It’s been a busy old month, but the reality is that I am never preoccupied enough not to be able to squeeze in a ton of nature connectiveness. The close of summer and the imminent arrival of autumnal equinox has thrusted some weird and wonderful interactions with the wild into being, inclusive of everything from tiny wasps to dive-bombing raptors - all of which, I am going to share with you.
The commencing of September saw some serious bursts of torrential rain. Usually, a great event for most wildlife. Or so you’d think.
Driving home under the cover of darkness one evening I noticed a small, rotund, hazel-coloured object out in front. We slowed promptly as I realised exactly what was waddling along in front of the car. As I got out I noticed that this chunky Common Toad, wasn’t the only of its kin within the vicinity. More followed, and what began as just a great excuse to get a closer look at such an interesting amphibian, soon turned into a prolonged, stop-start journey all the way home. Every few metres, car stopped, out I get, move a Toad to safety. If you love wildlife like I do, you’ll know you can’t just switch it off whenever you feel like it. It’s a full time job - no doubt.
Toad rescue in the rain.
Heavy rainfall encourages interesting Fungi like this Curry-scented Milkcap into fruition.
This month I have been working in the freshwater ponds, creating clearance by removing dominating species. Always a fun task without question, but on this occasion donning the chest waders gave me the opportunity to find something which has eluded me for too long. Luckily, marauding around the margins, amongst the Reed Mace I managed to find two immaculate examples of what I had been keeping an eye out for all day.
Usually around two years into their lifecycle, damselflies and dragonflies (odonata) will perform something quite remarkable. After hatching from egg, they spend the next couple of years under water as larvae, patrolling ponds to prey on all kinds of aquatic life including tadpoles, crustaceans and even small fish. Truly voracious predators. During these months, a larva will moult many times, shedding its exoskeleton or exuvia in the process. As it approaches its final moult, it will stay in shallow water for a few days. Here, they will begin to breathe air, ready for the transformation.
The final act of a dragonfly larva is to climb up vegetation that protrudes from the water and it will then begin to push its full anatomy out of its skin, emerging as a pristine, fully grown mature dragonfly. They then remain still for up to an hour, allowing their soft bodies to harden in the sun, a process known as sclerotisation. The exuviae that they leave behind are a real treasure. A perfect model cast of its former host. At last, I had one for the collection.
The empty exuvia of a Southern Hawker dragonfly (Aeshna cyanea), still clasping its carefully selected pond vegetation.
From my workplace to the Yorkshire Dales, this month has brought some very pleasant finds. One being the most unusual and mystifying creation that is a ‘gall’.
Galls (or growths) appear in many shapes and forms. Two of which I have come across recently and they are produced by the Cherry Gall Wasp and the Silk Button Gall Wasp. The Cherry Gall Wasp produces its galls on the underside of Oak leaves. As the female lays her eggs, a reaction takes place causing the plant tissue to swell up into strange globular forms, which over time turn red, hence the cherry in the name. The growth will then harbour the eggs until they hatch into larvae, which will then feast on the plant material and on will go the continuation of the cycle.
The Silk Button Gall Wasp works to a very similar pattern, although the appearance of the gall is noticeably different, and each individual will hold just a single Wasp in situ. Just another example of the wonder of nature and the many, many ways in which it operates. Truly fascinating and a good one to look out for at this time of year!
The underside of an oak leaf showing the work of a female Cherry Gall Wasp, yet to take on its reddish hue.
True to its name, the Silk Button Gall Wasp produces some very distinctive galls, also on oak leaves.
On my wander through the Dales last week, swathes of ripening, late summer fruit were exhibited as the woodland paths were lined with Rowan berries, Guelder Rose, Blackthorn and raspberries. Flying insects reverberated around summer flowers still thriving in the unshifting humidity such as Pellucid Hoverfly, White-tailed Bumblebees, Red Admirals and Speckled Wood. The number of Goldfinch in the area were plentiful and boisterous, taking full advantage of nearby seeding plants.
The remains of a female Kestrel that had been predated on a low oak branch may have been a sad outcome for this stunning small falcon, but as its feathers floated down to ground level, I couldn’t resist pocketing a few as they just aren’t something you come by often.
Guelder Rose (Viburnum opulus).
The perfect wing symmetry of a bumblebee.
One of a charm. The Goldfinch.
Blackthorn adorned with sloe berries.
The plight of a Common Kestrel (Falco tinnunculus).
Pellucid Hoverfly (Volucella pellucens).
The Yorkshire Dales was a wonderful place to be, steeped in natural beauty, and a case which proved entirely conclusive thanks to a culmination of some majorly enchanting, chance encounters with the local wildlife.
Ascending a rocky limestone crag, a grassy knoll had hidden away a perfectly camouflaged, verdant green avian. If it wasn’t for the vibrant red cap, we may well have just carried on climbing. To my right, intermittently poking its head out of the grasses, stooped a Green Woodpecker. Unperturbed by our presence, it continued to gorge on ants and other invertebrates on the ground before eventually fluttering away. This is the first time I have ever managed to photograph one.
A magnificent bird indeed and quite the result, but things were about to get even better still.
Ants are a favourite food source of the Green Woodpecker (Picus viridis).
The largest of our three breeding UK woodpeckers.
Hart’s-tongue Fern (Asplenium scolopendrium) gets its name from its likeness to a deer tongue.
At its rocky summit, clambering over the limestone pavement whilst carefully navigating through the Hart’s-tongue Ferns and calamitous crevices, a large, partially vegetated overhang was clearly visible. On its ledge, lay a bird which I have only ever seen briefly, firing across the skyline above.
On the outcrop in the afternoon sun, with its slate-grey upperparts, strong bill and jet-black ‘moustache’, lay one of Britains most evocative birds. The Peregrine Falcon.
The Latin peregrinus literally translates as wanderer or traveller. The worlds fastest flying bird was sitting right in front of me. A bird of prey that has been clocked dive-bombing at speeds of well over 200mph.
I however, was just grateful to see it shuffle over to its next sunbathing spot.
The Grey Pilgrim. The Wanderer.
What a bird.
