Haring About - 20th May 2026

I am fortunate to live in a village, Leafield that lies within an area of Outstanding Natural Beauty in West Oxfordshire and is surrounded by fields and woodland, much of which  form part of a large estate called Cornbury Park. The southern border of the estate backs onto our rear garden.

Consequently there is plenty of wildlife if you know where to look and one narrow, winding and undulating lane in particular leads off the main street through the village, bisects the Cornbury Estate and forms a pleasant route which we use to access various other nearby villages and the town of Chipping Norton.

Being such a quiet rural road Mrs U often walks along it for exercise in the afternoon and regularly reports to me that she has seen a Brown Hare  and at one place in particular, an upward sloping track between woodland and an open field, adjacent to the lane, that always seems to have an attendant hare or two, quietly nibbling the grass or just squatting as they are wont to do.

I too occasionally see them when passing the same place in the car and always slow to check if any are around.

Today in the early evening I was driving Mrs U back home along the lane and as we came to the favourite spot she exclaimed  

There he is! adding he's right by the road!

Our house is but a few minutes away so having dropped Mrs U at the house I  immediately drove back to see if I could get some photos of the hare. Something I had tried before but with little success.

I held slim hopes of success as in similar situations the hare had always disappeared by the time I returned to look for it

Convinced this outcome would be no better than the times before I drove down the lane, slowing the car to a crawl a little before I drew level with the track. Ever so cautiously  I inched the car forward, now acting as a mobile hide and drew up looking at the track sloping upwards away from the road.

To my delight the hare was still there, very close to the lane exactly as Mrs U had stated. Even better it was with another hare. Two together! My car window was already open and the camera primed on the seat next to me.

Slowly I reached for the camera, careful not to make a sound and ever so slowly raised and pointed it at the nearest hare through the open window, making sure to keep myself and the camera in the dark interior of the car where I would be invisible

Would the hares sense something was not quite right and flee? This was the moment. The hares are rightfully wary as there is still shooting on the estate, deer mainly but I am sure the hares are also considered fair game. It was a tense moment and the two hares froze into immobility for a few seconds, nostrils quivering as they smelled the air but then relaxed, athough still slightly suspicious of this strange vehicle that had suddenly appeared in their orbit and began nibbling at the grass. 

I raised the camera and took some images. The click of the shutter sounded like a cannon but was in fact almost silent. I need not have worried as it could not have gone better. 

For ten minutes all was well but then for no apparent reason their innate timidity got the better of them and they moved off slightly up the track, not really alarmed more cautious, one could say and after a few more minutes moved into the field of weeds parallel to the track and were lost from view.

The naturalist Frances Pitt wrote the following 

The hare presents an interesting study in psychology.Its character is a curious mixture of extreme timidity and boldness, of rashness and suspicion, of cunning and of the most flagrant silliness

Being this close to a hare was an almost unique experience for me. So close and a superficial glance suggested its coats was a lustrous, silky, tawny brown, marginally a shade darker on its back and matching the stony red earth of the track it sat upon. But look closer and each strand of hair alternated a  black and light brown creating an impression of marbled light and shade.

I could not fail to notice three notable features of this animal. Its eyes, its ears and its nostrils. All are essential attributes for a creature that lives its entire life in the open with no protection other than its wits and physical adaptations for such a lifestyle.

Its ears are extraordinarily long and large and even act independently at times like radar scanners. Their hearing is ultra sensitive and the slightest extraneous sound will ensure the hare raises them like antennae and direct one or both in the perceived direction of concern. Every innocuous sound such as a pheasant's crow, the bark of a muntjac or a distant human voice can precipitate a raising of one or both ears to check and reassure.

At rest or nibbling the fresh green shoots of the Spring grass the hare would lower its ears until they became as one with its body, resting hem flat along its back.

Huge, their eyes seemingly bulge from their head. Tawny orange, replicating the colour of its body fur and with enormous black irises  they stare impassionately but noting every subtle movement or change in their surroundings. Unchanging familiarity is a hare's nirvana, the slightest alteration to this  will cause it to be on edge and wary.

The nostrils are wide and flared, again especially adapted for maximum oxygen intake when the hare is running at full speed.

When relaxed they move slowly, one could almost say sluggishly but once alarmed up go the ears, the body tenses then lengthens, becoming lythe and athletic as the huge hind legs propel it at incredible speed, its only means of defence, away from danger.

Over the centuries, inevitably much folklore has arisen around one of our most mystical native wild animals, one that has been known to inhabit  Britain before written history and even revered as a God, to be buried with honour during The Iron Age. 

This long association with humankind has given rise to many folk names such as  Puss, Laverock, Old Sally and Malkin. It also has a long association with the moon, spanning centuries and cultures primarily rooted in the animal's nocturnal habits, reproductive cycles and the visual appearance of a hare in the Moon's craters long before the Man in the Moon was ever thought of.

In Spring however they can be frequently seen in daylight 'boxing' in the open fields.This is not fighting between rival males but thought to be part of the hare's mating behaviour where the male courts the female and if she does not want to mate resists by hitting out at the amorous male. This behaviour and the association with the moon has given rise to the sayings Moonstruck and Mad as a March Hare.

 

Disappointed that the hares had gone so soon I looked further up the track and was delighted to see another hare feeding quietly, totally relaxed while nibbling at the tender shooted grass. I spent a further thirty minutes watching and photographing it.

In the end I put down the camera and just watched, feeling that I was very privileged to be here sat in the rural isolation of a country lane, with the wind gently swaying the trees and the intermittent sun running shadows up the track on which the hare was feeding amongst the grass.

Some of the sense of magic and mysticism that surrounds this animal seemed to impart itself to me whilst sitting in my car watching the hare, untroubled, going about its natural existence.For an hour I forgot about my human world and all the stress and anxieties of modern life that seem part and parcel of living through these times.

Nature can do this.

I  was minded of the words of Lotti Brown who wrote: 

Mysterious, swift, wild, otherworldly...the hare is one of our most cherished Countryside animals, and it's no wonder that so much folklore and meaning has gathered around her through the centuries.

There's something about a hare - not only fleet of foot, but also ephemeral, as though she slips between worlds. It's little wonder that folklore across Britain and across centuries holds the hare as a magical being, part of the Otherworld and part of ours, never fully belonging to either.

Sadly there are others who show them no such respect or appreciation and hunt them with dogs.It is illegal in Britain to do so but it is becoming an increasing problem and owners of land on which it happens are frequently threatened with violence if they seek to prevent it.

Fortunately, to my knowledge my local hares are safe from such practices but I remain vigilant.

It is so regrettable that it has to be this way.

A Peregrine Interlude - 19th May 2026

With a couple of hours to spare before meeting a friend in Chipping Norton and with my camera in the  car I spontaneously decided to renew acquaintance with a pair of Peregrines that frequent an ancient church just over the Oxfordshire border. I went to see them in May last year ,and hoped that it would be a similar pleasurable experience this time.

It was a morning of blustery wind and showers but thankfully the rain stayed away as I drew up by the green in the older, more attractive part of the picturesque village and its twelth century church.

Stepping out of the car I surveyed the tower of the church but could see no sign of any Peregrines so decided to walk around the chuch to survey all four sides of its substantial presence. On the north side I found what I was looking for in the form of a male Peregrine perched on a stone gargoyle.

It was not that obvious as it had its grey back turned towards me which to a great extent merged with the lichen encrusted, crumbling grey and brown stonework of the church tower and the gargoyle on which it was perched. I also noticed it had obviously endured one of the heavy rain showers I had driven through before I arrived, as its breast feathers were dishevilled and spiky due to becoming soaking wet.

I took some images and then wandered around the church to take its picture from other angles while the Peregrine followed my progress with its huge lustrous dark eyes but showed little concern and why should it, perched high and secure on its elevated perch on the tower. It must also be well used to people passing by or entering the church.

It flew to a tree opposite, in the walled grounds of the Manor House which is almost as old as the church and perched high on a broken branch to preen and linger but the wind was troublesome in this more exposed position and it soon returned to its gargoyle, situated out of the wind on the north side of the church tower

 

It was remarkable how the many Jackdaws nesting in the ventilation inlets of the tower seemed unperturbed by its presence and carried on, to and fro, feeding their noisy young in their nests. Woodpigeons too showed little concern perching close to the apparently indifferent falcon. Maybe they and the Jackdaws were aware the Peregrine had eaten and for the time being they were in no danger. However a black wing tip poking up from behind another gargoyle indicated that a Jackdaw had fallen victim to the falcon and others would likely be suffering the same fate in the near future.As if proof were needed, on reviewing my photos I noticed its lower breast feathers were stained with blood, no doubt from a very recent victim. 

Note the blood on the Peregrine's breast feathers

In a brief absence of the Peregrine I saw a smaller falcon fly up to perch high on a ledge of the church tower and on going to investigate, it was as I suspected a male Kestrel. It had a worm which it consumed and then departed which is probably just as well as Peregrines are known to kill and eat smaller raptors such as kestrels.

Male Kestrel

The Peregrine returned and resumed its vigil on the gargoyle and all was as before; the Jackdaws busy feeding their young, the Woodpigeons blundering around the church and surrounding graveyard yews and the Peregrine silently watching - and waiting.

I spent around an hour, undisturbed and left to my own devices in this quiet and pleasant corner of rural England  with only a passing villager stopping to enquire after 'their' Peregrines. The hands of the ancient clock on the church tower pointed to twelve noon. It was time to go.

My Local Grey Wagtails - 12th May 2026

At my local Farmoor Reservoir there are at least three pairs of Grey Wagtails breeding and this year they have commenced early and the first broods are already out of the nest and catching flies and invertebrates on the concrete banks of the reservoir.

Traditionally associated with fast flowing, rocky streams in uplands GreyWagtails have spread to slower moving lowland rivers and streams such as here in Oxfordshire and are not uncommon.

I see one or more Grey Wagtails virtually every day throughout the year when I visit the reservoir and confess that I often grant them only a cursory glance, especially in the winter months when they are not in their brighter breeding plumage. 

However, for the last two years I have given them more attention as a pair have bred at the end of the reservoir's central causeway, their nest hidden below the metal covering over the inlet for water from the nearby River Thames to be pumped into the reservoir. Grey Wagtails invariably like to be near water and seem, at Farmoor anyway, to be partial to placing their nests on inaccessible ledges in the dark recesses of man made structures over water and of which, courtesy of Thames Water there is no shortage at Farmoor!

The location of this particular Grey Wagtail nest at the end of the causeway and where many people pass close by all day has meant the birds have become relatively confiding.and consequently granted a great opportunity to observe them close to and more to the point, linger awhile to appreciate and record their breeding activity and understated beauty. 

The male in particular, on closer examination is very handsome with a black chin and white moustaches and eyebrows, contrasting with a bright yellow breast and undertail coverts.

His breast glows lemon yellow shading slightly paler on flanks and belly and then becoming rich buttercup yellow on his undertail coverts. His mate is a paler version, possessing the same colours but her plumage is muted and less defined and she lacks the strong face pattern of the male. 

Male Grey Wagtail

On a recent occasion I stood slightly back from the metal grill covering the inlet and watched the two birds coming and going, slipping below the grill to their hidden nest and its young or perching on the surrounding railings which has given me a multitude of opportunities to watch and photograph them.

The birds were constantly coming and going, the female with beakfuls of flies she had gathered from the reservoir edge, while the male perched on the railings and seemed less inclined to make as great a contribution as his mate to feeding the young.

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Female Grey Wagtail with food for her young

Compared to the more numerous Pied Wagtails they are supremely elegant, due in no short measure  to their very long tail which they bounce up and down so vigorously it is as if the whole of its hind body is in motion. Truly if you take a closer look at them they will not fail to impress with both their colours and slim, elegant presence

Sometimes I have been told by non birding passers by on the reservoir that they have seen a Yellow Wagtail but often I have to disappoint them by asking if the bird had a grey back and if  they confirm it did I tell them the bird they have seen was a Grey Wagtail. A look of confusion comes over them and they say 

But it was bright yellow

I reply 

Yes, a Grey Wagtail does have bright yellow on its breast and undertail but it has a grey upperbody  hence the name Grey Wagtail. A Yellow Wagtail is much brighter yellow all over - believe me.

 

After watching the two wagtails I walked down to my favourite Pinkhill Lock, where one can cross the river using the walkway on Thames Water's metal barrier that controls the flow of river  water in times of flood. There I discovered another pair of Grey Wagtails, again with a nest below the metal structure, hidden on a ledge above the onrushing water.

  

I could just about hear a plaintive repeated alarm call above the noise of the water and it was the devil's own job to locate it but finally I found the  originator, a male Grey Wagtail perched in a nearby willow, his yellow underparts complementing perfectly the yellow, pollen heavy catkins of the willow so that he was almost as one with the tree in which he was perched.  

          

Night Rafting on Arran - 10th May 2026

As is our custom each Spring, we recently spent two weeks on our favourite Isle of Arran in our favourite house that lies right on a rocky seashore that is but a few metres below a wall that guards the house from the sea.

Before us is nothing but the wide seascape of Kilbrannan Sound and across the sea looms the impressive undulating hills and distant mountains of the Kintyre Peninsula and the Mull of Kintyre. 

Below on the rocky beach Common Gulls are nesting in a loose colony while gleaming white Gannets plunge spectacularly from on high into the sea. Amongst the gulls a pair of Ringed Plovers have chosen to nest. 

I hold little hope for their nest being successful as for much of the time the parent birds are not incubating the eggs but trying to distract the nearby gulls from discovering the nest and devouring its precious contents. Even if the young hatch they will inevitably be discovered and consumed by the gulls but for now the nest somehow survives and the plovers continue instinctively to indulge in frantic distraction displays, feigning broken wings and severe injury. The gulls are indifferent and ignore them even when they are only feet away.

The Ringed Plover's distraction display, pretending to be injured

April and May are good months for watching the local and not so local wildlife on Arran. A steady passage of migrant Whimbrels arrive on its shores to rest and feed before moving further northwards to their breeding areas which can be anywhere from Shetland and Orkney to Iceland, The Faeroes Scandinavia and north western Russia. 

Some even fly non stop from their wintering areas in West Africa to Iceland covering a distance of between 3900-5000km in six days but others make a stop in north western Europe, possibly to replenish their energy reserves after a long flight from Africa and to put them in prime condition for the breeding season ahead.

Whimbrels

Not a day passed that I did not see small groups of Whimbrel feeding or resting on the rocky shore by the house. I rather like Whimbrels, a smaller more classy cousin of our resident Curlew with the added romance of coming from afar, West Africa to be precise. By the time they reach Arran they have accomplished the major and most dangerous part of their long flight across the Bay of Biscay and up the Irish Sea to stop on this beautiful romantic island for a brief spell of recuperation before completing the last part of their epic journey.

One particular Whimbrel caught on the south coast of Arran on the 30th April 2017 and fitted with a yellow leg flag bearing the inscription A2 has faithfully returned for the last nine years to the same Arran shore in virtually the same week as when it was originally trapped. Even more remarkable, on the 24th November 2022 it was seen wintering on the coast at Bank d'Arguin in Mauritania, West  Africa. 

Their distinctive, seven note tittering call alerts you to their presence as maybe a dog walker on the nearby beach disturbs their rest and sometimes a bird will indulge in a wild and wonderful sequence of notes, an evocative  courting song, as if it cannot contain itself until it arrives at its breeding haunts.

But most of all I look forward to seeing a spectacular bird that never fails to cause me to look in awe nd admiration at its beauty and magnificent presence. I speak of the Great Northern Diver. The sea off Arran is a favoured wintering habitat from September to May for this impressive bird so I know I am not going to be disappointed and to add to my sense of anticipation I know that most will be in full summer plumage.

I am familiar with them in winter around the coastlines of northern Britain and even on our local inland reservoir in Oxfordshire but always in dull grey, non breeding plumage.Not so on Arran where they are transformed to a wonder of black and white chequering with a black and white striped 'vicar's collar' around their neck and eyes the colour of rubies, glistening in a huge head and with a bill of matching black. 

Being so close to the sea we can sit by the wall and watch them as they come in close to the shore hunting butterfish, flatfish and crustaceans in the shallows and where they do not even have to dive but rather snorkel with head either submerged or just above the water, in order to seize their prey.

The bay that our house looks out onto is called Drumadoon and is a particularly favoured haunt of these divers and where I have never failed to see less than half a dozen every morning, each bird cruising over the sea in stately fashion and always alone

This year we were blessed with glorious weather and the sea, especially in the evening, would become almost glass like with no wind and sunsets to rival anywhere in the world.The divers can become quite vocal in these conditions and at this  time of day as the world here seems to fall into quiescence and reflection, their haunting other worldly cries come from far out in the Sound, touching some primaeval nerve within me that brings a confusing onset of emotion, thrilling but also unsettling.

In  the late evening, in such conditions the divers can congregate into loose groups, a behaviour that has only relatively been discovered and described as  'night rafting' and is likely to be for protection and energy conservation. Although they feed alone during the day, the divers gather in small groups that join others to eventually form larger groups that spend the night in an area well offshore. This behaviour is recognised as being crucial for over 20% of the Great Northern population that originate from their breeding areas in Greenland and Iceland and spend the winter around Britain's northwestern coasts 

I was fortunate to observe this behaviour on the evening of the 30th of April.

As the light faded between eight and nine o' clock and the sun set over Kintyre I watched a group of eight Great Northerns swim past in the middle of the Kilbrannan Sound, heading out to the more open deeper sea. A short while later another group of eleven were slowly swimming in the same direction to join other small parties of fellow divers. They do not feed but swim slowly with obvious purpose to a destination known only to them. These congregations are quite distinctive on the smooth water and I watched them until they merged into the fading distance and I could see them no more 

In total I counted thirty seven Great Northern Divers.

Turning away to the west I watched the last of the departing sun's yellow orb sink behind Kintyre, the sky flame orange that was almost imperceptibly turning to a gentle rose pink above the island's topography, now become indistinct and magical in a technicolour dusk. 

The composer Benjamin Britten and poet W. H. Auden combined to put one of Auden's poems to music and within which is contained a memorable but melancholy line from the poem which goes

Love's all over the mountains where the beautiful go to die

And so it felt on Arran at that moment.