The Dragonflies in the Park

I had a very early start this morning seeing my sister off back to London, and so took the opportunity afterwards to head off down a very warm Sconce Hills Park for a cup of tea, and to see if there was any nature that was worth investigating.

As it turned out, the nature was more interested in investigating me, because I had only just taken my cup of tea outside, when a huge brown hawker flew right up to me, looked me in the eye, before settling on my arm for a split second with an eerie tickling sensation.

Normally you associate southern hawkers with this sort of behaviour, having a brown behave like this was very strange. After looking me up, it resumed its peculiarly square circuits around the children's park, bronze wings glittering in the sun..

After my tea I went down to the river, where it was another species of dragon that was putting on a display. After being virtually invislble, the lovely red male common darters were out on the river, and being very sporty too. I watched as one individual took a perch on a riverside plant and launched itself like a heat seeking missile at any other male that came within a few metres before returning victorious to his throne.

What he was competing for was going one behind him, by the semi submerged tree trunk that has been a landmark on the River Devon as long as I can remember. A male common darter was supporting a female as she flitted her backside to ovipost her eggs onto a water plant of some kind.

I've seen this done before at Langford, but it such an odd sight you never quite get used to it, I think! The female just hangs there from the tip of the male's abdomen, dipping her bum just below the surface of the water with little flicks. She clearly had a lot of eggs to deposit, because she carried on for ten minutes as a shoal of roach glopped by, blowing bubbles on the surface of the otherwise mirror calm river.

Nature was having a busy day down the park!

Si

All text and images copyright CreamCrackeredNature 11.08.15

Some serious bikes here

Two grand each most of these, I'd say

Red arrows gave us a fly by

Marigolds are just going over, but the bees still love them

Feeding away

Still lots of colour

Really big new queen here

Cyclists are off

Where the dragons fought, and loved

Cormorant Fail

Weather is beyond terrible for running...much needed rain, but nasty rain nonetheless, rain that liquifies my country running routes into thick gloop, rain that chills me, rain that fills my eyes with aciding spray, sulfur dioxide contamination, power station and suga factory sky effluent.

So, my nature watching has been out of windows. The museum cafe window mainly. Er, only.

But that's not to say I haven't seen some interesting things. Yesterday, I was reading Excession by Ian Banks and sipping tea, and onto the glorious rusty dredger barge on the opposite side of the river landed a bedraggled, but still magnificent Heron, symbol of the rugby club, eyes full of malice for fish.

Although it looked like a frog he caught today, struggling hopelessly in its sharp beak.

Today there was a cormorant, stubby, neck outstretched and wings flapping mightily. It was trying to fly upwind, into this freezing breeze, and making no headway as its wings beat the air frantically and its head seemed to be drawing its neck further out from its spine. But it was going nowhere.

It gave up, turned downwind and in two seconds was a hundred yards away. It turned back into the wind, wings beating the air frantically, head drawing its neck further out from its spine.

Still nowhere. And still nowhere everytime it tried it.

I know how it felt.

View from the Window

The theme of the day has been wind. A howling, screaming gale that makes bicycle riding difficult and makes your eyes the semblance of an olympic swimming pool that has been jumped in by Dawn French's entire family.

Running today was cancelled due to 1) this inclement weather and 2) Cat sitting neccisitating sitting on the sofa watching TV. While stroking the cat occasionally.

I will go on the exerise bike later, I'm sure.

Anyway, I went to my favourite little museum cafe for a pot of my favourite tea, carefully and obsessively drunk so the first cup is smaller than the second one. This is important.

So, I sat and watched the world, and the clouds, go past the window overlooking the river. Some eastern european fishermen were there, parked on the bank next to the rusting barge and involved in what to me is the quintissential baltic past-time in this town.

Fishing in the river for pike that aren't actually there.

This is normally a pursuit for more summery weather - when the days are long there are usally a few folk out with enormous sliding pike floats the size of nuclear submarines and a sad looking dead fish on the end of the line. I hae never seen any of them catch anything. I have never seen anyone catch a pike in the dyke full stop.

Today's hardy winter anglers were doubly handicapped by the fact that the wind was so strong it was whipping the static dirty dark grey water into a minuture maelstrom of chaos.

It was a beautiful effect, the wind seemed to be acting in curved fronts upon the water, criss crossing it with turbulence like a waffle, bouncing back and forth from the museum wall to the barge. Harmonics on the surface caused the water to leap up into a tower of droplets a few inches high, like a glass of the stuff upon a loudspeaker.

I found it hypnotic and fascinating. The wind patter curved across the surface, an invisible hand caressing the waters this way and that. The fishermen gave up. I sipped my tea. The world continued turning in that wnderful way it has. A small echelon of Canada Geese painted themselves upon it.

It was a pleasant way to spend a morning.