rock to reinforce their nests. Others have possibly been fishing far away from home, perhaps off the Norwegian coast, and are returning to feed their single young. But it is only when the sheer cliffs loom close, dwarfing your tiny boat and rendering it and all its passengers insignificant, that the sheer numbers of birds on show becomes clear. It is truly breathtaking. Thousands of pristine bright white birds float around the cliff tops using updrafts to glide en masse in huge whirling clouds; more thousands litter the sloping surface sitting atop their seaweed nests placed with precision exactly a beak lunge apart from its neighbour; and more thousands still loaf on the sea preening, bathing or resting. The visual stimulation is enough to overwhelm; add the pungent aroma and the cacophony of noise and all senses are overloaded. Seldom is it possible to get so close to wild birds, but here, as in many seabird cities, we are privileged to be tolerated to within touching distance. Maybe the dozing eye may momentarily be half opened, maybe an inquiring head will be turned, possibly a beak may half-heartedly be pointed towards us in mock threat, but we are generally pretty much ignored as we slowly cruise around the base of the 100 metre high pillar. The scene is ever changing. There is constant motion. Birds are incessantly coming and going, gracefully approaching at speed to effect an awkward landing amongst the hordes, or bill pointing skyward prior to an effortless launch into the warm summer sea breeze.

Younger birds, those not yet mature enough to breed, but hopeful, are relegated to the bottom tier. Here they congregate in teenage gangs watching the antics of the older birds with envy, learning their mating rituals, watching the intimacies between bonded pairs and waiting for their plumage to morph into pristine adulthood. Maybe next year.

Whilst the overwhelming majority of birds here are gannets, there are other species exploiting the isolation of the rock to raise their young. On the narrowest ledges and in the darker coves guillemots, razorbills and shags can be found in small numbers adding their own screeches and guttural squawking to the melee.

The gannet colony on Bass Rock is one of natures true wonders, it is within striking distance folks and is so well worth a visit.  Words cannot do it justice and photographs only provide a reminiscent flavour of what it is really like, however I hope you get an idea of what it is like and I will post some pics when I return home. Next stop Orkney.