Crossing the County Border

On Sunday, we decided to venture outside the boundaries of Cambridgeshire into nearby Bedfordshire. We had good reason – to visit The Lodge in Sandy. You would expect some great wildlife spotting opportunities at the headquarters of the RSPB, and The Lodge does not disappoint. While I work in an office block next to a busy road, the lucky people who work at the RSPB headquarters are situated in the Swiss Cottage or the eponymous Lodge on a 180 hectare nature reserve. Popping out at lunchtime to get some fresh air would certainly be more interesting here.

It was a bright, dry, cold day with just a gentle breeze and a few innocuous clouds in the sky. Wrapping up warm, we set off from the car park on a path flanked on the right by acidic heathland dotted with silver birches and pines, both young and mature, and on the left by the road down to the Lodge building and, in the distance, sparse woodland.

To our surprise, we were immediately met by a swarm of midges. We didn’t expect to see those in such cold weather! Along the side of the path was an abundance of dense gorse bushes, resplendent with yellow coconut-scented flowers. The ground to the side was carpeted by a thick covering of dead bracken and creeping brambles.

As we continued down the path we entered woodland consisting mainly of mature silver birches, together with a few pines and oaks. The calls of blue tits and great tits chimed from the canopies above. Pieces of deadwood were scattered to the sides of the unmade-up footpath, providing homes for many of the insects on which the birds here like to feast.

One thing I have become fascinated by while writing this blog is lichen. I find the variety of its colours and textures strikingly beautiful and intriguing. Plus, it’s a wonderful symbiotic partnership between fungus and algae or cyanobacteria – and that in itself is very cool. My plan over this year is to learn how to identify some different types of lichen so that I can put some more knowledge behind my enthusiasm. In this particular woodland, many of the silver birches were adorned with a mint green lichen that had a texture which looked like thick spiders’ web. I’d love to know if anyone can identify it correctly.

Following the pine needle and oak leaf layered path, we soon came to the reserve’s hide. I absolutely love hides. In the midst of our busy, loud, technology filled day-to-day lives, hides are oases of tranquility. They provide a place where strangers can happily sit together quietly, united by the same passion for wildlife, watching nature at its most natural.

At first, we could only see the blue tits and great tits which we had heard earlier, together with a couple of blackbirds. However, as time went on, more and more species emerged from the surrounding heath to eat from the feeders and splash about in the two ponds in front of the hide. We saw male and female blackbirds and coal tits come to partake in the feast. A robin proudly hopped onto the scene, showing off his impressive red breast. A green woodpecker sat on a tree in the distance and a couple of chaffinches bounced around on the ground under the feeders in the hope of catching food that had dropped.

As I watched one of the feeders, I noticed a small head pop round from behind it. A great spotted woodpecker must have been sitting there, concealed, for some time, but now he was moving round and I was able to get a good view of him. He seemed perfectly happy sitting there, pecking away at the seeds, while nuthatches and blue tits swept in intermittently to eat next to him.

Usually, Andrew takes the photos while I scribble notes about what I’ve seen, but this time I decided to give the camera work a go. To my delight, I was given a wonderful test subject in the form of a pheasant who ambled calmly into my frame. Despite his slow pace, he hardly stopped for a second and his incessantly bobbing head proved a challenge to photograph. However, his scintillating feathers were a joy to capture. I have always thought that pheasants are beautiful birds but concentrating on this one brought it home to me how striking their lucent crimson cheeks and glistening sapphire necks are.

As I was altering the shutter speed, I heard an excited whisper spread around the hide. Looking out, I saw a muntjac deer pusillanimously drinking from the further pond. He looked slightly wary, as deer often do, but kept contentedly licking his lips in between drinks. While he eagerly lapped at the pond, blackbirds and redwings landed beside him and paddled messily, but he did not flinch. Eventually, something spooked him and he fled. At that time we decided we should move too to make sure we could have a walk around the reserve before the daylight faded.

On our walk away from the hide we were accompanied by the strident squawks of jays and ravens. Perhaps they too had seen the buzzard circling above. The buzzard floated seemingly effortlessly over the heath land below, searching for his next victim.

At intervals along the ground we noticed that there lay the crushed remains of bird pellets containing beetle wing cases. They were impressively large and the wing cases surprisingly intact despite having been in a bird’s gullet.

Our attention was quickly diverted above us by the sound of birds landing on a tree. As our eyes adjusted to the glare from the low sun we realised that a group of about thirty lesser redpolls had settled in the canopy of a silver birch. Their scarlet foreheads and brown striped wings make them distinctive, but in addition to their physical appearance, you may notice their unusual upside-down feeding method.

We continued along the heather flanked path, spotting more beetle wing laden pellets, and then descended gently towards the ruin of a small moss-capped stone wall. Fungi grew copiously in its damp crevices. Beech masts lay amongst the heather, having fallen from the mature beech trees towering above.

Appropriately, considering the name of the nearest town to the reserve, the ground around this area is particularly sandy, to the point that you could imagine you were on a beach if it weren’t for the abundant heather and pine trees.

The sand slipped away under our feet as we ascended out of the basin with the sound of hooting woodpigeons and squeaking nuthatches accompanying us. Nest boxes of differing sizes lined a number of the trees which flanked the path out of the dip, providing homes for a range of birds.

One obvious feature of the foliage around here is the presence of rhododendron bushes. I remember how, some years ago, I visited this reserve and saw a sign asking for volunteers to help them remove rhododendron bushes. I thought that ‘Rhododendron Remover’ would be a fantastic role to put on a CV! Of course, there was a serious reason for this request for volunteers – rhododendron is an invasive species and diminishes biodiversity in the areas where it takes hold. Although they may look pretty when in bloom, there’s a darker side to these innocent looking bushes.

We advanced further up the hill, past impressive hollies reaching about 25 feet into the sky, and arrived at the remains of a sandstone quarry. The sides of the quarry have eroded over time, leaving a tree balancing on the edge with its great roots exposed. The startling amber tone of the rock contrasted sharply with the slate hue of the darkening wintry sky.

Leaving the quarry, we ascended further until we came back out onto the flat land next to the Lodge. On our way back to the car park we couldn’t resist popping back into the hide where we saw a cheeky grey squirrel trying to steal food from the bird feeders, and a tiny wren hopping delicately around the nearest pond.

If it weren’t for the swiftly escaping light, we could have stayed there for hours more. However, it was clear that the birds were starting to go to bed and that seemed like a good signal for us to leave too.

Wind and Wildfowl

On New Year’s Day, as we drove down the long path from the main road to the car park of Fen Drayton Lakes, a strong wind was already whistling and the overcast sky exhibited a broad spectrum of greys. While this may not sound like the perfect weather to visit a nature reserve, it emphasised the bleakly beautiful nature of Fen Drayton perfectly.

Fen Drayton: The lakes start just paces from the car park

The reserve lies on a piece of land which has changed profoundly over the centuries. If one stands now looking across the lakes and reed beds, it is hard to believe that a few hundred years ago this area would have been used as pasture for grazing cattle, rolling gently down to the banks of the River Great Ouse. The landscape that we see today at Fen Drayton is the result of many years of intensive quarrying. The quarrying began in 1941 in the midst of international war and did not cease until in 1997. At this time the pits were filled with water to create the wonderful habitats we see today.

Untamed beauty

If you are looking for water birds, this is an excellent place to come. Within seconds of leaving the car we were at our first lake and it had already become abundantly clear why this is known to be such a birdwatchers' paradise. As we looked through our binoculars we started a game of who could identify the different species first. The menagerie which was settled on the water consisted of egrets, mute swans, coots, little grebes and tufted ducks. A cormorant flew gracefully across the sky, creating a striking silhouette against the ashen clouds.

The wind rustles the reeds and whips up waves on the lake

Leaving the first lake, we crossed a field abundant with teasel. Their menacingly thorned stems quivered in the strong breeze, making their prickly heads bob gently. Hungry goldfinches perched on the teasel heads, pecking enthusiastically at the seeds. They demonstrated how their long slender beaks are perfectly shaped for feeding in this way. Another bird with a stubbier beak would not be so successful if he were to attempt to make this plant his dinner.

The prickly heads on teasel won't keep hungry goldfinches away

As we ambled further across the field, we were met with the now familiar laughter of a flock of fieldfares. They darted quickly between the teasel stems and dense hawthorn bushes, appearing as dynamic flashes of brown and grey.

If it hadn’t been clear from the sight of the water, the strident and unmistakeable calls of coots would have made it apparent that we were now only a few paces from the next lake. It was shrouded in willow trees which provided perfect perches for cormorants, woodpigeons and long-tailed tits alike. We could tell that a rabbit had also frequented this spot, from the pile of droppings he had left behind. A charm of around thirty goldfinches streaked across the lake, displaying their saffron tinged wings, and dropped down into a field near-by. Although the collective term ‘charm’ is derived from ‘chattering’, the striking, magical quality of goldfinches makes its modern meaning seem equally appropriate.

A lone goldfinch sits apart from the charm

Out on the lake there were more water birds to be seen. A male and female pochard, distinguishable owing to the male’s scarlet head, floated serenely along beside each other. In contrast, a small group of male tufted ducks were diving enthusiastically into the deep of the lake to feed.

I find it interesting to watch the different feeding methods of water birds. If you were to walk on quickly without pausing, it is perhaps something you wouldn’t notice. Mallards and teals, for example, are dabblers. They will often just feed on the surface but, if they do want to reach something deeper, they will submerge their heads, keeping their tail feathers exposed above the water. On the other hand, tufted ducks, little grebes and great crested grebes will dive for their dinner and entirely submerge their bodies underwater. It can sometimes be frustrating when you catch sight of one these birds, grab your binoculars, and by the time you’ve got the focus right, the bird has dived and is nowhere to be seen. At least in the case of a dabbler you can locate them by the sight of their rear poking out above the water.

You'll often hear a coot's distinctive screech before you see it

After another short stretch, we came across a lagoon guarded by thick reeds. In the summer, this will probably be an excellent place to see a variety of dragonflies, butterflies and other invertebrates but, in the winter, there is the potential to see a number of water birds which reside amongst the reeds. One such bird, which we were lucky enough to see on this pond, is the gadwall. At first I thought that the female gadwall was a mallard but Andrew pointed out its smaller frame and darker bill. Then, the male gadwall emerged from the reeds behind her. He was much more noticeably different from a mallard, with his elaborate grey and brown back and a shock of black feathers at his tail.

We left the lagoon and were heading back towards the start of our walk, when we noticed a tree with an interesting looking fungus growing on it. It appeared to us to be a bracket fungus, but I’ve attached a photo below and I’d love to know if anyone has a different idea or can identify it more precisely.

A bracket fungus? Give us your thoughts!

Further along, we passed another lake where we caught sight of a green woodpecker. It sped over the water in an emerald blur and perched on a tree, giving us a good chance to admire it.

As we approached our starting point, we came back to the original lake near the car park. The same species of birds we had seen before were still there, but they were now joined by a crowd of sixteen shovelers and about eight great crested grebes. I can’t help but feel that the great crested grebes must be the supermodels of the water birds, with their long slim necks and, when in their breeding plumage, their fancy hairdos. We were also lucky enough to see a heron sweep elegantly across the lake and settle amongst the natural scrub and reeds of the bank. They really are magnificent birds.

Abundant golden lichen

We hoped to see more magnificent birds before we left in the form of the great murmurations of starlings for which Fen Drayton is famous. We’ve been told by numerous people that the best place to see the murmurations is at the lake beside the car park. Therefore, we arrived at the lake just before dusk and waited for the show. Andrew has seen starling murmurations before but it was to be a first for me so I was particularly excited by the prospect. We were a little concerned that the weather would dissuade the starlings from gathering in their usual numbers but nonetheless we thought it was worth the wait just in case.

The mix of water, reed beds and trees provides a diverse range of habitats

Not long before dark, a small group of around forty starlings rose from a tree and began to dance about, swooping nimbly across the lake. They then dropped suddenly into a nearby tree and the lake fell silent. This happened several times, and on each occasion we wondered whether they would be joined by other groups of starlings and build into the thousand-strong murmurations which had been seen at other times. Unfortunately, with no other starlings having joined in the whirl, the sun set.

The gradual gradients at the sides of the lagoons provide a good feeding platform for wildfowl

Although I was hoping for a larger murmuration, the noise of just this small group of starlings was pretty magnificent, and their appearance against the dusky pink clouds is certainly an image that will stay with me.

We returned to the car wind-battered and chilly but immensely satisfied with how many birds we had identified and added to our year lists within only one day of 2015. If only we could keep adding species at this rate for every other day of the year!

Fen Drayton: A great place to start 2015

A Bimble Along Devil's Dyke

One of the unexpected things I love about rambling through the countryside is the brief chitchat you have with other walkers whose paths you cross. There must be something about the fresh air that promotes joviality. One such conversation which comes to mind took place in the New Forest a couple of years ago. After a damp few days, Andrew and I were out walking in the Forest when a man coming the other way stopped us to say that the ford ahead was flooded and couldn’t be crossed. He subsequently remarked that he was simply ‘out for a bimble’. Neither of us had heard the word ‘bimble’ before but its meaning was clear. We thought it was such a lovely term to sum up aimless, peaceful wanders through the countryside. Thus ‘Shall we go for a bimble?’ is now a frequent question posed in our house.

A view down Devil's Dyke

On Wednesday morning we set out in bright, still weather from Burwell village toward Devil’s Dyke on what can best be described as an aforementioned ‘bimble’. Devil’s Dyke is a 7.5 mile long Anglo-Saxon earthwork which stretches between the villages of Reach and Wooditton. The path which runs along the top of the Dyke provides a lovely gentle walk with stunning views across a section of the Cambridgeshire countryside. The Dyke is a great example of chalk grassland which has been awarded SSSI status and supplies an excellent habitat for a wide range of species of butterflies, birds and wildflowers. Perhaps most notably, this site is supposed to be a hotspot for the gossamer-winged Chalkhill Blue butterflies in the summer.

Approaching the Dyke across the fields

The walk from Burwell to the Dyke should not be seen as merely a means to an end. Meandering along the ivy lined dirt track that leads out of the village, we were met by a chorus of birdsong emanating from a small birch grove. At first we caught sight of blackbirds, woodpigeons, starlings, blue tits and a lone robin. We were aware that some of the crooners were not so conspicuous – we could hear the familiar corvid cawings of jays and jackdaws, but they were keeping themselves well hidden. As we were about to leave the grove, Andrew took one last look into the canopy with his binoculars. He noticed a great spotted woodpecker resting high on the trunk. The sun strained through the trees, illuminating her black and white back, and just a tuft of the crimson underneath her tail.

A great spotted woodpecker perches at the top of a silver birch

The grove opened out onto agricultural fields as far as the eye could see. At this time of year they lie frozen, ploughed and empty, looking like stark mountain ranges in miniature. Continuing on for a few hundred metres we crossed a small road and came out onto more fields where the first signs of wheat crops were appearing, giving the land a golden sheen. I thought I had heard the song of another interesting bird species but quickly realised that I was, in fact, listening to the metallic murmurings of the pylon cables which were running along the path above us – perhaps I was being a little too optimistic! The path was flanked with thick hawthorn, brambles and nettles, creating perfect feeding spots for the fieldfares we saw darting across the fields nearby.

Winter sun illuminates a golden field

The area at the base of the Dyke is left as wild scrub, ruled by thorns and long grass. As we climbed the steps leading to the path at the top, we noticed a group of about 200 woodpigeons feeding in a field to our left. They had clearly found something worth sticking around for. On the top there was a great deal of bird activity, a robin hopped along the track behind us, and blackbirds and fieldfares flitted between bushes, feeding eagerly on the rosehips and ivy berries. We were descending into Reach when we noticed a green woodpecker dart through the trees in front of us and settle on the playing fields below. I feel really lucky to have seen two woodpeckers in one day.

Further along, bushes arch across the path, perfect for foraging birds

We headed back into Burwell along the road through Reach, thinking that we would probably see little else until we reached the fields again. How wrong we were! I paused to point out a dunnock but Andrew nudged me to indicate that he had seen something much more exciting in the other direction. There were two roe deer, an adult and juvenile, running towards us across the field! They must have been spooked by something at the other side of the field and, not noticing our presence, were now unwittingly on a collision course with us. When they were about fifty metres away, the adult deer’s senses prevailed and, looking startled, she steered her course away from us, across the road, and into the field opposite. To top things off, when we looked back to where the deer had come from, we noticed that a hare was standing on the horizon. It would have just been too lucky for the hare to have come towards us too and, unlike the deer, it kept its distance. The whole experience was exhilarating; we just couldn’t believe what we had witnessed.

The first glimpse of the deer on the horizon

At this time of year, Devil’s Dyke may not proffer a full display of its biodiversity but, as we experienced, it’s still a good birdwatching spot and, who knows, you too may witness an adrenalin-charged demonstration of roe deer agility.

Finally, the deer catch sight of us