Category Archives: Local Nature Reserves

Hot on a Hillside Trail

13 Friday Jul 2018

Posted by in Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve, butterflies, Local Nature Reserves, North Wales, Walking Trails, woodland walks

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July 7th – BRYN EURYN

Another hot sunny day. Not my idea of perfect walking weather, but I  wanted to see how the hill, or rather its wildlife was holding up under the scorching weather, in particular hoping there would be butterflies.

It was pleasantly cooler inside the woods, but the ground was bone dry, hard and at this lower end of the path scattered with shed Laurel leaves, often a sign the plants are short of water.

I stopped at the small scrubby patch, often an insect hot-spot. Hot it was, but not with aerial activity. The nettles have flowered and are beginning to set seed and I noticed many of their leaves have been ravaged by insects. That set me thinking about the battles going on all around me between plants and their attackers and some of the other roles that leaves play.

An insect-eaten nettle leaf with stinging hairs left in place

I like to see eaten leaves as it’s a sure sign there are insects about, but of course plants need their leaves to supply them with food, so many do what they can to preserve them. Nettles have particularly aggressive defences;  as those having had  painful encounters with them will testify. They’re not aimed at us specifically of course, rather at grazing animals. They have stinging hairs, every one tipped with a tiny glassy needle that breaks off at the slightest touch that is sharp enough to cut skin; simultaneously poison is squirted into the wound from a small chamber at the base of each hair. Ouch! Even nibbling rabbits avoid them as they have sensitive noses and find the sting as unpleasant as we do. Despite this, nettles are the favoured food of such insects as the caterpillars of the Small Tortoiseshell and Red Admiral butterflies: they simply chomp through the safe juicy parts of the leaf, going around the dangerous stings, leaving them neatly in place.

Nearby a more pacific Wild Privet shrub is blossoming. Harmless in itself, but spiders have built webs over their fragrant blossoms in hope of capturing unsuspecting nectar-seeking insects.

Sycamore leaves are already freckled with Tarspot-Rhytisma acerinum. Although it occurs on other trees too, including Willow and Eucalyptus, it is generally referred to as Sycamore Tarspot and by this time of the year it’s practically impossible to find a Sycamore tree without it. This common and widespread fungus doesn’t look pretty, but doesn’t seem to adversely affect the trees it afflicts. Looking at Tarspot I then noticed a leaf that was curled at an edge. I have no idea what had accomplished this neatly rolled cylinder, clearly some species of insect at some stage of its life, but it impressed me greatly.

The structure is tightly rolled, like a small cigar, secured along the long edge and open at both ends. There are ‘blisters’ on the leaf too, so I wondered if there may be a connection?

Leaves make perfect landing and resting pads for butterflies too. This bramble leaf had served as such for a Green-veined White butterfly that took off just as I’d focussed on it! You can just see it rocketing out of the top of the photograph.

A Speckled Wood was more obliging, pausing on an ivy leaf at ground level.

Another spider’s web, this time utilising an Ash leaf.

WOODLAND TRAIL

Close to the junction of my Woodland Path with the Reserve’s Woodland Trail there are a few plants of Hogweed flowering. It was devoid of much insect interest at this time – occupied by just one feasting Eristalis sp. hoverfly. (I’m fairly sure it was Eristalis pertinax, but its diagnostic yellow tarsi were sunk into the flower petals.)

Hogweed has impressively large and interestingly-shaped leaves; this one was showing signs of having been nibbled and there are aphids dotted around on its surface. These plants often play host to great colonies of aphids that pierce the veins of its stems and leaves to feast on its sap. The aphids then attract insects that eat them, such as ladybirds.

Away from the peaceful confines of the shady wood and out onto the wider more open track I was soon distracted by insect activity. There’s not much about at the moment in the way of wildflowers, so what there is is in high demand. Wood Sage is both still flowering and beginning to set seed. The remaining little flowers of the plants close by were being visited by busy little Carder bees.

Common Carder Bee-Bombus pascuorum
Wood Sage

There are a whole host of different bramble species, which is possibly what accounts for them flowering and fruiting at slightly different times; a mercy at this time of year for insects seeking nectar and pollen.

Many bramble bushes are down to their last few flowers and are busy setting fruits. They may not come to much if we don’t get rain to swell them soon.

The enormous bramble here at the side of the track was positively frantic with insects this early afternoon. Hot sunny weather makes capturing images of insects tricky, they zoom around at high speed and bright sunlight reflects off shiny wings, bodies and white flowers. I saw more species here than I could catch, including a Red Admiral, Meadow Brown and Gatekeeper butterflies, Tree and Buff-tailed Bumblebees, Carder Bees and a few hoverflies. I managed to get a snap of a Honeybee, looking rather worn,

Honeybee
Honeybee with torn wings

and an always-impressive Great Pied Hoverfly – Volucella pellucens

Volucella pellucens
Volucella pellucens

I would happily have stayed here for longer, but out in the open it was way too hot to stand in the blazing sun! Moving on along the trail there were very few flowers, some of the last are of Tutsan, but that too is also developing berries.

It’s unusual to see a Meadow Brown butterfly out in the open resting up on a leaf, especially opening up its wings to reveal its upper wings, but I think this one had not long emerged as it was still slightly crumpled. It may well have been a female as males tend to be a darker brown and may not have the orange patch.

It was quite a relief to get back into the shade.

 

Another new, still-crumpled butterfly caught my eye; this one a Large White.

 

 

 

 

 

MEADOW

With no hint of a breeze to stir the air it felt even hotter out in the open meadow. The thin soil was baked hard, the grass browned to a crisp. There are some green stems amongst it; there’s some Knapweed, its few flower buds small and tightly clenched closed.

Goat’s Beard has kept some leaves, and green stems support its lovely big globular seedheads, or clocks. There are tiny yellow dots of a hawkweed/hawkbit in there too.

Goats-beard – Tragopogon pratensis

A lovely big patch of Lady’s Bedstraw grows under a network of collapsed grass stems. It too has retained surprisingly green stems and leaves.

More Meadow Browns were doing what Meadow Browns do – that is flitting about amongst the long grass stems and landing in line with a grass stem that renders them barely visible.

Two very small dark ones were feeding on a single plant of flowering Ragwort.

LOWER HILLSIDE/WOODLAND EDGE 

Too hot to consider hiking over the summit of the hill and down again to make a proper circuit, I got to the bottom of the hill by cutting back into the woods to reach the bottom of the Summit Trail. It was baking hot here too and although this is the cooler North side of the Bryn, it too is largely brown and very dry. I was surprised to spot a bird out here, hopping around in the grass and not too bothered by me watching it. I only saw it from the back, but could tell it was a young Mistle Thrush.

Greenery here is that of brambles, young trees, some grass and another stand of Rosebay Willowherb.

Knapweed is faring better here than in the small meadow and the first of its flowers are opening. Open flowers are sparse though and in high demand. Where 6-spot Burnet Moths lay claim to a flowerhead they settle in for a  good long time and are reluctant to share.

I was here hoping to see a Dark Green Fritillary, but on first sight of the dryness and lack of flowers, didn’t have much hope. Then lo and behold I suddenly spotted a large fast-flying butterfly head for the very Knapweed occupied by a Burnet Moth. It tried to land but the moth denied it access and it shot off again. Fortunately it spotted an unoccupied flower nearby and settled, though only briefly before setting off again.

Dark Green Fritillary – Argynnis aglaja

This part of the hillside, covered with long grass, brambles, gorse and pitted with rabbit holes is definitely off-limits for walking through, so no chasing butterflies! Best to stick to the few narrow tracks and hope something may cross your path. I did get a couple more glimpses of this gorgeous insect, but no more photo opportunities. I’m happy they are there and hope that there is more than one.

Last evening’s weather forecast promised sea mist over the Irish Sea and so it has come to pass. The whole landscape, including the Little Orme was veiled by it. It didn’t seem to being having much effect on the land temperature though.

Large Skipper-Ochlodes venatus

Peering around for the fritillary I did spot some Skipper butterflies. Several Small Skippers living up to their name, skipping  through the grass and a single male Large Skipper that kindly settled momentarily to pose on a grass seedhead.

And more luck as a Ringlet settled on a bramble flower. It didn’t settle for long either as it was dive-bombed by Bumblebees.

Ringlet – Aphantopus hyperantus

Time to get out of the sun. A passing glance at a Hazel tree on the woodland edge revealed a little bunch of ripening nuts, surprisingly not eaten yet by squirrels, and then a lovely fresh-looking Gatekeeper.

Gatekeeper (male)

Back into the meadow on a different track I spotted the silken tent of a Nursery Web Spider, but no sign of its weaver.

Then a tiny flutter of a butterfly; a Brown Argus.

WOODLAND PATH

On my short-cut track back home, the sound of loud screeching drew my attention to a family of Jays up in the treetops; three together. One flew off, so I think it may have been two young ones demanding attention from a parent. One of those left in the tree wasn’t too happy though, you can see it has its crest raised.

Such pretty birds and a good note, albeit a loud one, to end a walk on.

 

 

The Place for Wheatears,Pipits & Chough

08 Tuesday May 2018

Posted by in Birds, birdwatching on North Wales coast, Great Orme, Nature of Wales, The Wales Coast Path, Wildlife of the Wales Coast Path

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April 25th – Great Orme 

A bright sunny morning prompted me to leave early for the Great Orme today, giving myself time to walk at least part of the way up to the summit and arrive on time to do my shift in the Wildlife Trust shop. Bearing in mind that wherever I walked up from I would have to walk back down to later on, regardless of what the weather may be doing by then, I decided to park in the layby just beyond St. Tudno’s Church. It was much fresher up here, still sunny and clear but a strong breeze made it feel cool.

view from half-way up looking down onto St Tudno’s church

13:05 From here at the bottom of the steep slope, there are obvious short-cropped grass trails that lead off in various directions including up to the cable car station and the Summit Complex, where I was heading. Walking at a good speed it may take 10 minutes to get up to the top if you’re reasonably fit, or a bit longer if you stop to admire the views behind you or need to stop for breath on the steepest part nearer the top. Of course you all expect by now that I would take longer, as I would inevitably find things of interest that I would need to stop and photograph.

Either side of the tracks the hillside is lumpy and bumpy, with hillocks and hollows clothed with long tussocky grass and bushes of dwarf gorse; perfect terrain for the Meadow pipit that I was hoping to see. Birds foraging here are often well concealed, suddenly appearing and disappearing like this Magpie, one of a pair out hunting.

Sometimes they leave flying off until you’re almost on top of them, as this Jackdaw did.

Fond as I am of the Corvids, the unexpected sight of this elegant male Northern Wheatear was a lot more exciting.

Northern Wheatear-Oenanthe oenanthe- Welsh: Tinwen y Garn

and the excitement was doubled when a more softly plumaged female popped up onto the top of a hillock.

Absorbed with the female wheatear a distance away, a Meadow pipit popping up onto a hummock close by me took me by surprise, but a sighting at last and some photographs! It was hunting and I was pleased to get a pic of it with an insect in its beak.

Meadow pipits, in common with the majority of basically brown birds don’t get much of a write-up in the bird books. They’re mostly described as something like ” a small, brown, streaky bird, the most common songbird in upland areas, where it’s high piping call is a familiar sound’. Perhaps because of their lack of glamour we take them too much for granted, as according to the RSPB, ‘Meadow pipit numbers in the UK have been declining since the mid-1970s, resulting in this species being included on the amber list of conservation concern.’

Meadow Pipit- Anthus pratensis- Welsh-Corhedydd y Waun

Meadow pipit with insect

It’s strange that we  give such high praise to the similar-looking Skylark and the not-dissimilar Song Thrush and are so dismissive of the pipits. Is the bias based on the fact that the latter sing delightfully and pipits not so much? For sure our hills and uplands would be lonely without them, so perhaps we could appreciate them more and enjoy them at every opportunity.

There are little wildflower treats hidden down in the grass like this pretty violet.

13:25 As usual I’d been led astray by the birds and had to put a spurt on and get to the top in time to start my ‘shift’. As I said earlier it was breezy on this side of the Orme, but crossing the top and starting down the other side I was suddenly fighting to make progress against a continuous very strong head wind! Checking the wind gauge inside the visitor centre it indicated it was blowing in from a North-north westerly direction, so it felt cold too despite the sunshine. I anticipated selling more hats and gloves!

4:50 Finished for the day I retraced my steps along the trail back down towards where I left my car. On my own time now I was free to take my time and paused to admire the view over towards the Little Orme and beyond. The post tells you that this is the way to The Town (Llandudno).

A closer view of the Little Orme shows its intact, non-quarried side which was deliberately preserved to present a much prettier view to visitors and residents of Llandudno.

A little further on there is an interpretation panel that reminds you that this is the ‘Historic Trail’ and informs that 800 years ago you would have been looking down onto one of perhaps three villages established on the Orme, whose inhabitants would have grown crops and raised animals to eat or trade. I was hoping the wheatears may still be around and I was in luck – I soon spotted a female.

The sun was lower now, creating shadows and highlights and the wind, stronger now, rippled across the long silvered grass, creating a magical almost alien landscape. In amongst it I realised there were more Wheatears, another three birds.

All Wheatears spend winter in tropical Africa, heading northwards via Spain in the spring. Those that breed in the British Isles sometimes arrive on our coast as early as late February, but mainly during March, with males arriving ahead of females. They move inland to  breed.

GREENLAND WHEATEAR

It is possible that the birds I saw here today belong to another race, known as the Greenland wheatear, which arrives a little later in April. Many wheatears make a refuelling stopover in North Africa, but as the Greenland wheatears fly furthest, they need to put on more fat before leaving and spend longer at stopovers. They have a long journey ahead to their breeding sites on the other side of the Atlantic. From Britain they fly northwest across the sea, via Iceland, until they reach the Arctic tundra of Greenland and northern Canada. By June they will have started to breed there.

Wheatear & Meadow pipit

Whichever they were I was appreciating some lovely views of the two males and two females foraging together in the long grass, using the little hillocks as look-out platforms to survey the ground around them for likely prey.

Female wheatear

Then a distraction; a black bird flew in that I may have dismissed as a Jackdaw had it not called out. This was a Chough. It had landed somewhere behind a particularly hillocky part of the hillside, which is also pitted with well-disguised sunken craters. You have to watch your footing if you risk going off the proper trails.

Landscape pitted with sunken craters

I walked carefully until I spotted the bird, almost up to its beak in the long grass.

It had its back to me, eventually turning enough to show its diagnostic curved bill and legs, these are bright red in an adult bird, but this was a juvenile so it hasn’t quite got that far yet and its are more of a dull orange colour.

Chough, Red-billed chough – Pyrrhocorax

It didn’t stay for long before taking off, but it’s always a treat to see them at all, especially this closely.

Making my way back to the main track I noticed this rock, a little island rising out of a sea of grass and heather, it was almost totally encrusted with white lichen and embellished with mosses.

There was a lovely patch of violets growing in a grass-lined crater too.

I spotted two Wheatears perched on the top of a gorse bush; a male and a female. The birds spend most of their time on the ground, travelling in hops or runs on the ground, so it’s quite unusual to see them perched up higher.

I couldn’t have asked for a prettier picture than a handsome male Wheatear perched amongst golden-flowered gorse.

I liked the two images below too; perfect records of the birds’ exact location!

Two males together on the short turf of the trail

And one last image of a nicely posed one on his own.

17:16 Walking on down I spotted three bunnies on high alert, in poses that could have come straight out of Watership Down.

Rabbit-Oryctolagus cuniculus

 

 

But then I saw the new Peter Rabbit film during the Easter holiday too and thought this one, which I think may be the ‘big bunny’ of a previous post, may have seen it too – he’s got Peter’s pose to a ‘T’.

 

 

And wouldn’t you know? After all my efforts to find a Meadow pipit, there was one posing on a rock almost in front of my parked car!

It flew down to the ground and looked back over its shoulder at me as if to say

“what kept you? I’ve been here for hours waiting for you!”

It allowed me a couple of photographs, then took off, leaving a lone Jackdaw to patrol the layby edge for his supper.

On the way down I had to stop just past the church as these little Goldfinches fluttered down onto the bare ground of a bank where they must have spotted food potential.

The views were stunning as always; good today as the mountains were more clearly visible than usual and the clouds above added to their drama.

17:45 The view of the Conwy Estuary was stunning too, the sun was hitting the castle perfectly so it stood out from the trees, you can clearly see the road bridge that takes you across the river to the town and there were boats on the water….. the perfect scene for a painting.

The view of the sea meeting West Shore wasn’t bad either.

 

 

On a Perfect Spring Day

03 Thursday May 2018

Posted by in birds singing, British hoverflies, Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve, Butterflies of Wales, Local Nature Reserves, Nature of Wales, North Wales, Wildflowers of Wales, woodland birds, woodland walks, woodland wildflowers

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April 19th – Bryn Euryn

Today was the middle day of the three consecutively warm sunny days that tantalised us with the notion that Spring had truly arrived, and judging by the activity here today it had a lot of our wildlife fooled too. The sky was clear and that almost-unbelievable shade of deep blue, the birds were singing and best of all, it was warm!

WOODLAND PATH

A few metres along the Woodland Path of my patch is an untidy-looking stretch, divided by the narrow path, where missing trees have opened up the canopy, letting in the light and warmth of the sun. Somewhat mysteriously, it holds great allure for diverse species of insects, some of which at certain times can be found here in surprising numbers. At the right time on the right day, ten minutes spent in this  ‘hotspot’ can be as productive as two hours spent ranging over the rest of the site.

11:44 Today I was here at the right time to see a surprising amount of insects. Most prolific were hoverflies in all shapes and sizes from big and bulky to teeny-tiny and dainty.

Eristalis sp hoverfly

Syrphus sp.

There were few flowers here for nectaring upon, so that wasn’t the attraction for the majority of the hoverflies; I caught just one on the tiny flowers of Dog’s mercury. There were dozens of this small black and yellow striped species here, all very fresh and shiny and mostly basking on the sun-warmed leaves of brambles and nettles.

One side of the ‘hotspot’ is open to sunlight, clear of trees but sheltered by those standing behind it and by large shrubs of laurel and holly on either side. A large tangle of bramble fills the gap in the vegetation and is the only barrier between you and the Expressway below at the bottom of an almost-vertical slope. (Only joking, there’d be plenty of trees to stop you if you fell!) On the other side is a large patch of nettles, the aforementioned Dog’s mercury, more bramble and a pretty patch of periwinkle, all growing through a ground-covering of ivy.

Periwinkle
Dog’s Mercury

A lone Tree bumblebee flew in, visited a couple of the periwinkle flowers then stopped to bask on a last-year’s half-eaten bramble leaf. I think it was a male (no pollen baskets) and was looking a bit the worse for wear. He seemed to have a burden of mites and I wondered if exposing them to warm sun might dislodge them. I’ve seen birds do that.

A smaller bee caught my eye as it came to rest on an ivy leaf. I didn’t realise what it was until I saw my photograph, then was excited to see it was a Hairy-footed Flower Bee, this one a male and my first record of this species here.

Hairy-footed Flower Bee – Anthophora plumipes (male)

Hairy-footed Flower Bee (m)-Anthophora plumipes

A species common and widespread in much of England and Wales, especially in towns, cities and villages. Often nests in the soft mortar and exposed cob of old walls, but occasionally will nest in the ground, preferring bare compacted clay soils. Flies from late February to mid-June, and is particularly partial to Lungwort (Pulmonaria) flowers.

Males and females look very different from one another: the female resembles a small, black bumblebee with orange-red hairs on the hind leg and a rapid-darting flight; she’ll  often approach a flower with her long tongue extended. Males are mostly brown with a dark tail (fresh specimens are gingery). Cream markings on face distinguish it from all bumblebees.They are often among the first bees of the year to emerge and often hover in front of flowers and when pursuing females.

Another little bee came to rest on a nettle leaf, this one I recognised as an Ashy mining bee and another male.

Ashy mining bee – Andrena cineraria (male)

Ashy mining bee (m)-Andrena cineraria 

A distinctive and obvious spring-flying solitary bee. Females are black, and have two broad ashy-grey hairbands across the thorax. Males emerge well before the females. They look similar, but their thorax is entirely covered with less dense grey hairs, and there’s a pronounced tuft of white hairs on the lower face. Species has a single flight period each year from early April until early June. Nests are constructed in the ground; entrances are surrounded by a volcano-like mound of excavated spoil; often in dense aggregations in  lawns, flower beds, mown banks and in field margins.

And where there are mining bees there are those who would prey upon them….. Bee-flies: quirkily-cute in appearance but not good to know if you’re a hard-working mining bee; they’ll spy out your nest-hole and craftily kick their eggs inside with those long legs, then later their hatched larvae will feast on yours.

Bee-fly-Bombilius major

Wasps were out on the prowl too; I didn’t get a clear enough image to tell if this was a German or Common Wasp – the latter have a distinctive anchor mark on their face; this image is a bit fuzzy.

12:07 I could have lingered longer, but birds were singing, I’d been serenaded by a Song thrush and a Robin as I stood watching insects, Blue tits twittered on all sides and I was keen to see what else was happening.

Bluebells are beginning to flower and offer nectar to those that can reach it, there’s also Greater Stitchwort and lots of Dog Violets. A male Orange-tip butterfly raced past me over the bluebells and through the trees, clearly on the trail of a female and not stopping for an instant.

Greater Stitchwort – Stellaria holostea

There are masses of glorious glossy golden yellow lesser celandines shining in the sunlight too.

I stopped to admire the celandines lining a section of the path and not at all concerned by my presence, a Blue tit perched above me and began to sing.

Beneath him dozens of shiny new flies arrived to bask on soft sun-warmed new bramble leaves.

There’s one special spot I know where Wood Anemones light up the woodland floor like fallen stars, turning their faces to the sun

and another where those of the shamrock-leaved Wood sorrel shyly hide theirs.

Over the boundary fence, the formidable thorny boundary hedge of gorse and blackthorn is softened now with their fragrant gold and white blossoms.

I heard a bird singing, a short loud burst of notes that I thought at first was a Wren, but it wasn’t quite right. I’d forgotten that another tiny bird, the Goldcrest also has a disproportionately loud song, remembering when he broke cover and flitted about in shrubbery in front of me. He wasn’t going to oblige me with a photograph, much too busy! So I stood gazing upwards for a while – you can’t get too much beautiful blue sky…

… or pretty blossom, can you?

WOODLAND TRAIL

12:58 There’s another hotspot around the junction of my Woodland Path with the reserve’s Woodland Trail, this one for birds. Here there is a territory of both Blackcap and Chiffchaff so there is the possibility of hearing if not seeing both species here. Today I was lucky; I heard the Blackcap’s song as I approached and walking slowly and as quietly as I was able I spotted him. He continued to sing but moved restlessly through the branches as I got nearer then flew off across the other side of the track.

While he sang from behind foliage over there I watched a pretty female Tawny mining bee feast on Blackthorn blossom.

Then the Blackcap came back to where he’d started, so I think perhaps his red-headed mate may be on their nest somewhere close by.

This gorgeous gorse is below his singing tree. It would make a safe place to nest and the flowers would attract insects for dinner.

I had heard a Chiffchaff singing nearby too but was pleasantly surprised when he appeared, continuing his song while flitting about amongst the twiggy branches searching for insects.

13:21 Further along the trail I spotted a flutter of orange – a lovely fresh Comma butterfly  basking on dry leaves at the edge of the path. As I watched it moved, (look away now if you’re squeamish) onto a thankfully dryish dog poo deposit. I had to take the picture as it nicely presented its underside showing off the distinctive white mark for which it is named.

The disturbed ground of the pathsides supports some of the ‘weedier’ wildflowers like dandelions which provide important nectar when there’s not much else in flower.

You’d be very unlucky not to hear and see a Robin singing along here, there seems to be one at regularly spaced intervals. They sit and watch out over the track then dart out to pounce on any potential prey they may spot. This one had been singing but stopped to watch me.

I waited to see if he’d start singing again and was distracted by a bird whistling loudly. I scanned around searching for whatever was making the sound, one I didn’t recognise at all but that sounded to be being made by quite a large bird. After a few minutes the whistler appeared and to my amusement turned out to be …. a Great Tit! Of course it was, one of the basics of birdsong recognition is ‘when you don’t recognise it or haven’t heard it before, chances are it’ll be a Great Tit’; they have an incredible repertoire of sounds to call upon. I was thankful to him for keeping me in that spot though, as this gorgeous Greater Spotted Woodpecker flew onto a tree trunk literally right in front of me.

The Woodpecker stayed there, keeping a watchful eye on me. This bird is a female and is holding something small in her beak, so I imagine she has a nest nearby and was unwilling to reveal it. I moved away quickly, thanking her for the photo opportunity as I did.

Great Spotted Woodpeckers are about the same size as Starlings. Their plumage denotes their age and sex. Juvenile birds have red foreheads that are replaced by black as they moult in the autumn. Adult males then have a red nape while females have no red on their head at all.

 

The Lesser Celandines have been late flowering this Spring but are glorious now and more prolific than I’ve seen them before. It’s not just the flowers that are prolific, so too were hoverflies and Bee-flies seemed to be everywhere.

Approaching the entrance to the meadow another Robin, which looks as though it is singing, but was actually ‘ticking me off’, let me know it didn’t appreciate my disturbing it.

THE UPPER MEADOW (ADDER’S FIELD)

The grass of the meadow was cut back hard last autumn and so far there’s not much happening there yet, but the grass is beginning to grow and the cowslips are starting to come out. They’ll be later on the more exposed ‘downland’ side of the hill.

Another Bee-fly settled on an exposed rock in the pathway, fluttering its wings rapidly and making flicking movements with its legs as they do when depositing their eggs, but there was no sign of a mining bee nest anywhere near, so not sure what it was doing.

Summer Rainfall Prediction:

If oak is out before the ash, there’ll be a splash ; if ash is out before the oak there’ll be a soak…

Keep the brollies handy, looks like ash is furthest on so far….!

Wriggling across the still-damp ground on the way to the Summit Trail was an earthworm. Double jeopardy came to mind – exposure to warm sunshine and hungry birds; foolish worm.

Last year I noticed spots along the trail here where Mining Bees were making nests. having seen a few about today I kept an eye out for more signs of their activity and spotted these little ‘volcanoes’, evidence of their presence. I waited a while but no bees showed, so I don’t know which species had made them, but I think maybe Tawny Mining Bees.

THE SUMMIT

It was cooler and breezier up here. I walked carefully, hoping there may be Small Tortoiseshell butterflies basking on the bare earth of the path, but not today, although I did see two busily chasing one another at speed as they disappeared over the edge of the cliff.

The mountains and the distant Conwy valley were veiled by a misty haze.

The blackthorn is smothered with blossom and looking beautiful. It will be interesting to see how much of it gets pollinated and develops as fruit this autumn. Sloe gin comes to mind.

Blackthorn – Prunus spinosa

The path back down to the Woodland Trail felt almost bridal with falling petals showering down onto the ground like confetti. A pretty way to end this account of a lovely walk.

Spring is Coming to the Great Orme – part 2

05 Thursday Apr 2018

Posted by in birds of Wales, birds singing, Great Orme, Nature of Wales, North Wales, Wales Coast Path

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March 28th 2018

16:50 The shop is closed and the day’s last tram has departed, taking most of the late-afternoon visitors to the Summit back down to the town. Outside the wind is still blowing fiercely and although sunny, it felt even colder than it was when I got here. In the wildflower garden I stopped to watch a Pied wagtail scuttling around on the short turf between the flower borders and the path. These skittish little birds are fascinating to watch. Almost perpetually in motion they walk jerkily, craning their necks forward as they scan the ground in front for prey, wagging their long tails constantly. In pursuit of prey they can move at speed, half-running half-flying.

Pied wagtail-Moticilla alba

Pied Wagtails have adopted a wide range of habitats and landscapes as hunting grounds, from urban streets, wastes and car parks to seashores, wilder stream sides and reed beds. Most often seen singly, in the late afternoon the birds gather together, sometimes in their hundreds and fly off as a flock to roost communally. They often choose roosting sites on roofs such as factories, sewage works, hospitals and supermarkets. 

There is often a Pied wagtail up here around the car park area. This tarmacked area is bounded by stone walls with a strip of rough grass left in front of them and I’ve watched them make a circuit here, making a thorough search of the area. I guess that the combination of the nooks and crannies of the wall and the vegetation make it a good hunting ground.

Pied wagtail checking out the car park

16:52 The tide is out and the cloud has lifted above the Snowdonia mountains although a great bank of it still hovers heavily above the peaks.

Puffin Island and Anglesey behind it are visible but obscured by mist. The light and shade on the sea and the cloud make a beautiful sight but it’s too cold and windy to stand and admire it for long.

16:56 Driving up or down here I always have my car window open, partly to enjoy the super-fresh air but also to listen out for bird sounds. That paid off this afternoon as I drove past a hawthorn tree and heard the unmistakable song of a Greenfinch. I was delighted to hear it, particularly as my sightings of these finches have been very sparse in recent years. In fact, the last time I saw one was last year and not too far from here, singing then from the highest point of St Tudno’s Church roof.

Greenfinch-Carduelis chloris – singing

I stopped just past him and took photographs from the car so as not to frighten him away. Then I thought I’d stop further along at the pull-in I stopped at earlier and walk back to attempt to record his performance. Not to be, a Crow had usurped him and now squatted there, feathers blown akimbo by the wind.

The Hawthorn tree the Greenfinch was singing from was the perfect choice for him. Almost completely covered with lichens, it had caught my eye a couple of weeks ago when I’d stopped to check whether it had leaves!

Of course it didn’t, but that’s how green it appeared to be. A closer look revealed the lichen, an almost-perfect match for the green-yellow of a Greenfinch.

In the few minutes I’d been gone my car had been staked and claimed as a look-out by the Herring gull I’d photographed here earlier. OK by me as he hadn’t left any guano behind!

17:05 Further down, opposite the church, another favourite gull perching post was occupied.

I’d past the point where I thought I may have spotted a Meadow pipit or Stonechat, but there was still hope for Chough. Back down on Marine Drive now I slowed to check every black bird I saw, but all were Jackdaws or Carrion crows until suddenly I caught sight of two birds flying towards the sea; definitely Chough. I stopped and got out of the car and was instantly distracted by another bird that flew into view then hovered, braced into the wind high above the turf-covered clifftop. A male Kestrel.

The Kestrel, once known as the Windhover has perfected the art of hovering to the highest degree. They fly into the wind at the same speed as it is blowing them back, thus remaining stationary in relation to the ground, which saves them a great deal of energy.

I had stopped by a feature of the Great Orme I hadn’t noticed until now, probably because I’m usually looking in front of me or out over the clifftops as I’m driving. A sign informs that here is Ffynnon Gaseg, or Mare’s Well in English.

There are many natural springs feeding wells located around the headland, and there is no factual information about this one or why it was so named, but it’s thought likely that it was created when Marine Drive was constructed as a drinking place for the horses that pulled the carriages of Victorian sightseers for whom the road was originally built. The blackness  of the rock where the water emerges is staining from the peaty ground it runs through.

As I turned back towards my car I spotted the black birds again so crossed the road to try to get a better view just in time to see them fly down and along over the sea. Definitely Chough and though not the sighting I’d hoped for, a sighting none-the-less.

I made a stop to photograph the former Lighthouse as it was nicely lit by the sun. It’s surprising how the light affects the ‘mood’ of a building; this one can look rather intimidating on a gloomy day.

17:25 The clouds had lifted or perhaps drifted a little further over the mountains now revealing the snow that covered the highest peaks. Hardly surprising it felt so cold.

I’m looking forward to watching the seasons develop here Wednesday by Wednesday.

Spring is Coming to the Great Orme

30 Friday Mar 2018

Posted by in birdwatching on North Wales coast, Great Orme, Llandudno, Nature of Wales, North Wales, North Wales Path, North Wales Wildlife Trust

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Wednesday March 28th

An early Easter and school holidays and the Great Orme Summit is fully open for business, including our NWWT shop, so all volunteers called back to action. I’m sticking with my Wednesday shift and was really looking forward to seeing what was happening in the wild world of the headland. I left deliberately early so I could take my time driving up along the scenic Marine Drive route and make a few stops along the way. The afternoon was bright and sunny but chilled, as it frequently is by a cold wind that ruffled the surface of the sea. Despite that there are plenty of signs that Spring won’t be put off any longer.

Just a short way in to my drive I spotted five goats strung out along a narrow ledge high up on the cliff. Too high to see properly from the car I stopped and got out: they looked even higher up from where I stood. Their agility and balance is breathtaking; I couldn’t imagine how they were going to get down, or back up from there but I’m sure they did.

 

The leader looks  like a Nanny that has given birth fairly recently and the one behind is small, so maybe this was a lesson in advanced foraging.

Watching the goats I heard the unmistakable calls of Fulmars and followed the sounds to where there were several sitting on the ledges where they will nest. The massive bulk of the cliff emphasised how small and fragile the birds are. If they didn’t draw attention to themselves with their loud cries you’d be hard pressed to spot them.

Spot the Fulmars!

One or two were flying back and forth from the ledges. They are distinctive in flight, holding their wings outstretched stiffly.

Fulmars weren’t the only noisy birds in the vicinity – from the other side of the sea wall I heard the calls of Oystercatchers. The tide was beginning to go out and had exposed a strip of the rocky shore far below but it wasn’t until a bird flew in to join those already there that I spotted them. They’re surprisingly well camouflaged despite those bright bills and legs.

1243 – Driving on another gull caught my eye; a Herring gull. It’s good to see them in a more natural setting away from roofs and chimney pots.

This view shows clearly the line of the road ahead that continues around the point of the headland and back down to West Shore and Llandudno town. The road to the summit forks off to pass the buildings you can see in the middle of the photograph and St Tudno’s Church which is in the top left corner.

Passing the church I carried on, stopping at the pull-in parking area down below the cable car station, hoping to catch sight of a Stonechat or maybe a displaying Meadow Pipit amongst the gorse bushes. Two rabbits were out in the sunshine, one was grazing busily and the other, a much bigger one lay down to soak up the sun. I’m sure this wasn’t a true wild rabbit. It was big and white underneath, so may have been an escaped pet or at least was in some way related to one.

A man with two free-running dogs approached startling them and Big Bunny sat up quickly before they both shot for cover.

Big Bunny

A pair of smart Magpies flew in and perched jauntily on a bramble bush behind where the rabbits had been. There are often one or two to be seen around the area of the church.

Two for joy

One of them left the bush to pick up stems of dried grass, so likely they have a nest nearby.

There were no smaller birds that I could see so I crossed the road to the cliff side where there is more Gorse to give them cover. I could hear birds singing but couldn’t see any, they were probably sensibly staying out of the wind. I did catch sight of a singing Dunnock, but he too stayed on the leeward side of an Elder tree, well concealed behind its dense twigs. Nice to see signs of new leaves on the tree.

Dunnock on Elder

The grass here is thick and dense and forms hummocks that catch the light. Walking on it feels very strange, it’s soft and spongy and bouncy underfoot. I like the way the sunlight catches it.

Sheep must find it comfortable to lie on. I came upon these ladies-in-waiting lying in a sheltered spot. They all had large blue patches painted on their backs and looked as though their lambs’ arrival may be imminent. They may have been marked this way as their lambs will arrive around the same time and the farmer can easily pick them out and be prepared.

One of my favourite Spring sights is of golden gorse against a background of blue sea. Today was perfect for such a sight with the sea perfectly reflecting the colour of the sky.

Huge banks of towering fluffy clouds brought drama to the scene.

The Gorse as always smelled wonderful. I liked the way the rounded hilltop and the cloud echoed the shape of this blossom covered bush.

Returning to my car a Herring gull had taken up position on the sign board – this is a regular perching place where they wait in hope of scraps of food being left for them.

No signs of the Stonechats or Meadow Pipits I was hoping to see. It was good to see the Trams back in action at the Half-way Station. No 7 is waiting to pick up passengers that will de-board No 6 that will bring them from the Summit Station to here, then will take them down to the bottom.

Almost at the top I couldn’t resist another stop to watch Jackdaws that were strutting around near the edge of the road, busily collecting dry grass.

This one seemed intent on making as few trips as possible back and forth to the nest, cramming in an impressive amount before flying off.

Parking at the top a Herring gull came in to land in front of me and began posturing and squawking at the top of its voice.

It was calling to its mate who duly landed close by its side, squawking in response.

Don’t they make a handsome couple?

The view across the bay and the Conwy Estuary was stunning as always with more dramatic clouds casting shade to make patterns on the surface of the sea.

A quick look down from the other side of the car park over the farmland dotted with sheep…..

I zoomed in to see if there were any lambs yet. None to see, but I did spy the Magpies again.

It was really cold and windy up here. Anticipated trade in our best-selling woolly hats and gloves!

 

Following a river to a Fairy Glen

15 Thursday Mar 2018

Posted by in Fairy Glen, Local Nature Reserves, Nature of Wales, North Wales Path, Old Colwyn, Rivers of Wales

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The myriad of little rivers and streams that run from our mountains and hills come alive following prolonged rainfall or when filled with melted snow. Many of them are inaccessible and flow through privately owned land, so we are privileged here to be able to enjoy close access to the sights and sounds of one such waterway: the river that flows through the village of Old Colwyn and ends at Colwyn Bay, both of which take its name – the river or in Welsh afon, Colwyn.

This walk follows a length of the river Colwyn upstream from where it reaches the sea  at Colwyn Bay at the end of the Promenade, takes the scenic route through the oldest part of the village of Old Colwyn then continues to the far end of the wooded dingle of Fairy Glen and back again. It’s not a long walk and mostly fairly easy going. It follows a section of the North Wales Path and is also part of the Old Colwyn Heritage Trail so combines a bit of local history with nature and wildlife, which ticks all of the boxes for the perfect winter walk for me. 

Splash Point of the river Colwyn into Colwyn Bay. Snow-capped Clwyddian Mountains on the far horizon.

The last few metres of the river’s length are contained and manipulated by stone and concrete to direct its waters under roads, bridges and the viaduct, then finally a culvert beneath the Promenade channels it to its end at a Splash Point from where it cascades into the sea.

The viaduct was built in 1847 as part of the Chester-Holyhead railway line engineered by Robert Louis Stephenson. The bridge behind it carries the A55 North Wales Expressway

Beneath the viaduct, know locally as ‘The Arches’, the surface of the water is textured as it rushes over its stony bed and its sound amplified by the stone walls that contain it, still audible above the noise of traffic and the occasional train passing overhead.

Once beneath the bridges and on the path past Myn y Coed woodland calm is restored and the sounds of the river and birds singing fill the air.

I stopped on the footbridge to listen and to check for Grey Wagtails that sometimes hunt along this stretch of the river; none here today but I know they have other favoured spots.

upstream from the footbridge at Myn y Coed

The path upstream curves around the corner to run parallel to Beach Road, passing in front of the building that was once the Coachhouse to the Myn y Don Mansion. The river races down the slope here, carrying with it bits of shrubbery from somewhere along its path.

Lovely to see a few Spring wildflowers here.

Near the beginning of Tan y Bryn Gardens is a weir with blocks of stone either side that look as though they may once perhaps have had sluice gates?

There’s an interesting variety of native and more exotic trees here with an under-storey of shrubs and plants that is perfect for birds. Today Blackbirds seemed to be everywhere, singing from variously elevated spots or rummaging around in leaf litter. There were at least three males in close proximity to one another, resulting in much chasing. The one in my photograph had been singing until I arrived and put him off his stroke.

Carrying on through the gardens there were robins singing from several spots too and I finally caught one in action.

Almost at the end of the Garden path I was thinking I still hadn’t seen a Grey wagtail and that sometimes I’ve had better luck seeing them hunting on the nearby rooftops… then a bird skimmed past just over my head making that familiar rattling call. A wagtail that, lo and behold, carried on over the water to the very rooftops I was standing looking at. Although some distance away, it was a lovely colourful one with bright yellow breast and rump, that stood out nicely against the blue-grey slates and patches of lichen.

I had reached the tunnels beneath the buildings that allow people and the river to pass through them.

The tunnel is short, lit artificially and its walls are decorated with colourful professional-looking graffiti. It’s not my favourite part of the walk though, especially when as today it was littered with rubbish and doggy deposits. Such a shame as the path to here was spotless.

I usually walk through here at speed, admiring the wall art out of the side of my eye as I pass it, but today I stopped to photograph my favourite part of it. It depicts the buildings above where they front onto Abergele Road, harking back to the days when the tram was running. Next to that image is one of the viaduct before it was obscured by the Expressway bridge.

At the other end of the tunnel a sign indicates the way back to the beach and the North Wales Path logos are beneath it.

The path stays by the river through this attractive little area, named Llawr Pentre which is the oldest part of the village, then leaves it for a short while as you take the steps you find on your left. At the top follow the signs that point right to Fairy Glen and the North Wales Path.

FAIRY GLEN

The Local Nature Reserve of Fairy Glen in Old Colwyn is one of several places locally known as ‘dingles’. Dingle is a charming and evocative noun used to describe a small, narrow or enclosed, usually wooded valley or a deep hollow or dell. Fairy Glen was once more manicured and a much favoured place for holidaying Victorians to take in the fresh air on a leisurely riverside stroll. Today the pathway is on the route of the North Wales Path, but is mostly used locally as a shortcut to the village centre or by folks walking their dogs. It may not appear as groomed as it once did, but this fragment of a once-extensive ancient woodland is cared for and appreciated and it provides a habitat for a good variety of wildlife, particularly woodland birds. There are some lovely big old trees and shrubs here, but the greatest draw and asset for wildlife is surely the fresh clean accessible water. 

At the base of a tree I found golden-yellow Lesser celandines, some of them already ‘going over’.

Most of the length of the path is fenced allowing flora and fauna to remain undisturbed. The fence rails are a great place to spot birds too; many use it as a perch and some as a place to forage for insects amongst the ivy.

There were a number of Blue tits foraging in the trees around and overhead me and I heard Great tits singing. The songs of Robins rang out at regular intervals, each one pausing occasionally to listen to others nearby then responding. I always thought that this might have been why the ’round Robin’ style of singing we learnt at school was so-named, but apparently not – it relates to much more boring things like circularised documents. I prefer my own version! There were Blackbirds all over the place here too. This one took to the fence while I passed but soon resumed his hunt for worms in the leaf litter below.

Wild garlic is growing fast and the warm sunshine was already drawing out its distinctive aroma.

The damp shady conditions here are perfect for ferns.

I had a lovely close encounter with a small flock of charming Long-tailed tits.

Rainwater channels into the river at this weir adding to its volume creating a considerable foamy ‘race’ down its length.

This stand of tall old pine trees is a good spot to look out for Coal tits; I’ve seen them here on several occasions, but not today.

At the base of tree a collection of new Spring greenery of varying shades and leaf forms; ferny Cow parsley, elegant Arum and the round leaves of some pervading Winter heliotrope which seems to be popping up all over the place lately. There are also a few leaves of Nettle and the ubiquitous Ivy.

The path through the Glen ends at Pen y Bryn Road. As at the beginning of the path at Myn y Don there is a plaque commemorating a local man named Cliff Proust who did a tremendous amount of work improving the public local green spaces on behalf of this community. The world needs more Cliff Prousts – he did a great job.

THE WAY BACK

There’s much to be said for a circular walk, but I find it can be just as interesting to go back the way I came. I often see things I missed on the way through being distracted by something I spot; the perspective is different, the light is different and of course the time is different. I tend to ‘save’ things that aren’t likely to move for a closer look on the way back too, such as these trees. I liked the contrast of shapes and shades of the evergreens seen through the more delicate catkin laden Hazel in the foreground and all set off beautifully by that beautiful deep blue winter sky.

I met the Blackbird again, still hunting worms successfully, he’d just swallowed one as I took his picture.

I had a closer look at this felled tree which I think from the bark may be a Sweet chestnut. It’s wood has been left to integrate into the fabric of the woodland floor to provide habitat for invertebrates etc. I hope it gets left alone and is not purloined by someone with a wood-burner to feed.

This was a huge tree, a section of its trunk would easily make a small dining table.

A flowering Dandelion and more shoots of Wild garlic.

This enormous Oak tree near the entrance/exit to the Glen fascinates me. It has stabilised itself in an almost-perpendicular position with a complex network of roots that are as thick and sturdy as branches, right on the edge of a steep bank. Beneath it are hollows you can see straight through. Perhaps this is where the fairies live.  

A last look at another stand of elegant, pale-barked trees whose top branches turned silver in the sunlight.

And then the river on its way out of the Glen.

Leaving the Glen and walking back past the cottages I stopped to watch Jackdaws  gathered on the chimney pots. I’m not sure what they were doing, possibly checking for any insects or spiders that may have been hiding in them, or maybe prospecting for nest sites; whatever they were doing they were disappearing right into them.

 

Back in the Gardens I stopped to admire  the flowers; clumps of snowdrops, daffodils and a stunning display of richly coloured hellebores all enjoying the sunshine. No insects yet  though.


I couldn’t resist taking this shot of a perfectly matched couple walking hand in hand ahead of me. I hope they don’t mind.

The view towards the end of the gardens with the Coachman’s cottage in the bottom left corner.

All overlooked by the tower of the Folly up on the hill.

I am ever in awe at the size of some of the pine trees that grow here

so I was sad to see that the foliage of one of them looks has turned brown as though it may be dead.

A Robin checked out a dramatic dried seed head

while a Wood pigeon investigated a mossy rooftop.

Then to finish, a promise of imminent Spring: a Wild Cherry tree with new green leaves and blossom buds about to burst.

 

Winter Woodland

16 Tuesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve, Nature of Wales, Wildflowers of Wales, woodland walks in Wales

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January 1st 2018

The early morning was sunny and bright. Perfect for my first walk in the woods of this new year, I thought. Ha! I hadn’t got far when I realised it may not be quite as perfect as I had anticipated. By the time I got outside at around midday the sun had disappeared behind a thick veil of misty cloud, I felt cold despite thermal layers, my new three-way all-weather jacket and walking boots. The track was muddy and a bit slippery; thankfully for once I’d remembered to pick up my pointy-ended light-weight walking stick. This wasn’t what I’d hoped for, but as I want to try to follow the progress of the seasons more closely this year it had to be done. I reminded myself of my double-negatively phrased mantra, “there’s never nothing to see”, crossed my already frozen fingers and trusted that would work.

11:43 – Watching a handsome male blackbird rootling in the ground-covering ivy was a good start; then a grey squirrel with a scruffy sparsely-furred tail made me wonder what it takes to keep them in? It was freezing cold, damp and now getting windy, perfect conditions for a spot of hibernation I’d have thought; they must be too hungry to sleep.

Grey sky through bare branches

I do love to see the sky through the tracery of bare branches and twigs on days like this when they are almost in monochrome.

Holly has a strong presence year-round, but it struck me today that even on dull days it shines out, seeming to catch any available light touching its leaves and reflecting it back. There were a few berries remaining on this plant but I’m sure they won’t be there for long.

Alexanders – Smyrnium olusatrum

Clumps of bright green leaves of Alexanders started to reappear back in December. Here on the edge of the woodland path they are sheltered by the trees and protected by leaf litter. I’m always surprised it doesn’t get eaten. It was introduced into this country by the Romans; having a delicate celery-like taste, they  used it as a culinary herb. Rarely growing more than about four miles from the sea, here it’s at its most prolific on the lower level of the Little Orme and along the Llandudno Road. It’s spreading quite quickly here in this part of the woods too. I wonder how it got here originally?

11:57 – The view from the boundary fence was obscured by the dense misty cloud which seemed to be approaching fast. I could still see part of the River Conwy, but the Carneddau mountains beyond had all but disappeared. The A55, or the North Wales Expressway as it is officially known, is busy with traffic whatever the day. The main route westward and up through Anglesey to the Irish ferry port at Holyhead, it is also heavily used by locals for short commutes and  holidaymakers and tourists all year round. The railway line runs alongside it too. Running along the valley bottom, vehicle noise is amplified and rises up to become the background sound to my walks, even the mist hardly muffles it. It is so continuous though that your mind soon ceases to register it.

The Scots Pines are at their most numerous in this spot. On the woodland boundary and exposed to strong west winds their trunks are angled backwards and branches are contorted and twisted into some weird and wonderful shapes.

Woodland Trail

A sprinkling of golden gorse flowers brightened the greyness of the day and a quick inhale of its gorgeous coconut fragrance gave me a boost and the will to continue! 

It’s less sheltered up on the Woodland Trail, which is for the most part a corridor through the trees, so deciding which way to go was easy; a right turn and then up, back into the closer shelter of trees. I passed by the big holly tree, hardly any berries remained and there were no birds to see there. There are good crops of ivy berries this year, but they seem to be ripening sporadically and slowly. I often come across plants throughout the woods that have escaped from gardens. I hadn’t spotted this mahonia before though – it’s preparing to flower which will no doubt be gratefully received by the red & the buff-tailed bumblebee queens when they emerge in a few short weeks time.

12:11 – It started to rain heavily. I was fairly protected by the trees so decided to carry on. A party of Long-tailed tits flew above me, calling to one another as they moved quickly through the high tree branches. Tiny birds, they clearly have to keep searching for food but surely need to keep warm and dry too; not easy when there are no leaves.

The wind picked up. On the north side of the hill and gradually getting higher, it was noticeably colder too. If I had sense I’d probably have gone home now, but I really wanted to get to the top of the hill today. At least this weather suits blackbirds foraging in deep leaf litter.

I passed the ‘fernery’ – the open slope that is lushly covered with predominantly Hart’s Tongue fern growing between moss-covered stones. If it was warmer it may feel quite tropical. The smudges are raindrops on the camera lens!

I was glad to reach the part of the trail I think of as the ‘Dark Wood’. It is sheltered by the rising bulk of the hillside and some tall old trees, including a good few Yews, which all combine to block out the sunlight and today some of the rain.

At the end of the tree tunnel is a particularly large evergreen tree, one of several that I know throughout the woodland. I’m trying to work out what they are, so any ideas would be gratefully received.

For some reason I can’t begin to guess at, an iron gate stands at the side of the track just past here. There’s no sign of any fencing on either side of it. It’s just a gate to nowhere.

Gate to nowhere

It does stand near to the junction of a track leading up to the summit though, making it easier to remember where its start is. Covered with leaves it doesn’t stand out and is easy to miss.

The muddy leaf-covered upward track is easily missed

12:26 – The upward track was muddy and slippery and I was glad I had my spiky walking stick, otherwise progress could easily have been a painful step forward and a slide back. It was still raining, my fingers were freezing and I was the only person trekking to the top. Can’t think why. The flash of a colourful Bullfinch disturbed from a bramble patch, eating what remains of blackberries really brightened my day. He disappeared into the scrub of hazel and blackthorn. Hazel catkins start growing at the end of the summer or early autumn and are making steady progress; these are the male flowers, the tiny red female flowers will appear a little later on when the male flowers are fully mature.

Hazel catkins

The twiggy branches of the blackthorns are well-covered with lichen, including clumps of the beautiful silver-green ferny one that feels velvety to the touch. It is a lichen, but confusingly called Oak Moss.

Oak Moss-Evernia prunestri on blackthorn

12:42 – Emerging onto the hill top was breathtaking. Quite literally – it was raining hard, blowing a hooley and bitingly cold. I took a couple of snaps while the wind tried to wrench the camera out of my hands and the rain obscured the view further by dropping onto the lens. There was no way I was going to carry on up to the summit proper.

The sea is out there somewhere

12:50 – I turned and scurried back to the comparative shelter of the track, stopping only because I couldn’t resist this gnarly tree trunk decorated with moss and lichen.

Then there was an extremely tall tree painted with both orange and green lichens and daubed with cushion-like moss. I couldn’t resist that either.

I spot a small Elder that already has quite well-grown new leaves.

13:04 – I watched a blackbird that was having great success finding worms in the mud. I watched it pull out and eat two or three.

It had finally stopped raining and the sun was shining through the trees. It was still really cold though and although only early afternoon, gloomy and dark.

I took a slightly different route back to where I started as it’s a higher, less well used and still covered with leaves and much less slippery. It also cuts across the slope that is part of the view from my kitchen window and is a good place to be to see some of the birds that descend from here down to our bird feeders. No birds today, but I did realise that two of the trees up here are big old Sweet Chestnuts. They have beautifully coloured and textured bark.

Sweet Chestnut-Castania sativa
Sweet chestnut bark

13:22 – One last splash of colour – rust-red leaves remaining on a small tree, I’m assuming Copper beech that has found its way here from someone’s garden.

 

13:39 – I’m home, hands wrapped around a mug of  defrosting tea, watching some of the birds I didn’t see whilst out. They’d doubtless think it bonkers to go out on a day like this when you really don’t have to.

 

 

 

The First Day of Winter

10 Wednesday Jan 2018

Posted by in Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve, Nature of Wales

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Happy New Year and I hope everyone’s had a wonderful Festive Season. I know I’m a bit tardy with my greetings, but they are none-the-less sincerely meant. Having not posted for a while I was at a bit of a loss as to where to pick up from, but decided to go back a little way into 2017 to start from a significant date in both the natural world and culturally, the first day of Winter. 

Robins are singing now as they hold territories all year round

Most people think the coldest season begins around the winter solstice, but there are actually two definitions of winter. 

The solstice marks the beginning of the astronomical winter and astronomical seasons are based on the position of the Earth in relation to the Sun. We’ve recorded seasons this way for a very long time and ‘official’ astronomical seasons have been in place since the days of ancient Rome.

Meteorological seasons have been tracked since the late 1700s and are based on the annual temperature cycle. This enables meteorologists to compare climatological statistics for a particular season; important information for those involved in agriculture, commerce or any businesses that are dependent, or in any way affected by the weather. Accordingly they break the seasons down into groupings of three months. Winter includes December, January, and February.

11/12/17- View from Bryn Euryn

Thursday, 21st December 2017

The official astronomical first day of winter in the Northern Hemisphere was marked by the Winter Solstice, which occurred at 4.28pm this afternoon. It was the shortest day of the year, with daylight lasting just 7 hours, 49 minutes and 41 seconds – 8 hours and 49 minutes shorter than at the Summer Solstice of June 21st. This can be regarded as a turning point in the year, but true winter is likely yet to come: December is noted for being stormy rather than cold, although this year we experienced storms, cold weather and snow. The good news is that from this point on the days will get progressively longer and lighter as we approach the Summer Solstice on Thursday, 21 June 2018.

The event is called the “solstice” because the Sun literally “stands still” in the sky.The word solstice comes from Latin sol “sun” and sistere “to stand still.”

The Solstice is an astronomical event that happens twice each year, once in summer on the 20th or 21st June and once in winter on 21st or 22nd December. The winter solstice occurs when the North Pole is tilted 23.5 degrees away from the sun and the day of the solstice is the shortest day of the year; i.e. the day with the shortest period of daylight and the longest night of the year. In fact, the winter solstice itself lasts only a moment in time, but the term sometimes refers to the day on which it occurs.

During the winter solstice, the sun is closer to the horizon than at any other time of the year.

“What good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness?” ― John Steinbeck

Celebratory traditions of  the winter solstice can be spanned back thousands of years, as far back as Neolithic times and may be the origin of  rituals such as New Year’s, Christmas, and other “rebirth” celebrations held very shortly after its occurrence. Until the 16th century, the winter months were a time of famine in northern Europe. Most cattle were slaughtered so that they wouldn’t have to be fed during the winter, making the solstice a time when fresh meat was plentiful. Starvation was common during the first months of the winter, January to April that were also known as “the famine months”. In temperate climates, the midwinter festival was the last feast celebration, before deep winter began. Many of the traditions we now think of as being part of Christmas – including Yule logs, mistletoe and Christmas trees – have their roots in the pagan celebrations of winter solstice. In old farming communities, the Twelve Days of Christmas, beginning on December 25th were believed to forecast the weather of the coming year.

Holly featured in the Roman feast of the Saturnalia. Although it became adopted by the church, in popular belief it kept its link with witches and wood spirits and it was thought unlucky to bring any into the house before Christmas Eve.

Solstice Celebrations at Stonehege

Stonehenge is a National Trust monument in Amesbury, Wiltshire

Famously in Britain, Stonehenge is the venue for huge numbers of Druids, pagans and other interested people that gather at this most iconic ancient monument in huge numbers to celebrate the winter solstice. Different ‘groves’ mark the occasion with different rituals that mark the beginning of the return of the sun, darkness turning into light, birth and rebirth.

Titular Head and Chosen Chief, Raised Druid King of Britain, Arthur Uther Pendragon (born John Timothy Rothwell) speaks to the gathered druids at Stonehenge (pic from the Telegraph 2017)

Are we at the beginning or in the middle of winter? 

The winter solstice, or hibernal solstice, may also be known as midwinter. Other names are the “extreme of winter” or simply the “shortest day”. In some cultures it is regarded as the middle of winter, while in others it is seen as the beginning of winter. It has been suggested that rather than the equinoxes and solstices marking the transition between seasons, recognising their dates as marking the middle of the season would be better.

11/12/17- View from Bryn Euryn

Countries around the world have (and some still do) mark the seasons in this way. Midsummer’s Day and Midsummer’s Eve occur around the summer solstice, which seems to denote a celebration of the middle of the season, rather than its start. Seasons in Japan are traditionally based on their lunar calendar, which mark winter as starting around November 8 and ending around February 4.

This makes a certain amount of sense, just based on the astronomical calendar, since it would better reflect the number of hours of daylight as it changes throughout the year. Therefore, winter wouldn’t start on the shortest day of the year, but instead, that day would mark the exact middle – or deepest part – of the winter season. Similarly, the summer solstice – the longest day of the year – would be right in the middle of summer.

All I can say is that however we humans debate the dates of the first, middle or last day of winter, thankfully our wildlife remains attuned to the rythyms of nature, trusting their instincts and getting on with doing what they need to do when they need to do it!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everlasting Green

10 Sunday Dec 2017

Posted by in bird behaviour, Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve, nature of woodlands, North Wales, plants important to wilflife, woodland birds, woodland walks in Wales

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December 3rd-Woodland Path, Bryn Euryn

The deciduous trees of the woodland have for the most part shed their leaves now and they cover the ground in a thick damp carpet, exuding the evocative earthy aroma that characterises this time of the year. Their falling has opened up the overhead canopy, highlighting the evergreen flora that has merged into the background since the Spring.

The amount of  permanent greenery always takes me by surprise. Much is in the varying forms of native trees and shrubs; dark dense Yew that fills spaces from the ground upwards, Scot’s Pines with tall trunks and bristly green crowns, glossy spiky Holly, some sprinkled with shiny green berries and of course Ivy, masses of it. There are other non-native residents too, sprawling Laurel being the most evident.

Laurel at the junction of woodland paths

Fallen leaves of sycamore and oak

Ivy is a much-maligned native evergreen that was thought to strangle trees as well as spoil their appearance. In the days when this woodland would have been strictly managed it would probably have been regularly stripped away. Now left to its own devices it is without doubt the most dominant of the native evergreens here; scrambling to the tops of even the tallest of trees in its search for light and covering large areas of the understorey too. The benefits of ivy to wildlife are enormous; both its pollen and berries can be an essential source of food for many insects and birds and it provides shelter for invertebrates, birds, small mammals and bats. At this time of year it also gives cover to foraging parties of small birds such as tits and treecreepers whilst they search amongst its stems and leaves for hibernating insects and spiders.

Ivy clambers up almost every tree

There’s green at ground level too; Polypody and Hart’s Toungue ferns are both evergreen. There are bright green patches of mosses and grey-green lichen is dusted in varying amounts onto most tree trunks and branches.

I love the little ‘scenes’ I find at this time of the year, full of interesting textures,  shapes and forms and coloured in earthy shades of green and brown.  Here the base of an oak tree has bright green moss and grey-green lichen growing on its fissured bark and tendrils of ivy are beginning their climb up. A polypody fern has found a sheltered spot, there’s a tiny new holly plant and the beginnings of a bramble.  

Nearby the fresh green leaves of Alexanders are already showing through the leaf litter.

Without the dressing of leaves the architecture of individual trees is revealed. I must have passed this tree dozens of times as I’ve walked this path but today it caught my attention as the sunlight turned its remaining dried out leaves to coppery gold.

I was unsure of the species of tree; looking upwards I saw it was tall, and also that its trunk and twisted branches appear bleached and much of its covering of bark is missing. Not helpful, but looking properly at the size and shape of the leaves I’m leaning towards Sweet Chestnut, another popularly planted non-native. There’s been no evidence of the prickly chestnuts though, so I’ll have to check to see if it produces flowers next Spring.

Ivy is creeping up the trunk of the tree and it has a backdrop of dense dark green Yew and shiny Holly.

Holly, ivy and yew

Long-tailed tit

I hear the contact calls of Tits and stand still hoping it means a feeding party are heading my way. It did indeed and now I don’t know where to look first as Long-tailed, Blue and Great Tits swoop and dart around the branches of the nearby trees. Some venture lower down giving me eye-level views. There were less birds in the party than those I saw a few weeks ago, so maybe they’ve split into smaller numbers as the availability of food has diminished. They seem to be travelling faster too, not lingering for long in one spot.

Blue tit

I wasn’t too far from where the Scots pines are gathered. Popular trees with the Tits I wondered if that was where they were headed. The trees are tall and positioned on the edge of the woodland; many have been distorted by exposure to winds and the search for light. With no low branches, their foliage is all on their crowns, so sighting anything as small as a tit is tricky, especially in sunshine. The light is beautiful up there though; I love these upward views of the tree canopy, especially on blue sky days. I’m thinking I would like to see a Coal tit though, haven’t seen one for ages.

Scots pine

A gathering of Scot’s Pines

I always stop here and look over the wire fence that marks the boundary of the private woodland and a small field. Trees on its edge although leafless are greened with ivy and gorse, which may well have once been planted as a hedge to contain livestock, has some golden blossom.

The views across the landscape to the Carneddau Mountains on the edge of Snowdonia are ever-changing with the light and the seasons and are always breathtaking.

Woodland Trail

I reach the top of the Woodland Path, and as always take note of the oak tree here at the junction with the Woodland Trail that marks the boundary of the Bryn Euryn Nature Reserve. It still has some leaves clinging on but they are fewer and browner now than a couple of weeks ago.

Oak tree on November 19th
Oak tree on December 3rd

I turn right, then a few metres on turn left onto the narrow unmarked track that leads upwards through the woodland.

I spot a large holly bush endowed with a generous crop of berries.

Walking towards it I disturb several Blackbirds from their feasting on the berries on its far side. Confident the hungry birds would come back once they thought the coast was clear, I stopped to wait a short way away, lurking behind a nearby tree.

If you’re looking out for birds, staying still in a likely spot is often more rewarding than any amount of walking and the next few moments bore this out. This part of the wood is favoured by Jays and I heard some screeching to to one another close by. At first I couldn’t locate them, but then saw one progress its way down from a tree to some low vegetation then onto the ground where it began searching for its stash of buried acorns. The green plant in the picture is newly-sprung Dog Mercury.

Brilliant to have such great views of two of these gorgeous and notoriously wary birds. I noticed one of them had what appeared to be an injury to its left side where feathers had been lost; maybe it was from the beak of another bird competing for buried treasure. It seemed OK though and was behaving perfectly normally. Then another treat. The little feeding party I’d seen earlier passed overhead and around me, Long-tailed and Blue tits in tree branches above, then flickering movements in the Holly bush alerted me to the presence of a tiny Goldcrest.

The Goldcrest is Britain’s smallest bird

These tiny jewels of birds, (Britain’s smallest), when on the hunt for insects are constantly moving, flitting deftly through dense foliage, hanging upside down effortlessly and even fluttering frantically to hover like a hummingbird, which must use up a lot of energy. They are delightful and fascinating to watch, but tricky to keep in focus and even trickier to photograph.

A Goldcrest can hover like a hummingbird

Holly is dimorphic, which means it has separate male and female plants, and only female trees bear berries. Traditional country wisdom has it that bountiful crops of berries are a sign of a hard winter to come. More scientific modern reckoning is that it is sign of a good summer past; we certainly had plenty of rain to swell berries this year.  I was surprised that the berries were being taken so early in the season though, I hope it doesn’t mean there’s already a shortage of other food available.

Most of the birds I saw appeared to be juveniles and they do seem to have been taking the fully-ripe berries.

Blackbird-Turdus merula

I was also surprised to find flowers on several bushes. They usually come forth around May when they stand a better chance of getting pollinated.

The low sun shines brightly through the trees spotlighting a small spindly tree with golden leaves. Once again I don’t know what species it is but from the size, shape and beautiful colouration of its leaves think it’s fairly safe to say it’s a maple.

“The Holly and the Ivy, Now they are both full grown” …….

Ivy completely covers a tall tree, Holly in front and a still-green Male fern on the ground

Another interesting little ‘scene’ catches my attention…

I’m never sure about the placement of this commemorative bench. It is weathered, covered with lichen and appears to have been there for decades, but the plaque gives a much more recent date. A reminder how nature is quick to move in given the chance.

It’s a shame the bench doesn’t face the other way as there’s a lovely display of ferns behind it; Hart’s Tongue, Polypody and Male Ferns are there and there’s pretty ferny moss too.

Past the bench the path continues through what I think of as ‘the Dark Wood’. Here the hillside rises steeply upwards on one side and almost as steeply downwards on the other. On the north/north-west side of the Bryn not much sunlight reaches here and there’s a density of Yew trees that also make it seem darker.

A spreading Yew

There are a lot of Silver Birches here too, which you would think would lighten the place up, but at their lower level trunks have darkened and on a few the bark has become strangely thickened and fissured.

From the lower downward slope a mighty tree trunk rises, by far the biggest tree here and that I’ve always assumed was a mighty pine, a Redwood or Sequoia or such-like.

But today I noticed some large fallen leaves that could only have come from it. It would seem then that it’s another Sweet Chestnut, but here a properly magnificent specimen. What a shame to have only restricted views.

On the opposite side of the path a sheer cliff of exposed limestone towers and adds to the atmosphere. I wonder if it was once part of the defences of the ancient hill-fort that was located on the summit.

Water often leaks from fissures in the porous rock and moss thrives on its shaded damp surface.

Having a closer look at the moss I found another fern amongst it, a tiny delicate one I’ve not noticed here before; a Maidenhair Spleenwort.

(I’m working on identifying mosses!)

 

Maidenhair spleenwort-Asplenium trichomanes

Past here there are more darkly-ivied trees. Today a movement caught my eye – another sighting of a foraging Goldcrest!

I watched it for what seemed like ages trying to keep it in sight as it flitted from branch-to-trunk-to-branch, in and out of the ivy, now doing its hummingbird impression – and then demonstrating a behaviour I’d read about but never seen; it climbed up the thick ivy stems like a tiny treecreeper. What brilliant little birds they are. I wish I’d had better light for better photographs.

A short way further on you are back out onto the wider brighter more open Woodland Trail.  Going down the wooden steps takes you to the car park, or as I opted, to loop around onto the lower part of the trail to get back to where I started.

As I stood deciding which way to go, one more treat, a Treecreeper making its way up another ivy-clad tree close to the path.

Treecreeper-Certhia familiaris

 

To The Summit of the Great Orme

30 Thursday Nov 2017

Posted by in Great Orme, Nature of Wales, North Wales, Wales Coast Path

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November 1st

From April this year I have spent almost every Wednesday afternoon working as a volunteer in the NWWT shop situated within the Visitor Centre on the summit of the Great Orme. Meeting visitors from places all over the UK and beyond has been interesting and enjoyable, I have loved learning where they were visiting from and found I have a particularly soft spot for the older people who tell me they came up here as children, some several decades ago. It’s good to hear that the place has stood the test of time and still lives up to their happy memories. A fair few people came in seeking information too, most relating to the Great Orme itself and some regarding the local area, things to see, places to go etc. Initially I had to research things, now I feel I can give enough information for the average day visitor’s needs and in the process have learned a lot about this iconic headland.

The shop’s opening season ends this weekend, so today was my last day until next April. I am going to miss my weekly journey to and from the Summit, which have been highlights of my weeks, it’s been a real privilege to have had such a scenic drive to and from work! Today’s drive was particularly stunning as it was one of only a handful of fair weather Wednesdays this season; most have been cool to the point of cold, wet and extremely windy. The shop has sold boxes full of gloves and woolly hats to unprepared visitors!

Marine Drive

There are a number of ways to reach the summit of the Great Orme but my route of choice is via Marine Drive, also known as the Toll Road as there is a charge to drive this way (currently £3 per car that includes free parking at the summit). You can walk this route too and the length of Marine Drive is an inclusive section of the Wales Coast Path.

Approaching the toll house

Leaving the toll house you are soon confronted with this dramatic view; I love the zig-zag of angles created by the road, the limestone cliff and the stone wall.

There are a few spots where it is possible to pull in and park briefly to admire the views such as this one looking back over Ormes Bay to the ‘good’ unquarried side of the Little Orme.

A limestone cliff towers high above the road level blocking out the low sun

 casting its shadow onto the rippled surface of the sea.

Looking ahead to the tip of the headland and down onto a rocky cove.

Eventually the road forks and I take the upwards route which winds its way via a series of hairpin bends to the summit. The trickiest of these bends is just past the beautiful little St Tudno’s Church where there are stone walls either side of the single track; with no forward view of anything oncoming it helps if you can reverse your car accurately.

 

Unless I am running particularly late I pull into the small parking area opposite the church. On wild days I contemplate the view from my car but on days such as today I get out, breathe in the air and generally take in the glorious landscape and beyond it across the Irish Sea. The shape of the hawthorn trees here gives you a clue as to the regularity and strength of the prevailing wind.

Two sheep were ambling along the road in front of the church wall. Not an unusual sight, but what was unusual was that both had their long tails and also seem to have escaped this year’s shearing. I wonder where they’ve been hiding?

The National Trust famously took over the farm on the headland a few years ago and the farmer has since built up sizeable flocks of a variety of sheep breeds. Carefully chosen for their differing grazing habits they are free to wander and help maintain the conditions needed for the special flora and fauna that grace this special place.

Some are Herdwick sheep, a breed of native to the Lake District of North West England. Herdwicks are prized for their robust health, their ability to live solely on foraged food, and their tendency to be territorial and not to stray too far from their home base.

A Herdwick sheep smiling for the camera

A sighting of some of the herd of resident Kashmir goats is always a highlight of the drive. They too are free to wander and graze on the tougher vegetation and they can and do, pop up almost anywhere. I was happy to see a little party in the same field as the sheep; a couple of ‘Nannies’ (females), with this years growing kids.

A sign of fair weather is to see the cable cars gliding quietly high above you to and from the summit. This cable car system, opened in June 1969, is famously the longest passenger cable car system in Britain and I’m assured the panoramic views it offers are truly amazing. I’ve yet to try it myself, but it is on my list of must-dos. Needless to say it hasn’t run frequently this year due to strong winds; not surprising when you learn it travels about a mile and its highest point is about 80 feet (24.3 metres) off the ground!

Another way to reach the summit is by tram. Much more reliable it can travel up in most weathers, although it was forced, (in compliance with insurance requirements), to stop a few Wednesdays ago when winds were gusting at 48mph! I remember it well as that day I could hardly open the car door and almost got blown off my feet in the car park. The tram route is a journey in two parts, requiring a break at the aptly named Half-Way Station where you swap cars to continue to the Summit.

The Half-Way Station  

Reaching the road junction by the Half-Way Station I turn right to carry on up to the Summit (left takes you back down into town following parallel to the tram track). I pass the entrance to the Bronze Age Mines. I haven’t been down there either and may not. I can do heights much better than closed-in depths, no matter how fascinating.

From the car park the view is stunning. Not entirely clear but the sun shining through clouds had turned the lightly rippled sea to molten silver.

Although not obvious from the sea’s surface it was still windy enough to support this young Herring gull allowing it to hang in the air and parachute down to make a soft landing.

I’m coming in and there’s another one behind

The shop closes at 4pm since the clocks went back. The summit was almost deserted and the last tram departed as I left. The sun was already setting behind Anglesey and veiled by light misty cloud was casting a glorious soft golden glow over the entire landscape, even colour-washing the white-painted summit building.

In the gathering dusk I drove back down the way I had come to the junction with Marine drive, which from this point once again becomes a one-way only road leading down to the West Shore side of the headland. The road passes by the old Lighthouse, the subdued light suitably accentuating the gothic-castellated building perched bleakly on this exposed point of the headland.

The Lighthouse, now a ’boutique’ b&b, was originally constructed in 1862 by the Mersey Docks and Harbour Company who built the fortress-like building using “dressed limestone and vast bulks of Canadian pitch pine”. The beacon remained as a continuous warning to mariners until March 22nd 1985 when the optic was removed. It is now on view within the Visitor Centre on the summit. 

Past the lighthouse I just had to stop and get out of the car to photograph these pink-washed limestone cliffs before continuing on down. Then stopped again to take in the view out over the West Shore and the Conwy estuary. On a clear day you can see Conwy castle and the road bridges and follow the curve of the river back way beyond to the mountains of Snowdonia.

A few minutes later I am almost home, driving along the Llandudno sea front and admiring the almost-full moon in the darkening sky.

This must surely be one of the most scenic routes to and from a workplace that a person could wish for.