Rubbish Dad 1976

With some heavy afternoon and overnight rain I was hoping that the patch (Manor Farm - I can't bring myself to call it the Floodplain Forest Nature Reserve, far too much of a mouthful) would have gained that little extra water that it needs to be really inviting to waders. 

And so with a morning of freedom (I left Zoe [I'm joking the Good Wife is actually quite good] and the little lady at home watching trash TV and Youtube respectively), I headed out onto the patch in search of waders and what ever other migrants might have been brought in by the sudden break of the recent summer weather.

For the first time in a while, well this summer holiday at any rate, I found myself heading towards the Old Lock area as my first point of call, and to say it was alive with birds could be an understatement. As I wandered through, the chacking of Blackcaps and Common Whitethroats could be heard from deep within the scrub, Chiffchaffs called out from the elder and the odd Willow Warbler seemed to have discovered their voices as they sang out from high in the canopy.

AS I stood by the lock itself birds were flitting about all over, the best of the bunch being a fine Lesser Whitethroat who put in a brief appearance.

Heading onto the reserve I wandered about checking out both the Iron Trunk hide and teh Farm hide but there was little out of either (in fact the area seemed to be almost deserted just the odd Grey Heron and Mute Swan, so I headed on up to the stilt pits, where I settled into the hide and began to scan through the flocks of Greylag and Canada Geese.

In front of the hide a fantastically close Great crested grebe (opening image) fished the shallow water, while all around hundreds of Geese honked and argued as they fought for space on the small islands. Mallards and Shoveler could be seen dabbling in the deeper areas and a few Little Egret were dotted about the banks.

A Juvenile Tern flew about briefly and as I checked out my Collins app to see if it might be an arctic it vanished from sight (an email later informed me it was indeed an Arctic Tern, my first of the year), looking up from the app 2 Hobby flew over the trees to my left before heading off over the river.

Heading down the central track I stopped to chat to a couple who had been actively watching the ruff, which has been present for around a week I believe, currently it wasn't on show however, and had likely been flushed as all the local birds had suddenly taken to the skies or started panicking, scanning the skies revealed nothing and then suddenly a small brown and white dog appeared swimming through the water and dashing along the islands. It is situations like this that really annoy us local birders, a complete lack of respect from someone allowing (or failing to stop either way) their dogs to disturb the nature reserve like this!

Eventually the dog was retrieved (the owners heading off over the millennium bridge) and calmness was restored. The Ruff however hadn't fled and suddenly appeared pecking its way along one of the close islands. I got to spend a good few minutes watching and photographing this stunningly marked bird (no sadly not one in breeding plumage).

After a while watching the ruff and trying to photograph the Canada Geese I headed off back around the reserve the way I had come to see what else might be about, the flurry of earlier activity had dispersed the birds for sure.

Crossing back over the iron bridge I scanned the main pits and beyond the 9 roosting Little Egret the long neck and orange bill of the Great White Egret could be seen, almost hidden from view. I headed towards the Farm hide to see if the view was better but could not relocate the bird, clearly having one of its more elusive days.

From the Iron Trunk hide I could make out eh form of a sleeping Redshank, my first for a while, and around the corner in the furthest North West corner 2 Common Snipe and a Green Sandpiper fed along the bank. In this same area, Brown Hawker and Migrant Hawker were performing aerial battles with one another over the waters surface.

Finally heading back through the old lock area a lone, and rather ragged Common Blue butterfly allowed me close inspection of it's feeding on birds foot trefoil.

Summer Has Gone - Canada Goose in Flight

I'm not sure if it is the blackberry laden brambles, whose sweet smelling fruit attracts late bees and kids alike, as they fight over natures, sugary, bounty; or the heady, wine like scent that the elderberry's, hanging low and deep red, offer up as you brush past; the crushed apples and ripe plums that seem scattered along the towpath of the Grand Union canal or the distinct lack of the sound of the songbirds, but all of a sudden summer has gone, left like the summers of my youth all blue skies and endless days, and autumn has donned her wide brimmed hat.

The sun was warm and enlivening as I walked the patch today, but what autumn provides with one hand she takes with the other, and the wind she carried today, while warm, was strong and powerful enough to bend trees and pull down fences.

As I began walking first through the old church yard, with its Normanesque tower, and fallen graves, and on through the old lock area, full of quickly ripening fruits, the sounds of the season were all about me. The soft chattering of the gathering Swallows and House Martin as they alighted on overhead cables, after feasting on the wing as they prepare for their arduous flight through the farms of Europe and desserts of Africa; the tiny peeps of young Bullfinches calling to the rest of their family party as they pick through the Blackthorn; calls of Chiffchafs, no longer uttering their names incessantly, but "wheeting" to one another in hushed tones, as if in mourning for the summer past.

Young House Martin

There is not much as anticipatory to a birdwatcher as the welcoming of autumn on their local patch, spring may bring the new, but often the arrivals are quickly over and passage birds are gone with barely a chance of viewing, autumn however is a much lazier affair, often the birds are still fattening themselves up for the rigours of migration or the cold winter months ahead, they dally longer, and feed deeper, so with the welcoming of autumn around me I was eager to hit the mud of the reserve.

Entering the Iron Trunk hide I removed my bag, to rest the dull ache of my shoulders and embrace the cool air on my hot back, and set about scanning the muddy shores of the islands in front of me, a lone Green Sandpiper slowly bobbed its way along the northern edge, packing at flies and bugs on the waters edge, a family of Mute Swan preened and ruffled their feathers shaking off unseen particles of dirty and grime; Shoveler all in their dull eclipse garb swept their spade like bills through the water appearing to nibble the surface as they sifted through the muddy waters in search of food.

Donning my pack once more I moved on, the Farm Hide calling me, the hope of a moment or two spent with the Great White Egret dashed by the lack of water still, what at times can be a great spot to sit and while away the hours, watching all manner of ducks and waders is at the moment a place for Crows and Magpies, the dry mud slowly being enveloped by the overgrowth of scrubby plants, the introduction of livestock (horses) cannot come soon enough, and I feel this area is not going to see many birds this wader passage.

Magpie in the Scrub

I quickly moved on to the stilt pits and all that their muddy islands could offer. cresting the iron bridge between the pits I entered a world alive with sound, Canada Geese jockeyed for space with the Greylag Geese, their loud raucous cackling and honking a cacophony of noise. Tufted duck, Shoveler, Mallard and Gadwall swam, dived, dabbled and splashed through the grey waters. two Little Grebes did their best to hide amongst the flotsam tossed onto the lakes by the wind, Little Egrets and Grey Herons stood motionless on the banks aloof to the drama from the water fowl; and Black-headed gulls stood in long rows across the islands interspersed by the occasional, larger, Lesser Black-backed Gulls.

Canada Goose dabbling

Raucous Canada Geese

A Row of Little Egrets

Settling in the hide once more, a well camouflaged Snipe could occasionally be seen as it stabbed its long beak deep into the mud edging the pits, and two Dunlin dodged in and out of the legs of the much larger geese. This was why I was here today, not the quite of the main pits but the rowdiness of the stilt pits, the feeling that anything could happen, anything could drop in out of the skies. I could waste hours just waiting here, but time presses on and the morning was vanishing fast so once again I packed up and moved on.

As I made my way down to the river, passing between the pits and settling ponds, the trees around me burst into life as an early gathering of tits passed through en-mass. Ten or twelve Long-tailed Tits, all pink, white and black, and looking like cotton balls on long sticks flittered through while the Great Tits and Blue Tits accompanying them were in the minority.

Long-tailed Tit Takeoff

Meandering alongside the winding path of the River Ouse I made my way back towards the canal, overhead small parties of ducks flew about, wheeling and dancing on the cross winds as they tried to escape some unseen foe or threat. Along the glassy flow of the river a family of 5 cygnets still grey and downy, and their parents, a late brood perhaps, swam elegantly along, appearing to effortlessly glide through the current. A Buzzard, high on a thermal keyed, its call piercing through the skies down towards me, a fitting end to an early autumn walk.

Ducks in Flight

Ducks in Flight