Tag: Winter

Winter Walks in the Vineyard, by Frances Jones

The bright sunshine urged me out of doors this Sunday morning, and I pulled on boots and a raincoat in readiness for a walk. Long-standing readers of this blog may recall I previously wrote about experiencing nature in the city. Living in the midst of a built-up area, surrounded by blocks of flats and busy roads, I tried to notice beauty everywhere I went and this would make a routine walk much more interesting, as well as raise my spirits. Earlier this year I left London for the Surrey Hills. It’s wonderful to be here, but I still feel the need to see and celebrate nature. I’d argue many of us do. So here’s what I noticed on my winter stroll.

I walked to the edge of town and found a footpath sign pointing the way. The path wove along the backs of houses, climbing gently through thick mud. I was on the north side of the town, with Denbies Vineyard stretched out on my right and wooded slopes in front. The path was bordered on one side by spindly sticks of hedgerow that silhouetted beautifully against the blue sky. Around the bare twigs curled the soft, silky flowers of old man’s beard, still intact despite the battering they must have had from the rain. Further up, the hedge filled out with evergreens and I noted pyracantha, holly, and brambles still with the odd shrivelled berry. The path now edged round a copse of beech trees. A bullfinch flew across my way, pausing just long enough in the uppermost branches of a silver birch for me to notice its colourful plumage. A blackbird hopped from twig to twig on my left-hand side, and the trees were now leaning towards each other, over the path, to create an arboreal ceiling. The trees in the copse had shed many of their leaves and, after the downpour the previous night, the copper carpet glistened in the sunlight. Over the crest of the hill, th

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e path turned into a muddy track that led into the vineyard. Despite not feeling that I’d climbed very high, I had views across to the east, west and north; if I looked due west towards Ranmore I could follow with my eyes the North Downs Way, which came down the hills, around the vineyard, and on across to Box Hill and beyond.

Being outside on this bright winter’s day felt good, and after looking up at the many shapes of the trees covering the hillside to my left, I stomped forward on a path between the vines. The tyres of a tractor had formed troughs in the mud, and these had filled with water, creating a series of similarly shaped puddles that reflected the light. I reached the edge of the vineyard and, as I looked for a way out, was drawn towards a rose that had gone rouge over a wire fence. A stem covered in rose-hips had arched itself over the top wire, and made a beautiful feature of an otherwise purely functional barrier. I hadn’t been feeling very festive, and the bright sunshine and clear sky were almost spring-like, but I was suddenly inspired by what I’d noticed on my walk.  Nature’s festive decorations were out here, bringing splashes of beauty in a mixture of shape and seasonal colour. I wouldn’t be bringing any home, of course, and, like others, I still like to light up my window with fairy lights in December. But getting closer to nature had, again, invigorated my spirits and set me up for the week ahead.

Winter wildlife doesn’t come much better than this

It’s shaping up to be a good year for Bohemian Waxwings (Bombycilla garrulus). Sure, the much anticipated ‘waxwing winter’ – an irregular spectacle marked by the mass arrival of these colourful birds to our shores – never quite came to fruition, but there is still a good number around. Hundreds, as opposed to thousands, yet more than enough to delight those, like me, who await their arrival with bated breath each year.

Locally, waxwings are fairly abundant this winter. A few larger flocks of between sixty and one-hundred birds feasting on berries in urban areas, and smaller groups appearing just about everywhere else: in villages, industrial estates, rural areas and city centres. As of last weekend, one such large flock appeared to have taken up semi-residence in a small, Whitebeam-laden park only a few miles down the road from my front door. It would have been rude, therefore, not to make the short journey to North Shields to seek them out.

Arriving at Laurel Park, a small, urban green space marked by an impressive (and somewhat creepy) statue of Stan Laurel, it wasn’t long before the birds descended. Their chiming, merry calls arriving in advance of their physical form. Filling the ears of the amassed observers – the birders, photographers and bemused locals that materialise wherever waxwings touch down – and heralding the arrival of a mid-sized flock of around thirty birds. All of which quickly took to the treetops, casting a wary eye over the kaki-clad, tripod wielding humans below.

It wasn’t long before the niggling urge to feed eclipsed the apparent cautiousness of the birds and, moments later, the flock descended en masse into the branches of a particularly bountiful whitebeam. Each individual doing their best to toss back as many plump, red berries as possible before the alarm sounded, and the birds returned to their swaying vantage point.

I enjoyed the North Shields Waxwings for a good half-hour, keen to make the most of the spectacle while it lasts. Before this particular band of nomads continue on their berry-fuelled journey elsewhere. Further south perhaps, or inland, where hedgerows and parks are yet to be plundered.

Winter wildlife doesn’t come much better than Waxwings.

An out of focus feeding frenzy

A tree-full of waxwings. Who needs baubles, eh?

Top 10 Facts: Waxwing

Winter visitor. Waxwings are winter visitors to Britain, migrating here from their breeding grounds in the boreal forest belt that stretches from Scandinavia, through Russia and across parts of North America. The numbers that reach the UK depend on the availability of berries on the Continent. In years where berry crops fail, birds are forced to migrate greater distances in search of food, often reaching our shores en masse.

Irruptions. Given that the winter movements of waxwings are dependent on the amount of food available on the continent, the UK can receive anything from a few dozen birds to as many as 12,000 each year. Most years, Britain hosts at least a few birds; though, during irruption years, many more can arrive on our shores. Eastern and northern Britain tend to receive the highest number of waxwings during the winter due to their proximity to the North Sea crossing points.

Mountain Ash connoisseurs. Experts believe Rowan (aka Mountain Ash) to be the favoured food of waxings; though they regularly feast on other native and non-native Sorbus berries in the UK. Among these: hawthorn, cotoneaster and dog rose. With Spindle and Whitebeam are also taken with gusto. Where berries are in short supply, waxwings can often be drawn to an area with apples, either left as windfall or deliberately placed.

Feeding habits. Fruiting plants are incredibly important for waxwings in the winter as they typically eat 800-1000 berries a day, roughly twice their body weight. This changes during the breeding season, however, when the species feeds mainly on midges, mosquitoes and other small insects. It is therefore not unusual to see any waxwings remaining in Britain during the spring feasting on insects.

Selfless Symbolism. Spiritualists believe waxwings to be a symbol of selfless generosity. The symbolism of the waxwing totem is believed to teach selflessness and the practice of giving to others for their benefit, and not your own. Waxwings are traditionally associated with the politeness you should have when you give away to others the thing you have craved for or cherished for so long.

Selfish, not selfless. It is believed that the association of waxwings with selflessness and giving stems from their courtship habits. When a male waxwing sets out in search of a mate, it often carries a berry – passed to a female bird in an effort to impress her. The female waxwing then takes the berry and returns it to the male, with the gifting ritual repeated many times until, eventually, mating takes place. While some may view this as a sign of selflessness, in reality, the male instigates this ritual in order to spread his own genes; thus the process, while touching, is actually rather selfish.

Waxwing separation. Two species of waxwing have occurred in Britain: the commoner Bohemian Waxwing (Bombycilla garrulus) and much scarcer Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum). The separation between the two can often be difficult; though the colour of the bird provides a good indicator. A Bohemian Waxwing has a grey chest and belly while a Cedar Waxwing has a brown chest with a yellow belly. Additionally, if the bird’s undertail is a brownish-orange, it’s a Bohemian Waxwing. If the undertail is white, it’s a Cedar Waxwing.

Cedar Waxwing (Bombycilla cedrorum)

A rare repeat performance. Having visited our shores during winter, individual waxwings seldom return to Britain – demonstrated by the incredibly low number of successful ringing recoveries. That said, in 2010, one particular bird bucked this trend, returning to the village of Kintore, in Aberdeenshire, almost a year to the day it had first been ringed by the Grampian Ringing Group. This represented only the third confirmed record of a waxwing returning to the UK in a subsequent winter from over 4,500 ringed birds successfully banded.

Global Abundance. While we Brits tend to think of waxwings as a seasonal scarcity, they are actually rather abundant. The global population of waxwings has been estimated at more than three million birds, and the breeding range covers about 12.8 million km2. Although this species’ population, as of 2013, appears to be declining, the decrease is not rapid nor large enough to trigger a change to their vulnerability criteria. The waxwing is classified by the International Union for Conservation of Nature as being of ‘least concern’.

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Is It Winter I feel?

Today was exquisite: somewhat underwhelming in the rarity stakes, not outlandish in the volume of species seen and bitterly cold, but exquisite nonetheless. A day off from my studies providing the perfect opportunity for an excursion to the coast, to my local patch, where the wildlife to be recorded, observed and of course, enjoyed, appears to have taken on a distinctly wintery feel.

The day started well, though on a somewhat startling note. A short walk through a stand of now naked Whitebeams resulting in near cardiac arrest as a Woodcock burst forth from the leaf litter in a typically startled fashion, right in my direction. This marking the first of these cryptic waders to grace my patch in quite some time.  My nerves rattled once again – as I departed the grove – where a covey of Grey Partridge promptly followed suit, rising frantically from the patch of rank grass in which they fed before my arrival. Both delightful birds and both species suffering woeful declines at present. I am glad to harbour them both here.

Onwards, into my favoured stretch of waste ground and yet more signs of the shifting season became plain to see. A charm of Goldfinch, perhaps forty or so, calling as they dropped into the denuded branches of an Alder, promptly joined by a handsome male Siskin – another Winter visitor here. Bullfinch could be seen, as could Lesser Redpoll, while a lone Willow Tit issued its characteristic – and somewhat unmelodic – call from a nearby hidden place. Secreted amid the scrub. The real treat coming later, my attention transfixed by movement in some nearby Hawthorns. Waxwings, I hoped, though proper examination soon dispelled my expectations. And here no less than five species of thrush fed in close quarters, tossing back the quickly diminishing berries with gusto. The best of which, in my humble opinion, comprising a pair of Fieldfare – both of which offered my best views of the species so far this year.

Sorry to be stereotypical but it is almost Winter…

Onwards to sea, my arrival delayed somewhat as skein of Pink-Footed Geese passed overhead followed, seconds later, by an altogether more exciting sight. A female Peregrine gliding into view, overhead and beyond, soon carried out of sight by her powerful wingbeats. Another winter visitor to the patch, endearing yet unfortunately breif. Said raptor contributing greatly to my soaring expectations as I took up my favoured spot in the dunes and set about scanning the undulating water of the bay before me. The usual characters, those that fish close to shore, soon becoming apparent. A Red-Throated Diver, two Red-Breasted Mergansers, a Guillemot and a Razorbill. The latter two species diving side by side, synchronised almost, allowing for excellent scrutiny of their contrasting yet superficially similar winter plumage.

An hour later and things picked up, abolishing my desire to leave. Many and more species now passing North and South in loose flocks, bisecting each other’s paths like determined motorists at a T-junction. Ducks were numerous – Teal and Wigeon the most so, followed by smaller numbers of dabber Common Scoter, Mallard and some twenty-five Goldeneye. Gannets too passed by, mostly dull juveniles but also an adult, its yellow head alive in the growing sun. These followed in turn by tapering lines of Cormorant and the odd Shag, Kittiwake and Fulmar. The highlight, however, coming moments before departure – a final scan of the water before me revealing a conspicuous silhouette tagged to the back of migrating group of Scoter. Quick wingbeats, minute size and monochrome appearance immediately giving away its identity – a Little Auk. One of the most sought after winter visitors (after Waxwings, of course) and the underlying reason for today’s excursion. Sometimes it pays to have expectations.

Oh yes, and yesterday on my way to university I FINALLY caught up with some Waxwings. The below photo was taken last year but you get the picture.