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Outside our window here at RSPB HQ, there's a massive pine tree. It's great for watching birds go about their business. Goldcrests hover among the needles, coal tits stash their sunflower seeds between the twigs, and sometimes there's even a nuthatch or a treecreeper wending its way up (or down) the rugged trunk.

And, of course, there are plenty of grey squirrels climbing around in the tree. I often think about how much fun it looks to climb that pine tree; there are long, curving branches which look like they'd be just great if you were a small, furry creature. In fact, we often see pairs of squirrels chasing each other up and down, round and round and round...

But enough daydreaming. We've just seen something astonishing!

For some reason, I found myself looking out of the window and into the tree. And there, clambering up the trunk - which must measure nearly five feet across - was something brown with a white belly. It took me a few seconds to process what I was seeing.

Not a grey squirrel.

Can't be a red squirrel!

Thin tail with a black tip...

'There's a stoat climbing up the tree!' I squawked.

I've seen stoats lots of times before: scampering across meadows, popping up from rabbit warrens and running along paths. But never up a tree.

Higher and higher the stoat climbed. It was a natural tree-climber - it scampered up just as easily as any squirrel. A small crowd gathered by my desk to watch the intrepid mammal. Eventually, it got about two-thirds of the way up the tree, explored the branches up there and decided to come down again.

'Hope we're not going to have to call the fire brigade,' I murmured. Not a chance. The stoat ran back down the trunk again - head first! - until it found one of the lovely curving branches which brought it down to a foot above the ground. From there, it peered down anxiously... and took a jump into the grass. And scurried off.

Apparently, it's not uncommon for stoats to climb trees, especially during the bird breeding season when they go in search of nests to raid. But I'm impressed by our stoat's climbing prowess and exploring spirit. I'll be keeping an eye out for it in future...

There’s definitely a chill in the air and the nights are blacker, but don’t be afraid to go outside this Halloween. There are all kinds of weird and wonderful things cropping up in the natural world that you won’t want to miss!

Fungi forays
 
It’s a great time of year for finding mushrooms and toadstools and other fantastic fungi. They come in a huge variety of shapes and colours, and grow in all kinds of places – in the grass, among the leaf litter, on trees. They're excellent subjects for photography too so make sure you carry your camera when you're out and about. You should be able to find some in your garden too. Check your lawn for little toadstools that sometimes just crop up overnight as if by magic.

Fungi have no green parts and don’t covert sunlight into energy using photosynthesis like plants. They get their nutrients from whatever they’re growing on, like roots and tree trunks and branches.

There are thousands of different species in Britain and many have great names. King Arthur’s Cakes, purple jellydisk, yellow stagshorn, shaggy ink cap, slimy webcap, fairy ring champignon and plums and custard are some of my favourites. Beechwood sickener certainly sounds like one to steer clear of. If only all wildlife was as imaginatively named as fungi!

There are all kinds of ancient superstitions – especially around toadstools. People thought toads sat on them and that fairies used them for umbrellas and danced on them.

Many are poisonous (meaning you have to be very careful if you decide to pick your own mushrooms from the wild) and so were a natural draw for witches and their potion making.

Spooky sounds

The hooting of tawny owls is a classic spine-tingling sound from horror films - even those filmed in parts of the world where tawnies aren’t found! You should be able to hear tawny owls calling at this time of year. Females answer the hooting males with a sharp ‘ke-vick’ to make you jump if you're walking past in the dark with your senses heightened!

Barn owls make a blood-curdling screech that would be right at home in a horror movie and foxes and muntjac deer can also startle you with their harsh barking calls.

You might hear mysterious hisses coming from the night sky too, but don’t worry, it’s just the sound of flocks of redwings arriving from Scandinavia.

Halloween specials

Halloween is often associated with orange and black so I’be been racking my brains to think or orange and black wildlife. Let me know if you think of any! There are certainly plenty of orange berries out there at the moment and these are the very things that bring all of our winter-visiting thrushes here: fieldfares and those redwings I’ve already mentioned.

And it wouldn’t be right to write a Halloween-themed blog without mentioning bats and spiders – those classic Halloween beasties.

Spider’s webs glistening with early morning dew and the dusk flights of bats are both worth wrapping up warm and getting outside to see at either end of the shortening days.

We've 17 species of bats in the UK and they'll be looking for places to hibernate in October and November because there isn't enough insect food for them in the cold weather. They need a cool place, like a tunnel, cave or building and actually slow down their breathing and heart rate. Their temperature drops when they are hibernating, so they use up very little energy.  You can help bats by putting up a bat box or two in your garden.

And if you’d like to be shown great wildlife by experts, why not check out our events pages or visit a nature reserve near you?

Here's a tip for tonight: go and stand outside in the dark, and listen. We're in the middle of that wonderful phenomenon that is bird migration.

This morning, a few local birdwatchers went to stand on a hill near RSPB HQ in Bedfordshire (yes, Bedfordshire does have a few hills). They started just before 7 am. By the time 11.30 came round, they'd counted a gobsmacking total of 28,982 redwings, all flying west.

You might say that standing around and counting birds flying over is a bit of a strange thing to do. Perhaps it is... but what an amazing number of birds for a landlocked location!

Those thousands of redwings will have started their perilous journeys in Scandinavia last night. Redwings and other thrushes are nocturnal migrants, relying on the stars and whatever other mysterious means they use to find their way. The stream of birds will have continued all night, from over the cold North Sea, onto our east coast and pushing inland, even to Bedfordshire!

If you fancy it, why not pop outside in the dark tonight. You don't need to go up a hill or to a nature reserve. Into your garden or street will do fine. Listen for a high-pitched call, a piercing 'ssiiiii', the sound of a redwing calling to its colleagues as it flies over.

Or, if you're not much of a night owl, on an early walk tomorrow morning you might see flocks of redwings and other migrant birds zapping overhead. My friends also saw fieldfares, crossbills, woodpigeons, golden plovers, siskins and even five ring ouzels - close relatives of the blackbird which are Africa-bound! Here are a few of their photos.

Even if you can't identify what you see, watch and wonder at the amazing feats of these feathered super-athletes. You won't regret it! But please tell us about your experience.

We saw burly great skuas powering their way through the stiff breeze. Snow-white gannets sliced the air and tickled the waves with their wingtips. Pilot whales appeared from the depths, a jet of spray came from a sperm whale and a pod of common dolphins joined us to surf our bow wave!

I saw lots of new and fascinating things in the Bay of Biscay. My favourites were the great shearwaters - relatives of the albatross family which breed in the South Atlantic - which flew just above the waves with such skill and certainty. The pod of more than 100 common dolphins which burst through the waves was a pretty amazing sight, too...!

We couldn't help but be impressed by the whales, dolphins and seabirds that we saw. Way out of sight of land, they were in their element and wonderfully adapted to deal with whatever the ocean threw at them. Even the storm petrels - tiny seabirds not much bigger than a sparrow - were right at home among the heaving waves.

Perhaps oddly, there were other creatures out at sea which impressed me more. Things you might not expect...

We had stowaways. While we watched for sealife from the deck of the ferry, more passengers came to rest onboard. Robins.

You've got to ask yourself: why does a robin want to cross the Bay of Biscay? We're not talking about just popping over the Channel... some of the birds were a hundred miles from land. They fluttered alongside the boat and found nooks and crannies to hide in, some in the lifeboats, which seemed entirely appropriate.

Most robins from the UK stay in Blighty, but a few have been found in France, Spain and Portugal during winter. It's likely that the birds I saw originated from mainland Europe - perhaps Scandinavia, from where robins and other thrushes will be arriving on the UK's east coast very soon. However, you really would think that it would be more sensible to fly over land!

There were other birds too, including a redstart, song thrush, a few swallows and meadow pipits. A chiffchaff joined us for part of the trip and there was even a migrant marmalade hoverfly for a while!

But it was the robins which stole my heart. Never underestimate a robin...

I love to make the most of the weekend. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy working for the RSPB, but you can't beat that feeling of coming in to work on a Monday morning knowing that I got out and about at the weekend, - preferably having been somewhere fabulous and seen something to keep me smiling all week!

My Saturday treats started with the surprise sight of a hunting migrant osprey off the Norfolk Coast.

For 15 minutes, the adult bird (clearly an experienced fisher) patrolled high over the beach before I finally saw it fold its wings and drop like a stone. It came up with a big fish – something tasty and salty no doubt!

There were other migrant birds from far afield around too. Later in the day I was watching a wryneck. This little woodpecker is a beautiful (but indescribable!) combination of bars, stripes and anchor marks. I’ve posted a picture I took of one last year so you get the idea if you’ve never seen one!

It was hopping around on some short grass and sidled up to rocks to whip out its long tongue and collect ants hiding in the cracks. It would have almost certainly originated from Scandinavia (they don’t nest here) and made landfall overnight on its migration.

The wryneck is one of my favourite birds that I’m lucky to see maybe just once every year.

Walking back, a barn owl was hunting right next to the path and then I noticed the tide had come right in, pushing all the waders off the mudflats and up into the air. I estimated the flocks of knot stretched for almost a quarter of a mile against the setting sun – an incredible sight. That’s a lot of birds. I reckoned about 60,000 in total.

Of course this is a great time of year for seeing big numbers of birds.

Lots of birds from garden birds to geese start to form big flocks for winter as the autumn goes on. And keep an eye on your local starling flocks as Russian immigrants join your garden regulars to create big, noisy, swirling flocks. So you don't need to go far to see amazing things this autumn.

Feathers are a marvellous thing. That's what struck me today when I was out walking at The Lodge, in search of our flock of Manx Loghtan sheep (they're the little ones with dead-bracken-coloured wool and up to six horns...).

I was busy not seeing the sheep, who were doubtless hiding in amongst the dead bracken, when I spotted a feather lying on the ground. I was pretty sure it was going to be from a woodpigeon (there are a lot around at the moment), but something prompted me to flip it over with my foot for a closer look.

All was revealed.

I'd stumbled across my holy grail!

When I saw the bright blue patch on one side, I gasped. I'd dreamed of finding one of these, a beautiful feather from a jay's wing. I remember a few years ago, when Mark showed me one he'd found, and feeling distinctly jealous.

Though I don't actively go looking for feathers, I most definitely keep an eye out for them on my travels. I like playing at being a nature detective.

Finding and identifying feathers means you gain a little insight into who's been there and what's been going on. A couple of weeks ago, I found a sad little pile of stripy, khaki-green feathers - some with bloodstaining - that showed a green woodpecker had been eaten, probably by a sparrowhawk. The bad news for the woodpecker meant good news for the hawk. That's how it goes...

I've seen plenty of jays at The Lodge, specially in the autumn months when they're busy flying around looking for acorns and places to stash them. Now, whenever I open the chest of drawers under my desk (where my feather 'collection' lurks), I'll be reminded of those charismatic, elusive birds. I wonder whether the jay that it belonged to is the one that's squawking outside my window now...?

• Have you found any natural 'treasures'? Leave a comment and tell us about it.

It felt, and smelt, like autumn as I walked to the bus stop this morning. The sky was a beautiful bright blue, but there was a chill in the wind that had swung overnight to the north-east. I’d been optimistic choosing a T-shirt, but I’m loathe to put on an extra layer until I really have to!

Walking past a new housing development, I glanced across a patch of ground cleared for building. A small, pale bird standing on the brown earth caught my eye.

It’s not the sort of place you tend to see many birds, so I had a feeling it might be quite interesting. It’s meerkat-like upright stance and the type of terrain it was on made me think it could be a wheatear.

I was right. Pulling my binoculars out of my bag, to the surprise of commuters driving to work, I laid eyes on a lovely little wheatear. Wheatears are always nice to see, but this one was special. Wheatears only pass through my part of the world in spring and autumn and only in relatively small numbers.

This one’s appearance on this patch of bare earth probably resulted from an overnight journey from Scandinavia, flying high and true below the stars before spotting a suitable place to have a rest and a feed up before continuing on its way to Africa.

Migration is amazing enough when you just read about it, but there’s nothing like the thrill of finding a bird like this (particularly in an unexpected place), so keep your eyes peeled.

The next six weeks or so are a time of migration of epic proportions for millions of birds. I’d love to know what you see in your travels, or close to home. Oh, and I’ll let you know if my little patch of bare ground attracts any more migrants!

Coming into work this morning, I noticed a lone swallow perched on a wire by the side of the road.

Although fairly impossible to tell what mood a bird is in, he looked a little lost and forlorn, and I imagined him sitting on the wire, wondering where all his mates had gone.

I didn't have time to stop and tell him that they were probably already well on their way to Africa, and that he, too, should probably set off in that direction soon.

Autumn is on its way

I love autumn, don't get me wrong - it's a beautiful time of year, but while the hot rays of the sun still tingle on my skin (and I can still eat ice-cream outdoors!), the thought of colder and shorter days just round the corner isn't that appealing.

Although I am excited to find out what the wonders of migration will bring to our shores this winter, I will be sad when we have said goodbye to all our summer visitors.....so until next year, I guess I'll just have to make do with my fluffy singing swallow!

What are the signs that autumn is on its way for you? Are there any winter migrants you're particularly looking forward to seeing?

Did you know last weekend was 'European Bat Weekend', organised by the splendidly-named Eurobats? No, me neither.

Despite this oversight, I'm pleased to say that I've enjoyed some bats lately.

You've probably read about Hope Farm, the RSPB's farm not far from Cambridge. It's where we're working to find ways to improve the lot of farmland birds alongside running a profitable business. Part of the work includes surveying the farm's wildlife, and I went along to help find some bats.

After a cuppa in the farmhouse kitchen we equipped ourselves with state-of-the-art detectors brought along by our friends at the Bat Conservation Trust and headed off into the fields.

We hadn't even left the yard when we picked up our first bat! It was inside one of the barns but our trusty detector picked up the sonar it was throwing out.

Wet slaps?

Finding a bat in the dark is an interesting experience. They're small, speedy and aren't audible to the human ear. That's why you need a bat detector. Basically - I think! - they work by picking up the sonar squeaked out by the bat, and kind of slowing it down and playing it back at a frequency that we humans can hear.

You might think that it would sound like 'eeep! eeep! eeep!' but the weird noises emitted by the detector are best described as 'wet slaps'! Or clunks. Very odd...

Anyway, we walked a set route through the fields, past the hedges and round the trees of Hope Farm. As the sun set beautifully, we picked up two common pipistrelles - which make noises at 45 Khz - flying out of a copse. Against an orange sky, the tiny bats flew up and down a stretch of hedgerow, clearly hoovering up the moths and small insects emerging from the vegetation.

What a privilege to see these beautiful animals in action. I was inspired. After our evening's surveying, I borrowed a detector and tried it out in my garden. There was the sound of grasshoppers, and then a tawny owl hooting. No bats? I had to wait.

Eventually patience paid off... after 20 minutes' wait, there were clicks, clunks and slaps from the detector and I knew that there was a pipistrelle feeding right above my head! I wonder if they roost in the tree at the bottom of the garden, or in my roof...?

Have you seen bats in your garden, or been bat surveying? I'd love to hear about it!

Mr Toad loved messing about on the river in Kenneth Grahame’s classic ‘The Wind in the Willows’ and I would love to have joined him and his friends.

You see, I’ve grown up in a watery landscape, so I absolutely adore rivers. I’ve travelled along rivers on five continents, but the gentle, dark rivers of my East Anglian homeland are my favourite. Ancient willows dip their droopy branches into the water in the breeze like children testing the temperature of the sea with their toes. The black shadows they cast play tricks on the mind masquerading as otters, water voles, giant pikes and tench. Water flows slowly in these flat lands, so any movement catches the eye, raising hopes for something special.

Yesterday evening, I watched my neighbour make his daily after work visit to the pub and then strolled down to the River Ouse. I found a quiet spot, sat down and for an hour, dangled my legs over the edge and waited. I waited and I watched and it was wonderful.

A young kingfisher plopped into the water 50 yards upstream. Five times I counted it diving headfirst into a sparkling, sunlit pool of water beneath one of those mighty willows I mentioned. Five times it emerged empty beaked. It was playing. I don’t think it was even hungry; just practising its fishing skills.

Some time later, a dazzling adult sped past, piping shrilly, almost saying ‘this is how you do it!’ as a silver tiddler shone in its beak.

When you sit and wait, you notice more and the river was peaceful, but full of life. A brood of young sparrowhawks called from an old osier bed. A treecreeper kept me company, probing twisted gnarled old bark with its beak. A banded demoiselle damselfly chugged past. Two herons flapped downstream on giant wings, their harsh calls disturbing the peace. A fish leapt clean out of the water in front of me, sucking up a fly in mid-air with a kissing noise - too quick for me to see what sort of fish it was and too quick for the fly.

An hour passed and I reluctantly got to my feet and walked the mile back home. Maybe I’ll head down to the river again tonight. Better still, why don’t you? I’d love to know what your favourite watery place is and what you’ve seen.

I was at a wedding in Wales this weekend - it was a brilliant and beautiful day, with no embarrassing dancing, drunk Uncles, or Conga-lines in sight!

However, the weekend didn't pass without drama - luckily, it just waited to happen once we were back at our B&B the next morning.

Feeling only a little worse for wear, I woke to find my roommate, Rose, scrabbling around her bed muttering about not being able to find either her jewellery bag, one earring (!), her blusher, her mirror, or her deodrant, all of which in our hurry to make the wedding on time she had left either on top of the chest of drawers, or on the floor.

After her hundredth 'but where could that have gone?', she finally turned to the chest of drawers, and opening the top drawer found all of the missing items neatly arranged, and definitely not missing. Adamant she hadn't put them in there, we joked that being in the attic room we were always ripe for having a ghostly visit, though we weren't expecting it would be one who obviously liked to tidy up after the guests!

Later, while Rose was recounting her strange experience to one of our other friends, Claire, and I was finishing packing my things away, I heard a yelp.

With a pounding heart, and worried that I too was obivously about to see an apparition (why else would they scream?!), I turned round to see both Rose and Claire drop to the floor.

I was very relieved to see that what had scared them was only a moth, which must have flown directly at their heads, spooking them at just the point when they were talking about ghosts.

I didn't get a very good view of the moth, but the flashes of orange and its large size told me it was probably a large yellow underwing. Although a fairly common and widespread sight in Britain, I'd not seen one before. Our brief encounter rounded off what had been an excellent few days, and brightened up the greyness of the morning we had woken up to.

You'll be pleased to know that the moth escaped through an open window, none the worse for being screamed at.

We, on the other hand, still aren't quite sure whether we had a ghostly encounter, or not......

Have you ever been scared by a wildlife encounter? Let me know by leaving a comment below.

We all know that a little bit of untidiness is good for all sorts of bugs and birds, but every garden needs a bit of a tidy up now and again doesn't it?

My buddleia bushes have been decorated with a host of butterflies for the last month (it’s been a fabulous year for them hasn’t it?), but long, tired branches nodding under the weight of dead, brown flowerheads signalled pruning time. As I chopped back the excess, some purple and white sparkled among the brown – fresh flowers! It seemed such a shame to literally cut them off in their prime, so I left them be and carried on pruning carefully around them.

I admired my handiwork later and noticed that the four small flowerheads I’d left were each balancing a butterfly: a painted lady, two large whites and a small tortoiseshell to be precise. None were at their best, but this made it more pleasing giving these worn, tatty individuals a hand, when it would have been easy to put tidiness first.

They stayed around all afternoon, sipping at the nectar, proving that a little help goes a long way. Lots of us feed the birds in our gardens when natural food is scarce, but it's hard for these last butterflies, and other insects, to find food with fewer flowers around in late summer.

Were you out in your garden over the weekend making the most of the sunshine? Why not let us know what you got up to, or what jobs you've got planned before the end of the summer?

One of the sites I check on a regular basis is a few miles away from The Lodge. Croydon Hill (in Cambridgeshire) is located at the site of a deserted medieval village called Clopton. This was once a thriving settlement that is mentioned in the Domesday Book, until, it is thought, it was deserted in the 16th century. Today, the only clues as to its former status are the faint outlines of the village earthworks, which reveal that the former village was built into a terrace on the hillside.

This quiet, green space looks out to the south over the Royston Vale and on a clear day, views extend for almost 20 miles towards the hills of North Hertfordshire. The rough grassland, scrub and arable farmland found at the site act as a natural magnet for migrant birds, and over the last few years, I have enjoyed ring ouzels, wheatears, whinchats, woodlark, gannet (!), peregrine, merlin, grey plover, short-eared owl, redstarts and many others at this site. It is also my favourite site for observing visible migration, where I have often witnessed the incredible autumn migration of thrushes, involving thousands of redwings and fieldfares streaming west through the vale. If I'm not at home at daybreak during October, I'm probably here!

This morning was warm and bright, but with a strong westerly wind that suggested passerines (or songbirds) may be difficult to find (they are far less showy in windy conditions). Nevertheless, I continued on my usual route, checking the copse, ditches and hedges, but it soon became clear that today was unusually quiet - no warblers, no buntings and very few finches. The only real activity involved displaying, wing-slapping wood pigeons and good numbers of gatekeeper butterflies on thistles.

As I arrived at the point where I normally return to the car, a kestrel rose from above the ridge, obediently obeying the rule that you can always tell which way the wind is blowing by the direction in which a kestrel is facing. The truth is that kestrels don't really hover though; they fly into, and at a speed equal to that of the prevailing wind. I muttered aloud ''Kestrel...that's as good as it's going to get today.''

I hadn't taken ten paces before a large, pale-looking, long-winged bird of prey appeared above the hedgerow, less than 30 metres away. Buzzards are common up here, but this bird didn't 'feel' right. I had my suspicions, and when I raised my bins, I couldn't quite believe what I was looking at; white head, broad, dark eye-stripe, pale underparts with dark contrasting upperparts - an osprey! I won't repeat here what my first words were after seeing it! I checked for more detail: the upperpart feathers were pale-tipped, the tail feathers were barred with no terminal band - this was a juvenile. I watched for three or four minutes as it flew resolutely south over the Royston Vale. I was almost shaking with excitement.

I had expected marsh harrier or red kite up here one day, but osprey was an outside bet. If I had been at this particular point at the site two minutes previously, or two minutes later, I would never have seen it - serendipitous indeed (or luck, as I later remarked). As it turns out, I am now marvelling about this bird; wondering where it fledged, where it roosted yesterday evening, and where it will be tonight.

Other ospreys have been seen in the country today: one at our Nene washes reserve in Cambridgeshire, and others in Kent, Essex and Suffolk - many miles from breeding sites, so they are now on the move. So if you are out and about this weekend, don't forget to look up. Nature has a habit of throwing up the unexpected.

Best wishes,

Darren

Yesterday afternoon, I decided to visit a site not ten miles away from RSPB Headquarters to do some birding. This was to be my sixth visit in recent days, and my target was a hitherto elusive bird of prey - a male Montagu's harrier.

These beautiful, rare breeding raptors have a unique elegance: long-winged and long-tailed, they hunt with light, elegant wingbeats, giving the impression of a distinctly delicate bird. These are not terms that one generally associates with birds of prey, but when compared with their more robust and powerful cousins: the marsh harrier and hen harrier, they appear lightweight and rather flimsy, yet purposefully studious when in pursuit of their prey.

My previous visits to the site had yielded several juvenile marsh harriers, a hen harrier, as many as four red kites, as well as numerous buzzards and kestrels. But still no 'Monty's.'

When I arrived, the weather was dismal; fine, soft drizzle that reduces visibility and enervates the spirit gradually, rendering distant perching raptors unidentifiable; blurry, colourless, nebulous forms giving no clues as to the character or identity of the creature. The best I could come up with for many was 'raptor spp.'

Within an hour, the damp humidity had given way to a sudden freshness, the skies clearing and azure patches of sky fought for dominance with the steel grey rain clouds. Now, these distant perching shapes took form and gave up their identities: buzzard, buzzard, marsh harrier, buzzard, all perched atop stunted trees punctuating the horizon. These still, lifeless shapes suddenly showed life, a buzzard spread its wings to dry them, cormorant-fashion. The marsh harrier shook its head and tail, stretched, and after two stiff wingbeats, glided on shallow v-shaped wings and disappeared over the ridge.

I scanned the horizon and birds appeared from the south - marsh harriers, and lots of them. In the course of 15 minutes, seven juvenile marsh harriers flew into view; large, powerful, all dark raptors with striking cream crowns. Two 'played' together, wheeling around each other and displaying mock bravado as they grappled with talons locked - behaviour indicating they were almost certainly siblings. I spent a further hour watching them, as they drifted in and out of view across the gently rolling countryside, but my target bird was again employing it's cloaking device and remaining invisible.  

As I watched, a distant but distinctive song caught my attention, ''wet my lips, wet my lips!'' A quail: an elusive gamebird that is more often heard than seen. 2009 has been a good year for these late migrants, they are unusual birds in that they will first breed in Southern Europe during spring, before making another attempt in Britain and Northern Europe in summer - a phenomenon known as zwischenzug (or inter-season movement).

It was time for me to leave, and my notebook entry for the day was padded with seven marsh harriers, three buzzards, three kestrels and quail, but the words 'no sign of reported adult male Montagu's harrier again' appeared once again. As I drove home, a little dejected, my disappointment was brought into sharp perspective when I considered that in the year I was born (1971 seeing as you ask) there was only one pair of marsh harriers remaining in the whole of Britain, and that today, I had been watching seven, less than ten miles from the Lodge and many miles away from their East Anglian stronghold. Even ten years ago, this would have been unthinkable!

The work of my employer (of whom I am proud to be of service), other conservation agencies and landowners has helped to bring these magnificent birds back from the brink. The next time I see a marsh harrier, I'll do well to remember that, and not take them, or the efforts needed to conserve them, for granted.

Marsh harriers, as well as many other birds of prey, are starting to disperse from their breeding areas and can be seen almost anywhere over the next month or so. If you have an encounter with these birds, why not tell us about it here?

Best wishes,

Darren

Back in May I blogged about the return of swifts to my town. Back then, summer was just starting out: England were beating the West Indies at Lord’s, a barbeque summer was forecast and the swifts were screaming above my head whenever I ventured outside. Now the scythe-shaped birds have left my part of rural Bedfordshire, the barbecue summer has been downgraded and, as for the cricket, well there’s one last chance.

Now, I’m lucky enough to be able to see nesting swifts from my bedroom window. Which is great! At least three pairs nested in my street, which is pretty good going really. By now those chicks have grown up, flown the crevice in the eaves they call a nest and will be flying over southern England, or even the Channel, as they seek out the warmer climes of Africa. I envy them, I really do!

It seems that swifts are leaving from most areas too, judging by comments on the forums. I took a trip over to our Lakenheath Fen reserve at the weekend, and the swifts were notable by their absence. It won’t be too long before they’ve left us altogether, there must be a few stragglers hanging on. Is there any left where you are? We've been asking you to look out for them this year with our swift survey, there's still time to send in your sightings!

It seems wrong to think that our summer has finished, the birds, swifts in particular, may have had enough of Britain for another year, but for those of us who stick around there is still plenty of winged beauties to look for.

One of the reasons for my trip to Lakenheath was to look for dragon, damsel and butterflies. I wasn’t disappointed! They were buzzing, fluttering and generally looking funky for my amusement. This wetland reserve just squeezed into Suffolk is perfect for them, if you get a chance go and take a look for yourself. Or if a trip to East Anglia is out of the question, find a wetland closer to home and see what you can find. Trust me, you won’t be disappointed.

So, that’s that until May for the swifts, shame, I’ll miss them, their stay is always too short. But as the saying goes, it’s not over until the fat lady sings, yes she’s warming up, but there’s still plenty of great summer wildlife out there. But not for long, so make the most of the rest of this summer and its wildlife in next few weeks.

Why not tell us about anything that’s made you go wow, what’s that? that’s cool…you get the drift, leave a comment after this blog…