Male skylark returned to the uplands to breed Winter seems endless in lockdown. Biting cold followed by rain. Spring comes late to the Cumbrian uplands and how welcome it will be.
Sunday is a day of mist and low cloud, of hazy sun. But there is sun and Scout Scar suddenly pulses with life, seemingly out of nowhere.
A hint of skylark in the air and now they’re all about me, standing proud on a low outcrop of rocks, bursting into song flight.
To me, an ecstasy of skylark, valiant so early in spring, after last night’s deluge, on a gusty morning. For them, competition is intense. Males display to impress females, chase off other males in bursts of flight as they contest for breeding territory. One buzzes me- this is my territory, or soon will be, clear off. There’s urgency in the skylark imperative to breed. They see me, silent and still in open terrain, and are preoccupied. There's a male in breeding plumage, his crest erect and a patterning of warm brown on his breast, The light is hazy and gusts of wind ruffle his plumage. An intense interlude with skylark, then silence falls and the skylark vanish. I contemplate this niche habitat and how they will use it: soft mosses and grass, anthills and low rocks where the males display, a low ridge where the birds are outlined against the sky. Had I come half an hour later there would be no sign of skylark. I wonder what kicks off this sudden burst of activity.
A long, oppressive winter cannot last, lockdown cannot last, spring will come. Time is as to intensity, says Thomas Hardy in his novel Tess of the D’Urbervilles now dramatized on BBC radio 4.
Time is as to intensity. The magic of the morning is transient. An interlude of skylark, a kestrel in swift flight. The high call of lapwing tumbling in courtship flight, pattern of black and white wings. Too far off to hear the wing-clapping I saw in spring 2019. I work out the perfect spot to take photographs but cannot reach it directly and by the time I get there all is silent. Not a trace of lapwing. But I know this is their breeding ground so I’ll return. Fortunately for the lapwing, it's not access land so the birds are protected from walkers, dog walkers and the cyclists who aren't allowed here anyway. The Lake District National Park and Natural England say they are about to erect signs alerting visitors to the presence of ground-nesting birds. That should raise awareness.
Time is as to intensity. The magic of the morning is transient. An interlude of skylark, a kestrel in swift flight. The high call of lapwing tumbling in courtship flight, pattern of black and white wings. Too far off to hear the wing-clapping I saw in spring 2019. I work out the perfect spot to take photographs but cannot reach it directly and by the time I get there all is silent. Not a trace of lapwing. But I know this is their breeding ground so I’ll return. Fortunately for the lapwing, it's not access land so the birds are protected from walkers, dog walkers and the cyclists who aren't allowed here anyway. The Lake District National Park and Natural England say they are about to erect signs alerting visitors to the presence of ground-nesting birds. That should raise awareness.
Skylark and hazel catkins are heralds of spring. I love tree flowers and the yellow male catkins of hazel are early and abundant, well before its leaves appear. The female flowers only show once the male catkins are open and full of pollen. Suddenly, there are tiny flowers of deep red like sea anemones. Hazel is monoecious, a bush bears male catkins and female flowers with red styles. Female flowers must be fertilised by pollen from other trees. I wonder how far pollen can travel on the wind. Hairs on hazel stems show how tiny the female flowers are.
23 February. Tweet of the Day. Should be a two minute focus on a bird, today stonechat with Melissa Harrison who talks about her clothing when she walks on Dartmoor, tells us not to bother listening to the song and dismisses the female as being of modest colouring. She neither listens nor looks.
It's the stonechat's call that alerts us to its presence. The stonechat isn't a songster and on the rare occasions I hear the song my heart leaps. Look beyond the showy and spectacular and there are details and subtleties. Look at the skylark plumage. Skylark are ground-nesting birds and cryptic colouring and pattern is essential. When the bird vanishes into tussocky grasses it's not surprising it's hard to see.
23 February. Tweet of the Day. Should be a two minute focus on a bird, today stonechat with Melissa Harrison who talks about her clothing when she walks on Dartmoor, tells us not to bother listening to the song and dismisses the female as being of modest colouring. She neither listens nor looks.
It's the stonechat's call that alerts us to its presence. The stonechat isn't a songster and on the rare occasions I hear the song my heart leaps. Look beyond the showy and spectacular and there are details and subtleties. Look at the skylark plumage. Skylark are ground-nesting birds and cryptic colouring and pattern is essential. When the bird vanishes into tussocky grasses it's not surprising it's hard to see.
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