The weather is so dramatically changeable that you’ll look a fool whatever attire you choose. I went for ‘sweaty fool’ in a big coat as the sun dashes in and out of dark clouds. My hat is on, off, on, off and my thumb flies over the exposure wheel on my camera as I try to keep track of the lighting.

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For one charming little diving duck, the Tufted Duck, it doesn’t matter how you set your exposure. They are half brilliant, dazzling white and half deep, dark black with a green and purple sheen. Some of their beauty is always lost in the transition from the wild to the screen.

The Red Kites, however, look radiant in the sun. This is, I believe, the male. Smaller than the female, he is gathering nesting materials for their enormous, messy nest that is probably constructed from a combination of these sticks and plastic rubbish.

This framing of this female Gadwall catches my eye; so pretty and dainty opposite the Mute Swan that comes over to ‘see me off’ from the water’s edge.

I capture my first Chiffchaff photo of the year; this little one is saying ‘dweep, dweep’ to itself as it works the trees for insects. When it breaks into song, it gets its chiffs and chaffs all muddled up – no wonder they seem to spend most of the year incessantly practising the notes.

Out in the field, these Crows look suspicious. They’re watching as another Crow dismantles something a few metres away… or so I thought.

But there is a reason they are keeping a healthy distance, which soon becomes clear when the ‘Crow’ raises its head. That enormous heavy bill is a dead giveaway – the Crow is in fact a Raven.

Not long ago, a Raven would have been a very rare sight in my area. Now, they are making up for lost time and appearing in any open, wild landscape they can find. I love hearing their hoarse ‘kronk-onk-onk’ overhead.

Another ominous sound has returned to the skies - bees! I have encountered a few trees in pollen that are positively buzzing, audible from a few metres away. My face has had more than one close encounter with a haphazard bumblebee this week.

Having processed these photos and found myself wanting more, let’s head to Fowlmere. It’s a misty morning so my hopes aren’t high, but we can always pretend we only wanted a nice walk anyway – birds are a bonus.

One of the stars is not a bird, however, but a big Brown Hare.

If male, he will be feeding up in preparation for boxing season. They are powerful creatures, capable of running at almost 45mph (>70km/h). Also thinking about courtship, the Muntjac pair look pretty cosy. The male has his tongue out, attempting to detect the pheromones that will tell him the female is in heat.

If, like me, you’ve ever wondered where their name comes from, it’s a latinised form of the Dutch muntjak, which is borrowed from Sundanese mencek, and unsurprisingly just means ‘little deer’.

I hate to end on a rubbish photo, so before I get to the end let me share this most unlikely of geese. Two circuits of the reserve in, it’s time to go home without a hint of the supposed Russian White-Fronted Goose in with the Greylag.

As I drove up the track towards to exit, one last gaggle of Greylags is resting in the field. I pause to check them for imposters and just before I pull away, defeated, this one wakes up to poke its telltale beak out for a moment. Not just a visiting rarity for the area, but a lifer for me.

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Lastly, another cosy couple: pair of Little Grebes. If you aren’t already familiar with their call, I recommend googling it and playing it loud, in a public place, without explaining yourself. (Let me know how that goes.)

Thank you for joining me on these walks. Fingers crossed for a little bit more sunshine next time around! I’d love to hear what you’ve spotted over the past few weeks – has the change of seasons brought you anything new and exciting?

Gem

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The soundscape for this week’s walk still features the weak ‘seep seep’ of wintering Redwings, and the ‘pew pew’ of Siskins. But they are almost drowned out by springtime songs – most notably from our resident thrushes, Song, Mistle and Blackbird. Their warbles, trills and melodies immerse you in all the shenanigans that spring courtships bring as soon as you step outside.

And the first warbler song of the year came from this extremely loud Blackcap.

Robins and Great Tits also join the cacophony, and the lilting chatter of Goldfinches can be heard in the quieter moments. But not all the birds are ‘singing’ – there’s the loud drumming of Great Spotted Woodpeckers on dead trees, the repetitive shriek of a female Kestrel chasing Crows from its chosen nest site, even the occasional daytime ‘hooooo’ from a Tawny Owl deep in the woods.

There’s a feast for the eyes, too: tiny, tightly balled pink buds adorn the fruit trees, some with the first feathery hint of petals starting to peek out. Brimstone and Peacock Butterflies have started to appear, drifting along the flayed hedgerows that have not yet burst into leaf and blossom.

It even smells different outside now. Air that smelled of damp greys and browns has the vibrant odour of wet greens.

I am grateful for this abundance of distractions from words like cancer and prognosis. But they can’t distract me from the absence of my dad at my side, especially when I visit Fowlmere – one of our favourite local birding spots.

As I walk, I make a mental note of all the things to tell Dad about – like this very round Goldcrest that allowed me to take its photo.

And around a year ago, when I made my first foray onto Substack, it was one of Fowlmere’s most popular residents that I featured: the Marsh Harrier. This year, the pair have returned, although I saw no sign of the male myself.

As recently as the 1970s, there was only one breeding pair of this magnificent bird left in the UK. Now, there are over 700 pairs and while most migrate to Africa in the autumn, some now spend winter here too.

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Our female has been absent, but she has returned a month earlier than predicted – I wonder if she only migrated to the south of the country, or Europe, rather than further afield.

She seemed to be checking out various nest sites, dropping into the reads with her long, yellow legs extended below her.

As she swoops low before such a landing, the nearby waterfowl set off a chain of alarm calls, giving an indication of why the name harrier (from the verb ‘to harry’) was chosen.

The Greylags, however, didn’t feel particularly harried by her as she sat in the reeds.

She didn’t appear to have hunting on her mind today, though she did fly past this male Sparrowhawk in an apparent display of displeasure. He roundly ignored her.

The ducks have the most immaculate plumage at this time of year, as do the brightly coloured finches. Even this Moorhen looked particularly dashing, with its blue-black chest and red-black wings.

There has been work done to remove reeds at the reserve, opening out the space in front of the Drewer hide; my dad and I call it 'the boring hide’ when we forget its name. It’s not, really, as it’s the best spot to see the Kingfisher, and I once watched four Little Grebes foraging just a couple of metres in front of the hide.

But the Greylags used to nest in the reeds under a small tree here, and the reeds have now been removed, exposing the nest site. It’s not clear if they’re going to nest there anyway, but they seemed to be checking out nearby alternatives.

In wooded areas, it’s a great time to look out for a very special little fungus, the Scarlet elf Cup. At first sight, they look like someone has dropped some tiny plastic litter. They’re very small – around 1cm across – and often grow on decaying sticks, hidden away just under the leaf litter.

And of course, it’s Primrose season. These jaunty little flowers love to cling to mossy drystone walls in the parts of the country lucky enough to have them.

I’m hoping that my dad will be out of hospital and we’ll be back at the boring hide before long. I hear the Little Grebes are around, and their trilling, wailing cry is quite something.

I’d love to hear about your springtime sightings – let me know what you’ve seen! Just yesterday, I heard my first Chiffchaff of the year, have you?

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My favourite sign that things are changing is the development of colour on the Black-Headed Gulls’ heads. In a few individuals below, you can see it starting to com through.

The countryside is alive with noise – this is a fantastic time to go out and get to know some of our common species and the calls they make.

The soundtrack still features winter finches and thrushes: the ‘pew-pew!’ of Siskins, the chatter of Redpolls and the weird ‘chuck-chuck’ of Fieldfares.

But there’s a cacophony of spring sounds, too, as our year-round resident birds plan ahead to breeding season: ‘teee-cha, teee-cha’ from Great Tits and melodic songs from Robins that seem to be dotted around every few metres or so.

Song Thrushs’ loud, varied tunes are delivered from a high position, usually in a large tree, and interspersed with impressions of other birds. I heard one confidently mimic a Green Woodpecker, a Buzzard and a car alarm in rapid succession.

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Pairs of Blue Tits are busily checking out potential nest sites, and the Stock Doves are doing their low, rumbling roar once more.

While squirrels can breed year-round here, they must have it on their mind at the moment as six of them (five grey, one black) seem to be endlessly chasing each other along the garden fence and through the tall trees behind our garden.

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Almost as fast as those trees grow new buds, a small group of Chaffinches strip them from the branches and eat them. The sticky sap seems to annoy them, so they regularly wipe their beaks on a branch like a chef sharpening their knife on a steel.

The local woods are a gathering point for Redwings and Fieldfares as they prepare to migrate back to Scandinavia, Eastern Europe and Russia. They don’t usually leave until March-ish, but seem to be gathering earlier than usual this year – I’m holding out hope that they know we’re in for a pleasant summer!

Despite their recent decline, there are still a few Blackbirds to be found. They seem to become shyer in the winter, perhaps taking the lead of their skittish visiting cousins.

I’m hoping to photograph some ducks before I next write, because they are coming into their breeding plumage and there’s nothing quite as spectacular. Even black feathers feature flashes of iridescent green and purple when they catch the light.

Thanks for joining me again. What have you seen this week? I’d love to hear about it.

Gem

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I’d heard the flock of Greylags at one of my usual patches was harbouring some rare visiting geese. Russian White-Fronted Geese and Tundra Bean Geese, both of which would be lifers for me.

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I arrived just as the Coots finished their morning meeting and scattered across the ice. The frozen water had forced the Greylags much closer to shore than usual – perfect.

Unfortunately, they were doing what geese do best: sleeping. And both of the rare geese look very similar to Greylags (of which there were about 400) when their heads aren’t showing. So I scanned the flock for any birds that looked smaller, darker or otherwise ‘different’ and then moved on.

Out on the frozen water, an assortment of gulls stood looking displeased. Lots of Black-Headed Gulls, with their little black ‘spots’ of feathers behind the eyes – all that remains of summer’s black head plumage. And the odd Lesser Black-Backed Gull, always standing alone.

And then this one flew past - it’s between the size of the two other gulls, and has a mid-tone grey back, too. The legs and bill are grey-yellow. And it’s got a decidedly ‘cute’ look, for a gull!

It’s my absolute favourite: the Common Gull. A total misnomer, too, as it’s not common at all this far inland. Unlike the many, many Cormorants that flew back and forth between the two fishing lakes.

The rest of the walk was uneventful, but I do like to keep the Merlin app running and glance at it to see if it’s heard any species I haven’t. This time, a bird’s name appeared without the little ‘tick’ next to it that shows I have recorded it on my life list. A Firecrest!

I hung around, peering into bushes and looking for a small, round bird foraging among the ivy, but no luck. They often stick around, though, so I’ll be back soon.

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I also went to Fowlmere with my Dad for a frosty walk, but the low-hung sun dazzled us most of the way round. We did manage to find a Treecreeper, and stood enthralled as it inspected every nook and cranny on each branch.

If you look very closely at the photo below, you can see a small white grub, presumably clinging on for dear life, in the Treecreeper’s beak.

We finally tore ourselves away to sit insistently in a hide – we were up early and it was freezing, surely we would be rewarded? The hide faced directly into the glare of the morning sun, but it seemed to sear our eyes much faster than it warmed our fingers.

Dad finally noticed some movement – this pair of elegant Fallow Deer – but the sound of our shutters sent them scarpering into an almost invisible tunnel in the reeds.

And with that, we gave up and headed home. I love this time of year, starting a new ‘year list’ of birds. All of a sudden, even Wood Pigeons are exciting again! Hopefully I’ll be back next time with a Firecrest and some fancy geese to share, but if not I’ve no doubt our more obliging species will do the job.

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In the meantime, let me know what you’ve seen, heard, photographed or painted! I love hear what wildlife’s up to wherever you are in the world.

Gem

P.S. Thanks for joining me again this year. Substack was the highlight of a very challenging year last year and I appreciate every comment, like, subscription and tip more than I can put into words. Here’s to 2026!

This is due to the hordes of visitors to Fowlmere, many of them power-walking around while loudly discussing their loved ones’ personal business. They are, of course, entitled to do this. Just as I am entitled to wait until they have passed and do a little scowl to myself.

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Thankfully, the plants are as obliging as ever. I spot this Mistletoe from hundreds of metres away and it stays put as I approached.

I wonder if there’s a Flowerology post about it and of course, there is! It goes far beyond my rudimentary knowledge that the word mistletoe comes from the Old English for ‘sh*t stick’.

The hedgerows are adorned with Hawthorn berries, rather nicely set off by the ‘Old Man’s Beard’ that catches the light. Beard, also known as Traveller’s Joy, is a climbing member of the buttercup family.

And although less attractive, the black berries of Ivy are some of the most calorie-dense food available to birds in winter, so it’s good to see them thriving among their more vibrant counterparts.

Blackcaps are here in some number. Ours head south for winter, but we get an influx of Scandinavian birds in their place. Like many other warblers, they switch from insects to berries throughout winter, so they’ve come to the right place.

The ‘skewered sausage’ flowers of Great Reedmace are looking especially glorious today, too. I admire them for a while, when I notice a flurry of activity near the ground.

The Blue Tits that used to dangle from berry bushes over pathways have retreated into the reeds, where the swaying stems keep them hidden from view.

In the trees next to the reserve, hundreds of Redwings and Fieldfares are chattering noisily to each other.

Despite being too loud to miss, they are several layers of foliage deep and incredibly hard to photograph. This is my only Fieldfare of the year.

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Every now and then, the chattering suddenly gives way to an eerie silence. I wonder what has spooked them – then spot this Sparrowhawk looking accusingly at me from the far side of the woods.

In a bid for some more of that lovely quiet, I head to the ‘boring’ hide. The Mallards are there as usual, preening and dabbling and squabbling among themselves. The odd parent comes in with a kid and says ‘Look, ducks!’ and then leaves.

I rarely see much in this hide. Around 20 years ago I saw a Turtle Dove here (my only Turtle Dove), and there have been Water Voles on the odd occasion. Neither are likely today, but it’s so tranquil so I stay a while.

And today, of course, is the day that one of our loudest yet most illusive warblers decides to show up. Unannounced by it’s usual explosive call, it hops into view maybe 4m away. A lovely little Cetti’s Warbler.

An almost perfect circle! This is almost as surprising as the out-of-season Reed Warbler I spotted last week. It shouldn’t be, as Cetti’s Warblers do spend winter here. But they’re so damn hard to spot!

While Cetti’s are only seen if they allow themselves to be seen, Grey Herons stand at over 1m tall and have a 2m wingspan. This one was, I’m sure, trying to sneak away unseen. ‘Trying’.

At this point, the sound of engines running told me that the carpark was full and someone who would enjoy themselves even surrounded by other people would probably appreciate my parking space. I was happy to oblige!

A quick snap of this little one – a Wren – and that’s it for me at Fowlmere in 2025.

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While we’re here…

Thank you for reading! I turned to Substack as a creative outlet after I was made redundant in March and it’s just been the loveliest experience. I’m enjoying sharing my imperfect photography and artwork and I’m constantly inspired by everything I see here. Thank you for every read, like, comment and restack. Have a wonderful turn of the year… see you in 2026!

Gem

Dark days call for a splash of colour, and the Yellowhammer delivers. These finches never cease to stun me as they emerge from the margins of arable fields, showing off the white feathers at the side of their tails.

The RSPB tells me this is a sight to be savoured: “Populations plummeted by 61% between 1967 and 2020 due to a lack of food and nesting habitat, earning themselves a place on the Red List”.

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Yellowhammers have one of my favourite calls. Often described as singing “A little bit of bread and no cheese”, I always think they sound more like a jug being emptied and then refilled from a tap: an ascending “Glug, glug, glug” followed by a descending “wheeeee”.

My next encounter came as I was hiding in a small woodland, looking for our winter thrushes – Redwings and Fieldfares – which I have yet to photograph to any acceptable standard. A small bird with scythe-shaped wings suddenly rushed onto the scene, high overhead, being mobbed by other birds.

My first instinct was that it was one of our smaller waders, but why would anything mob one of those?

The realisation that this might be a lifer slowly dawned on me.

I pointed my camera straight up and tried to track the bird, losing focus on it twice. The bird’s rapid dash across the narrow opening in the trees would not allow me a third mistake.

Thankfully, luck smiled on me and I captured a few shots: it’s a Merlin. A female Merlin with a very full crop, to be precise.

This is our smallest falcon, which only visits Bedfordshire during winter months. You can read the fuss a previous Merlin at this location caused in this Country Diaries post in the Guardian.

I had to confirm my photos were indeed a Merlin (thank you kindly, ) before I got too excited, because there are two female Kestrels in the area, and as you’ll see below the similarities are striking. It can be hard to trust your instincts when the bird in question is a lifer.

Note the differences between the birds in these photos aren’t the best way to tell them apart – the Merlin, above, does have a dark banded tail, it’s just not visible here. And the Kestrel, below, often has a dark ‘tear drop’ marking, like the Merlin; it’s just very faint on this individual.

Aside from the size, I ruled out a Kestrel because of the long, narrow wings and the short, almost squared tail.

The Merlin appears to have timed her arrival well. A flock of around 50 little streaky finches adorned the Alder trees like Christmas baubles. Redpolls – another winter visitor – have gathered in larger numbers than usual.

Every now and then, a gust of wind would take them fluttering into the air as one, like a sudden drift of leaves, and they would settle at the water’s edge for a quick drink.

These extremely charming little birds are very messy eaters, often ruining a perfectly nice photo by having their beaks and faces covered with seed residue.

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The Datura I wrote about in a previous note has gone to seed, so this fascinating plant looks like it’s here for the foreseeable. I haven’t seen any wildlife eating it, which may be just as well given some of its properties.

And there is still one more lifer to mention – this time, it’s a fungus. I felt sure it would be named Stagshorn due to its shape, but apparently this is Candlesnuff.

And it’s doing what Candlesnuff does best – devouring dead wood. Some of the compounds in this fungus have shown anti-cancer properties in the lab, but it is not edible (in case you were considering it).

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And I can’t help but add this photo of a female Kestrel, perched and regarding me with suspicion. This is not the same Kestrel as the one in the photo earlier – you can see this one’s prominent teardrop marking.

Things are going to change around here…

My new(ish) job involves a lot of writing. I have also just received my ADHD diagnosis. So, I’m taking the pressure off – I’d love this to be a weekly newsletter, but that isn’t sustainable for me 100% of the time.

I won’t dwell on it any more, as I’ve already banged on a bit about missed weeks quite a lot. The words come when they come. I hope you’ll stick around and enjoy them.

Thanks, as always, for joining me on this walk. I’d love to know what you’ve seen out and about this month – have you had any winter visitors to your patch?

Gem

Perching on a low branch, it stops to sing a sweet, high song. He regards the birdwatcher, head cocked to one side. Who is this small bird, who seems to have no fear of humans?

The bright orange breast tells us everything we need to know… it’s a Robin!

ID features

The ‘Robin redbreast’ is one of the first birds many people learn to identify. Its orange throat and breast stands out against their pale tummy and plain brown back, wings and tail. They were named ‘redbreast’ before the colour orange had its own name.

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Male and female Robins look alike, and they keep the same plumage throughout the year. Every Robin’s red patch is uniquely shaped, so you can learn to tell your regulars apart.

They stand tall on longer legs than sparrows or finches, moving with a jaunty hop or run. And they are often the boldest of the garden birds, befriending people and perching atop garden furniture as if to ask “Where’s the grub, then?”.

Juvenile Robins fledge at two weeks old. They have no red on their breast, just a speckled golden-brown where the red will be. They are quite fluffy compared with the sleek adults, and their yellow gape at the corner of their mouths gives them an adorable grumpy look.

Their song is truly beautiful, with a warbling, whistling quality. It’s quite complex and varies through the year. Listen to it here.

They start singing before other bird species each day, and finish later – sometimes singing through the night where there is artificial lighting. They are not shy and will usually pose in the open while singing.

Feeding behaviour

Robins can often be seen darting from a low-hanging branch to the floor to grab a morsel before disappearing back onto their branch.

Alongside worms, Robins enjoy spiders and other insects. In Autumn and Winter, they branch out, adding seeds to their diet. Suet blocks or pellets in bird feeders are a particular favourite, and bags of mealworms often feature Robins on the packaging for good reason.

A true British icon

Robins are often found near human activity that disturbs the ground – including allotments, graveyards and near livestock like pigs. They are much easier to befriend than other species of garden bird, partly due to this proximity.

There is a theory that this is also because English people would historically never harm Robins thanks to their link with Christianity (keep reading for more on this). Other European nations held no such association, and killed them with as reckless abandon as any other species.

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While not quite as gruesome as the Great Tit, there is a darker side to this otherwise charming garden friend. Up to 10% of all adult Robin deaths in a year can be attributed to… other Robins. They are very territorial, and it’s not unusual to see two male Robins engaged in a brutal skirmish.

Something special

The Robin is said to have gained its red breast in a variety of ways. Here are a few of the theories as to how they came by their distinctive splash of orange:

• By plucking a thorn from Jesus’ head as he was on the cross, or singing to comfort him, and being splashed with his blood.

• From fanning the fire that kept baby Jesus warm in the stable.

• By getting scorched as it fetched water for souls in purgatory.

These remarkable little birds have certainly captured the imagination of British people for centuries. Scientists have spent a long time studying Robins, as they are able to sense the Earth’s magnetic field via their eyes. This is thanks to a neat system that involves quantum entanglement (and other highly technical-sounding mechanisms).

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Where to spot a Robin

Like many of the birds in this series, Robins are found across the British Isles – everywhere except the very highest of highlands. They are common park and garden birds, but you can find them anywhere with enough insects to go around.

Easily confused with…

The distinctive red breast and plain brown wings, as well as its unique shape, mean the Robin is not easily mistaken for any of our common British birds. These are the two closest.

Stonechats have a similar golden hue to juvenile Robins, but they have streaky plumage where the Robin’s back and wings are a uniform brown. Stonechats also often have a pale or white collar, but this isn’t always clear. Check out the comparison images:

Male Bullfinches have a cherry-blossom pink breast, but are easy to tell apart due to their black head, grey back, black-and-white wings and enormously chunky beak compared with the Robin’s very thin one.

Bonus Robin facts

• The Robin is regularly voted the UK’s favourite bird.

• Postmen, wearing red, used to be referred to as ‘Robins’. It’s thought that the sight of these human ‘Robins’ delivering Christmas cards is why the bird is so closely associated with the festive season.

• The words in the Latin name, Erithacus rubecula, are from the Ancient Greek for ‘unknown bird’ and the Latin word for ‘red’, respectively.

• Robins were initially called Ruddocks, then Redbreasts, but in the 15th Century people enjoyed bestowing names upon birds and so ‘Robin Redbreast’ came about.

• Robins are often said to bring messengers from loved ones in heaven (perhaps due to their hanging about in cemeteries). There’s a saying, “Loved ones are near when Robins appear”.

• Old nicknames for Robins include Ruddock, Bobby, Robinet.

• In Winter, male and female Robins have their own territories and sing a slightly less jovial song than their Spring/Summer tune.

• There are collective nouns for a group of Robins despite how territorial they are: a blush, bobbin, babble or breast of Robins.

• The American Robin is a thrush, and is not remotely related to our Eurasian Robin, which is an Old World flycatcher.

Have you seen a Robin this week? Did you know the rumours about how they got their red breasts?

All photography is my own unless otherwise credited.

It’s easy to hear… but not so easy to find where it’s coming from.

A change to the song – to a ‘pew-pew-pew’ – indicates you’re getting closer to the source. The alarm call is coming from a nearby log. A small – no, tiny – round bird hops furiously from twig to twig, ‘shooting’ you with bursts of laser fire (pew-pew-pew-pew-pew!). It is, of course, our most common bird: the Wren.

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Note: This little bird is so hard to photograph, I have sourced some images from the wonderful community here on Substack. I highly recommend following everyone who has contributed! And if you’d like to see a lot more Wrens, check out ’s collection on Flickr.

ID features

The Wren is yet another ‘small brown job’, and this one is smaller than the others. But what it lacks in stature, it makes up for in style… and volume. It has a characteristically stubby tail that is often cocked straight up in the air. The roundness of the body and this little stub give it quite a distinct look.

There is subtle yet beautiful barring on its chestnutty wings and tail, and a pale eye stripe is often visible. The chest and tummy is a slightly paler brown, and the legs range from grey to orange to pink.

Wikipedia does a fantastic job of describing their calls and song:

The most common call is a sharp, repeated “tic-tic-tic”, similar but faster and with less isolated notes compared to that of a robin. When the bird is annoyed or excited, its call runs into an emphatic churr, not unlike clockwork running down. The song is a gushing burst of sweet music, clear, shrill and emphatic.

Feeding behaviour

Wrens mostly forage alone, though sometimes appear with a partner or near small flocks of tits and finches. They move quickly, prying into every little nook and cranny. They feed mostly on small insects, especially larvae, grubs and caterpillars. They do eat some seeds, but these make up a much smaller portion of their diet.

Skulking, singing and sunbathing

It’s a busy little bird, hopping around the undergrowth and along the ground, often on walls and around garden furniture. It sometimes perches up high to belt out its remarkable song. If you’re lucky, one might inspect the corners of your windows for spiders!

They also love to sunbathe, when the opportunity arises. You might see them splayed out on top of your shed roof or on artificial grass, for example – looking for all the world like they’ve crash landed.

Sunbathing helps spread the oil produced by the preen gland, which keeps their feathers in good condition. As the temperature rises, it can also force parasites out from between the feathers.

Where to spot a Wren

‘Where’ to spot a Wren is not the challenge, as they live across the whole of the UK except the very highest highlands, year-round. How to spot a Wren is a different story!

Fortunately, they often have a favourite spot, so if you hear one singing its heart out then you’ll likely see one in that area if you visit often enough. For example, there is one that hangs around the conifers in my parents’ garden, and every now and then I catch a glimpse when I open the back door.

Putting a shallow bowl of water out somewhere near shelter can help, as many traditional birdbaths are far too deep for a wren to bathe in.

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Alternatively, keep an eye out in shrubs and on piles of fallen logs when you’re out and about and you might even catch a glimpse of a Wren as it perches in the open - momentarily – to check you out.

They rarely venture high up into the branches, so look out for mouse-like movements at eye level and lower.

Easily confused with

Cetti’s warbler

Another explosively loud bird, Wrens and Cetti’s Warblers can be tricky to tell apart – especially as they often have twigs or leaves covering up their main identifying features! Cetti’s, however, have a slightly longer tail and no pattern on their wings or tail. They are bigger, too, and less likely to look like an almost perfectly circular bird.

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Cetti’s are found near water, so while that can help you rule them out in dense woodland, if you’re near a river or pond it could be either.

Dunnock

The Wren shares a lot of behaviour with the Dunnock – skulking around in and under hedges, occasionally perching up high. But the Wren is much smaller, often has a yellow lower mandible (the bottom half of the beak) and has a paler throat/breast.

Dunnock’s have lovely streaky backs, while the Wren’s pattern is more delicate and shows mostly on the wings and tail. Dunnocks are usually grey around the face, too, while Wrens are brown and buff all over.

Bonus Wren facts

• The Latin name, Troglodytes troglodytes, comes from the Greek for ‘hole dweller’.

• Wren nests are often made in thick undergrowth, and are dome-shaped with a little hole at the front. They sometimes make use of man-made objects like old footwear or pots inside sheds, lining them with twigs to create a nest.

• In winter, Wrens often roost together – cuddled up in corners and old nestboxes.

• Our Eurasian Wren is the only ‘old world’ Wren (which is why it’s simply called ‘Wren’ without any additions descriptors).

• There are 96 species of Wren in the world, including the Giant, Rufous, Tooth-billed and Happy Wrens.

• Male Wrens build the nests, which females then choose from to select their partner. Both parents incubate the eggs and rear the chicks. However, a male Wren may have more than one female Wren raising chicks at the same time.

• In folklore, a Wren and an Eagle competed for the title of King of the Birds by seeing who could fly the highest. The Wren flew on the back of the Eagle, only letting go to fly higher still once the eagle tired – winning the title with cunningness rather than strength.

• The ‘king’ title follows the Wren everywhere. It is called Zaunkönig (king of the fence) in German, winterkoning (winter king) in Dutch and King of the winds in Japan.

• There are thought to be up 113 million adult Wrens living in Europe.

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Have you seen a Wren this week? Did you know they’re the most common bird in the UK?

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Broom Gravel Pits is still owned by a tarmac company, but the wildlife doesn’t care about trespassing. This spot is a haven for waders and waterfowl despite being further from the sea than almost any other body of water in the UK.

The Little Grebe, above and below, seems to have found a Crayfish in the flooded quarry. They created quite the commotion, chasing each other around in wide arcs.

After a while, the chasing adult gave up and let the juvenile enjoy his catch. I continued along a winding footpath, crunchy with golden leaves. Today is uncharacteristically quiet.

Until, that is, you approach the main section of water. Here, hundreds of Greylag Geese have gathered, alongside gulls, ducks and around 50 Lapwings.

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The only bird ‘song’ is the honk-onk-onk as the geese come in to land, and the occasional warbling wail from a Little Grebe.

But before long, Gadwalls join in with a peeping alarm call. The Black-Headed Gulls add their crying screams and a couple of Lapwings take to the wing with hysterical peeee-eeeee calls… something has spooked them.

The hysteria spreads and soon all the smaller birds take to the air in a flurry of whooshing wings. The sound of a hundred goose feet splashing as they scramble to get airborne adds to the din.

A large bird of prey appears, flying purposefully over the trees. Not the lazy flap of a Red Kite or the high-up soaring of a Buzzard, but around the same (impressive) size. It’s a wandering Marsh Harrier – a female, with chocolate brown plumage and a yellow-white crown and throat.

She flies in characteristic Marshie style, big, busy flaps over the scrub at the water’s edge. Her long, black primary feathers give a finger-like appearance to the tip of her wings.

Here and there she pauses, lifting with her wings stretched upwards as her long yellow legs drop down below her. She’s looking for unsuspecting waterfowl – often Moorhen – though the crescendo of alarm calls surrounding her surely makes her task difficult.

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After several passes and no successful catches, she moved on. But eyes still skyward, there were other fearsome hunters to watch out for.

First, a Kestrel appeared on the scene like a bullet in shape and speed. The black tear-drop under her eye, the black band at the tip of the tail and that short-yet-streamlined shape tell us she’s not a Sparrowhawk.

This one is a female – larger than the male, with no blue-grey head and darker brown plumage.

As if that wasn’t enough, she shows off the Kestrel special – a perfect hover. Unlike Buzzards, who can only give the appearance of hovering by flying into a stiff wind, Kestrels can perform this trick on the stillest of days.

When she moved on, I thought the Marshie had returned. Less noise from the waterfowl, however – and a forked tail soon showed it to be a red kite.

They have a slow manner of flapping and soaring. This one is extremely large, so must also be a female. She soared over the path and tree tops, then briefly out into the open for a photo opp.

Spending most of their time scouring the ground for carrion rather than hunting for themselves (though they are certainly capable of doing so), she quickly clocks me and my camera. Disliking the obvious attention, she moves over the trees and disappears from sight.

Time to move on. With all these birds of prey around, there is unlikely to be much bird activity for a while, so it’s time to go home! Thankfully, I had left a memory card in my camera when I sent it off, so I have some rather charming photos to share from a month ago.

This Jay was posing on old farm machinery, looking decidedly like it was up to something.

We watched each other for a while. It soon realised I wasn’t going to go anywhere, so it produced the treasure it had been hiding and made off.

An acorn! No doubt destined to be hidden in some nook or cranny for consumption at a later date… if the Jay remembers its location.

I have enjoyed photographing behaviour instead of just pretty still shots this week. These birds will be with us throughout winter, so hopefully there will be plenty more shenanigans in the coming weeks!

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Thanks for reading. As ever, I’d love to know what you’ve seen this past week or so – wherever you are in the world!

Gem

You never know who might show up, so always look up when you hear that rush of wings overhead! You might just see a flock of Spoonbills.

This weird and wonderful bird flies with its legs and neck outstretched, and with that enormous beak it looks quite bizarre as it does so. They used to breed in the UK until the 17th century, and have recolonised as of around 2010.

The number of breeding pairs is still counted in tens rather than hundreds, so they are scarce but not an unusual sight in this region. So sights like the below aren’t quite as surprising to the locals as they were to me!

The visitor centre is nestled among some trees, and from there you can take a long gravel path across tidal marshes to the sea. Turning off from the path takes you past ponds to hides that look out over the fens, or to big hides over the scrapes.

Scrapes are shallow areas, often revealed or increased in size by the retreating tide. They are the perfect spot for wading birds to forage.

Take a look at the mixed group above. From left to right we have a napping Lapwing, a Black-Tailed Godwit and a Black-Headed Gull. Then in the main group we have a few Golden Plover – which gather in their hundreds here – and some sleeping Shoveler ducks.

But who is that little grey bird with the white neck right in the middle? Just hiding behind a duck in the image below.

A Ruff – sadly not in its fantastic breeding plumage (seriously worth a Google!). And there are groups of birds all over the reserve with little surprises like this one hiding among them.

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The scrubby marsh on the left of the main path almost disappears under the very highest tides. It is, therefore, topped up with invertebrates, molluscs and whatever else waders are looking for when they feed. But once it has dried out again, the land-loving regulars come back, too.

A female Reed Bunting is just about the most obliging year-round poser you’ll find. And the male follows suit.

Of course, there are Dunnocks and Linnets to be seen. Scrubby bushes near busy paths is a great place to photograph these birds. The backdrop looks ‘wild’, but the birds are used to people coming and going.

At this time of year, many of the birds that have relied on caterpillars and flying insects to feed their young are now eating seeds. They gather in mixed groups to do so, often taking off in a cloud of alarm calls before you even realise they are there.

The waders join in, with Redshanks making a beautiful piping call as they flee.

The beach has its own ‘regulars’ – Turnstones – who potter around in little groups. They can be seen clinging onto the rocks while foraging among the seaweed, even while being battered by wind, rain and waves.

And everyone’s favourite small waders: Sanderlings. They are tiny and have a real ‘cutesy’ expression. They run towards the sea as the waves draw back, then retreat up the beach as the water surges forward again.

But the most enchanting sight I saw here might surprise you… it’s a goose. Or rather, thousands upon thousands of Pink-Footed Geese, arriving here from Greenland and Iceland.

If you arrive at the reserve early, you can watch the sun rise as skeins of geese in V formation fly overhead, calling. As more geese arrive, you can’t help but feel quite small and insignificant – quite a reassuring feeling, I think.

Housekeeping

I have departed from my rule not to write about anywhere that costs money to access. I believe you can see all of the wildlife mentioned here at other locations nearby that are free to access, but I don’t have the local knowledge to be sure.

I am interested to hear any feedback on this decision, especially if you have any strong/negative opinions about it! I often only have a day or two in each location, so I do tend to head to the big paid-for reserves. RSPB charge £7 to access this reserve; I will refrain from focussing on some of the pricier reserves.

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That’s all for this week! Thank you so much for reading. As usual, I’d love to know what you’ve seen out and about while I was in Titchwell!

Gem

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This secretive bird is the Water Rail. You’ll find these across most of England and Wales in places that have reeds and aren’t too busy. They’re here all year, but this is a particularly good time to see them as the vegetation they usually hide in is dying back.

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Listen out for a shrieking, squealing call, but be prepared to sit and wait… very patiently. They are not easy to spot! Despite being ‘green listed’ (meaning they aren’t a concern in conservation terms), most birders consider them to be a special sight.

A new visitor to keep your eyes out for in the centre of England is this charming yellow finch, the Siskin. Buckle up, because they are utterly fascinating, so I’ve lots to say! (They also happen to be one of my favourite birds.)

This is a male – he has a black cap and bib and more defined streaking and yellow colour. Apparently, the size of the bib relates to their position with the flock hierarchy. I’ve seen some males with barely any black under their beak at all, so this one might be quite an important chap.

They do live in the South and North of England, and in Scotland and Wales, year round, but in summer they’re hard to find. There’s even an old German legend that they hide a magical stone in their nest that makes them invisible during the breeding season.

This one is feeding on the seeds in the cones of an Alder tree, one of their favourite foods. Siskin’s streaky plumage and habit of feeding very high up make them difficult to spot. But they do make a delightful ‘pew, pew!’ call as they fly about in flocks, which can alert you to their presence.

Finally, they are very unusual among birds in that they do a thing called ‘allofeeding’, where subordinate adults regurgitate food for the dominant ones – the males feed males, and the females feed females. All in all, a very unusual finch.

While it’s easy to mourn the bustling boughs of leaves we’ve grown accustomed to over the past six months, the bare branches do have their benefits. Treecreepers are small, shy and brown – hard to spot in the shade of a full canopy. Not so any more.

They’re often so absorbed in their business – the business of picking bugs out of crevices – that they don’t notice you watching them. They start at the bottom of a tree and work their way up, then fly down to the bottom of the next tree and start again.

It’s also time to consider saying goodbye to your favourite invertebrates, as they may soon disappear until next year.

This striking moth is a Red Underwing. They fly from late July to the end of September, but usually land with their red ‘underwings’ hidden. When showing, it’s thought that predators might think the red section is the whole moth. If a bird was to peck just the red section, the moth would likely survive the damage and be able to fly.

The Common Darter is one of our most common dragonflies. It prefers still water – from ponds to lakes – and can be seen until November. They aren’t territorial away from breeding areas (water), so sometimes gather in large numbers to hunt across fields.

As they hunt by ambush, you might find a suitable perch with a row of Common Darters on it, all waiting for some unsuspecting prey to pass by. That is, if a Little Egret hasn’t eaten them all…

In woodlands, migrant Goldcrests are arriving from Scandinavia and Russia to join our resident birds. At this time of year, they can be found in flocks of ‘assorted tits’. I saw several small family groups in with Long-Tailed Tits this week.

The time of their migration coincides with Woodcocks, which gave rise to the rumour that Goldcrests would catch a ride on their backs! People didn’t believe tiny Goldcrests could survive crossing the North Sea by themselves, so this was the obvious answer.

And of course, winter thrushes are due to join us over the coming weeks, too. Redwings make a thin, whining ‘seep, seep’ call, while Fieldfares are much bigger and make a kind of ‘chack-chack-chack’ call.

They’ll be gathering wherever there are berries to eat, from Dogwood trees to Hawthorn and Rowan (as in the photos).

There are some birds that manage to stay hidden despite the bare branches and lack of leaves. See if you can spot the two in this photo:

The one at the top of the heap is admittedly pretty easy if you know you’re looking for it! This is a pair of Snipe, and the second one is on the lower-left of the heap of foliage. Their cryptic colouring kept them so well hidden that a marauding Moorhen almost stood on the one at the top!

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That’s all for this week. I’d love to know what you’ve seen while I’ve been rustling around in the reeds (again!) – have any winter visitors appeared near you yet?

Gem

My beloved camera should be back in my hands in a week or two, and I’m planning to take it somewhere special to celebrate.

These beautiful highland cows were browsing and resting on the chalk hills where I went looking for the Pied Flycatcher I’ve been dreaming of seeing for years.

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My Granny – Scottish – pronounced it ‘heeland coos’, and I’ll never not say it in my head when I see them. These coos certainly attracted plenty of flies for a potential flycatcher to feast upon.

But after careful checking of photos, the five Flycatchers I spotted were all Spotted (not Pied). Still beautiful, and endlessly entertaining to watch. I can wait for my first Pied.

Elsewhere, this illusive Stoat – was taking a break from defending its reputation as a fearsome hunter. For twenty minutes, it danced and bounced and rolled on the membrane used to suppress the reeds at a local cress-bed reserve.

The Mallards and Moorhens nearby kept a very close eye on its antics, but the Stoat wasn’t thinking about food.

The same location gave me my much-longed-for first photo of a perched Kingfisher.

He’s a male – females have an orange lower ‘mandible’ (the bottom half of their beak).

You can usually tell if a bird is an adult or juvenile, because juveniles have a white tip on the very end of their beak. This bird has lost the very end of his beak, but I do suspect he’s an adult.

On the walk that saw my camera’s demise, there were gravelly paths alongside a canal, lined with Buddleja bushes.

The Buddleja blooms are magnets for butterflies like this Large White, while the Common Blues prefer to hang out in long grass where the Knapweed and Ragwort was flowering not long ago.

Overhead, the Ravens have been very vocal the past few weeks. I snapped this one while borrowing my Dad’s camera.

That diamond-shaped tail that comes to a point (though it’s less obvious in this photo) and the bulging throat are tell-tale signs that this is not a Crow. So is that bulky beak and the sheer size of the bird.

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They’re doing well in Hertfordshire and Bedfordshire, following a decade or more of increases in their populations. As a kid, I’d never have seen one of these unless I was on holiday far away. Now, they nest alongside Peregrine’s at the nearby electricity substation.

This beautiful Robin is showing off some beautiful plumage. It has come through this year’s moult and is ready for it’s role as ‘star of the festive season’ in a few months’ time.

On this week in 2023, I borrowed a macro lens to explore my garden in finer detail. These Parent Bugs were some of the most obliging subjects.

They are a type of Shield Bug, but have earned their name because all other Shield Bug species abandon their eggs to their fate without a backward glance. The female Parent Bug stays with her eggs and young, protecting them until they are full grown.

Talking of babies getting all grown up – this year’s Goldfinches are finally getting some red on their faces. Until now, they’ve been very plain (and the subject of many ID requests on Facebook bird groups!).

Over the coming weeks I’m hoping to visit a beautiful pine woodland to share here. It’s a bit of a monoculture (except for the patches of invasive Rhododendron).

But the striking orange sand and dying-back bracken against the deep green of the pine trees make for a nice change of scene. And with partridges, woodpeckers and winter finches (eventually), it can be surprisingly lively.

Until then, let me know what wildlife you’ve encountered this week. And thanks for being here!

Gem

This week, we’re crunching through the leaf litter in a small deciduous woodland. There’s a marked change in the air now, with ‘cold’ being the presumed default temperature when waking in the morning.

At the very edge of this small ancient woodland, the wild wind carries leaves and insects haphazardly along the hedge line. A glut of fallen crab apples is starting to rot, pleasantly souring the air. Wasps whizz past my head, only semi in control of their direction of travel.

Moving into the woods, the tree-line offers protection from the howling, chilling, drying wind. It’s much darker in here, but also warmer and damper. A range of new sounds can be heard: creaking old trees, crunching leaves and the alarm calls of a flock of assorted tits.

There’s the Blue Tit’s sharp ‘peep peep!’ and the Great Tit’s growly chatter, all with a backdrop of high-pitched tweeting from the Long-Tailed Tits.

Mostly, these birds remain hidden by the leaves that the trees are still clinging onto. Every now and then, one breaks cover to take advantage of a particularly tempting food source.

Sometimes, you catch an out-of-place Spring or Summer call, like the Chiffchaff’s signature song. Perhaps it’s a youngster, practicing? Or an adult declaring its territory for the winter.

I encountered an extremely strange sound in the woods this week – it sounded like a sad, slow chicken, but it was at the top of a very tall beech tree. I’d never heard anything like it, and with migration underway there’s always a chance something really odd will show up!

I paced around the bottom of the tree and cursed its thick canopy of leaves as the sad chicken mocked me with further cries. Then, a small distance away, the distinct drumming of a Great Spotted Woodpecker started up.

And the chicken answered it! Or rather, mimicked it – not by drumming, but with a throaty call that sounded remarkably similar.

At this point I felt sure I’d never find out what was making the noise, although the mimickry pointed towards some sort of corvid. As I stepped back from under the tree, ready to give up… there it was. A large, black bird perched on the top of the tree.

My mysterious misery-chicken! A Carrion Crow.

They’re weird, they’re clever and they’re SO charming. And they stick with us throughout winter, so hopefully I’ll get to know this one a bit better over the coming weeks.

As you may know from my many frenzied Notes, I broke my beloved camera. But I dug out my old Pixel 6, which has a far superior camera to my current phone. It’s not good enough for birds or mammals, but it captured an array of smaller (yet equally stunning) ancient woodland inhabitants. There is so much to see!

There are… Hornets, gathering pollen from the ivy.

Snails, balancing precariously on leaves after a downpour.

Mushrooms and toadstools pushing their caps above the leaf litter, or pouring out of dead wood.

Magical moss covers everything from waist-height downwards.

Ivy climbs and covers everything that the moss does not.

All manner of creatures are drawn to the Ivy, which produces an abundance of pollen long after the summer flowers have all faded.

Even old, dead trees that have seemingly nothing left to give are riddled with life – microbes, fungi and invertebrates slowly break down what’s left.

It’s a profound moment, seeing a 100-year old trunk turned back into dust. Dust that will nurture the saplings that will support the forest ecosystem for the next century to come.

Thank you for joining me on my wander, I hope you enjoyed it even without the usual range of birds! I was surprised how much I loved hunting for these little scenes with just an old phone to capture them.

Jasper was proud to find this (disused) Badger sett. I often wonder what he’d make of badgers (and what they’d make of his badger-face markings!). What did you see, while I was scampering in the woodland with Jasper this week?!

Gem

It’s one of the most exciting times of year for birdwatchers – Autumn migration is starting. Look to the skies in any part of the country, and who knows what you might see?

Many of our own birds are on their way South. But there are also birds from colder parts of Europe who use the UK as a handy stop to refuel on their journey. Some even stay to enjoy our relatively milder winter.

This week, I was on the beautiful North Devon coast. I headed to Fremington Quay, as it often appears on my BirdGuides as hosting rare visitors, as well as being home to many of the usual seaside suspects.

On arrival, you drive along a single-track road with a little wooden fence that separates you from the mudflats, exposed alongside the tidal river. Tempting though it is, you can’t take your eyes off the road to look at the abundance of waders foraging alongside the river!

I managed to stay focussed and reach the carpark, and immediately headed to the bridge. On one side, the brown river trickles towards you. On the other, the estuary opens out into a wide ocean vista, with a pebbly beach down one side. That’s where I’m heading first.

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Here, the salty sea air becomes somehow more briny, thanks to the brown-green seaweed heaped over the rocks. The only birdsong is the bickering of Black-Headed Gulls, which have only a small speck of black summer plumage remaining – just behind their eyes.

As I scanned the crowd of gulls, though, a brownish shape was moving around behind them. Like most waders, it kept its head down for a frustratingly long time, hiding its most identifiable feature: its beak.

A kind man with a camera like mine had tipped me off about a Black-Tailed Godwit, or ‘blackwit’ around here. Could this be it?

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When it did eventually raise its head, a long, downward curved bill became apparent. Not a blackwit, they have straight bills. So this is a Curlew or a Whimbrel. Curlews are larger, with more uniform golden-brown plumage on their heads and an enormously long beak. Whimbrels have a pale stripe above their eye and a dark ‘crown’ above that, and their bill is slightly shorter and less curved.

A Whimbrel*! Pacing the line where the waves lap the beach, it probes its beak almost to the hilt, looking for molluscs and crustaceans. Anything caught gets thrown swiftly to the back of the throat in one deft movement. It’s fascinating to watch them as they work the shore.

*The photo above is actually not a Whimbrel. It’s a juvenile male Curlew (thank you for your kind correction). You can sex a Curlew by the length of its bill; females have a longer, more curved beak. I’ll leave the photo in for comparison with the image, below, which is indeed a Whimbrel. This is testament to how difficult ID-ing waders can be. And now we all know how to sex a Curlew. Win–win!

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The terrain changes as the path meanders over a grass verge, which you follow the top of until you come to a duck pond. The pond, to the left, is alive with Little Egrets, bathing gulls, ducks, a family of Mute Swans and a wailing Little Grebe. There are often Cormorants among the egrets here, but I can only see one and it looks… weird. Proportionally, it’s all wrong.

This bird has a long, downward curved beak… but this is not a Curlew or a Whimbrel. It’s black! This is Fremington’s most famous guest: a Glossy Ibis that has visited the location on and off for years. I managed to get a record shot (heavily cropped, above) then turned heel and ran from the approaching squally downpours.

Back across the beach, some newcomers had arrived. Large waders, brown – with straight beaks. I thought the Godwit had evaded me, but it was just gathering its friends! Seven in total, purposefully striding alongside the Oystercatchers, gulls and Whimbrel.

I honestly thought that was it for the day, and was pretty happy with my haul of photos. But on my drive out alongside the river, one of only four precious parking spaces was available! I have waited years for the chance to inspect the tidal mudflats up close – and I was not disappointed.

At first, lots of Redshanks. There are about 70 in the photo below, whereas I usually only see one or two at a time at other locations.

Then a Greenshank, not a bird I see very often. I love how cute and unassuming they look. Their darker wing feathers are bordered with intricate details – extremely pretty.

Somehow, the star of the show was something I’d already seen – a Glossy Ibis! The same one? I don’t know. I assume local birders would have noticed if there were two here. Closer this time, allowing a better photo, though the dull light didn’t fully showcase the beautiful iridescence of its feathers.

But it didn’t keep my head turned for long. Nor did the Grey Heron or Little Egrets, or even the Buzzard that scattered the waders as it patrolled overhead.

Emerging from the long grass, the missing puzzle piece. A sideway glance from this tall, golden bird with exquisitely detailed plumage reveals the beak of the day. It’s a Curlew!

Critically endangered, these birds have the most hauntingly beautiful call (listen to it here). I’ll never forget waking up in a campsite at the coast to hear their song echoing across the countryside.

While our Curlews often spend their winters in Ireland of France, we get an influx from Scandinavia, so they can be seen on most of the English coastline year-round. The UK and Ireland are home to 25% of the global population of this species and, like many of the birds in this post, they are on our ‘red list’ of most endangered bird species.

The muddy margins of a tidal river might not make the most photogenic backdrop, but thanks to the nutrients in the silt they support a huge range of invertebrates, and therefore the birds that feed on them too.

And perhaps best of all, they’re often free to visit. Just… don’t venture onto the actual mud. It’s extremely dangerous (and entirely unnecessary).

Thanks for reading – I’d love to hear what you’ve spotted out and about while I was gallivanting in Devon!

Gem

Just two minutes into our walk from Marble Arch we were treated to our first (short-lived) downpour. As the sun poked its head out again, we were momentarily transported from the Serpentine (the lake in Hyde Park) to the seaside by the sound of a Herring Gull in full ‘song’.

I’m always in awe of the volume of their cry – it could be heard over the cars, buses, planes and general din of the city. A harsh sound, yes, but necessary. Back in their natural environment, it needs to carry for miles over the sound of the wind and waves crashing against cliffs.

There is perhaps just one bird in the park that is even noisier – the one we’re really looking out for.

Ring-Necked Parakeets are the most exotic feathered residents, except, perhaps, for the Pelicans ‘round the corner in St James’ Park. The parakeets are everywhere, and rumours about how they came to live here are rife.

I rather like the one about how they were released for a scene in a film at the famous Elstree Studios, but no one had considered how they’d re-capture them afterwards.

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It’s also known that Jimi Hendrix kept some parakeets, and apparently enjoyed watching them fly around him while he smoked… and perhaps left his window open one day. There seems to be no agreement on which rumours are true.

I suppose I can’t casually mention the Pelicans in London without explaining. Gifted to us in the 1600s by the Russian Ambassador, Pelicans have lived in St James’ Park ever since – wings clipped, but free to roam.

(I remember the first time I encountered them. It felt like a feathery fever dream, as I had no idea they were there, and my colleagues at the time acted like they were no different to the pigeons all around us!)

The Grey Herons here aren’t as numerous as the other species, but they make themselves known with their ugly squawk when they arrive. Usually seen elegantly picking fish out of the water (and inelegantly swallowing them whole), these Herons are less fussy. (I dread to think what they eat here, aside from the fish and mice, but they did join the occasional throng of birds around a tourist dishing out huge chunks of bread.)

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Those throngs are a pretty wild mixture, at times. The only birds that really kept their distance from people were the Great-Crested Grebes, who at this time of year have humbug babies with them – sometimes riding on their backs! And the Goldeneye and Pochard ducks were both a little shy.

We created our own throng with a scattering of peanuts, and as I knelt to hand-feed the pigeons, Greylag, Egyptian and Canada Geese, a lumbering presence appeared out of the water. A Mute Swan! Rumoured to have strength enough to ‘break a grown man’s arm’, there is actually no record of this ever having happened. But you do have to wonder…

Fortunately, the swans were in good humour today. Alongside them, Crows, Coots and Moorhens scrambled to pick up any crumbs.

But best of all, the Starlings. I can’t tell you how special it is to feed these little birds in person. At home, they descend on the feeders in a flurry of wings and beaks and noise – then depart again as soon as they spot you. Here, though, they sidle up to you as you eat and even sing next to you.

I only had my small bridge camera with me, but that was plenty good enough thanks to the bravery of these urban birds.

Wild This Week usually tackles the latest seasonal occurrences, but the beauty of London parks is that most of these birds are here year-round. The paths are accessible and there are cafes, toilets and benches everywhere. It’s free, the gardens are beautiful and the wildlife really isn’t shy.

Purists may say it’s not ‘wildlife’ at all. But for some people, it’s the only green space they can access. So who cares?

I had a wonderful time sharing something I love with a friend who would not describe herself as a birdwatcher, and the pizzas we got from the cafe on the Serpentine were far better than anything I’ve eaten at a nature reserve.

And when I needed to recharge after seeing quite so many people all in one place? I just head back out to my local chalk hills (where I saw absolutely nothing!).

Thanks for reading. Let me know what wildlife you’ve seen in your nearest town or city!

As you enter, you choose your path on a forked, gravelly track. Both routes wind around a corner, so you can’t see what’s ahead. On my first of three visits, I chose the opposite path to usual: right.

As you round the bend, there’s a grassy meadow on the right and tall trees. Common Reeds line the path, currently catching the sun on red seeds.

And in such sunny weather, you might catch a glimpse of birds with their wings splayed out, eyes half closed – sunbathing. Usually, it’s male Blackbirds I see in this pose, or Robins and Dunnocks. Supposedly, the warmth of the sun on their jet black or brown feathers helps to kill off some of the mites and other parasites.

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This time, a young Wren was so absorbed in its feather maintenance that it didn’t notice me watching. Its usually neat, stubby tail was fanned out beautifully for a moment before it took flight.

The first hide, the Drewer Hide, is just around the corner. It looks out over the waterway, with ducks, geese and Moorhens foraging in a pretty clearing in the reeds. I usually only give this hide a cursory visit, as I rarely see anything else. But today, I had received a tip-off that a family of Spotted Flycatchers was in attendance.

And so they were – bursting out of the tree to grab small insects in flight, then back into the tree before I could snap a shot! I love these drab little birds, they have such charming faces. And they’re hard to see in the few short months that they’re here! Look out for bursts of activity in tall trees and over waterways.

A feeble, high-pitched call could be heard from deep in the reedbeds. According to the Merlin app, it was a Marsh Harrier. But surely a huge bird like that doesn’t make such a small, whining sound?

Well the young ones do, and this young one was trying to encourage her dad (above) to drop his kill – perhaps a young partridge – to her. The adult began crying too, though a much stronger sound from him. He was insisting she take to the wing and catch the food mid-air. She had other ideas!

As he flew round and round, he attracted the unwanted attention of a passing Buzzard.

Fortunately, both adult birds seemed to have full crops, indicating they had already fed well that day. The Buzzard abandoned his efforts fairly quickly, and the Marsh Harrier kept hold of his spoils, begrudgingly delivering them direct to his offspring safely nestled among the reeds.

Further on from the hide, the path joins up with the chalk stream. And here lives one of our most charming mammals – the Water Vole. This is a good time of year to see them, especially in the morning, as the young are feeding independently outside of the nests now.

The path and stream are also lined with flowering Hemp Agrimony at the moment, which the bees love – and so do I!

Also known as ‘raspberries and cream’, it’s not actually related to Hemp at all. Apparently, if you cut the stems it has a sweet aroma, but I decided against cutting any down on the nature reserve to find out.

Another highlight at Fowlmere is the range of huge old Willow tree trunks along the path and stream. There are several fallen – some dead, some still producing leaves – with knurls and knots and twists, too big for me to get my arms around.

This one was home to Chicken Of The Woods, so safe to at least try to get my arms around. The next was home to a nest of Hornets, so I admired from a distance as they whirred past my head making that menacing buzzing sound.

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There’s an abundance of dragonflies to be seen here, too. Less menacing and more like a clattering, clicking of wings than a buzz, these fearsome hunters stopped to check me out on the boardwalk a few times. This is a wonderful time of year for dragonflies, too – the air is alive with them and they pose very obligingly when they do pause for a moment.

But I’m getting ahead of myself! Before you get anywhere near the boardwalk you encounter a manmade clearing in the reeds – the old cress beds. A 1909 book extract describes how a dam allowed this flatter area to flood, so that watercress could be grown for export to nearby London.

In the late 1930s about ten men were employed full time with another three being taken on at busy periods. There were also six women who bunched up the cress. Lorries loaded with wicker baskets full of cress went to London’s Covent Garden Market. … The main cress beds ceased production after the 1950s although W Hallworth was still supplying the markets and the village in 1965.
(L W Price, Foulmire Moor and Fowlmere RSPB reserve, 1994)

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Less fruitful on these visits, the main hide looks out over a (currently water-depleted) mere. There were unusual visitors – Yellow Wagtails – and a flock of Lapwing. But little else to be seen. The lizards on the boardwalk were still waiting for the sun to warm the wood in the afternoon, so no sightings of those, either.

Away from the reserve, I spotted two more of this seasons’ treats I want to share with you. First, a spider that I have been dying to see for years: the Wasp Spider.

That zig-zag form in the web is called a ‘stabilimentum’ and no one really knows what it’s for. These beautiful creatures look fearsome, but are not medically significant. Unless you’re a male Wasp Spider! They wait for the female to moult so that her jaws are soft prior to mating, but many still get killed and devoured after the act.

Equally as beautiful, the mossy rose gall or ‘robin’s pincushion’ seems to be having a good year.

This beautiful form is the rose’s immune response to wasp larvae that hatch from eggs laid in the leaf buds. Scientists aren’t sure exactly how, but the larvae stimulate the rose to develop large cells in the area, which the larvae eat. They also stimulate layers of tissue to develop, which form the fibrous growth pattern you can see above.

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As you can see, nature is still busy being delightful and intriguing (and slightly weird) as summer starts to draw to a close. I’d love to know what you’ve seen over the past fortnight!

Thanks for reading along,

Gem

Perhaps most endearing of all their traits is the way they flap up into the air and then swoop downwards, starting again at the bottom of the arc – seemingly just for fun.

Of course, it’s a Wood Pigeon – our largest and most common pigeon.

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ID features

The Wood Pigeon is not just the largest of all our pigeon species, it is much rounder than the rest, too. Their beaks start out greyish and weirdly bulbous as chicks, but turn candy yellow and red as they mature. Their eyes also change as they become adults, from dark grey to yellow with a black pupil that has a characteristic ‘smudge’ at the bottom.

Their necks feature a white patch on either side, with iridescent green just above. To the front of this white patch is a purple hue that stretches down the breast. The rest of the bird is grey, with black accents on the wings and tail.

In flight, you can see a characteristic white stripe running from half way along the front edge of the wing to the back of it, separating the long primary feathers (resembling fingers) from the more solid section of wing. You can just about make it out in the stock photo below.

They have a cheerful, slightly vacant expression on their faces. Their song – a low, rumbly yet charmingly tuneful ‘hooohooo hoo, hoo-hoo’ can be heard in treetops and from fences and telephone wires through spring, summer and autumn.

Feeding behaviour

Wood Pigeons seemingly never stop eating. They have a very varied diet, ranging from the usual seeds and berries that you’d expect, through to crop plants like cabbages and grains. They also eat young buds and shoots from trees, nuts and whatever they can scavenge in parks and towns.

Clowns of the bird world

In my recent Wild This Week, I wrote about some of their sillier behaviour:

They make truly terrible nests, often just a few twigs balanced on a branch or some other non-flat surface. When they do, by some miracle, hatch some chicks, it’s kinda up to chance whether or not they look after them.

They nest pretty much year round, and the young ‘fledge’ well before they can actually fly. This makes them a regular feature on local Facebook pages, when concerned folk find the young pottering uselessly around in the garden, often provoking pet cats and dogs.

They also make a relatively easy target for Sparrowhawks, although a large adult pigeon would be a tough kill for the smaller male Sparrowhawks – the females have no such issues.

If you have a bird bath in your garden and you’ve seen an oily, dusty residue on the water’s surface, that was probably left by a Woodie. They love a bath, and their feathers are coated with oils and dust to keep them in good condition.

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Where to spot a Wood Pigeon

There are five million breeding pairs here in summer, with more joining us in winter from the continent. You can find them in any woodland; listen for its lovely call and the ‘clapping’ sound their wings make when they take off. They can be seen on the ground, in bushes that are far too small to take their weight, and trees. In towns, they hang about in parks and gardens.

Easily confused with

All of our pigeons seem to get new birders in a tizzy. The most similar looking, in my opinion, is the Rock Dove.

This is the ancestor of all domestic pigeons. It is therefore often lumped in with ‘feral’ town pigeons. This is because it’s impossible to tell a true ‘Rock Dove’ apart from a feral pigeon that has the same colouration. Rock Doves typically only live on coastal areas in north Scotland and Ireland.

The two in the photo above are the typical colouration you’d expect to see when someone mentions a Rock Dove. They have no white collar on their neck, but they have many similarities with Wood Pigeons apart from that: the grey colour, black wing and tail accents, iridescent green neck and often purpley colours on their chest.

However, as people often use ‘Rock Dove’ to mean ‘Town Pigeons’, the variation in colours is wide. They can be anything from white through to brown and very dark grey, with all kinds of patterns.

Rock Dove’s eyes are usually red or orange, and have a round pupil – unlike the Wood Pigeons weird blurred almost-circle in a yellow-grey eye. They are also smaller than a Wood Pigeon.

But not quite as small as the next bird – the lovely Stock Dove. This is a very small and shy bird with beautiful pure black eyes that give it a very ‘cute’ look. It has a small, neat beak, but does share the Wood Pigeon’s green and purple neck colours. Again, though, it has no white collar. It is often seen in woodland, arable land and near the sea.

The third bird people get mixed up with Wood Pigeons is smaller still – the Collared Dove. As you might expect, it does have a collar!

Fortunately, it has a black collar, and is a pale grey all over, so it’s easier to tell apart from the Wood Pigeon than the other species. It hangs out in gardens and parks, often alongside Woodies, giving the opportunity to compare and contrast.

Bonus Wood Pigeon facts

• The words in the Latin name, Columba palumbus, mean ‘dove’ and ‘wood pigeon’, respectively.

• While wild Wood Pigeons rarely live beyond three years, the oldest recorded was more than 17 years old.

• They have lots of nicknames, such as woody (which I use) and culver, cushat, cushy-do, quist, zoozoo. They may also be called ‘pigs’ (from ‘pigeon’). Their offspring are called ‘squabs’.

• Wood Pigeons are widespread, but have (somehow) not reached the Americas. Well… except for one, in 2019, who was sighted in Canada.

• In folklore, Wood Pigeons symbolise peace, tranquility and freedom. They also seem to symbolise nostalgia, especially in rural communities.

• Both the male and female Wood Pigeon can produce ‘crop milk’, an extremely rich substance on which their chicks feed exclusively at first. This is unique to pigeons and a very small number of other species, including some flamingos and penguins.

• While most birds fill their beak with water then tip their head back to swallow, pigeons can actually ‘suck’ by creating a vacuum (like we do). Perhaps to help the young consume that crop milk?

Have you seen a Wood Pigeon this week? Did you know they can suck? (I didn’t – that little nugget of gold came from . Give her a follow if you need more nature writing in your life).

I have noticed, on our walks, the dense nettles are at their most rigorous right now. Between those and the exuberant brambles, the footpaths are shrinking down to narrow tracks. Stingy, spiky, narrow tracks!

It’s becoming increasingly dangerous to walk underneath any nut-bearing trees, too. I’ve had clumps of young hazelnuts and several beech masts launched at me by Grey Squirrels. Intentionally? I’m not sure. (I suspect so.)

The rest of this post will make use of last year’s observations from this week. It was another great week for invertebrates. This Marmalade Hoverfly was one of many on the dandelions and other ‘weeds’. It’s the most common species of hoverfly in Central Europe and has a preference for yellow flowers.

The first photo is of a male, as the eyes touch together in the middle. The next photo, there appears to be a gap, which means it’s a female. While this information sounds useless, remember it – it also applies to Horseflies, and female Horseflies are the ones that bite.

And this little Red Velvet Mite – what a find this was!

They are so-called because… well, look at it. They’re luxurious. This one has caught an unlucky seed bug of some kind, possibly birch catkin, and is going to devour it.

At only 4mm long and with that velvety appearance, they are one of the most endearing arachnids you might find on your plants.

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Once you’ve stopped digging around in the leaf litter for mites, this is a great time of year to look up. The Swifts have gone, but the House Martins and Swallows are still preparing for their long flight south. They chirp and chatter away as they catch flies in ever-growing flocks.

But if you’re very lucky – and especially near large bodies of water – you may spot a larger, equally aerodynamic bird: the Hobby.

This noisy photo is far from what I prefer to share with you, but these birds are fast and they fly very high up, often with the sun directly behind them. So this will do – especially as you can see the main identifying features:

• The black mask. Although this is also seen in Peregrines, these birds are smaller, slimmer and have two other unique features.

• The vertical stripes on the chest. Sparrowhawks and Peregrines have less distinct, horizontal marks.

• The orange ‘trousers’. You can just make them out below the vertical stripes. Mature male Sparrowhawks do have a reddish tint to their throat and flanks that sometimes extends to their leg feathers, but in Hobbies it is very pronounced, present on both (adult) sexes and limited to just the legs and underneath of the tail.

These remarkable hunters can be seen snatching dragonflies out of the air – no mean feat – and eating them as they fly. In lieu of a better photo, this stock image/illustration does the trick (though I have to question whether they ever really perch with their prey in their feet, given the above description of their mode of hunting).

I am finding that the burden of an unwanted house move has dampened my ability to write. Every few lines, I scroll up to see if I have written ‘enough’, yet. Previous weeks, I’ve struggled not to write ‘too much’!

So I will finish here with another stock photo, because I can’t find my own picture of this beautiful bird that never fails to cheer me up – the Bullfinch.

I love that adorable face and beautiful blush colour, not seen on any other British bird. Bullfinches are in the UK year-round and make a delightfully melancholy ‘fewww, fewww’ call that helps you locate them in the summer foliage.

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And here’s the female, who I believe is equally as beautiful. There’s something about that enormous wedge of a beak that looks like a weapon paired with their meek-yet-jaunty expression that just makes me smile.

I hope to go to a nature reserve for the day next week, which will provide me with the photographic fuel and mental fortitude to write the next edition with a bit more vigour. Thanks for bearing with me!

Just two asks:

• Let me know what you’ve seen this week in the comments. It always makes me smile!

• If you aren’t also receiving my Birdfolk posts that introduce a different bird each week and you’d like to, add it onto your list by going to your profile settings and finding 'Birdfolk’ in your list of subscriptions. This week’s was a slightly shocking introduction to the Great Tit. Next week’s is the Woodpigeon – which so far looks to be a bit less of a horror story.

See you next week!

Gem

It’s got to be the (seemingly) more polite cousin of our Blue Tit – a Great Tit!

ID features

With a black cap, chin stripe and breast streak, the Great Tit has a neat little uniform. The thickness of the black collar and stripe tells you if it’s male or female, with males having more black plumage. However, there’s overlap between the thickest black pattern on females and the thinnest on males – like many things, it’s an indication rather than a sure way to tell.

The yellow breast, olive green back and dark legs are shared with the Blue Tit, but this bird averages 18g to the Blue Tit’s 11g, so it’s much bigger. They do also have an alarm call and other sounds that anyone with a bird feeder will likely recognise – the alarm sounds to me like “seep, DWEEE-EEEP”, and the others are pleasant chirps and tweets.

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But their ‘tea-cher’ courtship call is their signature sound. It is a sure sign that Spring is in full flow.

Feeding behaviour

Much like their blue cousins, Great Tits largely feed on insects when they’re available and supplement with seeds and fat from feeders as required. I say it’s more polite than Blue Tits, because the smaller bird often chases Great Tits away. But Great Tits themselves can be quite aggressive to other species!

A bit of a horror show…

The Great Tit is the most widespread species in the Parus genus of birds, and does not migrate. If you’ve spotted one nearby, you’ll probably continue to be blessed with their presence.

I was initially concerned there wasn’t much ‘special’ about Great Tits, and this might be a bit of a dull read. As ever, mother nature has proven me wrong – check out this fact, courtesy of Wikipedia:

It is predominantly insectivorous in the summer, but will consume a wider range of food items in the winter months, including small hibernating bats.

Wait… what?

So I dig deeper, and it turns out these otherwise ordinary little birds are actually ridden with bloodlust. That rather neat little beak of theirs is capable of cracking acorns and hazelnuts, so it’s got the means. And according to many and varied sources, here are some of the things it likes to eat at the expense of others:

• Winter caches of food stored by other birds.

• A Goldcrest (a very small bird)

• Redpolls (a small finch)

• Yellowhammers (actually quite a large finch)

• Carrion – that is, dead farm animals in particular

• “the fat and other tissues of hanged people”

They have also been found happily nesting on the mauled remains of Spotted Flycatchers who dared to choose a nest site that the Great Tit fancied. Bettina Boxall gathered all this knowledge in a letter to Scientific American, titled Great tits: still murderous, rapacious, flesh-rending predators, which I have to say I would have been perfectly happy to have never read.

Where to spot a Great Tit

These beautiful little birds are found across the whole of the UK, except the highest highlands and the northernmost islands. They are originally woodland birds, but happily visit gardens in towns and cities too.

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Easily confused with

Great Tits are bigger than Blue Tits and have black heads and chin/chest stripes. They do share many features with Blue Tits, such as the yellow chest, white cheeks and olive green back. Fortunately, these lookalikes often hang about in mixed flocks, making it easy to contrast the two species against each other.

Coal Tits also don’t have any blue or yellow on them, and feature a white stripe down the back of the head that Blue Tits lack. They are very small and also tend to dart from cover to the feeder and back again, which can make it hard to get a clear sighting of. They may also be found in mixed flocks, but often are found on their own or in pairs in deep woodland.

Bonus Great Tit facts

• The words in the Latin name, Parus major, mean simply ‘tit’ and ‘larger’.

• Regional nicknames include: big ox-eye, black-capped lolly, black-headed bob, joe ben/joe bent, sawfinch, saw sharpener, sharp saw.

• Great Tits have been seen using pine needles to extract insects from underneath bark.

• Great Tits adapt their song in urban areas with low frequency noise pollution, including higher frequency notes – presumably to make themselves heard over the din.

• Welsh mythology associates Great Tits with healing.

• Estonian folklore credits Great Tits with bringing good luck and happiness (unless you’re a sleeping bat, presumably).

• Great Tits are highly social birds, forming strong bonds with their partner and other members of the flocks that form in autumn.

• Great Tits are one of the most-studied of our British birds, with tonnes of ecological research benefitting from their propensity to use manmade nest boxes and tolerate human presence.

Have you seen a Great Tit this week? Did you know that they’re predatory?

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Thankfully, most of the juvenile birds in my garden are now indistinguishable from the adults and are well able to find food for themselves. The last remaining visibly ‘babyish’ birds are the two Woodpigeon squabs. Woodies nest almost all year round, so out-of-season fledglings is the norm.

This one is starting to grow into his previously oversized, bulbous beak – because his body is now also rather bulbous. He still looks a bit scruffy, and lacks the plumage features of his parents: a white ring around the neck and a blush of irridescent green around that white collar.

He does have the pink flush on his chest, though it isn’t as deeply colourful as on the adults. His eyes appear dark, like an anime character’s, unlike his parents’ yellow eyes with black pupils that feature a weird smudge.

Woodpigeons are hilarious. They make truly terrible nests, often just a few twigs balanced on a branch or some other non-flat surface. When they do, by some miracle, hatch some chicks, it’s kinda up to chance whether or not they look after them.

The first two squabs in my garden seemed to be a source of great annoyance to the parents. The adults spent more time chasing them away than nurturing them. These two, though, have been thoroughly doted on. And they have grown used to my quiet presence on the garden bench, too.

Autumn’s bounty

It feels strange to mention Autumn when the sun is shining and the schools have just closed their doors for the ‘summer holidays’. But it’s August, and the trees and bushes are laden with fruits.

Blackthorn bushes are heavy with their dusty blue fruits. As a child, I’d collect these berries and rub the pale dust off of them to reveal the deeper blue underneath. My sister and I created a complex barter system, with these berries and pastes made from blackberries mixed with chalk as currency. We didn’t know these berries as sloes, so we made up our own name: goochenberries.

Elderberries have also appeared, overnight, on the trees lining the edge of the woodland. Elderberries are in the Sambucas genus, which comes from the Ancient Greek word ‘σαμβύκη’ (sambū́kē) for a wind instrument. Elders and other shrubs in this genus have a soft, marrowy centre to their twigs, which can be removed to create a hollow stick that may be fashioned into a whistle.

With a little more effort, the berries can be turned into wine and cordial. The output created by that additional effort seems to be well worth it, to me.

Fungus season

Where fledglings were stopping me in my tracks and delaying me on my walks, now there is… fungus.

These Giant Puffballs are currently about 10cm across, but they could reach 50cm! Unless, that is, someone harvests them. These are one of the best ‘beginner’ fungi for foragers, according to Wild Food UK, due to “the only lookalike being a football when spotted from afar”.

Not far from these huge, round blobs I discovered some small, black ones. King Alfred’s Cakes!

They grow on fallen trees and can stay put for years. These ones are on a relatively recently fallen tree, so I suppose I better get used to seeing them.

With a name like that, you’re hoping for a story, right? Here’s the Woodland Trust to explain:

King Alfred lived in the 9th century when parts of Britain had been overrun by Vikings. Trying to escape them, he took refuge in the home of a peasant woman who asked him to watch over her cakes, baking by the fire. He let them burn and was scolded by the woman for his negligence. It is said that embarrassed and ashamed, he scattered the cakes to get rid of the evidence.

These lovely little fungi are also called ‘cramp balls’ as carrying them about with you was said to protect you from getting cramps. Despite their delicious name and medicinal properties when carried, they are not edible. Not poisonous – just too hard and nasty to eat!

They do serve other uses however, as they burn well. Firelighters, charcoal and a way to move fire from one location to another are listed as possible uses on Wild Food UK, as well as… handwarmers. Though they don’t say if you have to warm them on the fire first (or how!).

Get them while they’re hot

Finally, something warming AND edible: sweet chestnuts. The nuts are forming inside those spikey balls, soon ready to be broken open and gathered (if the squirrels don’t get there first). Roasted on an open fire is, I hear, the best way to prepare these snacks.

I’m generally hesitant to eat anything found on walks, even sweet fruits, because I don’t really like surprises. I prefer to know what something will taste like before I try it, and wild foods rarely offer that security. But I might be tempted on my next wander, with blackberries everywhere.

I certainly won’t be taste testing the King’s burnt little cakes, however.

I suppose I’d better add some more birds. The Greylag Geese are gathering in huge numbers at my local flooded gravel pit – the noise is quite remarkable. But especially so because this is next to an airfield, so often there is the drone of a biplane doing acrobatics overhead, which sends the geese into a tizzy.

Here’s today’s acrobatic plane with a backdrop of honking.

And among all those geese, a single Common Sandpiper was probing the mud. This is the first photo I have managed to get that shows off the way the white plumage stretches up over its shoulder, setting it apart from all other sandpipers. But it’s quite tiny next to our largest goose species – bottom left of the photo to see what I mean.

That’s all this week, thank you for joining me on a belated stroll around the countryside. I can’t wait to see your fungi photos that I know are going to flood my feed over the coming weeks! And any birds you may have spotted this week too, of course.

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