Wood Avens

Dear Readers, on Sunday a group of us went for a walk in Coldfall Wood, led by local photographer Mike Segal. The aim of the walk was really to get us all to look more closely at the trees, plants and animals that surround us, and to think about how to look at things from a different angle. Well, it certainly worked for me, and what a treat it was to wander in the wood without any preconceptions. I love this time of year, when everything has just greened up and the trees are full of song thrushes and nuthatches.

Anyhow, here are a few of my shots.

I love the way this elderflower is half bud and half bloom.

Bumblebee on green alkanet!

The scribbly traces of leaf miners on this sow thistle.

I really liked the delicate tracery of this elder…

And how about these hornbeam leaves from below?

Some areas in the wood have been fenced off to allow them to regenerate, and I love the way that the biodiversity is coming back.

And I have never seen the yellow flag looking so good as this year.

And finally, the crows are about, as usual. They are the real royalty of the wood, shiny-feathered and boisterous.

Although this squirrel might argue that they’re actually in charge.

You know, I haven’t seen the woods looking this good for a long, long time – after the pandemic they seemed to be beaten up so badly that I wondered if they’d ever recover. But now they are, and it’s so heartening. Let’s hope that it continues.

Dear Readers, having been away in Canada and the Azores this spring the garden has burst into full leaf/flower without me noticing the transition. Gordon Bennett! The place is like a jungle, and today we did a little bit of judicious cutting back, in particular of the green alkanet which, lovely as it is, was completely blocking the path. And then, after a bit of duckweed removal, we got the chance to sit back and see what was going on, to the continuous chorus of baby blue tits in the high-rise nest box. We tried to avoid looking at the adult blue tits, as they won’t return directly to the nest if they think they’re being watched. I just hope that everyone fledges successfully. We’ll keep you posted.

Anyhow, just have a look at what else is going on.

Sicilian honey garlic

The Sicilian honey garlic is one of my favourite bulbs, and as soon as the flowers are fully developed they’ll be mobbed by bumblebees.

Honeysuckle

The honeysuckle has scrambled up through next door’s cherry tree, and  I have never seen it better. It’s tangled up with some clematis, and I would dearly love the bittersweet to come back too, it was such a favourite with buzz-pollinating carder bumblebees.

Herb Robert and Red Valerian

Every year this patch of ‘weeds’ grows around the water butt, and every year my husband tries to dissuade them. This year, he’s given up.

We’ve had a good skim of the duckweed, so it’s a bit better now. This frog obviously doesn’t mind….

…and there are lots of happy tadpoles.

Large red damselfly

The Large Red Damselflies are back. What a pleasure they are, as they fly around like fluorescent red sparks! One was flying around next door’s garden, and landed on the arm of the child who lives there – she was delighted, and so was her mother. It’s so important to teach small children how to behave with animals, and how to treat them respectfully.

And finally, here was a visitor that I half expected to see yesterday – an ashy mining bee, the third species of mining bee in two days. It didn’t stay long so the photos aren’t the best, but I was just glad to see the little chap/pess. My neighbour said that she thought my garden was like a nature reserve, and I couldn’t have been more pleased.

In the autumn I will get the whitebeam and the hawthorn trimmed back, and the hedge (which is fast turning into a linear forest) tidied up, but for now I just need to do a bit at a time, and to remember that the garden is for enjoyment, not perfection.

Orange-tailed/Early Mining Bee (Andrena haemorrhoea)

Dear Readers, my magnificent climbing hydrangea is a magnet for all kinds of mining bees during the few weeks when it’s in flower, and on a warm day it fills the sheltered side of the house with a sweet floral scent. Plus it’s absolutely busting with pollen! No wonder it’s so popular with the bees, and in particular the little mining bees that we normally don’t notice. iThese bees belong to the genus Andrena, and can be tricky to identify to the species level, so feel free to correct me, bee experts! All are hairy-legged (for collecting pollen) which you can see clearly in the photo above, The bees make tunnels in light soils or in the mortar in old walls or buildings, and in the spring the males emerge first. In some species they’ll hang around and wait for the females to emerge, whilst in others they’ll lurk around flowering shrubs that they know the females will visit in a ‘lek’, waiting to grab a mate if she shows any inclination. In some species the males are much bigger than the females, an indication that they’ll fight to mate with as many females as possible. 

The Orange-tailed Mining Bee in the photo above is no surprise as a visitor – it tolerates clay soils as a nesting substrate, and is often found in urban areas. In fact, it was one of the first colonisers of my garden – you can read about it here.

Grey-patched Mining Bee (Andrena nitida) ???

I’m a little less sure about this bee – if it is a Grey-patched Mining Bee it’s one of the commonest mining bees in southern Britain, and I’m surprised I haven’t noticed it before. Again it likes spring-flowering shrubs, but it builds its nests singly, rather than in aggregations like the Orange-tailed Mining Bee. This bee likes formal lawns and sheep-grazed pasture, if you happen to have any handy. 

While I was skipping amongst the hydrangea blossom I noticed the blue tits making a couple of trips to the nest box. Fingers crossed for baby blue tits! I heard my first fledgling starlings and sparrows today too. Spring is peaking!

And finally, here’s a little video of a mining bee enjoying the pollen. It’s so worth spending ten minutes to have a look at who is coming and going in the garden – some of these bees have a very short flying season, so blink and you’ll miss them. And if you’re not sure what they are (and goodness knows I’m often confused) the people over at the UK Bees, Wasps and Ants Facebook ID group are very helpful. Have fun!

Dear Readers, I have always been fascinated by snails – back in 2019 I wrote this piece after observing all the molluscs popping out into the front garden on a wet day.  And so I was very interested to read about the phenomenon of ‘snail tapping’.

What in the okey-dokey is ‘snail tapping’, I hear you ask? The theory goes that if you suddenly pick up a snail in order to, say, move it off of the pavement  so that it doesn’t get trodden on, the snail feels pain as it is ripped away from the ground. However, if you give the shell a gentle tap first, the snail will withdraw, and you can pick the snail up without causing it any discomfort and move it to a more suitable location (say, your neighbour’s garden 🙂 )

Well, I regret to say that I have long been a ‘snail-ripper’, as there are few things sadder than the gentle ‘pop’ of a snail shell bursting underfoot as you run out through the rain to put the wheelie bins out. But since reading this, I have turned into a ‘snail-tapper’, and it certainly makes lifting the little chaps/chapesses easier when they aren’t clinging on for grim death. How long it takes them to recover from the trauma of thinking that they’ve just been grabbed by a song thrush is anybody’s guess.

Incidentally, if you regularly ‘tap’  a particular snail, s/he will eventually stop withdrawing  because s/he has worked out that you aren’t a predator, and it takes a lot of energy to fling yourself back into your shell on a regular basis. This implies to me that snails can learn, and is yet another example of even ‘primitive’ animals being a lot more complicated than we give them credit for.

Do snails feel pain, though? Does being ‘ripped’ from the pavement cause them discomfort? There has been a lot of work done on pain perception in invertebrates over the past twenty years, and it’s always a bit problematic – even amongst humans it’s impossible to know how much pain someone is in, as one person’s excruciating might be someone else’s just about tolerable. What’s generally recognised is that in sentient animals there are two components to pain – the actual physical effect, and the ‘suffering’ that can be brought on by anticipation/past experience/fear etc etc. Do snails feel a moment of angst as they feel themselves grabbed from above? Or is the pain purely that of having their ‘foot’ suddenly torn away without any chance to withdraw?

Well, who knows, but I prefer not to cause gratuitous suffering if at all possible, so I shall be tapping away in future. And here is a short and slightly-out-of-focus video of a snail as it ambles around the edge of a tray before being returned to the garden. Enjoy!

And finally, here’s Fleur Adcock’s poem ‘For a Five-Year-Old’. Much to think about, here…

For a Five-Year-Old

A snail is climbing up the window-sill
into your room, after a night of rain.
You call me in to see, and I explain
that it would be unkind to leave it there:
it might crawl to the floor; we must take care
that no one squashes it. You understand,
and carry it outside, with careful hand,
to eat a daffodil.

I see, then, that a kind of faith prevails:
your gentleness is moulded still by words
from me, who have trapped mice and shot wild birds,
from me, who drowned your kittens, who betrayed
your closest relatives, and who purveyed
the harshest kind of truth to many another.
But that is how things are: I am your mother,
and we are kind to snails.

Dear Readers, I have a great fondness for Samuel Taylor Coleridge’s ‘The Rime of the Ancient Mariner‘. For one thing, I always see myself in the Ancient Mariner as he stops the wedding guest and insists that he listen to his story: I am forever stopping people and insisting that they look at the moon/a bunch of waxwings/a particularly fat caterpillar etc. No one has called me a ‘grey-beard loon’ yet but it’s only a matter of time.

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.
‘By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp’st thou me?

The Bridegroom’s doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin;
The guests are met, the feast is set:
May’st hear the merry din.’

He holds him with his skinny hand,
‘There was a ship,’ quoth he.
‘Hold off! unhand me, grey-beard loon!’
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

In case you don’t know the story, the Ancient  Mariner shoots an albatross on a whim, bringing destruction to his ship and his shipmates, who all die of thirst. The Mariner is left with the albatross hanging around his neck as a sign of his sin, and the ship is left stranded, without a breath of a breeze. The most famous words of the poem came to me several times while we were wallowing around in the North Atlantic waiting for a whale to turn up, although of course we had plenty of water, and were only a few miles offshore.

“Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.”

Then a moment of hope – a ship is sighted! Sadly this is not a good thing:

“Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?

Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman’s mate?

Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man’s blood with cold.”

At this, everyone else on the ship drops dead, leaving only the Ancient Mariner.

“Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony.

The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I.”

But in the most moving part of the poem, the Ancient Mariner sees the sea snakes in the water, and his heart softens.

“Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes.

Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessed them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware.

The self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea.”

I find this pivotal moment so touching. I suspect many of us have been touched to the quick by something that we’ve seen in nature, whether it be the glimpse of a fox or a deer, or sparrows feeding their fledglings. In that moment there can be a sense of fellow-feeling, a wish that the animal will be happy and healthy. I certainly felt it with the whales and dolphins in the Azores, but I often feel it with the animals and even plants that I see regularly in my garden or around my home. Is this love what will save us, and them, and maybe everything? Coleridge seemed to think so.

Sperm whale diving on our last day

After many more ghastly adventures, the Ancient Mariner returns to his ‘own countree’, but every so often the fit comes upon him to grab some poor unfortunate and tell his tale. But what is the moral of it?

“Farewell, farewell! but this I tell
To thee, thou Wedding-Guest!
He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small;
For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.”

What an extraordinary poem this is. I recommend sitting down with it and reading it when you have the time – there is such imagination in it. And what a story! Let me know what you think, Readers, if you’ve studied it or read it, or if it’s new to you.

Black-legged kittiwake (Rissa tridactyla) nesting on the Farne Islands (Photo By MPF – Own work, CC BY-SA 3.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=59782)

Dear Readers, I haven’t featured a gull in the Red List posts for a while, and having just returned from the Azores it seems fitting to look at a seabird. Kittiwakes spend most of their lives at sea, returning to land only to breed. Probably the most famous colony in the UK is on the Tyne Bridge in Newcastle, where they nest further inland than any other colony of kittiwakes in the world – normally these birds favour sea cliffs, but they are clearly very adaptable. Another colony nests on the battlements of Fort George in Inverness. These are gentle-looking gulls who are rarely seen inland – they haven’t taken to parks like black-headed gulls, or to landfill like so many other species. Hence, summer is the only time that you’re likely to see them, and to hear the distinctive call that  gave them their name. Here’s a recording by Irish Wildlife Sounds, from Wicklow in Ireland.

But why are kittiwakes on the Red List? There has been a substantial decline in the breeding population of the birds, and research suggests that this is largely due to the decline in their main food, the sand eel. These tiny fish are harvested for their oils and flesh, which are used in a variety of foods for human and animal consumption, and recent legislation has  banned fishing for them in the North Sea, a rare example of policy actually changing to protect a habitat rather than bowing to commercial interests.

However, the fish are very reliant on a smooth sandy seabed for their habitat (they burrow into it), and so dredging can disrupt this. Sand eels are also very sensitive to temperature changes, and so the warming seas might present another problem for them. Furthermore, a lot of birds that feed close to the surface, where the sand eels swim (including that perennial favourite, the puffin) are also affected by the lack of sand eels – often they have to fly much further to get the food to feed their nestlings. Everything is interconnected, and the loss of the habitat of one fish can have devastating knock-on effects.

Puffin with a beak full of sand eels (Photo By Charles J. Sharp – Own work, from Sharp Photography, sharpphotography.co.uk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=106949394)

One threat that the kittiwakes no longer have to face, thank goodness, is being killed so that their wings can be used to decorate lady’s hats. At one point birds were being ‘harvested’ in their thousands, especially the young birds with their interesting markings, and, much as is done with sharks who are used for shark’s fin soup, the wingless birds would often be thrown over the side of the boat, to drown at their leisure. So horrified was Victorian activist Emily Williamson by this wanton slaughter (along with similar massacres of great-crested grebes) that she founded the forerunner of the RSPB, the Plumage League. Members promised :

“That Members shall discourage the wanton destruction of Birds, and interest themselves generally in their protection 

That Lady-Members shall refrain from wearing the feathers of any bird not killed for purposes of food, the ostrich only excepted.’ (1889)

Poor old ostrich, but still it was a step in the right direction – you can read the whole story of the Victorians and their hats at The Victorianist blog here.

Hats with birds on them. Ugh.

And so, it will be interesting to see how kittiwakes get on over the next few years. Our cliffs would be quieter without their elegant presence.

First winter kittiwake

The climbing hydrangea

Dear Readers, now that the dust has settled, the salt-caked washing is restored to cleanliness and the feeling that I’m still bobbing about on the ocean has gone, I finally turned my attention to the garden. Look at the climbing hydrangea! It’s finally achieved its ambition and reached the top of the original house, whilst simultaneously reaching out for the broad expanses of my neighbour’s white-washed walls. Fortunately they don’t mind the plant, otherwise there would be several of us debating who was climbing up a two-storey-tall ladder. But anyhow. As I was having my breakfast, I noticed a little flurry amongst the flowers, and then a robin headed up towards the top of the hydrangea with a mouthful of leaves. I suspect that a pair of them are making a nest tucked right up in the corner here, maybe even under the lead flushing.

Here’s one of the robins, eyeing me up as I try to discreetly photograph him/her out of the bathroom window.

I’ve seen young robins in the garden on many occasions, so clearly they’ve found a variety of places to nest. It’s perilous around here, though – at one point the squirrels were investigating this very spot, but I’m hoping they’ve returned to their old drey at the top of the whitebeam. I’ve heard magpies but they aren’t nesting here this year, though by the way they’re forever getting agitated about the crows I suspect they can’t be far away. Anyhow, keep your fingers crossed for these little ones, as they beaver away.

The flowers of the hydrangea are just about to open – the white flowers are sterile, but the little ones in between are full of pollen, so that attracts all kinds of bees and hoverflies.

And in other news, as I watched the robins a blue tit shot out of the nest box on the balustrade just above it. I’m hoping that eventually the hydrangea will grow over it and give it a bit of cover, it looks very noticeable as it is. No wonder the parent birds don’t hang around.

And finally, the yellow flag is out! In truth it’s a bit too vigorous for the pond, but then I seem to be surrounded by plants who don’t know that they’re not supposed to be as big as they are, so that’s nothing new. And I’d rather have something a bit boisterous than a delicate little soul who can’t deal with the challenges of a shady, damp north-facing garden. And yes, in spite of taking out the pendulous sedge that seems to have made itself at home again too. This is what happens when you travel for most of April and May – you end up chasing your tail for the whole summer. Never mind. Robins nesting, blue tits feeding youngsters, bees buzzing! I’m a happy woman. It’s great to be home.

The volcano on Pico island

Dear Readers, one ferry ride and two planes later and here I am, home again to a bright sunny day, and news that I just missed seeing the aurora borealis over East Finchley. Damn! Well, I’ll just have to go to Iceland to see it instead. The garden is a jungle, but it’s so nice to sleep in my own bed again, though the cat has been celebrating my return by singing to me continually since day break.

I didn’t manage to post any video of one of our last sightings before I came home – there was a huge pod of Risso’s dolphins that were jumping and playing all around the rib boat. These are the most delightful blunt-headed dolphins – the babies are born grey, but dolphins are quite competitive, physical creatures, and every time an animal gets a bite, it leaves a white scar that doesn’t return to its original colour. As a result, adult males in particular look almost completely white, meaning that they are very visible under the water. Apologies to anyone prone to seasickness 🙂

Well, by now you’ll have gathered that taking photos on an RIB boat with 15 other people bobbing about is not an easy task, but I hope to post a gallery of rather better photos from some of the sharp-shooters in the group in the next couple of weeks.

So, some last thoughts.

• If you’re prone to seasickness and are planning on going whale watching, Stugeron seems to work for most people without making you feel too drowsy. I was really glad that I had some, though I didn’t need them myself.
• And on that subject, it’s always worth taking a few more painkillers/seasickness pills/stuff for upset stomachs than you think you’ll need, because even if you don’t need it, someone else will.
• If you have a dodgy back, sit towards the back of a RIB boat on any occasion (even one of those trips that they do up the Thames) – it might not be quite as exhilarating, but your vertebrae will thank you.
• There are no toilets on an RIB boat (or at least there weren’t on ours) and you can be out for five hours. Worth thinking  about if you have a bladder complaint.
• The sheer generosity of the portions of food on the Azores was amazing, and it was great value for money once you got there.
• If you go to the Azores, I recommend the whale watching company that we used, CW Azores. They took great care of everyone (and bear in mind that our group was probably twice as old as the usual demographic) and they are very respectful of the whales and dolphins.
• I fell in love with the Cory’s shearwaters  so I’m going to make a donation to the Portuguese Society for the Study of Birds – our guide Lara works for them, and they are doing amazing work for birds both on the Azores and Madeira, and on the Portuguese mainland. Although the Azores is working towards sustainable tourism, we still have to travel by plane to get there, and the boats all use fossil fuels, so this is one way of trying to offset the environmental damage and to repay the kindness and care of the people that helped us have such an amazing experience.

Sperm whale diving on our last day

Dear Readers, by the time you read this I will hopefully be back in East Finchley, and I am writing this on our last evening in tearing haste. I’m sure I’ll have more thoughts about the Azores once I’ve dealt with the massive pile of salty laundry that’s in my suitcase, but for now, let’s just be glad that I finally managed to take a photo of a big male sperm whale heading down a kilometre or two to munch on some giant squid….

Humpback whale diving

And that on our final day we also saw a humpback whale, and s/he was very obliging on the fluke front too.

So wish me luck with my ferry/plane from the Azores to Lisbon/flight from Lisbon to Heathrow/taxi home!