Storm Babet Birdwatching at RSPB Arne

 

There has to be a certain level of insanity in my DNA to come birdwatching at the RSPB's Arne reserve during Storm Babet. Especially as we'd been there the day before in sunshine, though it had been a tad windy. Today however we arrived as the rain lashed down and the roar of the wind through the trees was deafening.

We'd come today as we're in Dorset on a mini break at Studland. With the weather being so bad we'd spent the morning lounging about in the hotel gazing out the window discussing what to do today. Eventually the need to go outside drove us first to Swanage, which was being lashed by sea foam and flooding meaning the sea road was closed. Turning tail we headed to Arne, for a wet walk at least. 

Having been met by Gayle at the entrance, I succumbed to the thumb screws and we have re-joined the RSPB as joint members. I used to be a member for years but as I subscribed to many conservation agencies a few years ago I let it lapse. The question did go though my mind today, "why didn't I join yesterday?" after paying my £10 admission. Then I'd have had two free visits.  Anyway it's all in a good cause. Today I joined and got in for free. It was nice chatting to Gayle, I think she enjoyed the custom as due to the inclement weather there were maybe only a dozen cars here. Yesterday it was so busy we'd parked in the overflow carpark. We chatted for ages with the rain thundering down around us. There'd been a guided walk in the morning when a hen harrier and Dartford warbler had been seen despite the weather.

I've been to Arne many times, both for work and for pleasure, but not for about ten years. Mrs Wessex-Reiver had only been to Arne once before (with me) before yesterday when it was so cold we only stayed an hour but she had seen avocet for the first time on that visit. Yesterday's species she was keen to see were the sika.

After a coffee, to see if the torrential rain would relent, there was nothing for it. We ventured out. Actually to begin with it wasn't too dreadful as we walked towards the new Middlebere hide, though apart from a few great tits and a grey squirrel we didn't see another living thing. Which was perfect. It's beautiful here and in the inclement weather it felt quite wild, until vestiges of Poole loomed out from the distant murk. After a mile we reached the new hide.

It's an impressive hide but not a design I have come across before, fully open to the shoreline with tiered seating going back three levels. In normal circumstances this hide would provide perfect shelter, today however the sheeting rain blew into the hide as a result over half of the tiered seating was sodden and soaked. The rain was also keeping the birds at bay. In half an hour we saw a few redshank and oystercatcher, curlew were calling somewhere, a few black tailed godwits flying about, a few flying formations of 6-10 teal and nine Brent geese. And that was it. Everything else with any sense remained hidden. While we were there Babet began to really wreak her power. The wind strengthened and the rain resembled a celestial power shower, it was coming down in a deluge. And we had to move out of this shelter.

Moving to the back of the hide I disturbed a female stonechat which looked soaked. It was the only bird in our line of sight. We sat for a while hoping the rain may ease but it didn't and we just had to brave it and head out into the waterfall. By the time we reached the relative calm of the woods we were properly soaked, thank gawd for good waterproofs.

Walking on after catching our breath, the track back to the visitor centre had become a temporary river since we'd walked along it less than an hour before, quite impressive for an area of free flowing sandy soil.

Such a contrast to yesterday when we came in sunshine. On that visit it was blowing a hoolie but we walked for over two hours in a circular amble to and from the Shipstal hide.  En-route we stumbled across a sika group, female and fawn first, stag later with a couple of other females distant. Mrs Wessex-Reiver had really wanted to see sika close and this didn't disappoint as they were at most 10 meters away and quite unfazed by our presence. It afforded a good view of the stag and their frowning face. Mrs Wessex-Reiver was surprised how small these deer are. 

At the hide yesterday all the birds were way out into the harbour mostly sheltering from the wind. There were eight spoonbills, a lot of redshank, lapwing, godwits, lapwing and oystercatcher but to be honest they were so far away I couldn't really see that well. Closer were some little and great egret and a small murmuration of starling. And on the way back from the hide a kestrel.

Thus these two visits in not too ideal weather came to an end. I have to say walking around today in the rain of Storm Babet was a lovely experience. The trick of course is abandoning all hope of serious birdwatching and just enjoy being out there.  When we arrived I was told a rare vagrant was at Arne, at Shipstal beach, a Forster's tern from North America. Well I have to say when I scanned the beach there wasn't a single bird to be seen. It and all the other birds had probably flown to Poole to get out the wind, if it had any sense. 

By the time we arrived back at the carpark there were only two vehicles remaining, one being ours. We chatted to Gayle and her colleague who were impressed we'd gone into the reserve during the storm, and not more than 30 visitors had passed through the entrance. That's why we'd enjoyed it so much, just us, Storm Babet and a wild landscape to explore. Perfect.

Interesting Times : Loss and Renewal

The tree has been felled. What do I think?  

Like millions around the world I was alerted to breaking news last Thursday at breakfast time. The iconic sycamore tree at Sycamore Gap on Hadrian's Wall had been felled. At that time mis-information suggested it had simply blown over during Storm Arwen. But even I, a man who'd not held a chainsaw in anger for 30 years, could see this felling was at the hands of a much lesser force, Mankind.  

Like many I was angry, more angry than I could have possibly imagined.  I was upset, it really troubled me that this had happened. Who could be so crass as to have done this to a beautiful landmark. My best friend was on holiday in southern Spain. He lives literally on top of Hadrian's Wall, it runs underneath the kitchen of his converted Chapel, only a stone's throw from Sycamore Gap. I texted him. His replied was immediate and simple "Eh????". Exactly my reaction on hearing this. I couldn't believe what I was reading.

Quite a bit of that reading was hilarious as journalists who had no idea about this tree sprang into action. One copy in the on-line edition of the Daily Mirror had the headline,  "Beautiful 300 year old tree planted between 1840 and 1860 felled by vandals". Even with my mathematical incompetence I think they had the dates wrong. It was soon changed. The BBC Website ran a headline for a few minutes "Medieval tree visited by Robin Hood felled near Hadrian's Wall". Obviously that journalist's only fact gleaned from the press releases that speed around broadcast media's newsrooms was that Kevin Costner in the 1991 film Prince of Thieves travelled from Dover to Sycamore Gap on foot in one day.  Some copy was even more bizarre. The New York Times initially ran with Sycamore Tree felled near Scotland. I read on, realising how isolated the American press is. Northumberland was mentioned in the third paragraph and apparently Hadrian's Wall is a short drive from Scotland's beautiful capital home of whisky and Robbie Burn's. Of course American's only know about Scotland, so in modern terms it was simply click bait.

But all this smoke and mirrors aside, there is a real sense of anger prevailing over this felling of a single tree. I completely understand this sentiment, for many the tree stood for something, whether that was personal, aesthetic, natural history, a symbol that represented the north east or simply a focal point for a lovely photograph. But why was I so angry? I'd never been there.

Northumberland is a beautiful county and littered across this landscape are magnificent sycamore trees such as those I photographed above near Matfen in mid Northumberland a few years ago. Every farmstead, field and village has mature sycamores as a permanent symbol living in and of the landscape. Most, like the one now lying on it's side, are 200-300 years old. They are majestic and I love them, as they remind me of being a child, lazy sunny summer days when I'd be out for a wander near Rothbury and often found myself resting with my back on the trunk of a sycamore while I drank my ginger beer or ate a massive gobstopper. However I'd never been to 'the' sycamore at Sycamore Gap, a name which is itself fairly modern, as it was allegedly just made up by a Lawrence Hewer when an Ordnance Survey team visited and wanted to know what the feature was called. 

I'd driven past the Gap many times while on the 'Military Road', in the same way that many motorists on the A303 pass Stonehenge but don't stop but admire the view. I'd even stopped the car once when my Canadian cousins were visiting on their whistle stop tour of Britain so we could take a quick photo out of the car window. But although I've walked sections of Hadrian's Wall, I'd never got to the tree. And that is what interests me in two ways. Firstly it was a difficult place to reach even in daylight, so how on earth was a hefty chainsaw carried over there in complete darkness? It really is dark up there. But secondly, why did the loss of a tree I only knew of from a distance affect me?

I think answering that latter point is easy. As we age, loss becomes a larger part in our lives as our own mortality comes over the horizon, and trees themselves are meant to be permanent - we don't lose them - but if we do it matters. 

Take the image below, the oak on the right of this hedge line is known as Julie's tree.

Nobody calls it Julie's tree apart from my wife, the very same Julie and myself. This was a landscape I got to know when we first met, the wide rolling landscapes that surrounded her village in Wiltshire. We walked up here on one of my first visits and while almost identical to every other tree for miles around this tree, (along with another in the village that was fenced off and we couldn't visit anymore), became "our" tree. And that is the answer. Permanence in the landscape grabs hold of the soul and never escapes. Julie moved to Somerset in 2014 and since then we've not been back to 'our' tree. I hope it still stands and hope it is well, but in my mind it is a permanent symbol of a happy time for both of us in Wiltshire.

The image of me at the top of this post is of Blindburn at the head of the Coquet Valley in Northumberland. I love it up here but have absolutely no connection to it other than it means something to me as a casual visitor. But I feel protective towards it. Oddly though, my wife owns a house further down the valley at Harbottle which we have no spiritual connection to. Julie may own it but it is occupied by a long term tenant and his family, a local family with children which is a wonderful addition for the village. But as we don't live there, that full blown spiritual connection will be focussed on those children growing up in this wonderful part of the world, not me. But I still have some connection.

Academic careers have been made analysing what it is to have a memory, what it means to experience spirituality or a Spirit of Place, that historical record of a time and a place that means something in that precise moment of time to an individual when we are there, alive and living. In a similar vein the below image of me as a volunteer warden at the National Trust's property of Cragside in Northumberland in the 1980s is another example. I didn't perform paid work there, I never lived on the estate, but for about six years, I spent every weekend there doing something I absolutely loved, being out in nature, learning how wardens (now rangers) operate and meeting the public. I forged fantastic long term friendships there, but then I moved south and I've only returned a couple of times as a visitor. But if anything catastrophic happened to Cragside, as happened to the sycamore at Sycamore Gap, I'd be devastated. 

The wanton destruction of the sycamore on Hadrian's Wall was an abominable act.  Why someone thought it was a good idea to illegally fell a beautiful tree is not something I think anyone will find out soon. But it's gone. Many people are suggesting what happens next. An Anthony Gormley sculpture in its place. I personally hope this doesn't happen. A wooden sculpture of the tree made from the trunk. Maybe, but can this be in a museum or arts centre. I worry the site may become a bizarre shrine to something that was once loved but has gone, eradicated and will never ever come back. Nature carries on if we let it, but what replaces it will never be what was there.

There was an excellent comment by Gary Bartlett I read, who perfectly summarised my thoughts on what may happen to one option.  The National Trust and many others are suggesting the coppicing of the stump will preserve the tree. I don't know Gary, but he writes......

" It's a nice thought.... But let's be realistic. I first met this particular tree in 1990 when surveying the trees on sections of Hadrians wall. This Sycamore was in it's unadulterated natural form, three centuries in the making. It had a twin stem which added to it's aesthetic appeal.

Sycamore will respond to hard pruning but a coppice or a pollard never take on the appearance of the natural form... You can go to Sherwood forest and see 700yr old oaks that haven't been pollarded for well over a hundred years... And they still bear the signatures of the woodman's saw. There is a reasonable possibility that this tree will soon throw multiple shoots up from the stump - it will have the appearance of a scruffy thicket for a few years. With careful selection of maybe 2 or 3 dominant stems (& their protection from further vandalism); a new tree may be crafted... After 10yrs of nurture, a new multi-stem tree with a natural habit may be visibly appreciated & in 40 to 50 years it may have the appearance of a reasonably mature tree. It will be 80+ years before it has anything like the stature of what was lost & another 50yrs beyond that until it has any sense of grandeur. In the meantime, the tree will be vulnerable to pathogens - especially fungal.

It is exposed to fairly strong winds - and sucker shoots in maple species are prone to tearing out at their union with the stump or stub. This structural weakness will be ever present for the first 20-30yrs at least. Sycamore don't tend to send up daughter plants / clones away from the stump like many Prunus or Poplus species will... So new shoots will be limited to the stump - which will in time decay from the centre... There is a risk that the shock of losing the main stem might kill the tree (at this age), so regeneration is not guaranteed.

Planting a replacement will be challenging as the site is a scheduled ancient monument - so a planting site would need to be identified for a new tree - agreed by Historic England / English Heritage and the National Trust (whichever have jurisdiction on this section of Hadrian's wall). An archaeological dig would likely be required before a new tree could be planted.

The tree that has been lost will never be replicated - it was unique.

Northumberland has many tens of thousands of Sycamore trees; many of which are older, taller, broader and arguably more magnificent than this one (I urge you to seek them out - they will warm your soul).

But this tree was the iconic "Sycamore Gap" tree... It cannot be replaced by a tribute act. 

This tree seems to have become a metaphor for man's relationship with all trees... From the Amazonian rain forests, to trees being felled for access to building sites or new infrastructure. It's loss feels like the assassination of Martin Luther King or Kennedy... Senseless."

Gary Bartlett ended his piece with these words on the desire to coppice.

[I admire the optimism.... ]... Unfortunately few of us will be around to discuss this by the time this tree may become anything reminiscent of the original."

Other people will have many other views and that is how it should be. But for me now some forty eight hours into the story, this is how I'm increasingly feeling. The anger I felt at that tree's destruction has softened. I'll now never visit the tree, but, and this is important, if it had been such an important part of my life, I'd have made the effort to visit it while it still stood. Now, my mind is focused on change and the future. Let the fallen tree decay at it's own rate into the landscape, help dead wood invertebrates and plants thrive for a few decades in this most treeless of landscapes. Plant something new, maybe not in the same place, but nearby. The loss felt by my generation by this criminal act could benefit generations to come. I remember visiting Kew Gardens while on a botanical course in February 1988, just months after the October 1987 storm had ripped through the gardens. Many much loved trees from their specimen area had fallen. It was while on a walk around the site, then still closed off to the public, with Kew's arboriculturalist that he said something I've never forgotten. 

"[sic] Arriving at Kew on the morning after the storm he cried and cried for the lost trees there, many of whom he thought of as family. But then as the weeks passed he realised this was a moment to embrace change and plan for the future." 

Looking at Kew Gardens now it's almost impossible to imagine the damage caused on that October night. My hope then is the same fate befalls the toppling of this sycamore. Over the months and years we'll see change at Sycamore Gap. We as a society must and can look forward. What can we do as a society to make the landscape better for children being born in 200 years time? We have benefited from a tree being planted in the 18th Century maturing in the age of Social Media. Much like the trees below in the field next to the aforementioned friend's house only a stone's throw from Sycamore Gap which I photographed while on a walk before breakfast last November. They're just trees, no one except the odd walker will notice them. They stand there quietly removed from the consciousness of collective society. Would anyone miss these unknown trees if they were felled one night? I doubt it, and that is a most sobering thought. 

Yatton Moth Trapping : Mid August weekend part 2

 As if Saturday's trip out to West Somerset and a wildflower field wasn't enough, at 8.30 am on Sunday I found myself driving the 8 miles or so to a friend of mine's garden in North Somerset, where, despite the rain and the wind the evening before, a moth trap had been set up the previous night. 

Higgy (for he is a man of one name) had long been trying to organise a moth trapping event for the local conservation group YACWAG (Yatton And Congresbury Wildlife Action Group) of which he is a member. This planning had been going on for weeks, but with the recent run of wet and windy weekends all attempts to fire up the moth trap had been cancelled. However this weekend despite the weather forecast being at best 'iffy' Higgy informed me the trap would be lit and come-what-may it is going ahead so come to the garden at 9am when all will be revealed. I arrived at ten to 9 in the morning, the only person at that point.

Now, I have been to moth trapping set ups before but in every case I'd been there for work. Fascinating though they were at the time, I was there to record radio programmes so having to concentrate on that I always left having absolutely no idea what I'd seen. This then would be my very first participation moment for the reveal, and I wasn't disappointed, though as 9am came and went for a while I feared no one else would turn up.

Higgy's garden is a wildlife haven - the width of a 1960's house, the garden is long, and beyond the fence he also owns a slice of the field at the back. In fact this is where YACWAG are interesting, as not only are they an excellent conservation group who run events, provide advice and can undertake surveys, but YACWAG own parcels of land around the two villages in North Somerset and once in their ownership that land is managed solely for wildlife. That alone makes it a remarkable local conservation organisation.

Not only had the trap been set up the night before but Higgy had been up since first light emptying the trap and placing examples of the 283 individual moths caught that night into specimen tubes and arranging them for us to peer at.  It was now well after 9am and I was still the only person and that made me feel sad for Higgy over the work and effort he'd put in, but eventually we swelled to a group of 4 other plus his daughter who was asked to be chief moth releaser, as all moths were released once identified. Enough people really otherwise it would become unwieldy, and as a group we set to flicking through the books and listening to Higgy's hints and tips while gazing manically at an as yet unidentified brown moth in a specimen tube. 

Some I recognised immediately like this Jersey Tiger [Euplagia quadripunctaria]. This year has been phenomenal down south for these fabulous looking moths, who seem to be exploding northwards due to climate changes. Five were caught overnight, which is interesting given they are a day flying moth. We quickly got through the easy ones, elephant hawk-moth, box bush moth, and then came the difficult ones. I was hopeless, and at one point resorted to Google Lens to identify a moth. I may end up being ex-communicated for that, but I was intrigued to see how accurate it was - as it turned out 100% and in less than 2 seconds. Impressive. But that's why I'd come, to learn. Everyone was helping each other while helping themselves to scones or flapjack made by Higgy's wife. There were far too many moths to photograph but my particular highlights were....

Uncertain moth [Hoplodrina octogenaria] - 45 caught overnight. What a beast to identify for a beginner. Scanning the books there are about a 100 near identical moths. [Update - this is a Common rustic agg. Thanks Stewart - turns out this is also how it was identified on the day - I messed up with my notes] 

Grey Dagger - [Acronicta psi] - 3 caught overnight. I loved this moth, don't think I've seen it before but its markings just say its name.  I've long loved moth names, they're so flamboyant.

Flame Carpet - Xanthorhoe designata - just the one caught overnight and it took us a good 30 minutes to work out what it was. There are so many similar species, it's going to be a while before I get my knowledge, and eye in.

Now this was my all time favourite of the day - Gold Spot - [Plusia festucae ] of which 11 were caught overnight. What a moth with it's triceratops looking shoulder plate, and burnished gold spots, it was like an art deco jewel. Loved it.

These two were interesting - I identified them as September Thorn - [Ennomos erosaria] on the right and a Dusky Thorn - [Ennomos fuscantaria] on the left. Just one of each caught overnight but Higgy was impressed I worked out they were different species of thorn moth, which is why they're photographed next to the book. In a later write up of the day for the YACWAG group I get a mention..

" I should mention Andrew J Dawes who is now my official 'September Thorn Moth & Dusky Thorn Moth' expert!"

Which fails to recognise that next week if I saw anything like this I'd fail to even recognise it as a thorn spp.

Now this beauty had us all foxed, I could see Higgy enjoying our discomfort of scratching heads and endless flicking through the identification books. After many attempts (and more than a little help) we finally got to Setaceous Hebrew Character - [Xestia c-nigrum] of which 12 were caught. Another stunning moth. I was getting quite into this.

And finally this one had us all completely stumped. Eventually we gave up and Higgy let us know that it was a Swallow Prominent - [Pheosia tremula] of which there were 2 caught. A lot of discussion took place over whether this was actually a Scarce Swallow Prominent, and in the end why it wasn't, none of which I remember writing this. 

But what a fabulous morning, three hours in the end and what I didn't realise until later was this event was being run as part of a YACWAG's "wellness-walks programme" aimed at getting people out into nature. Well we certainly did get involved and I absolutely loved it. In total 53 species were identified, which Higgy mentioned was quite low for his garden due to the weather, he can regularly collect 400 individuals and near 100 species. Amazing really from a garden that is no bigger than a cricket wicket. 

After everyone had gone Higgy and I had a chat and he invited me back one night to see the trap running and identify the moths as they come in, while having a few beers. Now that sounds like a good moth trapping experience to me. I can't wait.

YACWAGS website  https://yacwag.org.uk/

Stogumber Wildflowers : Mid August weekend part 1

 It's been a hectic few weeks and looking back it is almost a month since I posted anything. In that time I've been to Devon to walk alpaca, Somerset to ride on a steam train, Wiltshire Archives to look through some of the Richard Jefferies archive held there. Then trips to London to view two excellent art exhibitions, at Buckingham Palace (Georgian clothing) and the Tate Britain (The Rossetti's), I had new windows installed at home, spent a glorious evening watching nightjar on the Quantocks for the last time this year,  and in-between this tried to hold down a full time job while the rain lashed down every weekend.

Time to put this absence of wordsmithing to one side and recall two lovely events this weekend.

Firstly The Stogumber Wildflower Meadow.

To be truthful and accurate this isn't a wildflower meadow. It is an arable field which has had annual wildflowers like field poppy, cornflower, corn marigold and linseed sown each year, but not this year. More of that later. This sowing began around eight years ago in the corner of a much larger arable field between the villages of Stogumber and Monksilver. I've known about it for a while and tried to visit before but always thwarted by time or an excuse. A friend of Mrs Wessex Reiver visited on the previous Wednesday and sent some images saying it was still beautiful. Checking it was still open this Saturday we made a bee-line to discover for ourselves on its penultimate day of 2023. And what turned out probably to be its final year.  

We arrived the same time as what turned out to be the farmer who began all this (seated in the top image). Chatting to him he said it first came about as slugs devastated a crop he'd sown. So to not leave the field empty he sowed some wildflower seed opened up the field for charity and that first year having been very successful, he had repeated this event every year, raising money for a different charity, until this year. However he has now retired and his nephew runs the farm. His nephew has a different philosophy (the nephew thinks these flowers are weeds the farmer said) and this year ploughed and sowed a single crop of linseed. However what happened was the seedbank in the soil had other ideas and this corner of the field once again erupted into bloom and outcompeted the linseed. However in 2024 the field will be under barley and probably that'll be it. But there's still hope given the 2023 bloom wasn't meant to happen - will the wildflowers return in 2024 anyway.

I absolutely understand both land uses and the changing of the guard. The older farmer said he has received great joy from sowing the seed to opening up the field for visitors, making me think is that an age thing? As we age we look on life in a different way to when we were young. I appreciate too the nephew wanting to farm and maximise his business. All things are born, mature and then wither away, making this experiment and labour of love no different. If this field had been a traditional hay-meadow this would have been a different story. But it is an arable field which through work, time and of course money has been sown and nurtured for nearly a decade. 

And it worked, it was stunning, and has raised money for charity. Not large, maybe a hectare possibly two, but alive with honeybees. The drone-noise of their activity was everywhere. I learnt that there are hives all around that area and the keepers know their bees head for this field. Oddly though I discovered very little other insect life, albeit without really looking. Large white butterflies were everywhere but the farmer said only 6 species of butterfly have been recorded over the years (he didn't name them), a few dragonflies but mainly bees of various forms. The ecologist in me thinking that is probably due to this being a mono-crop of sorts, admittedly a stunning one, but simply a handful of annual flowers.

As I write this the field is now closed to visitors. Chatting to the farmer before we left I asked what happens next. In previous years they've left the seed heads to ripen then cut them down, ploughed and re-sown with fresh seed. This is why the residual seedbank over seven years of sowings has taken over this year. But this autumn the crop will be ploughed in and winter barley sown.  That got me thinking. If it was simply left to grass over, all of these annual arable flowers would die out, though of course they'd be replaced by perennial meadow species. Now that would make an interesting experiment, botanical succession from a ploughed field, through annual botany, then to perennial plants and all that associated species abundance and biodiversity. Could take twenty years maybe?

I'm glad I made the effort to go and visit this field even on a blustery grey moody day in August. A patch of vibrant colour in a beautiful, but predominantly green landscape. And we never know what may happen in 2024.

During Wind And Rain - Watching Butterflies

To badly paraphrase that well known lepidopterist Jane Austen “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a Northern man in possession of a good guide book, must be in want of a butterfly.”

I read somewhere that the reason butterfly watching was so popular in the Victorian era was partly due to the lazy hot days of summer when the well clad gentleman in linen knickerbockers (or occasionally a lady in fetching taffeta) would roam the sweet vernal grass meadows near the homestead, swishing a butterfly net with abandon while dreaming of cricket, and a return home on the Penny Farthing to an afternoon tea on the terrace, maybe with the vicar. How things have changed.

July 2023 has arrived. I look out of the window. Strong winds and grey skies with rain so heavy you could launch a boat in the resulting flood. Not ideal weather for butterfly watching then? Well, yes it is, in some ways it is perfect. 

Hodder's Combe - where the sunlit butterflies begin

As I am that Northern man of Austen's  my target butterfly for this July has been the silver washed fritillary. Before dear reader you continue with this narrative I may as well confess to having failed spectacularly to see a single silver washed fritillary all year. Stop now if your only interest is polarised in Argynnis paphia. You will read no account here of this parfumier valentino of the woodland glade. However if I may entice you further, could a white admiral and maybe a large skipper pique your interest to continue?

I drove down the M5 in Somerset, en-route to Hodder's Combe in the Quantocks. The rain was so heavy that even on the fastest setting the deluge came down quicker than the windscreen wipers could wipe the rain away. Driving half blind we crawled along a flooded motorway where, as I passed by Sedgemoor Services at steady 30mph, I thought to myself "why on earth am I doing this?" The simple answer was the weather forecast suggested rain until noon followed by glorious sunshine for the rest of the day. Given butterflies have to feed and tend to fly only when it is sunny, my thought was they'll rest up in this rain but as soon as the sun emerges they'll be on the wing. I was right, and the butterflies came in good numbers.

Comma : Can you see me?

After a three quarters of an hour walk up the Combe, during which the rain finally stopped though it remained cloudy, I was now in position. I waited no longer than five minutes, not another living soul about, it was so peaceful. The sun emerged from behind the clouds and the butterflies began flying all around me. First the meadow browns who appeared as if by magic, ten maybe twenty of them flying haphazardly with their weak flappy flight. Followed then by a number of large white strongly flying in a purposeful way and then half a dozen comma, again out on the wing enjoying the sun. As the sun intensified out came half a dozen red admiral and gatekeeper, a trio of large skipper and a single common blue flitted and flapped between all this activity heading towards a large mound of bramble. I followed and noted this large bramble patch was a meeting place for the species. As happens when watching butterflies if the sun disappeared even for a short while all the activity would end and those butterflies I'd been watching seconds earlier would simply disappear as if by silent command. When the sun returned, this activity would resume. I became absorbed by this, a special moment to be in and amongst all this activity and behaviour by insects just getting on with their life while simply ignoring my presence. A wistful thought that if I were not there they'd be doing this activity anyway. The World revolves.

I did make an interesting observation though, the role bracken (Pteridium) played in all of this emergence and disappearance. Bracken is much maligned for its invasive and tick laden properties. My observations however showed how beneficial brackens' open domed growth habit is to butterflies, to species who would not normally be associated with this fern. Many individuals landed on the highest sunniest bracken fronds and rested, wings open, stationary, simultaneously warming up and drying out before heading off and out of sight. Every species I saw there on that visit used bracken as a resting site to a greater or lesser extent, often resting there with motionless wings for minutes at a time. There is a risk to all this of course as while they are so conspicuous butterflies are more visible to predation but the benefit of being out in the open while adjacent to dense vegetation they could quickly disappear into must outweigh the risk.  In all I spent two hours here exploring what this place had to offer. Sadly the silver washed fritillary did not show though they are here and I'd recently read that brown hairstreak have been discovered here. I'll leave these species for the next time, it was after 4pm now, activity was tailing off, time I headed home.

Comma

Gatekeeper

Normal meadow brown above and a dark form male with sex bands visible below

Female large white. A little like woodpigeons which because they are common and deemed a pest are very much overlooked, though both bird and butterfly I think are stunning.

Large skipper

Red admiral above and below.

Female small white on a nettle above and on herb robert below.

That was during the week and so following my failure to see silver washed fritillary on the following Saturday I headed into the woodland area of Shapwick Heath NNR after recent reports of silver washed fritillary flying. 

This time I was taking a real punt given the weather had turned decidedly autumnal in feel, cool, torrential rain showers but now accompanied by 40-50 mph gusting winds. This weather was so out of season the Saturday Market in the nearby city of Wells, where I'd gone to first thing, had  been cancelled. Undeterred my revised plan was to venture into the most sheltered rides of the oak woodland at Shapwick and just observe what if anything appeared as and when the frequent rain showers were replaced with sunshine. 

Shapwick Heath NNR - white admiral country.

I could not have had a better afternoon. In a similar way to Hodder's Combe if the sun disappeared then the butterflies disappeared. But, when the sun did emerge the rides erupted with life. Not just butterflies but tens or even hundreds of dragonflies and damselflies, hover flies and a myriad of insects I couldn't identify. I could identify unfortunately the hundreds of mosquitoes that also flew in the sunshine, I was covered in them and their bites. A real downside here, not pleasant at all and I still bear the scars.

While frequently distracted by other insects I kept focussed on butterflies whose abundance was enhanced by energetic activity by the many species now on the wing in the strong sunlight, before it all fell quiet again as the rain returned as it often did. I was getting used to this weather related cycle. 

A very obliging brimstone which despite its bright colour blended beautifully into these oak leaves.

A beautiful but pestilent deer-fly Chrysops spp. but not sure of the exact species.

Beautifully marked gatekeeper underside (above) and a different but equally lovely gatekeeper upper wings (below). The gatekeepers were everywhere, more plentiful than meadow brown.

Peacocks were everywhere too, such oddly out of place markings in the English countryside, almost tropical in looks.

Ruddy Darter (first thought common darter but I dismissed this or maybe it is)

This southern hawker clung motionless to this honeysuckle branch for fifteen minutes or more. At first I thought it might have been dead but then on my last visit it wasn't there. There were a lot of hawker species about, a few did that spectacular thing of flying right up very close to my face and then after hovering for a while looking at me, decided I wasn't any threat - nor prey - and buzzed off.  Fascinating behaviour and I'd love to know what they see and are observing.

I'm not seeing many speckled woods at the moment. This one was one of the few found resting on a fern.

Now we're getting to the white admirals. In this cooler weather they were flying really well but unsurprisingly a slower flight and much less fidgety than when I'd last seen them a couple of weeks earlier. I'm not sure whether it was just the weather but they were also much lower down perching around head height or gliding for short distances low along the track which is a behaviour many lepidopterists look for. The image below was more typical on this visit, horizontally straight wings on a bramble looking inconspicuous. Despite the quite wild wind in the high canopy down at ground level it was almost motionless. I'd made the correct choice to come here today, the butterflies were within easy sight and once again I had the site all to myself due presumably to the weather. During one of the more prolonged wet spells I stood quietly listening to the pitter-patter of raindrops. It's a sound I've loved since childhood.

All in all what these two visits to observe butterflies in poor weather has taught me is don't remain indoors bemoaning the inclement summer, head out and see what happens. I'd do that when winter birdwatching, so why not in the summer?  Would I have noticed the butterfly species using bracken as a sunning and drying perch if the weather had not been so changeable? Would the eruption of species simultaneously timing their flights with the sun's emergence have been witnessed if I'd stayed at home? I suspect not and it made for a fantastic immersive experience on both occasions. But I'll leave you with this female blackbird.

I was walking along a boardwalk back to my car when this female appeared. I stopped and she stopped then, after checking me over, she ignored me and hopped a few feet at a time towards me. I stood motionless watching her for what seemed an age. Then when she was around 12 feet from me she dived into the trackside and speared the fattest slug I've seen for a while, a slug much too heavy for her to fly away with.  Transfixed I watched her kill and repeatedly peck the slug for some time until having eaten a large part of it she finally managed to lift the slug remains and fly off, albeit under some difficulty. Whereto she went I have no idea as the torrential rain returned as she flew off, so I the happy wildlife watcher of these two days simply shrugged, pulled my coat a little tighter around me and walked off accompanied by the roar of thousands of raindrops crashing against leaves in the tree canopy. I was alone with my thoughts surrounded by nature at its finest.