Tag: Spring

Getting to Grips with Spring Bulbs

Last weekend, I decided to take a closer look at wild and naturalised spring bulbs. From snowdrops to crocuses, here are a few spotted on recent walks.

Daffodils, crocuses and of course, snowdrops are some of our most iconic and beautiful spring flowers. Despite this, they can be a tricky bunch to tell apart with a great many species out there and in the case of the daffodils, many confusing and largely similar cultivars. Recording for the Urban Flora, this spring, I’ve made it my mission to learn the most abundant species and varieties growing in my local area. It will take a while, for sure, but a few initial discoveries are shared below.

Crocuses

I’ve always assumed that crocuses would be a difficult bunch to learn. I’m not sure why. That said, there doesn’t appear to be as much diversity locally as I had assumed the commonest naturalised (and dumped) varieties inevitably turn out to be one of the three below. This website is a great help when identifying them.

Early Crocus (Crocus tommasinianus)

With its vivid, lilac petals and tendency to bloom in great drifts, Early Crocus is a lovely little plant. Introduced from South-East Europe, this species is commonly planted in parks and churchyards. It readily naturalises and can form large colonises where conditions are right, as seen below on the approach to Jesmond Dene.

Early Crocus is told apart from the rest by its pale lilac-coloured petals, white petal tube and narrow leaves.

Early Crocus (Crocus tommasinianus)
Early Crocus (Crocus tommasinianus)
Early Crocus (Crocus tommasinianus)
Early Crocus (Crocus tommasinianus)

Spring Crocus (Crocus neapolitanus)

Spring Crocus is a burly plant and comes in a host of colours. It is the species most likely to be planted in gardens and along roadsides and for this reason, is often the one that makes its way into the wild via waste or deliberate introductions. A native of Southern Europe, it was only recently split from White Crocus (Crocus vernus) which I am yet to see locally.

This one can be identified by the purple petal tube at the base of the flower and its large size. Looking closer, you’ll also notice that its branched stigma is longer than the three stamens that surround it. In White Crocus, this is noticeably shorter.

Spring Crocus (Crocus neapolitanus)
Spring Crocus (Crocus neapolitanus)

Yellow Crocus (Crocus x luteus)

A garden hybrid, Yellow Crocus is very popular in cultivation and is often planted in gardens, parks and areas of community planting. It will persist in the wild from garden throw-out but can also be found as an introduced plant in a variety of habitats. Those below were spotted on a parkland bank and urban playing field.

Yellow Crocus has vibrant, golden-yellow petals with a variable amount of brown smudging on the exterior. Usually, this is less prominent than in Golden Crocus (Crocus chrysanthus) but not always and the only surefire way to separate them is to look at the corm. In Yellow Crocus, this divides vertically.

Yellow Crocus (Crocus x luteus)
Yellow Crocus (Crocus x luteus)

Snowdrops

Ah, snowdrops. Cheery, abundant and altogether lovely, they are surely one of our best spring flowers. They are also pretty diverse with several species, hybrids and cultivars likely to pop up in urban areas where they have been dumped or introduced. Some of these varieties are easier to separate than others and I’ve managed to find a few in the local area. The BSBI key to snowdrops is a great place to start.

Greater Snowdrop (Galanthus elwesii)

A hulking plant, noticeably larger than our Common Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis) Greater Snowdrop has its roots in the Caucuses. It is frequently planted in parks, churchyards, large gardens and amenity land and may occasionally spread where conditions allow. Such was the case in the lovely Northumbrian cemetery below.

This species has extremely broad leaves which are both glaucous and hooded at the tip. The markings on the inner petals of the flower are striking and usually take the form of a dark-green ‘x’ shape as seen below. The flowers can vary, however, and if you have something different, you may have a distinct form or cultivar.

Greater Snowdrop (Galanthus elwesii)
Greater Snowdrop (Galanthus elwesii)
Greater Snowdrop (Galanthus elwesii)

Galanthus x hybridus (Galanthus elwesii x plicatus)

While admiring the Greater Snowdrops in the aforementioned cemetery, there were also many plants present which displayed the features of Pleated Snowdrop (Galanthus plicatus). I had assumed they were just that until some help from Alex Prendergast on Twitter revealed they were likely the hybrid between these two species, Galanthus x hybridus.

As you might expect, the hybrid is intermediate between the parents with somewhat pleated leaves with hooded tips. I’ll know next time!

Galanthus x hybridus (Galanthus elwesii x plicatus) with lots of Greater Snowdrop (Galanthus elwesii)

Green Snowdrop (Galanthus woronowii)

A far nice snowdrop to contend with is the Green Snowdrop. Introduced occasionally to gardens and greenspaces and occasionally escaping, this is another large and impressive species. Thankfully, it lives up to its name in having bright grass-green leaves which contrast with the glaucous foliage of other species. You need to consider Galanthus ikariae too but this does seem to be the more common of the two.

Green Snowdrop (Galanthus woronowii)

Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis)

Ah, finally, the Common Snowdrop. With their thin leaves and altogether delicate appearance, this is the snowdrop you’re most likely to find just about anywhere, from woodlands to parks. What is interesting about these, however, is that there are several distinct forms to watch for too.

Commonly occurring within large populations of Common Snowdrop or as a deliberate introduction in itself, the double-flowered variety (Galanthus nivalis f. pleniflorus) has stacks of additional petals and is a brute in comparison to the usual sort.

You’re not likely to encounter it outside of several known sites but included here out of sheer excitement, a yellow form of Common Snowdrop is also known up North. Known as Galanthus nivalis Sandersii Group, this Northumbrian speciality exhibits yellow as opposed to green markings and has leaves which are noticeably paler. It is a real beauty.

Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis)
Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis f. pleniflorus)
Yellow Common Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis Sandersii Group)
Yellow Common Snowdrop (Galanthus nivalis Sandersii Group)

Daffodils

Beyond the native Wild Daffodil (Narcissus pseudonarcissus subsp. pseudonarcissus) I’m dreadful at daffodils. The great big lurid ones that frequently escape from cultivation especially. With hundreds of cultivars and a few species too, there are certainly lots out there to be discovered and feel inspired by Mick Crawley’s superb key, I wanted to take a look at some of those in the local area. Spoiler: I got them wrong but thankfully, Mick is extremely helpful on social media. I’ve only managed to find one so far…

Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation‘

One of the hideously complicated ‘big yellow daffodils’ Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation‘ is usually, according to Mick Crawley, the first cultivar to bloom each year. In the South, this can be as early as January. Up here, we have an entirely different climate and this cultivar is most likely to be spotted from mid-February it would seem.

With flower stems around 40cm tall, a flanged (I like that word) trumpet and slightly overlapping petals, it is a rather nice daffodil.

Daffodil (Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation‘)
Daffodil (Narcissus ‘Rijnveld’s Early Sensation‘)

Signs of Spring, by Frances Jones

My walk through the woods has become significantly more important for me since the announcement came that the country was going into lockdown. The song of the blackbird, the sight of a butterfly; these and many more moments have become more precious as the freedom to move whenever and wherever is reduced. After a number of phone calls and emails trying to ascertain my next step, work-wise, I took myself off for a walk. This is my daily exercise, as defined in the government’s list of restrictions, but it serves an important purpose for my mind, too. The sight of green does a lot to keep my spirits high, and the unexpected but familiar creatures that I see whilst out of the house do, too.

This morning, I took the path that meanders alongside a brook at the back of the houses here. The water glistened, clear and bright, tumbling over the branches that had fallen there in the last storms. How long ago those seem, now! I stopped whilst a comma fluttered in front of me and came to rest on a celandine flower. It had chosen a sunny spot and bathed there several minutes. When I moved, I cast a shadow and the butterfly left its darkened flower and settled on another, still in sunshine. I moved with it and walked on,  leaving it in peace. The woodland was alive with birdsong; blue tits, great tits, chaffinches and blackbirds all sang to create a joyous chorus. I had woken up to their songs, and it wasn’t a bad way to start the day. Most mornings, the woodpigeons sit on the roof and coo, a rhythmic message that always ends on a short note. They also perch in the birch trees outside my window, looking rather too large for the delicate twigs that bear their weight. Sparrows flit from branch to branch, chattering and looking industrious. Last year I watched a greater spotted woodpecker hunt for titbits on the grass in front of the house. It was rather a treat for me to see one close up.

I turned left to follow the curve of the small lake. This area used to be a brickworks, and when the houses were built the lake was created to help minimise the risk of flooding. The trees are changing into their spring clothes now and the willows looked particularly beautiful against the deep blue sky. The delicate white of hawthorn lined my route around the water and on the banks, mallards were resting in the midday sun.

I’m intending, during this period of restricted movement, to make as much of my time outdoors as I can. I will pay attention to the birdsong and the wildlife I see; I’ll learn to identify more birds by song, and I will try to identify those that I don’t yet know by sight. Because I can wander through the woods and enjoy it, regardless, but as Simon Barnes says in How to be a Bad Birdwatcher, the naming of things is important. It brings meaning, extra appreciation, and a sense that we are connected to that creature, bird or tree that we see. Spring has sprung here and for that, I’m thankful.

Glossy Ibis and more

 

Spring has sprung, at long last. And all about my local area, the sapphire blooms of English bluebell mingle with the garish, Simpson-yellow of lesser celandine and the pristine white of flowering wood anemone. The air encompassing them ripe with the stench of ramsons carried on the breeze and nearby waterways – the ponds, streams and ditches that crisscross the landscape here – choked with riving masses of Amphibian spawn, just about ready to hatch. In the hedgerows, myriad insects buzz, spurred on by rising temperatures, and in the woodlands, trees stir as the canopy is painted green once more. A canopy which now, during the heyday of Spring, plays host to countless migrant birds, fresh from their travels and engrossed in the process of attracting a mate.

On the subject of migrant birds, I have enjoyed nearly the full array this week. Hoards of hirundines – swallows and martins – hawking for insects over bustling waterbodies; Blackcaps and Whitethroats uttering erratic bursts of song from within lime-green hawthorns; and even Swifts, that most iconic of May arrivals, screeching as they hunt in whirling arcs above street, field and copse. The occurrence of these resurgent wonders interspersed by other heralds of this most joyous of seasons: by reeling grasshopper warblers, hidden from sight yet conspicuous to the ear; and by common sandpipers, sedge warblers, whimbrel and dazzling yellow wagtails. Familiar species, longed for since they departed, who liven up my rural walks – replacing the redwing, fieldfare and waxwing that reigned supreme previously.

Of course, given the tumultuous nature of the season, the unfamiliar has also featured in my escapades of late. Manifested in the occurrence of birds I am not accustomed to seeing with any degree of frequency. Garganey and Black-necked Grebe, scarce wanderers, dropping in locally on route to their breeding grounds. The latter, a species currently teetering on a knife edge in this country, savoured as it fished, content, adjacent to a local bird hide. This individual just starting moult into its renowned, and rather beautiful, Summer plumage. As for the Garganey, the drakes (of which three were seen) appeared sublime in their alternating shades of brown, white and angelic, sky-blue – far more demure than the vibrant tones some of our more abundant ducks yet, in their own way, perfect.

Black-necked Grebe – Druridge Pools, Northumberland

Despite their allure, both grebe and duck have, this week, found themselves eclipsed. Cast into obscurity by the arrival of a far more unusual visitor: a glossy ibis. A bird I have observed to no end in Spain, yet one I had not, until now,  encountered here, in my slightly cooler homeland. The bird in question – shown below – showing marvellously on a flooded field – catching earthworms in it’s near preposterously long and downcurved bill before tossing them back with gusto, in a jerky motion unique to long-legged wading bird such as this. Engrossing as it went about its business unperturbed by the crowd of admiring apes amassing mere feet away.

It is easy to see where this species gets its name, beautifully iridescent or dull, unassuming brown depending on the light. Ascetics reminiscent of the Ibis’s patron: the Egyptian god Thoth. A deity in the ancient pantheon often depicted with the head of an Ibis and credited as the inventor of writing, and alphabets. Indeed, watching the bird closely, a distinct sense of regality was observed of which I am sure its mythological counterpart would be proud.

 

 

 Glossy Ibis – Druridge Pools, Northumberland

As the calendar advances and the last vestiges of our lastest, stubborn Winter finally dissipate, I find myself drawn increasingly into the avian world. Not because birds, in spite of their beauty and appeal, are somehow grander than other life, but because unlike plants, amphibians and even mammals – whose occurrence and actions one can quite easily, with some research, predict – they are erratic. Unpredictable in their movements to such an extent that one can never really know what will occur next, or what to expect.

Grey Heron – Cresswell Pond, Northumberland

Metamorphosis

There has been an intermediate feel in the air of late; as Winter begins to release its frigid grip on the landscape and the welcome rejuvenation of Spring begins. Birdsong, amorous amphibians, butterflies and bursting buds marking the start of the new season while loitering relics of Winter remain very much apparent. It has all been rather wonderful, and I, for one, very much enjoy this time of the year. The sight and sound of nature as old yields to the new, utterly enthralling, at least for those, like me, beginning to grow weary of the chill.

This week has seen a number of firsts brought about by the tepid weather and advancing calendar; not least the sight of spawning frogs. With a grand total of fourteen descending on my small garden pond – depositing their spawn in a rowdy scrum of flailing legs and hormonal calling. The pond now jampacked with conspicuous globules of eggs – sure to give rise to a bumper crop of tadpoles as the season advances. Testament to the value of such humble places for our embattled amphibians.

Frogs aside, this week also saw my first Peacock butterfly of the year – making the most of the late Winter sun amid the blooms of a nearby garden – while other invertebrates are also on the wing. Wasps, hoverflies, White-Tailed Bumblebees and a number of small, brown, unidentifiable moths all appearing as if from nowhere in the house, in the garden, in the wood and elsewhere around the local area.

Change is clearly afoot in the local avian community too; marked by the resurgence of Goosander and Grey Wagtail on the local river – species too long absent from the confines of my local patch. The resident Dippers are nesting, tucked away beneath the crumbling arch of a nearby bridge; while the wood finds itself positively abuzz with the singing of lustful passerines. Robin, Blackbird and Great tit, the species who have sung since January, now joined by the undulating notes of Goldcrest and the flutey tones of Song Thrush. Five of which were noted in full song during my last foray into the depths of Half-Penny.

A trip into the uplands at the weekend was also characterised by the sights and sounds of change; the most obvious of which coming from the Lapwings. Their shrill calls carrying far and wide over the windswept heath, joined, at times, by the sound of Curlew, fresh in from the coast. With the presence of Golden Plover back on their traditional breeding territories not going unnoticed either, though all of these soon fell into insignificance upon the sight of three Black Grouse – one male and two females – foraging at close quarters in a roadside field. Not a sight particularly representative of Spring but an enjoyable one nevertheless.

As I mentioned in the opening paragraph of this Spring-inspired ramble; species most often associated with Winter remain very much in evidence also. Pochard on a number of local lakes – a rare sight in present day Northumberland – and no end of Pink-Footed Geese, Goldeneye and mergansers. The nearby bay pebble-dashed with the silhouettes of  Red-Throated Diver, Common Scoter, Guillemot and Razorbill; all yet to depart for their Summer abodes. Though it cannot be long now and here too, on the sea, the signs of Spring abound. An increase in the number of Gannets a clear sign of things to come, and the return of Lesser Black-Backed Gulls to the surf most welcome.

All in all, this week has been an enjoyable one; characterised by a wave of fresh life and mounting anticipation for the joys to come as the year trundles on. I look forward to warmer days full to the brim with swallows, wheatears and Summer warblers, but, for now, am happy to revel in the fluid, dynamic fortnight before the true Spring begins.

Guest Blog: Orchids – Alice Hunter

Orchids hold a fascination for many people around the world. For me that began when a Common Spotted Orchid (Dactylorhiza fuchsii) popped up in an unmown area of my parents’ lawn one summer when I was a child. They slowly spread and it became a game each summer to see how many there were flowering alongside the Knapweed in the long grass. Last year there were over thirty.

As I’ve grown, my passion for wildlife has grown too and my love of wildflowers has intensified. I am lucky now to have travelled to some wonderful locations and seen some incredible wild Orchid species. As the Green Winged Orchids (Anacamptis morio) are in full bloom in a local meadow I thought I’d share a few of my favourites and my experiences finding them.

Common Spotted Orchid & Green-Winged Orchid

For many, Orchids can be a confusing group of flowers to study and it is true that they seem to hybridise readily which doesn’t always help with identification. With a little perseverance and a keen eye though, it soon becomes apparent that there are certain characteristics to look out for which will give a definitive answer. The next challenge is where to find them in the first place.

In the French Alps if you want to know where you might find Orchids, ask a local – it seems like almost everybody knows where to find some and they are proud of it too. This is particularly true of some of the bigger, blousier species like the glorious Lady’s Slipper Orchid (Cypripedium calceolus). By contrast, in Britain, it was collected nearly to the point of extinction and now clings on at only one closely guarded site.

I will never forget the first time I saw these spectacular flowers as a teenager on holiday with my parents in Austria, my mother suddenly asked that we stop the car on a quiet country road because she thought she’d seen some and sure enough in the dappled shade there was a clump set back from the road a few meters under the trees. Her knack of spotting unusual flowers from a moving car is incredible and my husband claims I’ve inherited the trait, as I too often ask him to stop in strange places so I can jump out and look at things!

For me one of the appeals is the common names of the Orchids – there are Lady, Man, Military, Frog, Monkey, Bee, Woodcock, Butterfly and Fly Orchids fro name a few. They are often reflective of the individual flower shape or colouring and are somehow quite charming. The Monkey Orchid (Orchis simia) is one of my many favourites with beautiful bright colouring and a very monkey-like shape complete with tail.

Some names are less imaginative but very descriptive such as the Pyramidal Orchid (Anacamptis pyramidalis) named for the shape of the flower spike, or the Burnt Tip Orchid (Neotinea ustulata) which has dark purple flower buds that open from the bottom up into white speckled flowers, and give the impression that the tip of the flower spike is blackened.

There is a sense of the exotic in many species of Orchid, we are of course all familiar with the brightly coloured potted versions available from supermarkets and garden centres but we don’t expect to find anything quite so striking in the wild. I haven’t had the opportunity to visit a jungle habitat to see any really large orchid species (yet!) but I was pleasantly surprised that there are some European species which are not a million miles from those aforementioned shop-bought varieties. Of course the Lady’s Slipper falls into this category but there are others too. The Violet Bird’s Nest Orchid (Limodorum abortivum) of the Alps, and the Eastern Marsh Helleborine (Epipactis veratrifolia) found in Cyprus despite being more common in Asia, are both contenders.

Bird’s Nest Orchid, Lady’s Slipper Orchid and Mirror Orchid.

The most recent orchids I’ve added to my list were in Sardinia where my favourite was the Mirror Orchid (Ophrys speculum). It was quite different from a lot of the other species I had found in the past and illustrates my continual astonishment at just how diverse Orchids are from those which are parasitic and lack chlorophyll such as the Bird’s Nest Orchid (Neottia nidus-avis), to the Fragrant Orchid (Gymnadenia conopsea) which lives up to its name and grows in great swathes where the habitat is suitable. Sometimes even that first species to take my interest surprises me, such as the time I came across a rare variant, Dactylorhiza fuchsii var. rhodochila.

Despite all of my wonder and excitement at finding, photographing and identifying Orchids, there is one major factor that I alluded to earlier which I simply don’t understand: Seemingly in Britain in particular, Orchids continue to be sought for collections to the point of detriment. It is such a shame that these beautiful flowers seem to be at greater risk on home shores than abroad despite the efforts of charities like the Wildlife Trusts and Plantlife. I can only wonder whether I will be able to pass on my love of Orchids to my children in the future as my mother did to me, or whether I will have to settle for telling stories of the days when they grew in the lawn.

To find out more about Alice (and her marvelous work), please visit her blog at: http://www.hunterphotos.co.uk/blog/ or follow her on Twitter at: @AHunterPhotos

Spring has Sprung!

Spring has finally sprung over my little patch of coastal Northumberland it seems. Bees, buds, butterflies and a whole host of interesting birds making the last week or so an entirely enjoyable affair. Despite the resurgence of some much loved species, the weather has left rather a lot to be desired; hale, rain, sleet, strong winds and occasional bouts of sun triggering a number of mad dashes and homeward sprints. Perhaps I should simply use the term variable? Anyways, below is an account of the last weeks wanderings, the counts of species seen representing the peak number observed during any one outing. As you can see, I have been spoiled for choice of late..

Uncharacteristically, I thought I would start this entry on a brief entomological note. As ever, as winter transitions into spring, invertebrates begin to emerge from hibernation. This year I have endeavored to keep track of my “first sightings” in much the same way as I do, each year, with birds. The first winged beastie to reappear at Blyth was a Common Wasp on the 26th of March followed closely by a Buff-Tailed Bumblebee queen on the 28th. Next came Common Carder Bee and Peacock butterfly on the 30th and now, on the 1st of April, a delightful queen Red-Tailed Bumblebee. The latter at first appearing somewhat moribund by the roadside – something which prompted me to take the critter into a the house for a spot of TLC. A few spoonfuls of sugar water (50/50 mix as recommended) and the damsel in distress was soon fighting fit and off on her merry way in the garden. Hopefully to start a colony somewhere nearby.

 Elsewhere this week the other noticeable indicator of the changing season has been the birds, namely – the large scale arrival of Chiffchaff into the area. Indeed, quite a few of these returning migrants have been noted this week, most heard as opposed to seen as they voice their monotonous call high in the canopy. Four individuals were heard singing in Ha’Penny Woods followed by more birds at Cambois, Sleekburn, Bedlington and Blyth. It’s great to have them back even if they are the only migrants to make it back to the patch thus far – the hirundines and Wheatears seen locally largely avoiding me. Drat.

Aside from the aforementioned little brown jobs, the areas additional bird-life has also delighted. Ha’Penny woods, now bursting into leaf and rife with the smell of Ramsons, throwing up a nice bag of atypical woodland species. Here Great Spotted Woodpeckers are knocking near constantly while the local Nuthatches have also proven somewhat vocal. Long-Tailed Tits (Lollipop Badger-Birds, according to a recent RSPB meme) remain equally numerous this week, scattered troops seen on various corners of the patch. They have in fact been rather numerous all winter, no doubt the mild temperatures leading to reduced mortality – in keeping with the recent findings of the Big Garden Birdwatch. Won’t catch me complaining!

Aside from these; Ha’Penny also came up trumps with Siskin, Bullfinch, Song Thrush, Treecreeper and Goldcrest among an array of more run of the mill odds and ends though the highlight here has to be the pair of Grey Wagtails that appear to have taken up residence around one the sides woodland pools. Both birds foriging, each day, amid the blooming Marsh Marigolds – a pleasant sight if ever there was one.

Moving on and as ever, the majority of my time has been spent around the estuary – the centerpiece of the patch. Here things remain fairly stable although wader numbers have plummeted astronomically – birds no doubt heading back off to their breeding grounds. The remaining birds have not disappointed however, two Avocet still in residence alongside a peak count of 8 Black-Tailed Godwit, some of which now fully kitted out in their delightfully rustic breeding attire. Three Knot were also seen, all be it distantly while the usual cast of Turnstone, Curlew, Oystercatcher and Redshank helped kill some time during quieter spells. Contrasting with the waders, wildfowl numbers have not yet tailed off on the Blyth. The only exception to this being the noticeable absence of the three wintering Wigeon and a slight drop in Goldeneye numbers – only two of the latter now remaining. Shelduck remain numerous, some 65-75 now apparent alongside a similar number of Teal and 14 Gadwall. With these, and bypassing the ever present Mallards and Mute Swans, 35 Eider, a female Goosander and two splendid drake Red-Breasted Merganser. Some “fly over” additions to this list being a few skeins of Pink-Footed Geese heading North and flock of 14 Whooper Swans passing low over the nearby industrial estate.

Spending some time on the coast, snuggled in my adopted hide at Cambois similarly yielded some good birds this week though these were few and far between. A handful of Red-Throated Diver remain, one of which now actually sporting a red-throat (ooft). With these a nice mix of Guillemot, Razorbill, Shag and more Red-Breasted Merganser, all of which will surely depart for more favourable climes in the coming days. An adult Gannet flying south today provided a breath of fresh air, as did the presence of some 25 Kittiwakes feeding quite far out with another, an immature individual complete with characteristic black “w” markings, flying overhead as I rambled along the beach. These aside other tidbits  here included; 4 Fulmar, 3 Lesser Black-Backed Gull and, this morning, a superb Mediterranean Gull – the latter my first Patchwork Challenge tick of the month.

What else? Well, the walk between the coast and home proved fruitful. Meadow Pipit and Skylark singing in various locations and an alba “White” Wagtail foraging in the dunes. The same dunes also held 3 Stonechat, all of which proved as confiding as ever. Further inland, picking my way back through the various sections of farmland contained within the patch boundary turned up Yellowhammer, Reed Bunting, Kestrel and, perhaps best of all, a Grey Partridge singing from the cover of a thicket – if indeed you can all the peculiar croaking noise they make a song. A single Red-Legged Partridge was also seen, standing idle on a roadside verge, while passing back over the Sleek Burn two Little Egrets lifted before dropping back onto the mud to feed. These, alongside the resident pair of Water Rail – both of which have been showing impeccably of late – conclude this weeks avian offerings. Not a bad haul eh?

Before I depart for the summer come late April I hope to catch up with a few more returning migrants. Surely a Swallow or two should be on the cards? Followed (I hope) by House Martin, Wheatear, Ring Ouzel and Willow Warbler. Of course, the possibility of an early Cuckoo, an Osprey or Whinchat will also keep me out and about and I intend to make the very best of my time at Blyth before my upcoming hiatus.