1,000 posts later...

Believe it or not, this is the thousandth blog post I've written here. How on earth did that happen?

Maybe 'written' is too strong a word, as recently most posts have consisted of photos accompanied by the barest of captions. Hopefully next year I'll get round to being a good blog writer, with proper writing and everything. But it's still 1,000 posts though, words or no words.

Things have changed a bit. I've moved, and left my garden out in the sticks - and the pond - behind. I'm sad about it but I'm trying to look on the bright side. If it wasn't for me, there would have been no pond there - no breeding Great Crested Newts, no dragonflies or beetles or caddis larvae and all the rest of it. I've done my bit for the Million Ponds Project (well, sort of - it doesn't meet the criteria but the newts and the clear water say it's OK!).

I just hope the next tenants appreciate the pond, so I'm in the process of writing some stuff about it for them to read.

On the other hand, some things don't change. I'm visiting my mum and dad for Christmas and I still enjoy watching the birds in their garden, which I suppose is where my interest in nature started...

This morning I peered out of the window and saw a Goldcrest feeding in a conifer - I'd have been quite excited about that as an eight-year-old. Actually, it's still good. Eight-year-old Katie would have liked the Reed Bunting and Yellowhammer feeding on the snowy lawn, the Goldfinches in the tree and the Pied Wagtail sitting on the trellis, too. But I bet there aren't as many Starlings and House Sparrows now as there were back then.

Here's to the future!

Absolutely Jack Snipe

I can't remember why I was thinking about it, but I was reminiscing the other day about lunchtimes at CEGB Reservoir (or Fletton Brick Pit), back in the days when I lived in Peterborough.

It was a mad dash across the city to Fletton. Park on the grass verge, waterproof trousers on, wellies on, leg it across the road without getting mown down by a speeding motorist, and meet the others (MJW, SPD, BHS) at the top. Then we descended into the grey sludge of the former brick pit to begin our work.

Walking through the clay was something of an experience. You had to be careful not to stand in one place for too long, or you were in danger of losing your wellies.

We squelched carefully through the fringe of reeds at the water's edge, watching what flew up and where it went down.

'Snipe. Snipe. Snipe.'
'Jack!'

That way we did our best to ensure we didn't count birds twice. On 8 January 2003, we counted a total of 27 Jack Snipe - more Jacks than Snipe that day!; the total was only one less on 13 December 2002.

The way the two species flee from perceived danger is different: Jack Snipe fly off in a straight line and drop down again after only a short distance. Snipe take off like a wayward firework, zigzagging away and up into the sky, before wheeling round and going back down. A Woodcock we flushed one day was quite startling, with a whirr of fat brown wings.

Another December day, we came across a pair of Bearded Tits feeding happily in the Phragmites. To see them at head-height, barely a few metres away, on a grotty clay pit on the outskirts of Peterborough, was something I'll remember for a long time.

I think they're going to turn it into a boating lake now.

Back in the day #1

Things are a bit quiet round here at present, for mostly weather-related reasons, so my thoughts have turned to the dim and distant past - my formative birding years.

I've got some very vivid memories from the time when I first started going birding. One of them is from a day in Cumbria, a visit to Carlisle with my family over Easter. I was 10 years old.

One morning we went on a guided walk along the River Eden. I can't remember the precise details of where we went, but I remember it being a bright, crisp morning. The most exciting thing was being shown some Goosanders floating downstream - all black and white and pinky on the blue water - through a telescope!

That afternoon, we went to Hadrian's Wall. The wall itself was impressive enough, and someone showed us one of the stones (showing which century had built that stretch) which the soldiers had put in upside down and back to front.

Just as memorable was the first time I heard a Curlew singing. I don't think I'd ever heard anything so beautiful and it's still one of my favourite bird sounds. I remember peering over the top of the wall (at what I thought was Scotland; it's actually Northumberland) and hearing this bird bubbling away.

Walking back to the car, there were Lapwings cavorting wildly over the grassland - another new sight and sound for me.

I should really make an effort to go back there soon.

taken with rose-tinted spectacles + mists of time