The Spring Equinox Rooks

 In a non scientific way I have counted the rook nests in the village for a number of years now. In previous years my count took place in late February or early March, after which a couple more nests invariably appeared. This year I delayed my count slightly and waited until the spring equinox, not just because it was the warmest day so far in 2025, but also the first day of my retirement. Until this moment I'd been too busy finishing my career, and work, at the BBC.

The afternoon was warm. The thermometer in the greenhouse nudged 40oC, outside it was around half this, not bad for the 20th of March. With little wind and visually perfect blue skies I set off walking the half mile or so to the village to make my count.

First the site I refer to as the bend in the lane. This is interesting. In previous years there have been one or two nests in the far right tree. This year there are nine spreading across all four trees, themselves around a quarter of a mile from the main rookery. Why the expansion here I can't say, but I hope this is a sign of a healthy population expanding their territory.  

Walking further towards the village, the two core trees as I like to think of them, on the left have, as in previous years, hosted the bulk of the nests in the village, nineteen in total this year in the main tree and five in an adjacent one. The trees to the left (and below) at Cypress Farm, have increased nest numbers too, with nine this year, quite interesting to see poplars being used.

I spent a little time near to and under the main core trees. I've mentioned this before but it never ceases to surprise me that they nest over the lane, now covered with sticks. They're safe in the trees of course but this is a busy commuter short cut from Weston Super Mare to a major road, plus a busy agricultural area with thunderous tractors passing through. Not a quiet spot then but as it is host every year to the core rookery structures, they must like this spot.

Not far from the core area, three nests have appeared in what I can loosely term a new site by the holiday cottages, only a sticks-throw from the core. Three nests here, but room for more.

That's a good total then, 9 on the bend, 9 at Cypress Farm, 19 plus 5 in the two core trees and 3 at the holiday cottage = 45 if my sums are correct. That's two more nests than in 2024. 

Not a bad way to spend the first day of my retirement, messing about in warm sunshine watching the behaviour of rooks in the village.

Bicknoller in 1883

 In June 1883* the writer Richard Jefferies visited Somerset. There is a little confusion as to why he visited Somerset during the long days of summer given the main work published the following year was a book on red deer, with unsurprisingly the title of Red Deer. This now classic study of deer was a detailed natural history of the landscape red deer roamed over with meticulously researched methods of hunting and products created from them. Which is why visiting in the summer is a little confusing as the deer hunting season happens during the winter months. To gather the information for his book he therefore spent a few days in Exford with the master of the Devon and Somerset Staghounds Arthur Heal. 

I don't wish to go into more detail about the book, as there are better sources than me. And you can read more of Jefferies Somerset Adventure and a synopsis of the book via the Richard Jefferies Society Website beginning on page 54 of the Societies' Journal Number 39 – 2024

 link here : https://www.richardjefferiessociety.org/p/the-richard-jefferies-society-journal.html

My visit to the Quantock Hills this week was to finally begin researching locations for a maybe fanciful idea of mine of producing a Jefferies in Somerset self guided tour. He covered a large area in the 19 days he spent here, he must have never stopped, but for this visit I began, where else, at the beginning, the hamlet of Bicknoller. 

My visit on a cool but beautiful sunny January day maybe contrasted with a summer visit in 1883. On my visit it was cool. Snowdrops were in flower and early daffodils in St George's churchyard. It really is a peaceful place today, blackbird and great tits were calling in the neighbourhood, but in 1883 it might have been a lot noisier. We forget that when these rural communities were all about farming, a lot of the villagers would have been abroad walking to or working in the fields. Horses pulling carts would be trundling through the lanes, cattle and sheep on the hillsides, tradespeople delivering produce, even poachers at night. The rural landscape is relatively empty today but that is a recent change.

I know Bicknoller only to drive through as it is close to where we come to watch nightjars on a summers evening (no evidence Jefferies saw nightjar here, I'd be surprised if he didn't do so). This however was the first time I'd explored the hamlet, or maybe it is a small village as it has a pub and a shop? First I walked through the churchyard, greeted as I crossed through the gate with a riot of spring flowers, quite early considering it is only January. Rooks and jackdaw were noisily prospecting for nest sites above me as I wandered through the gravestones, not looking for anything in particular just something I like to do.

Oddly having bought a pamphlet in the church it failed to say how old it was. The historical record stated that it was a manorial chapel during the reign of Henry 3rd which at some point thereafter became a church. It must be older than that however as the yew tree hard by is reputed to be 1000 years old.

Exiting the churchyard through a gate commemorating Queen Victoria I found a little remembrance area with a few seats. From here, a flask of coffee and my copy of Red Deer by my side, I could observe the toing and froing of Church Lane. Which I have to admit was limited. Two dog walkers, a car and a post van in half an hour. Where was everyone? But I'd particularly come to see Lock's Farm, as it was in 1883. Jefferies stayed for a few days with a Mrs Thorne who leased the farmhouse and was joined by the painter J.W. North. It is not known if Jefferies knew North before visiting but as a result of this visit they became good friends. On this visit I sat quietly looking at what is now a residential house I could imagine Jefferies wandering up and down the lane making notes in his field notebook, chatting to North and hopefully enjoying the clean crisp air of West Somerset. It is known that Jefferies walked up onto the hills behind the house as he mentions Crowcombe and Will's Neck both are nearby and he was a keen walker, though by now he'd become ill with tuberculosis. His arrival at Bicknoller was after alighting from the train at Stogumber. My next destination.

Once part of the Great Western Railway Stogumber is now part of a heritage line, the West Somerset Railway. No trains are running in January but on my arrival I spent a very agreeable half an hour chatting to some of the volunteers there undertaking winter maintenance. Stogumber is around two miles from Bicknoller and how Jefferies got from the station to there is not known. Possibly he walked, possibly he was collected by a horse and cart? We don't know but I like to imagine he walked along the narrow lanes with their tall hedges enjoying a very different landscape to the one he'd left in Sussex just a few hours before.

In 1883 this building would have been the ticket office, now serving as an information point and kitchen (I was informed cream teas are a must in the summer and a new kitchen is planned for 2026). Jefferies would have seen this building, no doubt handing his ticket into the platform attendant as he left. Tangible reminders that although we're nearly 150 year after his visit, the landscape still contained clues and real connections to the past. Did North meet him at the station, pleasant introductions proceeding a friendly walk to his lodgings? All pure conjecture of course.

After a few days in Bicknoller Jefferies headed over to Exmoor staying at Exford. He also visited a number of other places including Dunster, Watchet, Minehead, Horner Wood, Holincote and Porlock  where he stayed in the Anchor Inn. Those destinations are for my next visits here. Today however I said my goodbyes to Stogumber and drove up to Crowcombe Gate where the sunshine was strong and the sense of peace exhilarating. 

* some sources quote 1882, but later research confirmed 1883.

On line version of Red Deer https://archive.org/details/reddeera00jeffuoft

Embargoed Beavers

 I'm not sure where to begin with this. Maybe a photograph of me out birdwatching one day will provide enough impetus for everyone to run in horror and move onto the most important part of the story. Beavers!!

For reasons that become apparent I can't say where all this action took place, and of course is still taking place. However now the news has been released from Natural England onto Social Media I can say this is somewhere on the vast Somerset Levels 'Super' Reserve. That's all you're getting I'm afraid. But for over a week now I've kept the news to myself. After-all wildlife comes before Social-Media.

It all began between Christmas and New Year. I was idly out birdwatching with no real plan and then it was while having a break for a coffee from my flask that something strange on an island just ahead of me caught my eye. Branches at the water line were nibbled, and then scanning this island through my binoculars I noticed a couple of trees showing distinct 'Beaver Engineering'. Really? There are no beavers in this part of Somerset, the nearest known established population miles away on the River Frome and a smaller population on the River Brue. I looked again. There was no doubt about it, freshly nibbled branches at the waters edge and those two trees showing a lot of gnawing, with one leaning at a rakish angle. Back home I emailed Natural England.

A flurry of e-mails then took up much of the next few days until on Friday evening when I received a telephone call from the Senior Reserves Manager (Somerset) for Natural England. We chatted and the conversation ended with an invite 'could I meet him and someone from Somerset Wildlife Trust at the site at 1pm the following day, Saturday?' 

I only need one invite.

It transpired that the report I'd put in was not the first they'd had, it was the second but the first from a member of the public. A few days before my report a volunteer for Natural England out doing survey work had alerted the team and they'd put trail cameras up. On the day I was invited back to the site the plan was to look for other evidence and also check the cameras for any activity for the first time.

At the allotted time I was scooped up in a vehicle and after a short drive myself and Phil from Natural England and Lucy from Somerset Wildlife trust set off into wet woodland well off the public path. Evidence of beaver activity wasn't that hard to miss, with the nibbling of bark a sign they're relaxed enough to be feeding at the site. What I wasn't ready for was the sight that greeted me where the trail cameras had been placed.

Oh my! That oak tree has received some engineering. And that is interesting, it seemed as we wandered about looking for evidence that these beavers are preferentially targeting oak, specifically mature oaks that have been here since this was peat cutting territory. An ecological conundrum then. These oak are hugely valuable to the diversity of species found here, however if the beaver fell them, great for the beavers less great for the other species. It's a minor point but one I found fascinating. As was the amount of engineering which had gone on in a short time, maybe a week to 10 days?

I put my binoculars at one tree just to show the scale, and height, of this activity. On their hind legs beavers can reach almost a meter high, they are after all the second largest rodent on the planet. But it is only when you see this in reality that you realise what they can do, and how extensive the gnawing is. Ultimately this engineering is very beneficial to a habitat. Very few mature trees are clear felled. Many fall with a living hinge to re-grow horizontally as it were, the trunk providing new and different habitats for many species. Mice and mustelids such as stoats and weasels love these aquatic bridges for example, allowing safe and dry crossing across water. Birds like owls or sparrowhawks perch here and plan their next strike, likewise kingfisher using these as a perfect perch to drop into the water below. Increased shadow and cover provided by the felled trees brings with it safe refuge for fish and other aquatic species, which then brings in otter who both feed and rest up in these shady areas. All in all having beavers in a habitat is good.

The three of us spent a lot of time discussion where these beavers have come from. Quickly dismissed was a legal introduction, they happen elsewhere under strict licence, and definitely not here. An illegal re-introduction? That is a possibility but this was also discounted as where they are is not easy to get to by vehicle and would someone carry beavers over a large distance. What seems more likely is a natural expansion, and arrival. I was informed that a few miles away is a fishing lake and for a year or so there has been evidence of beaver living there. But being a private business there's not been a lot of information about their activity. Potentially however they could be the source of these animals. The same individuals or possibly young moving territories. The jury is out. What seems almost certain is the arrival of beaver here is a natural process of territorial expansion rather than human-assisted.

I spent around an hour at the site with Phil and Lucy. The more we looked for evidence the more we found. I particularly like the image below showing the effect of the two huge gnawing teeth beavers have, somehow shows the power of these animals. What we did not find was any evidence of lodges or dams, and that's not to be unexpected. If these are new arrivals, as they are it will take a while for their exploration activity to become structured into holding territories and sustained habitat. There was one loose structure that looked interesting, I'll keep an eye on that.

And that's where we left it, a discussion as to whether I'd be interested in both keeping an eye on this site and looking elsewhere for evidence under Natural England supervision. I've said yes, but at the moment I've not had time to go back there. It is all however very exciting.

A few hours later while once I was back home I received an email from Phil. He'd gone through the Trail-Cam footage and there without a shadow of a doubt a beaver gnawing the very same oak tree in the image above on December 30th. That said, the Trail-Cam only confirms what was plainly evident on the ground, the beavers are back here on the Somerset Levels after hundreds of years.

A Windy Winter Walk

It wasn't a named storm which has become the modern fashion, yet as I stepped into the woodland the wind surrounding me was what could well be described as briskly wild. And cold too. Yet the wind was the reason for a winter walk.

It seems like a very long time since the sun had shone, though in reality it had been only a week. The blustery conditions today made restless the weather. Bright sunshine yes but buffeting gusts similar to those experienced in the drying winds of early March, those winds herald the approaching Spring. Perfect weather for a winter walk in woodland, an engaging experience with the frisson of a blustery day to stimulate the senses. 

On a windy day there is a point where when approaching and then entering a woodland the sound changes. Exposed in the open countryside before stepping foot between the trees everything is being orchestrated, birds fly quicky surfing the air, or are hunkered down waiting for calmer conditions. Gusts radiate across water rippling its surface with dramatic often random shapes. Individual trees and shrubs sway and flex alarmingly with each passing gust. Gusts which caresses the skin, which detecting the cold air stimulates action. Such wild days are not ones for idly wandering about outside, these are days with purpose, with energy. There is a distinctive sound too. 

The now bare branches allow the wind to pirouette through unhindered and in doing so there is a low roar across the landscape, reminiscent to the sound of a wild sea terminating it's force on the shore. That sounds is omnipresent, inescapable yet produced by an invisible energy we have no control over. But listen; as you cross from outside to within the woodland the trees not only envelopes you, but ameliorates the sound. Those audible changes are subtle but also discrete and noticeable with each step we take into the wood.

All too soon that constant white noise quietens in the background, until when, even after only a few strides into a wood, that surrounding noise is hushed, to be replaced by focussed specific discernable sounds. An ominous creak here, a sharp clash there, urgent clattering overhead  as the tree canopy collides and sways high up and into one another. The strongest gusts still penetrate the wood at ground level, maybe half heartedly flicking dead leaves along the floor, however that aerial energy is sapped, reduced to no more than a gentle breeze. And that brings a calmness. Once deep within that transition into the inner wood there is a different sensual experience to enjoy, a feeling of solitude, of heightened senses, of inside.

Deep into the wood the near silence and calm air heightened what bird call there is at this time of the year. A mixed species of tits acrobatically forage through the higher branches chattering noisily communicating as they rove by. Blue tit, great tit and long tailed tit work as one through the branches. Down below robin, wren and blackbird forage in the quiet still air or fly low and quickly between the undergrowth. A scolding repetitive  call reveals a wren and it's displeasure of your intrusion into its world, Out on the wetter areas by the lake tufted duck and gadwall find a sheltered area, while nearby a blue tit makes quick work of a bullrush seed head. Nimbly gripping the stem it pulls away tufts which drift away in the breeze like confetti. Turning, a movement on an oak trunk reveals a treecreeper quietly but with purpose looking for food amongst the bark. All the while overhead the seeping call of redwing seem to accompany the breeze, yet the birds themselves are rarely visible if we look for them, they have called and now elsewhere.

In a quiet corner four bullfinch forage without sound amongst the young willow stems. Two pairs, the males resplendent in their red and black plumage are stunning but the female is worth a second glance. Their subtle coordination of browns and blacks offering suitable camouflage against the winter trees. Then a commotion overhead quickly reminds me of activity outside the wood. A flock of jackdaw wheel and flutter overhead, maybe a hundred birds, more even, noisily calling to each other viewed high above the swaying canopy, before swooping down at speed and out of sight, pre roost activity. That edgy movement reminding us that while enveloped by calm conditions within the wood, without, the wind continues unabated.

Woodland restricts our vision too. Our eyes turn in from the horizon to more intimate signs near by. The bark of mature birch is fissured and cracked with verdant moss wrapping the trunk. These short lived colonising trees are vital to a woodland ecosystem. Recent storms have felled a few. They lie horizontal waiting fungi and deadwood invertebrates to recycle once living components. A sign that while we may think of woods as permanent never changing features in the landscape, in reality they are in a constant state of renewal. Trees grow from seed, they mature, they grow old and then, possibly during a winter storm they die and fall back to earth, decomposing, their life-time of nutrients allowing the next generation to flourish.

All too soon during these short mid-winter days the light begins to fade. Not yet three o'clock and a half light predominates deep inside the wood. That half light enhanced the sense of solitude within a winter woodland. A feeling of intruding, as if nature is in stasis and we should leave it to its mid-winter slumber.  

But it is not. Look down, even in mid December new growth is already emerging. Fresh green arum tips are poking through leaf litter, herb robert and other umbelliferous plants (now renamed but umbelliferous to me) are emerging. A patch of nettle pokes up between its own mini forest of last season's dried stems. Higher up honeysuckle shows new leaves unfurling and willow buds are swelling, not long before catkins unfurl. Insects are scarce but not absent, a ground beetle scuttles by as if to confirm their presence.

Suddenly the cronk of a raven signals the walk is nearing its completion. It's been almost two hours, time seems to move at a different pace within a winter wood.  Soon the confines of the calm inner environment will give way to rejoining the buffeting wind outside. Emerging from the wood the cold wind jolts us back into reality. A strong gust momentarily checks our progress. We're back outdoors again, back in the wider world where horizons become distant. We're once again walking with purpose against the elemental force, the noise is intensifying. The contrast is remarkable. Those prescious quiet moments spent walking within the wood quickly become a memory, until the next time of course, when the wind blows and restless, we feel drawn outside once again.

Tune Into A Quiet Winter

In mid December, so the guide books say,  the natural world turns silent. Or at least it did in my younger days in the North East of England. Somerset on the 15th of December was quiet, but not silent. I like this time of year.

It has been nearly two months since I've managed to head out for an afternoon of wildlife watching.  A combination of being busy at work, very enjoyable though that is producing Radio 4's Tweet of the Day, a poorly father and other commitments meant spending time outdoors had dried up completely. However in a moment of wild abandon I headed off to Catcott to spend an hour or two observing nature. 

Rarely these days do I take much equipment with me. I travel light now. Gone are the back breaking rucksacks brimming with scopes and tripod. These days just my trusty Nikon binoculars and (hopefully) enough knowledge to remember the names of that which I observe.

And a mobile phone, such remarkable things. The image above is not perfect, but for me good enough to illustrate winter wildlife. Catcott Lows comprises of seasonally flooded grassland. It is a winter wildfowl spectacle. Wigeon, lapwing, shoveler in good numbers; teal, pintail, snipe, egret, grey heron, mallard. In summer the site is drained leaving a lush grassland often deserted, unless the determined observer, quietly observes. I've heard grasshopper warbler here, watched hobby hunting dragonflies, barn owls drifting by on summer evenings and even on one occasion a mega-drop of passage swallows in their hundreds possibly thousands one spring.

It is in winter however that I visit more frequently especially a quiet area of the reserve rarely used by visitors. An unobtrusive track which vehicles use is a good start, with mixed species in the trees, today enriched by two greater spotted woodpecker plus a smattering of winter thrush. After half a mile an old peat workings track diverges off and is home to roving tit flocks, chaffinch, wren, blackbird as I observed today. Sometimes siskin and redpoll are to be found, goldcrest and rarely firecrest too. Not today though. Today gently unfolded as a quiet walk listening to birds.

In the distance the whistling of wigeon was ever present, with the 'pee-whit' of lapwing providing the lead vocals. But in the trees family parties of long tailed tit noisily foraged the alder. A number of blackbirds tik-tik'ed away at some imaginary intruder, a heron 'franked' his displeasure on being disturbed, a bevvy of wren scolded the air, chaffinch pinked their presence, robins announced the sunset, wood pigeons cooed and members of the crow family noisily flew by calling their species name. There was neither silence nor stillness today.

I had to pinch myself it was mid December, and to be honest the 12oC temperature did not help disprove the illusion of early spring. The only silent encounter, three roe deer resting within tall grass before, having noticed me, pronked away silently to safety, a solitary chiffchaff foraging upon high and a little egret performing leg stretches. Everywhere else the signs, strictly speaking the sounds, of the natural world were evident. 

Gorse was in flower, goose grass, as it is sometimes called was growing strongly, winter gnats were on the wing, even flies buzzed nearby. And today's weak sunshine had warmth. It was a perfect day for a walk, the penultimate day before the sunset times inexplicably lengthen from the 17th. 

The track gradually narrows from a few meters wide at the beginning to at its end just wide enough for one person. In it's latter stages wet woodland flanks its route. I've never seen woodcock here but I'm sure they will be in there. In the same vicinity a Cetti's warbler erupted and a water rail recreated the victims squeal.

In two hours I'd seen many bird species but the remarkable engagement was one of quietly observing. I wasn't walking quickly, two miles in two hour will break no records, however that slower pace allows time to stop and stare. The three roe deer were an illustration of this. It was only by chance while idly scanning the field did I spy three sets of ears, ostensibly looking like those of a brown hare. One deer then raised itself off the ground, stretched, yawned then stared directly at me. Deer do this. We think we're clever, skilfull, stealthy and unobserved. In reality the deer will have seen us from a long way off well before we've seen the deer. However they do have a blind spot. 

I didn't believe the myth that you could walk towards a deer (slowly) until I witnessed it for myself decades ago. The head warden I worked with at Cragside proved this to me. I remained motionless someway off but step by step he walked towards a roe deer head on until he could only have been six feet away. Then the deer saw him and bolted into the woods. The warden told me in his younger days he controlled deer for the Forestry Commission as it was then, that experience taught him the skill of being unobserved but only if directly head on, and due to the position of deer eyes. I've not tried this myself.

I've digressed. This recollection of my afternoon walk seems to have developed into memories and encounters. Simply because I took time to observe, from water droplets on grass stems to a marsh harrier lazily quartering the assembled waterfowl. Not bad skies either.

Birding Return

 

It is such a strange sensation returning to blogging, and indeed strange returning to nature watching after a near half year away. Mid-May was my last blog post, since then a combination of booking too many events during the summer, writing my daily blog (now ended), becoming membership secretary of the Richard Jefferies Society, joining the John Moore Society after being invited to be a guest at their AGM and unplanned hospital fiddling's by surgeons, somehow the summer passed me by without a single day out watching wildlife. And then like busses, this weekend I partook in two days back-to-back outdoors. Steart Marshes on Saturday and WWT Slimbridge Sunday.

I have something of a love-hate relationship with Steart Marshes. Every time I've visited I've seen maybe 5 or 6 species of bird, mostly dark specks miles away on the mud of the Bristol Channel. This reserve is best at high tide, therefore on Saturday I found myself there just before a very high 4.7m tide. That brought the birds in, but they are still an awfully long way away from the various viewing platforms dotted about.  Not that I was complaining as Saturday was warm and sunny after a night of torrential rain. 

Starlings are now beginning to gather with small murmurations taking place as I walked about. Good numbers of gulls, lapwing and mixed corvid flocks much in evidence too. I could hear redshank somewhere but never really saw them, small flocks of meadow pipit and linnet too. Overhead a solitary skylark sang, which was welcome for mid October.  In total I walked about 5km, the most I've walked for months and it felt good to be out again watching the numerous dragonflies buzzing around me.

To be honest I had planned to do a morning sitting still and watching, but on this perfect autumnal day, walking continuously was the end result of my endeavours. I even abandoned thoughts of sitting watching the River Parrett from a welcoming bench half way through the ramble. The river was full, that was a high tide indeed.

Once again the rain came overnight Saturday and it hammered down, as it seems to do every two days at the moment. Sunday dawned dry but everything was dripping wet. I was on a pre-planned visit to Slimbridge with my ex-NHU radio friends. We'd arranged to go to Bredon Hill to look for ring ouzel, however the forecast was for Storm Ashley to barrel herself across the countryside today - Bredon is not known for offering any shelter so we rearranged to visit Slimbridge (the café, facilities and watertight hides a bonus at our advanced time of life). I got to Slimbridge at about 9.30am and, though overcast, it was very pleasant, not least as a flock of redwing seep-seep'd across the car-park. I've been hearing them for about a fortnight at home. 

My friends arrived half an hour later (I'd not seen the email saying 10am start) and we set off. I'm assuming the media attention for Storm Ashley meant that the fear of Armageddon conspired to keep everyone away - Slimbridge was gloriously quiet all day.  Birding wise it was excellent as always, 50+ snipe just metres away from the Rushy hide, where good numbers of black tailed godwit, pintail, mallard, redshank, coot, moorhen, teal, wigeon, greylag and Canada geese were enriched by a passing marsh harrier, lapwing and starling. It is still a little early for the winter swans, mid November is when the Bewick's return.

We then wandered up to the Estuary Tower where high tide at 11am was bringing everything up onto the fields, including Storm Ashley. We'd only been there about ten minutes when I noticed Wales disappearing behind advancing rain. At that point we were on the open viewing platform at the very top and had been having superb views of three spotted redshank. Within five minutes the rain began, joined at the hip by very strong gusty winds. A squally front was on it's way through - so squally that the fire alarms in the Estuary hide were triggered, not once but twice. We hunkered down and sat it out, it was like being inside a huge washing machine, it's a long time since I've seen such violent rain bursts, the hide windows were dribbling onto the floor which soon became quite wet. But then as quickly as it arrived, the rain front left and the sun came out, remaining with us until 5pm when I left. 

Slimbridge never disappoints despite being a focal point reserve. The captive areas, such as the avocet-ruff-redshank combination above are fascinating and great for allowing families to get close to birds. But it is the wild areas which bring in a lot of interesting passage migrants, we even found a greenshank, in amongst some redshank. Actually that was one of the highlights of the day, in one single view, redshank, spotted redshank and greenshank next to each other. Another highlight being a fence hosting 30+ rooks, one perched on every post facing the wind and sitting it out.  We were told that a curlew sandpiper was out on the estuary somewhere, we never did try to find it, but did see the Ross hybrid Snow goose which has been about for a while.

All in all though it was a very good day and a very good weekend being out again. I was tired though by the end of the day at Slimbridge.  I've been used to comfy chairs, afternoon naps and tartan slippers for too long this year. But it felt good to be getting buffeted out there, sun blasted or pummelled by rain. It must have good as it had the affect of inspiring me to write again after all these months. As my consultant said to me over the summer, sadly you are now medically classed as a geriatric, things will happen to you. Well that may be the case, but it's good to be alive, even if I continue to struggle to get my socks on in the morning.

The Dukes of Hairstreak

 First off, I do believe there is a rabid-madness in wanting to walk up and down very steep hills in Dorset looking for butterflies. Especially on a hot day. But that's what we adventurers do, after a leisurely hot chocolate beforehand of course. 

It's been a busy few weeks, but with the weather set to be warm and fair I took the decision to take Friday off as leave and head down to Hod Hill in Dorset with Mrs Wessex-Reiver. My quest of course, the Duke of Burgundy butterfly. One had been seen here the day before, it promised to be a new site to explore. Which it was but by the time we'd trundled along in the car for nearly 2 and a half hours to get here the promised land yielded nothing more than many a brimstone, orange tip, speckled wood and a single very sleepy wall brown. Two butterflies were scrapping as we entered the hill but they flew off and were never to be seen again. Had they been the Dukes?

What were seen were skylarks, it's a long time since I've seen so many, very good views too and their song pierced the afternoon air. I like Hod Hill but realised after climbing up the only-a-goat-could-climb-this steep slope that I'd been here before. On that one other occasion the hill was alive with yellowhammer. Funny how the mind forgets where the body has been. Despite no Duke of Burgundy today it was lovely to just sit on the hill and take in the views towards the Cranborne Chase, a superb part of England.

Wall Brown at Hod Hill

The weather continued fair on Saturday but after our ten hour day the day before we needed a quiet at-home Saturday. I however woke on Sunday feeling fidgety and decided on the spur of the moment to head to Giant's Hill at Cerne Abbas, just on my own this time as sensibly Mrs Wessex-Reiver couldn't face another long hot drive to then stand on a hill and slowly roast. I set off and she went back to bed. 

Burnet Companion moth

After last years adventures here I knew where the Dukes would be. Like a seasoned professional I donned my butterfly hat, loaded my kit-bag and set off up the slope from the car park. That said, I'm sure this hill is getting steeper, but eventually after ten minutes of impersonating the Flying Scotsman I arrived at my spot. 

Prime Duke of Burgundy habitat

Duke of Burgundy butterflies are really a woodland edge and glade species, they've simply moved to the lesser habitat of chalk grasslands as woodlands have stopped being worked properly, i.e. coppiced.  On first arriving at the site there were a few tantalising glimpses of something but they turned out to be burnet companion, grizzled and dingy skippers, and setting up a right old rumpus along the brambles green hairstreak scrapping madly. More on those later. No Dukes though.

Dingy skipper

I sat down, the sun was warm and what better way to spend a Sunday morning than dozing on a Dorset hillside waiting for the Royal Family to arrive, and arrive they did eventually, or at least he did. Male Duke of Burgundy have two pairs of legs and are often conspicuously perched on a tall piece of vegetation where they buzz and harry anything that passes. Females are seen less often and though they look similar to the males, as females have three pairs of legs identifying the sexes is easy, as long as you obtain a good view. That is why binoculars are so important. I like my images for a historical record but sitting there viewing what I saw through my binoculars was the order of the day and allowed behaviour to be observed closely.  

Male Duke of Burgundy above and below

I had to sit for about ten minutes before the first Duke of Burgundy arrived, and it always catches me out how small this butterfly, with such a grand sounding name, actually is. The skippers are about the same size and with these plus the burnet companion wafting back and forth finding the Dukes required patience and a lot of checking, I was glad then to be just relaxing and taking in the view until a Duke finally came into view. A couple of other butterfly people came past but generally it was a quiet day on the hillside, just the butterflies and me.

Grizzled skipper

His Grace poised for combat

I'd been sitting for about twenty minutes and the activity was slowing down. The green hairstreak had stopped fighting, the Dukes had disappeared, even the skippers hid from view. I rose and went for a little wander, peacock, orange tip, a lot of brimstone, a 'blue' briefly appeared which I'd assumed was a common. In the shady woodland at the bottom of the slope a number of speckled wood and large white were in evidence, and a red admiral. It was nice in here, shady and well hidden. There was a cattle trough nearby, I had a look, the water was clear and devoid of plant life but full of lesser water boatmen. That made me wonder why they come to these troughs, there's little cover and being a trough they'll be trapped here until they die, or get eaten by cattle while having a drink.

I walked back to my earlier observation spot, sat down again and waited. Before too long this obliging male Duke of Burgundy alighted on top of a dandelion. A perfect look-out, it repeatedly flew off to chase away anything which passed before returning again. I like that. I liked sitting quietly and just observing this male defending it's territory, going about its business in it's own quiet way. 

I've included these two images below as an example of how butterflies are usually seen. We've all observed that close-up image of a butterfly, every scale or hair pin sharp and perfect. Well in reality it is not like that, most images are obscured by vegetation and distance. Try and get closer and the butterfly will fly off in a nano-second. No these two images of a male are very much the norm. 

Speckled wood underwing

I needed to stretch my legs once more so arising I went for a bit of a wander, not really looking for anything simply looking about the hillside and find a spot to have lunch. (one banana and a flask of water). Suitably perched I sat for half an hour looking over the valley towards Telegraph Hill. Over there is the best Duke of Burgundy site in Dorset but it is on private land. I've walked the footpath across the hill before but not seen anything. The best habitat is off limits but I did wonder whether these largely sedentary butterflies fly between these two sites, maybe a mile apart?  Lunch over, with the heat really starting to kick in I thought of returning to the car, but before that one last look at the place I'd been to earlier. What a difference.

I was watching this male, for once not obscured by grass leaves when a whirling dervish pair of scrapping green hairstreak caught my eye. They separated and one perched on a bramble stem, which, when I looked closer, also contained a pair of mating Dukes. What a surprise to discover these and they mesmerised me for nearly 15 minutes. In the image below the male is on the left. Such a treat to see as this, the next generation of what is now a rare butterfly, being consumated right in front of my eye. The population of Dukes on Giant Hill isn't huge anyway, I maybe saw a handful individuals during three hours of continuous observation today. There are many primroses and cowslips around here too, suitable sites then for egg laying afterwards.

One of the other identification tips for the sexes is the female has more rounded wings compared to the male. That may be the case with perfect specimens or views, but it's a lot more difficult in real life, even when this close. I was fascinated however on how they remained embraced and motionless for such a long time, around fifteen minutes before they separated, leaving them quite vulnerable to predators in many ways. But actually if I stepped back a little they blended superbly into the brambles, remaining motionless is an advantage too. Lets not forget either that bramble is such an important plant in the British landscape.  

More fighting by the green hairstreak close by reminded me I'd not paid them much attention. They really are stunning, like miniature flying emeralds, though when in flight they look a pale olive-brown. But once settled, with wings closed their underwing reveals an outrageous Day-Glo zingy green, yet they blend in perfectly with the surrounding vegetation.  Even viewed close to they're often hard to see at first, especially if seen head on, even harder to photograph well. Lucky then that the males after aerial combat return to a promenant perch at about head hight to await their next battle. They really are beautiful, the underwing, which is all you'd ever see while they are resting, is like a green mother of pearl, it sheens with an iridescence, like an oil drop on water, yet with that thin brown wing edge delineating the warm brown upper wings which are virtually impossible to see.

Even something that green seems camouflaged

The white dots in a line giving it it's name on the underwing are visible here. 

I checked on the Dukes - still at it.  

But I can't get enough of these green hairstreak 

What a wonderful day with possibly the best part of it being time spent sitting quietly watching the butterflies going about their business, no photographs, no making notes, no trying to get closer, simply sitting and watching.  While doing this a couple walked by me and asked if I was okay. I replied I was but after they'd left it struck me no other people on the hill during the time I was there had actually stopped and watched wildlife for more than a few seconds, they just kept on walking, even if slowly. Such an important lesson to learn, inactivity and observation can reap rewards, I suggest sitting for no less than half an hour in one place, wildlife will come to you, what a treat awaits.