Wellacre Country Park

Stonechat

It was a cool, grey February morning but the breaking buds and birdsong were saying otherwise. This is the start of that time of year where the birdwatching becomes a bit easier because so much is shouting: "Here I am!" and you wonder if it has been wantonly overlooked all Winter. A case in point was the goldcrest singing in a garden conifer I passed on the way to the shop for a loaf of bread. Another passed through the back garden while I was refilling the bird feeders after some less than subtle Paddington Bear hard staring through the living room window by the spadgers. I'm old enough for all this to feel a bit early but it seems to be the new normal.

I thought I'd be at get some exercise to make sure the creaking limbs don't set completely so I got the bus into Flixton and had a slow dawdle round Wellacre Country Park.

Wellacre Wood 

Wellacre Wood was muddy underfoot and the usual fleeting shades amongst the leaves and twigs announced themselves as songbirds. A great tit sang lustily over the noises of a hard-fought football match on the school pitch and was answered by a coal tit singing from the highest bough on one of the alder trees. Wrens and dunnocks sang in the undergrowth, song thrushes and woodpigeons from tall trees and greenfinches from hawthorn bushes in the fields. A pair of ring-necked parakeets chased each other to Irlam Locks and back.

Pied wagtail fly-catching in mid-air

The horses had been moved into the field by the wood and were accompanied by the usual bunch of magpies and pied wagtails. It was a chance to get a closer look at the way the wagtails use the horses. One particularly effective strategy was to linger round the back end of a horse and wait for it to swish its tail when bothered by flies. The flies, if not stunned, were slowed down and made easy targets for quick fly-catching dashes by the wagtails. A couple of the female wagtails had surprisingly pale grey backs but their smutty dark grey flanks easily marked them as pied wagtails not white. It's a bit early for them to be passing through but these days you can't use the calendar to predict passage migration.

Pied wagtail fly-catching 

Stonechat

The "dunnock" I thought was bouncing about the hedgerow on Jack Lane turned out to be a female stonechat. I looked in vain for an accompanying male. One of the house sparrows resident in the hedge took against the stonechat and chased it into the tree on the other side of the lane. The stonechat decided to stay on that side of the lane, where the sparrows were a bit more laid-back.

House sparrow
Looking proud of herself for having chased the stonechat off her bit of fence.

Looking over towards Irlam Locks a dozen or so black-headed gulls made a racket about the water treatment works while a line of sixteen cormorants flew downstream towards the confluence with the Mersey.

Jack Lane Nature Reserve 

The entrance to Jack Lane Nature Reserve looked as if a regiment had walked it. Once past the gate the path was fine, though. A song thrush sang in one of the trees by the reedbeds while robins, dunnocks and wrens sang in the bushes. Moorhens fidgeted in the reeds and a water rail gave a series of blood-curdling squeals invisibly from the depths of the reedbed.

Parmelia, I think

Walking by the railway to Dutton's Pond 

The trees by the path beside the railway were quietly busy with titmice and singing goldcrests. The trees over the other side of the reedbed behind them held a bubbling hubbub of redwings and starlings.

Dutton's Pond was gently placid. The mallards quietly cruised about, magpies and moorhens quietly rummaged about on the banks and even the coots were having a calm moment.

Dutton's Pond 

Green Hill

The titmice were busy in the trees at the base of Green Hill but I drew another blank looking for any willow tits. It's a while since I've seen any either side of the railway line. A small flock of siskins in the alders was a bit of compensation, as was the singing chiffchaff in the hawthorns on the open slope. A great spotted woodpecker flew over from the railway to the trees by the stables, a jay flew from the stables to the railway embankment, which seemed a fair swap. I drew another blank looking for the usual buzzard here. 

Green Hill 

I drew another blank walking over to Carrington Road for the bus home: there wasn't a single bird on the river. The woodpigeons and carrion crows in the trees and fields made up the numbers and the singing robins, greenfinches and blackbirds confirmed the overall feel of the day that despite the weather, Spring is sprung.