NORTH DOWNS & BEYOND

The first moth that I have any recollection of appeared as if a short, stubby, pink cigar, hanging onto a pile of freshly laundered clothing that was spilling over the top of a washing basket. At first I wasn't sure what this 'thing' was - a medley of pink bubblegum and mossy green - was it really a living thing and not some toy misplaced by a younger sibling? But on closer examination it was real enough. It moved. And it had wings. Even then, without any known education or experience, I somehow knew that this was no butterfly but a moth. It was the summer of 1973 and I had no real interest in natural history, but that was about to change... As if priming me for what was about to unfold, a second moth came to me that summer. A big thing, all chocolate brown discs on a white background, with splurges of orange. Two moths and two absolute belters. I needed to know more. And so, like so many schoolchildren before me, I sought enlightenment via one of the ubiquitous Observer Bo

Four consecutive mornings have seen me setting up shop on Epsom Downs to do a bit of skywatching - or vis-migging to be more precise - the dark art of counting migrating birds as they pass overhead. I find this form of birding most relaxing and full of surprises. It is a bit like an inland form of seawtaching as you just keep still and let the conveyor belt of birds come to you. Even on the quietest of days it is rewarding. Mid-to-late autumn is the busiest time of the year to engage, so I have been full of hope that rewards (however modest) would come my way. And they have. The position that I take up (as can be seen in the photo above) looks northwards towards the race course buildings, and gives me uninterrupted views all round, including sight-lines into the dips that can otherwise hide low-flying birds. So far it has confirmed that hirundines and pipits move across the area on a broad-front, with any obvious concentrated streams of birds easy to pick out. I believe that when the t

The last post - looking at the successful colonising moth species to my Banstead garden - generated a comment from Dorset birder (and avid moth convert) Gavin Haig as to whether or not I would be up to creating a post that looked at those species that are declining here in my corner of Surrey. Good idea Gav! What follows is all a little bit cobbled together, using some hard data with a large dollop of gut instinct. As background, we moved into our current home in 1987, set in a suburban area nestled between Banstead and Epsom Downs. The garden is about 100ft in length and well established (which goes for most of those close by). I have recorded the moths here since day one: an actinic from August 1987 until December 1989; then an MV from January 1990 onwards. Effort has been largely constant, although there were a couple of lapses that lasted just a few months. I used to count (and identify) each and every individual macro moth, but stopped doing that in 1993 due to time constraints. W

This morning saw the capture of a Clancy's Rustic (above) at the MV - the first to be recorded here in Banstead and my 652nd species (of which 413 are macros) for the garden. This species was unknown in the UK until my friend Sean Clancy caught and identified one in New Romney, Kent in 2002. As much as it is a moth that has only been reliably recorded in the country for 21 years, it is no longer a rare migrant but has now become a colonising resident. It's appearance in Banstead was not unexpected, in fact was overdue, having colonised southern coastal counties and is now making inroads into Surrey and the London area. Our moth fauna is in a state of flux - of course, no group of creatures stays still, but the range of many moths have exhibited great changes in recent years, particularly migrants colonising the south-east of England. Others, pure residents, have suddenly increased in numbers so that they now appear in areas that they shunned not that long ago. I thought it migh

It goes with the territory. If you are an advocate and an exponent of 'low-carbon' birding, of being green and of leaving the car in the driveway and walking (or taking public transport) to your places of birding, then it is prudent to 'walk-the-walk' and not just 'talk-the-talk'. It helps if you live by the coast, or at least close to a large water-body - your doorstep experience will be so much more rewarding than if you live, let's just say, on the edge of dry Surrey chalk downland. It is a fault of mine to embrace a cause and then become a cheerleader for it, rather than quietly support it. Thus, I bang on about the delights to be found in birdwatching my immediate area - and, believe me, there can be delights. But, in 2023, I am finding these delights to be hard to come by. It can appear - and it is -  a 'first-world' problem: that of bleating on about how poor the local birding is. When compared to what could be wrong in life it is of little co

The 14-day local uberpatch blitz continued. It must be said that the birding has been awfully quiet. It isn't just the passage migrants that are missing - the same could be said for any song-bird passerine. Actually thinking about it, the same could be said for ANYTHING. Even the ubiquitous corvids, pigeons and parakeets have suddenly gone AWOL, and gulls seem to have done a runner as well. Something tells me that they aren't elsewhere, that the numbers are low because the populations have plummeted. I have to keep reminding myself that birding is not a chore, I'm able to walk miles across beautiful scenery and that I have a choice not to do so. However, as worthy as that approach is, there is no denying that things are seriously wrong, not only with our bird numbers but also with our insects. It is easy for the general birder to put all this to one side and celebrate the fact that there are thousands of rare, misplaced seabirds on our western shores, putting on spectacular

The 14-day Uberpatch birding bonanza has started, although my use of the word 'bonanza' is definitely overkill and there are moments when the appearance of the word 'birding' is highly questionable. It's been that sort of start... DAY 1 September 1st. Calm, overcast, rain during middle of day. Warm. Local chalk downland was the order of the day, although I found myself walking much further than I intended, more in the desire to actually find some migrants rather than for the purposes of exercise. I clocked up 22.1km in the search - it really was a day of casting my eye across superb looking habitat and wondering why on earth there were no birds (mostly passerines) to look at. It was dire. Even though I was out in the field all day I only managed to find 28 warblers (which included a single Garden Warbler and two Lesser Whitethroats) and no chats. Hirundines were also hard to come by, with a couple of 20+ Swallow flocks hawking above horse paddocks. I visited Little