The long road to Cotham

This was ten miles of sheer punishment

The path goes ever, burningly on

Ragwort

Pretty unidentified wildflower

Crows flock over the rubbish tip

The rubbish tip

Interesting wildflower

Poppies and Cotham village

The solar farm

Poor banded demoiselle

A sea of blue

On the impossibility of photographing swifts with a mobile phone

 

As well as in the eaves of the Chinese takeaway near me, a couple of days ago I noticed that there were swifts nesting in the corner of the roof gable of one the large number of Victorian semi detached houses that are found at the ends of  the terraced streets in my vicinity.

Having tried and failed to film them and record their excitable screeching at the takeaway, I figured I'd be able to get a few shots of them entering the nest, or perhaps catch a group of them as they flew in tight circles no more than ten feet above my head. With my handy mobile phone of course, on which virtually all of my own photos on this blog are taken...

They are not called swifts for nothing. A large series of shots of the sky revealed endless blue vistas dotted with the odd chimney stack, and eventually, one solitary black dot. Blown up as much as my phone could do it, the end result is what you see above, a photograph of what could just as easily be a picture of a top secret Russian spy jet taken at a range of 40 miles, as it is a swift.

Well I shan't waste my time trying that again! I shall instead merely enjoy the sight of them commanding the air, slicing the air to ribbons with their wings as they shriek past my ear as I cycle home. I suggest you do the same, they shan't be around for that much longer.

Lovely Linnets at Work

A grey blue dawn, and I arrived at work to my one joyful sight of the day. Before I entered a world of sweaty artificial fabrics and reeking workboots, sitting on a greenly metallic fence, was a handsome male linnet.

Male Linnet - picture from wiki by Joe Pell

A member of the finch family, the linnet is a bird of history; written about by Wordsworth and Tennyson, featuring in a song in Sweeney Todd, and in darker days a bird much kept in cages for its song. It is widespread, found on heathland, scrubby ground, hedgerows and even parks and gardens. However its numbers have declined steeply in recent years, for all the usual suspect habitat destruction reasons.

I've never had a definite sighting anywhere else other than that little fence; I saw one there a few weeks ago at the same sort of time. It really is a beautiful bird, with its crimson breast like some kind of Lady Gaga costume accessory; an even more intense colour than the breast of a robin. It also has a sort of double breasted appearance, making them look like some saucy prankster has drawn them on the bird with a lipstick.

It wasn't just the male taking in the morning air though. A few metres further on, was a female, a much dowdier bird, with a mere pink tint to her striated chest rather than a brazen blush. Perhaps this was the mate, I have no idea. I was just excited to see them.

I've been waiting to write about them all day.

Forget me nots in my garden

The sleeping butterfly

 

I found this fellow round the back of Starbucks, opposite the church. For some reason I think it's a Small Tortoishell looking at the shape of the wing edge. It was very low down, and although the sun was out, this was a north facing wall so I think it would be a day asleep for this butterfly. 

I like the colour of the brickwork in close up in this shot - pink, red, grey and green. I'm no photographer at all, and I'm always pleased to get an decent butterfly picture.

A Cretan Idyll

I ran this morning, but the icy east wind was back again so living things had sensibly retreated back into their shelters. As I wish I had.

So instead, I will write about the holiday on Crete I had back in about 1983, in the village of Elounda. I remember it perhaps better than anyonf my other childhood holidays because I kind of began to explore independently - albeit with the folks never far away with sister in her McClaren pushchair.

I remember seeing vultures for the first time, soaring on the thermals by the cliffs over looking the new road to Heraklion and my first visit to Knossos that would be so influential on me many years later. On our first night, we walked around the village, and I remember seeing cuttlefish in the harbour, fins sweeping the water in the darkness. I was told dread warnings about the poisonous sea urchins that made your feet swell up to the size of basketballs if you trod on them. The inland villages smelt of all the oregano growing on the hillsides, wildflowers everywhere.

There was a broken fishing boat sat on a stony beach, and I remember sitting on there for many an hour, until a scary looking pipe fish scared me out of my coawardly wits. I took my revenge on the fish by catching and eating them. Me and two other kids fished for hours, from 7am some days, on this little stone peer by a tiny sandy beach the size of a front lawn that was full of burrowing stinging bees that naturally I trod on and screamed like a girl. I had a rod, they had traditional Cretan handlines, and we fished with bread for these grey mullet that filled the clear seas. In fact, as soon as they sensed the bread, they would go mad like piranas. We caught plenty, the biggest no more than 8 inches, and gutted and fried they tasted great with lime dressing.

The local experts caught much bigger ones fishing with a whole loaf wrapped in tiny hooks. The biggest were well over 18 inches long. When fishing was poor, to avoid bordem, we would deliberately catch the greedy fat ugly blenny slash goby things that sat on the sea bad and swallowed the hooks.

I also caught a few small sea bream - there were Gilt Head swimming about in a foot of water you'd pay a tenner for at fishmongers at least. And what I remember as being clown fish but probably weren't, they had the right colour though. And there black and white striped fish I always called zebra fish, that weren't zebra fish either.

All the while, I strove to avoid the terrifying local hornets. Black, with yellow stings and red eyes, to a child they were straight out of hell. The locals caught them in half full 7 Up bottles to stop them scaring customers away from their little shops and kiosks selling the "Ion" 20 drachma chocolate that melted the second you bought it...

My favourite holiday, in a lot of ways. And when we went back, a few years later while staying in Aghios Nikolaus, the water was murky with the oil of affluent greek yachts, and all the fish had gone. I was so sad...

The Grandest Murmuration

Cycling home from work tonight, struggling on a flattening tyre yet again, I could see them in the far distance even as I entered the badlands of the wasteland cycle path.

Electrons in a cloud chamber...starlings over the KFC.

At times of the year when I'm cycling home in the evening twilight, I'm used to seeing small murmurations along Winthorpe Road and over Macdonalds, and over by the turn onto Northern Road, but this was crazy. It wasn't gaggles of thirty to fifty birds, it was three to five thousand birds in an ever shifting swirl of chaos; a cartoon swarm of hornets making question marks and arrows in the sky; the universe a nanosecond after its creation.

A swarm of birds larger than a football pitch.

Never seen anything like that in any urbanised area before, let alone Newark. It's a sight I shan't forget in a hurry.

Abortive visit to RSPB Langford Lowfields

THis was a new adventure to me...up nice and early, stymied by the dary, so had to sit on my hands for a bit before I could set off on my first ever winter cycling trip to Langford Lowfields. I announced thus on twitter, and headed off, underneath an excited flock of twently long tailed tits  off Barnby Gate; past a kestrel rising from the woodland next to Beacon Hill and trying not to look at it for fear of being involved in an accident; and along the road in Winthorpe and Langford, with Great Tits, Blue Tits and Chaffinches baubling the hedgerows.

Large flocks of pigeons rose from the Somme like muddy fields, crows dotted an electricity line. I turned onto the N64 route through the boingy gate, and just enjoyed being out on my bike on a supposed winter's day. I was even sweating.

Uh oh. Bad news. Alarm bells as I tuend a corner on the path, and found that the sandy field on the west side of the site was almost entirely underwater as four swans glided over (no way of telling if they were the Whoopers on site!). I carried on, through more boingy gates hoping I'd be able to get onto the east side of the site, but it was as boggy as hell. And then, the new path works had closed the entirety of the east side path - minor quibble about this being a bit excessive as I couldn't see anyone working for two hundred yards at least and I'm not sure how a new hardcover track would fall on my head.

Sad. But not a wasted journey, because being outside for free is never wasted. I look forward to seeing how the site improvements pan out.

Newark floods

Not as bad as november 2001 but riverside park still a very soggy place to be

Through boggy marshy fields and not beyond

<p>Two days ago went on a very satisfying, very wet trip to willow holt and back along the river. My feet got a soaking and my reeboks were caked in mud, but I was outside, listening to radio 4 and I was happy.</p>
<p>Also very happy were the swans munching on the farmers crops opposite the power station. Unlike mr goose who copped it a couple of weeks ago these oddly landlocked mute swans are immune from the gun, beloved as they are of the queen.

A cormorant was coasting along by the power station weir, not hunting, not diving, just showing like a carved from wet jet relic.

A kestrel swooped past the river section of the holt. There might have been a buzzard sat in a tree, never got a clear look at it.

Yesterday saw another cormorant in action this time, on the nottingham canal. Flocks of all sorts visible from the train, fieldfares by the railway station, and then right by my home, a handsome redwing in a berry tree. A decent antidote to frantic christmas shopping!

Home Town Floods

I understand large amounts of Willow Holt and my favourite run along the Fanrdon reach of the river trent are underwater; similarly RSPB Langford Lowfields has suffered badly. I guess it is better it happens now rather than in Spring and Summer when birds are nesting, but you wonder about the effect on mammals and any reptiles about.

I ran today round the Coddington Route - a bright, sunny and cold day. Somewhere over Banrbygate, a Buzzard was struggling to find a thermal in a very urban location Ive never seen a Buzzard in before!

But the purpose of the run, other than not becoming a repulsive fat oinker as normal, was to take some photographs of the floods in the town centre and along the castle and weir reach. This is about four feet down on peak level, which apparently was 4.8m above the usual Trent level! Yikes!

The Barge pub not attracting many drinkers

Newark Castle and Soggy Riverside Park

The Weir and The Island

The Berries are Upon Us!

I'm no forager, but I wish I was.

Unfortunately, I think I would be the sort of forager who manages to pick some juicy Deadly Nightshade in Newark, where none has ever been seen before; or stumble upon Britain's only example of the death-within-two-hours-causing False Blackberry.

Incidentally, the only place I can ever remember coming across Deadly Nightshade was on a school trip to Bradgate Park in 1983. I think it was a sharp metal axe thing that Lady Jane Grey found a greater hazard back in the day. But I digress.

This time of year, the Haws, the Hips, The Edlerberries and The Blackberries are all out in large numbers in my usual running haunts. I wish I could collect big bags of them, along the cycle path, in Willow Holt, up on Beacon Hill Reserve. A dear friend told me of all the things you could do with them, jams, wines, preserves and heaven knows what.

If I collected them, I wouldn't know what to do. It would be a sad waste. Red and black berries mushing in a plastic bag, a tupperware sandwich box if they were really lucky. How I wish I knew what to do with things; how I wish if I went looking for mushrooms I would end up not poisoning myself!

But I'm sure you folk can. The weather is colder, the wind is blowing. But it is still great, and free out there. Go take a look.

And if you do make any Elderberry wine, save me a bottle.

There be Damsels Here

Just back from a pleasant little bike ride while all this soccerball stuff goes on - I'm rather more a summer sport man - cricket, cycling, athletics - and on a chilly but blue of sky evening, the swifts and House Martins were out over the river, sadly trying but failing to eat every single blasted midge in existence.

On Balderton Lake, Mummy and Daddy swan had four cygnets out for the first time I've seen.

Earlier, went running out to Willow Holt in Farndon and back along the river, and at last, in the fields at the far end, signs of more interesting life.

As soon as I came through the gate, I spotted a Common Blue Damselfly amongst the blooming brambles and other plants  - the entrance is very boggy and overgrown.

And then every so often through the meadow - grass rather long at the moment, I seemed to scare up a few Ringlets out of the grass. But they were tiny! Little flying Velvet - Black-Grey butterflies  - someone I  know is reporting tiny Skippers about too? Is this a consequence of bad weather hindering development? Or are they smaller when they first emerge?

Then, by the next gate, saw another damsel atop some elderflower. Couldn't get a clear view in the flat light, but it seemed dary - might have a been a blue tailed damselfly.

I was proud of my run, windy though it was and very boggy the river paths. I just love being outside, and as I passed the windmill, swallows swooped past my head and made me think that any and every day is a nice day, in some way.

IDENITFY - What is this flower

Grows almost like a Gorsey kind of hedge in my postage stamp garden. The House Sparrows love it, they spend endless hours squabbling and mating within it.

Ungracious Racer

The sight of a friends running route and time on his facebook page was far too much of a challenge for the occasionally unhealthily competitive author to resist today. He had the fancy app on his mobile phone, I have old wonky trainers...

So I headed out along Hawton Road, seeing my first butterly in weeks, a large white fluttering towards the cloying fields of rape. I was in a determined mood - the only reason I saw it because I was looking up tracking the position of a coal black cloud laden with wet stuff.

As I reached the turn off to Farndon in Hawton village, as usual looking terribly pretty, I reckoned I was going well. A kestrel greeted me coming out of the trees near the Thorpe turn off, another was soaring as I crested the bridge over the A46, laughing no doubt in a keening manner at the lumbering slow humanoid.

On Farndon Road, there were Greenfinches again. A most pleasing sight. They are not numerous, but for a couple of years I hadn't seen any at all.

By now I was feeling the pressure, face set, driving the pavements, paying little note to the swollen River Devon, and turning onto the final stretch...I checked my watch.

I had beaten him. By just over a minute.

Alas I lose. In the pathetic person stakes!

On Ilkley Moor Again

Didn't really go out walking very much, as the whole of what I suppose you'd call the Aire valley was suffused in a grey cloud so thick you'd expect seaweed clad leprous sailors to emerge from it and stick meathooks in you. First up we perched in the car, eating downhill at a sharp angle, enjoying the sight of happy dogs with wet tummies dragging their slightly less enthusiastic owners about on the boggy ground.

It was rather like eating a Waitrose cooked chicken in a crashing aeroplane.

Then we moved across to nearer the excellent-fish-and-chip-serving Cow and Calf pub, and sat in the car park of the little stone cafe. We forgot the milk, so we had to pay for a paper cup full of it from the cafe, and we watched the jackdaws bright eyed looking around for any scraps.

I thought my stepfather throwing them a crushed belgian chocolate biscuit thing was a bit uncouth, but no, they cackled and stuffed their beaks as full of chunks of biccie as they could, no doubt cackling at their own cleverness.

I couldn't hear them over the wind.

And then, a pretty little Meadow Pipit came over for a look too. I was wondering if we'd see any with their beloved bracken in abeyance, but there he was, striped and striated, tail fringed with white, olive green hints on his brown back. Compared to the delicate beak, the bits of biscuit looked far too big, but it daintily shook them into manageable, all but microscopic particles.

And it paid no heed to the rain pelting the rocks the cooing woodpigeon huddled among

Sitting Beats Running

Today I ran 8-9 miles, past the two lakes and all the way along Clay Lane and through Beacon Hill Nature reserve. It was a lovely day. But, I really didn't see much of any great interest.

This doesn't matter. Just being outside and active on a glorious late afternoon is something to be grateful for.

But today, the most interesting things I saw was when I was sat down, and not looking for them.

This morning, I was at the Millgate Museum cafe, a favourite place of mine to while away an hour. Something caught the sun, and sat twitching upon the glorious, rusting, British Waterways dredger barge was a gorgeous Grey Wagtail, black of neck, yellow of breast with a slate grey back. Apparently the black neck means the bird is a breeding male, on the hunt for pretty wagtail ladies. I wish it luck.

In the background, a cormorant shone blackly in the sun, circling round looking for a likely fishing spot upon the river.

Later, I sat in my garden reading, and spent the afternoon being blasted by this incredibly loud, repetitive two tone whistle. Looked everywhere for the source, but couldn't find it; in fact it mocked me with it's absence, seemingly echoing from the other buildings round my garden and moving from tree to tree. Where was it? No idea.

What was it? No idea! I'd like to think it was possibly a Chiffchaff, I listened to that call and it was definitely similar. Perhaps as ever I'm overkilling it. But it just goes to show.

Sometimes sitting is better than running.

Wild Geese Chasing and Astronomy

Went out running this afternoon, along the cycle path past the London Road lake which is surprisingly frozen over, it wasn't a couple of days ago and I really didn't think that it wa cold enough to freeze over. Might explain why loads of Tufted Duck were on the river, there was only one rather sad looking individual on the lake.

All the Mallards - about 40 or so, were being fed by a family down the far end of the lake. As I ran along, a small bird flittering about caught my eye, tail somewhat cocked I thought. Figured it may be a wren, but as I looked it popped into plain view, and with the buff pink chest and characteristic white stripe down the back of its black head, was a Coal Tit! They really are tiny, smaller even that a Blue Tit.

What really caught my eye tonight were several echelons of what I figured would be geese in the distance, flying SW to NE I'd say, cast against the pinking light of a setting sun. About 7 or 8 groups over about 10 minutes. Perhaps they were looking for ice free water as well. They were certainly moving much faster than I was, lumbering along with a slightly grumpy leg.

A couple of groups of Starling were murmurating over the estate by the railway line.

Skies are a bit hazy tonight here, but did get in a look with my 10x50s - tonights target was Messier 34 in Perseus and I found it eventually, after thinking that it was a lot closer to Algol, the famous Medusa star, than it actually is. It's a cluster of similar appearance to Messier 35 in Gemini through the binoculars - it's apparently resolveable with binoculars, but not with mine, on this not really perfect night.

Interestingly, I've now got my stepfather's 20x40 Theodolite available, curious to see how that performs on the moon and on some of the brighter star clusters. Providing they aren't very high in the sky, as it doesn't elevate much!

Kestrels Tea and Twitter

...as I set off at 9am for a very bracing and occasionally sleeted on walk.

London Road lake was very lively as I went by on the cycle path. Large amounts of yarking squawking black headed gulls fighting over a single flake of bread, moorhens and coots, a Great Crested Grebe and many many mallards dabbling furiously as if they know the ice is on the way.

Feeling brave but still frustrated I can't run on my gammy leg, I walked the whole length of Clay Lane, happy that colder weather has temporarily at least driven away the fly tippers. Along here, unconfirmed because as you know I'm a rubbish birdspotter I think I spotted my first two redwing of the winter, alas not close enough. I did however have a lovely view of an unselfconscious female blackbird in beautiful condition stuffing herself with haws like she'd never heard of Britains Next Top Model.

Over Beacon Hill estate a Coromorant flew, high. Unusual sight there, but on Beacon Hill reserve the flocks of Chaffinches were not so. Also a pretty little flock of Long Tailed Tits - are they never not pretty? - was working through the woodland on the edge of the site. The Chaffinches are all puffed up for winter like blushing little pom poms.

Greenfinch still all but invisible.

As I came to the marina on the river, I was greeted by the most interesting sight of all. A Kestrel was working the fields and bushes on the edge of the marina, hovering with intent before sliding out of stationary like a sharp knife over the top of a block of butter to perhaps a more promising location before commencing to hover again, tale splayed, wings making whipped cream with the air.

It was a great spot to take to my usual museum tea and twitter session! I become more of a gentleman with every passing day.

Public Space Should be Used!

This seems to be becoming a favourite subject of mine. I'm not going to say that it's close to my heart, because to me this is an unforgiveably slushy Mills and Boon vanilla Hand Holding in the Cinema queue flowers for breakfast yuck yuck yuck mode of expression. But nevertheless, it is important to me.

It's always been there, not unexpected I guess in someone who spends a lot of time out in the open, running, cycling, walking, taking in the sun whenever it bothers to show its yellow face, or merely throwing a tennis ball about and annoying the neighbours. But it is my visits to Brighton, where running on the seafront you have the lawns where people play football, or workout in this gloriously macho weight lugging sessions, or play Boules, Basketball, or just sit and watch the foolish joggers such as me.

It doesn't matter! It's the fact that they are out there, doing something, using space constructively; enjoying themselves. And that the space isn't plastered with "Keep off the Grass" or "No Ball Games" joyless bloody council signs, or at least while the sun is above the horizon, not full of drinking or drug taking chavs - unless I'm being totally naieve.

I want to see this sort of thing everywhere, in every town, starting with my own. I want to see people playing sport, or having painting or photography classes, or putting in little concerts or bits of theatre (pretension alert!), or discussion groups, or even at night, a little so called "Sidewalk Astronomy" or other little events, fun little things that don't have to cost barely anything.

Keep space lively! Keep space used!