I’d hardly stepped onto the path before a pair of Peacock butterflies spiralled up in a territorial dispute – the little meadow was evidently prime habitat, and the males were fully charged up on this beautiful spring day.
Small Tortoiseshell on Dandelion
A bit further along, a Small Tortoiseshell was visiting some of the many Dandelions by the path. It’s certainly my first this year; and I can’t recall seeing one here at Wraysbury before. It was once a common butterfly but nowadays unkempt beds of Nettles are rare enough, and like all our showier butterflies, they’ve suffered from the changes to the countryside, including insecticide sprays.
Male Orange-Tip
The next delight was the first Orange-Tip of the year. It’s a “White” butterfly but with beautiful coloration above and below: the underwing is remarkably well camouflaged.
In a woodland glade, two Commas tussled for the best display position.
Alder-Fly
And near one of the lakes, an Alder-Fly clambered along a twig. The larvae are aquatic; on a good day in early summer, the air can be full of adult Alder-Flies.
Birdsong was pretty much continuous, with Blackcaps, Chiffchaffs, Great Tits, Song Thrushes, Blackbirds, Green Woodpeckers, a Cetti’s Warbler and I think a Sedge Warbler too all contributing their songs. A Heron gave a harsh croak and some ungainly squawks. A Parakeet shrieked overhead. A Kestrel hunted silently. Spring has sprung in Wraysbury.
Northward Hill, looking over oakwood, scrub, grazing marshes, and river
Well there are some things one just has to do, even if it means braving the traffic. Nightingales, once common all over the south of England, can now only be heard in a few special places, and Northward Hill is one of them. There are some others in the southeast, like Lodge Hill, and guess what, they want to build houses all over it. Better go and enjoy the birdsong while it lasts.
A very shy Wall Brown, now a mainly coastal butterfly, the first I’ve seen for years
I was greeted by the song of blackbird, chaffinch, robin, song thrush, and wren as I walked in. A few ‘whites’ – large white, orange tip, green-veined white – skittered about as I reached the attractively rough scrub of hawthorn in full May blossom, blackthorn, wild pear, wild plum, and wild cherry, topped by the occasional whitethroat singing away scratchily.
Into the woods, with a handsome old cherry orchard on the right. Some of the oaks were straight out of Lord of the Rings, splendidly gnarled, knobbly, with massive trunks and holes to hide a good few goblins in.
Nightingale country: a fine old Oak. It looks to have been pollarded at about 12 feet up some centuries ago, so it was probably cut to that height while smaller wood was coppiced all around it.
And yes, sure enough, a nightingale obliged by singing its hesitant but amazingly rich and varied song from the thick cover. A little further, another; and a cuckoo kindly sang its unmistakable song from an oak almost in front of me, then with a ‘gok’ call flew, sparrowhawk-like, from the tree, a special sight.
Down to the hide overlooking the pool in the top photo; I wasn’t expecting more than a coot and maybe a mallard, but there were breeding lapwings chasing off the crows; breeding oystercatchers, and an avocet sitting with them; and a couple of solitary little egrets, stalking and stabbing at small fish or frogs. A redshank gave its wild teuk-teuk-teuk call and flashed its wingbar briefly.
Little Egret Stalking
Overhead a few swallows flitted about, and three swifts raced over the marsh.
The Hoo Peninsula is still a wild, spacious, lonely place, even with the swelling villages. You can see the Shard and Canary Wharf in the distance (some 30 miles); the river with its cranes and giant ships is ever-present; but the North Kent Marshes are special, as is Northward Hill with its fine old woods, still unspoilt for birds. Go and see it while you can.
Spring has arrived, with Orange Tip, Brimstone, Holly Blue, Comma, and Small White butterflies all flying today.
Jake, Netty, and Charlie doing the last of the wintertime bramble clearing
We’re racing to finish clearing the brambles along the edge of the old railway track where we hope to have some neutral or even acid grassland on the railway shingle. Time is against us now, as the warm spring weather and gentle winds have brought the warblers in. Today the first Blackcaps of the year sang in the reserve, along with Chiffchaffs, Wrens, Robins, Dunnocks, Great Tits, and Blue Tits, not to mention the chattering Magpies.
A pair of Magpies: “One for sorrow, Two for joy”, went the old rhyme
Among other animals celebrating the spring are the foxes, which have made many new holes and can often be seen about the reserve if you come along and sit quietly in the morning.
Wild Cherry in flower
The wild Cherries are in flower all around the reserve, and the Pussy Willow catkins are glowing golden in the sunshine.
Pussy Willow catkins
Bufftail Bumblebee queens seem to be everywhere, it being hardly possible to reach down for a bramble or a twig without disturbing one.
Bufftail Bumblebee
I was pleased to uncover two fine Birch saplings, just coming into new leaf, that had been hidden under the brambles.
Birch sapling in new leaf
Patrick found a buried milk bottle. We wiped the earth off it and held it up to the light: it read “Golden Seal” in raised curly ‘handwriting’ lettering. The brand vanished in the mergers of the 1970s as dairies grew bigger, so the bottle must have lain undisturbed for perhaps half a century, from before the Triangle became a nature reserve.
‘Golden Seal’ milk bottle from around the 1960s, a small piece of archaeology from before the Triangle became a reserve.
On a lovely May day, we replaced quite a bit of wooden railing, the rail mainly being fine but several of the posts having rotted at the base.
As we worked, a pair of Brimstone butterflies flew nearby, as well as a few Orange Tips, a Red Admiral, a couple of Holly Blues, and a Large White. It was very pretty among the cow parsley, green alkanet and garlic mustard, with visiting bees and hoverflies. A couple of brilliant metallic green Rose Chafer beetles flew over, just above the tops of the cow parsley.
Around the reserve, newly-fledged robins and jays were hopping about unsteadily. A blackcap sang sweetly; a blackbird, a wren and some robins chattered in alarm from a thicket, mobbing a predator, apparently a magpie — most probably as it threatened to rob a nest of eggs or young.
Azure Damselfly pair choosing egg-laying sites together
Above the pond, Azure Damselflies and Large Red Damselflies were in cop and egg-laying (both species); up to three male Small Reds at a time were dashing about in tiny dogfights.
Well, I’d read John Stewart Collis’ marvellous The Worm Forgives the Plough, and his description of the bill-hook as a marvellous tool, but it’s one thing to read about something and quite another to do it with a purpose.
Today, we were tasked with making edges for a stretch of path in the reserve. You can see some lengths of birch trunk lying along the path edge below my left hand. These of course had to be pegged to keep them in place, and then wired and stapled to discourage casual vandalism. The only source of wooden pegs was … more sticks. I set to work with the bill-hook, and indeed the tool is finely adapted to its job. Well-balanced, just heavy enough, and sharp, it slices through wood with a satisfying soft chopping sound. Even so, care and skill are needed, and the job takes a bit of time.
Congregation of Newts
When I had made all the pegs anyone needed, I went for a little nature walk. Down by the pond a now-scarce visitor was singing in the birch trees: a Greenfinch. In the pond, several smooth newts were flicking and darting about. The sun was glinting off the water, as you can see, but it seems two magnificently spotty males were courting a drabber female at the top.
I did wonder, before I began writing a nature journal here, whether half the entries wouldn’t be ‘nothing much to report today’. Well, so far I haven’t been there.
I went down to Wraysbury again in the hope of finding the Lesser Whitethroat. I arrived rather early, driving out of town only to see a gigantic queue of cars crawling in the other way, trying vainly to beat the Tube strike. No-one was about as I wrapped up in an extra pullover and listened intently to the morning chorus.
My day was already made when I actually SAW a Cetti’s Warbler – for about a second, before the rich brown bird with the rounded tail dived for cover. A Cormorant flapped heavily, taking off from the lake like a lumbering military transport, showing glossy blue-black plumage like a giant crow, circling three times to gain height. Two pairs of Gadwall (only one pair last time) swam shyly near the far side of the lake; Green Woodpeckers laughed their loud ringing call.
Comfrey flowerhead just starting
Blackcaps were singing all over; Song Thrushes too, at least three of them; a considerable flock of Long-Tailed Tits made their extraordinary “Tsrrrrrp” noise (try it); Chiffchaffs spoke their name, and (Common) Whitethroats sang their rasping songs or chattered from inside their thornbushes. Great clumps of Comfrey, the medicinal herb used in mediaeval times to knit bones, have suddenly sprung up with their dark, foxglove-like leaves and clusters of flowers in a range of anthocyanin colours – reds and violets.
There were more Willow Warblers and Garden Warblers, too, making them easier to find; more must be arriving each day now.
Whitethroat habitat: Hawthorn bushes in damp open scrubland
I made my way over the bridge and out into the dry scrubland. Whitethroats were all around now, singing competitively; a few Blackcaps joined in. Then, yes, I heard the simple, flat trill of a Lesser Whitethroat. I sat down and listened, heard it a few more times to make sure: it was a Seven Warbler Walk, I think actually my first, at least when I’ve taken the trouble to count them and write them down. I took a swig of water; an Orange Tip and a Brimstone butterfly flickered past.
Roe Deer slots (with penny for scale)
Looking about the bushes carefully, I noticed a trail of Roe Deer prints, medium and small. Their numbers have been increasing steadily, certainly since 2007, and they are close to becoming a nuisance. About 350,000 are culled each year; another 74,000 or so are killed on the roads, without limiting their growth. Clearly we need some predators, though what our farmers would say to having Lynx back, let alone Wolverines, is easy to imagine. Where they are most numerous, woodland shrub vegetation and bird numbers are suffering.
On the way out, some Goldfinches sang near the road, and a Swallow flew overhead by the river Colne. I felt I’d had a good day, and braced myself for a tricky drive home. On a whim, I went via the airport road. It’s a bit slow but not uninteresting, and there’s a nice tunnel. Waiting at one of the sets of lights, I opened the window, and at once heard a Skylark singing its rippling song. I looked up, and there it was for a moment, a little flickering dark shape against the bright sky, pouring out its aerial music. The lights changed, and a jet growled in to land, the air whistling over its fully-extended flaps.
Fancy, a Skylark at Heathrow, seen and heard from a car, the highlight of a seven-warbler walk, Lesser Whitethroat and all.
The English seem unemotional … except for their passion for nature
