A quick trip into Hebden Bridge, where I saw a pair of dippers chasing each other along Hebden Water, then back home and on to the Moor.

Guess who’s back?

Male Wheatear.

I saw three wheatears in all. Two males and a female. The males didn’t seem to be hitting it off. As ever, the birds flitted along the path in front of me, always keeping just a little too far away for some really close-up photos. They are such teases.

Dippers and wheatears: two of my favourite birds in the same morning. Come on, Spring, get your act together!

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Thirty years ago, it would have been (give or take): zero red kites, two buzzards, and thirty kestrels.

I worry about kestrels.

The dawn chorus up here in the bleak Pennines is nothing like the ones of my childhood in the leafy Wirral, but it’s still pretty spectacular, once it gets going.

I have heard and read of (supposedly) mythical rooks’ parliaments. This was certainly very like what is described—although there were clearly too few rooks to justify calling it a parliament. More of a rooks’ parish council, I suppose.

Then the rabbit began to dig in the lawn. I decided to leave him to it.

A swallow flies by, twisting and turning in the hail. My first of the year. An unexpected, though not unlooked-for, delight!

This is turning out to be a very strange Spring.

Snow drift

The snow had mostly gone, but there were still thigh-deep drifts in places, especially alongside walls. On the way up to the moor from Nook Cottages, I had a Mexican stand-off with bolshy sheep. Then I saw the lamb lying lifeless at her feet. She was trying to protect it, poor thing. Out of respect I gave her a wide berth.

On the moor itself, the track was under several inches of snow. Somebody else had been up there before me, heading the other way, so I walked in their footprints to make the going easier. Then I got to a deeper bit, the snow gave way, and I was suddenly stuck to the top of my legs in snow. It took me a full minute to struggle out.

Rabbit footprints

The snow was more patchy as I headed up the hill and along the edge to the trig point, skylarks in full song. There is something incongruous about hearing skylarks as you wade through snow. Unlike the weather, they certainly realised that it was supposed to be Spring.

There were lots of rabbit and grouse tracks in the snow. I love walking alongside animal tracks: it’s almost as if they are accompanying you. Time-shifted companions.

Red grouse

On my way back down through the field, the sheep was still there, suckling her ‘dead’ lamb. It hadn’t been lifeless; it had just been born—it was still coated in membrane.

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Lots of red grouse around. Whenever they fly away from you, they seem to do so in a long curve, rather than flying directly away from you. I wonder if it is so that they always present their upper half to you, affording them better camouflage. Or maybe it is because they can keep a better eye on you that way. Or maybe something else entirely.

Watched a skylark ascending near the trig point. It must have sung for a good couple of minutes as it rose so high that I lost sight of it amongst the floaters in my eyes. Knackering work for skylarks, singing.

Spotted a lapwing in the field just below the moor. Got some half-decent, albeit heavily cropped photos before it took off. Definitely one of my top-ten birds.

Lapwing.

Then a kestrel hunting over the scrub above the Nook track.

Kestrel.

On the whole, a very pleasant walk.

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As I opened the sliding door on to the patio, I heard a curlew calling very nearby. I turned to see three of them rising together, less than 15 yards away. They had probably been in the field on the other side of the wall, but, it I more than half suspected that they had actually been feeding on our lawn.

No photos, unfortunately: I didn’t expect to see curlews quite this close.

I stood for twenty minutes, leaning over the gate near the compost heap, soaking it up. A couple of butterflies, several bumble-bees, lapwings calling, and a pair of rabbits in the back field. I have been seeing quite a few rabbits there in recent months, which is unusual. I think they might have established a new outpost nearby. They have even been digging in the lawn by the compost heap.

The larger of the two rabbits, which I assume was a male, was very active, hopping back and forth, scratching in the soil, and rubbing his chin against spiky, dead nettle stalks, presumably leaving his scent. The sap is rising. He had a sizeable, ginger, Mohican strip at the back of his neck. Do rabbits usually have these? I have not noticed them before.

It’s about now that I start looking optimistically for swallows, but the earliest I have seen them up here is on my birthday, 2nd April.

I was particularly delighted to see eider swimming in the bay. Their local name, Cuddy ducks, is in honour of Saint Cuthbert of Northumberland, who is reputed to have had a soft spot for them. We visited Cuthbert’s grave in Durham Cathedral during our break.

Male Eider

We also spotted some whooper swans.

Whooper swans

… but my best shots of the holiday were undoubtedly of sanderlings:

Sanderlings

You can see all of my holiday snaps here.

This makes me ridiculously happy. Anyone might think Spring is on the way.

I couldn’t believe it: Nature had decided that Spring was on us already. I spotted my first March hare, male skylarks were singing their hearts out high in the sky, and I heard my first curlew calling across the moors.

It’ll be snowing within a week, mark my words.

An early skylark.

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Postscript: It snowed briefly two days later. Then came a heavy hail-storm. It’s not quite Spring yet, despite appearances to the contrary!

Early snowdrop.

First update of 2012. What can I say? I’ve been busy.

January began with snowdrops. I spotted my first, under the smaller of our two sycamores on 5th—the earliest snowdrop in our garden ever, I believe. Two days later, and it was decapitated in a storm. But it was a welcome reminder that winters don’t go on forever.

I have taken several walks on the moor. Ice and mud, mainly—and a few stalwart grouse. I also saw a flock of 48 fieldfares. (Yes, I counted them: sad, I know.)

A stalwart grouse on 25th January.

Ice-covered heather.

I had a truly astonishing walk up on the moor on 11th February. The area had been hit by frozen ice, so every heather twiglet and blade of grass had been sheathed in ice. It was so cold that the grouse, which I could hear nearby, had taken to hiding instead of flying away—presumably to save energy. They couldn’t have been getting much food, with all the heather frozen.

More photos from my icy walk »

A tundra landscape!

At home, we had our first siskin in the garden. Well, probably not our first—but certainly the first I recognised as a siskin! And we have had a small number of fieldfares and redwings in the front field, although those seem to have returned to Scandinavia now.

Then, this Tuesday, I was in the kitchen making a brew, when there was a tremendous crash against the window next to the bird-feeder. A sparrowhawk, I guessed. I ran over to the window, but there was no sign of anything, save for a few small feathers stuck to the window. But the blackbirds in the garden were going ballistic: they had clearly seen what had happened. I went back upstairs to work, but, 45 minutes later, I realised that the blackbirds were still going ballistic. I went to investigate, and found a little owl sitting in the thorn tree, getting mobbed by chaffinches. I managed to fire off a single, poorly exposed photo before it flew off.

Little owl

I later read that little owls do indeed eat small birds. They also seem to have stolen a trick from sparrowhawks, and taken to ambushing small birds at feeders.

There are definite signs that spring is on the way. Our garden robin has taken to singing very vocally before sunrise, and is starting to get a bit bolshy. So I’m hoping I should be able to start giving more regular updates in this journal in the near future.

I did, however, manage my 24th consecutive Christmas Eve ascent of Moel Famau in North Wales. As I stood drinking tea with my friend Carolyn and her family at the top, we were treated to a spectacular view of a merlin semi-circling the summit before dipping behind a wall. Carolyn’s oldest seemed far more impressed that a bird had the same name as one of her favourite TV characters than by the bird itself.

The midwinter storms have brought plenty of gulls inland to Hebden Bridge. If the weather here is a relief for the gulls, I can’t imagine what it must be like on the coast.

On 21st November, we had a day-trip out to Whitby. Walking along the pier, I spotted a bird fishing about 100 yards away. It was not a cormorant. I then overheard a chap behind me, who had a massive telephoto lens, tell his companion that it was a red-throated diver. Of course, by the time I got my own lens out, the bird had disappeared. This would have been my first red-throated diver, but I don’t think it really counts, as I didn’t see it well enough to be able to confirm the stranger’s identification. I did, however, managed to get rather close to some turnstones!

Turnstones

And then, this Tuesday, I visited Burton Marshes. Before I had even turned off my car’s engine, I spotted a rook half-heartedly mobbing something. I grabbed my spare binoculars from the glove box and was treated to two minutes worth of female hen harrier flying back and forth, hunting above the reeds. She was only about 50 years away. Fabulous views—and my first absolutely definite hen harrier. But, unfortunately, my camera was in the boot!

After the harrier had gone, I got out the car and got my camera ready, just in case she returned. Then I spotted some birdwatchers watching something through their telescopes a long way off. I’m pretty sure it was another harrier, but it really was a long way away. But, as I was watching, a short-eared owl appeared from the north and flew towards me. And this time I even managed to bag some photos as it hunted in pretty much the same place as the hen harrier had!

Short-eared owl

Not bad for 10 minutes’ bird-watching.

… Oh, nearly forgot: I also took a rather nice photo of a stonechat:

Stonechat

Other photos from Whitby »
Other photos from Burton Marshes »

I was half-way through filling the last feeder, when I heard a high-pitched seep! call from the adjacent thorn tree. I was fairly sure it was my first redwing of the winter, but, look as I might, I couldn’t spot it—even though it obligingly continued to seep!

Then a blaze of activity, and a sparrowhawk landed in the tree about ten feet from me: slate-grey—a male. The presumed redwing went very quiet. Amazingly, the sparrowhawk had not seen me. He sat there for a good minute, annoyingly obscured by twigs, before he took off and headed back the way he had come, accompanied by a final taunting seep! from the thorn tree.

No photograph, obviously, so here is one I took of a more successful sparrowhawk a few years back:

A sparrowhawk near my bird-feeder in April, 2007.

Little egret.

Moody misty marshes.

• More photos from today »
• Last Tuesday’s photos »

I went to Hardcastle Crags, concentrating on the photography side, this time, rather than looking for wildlife—although I did get a pretty good (but far too dark for photography) view of a pair of dippers, and an enormous frog. I was quite pleased with some of my photos, but it’s hard to go wrong on a glorious autumn day in the woods.

Hardcastle Crags, Autumn

One thing I’ve noticed about photography: if you go out with a fancy camera, people ignore you; but if you go out with a fancy camera on a tripod, everyone suddenly wants to talk with you. (Note to self: Leave tripod at home next time!)

Lots more photos here »

I was delighted to see yet another late wheatear just beyond the trig point. I am now point-blank refusing to describe any wheatear I see as most likely being the last one I see this year.

There were quite a few red grouse around, and I startled more than one of them (and vice versa) by getting really close to them without realising.

A startled red grouse

The boots held up quite well, but I’m reserving judgement until they have had a sterner test in full rain.

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