bees, Leechwell Garden, nature writing

Looking backwards and looking forwards in a Winter garden

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By late December, the trees around the community garden were mostly leafless.  Their leaves now littered the ground creating a mosaic of shades of brown occasionally rearranged by winds.  Leafless, though, did not mean featureless. The branches of a tall hawthorn were richly decorated with plump, claret-coloured berries that glinted in the low sunshine and the nearby crab apple sported groups of small round fruit resembling reddish Christmas baubles.  Bare branches of a guelder rose held clumps of berries of a surprisingly luminous bright red as if lit from inside (picture at the head of this post).  These berries and fruits, formed earlier this year, will provide a well-stocked larder for birds seeking food in winter (more pictures at the end of this post).

It wasn’t all looking back, though, and there were clear signs of the forthcoming season.  Leafless hazel stems carried many small, thin, pale green, finger-like growths.  These are immature male catkins that will gradually increase in size to form the familiar yellow lambs’ tails ready to cast pollen on to passing breezes; some have already matured in nearby private gardens.  Just above the male catkins on the bare branches, a few scaly buds were opening to display small dark red female flowers, often likened to tiny sea anemones.  Wind-blown pollen reaching these female flowers from other hazel trees will begin the process of fertilisation and nut formation.

Towards the rear of the garden was a large stand of winter honeysuckle, an unruly twiggy mass liberally sprinkled with pairs of creamy white flowers each with two petals, one smaller and one larger.   Emerging from the petals were several long stamens, their ends coated thickly with pale yellow pollen.   These flowers are a magnet for insects still about at this time of year, especially on sunny days when I saw a few flies and several hoverflies and bumblebees.

The hoverflies (mostly the marmalade hoverfly, Episyrphus balteatus) with their stripy abdomens (silver, black and orange) moved noiselessly about the bush before landing deftly on flowers to feed.  The bumblebees (buff-tailed bumblebees, Bombus terrestris) moved quickly from flower to flower buzzing loudly, seemingly hanging from flowers to feed on nectar and to collect pollen that accumulated in sticky lumps on their back legs.   These bumblebee workers with their characteristic yellow, white and black hair bands must be supporting a queen that has set up a winter-active colony rather than go into hibernation.  Winter-active colonies are a relatively recent phenomenon in the UK, thought to result from warmer winters, the presence of flowers supplying pollen and nectar, and the relative adaptability of Bombus terrestris.

Hawthorn berries

Crab apples. With the mild wet autumn many have already begun to decay

Hazel catkins – the finger-like entities are the immature male catkins and just above each cluster are the tiny red female flowers.

Marmalade hoverfly (Episyrphus balteatus) on winter honeysuckle

Buff-tailed bumblebee worker (Bombus terrestris). Note the pollen she is carrying on her back legs and the way she hangs from the winter honeysuckle flower,
bees, nature writing

An insect paradise in our street – with ivy bees

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The ivy on our neighbour’s gate post showing the pale flower heads

I was standing in our street, enjoying the gentle warmth of the late September morning sun but I wasn’t alone.  Nearby, a large clump of ivy covering the top of our neighbour’s gatepost was alive with insects.  For much of the year this ivy is dominated by shiny dark green leaves but from late summer, the woody climber throws up many pale green flower heads mostly from the upper part of the clump.  The flower heads soften the look of the ivy and mature into spherical umbels of 20 or so florets, each loaded with nectar and pollen and emitting a sickly-sweet fragrance.  This rich source of forage acts as a magnet for insects especially at a time when many flowering plants are shutting down.  

A female ivy bee on the ivy flowers, note the pollen collecting on her back legs

When the sun shone, I saw many hoverflies, mostly drone fly (Eristalis) species, some common wasps, a few honeybees and bumblebees and the occasional red admiral butterfly on the ivy flowers but I was hoping for something else.  And suddenly there it was, an insect about the size of a honeybee but with a shock of reddish, pale brown hair across the thorax and bright yellow bands around its black abdomen as it tapers to a point.  It was also carrying large amounts of chrome yellow ivy pollen on its back legs as if it had collected sunshine (see picture above and at the head of this post).  This smart insect is an ivy bee (Colletes hederae), a relative newcomer to the UK, first spotted in Dorset 24 years ago, but now seen across much of England and Wales.  Ivy bees are solitary species that emerge in early autumn roughly in synchrony with flowering ivy.  Mated females nest in aggregations in friable soil and I saw increasing numbers of the bees over the next few days gathering pollen and nectar from the ivy.  This felt like an increase over previous years and I wondered if there were nests nearby although finding them is a matter of luck. 

I took photos of the ivy bees and one photo delivered a surprise.  This photo contained an ivy bee as intended but also, nearby on another leaf, was a very different insect. It had a bright green abdomen about 1.5 cm long with a prominent brown stripe along its back, very long green legs and antennae more than twice the body length of the creature.  This was a speckled bush cricket a flightless insect that consumes leaves from various plants.  In daytime they like to bask unseen among vegetation in sunshine, as was this one. 

The speckled bush cricket basking on an ivy leaf (a better photo would have shown the speckles that decorate the insect) Clicking on the picture to enlarge it will allow the very long antennae to be seen. The photo has been cropped to remove the ivy bee.

Ivy in early autumn can be a paradise for insects but it’s not an entirely safe one.  In the low autumn sunshine, strands of spider web strung across the top of the ivy stood out like telegraph wires and later I saw a spider catch a fly and kill the unfortunate insect.  Given the mass of insects that frequent the ivy at this time of year, it is hardly surprising to find spiders taking advantage of this bounty.  

The mass of insects on the ivy also helps pollination of the ivy flowers.  Each pollinated floret produces a round black berry, a rich food source for hungry birds in winter.

Spider and prey (there may be two spiders or one and part of another in the picture along with the fly prey, see comments below)

Two bumblebees on an ivy flower umbel. The upper is a tree bumblebee (Bombus hypnorum) the lower probably a buff-tailed bumblebee (Bombus terrestris)

Red admiral butterfly on ivy
nature writing

Jersey tiger moths and holly blue butterflies surprise me along a quiet Devon back road

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Just over three years ago, there was a late-summer influx of humming-bird hawk moths (Macroglossum stellatarum) to the UK and some even appeared in our street, feeding from the red valerian that grows there prolifically.  These day-flying moths are spectacular creatures both for their size and their behaviour.  Their wingspan is about 5cm and they are able to hover in front of flowers while they feed, like their avian namesakes.  I wrote about seeing the moths at that time and here is a photo. 

A humming bird hawk moth (from sightings in August 2022)

This year there have been more sightings of the moths in Devon including in a former quarry near the coast where someone reported seeing ten in one early August visit. Our next door neighbour also saw one in her back garden.  Spurred on by these reports, I began to look for the moths myself but for some time I was unsuccessful!

On a Sunday morning in mid August, I decided to take advantage of the sunshine and walk up the lane I visited each month last year.  I had a pleasant walk with plenty of flies and a few other insects about but no hawkmoths. 

I came back to our house along a section of a busy road lined with clumps of their favourite red valerian and then down a quiet back road with mixed vegetation and flowers on one side and private houses and gardens on the other.  Still no hawkmoths but I did get some compensating surprises. 

Jersey tiger moth showing upper wings

The first was an attention-grabbing flash of bright orange-red as a large insect fluttered along the roadside before retreating into the vegetation.  This behaviour spoke to me of butterflies and the colour perhaps a comma or fritillary but I was wrong.  After some searching, I found the insect partly concealed among the leaves.  It was triangular with an unusual pattern of black and white stripes, looking to me as if it came from the art deco era (photo above).  It moved to a different position resting now with its upperwings partly separated allowing me to glimpse its underwings with their brilliant orange red, the colour I had seen earlier (see picture at the head of this post).  I recognised it as a Jersey tiger moth, (Euplagia quadripunctaria) an insect that has its underwings completely exposed only in flight, hence the brilliant colour I saw. 

Until recently, Jersey tiger moths were confined to the Channel Islands as their name suggests, along with some parts of the south coast.  The name also references the white stripes that remind some people of patterns on a tiger’s coat.   More recently the moths have spread along the south coast and seem to be moving inland, perhaps a result of climate change.  This summer, in particular, these moths have been seen in increasing numbers, probably reflecting the warming climate and the warm, dry spring.

I left the moth in peace and wandered on, only to be surprised again, this time by a bright blue butterfly fluttering about near the front of a private garden.  I have seen very few of the blue butterflies this year so I got rather excited and followed the insect to try to get some photos for identification.  Occasionally, the insect stopped flying about and I could see the open upperwings.  These were a deep blue but with dark tips, characteristic of a female holly blue (Celastrina argiolus). At this time of year, the holly blues seen are second generation insects and lay their eggs mainly on ivy flower buds.  The eggs hatch into caterpillars that eat the ivy buds eventually pupating to overwinter as a chrysalis.

Holly blue butterfly (female)

Seeing the underwings was more difficult as the insect had moved to a rather awkward position (for me) and was also in bright sunshine.  I managed to get some rather poor photos and when I looked at them later this revealed that as I was trying to photograph the underwing, the insect had moved to an ivy flower bud where it was presumably laying eggs.  The butterfly had surprised me and, in my excitement to get photos, I had failed to notice the significance of where it had landed!

It turned out to be my lucky morning though, as further along the road, I saw another holly blue and in our road, not far from our house, another Jersey tiger moth!

Speaking of lucky mornings, some two weeks later I was walking down a passageway near our house on my way to catch a bus.  Passing some red valerian, I stopped to look at a white butterfly browsing the flowers but my attention was taken by a large insect hovering in front of one of the flower heads nearby, its wings a blur, it was a humming bird hawk moth!

A few days later and with that positive sighting in mind, I spent more time looking around the centre of town and on a sunny morning I had several sightings of the humming bird hawk moths on clumps of valerian growing around the edges of one of the car parks.  They are very elusive creatures but here is a photo.

Humming bird hawk moth feeding from valerian
bees, conservation, nature writing

Ragwort, a native wildflower, loved by some and hated by others

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It was mid-June before I noticed the ragwort.  I came across the plant growing in one of the old passageways, the narrow paths lined by old stone walls that criss-cross the older, southern part of Totnes.  Ragwort is an opportunist, able to colonise almost barren places, and there were at least two plants, one or more growing out of the top of the wall and another from the junction between the wall and the path.  Both plants were already quite tall with thick green stems and finely divided leaves, each stem topped by a mass of immature flowers exhibiting hints of yellow.  I found several more plants in our street including one tall specimen growing from the pavement near the wall outside a house.   This example sported a large cluster of mature, bright yellow, daisy-like flowers (see picture at the head of this post), with insects coming and going taking advantage of this rich forage source.

Mature ragwort plants growing out of the top of a wall. The plants are about a metre tall.

Later that day, my wife Hazel told me she had seen a moth, bright red and black, near the ragwort in our road.  She thought it was a cinnabar moth, linked strongly to the plant.  Two days later, she saw another moth of the same species in the same place.  She has an impressive and uncanny knack of spotting wildlife so I decided to go out myself to look for the moths, hoping that some of her stardust might rub off on me. 

I didn’t see any of the moths near the ragwort in our street but when I went to look at the plants in the old passageway, I was in luck.  As I approached the ragwort growing from the wall, a bright red and black moth fluttered away disturbed by my arrival and I had a brief sighting of a second.  The first moth settled among the plants that form a loose covering of the wall allowing me to take some photos that confirmed this was a cinnabar moth.

Cinnabar moth showing the red and black markings (the sun was very bright that day reducing the impact of the colours)

the same cinnabar moth but in a less sunny position showing more realistic colours

At this time of year, cinnabar moths have recently emerged from pupae to mate.  The mated females then lay eggs on the underside of ragwort leaves.  The eggs hatch into larvae which go through several stages developing into caterpillars, with distinctive black and yellow stripes.  The caterpillars feed by eating the ragwort plants before digging themselves into the soil to spin a cocoon, overwinter and pupate, emerging the following year as an adult moth.

I thought it should be possible to see the moth eggs at this time of year if I looked carefully so I went to investigate the ragwort near where the moths had been spotted.  I looked under several leaves but was unable to find any eggs.  This may have been because I was already too late as when I first looked, there were one or two small larvae on one plant and a few days later, some of the leaves on the same plant were covered in masses of small caterpillars.  Presumably there had been mass hatching of eggs and based on their yellowish colouration, these were early-stage larvae.  They matured quite quickly as when I returned five days later, the caterpillars were fully grown with black and yellow stripes.  They had also dispersed consuming much of the plant as they went and leaving just the bare green skeleton.  The other plants in the passageway were also being consumed by larvae and in a few days all the ragwort plants there were skeletal.

the upper part of one ragwort plant showing the immature flowers and the dense clusters of immature cinnabar caterpillars
the mature black and yellow cinnabar caterpillars have spread out and consumed large parts of the plant
there is not much of the plant left by now, just the main and some side stems and some of the caterpillars have clustered on the remains of a side shoot that they are gradually consuming

another picture showing the remnants of a plant with caterpillars

Ragwort with its yellow flowers is an attractive plant lighting up our summer as well as being an important source of pollen and nectar for a wide range of insects.  The plant has, though, acquired an aura of danger and some people believe ragwort should be removed wherever it appears.  It is undoubtedly dangerous for horses and cattle, causing severe liver damage and death if consumed.  If ragwort grows in their fields, horses avoid the plant and don’t eat it but should ragwort get into hay for winter feed, this can be fatal.  For this reason, ragwort often suffers from systematic “pulling” of plants growing on farmland.

a faded common carder bee (Bombus pascuorum) feeding from ragwort flowers

There is some concern that ragwort is also poisonous for humans but the risk seems to have been overblown and it would be necessary to eat large quantities for harm to occur.  Removal of the plant apparently to protect humans still occurs unnecessarily but judging from the speed with which the cinnabar caterpillars consumed the plants I saw, allowing nature to take its course might better.  It would also allow this important insect food to flower.   To read more about these issues, click here and here.

Putting aside the controversial aspects of ragwort, a stand of the plant with its sunny yellow flowers is an impressive sight.  The 18th century poet, John Clare, was inspired by the plant and expressed many of its beauties in his poem “The Ragwort”.  Here is part of the poem:

Ragwort, thou humble flower with tattered leaves
I love to see thee come and litter gold,
What time the summer binds her russet sheaves;
Decking rude spots in beauties manifold,
That without thee were dreary to behold

The poet and essayist Edward Thomas, was also impressed by the plant.  He wrote about how, one summer, he came across ragwort on the Sussex Downs:

There a myriad oriflammes of ragwort are borne up on tall stems of equal height, straight and motionless, and near at hand quite clear, but farther away forming a green mist until, farther yet, all but the flowery surface is invisible, and that is but a glow.  (South Country 1909)

I was intrigued and puzzled by this description, partly as I hadn’t heard the term oriflamme before.    Apparently, the oriflamme refers to the sacred flag of the Kings of France used to lead soldiers into battle in the Middle Ages.  I had some difficulty appreciating this metaphor especially when I read that the oriflamme was blood red and attached to a gilded lance.  Then recently, we drove to Torquay, and in many places by the roadside, I saw ragwort plants, their bright yellow heads on tall narrow stems, like flags on poles.  I realised I had been too literal and began to see what Thomas had been thinking. 

Extending his metaphor, I remembered some years ago going to the WOMAD Festival in Reading where one of my abiding memories, apart from the music, were the many rows of colourful flags on long poles, another myriad oriflammes. Click here to see some pictures.

bees, conservation, nature writing

An insect desert near the coast at Bantham in south Devon and then I stumble across two rare bees.

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We drove down to the coast in bright sunshine, between verges gloriously full of flowers, dominated by the white of cow parsley but occasionally splashed pink with campion and foxglove.  Roadside hawthorn trees were full with blossom, their thick coating of creamy flowers encapsulating all the unfettered growth of spring.

Tantalising glimpses of azure water early in the journey merged into a full sea view as we dipped down towards Bantham, a small village on one side of the estuary of the river Avon close to where it meets the sea.  Here there is a popular sandy beach backed by extensive sand dunes, and a short distance off shore lies Burgh Island with its iconic art deco hotel (picture at the head of this post).  Bantham is also the premier surfing beach on the south Devon coast. This is a beautiful, relatively unspoilt place.

The tide was high when we arrived and the car park behind the beach nearly empty.  The surfers would be arriving later as the tide fell creating better sea conditions.  A few white butterflies moved about the scrub at the car park edge and from a nearby grassy field, I heard the “cronk” of a raven.  Not a bad spot to sit and drink our coffee.

Hazel wanted a longer walk and set off along the coast to the east whereas I walked up on to the Ham, a tongue of grassland set behind the dunes overlooking a final bend of the river Avon.  A meadow here is supposed to be managed for species-rich grassland and I had hoped to see plenty of flowers and corresponding wildlife.  Red campion and bladder campion grew by the paths and there were some stands of elderflower but the meadow itself was a disappointment.  Low growing flowers like speedwells and bird’s foot trefoil were evident but by the third week of May a meadow should be rich in native grasses and flowers and this was not.  I looked particularly at the bird’s foot trefoil for insects but drew a blank.  It looked as though the meadow had been cut rather late in spring, probably unnecessarily, removing many of the spring flowers and grasses. 

I walked on towards the sea along paths lined by ivy.  In the autumn, these will be thronged with ivy bees, bumblebees and wasps taking advantage of the late season forage when the ivy comes in to flower, but for now all was quiet.  Some seaside specialists such as thrift grew where the path reached the edge of the low cliffs above the beach but there were few other flowers and still no insects despite this mild coastal environment.  From the cliffs, though, there was a striking view of Burgh Island including a neatly planted group of a pinkish purple non-native wild gladiolus in the foreground (see picture at the head of this post).

The huge stand of kidney vetch

I decided to walk inland to access the sandy dune path to head back towards the car park.  The dunes either side of the path are an arid environment and I hadn’t expected to see many flowers but there was one exception.  By the edge of the sandy path was a huge stand of kidney vetch covered in lemon yellow flowers nestling in their white, woolly cushions. Many of the flowers looked very fresh, and finally here were some insects taking advantage of this rich source of forage. 

There was one largish bumblebee moving about the flowers.  It looked superficially like a common carder bee (Bombus pascuorum), a species I see regularly.  I could also see several smaller bees coming and going from the clump. I was unable to identify these by eye so I took as many photos as the insects would allow, to help with identification. 

When I looked at the photos on a larger screen at home, I got some surprises.  The bumblebee did not have the typical markings of a common carder.  The abdomen was covered in yellowish hairs and I wondered if this was one of the rarer carder bees.  I don’t feel experienced enough to make that decision so I asked an expert (Matt Smith) who identified the insect as a brown banded carder bee (B. humilis), a rare species for the south Devon coast.  This species was “rediscovered” in 2022 a few miles along the coast, not having been seen in south Devon since 1978.  My observation supports the idea that there may be a small surviving population in the area. 

Lemon yellow kidney vetch flowers with the bumblebee. The wooly white flower cushions can also be seen here.

Another shot of the bumblebee showing its yellowish abdominal hairs

The smaller bees also provided a surprise.  Examination on a larger screen highlighted the golden bands around the abdomen and the general reddish tinge of the rest of the insect.  These are the characteristics of gold-fringed mason bees (Osmia aurulenta), another nationally scarce insect but more common on the coast, especially in sandy areas.  These are fascinating creatures, solitary bees where the mated females build nests in old snail shells. 

A gold-fringed mason bee on kidney vetch

The photos also showed two other insects on the vetch that I hadn’t noticed, a hairy shield bug and a swollen-thighed beetle.  (see pictures below)

Both of the rare bee species I saw are typically found on sandy areas, often but not always near the coast.  They both like to forage on vetches such as kidney vetch and bird’s foot trefoil so the stand of kidney vetch and the dunes at Bantham are ideal for the species.  It would be good to know if there is more kidney vetch growing on the dunes but large parts of these are cordoned off for conservation purposes.  Deliberately encouraging kidney vetch would help support these rare insects.    

This brings me back to the meadow and its disappointing lack of flowers.  It would not be difficult to increase the number of insects here by managing the meadow flowers better.  This would also have the effect of supporting the local bird population.  The two rare bee species I saw would benefit from allowing the bird’s foot trefoil in the meadow to grow into larger plants by more thoughtful mowing and encouraging it to grow elsewhere.  Deliberate sowing with a suitable wildflower seed mix or by planting plug plants might also improve matters.

My observations underline what a special place Bantham is, but it needs careful nurturing to encourage the non-human world to prosper.   The ownership of the Bantham Estate changed hands earlier this year and this may affect how the meadow and the dunes are managed.

Hairy shield bug on kidney vetch

The dune path as it descends to the car park with a splash of red valerian on the left
nature writing

Fairies, wild garlic, snowdrops and that wooden bird along a Devon Lane in February

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The British love to discuss the weather.  It’s usually an unthreatening way of interacting with other people and passing the time.  In the middle of February, however, I met several people who, unprompted, moaned at length about how overcast, dull, cold and grim the weather was.  This spell of depressing weather lasted nearly two weeks and the Met Office even joined the discussion by telling us helpfully that this was “anticyclonic gloom.”  Apparently, an anticyclone (high pressure system) over Scandinavia was influencing our weather, leading to the gloomy conditions.

Three very wet days were the price we paid for ending the gloom but at the start of the fourth week of the month the weather changed for the better.  The sun shone out of clear skies and I leapt at the opportunity to walk up the lane I have been visiting for nearly a year. 

Walking down the road in the sun was a pleasure and on a grassy bank I passed, there were several celandine flowers glinting in the bright light. When I reached the lane, I paused at the old quarry and was pleased to see that the hazel trees had finally flowered, their catkins plumped up and a beautiful golden yellow.  They dangled from overhanging branches in large numbers and danced in the light breezes (see picture at the head of this post).  The sun was still quite low in the sky and it shone through the trees surrounding the quarry making the catkins glow as if they were tiny lights and someone had flicked a switch.  Perhaps the low sun had slightly dazzled me but the more I looked, the more otherworldly this scene became especially when a breeze passed and I began to imagine Shakespeare’s Midsummer Night’s fairies cavorting mischievously. 

These catkins are the male flowers of the hazel and each contains more than 200 florets loaded with pollen some of which will be released on to the air when a breeze passes.  Pollen carried in this way fertilises a female flower when it reaches one.  The female flowers are quite different, very small and rather inconspicuous and I was unable to see any on the hazels in the old quarry.  I have seen female hazel flowers this year in a local public garden and have put a picture below; they are often described as resembling small red sea anemones.

Male and female hazel fkowers seen in the Leechwell Garden, Totnes. The small “red, sea anemone” -like female flowers are just above the male catkins. Although male and female flowers occur on the same tree, pollen from another tree is required to fertilise female flowers successfully, enabling cross pollination.

When I set off up the lane, progress was slow as the surface was wet and quite muddy, a result of the recent rain.  Lane side banks were looking lush and fern-rich as always, but several fresh spikes of an inconspicuous but distinctive plant had appeared since my last visit.  Each example had three or four spear shaped leaves forming a cup shape and the leaves of one of the plants were caught by the low sun, rendering them a semi-transparent pale green (picture below).  Additional thin spikes also pushed upwards each decorated with very small greenish flowers.  This is dog’s mercury, a plant that can grow in huge numbers, often carpeting the woodland floor, suppressing other vegetation.  

There had been significant change in the tree lined section of the lane since my last visit although with branches still largely leafless, good amounts of light reached the track.  Primrose and celandine flowers were now showing in small numbers and arrow head-shaped cuckoo pint leaves were appearing all along the lane, mostly by the side of the path.  I hadn’t realised how much cuckoo pint grew here.  The greatest change, though, was the appearance of many small tongues of fleshy dark green leaves by the sides of the track.  These are the emerging leaves of ramsons (wild garlic).  They will grow gradually, carpeting the lane in a few weeks and eventually starry white flowers will also appear.   Wild garlic is popular with foragers but it grows alongside the poisonous cuckoo pint in places so caution should be exercised when collecting leaves.

The wet section of the lane.

A long section of the lane was a running stream and I had to pick my way carefully trying to avoid wet feet.  The sides of the track in this wet section were carpeted with the fleshy leaves of opposite leaved golden saxifrage, a plant that grows in several other damp, dark places along the lane.  It’s an unassuming plant but its yellow flowers were just beginning to show bringing some colour.  The flowers lack petals but green bracts support yellow flowers and their ring of stamens.

Further on, I came across several clumps of snowdrops pushing their spiky blue-green leaves upwards in thick groups.  Their beautiful, snowy white flowers looked very fresh although rather late compared to others I had seen around the town.   Each flower hung from a slender pedicel allowing it to bob in a passing breeze and the green, bridge-shaped markings on the sepals were showing well. 

The last section of the lane contains several areas warmed by the morning sunshine at this time of year creating a microclimate.  Clumps of primrose covered in lemon yellow flowers were already taking advantage of the warmth.  Last year in March, I saw several bumblebees in this area feeding from the primroses. I wondered if I would be lucky again but it seemed that February was too soon to tempt these insects out.  In the same area, I also saw one flower of red campion, perhaps another result of the microclimate.

The wooden bird sculpture

Before I finish, I want to return to the wooden sculpture of a large bird that I first saw along the lane in November last year when it was being fashioned from a large tree stump by a man wielding a chainsaw.  At the time, I thought it might be an owl and the sculptor, when I spoke to him, said nothing to disabuse me of this belief.  The finished work has now been revealed, it’s a lovely piece of work but clearly not an owl.  Gary Easton, a local resident told my wife that he thought it was an eagle.  My daughter thought it was a sparrow hawk.  Perhaps we should just say it is a bird of prey?  I wonder, though, when I look at the bird perched on the stump, whether it is a buzzard, a species that likes to sit on posts in this way.  A buzzard would also be an appropriate choice as these birds often circle over this lane making their characteristic mewing sound.

………………………….

February’s walk, the twelfth I have described, brings this set of walks to a close.  It has been very interesting to follow the seasonal changes in the lane over a full year’s cycle.  February’s account contains tantalising hints of Spring so I thought I would finish with part of this poem by Thomas Hardy entitled The Year’s Awakening which seems very appropriate.

          

How do you know, deep underground,

Hid in your bed from sight and sound,

Without a turn in temperature,

With weather life can scarce endure,

That light has won a fraction’s strength,

And day put on some moments’ length,

Whereof in merest rote will come,

Weeks hence, mild airs that do not numb;

     O crocus root, how do you know,

          How do you know?

Dog’s mercury

Ramsons (wild garlic) tongues

Ramsons and cuckoo pint growing side by side, a warning to foragers!

Opposite leaved golden saxifrage showing yellow flowers with rings of stamens

Snowdrops

For more about the lane and the walks please click here.

conservation, nature writing, science writing

Charmouth Beach in west Dorset: the story of how South West Water and the plastics industry polluted this previously pristine environment

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Have you ever heard of nurdles?  I know I hadn’t until about seven years ago when, quite by accident, I picked up a copy of a local magazine in a café in the West Dorset village of Charmouth.  The magazine contained an article by Eden Thomson, a volunteer at the local Charmouth Heritage Coast Centre describing how Charmouth beach was being polluted by  many small plastic pellets called nurdles.   (The picture at the head of this post shows Charmouth Beach)

I was both fascinated and shocked and began trying to understand what was happening.  Over the next seven or so years, with a break for the pandemic, a group of people, united by their love of Charmouth beach and the surrounding area, showed that the beach was being polluted by a mixture of pellets: nurdles, the preproduction material used in the plastics industry to make the many plastic items we use in everyday life, and biobeads, used in sewage purification by water companies.

A small sction of Charmouth Beach in June 2024 showing the number of plastic pellets

We also showed that the two kinds of plastic pellet were being lost through unnecessarily careless handling, the nurdles during the many stages of the plastics supply chain, and the biobeads from the sewage works near Lyme Regis run by South West Water.  The result of this carelessness is that a previously pristine environment is irreversibly polluted by plastic pellets.

A sample of plastic pellets collected from Charmouth Beach in June 2024. The black and blue pellets at the top are biobeads and the rest are nurdles.

It has been a tortuous and sometims frustrating investigation and I wanted to record the efforts of the many people involved. I have, therefore, summarised the key milestones of our work in an article that was published recently in West Country Voices.

You can read the story here

nature writing

A very mobile squirrel, two woodpeckers and the first cuckoo pint along a Devon lane in January

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January turned out to be a very mixed month for weather this year.  Frost started the day on several occasions and sunny days were rare events.  Perhaps the most notable feature was the passage of storms Eowyn and Herminia across our area bringing high winds, very heavy rain and several instances of thunder and lightning including one in the night disturbing our sleep.

I chose a quiet day in the third week of the month to walk up the lane I have been visiting over the past year.  It was very still, quite cold and a ceiling of thick, grey cloud spread out above. Lower down, pale mist hung in the air, making long views indistinct and muting colours and sounds.   The mist penetrated wherever it could, coating surfaces, depositing droplets of water on leaves, a truly dank day (see picture at the head of this post).

muted colours and indistinct long views

When I reached the start of the lane, I paused by the old quarry to listen to the song of the birds as they moved about in the trees high above.  Around me one or two hazel trees drooped downwards covered in immature greenish catkins, still firmly closed.  Elsewhere in the town, some hazel catkins had been opening to expose their golden pollen-loaded lamb’s tails, perhaps these were in more sunny locations. There was more bird song to accompany me as I proceeded up the lane and at one point a wren appeared close by on a low bush. We exchanged glances and the tiny bird churred noisily at me before flying off in anger. 

the lane with ferns in the mist

Along the lane, ferns still dominated the look of the lane-side banks.  The fern fronds hung elegantly downwards creating a mobile green decoration that trembled in the light breeze.  Increasing numbers of fleshy primrose leaves were showing along the sides of the track and many heart-shaped lesser celandine leaves were also apparent, their darker green decorated with varying amounts of a lighter grey green.  Neither plant exhibited any flowers yet.    A few celandine blooms had been evident on sunny days by the sides of town centre car parks so I thought it couldn’t be long before they also showed along the lane.   It wasn’t all stasis though and at least two clumps of very fresh cuckoo pint leaves had pushed through the soil along the banks that border the lane.  Shield-shaped and a shiny bright green, these few cuckoo pint leaves were a clear sign of seasonal change.

some of the first cuckoo pint leaves

I stopped to listen to the sounds of the lane, a mixture of low traffic noise from the bypass and running water in the valley below.  My reverie was, though, suddenly interrupted by a noisy clattering of branches in the trees above.   I thought it must have been a large bird leaving its perch.  All I could see when I looked up were more branches swaying about until further movement highlighted a grey squirrel leaping between branches, as skilfully as if it were a monkey. 

Around the half way point of my walk, I began to hear short bursts of a rapid drumming sound coming from somewhere ahead.  I know this drumming sound well, it is characteristic of a woodpecker.  At this time of year, it is thought to be part of a male bird’s behaviour defining his territories.  As I walked onwards, the sound increased and when I paused to listen properly, I realised that there were most likely two birds.  The drumming seemed to come alternately from two directions each with a different timbre.  It seemed as if the two birds were communicating and perhaps agreeing their territories.   There are three species of woodpecker in the UK but this loud drumming behaviour is thought to come from the great spotted woodpecker, a distinctive black and white bird with bright red patches.

The behaviour of the woodpeckers felt, to me, like a signal.  Even though that day was dominated by wintery cloud and mist, the birds knew that the seasons were shifting and when I walk up the lane in February, I expect to see more change.  I also hope to have news of the wooden owl which when I walked past in January, was still covered by a plastic dustbin.

lesser celandine leaves showing the darker and paler green markings

hazel catkins along the lane, still firmly closed

the wooden owl under its plastic dustbin
nature writing

Winter solstice wanderings along a Devon lane in December

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Something about the dawn sky caught my attention that morning when I first looked out of the window.  A break in the cloud cover above the hills to the east radiated an unusual honey-coloured light and I wondered what might follow as the sun gradually approached the horizon, although still hidden from view.  I looked out again at about 7.40 and was rewarded with a fine show of colour to the south east, the sky above the hills a striking reddish pink when I first looked.  I tried to focus on the red but it changed as I watched, gradually taking on an orange hue before fading to a yellowish white light that spread across the sky to the south east.  These colour changes were both subtle and transient making them difficult to comprehend but for a few brief moments, I felt I was experiencing the movement of the earth.  The red/orange light that lit up the sky that morning results from the selective scattering of the blue light in sunlight as it passes through the earth’s atmosphere to reach my observation point.  As the earth turns, the path of light through the atmosphere changes. This changes the scattering of the blue light resulting in the colour variations I saw.  (for a more detailed discussion of these colours, click here)

The sun eventually rose above the hills to the south east about half an hour later.  At this time of year, late December, the sun approaches the end of its southern journey across the sky before pausing on the solstice, then beginning to move northwards again.  After the solstice, the shortest day of the year, days begin to lengthen, light gradually returns and we can look forward to the eventual arrival of spring. 

I was keen to see how the lane I had been walking up for several months was changing at this pivotal time of year.  I had planned to look on the day of the solstice because of its importance as a time of transition, a time of looking forward and backwards, but given the weather forecast I decided to walk on the preceding day, December 20th.

The bank of green leaves (three-cornered garlic) by the side of Maudlin Road, Totnes. To the left, slightly uphill is the lane I have been walking.

Looking about as I walked down the road from our house, much of the plant life seemed to have shut down but near the start of the lane, a roadside bank told a different story.  Here was a fresh-looking mass of pale green, thin, strap-shaped leaves.  The leaves might have been mistaken for grass but when I broke a piece off a leaf, I detected a mild oniony smell, for this is three-cornered garlic.  Attractive bell-shaped white flowers will appear very soon, borne on triangular stalks, and for me this plant is an early sign of the new year.

Storm Darragh had passed through south Devon earlier in the month, removing any weak branches and remaining leaves from the now skeletal trees.  The lane felt much more open with light being able to penetrate more easily, though with the cloud that lay overhead that morning, this was a flat wintery light and colours were muted and contrasts low.  Along the track, the leaves that had fallen in large numbers covering the surface last month were now damp, brown and decaying.

The ferns that line the lane with the harts tongue ferns showing well.

The ferns that line large parts of the lane showed few effects of the season. The harts tongue ferns in particular, appeared to still be growing well and perhaps even putting on new leaves that glistened in the low grey light.  I paused to listen to the sounds along the lane: small birds sang high above and they were visible moving about in the trees, noise from traffic on the by-pass filtered across the valley and a light breeze meandered down the lane occasionally, rustling the ferns that murmured in response.

In keeping with the time of the solstice, I came across symbols of both the past year and the forthcoming one.  Berries were the main indicator of the past year and, along the lane, I found maturing green ivy berries (see picture at the head of this post), black tutsan berries, a few holly berries, and some bright orange berries that I was unable identify without any more clues such as leaf shape (see pictures below).  These different berries provide important winter food for birds who will consume them over the next few months, spreading the seed in their droppings.   Ivy berries, for example, contain as many calories as Mars bars (weight for weight, according to the RSPB).

Looking to the forthcoming year, leaves of primrose and lesser celandine were pushing through the leaf mould along the edge of the track.  The pale yellow flowers of primrose are already evident in our garden so they should be showing along the lane before too long to be joined by the brighter yellow celandine flowers. Last month I mentioned seeing a few pale green immature catkins on the hazels. In the intervening weeks, these immature catkins have erupted all over these trees like natural Christmas decorations.

Perhaps the most significant indicator of the season, though, was the same as last month: an almost complete lack of flowers along the lane.  All I found were a few red campion flowers on a grassy sheltered area by a fence near the end of the lane in the same place as last month but now accompanied by a tallish plant with yellow dandelion-like flowers, probably one of the sow thistles.   

I had hoped to report progress on the carving of the wooden owl from last month but when I reached that part of the lane, I found the owl wrapped firmly in blue plastic.  I have no idea what has happened and I shall have to wait another month to see whether the mystery is revealed.

Tutsan berries
Bright red berries, difficult to identify without more clues such as leaf shape.

Primrose leaves pushing through the leaf mould

Leaves of lesser celandine

Catkins decorating a hazel

Red campion

A sow thistle

The wooden owl wrapped up