If You Go Down to the Woods

Things are stirring in Voleopolis; the Woodpile is positively frantic with activity and as the snow starts to clear the Boys are most definitely Back in Town.

This Moorhen appears well equipped for treading on thin ice.

It seems that after a week of treading on not so thin ice the wildlife is once again starting to venture forth in search of a little romance and a lot of sustenance.

In particular the mammals have been showing themselves much more over the last week and in one afternoon I encountered four Muntjac, two foxes and watched as four Bank Voles ventured forth at the same time from the Woodpile to grab the seed that the birds were spilling


Red Hot Vole Action - or Seed Lust 3 (The Final Nibble).

The more discernining naturalists amongst you, will have realised by now, that the Muntjac is designed along the same lines as the Porsche Boxster. This means that it looks as if it is going away from you even when it is rushing headfirst towards you. Oh, OK then, yes this my usual view of the skittish critters.

In fact, as we enjoyed a well earned coffee and bickies in the centre last Sunday, following a mornings working party, the FoHESC faithful were treated to the sight of two foxes on the grass, quite close to the back window. Sadly one was in a pretty manky state and I guess was suffering from mange, the other however looked in first class condition and was clearly finding plenty of food.












With every member of the fur, feather and claw club now out looking for a cheap meal, I'm hoping my little mates down at the Woodpile don't get too bold.





Here's one way to avoid sharing your food






All photographs taken by and © Tony Bedford

Harry's Game

Are you a congenital idiot, do you spell like a two year old, has the ability to e mail, text, write a letter, use a computer or remember where you stashed three hundred grand eluded you? If so, then good news!

According to the pundits, (not the things you buy strawberries in) you are in line to be the next manager of the England football team and earn  receive many millions of pounds per year. Although it does of course beg the question, how, given that you can't actually grasp the rudiment of arranging letters into a semi-meaningful order, will you be able to make your application?

Perhaps the nice man that invests his money in your overseas bank account will help.

Furthermore, given the intellect of the other millionaires you will be coaching appears to be roughly the same as a Mallard's, you will be hailed as a genius with a brain larger and brighter than the sun (or the mirror for that matter). The masses will hail your arrival as the new messiah and cry "God for Harry, England and St George" and any dark thoughts regarding even the slightest possibility of tax evasion will be hurled away into the night air, like rolls of Izal aimed at the keepers head.

A Mallard








Am I bothered that HMRC have wasted 8 million of hard earned tax payers cash on this fiasco?

Am I in the least bit vexed that someone with the apparent literary and accounting skills of a Gannet can seriously be considered for a Publicly funded job paying millions?

Too bloody right I am!






A Gannet









It's not just the bankers who are trousering fortunes, there are lots more balls that need kicking as well - you know what I mean Harry.

Pizza Sunday

At the risk of jumping on the weekend weather toboggan, but with no apologies, this post features a snowy reserve where to put it punditly it was deep pan, crisp and even.

View from Near Hide













I was delighted on arrival at HESC to find I was the only car to have entered the car park and had great hopes of lots of virgin snow to photograph and spot tracks in. As it turned out, unless I can add Yeti, to the fox, rabbit, muntjac and what I think were mink tracks I encountered, another brave sole had footed it round part of the reserve before me.

Robin posing for Xmas card












The morning started well; as soon as I got out of the car two hungry robins appeared, one of which flew up to my shoulder, before sitting on my hand to eat some seed (this is now a regular occurence and it seems we have several robins that will do this), whilst his/her accomplice grabbed the seeds he/she spilled.



In the bleak mid-winter











As you will imagine the main lake was frozen and mainly devoid of birdlife, apart from a flock of lapwing standing forlornly out on the ice.  




Yet again I don't fancy crossing this










At the woodland hide all the usual suspects (marsh/willow, blue and great tits, dunnock, blackbirds,chaffinch and many robins) soon arrived, once I had brushed the snow off the tables and put some seed out.




Dunnock looking imperious









Our recent new residents the bank voles also ventured out of the woodpile and I guess, given their short life span, were encountering snow for the first time. Although keeping their distance, I also saw a G S woodpecker, treecreeper, jays and several inelegant tree climing moorhen?

BV Discovering snow on the Woodpile












A walk down to the far meadow resulted in a close encounter with a muntjac, who had been sheltering under some bushes. As usual I was far to slow to get a picture as it shot off down the track in a series of leaps, which the snow showed, must have been two to three metres apart between each touchdown.

My usual view of muntjack (gone)

On my arrival back at the car park the feeding scenario was repeated with the two robins before I returned home for some welcome hot soup.

 

Low sun over frozen pond (bit atmospheric I thought)

Once Bittern
Life's not fair! Having recovered from triple ebola (Grade A, super deadly) - see last post for gory details, I now appear to have contracted triple man flu (Grade A etc.)

How I managed to find someone with such a virulent strain and get close enough to catch the bug was initially a mystery as all my friends have appeared healthy enough over the last week or so (well no worse than normal) and past experience shows that I normal get these things after being shut in a crowded room with a bunch of strangers (eg trains, planes, automobiles, pubs, etc).

Then it occurred to me - I had been shut in a small room with lots of strangers - yes the near hide down at the reserve, had been packed to the rafters last Friday with hundreds (poetic license) of hopeful Bittern spotters. It's amazing how effective the jungle drums are when it comes to beating (should it be booming in this case?) out the news of a rare arrival on a local site.

Like Walt Disney's fateful Lemmings, they had been drawn to the waters edge, to hopefully encounter the mysterious bird (does this make them Bittern Lemmings?). Sadly anyway Botaurus stellaris had disappeared as stealthily as he had arrived and apart from a couple of lucky souls who had seen it earlier in the week, we were all disappointed.















A beautiful frosty morning last week at HESC

In the absence of anything more interesting to report and sadly no new photo opportunities this week - although the wildfowl are certainly starting to get some cracking colours as we approach the breeding time (including a male Goldeneye seen at HESC on monday) - I will once again shuffle off to the sick settee - at least I can watch the cricket - cough, splutter, groan.