King Me

Kingfishers in the North West region of England are surprisingly hard to come by, certainly in Cumbria. Records of their distribution are patchy across the National Park and breeding records suggest no more than 200 birds occur (2006). Take a long walk along any river in Cumbria in search of these vibrant little birds and you are by no means as assured to spot one as you would be further south. I hoped that Wreay Woods would be, at least according to the leaflet (pictured), as good a bet as any. So I grabbed my binoculars and set off for the day.

Wreay Woods, situated approximately four miles from Carlisle city centre, Cumbria, represents a fragment of the wild wood. Knareled trees reaching skyward with an ancient presence, as magic as any fairytale but the wild wood is real. Or should I say was real, we have lost much of it. The woods brim with flora and the fallen limbs of mighty trees provide dead wood that is hugely important to the rest of the wildlife. You can walk the course of the River Pettrel that runs through the reserve. The mix of semi-natural woodland and flowing water running through it offers further habitats for a wide range of species and the banks become lush with lichens and mosses. The river has cut out a deep gorge in the sand stone that formed the sloping sides of the wood. As the path follows the river the steep wooded slopes on both sides provides shelter within the gorge. What could be on the river? I'd hoped I'd get dealt a good hand that day.

I entered Carlisle by train at 8.15am. I toyed with the idea of taking my bike on the train but I was in no rush, and besides I prefer walking. I've found walking much easier than knowing what to do with a bike when I'm out wildlife watching because I find myself constantly stopping or detouring. Or I just want more freedom to go where bikes can't.
I noted the urban sprawl dissipate to farmland as I walked the long road to the reserve just out of Carlisle. The change was gradual but apparent. It makes me think about the way we live simply from observing this gradual change. I wondered to myself how we ever became this way, living entombed in a cold, chaotic, concrete world. How did the human race ever come to this desperate place. New developments of properties that I passed on my walk were void of personality, clinical by creation. The same housing developments we see over and over again, one simply a replica of the next. They are little lego houses. Yet this force seems unstoppable, the need to build more, ever encroaching and ever encasing us. A black tide. We are a beautiful species. We are capable of such greatness. We are all so much more than this but the developments go on and our world grows cold. Where is your heart? Where is your soul? Not in this place. Not at this time. Not any more.

Having made it off the ring road towards the entrance here is a pictorial account of my journey....

A Grey Wagtail put in a welcome appearance. The dippers on this stretch of river were beginning to start nesting. I watched as they both flew up and down the river gathering straw for nesting material and flying into a small hole underneath the bridge that was obviously a suitably roomy nest site even though, a little like with bats roosting, it doesn't always look it.....

 ....underpass just off the ring road....

 .....Taking a wander through a wood on the slopes leading to the nature reserve I found Wild Primrose....

 ....some of the trees were spectacular in their twisted age being a remnant of the ancient wood.....

 ....On entering Wreay Woods the wood itself was very quiet.

A Jay called its horse call and Greater Spotted Woodpeckers were drumming.

The occasional Wren burst into song.

I caught sight of a Nuthatch briefly. I didn't go that long without seeing a Dippers or a Grey Wagtail on most bends as I followed the river.

After making my way through the reserve I exited the boundary's of the site. The path continued but from here on in things were about to get allot more tropical....         

 It looked like they had a serious problem with rhododendron. Inside of the reserve management has obviously been good at keeping this invasive species under control.

I look forward to coming back in the summer. Unfortunately a Kingfisher was not on the list of species I saw today. Doubtless I will return to try my hand again at looking for them as this is a very nice stretch of river and I know they are here! On my way back it remained just as quiet. I did however observe where one pair of grey wagtails were attempting a nest for this year. Oh, and one buzzard over the motorway. Homeward bound I think.

Hedgerow planting- A day volunteering

Hedgerows are an essential part of the ecology of farm lands. They provide shelter, corridors for wildlife and an abundance of rich berry's and fruit in the autumn to sustain wildlife ahead of the coming winter. Sadly intensive farming methods, neglect and the replacement barbed wire fences as a more effective means of securing livestock, as well as the brutality they face from excessive strimming at the end of each season has resulted in a devastating loss of hedgerows in recent decades. I spent a day volunteering planting trees that will eventually re-establish into some productive hedgerows as part of ambitious long term project by one land owner to turn grazing pasture back to woodland for wildlife and for the people.

                                          

On arrival we were directed by signs laid out prior to our arrival, tree planting this way. Eventually a large tent came into view. Rob and his wife greeted us as we arrived at the project site dirrectly off a public right
of way route, Orton. The village of Orton, located directly south of Penrith, Cumbria is an island among a desert of cultivated grassland. Rob explained to us how the village with its gardens represent a heaven sanctuary for wildlife where for miles and miles there is nothing but sterile fields and broken boundary's. He talked to us about how his friends and tourists see the Lake District. "It's so lovely and green. Wow, it looks SO GREEN". "In fact", Rob continued to explain, "its not natural in the slightest". "There's one species and one species only on that field. The farmers have planted foreign Rye grass which has then been heavily fertilised. The number of species of insects it supports is none.". He then pointed out the difference between the colour of the field we stood in to the surrounding fields. It was clear to the whole group that the field we stood in was fairly neutral compared to the vibrant green fields around us that now stood out like sore thumbs in the landscape. "It took us a long time to return the grass to this back to the colour it is now." his wife pointed out. Fertilisers obviously last for a long time. So much for England being a green and pleasant land. What a sham! "It's amazing" said Rob "that you can step over the boundarys of areas protected for wildlife amidst all the agricultural land around here and instantly you can hear the sound of bird song filling the air. Step back out of these reserve boundary's however and its a different story.".

 (filling in gaps with hawthorn to improve the density of the hedgerow)

One of the hopes raised in the plans for this small slice of land in its infancy was that it may help a much publicised endearing creature. Red squirrels are found in the village Rob informed us. Its hoped that they will naturally find and colonise this woodland as an extension of their range. With no routes to move out of orton and expand the population in all directions due to extensive agriculture they are as marooned here.
The woodland will be open for all who wish to respectfully enjoy it. Rob doesn't believe in privatising land. "England is a very private place." he said. Essentially people should be able to have the freedom enjoy and explore the spaces around them. Only a number of days before us school children had been helping to plant trees. The vision for this wood is great and will benefit everyone provided the sheep stay on their own side of the fence! Smash and grab attempts by sheep who have found a hole in the fencing and infiltrated the wood have needed to have been booted back out again and gaps blocked up on the odd occasion. Sheep are extremely effective at stopping regeneration as they don't give anything a chance to grow and are not welcome full stop. In order to stop the sheep eating the saplings once we have finished planting on the outside perimeter of the hedgerow a fence needed to be erected. Saplings needed to be planted to improve the density of cover the hedgerow provided and also fill in any gaps so that the corridor remained unbroken.

In order to manage and maintain the existing hedgerow the large hawthorns that grew to dominate the rest of the hedge line during the time the hedge was left to its own devices completely unmanaged needed to be cut back. They then would not compete for resources with the rest of the hedge in the same way. I found it interesting as Rob talked us through the management of these hedgerows just why the larger hawthorns had been cut as pictured above. The reasoning is that by splitting the tree to become exposed the hawthorn should then regenerate lots of new shoots from these cuts. Enough of the rest of the tree remains in tact to the roots so that sap continues to flow to the rest of the branches. This will eventually help to yield large amounts of berry's thanks to this method.
 The woodland within the field the hedges surround has damson trees at its edges to encourage polinators and insects. This improves the rest of the woods diversity of wildlife and fruits are always important as a good resource for the creatures of the wood. Local experts in apple trees have also supplied some fine trees with the same linage as wild apple trees that would have grown in natural hedgerows. The whole project is about restoring the balance and by keeping predominantly native species of trees, insects birds and mammals that co-exist being interdependent on each other can hopefully be once more restored . There is a small section of nasty conifer woodland although they said they had planted yew and scots pine which are native so its not all bad, just a bit random. Bees, although drowsy as the warm spring weather was a touch too cold for them that day, have been situated in a hive placed within the woodland. The project seemed well under way.

The Team (some of them): What a happy bunch.

I hope more land owners will come to the fore in the coming years with ambitious ideas like Rob's in the hope of giving our countryside the breathing space it needs. There are always people willing to help those with vision and a pure heart.
If you would like to help next years tree planting season contact your local wildlife agency.
Here is a link to a recent inspirational idea that saw the planting of a million trees to commemorate the queens jubilee.
www.woodlandtrust.org.uk/en/jubilee-woods

Life on the tracks

Its a humbling thought that, given the opportunity, nature can naturally recover. Right up to the largest scale destruction or disaster down to the smallest of cracks in paving stones or tiny patch of space left to exist untouched.
Amongst the industrial estates and once heavy industry a small wood that naturally began to re-establish itself back from the small pockets it is now reduced to has, in recent times, become a nature reserve.
The nature reserves at Kingsmoor, Carlisle, Cumbria represent what remains of a much larger forest that existed a few hundred years ago. I visited the southern reserve which has a trail with information points that detail what the site was used for before it was reclaimed by nature.

recolonising on the old lines

I arrived about two hours before dusk, the warmth of the sun on my back. Spring was becoming more apparent in the woods with every visit. Today the sky was dusty. The light was beautiful. It fell, softened by the dust, into the woodland illuminating every insect on the wing. Occasional small clouds of midges in the warm glow. The woodland remained quiet. For such well worn paths I thought I may have seen someone sooner than I had. Just me and a single dog walker. The rest to the local dog walkers must still have been having their late afternoon tea and sand-wedges, enjoying the evening themselves, before their decent into this small woodland to empty their four legged companions.

As I acclimatised to the sound I was hearing, stopping on the path and listening to the sound of the evening, I realised I was listening to my first Chiffchaff of the year. These little birds are migrants although some stay here for the winter. In the absence of so many migrant species, now returning once more, I find reaffirming identifying birds by song from last summer always needs a quick recap. It felt good to be delving back into the memories of hearing them last summer. Spring suddenly felt that little bit closer to bursting into life.

A single Bluebell had bloomed one delicate flower. During exploring the rest of the wood it seemed I might have found the only one currently in bloom. The days are getting warmer and I can feel it. Even the air I sense is different. Its warm with the rising heat from the ground bringing the scent of spring to the senses. Those days of crisp, clean air during February are passing. The bumble bees are out of hibernation and I caught sight of a few during the evening over the open grassland and in the woods. Its still too early for good views butterflies recently out of hibernation, certainly on my evening wander. I caught sight of a couple but the weather is not warm enough or predictable enough to allow them to fly daily so they need to feed constantly.

On my arrival I had investigated an unusual bird call from high in the canopy. Eventually the mystery call reviled itself to be a coal tit. The call was a constant perpetual sound noticeably different in quality to make me wonder what was making it. It didn't seem to be alarmed. Later I heard the same sound and observed that again, it was indeed another coal tit. This time however the intention of the call appeared more obvious. The coal tit in question was hounding for the attention of a female coal tit, at least so I interpreted the behaviour strongly suggested. The male vocalising was franticly trembling its wings whilst adopting a certain posture to the presumed female that he stayed in very close proximity to. Every time she moved, he followed insistingly. I watched as the bird vocalising, postured vocalising straight at the other, beak wide open, giving it all he was worth. I can't say definitively it was courtship behaviour, how could I? I can't ask it. However going on the observations made, it sure looks like courtship. The other bird did not return aggression and neither did the vocalising bird act as if it was a conflict situation.

I moved on. The two coal tits continued, moving from tree top to tree top in the direction I had come from. By this point I was near turning to head back as the path looped and returned myself. On return I clocked a small handful of long-tailed tits and a rabbit on up the track. I also inspected some of the fallen wood among the grass shortly before leaving to find another harborer of spring. Three Ladybirds, great to see, spring here we come, and worth a few pictures to show for it....

Living on a prayer

Travelling at over seventy miles an hour the two sea rescue boats from Cardiff pounded over the surface of the water. The sea spray was numbing the passengers faces against the power of the resisting wind. The two boats bounced like skimming stones to the noise and power of the engines. The spray felt as sharp as hail stones at this speed. We were heading towards a small island, little more than a large rock with a sheer sided exterior, in the middle of the Bristol channel. The force of the wind pulled at our faces giving the same effect as a pilot under a G-force. Me and my sister exchanged a wordless glance. This wasn't in the brochure?!?

The boats had been hired to take us to Steepholm island and the passengers were your every day sight see'ers. This was not your average day trip, as we were to discover. The driver of our particular boat seemed to like his rock music. The speakers at the back of the boat blasted out the Bon Jovi song Living on a Prayer above the sound of the engine. The journey alone was a bracing and an enlivening experience. Couple that with some good rock music and your onto a winner!
My sister and I chose to go to Steepholm after our initial plan to visit Schomer fell through. We wanted to investigate some of the off shore islands none the less. The island of Steep holm is designated a nature reserve and has a fair amount of history behind it. The main interests for naturalists being the flora and the large gull colony with reference to a few other sea birds possible. Looking back I can say this place is without doubt one the strangest places, if not the strangest place I have ever been. Its strangeness does make my skin crawl. Its former past feels tangeable, clinging in the air, mysteriously unknown yet unnerving in its presence.

The island loomed ever closer, looking like a true fortress. Slowing down the boats one after the other docked beside a short portable metal platform that was wheeled into the water when we arrived. It was little more than some welded metal with a hand rail and thick plastic wheels but it did the job. We stepped onto land. Standing on large stones upwards the size of your fist that had been worn smooth by the sea. A worn path led from the beach winding up the vertical cliff face in front of us to an old world war two building that was now a cafe. At the top a second path led to the various circular routes around the island. As the group ascended the slopes and split off in various directions we noted the first strange thing about the island. On reaching the top we found blackberry bushes that were still in flower and the few fruits that were there, were still small and green. Not one blackberry, and this was the height of the season. Back on the mainland we had seen bushes laidened with fruit only a few days before this trip. It seemed this island was stunted and out of balance. The bushes dominated the island uncontrollably. We wondered amongst ourselves where all the pollinators were.

This islands appeal is a strange one. We met visitors who regularly came to the island time and time again for the tranquillity of the peace and solitude. A handful of gardeners tend to the island. They have their own story's and enjoy the nature of the place equally. Yet the island really is little more than a postage stamp and even a relaxed amble will allow you to see the whole island in no more than a couple of hours tops. The gardeners share their time with another oddity of this place. Muntjac deer roam Steepholm although I am unaware of how many. They themselves may so easily be clinging on to exsistance here under the circumstance of the size of the island. Even the deer are potentially genetically messed up! However despite the islands size they are still surprisingly hard to find.

Squelch! Uhhh! To this day I wish I would have worn something with a thicker soul than trainers as I can still feel in detail my foot squelching into the decaying, rain sodden body of a juvenile gull, not being careful enough to watch where I was stepping. We had chosen a time when the gull colony was near the end of breeding for that year. The begging youngsters could be found all over the island. Those that failed to make it due to adverse weather or so on littered the ground, dotted out across the island. A gull hung caught on a bramble bush. The wind can bring the smell of it's rotting flesh drifting if your in the right, or should I say wrong direction. Is this a testament to the reality of nature or has nature has forsaken this place, abandoning the fate of the inhabitance. This is what makes my skin crawl.

We found the carcases of gulls that had died from something else other than the rest. The way they had been eaten betrayed the presence of another species that clung out an exsistance on this rock. A pair of Peregrine's rule over this island. They terrorise their abundant food source. Its as if the peregrines scrape a living from this place. The carcases were eaten clean and chewed at the bone. Only the feet and the back end remained. We admired this top predator but failed to see them all day.

It was time to leave. We descended the slope and waited as the rescue boats returned, watching them grow closer. I sat down on the stones and watched the water ripple a little way in front of me. Even as we waited, just behind where I was sitting two dead juvenile gulls I had failed to notice on arrival lay slowly decaying at the foot of the cliff. There was no doubt in my mind....this DEFINITELY wasn't in the brochure.