Best Intentions

 

 

We have reached Autumn. It is raining. I'm standing next to a stone - Triscombe Stone high in the Quantock Hills. The date; Wednesday, September 2nd. It is the first time I have needed to wear waterproofs since mid May. What a summer!!

 

The incessant heat over recent months curtailed my project to visit all of Dorset Wildlife Trust's nature reserves in a twelvemonth. That, and an unbelievably busy summer. Thus, with the project amended to 'I shall visit all these reserves in all good time' I'm back to general blogging. 

 

What isn't obvious in that image above was the near zero visibility on the highest point of the Quantocks - Will's Neck. And wind. And rain. That weather came as quite a shock after months of dry, sun drenched days.

 

 

 

I'd come up here with Mrs Wessex Reiver to recce a walk due to take place the following Sunday. I wasn't leading it, that was being expertly managed by the Edward Thomas Fellowship. But, despite visiting this Natural Landscape regularly, this end of the Quantocks is lessser known to me. I'd heard the views were stunning. I'll take their word for it.

 

 

 

However, Sunday arrived, accompanied by warm sunshine. And views. They are quite something. Thirty or so people took part in this organised morning walk with readings from Edward Thomas's canon of prose and poetry. Followed by lunch at the Rising Sun in West Bagborough. Later, myself and another lady ascended nearby Cotherstone Hill, destination point of Thomas's 'Grave of Winter' from his book In Pursuit of Spring. For both of us this was a first, and for me I wondered why I'd never visited this hill before. On that clear day we could see for tens of miles in every direction, our arrival heralded by a pair of ravens playfully sky-writing their own poetry in the keen 'Islands of England' updraft.

 

 

 

 It was a perfect ending to a wonderful day. Summer has ended, yet the creative energy to write is returning accompanying the shorter day length. I do enjoy long summer days, less so the heat of 2026. 

For a Fistful of Raindrops

In A Fistful of Dollars, the arrival of a stranger brings with it six-shooter law to the township of San Miguel. Ultimately the dire situation the town found itself in, sandwiched between a feud between two families, is resolved through a gun battle in the parched dusty windblown town square before the 'man with no name' (played by Clint Eastwood in his first role) rides out of town, never to return.

You can feel the heat in this classic and well loved Spaghetti Western. Sweat drips off the foreheads of the main players, the sunlight blindingly intense, the sky is the deepest of blue, dust billows everywhere, energy sapping heat devoid of all rain. 

I was born in 1964. A Fistful of Dollars was released in 1964 and this week the Scottish Environment Protection Agency announced it had had its driest year since 1964. Even in a normally wet Scotland farmers are having to provide water to stock. I don't think there is any connection between these three, or is there?

In this part of Somerset, and across the whole of southern England, this year has been dry, exceptionally dry and warm. I've known dry summers, I've known hot periods. I well remember holidaying in Bournemouth  in 1976 characterised by heat and the scent of heathland fire smoke everywhere. But these were relatively short lived, a number of weeks. With just a few days to go before the end of the metrological summer, the breaking news is that 2025 will undoubtedly be the warmest summer on record due to daily temperatures above the seasonal norm for months. Part of what seems a rising trend, 1976 no longer features in the top 5 list of hot summers. The record-breaking dry year of 1964 with its 79% rainfall now an interesting footnote. 

Despite the wet winter of 2024-2025, Spring arrived abruptly bringing with it drying winds and sunshine. I've been looking at my diary. On the 15th of February we were in Thenford Arboretum in Northamptonshire and 'today's weather was more like mid December - horrible grey, foggy, wet weather'. There seemed to be a lot of cloudy dark days before I then wrote in my diary on February 28th 'Weather has settled in to a dry sunny spell at last'. The following day I wrote 'what a fabulous and beautiful day - not a breath of wind, the sun had heat to it'. I remember the last few weeks at work before I retired on the 19th of March were wonderfully sunny, even warm. Quickly however by mid April I recall being worried about the dry conditions while walking on the Quantock Hills. Again in my diary I wrote on the 11th of April, 'everything is tinder dry on the Quantocks - the soil is either baked solid or blowing away in the quite gentle breeze - I notice farms are supplying water to sheep up here'. But we assumed the rain would come. 

Yet four months later we've had hardly any rain. In Somerset just 1% of the average monthly rainfall for July. Over the summer around a third of the average expected rainfall has fallen. What has fallen, sporadically in hefty showers, evaporated quickly in the warm sunshine. As I write this on the 28th of August many trees and shrubs are showing serious signs of stress, branches being shed, leaves dropping quickly with the landscape looking more October golden than late summer. It won't be until next summer that we'll see the full effect of this dry season on tree health but looking now it's not good to witness and I sadly predict many trees will not survive.

A walk we did over the recent August Bank Holiday weekend has highlighted, and provided the impetus to write a few words, on how significant this dry spell has become. If you will an aide-mémoire to this remarkable year before all too soon the autumnal rains will return, or at least we sincerely hope so.

This walk began in the nearby Somerset village of Winscombe, with a plan to walk to the hamlet of Winterhead and return. All too soon as we left Winscombe the first field was the colour of bleached champagne. Underfoot the soil unyielding, it felt like walking on concrete.  

After a few fields the walk follows a myriad of lanes up towards Sidcot Hill. What struck me was the number of fallen leaves and how, as in this image below, the beech tree leaves are turning orange. I had to remind myself this was August 23rd, not October 23rd.

 

 

Worse was to come. We left the lanes and entered the countryside proper, firstly horse paddocks, which seemed to have virtually no grass left in them. Usually in dry periods the grass yellows but the root systems lie dormant waiting for the the next wet spell. These fields though were showing extensive areas of dusty dirt. What has happened to the grass, have the roots died too? I looked across the fields. Yes trees and hedges were retaining colour but the landscape looks tired, a beige hue of exhaustion, it has looked like this for a long time.

Beyond the paddocks we headed up onto Sidcot Hill on the way to joining the West Mendip Way. In this heat, which has defined the summer of 2025, it was a long slog up onto the hill. The views up here are astonishing, across to Wales, but it was how dry the fields looked that caught my attention. These fields still contained sheep, sheltering in the shadow of a hedge, but fields with little grass growing, though plenty of dock plants or thistles surviving due to their long tap roots.

We eventually joined the West Mendip Way where by chance we had a long chat to the farmer here, Mark Heal. The track this medium-long distance path follows is usually muddy even in summer. As we chatted by the gate Mark confirmed many of the issues I'd already heard about affecting farming elsewhere. He told us that he has now used up the last of his winter feed as he has been supplementary feeding his organic beef and sheep all summer long. Lambing during the warm weather in April, he added, was something of a treat, but with no rain of note since then all his stock has needed to be fed, when they should of course be feeding naturally on the summer grazing. Economically this is disastrous. Worse still, he continued, every farmer he knows is in the same position and if replacement winter feed can be found it is both scarce and very expensive, a situation which can only be made worse by the poor harvest this year, yields are significantly down with hay and silage crops almost non existent. There will be a fodder shortage this coming winter. For someone who is struggling to keep his animals alive and healthy Mark seemed quite optimistic about the future, as long as it rains that is.

I watched Mark drive off up the dusty track, on his way to check his South Devon Black cattle we'd seen earlier. I was touched by his optimism as we headed off in the opposite direction across what should have been a muddy ford, which today simply featured the well preserved baked hard mountain bike tyre tracks from a previous season.

He's right, we need to be optimistic to the changes in Britain's weather. My own take is that with Climate Change Britain is becoming much more continental in its weather patterns, meaning prolonged spells of the same conditions rather than the hotchpotch of weather changing daily we've all considered the norm for a century or more. Personally I have enjoyed weeks of predictable dry days this summer but I know many, my wife included, have struggled with the prolonged heat day in, day out, dominated by four heatwaves of exceptional temperatures. 

Wildlife has had mixed fortunes too. Dry soils mean earthworms and soil invertebrates have buried down deep, out of the reach of birds, hedgehogs and other animals who rely on these for survival. Slugs and snails have found hidden corners and gone into what is called Aestivation, a form or dormancy that allows them to tick over their metabolism before the rain returns. Our swifts departed about two weeks early, partly a sign of a successful and early season, they arrived a week early. Bats around the house have been very active however due to the abundant insect life which has bucked some of the negative trend with second broods of butterflies doing well in some species for example. Earlier in the summer there was a ladybird population explosion, short lived as the aphid population was supressed. I've seen more harvestmen in the garden than for years.

Now though it has gone on long enough. As I write this  unsettled weather brought to us by ex-hurricane Erin is trying to make inroads but it is not really producing what we need. Yes it is a little cooler, a little more cloud in the sky but the rain of yesterday was in the form of short lived showers and as has been the case all year, rain evaporated in an hour or so leaving the landscape dry once more. What we need is a few weeks of steady medium intensity rain, not heavy downpours, to begin the water cycle again.

We eventually finished our walk last weekend taking in the views and the scenery and finishing at Winscombe Cricket Club where for about an hour we watched Wedmore 2nds playing Winscombe 2nds on a very dry pitch - perfect weather for cricket while watching the wind ruffle the piles of fallen leaves beside us.

I don't think I'll forget this year for a long while. The rain will of course return one day, and, if my predictions are accurate for a continental climate, it will probably rain every day for weeks non stop, if not for months. Then, possibly following the arrival of a stranger riding ahead of a weather front, I'll look back and say, was the hot dry summer of 2025 actually real?

Chasing Dartford Warblers

 

I believe every naturalist must have a modicum of madness running through their veins. If like me you began in short trousers simply observing what is close to home, before too long you now find yourself wearing long trousers venturing far and wide indulging in a sheer obsession. If this strikes a chord then you'll understand what follows. 

While half an hours drive from home, I now consider the Quantock Hills (or Natural Landscape to give it its new and now correct title) one of my local patches. Visiting two or three times a month throughout the year I've got to know this special landscape well. There is however, to be truthful, an awful lot more to learn about this magical area. 

Last summer at around midnight I met a chap out walking his dog. I'd been watching nightjars with my wife and we were just thinking of heading home, when this chap emerged out of the darkness with his labrador. He was from nearby Williton.  We chatted about the nightjar routes, he mentioned where the males lek, which valleys they move between at different times of the night and then just casually threw into the conversation, "come earlier in the day and you can watch the Dartford warblers just over there before heading off to view the nightjar at dusk." With those words he and his dog disappeared into the night, leaving me in a thoughtful mood.

I'd wandered this landscape for years but had never seen a Dartford warbler, and to confirm my ignorance had not realised they were here. I'd seen Dartford warblers many times in Dorset, but never here. A mental note was lodged in my mind and returning to the car we drove home.

Moving the story on by a few months, having retired in March this year I have what can be described as a need to focus on regular activity to maintain my identity and self worth. In other words I've a lot of time to fill so don't waste it. As any lifelong naturalist will tell you, we rarely do.

The sun was up, I had an empty day, and recalling the area pointed out to me last summer, what better then than popping to the Quantocks and look for a Dartford warbler. 

This was at the end of March. On that first visit I saw, absolutely nothing. Plenty of other birds, skylark were everywhere, linnet, wren, meadow pipit, and stonechats and dunnock seemingly performing on every gorse bush. Which proved a problem. These latter two species while not sounding or looking like a Dartford warbler, were providing me with a lot of distant activity to check as they flitted between gorse bushes or sang a sub song which made me think "What's that?" After three hours walking nearly five miles in ever decreasing circles I gave up. It had been a brilliant day, but one tinged with an empty feeling.

The following week I returned. In the mean times some internet research had revealed that after suffering a bit in the 2010, 2011 winters and the Beast from the East in 2018, the recent mild winters have bolstered the population to 68 pairs in 2024. Given the Quantocks only covers about 100 square kilometres, they'll be easy to find. Won't they? On this second visit I headed to a more mature stand of gorse I'd seen the previous week thinking it looked a likely habitat. The sun was hidden, and the wind was up, both added to the sense of isolation up there, a feeling heightened as after spending nearly four hours on the hill I saw no-one. I didn't see a Dartford warbler either. This was proving difficult. Actually this exemplifies what a lot of nature watching is like, hard slog if you don't have local up-to-date knowledge. But in many ways that's half the fun, the quest.

By now the sun was emerging so I sat for a while on a fallen tree with a mug of tea from my flask. My mind cannoned thoughts across its now retiree neurological network. I know the Dartford warblers are here, the habitat is right, the landscape is perfect, the other indicator species, stonechat, linnet even wren are here in good numbers, but no Dartford warblers. Plan B - and an option I don't normally use. I came home and scoured social media. One account I have followed for a long while popped up "my best ever Dartford warbler image last weekend on the Quantocks". In one of the replies to that posting a specific location was mentioned. I knew exactly where it was. If you read this, thank you Carl Bovis.

Three days later I found myself on the hills again, this time with my secret weapon, Mrs Wessex Reiver, who is very good at spotting things. We tramped up hill and down dale, criss-crossing this area mentioned in the Instagram post. A malady and depression was beginning to grip me when Mrs Wessex Reiver shouted, "Is that it?" Bingo! A dark miniature lollipop sped away from me in an undulating flight and into a dense stand of gorse. No mistaking that outline, no mistaking that flight. And then it called. 

Collins Bird Guide describes the call as 'distinctive' - a drawn out harsh chaihhrr sometimes with an extra note chaihhrr-chr. Which is tremendous. I agree it is distinctive but has for me the quality of someone quickly scratching their fingernails down a chalkboard whilst dancing a tango. Once my ear hears it I remember it, but to attempt to describe the call is fraught with interpretation misdemeanours especially alongside the aforementioned stonechat song, linnet song and now the whitethroat are also back. The calling ceased and that was it. However I'd seen one for all of two seconds, thanks to Mrs Wessex Reiver, who while chatting to a local on the way back, had it confirmed to both of us we were in the right place, but they were flighty at the moment. 

My fourth visit occurred three days later. The sun was up and a strong wind was carrying sound across the landscape. In those intervening three days many trees had greened up and hawthorn blossom was beginning to bud up. Once again I was up here on my own in my own world. Two kestrel flew along a ridge, a pair of buzzard spiralled in the wind. Everywhere stonechat and wren called and I heard the rustling of dry grass. It seemed to be coming from just meters away from me, until I realised on the other side of a combe a large herd of red deer were slowly moving through last years vegetation. Mostly hinds and young there were a couple of young stags, one with an antler missing making his head lopsided. It made for a magical sight and I counted over thirty while watching them head down the combe and over onto the next hill. So engrossed was I that I'd forgotten about the Dartford warblers.

Eventually the deer disappeared and I resumed by quest and only moments into walking along a ridge path I heard what I'd come to see. Initially I couldn't locate it until it flew off into the distance before perching on a mature gorse. Through the binoculars I had the most glorious view, for at least two seconds before it flew back and down over the ridge. I could hear it calling but to see it was impossible. I was in the right place yet again. 

Yesterday I had my fifth, and in many ways, my most successful day. Mrs Wessex Reiver was with me but went for a walk, leaving me to my birdwatching.  In all I spent eight hours on the hill, and saw some amazing wildlife as I sat for hours observing. Merlin and peregrine hunting over the moor, my first cuckoo of the year. Two common lizards fighting next to me. The whitethroats had now arrived in numbers, their calls were everywhere. Skylark, stonechat, linnet, meadow pipit, wren and dunnock. A red kite drifted over, still a fairly uncommon sight in Somerset. And three Dartford warblers.

One Dartford warbler flew right in front of me, perched then disappeared over the hill. In another location a pair flew between gorse and out of sight, only their calling revealing they were still in the area. I did a little mental arithmetic, with the three today and those seen earlier in the month I'd seen five individuals, possibly six. However none of them stayed still long enough to allow for an image.

I'll leave you then with a terrible photograph of a whitethroat, in the same habitat the Dartford warblers were. I wonder if I'll ever photograph a Dartford warbler?  Does it matter if I never do? Probably not, but in this world of social media imagery, a picture counts for more than a thousand words. More likes of course.

It seems the chap Mrs Wessex Reiver chatted to a couple of days ago was correct in his summation "they're flighty - best to come when they're feeding the young then you'll have a reference point to observe where the nest is". Sound words of advice there. I'll be back. But will they be here to see?

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 the movement and ecology of red deer. Which is why visiting in the summer is a little confusing given the deer hunting season happens during the winter months. To gather the information needed for his book Jefferies 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. 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 begin researching locations for a maybe fanciful idea of mine of producing a Jefferies in Somerset self guided tour. He covered a large area during the 19 days he spent here, he must have never stopped. But for my visit I began, where else, at the beginning of Jefferies visit, the hamlet of Bicknoller. 

My visit coincided with a cool but beautifully sunny January day, in stark contrast with Jefferies summer visit in 1883. On my visit snowdrops were in flower along with 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, though 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, and was greeted as I entered 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

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.

The Wessex-Sexagenarian-Reiver

Mr Bumble-Gnome - knitted for me for my birthday by a friend.

How on earth did this young naturalist-about-town born on April Fools Day 1964 (in the afternoon so it doesn't count), become a sexagenarian blogger. I began this blog in 2007, which made me 43 years of age, gulp was I really that young? Some of my school friends who I still keep in regular touch with were talking over the weekend about our time in junior school when we took part in a project - how old will we be in the year 2000 and what will the world be like? I can vaguely remember being part of this, the usual weirdness, we'd all be living in sealed bubbles or driving aero-cars, or have turned green and communicate with telepathy, but I can distinctly remember thinking, gosh I'll be 35 years old on January 1st 2000 and then 36 on my birthday. That age seemed very very old to a seven or eight year old. Yet now the year 2000 is itself 24 years ago. 

However as I nudged into my three score years on Easter Monday, I enjoyed the fact that my significant birthday coincided with Easter, and rain.  For a change then on this blog a brief resume to remind myself of this moment in the years to come, while sitting by the fire in my slippers. Though why there's a fire in my slippers is anyone's guess.

Incoming rain shower

Good Friday. We set off on a shortish (7 mile) walk along the Strawberry Line from the nearby village of Winscombe to Cheddar Reservoir and back. This occurred after being rudely awakened by the jackdaws making a nest in the roof above the bed. We've had sparrows and starlings roosting in this part of the house for as long as I've lived here. The house was only built in 1997, but I think being the former show home it was thrown up rather than built, I've had to rectify some quite strange things over the years, such as a window installed the wrong way around, and a strange electrical supply that had no obvious source.

The hole in the roof is where some flashing has come away, luckily it doesn't let the rain in, but the cavity behind the hole is of a fair size and sealed off from the loft. In past winters I'd hear starlings doing what sounded like a sand-dance as they shuffled about in there to keep warm. However about a week or so ago I heard an almighty clattering and banging coming from above the ceiling, accompanied by the tell tale jak-a-jak call of jackdaws. At first I thought it was coming from outside but when I heard what sounded like a small forest being dropped onto the floor over the following days I knew what was going on. Some acquaintances have suggested calling pest control.. really? Okay there'll be a mess in the roof space, but I feel very lucky to have this brilliantly intelligent bird choosing to live with me. Though I have to admit gingernut our cat is a little perplexed by the racket. As I type this the nest building has ended, replaced this morning with some lovely soft contact calls from the pair. Eggs soon I think.

Our walk was along the old railway line that once ran from Shepton Mallet to Clevedon, carrying goods and the product it became famous for, and from which the Sustrans managed pathway now gets its name, Cheddar strawberries. I've heard tell of the 'strawberry' trains running all day, in the season, filling the air with a fruity scent as they whisked these strawberries away from the Mendip slopes to London and Midlands markets. All of this ended with the Beeching cuts but over the last few decades more and more of the old railway route has been restored and opened up to walkers and cyclists, plus it is a fantastic nature reserve in its own right. We'd just set off when there was the most impressive hail storm, turning to rain. There was no shelter so we just pushed on into the wind trying to cover the half a mile or so to the Shute Shelve Tunnel as quickly as possible and out of the rain. This tunnel is a magnet for bats with many studies conducted  here throughout the year. We however reached the southern end of the tunnel to be greeted with sun. So odd entering in rain and exiting in sunshine. 

Cheddar Reservoir with a backdrop of the moody Mendips

Fortunately the rest of the walk was predominantly dry and with the sun up, the wildlife along the path sides as we walked was an added incentive. Violets (violet and white flowers) and primrose were everywhere, a few early bluebell, arum poking up, alexanders were growing tall,  even a patch of wild garlic had a few white flowerheads visible. Catkins adorned hazel and willow and the leaf burst was in full swing along the path, though the standing trees were still winter-bound. Chiffchaffs were everywhere, robin, chaffinch, blackbird, long tailed tit, wren and dunnock all flitted in front of us. Butterfly singles of brimstone, peacock and speckled wood added to the mix with a couple of small white too. Overhead a couple of buzzards wafted by, and a kestrel, and in the fields a smattering of corvids and gulls mingled with sheep. I'd hoped when we reached the reservoir I could do some birdwatching as it is a well known site for waterfowl.  However the wind had really picked up and while there was the usual coot, great crested grebe, mallard and tufted duck on the water with pied wagtail and meadow pipit on the banks, nothing else really was obvious other than a green woodpecker which flew to a fence post and clung on there giving remarkable views.  We got back to the car after about three hours, including a coffee in a café, just as the heavens opened once again. 

Saturday we were at home and pottered in the garden. The spring flowers are looking brilliant here at the moment, newly emerged, fresh and nothing much yet has succumbed to decay, it is a lovely time of year. The sun is warm too and I watched a dark edged bee-fly buzzing the daffodils and pulmonaria for ages. We've had these in the garden for a couple of years now, I love them, they're really funky. Sadly a peacock butterfly had died in the greenhouse overnight, but outside and  very much alive was a brimstone and a small white. There were hoverflies and solitary bees everywhere too. As we pottered in the garden a pair of raven cronked their presence overhead, these are a regular sighting now.

By the side of the Strawberry Line

Easter Sunday saw us walk a different six mile section of the Strawberry Line, this time from Congresbury to the new EDF sub-station on Nye Lane. Part of the planning approval for this feeder station from Hinkley Point, was to create a new permissive link between two parts of the existing Strawberry Line, each part of which ended at a farm who refused public access. And very impressive it is too. But not as impressive as I realised a raven pair were nest building in one of the huge super-structures carrying the electricity into the sub-station. 

I'd heard a cronk as we looked over the new site and saw a raven flying by carrying a sizeable twig. I wondered where it was going before it flew left at an angle, back on itself and into this gantry style metal structure. As it arrived, from inside the structure, a softer cronk-craw could be heard - its mate. One of the birds then flew out, did a Biggles style wing roll and disappeared into an orchard over the lane,  only to then reappear a minute or so later with another twig, this time flying directly to and into the gantry. Raven nests are huge so this may well fill the void in that latticework metal gantry, but it will be well hidden and protected. I'll have to pop back and have a proper look, but it seemed incongruous that this bird which extols wild places should decide to make its home in an ultra-modern electricity sub-station now hissing and fizzing with electricity from a nuclear reactor. And given there is a 3 meter electrified fence around the site,  I should think the raven are quite safe in there.

I also noticed that the outer fence, (thankfully not live wired), has badger holes cut into it wherever a badger track existed in the undergrowth. Someone has taken a lot of effort into wildlife mitigation and with a lot of tree planting on the site, and a large pond newly dug, it should mature nicely. On the route to and from Congresbury yet again the birdlife was astonishing, the same species as on Friday but with the addition of song thrush, bullfinch, greenfinch, goldfinch, Cettis warbler, little egret and a yaffling woodpecker. There are also a lot of badger tunnels along this path. We also startled a fox while trying to help an elderly couple retrieve their 'lost' dog who was running about a distant field - thankfully after half an hour Memphis the dog returned safe and well and looked very happy, as did his owner.

Elworthy Cottage Garden - spring meadow

Easter Monday and the birthday had arrived. For a few weeks now I'd said I'd like to visit Elworthy Cottage Plants on my birthday as while normally visiting is by appointment only, it was to open on April the 1st under the yellow-book National Garden Scheme. I'd recently been reading about this small specialist nursery, about an hours drive from home nestled in the Brendon Hills and thought it was worth a visit as I'd never been before. It is located in the middle of a lovely quiet part of Somerset betwixt the Quantocks and Exmoor complete with evocative wild-sounding west country villages such as Monksilver, Roadwater, Timberscombe, Higher Vexford and Wheddon Cross. We drove through torrential rain to get here and as soon as we arrived I thought, I've been here before. When exactly I'd been there before I can't remember but it was, like on this visit, with Mrs Wessex-Reiver. Oh well we're here now so best have a cup of tea and some cake.

As we consumed the tea and cake the clouds parted and for our entire visit the sun shone. Its quite a difficult place to find so there were only a handful of people here, in fact more people helping the owners than visitors I'd say. And on this April day it looked stunning, drifts of snake-head fritillary, daffodils still in their prime, wood anemones, hellebores, primrose and a host of pulmonaria. The owner is known also for her collection of snowdrops, of which there were hundreds of clumps round the garden, not in flower of course. I chatted to her husband asking at some point if they had Galanthus 'fly fishing' - they do but not for sale this year, though the suggestion was if I email them in the autumn then they may know if they can sell me one next spring. It is a difficult cultivar to source so I'm very happy to wait. After an hour mooching around in this lovely garden we headed back home, yet again in torrential rain, stopping on the way at Hodder's Combe to look at the rookery there and half an hour tree-bathing. 

Elworthy Cottage Garden in sunshine

All in all then an enjoyable way to shuffle into year sixty. We mostly managed to avoid the deluges and found ourselves immersed in some lovely wildlife encounters. Speaking of which I must go and see what those jackdaws are up to.

New book I bought on Good Friday with references to Richard Jefferies.

Bittern by the SEO's

 

There is a lot to be said for going that little bit further, further away from the madding crowd. As happens every year March arrives and the urge in me to get outside more and more comes along. Especially so after the endless relentless wet weather this winter has been less than conducive to outdoor pursuits. However as the forecast for Friday looked fair of face, I booked myself a day of annual leave. The aim was to go and do some sound recording while also birdwatching. The reality was somewhat different.

Due to serious traffic problems on the M5 my planned early departure dissolved into gridlock chaos meaning my plan then became an 11am start. Not ideal, but the sun was shining. My aim was to visit the Catcott Complex, where a hide that is very rarely used as it involves a bit of a walk, has the peace and quiet I needed to set up some recording equipment. 

What I had not bargained for was the recent arrival of a male hen harrier at Catcott (there has been a female here all winter). Walking to the hide we passed a few 4x4 vehicles parked on the track up to the hide. I began to worry as no one should really be up here in vehicles. I was greeted at the gate to the hide by a man in full camouflage fatigues standing outside. Next to the entrance of the hide a collection of equipment trolleys were neatly arranged. I really worried now. As I walked up the path the other chap walked back into the hide and shut the door in front of me. That sort of behaviour never stops me and I opened the door. The hide was full to the gunnels of camouflaged clad photographers who all looked round at me as though I'd stood in something unpleasant. In all the 20+ years I've been coming to this hide I have never ever met anyone else inside. Of course I could have barged in between them but wanting to do some sound recording that'd have been pointless. I turned tail and exited.

That curtailment however provided the catalyst for what was to become a much better day, though I'll maybe gloss over the sound equipment debacle in any detail. That reason being the microphone kit I wanted to test, a shotgun microphone and a figure of eight surround sound microphone combination, known as an M&S set up, requires something called phantom power. In other words the microphones are powered by the field recorder batteries, rather than having their own internal batteries. Normally I would use something like a Narga recorder which has eight AA batteries. Today though I wanted to test the quite capable hand-held Zoom H5 recorder. This affordable kit copes well with a parabolic set up and the batteries will last a good eight hours. However as I was to discover today, using an M&S configuration drained both of the recorders AA batteries in ten minutes. And guess who forgot to bring replacement batteries which he'd left at home. Shall we move on?

I mentioned to Mrs Wessex Reiver who was with me that from this hide there's a nice track into the less well visited part of the reserve, let's wander up there. Not long into this walk a male tawny owl hooted, not unheard of in daytime, possibly a disturbed owl, or it had seen us and was voicing its displeasure. This came from a little copse by the track which produced a chiffchaff calling, also calling were wren, dunnock, blue tit and long tailed tit. [Ed. If only you'd brought some batteries to power the sound recording equipment with you].

There were quite a few gnats and bees hovering about too in the now warm sunshine. March does surprise like this, cold mornings can become very pleasant days though not warm enough today to get brimstones in the air. The noisy chattering of fieldfares rising from a clump of trees caught me off guard as we approached, a flock of about thirty, reminding me that winter has only recently released its grip. I think I heard a redwing with them but only saw the flash of feldgrau grey as they wheeled out, up and over the trees. They'll be gone from this landscape soon, leaving our shores as the first summer migrants arrive. Some already have. I heard later in the day that wheatear are now in Devon and previously read that sand martins have been along the south coast for a week. In the fields each side of the track the regular resident birds were around, robins were plentiful, a number of corvids hopped about, groups of magpie, some rook, and a few carrion crow. No raven overhead today which is unusual though a small party of jackdaw jak-jak'd as they passed over. This was turning into a proper nature ramble.

Eventually we made it to a dead end. I believe one day soon this track, or maybe another one nearby will be opened up further as there is a plan to create a 20km, or is it 20 mile? circular walk around the entire Avalon Marsh Super-NNR. I can see the real advantage of such a circular walk, though I also enjoy dead ends as no one passes through without reason. We stood in a gateway, taking time to look over the fields where Mrs Wessex Reiver had spotted some roe deer. I then heard a piping call. Peep-Peep, Peep-Peep. Kingfisher. Not just one kingfisher but a male and female flying at speed and in unison along a ditch, then out over the fields in a wide arc to then return to the far end of the ditch and fly fast and low over the water towards us, before the male alighted on a branch. I lost the female after that. A spectacular encounter we'd have missed if we'd been sitting in the hide. The male then flew off through some trees but not long after a Peep-Peep alerted us to the fact he was now behind us, perched on a branch over another ditch. He then flew off and despite our best efforts to see them again neither birds returned. Those efforts though were rewarded by a beautiful male sparrowhawk flying leisurely by just a few yards from us, quietly scanning the treeline for unsuspecting prey. Standing still and remaining quiet really does bring dividends even in an unremarkable landscape. I didn't manage any photographs of any of these encounters, but that is of little importance and the image below is simply a reminder of how an unremarkable looking habitat can offer so much. 

After that excitement we retraced our steps and headed off towards the 'tower hide'. I like this hide as, as its name suggests, it is high up, maybe 10 metres? It is a bit of a slog along boggy paths to get here but well worth the effort as it looks down over the reeds and because it's a bit of an effort to reach here it is a quiet part of the reserve. We had the hide to ourselves for a good half an hour, a half hour that yielded a marsh harrier flying by at our elevated head height. That spooked a flock of teal to noisily erupt from the reeds. I do like teal, they may be common but their plumage is stunning. A couple of Canada geese, a pair of mute swan, mallard, coot and a great white egret were here too. Then Mrs Wessex Reiver called out, what's that flying towards us? Lifting the binocular revealed a bittern, flying lazily across open water towards us, then past us, then away from us before dropping into the reeds some distance off. In the strong sunshine we had fantastic views from this elevated position for a good twenty seconds if not more. In flight the stippled browns and blacks look like striped lines of colour, which of course is why they blend in amongst the reeds so well. I've seen bitterns flying many times but that was a good one and for Mrs Wessex Reiver this was a first. She was thrilled.

View from the tower hide, where the bittern flew top right to bottom left 

Retracing our steps as we walked back past the track up to the first hide where a ragtag line of camouflaged men were walking back to their 4x4's, pulling behind them trolleys bristling with equipment. I wonder if they'd had as much success photographing a male hen harrier, that may or of course may not have appeared, as we had with our encounters.

I'll come onto a conversation about this topic of photographers later. 

Following Friday's glorious weather and even better encounters, on Saturday we went to the Steart Marsh complex. Rain was in the air, though not falling with any real effort. Steart is a strange place for me as I come here and rarely see very much and given the weather I wasn't hopefully today either. However the place was virtually empty, just how I like it. Upon arrival Mrs Wessex Reiver headed off for a five mile walk and I readied myself to visit the three main, and very upmarket, hides here. If nothing else I'd avoid the rain and the brisk wind. The Mendip hide was my first stop which produced absolutely nothing. There was a magpie by the entrance, but from the huge picture window looking over a vast salt marsh, not a bird stirred, though coltsfoot was already in flower outside. I had a cup of coffee and a biscuit.

Quite posh the hides here...

Ten minutes walk away is the Parrett hide which, as you may surmise, looks out over the river Parrett, a main drain out from the Somerset Levels into Bridgwater Bay. It was low tide exposing huge areas of mud showing a smattering of Canada geese, redshank, what looked like gadwall, but they were a long long way off plus a single curlew plodging through the mud. The biggest high tide of the year was due the next day that will overtop the Parrett and flood the whole site, as it is designed to do through an engineered breach. Today though the river was still sea-bound and very low. A lovely male  stonechat was singing as I exited the hide, a female close by listening. Stonechats, a favourite bird of mine,  are best known for their chak-chak alarm call but their song is a melody of soft whistles and single notes, almost like a dunnock but softer. I've probably only heard this a half a dozen times. 

View from the Parrett hide on a dull day, at low tide

Next stop the half mile walk to the Quantock hide. I could hear the teal and wigeon as I approached, though I decided not to enter the hide but instead look out from the screens. Quite a few redshank, shoveler, shelduck, mallard, little egret, and of course the aforementioned ducks. On one of the shingle islands a pair of greater black backed gulls, their backs looking almost jet black in this light, were resting. I'd like to know, are they are nesting here?  These really are huge birds when you compare them to say teal. I like them but they can wreak real havoc in a nesting colony. I then noticed some pied wagtail noisily flying about in tight circles over another island, males chasing females, males chasing males, I couldn't rightly tell. I was hoping they would stop and do some courtship display on the ground as I've never seen what some observers refer to as a wagtail dance.  However after a few minutes of frenetic activity they flew off towards the far fields where up on the ridge a very noisy rookery was also in full swing. I scanned the rookery and counted at least fifty nests. There was a lot of activity, individuals flying to nests with twigs, pairs of rook shadow-flying overhead, groups of rook just flying about enjoying the wind and despite the rookery being a good half a mile away their raucous calls filled the landscape. There was one odd sight though as I scanned the trees, a great white egret flying past the rookery, who'd have thought that twenty years ago this would be an everyday sight in Somerset.

My final highlight of the visit occurred was while ambling back to the car park. To my left I heard a commotion, a flock of linnet noisily flew overhead and a group of teal flew rapidly in all directions. I could see something light brown flying with purpose, half obscured behind a hedge so I stopped to try and see what is was. What it was, was a short eared owl. I had the binoculars on this bird immediately, what a stunning view of this top predator. As it flew towards me it casually looked left and right with those piercing eyes, and with a gentle flap and glide it flew towards me and then out of sight. There has been an influx of short eared owls into Britain this winter, especially along the North Sea Coast. Smaller numbers have overwintered here in Somerset but to see one in mid March is, while not unusual, a little late in the season. But what a lovely surprise ending to the day and as I got back to the car park I popped into the estate office. 

Yes they knew about the Short Eared Owl, though they are no longer publicising rare or unusual sightings, as WWT who manage the site have been having trouble here with a minority of photographers who disregard blocked off tracks or gateways and sometimes are found in restricted parts of the reserve looking for that perfect image. I'm glad though I popped into the office as I had a long chat about the reserve and its management and more importantly I learnt that WWT have taken over the management of the entire Bridgwater Bay NNR from Natural England.  And that has to be a very good thing.

Short Eared Owl landscape - well in this part of Somerset at least!

How fortunes have changed for many species in recent decades, some losers like the turtle dove, but we often forget the winners. That flypast of the bittern on Friday was a point of note, as I can remember when they were extremely rare, as can the writer Richard Jefferies in his 1879 book Wild Life in a Southern Country..

"Once, some five-and-twenty years ago, a sportsman startled a great bird out of the spot where the streams join, and shot it, thinking it was a heron. But seeing that it was no common heron, he had it examined, and it was found to be a bittern, and as such was carefully preserved. It was the last visit of bitterns to the place; even then they were so rare as not to be recognised: now the progress of agriculture has entirely banished them."

Through tireless work by the many agencies developing the Somerset Super-NNR now covering an area from Glastonbury to the coast we can see hen harrier, marsh harrier, bittern, great white egret, and short eared owls with relative ease once again. And that has to be a good thing. I just need to bring some batteries with me next time.