Mosses

Red admiral and cinnabar moth catterpillars, Little Woolden Moss

After yesterday's debacle I decided on a nice leisurely stroll over the Salford mosses. I got the 100 bus to Cutnook Lane and had an afternoon wander.

Cutnook Lane was very quiet save the constant passing of woodpigeons between fields. That changed a lot once I passed the fishery: two of the juvenile kestrels were shouting the odds from the scrub behind the trees.

Cutnook Lane 

I carried on up the lane. The pools were largely hidden by the trees, I saw and heard a couple of moorhen families. The chiffchaffs squeaking in the trees by Twelve Yards Road were replaced by willow warblers in the willows by the pools. The birds were difficult to spot, even the long-tailed tits were keeping well undercover. The butterflies on the thistles and nettles were more obliging. Most were large whites with a supporting cast of gatekeepers, speckled woods, common blues and my first small copper of the year. A few brown hawkers whizzed along the path verges and an emperor dragonfly patrolled the treetops. I was taking this all in when a couple of alarm calls came from the great tits in the trees. A dark shape suddenly loomed, a female marsh harrier readied to land in the treetop not twenty feet away, spotted me and shot back whence she came.

I found myself walking through a cloud of deer flies. I don't know which particular species they were but they were very pretty, with black Mayan glyphs on their clear wings and iridescent eyes in golds and greens. They were a damned nuisance. I got a couple of bites (neither party got to enjoy their meal) but nothing major. I've come to the conclusion that the sun cream I've been using has "Bite me" written all the way through so I did without today, two nibbles after quarter of an hour's worth of walking through the swarm seems to support the theory. A few horseflies joined in, landing on my hands but not biting (I had a hand like a bag of tapioca last week).

Rejoining Twelve Yards Road I walked down to Four Lanes End. A couple of buzzards flew over to Little Woolden Moss and a kestrel hovered over a field of barley. The whitethroats were very quiet, not even chacking at me as they disappeared into the mugworts and rank hogweed in the drains. A couple of singing yellowhammers were a pleasure to hear.

There was an eruption of woodpigeons from Little Woolden Moss. Just what you need on a nature reserve: some chuff on a microlight flying down to thirty feet to have a nosey. There was a lot of noise from the buzzards, I hoped one of them had got him.

Gatekeeper, Little Woolden Moss

I got to the entrance to Little Woolden Moss accompanied by young robins, goldfinches and a couple of dead silent willow warblers. Little Woolden Moss is generally either famine or feast. Today was one of the famine days, possibly as much down to weather conditions as frightful aviators. Most of the pools were bone dry and the only birds on the mud were the usual family of crows. A male kestrel hovered over the barley field while much, much higher a flock of swifts were swooping up midges.

Buzzards, Little Woolden Moss

Buzzards, Little Woolden Moss

Buzzard, Little Woolden Moss

I decided I'd go for the bus at Fowley Common Road, walking through the farm and onto Moss Road, so I walked along the path on the Northern margin of the reserve. The buzzards were still calling, as I got to the corner of the path they rose up from the trees and started catching the thermals, spiralling higher quite quickly. By the look and sound of them it was two juveniles and a big adult female. They hadn't had the microlight aviator, I saw him heading off in the distance towards Astley. Shame.

There were at least a dozen meadow pipits fossicking about in the cotton grasses, none of them easy to see. The linnets were more accomodating, flitting about with a flock of goldfinches in the birch scrub by the drain. Red admirals and small tortoiseshells fed on the thistles by the wayside. A couple of large heaths were a first for me.

Bracken and heather, Little Woolden Moss 

Mosslands Farm 

Half of the barley field had been harvested, about fifty woodpigeons rummaged in the stubble for scraps. It was only on my way home that I realised I didn't see or hear any skylarks or lapwings on this walk (and the only wagtail was the male pied wagtail flitting between people's feet at the Trafford Centre bus station). Still more butterflies, including some gorgeously bright, brand new salmon pink painted ladies, looking so very different to the faded individuals still holding territories on the path from Four Lanes End. 

Painted lady, Marsh Moss Farm

The were plenty of spadgers and starlings by the farm houses and one of the chickens had a mixed bag of a brood no two of which were alike.

Hen with her mixed bag

The Glaze Brook was a lot lower than usual. I was just remarking this to myself when a kingfisher shot from under the bridge and disappeared upstream.

The plan was to get the 28 from Fowley Common Road to Warrington then get the 100 back to the Trafford Centre. There was twenty minutes' grace to make the connection at Warrington Interchange. Except there was nothing to say where the bus was going from. Google Maps and the bus timetable said the bus went from the interchange but the interchange disclaimed any knowledge of such a bus and certainly didn't include it on the departure board. I spent twenty-five minutes scurrying around the badly-signed bus stops of Warrington town centre trying to find where the 100 might go from. In the end I gave up and went back to the interchange for a bus up to Leigh. Luckily, the 100 was twenty minutes late due to traffic around the M6 so I discovered that whatever the interchange's signage might say that bus does go from there (it's platform 13 if you need it).

Moss Lane

That last frisson of panic aside, it had been a good afternoon's walk with a quiet but surprisingly productive bit of birdwatching.

Helsby

Linnets

I'm feeling a lot down lately, partly because I'm still feeling a bit broken after last week's heatwave, partly because this past week every time I make plans for getting anywhere by train those plans, and any contingency plans, get scotched by cancellations due to a shortage of train crew. I was starting to wallow in it a bit this morning so I decided to drag myself out for an afternoon walk, intending to catch up with either Leighton Moss or Martin Mere, neither of which I've visited this month. Martin Mere was favoured as I was substantially less likely to be stranded for hours due to cancellations. Either way I'd be getting the Barrow train through to at least Wigan, changing there for the Southport train to Burscough. 

Which train, of course, was cancelled.

I hadn't long to wait for the Llandudno train and it had occurred to me the other day that I haven't visited Frodsham Marsh since January so I got a return to Helsby, the intention being to walk down Rake Lane onto the marsh and get the train home from Frodsham.

The journey to Helsby was uneventful and I was looking forward to a good walk. After I'd crossed over the motorway the sun started to come out and a fresh breeze cut through the muggy air. Swallows hawked low over the fields of barley and linnets twittered in the hedgerows. At the corner by the farm the swallows were joined by half a dozen sand martins flying slightly higher and they, in turn, were joined by a dozen house martins flying at rooftop height. A couple of fields away a flock of a couple of dozen black-headed gulls foraged with a couple of carrion crows.

Along Rake Lane

I'd nearly got to Lordship Lane when I had to give up: a lorry had tipped itself into a ditch, was being laboriously winched out and then left where it was because it was pulling the witching lorry into the ditch.

Road closed

On my way back I assayed another path which the map reckoned would eventually get me onto Lordship Lane. I got as far as a farmyard littered with "Beware of the dog" signs and gave it up. I retraced my way back down Rake Lane, pausing every so often to make room for a passing tractor which was pulling a cess pool emptying trailer up and down the lane for no apparent reason. Unless the driver was being paid by the visit.

Rake Lane, Helsby Hill in the background 

The only option was to walk back into Helsby and go up Smithy Lane and take the path to the next footbridge over the motorway. A buzzard was feeding on something or other on the field by the railway line and as I passed the church a sparrowhawk put the fear of God into a flock of pigeons and was seen off by a black-headed gull that was too close to the drama for its liking.

I walked up Smithy Lane, over the railway and past the last of the houses. The footpath quickly got very unkempt, A hundred yards further on one had to wonder if it had ever been kempt. I got to the corner where the path runs parallel to the motorway and stopped. The last passerby was probably Æthelstan, on his way to sort out the Vikings. I admitted defeat and walked back into town.

I wondered if the path had ever been kempt

I got the number 2 bus into Frodsham, telling myself I could still get over to the marsh from there and knowing full well I hadn't the energy or patience to bother trying. I'd spent the best part of an hour and a half walking three and a half miles to get no closer to Frodsham than a hundred yards from Helsby Station. A dead waste of time, money and a sunny afternoon.  Days like today make me wonder what the hell I imagine I'm doing with this life.

Black bryony

Seaside

Herring gull, St. Annes Beach

Today's plans were put on hold when our local services were cancelled because some poor devil got hit by a train. Which puts the inconveniences of public transport into unwelcome perspective. The change of plan was that I could get into Manchester on the bus with plenty of time to walk to the station for the Southport train for a series of wader watches down the Sefton coast. Except that was one of this morning's cancellations due to lack of train crew. (Saturday was particularly bad for them, which put paid to the teatime walk I'd planned.) Nil desp, I could get the Blackpool train and make connections at Bolton or Preston. When it eventually came…

Which is how I ended up having a walk along the beach from Starr Gate to St. Annes. I'd missed the planned connections but only had half an hour to wait for the Blackpool South train. I changed at Kirkham & Wesham as that's infinitely less oppressive than Preston Station.

St Anne's beach

I got off at Squires Gate and walked down to Starr Gate, a five minutes walk unless the traffic's busy at the main road. It had been pouring down when I left home, here it was dry but very muggy and heavy and even a blustery North wind didn't relieve it much.

Herring gulls and lesser black-backs, St. Annes Beach
An interesting variety of dark greys on the lesser black-backs, not all of which were tricks of the light

The tide was ebbing and the windsurfers were giving way to the dog walkers. There were plenty of gulls scattered around on the beach, mostly in groups of a couple of dozen, loafing or bathing in pools. Predictably, most were herring gulls, a mixture of adults and first-year birds with very few birds of intermediate ages. There were also good numbers of black-headed gulls, rather fewer lesser black-backs and a handful of common gulls. The only great black-back on the beach stood out in the middle of the crowd.

Herring gulls and a great black-back, St. Annes Beach

Herring gulls and black-headed gulls, St. Annes Beach

A passing common tern was a welcome bit of variety. I had hoped on seeing waders coming in as the tide retreated but the only waders about were a dozen oystercatchers and most of them flew off with the tide.

Manx shearwater, St. Annes Beach

Looking out to sea there wasn't much about, not even many passing gulls or any passing cormorants. About half a mile out a trio of eiders flew south over the waves. It took me a while to see any Manx shearwaters and I only noticed the first group flying past as they had to tower and dive over the waves to negotiate a particularly disruptive gust of wind. In the end I saw three groups, each perhaps a dozen birds, which isn't a bad haul by binoculars from a beach. To see big numbers you need to be on a boat or standing on the end of a pier with a telescope.

St Anne's beach 

Once I got to St Anne's I noticed there was a train due in twenty minutes so I got a cup of tea and made my way home via Colne and Rochdale just to max out my old man's explorer ticket and enjoy the views in the rain. It hadn't been a particularly productive day's birdwatching but I'd got my bit of exercise and added Manx shearwater to the year list.

St Anne's Pier 

Season's greetings

The difference a drop of rain makes. The first proper Winter gull flock descended on the school playing field this evening. Seventy-one black-headed gulls and a herring gull spent a while stomping the damp grass for worms before heading off for the evening roost. It won't be long before we start getting the common gulls back

Home thoughts

The gulls are to-ing and fro-ing overhead from the crack of dawn to dusk. Most are lesser black-backs with about half as many black-headed gulls and the occasional herring gull. Ordinarily this time of year they'd be congregating on the school playing field, loafing or padding for worms in between peak scavenging periods just after break times. The grass has been mown to the point of being scalped and the ground is rock hard so the gulls haven't lingered, leaving the crowd scenes to a flock of pigeons.

The magpies have managed to raise a couple of very noisy youngsters, They've not been much in evidence this week as the cat's been spending all her time outside in the warm weather. As far as I can determine the only other difference this arrangement has made is that the hedgehog is getting regular free feeds. Even the woodpigeons aren't much fussed: I was astonished to see the cat and one of the woodpigeons asleep together at the bottom of the cherry tree in the back garden in the worst of the heat wave.

The young robin keeps well undercover regardless, I'll often hear it squeaking in the rose bushes but I'll see it perhaps once a week. The blue tits and great tits have been similarly shy. There's nothing remotely shy about the spadgers, the hard part is catching them and keeping track when they come in for one of their hit and run raids of the feeders. The breakfast run is usually the busiest, I only managed to catch part of the early lunchtime trade this morning.

Easily the most conspicuous birds in the garden have been the family of blackbirds that have moved in to make inroads on the rowan berries, a pair with three noisy full-grown juveniles that between them can send a squirrel off on its heels in a welter of pecks and bad language.

• Black-headed Gull 1 overhead
• Blackbird 5
• House Sparrow 5
• Jackdaw 1
• Lesser Black-backed Gull 1 overhead
• Magpie 1
• Woodpigeon 1

Mersey Valley

Cob Kiln Wood 
(This is the path that's usually six-inches deep in mud)

If I didn't feel like doing much yesterday I felt like doing a whole lot less today after a horribly humid night and a not much better morning. I was wondering why it was feeling so clammy on such a cool day so I checked the weather and found out it was still 26°C and the humidity was 82%. The "cool day" was actually warm and muggy. There'll be some recalibration needing doing after the three day heatwave.

It was cooler outside than in thanks to a steady breeze so it made sense to go for a walk. I began to question the wisdom of this when the breeze dropped but I persevered. This turned out to be the right move as the afternoon slowly got less humid, which was odd as it was looking more and more like it was going to rain. I walked past the allotments with their noisy blackbirds and goldfinches and moseyed on over to Cob Kiln Wood.

I was pleasantly surprised to bump into a female emperor dragonfly when I arrived at Cob Kiln Wood, she was quartering the little clearing by the entrance.

The most immediately obvious thing about the wood today was that every path was bone dry and as hard as concrete. The one obstacle was a branch of crack willow which had done what it says on the tin and cracked in the hot weather but it wasn't difficult to climb around it.

The second most immediately obvious thing was that the cooler weather was triggering more bird song. Chiffchaffs, blackcaps and song thrushes sang in the trees, families of greenfinches and goldfinches sang and twittered as they passed overhead. (A feature of the whole afternoon was the squadrons of woodpigeons flying overhead between fields.) As I walked through the clearing by the electricity pylons families of bullfinches and chiffchaffs foraged in the treetops and wrens and great tits worked their way through the bushes.

As I crossed the Mersey a mallard was escorting her three young ducklings as they moved upstream up the weir.

Banky Meadow was noisy with the songs of chiffchaffs, wrens, blackcaps and song thrushes. A pheasant called from somewhere in one of the fields and a couple of ring-necked parakeets screeched their way over to the rugby pitch. I wouldn't have spotted the family of willow warblers in one of the big alder trees had it not been for the insistent nasal squeak of the youngsters. I dropped down to the river for a nosey then thought the better of it as an old rough was monopolising the beach for firing practice with his pistol. (I had wondered why a gang of kids were in a rush to go up as I was going down).

I debated walking on over to Carrington to get the 255 bus home (the Arriva bus drivers are on strike at the moment so there was no number 18 to pick up in Ashton-on-Mersey). Then I noticed there was a 280 to Altrincham due in five minutes so I caught that. This bus takes in a big loop through Carrington, Partington, Warburton and Dunham Massey, I've been wondering how easy or not it would be to get to Dunham Massey Park and it turns out to be quite easy.

Pennington Flash

Egyptian goose

I was still feeling the effects of the past couple of days and didn't feel like doing much so I dragged myself over to Pennington Flash for a couple of hours' soft ambling about.

Fish frenzy

The stretch between St Helens Road and the car park was dead quiet, even the woodpigeons were quiet. There was a lot of splashing about on the brook as I crossed the bridge, a shoal of roaches were catching the emerging midges before they could take flight and start bothering passers by.

Egyptian geese

I had a scan round the flash from the car park. There were the usual mallards and Canada geese on the lookout for kiddies with bags of food for them. The mute swans were over on the other side of the flash with a few more mallards. There was a raft of over a hundred coots near the shore, further out there were small rafts of a dozen or so black-headed gulls and yet further out towards the sailing club there were rafts of dozens of large gulls, nearly all lesser black-backs with a few herring gulls. There were a few great crested grebes but most of them were in the bight by Ramsdales. A flock of fifty-odd swifts hawked low over the water in the company of a similar number of sand martins and a dozen or so house martins. By far the noisiest birds on the flash were four common terns that were chasing each other about.

There's the beginning of a passage of common scoters going on at the moment and one was spotted here this morning, it had moved on before I arrived. Which didn't stop me having a look for it just in case.

I had one last scan of the shorelines before moving on in the hope that the Egyptian geese were about and available for being seen. They arrived at the beginning of the month, as usual, but I've had no luck so far. It looked like I was having no luck today, too, until I realised they were sat at my feet watching what I was up to. Just two birds this year, not the usual three.

Lesser black-back

There wasn't a lot to be seen from the Horrocks Hide and both the Tom Edmondson Hide and Ramsdales were fairly quiet. There were plenty of mallards about but other ducks were conspicuous by their absence. The usual Cetti's warbler at the corner by Ramsdales could only muster a few bursts of song, barely finishing the phrase each time. Even the lapwings were being unusually self-effacing.

I followed the path round to the Teal Hide. It was approaching teatime so the warblers were starting to lumber up, the chiffchaffs were making the most noise, a few blackcaps burbled from the hawthorns by the canal and a garden warbler had a quick gallop of song from the depths of the willows.

The Teal Hide was the busiest of the day, mostly with mallards, black-headed gulls and magpies. A couple of families of moorhens fussed about the reeds and a dabchick bobbed about in the only deep water on the pool. A few lapwings loafed on the little islands and the car park oystercatcher poked around in the mud by the black-headed gulls. There were just half a dozen young gadwalls, I wonder if the adults are amongst the huge moulting flock on Woolston Eyes. A couple of teal flew in just to make up numbers.

The feeders were down at the Bunting Hide so it was quiet. A couple of robins hunted scraps on the bird tables while a family of great tits checked out the scraps left behind by messy squirrels. A small shape moving about in the undergrowth turned out to be a young-looking chiffchaff.

Robim

A

Chiffchaff

Chiffchaff

Even though it was so quiet it had been a surprisingly productive visit, over forty species recorded over a couple of hours.