The Bohemian Chatterers come to Oxborough

Finally caught up with those pesky Waxwings yesterday. There have been hundreds of them all over the eastern UK since earlier this month (and single flocks of 1,000 or so in Scotland) but I'd managed to avoid them completely until lunchtime yesterday, when coming back from walking the Furry. Suddenly heard that characteristic high-pitched trilling sound and spotted a group of them perched at the top of the tree at the end of the drive. Got the bins on them just as they swooped off and headed towards Gooderstone.... Their call is as glamorous as their plumage. Meanwhile, a great-spotted woodpecker is in the garden on the fatballs as I bash this out, and a treecreeper has been coming regularly to the apple tree. Goldfinches on the nyger seed, as per, but no sign of the brambling that appeared fleetingly the other week. Good numbers of house sparrows though, which is reassuring.

A waxwing.... the Lady Gaga of the bird world.

Catalunya Trip, 13–16 October

13 October: to Spain on a Ryanair press trip, flew to Reus (Ryan's Barcelona, but actually a good hour and a half away...), where picked up and whisked off an hour or so inland to the village of Seros, near Lleida. Installed in smart village house, where welcomed by smiling owners and given pan tomate and a basket of unfeasibly large fruit. Monstrous plums of three varieties and peaches the size of footballs. 

14 October: emerged at 8am or so for a quick sortie outside. A white stork was perched on its nest on the village church – seems a bit late, but apparently more and more are overwintering in the area and spending their time at the local dump. Indeed, why fly all the way to the Serengeti when you can rifle quite happily through refuse just down the road? Then collected by Maria Angeles Lacruz, bird tourism person in Seros, and her husband Juan – an ace birder – and off we head to Aiguabazzeig, the confluence of two rivers, the Segre and the Cinca. A beautiful spot, all the more so because the banks are lined with lush vegetation of reed, tamarisk etc in what is otherwise an arid and unforgiving landscape beyond. Cormorants, great white heron and grey herons all busy fishing, with a kingfisher zipping about. Then a goshawk blasted overhead - the first of what were to be many raptors during the trip. Further downstream we were shown the island site of a heronry (Illa dels Martinets), where several species nest - none present at this time of year, of course. A good site for otters, apparently. The dryland/river interface was very interesting, especially with the former mine workings and derelict buildings along one bank – spotless starlings seen there.

View over a stretch of the Segre, with a corner of Illa dels Martinets bottom right

From there we drove along the river to the small town of Mequinenza, located overlooking a reservoir of the same name (and which had obliterated a second village). More great scenery, and interesting birds too: black wheatear and blue rock thrush on the rocks high above the water, plus a superb male peregrine sitting on a ledge and found by accident as we looked for the wheatear. The local subspecies has buff-coloured underparts - couldn't quite see that, but apparently....

Fortress on the hill above Mequinenza

We then drove onto la Granja d'Escarp and an impressive tract of steppe. This has become one of the most endangered habitats in Catalunya; home to a whole raft of specialised birds, it traditionally was used for spasmodic cereal farming and low-density olive groves and almond orchards, with some mining and quarrying here and there. The area became depopulated during the twentieth century, as people drifted to the towns and villages, but the advent of extensive artificial irrigation in the 1970s changed things dramatically. Suddenly it became possible to plant extensive orchards of peaches, plums, cherries, pears and pistachios, and that's what now carpets much of what was hitherto open steppe. Not many people live here – there are many tumbledown old farmsteads – but they are clearly farming it now. Thankfully no new irrigation systems are allowed, so the extent of the orchards should not expand further.

Ruined farmhouse near La Granja - saw a flock of 25 choughs

wheeling around it, plus griffon vultures overhead.

The steppe landscape has a curious, abandoned feel about it. Seemingly barren as we drove through it in the car, as soon as one got out the air was bursting with lark song and there were plenty of birds moving about: hoopoe, southern grey shrike, kestrel, as well as calandra and thekla larks. Top species here are blackbellied and pintailed sandgrouse – both eluding us on this occasion – and little bustard, which flock together at this time of year and tend to move away from the steppe onto alfalfa fields. However – thanks to a pair of passing cyclists, who flushed them – we saw a pair of bustards spring up out of the grass and fly overhead.

Me out on the steppe... two little bustards winging by!

Inside America's Hat

Was at Flatford Mill yesterday and overheard someone in the NT cafe talking about Canada (America's Hat) - was prompted to think of my trip to Toronto in May this year. I was there covering an Aga Khan event for Canvas, but once duty was done I skittled off up-country to visit friends Sandy and Gillian in rural Ontario. Wrote this piece on Backwoods Canada...

After three difficult days, I had to admit defeat. Toronto and I just hadn’t made the most of each other. With the bus pulling out of the station, I pondered over my very brief relationship with North America’s fifth largest city. A first-timer there, I’d slogged on foot around the bustling downtown but failed to connect with the Toronto vibe my friends had raved about. Even the spirit of the city’s dramatic waterfront eluded me, as I stared bleakly across Lake Ontario at the executive jets zipping in and out of the shoreline airport. A gang of sparrows were bathing happily in the dust of the adjacent parking lot. They seemed to enjoy life here, why couldn’t I? I decided to leave the city and redeem myself in a different Canada.

The Royal Ontario Museum's Crystal extension. Perhaps the most interesting building in the city, but then...

I headed north-east towards the town of Lakeview, lured by the promise of open countryside, with rivers and forests which I imagined were full of beavers, eagles and moose. Maybe even bears. An eager face in the town’s quaint information bureau told me about her childhood in Staffordshire and then reeled off directions to her favourite places around Lakeview, including the ‘secret pond’ and a site famous for petroglyphs or rock carvings. I saw a bear there once, she added.

Incised into an outcrop of grey marble centuries ago by native peoples for whom this remains a sacred place, the petroglyphs had lain forgotten under a tangle of vegetation until a hiker stumbled upon them by chance in the 1950s. Once open to the cosmos, today they are subdued by a vast glazed dome, installed to protect them from careless walking boots. Inside, visitors spoke in reverential whispers and no photographs were allowed. I gazed down at the ancient, hand-chiselled forms of reptiles, deer, birds and other sacred backwoods wildlife, musing on what ceremonies must have taken place here.

Forest pond, with beaver dam. Mosquito paradise.

A few miles away, the rock creatures came alive in a ritual of their own at the ‘secret pond’, deep within the forest. Like smoky paper planes, black terns dipped and skittered above the lily pads on which their downy chicks were precariously poised, waiting to be fed. Many of the other birds around the pond were supersized compared to their British relatives: an ironing board in the sky slowly unfurled itself into a great blue heron as it descended, landing on a jetty and dwarfing the disconcerted egrets alongside. Diminutive hometown coots were replaced here by torpedo-shaped loons, which surged through the water and exploded into noisy territorial spats, their winnowing cries pulsating through the hot and humid air. Even the smaller creatures were aiming big: a saucer-sized monarch butterfly powered by, an insect so strong it is capable of flying to Mexico for the winter and even of crossing the Atlantic. As I sat watching, a turtle of Jurassic proportions slid off a half-submerged log, sending a mini-tsunami across the surface of the water. You don’t need bears with turtles that size, I thought.

Everything's big in the New World: a monarch butterfly overwhelms a clover flowerhead

Creatures of the Night

After weeks of being hopeless with the moth trap, I finally ran it last night, tempted by the warm weather and hoping that something special might turn up. I don't think I've ever run it this late in the season before - I tend to lose interest once the big beasts like the hawkmoths go off. Small brown moths of indeterminate species are not my thing, I need glamour! And so was very chuffed when one of the most dazzling of all British moths turned up, doing exactly what the books say it does - sitting just outside the trap, rather than in it.

It goes by the modest name of merveille du jour ("marvel of the day") and no prizes for guessing that it's perfectly at home when resting on a lichen-encrusted wall or tree. The larval foodplant is oak, but the adults seem to like ivy flowers, so there are plenty of those around the garden to keep it happy. In total I had over 40 moths in the trap, with beaded chestnuts and setaceous hebrew characters the most numerous, one each of blood vein, small fan-footed wave, orange sallow, four black rustics, three large wainscots and two green-brindled crescents, the latter not quite in the same league as the merveille but very handsome all the same:

The Flash of Autumn Wings

I think it's been a great year for butterflies - at least, I've seen plenty! - although the dismal grey August was a bit of a disappointment. Even so, there were plenty of blues about and I saw the first ever brown argus in the garden, nectaring on lavender. It was in excellent condition, and joined later that day (13 August) by a rather tattier specimen. Then a torrential downpour came and they disappeared. It was hard to see how they could have survived the tsunami that fell from the sky, but lo and behold, the next morning was bright and sunny and the smarter of the two was back on the lavender! The more ragged individual clearly didn't make it....

Since then, butterfly sightings have dwindled to just a few red admirals, peacocks, commas and the odd brimstone. Until this week, when ace butterfly spotter Sue Pennell - who has already discovered a hitherto unknown population of White Admirals not far from where she lives in Beachamwell, plus a single sighting of a grayling there (also a new site) - was out walking and found a superb male clouded yellow! I haven't seen one in Norfolk since I watched one ripping across Sheringham Park several years ago. With good weather forecast for the next couple of days it's time to keep an eye out for more!

Meanwhile, there have been a few hummingbird hawkmoths about, including one that was whirring about the garden on a very overcast day last week. It seemed especially keen on salvia and verbena flowers, but at this time of year I guess it's grateful for what it can find! It's amazing that these tiny things cover hundreds of miles to get here...

Roger and the Rabbits

Another deadly mission this morning as Roger killed yet more bunnies. These are, of course, mercy killings - the poor beasts are riddled with myxy and already dying a slow death, and so it is really Roger's duty to save them from further agony. Not that one would know that when they are squealing under the crunch of his jaws. He carries out his duties in a very matter-of-fact way and drops the corpses promptly before moving on in search of his next victim. He certainly knows not to eat them (thankfully). The whole rabbit colony in the field behind the house seems affected by myxomatosis right now, probably the worst outbreak for several years. Rabbits are certainly the theme of the moment, with Anne Mason and I giving a presentation yesterday to the Breckland Society on the Warrens Project. Anne mentioned how in the Middle Ages rabbits were prone to a deadly disease called "moraine", so the poor things have been blighted for centuries! And afterwards we were at dinner when the hostess produced a rabbit fur wrap-thing around her neck.... There's no escaping the pesky varmints.