Fledging

Due to a dodgy back I have been using my conservatory as my office for the last week or so (the table and chair height are more sympathetic to my condition - unlike many so called friends). An unexpected benefit to my location has been the ability to watch, close up, the daily struggles of a pair of blackbirds bringing up baby.

I say baby, because there is now, it seems, only one survivor - although having not been able to see into the nest, there may, of course, have only been one hatchling.

During my time watching I have witnessed the two brave parents trying to repel a number of raids from a magpie, whilst each time, a carrion crow sat atop the tree waiting to see what it could pick up from the melee. You shouldn't attribute evil to wild animals - but I confess I found it all a bit hard to accept, even though I know full well, that this is how it is, for millions of birds every day.

It was shortly after this noisy fracas that I first noticed junior bouncing around the lawn, not sure whether his priority was food, or finding shelter. To be honest I didn't give a lot for his chances.  So I was delighted a day later, to see a pair of eyes peering at me from the bush just outside my conservatory window

Meanwhile the fearless twosome, in between feeding their surviving offspring, have quite literally chased one of the neighbourhood moggies out of the garden and ferociously  set about a pair of bewildered pigeons who had planned on clearing up some seed spilt from a feeder.

Grubs Up

The young bird has fallen off its perch at least once to my knowledge and then reappeared on another branch - I wonder how much longer it can keeping dodging fate. I find it all a bit stressful, wanting to help, but knowing the best thing is to leave it to the parent birds and trust to luck.

Another youngster dodging natures metaphorical bullets was a newly fledged, and very stub tailed, Song Thrush, which I almost stepped on when exiting a hide Sunday morning.

Fortunately, this little chap had got enough flight in him to acquire a branch on the nearest tree. Giving me the opportunity to get a quick photo and wish him luck for the future.

Go Wild, Go Wild
Go wild in the country
Where snakes in the grass are absolutely free

The grass snake, one of the many, many British creatures on my list of would like to photograph, has up to this last week, very successfully been avoiding my camera. Yes, over the last few summers, I have probably seen a dozen or more grass snakes - but by the time I could bring my lens to bear, all that has remained in view of the reptile, has been a tail slithering undercover. 

Last summer (no camera with me), I even picked a large, presumably therefore, female, grass snake off the local village high street  and removed it to a safer environment. Such was it's gratitude, that it immediately deployed it's extremely smelly defense system, by weeing and pooing on me. A sure way of not being crowded in the pub.

I finally managed to break my duck last Sunday, when I spotted a - what I estimate as about 1 metre long - grass snake having a kip in a sheltered sunny spot, on the side of a meadow. Fortunately, it took a few seconds before realising I was there, which enabled me to get this picture.

I would still like to eventually get the classic head on, tongue out view, but I was very happy to at last get a reasonable shot. 

I was even happier to round the bank holiday weekend off, with what I suspect may be a, not to be repeated (or at least for a long while) photo opportunity, with one of the members of the heard but not often seen club, the Grasshopper Warbler.

The Grasshopper Warbler - Locustella naevia

The RSPB website describes the "Groppers" song as high, insect-like and reeling. Other descriptions liken it to the ratchet sound of line being pulled off a fishing reel. To my ears, it does seem to have an almost mechanical edge to it.

Although relatively  easy to hear and recognize, the song does not always give it's owner's location away, due to what is described as a ventriloquial effect. Normally - the books say - this bird keeps a low profile by creeping about the foliage, however this particular individual was content to sit in fairly plain view and deliver his song to the world, whilst I snapped away.

As it sang this bird's tail vibrated furiously

Sadly, I read that a dramatic population decline has put this bird on the species Red List - a trend which I hope our local visitors are planning to resist.