The last of the Hairstreaks 20th August 2013

Brown Hairstreaks are the last of the hairstreak family to appear, usually not being seen on the wing until August. Like most of the hairstreaks they are generally elusive and hard to find. Up to this year I had only ever seen one on a flower head, low down and allowing close views, all the others have been high in trees either sunning themselves on a leaf or fluttering around the tree tops. 

The rather grandly named Roman Road at Otmoor RSPB Reserve which is in reality no more than a narrow short track running between two overgrown densely vegetated hedgerows is a favoured place for them, complete with a master Ash and plenty of Blackthorn bushes. After my long distance excursion to Cornwall and back yesterday I needed something less frenetic and more calming, so today I headed for Otmoor to wander down the green, lushly vegetated track that constitutes the Roman Road. 

I love meandering down here, with the track at this time of year almost invisible, being overwhelmed by the profuse summer vegetation and one feels lost to the world. Being so sheltered it is a paradise for insects. They are everywhere on the flowerheads of various plants. Insects of all kinds; butterflies, dragonflies, damselflies, hoverflies and insects that are so weird and wonderful to look at but have to remain anonymous due to my lack of knowledge about them. My main aim today apart from relaxation and tranquillity was to just wander, hopefully in seclusion, away from the main part of the reserve and to find a Brown Hairstreak. I meandered through the grasses and between the bramble and blackthorn hedgerows until I came to my favourite spot. It is a recess of brambles, Wild Angelica and grasses with the brambles growing well above head height. Because it is recessed, it is sheltered from all sides and is virtually untroubled by the wind from whatever direction it comes. Consequently there is always a profusion of butterflies and other insects in this natural cul de sac, sunning and feeding on the bramble flowers in quiet seclusion. 

Today was no exception with a myriad of insects coming and going, busy feeding on the frothy flowerheads of pink stemmed Wild Angelica, revelling and sinking in the white flowerheads like children playing in deep snow. A Small Copper, tiny and pugnacious, gave me a thrill of expectation of a hairstreak but no, it's orange, black spotted forewings although beautiful in their own right were not quite what I was anticipating. A Comma footled about on the bramble leaves, reluctant to leave the sun patches whilst larger Meadow Browns, Gatekeepers and Brimstones came and went. A Speckled Wood flew fast and low and settled, wings wide to the sun, on a hawthorn above the brambles whilst Brown and Southern Hawker dragonflies patrolled around the bushes and along the track.The sun was shy mid morning but eventually the cloud moved and the track and vegetation were bathed in full sunlight. I stood quietly, feeling the effects of the long journey of yesterday but unwilling to acknowledge how tired I was. A small movement from the corner of my eye told me a small butterfly had landed on an angelica head close to where I was standing. A few steps to my right and I peered at the white mass of angelica flowers. A Brown Hairstreak was settled on the flower head nectaring for all it's worth, creeping over each tiny flower, probing diligently with it's proboscis as it went. 

Upside, downside and even underneath the flower heads it went heedless of my close proximity. It fluttered to another umbel of flowers. I tickled it's body with a blade of grass and it opened it's wings in mute protest but remained stoically feeding on the flowerhead. Slightly tatty and worn but the all brown upperwings revealed it was a male. 

I watched it for an hour or so before it flew down and savoured the grass at my feet.Then it flew up onto some nettles and then away into the hawthorn trees above the blackthorn bushes, adopting a position at the end of the leaf where it could scan the ride.

I wandered further along the track and found other Brown Hairstreaks also ensconced on Wild Angelica flowerheads  and feeding. As I went back and fore along the track it became apparent that there were a number of this enigmatic and usually elusive butterfly feeding exclusively on the heads of Wild Angelica. I counted a maximum of eight which is surely unprecedented.  I came across yet another, after some time, that was obviously newly hatched, pristine and orange of under-wing, with an indescribable inner delicate beauty. 

A vision of fragile loveliness, so elegantly perched atop the angelica head, it's white furry legs and underbody contrasting with the orange under-wings crossed with the delicate white lines from whence the name hairstreak originates. I repeated the tickling process with another blade of grass and it opened it's wings to reveal two bright orange spots on the upper-wings. It was a female. I again wandered the track which was little more than a few hundred metres in length and marvelled at this opportunity to view this confiding, beautiful butterfly at length and so very close. They were absolutely heedless of my presence. I touched them with the tip of my finger and they refused to move so intent were they on feeding. For a couple of hours I entered their world in the quiet and peace of the Oxfordshire countryside. Such a contrast to yesterday's frenetic and wearisome exploits in Cornwall. 

Getting wet in Cornwall 17th August 2013

Porthgwarra - before the rain arrived!

We left West Sussex at just after midnight on Saturday, four of us in a small car and the novelty for me of not driving. I could rest, secure and snug in the darkness of the back seat of the car as we sped west, luxuriating in not having the responsibilities of keeping us on the road. Matt who was driving, Adam, Paul and myself were going to spend the day at Porthgwarra, seawatching in the far southwest of Cornwall.

This was no random jaunt but carefully planned to coincide with the forecast strong southwesterly winds that would hit the coast of Cornwall today. Porthgwarra is a well known seawatching point and strong winds in August are propitious for bringing in the much desired, Cory's and Great Shearwaters as they visit these waters from their far distant breeding places half a world away on the other side of the ocean.

In the darkness at 2am I received a text from my daughter advising her flight had landed in the USA and she was safe and well. No little anxiety and tension eased from my body. We hurtled down the A30 in the dark with every layby packed with caravans presumably on their way to holiday in Cornwall, arrived in Penzance at 5.30am, collected Hugh just outside Penzance and soon completed the drive down the narrow lane to the beach car park at Porthgwarra. It was now 6am, dawn was breaking and the car park was full of cars with others arriving. It was obvious that it was going to be crowded up on the cliff top watchpoint and when we arrived after the short but steep climb it was to be greeted by massed ranks of camouflaged birders, already hunkered down in the rocks like an army preparing to repel a seaborne invasion. However the only invasion predicted today was one of large shearwaters and that was to be welcomed if it happened. We sorted ourselves out and set to watching, frankly, not very much.

                      

No matter it would surely get better and slowly it did as the first Manx Shearwaters passed in the dull morning light and then a Storm Petrel or two were picked out. The latter, tiny scraps of feathers, impossibly small amongst the waves as they flittered fussily over the heaving depths, inexorably progressing west. The birder next to me drank a whole can of Red Bull. An hour slowly passed, maybe quicker for my neighbour awash with Red Bull and then Matt, he of the laser eyes, exclaimed 'Large Shear!'.

Semi comatose birders visibly jerked upright in their chairs, heads bent to lenses, all attention now and everyone was asking for directions or relaying to others further away what had been seen. If you have not found the bird yourself then it is up to you and you alone to find, in a huge area of sea, a living scrap of feathers amongst the grey, heaving watery wastes confronting you. Surprisingly most people do manage it, by luck, persistence, experience or often a combination of all three. Fortunately this time there was a distant yacht on the horizon which could be used as a reference point and by dint of saying where the Great Shearwater was in relation to it and when it passed directly under the yacht, everyone could locate it relatively easily. It was a long way out. No more than an elongated pair of dull, palish brown wings and a white underbody as it sheared over the waves alternately showing it's dark upper and then white underparts. I followed it's progress past the Runnelstone and it was gone all too soon. Then nothing more apart from another distant Great Shearwater, unseen by yours truly and an intermittent stream of Manx Shearwaters and Gannets.

Then the first Balearic Shearwater came through, close to the cliffs. They always seem to come closer than most other shearwaters and though they are often the rarest shearwater to be seen here, with the entire world population not exceeding 2000 pairs, they always seem slightly disappointing with their drab, brown plumage and slightly portly bodies, lacking the glamour of their larger cousins, but it makes for good fun picking them out from the Manx Shearwaters with which they are inevitably flying. A few more Storm Petrels winged their way west but it was slow going. My neighbour sank another Red Bull.

Gradually the sky began to darken and become gun metal grey from the west. Rain had been predicted and the first drops began to fall  around 9am. Rapidly it became a steady deluge accentuated by the continually strengthening wind. There is no place to shelter or hide on the Porthgwarra cliffs. You just have to do the best you can. Everyone for themselves. Every birder hunkered down into their waterproofs, some brought out umbrellas, scopes were abandoned and left at 45 degrees to lessen the impact of the rain on the lenses. I just shrunk into my clothes, closed my eyes and wished for the rain to cease. It didn't. It just went remorselessly on and on. The rain found every slight gap in my waterproof defences and slowly, inexorably I could feel the rain getting into my inner clothing. Eventually the waterproofing on my outer coat failed, overwhelmed by the insidious rain. The seat of my canvas chair accumulated water. I realised I was sitting in a puddle.The wind turned Matt's umbrella inside out and we enjoyed a Mr Bean moment watching his struggles to rectify it. He gave up and the umbrella was abandoned. Something had to be done. I had to move or I would be terminally wet and cold and could not continue birding. I stood up, at least the rain now ran down me rather than collected in my lap, turned my chair upside down and walked to the lee of some rocks which would shelter me from the worst of the wind blown rain. Others had similar thoughts. Telescopes stood temporarily abandoned as their owners sought  partial sanctuary by the rocks. We stood around, like those penguins you see on nature programmes, huddled and hunched over against the worst of the Antarctic winter storms, sodden and dejected. Not sure what to do now. Every so often the rain abated slightly and with that optimism only known to birders we would try a bit more seawatching but the rain would inevitably return and the whole experience was both uncomfortable and unsatisfactory. During one of these temporary lulls a Cory's Shearwater came out of the gloom and, almost invisible, passed west, with many of us only managing to locate it as it passed the Runnelstone, one mile out to sea.

The rain continued. Deceivingly soft and warm, but wind blown and persistent. It was misery. We discussed what to do. 'Let's go to the beach cafe until it passes'. The rain was not predicted to pass for another two hours. The beach cafe was closed. We stood in the nearby public toilets and dried some clothing under the hand drier. In protest at the continued requirement for blasts of hot air it fused. We went back to the car. Tired, depressed and very very wet we took off our wet weather gear and sat in the car. No one could make a decision about what to do. No one wanted to confront the obvious, that it was sensible to head for home.We had come all this way. We wanted to go birding. If we were sensible we would not be here in the first place. The rain continued. We drove up the narrow road to another little cafe I knew of, a well kept secret but one I had frequented in a similar situation once before. It was warm and dry inside. We also became warm and dry, life seemed a little better and we had some food and hot drinks to revive our rock bottom morale. Adam tried unsuccessfully to persuade Matt to drive to Pendeen in search of Choughs. Decision time again. Porthgwarra cliffs or home? It could not be avoided. We left the cafe.  Got in the car. Still raining. Turn right for home or turn left for Porthgwarra and more misery. We turned left out of the tiny cafe car park and drove back down the lane to the beach car park. Out of the car. Oh the joy of donning already wet clothing! We met other birders in the car park who had given up. We enquired whether we had missed much in our absence and the answer was no.

Adam and Paul walked off towards the footpath up to the cliffs whilst Matt and I took our time getting ready. The two of us then squelched our way back up to the exposed cliff top and took up a standing position by the rocks rather than sitting as before. No sign of Paul and Adam. Oh well they will turn up sooner or later. We got on with it. The rain had by now all but stopped but the wind had increased markedly and the visibility had worsened but there was definite hope in the air. Contradicting what we had been told in the beach car park we were informed that several large shearwaters had been seen in our absence so probably there were more to come. The majority of birders had hung on despite the weather although some were looking decidedly discomfited.

Only a little time had passed after our return before a shout went up. 'Great Shearwater, Great Shearwater - close in, very close in!'  A Great Shearwater glided by on stiff slightly bent wings, just off the cliffs, low over the sea and showing all it's features to good effect and so, at regular intervals afterwards, others appeared. Some I saw, some I did not. Buffeted by the wind and rain, hanging onto the scope I think I saw eleven in all, including two together. I also managed to locate two separate Cory's Shearwaters, with their longer wings and more languid flight action and missed two others.  I also saw another large shearwater that others appeared to have missed but I could not be certain whether it was a Cory's or Great and two Sooty Shearwaters dodged the waves, heading westwards in between the Great Shearwater sightings. Three Basking Sharks, impervious to the bad weather, thrashed around below us before heading east. Adam and Paul joined us on the clifftop. They had been watching from the sheltered cove by the  beach car park and had similar success to us. I watched an immature Herring Gull pecking at what appeared to be a large plastic bag.The bag suddenly produced a fin which flapped wildly and the bag morphed into an Ocean Sunfish and a big one at that. Then another appeared and another, each with an attendant gull. A frisson of excitement ran through us as news of a Fea's Petrel passing Berry Head in Devon suggested it might pass us also but in the end it transpired the Fea's Petrel was going the wrong way.

The regular run of large shearwaters was now over and even the Manx Shearwaters had ceased moving. A Mediterranean Gull flew purposefully along the waveline at the bottom of the cliffs and a pair of Choughs strutting around near to us on the cliff top made Adam's day complete.

Hardly anyone was looking out to sea now. Many birders, exhausted, had slumped into sleep or were staring vacantly out at the sea. Others were chatting in small groups. It was to all extents over. We left the cliffs at six after twelve hours of seawatching with a two hour break due to the rain and started the long journey home. It was still raining as we left. The night slowly enveloped us as we headed east. I finally got back to my house at 2 am on Sunday morning. It was raining. I had been up for 41 hours without sleep.Was it worth it? Yes. But let's not do it again too soon. Please!

Let there be light 16 August 2013

Friday morning dawned dull and grey, grabbed my soul and dragged me into a contemplative gloom. In times such as these it is wise to try and occupy one's mind with some sort of activity cerebral or otherwise. I could not do it. Perhaps my daughter's imminent departure today for a year's absence studying at Boston University brought me low. I will miss her but circumstance meant I was the person that would deliver her to the airport which I duly did below the persisting grey and rainy skies. Tearful farewells and then I turned the faithfull Audi for home and as I headed for Oxfordshire the skies began to lighten but not my heart. Arriving in Kingham the sun shone and it was impossible to be downhearted anymore. I sat in the sunlight on a chair in the garden and tried to rationalise my emotional turmoil. As I did, almost subliminally I  became aware of movements around me and looking up to the heavy purple spikes of buddleia flowers was greeted with the animated comings and goings of many butterflies feeding on the flowers and then warming themselves on the adjacent golden cotswold stone walls of our house. This morning the buddleias had been deserted but with the sun came these halcyon harbingers of hope and lightness from their various dark hiding places. Light always comes from darkness in this world and optimism will always prevail. The butterflies innocent presence in my garden was the light that illuminated my soul's temporary darkness

Painted Lady

Red Admiral

Small Tortoiseshell
surely one of our most beautiful and under appreciated native butterflies

Peacock

Going West 13th August 2013

Badger, Andy and myself had planned a four day seawatching extravaganza on the Cornish coast. August is the prime time for seeing large shearwaters and if you are extremely fortunate maybe even the hallowed Fea's Petrel, although it is always a lottery as the wind has to be strong and either southwest or northwest. If southwest it is Porthgwarra on the southern coast,  northwest you go to Pendeen on the northern coast, although I am sure other headlands in the far west of Cornwall would be just as good. From the outset our trip seemed ill fated. I was at the theatre in London on Wednesday night when I received a text from Badger advising that he could no longer drive us down there as he had gout. We could go in Andy's car which is microscopic and five hours crammed in the back of that was a definite no go so the only alternative was for me to drive the Audi. I got back from the theatre at 1am in the morning courtesy of First Great Western, so bleary and weary it came to pass that we duly left Oxfordshire mid morning and drove west on a sunny Thursday arriving in the wild west mid afternoon. Badger had arranged cheap accommodation in a Youth Hostel near Redruth. On being shown our very small room which was just about big enough for two, but a third could cram in by sleeping on the floor on an  inflatable mattress thoughtfully provided by Badger, my heart sank. No guesses who got the short straw. We made ourselves relatively comfortable and then headed for the Lizard for some birding and to try and see the Red billed Choughs that had bred there earlier in the year. The Lizard is very beautiful with a micro climate all of it's own and some very exotic looking plant life that in quieter times would be worth a look but we were visiting in the height of the tourist season and the school holidays so peaceful it most certainly was not and our prime interest was seabirds. We drove down an impossibly narrow lane towards the point, thankfully not meeting any vehicle coming the other way and found a small car park with a very pricey parking tariff for basically leaving your car on a piece of waste ground. This was our first experience with the predilection of the residents of Cornwall to relieve visitors of as much money as possible whilst providing as minimal value as possible. However being from Oxford we were used to exorbitant parking charges so we paid up for an hour's parking. We then walked a short way down the lane to the coast only to find that another small car park owned by the National Trust and almost on the cliff edge was free although you were asked to make a small donation. Undaunted we set about some seawatching and soon the long drive was forgotten and the sussurus of the sea and wild beauty of this bit of coastline soothed the nerves. Manx Shearwaters and Gannets were passing in good numbers, a couple of Mediterranean Gulls headed west and eventually two real goodies turned up in the shape of a Sooty Shearwater and a Balearic Shearwater. Both new UK birds for Andy. He got a third with a very distant Great Skua. Two hours seawatching quickly passed and we went in search of something to eat before planning a restful night in anticipation of an early start to seawatching the next morning. We estimated the wind was westerly at The Lizard and as there seemed to be many seabirds passing The Lizard we opted to go to Porthgwarra also on the southern Cornwall coast. A big mistake.

The nearest pub to where we were staying was The Bridge - a place newly taken over by a friendly couple from Birmingham. We enquired about food only to be told apologetically that they had not started to do food as they were just settling in. The landlady however kindly made us a small bowl of chips for free. We resigned ourselves to just having a drink and the chips then moving on. The Bridge suggested a pub called The Robartes Arms at a place called Illogan a few miles away. The first pint of Rattler cider in The Bridge went down very well and we then went in search of food. At 8.30 in the evening we entered The Robartes Arms only to be told they stopped serving food at 8.30. This at the height of the tourist season but more of The Robartes Arms later. We had another drink there and went back to The Bridge. Another round of Rattler cider and a cheese roll each sufficed for our evening meal. The landlord obviously liked our company so gave us a gratis alcopop each. I was feeling good. So were the others.

Andy and myself. Three pints of Rattler to the good in The Bridge

The next morning I was not feeling good. None of us were. We staggered around in the mini space of our room trying to clear our heads and get everything together, and eventually drove to Porthgwarra. It was dead with just a few Manx Shearwaters and the odd Balearic Shearwater passing. The pager later advised us that at Pendeen they had two Great Shearwaters, eighteen Sooty Shearwaters and heaven knows how many Balearic Shearwaters passing before 9am! Already hungover we now plumbed new depths of despair. We had really messed this one up. We went to Pendeen but it was far too late.The wind had dropped, the birds had stopped passing and I closed my eyes and wished I could be anywhere but here. Jaded, fed up and dispirited I contemplated the horror of another two days in this benighted corner of little England. The scenery may be stunning as can be the birding but everything else so far was a paeon to mediocrity and awfulness.

We decided to go back to Porthgwarra to look for Choughs. There was also the tiny Beach Cafe at Pothgwarra advertising all sorts of goodies including Cornish Cream Teas, with the added attraction of a garden in stunning scenery.We arrived at Porthgwarra. 'What about a cream tea, that will cheer us up'.  I ventured. 'Three Cream Teas please'. 'We have no scones so they are off'. This delivered in a take it or leave it tone. 'Well why are you advertising them?  I just turned and walked out. Dazed and with that listless uncertainty that comes with extreme tiredness we walked up to Gwennap Head in search of the Choughs. Andy had never seen these in the UK. Needless to say we never saw them but an enjoyable amble up to the Coastguard station, through a sun drenched carpet of purple heather and wind stunted yellow gorse produced a solitary Clouded Yellow and some Grayling butterflies which are always nice to see. 

Porthgwarra - looking west

Porthgwarra-looking east

Porthgwarra watchpoint with Badger and Andy just looking

The contrast between the natural beauty all around us and it's consequent spiritual enhancement and the dire experiences with Cornish hospitality was not lost on any of us. What is it about this land that everyone thinks it is beneath them to serve, be nice and friendly? In other European countries being a waiter or working in the service industry is a valued occupation, here we just sneer and think it is beneath us or if we do it we are often surly, unfriendly and unhelpful. 

We drove further back inland to St Buryan. A large board outside a hotel and restaurant advertised Cream Teas and Food. We walked in and sat down. 'Three Cream Teas please'. 'Sorry we have no scones or cream'. 'You are joking? 'No'. This with a face that seemed to indicate I was being difficult. We gave up and ordered a round of drinks and some food. Badger and Andy ordered a big breakfast each. 'I do not know if the chef will do a breakfast now as it is lunchtime' intoned the girl attending to us. She went off to ask. The chef decided he could manage this. Next. 'I am afraid we do not have enough forks'. 'What!'  We eventually got another fork. The waitress returned yet again. 'We have run out of vegetarian sausages.'  Badger had a vegetarian burger instead. We ate the meal which thankfully was very acceptable, paid up and were promptly overcharged for the drinks.We were so tired we only realised this after we had left and that Andy had been charged £4.70 for a coke.We could not be bothered to go back and argue. Thankfully we did not leave a tip. 

We drove back to Pendeen to look for the Choughs along the coastline between Pendeen and Lands End. There was nothing else to do. Badger could take no more and remained in the car to sleep whilst Andy and myself heroically took the coastal path through the atmospheric older part of Geevor Tin Mine and onwards to Levant. 

Old tin mine shafts and chimneys at Pendeen

You will not be surprised to learn we did not locate the Choughs. They were achieving mythical status by now. Our walk was however enlivened and brightened by some Northern Wheatears, European Stonechats and Clouded Yellow, Grayling and Wall Brown butterflies

In the evening Badger decided to be sensible and just stay in the room and try and relax and get some sleep. Andy and myself went in search of food. We toured Camborne, a ghastly place with no charm whatsoever and frankly nearby Redruth looked even less appealing. Eventually we found a place called the New Inn somewhere between Redruth and Camborne which looked promising but it was Friday night and it was bingo night.The place was packed. Not one table was left with every local for miles around scoring off legs eleven and two fat ladies. We had decided when we set off looking for a hostelry that The Robartes Arms was beyond the pale after last night's experience but now with little choice left we went back there and ordered some food. I was advised there would be a slight delay as they were very busy. No matter. An hour later we were still waiting. They served everyone else, including their friends who came in and ordered after us and eventually after an hour with the pub virtually empty, apart from some chavs playing pool in the next room, a set of knives and forks were plonked down on our unwiped table with not a word of apology or explanation. Another half an hour passed as we stared at the cutlery. Already tired I was about ready to let rip but in the end we just walked out. Thankfully we had not paid in advance for our meals. I bought a sandwich at the Co-op next door.  Looking on the internet and reading a review from some other unfortunate misguided visitor to this miserable example of all that is wrong with the English attitude to courtesy and civility it seemed we were not the only ones to be treated so appallingly. So f**k you Robartes Arms and your miserable parochial attitude. I have been all over the world and in Third World countries such as Cambodia, The Robartes Arms with it's contemptible attitude could learn much from such places about how to treat people properly and with civility.

Do not under any circumstances visit this place unless you are a local

We rose the next day full of optimism and headed for Pendeen. Unfortunately the wind had died down and there was a consequent lack of birds apart from the ever present Manx Shearwaters and Gannets passing in their hundreds. We amused ourselves by picking out the occasional Balearic Shearwater amongst the Manx Shearwaters but there was little else to keep us awake. I dozed off in my chair, so did Badger and finally Andy. It was not unpleasant in the sun, perched beneath the lighthouse and with a wonderful view out to sea. Giving up the fruitless seawatch we finally managed to find somewhere that was prepared to serve us a Cream Tea. Yes, congratulations goes to Heathers in Pendeen, which was not only welcoming but tastefully decorated and with a very nice ambience. Needless to say the owners were not locals. The Cream Tea was pretty good as well with a bright yellow saffron bun as well as the home made scone to tempt our palates. Revived we went in search of the Choughs again. No success again. Oh well at least we are consistent in our failure

We tried a seawatch at Porthgwarra in the afternoon and had some small success with some Balearic and a couple of Sooty Shearwaters. The latter like miniscule albatrosses, their long black wings with silver linings so different to the shorter winged Manx Shearwaters. The highlight for me were the four Basking Sharks that cruised past. One was absolutely huge judging by the distance from it's huge paddle shaped dorsal fin to the sickle tip of it's tail. Black and sinister looking they are anything but, being the most gentle of creatures consuming only plankton, with only their fearsome size sending a frisson of primal fear through one as they slowly pass on their endless oceanic odyssey.This evening we ate early and well and were in bed by nine.

Tomorrow the winds augured well, forecast to be coming from the northwest and in sufficient strength to hopefully bring something interesting. So we planned our final birding session to be at Pendeen. Although it remained unsaid the trip so far had not been a success from any point of view.The birding had not been good for which we had no one to blame but ourselves but the attitude of most places and the local people we encountered in the west of Cornwall was also hugely disappointing and cast a long shadow of despond. We arrived early at Pendeen, at dawn and in fact we were first. 

Pendeen Lighthouse

Pendeen Cliffs

We took our place underneath the lighthouse and scanned the sea. Nothing, absolutely nothing. The predicted wind was absent. I fell asleep again, planning to revive when the wind materialised which it duly did. We were joined by three locals but no one else came. Slowly the birds started coming but it was hardly a classic seawatch. A couple of Arctic Skua's passed as did a Pomarine Skua. Gannets, Manx Shearwaters, Balearic Shearwaters and a few Sooty Shearwaters passed by. Slowly the Manx Shearwaters built up to impressive numbers and we indulged ourselves again in picking out the odd Balearic Shearwater amongst them. A Great Skua came by very close, mottled brown in the sunlight with huge white wing flashes. Andy was so tired he missed it. Badger was out for the count. Time wore on and we alternately dozed or watched. Then came the call from one of the locals that made the long four days worth it. 'Great Shearwater, two thirds out moving west'. Panic.The seascape is a huge area to cover. 'It's passing over a Gannet on the water, now over two Fulmars. It's circling and going right. Now going left again'. The instructions came steadily but at first I could not find it. Then a final comment  'It's following a Manxie' and I got it. Huge compared to the Manx. It settled briefly on the sea. 'Blimey it is a long way out. How on earth did he pick this one out?' Nonetheless we were all grateful and Andy had not only a new bird for the UK but a lifer. We watched it slowly wend it's way out to the west and the trackless Atlantic Ocean. At last we had something to be pleased about and to make the trip worthwhile. After this excitement it died a death with only a really good and prolonged view of an Ocean Sunfish, flopping its extraordinary fin above the water as it made its laborious progress out to sea. Huge, square and tailess I saw it framed in a green rising wave before it was lost in the surf off the Wra rocks. Lunchtime was our deadline for setting off for home. We returned to the car and seven corvids flew over us calling. Keeyah, keeyah, jackdaw like but not quite. After our fruitless searches over the last three days the seven Red billed Choughs from The Lizard came to us and flew happily around the cliffs by the lighthouse.You could not make it up. Let's go. I was never so glad to leave Cornwall 

                             

In memoriam 3rd August 2013

This summer we have at last been blessed with fine weather and extended spells of sunshine, heat and humidity. The joys of sitting in a garden eating alfresco in the evening sunlight, usually only achievable in countries well south of Britain, became at times almost routine this summer. The extended period of sunlit days and settled weather has brought to our garden a surfeit of butterflies, the very essence of endless sun filled days. Their appearance seems to be yet another manifestation of that indescribable feeling of well being that arrives with long sunlit days in this often grey and cloud shrouded land. Their delicate beauty and almost endless non stop movement has a cheeriness and optimism that transmutes itself to one and all. The large, bright and cheery eyes that show on the wings of Meadow Browns and Gatekeepers impart a feeling of optimism and hope. It is impossible to be downcast when looking at them blinking their wings as they delicately settle on the various garden flowers. 

The manifestation of colours and variety in the various butterflies that are visiting our garden this year is a joy. Sadly this does not seem to be the majority opinion and I fear that in general we are slowly losing touch with our natural surroundings, becoming ever more detached from the natural world we share and with this loss of touch, sympathy and understanding our disjointed existence with the rest of the planet is made ever more evident. My garden, maintained as a natural oasis is, I suppose, a microcosm of the slowly losing battle being waged against the wider malaise that  now affects virtually all the planet with the on-going destruction that is perpetrated in our own selfish interests. Anyone with an iota of intellect can see the folly in what is going on but we continue on a downward path of avarice, corruption and self interest, with rear guard actions being fought endlessly on a local and national scale, and I inwardly rage at my powerlessness to do anything about it apart from raise a candle in the wind of destruction by maintaining a garden that can be a home for wildlife, however small and localised.

Our village is surrounded on all sides by intensively farmed agricultural land, sprayed with huge volumes of pesticides and herbicides to ensure a maximum yield of whatever favoured crop is being grown to maximise the largest subsidy for the farmer. Our neighbour recently sprayed our shared drive with herbicide to 'kill the weeds' yet spends hundreds of pounds on improving their garden with often imported non native cultivated plants. The neighbour on the other side of us just covered their garden in concrete to save time and labour. It's not their fault, I suppose, they just do not comprehend. I refuse to use  pesticides or herbicides in my garden as they are in my opinion an abomination and a symbol of our disregard for the natural world around us. My garden is and will remain as long as I occupy my house, a sanctuary for butterflies and other insects, and indeed any other wildlife that cares to take advantage of it. If the garden does not look neat and tidy so be it. Beauty comes in many forms and is in the eye of the beholder.

We have two buddleia trees in our garden grown from seed and nurtured specifically for butterflies along with other native wild flower species in our borders and this year, at last, after too many barren years due to inclement weather and unfortunate timing, we have the satisfaction of seeing them festooned with butterflies, bees and sundry other insects. Regularly ten or more Peacocks probe the purple scented flower spikes of the buddleias, complimented by numerous Small and Large Whites fluttering and feeding amongst the blue lavender spikes growing in the borders below. Comma's after a long absence are again in evidence, dashing to investigate us as we approach. The occasional Red Admiral tussles with the Peacocks for prime position on the buddleia heads. A Painted Lady, a migrant from the continent and far from home put in an all too brief appearance a few days ago. A second flush of Brimstones have now arrived and Meadow Browns and Gatekeepers are making their temporary home amongst the Thyme, Lemon Balm and Marjoram in our back border. They are all welcome. I sit in the sun at the back door with a glass of wine, watching their comings and goings and am at peace. Anxieties and worries temporarily stilled.

Maybe the sheer numbers of butterflies present are a reflection of the hostile environment surrounding our garden and the heady perfume of the buddleias draws the butterflies in from the surrounding area. Maybe it is just a good year for butterflies. It is of no consequence. Their jaunty lightness and fragile beauty enhance our home and bring a bittersweet combination of joy yet melancholy in the knowledge that like the long summer days they will be just a memory in a few weeks time.