Thursday, December 31, 2009
Christmas in the Lakes
It was an uneventful but dramatic trip north, with bands of sleet and hail, sudden clear sunny spells and one area of dense fog. We drove into the snow-covered national park just before dark and it looked beautiful.
This is the entrance to the drive of our holiday flat - and it's as far as we got. Greger cursed his low-profile tyres as the wheels just spun on the ice. He even tried reversing out onto the road again and then charging at it - still no-go. We carried all the stuff up the slate steps to our apartment at the top, and Greger put the car in a nearby car park with a note on it. It would stay there for the next four days.
The narrow reedbed at the tip of Windermere held snipe and water rail; and goldeneye and goosander were out on the open water.
Loughrigg Fell
On Christmas Day we walked to the top of Loughrigg and back. The snow was nicely packed on the paths, and soft everywhere else - fabulous! Lots of woodland birds were seen on the way up. This goldcrest was foraging in trees at about 150 metres, and the coal tit was a bit further on. Nearby was a house which had feeders up in the garden, so they were probably making use of them.
A curious white mist hung almost all day over Windermere, creeping from the lake into the valleys. As we sat eating our lunch I could not rid myself of the notion that the knobbly rock in the centre of the picture was a man in a donkey jacket and bobble hat, lurking furtively behind the hillock watching us. So that's what happened to Benny from Crossroads!
As we descended, a buzzard cruised low across the fell-side and perched on an outcrop of rock. As we dropped down to the River Rothay Greger spotted a dipper - I couldn't resist trying for a shot but the camera naturally focused on the frost-rimed twigs.
Helm Crag
Our next walk was Helm Crag, near Grasmere. It was a greyish day with no sun. Some way up the flank, half a dozen fieldfares hurtled past as though their lives depended on it - but the only raptor we could see was a kestrel.
Greger managed some nice shots as four ravens took to the air.
A peregrine clutching prey sped right through this elegant show, producing some noisy protests; but the ravens were more interested in their own concerns and the peregrine went safely on its way. 
As we descended steep slopes to the east, two of the ravens flew right over us, one of them executing several half-rolls as it went. 
The Fairfield Horseshoe
On the last day, we decided on this old favourite. We set off from Ambleside to tackle it anti-clockwise, and on a morning of deep blue skies and sunshine, soon found ourselves stripping off hats and jackets.
The going was good, and a male stonechat was a nice sight just above the tree-line.
There were many more people on the hill than last year, when the weather was murky. Some fell-runners were out, and I admired their sure-footed speed - but it was this man, swishing quietly and gracefully past on skis, who really made us envious. He had come to the end of his run here, but it got him a good way down from the summit.
The snow had drifted across the drystone wall, so a path had been beaten along the top of it. This felt very peculiar but it was preferable to breaking a trail. I slipped and fell once, and was glad when it came to an end.
However, I was soon to wish that the wall went all the way - because the alternative was horrible. Deep snow had formed a crust on the surface so that you couldn't just push through it. Now and then I found I could walk quickly on top like a basilisk on water - but then it would give way and I'd be back to high-stepping. It was extremely tiring. As Greger pointed out, what would have been useful was Ray Mears' snow-shoes.
Then I looked at my watch and realised it was 2 pm - and we still had to make the summit. The summit was by now draped in cloud, so our hope of a view was dashed. "I can't do it," I announced, and Greger assured me I could. I grizzled and whined and cursed the snow...and while I was whinging, I slipped over again. Greger offered to help me up and I waved him away...it was Swedish stoicism versus an English batting collapse.
We sat on a rock and ate our sandwiches, and I realised that Greger was also tired. I apologised for being such a pain and we packed up and trudged on.
A cold wind had sprung up, but at least it shifted the cloud off the top; and from the summit cairn we had wonderful views all round. A yellow RAF rescue helicopter chugged over, but we didn't hear later of any accidents. I looked over at Helvellyn and wondered if there were snow buntings on the top, as there were none on Fairfield this year. Snow too deep, I suppose, although a few patches of vegetation showed through.
Or perhaps the ravens had driven them away. Hunger made this one bold as it scavenged for scraps in the snow.
Apart from a solitary runner who was just leaving as we arrived, we were probably the last people on the summit. Our destination at the near tip of the lake looked a very long way away - and we knew we wouldn't get off the hill before dark.
Fortunately there was a moon and a clear sky - making for an unforgettable, unearthly descent. The flanks of the final hill, Nab Scar, are very steep, and the hard-packed snow was turning to ice. Greger lost his footing twice, and though I managed not to fall again I wrenched my hand and arm painfully in managing to stay up. At one point, I thought I heard an owl; but this was no time to go in pursuit of ticks - or to take my eyes off my feet.
And after all that we still had a 2 km walk back to Ambleside along unlit, icy pavements. We agreed afterwards that this was one of our hardest expeditions - although mostly because of the deep, drifted snow high up after the wall, and the treacherous conditions at the end. Otherwise, as Greger later remarked, it had its pleasurably memorable moments.
Sunday, December 20, 2009
Greger suggested a walk, so we set off for the Park Lane car park on the western side of Burnham Beeches. But the open space of Littleworth Common looked attractive, so we parked there instead.
Crossing the common, we counted fourteen redpolls in one of the birches.
At Park Lane, we found the car park closed anyway. They're getting a bit high-handed about visitors to the Beeches, I reckon. It's our wood - not theirs.
We saw one each of treecreeper, goldcrest, marsh tit, and wren. A nuthatch was hovering, trying to get beech nuts from husks still on the outermost twigs of the tree.
Back in Dorney Wood, snow was beginning to fall from the branches - and on the common, the redpolls had gone.
At Park Lane, we found the car park closed anyway. They're getting a bit high-handed about visitors to the Beeches, I reckon. It's our wood - not theirs. Anyway, we walked through the Beeches to find plenty of cars on East Burnham Common as usual and barking dogs everywhere. Greger took this nice picture of the stream.
We saw one each of treecreeper, goldcrest, marsh tit, and wren. A nuthatch was hovering, trying to get beech nuts from husks still on the outermost twigs of the tree. 
Back in Dorney Wood, snow was beginning to fall from the branches - and on the common, the redpolls had gone.Friday, December 18, 2009
Taplow
I opened the curtains this white morning to see a sparrowhawk zooming low across the gardens. A bit later, a flock of lapwings flew north-west. Wood pigeons flying over looked unusually beautiful thanks to being under-lit by the snow.
I walked down to Maidenhead to shop for Christmas cards. As I followed the path round from Rectory Road onto Berry Hill, I noticed the left-hand dent in the fence. By the time I returned, the right-hand dent had been added. The drivers must have misread the arrows as meaning "Hit fence here".
Late afternoon, I threw some scraps out on the patio and was surprised when a couple of pied wagtails flew down. It might seem a common bird to get excited about, but these were the first pied wagtails we've ever seen in our garden.
A male blackcap and a wren were also around.Sunday, December 13, 2009
An estate tick today in the form of two lesser redpolls.
The silver birch is next to the car park with houses behind it, and the only way I could observe and photograph them was by setting up the telescope in our garden - using the ivy on the wall to hide me from the neighbours - and digiscoping through all the intervening twigs.
One showed extensive red on the breast, but I couldn't get a shot of that one.Friday, December 11, 2009
Yesterday: This tiny hoverfly was on the smaller Hebe bush. The larger Hebe has new flowers coming through - never seen before in December.
A butterfly danced madly down Rectory Road, and a blackbird was on sub-song in the holly tree by the kitchen window.
Today: A late afternoon visit to Burnham Beeches brought at least five bramblings among the many chaffinches....
....while a single lesser redpoll was feeding in a silver birch.Tuesday, December 08, 2009
Barcelona
Greger found some old air-miles which had to be used up by the end of the year - so off we went to Barcelona. He suggested a drive down to the Ebro Delta for the second day, so I resolved that while we were in the city I would concentrate on culture and ignore the birds.
It was difficult, however, to ignore the monk parakeets that buzzed us as we walked down the street.
No visit to Barcelona is complete without at least a look at La Sagrada Familia. This newer end with its cadaverous figures by Josep Subirachs is quite moving, even when you're not religious. And at the older, Gaudi end, I was simply gazing up along with dozens of other tourists at the crazy facade when a peregrine happened to alight on one of the phenomenally tall cranes that are still building the church - so naturally I had a good look at it. (Other websites have much better pics of the Sagrada peregrines than I could manage.)
We went next to the Arc de Triomf and the Parc de la Ciutadella. The Lonely Planet guide to Spain explains that the park is on the site of an old political prison. This became a symbol of everything the Catalans hated about Spanish rule and was eventually demolished.It was interesting stuff - but could I help it if a Sardinian warbler practically danced along a branch right above the path and distracted me?
Greger gave up and sat on a bench in the sun. Other birds in the park included chiffchaffs, grey wagtails, spotless starlings and black redstarts.We then wandered off and found a nice restaurant where we had a leisurely lunch and shared a bottle of red wine. But the day was spoilt on the train back to the hotel when Greger realised his mobile phone was missing. Either he'd left it somewhere (unlike him) or he'd been pickpocketed in the crush of the metro.
The following morning we travelled back into town to retrace our last steps - but to no avail. The Ebro Delta being now out of the question, we drove instead to Montserrat - the "serrated mountain" - about 50km north-west of Barcelona.
We took the rack train to the Benedictine abbey of Santa Maria de Montserrat - the photo is from the train window, looking back - and then the funicular railway to the base of the spires.
We set off along a broad track with a dozen crag martins wheeling above us. Climbing a flight of uneven steps, we negotiated a narrow path which led underneath an overhang and into an exciting cleft - but then the path seemed to come to an end at an impossibly steep section. Returning the same way, we heard and then saw a small flock of birds - one of which perched on the wall ahead. The sun was in the wrong place, but Greger managed a shot of our first Alpine accentor - with the polite co-operation of a jolly Spanish (or perhaps Catalan) family coming the other way.
We didn't bother with the funicular railway on the descent, but walked down to the abbey to catch the train back. The wind began to get up, reminding us that despite all the infrastructure, we were high on a fairly substantial mountain. A firecrest was seen briefly in low scrub at about 1,000 metres.
There are strange little dwelling places here and there, previously the abode of reclusive monks and now apparently abandoned - although this one looks tended. I like mountains, but this kind of retreat somehow doesn't appeal.
On the last day, I had a look round the hotel garden. We were out of the city in an industrial area, and the garden consisted of a strip of grass with some bushes and trees. Nevertheless on this morning it held robins, blackcaps, blackbirds, chiffchaffs, pied wagtails, a Sardinian warbler and a black redstart.
On the flight into Barcelona, I had looked down as we came in to land on a place to make a birder's heart beat faster. A couple of lagoons lay like jewels in parched and scrubby ground, while a river ran through it to the sea. With some hours to spare before the flight home, we looked on the map now and realised it was a nature reserve.
The Llobregat Delta is a small area hemmed in by industry, residential streets - and Barcelona airport! This lagoon held a large number of cormorants, several little grebes, a few grey herons and two mergansers.A zigzag boardwalk made the old house into a novel hide, giving views of reedy pools and marshes as well as over the beach and the sea.
There is also a ruined barracks, where a picturesque flight of steps was made even more interesting by a black redstart.
The weedy courtyard of the barracks and the land around was alive with small birds - but they were very wary and kept flying into tall reeds by the old walls. Meadow pipits, serins and stonechats were certainly present, and a Dartford warbler was seen.
It would have been great to linger all day and look for some of the more special birds, but our flight home called. Walking back along the river we saw several little egrets and heard numerous Cetti's warblers. Near the car park two serins were feeding on the ground. I'm afraid my attentions flushed them.
The flight home was half empty and so quite relaxing. Being a cheapskate, I suggested getting a bus instead of a taxi, and walking up to the village from the A4. As we approached the Marsh Lane bus stop, Greger looked at his watch and pointed out that the journey from Heathrow to Taplow had taken at least half the journey time from Spain to Heathrow!Setting off in the dark and just past the police headquarters, we found the road under the railway bridge flooded and had to take the footbridge across the station. Greger strode ahead very fast wheeling the suitcase while I brought up the rear with an old "freebie" trolley which made an incredible noise. I think he was trying to pretend he wasn't with me.
I had also caught a cold. But despite this and the loss of the mobile phone, it was a great weekend.
