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UPDATE: Breeding season 2023. In 2022, I mentioned the hope and possibility of Glossies breeding in the UK. This happened in 2023.
I’ve mentioned the Glossy Ibis many times before, there are still several in and around our local patch and almost 200 estimated to be across the British Isles. There were just four at a place where I’ve seen seven recently, but that’s fine. Four is better than zero.
They were all looking rather glossy, which is presumably in time for the breeding season. Whether or not these birds actually breed here is another matter. There is a breeding colony in Spain, but this African/Mediterranean species has been extending its range and hanging around the British Isles recently, but no reports of breeding or attempts at breeding just yet.
Maybe 2022 could be the year for it! Certainly, other recent acquisitions like Cattle, Great White, and Little Egret are in on the act.
I’ve talked about the Common, or Eurasian, Crane on the Sciencebase site before, there are increasing numbers of this bird to be seen on our East Anglian patch, and that’s a very positive, natural thing.
There is something quite primaeval about the species. Snapped here with a 600mm Sigma zoom on 2/3 crop sensor Canon 7Dii from about 370 metres. I didn’t know ahead of the visit that they were even there and snapped them when I saw them and left them to their own devices.
Aperture f/8 shutter speed 1/1579s, ISO 1000. RAW image imported with Rawtherapee, denoised and sharpened in Topaz DeNoize AI, and final output tweaked with PaintShop Pro. Cropped to 40% original pixel-width.
TL:DR – We saw an otter preening on the banks of a local waterway in early Spring 2022. Also a pun or two from friend of the blog, Patrick C.
A road that crosses the River Great Ouse a short way north of our village has the fabulous name of Twentypence Road. Downstream of the river is the Twentypence Marina where often you might espy Kingfishers darting about from branch to reed. Indeed, we parked up ahead of a country walk there and saw two within a couple of minutes of getting out of the car.
Upstream of the bridge is a nice walk that can take you along the edge of farmland to walk on the flood bank or you can head back towards our village along the Cottenham Lode. There is also a fishing lake surrounded by trees, which is often good for various bird species and beyond is a growing herd of roe deer to be stalked. However, today we took the north bank of the river and headed for the footpath beyond the riverside cottage.
It was in front of the cottage that I spotted a creature cleaning itself on the riverbank. An otter, or more precisely Lutra lutra, the repeated word, a tautonym, implying this species is the “archetype” of the Lutra genus. The species is often called the European or Eurasian Otter and sometimes that is qualified as River Otter to separate it from the Sea Otter. Anyway, it was a surprise to see it out in the open rather than simply catching a glimpse at a distance of a head ducking under the water. It made my day, as one might say.
Incidentally, otters are fairly closely related to weasels and stoats but also to seals, seals are certainly closer genetically speaking to otters than they are to dogs with which they are often compared.
Incidentally, my great friend Patrick tells a nice joke on this topic.
Patrick: Had a lovely chicken tarka at the curry house last night
Me: Sounds delicious, but don’t you mean a chicken tikka?
Patrick: No, it’s like a chicken tikka, but a little otter!
Me: Oh
Patrick: Had an onion budgie as a side
Me: Nice, but surely you mean an onion bhaji
Patrick: No, it’s like an onion bhaji, but a little cheeper…cheaper…cheeper, geddit? Ah, never mind…
Me: When was the last time you went clubbing?
Patrick: Aloo bangain?
Me: No idea, the songs all sound the same these days
Patrick: No, bangain bharta!
Me: I don’t care how much you haggled on the price to get in
Patrick: Naan?
Me: Don’t be silly, she prefers a tea dance
Patrick: Paneer tikka masala
Me: What she does in the privacy of her own home is none of your business
UPDATE: October 2023. Despite recent heavy rains the patch of farmland, on which birders (Ian and Brendan) had ticked 160+ species, has remained unflooded so far this season. I suspect the drainage along the fields and/or the adjacent travellers’ site have been fixed. So, it was fun while it lasted and maybe it will happen again, but it seems that for the timebeing we are not going to have quite the birding on that patch as we did last winter and the previous couple of seasons, unfortunately. So much for creating a protected birdlife area.
Over the last year or more (2020-2022), a patch of farmland known, as Bullock’s Haste, which lies on the outskirts of our village has been perpetually flooded. Incredibly, over two winters it has attracted a greater and greater diversity of bird species who have spent time there feeding, preening, and roosting.
Two friends dedicated to the citizen science cause of birding (Brendan Doe and Ian Ellis) have observed and catalogued (on eBird) more than 150 species there in that time. I cannot claim to have seen even a fraction of that number there, although I have seen a good many of the “ticked” species in various other places and several of them at this site. There are a few other named spotters on the list who have ticked several species, but Doe and Ellis have done the bulk of this excellent work.
Here’s the list as it stands, in alphabetical order. I have removed terms such as Eurasian, European, Northern, and Western from these vernacular names to simplify things. You can visit the eBird list to get alternative formats. As you will see, there are a few fairly rare and unusual visitors on the list:
Arctic Tern
Barn Owl
Barn Swallow
Bewick’s Swan
Blackbird
Blackcap
Black-headed Gull
Black-tailed Godwit
Blue Tit
Brambling
Bullfinch
Buzzard
Canada Goose
Carrion Crow
Caspian Gull
Cetti’s Warbler
Chaffinch
Chiffchaff
Coal Tit
Collared Dove
Coot
Corn Bunting
Cuckoo
Curlew
Curlew Sandpiper
Dunlin
Dunnock
Egyptian Goose
Fieldfare
Gadwall
Garden Warbler
Garganey
Glossy Ibis
Goldcrest
Golden Plover
Goldfinch
Goosander
Great Black-backed Gull
Great Cormorant
Great Crested Grebe
Great Spotted Woodpecker
Great Tit
Great White Egret
Green Sandpiper
Green Woodpecker
Greenfinch
Greenshank
Green-winged Teal
Grey Heron
Grey Partridge
Grey Plover
Grey Wagtail
Greylag Goose
Greylag Goose (Domestic type) x Canada Goose (hybrid)
Greylag x Canada Goose (hybrid)
Hawfinch
Hen Harrier
Herring Gull
Hobby
House Martin
House Sparrow
Iceland Gull
Jack Snipe
Jackdaw
Jay
Kestrel
Kingfisher
Lapwing
Lesser Black-backed Gull
Lesser Redpoll
Lesser Whitethroat
Linnet
Little Egret
Little Grebe
Little Owl
Little Ringed Plover
Little Stint
Long-tailed Tit
Magpie
Mallard
Marsh Harrier
Meadow Pipit
Mediterranean Gull
Merlin
Mistle Thrush
Moorhen
Mute Swan
Nuthatch
Oystercatcher
Pectoral Sandpiper
Peregrine Falcon
Pheasant
Pied Avocet
Pied Flycatcher
Pied Wagtail/White Wagtail
Pink-footed Goose
Pintail
Pochard
Raven
Red Kite
Red-crested Pochard
Red-legged Partridge
Redshank
Redwing
Reed Bunting
Reed Warbler
Ringed Plover
Robin
Rock Dove
Rock Pipit
Rook
Ruff
Sand tin
Sanderling
Sandpiper
Sedge Warbler
Shelduck
Shoveler
Siskin
Skylark
Snipe
Song Thrush
Sparrowhawk
Spoonbill
Spotted Flycatcher
Spotted Redshank
Starling
Stock Dove
Stonechat
Swift
Tawny Owl
Temminck’s Stint
Tern
Tree Pipit
Tufted Duck
Turtle Dove
Water Rail
Wheatear
Whimbrel
Whinchat
Whitethroat
Whooper Swan
Wigeon
Willow Warbler
Wood Sandpiper
Woodcock
Woodpigeon
Wren
Yellow Wagtail
Yellowhammer
Yellow-legged Gull
We ate the Spoonbill to extinction in the British Isles in the 17thC. But re-creating lost habitat, conservation work, and a reintroduction scheme is seeing their numbers crawling back.
North Norfolk is a good place to see them these days, but they’re also spreading their wings. Four have been present on one of our fenland nature reserves for weeks now, we saw them on a dull day back in the middle of winter. Kingfisher’s Bridge Nature Reserve.
Out of covid isolation at last, I thought I’d pay them another visit and was told by a birder (might have been a warden) that they weren’t around right now. Ten minutes later, two flew off the main lake and right over my head.
TL:DR – The LepiLED UV lamp is a rather useful, low-power and portable lure for use in citizen science with nocturnal Lepidoptera
UPDATE: Aug/Sep 22 – Have done a couple of trips with the LepiLED and a portable trap. First, to the New Forest and then to Corfe Castle. The first, August trip, was quite productive with a few decent moths and a couple that were new to me, such as Rosy Footman. Fewer moths on the September trip, as you’d expect, but again a couple of new ones, including L-album Wainscot and Tachystola acroxantha.
L-album Wainscot
UPDATE: Feb 22 – All set up and lit up on Friday evening at dusk just for a quick trial. The LepiLED is nice and bright and lasted several hours on the battery pack. However, the night was rather chilly, although the wind had dropped, there was very little visible invertebrate activity in the garden, sadly, and no moths seen. In previous years with fluorescent UV lamps, it has been the same, don’t tend to see any moths in February, activity picks up in mid-March.
Apparently, mothing became something of a lockdown hobby for nature fans who weren’t allowed to head out into their usual patch to watch birds, search for orchids, hug trees, etc. I can’t see I’ve heard much evidence that anyone who may have glanced at it as a hobby back in 2020 has kept up with it…let me know if you did and you have. Either way, I’ve been lighting up since July 2018 after being introduced to the idea by my good friend Rob that summer. It became something of an obsession and subsequent years and I’ve been keen to find ways to see new species each season. I’ve clocked and photographed well over 300 unique moth species in that time.
My German lepidopteral contact Gunnar Brehm of whom I’ve written a couple of times on here in the past has now supplied me with a LepiLED device. The device is basically a cluster of LED lights in a chunky protective canister made of ultraviolet-transparent borosilicate glass that is powered using a portable USB powerpack). It has three wavelength peaks for attracting nocturnal insects. Two peaks in the visible spectrum green (530 nanometres) and blue (450 nm), and a third, peak in the ultraviolet (365 nm). The associated research linked to the peak choice in the design can be found here.
Having spent the first four seasons (July 2018 onwards) of my scientific moth-trapping with conventional fluorescent UV tubes (the kind that are used, ironically, in bug zappers), I am very excited to have the opportunity to try a new approach with the lower power, tuned LepiLED device. The weather is not optimal at the moment, it’s very windy and we just had a squally hailstorm/snow shower. But, once I have set up the kit, I will start lighting up and report back to you with the countless specimens I see each evening as the moth season unfolds over the coming weeks.
I have now used an old actinic trap with its UV fluorescent tube removed to build a new rig for the LepiLED. As I mentioned, the lamp uses a USB power supply so should be portable, I can either hang it like it is in the above photo with a net sack added around the funnel (per Brehm’s field approach) to catch the moths or set it on the ground and use the box from the original trap with egg cartons as is traditional…I’ll try both at some point once the wind has died down and I’ve found a decent waterproof way to have the USB powerpack outside.
I did think about hashtagging this post as #SpawnHub but…
As regular Sciencebase readers will know, I re-dug our garden pond in May 2019 (you can read about Operation Sciencebase Pond here, #PondLife). We’ve always seen frogs in the garden even when the pond was filled, but in 2020 there were at least nine using the refreshed pond. Spring of 2021, we had our first spawn in years, noted it on the 5th March, although there may have been some that appeared earlier and sunk.
On 21st February 2022, Matt was in the garden after dark and noticed two pairs of frogs and a dollop of spawn. I took a quick snap of one pair. I know it’s not a big deal, but it is rather gratifying to see new life beginning to emerge thanks to one’s small-scale efforts at wilding a garden. Lot’s or ram’s horn aquatic snails visible in the pond after dark too.
I recommend anyone who has the space (and you don’t need a lot, a Belfast sink or old tin bathtub in a backyard would do) to create a wildlife pond. I am planning my seeding for the garden already having said goodbye to our “digger” in January. I am also hoping to create a sloped edge from the pond that has a slight incline to allow a swamp-type area to develop away from the house. This will provide even greater, smallscape diversity and potentially attract other flora and fauna to the garden. Who knows what might turn up or self-seed.
You can track the nationwide progress of frog spawning here.
TL:DR – I had a whimsical idea that some winter species of moth might be drawn to the whiteness of snowdrop flowers in the dark and so help pollinate these plants. It’s unlikely to be true.
Snowdrops are often considered the heralds of Spring, the first floral buds to open in woodland, churchyard, and garden. Spotting the first snowdrops of the year is often a challenge that has become something of a citizen science climate marker in recent years. We sometimes have a clump of the generic type, if there is such a thing, that pops up in a patio pot around this time of year, but other people report earlier appearances. Of course, there are also strains that naturally flower early too, just to confuse the picture. There were certainly a lot around in early February in various places I was walking and snapping.
Anglesey Abbey snowdrops
Of course, many readers will know all too well that there are many different species and strains of the Galanthus plant. Mrs Sciencebase and I often take the short trip to the National Trust’s Anglesey Abbey in the spring. It is perhaps the nearest place where we might see more than a few of the different types of snowdrop, species, strains, cultivars. Indeed, there’s a cultivar of the common snowdrop Galanthus nivalis, named for the “Abbey”.
Snowdrops generally have a pair of linear leaves sprouting from a subterranean bulb and usually produce a single droopy white flower with a bell shape. There are also wonderfully delicate green markings familiar to anyone who has taken a close look at those flowers. These vary considerably between the different types of snowdrop.
Incidentally, the emergence of green shoots in spring is known as vernalisation from the Latin for spring, vernalis, from where we also get the phrase vernal equinox. But, of course, closely linked to the Latin for green, viridis, from where we get verdant. Anyway, verdant features aside, the flowers of the snowdrop are fairly unusual in that they are mostly white unlike so many other flowers. They also tend to appear well before the northern vernal equinox, which falls on the 20th or 21st March each year.
But, why white, why not red, purple, yellow, blue or indeed any of myriad colours we see in the flowers of other plant species. There are lots of yellow and violet ground cover plants in the spring that bloom before the leaf buds open on the trees. Well, fundamentally, as lovely as we might find flowers, they’re not really meant for us. They evolved over millions of years to attract pollinators, creatures that would assist in the process of transferring pollen from one flower to the receptive parts of another so that fertilisation might occur, seed be set and new plants emerge. Pollinators tend to be invertebrates, bees, famously, but wasps too, butterflies and moths, beetles, flies, and various other types of insect as well as other creatures in less common instances.
Snowdrops emerge when it is rather cold and the earth frozen or even snow encrusted. The name of the most well-known snowdrop species, Galanthus nivalis, means “milk flower of the snow”. In ancient times it was called the white violet by Theophrastus in the 4th Century BCE. The name is not to be confused with the white spring violets, the snowflakes (Leucojum), which resemble the snowdrops but are at least twice as tall and differ in leaf structure.
The time when snowdrops emerge is a time when there are few pollinating insects on the wing with the exception of the odd, exploratory queen bumblebee and perhaps an occasional peacock butterfly emerging early from winter hibernation. Of course, it is worth noting that snowdrops are not native species to the British Isles and in other regions where it is native, Europe and the Middle East, its mileage may vary in terms of pollination opportunities.
There is evidence that while snowdrops do attract bumblebees and flies that pollinate, their downward drooping flowers evolved that drooping posture perhaps to protect them from bad weather. The delicate green markings, it seems, did evolve later to guide pollinators to the business end of the flower. That said, the plants do need pollinators and they do have flowers for that very purpose.
So, going back to the whiter than white nature of those flowers. There is a hypothesis that the reason the snowdrop has such bright white flowers is to attract nocturnal pollinators. Certain species of night-flying moth that might be around in the earliest days of the spring might be attracted to a glowing white apparition shimmering in a moonlit churchyard or woodland and feed on the nectar. In so doing they would, as do many other pollinators, inadvertently pick up pollen on their bodies and transport it unwittingly from flower to flower. Unfortunately, this seems like an almost mythical hypothesis and at the time of writing I have not yet found much evidence to suggest that moths are attracted in this way or indeed that snowdrops glow in the dark at all!
Maybe they mistyped and were after OSRS, meaning Orbital Structural Reference System. They may have got it back to front and were after RES/OS, defined in the US Navy as Reserve-Out of Service.
Perhaps the visitors hit the s instead of the d and they were actually looking for something historical: Osred I of Northumbria (c. 697 – 716), king of Northumbria or perhaps Osred II of Northumbria, (789 to 790).
I thought perhaps that it was a given name as I found at least one Facebook account with Osres used before a surname…who knows?
My very good friend, photographer Diana Sanders took a lovely shot of a yellow crocus growing wild near her home. She posted the photo to acclaim on her Facebook describing it as:
Like a candle flame amongst the dead leaves. If we get any more hard frosts it won't look so cheerful, though.
The Feral Crocus (Photo by Diana Sanders)
It triggered me to write a short poem:
The Feral Crocus
A feral crocus nestles among the long-dead leaves
A glimmer of hope, a tiny, shining candle of life
Its flame burns bright among those oaken thieves
Their dew can’t steal this golden light
But Arctic winds might rustle those chilling leaves
And times are hard and so could be the frost
The dew that’s stilled will begin to freeze
And snuff that flame then forever lost
Still, there is hope as it is overcast
The cloud-filled skies blanket all below
The bloom won’t face an icy blast
And tomorrow, we can bask in that feral crocus glow
