Mosses

Red admiral and cinnabar moth catterpillars, Little Woolden Moss

After yesterday's debacle I decided on a nice leisurely stroll over the Salford mosses. I got the 100 bus to Cutnook Lane and had an afternoon wander.

Cutnook Lane was very quiet save the constant passing of woodpigeons between fields. That changed a lot once I passed the fishery: two of the juvenile kestrels were shouting the odds from the scrub behind the trees.

Cutnook Lane 

I carried on up the lane. The pools were largely hidden by the trees, I saw and heard a couple of moorhen families. The chiffchaffs squeaking in the trees by Twelve Yards Road were replaced by willow warblers in the willows by the pools. The birds were difficult to spot, even the long-tailed tits were keeping well undercover. The butterflies on the thistles and nettles were more obliging. Most were large whites with a supporting cast of gatekeepers, speckled woods, common blues and my first small copper of the year. A few brown hawkers whizzed along the path verges and an emperor dragonfly patrolled the treetops. I was taking this all in when a couple of alarm calls came from the great tits in the trees. A dark shape suddenly loomed, a female marsh harrier readied to land in the treetop not twenty feet away, spotted me and shot back whence she came.

I found myself walking through a cloud of deer flies. I don't know which particular species they were but they were very pretty, with black Mayan glyphs on their clear wings and iridescent eyes in golds and greens. They were a damned nuisance. I got a couple of bites (neither party got to enjoy their meal) but nothing major. I've come to the conclusion that the sun cream I've been using has "Bite me" written all the way through so I did without today, two nibbles after quarter of an hour's worth of walking through the swarm seems to support the theory. A few horseflies joined in, landing on my hands but not biting (I had a hand like a bag of tapioca last week).

Rejoining Twelve Yards Road I walked down to Four Lanes End. A couple of buzzards flew over to Little Woolden Moss and a kestrel hovered over a field of barley. The whitethroats were very quiet, not even chacking at me as they disappeared into the mugworts and rank hogweed in the drains. A couple of singing yellowhammers were a pleasure to hear.

There was an eruption of woodpigeons from Little Woolden Moss. Just what you need on a nature reserve: some chuff on a microlight flying down to thirty feet to have a nosey. There was a lot of noise from the buzzards, I hoped one of them had got him.

Gatekeeper, Little Woolden Moss

I got to the entrance to Little Woolden Moss accompanied by young robins, goldfinches and a couple of dead silent willow warblers. Little Woolden Moss is generally either famine or feast. Today was one of the famine days, possibly as much down to weather conditions as frightful aviators. Most of the pools were bone dry and the only birds on the mud were the usual family of crows. A male kestrel hovered over the barley field while much, much higher a flock of swifts were swooping up midges.

Buzzards, Little Woolden Moss

Buzzards, Little Woolden Moss

Buzzard, Little Woolden Moss

I decided I'd go for the bus at Fowley Common Road, walking through the farm and onto Moss Road, so I walked along the path on the Northern margin of the reserve. The buzzards were still calling, as I got to the corner of the path they rose up from the trees and started catching the thermals, spiralling higher quite quickly. By the look and sound of them it was two juveniles and a big adult female. They hadn't had the microlight aviator, I saw him heading off in the distance towards Astley. Shame.

There were at least a dozen meadow pipits fossicking about in the cotton grasses, none of them easy to see. The linnets were more accomodating, flitting about with a flock of goldfinches in the birch scrub by the drain. Red admirals and small tortoiseshells fed on the thistles by the wayside. A couple of large heaths were a first for me.

Bracken and heather, Little Woolden Moss 

Mosslands Farm 

Half of the barley field had been harvested, about fifty woodpigeons rummaged in the stubble for scraps. It was only on my way home that I realised I didn't see or hear any skylarks or lapwings on this walk (and the only wagtail was the male pied wagtail flitting between people's feet at the Trafford Centre bus station). Still more butterflies, including some gorgeously bright, brand new salmon pink painted ladies, looking so very different to the faded individuals still holding territories on the path from Four Lanes End. 

Painted lady, Marsh Moss Farm

The were plenty of spadgers and starlings by the farm houses and one of the chickens had a mixed bag of a brood no two of which were alike.

Hen with her mixed bag

The Glaze Brook was a lot lower than usual. I was just remarking this to myself when a kingfisher shot from under the bridge and disappeared upstream.

The plan was to get the 28 from Fowley Common Road to Warrington then get the 100 back to the Trafford Centre. There was twenty minutes' grace to make the connection at Warrington Interchange. Except there was nothing to say where the bus was going from. Google Maps and the bus timetable said the bus went from the interchange but the interchange disclaimed any knowledge of such a bus and certainly didn't include it on the departure board. I spent twenty-five minutes scurrying around the badly-signed bus stops of Warrington town centre trying to find where the 100 might go from. In the end I gave up and went back to the interchange for a bus up to Leigh. Luckily, the 100 was twenty minutes late due to traffic around the M6 so I discovered that whatever the interchange's signage might say that bus does go from there (it's platform 13 if you need it).

Moss Lane

That last frisson of panic aside, it had been a good afternoon's walk with a quiet but surprisingly productive bit of birdwatching.