One man went to mow

Another decent bit of weather for a Saturday morning and the lure of an amble around our local nature reserve proved too tempting.

The Admiral and I had the good fortune to arrive just as temperatures were hitting optimum for our favourite insects. We could see darters, hawkers and damsels out over the water and we watched, amazed, as the activity suddenly changed emphasis and headed in our direction.

The hawkers moved off the water, over the reeds, across the path where we were stood, then settled on the gorse and dog rose hedge behind us. Maximum sun, check, minimum breeze, check. They're consistent, you have to give 'em credit. I must admit, I'd never before witnessed such a slick, seemingly co-ordinated manoeuvre from a group of dragons. I took a few shots of male Migrant Hawkers and then we pottered along a bit further. 

Stopping to scan a likely spot, but not seeing anything, our attention was diverted by a single Lapwing call. Looking up, we saw a huge flock of about 500 of these plovers drifting across the sky, whilst they decided whether to drop on to the bund in the main lake. 

Resetting our sights to the lowly vegetation, we were surprised to discover a male Southern Hawker, now roosted where we had previously been looking. Again, I was lucky to be able to take a few shots without disturbing it.

At the far end of the reserve, we heard a Cetti's Warbler calling, before spotting a pair of Ruddy Darters "in cop" and discovering several female Migrant Hawkers roosted on the hedges.

The return journey was even warmer. The wood of one of the benches was heating up nicely and had eight darters perched on it, soaking up the rays, directly and indirectly. But that's another story... 

After lunch, I bit the bullet and decided to mow the lawn, despite its dampness. With more rain forecast, it seemed like a good idea. This proved to be the case, because otherwise I wouldn't have gone out and looked at the pond. For there, perched on a rush leaf, was a newly-emerged male Common Darter, a full two months after his brethren had left the aquatic world and taken to the skies. Sadly, due to his quirky timing, it's unlikely that he will see out his expected life span before the frosts take hold and the dragonfly season comes to an end for another year.

Hedgerow sensual

What a cracking morning. Blue sky, slight breeze, the warmth of the sun gently easing the autumnal chill from the countryside and a perfect day to head to Clifton Reynes.

Located above the flood plain of the River Great Ouse, across the valley from Olney and Emberton, it's a pleasant village to visit at any time of year (and even better if the Robin Hood Inn is open). The surrounding fields, paths and hedgerows are bursting with colour. In these parts, Autumn paints from a lush, rich, fruity palette, contrasting with the overgrown, faded watercolour that Summer became, to give the land a vibrant and heady glow before Winter sets in.

As I walk up the lane from the village towards the river, butterflies and bees bask in the morning sun. Red Admirals and Commas, looking impossibly pristine in the September light, jostle for position as they feed on the cascades of ivy flowers.

The hedgerows are full of the fruit of a fertile season; blackberries, elderberries, sloes, haws and rose hips. In the course of an hour or so, I meet several dozen folk out brambling, laden with free food, who look at me quizzically as I stand empty-handed gazing at the bushes. For blackberries aren't my quarry today. I may be listening to the church bells, pealing across the valley, I may have the fresh scent of the season in my nostrils, but I'm looking for dragons. On an Autumn morning, this is a great spot to find them, roosted low down in the warm sun, but out of the cool breeze.

I am not disappointed (well, apart from the lack of bramble and apple pie in my very near future), for I find Migrant Hawkers and Common Darters at a reasonable height to photograph. A few Brown Hawkers hunt over the brambles, out of range, and I put up a Southern Hawker from the base of a hedge.

This one's mine!

Male Migrant Hawker

Migrant Hawker and Black Bryony

Whilst trying to capture an image of a Red Admiral, I inadvertently spook a Little Owl from a mature Hawthorn tree, and as I wander back to the village, a pair of Buzzards cry overhead as they quarter the fields.

Counting butterflies and a dragon spell

Until I logged onto the BBC Nature website, I hadn't realised that it was the Big Butterfly Count from July 24th to Aug 1st, as part of Butterfly Conservation's... erm... would you believe, Butterfly Week. Fortuitously, we had just had a potter around the BBOWT reserve of Little Linford Wood and the place was teeming with them.

I was hoping to photograph White Admirals, but although our lass spotted three individuals, they were resolutely committed to staying out of camera range. So you'll have to make do with this fresh Peacock instead...

We recorded a dozen species, plus a Silver Y moth, but of course I really wanted to see  dragons. There were plenty of Brown Hawkers on the wing, the odd Southern Hawker, several Migrant Hawkers and a few Ruddy Darters. We had a bit of luck when an immature male Migrant landed in the undergrowth beside us, hanging around just long enough for me to galvanise myself into action to capture a shot.

Hopefully, warm summer evenings will now be filled with groups of these dragonflies, hunting and feeding, in woodland glades, along hedgerows, and if I'm very lucky, in the garden of Tense Towers. Several years ago, this did occur. And to be stood in a small space, bordered by a tall hedge and panel fences, surrounded by ten or so Migrant Hawkers, was a magical experience. The air was filled with the sound of their wings, a delicate gentle sound, as they brushed against the vegetation and carried out impossibly tight turns in their search for food. Unperturbed by my presence, the squadron of dragons stayed for a few minutes and then left as suddenly as they had arrived. A close encounter, fondly remembered.

A Really Brief History of Time

Wildlife watching opportunities have been a bit thin on the ground since my previous post. I did spot a Common Darter in our garden last weekend, "obelisking" into the sun during a brief hot spell. It's a very striking pose, which reminds me that, this winter, I should make the time (no pun intended) to design a dragonfly sundial. Later the same day, we ventured to the local reserve for an hour or so and recorded our first Migrant Hawker of the year. A nice male, roosting in the low afternoon sun. That brought my year list (sad, I know, but I'm a slave to my hormones) to a total of 25, which is my usual figure. Missing that Broad-bodied Chaser sighting now, eh, my lad?





Today being the first day of the Bank Holiday, I somehow managed to wake up at the normal time. How does that work? Monday to Friday, I'm rudely awakened by the alarm clock, wrenched from a pleasant somnolence by its strident tones. On a day off, Dink! my eyes open at exactly the same time without any explanation and I'm back in the land of the conscious. Grrrrr!

As the forecast was for sunny spells, we drove to Clifton Reynes and pottered about for an hour or so through the village, along the hedgerows, down to the river and back again. This produced a few Southern Hawkers, Migrant Hawkers, Common Darters and Banded Demoiselles, so we felt that we deserved a pub lunch. I can whole-heartedly recommend The Robin Hood Inn, excellent nosh. Now rather full and not a little tipsy, we wandered vaguely over the fields to Newton Blossomville, encountering more Common Darters, Migrant Hawkers and a Brown Hawker on the way. Our return, via Clifton Spinney, was enlivened by the flypast of a Spitfire and a Messerschmidt, aerial predators of 70 years ago, rather than the ones from 350 million years ago that we normally watch.