The Winter that Wasn't

To me winter feels like a special annual occasion that nobody likes, a universally hated Christmas that people never get tired of complaining about. Everybody loves Summer, Spring is always celebrated when it arrives and Autumn’s colour is famously cherished But people do their best to avoid Winter. They either migrate (like my Grandparents who spend at least one month of every winter on a cruise ship in the Caribbean, returning the colour of a mahogany coffee table) or stay indoors with the heating turned up and using so much energy that they may as well be fuelling they’re central heating with polar ice caps. The other option is to embrace it. If you choose this tactic of getting out and exploring the winter scape then you will have a far better time than you could ever have stuffing your face with Doritos in a snuggie. 

At the start of this winter (as with every winter), I made a mental note of all the bird species that I wanted to see. These included the regulars such as Redwings, Fieldfares, Teal etc, to birds I’d never seen before like Firecrest and Brambling. It started off well with Redwing and Fieldfare being ticked off with relative ease as normal. Teal, Wigeon and Goldeneye all soon followed and everything was looking good. 

And then came the Waxwing reports. They were everywhere. Websites were overloaded with birdwatchers posting about their waxwing sightings. In car parks, in cities, it was like an invasion. The country was drowning in Waxwings. Flocks so large they’d topple trees and darken the skies when they flew over. It wasn’t so much a migration as an epidemic. The United Nations were watching closely to see whether aerial intervention needed to be supplied to cope with such a vast number of Waxwings. (Note: Some degree of truth may have been sacrificed in previous sentences.) But in all seriousness Waxwings had come to the UK in very high numbers this year. These charming birds were being seen everywhere in large flocks. I’d only ever seen them once before, years ago. I would get no better chance. 

By the time I’d got home from Leeds for Christmas in the second week in December I’d still not seen any. However just the day after returning home, Waxwings were placed firmly to the back of my mind. I got a phone call from my Grandma saying she’d been told there was a Velvet Scoter 10 minutes away in part of a quarry. After agreeing to go with my grandparents the next morning, I did a bit of recon on the intended target. It had been first seen over a week before and the last records of it still being there were 3 days ago. Since then no one had reported anything. I wasn’t hopeful. I found a YouTube video someone had taken of the bird, a first winter male, and was confident I could I identify it. I just needed it to be there…

We got there the following morning and followed the instructions to the quarry and found a small lake with water so green that the only way a Velvet Scoter would be hard to spot would be if it had covered itself in glow stick fluid and AstroTurf. Needless to say, the lake was deserted. Four days later I was asked whether I had been to see it, to which I replied that I had gone to look but that it must have left. I was then informed that it had been seen yesterday and it was soon established we had been looking at the wrong lake. There was a further lake beyond the Chernobyl Lake that we never got too, a more natural lake that wouldn’t dissolve or mutate any life that came into contact with it. Returning the next day led to the terrific views of the bird and a life tick for me. 

This successful “twitch” and its relative ease made me wonder how many more birds I’d never seen I could tick off this winter. Using one of the local bird sightings websites I’d come across when looking for information on the Scoter, I saw there had been a Firecrest sighted nearby. However after fruitless searching I gave up, conceding that looking for a sea duck on a small lake is one thing but trying to find the joint smallest bird in the UK in a dense thicket is quite another. Then I heard about a Great Northern Diver sighting and figured this would be as easy to spot as the Scoter. It wasn’t. A couple of hours getting neck ache looking for Hawfinch in Clumber Park confirmed it, my pygmy bout of winter twitching was over. But that didn’t matter, because according to every birder I spoke to I didn’t need to go searching for Waxwings. All I needed to do was scan the tops of trees as I drove along and went about life and I was guaranteed to see them so I was told. What could go wrong? 

Well it turns out not seeing any at all is what went wrong. Its mid-February so there’s still a chance but after being at University the same time a flock of Waxwing’s was and only hearing about them when I got home at night, I’ve just come to accept that the Waxwing Gods’ have it in for me. 

Sadly this isn’t my only crushing near miss of the season. There’s an even worse one that came only last Friday when I was at Harewood House. I was shown pictures of a pair of wild Smew that had been on the lake for the past week. Another bird I had never seen and an absolutely stunning one at that. Sure enough they weren’t anywhere to be seen that morning but in the afternoon I was told that they had just been seen by the same person who showed me the photographs earlier. When I got there, ONLY FIVE MINUTES LATER, the pair were nowhere to be seen. We spent about half an hour searching but to no avail. 

But I did see a Brambling. Sort of. On a walk with the local bird group our leader stopped after hearing a Brambling in the hedge we were stood next too. This caused me great excitement as I thought I was finally going to break my duck (or Brambling). Then a bird flitted out of the thicket, silhouetted against the sun and flew out of sight in about 2 seconds. Now I was told it was a Brambling, and could see it’s deeply forked tail but it wasn’t how I’d imagined my first sighting. But then I guess most first experiences aren’t how we imagine they’ll be. 

So that was my winter. While it may have been poor in terms of sightings, it was anything but poor to enjoy. 

And at least I have things to chase next year.

A Picture and a Poem

I'll start by asking what kind of fool could possibly have been heralding the start of Spring only just over a week ago?!

A lot's changed since I the last time I posted.

I turned 20 (thus adding another lie to the title of this blog), I cut open a chicken to look at it's insides (it was a dissection, not just a spur of the moment thing) and I gave a presentation in front of over 100 people (which was just beaten by the chicken's digestive tract for the most uncomfortable feeling of the day award).

And also, as you can see from the picture, winter was back. With a vengeance. This was the scene yesterday at the University. No sun, no singing birds. Just snow. Lots of snow. And angry people complaining about the lots of snow.

Luckily for all those with anti-snow tendencies, it was only a cameo and was washed away overnight by rain. This morning saw relatively warm temperatures. Possibly, dare I say it, Spring lik- No I can't do it. I couldn't face the shame again.

So to distract myself from making wildly inaccurate seasonal predictions here's a poem about Whooper Swans. Enjoy.

There is a winter guardian,

A bringer of the cold.

Carried upon frozen winds,

For thousands of centuries old.

They carry it in their feathers,

They carry it in their blood.

Frozen in to DNA,

They wouldn't lose it if they could.

It seems they come from heavens,

Descend from snow clouds high.

They carry it on their whitest wings,

As they appear from out the sky.

They illuminate the winter scene,

The marsh and lake erupt with noise.

Their excited calls of a journey made,

Surely one of winter's joys.

But their stay is over shortly,

Back to the sky they rise.

They'll return the winter from whence it came,

Disappearing before the eyes.

Leaving fields of winter snow,

Their shape begins to morph.

Leaving earthly ties behind,

Becoming the angels from the North.

What a difference a week makes...

Cross the river - ecological paradise awaits.

Blimey. What just happened?

Last week saw temperatures in the minus numbers and two heavy bouts of snow fall in Leeds. After the first lot of snow I decided to have a walk to Meanwood Park and the Hollies. The Hollies are a managed botanical garden, with a large collection of non native plants and a woodland made up of many trees from far flung corners of the world. Taking a walk through the Hollies (or just sitting and watching) will often turn up a Bullfinch flock or the odd Treecreeper (I once saw young treecreepers being fed, which was quite special), but apart from that its often very quiet in terms of bird life. However once you've meandered down the steep hill, through the rhododendrons (a compulsory plant in all collections) and crossed the river, you've entered a whole new ecological ball game.

Your now in Meanwood Park. Meanwood Park is mainly known for its large open grass area with playground, picnic benches, duck pond etc but for those seeking something more wild, entering the trees and climbing the hill reveals an oak woodland that never disappoints. In a place like this the best plan is just to wait. Sitting, standing or slowly walking and tuning all your senses into the beating heart of this incredibly complex habitat is the best way to spend a couple of hours. Even all the snow could not quieten the wood. A group of 5 nuthatches worked there way through the trees as a Jay (sat brilliantly close in the bare trees) hopped around the branches searching for food. Tit flocks examined every inch of holly bushes, searching for insects that survived the cold and the Great Spotted Woodpecker put in an appearance just as I was leaving to nicely top off a morning of sub zero birding.


The following Friday and the snow was still hanging around. No fresh snow had come down but the low temperatures meant that it didn't clear fast. It just hung around in that inevitable slush form that drives everybody slowly insane. I went up to Harewood House for the first time since being back at University after Christmas and trudged down the long drive in the biting wind. A seal skin coat wouldn't have looked out of place. The snow began to come down and as I was carrying around the buckets of food to the aviaries, I got the distinct feeling I was being watched. As I emerged from one of the sheds I came face to face with a male Blackbird sat at eye level on an opposite fence post. Feeling sorry for him I left a dish that had some left over food from the aviary on the floor while I went to do the other sheds. I'd gone five steps when I turned round to see if he'd accepted my generosity only to see 3 Blackbirds, a Dunnock and a Robin all on the floor around the food. The whole bird population of Harewood must have had its eye on me.
It turned out that was pretty much the case. I had never seen anything like it. Everywhere I went with a bucket I was followed by a Blackbird or Robin guilt tripping me into giving it some food. Not that I could begrudge them, I'd only been out in the cold for a couple of hours in 4 layers of clothing and was already day dreaming of a bacon sandwich.
When it came to feed the geese and guinea fowl with scattered grain, a huge flock of Mallard had come off the main lake so big that it required an extra 5 servings to make sure everyone was fed properly. In the trees the Grey Herons sat lurking in even greater numbers than usual, hoping to help themselves to any food that was thrown out for the wild Red Kites.
To me it all underlined the harshness of winter and how hard it is for our wildlife to survive when conditions get really tough. Everything they do in this period is based on survival and making sure they're alive to breed in the following spring and I can tell you this much, Spring certainly felt like a very long way away...

 Fast forward exactly a week and this was the scene walking down the drive at Harewood the following Friday. The snow had begun to clear as soon as it had fallen the week before with a combination of rain and a sudden increase of temperature the reason. It had completely disappeared in under two days (even the slushy stuff) and come the following Friday the transformation was complete. The sun was warm and the birds were singing. Spring wasn't just flexing its muscles, it was bench pressing like a body builder.
Feeding the aviaries didn't come under the pleading gaze of any wild birds desperately looking for any food they could get. I was instead serenaded by the songs of Greenfinches, Chaffinches, Dunnocks and more as the natural world burst into life in the suns rays.

 It wasn't only the wild birds that were enjoying this dramatic change in weather either. All around the aviaries, the birds were finding sun spots to bask in the warmth while the males began to sing their songs, filling the bird garden with sounds from the Australian outback to the deepest heart of the African jungle. The macaws were enjoying themselves too, looking spectacular as the suns rays lit up their plumage. Their raucous calls of excitement can be heard from right across the lake, and are absolutely deafening when only centimetres away from you when feeding in the shed.


The Brown Lories were full of beans too. Although with these two it was more down to their insatiable appetite for nectar than the joys of the February sunshine. Despite having just been given their afternoon helping, it did nothing to stop them searching my hair and ear for any nectar that may be stored there as I changed their water. And trust me when a Lory is licking your ear for nectar, it tickles. Hence my face in the picture.

Whether the weather (get it?) continues like this and we're in for an early Spring we'll have to see but for that day on the 1st of February it was firing on all cylinders. That's whats great about living somewhere like the UK, the diversity in the seasons give us an ever changing flora and fauna. You can go out any day of the year and find different conditions and different wildlife. The fact that we don't have hot sun for 365 days of the year shouldn't be complained about, it should be celebrated.
Its unpredictable, brilliant and keeps us on our toes. After all it wasn't only the week that changed. It was an entire season.