A good hobby – in more ways than one

It is always nice when you can spend at least some of your day at work doing what you love best, even better when it means you can leave the computer and the office behind and head out into glorious sunshine and count butterflies!

Yesterday I did just that. We are doing a butterfly transect on the nature reserve where I work (RSPB Pulborough Brooks) this summer; a type of survey which runs along a set route and involves recording species and number of butterflies seen along designated sections of the route, at regular intervals such as once a week. Records on the survey yesterday included brimstone and peacock, green veined white and a good number of small white, along with additional sightings of orange tip, many more small whites and a speckled wood, all of which were unfortunately off the transect route!

All the tree species are well into leaf now, the oak being the slowest to burst its buds. Below them, flowers are blossoming; carpets of hazy bluebells, splashes of bright pink campion and constellations of white starry stitchwort.

I was serenaded all around the trails by bird song; blackbirds' flute-like notes, song thrushs' repetitive phrases, blackcaps' warbling and whitethroats' scratchy song. The nightingales were the loudest however, the best two spots for these that I encountered were the entrance to Fattengates Courtyard and along the Pig Run by Little Hanger Hide. (Just ask at the visitor centre if you are unsure where these places are on the reserve). It was a nightingale infact that lead me to my favourite species of the day – a Hobby. 

This small falcon is a migratory bird of prey and usually arrives here in Southern England in spring, after the swallows, martins and swifts have arrives. These agile expert aerial hunters often add the nimble swift to their menu, but will also catch smaller prey such as dragonflies. This individual was perched in the top of a dead tree at Jupps Viewpoint, near to Nettleys Hide, causing a nearby nightingale and other small birds to shout their high-pitched alarm calls, which attracted our attention. This was my first Hobby for the year, they have only been around for the last week or two!

My final sighting as I left work at the end of the day was and other first for 2013; a small copper butterfly! A beautiful dainty little creature. 

The reserve I work at is an RSPB reserve called Pulborough Brooks. a beautiful place with fantastic facilities, just inside the South Downs National Park in West Sussex.

 Take a look at the website for full details and directions: www.rspb.org.uk/reserves/guide/p/pulboroughbrooks

If you visit the reserve this summer, don’t forget to look up to the sky. You might be lucky enough to spot a Hobby, performing its aerobatics high up against the clouds on sharply angled wings, over the wetland or the heathland. farmland and hedgerow birds such as bullfinch and warblers can bee seen here too, and out on the wetlands and pools lapwings mingle with ducks and geese.

If birds aren’t your thing and the smaller beauties of life catch your eye, look out for the shimmering dragonflies and damselflies that are emerging from our ponds to zoom over the water, the dainty butterflies that flutter along the flowers and hedgerows, or the lizards that rustle in the undergrowth and bask in the sunshine. 

A Sense of Place

There were two mountains, one looming high into the blue sky, cloudless today, the other rippling out across the mirror-lake to my feet in the gravely shallows. The water, clear as a diamond, dances and sparkles with skimming-stones that bounce across its surface before sinking below into the dark mysterious depths. Tall tales, and half-whispered stories, of of lake monsters, dark shadowy ravens bringing messages from far off lands, wheeling hawks loose from the hand of an armoured knight; white stallion prancing on the mountain ridge,  and dancing lights of faeries, unbidden, sprang to mind, almost as if emanating from the very stone and moss clad, fern-nurturing trees of the lake's edge, or half remembered in the breeze. Long after I drove away, I was left with an sense of place. Of water and stone. 

I have returned this weekend from a training course in North Wales. I was lucky enough to have chance between study sessions to explore a sample of this beautiful and dramatic landscape of mountains and mysterious lakes, which possibly more than its fair share of sheep and slate. 

Some Thoughts on the Nature of Bird-song

"High in the wide sky over the rush studded peat & wind rippled ditches of the wide wild brooks, the liquid song of skylark flows"

 Bird song is one of my precious pleasures of life, from the chirruping of house sparrows beyond my bedroom window when I wake in the morning, to the liquid sunshine notes of the soaring skylark, a tiny speck high in the cloudless summer sky. The beautiful heart lifting blackbirds song from the rooftop at dusk and the whistling of the robin in winter snow.

Poets and writers have, throughout history, always been moved by bird song; often mentioning how it seems to connect with the very inner feelings and soul of the listener, lifting the spirits and curing a heavy heart. Some have empathised with imagined emotions of lost and lonely or triumphant and love-struck birds,  whilst others marvel at the complex musicality of the songs themselves.

It seems that bird song is so much more than the simply scientific and biological process of making noise, it is an integral part of place and time, memory and emotion.

Maybe we feel such a connection with birds because, unlike the vast majority of mammals and other creatures, birds more often express themselves not just by smell and complex behaviours, but largely by calls and song, like us humans speak and sing (and indeed write!) and their voice is very much part of their identity.

What ever the reason, whenever the blackbird's flute-like notes drift down to my evening-scented garden, or hedgerows explode with sudden trills from a wren, when I stand in shady scrub and listen to the nightingale or bask on sun-drenched downs soaked in skylark song, for that moment, time pauses. The world is perfect, and life is good.

A Successful First Week

I have some good news to share! Many regular readers may be aware that I have been volunteering and studying conservation for a few years and have spent the last two years since leaving college looking for full time work. I am pleased to announce that this week, I started work in a new job! I am working with the RSPB as Visitor Services Trainee based at Pulborough Brooks, a reserve in West Sussex! If any of you are at the reserve any time over the next 18 months, do say Hello! 
Yesterday I joined a guided walk, the weekly "Wildlife Walk-about" lead by very able volunteers John and Mike. Despite the freezing temperatures and biting wind, we still managed an enjoyable and successful birdwatch. A flock of Linnetswas very mobile in the field beyond the Visitor Centre. From West Mead hide we enjoyed good views of Teal, Wigeon, Shoveler, Shelduck and Lapwing. Slightly more unusual species were Little Ringed Plover, Dunlin and a pair of Peregrine Falcons. At Winpenny Hide we were treated to very close views of Snipe, feeding in the grass and waters edge close to the hide. The rest of the trail yielded the unmissable Robin, Wren and selection oftits along with a beautiful male Bullfinch, and a Green Woodpecker, a selection of corvids, Starling, Fieldfare and Redwing. Greenfinch and Goldfinch were heard singing. Later in the afternoon, the area outside the Visitor Centre window was alive with birds, hungry for the handfuls of seed and mealworms we had scattered on the grass. House Sparrow, Dunnock, Rook, Mallard, Jackdaw, Moorhen, Song Thrush, Blue Tit, Robinand Blackbird all put in an appearance. Common birds, but a joy to watch so close and appreciate their often overlooked qualities. The resident Water Rail popped in and out several times, and at one occasion, late in the day I also saw it fly across the length of the pond. Perhaps practising to head off to summer breeding grounds? A Sparrowhawk shot through at high speed, hugging the face of the building wall, and a Kestrel was also seen over the field. On a non-bird subject, other sightings of interest included a rather cute Bank Vole feeding in the edge of the brambles outside the window, a Fox that ran swiftly across the field to the delight of one young visitor, and amazingly, in broad daylight at 8.50am, a Badger was seen by some of my colleagues, who unlike myself, happened to be looking in the right direction!
Today, the Wardens move the herd of Highland Cattle that are used on the reserve for grazing the flood meadows and heathland in summer, into a field infront to the visitor centre, providing great views for visitors when the cattle came to drink from the edge of the pond. I couldn't resist a few photos, they looked so stunning, peering between their sweeping horns, with the wind blowing their long coats. 

Bognor Regis

As an antidote to a long morning spent in the supermarket, I decided a trip to the seaside was needed. 
An icy east wind streaked along the pebbly beach and darted between the pier props where pigeons huddled or tumbled out in the direction of the waves, wings beating frantically for the shore. The promenade was quiet, few pedestrians and peddling cyclists trying hard to ignore the biting wind and focus on signs of spring. Daffodils shivered, faces turned out to sea seeking the weak sun. Even the boats hauled up like beached seals, their hulls resting bulkily on the deep pebble drifts, seemed to take a deep breath and brace themselves solidly against the wind. Behind them, the sea sparkled.

March; in like a lion, out like a lamb

This time last week, a snow storm was hitting the southern coast of the UK. Heavy snow, blown on forceful winds brought many Sussex roads to a sliding chaotic halt. Vehicles were abandoned or drivers slept in their cars overnight, whilst police and gritting lorries battled through traffic and blizzards in the dark of night. Over the next two days the counties roads and travellers slowly regained their usual composure and the local papers had a headline to use. 

Only a few days before, Spring had been a hot topic of gossip. Gardeners debated when to plant seeds and open up greenhouses, naturalists counted frog-spawn in ponds and compared butterfly emergence dates. 
Today, a Monday, all is damp and temperatures mild. Rain showers fall and fade and fall again, skies remain grey. The forecast for the ongoing week is much the same. 

A few poetic lines this morning came to mind:

A soft zinc sky, fading to white. Leaden roofs and dripping gutters. 

Dodge the drips, bow the head, 
squint up at the calling rooks subdued in the trees, 
shake away water running off coat-sleeves. 

Car door handles and bicycle seats are wet. 
Station and bus stop benches are wet. 

Nobody sits.

The rain will not last forever, it can't. One day we must wake to sunshine. There is always a day sometime around now, this month or next, when the sun is so bright and the day so complete when we wake, that is seems that we missed the start, like coming in late to a TV program and wondering what happened before the first advert's break. By the time we are up and out, the dawn chorus has long since passed; the birds dispersed and engrossed in their secret daily business. In a warm sheltered corner, the bees are already busy in the flowers. The morning mist and cloud has mostly faded away, only a few dewdrops remain on a cobweb and crocus, most claimed by the strengthening sun. 

Spring Flowers

The warm sunshine on my back as I knelt to get a closer look at emerging bulbs in my garden today, tempted me to join the many other people uttering mentions of spring. Hazel catkins are now dusty and overstretched, dangling at their full length from many sun-bathed bushes. Beneath them are smiling faces of purest yellow; celandines, jostling for space with the daily increasing growth on warm path-side banks. 
Every year, in March, a grand show of crocus emerge beneath the trees around the town pond. Carpets of soft mauve, interlaced with saffron threads. 
Nights are still cold, evening walkers notice the day rapidly cooling, and each morning a thick grey blanket of fog clouds the valleys and hides the hills from view, to be gently tugged away by fingers of strengthening sun.