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?