March 2009 - Posts
There are landmark occasions in one’s life, which should not go unmentioned. For an actor, perhaps its treading the boards with a bastion of the RSC; a sportsman would possibly cite playing alongside a world class superstar. I had such a brush with greatness last week as I found myself appearing alongside CBeebies puppet presenter, Jelly on a recording of the Green Balloon Club.
After a very successful film about bird ringing, organised by the Countryside Service on Colyford Common Local Nature Reserve, the production team were keen to revisit East Devon and film more of our wonderful wildlife – and who can blame them!
I suggested a look at estuary birds on the Exe and the team jumped at the chance. For those of you who might have missed the programme, Green Balloon Club is a show about the countryside for the under fives. Lead by intrepid reporter Jelly and various child guest presenters, aspects of the country’s wildlife and landscape are brought to the screen. For this programme I was asked to join Jelly and two young Exmouth school children, Nat and Lauren, to look at the different bird beaks on the estuary.
Working with Jelly was such fun, thanks largely to the magic created by Aliex, her puppeteer. While Nat, Lauren and I were sitting on board the Tudor Rose, cruising slowly past a grey seal banana-ing on the Great Bull Hill, Aliex was lying on her back on deck, crammed under the seating with nothing but a small TV screen for company. I was chilly, but she must have been freezing!
So off we sailed, to get footage of birds (difficult at the best of times) and young children; who said never work with children and animals - I’ve based my career on it! Nat and Lauren were tremendous, they remembered lines quickly, and repeated them over and over again as various trains, planes, motorbikes and off-camera giggles spoilt the take. They never grumbled about being cold – even though they must have been really chilly – and they always had big smiles on their faces, what great ambassadors for the town.
The estuary also gave a good account of itself, with stunning views of avocets, godwit, huge flocks of brent geese and bristling swarms of dunlin. It’s always refreshing to introduce new people to this spectacle, as it helps to remind yourself of just how amazing the place is. The BBC guys were spellbound by the birds on the estuary.
You may have noticed a stark omission from the previous list of birds seen. Curlew. This would not have been an issue, but for one little thing. Although we hadn’t seen a curlew on the mud, I had spoken about them on camera, and that meant that we needed to find one before the end of the day, or risk the entire day’s filming!
I love a challenge, but I’ll admit to being a little nervous. It was already high water, and a shot of a curlew on grass would not cut easily into the muddy estuary footage we had already got. Before we could get this crucial shot, there were other sequences that needed filming.
We filmed the introductions on the seafront beach, where a crowd gathered as crowds tend to when a TV camera is spotted. Any family with children under the age of twelve immediately recognised Jelly and a fan club of about 20 children gathered around her while we filmed the first sequence – as ever the young presenters were undaunted and performed like true professionals.
Eventually, with about 40 minutes of filmable light left in the day, I was able to find a curlew on a fittingly muddy background, and Ian the cameraman got his shots. Now all that’s left to do is sit back and wait for the programme to be broadcast, which will be sometime in March. I’ll keep you posted.
So a day’s filming translates into about three minutes of airtime in the programme, which might on first impressions seem rather inefficient. However, as evidenced by the number of children who recognised Jelly around Exmouth, this is a really popular series and after watching the Exe Estuary film, children up and down the country will have been given an introduction to a few very core ecological principals, worded in language befitting an audience of the under fives.
Questions like, “why are the birds here?” or “what are they eating?” are simple enough, but allowed us to probe a little deeper than merely stating that “curlews are brown and avocets are black and white”. We did say that too - its important stuff to a toddler, colour – but we also spoke about the lives of the birds and how they live.
Three minutes is too short a time to investigate the full depths of wetland avian ecology, but we certainly scratched the surface for a lot of little ones with this film; a real thrill and a real privilege.
A few of you who live in or around the town of Exmouth may be wondering why I have not issued a missive in this weekly column concerning the tragic death of a local elderly statesman of the natural world.
Perhaps I was being a little slow on the uptake, or perhaps I was merely working to the appropriate rhythms for the species in question? Because, as far as an oak tree is concerned, it happened merely a moment ago!
I am, of course, alluding to the toppling of one of the most significant trees in Exmouth’s arboreal collection and arguably one of the most interesting trees in the region: Phear Park’s massive Lucombe Oak, which was well over 200 years old.
The tree’s falling made the national press, and has attracted much attention since it finally fell a couple of weeks ago. The sight of this leviathan lying lifeless on the turf is an immediately emotive vision, and has triggered our collective instincts to clamber about amidst its branches, and get to know it more closely.
Before we look back on the history of this magnificent specimen, let’s first look at what eventually brought it down. Speaking to East Devon District Council’s Tree Officer, David Coleman, the diagnosis is that this is a classic case of a ganoderma infection, or white rot. The tree’s root system was infected to such an extent that the larger roots were completely rotten, and reduced to an oozing wet clump of woody sponge.
It would seem that the fungal infection had been eating its way through the tissues of the tree for some time. The point was simply reached when the huge thing, which had stood sightlessly witnessing the last two hundred years of change, wasn’t tied to the floor any more and it fell over. For those who could read the signs, this didn’t come as a surprise.
Works to reduce the crown of the tree were undertaken a few years ago, in an attempt to lighten the load and give it a fighting chance to rejuvenate. If a tree is infected all is not necessarily lost, as Oaks will respond to the infection by producing new rootlets, in an attempt to reattach itself to the earth. These root nodules were observed by David, but they had not reached a significant size to stitch it down and initiate something which is fantastically called “Phoenix Growth”.
The grass beneath the tree was also left to grow longer than the surrounding parkland, I bet you hadn’t even noticed – I hadn’t! This discourages people from walking beneath the tree in a sympathetic example of soft management; better than fences or barriers which only serve to encourage people into the fall zone.
So all was being done to make safe and save this tree, after its failed attempt to become one of the Great Trees of East Devon. When the Great Trees Project was launched it was this tree that was submitted for consideration. Probably on account of its position; it stood magnificently in pride of place in the park, but more on that circumstance later.
The health of the tree was looked into, and on account of the ganoderma and the fact there was a slightly larger Lucombe Oak growing only a few hundred metres away, the second tree was chosen as the park’s Great Tree – after all this is officially the third largest Lucombe Oak in the UK.
You may not have heard of this variety before, which is a shame as it is something of a local celebrity, here’s the “Big Red Book” moment for the Lucombe Oak – cue trumpets…
The Lucombe Oak was first cultivated by William Lucombe in 1762, from a cross between Turkey Oak and Cork Oak first hybridised in his nursery in Exeter. The variety was produced as an attempt to create a fast-growing tree with strong timber for construction. However, these trees did not make the grade as far as building materials, but they did become the red hot status symbol of estates and parkland throughout the country in the late 1700’s.
Phear Park was once the grounds of Marpool Hall and these exact specimen trees are drawn on the estate map of 1778, showing them to be feature pieces growing alongside the Hall’s driveway, making them at least 231 years old. In fact the Manor owners, the Hull’s, were so proud of their Lucombes they made the driveway loop right around the two trees, to give visitors the full benefit of their splendour!
In the intervening two hundred or so years, our ideas of what constitutes status may have changed somewhat, our modern status symbols are far more ephemeral, but our appreciation of massive ancient trees has not altered over millennia.
It is important to remember that the giants we are fortunate enough to admire today were nothing more than saplings when originally planted, so we are getting the full impact of planting to a 200 year vision - I find it hard to think of many projects undertaken today with a 20 year vision!
However to ensure that in 2209 there are people admiring giant old trees, at first hand rather than on holographic jet-pack projection (you’ve always got to have jet packs in futuristic predictions), we need to be taking as much care of the weedy little saplings as we are their ancient counterparts.
We also need to be taking into consideration other factors, namely climate change and sea level rise. Perhaps its time to start planting mangrove and teak in our coastal municipal parks, give the young’ns something to jet-pack amongst in a few hundred years time?
Making the start of something is always the hardest part. Inertia, it tends to get in the way. Whether it’s the first paragraph of this column or a guided walk, the difficult bit is always the beginning, once that’s out of the way things tend to flow. Or at least, that’s what I’ve found.
Last week I held the first family event of the 2009 season, a guided walk round Holyford Woods Local Nature Reserve.
“Don’t worry James,” reassured Diane, the Countryside Service’s administrator, “I’ve had a phone call from one family, so there is at least four people turning up!”
That’s the first worry – will anyone be there waiting? I needn’t have worried. As 9:55 ticked through to 10:05 a steady stream of cars arrived at the Seaton Heights lay-by and I set off for the walk with about 35 people of assorted ages following behind or racing ahead.
So that’s the first hurdle negotiated, the next little issue to play on my mind will be content – will anything be there? I like to deal with spontaneous wildlife happenstances on a walk, rather than rely on pre-scripted stunts, activities or time fillers. That’s what gets me excited about time spent in the outdoors so, by heck, that’s what I am going to enthuse others about too. Trouble is, it means that I begin every walk with a knot in my stomach in case nothing appears – not an unrealistic proposition with twenty energetic children running ahead!
I needn’t worry though; as yet I don’t think there has ever been an occasion in any event I’ve led when, as a group, we haven’t found something interesting to focus on.
Holyford Woods put on a tremendous show. We stopped a little way into the woodland, and listened to various birds energetically singing away in the treetops. Chaffinches, great ***, wrens, bullfinches, nothing monumentally rare or unexpected, but nonetheless very uplifting when appreciated.
Next, we were treated to another cacophony, this time from frogs. The upper reservoir was teeming with frogs, hopping over the floating mats of weed and creating such a chorus that you could be excused for mistaking it for the distant roar of motorcycles! Next, the comparison of two fallen trees. Both oaks; both illustrating an important issue with woodlands and the human inclination towards tidiness.
The first oak was massive and had come down in the recent northerly winds. It had left a stark hole in the canopy and taken a swathe of the surrounding woodland down with it. A total mess of branches, trunk and twisted limbs. Fabulous! Over half the rootplate was left in the ground and this gave me the chance to show everyone that just because a tree falls over, doesn’t mean its number’s up!
A little way along the path lies another massive oak, which fell in the October storms of a few years ago. If it hadn’t been intentionally left where it lay then it would have been tidied away, chopped into pieces and removed from the woodland. Just to clear the path it lay across. It was decided to leave the tree where it fell and route the path around it. There it still is, still very much alive and entering a strange and potentially long period of horizontal growth. Some of its limbs are broken, and will inevitably invite in funguses and viruses – but so what? This is a woodland, not an arboretum. As a Nature Reserve, it is judged on its biodiversity, not the showpiece quality of its specimens. So there it was left. Some may argue it’s a rather ignoble end for such a stately old thing, I disagree, it would be a far worse end for it to be sawn up and left as a neatly stacked “logpile”.
The best was yet to come, however. I noticed that we hadn’t heard woodpeckers drumming all morning, and it was easily time for them to be doing so. So I picked up a stone and started tapping away on a nearby tree, explaining as I did so exactly what I was up to. Tap-tap-tap, tappidy tap-tap.
“This never works when people are watching”, I ventured, and how right I was. Luckily after about a minute of fruitless tapping, one of the Junior Rangers nearest me spotted an owl pellet.
“Ooh look, an owl pellet” he said. At first I was doubtful, we were in the middle of the wood and the chances of it being a pellet were slim. I picked it up however, and how right he was – a tawny owl pellet crammed full of bones. So we spent the next twenty minutes or so sat around a pale stone, me and 20 or-so children, parents hanging back a little with various expressions of distaste!
All of us children (I’ll include myself in that category as that is my mindset in the outdoors) were spellbound by the magic of tiny little bones appearing delicately from the matted grey lozenge. Ribs, tibias, fibulas, forelimbs, hind limbs, we were able to identify most of the bones and compare them to their place in our own bodies. Finally the skull and lower jaw was exhumed and I was able to identify this tiny meal as a vole. A bit rusty on small mammal ID, I couldn’t say for sure if it was a Microtus or a Clethrionomys but ‘vole’ sufficed for us.
A few pictures were taken and we left the tiny bones laid out like a miniature rodent post mortem on the rock. Heading back to the cars, I allowed myself to reflect on a morning well spent, so why the butterflies?
If there’s one group of birds that are misrepresented, misidentified and misappreciated more than any other, it would have to be gulls. The town centre “seagull” is widely chided and seen as an unwelcome addition to the local wildlife scene. But there’s more to gulls than meets the eye.
The reason that gulls in the built environment aren’t everyone’s favourite visitor, is the fact they are noisy, aggressively unconcerned with people and leave a trail of mess behind them on the street. Why, they sound almost human!
But lets not linger on the “seagull” when there is a fascinating group of birds to be discovered in this family, for anyone with the inclination to look beneath the surface. This is by no means a complete digest of local gulls, but a overview of just a some of the highlights. One of the most beautiful birds in the country, belongs to the gull family and we are lucky enough to have one of the few colonies, at Orcombe Point, at the mouth of the River Exe.
Kittiwakes are so called because this is their call in the breeding season – “Kitti-warke, Kitti-warke”. They are a small, brilliant white gull with a jet black eye and slender yellow bill. In flight, look out for a dark ‘W’ across the wings and back, and a short forked tail. Kittiwakes nest in colonies, often numbering into the thousands, but our local group is far from this magnitude. Kittiwakes are suffering at the moment as their main prey item in the breeding season, sandeels, are getting increasingly hard to find. This was previously thought to be due to overfishing of sandeels, but recent research suggests it could be because the sandeel’s food, in turn, is becoming scarce and no-one fishes for copepods!
Little gulls are a firm favourite of any birder who has turned their attention to the Larid family. As their name suggests they are tiny, and much more sea-going than other gulls. Periods of bad weather tend to force little gulls closer in to shore, where they are easier to see. Recently, four or five little gulls have been seen from Seaton beach, by the dedicated sea-watchers of Seaton. Many (many) hours of gazing into the watery horizon are rewarded by moments like this, when a little gull bobs jauntily into view.
About the same size as a blackbird, little gulls are dwarfed by all other gulls, but beware – don’t rely on this feature to solely guide your identification, as there will often be no other birds around to compare them to, when you see a little gull.
A gull seen with no black on the wings at all, is something to command a second look as this will be one of the two white winged gulls that sometimes crop up on our coastline. If its a little smaller than the local herring gulls, then this will be an Icelandic gull. If its bigger, thick-set and butch, its the impressive Glaucous Gull. Both are birds of northerly latitudes, which means they seldom venture down our way in any great number, but once seen they are hard to forget.
Finally, no winter visit to the Axe estuary is complete without sightings of Mediterranean gulls. As their name suggests, they are more frequently found in warmer climes, but the Axe seems to be a favoured winter retreat. A bit like St Moritz. They look a lot like black headed gulls, until someone points out what to look for. They are overall a paler bird than a black headed gull and, as adults, have pale wing tips. Rather than having double spots on the head in winter, the Med gulls develop a dark smudge over the back of the head. They have a heavyish red bill and long red legs, and are simply stunning!
Next time you see a pile of white, grey and black birds roosting on the shoreline, or scattered over a field, take a closer look and see if any of these elegant specimens is to be found in their number.
At the time of writing this, it’s cold. Proper, snowing cold, just like when we were all children. I’m not sure whether this climatic aberration will continue into the February half term week or not. Even if it does, I have a selection of family-friendly activities to get involved with during the school holidays.
If you are at all unsure as to how to keep your nearest and dearest safe, warm and comfortable in the great outdoors in a February cold snap, you must have missed my article from a fortnight ago about rugging up in the elements. If so, why not log on to the Journal blog site and read it all from fresh online. Trust me, its well worth the read!
For those of you who did catch the last column, here’s your chance to put my recommendations to the test for yourselves. I’m leading two activities in half term, both centred towards the East of the District, but looking at a variety of wildlife, in a variety of ways.
On Thursday morning, I will be hosting a young person’s bird watching trip on the Seaton tram. This is something of a double-whammy; satisfying, as it does, both bird and tramway enthusiasts. The tram will be departing from Seaton at 10am, and returning via the glorious Axe Estuary by midday. The intention is to take one of the open topped trams, which even if it’s a moderately balmy day, will be freezing! So wrap up warm – you have been warned. The inner glow of watching widgeon and godwit frolicking on the wetlands will only keep hypothermia at bay for so long; after which, long-johns and a good warm coat are essential. So are binoculars, as much of the interesting bird life is just out of range of sharp eyes. For this reason alone, I would suggest that children ages in single figures (under 10s) probably wont get as much from this event as those with a good working knowledge of binoculars. It may seem an odd thing to say, but I’ve seen lots of younger children struggling to get to grips with a pair of eyeglasses, and two hours stuck on a cold old tram, not able to see what the excitable chap at the front of the tram keeps wittering on about, could set back a little one’s enthusiasm several years!
For a more immediate fix of wildlife fun, families with younger members should join me for the woodland walk through Holyford Woods Local Nature Reserve on Tuesday morning. Winter woodlands are fantastic places to explore, but you need to know what to look for, to get the most from a visit. Rushing through too quickly, or not knowing which trees to linger around and listen for certain birdy noises, may mean you get to the end of a walk without seeing much. I won’t let that happen of course, and the morning ramble will hopefully uncover the hardy woodland critters, eeking out their winter in the naked woodland.
Normally when I lead a walk, I like to accompany participants on a complete perambulation. However, on Tuesday lunchtime, I have been booked by the BBC to help film one of their children’s wildlife programmes, so I will be dashing off at the double to make both engagements. Seeing as appearing on the Really Wild Show was a childhood dream, I hope participants on Tuesday morning’s event will excuse my dashing off to participate in current BBC equivalent – a dream come true!
As always, further details of the District Council Countryside Service events can be found either online on the East Devon District Council website, or by calling Diane on 01395 517557 and quizzing her for a full breakdown of what’s going on.
If you are busy on these two mornings, but still want to get out and enjoy the late winter countryside, how about a visit to see some of the winter birds on the Exe Estuary? From Monday onwards, high water is mid morning, meaning that a morning visit to one of the Estuary’s high tide roosts, will be very rewarding. Don’t leave it too late in the morning, but jump on a train to Topsham to visit Bowling Green hide and the Clyst viewpoint, or get up really early and ride the train all the way round to Dawlish for the warren bird roost.
Not only is taking the train saving you petrol money (and emissions) but it’s a convenient way for you to let someone else worry about icy roads or the twilight rush back home. Taking the train even means you can slip in a cheeky hip flask – medicinal – to help the adults stave off the winter chills. Hot chocolate will have to suffice for the minors though, regardless of how you’ve travelled!
What accoutrement do you need to get the most from wildlife watching and countryside exploring in marvellous East Devon? Well, in times of financial difficulty, the good news is that the basics are anything but expensive. First of all we don’t even have to look at sensory aids, the first thing you need is the right frame of mind.
To get the most from any visit, you need to have your brain in the right gear. Absorb everything - soak up everything, from every sense you have at your disposal, even investigate the best-known things with renewed enthusiasm and you are well on your way to discovering a new countryside on your doorstep.
I would argue that the mindset is the only essential ingredient for enjoying nature, everything from this point on is an additional benefit, an augmentation. With that in mind, here’s a quick guide to heightening the senses when out and about, without resorting to non-prescription drug use.
Firstly, remember your ears. Although I know some excellent birders and naturalists who are deaf, for people blessed with good hearing, this is the most easily ignored sense. Forget to use your ears at your peril; don’t be complacent about just how much information these auditory pathways can provide.
When spending time by yourself in a habitat with plenty of hiding places, it is imperative to go quietly and listen out for every snap, twitter or click; you never know when something like that will lead to an explosion of activity. I was leading a school group along a lane a few years ago, when I suddenly stopped: “Sparrowhawk, look out!” I said. A moment later and a little male sparrowhawk swooped out of the hedgerow and over our heads, out of sight towards the far fields. Safe to say, the children were pretty impressed with my clairvoyance, until I explained to them, that I had recognised the alarm calls of blue *** and great *** in the hedge a few yards further down the hill.
Once you tune in to the sounds of the countryside, there is so much you can see, without using your eyes. A group distress call of small birds to an approaching sparrowhawk is a very different sound to the same birds being threatened by a cat – the din is far louder for the moggy. There’s a great deal of birding to be done without even glimpsing the bird in question, the most fantastic exponent of this skill who I have been lucky enough to walk with, is local naturalist Donald Campbell. He regularly undertakes surveys of woods and can recognise tens of different individual wrens, for example, along a section of wood – definitely something to aspire to!
With ears tuned in – still no financial outlay you may have noticed – its time to turn to your vision. As a species, we are a pretty visually orientated lot. Again, lack of sight or partial sight does not preclude you from exploring the natural world, but there are several things you can do to help the peepers get a better view.
If you are exploring near water, think about using polarised sunglasses, to cut down on reflections and enable you to see a little way into the water. Especially on pelagic trips into Lyme Bay, a pair of polarisers on your face can be a great asset - if the sun is shining that is.
The most ubiquitous field aids by far, are binoculars, and I could write an entire season of articles devoted to this subject alone. Prices range from a few pounds, to over a thousand pounds, and value ranges across a similar spectrum. I’m not going to endorse a particular brand or style here, as I am yet to be snapped up by an optics company and given a chunky advertising contract, so here are a few non-specific guidelines to bear in mind.
The first quality I would look for within any given budget is waterproofing. If your budget brings you to a choice between one waterproof non-brand pair and a more snazzy branded but non-waterproofed pair, I would plump for the waterproofing every time. In our climate it’s just too hampering to be squirreling your bins away every time the clouds open. Also, after sea watching, I have been known to take my binoculars into the shower with me to clean all that nasty salt off the lenses.
Secondly think weight. There’s no point having a hugely powerful pair of binoculars slung round your neck if you will be on all fours after a few miles, as they drag you ever downwards. However, too light and you might find keeping the view steady is difficult too, so there’s a trade-off to be had here too.
Finally power, how much magnification are you going to go for? Printed on binoculars will normally be two numbers, separated by an ‘x’. The first number relates to the power and the second pertains to their light gathering ability. Great – go for the biggest two numbers then? Not necessarily.
Some people are able to use 10x bins perfectly well in the field, I’ve even seen some people pretending to be handling a pair of 12x with gay abandon. Personally, I favour 8x, as the field of vision is easily kept steady and it is normally perfectly powerful enough to get a decent “bin view”. Higher magnification leads to shaky scenes and seasickness.
A step beyond bins, lies the realm of telescopes, another massive area of optics with the chance to blow an ever bigger amount of one’s hard-earned. No scope can be hand-held, you always need a tripod, so for the sake of this article I’m not going to get bogged down with them – in either sense of the word.
So, you’ve got your brain switched on, your ears open and your bins poised and ready, when do we begin? As soon as you’ve put your clothes on, that’s when.
There is a pithy saying which goes: “there’s no such thing as bad weather, just the wrong clothing”. How very true. Check the weather report and don’t be caught out. Spending time cold, wet and shivering will be a cruel and miserable experience, even if you stumble across something truly awesome.
Layer light breathable fabrics, rather than pull on a single heavy jumper, and ensure you have a good waterproof coat if there is even the remotest chance of rain. Waterproof leggings are brilliant if it’s really piddling down, and if you can’t outlay £100 for fancy walking over-trousers, check your local army surplus store for military cast-offs. I still use my 100% waterproof, breathable(ish) troos bought for £15, eight years ago, British Army clobber is generally made to last.
So, now you are bedecked in all your outdoor finery, time to head off. Where to go though? Perhaps I’ll give you some pointers next week?
This is the time of year for a call to arms; a clarion call for anyone motivated to contribute to their local environment.
I know many of you are already active members of local groups, and regularly involved in volunteering through these groups – if so, feel free to make the most of the following opportunities, but by no means feel obliged to do so, you are off the hook!
For the rest of you who perhaps have heard about practical conservation tasks but were afraid to ask – here’s your chance to get involved. We need you and you will benefit too! Before I go into any detail, allow me to cut to the chase.
From the outside a regular conservation volunteer event may seem a little impenetrable, cliquey even. But let me reassure you that this couldn’t be further from the truth. Spending a few hours participating in one of the following events not only gives you an enormous sense of accomplishment and vitality, it also makes you feel a part of it all – you’ve had a real and lasting impact.
This is the reason why every winter, the Countryside Service organises activities for everyone to participate in. Some doubters suggest that it’s quicker to do these sorts of tasks with professionals and power tools. Yes, that’s true, but that misses the fundamental point – quicker isn’t always better. I argue that its ‘better’ in collective terms for 15 volunteers to spend a morning hacking away at rhododendron, even if the resulting scar on the pernicious plant’s stranglehold is a fraction of that which could be achieved by a single chap with a big chainsaw.
So roll up – roll up, and roll up your sleeves!
This Saturday, 17th January, there will be a morning of scrub clearance taking place at Trinity Hill. These mornings are a really great way for a newcomer to see if they enjoy outdoor work. A few hours spent on a heath in crisp cold weather, bringing down scrub saplings and having a jolly bonfire is a marvellous way to start your weekend! And you’ll even be finished in time to get home to watch the match. On one hand the exercise and fresh air sharpens the appetite and guarantees a good night’s sleep; on the other hand you are helping to improve the health of the heath too.
Sometimes people question the merits of chopping down trees, but in this instance the willow and birch saplings that are being targeted are giving way for a much more valuable, locally specific and diverse habitat - lowland heath. Last winter some of us removed an area of scrub to the south of the car park and even now it has rejuvenated beautifully with a growth spurt of heather and moor grass.
The Countryside Service Ranger, Dave, will be leading the morning and a more patient and sympathetic tutor you could not wish for. Even if you are a total novice, with baby-soft hands, Dave will show you how to handle the tools safely, provide gloves to protect those delicate palms and suggest the spindliest of saplings to get started on. Turn up at ten for some of the most fun you can have with your clothes on – and if it’s half as cold as it's been recently, make sure you have lots of clothes on indeed!
Later the following week is your chance to help a local favourite, water voles. East Devon’s Water Vole Project Officer, Mervyn Newman, is leading one of many volunteer sessions this year, on the 21st January at Offwell, near Honiton. Now, this is an all-dayer, so possibly not the session to cut one’s teeth on. However, if you are fit and eager, meet at the Village Hall at 9.30 for a day of rhododendron clearance in the Offwell woods – remember your sandwiches.
The rhody is growing along the edges of ponds and waterways, which shades the bank and pollutes the water with their frightful leaves. By removing it, watercourses are being made suitable for the hoards of Somerset water voles encamped on the County boarder, desperate to move into Devon! There’s nothing contentious about removing Rhododendron – it’s a plant which shouldn’t be growing within 1000 miles of this country. It grows unchecked, because there is nothing in Britian which can eat the deadly concoction in its leaves and it grows so thickly that it shades out and strangles all native flora (and therefore fauna) beneath it. If you disagree, look under a rhody or laurel bush next time you are out and about and count the species there. You’ll find more under a stray breeze block!
So, two active days for you to get involved in there, a chance to work off the Christmas excesses and work up an appetite for supper! If you are still unsure about participating, give Diane a call at the Countryside Service (01395 517557) who will give you all the information you need and persuade you to make the best decision of the year.
According to recent surveys, there are more deer in the British Isle today than at any time in recent history. Now, I’m not sure I wholeheartedly believe this statistic, as I have a healthy scepticism of all statistics. But it is true that there are plenty of deer out there in the East Devon Countryside, which makes it a great time to practice your tracking skills.
Out of the six species of even-toed ungulate at large in Britain today, only two are true native British species. In this sense, native means here since the last Ice Age, when there was a land bridge between England and France. There’s been a lot of fuss recently about the rather elitist flavour of native versus non-native species in Britain today, a topic I will save for another article another time, but for now, let’s concentrate on the two British deer, Roe and Red.
Red deer first, as they are not something you are likely to stumble across too often anywhere around here. Reds are the flagship species of Exmoor National Park and this is really the place to go to see them in their splendour. They are also the breed kept most frequently in herds for venison, so if you do see a large group of these impressive deer – check for a big fence around the field before you start getting too excited!
My favourite place to go looking for red deer is East Anstey Common, just outside Dulverton. During the day the deer tend to spend their time tucked into little copses and woodlands in the deep coombes of the moor, coming up onto the open moorland first thing in the morning and last thing at night to feed. Red deer have their own set of nomenclature, as befits an animal that has been so highly regarded through history. Males are stags, females; hinds and the young are known as calves. Hinds and calves are all well and good – but it’s the mighty stag that everyone is out to see.
Stags are this country’s largest mammal that lives on land – not to be confused with the pub quiz question of Britain’s largest land mammal, which is the grey seal as it has to come onto beaches to sleep and breed. Stags weigh in at anything up to 200 kilos, and stand 130 centimetres to the shoulder. With a strong muscular neck, with thick brown-red hair, the stags head is crowned by an impressive array of hardware. The antlers develop over each calendar year, getting larger every time the young male grows a new set, until a big old boy can have antlers weighing anything up to 6 kilos.
For an animal we associate with vast open moorland, the red deer was originally an animal of closed woodland, which beggars the question – How did they carry those mighty spars though the forest?
Red deer live in tight groups of hinds and calves, with stags loosely associating through the year and competing for the right to mate with the herd in late autumn in an impressive rut. Stags will normally pace each other to get the measure of their competitor, but if two even matched stags come into conflict, the resulting battle can be incredibly exhilarating to witness.
But back to our sleepy landscape, and the little deer that live pretty much everywhere around here – roe deer. These deer don’t group into large herds, although family groups will stay in the same vicinity, normally these deer are found in ones or twos. Names are different, with males known as the buck, females; doe and young; fawn.
Much smaller than red deer, the bucks reach a weight of 30 kilos and stand 70 centimetres at the shoulder.
Roe bucks have a small set of antlers grown through the summer growing from a gnarled base into three short spikes. The body colour is a brownish tan with a bright white bum, small white muzzle and dark stripes either side of the mouth like a Sergeant’s moustache. The white bum is an important identifier, as it is often the only thing you see springing away from you if you disturb one in open ground.
Roe deer like to live in woodland with surrounding open land for grazing, although they are so cosmopolitan that they can turn up pretty much anywhere. The secret to getting close-up views of these little deer is perseverance and getting to know the patterns of a few individuals.
Roe deer will bark warnings if disturbed, which sound a lot like a loud deep-throated dog bark, listen out for these calls when walking in woodland and keep a note of places where you hear them. Return visits to these spots pays dividends as you are able to develop your deer sense.
Later in the spring, look for areas of flattened grass or bluebells, where a roe deer has been laying up, and look out for the characteristic poo pellets, which are dark shiny black and, unlike sheep poo, have a pointed and an indented end. Piles of poo are left as scent markers telling other deer that this space is taken – “someone’s sitting there mate.”
Always approach from downwind of where you think the deer to be. Keep quiet and try not to wear too much perfume or aftershave – a deer’s premier sense is smell and they will whiff you coming from miles off! Dedicated wildlife photographers will keep a set out outdoor clothes in a bag with leaf litter to disguise the human smell, but I wouldn’t suggest going to these lengths unless you are really bitten by the fieldcraft bug!
Speaking of which, if you do go crawling through a woodland or long grass later in the year – do watch out for the fieldcraft bug: ticks. Always make sure you wear long trousers and sleeves (not an issue at this time of year) and give yourself a thorough check over before leaving, to make sure you’ve not picked up any unwelcome passengers.
By spending time getting to know your local deer, you will get to know so much more about the wildlife in your area too. Don’t be disheartened if your first few views are distant or disrupted, persevere and your hard work will pay off with intimate views of one of our most charming animals.
Over the Christmas period I had something of a revelation: Guillemots are like giraffes. I shall tell you why.
When I was about 14 years old, I was fortunate enough to be packed off with my sister to spend a fortnight with my Godmother, Auntie Jilly, in East Africa. For a 14 year old nature nut, this was a trip of a lifetime and I spent the whole visit mouth agape at the spectacle. So much so that a tsetse fly hit my epiglottis on more than one occasion!
We toddled off to Ruaha Game Park for a safari and I snapped away merrily on an old Pentax SLR. The first giraffe I saw was merited with about 25 exposures – and remember, in the pre-digital days, every frame counted! After a week of seeing giraffe every day, I had stopped taking shots unless they were doing something interesting, such as swimming or entering a limbo competition!
Last week I noticed this wildlife complacency creep in once again.
On 4th of January 2009 I set off with 11 other (mad) committed individuals on an open deck boat, into Lyme Bay in search of dolphins, an account of which spectacular voyage follows. Heading out of the harbour the boat saw our first couple of guillemots and much was made of the pair. Seven hours later, after seeing something in the region of 300 auks in the course of our journey, less comment was passed for a floating Gullie’!
Picture the scene, if you will: 8:15am on the Cobb, Lyme Regis. It’s still pretty dark and there are 12 people standing around in layers of thermal regalia waiting to embark on a spot of sea watching.
We chugged out of the harbour at about 8:45 off into Lyme Bay to search for mammal life. On such a bitterly cold morning as this it seemed faintly ludicrous, but we were not to be disappointed.
The conditions, albeit cold, were perfect for sea watching and after journeying for about half an hour south west of Lyme, we came across our first couple of harbour porpoises. These tiny marine mammals have a healthy fear of motor craft, and so we kept the noise to a minimum and watched them for a few minutes as they moved on by. Our spirits were lifted and we continued out into the Bay with renewed hope that we might find our elusive quarry.
There then followed, as is par for the course, a period of about two hours of gruelling cold and empty seas. We were out of sight of land, somewhere due south of Exmouth, however the air was full of birds. Gannets glided majestically past, razorbills splashed about with the ever-abundant guillemots, and a collection of gulls kept my birding mind occupied. However it wasn’t until we were approaching Torbay that my friend Gavin thought he saw a splash on the horizon and decided it was time for him to put on his glasses!
I scanned the distant water and was convinced I saw a large dorsal fin break the waves – “dolphin” I murmured, having not been on one of these organised trips before.
“DOLPHIN!” Chorused 11 other people and the boat nearly capsized as they all moved to join me on the starboard gunwale. We moved off under my rather sketchy direction, you try navigating a boat through featureless open sea and, after 10 minutes or so, I was really panicking that I had lead everyone on a wild goose chase. However, three fins broke the surface and within minutes our bow-wave was being ridden by a pod of about 10 common dolphin. WOW!
We spent about 15 minutes in their company, before they broke away and moved off into the horizon, leaving us elated and with renewed determination to see the species we had all come for – the white-beaked dolphin.
White-beaked dolphin are a large species confined to the northern Atlantic ocean. They are seen in British waters on occasion, but seem to be spotted rather frequently in our bit of sea out there, known as Lyme Bay. The purpose of this trip was to try and find sight of them and add more important winter records for the Bay.
We did eventually catch up with a pod of five of the animals, playing around the hull of the other spotting craft, towards the Portland end of the Bay. We spent half an hour with them, and were treated to some wonderful bow-riding, leaps and breaches. I was clinging to the rail on the prow, leaning well over the side to see these beautiful creatures and with clear, calm waters, I got cracking views.
The white-beaked is a large, darkly coloured dolphin, with pale strokes along its flank and a pale ‘saddle’ behind the dorsal fin. The fin itself is large and swept right back in a graceful sickle, the face is blunt in comparison to the common or bottlenose species, and has white and grey stripes around the mouth.
We had plenty of time to mull-over the experience as we cruised the 23 miles back to harbour, everyone overjoyed to have seen this spectacle just a few miles off the Devon and Dorset coast.
It was a privileged glimpse, and I would urge anyone to venture out on an organised dolphin watch and see for yourself what our coastal waters contain – it is magical! Make sure you go on a well organised event and that the skipper has had prior training on how to handle his boat when near cetaceans – this trip was organised by Marinelife and although we got great views, the boat was never harassing the animals we were all there to admire.
Swallow story
Cathy Bartlett’s letter printed in last week’s Journal was indeed a surprise! While it is really unusual to see swallows in December, it is not unheard of and is confined to the relative warmth of the South West. The majority of the UK swallow population is well below the Sahara Desert in western Africa, but some years a few stragglers are seen over wintering in Devon or Cornwall, I would suggest this one will rejoin returning swallows in spring as long as it can find sufficient food and shelter – I’ll certainly be looking out for it when I am out on the Estuary!