January to February 25th 2009
Although, as I write, it is as wintry as can be with heavy snow having fallen today and now tonight the temperatures plummet, that unstoppable tide that is spring is returning, and it started to do so, as it always does, even before January was out. And no matter what the winter throws at us between now and when that great rushing wave crashes in April and May, that tide will continue its advance, surging on milder days. It will have a battle with the remainder of the winter, as it always does, but winter will lose its grip, and has already had its day, that being its depths in November and December. As soon as those months are behind us by just a few days, it feels, appears and is brighter, and it gets brighter with each day that moves us nearer the sun. And although I love the peace and restfulness of the Autumn after that rushing busy time that goes on throughout the summer, I do also love the feeling of the coming spring, it’s a good feeling, felt inside, as though along with the creatures of the natural world around us that we were once a part, we too still feel and share their anticipation and excitement for warmer longer days, of renewed life and ease after the hardships of winter.
So who are on the front line of that advancing tide, taking on the winter before it is done and before perhaps it has been at its harshest. Delicate, too delicate you would think, and shy almost, but not afraid, very brave, though they do not lift their hanging petals to the sky, white as snow, beautiful brave snowdrops, saying very quietly in the coldest of colds, we are here and spring is to. Also saying it, but as loud as you like, song thrushes, they sing it out into and in the face of the cold air, along with storm cocks, or mistle thrushes, who prefer to sing on milder days it seems, and often in the rain, hence its other name. And other birds feel it and sing of its coming, great and coal tits, robins and greenfinches and chaffinches (who it seems need to tune up quietly before singing out loud) And starlings, and sparrows chatter and chatter, and even a yellowhammer, the very sound of summer, has had a song to sing already. And look how much higher that sun is, compared to just a few weeks ago, and feel its warmth out of the wind. And not only are birds singing, some, the sparrows, in the first week of February, have been in and out of their nest boxes on our house with nest material. Starlings too have been in their box on the chimney, claiming it as theirs again. Herons, the older, wiser ones, are up from the shore on to the meadows at pools, waiting for that feast of spring frogs. I saw frogs spawn on February 15th. But of all of the earliest sights and sounds of spring, for me, more than any other, the one sound I love to hear and the sight I love to see is that of returning skylarks in small cheerful north bound flocks, their churruping calls always lift my spirits, they, along with meadow pipits and pied wagtails, are the first returning birds of the spring. I’ve seen a few small bands of them, and they’re such a welcome sight. Other lovely spring birds to see and hear, a few golden plover in the fields above the sea, and welcome back lapwings, I hope you have a better season than the last two. They were absent for many years here, and then returned, had a couple of successful years, then two years in which they failed. All these birds may not be true summer migrants, like your swallows say, but they are returning spring birds nonetheless. Some birds are displaying, ravens fly in tandem display, the pair flying as one, following one anothers moves, who copies who I wonder? And a male sparrowhawk has been seen in display already. Yes, that tide is coming in fast.
Once again my forays out into the woods and hills or along the coast have been all too infrequent, but in just a few weeks I will be back on the reserve and so out most days, I can’t wait!
However, as I’ve said before, even going out for just a little while is worthwhile, always it is, always. And I’m forever in wonder at Morverns winter peace and beauty when out and about.
On one short outing through winter bare oak woodland I saw, what was it, a grand total of just six species of birds! Giving away its presence with its ‘tick-tick call, that most charismatic woodland bird, great spotted woodpecker, there he went on his bounding flight, out from this wood across the river valley to the wood on the other side. How well he must know the woods, the trees. Bursting from my feet, why don’t I ever see them first, woodcock, away they go through the trees. Against the brown winter hills and trees, grey with white wing flashes, quite a sight moving as one, (as are all large flocks of any bird) a big flock of at least a hundred wood pigeons. A few years ago you would be lucky to see one here. But that number is unusual even if they are regular here now. Up to the high wood edge, my favourite haunt where the tree line meets the open hill, and three birds above me, two ravens, calling, and, yes, a golden eagle, quite low and close. A young bird, perhaps in its second winter, still wearing its white tail band and wing flashes. It came closer overhead, to have to look. Perhaps it has learnt from seeing stalkers on the hill that there could be food in the offing in the form of a left carcass that fell in a place too difficult to get to and take away, a welcome boost for a hungry eagle in winter. Then it went away into the hills. Over the hill into the next wooded valley to my track back, along which, a robin. I admire robins that spend the winters ‘out there’, in the wild, instead of opting for the easier life of a garden robin. But robins, even out in the middle of nowhere, seem to seek you out, coming close and expectantly flicking their wings and tails at you as they do. Perhaps, long ago, robins in these wild woods associated with people who once lived and worked in and around them.
On another short walk by the sea on a very windy day, an otter, out in the rough water. Rough it was, but nevertheless the otter was, as they forever and always are, full of life, exuberant, playful, seemingly carefree and at one with its environment and the elements, always a joy to see and watch and to share moments with, however brief. Also out among the rolling waves, big and impressive great northern divers. Along the noisy shore, half a dozen ringed plovers and a dozen turnstone among the oystercatchers and a few curlew. And in a field backing the shore with the greylag geese, two pink footed geese. And in a small wood beside the sea - another favourite place, being among trees but being able to see and hear and smell the sea through the trees- a buzzard, watched perched among the smooth winter bare limbs of an ash tree. Silently it sat and gazed at the wood floor beneath it, not a breath of wind stirred its beautiful soft brown and cream plumes, and I thought, how perfectly at home that bird looks, and is. I imagined being it, being where it was, up there, seeing what it was seeing, and when it floated off through its woodland maze of twig and branch and bough as easily and effortlessly as we would take a few steps along a pavement, I imagined doing that too.
Today, February 20th, has been a lovely day, bright, sunny at times, with warm, yes warm sunshine and beautiful spring light. Winter, although still with us without a doubt, is approaching its end. It’s been over all a very good winter for us here, quite dry, not too many severe gales, with many cold bright sunny days. But I was thinking, a season, any season, is only the one for a very short time, just a few weeks, a couple of months at most. The rest of the time there are always two seasons on the go, like now, now it is winter, and it is spring.
Other things of note. The, or a, barn owl has been about again. Several impressive stags are hanging out close to the village, they do well here, better for them than on the open hill. The occasional sea eagle has been seen floating about. A dead weasel in the garden was a surprise. Redwings, in small flocks, have been singing that strange distant sounding song in chorus, altogether, a song very different from that sung by a single redwing. They sing like this, in pre-migration gatherings, in early spring, but not usually as early as this, it’s normally March and April that you hear them. A young sparrowhawk was seen briefly in the garden, to brief to tell if it was a male or a female. I’d like to think it was the young female I was seeing in the autumn, but impossible to say, but a youngster that has made it thus far through the winter any way, so well done to it.
