Sawfly Spotted.

I espied quite a colourful insect in the greenhouse today or at least it was so when in flight. When static and with its wings folded the red flashes on its abdomen weren't visible and it was a fairly boring brown. What was very evident in its resting state was the long needle like projection from its abdomen. It looked as if it could inflict a rather severe sting. However it transpires what I was looking at was the ovipositor of a female horntail or giant wood wasp. These sawflies do not bite or sting and can be spotted from May until August. They deposit their eggs, (two or three), in the trunks of trees. Depending on conditions they complete their life cycle in one or two years. Hopefully this specimen does not decide to lay its eggs in the wooden structure of the greenhouse.

 

Swallows and Amazonian Weather.

A typical summer's day for Northern Ireland - rain. I woke up to rain and it continued until lunchtime. The rain gods then decided to stop the precipitation for a time. The temperature rose to 25 degrees centrigade , (whatever that means), and the day turned hot and humid. Not pleasant. Then the rain returned. The swallows gave up on the outdoor life and proceeded to roost in the stables. A sensible decision methinks. The rain increased in its intensity and I stayed in its lee. It won't be long before the swallows realise that a return to Africa would be a very sensible idea.

 

Bird Day.

 

It only seems a year since the RSPB held their last Big Garden Birdwatch and it was. The RSPB held their annual Birdwatch this weekend. This was the fourth successive year that I have participated. Over one million people submitted their viewings. It was a very wet and cold day so I was not too surprised that I wasn't seeing as many birds as last year, nor indeed as many species. The results which I submitted were as follows. I have shown the numbers for last year in brackets by way of comparison. It would seem that the house sparrow and the long tailed tit have not had a good year.

House Sparrow 3 (13)

Blackbird. 2 (2)

Starling. 3 (0)

Blue tit 6. (3)

Chaffinch. 1. (3)

Robin. 2 (1)

Great Tit. 2 (2)

Coal Tit. 2. (1)

Long Tailed Tit 0. (7)

Wren. 0. (1)

I think that I will compile my own monthly or weekly results in future. It is interesting to note the changes in the bird populations. Perhaps also a trifle depressing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Greenhouse Resident

In the spring of this year I came upon a smallish frog among the indoor strawberry plants. It would seem that the micro climate of the greenhouse has been so appealing to my amphibian interloper that he, or she, has decided to maintain their residence. Clearly Fred or Freda has managed to find sufficent nurishment within its self imposed prison and provide me with an effective mode of biological control. I have certainly not seen any slugs. The small frog of springtime has grown into what a French gourmand might well now describe as a potential snack. Having tasted this alleged delicacy on one occasion I would not recommend it. The taste is fine but it is just so fiddley to get at the meat. I do prefer my protein fix to be, "off the bone," and in substantial form.

 

Is the RSPB mercenary?

I read what I thought was quite an interesting article in yesterday's Telegraph. Apparently an aged supporter of the RSPB in the vicinity of Congleton, a Mrs Lavinia Reade by name, decided to leave some twenty acres of farmland to the charity. It is reported that it was her dying wish that the land should never be built on. She wanted it to be used for the benefit of wildlife.

The land seems to have had a probate valuation of £60,000 at the time of the donor's death, (2001). A generous bequest one might think. However the RSPB is now reported to be working with developers to urge Cheshire East Council to permit the lands to be developed for housing. This could result in the charity banking upwards of six million pounds albeit that the action flies in the face of the donor's wishes. It does seem strange that Mrs Reade could not have more effectively ensured that her land would remain a haven for wildlife. One would think that she could have imposed suitable conditions on the gift. It would then have been up to the RSPB to accept the conditions or disclaim the gift.

The newspaper report is not as full as it might be but on the face of it the gamekeeper seems to have turned poacher. That said are the RSPB's actions after all to be applauded because it will be able to do so much with a six million pound windfall? A small sacrifice for a big overall gain? The moral maze.

Hare Day.

 

When I folded back the shutters in the study this morning I noticed that I had a four legged visitor in the garden. Not the usual rabbit or grey squirrel but a rather larger mammalian specimen. It was an Irish hare or to give it its Latin tag, Lepus timidus hibernicus.

When moving slowly its long back legs gave it a rather awkward lolloping action. The legs seemed to be just too long for its body. In full flight its cadence was smooth, fast and incisive. It was slightly spooked by my movement but for a short time the desire to graze kept it in the vicinity of the front lawn before its inherent timidity dictated a sprint away from my view. Maybe it was the meowing call of a circling buzzard that was the ultimate catalyst for its speedy departure.

 

Buzzard Visitation.

Every day I hear the meowing calls of buzzards as they ride the thermals over my abode. Today however one of these raptors decided to perch itself on the hedge adjacent to my bird feeder. Perhaps it was awaiting a sparrow or finch flitting in for a quick snack.

Although I was indoors I was no more than ten feet from this Messerschmitt of the avian world. He, or she, was oblivious to my presence. Its attention,(gender undetermined),was directed towards the bird feeder. Thankfully I didn't have to witness an execution. The noise of a passing car was sufficent to spook the buzzard and it powered itself high into the sky. Its plaintiff cries filled the sky.

 

North American Immigrant Steals Food from Bird Feeder

Not for the first time I have caught Tufty's American cousin aboard the bird feeder and helping itself to a snack of peanuts. I suppose I should really purchase a couple of those squirrel proof bird feeders. There is at least one family of squirrels ensconced in the garden.

One would think that the beech nuts and acorns would be sufficent for their needs without having to resort to the food provided for the avian residents. Apparently not. I expect one shouldn't be too surprised that Mr. Grey Squirrel is taking the easy option and deciding not to ignore the gift peanut.

At last there seems to be a realistic possibility that the invasive grey squirrel can be controlled and that the red squirrel can regain its lost territory. The red squirrel's saviour may well be the pine marten. The ,"grey," is a bit of a lumbering treat for the pine marten whilst the, "red," is much more nimble and able to venture on to slimmer twigs where the,"grey," dares not venture.

I wouldn't object to providing a few peanut treats for the native, "red."

 

Brush With Death

Three miles. Three deaths. I suppose that many of the local dairy farmers would applaud the nighttime carnage. I don't know enough about TB to assess if the fears of the agricultural community are based on substance. What I do know is that within three miles of the homely acres I came upon three dead badgers. At the first blood stained locus two corpses were strewn across the roadway causing me to slalom between them. A mile down the road a third dead badger lay haunched over a cats eye.

 

I suppose these animals were dazzled by car headlights and froze as their metal predators bore down on them. I would hope that they were not deliberately run over. Maybe a local amateur taxidermist will test his skills on one of the brocks or perhaps there is someone out there who is an agent of a shaving brush manufacturer who haunts the lanes and bye ways in search of raw material.

 

Drumlamph Wood not for running.

 

I am always on the lookout for new locations for a run. Not so long ago I espied a roadside sign for Drumlamph Wood. I knew nothing about this wood having never even heard of it. Anyhows I decided to investigate it last Sunday. The weather didn't exactly lend itself to a sylvan stroll but having shod myself with trail shoes and bedecked myself with a waterproof running top I was prepared for the heavy showers.

 

The wood is located about two miles out of Maghera and is run by the Woodland Trust. The information board at the carpark informed me that the wood contained some areas of ancient woodland which have been continuously wooded from before 1600. Since the Woodland Trust have come on the scene more than 30,000 native trees have been planted. Altogether the boundaries of the wood encircle more than seventy eight acres. This includes some bogland as well as areas of rush meadow.

 

The paths running through the wood don't provide a great surface for running although a drier day might make the terrain more conducive to a training session. Probably the main downside of the location as a venue for running is the smallness of the wood. I didn't measure the longest circuit but It is probably two and a half kilometres at most. One would get a bit dizzy running around it. However a nice place for a lazy stroll with one's faithful hound in tow, (if you have one.)

 

 

 

 

Is Walter Pigeon pie in the Sky?

 

There is a new resident in the garden. I discovered him when I arrived home after Thursday night training. He didn't try to hide himself or hurry away. He was quite indifferent to my presence. I have decided to call him Walter. A rather obvious name for a homing pigeon I know and of course not being an expert in the mysterious art of sexing piegons it may be that I am forcing a name upon this bird which is totally inappropriate to its gender.

 

I suspect that Walter became lost during a midweek training flight. Perhaps he flew too close to an electricity pylon and his homing abilities were knocked out of kilter or maybe he was on his first flight and has discovered that he is simply not going to make it as a racing pigeon after all. In any event he seems quite content picking at the detritus below the bird table and he has not as yet decided to try to regain the comforts of his home loft.

 

He is quite a young bird according to the green ring which he wears around his right ankle with pride. His number is GB13L 24634. I have now reported the miscreant's details to a local pigeon fancier and maybe I will be able to reunite Walter with his owner before a buzzard decides that Walter looks like tiffin.

 

Happy Bunny Killer

 

The outside cat goes by the name of Wotsit not that she knows this. She was named after the cheesy snack of that same nomenclature produced by Walkers because she spent her formative months at the rear door in an empty Wotsit box. Well you have to give them some sort of a name to keep the vet's assistant happy. I suppose that I could have adopted the Beckamesque principle of naming, but Stable or Potting Shed would be even sillier names for a cat methinks.

 

Whilst Wotsit does like her handfuls of dried cat food she also likes the odd snack of fresh warm meat. Well any cat with an ounce of self respect has to keep its hunting skills up to the mark. Today's tiffin was a juvenile rabbit. There was nothing subtle about how she devoured this repast. The soft grey fur was ripped open to expose the pink skin and pinker entrails. She tugged at the flesh, purring with the happiness of a filling stomach. The soft bones gave little resistance to her glistening incisors. Some fur and a small white bobtail was all that remained of the subject of her mastications, that together with a few drying smears of blood on her face. She seemed content. The rabbit less so.

Frogs Chorus

 

Sunday afternoon's relative quiet was shattered by the husky voiced lotharios of the frog world. Not the most melodic of sounds but clearly it enduced the necessary compliance in the coy Freda Frogs.

 

What passes for the garden pond is now full of the gelatinous clumps of frogspawn. So far I have counted fourteen spawnings. This equates to approximately twenty eight thousand eggs. Mortality rates for frogs are not very good, particularly during the initial metamorphosis from spawn to tadpole to frog. Perhaps as few as seventy small frogs will hop away from the pond hoping to return the following Spring if they manage to avoid nature's predators in the interim.

 

Tooth & Maw

It may not be long before tadpole time but unfortunately this is one Frieda Frog who will not be adding to the frog population. I wonder who the assassin was? Who ever did the dastardly deed must have taken a correspondence course in dissection.

 

A propos of that and not much else apparently there is no longer a dissection practical on the biology A Level syllabus. No longer do students have the joy of delving into the biology lab fridge and bringing forth a plastic bag containing a dogfish or rat drenched in some strange embalming fluid. No longer do they have the joy of pegging out the damp corpse on a dissection board and cutting into the fetid flesh and pairing out the yellow globules of fat. The purchase of a dissection kit was one of the rights of passage from O level to A Level biology. Happy days.

 

Black and White Blackbird.

 

I was parking my car this morning prior to venturing forth for a short run when I espied a white throated bird flicking through some damp leaf debris. Initially I didn't know what it was but it was then joined by a plump hen blackbird. The mystery was solved. What I was looking at was a piebald male blackbird. Apparently it is not uncommon to come across birds which a have a degree of albinism but I have to concede that this is the first example that I have come across.

 

Birdwatch 2014

 

The weekend now past was the nominated weekend for the RSPB's annual Big Garden Birdwatch. I had signed up online for this twitcher fest and so was able to submit the results of my hour spent viewing the toings and froings at the bird table via my trusty tablet.

 

Unfortunately Sunday afternoon was very wet and windy and accordingly not very many of the little blighters decided to partake of the free nosh which I had provided for their delectation. I feel sure that the weather must have a big affect on everyone's sightings. Our feathered friends are not entirely stupid. They aren't going to spend time foraging for food in bad weather unless they are really hungry.

 

You have to report the greatest number of a particular bird that you see at the same time. My sightings gave the following results this year:-

Blackbird 1

Blue tit. 2

Chaffinch. 2

Coal tit. 1

Great tit. 3

House Sparrow. 3

Robin. 1

Magpie. 1

 

Grey Squirrel Chops.

 

It wasn't all that many years ago that red squirrels were more numerous than their grey cousins in Northern Ireland. Now the ratio of red to grey is probably no better than in Britain. It is more than a year since I caught a glimpse of a shy,"Tufty," but most days I would see three or four grey squirrels bounding about. They are a frequent visitor to the garden.

 

The bird feeders are the big attraction providing them with an almost effortless supply of food. I can't say that I approve of their filching of peanuts and seed and I certainly do not approve of them biting through the wire mesh of the feeders. Recently I have become aware of them digging up some of the spring bulbs for their tiffin. I am not impressed.

 

Apparently their meat is quite tasty to eat and surprisingly sweet. Carbonated grey squirrel sounds as if it would be a very ethical repast. The numbers of this North American interloper do need to be reduced if not zeroed.

 

Honking Afternoon

 

Today's manoeuvres saw me driving through Ballykelly in the direction of Londonderry. Even with the noise of the traffic I could hear the plaintiff honking of swans calling to their brethren in the skies over Lough Foyle. To my right, in the fields immediately below the road, there were several hundred mute swans. I pulled over to have a closer look. There were obviously rich pickings in these stubble fields.

The birds were grazing the ground with satisfied and noisy intent. Every so often a few more squadrons of their kin made rather untidy landings, eager to join the feast. Whilst food was clearly the reason for their presence they all seemed to have an equal degree of wariness of the road. Surveying the fields occupied by the swans it was as if their was an invisible electric fence some twenty yards into the fields. They fed up to this line but did not cross it. It was quite strange to see.

 

Colourful Butterflies

Peacock Butterfly - 26th August 2013

There do seem to be more butterflies fluttering about the garden this summer. I wonder if it has anything to do with the government's policy of not cutting certain roadway verges as often as in previous years. Most of us will have seen the small roadside signs with the prohibitory words, "Do not Cut."

 

Allowing a good bed of nettles to develop seems to be one of the best things that one can do to facilitate the life cycle of the butterfly, with many species laying their eggs on this particular plant. A good excuse to adopt a relaxed attitude to gardening or at least to allow a wild corner to develop!

Small Tortoiseshell Butterfly - 26th August 2013

 

Ness Country Park

I paddled along to Ness Country Park this pm. I have to concede that the old causa causans for my visit was not just to have a walk and enjoy the scenery. It has been perhaps twenty eight years since I was last there and I wanted to view the condition of the paths and refresh my memory as to their incline. Why so you ask? Well it had struck me that the steep walls of the Burntollet Valley, where the Park nestles, might provide a sheltered venue for a few of the running group's winter sessions. After all the Northern Ireland Environment Agency is always extolling the merits of getting out into the country loop.

 

I must say that I had a very pleasant stroll down alongside the river and through the dappled glades further up the hillside. Unfortunately some of the paths are rather too precipitous and involve too many steps to provide a satisfactory route for a training session. Unless of course you were aiming to compete in a fell race! However on an, "out and in basis," the path next the river would suffice for reps of varying length and there is one pathway next the visitor centre which would provide a flat one kilometre circuit.