NORTH DOWNS & BEYOND

Ever since I was a young lad I've liked to walk. Offers of a lift would be politely turned down - I wanted to walk. To see what was around me, whether that be a panoramic view, interesting architecture or getting a feel for an area. In later life it also included looking at the wildlife. When I go into London I'll shun the underground as there are parts of the capital that are hidden away from you unless you walk the pavements - lively side-streets, tucked away museums, discreet churches, fantastic pubs. When I was very ill (some 30 years ago now) I refused to lie down and used my walking as a way to keep fit both mentally and physically. And now that I am well advanced in years I use walking as a way of oiling my joints, stretching my muscles and helping the grey matter to keep working. I do not take my ability to 'put in the steps' for granted and when I do it is an act of celebration and, if I'm being honest, a way of trying to keep ageing at bay. There is, I...

May 30th. There were none at dawn, but a couple of hours later they suddenly appeared, as if dropped en mass onto the very tip of Dungeness - Painted Lady butterflies (above). Every flowering Red Valerian plant held them and on approach they fell from the flower-heads, either onto the shingle or would circle off together, taking the short flight to the nearest source of nectar. Others did not move, busily feeding, refuelling from their cross-channel flight and getting ready for their next northward push. There were hundreds, possibly low thousands. I walked the road northwards from the lighthouses to the estate entry gate and sought out the Red Valerian - not as much as formerly found - each clump dripping with this migrant lepidoptera. It was mesmerising, these orange, black and white visitors from North Africa and the continent that had shared their arrival alongside some saharan dust and a cast of rare migrant moths. By lunchtime they had all gone, melted away. It left me feeling be...

"Prrrp...prrrp..." There aren't many bird calls that can illicit such a strong response from the birder than that of a European Bee-eater. They are uncommon enough to be valued, colourful of plumage to the extreme, graceful in flight and are rainbows with wings. Redolent of the Mediterranean and the Middle East they bring glamour and excitement to our ordinary world. So when I heard one call whilst eating an ice-cream and sitting chatting to Dave Bunney I knew that the day had just got a whole lot better - and more were to come! That afternoon (May 24th) we were to be treated to at least four of them flying around the point, giving their position away with calls to then reward us with low fly passes. Two of them decided to hang around Kerton Road Pit for long enough to enable all-comers to feast their eyes upon these apparitions calved from the sun, perching up on wires or sweeping above in the blue skies, feeding and calling, feeding and calling, feeding and calling. Bli...

I’ve just returned from a further spell of 12 days at Dungeness in Kent, making use of the facilities offered by Dungeness Bird Observatory (DBO). Once again this magical shingle kingdom bestowed upon me a trip that was full of highlights - further posts will cover the birds, invertebrates and detail one very long walk that was undertaken in the heat - but this post will concentrate on the emotions that were stirred during this late-May period, owing to a mixture of feeling the spirit of the Ness, interacting with the people who populated it and the sheer wonder of being able to walk across the shingle - at different times of day - and feel blessed to be part of something so huge that could inexplicably and suddenly collapse into something so small and personal. I cannot put my finger on it, and in some respects am glad that I can’t, but there are special forces - benign powers - that govern this corner of Kent. The overriding theme of this stay was of heat. Rarely have I felt so hot i...

Harry Cawkell would tap his pipe out, lean back into the common room chair, survey the eager faces before him and then begin. Anecdotes and stories, gossip and rumour, all had a place in the show that had now started. Harry, Dungeness Bird Observatory’s (DBO) long standing honorary secretary, loved nothing more than to talk about ‘the old times’ with any birders that happened to be in his orbit when he popped into the obs. For those of us who had known Harry for a few years the stories would be familiar, but we listened with avid interest regardless. Some of his stories were so familiar, and so rarely did he deviate in their telling, that we would know exactly what words were about to be spoken. Some of these became catchphrases. Harry’s stories - and Harry’s telling of them - became part of the Dungeness story itself. And then, in 1999, Harry died. And with him went those stories… They didn’t entirely go. Some of us remembered them, or at least the odd personally selected highlight. I...

Banstead Downs sits just to the south of the Greater London boundary - in fact, if you cross the road at its northern limit you will be straying into the London Borough of Sutton. This relatively modest area of chalk downland has a decent record of natural history recording (no doubt due to the close proximity of London) and so for the local naturalist there is the pleasure of being able to browse historical species lists across several groups. Having lived in the general area for 55 years my ventures onto this particular downland were primarily in search of its birds, plants and butterflies, but recently that has shifted to dipping in-and-out of the wonderful array of invertebrates that it has to offer. This morning I had a small window of opportunity to go exploring. There is one small area on the eastern flank that I make a bee-line for, with low vegetation choked with Bramble, Stinging-nettle, Cow Parsley and Hogweed (with a dash of Horse-radish for good measure). It is next to a l...