Woolston Eyes

Comma

It was a morning the Met Office described as: "70°F feels like 58°F" and the day looked set to carry on being simultaneously chilly and clammy. I got the train to Padgate and walked down to Woolston Eyes to have a nosy round and — hopefully! — get to see some black-necked grebes after spending the past couple of weeks being either the day after or the day before them being around at sites I've been visiting. They're safely on the year list but it gets a bit demoralising when birds appear to be deliberately avoiding me.

Traveler's joy

Woolston Brook 

A couple of woodpigeons and a goldfinch sang as I walked down to Woolston Brook. It was even quieter along the brook, even though there were birds about. Blue tits, great tits, chaffinches and chiffchaffs silently rummaged about in the trees. Blackbirds and a juvenile robin poked about in the wayside. Even the wrens confined themselves to silently wagging their tails at me in anger as I passed by. The butterflies were still only warming up, I accidentally disturbed a speckled wood and it flew in slow motion into the long grass without ever getting more than three inches off the ground.

Warrington New Cut 

The New Cut was bone dry. Blackbirds, great tits and robins fossicked about on the canal bed while blue tits, long-tailed tits and chiffchaffs quietly bounced through the trees. It was a long time before I saw any butterflies, a couple of large whites just before the end of the cut. A family of coots pottered about over on Grey Mist, which looked remarkably full. My arrival at the end of the cut was announced by a coal tit calling in the willows. There is the possibility it was doing it anyway.

Warrington New Cut 

River Mersey 

A family of tufted ducks on the river included small and noisy ducklings. The mallards and Canada geese, on the other hand, were remarkably quiet. Mute swans and great crested grebes were notable absentees, I didn't see either of them all day, which is unusual. The house sparrows chirped loudly as they sat on the roof of the abandoned house, as if to demonstrate that they, at least, were present and correct.

Common darter

I crossed the river and walked up onto the bank by No.2 Bed and followed the backwater round. Chaffinches, chiffchaffs and great tits silently fussed about in the bushes. I can virtually guarantee there was much else unseen and unheard skulking around on the banksides. I tiptoed around damselflies, mostly common blue with a handful of azure damselflies sunning themselves on the bracken. It was warm enough for red admirals, small whites and large whites to be fluttering about the wayside. And for darters to be patrolling the bracken, nearly all common darters with their waisted abdomens, allowing a quick and easy comparison with the couple of ruddy darters like slim cigars with an inflated rear end.

Common blue damselfly 

Bridge across the Mersey

The padlock on the gate into the reserve on No.3 gate holds almost as many terrors for me as the steps up to the hides. The Canada geese, mallards and heron on the river down below looked on warily until it became apparent it was just some old bloke fumbling with a key and they went back to their business. As I crossed the bridge the sun came out and it became a very pleasant afternoon, the wind taking the burning edge off the sunshine.

There was a profusion of red admirals basking on the bracken by the path. Gatekeepers, common darters and common blue damselflies skittered about the wayside. A chiffchaff squeaked, a wren tutted, the contact calls of a family of long-tailed tits made their way through the trees. It was High Summer birdwatching.

Mind the step

I ascended the steps to the nameless hide and wondered why as I looked at empty pools and quiet reedbeds. Moving over to the Sybil Hogg Hide gave a different angle to the same pools, the ones immediately in front were still empty but further out I could see a few black-headed gulls, mallards and Canada geese.

No.3 Bed 

I walked round to The Tower, a goldfinch singing in the background. More goldfinches flitted between the bushes by the meadow, as did a few greenfinches and great tits. Any whitethroats that may have been around were keeping a very low profile indeed.

The Tower is the scary shipping container on stilts. It almost certainly is safe as houses but the tree house vibe puts the wind up me. I'd be no bloody good as a ship's lookout. A few house martins and swallows hawked over the water with a swarm of sand martins and I envied them all their confidence in not having their feet on the ground. A few black-headed gulls flew about. I expect the Mediterranean gulls moved on after their chicks were eaten by lesser black-backs. Mallards, tufted ducks and coots were liberally scattered about and half a dozen greylags cruised round. Just in front of the hide, half-hidden by reeds, a dabchick and its two full-grown humbugs dived for food, the parent providing more than the youngsters caught for themselves. I searched in vain for black-necked grebes but wasn't discouraged as I always tend to have more luck with them at the hides on the Western side of the pools. An oystercatcher was calling from somewhere but I was beggared if I could find it.

Teal

The Morgan Hide was closed for repairs so I moved on to the Frank Linley Hide. A lapwing and a handful of teal were feeding at the waterside just in front of the hide. There were more coots, mallards and tufties and I nearly missed a couple of gadwalls. A huge number of gadwalls come to Woolston Eyes to moult but they can take some finding. They're never very conspicuous, and a lot less so in eclipse plumage, when they're in moult they don't make an exhibition of themselves. A few shovelers drifted in and out of the reeds, a lone drake steamed out into midwater. 

Shoveler

I told myself I was staying until I saw a black-necked grebe. It looked like I was in for a long wait. The wind rattled the camouflage netting. A distant marsh harrier floating over the treetops was the only bird of prey of the day. A lesser black-back flew by. More sand martins flew in. I still couldn't find that oystercatcher. No grebe. At last a small dark shape drifted out of the corner of a reedbed. Was it a dabchick or a tuftie? No, thank heavens, it was a black-necked grebe, still in breeding plumage but looking like it had started to moult. Result. I scampered down the steps to terra firms.

Chicory

Wikd carrot

I had a leisurely walk through the meadows, keeping an eye out for clouded yellows. It's a good Summer for them and some were seen here last week, I've never seen one and would like to but didn't today. The large whites, gatekeepers and peacocks kept low over the wind. For a moment a hornet-mimic Volucella hoverfly almost convinced me I'd seen a hornet. Drifts of black knapweed and chicory gave way to wild carrot, they to yarrow and mugwort and finally rosebay, the thistles nearly all gone to seed and charms of goldfinches. It's a very pleasant walk.

Red admiral

There were even more red admirals sunbathing on the bracken on the way back, leaving not a lot of room for the commas and peacocks. The ruddy darters were still not for having their photos taken. Willow warblers squeaked in the trees by the meadow, chiffchaffs in the trees by the river. I'm going to have to listen to a lot of recordings of them both, I can tell the difference but I'd struggle to explain it. The only singing warbler of the day was a blackcap that I must have surprised as the path turned a corner, a quick blast of song then it disappeared like a shot.

Walking back to the bridge

There's a definite knack to that padlock and I've not got it. Despite that I was soon walking along the Ship Canal in the company of long-tailed tits, large whites and red admirals. Along the way a car pulled up and a couple I'd chatted with by the hides asked if I wanted a lift, which was very good of them as the walk down Thelwall Lane is a weary trudge. They dropped me off at the locks where I crossed over with plenty of time for getting the number 5 to Altrincham and thence home. 

Latchford Locks 

I scanned the canal in vain for mute swans or great crested grebes, and kept an eye on the passing Cheshire countryside for buzzards or kestrels but to no avail. Every outing this week has left me with a day's tally in the high forties. That fifty mark is entirely unimportant but it does feel good to get past it. Never mind, I'd done what I'd set out to do and had a rather a lot nicer than expected walk along the way and there are far worse things to do on a Friday.