Tag: Northumberland

Winter walking at Bakethin

Bakethin, located a short-way upstream of Kielder Reservoir, is unique among nature reserves in Northumberland. Here, among the hulking frames of aged firs and a forest floor dominated by mossy knolls and straggly Bilberry, it is quite possible to pretend you are elsewhere: to imagine yourself strolling through the wilds of Scandinavia or Canada. The only sounds here, in the wild heart of the North-East, coming from natural sources: the soft plop of falling snow as, warmed by the sun, it tumbles from overhead branches, the sound of lapping water, creaking trunks and, of course, birdsong. It is this sense of wilderness, the feeling of isolation and remoteness, which makes a visit to Bakethin so enjoyable, cathartic even. This superb site boasting its own unique array of wildlife, quite unlike any other place in our region.

My visit to Bakethin started well, the sight of frozen waterways, frost-strewn mosses and delicate hoarfrost giving the appearance of a true Winter wonderland as we set out on the trail mid-morning. Indeed, while most of the previous night’s ice had melted in the Winter sun, trees in the shadier reaches of the wood found themselves festooned with some truly impressive works of ice. Branches, twigs and trunks alike coated in fern-like crystals, each similar yet also different from the last. Frosts such as this only form under the right set of climatic conditions, usually on clear and still nights, and, in truth, they were rather magical to see.

Following the woodland trail from our start point at Butteryhaugh Bridge, it did not take long for the site’s wildlife to become apparent. First, a Nuthatch scampering deftly up the trunk of a weathered-looking Sitka Spruce and next, a party of gold-black Siskin taking flight from the canopy and passing overhead against the blue sky in a flurry of pleasant twittering. Further into the wood, in the area surrounding the new (and rather nice) hide overlooking the reservoir, a Treecreeper showed well as it foraged in the dappled sunlight and the sharp, one-note flight call of a Great Spotted Woodpecker was heard as the bird passed by out of sight. These were, however, not the most exciting species to be seen here and soon, with a brief flash of soft-crimson, the days target species flew into sight: Crossbills.

Common Crossbills are not a species encountered very often by casual nature lovers in Northumberland. Their conifer-based diet and resulting habitat preferences meaning that they are confined, for the main part, to the interior of the county. To areas such as Kielder Forest, where their preferred food plants grow in abundance. They are extremely attractive birds: the males in their warm, red attire and the females in their paler, green plumage making for riveting viewing as they delicately extract the seeds from robust spruce cones. A sight we enjoyed for a good half-hour at Bakethin before the niggling cold forced us to take shelter in the lakeside hide. Leaving the birds to their feast in peace.

From the hide, the extent of the prior nights cold snap became clear: the lake frozen for around 25m in every direction. Something which resulted in what wildfowl there was – Mallard, Tufted Duck and Goldeneye – lurking far offshore. Not that it mattered much; the landscape before us, illuminated by the sun, making for relaxing viewing. A sight of tranquillity which, coupled with rare silence, made for a most luxurious pitstop. The ephemeral stillness outside now, set to disappear come Spring: when migrant birds arrive once more, wildflowers burst into life, amphibians and reptiles emerge and ice retreats, again, for another season.

On the return journey, the sound a singing Crossbill could be heard – although the bird itself was never seen – and, in the carpark, shaking branches heralded the arrival of another must-see Bakethin resident: a Red Squirrel. The Auburn one, boasting some truly impressive Winter ear-tufts, dropping briefly to the ground in search of food before taking off out of sight moments later. Red Squirrels are not doing all that well in the wider countryside, thus it lifts heart to see them going strong here, in their English stronghold. A testament to the diligent work of conservationists working to protect the precious population living across the wider Kielder Forest area.

Birding in Northumberland 2017: the highlights

Now, this is a post for the avian-inclined individuals out there…

For those of you who didn’t know, I set myself a challenge at the start of 2017. One which would see me attempt to glimpse as many bird species as possible in my home county over the course of a single year. No easy feat given the fact I do not yet drive, and instead rely predominately on public transport and the goodwill of others. (Thanks for the lifts this year Jack, Sacha and others).

As we approach year’s end, I can reveal that I will be finishing said challenge on a total of 222 species. Now, this falls below my initial target of 230 and well below the dizzy heights reached by other regional birders, but despite this, I am happy with it. While my own tally may yet increase (doubtful), what I have had the pleasure to enjoy so far has worked wonders when it comes to confirming my view of Northumberland as an incredibly diverse, beautiful and wholly interesting county. Truly, I’ve had a blast dashing around like a lunatic during 2017 and despite my mediocre score, have enjoyed some truly wonderful spectacles.

Below is a short summary of the highlights of this birding year omitting, of course, a few of the more abundant odds and ends in the interest of efficiency.

Bean Goose – 2/3 Tundra race seen at Hemscott Hill, Druridge on the 7th January.

Mandarin – Lone drake on an urban pond at Hexham on the 24th of February.

Garganey – Drake at Arcot Pond, 17th March.

Green-winged Teal – Drake at Hauxley Nature Reserve on the 18th of April.

Ferruginous Duck (County Tick) – Superb drake at Gosforth Park on the 19th of March.

Ring-necked Duck (County tick) – Drake on Hauxley Nature Reserve on the 26th March.

Black Scoter (Lifer) – Drake at Cheswich Sands on the 16th of January.

Velvet Scoter – Immature drake in Blyth Estuary on February 20th

Ruddy Duck (County Tick) – Drake at Bothal Pond on the 8th of June.

 

Mandarin

Ruddy Duck and Mandarin

Black Grouse – 1 male and 2 female birds at Swinhope on the 25th of February.

Quail (County tick) – One seen and another two heard at Stobswood on June 19th.

Pacific Diver (Lifer) – the long-staying individual at East Chevington on January 20th; seen again and enjoyed on multiple occasions thereafter.

Great Northern Diver – two at Bamburgh on the 7th of January.

Red-necked Grebe – a single individual at Bamburgh on the 3rd of March.

Slavonian Grebe – four at Bamburgh on the 7th of January. Another confiding individual in Blyth Harbour thereafter.

Black-necked Grebe – two.

Spoonbill – One at Druridge Pools on the 10th of April, three thereafter.

Great White Egret – One at Druridge Pools on the 26th March.

Common Crane (County Tick) – One at Druridge Pools on the 9th of April.

Curlew Sandpiper – two at Cresswell Pond on the 2nd of August.

Little Stint – one at Cresswell Pond on the 9th of October.

White-rumped Sandpiper (Lifer) – the Showy individual at St. Mary’s Island on the 7th of August.

Pectoral Sandpiper – One on the 3rd of July at Druridge Pools.

Red-necked Phalarope (Lifer) – Single bird on the 3rd of October at Druridge Pools.

Glaucous Gull – Flyover individual at Warkworth on the 7th of January.

Iceland Gull – Immature on rocks at North Blyth on the 6th of January.

Iceland Gull

Caspian Gull – Returning bird at Amble on the 6th of August. Ring no: PKCS.

Black Tern – Cracking adult at East Chevington on the 21st of April.

Long-tailed Skua (Lifer) – Birding experience of the year; single bird showed down to a matter of feet on Goswick Golf Course. 27th September.

Short-eared Owl – fantastic year for this species; ten individuals seen by December including six together at one site + two on breeding territory.

Long-Eared Owl – seen regularly at two reliable sites.

Cuckoo – singing birds at Beacon Hill and Catton, first 2nd May. One seen on Holy Island.

Nightjar – three individuals observed (and more heard) at an inland site. Incredible views.

Bee-Eater (Lifer) – Long-staying bird at Druridge Pools on the 21st of October.

Great Grey Shrike – Prestwick Carr, 12th January.

Waxwing – 180 seen in total; first flock of c60 at Bedlington on 26th January.

Waxwing – Bedlington

Shore Lark – four at East Chevington on the 1st of January.

Short-toed Lark (Lifer) – single bird at Catton Moss on the 10th of May.

Red-rumped Swallow (British tick) – lucky encounter; single bird at Druridge Pools on April 10th.

Cetti’s Warbler (County Tick) – Seen briefly and heard for a good hour at East Chevington, 14th October.

Yellow-browed Warbler – Seven in total; first Hauxley NR on the 16th September

Barred Warbler (Lifer) – Showing very well at Druridge Pools on the 7th of October.

Citrine Wagtail (Lifer) – Fantastic views on two occasions at Lynemouth Flash, first seen on the 13th of May.

Citrine Wagtail – Lynemouth flash

Hawfinch (County tick) – Two individuals at Abbey Mill on the 6th of November.

Honourable mentions to Wood Warbler, Willow Tit, Pied Flycatcher, Black Redstart, Hen Harrier, Osprey, Goshawk, Snow Bunting, Water Pipit, Roseate Tern and Little Auk.

Greatest ommissions? Well, missing Night Heron, White-winged Black Tern, Spotted Crake, White-billed Diver and Black-throated Thursh hurt somewhat; though failing to catch up with Bittern and Sooty Shearwater is pretty inexcusable. And let’s not talk about Temmick’s Stint.

An Ode to the City

I’ve dedicated much of my time to urban wildlife watching of late, specifically in and around the city of Newcastle – my home patch for the foreseeable future due to a recent change of circumstances. While previously I possessed only a modicum of interest for the nature here, amid the hustle and bustle, perpetual light and clamorous noise of the city, I have been pleasantly surprised by what she has offered me thus far. Specifically, by the wild intrigue unearthed down each alley and sidestreet, around each corner, on rooftops and wasteland alike.

Newcastle is a wild city: a wilderness, not in the traditional sense applied to the rugged coastline of the Hebrides, the windswept heathlands of Exmoor, or even the open expanses of Northumberland closer to home, but a wilderness nonetheless. An urban jungle whose heart beats to the same seasonal rhythm that natural history puritans hold dear in the wider countryside – the tune altered somewhat by the actions of successive generations dating way back to the time of Hadrian, obstructed but never once extinguished. Here, in Newcastle, the players may have changed, as old residents are extirpated, and new ones arrive to fill the void, but ultimately, the game remains the same.

As with most cities up and down the country, the wildlife of Newcastle is not restricted to the rats, pigeons, gulls and geese so many of us have come to associate with urban life. We have all four in abundance, of course, but here too foxes and hedgehogs roam in the shadows, starlings mimic car alarms atop the lofty pinnacles of radio antennae and red admirals sap goodness from windfall apples in carefully manicured gardens.

At the peak of Summer, roadsides and rooftops alike are painted lilac and white by the blooms of buddleia and house martins feed ravenous young in the eaves of the decrepit student houses. In Autumn, the leaves of oak and beech redden and fall; while by Winter, as flurries of snow tumble down in quick succession and ice forms, wildfowl gather on diminishing lakes – ready and willing to exploit the bread fed to them by local children.

The species mentioned above are, more or less, those one would associate with a typical city – adaptive natives and tenacious colonists. In Newcastle, however, surprises lie around every corner. Here, in Winter, Snipe feed on abandoned land too boggy to build on; while common terns haunt the air over parkland ponds, gliding over the heads of fishermen and unwitting walkers alike. Here too Stock Doves share the air with their feral kin, otters move by evening under the glaring light of quayside restaurants and the world’s most inland colony of kittiwakes thrives in the face of adversity and occasional human ill-will.  Hidden gems each and all who, alongside their more conspicuous counterparts, form the foundations of the urban ecosystem.

Life for urban wildlife is fraught with difficulties: development, disturbance, degradation; the loss of traditional feeding sites and breeding abodes. There are new predators to evade, invasive competitors vying for scant resources, roads, pollution and, occasionally human ignorance to contend with. Yet, despite all this, opportunity also exists. New food sources, habitats and homes to exploit, generous humans ready and willing to offer a helping hand and, in certain areas, forgotten zones, abandoned by man, providing a home away from home for species of a more rural inclination. The clingers on – relics from a far greener and more pleasant time.

Wildlife watching is the city is not what it seems: confounding and about as far from boring as you can get, contrary to popular belief. Walks here, much like anywhere else in the countryside, accompanied by a sense of quiet anticipation, wonder and hope for things to come. Simply put, it is intriguing, in the finest sense of the word, and truly, you never know what you will find in the gardens, green spaces and grey areas of this Northern municipality.

Scrutinising the wildlife of the city over the past few weeks has taught me a few things: the virtues of patience and an adventurous nature foremost, but also to not accept the norm in life or nature. Not to form my opinions and plan my outings based on the experiences of others, those who extoll the praises of the wilderness and wildland in their traditional sense. As such, and with a certain degree of trepidation – it could all go horribly wrong – I have made myself a promise ahead of the New Year.

In 2018, I will largely abandon the countryside. Forsaking the fields, woodlands and coastal dunes of my regular haunts in favour of a new kind of wilderness – the urban one. In doing so I hope to uncover the secrets of Newcastle, a place I have visited often since birth but fear I have never truly understood, through which natures pulse flows unchallenged throughout the seasons, much as it does anywhere else on our small, crowded island.

Stay tuned…

Waxwing. A city treasure photographed earlier this year. What will 2018 hold I wonder?

Enjoying this Autumn’s must see spectacle

Unless you have been living under a rock, or are simply disinterested in this sort of thing, you will surely have heard by now that this Autumn has seen an unprecedented number of Hawfinch arriving in the UK. Indeed, at present, Britain appears full to bursting with these usually scarce, cherry-stone splitting finches – the invasion marked by uncharacteristically high counts of migrating birds at coastal watchpoints and the presence of Hawfinches at numerous locations well outside of their traditional range.

After nearly a fortnight of enviously glancing over celebratory tweets and jubilant Facebook posts and following years of missed opportunities, yesterday I found myself presented with an opportunity to finally get to grips with my first Hawfinch on British soil. An opportunity that I quickly seized, enjoying a sensational Autumn day in the wilds of Northumberland.

Making the one-mile walk from Morpeth to Mitford, all the ingredients for a perfect Autumnal day were seen in abundance. Crisped leaves of a hundred hues tumbling elegantly downwards from the denuded canopy, fieldfares passing overhead in rowdy, cackling flocks and the occasional seep of a passing Redwing making for a most enjoyable morning. Indeed, during the short walk to the intended site – a tranquil area of mixed woodland near Mitford – the local wildlife performed admirably. Minutes into the journey a Marsh tit sneezed from the cover of a roadside thicket while, by the river, a Kingfisher fished for ten minutes or so in plain view, before darting upstream and out of sight of its enthralled admirers. A sight which, coupled with sightings of Siskin, Grey Wagtail, Jay and Dipper, left me feeling altogether optimistic.

Arriving on site and after issuing the usual pleasantries to the assembled bird folk, I soon set about scanning the tops of the golden Hornbeams the finches had apparently been favouring. Nothing, no sign at all – my attention soon turning to the other species going about their business nearby. Behind me, in the wood, a Jay wailed from the upper echelons of a naked Oak and the machine-gun rattle of a Mistle Thrush was enjoyed briefly. With other points of interest including a number of showy Goldcrest, a few Bullfinch and a second flock of Fieldfare heading West with haste. Lovely, each and all, but still, no Hawfinches in sight; thus I decided to break off from the crowd and wander – I have always disliked the standing in one place approach to birding.

Rounding a corner into a nearby paddock, my attention was immediately drawn to a dumpy bird hopping about in the shade of a Hawthorn. The fearsome, preposterously large bill of the individual leading to an inevitable conclusion: Hawfinch. Opting to alert the other birders on site to its presence and pulling my focus begrudgingly from the bird itself, it was soon lost to sight. At least until emerging a few minutes later in the branches of one of the aforementioned Hornbeams – enormous bill and piercing stare accentuated in the jaded Autumn sun. From here, the bird showed wonderfully: sitting stone-still on its chosen branch as the amassed crowd scoped, photographed and admired to their heart’s content. Only moving from its favoured spot when a Grey Heron, of all things, passed overhead – enveloping the finch in shade and surely causing a slight bit of alarm.

This encounter, the first of its kind for me, personally, was an altogether marvellous one. An encounter which brought back memories of admiring the species on TV – watching the outlandish finches as they cracked beech masts and wondering whether I would one day, be lucky enough to see one. To date, that possibility had seemed a long-shot, given the species virtual extinction as a breeding species in my native Northumberland and the difficulty associated with getting to the sites at which they still thrive further afield. Clearly, patience does pay off; though it would be difficult not to see one this Autumn given their prominence in the countryside. I hope that readers of this blog are equally lucky in their endeavours.

The photograph in the header was borrowed from Pixabay to highlight the theme of this post. I fear my phone-scoped efforts (shown below) would not have had the same effect…

Hawfinch – Mitford

Half-Penny: how things have changed

To those familiar with this blog, you will know that I owe my passion for nature almost entirely to my Grandmother. The lady who first introduced me to the joys of a life outdoors and who, through no end of weekend adventures, provided my first insight into the world of trees, birds, bugs and bees. An insight gained through regular forays into the dappled, imperfect depths of the Half-Penny Wood – located a mere stones throw from where my Gran once lived on the fringes of Bedlington.

It is been a long time since these early visits to the wood; a long time since I gathered conkers and marveled, absent care, at the beauty of fruiting Fly Agaric under the watchful gaze of my childhood walking companion. Despite the passing of time, however, my relationship with the wood remains the same: I still visit Half-Penny, I still enjoy its wildlife throughout the seasons and I still, despite visiting the site near constantly for two decades, find myself continuously surprised by new and unusual finds. My attitude to the wood itself has not changed either, it remains a place of wonder, a retreat of sorts to which I venture whenever time allows; though I cannot say that the wood itself has remained the same. Much has changed over the years.

Since my earliest visits, Half-Penny has changed beyond recognition: a shift reflected not in its general appearance, size nor shape, but in its very foundations – in the cast of creatures that now call the wood their home and together, form the green, beating heart of this special place. Indeed, some prominent fixtures of my early years have been lost entirely from the wood and her surrounds. The song of the Cuckoo, once an eminent fixture of springtime outings, has fallen silent in the wood – the result of the increasing scarcity of cuckoo across the local area. Red Squirrels too have disappeared, for the most part; while in recent years, once reliable Redstarts appear to have vanished. Poof.

Given the absence of the aforementioned species, you would be forgiven for thinking that my visits to the wood now must take on a somewhat mournful tone, though this could not be further from the truth. As for every species lost from the wood, for whatever reason, another one appears to have found a foothold. Little Egrets are now a daily sight on the river where a mere decade ago the sight of the pristine white herons would have been thoroughly out of place. Green Woodpeckers have colonised too, as have Spotted Flycatchers; while other once scare fixtures of life here have risen to such heights as to now be labeled as common and widespread. Tree bumblebees, Comma’s and Willow Tits: all give cause for celebration. As do the otters which can now be seen regularly, but never often, by dusk within the woods more secluded reaches.

Of course, not all new arrivals in the wood are to be cherished, and I have previously covered the growing presence of various invasive species in Half-Penny. These, the balsam, knotweed, snowberry and grey squirrels that now grow and scamper widely across the wood, do give cause for concern and, in some cases, warrant action. Although all can be seen as a clear and apparent sign of the times in which we live.

Taking pause to assess the changes currently rocking the very foundations of Half-Penny, it is easy to draw parallels with the wider changes currently taking place across Britain. Changes born of our own actions as a warming climate spurs range expansion in certain species, and hinders the good fortune of others; and as conservation actions strengthen some wildlife populations at the same time as human ignorance facilitates the spread of non-natives across the landscape. The decline of the Cuckoo and Red Squirrel, the good fortune of Little Egrets and Otters, and the creeping advance of Himalayan Balsam, all indicative of nationwide trends. Half-Penny, to me, stands as a microcosm of wider-Britain: rife with both the highs and lows that come cheek by jowl with a life in nature. As certain species flourish and others fade while we watch, worried and intrigued in equal measure. It’s all very educational.

Half-Penny: signs of the seasons

Traversing the sunny (yet surprisingly cold) depths of Half-Penny this morning, one thing struck me above all else: the bounty of Autumnal fruit. This year, each and every fruit-bearing shrub appears laden with berries, much more so that usual. The stand of Blackthorn that grows, spindly and unkempt, by the entrance to the wood abounds with deep blue berries that grow purple when touched, as the queer powdery substance that adorns them is swept aside. Add to these no end of glorious red Hawthorn fruits, damsons, crab apples, rose hips and slowly fermenting blackberries, and the wood is starting to resemble a rather decadent fruit salad. Ready and waiting for the imminent arrival of migrant birds.

Some migrants have touched down in the past week, another sure sign of the shifting season. The most numerous of these being Redwings, with some twenty noted on the passage in recent days – the distinct seep of roaming flocks audible by dusk, as the thrushes pass overhead, shrouded in darkness. Their larger cousin, the Fieldfares, have yet to materialise; though both blackbirds and song thrush have shown a distinct upwards trend of late. Joined by an apparent arrival of robins (I counted 22 ticking from the shrubbery the other day) and diminutive goldcrests. Of course, given the nature of the season, Summer migrants have not departed entirely, just yet at least. A few Chiffchaff and Blackcap still loiter, while the occasional Swallow can still be seen; though these look set to vanish in the coming days, yielding the skies and treetops to more typical winter fare.

Another sure-fire sign of the not so subtle shift from Summer to Autumn has come from Half-Penny’s Jay population – many of whom can now be seen flying high between the wood and nearby town, as they transport acorns between favoured feeding sites and their Wintertime hoards. This processing of caching – storing food for the harsh days of Winter – is not limited to the sites corvids however, indeed, the many Nuthatches that dwell within the wood have begun to do the same. As have the Grey Squirrels – those glaring icons of invasive tenacity which first colonised the wood back in 2013. Now, they scamper and dig, squeak and chew, as much a part of the wood as the reds that resided here during my childhood. I do, however, have some interesting news on that front to be revealed at a later date.

Finally, we come to another, much more subtle sign of the Autumnal shift in nature: the behaviour of the sites resident passerines. Indeed, tits (blue, great, long-tailed and coal to be precise) have begun to amass into impressive flocks, scouring the wood in search of food. This behaviour thought to be born equally of increased vigilance with regards to predators – sparrowhawks mainly – and the greater ability of a flock to find food, as opposed to a lone individual. Elsewhere, the resurgence of the elusive Willow Tit in the wood provided equal indication of the advancing calendar this week – they only ever appear here around Autumn – while, by the river,  both the Kingfishers and Grey Wagtails appear to have departed the riparian abodes they favour, doubtless off to the coast ahead of the predicted chill. I will miss them. Though the sense of loss that coincides with their departure will doubtless be soothed by the arrival of Winter migrants in the coming weeks. Who knows, maybe this year will once again see Half-Penny graced by the presence of Waxwings, or the river by a wayward Goldeneye.

A not so subtle hint as to the news I mentioned earlier…

An interesting record…

I love moth trapping. I adore the expectant thrill that abounds when venturing into the unknown each morning; as I carefully remove egg boxes and examine the various colourful critters disguised beneath. Mothing, for me, is addictive, exhilarating even – each morning bringing some different; whether in the form of a new species, a record count or a garden rarity. The anticipation that abounds when combing through the contents of a trap paramount to that of fishing, or birding in autumn – the same sense of the unexpected drawing me back time and time again.

Today’s catch looked promising at a glance: two of the first moth’s removed representing overdue firsts for my little urban garden – Broad-bordered Yellow Underwing and Copper Underwing – the latter of which is rather more scarce up North where it’s commoner cousin, the Svensson’s Copper Underwing, reigns supreme. Sure enough, I caught eight Svensson’s this morning which, when coupled with other highlights of Gold Spot, Dark Marbled Carpet and only my second Garden Pebble, left me feeling satisfied. That is until a curious looking, striped moth in the final egg tray caught my attention – a new one for me which, after some advice from various people on Facebook revealed itself to be Hypsopygia glaucinalis or Double-striped Tabby. As seen in the cover photo of this post.

Now, the interesting thing about this species is that there had only been two previous records of it in the county. Making my individual only the third ever recorded in Northumberland. Easily my best garden record to date and right up there in the excitement stakes with the scant few notable records I have obtained in the past. Among these the first Small Dark Yellow Underwing and Black Mountain Moth for Angus since the 1970’s. Yes, today was a good day.

Said Small Dark Yellow Underwing from Angus in 2015

Adventures in the sea air

This past week has been one of a distinctly salty theme, with each one of my sporadic outings over the past few days connected, in some way, to the coast. All things included -spectacular wildlife, tantalising rarities and some intriguing, conservation-themed visits – it has been a jolly good one, providing a welcome reprieve from tedious paperwork and job hunting.

Starting off on Saturday and early morning found myself and Matt setting out for Amble, more specifically, for to the Northumbrian Seafood Centre where we spent a pleasant half-hour educating ourselves on all things Lobster. Yes, the relatively new centre is home to the Amble Lobster Hatchery – an ambitious scheme established in an effort to restore the areas lobster population to its former, numerically superior a glory. This is done by rearing individual crustaceans from egg to larvae to juvenile lobster, before releasing them back into the wild in the chilly North Sea. The hatchery serving a dual purpose by bringing visitors up-close and personal with crustaceans of all sizes, and making for an interesting stop-off point should you find yourself visiting Amble with time to spare. We certainly had fun!

Moving on from the hatchery, a short search for the day’s target species – Caspian Gull – drew a blank and, for a short while, we made do with admiring the moulting Eiders foraging for chips within the barnacle-crusted confines of the harbour. That, until we made a spur of the moment decision to embark on an impromptu Puffin cruise around the RSPB’s Coquet Island reserve. The venture culminating in splendid views of numerous Grey Seals alongside a whole host of endearing seabirds, the latter unsurprisingly including, you guessed it, a number of Puffins. The undisputed highlight of the forty-five-minute voyage coming from the sites Roseate Terns which performed admirably as we ogled the island from the boat.  Luckily, we also managed to catch up with the wayward Caspian Gull upon our arrival back to the harbour. Hooray – species number 211 for my Northumberland year list.

Later on Saturday, another short bus journey found us paying a quick visit to Druridge Pools where two Little Owls showed wonderfully in the intermittent afternoon sun and a Merlin passed briefly overhead on route North. An unexpected highlight here coming in the form a large mixed-flock of perhaps 300 or so House Sparrow, Tree Sparrow, Yellowhammer and Reed Bunting, all feeding en masse in a nearby wheat field. Not something you see every day given the recent, disheartening declines in these species within the wider countryside.

Another day, another adventure, and following a thesis-themed meeting in Newcastle, I made my way to St. Mary’s Island, in order to catch up with the visiting White-Rumped Sandpiper, unearthed earlier that morning by local birder, Alan Curry. Sure enough, immediately upon arrival, the charming American wader put in an appearance foraging amid the wrack. This time in the company of a few rather lovely Summer-plumaged Turnstone, as well as the odd Sanderling and Dunlin. Truth be told, the bird itself exceeding all expectations – it wasn’t half as “dull and brown” as I had anticipated – and provided a useful lesson in the identification of this particular species. A lesson which may well come in useful given the likelihood of one turning up on my own patch at Blyth this Autumn.

Finally, this week’s coastal antics concluded on Wednesday with an early morning visit to Newbiggin where, in the company of a few familiar faces from the birding scene, I enjoyed a two-hour stint of blustery seawatching. The high-points of the morning coming in the form of a superb Great Skua powering North above the breakers, and a pair of much more dainty Arctic Skua harrying the Sandwich Terns just offshore. Other interesting titbits here included approximately c750 Gannet moving past among smaller numbers of Kittiwake, Fulmar, Common Scoter, Arctic Tern and Golden Plover; though before long I was forced to depart in order to work on something else boasting a clear, coastal theme: my dissertation. It will all be over soon, James…

Adventures in the night garden

There is something quite exhilarating about spending time outdoors by night – each sound, each rustle in the shrubbery and splash in the water indicative of hidden treasures lying just out of sight amid the gloom. Watching wildlife by night is intoxicating, plain and simple, and recently, has become somewhat of a hobby of mine. A pastime born of necessity, with my days of late spent catching up on university work carrying and out a host of more menial tasks, thus leaving little time for adventure.

Last night, I spent three hours in the garden – watching, waiting and, most rewarding of all, listening, with only the blue glow of my actinic moth trap to light my way. My watch beginning at 10 pm as, with the light fading fast, the local Pipistrelles arrived to feed. Their coming timed to perfection to coincide with the departure of the first moths from their daylight hideaways. Indeed, as I watched, more and more moths emerged – springing forth from the Privet hedge and the nearby Hawthorns before heading upwards, often with the bats in close pursuit. I am yet to see a bat actually catch a moth, though I did witness one interesting piece of behaviour as a rather large individual – a large yellow underwing, I think – plummeted downwards, rigid as a stone, clearly having caught wind of its would-be pursuer. An interesting defence mechanism, and something that, to date, I have only seen on TV.

By 11 pm the last vestiges of light had faded and the moth trap had been fired up – the first arrivals, as ever, being the underwings. Followed closely by a number of Smoky Wainscot, Riband Wave and Snout – some of the more numerous species to inhabit my urban garden. Many moths came and went as I watched, with some – a rather beautiful Straw Underwing included – landing conveniently in the trap, and others, missing it entirely. No matter.

Before long, a faint rustling in the compost heap diverted my attention away from the trap. The sound of crunching, desiccated vegetation easily audible as a fleet of Common Frogs began to emerge. Ambling forward, into the open, before splitting up in all directions: towards the lawn, pond, borders and hedge. Easily counted by torchlight, a total of seven frogs were found, with another, concealed in some waterside vegetation, croaking loudly upon my approach. This particular individual joined amid the Water Mint by a delightful Smooth Newt. The latter watched and enjoyed as it emerged from the shallows before slinking, with surprising speed, out of sight. My efforts to facilitate my local amphibians are paying off, it would seem.

Come midnight, I had resumed my watch of the moth trap, adding Light Emerald and Common Plume to my list as I listened to the screeches of a distant Tawny Owl in the park adjacent to the house. I had just about grown tired when another sound caught my attention: an undoubtedly familiar call of a bird above that, for the life of me, I could not place for some time. I did eventually, however: it was a tern. A very unusual addition to the list of animals seen and heard from the garden, and a quite unexpected one, if that – I do, after all, live some way from the coast. Doubtless, this had to have been a migrating bird heading overland on its way South for Winter.

The tern was not the only migrant heard this night, however, and soon the call of an Oystercatcher became audible as it passed overhead. The high-pitched flight calls of the bird (or birds) followed soon, by the much more exciting sound of a Whimbrel, and then, the honking of geese. It really is amazing what you can hear from the comfort of your own deck chair at night, once the hustle and bustle of urban life has died down and others have succumbed to slumber.

My night outdoors finished as it began: with moths. A graceful Barred Red the last species to enter my trap before it was sealed and concealed for study the next day. Making my way to the house 1 am – placing my feet carefully so not the injure any of the snails moving slowly across the lawn – I found myself rather giddy, and grinning profusely. It really was an evening well spent.

Oh yes, and I am pleased to announce that, following their arrival last Spring, our garden foxes have returned. Hurrah!

 

Common Rustic agg.
Willow Beauty
Elderberry Pearl
Barred Red

Seeking Lepidoptera

In need of some respite from dissertation work and keen to spend as much time as possible outside in the glorious weather, yesterday was dedicated, wholly, to surveying Lepidoptera. Daylight hours spent chasing butterflies as I attempted to survey a few new sites for this year’s Big Butterfly Count and night, moth trapping in the garden. Both ventures, thankfully, coming up trumps and producing myriad vibrant and interesting species.

My first butterfly transect found me meandering through an unassuming patch of wasteland near Cambois – a small coastal town not far from my home in Bedlington. Setting out, things looked altogether promising: warm temperatures and masses of blooming Ragwort, Buddleia and Knapweed giving hope that there would at least be a few butterflies on the wing. There was, and within moments of my arrival, the first species began to appear. Among these, a number of Small White, Meadow Brown and Ringlet – common species one would expect to find here – but also a Small Tortoiseshell and a surprise Dark Green Fritillary. The former bringing a rather large smile to my face given their seemingly low numbers this year.

Next came a lone Comma moving frantically about a patch of nettles; while further along the track both Red Admiral and Small Copper were also observed. All of these, lovely though they are, soon found themselves playing second fiddle, however, upon sight of the days first Grayling. The initial individual hunkered down and doing its best to blend into the subsrate soon followed by twelve more. The colony of Grayling at Cambois is well known locally and butterflies can reliably be seen here most years; though, historically, I have only ever seen one or two individuals. The thirteen noted on this day setting a new personal record, and the sight of the intricately marked butterflies themselves, leaving me more than content. Departing the site, four Small Skipper were unearthed and a Speckled Wood was found sunning itself on some roadside brambles. Eleven species in fifteen minutes, not bad at all…

Carrying out a second butterfly count, this time in nearby the sand dunes, another Small Tortoiseshell was noted alongside numerous Meadow Browns and Six-Spot Burnets. Another three Small Skipper here came as an added bonus; while a lone Green-Veined White took the days butterfly tally up to an impressive twelve species. Fourteen if you count the Common Blues and Large Skippers notched at Bedlington earlier in the day.

Grayling
Small Tortoiseshell
Small Tortoiseshell
Grayling
Grayling
Small Skipper

Skipping forward a few hours and nightfall found me positioned in the garden, eager to see which moth species would find their way into my heath trap on this occasion. Truth be told, I was not overly hopeful – I broke yet another bulb a few days past so, on this occasion, was forced to make do with a household UV bulb – of the kind used to find stains and check for fingerprints. Lo and behold, however, this bulb outperformed my previous actinic by quite some way, with 132 moths of 37 species trapped between 11 pm and 1 am, including some nifty garden firsts. The undisputed highlight coming in the form of my first garden Drinker, alongside a duo of Dark Spectacle, two Cloaked Minor and a single Ypsolopha scabrella – an abundant and rather neat little micro. Other goodies included a record count of five Buff Footman and singles of Peach Blossom, Peppered Moth and Early Thorn; while Large-Yellow Underwing again took home the award for most numerous species. No less than 47 individuals were found in the trap this morning, yikes.

Ypsolopha scabrella
Dark Spectacle
Swallow-tailed Moth
Drinker

Wild respite

In dire need of a break from thesis writing, yesterday I set off for Druridge Bay in search of a little wild respite. The proceeding three hours, mercifully, filled with no end of fantastic wildlife – just what the doctor ordered to cure my current mood.

Starting off at Cresswell Pond and the highlight here came in the form of three Spoonbill feeding on the flood just North of the causeway – always a nice species to see in the North.  With these, two Avocets did their best to defend their rather small chicks from a marauding heron and a Grey Partridge wandered across the road in front of a passing car. The best of the rest at the pond coming in the form of two Common Sandpiper, a female Marsh Harrier and a Stock Dove trying and failing to blend in with the farmyard pigeons. A lone Wheatear was observed in the dunes as I made my way elsewhere.

Taking a leisurely wander South along the beach, the first thing that struck me upon arrival was the sheer number of terns feeding in the bay. Mostly Sandwich Tern, as is the norm here; though Common and Arctic were by no means scarce. A single Roseate feeding close in behind the breakers was a tad more surprising – not a bird to be scoffed at and only my second of the year! Also here, a large raft of perhaps eight hundred Common Scoter fed – diving and rising in perfect unison – and a pair of Summer plumage Red-Throated Diver were also seen. Add to these a good haul of Kittiwake, Gannet, Puffin, Guillemot and Shag, and things were looking rather positive by the time I reached Druridge Pools.

Plodding up to the Budge Screen where a cast of familiar local faces had assembled to ogle the visiting Pectoral Sandpiper, it wasn’t long before I laid eyes on the bird itself – namesake markings clearly visible as it fed in the glorious Summer sunshine. Alongside the vagrant, a selection of more regular waders were also seen, including a splendid Ruff, singles of each Wood and Green Sandpiper, one Whimbrel and fifty-eight Black-Tailed Godwit. Most of the latter still clad in their delightful, auburn garb. Waders aside, the rest of my time at Druridge was split between admiring the resident Little Owl perched in the usual spot along the farm wall, and photographing a few of the sites smaller residents: Five-spot Burnets, Blue-Tailed Damselflies and numerous Red Admirals providing a welcome touch of colour to conclude the trip.

Five-spot Burnets 

Back home and another night of garden moth trapping turned up a few pleasant odds and ends. A female Ghost Moth and a dapper Buff Arches the stand our individuals of a catch that also included Purple Clay, Buff Ermine, Straw Dot, Light Emerald, Clay and Bright-line Brown-eye. The only new species for my slowly increasing garden list comprised three Yellow-spot Tortrix and a lone Single-dotted Wave.

 

Buff Ermine, Ghost Moth and Buff Arches

Ruby Tiger and other treasures

Having recently purchased a new moth trap only to break the bulb while unpacking it, I was delighted when my replacement arrived yesterday. This meaning that, for the first time this year, I could kick-back in the garden and engross myself in some local Lepidoptera. Well, this didn’t go exactly to plan – heavy rain hampering my efforts after a meagre two hours – though, with 71 moths of 21 separate species languishing in the trap this morning, it could have gone much worse.

The star of the show when it came time to unpack the trap this morning was undoubtedly the superb Ruby Tiger Phragmatobia fuliginosa pictured above. A rather sumptuous looking moth boasting outlandish crimson underwings, and a real favourite of mine. Not a scarce species, by any standards, but a nice one to see in my urban backyard. Of its winged counterparts also nestled within the trap, a Barred Yellow Cnidaria fulvata was also nice to see; while a couple of Bordered White Bupalus piniaria were new for the garden list. The most numerous species obtained were, as ever, the Large Yellow Underwings Noctua pronuba which, typically, burst out in a flurry of frantic buzzing as soon as I lifted the lid. Much to the delight of my cat which soon set off (unsuccessfully) in pursuit of the escapees.

I look forward to trapping more frequently throughout the Summer, and in doing so, uncovering, further, the wealth of unseen life dwelling within my garden.

Double Square-spot, Barred Yellow, Dark Arches, Ruby Tiger, Bee Moth and Small Fan-foot

30DaysWild: a recent roundup

Though I started off well, my #30DaysWild posts seem to have faded over the past few weeks. This due to some wild commitments elsewhere – blog post to follow shortly – and not due to laziness or disinterest. Despite this, and in keeping with the theme of the month, I have persisted in my efforts to do something a little wild every day, and in doing so, have found myself face to face with some truly remarkable wildlife. From nocturnal wonders and scarce birdlife to butterflies, flowers and some rather cool fish, the highlights of the last fortnight can be found in this post.

Nocturnal Antics

Just over a week ago, I set off for a secluded plantation in inland Northumberland: arriving at the site just after 9 pm and spending a few hours engrossing myself in the best of the British nighttime. By this, of course, I mean Nightjars – with a total of three individuals seen during my stay. Among these, a particularly obliging bird which showed marvellously, singing its otherworldly song from the top of a quivering spruce. This encounter marking only my second experience of this species and easily my most enjoyable: the sight and sound of the elusive bird standing out not just as a highlight of the year, but of my entire birding career to date. They really are fantastic!

Of course, Nightjars were not all to be seen here, and during our stay, we were lucky enough to catch up with Tawny Owl, Woodcock, Crossbill and Cuckoo: with the equally enthralling sound of a drumming Snipe heard as we made our way back to the car. I should head out at night more often… *pens plan for future blog posts*

Chance encounters

Although there has not been much time to chase rarities of late, I have managed three targeted jaunts this week. The first taking me to an unassuming pond not far from my house where, to my delight, a drake Ruddy Duck loafed on the water just out from my position by the road. The duck, blue-billed and clad head to toe in glorious rust-coloured feathers, representing a species I have never before seen in Britain which, despite its controversial nature – they are, after all, subject to a government lead cull at present – was enjoyed to its fullest potential. Who knows, it may well be the only Ruddy Duck I see in the UK anytime soon.

The other two outings mentioned focused on some less polarising residents- Black-Necked Grebe and Quail – both of which were seen (or at least, heard in the case of the latter) within the local area; thus adding a welcome touch of spice to my usually tame summer birding.

Ruddy Duck – excuse the dreadful phone image

Pastures new

The most recent of my explorations found me venturing to a new site in Northern Northumberland: into the mosaic of fields and hedgerows that surround the site at which we now keep our three horses. Ever critical of farmland – at least the plowed, poisoned empty deserts that exist in some places – I was pleasantly surprised to find the area teeming with life. Here a superb Yellow Wagtail was observed carrying food towards a hidden nest and a pair of Redstart could be seen feeding young inside a cavity. Both fabulous birds that I do not see half as often as I would like. The pleasant feel of the day amplified by sightings of a bounding Brown Hare, the song of countless Skylark and an up-close and personal encounter with a rather confiding Buzzard. Birds and mammals were not, however, the highlight of my time here: that honour going to the butterflies who, spurred on by the sweltering Summer sun, had emerged in abundance.

Here my first Meadow Browns and Ringlets of the year fluttered lazily across the grassy banks lining a small stream and both Wall and Small Tortoiseshell were noted sunning themselves on scant areas of bare rock. Numbers bolstered by the occasional occurrence of Large and Green-veined White and a very breif Speckled Wood. The best coming towards the end of my jaunt, where no less than twelve Large Skippers were unearthed along one particular field boundary. A delightful, energetic butterfly and one of my all time favourites – a pleasure to observe and enjoy in such bright and beautiful conditions.

 

Sensational Seabirds

As many diligent blog readers may know, I have spent the last few weeks marooned on the fantastic Farne Islands. Enjoying the clamour of a sprawling seabird colony as I endevor to complete my master’s dissertation. Well, I will focus on this at greater length in a future blog post though earlier this week – and thanks to a kind offer from Liz Morgan – I was able to help out with some proper seabird monitoring. Specifically, the ringing of Shag chicks to provide data for Liz’s PhD project. Words truly fail me when trying to sum up this experience: it was both a pleasure and privilege to see these serpentine seabirds up close and, despite leaving covered head to toe in putrid excrement, I departed with a huge smile on my face. I many be studying Puffins for my thesis but it seems that it is the islands Shags that have stolen the limelight.

Shag – always a pleasure

Citrine Wagtail – Lynemouth Flash

This stunning female Citrine Wagtail Motacilla citreola was at Lynemouth flash yesterday; a bird I have wanted to see in the UK ever since a chance encounter with my first, an adult male, in Estonia a few years past. My visit was not overly long – dissertation planning is taking up most of my time of late – but during the fifteen minutes or so I spent by the inconspicuous roadside pool, the bird showed wonderfully as it fed within a few metres of the various birders, photographers and curious locals assembled nearby. This marks my 196th bird species observed in Northumberland this year and stands out as the definitive highlight of the year thus far as I attempt to view as many species as possible in my home county within 2017. A personal quest which, this week, also took me to Catton Moss where a Short-Toed Lark (my first) showed wonderfully; and earlier, to Allen Banks where the local Wood Warblers and Pied Flycatchers put on a fine show in the radiant afternoon sun.