East Coast Nature Notes Monday 2nd July 2012 Northbound
So this is July. Along with August this is the peak of summer. Pity that the weather is now so messed up that it still feels like late October.
The penultimate northbound journey begins under a broken sky in which grey clouds are torn by high (as in height) winds. A few of their edges are pulled thin and feather as they break under the load of water they are carrying.
In the garden at the weekend the teasel that started growing at the end of last summer and that had held on as a small clump of leaves has reached slightly more than 6 feet in height. Not bad for something growing in a crack in the pavement next to the coal bunker. It also has a fine collection of flower heads.
Elsewhere the wildflower meadow. A small affair but still pretty is at its best. Several new flowers have made it this year including a yellow-orange poppy that shyly opens its petals only when the sun falls on it.
The butterflies like it. The caterpillars like it. Long green ones the length of my little finger, to smaller black and green ones perhaps a centimetre and half long, progress up and down their favoured food plants. The holes are widespread and so are their droppings. A small, delicate brown butterfly turned up yesterday, one that I’ve not seen before.
We reach Stevenage without being rained on. A feat which in other years would hardly be worth mentioning. But as the June-that-was is also one in which rainfall and dampness records have tumbled it is worth mentioning.
Pigeons rest upon the wires. A few magpies sit on top of street lights. On Friday, not mentioned at the time, I saw a yellow rabbit. Not brown but yellow. In all other respects it looked like a normal rabbit. Just with a different colour. The rabbits so far today have been small and that one was large.
By the time we pass Biggleswade the sky has darkened and the world is a little duller as the promise of the new day so far is not met.
We reach Sandy and the line of cold looking passengers at its station hold themselves tight to keep warm.
The first bales of hay have been harvested and are resting in the fields wrapped in black plastic.
The rain, much threatened, arrives finally. I look to the west and the world fades under the rain. To the east the Lonely Church stands damp and very much alone. The wild lavender is still there. Twenty five to thirty pigeons rest on the track side wires and look down at the field of green goodiness with greedy and hungry eyes.
A lot of rabbits on sentry duty as we approach Peterborough. The purple plant has now been joined by a white form, sometimes appearing to be on the same plant. There does seem to be a rule that if its purple then its also white.
As we slow down the rain begins to streak the windows again. Westward there are no swans to be seen and to the east only two, both sheltering under the next bridge along from the rain that is pitting the brown surface of the river.
The small red poppies are still doing well by the platforms. A plant of similar height but with tiny, tight yellow flowers is there alongside them now.
A seagull flies over, tilting left and right to maintain its progress.
Rain. Rain. Rain. Oh summer wherefore art though?
We spend at the platform than is usual. There is a limit to the number of rain drops one can watch as they make their way from the top of the window to the bottom. For the record the count today was eight.
We move away and with speed comes the illusion of progress. A dove carrying a green twig? Well actually a pigeon but still the biblical allusion is correct for the amount of rain received.
In a small stream two small swans have their heads underwater as they feed and yet more pigeons sit on the wires and watch the track.
A small flock of starlings no more than fifty in number.
It’s been a few trips since I’ve seen any pheasants guarding their part of the fields.
There goes the Mallard marker. No sign of the kite that was above this place on Friday. A lot of the fields have the look of someone with long hair who having washed it has gone to sleep with it still wet and is now dealing with the uncontrollable results the next day.
The rain has stopped. For now.
It’s raining rooks in one field. Line after line of them drop into the middle of a field and fold their wings behind their backs. A hare sits at the top of the embankment, ears furled back.
In an act of petty ecological vandalism the trees on the approach to Grantham have been cut down leaving the bankside bare and reducing a nature corridor to little more than some grass.
Our stop at the station is very sort therefore that counts as good. A few more rosebay willow herbs are in flower and the daisies are fading, the white of the petals now looking a little more careworn and brown.
A flock of ten or so swifts over a damp yellow field. A lot of the fields still have puddles of standing water. Said puddles don’t look like they are planning to evaporate anytime soon.
A field away to the east a kestrel hovers over the hedgerow. A tiny silhouette against the grey sky. Then we race through Newark then slow a bit as we reach the river which is still rather full. But between the two bits of river a barn owl is overflying the scrubby grass, turning and going back the way it came. A brilliant view, showing the darker brown tops and the pale, soft and sound stealing white underside.
There could have been a lot of life on the ponds but I was too busy watching and noting the owl (07:54)
Not far back from the track, on a dead branch at the very apex of a large tree a huddled up buzzard waits for the world to warm up. Grantham arrives and is quickly behind us.
Two hundred and fifty miles to Edinburgh. I hope the three ducks overhead are not planning on flying that far.
A field almost totally red with poppies - no doubt to the farmers chagrin. The scrub land is still flooded and now looks like it is on the way to becoming a marsh.
A swan is on the pond south of Doncaster station and a single black headed gull is in the air. A few more gulls are dotted around on the fence posts and a couple of coots stay close to the reeds.
Doncaster station and once more we arrive under a grey sky that promises only rain. If there are any trainspotters here today they have decided to find somewhere to shelter from the “summer”.
Leaving Doncaster a few more drops of rain hit the windows but to the north there is less cloud and at least in that direction the world seems brighter. The twin fishing ponds pass unremarked.
The cloud base rises a lot as we get near to Wakefield and as a result the day seems so much brighter though it is still heavily overcast.
A freshly cut grass field has a attracted the residents of a rookery who stand around as if at a corvid cocktail party as they wait for the canapés to be served.
The river is returning to more normal levels and its colour is no longer muddy brown but has taken on the reflected colours of the sky - so grey and white. On a roof top a young magpie tries to beg food from a parent. The parent is having none of it.
No lupins so far. A close up of a magpie on the corner block of a bridge’s parapet. Then we grind to a stop in Wakefield and our journey is almost done.
A little more of the buddleias is in flower. The dwarf foxgloves are still there and a single thistle is still crowned in purple. The hedgerow is still rich in white blossom and the allotment just past the station looks full of potential.
Just outside of the ring road in Leeds a vixen is standing, peering at a piece of grass. She stops and slowly turns her head to watch us pass.