Mersey Valley

?Essex skipper, Stretford Meadows

Yes, I did watch the football, and yes, I did have eyes like peepholes in the snow all morning. It was a fine, bright day and not too hot. The back garden is looking like the Lost City of the Incas but I decided against doing anything about it. Yesterday's short effort at reining in the tall grasses and goose grass, and the two hours spent sneezing consequently have convinced me that it would be wise to wait until the end of the hayfever season then blitz the lot. Which is good news for the wrens, they sound as if the youngsters are out of the nest and would benefit from the extensive cover.

By mid-afternoon I'd decided I wasn't for lolling about all day. Seeing all those marsh helleborines at Nob End the other day reminded me I should go and look out for the broad-leaved helleborines on Sale Water Park. If I walked over via Stretford Meadows I could also see if I could find the twayblade I found on the mound the year before last. And if I put the effort into looking for the twayblade I might accidentally encounter a lesser whitethroat, they've been conspicuous by their absence on the meadows this year.

A rather nice large-flowered pink bramble by the car park

Stretford Meadows 

Blackbirds, song thrushes, wrens, a blackcap and a chiffchaff sang in the trees by the car park on Newcroft Road. Dozens of ringlets and large whites skittered about the drifts of thistles and great willowherbs, a few red admirals chased around the the nettle patches. Whitethroats sang from the large hawthorns out in the open, a couple of them performing their flying songs, longer and with more trills, crescendo to the top of the flight and diminuendo as they drifted back down to the trees. Squadrons of woodpigeons passed overhead, moving from the fields and woods by the river into the town centre for who knows what reason.

Meadow brown

Meadow browns fluttered deep in the grasses and vetches out in the open country. Up top of the mound, where the song thrushes sang from the little oak trees, the grasses are finer and shorter. I don't know why, it has a cropped look about it but I've seen neither rabbits nor rabbit droppings here. My eye was caught by a small heath which somehow disappeared into a patch of fine grasses and low-growing white clovers. I had no luck finding the twayblade. Nor any lesser whitethroats. 

Cinnabar moth caterpillar 

Not for the first time I wished I was better at identifying the grass moths and not for the first time I had to concede I'm unlikely to get any better at it. The cinnabar moths were unmistakable, even in caterpillar form. Small skippers fluttered about the clovers, vetches and vetchlings, keeping low in the cover of the stems and grasses, not often giving me much chance of getting a photo. Having said that, they were infinitely more accommodating than the birds. Even the goldfinches were twittering from deep in the bushes and the magpies were noises off in the long grass.

Small skipper

A few skippers were showing well as they fed on red clover flowers. As I took their pictures I felt there was something very slightly different about them. I recalled reading the other day about the spread of Essex skippers into Northwest England, including high numbers being found on Woolston Eyes. I also recalled looking up the identification criteria and thinking: "No chance." I looked them up again and had another look at the skippers in front of me. In the end it was the black ends to the antennae that finally persuaded me. Then I persuaded myself I was wrong. And I'm still not sure. There were lots of small skippers about and at least two of them were probably, possibly Essex skippers.

?Essex skipper

?Essex skipper 

Three song thrushes sang a duel in the hawthorn bushes around the bramble patch surrounding a plum tree, drowning out the songs of a blackbird, a whitethroat and a dunnock. For a moment I thought I heard a lesser whitethroat tutting at me from the brambles but was deafened by song thrushes before I was sure and after ten minutes I had to give up on hoping I might hear it again or go mad. 

Hold your plums

Stretford Meadows, walking to Stretford Ees 
The fence really does bend like that, its not a camera artefact.

Blackcaps, blackbirds, chiffchaffs and a whitethroat sang in the hedgerows as I walked over to Stretford Ees. Families of long-tailed tits moved like shadows in the trees, young great tits were called back into cover by their parents. Brown hawkers patrolled the waysides, gatekeepers and red admirals fluttered about the brambles.

Passing under Chester Road 

I passed under Chester Road and walked on beside Kickety Brook. Magpies and woodpigeons barged about in the treetops, song thrushes and wrens sang, goldfinches twittered, parakeets screeched. And  for all that the only birds I was actually seeing were the carrion crows flying overhead.

Walking by Kickety Brook 

The pigeons sat, evenly spaced in a line, on the support girder for the aqueduct arch as I walked underneath. In retrospect I should have risked upsetting them and got a photo so this post would have had a picture with some birds in. It's that time of year. Insects, flowers and landscapes will feature over the next couple of weeks.

Stretford Ees 
The tramline to Altrincham is behind the fence.

Large whites, ringlets, small skippers and peacocks fluttered about the brambles and hedgerows of Stretford Ees. Whitethroats sang in the scrub by the gate, blackbirds, chiffchaffs and song thrushes in the trees. The wrens were silent, stopping only to give me dirty looks before retreating into cover. I was struck forcibly by the difference between knowing there were robins out there somewhere and being able to record any evidence of them. The parakeets screeching in the treetops provided their own testimony.

The grey wagtails that had been nesting by Crossford Bridge had had some success, the female was supervising a rather downy youngster on the rocks by the riverbank as I crossed.

Sale Water Park 

Sale Water Park was busy-quiet. A big herd of mute swans was muscling out the Canada geese over on the landing stage and a couple of lesser black-backs loafed on the open water. There was no sign of the great crested grebes. All the mallards were in their moulting shyness, small clusters hiding on the little islands or on the pools and ditches of Broad Ees Dole. 

The Teal Pool 
Only mallards today.

The view from the hide on Broad Ees Dole was slightly obscured by the foliage outside but not enough to not be able to see what was about. There was just the one heron loafing on the islands, and that pretty much crowded out by the mallards. They were well into their moult, the drakes not having much grey left in their plumage and more brown than green on their heads. A few coots and moorhens pottered about, there was just the one lapwing and a couple of black-headed gulls were having a bath. Sight or sound of dabchicks there was none.

Broad Ees Dole 

I found the broad-leaved helleborines, a few days past their best but still game. It's only ever one or two plants and I often worry that they may be tidied up out of existence at some point.

Broad-leaved helleborine

The walk round Sale Water Park took longer than intended because I got into conversation with a chap by the lake. He's written a book about cryptocurrency so of course we discussed that but we generally ranged over the subject of work-life balance. And dragonflies. He'd been blown away a few days earlier by an encounter with a large dragonfly along a canal towpath and had been frankly amazed to discover he'd spent half an hour watching it. I laughed and welcomed him into the club and warned him that his first encounter with a Southern hawker might freak him out because they're dead nosy and will come right up to eyeball you. We were just saying our farewells when one did precisely that. The next fifteen minutes was spent with our trying to keep track of it and the two brown hawkers also circling us both.

By Barrow Brook 

It was getting on. Blackbirds, chiffchaffs and woodpigeons were doing the bulk of the singing and swifts were flying lazy circles high overhead. I checked the bus times, if I got the tram I had a fighting chance of getting the next bus home from Chorlton. I watched the bus sail past as I tried to cross the road and had an half hour wait for the next. It was only when I sat down at the bus stop I realised I'd been on my feet the past four-and-a-half hours. It was a typical July walk, the bird life hinted at more than seen or heard. And it seemed that I might have seen my first Essex skippers, though I still wasn't convinced.

A couple of juvenile swifts were chasing their parents over the rooftops when I got home. Time marches on.

Adwick Washland

Adwick Washland 

At time of writing I've only visited this RSPB reserve the once so it seems a bit odd to be posting a site guide to it. The reason why I'm doing it is to flag up just how extremely accessible it is by public transport. It may be ten minutes' walk longer from the station than Leighton Moss but it's a straight line along a road with a pavement. It's literally a matter of leaving Bolton-upon-Dearne Station, turning left onto Lowfield Road and heading in a East-South-Easterly direction along the road until you get to the car park where the road becomes the bridleway through the reserve. One footpath leads off the bridleway taking you to a circular viewpoint giving a panoramic view of the reserve. There are also some permissive paths which provide a tour around the perimeter. 

Sketch map: Adwick Washland

Adwick Washland is a piece of flooded farmland which is one of a string of wetland reserves along the Dearne Valley. To the West are Bolton Ings and Old Moor, to the East is Denaby Ings. It's a typical North of England wetland: pools, ponds and ditches in a patchwork of reedbeds, wet meadows, hedgerows and farmland, with the river nearby to cater for the moving water specialists. Which written down so baldly looks a bit dismissive but it really isn't, these mosaic landscapes pack a rich diversity of wildlife into relatively small spaces. 

Adwick Washland 

As it forms part of the local flood defences I would expect the washland varies considerably with the seasons, my visit coincided with a hot spell after a long dry but cloudy period, the meadows were fairly dry but there was plenty of water in the pools. Most of the pools are by the paths, giving very close views of the birds without the use of hides. Most of the birds didn't seem much fussed about passersby.

Reed bunting

There's as a small colony of black-headed gulls. Mallards, dabchicks, great crested grebes, lapwings and avocets also breed on the pools here. Other waders and ducks were about when I visited, I suspect some of them breed somewhere on here, too. Reed buntings, reed warblers and sedge warblers join the usual array of farmland birds, a pretty good tally can be notched up on a leisurely stroll round. And then there's all the other fauna and flora to be found about the reserve, when I visited it was heaving with butterflies and hoverflies.

Adwick Washland 

Even on a slow birdwatching day this is a nice walk to have on a gently sunny day.

New Moss Wood

Blackbirds, Stretford

The garden's entered that time of year where it would be deadly silent but for the existence of blackbirds and magpies. The young magpies are all excited because they have discovered the rowan berries, which aren't quite ripe yet. The blackbirds, however, have set about denuding the boysenberries and are fighting over the spoils. This morning the young bird spent an hour and a half alarm-calling without apparently drawing a breath. Every afternoon I see berries that will soon be ripe for picking then every morning I find the blackbirds have beaten me to it. Mind you, at least they let me see the fruit start to colour up and I usually get a handful of them for myself in the end. In twenty-five years I've had one pear off the tree, the squirrels eat them when they're about the size of a damson. 

I was feeling low energy today, my own fault: I'd noticed the unlikely score line Argentina 1 : Cape Verde 1 and had to watch the match to the end. I needed some exercise, I'm getting lazy, so I got the train into Irlam, strolled past the allotments and had a wander round New Moss Wood then got back by walking into Cadishead via the path across the old railway line and getting the 67 to Irlam Station. A toddle round and six stops on the bus, I felt like I'd done a route march.

It's not just my back garden that's gone quiet. It wasn't until I passed the allotments and got to the stretch of path that runs by the railway that I first started hearing any birdsong, a blackcap singing in the trees. There were woodpigeons and house sparrows sat on rooftops, goldfinches and greenfinches flew between trees and swifts looked to have a nest in the eaves of a corner terrace but for once there was no sign of any blackbirds, robins or starlings. I picked a couple of blackberries from the brambles by the railway, by way of compensation for the boysenberries I've not been getting.

Turning the hay

It was a heavy, grey day and despite a strong breeze the weather felt warm and clammy like the embrace of a sweaty armpit. The hay was being turned in the field by Moss Road, the tractor being followed by pheasants, of all things. A few lesser black-backs drifted over and floated low over the field before moving on, the process evidently wasn't disturbing out much insect life. Overhead squadrons of woodpigeons passed between fields and copses with no general overall pattern to their movements.

Entering New Moss Wood 

The whitethroats in the field leading into New Moss Wood seemed to be singing to meet contractual obligations rather than with any commitment to the song. They hurled three or four notes at each other from the high points of their bramble patches then retreated into cover before receiving an answer. The songscape was completed by the goldfinch singing in the hedge by the garden at the side.

New Moss Wood 

It wasn't a lot noisier in the wood. I counted four singing blackcaps and two singing wrens in the end. A chiffchaff could only be bothered with an occasional chiff. This time of year always reminds me how reliant I am on hearing the birds to spot them. The rustling of the wind in the trees muffled the contact calls of the blue tits, great tits and chaffinches. Any blackbirds, robins or song thrushes were silent and in deep cover. Perhaps the best illustration of the quiet of the post-breeding moult was the wren I disturbed as I walked up the central ride. It jumped out of the wayside bracken and sat on the lower branch of a birch tree furiously wagging its tail at me, completely silently. For fifty weeks of the year I'd have been on the receiving end of a very loud scolding.

Red admiral

There were dozens of red admirals sunning themselves as best they could on the rides. There's plenty enough nettles for their caterpillars to feast on. Meadow browns and speckled woods fluttered about the bracken and long grasses, commas chased each other by the waysides and the excellent year for painted ladies extended its run. I thought it was too cool, grey and windy to expect to see anything on the little dragonfly pools and I proved right.

Comma

New Moss Wood 

I emerged from the wood in time to see a swallow make a low pass over the turned hay before moving on. I moved on, too, walking back down Moss Road to the railway bridge and turning onto the path that runs alongside the railway, over the old Wigan to Stockport line then follows that line into Cadishead. Which sounds a long walk but is really barely quarter of a mile. A collared dove sang at the start of the path, a woodpigeon sang at the end and a blackcap sang about halfway down. Blackbirds, goldfinches, magpies and wrens rummaged about the hedgerows. Large whites and commas fluttered about the waysides. Once again I reminded myself that it looks like there's a good walk to be had along the old railway line.

The Wigan to Stockport railway line 

At the end of the path I saw the bus pass by, going to the end of the route a few streets away. That meant I had about three minutes to get to the bus stop to catch it on the way back. Which I did with time to spare. I had a five minute wait for the train back home, I'd timed it nicely for getting back directly without having to walk back from Urmston. A wedding party had booked the station bar, the smell of burgers on the barbecue reminded me it was teatime.

Along the Croall

Marsh helleborine

It was a bright, if cloudy, day and agreeably warm. A couple of black-necked grebes had spent the past couple of days on the lodges at Moses Gate Country Park, I thought I'd have a look to see if they were about and then drift about and see where I found myself.

I got the 524 from Bolton Bus Station and got off at the entrance to the country park. Blackbirds and blackcaps sang either side of the road. As I walked down to the car park I decided to have a look at the river, the Croall, and I surprised a kingfisher which shot up into the canopy of one of the riverside trees.

Crompton Lodge

There was no sign of the black-necked grebes on the lodges. I took my time looking, my reckoning being that if after scanning round the big pool for quarter of an hour I could overlook a tufted duck I could just as easily have overlooked the grebes, especially considering how long they can stay underwater. I hadn't, but it's as well to check. Mute swans and mallards mugged passersby by the car park. Canada geese and more mallards dozed under trees. The black-headed gulls kept away from the raft of herring gulls and lesser black-backs over on the other side. And all the while a flock of sand martins and a couple of swallows hawked low over the water.

Great crested grebe

A great crested grebe sat on her nest in the middle of the pool. A nearby coots' nest was being used as a rallying point by the owners whenever the tiny chicks started to wander too far. Another coot was sat on a nest under the trees. All the mallard ducklings were very nearly full-grown.

Red-eyed damselfly
The chappie on the left is a water lily beetle of the genus Donacia.

Brown hawkers and a Southern hawker patrolled the lodges. Damselflies swarmed over the lily pads in the smaller lodges. Most of them were red-eyed damselflies, I've not knowingly seen them before so I made sure to get a good look at them to get my eye in. A few black-tailed skimmers hawked low over the water or sunned themselves on the paths. 

Common blue damselfly

Red-eyed damselflies

Black-tailed skimmers

I wandered back to the river and walked along to join this end of the Kingfisher Trail which starts up in Jumbles Country Park. Meadow browns and small tortoiseshells fluttered around the meadows while carrion crows, blackbirds and magpies fossicked about in the grass.

River Croall 

The Kingfisher Trail 

In the woods I joined the trail, I have an unerring capacity for finding staircases in woodlands. It's a mostly flat walk thereafter so my knees were in a forgiving mood. Blackbirds and blackcaps sang in the trees and robins silently disappeared into the wayside. It seemed odd to have all that shingle bankside and small rapids on the river and have no wagtails or dippers but it was so. At one intersection of paths four song thrushes had a singing duel which baffled the senses, particularly as one of them had a few notes from a police siren in its repertoire.

River Croall

A little further on a buzzard circled high over the woodland and a jay called from the other side of the river. The path turned into an opening in the trees by the river. A kingfisher, which had been sitting in a tree on the near bank shot across into the trees on the other. Blackcaps, blackbirds, chiffchaffs and wrens sang in the trees as I walked along. Then I was through the gate and out of the trees and on Nob End.

Goldfinches twittered about and whitethroats sang in the bushes and carrion crows rummaged about in the meadows. Large whites, meadow browns and small tortoiseshells fluttered about and brown hawkers and Southern hawkers patrolled the landscape.

Nob End is notable for its unusual flora, being very different to the surrounding area due to the land having been contaminated by the soda works that was here in Victorian times. Most of Greater Manchester's natural riches have industrial origins. I didn't think I'd have much luck spotting anything unusual, I expected that in my ignorance of plant life I'd overlook the specialities. I was wrong on both counts.

Marsh helleborines 

At first I was just seeing clovers and vetches. Then I started seeing the orchids. And more orchids. Most of the purple spires were unknown to me, they turned out to be fragrant orchids. I found a few common spotted orchids, and a few I presume were more common spotted orchids. And there were drifts of marsh helleborines. Which I also had to look up. I was frankly a bit overwhelmed by my bafflement. I later bumped into a chap who asked me if I knew where the bee orchids were. I admitted I had no idea but pointed him towards the meadow full of orchids.

Marsh helleborine

Fragrant orchids

Marsh helleborine

Common spotted orchid

Fragrant orchid

Common spotted orchid

Giant hogweed 

I crossed the river and walked into Farnworth, more blackbirds, song thrushes, goldfinches and wrens singing me on my way. The train back to Manchester left the station as I walked by, I hadn't thought to try going for that, I was too busy trying to work out the best way through the maze of back streets to get to the main road for the bus. I didn't have long to wait for the next bus, the 37 to Manchester. As we passed Blackleach Country Park my legs said no, let's not get off for a walk round. I changed in Swinton for the bus to the Trafford Centre. Along the way my legs said no to a walk round Worsley Woods either. I must be getting old.

Wellacre Country Park

Small skipper on clover, Green Hill

I don't know what was wrong with me today, I just couldn't get started. In the end I dragged myself out for a teatime walk around Wellacre Country Park, starting at Green Hill so I could catch up with the bits I missed last week.

Starting off up Green Hill 

Green Hill was fairly quiet. Blackbirds and a chiffchaff sang by the Merseyview entrance. Ringlets skittered around in the grass and clover on the rise. 

Green Hill 

Out on the open hillside goldfinches, greenfinches and carrion crows flew to and fro but didn't seem to settle. Whitethroats sang from their hawthorns and bramble patches, dunnocks sang from nettle patches and a couple of song thrushes sang in the trees by the railway line. Each nettle patch was a combat zone as red admirals defended their territories against intruders, which apparently included me.

Red admiral

Dutton's Pond 

Dutton's Pond was in a quietly convivial mood, the family of coots all together at one side and a dozen mallards gathered together at the other. It took me longer than it should have to find the moorhens pottering about amongst the water lilies. An oystercatcher called loudly as it passed overhead.

Long-tailed tits bounced about in the trees by Dutton's Pond. As I walked down to Jack Lane blackbirds, blackcaps, goldfinches, chiffchaffs and woodpigeons sang in the trees. One of the willows on the railway embankment had fallen over the path making it passable for those of us who can duck but not for the horses and riders that frequent this way.

A willow cracked

Jack Lane Nature Reserve 

Nearly all the Jack Lane songscape came from the trees round the edges. Blackbirds, song thrushes and a chiffchaff counted for the bulk of it, with contributions from blackcaps, wrens and a whitethroat. I got tutted at by reed warblers deep in the reeds, just the one did any singing and that more in the nature of quietly keeping in practice. An oystercatcher flew over from the water treatment works, they must both have been feeding on the filtration pans. Judging by their trajectory they must have been heading to Trafford Park or Salford Quays to roost.

A great spotted woodpecker flew over from the nature reserve and into the top of one of the trees by the lane. Swallows zipped low over the stables and fields by Jack Lane and I could see the sand martins feeding over Irlam Locks. While the swallows tended to do long straight runs the sand martins did figures of eight, rising and falling with the loops.

Wellacre Country Park 

Wellacre Wood 

Wellacre Wood was quiet but busy, or as quiet as a singing song thrush may allow. Blackbirds and dunnocks silently rummaged about the woodland floor, the robins were extremely shy and retiring, more often than not small shapes disappearing into the undergrowth. Unlike the wrens which jumped out to sing me out of their territories. Overhead, magpies and woodpigeons clattered about in the trees.

I emerged from the wood, passing another family of long-tailed tits in one of the hawthorns, and walked into Town's Gate for the bus home. I'd managed to break my lethargy but I was gagging for a pot of tea.