A Hammer Made of Feathers

"Och, It's easy up here.  If you see a chiffchaff it's a willow warbler."  It's funny how things stick in your memory. I was in my teens, we were on a guided walk at Insh Marshes reserve in the Highlands and the RSPB warden was explaining to another visitor that he had never seen a chiffchaff in the Highlands, so there was no need to worry about telling them from willow warblers.  Even though we do hear them in South Wales, to this day the sound of a willow warbler triggers memories of our annual trip to Aviemore.

So that's why a trip up to see Kay's parents got me thinking about Scotland.  I've written before about the wildlife that has inhabited the old coalmine tip site, I always grab the chance to go up there with the camera' and this year the first song I heard was the falling ripple of a willow warbler.

But much as I was pleased to hear it, my real target took a little more finding.  Just as indelibly the song associated in my mind with this old coal tip in Yorkshire is that of the yellowhammer. That first afternoon all I heard were contact calls of birds flitting between the bushes. Getting up early on a misty morning the next day though the bread and cheese song reassured me the yellowhammers were still around and soon  I found some singing and feeding.  I would have loved a better sky though.

They weren't quite so  consistent in the song perches they used as I recalled so I spent a fair bit of time standing around pointing my lens at birdless branches, being barked at by various dogs (dogs don't like tripods do they?), assuring passers-by that the canary on my camera screen was a resident British bird and not a freshly arrived migrant from Africa and being repeatedly stared at by a whitethroat who obviously did have a programmed song perch route I was standing too near.

“Silence fell like a hammer made of feathers.”  Terry Pratchett

The canary and the mine

A flying trip to Kay's home village in South Yorkshire found me up on the landscaped spoil tip from the old colliery.  The colliery itself closed 25 years ago, and much of the land is now a housing estate overlooked by the tip.  A previous visit had led to some distant views of yellowhammer, so I wanted to see if they were still around.

In fact there were at least 4 territories, probably more, and with the hawthorn still in blossom I hoped I might get some decent snaps.  In truth the light didn't really play ball, and their habit of perching high up meant most of the shots became high key images.  I would have ramped up the exposure even more but the white blossom needed to show.  The pinker tinged flowers looked better, but I would have loved some blue sky for at least a few shots.

As I said in the last post I did find a bush with a nest, but didn't go poking around, just took the chance to get a couple of snaps of the female bringing in some food.  She seemed to be finding moths mainly.

It was a real treat to see the yellowhammers as I never seem to see any near home.

Fish on the Tyne

There is a bridge in Newcastle that smells of fish.

A week's break in Northumberland was planned around a half day meeting in Newcastle (well to be more precise Gateshead).  We stayed one night on the waterfront, now quite impressively redeveloped,

with the Sage concert hall

and the Millennium Bridge, Jaws-like when open.

The tall green bridge is the Tyne Bridge unique for it's urban colony of kittiwakes - hence the fishy odour, not to mention the noise.

The overspill takes in the surrounding buildings, with a number of birds within range even of my pocket digital camera.

The tallest, however must be more reminiscent of their natural nest sites, such as the high rock walls of the Farne Islands. 

But that's the next part of the story .................

Derbyshire

Once more with a knack for believing the wrong weather forecast I headed for Derbyshire on what turned out to be another cloudy day. Last year Brian Davis commented on the fact that the water voles at Cromford ..... well, weren't. So I didn't have high hopes, but I knew dull light there was better than in a wooded valley, so I gave it a bash. Wandering along I didn't see anything, but then heard an unmistakable 'plop' behind me. I only saw ripples, but realised a vole must have been on the far bank behind the brambles until the strolling moorhen gave it a fright. Based on past experience I knew it was then just a waiting game, and eventually in one of the canal wall holes a face appeared.
In time it had a swim to a more photogenic spot for a light bite .........
then another swim, and it was gone.
I stayed a while, had another walk and prevaricated a bit too long before heading for Lathkill Dale. The moorhen were in grumpy mood
butterbur was a nice touch (an English first for me)
and on the far bank a small shape flitted from crevice to crevice.


Soon enough I found the purpose of the visit, showing quite well, but not apparently very hungry. This was a problem, because all the birds I saw were bejewelled with brightly coloured bling. Nice to watch, but not so good to snap. When feeding they stand in the water and can hide the rings, but this late afternoon it was just posing and preening.
They looked a bit like cheap wellies in this shot.
Distant shots were marginally less obvious (on this scale at least)
In the end I found that the one with the red ring didn't look too bad if I turned down the red saturation in Lightroom.
Interestingly trying the same with orange on the other bird just led to the bird changing colour too. In fairness the dippers have had a hard time of late apparently, so I guess they do need to try and keep track of them somehow, and colour rings are the easiest way.
So not as successful as I had hoped, and the ISO was cranked up most of the day, but still a cracking part of the world. As ever a few more shots in the web albums.

Red-necked Footy Arse

Sorry to disappoint any Wayne Rooney fans, but despite the title this post isn't about him!
Anyone who has followed this blog from it's early days (HERE) will know about my childish delight in the old Orkney name for the little grebe. Back then I thought RNFA might describe a disease, but Wayne fits the bill so much better.
Anyway a few days up north saw me carefully misjudging the weather quite skillfully, timing free days to match cloud and even rain. A Met Office suggestion of some sun saw me scratching my head before heading off to see if I could find some adders. No sun, no snakes. When the macro lens is out in early spring it's not usually a good sign, but the urge to snap saw me successfully stalk a fly .....
and an as yet unidentified fungus.
However just after leaving the car park a friendly guy asked if I was there to see the grebe. The blank look led to the explanation that a Red-necked grebe was around. Meeting him again after my fly hunt and fungus chase he had found the bird, so we went for a look. At first it was well off, annoying the GC grebes, but eventually it came a little closer. No light and heavy crops, but you do get a feel for this quite attractive bird.


What struck me as a bit sad was it's repeated calling. Not as though it has much chance of a mate dropping in.
Doing a bit of googling afterwards it seems that a bird, and presumably the same one has been a regular at this site for some years now. The call was quite distinctive, and rather grating, Couldn't place it - bit like a bass water rail maybe, or more often the cartoon screech of car tyres just clinging to a sharp bend. Click here to go to a site where you can get some flavour of the call - especially towards the end.