Along the Irwell

Canada goose, Clifton Country Park 

It was one of those bright, sunny days that turn cloudy the moment you put your boots on and pours down while you're standing at the bus stop but I took a chance and went for a walk anyway. It was quite mild if you stayed indoors and the wind was brisk and aimed straight for the bladder. The 25 was late getting to the Trafford Centre so I saw the 132 leave as we arrived so I revised my plans. The next bus out was the 22 so I decided on a wander round Clifton Country Park. If the weather stayed bad I'd just have a walk round the lake and a look at the river and get the bus home. If it cleared up I'd either walk down the river to Agecroft or cross over and walk up to Ringley or, if the weather turned good, down either to the Outwood Trail into Radcliffe or through Waterdale to Prestwich. I like having an unambiguously definite plan of action.

Clifton Country Park 

When I got off the bus in Clifton (3rd stop after the motorway) the weather was bright and sunny, if a bit cool. A few non-threatening clouds rolled in as I walked down the road and under the railway into the country park. The trees and gardens were noisy with blackbirds, greenfinches, chaffinches and wrens, goldfinches and house sparrows twittered and clamoured in the shrubberies.

Coot, Clifton Country Park 

There was more of the same in the country park together with singing willow warblers, chiffchaffs and great tits. I wandered down to the lake where Canada geese, coots and a mute swan lurked expectantly on the off-chance passersby had bags of goodies. Further out a couple of black-headed gulls loafed on the water by a raft of tufted ducks. Tufties are odd ducks, unlike all the others they don't look to change their behaviour come the breeding season and still hang about in what look like the Winter groups then all of a sudden you start noticing that the ducks have ducklings with them. It's evidently a winning strategy on the subsidence flashes of Greater Manchester.

Wandering over to the river there were more willow warblers, chiffchaffs and great tits singing in the trees and a coal tit sang by the junction of the paths. There was just the one redhead goosander loafing on the shoals on the bend of the river. 

River Irwell 

On a whim I crossed the river and walked by the water treatment works and walked down Red Rock Lane and into Giants Seat Wood. I decided not to take any of the side tracks into the wood, the metalled lane was quite wet enough. The long, and it feels never-ending, Autumn has left all tracks and paths in the state one generally only ever encounters in early February and it doesn't look like they'll be recovering for quite some time. The paths into Giants Seat were no exception. Luckily there was no real need to leave the lane: I met two people and their dogs over the stretch of a mile and a half and there was plenty of wildlife about.

Blackbird, Giants Seat Wood 

Sheltered from the wind it became a very nice Spring afternoon. Blackcaps and song thrushes joined the songscape. Blackbirds, robins and wrens fossicked about by the side of the lane, finches and titmice bounced about in the trees and a couple of singing goldcrests were a delight. Every so often pheasants would call from deep cover. The woodland floor was thickly carpeted with wild garlic and bluebells and these were busy with bees and hoverflies. I didn't see any butterflies until the stretch into Fat Hurst Wood, orange tips suddenly becoming abundant fluttering about over the garlic.

Red Rock Lane 

Giants Seat Wood 

The right side of the lane is fenced off for its whole length, at first to stop you falling into the river then to stop you falling into the sludge lagoons. Here and there the lagoons are visible from the lane and the moorhens and teal carefully drift into cover when you notice them.

Fat Hurst Wood 

The lane had been getting appreciably worse as I walked along. I got to the junction with the Outwood Trail and decided not to follow it, that looked no better and I didn't fancy a steep walk up mud, if the going was dodgy I was for keeping to the flat.

Roe deer prints 

You can hear the motorway as you approach it but only see it at the last minute. The lane turns at a right angle and runs along the motorway down to the underpass. Looking at the state of it I wondered if I hadn't have been better going up the Outwood Trail. I was committed now so off I went, stepping into the hoofprints that hadn't filled with water and trying not to obliterate the prints of three roe deer that hadn't long passed by. I tried not to get too distracted by the long-tailed tits in the hedgerow or the jays in the trees on the nearby sludge lagoons.

Waterdale Meadows 

Under the motorway and onto Waterdale Meadows and I had a choice. One path runs alongside the motorway then sheers off towards Phillips Park, the other along the river. They both looked rank. I assumed the roe deer knew what they were doing and walked along the river, the wisdom of the decision evident a hundred yards down where a lot of footprints and hoofprints cut through a bramble patch onto this path. Blackcaps and willow warblers sang in the trees, mallards and gadwall flew in circles low overhead before returning back to their pools in the meadows and half a dozen goosanders loafed on the river where it suddenly starts smelling of soap.

Clifton Viaduct 

Passing the Clifton Viaduct the trees were busy with finches and titmice, the undergrowth busy with robins, wrens and blackbirds and a couple of swallows flew overhead.

Blue tit, Waterdale Meadows 

Drinkwater Park 

It was a relief to get onto the metalled paths of Drinkwater Park. Chiffchaffs, song thrushes and goldcrests joined the songscape which had been constant from the moment I got off the bus. A female sparrowhawk passing overhead didn't provoke a moment's pause. A pair of coots were nesting on the pond by the path, there wasn't enough cover round the margins for much else.

Drinkwater Park 

I took the path up to Kershaw Avenue for the bus home and ended up walking up steep, muddy slopes after all. Luckily the steepest stretch, the last leg up to the playground, was the driest and had enough embedded rubble for safe footholds.

I had a couple of minutes to wait for the 93 into town. I didn't fancy the city centre in a Friday teatime so got off at Cromwell Bridge and spent the five minutes I had to wait for the 52 to the Trafford Centre watching sand martins hawking over the river and lesser black-backs soaring over the Kersal Wetlands.

Bird cherry, Drinkwater Park