Plover Appreciation Day

Dunno who invents these World insert something here Days, but they all seem rather spurious to me. As far as I can tell it's World Something Day every day, and days specifically for Plovers (today), or Laughter (May 1), Star Wars (take a wild guess), or Pancakes (variable.....) seem a little bit lame. Why isn't there a Wheatear Appreciation Day for instance? We could have 365 of them. Still, Plovers are nice birds, and it's not like I need much of an excuse to roll out a blog post overflowing with photos, and trawling the archives it seems that I do have quite a few images of Plovers tucked away. So here are a few for you to, er, appreciate I suppose. I think it would be better to have World non-appreciate days, hate days if you will. Hatred of Chickpeas Day would be my starter for ten. Or International Dog-free Day, where no dogs were allowed out of their houses. International Dog-free Week sounds better actually. Month perhaps? At my work we have Global Volunteer Month, so there's precedent....

Semipalmated Plover

Spur-winged Plover

Piping Plover

Pacific Golden Plover

American Golden Plover

Dotterel

Wilson's Plover

White-tailed Plover

Isabelline Plover

Red-wattled Lapwing

Ringed Plover

European Golden Plover (pre-Brexit)

Hawai'i. What's not to like?

I recently attempted one of my boldest (stupidest - Ed.) travel marathons - Kaua'i for a long weekend. When you say it like that it sounds daft, and of course on many/all levels it is completely idiotic. Why travel 7,000 miles only to stay for such a short time? Well, because I knew I would really really enjoy it. And I did. A lot. And with the exception of work, I don't put any effort into things I don't enjoy a great deal. It's certainly true that getting to Hawai'i requires quite a lot of effort - a lot of sitting still mostly, which for me actually is an effort. Naturally I got myself there in almost the least efficient manner possible, going via Dublin to Washington where I spent a very nice evening with my Aunt and Uncle. The following morning I flew to Los Angeles, and there enjoyed a day on the beach photographing various waders and birding some wetlands. Only later that evening did I finally start off across the Pacific, a dull flight if ever there was one, arriving in Lihue at about 8pm. I picked up my car - an indulgent Mustang convertible - and by 9pm was safely installed in my bungalow next to the ocean, fully two days after I had first left home.

Yours truly at Wailua

I didn't do much really. The first day was a huge hike into the native forests above 3000ft to look for endemic Honeycreepers which was only moderately successful due to somewhat trying weather (ie birding in a cloud at 5200ft), but I also made time to chill out, including a fantastic swim in the surf out on the west side as the sun set, with Red-footed Boobies flying around and futher offshore a huge passage of Shearwaters. I cooked my dinner on the beach and then spent a great deal of that evening lying in a hammock drinking cold beer and looking at the stars, the depth and breadth of which are totally epic in Hawai'i, even more so when you come from London. The next day I cleaned up on all the non-Honeycreeper endemics, went sea-watching and enjoyed brilliant views of two species of Tropicbirds, ate superb spicy fish tacos and bought myself a silly shirt. And then I came home in one hit and went straight to work.

A sturdy hammock that I got into easily but later struggled to get out of elegantly.

Silly? Probably. Worth it? Emphatically. I had a brilliant time, enjoyed every second of it. I might even go again, that's how good it was. The whole island smelled of nectar, of tropical vines and flowers - a constant sweet breeze. It was warm, and in the lowlands at least, wonderfully sunny. There were birds everywhere, albeit a rather strange mix of global species, and I went to sleep with the sound of crashing waves. I got woken up by the progeny of Red Junglefowl, and Cattle Egrets and PGPs stalked my lawn whilst White-rumped Shamas flicked in the trees above. I'll do a full trip report in due course, albeit that there wasn't a great deal of birding. Hawaiian Coot and Hawaiian Duck deserve special mention of course, fascinating birds that I went out of my way to chalk up, and I've finally seen a Nene that isn't a pet. 

In other news there is lots more to come in what has so far been a bit of a productive month for writing things down and hitting publish. Family holidays to Budapest, Vienna and a cheese run to Bordeaux all deserve a mention, there are multiple botanical updates, I'm not sure I've finished with NY waders yet. And of course the birding on Wanstead Flats where I allegedly live is rather good at the moment. Ortolan? I mean, really? And I was here! 

The Pihea Vista. Selective clearance of vegetation to open up views not necessary.

Wackos and Wheatears

Just managed to nip out for an hour or so this evening on the basis that the light was lovely. The Flats were crawling with people, with more than a fair share of freaks and weirdos. A man in a string leotard was, er, interesting, a steamy photoshoot was going on in Centre Copse, Model planes were being flown, footballers were everywhere, and a man rode his large motorbike through the brickpits and down the slope. Busy in other words. And of course God only knows what was going on inside Long Wood, but a lot of people were on the periphery including Jesus serenading a topless ladyfriend with a guitar. I did read somewhere recently that it was a good time of year for vagrant boobies, but I thought that was in Sussex. Anyway, I met a couple of birders I didn't recognise, one of whom felt moved to comment that there were quite a lot of unusual people around......that there were, that there were.

I am one in fact, because rather than attempt to photograph Jesus's friend or whatever was happening in Centre Copse with my extremely large camera, I wandered straight past all this fascinating activity and along the Ditch of Despair. At the end of the Ditch of Despair were two Wheatears, and whilst I have many photos of Wheatears already and no photos of semi-naked guitarists and their entourages, I proceeded to add to the former as that's what floats my boat. 

Jungletoast

This is going to be a very boring post, I strongly advise that you click away now to something else. Anything else. Even the Liberal Democrats homepage. It’s about plants. Bye now! Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I mentioned on here that I had had a disaster in my conservatory. Boring and middle class, yay! Like many that particular blog post sank without trace, but I had briefly mentioned that I had been almost reduced to tears (and my youngest daughter actually was!) when on returning from holiday we discovered that the conservatory had had no ventilation during an extremely warm spell, and had probably heated up to something like 50C for around five days. When we got home in the evening it was still 43C in there, a dry arid heat. The kind of conditions in which dogs die in cars, and it had dreadful consequences for the plants. Our conservatory is a haven. It has – well had, let’s get the tense tragically right here – a bougainvillea vine growing into the ceiling up a trellis, foliage plants giving bold splashes of green, hanging baskets with hoya, ruellia and tradescantia, cacti and agave dotted around, and my pride and joy, cycads from Australia, South Africa, Mexico, and India. We eat (ate…) surrounded by heady amounts of oxygen and prickles, leaves arching over our heads. If it’s warm enough we open vents, windows and doors, and are soothed by the gentle rustling of leaves. We do get stabbed from time to time, but generally we (well, I) feel that the benefits outweigh the occasional sharp pain.

I’ve been growing plants for a long time, one of several interests I have. Like all my hobbies, commitment ebbs and flows, it's a time thing, and so during times of ebb the plants do tend to suffer from neglect, but this is nothing compared to what just happened to them. This spring I had finally dragged myself out of the gardening doldrums and got everything sorted out. Things were going, and growing, gloriously. Plants that had not grown new leaves for a number of years were flushing, the bougainvillea was flowering. The place was looking more lush than ever before, the results of the increasing love and attention the plants were getting. Good husbandry in other words. I still had issues with mealy bugs, a common sap-sucking houseplant pest that even Kew Gardens has legions of, but overall I felt I was winning the battle.

Then we came back to total devastation, a wall of heat. All the soft leaved plants - the vines, the trailing plants, the foliage plants - had been decimated. Barely a living leaf, brown and shrivelled, white and skeletal. The cacti and agaves, desert plants that you would think would have easily tolerated the conditions, had had the moisture sucked out of them and become shadows of their former selves. But worst of all was the damage inflicted on the cycads. Glorious leaves that had once been silver, blue or green were a deep reddish brown. New flushes of leaves had been cruelly stopped in their tracks and withered away – to put this in context the plants frequently grow only one set of leaves per year, and sometime not that many! On the species that grow continually but one leaf at a time from a central whorl I had literally lost a decade of growth. What had looked like a lush green firework now looked like a dead stump. To say I was stunned was an understatement. I sat on the sofa numb, disbelieving of what had happened. Away for just a few days I’d undone months and in some cases years of care and attention.

The family gathered round, unpacking forgotten. There was no saving some plants as once desiccated leaves do not recover. The green garden waste bags came into the conservatory and I sadly pulled down metres of dead vines from the struts and supports, and was almost inconsolable as I chopped off the dead cycad leaves. Everything got a mild watering to try and reintroduce some moisture into the soil, but not too much as dried roots will rot in waterlogged conditions. When we were finished clearing up it looked post-apocalyptic, Armageddon. Our once green space was practically bare. There were some exceptions, a cycad from Mexico had sustained almost no damage whatsoever where neighbouring plants had been cut to the ground. Of two from South Africa, both the same species one had lost 100% of its leaves whereas the other had just the mildest of brown tips. Nonetheless these were the smallest of miracles in what was otherwise outright carnage. Depressing as hell. There are no photos, I couldn't take it.

I have a greenhouse too, and the plants in there were not affected, including some that by good fortune I had moved down there to repot but not brought back, and so I was able to add some instant greenery in places but the vines and foliage plants had no subs ready to go. To get back to something not resembling a nuclear holocaust I’ve made a few select ebay purchases. A new rubber plant has been collected from Surrey, far larger than its unfortunate predecessor, and looks fantastic in one corner, like it has been there for years. It has reached the stage where it’s more like a small bush, rather than the single stems you find in garden centres, and is growing from multiple different points. I swear that it has grown by 10% in all directions since I brought it home, clearly it likes the new conditions. Agaves were easily replaced from an enthusiast in Essex and again look like they have been there forever, and where there was once a huge hoya I have now strung up a passiflora that is already four feet tall and spreading its tendrils all over the place. In time it could look amazing, especially if it flowers. Overall it is looking a lot better than a few weeks ago. The cycads are not so easily replaced though, and amongst the new green additions look like a succession of Del Monte cast-offs, pineapple husks in weathered pots. Nonetheless I was hopeful that their unique biology would have allowed them to survive.

Cycads are funny old plants. They’re remnants, living fossils, descended from the oldest of plants and familiar to dinosaurs, like Ferns and Araucarias (like the Monkey Puzzle). For some reason plants from these families have always called to me, I should have been an Edwardian. They have small furry or smooth trunks, caudexes, formed from the bases of old leaves, and they grow incredibly slowly. Smaller plants in particular, which most of mine are as I’ve grown them from seed, tend to have significantly more more below ground than above, huge underground root systems far larger than the caudexes themselves, and this means that they can store a tremendous amount of energy in the form of starch. I was hopeful that this energy would be released after the heat stress, just as wildfires in habitat can trigger a mass flushing of new leaves.

Tim Farron never looked so good did he?

I was not wrong. A mere three weeks after the furnace they are springing to life, even the smallest and daintiest plants. In the days immediately after coming home I gradually introduced a bit more moisture, and then the following weekend I gave them a decent amount of a high nitrogen fertiliser. Slowly but surely the tops of the caudexes are expanding. Green tufts are beginning to show. On one Indian cycad they’re a foot long already. I will remain eternally grateful for the extra warmth that September has blessed us with, as ironically enough these plants need heat in order to grow. Had we hit an early autumn it could be that many of these plants may have just gone dormant, as it is I’d say that around half of them are actively growing, and it’s likely the other half will follow suit, although the sooner the better as the leaves become stretched in low light conditions (the professional term is etiolated). It may not look dark to you or I but these plants are from the tropics.

I suspect that in another four weeks things will look vastly better, and that a year from now we will barely remember what happened with the exception of one of two plants that will unfortunately look forlorn for much longer. There is a silver lining however, and that is that a week of oven-like conditions has proved pivotal in the fight against the bugs. Mealy bugs are soft and moist, with a waxy coating, and the unrelenting and extreme heat seems to have killed the vast majority of them off. A few lived on the leaves, and so departed when I cut them off. Many more however lived unseen in the cracks, crevisses and fur. When soft new leaves start to come out they’re like a magnet for these pests and in some cases, if I’m not sufficiently on the ball, can prevent a new leaf from growing before it has even got started. They breed like the clappers and severe infestations can completely engulf leaves, making them look like they’re covered in snow. Like aphids they secrete sticky goo, and this in turn grows mould on it and it all becomes disgusting. They’re easy enough to clean off leaves, but hiding in the cracks they escape detection and also insectides (though mostly I use a hose or the shower to blast them off). This time around however and the new leaves are untouched. Where previously I could have been guaranteed to spot small white bugs crawling up stems, now there are practically none. I can only surmise that where a decade of various treatments has failed, the unintended super-heating of the conservatory has fried them all. Who knew? Certainly not me, and whilst I would obviously have preferred that none of this had ever happened, if all the plants are back to normal in a year or two but I have no bugs to contend with, it may just have been worth it. Just. 

Did you make it this far? If so I'm amazed!

Tales of the unexpected....

Yesterday was a bit of a blur. Laid low by my feeble intestines once again I was astonished to see a message from Nick about a juvvy Corn Bunting on the Flats. I was not amazed that Nick had found an immense bird, that happens frequently. Rather it was that just the previous day I had been thinking of what might turn up on the patch next and had decided that Corn Bunting was a strong possibility. 

To cut what might otherwise be a long story short, I refound it after about 20 minutes. Bob and I high-fived after what had been an arduous slog, congratulating ourselves on a new bird for the patch. Then we started to think about what we had seen and if it really was a Corn Bunting. You might think that we possibly got the order wrong there, and to a certain extent we did, but then again all other possible Buntings were ticks too and this is a numbers game at the end of the day.

The key questions were a) is it big enough, and b) why is it calling strangely? I didn't think it was big enough, as it appeared to be similar to Whinchat in size when the two perched up together, and as for the call it was more a "chup" that a "zit". My thoughts immediately turned to Ortolan, which would exhibit the same head pattern and pale bill, but would be smaller and less robust. The call still didn't seem to fit that either though.. Wandering on, we met Nick coming back onto the Flats, and Tony Hoy who had just caned it from Woodford on his bike and was thus unable to speak for a while, and explained what we had seen. Bob had to hurry home to domestic slavery, and was unable to show us the photos on the back of the camera. Or more accurately, he was unable to show us the photos on the back of the camera and had to hurry home to domestic slavery. ;-)

Anyhow, I outlined my concerns and we trotted off to see if we could refind it. I wasn't that hopeful as it had been being a total arse, but my some miracle we hadn't been looking more than a minute when it sailed over Tony and I chupping. Following in the bins it did look chunky, and Corn began to feature more heavily in our thinking. We lost it in the trees and so continued to talk about it walking back down the main path. Then multi-tasking Bob sent his photos over and everything changed. Pink bill, narrower than Corn, and straight. Nice white eye-ring, streaky breast...... the magic of Google suggested Ortolan was looking more than a distinct possibility but it took a call to Hawky for a second opinion. It took him about five seconds to call me back.

Ortolan!

You idiot he didn't say, but all I can say is sometimes these things take time and you have to be careful, and Ortolan Bunting is so rare in a London context that it's not the first bird that you think of. Whereas Corn is, as there are birds relatively nearby that could be dispersing. There have been just 30 or so records in London, the last in 2010. I seem to have seen three of the last four, and needless to say it is new for the patch and is my 146th species here. I once marvelled at various London patch lists - for instance Vince at Dagenham - and I never thought I would see that many, but little by little you creep up. This is the product of 12 years of living here, over a quarter of my life. There is no denying that it is hard work and that there is no instant satisfaction, but gradually you build up and have something to look back on and say "well I never", or something like that. New arrivals to the patch must read back and wonder how on earth these things arrived here. Talking of which, James managed to get out of work and scored late on, but sadly for a number of twitchers from further afield who magically appeared early this morning, it had departed overnight. For a couple of Bob's photos, see here.

Good birds seen but antisocial fuckwits create shithole

Another good morning on the patch – trying to make an effort now that we are in season so to speak. I think Nick was surprised to see me sauntering down centre path, two Whinchat to the good at 7.45am, but I’m sure he’ll get used to it. Unless it rains. It was quality again this morning, although seemingly with nothing new whatsoever. They were probably the same two Whinchats as at the weekend, and Nick and I notched up four or five Spotted Flycatchers around Long Wood, all of which were also around yesterday. Similarly, Jubilee Pond still has its resident Common Sandpiper – I’m pretty sure three days is unprecedented. It’s particularly interesting that it is sticking on this particular pond, probably the most disturbed and disgusting of all our ponds. Walking around it this morning I was able to take in the quite disgraceful amounts of crap that people insist on tossing into it, but still the birds come. I just don’t understand the mentality of people who do this. The last time I dropped any litter anywhere was probably around 1980 as a five year old mistake. Most of the litter around Jubilee is dropped by adults, indeed some of it is very adult. They should know better. And mostly the people who simply discard cans, bottles, bags, clothes, TVs and all the rest of it actually live nearby, and visit repeatedly. I don’t get how they can’t care what it looks or smells like. I can only assume that the inside of their houses looks similar and they’re just used to shit everywhere, so inside or out makes no difference. I appreciate that’s a very middle class comment, but poverty, social injustice or any of the other ills of the world don’t give you a free pass to throw your rubbish all over the floor. Or sit on runways. It’s a real shame, especially after all the effort that went into trying to spruce the area up.

At the bus stop close by I seethed at the ignorance and stupidity that the patch often brings to the fore, and then realized that today there was a bus strike. As you can imagine this made me even happier, and I trudged off across fairground flats towards Centre Road and Forest Gate station in a foul mood. I passed a large rat in the ditch, another byproduct of local apathy, and on crossing the road found a guy pissing in the car park and a pile of junk including a chair and a TV. Honestly, I live in a fucking toilet. Or adjacent to one. Bypassing this latest offence I skirted the smashed up Skylark signs and headed down the path to Angel. As I did so a Pipit buzzed by overhead. Buzzed. In that nice, non-silent Tree Pipity kind of way. Zero to hero. I thought I probably had a Tree Pipit a week or so ago, but unless they call I frequently refuse to tick them as one or the other. Views would have to be really good, which often they’re not. A call however and even a flyover gets the nod. This lifted my mood temporarily, and I tweeted out the good news. I’m still cross about the state of the place however, it is so unnecessary and selfish.

I carried on past the pond and the ubiquitous beer cans and left the Flats. A short while before I’d seen a lady with six dogs also leaving the Flats. I’ve seen her before, like me a repeat visitor lucky enough to have this amazing place on the doorstep. Except of course that unlike me she couldn’t give a rat’s arse, as far as she’s concerned it’s just a massive sewer. Once again she was not carrying any little plastic bags, so that means that there are another six piles of dogshit somewhere out there. I say this not with absolute certainly, but nonetheless some measure of confidence. Few people use the Flats as a place to enjoy, it’s mostly a place just to conveniently dump stuff. I can imagine that picking up turds from six dogs must get a little tiring, certainly I wouldn’t enjoy it. But if you have a dog, or even more than one, that’s your responsibility and part of a owning a dog. Just as when you are replacing your telly it is your responsibility to get rid of the old one properly, rather than, say, driving to a secluded car park and tossing it out the boot.

In summary see title.

Prague sans religion

I did a blog post a while back about being bored witless by religious iconography in Prague until I discovered its birding potential. The musuems were not the only places we visited while we were there though. It was billed (by me) as a romantic weekend a deux, sans enfants, so whilst it was disappointing to end up with wall to wall Madonnas, there was some respite provided by nice meals, amazing views, cheeky little beers in walled gardens, and peaceful solitude on the Charles Bridge. All of those are true bar one.....

My God Prague has a lot of visitors in August. We got up fiendishly early one day to try and avoid them and were largely successful for about an hour. We were still far from the first people on that bloody bridge however, I am surprised is has not collapsed into the Voltava. Just look at this!

The Charles Bridge, arguably Prague's most famous visitor attraction, is, at its rabid worst, a seething mass of humanity. In this photo, it is the second one you can see, carpeted in people. I suppose I was hoping for a postcard picture, but no chance of that. For that you need an unpopular weekend in the depths of winter I suspect, with an air temperature of minus twenty - that should keep the hordes away. I might try it.

Our hopes of a quiet stroll, hand in hand etc, dashed, we resorted to wandering around looking for spots where people were not, and this proved remarkably easy. Religious exhibitions for example..... But not just there. Away from the castle, the Jewish quarter and the infernal bridge, we frequently found ourselves wandering down cobbled streets with nary another soul, and very pleasant it was too. We almost wondered whether it was actually August after all, but then would round a corner to be faced with a scrum. Everyone must be on the same guided tour, Tripadvisored to the max, and I rarely consult websites like this for exactly this reason. Anywhere some gawpy wide-eyed tourist writes is the must see area for a given city ends up being gawdawful. Have I ever written a review? No. Blog yes, but with exact locations withheld. Suppression in tourism is the new thing. Anyway, here are a number of places in Prague that I hope you never find. Cheers.

Some clock or other. The chances of you finding this are remote to non-existent, so don't even bother.

Hogwarts. Which as everyone knows is invisible.

Obscure artwork down a hidden side street,

Flashmob in an unfashionable square on the outskirts of the city.

A bridge. Not telling you which one.

The Thames. Good luck.