White Scar from Park End Moss Down in the Lyth Valley the damson trees are in blossom. A male brimstone is on the wing, and several whites. Rosy bees seek nectar in comfrey flowers. There are violets and celandine in mossy banks.
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White Scar from Park End Moss A lapwing alarm call tells that marsh harrier are on the wing, gathering reeds and sticks to build a nest somewhere in the reed-bed. Bull-rush gleam in the sunlight, a dab chick swims across the pool, passing an egret and gadwall. In the distance the light catches the limestone cliff of White Scar. Down in the Lyth Valley the damson trees are in blossom. A male brimstone is on the wing, and several whites. Rosy bees seek nectar in comfrey flowers. There are violets and celandine in mossy banks.
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Telling of mating frogs at Sizergh, proved irresistible and so I returned with a friend eager to see such a spectacle. The castle was beautifully reflected in the water where mallard chased each other. No sign of frogs and there seemed less frogspawn. Maybe mallard gobble it up. Water trickles through pools in the rockery garden where we found frogspawn. Then on a gravel path we spied frogs before us. Two appeared, approached each other, went briefly into amplexus where the male grabs the female with his nuptial pads and hitches a ride. Sizergh Castle A lovely spring day in the gardens about Sizergh Castle. Daffodils are resplendent, chiffchaff are calling. Charlie the cat comes to greet us and seeks a lap to rest on. All is peaceful. We look for frogspawn and kingfisher and do not find them. There are kingcups and bull-rush and the ground is strewn with willow catkins in the season of tree-flowers. In a long dry spell I think some flora is held back, waiting for refreshing rain. Wandering the shore of the lake below the castle, we look for frogspawn in the shallows, amongst fallen leaves and the fronds of aquatic plants. From Foulshaw Moss to White Scar and Whitbarrow Over the wobbly wooden bridge we go, up to the high platform to look down across Foulshaw Moss toward White Scar and Whitbarrow. In the foreground there's a pool of open water, with seed-heads of bullrush. Then birch carr, downy birch in the peat of the moss. Slender silver wands reach up through a blaze of bog myrtle, twigs and catkins a haze of rich ruby. A frosty morning quickly grows warm in bright sunlight, illuminating the weave of plants in the moss, enriching colour. The Burning Bush was bog myrtle, my friend exclaims, fragrant and ablaze. Alder is a motif along the RIver Kent, favouring riverbanks and wet ground. In winter, the crowns of mature trees are dark with cones, and catkins awaiting the coming of spring. In Kendal. a mingle of alder and hazel grows in a sliver of river bank beside the walkway. Hardly trees, there's little soil for them to grow to maturity but a couple of days of perfect light when catkins are at their best gives a rare opportunity to study them close-up. All the image lacks is siskin, redpoll and goldfinch feeding on seeds as last-summer's cones burst open. From Lillian's Hide All eyes were intent on snipe, closest to the hide but camouflaged in reed-stubble. Water-birds were hunkered-down, roosting and preening. A peaceful scene, then whoosh- up they went in a moment of panic. Alighting on the water, they became distinct. Courtship pairs in their best breeding plumage; pintail, gadwall, wigeon, shoveller and mallard. White feathers drifted on the water where it met the reeds, discards from preening. |
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