They might bug us but insects sustain our world

The giddy heights of May’s natural song and dance have peaked and June stretches out with a verdant and voluptuous greenery bursting with life.  All that birdsong, all that posturing, the territorial barking of the Muntjac and the dive-bombing aerial displays of Buzzards have culminated in one thing:  offspring! The air is filled with the sound of newborn squeaking, cheeping and pleading – one thing on their minds: food!

It’s a pleasant sound and from every corner of my garden the calls of Great and Blue Tits keep up a constant rhythm – some from fledged birds and some from their less daring siblings still holed-up in the nest boxes and bushes.  Starlings, that have been largely invisible until now, are suddenly descending in noisy flocks on the lawn to feed.  If it weren’t for their uniform squabbling you’d think they were two separate species:  the adults resplendent in glossy blue-black sheened feathers but the new juveniles pale and plain in a simple brown plumage.

To accompany this burst of new life an equally vital explosion of insect life provides a feast for hungry mouths.  I find myself increasingly stopped in my tracks by the sheer profusion of insect life, some dazzlingly beautiful and some verging on the bizarre!  I sense myself undergoing a kind of conversion or maybe ‘an expansion’ to a world I have until now not really noticed in detail. With a new pair of binoculars that can focus right down to four feet I can now examine the inhabitants of leaves, riverside reeds and dragonflies that alight on the path ahead.  What greets my eyes has been quite a revelation:  an endless world of intricate beauty and diversity.

Whether it is the glossy metallic green Swollen-thighed Beetles resting on the petals of Michaelmas Daisies or the solid gold ingot of a female Broad-bodied Chaser (a kind of dragonfly) atop a twig it seems the greenery of June is bejeweled with hidden gems at every turn.

A Swollen-thighed Beetle Oedemera nobilis resting on a daisy – photo Rupert Evershed

A Broad-bodied Chaser Libellula depressa – photo Rupert Evershed

With each new discovery – Red-headed Cardinal Beetle and Long-jawed Orb Weaver Spiders just recently – a realization is dawning that what I am looking at is actually the main act.  The larger more showy flora and fauna unsurprisingly capture our attention – singing birds, shy deer and floral blooms – but underlying all of them is a miniature world of insect life feeding, pollinating and supporting all life.

Red-headed Cardinal Beetle Pyrochroa serraticornis – photo Rupert Evershed

 

From beneath the top of the soil to high in the atmosphere our world is populated by a plethora of bug life critical to its survival.  It has been estimated that on a summer’s day upward of three billion insects are passing over our heads.  This aerial plankton is of course the diet of our summer-visiting Swifts, already back over our towns and hoovering up insects and spiders in their wide-open gapes, either for themselves or their new brood in the nest.

Looking through my binoculars recently into what appeared to the naked eye to be a crystal clear blue sky I could see hundreds of black dots rising on the breeze. In the same view Swifts scythed back and forth enjoying this floating meal.  Above them higher still another predator circled too – a cause of concern not just for the insects but for the Swifts too.  Peregrine-like and as agile as a Swift, the Hobby is master of the summer skies.  Visiting us from Africa to breed, this small falcon is perhaps the only bird capable of catching a Swift in flight and regularly does.

Later in the year the Hobbies will be hawking dragonflies over pools and lakes and watching a Hobby feeding her three young last year I was astounded at the rate of insect-consumption:  just one short circuit would bring a hapless dragonfly back to the waiting young beaks. The frequency and efficiency of these forays emphasized the importance of abundance when it comes to insect life.

With so much of our birdlife in sharp decline and a scientific report published earlier this year revealing that over 40% of insect species are nearing extinction globally, it is perhaps time to turn our attentions to this tiny world that we are apt to squash, spray, run from and at best brush aside!

A Four-spotted Chaser Libellula quadrimaculata – photo Rupert Evershed

To read this article as it appears in the Herts Advertiser please click here

One small step for our grassroots community

It might just be me but sometimes I feel as if I have seen too much nature, too much wildlife, too many amazing wonders of the natural world.  When I say this, I’m not talking about the nature I have experienced first hand, the nature I have actually heard, seen, smelt, touched and yes, even tasted.  I am talking about the images of nature seen during hours of exquisite wildlife documentaries, within the glossy pages of premium wildlife magazines and countless other exceptional photos, capturing creatures at their most lovely, their most beautiful, and dazzling us with their finery and finesse.

The message is clear: nature is extraordinary, beautiful in the extreme, complex, at times perplexing, but always surprising and infinite.  But it is this word ‘extraordinary’ that bothers me. Is the subtle message of all these fine productions that nature is ‘extra-ordinary’, outside and beyond our ordinary, everyday lives?  And what’s worse is, the more I watch, the more ‘ordinary’ this ‘extraordinary’ becomes. The once exotic unknown has been revealed up close and personal, again and again, thanks to our camera technology.

It’s as if the bride has bared all, leaving no surprises or mystery for her wedding night! And yet, in reality, nature makes us wait, makes us go on a journey of discovery, allowing us only glimpses at a time. It is this process of persevering, of waiting, of uncovering, that makes wildlife watching so rewarding and ultimately deeply personal.  Of course, I’m not against the incredible wildlife programs we enjoy on TV – they serve an important purpose – but what we see is served on a plate that we never had to wait or work for.  It is a meal consumed for which we were never hungry.

Almost two years ago to the day I wrote about the closure of Butterfly World in St Albans.  At the time there was a thin thread of hope that it might reopen as Butterfly World 2.0, but two years on, this is not to be.  It appears Butterfly World was a meal for which we were not hungry, at least not enough to see it through some rocky financial times.

Of course, the closure was a sad moment for it was hoped that Butterfly World would be an oasis for butterflies and indeed, in its short lifespan, had already become just that for the Small Blue butterfly.  Absent from Hertfordshire for nearly 5 years, this little butterfly is now enjoying not just one but two broods in a season thanks to the ideal habitat created at Butterfly World.  But I can’t help wondering that had Butterfly World gone ahead in all it’s glory, it, like those beautiful wildlife documentaries, might have served us up a feast that dulled us to the nature all around us?

A Small Blue butterfly Cupido minimus – photo by Andrew Wood

Writing two years ago I suggested that the story of Butterfly World provided a good illustration of the journey we must all go on when it comes to conserving (and enjoying) our natural world.  I wrote that beyond the large organisation there must instead “be a grass-roots movement, one that has the ownership of the local community expressing its own care for its own local nature.”  It was therefore extremely gratifying and exciting to meet with Malcolm Hull, Chair of the charity Herts & Middlesex Butterfly Conservation, at Greenwood Park in St Albans where exactly this has been happening.

With the support of St Stephen’s Parish Council and funding from the lottery Heritage Fund a purpose-built chalk bank has been dug out and is being seeded and planted with chalk-loving plants that it is hoped will provide the perfect habitat for butterflies.  A particular target species is the Small Blue butterfly that will hopefully colonise the area, cleverly designed to provide warmer microclimates and planted with the Small Blue’s favourite food plant, Kidney Vetch.

The new chalk butterfly bank at Greenwood Park, St Albans – photo Rupert Evershed

While this is a relatively small-scale project compared to Butterfly World it has pulled together local volunteers and organisations including the local primary school.  It is a truly grass-roots project that could be replicated across Hertfordshire, even on a miniature scale in our own gardens.

Butterfly World may be closed but it lives on in community action like this and I was equally heartened to hear that the action group, Butterfly World 2.0, has reinvented itself as a charity promoting the planting of wildflower meadows.  To date, with the support of local authorities and other organisations, they have planted three new meadows in St Albans, Hemel Hempstead and Watford.

So why not get involved in one of these projects or maybe even consider starting a similar project at a green space near you?  You never know, you might just develop a hunger for our local wildlife and one that is far more satisfying than any TV documentary or pristine photo!

To get inspired by the project at Greenwood Park, go along to the public launch event at 10.30am on Sunday 26^thMay at the Greenwood Park Community Centre.

Greenwood Park and the new chalk butterfly bank – photo Rupert Evershed

To read this article as it appears in the Herts Advertiser please click here

Dragonflies & Drones

One of my favourite summer activities as a child was pond-dipping.  I was fortunate enough to grow up in a house with a fairly large pond in the garden and so my pond-dipping activities often extended over days and weren’t as much dipping as a thorough exploration of the life in the pond.

Using a net and numerous containers of various sizes I would sift through the murky waters, peeling layers of rotting leaves apart, to see what might be hiding there.  Invariably anything alive would wiggle vigorously on exiting the pond so I would lay the contents of my scoops out and watch for movement.  Anything of interest would be plopped into one of my containers for closer inspection.

I was fascinated by the tiny bouncing daphnia or ‘water fleas’ that I would sometimes extract for even closer examination under a microscope.  Water beetles also scurried away seeking any corner they could find but best of all were the newts.  These tiny lizard-like creatures always delighted and were big enough to hold in the hand and examine close-up.

Just occasionally, another creature would appear amongst the siftings – a menacing-looking larva with six legs and bulging eyes.  Inhabitants of the dark recesses of the pond, these creatures, 3 or 4 cm in length, seemed to be from an alien world.  They were in fact dragonfly nymphs, biding their time at the bottom of the pond, eating voraciously and devouring whatever small creature crossed their path, from snails and tadpoles, to water fleas and worms.

A Dragonfly nymph – photo by Vitalii Hulai (Shutterstock)

Fearsome predators, at least for much of the tiny pond life, I always handled these nymphs with nervous respect just incase (in my child’s mind’s eye) they nipped my finger.  Of course, dragonfly nymphs are prey themselves to larger aquatic life such as fish and birds but nevertheless, moulting up to fifteen times during their life in the pond, they can afford to lose a leg or two before their final form.

And that final form are the beautiful winged insects that we know and love, that having climbed heavenwards from the depths of the pond as full-grown nymphs, emerge in late spring and summer to whizz around bejeweling rivers and ponds with their sparkly metallic and iridescent colours.  Yet, in reality, we see only a brief few weeks of the dragonfly’s life for up to two years of its life is spent as a nymph growing in the shadows.

Every summer I would examine the tall flag irises at the pond’s edge to find the dried-out exoskeletons of the nymphs still clinging to the stems, a fading memory of a life spent in the dark underworld of the pond.  It is perhaps this murky past that has often given the dragonfly a sinister reputation in folklore.  Certainly, their huge, bulging, high-performance eyes give a sense of the alien and the discovery of their prehistoric ancestors with wingspans of up to two feet fuels the notion that these insects are from another world.

With the help of a number of fantasy movies it is not hard to imagine dragonflies and their nymphs being cast in some futuristic role to terrify us and threaten human extinction, but the future, as far as dragonflies are concerned, could be even stranger than science fiction.  Research engineers at Draper, a US research laboratory, have been working on a project called DragonflEye that blurs the lines between insect and machine. By genetically modifying a dragonfly’s nerve system the engineers are able to fit a tiny backpack to the dragonfly that ‘plugs-in’ to the insect’s nerve cord and allows engineers to steer the dragonfly remotely.  The result is a new kind of hybrid drone that combines miniaturized navigation, synthetic biology and neurotechnology to guide the dragonfly.

The ability to control such a small flying insect opens up incredible possibilities in many fields: for instance, it has been suggested that honeybees, whose population has collapsed by half in the last 25 years, could one day be equipped with Draper’s technology to assist with pollination.  I must admit that I personally find these developments far more scary than any fantasy film but recognise the significance of such pioneering work.

The technology is still being developed and we are hopefully a long way off seeing dragonflies with mini-backpacks on!  If there’s one thing that the research engineers agree on in trying to harness the dragonfly’s steering mechanism it is that the dragonfly itself cannot be improved on.  So let’s enjoy the real thing this summer – there’s nearly 60 species (including damselflies) to look for in the UK – and why not have a closer look at the reedy margins of ponds and rivers to see if you can find their empty nymph cases still clinging to the stems.

To read this article as it appears in the Herts Advertiser please click here.

A Southern Hawker Dragonfly Aeshna cyanea – one of about 3000 species worldwide (photo by Steve Round)

 

Make an Appointment with the Dawn Chorus!

This last weekend, on Sunday, it was International Dawn Chorus Day: an event instigated in the 1980s after Chris Baines, a then TV presenter, reputedly invited friends to celebrate his birthday at 4am so that they could listen to the dawn chorus of birdsong.

Of course, the dawn chorus had been going on for many millennia before that, but it was the official day established in 1987 that ever since has highlighted, celebrated and promoted one of nature’s great wonders and one which we, living in a temperate region of the world, get to enjoy every spring.

Living in suburban St Albans the dawn chorus in spring is almost guaranteed from your bedroom window wherever you live.  You may not think there are that many birds in your garden but thankfully birdsong is not defined or contained by our fences and boundaries.  Instead, quite the opposite is true as birdsong declares and defines nature’s boundaries through song.  The dawn chorus is a bout of aural jousting between birds that the writer and naturalist, Mark Cocker, describes as “their version of territorial warfare conducted through music”.

Rising to the top of the singing charts in spring is the Blackbird whose patient and quiet practicing of his song during the winter months from the dark depths of a bush finally pays off. His squeaky winter sub-song endured the punching tones of his relative the Song Thrush and now emerges as the sound of spring – a soft warbling meditation that is the soothing backdrop to every first barbecue.  The song brings a depth to spring and a richness that wasn’t there in the winter months for each Blackbird is answered by a rival bird, maybe a few gardens away, and that in turn is gently rebuffed by another even more distant bird.  A luxuriant layer of sound is added to our landscape and enriches the balm of a warm spring day.

The Blackbird (Turdus merula) – photo by Mirko Graul (Shutterstock)

The name ‘Dawn Chorus’ is bit of a misnomer in that if you rise as the sun appears the chances are you will have missed the main performance that actually begins a good hour before sunrise. It may be that you are well aware of this having been woken recently, like me, well before the alarm clock is due to go off, by the repetitive ‘squeaky wheelbarrow’ song of the Great Tit or the angry cries of Crows seeing off a skulking fox before first light. This is no way to enjoy the dawn chorus and if there is one thing I would encourage every person to do this spring it is this:  to make an appointment with the dawn chorus and get out in it!

This of course means setting the alarm clock for 4am, maybe even earlier, and getting outside, ideally in as rich a natural habitat as possible.  Sticking your head out of the bedroom window will give you a taste of what’s on offer but to be out in nature as the dawn chorus swells, rises and unfolds all around you is intoxicating.  Birdsong is beautiful but when combined in unison with the first light of dawn, the sweet smell of May blossom and the cool dew on shining gossamer threads you are left looking for your next fix.

Every year I make a pilgrimage to Kent in May for a mad day of birdwatching – the rough aim being to see as many different birds in a 24-hour period as possible.  It is a hangover from university days when a group of us raced around Kent as part of a yearly countywide sponsored competition. However, it is not the ‘day count’ as such that draws me back and the competitive flavour to the day has long since gone:  it is the chance to be out in nature at dawn and experience one of the best dawn choruses that the UK has to offer.

In an undeniably crazy rejection of the messages our bodies naturally give us we start in a marshland setting at midnight where the birds never really go quiet.  Bitterns boom, cuckoos call and marsh frogs holler – at times it is deafening.   We then move on to a parkland setting at 4am where the tentative song of redstarts ring out in the pre-dawn darkness, interspersed by the amphibian calls of roding woodcock and squeaking baby owls.  And then it breaks, slowly at first but quickly overwhelming:  the full voice of the parkland birdsong rises with the sun, banishing the lingering mist patches and warming every leaf in a carpet of song.

It is exhilarating, uplifting, deafening and any thoughts that it would have been better to stay in bed vanish as nature’s drug takes full effect.  My appointment with dawn is this Friday…when will yours be?

To read this article as it appears in the Herts Advertiser please click here.

 

Let’s Go on a Hawfinch Hunt!

I wanted to write something about my recent experience of the Hawfinch invasion and hopefully it might help others enjoy this scarce visitor to the UK. It is my own views and does of course not try to compete with the good old Collins Field Guide or any other expert guide.

I am fortunate enough to have a dog that needs walking regularly and the work flexibility to do many of those walks. This has led to, what are now, many encounters with that magnificent ‘king of finches’, the Hawfinch.

A Hawfinch – by Steve Round

Such has been the influx of birds this winter period that I can now genuinely say the Hawfinch has become a familiar bird on my walks. This is in contrast to every previous year (at least 40 of them) when I glimpsed just one or two individuals at locations in Kent, Essex and east Herts. Never did I dream that Hawfinch would appear in my own locality around the St Albans area such that I am now finding them in good numbers on almost every local walk I go on!

Of course, the Hawfinch are likely to head off soon, back to their breeding grounds, but in the meantime there has never been a better moment to get out and find your own Hawfinches! Truth be told, with the numbers moving around at the moment, they could turn up literally anywhere (I am still hoping for a garden tick!) but it does help to be a little bit informed about them and their habits.

Where to look…?

It is a now a well-known fact that their favourite food seems to be the seedpods of Hornbeam trees. So the simple logic would suggest find a hornbeam, find a Hawfinch.  But can we identify a Hornbeam tree…?  Hertfordshire is a great place for Hornbeam woods as the charcoal from the wood was in great demand in the 1800’s by the furnace-fired London industry. Known as ‘Hertfordshire Gold’, Hornbeams were pollarded or coppiced (chopped to encourage new, fast growth) to harvest as much wood as possible.  Our woods are therefore a mix of many-trunked pollarded and coppiced trees and some mature hornbeams that didn’t get the chop.

A row of coppiced Hornbeam – photo Rupert Evershed

Superficially, the hornbeam is like the more familiar beech tree but with a darker bark, often coated in a green algal dust. The bark can appear folded, almost like folds of skin and often has a cell-like pattern on its surface.

 

 

Hornbeam bark

Hornbeam bark

At this time of year the trees are helpfully bare which is probably just as well as the leaves really are very similar to beech tree leaves, just a little longer and thinner. That said, if the leaf fall beneath the tree you are looking at matches beech/hornbeam-type leaves you should be in the right place. Here’s a photo showing the rather dried and curled leaves (central) and also the hanging seed pods (either side) much coveted by Hawfinch. I have seen Hawfinch devouring these, ripping off great clusters in one go.

Hornbeam leaves & seedpods – photo Rupert Evershed

Earlier in the season, these clusters of seedpods could be seen hanging in the tops of the trees but now, thanks in part to hungry Hawfinch, you’ll be lucky to find a tree with any remaining.  If you do of course, hang around…they may be on their way!

That’s enough on hornbeams:  it’s a good place to start in any wood but as time has gone on the Hawfinch are being found in other trees too – oak, beech, ash and elm. They also seem to have a penchant for yew berries (*see added note below) so check out that local churchyard and possibly any orchards too. The birds are hungry and with their powerful bill most seeds put up little resistance.

How to look…

So, you’re in location what now?  Look up is the answer.  Hawfinch are nervous birds and their default setting is to fly to the top of the trees, dropping down occasionally to feed.  If you can find a viewpoint outside the woodland edge where you can scan the treetops this can be a good option. Once located, their dumpy posture and enormous bill give them a distinctive shape making them identifiable at quite a range.  If they fly they also show a very clear broad white wing bar.

Of course, other birds use the treetops too but in particular, at this time of year, Redwing and Fieldfare can form similar-looking groups perched high in the canopy.  It is worth checking these flocks out as Redwing are only a tiny bit bigger than Hawfinch and on a number of occasions I have seen Hawfinch with Redwing flocks – both in flight and settled.

Of course, walking through the woods can help locate them too (please stick to public footpaths though).  Spend time scanning the treetops for any signs of movement – it is rewarding even without Hawfinch and I have never seen so many Treecreepers, Nuthatches and Great Spotted Woodpeckers since looking for Hawfinch!

And don’t forget to listen…!

If you have good ears, which I thankfully do, then this is the ultimate weapon in Hawfinch location. Hawfinch can be completely silent (and also sit very still) but usually they are moving around and uttering a quiet “tick” contact note, given both in flight and when perched.  It is very similar to a Robin’s alarm “tick” but never run together fast like a Robin’s “tick-tick-tick”.  There is a difference in quality of the note (I think it’s a duller, deader “tick” that the Robin’s – more like an electric fence) but I would investigate any individual “tick” notes you hear.  Here is a recording:

http://www.xeno-canto.org/393969/embed?simple=1

They also have an alarm call or flight call that they frequently use. It is actually very distinctive and though similar in pitch to a Redwing’s call still sets them apart immediately when heard:

http://www.xeno-canto.org/391606/embed?simple=1

Hopefully you will locate them oneway or the other and get a good view.  In my (admittedly limited) experience, 2 or 3 birds can usually be seen together at the top of a tree but then if they are disturbed, suddenly 10 or 20 birds can fly up, appearing from nowhere!  Again, if you at the woodland edge, Hawfinch seem very fond of swapping woods by flying from one copse to another. This provides a great opportunity to count them!

Good luck!

*Additional Note Added Jan 31st 2018:

A few weeks on and I feel the need to highlight further the Hawfinches penchant for yew berries! I mentioned it briefly, but over the last few weeks listening to reports from around the country and also combined with my own local observations, it’s clear: yew trees are as good a place as any to find Hawfinches.

I have noticed a significant change locally in the Hawfinches behaviour. I have seen them feeding on the ground, in the leaf litter for the first time. On my local patch they have become far more elusive (as we were perhaps used to) as they have dropped down from the high treetops and disappeared into the thick foliage of yew trees. Of course, if disturbed they are still flying up calling constantly, but counting them has become just that bit more tricky!

I wonder what their next move will be? However, if you have a churchyard or park near you with big old yew trees, check them out! We have a few yews in our garden so here’s to hoping!

 

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Credits:

Featured Image of Hawfinch by Steve Round (stevenround-birdphotography.com)

Hornbeam photos – my own

Sound recordings from www.xeno-canto.org

Antonio Xeira, XC393969. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/393969

AUDEVARD Aurélien, XC391606. Accessible at www.xeno-canto.org/391606.

 

 

Where People and Nature are thriving…

Please click on this link to read my Christmas 2017 “Nature Notes” as it appears in the Herts Advertiser:  Where People & Nature are thriving…

Where People and Nature are thriving…

This time, two years ago, we decided to get a dog.  It was a decision that marked the end of a long period of resistance on my part.  I was not so much a ‘dog-hater’ as a ‘dog dis-liker’, but a clever pincer movement by the rest of the family left me out-manoeuvred.  Added to this, chinks were beginning to appear in my own armour, as I had to concede that recently acquired pups of friends weren’t entirely unlikable.

And so, on Christmas Day, two years ago, we ‘unwrapped’ the decision to the absolute delight of the children.  There were shouts of glee, tears of joy and Christmas was made. A month later we collected a tiny black bundle of wobbly fur and our hearts melted, including mine.

Max, as we named him, was here to stay and, though there were occasional early moments when I wished he wasn’t, two years on and he is a fully integrated and accepted member of the family.  He brings much needed laughter, energy and madness to our lives that are all the more rich for it.

I think one of my fears as I surveyed the prospect of dog ownership was that my lovely quiet walks in the countryside would come to an end.  I had images of a dog routing every form of wildlife that could flee and relieving himself on every part that couldn’t.

Never for a minute did it cross my mind that rather than detract from my enjoyment of nature he would actually add to it.  Not only has he proved an excellent companion, warrant- ing the title “a man’s best friend”, but he has also, in subtle but significant ways, helped bridge the gap between the human and the natural.

“One Man & His Dog” – Me and Max out on a walk – photo by Kathy Evershed

We are so used to hearing about the negative impact that we as humans have on the natural world that it is easy to assume a chasm exists between us:  the needs and habits of humans appearing irreconcilable with those of nature.  I think this perception underlay my concerns about getting a dog and that this human habit of dog walking would somehow seal that disconnect with nature.

I was wrong, and walking this domesticated animal has taken me down new paths (literally) and led me to reevaluate our relationship with the natural world.  With the need to find suitable dog walks not far from home I have begun to explore what I think of as the “edgelands” of St Albans – the zones where houses and the built environ- ment give way to more rural areas and countryside.  There is an intensity about these areas as urban recreation mixes with farming practices and busy paths and roads parcel up the land.

In the past, I had chosen more remote locations for my walks, away from built-up areas, away from people and away from dogs on the assumption that my experience of nature would be that much richer.  But, led by the dog, I have discovered these busy ‘edge- lands’, a truly domesticated landscape, to be far wealthier in wildlife than I had ever imagined.  In fact, they appear to be more bountiful than the undisturbed and undoubtedly more scenic countryside walks I have done elsewhere.

One of my favourite “edgeland” walks is around Highfield Park and the surrounding farmland on the southeastern edge of St Albans.  Prior to owning a dog I hadn’t really explored this corner of suburban St Albans, albeit only a short distance from home, but it has proved itself a treasure trove of wildlife.

Despite the constant roar of the dual carriageway bordering the area, the hedgerows and fields are rich in birdlife.  Consequently an array of predators – kites, foxes, buzzards and the occasional peregrine – are regulars here.  Two sets of little owls have found a home in old tree holes, one overlooking the noisy games of kids’ football held every weekend.  The site is also home to some of the largest populations of breeding yellow- hammers in the area – a species on the conservation Red List due to its rapid decline in the UK.

A Yellowhammer – photo by Steve Round

Clearly the park managers at Highfield and the local farmers are doing something right but what I find most striking is that all of this wildlife is thriving in the midst of busy human activity.  When we are so often cast in the role of either the destroy- ers of nature or its saviour it is gratifying to find evidence of a happy co-existence. I wonder if I would have appreciated this had not that domesticated dog, embodying the link between his wild ancestors and his human owners, demanded a walk?  Good boy Max!

Winter Chills but Nature Thrills…

Please click on this link to read my November 2017 “Nature Notes” as it appears in the Herts Advertiser: Winter Chills but Nature Thrills…

Winter Chills but Nature Thrills…

I had been wondering if she would be there. I had encountered what looked like the remains of her feasting along the path. The telltale circle of piled feathers that indicated a pigeon devoured, plucked breast up, the carcass taken for final pickings by its captor.

Usually I would attribute such feathery leftovers as the work of a sparrowhawk but today the pile is huge, with a wide radius, as if something far more powerful has torn and plucked the bird. Around me too the landscape has shifted closer to winter when I would most expect to see her again.

And there she is, perched midway up the pylon, busy preening and cleaning herself. Her size and plumage tell me she is an adult female peregrine, returning hopefully to her wintering grounds – my ‘local patch’. Her dark black hood speaks suitably of the skilled executioner she is. Indeed at my very feet another pile of pigeon feathers ruffle in the breeze. She has been busy and now clearly is engaged in a post-postmortem cleanup.

A juvenile Peregrine with its prey (a Moorhen) – photo by Steve Blake

Peregrines must bathe daily to clean off the inevitable blood and guts of their hunting lifestyle. It is a little observed behaviour of the bird, known better for its aerial supremacy and powerful stooping dives on prey. It is behaviour that I have been lucky enough to observe at a local gravel pit. I watched, in that instance, a young peregrine, bedraggle itself at the water’s edge, unusually vulnerable and ruffled. Nothing mobbed it, no crow swooped down to take advantage of the predator’s pause. I wonder if it was just simply because the peregrine was unrecognizable, stripped of its threatening prowess and hidden in its bath-time obscurity.

Such behaviour was written about by that great admirer of the peregrine – JA Baker, who found his local peregrines returning again and again to a quiet spot along his local river in Essex. More recently a peregrine has been filmed washing at the edge of the River Thames in Central London, observed by the many tourists along the embankment.

The peregrine before me today may be a bird that has bred not too far away. Increasingly peregrines are being observed in the breeding season in nearby larger towns such as Watford and Luton, usually perched high on an industrial structure, always with a precipitous view and teetering ledge. Wherever this bird has come from, she commands the airways as she hunts from her pylon peaks – her own corridors of power.

A juvenile Peregrine looks down from its pylon perch – photo by Steve Blake

I, for one, welcome the return of the peregrine – I expect the local farmer does too for it is the ultimate bird scarer! The bird never fails to add a thrill to the wider landscape and makes those ugly pylons objects of interest, to be scrutinized carefully lest they conceal a roosting peregrine.

Autumn has its own spring for while leaves fall and plants die back there are new arrivals, like the peregrine, that are as welcome a sight as returning migrants in March. Though they arrive on cold winds to a damp landscape they revitalize it with their busyness and the drama of their flocks. On the dullest day there is never a dull moment and this is nature’s gift to us if we can brace ourselves in the cold months ahead and leave the dull subfusc eye of electric bulbs and ceilinged spaces to get outside in it!

 

A Taxing Time of Year – Profit or Loss?

Please click on this link to read my October 2017 “Nature Notes” in the Herts Advertiser: A Taxing Time of Year – Profit or Loss?

The humble Wood Pigeon – photo by Steve Round

 

The now extinct Passenger Pigeon – illustration by Nicolas Primola

 

Exotic Travellers in Herts’

Please click on this link to read my September 2017 “Nature Notes” in the Herts Advertiser: Exotic Travellers in Herts’

European Bee-eaters – photo by Wim Hoek (Shutterstock)

 

A Foraged Harvest

Please click on this link to read my August 2017 “Nature Notes” in the Herts Advertiser: A Foraged Harvest – Nature Notes 10th August 2017

A Harvest Mouse by Steve Round