Summer Highlights – Part 1

30 Friday Oct 2026

Posted by theresagreen in Nature of Wales, Wildlife of the Wales Coast Path

Tags

coastal defences, nature, plants in unexpected places, red valerian, rhos on sea, wildlife

At the beginning of this year I moved home, and am now fortunate to be back close to where I was when I began this blog over a dozen years ago, a short walk away from the seafront. It’s been lovely to wander and reacquaint myself with the trails of my old patch and to explore some potential new ones, as always on the lookout for opportunistic wildlife and also for changes that have come about since those earlier days, and for better or for worse any effects they may have had.

One of my favourite, and very often most productive trails follows a length of the Coast Path beginning at the harbour in Rhos on Sea, where the back of the beach is a haven for an eclectic collection of ‘pioneer plants’, some coastal wildflowers, a few garden escapes and other opportunists that most people dismissively call ‘weeds’. Following on from there is the stretch of rocky shore and mussel beds of Rhos Point, which from late summer until spring is a draw for good numbers of wading birds, gulls and occasional surprise visitors on their migration passages. This spot always merits a lengthy pause, but continuing on, passing the little chapel of St Trillo, walking up towards the higher level of the promenade and along a short way, you reach what I find to be one of the most fascinating stretches of the trail and it’s where I finally settled on beginning this new chapter of posts.

26 May 2026 – Rhos on Sea Promenade-St Trillo’s Chapel to Penrhyn Bay

Beyond the chapel the promenade changes levels and a sloping retaining wall supports the raised upper level. In front of the wall is a line of commemorative wooden seating benches and behind them, where wind-blown seeds of an interesting array of flowers, both wild and ‘escaped’ may settle and flourish.

At the moment golden-flowered hawksbeard predominates and will hopefully set seed before someone complains they look messy and the council are obliged to clear them.

For now though they are doing an excellent job of provisioning a variety of insects, including two beautiful painted lady butterflies, the first I’ve seen this year. One of them was already looking a little faded and worn around the edges and no wonder after the journey it must just have made.

Painted Lady -looking a little worn and faded

The butterflies weren’t the only diners, there were bumblebees and hoverflies feasting too.

Still fairly early morning it was warm, the sun yet to completely burn off the mist blurring the horizon and the outlines of the Little Orme headland. The tide was fully in but the blue sea was almost flat calm and barely made a sound as it met the rocks. My only company was a lone Herring gull and even it disappeared as I got closer.

Where the dark railings end and opposite steps going up to Marine Drive, another set of steps lead down to a parallel walkway. On the official signage warning of potential dangers that may be met with here, this is referred to as the ‘lower parapet’ and runs between the old recurved sea wall and the formidable barrier of huge piled rocks. Also known as revetments or rock armour, these monstrous lumps of rock heaped in a continuous barrier between Rhos Point and Penrhyn Bay, are a crucial reinforcement to the existing aging coastal defences battling with rising sea levels and wave batterings during storms, and are between Rhos Point and Penrhyn Bay. I’ve written about this path in the past, and the description of it that always comes to my mind is that it’s ‘between the rocks and a hard place’, which is the reality, but despite that over the last few years it has become a go-to place for me and I never cease to be amazed at the number and variety of species of plants that I have found thriving there and the wildlife that they attract.

It’s interesting that in terms of plants, it is a path of two halves. The first, perhaps because it is wider and feels more open has noticeably less plants and those that have found themselves growing there are more susceptible to prolonged periods of drought, but for now those that are there are flourishing. One of my favourite, and probably the most frequently found plant on the limestone walls and alongside pavements throughout the village and beyond, pellitory-of-the-wall, has managed to establish in a few places. Another favourite is the Seaside daisy, which has escaped from the confines of local gardens and settled quite happily all over the place, There’s sea beet there too, which looks at its best now while its leaves are fresh and glossy and the flower spikes still in bud.

At a junction with steps leading up to the upper promenade to the left and a wide concrete access ramp down to the shore, the path dog-legs slightly and narrows to continue along to Penrhyn Bay. This is where the density of plants and number of species increases and gets altogether more interesting, beginning with two big shrubby tree mallows, both taller than me and full of beautiful blossoms. Bumblebees seem to love the big open pollen-laden flowers of the tree mallow and there were several busily gathering here, including a big beautiful buff-tailed queen.

Beginning of second half of the path and 2nd tree mallow

Beyond the mallow the plants grow closely together, forming an almost-continuous border to the path. Most prolific, and beautifully colourful against the grey rocks is red valerian, predominantly pink in flower, but there are also red and white flowered plants.

The valerian was a beautiful sight, but even better, it had been discovered by a dozen or so more recently arrived painted ladies, all no doubt refuelling after their incredible journey across the sea.

Sea beet grows especially well here and is looking its best now with glossy green leaves and flower spikes still in bud. Later it will change shape and sprawl across the path. Next to it in this photograph is some white flowered red valerian and a clump of goosegrass aka cleavers, or even sticky willy, if you prefer.

One of the most surprising plants here is a big elder, which sprawls out across the rocks. Some of its creamy flowers are already fully open with many more still in bud.

A herring gull flew in and stood atop a rock long enough for me to take its picture. However you feel about them, it’s hard to deny that they are very handsome birds, especially at this time of year when they’re in full breeding plumage.

A smooth sow thistle is both flowering and setting seed. Nearby there are several plants with large distinctive leaves that I didn’t immediately recognise when I first saw them, but that I thought might well be those of prickly lettuce, (which is quite closely related to the sow thistles). I have no idea from where it would have travelled to arrive here as I haven’t come across the plant growing anywhere else locally, but it looks to be quite well established and I’m looking forward to seeing it in flower.

On a pellitory plant a gorgeous red admiral and on a herb robert leaf a fresh shiny hoverfly, scaeva pyrastri

Herb Robert does very well here, this is a particularly large plant which looks especially pretty as some of its leaves have turned red.

A big sprawling bramble is one of the favourite gathering places for one of the local house sparrow colonies and is a great source of pollen and nectar for all kinds of bees when it flowers.

Past the bramble the flowering plants are a little more spread out, but there is one particular treasure of a plant that I’ve so far only found at this end, although it is slowly spreading, and that is that is a pretty sea spurrey; I’m not absolutely certain which species it is (there are three similar ones), but I think it is most likely lesser sea spurrey.

Between this end of this length of path and up to where the shingle beach of Penrhyn Bay begins is a stretch fortified with so much rock, which has been put down and added to numerous times over the years, (and in fact is still being added to), that you could almost imagine yourself on another planet. It looks stark, but there’s plenty of life here too, which I’ll save mentioning for another day.

view across Penrhyn Bay to the Little Orme

A Glimpse of Spring to Come

22 Wednesday Jan 2025

Posted by theresagreen in Nature of Wales, nature of woodlands

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Birds, Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve, early insects, gorse shieldbug, hoverflies, January, Spurge laurel, Trees, winter, winter wildflowers, yellow dung fly

Last week we were blessed with a few days of beautiful calm bright sunny spring-like days, which came as a welcome break between the post-Christmas freeze and the forecasted return to colder, more seasonal weather to come. Warm enough to get out to enjoy a walk at my preferred ambling pace, with plenty of moments to just stand and look around me without freezing to the spot, and the freedom to take photographs without fumbling with gloves, could not be passed up.

At both ground and eye level my local woods remain surprisingly green throughout the winter; sprawling ivy blankets much of the woodland floor and at every opportunity clambers high up the trunks of many trees. There are plenty of other evergreens too, dark yews, scots pines and the somewhat controversial holm oak all abound.

There are copious amounts of shining holly too, taking many forms from small trees to thick spreading bushes, dependent upon where they find themselves and the availability of space and light. One of my ‘targets’ for today was to look for the first signs of flowers on holly; some plants begin flowering early in the year while others wait for the spring or even early summer. I managed to find a few flower buds, but not yet open I couldn’t tell if they were male or female (holly plants may be either male or female, with females being the ones that produces berries), but male flowers most often appear first. Here and there a few berries remain.

Looking up adds another dimension to the scene; a cloudless deep blue sky provides a perfect background highlighting the fascinating network of branches and twigs of the leafless trees reminding there is more winter to come.

As I meandered along I kept an eye on the surrounding trees; on days like this in the winter when trees are still bare of leaves there’s always a chance of spotting a foraging treecreeper quietly spiralling its way around trunks and branches; not today though.

The distinctive call of a nuthatch helped to locate it as it travelled up and down the branches of an oak tree. It paused every now and then to probe a likely spot for insects, but was way too busy to stop and pose for a photograph.

I had better luck with a pair of spotted woodpeckers that were travelling high up through the treetops. Stopping momentarily to investigate the trunk of a likely tree; the male quickly flew off but I managed a quick snap of the female who lingered a few seconds before she also took off to follow him.

Leaving the narrow earth paths of the woodland and joining the Woodland Trail of the Reserve, which is higher up the hill, I hoped to catch sight of a few more birds as there are good views down through the trees from there. As always, numerous wood pigeons and blackbirds vied for the ripest of the ivy berries. There were glimpses of blue tits, numbers of them travelling around together, keeping up an almost constant chorus of chirpy contact calls as they travelled between the ivy-clad trees. A fewer number of great tits accompanied them, and one sounded out a few notes of his ‘teacher-teacher‘ song, a first ‘hearing’ of that this year.

Male hazel catkins are beginning to show

Robins have been singing for a few weeks now, but today they were out in force each one either declaring territory, or perhaps calling out for a mate, at frequent intervals. Most were singing from cover, but one or two were bolder and sang confidently in the open. It’s not possible to tell whether you’re seeing or hearing a male or a female robin as both hold territories and both sing.

View from the top of the field on the slope of Bryn Euryn across to Penrhyn Bay and the Little Orme:

Reaching the open field I started on my usual route around its edges, looking carefully at the vegetation for any insects that might be out on show whilst taking the opportunity to bask in the sunshine and/or seeking a welcome mid-winter top-up of nectar or pollen energy. I was in luck! Some of the gorse bushes are in flower to vary degrees and some of those in the most sheltered and sunniest spots had visitors. Firstly a single hoverfly had a small bush at the bottom end of the field to itself. Not a species I recognised, it was later identified for me as a female Meliscaeva auricollis, a double first sighting – first hoverfly of this year and a first of the species.

“When gorse is not in flower, kissing is out of season“

At the top corner of the field there are several big old gorse bushes, one of which is in more or less full bloom and emitting its glorious warm coconut-vanilla perfume. Here there were a surprising number of insects vying for the best blossoms. There were more hoverflies, two black and yellow Syrphus males (not able to specify species) and a single little female Marmalade fly Episyrphus balteatus.

There were also several honeybees and a single individual of one of my favourite species, a female yellow dungfly.

All of the above were wonderful to see, especially so early in the year, but the outstanding treat for me was to see gorse shieldbugs in a greater number than I’ve ever seen in one place at the same time ever. As usual it took a minute or two to get my eye in to spot them, but once I did I discovered them singly and often in twos both basking in the sun and moving around, and stopped trying to count when I reached 20 individuals. A perfect sight to finish on.

Hunting the Wren

28 Saturday Dec 2024

Posted by theresagreen in Birds, CUSTOMS & TRADITIONS

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

Birds, Boxing Day, Christmas, customs, Ireland, Isle of Man, mythology, nature, St Stephen's Day, traditions, Wales, Wren

For reasons lost in the mists of time, the tiny wren has featured largely in the folklore, mythology and traditions of many European countries. In the UK, perhaps the most extraordinary and in the past, cruel custom, must be the one that traditionally took place each December 26th. To many of us this is Boxing Day or St Stephen’s Day, but in some parts of Great Britain it was also known as Hunt the Wren Day or just Wren Day, depending in which part of Great Britain the ritual was enacted.

There are several variations as to how the ceremony, or ritual was played out, but essentially it involved boys and sometimes young men who joined together, often dressing in curious costumes, such as straw masks, greenery and a motley assortment of colourful clothing, who for the duration of the ritual were known as ‘Wren Boys’. Their mission was to hunt around the hedgerows for a wren, which was sometimes kept alive, sometimes not. Once caught, the bird was then put in a small box or ‘Wren House’, which was decorated with holly, ivy and ribbons, placed on top of a staff or long pole and displayed around the neighbourhood. The boys sang songs and played music in exchange for donations.

Typically Wren Hunts took place in Ireland, The Isle of Man, Wales and France; all areas where Celtic traditions are more firmly entrenched. Times, sensibilities and laws have thankfully changed in modern times, but in a few places Wren Day has survived, or been revived, suitably modified but keeping the tradition alive and raising money for charity.

Ireland

In Ireland the day is known in Irish Lá an Dreolin, or Hunt the Wren Day and takes place on 26th September, St Stephens Day. Here the Wren Boys beat the bushes and hedges with sticks, and when a wren flew out they tried to bring the bird down by throwing sticks, stones and any other objects that came to hand. Whoever killed the wren, or wran as the bird is also known, was believed to have good luck for a year. The dead bird was placed atop of a long pole, then travelling from house to house they sang songs accompanied by drums and pipes, they collected money for food and drink. One version of the song is this:

“The wren the wren the king of all birds,

St Stephen’s Day was caught in the furze

Her clothes were all torn – her shoes were all worn

Up with the kettle and down with the pan

Give us a penny to bury the wran

If you haven’t a penny, a ha’penny will do

If you haven’t a ha’penny, God bless you!”

Today the Wren Hunt no longer takes place, but Wren Day has survived, or been revived in a few towns and villages. Groups of Wren Boys hold small parades and carry around a stuffed or fake wren and usually collect money for charity or to host a dance or ‘Wren Ball’ for the town.

Wales

In Wales the tradition of Hunting the Wren, in Welsh, Hela’r Dryw, took place on the Twelfth Day of Christmas, January 5th, and the practice continued in Pembrokeshire until the beginning of the 20th century. Similarly to the traditions of The Isle of Man, a dead wren placed in a ‘Wren House’, a small decorated wooden box with windows, which was carried around the village by ‘Wren Bearers’. Sometimes, the Wren Boys caught a live wren, placed it in the Wren House and called upon folk to make offerings to the ‘Little King’, then set the bird free at the end of the day.

England

The tradition was followed in parts of England, but it gradually died out or was banned by the authorities by the mid 19th century. In the late 20th century the tradition of the Wren Hunt was revived in Suffolk and it has been performed in the town of Middleton on every Boxing Day since 1994.

Isle of Man

Legend

Although the origins of the wren hunting ritual is obscure in most cases, in the Isle of Man it is said to be associated with an enchantress, a fairy queen or a goddess named Tehi Tegi, which translated means something like ‘beautiful gatherer’. The legend says that Tehi Tegi was so beautiful that all the men of the Island followed her around, neglecting their homes and fields, in the hope of being chosen to marry her. But Tehi Tegi led her potential suitors to the river and drowned them and when confronted she escaped by transforming into a wren and flew away. She was banished from the Island, but returns once a year, when she is hunted.

Hunt the Wren was first recorded on the island in the 1720s, though even then was said “to have been practised since time immemorial”, then during what is known as the Manx cultural revival of the 1970s and 80s, *Culture Vannin said Hunt the Wren had become “revitalised with a new focus on the dance”.

December 26th 2024

One of the unique Manx festive traditions took place on St Stephen’s Day as Hunt the Wren was marked with singing and dancing across the island’s communities. Culture Vannin said the practice dates back to pre-Christian times, and was centred around a wren, described as “the king of all birds” in legend. In modern times, an artificial wren is used which is “hunted” and danced through the streets on top of a wren pole.

extract from https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cx2np73nx1ro

* Culture Vannin is an organisation that promotes and supports the culture, heritage and language of the Isle of Man established in 1982 by the Isle of Man Government as the Manx Heritage Foundation. In 2014, it was rebranded as Culture Vannin to reflect its progressive approach to Manx culture.

Oh, Christmas Tree

18 Wednesday Dec 2024

Posted by theresagreen in London Trees, Nature of Wales, Trees

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Christmas, Christmas trees, historic trees, London, Norway spruce, significant trees, traditions

As I was staying in London for the first two weeks of December this year, the iconic traditional Christmas tree in Trafalgar Square was close to the top of my list of sights to see. My reason for wanting to see it wasn’t so much about admiring the tree itself, but was more of an acknowledgement and gesture of appreciation for its historical and cultural significance.

Trafalgar Square on an overcast, damp Sunday afternoon

This year’s tree has come in for some criticism on social media in respect of its – to put it kindly- ‘modest decoration’. If its appearance is being compared to others in iconic London locations, or to the ‘main’ Christmas trees of other cities, it might appear a little sparsely adorned. However, there’s much more to the presence of this tree than its decorative value, and good reason for this minimalist styling, although I think it’s fair to say it could probably have been done better.

The decoration is totally appropriate, as continuing a tradition begun in 1947, the tree is an annual Christmas gift from the people of Oslo, the capital of Norway, to the people of London. The gift represents gratitude for Britain’s support for Norway during the Second World War, but is also a historical symbol of an everlasting friendship and of remembrance.

Hence the decoration of the tree – Norwegian Christmas trees are traditionally decorated with white lights because it’s considered a more elegant and minimalistic approach, with the focus on the natural beauty of the tree itself rather than bright, colourful lights.

A plaque placed beneath the tree reads: ” This tree is given by the City of Oslo as a token of Norwegian gratitude to the people of London for their assistance during the years 1940-1945. A tree has been given annually since 1947.”

This year, 2024, marks the 77th anniversary of the event.

Although the tradition of the annual gifting of the Christmas tree began in 1947, the idea may have arisen from a gesture a few years earlier. The first tree to be sent here was in 1942, at which time the Norwegian king Haakon VII and his family, were in exile here as guests of King George V1, and was a gift to them from his home country. Cut down by a Norwegian resistance fighter called Mons Urangsvåg during a raid on Hisøy, an island off the west coast of Norway between Bergen and Haugesund, the tree was then transported to England and presented to the king. A new tree has since grown from the original stump.

The Tree

The Trafalgar Square Christmas tree is typically a 50- to 60-year-old Norway spruce, generally over 20 metres tall. (Nelson’s Column, discounting its pedestal, is 54 metres tall). The tree is cut in Norway some time in November during a ceremony which this year was attended by the Lord Mayor of Westminster, the British Ambassador to Norway and the Mayor of Oslo.

After the tree is cut, it is shipped across the North Sea to the UK by boat. At one time it was shipped to Felixstowe in Suffolk free of charge by a cargo ship of the Fred Olsen Line. As of at least 2007, the tree was shipped across the North Sea to Immingham, which is at the mouth of the Humber Estuary in Lincolnshire by DFDS Tor Line. Since 2018, it has been the responsibility of Radius Group, to transport, guard and erect the tree in Trafalgar Square.

Lighting ceremony and carolling

The tree lighting ceremony in Trafalgar Square is a free event that traditionally takes place on the first Thursday in December, this year on December 5th at 5:30 PM. The ceremony, led by the Lord Mayor of Westminster, includes a band and choir singing Christmas carols, followed by the switching on of the Christmas lights. Since 2009, the Poetry Society has commissioned new poems annually for display on banners around the base of the tree and this year a new children’s poem by the writer and performance poet Valerie Bloom was unveiled.

Surviving the Storm

One reason for the tree looking a little dishevelled may be as a result of a battering by Storm Darragh. It’s a wonder it survived at all, but apparently it was able to as tree surgeons reattached branches that were removed for transportation. This process is called a “branch transplant” and involves branches being hammered back into the tree to give it its typical Christmas tree shape. Ouch.

A couple more Christmas trees in iconic London locations:

Merry Christmas to you all and many thanks to my loyal followers that have stuck with me despite a drought of posts for much of this year. I hope to do better in 2025!

In and Out of the Ivy

15 Thursday Feb 2024

Posted by theresagreen in Nature, Nature of Wales, woodland birds

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

bird behaviour, birds that eat ivy berries, Blackcap, Bryn Euryn, ivy berries, the importance of ivy, wood pigeon, wood pigeon bonding, Wych Elm

The view I have from my kitchen window, looking out over an unkempt, ivy-covered, frankly scruffy patch of scrubby woodland edge may not be to everyone’s taste, but it’s great habitat for a variety of wildlife and watching it has taught me a lot about the everyday local wildlife. Without having to set foot outside, I have privileged, often close-up sightings of a variety of birds, insects, the occasional fox and the ubiquitous grey squirrels on a daily basis. It’s like having a personalised all-seasons luxury hide, heated and with tea and snacks always to hand.

First weeks of February – Part 1

The focal point central to my view, and the stage for much of the wildlife activity I am privileged to see every day is a wych elm tree. Situated a few metres up on a very steep slope, its branches seem to almost weep to the ground and its trunk is now covered with ivy. Perhaps because of its accessibility, the poor tree has been subjected to much battering by grey squirrels who nibble its leaf and flower buds, gnaw at its bark and devastate its seed cases. Despite all of that, it somehow continues to survive, although possibly not thrive, and this month, with Spring definitely underway, there’s a lot going on in and around its tangled branches. Here’s my view on some of its visitors so far this year that have been enticed to linger by ripened ivy berries.

On a sunny day, mid-morning the building casts a shadow

Surrounded by woodland, it’s not surprisingly that one of the most numerous birds in our locality is the wood pigeon. A species that divides feelings towards them, I’m on the fond side, maybe because here they’re in an appropriate habitat and not damaging my garden or crops. But I also love their looks, their plumage, gently shaded grey with hints of mauve the perfect foil to that warm pink breast. In addition they are characterful and obligingly easy and calming to watch. Most mornings they are the first birds I see. Often it will be a single one, surveying his territory from a lofty perch high up in an ash tree, but from this time of year onwards there will be pairs of them sitting together, and many others are drawn here by a bountiful crop of ripe ivy berries.

Notoriously voracious eaters, there’s always competition for these nutritious berries and a particularly good, easily accessed spot will often be jealously guarded. Interlopers might be threatened with surprisingly aggressive-sounding cooing and pecking, or chased away with much noisy flapping of wings.

Big and with plump bodies, wood pigeons don’t appear to be built for acrobatics, but a good patch of ripe berries is irresistible, and they will often go after seemingly unreachable ones, after all, those who dare, win.

Wings and tails are fully deployed to assist balance to surprisingly good effect

and those scrawny necks have great powers of extension

The breeding season for wood pigeons is exceptionally long, and although the main season is between April and October, the species has been recorded breeding in every month of the year. Certainly, my local pair made an early start and have already re-committed to their monogamous relationship.

For as long as it takes to raise their latest brood, they will be closely bonded and spend much of their time in close proximity to one another, sometimes enforcing their bond with some neck-nuzzling and touching together of bills (the origin of ‘billing and cooing as a term of affection).

The picture below is set to become one of my all-time wood-pigeon favourites; a pair together on a branch of an ash tree. One sleeps, head tucked into that beautiful dusky pink cushiony breast, while the one behind sits quietly preening its feathers.

For the last few years there has been a pigeon’s nest in the depths of the laurel hedge, located to the side of the wych elm and a couple of metres away from our building. The female of the pair it belongs to, known to me as Priscilla, has begun the process of what I assume to be renovations, and has been out and about gathering materials. Now, if you’ve ever seen a wood pigeon’s nest you’ll know it’s not much more than a flimsy-looking platform of twiggy sticks, so you might be surprised by how carefully each of those sticks is selected. She spends long minutes walking deliberately around the branches of the wych elms, and probably other trees close by too, stopping now and then to peer closely and tweak a likely-looking twig to see if it will break off. Eventually she will be successful and carry off the chosen prize to add in to her pile. On her way she’ll often stop briefly, perching on the fire escape to check the coast is clear before going in to her nest site.

Another firm favourite bird of mine is the blackcap, a species that also includes ivy berries in its winter diet. Over the past years I’ve seen them often enough to be sure that some at least have remained here over the winters, and on occasions over the past weeks I’ve seen a male and less frequently a less-confident female, both around the ivy and the laurel hedge.

male blackcap lining up ivy berries in his sight

Blackcaps can be tricky to catch out in the open, preferring to stay within easy reach of cover, so I was lucky to catch sight of this one tucked in on a low (dead) branch of the tree, where he sat working out which ivy berries he could reach. Firstly he launched himself upwards and grabbed a berry in his beak, which he quickly ate, then launched again, this time landing on a very bendy tip of an ivy stem, stretching out to take a few more.

From here he flew off, but I caught sight of him later exploring the laurel hedge. In no particular hurry, although fully alert, he seemed to be enjoying a sunny morning, travelling along the length of the hedge, searching for insects on its branches and beneath its leaves and occasionally darting out after one he’d disturbed.

The laurel hedge in sunshine with young wych elm trees grown up from suckers

He tootled along till he’d almost reached the end of the hedge, then found a cosy spot to settle in. Behind branches of one of the young wych elms, sheltered by laurel leaves but open to the sun, he was well-protected and comfortable enough to perch there for almost twenty minutes.

I do hope he’ll stay around and nest somewhere close by….

Nature’s Fireworks

30 Thursday Nov 2023

Posted by theresagreen in Autumn Walks, Nature of Wales, Trees

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

autumn colour, berries, colourful leaves, November, rhos-on-sea, Trees

Autumn is well underway now and it’s one of my favourite times of the year to amble around the roads and streets close to home in Rhos on Sea, which thanks to gardeners over many decades, are graced with a rich and varied collection of species of trees and shrubs worthy of any arboretum. Ignited into fiery autumnal colours, many, although not all of the most colourful specimens hail from far-distant corners of the world; but whatever their origins, all are united in presenting a spectacular natural firework display.

Stars of ivy berries burst forth from the depths of dark evergreen leaves. As yet the berries of most plants are small and green, it will be a while before they’ll be ripe enough to feed hungry birds. Surprisingly wasps are still active. Constant streams of them were zooming in and out of this nest in a wall, hidden behind the thick vines of an old ivy plant.

There are several big old copper beech trees on my trail, this one, close to the edge of a garden, overhanging its boundary and the pavement is a lovely shape, has dense foliage and is beautiful all year round.

A pathway, dark and shady for much of the year is temporarily illuminated by the bright golden leaves of Japanese maples planted along either side.

bright golden leaves and red stems of a glorious Japanese maple

Further along, a Cappadocian maple rebels against the tight constraints of a neatly kept front garden, strewing its leaves with abandon onto the tightly-clipped hedge that confines it and the pavement below.

leaves of the Cappadocian maple turn butter-yellow in the autumn

The woodland of Bryn Euryn, which is largely made up of native trees, provides a dark background against which the more ‘exotic’ ones in the gardens along this road are shown off to great advantage.

In the foreground a curtain of golden leaves cascades from a line of silver birch trees

Between the larger trees are hedges and shrubs full of jewel-bright berries, it seems to be a particularly good year for holly, but no doubt most of them will have been eaten by Christmas.

Silver holly with a heavy crop of berries

A variant of the Cappadocian maple, this tree has leaves that show shades of pink in autumn

and nearby, this Norway maple displays shades varying from dark red-purple to shades of orange and gold.

A week or so ago, before being blasted by high winds, this huge red oak tree was covered with leaves. The red oak has beautiful big leaves which do turn dark red in its native habitats of eastern North America, but here in the UK they more often go a warm bronze-brown.

leaves of the Red Oak – *Quercus rubra* can reach 20cm in length

In the gutter below the oak, some of its fallen leaves have gathered with others of copper beech, silver birch and a solitary still-shiny chestnut. The conker is from a red horse chestnut close by which only ever seems to produce a few flowerheads each year, few of which manage to develop into fruits. Hunting along the gutter I found a fallen leaf from it and the husk for the conker. The leaves are similar to those of the horse chestnut, but have a more crumpled appearance and are slightly glossy. The husks are more oval in shape and have few, if any, spines.

leaf, chestnut and husk fallen from a Red Horse Chestut – *Aesculus x carnea*

From a distance a nearby horse chestnut, which was quite severely pruned last winter, looks to have turned nicely golden. However, a closer look at the leaves shows that as with all other horse chestnuts in our area, it is afflicted with an infestation of ‘leaf blotch’, caused by the horse chestnut leaf miner, (part of the life cycle of the moth Cameraria ohridella), which causes patches on the leaves to go brown in July and early August. Bad infestations cause the leaves to become dry, brittle and brown and eventually they will curl and drop off early. Whilst not looking pretty, it doesn’t kill the trees, although it is thought that over time it may weaken trees and make them more vulnerable to other diseases.

Horse Chestnut leaves afflicted with leaf blotch

A small flock of Jackdaws had been flying around restlessly, calling noisily to one another, for much of the time I was out, then settled for a while in the tops of some silver birches.

In a narrow roadside garden there are two rowan trees. One is a the common species, which has red berries, while the other has a more unusual crop of yellow berries. I find it fascinating that every single last red berry was long ago eaten by birds, but the heavy crop of yellow ones has not been touched.

Rowan with a heavy crop of yellow berries

In the same garden the lovely scarlet red flowers of the Japanese quince Chaenomeles japonica have developed into fruits. Although mainly grown as an ornamental, it seems a shame that these fruits are never picked and used. Although not in the same league as the much larger edible quince, Cydonia oblonga, they can be cooked and eaten and if used for nothing else, they are deliciously fragrant when placed in a bowl in a warm room.

fruits of Japanese Quince *Japonica chaenomeles*

Bearing a profusion of dark pink blossoms in the spring, this Japanese cherry tree is now vibrant with all shades of yellows, oranges and reds. Although its double flowers are not good for our pollinators, there’s no disputing it’s a beautiful tree.

There are still flowers blooming and some, such as hydrangeas and the ice plant will stay colourful for some time after their flowers have finished.

Ever-graceful, silver birches are lovely all year, but clothed in their softly golden autumnal yellow they glowed against today’s blue sky and here lent perfect contrast to the dark red of the cherry plums beside them.

To finish, I have to mention two shrubs, both once valued and sought-after as prized ornamentals, but both great escapers and now so commonly found in the wild they are included in many wildflower ID guides. Along my route there are a good few self-sown plants of both of these species, both bearing very different fruits. The first is the Snowberry Symphoricarpos albus, with its unmistakable white berries

and the other is the Himalayan honeysuckle Leycesteria formosa, which I think has some of the most lucious-looking fruits of all garden plants.

Wild Autumn along the Coast Path

03 Friday Nov 2023

Posted by theresagreen in Birdwatching on North Wales coast, Wildlife of the Wales Coast Path

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

autumn, beachcombing, common gull, Curlew, herring gull, little egret, Llanddulas, October, rip-rap, sea defences, strandline

October 25th

As the effects of recent storms were subsiding, albeit it temporarily as it’s turned out, a sunny warmish day finally presented an opportunity to get out beyond my local patch for fresh air, some not-too strenuous exercise and above all, the sight of some wildlife. I was also keen to see how the weather might have affected the coastline, so settled for one of my favourite stretches of the Coast Path between Llanddulas and Pensarn, one of the best walks I know for amazing views, wildflowers, birds and so much more.

The car parking area at Llanddulas, located immediately behind a defensive wall of rip-rap, or rock armour (piled up giant-sized boulders that serve to protect against erosion and to diffuse the power and velocity of high seas), is still frequently scoured by over-topping waves and spray, which carve out numerous deep pot-holes and craters. Following the most recent storms, it was worse than I’ve ever known it. The Coast Path running past it seems to have survived unscathed though, as far as I could see.

Herring gulls will claim any perch that has some height, and are often on duty here drawing attention to signs stating the rules for parking. Taking on their winter plumage now, they are looking particularly handsome.

The tide was going out, so it would be unlikely that I’d find gulls and cormorants occupying the posts of the lines of groynes further along the shore as they do at high tide, but I was pleased to see at least a few cormorants were out on posts at this end of the shore, before the outgoing tide fully exposed them.

Afon Llanddulas

Running beneath the viaduct that carries the main train line, the river is full and flowing fast towards its end. Where it bends to follow the line of the path the mud and flattened vegetation show that it has flooded recently well beyond its usual boundaries, but again, no serious damage seems to have been done.

Beyond the footbridge, while the water was still travelling fast, it is fairly shallow.

A little further on, guided and contained by a high wall of more rip-rap it reaches its final destination and escapes into the sea.

The far side of the rip-rap wall is more sheltered and has been colonised by a variety of plants. Sunning itself on the leaf of alexanders, which in recent years has become the dominant wild plant throughout this whole site, was a hairy shieldbug.

Lichens pattern some of the rocks, and in some spots, cushiony moss, revived by rainfalls, helps to soften their harshness.

Perched on top of a high rock, a jackdaw gleaming brightly in the sunlight sat sentry-like surveying his kingdom, his steely blue-grey eyes matching the colour of the sky behind him.

Beyond, the flat stony seashore stretches for miles in front, curving gracefully around to the headland on which sits the town of Rhyl. It may not have the aesthetic appeal of miles of unbroken sandy beach, but there’s no denying that it has great dramatic impact, emphasised by huge skies.

Several curving strandlines mark the reaches of various recent high tides.

A high fence of sturdy wire enclosing heavy machinery indicated that some storm-damage has occurred here. It’s not at ground level though, they seem to be reinforcing the cliff where it looks as though there has been a landslip, perhaps caused by water running down from above, where mobile homes are lined close to the edge.

Beachcombing

Strandlines are always interesting to explore, but there wasn’t much to find today other than dried seaweeds, leaves and twigs and a few whelk and razor shells. Pieces of dried hornwrack are often found blowing around on this and most other beaches. Easily mistaken for a seaweed, it is actually a detached part of colony of individual animals known as zooids. Today there were a few clumps of what I’m fairly sure is ‘fresh’ hornwrack as it looks when alive and growing, sadly torn from their anchor points in the shallow foreshore.

Herring gulls gather along the shoreline here, often in huge numbers. A line of them, quietly resting and preening was strung out along the worm reef on the lower shoreline, waiting for the tide to turn.

From some distance away I spotted a single gull perched on a post of a line of groynes. It seemed too small to be a herring gull, and in this same spot I’ve occasionally seen a common gull or two, so I was pleased on checking my photographs later, to see it had green legs, which common gulls have. (Herring gulls have pink ones.)

Coastal Wildflowers

Beyond the strandline, the back of the beach is a great habitat for wild plants, and several interesting and uncommon species, including the lovely yellow-horned poppy can be found here. Although flowering and fruiting are long finished now, fresh leaves often appear after autumn rains and can last throughout the winter.

Leaving the beach I got back onto the Path, depositing the collection of fishing twine, plastic bottle tops & other miscellaneous bits of rubbish I had stuffed in my pockets, plus 2 plastic &1 glass bottle I was carrying in my hand in the only bin for miles. This section of Path, being long and straight often tempts cyclists to speed up and race along it, and not all warn you they are behind you, so I have to remember to check behind me before meandering from one side to the other.

In years past this has been one of the most interesting lengths of the Coast Path, having a lovely diversity of wildflowers along its edges. Now, alexanders has spread exponentially along both edges, smothering out less robust plants and forcing tougher ones to break through where they can. The other locally prolific invader, winter heliotrope, also has a firm grip here.

There’s not a lot still flowering, but there are a few fresh plants in flower of fennel, wild carrot and ragwort. There were quite a few insects about too, mostly various flies and a few different species of hoverflies, but also a few of my favourite little yellow dung flies.

Some plants look good even when their flowers are done, bleached stems of hogweed against a backdrop of rocky shore, blue sea and sky are particularly striking.

A dunnock explored the dried stems and down on the shore beneath a few oystercatchers foraged around rockpools, this one casting its shadow and a reflection.

There may not be cormorants to see perched on groyne posts, but on the sea edge there were distant views of several groups of them on the sea edge. Some were active, taking off onto the sea, others were more sedentary, opening up their wings to dry or preening their glossy feathers.

I had heard the calls of curlew, but they were so far away and well-camouflaged I hadn’t expected to see them. It was a treat then to see three out in the open walking in line across the sand.

The Last of the Wildflowers

When there are only a few wildflowers left, you can really appreciate their individual charm and more importantly, so do lingering insects.

On a clear, sunny, calm day you can follow with your eyes the spectacular sweep and curve of the shoreline past Pensarn, Kinmel Bay and right around to Rhyl, with the Clwydian Hills in the background.

Although brightly sunny, there was a chill to the air and where the Path became shadowed, a short way from the beginning of Pensarn beach, I stopped, admired the view ahead for a few moments and turned to walk back.

Soft fluffy old man’s beard scrambles over hard rocks

The Way Back

Looking towards Penmaen Head and the Little Orme beyond

Although not the greatest fan of linear walks, it’s sometimes surprising how much more there can be to see along a stretch of path only passed along few minutes previously, when travelling in the other direction. Less than five minutes after turning to walk back, I’d spotted more wildflowers and this lovely little female stonechat that flew across the path and paused briefly on the wire fence that bounds the area of scrubby wasteland between the Path and the railway.

Then down on the shore, there was one of the birds I always hope to see here, a little egret, stalking through shallow water on the hunt for a temporarily-stranded meal.

It was interesting to watch as it followed behind a paddling herring gull, cleverly waiting to see if the gull’s big flat feet stirred up anything edible from the sand. It’s also interesting to compare the size and shape of the two birds, the egret looks so graceful and elegant next to the chunky gull.

Nearer to the edge of the sea a small group of gulls attracted my eye. Mostly sitting and with their heads turned towards the water, so not giving the best of views, zooming in on the only one standing confirmed them to be common gulls.

Groynes are looking battered and the worse for wear

An unexpected sight was of this slug crossing the path. Hope it made it.

A few more flowers, including a wild carrot flowerhead giving shelter to a tiny spider

and I know it’s a pain in the garden, but the pure white trumpet blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of hedge bindweed are really quite lovely.

Down on the sand a great black-backed gull stood looking out to sea

Back on the beach

From where the river runs into the sea and back along towards the carparks, a high defending bank of stone and earth hides the view of the sea.

The loose sandy earth and small rocks of the bank can be a good place to see linnets foraging on the seeds of plants that grow there, but today there was only a perky pied wagtail running around chasing flies.

Last view of the river

and back to the carpark, where a herring gull is still keeping an eye on the comings and goings.

Today’s birds: herring gull; black-headed gull; common gull; great black-backed gull; cormorant; oystercatcher; curlew; little egret; robin; dunnock; stonechat; pied wagtail; house sparrow

Wildflowers still in flower: ragwort; common mallow; sea mayweed; common daisy; red clover; fennel; wild carrot; knapweed; chicory; bristly ox-tongue; hedge bindweed; yarrow; sow-thistle

On a Cool, Damp Day in Early Spring…

16 Sunday Apr 2023

Posted by theresagreen in Nature of Wales, Nature Walks, North Wales

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

April, Birds, early spring, Fairy Glen, grey wagtail, Old Colwyn, river Colwyn, wildflowers, woodland

Slow to get going, this early Spring has been a bit of a roller-coaster weather-wise, with temperatures yo-yoing up and down almost on a daily basis. On occasional days the sun has been hot enough to burn, but most have been cloudy cool and at best damp from frequent rain showers. But the progress of Spring carries on apace and I don’t want to miss it, so I remind myself that cool, damp, cloudy days can be just as rewarding as warm sunny ones, especially if you’re out between showers or soon after rain has stopped. On such a day I headed for one of my favourite places to meander – alongside the little River Colwyn where it runs through Old Colwyn and completes its journey to the sea.

On damp grassy banks the flowers of celandines and daisies are closed against the damp and lack of sunshine.

The river is rarely deep, but today it was full enough to cover most of its rocky bed, shallow enough to create falls and white water where levels drop down, and running fast enough to make itself heard as it raced towards the sea.

The limestone wall that keeps it within bounds, damp from recent rain is decorated on the road side with opportunistic little plants; prettiest now were ivy-leaved toadflax with its little lilac-mauve flowers and the succulent grey-green leaves of a stonecrop.

Coed Myn y Don Woodland

The board illustrating some of the variety of trees that grow in this remnant of woodland is slowly being integrated into its surroundings, but is just about legible. Part natural woodland and part garden, there’s an interesting mix of flora here, trees, native wildflowers and cultivated ones blend well, and together with the river they help make this a valuable haven for some of our local wildlife. In places though, wildflowers are in danger of becoming overwhelmed by rapidly-spreading winter heliotrope, as I’m finding increasingly in other local spots I visit.

Winter heliotrope spreading beneath the info board

The golden flowers of a plant I hadn’t noticed here before caught my eye. Growing through grass and other plants, a small patch of the rather inelegantly named opposite-leaved golden saxifrage, which favours growing in damp, even boggy shady woodland places.

opposite-leaved golden saxifrage flowers

On the sloping bank that follows the curve of the river are primroses, which smelt delicious, common dog violets, wood anemone, whose flowers were closed and dog’s mercury.

Over the years, this has consistently been one of the very best places I know for hearing and seeing birds, and I wasn’t to be disappointed today. A chorus of birdsong accompanied the sound of the water; I stop to listen and although the songsters are hidden from sight, I heard a melodious blackbird, a robin, a few notes from a wren as it broke from cover and a taunting chiffchaff, one of my ‘targets’ for today, which frustratingly I couldn’t locate.

Tan y Bryn Gardens

On the bank just inside the entrance to the gardens the strange other-worldly shoots of one of our most ancient wild plants, horsetail, are already grown quite tall. A notoriously stubborn garden invader, I wonder if some of the plants are deliberately left, or whether they just refuse to be banished. A little further on, where water pools at the bottom of the slope, another alien-looking bud, this one enormous and belonging to the giant gunnera (aka giant rhubarb) with its correspondingly enormous leaves.

I stopped to listen to a song thrush. Perched in the shade on a branch of a tree close to the path he was singing enthusiastically, as song-thrushes do, then every so often pausing. In those intervals I could hear another song thrush singing from some distance away, in the woodland that continues on the other side of the road. They were clearly communicating, perhaps confirming their territorial claims, or maybe just having a conversation, discussing the sorry mess their human neighbours are making of things.

As I stood listening to the thrushes, a robin, rapidly followed by another flew right in front of me, so close I’m amazed they missed me. They headed straight into a shrub, routing out a third robin, which flew out at speed and dived into a tree. The other two, most likely a pair, were right on its tail and the three of them chased across the road, where the ‘invader’ departed, leaving the others to regain their composure on a garden wall.

They weren’t the only ones chasing about; just seconds later two dunnocks raced past me. One disappeared from sight while another landed quite prettily in the middle of a flowering shrub.

Moving on, I was keeping an eye on the river and also scanning the rooftops of houses opposite, hoping to catch sight of a grey wagtail, always one of the special birds I hope to see here.

The damp short turf alongside this stretch of path is a favourite spot for foraging blackbirds and I’ve also seen both song and mistle thrushes here on occasions. Today it was left to a single pair of blackbirds out hunting together, which probably means they have young, hungry offspring to feed.

Nearing the top end of the gardens, one of my favourite local trees overhangs the path. A Japanese cherry, this beautiful tree is one of the highlights of a walk here at this time of year and is a total treat for the senses. Its snowy white blossom, which usually appears before the leaves, looks beautiful and has the most delicious rich honey-almond-y fragrance, which on a warmer, sunnier day might have been visited by bees. I’m not entirely certain, but I think it’s a Mount Fuji Cherry, named for the holy Japanese mountain covered with eternal snow

Following on from the sublime beauty of the tree, the next part of the path, which together with the river, passes under buildings and the main road through the village, has less appeal. Sadly, this lovely little river is prone to having rubbish thrown into it, most frequently glass and plastic bottles and drinks’ cans etc., but also random bigger items. Today’s photograph contains the frame of a pushchair.

Nearing the underpasses, I was distracted from thoughts of littering and fly-tipping by a flash of yellow and the flickering movements of a bird amongst the thicket of old ivy that covers the wall to the right of where the river flows through. There, inspecting the dried materials amongst the twining stems, a female grey wagtail was taking her time searching for pleasing pieces, which I think it’s safe to assume, would contribute to the construction of a nest.

She was joined by a slightly brighter, more colourful male, who made several attempts to get closer to her, but definitely wasn’t interested in helping to collect nesting material. I watched them for quite a few minutes – she picking out bits and dropping them when she found something better; he flying off and coming back several times until they finally flew off together, up and over the wall and away over the houses on the far side of the road. Not the direction I’d expected, but maybe they were making a distracting detour to their nest site.

Some of the lack of beauty of the pedestrian underpass has been made up for by some colourful, well-painted graffiti on the outside entrance and along the inside walls of its length. At the moment it’s further enhanced by one of the biggest patches of ivy-leaved toadflax I think I’ve ever seen.

Inside, my favourite piece of graffiti art cleverly depicts the part of Abergele Road, which is immediately above, but as it may have looked when the tram ran through it, and also the viaduct which spans the bottom of the road where I began my walk.

Llawr Pentre

The underpass leads through to the part of the village known as Llawr Pentre. Down below the level of today’s village, this was where Old Colwyn originated and was where the ford across the river was located. Here too were a flour mill, dating back to pre-1750, a farm, a slaughter house, a wheelwright, a saddlery, and a butcher’s shop. Now it is purely residential and the access road lined with parked cars. Maybe not the most attractive part of the river’s journey, but it runs through regardless, and perhaps surprisingly, it is often a part visited by grey wagtails, so always worth a look. And lo and behold, as I was lingering noting wildflowers on the river edge, in flew this beautiful male who landed first on an overhead cable, then flew down onto a ‘for sale’ board. First thoughts were this was the male I’d seen on the other side of the underpass, but he had the black throat and bib of his breeding plumage, while this one didn’t.

The path loses the river for a while as you have to divert around private grounds. Steep steps lead up to a lane which you then follow towards the woodland dell of Fairy Glen. At the top of the steps a female house sparrow was feeding on seeds of a sowthistle. She is doubtless one of the members of the flock that inhabit the thick mixed hedge that borders one side of the lane. Hearing the lively cheeps chirps & squabbles of the house sparrow couples hidden from view inside there always make me smile when I pass by here.

The row of cottages along the lane are a draw for a variety of bigger birds and most of the roofs, chimney pots and aerials have been claimed as perches, roosts or nest sites. Todays there were pairs of herring gull, wood pigeon, collared dove & jackdaw, all looking a bit ruffled and fed up with the weather.

Fairy Glen

The river is visible once more, and down below at the bottom of the dell its sound is amplified by the steep banks that bound it. Birdsong adds to the music of the water, I pick out blackbirds, robins and great tit, then chiffchaff and blue tit. More raucously there’s the cooing of wood pigeons and the cawing of crows which remind of the closeness of houses.

The trees are still mostly leafless, but the steep sides of the dell and lack of bright sunlight keep it shady. At ground level there’s plenty of greenery from abundant ivy, lush ferns and patches of celandines. In places the well-trodden path is wet and muddy.

Great swathes of wild garlic cover much of the woodland floor and their pungent aroma fills the cool, damp air. It’s not flowering fully yet, but there are plenty of budding stems, so it won’t be long.

Someone’s been busy digging out a new pond

Here and there are little patches of early dog violets

and bright fresh green leaves of hazel

Although there are plenty of birds to be heard, I only had glimpses of foraging blue tits and robins that fly up from where they were singing as I got too close. I heard a nuthatch calling but couldn’t see him. Chiffchaffs continued to elude me. The only photograph I managed was of a wood pigeon keeping a beady eye on me from where it was tucked into a tall holly tree

Perhaps the birds sensed it was about to begin raining before I felt it. Time to turn around and head back.

Retracing my steps, still enjoying the sound of the river and birds singing despite the rain, I realised that I hadn’t met a single other person whilst I’d been here and had had all of this to myself.

Back out onto the lane, I met a man that lives in one of the cottages as he was putting out seed for the birds. He told me he does that twice a day and has his ‘morning birds’ and his ‘afternoon birds’. That probably accounts for the line of feral pigeons on his roof.

Re-joining the river in Llawr Pentre, I took this picture to show where it passes under the road and buildings, cropping out the cars that are always parked in a line close to the river’s edge.

Above the entrance to the underpass, watch out for the herring gull! This is one of several 2-dimensional images of our iconic irrepressible gulls that can be found located around Colwyn Bay.

Heading back through the gardens gives another chance to enjoy the glorious cherry blossom

The indignant blackbird in a the tree below had just chased off another male.

Curving back through the gardens this is perhaps the best view of the river.

The final view of it is as it disappears into the culvert taking it beneath the road, the Expressway bridge and the viaduct where it has quite a sad end, emptying into Colwyn Bay as what is called an outfall.

Wild on the Streets

30 Thursday Mar 2023

Posted by theresagreen in Nature of Wales, Street Flowers

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

common cornsalad, common fumitory, common mouse-ear, common whitlow grass, Danish scurvygrass, garden escapes, plants on pavements, rhos-on-sea

This is one of the best times of year to look for street flowers here in Rhos on Sea. Seeds will have had the chance to germinate and those plants with speedy life-cycles should be able to complete them before Easter, whose imminent arrival usually prompts the big clean-up of streets and other public spaces in time for the holiday, to welcome and impress an influx of visitors. With that in mind, on a sunny but cool day, I walked the route from my home to the sea-front, taking the roads and streets I’ve always found best for flowers and if I’m lucky, other wildlife too. My walk begins on Tan y Bryn Road, which at this end has something of a country lane feel to it. On one side, mature trees and gardens half-hide several big Victorian houses, now converted to Residential Homes, that are backed by the woodland of Bryn Euryn. On the other side, there’s a variety of houses of differing sizes and ages, with gardens also of varying sizes and maturity. In front of one, a strip of mown grass was providing happy hunting for a blackbird.

In the shade at the base of a fence an Italian lords-and-ladies brings a touch of the exotic to the roadside. This is plant is included in most wildflower books, where it may also be named as rare lords-and-ladies, described as Nationally Scarce and listed as near-threatened. This is because in the wild in Great Britain it is only found very locally near the south coast, elsewhere it is much more widespread as a garden escape, as it is here.

Italian lords-and-ladies *Arum italicum*

Close by, on an otherwise dull street corner behind a wooden bench, is a patch of three-cornered garlic, or as I know it, three-cornered leek. This is another plant with its origins in the Mediterranean region, but introduced here close to 300 years it is now perfectly at home here. Both common names refer to the stems, which are triangular in shape. Another common name is white bluebell, and it’s east to see why. If you look more closely you’ll see the flowers are similarly bell-shaped and pretty, but unlike a true white bluebell, each petal has a fine green line on the outside. The whole plant smells quite strongly garlicky and is edible. This patch, has been thriving for several years and unless it’s ‘tidied up’, it will continue to flower for months to come.

three-cornered garlic-*Allium triquetrum*

A house sparrow sitting chirping on top a hedge took me by surprise; this is the first one I’ve seen this far up and away from the main part of the village, so I hope that’s a sign that their numbers are increasing here and are moving out to find and establish new territories.

Limestone walls, built from locally-quarried stone form the boundaries of gardens and grounds along many of the roads and streets of the village. Cracks in them give refuge to a variety of wandering plants, and their bases trap leaves and accumulate layers of dust and dirt blown by the wind and washed in from roads and pavements. In their shelter, you never know what seeds might have been deposited and found the perfect haven, or become trapped there while seeking a more hospitable home. Many will start to grow but won’t come to much, succumbing early to drought, being sprayed with chemicals to kill them off to ‘tidy up’ the streets, or just from having landed in the wrong place at the wrong time. Those that survive and thrive are most likely to be annual plants with a speedy life cycle; bittercress, common chicory, groundsel, dandelions and sow-thistles always do well.

One of our prettiest wildflowers both in flower and in leaf is common fumitory. This flowering patch currently adorns the base of a wall opposite the entrance to Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve.

Here I crossed over into Rhos Road, one side of which is one of the best roads I know for spotting opportunistic plants, both wildflowers and garden ones bent on making an escape. This little group has common cornsalad, groundsel, herb robert, St John’s wort and other seedlings as yet too small to see properly.

Further along aubretia, or rock cress, a popular garden rockery plant rubs leaves with hairy bittercress and yet more groundsel.

On the corner of a driveway, purple-leaf shamrock, dandelion, purple toadflax, sow thistle, bittercress and more groundsel vie for space.

Perhaps the most surprising plant of the day was this Danish scurvygrass. It is a sea-side plant, so it’s in the right location, but I’ve not found it growing around the village beach or seafront, so I’d love to know how it got here.

Danish Scurvygrass *Cochlearia pyrenaica*

Although sunny, it was quite a cool day, so I was surprised to spot this little bee moving around amongst the leaves of a dandelion. I don’t know what species it is, but I think most likely a mining bee.

The opposite side of the road is shaded and in part lined with lime trees. I imagine that once these lovely trees formed an unbroken line, but now just 17 of them remain, with gaps of varying lengths between them. It’s such a shame the empty spaces have never been filled. The trees are broad-leaved limes, which now have new red twigs with leaf buds that are characteristically shaped like a boxing glove. Aphids love these trees and are already to be found on twigs, just waiting for the leaf buds to open.

Twig and leaf buds of a broad-leaved lime – with aphid

Nearing the village centre the busier main streets are not as hospitable to stray plants and I hurried on to the next spot I know that offers sanctuary, appropriately the base of the wall around the church. Here I found common mouse-ear, a bit straggly and not quite fully flowering yet, but there just the same.

Around the corner, as I’d hoped, I had more joy. I’ve found a few little treasures here in the past and today there were a few more There was more bittercress and common mouse-ear, both growing through a lovely patch of common whitlow grass which had reached a size and height that I could get a reasonable photograph of.

Next to that, a touch more groundsel and the leaves of a shining cranesbill made a pretty picture to finish with; I hope it survives long enough to flower.

Scouting Signs of Spring

16 Thursday Mar 2023

Posted by theresagreen in Nature of Wales, nature of woodlands

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve, cherry plum, early flowering trees, flowering in March, jelly-ear fungus, March, tree buds opening, woodland birds

Snow was forecast to reach us later in the day today and the prediction for the next few days sounded like stay-at home-and-catch-up weather. As there’s always the possibility they’d got it right, I had to take the opportunity to get outside while the going was still fairly good to scout for signs that spring is not too far away. The bright sunshine pouring through my windows had been deceptive. Outside it was very cold, bitterly so when the wind intermittently blew, and I headed for some shelter in the woods, I was soon glad of the extra layers I’d piled on.

There are two choices of path through the first part of the woodland; the ‘official’ signposted public path and one that is a little higher up, accessed by scrambling inelegantly up a rocky bank, which is the one I took today. This is my favourite path, less used and with more of a feel of ‘proper’, older woodland on either side. Even at this time of the year there’s usually something interesting to see; there are some lovely big old trees and there’s always the likelihood of catching sight of a bird or two along here too.

On either side of me I could hear the contact calls of blue tits and close by the scolding calls of a small bird, made whilst flitting animatedly from branch to branch of a small tree. The sun shining behind it meant I had to squint to see it properly, but as I suspected, it was a lovely little long-tailed tit. Fingers crossed it was one of a pair and they’re nesting somewhere close by.

Several trees have been lost from here over the last few years. Any loss is sad, but there’s some compensation in that the space they occupied and the extra light allowed through to reach the lower levels of the woodland, new plants have the opportunity to grow. There’s competition along the path edges, budding twigs of seedling ash cluster close together for now, but eventually some will thrive and others won’t. Other seeds fortuitously landed in more spacious spots and are growing quickly into sturdy saplings. Amongst them, no surprise, are several sycamores and a little less expected, a couple of horse chestnuts. These saplings have already begun to release their new leaves from their tight buds, needing to grab as much light as they can to help fuel their growth before the big trees open up theirs and close off the canopy. Both have the most beautiful buds that are just beginning to open.

an opening ‘sticky bud’ of horse chestnut

As well as the sapling trees there’s a mixed scramble of shrubbery along the path edges, ground-covering ivy, long whippy canes of dog rose and thorny lengths of bramble snake out seeking spots in which to touch down and take root. Honeysuckle, always one of the first woodland plants to put forth new leaves clambers over whatever it comes into contact with and climbs upwards trees where it can. There’s an abundance of holly in plants of varying sizes; and checking one or two of the bigger shrubs I found one that already has flower buds. Closed tight at the moment, these are buds on a male plant and they will open up into tiny white, scented flowers. It will take there to be a female plant nearby to benefit from the pollen of the male flowers if there are to be berries. There are touches of mahonia, which despite managing to flower each year and increasing in number of plants, doesn’t seem to really thrive here; plants stay small with thin foliage and leggy woody stems. Although it’s an ‘incomer’ to the woods, its early flowers are a useful source of nectar and pollen for early foraging bumblebee queens.

Jelly-ear fungus *Auricularia auricula-judae*

The felled trunk of what I think was a sycamore tree caught my eye as it’s smothered with the fascinatingly formed jelly-ear fungus Auricularia auricula-judae. This fungus is also known by the common name Judas’s ear, translated from the Latin auricula – ear and judae – Judas. Unfortunately, at some point in the past this was mis-translated and was frequently also referred to as the now unacceptable Jew’s ear.

Strongly associated with elder trees, these old common names for the fungus came about in part because of their distinctive shape and because Judas Iscariat, the betrayer of Christ reputedly hanged himself from an elder tree. The accepted English name is now jelly-ear, which aptly describes both the shape and texture of the fungus and is unlikely to cause offence.

Towards the end of the path, the alexanders plants are flowering. A particular favourite of yellow dung flies, I’d already found a couple of them in this spot on an even earlier flower a week or two ago. Not today though -it was way too cold, even with their little furry coats.

Some spurge laurel plants still have flowers, others flowers and forming fruits and some just fruits.

In an open space a young hazel tree is gradually securing its place and is showing a good number of new fresh green leaves.

There are still catkins on the mature hazel trees. but they’re starting to look a bit straggly and worn now. These dangling tassels are the obvious showy, pollen-bearing flowers of the hazel and are male. You have to look much closer to find the female flowers, which when fertilised will develop into nuts; they are bright dark pink, but very tiny and remind me of miniature sea anemones.

A branch fallen from a tree has been left to lie across the path. It’s only slender, but it’s provided a barrier against trampling feet and cold winds and together with leaves trapped against it, it has provided a safe place for opportunistic plants. False brome (grass), lesser celandine, nettle and speedwell have all found a foothold here.

Out on the Woodland Trail, the flowering currant, another sometime garden escape has both its pretty pink blossom and new leaves.

Yew has separate male and female trees and they too are flowering now. On some trees the male pollen-bearing flowers are quite prolific and very visible. In close-up they look like miniature heads of cauliflower in close-up.

Female flowers are tiny and green and are much harder to see. I did look, but admittedly not too hard as it was too cold to stay still for long and I couldn’t find any today.

Further along the trail, the tall not-so-wild, cherry plum is still flowering beautifully, but not for much longer. Already many white petals are sprinkled like confetti on the earth of the trail beneath it, and it has already opened most of its new, red-purple tinted leaves.

On the muddy bank at the junction of the Woodland Trail with the ‘shortcut’ up to Adder’s Field the white sweet violets are out, although not doing too well this year. It’s not too surprising given the weather of the past year, but at least they’re clinging on. A purple flower amongst them caught my eye – there have only ever been white violets here that I have seen, but a closer look showed it to be an especially early, early dog violet.

This is often a good spot in which to see birds. There’s almost always a robin here, often the sight or if not, the song of a wren to be heard, blackbirds forage along the trail edges and in past years there have been mistle thrushes. Today a robin did appear for me, and there were glimpses of blackbirds rustled ivy leaves as they lunged for ripe berries. There were more sounds than sightings – a couple of disturbed wood pigeons clattered out of the trees, a great tit chimed his song, crows cawed and herring gulls squawked – a reminder that even though surrounded by woodland the sea is close by. Not a day for too much hanging about, I took the shortcut up to the field and came upon one of the treats of the day. A gorgeous jay was on the ground, rummaging in the deep leaf litter. It may have been searching for one of its autumn stashes of acorns, or perhaps was hoping to find insects. This is a hard time of the year for hungry birds.

Coming out from the shelter of the trees into the open field I was met by a cold wind and the first tentative flurry of fine snow. As I was about to move quickly on, another little bird caught my eye, a coal tit at the top of a branch of a small ash tree. This was my first sight of one so far this year and I’ve never seen one in this part of the reserve before, so another treat for the day.

The Cherry Plums

As I mentioned in my previous post, each year I look forward to seeing the ‘wild’ cherry plum tree here in its full glorious snowy-white blossom. Visiting it has become almost like an annual pilgrimage, a vision to behold at the end of winter that promises the approaching spring. I’d been a bit worried that I might have missed it at its best as I’d been away for a week or so, but having already seen the not-so-wild one earlier on, I was hopeful. It did not disappoint – despite there being a few petals sprinkled on the ground beneath, it was as beautiful as it could be, loaded to the tips if its branches with perfect starry white flowers.

The flowers of cherry plums almost always appear before the leaves and there are still only a few new glossy green leaves open yet; enough though to show the difference between this tree and the similar one on the other corner of this bottom end of the field. Quite young yet, this one is more of a tall shrub than a tree. It too has been flowering for a while, and has very similar-looking, although sparser pretty white blossom. It has already opened most of its leaves, which are quite well-grown. Tinted purple-red, the leaves show it has grown from the fruit of a cultivated variety of cherry plum, perhaps the similar big tree on the Woodland Trail that I passed earlier.

Walking up the hill to the top end of the field through thickening falling snow I picked up my pace and covered my camera, thinking I’d done for the day, but then the wind dropped and the snow stopped. As my dad would have said though, the sky was still full of it, so no doubt this would just be a brief lull.

Time though to have a look at the progress of the oak tree leaf buds – still tight as yet. At the end of one twig, what looks like a cluster of leaf buds is a knobbly growth produced by the knopper gall wasp, Andricus quercuscalicis, that causes ridged outgrowths, or ‘galls’, on the acorns of our native pedunculate oak. Forming in August they are sticky and red at first, then later become woody and brown. A second generation of the wasps then develops in the catkins of turkey oak.