Posted by James on Jun 8, 2011 in
Hmm,
James Holden
Redstarts in that finest remnant of midland woodland the Wyre Forest not far from Kidderminster
I don’t know about you, but even though we’re worrying about the drought and whether it’s symptomatic of irreversible climate change, this spring has been an absolute beauty. There’s been so much to enjoy, not least a day I spent down in the woods right at the end of May.
We’d promised some friends from Norfolk that we’d find them some wood warblers and redstarts in that finest remnant of midland woodland the Wyre Forest not far from Kidderminster. As we parked up by forest stream I realised that the pressure was really on me as the prime guide and I hadn’t been for the best part of four decades.
Fortunately, the bridleway I remembered from teenage years still wound its way along the brook and many of the commoner woodland birds were in full song. It was hard work finding them though, and it was late morning before we located the redstarts – a pair of them nesting on the edge of a clear fell. The male is such a beauty, in my view the most beautiful and exotic of all regular British breeding birds, blue mantled with a red chest and belly set off by a jet black cravat and face.
A little later we spied our first wood warbler singing gustily at the top of a mighty oak that was virtually at eye level to us as we padded down a disused railway cutting that bisects the forest. And joy of joys all around us were newly emerged pearl bordered fritillary butterflies – gorgeous in their toasted brownness.
A pair of mandarin ducks dabbling in the brook
Oddly though, my strongest memory is of a pair of mandarin ducks dabbling in the brook near a disused mill that nestles like Red Riding Hood’s cottage in the woods. Normally, I’m not in favour of feral interlopers but the mandarins were in a different league. Getting rather rare in their native China, it was wonderful indeed to admire the drake’s exotic plumage (a blaze of oranges when he paddled out of the shade) and his partner’s plain prettiness on an English stream.
No chance of such a sight last time I came but we’re in a different, fast changing world now on so many levels. I’ve often bewailed the impact of China on our own economy just as I’ve bemoaned the success of none native creatures (grey squirrels and mink spring to mind). Somehow, seeing those mandarin interlopers (and them being so lovely) reaffirmed that globalisation has its good points. Don’t get me wrong though, to my mind the redstart’s still the prettiest bird in the woods.
Posted by James on May 1, 2011 in
Hmm,
James Holden
White spotted blue throat, thanks to Marek Szczepanek for this great image
I think I’ve just about recovered from all the excitement of the Royal Wedding. What a day it was and how lovely to see everywhere garlanded in red, white and blue and to feel such a sense of pride in all things British. Even so, the colours that I shall most remember from this April are yellow, white and blue and not just because the sun has been shining in blue skies for most of the month. Let me explain…
In mid April I had a lovely long weekend in Cambridgeshire. I have wanted to visit the Wildfowl Trust at Welney for a long time and I finally got round to booking a trip. You can imagine my delight when I read on their website that a male White Spotted Bluethroat was singing and holding territory on the reserve. I know it’s the kind of name that gives ammunition to those who enjoy poking fun (gentle or otherwise) at birders, but he really is a very pretty little bird – a sort of robin bluethroat with a white spot – and a real rarity in Britain as he very seldom crosses the channel.
I arrived to hear from some birders (who were just leaving) that he had sung for a few minutes around 6:30am but had since disappeared into the impenetrable reed beds that make the Ouse Washes in general such a great place for nesting birds. I wasn’t too hopeful, but walked out to his favoured spot to find a small group of people armed with binoculars, telescopes and cameras. Every movement in the reeds was immediately pounced upon, but after half an hour or so all we’d seen were reed buntings and sedge warblers.
I suddenly heard a call I didn’t recognise from a bush just behind me and there he was as bold as brass and neatly dressed in his red trimmed blue waistcoat with a white spot. An enthusiast from Dudley couldn’t control his excitement: “There’s the little blighter, right in that bush,” he fair shouted to his mates. Unsurprisingly the little chap cleared off and we only caught a couple of distant glimpses thereafter and I didn’t get a photograph worth sharing.
I had no right to feel blue – but I did and despite myself I was irked for the rest of the break, right until the very last moment that is. I cheered up because whilst we were having our last supper, as it were, I saw some flashes of white over Lady Fen. Straight away I knew what they were and a quick squint through the binoculars revealed nearly a dozen bright lemon-yellow breasts and lime green heads – a flock of returning yellow wagtails and they drove those blues away.
Later as I reflected on this experience I realised that joy was a condition that I should claim; that my feelings should not depend on events. Quite true and something I always try and remember in the roller coaster ride of commercial life (not to say married life William and Kate) but I’m still very grateful to those wagtails for making me mellow.
Posted by James on Apr 12, 2011 in
Hmm,
James Holden
Common barn owl (Tyto alba) thanks to Christian for this great photo.
In recent weeks I’ve been privileged to be involved in a small professional way with the planning for the ‘Golden Jubilee’ of the consecration of Coventry Cathedral on 25th May 2012. It’s meant that I’ve spent quite a bit of time in Coventry both in the ruins of the Old Cathedral and in marvelling at the story of reconciliation that the New Cathedral embodies in such a powerful way.
One evening I was returning from Coventry after a lengthy meeting and just outside Warwick I suddenly noticed what at first looked like a very low flying seagull. I quickly turned my head to see that it was actually a barn owl and in the instant that I saw it, it dropped like a bomb on folded wings into the rank wayside grasses in search of a small rodent. In a matter of seconds the bird was back in the air empty handed and it began to hover and wheel over the spot where it had unsuccessfully plunged in search of prey.
I wanted to stay and watch this gloriously silent hunter but we were travelling at a fair old lick and were soon ‘round the bend’ (as it were) and unsighted. In my mind’s eye I could picture the creature’s amazingly buoyant flight allied to the gold filigree like patterning on the upper part of its body. I couldn’t help thinking too, of how vulnerable this low flying predator was to the fast moving traffic. If it eased above the road when a lorry or coach came charging through – the hunter would very quickly become the hunted (not to say the flattened).
That’s what I find so amazing about Coventry Cathedral’s story. At one and the same time it is both beautiful and ravaged. What took centuries to build was all but laid waste on one November night in 1940 and the message of reconciliation which Coventry bears (according to its website like “god’s thumb print upon us”) is so fragile, so easily misunderstood and so quickly flattened by a world travelling so fast on its own business that it just doesn’t get it. And yet it’s so very powerful and still going strong nearly 50 years on.
James
PS I saw my first swallow on April 2nd – my earliest sighting for years. Do let me know when and where you saw your first swallow this year - I can be reached at James.Holden@leader.co.uk..
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Posted by James on Mar 21, 2011 in
Hmm,
James Holden
Great Crested Grebes dancing in the shallows of Toft Bay
I don’t know about you but it has seemed at times that this ‘winter of discontent’ would never end. We have had a right old bucket of rubbish thrown over us for the past few months, so it was a particular pleasure to see the first snow drops breaking through and as I write this hmm the bright spring yellow of daffodils is spreading like a rash in parks and open spaces – lovely.
I’ve visited Draycote Water quite a few times recently. If you don’t know it, it’s a huge Severn Trent reservoir on the outskirts of Rugby and it’s probably the premier place for birding in the county particularly if you like waterbirds. I’d been promising my wife Laura that she’d know that the winter was over when we saw the Great Crested Grebes (GCGs) dancing and Draycote is absolutely alive with these wonderful birds.
In winter plumage the GCG is a rather drab looking creature - grey on top, white below, but with a slender and elegant posture. As the season changes, both sexes grow the most gorgeously coloured ear tufts such that their heads appear to be adorned with pretty Easter bonnets.
We were too early on our first trip for even much of a view of their bonnets and not even a whiff of a courtship dance. On our second trip towards the very end of February headdresses were in full position on most of the birds, but we only saw one pair face each other and rather desultorily shake their stuff for a moment or two.
And then on the first weekend in March we hit it just right. It was the first bright blue sky for months and at times we could even feel the sun on our backs. Best of all though the GCG’s were dancing in the shallows of Toft Bay. We lapped up the way they faced each other, looked away shyly one from the other and then locked their eyes together and shook their bonnet -adorned heads like a pair of heavy metal fans.
A pair right at the end of our trip took their nuptials a step further. One bird dived down and emerged with weed in its bill. They faced up to each other as if about to head bang, but no, on an invisible signal they both vigorously trod water and rose up together so very elegantly so that the weed could be offered and accepted as a gift.
A reward for our perseverance definitely. Perhaps most potently though, a beautiful symbol of hope for better times to come.
