It's that time of year again, the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch. A time when it's OK to be a bit of a wimp and birdwatch from the warmth and comfort of your own home.
There's none of this trekking through acres of mud in your bare feet in all weathers, dragging several tonnes of optical equipment, to arrive at a damp, dark hide, which because it's colder inside than out, seems to have discovered the secret of refrigeration without all that CFC and electricity malarkey. Nuh-uh, cosy toes and cups of tea are the order of the day.
For the Tense Team, this year, the garden birdwatch weekend will be a bit of a damp squib compared to previous ones. We've not been in our rented cottage long enough to build up a loyal band of feathered visitors. That and the fact that if we did put food out, it would disappear off downwind at a goodly rate of knots*, last stop Scapa Flow.
In the six weeks that we have been here, the only birds we have seen are a couple of Blackbirds, a Robin, a Wren, a few of House Sparrows, a small flock of Starlings and a Sparrowhawk. The latter intent on reducing the 'a small flock of' to 'several' status. Nothing exotic like a Blue Tit or a Goldfinch (yesterday, in a neighbouring village, we had to be revived with smelling salts when we saw a Chaffinch).
So, to make up for the lack of any birdy news from this Orcadian garden, here, as they might say on BBC [insert season]watch, is what happened in previous years, whilst living in MK:
2010
2011
2012
Why that last one wasn't a pun...
Numbers and birds - discuss
A bit about counting
I hope that normal BGB service will be resumed by January 2015.
* Not, you will note, Knots
Showing posts with label Big Garden Birdwatch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Big Garden Birdwatch. Show all posts
Wednesday, 22 January 2014
Sunday, 7 March 2010
A march in March
The good news is that we've all been reprieved from a Tense Towers rant due to a fortuitous set of circumstances.
What could possibly be upsetting our scribe this fine March day? Oh, you had to ask.
The latest Waxwing news is that they're no longer there. How am I so sure? Well, for one, the tree they were sitting in has gone, mistletoe and all, to that great arboretum in the sky. During the last few weeks, contractors have been busy felling alternate trees along the main street through our estate. By chance, possibly the toss of a coin, the fate of Waxwing tree was sealed long before our colourful, crested visitors arrived. One tree either way and we would still have a wonderful clump of mistletoe to marvel, the only one in the area. Fan-flipping-tastic.
But you're right, dear long-suffering reader, it is a bright, clear March day. The sort of day that says "Stuff the housework, let's get out there and have some fresh air". Miraculously, I managed to persuade younger daughter to forego the comfort of her duvet and accompany me. So off we set for Little Linford Wood with high hopes of some early morning wildlife (early for Ruth, that is).
After trudging over the fields in a biting wind, we entered the shelter of the wood and followed the main ride northwards, passing an Ash tree on the edge of the path that is a good spot for Pine Ladybird during the warmer part of the year. Well, used to be a good spot, it's now three feet high and not nearly so impressive. There was a nice log pile beside it, which will be habitat for many an invertebrate, I'm sure, but any upwardly-mobile Pine Ladybird is going to be a bit disappointed come Spring.
Now, I do like a mad axeman as much as the next guy, but I'd prefer it if he was Michael Schenker or Eddie Van Halen, rather than some chainsaw-toting habitat mismanagement vandal. Sorry, I wasn't going to rant...
Continuing out of the wood, we circled west to cross the valley twice, finding Tree Sparrow and Skylark on the way. Then, heading back towards the wood, and perhaps more importantly into the wind, we had a huge slice of luck. With lashings of fortune custard.
What could possibly be upsetting our scribe this fine March day? Oh, you had to ask.
The latest Waxwing news is that they're no longer there. How am I so sure? Well, for one, the tree they were sitting in has gone, mistletoe and all, to that great arboretum in the sky. During the last few weeks, contractors have been busy felling alternate trees along the main street through our estate. By chance, possibly the toss of a coin, the fate of Waxwing tree was sealed long before our colourful, crested visitors arrived. One tree either way and we would still have a wonderful clump of mistletoe to marvel, the only one in the area. Fan-flipping-tastic.
But you're right, dear long-suffering reader, it is a bright, clear March day. The sort of day that says "Stuff the housework, let's get out there and have some fresh air". Miraculously, I managed to persuade younger daughter to forego the comfort of her duvet and accompany me. So off we set for Little Linford Wood with high hopes of some early morning wildlife (early for Ruth, that is).
After trudging over the fields in a biting wind, we entered the shelter of the wood and followed the main ride northwards, passing an Ash tree on the edge of the path that is a good spot for Pine Ladybird during the warmer part of the year. Well, used to be a good spot, it's now three feet high and not nearly so impressive. There was a nice log pile beside it, which will be habitat for many an invertebrate, I'm sure, but any upwardly-mobile Pine Ladybird is going to be a bit disappointed come Spring.
Now, I do like a mad axeman as much as the next guy, but I'd prefer it if he was Michael Schenker or Eddie Van Halen, rather than some chainsaw-toting habitat mismanagement vandal. Sorry, I wasn't going to rant...
Continuing out of the wood, we circled west to cross the valley twice, finding Tree Sparrow and Skylark on the way. Then, heading back towards the wood, and perhaps more importantly into the wind, we had a huge slice of luck. With lashings of fortune custard.
In the fields, we happened upon several hares. They were more concerned with each other than us, so we were able to approach quite closely. Whilst we didn't witness any "boxing", there was sufficient activity to confirm that the wheel of the year is turning to favour the goddess Eastre and life is once more springing from the Earth. [Contented scribbly sigh]
Sunday, 24 January 2010
Glib bard in word botch!
Unless you've been off the planet, visiting relatives lately, you will have not failed to notice that next weekend, 30-31 January, is the RSPB's Big Garden Birdwatch 2010.
This is your chance to risk whiplash as you try to keep track of the little blighters whizzing around your feeder, or conversely, risk terminal boredom for an hour as next door's cat is sat out of your sight line but not the birds'.
It all provides valuable information on the state of the nation's wintering avifauna, from the comfort of your own home. No trudging for miles through the mud to sit in a freezing hide that's been vandalised to within an inch of pornography. Just a comfy chair, a hot cuppa and the wonder of Nature in your front or back garden (no euphemism intended).
It's a bit like the census, only it's every year and there's not a tick box for Jedi Knight.
An hour is about right for the cycle of feeding that goes on in this neck of the woods. There'll perhaps be five or ten minutes of "Where's everything gone?", courtesy of the afore-mentioned cat, or some eejit revving the nuts off his motor bike or, if you're really lucky, a passing Sparrowhawk. What? You've never tried to rev a Sparrowhawk!?!
When normality returns, it usually starts off quite sedately, Blue Tits and Great Tits taking it in turns to visit the seed feeder, with perhaps the occasional Coal Tit, timidly putting in an appearance. Three Blueys might politely and geometrically share the peanut feeder, each 120 degrees apart, lest they offend each other.
The finches bustle in next, in a whirling cloud of inter- and intra-species warfare. Belying its gorgeous colours and intricate song, there's nothing quite so arsey as a Goldfinch on a feeder. The Greenfinches aren't much better, leaving the Chaffinches to hover around the edges or tidy up under the feeder. Finally, a few House Sparrows drift in, like kids late for school, seemingly more interested in squabbling amongst themselves.
After a while, a couple of Starlings will monopolise both seed and nuts, only being chased away by the arrival of a Great Spotted Woodpecker or a Grey Squirrel. And then the cycle will repeat, starting with the mixed tit flock again.
Meanwhile, on the ground, the Wood Pigeons will have been acting out a cameo, strutting around the lawn, pretending they know which way is up or some other clever fact. The Collared Doves don't fall for this nonsense, ignoring all the bravado and handbags, preferring to attempt the columbine world record for the most birds on a small birdtable. This currently stands at eight, four inside and four on the roof. Someone should phone Noel Edmonds.
The blackbirds are the bullies of the garden, chasing away each other, Song Thrushes and any bird smaller than themselves that strays too near their food. But who's the first to alarm call and run screaming for cover at the slightest perceived danger? Losers.
Then there's the psycho schizophrenic Robins. Cute and fluffy one minute, feathered Rottweilers the next and prepared to attack anything vaguely Robin-shaped. I ask you, if you're a Dunnock, what is your motivation to get out of bed in the morning, knowing that as soon as you stick your beak out of the door, some Tasmanian Devil will "Taz" your arse for just existing? The only reason must be all that love triangle shenanigans in the rose bed, that's what. I dunno, hopping about the lawn, pretending to be all strait-laced and dour and demure, but really a bunch of sordid, sex starved maniacs. A very Victorian bird, the Dunnock.
All in all, an hour's garden watching can be pretty entertaining. So don't forget to take part in the BGBW and contribute to our understanding of the long term trends affecting our wildlife. For more details, click here.
PS If you see any Dunnocks building railways and bridges, or distributing religious pamphlets, please adjust your medication.
This is your chance to risk whiplash as you try to keep track of the little blighters whizzing around your feeder, or conversely, risk terminal boredom for an hour as next door's cat is sat out of your sight line but not the birds'.
It all provides valuable information on the state of the nation's wintering avifauna, from the comfort of your own home. No trudging for miles through the mud to sit in a freezing hide that's been vandalised to within an inch of pornography. Just a comfy chair, a hot cuppa and the wonder of Nature in your front or back garden (no euphemism intended).
It's a bit like the census, only it's every year and there's not a tick box for Jedi Knight.
An hour is about right for the cycle of feeding that goes on in this neck of the woods. There'll perhaps be five or ten minutes of "Where's everything gone?", courtesy of the afore-mentioned cat, or some eejit revving the nuts off his motor bike or, if you're really lucky, a passing Sparrowhawk. What? You've never tried to rev a Sparrowhawk!?!
When normality returns, it usually starts off quite sedately, Blue Tits and Great Tits taking it in turns to visit the seed feeder, with perhaps the occasional Coal Tit, timidly putting in an appearance. Three Blueys might politely and geometrically share the peanut feeder, each 120 degrees apart, lest they offend each other.
The finches bustle in next, in a whirling cloud of inter- and intra-species warfare. Belying its gorgeous colours and intricate song, there's nothing quite so arsey as a Goldfinch on a feeder. The Greenfinches aren't much better, leaving the Chaffinches to hover around the edges or tidy up under the feeder. Finally, a few House Sparrows drift in, like kids late for school, seemingly more interested in squabbling amongst themselves.
After a while, a couple of Starlings will monopolise both seed and nuts, only being chased away by the arrival of a Great Spotted Woodpecker or a Grey Squirrel. And then the cycle will repeat, starting with the mixed tit flock again.
Meanwhile, on the ground, the Wood Pigeons will have been acting out a cameo, strutting around the lawn, pretending they know which way is up or some other clever fact. The Collared Doves don't fall for this nonsense, ignoring all the bravado and handbags, preferring to attempt the columbine world record for the most birds on a small birdtable. This currently stands at eight, four inside and four on the roof. Someone should phone Noel Edmonds.
The blackbirds are the bullies of the garden, chasing away each other, Song Thrushes and any bird smaller than themselves that strays too near their food. But who's the first to alarm call and run screaming for cover at the slightest perceived danger? Losers.
Then there's the psycho schizophrenic Robins. Cute and fluffy one minute, feathered Rottweilers the next and prepared to attack anything vaguely Robin-shaped. I ask you, if you're a Dunnock, what is your motivation to get out of bed in the morning, knowing that as soon as you stick your beak out of the door, some Tasmanian Devil will "Taz" your arse for just existing? The only reason must be all that love triangle shenanigans in the rose bed, that's what. I dunno, hopping about the lawn, pretending to be all strait-laced and dour and demure, but really a bunch of sordid, sex starved maniacs. A very Victorian bird, the Dunnock.
All in all, an hour's garden watching can be pretty entertaining. So don't forget to take part in the BGBW and contribute to our understanding of the long term trends affecting our wildlife. For more details, click here.
PS If you see any Dunnocks building railways and bridges, or distributing religious pamphlets, please adjust your medication.
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