NORTH DOWNS & BEYOND

This is the fourth in an occasional series looking at bird species that have fared well - and those not so well - across the uberpatch over the last 50-odd years. In some ways the Tree Sparrow has shown the greatest decline of all the birds in my 50+ years of birding across the uberpatch. From expected flocks of over 200 birds to none at all is some fall from grace, one that is all the harder to take as the Tree Sparrow was considered a flagship species - an icon even -  for Beddington SF. When I first trod the fields and sludge lagoons of this fabled sewage farm they were ubiquitous. Flocks were easy to come by, feeding on the seeds of fat-hen or grazing on the screening deposits that included filtered food particles, their chocolate brown crowns, black splurged cheeks and conversational chatter a welcome - and expected - part of any visit. They bred in the outbuildings and the holes in the concrete dykes. My peak counts of 200 all occurred in 1978 (25 February, 22 March and 26 No...

  "Above all, do not lose your desire to walk. Everyday, I walk myself into a state of well-being and walk away from every illness. I have walked myself into my best thoughts, and I know of no thought so burdensome that one cannot walk away from it."  Soren Kierkegaard I had found myself in an uncomfortable place. Maudlin and retrospective what with the impending first anniversary of my sister's passing; saddened at the recent loss of several of the birding community; still trying to shake off the effects of a virus that manifested itself back in mid-December; unable to inject some oomph into everyday life. No doubt that the recent largely grey and wet weather had not helped at all in my seeking out some sunny uplands. Yesterday I decided that, seeing as retail therapy does nothing for me, some walking therapy would do instead. At 06.30hrs I left the house with a vague route in mind, ignored the chilly and blustery westerly wind, put my best foot forward... and repeated t...

This blogging lark has hidden depths, one of them being the privilege of connecting with fellow bloggers in a far deeper way than just reading what they write and leaving the odd comment on their blog. I have, over the years, met up with several of them and corresponded on a more personal level with a few more. One of them was Dylan Wrathall. His blog 'Of Esox and observations' was a regular stop off of mine. At first glance it seemed to be mainly about fishing, something that I have not taken part in since I was a surly teenager being dragged along to a riverbank by my Dad and fishing brothers. But Dylan's reputation went far beyond that of an angler as he was a well-known Kent birder, who for a time tore across the county in pursuit of year list records, so I knew that there would be a fair number of ornithological nuggets to find, particularly from his home in Dumpton. And together with the posts about birds you'd also find those dealing with moths, butterflies, ins...

Vicarious: experiencing something indirectly through the actions, feelings, or experiences of another person, rather than doing it yourself To me, if you can happily live life by gaining pleasure from living vicariously then you have a pretty good life balance. Those that suggest that you need 'to do' in order to fulfil some sort of obligation that we owe to the universe are, in my mind, wide of the mark. These thoughts came back to me strongly recently and seemed ripe for a bit of bloggage... I have, and never will, surf. However, I am absolutely wrapped up in watching 'big wave' surfing videos (eg Riding Giants), binge-watching TV series (such as 100-foot Wave) and reading books (like Barbarian Days by William Finnegan) and can claim a fascination with all things extreme surfing. I will, I repeat, never surf and have no inclination to do so. Watching others do it, and do it with so much skill and bravado is enough for me. I can feed off of their excitement, feel their...

This is the third in an occasional series looking at bird species that have fared well - and those not so well - across the uberpatch over the last 50-odd years. I first set foot on Epsom Common (Surrey) in December 1974. I had been decanted from a bus that had stopped on the Ashtead Road, then followed a public footpath that took me over a railway line and on to an open area that was characterised by scrub, mature Silver Birch, muddy tracks and a fully-fledged woodland in the near distance. The photograph above was taken in February 2023 which, apart from the newly laid footpath, is a fairly good representation of what the area looked like 52 years ago, at least if you can imagine that the tree height was generally lower. Over the following two years this became one of my regular birding haunts, always coming onto the common from this direction and, more often than not, bringing me into contact with Willow Tits, regardless of the time of year. The nasal, slightly sneery call was a dea...

Birds on visible migration (vis-mig) can provide some of the most spectacular of ornithological experiences, so much so that there is a band of birders who dedicate their time to seeking out such events. I count myself as one of them albeit on a lower plane than the most obsessive of aficionados. It is a sub-sect of the birding family that will spend hours scouring weather maps for tell-tell signs of a possible upcoming vis-mig happening and will then ensure that they are at their chosen vantage point by, or shortly after, dawn. There are websites devoted to the observations gathered by such birders (for example Trektellen ) and also WhatsApp groups where data can be instantly shared. It is an inclusive world in which the celebration of bird migration is a central pillar. People that you have never met become virtual friends and places that you have never visited become as familiar as your own back garden. Those that get their vis-mig kicks from sea watching will hopefully excuse my la...

This is the second in an occasional series looking at bird species that have fared well - and those not so well - across the uberpatch over the last 50-odd years. In 1974, the year of the birth of my ornithological journey, Common Buzzard was not a species that you could even think of seeing in London and the Home Counties. Or in 1984. Or, for that matter, 1994. If I wanted to avail myself of a bit of Buzzard action I needed to go to the New Forest or undertake a long car journey to the West Country where I might be able to feast my eyes on one flying over a major A-road in Wiltshire, Devon or Cornwall. They were special. They were 'an event'. How times change... It was not until 28 September 1999 that a Common Buzzard and I crossed paths on the uberpatch, a single at Holmethorpe SP. It had been expected as they had been increasing in number in the SE of England, but was still something to be celebrated. The next encounter was one that flew over the M25/23 junction as I was sit...

This is the first in an occasional series looking at bird species that have fared well - and those not so well - across the uberpatch over the last 50-odd years. When I began birding in 1974 there had been under 200 Little Egrets recorded in Great Britain and Ireland and at that time this total had only recently been bumped up by the unprecedented numbers recorded during what was referred to as an invasion in 1970, which appeared to be very much an anomaly. Out of those records the Surrey contribution was a big fat zero. (It is worth mentioning that an excavation at a site in Southwark - part of the VC17 recording area - had discovered remains of this species dating back to 1500-1700 AD. It would have taken some juggling of the concept of time for a 1974 vintage birder to have been able to claim that one on their county list.) Needless to say, the idea that I might see a Little Egret at all, let alone in my home county of Surrey, was very small indeed. It is hard to appreciate that thi...

  I fancied a change today. The thought of a day being spent on the North Downs didn't power up my ornithological enthusiasm, so I considered the areas that are adjacent to the uberpatch, looking for inspiration. Out came the trusty OS map, unfolded as far as it would go, hardly manageable yet strangely satisfying and absorbing - you can really lose yourself in the intricacies printed before you, following the contour lines with your finger, taking in the place names, deciphering the symbols - rituals that have been undertaken for many years by those who stride out across the land, something that loses its warmth and connection if you choose to stare at a phone screen instead. Old school. And there it was, my inspiration. Burstow Park Farm. Served by several footpaths that cross the farmland between Bransland Wood and Outwood Common. I hadn't just plucked the location out of the air though. A few years ago my very good friend Gordon Hay had located a wintering flock of Yellowha...

Time, its passing and the effects that it has upon us is something that readily colours my birding. Apart from being a handy hook to hang a rare bird or spectacular movement on, a date can also bring to memory a place, people, a conversation, a feeling. A bit of a Proust's madeleine cake moment. I was idly daydreaming about birding places recently and my mental rolodex randomly settled upon Portland Bill. September 1977 sprang immediately to mind. Why then and not the date that I saw a Yellow-billed Cuckoo (September 1979) or Ivory Gull (February 1980) on that fair island? I then recalled that September 1977 visit - not blessed with loads of birds, certainly no rarity - but blessed with a calming, restful, place defining moment. Us young birders (for we were young back then) were crammed into a smallish car, parked on the road that heads downhill towards the car park and obelisk. The observatory was full, so no bed was to be had there. Our student pockets would not stretch to a hot...

  Most of my plant hunting has taken place in what could be described as urban and suburban settings. For every search of a Scottish Mountain or an English saltmarsh there have been hundreds across the streets of south London and northern Surrey. This may at first suggest that the rewards in such man-made habitats will be somewhat lacking, but, as much as my chance of finding a Drooping Saxifrage here is nil, the cross-section of plant families and species composition will be much higher. I was therefore delighted to discover that Bloomsbury had published 'Urban Plants', a book in their 'British Wildlife Collection' by the notable botanist Trevor Dines. It is a wonderful book, crammed full of information that will ensure that you will never look at urban botany in the same light again. From grass verges, pavements, trees, wasteland, walls and street furniture, the scales will drop from your eyes as you are expertly introduced to a world fit for exploration and discovery...

Last Saturday morning I had four encounters with Goshawks within an hour's birding along the Mickleham Valley (above). The first was a loud, robust and piercing call from an unseen bird; the second an enormous female, flying along a hillside of yew and box showing off its muscular athletic build, long neck, long wings and rounded tail, with a dark mask beneath a thick white supercillium; next a distant displaying bird big-dippering; and lastly a streaked juvenile, just at tree top height, circling the hillside giving fine views (but for the thin tree canopy great photographs could have been obtained). It would take a highly inattentive birder to wander across my part of the Surrey North Downs and not realise that Goshawks are doing rather well here. For the past three years I've been able to expect to see them in the late-winter/spring with some regularity and so far this year if I don't see at least one when I'm out and about then I am rather surprised. It wasn't a...

I have touched upon my hearing loss previously in ND&B posts, but since then there has been developments. It must have been back in that strangely blame-free pre-Covid year of 2019 that I first noticed that my ears were not fully functioning. On a mid-summer walk through a meadow with my eldest daughter, she commented on the noise that the 'grasshoppers' were making. I stood still and listened. I couldn't hear a single one. This was soon followed by my failure to pick up the screams from a high flying flock of Swifts; the realisation that migrant Tree Pipits had not really become exceedingly rare but was down to the fact that I couldn't hear them call; and that most evocative of autumn night noises, calling Redwings, were out of my aural reach (unless they were very close). The final straw that broke this birder's back was last winter, standing with another birder on Ranmore Common, he picking up and announcing incoming Hawfinches whilst I stood there in a silen...

Back in the summer we lost another of the birding family, Barry Banson. Had I been maintaining this blog at the time I would have written about him there and then, so please accept my belated words of celebration of the man, one who was a great influence on me, moulding my natural history interests with the result that it took me to the four corners of Britain in pursuit of wild flowers. I first met Barry while birding at Beddington SF in the mid-1970s. He was, at the time, a schoolmaster at Alleyn's, a public school based in Dulwich. I think it is fair to say that the schoolmaster never fully left Barry, who did not suffer fools gladly and treated many people as if they were a pupil in one of his classes. regardless of their age or station in life. Having said that, once you got beyond that veneer of authority he was an utterly charming and interesting person to spend time with, a man of many interests, with natural history and sport at the top of a long list. In those early days ...