Barren times

It's been a hard week so far.  The weather started out wettish and has gradually turned colder.  There was a Fiat Uno in the ditch by the fen this morning, abandoned in a slow motion nose dive but irretrievably stuck hard.  I can sympathise.

Legs still ache from Friday evening, so the prospect of walking is not an enticing one.  It's also been cold, wet, snowy and really devoid of anything out of the ordinary on the wildlife front.  I know I must rejoice in nature in all its forms, but just a few moments with something that isn't a rook or crow, a blue tit or a great tit, or even the maniacal scraping cackle of the jays, just something to make you get a perspective on it. But so far nothing apart from the briefiest of views of the rear end of a kingfisher (I think, anyway), a grey heron lifting off from the river bank, and the fact that I can now positively id the call of a willow tit.  Or maybe it's a marsh tit. I don't know.

Even the hares aren't playing ball.  I went out at lunch on the way back from Harleston and found a field of 7 or 8, all hunkered down, none of them looking like they had the slightest inclination to move let alone box.

However there've been two significant developments this week.  Firstly (and thanks to Jenny Holmes for posting this link on Facebook) there was an article in The Times from Simon Barnes, one of my heroes, about Suffolk.  I read it and sent a text to Kee: "we've got to move house to the countryside".  Wow, how to put down a sentiment in words that chimes so clearly with me.  I hope this works but all being well there's a link to it here:

http://www.timesonline.co.uk/tol/comment/columnists/simon_barnes/article7007729.ece

So the second thing is that we've decided to move house. Scary.  The house goes on the market next week.  Even writing this I feel unsure about whether we're doing the right thing, but if we don't get on with it we'll never move to our forever house.  I suppose it's because there's no need to change, only an aspiration, so it's us taking the initiative.  But then that's what 2010 has been all about so far - changing habits.  Walking, eating, drinking, writing, photographing, dare I say saving money as well.  So why not make a big change as well?

I spoke to Charlie about moving house.  He's OK with it as long as he can bring his bed and his toy monster truck.  Bless.

So looking for hares at lunch I ended up where I'd seen a buzzard the other week, and sure enough there was a pair circling over the wood.  I pulled over, wound down the window, grabbed the camera and bean bag and lined up one of the pair that was flapping towards me.  Superb, light lovely, coming in close, crane neck to see it, lift camera to eye and (blow what a dashed nuisance) I've left the lens cap on.  hmph.

Further on I saw this pair of deer at the egde of same wood.  Not a great photo but interesting how the (I presume) male has one antler smaller than the other.  Immature or a fighting injury? (click for full size)

Nothing else to see today.  This morning I'd seen a barn owl from the A140 being mobbed by a crow over a snowy field, and the day before I'd seen a barn own at New Buckenham common, but missed the photo op.  Still no barn owl at the fen though.  I keep hoping.

Cold tonight, hopefully the light will be good in the morning.  I'll try the far end of the fen and the woodland back, the legs are going to hurt but all being well that will complete 6 weeks' worth of walking.  Just another 46 to go.....

Oh the weather outside...

...was really pretty miserable, especially as it was Monday morning and I still ached from playing 5 a side on Friday night (special thanks to EDF Energy for cutting off power to the indoor cricket stadium which meant we had no choice but to play footy for 80 mins outside instead - man, do I ache.)

Not a lot doing this morning other than I hadn't seen a forecast, so when it started raining and sleeting in Ashbocking I was a bit puzzled.  Every tenth rain drop seemed to be a big fat snowflake.  But unlike the Big Freeze (sorry) none of this lot settled.

By the time I got to the fen I was feeling about as enthusiastic for a cold wet walk as I was at the prospect of getting out of bed this morning: not a lot.  I wrapped the camera in the detachable hood from my coat with a bungee - manufacturer's recommended method of course - and set off.  Push knee back, throw foot forward, push other knee back, throw other foot forwards.  Not fun.

I wasn't the only one not enjoying the wonderful British weather.  The black sheep in the field by the path out to the far end of the reserve just stood there, taking it, but really looking like they'd rather be elsewhere.  I put a kestrel up and he seemed really miffed that he'd had to leave his warm perch high up in the shelter of a tree.

At the far end I stopped as always on otter bridge (I call it that in hope rather than expectation) and came across this mute swan.

Yes, even the swans were filthy.  He was just paddling about in the ditch that is the River Waveney at this point, all alone.  I stopped and unwrapped the camera to get in position, he turned and paddled towards me.  I could have sworn we exchanged the same thought: 'what are we doing here'.  The water dripping off his beak matched the sleet dripping off the end of my nose.  Still I put the picture in if for no other reason to show what impressive birds swans are, even when dirty.  If only it had been a Bewick's....

Really?

Saw Andy last night.  "Hello mate, has the wife forgiven you for crashing her car yet?" Eh - how did you know about that? "I read your blog".

Really?

It was nice that Kee read it.  Then I got a message from Kathryn in New Zealand that she's read it (actually she sent me a message saying "hmmm, interesting".  I think that means 'there there well done for trying but not sure I'm on your wavelength'.  Not many people are Huish.)  Then there were three thumbs up on Facebook for people saying they liked it.  Then Andy (who can't actually read) said that he liked it.  Blimey.

So look, all I'm going to do is take photos and put them up here for me to see if I should send them to photobox to print and put on the wall in my office to get me through the working day - call me silly but I'd rather look at a picture of an animal than a light industrial unit.  I wrote some words because I fancied it, and now I'm sat here thinking gosh someone might actually read this.  Scary thought.

Rain this morning, quelle surprise, but not cold.  Having been out for a couple of pints of Southwold's finest (yes, I'll check my bra size as it was my first pint of 2010) - by the way don't go to Pals on a Wednesday night, it's gash and full of blokes looking for women, so why did we go there - it left its mark on me the following morning.  Ain't nothing like fresh air to wake you up in the morning, and that car was nothing like fresh air...

Not a lot out there first thing.  Went down through the wood by Great Fen, a muntjac bounded away through the trees in front of me, a roe deer sprinted away, sprinted back, leapt in the air, hid behind a tree, panicked, turned round and ran away again.  The breakfast club were at the far end of the cricket bat willows as usual, and the river was quiet.  Still no bleeping barn owl, even though I can visualise the photo every time I walk up the bank of the river towards its field.  I know full well I'll see it when I least expect it but even so I always like to think it will be there floating across the meadow with the mist rising and its round face swivelling as it holds its stare on a mouse or vole.  Have you ever noticed how barn owls fly like they're suspended on a length of gossamer, sort of bouncing but quick-turning, silent assassins of the dawn.

Back at the visitors centre there were suet balls in the feeder.  The long tails were going mad for it (again), but me being fussy the light was nothing compared to Monday so I opted to try and get the willow tits feeding instead.  Noisy little sods they are, a really piercing call, almost loud like a Cetti's warbler, but purposefully hopping from sapling to fence to woodland floor, finding a cobnut and flitting off again.  A pair of them were working a patch of oak leaves, digging over for any hidden morsels.  As I say the light was really weak, down to 1/15, so I lowered the tripod to just above ground level and tried to get a more intimate angle on them.  I pre-focused on a spot and kept one eye on the viewfinder and one eye open to clock them as they came down.  This was the best of the shots (click to open)

No doubt someone somewhere will see this one day and tell me it's actually a marsh tit, but for now I'll call it a willow tit.

So if you're reading this, thank you.  Not sure what I'm thanking you for, and it's a bit odd and I feel self-conscious saying it when I don't know who I'm talking to.  But thank you for taking the time.  The daft thing is I don't actually know what's motivating me to write a blog, but I'm finding it very relaxing.

Fresh air and welly boots.  You can't beat it.

Meatloaf got it right

Two out of three ain't bad.  Weather that is for two of the first three days of February.  And as a Brucie Bonus I saw and photographed for the first time this little chap, a goldcrest (again, click on the images for full size)

As I set off I saw a couple of tiny birds flitting around in a bramble bush.  They were wren-sized but clearly not, if for no other reason than they weren't screeching at me with tails at ten. Instead they were fluffed up hopping about minding their own business, busying themselves with keeping warm.  I just stood and waited for a window.  This was the only shot I got so I'm quite pleased I could id it.

It was one of those East Anglian big sky mornings, the sort that non-Anglians don't understand when you try to explain the concept of 'big sky'.  The sunrise was pale washed in cold water with pastel orange and pink streaks. As I drove towards Fynn Valley I thought I ought to pull over in that lay by, then when I got to the top of America Hill in Witnesham, then at Ashobocking, then....you get the idea: I didn't stop and take a photo.  doh.

At the fen the gates were locked (again).  I chatted to the assistant warden the other morning and he told me kids had been messing about overnight, so they had to lock up even thought they hated doing it.  It added up now why I'd found an empty can of stella down by the Waveney.  Beats me why you'd walk half a mile to sit in the middle of a nature reserve in the freezing cold at night. Clearly I missed out as a child.

Anyway it was another properly cold morning, so that the metal gates were frozen to the wooden posts.  Crunchy underfoot so no good for creeping up on things.  In the woods on the way towards the far end of the reserve I stopped at the kissing gate as a flock of long tails skipped through the trees above me.  Then, in pretty much the same place I'd seen it the first time, a little brown treecreeper shimmied round the trunk of an oak tree in front of me.  This time I managed to at least get a vaguely stationary shot so you can see it's a treecreeper, but all the same I can see this is going to be my nemesis

Sorry about the bright white background, it nearly blew out on me as i was down to 1/30th at ISO 800.  Eeesh.

The light was crisp and clear so I stopped by the reedbeds on the way in, thinking (hoping?) I'd heard bearded tits.  No joy though, so back to the car.

At lunch I went back to the 100th BG hare field.  Five of them in the arable field but just sat hunkered down in the sun looking like, well, hunkered down hares in a field.  I drove on, aiming to get lost and see what I'd find.  Towards Thelverton I noticed what looked like a rook but it was the wrong shape, poised on the ground at the edge of an arable field. Hang on isn't that a?  Turn car round, sidle up to a gap in the hedge but whoosh whoosh whoosh it takes off.  A buzzard, keeaw-ing as it went.  Who'd have thought.

So no hares but a good day to be alive.  Gotta love the great outdoors.

Light Fantastic

This was how 1 February looked at 7.30am.  Stunning. (click on the images for full frame - I haven't yet worked out how to properly post photos).

Today was going to be a shorter walk than usual.  Light like this was too good to miss.

When I got back to the visitor centre the long tailed tits had just woken up.  They descended on the feeder and the bird table as if they hadn't eaten in a week.

At one point I counted nine.  A pair sat away to the side watching the feast.

They were joined by a marsh tit hopping in the bough of a nearby oak tree

The light was gorgeous. Shame I didn't do it justice.

That afternoon I had an appointment in Bungay, just up the Waveney valley.  I decided to have lunch with the camera and go looking for hares.  I didn't have to look far.  I spotted some boxing in a ploughed field right next to the A143 and turned off on a side road signposted to the 100th BG memorial.  Spun the car round and parked it up the bank and found a window of sorts between some straggly hedge whippets.  The hares didn't seem fussed.  They stopped boxing but ran around like loons and came within 20 feet of the car.

What is it about hares?  They're in some way mystical, reminding me of summer solstace and all those earth gods that pagans used to worship.  To the uninitiated they look like big bunnies, but they couldn't be more different.  Alluring.  Evocative.  Expressive.  Nuts.

This one sprinted across the field then stopped dead for no apparent reason, other than he could.  They'll sit there sunning themselves, minding their own business, for ten, twenty minutes then without warning pick a fight with the nearest hare.  I watched one male chase a female round and round and round, weaving and jinxing as though they had an invisible bungee strap between them, for a good five minutes.  He really didn't get the message.

It's my project of winter/spring 2010 to get a photo of boxing hares for Kee.  She loves them, I think that's where my fascination with them comes from.  Come to think of it there are a lot of similarities from my description of them...

It was only when I downloaded the camera yesterday that I discovered a photo I'd taken at the end of January, last Friday.  I'd been for a walk as usual, and being a cold damp morning there really wasn't much to see.  When I got to the far end of the fen the geese were just lifting off for the morning.  I took one photo, as much because I thought I ought to, and gave it no more thought.

I'm realy chuffed with it.  It's said you shouldn't avoid bad weather as you never know what opportunities will come your way.  I wish I could say I planned this shot, but unfortunately it was a case of honk, tripod down, unlock camera, focus, click, gone.  Happy days.

January 2010 - looking back

So that was January.  It started with the Big Freeze, and the country ground to a halt.  I set out to try and walk three times a week, just to get some fresh air and exercise.  To be honest I wasn't wild about the prospect. After all in January there's not a lot of wildlife to see let alone photograph.  No migrants, the reedbeds would be bereft of the incessant chatter of reed and sedge warblers; no blackcap in the tree by the barn owl meadow; no hobbies scything onto dragonflies and nonchalantly pulling them apart on the wing.  It would be cold and barren, apart from the native species like robins, blackbirds, blue tits.

In the end January couldn't have been more suprising.  For one I walked two miles before work every working day for four weeks  Almost forty miles in a month.  And at last week's weigh-in I'd dropped 10lbs.  Blimey.  And I'd seen (and photographed) far more than I could ever have hoped for.  It's like Chris Gomersall says, first and foremost be a birdwatcher and then try and photograph what you see.  And that's me all over.  Never happier than outdoors with boots, coat, bins and camera.  Some of the best mornings in January I haven't seen or photographed anything, and yet I have felt elated, invigorated, alive, priveleged and in awe of the natural world.  We are so lucky.  I am so fortunate.

So January.  It started with snow and ended with snow.  As I write we've had a moderate dose of the white stuff this afternoon, Kee's gotten over-excited (no surprise there), and none of it has really settled.  But wind back to Monday 4 January and it was a different picture entirely.

The snow fell on already frozen roads.  It actually settled and it started to freeze again.  This (above)was Victoria Road in Diss at 7.30am.  Ten minutes earlier it had been clear.  By the time I got to work Market Hill was getting very slippery (right).  The first hour of the new decade was spent pushing cars up hill.

At lunchtime I jumped in the X Trail and headed off to find hares.  After all it would be easier to see them in the snow.  I parked up on the verge just past Walcott Green and found a footpath.  The low winter sun was incredible.  Only quarter of an hour earlier it had been a blizzard, now I was the first person to walk on the virgin snow.  Even in that short space of time thought there were innumerable tracks to follow - rabbit, pheasant, hare, is that fox? It must be otherwise where is the dog if that's not a fox? Amazing.

Unfortunately I'd found tne only field in Norfolk with (count them) nine bangers in.  No chance of hares here.  I timed my walk round the perimeter to perfection and came back to the car with pants unsoiled.  Saw two hares as well.  This won't do though.  Two miles (good), no time to stop (bad).  No chance of photographing hares like this.  Try again tomorrow.

Last year I'd seen hares just outside Burston, let's try there today.  Parked up the Audi and ice skated down the back road.  A shooting party were beating along the field margin.  At first I thought they were after hares but then saw the pheasants rustled from their cover.  Either they were canny or the shooters were rubbish, but all the birds I saw rise up escaped.  But the side effect of all this commotion was that it flushed out the hares.  Lots of them.

I pitched up in front of a tree and cursed that I didn't have ski trousers over my jeans.  It was properly cold, finger-painful cold, but stunningly beautiful.  Snowscape, sun bursting through heavy grey clouds, and hares.  I counted nine through the bins.  Being dressed in green and brown for a typical day in the country I stood out like a, well, tall green bloke in a field of snow with a black tripod and a camo'd camera.  Not a good disguise, so I found a roadside tree to stand in front of, and waited.

I didn't have to wait long.  In the distance I could make out dark smudges against the snow.  Face to viewfinder, try and find the shutter release with a frozen finger, autofocus hunt, then - bingo - hares.  Follow them.  Watch for the females.  Males harrass them, females kick back.  Hang on, this is boxing in January in the snow, not March in a green field.  Can't they come a bit closer.  Fire off a few shots into the sun.  Then in an instant one leaps and turns on another.  Click.  Did I get it?  Too far away.

Then a lone hare comes lolloping across the field from stage right to see what's happening.  Hang on, he hasn't seen me.  His angled run is going to be straight across my standpoint.  Quick, compose, focus point right of centre, always running into space, hold down shutter release and pan smoothly.  Hope.

It worked.



Trek back to the car and load up.  Put the camera on the passenger seat and wind the window down, just in case.  Second gear no throttle, camera on beanbag on window, past a gap in the hedge that I walked past not three minutes earlier.  How did I miss them? A pair of hares really close.  Clearly male and female and she's hunched down trying to be a lump of snow and he keeps edging forwards and trying to bait her.  She fidgets to the side and turns her back on him.  He's a nutter, he has another go.  This is going to end in tears for him.  Still when you've got the urge...



Bang.

That was it.  She's turned and boxed him and now he's sat there trying to be cool.  Give it up mate, you've just been beaten up by a girl.

The rest of the week it stayed cold.  At Mendlesham the car told me it was minus 8.5, I knew no-one would believe me so I took a photo (sorry officer).

It was slightly less cold at the Fen, but clear air and devoid of people.

Here was the information board about the Fen Raft spider.  Odd to think in six months' time you'd have a chance of seeing them.  Not today.

No picnics in this weather either.

In 2007 I got a photo of a grass snake swimming across this pond.

The second week was much of the same, albeit with less of the white stuff falling from the sky.  But remarkably none of it melted either, it just froze. That's not right, by now it should be grey-black slush on the roads and mild drizzle.  Councils were running out of salt, so only A roads were gritted.  I was in Kee's X Trail in 4x4 mode so no problems there.  Until it snowed heavily between Eye and Debenham one evening on the way home from work.  I followed an Alfa through Winston, down towards the junction with the A1120.  Here's the downslope that's usually icy going the other way, car in front brakes, hang on there's a 110 Landrover sat at the junction, Alfa slides, he's not going at all fast, I touch the brakes and the next thing I know I'm on a toboggan facing Hobson's choice: make Alfa sandwich with the Landy, steer right and skid out into the A1120 on a notoriuos bend, or steer left and bump I'm not slowing here shit there's a roadsign ouch I think I ran over it and now I've slid in like an ocean liner at a berth alongside the Alfa who's wedged in the back of the Landy.  The passenger in the back seat of the Landy's proper angry, his mate has to calm him down.  Bugger.

Get out passenger side, engine still running, no steam from radiator, lights working and heater working. You alright mate?  Yeah no probs, it was just ice I had no chance.  Know what you mean. Bad.  Called Kee.  She was calm as, and told me later that she'd known I was going to crash that day.  I blame her Mum...

Suffolk's finest turned out. After the recovery truck left they gave me a lift home.  Thanks.  Above and beyond and all that, even if one of you is a volunteer speed camera operator who thinks parking a mobile camera 10yds in front of the fixed one at Beacon Hill is justified.  There, I feel better now.

Sorry Kee xxxx  But at least you'll get a clean car (for £150 xs).

No damage to the camera or bins - they're almost as old as me but tough as old boots and still superb.  I'd like to nominate them for a Lifetime Achievement Award when the time's right.

Week three and the prolonged cold weather at the Fen brings out redwings and fieldfares.  Not that I can tell the difference, even when they're sat in the same tree (thanks darlin').  They've got a definite manner about them when they fly, always overhead in a kind of bouncy style, almost like they're fighting a headwind even when it's dead calm.  Lovely birds, a true sign of winter.

Otherwise it's mammals mostly.  The roe deer are very active, often barking in Great Fen.  There's a family gathering every morning at the bottom of the cricket bat willows plantation, usually four or five.  One morning I came across a loner at the top end and used the remaining willows as cover to get in close.  There's something about stalking a wild animal, you never know where that invisible line is when they'll get your scent and take off into thin air.

He was properly cross that I'd got so close, barking as he splashed through the flooded path towards the Waveney where they've been pollarding the willows.  You could sense his indignation, and he wanted everything else to know that I was there so run away and don't let him get your picture.

By the beginning of week four the snow was gone, so creeping along the bank of the Waveney was a bit easier to do without being heard as I crunched through frozen snow.  Still, the woodpigeons scattered and the mallards among the flooded tree roots took flight and woke the rest of the Fen up to an intruder.  That meant my only sighting of the barn owl was a glimpse of white ghost flopping away through the trees.  Damn.  Diary note: approach from upstream where there are no pigeon trees or mallard ponds.

That week I saw my first fox at the Fen this year.  As I stood watching for a barn owl, he was tracking purposefully along the far bank of the river, not 30yds away, looking for a place to jump across perhaps?  Surely not.  Swing camera round slowly, no sudden movements, he's very close and hasn't seen me against the trees.  Click, click, look up, gone.  That quick.  No indignation from him, far too cunning for that.  He just faded into the undergrowth and was gone.

The best came last of course.  And by that I mean light, and a chance photo that caught it.  As I wandered down through the wood between Great Fen and Pooley Street I stopped at the gate looking over the fen.  A good spot to watch if you have time and can blend in with the scenery.  I could do neither, but I saw two deer grazing and without trying to be discreet just swung the camera round and fired off a few shots.

This sums up January for me. As ever you never know what you're going to see, and still three years after I discovered this coveted place I have yet to come away without being surprised.  It tells me that light can make an apparently ordinary picture into something a bit better than that - OK it's not going to win WPOTY (I can confirm that the roe deer was at least wild not tame....) or even the SWT photo competition.  But that isn't what this is about.  It's about being there, being witness to a paralell dimension that is so alien to us yet intrinsicly part of us.  It feeds the soul, it always has done, and sets you up for the day.  Perhaps most of all it makes you appreciate the natural world and simply stand and watch as it unfolds before you.  No satellite dish, no pay per view, no broadband, no DAB.  Just a walk and a camera.  Roll on February.

Redgrave and Lopham Fen - 28 Jan 2010

Rain in Ipswich at 0645, cleared by Debenham. Grey light at the Fen but sun breaking through the trees on the far side. As I got out of the car a grey squirrel was all over the bird feeders outside the visitor centre, didn't mind me and just got on with stealing the birds' breakfast. Tried to get a silhouette shot but couldn't remember how to change the Manual metering settings on the camera. Must read that manual....

A brisk walk out to Little Fen. Took the beanbag and 18-70mm with me in case of landscape opportunities but need to keep going - fitness in January and February to be able to look forward to March and the arrival of Spring. Stopped at the first small bridge, geese taking off in the distance. What an amazing symphony at that time of day. Nothing at the second bridge, over the Waveney. On into the wood. Mud replaces the frost of yesterday. Horses in blankets watch me try and creep through the gate. A fox trots away, don't think it saw me but I couldn't get a picture. A solitary muntjac weaves through the trees and crosses the path and over into the field, bouncing away when it picks up my scent.

Under the high canopy the pigeons break out announcing my arrival. I peer through the trees to the grazing meadows hoping to see the white of a barn owl sliding across the fields. Nothing but horses, cavorting and stamping, indignant at each other and bemused at me bent double under the bough of a tree pretending to be hidden. Still no owl, and no kingfisher today. Stop at the bridge by the sluice. Water chasing under the bridge disguising my sound, but nothing. Follow down the river and onto the trail across the top of Great Fen. Sun trying to drag itself up, a bit of light but not enough to get excited about.

Back towards the visitor centre and a pair of roe deer, one young, leap away towards the wood. Adult stops, juvenile wanders over, they look back at me as I walk purposefully across in front. By a scraggly tree I stop and mount up the tripod, get one photo before they turn and run, flashing white.

Back to the car, still no-one here. Strip off to cool down, start taking camera apart when a treecreeper hops onto an oak tree. Why don't I do the camera last. Grab new beanbag and start firing off, knowing it's still too slow even at ISO800. Beautiful little bird, skirting around the trunk but never resting, always busy, climbing higher, crane neck, this shot isn't going to work.

Lose it high up, back to taking boots off but leave camera on roof of the car, a gambler hoping for his luck to turn.

Overhead the branches light up with little voices, long tailed tits descend on the feeders, two, three, four, even five at a time.

Blue tits don't get a look in. One little chap breaks off and sits on the fence then obliges by hopping onto a branch. Bingo.

My first photo in something like reasonable light. Nothing groundbreaking but a nice reward for the morning.

That's it, off to work, Paul McKenna hypnotising Aled on the radio very funny. Sun comes up and light looks good, out at lunch to look for hares if I get organised.