We Need to Talk About Moths

Moths. They've had precious little air time on the blog in recent months for one reason; it's been crazy cold. Come to think of it, last night was the first time in over a month that I've actually bothered to managed to get the moth trap out in the garden, and considering the fact that we are now half way through spring, I'd say that's pretty damn atrocious.

During much of the spring and summer, recording, identifying and just generally thinking about moths becomes a worryingly regular part of my weekly routine, and if I'm not checking a moth trap in the early hours of the morning, chances are I'll be dreaming about doing it. This year however, the freezing spell in late winter/early spring has rendered moth trapping worthless, and no doubt resulted in the belated emergence of many species awaiting a warmer weather window to fly. Unfortunately, I imagine there will also be a large number of casualties to the weather- not just in the adult stages, but also in the more vulnerable early stages as caterpillars and dormant eggs, possibly leading to knock-on effects later in the year.

Last night was encouraging, but still ridiculously poor; 3 moths of 3 species; a single Twin-spotted Quaker, Early Grey and Diurnea fagella the best that could be mustered up. Compare that to the mild weather of this time last year, when I was getting an average of 30 moths of 15 species on a nightly basis, and it's quite worrying. I even created a chart in Excel from data collected in the garden, comparing species diversity up to this point in 2012, with that of the 2013 season so far. The conclusions were stark:

I dread to think what lepidoptera numbers will be like come May. As much as I'd love to imagine the thought of a Grizzled Skipper sunning itself on a warm, south-facing chalk slope in the North Downs this year... I just can't do it.

The garden set up for 2013; a dust-bin, a light tube, an old bed sheet strung across two ladders and compulsory beverage. 

Heron vs Frog

A slightly more graphic blog post than usual today, and if you're at all sensitive to the sight of defenseless frogs getting pulled out of the water by a bird with no moral values, then you might not want to carry on reading.

Whilst in Bushy Park yesterday, I came across this sneaky Grey Heron that had inconsiderately plonked itself right in the middle of a frog spawning area on a small pond in the Woodland Gardens. Rather than hunting fish, this particular bird had chosen to tackle the local amphibian population, much to the inconvenience, not to mention annoyance, of the local frogs...

This heron definitely has a frog in his throat *ha ha ha ha*... I know, so predictable. I'm sorry.

Despite adopting the most unswallowable of postures by instinctively stiffening it's limbs, the frog was sadly only delaying the inevitable, and whilst the end result wasn't exactly very nice to watch, it was interesting to see just how stealthily the Heron hunted up close. Nothing was rushed. Every single footstep was placed with absolute precision as to ensure no potentially distracting ripple was created in the water, and patience and subtlety were demonstrated to perfection.

That's nature for you.

Patch Gold Garganey

After getting up close with one of the last wintering Gadwall on the main lake in Bushy Park yesterday evening, it looks like summer migrants are finally starting to hit London in force. Tony Duckett hit the jackpot yesterday morning, turning up an excellent drake Garganey on a small scrape in the west of Park, away from public access. Garganey is an good bird to find anywhere in Britain, but an adult drake, turning up in a small area that Tony has been maintaining for the past few years, is an excellent reward for his commitment to conservation in the Park.

I had a brief search for it last thing yesterday, but viewing is very much restricted to a small gap in the scrub along Duke's Head Passage (near Duke's Head Gate), and there was no sign of the bird on the small area of water that could be seen.

This afternoon, after bumping into Tony doing his lunchtime rounds, we found a better position to view the scrape, and the drake Garganey was duly flushed when a Snipe went up. It started to fly off strongly, before changing it's mind, re-settling back on the scrape, and falling asleep. A nice start to what will hopefully be a successful spring migration in the Park, with a Willow Warbler and multiple Chiffchaffs also singing in the Woodland Gardens on the way back to the car.

Last of the Gadwall

This smart male Gadwall was on the Boating Lake in Bushy Park this evening; one of the few wintering ducks still present in the Park. I don't know whether it's just me, but Gadwall always seems to be one of the harder ducks to get close to, not least when they're packed together in alert groups. I'd like to think this counts for the fact that I haven't managed to photograph one in absolutely ages.

This one was mingling quite happily with a load of tame resident Tufties, before flying off towards Hampton Court at the sun went down.

White-spotted Bluethroat, Isle of Wight

With the small annual influx of Bluethroats (of the race cyanecula) that has taken place recently along the south coast, I've been eyeing up one particular male on the Isle of Wight for the past few days. The bird, found by local warden Ian Ridett, has been present for over a week on the National Trust's reserve at St. Helens Duver, but seemed to have become slightly over-shadowed by the appearance of multiple birds on Portland. I've never seen a Bluethroat of any kind before, let alone a ridiculously smart looking summer-plumage male, so figured that the two and a half hour journey down there would be a small price to pay for seeing such a bird. 

The alarm went off at horrible o'clock yesterday morning, and after a train, hovercraft and five mile uphill bike ride into strong coastal gales, I'd finally woken up enough to get out of bed. By the time I'd reached St. Helens, it was gone 10am, and with no reports of the bird in the past 36 hours, no other birders present, and with a large area of windswept coastal scrub to search through, I set myself up for a long, cold morning. With only half an hour gone and still nothing, I'd manage to convince myself that it had flown overnight, and that coming all the way to the Isle of Wight for a restless migrant that was likely to leave at any moment was complete madness. With that thought still in mind, it's quite hard to explain what it felt like the moment the male Bluethroat suddenly hopped out of a heather bush to forage in the short turf with a Robin, only metres from where I stood...

Rather than flush the second it saw me, he continued to forage at ridiculously close range, and thus I was treated to my first ever one-on-one with a Bluethroat. With 20 mph winds blowing about, and my hands physically shaking, it was quite hard to get a sharp image. To get anywhere near enough stability, it was a matter of lying flat out with the lens resting on the grass, practically looking up at one of the most stunning birds I've ever seen. Totally worth the slog to get there, and without a doubt one of my most memorable encounters yet...

As the morning progressed, more people showed up, and the bird started skulking more, showing on the odd occasion up until early afternoon, when all went silent. By now the wind was becoming unbearable, and the all day full English breakfast on offer in the local cafe looked pretty enticing, so I reluctantly called it a day. All that was left to do was to wish him a safe journey back to his breeding grounds in mainland Europe!

Greg the Wheatear

So there I was having a casual stroll through Richmond Park the other day, taking the usual route through Holly Lodge and around to the Horse Paddocks; the latter of which sometimes holds a showy Little Owl or two. The weather was pretty usual; windy and cold. In fact, it was all run-of-the-mill stuff, apart from the fact that there was a male Wheatear along the path ahead. This is not usual, and I did a double-take at first. 171 days straight without a hint of a Wheatear, and then suddenly one hits you right in the face. I genuinely wasn't ready for it. Never before has the sight of such a small, wind-swept, freezing cold, blurry blob mean't so much to me.

I like this Wheatear. He's got guts. I think I'm going to call him Greg. Don't ask why.

Now how about a Swallow, or am I pushing the boat out a bit too far with that one?

River Otter

Whilst spending most of last week with family up in Suffolk, I couldn't resist a sneaky ten minute bus ride to Thetford to finally meet the popular Black-bellied Dipper (the nominate race in mainland Europe, and a scarce visitor here), that has been moving back and forth along the River Thet for the past four months.

The Dipper was a great little character to watch as it fished along the bank, and it's ridiculously tame nature added to the magic of the moment. The whole show was stolen though by the appearance of one of the local family of wild Otters, which gave a lovely swim-past to a shed load of very satisfied onlookers without even flinching. Most were dressed up in full camouflage gear, but needn't have been. The Otter seemed just as interested in us as we were of it, casually playing, sniffing and scratching itself along the bank of the river just metres away. A genuinely magic moment, and in the sunshine as well. Not a bad way to see your first Otter.

The Nation's Favourite Dipper

What's that? A vagrant continental Black-bellied Dipper in Thetford? ... No idea what you're talking about.