A Tentative Spring

I headed out on a run today to look out for signs of spring; signs that a more vigorous form of life is emerging from the winter lethargy, that it has energy left over to breed and grow after a period of merely surviving.

The blackbirds in my garden have been getting a little feistier, and I thought this morning that there was perhaps some blackbird song mixed in with the constant calling of the local robins. The local cemetery has been sporting a little cherry blossom, and it was to there that I headed, to see if there was anything new on the ground.

This is what I found.

Snowdrops in the cemetery

Newly flowering snowdrops around the cemetery chapel. The crocuses are not far behind them, they are starting to sprout although they aren't ready to flower yet.

Further along my run, the mallards on the River Devon are starting to get aggressive too, there was a fair amount of territorial quacking going on, and one individual bird chased his rival clean off the water. 

Of course, it was bitterly cold, and didn't feel springlike at all. But it is a sign of hope for times to come; a time when I can have a cup of tea outside without shivering, and go for a run without getting covered in mud.

The Fieldfares up the Hill

My first day off shift, and I slept in far too late to do Parkrun.

This is not a good thing. It means I have to do a longer run to make up for it, and so after enjoying the sight of chaffinches and blue tits in the trees outside my front door, I set off to run to Coddington and back.

It was a bright as anything day, the blue sky seeming to reach to the edge of the universe, and seagulls making the most of a reasonable breeze. Along Barnby Lane, blackbirds were munching berries in the hedges, but I haven't seen the kestrel on the flyover for a while. It used to be perched in the trees, presumably in between spells of hunting for food along the A1 verges.

After a hard run up  the back of Beacon Hill, I approached the field next to the converted windmill on the left and saw it was absolutely full of birds. A flock of at least 50, and perhaps over 100 fieldfares (with possibly the odd redwing thrown in) strutting brashly about the ground, and not at all fazed by my presence, unlike the ones on Clay Lane in the trees.

It's the biggest flock of these sturdy, attractive thrushes I've seen since they savaged the ornamental berry trees on Beacon Hill estate, in the harsh snows of two years ago. It takes bad weather to shift the winter thrushes into town, and so far this winter, it hasn't been cold enough.

On one hand this is a pity, because they are really striking birds to introduce to the general population out there. But on the other, if they are in town, it means my cycle rides to work are going to be a frozen, slippery nightmare!

The Quadrantid Fireball

The Quadrantids have been a bit of a disappointment.

After seeing a bright meteor the night before maximum, hopes were high that the night of maximum itself would be better. Well, it wasn't. The skies were good, if not frosty clear, and I settled outside for what I was hoping would a be a jolly old evening of meteor spotting.

I saw one in 40 minutes.

That, to say the least, was unexpected. I know this shower has a narrow maximum, but still...

So as I left my flat last night to go and meet a friend, I barely even bothered to look up at the sky for any meteors. And then, as I turned my key in the door, a flash lit up my face, and made me jump out of my skin.

I looked up at neck-cricking speeds, and saw an orange-yellow Quadrantid leaving a marked smoke trail as it passed through Taurus, heading South-East. I thought it was magnitude -4 or so at the time, but this was more based on the flash lighting up my face. The meteor itself was as bright, or brighter, than Jupiter, so perhaps mag. -2 - -3 would be nearer the mark.

Still, it was an impressive sight, and the night got better as I walked through town, as I saw, foraging for food by The Fox and Crown.

As friends told me; it must surely be a good omen.

The Goosander Have Returned

Todays run, after a brutal and muddy ten mile effort yesterday, was a gentle trip round the two lakes, to see what I might see.

The answer was - plenty!

As soon as I arrived at Balderton Lake, I noticed a large black and white duck crusing serenely despite the strong wind. Even at a distance, I could see the sharp looking red beak and black head indicating a male goosander. It is the first time I have spotted this diving, fish eating duck this winter, and a magnificent, handsome duck it is.

Running further around the lake, taking photographs that strained my little mobile phone camera to the limit, I came across comically panicking moorhens, honking geese, and another far off diving duck but with a chestnut red head this time. I figured this for the female goosander, although as will be seen, my photographs were not clear. To say the least.

Leaving the lake behind, I ran down the N64 and looked around Clay Lane for a while. Immediately, a flash of red and brown crossed my path, a redwing flushed by my approach, always looking like they are bleeding from the flank. And then the hedges along the path across Clay Lane park were busy with fieldfare - a flock of around 20-30 birds feeding off a rich crop of berries.

And by the railway line, less shy blackbirds gorged themselves on haws, and gazed at me with a cheeky eye, as the rain started to fall.

Balderton Lake moorhen

Tufted ducks in the wind

Canada goose and greylag/farmyard hybrid

Male goosander, obviously

Female goosander. I think and hope.

Quadrantid Hunting

The first major meteor shower of the year is on us already, and noticing clearing skies at 2am last night, I wasn't about to miss the opportunity to try and spot a few meteors.

Although the maximum is not actually until, well, now, as I write this - 8pm, 03.01.14 - I figured it was worth seeing if there were any meteors about.

However, unlike the Gemnids, or the Perseids, which have a lot of activity over several days, the Quadrantids have a very sharp maximum which means although the number of meteors can reach the same as with  those two major showers, it is for a far shorter window of time.

Ergo, as I stood outside with a makeshift Pina Colada, I saw exactly one meteor in about 45 minutes, a bright, magnitude -1 specimen that sliced through the head of the celestial snake Hydra.

So, I shall try again tonight, and if you have clear skies, so should you. The Quadrantids, named after a constellation called Quadrans Muralis that was purged after the powers that be decided there was no point in it existing as a separate constellation, are probably best seen after midnight, as the radiant, near the handle of the big dipper, is very low until that time.

Here's hoping for clear skies!

The Sun, the Celestial Painter

Sun gilds the land and sky, Coddington

Gold and cobalt river

The Last Signs and Sounds of 2013

December 31st. A day of relaxing, of preparing oneself for the rigours of the night ahead.

I may not be any kind of expert in bird calls, but I've become quite attuned to knowing when a sound in the garden isn't normal. I had such a moment yesterday, when as I lay on the sofa reading, I heard an unfamiliar double whistle coming from the bare sycamore tree outside.

I looked out, and the brilliant pink breast of a bullfinch was perched on a windswept branch. Bullfinches are not regular visitors to the garden, and I was pretty darn chuffed to see it; the neighbours have just started putting out their winter feeders and I suppose this is probably what tempted it into quite a cat strewn locality for a shy bird.

But the bullfinch wasn't the only visitor I had. When I went outside, there was my endlessly singing local robin, a wren, a squadron of long tailed tits making their way through the trees hunting for spiders, and up above my head another unusual visitor; the soft grey belly and black head of a blackcap.

A little later, I was out running, the back way up the hill to Coddington, and as I made my way to the top of the hill, the setting sun burst out as a weather front went over, and illuminated everything with yet another glorious golden glow, a light I have been fortunate enough to witness many times this winter. And in it, redwings were to be seen in the hedges along the Sleaford Road back to Beacon Hill.

I still haven't decided which is the more attractive bird, the redwing or the fieldfare. For now, I will call it an honourable draw.

Copyright Cream Crackered Nature 01.01.14