I’m very fortunate to live in a quiet village and even more lucky to have views of the countryside from my home office window (at least when the leaves aren’t on the trees). Working from home yesterday gave me quite a few wildlife sightings without even leaving the house.
Sitting at my desk I saw a small flock of winter-visiting redwings in the paddock opposite as well as the muntjac I now fairly regularly see. There was also a calling green woodpecker in the trees beyond.
In the late afternoon there was a winter visitor to our bird table, a brambling. I very rarely see one of these striking finches but we’ve had one or two visit, staying for a couple of weeks or so, both this winter and last.
As night began to fall, I saw my first bats off the year, racing around the house and trees behind us, where we so often do. Due to there size, they were undoubtedly pipistrelles but I didn’t have my detector out to be able to tell whether they were common or soprano.
A last welcome sight of the day, just before it was time to go to bed, was our first hedgehog of the year. They’ve actually been coming quite regularly to eat in our feeding box over the course of the winter, only missing in the properly cold periods. We’ve caught them on our trailcam a few times but this was the first sight with my own eyes.
The day would have been even better if I’d heard a little owl when I went to stand by my open office window as I went to be but I can’t have everything, I suppose. Last year I didn’t hear them as often as the previous two springs we’ve lived here, so I’m hoping for a bit of a return this year.
I’m working at home again today, so hopefully a bit more wildlife watching from the house.
A Saturday and a Sunday morning spent working and putting together flat-pack furniture wasn’t the most inspiring way to end the week. However, after finishing the same set of bookshelves for the second time, we headed out to one of our closest nature reserves at Pitsford Water reservoir.
While putting my tools away at home, I had felt some early March warmth from the sun peeping out between the clouds. As we left the car and walked down to the water, the cloud dispersed and the sun’s strength was a bit of a surprise after such wet and grey weather recently. The warmth could be felt on our dark clothes being heated by the rays and the hide we went into felt like someone had left some (non-existent) radiators on. With no wind to speak of, and the cloud clearing further, this was a first real taste spring weather, despite the temperature still being some way below 10 degrees celsius.
We decided to head for Pitsford to see what might me a last sight of the wintering wildfowl before many of them head off to breed further north in the UK and a long way beyond. Given the relatively mild (if damp) first part of the year, it wasn’t a surprise to see that wildfowl numbers had already dropped significantly from their mid-winter highs. Pitsford is a winter home to thousands of birds with large numbers of widgeon, teal, mallard and tufted duck as well as a range of other waterbirds.
One of my favourite winter visitors to the reservoir is the splendidly feathered goldeneye – well, at least the male is, with the female being much more drab. They have already started displaying and pairing up, with the males in their finery performing a slightly odd manoeuvre, stretching their necks out and throwing their heads back, with a cartoon-like duck call. A (not very good) video of them doing this is below.
While the weekend is already sadly drawing to a close, our short walk did give me a little pick-me-up before settling in for Sunday dinner (maybe after a run in the last of the sunshine).
I had to scrape ice off the car windscreen as I left for work this morning. Despite having a mild winter, mornings of late have been chilly.
The 15-minute drive to the station, once the light has started to return, is lovely. I drive cross-country to a village station on the line between Northampton and Rugby. The route is all rural with an occasional village and passes through nicely rolling countryside. On a frosty morning like today, the valleys can be cloaked in mist giving some stunning views as I pass through them.
When I get to the station, standing on the platform there are views across the fields to the far off Borough Hill, near Daventry. The scene at the station this morning was quite spectacular with a colourful sunrise above the frosty and misty fields. On mornings like this, despite the cold clawing at my nose and fingers, there’s something joyous about being out and about at this time of day.
We’re lucky to live on a quiet country lane in a village. The fields at the end of the lane do call us on a sunny lunchtime when working from home and we wander down to take a look at the view.
Despite the impression of a lovely warm day in the picture below (taken a few minutes ago) it’s actually quite chilly and blustery today. However, the bright sun does have a sense of the coming spring about it…as did the plump ewes in the fields…
With this 570th post, I’ve reached ten years of blogging on this site. It is somewhat surprising that I’ve kept it going so long; I only set up my blog to ‘give it a go’ a see if some longer-form writing would give me an outlet for my thoughts beyond the usual social media.
The blog started 18 months after I retuned to work following a 12-month career break. So much of that year was spent in nature with a mixture of volunteering, wildlife trips and photography, that it helped me find a new enthusiasm for the world around me and gave me a much more positive and constructive life overall. Before the break I had very little to say beyond my work life and I would never have blogged about that; I’ve always tried to keep work and home separate and leave thinking about work to weekdays. Continuing to spend my time away from work in nature in a number of different ways led me to consider blogging. I had done some (pretty rubbish) creative writing as a mindfulness practice and it seemed to work in moving my thoughts away from work. Doing things more interesting and constructive with my free time also gave me more inspiration to write and it just seemed to be an obvious extension to my practical conservation volunteering and photography, adding another dimension and enabling me to dive more deeply into my interests.
I can’t say this is the most keenly read or most visited blog and certainly not the best written or most thought-provoking. However, it does have a small band of followers and it does have individual posts which continue to be read years after they’ve been written. It seems that my posts on Scottish Islands and my trip to the Falkland Islands (also nearly 10 years ago) continue to get the most visits. Perhaps a bit of Googling while planning a holiday is the main source of my visitors.
The most visited posts at the time of writing have always been those about my volunteering at the Glaslyn ospreys in north Wales, where for a number of years I did nest protection shifts each spring. From the statistics page for my site it’s very easy to see when I stopped doing those shifts as my visitor numbers have never been the same since.
The subject which I have most prolifically written about is probably Ramsey Island. Since 2012, I’ve spent one, two or three weeks a year there as a residential volunteer for the RSPB, which all culminated in a three month stay in 2019. When I’ve written so much about the place, it’s hard to think of new things to say but I’m sure I’ll be inspired some more by my next visit.
I also can’t say that it hasn’t been a struggle at times to keep it going and to generate the enthusiasm to do so. Certainly over the past two or three years my rate of posting has dropped markedly. I have a generally strong underlying angst over the state of nature, the country and the world as a whole. I find so many things so concerning and hugely negative. I often find it exhausting when thinking beyond my own little world and at times writing about nature, when I feel so depressed about it, is almost the last thing I want to do. However, perhaps my blog should again be a place for positivity in the face of all the negativity around us.
At this ten-year mark in my blogging, I have considered whether it’s time to stop. It would end the false pressure and guilt I put on myself for not posting but it would seem such a waste of all the effort I’ve put in over the last decade. I also feel I still have so much to say, possibly, in fact, more than I used to. Almost by chance, my work has started to encroach on areas I blog about, with rural transport and wider countryside and coastal issues being a key area of my weekday focus. I don’t want my private time and work to mix too much but my personal thoughts on some of the crossover subjects could form the basis for future posts.
So, at this 10-year point, I don’t intend to leave the blog behind but, instead, find some new energy and, hopefully, new ideas, to reinvigorate my site and continue posting for a good while yet.
I’ll finish my post with a video. It was shot on my phone at Snettisham on the Norfolk coast of The Wash a couple of weeks ago. My wife and I had a weekend away, staying in a lovely pub nearby. One evening we went to the shoreline at the RSPB reserve to watch the dusk flight of birds as the tide came in. The result was a natural spectacular with thousands upon thousands of geese and waders putting on a show at a scale seen in few other places in the UK. It was a truly inspiring sight and one that re-energised my love of nature.
Over the last few days there have been images of nacreous clouds appearing from across the UK. I had just seen some posted on Facebook by a friend when they were spotted above our house…
I’m hoping they will still be around this evening and that the cloud clears enough to see them!
To make the break between the working week and the weekend, yesterday evening we had a sunset wander at one of our usual spots in the Brampton Valley. Almost immediately after getting out of the car we spotted a white shape flying low over the rough grass area amongst the now empty arable fields. Looking through our binoculars it was instantly recognisable as a barn owl. We slowly made our way along the farmland track to get a closer view and a second owl a popped up. We watched the pair for about half an hour as the light faded until they both flew off towards a nearby barn.
We’ve been visiting the spot often since we moved into the area two and a half years ago but only in the early days did we see barn owls there. So this was a delight and we’ll go back more often at sunset to see if we can find them again.
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.
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.
Daft Mumblings 