East Coast Nature Notes Monday 30th April 2012 Northbound
East Coast Nature Notes Monday 30th April 2012 Northbound
After a week of heavy rain; though the technical term appears to be soft rain this morning has dawn bright and clear and sharp. Now when I leave the London Borough of Mordor it is almost day and the eastern sky is burning with anticipation for the day to come.
The pair of carrion crows, the male never far from the nest and the female allowed a brief respite while he sits near by, are very active and I think the eggs are either just about to hatch or have hatched. But as they are near the very crown of a mature oak tree it is not easy to tell.
Already there are clouds in the sky as we pull past Finsbury Park and high in the sky the long haul jets are glowing with white and gold as the risen sun casts its over generous rays upon their metal skins.
Gulls, pigeons and crows are already loft. The hedgerows are thick and dense and deep green. A golf course, manicured to within a millimetre of extinction, is a green and sandy blemish. Then the rabbits appear in the grassy margins between housing estates and low lock-up units.
New Barnett and the first tree still in blossom flashes past.
Stevenage and the brightness of the world begins to dim. The retail park is under constant patrol by the resident rooks. Certainly they are more active than passengers at the station who are slightly less active than statues.
Broom is still yellow and the fields are extra green after the recent rainfall. He allotments are prepare. Just north of the station and the sunlight returns as the clouds pull back. Across one field of green two birds are chasing each other - looking not unlike skylarks. On a power line the latest entry in scruffiest pigeon of the year gets ready for the day.
Stevenage to Hitchin is a very short journey. Except when the express train you are on decides that it has to slow down due to sunlight in the air. A kestrel rests on a power line looking down into the undergrowth.
Sandy under a darkening sky. Just north, the fields are heavy under the remains of the recent rains. A stretch of flood fields to the west have been colonised by sea gulls, paddling happily in the shallow waters. The canal swings close and is almost cam except for the ripples caused by the swans.
Some major flooding now. Field after field under waster. Three martins skimming the surface of one, a group of crows rest in a bare tree, surrounded by water. Now the flooded fields are replaced by fields of unending yellow.
A muntjac deer browses beside the top of the track just south of the Lonely Church - which today is patrolled by a single corvid. The fields nearby though are under constant patrol by its relatives. A magpie and a wood pigeon share a telegraphy wire.
Then the world goes flat and the soil goes black. A mallard drake flies alongside us briefly.
As we reach the south edge of FYP the rabbits are out along the trackside, every five or six metres there is another brown furred, dark eyed rabbit with its gaze fixed on the east. The first lilac is out in flower, hanging over from a garden. The river is low on swans, only five to the east.
Then we reach the station.
We leave FYP older if not wiser and the Guard Rabbits are out in force. More flooded paddocks and fields glisten blue under a reasonably good sky.
A field full of gulls, common, black backed and possibly one herring gull. Two grey geese on the edge of a field, next door to a small pond.
There goes the Mallard speed sign and there go more fields underwater. In places the separation between stream and field has totally failed..
Endless yellow fields sap at the will. Possibly a kestrel on a wire as we enter the tunnel that indicates that Grantham is growing close. In fact the station is unusually busy under a whole two passengers who are then joined by a third as we pull away.
Every stream is full either to bursting or has burst its banks. Fields are filled with stems rising above waters that the land is too saturated to cope with.
One drainage channel shows either careful planning or a fortune of situation as it is less than half full. One puddle has attracted a male mallard who paddles back and forth happily.
Newark at speed and then across and across again the river and past the ponds. The second crossing shows a river becoming dangerously full and turbulent. The ponds themselves are almost empty of bird life.
A raven, big, dominating the local sky. Below it eight grey geese, standing in their pairs.
A kestrel, high and facing south in a perfect hover. Wings beating hard but head perfectly still it faces into the wind.
Heavy flooding south of Retford station. Fields deep under water.
250 Miles to Edinburgh a sign so rusted its almost reverted to its pre-manufactured state. Still we pass yellow field followed by yellow field. The scrubland here is badly flooded (as it so often is). We pass fields that no longer can be called anything other than lakes.
Two swans in flight, so close that for a moment their wings tangle. But an avian disaster is averted and they continue on their way as we reach the woodland south of the pond that is south of Doncaster.
One swan, one pair of Canada geese, one large clump of black headed gulls. Several small ducks and a coot make up the rest of the pond’s birdlife.
The silver birches just before the station stand on ground that ranges from sodden to under a couple of centimetres of water. One small, slightly stooped daff remains in flower. The pink cherry blossom has taken a pounding in the rain, the ground below each tree is heavily dusted in blossoms knocked free by the rain. The flowers and branches are bent low, victims of the bruising weather. Yet now it is still and bright and clear.
A single train spotter on one platform, camera ready. Two more on the next platform, keeping well clear of each other.
The Don is overfull and laps right at the top of its banks.
Another kestrel in hover over a scrubby field. More unexpected ponds have caught the attention of mallard. The fishing ponds have fishermen but of the local birds there is no sign.
Ahead, where Wakefield lies, so to do the clouds. Not white and wispy, nor white and fluffy. These are bad tempered and carrying rain and attitude in equal measure.
The river at Wakefield is not as bad as the others I've seen on this trip. It seems calmer, more mature than the others. It's taken the worst of the weather and mastered it. Though given that the rainfall around this part of the country is so much heavier than most others through which I pass, it has the experience caused by lots of practice.
After a week of heavy rain; though the technical term appears to be soft rain this morning has dawn bright and clear and sharp. Now when I leave the London Borough of Mordor it is almost day and the eastern sky is burning with anticipation for the day to come.
The pair of carrion crows, the male never far from the nest and the female allowed a brief respite while he sits near by, are very active and I think the eggs are either just about to hatch or have hatched. But as they are near the very crown of a mature oak tree it is not easy to tell.
Already there are clouds in the sky as we pull past Finsbury Park and high in the sky the long haul jets are glowing with white and gold as the risen sun casts its over generous rays upon their metal skins.
Gulls, pigeons and crows are already loft. The hedgerows are thick and dense and deep green. A golf course, manicured to within a millimetre of extinction, is a green and sandy blemish. Then the rabbits appear in the grassy margins between housing estates and low lock-up units.
New Barnett and the first tree still in blossom flashes past.
Stevenage and the brightness of the world begins to dim. The retail park is under constant patrol by the resident rooks. Certainly they are more active than passengers at the station who are slightly less active than statues.
Broom is still yellow and the fields are extra green after the recent rainfall. He allotments are prepare. Just north of the station and the sunlight returns as the clouds pull back. Across one field of green two birds are chasing each other - looking not unlike skylarks. On a power line the latest entry in scruffiest pigeon of the year gets ready for the day.
Stevenage to Hitchin is a very short journey. Except when the express train you are on decides that it has to slow down due to sunlight in the air. A kestrel rests on a power line looking down into the undergrowth.
Sandy under a darkening sky. Just north, the fields are heavy under the remains of the recent rains. A stretch of flood fields to the west have been colonised by sea gulls, paddling happily in the shallow waters. The canal swings close and is almost cam except for the ripples caused by the swans.
Some major flooding now. Field after field under waster. Three martins skimming the surface of one, a group of crows rest in a bare tree, surrounded by water. Now the flooded fields are replaced by fields of unending yellow.
A muntjac deer browses beside the top of the track just south of the Lonely Church - which today is patrolled by a single corvid. The fields nearby though are under constant patrol by its relatives. A magpie and a wood pigeon share a telegraphy wire.
Then the world goes flat and the soil goes black. A mallard drake flies alongside us briefly.
As we reach the south edge of FYP the rabbits are out along the trackside, every five or six metres there is another brown furred, dark eyed rabbit with its gaze fixed on the east. The first lilac is out in flower, hanging over from a garden. The river is low on swans, only five to the east.
Then we reach the station.
We leave FYP older if not wiser and the Guard Rabbits are out in force. More flooded paddocks and fields glisten blue under a reasonably good sky.
A field full of gulls, common, black backed and possibly one herring gull. Two grey geese on the edge of a field, next door to a small pond.
There goes the Mallard speed sign and there go more fields underwater. In places the separation between stream and field has totally failed..
Endless yellow fields sap at the will. Possibly a kestrel on a wire as we enter the tunnel that indicates that Grantham is growing close. In fact the station is unusually busy under a whole two passengers who are then joined by a third as we pull away.
Every stream is full either to bursting or has burst its banks. Fields are filled with stems rising above waters that the land is too saturated to cope with.
One drainage channel shows either careful planning or a fortune of situation as it is less than half full. One puddle has attracted a male mallard who paddles back and forth happily.
Newark at speed and then across and across again the river and past the ponds. The second crossing shows a river becoming dangerously full and turbulent. The ponds themselves are almost empty of bird life.
A raven, big, dominating the local sky. Below it eight grey geese, standing in their pairs.
A kestrel, high and facing south in a perfect hover. Wings beating hard but head perfectly still it faces into the wind.
Heavy flooding south of Retford station. Fields deep under water.
250 Miles to Edinburgh a sign so rusted its almost reverted to its pre-manufactured state. Still we pass yellow field followed by yellow field. The scrubland here is badly flooded (as it so often is). We pass fields that no longer can be called anything other than lakes.
Two swans in flight, so close that for a moment their wings tangle. But an avian disaster is averted and they continue on their way as we reach the woodland south of the pond that is south of Doncaster.
One swan, one pair of Canada geese, one large clump of black headed gulls. Several small ducks and a coot make up the rest of the pond’s birdlife.
The silver birches just before the station stand on ground that ranges from sodden to under a couple of centimetres of water. One small, slightly stooped daff remains in flower. The pink cherry blossom has taken a pounding in the rain, the ground below each tree is heavily dusted in blossoms knocked free by the rain. The flowers and branches are bent low, victims of the bruising weather. Yet now it is still and bright and clear.
A single train spotter on one platform, camera ready. Two more on the next platform, keeping well clear of each other.
The Don is overfull and laps right at the top of its banks.
Another kestrel in hover over a scrubby field. More unexpected ponds have caught the attention of mallard. The fishing ponds have fishermen but of the local birds there is no sign.
Ahead, where Wakefield lies, so to do the clouds. Not white and wispy, nor white and fluffy. These are bad tempered and carrying rain and attitude in equal measure.
The river at Wakefield is not as bad as the others I've seen on this trip. It seems calmer, more mature than the others. It's taken the worst of the weather and mastered it. Though given that the rainfall around this part of the country is so much heavier than most others through which I pass, it has the experience caused by lots of practice.