Back to the Forest 5th March 2022

The Forest of Dean has always been my first choice to see Hawfinches, that most charismatic of  birds. In previous posts I have explained what it takes to see them see here and why I do it but today, on another visit to the forest, it was not Hawfinches that I hoped to see but Bramblings.

Bramblings come to Britain from Scandinavia and Russia, fleeing the harsh conditions of winter there to spend their time in Britain and other European countries where the winter is milder. Some years they are present in greater numbers than others and this winter has been a good one for them in Britain. In my home county of Oxfordshire they have been widely reported and in Surrey a flock of one thousand or more has been recorded from a weedy field earlier this year.This pales into insignificance to flocks of millions that have occasionally occurred  in winter in various central European countries but sadly not in Britain

I think it is fair to say that most birders find a sense of fulfilment on seeing a Brambling, Scandinavia's version of our Chaffinch.They are a bird worthy of comment as they can be scarce and elusive, often found in flocks of Chaffinches where they are always in the minority. Combine this with the fact they are pleasingly colourful, more so than our Chaffinch, whose muted colours are less striking, and you can understand the attraction. So it is that Bramblings are unreservedly welcomed with their bright and variegated plumage, which  slowly becomes ever brighter as the days lengthen and we move into Spring.

At this time of year they are adopting their breeding plumage and the male Brambling in particular shows a combination of bold colours; bright orange breast and flanks, orange and black wings, a grey/black head and white underparts. The fringes to all the feathers but particularly the head will soon wear away leaving a finch with a black head and mantle and underparts of orange and white.The female is similarly patterned but is very much more muted in her colouration and never attains a black head, which remains grey throughout the year. A female Chaffinch is positively dowdy in comparison being  dull olive brown with only white wing bars, outer tail feathers and a moss green rump as a relief to her overall drabness. On flying, both Brambling sexes display a distinctive white rump which makes them instantly distinguishable in a mixed finch flock.

Female Brambling

Male Brambling

I arrived in the forest half an hour after dawn as the place I had in mind, Parkend Church, is well known to birders and photographers alike and it is essential to arrive early to secure the optimum viewing spot. As with The Green at Parkend where I go to see the Hawfinches, it is essential to remain in one's car in order to not dissuade the birds from coming down to the seed that is scattered by one and all to attract them.

Parkend Church is situated at the top of a small hill overlooking the former industrial village of Parkend and is situated in a quiet and rural wooded area at the furthest reach of a dead end road with a turning area and a small cemetry on the opposite side to the church. This is where you park, at the side of the road, to scan the turning area and verge by the church wall, both scattered with seed to attract Bramblings and if you are very lucky, one or more Hawfinches. A series of shallow puddles formed by worn away holes in the turning area can sometimes also tempt down Crossbills, thirsty from eating the dry seeds of fir cones, to drink from them.

I brought with me a bag of sunflower seeds, peanuts and smaller grains and after positioning my car under a mighty Oak, cast an assortment of seeds on the ground a few metres away from the car and sat back to await developments. I like this time, when anything can happen or just as likely not.The sense of anticipation about what species of bird could arrive at any moment is akin to seawatching except it is land birds that one awaits.

I had come prepared for a long vigil and dressed accordingly in warm clothes.Thankfully the car would protect me from the worst of the cold wind and it was therefore not a hardship to sit with the car window wide open and camera at the ready.  

A few minutes later the first birds arrived from the surrounding trees and bushes, a Robin, as ever truculent and feisty and the customary Blackbirds. 

They were soon joined by a mix of male and female Chaffinches, busily bobbing along in short hops, nibbling tiny seeds in their bills as they progressed.The avian equivalent of food to go. 

A female Brambling with a male Chaffinch

A Jay was next to arrive, moving in giant bounding hops across the tarmac to collect peanuts, amassing  them in its bill, its arrival scattering the smaller birds. 

I could hear a Mistle Thrush, that like a wandering troubador was singing from somewhere near the church. It would undoubtedly be perched high in a tree, singing a song so ruminative and laconic it seemed to meander through the still bare boughs of the trees around me and dissolve into the cold morning air.

As I waited in the car my thoughts took me on a journey through time and space, far from this tranquil almost idyllic rural scene to a distant country suffering tyranny and horrific violence, inflicted upon its innocent people by a psychopathic monster of a human being, a bully and braggart consumed by hatred, jealousy, greed and a sense of inadequacy. I considered what the populace of Ukraine must be suffering at this very moment while I sat here in quiet and peaceful surroundings, comfortable in the knowledge that I and my loved ones live in an environment safe from threat and extreme fear. My emotions veered between anger and frustration that I was impotent to do anything  to help my fellow humans in their time of anguish, apart from send donations to charities and boycott Coca Cola and Costa. It seems so feeble but what else can one do? What madness is this that all the destruction and killing is to grab more land to subjugate when the world is spiralling to disaster through climate change and it will all be for nought. The futility of what is happening in Ukraine is just incomprehensible but then that is what hatred does, leading one beyond all reason.

Let us return to Parkend and the birds for now..................

Thankfully my depressing thoughts about Ukraine and a bloodthirsty tyrant were put on pause by the arrival of what I had been eagerly anticipating. A Brambling. A female admittedly but still enough to send a jolt of adrenalin through me. I raised the camera but at the same time the church clock chimed seven and the bird took alarm, and along with several Chaffinches fled into the surrounding bushes and trees. This was to be a regular feature of my stay, the birds descending from the trees but for only a few minutes before something, anything, alarmed them and they fled for shelter.It could be the church clock, the arrival of a crow or Jay, even a Goshawk overhead, the occasional dog walker or something unseen or unheard by myself cocooned in the car. All contributed to a continuous stop start presence and then absence of birds.

Their absence never lasted long though and the Robins were always first back, giving confidence to the Chaffinches whose presence on the ground in turn re-assured the Bramblings. I was on my own for the first hour, then another birder arrived and positioned her car behind mine.We waited. A female Siskin  dropped down, for seconds only, to drink from a puddle and a pair of Nuthatches began to visit, selecting choice sunflower seeds to fly off with and stash in the bark of the surrounding trees.

The sun began to creep up the hill, illuminating the tops of the trees lower down and finally reaching the church spire. The Mistle Thrush sang on, an endless rambling of mellifluous notes. 

Finally another Brambling arrived to join the Chaffinches. A male this time, distinctively orange amongst the darker pastel hues of the male Chaffinches, although not as obvious as you would imagine. It was joined by another two and this time there was to be no sudden departure, so I got my images although it was not long before another dread sent them hurrying back into the trees.

And so it went on, the Bramblings descending with the Chaffinches for a few minutes and then flying off in alarm. 

It only takes one individual to panic and the rest immediately and instinctively follow, before flying down again. The church clock tolled the hour and it was only ten in the morning.

I vowed that I would enjoy one more Brambling experience and then would leave. The Bramblings duly flew down ten minutes later, this time there were four, each bird distinctive, by way of subtle differences in their plumage, the various males especially identifiable by the degree of black or grey on their heads. In total I think I saw six different individuals, four males and two females, possibly there were more.

I cast a glance at the church clock. It was 1015. Then came a complete surprise. A shock even. I was photographing a male Brambling amongst a mix of Chaffinches, his golden flanks in stark contrast to the dark ground he was feeding on, when a Hawfinch suddenly dropped to the ground, presumably from the huge tree above me.  Its descent was so close I could hear the sound of its wings brrring the air as it came to earth. no more than two metres from my car. 

So unexpected and, totally enthralling, it stood on the ground four square, facing away and displaying that familiar bull neck and huge head, while taking a second or two to check all was well before commencing to feed on the sunflower seeds I had scattered on the ground. My camera of course went into overdrive and for once there was no need to worry about undue disturbance with no dog walker in sight or any other potential annoyance imminent.

The bird dwarfed the surrounding finches and fed continuously, hardly moving from the spot it had landed on. It was, for a Hawfinch, remarkably at ease in the open. I presumed it was emboldened by all the other birds feeding on the ground around it but when they took alarm at some perceived threat and fled, it crouched low to the ground but did not budge.The other birds soon came back and then, having gorged itself on sunflower seeds, it flew up and was gone. It was all over in two or three minutes. 

Of course any thoughts of leaving were summarily banished in the hope it or another Hawfinch would return. I waited until just before noon but was out of luck although I had many more close encounters with  the feeding Bramblings. 

Having had nothing to eat or drink for seven hours I drove downhill to the village to revive myself at Dean Forest Cycles cafe, an alternative to another favourite, The Postage Stamp Cafe, literally a few hundred metres further up the road. The Dean Forest cafe is a somewhat rustic affair and none the worse for that and although the establishment is primarily for refreshing bikers, selling biking gear and hiring out bikes to ride around in the forest, the very friendly staff make any visit very pleasurable and on a cold day they always have a wood burning stove to warm oneself by. What more can you ask for?

Recharged with a coffee and pasty and a warm  by the stove I decided to leave the forest and make my way home via Slimbridge. I fancied another chance to renew acquaintance with the long staying Glossy Ibis, which spends most of its time in a wet field by the beginning of the entrance road to the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust.

When I arrived the ibis was conveniently feeding very close to the road and I joined a couple of others papping away at the ibis and got the images I desired in double quick time. They are such outlandish looking birds, almost prehistoric in appearance and with ever increasing numbers are now virtually resident in Britain. It surely cannot be long before they attempt to breed here.

If I am honest, although it was nice to see the ibis I felt that I had fallen under a spell at Parkend Church, my world restricted physically to the view from my car window and no more. I had, in my mind, retreated into  that small quiet area visited by the birds  and the busy environment around the ibis with a popular pub, many cars and a well used canal, all adjacent to the ibis, just did not seem to fit my mood.

The Frogs of Lye Valley 26th February 2022

On Friday the 25th of February I rose early to go to the Lye Valley Nature Reserve which forms part of a shallow and narrow valley, sandwiched between housing and a hospital, at Headington in the City of Oxford. I had been told by a friend that the frogs had returned a few days ago, as they do every year, to mate and spawn in a series of four small, shallow ponds running alongside a boardwalk that bisects the valley 

The reserve is in existence mainly to preserve twenty rare species of plant that grow there, chief of which is the Grass of Parnassus but the rare fenland in which they grow, fed by the Lye Brook and lime rich springs, is also favoured by breeding Common Frogs for a brief few days in early Spring and that is the main attraction for me.

The Lye Valley NR consists of exceedingly rare fenland, an eight thousand  year old, internationally rare habitat of which the Lye Valley represents 1.5 hectares of only 19 hectares of this habitat remaining in England. It is a designated SSSI (Site of Special Scientific Interest) due to the rare and endangered plants that grow there and is a joint project between Oxford City Council and BBOWT (Berks, Bucks and Oxon Wildlife Trust).Conservation work is carried out by The Friends of Lye Valley.

Part of Lye Valley Nature Reserve and one of the small ponds that harboured the breeding frogs

The night, prior to dawn on Friday, had been very cold with a severe frost and although it was going to be sunny all day it would take some time for the sun to rise high enough to reach the floor of the valley. Due to social commitments I had only a couple of hours to visit in the early morning and on arriving and walking down into the valley and along to the boardwalk, I knew I was probably going to experience disappointment. 

The small ponds were covered by a wafer thin covering of ice with just a small area of unfrozen water in one of the ponds. Needless to say there was no sign of any frogs. I sensed that the ponds were  too cold for any frog activity and they were all lying at the bottom of the ponds. There was, however already plentiful evidence of breeding, with mounds of jelly like spawn, encrusted with frost, in one of the frozen ponds.

A series of ripples in the patch of unfrozen water alerted me to the presence of frogs and I could see three or four swimming under the water but they were sluggish and certainly not inclined to come to the surface. After an hour of waiting I retreated, somewhat chastened and having learnt the hard way that frogs are not active in such low temperatures.

I resolved to return the next day, Saturday, at a later hour when the sun would be higher and presumably the water temperature warmer. I arrived at the ponds just before 11am but again found little sign of any frogs until eventually some poked their bug eyes above the water in one of the ponds. Fifteen minutes passed, more appeared and frogs began croaking as the preponderance of males competed to attract the fewer females. Gradually numbers built up until there were around twenty frogs visible and I focused my attention solely on their activities.

Half an hour passed happily, photographing the frogs but then, glancing to my right, towards the next pond, I was amazed to see at least fifty frogs swimming and poking their heads above the surface of that pond too.The sun was now shining fully on the ponds and presumably the frogs were responding to the rise in temperature and setting about the process of mating and spawning with alacrity.They were totally absorbed in reproducing and showed none of their customary shyness and secrecy, apparently so consumed with the urge to mate and spawn they were heedless of the many dangers they routinely face from numerous predators. They are obviously very vulnerable in this situation and the sooner the process is completed the better for them so they can return to their secret hiding places, away from the pond and where they will be more secure.

By noon the numbers of frogs had built up to over a hundred, the pale throats of the male frogs, distinctive in the sun as their heads protruded above the water, their throats swelling as they produced a  rhythmic accompaniment of incessant, quiet croaking, a not unpleasant purring sound rather like hearing a distant moped.

There was a noticeable diversity in the individual frogs colouring, some reddish brown while others were green, yellowish, even grey, their skins patterned with spots and markings varying from black to lemon yellow. No one frog looked quite the same as another. The females were obvious, appearing much larger than the males due to their bodies being swollen with spawn and also more colourful, with reddish brown throats speckled with yellow. 

A female attended by two male frogs

There were frequent brief tussles as the more numerous single males attempted to usurp a male already clinging to a female's back,  a process called amplexus, where the male clings to the female with his front legs in a vice like grip, ready to fertilise the eggs the minute the female expels them from her body. Once a male is attached to a female's body, nothing can remove him although other male frogs try as hard as they can to do so.

The pond was by now a scene of constant activity as the frogs blundered around in the water or lay in the masses of spawn as if in a bubble bath,.There is but one thing that drives them at this time and that is the urge to procreate by actively seeking a female or just hanging in the water with head held clear and croaking endlessly which is the way they attract females, with presumably the female selecting a partner based on the quality of his croak. 

It is for only a few precious days that this spectacle endures, and spectacle it is, attracting numbers of people to the boardwalk, both adults and children who, like myself, come to see and marvel at this natural phenomenon. Soon the ponds will fall silent and all that will remain is the 'frog spawn' that will hatch in two or three weeks and fill the ponds with black tadpoles. 

I will have to wait another year and for another early spring day to renew my acquaintance with the frogs of  Lye Valley but today's experience of watching nature's relentless renewal of life during these dark times was, for me, life affirming and I departed feeling all the better for it. 

Here are some more images of the frogs that I saw on the day.