Mosses

Lesser black-back, Little Woolden Moss

After a couple of nights of not getting to sleep before dawn I wasn't really ready for taking advantage of a cooler day with a lower pollen count. In the end I dragged myself out for a late afternoon walk on the mosses and felt tired but the better for it in the end.

I got the train to Irlam and walked up Astley Lane. The fields were full of woodpigeons, pheasants were calling in odd corners and whitethroats sang from hawthorn bushes. The heavy cloud brought the swifts feeding low, once in a while a swallow would pass by and join them for a minute or two.

An odd shape in the field opposite the Jack Russell's gate made me stop and look. It took a while to realise it was a young kestrel, not long out of the nest. I soon found its father sitting on one of the telegraph wires. Another youngster belted in stage right and tried to take a carrion crow feeding in the field. The crow, with a resigned patience I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen it, simply stepped away at the last minute then carried on feeding. Knowing crows I suspect that kestrel's going to have to watch it's step in future.

This juvenile kestrel stayed resting on the ground, Irlam Moss

This juvenile kestrel thought it would try and catch a carrion crow, Irlam Moss

The field by the motorway looked quiet, which just shows how well the disruptive colouration of lapwings, oystercatchers and mildewy young mistle thrushes works on roughly ploughed land.

About half of the turf has been removed from the fields on the other side of the motorway and more lapwings were taking advantage of the exposed ground while swifts and swallows hawked low overhead. There were family parties of pied wagtails flitting about, the ones on the field opposite the yard were very young: still more primrose green than grey, only their long black and white tails giving an easy ID feature. Older juveniles, with grey backs and lemon yellow faces, chased each other round the field margins.

Little Woolden Moss

I had a quick look at Little Woolden Moss, the plan being to walk through and get the bus at Glazebury but checking the time I realised I'd be getting to the stop just after the bus. Heywood's Second Law of public transport states that however often you end up waiting ten minutes for a bus to arrive the one time you're a minute late it'll be running dead on schedule. So I had half an hour's wander then headed for Twelve Yards Road.

The willow warblers were quieter today, just a handful singing by the entrance. Reed buntings, linnets and meadow pipits twitted about in the grasses and heather. The swifts here were feeding at head height or lower, which was a bit of a test of my nerve. A couple of dozen lapwings bathed and rested on the pool with a third-year lesser black-back while a mallard and her young ducklings dabbled at the margins. There were lots of pied wagtails about but no sign of yellow wagtails. The curlews were very noisy, one eventually taking flight to go and feed on the fields.

By Twelve Yards Road

Walking down Twelve Yards Road I was struck by the number of young birds about. Fluffy whitethroats flew up from ditches to have a look at me as I passed, diving straight back at the sight of the camera. The hedges were full of the squeaks and twiterrings of young robins, wrens, blue tits and great tits.

There'd been a steady flow of odd ones and twos of black-headed gulls and lesser black-backs so I almost missed the common tern that flew past. The usual buzzard was on its usual telephone pole and the fields were full of woodpigeons, stock doves and skylarks.

I was ready for going home but as much out of bloody mindedness as principle I had ten minutes' wander up to the first of the pools just North of Twelve Yards Road. There were a few mallards and coots about and a couple of black-headed gulls were having a bath. The blackcaps, willow warblers and chiffchaffs were in full song. The path was lined with figworts, a plant I don't often pay much attention to but when they're literally in your face the flowers are as striking at they are small.

Figwort, Chat Moss

There were more young birds along Cutnook Lane, families of blackcaps, long-tailed tits and great spotted woodpeckers with more robins and great tits. A female kestrel flew low over with such a direct power flight I had to look twice to make sure what she was.

Gulls are enough to baffle me, I'm glad I'm not one of the botanists that study the thousands of microspecies of brambles. These star-petalled brambles were on Cutnook Lane.

I got over the motorway into Irlam to a textbook demonstration of Heywood's Second Law of public transport and walked down to Liverpool Road to make as best could of the bus connections home.