Mosses

Roebuck, Chat Moss

I had such plans for the day but when the cat woke me for the third time I found I'd overslept and had missed the train for plan A and would have to have a panic on for plan B. So I had a proper breakfast and pondered what to do with what threatened to be a cool but sunny day. The local buses didn't seem to be running again so I got the lunchtime train to Irlam, caught the 100 bus, got off at Merlin Road and walked over the motorway onto Chat Moss.

Cutnook Lane 

It was one of those bright cloudy days that would have been lovely but for the cold wind. Walking in the tree-lined shelter of Cutnook Lane I was overdressed, out in the open I was glad of it. The hedgerows felt quiet even though there were plenty of birds singing in the trees. Blackbirds, blackcaps, chiffchaffs, robins, dunnocks and song thrushes sang but there weren't the usual rummagings about in the bushes by titmice, finches and sparrows.

Chat Moss 

I got to the junction with Twelve Yards Road and carried straight down the path that eventually leads to the railway though I've never followed it that far. Blackcaps, wrens and chaffinches sang in the trees. I hadn't gone far when I noticed what I thought was the rear end of a Labrador retriever snuffling round the edge of the path ahead. I was wondering where its owner was when it raised its head and trotted down the path, revealing itself to be a roebuck. We stared at each other for the best part of a minute before it decided to move on into the birch scrub.

My reaching the birch scrub coincided with the first singing willow warblers of the afternoon. The pools beyond the scrub were mostly memories, occasionally I could see a patch of grey water and a mallard or two. 

Croxden's Moss 

I got to the point where this path crosses the path I usually take parallel to Twelve Yards Road and decided to carry on for a bit to have a look at Croxden's Moss. I don't usually bother more than a glance, there'll be some carrion crows and a passing gull, but I thought I'd pay it a bit more attention just in case. I also thought I'd give the roebuck I saw trotting down that usual path five minutes' grace before going down that way. There were some carrion crows and a passing lesser black-back. A four-spotted chaser zipped across the scrubby bit of grass by the path and willow warblers and a blackcap sang from the trees further on.

Four-spotted chaser, Chat Moss

Common darter, Chat Moss

Blue-tailed damselfly, Chat Moss

I retraced my steps and turned onto the path through the scrub. It was warm enough for dragonflies but not, apparently, for butterflies. More four-spotted chasers, some common blue damselflies, my first common hawker and common darters of the year dashed about the nettles and willow scrub. Willow warblers, blackcaps and chaffinches sang in the trees. I'd gone a way along when a large white fluttered by. My sense of relief reflects what has been a poor season for butterflies. A hundred yards down the path a speckled wood came over to give me a good staring-at and I almost hugged it.

Speckled wood, Chat Moss

I picked my way through the trees to the big pool where a few black-headed gulls were making a noise and a couple of dozen lapwings were quietly loafing. A pair of tufted ducks drifted on the water, the drake coming into eclipse plumage with plenty of dark feathers showing through the white. I scanned round in vain for other waders, it's a bit early for green sandpipers or a wood sandpiper but you live on hope. Teal were heard but difficult to find, I just found the one duck dabbling under the roots of a tree. Dabchicks were heard and seen, as were their couple of tiny humbugs. The moorhen chicks bobbing around nearby were small and round enough to almost pass as dabchicks at first glance. I had to tiptoe round some passing toadlets on the path.

Tufted ducks and lapwings, Chat Moss

I carried on down the path into open country. My first deerfly of the year got me in the back of the neck a split second before I got it. Whitethroats sang in the hedgerows, woodpigeons foraged in the fields, a yellowhammer — the first here in ages — sang from a farmyard, and swallows and swifts zipped about overhead. I had a close encounter with the usual female marsh harrier, she floated low over the path perhaps twenty yards ahead and by the time I'd reacted and reached for the camera she was disappearing over the hedgerow on the other side of the field. The male kestrel was busy patrolling the fields, it sounds like there are hungry mouths in the nest.

Twelve Yards Road 

I passed Four Lanes End and found myself heading for Little Woolden Moss. I wouldn't like you to think I have any agency in these matters, I just go where the legs take me. Willows warblers, blackcaps and wrens sang in the trees by the entrance and a curlew flew out of the reserve and over towards the turf fields. 

Cotton grass, Little Woolden Moss

It was another of those days where the moss can be generous if you put the work in. A dozen or so lapwings, including a couple of youngsters only just in flying condition, loafed on the bunds. A few Canada geese grazed the banks, pied wagtails flitted about, oystercatchers barrelled in and out, black-headed gulls quarrelled, passing lesser black-backs were carefully monitored by dozens of avian eyes. There was a constant flitting about of small brown birds, mostly linnets and meadow pipits with a good number of reed buntings and a few skylarks and you couldn't walk twenty paces without hearing another singing willow warbler. A noggly bit on a dead birch tree a way out in the heath turned out to be a hobby watching the ground for its next meal.

Hobby, Little Woolden Moss

Little Woolden Moss

Lapwings, Little Woolden Moss

I headed down New Moss Road to catch the 100 bus back to the Trafford Centre from Cadishead. Flocks of lapwings and woodpigeons littered the fields, joined by small clouds of starlings. Black-headed gulls poked about on newly-scalped patches and thrushes — song, mistle and blackbirds — skittled about between the crowds.

New Moss Wood 

I took a detour into New Moss Wood where the chiffchaffs, song thrushes and blackbirds drowned out the shrieks of jays and the demented bubbling of nuthatches.

Jay, New Moss Wood

I got the bus back to the Trafford Centre and the 250 as far as St Modwens Road for to walk home through the park. Three song thrushes were having a singing duel from the three trees near the steps up to the old railway line. It was as noisy as it was confusing and as confusing as it was noisy. I thought there were only two territories here separated by a hundred yards of brambles and goldenrod. The third, I suspect, had flown across the road from Brightgate Way just to put a marker down for the trees in the lorry yard by the steps.