Tag Archives: Chiffchaff

Cetti’s, Chiffchaffs and Chaffinches at Wraysbury Lakes

25 March 2015 Ian Alexander

Amongst the chilly weather brought by the East Wind, today has at least been sunny, and out of the wind pleasantly warm.

Down at Wraysbury Lakes, plenty of Chiffchaffs, presumably mostly recently arrived from Spain or Africa, are now singing. The other migrant warblers have not yet arrived – if they think it’s too cold, who can blame them – so the only other warbler singing is the robust, secretive Cetti’s, calling from across the lake.

Apart from them, a flock of cheerful Jackdaws fluttered about the horse meadow; each mare had a new foal, wobbly on its new legs. A few Goldfinches and Chaffinches sang bravely. A Crack Willow’s buds gleamed silver, the green just starting to show; a solitary Pussy Willow (Sallow) shone golden against the dry brown scrubby area, last year’s dried Teasels still tall and handsome. Some Poplar branches gleam orange-yellow with Common Orange Lichen.

Conservation, Love of Nature, Nature Reserves

Scything the Anthill Meadow, Gunnersbury Triangle

17 March 2015 Ian Alexander

Spring, as in so many years, seems to be coming and going. Today, despite a gloomy forecast, the sun came out, coats came off, the Chiffchaffs started to sing, and we went happily to work in the sunshine. We fixed a new rail to mark off a Forest School area as “not a path”, despite appearances: we rigged it up with a hinge one end and a keeper – posh name for a pair of bits of batten screwed on to the post – to hold the rail the other end when it’s in the down position. We cleared up a vandalized loggery, using the stray bits of log and lots of cut ivy to block off an undesired path, and filled in the hole.

And then we all had a lesson in scything – you have to put the thing together to fit your height and arm length. The main pole is ingeniously not quite straight; the two handles each fit on with a bolt; the blade fits on with a lug and two grub screws in a metal housing. It sounds a bit fiddly and it takes a little time to adjust it, but when you have it exactly right, it’s a pleasure to use, and astonishingly light to swing. The blade needs to be sharpened every few minutes to keep it slicing effortlessly through grass, which contains silica (aka sand) and quickly blunts blades. But, well-maintained, the scythe is a remarkably efficient tool, and environmentally friendly. Contrary to expectations, it does not cause strain or backache, and people large and small can use it effectively. It’s trickier on bumpy ground covered in anthills. Five of us mowed the picnic meadow and the anthill meadow in an afternoon: it was no quicker (and a lot noisier) with the brushcutter. We disturbed a small frog or two, and accidentally scraped a small toad that was hiding in the long grass, but it wasn’t seriously hurt.

On the common I heard a Mistle Thrush calling, and a flock of Goldfinches. A party of Long-Tailed Tits visited the garden. Red and White Deadnettles are in bloom; Cow Parsley is coming into fresh leaf.

Conservation, Natural History, Nature Reserves, Wetlands

Demoiselles and Warblers beautiful at Wraysbury Lakes

8 June 2014 Ian Alexander

Banded Demoiselle Female with Half-Open Wings

I had a beautiful, peaceful, sunny summer walk down at Wraysbury Lakes. Away from the roar of the traffic and the enormous queues brought on by roadworks and summer weekend commuting, I was surrounded by fluttering, glittering, shimmering Banded Demoiselle males, and on the vegetation also the gloriously iridescent green females, their clear green wings like fine lace dress trimmings to accompany their dazzling emerald-jewelled and enamelled bodies.

As well, Common Blue damselflies basked in the sun; a few pairs in cop carried out their incredibly complicated sex act, all claspers (male tail to female neck, female tail to male belly with its spermatophore and secondary sexual organs, forming the startling ‘heart’ or ‘wheel’, in which the pair can, at a pinch, fly like synchronised swimmers.

At first I thought there were no warblers about, but gradually little bursts of song punctuated the afternoon, and by the end I had heard six warbler species, and good binocular views of three of them (Garden Warbler, Whitethroat and Willow Warbler).

There were some handsome Ichneumons about, but perhaps the insect I was most surprised to see was a Small Tortoiseshell butterfly. When I was a boy these were so common as to be unremarkable – as were House Sparrows, Starlings and Yellowhammers. It is almost a shock to discover that seeing just one is now a rare treat: more nostalgic than pleasurable, perhaps. Much work needs to be done on landscape-scale and farmland conservation to bring back our common butterflies.

Natural History, Nature Reserves, Wildlife

Mayflies Rising!

12 May 2014 Ian Alexander

May is the fastest time of Nature’s year. What a difference a few days make! Last time at Wraysbury, a few sluggish mayflies sitting around as if waiting for something to happen in a one horse town.

Well, today it’s happening. In places, the sky is filled with rising mayflies: a few mating, most alone. Here and there, some repeatedly dance up, and a few seconds later, down; but most just climb, and fly about, seeming frail on their large wings, their triple tail streamers hanging below them: it’s worth zooming in on the picture. Even better, here’s a short video clip. The soundtrack combines an airliner taking off and a Blackcap singing.

One of the glories of summer by water is the brilliant turquoise and green iridescence of the male Banded Demoiselle – the so-called band is actually the appearance of flickering of the wings, the dark spot on each of the four wings giving a hard-to-describe semblance of a sparkling blue jewel in flight, with bands of colour too fast and changeable for the eye to understand. But he’s pretty fine at rest, too.

Common Blue, Bluetail, and Red-eyed Damselflies have all now emerged, the Red-eyed being the scarcest of the three, seemingly.

Soldier Beetle, Cantharis rustica on Cow Parsley

On the Cow Parsley were, as well as the damsels, two cantharid Soldier Beetles, Cantharis rustica or a close relative. Another enormous cloud of rising mayflies, and suddenly behind them a pair of Hobbies, hawking for insects – whether damselflies or even mayflies is impossible to tell. One comes close, wheels away on scything wings as it sees me.

A Silver-Ground Carpet Moth, Xanthorhoe montanata, flutters weakly past me among the Hawthorn bushes and flops onto the grass. Garden Warblers sing, a Whitethroat rasps in its songflight. A Treecreeper sings its little ditty sweetly from near the river.

On the hill, three Greylag and two Egyptian Geese form a peaceful flock. Stock Doves and a mixed flock of Crows and Jackdaws rise from the grass. A Song Thrush gives a marvellous solo recital near the road.

Natural History, Nature Reserves, Wetlands, Wildlife

Mayflies, May Blossom… yes, it’s May at Wraysbury Lakes

9 May 2014 Ian Alexander

The sun is shining … in between the showers. Mayflies are resting all over the plants near the river. May blossom makes a bright show on every hawthorn bush. Yes, it’s May down at Wraysbury Lakes. The energetic breeze gives a cool feel, but out of the wind it’s very pleasant. Enjoying the brisk airflow are at least four Common Terns over the lakes and overhead; a few Swallows; and a small number of Swifts, newly arrived in the last few days, racing down to the water surface to catch flies — not the mayflies, which are active mainly at night. The warblers which are definitely about are hard to hear for the wind in the trees, but I caught snatches of Chiffchaff, Blackcap, many Whitethroats, plenty of Garden Warbler, a Willow Warbler, three Song Thrushes and a Blackbird, not to mention Robins and Wrens. A Cormorant lumbered past, climbing with effort, its jizz very much like that of the Boeing 747s lumbering heavily into the air.

There are some pale mayflies, with neither antennae nor the 3 tails: maybe these have broken off in the vegetation.

Beautifully iridescent green-bronze female Banded Demoiselle — Beautifully iridescent green-bronze: a female Banded Demoiselle

Also new today are quantities of damselflies: there are many brilliant iridescent blue male Banded Demoiselles, with their beautifully clear green-bronze females. This one seemed definitely to be watching me attentively. Two small blue species have also emerged, Blue-Tailed Damselfly and Common Blue Damselfly.

Over the lake, a long-winged falcon swooped at speed: I wondered for a moment if I had a Cuckoo, but the moustache and white face markings showed it was a Hobby, arrived from Africa in pursuit of the Swifts, and perhaps hunting damselflies as easier prey in this place. The low number of Swifts is worrying; they have been declining for years, as building renovation removes their old nest-holes, and increased human population pressure in Africa threatens them there too.

This small grasshopper, missing an antenna, is my first of the year.

Further along, the bare damp area that often has teasels is bright yellow with clumps of a yellow Brassica that has clasping leaves like wild turnip (or cultivated swede). There’s a definite cabbagey smell. A Whitethroat, caught out in the open, makes a dash for a bush.

Wildlife

Ian Alexander’s Amazing Audio Guide to British Warblers

2 May 2014 Ian Alexander

Today I noted down in my nature diary “Sedge – Cetti’s – Blackcap – Chiffchaff – Whitethroat.” I didn’t see any of them: but I’m sure all of them were there, because I heard them unambiguously.

If you think that would be a nice thing to do, but utterly impossible for you, being a city-dweller with cloth ears, let me reassure you: it’s really not difficult. Have you ever been in a noisy party where someone suddenly said your name? You picked out the sound right away, and looked straight at where it came from, didn’t you. In other words, your hearing, and the auditory processing part of your brain, is perfectly adapted to picking out sound signatures from a jumble of other stuff – engineers call it noise, and who are we to disagree – without even thinking about it. It’s a wonderful ability, and it has obvious survival value.

So, to warblers. A lot of small, inconspicuous LBBs (yeah, little brown birds) that mainly lurk about deep inside bushes: but with one sharply distinguishing feature – you guessed it, their song. Each species takes good care to avoid hybridising with other species, probably producing uselessly infertile offspring, by announcing its identity to all and sundry. Males tell other males to push off; and they tell females where they are, what species they are, and (so I’m told) how wonderfully fit they are, just by singing in what the females judge is the right way.

So what is the right way? How, in other words, do these warblers sound? Ok, I lied about the audio, there’s no tape or what have you here. But, in simple words, here’s how to tell them apart.

Let’s start with the easiest one. The Chiffchaff just says his name, over and over and over again. Chiff-chaff-chiff-chaff-chiff-chaff… It’s a fairly high, lisping sort of song on, yes, exactly two notes. If you’re a registered European you may prefer to call it Zilp-zalp-zilp-zalp-zilp-zalp…. — it’s the same thing. The call is pretty loud and clear; if you know the Great Tit’s insistent Teacher-Teacher-Teacher call from park or garden, well, it’s not as harsh as that. The Chiffchaff can be heard almost anywhere there are a good number of trees and bushes; there are plenty in parks and by the river.

The warbler that looks almost exactly like the Chiffchaff is the Willow Warbler. It doesn’t frequent willows. It seems to be getting scarcer, and it likes more secluded bushy areas than the Chiffchaff. The song is a unique series of descending phrases, lisping from high to low like a pianist carefully practising his scales every morning: swieeuo(high)-swieeuo-swieeuo-swieeuo-swieeuo-swieeuo(low). It never varies.

The Blackcap is one of the commonest of our warblers. It sings from any reasonably thick patch of bushes: you need a pretty large garden to get Blackcaps, but they’re in every park and reserve. It’s a bit tricky to describe the Blackcap’s song, because he always improvises, like a jazz musician doing a gig. However, he is a bit of an opera meister, a tenor constantly worrying about his voice. So he goes like this: Ahem. La, la. Do re mi fa. Ahem. Hrrm. La la la. Ah, let me see. Yes. Aaaaaa–La Dolce Vita — Voce di Tenore – si – Aaaaaa! In short, the Blackcap starts rather hesitantly, stumbles a bit, warms up, sings a few fine fluty notes — and stops abruptly. Another way of putting it is the traditional “Blackcap’s brief”, but he’s not always quite that short.

The singer you might confuse with the Blackcap is the Garden Warbler. He’s distinctly less common, and requires more green space, but you have a good chance of hearing him in May. The Garden Warbler’s song is immediately recognisable as rather good. Even if you don’t bother with classical music much, you can at once hear that this is someone with a well-trained voice, perfectly modulated, even, rich, rapid, full of notes, expressive. I don’t want to spoil this by saying that the voice doesn’t do terribly much, but it’s true: the Garden Warbler’s song is always somewhat of a piece. It can go on for quite a while, sometimes tens of seconds without a break (excellent breath control), but there are no sudden leaps, no sharp highs or lows, no discordant notes. It’s Radio 3 not trying too hard in between major concerts.

Quite the opposite is the Sedge Warbler. I can give you a pretty sharp clue as to where you’ll find him singing: in a patch of reeds, certainly near water. He doesn’t need much room: at the Wetland Centre, one sings from a tiny reedbed right in front of a hide, and it’s amusing to watch people trying to locate him even as he sings his heart out. The Sedge Warbler’s song is REALLY discordant. Think modern classical and then some. Schoenberg and Cage rolled into one. Charr-charr-charr (so far so good) SQUEAK Chirp Weeaaiourgh – SQUEAK SQUEAK SQUEAK chirp chirp charr-charr-charr- getting used to this – charr-charr-charr SQUEAK hic! SQUAWK SQUNK got you there charr-charr-charr… and so on for ages. I promise you’ll recognise him straight away.

If we’re into scratchy, the Whitethroat is the start. He’s a beautiful bird and if you’re quiet and come out early before the hordes you’re quite likely to see him atop a tall thorn bush, singing at the top of his voice. He prefers rather isolated bushes in patches of scruffy scrubland. He is reddish brown with a conspicuous fluffy white throat, like an elegant eighteenth-century Mr Darcy with a tailcoat and a white silk neckerchief. Unfortunately for the romantic appearance, Mr D really can’t sing too well, nor for very long. Squeaky-squawky-scritch-scratch. Scrape. Scritchy-scratchy. Honestly, that’s about it. Occasionally if you’re very lucky you get a little bit of tune, but mostly there aren’t many musical notes in it at all.

OK, the Cetti’s. He isn’t nearly as Italian as his name; in fact, you can find him in reedbeds and beside lakes pretty much all year. He is a real skulker, so I hardly need to describe him, other than to say he sings from quite low down in thick waterside bushes. If you see him at all, it will be a quick glimpse of a medium-dark brown bird with a rounded tail, vanishing into a bush. To compensate, he has a REALLY LOUD song with the pattern Witchipitipit, Witchipitipit. Well, that’s the polite phonetic version. If I remember rightly, it was Simon Barnes in his magnificently naughty How to be a bad birdwatcher (Short Books, 2004; Amazon.com Amazon.co.uk) who voiced the Cetti’s as Me! Cetti’s! If you don’t like it, you can Fuck Off! You’ll definitely recognise him when you hear him, or he’ll nut you one. And once you know his song, you’ll be surprised how widespread he is.

I could do the Lesser Whitethroat for you too, and the Reed Warbler, but I expect you’ve had quite enough for one go. But feel free to ask me if you’re curious.

Natural History, Nature Reserves

A Six Warbler Walk… First of the Year

14 April 2014 Ian Alexander

A high pressure zone is bringing bright and mainly sunny weather to Britain, but as it’s not overhead it is also bringing quite a cold breeze. Down at Wraysbury Lakes, all the winter ducks have left, with just Tufted, Mallard and a pair of Gadwall remaining. Two Great Crested Grebes wandered around each other, not quite getting into a courtship dance.

Things were more exciting on the birdsong front. Blackcaps and Chiffchaffs sang sweetly all over. A Cetti’s sang very loud, very close by the lakeside as always, first in front … I stalked up very quietly … and then behind me. Invisible, the skulker. In the thicker scrub, several Whitethroats sang their scratchy short song, the first this year; and at least three Willow Warblers sang their descending scales, also the first of the year. And, briefly, one Garden Warbler gave me a burst of his even, musical tunefulness. There’s often a Sedge Warbler near the river but not apparently today. More song came from the Robins, a Song Thrush, and a Chaffinch or two.

Overhead, a Grey Heron circled upwards towards a Boeing 747-400 and did its best to resemble a soaring stork or crane, quite impressive really with broad, downcurved wings rather like one of those air-filled kites made only of light cloth.

A small patch of St George’s Mushrooms nestled among the Potentilla leaves by the path; it’s about the only edible mushroom at this time of year, but I don’t pick them, both for conservation reasons and because I’m not keen on their rather mealy taste.

The first Speckled Wood butterflies of the year are in evidence; they are fiercely territorial already, chasing off numerous Peacock butterflies. A few Green-Veined Whites settled, frail and shy, on the thicker herbs.

Great patches, almost carpets of Ground Ivy, which sounds a lowly herb, but looks glorious among the low-cropped grass, shining in the sunshine. It’s in the Labiate or Mint family, and has pretty rather short toothed leaves, purple-tinged, with attractive blue lipped flowers that are really quite orchid-like if you ignore their long tubes.

Nature Reserves

Burning Brash at Ten Acre Wood

10 April 2014 Ian Alexander

London has a chain of not-quite-secret nature reserves stretching down its western side along the line of the Grand Union Canal and the valleys of the River Colne, River Frays, and the Yeading brook all the way to the River Crane, where there are more reserves; they are in the green strip you may briefly glimpse as you leave town on the M4 or M40. Many of them are rather tricky to reach because, almost by definition, the places that haven’t been built over are off the beaten track, round the back of airfields or industrial estates, past the housing estates and into the surprisingly green and quiet areas that have not yet been cut up by HS2 or other developments.

Burning Brash at Ten Acre Wood, with a blackthorn in full bloom

A Land-Rover full of London Wildlife Trust volunteers wriggled through the Hillingdon suburbs to Ten Acre Wood and what used to be the Ten Acre Wood Meadows. These have seen little management as agriculture has declined. The Trust’s chainsaw team had cut a fine crop of small trees – blackthorn, hawthorn, even oak, the climax plant in the succession from bare ground to full-blown forest – and left the branches neatly stacked in enormous rows across what should be meadow. The Yeading brook made the ground squelchy; six mallard flew in looking for somewhere suitably wet. Chiffchaffs and a blackcap sang merrily. We started two bonfires, admirably fanned by the cool breeze, and dragged branches on to them for hours until a sandwich and a welcome cup of tea intervened. With a bit more bramble clearance, and preferably some grazing, the meadows will again be a fine place for meadow flowers. Even now, it was amazing to realize that the city was all around, with nothing but greenery and blue sky in sight.

Natural History, Nature Reserves, Wildlife

Spring has sprung

1 April 2014 Ian Alexander

Today dawned foggy and cool, but the sun soon burnt its way through and it became a hot spring day. I spent most of it reroofing the tool shed at the Gunnersbury Triangle nature reserve. It was in tatters after at least one hard winter, and it was an interesting exercise peeling off the layers hopefully tacked one on top of the leaky other. I then removed three full boards from the roof, complete with what I’m sure any mycologist would have found a fascinating colony of wet rot fungus, together with several wriggly centipedes and a lot of woodlice.

As it grew hotter on the roof, I was joined by at least two species of hoverfly, one large, dark, and almost unstriped. A brimstone butterfly chased around with a smaller white, perhaps a green-veined or an orange tip. A comma butterfly wandered about. Down below, the stinging nettles, hops, and garlic mustard (ideal for orange tips) are coming up nicely, but there’s too much cow parsley and some volunteers are pulling a lot of it out.

At lunchtime I walked down to the pond. Chiffchaffs were singing all over; the pond was suddenly covered in pond skaters (Gerris) with one or two whirligig beetles. The tadpoles have hatched out into a wriggling mass.
Spring has sprung.

Conservation, Nature Reserves

Midland Hawthorn on Ickenham Marsh

29 March 2014 Ian Alexander

On this lovely spring day I drove around the backstreets of Ickenham until I found my way to Austin’s Lane (there’s The Old Fox pub marking its start) and so to Ickenham Marsh nature reserve (London Wildlife Trust). It’s tucked away behind Northolt airfield: the second world war Spitfires have been replaced by transport planes and executive jets, but the result has been to keep development at bay. The marsh is bordered with great drifts of blackthorn, the soft white blossom lovely in the broad hedges. Chiffchaffs were singing all over, and a mistle thrush rasped out its harsh flight call. Even the dunnocks looked splendid, their grey and brown plumage catching the sun as they chased low around the bushes. The breeze brought the occasional whiff of aviation fuel, but still there were some small patches of common orange lichen, Xanthoria parietina, and the grey lichen of bare twigs, Parmelia.

A complete surprise was the Midland Hawthorn by the Hillingdon Trail which crosses the reserve. The bush is the same size and shape as the common Hawthorn, but the leaves are only very slightly notched rather than deeply divided, and the flowers have two styles, not one (easy to remember as the common Hawthorn is C. monogyna ‘one-female’). An uncommon or perhaps just an easily-overlooked plant, something old and special on the edge of London.

Also crossing the reserve, roughly northeast-southwest, is the Yeading Brook. I was just taking a photo of the first buttercups of spring, the lesser celandine, which likes wet muddy places, on the steep bank of the brook, when a kingfisher shot down the middle of the little stream, blue and turquoise. I turned to take my photo, and the kingfisher, or its mate, raced back past me again.

ObsessedByNature