There’s an arch of hawthorn blossom over the path at the entrance to Stoneycliffe Wood Yorkshire Wildlife Trust reserve. Silver birch and oak are in fresh foliage ; evening sunlight dapples the path.
It’s been cool all day then at four the sun came out and it’s turned into a glorious summer evening.
Stoneycliffe Woods YWT nature reserve.
As we walk down into the wood there’s a waft of wild garlic ; some of the leaves are starting to turn yellow and shrivel but some plants are still in flower.
Another path side plant, wood avens, also known as Herb Bennet, grows alongside. It’s currently in yellow flower but will later have clusters of hooked seeds which can hitch a ride on a passing dog to be transported along the network of paths through the woods.
Tree canopy: sessile oak.
There’s a lot of Herb Robert too: it’s hooked cranesbill seeds are transported in a similar way. The limestone chippings used in the path provide it with a suitable habitat as it’s a plant that tends to avoid acid soils.
There are a few patches of yellow archangel at the top end of the wood, a plant that is taken as an indicator of ancient woodland.
Song thrushes are calling in alarm or more probably in a dispute over territory.
10.00 a.m.: There’s a song that we don’t recognise in a bushy woodland glade on the nature trail at the Caphouse Colliery National Museum of Coal Mining. I try to come up with a visual metaphor to help me remember the song and the best that I can do is a bottle of sparkling mineral water, shaken up and then bubbling when opened then subsiding as it uses up its fizz; not very long and not with much of a pattern to the song.
I do a field sketch (above, colour added later): the bird has no distinct features, so not a blackcap or a whitethroat, and not a wood warbler, which is my first guess. It sings from amongst the foliage near the top of a tree.
It’s a garden warbler, described on the RSPB website (see link below) as:
‘a very plain warbler with no distinguishing features (a feature in itself!)’
The Collins Bird Guide describes the song as ‘beautiful, 3-8 seconds . . . not forming any clear melody but shuttling irresolutely up and down: it sounds like a rippling brook.’
So my metaphor of a bottle of sparkling mineral water bubbling up briefly and subsiding as it loses its fizz, works well as an aide-mémoire.
There’s just enough room in my new one litre bag for an A6 pocket-sized sketchbook, bijou watercolour box, pack of crayons, Safari pen, water-brush, Olympus Muji Tough camera and microfibre buff (‘a bandana with attitude’) plus an attached key fob compass/thermometer. As it says on the label:
‘So pack up . . . and get out there on your next big adventure.’
Or in this case mini adventure as this is the bag that I’ll grab when we’re setting out on our errands and appointments, for instance this morning when we had a few things to do in Ossett and I spotted the brown sporangia of a hartstongue fern growing in a crevice in an old stone wall on New Street.
Usually those furry caterpillar sporangia would be arranged in a feather pattern on the back of the frond but here the frond has shrivelled and curled inwards along the midrib, exposing the spores to any passing breeze, so no doubt thousands of them will find their way into suitable crevices.
May Sketches
Cuckoo flower growing on my friend Roger’s wild flower lawn.
It’s only a month ago that there was snow on the hills but since then the spring has burst into action. We’ve made efforts to get the garden up to speed and to plant all the veg beds so I haven’t had as much time as I would have liked to draw but here are the few pages of sketches from my A6 pocket book.
Quarter of a million seabirds nest at Bempton Cliffs RSPB reserve. Each species has a preference for a particular niche on the cliff.
The ledges are bedding planes in the chalk. Vertical joints break the cliff face up into blocky units. In my photograph (above) the block that the herring gull is nesting on looks as if it’s well on its way to becoming detached from the cliff face.
There’s an eye-wateringly stiff breeze this morning so this is a challenging place to try out my new telephoto lens. Although I’ve mounted the camera on a monopod/walking pole it’s still getting buffeted around so I leave the image stabilisation switched on.
Razorbills
Puffins
Puffins are the stars of the show at the reserve but one of the wardens is having difficulty pointing them out as they keep flying off.
I get a distant view of a pair checking out a crevice at the top of the cliff. At Bempton puffins nest in crevices rather than in rabbit burrows.
Razorbills
Also near the top of the cliff, this razorbill’s mate looks as if it too is considering nesting in a crevice but you’re more likely to see them nesting on the smaller upper ledges.
In an adaptation to nesting on cliff ledges, the razorbill’s egg is tapered at one end so that, if knocked, it will roll in a tight circle. The chicks are born with an innate fear of heights, so they don’t stray too near the edge.
Guillemots
At Bempton the guillemots tend lower down the cliff, sometimes getting together in nesting colonies on the larger ledges.
Kittiwakes
Kittiwakes can make use of the smallest ledges, building up a nest with seaweed and grass.
Gannets
I just miss the perfect photo opportunity: six or seven gannets have landed on the cliff top to gather beak-fulls of grass; they’re just yards away from a group of birdwatchers but by the time I’ve set up my camera they’ve all flown off again.
My new camera, the Olympus OM-D E-10 MarkII, a mirrorless ‘micro four thirds’ which is a sort of lighter, scaled down version of a digital SLR, a middle of the range camera but with almost all the features of its big brothers. It has a smaller sensor but there wouldn’t be any problems printing out a photographs at A4 size. You can film HD video and even 4K on a time lapse setting.
Jessops are currently doing a deal on a kit that includes the camera body plus an everyday kind of zoom lens and another that is more powerful, which I look forward to trying the next time we visit a bird reserve. I’ve also treated myself to a macro lens as at least 50% of my photography involves close-ups of flowers, fungi and fossils.
Welsh Poppy
It’s certainly one up on my previous bridge camera, which has given me a useful way of getting into more serious photography over the last three years.
Germander Speedwell
When it comes to throwing the background out of focus, for instance in this close-up of germander speedwell taken with the new camera on our front lawn, the bridge camera was rather limited as you were given a choice of only two apertures. You need a wide aperture, which lets in more light but gives you correspondingly less depth of field, and a faster shutter speed to isolate a subject in this way.
I was inspired to take the plunge and finally go for the camera by our walk around Askham Bog with members of the Wakefield Naturalists’ Society last weekend. Several of the Nats had flip up viewfinders on their cameras which made photographing a flower at ground level a whole lot easier. I was using my little Olympus Tough, which is the size of a bar of soap, on the day and, with the viewfinder hidden down amongst the grass stems the process involved a lot of guesswork. My bridge camera was also lacking in this respect.
The viewfinder/touchscreen also tilts downwards so that I was able to hold the camera above my head and take this close-up of a clump of moss on the garage roof.
Rowan blossom.Bleeding Heart, Dicentra formosa
The Olympus E-10 also gives you the option of a regular viewfinder. When you put your eye to the viewfinder it switches on and the touchscreen viewfinder on the back switches off. Perhaps holding the camera braced against my eye will help me keep it steady.
I feature that I’ve yet to drill down through the menus to activate is the 5 way image stabilisation, which is reviews suggest works even better than the 3 way image stabilisation in the previous model of the E-10.
11 a.m.: Orange tips and green veined white butterflies are attracted to the flowers of jack-by-the-hedge which grows in swathes along the edge of the swampy woodland at Askham Bog Yorkshire Wildlife Trust reserve, southwest of York.
Its white flowers have also attracted a longhorn moth Adela reaumurella, a metallic green micro moth, less than a centimetre in length. My photograph shows a female; the male’s antennae are twice as long, three times the length of its forewing.
Sedges
Slender tufted sedge, Carex acuta (above), has sharp corners on its triangular stems. In my photograph, the male flower spikes are the dangling ochre tassels while the female spikes, below them in the flower head, have two styles growing from each ovary, like the forked tongue of a serpent.
Askham Bog has the largest colony of gingerbread sedge, Carex elongata, in England. In autumn the floppy tussocks of this sedge and its spikes of seeds turn reddish brown. Is that how it gets its name? Is it the colour of gingerbread? Or did it once have some use as a food or herbal remedy?
The colony is in Far Wood, east of the reserve’s boardwalk so wellies are recommended if you go in search of the sedge.
Water Plants
The pink flowers of amphibious bistort, Persicaria amphibium (above), are still in bud. It’s floating leaves are pointed at the tip and blunt at the base.
Despite its name water violet, Hottonia palustris, is a relative of the primrose. In my photograph you can see the stigma of the flower in the yellow centre of the foreground flower. In primroses this is what botanists refer to as ‘pin eyed’. Water violet has finely divided fern-like leaves beneath the surface of the water.
Violets
Dog violetMarsh violet
Dog violets grow alongside the duckboards and a few marsh violets, Viola palustris, which have paler flowers with dark veins. Marsh violet has long creeping rhizomes so when we spotted one, we soon found a few more scattered around nearby amongst the marsh plants.
Royal Fern
Royal fern, Osmunda regalis, is just starting to unfurls its fronds. This is one of the tallest of European ferns, growing to several metres.
11 a.m.: In a sun trap of a back garden in South Ossett this holly blue is so intent on feeding on a flowering shrub that I’m able to get within macro range with my camera. When I see a blue butterfly the size of my little finger nail I’m never sure whether I’m looking at small blue, common blue or holly blue but, once it settles, the holly blue is the only one that that has bluish white underwings with small dark spots.
The small blue has black spots fringed in white on its pale grey underwing; the common blue has black and orange spots, also fringed in white, on a grey-brown background.
Along most of this stretch of the valley the River Calder is kept within its course by flood embankments except after exceptionally heavy rain, such as in last winter’s Boxing Day floods, but once it has overtopped these manmade levees there’s no direct way for the water to make its way back to the river as the flood subsides.
Increasingly, the canal, the Calder & Hebble Navigation, which runs parallel to the river, acts as an overflow channel but downstream from the Figure of Three locks the canal itself has what effectively acts as an embankment possibly built up in part by the navvies tipping spoil alongside the channel when they excavated this stretch of the navigation in the 1830s.
Following the Boxing Day floods, the farmer’s solution appears to have been to flatten a short stretch of the banking and to cut an overflow notch so that the field can drain across the towpath into the canal.
The excavations have exposed alluvial deposits which are typical of this stretch of the Calder valley: sandy silt containing pebbles of what appears to be local sandstone.
As I understand it, these deposits were laid down after the last ice age in a valley that had been deepened because the river that occupied it was heading down towards a lower sea level. Sea levels were so much lower during the ice age that most of the North Sea was dry land.
Swollen by meltwater, this precursor of the Calder was more powerful than the river as we see it today, which meanders over its flood plain re-sorting the alluvial deposits by cutting into the riverbank on the outside of a meander and depositing a sandbar elsewhere. I imagine that flash floods were more powerful in the treeless landscape of the ice age.
In the 18th and 19th centuries, stretches of the river were channeled into a straighter course by canal building navvies and much later in the early 1960s the river was diverted during the construction of Healey Mills railway marshalling yards.
I set up the telescope in the last patch of afternoon sunlight on our back lawn and catch an image of Mercury mid-way through its transit across the Sun. This is the first time that I’ve seen Mercury: as we’re in a valley, we’re never well placed to see its brief appearances at dawn and dusk.
I don’t have a solar filter for the telescope so I project an image onto a sketchbook page, then photographed the image. I feel that it’s safer to project anyway: a friend accidentally burnt out the lens of his smart phone when he moved his telescope into position, having briefly removed his solar filter to make it easier to level up the shadow. That’s £70 for a replacement lens but you can’t replace an eye as easily.
Detail from the projected image of the solar disc. Sunspots appear in pairs, magnetically charged as north and south: imagine a horseshoe magnet connecting them beneath the photosphere.
Squeezing my camera in between telescope and sketchbook to take the photograph resulted in an oblique view of the solar disc so I skewed and stretched the image in Photoshop to fit into a yellow circle (top image).
If we could see the Earth’s silhouette alongside that of Mercury, it wouldn’t be much bigger than the larger sunspot (left).
Seeing the progress of Mercury across the solar disc gives an impression of the scale of the Solar System; 99.8% of the mass of the Solar System is contained in the Sun.
A buzzard circles near Woolley Edge Services; by the picnic benches rooks gather crop-fulls of scraps.
Slip road at the services
Calling at a motorway services when we live just five miles away, I feel as if we shouldn’t really be here but we’re meeting with an old friend and her husband who are taking a break here on their journey north.
Bullcliffe Woods, Denby Dale Road.
Driving along some roads in the district, I feel as if every last patch of ground is being built on but heading out this way, I’m astonished at how much countryside we’ve managed to hold on to and how beautiful it looks in the late afternoon sun as woods and hedges burst into fresh leaf and blossom.