Category Archives: Natural History

What I’d like to know from every political party before the General Election

On the PM programme on Radio 4, the presenter Eddie Mair regretted the long, long wait until polling day, given the inevitable length of the campaign with a fixed-term parliament. He sympathized with listeners at having to endure the same old party political ding-dong as the rivals seek to batter each other into submission. He suggested that we listeners tell him what we would like to know about the next general election.

What politicians want to talk about

The parties seem to want to tell us about the NHS (Labour) and the Economy (Conservative) and Immigration (all of them), so I’d like to hear about, well, anything else: especially nature.

Politicians don’t even call nature by its name any more.

  • They burble about “Sustainability“, but making our cities larger every year is not sustainable: that would mean a steady state. Think about it. Sustainable living is imaginable, but it would be nothing like how we live now. Everything – I mean everything – would be recycled. We’d use glass not china, so it could be melted down and reused when it broke. We’d burn no coal, oil, or gas. We’d design every product to be broken down into its components for recycling, as they’ve started to do in Germany. In short, current politico-talk about sustainability is just waffle, greenwash. You may have a ruder word for it.
  • They mumble about the “Environment“, as if nature impinged on our lives solely through dirt or noise in the places where we live. But our impact on the natural world is far, far greater than that. We have ravaged every habitat, every ecosystem on the planet. The African bush, home to elephants, rhinos, gazelles? It’s in free fall. Grasslands and meadows? We’ve lost 98% of ours. Wetlands, marshes, reedbeds? Disappearing everywhere. Mangroves and coral reefs? In crisis wherever they (used to) occur. Rainforest? You know the answer.
  • They waffle about “Biodiversity“, as if the word were a charm or mantra, calling for impact assessments for each major building project, which the planners then immediately ignore. But the diversity of life in England, like that of the whole world, is in crisis.  Many people alive today will witness the mass extinction of perhaps a third of all the species now alive; man-made global warming and the resulting changes to the climate; the catastrophe being visited on all the oceans through overfishing; pollution, overpopulation, deforestation: the worldwide destruction of nature.
  • They ramble on about “Conservation“, as if nature would be fine if limited to a few nature reserves here and there, and try to change the conversation to the economy/the NHS/immigration (delete according to taste) as soon as possible. But nature is the whole of our planet (including us, if you prefer, but that’s another story). We depend on plants and algae for the oxygen we breathe. We depend on plants and animals for the food we eat. We depend on bees and other insects to pollinate many of our crops. We depend on bacteria to detoxify our sewage and rubbish. We depend on plant genomes for our medicines and our crops’ resistance to disease. We depend completely on nature.

What I’d like the politicians to tell me

I’d like to know what they will actually do for Nature, for everyone’s benefit:

  • what each party’s policy on nature really is
  • how they will prioritize nature
  • how children, NHS patients, and old people will be given access to nature for education, rehabilitation, wellbeing
  • how fisheries will be protected
  • how the decline of wildlife on farms will be reversed

Direct answers, please.

Well, I’d like to know a whole lot more, given the global disaster I’ve outlined, but that should be enough to start with.  What would you ask?

England: Paradise Lost

England: Paradise Lost

While inveighing against all things Brussels, the English gentleman was able to take the fullest advantage of the Common Agricultural Policy, developing the agribusiness of the seventies and eighties, expanding subsidized yields by grubbing up hedges and copses, ploughing up verges and making vast stretches of monoculture kept sterile by aerial doses of pesticide. As a result, millions who grew up before this onslaught mourn the loss of grasshoppers, skylarks, the songthrush, even the common [house] sparrow, and many unseen others, which their children will never know. The countryside of Shakespeare and his successors in all the arts, Vaughan Williams’s ‘The Lark Ascending’, for instance, no longer has a true point of reference.

Maureen Duffy England— Maureen Duffy. England. The Making of the Myth from Stonehenge to Albert Square. Fourth Estate, 2001. Page 250.

Buy it from Amazon.com
Buy it from Amazon.co.uk

Winter Sun in Gunnersbury Park (and a natural graft)

The Large Mansion, Gunnersbury Park
The Large Mansion, Gunnersbury Park

On this beautiful winter’s day we went for a stroll in Gunnersbury Park. The park and its mansions have won the lottery in the shape of a sizeable grant from the Heritage Lottery Fund. The golf course will be relocated from its present (ridiculous) position right in the middle of Lord Rothschild’s garden (at least, it would have been if he had lived to visit his house here), and many improvements will be made to the beautiful but dilapidated buildings, the museum, and the park. The house’s position was chosen to get the maximum possible sunshine and the best imaginable view: when built, it sat at the top of the hill on the north bank of the Thames, the green meadows stretching below it all the way down to the river to the south.

Flaky paint: the dilapidated state of the Large Mansion
Flaky paint: the dilapidated state of the Large Mansion

Against the glorious cloudless sky in the clear dry air, I noticed a handsome natural graft forming a large eye on a high branch of the now leafless Beech tree near the mansion.

Natural graft in Beech, Gunnersbury Park
Natural graft in Beech, Gunnersbury Park
Famous view: the boating lake and (folly) temple
Famous view: the boating lake and (folly) temple

Winter Flocks at Wraysbury

Backlit Teasels
Backlit Teasels

Finally, right at the end of November, autumn is starting to look something like winter. Even now, and even with a light easterly wind, it is mild, almost too warm for any sort of winter coat.

Pochard, here for the winter
Pochard, here for the winter

But winter flocks of birds have at last arrived: 45 Pochard on the lake, handsome with their reddish heads contrasting with pale grey backs; dozens of Goldfinch in the nearly leafless trees, twittering ceaselessly; a dozen or more Fieldfare in the thorn bushes in the horse field; a few Redwing in another thorn bush.

Redwings
My first flock of Redwing this winter

The low sun made the dried flowerheads of the Teasels beautiful. A single Pleated Inkcap gleamed among the short grass and muddy hoofprints.

Pleated Inkcap, Coprinus plicatilis
Pleated Inkcap, Coprinus plicatilis

Hot as Hell? No, just the warmest Hallowe’en ever recorded

It was too sunny and warm to sit at a desk writing, so I took bicycle and binoculars and went along the Thames path to the Wetland Centre. Even in a T-shirt it was warm work, feeling more like an English July (ok, that’s not saying much) than the last day of November .

Afternoon sunshine on a very warm Halloween at the Wetland Centre
Afternoon sunbeams on a very warm Halloween at the Wetland Centre

Inside the Centre I passed some diminutive witches and warlocks: they seemed to be sweating uncomfortably inside their costumes. I took a swig of water and cooled off in a hide; two rare migrants, Green Sandpipers, bobbed daintily at the end of one of the little islands, dwarfed by a Black-Headed Gull and a Moorhen, neither of them particularly large birds. Their habit is not unlike that of the Common Sandpiper, but they lack the white streak that rises in front of the wing. One of them took flight, its slender dark wings and white belly giving it something of the look of a rather large and clunky House Martin. It felt very odd to be watching autumn migrants on such a summery day.

Over at the wader scrape, a Little Egret strutted and once fluttered across the shallow water; it is an uncommon visitor here, though becoming more usual along the south coast marshes and estuaries.

A Green Woodpecker bounded over the grazing marsh in its distinctive undulating flight, its red cap and green body showing beautifully in the hot sunshine, with a loud laughing call in case anybody was in any doubt what it was.

A Cetti’s Warbler sang its bold short song, Chwit-i-pit-i-pit, Chwit-i-pit-i-pit, as usual invisible deep in a reedbed.

Out on the open water, numbers of winter ducks are (oddly, given the summery weather) building up; several Shovelers dabbled; some dozens of Wigeon grazed; a few Teal, the drakes in glorious colour, swam nimbly about with some Gadwall.

Even on the way home, I had no need of a pullover. The BBC weather report confirmed what everyone instinctively knew: it was the warmest 31st of October ever recorded in Britain, with an astonishing 23.6 Celsius in London. Of course, a cold front is forecast.

P.S. The next morning was grey and rainy, autumn on the way. Two large grey Mistle Thrushes flew overhead, rasping out their wintry calls, like a boy blowing over a comb covered in tracing paper.

P.P.S. Four days later, after a clear starry night, the sun rose over a chilly town on a fine November morning. It was winter.

Autumn Fungi, at last: Gunnersbury Triangle

Lepiota, a Dapperling
Lepiota hystrix, a Dapperling

Well, despite the extraordinary warmth of both September and October – I was still working in a T-shirt down at the Gunnersbury Triangle nature reserve today, anything more being too hot – the fungi have finally come out in earnest. This small speckly Dapperling seems to be Lepiota hystrix, a rare species.

Birch Log fungi
Birch Log fungi

Several fungi were on show on a pile of birch logs, including a large Birch Polypore and some elegant smaller Turkeytail brackets as well as Orange Curtain Crust.

Turkeytail, Trametes versicolor (aka Coriolis versicolor)
Turkeytail, Trametes (Coriolis) versicolor

These handsome Common Cavaliers were growing beside the path.

Common Cavalier Melanoleuca polioleuca (aka M. melaleuca)
Common Cavalier Melanoleuca polioleuca (aka M. melaleuca)

Many damp rotting sticks and stumps had Stagshorn or Candlesnuff fungus growing out of them, Xylaria hypoxylon. These were thin and stick-like early in November, well-developed by 20 November.

Stagshorn Fungus, Xylaria hypoxylon
Stagshorn Fungus, Xylaria hypoxylon, well developed

In the anthill meadow were plenty of puffballs, Lycoperdon perlatum. They certainly looked pearly, as their specific name suggests.

Handsome Common Puffballs, Lycoperdon perlatum
Good big Common Puffballs, Lycoperdon perlatum

In the picnic meadow was a tall slender yellow Inkcap, Coprinus auricomus.

Coprinus auricomus
The delicate, lemon-yellow Coprinus auricomus

A long-bodied wasp, surely a queen, was trapped in the surface film of the pond by the parish boundary stones. We rescued her with a stick to get a closer look.

Queen Wasp
Queen Wasp

Two days later: the weather has turned more autumnal and showery. More fungi have popped up, including quite a few Clouded Funnels, Clitocybe nebularis, behind the anthill meadow. The display of Puffballs is fine, the large clean specimens having an obviously grainy, almost pearly surface.

Clouded Funnel, Clitocybe nebularis
Clouded Funnel, Clitocybe nebularis

Some Sulphur Knights, Tricholoma sulphureum, have grown up behind the loggery at the base of the mound by the pond. They are deep orange-yellow,  quite thick-stemmed, with an flattened or dished cap and widely-spaced gills that barely touch the stem.

Sulphur Knight, Tricholoma sulphureum
Sulphur Knight, Tricholoma sulphureum

I found a broken Blusher mushroom, Amanita rubescens, in the anthill meadow. In this family of poisonous fungi, some deadly, it is edible when properly cooked, though the water it is cooked in must be thrown away.

The Blusher, Amanita rubescens (broken)
The Blusher, Amanita rubescens (broken)

And a single small Slippery Jack, a suitably slimy bolete. It was yellower than the photograph shows, the cap appearing a shining light brown, the pore surface underneath rather yellow.

Slippery Jack, Suillus luteus
Slippery Jack, Suillus luteus

By the 6th of November it was far colder, and there were fewer species on show, with Fly Agaric, Clouded Funnel, quite a few Butter Caps, and this small gelatinous fungus on dead willow, Tremella mesenterica. I also found a small fragment of an brown Amanita with a white stem, probably A. pantherina, the poisonous Panther Cap.

Yellow Brain, Tremella mesenterica
Yellow Brain, Tremella mesenterica
Butter Cap, Collybia butyracea
Butter Cap, Collybia butyracea

There were several Pale Brittlestem at the edge of the Anthill meadow under Birches, bordering the strip of acid grassland where the railway used to be.

Pale Brittlestem, Psathyrella candolleana
Pale Brittlestem, Psathyrella candolleana

By the 9th of November, things were visibly more autumnal; the Clouded Funnels were still about, now large and more clearly funnel-shaped; a few Butter Caps persisted, along with the Puffballs. The small fungus Phoma hedericola (‘hedera’=Ivy)was by now making large obvious spots on ivy leaves.

Phoma hedericola on ivy
The Ivy Spot fungus, Phoma hedericola

These little toadstools with a cream-coloured, slimy cap and whitish fleecy stems were growing out of a loggery, the dead wood half-buried in the soil. They may be the Sticky Scalycap, Pholiota gummosa.

? Sticky Scalycap Pholiota gummosa on 9 November
Sticky Scalycap, Pholiota gummosa on 19 November
Same group of ? Sticky Scalycap, Pholiota gummosa on 19 November

Finally, no collection of fungi is complete without The Deceiver, Laccaria laccata, which comes in a variety of sizes, shapes and colours. It’s typically rather russet-brownish and the stem is quite thin, often a bit flattened and twisted. The cap can be round or wrinkled; it begins rather globular and flattens out. It’s rather well-named. Mind you there are several similar species: this could easily be L. fraterna, given its smooth brown stalk and rather rufous cap.

The Deceiver Laccaria laccata
The Deceiver Laccaria laccata

Fungi are continuing to appear as late as the 11th of November. The magnificent Collared Earthstar, Geastrum triplex, was growing under birches, willows and oaks behind the anthill meadow.

Collared Earthstar Geastrum triplex
Collared Earthstar Geastrum triplex

On the 12th of November:

A yellow Russula, perhaps R. claroflava (Yellow Swamp Brittlegill)
A yellow Russula, perhaps R. claroflava (Yellow Swamp Brittlegill)
A Bonnet, Mycena sp.
A Bonnet, Mycena sp.

On 18th November, a troop of smallish, tall, pale Coprinus that don’t really turn to the usual black ink, growing on woodchip beside the path. Seems close to Coprinus impatiens.

Coprinus cf impatiens on woodchip
Coprinus cf impatiens on woodchip

Roses in the Snow? Global warming, maybe

Crepis vesicaria - Beaked Hawk's-beard
Crepis vesicaria – Beaked Hawk’s-beard

Emmylou Harris sang of sunshine in December and roses in the snow. It’s only the 28th of October, so not that late in the year yet, but the mercury climbed to an improbable 18 Celsius – that’s T-shirts and sunhats for work down at the nature reserve – and there were indeed roses blooming in the garden.

For the record, also in flower today were Alpine Pink, Tayberry, Squash, Strawberry, Primula, Nasturtius, Hydrangea, the little New Zealand Sorrel that manages to grow between the paving stones, and Daisy.

Down at the reserve, Beaked Hawksbeard has come back into flower (for the second time this year) on the picnic meadow. It seems that the warm weather has coaxed the plants to try flowering. They’ll get a bit of a shock with the change coming in the weather tomorrow, probably. It certainly feels like an odd bit of Phenology, but of course we won’t know for many years whether this is part of a long-term trend to do with global warming, especially as the global average temperature has been taking a holiday from its inexorable rise for some years now. When the temperature does take off, it will be too late to stop, and very costly to mitigate.

Judging by the feeble global co-operation on the far more obvious and immediate threat of Ebola virus, it’s hard to be optimistic about our ability to collaborate as a species on anything as large as global warming. The Drake equation, the one that predicts the number of intelligent civilisations in our galaxy, has a term for the lifetime of a civilisation, as Prof. Brian Cox recently explained in his TV series Human Universe. If it’s only a few centuries, that would neatly explain why – despite the profusion of suitable-looking planets – we haven’t been contacted by any other civilisation. That would imply that “intelligent” life never lasts very long on any planet. However hard it tries to be sensible, selfishness – which must always be favoured by evolution for short-term gain – always takes over, and people use up the resources of their home planet until – pof! – they wipe themselves out. Just clever enough to be really stupid. What a cheerful thought.

Is that a Noble False Widow spider, then?

perhaps Noble false widow spider, Steatoda nobilis on Henry Moore statue
perhaps Noble false widow spider, Steatoda nobilis on Henry Moore statue

Well, it was certainly a large and striking spider with a distinctive crescent mark on the forward slope of its abdomen, so “False Widow Spider?” sprang into my mind. It was, amusingly, making itself conspicuous on the noble bronze surface of the Henry Moore statue in Kew Gardens: there’s just one now, reminding old-timers of the ‘one behind every bush’ feeling we had in 2006 when the gardens were full of Henry Moores, and I confess I pretty much ‘understood’ what they were about for the first time, seeing them against a natural (well, you know what I mean) background as massive, handsomely curved figures. One was near a splendidly branchy conifer, its huge curved branches setting off the sculpture.

But I digress. The spider had a finely moulded cephalothorax and a large, nearly globular abdomen, marked with a sandy crescent and a dotted area. Its legs were distinctively reddish. Back at home, I looked up images of false widows. It certainly wasn’t the large native False Widow, Steatoda bipunctata. It looked much like the introduced Steatoda nobilis; perhaps the dotted area on the abdomen was not typical, but it seems close enough. The species, according to the Natural History Museum, arrived here in the 1870s — not quite such a new arrival as the ebola-panicky tabloid newspapers seem to think, then. It most likely arrived among bananas from Madeira and the Canary Islands, so it really is a subtropical scary. It can “live comfortably in our homes all year round”, says the museum cheerily, and is now common and widespread. And yes, it does bite; but the effect is not much worse than a wasp sting. I suspect a bit of hydrocortisone cream would sort it out nicely. Or a swift tap with a shoe, of course.

Destroying Angel and other Fungi at Gunnersbury Triangle

Destroying Angel
Destroying Angel

With the rain, mushrooms are suddenly pushing up.

Large, handsomely patterned Puffballs
Large, handsomely patterned Puffballs

The acid grassland is dotted with large handsome puffballs; under the birches are a lone destroying angel, a small spherically-capped fly agaric, a brown birch bolete, and many smaller fungi including the amethyst deceiver.

The tail end of Hurricane Gonzalo is blowing leaves off the trees; the reserve is quite sheltered, and it is pleasant to work in the passing showers and bursts of sunshine, pulling up ivy and brambles, making space for grassland to regenerate and for new saplings to sprout. But with the mushrooms and the wind, it is at last starting to feel like autumn.