Imperfect and tense

The answer, my friend, is...?? (Part 1)

2012-02-07T21:05:00.000Z

A double question mark. The jury is well and truly out as regards this conundrum.

Yes, dear reader, the time has come. Last year's odonatological admin is filed, this month's Little Linford Wood post is written, the displacement activity diary has been ripped up and the rug pulled out from under the slippers of prevarication.

It's the big one. The post I've been putting off for longer than I've been on Blogger. The topic that polarises opinion faster then a speeding rotor. A potato that's hotter than a flaming generator gearbox. The... oh, for God's sake, it's the wind turbine debate.

I will say straight away that this issue has not affected me directly... yet. However, as a nature-loving, green energy kind of guy, I have a foot in both camps. And when the fence is high, that's not a great place to be. I want my energy to be sustainable, but not if it means sliced White-tailed Sea Eagle. I have close relatives and good friends with incredibly firm opinions on this topic, so my metaphorical fence is surrounded by a very personal minefield.

As a measure of how seriously I'm treating these posts, I have to shamefully admit that I've even stooped so low as to "do research". I know, I know, how could I? Pun-tificating from the outer edges of ignorance is my usual style, but for this article, I discovered that just about everybody has an opinion and a vested interest when it comes to wind farms. Unbiased fact and rational reporting are in extremely short supply and are so endangered that they should be on the IUCN's Red List.

So I will attempt to navigate the muddied waters of NIMBYism, sail perilously across the Sea of Greed and drop anchor in the Bay of Fanatical Voices. Which would have been a great analogy if I had intended to talk about offshore, rather than land-based, wind generation. Arse!

Why commit my thoughts to cyberspace now? Dunno really, it's not of my choosing, it's rather like the opposite of serendipity. Several factors have come together at this time which almost make it impossible not to write: there are a number of prospective wind farms planned to the north of Milton Keynes, one of which is adjacent to Little Linford Wood; the Government's Energy and Climate Change Secretary has just resigned and his replacement has to hit the ground running; and New Scientist magazine recently published an article concerning the future effects of sustainable energy generation.

My goal here will be to float gently through the arguments, like the dandelion seed head of reason, and avoid being trampled into the ground in the race to claim the countryside for anyone's cause. Why do I feel like I've just told the world that I'm going to come up with a solution for interstellar travel?

Next on I&T: NIMBYs - they just want to be loved.

February in Little Linford Wood

2012-02-05T15:45:00.001Z

For this month's post about Little Linford Wood, you may detect a subtle but significant difference from the photographs taken in January. As reported in yesterday's post, all the wildlife action seemed to be taking part outwith the wood, with a bias towards mammals, rather than birds.

There weren't any picnickers today, in fact, ours was the first vehicle along the track. Can't think why?

Winter has arrived late in these parts and is keen to make up for it. The switch from unseasonably mild to more typically cold will only add to the confusion that has been a constant puzzle for Mother Nature for over a year. As a pollination medium, I doubt that snow is the preferred option for many plants.

Source: Our Lass

Our wander through the wood was to the soundtrack of a steady crump, crump, crump, crump from our boots and the gentle swish of snow being shed from the branches. We heard the calls of Nuthatch, Marsh Tit and Great Spotted Woodpecker, plus the occasional chack, chack from Fieldfare flying overhead.

Whilst there was no more snow forecast to fall, the sky had that heavy, glowering feel that makes you think that it's only being held up by the outspread fingers of the bare trees as they strain to support its weight.

The paths and rides were criss-crossed with the tracks made by the creatures of the wood; Fox, Rabbit, Hare, Muntjac deer and Pheasant. Though our attention was drawn to one particular paw print that we weren't expecting to see, Badger.

I've always thought that Badgers hibernate, probably due to reading Kenneth Grahame's 'Wind in the Willows' as a lad, but it turns out that they merely have a winter torpor, as the Badgerland website explains. So I'm guessing that this character was merely nipping out for a quick pee before returning to the sett for some more quality slumber time. Sweet dreams, Brock, me old mate, don't have nightmares. Especially about government-sponsored culls.

The week after BGBW 2012

2012-02-05T14:20:00.000Z

With the snowfall overnight, there was a noticeable increase in the numbers of birds visiting the Tense Towers garden this morning. Many more Chaffinches, a pristine male Reed Bunting and a second Blackcap. So that's in excess of 20 species for the week, easily the busiest time of the Winter so far. Hardly surprising, given the weather, I suppose.

I was unsuccessful in my attempts to capture a shot of the two warblers together, so you'll just have to take my word for it. There were two. The plumage of the new arrival seemed brighter than the original bird, but that could have been down to the fact that BC1 frequents the shadows behind the Hawthorn tree, whilst BC2 was on the seed feeder and having the benefit of all the reflected light from the snow.

Which was a bit of a bonus, really...

Livin' on the edge

2012-02-04T18:16:00.001Z

This was going to be my February post for Little Linford Wood, but as you will see, things didn't quite work out that way.

Firstly, yesterday evening, whilst I was washing up, an Aerosmith song was played on the radio, "Livin' on the edge". Excellent track, for all sorts of reasons. And particularly prescient...

It was bitterly cold this morning with a sharp frost. When I looked out of the bedroom window, the bird feeders were lying on the lawn and a bemused Wood Pigeon was trying to figure out whether this was a good thing or not.

This wasn't vandalism, this was ice. The pole that supports the feeders is in several sections and when the lower section fills with water and then the water freezes, the middle section is forced up and out. Result - feeders on the ground, many unhappy birds and a brisk trip into the garden for me. A jug of warm water helped to restore normality, and whilst our porridge was cooking, I watched some very hungry visitors tucking into sunflower seeds, peanuts and a fat block.

The rising winter sun cast a pink glow across the frost on the neighbouring rooftops, like the warm breath of a lover on a cold cheek. And you can't waste a morning that inspires a sentence like that.

Our Lass already had her nose stuck in a text book, so after a quick call to the Admiral and the donning of much fleecy clothing, he and I set off for Little Linford Wood. From the car park on the east side, we decided upon a clockwise route down the south eastern edge, halfway up the south west side, out in a wide arc through the fields, back into the north west side and east through the wood to return to the car.

Halfway along the south eastern edge, we spotted a fox. He was a long way off, but we stood still as he hunted in the hedgerow, moving towards us. Predictably, he turned into the wood on our intended route, so we set off once more with the faint hope of perhaps spotting him again.

Once in the wood, we did indeed spook the fox, who ran off west out of sight. Then, the Admiral saw him dash across the footpath ahead of us and deeper into the wood. Unless, of course, this was a different fox, for as we exited the woodland into the fields, a very vulpine face was watching us from the hedgerow.

Across the next few fields, we saw up to 6 hares, although only ever 3 at once. There was a bit of romance in the air, despite the cold, and one particular male hare was caught a swift blow about the ears by the object of his affections.

Whilst all this was going on, another fox appeared, hunting further down the hillside. It was unperturbed by our presence and eventually trotted off into the wood, passing a Muntjac deer in the process.

No sooner had we taken our eyes off that scene, and carried on towards the valley floor, then what should we espy? Yet another one, sunning himself in a sheltered spot out of the cool breeze.

It had obviously been a tough night, if they were still all hunting in daylight the next morning.

Once across the stream in the valley bottom, we disturbed another Muntjac deer, grazing as best it could in the conditions. Again, these creatures do not like to be out in the open in daylight with humans around, so the cold weather was definitely having an effect on the wildlife.

After circling through the fields, passed an old moated enclosure, we returned to the wood by the side of a ruined barn. Here, on the sunward wall, were sat 2 Little Owls, Athene noctua, basking as far as was possible in the freezing temperatures.

They may be little, but you certainly know you've been stared at if one of these looks at you!

So, to return to the "Livin' on the edge" theme, most of the animals and birds that we saw were not actually in the wood, they were hanging on to Life through this cold spell, hunting or hunkering down at the edges of woods, hedgerows and buildings.

And tonight, it snows...

Flicker sight?

2012-02-02T19:42:00.003Z

In a blunt piece of foreshadowing, I can happily report that our local council have issued a "draft emerging policy" on wind turbines.

And not as I read it, a "draught emerging" policy.

Ha-ha-ha. That's funny on so many levels, admittedly most of them puerile.

It seems that old Tense is going to have to get his arse off the fence on this issue.
Am I worried about splinter groups? No, just splinters.

BGBW 2012

2012-01-30T21:05:00.000Z

Meanwhile, back on Planet Earth...

In an effort to accentuate the positive as regards having a rotten cold, my plans for Sunday were put on hold and I was available to take part in the RSPB's Big Garden Bird Watch after all.

The burning question this year has been where have all the birds gone? Although as this linked article points out, due to the mild weather, many species haven't had to resort to visiting town gardens, there being sufficient food in the surrounding countryside.

Having spent the morning blogging about our trip to the Ouse Washes, by midday I was huddled by a radiator and staring intently at the back garden. Though we'd not been putting out as much food of late, there was still a varied cast of feathered characters visiting Tense Towers. As ever, the tricky bit wasn't so much identifying the birds, it was calculating the number of each species.

Our Lass went to the bedroom window to monitor the treetops that were not visible from downstairs and between us we were just about able to cover most angles. All of the 15 species that we'd recorded in the preceding week put in an appearance during the hour, though sadly I wasn't allowed to count a flyover by a male Cormorant :o(

However, Eagle Eyes herself managed to spot a Reed Bunting sat in the upper branches of the Hawthorn tree, flashing white tail feathers to prove it wasn't a sparrow, so we were happy with our efforts on the day.

Having said that, less than a mile away, the Admiral (newly promoted once more) was watching a Red Kite and a Woodcock at HESC!

Star Trekking across the Ouse-iverse

2012-01-29T11:15:00.001Z

As it's Big Garden Bird Watch weekend, I was supposed to be at home, concentrating fiercely on the seed feeders and staring at my fat balls. However, a lack of diligence to the calendar meant that Our Lass and I had agreed to journey to Welney with the Admiral, instead.

Out of deference to the RSPB's national survey, I did consider twisting ever more punning mileage into the title of this post, but "Picard in Warp Hitch" was too bizarre even for me.

So, following his demotion from Admiral, the Captain eased us out of space dock at 09.00, left Milton Keynes under impulse power and then went to warp once we hit the Bedford bypass. We knew something was wrong immediately, as a warning display showed a fault with one of the ~~headlights~~ photon torpedo tubes. Thankfully, as we were travelling at light speed, this was never going to be much of a problem. At least in daylight.

Arriving at WWT Welney, the Captain effected repairs and we then entered a watery alien world, deploying to one of the basic life support pods, north east of the visitors' centre. Probably the Friends' Hide, but I was too busy trying to calibrate my communicator to take accurate notes. The 3G signal was intermittent, a bit like England's batting ability.

We spotted a small flock of White-fronted Geese on long range sensors but had to settle for this view as, unfortunately, the tractor beam was offline. Most species of duck in the known universe seemed to be present, in a multi-cultural throng reminiscent of ~~Quack's~~ Quark's Bar. This far from the feeding station, the numbers of Whooper Swans were pleasingly low, which is probably why we had the time to notice an incoming Bird of Prey on the starboard bow. It wasn't Klingon, it wasn't grasping a Tribble in its talons, but it was a sight that gladdened the heart of this Starfleet cadet.

More power to forward shields!

Evasive manoeuvres, hard to port!

Oh?! It's only a Sparrowhawk.

After a pleasant lunch on the Mess Deck at Welney, we maintained a low planetary orbit and ventured over to Welches Dam on impulse power, to visit the RSPB Ouse Washes reserve. I say 'low planetary orbit' without any hint of irony, as the uneven road did offer some turbulence, aft shields totally failing at one point, and we were lucky not to lose a warp nacelle.

Long range sensors again picked up a Bird of Prey, seemingly motionless in space (a common plot device for luring in naive vessels from the United Federation of Planets) which we were able to identify as a Peregrine Falcon (definitely not 'Millennium'... you'll notice).

Er, the one on the post, not the big white one...

In the far distance, we could just make out the shape of a large building on the horizon. In comparison to the surrounding landscape, it was huge and outlandish. When we're not watching re-runs of Star Trek, we have been known to view the occasional episode of Time Team, so I believe that this structure probably has some ritual and religious significance, as the archaeologists would say. Possibly a once-powerful priesthood elite, wielding considerable influence and control over the indigenous population? Tricorder readings showed that this was life, but not as we knew it.

Ely Cathedral seen from Welches Dam

There were thousands upon thousands of birds in the Washes, both a magnificent sight and a wonderful site. Huge flocks of Black-tailed Godwit and Golden Plover, bazillions of ducks, a few Bewick's Swans and more gulls than you could shake a Type 3 phaser rifle at.

By now, I had contracted space flu, and in the absence of Beverly Crusher or Dr Pulaski, I had to self-medicate. As soon as we returned to Star Base Tense Towers, I deferred the offer of Tea... Earl Grey... Hot, and went into stasis in the Quarantine Bay.

January in Little Linford Wood

2012-01-22T22:22:00.001Z

This might be the start of a monthly series, if time allows. It features the Berkshire, Buckinghamshire and Oxfordshire Wildlife Trust (BBOWT) nature reserve at Little Linford Wood. This is located a few miles north of Milton Keynes, just west of the M1 motorway, and accessed via a farm track from the Haversham - Gayhurst road.

The wood has previously cropped up in several posts on 'Imperfect and tense', but normally in the context of a particular species of flora or fauna. Now I would like to give some background on the wood itself, as a home to some fantastic wildlife.

The BBOWT information board in the car park - it's a shame the dog walkers don't read it

From the car park, there are several paths that head off in different directions. You'll be amazed to learn that we normally follow the wildlife walk. Who would've thought it?

There's a small picnic table next to the car park, that overlooks an ephemeral pond. I have fond memories of seeing dozens of Ruddy Darter dragonflies here in 2008, but for the last 2 years, the pond has not held water through the Summer. In fact, even now in the depths of Winter, it is dry.

The habitat management of the wood is heavily influenced by one particular animal. The Hazel Dormouse. Rotational coppicing is carried out to maintain a mix of habitats for these wee creatures, which also benefits a host of other wildlife too.

Read, inwardly digest...

and then turn this...

into this.

Certainly, these 7-Spot Ladybirds seemed to appreciate the extra sunlight that was available, especially in January.

The various woodland rides have scalloped edges, which create sheltered glades that are good for both flowers and insects. Again, this is carried out on a rotational basis, so that there's always a mix of habitat.

Little Linford Wood is surrounded by arable fields and rolling countryside. And in the not too distant future, it is likely that it will have a wind farm as a neighbour. However, at least for the moment, there are unhindered views of the skyscape.

Rays from the winter sun, pushing through the clouds

Food, Glorious Food

2012-01-15T20:40:00.001Z

I was interested to read on the BBC website about a custom, Hen Galan, practised in a part of south west Wales, where the inhabitants of the Gwaun Valley still use the Julian calendar to set their New Year. This had a bit of resonance for the occupants of Tense Towers, as over the festive period, we were not able to visit relatives in the north east of England, so found ourselves delivering Christmas presents this weekend.

Any excuse for a road trip with our newly-acquired second-hand vehicle.

And what a few days of food and feasting it was, with friends, family and feathered fauna all full, fit to burst. First stop was my parents' house in the Gaunless valley, where all manner of birds were visiting the garden feeders.

Periparus ater

Several Coal Tits, Periparus ater, were relishing the peanuts and a coconut shell filled with fat, whilst, on a nearby tree, we were pleasantly surprised to spot a Treecreeper, Certhia familiaris, diligently searching the nooks and crannies in the bark for tasty morsels.

Then over to Teesside to my brother's place, where I was amazed to see a Bullfinch in the middle of a housing estate.

That evening, as many of our respective families as could make it, gathered in an Italian restaurant in Yarm (that's Y-a-r-m, California Katie), for a proliferation of pasta, Parma and pizza.

This morning, before our return south, we briefly visited the coast at Coatham Sands. It was minus 4 degrees Celsius, with the fine grains and many shells covered in an icy rime. A flock of Oystercatchers and Turnstones were busy feeding near the water's edge and a very cold-looking Seal made a half-hearted attempt to haul itself onto the beach. A few Eider ducks were bobbing about beyond the surf and a lone Redshank flew past.

Mussel shell with frost

There was still time to fit in one more meal, as Our Lass and I met up with First and Second Born and their respective partners, for Sunday lunch in a village pub nestled close to the hills of the North York Moors National Park.

It is quite possible that none of us will eat for a week.

Disco no more

2012-01-09T21:25:00.000Z

I'm probably on very thin ice here. As a guy brought up on prog rock, it's not really my place to comment on disco or any other musical genre, especially anything less than 20 minutes long. Whilst not as divisive as spouting forth on competitive religion or worship of a sports team, musical taste is a topic that can arouse huge passion. That said, a sift through my vinyl singles from the 70s would certainly unearth the odd dance floor number amongst all the dinosaurs of rock. So you see, I have been known to have a bit of a boogie to Lipps Inc's Funkytown or to occasionally whip out a 7 incher and allow Donna Summer to feel the love.

Source: www.xtimeline.com

Let me put the brakes on and arrest the descent right there, this isn't about disco as in mirrorballs, strobe lights and a funky beat. Nuh-uh, we're talking 4 wheel drive, all terrain tyres and Land Rover. That Discovery.

Land Rover, as a marque, has been a small, but significant, part of my life to date. As a young Tenselet, I recall the arduous half mile walk to school in the village, up a very steep hill. If I was lucky, one of the farming family from lower down in the river valley would be passing in a Land Rover and offer me a lift. In those days, Landies were all of a sort, plastered with mud or worse, littered with straw and baler twine and with a backing track of sheep and dog.

After declining a university place (I never said I was sensible), I joined the Army, not because the Queen had more Land Rovers than anyone else, but an even worse reason than that. In truth, there were a lot of Solihull's finest in the British Army. I drove Series 2s, Lightweights, Series 3s of various flavours, then 90s and 110s. On one particular exercise in Denmark, I was delighted to hitch a lift in a 101 Forward Control with its groovy 3.5 litre Rover V8 engine. Towards the end of my brief military career, I developed a taste for navigational rallying and spent many a happy night being thrown around the inside of a Land Rover as I shouted out directions across various bits of the German countryside.

On my return to civilian life and with a young family in tow, the expense of maintaining the equivalent of a small 1940s tractor wasn't something we could afford. However, the firm I worked for did have a long wheelbase 110, which I occasionally borrowed for a weekend.

Towards the end of the 1990s, Our Lass gave in to the relentless pleading and I bought a 90 County station wagon which served us well on family holidays, with the girls sat sideways in the back, on top of all our luggage. As First Born grew up and wished to try her hand at navigational road rallying, this was the vehicle for our inaugural event. The new millennium saw an upgrade to a Series 1 Discovery, which was a little more refined and spacious. Indeed, we never did fill it to maximum capacity, no matter how much we took on holiday. In 2006, I swapped it for my current vehicle, an early Series 2 Discovery, recently featured in these pages and a veteran of several trips to Orkney. Its biggest triumph was the day it ferried Second Born and one of her friends (Dana from Hollister, where are you now?) from Swansea University back to Milton Keynes. With the contents of both of their rooms. My fiendishly-cunning packing ability was put to the test that day.

But this week, the Land Rover dream dies a little, as I'm trading in Taffy the Truck for another 4x4. However, it isn't a British one, it's not even a European one. After much soul-searching, you might even say Seoul-searching, the next Tense Towers vehicle of choice is going to be a Kia. But it will still have a ladder chassis, low ratio four wheel drive and an awful tendency to wallow in the shallowest of corners. So not that much has changed, then!

Farewell, faithful Disco, thank you for all the good times.

The post in which a certain word doesn't appear

2012-01-02T14:35:00.001Z

It seems like I've been gallivanting all over the place during the past week or so. But this morning I decided to spend a bit of quality time at home, staring wistfully into the garden.

In the 2 hours after dawn, we recorded 17 species, all feeding within the environs of Tense Towers (fly bys don't count). I tried to take a few photos of a Reed Bunting, hopping about beneath the sunflower seed dispenser at the base of the feeding stand. However, it was too shady for anything crisp, especially through two windows.

As the sun wearily dragged itself up into the sky, the shadows cast by our neighbour's house gradually receded. Eventually, one of the feeders found itself in the full glare of some golden wintery light and I brought a small arsenal of optics to bear on the fat block hanging from the Hawthorn tree.

It was fun having the time to try different gadgets and settings. I managed a few shots with my phone cam through a telescope, but then a Blackcap, Sylvia atricapilla, appeared and a less fiddly approach was needed. Good old Very Wrong Len was hauled out and plonked on the tripod, windows and doors were opened to improve the view and Tense Towers became much cooler quite quickly!

This male warbler only started visiting the garden during the last few days and seems to appreciate the fat block, as there aren't many insects about at this time of year. He's never still for a second, though, and as I amateurishly blundered about with ISO, F stop and exposure settings, a whole host of blurred images and muttered obscenities were created.

Male Blackcap with a... small blue bird of some sort*

Between the Blackcap's visits, various other birds queued up, or barged in, to enjoy a free meal. Here's a few more of this morning's cast...

Great Spotted Woodpecker, Dendrocopos major

Robin, Erithacus rubecula

Starlings, Sturnus vulgaris

In case you were wondering, yes, that annoying branch did mysteriously disappear half way through the morning [whistles innocently, whilst averting eyes from the general direction of the secateurs].

* Author's note: A few days ago, whilst idly scanning a list of my posts from the last 6 months, I noticed that a few of them had much higher visitor numbers than the rest. A whole 50% more than the next highest. Odd, I thought... what could possibly be the reason? Were the topics related? A short investigation revealed that, yes, the posts in question were connected, being those pertaining to the ID mystery of Poecile palustris and P. montanus. And in which the short word beginning with 't' and ending in 'it' appeared rather frequently. Now it could just be that this identification question is one that does exercise the many great ornithological minds of the globe, but I suspect that the search engines of the world spend an inordinate amount of time looking for that particular grouping of three letters. In my quiet backwater of cyberspace, I had not even considered how peculiarly androcentric the internet can sometimes be. So the other bird in the Blackcap photo is Cyanistes caeruleus, also known as a Blue Cap.

Bund burning by the book

2011-12-31T19:25:00.001Z

You may recall, dear reader, the photo from the Imperfect and Tense HESC page. No? Well, here's a little reminder. It shows a view across the bund, the low bank separating the two halves of the main lake of the nature reserve. The image was taken a year or so ago. On closer inspection, a Fox can be seen wandering along the bund, but the focus of this blog post isn't the fluffy mammal/evil egg thief/member of the canine family (delete as your emotional reaction is applicable), it's about the trees.

View looking north across bund

In fact, there shouldn't be any trees at all, lest they discourage any form of wading bird activity by their very presence or give cover to predators. For the bund should be a shingle bank for waders, an open landscape sitting low in the water, with muddy margins where the birds can feed in safety. A place where they can roost and lay their eggs and raise their broods successfully. So in a small way, this is about the Fox too.

View looking south across bund. Photo courtesy of The Admiral

As you can tell from the photos, the maintenance of this particular habitat was so far behind schedule, it was in danger of meeting itself coming the other way. Willow and Alder had colonised the area, and although the bund is surrounded by water, predators could easily swim to it, safe in the knowledge that their approach to ground nesting birds would be camouflaged to perfection.

The irony of the situation is that after this river valley site was worked for gravel extraction, it became a wildfowl sanctuary in 1970. A twenty year research project was then undertaken by the site owner, Amey Roadstone Construction (ARC) and the Game Conservancy. In 1992, the results of this project were published in 'Wildlife After Gravel' by Nick Giles et al, which became the "go to" book for information on returning gravel quarry sites to a natural environment once more.

'Wildlife After Gravel' explained the annual cycle of reserve management, which included the need to remove Willow and Alder, grazing by sheep or cattle and the manipulation of water levels. The success of this endeavour is summed up in a sentence on page 111,

"The area now holds many more species than did the semi-open improved grassland which existed in the flood plain of the river Great Ouse when extraction began in the 1940s."

I believe that is what we now call "increasing biodiversity".

Here's another quote from the good book, page 51,

"Other features include... a broad bund, kept free of rank vegetation by winter flooding, where shallow pools remain into the breeding season. A good population of nesting waders has built up in these habitats, particularly on the bund, which is deliberately isolated from each shoreline by deep water channels to exclude foxes."

Ah, they must've been heady days.

In the late 1990s, Milton Keynes Council took on a 25 year lease of the site from Hanson Aggregates, to run the reserve as an educational site, Hanson Environmental Study Centre. Permits are available for members of the public who wish to explore the natural history of the reserve.

Recently, I think it would be fair to say that investment in the site has been sadly lacking. Management plans have come and gone, the number of staff has been reduced and habitat maintenance has been either misdirected or absent.

The establishment of a Friends group in 2011, has seen some added impetus to put things right and return the reserve to something of its former self. Volunteer labour doesn't affect Council budget, whilst passionate and knowledgeable permit holders can bring much experience to bear on the habitat problems that abound.

After much lobbying and too many credulity-sapping delays, some action was agreed this Autumn. A team from the British Trust for Conservation Volunteers (BTCV) rebuilt a bridge to the bund to allow access for the necessary habitat management. With this in place, contractors were able to move in and fell all the tree and shrub growth, instantly creating a much more open vista.

However, the problem of what to do with the felled material remained. Leaving it in situ was not an option, as given half a chance, Willow will regrow from the smallest of branches. Worse still, if any of this material floated away as water levels rose during the Winter months, further vegetative colonisation of the lake would occur. Manhandling all the brash and logs back to the mainland was not an option, so it would have to be dealt with on site. The BTCV carried out a controlled burn with some small success, but due to limited numbers and time, a large proportion of the felled vegetation still required attention.

This week, the Friends group and the local RSPB Phoenix group, (a youth club for nature loving, environmentally aware teenagers), stepped into the breech to add much needed impetus to the task. After two days of aching muscles, singed eyebrows and smoke-laden clothes, the work is almost complete, the bulk of the Willow and Alder being suitably combusted. A discussion will ensue as regards what action, if any, to take with the heaps of ash that have been generated, but the Winter weather may soon raise water levels before a decision can be reached and a plan put into action.

View looking east along bund - that's better! Photo courtesy of The Admiral

At least for now, the bund is once again an open space that waders can use. It is to be hoped that an annual cycle of maintenance can be put in place and, perhaps, return it to the halcyon days when it was an excellent breeding site for Ringed Plover, Little Ringed Plover, Lapwing, Snipe and Redshank.

This has been a somewhat heavier blogpost than normal, so as a little light relief, here's the Top Five songs for removing felled Willow and Alder from a bund by burning:

Smoke On The Water by Deep Purple
Come On Baby, Light My Fire by The Doors
Fire and Water by Free
Burn Baby Burn by Ash
Fire by The Crazy World of Arthur Brown

One or two of those may get an airing this evening, in the run up to celebrating the New Year!

Thank you for your company during 2011, dear reader, and I wish you all the best for 2012.

Hot and cold Caldecotte

2011-12-31T09:15:00.001Z

Yesterday (30th December), was a cold, wet, miserable, relentless rain shower of a day. However, it did have some redeeming features to gladden the heart.

Forsaking our normal haunts, The Admiral and I drove across town to Caldecotte Lake, where reports of some excellent over-Wintering wildfowl species appear regularly at the eponymously titled blog by Keith. In fact, who should we bump into as soon as we stepped out of the car? The great man himself! Keith was helpfulness personified and gave us an up-to-the-minute report of what was about and where it could be found. His enthusiasm for wildlife and his knowledge of the Lake seem to radiate out in every direction and illuminate all who meet him.

Walking anti-clockwise around the southern part of the lake, we first encountered 3 Goosander, Mergus merganser, (a male and 2 females) by the boating platforms. Sadly, we were unable to photograph these birds with any success because every time they approached the shore, they would be scared away again by folk walking their dogs.

At the southern tip of the lake, we spotted a few Siskin, Carduelis spinus, and a Tree-creeper, Certhia familiaris, before the rain set in for a prolonged period. By the time we reached the opposite side of the lake from our starting point, we were the wrong side of damp and in need of a tonic to lift our spirits. This arrived in the form of a smart male Smew, Mergus albellus, which, although too far out in the centre of the lake for great photos, generated sufficient warmth and excitement to evaporate the rain from a drenched birder or two.

With our optics suffering from the weather, we now had the choice of returning to the car the way we had come, or continuing around the lake. We opted for the latter, as it meant we could pop into a local hostelry for a warm drink en route. This turned out to be a more excellent choice than we imagined.

On leaving the pub (it was a coffee and a hot chocolate, ok), it was still persistently precipitating. However, we immediately spotted a large bird, fairly close to the shore on the northern half of the lake. Having just dried off and packed away our bins and cameras, there then followed a short hiatus whilst these were hurriedly extricated again! Our lenses were brought to bear on another temporary resident of the area, an immature Great Northern Diver, Gavia immer. As we watched, it drifted closer still, so despite the poor light and the rain, we were able to have a fantastic view of this Winter visitor, preening, stretching and diving.

After about 10 minutes, it decided that the show was over, and swam further out into the lake. As we walked back below the pub, a Kingfisher, Alcedo atthis, flashed passed in a blur of azure lightning, to further raise our happiness quotient.

Then, squelching back to the car, we spotted a small flock of Reed Bunting, Emberiza schoeniclus, and a pair of Bullfinches, Pyrrhula pyrrhula, to complete an excellent morning's birding.

Thanks, Keith, your blog site is fantastic, be it the virtual or the actual one!

Wallet and grimace

2011-12-29T23:35:00.002Z

My one, totally free, no commitments, do-anything-you-want-to-do day of the festive period was shared with The Admiral and JD, on a jaunt to the north Norfolk coast.

Our breakfast stop produced an anxious moment for JD, as his wallet was missing (not THAT old story!). A quick phone call back to Our Lass at Tense Towers, confirmed that it was comparatively safe, as long as she didn't embark on some opportunistic retail therapy.

After watching a gorgeous sun rise during the journey, we arrived at RSPB Snettisham just as it started to rain. I kept my camera in its bag to keep it dry, which was rather unfortunate, as the first water body we encountered contained a pristine, breeding-plumaged male Red-breasted Merganser, Mergus serrator.

By the time we climbed up onto the sea wall, to look out across The Wash and into the teeth of a gusting wind, we were cold and damp. High tide had peaked about an hour before our arrival, so our eyes beheld an ever-increasing landscape of mud. This was filled with an abundance of waders (USA - shorebirds) and ducks, though none were particularly close. The buffeting wind made binocular use a very haphazard pastime, so I sheepishly relied on the running commentary from JD and The Admiral as to the identity of the assembled birdage.

For a bit of respite from the weather, we decamped to a hide behind the sea wall, which looked across a series of freshwater ponds. Here we watched several male Goldeneye, Bucephala clangula, displaying to impress the girls and ward off the competition.

This head flinging action is accompanied by an excellent comedy duck noise!

Back out on the sea wall, during a sunny spell, an unseen raptor spooked the flocks of waders into taking to the air. Though I was using Very Wrong Len and could not capture the fluid nature of the aerial flocks, the image below conveys something of the numbers involved.

Golden Plover, Lapwing and Grey Plover, to name but a few

On the mud flats, a few braver birds were even within range of my ID skills. Here's a Grey Plover, Pluvialis squatarola, (USA - Black-bellied Plover).

Returning to the car, we then proceeded to take the scenic route to RSPB Titchwell Marsh. By the time we parked there, we were very hungry, but JD had matters under control. The Admiral and I were handed container after container of fillings for our wraps: grated cheese, home made salsa, rocket salad, chopped green peppers, chopped onions, home made houmous. And very tasty it was, too.

As we walked across the marshes (fresh, brackish, salt water), the light was pretty good, though the strong wind was chillier than ever. A Little Egret, Egretta garzetta was fishing close by the pathway, which allowed us an opportunity for a photo or two.

Down on the beach, at the water's edge, a veritable throng of waders and gulls were making the most of the last hour of daylight. Curlew, Bar-tailed Godwit, Redshank, Oystercatcher, Turnstone, Dunlin and Sanderling were all feeding together, in a thin band of feathered foraging that stretched as far as the eye could see.

Bar-tailed Godwit, Limosa lapponica

On the return journey, the sky was clear, affording good views of Venus and Jupiter, as well as an unexpected pass by the International Space Station.

Christmas, snow and bunting

2011-12-29T22:01:00.001Z

For our Christmas Day fresh air, we ventured to Tring reservoirs as none of the team were keen on a muddy walk. Alongside the Grand Union canal and around several water bodies of the reservoir complex, there are firm paths offering risk-free ambling (provided that you don't fall in, obviously).

As it was a blustery day and the light, under a sullen sky, was far from optimal, I didn't take my camera. This virtually guaranteed a photo opportunity and, sure enough, not five minutes into the walk, one presented itself.

Traversing the dam head of Startops reservoir, we paused by a pair of birders who were armed to the eyeballs with optics. Just below them, where the reduced water level had left a broad margin of stony shore, was a small bird, foraging amongst the rocks and pebbles.

As Christmas gifts go, this was a beauty. My very first Snow Bunting, Plectrophenax nivalis.

Unbelievably, The Admiral was travelling light too, though he did have the presence of mind to bring a small camera. The image below is courtesy of his good self.

Early morning Eve

2011-12-24T16:57:00.001Z

And so the festive break begins.

The Admiral and I had to postpone a visit to Hanson Environmental Study Centre yesterday afternoon, due to a plumbing emergency, so we thought we'd make up for it this morning.

We arrived on site before sunrise, spooking a Buzzard from a fence post on the entrance road. Down in the river valley, a few frost pockets educated me as to why I felt so cold. Walking up the main track, we spotted a fresh paw print in some mud, a wide print with 5 toes. Badger!

We headed for the Far Hide and watched the sunrise in the company of dozens of Mute Swans, loads of Wigeon, Tufted Duck, Gadwall, Shoveler, Mallard and about 60 Lapwing. Yes, it was a crowded hide this morning!

As we made our way back through the reserve, we stopped on a boardwalk to look at the work carried out by the local RSPB Phoenix group. They had been busy removing trees from the edges of various ponds, opening up the vistas and reducing the likelihood of vegetative succession. A sudden movement close by our sides turned out to be a Robin, brazenly sat on a fence rail alongside us. It was a shame that we had not brought any bird food, as it can only have been hunger that made it so brave.

From the Near Hide, we watched as a flock of 20 Golden Plover made repeated passes over the bund, their mournful 'pew' calls reaching our ears across the water. The sun reflected beautifully from their burnished backs, a sight to warm our hearts on a cold morning. The Admiral mused that the recent work to remove scrub from the bund appeared to be paying dividends, as the more open aspect was now proving of interest to passing waders.

On leaving the hide, a Muntjac Deer was browsing along the edge of one of the cleared ponds. The Robin appeared again and I wondered if someone has been feeding it, as it did seem amazingly tame. We made a mental note to bring mealworms on our next visit.

Merry Christmas, dear reader, and best wishes from all the Tense Towers Team.

Guess what landed on the doorstep today

2011-12-22T20:22:00.001Z

Whilst I wouldn't wish to tempt fate, this year our pre-Christmas build up has been fairly straight forward for a change.

Neither my bank nor credit card company have seen fit to withdraw their facilities on the merest whim of perceived fraudulent activity.

Have I spoken too soon?

I received an email at work today informing me that a parcel had arrived at our home address. Second Born was most perplexed. It was large and flat and coarse.

It could've been the result of a spectacular mix up at the computer ancillaries factory.

Let's face it, it's a busy time of year and the workforce was probably stressed to the max, attempting to fulfil orders before the festive season.

A small error of judgement could easily have been made when selecting the linear units for the product.

It's possible that an accidental slip of the cursor may have occurred when selecting "material type" from the drop down menu.

But no, this isn't a large, hairy mousemat.

It's the new doormat for...

What else would you do on a lazy Sunday morning?

2011-12-18T13:25:00.001Z

The thing I like about this time of year, is that you can lay in bed until nearly 8.30 and still say that you were out of bed just after dawn.

There was a heavy frost overnight, which meant that our wildlife camera had a layer of ice on it this morning. I'd set it to monitor the base of the bird feeder, in case there were any mice or voles about during the hours of darkness, but no luck, I'm afraid.

We decided to have a walk before breakfast, a rare treat these days, so we set off around Linford Manor Park, accompanied by the sounds of peeling church bells and a Mistle Thrush. There were a few flurries of snow, but little in the way of a breeze, so it did not feel bitingly cold.

Through the village, the hedges along the path were laden with Ivy berries, some of which were just starting to ripen. In cultivated areas, the yellow flowers of Mahonia bushes and the delicately-scented pale blooms of Winter-flowering Honeysuckle were bringing some cheer to the dormant plots.

As we made our way back to the Grand Union canal for the last leg of the journey, we discovered where all the bird life had got to. Walking along the towpath, we spotted a Fieldfare, a Redwing, a Bullfinch and a flock of Long-tailed Tits, all feeding on the trees lining the opposite bank of the canal. At Linford Wharf, there was a pair of Pied Wagtails, pottering about on the ice of the frozen turning basin.

Crunching through the frosty gravel, we returned home to find a pair of Jackdaws on the roof of Tense Towers. They were busy dislodging lumps of moss from the tiles, as they searched for food. It's difficult to begrudge them this task, but it does take me ages to pick it all up from where it falls, on the garden path and the roof of Our Lass's car. Still, we can truthfully add them to our list of garden birds using the environs of Tense Towers this Winter.

Windows upgrade

2011-12-16T13:07:00.000Z

The first appreciable fall of snow for the Winter arrived this morning. It must've begun a little after 4am and left a light dusting whilst the thermometer was still below freezing. With the dawn, came a slight rise in temperature, so that the flakes became huge and soggy, resulting in an atmosphere of miserable dampness which is so much worse than any minus number in the dry.

In hindsight, not the greatest day to have most of the doors and windows ripped out of Tense Towers and replaced with improved double glazing. But, yes, one of the workmen was in a t-shirt.

The cold began to permeate through the house, as portal after portal was confined to the recycling pile, and I did my level best to keep the 4 man team fuelled with mugs of hot tea.

Second Born hurriedly left for the weekend, to visit old friends from her university days, and it only occurred to me as I write this, that the locks will be changed for her return. Mwah hah hah!

For peace and quiet, not to mention heat, Our Lass decamped to a nearby coffee shop, until she felt that sitting there for so long with one cup of latte was a bit embarrassing. She then went to another coffee shop to repeat the procedure. I did contemplate phoning all the beverage retail outlets in the area and warning them about a serial single slurper on the loose.

Around lunchtime, the weak Winter sun filtered through the clouds and I took refuge in the shed cum conservatory at the rear of the house. Here, tucked in between the clothes airer and the yet-to-be-decorated Christmas tree, I sat, typing furiously to keep warm. Meanwhile, outside, the birds went about their normal daily routine, happily ignoring the sounds of power tools, sawing and hammering, as they crowded around the seed feeders and fat block. As long as they're kept fuelled too, they don't seem to mind all the hullabaloo.

Ah well, time to put the kettle on again...

Like I needed another reason to hate Mondays

2011-12-12T19:29:00.001Z

On our commute to work, Second Born and I see the occasional wildlife victim of roadkill. The commonest squished remains are Pheasants from land managed for shooting or the overspill of birds from these areas. Whilst traffic at a maximum of 60mph is likely slower and more visible than shotgun pellets, the Pheasants don't seem to learn from their many close shaves. Perhaps it's all a game to them?

Suicidal Rabbits, too, seem magnetically-drawn to pick a fight with tyres, but Muntjac deer and Badger are much rarer, presumably reflecting their lesser numbers in the countryside, rather than any greater understanding of the Highway Code.

Today, however, we noted not one, but two, dead Foxes, laid forlornly in the carriageway, several miles apart. I assumed that this was either as a result of dispersal of cubs from an adult's territory, or just an unfortunate coincidence whilst out foraging for food.

Information from The Fox Website suggests that in rural areas, where lethal control is applied, 80% of the population is under one year old. And, yes, where there are managed pheasant shoots, you would expect an amount of lethal control. I can't condone it, but I acknowledge that it happens for economic reasons. Oh, and some folk just like to kill stuff for fun, which is harder to reconcile on any level.

Post post post

2011-12-11T15:49:00.001Z

I think it's about time that I posted an update on those tits down at Hanson Environmental Study Centre. You will recall that the jury was out as to whether there was a Willow Tit present on site, together with several Marsh Tits.

Here's a reminder of the problem...

Marsh? Willow? Does anyone still care?

Since my original post, there have not been any positive sightings of a Willow Tit, despite much interest from the local birder population and the handy photos and descriptions posted in the Woodland Hide.

The consensus now seems to dither between it being either a hybrid bird (Mallow? Wirsh?) or it was always just a slightly differently-marked Marsh Tit.

What did become apparent however, was the lengths that some birders would go to, to photograph their quarry. Like pinching the bird table from the Centre and setting it up in front of the Woodland Hide. Or putting out vast amounts of bird food in an effort to attract any passing flying creature (and I do mean any flying creature, some of the heaps of seed would've been visible from Space). The upshot of all this malarkey was that as much upset was being caused by the so-called birding fraternity as had been created by the recent vandals.

In an effort to defuse an already tense situation between staff and users, the Friends group decided to add a second feeding post in front of the Woodland Hide, as the current one will eventually keel over. And so, this morning, half a dozen hardy souls braved the weather to tackle a bit of habitat management and some elementary woodwork.

Firstly, the Alder trees which obscured the view of the glade were felled above head height and then ring-barked to create some standing dead wood. The resulting wood was used to make two new feeding posts and two new log piles. Then, the scrub at the water's edge was thinned and topped. Lastly, a bird table was fashioned from some planking left over from a previous task.

Neil had a busy time, nailing Tony and Graeme's hands to a post

L to R, old post, new log pile, new bird table

Once all the chopping, sawing and hammering had ceased, Pauline primed the new bird table with a light dusting of seed and we retired inside the hide to watch and wait, to see which species would christen the post.

We should've had a sweepstake on which bird would be the first visitor, as the conversation revolved around this very topic:

Great Tit 2/1

Blue Tit 3/1

Robin 5/1

Marsh Tit 10/1

Willow Tit 100/1

Great White Egret 1000/1

In the end, after about 5 minutes and a few exploratory swoops, a Blue Tit was brave enough (or hungry enough!) to snatch the inaugural seed from the result of our morning's labours. After that, it didn't take long for the rest of the cast to join in (with the obvious exceptions of the Willow Tit and Great White Egret), so we decided that if they were happy with it, then we could sneak quietly away, confident in a job well done.

The above habitat shots were courtesy of The Admiral and Martin (I think).

Attack of the mechanised symbionts?

2011-12-04T13:26:00.001Z

There's not been much happening on the wildlife-watching front this weekend, as household chores took precedence and the upcoming festivities loom ever closer. But that doesn't mean I'm not thinking about Nature.

Perhaps it's an age thing, but as one grows older, is less active and possessed of duller senses, the sections of the biota that reflect these characteristics increase in attraction. I am thinking of the stuff that can't run or fly or swim away, which then becomes more apparent. At least when they come into focus. Trees, for instance, which are often so permanent in our landscape that we fail to notice them until they're gone, attacked by disease or the sharp edge of some implement. And then there's the life that grows on trees, and elsewhere, like mosses and lichens.

I well recall some of the lichens that we have found thriving in harsh environments, perhaps hanging from the branches of a stunted, wind-lashed oak tree on a Welsh hillside...

or clinging to a dry stone wall at the top of a storm beach in the Northern Isles...

These slow-growing lifeforms have been able to attain a size relative to their age, in no small part due to their undisturbed habitat and the unpolluted atmosphere in which they live.

I am not an expert on lichens, only being vaguely aware that they are symbiotic organisms, consisting of fungal bodies inhabited by photosynthesising algae. To be honest, I haven't even tried to identify the few species that I've photographed, especially since there's reputed to be in excess of 2000 species in the British Isles alone. For more official and knowledgeable information, please visit the British Lichen Society website.

Lichens can be excellent indicators of the state of the environment, certain species only thriving in sites free from air pollution. Many have evolved to inhabit small ecological niches, and coupled with poor colonising ability, this can be a good indication of the age of a habitat or its length of appropriate management.

All this comes as a shock to me, as the bit of lichen with which I'm most familiar is not found in the Elan Valley in Wales, nor at Bridesness on North Ronaldsay, but more weirdly on the back of my truck. It is one of the few ecologically-redeeming features of my diesel-burning 4x4 that the spare wheel cover is home to its own micro-habitat. This despite sitting in the prime spot for exposure to exhaust fumes, road spray, windscreen washing fluid and the occasional high pressure hosing at the local carwash.

Tucked away on the very top of the cover, somehow clinging to the stitching of the fabric, is a small colony of... something.

That life can exist in such an artificial, unhelpful and polluted place, does inspire hope for the future of the planet.

A twitch with a twist

2011-11-27T18:29:00.001Z

The definition of 'twitching', according to Wikipedia, is

a British term used to mean "the pursuit of a previously-located rare bird."

Long suffering readers will recall that I generally frown on this sort of behaviour and try to stay faithful to my local area or patch.The phrase has also expanded in usage to cover other wildlife species, rather than solely birds. Accidental twitches, where I've inadvertently turned up at a site hosting a rare bird, do not count!

Today, however, I found myself in a cleft stick...

13.30: A text from The Admiral arrived on my mobile phone. "It's on the bench!"

13.35: I phone back...

Me: "Is it still there?

Admiral: "Yes, I'm watching it now."

Me: "On my way!"

Now whatever could've caused good old Tense to be in such a flap? Well, as is often the case, truth is stranger than fiction.

As I grabbed my camera, jumped into our truck and scampered the half a mile to the local nature reserve, I contemplated the incongruity of the situation.

13.45: Here I was, driving a short distance to try and spot a particular animal. It was a species that is abundant in this area, and in much of the UK come to that. I have seen it on innumerable occasions, including at Tense Towers, and they have even bred in our garden.

So not your classic twitch for a mega-rare species, then. So why the urgency and excitement?

13.50: I arrived in the car park at Hanson Environmental Study Centre and was greeted by a big grin from Ted, one of the regular birders. He knew what this meant to me! For what had been found was not so much a rare species, as an anachronistic one. There, basking on a bench in the weak Autumnal sunshine, was a Common Darter dragonfly. On the 27th of November. Now, ok, it's been a mild Autumn, but this is still newsworthy. On a personal level, in previous years, I had not recorded any Odonata any later than the 6th. Hence my excitement. On a Buckinghamshire County level, as the County Recorder informed me later, the record for latest flying dragon had stood at the 25th of November. Hence The Admiral's frisson on the phone.

On a national level, we're nowhere near the record, but hey, we're patchers not twitchers, remember.

The Common Darter in question was a reasonably pristine male specimen, without any of the signs of damaged wings that might be expected in an individual at the back end of the flight season. Given enough warmth from the sun and a steady food supply, he could technically make it to Christmas, but usually a hard frost is all it will take to finish him off. He had already survived one icy morning this week, so who knows, it's possible that he may hang in there until December at least.

He certainly made my day.

The Strange Case of the Tit in the Daytime

2011-11-21T19:24:00.001Z

Regular sufferers of Imperfect and Tense are probably due a bit of serious nature news. Think of it as time off for good behaviour. Yours, not mine.

At Hanson Environmental Study Centre (HESC), there's recently been a bit of a kerfuffle over bird ID, in particular regarding the separation of the similarly-sized Marsh and Willow Tit. These two species are very alike and, in the absence of a qualified bird ringer and all their mist netting paraphernalia, are best identified by call.

Reading Birds Britannica by Mark Cocker and Richard Mabey, I was amazed to discover that the Willow Tit was not recognised as a separate British species until 1900. This followed some clever detective work by two German ornithologists in 1897, who discovered a couple of mis-identified Marsh Tit skins in a tray at the British Museum. What a day that must have been.

The Willow Tit, Parus montanus, has grey-brown plumage above and off white plumage below. It has a black cap, a black bib and white panels on the sides of the head. Just like a Marsh Tit, Parus palustris. To be fair, it's reckoned that if you had a specimen of each side by side, the Willow would have a more pronounced bull neck, making it like a 'stretched limo' version of the Marsh.

For the last century, it has been thought that the most obvious difference, and I use the word 'obvious' advisedly, is the presence on the Willow of a pale panel on the secondaries of the folded wing. But as Willows can lose this in summer through abrasion and a newly-moulted Marsh could have a suggestion of a pale panel, it's not a definitive distinction. In the Willow, the dark crown is supposed to be dull, whereas in the Marsh, it is glossy. However with changing light conditions, that's never going to be an easy call. My thanks to the Collins Bird Guide (Britain and Europe) for those few facts.

Should anyone care about this, apart from the hordes of pedantic, obsessive birders who fret over stuff like this all the time? Well, both birds are on the British Red Data List and the reasons for their decline are not fully understood. Without that understanding, it is difficult to know which habitat management techniques to deploy to prevent further loss of numbers and the real threat of extinction of these species within these shores.

And so to their calls. Until relatively recently, this was the best diagnostic tool available to split the two species. The Marsh Tit has a distinctive 'pitchoo' call (scroll down here, click and listen), whilst the Willow Tit has a 'zi-zi taah taah taah' call (scroll down here, click and listen).

Easy, eh? But what happens if neither of them are calling? In the last few years, it has been realised that the Marsh Tit has a small white patch at the base of its bill. This is absent in the Willow Tit. The only trouble is, neither species is very good at sitting still and carefully angling its head so that you can have a jolly good look.

Have I mentioned that of the two, Willow Tit is more likely to be found near water? Or that Marsh Tit inhabits broad-leaved woods. Honestly, it's enough to make Miss Marple throw in the towel and take up pole dancing.

On Saturday, whilst the light was great, The Admiral and I ventured down to HESC and found ourselves in the Woodland Hide in the company of The Singer (**new character alert**). We all sat, watching three black-capped tits visiting the feeders and tried to figure out whether we had three Marsh, or two Marsh and a Willow. I hadn't taken along my camera, which was a shame because, as I said, the light was great. None of the birds were calling, but one did seem to have a larger head.

On Sunday afternoon, The Admiral and I returned, camera'd to the eyeballs, to be greeted by swirling fog and two black-capped tits, either two Marsh or one of each. I did manage to capture one image of a Marsh, but as the light was poor, it was nothing to write home about. A bird, sounding not unlike a Willow Tit, was calling, but whether it was one of the two birds we were looking at was another matter.

Definitely, absolutely, positively a Marsh Tit, I think!

Today I discovered that help was at hand in the shape of LGR Evans, self professed birding expert of the UK and presumed permit holder of HESC. A recent blogpost of his at Buckinghamshire Birding contains further insights into this particular avian conundrum.

I am left with the odd feeling that on Saturday we saw but did not hear a Willow Tit, whilst on Sunday we heard but did not see a Willow Tit. Everything else was Marsh.

To be continued...

It is unusual

2011-11-20T19:36:00.001Z

... if I may misquote Tom Jones.

I'm not just talking about the mild Autumn that Nature is taking to her heart and weaving into some second Spring love.

Here, in the garden at Tense Towers, amongst all the fallen leaves, withered stems and dying vegetation, there are a few subtle signs of this resurgent life. However fleeting this moment, whatever the Winter has in store, it is another reminder of the topsy turvy year we've had.

After the freezing weather at the beginning of 2011, there was an incredibly warm and dry Spring. This was followed by the dampest of damp squib Summers, as cool as a Welsh singing legend and, dare I say it, as wet as one of his knicker-throwing fans. So perhaps the mild Autumn should not have come as such a surprise. It's been a bonkers year for weather.

Our Hawthorn tree shed the last of its leaves several weeks ago, which is as it should be. Whilst sat enjoying our lunch yesterday, Our Lass commented that there appeared to be some new growth at the end of a twig.

Flower buds on the May in mid November? Each little stamen/anther package, a sex bomb.

Though the flower borders are not looking their best at the moment, there is a splash of colour from a plant that I've always known as Orange Hawkweed. Certainly, when I was a mere Tenselet all those years ago, this flower was frequently to be found on railway embankments in the North East of England.

Some 21st Century research revealed that it is in fact Fox-and-cubs, Pilosella aurantiaca, that should've finished flowering in September. It may be an introduced species from continental Europe, but there's something 'bout you baby I like.

Meanwhile, in the centre of our scraggy lawn, there's this...

Whether it's a fungus or a mould, I don't know? However, I do suspect that it has developed from the remains of an apple thrown out for the birds. All together now... "the grey, green grass of home."

WWT and FCA

2011-11-13T16:40:00.001Z

I know, I know. If there's one thing you can't stand it's a TLA*.

Working hard on her latest course, Our Lass has had very little time to relax of late, so one day of this weekend was set aside for some much-needed R 'n' R.

On Saturday morning, we made the trip over to Welney to visit the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust reserve, have some fresh air and soak up the wildlife. In the evening, we met up with Second Born and JD to attend a gig at the Corn Exchange in Cambridge.

This Autumn, water levels on the WWT reserve have not yet risen sufficiently to flood the meadows, but there were still plenty of birds present. From the Friends Hide, we were able to see a few Egyptian Geese and a pair of Marsh Harriers, the latter sending flocks of waders and ducks skywards in alarm. Whilst in the Lyle Hide, the Admiral spotted a Weasel that was exploring the edge of one of the ditches. This furry bundle of hyperactivity did not stay still for a single second, so my attempted photographs were of a rather blurry nature.

Though the day was fairly overcast, the temperature was mild for November, so we were fortunate to encounter half a dozen Common Darter dragonflies during the day, at what must surely be the tail end of their season.

In the late afternoon, as it grew dark, a flock of Pied Wagtails gathered on the roof of the Visitors' Centre, before descending into a reed bed to roost for the night. We took this as our cue to leave and head towards the bright lights of the city for the evening's entertainment.

It is 35 years since the release of the album 'Frampton Comes Alive' and to mark the occasion, Peter Frampton is touring 'FCA35' and performing the whole album as the first half of his set. I must admit that, back in 1976, I was mainly listening to synthesisers and keyboards, so my interest in this guitar virtuoso only registered a few years ago when Planet Rock played the live version of the track "Do you feel like we do?" All 14 minutes and 15 seconds of it. Therefore, when the chance arose to experience it first hand (or rather, ear), it didn't take too long for JD to persuade me. Despite not knowing much of the second half of the set, we thoroughly enjoyed the night, such was the calibre of the musicianship. The warmth and affection that was apparent between band and audience certainly made it an evening to remember.

* TLA = three letter acronym

Night games

2011-11-07T22:06:00.000Z

You may be thinking "Early 80s rock track that made it into the UK Top Ten?" or even "Dubious reporting of salacious goings on at Tense Towers?" It's a tough call.

If I said that there's a camera involved, does that help?

Or that names have been changed to protect identities?

OK, last clue, the words "winkle", "bush" and "pussy" will appear in the following text.

You have been warned.

Last month, Our Lass bought me a trail camera, one of those Bushnell models that often appear on tv wildlife programmes. Now, although Tense Towers isn't big enough to possess a trail, I thought it would be interesting to see what was about in the environs after dark. To be honest, in a land where all large predators have systematically been obliterated, the answers are going to be pretty few. Still, hope springs eternal.

My first foray with the device was on a particular wild and windy night (no smirking at the back!) when the movement of the garden vegetation managed to trigger the camera to fill a 1GB card in the 3 hours before the watershed (US = safe harbor). Doh!

The next attempt was a calmer night, in a more sheltered spot and with the sensitivity reduced, resulting in only about 10 frames... mostly empty. Double Doh!

Picking suitable weather and returning to the first location produced some blurry shots of next door's cat, but little else.

Next door's pussy (not full frontal)

The more observant amongst you will have realised that it took me a while to figure out how to set the date/time stamp.

Finally, persistence eventually paid off and I managed to capture a few shots of...

Mrs Tiggywinkle (not her real name)

It's a good job that you lot don't have filthy minds.

Wildlife and punctuation

2011-11-03T21:30:00.000Z

Relax, folks, this isn't going to be a punfest involving a certain species of orange butterfly or an investigation into the lower intestine of any particular creature. It's more of a eulogy to a departed soul who I didn't even know before their death, but who is now often in my thoughts.

But first, a little background.

Regular visitors to this blog will appreciate that I'm a bit of a pedant when it comes to the written word. Things have to be just so or it's the end of civilisation as we know it. Unfortunately, this doesn't make me immune to the odd grammatical slip or error of my own. In fact, only today, after commenting on a post, I noticed that a typo had crept into my supposedly carefully-crafted words. Aaaaarggghhhh! Happily, there were enough people on hand to physically restrain me until the pedantic fit had subsided and, would you believe it, the world hadn't ended. And anyway, re-posting the correct version would have detracted from the sentiment I had been attempting to convey. Stay calm, Tense, stay calm.

Having grown up in a rural setting in the North East of England and, many years later, found myself working in a village surrounded by fields and farms, I am reasonably familiar with thunder flies, those tiny insects that seem to be everywhere at harvest time. Apart from some minor inconvenience when having my concentration temporarily broken, I have never been too bothered about their existence one way or the other. I guess that, on some level, I understood that they were part of the food web, but my thoughts did not run much deeper than that. And I certainly didn't consider their potential as proof reading time bombs.

It's only now, whilst researching for this post, that I discover that they are thrips from the Order Thysanoptera, who have two pairs of feather-like wings. Certain species are pests of economically important crops, especially cereals, which is probably why I have always referred to them as harvest flies, since they swarm in their thousands when the grain ripens.

Inevitably, for such a tiny insect, it can crawl into the smallest of gaps, and so, like many people, I have one stuck in my pc monitor. An ex thrips, (yep, the singular is 'thrips' too, something else I didn't know!) it has been there for over a year. Ages ago, when I first noticed it, it was very much alive, wandering about documents and emails like some randomly mobile comma or dash, depending on whichever direction it was intent upon heading. However, it was not long before the wandering stopped and its sad little body has remained marooned, left justified, two thirds of the way down a page, ever since. I hoped that its end wasn't hastened by having to read my interminable techno-babble, or that it wasn't given a nasty shock on meeting a forest of exclamation marks, but I do feel a twinge of guilt every day, on firing up my computer.

When proof reading documents, I have to remember where it is, lest I become confused by a sudden reference to 'attached' with an accent over the 'e', or on finding an unexpected apost'rophe in a word. More often than not, though, it's located in the wide open spaces between paragraphs, free but not free, hidden but on display.

I was going to take a photograph and upload it to Blogger, but to be honest, would you even know the difference if I just did this... ?

Rest in P's, little insect.

A personal wildlife calendar

2011-10-30T21:40:00.001Z

If you're ever stuck for an idea to kick start a post, it's amazing how inspirational one's fellow bloggers can be. You've got Katie at Nature ID to thank for the seed corn of today's offering. I can only hope that my small corner of the blogosphere is half as good at germinating the tiny shoots of a thought and nurturing it towards maturity.

A couple of months ago, our good friend JD went on holiday to California, principally to go whale-watching with a bunch of like-minded cetacean folk, but also to soak up the general wildlife flavour of the area. I am smiling as I write this, remembering his excited description of finding a rattlesnake in the road as their car rounded a bend. Not long after his return to England, one of his American acquaintances mentioned a trip to the UK, and as one of the planned destinations for the trip was Orkney, I was asked for my thoughts on travel, accommodation, wildlife hotspots etc. It was very difficult to narrow down all our favourite places in the archipelago to a Top Ten, it felt a bit disloyal to some of the spiffing archaeology and scenery that I had to leave out, but rules are rules.

Through the Comments section of a recent Nature ID post, a similar question was raised, along the lines of " When is the best time to visit the UK?" Now that shouldn't take long to answer, I mused, thinking that a swift trawl through the Imperfect and Tense back catalogue would provide the necessary information. Well, it's been several days now, and I don't even know where to start. Talk about painting oneself into a corner. I guess the bottom line is that there is not just one answer, it will be different for everyone, so I will have to use a broad brush and produced a generalised, if personal, picture.

The quick answer is "Summer!", so chronologically that's June to August. This guarantees the most daylight during the summer solstice in late June or, theoretically at least, some hot weather in August. But that is likely to be when everybody else is on holiday too.

Autumn is great for all that mellow fruitfulness (September) with hedgerows resplendent in their sweet harvest, whilst the slowly-changing leafy palette of October can be a spectacle all in itself. The light can be gorgeous first thing in the morning or last thing in the evening. November often brings the first hard frosts and huge numbers of winter migrating birds from Iceland, Scandinavia and beyond.

Thinking of Winter, I can only recall that snow is more or less guaranteed in early February (though now I've said that... ). However, the last two winters have been colder than the norm, so it is possible that the frozen fractals could settle at any time. The landscape is softened, sounds are dampened and the crump, crump, crump of footfalls in the snow always gladdens my heart. Especially if there's any chance of a glass of mulled wine.

But regular readers will know that good ol' Tense can only recommend one time to visit the UK. Need a clue? It begins with 'S...' and ends in '... pring'. Just think of all the new life that emerges from the icy remnants of February and gathers pace through March and April. It hits the ground running in May, and by careful application of chasing it north, can last until the end of June. The arrival of summer migrating birds to swell the orchestra of the dawn chorus, the precious meadows where wild flowers can still be found and the fluttering roll call of colourful winged insects [contented sigh].

Certainly in this area of England, the last week of April or the first week in May will be optimum bluebell time (at least, that's what my posts reveal). Again, the beginning of May is when the dawn chorus is at its peak, especially those prima donnas the Nightingales! Through the month, the green hue of the landscape is at its best and I have to send for sedatives if I wander into a beech wood and experience dappled shade. Towards the end of May, the first broods of Great Spotted Woodpeckers are noisily emerging from their nest holes and in the glades and fields, the orchid season is well under way. June sees an increase in the numbers of dragonflies on the wing and the heartache of watching that agile falcon, the Hobby, as it swoops and turns above a lake in the evening light, feeding upon their bounty. I do have a very strong Spring-centric bias, I'm afraid.

Honourable mentions must go to February and March for boxing Hares and dancing Great Crested Grebes. And to November, for huge flocks of Starlings performing amazing aerial displays before roosting for the night.

I am sure that these wonders are not limited to the UK, but as my time abroad has not had a wildlife focus, I cannot say. Best come and check for yourself!

AutumnMunch

2011-10-24T20:57:00.001+01:00

The Admiral and I have been on a boys' weekend in Devon, ostensibly to attend the British Dragonfly Society's Members' Day 2011, this year held at the Dame Hannah Rogers Trust's Seale-Hayne campus, near Newton Abbot.

During our journey south on Friday, we were fortunate to spot an Osprey flying over Dyrham Park, a National Trust property near Bath. The return trip was even more eventful with a visit to the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust reserve at Slimbridge. I've undoubtedly whinged before about this being nothing short of a duck zoo, but it came up trumps on Sunday, with some proper wildlife in the form of a Spoonbill, a Peregrine Falcon and flocks of Black-tailed Godwits and Barnacle Geese. Shame I didn't have Very Wrong Len with me, really. Oh, and three Migrant Hawkers, for good measure.

The staff are also creating an imaginative wildlife garden, of which I was able to capture a few images, before I was enthralled by the siren song of the tea shop.

Excellent use of a redundant shipping container

Ingenious bug houses/wildlife stacks

Fox "unconcerned" by latest report

2011-10-18T15:40:00.000+01:00

The last morning of our stay in Shropshire was a story of ever-changing light. Setting off from the village of Hope Bowdler in cold, damp, overcast conditions, we drove the mile or so down into Church Stretton, where patches of blue sky were evident. By the time we were negotiating the steep hill up onto the Long Mynd, the car was bathed in bright sunshine.

As the single track road wound its way steadily higher, Our Lass suddenly stopped the car and pointed to my left. There, a few metres away, was a fox, busy hunting prey in the grass and heather. It wasn't too sure whether we were a threat or not, and would start to slink away but then return to whatever it had found.

As my camera was in the boot and our car was blocking the road, we continued on over a slight rise and found a parking spot. Now out of sight of the fox, we decamped, grabbed optics and I made my way cautiously along a sheep track back in the direction we had come.

Fortunately, the sun was now behind me, but not such good news, so was the breeze. Once in roughly the right area, I risked a peek over the ground where we had seen the fox. Sure enough, it was still there, rummaging through the vegetation in search of a meal. As it turned out, it wasn't important whether I was in lupine eye or nose range, when my camera shutter fired, my cover was blown. I managed two images before the fox, now alert to my presence, lazily wandered off, between some equally unconcerned sheep.

The country air obviously suited him. He was a very healthy individual in comparison to the urban foxes we see in MK.

After all that excitement, we returned to the car and continued to the top of the Mynd, which was rather busy for 10am on a Sunday morning. It is a popular place for ramblers, joggers, mountain bikers and horse riders, as well as those soaking up the natural history. Walking north along the ridge, we spotted a Red Kite, a few Buzzards, many Ravens and a flock of 200+ Golden Plover. These waders continued to circle overhead, their plaintive contact calls drifting in and out of earshot as they wheeled around and around. As the light continued to change with the amount of cloud cover, bright and blue one minute and then dark and foreboding the next, the plumage of the plovers seemed to dazzle and sparkle, allowing the birds to stand out against the sky, and then suddenly they were tiny grey dots, hardly detectable unless you knew where they were.

Looking east from the Long Mynd, we could make out ridge after ridge all the way to Abdon Burf, one of the Clee Hills, on the horizon. The mist and low cloud in the valleys added to a sense of otherworldliness, though the wild ponies in the foreground weren't too bothered at all.

It was with heavy hearts that we reluctantly headed back home, though I am sure it won't be long before we return to South Shropshire and its secret hills.

Kidnapped!

2011-10-17T18:47:00.000+01:00

That post header would make a great title for a book, eh? Ho hum.

But this tale is one of kindly kidnapping, when Our Lass whisked me away for the weekend as a birthday treat. She discovered a great B+B in the village of Hope Bowdler, near Church Stretton in Shropshire, and we spent a few days enjoying the scenery and wildlife in a previously unexplored corner of these secret hills, even though we've been visiting the area for nearly 20 years.

Our host, Patrick, showed us a footpath that would take us into Church Stretton, so that we didn't have to set foot on a tarmac road. As well as the opportunity for relaxed walking, this also meant that we were able to leave the car behind for the day.

With Our Lass not ready for the big ascents and descents that this region offers, we meandered our way between the hills at low level and down into the town. This allowed me the chance to take a few landscape shots on the way, something that had never been a priority when our girls were young and the subject of most photographs. With the introduction of Wrong Len, followed by Very Wrong Len, my focus then switched to close ups of wildlife, so it was about time that I stood back and looked at the wider picture.

Looking west to Church Stretton and the Long Mynd beyond.

In pre-Roman times, there were several hill forts in the area, perhaps the most famous being Caer Caradoc, to the north east of the town. However, after the local tribes were subdued by Rome's finest, a road was driven through the valley, and in later times a settlement built up beside this route, including an Anglo Saxon church.

As you'd expect, the church of Church Stretton has plenty of history associated with it. After the Norman conquest of 1066, the new masters had the church rebuilt. Interestingly, the Anglo Saxon building workers, who presumably still had some pagan beliefs, were able to insert a fertility symbol into the wall above the North door. This took the form of a sheela-na-gig, a female figure carved in stone.

Wisely, Our Lass promptly dragged me away from the churchyard, before any ancient vibe began to resonate through the mixed bag of emotions that is her husband.

Our return journey to the B+B passed along the southern foot of Caer Caradoc and then across a saddle between Helmeth Hill and Hope Bowdler Hill. This gentle 400' of climb, through open woodland, was enough of an ascent for the pair of us, so during the subsequent catching of breath, I had the opportunity to photograph Caer Caradoc to the north.

Back in the village, we explored its churchyard, finding a gravestone from 1751 and an avenue of Yews (an avenyew?), before pottering to the B+B and enjoying the late afternoon sun in the garden.

Fifty, not out...

2011-10-17T15:01:00.002+01:00

Last week saw a bit of a milestone for Yours Truly. I had a birthday. One of those where work colleagues take great delight in decking out one's work space with banners and balloons. And inserting the word 'old' into the conversation at every available opportunity. It really isn't cricket.

To mark this reasonably large number of years, our First Born, with clandestine help from her younger sibling, organised the selection of some words and photographs from the Imperfect and Tense blog, had them printed and the resultant book delivered to Tense Towers.

To say I was surprised and delighted would be an understatement.

Here's a picture of said book, appropriately enough with Cameron Binns...

Though for the life of me, I can't work out why a photo in 'landscape' mode on my pc should upload to Blogger in 'portrait' mode?

Bittersweet

2011-10-10T19:34:00.001+01:00

Following my Saturday morning blogpost, the weekend turned into something of a roller coaster ride, with more ups and downs than a bouncy thing using a pogo stick on a trampoline. To be honest, I didn't think I could face writing about it, without using up my weekly allocation of expletives in the first two sentences, but so far so good.

Bitter

Discovering the hides at our local nature reserve had been vandalised. Locks smashed, contents thrown out of the windows, logbook ripped up.

Cleaning up the excrement left by one of the above weak-arsed vandals in the Near Hide.

Removing from the Far Hide, the detritus and sundry used items left after an evening of carnal passion between consenting vandals.

Sweet

The eleven wonderful folk, who care enough about Nature to spend a Sunday morning cutting down Willow, Hawthorn and Brambles to help restore a butterfly bank for wild flowers and insects. And who helped me find my broken glasses when a branch made a bit of a spectacle of me.

Spotting a roosting Migrant Hawker dragonfly on the trunk of a tree that was about to be felled. Needless to say, I still had intact specs at this point. The dragon perched on my hand for a while, wing-whirring to gain heat in its flight muscles, before taking to the air and disappearing from view.

The fact that the consenting vandals were using condoms. With any luck, there'll be less of the ignorant fuckwits around in the future.

Oh, poot! I nearly made it to the end without recourse to profanity.

Difference

2011-10-08T14:03:00.000+01:00

As a change to last weekend's exercise route, this morning I walked the same paths but in the opposite direction, tracing out an elongated figure-of-eight along the Railway Walk, a length of the Grand Union Canal and through Linford Manor Park.

But, jings, was it different.

Whilst it was essentially mirror-imaged geography, the feel of it was much altered. For a start, the temperature was about 15 degrees Celsius cooler from the dizzy heights of last Saturday, with today's forecast predicting a maximum of only 12 degrees C. The wildlife was responding to this change, too. Gone was the sound tapestry of layered bird song, instead there were the harsh rasping calls of Jays as they foraged in the woodland for acorns. Then there were the sudden headlong dashes of scared Squirrels, scampering through dense drifts of dried leaves. Tiny Goldcrests piped their pin-sharp calls from the tree tops, as they searched for food amongst the pine needles.

A few hardy bees battled the cool morning air and two unidentified butterflies struggled against the westerly breeze. Of dragons, there were none.

In the lee of canalside trees, the water was calm and still, reflecting the sombre clouds. Against the opposite bank, a Grey Heron stood motionless in the shallows, concentrating on finding a meal and unconcerned at my presence. That wouldn't have happened if I had been carrying a camera, would it? The marshy ground by the canal was still home to the Meadow Pipit flock, so they must be finding sufficient food and shelter there, despite the ever-nearing housing development. They can't be aware of how soon this area will become a manicured park with tidy shrubs and uniform trees.

And now my mood is reflecting the heavy clouds and chill wind. I am almost glad to return indoors to the warmth of a mug of tea. What a difference a week has made.

Unaccustomed to introspection

2011-10-04T20:01:00.000+01:00

A recent post by a fellow blogger got me thinking, as all good blogs should do, why do I write a blog?

I know why I started posting, as an aid to convalescence, but why do I continue with it, now that the initial impetus has ceased to be a factor? I'm sure there are as many reasons out there as there are bloggers, so what's the Tense rationale, though that's too grand a word for it?

This evening, a comment by Lena Rafael in Phonebox, a local magazine, caught my eye, "If you want to write, you are not a writer. If you have to write - keep a pen and paper to hand, at all times; wake up to scribble dialogue at two in the morning - then you are probably a writer."

I'm not sure I fully go along with that, as inspiration may come in the pouring rain, miles from civilisation, with hands full of optics, whilst I witness some spirit-lifting moment of wildlife behaviour. But I know what the author meant.

I've always read much more than I've written. I never kept a diary as a child and probably wouldn't have known what to put in one in the accepted sense. I don't think that "Woke up, went to school, did homework, fell asleep," is quite what was intended for a supposed expression of personal feelings. Mind you, as as a British fellow and from the North East of England to boot, I'm pretty much hamstrung in that department anyway. I did develop a bit of a writing style in my mid teens, thanks to the tutelage of the inspirational Mrs Gates, a down-to-earth, no-nonsense English teacher. But then came late teens and my nascent creativity found other, less cerebral, outlets!

Many years later, I would succumb to the occasional literary urge, but these would be for local club magazines and not solely a vehicle for His Tenseness. A birding tale here, a meeting report there, and always with an eye for the audience rather than full-blown free expression.

So here we are, up to date, with an opportunity to write what I want, at my own pace. However, I blithely assumed that I was writing to be read, but now that I've had a chance to ponder on the concept, I suspect that the stream of words that sprout from my fingers and appear on the screen are something more primal than that.

Sure, it's great to have followers and receive comments as a vindication (or not!) of the output, they are both the lubricant for the moving parts and the regulating governor of the mechanism. But the engine is pure me, natural history is the fuel and the suspension settings are programmed for off-road.

I write to express my thoughts, because I believe that the words, like the wildlife I see, are better off running free in their natural habitat. I write to satiate some creative urge that I don't understand, and don't wish to understand, lest the knowledge spoil the experience.

Some days the muse is invisible in the fog of our complicated lives, lost in the turmoil of a multitude of inputs. However, occasionally, when the goddess finally appears out of the gloom and the phrases start to form unbidden, it's a little akin to having a Merlin-engined Spitfire strapped to the keyboard. A veritable 12 cylinder harmony of resonant sound, frequency-shifting with the Doppler effect of words travelling across the page. So in that sense, it is a need to write, rather than a want. Perhaps that's not far from describing it is as a drug?

[Gathers oneself for a moment and breathes out slowly]

Ahem, I appear to have mixed my metaphors and modes of transport a bit there. Sorry!

Autumnal amble

2011-10-02T14:14:00.000+01:00

Following yesterday's record-breaking October temperatures in England and the fact that, bizarrely, Our Lass is full of cold, this morning I decided to go for an early morning walk on my own.

Escaping the heat of the day and also unshackled from Cameron Binns, allowed me to maintain a more consistent, and hopefully healthier, pace. That's not to say that I was ignoring the wildlife, I just wasn't stopping to look.

Almost immediately upon leaving Tense Towers, I was surrounded by gentle birdsong from a Robin and a flock of Long-tailed Tits. I nearly trod on a Blackbird that was foraging by the path and decided to ignore my approach. Perhaps it was the green t-shirt, olive drab trousers and sunglasses that disguised my presence?

Once over the canal and striding through Linford Manor Park, I was aware of more birds joining in the audioscape, Great Tits, Blue Tits, Great Spotted Woodpeckers, plus more Robins and Long-tails. Walkers and cyclists exchanged pleasantries with me, but joggers were single-mindedly focussed on the task in hand, burning off calories through their ears, to the exclusion of all else. Perhaps I'm being unkind, they may have been listening to a soundtrack of ambient mood music recorded one Autumn morning in the English countryside.

Using a road bridge to cross to the other side of the canal, I headed out of the park and along the towpath. The sun was becoming hotter and a few Red Admiral butterflies were venturing towards the hedgerows to gorge upon nectar amongst the Ivy flowers. A Moorhen clucked its annoyance at my approach and disappeared into the bankside vegetation, possibly to rant online about how, these days, humans spoil even the simplest of Autumnal pleasures.

As temperatures rose, the blue sky was reflected in the still water, with only a few con trails to mar the idyllic scene. A mooring of colourful barges and narrow boats could well have been a scene from several hundred years ago, were it not for the satellite dishes and TV aerials sprouting from their cabins. The backdrop, too, was changing, as a new housing development pushes ever nearer the canal.

Amongst one of the shrinking canalside habitats, a flock of Meadow Pipits took to the air with a chorus of shrill calls, then settled back down again after I had passed by. A few fishermen were sat motionless, staring at the mirrored surface of the water, and I wondered which came first, the angler or the garden gnome?

It was definitely very warm now, but I pushed on, rather than lazily sit and savour Mother Nature. Going under, and then over, another road bridge, I was able to access the Railway Walk that runs from New Bradwell to Newport Pagnell and entered a shadier, cooler world. The birdsong changed too, as I was surrounded by the turbo-charged piccolo calls of Wrens and a bass beat of rattling and grumbling Magpies.

Once I had crossed over the canal on the old railway bridge, the bells from St. Andrew's Church began to peal, and I momentarily lapsed into a jogger-inspired Pink Floyd soundtrack in my head. Nearing the old platform, at what had once been Great Linford railway station, I metaphorically alighted from that train of thought and returned home via Linford Wharf. Here I discovered that the faithful were indeed being called to worship, as Our Lass wished to visit the cathedral of commerce that is MK shopping centre. Oh well, back to the realities of 21st Century living.

Fog 'n' idiots

2011-10-01T07:28:00.000+01:00

Ah, Autumn mornings.

Hearty helpings of bright sunlight, with lashings of ethereal mist and a cool, damp jus. Accompanied by a crisp, fresh, green salad with mixed leaves of gold, bronze and russet.

The journey to work is a joy in these circumstances. Valleys shrouded in ghostly blankets, tendrils of mist threading their way from water courses and then, suddenly, the vibrant colours of the trees lit by a low sun. But also, there's the pillocks in silver cars, who are immune to the necessity for lights when driving through fog.

One of my colleagues phoned in to report that he would be late into the office.

"Country road. Fog. Silver car. No lights. Accident," was the brief statement.

Conclusive proof, were it needed, that evolution is alive and well and weeding out the hard of thinking.

Four folk become tree fellers

2011-09-25T21:42:00.001+01:00

The Friends of Hanson Environmental Study Centre held their first scrub-bashing morning today.

Four intrepid souls, armed with a variety of cutting tools, began work on a length of embankment that was overgrown with Willow, Hawthorn, Dog Rose and Brambles. This area is designated as a 'butterfly bank' and it should be a grassy place in full sun and with a plentiful spread of native wild flowers.

However, the encroachment of the above-mentioned bushes and trees have compromised this habitat and it wasn't a difficult decision for the group to choose this task to begin our conservation work.

After several hours of pruning, sawing and lopping, we had cleared just over 20 metres, barely a sixth of the total length of the bank. Still, the journey begins with the first step.

It wasn't all work and no play. A Wheatear was present at the entrance to the centre, a Hobby wheeled overhead as we wielded our blades and this caterpillar was discovered crawling along someone's shoulder.

Photo courtesy of The Admiral

Recourse to ID guides and the internet suggest that it is the larva of the Sallow Kitten moth, and in case you're wondering, the head is at the top of the photo.

Wandering around the nature reserve later, we were pleasantly surprised to discover that members of the BTCV Green Gym had been hard at work this week too. Several areas had been cleared of fallen timber or encroaching Willows and a start made at removing reeds from a pond that had become choked with vegetation.

Better still, contractors had felled all the trees and shrubs on the bund out in the lake, so it may yet be possible to rescue this habitat for waders and wildfowl.

Asterisk the gall

2011-09-18T21:38:00.001+01:00

After yesterday's thunderstorms and hail stones*, the sun returned today, so the Tense Towers Team headed off to Little Linford Wood, for some fresh air and exercice.

(*My posts nearly always start with the weather. Am I just pandering to the stereotype of the meteorologically-crazed Brit or am I a bit obsessive, do you think?)

At this time of year, the galls on wild roses are particularly spectacular. Colloquially, these are known as Robin's Pincushions*. Once back home and leafing through Bugs Britannica, by Peter Marren and Richard Mabey, I discovered that the natural and folk history of these galls is just as interesting as their colour and form.

The galls are caused by the Bedeguar Gall Wasp, Diplolepus rosae, and can contain up to 50 grubs, each in a separate chamber. Bizarrely, the grubs are infected by a bacterium that turns them all into females, so the gall wasps are effectively reproducing asexually (apparently, if the grubs are treated with antibiotics, the wasps return to a 50-50 gender spread).

(*The 'Robin' of the folk name is the woodland sprite Robin Goodfellow, or Puck, who is associated with natural objects which are coloured red.)

Later in the day, we made our way to Hanson Environmental Study Centre, following reports of two Black Terns over the lake. Whilst walking to the Near Hide, we discovered half a dozen Willow Warblers, or possibly Chiffchaffs, taking it in turns to bathe in a puddle.

Although they're ground nesters, it's not often that they're seen on terra firma in the open.

We reached the hide and were just in time to see the terns in the far distance, shortly before they flew off. But Nature's like that, which makes the unexpected surprises all the nicer. As if to prove the point, several metres in front of the hide, we spotted a pair of dragonflies in flagrante delicto amongst the reeds.

Migrant Hawkers, Aeshna mixta, are now a well-established species in the UK, though presumably some migration does still occur from continental Europe. The more, the merrier, as far as I am concerned, and this couple were certainly in agreement in that regard.

Numbers and garden birds

2011-09-17T22:15:00.000+01:00

The news that a species of bird of non-UK distribution had turned up on a garden feeder in south Buckinghamshire, made me wonder about the dynamics of numbers in our feathered visitors. How do our gardens, and possible round-the-year feeding, affect both the populations of garden birds and their near neighbours in the countryside at large?

This seems like quite an important topic, certainly worthy of rigorous sampling, efficient data collection and critical analysis.

Does this sound like an Imperfect and Tense blogpost? Nah! So after a moment's thought (in lieu of any serious research), here's the lowdown on the mathematics of bird numbers in the Tense Towers garden.

0 (zero)

Although it means nothing, zero is an incredibly important number to a mathematician and it's also pretty high up any garden-gazing birder's agenda. For example, how many Nuthatches are seen within the environs of Tense Towers in any 365 day period? Or, I wish we had this many Wood Pigeons (the vegetation-trampling, profusely-defecating, feathered handbag-fighting, wastes of space that they are. I'm just saying, that's all).

1 (one)

If the song is to be believed, this would be a single partridge in a pear tree, but we have neither of those. We could possibly muster a Sparrowhawk in a Hawthorn tree? However, for the best bird-brained maths, count up all the visits to the peanut feeder by a Great Spotted Woodpecker, times this by the number of birds seen sharing said feeder during these visits and then divide by the number you first thought of. The answer will be one. Our GSWs do not like sharing, not with each other and certainly not with any of those upstart finches, no thank you very much.

2 (two)

Hold on, let me stop you before you ask... no, we haven't got any Turtle Doves either. Though we do have several Collared Doves, the only species on the planet to look good in beige. I guess that once you have two, then there's a certain inevitability that more will surely follow. It's not simple multiplication, I reckon it's a pyramid selling scheme.

3 (three)

Let's have some proper maths now. How about a bit of Trigonometry? I know what you're thinking, "What's his angle on this one?" Well, as it turns out, it's 120 degrees. All you need is one peanut feeder and 3 equally-spaced Blue Tits. No squabbling, each has enough room and valuable feeding time isn't wasted. And if you fill the feeder with a certain type of seed, your Blue Tits will be really spaced, man.

4 (four)

Multi-port feeders, they could be 6 or 8, but we'll stick with 4 for the time being. When they're full, peace and harmony settle over the garden and it is a relaxing place to be. The tranquillity is temporary, however, for when the seed falls below the level of the top ports, all hell breaks loose, as suddenly there's twice as many finches as full ports. It's a bit like a dual carriageway packed with nose-to-tail rep-mobiles trying to filter down into one lane to negotiate a caravan with a flat tyre. It is possible, but there's gonna be an amount of carnage and broken door mirrors along the way. The Goldfinches are in the BMWs, by the way.

12 (twelve)

Physicists would have us believe that there are 11 dimensions in the quantum world of String Theory. And if that's too difficult a concept to grasp, don't try counting a flock of House Sparrows during an RSPB Big Garden Birdwatch. Twelve is my limit, before my eyes start going in different directions and the balancing mechanism of my inner ear gives up on all the sudden changes of direction. That's also the real reason the BGBW is only supposed to be for an hour. The human mind isn't built to cope with a squabbling flock of finches for more than 60 minutes.

30 (thirty)

Imagine the scene... you're sat staring out of the window at the feeders, your brow furrowed in concentration, eyes darting to every fluttering movement. All your senses are switched to overdrive, as you watch intently for your quarry. But it's been half an hour now, thirty whole minutes, but no sign at all, perhaps it's not around today. Someone enters the room behind you and joins you at the window. After several seconds, they whisper excitedly, "There! Did you see it? Coal Tit!" Your answer is not printable.

Headrest

2011-09-10T17:45:00.001+01:00

Bleary-eyed and dressing gown-clad, I shuffled outside this morning to bring in the fresh milk. The weather was very mild, despite Autumn's changes, so we decided that after breakfast we would busy ourselves with chores in the garden, before any rain showers could hamper our efforts.

Following an hour's cutting, clipping and trimming, we drove to Clifton Reynes, a village above the River Great Ouse, a few miles downstream of MK. As we walked the paths towards the scarp along the eastern edge of the valley, the hedgerows were abundant with fruity treats as the flora tempted the fauna to help with seed dispersal. Sloes, hips, haws, blackberries, hazel nuts and elderberries, were all on display, together with the highly-polished snooker ball redness of White Bryony berries.

Despite the warmth of the morning, it was overcast with grey cloud and a blustery wind jostled the trees and bushes so that they seemed to be shaking their fruit in a frantic "Here it is! Come and get it!" manner. In sheltered spots, a few brave butterflies, bees and wasps were sipping nectar from Ivy flowers, but of dragonflies, there were precious few sightings.

Whilst trying to identify the call of an unseen warbler, we saw this Blue Tit, who was keen to show that it could look after itself in the big, wide world without regular trips to a garden bird feeder.

After finding a solitary Common Darter and a lone Migrant Hawker, we made our way to the next village for a spot of lunch (The Old Mill, Newton Blossomville. Very nice). Upon leaving the pub, the sun had decided to put in an appearance, so we sauntered down towards the river and, in a woodland glade, were pleasantly surprised to find dozens of dragons.

A couple of Common Darters were occupying the woody warmth of a fence rail and a bench respectively. The air was full of whirling wings and swift changes of direction, as Migrant Hawkers chased their prey, making the most of the heat and the plentiful food supply. A lone Brown Hawker was seen disappearing between the trees.

We parked ourselves on the bench to absorb the atmosphere and marvel at the aerial acrobatics, inadvertently depriving one of the Common Darters of his resting place. He didn't seem to mind too much however, and would occasionally land on our heads. When reviewing my photos later, I noticed that he seemed to be missing the end of one leg.

A Hobby flew overhead, proving that we weren't the only ones taking advantage of the assembled mass of dragonflies. Its feeding technique is referred to as 'hawking', though it belongs to the Falcon family, but as it was eating Hawker dragonflies, perhaps that's the reason.

As we crossed the footbridge over the river, a Kingfisher rocketed upstream, like a feathered Blue Streak missile. A pair of Mute Swans were sedately preening in the shallows and, sheltering out of the breeze, a Comma butterfly was sunning itself on a bankside leaf.

As dark clouds gathered to the south, we retraced our steps, pausing only to be alighted upon by the headstrong Common Darter. Then, as the rain drops began to fall, all parties took shelter in their own fashion: the dragons in the bushes and undergrowth; the humans in their truck. Despite the damp finale, the warmth of the memory still fires my neurones and warms my smile.

One rule for her...

2011-09-08T21:39:00.002+01:00

Teneral Common Darter (female) "obelisking" into the sun

Here's a pic from last month's visit to Wicken Fen, just to remind me what it was like when the sun was shining.

This is a teneral (immature) lady Common Darter dragonfly, roosting on a fence rail because it's nice and warm. However, she's also stopping herself from becoming too hot by pointing her abdomen at the sun, thereby reducing her surface area exposed to the heat, in a process termed "obelisking". Whilst I have mentioned this term previously on Imperfect and Tense, I just wanted an excuse to post a reasonably crisp odo shot.

I suspect that if I tried this method of thermo-regulation, all I would get are rosy cheeks and a caution from the local constabulary.

Great White

2011-09-04T09:29:00.001+01:00

Sorry, hard rock lovers, this isn't a blog post about the American band. Furthermore, as we're located about 70 miles from the sea, here in little ol' MK, it's unlikely to be a Jaws-dropping tale of sharp-toothed wit. So what does that leave us with... ?

Just as I was completing yesterday's blog session, a text came through from the Admiral, saying that he was watching a Great White at our local nature reserve, Hanson Environmental Study Centre (HESC). Presuming it wasn't a shark, for the above-mentioned reasons, the only other option was an egret. This was a species that I'd not encountered before, it being only an occasional visitor to the UK, so it looked like turning into a mini-twitch, virtually on our back door step.

The Admiral's text also contained information that the bird was visible from the Far Hide, as it was located at the easterly end of the bund, handily standing next to a Grey Heron for size comparison. Our Lass and I made our way to the hide, with the briefest of pauses to admire a Migrant Hawker and Southern Hawker en route (dragons are a higher priority than birds in my book, ok).

The egret was indeed at the end of the bund, far too far away for anything other than record shots with the camera. After preening for a bit, it wandered to the water's edge, paddled around for a while and then flew to the north east corner of the lake to hunt. This wasn't much closer really, but it was then spooked by another Grey Heron and flew back to the bund. Unfortunately, this time, it was behind some willow bushes, so we took the decision to decamp to the Near Hide for a better view.

As luck would have it, just before we entered the Near Hide, it moved back to the other side of the bund again. Doh! This information was relayed to us by the only occupant of the hide, Rob Norris, aka Birding North Bucks and Beyond, who worked out that we were the Tense Towers Team and introduced himself. It's always a pleasant surprise to bump into a fellow blogger!

After waiting a while to see if the Great White would move again (it didn't), Rob pondered upon whether to go to the Far Hide for a better view (he did). Predictably, a short time later, the egret flew up into some willow trees to roost, allowing distant views once more.

Bizarrely, I realised that I had just clocked up my 201st blog post and this bird was 201st on my puny life list.

As a post script, today sees the inaugural event organised by the Friends of HESC, a group set up to protect and maintain the nature reserve as a place for wildlife. The site is threatened by encroaching development, the prospect of being turned into a manicured park and, also, lack of funding for basic habitat maintenance.

Yew may regret this...

2011-09-03T17:31:00.001+01:00

On the way back from our trip to the Marches, we stopped off at Westbury-on-Severn, to visit a National Trust garden, Westbury Court.

This restored water garden in the Dutch style is the only remaining example in England from the early 1700s, as many estate gardens were later reworked by the aficionados of the landscape movement.

Sadly, now, it is under threat once more. Winter flooding leaves the ground water-logged, providing perfect conditions for a fungus, Phytophthora, that attacks the roots of the Yew hedges. In order to maintain the planting in the style of the time, the National Trust will have to come up with a radical solution to this problem. I was so tempted to write "radicle solution", there!

Despite the sunshine, there were very few odes about in this water garden, possibly due to the amount of fish in the ponds and canals. However, by a stream that borders the property, we came across several Common Darters, Sympetrum striolatum. The males were competing for territory and alighting on perches in the sun.

Odd odes and beetle-mania

2011-09-03T16:57:00.000+01:00

Recently, the Tense Towers Team paid a long overdue visit to Wicken Fen. What with one thing and another, we'd just not had chance to potter around this oldest of National Trust reserves in 2011.

A hot, sunny morning meant plenty of dragonflies and damselflies on the wing. The reserve staff are to be congratulated on managing the habitat and maintaining access to the water's edge, such that the wildlife can be observed unobtrusively.

This pair of Ruddy Darters, Sympetrum sanguineum, caught our attention. They had obviously mated and were ovipositing in tandem, just not over water! Were their offspring doomed?

A bit of research later and the mystery was solved thanks to Brooks and Lewington's Field Guide to the Dragonflies and Damselflies of Great Britain and Ireland. Ruddy Darters may lay their eggs away from water, in areas that will later become inundated during winter flooding. The eggs are drought-resistant and do not hatch until covered by water. Phew!

Ladybirds aren't well known for their sense of humour, but I couldn't help wondering whether this Seven-spot, Coccinella 7-punctata, was being suitably ironic or surreal.

In folklore, they are probably best known through the children's rhyme: "Ladybird, ladybird, Fly away home, Your house is on fire, And your children are gone..." which, according to many sources, may refer to the burning of hop vines after the harvest in Mediaeval times, with the resultant death of many ladybird pupae. It is to their credit that they can still raise a smile after all that carnage.

Way-on-High

2011-09-02T19:56:00.000+01:00

Over the Bank Holiday weekend, Our Lass and I spent some time in the border lands of England and Wales. Whilst the weather was a bit temperamental, we were just happy to explore an area we'd not previously visited.

One particular morning, we drove up the valley of the Afon Honddu onto the plateau between the hills of Hay Bluff and er... Lord Hereford's Knob, to enjoy the views and blow the cobwebs away. Armed with her trusty walking poles, Our Lass made steady progress, as we pottered about the shallow slopes on the north side of the Bluff. Something wasn't quite right though, and eventually we realised what it was.

No heather.

Not being of a particularly geological bent, I hadn't appreciated that above the tree line on these hills, the red soil supports mainly bracken and grass, which gives a lusher feel to the place. Later, checking the British Geological Survey map for the area, I discovered that the underlying rock is Lower Old Red Sandstone from the Devonian, though whether that explains the absence of Erica I don't know.

A multitude of sheep and several wild ponies were grazing the sward, resulting in the paths and tracks being liberally coated with copious amounts of poo. Taking advantage of this resource, were many dung beetles, all industriously shovelling shit as if their genes depended on it. Which, of course, they do.

I don't know much more about beetles than I do about geology, but I'm guessing that this is a Dor Beetle, Geotrupes stercorarius. It would appear that dung beetles are either rollers, tunnellers or dwellers, as this link to the Beeb Nature website proclaims. As lifestyle options, they aren't a great set of choices, but I suppose we should be rightly thankful that these creatures take on the job of recycling faeces or we'd be knee deep in it.

At the coal face, Dor Beetle style

Presumably this is the end result?

As if they didn't have a tough enough gig, what with all the merde munching, I spotted one beetle struggling for forward momentum. Puzzled as to why this should be, I looked a bit closer and realised that another species of beetle had seized one of its rear legs and was attempting to pull it underground.

A deadly game of tug-of-war ensued...

Until, finally, our hero made good its escape, leaving the predator to search for another victim.

Whatever it was (and my best guess from my ID book would be a member of the genus Pterostichus), it was missing a wing casing on its right hand side. So not having a good day at all then?

If I've whetted your appetite for dung beetle info, try this excellent article by the Grumpy Ecologist.

After all that exshitement, we drove down into the Wye valley to visit the town of Hay-on-Wye, with its wall to wall bookshops and the occasional tea room. What's not to like!

I was heartened to discover that despite the preponderance of literary retail possibilities, there was still a public library in the town. On reflection though, I probably should've purchased a book on beetle identification.

If you can't stand the heat...

2011-08-23T21:47:00.000+01:00

It's nice of scientists to point out to the rest of humanity that, yet again, Nature is way ahead of us.

I refer to the study published in the journal Science, and recently reported by the BBC, that animals and plants are moving their ranges towards the cooler poles at a rate three times faster than previously thought.

So whilst we've been bickering about whether climate change exists or not, spinelessly shuffling behind vested interests or guiltily burying our heads in the sand, the wildlife of the planet has voted with its collective feet, roots, wings and fins.

C'mon, people, catch up!

Whether it was just balanced reporting or someone at the Beeb has a sense of humour, I had to chuckle darkly at two of their quotes:

"Seeing that species are able to keep up with the warming is a very positive finding," said biologist Terry Root from Stanford University in California, US.

But what about the animals that already live at the poles, or at the top of mountains?"They die," said Dr Thomas (...from the University of York, UK)

Bizarrely, for me then, there's a bit of an upside to all this. I can jog on the spot here in little ol' England, gently simmering to Hell, whilst hundreds of new species of dragonflies take up temporary and passing residence in Britain and my Odonata field guide swells to many times its normal size.

However, I'd rather not, for much the same reason that I don't cook everything in the microwave oven. Perhaps when the last ounce of life is frazzled from the planet, there'll be a strident and unheeded "Ping!"

And the winner is...

2011-08-17T21:08:00.000+01:00

I can now reveal the answer to the question posed in last Thursday's blog, "Where's the unsolicited Puffin?"

Contrary to popular belief, it wasn't stood behind me all the time. Neither was it perched on the end of my lens.

It was in the photo of the cliff top at Noup Head on Westray, discreetly nestled on a ledge at the bottom of the picture, left of centre.

Astoundingly, the winner was the very same puffin, which waddled into Kirkwall Police Station and gave itself up, admitting to the charge of loitering in a photo with the intention of being cute. Apparently, this public-spirited act was an attempt to avert the glare of the UK media's attention from the whole sordid affair, so that it could get back to its normal day job... posing for tourist photographs with a coy, sidelong glance, whilst simultaneously trying to break the world record for the most fish in a beakful. Puffins, eh, do they have no shame?

Off the leash

2011-08-16T22:02:00.000+01:00

After several months of crutches and sticks, Our Lass is now walking unaided and working hard to build up her leg muscles again. Today, by way of celebration, we relaunched that age-old post prandial occupation, the evening constitutional. It seems like a year since we've been able to do this, and, in fact, it just about is. However, it felt good to be out together in the fresh air, enjoying the setting sun and the onset of dusk.

We chose Bury Field as the location for this outing, principally because there's lots of grass for gentler walking. As the link above reveals, this area is common land on the edge of Newport Pagnell and is mainly used by grazing cattle and folk walking their dogs.

As we left the car park, behind the main street, we could see that some hard paths and information boards had been constructed since our last visit. As we were in no rush to join the throng of dog walkers and model aeroplane enthusiasts that we could see all around, we stopped to read the boards and learn a bit about the history of the place. Glancing up from this task, I noticed a pale-coloured bird, gliding over the pasture at the far side of the common. Gull? Egret? Barn Owl!

We stood rooted to the spot, as the owl quartered the ground, flying nearer and nearer. It seemed oblivious to the dogs, their owners, model aircraft and the gathered mass of humankind, as indeed were most of them to it. As it passed us, though, we realised that we weren't the only ones taking an interest, for a flock of Swallows were harassing it constantly. The Barn Owl, however, was simply intent upon the task in hand. With a sudden bank and turn, it folded its wings and plummeted into the long grass, to emerge moments later with an unfortunate rodent grasped in its talons. It flew off, back across the common, trailing Swallows and longing glances from His and Her Tenseness.

As we pottered along the paths cut though the grass, the owl appeared several more times, gliding silently to and fro, ever alert for the tell-tale sign of a vole, yet seemingly impervious to the noise and bustle all around it.

Happy times.

Photo competition

2011-08-11T18:47:00.000+01:00

Anybody spot the unintentional Puffin in one of my Orkney 2011 photos?

No, me neither, until I was reviewing the posts.

There I was, quite deliberately concentrating on the other bird life that isn't mentioned very often, when, lo and behold, one of the cute, clown-faced, sea parrots sneaks in anyway.

Doh!

Answers on a postcard to the usual address.

Going coastal

2011-08-10T20:37:00.000+01:00

Rather than dwell on the uncivil unrest affecting some of England's cities (which, in its way, is the human condition in microcosm - here's a problem, let's make it worse), as a little light relief, I bring you the final instalment of the Tense Team Tour of Orkney 2011.

You will recall, dear reader, that it was a time fraught with challenges brought about by Our Lass's last minute knee operation. More cautious minds might have decided to cancel the trip, however after a period of reflection, we decided to go ahead, but scale back our endeavours and seek easy solutions where possible.

The latter half of the holiday was spent on Westray, which offered plenty of opportunity to enjoy the rugged scenery of the Atlantic coast and explore the gentler, more sheltered bays.

This picture was taken whilst standing on a natural arch called the Scaun, showing the Admiral perched on top of the 14m cliffs, above a rather neat sea cave. The coast of the Aikerness peninsula was always impressive and awe inspiring.

From the same vantage point, looking west, there were countless sea caves being formed by the steady erosion of the Orkney Flagstones of the Middle Devonian age (about 380 million years old).

This picture was taken looking back, eastwards, toward the Scaun, a natural arch mentioned earlier, which has three entrances. The top of the cliffs are effectively a wave cut platform, as the storm beach is set way back from the edge. In Winter, it must be very dangerous standing on this spot.

The bay at Grobust is suffering much erosion of its sand. Slightly further inland, the Neolithic archaeology, at Noltland, is the subject of a rescue dig to gain as much information as possible from the site, before it is lost to the wind and sea.

At Noup Head, we were able to sit on the cliff top, watching the comings and goings at the sea bird colony and casting our eyes to the ocean in a fruitless search for Orcas. Our Lass is perched on a folding stool, resting after gingerly hobbling from the car park and passed the lighthouse.

Over on the east side of the island, the sheltered Bay of Swartmill offered the opportunity for the second group photo of the trip. Here, when not posing between the sand dunes, we spent a morning discovering Sand Martins, rock pools and Lyme Grass. For the photo, Our Lass's crutches were hidden away behind the dune, as she balanced on her good leg!

It remains for me to thank the many folk who made this holiday such an enjoyable experience: the staff at Flybe, Loganair and Orkney Ferries; absolutely everyone at the North Ronaldsay Bird Observatory; the North Ronaldsay Trust including Mark at the Lighthouse Cafe; Mr and Mrs Muir for their hospitality; Linda and Kathleen at Skaill Cottage; Mrs Groat; the Pierowall Hotel, the good folk at Westraak and, of course, the Admiral and Our Lass.

The sun now sets on our Orcadian adventures for another year, but we have fond memories, new found knowledge and a burning desire to return once more.

Sunset from the links at Noltland

A bit more Northern Isles birding

2011-08-08T21:12:00.000+01:00

It's now several weeks since our Orkney holiday, but you're going to have to put up with a few more posts yet. At least until the dragonfly season threatens to pick up!

One of the great things about visiting North Ronaldsay in late Spring/early Summer, is the sheer amount of birdlife on tap. As soon as we stuck our noses out of the door of the Obs, we were immersed in a feathered assemblage, all hell bent on raising their families.

This female Wheatear, Oenanthe oenanthe, was looking for insects to feed her growing brood. The calls from the island's Wheatear population, a collection of whistles and clicks, followed us everywhere we went.

Whilst the Gannet, Morus bassanus, does not breed on North Ron, a constant stream of birds from nearby colonies feed in the waters surrounding the island. I was neither skilful enough or lucky enough to capture a photo of their steep diagonal dives for fish, but this bird flew by at low altitude and at a leisurely pace, allowing even a duffer like me the chance of a picture.

There are several colonies of Black Guillemot, Cepphus grylle, around the coast, with their simple but stylish plumage. By sitting quietly and patiently in an appropriate spot, we were able to gain some fantastic views of these Tysties, as they are known in the Northern Isles.

Down by the pier, we were fortunate to glimpse a pair of Red-breasted Mergansers, Mergus serrator. This is the male in eclipse plumage, not as spectacular as earlier in the breeding season, but my first confirmed sighting of a blokey Merg, so I was happy.

One evening, this little bird was the cause of quite a bit of excitement at the Obs. Not that you would think so, to look at it. There we were, with our fellow guests, enjoying a postprandial cup of tea in the lounge/bar, when a breathless member of staff burst through the double doors. I should explain that the Bird Observatory staff are, on the whole, a calm and unflappable bunch, so to see one fired up on adrenalin was quite interesting in itself.

It transpired that a warbler netted at one of their ringing sites, was not what it had at first seemed, and ripples of excitement spread out through the island birding fraternity towards the assembled tea and coffee drinkers in the lounge. Only the Admiral and I seemed to react to the words "Blyth's Reed Warbler", the Admiral because he knew what it was and me because I knew I didn't! We grabbed our cameras, jumped in the hire car and, for the one and only time in the week, hit 5th gear, as we sped the short distance up the island in the tracks of the Obs Land Rover.

Blyth's Reed Warbler, Acrocephalus dumetorum, is a rare bird in the UK. It normally only travels as far west as Finland in Summer, but this was North Ron's second of the year, as happily related in their blog for the day and their weekly round-up of Obs life. As mentioned above, I would not have known this wee bird from a standard Reed Warbler Version 1.0, but the staff took the time to explain which features led them to be able to identify it as a Blyth's. There was much talk of the longer pale supercilium (eye stripe, to you and me) and short primary projection (wings not as big), but the most fascinating thing of all wasn't the warbler. It was the staff. Here they were, doing the thing that floated their boats, being up close and personal with rare birds and adding to our collective ornithological knowledge with their meticulous data logging and recording. It was a real joy to see them in their natural habitat, chucking birding buzz words around with ever-so-slightly-controlled abandon. Thanks, guys, for cherishing my inner geek.

In contrast, over on Westray the following week, I managed to photograph a common bird that I've seen on countless occasions but have struggled to approach close enough to garner a decent image.

The Hooded Crow, Corvus corone corvix, is a different race of the species that also boasts the Carrion Crow, and it is found in North and East Europe. There is an unofficial border between the two races in the UK, roughly along the Caledonian Canal in Scotland, Hoodies to the north, Carrion to the south. They are wary birds, so I considered myself fortunate to stumble across this individual along the cliff tops at Castle o' Burrian, when I was actually trying to photograph a Curlew.

Serendipitous, indeed.

Blues and twos

2011-08-01T22:07:00.000+01:00

On Saturday morning, Our Lass and I had a pleasant stroll around Little Linford Wood. The water bodies here are fast disappearing due to the lack of rain and warmer temperatures. The main pond at the top of the wood has long gone and all its Ruddy Darters with it. Sad times.

The butterflies didn't seem too bothered about this, but then they have their own worries to contend with...

Like not having eyes in the back of their heads.

Incoming!

Or having left their spectacles in their other jacket.

The next day we popped over to RSPB HQ at The Lodge, mainly to buy a sack of bird food, but also to give some moral support to the Admiral, who was helping out the RSPB staff at a dragonfly event.

Of course, the fact that we would see plenty of odes, never crossed my mind!

The ornamental pond in the gardens, though full of fish, always plays host to a varied cast of dragons and damsels. We were able to compare a male Red-eyed Damselfly and a male Small Red-eyed Damselfly on adjacent lily pads. Apart from being smaller, the latter also has an extra patch of blue on the sides of abdominal segments two and eight.

In a right two and eight...

Meanwhile, a male Common Darter was being incredibly obliging by hovering just long enough for me to attempt a photograph.

In one of the smaller ponds, we spotted this young newt, paddling in the shallow end created by a lily pad.

Back at the main pond, a pair of Small Red-eyes were making out. Though I didn't realise it at the time, the lady is rather mature, her thorax colouring having turned from yellow to green to blue.

After mating and with the male still in attendance, the female will descend below the water surface to lay her eggs, a manoeuvre fraught with danger in a well-stocked fish pond. Amazingly, the damselfly population at The Lodge seems robust enough to survive this peril.

Westray flowers, Part 2

2011-07-27T20:57:00.000+01:00

Not far from the cottage we were renting, the Admiral and I discovered a gem of a pasture. One evening, we had headed out to the north coast of the island, principally to see if we could photograph a sunset, but with a Plan B of exploring along the storm beach.

The sunset was too cloudy, but we were fortunate enough to briefly see half a dozen Orkney Voles, which ran between boulders, across the turf. Working our way along the coast and through a swathe of Campion, we reached a geo (a narrow inlet bordered by steep cliffs), that was fenced off, sensibly preventing us from risking life and limb. With our planned route back to the cottage now in tatters, we looked at the map for alternatives. Rather then bimble across 3 fields, we chose to cut back eastwards and pick up a track used on the outward journey. The light was starting to fade as we set off again across a pasture, but a small white flower caught my eye... Grass of Parnassus. Even before my exclamation of surprise had died away, we also found a Scottish Primrose, the diminutive pastel jewel in Orkney's floral crown. Somehow, I thought, we have to find a way for Our Lass to reach this spot, despite being on crutches.

As the Hooded Crow flew, it was only 500m from the cottage to the pasture, but to walk it on firm paths would mean a detour of over a kilometre and then negotiating a grass meadow, ripe for hay making. I couldn't see how it could be done. Although her stamina was growing day by day, it was still only a few weeks since her operation, and we did not want to jeopardise her recovery. The distance would just be too much, but even without that, an uneven field covered in long grass wasn't the ideal surface for Our Lass to tackle.

As the days until the end of our holiday became fewer, our frustration grew in inverse proportion. I wasn't too keen on risking the hire car on the stony track, especially as it had fairly low profile tyres. However, as time was running out, I threw caution to the winds. That just left the knotty problem of the bumpy field. This was solved serendipitously when Westraak, the local wildlife tour company, drove passed the cottage, along the track and through said field. Flattened grass, wide path, sorted!

So what was all the fuss about?

This is Grass of Parnassus, Parnassia palustris, and we had never seen it growing in such profusion as here in this small pasture, within a stone's throw of the Atlantic Ocean. In fact, I don't recall ever seeing it in clumps before, only single flowers.

Here's the Scottish Primrose, Primula scotica, which, although confined to a small area of the pasture, was presenting well, especially considering that our ID book stated "don't hope to see it in late June or early July."

To prove that Our Lass made it to this fantastic piece of maritime heath, and also to give some scale to the primrose, the below photo features both beauties. Our Lass is the one holding the camera...

Not content with her adventure off piste, Our Lass then went one better and found several specimens of Frog Orchid, Dactylorhiza viridis, which had just started to bloom.

The Eyebright next door showed how low growing these orchids were in this harsh environment.

Various islands in Orkney have just the right conditions to support this wealth of maritime heath flora. The farming techniques are still those of years long past, and though they are inevitably more mechanised, they are still sensitive to the needs of Nature. The farming fraternity is often criticised for its close relationship with agri-business, but at least here, in these northern isles, the balance is more wildlife friendly. Amen to that.

Westray flowers, Part 1

2011-07-26T21:11:00.000+01:00

In the ever-increasingly anachronistic posts about the natural history we encountered whilst holidaying in Orkney, here's a short series of some of the flora seen on the island of Westray.

As previously mentioned, with our botanical expert hors de combat, we were rather on the back foot when it came to flowers. The Admiral and I could, however, content ourselves with the thought that to appreciate the beauty of a roadside verge full of wild flowers, one doesn't necessarily need an encyclopaedic knowledge of taxonomy and Latin. It's therefore a shame that I didn't have the foresight to point my camera along a lane and record the scene. Campions, trefoils, vetches, buttercups, orchids, you name it, I ignored it. What a prune.

Keeping things simple, the thistles were just starting to bloom and their fresh look and geometrical shapes were an obvious choice for a photograph.

This is a Marsh Thistle, Cirsium palustre, which we found just about everywhere, but this particular one was on the cliff top at Stanger Head.

As the saying goes, also available in white! And also on Stanger Head.

On one of our potters along the links at Rackwick, my eye was caught by this clover plant, which I blithely assumed was simply a White Clover, Trifolium repens, and so didn't check the leaves.

Though it isn't very tall, as demonstrated by the neighbouring Eyebright, it could be Alsike Clover, Trifolium hybridum. Serves me right for not noticing or even taking a shot of the leaves. To be fair, I was just captivated by the pattern and colours.

Whilst wandering along the cliff path at West Kirbest, we came across a small white flower which we did not encounter anywhere else. There appeared to be only one small patch, possibly a single plant, so I recorded it for Our Lass to puzzle over that evening.

It turned out to be Fairy Flax, Linum catharticum, which as its Latin species name hints, was used in times past as a purgative.

On the same stretch of coast, but growing between the wave cut platform and the storm beach, were these pretty little plants, shown below. I must admit that I thought I was taking a picture of one type of plant, but later, upon reviewing the images, I realised there were two separate species.

We decided that the white flowers with four petals were Common Scurvygrass, Cochlearia officinalis, but the pink flowers with five petals gave us the run around until we resorted to the time-honoured technique of looking at every page in the ID guide. As it happened, the petals were actually sepals, there weren't any petals and the plant was Sea Milkwort, Glaux maritima. No wonder I find dragonflies easier to identify!

Run to the hills

2011-07-25T21:53:00.001+01:00

I arrived home from work on Friday night and thought,

"Stuff this for a game of soldiers, I need some quality dragon time."

This wasn't a back-handed compliment to Our Lass, more a feeling that the flight season was passing me by and I wanted to see some winged beauty. And where did I want to see it? On the Long Mynd, of course. Forget loyalty to one's county of residence, when the going gets tough, take a two and half hour journey west (Yes, I suppose I could've titled the post "Go West!", but Iron Maiden was always going to beat the Pet Shop Boys to that honour).This response to the siren call of the Shropshire dragons was welcomed whole-heartedly by Our Lass, so the next morning, off we went.

Up on the moor, between Church Stretton and Ratlinghope, we parked by a series of pools and let the peace and quiet, the heathery atmosphere and the trickle of running water soak into our souls. Deep breaths, eyes closed, relax.

Now... to business. The day was reasonably warm, but the sky was mostly cloudy. A north westerly breeze delivered a few gaps in the fluffy stuff, so that for a few minutes at a time, the temperature would rise and a few dragonflies would take to the air. We managed to identify ten species, but only saw ones and twos of most of these. Plan B was to return the following day, when the weather forecast was much better.

And so it proved. A wonderfully sunny day, though still with that north westerly breeze, saw plenty of insects on the wing. I don't think we had ever seen so many Green-veined White or Grayling butterflies, never mind the odes.

Whilst exploring the pools and wet flushes, we came across a flower that we didn't recognise. We have been visiting this area for nearly twenty years but hadn't previously seen it before, so to say that we were surprised would be an understatement. Later, upon our return to Tense Towers, we discovered that it was Bog Pimpernel.

And what of the objects of my desires? Well, they did not disappoint. Responding to the increased levels of heat and light, many more dragons put in an appearance and we were able to spend plenty of time in the their presence, including the gorgeous Golden-ringed Dragonfly.

According to its taxonomic code, the Number of this Beast is a non-threatening 2601.

No ex-skuas!

2011-07-22T19:58:00.000+01:00

During our time on North Ronaldsay and Westray, we did not encounter any resident birds of prey. However, we were able to watch skuas most days. They are the pirates of the seabird colonies, chasing and harrying their quarry to make them drop food, or simply attacking adults and chicks, without fear or favour. The species present were Great Skua, Stercorarius skua, known in the Northern Isles as a Bonxie, and Arctic Skua, Stercorarius parasiticus, also called Parasitic Skua, or known locally in Orkney as a Scootie Allan.

The Bonxies patrolled the cliffs looking for any opportunity that presented itself from the nesting Gannets, Guillemots, Razorbills, Puffins or Kittiwakes. The Arctic Skuas tended to concentrate on the Arctic Tern colonies, though we also saw them targeting Black Guillemots.

This is a Bonxie, scavenging on a dead Eider Duck, on the coast at Dennis Ness on North Ron.

These are more or less consecutive shots of an Arctic Skua, also at Dennis Ness on North Ron. There were a pair of these birds that loitered on the ground between the lighthouse and the the small water body of Trolla Vatn. We assumed that they were watching and waiting for terns to show up. We saw them regularly, as we visited the Lighthouse Cafe most days, so I suppose they could've been waiting to see if they could make us disgorge our lunch!

One evening on Westray, the Admiral and I were watching a Black Guillemot that was sat on the edge of a low cliff. It had caught a butterfish and was trying to ensure that no marauding predator could follow it to its nest site. Seemingly, from out of nowhere, an Arctic Skua zoomed across the storm beach, mere inches from the ground. The guillemot, sensing the danger, hopped off the edge of the cliff and disappeared out of sight. Given the skua's closing speed, I couldn't see how it was going to give immediate chase, without flying passed, out over the sea and doing a u-turn. Not a problem. At undiminished speed, as it reached the cliff top, the skua rolled through 180 degrees and dived vertically after the guillemot! I've no idea what happened next, but it was a mightily impressive display of aerial agility. I imagined the guillemot opening its beak to mutter some profanity at the turn of events and thereby losing its butterfish.

Here's a brace of Bonxies over Bow Head on the northern tip of Westray. Not a sight to fill the hearts of any nesting seabird with joy, as their shadows raced over the jagged rocks like sombre angels of doom.

More uplifting tales of sweetness and light, next time, on I&T.

Waders of the Last Auk

2011-07-19T20:41:00.000+01:00

Yes, I'm afraid so. The punfest continues. As does the blogging about our recent trip to Orkney.

Carrying on the theme of shore birds, here are a few more photos of waders seen on North Ronaldsay.

These are a pair of Sanderling, taking a break from feeding at the water's edge in Linklet Bay. They were quite approachable, so you're allowed to wonder why the focussing wasn't crisper. Oops.

This isn't in focus either, but it was a long way off and moving quite fast and erratically. It's a Snipe in the throes of its courtship/territorial display flight. This is known as 'drumming' and is caused by the air flow over the outer tail feathers. The picture handily shows these sticking out at an angle from the body. If you've not heard this before, have a listen to the last bit of the audio in the above link. I wouldn't have described it as drumming, mind, as to me it sounds more like the world's heaviest kazoo being dropped from a great height. Not such a catchy phrase as drumming, I'll grant you.

Ah, Oystercatcher! A spectacular looking bird with an impressive range of piping calls. On this island during early Summer, it's difficult to be out of earshot of one of these beauties at any time of day. As Our Lass also has this on her ring tone, it can be (a) confusing and (b) damned annoying at 3 in the morning.

The mobile hide came in useful once more when we spotted this Lapwing chick in a pasture bordering the road. Not bad from the driving seat and out of the passenger window, obviously with handbrake applied and gearbox in Neutral!

I previously mentioned that to travel from North Ron To Westray, we had to change mode of transport from aeroplane to boat on Papa Westray. This small island (about the same size as North Ron) was sadly the place where the last Great Auk in Britain was killed in 1813. A bronze statue has been erected on Fowl Craig to mark this solemn day.

So, onto Westray itself, where the Admiral scored maximum brownie points by locating a wader that I had never seen before. In fact, even when he pointed it out, it still took me ages to see it, as its camouflage was just about perfect for the habitat it was stood in!

It's a Purple Sandpiper, which was feeding in a pool amongst the rocks and seaweed. Even when it moved, I wasn't initially aware of the shape of the bird, only the shimmering of part of my field of view. And, yes, I was sober.

Questioning the bill

2011-07-18T22:02:00.000+01:00

I mentioned breeding waders in yesterday's tern blog, so I'd better make this a wader post.

OK, for starters, here's a wader ON a post...

We were able to approach quite close to this Curlew thanks to Our Lass's poorly knee. A hastily arranged hire car for getting about North Ronaldsay (an island only 4 miles long) meant that we had a mobile hide! The bill on this bird isn't full adult length, which made me wonder if it was a Whimbrel instead, but no, it's a Curlew.

Here's a shot of a different bird, in more congenial surroundings, again from the 'hide'.

Some waders we couldn't drive to. Around the coast were plenty of Ringed Plovers. This one, on the shore of Linklet Bay, was a ringed Ringed Plover!

When they weren't collecting jewellery, they could be a bit more shellfish...

Sorry.

One good tern...

2011-07-17T13:56:00.000+01:00

Returning to our holiday theme, one of the attractions of Orkney in early Summer is the sheer quantity of breeding waders and seabirds, despite the decline in numbers of some species. The reduction in food supply, principally sand eels, has meant that many seabirds have not bred successfully for several years in a row. Whilst they do tend to be long-lived and so can try again another year, no species can withstand repeated failures on the scales seen in recent times without there being a major concern over the viability of the population to recover.

There are several colonies of Arctic Terns on North Ronaldsay, which, due to the low-lying nature of the island, are in pastures or behind the beaches. However, the wardens at the Bird Observatory told us that the week before our visit, heavy rain over several days put paid to eggs and chicks alike, resulting in a total failure of the species to produce any young on North Ronaldsay for 2011. This was also true of other ground-nesting birds, where a few day's poor weather wiped out a whole generation.

Ironically, during our stay on the island, the weather was mainly warm and dry by Orcadian standards, which at least meant we could spend time watching these gorgeous birds.

The above shot was taken at the golf course, a splendid nine hole arrangement behind Linklet Bay. When I say'splendid', I mean for bird watching, as the presence of grazing sheep and the inevitable product of their endeavours would make for an interesting round of the game.

We regularly visited this spot, as it was terrain that Our Lass could negotiate without too much ~~swearing~~ trouble and another sojourn resulted in the surprising sighting of a pair of Little Terns. You may recall, dear reader, that on the Tense Towers team trip to Norfolk at the end of May, we had the good fortune to see a large breeding colony of these birds at Winterton dunes. And you may also remember that I did not take my camera with me on that morning. Suffice it to say, though I was now in the company of Cameron Binns, I couldn't manage other than a record shot of either of the birds as they flew along the shore and over the golf course.

The following week, we moved to another island, via a 15 minute flight to Papa Westray and then a 30 minute ferry crossing to Westray itself. Whilst we were out looking for Puffins at Castle o' Burrian, I spotted a tern sat on a rock at the far side of the bay of Rack Wick. It was too distant to be sure what it was, but I did know it wasn't an Arctic or a Common or a Little one. The Admiral came to my rescue, identifying it as a Sandwich Tern, but before we could think moving closer for a better view, an Arctic Skua harassed it into flying away. My disappointment was tempered by the fact that this was a new species for me, as my sandwiches don't normally attract the attention of piratical skuas.

A few days later, the Admiral and I were walking along the west coast path, enjoying views over the sea to Rousay and the gloriously sunny weather. A bird shot passed that wasn't the normal Fulmar or Great Black-backed Gull or Arctic Tern. This time we were close enough to hear its call, which was very different to those I already knew. Another Sandwich Tern! It made several trips back and forth along the coast, allowing an opportunity to at least capture some sort of image.

Wishing to share these fantastic birds with other nature lovers, we contacted Graham Maben from Westraak, the local wildlife tour operator, who told us that half a dozen pairs do come to the island each year. Graham was soon able to return the favour, but that, as they say, is a story for another day.

An evening assignation with Mrs Brown

2011-07-15T19:51:00.000+01:00

Whoa! Don't panic! This isn't a lurid tale of tasteless journalistic fervour, no mobile phones are involved and the only hacking in evidence was the loss of a small amount of undergrowth in one of our borders.

Neither is it a belated, but nevertheless, shocking revelation concerning the private life of Queen Victoria and her faithful Scottish servant, neither of whom, as far as I know, ever visited the sleepy Buckinghamshire village of Milton Keynes.

However, it is about time that we had a dragon post (and not that Rebekah What's-her-name, either). I had been hoping to return from an odonatologically abstinent holiday to discover clouds of damsels and dragons filling the skies of England (Tense... Tense... wake up, mate! You're dreaming!), but things are a bit quiet around Planet Odo at the moment. So it was a most pleasant surprise, last evening, to have a Brown Hawker, Aeshna grandis, visit us, as we sat in the back garden.

It was about 6pm, the day was still warm with plenty of sunshine and Our Lass and I were partaking of a mug of tea, whilst watching the comings and goings around the pond. Wasps were making countless trips to collect water for their paper-making exploits (or new paper sting operation, as I like to think of it) and a Lesser Stag Beetle pottered across the paving stones, oblivious to the comparative nominative slight handed out by humans.

Suddenly, a dragonfly appeared, made a few exploratory flights in the warmest corner of the garden and disappeared into an overhanging Clematis clambering over the fence from next door's garden. This seemed a little early for a Brown Hawker to settle down for the night, as we have often observed them flying quite late, towards dusk. Upon checking the vegetation, however, it did appear that this female dragonfly was intent on doing just that.

Despite still being hampered by a poorly knee, Our Lass was able to manoeuvre herself and her camera into position in order to capture the below image.

I checked the hedge at 6am this morning and this grand lady was still there.

To loosely connect this post with our Orkney holiday, the dialect phrase for 'last night' is the streen, a contraction of 'yesterday's evening'. Strangely, English use of 'today' is apparently a contraction of the day, the more correct Orcadian phrase. Whilst most bizarrely, on Orkney, 'tomorrow' is the morn. I was most confused when a lady on local radio stated that an exhibition was opening at "2.30 the morn". Jings, I thought, who's going to get up that early?

Spurious Spurrey

2011-07-13T21:01:00.000+01:00

Going on holiday in a group can be a bit of a logistical nightmare. Admittedly, the Tense Towers team are only three in number, but as Our Lass wasn't allowed to put any weight on her left knee during the whole of our time in Orkney, things could've been rather fraught. Fortunately, all the preparation beforehand paid off and everyone we met was helpfulness personified.

Inevitably, it was occasionally frustrating for her that she couldn't go rock pooling or climb to the top of the lighthouse, but as she built up her upper body strength whilst using her crutches, new goals became possible. Lowering her sights, literally, put her in the realm of small flowers that would ordinarily have been overlooked in the search for larger Northern Isles life forms: seals, killer whales, red necked phalaropes, ~~Simon King~~, black guillemots, otters, etc.

A short, grassy track from the North Ronaldsay Bird Observatory led to a five barred gate, beyond which was the preserve of the seaweed-eating sheep. From the low cliffs could be seen a rocky beach and the swirling waters of the North Ronaldsay Firth and the Atlantic Ocean.

Initially with plenty of rest stops, Our Lass trod this 300m track with a monotonous "click, thump" rhythm, in order to reach the nirvana of a wild vista beyond the sheep dyke. Whilst the Admiral and I were intent on photographing Black Guillemots, she innocently pointed out a wee flower that we had walked past umpteen times. Binoculars were wielded, cameras were deployed, Ohs and Ums were oh-ed and um-ed, heads were scratched. Then politeness cut in and we scratched our own heads, before realisation finally dawned. Yes, we definitely don't know what this is.

It's a... er...hmmm?

The small white-centred, pink flower, no more than 8mm across, had 5 petals and grew in small clumps (technical botanical term) on the bare sandy clifftop. Later, in the bar (where else), recourse to a copy of Wild Flowers of Britain and Ireland (Blamey, Fitter and Fitter), narrowed it down to a Sea-spurrey, Spergularia, but which one? Sand (rubra), Greater (media), Lesser (marina), Rock (rupicola), Greek (bocconei)? Only Greater and Lesser are known in Orkney, as Sand has supposedly not made the jump to the Northern Isles. It was definitely not Greek, as there wasn't a bouzouki player for miles, nor was it Rock which appears to be a plant of the west coast of Britain.

The defining characteristic seemed to be the comparative length of petals to sepals. Longer equals Greater, shorter equals Lesser. We couldn't even agree on this and I reckoned they were the same length anyway, which brought Rock back into the frame.

Oh, we're rubbish at botany, if you hadn't already guessed!

So, dear reader (presuming that you are still paying attention and haven't wandered off to do something more meaningful), can you help? Are you the world authority on Sea-spurrey or even someone for whom the ratio of petal to sepal is but a trifle? To be honest, I think the North Ronaldsay sheep probably stood a better chance of working it out than we did.

Full marks for Fulmars

2011-07-10T06:59:00.000+01:00

These days, on a visit to the Northern Isles, it would be virtually impossible not to see a Fulmar, Fulmarus glacialis. Yet, according to Mark Cocker in Birds Britannica, they did not breed in the Orkney archipelago as little as 120 years ago.

Fulmar... the supermini of the albatross world, though I gather that the airscoop on the bonnet is actually a tube for filtering out salt from sea water.

Roosting on top of a sheep pund at Dennis Ness, North Ronaldsay

Encounters with these birds have become synonymous with our trips to Orkney, especially on North Ronaldsay, where they often nest at the base of the sheep dyke. This dry stone wall is maintained as a barrier to keep the seaweed-eating sheep off the fertile pasture, so a circumnavigation of the island on its seaward side is bound to bring you into close contact with many a Fulmar.

Gliding effortlessly above the storm beach adjacent to Trolla Vatn, North Ronaldsay

If I say that they have a somewhat vomitous predator response, regurgitating a foul oily substance, you will appreciate why it pays to keep an eye open for where they are roosting.

On cliffs above the Bay of Kirbest, Westray

Its Orcadian name, 'Molly-mawk' or 'Mallimack', derives from the Dutch for 'foolish gull', as its habit of sitting tight on its egg made it an easy target for hunters in times past. Whereas 'Foul Maa' is of a more Scandinavian origin, referring to the previously described habit of sharing its breakfast after the event.

Back to Normal

2011-07-04T19:40:00.000+01:00

I don't know, you nip away for a few weeks and the blogosphere traffic goes crazy, but I think I've caught up with all my reading of posts, replying and commenting.

The Tense Towers Team have had a break in northern climes, still on British soil, but with a much different biota to sleepy Buckinghamshire. In fact, returning to MK on Saturday afternoon was a bit weird, as we saw birds that would've been regarded as quite rare for the last fortnight.

"Look! A Magpie!"

"Wow! There's a Blue Tit!"

"Listen to that amazing call, what it is it? Oh, a Goldfinch!"

So back to normal felt a little abnormal for a while, but I think we've got it out of our systems now.

As the photos featured on I&T rarely show the team, regular readers may wonder if we spend our nature-watching time back to back, in a small triangular shape, cameras pointing outward. I have to inform you that we're not such a regular polygon as that, as a scroll down this webpage will testify, taken on holiday, doing what we do best... drinking tea!

Yep, the unholy triumvirate of the Our Lass, the Admiral and myself ventured to a few of the islands of Orkney, first North Ronaldsay and then Westray. The photo in the above link is courtesy of the staff at the Bird Observatory, where we spent a fantastic week, soaking up the wildlife, local cuisine and not a little Dark Island ale. If you're ever in Orkney, I would recommend a visit.

I'm working my way through 14 days of photographs, so there's much more to come, however, by necessity, it might be more interactive than usual as there were lots of flowers that were new to us. Any help with ID in the upcoming posts will be gratefully received.

Lawn order

2011-06-29T17:04:00.002+01:00

Whilst I was photographing the Bee Orchid featured in the previous post, Our Lass (still hors de combat and on crutches) spotted an insect in the lavender bed.

Recourse to my insect bible, Chinery's Insects of Britain and Western Europe, leads me to believe it is a Sloe Bug, Dolycoris baccarum, one of the shield bug family, Pentatomidae, from the sub order Heteroptera of the order Hemiptera.

Mystery plant update

2011-06-24T16:20:00.002+01:00

Way back in November, I posted about a mystifying appearance at Tense Towers, when a strange roseate of leaves was found growing in our lawn. Time has passed, Spring mowings have been extremely careful and now the mystery is conclusively solved.

A flower spike began in May and we watched patiently as white buds formed. There was a moment's consternation, when we woke up one morning to discover something had nipped out the lowest flower bud. But after defensive works were erected to deter Wood Pigeons (the usual suspects!), using chicken wire and most of a 2 litre drinks bottle, we relaxed and waited for the show.

We weren't to be disappointed, as earlier this month, the white buds opened to reveal a gorgeous Bee Orchid, Ophrys apifera. Bizarrely, so we learned, the bee that the flower has evolved to mimic, isn't native to the UK. So the British Bee Orchid is self-pollinating.

Fort Orchid

Crumbs, it's a... oh no, it isn't.

2011-06-19T12:00:00.001+01:00

Recently, the Admiral discovered this magnificent insect on a poplar tree near his place of work.

If you think it's a Hornet, then you're only half right. This is a moth mimicking the fearsome predator. It is a Hornet Clearwing.

My nautical friend also spotted a few holes from which these moths had emerged.
We had not previously encountered this species, but now know which trees to look out for and at what time of year.

The best part of the day

2011-06-12T21:03:00.000+01:00

Waking early, and noticing that it was sunny, I decided to make the most of it before the rain arrived. Following a clear night, it was still a little chilly, but warming gradually as the sun climbed above the horizon. Fog hung in the river valley as I drove to the local nature reserve, but it was already burning off as I got out of the car.

My route to the lakes, took me through a paddock where a Muntjac Deer was grazing on the luxuriant growth. Close by, a cuckoo called, sticking rigidly to the line from the old poem, "In June, I change my tune" as it double-tapped the first syllable.

Rounding a corner in the track, I startled a Bullfinch which had been feeding on the ground, its departing white rump revealing its identity. An Oystercatcher flew overhead, piping clear notes into the morning sky and a Sedge Warbler staccato'd its jazzy song out across the reeds.

Looking over the lakes, wisps of mist swirled around the sleeping forms of a couple of Mute Swans, a Common Tern swooped and dived for fish, whilst a Little Egret waded in the shallows on a similar task.

After another bend in the track, I noticed a fox cub up ahead, sitting in a sunny spot. It was being harassed by a pair of Magpies and could not enjoy the early morning warmth in peace. Before I could approach any closer, it tired of its tormentors and disappeared through a hedge out of sight.

I crept forwards and took up a position near to the cub's last known location, just in case it changed its mind and was tempted back into the sun. After about ten minutes, the likelihood was becoming more and more remote, but from the other side of the hedge (it was about 20' across and just as high), I could hear the Magpies rasping out their raucous rattling alarm call. Presuming that this indicated that the Fox was still in the vicinity, I pointed my optics at the source of the sound and through the leaves was able to see the occasional flash of white and black plumage and the odd patch of gingery red fur. When the anxious clucking of a Pheasant began, I guessed that the cub wasn't about to return my way any time soon, so I took my leave and headed home to make Our Lass her breakfast.

During a break in proceedings...

2011-06-09T18:01:00.001+01:00

It's been a hectic week so far at Tense Towers. Our Lass was given a few days' notice to go into hospital for an operation, and though she's back home now, she cannot currently use one leg for weight bearing.

It's at times like these that you realise just how much we rely on our mobility. Last night, I tried going upstairs using only one leg, just to see how difficult it is, and I'm in no hurry to repeat the experience.

Second Born and I are taking it in turns to be Chief Nursing Auxiliary/Domestic Deity and today was my first shift. By mid afternoon I was in need of a bit of a pick-me-up myself, so as patient and household chores were not clamouring for my attention, I snuck out into the garden to see what was about.

Several species of damselfly were competing for sunny spots by the pond: Large Red, Azure, Common Blue and Blue-tailed. One particular Large Red, Pyrrhosoma nymphula, presented a good photo opportunity whilst perched on the flowers of Lady's Mantle, Alchemilla mollis.

Meanwhile, on the floating leaves of a water lily, was a species of fly that I have not yet been able to identify. There appeared to be male and female specimens, as one individual was different from the others. It had a white patch at the tips of its wings, which it would flash at the other flies, either as a warning or as a courtship display. Any ideas, faithful reader?

I've no more time to peruse the ID guides, as kitchen duties await. With a swish of a pinafore, no longer Cameron Binns, but Saladin Flanagan.

Post Script: JD texted me several hours later to say "Poecilobothrus nobilitatus". Thanks, JD!

Sugar mountain

2011-06-06T22:16:00.000+01:00

It was Our Lass's birthday recently. One of those that can be viewed as significant, if you're of that persuasion. Y'know what I mean, one of the "oh" ones... as in ending with an "-oh".

It was worthy of having the occasion celebrated, hence the long weekend away, but I knew that a surprise party with dozens of guests wouldn't be her thing. So how to add that special something? There were cards and presents, of course, but I needed to mark the milestone in a more apt way.

I discovered that Trey, the partner of a work colleague, makes amazing novelty cakes for all occasions, so I approached her with a few ideas. Our Lass likes wild flowers, photography and the wild coasts of the north and west of Britain and after a discussion of what was and wasn't possible, Trey reckoned she had a plan. I lent her a book of photographs called "Orkney from the Air" by Craig Taylor and waited patiently to see what would happen.

Well, I casually say "patiently", but by the time the day arrived, I was on tenterhooks to know what she had created. When Jon, her hubby, arrived at work to deliver the confection, he was rather nervous too, having driven along a motorway and some country lanes with strict instructions from Trey to "take it easy" with the cake.

Now, there's a famous sea stack off the west coast of the island of Hoy (called The Old Man of Hoy, but we'll gloss over that bit for several reasons!). Trey had cleverly used this as her inspiration and placed Our Lass on the clifftop by the stack, laid amongst the maritime heath flora of Orkney and gazing out at the view.

Photo courtesy of Our Lass

Genius! And it tasted as good as it looks!

Many Thanks to The Baking Trey for this wonderful cake.

Today's post is brought to you by the letter...?

2011-06-05T13:42:00.000+01:00

Our last morning in the Broads area of Norfolk, in search of the elusive Swallowtail butterfly and Norfolk Hawker dragonfly, saw a subtle change in tactics. Following minimal success at one nature reserve after another (and encouraged by our chance odonatological encounter at a picnic site), we opted to visit Fairhaven Water Gardens in South Walsham.This ticked most of the boxes for Our Lass: woodlands, water, plant sales and tearoom, whilst also having reported sightings of both our target species.

For some time, the weather forecast had been predicting rain for this day, so we were encouraged by the amount of sun on offer. So much, in fact, that we were glad to be in the shade of the woodland. This also had the effect of providing shelter from the wind, so that in sunny glades were gathered all manner of dragonflies and damselflies. Eu-flippin'-reka!

By one of the wide streams, we watched a male Broad-bodied Chaser patrolling his territory, returning time and again to his favourite perch on a stick at the water's edge. When a female Broad-bodied Chaser appeared, there was a brief chase, an equally brief consummation of their passions and then she immediately began ovipositing, with her paramour flying above her, as she repeatedly dipped her abdomen in the water to lay her eggs.

Hawking above us and roosting on the huge leaves of Gunnera manicata, were some larger dragonflies. Big and brown, with a characteristic yellow triangle on their abdomens, these were indeed Aeshna isosceles, Norfolk Hawker. Phew! Not keen to trample all over the ornamental flower beds, I had to be content with a shot from range...

There were no Swallowtails to be seen, though, so our last roll of the dice was to visit Wheatfen Broad, a reserve set up by the late Ted Ellis, naturalist, writer and broadcaster. Wheatfen is a tidal marsh of the Yare valley, and of all the wildlife sites visited over the weekend, this felt the most natural. It is actually just across the River Yare from RSPB Strumshaw, which we had visited two days previously, but the feel of the place was completely different and we relaxed even more as soon as we stepped foot on its springy paths.

A young chap told us he had seen a Swallowtail, not ten minutes before, on a part of the reserve called Smee Loke, so this seemed as likely a place as any to start our search. Whilst there were Flag Iris, Ragged Robin and Milk Parsley aplenty, and many dragons and damsels, there was no sign of the butterfly. Now, it is arguable that dragons are large, mythical creatures, but for this particular weekend, that description better fitted the Swallowtail, as I did begin to wonder if it existed at all.

Whilst sat on a bench in the shade, each of us contemplating our lack of lepidopteran success in our own ways, a movement to our right caught my eye. It wasn't a butterfly, it was a bird, and quite a familiar bird at that. However, it wasn't one that I expected to see in the middle of a marsh, surrounded by reeds and water. For there, in the lower branches of a bush, was a Jay, a bird more usually seen in deciduous woodland featuring plenty of oak trees.

To my regret, I've never been able to take a great photo of a Jay, they're pretty wary of humans and I've not been quick enough on the draw whenever the opportunity has arisen. They are probably the most glamorous of the UK's corvids, so I took a few shots but, predictably, the twigs of the bush were obscuring various bits of the bird. When the Jay dropped to the ground and out of sight, I went back to wallowing in Swallowtail misery. Eventually, we decided to walk a bit further around the reserve, and as we were headed in the direction of the Jay bush, we quietly crept forward. The Jay was foraging through the undergrowth and hopped further away at our presence. I kept taking photographs, despite the intervening vegetation, more in hope than anything else, and then a very strange thing happened.

The bird flew through the reeds towards us and landed on a post by the path. In clear view, it sat there for a while, its head turning this way and that as it searched for food. We held our breath, not daring to move, the only sounds to be heard were the breeze swishing through the fen and the repeated click of a camera shutter.

Butterflies? You can keep 'em!

A Day of Mixed Fortunes

2011-06-04T14:27:00.000+01:00

The second day of our trip to Norfolk dawned overcast, so our hopes of finding sun-loving insects were at a low ebb. This may have influenced our decision to head for the coast and the dune complex at Winterton, just north of Great Yarmouth.

As it happened, by the time we bundled out of the car into a sandy wilderness, the sun was making a concerted effort to break through. However, the wind was very gusty and I opted to leave my camera in the safety of its rucksack.

This was a shame as there is a large Little Tern colony on the shingle beach at Winterton, protected from various threats by much signage and an electric fence. Hopefully, this deters foxes, dogs and small-minded humans from stumbling through the middle of the colony and wreaking havoc upon eggs and chicks.

The stiff breeze was proving a problem for winged insects, a point amply made when a large dragonfly narrowly missed the Admiral as it was blown out to sea. However, in the odd sheltered spot between the dunes, Our Lass and the Admiral managed to see Large Red, Azure and Common Blue damsels.

As it was now very warm, we decided to head back inland and try our luck at Upton Fen. This Norfolk Wildlife Trust reserve is home to Norfolk Hawker dragonfly and Swallowtail butterfly, so we were feeling quite buoyant as we trundled along the back roads in glorious sunshine. Unfortunately, the fickle hand of Fate then intervened, and we ended up at the eastern edge of the fen without easy access to the reserve. To match our darkening mood, the clouds came over again and the temperature dropped, much like our chances of a sighting our target insects. We managed to find a picnic spot out of the wind, by a marina, and sat sombrely eating our lunch whilst we thought of another plan.

The rollercoaster ride of a day then did a loop-the-loop, as over the Admiral's shoulder, I spotted a dragonfly hawking in the shelter of the trees. Three pairs of eyes latched onto this fast-moving object and savoured every second of the view, as for two of us, this was our first Norfolk Hawker.

With our morale and directions back on the map, we drove the few miles along the south side of the fen to the western edge, where the actual car park was located. By now, much of the heat of the day had disappeared, so it was proving difficult to find any Odonata. By sheer persistence, we were able to locate Hairy Dragonfly, Black-tailed Skimmer, Broad-bodied Chaser and Four-spotted Chaser, as well as Large Red, Azure, Blue-tailed, and Variable Damselflies.

Four-spotted Chaser (Libellula quadrimaculata)

Shortly after taking the above photograph, we happened upon a stretch of dyke where most of the surface was covered with a strange plant. This was Water Soldier, the plant upon which Norfolk Hawker larvae live for two or three years, before emerging into the light on its sword-shaped leaves. The plant itself is a bit of a star. It remains fully submerged for most of the year, only coming to the surface to flower in early summer, which is pretty handy for the Hawker, I guess.

Water Soldier (Stratiotes alloides)

Norfolk Hawker exuvia on Water Soldier leaf

Sadly, although we found many exuviae, we could not see any adult dragonflies, and save for a distance glimpse of one in another glade as we made our way back to the car, that was it for the day. Since breakfast, our fortunes had ebbed and flowed like the tide, so it seemed apposite to take our evening meal in a pub called The Ship.

More Strumpshaw

2011-06-02T21:04:00.000+01:00

Whilst at RSPB Strumpshaw, we were hoping to see Swallowtail butterflies and Norfolk Hawker dragonflies, but a rain shower during the afternoon and the gusty breeze meant that we were out of luck.

However, there was plenty of other stuff on view...

Several Shelducks were present, putting on the occasional flypast...

And an immature Black-tailed Skimmer managed to find a sheltered spot, to bask in the late afternoon sun.

We only managed to see about three butterflies all afternoon, Red Admiral, Small Tortoiseshell and one of the Whites. The dragonflies, too, were hard work. As well as the BTS above, we only managed a Scarce Chaser and a Banded Demoiselle, amongst plenty of damsels hiding in the long grass.

Better luck tomorrow, perhaps?

Romantic meal for two, anyone?

2011-06-02T20:30:00.047+01:00

Now, I did say that our trip to Norfolk was to celebrate a bit of a milestone for one of our number. So what would be finer than a romantic meal for two, bathed in late afternoon sun, sitting by the water's edge, billing and cooing like lovestruck doves?

Doves? Well, how about Black-headed Gulls?

There we were, sat in a hide at RSPB Strumpshaw, when all of a sudden, a pair of gulls started acting strangely. At first we assumed that it was an adult feeding a well grown chick, but we soon realised that, no, it was probably a male and female indulging in a bit of culinary courtship.

Only read on if you've a strong stomach...

Her: "How much do you love me?"

Him: "More than mere words can convey."

Her: "Well, give us a tasty morsel, then."

Him: "Yaaaaarrrrgggghhh!"

Her: "Thanks, my dear!"

The Time Traveller's Whiff

2011-06-02T19:37:00.000+01:00

"All those keeping up with their blogging schedule, one pace forward... Tense, where do you think YOU'RE going?"

Yes, it's true, I'm somewhat behind with my posts and will probably require the services of a time machine to recover lost ground.

So, let's see... last Saturday's probably a good bet, [fiddles with controls as lights flash, alarms sound and an electrical burning smell heralds a temporal malfunction that will definitely require some Time to sort].

The Tense Towers Team headed off to Norfolk for the long weekend at the end of May, ostensibly to celebrate Our Lass's upcoming birthday, but with hopes of seeing a few new species of flora and fauna.

Leaving MK at early o'clock, we were ensconced in a tea shop by Ranworth Broad well before elevenses and peering out of the window at a small boat edging towards the jetty. Out steps a chap, who proceeded to erect a sandwich board advertising boat trips around the nearby Norfolk Wildlife Trust reserve. The sky was overcast, a chilly breeze whistled across the water and clouds threatened to rain on everyone's parade.

As no-one else was about, the three of us took up the offer of a circuit around the Broad, in the company of a knowledgeable guide and his electric craft. Due to the weather, butterflies and dragonflies would be in short supply, so we busied ourselves spotting a few of the bird species to be found in this aquatic environment. Great Crested Grebes with their stripey humbug youngsters, Common Terns, Marsh Harrier and Cetti's Warbler. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but good to see from a different perspective, out on the water.

Suddenly, our guide pointed ahead, where a large raptor was flying towards us. Bins and cameras whirled around to view an Osprey, carrying a half-eaten fish. This was an unexpected surprise and certainly kick-started our weekend!

Oops

2011-05-27T20:41:00.000+01:00

Sorry about the mis-post, folks!

I was trying to sort out a problem with my labels and accidentally re-posted from a couple of weeks ago. Funny stuff happening at log on too :o/

I knew I shouldn't have got rid of the quill pen and ink bottle. Hopefully, I will be able to report on Tense Team activities without any further hitches.

Ladies and Gentlemen, to your optics. Here's wishing you all a great weekend's nature watching.