NORTH DOWNS & BEYOND

I spent the morning (and early afternoon) at Canons Farm. It certainly had its moments, none more so than a flyover drake Gadwall, a new species for the site (there is no water by the way...). This event neatly illustrates one of the patch watcher's truisms - you CAN make a silk purse from a sow's ear. A Gadwall elsewhere would hardly get the pulse quickening, but this mornings drake had the three observers present in a slight state of joyful agitation. As would have done a Moorhen, Coot, Teal... you get the picture. We are knee-deep in Nuthatches here, they don't merit much thought, but if the same species turned up at Dungeness, then a full-scale twitch would be the outcome. In which case Canons Farms sow's-ear would become a Dungeness silk purse! I also partook in another patch watcher 'given' - the scan of hope , brought about when corvids and (or gulls) frantically leap into the air with much excited calling. Now is the time to stare long and hard into th...

Well, how was it for you? Storms like this sweep through northern Britain on a regular basis, but us soft Southerners believe that such meteorological events are rarities that are indicative of the coming of Satan himself. But in truth they are becoming less of a surprise now, with our weather, to quote comic Stewart Lee, being "no weather at all, punctuated by catastrophe" - or something like that. Being a serial weather forecast junkie, I knew Katie was coming, and when awoken at 03.30hrs by heavy rain hammering against the window, borne on a banshee wailing wind, cannot say that I was anything but prepared for it. We have had a bit of a damp problem in an alcove, which is exacerbated by strong wind and heavy rain, so needless to say an inspection of the property this morning found a bit more damp to contend with - plus one smashed fence panel, a bit of masonry and tile by the back door and various branches that were, until this morning, attached to an Ash tree. What ...

I've been spending a bit of time in the garden recently, tidying up from the neglect of winter. A bit of cutting back; raking up leaves that dropped after the autumn winds or were blown out of their hiding places by winter gusts; reducing the rampant ivy; giving the lawns their first trim of the year (although neither modest affairs would win any awards, being more moss and tree root than grass); cleaning out bird feeders and topping up the ones in use; clearing the pond of floating debris (this doesn't take long as it is very small indeed). Wherever I looked, there were signs of the season ramping up - buds where there were no buds just a few days ago, leaves unfurling, flower unveiling. A bit of sun and the attendant warmth enticed Brimstones and Small Tortoiseshells out of hibernation. If I actually switched the moth trap on (I haven't so far this year) there would no doubt be the usual suspects to greet me, the Hebrew Characters, the Clouded Drabs and the Common Quake...

I am currently reading The Military Orchid by Jocelyn Brook. It is a delight. Little Toller (those fine publishers of sensitive and worthy nature writing) have reprinted it, so it is easy to get hold of. I was lucky enough to be given a copy of his collected works, referred to as The Orchid Trilogy , by my good Dungeness buddy, Pete Burness. Brooke grew up in Kent in the early 20th century, living on the coast just west of Folkestone. He was a precocious boy, and took to the study of wild flowers readily, although by his own admission, he was really interested in orchids. The book reads as a highly chatty field notebook, written with a flowing ease that makes this book a delight to spend time with. That the places and species that he mentions are well-known to me only adds to the experience. I'm not far into the books, but such is the joy I thought it only right to suggest that visitors to this blog secure a copy.  Brooke was obviously a complicated individual, finding socia...

What draws us to certain places? Why do we end up birding/walking where we do? Is it purely convenience, or is there more to it than that? My first locality that actually meant something to me was Beddington SF. I've posted about my early allegience plenty of times before. Even though the old place has gone forever (currently masquerading as a landfill site being systematically raped of its wildlife value), it does exist in my memory and I frequently go there still, via the power of recall. On the surface why would anybody want to keep returning to a place covered in liquid shit, but return I did. To my mid-teen self I felt as if I was being allowed access into a magical place, entrance by permit, ornithological history already in place and welcoming me to continue in building it further. The old brick outhouses, dyke system, elm-lined lanes, hedgerows and meadows were already being removed when I first visited, but the feeling of being present in the past was very strong and mo...

The sun was out and the cold northerly wind was a little less bothersome. My walk from home across Canons Farm, along Chipstead Valley and back to Banstead via Park Downs was more about looking into the future then observing the here and now. I stopped to check on the Fly Orchids at Fame's Rough and found a minimum of four rosettes (above). I'm assuming that they are indeed what I am claiming them to be, as my vegetative ID skills are not, I admit, brilliant. As I always do when finding myself on Park Downs, I visited the orchid fields. Even though we are a few months away from flowering, I cannot help but go and bathe in the wonder of what these fields produced last year - it will stay with me forever. So although the scene today was as above, before long it will look like this... And to counterbalance the title of this post, a paragraph about what has been . I'm obviously in a reflective state of mind at the moment. As is my want, yesterday afternoon I left...

It is most probably an age thing. Without wishing to come across as being morbid, the longer that we have immersed ourselves into all things 'wildlife' then it stands to reason that the time that we have left to do so is shortened. That is life. And death. A recent exchange of comments on another blog dealt with the fact that as we age the conversations change (from getting married, to having kids, to schooling, then to illness). As someone who is no stranger to staring at one's mortality firmly in the face, it beggars belief that anybody can get het-up about missing a rare bird or that the weather is not quite right to put the moth trap out - but we still do, even those of us lucky enough to know better. A number of the (more) mature bloggers that I follow have a similar outlook on their life, as far as time spent with the natural world is concerned. This is an outlook that is based not on end result, more on the path that is taken to get there. It might be taking on a p...