Wirral

Curlew, Meols

I had a day out on the Wirral, the hope being to add a few waders to that tally for the month and edge it closer to that hundred mark. In the event, there weren't many around that weren't redshanks or oystercatchers but one that wasn't added to the year list. (This paragraph is an object lesson to you all not to set targets on your birdwatching. Especially if you get a bit obsessive about numbers.)

Juvenile herring gull

It was an overcast and windy lunchtime and West Kirby was the first port of call. Despite the cloud and cooling breeze, perhaps because of them after the blistering heat we've had this month, the marine lake was busy. A few herring gulls, pigeons and black-headed gulls checked out the opportunities for an easy meal and pied wagtails scampered round the car park. I wasn't surprised to see no ducks on the lake, what wouldn't be elsewhere in moulting flocks would be making a living on the estuary away from the crowds.

Dee Estuary 

It was low tide, or near as, and hundreds of waders, mostly redshanks, were liberally scattered about the exposed mud. Oystercatchers massed on distant mudbanks near the river and cormorants dried their wings by the riverside. A few curlews strutted about in the distance, gangs of turnstones still in their tortoiseshell breeding finery skittered about the rocks and unidentified somethings which were probably yet more redshanks dotted the estuary upstream and down. There were a lot of carrion crows about but I kept hearing a raven. It flew low overhead over the rooftops as I was waiting to cross the road to the station.

Small copper

I got the train back as far as Manor Road and walked down Hoyle Road to the beach. Parched though the grass verges were they seemed to have something to offer my first small coppers of the year. A dozen swifts circled overhead, a few more were with the swarms of house martins low over the lifeboat station.

Hoylake Beach 

It was still lowish tide and the broad expanse of mud ahead was like a desert. There weren't even any birds skulking about in the salt marsh. I didn't have to go far to see why. This patch of marsh is part of a land-building process, the combination of successive mud deposits and colonisation by grasses is raising the ground above sea level and parts are only ever inundated with water at the height of Spring tides. The mud here was baked hard and cracked though there was enough moisture some way underground to keep the grass and sea plantains green.

It's flying ant season. High overhead herring gulls, black-headed gulls and lesser black-backs circled to pick off the emerging ants. Even a great black-back flew inland to join in; masses of protein on the wing, easy pickings and no fighting back is a lot more energetically efficient than hunting bigger game.

Shelduck

Beyond the Parade Gardens the foreshore is lower and wetter and not yet salt marsh. Herring gulls loafed by puddles and black-headed gulls stopped for a drink. I was a bit surprised to see a lone shelduck accompanying some of the black-headed gulls.

Juvenile herring gull 

Black-headed gull 

My first common gull of the Winter season was sitting on its own, spending most of its time trying to tidy a loose primary wing feather that wouldn't either fall out or stay put.

Common gull

I joined the revetment and walked down. Small groups of redshanks and smaller groups of oystercatchers pottered about in puddles and creeks. A couple of little egrets were shrimping near one of the beached boats. And there were more herring gulls.

Curlew (left) and whimbrel

Curlews were more often heard that seen. A couple ran across the mud into a patch of grass and started feeding. There was a marked size difference, even more than the usual difference between a big adult female and a small adult male. I thought it might be a young curlew, which would have been good as I don't get to see them very often, any opportunity to get my eye in on them is welcomed. As I drew level with the grass I became puzzled. That beak on the smaller bird didn't look right for any age of curlew. And it wasn't. It was a whimbrel keeping a curlew company. The abrupt turn of the whimbrel's beak I find a better ID point than the dark crown and eye stripe, some curlews are more contrasty than others and strong directional light plays tricks with old eyes, I can easily talk myself out of a textbook whimbrel if I'm not seeing the bill properly and I've not got something readily to hand to provide scale. This is the first time I've had a curlew helpfully screaming out the size difference for me. Had I a bag of lugworms on me I'd have happily let them have the lot.

Whimbrel

Whimbrel

Looking back along the revetment towards Meols

A mixed flock of linnets, goldfinches and swallows skittered over the slope of the revetment, the finches stopping for a moment or two to feed before bundling on a few yards, the swallows hawking mere inches from the ground. A couple of swallows even landed to pick insects off the ground like the finches before flying off to join the others. It didn't look like it was ants they were after, there were a lot of very small flies about I couldn't identify. I could identify the mosquito that decided to have its last meal off my little finger. The first hint of the tide turning was swelling the pools at the base of the revetment. A young heron joined the little egrets shrimping and squabbling here and turnstones flew in to rummage about in the stranded seaweed.

Heron and little egrets 

This swallow decided to have a sit down to pick flies off the mud

The same swallow heading off to join the flock

Turnstone 

I left the revetment and dropped down into Leasowe Common and was immediately razzed by whitethroats. Having got cocky about chiffchaffs and willow warblers the other day I actually had to see the bird before I was sure it was a chiffchaff squeaking in the trees. A blackcap made it easy by singing a snatch of song. As did a reed warbler by the remains of the pond. There must have been some water or mud somewhere in the depths of the reeds because I could hear a coot muttering to itself. 

The pool had dried

There weren't a lot of butterflies about and most of they were gatekeepers or speckled woods. A brown hawker patrolled the tops of the reeds and was my only dragonfly of the day.

I walked down past the lighthouse, where greenfinches and house sparrows bounced about in the hedgerows and red admirals sunned themselves on the brambles. It was hard work seeing through the hedgerow by Kerr's Field, and hardly worth the bother: half a dozen woodpigeons, a herring gull and a magpie accompanied the horses.

Sloes

I had an all areas saveaway for the day and it was still only late teatime. The legs suggested that moving on to another site might be asking a lot of I was going to be walking up the escalator at Lime Street at the end of the trip. My head pointed out that if I got the next train from Moreton I'd only have twenty minutes to wait for the last sensibly timed train direct home. So just this once I did that.

The raven, turnstones and whimbrel brought July's tally to 99. The Canada geese on a pond outside Halewood brought the day's tally to 49. And the year list is 196. Remember kids: just say no to numbers.

Rixton Claypits

Rixton 

It's being a difficult birdwatching month. July itself is always difficult, the lassitude caused by heat and hayfever and the skulking nature of birds in post-breeding moult make it a time for appreciating insects and landscapes, but this year it's being particularly unproductive. Most years I've got that monthly hundred target in the middle of the third week, I'm still only on 96 so far and the total number of records is about three-quarters the norm. I'm getting out and about as much as any other July and there's lots I'm not seeing because it's just not there. Visiting wetlands and having no sign of reed warblers or Cetti's warblers. An avocet-less visit to Marshside. A scarcity of blackcaps and whitethroats. A sudden disappearance of swifts. In lots of ways it feels like late August out there. I read that many songbirds don't seem to be having second or third broods this year because the land is parched and the usual supplies of insects have been out of synch with nesting, which would go a long way to explaining the famine. The problem personally is that I'm not seeing this as a challenge to rise to, I'm seeing it as a disincentive to bother. Brute bloody-mindedness will get me out and about in the end but it's hard work when there's other things eating up your bandwidth.

It was a cooler, grey morning. Yesterday's rain had freshened the air and the wind had calmed down, it seemed fair walking weather. I thought I'd catch up with a few places I hadn't visited yet this year so I pottered out at lunchtime, got the train into Oxford Road and found that everything going North had been cancelled. At that stage I was ready to throw the towel in and admit defeat, had there been a train home anytime soon I probably would have done. I couldn't be arsed trying to get across the city centre to Victoria and trying from there. If I had a more definite incentive to do it I might have, with only the vague intent to wander round and see what was about I had no appetite for negotiating the knock-on effects of the annual trammegedon. So I drifted back onto the stopping train to Liverpool that sails past my station, one of many stopping trains to Liverpool that sail past my station, and wondered where I was going.

I got off at Glazebrook and decided I was going for a walk round into Rixton and perhaps go and look for farmland birds and what have you. Cloudy though it was, it was nice walking weather, the exercise might improve my mood.

Dam Head Lane 

The sun poked its way through the clouds but the wind provided some relief. The rolling fields of grain along Dam Head Lane and Dam Lane had been harvested and dozens of pigeons and woodpigeons rummaged through the stubble with occasional family groups of carrion crows. I looked in vain for stock doves, gamebirds or buntings, a couple of goldfinches flew by, two swifts wheeled overhead and house sparrows chirped in the farmsteads.

Rixton 

I turned and crossed the field to Moss Side Lane, not noticing the rise and fall of the drumlin I was walking over unless I looked back and saw the changes on the open horizon. The hedgerows and houses on Moss Side Lane seem to mask the effect going forward. At last I spotted something that wasn't a pigeon or crow in the field. A pair of pheasants. Three swifts wheeled overhead.

Walking up Moss Side Lane past the brickworks I wondered where I was going. According to Google, Rixton Claypits were closed so I walked down Moat Lane to have a look at them.

Moat Lane 

A flooded claypit at the top of the lane behind locked gates had a couple of families of coots and a family of dabchicks. There wasn't much vegetation about, it looks like it was still being worked fairly recently.

Further down and across the road I found the entrance to Rixton Claypits. Perhaps it's a car park that was closed. The claypits are, effectively, large ponds surrounded by trees and covered in waterlilies. So I had a bit of an introductory nosy round.

Rixton Claypits 

Coots and mallards pottered about the pools. Common blue damselflies did a lethargic version of zipping about in the verges of the path and brown hawkers patrolled the tops of the bushes and reeds. Blue tits, great tits and chiffchaffs called quietly as they moved through the trees. A young robin squeaked from the depths of cover. A goldcrest caught my eye as it fidgeted about in a willow, the state of moult it was in had left it with a very pale grey, almost white, head. Every time I turned a corner I seemed to surprise a rabbit or a blackbird, every length straight beside the hedgerow was littered with speckled woods and gatekeepers, a small clearing full of rosebay and ragwort continued the excellent year for painted ladies.

Rixton Claypits 

I had an hour's potter about just to get a feeling for the place, it seems to have a lot going for it given how small the nature reserve is. I definitely need a repeat visit, this time getting the 100 to the bottom of Moat Lane and walking up rather than tagging it onto the end of a walk.

I walked down to the bottom of Moat Lane, past a field of rabbits and white farm geese, and struck lucky: the 100 is an hourly service and I only had ten minutes to wait for it. I struck lucky twice: I got off at Irlam Station and had five minutes to wait for the train home.

Home thoughts

The great tits had been tapping on the bedroom window at half six to let me know the feeders were empty. The feeders weren't empty but as the spadgers have noticed they're being filled again the regulars are feeling the pressure. It's been a funny sort of Summer without the spadgers in feeding the youngsters. I've resumed because the parched conditions are having their effects on the small insect population even though the butterflies are enjoying it. I wonder if there'll be enough decent quality vegetation for their caterpillars but I think the holly blues should be okay.

The magpies have pretty much commandeered the rowan tree and are making inroads on the berries though the blackbirds are keeping them on their toes. I hope for their sake the rowan berries are better than the soft fruit has been: from a very promising start the heatwaves succeeded in desiccating the fruit before the sugars had developed. It's not just my garden, I've spat out more wayside blackberries than I've eaten.

I had a go at extracting some data from BirdTrack. I've been tracking the course of this year's dawn chorus and I wanted to see if the data agreed with my perceptions. Unfortunately the data I can extract doesn't include the time, which is specifically what I want as I want to map the order of the runners and riders through the season. I'll have to do it the long way, which is a pain as there's a lot of data to trawl through (my circadian rhythms were composed by Stockhausen). The dawn chorus is pretty much over now, the collared dove and woodpigeons sing and breed nearly all year round, only taking a breather late Autumn. I'll spend the time instead nibbling at that data.

Woolston Eyes

Comma

It was a morning the Met Office described as: "70°F feels like 58°F" and the day looked set to carry on being simultaneously chilly and clammy. I got the train to Padgate and walked down to Woolston Eyes to have a nosy round and — hopefully! — get to see some black-necked grebes after spending the past couple of weeks being either the day after or the day before them being around at sites I've been visiting. They're safely on the year list but it gets a bit demoralising when birds appear to be deliberately avoiding me.

Traveler's joy

Woolston Brook 

A couple of woodpigeons and a goldfinch sang as I walked down to Woolston Brook. It was even quieter along the brook, even though there were birds about. Blue tits, great tits, chaffinches and chiffchaffs silently rummaged about in the trees. Blackbirds and a juvenile robin poked about in the wayside. Even the wrens confined themselves to silently wagging their tails at me in anger as I passed by. The butterflies were still only warming up, I accidentally disturbed a speckled wood and it flew in slow motion into the long grass without ever getting more than three inches off the ground.

Warrington New Cut 

The New Cut was bone dry. Blackbirds, great tits and robins fossicked about on the canal bed while blue tits, long-tailed tits and chiffchaffs quietly bounced through the trees. It was a long time before I saw any butterflies, a couple of large whites just before the end of the cut. A family of coots pottered about over on Grey Mist, which looked remarkably full. My arrival at the end of the cut was announced by a coal tit calling in the willows. There is the possibility it was doing it anyway.

Warrington New Cut 

River Mersey 

A family of tufted ducks on the river included small and noisy ducklings. The mallards and Canada geese, on the other hand, were remarkably quiet. Mute swans and great crested grebes were notable absentees, I didn't see either of them all day, which is unusual. The house sparrows chirped loudly as they sat on the roof of the abandoned house, as if to demonstrate that they, at least, were present and correct.

Common darter

I crossed the river and walked up onto the bank by No.2 Bed and followed the backwater round. Chaffinches, chiffchaffs and great tits silently fussed about in the bushes. I can virtually guarantee there was much else unseen and unheard skulking around on the banksides. I tiptoed around damselflies, mostly common blue with a handful of azure damselflies sunning themselves on the bracken. It was warm enough for red admirals, small whites and large whites to be fluttering about the wayside. And for darters to be patrolling the bracken, nearly all common darters with their waisted abdomens, allowing a quick and easy comparison with the couple of ruddy darters like slim cigars with an inflated rear end.

Common blue damselfly 

Bridge across the Mersey

The padlock on the gate into the reserve on No.3 gate holds almost as many terrors for me as the steps up to the hides. The Canada geese, mallards and heron on the river down below looked on warily until it became apparent it was just some old bloke fumbling with a key and they went back to their business. As I crossed the bridge the sun came out and it became a very pleasant afternoon, the wind taking the burning edge off the sunshine.

There was a profusion of red admirals basking on the bracken by the path. Gatekeepers, common darters and common blue damselflies skittered about the wayside. A chiffchaff squeaked, a wren tutted, the contact calls of a family of long-tailed tits made their way through the trees. It was High Summer birdwatching.

Mind the step

I ascended the steps to the nameless hide and wondered why as I looked at empty pools and quiet reedbeds. Moving over to the Sybil Hogg Hide gave a different angle to the same pools, the ones immediately in front were still empty but further out I could see a few black-headed gulls, mallards and Canada geese.

No.3 Bed 

I walked round to The Tower, a goldfinch singing in the background. More goldfinches flitted between the bushes by the meadow, as did a few greenfinches and great tits. Any whitethroats that may have been around were keeping a very low profile indeed.

The Tower is the scary shipping container on stilts. It almost certainly is safe as houses but the tree house vibe puts the wind up me. I'd be no bloody good as a ship's lookout. A few house martins and swallows hawked over the water with a swarm of sand martins and I envied them all their confidence in not having their feet on the ground. A few black-headed gulls flew about. I expect the Mediterranean gulls moved on after their chicks were eaten by lesser black-backs. Mallards, tufted ducks and coots were liberally scattered about and half a dozen greylags cruised round. Just in front of the hide, half-hidden by reeds, a dabchick and its two full-grown humbugs dived for food, the parent providing more than the youngsters caught for themselves. I searched in vain for black-necked grebes but wasn't discouraged as I always tend to have more luck with them at the hides on the Western side of the pools. An oystercatcher was calling from somewhere but I was beggared if I could find it.

Teal

The Morgan Hide was closed for repairs so I moved on to the Frank Linley Hide. A lapwing and a handful of teal were feeding at the waterside just in front of the hide. There were more coots, mallards and tufties and I nearly missed a couple of gadwalls. A huge number of gadwalls come to Woolston Eyes to moult but they can take some finding. They're never very conspicuous, and a lot less so in eclipse plumage, when they're in moult they don't make an exhibition of themselves. A few shovelers drifted in and out of the reeds, a lone drake steamed out into midwater. 

Shoveler

I told myself I was staying until I saw a black-necked grebe. It looked like I was in for a long wait. The wind rattled the camouflage netting. A distant marsh harrier floating over the treetops was the only bird of prey of the day. A lesser black-back flew by. More sand martins flew in. I still couldn't find that oystercatcher. No grebe. At last a small dark shape drifted out of the corner of a reedbed. Was it a dabchick or a tuftie? No, thank heavens, it was a black-necked grebe, still in breeding plumage but looking like it had started to moult. Result. I scampered down the steps to terra firms.

Chicory

Wikd carrot

I had a leisurely walk through the meadows, keeping an eye out for clouded yellows. It's a good Summer for them and some were seen here last week, I've never seen one and would like to but didn't today. The large whites, gatekeepers and peacocks kept low over the wind. For a moment a hornet-mimic Volucella hoverfly almost convinced me I'd seen a hornet. Drifts of black knapweed and chicory gave way to wild carrot, they to yarrow and mugwort and finally rosebay, the thistles nearly all gone to seed and charms of goldfinches. It's a very pleasant walk.

Red admiral

There were even more red admirals sunbathing on the bracken on the way back, leaving not a lot of room for the commas and peacocks. The ruddy darters were still not for having their photos taken. Willow warblers squeaked in the trees by the meadow, chiffchaffs in the trees by the river. I'm going to have to listen to a lot of recordings of them both, I can tell the difference but I'd struggle to explain it. The only singing warbler of the day was a blackcap that I must have surprised as the path turned a corner, a quick blast of song then it disappeared like a shot.

Walking back to the bridge

There's a definite knack to that padlock and I've not got it. Despite that I was soon walking along the Ship Canal in the company of long-tailed tits, large whites and red admirals. Along the way a car pulled up and a couple I'd chatted with by the hides asked if I wanted a lift, which was very good of them as the walk down Thelwall Lane is a weary trudge. They dropped me off at the locks where I crossed over with plenty of time for getting the number 5 to Altrincham and thence home. 

Latchford Locks 

I scanned the canal in vain for mute swans or great crested grebes, and kept an eye on the passing Cheshire countryside for buzzards or kestrels but to no avail. Every outing this week has left me with a day's tally in the high forties. That fifty mark is entirely unimportant but it does feel good to get past it. Never mind, I'd done what I'd set out to do and had a rather a lot nicer than expected walk along the way and there are far worse things to do on a Friday.

Mosses

Stonechat, Chat Moss

It was another warm but overcast day and after feeling dog-rough last evening I had a lazy morning and had an afternoon potter about on the Salford mosses.

I got the train into Irlam and walked up Astley Road. Pigeons, woodpigeons, lesser black-backs and black-headed gulls passed overhead. A young robin squeaked from a hedge. Goldfinches twittered in treetops. Where were the house sparrows? No idea.

Black-headed gulls 

The sun was poking through the cloud cover as I left town and carried on walking up the road. Squadrons of woodpigeons passed overhead in all directions. Greenfinches and goldfinches sang in the trees. Blackbirds, great tits, chiffchaffs and robins rummaged quietly in the depths of cover, the blackbirds occasionally breaking cover to cross the road or the fields of turf. Wrens popped up out of nowhere, tutted and vanished like pantomime demons. Way, way over, probably over Barton Moss, a buzzard was putting the scares on a flock of woodpigeons. And the hedgerows were bustling with gatekeepers, large whites, red admirals and peacocks.

Irlam Moss 

Passing the Jack Russell's gate a great spotted woodpecker took exception to me from somewhere in the canopy of the roadside trees. Speckled woods and small whites fluttered about, the speckled woods chasing off any passing large whites. (I have speckled woods in my back garden. A whip and chair is a sensible precaution.) Swallows and swifts circled overhead and one of the lesser black-backs flying North, perhaps heading for Pennington Flash, turned out to be a subadult great black-back. 

Mugwort

I scanned the fallow field by Prospect Grange, all that thistledown and scarce a goldfinch to be seen. As I stepped back onto the verge to let a car go by a brown hawker zipped over my shoulder and followed in the car's wake.

Chat Moss 

The turf fields North of the motorway were green deserts, save the occasional swallow hawking low over the ground. A few fields distant a field had been turned over and was carpeted with over a hundred black-headed gulls and dozens of lesser black-backs and herring gulls. A bit further along a couple of strips of turf had been removed from a field and a dozen carrion crows were raking over the spoils. I looked in vain for any flavour of wagtail and was mightily relieved that house martins were still hawking over the farmsteads.

By Lavender Lane 

The walk down Lavender Lane felt quiet despite there being lots of woodpigeons and magpies about. The pair of kestrels were hunting over the fields either side of the lane but didn't look to be having much luck. I muttered to myself that I hadn't seen or heard any whitethroats and almost immediately a family of them popped up out of a bramble patch, hurled some filthy abuse my way and, having done what they had set out to do, retreated into cover. It was a warm, muggy day, I had every expectation of seeing a few dragonflies and saw not a one.

Juvenile stonechat

The first stonechat I spotted was a juvenile bird fussing about in a stand of mugwort in a thistle patch. The male stonechat spotted that I had noticed and made a point of looking very conspicuous as it hissed at me.

Stonechat

Willow warblers squeaked and one sang in the trees by the entrance to Little Woolden Moss. A stand of hemp agrimony in a corner was heaving with butterflies: peacocks, meadow browns, gatekeepers, large whites, speckled woods and — outnumbering the rest put together — red admirals.

Red admiral on hemp agrimony 

Walking in through the trees a wren sang as I passed by while blue tits and willow warblers ignored me and carried on with their business. A lot of gatekeepers fussed about the grasses and heather by the path as I emerged into the open. I hadn't gone far when a brown butterfly that wasn't a gatekeeper or a meadow brown fluttered past. Even though I knew what it was I needed to convince myself, I'm lucky if I get to see a large heath here once a year. "Large heath" suggests a big butterfly but these things are relative, they're about the same size or perhaps slightly smaller than a gatekeeper but are big compared to small heaths. Whereas the gatekeepers and meadow browns will occasionally stay still for a photo the large heath was an utter fidget, not stopping anywhere longer than a second or two.

Gatekeeper

Lapwings

I worried that the pools on the reserve may have dried out completely. They hadn't but they were very much reduced and for the most part only ankle-deep to a pied wagtail. As one demonstrated. A family of oystercatchers made a lot of noise, a couple of curlews slept and about a dozen lapwings loafed about, taking occasional snaps at passing insects. The pied wagtails were much more active, dashing about and catching insects in mid-air. A mystery bird was asleep on a log. Round and brown and lapwing-sized with dark legs. I was baffled until the oystercatchers woke it up and it fell off the log. A very young black-headed gull still not quite ready to be a master of the sky.

Curlews

A couple of black-tailed skimmers zipped about over the water, Southern hawkers patrolled the willow scrub. And for once there was not a single darter of any type to be found, very unusual in high Summer. I couldn't blame today's weather, the sun had come out and it was warm and muggy.

Stonechat

Stonechat

Walking back down Lavender Lane painted ladies, common blues and a large skipper joined the butterfly ball. The female stonechat joined the male in watching me on my way. It took me a while to find the young kestrel noisily begging for food, it had perched close to the top of a telegraph pole, a couple of poles away from where the female was keeping an eye on it.

Kestrel

Twelve Yards Road 

I headed down a rather quiet Twelve Yards Lane. A few swifts circled overhead, more squadrons of woodpigeons passed by, a dozen stock doves almost sneaked past my notice. The little pond that had formed in the corner of the fallow field was bone dry and deserted. Painted ladies and red admirals basked on the road. All the red admirals were pristine and new, the painted ladies split fifty-fifty between faded individuals almost grey and transparent and bright salmon-pink ones fresh from the production line.

There were a lot of these ghostly painted ladies about

After debating whether or not to take a detour up to the fringes of Croxden's Moss in the hopes of finding more dragonflies I decided against. I didn't have the legs for it.

Twelve Yards Road 

The lighting effects became impossible to ignore. Fields full of straw glowed against a backdrop of thunderous navy blue clouds. Yet the thunder never came, not a drop of rain. For which I was profoundly grateful but we do desperately need the rain.

There was a lot of activity in one rowan tree, more than there had been in all the hedgerows along this road so far. A family of whitethroats chased each other about, goldfinches twittered, a greenfinch sang, a chiffchaff squeaked and a blackcap hopped onto a perch to glare at me before flying into the neighbouring hawthorn. It turned out to be more activity than all the hedgerows for the rest of the walk down Twelve Yards Road and Cutnook Lane into Irlam for the bus back to the Trafford Centre.

Cutnook Lane 

I'm going to have to come back soon and look for darters on Chat Moss. There's something seriously wrong with the scheme of things in their absence.