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Archive for the ‘Fieldnotes’ Category

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

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I don’t know if Robert Frost ever watched badgers.  Probably not, but he knew the lure of the woods and, like me, was kept away from them.  It’s been a while since I’ve been in the woods, partly through work commitments, partly because I’ve been on parenting duty as Mrs BWM has been working weekend shifts lately (apart from last weekend, when she went for a night out with the girls).  Anyhow, it’s been a good while since I’ve seen a badger, and since Mrs BWM was home to baby-sit and I had no other promises to keep, a trip to the main sett was in order this evening.

Now, this winter badger watching is a far cry from the warm, golden evenings of summer.  It’s dark and it’s cold, with an icy wind blowing chill across the fields.  If I was going to sit still (and have an enjoyable evening) I needed to dress up warmly.  Since I’ve never done a guide on ‘what to wear when badger watching’, and as a record for myself, here’s what I wore today, from the bottom up:

  • Leather mountain walking boots  (overkill for the rolling fields of Bedfordshire, but warm and comfortable and sturdy enough to go stumbling over rough ground in the dark)
  • Two pairs of thick wool boot socks
  • Thermal long johns
  • Army surplus thick wool trousers  (c. Korean War vintage, a bit itchy but very warm and utterly silent)
  • Thermal T-shirt
  • Thick brushed cotton ‘farmer’s shirt’
  • Fleece jumper
  • Fleece jacket
  • Waxed cotton jacket
  • Fleece gloves, balaclava and headover

In addition I had my camera and binoculars, and a rucksack with the night vision scope, inflatable cushion and – to fortify the inner man – a jacket potato from the kitchen and flask of hot tea.  It is no wonder I was feeling a little warm after walking the uphill mile to the woods!

Mind you, I was glad of all the clothes when I sat down near the sett.  As I’ve said before, badger watching means always having the wind in your face, and a raw, cold wind it was too.  But I was feeling quite cosy, since the only bit of me exposed to the wind was the inch or so around my eyes.

I settled down with my back to a tree with a good a view of the sett.  The advantage of this time of year is that there is no undergrowth, so the parts of the sett normally hidden by elder and nettles were visible.  I arrived at about 4.45pm while there was still some light and sat cross-legged under my tree like a contented Buddha.  It was good to be back in the woods again, to just sit still and listen to the owls and the pheasants around me.

After 20 minutes or so a Chinese Water Deer picked its way slowly through the woods, passing within 20 feet of me without alarm.  It shows how effectively you can hide in plain sight by sitting very still with suitable clothing and a tree behind you to hide your silhouette.

The minutes ticked by until I heard more rustling in the dead leaves.  Two badgers appeared out of the gloom and stopped – again about 20 feet from me – for a short grooming session.  One of the badgers let out an odd purring sound, which I haven’t heard before.  Mind you, I’m not normally this close to them, or it may be something to do with the time of year: female badgers should be ready to have cubs in a week or two now.

To my mingled delight and horror, one of the badgers started plodding off the path in my direction.  It was looking right at me, and seemed to want to investigate further.  It got to within about five feet of me before obviously catching my scent and bolting, the other following.  This is the double-edged sword of watching badgers from the ground (as opposed to from a tree).  You get thrilling close-up encounters, but there’s always a danger that you’ll be discovered.

I obviously had been discovered, so I crept off to another tree a bit further away.  I never like disturbing the badgers.  It was 5.38pm.  Thinking the badgers wouldn’t be back for a while, I poured myself a cup of tea and took out my baked potato supper, when I heard the purring noise again.  One of the badgers had come back to the tree where I had been sitting and was sniffing around the spot I had sat on.  It didn’t like what it found and scurried off again.

With that, I thought it best to call it a day and leave the badgers in peace.  I didn’t want to risk disturbing them further.  Still, I had satisfied my urge to sit in a dark wood again and I’d got close to the badgers, so it was a good evening.  The purring noise is new to me, so I’ll have to investigate that.  I like it when I learn new things, and all before six o’clock.

And no.  I didn’t use my new camera.  Didn’t even take it out of its case.  All the gear and no idea…

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Red Squirrel at Newborough Forest

Red Squirrel at Newborough Forest

Happy New Year!

It’s been a hectic Christmas, but I saw in the New Year in my own style.  While the rest of the world was sleeping off the excesses of the night before, I was up before dawn on January 1st, sitting in a forest waiting for Red Squirrels.

I was back in Anglesey and the weather was wild and stormy with a big south-westerly wind pushing waves up the beach.  Not the sort of weather for building sandcastles, but it gave the landscape a lonely winter grandeur that I like.

I’ve got the hang of the squirrels at Newborough Forest now.  The trick is to be there at first light, wait by the feeders at the Llyn Parc Mawr car park, and hopefully they’ll oblige.  It wasn’t an arduous wait: I was kept entertained by the range of birds that visited the feeder, including three Great Spotted Woodpeckers and a friendly Robin that perched on the wing mirror of my car and kept me company.  A pair squirrels arrived at about 8.30am.  The perfect picture still eludes me – the light was still poor and the wildness of the shot was compromised by the squirrel sitting on a picnic table – but I’m getting better.

I had another reason to visit Newborough.  I’ve been re-reading Shorelands Summer Diary by Charles Tunnicliffe.  Tunnicliffe was an artist and birdwatcher who came to live in the village of Malltraeth in 1947.  Malltraeth is only a mile or so from Newborough Forest, separated by a broad estuary and marsh.  Tunnicliffe watched and painted the birds he saw there.

Shorelands Summer Diary is an exquisite book.  It is a record of the first year that Tunnicliffe spent in his house by the sea.  The paintings are beautifully done, with a certain humorous charm (for instance, his sketch of a woodpecker in his garden includes himself in the background watching through binoculars), and it is easy to recognise the locations today.  The writing too is charming.  Tunnicliffe describes the birds he sees, from Shelducks to Peregrine Falcons, as real characters.  He was not just ticking birds off a list, he really saw them as individuals.  And he was an excellent birdwatcher.  He could recognise a Roseate Tern from a Common Tern at a hundred yards.  For more information on Tunnicliffe, and examples of his work, see http://www.thecharlestunnicliffesociety.co.uk/.  Should you find yourself on Anglesey, the Oriel Ynys Mon art gallery in Llangefni has a permanent Tunnicliffe exhibition that is well worth a visit.

Low Tide at Malltraeth on New Year's Day

Low Tide at Malltraeth on New Year's Day

So having enjoyed the book, I just had to experience the real thing for myself while I was in the area.  Malltraeth is an interesting spot.  On the landward side of the estuary is the grassy bank of a sea wall – the ‘cob’ – with a pool behind, so it’s really three habitats in one.

Now, I must confess that I’ve never really appreciated birdwatching on estuaries and marshes.  We just don’t have them in landlocked Mid-Bedfordshire, and the appeal of standing by a large patch of mud was lost on me.  But standing there in grey light of morning, with a gale blowing in my face, I was struck by the elemental combination of land, water, wind and sky.  This was no tame hedgerow or copse.  But it was when I looked at the birds that I really understood estuary birdwatching for the first time.

There were birds everywhere, of all kinds of species.  Lapwings, oystercatchers, redshanks, curlews.  A trio of little grebes dived in the river.  A heron flapped slowly away, mobbed by two gulls. Further out, on the mudflats, an immense flock of unidentified brown waders stood stoically in the cold wind.  It was an embarrassment of riches for someone used only to the birds of field and wood.  At that moment, I understood the attraction.

The Estuary at Malltraeth at Sunset

The estuary at Malltraeth at sunset - land, water, wind and sky

High tide on New Year’s day coincided with sunset.  I just had to come back again to see more, and I was not disappointed.  When I arrived a huge flock of Lapwings was wheeling and circling around the bay, breaking apart and coming back together, trying to land on a tiny island.  I couldn’t count the numbers, but a conservative estimate would be at least 300-400.

Malltraeth Cob with the flock of Lapwings

Malltraeth Cob with Lapwings

The Lapwings were quite a spectacle.  I sat and watched them, with a couple of hardy birdwatchers.  Even the locals walking their dogs in the chill evening stopped to look at them.

Flock of Lapwings

Flock of Lapwings directly overhead

I don’t know why, but I really like this picture of the Lapwings overhead.  They were strangely soothing to watch as they floated on the wind.

Out in the bay, Teal and Pintail ducks bobbed on the waves.  Beyond, in the distance, were thick dark lines – flock after flock of waders waiting for the tide to ebb.

Teal

Windswept Teal

It was freezing cold but I was enjoying being out in the fresh air and seeing new birds – and so many of them.  I may not have the talents of Tunnicliffe, but it was satisfying to be following in his footsteps, literally and figuratively.  I have no idea what half the birds were, but that didn’t matter.  I think I understand birdwatching by the sea now.

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‘Wrong estimation of the intelligence of animals, and the inability to sit without making any sound or movement for the required length of time, is the cause of all failures when sitting up for animals.’

Jim Corbett, The Man-Eating Leopard of Rudraprayag

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Oh, my hat is frozen to my head,
my feet are like two lumps of lead.
I’m stuck out here, half-drenched, half-dead,
from standing under your window.

Cold, Haily, Windy Night, trad. folk song

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The winter badger watching at the Hawthorn Sett is turning into a bit of a challenge.  I spent a couple of hours up there last night, and still didn’t see a badger.

To be honest, I don’t think my heart was in it, hence the title of the post.  I’m discovering that it takes a certain amount of mental effort to go out and sit in the cold and dark, quite different to the long, warm evenings of summer.  I left home later and planned to stay later in the hope of catching the badgers if they’re emerging late, which meant that it was dark when I set out.  It was a bit of a wrench to leave the warmth of home and go out into the cold, foggy darkness (our village has no street lighting, so it really is pitch dark).  I take a shortcut through the churchyard to get to the Hawthorn Sett, and the fog drifting through the ancient, tottering, century-shadowed gravestones gave a touch of gothic horror to the night.

I planned to stay until 9.00pm or so, but I was cold and fidgety and I couldn’t settle.  Since badger watching depends on sitting still and quietly, this is never good.  I stuck it out for a couple of hours until the church clock struck 8.00 and then I headed home through the fog-shrouded trees.  Once again, no sign of badgers.

As I’m writing this in the warmth of my living room on Sunday I’m inwardly cursing myself for packing up early.  But at the same time I have to admit that it takes effort to sit out and maintain the level of focus required.  Now, don’t get me wrong – we’re talking about watching badgers here, not climbing Everest or playing Kasparov at chess.  Nevertheless, sitting in a dark wood, keeping alert for the slightest sound while remaining motionless, does require you to be in the right state of mind.  And last night, I wasn’t.  Maybe I’ve been distracted by my new job and had too many other things on my mind.  Maybe it was just cold.

Of course, let’s keep a sense of perspective.  They’re only badgers, after all.  I wasn’t even expecting to get a very good view of them, or learn anything very new.  But the very act of just getting a glimpse of them has become a goal in itself. Perhaps this is the point of my badger watching: to give myself a challenge, intellectually and physically.  To – like Sherlock Holmes – ‘escape from the commonplaces of existence’.

Sorry about the introspective nature of this post.  Sitting alone in the dark for protracted periods in a lonely place tends to do that to you.  I’ll take a few weeks off from watching this sett.  I’ll give the vegetation time to die down so I get a better view, dig out my Swedish army parka (a wonderfully warm garment – like a duvet with sleeves) and then I’ll be back – focused, alert and warm as toast – and I’ll show these stripey fiends who the boss is!

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OK.  So far, I haven’t much success with the badgers at the Hawthorn Sett.  I have yet to answer the fundamental question of how many badgers there are.  If I can find this out, I can see how it changes over the year to come. It’s part of my overall master plan to understand more about the badgers in the area, and how the different setts relate to each other.

But first things first.  I’d be happy at the moment just to see the badgers.

My last trip wasn’t very successful.  I spent an uncomfortable evening in a tree without seeing the badgers emerge.  I have an idea that the badgers are late to emerge here.  I decided the best way to test this idea would be to lay siege to the sett – to sit and wait until the badgers finally came out.

This evening I came prepared.  By 5.00pm I was sitting comfortably on an inflatable cushion (on the ground!), night vision scope ready on a tripod, flask of hot tea handy for morale purposes.  I was nicely downwind of the sett and well camouflaged.  It was textbook badger watching stuff.

Unfortunately, no badgers appeared.  I had a fallow deer stag walk past, it’s broad antlers silhouetted against the sky.  I see female fallow deer quite often, but stags only rarely.  But this was the highlight of the evening.  No badgers.  I watched and waited until a little after 8.00pm.  I had planned to stay later, but it was difficult to stay alert after watching and listening in the dark for three hours, straining eyes and ears for any signs of badgers, and the light and warmth of home were beckoning to me.  Badger watching in the dark months of winter obviously needs more dedication than the summer sessions that I’m used to.

So I still don’t have an answer to my question, and I still don’t know when these badgers come out.   But they should come out by 8.00pm, shouldn’t they?  Neal & Cheeseman report an average emergence time of c.5.45pm for early November, so for no badgers to show by 8.00pm is odd.  It’s obviously a badger sett (and I have seen a badger here before) otherwise I’d be doubting whether there are badgers at all.  I’ll maybe give it another try this year, or I may put this sett on the back burner until spring.  Perhaps in the meantime I’ll make a few trips in the daylight to get positive signs that the badgers are still in residence.

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Picture the scene.  It’s been dark for an hour.  I’m perched on a branch of an oak tree, fifteen feet off the ground.  I’ve long since lost any feeling in my legs but my backside feels bruised where the branch has cut into it.  I shift the weight from one buttock to another to try to relieve the pressure for a few minutes.  I’ve been staring into the dark for long enough to lose perspective.  Only the tree seems real.  I know there’s no chance of seeing any badgers now – even with the night vision scope I can only just make out the ground – but I’m hoping I’ll hear them, if and when they emerge.  The tree was easy enough to climb up in the light, but I’m wondering how I’m going to climb down in the dark when I can’t see the branches or feel my legs.

The best thing is, it’s only 6.00pm.  And this is my idea of a fun evening?

I don’t usually watch badgers this late in the season.  It’s cold and dark and there’s less chance of the interesting social interaction you get on warm summer evenings.  But I haven’t been out much this year so I’m taking every chance I get.  I’ve got warm clothes and the dark shouldn’t be a problem with my night vision scope, so why not extend the season?  Why not find out what badgers do in the winter?

And how come I’m badger watching on a Tuesday?  Well, I’ve got a few days off work this week.  Technically, I’m between jobs.  I’ve left my old job and I’m starting a new one next week, so I’m taking some time off to sort things out.  Hence, I’ve been out badger watching.

I’ve been spending my badger watching time at the main sett lately, and I now feel that I’ve answered my main questions: ‘are the badgers OK?’ (they seem fine); and ‘how many badgers are in residence?’ (three – two adults and a cub).  This being achieved, I have decided to see if I can answer the same questions at the Hawthorn Sett.  I’ve never actually seen an entire badger here, only a nose, so I also want to get to grips with it as a sett.

I arrived this afternoon at about 4.30.  I have a suspicion that the badgers here are late risers, possibly because of their proximity to the road, but I wanted to be sure.  The sett is in what appears to be an old quarry, now only a shallow depression about four feet deep, but the undergrowth makes observation difficult.  In the centre of the depression is a small oak tree that was begging to be climbed.  The oaks in most of the wood are tall maidens, fifty feet straight up to the first branch.  This little tree though, has branches at two-foot intervals, just like a ladder.  I just had to climb it.

As it happened, it wasn’t ideal.  The tree was still carrying its leaves, which limited the view and reflected the IR beam of the NV scope.  It was close to the sett too, which meant the possibility of leaving scent that could drift over the holes and disturb the badgers.  But I climbed it anyway.  I settled on what felt like a decently comfortable branch and was soon joined by a little wren flitting about the tree.  Two tawny owls started calling to each other only a couple of trees away.  So far so good.

But you know the story ends.  I gave it until 6pm but there was no sign of the badgers, so I slowly and gracelessly lowered myself down the tree.  This was an hour after I would have expected them to emerge.  The sett is obviously in use, but I can’t seem to see the badgers there.  Perhaps I disturbed them coming in.  Perhaps they really are late risers.

I’ll try to get another evening here when parenting duties allow.  I’ll pick a nice comfy spot on the ground and wrap up warm so that I can stay for as long as it takes.  If the badgers really do come out late at this sett, then I’ll just have to wait for them.

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A break for a biscuit

A break for a biscuit - the best part of any walk

A Greek legend describes how Milo of Croton performed a famous feat of strength by carrying a fully grown bull on his shoulders.  He did this by first picking up the bull when it was a new-born calf.  Every day, he would pick up the calf and carry it.  As the bull grew in size, so Milo grew in strength, and by the time it was fully grown he was still able to pick it up and walk with it.

I have tried something similar with young Scarlett (although I would never compare her to a bull, even a small one).  Ever since she was born I’ve been carrying her in my walks around the countryside, firstly in the baby sling and latterly in the backpack carrier.

Canada Geese on the lake

Canada Geese on the lake

She’s been getting bigger, and I’ve been getting stronger.  Unlike Milo, however, I’m beginning to flag a little.  She weighs about 15kg now, which is about the same as my rucksack when I used to go on winter backpacking trips, and I’m starting to feel the weight.  But I don’t begrudge it.  I really enjoy the walks we have together – it gives both of us the chance to get out and experience the countryside.

Today has been a warm, bright autumn day – far too nice to stay indoors.  We went for walk up to the lake and beyond.  I don’t come here very often, so it was a good excuse to have a look round.  Unfortunately, it is one of those ironies that bright sunny days are not the best for seeing wildlife – that seems to happen in the dark, the rain or the cold, when no-one else is around.  But warm days are so much nicer for a walk.

Robin in Crab Apples

Robin in Crab Apples

There are signs of badgers in the area round the lake – paths, latrines and snuffle holes – but I’m damned if I know where they’re coming from.  There must be a sett somewhere, but it must be away from the paths somewhere.  The ground seems too low-lying and damp to me, but the badgers must be here somewhere.  The lake is a noted birdwatching spot, but there was not much here today.  Some Canada Geese paddled serenely near the far bank, and a pair of buzzards circled overhead.  A robin was singing heartily from the top of a crab apple tree.  Nothing special, but good to see nonetheless.

Nesting Ladybirds

Nesting ladybirds on a hazel leaf

The signs of autumn are all around.  One unusual thing I noticed was a cluster of ladybirds on the underside of a hazel leaf, presumably getting ready for winter.  I always thought all ladybirds hibernated on our window frame, but now I know their natural habitat.  Do they stay there when the leaf falls off, I wonder?

As it was a nice afternoon, I kept on walking.  I followed the path for a few miles, through the woods and into the next parish where the paths are strange to me.  It is wonderful how many footpaths there are in Britain, so that I can be only a couple of miles from my home and yet be in unfamiliar country.  There’s definitely scope for more exploring over the coming months.

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Young badger at the west end of the sett

I suppose this is a badger, watching man...

It’s been a confusing day.  It’s October, but it’s felt like July.  The hottest day in October ever, apparently.  Mrs BWM and Scarlett are away, so I’ve been doing what any man would do – cutting the grass, tidying the vegetable beds and visiting plumbing shops.  And, what with it being such a nice day, watching badgers.

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This is late in the season for me to be badger watching, but I haven’t been out much lately so I took the opportunity.  Partly to see how the badgers are doing, partly just because it’s nice to be out in the woods.  It may have felt like a summer’s day, with the warmth and the smell of fresh-cut grass, but it is definitely autumn.  The wheat field on the way to the wood has been sown with winter wheat, and it is already a couple of inches tall.  In the wood itself the trees were alive with the scurrying of squirrels, busily gathering food for the winter.  Having now seen red squirrels I can allow myself to feel a little blase about ordinary grey ones.  The badger sett is surrounded by chestnut trees and the squirrels were working them hard.  The still evening was punctuated by a steady rain of chestnuts dropped from the treetops above.

I was interested to see that the western end of the sett is in active use again, as so far this year the badgers have confined themselves to the east end only.  At 6.10pm the young badger emerged from the west end, had a good scratch and a snuffle about, and went back in.  It looks very much like the cub has moved out of the parental home and set up on his or her own.

Young badger at the west end of the sett 2

Young badger at the west end of the sett

The movement of badgers within the sett continues to fascinate (and puzzle) me.  This is as clear an example as I’ve seen of this movement, made more visible by the low number of badgers this year, but I still don’t know what drives a badger to change from one hole to another.

At 6.16 a badger emerged from the east end of the sett, followed a minute or so later by another.  My best estimate is that there are only three badgers in residence this year, so here they all were – daddy badger, mummy badger and baby badger – a proper family unit.  Here’s hoping that the numbers continue to build up next year.

I sat for a while against a tree and watched the badgers foraging as the light faded, getting bitten by late mosquitoes and half-expecting to be hit by a chestnut dropped by one of the squirrels.  Despite having watched badgers for some years now, I never get tired of sitting in a wood at dusk, sharing the evening with badgers as they go about their business.

Adult badger at the east end of the sett

Adult badger at the east end of the sett

I sat and watched as one of the adults slowly snuffled closer and closer.  When it reached about 20 feet from me it stopped and sniffed the air before trotting back to the sett.  There was no wind, but it had obviously got my scent.  I took this to be my cue to leave.  So ended a pleasant evening – sitting out in just my shirt, watching badgers in October.

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All things begin and end on Albion’s ancient, rocky, druid shore
                                                              William Blake

Newborough Forest in Anglesey at daybreakI’m on holiday on Anglesey at the moment.  We arrived at the same time as the tail end of Hurricane Irene from across the atlantic, which means that the island is being lashed by rain and strong winds, adding a touch of grandeur and romantic drama to the rocky coast.

We won’t be doing any sunbathing, but then there are plenty of other things to keep a (very) amateur naturalist occupied here.  Looking back through this site I’m suprised to see that it was three years ago that I went looking for the red squirrels in Newborough Forest on the south west of Anglesey.  Time has flown by.

On that occasion I didn’t see any squirrels, despite walking for miles and miles (it’s a big forest).  Today I went back to Newborough to try again.  This time, I was (by my standards) more prepared.  I read in Simon King’s Wildguide that the best time to see squirrels is at daybreak, so I set the alarm for 6.00am.  By 6.20 I was walking quietly through the woods, the bracing sea air and the smell of the pine trees as invigourating as any breakfast.

There is a network of paths through the forest, and I stalked along as stealthily as I could in the gloomy half-light, scanning the swaying treetops for any signs of movement.  After 45 minutes and no sign of a red whisker anywhere I was ready to concede defeat again and headed back to the car park, where – sod’s law – two red squirrels were scampering around the trees.  There are squirrel feeders near the car park.  I suppose I frightened them off when I arrived but they returned as I was wandering about deep in the woods.

These were the first red squirrels I’ve seen, and delightful things they were too, from the tufts on their ears to their bushy tails.  The situation wasn’t great for photography, what with it being half-dark and the squirrels too far away.  To give you an idea, there’s a squirrel in this picture (I’ll give you a clue – it’s three-quarters of the way up the big tree):

Red Squirrel at Newborough Forest in Anglesey - Far Away

 

Can you see it?  Perhaps if I zoom in a little:

Red Squirrel at Newborough Forest in Anglesey - a little closer

How about now?

Red Squirrel at Newborough Forest in Anglesey - closer

Here it is, enlarged as much as the photo will take:

Red Squirrel at Newborough Forest in Anglesey - expanded

OK – it won’t win wildlife photo of the year, but if you’d seen this picture first you’d have been disappointed.  At least now I’ve built some suspense and you’ll understand the circumstances it was taken under.  And I hope you’ll agree it’s definitely a red squirrel.  I’ll try to get a better picture if I can get out of bed early again, but at the moment this is my own little record of my first sighting of a red squirrel.

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Walking through Woburn Deer ParkWoburn Abbey is not very far away from where I live.  Every now an then I like to go for a walk through the deer park.  I know they’re not real wild deer, but the park is a great place to watch deer at close quarters and in fairly natural surroundings. Put another way, it is 3,000 acres of grassland, trees, small copses and lakes – although it is managed habitat it offers a chance to see all manner of wildlife.

If you look back at previous years you’ll see that I make a point of visiting the Deer Park in October for the Red Deer rut, and this is truly a spectacle to behold.  I recommend it to anyone if they’re able to travel to Woburn.  But actually, the park is a good place to visit at any time, especially with the attached safari park and zoo.

It is perfectly possible to visit the Deer Park and see plenty of deer without even having to leave your car.  There is a public highway that crosses the park – you can drive through (carefully, mind) and the deer are there either side of the road.  But this isn’t the best way to see it.  There is a whole network of public footpaths that means you can leave the car in one of the neighbouring villages and stroll through on foot.  You can even work out a big circular walk on the paths that takes you well away from the road and into some lovely hidden spots.

Scarlett and I took a walk through the park to visit the monthly farmer’s market in Woburn village.  I like doing this, as it gives me a chance to combine a bit of wildlife with some local shopping, although the highlight of the day is usually in the crypt of Woburn parish church, where they serve tea and home-made cakes.   What more could you ask for in a walk?

The park is home to Red Deer, Fallow Deer, Muntjac and Chinese Water Deer, the last three species having inevitably escaped and become naturalised in the local area.  A fifth species, Pere David’s Deer, have so far remained in the park.  They have the distinction of having been made extinct in their native China but were preserved in Woburn and a few other places, so successfully that they have now been re-introduced back in their homeland.

Pere David's Deer at Woburn Deer ParkPere David’s are slightly odd-looking, vaguely cow-like deer.  They can be identified quickly by their backward-pointing antlers (the points of Red Deer antlers face forward).  In their breeding season they gather foliage on their antlers as a display, which is quite a distinctive feature.

Pere David's Deer in a pond at Woburn Deer ParkWhen we visited, the Pere David’s were congregated around and in one of the ponds, standing up to their knees in the water.  I’m not sure why – it wasn’t that hot.  Perhaps it is another of their odd behaviours.

Red Deer Stags at Woburn Deer ParkThe Red Deer are almost ready for the rut now, but the stags are still in groups.  Soon they’ll separate and start calling to attract their own ‘harem’ of females.  The ones in the picture above are still quite young.  As they grow older they will develop more points on their antlers and lose their spots.  There are some real monster stags at Woburn.

Fallow Deer at Woburn

Fallow Deer, like the ones above, were introduced to Britain by the Normans.  They are easily identifiable by their ‘palmate’ antlers (which are flat, like the palm of your hand, I suppose).  Colour is not an absolutely reliable feature for any species, as a rule, but Fallow Deer are typically much lighter than other species, being spotted or even entirely white (a pure white deer was frequently seen running wild around our village a few years ago, a bit like a deer version of Moby Dick).

The deer were the main feature of our walk, but there was plenty more to be seen.  Scarlett enjoyed seeing ducks on the ponds and rabbits on the grass.  I enjoyed finding a wasps’ nest dug out by a badger (so there are badgers about even here, in this managed park!)  But the church in Woburn deserves a mention too, from a naturalist’s point of view (and not just for tea and cakes).

St. Mary’s church is relatively modern, being built by the 8th Duke of Bedford in the 1860’s to replace the older church in the village.  It is handsome enough though, with some fantastic gargoyles.  The vicar, Steve, is a nice chap too.  For me, though, one of the most interesting features is inside: a window commemorating Mary, the ‘Flying Duchess’.  Mary is a fascinating character.  She was a noted aviator, hence the name, and she was lost without trace in a flying accident over the sea in 1937.  During the Great War she set up a hospital for servicemen at Woburn that still bears the name ‘Marylands’, although it is now in the process of being converted to luxury flats.  For more information on Mary, see Wikipedia.

OK – fascinating history lesson, BWM, but where is this actually going?  Well, in addition to her other interests, the Duchess was also a keen birdwatcher.  After her death, she was commemorated with a large stained-glass window in the church depicting St. Francis of Assisi (“Whose work was in the hospitals, whose delight was in the birds” – very fitting).

The St Francis of Assisi window in St Mary's Church, WoburnAnd this is the point I’m slowly getting to.  The artist of the window decorated it with birds found in Woburn Abbey and the park.  An idea is forming in my mind – the ‘Flying Duchess Challenge’.  If all these birds are local, then why don’t I set myself the target of seeing them and ticking them off a list?  Following in Mary’s footsteps, if you will.

This is where it gets tricky.  The picture above is a big, hi-res image so you can zoom in on the birds.  Some are common enough – magpie, tawny owl, heron and so on.  Some are much more challenging.  That looks like a chough in the top right.  I’ve seen these on Anglesey, but they vanished from southern England a long time ago.  Some birds are downright difficult.  There’s a hoopoe in there, and they’ve been recorded in Bedfordshire fewer than half a dozen times since the 1940s.  It will definitely be a challenge, firstly to identify all the birds on the window, and secondly (and more difficult still) to actually see them, particularly locally.

I like the idea of it, even if it is nearly impossible.  I’ll keep you posted.

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On Saturday night Mrs BWM kindly offered to put Scarlett to bed, so I seized the chance to pop up to the wood.  I jumped into my camouflage clothes, crammed a crust of bread and a piece of cheese into my pocket for supper, and headed off.

Summer is marching on into autumn now.  The wheat in the wheatfield has been harvested and the whole field harrowed over.  Not only is it an absolute bugger to walk over until the footpath is trampled down, it means that the badgers have to look for other sources of food.  At the top of the field there was a fresh badger latrine that showed that not only were they still marking out the field as territory, they are making use of other food resources.

Badger dung with fruit stones

The dung is full of fruit stones.  I thought at first that these were cherry stones, but on reflection they may well be sloes, which are fruiting now.  If you’ve ever eaten a sloe you’ll know how incredibly tart they are, but since badgers will cheerfully eat wasps I am beginning to think they don’t have a sophisticated palate.  As a good (albeit very amateur) scientist I know what I need to do now.  I need to go back and get a sample of the dung and compare the fruit stones to sloes and cherries, and then I’ll have a definite answer.  It may not sound pleasant, but I feel I need to do it – another piece in my badger jigsaw.  This is why my house is well stocked with latex gloves and carbolic soap…

Now, it’s always been a principle of mine when badger watching to approach and leave the area of the sett as quietly as possible.  You never know when the badgers will be around, and even if the badgers are not in the vicinity you can still scare them by setting off a ‘chain reaction’ by scaring other animals – you approach noisily, you frighten a deer, the deer bolts past the sett and frightens the badgers.

My stealthy approach to the main sett is made easier by a large fallen ash tree (ash trees seem to have a habit of falling down – remind me never to camp under one).  I can walk along the trunk silently rather than rustling through the undergrowth.  On this evening, halfway along the trunk, I caught sight of a deer in the direction of the sett.  This is exactly the situation I mentioned above, and it calls for extreme caution.  But it got worse.  As I froze in my tracks, I noticed movement in the undergrowth at the far end of the tree.  It was the badger cub from two weeks ago – out of the sett early and foraging further afield.

There was nothing I could do but remain motionless and pretend to be a tree.  Badgers are a bit like T-Rex – they can’t see you if you don’t move (mostly).  Of course, staying still while perched on a fallen tree trunk is easier said than done, but the badger didn’t notice me.  When it moved out of sight I took my chance and very slowly sat down.

For the next 40 minutes I sat on my fallen tree as the badger snuffled around within 20 feet of so of me.  The light was bad in the middle of the wood so none of my pictures worked, but I took a short video (video works better in low light on my camera).  It isn’t great quality, and it doesn’t shed any light on badger behaviour, but it will remind me of a fascinating evening watching a badger foraging at close quarters.

The badger came closer and closer but still didn’t seem to be aware of me.  At one point it was only six feet or so away from me as it crawled under the tree I was sitting on.  It wasn’t what I planned for the evening, but a memorable encounter just the same.

The badger was clearly foraging, but I couldn’t make out what it was feeding on.  I could hear loud cracking, crunching noises every now and then, as if it was chewing on dry sticks.  This was puzzling.  It was louder than the noise of a snail shell breaking, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.  When the badger had moved off I eased my cramped legs off the tree and went for a look.   The tree overhead was a hazel, and spread around the area were broken hazelnut shells.

Broken hazelnut shells, possibly eaten by a badger

Now, I can’t prove that this is what the badger was crunching on, but it seems likely.  A badger’s jaws are certainly strong enough, and hazelnuts are nutritious.  There are references in the literature to badgers eating hazelnuts (in 1935!)  However, the shells could have been there before the badger came – squirrels crack hazelnuts and they’re plentiful in the area.  I tried to find evidence that the badger was responsible – a shell with fresh badger spit on it, for instance, but there was nothing definite.

All in all, a fascinating evening and one that provoked all sorts of thoughts about badgers’ diet.  I can’t prove the badger was eating hazelnuts but there’s no reason why not.  What with the sloes and the nut shells I can see some sort of badger dung analysis project to keep me active through the autumn.  This is what I like about badgers.  Even though they’re a common species, living side by side with humans, there is still a chance to add something, however small, to what we know about them.  Just don’t tell Mrs BWM.

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