Five Goldeneyes: a male is displaying to the (brown-headed) female
It was a glorious winter morning at Wraysbury Lakes. The lakes themselves held few birds, but the Goldeneyes had arrived with the recent cold weather, and the males were giving their fine trumpeting call (they’re not called “clangula” for nothing, the duck with the resounding bell-like music) and displaying, too.
A few herons flapped lazily over the water; a small group of tits hopped through the bushes. My first fieldfares of the winter chack-chacked in the willows and obligingly gave good views of their handsome brown-and-grey plumage.
A sparrowhawk raced very low over the meadow. On the way home, a peregrine falcon perched on a streetlight.
The day was exceptionally warm after the chilly winter weather. The hedgerow plants dripped gently. I liked the colours and light on these blackened rose-hips, still somehow looking invitingly fruity.
The path too was covered in blackened leaves, wet and slippery. On the lake, half-a-dozen Goldeneye, a couple of Pochard, a few Teal, some Tufted Duck, a few Mallard. Apart from the ducks, a couple of Cormorants, two young and very white Great Crested Grebes. On the meadows, a Green Woodpecker, flocks of Goldfinches, scattered Redwing and Fieldfare, a flock of Carrion Crows.
It was a lovely sunny walk today, spring in everything but temperature, in a fresh Northerly wind.
I was greeted at Wraysbury Lakes by a jumble of music, a loud and vigorous Garden Warbler competing with an even louder Song Thrush to pour out rich fluty notes in a confusing stream.
Suddenly the air is full of rising Mayflies with their long triple tails. The masses of Comfrey and Nettles are dotted with the iridescent blue of Banded Demoiselles, like slender dragonflies, and the clear green of the females. Also quite a few Azure Damselflies, the males brilliant blue with little cup markings at the base of their abdomens (Segment 2), the females green with little ‘Mercury’ markings in the same place. I think I saw a slender Sawfly, too; and quite a few bumblebees visiting the Comfrey. Just two butterflies, a Speckled Wood and a battered Red Admiral.
Canada Goose with Goslings
On the lake, a pair of Canada Geese watchfully escorting their fluffy line of chicks.
Further along, Blackcap, Robin, Blackbird; then a patch of Chiffchaffs; more Garden Warblers, then a few Whitethroats, making extraordinary wheezing and squeaking anxiety calls, and one in song flight; a little flock of Goldfinches; a few Willow Warblers, deep in the scrub, my first of the year. The May blossom is on time, the Hawthorns heavy with their white dresses. In clearings, Bugle, Forget-me-nots and Cowslips; a Red Campion.
In the sky, a Kestrel; a dozen Jackdaws; a Heron and a Cormorant; more surprisingly, a pair of Shelduck, rather big, rather white, with black wingtips and a brickred band across their chests. Four Swifts wheel past, race low over the hill.
Among the mares with their foals, a dozen Starlings making their rasping calls, feeding their newly-fledged young on the ground in the open or watching from the bushes; a French (Red-Legged) Partridge running rather than flying; a hen Pheasant flying in, her broad wings heavily loaded like the wide-bodied jets that roar overhead.
It’s utterly different from the heat earlier in the week, when I was down in Wiltshire, watching a Kingfisher flash along the river in Bradford-on-Avon, a Heron stalking fish in the shallows, a Horseshoe Bat among the bushes at dusk.
Spring is full of surprises, and this Heron, nesting not in a colony up in the trees, but all alone in an abandoned Swan’s nest in a reedbed, is certainly one of them. The London Wetland Centre this morning also boasted a mass of Blackcaps in the “Wildside” woodland, with at least three males and a female actually in sight at once, along with an obliging Chiffchaff giving me an excellent view, and a characteristically invisible Cetti’s Warbler, shouting out its amazingly loud call. The Silver Birches were in wonderfully fresh green leaf, their bark crisply white against the clear blue of the sky.
Red-Breasted Geese“Birches in wonderfully fresh green leaf”
Yesterday, round at Wraysbury Lakes, the same set of three warblers sang, but more elusively. The most delightful surprise was a Treecreeper, not only creeping up the willow branches, but singing its sweetly plaintive little song. This used to be rendered, rather tweely, as “Tree, tree, tree, once more I come to thee”, which does capture the length and rhythm of the song. It is not unlike the Chaffinch’s song, if you know that, but without the twiddly “tissy-cheeooo” ending, and not so firm and harsh. One of the Blackcaps, in the thorn-scrub area, had a fine mimetic song. Out on Horse Hill, the first two Swallows of the year flitted overhead, a solitary Kestrel beat its way against the wind, and half a dozen Jackdaws played and chased in the air, for all the world like a gang of naughty schoolboys.
“Cast ne’er a clout till May be out”, runs an old proverb. I guess it means, don’t trust the appearance of spring and sunshine in March or April: I recall two other spring proverbs, “March winds, April showers”, and “One Swallow doesn’t make a Summer”. In other words, spring arrives in fits and starts.
Well, it felt almost like spring at Wraysbury Lakes, with bursts of bright sunshine. A rather bold Cormorant investigated the fish in the river from a low perch. Many Willows have fallen and been cut down: they grow very rapidly, soon become hollow or outgrow their roots in the soft ground, and snap in a storm or topple — across the path, or into the water.
A Cetti’s Warbler gave me a single burst of its loud song from a waterside bush: as usual it was invisible.
Three or four Chiffchaffs chorused uncertainly. There were no other warblers to be heard. Perhaps I’ll get a Six Warbler Walk in a few weeks’ time. The early songsters remain the Song Thrush, the Great Tit and of course that 12-month, 24-hour standby, the Robin.
A Magpie chattered on the woodland edge of Horse Hill: a big brown Buzzard flapped slowly away from the annoyance to perch in a tree.
Well, after 7 Vole Patrol postings, and some very cold, wet and early mornings, I felt like enjoying a nature walk in the sunshine, away from Woodmice. But as I left town I found myself in fog, not too thick to be sure, but fog nonetheless.
I was rewarded, however, with the lovely sight of the willows along the lake seeming to float, isolated in the smooth sea of soft gray.
As the mist slowly lifted, a pair of Goosanders and a pair of Goldeneye (the male displaying, the female in tow a yard behind) could be seen through the mirk.
I couldn’t get away from the mammals, either. I was pleased to see not just the usual Muntjac prints along the path, but Roe Deer too. A little way further, and there was a Wood Mouse hopping in a relaxed way across the path, before diving down its hole.
It went thattaway: Wood Mouse hole
Among the birds calling were Green Woodpecker (finely), Great Tit, Song Thrush, Cetti’s Warbler. A Heron and a Parakeet flew overhead. Wood Pigeons and Carrion Crows watched warily.
The damp air had another good effect: the lichens looked wonderful, and even the bristly Ramalina were soft.
Parmelia caperataRamalina colony, generally hard, and the same both sidesEvernia prunastri colony, always soft, and different below
It was nice to see the lichens flourishing so close to London (and Heathrow): these little fungus/alga plants are very sensitive to pollution, and when I was a boy they were almost impossible to find anywhere near a city, so conservation stories can be happy.
It was cold out today, and I was glad of fleece, warm coat, woolly hat and gloves — not to mention gumboots through the clogging mud, the worst I’ve seen in many walks at Wraysbury Lakes.
But when the sun came out, it was beautiful, and I hope I’ve captured a little of that wintry beauty for you (and some of the puddled paths) with this photo of last year’s dried-out Teasels.
Just as I was about to take the photo, a flash of white from two largish finches caught my eye, and I grabbed my binoculars. Luckily, they landed in a bare thornbush, and showed themselves to be a male and a female Bullfinch, their black caps, red chests and white rumps splendidly visible as they sat a while, occasionally leaning right forwards to peck at the buds. They flew off to another bush, giving me the best views I think I ever had of the male/female differences at rest and in flight. The male really did glow red.
Up on the horse hill, a flock of some 50 Goldfinches flickered overhead. A Green Woodpecker called in the distance, as did two Mistle Thrushes, their loud, monotonous, ringing cries carrying across the wet ground. A solitary Redwing was all that was left of the winter flocks. Two streaky brown Linnets flew across.
A cormorant flapped heavily overhead, quite goose-like in front view but obvious enough in outline as it went by. Down at the nearly birdless lake, 5 Goldeneye brightened up the view, with a few distant Shoveler.
No wisecracks about Hips and Haws and keeping warm on chilly winter days! This morning it was actually more autumnal than wintery, with bright blue skies setting off the deeply red berries, the rosehips scarlet, the hawthorn berries crimson.
The birdlife however did give a hint of winter to come. The first half-dozen Redwings squawked softly and burst from the bushes in their peculiar way, twisting suddenly in flight to get out from between the branches, flapping noisily as they accelerate out of cover. A single big Mistle Thrush flew from higher up in a different tree.
A flock of Goldfinches, some Dunnocks, a Robin or two, a Blackbird, eight Magpies, a rapid Ring-Necked Parakeet, a Carrion Crow or two, and a few Black-Headed Gulls appeared here and there. A Sparrowhawk searched over the Poplar trees for unwary prey.
Down on the lake, too, the winter ducks are starting to arrive. There are good numbers of Gadwall (maybe 30) and Wigeon (50 or so) as well as Tufted (50) and Shoveler (100). A dozen Cormorants, a hundred Coots, a few Mallard, a couple of Mute Swans (where did they all go?), a few Canada Geese (ditto), and a solitary Great Crested Grebe made up the rest.
Yellow Inkcap Coprinus auricomus
As a final treat, there was a slender, delicate stalk of the Yellow Inkcap, Coprinus auricomus, in the grass.
Drowsy Bufftail Bumblebee Queen on Perennial Sow-Thistle
A quiet walk today around Wraysbury lakes: no birds sang, but at least 55 Mute Swans, 110 Canada Geese and dozens of Wigeon sat out on the eutrophicated water amidst masses of weed that has been there for months. A few very shy Gadwall, and some distant Shovelers dabbled; hundreds of Coots and Tufted Duck swam about everywhere; a few Great Crested Grebe were dotted about, one quite close and not shy.
There were plenty of other interesting wildlife sights, though. A Kestrel rose from a tall willow, screaming its high bell-like call repeatedly. Long-tailed tits chased in and out of the hedge bushes. Best of all, three Partridges, I presume Frenchies, raced off from the horse meadow. They’re a welcome sight; whether they’ll now be resident or just winter visitors is an interesting question.
Snowy Waxcap Hygrocybe virginea
A single loose cluster of four or five Snowy Waxcaps grew in the short, clover-rich grass; the species is said to be edible and good.
Pignut in flower in November
The meadow was longer than usual, rich in Yarrow, with quite a few stands of Pignut, both (remarkably) in flower in mid-November.
Plant stars in moss beside path
In the short mossy vegetation beside the path, these little blue-green plants formed elegant stars in the brighter, more yellow-green moss, a very delicate pattern.
The Crack Willow with its long leaves and incredibly delicate twigs (well named) was covered in small stinkbugs, like overgrown aphids, blackish and slow-moving but full of red ‘blood’, presumably enabling them to ignore most predators; I squashed half-a-dozen on my hand by accident while examining the leaves. The Sallow too was still in yellow autumnal leaf, but without evident resident herbivores.
The English seem unemotional … except for their passion for nature
