Autumn comes to the Creek...

Down at the top of the creek this morning, there where the rain-swollen stream meets the rising tide, a kingfisher was fishing. It didn't see me approaching along the stream until I got within about five metres but then flew across to the far bank, calling quite loudly. As I could still hear it calling I stood quite still - even the d0g was being quiet behind me - and the bird came back to the same perch. It was a perfect photograph, silhouetted against the sun on the water. Unfortunately, by the time I had carefully eased the cameraphone out of the pocket and switched it on, the kingfisher had seen a fish, dived and was gone in a flash of blue over to the bank again.

It's not often I see kingfishers down there - they only seem to fish there just when the rising tide fills the creek and sweeps the little fishes up towards the mouth of the stream, and although it is my normal morning destination it doesn't often coincide with fishing hour. Today I also saw a sandpiper - a sign that winter is on its way - and a couple of jays, as well as the usual gang of blackheaded gulls in winter white. And having remarked to a friend a couple of weeks ago that it seemed the grey wagtails which used to nest by the little bridge seemed to have moved on this year, I've seen at least one every day for the last week!

In the garden, too, the balance of feathered visitors is changing with the season. The largest group now is the goldfinches, who often arrive ten or twelve strong and quarrel loudly and aerobatically over the niger seed feeder. The 'losers' aren't that bothered, though - they just move over to the 'normal' seed feeders and fill up from them. On the other hand, the sparrows, who keep together in a group through the whole of the spring and summer, split up and go their separate ways more at this time of the year. They still visit the garden, of course, but one or two at a time rather than in a flock. The largest number I've counted this year - about when the second brood was fledged and independent - was between thirty and forty strong. (They just won't keep still to be counted accurately!) Now, as well, the blue tits, chaffinches and great tits are reforming their loose winter flocks and including the garden on their daily patrols. In the summer they stay in the trees in the coombe, mostly.

There has been so much rain lately that all the winter springs have suddenly started flowing again in the coombe. Because the sides are so steep, it's not unusual for trees to fall occasionally, and we've lost two in the last week. A substantial young oak fell and blocked the path on the north side completely until the Council came and cleared it. They've left the fallen tree; just sawn through the trunk and branches which were blocking the path. On the other side, up at the top, a rather foolish badger had dug a new sett in the summer. At the edge of the path and under the roots of an alder, it was already beginning to undermine the path itself - my walking stick went through into a tunnel only last week - and now the tree has gone, down into the valley. I suspect it to have been a young one setting up home for the first time, and it will either start again in a better place or perhaps move in to one of the three big setts. The tree itself probably won't die, either - when they fall down the slope like that, with some roots still in the ground, they usually resurrect themselves. I hope so, anyway.

Tide out, tide in

It is always a pleasure to go down to the Creek. And often an unexpected pleasure, as it is impossible to see whether the tide is in or out, and what's there, until you cross the bridge and go down a narrow overgrown footpath beside the stream to where it suddenly opens out into a panorama framed by the railway viaduct.

This morning, a flock of upwards of two dozen house martins. Circling round and round, always gliding in to the same favoured bit of damp mud before taking off again. I hadn't seen them since this time last year, and I don't know whether they nest somewhere around here or are just passing through, although the mud testing seems to suggest they are thinking about settling.

When we lived in Spain our apartment block - and several others around the square - had big overhanging concrete porches supported by concrete columns, and it seemed that every corner had a martins' nest in it. They seem totally unfazed by the presence of people, cars, animals, noise, pollution...

The tide was right out this morning, but yesterday afternoon it was different. I'd somehow managed to acquire an extra dog on the way through the Coombe (well Ty and gone and charmed Marjorie into a nice heap of cookies, so it seemed only polite to take Tilly on our walk). She's not the most obedient of dogs, and she flew over the road and down the path to the creek faster than I could see that it was full of water and covered with swans (and Gordon the Goose, of course). By the time Ty and I had walked sedately to the water's edge she was in it, standing there staring at me in exactly the same way as Jake does. Not swimming, in fact refusing to swim when a stick is thrown, but wanting the stick to be thrown anyway.

I wasn't bothered about the swans as they were all the adolescent gang from the Waterside, well used to dogs and not protecting cygnets, although from the way Gordon bullies them I wouldn't put it past him to pick a fight with a collie. Anyway, as Tilly was in the water I had to let Ty go for a swim as well. Very noisy he was too, which got the swans all milling around staring at him from a safe distance of about ten feet away. And appeared to amuse the audience I eventually realised we had, standing in their garden looking down on us. I suppose they had been admiring the wildlife before the mad dogs and wild lady arrived...

On the way back I saw the first dog roses of the year in flower, and also suddenly a lot of brambles. Summer now seems to be well and truly here - all we need now is the weather to go with it.

Ice in the Creek

The Big Freeze seems to be over. Well, it was a big freeze for here, anyway, two nights and two days with the temperature below zero - the stream was frozen and the creek itself was full of ice. It's put paid to all the unseasonal flowering things; even the heliotrope looks all withered and unhappy. There's blackthorn in blossom up at Churchtown, though.

This afternoon almost all the ice had gone from the creek, and there were a dozen swans there, including two which still have brown plumage, presumably the ones I saw at Waterside. They were all milling about quite calmly until suddenly one of the brown ones ran across the surface of the water, wings flapping wildly. I thought he was attempting to take off but actually he was just eager to be first to the crumbs which the lady who lives overlooking the creek was throwing off her balcony on to the shore. The other young one used the same technique to get on shore, while all the rest paddled as usual. Ty and I decided that we didn't want to walk past them while they were hoovering up the bread so made a tactical withdrawl back up the coombe.

Back in the garden, today for the first time I have actually seen a bird using the fat ball feeder, which has been up there for six weeks or so. It was a young male sparrow, obviously a little more adventurous than the rest, as he is the only sparrow to use the peanut feeder, as well. The others will learn, though. The peanut feeder I put up on the silver birch is being used more and more by the little groups of mixed tits and finches that pass through. Very few of them come down to the feeders in the garden, especially when there are big groups of sparrows quarrelling over what's there.

Winter Wonderland...

This is what I consider to be perfect winter weather - a heavy frost followed by a clear, calm blue sky. Down at the creek this morning the water was completely still, although it wasn't possible to see all the way across for the steam rising off it.

The sandpiper has been joined by a curlew. I wonder sometimes why we only ever seem to have one each of this occasional bird varieties - one egret, one sandpiper, one curlew, one kingfisher.

Winter Visitors Arriving

It's a little calmer and warmer today, grey but not actually raining. Down at the creek this morning (half tide again) there was a larger than usual variety of visitors, but almost all alone; one swan, one kingfisher, one jay, one robin, one crow, one sandpiper. The sandpiper is a regular winter visitor, seen for the first time today. This is the third winter I have seen it at the creek, but there only ever seems to be one. There were quite a lot of ducks, as well. A mallard with what seemed to be three half grown ducklings, and two gadwall. A grey mullet was floating idly with his back out of the water, then suddenly leapt a good foot clear of the surface, somersaulting before diving back in. I wonder what upset him?

The beginning of winter?

It's very autumnal now, indeed it's equinoctial, with gales and rain and general misery all round. It wasn't too bad in the morning; when I went down the coombe with the dog it was grey but still and dry. There were eight swans and George the Goose milling about in the creek, which was at about half tide, plus the usual egret and a lone Gadwall drake. It was so still for a moment there that I could see the swans' reflections, but as I was watching them there came a clanking of halyards from the boats on the Tamar, the wind starting swirling under the viaduct and the rain came down! And came down, and came down... And the wind has got stronger and stronger all day, as well.

I was trying to stave off the inevitable afternoon walkies when I had a phone call from Tom, who had a job for me, so I went to pick it up on my way to Churchtown with Ty. Churchtown was a mistake today, it is far too open and exposed to the weather. I wore the yellow waterproof but had made the mistake of going out in jeans because I was calling in to see Tom, so by the time I had been once round the top five fields my legs were completely soaked. And my car keys were not in my pocket. Definitelynot there. I spent a good few minutes fumbling with cold wet hands in pockets full of plastic bags, but nothing. Nothing for it but to go round again, hoping I could find them...

Off we set again, although I still couldn't believe I'd dropped the keys, and continuing patting myself down, sort of, while keeping my eyes on the ground. And eventually found a lumpy bit of coat lining, which proved to be my keys. The hole in the pocket they had slipped through was so small as to be almost invisible, and took me a long time to find before I was able to retrieve them. As I eventually got into the car the rain stopped, which was adding insult to injury. The small god of walkies is a mischievous god, sometimes...

George is Back!

Ty and I walked down to the town this afternoon, starting at the top of Fore Street and buying a thermos flask and some vegetables, paying some money into the bank, buying a stamp for a letter to France, calling in the Co-op for milk and yoghurt, then carrying on down to the river to walk home along the shore to the creek then up the Coombe and home. A nice walk, one of Ty's favourites, but only possible at lowish tide.

On the way we pass the Union at Waterside, and I was very pleased to see that George the Goose is back with the swans. He first arrived just before Christmas and very quickly established himself as boss of the waterside gang, but he has been on the missing list for a couple of months. I'm not sure how long exactly because I haven't been down there very much while I was wounded, and when I enquired the bar staff hadn't noticed...

Anyway, this afternoon he's back. Looking a bit thin, but otherwise just as bossy as ever. One assumes he's been looking for love, but equally one assumes he hasn't found it, otherwise I don't think he'd have bothered coming back to swan city.

Here's Ivy

Down at the creek there's a bit of garden wall covered with ivy which faces due South, and is always the first to flower. This gloriously sunny morning it has opened up, discreetly as always. For a human it's virtually impossible to tell by sight or smell whether the flowers are open or not and I'd have passed by without noticing, but the whole plant was alive with bees, hundreds of them, some with their pollen sacs so yellow and swollen they could hardly fly, but still eagerly collecting more. Ivy is the single most attractive flower to bees and butterflies I know, and it does it all with tiny pale green florets. Maybe the fact that there's not a lot of competition and they are all keen to stock up for the cold times ahead is enough, maybe ivy seen from a bee's point of view is brighter than it appears to us.

Rowans are Ripe

Rowans were the decorative tree of choice when this houses were built; they are on every corner and along every path. A few years ago, one of my neighbours tried to get the council to cut them all down, claiming that they were poisonous and a danger to her children, and it was only when I went on the Internet and found recipes for rowan jelly (eat with pheasant) that she stopped complaining.

This morning the weather has reverted to 'normal' for this summer - steady but fairly
light rain. We went down to the creek as usual; tide was in, one egret on the shore, one swan over our side and a gang of five over the other, all very peaceful and normal in the drizzle. I was looking at the egret when I caught a flash of blue. A kingfisher swooped in near the egret from some distance away on the other side of the creek, landed momentarily on the shore then obligingly headed straight for me, veering off into the greenery on the bank at the other side of the stream. I know there are kingfishers around by the stream and the creek, but I going down there with the dog and just passing through I don't see them very often at all, perhaps three times all this year. It was kind of him to oblige this morning when everything else was so damp and grey.

The rowans aren't grey, though, they are very definitely hot deep orange, and ripe. I know they are ripe because on my way back from the creek I surprised a flock of starlings helping themselves to the berries. Perhaps the same flock as came into my garden the other day, but more of them this time, about twenty I would think. When they saw me they quickly scattered into the trees on the edge of the valley, but quite a few of them still had their beaks full!

Mystery Solved?

I have given considerable thought to the identity of yesterday's mystery bird, and come to the rather boring conclusion that it was a juvenile blackbird which was, for some reason, trying to persuade me to feed it. The head bobbing is, of course, typical of begging behaviour; the noise I don't know because I've never consciously heard blackbirds begging before. The size and shape are about right, and the colouring as well, probably, bearing in mind that I was quite deep in the woods in the valley. Mystery solved, I think.

I took Ty down to the creek this morning and watched young crows being given a feeding lesson, stomping about in the mud and seaweed and occasionally begging for bits. There is an adult crow I see quite often down there who dunks his food in the stream before eating, and I wonder whether this sort of behaviour is learned by individuals or passed on by example from parents to young. I'm sure not all crows do this.

I wasn't aware of hacking my way through undergrowth, but when I got home I discovered that the front of my coat (one of those woolly lined flannelette 'lumberjack' shirts that used to be so popular before the invention of fleeces) was covered in hundreds of round brown seeds, not so much sticky as clingy. Not sure what they had come from, but the dog didn't have any so it was obviously something quite high growing. I'll look out for them tomorrow and see if I can identify the plant.

Swifts

Down to the creek this morning and the tide was out but the air was full of movement. Swifts, about twenty of them, chasing and whirling in and out and over the arches of the railway viaduct, squealing with delight and being sqawked at in return by the blackheaded gulls on the mud.

It's not a sight I see often down there - once a year or so, I suppose - although I remember last year seeing a group of them flying rings round the swallows up at Churchtown. Surely it can't already be time for them to be gathering themselves together ready to leave? Well, yes, it may be. They'll be gone within the next three weeks or so, anyway. I just hope I get the opportunity to admire their aerobatics again before then.

Grey Wagtails update

Down at the creek this morning I saw both grey wagtail adults and two fledglings, all happily pottering about in the mud and chattering to each other. The babies weren't begging at all, but seemed quite happy foraging for themselves. I had another collie and owner with me, and the birds were quite happy to ignore not just the humans standing still admiring them but also the dogs bounding about and splashing quite close.

I wonder who was responsible for the naming of wagtails? Why should it be that pied wagtails are grey, grey wagtails are yellow and yellow wagtails are, well, just a bit yellower?

Talking of yellow birds, there were two greenfinches in my garden yesterday evening. One adult male and one juvenile - not begging, just quietly confident with the seed feeders and the peanuts. It makes me happy to see adults bringing their young to my tiny garden patch; perhaps we will get a greater variety in the future...

Grey Wagtail Family

A pair of grey wagtails have been nesting just where the road crosses the stream at the top of the creek. It's never struck me as a particularly ideal spot, as a couple of waste water pipes join the stream just under the bridge and it's occasionally a bit soapy, but it's close to the mud and there's plenty of cover. I've been watching for signs of babies, and today I saw a fledgling sitting on a brick in the middle of the stream being fed. Although the tail is much shorter, it bobs just as enthusiastically as the adult, combining this with the usual wing fluttering and open mouthed crouching. Seems pretty effective...

There's been a new sparrow explosion in my back garden, too. Once more every adult seems to have a fledgling at each shoulder. I wonder why there seem to be far more males feeding fledglings than females?

Little Egret

There's a little egret in the creek this morning. In the winter this is not unusual, but at this time of year it is rare to see them here. Most of the year they are solitary, almost aggressively so, but at breeding time they all nest in the same tree. Their local colony is only visible if you happen to be passing along the Lynher by boat - from a distance it looks as though the trees are covered with big white (rather noisy) flowers.

I have often wondered about egrets' feet. Why are their feet bright yellow, the colour of sand in a child's paintbox, and their legs dark grey? Is it a disguise, so that on a sandy shore or riverbed they look like a couple of innocent reeds? If so, it isn't too effective in our muddy creek. Or do they wiggle their golden toes against the dark brown mud to attract little swimming things close enough to catch? I wonder...