Dunnock, Thetford, and a taster of recent photo projects...

5:30am. My window lay wide open. The warm air barely cooled my room over the still night. The first full dawn chorus of the year commenced. An orchestra of bird song powerfully drifts through the air; rising and falling, twisting and turning its way into spring. Thrush, robin, tits and even the garden dunnock pooled in together. A blackbird, perched on top of the telegraph pole, in prime position, fills his lungs with air. Upon exhaling, the air crosses over their double voice box. Using muscles to control each of the two passages of exhaled air, the bird can produce two, differentiating sounds simultaneously. Perfect for creating the ultimate song to attract a mate and reaffirm their territory. Beautiful start to a beautiful few days of weather ahead.

Where the dunnock deposit the crap collected from the nest

On my days off, I sat, watched and listened to the dunnock constantly foraging and feeding its young in the bush at the top of the garden. Clearly joining into the dawn chorus worked for him! In half an hour, the chicks were visited seven times. Dunnock are renowned for their complicated relationships, but luckily it appeared that this nest had both parents dedicated to raising their young. Frequently males will mate with lots of females, and females with lots of males. Sometimes leaving the chicks to be reared by more than one father, more than one 'mother' or lots of both males and females.

The dunnock's favourite perch

A magpie made a racket, screaming with excitement as it plunged down into the bushes at the back of the garden, wings spread wide, its iridescent tail feathers flashing green. I was certain the dunnock chicks would be ready to fledge anytime soon, and it turned out they had. But before long, there appeared to be just the one left upon investigation...

Chick!

A trip to Thetford with Rachael, in the faint hope of catching the otter that had almost become tame, was unsurprisingly unsuccessful on the otter front. But we did manage to see willow tit, which are basically marsh tits but with slightly different calls. A greylag goose with goslings, which does not seem that unusual, until you see that the other parent is a canadian goose. Apparently, they can hybridise...

Crazy Geese

A muntjac pauses before making a dash across the path and into the woodland opposite.

Muntjac

A pheasant popped his gloriously blue and red head up above the tall grass. Taking a break from feeding, he clucked and leaped into the air, then scratched and beat his wings against the ground. Establishing his territory.

Pheasant

Canadian goslings swam across the Nunnery Lakes reserve, this time escorted by a pair of canadian geese...

Goslings

A wren sang from the hedges, while sedge, reed and marsh warblers inconspicuously made their way through the depths of the foliage. 

Wren

And after a meal and a climb up to the top of the medieval castle, or the mound of, the sun set sending streaks of pink, purple and orange across a dark blue skyline.

From the top of the mound

A great example of how important it is to simply just get out and enjoy nature. We did not see the otter, which is a shame, but we did see and hear new and exciting animals that we would not have, had we stayed home and watched Britain's Got Talent. Call it an excuse to get away to somewhere a little different. And never lose sight of what really matters.

Thetford Sunset

Spending time in one of my favourite places; wading through the gentle flow of the River Ivel. Shafts of light flicker across the gravelly river bed as I plunge my camera into the water. Experimenting with some underwater river shots, I wade up stream through the small woodland. The top of the banks lined with the last remaining daffodils.

Above/below in the River Ivel

Sky joining me in the River!

And this blog shall end with a photo of a fetus, of what I believe to be a fox. Poor little blighter...

One of four fetuses found on Dunstable Downs

Also, if you do one thing over the coming week, make sure it involves walking/running/cycling/crawling through a woodland carpeted with bluebells.... Stunning, particularly first thing in the morning!

Ashridge

Hope you enjoyed... Expect some more bluebell photos in the next blog very soon...

Shifting weather, yellowhammer and a confluence of rivers

For a moment, for a day or two, it felt like the transition into the season of spring had begun. Temperatures had risen, clouds gave way to blue skies, and people were even down to their t-shirts. And now the days are noticeably longer, drawn out as the planet's orbit moves us around the sun, holding the Northern hemisphere closer to our solar system's star. The reeds bordering the river glow golden, catching the light as they gently sway in the wind.

Golden reeds blown in the breeze

Last years cygnet, now with its own territory, stands proud in front of the setting sunlight

Venturing further afield, Joey, Sky and Pa joined me for a stroll by the confluence of the Ivel and the Great Ouse. Where the modest yet mystic river I grew up on joins this leviathan of a river; the fourth longest river in the United Kingdom at 143 miles from its source to the mouth at the Wash.

The River Ivel, on the right, joins the Great Ouse on the left

Roxton Lock

Looking back up the two rivers; The Ivel to the left, and Great Ouse to the right

Walking home from my Nan and Grandads after dropping off some birthday presents, the sun set over Fairfield as I crossed the fields with Sky and Haz back into Stotfold. The hedgerows flutter with brilliantly bright yellow birds, showing off their pure white tail bars as they flee further along the hedgerows upon our approach. The yellowhammers call 'cick' repetitively, usually ending in a high-pitched, slightly electronic 'tee' sound. As the males get older, their heads become a brighter yellow in colour, with fewer striations. Females leave the males to the fanciful colours, and appear far more drab with a greater amount of darker streaks, obscuring the yellow plumage. 

The sun goes down over Fairfield

Yellowhammer; another example of the wonderfully exotic coloured birds we have here in the UK

The sun's final moments before the Earth rotates us away 

A fond farewell for another day; gloriously coloured skies

Now it is cold again. Only five days ago, people were hot and bothered wearing only t-shirts. And, hopefully, some form of clothing from their waist down as well. And now the hats, scarves and gloves are back on again. Snow fell today. Yesterday, the bitter winds kept my hands in my pockets for most of the 13 mile Uncle/Nephew walk to Shefford and back along the Navigators Way, where I took this panoramic in preparation for the wind turbines being built behind our back gardens in Langford. If I am honest - I can not wait to compare the before and afters!

The fields of Langford; soon to be the site of the closest wind farm to a village in the UK

A token, winking photo of Sky...

On the 1st of March, the BBC released a story reporting that 100 million Sharks are killed annually, with the major driving force being the demand for shark fin soup in China. The act of finning has to be one of the most inhumane treatment of an animal I have ever heard of. To dispose of a finless carcass still alive, to sink and painfully drown on the seabed. It has to be up there with the live skinning of animals for the fur trade.

Quality of data remains uncertain, but what is beyond a shadow of a doubt is the fact that these animals are being caught and killed at insanely unsustainable rates, for totally pointless and selfish reasons. I particularly like the quote from Ding Liguo:

"Materialism is well developed in China but other things, such as morality, haven't progressed so well"

Signs of Spring, a Barn Owl, and the Skinless Shrew...

I lay in bed thinking. The half moon glows through the open curtains, faintly lighting my room. I wonder whether the great hunter has had any success since our meeting a few hours before. I wonder if it is still quartering the fields, perfectly focusing its senses onto finding its prey. Its deep steady wing beats as it silently moves through the air. Suddenly, the owl banks, spreading its wings. It sweeps sideways and plummets into the reedy undergrowth. Effortlessly, it lifts itself up, with a small mammal hanging in the grasp of its talons. There is something magic about the Barn Owl. I stumbled across one whilst I walked with Ellie at dusk earlier in the day. Initially, I had been enjoying the partial cloud cover, as the setting sun lit their undersides with pale pinks and deep oranges. The air was still. And the scent of river water hung in the air. 

The sun begins to set over the Ivel

Hanging over the River

And then, the Barn Owl. Impossible to miss; with their huge wingspan, bright white and a steady flight. I caught a glimpse as it dived for prey. Missing after its first attempt, the owl took a second dive only seconds after its first. Its moments like this where the excitement, adrenalin and pure joy at such an encounter takes over. I crouched myself into the ditch, no longer worrying what people might think coming across a man crouched in the reeds, and watched as the owl turned and flew straight towards me. I can be fairly self-conscious sometimes, especially nowadays. It can not always look good, creeping around bushes with a camera in hand. Thoughts of having my photo library searched by police to prove that I was not photographing the school kids in the playground, but instead the charms of goldfinch feeding in the hedgerows, occasionally happen. My mind digresses, as it often does.

The Barn Owl after two unsuccessful dives

The owl then crossed the river, and disappeared beyond the woodland. Continuing on its quest to sustain its bodies energy demands. Later on, from the ditch beside the track, no more than three or four feet away, the owl lifted itself up and flew away, before turning across the field and, once again, disappearing into the diminishing light. Incredibly, a Barn Owls sense of hearing is so good, that they can catch small prey in total darkness, without the need for their vision (which also happens to be excellent as well). One ear is positioned slightly higher than the other, a bit like Sloth from the Goonies, to enable them to pinpoint sounds exactly. Although, I do not think Sloth benefited in the same way...

Into dusk

Hunting at dusk, under the watchful eye of the Moon - about 384,000 km away

Snowdrops. Or snow piercers as they are known in France. A sign that spring is soon to be arriving here in the UK. Mistakenly thought to be British, these flowers are non-native invaders, thought to have been brought over from mainland Europe in the sixteenth century.

Piercing their way through the Earth

Like an army of small spears, the flowering stalks grow upright in clusters spread across woodland floor.

Drops of 'snow'

Eventually, the flower heads open up and drop. Hanging in a sober fashion, they carpet the woodland floor with bright white. And, despite being non-native, they are a very attractive plant that lifts the British spirit. They are a sign of brighter, warmer and longer days, with an air filled with the sex driven sound of bird song. Already excited!

This woodland has been well and truly pierced

Making the most of the recent sunny weather, here are a couple of shots walking in the river with Sky...

Trying to hunt moorhen, like something out of The Deliverance...

Light on the river

The Barn Owl seems to be reliably hunting the same patch, and I hope to return in the days to come. I promised some photos of the taxidermy effort of the shrew I found whilst walking Sky. Instead of posting them here, I have decided to dedicate this blog to all things wild and alive; and all things dead and taxidermy here:  http://tomstaxidermy.blogspot.co.uk/.

Also, it was National Nest Box Week recently. Check out the website http://www.bto.org/nnbw/index.htm, and give some birds a safe place to lay some eggs this year !