0700 – 1400 Dry, crisp and bright at first becoming overcast from the west. Clearing later. 7°C early, warming to 16° during the afternoon.
It is the time of year now when the Wood tends to fall quiet, even early on. Wrens lead, singing with their typical volume and enthusiasm. Elsewise, the voice of Robins lift their winter song and a few Blue Tits or the occasional Dunnock calls in the gentle mist. I have come hopeful of migrants, though the prevailing weather conditions have not been ideal recently. Most flycatchers have already passed through, and I have pretty much given up home of being here at the same time as a Redstart, Wheatear, Whinchat or even Wryneck. Perhaps we need to try burning a small area… The fall of Willow Warblers often typical of September does not appear to have happened overnight, and it takes several hours before I finally catch up with a small flock – maybe 8 birds – typically spiralling in cascades among young birch and hazel along the east edge of West Wood at the Top.
Half an hour in the eastern restock at first light turns up no obvious visitors at all and by the time I check out the stream I have recorded 20 species but only seen 5 of them. My ears have detected a couple Siskins, Coal Tits, Nuthatch and the first of at least a half dozen Great Spotted Woodpeckers. Present all round today, evenly spaced across the Wood. In the long grass along the stream, an unusual collection of Shaggy Parasols have emerged:
Nice stand of Bush Grass (Calamagrostis epigejos) but very little water left in the pond:
Q1 is even quieter still as the trees close in and the cloud draws overhead. A pair of mournful whistling Bullfinches, the harsh cough of an invisible Muntjac and the first of the day’s Chiffchaffs. Woodpigeons and Crows overhead, and a distant laughing Herring Gull.
At butterfly corner, crossing the track at the Broad, a few remnant Knapweed flowers provide a few drips and splashe sof purple against a backdrop that is steadily turning from green to gold. Much bracken is cleared in Q2 and the potential for pioneer plants, Anemones and butterflies next season looks good. For now, the grasses are brown and autumnal. I am acutely aware that I am just about the only thing moving through the inscape; it is me that whirrs, buzzes and richochet. I walk slowly, barely breathing, keen to disappear rather than disturb. Stop, breathe. Chattering Blackbirds At the young oaks, standing in a pool of new light, I am watching another Bullfinch when I become aware of eyes on me. Turning slowly, I see a pair of Roe Deer checking me out. The hind is staring, curious, and the buck rises to his feet at her non-verbal cue. They are not 20 feet away, and seem alert but unfazed. More interested than alarmed. Both young adults, and looking beautiful at their seasonal best. But I cannot move without startling them, so slowly slowly and without making eye contact I turn and take a step. They don’t run, which is encouraging, just head off calmly into the Middle Of The Wood among the understorey beneath the larches.
A few metres farther on, and my feet take me to the right, down towards the Lower East Side. It really is overgrown here now, to the point of being unfamiliar. A Firecrest calls cleanly to my right, and in response to gentle pishing I discover it is a curious female and we exchange greetings. Her mate arrives, higher up, and it is a joy to watch them interacting and in conversation. Perfect conditions to be able to hear all the whistles, squeaks and nuances of their tiny language. Around the corner, heading back north along the holly-lined boundary between the wood and the farmland, I pass at least two more active Firecrest territories, adding Long-tailed Tit and Chaffinch to a very slow moving and modest list for this circuit. And no indication yet that the Hobbies are still here…?
The Sweet Chestnuts along here are heavy with spiky seed pods, just as the oaks are thick with acorns. Blackberries are struggling, but nuts and seed-bearing trees seem to be doing very well. The Chestnuts are dropping leaves though – they are always first to turn.
Stepping out onto the driveway to Velmore, I have renewed optimism that there may just be “something” on the farm. But of course the response is that I find even less than usual! Not even a Starling, say my field notes. There is a Buzzard perched up on a pylon, but otherwise ‘just’ Crows, Jackdaws and Woodpigeons. House Sparrows in the briar, and two Pied Wagtails in a paddock closest to the cottages… hard work today. Crashing overhead suddenly like a squadron of jets 8 feral doves clatter onto a stable roof, 6 white birds among them. Unseen Goldfinches rise from the stubble. Charming.
It is 8.45 when I reach the last fields where the surfaced track reaches the gate and becomes the footpath up the north edge of the Wood. There is a FOX here, slipping through under the bars! Fine specimen too, a young male. He pauses and looks back at me before jumping the ditch into the trees. Absolutely delighted to see one here again – it has been a shocking two years since my last encounter.
A herd of 60 prize Herefords are grazing at the top, but at the arrival of a tractor they turn as one and stream down to be fed, calling loudly. A cloud of corvids rise and settle back, closer to the water. They are all Carrion Crows – at least 70 of them. No Rooks, and I see not one Rook all morning. A few Jackdaws, but no more than 20 here and in the ploughed field. 150 Woodpigeons and two Skylarks. Twice on the way up I have heard a Green Woodpecker and behold – at last – here it comes flying up form the grass towards the Wood. That’s actually a year tick! Song Thrush here too, Buellfinches more Goldfinches and the distant grunt of a Raven I can just make out on a Pylon. WHen I get to the spot, the bird is still calling from its high perch, and continues as it swoops down and away north. Lots of berries on the holly bushes here – many red, countless more green.
A bird on the wire fence between fields excites me for a while – hard to get good views even in perfect light at distance. It comes closer and I climb the barbed wire to the field edge to confirm – female Stonechat. Behind me at the edge of the Roughs along the bridleway – two more Firecrests. That’s 7 now? 2 more Nuthatches in the oaks, another Great Spotted Woodpecker. The small flock of Black-headed gulls feeding in the ploughed field rises to 15, and I can pick out one male with at least five young or female Pheasants.
At 1045, I am on the footpath again and cut from here over the ditch and bank in to the Wood. Apart from a few Goldcrests and Coal Tits there is one othe rloud, squeaking call that I don’t recognise and consider must be a Buzzard. I can see nothing though. There is very little other sound or movement. Coming up to the point Where The Tracks Join I am alerted to a familiar chirruping in the sky and look up to see three House Martins going over. The cloud is thin, breaking up and the light clear and autumnal blue – there are no other hirundines with them, but 2 rattling Mistle Thrushes pass overhead immediately after, heading west. The sun is warm here, up at the Top, and two or three Speckled Wood butterflies have taken to the wing. And here, at last, a small group of about 8 Willow Warblers on the woodland edge. Behind them, a ragged mixed group of Long-tailed, Blue and Coal Tits with a couple of Godlcrests among them. Watching, scanning – but nothing unusual appears and I am resigned to be without Flycatchers today.
Half an hour later (where did that go?) and I am in the middle of the clearfell surrounded by green and in the middle of a tangible and memorable silence. There is no traffic noise, no other people and no birdsong. The world is watching Her Majesty’s funeral – I could convince myself that even here in the Wood a sense of reverence and respect has desended. Sitting, watching the scene drift past, enjoying a cigar and passing my own thoughts and prayers towards Westminster. In single file, 4 Ravens fly past, heading northwest, enagaged only in gentle conversation…
I head back, the same way back to the top, to circyuit round the clearfell and check out the birchline in the vain hope of more WWs and a flycathcer. None and neither, but to my surprise on the way out, just approaching my sitting spot, ANOTHER Green Woodpecker flies over yaffling! Of course it could easily be the same bird as earlier (which was heading this direction in tot he Wood) but to have two sightings in one session here is very unusual. More Speckled Woods too – 9 or 10 in all, and round on South Drive there are three at the top of the crossing. Yorkshire-fog (Holcus lanatus) that grows here is a favoured caterpillar food plant. All very different colours too. Some are very pale, faded and look small – perhaps the worn adults of the first hatching? Others (unless they are males) are bright, deep and rich in fresh livery.
By about 1pm, people started arriving in the Wood in unprecedented numbers. I passed three couples and a family group on my way down the crossing, and headed back up to go around the south side. Glad I did so, because fortuitously a Hobby started calling loudly. No doubt disturbed by folks coming down here and into Larpers Lane. Hardly a crowd of course, but I never saw so many people here before. At lest 20 in small groups. I scanned and watched, but the Hobbies can be very hard to see… until I got to the gate. Opposite the barrier, above Home Wood on High Hill where the Ravens occasioanlly nest, two Hobbies were up together circling, calling and gettng progressively higher. Great views in the sunshine until they drift off south-eastwards heading over the motorway towards Bassett and Southampton.
Overcast and dull. Occasional light drizzle but warm 23*C The first day of rainfall in six weeks
As I walk in today from the Upper Quarter having left my bike in Asda nearby, I am shocked by the litter in this road-facing part of the Wood. I never came by this way before, but there has been a lot of fly-tipping recently. With Ranger’s help half an hour later we have put some of it into bags, but he will make a formal report to the council.
Waiting for him, up by the gate, I feel like a stranger. Four weeks is just about the longest absence I have experienced here in the last four years. There is a brief but uncomfortable disconnect. The season is shifting – very few flowers now except for the Knapweed which has exploded splendidly everywhere, and Ragwort. The chestnuts and beeches are still magnificent, and several oaks are thick with formative acorns, but the Yews look week, ragged and desperate for water. Similar all the grasses – the recent long drought has taken its toll. But the colour palette is rich and diverse – gold, bronze yellow and purple, where the Ling heather is taking hold. Bracken is fading, changing. Autumn will come early, and the Rowan trees this year re the first to detect her approach, berries wrinkled and (mostly) gone over. Blackberries will struggle too, but they don’t realise it yet. Maybe the arrival of rain at last is just in time for them to ripen? The pond has not dried up completely, and had we managed to meet last week when the weather was warm and sunny we have have seen more flying insects. In the drizzling rain this afternoon there is nothing around. We have only a single Speckled Wood on our entire circuit.
SH is keen to check the bracken spraying. The application of Asulox earlier in the season has proved remarkably effective and now large patches of the wayleave are clear, allowing grasses to come through. It looks good for next season – similarly in the West Wood and Chilworth pines, alongside manual rhododendron clearance. But the chemical herbicide will be banned soon and has already become prohibitively expensive.
Great-Spotted Woodpecker. Coat Tit. Long-tailed Tits, Wrens and a single brief Spotted Flycatcher.
We are looking also for Nightjar nests. Contractors and staff have reported four: two in the large west restock; one in the east, and a fourth surprisingly, in Q1 just in from Butterfly Corner. He suggests this might be anomalous and a mistake in data entry regarding co-ordinates. We spend 20 minutes looking in a 10 sq metre patch, but it seems entirely unsuitable. We didn’t manage to find that on the East clearfell either, and decided against searching on the larger west side because the rain was gently increasing and we we both soaked.
Throughout most of the afternoon, our wanderings are accompanied by screaming, yaffling and yapping Hobbies. They are alert, active and anxious so tracking down their precise whereabouts is difficult and we are hesitant to upset them unduly. Staking out various vantage points looking into The Middle Of The Wood from Larpers Lane, I manage to spot the female, perched up on the very top of larch calling. She appears to have a damaged tail – missing one or two central feathers.
Back up at the entrance and the pond, we are afforded superb views of both bird’s aerial acrobatics from a more comfortable distance. Which prevents us searching for Nightjars. C’est la vie.
Very warm again, over 25*C. Bright sunshine behind a thin veil of gently drifting high cloudy. Muggy at times.
Summerdark has not quite yet settled in the Wood, delayed by the clearance work earlier here in the Chilworth Pines, but its coming. The trees sigh under the combined weight of full leaf and heavy, stubborn air. Light dabbles, flickers and gently drifts through translucent birch with neither direction or purpose. That draws in creatures like myself, to do exactly that… Silence is here too; on a midsummer afternoon there is scarcely a bird to be heard. A Chaffinch calls repeatedly, and a Jay squawks indignantly as I carelessly snap a dry twig under my boots…
Across the top today, to walk the butterfly transect in reverse order. Two Large Whites, and a dozen Gatekeepers. They have emerged as Ringlets subside. A Blackbird is flittering about in leaf litter after a grub, and a Buzzard drops from his perch away to the right, gliding low and quiet across the restock.
There is no breeze at all, and it is hot in the afternoon sun. Section 5 takes me eastwards along the track beside the north belt, wherein vocal Coal Tits hoot and wheeze. A Siskin flies out calling, and as it passes south, two Linnets launch themselves from a yew and fly off with it. Linnets, it seems, are always in pairs?
3 Meadow Browns, 6 Gatekeepers and two Large White. Goldfinches jangling around, and there are once again Chiffchaffs in the bracken where they always go after fledging for food and safety. One or two Small Skippers in the grass, and small numbers of Solitary Bees ricocheting off invisible airbags a few inches above the ground. Then something flicks over my shoulder, so close its fluttering wingbeats make me jump. Ahead of me, a few metres down the track it turns onto the clearfell – a Silver-washed Fritillary! Looks huge compared with the skippers and gatekeepers, but its gone in a flash. How and where did it go, and why can’t I find it. Ten minutes following up to the middle of the clearfell, scouring, scanning, but it is nowhere to be seen. It’s smile-making in a way, because that is How It Is here with this species – every season now for three years I have seen one, once.
Large Skipper (Ochlodes sylvanus)
Section 4 has a lot more going on than during my last visit, mainly because it is less windy today and a little brighter. The grass is gentle stirred by a whispering F1 breeze, but it is barely noticeable. Single Meadow Brown, Large White and Ringlet. The latter is aggressive, particularly towards the two Ichneumon ‘fairy’ wasps dancing around. 5 or 6 Gatekeepers and the same number of Small Skippers. Invisible Stonechats cluck and click, a Nuthatch calls among the larches and a Song Thrush breaks the silence to sing beautifully to the sun. As well as a nearby Blackcap, I can also hear the yapping of a Hobby – somewhere up near the middle of the Wood?!
Turning right up The Crossing to walk Section 3 and the Hobby is much louder, clearly circling around? A quickened pace takes me up past Larpers to a point where I can see better into the Wood. The bird comes overhead in a fabulous swooping curve, calling all the time. Rising, stooping at high speed, and pulling up. An adult, with presumably young nearby? They can be invisible when they choose, and equally obvious and in your face when it suits them. This part of the transect is particularly busy today. As well as two Commas, 6-8 Meadow Browns and as many more Gatekeepers, there is a female Brimstone patrolling the brambles (8 species today), a single Holly Blue grounding at the top (9) and a White Admiral (10) higher up. At the top, where we join South Drive, two Speckled Wood dancing. That’s 11 species today and 15 species for July. The highlight though is much lower down, among the grasses at the edge. Here is what I hoped to find, and they are textbook examples to make identification that much easier – the colony of Essex Skippers. I can get close and capture a few on camera. Check out the characteristic black antenna tips, but also the indistinct sex brand marking on the males dorsal forewing. On Small Skipper this is a distinct, clear black line, parallel with the wing’s leading edge and close to the body. On Essex Skipper (12), the line is less defined, and forms a shallow curve in from the edge of the forewing
Essex Skipper (Thymelicus lineola)Small Skipper (Thymelicus sylvestris) for comparison
Up at the barrier, it has become almost unbearably hot and stuffy. The butterflies love it. 10-15 Ringlets, 20 Gatekeepers, 2 Large Skippers, 2 Large Whites. It is irresistible taking the detour off the transect down through the grasses by the stream.
Here are a dozen more Essex Skippers – I think they also look more raggedly and less generally ‘tidy’ than Small Skippers? Same with birds, I use jizz as much as coloration and marks to identify species.
A Muntjac barks from a hideaway behind me. An Emperor Dragonfly zooms towards the pond where I find two close up male Holly Blues grounding to feed on the mud. And positively identify two more insect species for the Systematic list:
Common Scorpionfly (Panorpa communis)Common Red Soldier Beetle (Rhagonycha fulva)
Section 2 to finish another fascinating and uplifting session: 1 Comma, 5 Ringlets and three Meadow Browns; Bullfinches, Slow-worms and a singing Chiffchaff; 3 Large Skippers and a half dozen Small Skippers which yes, do look ‘cleaner’ than Essex Skippers to my novice eye.
Again, I feel blessed to walk and work here. Stewardship, wildlife, life, space, peace. Engaging, uplifting, absorbing. Renewed and restored
13:45 – 16:30 Hot and sunny 24*C. Light breeze and thin cloud cover later
It has, again, been too long. A couple of weeks in Scotland (12th – 26th) accounts for most of my recent absence but changes of circumstances at work and in that Thing Called Life now conspire to make time for the Wood harder to find.
But, this being a Friday and a blank page in the diary, I was able to spend proper time here again at last. An overdue transect for the UKMBS beckoned, for which this proved to be one of the most productive and exciting circuits I ever did, resulting in my counting over 150 butterflies of 13 species including four firsts for this year!
I started as usual at Little Spinney where the feeders still attract pigeons, thrushes, squirrels and chaffinches – but stepping into the Wood from here and everything is suddenly very quiet. A moody, kind of sulky silence today. It seems only Robins dare sing now. Down the slope to the track in the Chilworth corner, accompanied by hidden calls of Wren, Chiffchaff, Dunnock and Blackbird. Green has exploded everywhere and the grasses are dominant now, sparkled and glittered with sprinkled yellow flowers of Lesser St John’s Wort (one of my favourites), Bird’s Foot Trefoil and occasional stands of emerging Ragwort. Purple splashes of Self-heal and Hedge Woundwort as I make my way along the south side, and out on the re-stock there are still a few defiant Foxgloves waving in a barely perceptible wind. Butterflies immediately – three or four each Ringlet and Gatekeeper, and at least two Large Skippers up to a singing Blackcap in the corner opposite the Big Beech. Otherwise, only Stock Doves.
Watching more Ringlets here in the brambles and bracken, and a faerie dances past – an Ichneumon wasp species that I can neither identify nor photograph. In the south-east corner, more Ringlets and Large Skippers on Foxglove. Nuthatch, Cuckoo-flower and a surprising burst of Firecrest song. Its so quiet now, these thin voices tend to ring out. Textbook Small Skippers with diagonal sex-brands across the upperwing and black-tipped orange antenna.
Ringlets everywhere. At least a dozen, maybe 20 along the path up to the gate. White-tailed Bumble Bees in between, and a single Red Admiral grounding by the gate. Two more Large Whites (is that four now?), a Peacock – Silverweed, emerging Great Willowherb, Creeping Buttercup profusion, clouds of Heath bedstraw and White Clover.
Passage down Q1 from the track here is seasonally challenging now with bracken head high at the top, hiding determined bramble runners. But worth the battle to the grassy corner by the stream where I find myself surrounded by more butterflies and insects than I ever saw here. Ringlets and Meadow Browns in particular, but also lots of Small Skippers. A small Blue whizzes past my head but I couldn’t keep track of it, distracted by not only Marbled Whites but also two Emperor Dragonflies and Broad-bodied Chasers. I can’t keep up, but the Marbled Whites are fabulous, and make the afternoon’s list up to ten species.
From this direction, its a bit of a battle to the pond. A half-dozen more Ringlets, 10 Meadow Browns, 2 Chasers, 2 each Large and Small Skipper and a Common Blue Damselfly. Then, a different distraction, a flicker and a flash of bright copper. Once every year I come across Beautiful Demoiselle in the Wood, and today’s the day. A female, skipping lightly ahead of me and across into the Aviva pines.
As I walk along the track completing section 1, it is a surprise to see no more butterflies for 100 metres, until I come to Butterfly Corner at the crossing into the Wayleave. It has become something of a misnoma in recent years, but today makes up for everything. In full sun, there are 8-10 Ringlets, a dozen Skippers, 3 Meadow Browns and – my absolute favourite – the season’s first White Admiral. In fact – THREE together flittering between honeysuckle and oak. Behind these, birds buzz and click. Long-tailed Tits, probably about 20 in a couple of family groups. And something larger. Swooping flight, thin call. Spotted Flycatchers. Two I think, but elusive and gone in a flash, with the associated tit flock. Wow…
1530, bright overhead and I am in the wayleave at Section 2, where the bracken clearance is noticeable and encouraging. Still more butterflies: 15 Ringlets, 10 Meadow Browns and at least 5 Large Skippers; 3 Large Whites, one more White Admiral and the first Comma of the afternoon taking energy from the high sun. Two more White Admirals in the relative shade of Upper Velmore where two more Emperor Dragonflies zoomed past. Six more Ringlets, and passing across from right to left as I emerged at The Crossing – a fast moving Small White. The crossing itself is now mostly in the shade of trees in the Middle Of Wood, and the air is quite stuffy. There is an increasing breeze, but not down here, and the cloud cover is building. Another half dozen Ringlets on the east side – over 80 individuals in all today which is unprecedented. There is a White Admiral at the back, characteristic horizontal gliding flight. Trying to rest, but every time it settles it gets harassed and chased off by another Comma. Upwards for another handful of Meadow Browns but no Skippers. And at the top, just past the end of Larpers Lane, another flash of copper blue: two more Beautiful Demoiselles! I am watching and trying to photographs this accompanied by a high-pitched conversation between two Firecrests…
What a fabulous session this is turning out to be…
Returning down the slope and a family group of five Siskins goes eastwards calling, perhaps disturbed by the whispering, swishy larch tops. The breeze is directly from the west, and immediately makes an impact as I turn the corner into Section 4. Here, on the right, a scruffy young Roebuck in a shaggy red coat is grazing on young leaves and complete unaware or unconcerned about me. Wood Sage is flowering along the edge, and a Blackcap bursts into loud, clear song.
But there are no more butterflies to be seen, except right at the end. Up Where The Tracks Join I pick up a single Gatekeeper, only the afternoon’s second, posing for photos on a bracken frond.
HERE, THEY'RE EVERYWHERE by ME, 2022
Here
in this old copse
This thicket-clump of creaking trees
I sit above the ground
in their domain
Watching among the shimmer leaves
There
another male sings
My ticket gives a front-row view
Symmetric surround-sound
He calls again
And starts his churring song a-new
Everywhere
They swish and glide
In pairs, the wing-ed evening dance
Midsummer dream I found
Wing-clap refrain
Amazed, affirmed, entranced
NIghtjar ‘dancing’
I have arrived in good time. The sky glows gold to the west, shining with the last half hour of a mild, gentle day. There has been drizzle and impulsive swirls of nervous wind, but for the last couple of hours everything has stilled and light reigns. Always good to enjoy the Thrush’s Hour like this, when all around Blackbirds, Robins and Song Thrushes sing out from every bush and tree. Other voices include Chiffchaffs, Wrens and various tits, and it is a joy to breath in their chorus and the cool air as I walk slowly up over the top to the north, looking for the overgrown path-of-sorts that cuts up past the Big Yew to the clump. It is straight, along a furrow in the re-stock, and I have made notes of the landmarks I will need to come out effectively the same way: a small tear-drop shaped birch; a scattering of brash and chippings; a rhododendron skull. Stonechats flit and chitter. Whitethroat singing. Distant Willow Warbler.
Turn here, back again here. Around, through the gorse, scratching holly. Fresh digging in the sand. Look around carefully, stand a moment. A few quick long steps and in. And up. The bark is smooth, cool. Grip that snapped stump there, pull. And up. Settle. Breathe.
From within, there is little chance to see without, and I count Woodcock overhead by sound alone. The bracken has invaded here too, considerably even since two weeks have passed. My view of the second hole is obscured, the one where i have seen him three times out of three so far. But there has been a lot of activity closer and the landscape of the sett has changed here. Shaped, smoothed, roughed. It is a long half hour. I am uncomfortable, and fidget. Pins and needles. Unhelpful. Nightjars churr. two, three – one distant. But they are brief, unsettled. Off key and Warming Up.
Quips, queks, claps and slaps. Chasing fast, outside my circle of trees. Glimpses. Glides.
The closest male is 30feet away, about as high up again as I am – so 12-15ft off the ground. On the outside edge of another large Yew and if I lean out a little, twist my shoulders, I can see him clearly. His song fills the sanctuary of this space, droning, spinning. He drops away again, clap clap. A circuit and then back up again, this time with another bird. They sit on the same branch but facing opposite directions. She has her back to me. They are calling, a conversation in quips and quirks such as I hitherto thought they only made on the wing. And in between, they are bobbing their heads up and down, shrugging shoulders. So like doves. Like Stock Doves, which themselves as I have seen often, are very much like Nightjars at times. It is fascinating to watch Nightjar courtship and to see perched birds. Such a meek privilege, afforded to so few. Nothing short of wonderful and yet, tonight, a distraction…
Nightjar upright (top) and pigeonesque head-bobbing (below)
20ft ahead of me, this side of the main hole, the bracken shakes and parts at the passing through of a large badger. A rustling, stumbling, sniffing male that feels familiar. He withdraws and turns to present a profile before disappearing, only to emerge again further left. Looking down now, instead of out to the sky beyond this clump I am taken by surprise just how dark it has suddenly become. I can barely see him, just make out the white stripes on his head and determine his movements by shadows and disturbed vegetation. Moving away. Good. I need to climb down and make my exit before it is too dark to do so among the trees and get myself out onto the moonlight track. A bright waxing crescent has risen, low above the West Wood. Gently does it, mind the holly. Tread quietly and withdraw. Find the rhodie stump, follow left towards the brash. Here is long grass, and absolute silence apart from my own breath and pumping heart. And a sudden, wheezing cough. A hiss and a kind of squealing growl such as I never heard before. A different badger passes right in front of me and simultaneously we both freeze staring at each other. It is magical, a Never Moment. I presume its a female, much smaller than the other animal, and a different colour, bearing almost a pinky-whiteness. Longer fur. I am transfixed, and the animal just sits there for what seems like an age before sinking, silently as if it were sat on a deflating cushion, into a deep hole behind a tree root. Wait. Did that just happen? Before i have time to process this close encounter, I am woken up by a loud Nightjar call and two birds swish past so close i can hear their wings beating. There are at least two churring, one back where I sat before, and another more distant – appears to be right over by the birch line on the opposite side? Assuming there is a pair there, if not more as last week, then it is no exaggeration to record six birds here now
THE NIGHTJARS by Edward Shanks (1919)
ALL day the cuckoo has sung his double cries,
Far in the woods and hidden, or close hut not seen:
Once he flew overhead and we heard the sound rise
In the song's space and die in a thicket green.
All day the blackbird has sung with the thrush
And the nightingale, though we heard him not clear,
And others chirped and murmured from bush to bush,
Loud, soft, shrill, uncertain, far and near.
Now on the dark hill, after that tumult of song,
Silence settles down, a stride before night,
While on the ground and in the trees and all along
The widespread horizon slowly dies the light,
Like a rainbowed fish held dying in a net,
With last, lovely flushes to the final grey;
And over the black hill a soft wind blows yet,
Carrying on wide wings the last light away.
How immense the silence! So a fountain falls,
When the jet fails, with a last scattered spray,
And the wind goes on, as the settling thrush calls,
Carrying on soft wings the last echoes away.
Step by step, slowly, we climb the silent hill,
Speechless, almost frightened. As the path wheels round,
Into an open glade, where the grass is hushed and still,
Warmth rises sudden and stifling from the ground.
The trees merge and melt in the fading grey sky
And now from tree or bush, we cannot tell where,
A thin sound arises, faintly, haltingly,
Stops to take breath and then fills the quiet air
With a hoarse, sweet music. Thereon, all around,
All the other nightjars join in the whirring song,
And, as we pause to hear, the shadowy trees resound
Till all the vague hillside is filled with the throng,
Singing louder and ever louder. But all at once
The chorus gives way to the sweetest voice,
A single and lonely singer, whose crystal runs
Charm our ears with a magic, monotonous noise.
He pauses. We seek him ; but the song once gone,
Nought remains to show him. We clap hands in vain.
Now over the crest a new faint song is begun.
That we can hardly hear. Is it he again?
And as we halt, doubtful, in the darkness growing
Thicker round us and stranger, full of mysteries,
With the first cool night airs upon our faces blowing,
A dark shape flaps out from the invisible trees,
And slides across our path, a moving clot of night,
His wings knocking loudly as he flies along,
Startling the stillness. And he fades out of our sight
And in his shadowy thicket resumes the song.
Back out on the track, a few minutes after 10pm, there is a different kind of silence. Bigger, more expansive. More powerful. Standing still, looking down across the clearfell, I like to think I can hear Nothing At All. It is a Deep Blue Quiet, One distinct sound behind me – the squeaky bicycle-wheel contact calls of young Tawny Owls. The sound moves around as the birds call to each other individually, separate arpeggiated sounds. Impossible to see.
Bats too. I am not familiar enough to idenify them.
It is a slog climbing back up toward the Copse Lane gardens, and I stop halfway just to listen. The trees are not moving, and the Nightjars have started up again. I can detect three males churring – one seems to be in this Wood, rather than out on the clearfell.
Hot and humid. 22*C, become progressively more overcast. Little F1 wind SW
Sunlit shades of green in all its glory, before the summer-dark really kicks in. Unseen birds singing include a Song Thrush and Chaffinch up at the Copse Lane In, otherwise it is quiet save the thin whistle of Robins, the cluck of Blackbird or Wren and the occasional chatter and squeak from Coal or Long-tailed Tits among the Chilworth Pines. Yellow Pimpernel (Lysimachia nemorum) has appeared here and there among the Tormentil and Creping Buttercups. Along the track, past the birch line Where The Nightjars Are. Wild Cherry, Alder Buckthorn and Pussy Willow. Two Blackcaps, three (four?) Chiffchaffs and a Willow Warbler. A Buzzard circles low over the restock.
First butterfly of the circuit is a Speckled Wood, fast over the grass heading up The crossing as I walk down in the opposite direction. Male Brimstone at the bottom, and another posse of Long-tailed Tits
Upper Velmore is more Tormentil in the long grass, and Creeping Buttercups now spreading wildly through. Greater Stitchwort still bursting places, but mostly now melancholy drooping stars. A distant Hobby calling. 15:13. Turning here up the wayleave. Slow-worms under each of mats #8, #7 and #6 – each of which now stands among a rampant crowd of Wood Spurge. Beneath this, and extending along the Broad is the fragrant Wood Sage (Teucrium scorodonia) growing in localised patches . Added to the Systematic List now as an overlooked plant species.
Along with the Yorkshire-fog meadow grass (Holcus lanatus) now flowering with its soft purple-red tinge, and the numerous Common Green Lacewings (Chrysoperla carnea) that seem to like the mix of bramble and honeysuckle here. The Small Skippers won’t be long…
Greenfinch overhead calling, a singing Goldfinch, and a “new” moth that catches my eye. Identified from a photograph circulated later as Common Carpet Moth (Epirrhoe alternata) , this is one of two fluttering around at the top end of the Wayleave where the bracken is cleared and represents another hitherto overlooked species.
In Section One, along the Broad and up to the pond there are countless small flies, two fine looking Flesh Flies around the puddles but no butterflies today, just a single Large White flying past me at low level. No damselflies at the pond either – but the three resident Broad-bodied Chasers are really active, chasing a single female. Great Spotted Woodpecker kicks in, and more Long-tailed tits. Two Buzzards up together, both different birds to the one at the West End.
Back down through Sections 5 and into 5 I encounter no more butterflies, and it really is oppressively hot ands muggy now. Picking up a female Broad-bodied Chaser on a dead grass is a surprise – I don’t recall seeing one this far away from any water before.
Mild evening becoming cooler 9*C. Showers all day but clear from 18:00
20:45 – 22:00
Eurasian Nightjar (Caprimulgus europaeus) Picture by Ian Watts
In from the main entrance this evening, and immediately met by a Woodcock overhead. Another birding roding at The Crossing, though potentially the same one?
Chiffchaffs and Goldcrests seem particularly vocal among the countless thrushes. Including a particularly loud and sibilant Mistle Thrush in the SE corner. Willow Warbler and Blackcap int he restock.
First Nightjar churring on and off from 20:45, and we settled to watch from the end of the birch line on the south side. Thanks to feedback from others visiting the site in the last few days, this is the perfect vantage point this year. Spotted Flycatcher here too, a lovely bonus. Brief views, but active and calling. Unusual to hear them – a soft “ssip” and click. There are at least three birds locally this spring, which is really encouraging. Also along the birch line, at least two bats patrolling, which I am confidently assured are Long-eared Bats (Plecotus auritus) on account of the flight behaviour, the size and being early on the wing…?
Another special encounter with Nightjars followed, and one of the best I have had from the track. Over the next 40 minutes or so, we saw four birds together at least twice, and I am left with the conclusion that there may now be up to SIX present in the west restock. For most of the time, three birds were constantly churring. Birds showed well in good light, one in particular (see photo) choosing to sing from the single tall cherry tree and a straggly birch, swooping and gliding between the two. They came up to the track often, banking, gliding and generally being magnificent. Lots of chasing, calling and wing-clapping too – some of which could be observed in the reasonably good light. The birds were still churring and active when we left at ten, but were beginning to wind down. Great to have so many present – there are definitely more here this season than I have had before.
I didn’t managed to hear any owls tonight, and otherwise just a single deer barking
13:30 – 16:00 Hot in bright sunlight – max 23*C. Variable W breeze F2 -3
Narrow-leaved Plantain(plantago lanceolate)
The Wood is silent, and I am inclined to be quieter than usual myself as I descend through the Chilworth Pines into West Wood.
My thoughts and I
Adrift, at ease
Among the shadows of the trees
Walking on the Lesser Ways
On summer's sunlit quiet days
The shimmer glimmer of the leaves
Birdsong on the ripple breeze
Flicker-light on butterflies
Micro moths as moments, rise
With every step another cloud
Woodfull silence all around
I came upon three different family groups of Long-tailed Tits this afternoon.
Three or four Speckled Woods in this part of the site too – among the trees. Altogether I recorded more than a dozen – but hardly any on transect.
Section 5 Met a man with two dogs watching a Buzzard, which he had seen fly from the clearfell into a tall larch in the North belt. Stonechats calling. Several new and spreading patches of Heath Bedstraw (Galium saxatile) but no butterflies
Heath Bedstraw(Galium saxatile)
Section 4
A Chaffinch singing. Several Chiffchaffs. Increasing breeze and the taller trees sway gently. Great Spotted Woodpecker. Coal Tit. One Holly Blue
Section 2 More Long-tailed Tits on the corner of Upper Velmore and at least two Blackcaps. Two Holly Blues together, and a new patch of Heath Speedwell just coming out:
Heath Speedwell (veronica officinalis)
One mid-size coppery Slow-worm under Mat 6 and two small White butterflies ahead of me across the wayleave. Chiffchaff singing at mat 5, where a Siskin is calling. More of the same small purple spiked flowers of Heath Speedwell here, and a few clumps of Bird’s Eye Speedwell. The violets and bluebells have all gone over now, and the Greater Stitchwort is fading
Section 1 A little flurry of butterflies at ‘the wet bit’ on the track: two Speckled Woods, 2 Holly Blues (male and this female) and a Peacock.
Holly Blue (female)[Celastrina argiolus]
At the pond, as well as four Broad-bodied Chasers I was delighted to find three mating pairs of Common Blue Damselfly and even managed a couple of photographs. I am rathe rpleased especially with this image of a bright male
Common Blue Damselfly (Enallagma cyathigerum)
Completing Section 1, right up towards the entrance barrier it is really hot. But no butterflies. I think we are entering a phase between their life stages now, coinciding with a shift in the number and range of flowering plants.
The cool, dappled filtered shade of Larpers Lane is very welcome. More Speckled Wood along here, and more Blackcaps. At least 8 today? A Firecrest at The Beech, and another up by the Crossing at Section 3, where again there are no butterflies.
Barnyard Grass(Echinochloa crus-galli)
To finish, I continued over Section 3 and down Firecrest Alley where my presence was objected to rather loudly by a Jay and several Blackbirds. Crossing the stream here, I noticed a good number of healthy frog tadpoles, large numbers of which seemed to be apparently feeding on a (presumably dead) snail. I will have to pick the shell out next time to identify it:
20:00 – 21:50 (Sunset 21:02) Beautiful clear and still evening. Temperature falling to 9*C wind light SSW
Met friends at the Chilworth Arms and walked into the site from Woodside which I haven’t done for ages. Blackcap in good voice on the way down, and a couple of Chiffchaffs. Initially, we watched from The Top scanning the clearfell. The Tree Pipit showed a few times, fluttering and circling around from a vantage point in the top of his favoured tall yew. Also two Herring Gulls at distance, but no sign tonight of the Hobby.
Unfortunately tonight, conditions are made uncomfortable by swarms of midges. Stand still too long, get bitten to death!
So we move, down to the side of the clearfell to the north and round to the tall larches. A couple of Woodcock come over, up and down this North Drive. One or two others pass across the clearfell. Twelve records in all, probably 3 maybe 4 birds.
The first Nightjar starts up out in the middle at 21:11, very late and after sunset. But it is a very bright evening and there is now a chilly wind coming in. Do the birds “wake up” later when it is clear, and are they less active because there are less moths when it is windy? Either way, apart form a brief view of one dropping down from a larch into a yew on the clearfell I managed to see only one bird. The others saw one as well, on the north side, where it came right over their heads and circle briefly. Lots of activity though, calling, wing-clapping and churring from various places. Just not showing themselves this evening.
We ended with one churring from behind the West Wood down at Marshalls, so I think this maybe a new arrival. Or is one of the males displaced to there…? Impossibel to say until I get back into the clump and ascertain for sure how many are present in the west restock.
On the way out though, I did pick up the familiar hissing squeak of a baby Tawny Owl. There followed similar contact calls of at least three other birds, unless they were all movign along unseen with us? My 70th year-tick at the site, and so I reach that figure before the end of May for the third consective year.
Noticed this evening that one or two Foxgloves are now opening into flower
Warm sunny and dry most of the day, heavy rain from 6pm. Wind light but variable S-SSW
An opportunity too good to miss for spending a whole day at the Wood – something I have aspired to for a long time. Arrive early for the Dawn Chorus and stay throughout until late into the evening, observing and absorbing the shifts and patterns changing in the space. Four different phases, each with a different focus, approach and expectation.
1. Dawn Chorus
By the time I arrived at the Wood, just after 4.30am, the chorus was in full voice. An arena of birdsong all around the west clearfell, mostly Blackbirds and Robins. Dunnocks, Wrens, Song Thrushes and already Chiffchaffs. From my Sitting Spot at the top, looking east, the earliest light is casting an orange glow on the underside of thin scattered cloud. A light mist is drifting right to left, rising like smoke from the young trees along the stream course. The first birds to show themselves are two Mallard that head off quietly grunting to one another in the direction of the Chilworth Pines to my right. Nothing else is flying yet – not even Crows or Pigeons. Stonechats are already active and calling to one another, and I can hear both Willow Warbler and Tree Pipit out in the middle. Half an hour enjoying this, occasionally enchanted by a churring Nightjar and I am drawn to walk across the farmland. At the Back Of The Wood, another Willow Warbler and a Roe Deer barking. Great Tits and a Chaffinch.
The Wood smells, mint and misty. Damp and clean. Layers of light, sound and smell. The grass is thick wet and the sandy track in places slippery and puddled after heavy recent rain. I step out of the Wood rather more clumsy than I would like over the ditch-and-bank. A Pheasant coughs loudly and struts away across the first field. Cattle graze at the bottom, many now with associated calves. There are at least a half dozen Blackbirds, two Song Thrushes and a Mistle Thrush along the fence line, and above me an early Skylark whose song trickles down from an invisible height liek water over stones. It is a beautiful, peaceful sight. The sun is rising, painting the light orange and revealing overlaying vistas off into the north and east, gradually subsiding behind the diffusing cloud that gather and close around it
These three shots are each 15 minutes apart
Sunrise looking east over the west restockSun-up over the farmland from the Bridleway CornerMisty dawn on the farmland looking SE over Hut Wood from The Roughs
Hazy for a while, momentarily cooler. 13*C. Greenfinch singing, Linnets and Goldfinches up and down into the grass from the “Redwing” holly. Watching a female Linnet pecking at a dandelion head, presumably feeding on tiny insects? or just eating the seedheads?
Pylons crackle and hum with static in the damp air. Two (more) Skylarks, one close and rising, and here are the corvids – a mixed, ragged host of a hundred or so; pigeons and a different, greyer Pheasant. More Thrushes, a scolding Blue Tit. There are no Whitethroats (yet) along the bridleway or down at the Roughs where there were two territories last year. Vocal Chiffchaffs. A Jay. The first flowers are opening now on the Common Vetch along here: vica sativia, whose purple flowers open to deep pink and resemble tiny butterflies.
I am scanning the gorse under the pylons north of the bridleway for the elusive Whitethroat and trying to turn both Robin and Dunnock into Stonechats, when a large bird moves low right to left towards the oaks. Cursing that I overlooked it somehow perched up, I know immediately what it is and declare to no-one passing that it’s a CUCKOO. A Cuckoo! I am sure I shouted out loud in fact, that it was that particular sup-species known as an ‘effin’ Cuckoo! It’s been a long time since I saw one locally and my observations are now exclusively of birds in Western Scotland where they are a common (but declining) sight. This one is a male – soft gray, heavily barred and completely wonderful. He banks up on reaching the trees and disappears between them. Just a few seconds later, there’s the call, deep and distinctive, carrying across the still, quiet farmland.
See my thoughts on possible new patch-ticks . This is the first one for 2022, and takes my list up to 91 species.
I first saw the bird at 05:53 and it was calling loudly for two minutes afterwards but I was unable to relocate it. Somewhere along the stream and hedge beyond the Top Field? Frustrating to have no further sign. He has moved north, and at 6:15 is calling again but maybe over half a mile away by now.
Certainly put a spring in my step, to add to the refreshing feeling that goes with an early walk across spring farmland. Cutting back down into the wood via Marshalls, retracing my steps of an hour earlier and the sky is clearing. Two Willow Warbler territories here among the impenetrable spruce. Mistle Thrush and Greenfinch singing and – for no obvious reason – a flight of Pigeons. Maybe 50 or so birds, in small groups, all rising from the trees along Woodside. Just leaving their roost site and off to feed I guess. Left Where The Tracks Join (Goldcrest, Great Tit and more Blackbirds) and two Muntjac trot across to the restock form the North Belt. A Buzzard swoops in the same direction above them, scattering Stock Doves and Finches. A hungry, hunting bird. Sitting up now in a tall yew tree, watching, waiting. Dunnocks and Chiffchaffs alarm call. The sky is constantly shifting and changing today, despite only a gentle wind. Feels promising, as if it may offer some birds today. Hirundines perhaps, or raptors? As if mocking my optimism, a Magpie comes over cackling, followed only by two Jackdaws. No Blackcaps yet today, and at the Velmore Crossing I come upon the morning’s first Firecrest. they are quiet now, busy nesting, and very secretive by contrast to their usual inquisitive nature.
Another “new” flowering plant for the list along the Bowery and down the Lower East Side:
Solomon’s Seal(polygonatum biflorum)
And this shrub:
Guelder Rose (viburnum opulus)
I am not good with Spiders at all, but these two were tiny enough not to bother me unduly. New for the Systematic List once I have identified them.
Along the field boundary where the woodland edge meets the pasture there are more Blackbirds, pigeons and Magpies. Also recently fledged, noisy and typically garrulous Starlings – probably about 60 birds. A little surprising is the presence of a few House Sparrows here, hopping and hovering between dandelion heads and ponies. And out of the wood along the Velmore Farm Drive up to the main road towards the supermarket opposite for breakfast, refreshment and food for laters. Along the roadside where the Wood historically lost some land to Elliotts builders, I can see Cleavers (Galium aparine), Cow Parsley (Anthriscus sylvestris) in thick flower, and Drooping Sedge(Carex pendula) typical of the stream courses here
It is 8am.
2. Blue Sky Morning
I returned to the site via the same road, along Velmore Farm Drive between Elliotts and Aviva. It is warming up now – 17°C – and the sky has cleared. Despite being a public footpath here, there is little provision at the sides for pedestrians when a large horsebox comes down to the farm and it is quite busy this morning as grooms, stablehands and various contractors arrive for work. It looks as though “something has been done” about the leaking hose or pipe that feeds the water trough in the first paddock because the surrounding pasture is dry now and the drive is passable. Herein are the same Magpies, Blackbirds, Crows and Starlings of an hour earlier. A couple of Pied Wagtails nearer the road and a male Chaffinch up on wire calling. The opposite paddock (on my right) is being left ungrazed and the grass here is a foot high, tufy and thin, rippling in the gentle breeze as if itself were a body of water. Starlings rise from it as if they were flying fish. A twittering overhead brings my attention to a small group of Swallows. About 6 birds are swooping and diving outside the row of cottages, coming down to take mud and drink from a small puddle that remains behind the gate. It is good to stand among them and watch them at home, and this would seem to be a fairly good number. I don’t recall seeing more at the farm, until they have young in August perhaps.
Higher above, chirruping as they do, 2 House Martins. These are more unusual here, and I have struggled to connect with any at all some years until a weather front brings them in large number mid-September as they gather to migrate south. But these are new arrivals, and the earliest birds I have recorded here. I could wave, but that would be silly… A second tick of the day for the 2022 list.
It is my intention use the equestrian’s own controversial “back entrance” to the Wood through the North Belt, so before that I follow the footpath through past the buildings up to the cleared area when the fires are set and the pile of old doors stacked. Goldfinches are here, Blackbirds again and a Robin with a large fly in its beak. It is Time for ‘Leaning on a Gate’ – the steel five-bar gate to the first field where the cattle graze. Along this edge, one of the streams that flows through The Bottom in the Wood carries on north across the farmland. In a bramble on one of the steep banks beside the conduit the first Blackcap I have heard today is singing. The bramble is already coming into flower. A couple of Bullfinches drop in, hooting, another first encounter of the day. Otherwise two more Mistle Thrushes including a greyish youngster, at least 3 Song Thrushes, 20 more Starlings and a dozen Blackbirds.
I walk with ease Among these trees I asked And they agreed
Leaning On A Gate watching cattle Drifting through trees Idly chatting to Firecrest vendors Wrens whirr, Robins whistle and tick. Long-tailed fizz-pops. Nuthatch dripping from a balcony overhead. Great Spotted Woodpecker clucking and kicking at a nest site. Light shifting, shaping. Lost again in shades of green…
Emerging from the North Belt and crossing the track to cut across the restock back up to sit again at the Top. It really is very warm now, up to 21*C and an hour exposed in the full sun might not be a good idea. As I slowly walk, smiling at the Stonechats, both Speckled Yellow and Brown Silverline moths emerge from gorse and grass, amid countless other flies and micromoths. The Willow Warbler is still going, a couple of Chiffchaffs, a Dunnock – and a WHITETHROAT! Another yeartick, and on exactly the same date as I found the bird under the pylons last year. This one is the first I ever saw here on the clearfell – songflighting persistently between young birches, willows and small fir trees. Number 67 for the year, again the same as in 2021. There are butterflies now too – not only several Brimstones and a Peacock patrolling, but at least three tiny Holly Blues. Best of all is the season’s first Common Blue on the grass beside the birchline where I decide to take my rest and watch the sky, with expansive views north and west. It doesn’t settle long and I am not even nearly ready with the camera. I must check this, but to me they always appear larger than Holly Blues, and fly lower to the ground preferring grass to woodland? Whites too, but nothing coming close enough to identify properly…
Half an hour skywatch begins with a note of the two local Buzzards swooping around the clearfell, and three others passing over in formation. Watching these, and I am able to pick up another two Buzzards really high up when they pass below a patch of cloud. 7 at the same time! I realise too that the the smaller bird coming towards me between the clumps is actually not a Stock Dove and deserves more attention. A male Sparrowhawk. They always look to be too delicate for a predator when they glide and circle, wings fanned out. Perfect light on its translucent orange yellow underwing, blue grey above in the sunshine
Moments later, another two birds appear, coming in from over the Chilworth Pines. I can’t remember seeing so many Buzzards… except that one isn’t? One of the two birds approaching banks and changes direction. It is heavily barred underneath, has thick, long and bulging wings in a deep ‘S’ shape and a thick tail which flashes white as the bird twists and goes into to a dive. It’s a Goshawk, and a large bird too, presumably a female. Back up again briefly but already going back in the opposite direction and quickly out of sight behind the trees. Wow – three raptors species in as many minutes. And where there is one, there will be more. During a scan to my right over the middle of the Wood, I pick up a falcon. A Hobby. Leisurely patrolling. So far otherwise I only heard him this year. Timing and conditions perfect.
This is not a day for clock-watching, but I have arranged to meet a friend for lunch nearby at the Cricketers Arms, and right now that seems a perfect choice. Beer and chips in the sunshine.
3. Butterfly Times
Back on site and at the entrance gate just a few minutes after 2pm. It is now 23*C, the sun is hot and high. Light and occasional scuffs and scratches of cloud, increasing as the wind picks up. Trees are rustling, so it has increased quite a bit in the last hour or so. Most of the dandelions are over now, some have remnant seed heads, but the dominant flowers now are Meadow Buttercup (Ranunculus acris), Purple Clover (trifolium pratense), some remaining Dog Violets, Common Daisy and Common Vetch. There are less bees, and ironically less butterflies than I was hoping for. Three Brimstones up and down Section 1, and the first Red Admiral of the season grounding up against the same sandy bank where I last found the lizard in a hole. It is not there today of course, but I did inadvertently disturb one as I approached Mat 3 on the east restock. Siskin here, overhead calling; Greenfinches and a couple more Speckled Yellow moths.
Picking my way to the pond, it is something of a surprise to see no butterflies at all in that area. But instead, the first odonata of 2022 here. It is really not a good place compared with other LNRs, and the pond perhaps is still not yet mature enough. But there are Broad-Bodied Chasers, the pioneer colonisers of a site, and at least three males.
The Wood has fallen quiet now, save Robinsong and the occasional Chiffchaff. Blackbirds and breeze BLackcaps, Bird’s Eye Speedwell and boring Barnyard Grass (Echinochloa crus-galli) seeded here from the fields no doubt. A Muntjac barks. Greater Stitchwort in sunlight swathes, having an exceptional season.
Upper Velmore has felt shaded and cool, so it is something of a shock to step out into the hot sun at the Crossing and head up into Section 3 of the transect. Enjoying the conditions in particular is a male Holly Blue, feeding for minerals on the damp path at the bottom of this gentle incline. Such delicate things, so beautifully marked
Coal Tits both sides, only the second Nuthatch, Blackbirds and a Chiffchaff. Numbers have settled – somewhere between 10 and 12 territories I think. Either side of the ride here the grass is different to that which grows along the wayleave. Here instead is the countryside “chewing” grass, now flowering in dense cylindrical spikes that identifies Anthoxanthum odoratum, or Sweet Vernal Grass. This is a favourite food plant of Skippers in particular which will emerge soon, but I don’t know enough about the other grasses here (yet) that will separate the colonies of Small and Essex Skippers.
At the top end of The Crossing, the demolished remains of the tree house have been removed. There is one Blackcap here, and two others on the way down South Drive. Two more Great Spotted Woodpeckers, a pair with young to feed, and a second posse of Long-tailed Tits click and buzz around the alders, where a large and bright orange Hornet is whizzing about. Almost no dandelions here either where the Green-veined Whites were two weeks ago – patches of clover, a few Bluebells and some new Bugle spikes besides a nice patch of beautiful Wood Speedwell. I am tiring, and it feels quite a slog up to the entrance gate back to the start of Section 1. And so the dappled shade and relative cool of Larpers Lane is a relief. Good to see two Speckled Woods down here, a couple more Brown Silverlines and at last to actually see a male Blackcap setting out his stall at The Court. Peaceful, quiet. Singing Goldcrests either side; Coal Tits in the canopy.
Section 4 is disappointing. Increasing cloud cover perhaps, exposure to the variable wind swooshes coming off the clearfell? One singing Chiffchaff and one each male and female Brimstone.
The weather is odd. Now, walking along towards the gorse gap where the bees should be it is baking 24*C. Ahead of me, to the west, cloud is building and the air is getting heavier and is hanging still. The sky is grey-dark and there are no butterflies bothering. The Hobby is still about though, maybe hopeful of a damselfly or darter snack. he comes out low over the Gorse gap and sweeps ahead of me, banking and then circling high. Right over my head and right in the sun. Superb views, and I can’t help but smile. This feels like an epic effort now and I look forward to a rest. The Hobby’s company and presence is immensely uplifting and a reminder of what a blessing this place is. My newly acquired Plantlife app tells me the striking yellow straw-like tall tufts along Section 5 up to Where The Tracks Join is Purple Moor Grass (Molinia caerulea) so until and unless I learn differently that is another one for the List. Its not new, but I adding names when I come across them.
By 16:30 I have come full circuit and arrived back at the Sitting Spot. I am contemplating cutting from here through West Wood and having a scout around Marshalls and the spruce plantation as it is not a part of the site I visit often, but I am tired now and it is threatening to rain. Though I am resolved to spend all day here and enjoy the evening show, the next couple of hours will be the most difficult. Even here, sitting for long periods can be challenging and I am rarely still for even an hour. Instead of sitting, I find it more comfortable to move slowly, even though of course being still is the best way to see the best wildlife. Once seated and calm, things do come closer and one’s observational awareness increases. But I have always found this difficult. And the rain doesn’t take long to take over. Within ten minutes the site is under a downpour, which I am watching from the shelter of tall pines. The grey-dark sky has cast itself thick and heavy upon the Wood, and the rain is fizzing and hissing in the warm air. A dozen Jackdaws curse there own tardiness and cackle defiantly as they twist and turn with the breeze through the torrent. 25 minutes pass until a Mistle Thrush (Stormcock) sounds the all clear from a tall oak. Open the weather-window, pull back the curtain and let the sunlight fill the arena again. The Whitethroat soon starts up again, now over to the south where I sat earlier by the birchline. I liked the view from there, and its a good place to move back to, although it is very slippery underfoot now in the Chilworth corner. There will be more rain, this is a temporary reprieve that will last no longer than that first shower. It hasn’t completely stopped to be honest. Spotting. Drizzle. Sparkling raindrops. Glitter. The sky that looked so good earlier and delivered the House Martins this morning and the Goshawk midday, sends another ‘good bird’ over the pines. Two Swifts. Each year, I anticipate a Swift. Just the one – rarely more than a handful of records a year. Last year, just one record ont he first of June. The day the Honey-buzzard went over. These are quiet but low – barley in view for more than a few seconds, pulled down by the cloud. Three year ticks in one day, and a patch tick Cuckoo 12 hours ago that seems as if it were a different time and place altogether.
The next hour passes in much the same way. It rains twice more, and I move in and out of cover. Just watching, leaning on a tree. Watching for gulls. No gulls today. Maybe I drifted off to sleep for a few minutes. Maybe just a short reverie, a disconnect. The “sit down” I was hoping for isn’t going to happen, because I didn’t pack for rain so I have no waterproofs and no coat or otherwise to sit on, and everything everywhere is soaked. Willow Warblers in the clearfell sing throughout the showers, with the Mistle Thrush and the constant click-clack of the Stonechat couple. Linnets come and go, always in pairs. Siskin. crow. Pigeons occasionally. But no gulls. Once, a Roe Deer comes out from the Wood onto the track and stands in the rain, sniffing the air. She is an older female, greying and bedraggled. She can see me too, but is not unduly worried. We stare at each other for a few moments. She snorts and sniffs, blowing out a hiss of steam and retreats back into the trees. I love these moments, it feels affirming.
I am standing in a small clump on the south side of the clearfell, watching drips of rain and a pair of Great Tits. They have a nest in a cleft on the north facing side of a curious tree. It is a large-ish yew but has unusually split. Out here, these trees are weaker and more spindly than the mature specimens in the middle of the Wood. A huge slab of bark has fallen from the truck, tallen than I am, and exposed the inside of the tree. Is there a name for ‘the inside of a tree’? Fascinating textures, like eroded bricks or blocks of rusted iron sponge. It is dry and crumbly in places, more sponge-y in others. Full of cobwebs and tiny insects. Melancholy beauty. Splendour in sadness. When the rain stops again, I head out onto the clearfell rather than take a route back up to the track. There is a clatter of wings immediately and a Woodcock heads off ahead of me. Bright orange in the fresh light. Amazing bird, but I shouldn’t be here of course and his disturbance reminds me to step back and go around. I am rewarded by the appearance of a stunning rainbow spanning the clearfell from north to south. Beautiful, a real moment of hope and brightness. That’s it for the rain, and the clouds seem to scuttle away north-eastwards in the face of the low but glittering sun.
But still, no gulls?
It is 19:40 already. I have eaten what is left of my food and feel re-energised. If I move to the Badger Clump now, from this upwind direction I am unlikely to disturb anything else.
4. Showtime
It seems I have done it. Into my sixth year, and though i have twice done three sessions in one May day before, and one in June, I have not previously managed to ‘stay’ here from dawn to dusk. Somehow, up here in this yew tree resting on the ladder, I feel much more able to relax. and wait. I am inspired by what lies ahead. The anticipation, the possibility. It is a rare excitement, and I am lifted by not only the spirit of the Wood and the amazing things I have already seen today but my what I can only describe as something that feels like an achievement. endurance almost, which is not my thing at all. I am, dare I say it, pleased with myself. It is hard to get comfortable though, and without waterproofs the rain-soaked dampness of this thick smooth branch is being absorbed into my clothing. There are drips too, of course, and whichever way I shift my weight or set my shoulders, one or the other falls on the top of my head or down the back of my neck. But I can live with that, and lean forward onto my folded arms. Great Tits live here, at similar height 10-12ft above the ground. Blackbirds, Robins and a Chiffchaff. Beneath his sub-song there is a third layer, a rasping cirrk cirrk that I don’t recall hearing before. And what’s that, behind my right shoulder? A small bird comes in, upright and flicking its tail and crown. Frustrating in silhouette against the setting sun that shines in my face looking back this way. But it is the unmistakable profile and behaviour of a Spotted Flycatcher. Yes, for sure. Nothing else would ‘swoop’ up like that or sit so upright. Is that nest material or a spindly insect? Impossible to tell. I had completely forgotten about these, and have since checked my notes to find that – like the Whitethroat – I found a bird out in the middle of the clearfell on exactly the same date last year. It could hardly get better…
There is the first opening salvo of the evening show. A short burst of Nightjar, and two squeaking squealing Woodcock. That Nightjar is early, the sun is still up. 20:35, but he’s keen to make himself heard. Close by but out of sight – I am in a clump surrounded closely by yew trees and holly, so watching out across the clearfell is not an option. It has to be one or the other I think. Badgers, or Nightjars and Woodcock. Hard to think of a place to be where i can properly watch both. But I can hear him well enough, calling and churring. Even a bit of wing-clapping, which is a good sign that there are at least more males about, if not a female too. Another Woodcock, left to right. A burst of Goldcrest, and a movement down in the cool shadow of the nearest hole to me. Yes, a nose, pushed up like a flag. Sensing, testing. Briefly, but encouraging. It seems like an age until the badger emerges, from the ‘other’ hole! So bang goes my theory that they have designated entrances and exits. He’s slow, and offers good views, standing for a moment stretching, still sniffing, choosing his direction. Done. This way? And off. I can hear my heart thumping in my chest, and all thoughts of aching knees and stiff shoulders are gone. Five minutes later, he’s back. Will he go straight back underground? No, Almost, then he hesitates and turns. I can’t reach my phone or camera. I am just transfixed and if I didn’t know better I can imagine he is looking right at me. Corny and cliched perhaps, but this again is a Never Moment. A ‘David Attenborough’ moment of wonder and awe. A classic pose and a perfect iconic picture. Me and a badger, 20 feet apart, seemingly staring at each other. Can he see me, and is he concerned. I am relieved when he lifts up a paw and starts to scratch his ear, then sits upright just like a small dog turning his head around surveying the territory. He is not upset. Rubs his nose into the sand, a dismissive grunt, and gone.
And breath…
Whoooosh! What the!! Two Nightjars, no three, in a frenzied chase, zooming through the middle of the clearing. This way, that way, clattering as they go. Hard to follow, so fast. Like the Chasers up at the pond. Zipping round, and round. Two males and a female. I can’t turn to see them, but I don’t need to. They are so close! Time again takes on no meaning and I am thoroughly absorbed in this spectacular sequence. Now slow, now dancing. Hovering. One sits up and starts churring, two others further off now quipping, clapping. One swings up to sit beside the first. Both males and the first one drops off the branch. More chasing, and then the loudest “quip” I ever heard. Twice – a beautiful, liquid sound that has a presence of its own. And it is right there, no more than arm’s length in front of me. For the briefest instance, I willed it to land on the branch, but no. A hesitant hover, a balletic freeze-frame and the bird thought better of it. How many times have I run out of words in this narrative over the years, unable to express the glory of Nightjar encounters? And how many times have I written clumsy and ineffective about this or that being the moments?
I am hoping a worthy, poetic response will come, but I am humbled and somewhat bewildered. They are not done, and all around birds are chasing in circles. I need to leave, to let them have their time, but I don’t wish to disturb anything. It has been half an hour since the badger disappeared, so maybe its OK. Be quick, be effective, and go out the same way you came in, upwind.
Even back out on the track, the Nightjars are ‘everywhere’. I am fairly sure there are only four birds. One in particular, perhaps the same as last year, likes to sing from the larches at the edge of the wood by the gorse gap, and he flies back and forth between two favoured perches on the trackside, completely oblivious of me. Back up where i was, wing-clapping, courtship and amorous chasing. My money is on three males competing for the attentions of a single female.
What about the other end? The east clearfell? Next time. And what about the owls. Where are the owls? Again tonight, walking back through the still, silent darkness and before that, watching the light fade and listening as each bird song winds down for the evening, I have heard no Owls. And seen no bats.
But that will come. What a superb day. Forty years birding and it has never been better. 51 species between 5am and 10pm.
The wonder of woodland
The blessing of birds
Impossible splendour
Beyond human words
Hut Wood 