Category Archives: Autumn

Moving into autumn

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Despite the weather remaining warm, today felt like we’re finally transitioning into autumn and approaching the return leg into the colder and darker seasons.

This morning, we first went to gather some blackberries from an abundant spot I noted on my cycle yesterday. It was quite strange that the location hadn’t been picked-out already as it was just on the side of a quiet lane and not far from a village. We collected enough to go into a Kilner jar to make some hedgerow gin and into the first homemade pie of the season to follow the first post-summer roast beef Sunday dinner.

After collect that good crop, we went for a walk around our nearest reservoir at Ravensthorpe. On the drive there we could see the leaves starting to turn and even a few already fallen to the ground. The duck and geese numbers are starting to build but there were still signs of the breeding season with cygnets and young great-created grebes. One of the adult grebes has an enormous perch and was being noisily followed by a squeaky chick. The perch eventually went down it’s throat but only after a long struggle.

Now home, the blackberries are already in the jar with the gin, which has turned a lovely dark burgundy…

I’m sad summer is over but I do love the autumn. The cosiness of the darker nights, an occasional log fire, the changing colours of the countryside, the richer and more comforting food, and a slowing down of the pace of nature.

We’ve got a week in the Forest of Dean in October and I’m hoping it will be a time to delve into all that autumn brings.

Before that, as it gets dark this evening, perhaps there might be a tot of what remains of last year’s hedgerow gin before we tuck into that dinner.

Ramsey Island’s grey seals – from serenity to chaos as the tide comes in

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A visit to the RSPB’s Ramsey Island reserve at this time of year has to include watching the Atlantic grey seals. September is the prime time for pupping and Ramsey has around 600-700 pups born on its beaches every summer and autumn. Given an afternoon off from my volunteering tasks this week, I spent a few hours sitting above the largest of the pupping beaches, Aber Mawr, taking in all the activity unfolding below me.

The tide was just turning to come back in as I sat down and made myself comfortable. At low tide, and this was a particularly low one, the retreating sea reveals areas of sand, which are in contrast to the shingle beneath the cliffs that give way to boulder-fields slightly further out. All was serene on the beach. The female seals were lying out in groups sleeping in the warm sunshine. Others were nursing their pups or bobbing around in the water. The pups slept too, mostly on the shingle or in amongst the boulders. They occasionally let out short cry but otherwise there was little sound, save for a chattering flock of chough passing overhead. There were adjustments on the sand as the water slowly started to make its way in. The females shuffled every so often as the water encroached on their patch, but overall there was very little going on.

However, as the tide rose and hit the boulder field, all hell broke loose. The pups that has been sleeping in amongst the boulders were thrust forward by the waves, washed through the gaps and into pools. They were completely as the mercy of the water. As one wave retreated they would try to scramble to a safer spot but their weak flippers could give them little support on the slippery rocks. When another wave came they were tumbled around again and at times dragged back out into the deeper water as the waves withdrew. Some of the mothers were there to support their pups but could be seen attacking the pups of others if they got too close; those pups running a gauntlet of both sea and seals. As the water forced the seals closer together, fights broke out amongst the mothers, protecting their patch on the beach. The air was now filled with the calls of distressed pups and the racing and crashing of the waves, the serenity of earlier, now shattered by the advancing tide.

I returned to the spot later on into the evening and the tide had now left only a narrow band of shingle between the waves and the cliffs. The pups were pressed tight against the cliffs’ stone walls or were still fighting in the surf, struggling to stay on the shore at the thinest parts of the beach. The scene continued into the darkness with the cries of pups rising up the cliffs and following me and as made my way back to the comfort of the Bungalow.

I’ve written before about the seals of Ramsey Island (here and here) – I’d almost forgotten and nearly wrote similar posts again.