Richard Bell's nature sketchbook since 1998
A song thrush forages amongst the lush vegetation of the old railway embankment behind Books on the Lane, Walton, then flies down with a brown-lipped snail and thrashes it against the pebbles at the edge of the car park. Once it has extricated the mollusc it moves on to a fresh spot, whacks it again, eats a few morsels then flies off back up to the embankment, perhaps to feed its young.
11.15 a.m., 70℉, 21℃, storm cloud looking threatening to the west, but we escape the worst of it: The triple flower-heads of Yellow Flag Iris look complicated, but they work perfectly when a bumble bee lands on them. I assume that it would take one of the larger bees to trigger the mechanism and enter the flower, but a smaller bumble bee manages just as easily.
The coots’ nest near the war memorial has been neatly built up since last week and there are at least three chicks.
Back home, I draw some of the visitors to the bird feeders. In additions to the greenfinch, blackbird, starling, blue tit, robin, wood pigeon and house sparrow that I’ve sketched here, we had a male great spotted woodpecker coming to the feeders and a grey squirrel with a very undernourished tail.
The blue tit chicks left the nest box this afternoon while we were out but sadly not all of them made it. As I sat drawing the clover and wood avens, I noticed that one unfortunate chick had ended up in the pond but, better news, I heard, then saw another chick from the bottom of the hedge, right next to me. I packed up immediately and one of the parents soon came down to feed it.
A warbler signs its scratchy song from the branches of a willow at the balancing ponds at Alverthorpe Meadows. I record it to check out the song later but on my recording its drowned out by a louder, more melodious blackbird.
The warbler is very plain, so we’re torn between garden warbler and whitethroat. We need to get a closer look . . . and a clearer recording
Newmillerdam Lake, War Memorial, Monday, 24 May, 2021, 10.50 a.m., 63℉, 7℃, 80% cloud: A coot swims to the shore and immediately sees off two snoozing mallard drakes. It preens and pods about a bit then goes back to the lake.
Two pairs of pink-footed goose come ashore, each with a single gosling.
Two weeks ago I drew the coot on the nest by the outlet sitting on eggs, last week there were about eight chicks and this week the nest is empty, with no sign of any addled eggs left behind. Nearer the war memorial there’s a coot still sitting on its nest, no sign of chicks peeping out as we passed.
Newmillerdam, 10.55 a.m., 100% cloud, 7℃, 45℉, rain: Three mallard drakes are soon chased away by the second, non-brooding bird, which soon returns to feed the chicks. Unfortunately the nest platform is festooned with soggy white bread but the young are also getting natural food as the second bird dives nearby, which is more popular than the gloopy, soggy bread.
From 10 or 12 feet away, I can’t see the flanges that are already starting to develop along the toes of the coot chicks’ feet. Three of the chicks are noticeably larger than the others and already coming out for a brief swim around the nest. The smaller chicks stay under the brooding bird.
When it comes on to rain all the chicks somehow find room in the nest, one of them just poking its head out from the shelter of ‘mum’s’ (I’m guessing it’s mum) wing and getting fed when the other adult swims in with the odd morsel of food. I can’t tell what the food is but one bit looked a bit wispy as if it was waterweed.
You could describe it as biological erosion: a few weeks ago I noticed a small group of house sparrows ‘gritting’ on an old sandstone wall in Horbury.
The sand grains are used in the bird’s gizzard to help grind down the seeds and grain that form its staple diet. Sparrows will also peck at mortar on walls, which gives them an extra mineral, calcium carbonate, in the cement.
Like other aspects of sparrow life – such as feeding, drinking, dust bathing and courtship – this is an opportunity for a bit of a social gathering and the inevitable chirruping dispute.
Lake outlet, Newmillerdam, 10.15 a.m.: The sitting coot gets increasingly alarmed as the drake mallard gets nearer, dabbling around the nest. The coot’s repeated, scalding notes get more frantic until its mate swims over briefly to check things out, but the mallard soon moves on.
Back to the business of incubating, the coot keeps changing position and I get a glimpse of 8-10 greenish brownish eggs.
Its mate returns and presents the sitting bird with a spindly pencil-length twig sprouting fresh green leaves. This is accepted by the bird on the nest (I’m not saying ‘the female’ because I can’t tell the difference between the two birds) and incorporated into the car tyre-sized platform.
Have you ever come across the idea that natural history illustration “isn’t art”? I remember you trained in design and illustration rather than fine art – have you ever had to defend your work against this charge?
My friend, writer Richard Smyth, in an e-mail today
Interesting question. It’s not anything that anyone has ever challenged me on but, like most creatives, I wouldn’t want to use ‘artist’ as a job description. I’d always describe myself as an illustrator/writer. Although I’ve had exhibitions of paintings, probably 99% of my work is illustration and intended to be seen on a page or screen with text. My sketchbooks are part field notebook.
It’s a relief to be off the hook as far as art is concerned. When I draw a flower, bird or snail, I love the idea that the creature has the right just to be itself. I can’t avoid being an observer and therefore having an implied presence in a drawing but I don’t want to burden the poor creature with how I was feeling that day, or with my views on Life, The Universe and Everything.
I feel that when Picasso draws a dove, a monkey, a horse or a bull, the critics have to scramble around to tell us what that symbolised at that stage in his career, whereas if I, as I did this morning, draw a pink-footed goose, I’d like the actions, appearance and personality of that particular goose on that particular day, to be the main subject: not to mention the energy and mystery implicit in said goose simply being a goose.
I know this is impossible, as I’m not a camera, but that would be my aim.
There was plenty of action on the duck pond in Thornes Park this morning but these two mallard/farmyard drakes were a more appealing subject, dozing in the sun amongst the ferny cow parsley by a woodland path.
We’ve been in a high pressure area for a while now, which means sunny days but cold nights. So far our tomato plants in the greenhouse had survived unscathed but an extra heavy frost last night has shrivelled most of them. There’s still time to plant replacements.
Barbara’s birthday today and last year, still under the first lockdown, the highlight of the day was a click-and-collect visit to a supermarket, the furthest we had been since our previous click-and-collect. This year we can entertain a limited number of guests in our garden.
