Tag Archives: Sand Martin

Nature Reserves

Iridescent Dragonflies, Dazzling Orchids at London Wetland Centre

Bee Orchid
Black-Tailed Skimmer

The whole of the wetland was sparkling with Emperor Dragonflies patrolling the pools: a few females laid eggs by Water-Lilies, the males occasionally chasing prey, or a rival. The margins were full of Azure Damselflies, nearly all males: I saw one pair in wheel formation.

The marshy areas bristled with Southern Marsh Orchids
Red-Eyed Damselfly

Several Red-Eyed Damselfly males displayed on lily-pads, chasing off rivals; occasionally an Azure came by too. Over one or two of the smaller pools, a Hairy Dragonfly patrolled; one of them had an aerial tussle with a similarly-sized red dragonfly, I think a Common Darter.

Yellow Rattle

Overhead, quite a few Sand Martins caught insects over the water (well, the Wetland Centre does sport West London’s only Sand Martin bank, an artificial river cliff), along with a few Swifts, and I think exactly one Swallow … it feels as if something terrible has happened to these populations. They have to migrate across the Sahel, the Sahara, the Mediterranean, and numerous populations of hungry village boys and keen shooters, so it’s something of a miracle there are any left: and that’s not even speaking about climate change.

Blue and yellow Vetches bringing colour to the tall grassland, with tendrils everywhere

A couple of Common Terns, presumably those breeding on the Wetland Centre’s lake islands, made their bright and cheery waterbird calls as they wheeled about, searching for glimpses of tiny fish to dive in and catch.

Common Spotted Orchid

There were only a few butterflies about – a Red Admiral, a Holly Blue, a couple of Speckled Wood, some Whites, a female Brimstone. For me, the bees and pollinators looked well down on normal, too. Amidst the warmth of the day, the beauty, the peace, and the brilliant colours, it is a sombre tale of decline.

Conservation, Environment, Love of Nature, Nature Reserves

Aah, it’s Duckling Time

Mute Swans with Cygnets
Mute Swans with Cygnets

Aah. Ducks with ducklings. Coots with Cootlings. Geese with Goslings. Swans with Cygnets. Moorhens with … chicks. Whatever the charmingly mediaeval diminutive nouns, it was a day for walking around the London Wetland Centre, enjoying the ‘sunny spells’ and the bright display of wild flowers, artfully seeded, and delighting in Mother Nature’s ability to conjure up fluffy sentimental feelings about roughly duck-shaped balls of fluffy down feathers.

Coot with Cootling
Coot with Cootling

I’d gone alone to see if there were any interesting dragonflies, but there weren’t many about: a warmer day is always better. But there was a Black-Tailed Skimmer basking on one of the ‘wildside’ paths.

Black-Tailed Skimmer
Black-Tailed Skimmer

Apart from that, I glimpsed one Hawker dragonfly – probably a Hairy dragonfly, as the only kind other than the Emperor seen there in the past month; and there were plenty of Common Blue and Bluetail damselflies about.

As for butterflies, it was alarmingly empty: a couple of meadow browns, a small white or two, and a female brimstone the highlight. My alarm at the lack of insects in general in England is growing. If it’s neonicotinoids – hot on the heels of all the earlier insecticides, many now rightly banned for their destructive side-effects on wildlife – then we are watching a manmade calamity. The BBC noted that some ditch water was toxic enough to be used, just as it was, as an insecticide spray for crops. The effect of that on dragonflies can only be imagined: a sad thing, as (living in rivers and ponds rather than on farmland) they have to some degree escaped the disaster that has all but eliminated our farmland birds, bees and butterflies.

But on a dead tree, wildside, was another fluffy-duckling sight, this time from a distinctly arboreal bird.

Parent and juvenile Green Woodpecker
Parent and juvenile Green Woodpecker

Two Green Woodpeckers, presumably a parent and a newly-fledged juvenile, were clinging to a dead tree, the parent a little higher up, the youngster apparently begging for food with open beak. The family drama went on for several minutes.

Two different Hoverflies on Burnet
Two different Hoverflies on Burnet

Tiny wildlife shows were visible on the flowers: here, two hoverflies of different species, busy being Batesian mimics of dangerously stinging wasps (but harmless as doves) are feeding, slow and relaxed in the sunshine, on the small flowers in a Great Burnet’s flowerhead. They didn’t seem at all bothered by each other, or by any risk from predators. But despite their glorious colours, it was duckling day today.

Natural History, Nature Reserves

Sand Martins and Sandpipers

The recent East winds and warmer weather have brought plenty of spring migrants to southern Britain. Today at the London Wetland Centre a twitch was in full swing at the Peacock Tower, the object of the lovers’ attention being a Common Sandpiper peacefully browsing along the muddy shore, happily unaware of the excitement it was causing. The breeding Redshanks, too, stalked about the shallows probing for food; the Lapwings as always alert, chasing off Carrion Crows and anything else that might have been interpreted as threatening. Around the paths, three or four early Sand Martin arrivals wheel and swoop like the small brown swallows that they are; their nest-cliff is still empty.

Around the reserve, quite a few Brimstone and Small White butterflies, and an Orange Tip gave movement and colour. I heard the first Sedge Warbler of the year, and despite being right next to the willow bush from which a Cetti’s Warbler was giving out its explosively phrased song, I couldn’t see the songster. A Blackcap however could be glimpsed behind the Sheltered Lagoon, chattering its alarm call.  A Song Thrush sang at intervals, and a Dabchick gave its beautiful trill and some small squeaks from the Lagoon, in between spending a lot of time under water.

Back at home, a queen Wasp was nosing about some Ivy-Leaved Toadflax, and a red Mason Bee dug for earth in a seedbed, flying off with a little load for her nest.

Nature Reserves

Singing in the rain

Marsh Marigolds under a dark sky
Marsh Marigolds under a dark sky

Even as I arrived the weather looked threatening. The sun sparkled dramatically off the water, under a magnificently dark cloud, making the marsh marigolds gleam golden against the almost-black water.

From the hide, redshanks could be seen scurrying about; some lapwings energetically chased off a few carrion crows, and a few snipe wandered about, right out in the open, ceaselessly probing the mud for food. Even better, the first little ringed plover of the year came out on to the marsh, flying off suddenly, its narrow wings flashing. The lapwings’ territoriality is valuable to other nesting birds, like the little ringed plover, as it protects their nests from predators of eggs and young like the crows. Lose the lapwings, as we have done across most of England – there are hardly any wet meadows left – and you lose much more. Drain and fertilise the meadows, and coarse grasses outgrow all the delicate flowers: you lose both the beauty and the bees, and the bees matter as they pollinate crops. The farmers hardly noticed they had done anything: after all, they only did a few sensible things to the land. That’s how delicate the ecological balance is.

The rain arrived, sweeping in on a cold wind that whistled through the hide windows, spattered camera lenses and binoculars with fat raindrops. In a minute, every window was closed, everyone happy to be in a warm dry place. I focused the telescope on a snipe and watched it while the rain threw up splashes all around it. Every minute or two it shook itself, keeping its feathers dry and fluffed up to maintain its insulation – clearly its plumage is nowhere near as oily and waterproof as a duck’s. But it went on feeding, its legs in the chilly water, its long beak in the mud, or retracted and rapidly opening and closing as it swallowed its catch. Living and feeding on a marsh means being cold and wet most of the year, really.

In the distance on the open water, three or four newly arrived sand martins swooped to catch insects from the surface, dashing about like the tiny brown tailless swallows that they are – I was watching them through the telescope (not something that often works well with fast birds like swallows), gently swinging from side to side to follow them as those watching with binoculars tried to count how many there were, little fastmoving specks against the water.  We were all enjoying some wildlife, small as matchboxes, over a hundred metres away, flying in the rain. It was a very light, happy atmosphere in the hide, with nobody in a hurry, all the talk on the birds we could just about see. Really, it was perfect.