Ancient chestnut and Black Bryony berries in hedgerows A drizzle of fog saturates the still air. An imperceptible Force 1, a SE wind. Fieldfare and redwing should be about but we find only starling.
Sizergh double bank barn exhibition on ancient trees tells signs of age: girth, swollen bole, scars, gouges. A rich eco-system comes with age. Ancient trees host communities of insects, lichens, fungi and bryophytes. In winter, they may be darkly evergreen and heavy with ivy when their own leaves are lost. Ropes of red and rotting berries of black bryony thread through hedgerows, like scaffolding.
Sizergh double bank barn exhibition on ancient trees tells signs of age: girth, swollen bole, scars, gouges. A rich eco-system comes with age. Ancient trees host communities of insects, lichens, fungi and bryophytes. In winter, they may be darkly evergreen and heavy with ivy when their own leaves are lost. Ropes of red and rotting berries of black bryony thread through hedgerows, like scaffolding.
Bonfire night. In the States where Kamala Harris is losing to Donald Trump, Americans may not be aware that we commemorate 5th November 1605 as the date when King and Parliament were so nearly blasted to oblivion by the gunpowder plot. No day is without context but on 5th November 2024 it's best to immerse oneself in the foggy, foggy dew.
A murky day with a wonder all of its own. Ancient trees, a 350 year old sweet chestnut has seen it all. ‘Tis said Lady Strickland of Sizergh Castle brought seeds back from Versailles. Brigsteer Wood is silent, the muddy track strewn with fallen leaves.
The whistle of a widgeon comes from the pool at Park End Moss. A cluster of birds out on the water- suffused in mist, widgeon. A teal floats in still water, quivering with reflected light. Huddled close is a snipe. A moorhen wades the water and from somewhere in the reed bed comes another whickering cry.
A murky day with a wonder all of its own. Ancient trees, a 350 year old sweet chestnut has seen it all. ‘Tis said Lady Strickland of Sizergh Castle brought seeds back from Versailles. Brigsteer Wood is silent, the muddy track strewn with fallen leaves.
The whistle of a widgeon comes from the pool at Park End Moss. A cluster of birds out on the water- suffused in mist, widgeon. A teal floats in still water, quivering with reflected light. Huddled close is a snipe. A moorhen wades the water and from somewhere in the reed bed comes another whickering cry.
In a sliver of reed-bed, a trio of Common Snipe. They are at one with their reed-bed habitat, seeming to have absorbed its colours and textures. Only a movement gives them away, their cryptic colouring and plumage patterns are so subtle. Golden stripes on head and mantle mirror the long-leaved reeds and their chocolate background resembles the silts of the shallows where they hunker down in stillness. A mantle of rippling stripes, fragments, like reeds broken and frayed by autumn weather. Their pale breasts flecked with dots and chevrons, shades of chocolate. That distinctive long bill like the linear leaf-blades of reeds spangled with water droplets. They’re exquisite birds, suffused in mist.
The wing-beats of swans sounds in the stillness as they fly over the water. An egret appears.
By mid-day, it's a little less misty, the air less saturated with moisture. There are pink berries on spindle, a delicate bush and others wreathed amongst holly.
No fieldfare in the orchard by Holeslack Farmhouse, but perhaps next time.
The wing-beats of swans sounds in the stillness as they fly over the water. An egret appears.
By mid-day, it's a little less misty, the air less saturated with moisture. There are pink berries on spindle, a delicate bush and others wreathed amongst holly.
No fieldfare in the orchard by Holeslack Farmhouse, but perhaps next time.
Pondering the stillness and silence that seems so often to surround Common Snipe, I 'searched' to remind myself how they vocalise. A memory came to me of walking a remote lane somewhere in Scotland and hearing a mechanical sound, like someone with a machine tool. Beside an isolated house, a post on which perched a snipe making this strident and rhythmic call. I love to hear snipe 'drumming', a feature of their breeding display flight when they rise silently and drop with this evocative sound made by air vibrating through their tail feathers. Courtesy of the Sussex Wildlife Trust, I learn that a small flock of snipe is known as a 'wisp.' How delightful. A superb photograph by Hugh Clark FRPS shows a Common Snipe descending- tail feathers spread as it drums- I assume. The article by James Duncan is detailed and insightful.
Sussex Wildlife Trust
https://sussexwildlifetrust.org.uk/news/12-snipe-drumming
To hear that strident call I searched for 'Common Snipe vocal.'
In Shetland, I remember a cottage garden on a long summer's evening with an interlude of snipe drumming- and slowly becoming immersed in the rhythm and pattern of the display flight and that evocative sound.
Sussex Wildlife Trust
https://sussexwildlifetrust.org.uk/news/12-snipe-drumming
To hear that strident call I searched for 'Common Snipe vocal.'
In Shetland, I remember a cottage garden on a long summer's evening with an interlude of snipe drumming- and slowly becoming immersed in the rhythm and pattern of the display flight and that evocative sound.
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