Urmston

Juvenile robin, Stretford

It was a cooler, grey and muggy Saturday, the blackbird and the blackcap were singing in the sycamores, the woodpigeons singing on the rooftops and the wren from somewhere deep in the blackcurrants. The cat had gone for a pee, the wren registered a complaint by flying to the open window and letting me know about it. I let the cat back in, the wren hopped back over to the blackcurrants, all was well with the world. All that singing prompted the robin to assay a quick burst on its own account. I'd not seen or heard any of the local adult robins for a couple of weeks, a juvenile's a regular in the rose bushes in the back.

Juvenile house sparrow, Stretford

Next door has had all the trees cut down in his garden which hasn't gone down well with the spadgers, they can't hop from their bramble patch on the railway line to my garden without breaking cover. On the plus side it makes it considerably easier for me to see them coming in. It's a bit spooky when bird food disappears by invisible agency in the middle of the day. The last batch of youngsters are growing up now and have mostly lost their yellow gapes though they're still under the supervision of an old cock sparrow. I thought a few more were rummaging about in the boysenberries but on close inspection turned out to be a few baby long-tailed tits. They're always a treat to see when they turn up.

Juvenile long-tailed tit, Stretford

I decided on a wander that didn't involve trains or buses, just because. I wandered over to Cob Kiln Wood, blackbirds singing all the way. You wonder how they have the energy. At the entrance at the end of Torbay Road they were joined by chiffchaffs, dunnocks and a song thrush. A pair of blackcaps churred at me until I was well enough away from their patch. A few ring-necked parakeets screeched in the treetops over by the stables.

Cob Kiln Wood — the bridge over Old Eeas Brook

Walking through the wood it was more what I wasn't hearing or seeing that was striking. Any other time of year it would be difficult not to see any titmice or robins. I heard a blue tit churr at me from somewhere deep in a hawthorn bush and saw the silhouette of a robin as it disappeared under an elderflower bush. The adults are in post-breeding moult, keeping in deep cover during the dangerous stage when the flight feathers aren't in best working nick, and the youngsters for the most part are still hanging round with them.

Cob Kiln Wood approaching the clearing

The electricity pylon clearing was waist-high in grass and comfrey. A small flock of swallows passed over, a couple of swifts hawked overhead and a whitethroat assayed a bit of song at the woodland margins.

I walked down Cob Kiln Lane into Urmston, woodpigeons clattering about in the trees, blackbirds and chiffchaffs singing and magpies bouncing about the hedgerows. A couple of young chiffchaffs flew across the lane barely missing my head. Looking round the paddocks there were more magpies and a couple of carrion crows.

I walked round to Eeasbrook and followed it down past the cemetery. More blackbirds, chiffchaffs and song thrushes sang, joined by wrens and chaffinches in the cemetery. Robins furtively poked about in the margins of the paddocks as I passed and parakeets wheeled about the trees beyond.

Urmston Meadows 

I had more luck with titmice and robins in the woodland of Urmston Meadows. I heard a blue tit and a great tit and a robin singing. Magpies and blackbirds fossicked about in the fields, both having a few juveniles amongst them. A ringlet fluttering low in the tall grass was the only butterfly of the day.

As I left the meadows a family of jays bid me good riddance from the safety of a tree by the gate.

The evening brought the first of the big gull flocks of Autumn on the school playing field: forty-four black-headed gulls, twenty-one lesser black-backs and four herring gulls padding away at the damp grass. In a few weeks we'll be seeing the first of the common gulls and so the cycle repeats itself.

North Wales

Herring gull, Llandudno

A long-intended trip out to North Wales almost fell at the first hurdle: my train into Oxford Road arrived late enough for me to wave goodbye to the Holyhead train. As it happened, the next train to Manchester Airport was to become the next train to Holyhead so I got that, got to the end and came back on the strength of my monthly travel card and stayed on courtesy of a return ticket heavily subsidised by rail vouchers. Which was a much better way of passing the fifty-nine minutes than sitting at Oxford Road stewing about late trains.

I'd been debating whether to go to Anglesey or Llandudno, the lost hour decided it for me so I'd got a return to Colwyn Bay and would bus it from there — the buses from Llandudno Junction to Llandudno are scheduled to leave a few minutes before the train arrives there. It was a lovely ride, I'd been careful to sit on the right-hand side of the train so I'd be facing North most of the way and have a view of the North Wales coast. The tide was out so most of the birds were fairly distant and none of them waders. The only little egret was a flyover near Talacre. The lesser black-backs of inland England gave way to the herring gulls of the Welsh coast, a couple of dozen lesser black-backs loafing on the roof of an industrial unit in Saltney being a last hurrah.

Arriving at Colwyn Bay I decided I'd go straight to Llandudno and have a nosy round here on the way back, the trains back are once an hour. Five minutes walk and I found a gap in the traffic on the main road so I could run across and catch the number 12 bus that had just arrived at the stop. (There was no need to panic, mind, they're every twelve minutes or so.) This route goes through Rhos-on-Sea then along Llandudno Road through Penrhyn Bay and passes the Little Orme before going into Llandudno. The Little Orme has a substantial seabird colony, I haven't visited it, I thought I should. So I got off the bus just after Craigside and walked back along the promenade.

Little Orme and Craigside
That's gravel beach, not sea, in front of us.

Rook, Craigside

The promenade soon gave way to a grassed bank liberally supplied with park benches. There was a large flock of rooks in one of the fields across the road, a few of them flew over to feed on the grass here, entirely unconcerned about people though they got fidgety whenever a dog walked past. There were a few herring gulls about, a glance over with my binoculars confirmed the crowds were with the crowds at Llandudno.

Herring gull, Craigside

It was a mild, cloudy day with a strong wind pushing behind me as I walked. I stopped to scan the sea every so often. More herring gulls passed close by, as did a lesser black-back, a greater black-back and a few cormorants. Further out were more large gulls, probably herring gulls, and a handful of gannets. As I approached the houses of Craigside the first shag of the day was loafing on the choppy sea a few hundred yards out.

Little Orme

I looked at the state of the tide and decided that the pile of limestone boulders marking the end of the seaside houses would be a prudent stopping point if I was going to be spending any amount of time watching the seabird colony. I'd been seeing guillemots flitting to and fro between the cliffs and the open sea as I walked up. I found a boulder with a good view, sat down and had a look round.

Little Orme
The black shapes on the grass are mostly cormorants (there are a couple of great black-backs in there, too), the ones on the sheer cliffs ate shags.

I was getting distant views of the birds, which would still have been the case if I'd been able to walk to the bottom of the cliffs, but they were good views. Cormorants littered the grassy slopes, shags were peppered about the sheer cliffs or traced in black lines along ledges. And there were hundreds of them. A few herring gulls and great black-backs hovered around. It took me a while to find any kittiwakes and fulmars, and there weren't many of them on this side of the cliffs. It took me even longer to find any nesting auks, the first were a pair of razorbills on a ledge near some shags. There was a constant, heavy traffic of hundreds of guillemots commuting between the sea and a big cleft in the cliffs closest to me.

Little Orme

I kept an eye out for black guillemots, they're resident round here unlike the other auks that disappear after the breeding season. Every so often I'd get my hopes up with a black shape on the sea then the wave would swell and show me a razorbill. Some of the guillemots were surprisingly dark underneath and made me look twice as they landed on the water. Luckily auks are easy to identify (least ways, the ones that breed in Britain are): guillemots taper at both ends and the upperparts look brown; razorbills have blunt ends and are black and white; puffins, which I haven't seen on the Welsh mainland, are black and white stocky torpedoes. Black guillemots are the easiest of the lot: in Winter they're mostly white, in Summer they're jet black except for a big white patch which covers most of the base of the wing. It was that big white patch I was looking out for. And, in the end, wasn't seeing. But there was plenty enough else to keep me interested.

Shags, Little Orme

The tide engulfed the stone I'd selected as a warning sign and I made tracks back. Stopping every few yards for another quick scan of the sea just in case, as you do.

Little Orme

I walked back along the gravel beach, house sparrows fossicking about the garden walls of Craigside and a dunnock singing from one of the gardens. It seemed strange to only see the one linnet and no pipits, I suspect it would be a different story if I'd been walking through the fields across the way. Sea beets were doing their best to make sure there'd be something for the beachcombing flocks of Winter.

Sea beet

Sea holly

I got the 12 into Llandudno and had a walk along the promenade which was, predictably, very busy despite the strong wind. Herring gulls and jackdaws lurked about waiting for easy pickings. The herring gull pictured at the top was minding its own business as it stood on a railing. A bloke, keen to show off to his missus and toddler, approached it and jabbed a finger at it. "Come on and bite me then," he said, repeatedly. The fourth time the gull flew off. It should have gone for his throat.

Little Orme and Craigside from Llandudno

Out at sea there were more herring gulls, a few cormorants and shags and a couple of very distant gannets.

Llandudno Pier

I had a bit of a wander, decided I didn't have the time or energy to do the Great Orme any justice so got the 12 back to Colwyn Bay.

Colwyn Bay 

There was the best part of an hour for a walk along the promenade before getting my train home. It was one of those languid Summer teatimes where herring gulls and black-headed gulls pass by with an utter lack of urgency, an occasional cormorant can be seen in the middle distance out to sea and every tide pole has a Sandwich tern sitting on it.

The journey back was pleasantly uneventful. I added rock pipit to the year list as we slowly passed by Old Colwyn.

Irlam

Cormorant, Irlam Locks

It was a scorchio day and it had been such a warm night I didn't get to sleep until past five am and overslept as a consequence. The blackbird started singing just after half three and by quarter past four the wren, the blackcap, a woodpigeon and a carrion crow had joined in the chorus.

I'd missed the trains for plans A to E and, frankly, was too tired and hot to even think of a stroll locally. I decided it was prudent to wait until teatime when there'd be a hint of shade and the promise of a cooling breeze.

I won't bore the reader with a chronicle of the sequence of indecisions that led me to be sitting on the 67 going into Irlam. I got off at Ferry Road and wandered into Irlam Community Woodland.

River Orwell old course

Chiffchaffs, blackbirds and wrens sang in the trees and bushes. A family of coots pottered about the ox-bow lake by The Boathouse, the remnant of the old course of the Irwell. A grey wagtail and a robin fussed about the anglers' landings.

I crossed Cadishead Way and walked along the Ship Canal to the locks. A couple of dozen sand martins hawked low over the canal, pigeons and black-headed gulls loafed on the locks, cormorants dried their wings as they sat on lampposts and a heron lurked by the lock gates.

Manchester Ship Canal, looking downstream from the locks

Looking downstream as I crossed the locks a mute swan was cruising up from the bridges with a couple of Canada geese and a mallard had eight half-sized ducklings dabbling with her by the bank. A few lesser black-backs few high over, a handful of black-headed gulls fussed about the locks.

Walking down Irlam Road there didn't seem to be a lot on the water treatment works. All the sand martins were over the canal and the gulls didn't seem to want to know. A few woodpigeons and magpies rummaged about in the fields with small flocks of starlings and a few swallows. Blackbirds and blackcaps sang in the hedgerows and house sparrows chirped from their depths.

I'd had a bit of a potter about, didn't feel like a walk round Wellacre Country Park and was feeling generally lethargic so I carried on down Irlam Road and got the bus home. Pottering about is allowed.

Lazy Tuesday

The back garden 

For the first morning in ages there wasn't three dozen lesser black-backs on the school playing field. It was so warm the school had the kids out there doing Games rather than festering in the classrooms. Which is how things should be, much as I hated Games at school.

I had an unexpected free morning so I thought I'd get a shop in, finding along the way that our local bus to Urmston seems to have been chopped. Or so it seemed after I stood like piffy at the stop then checked the Bee Network website to see if it had been delayed only to find the service couldn't be found. That turns out to have been a technical hitch, it reappeared after I contacted them. Unlike the bus. By the time I got home I was hot and tired and didn't feel like doing much this afternoon. This was OK as I had a plan for a twilight walk that might be productive. After looking at last night's cancellations and then today's I decided against. There are times of the day when you don't fly without a safety net.

The blackcap seems to have settled in the sycamores and didn't shut up all day after kicking off at half six in the morning. The blackbird at least clocks off for a siesta. The wren was singing as normal all morning but this afternoon he's been dodging round the garden in a very agitated manner, ticking at anything and everything including a few falling rose petals. He might as well put up a poster telling everyone the kids are on their first walkabout. It was nice to see and hear his partner, I hardly ever see her in Summer.

So it's a mellow evening with the blackbird and the blackcap singing in the back garden, the wren calming down a bit for a rummage round in the blackcurrants and a couple of swifts scything their way through an overcast sky. There are worse things in this life.

Hindley

Mute swan and mallard, Low Hall

A proper warm Summer's day had the first singing blackcap visit the garden for about six weeks. Unless it's been there all the time and hiding its bushel the same way the robins have been lately.

The arrival of a bumper bundle of travel vouchers for delayed and cancelled train journeys persuaded me that I didn't want to start the week subject to our rail services. Especially considering how many claims I've got to get round to submitting. And I'm still seething that my claim for the fiasco of a trip home from Millom was turned down because Northern reckons there ain't any such journey. So I decided against a trip out by train.

I went over to the Trafford Centre, got the 132 Wigan bus and got off at Hindley near Liverpool Road then walked down to Low Hall. Although the clouds made the day a lot muggy there was enough of a breeze for it to be okay walking weather. Blackcaps, blackbirds, chiffchaffs and a coal tit sang in the trees on my way down to the car park entrance.

Low Hall 

Walking into Low Hall the trees were busy with singing blackcaps, chiffchaffs, chaffinches and a song thrush. I wandered over to the pond where the pair of mute swans were cruising about with a dozen mallards and a pair of tufted ducks. Common blue damselflies and broad-bodied chasers zipped about low over the water and the tops of the waterside vegetation. A lot of the damselflies were busy making baby damselflies, out in the open and everything they have no shame. Reed buntings, a reed warbler and a Cetti's warbler sang in the reeds and a couple of willow warblers sang in the scrubby woodland across the way 

Common blue damselflies, Low Hall
The pieces of jewellery are willow seeds.

Round the corner there's a new screen overlooking the other side of the pond, or it would if the reeds hadn't grown so thickly. There was enough of a view of the water to see the mute swans and mallards and check for anything lurking by the bank over that side. I could hear willow tits but it took a few minutes to see where the noise was coming from. A pair of them were escorting half a dozen youngsters from the willow scrub over to the right to the waterside trees and reeds on the left. And they all had a genius for immediately getting under cover the moment they arrived in a bush or tree. It was lovely to see them even if they weren't for hanging round.

The best photo I got of the willow tits

Wandering back round towards the car park I saw the arrival of a common tern come to fish the pond. I watched it awhile, it wasn't remotely bothered by my being there, even plunge-diving about ten feet away from me at one point. The willow tits arrived and passed by in front of me while I was watching the tern. There was a lot of tutting from the parents as they passed and once everyone was safely in the bushes the male came over to sing at me to put me in my place. I can't remember hearing a willow tit singing before, it's quite a sad little refrain.

Common tern, Low Hall 

Amberswood Lake 

I walked back, crossed the road and walked into Amberswood near the lake. Chiffchaffs, willow warblers and blackcaps sang in the trees. Over on the lake the mute swans had cygnets, the mallards had ducklings and the coots had near full-sized youngsters but I couldn't see any sign of any humbugs with the pair of great crested grebes. There seemed to be a lot of reed buntings about, a few of them singing in the reeds with the reed warblers and Cetti's.

Speckled wood, Amberswood 

The warmth had brought out the butterflies. I'd seen a couple of large whites along the way, the grass verges to the paths here were busy with ringlets, none of them stopping still for a moment let alone long enough for a photograph. A large skipper passed low through the dandelions peppering one stretch of verge. A few speckled woods skittered about under the alders along the rides.

Reed bunting, Amberswood 

Walking along there were lots of small birds about but nearly all of them well undercover. I'd see a shape dart between bushes or a few leaves bouncing the wrong way to be the wind. Consequently most of the afternoon's birdwatching was done by sound and I'll have missed a lot that was quietly going about its business. A reed bunting was an exception, hopping about on the path just ahead of me for about a hundred yards before finally realising it could hop into a tree, let me pass then drop down to the path. I'd suggested this fifty yards earlier. I'm still surprised how often the conceit where I pretend not to have seen a bird and the bird pretends it's not seen me works in situations like this. Apparently not with reed buntings, though. A few swifts hawked over the treetops, a couple of swallows passed by and a handful of house martins circled high over the trees by one of the larger ponds.

Moorhen, Amberswood 

One of the ponds in the woods was fizzing with broad-bodied chasers. Another had two small schools of roaches that I wouldn't have been able to see in the muddy water had they not been catching midges and mosquitos on the surface.

Amberswood 

It had been a pleasant couple of hours' walk, the weather wasn't oppressive and I'd got away without provoking an attack of hay fever. I took the path that gets onto Warrington Road near the cemetery, got the 609 to Leigh and the 126 back to the Trafford Centre and moseyed on down for my tea.

As the 609 passed through Bickershaw I wondered if I should get off for a potter round Bickershaw Country Park. My feet said no. I've rather embedded my footprints into the inner soles of my boots lately. I've bought some gel insoles to reduce the impact on my joints but the only times I remember I need to get them into the boots are times when I really don't want to get too close to them for a while. Now I've written it down I might remember.

Marsh thistle, Amberswood 

A bad June for butterflies

I've been saying it's been a bad June for butterflies. I thought I'd have a look to see if my records confirm that impression. Sadly, yes they do.

Number of species of butterflies recorded
(Brown line = 2024)

I've seen large whites, a couple of speckled woods, a brimstone and a peacock so far this month.

The number of records.
I've barely limped into double figures.

I've hardly ever seen more than one species a day.

It's been those consistent North winds in late May and most of the first half of June that have done the damage.

Cumulative total number of species for the year.

Number of butterfly species recorded each month.

Cumulative number of records for the year

I hope they can bounce back now the weather's starting to turn less chilly.

Leighton Moss

Dunnock, Silverdale Station

A warm day started early with a very high pollen count and the school field was awash with gulls. The rooks are back, one of the signs and portents of Solstice passing, we'll be getting the common gulls soon. I decided that as I'd spent all Spring whinging about dreich weather I wasn't going to moan about coo what a scorcher. I got myself an old man's explorer ticket and headed for Cumbria, the plan was to sit on an air-conditioned train during the midday heat and visit Leighton Moss on the way back when there'd be a few shadows about for respite. The plan was.

There had been the usual quota of corvids, gulls and pigeons on the way up. Little egrets and mallards pottered about the pools by the Eric Morecambe Hide and the Allen pool was wall-to-wall waders and black-headed gulls. Luckily the train was slowing down for Silverdale Station so I noticed that some of the godwits were flapping plain, not black-and-white-banded wings and were bar-tailed godwits. The crowd of smaller waders were unidentifiable from the train. We passed the swifts and swallows of Arnside and the dry salt marshes of Grange-over-Sands. The slightly damper salt marshes of the Leven provided forage for little egrets as well as crows, jackdaws and woodpigeons. Crossing the Leven a raft of fifty-odd eiders bobbed about on the high tide with a herd of a dozen mute swans.

We were running on time which would give more than ten minutes to cross over to the platform for the Carlisle train. Luckily, it was as we left Ulverston that I thought I'd check to see how far up the coast I should go to be sure of an uncomplicated journey back. The Carlisle train had been cancelled since I last checked on it at Lancaster. I got off at Dalton-in-Furness and had seven minutes to wait for the Lancaster train, I'd have been kicking my heels for an hour at Barrow otherwise, debating whether to head North or South as the trains leave within ten minutes of each other and probably playing safe and catching the Manchester Airport train if it wasn't cancelled.

Dalton-in-Furness Station 

Dalton's a pretty station and we were serenaded by blackcaps, blackbirds, chiffchaffs, wrens and collared doves. It's late in the season but there was still a lot of activity in the rookery and the jackdaw colony. It was also rather cooler than expected, the wind having an edge to it.

I got the train back to Silverdale. Crossing back over the Leven the raft of a hundred or more eiders inland of the viaduct seemed to be mostly well-grown ducklings. Cark Station provided one of the two butterflies of the day, a large white fluttering by the platform. It's been a shocking June for butterflies.

Eldeflowers, Leighton Moss

I spent a couple of hours at Leighton Moss. Chiffchaffs and blackcaps sang at Silverdale Station. There were more at Leighton Moss, the blackcaps sticking to the trees by the visitor centre. A Cetti's warbler sang by the visitor centre, I lost count of them along the reedside paths. Willow warblers sang in the trees in the reedbeds.

The feeders by the hideout were busy with chaffinches, great tits, blue tits and bullfinches. A marsh tit barged its way through the crowd a few times to get sunflower seeds to take away and eat in the bushes.

From Lilian's Hide 

Lilian's Hide was noisy with black-headed gulls even though there weren't many about. It looked like the youngsters had moved on. There were plenty of young coots and a few mallards, tufted ducks and a couple of pochards. A pair of great crested grebes over the other side had just the one, small, humbug riding on its mother's back. There were lots of dragonflies zipping about. Of the ones I could identify there were dozens of four-spotted chasers and a handful of emperors.

The path to the reedbeds

Walking through the reedbeds I bumped into a willow warbler that included a few odd "chiff-chaff" phrases into the warm-up for its song. These were quite different to the chiffchaffs singing a few yards behind me, less regular and with a more rounded voice. I managed to record it and uploaded it to Xeno-Canto. Reed warblers and reed buntings sang, appropriately, in the reeds and a sedge warbler sang in the reeds, too, so let that be a warning to you.

Lapwings
Juvenile (left) and adult

Teal, mute swan and cygnets

It was nursery time at the Tim Jackson Hide: mute swans had young cygnets, coots and lapwings had well-grown youngsters, the oystercatcher was still sitting on its nest as its partner dozed by the cygnets with a couple of teal. The usual posse of shovelers were nowhere to be seen, which I hope means they had something to be busy with in the cover of the reeds. A female marsh harrier flew by and disappeared over the trees and out towards the salt marsh. The dragonflies here were all broad-bodied chasers.

Mallard ducklings

Walking round to the Griesdale Hide a party of mallard ducklings dabbled noisily amongst the drowned willows. Common blue damselflies basked on the paths and I spent a while failing to take a photo of an emperor dragonfly patrolling the tops of the reeds. The second and last large white fluttered through the wild currants as I passed by.

Red deer

Griesdale Hide was quiet. A red deer grazed on the opposite bank. The great black-backs have raised two chicks, both are about half-grown. Realistically the only threat to them now, except the weather or starvation, would be other great black-backs.

Great black-back and chicks
The paraphernalia is the video link back to the visitor centre

The clouds had rolled in, which made it feel even cooler, and with them came a swarm of swifts over the reedbeds. Another female marsh harrier flew by, heading for the causeway.

I checked the train times, saw the cancellations, decided to play safe and get the next train to Manchester from Silverdale. I arrived back at Oxford Road with just quarter of an hour to wait for my train home. Which was cancelled.

Leighton Moss