New Patch Species – 7th Jan

Added a few a few new species to my patch list today – Stock Dove, Great Spotted Woodpecker and Nuthatch, to name a few. Also added my first butterfly, Large White, in the form a chrysalis on the wall of The Lodge.

Also had a couple of species which I’m not 100% about:

I think this is likely Tremella encephala, but I’ve put it on ispot to try and get a solid ID.

I also saw this shieldbug nymph:

Which I think is likely to be Common Green Shieldbug or Forest Shieldbug. Once again, it’s on ispot for confirmation.

UPDATE

Forest Shieldbug has been confirmed on ispot, the fungus, however, is a little more complicated and is likely to be a species in the genus Ascocoryne. One new species for the patch list anyway.

End of Patch League 2013…. START OF PATCH LEAGUE 2014

Well Patch League 2013 came to an end. It has made me very reflective on its pros and con. The general idea remains sound but having everyone keep separate spreadsheets was a nuisance to say the least. It meant I had to carefully count a lot of cells and put the data across. With this in mind I can now introduce PATCH LEAGUE 2014. With a new super sexy spreadsheet. With formulae that made me break out in a sweat (in contemplation, execution and ecstasy). There are still a few ideas I’d like to implement but the nuts and bolts of it are in working order.

Have a look at the new layout here.

So if you have any interest in joining just email me at robertjaques26 at gmail.com and I’ll make you your special page, with which you can do what you like (as long as you want to input the correct sort of data).

There has also been a few rule changes. No longer will a patch not have to be a nature reserve. A lot of people live near them and put their natural history-themed time into them so it seems churlish to expect people to change that. It’s also very much up to the individual and what they wish to count or not. Plants are a pain and it’s hard to tell whether their origins are human or natural so we’ll leave it to the discretion of the entrant.

Patch League 2013 personal conclusion

I went into the year with predictions. Most of these were dashed against the brick wall that is realism. In spite of this, I have managed to find several delights which I wasn’t expecting. In no particular order these where 1. Little Ringed Plover 2. Water Rail 3. Red Eared Slider 4. Black Darter 5. Eel 6 Great Diving Beetle

That lump in the middle is definitely a Black Darter

That lump in the middle is definitely an Eel

That lump in the middle is probably a Great Diving Beetle

The latter 3 where all new to me and nearly entirely unexpected. If my research was correct then my Black Darter was only the 2nd record for Hull (although there has probably been unreported sightings).

There was also several notable omissions from the list, Mistle Thrush being the most striking, but Buzzard and Woodcock where both seen in previous years and failed to make an appearance this time around. I also expected Common Blue in spite of never noting one before. The largish patches of Birds-Foot Trefoil apparently aren’t quite enough to entice any in.

Patch League also got my trying IDs out on taxon I might not have previously tried. Springtails and slugs spring to mind. Its also enabled my plant knowledge to grow, with a good chunk of the species I found on patch being entirely new to me at the time. No orchids though (yet).

On that note, PATCH LEAGUE 2014 GO.

First lifer of 2014

Just thought I’d write a quick post about my first lifer of 2014. Whilst wandering around The Lodge today, searching for patch species, I found a delightfully subtle gall on a branch of oak – Andricus inflator. I didn’t have a camera with me, so I brought the twig in question home with me so I could photograph it at my leisure. Notice how I have managed to achieve that wonderful ‘bleached-out’ effect that photographers find so desirable.

Other species seen today on patch were Marble Gall, Common Spangle Gall, Cola Nut Gall, a pair of Ravens, two Heather Ladybirds and a Muntjac. Decent.

Review of the Year: 2013

James wrote his bits in italics, Robert has opined on his words in a more stately font

2013 certainly was a pretty crazy year. I don’t think there is a person amongst us who will ever forget where they were when they first learnt of the death of Richard Griffiths. Apart from that major shadow, the year progressed mainly as one might expect. Day followed day in the regular fashion, and, in the same vein, did the weeks. The months were a little more unexpected, with April occurring normally as the fourth month of the year, but then again for two weeks straight after August, presumably thrown off by the cold spring.

Ahh, the cold spring. Do you remember it? That cold, miserable spring. Following our tradition of recent years, Robert and I cancelled yet another planned trip to Dorset. We hope to be able to keep this up until eventually all the species we hope to see have either died out or spread as far north as Yorkshire due to global warming. 50:50 chance eh?

Anyway, in this blog post I invite you to travel with me as I search the deepest, moistest recollections my mind has to offer on the subject of 2013.

January

After spending many hours wandering around the harbour in December 2012 looking for the Glaucous Gull that was apparently there, suddenly seeing it on patch felt deserved. I remember when I first saw it. Our eyes met, and a jolt went through me. I gasped, and suddenly, in a moment, I saw the whole life of the gull. I stayed with it until the tide came in, and as the water lapped at its feet, it took off. It flew straight over the top of me and met my eye for one last time. I saw then, in that instant, how I would die.

February

More things happened in February. I can’t be bothered to put in the required effort to find out on which dates everything happened, so I’m going to pretend everything happened on one day. On a bright sunny day in February, Robert and I got up and walked around Thwaite Gardens in Cottingham where we successfully netted a 10-spined stickleback. Score. We also saw some Kingfisher puke and an unseemly sex-act between a goose and a domestic mallard. Straight after this we met up with the East Yorkshire bat group and explored the cellars under Londesborough Estate, where we saw the only East Yorkshire population of Cave Spider. After emerging, blinking, into the wintry air, Robert and I picked up Jess and went to Tophill Low, where we saw a Ring-Necked Duck. This duck, however, was drastically overshadowed by the presence of a hybrid Tufted Duck x Scaup. That’s how sad I am. In the afternoon I drove back up to Scarborough and found a deceased John Dory on the beach. Shortly after that I met up with Stuart and drove to Barmston, where we saw the Kumlien’s Gul that had been hanging around for a while. On the way back to Scarborough, we decided to stop off at Filey where a Grey Phalarope had been seen earlier in the week. We walked along the Brigg and down the side where we saw a few birders with scopes. I eagerly put my bins to my eyes and scanned the bay. I could see nothing. After a couple of minutes I loudly cleared my throat and asked one of the people if they had seen the phalarope. The birder looked at me like I had just asked a really odd question, and then pointed to the phalarope sat on the sea about two metres from where I was stood. It was awesome.

Here follows some descriptions of how close I was able to get to the phalarope:

• It was close enough that I could have spat onto it
• If I had fallen over forward, I would have crushed it with my head
• If I had a pond dipping net I could have scooped it out of the water
• I could hear it respiring. And I don’t mean breathing, I mean the chemical act of converting nutrients into useful energy within a cell.

I didn’t have my camera though, and in a way I’m glad. I don’t want to share that memory with you. This one is just for me.

March

I honestly can’t remember anything that happened in March.

April

In April I eventually succeeded in finding the Black Brant amongst the brents at Spurn, after spending many fruitless hours searching previously. I like geese, so this was pretty great. If I remember correctly, Robert, Lucy, Helen and I then went for a short amble down to the point, and then wandered back up. It took about sixteen minutes if I remember correctly. Lucy saw her first lizard, as possibly did Helen. I don’t know, I’m not her biographer. The rest of the day was spent eating ice creams and admiring the nicest Long-Tailed Duck I’ve ever seen at Hornsea Mere.

Other birds seen in April included the Baikal Teal at Flamborough (which was fun) and the Rock Thrush at Spurn, which was spoilt by Robert’s sour attitude, but improved by being able to add Lee Evans to my year list. We also failed to see a Hoopoe. “Would we ever manage to see a Hoopoe?” I remember thinking, sadly.

We also assisted with some bat nest box checks, which brought excellent views of Common and Soprano Pipistrelle, as well as a box full of Noctule bats. The undoubted star, however, was a Brown Long-Eared Bat at Allerthorpe Common. As I admired its shell-like ears, and looked into its beady black eyes, I knew then how I would die.

The bat was the high point of the year. Not whatever tawdry nonsense is mentioned later.

May

In May an Icterine Warbler was found in Scarborough. I went and waited for what seemed like forever, until it eventually popped into view (I was quite pleased with this actually, as it was I that spotted it). I’m glad I saw it, as now I don’t feel I have to put the effort into seeing another one for a long time.

Also in May, Robert made us drive hundreds of miles to see Dotterel and to make fun of a nerd. Both of which were fun. Long drive though for little return. Apparently dotterel, crane and hobbies aren’t enough for the blinkered and jaded views of some. I personally look at every living thing with the bright-eyed wonder of a new born child.

I spent a day with Katie in North Yorkshire looking for Pearl-Bordered Fritillary, which we eventually found after a couple of hours of searching. I honestly find it difficult to think of another group of animals that brings me as much joy as seeing a new butterfly. I also found a really nice sheep’s skull at the same place. I really recommend that everyone should try and see a Pearl-Bordered Fritillary in 2014. They are stunning little tinkers.

Anything else in May… Oh yes, Robert and I took part in another nest box check at Tophill Low, where we saw several Nathusuiusisus’s’s’ Pipistrelles, as well as a fleeting but satisfactory glimpse of a Water Shrew.

June

If anyone was to ask me which species of Scoter I have had the best views of, I would be forced to answer ‘Surf Scoter’. In June I saw a Surf Scoter at Filey, and some kind gentlemen let me look through their enormous, gem-encrusted scopes at it for a significant period of time. Really awesome, distinctive looking bird.

Also in June came a highlight not only of the year, but also possibly of my life. I saw a Currant Clearwing. Major props to Lucy for discovering an unrecorded colony of this moth in Hull, and to Lucy’s parents for letting us spend about 30 hours meticulously sifting through every species in their garden, including a wonderful moth-trapping session which turned up my first ever Poplar Kitten. Through a chain of related events, the Currant Clearwing opened doors which allowed us to see a Six-Belted Clearwing less than 24 hours later. I’d always wanted to see a clearwing, and after doing so I realised that everything in my life had no meaning up until that point. 

We also saw speckled bush crickets that day. They are better than clearwings, and clearwings are awesome. Look at them. Down there. In that picture. Are you looking? If not, then why can’t you follow basic instructions? They are awesome. Did you look? I bet you did, you automaton.

In June I was privileged to see a tiny colony of Small Blue butterflies in North Yorkshire. This was particularly pleasing as Small Blues died out in Yorkshire in the 1950’s and the nearest colony to Scarborough is probably the one in Cumbria.

The colony is almost certainly introduced, and the site in question is tiny and isolated from any other suitable Small Blue habitat. Some people would likely turn their nose up at an illicit butterfly introduction, but all I will say on the matter is that Small Blue is monotypic within the UK and it has been reintroduced within its historic range (Though in these days of climate change, what does ‘historic range’ really mean any more?). The really regrettable fact is that the site is so small and isolated – the species is unlikely to spread and recolonise vast swathes of Yorkshire – and the small population is likely vulnerable to environmental factors, bad weather, trampling, over-zealous cutting etc.,

Here is a picture of Small Blues being tiny and adorable:

The Marsh Fritillary, or ‘Greasy’ Fritillary, is a species that I have wanted to see for quite some time, being a particularly distinctively attractive example of the fritillary group. I saw the species at Chambers Farm Wood, and this population is another that has been illicitly introduced. My opinions? I don’t mind. It was clear that for a few weeks in June visitor numbers are bolstered by people coming to see and photograph this butterfly, and I can only see that as a good thing. Marsh Fritillaries occur as two subspecies within the British Isles, but I have heard a rumour that this introduction is from ‘foreign stock’, which is less than ideal – though its isolation from native Marsh Fritillaries serves as a barrier to genetic pollution.

It seems that the meadow that they occur on is managed in a way that benefits the butterflies – which came first? The management routine, or the butterflies? – and likely benefits a whole host of other invertebrates. I saw more Mother Shipton moths here than I have at any of the sites I regularly visit in Yorkshire, for example. Picture:

Also in June came two wonderful new snails – Lesser Bulin which I found on a fragment of limestone grassland on an SSSI in North Yorkshire, and Lapidary Snail, which I found amongst the ruins of Jervaulx Abbey on a particularly wonderful day.

One of my few days away from James’ ever watchful gaze, I snuck off to Fen Bog and saw my first wild carnivorous plant. He’s already seen them so I’m imagining he’s going to poo-poo the very idea of even bothering to leave the house.

July

July is the month we cracked orchids. By that I mean we put some effort into them. A few days in the Pickering area netted us 2 new species (greater butterfly and fragrant) and we also came across hundreds of fly orchids. I also found a gorgeous welsh chafer, which I believe is one of only a smattering of records for Yorkshire.

July brought a special treat in the form of another life bird seen on my patch – Roseate Tern. Terns are, without question, wonderful birds, and seeing a new one was pretty darn wonderful. Bless them.

Also on the bird front, I attended a Storm Petrel ringing session at Burniston and managed to see three birds, and got to smell them as well. The smell of a Storm Petrel is hard to describe in words, sort of dusty, and warm. However, a side effect of smelling a Storm Petrel is that you get a vision of how your life will end. I saw my own death that night.

I saw a White-Letter Hairstreak in Hull, which was pretty special. I wasn’t actually feeling that hopeful, until suddenly I just caught one fluttering through the binoculars. The difficult part was trying to explain to Robert where to look to be able to see it. “Do you see that dead leaf? Well, it’s sort of up and left from the dead leaf. Like a foot above it, and two feet left. Maybe three feet. Oh, it’s walked out of sight.”

My sister came to visit me in Scarborough, and in between watching all of the Saw films, we found the time to pop to Filey to see Minke whales in the bay. Biggest animals I have ever seen, pretty amazing. Probably my mammal highlight of the year.

August

I can’t think of anything that happened in August.

September

In September Robert and I took a drive to Paull for a long overdue appointment with some Clouded Yellows. I remember being concerned that it might be difficult to distinguish a Clouded Yellow in flight from a Brimstone or a particularly strongly-coloured white. I wish I could go back in time and tell myself how stupid I was. And ugly. A Clouded Yellow in flight is the most yellow thing you have ever seen. Imagine margarine filled with chemicals, and it was even more yellow than that. I think we saw at least six or so at Paull, but there could easily have been twice that number.

One merry morning we released some grass snakes. As they scuttled into the undergrowth, one turned and fixed my stare. In that moment I saw how James would die.

October

October was pretty crazy. I spent a couple of days in Buckinghamshire at the behest of Lucy, and whilst in the area Robert and I planned an elaborate hustle-type scheme to gain access to a national trust property so we could look at some snails. If I remember correctly, I tricked a security guard into thinking he had a role in a film that I was producing, so he left work early to attend the casting call. He was replaced with a less experienced security guard who had no qualms in letting Robert through the gate dressed as a chef, pushing an enormous cake on a trolley. As soon as we got inside, Robert pulled off his fake rubber face, and I burst out of the cake. Then we looked at some snails. I might have made some of this up. They were Cliveden Snails, by the way.

The next day, on the drive back to Yorkshire, we stopped off in Bedfordshire to view an introduced colony of Firebugs. We found a single adult individual almost immediately, and a reasonable number of nymphs inside the nearby abandoned greenhouses. I remember looking around the area and thinking “wouldn’t it be awful to live somewhere like this”.

This trip turned into something of an introduced species free-for-all. The full details of which can be read here.

In October I also attended a variety of job interviews, each more depressing and confusing than the last. One of these was in the Scottish highlands, which was certainly an interesting drive. On the way I was able to stop off at St Abbs head and see a Sardinian Warbler, which is probably the nicest looking warbler I have ever seen (sorry Dartford, you come a close second). I arrived at St Abbs quite early in the day and found a few others birders sitting in the lee of a stone wall. I sat with them, and found myself engaged in conversation with an elderly gentleman from Leicestershire, who seemed to have an inordinate amount of teeth and the ability to produce an almost infinite quantity of jam sandwiches from his pockets. We waited. After about an hour with nothing being seen, one of the birders piped up and asked if anyone would mind if he played the call to see if the bird would respond. We all agreed that it was probably worth a try. He played the call. Within moments the Sardinian Warbler was sat about a metre away on some gorse. It was so close that I could see every detail without binoculars. With binoculars, you could see straight into the depths of its deep , red eye. In that moment, I saw how I would die.

After leaving St Abbs I carried on north, stopping off to look at a drake Blue-Winged Teal which really was a lovely duck. If someone came up to me in the street and offered me one, I’d accept it. Lovely. I also saw a Ruddy Duck on a nearby Loch. I wonder when it’ll be the last year I see one of them?

I saw a Daurian Shrike at Flamborough, my fourth shrike species. I could happily watch shrikes forever. Apparently the Daurian Shrike is also known as the ‘Bush-Murderer’, ‘Executioner Sentry-bird’, ‘Shiv-beak’ and ‘Sandy Shank-bill’. All of those names are made up.

I attended yet another job interview, this time in Bedfordshire. Surprisingly, I got the job. This necessitated several trips to be made between Yorkshire and Bedfordshire. On one of these trips I decided to stop off in Nottinghamshire to try and see a Hoopoe. I can’t really be bothered to write the full story down, and you’re probably getting tired of reading this by now. Gosh, I’ve written… 2,749 words. That’s too many. Anyway, long story short, there were several birders looking for the Hoopoe for a few hours. No sign of it, people thought it must have left. I was getting ready to give in myself, but I just thought I’d try walking down one last path before I did. As I did so, I almost stepped on a Hoopoe. Honestly, I was walking through some longer grass and it came up from the grass less than a metre ahead of me. My heart nearly stopped, and in that moment I saw my own death. The Hoopoe landed a few metres down the path, and I spent about half an hour watching it feed and erect its crest and do other such Hoopoe-y things. All the time I kept telling myself that I should probably alert some other birders, but I found it impossible to leave it. Eventually another birder came down the path, and I was able to tell them, and they were able to tell everyone else.

Later that same day, after running various errands in Bedfordshire, I stopped off once again at the abandoned greenhouses where I had seen the firebugs earlier in the month. This time there were a lot more of the bugs visible, as well as a Muntjac ambling through the abandoned greenhouses. I decided to follow it, and in doing so I disturbed a bird from the roof beams, which flew the length of the greenhouse before flying into a window and knocking itself out. It was a Little Owl, and I was able to spend the next hour holding it until it got its wits together enough to fly off. It was awesome.

Whilst I was in Bedfordshire, news came through of a Siberian Stonechat on my patch in Scarborough. Luckily it hung around a few days, long enough for me to get back to Scarborough and go see it in between packing up all my stuff. My third life-bird seen on my patch in 2013. Pretty good.

November

In November I saw the Rosefinch at Carnaby, near Bridlington. I got very good views of it, though I’d love to see one in summer plumage one day. I remember thinking as I drove away that this would likely be the last bird I saw in Yorkshire for quite some time. By the middle of November, I had moved to my new place in Bedfordshire.

However, about two weeks after moving to Bedfordshire, I drove back up to Yorkshire for my sister’s birthday, which gave me enough time to see the Serin at Flamborough. A lovely bird, and the fact that we had to spend an hour looking and waiting for it made it seem all the more special when we finally got to see it. As we drove away, I remember thinking it would likely be the last new bird I saw in Yorkshire for quite some time.

December

I saw my 800th UK species. It was this marvelous Heather Ladybird found at James’ place of business. He had already thrown a business card and asked it to “pow-wow” over an espresso before I realised it was something new.

One weekend in December, after I got my first payment from work, I decided to drive back up to Yorkshire. This decision had nothing to with the fact that if I went slightly out of my way I could have a chance at seeing Parrot Crossbills in Nottinghamshire, and Two-Barred Crossbills in South Yorkshire. Oh yeah it did lol.

I arrived at Budby at dawn, and immediately met up with a few other birders that were walking onto the common where the Parrot Crossbills had been seen the day before. There must have been about 35 birders present, all wandering around quite a large area. No-one had seen anything yet. I decided to stand in the middle of the common, near to a group of birders who were waiting by a puddle in the hope that the parrots would come and drink. I had spent the night before listening to the difference between Common Crossbill and Parrot Crossbill, so I decided to sit on a fence with my eyes closed and simply listen. After about ten minutes I heard a noise. It sounded like crossbills – but also, not quite like crossbills… “I can hear crossbills” I announced to the other birders present. No one seemed to hear me, except a birder that looked like an evil Simon Pegg. He listened as well. “Yeah” he said, “crossbills”. The sounds were getting nearer, and it was clear that the call was noticeably different from Common Crossbill. Suddenly a flock of Parrot Crossbills swooped into a nearby tree. We got fantastic views and I was really delighted at how noticeably different they sounded and looked.

Triumphant, I moved onto South Yorkshire, where within an hour I saw the Two-Barred Crossbills. If forced to choose, I’d say that Two-Barred Crossbills look better than Parrot Crossbills. In fact, I’d say that even if I wasn’t forced to choose. They look very, very good. I was also able to add Brett Richards to my year list. I thought I was going to miss him this year. As I was getting up to leave, someone mentioned the Parrot Crossbills in Nottinghamshire. I chipped in saying that they’d been showing very well that morning. Brett Richards turned his gaze on me and asked me where abouts they were. As I stammered out some rough directions, I looked into those eyes, sunk in his grizzled face, and in that instant I knew how I was going to die. As I drove away from Broomhead reservoir, I thought to myself that they would likely be the last birds I saw in Yorkshire for quite some time.

During my last week of work before Christmas, it became apparent that the Ivory Gull in East Yorkshire was hanging around. I shook my head sadly, for I no longer lived in Yorkshire. Luckily it hung around until I finished work for Christmas, and I was able to go and see with Robert and Jenna. It was great. Probably the best gull I’ve seen? Err… Yeah. Ivory at the top, then Iceland (the long-stayer in Scarborough harbour 2010-2011), then Glaucous, then Sabine’s, then Kumlien’s, then Kittiwake, then Mediterranean, then Great Black-Backed, then Lesser Black-Backed, then Herring, then Black Headed, then Yellow-Legged, then, at the very bottom, Caspian.

After seeing the Ivory Gull we went to North Cave and saw a Green-Winged Teal. I don’t know why. I’d seen one before. I didn’t need to put myself through that again. Ha ha! I jest. It was lovely. I really do fancy seeing a hybrid Common Teal x Green-Winged though.

After Christmas we drove up to Filey and showed Jess her first Harbour Porpoise. We also saw the largest flock of Snow Bunting I’ve ever seen – there must have been about 60 birds – which beats out the second largest flock I’ve seen in Yorkshire by about 59 birds. Then we saw some very distant Velvet Scoters. I remember thinking, as I drove back to Bedfordshire the other day, that they would likely be the last new bird I saw in Yorkshire for quite some time.

So yeah, that was 2013. I’ve probably forgotten to write several other great things down that happened. In fact here are a couple of pictures that I didn’t manage to mention earlier:

Purple Hairstreak:

Dark Bordered Beauty:

Here’s hoping 2014 isn’t a massive, underwhelming let-down.

Finally, I want everyone who reads this to think of the happy times they had with Richard Griffiths. You’ll sleep forever in our hearts, you avuncular cherub you.

P.S While not wanting to ruin the surprise, I can say that James’ death will not include a bathtub like so many of us predicted.

Snails, Planes and Automobiles

That is the worst blog title ever. There are no planes. And while cars are used, they play no pivotal role. I haven’t even seen the film. I’m rather upset with myself now.

As per usual, it has been a disgusting amount of time since the last post, but this is a tradition for 90% of nature blogs and I’m a stickler for tradition. So this means I have to round up everything from the last 2 months. I’m not going to. I’ll write about one trip.

Buckinghamshire. 

Exciting, right?

Well it was. We got to drive through Slough. I’m struggling to think of a more appropriate location for wildlife.

While down for a birthday party, James happened to notice a sign for a National Trust owned-estate called Cliveden. Apparently everybody had already heard of this place except for me. James thusly informed that it has the only mainland UK colony for the Cliveden snail, otherwise known as Papillifera bidens. Apparently somebody at the National Trust didn’t have enough gold ingots to weight down their laser powered jets skis, meaning they were asking for an uncomfortably large sum of money for entrance. “Pish” we said to them, and we began to plan our heist.
Gathered round a large table, lit dimly by gas lamp, we squinted at a map of the Cliveden estate. Would we make our way in with wire cutters or hop the perimeter hoping the guards wouldn’t spot us tumbling to the ground? Should we slip valium in to the guard dog’s food? Or entice security into a darkened corner using a feather boa and red lipstick before rendering them unconscious with an ether-soaked rag?
Instead we decided to park outside the estate and walk in through the exit. Which worked surprisingly well. This was only done after trying two different entrances, being permitted access to the car park then panicking and leaving again. We also found a muntjac skull while trying to find a public footpath that would let us over a fence.
If you wish to hire us to break into art galleries and museums please leave a comment below.

Once in we meandered through, waiting for a broad chested constable to tap us on the shoulders and escort us off the premises, possibly tugging on our ears before throwing us through a door which slams as we hit the ground. It didn’t take much time to find the Borghese balustrade which houses the desired molluscs. It took even less time to find the snails. You can see one below. In fact, I’ll spoil you all and put a picture of two there.

After photographing the little blighters, James gave a brief guided tour of the snails to some interested onlookers, which sort of paid back our trespassing. As we left I heard an elderly gentleman say “I’m going to take some of these home for my garden”. ANOTHER HEIST. Quite the influence we had over them.

We then partied heartedly.

Our journey back to the north was pit-stopped by a cavalcade of introduced species.

First port of call was Letchworth Garden City.  They have their own brand of melanistic grey squirrel. We saw one. It was quite nice. Also muntjac, which are nifty things.

Next stop was a place called Beeston in Bedfordshire. This place has an introduced firebug living in a series of abandoned greenhouses, which I believe is a nature reserve of sorts. It didn’t take much looking on some mallow to get an assortment of ages. Also found were roesel’s bush cricket and dock bug (the latter being new for the pair of us).

We then took a long shot at my behest. Midwife toads. This was wildly unsuccessful. WILDLY.

Then we tried for some ruddy shelduck in Northamptonshire. We read about a reservoir which had a small flock. Turns out the reservoir was the size of the county, and the residents have become aquatic. We didn’t see a shelduck.

With the sun careening below the horizon we got to our final destination for the final beams of light. Worksop Priory has a colony of harvestmen. Bizarrely, no one knows what species. Even more bizarrely, they are found throughout mainland Europe and still, no one knows what species. The most I can find is that they are a member of Leiobunum and probably introduced from somewhere non-European. They are also massive, as demonstrated by one sat on this massive arm.

Highlights/Lowlights

I really should try to come up with a subject for a post, but instead I’ll try to recap the last 2 months worth of activities.

Patch League

Trundling along as ever, like Hannibal’s elephants.

Some rather surprising records have been gathered. Africa‘s juvenile nuthatch was particularly odd. If you aren’t from East Yorkshire you are probably thinking to yourself “Nuthatch? Highlight? I’ve stood on twelve as I walked to my car, laughing as their puny avian bones crunched under my enormous primate feet. Ha”. But we are somewhat lacking in nuthatch. Probably because we have about 6 oak trees in the county. That’s an estimate obviously, it’s probably significantly less.

James has rock pools on his patch so he just has to offer a pint of blood and hair to Poseidon  once a week and he magically gathers hundreds of lobsters. It’s unfair really.

My personal peak was a little ringed plover feeding on the banks of the river. It shouldn’t have been there and without having seen it since I can only presume it has learnt it’s lesson.

I’m already plotting next years patch league. Can things be improved? I’d like an easier way to tally up species counts, as everybody has there own way of spreadsheeting, and not all of them are amazingly helpful. I’m ungrateful swine really.

Moth surprises

The year was 2013, late June if memory serves me correct. Someone was sitting on the throne and two litre bottles of pepsi were at their cheapest ever price. Heady days they were, salad days in fact. I arrived home from my office doldrums to be told of a creature seen in my partner’s parent’s garden. “Like a moth but waspy” was the description. I inquired as to were it was seen. “On the currant bushes”. My heart went a flutter. I regretted selling my fainting couch. I regretted taking my tightening my corset even more that afternoon. I surmised that a currant clearwing had been seen. After seeing a picture of the wee critter it was confirmed. So I went to see them on the next warm and found this:

Going at it like drunks at a wedding. Or parisians in a back alley. Or something else foul.

North Yorkshire

Having finished an extended chunk of office misery, I deemed a holiday was in order. Where did I go you might wonder? The jungles of West Africa? The plains of America? Scarborough? It was the last one. I went to Scarborough. I really can’t afford the others. Despite the less than ideal weather I had a fine time, seeing several new orchids (the whores of the flower world) and bothering some butterflies.

White Letter Hairstreak

Saw one in Hull. It can be added to list of nice things in Hull. I’m up to 5 nice things in hull now. This was another:

Hair We Go Again!

Nonsensical blog-post title! Hooray!

Yesterday I received a text from the Scarborough Bird Alert. I forget exactly what it said, but in essence it listed a hearty list of pleasant-but-not-unusual birds and then, at the end of the message, almost as an afterthought, was the sentence ‘Oh yeah and a dead Minke Whale at Holbeck and stuff’.

I was galvanised into action. “Helen” I hollered, “Helen! There’s a dead whale on the beach – do you want to go see it”. Helen stoically agreed.

We dashed to the car and set off, getting almost immediately stuck in traffic due to there being a suicidalist on valley bridge. After a hefty delay, the traffic was diverted, and I managed to park up near Holbeck.

Unfortunately, as the tide was on the way in, it was impossible to walk along the beach to actually see the whale close up, but it was possible to have a decent view through binoculars. I was also able to get distant grainy photos:

The tide wasn’t high enough to refloat the whale and drag it back to the depths; all the waves managed to do was move it further up the shore.

Whilst watching the whale shifting in the surf, I spotted a couple of cheeky Med Gulls on the sea:

Eventually it reached high tide, and realising the Minke wasn’t going to float off, we returned home.

On the drive home, however, I was struck by a beast of an idea. If the tide was high now (19.20) then it would be low again in a mere six hours! (1.20 am ish). In fact, the tide would probably be low enough for us to access the whale by 23.00 hours or so. I proposed this idea to Helen, who agreed that it was possibly the best idea I’ve ever had.

I spent the next few hours gathering torches and deciding on what appropriate clothing to wear. Then, when the allotted time arrived, we set off.

Arriving at Holbeck it was possible to notice the light of quite a few torches on the beach. Clearly, several people had experienced the same brainwave. A short wander along the shore brought us the the tremendous corpse of the behemoth, with a small crowd milling around and taking photographs. There was almost a carnival atmosphere in the air (I’ve never been to a carnival). I then set about photographing the entire creature:

The ‘Throat’

The ‘Middle’

The ‘Lower End’

The ‘Fluke’

I was pleased to see that it hadn’t taken long for people to start throwing stones at rathjer swollen portions of its anatomy:

The ‘Mouth’

The ‘Eye’

The ‘Swollen Tongue’

The ‘Fin’

The ‘Blowhole’

The ‘Dorsal Fin’

Pretty lazy post this really; it’s mostly just pictures. Though I will add a fact about Minke Whales which is one of my favourite facts of all time – Minke whales might be named after a Norwegian whaler called Meincke, who mistook one for a Blue Whale. You can imagine it, can’t you? All those Norwegian whalers. Every time they saw a Minke they’d be all “Hey, Meincke, there’s another one of your ‘Blue Whales’ LOLOL”. And then, eventually, they’d just start calling them Meincke Whales. Wonderful fact.

Oh and one more picture, me in sad contemplation of the whale:

Contemplation

Bye!

Leech update & patch update.

Hello dear readers!

First I must update you on all the leechy business that’s been going on. I bled pretty much continuously from the wound until today. I peeled off the bandage this morning and the wound had finally clotted. Success! I thought, and went to have a shower. In the shower I absent-mindedly scraped it open again with the pouf, and bled everywhere, but it did clot shut again within the hour. It seems that most of the anticoagulant has now left my system/stopped affecting me.

Here is a picture of the puncture for you to enjoy – note the delightful purplish bruising radiating from the wound:

So hopefully it’s all gravy from here on out. Unless I, hilariously, get a terrible blood disease. Can you imagine my face if that happened!? Ha ha!

Also patch has been going on. I am not actually aware of how well I am doing in the rankings – I tend not to tot up my total in case I scare some of the records away – but I imagine I’m probably hovering around 250 species for patch, which probably places me below Richard and Africa and not far away from Robert, who has been really racking the species up lately. I imagine we are probably quite close to each other. I could check, but then where’s the mystery?

Have I seen anything interesting on patch? Yes. For example, here is a Red-Backed Shrike, which I believe to be a member of a special subspecies, characterised by blurriness:

Not a species I was expecting on patch, an utter delight to behold. I also found a colony of Dingy Skippers, which surprised me, on the abandoned Kinderland site. Not what you’d call a common butterfly, really. My ‘The Butterflies of Yorkshire’ book seems to indicate they are less common than Marbled White in Yorkshire, so quite a nice species to find. They were very active, so the slightly out-of-focus shot below is the best I got:

Yesterday I decided to run the moth trap, as it was a warm, humid and breezy night. There was nothing in it when I went to bed, but when I got up this morning at 4.00am to check on it, there were a few bits and pieces, almost all new for patch. I mean, these weren’t the kind of hauls one might expect from, say, my parent’s garden, but they are certainly better than being poked in the eye with a sharp stick.

Brimstone Moth:

Common Swift:

Grey Dagger agg. (As an agg., it won’t be appearing on my patch list)

Freyer’s Pug (A lifer! My 10th pug and 418th lepidopteran on my life list)

Rustic Shoulder Knot:

The micro moth Caloptilia syringella:

Also Spectacle, The Flame, Scalloped Hazel, Large Yellow Underwing, Garden Carpet & Bright-Line Brown-Eye as new species, as well as a Light Brown Apple Moth which I saw for the first time last week, and a horrible tatty pug. I’m not the biggest fan of pugs, I admit.

I also got this stunning Elephant Hawkmoth:

So pretty good night, in all. 12 new species for patch, with one micro I’m still working on.

I can’t think of a witty blog post title to do with leeches.

James writes like this, Robert like this

Hey hey hey! As almost none of our readers are aware, I have, for the past year and a half, been in possession of a medicinal leech (Hirudo medicinalis, presumably, but possibly not). Why have I? Well, I have been enamoured with the idea of leeches for a long time. I remember as a young boy visiting the deserted medieval village at Wharram Percy (this must have been in the late 90’s) with my parents and grandparents. Somebody had brought a net, and we engaged in that most enjoyable of pastimes, pond-dipping. Suddenly I spied an eel swimming out of a bank of weed and towards us. I called my father, who promptly netted it. It wasn’t an eel. It was, in fact, a tremendous leech. This should really have been obvious to me earlier, as a leech swims with an obvious up-and-down motion, as opposed to the side-to-side motion of the eel. We put the leech in a container and watched it. My dad suggested we put it in my grandparent’s pond, a suggestion they declined to act upon. Eventually we let it go, and it swam off back into the weed.

It was only several years later that I started to wonder exactly what type of leech it had been. From the size of it, I judged it must have been a medicinal leech. However, further research revealed that medicinal leeches had been declared extinct in the UK in 1910. Since 1910 small populations had been rediscovered, but as this report from 1996 states, ‘The medicinal leech has been recorded from only 16 sites post-1970 and 13 sites post-1980 in England, it is noteworthy that 7 of these sites are confined to a small area of Kent and another 4 sites are in Cumbria’. What were the chances that my family had rediscovered a medicinal leech in Yorkshire? And we had no photos or other evidence to prove it, even so. I thought perhaps I was mistaken, and I had maybe seen a horse leech instead.

Fast forward to 2011 – I found a horse leech in a pool amongst the sand dunes at Theddlethorpe in Lincolnshire. As soon as I saw it I knew that this wasn’t the leech I had seen in my childhood – it hadn’t the sheer bulk, the colours were different, it swam differently. I was now convinced I had seen a medicinal leech – so much so I added it to my personal species list (which shows just how certain I am). I returned to Wharram and attempted to see if leeches were still there. The pond was much more overgrown and weedy, and my thrashing in the water failed to attract anything. I checked the NBN gateway map for medicinal leech and found two records near York, both on Strensall Common, one from the 40’s and one from the 50’s. Nothing from the area where I saw one. Perhaps they are extinct there too, now?

Anyway, all my research about leeches just interested me further, so I acquired a couple in the September of 2011. Leeches can go a very long time between meals, so in theory I could keep them for months without having to worry about feeding them. One of the leeches passed away suddenly after a few months, however, leaving a solitary leech. A few months later that leech died too. Its body was very intact, so I kept in the jar on my desk for a month or so. The leech then came back to life on day, which surprised me. The leech continued surviving until the present day. It is sat in its sweet jar on my desk as I write this. Last week, as I watched the leech, I realised that in the 20 months it had been in my possession it had not eaten anything. I wondered how much longer it could go without sustenance, and a small spark of an idea that had been sat at the back of my mind for the past year burst into flames. You see, I kind of wanted to know what it would be like to have a leech feed from oneself, and the leech was undoubtedly hungry. Two birds with one stone.

So yesterday I ladled the leech out of the jar, and plopped it on my arm. It immediately fastened both the head end and the rear end to my arm and lay there. I couldn’t feel anything. For the first half hour it sat there, not seeming to do anything. I knew that they secreted anaesthetic chemicals, but I would have assumed I would have felt something. Then, whilst watching something on the computer, I felt a sting, like a nettle. This lasted for a few seconds, then passed. A minute or so later this happened again. This continued happening, on and off, for the next hour. In retrospect, it didn’t hurt very much, but I was very aware that the small amount of pain I was feeling was caused by the three jaws of the leech working their way into my arm, which made me feel a bit weird. So weird, in fact, that I decided to lie down on the floor as my legs felt a bit strange. My head felt very buzzy and odd, and I lost conciousness for a short while. (I have fainted once before in the past whilst getting injections; I assume this was due to the same reason – being a big wuss). When I awoke I felt much more clear-headed, and the leech was still fastened to my arm. Enjoy a picture:

As you can see, at this point the leech is still quite small. The ‘head’ is the upper end of the leech, the one nearer my wrist. In the background you can see a small fraction of my collection of shark eggs. Lucky you!

An hour later the leech was noticeably bigger:

I started to wonder about the positioning of the leech’s body – I think that the way it fastens on with its rear end so near the head might be a strategy to reduce pain – and thus discovery – for the animal it is feeding on. I walked around the house a good bit whilst feeding the leech, and I thought that if the leech was purely attached by the head, then my motion and the weight of the leech would probably cause an unpleasant tugging sensation, possibly even pain. The rear end of the leech thus takes some of the ‘strain’, as it were. The leech started to get very large indeed. I started to worry that when it was satiated, it might just let go and drop off me and burst on the floor like blood-filled balloon. I’m pretty sure it wouldn’t (there will an evolutionary strategy in place, I’m sure) but I thought maybe I should sit down with it until it was done. It was then I noticed that my movement and the weight of the leech had caused the seal it had formed with its mouth to part slightly, and blood was beginning to bead there:

I thought the leech must be close to completion. I was mistaken. Half an hour later:

Half an hour after that:

Eventually, after five and a half hours, I decided the leech had had enough. I had a quick google to see the best way of removing them, and found that using something thin to break the seal around the mouth and rear end should probably cause it to detach. Using a the end of a pair of tweezers, I did so. The rear end was much easier than the front end:

But shortly the front end released as well:

You can’t see very well in that picture, but the incision the leech made is ‘Y’ shaped. I tried to get a picture, but it was bleeding too freely to get a shot of it. I put the leech back in its jar – fat and happy – and went to wash my arm. Now, in addition to injecting you with anaesthetics, a leech also pumps in a chemical called hirudin, an anticoagulant which stops the blood from clotting. This means my arm just kept bleeding and bleeding. I strapped a rudimentary bandage to my arm and went back to my computer. Unfortunately I didn’t notice when the blood soaked completely through the bandage and all over my desk:

I decided to have a bath, and then find a more substantial bandage. I never thought I’d post a picture of my dirty bathwater on the internet, but I thought this was good enough to share:

The flash actually bleached some of the colour out of that picture. It looked a lot redder in reality. I dried my arm, ruined a towel, and made a new bandage with kitchen roll and packing tape. I then went to bed, half expecting to wake up in a bed covered with blood.

I awoke this morning not covered in blood. I inspected the bandage. No sign of blood soaking through. I wondered if the anticoagulant effect had worn off, so I peeled back the bandage to check. As soon as I did so, the puncture began to run with blood again. I am now sat here with my third bandage on, presumably still pumped full of hirudin, and hoping that the bleeding will stop reasonably soon. The internet says 24 – 48 hours, so I’m getting towards half way through that. Pretty good blog post eh? Interesting anyway.

Oh, if you don’t like blood or anything you probably shouldn’t read or look at anything above. Ha ha!

Every fiber of my being wants to write “James died 1 minute after this post was completed.” but because I’m sensible I won’t do that.

Chambers Farm Wood and the M-Fritz

Some time ago, possibly 100 years ago, while avoiding the draft or some such nonsense we visited Chambers Farm Wood in the darkest depths of Lincolnshire. With a vague plan of action over what we would like to see, we crossed the bridge, paid the troll’s toll, and had a pleasant enough day.

On the meadow, I was giving plants a good looking over, as is my want. This dinky fellow was new to me, the tormentil.

Whilst I basked in the tiny yellow flower’s glory, a holler from a nearby gentleman informed us of our target species, the marsh fritillary.

Some Victorians, back in Victorian days, concocted a system by which certain butterflies are called by different names once they are seen. So if you come across a duke of burgundy on your travels, you may refer to it as ‘His Grace’ (and only if you have seen it). Typical Victorian behaviour, probably thought up whilst watching Victorian television and writing Victorian raps. Following our Victorian forefathers, we have now dubbed the marsh Fritillary ‘M-Fritz’, and it shall it only be referred to as such once you’ve cast your ghoulish eyes over it’s presence.

Our second target for the day was the broad bordered bee hawk-moth. Unfortunately, it evaded us. Probably because it has an absurdly convoluted name. Once it sorts it’s act out we’ll give it another go. However whilst searching for the BBBHM (that’s better) I found this flower.

It took me bloody ages to work it out what it was. So long, I didn’t actually work it out myself and someone else told me what is was. The wood aven will stick with me for a while, and I shall use it as reminder of my own short-comings, like a wound from battle.

Chambers Farm Wood is bloody lovely and like all bloody lovely places it has a lot of insects. I don’t have much to say about them besides they look pretty, the sawfly being a highlight.