“As we head down the track we spot a buzzard being mobbed by a magpie and kestrel. As it dips and soars fending off the two birds another buzzard soars carefree over the ridge.”
From Barbara’s nature diary, 30 January 2020
I needed to inject a bit of drama into my next (January 2021) Wild Yorkshire diary for The Dalesman, so I’m illustrating the incident Barbara described, along with a male stonechat perching on a fence post. The pen and watercolour of the reedbed and lagoon will go right across at the foot of the double-page spread. I was busy with Sandal Castle and the Rhubarb Festival last January, so I’m having to recreate what my sketchbook might have looked like if I’d had time to draw on the day.
You can see that I’ve struggled to draw on of my Dalesman nature diary illustrations in the same grungy style as my first Adobe Fresco drawing on my iPhone, but really that’s the point of it. This heron, which touched down on the greenhouse last January, was probably checking out our garden pond for the first frogs. It looks suitably regal and, for our frogs, dangerous, so I thought of the Aesop’s fable of the frogs who ask Zeus for a king but soon tire of log that he throws down for them and request a more impressive leader. They soon come regret their request.
Seeing us watching a heron fly down the valley over the Go Outdoors camping store, a man stops to tell us of the buzzards that nested a couple of years ago in the row of trees down below Hostingley Lane. He says that one pair of skylarks nests each year on the open fields here but he wonders how they manage as the crop soon grows too long for them. It’s not like the cliff top grasslands on the Yorkshire Coast.
He’s tried inserting square plastic plant pots into the hedge banks for robins to nest in. This year robins have nested not in but on one of them. He gently felt in the well-concealed nest and they’ve already hatched their chicks.
But his most surprising success was with yellowhammers, ‘a million to one chance’ as he put it. He heard a yellowhammer singing and, using his hand, made a little scrape in a grassy hedgebank. To his amazement they did nest in the scrape and successfully raise chicks.
Another page from my Skokholm Island sketchbook, drawn on Thursday, 10th April, 1980, watching razorbills, wheatear, and grey seals. My drawing of the rocks didn’t get finished because:
“The puffins were enjoying the evening sun, standing in pairs outside their burrows, when I came back from a tea-break so I decided to leave them in peace”
Probably a first even for me, blaming the puffins for an unfinished sketch!
10.30 a.m.: On North Ings, RSPB St Aidan’s, a greater black-backed gull is feeding on the carcass of a brown hare. Two crows and several magpies, dwarfed by the gull, have gathered around it, like vultures at a kill on the savannah, waiting their turn in the pecking order. As the gull tears at the carcass with its large bill, we glimpse the long back legs of the hare and the black and white markings on the tips of the hare’s long ears.
At the field centre, there’s speculation about who was responsible for the kill. One possibility is a peregrine. For a peregrine, St Aidan’s isn’t far from the nest site on the tower of Wakefield Cathedral.
Peregrine Pellets?
Sternum, about 6 inches long.
A few days ago, we were looking at the remains of what looked like a duck or goose, perhaps even a cygnet. Pellets left by the scattered feathers and bones could have been those of a peregrine.
A short distance, perhaps twenty yards, along the track we saw a sternum, the breastbone of a bird, which we thought looked large enough to be a goose or swan. We can’t be sure that it was part of the same kill.
Pellet about an inch and a quarter long.
There were fox droppings nearby, so the red fox was our number one suspect, but, as far as I know, foxes, unlike birds of prey, crows and herons, don’t produce pellets of indigestible material. In my photograph you can see that the two small feathers appear to have been flattened and nipped off at the quill, rather than plucked, which to me suggests fox.
It’s unlikely that the brown hare that we saw the gull feasting on had been killed by a fox, as it was on a part of the reserve that is surrounded by what is intended to be a fox- and badger-proof fence.
When we walked back past the kill nearly an hour later, the gull had moved and three magpies were picking over the remnants.
“A goldfinch has just flown into the window,” Barbara tells me, “It’s lying there on the patio, its little beak trembling.”
I go out, prepared for the worst. It’s a juvenile, lying on its back, wings trembling, a startled expression in its eyes and, like Barbara said, its beak opening and closing, as if it’s gasping for breath. Ringers will keep a bird calm by consigning it to the darkness of a soft drawstring cloth bag. I would usually put a stunned bird in a cardboard box to recover but I haven’t got one to hand, so I pick it up and cup it in my hands.
I can feel its heart thumping. It begins to perk up. I part my fingers and it does seem to be sitting up and taking notice. It has a tiny mark on its head but no other sign of injury.
I take it down to the lawn by the bird feeder and gradually open my hands. It moves onto the grass then, after a second or two, it flies off, up over the hedge . . .
. . . and right into next door’s bedroom window!
Luckily this time it doesn’t stun itself and it sits on the windowsill as it recovers.
One morning last week, after a wild and windy night, we found this nest, which I think was made by goldfinches, on the lawn at the foot of the rowan in the front garden. It’s just three inches (8 cm) across and very light. There were no signs of eggs or chicks in or around it, so I think that it had been dislodged by the wind, rather than raided by a predator, such as a magpie or cat.
It’s composed mainly of frizzy wool-like material, which might be dog hair, wool or even some manmade down. It is too long and curly to be thistle down. The nest is decorated with strands of moss around the outside with a few long threads curled around the inside of the cup, which are possibly horse hair but more likely textile thread. As I went out to measure it just now, a week after it fell, I noticed a tiny rove beetle amongst the fibres in the centre of the cup.
A month or more ago, a goldfinch was singing from the telephone cables near the rowan tree and sometimes there would be a pair of them perching there, so I wondered if they had a nest nearby.
It’s been a good year for goldfinches and garden birds in general, with young bullfinches, chaffinches, blackbirds, starlings, blue tits and great tits coming to our back garden bird feeders, but goldfinches are the most numerous. Yesterday a flock – a charm to use the collective noun – of goldfinches flew up from feeding on the fluffy seed-heads of creeping thistle in the meadow by the wood.
The first of the month seems like a good time to try to get back to drawing from nature, even if that’s just fifteen minutes by the duck pond while Barbara, her sister and brother take a walk around the walled garden here in Thornes Park. When the resting Canada goose eventually got up, it limped along awkwardly, struggling to drag along its left leg. Even though it had stayed put as people walked within yards of it, it was continually looking around, so I found myself drawing its head from three different angles. As usual, adding a bit of watercolour helped bring things together as I picked out one of the outlines.
Adding the chocolate brown to the black-headed gull sketches also makes a difference, as did adding a wash of light grey – raw umber and french ultramarine – for its back.
2 p.m., Broad beans and rainbow chard are doing well in the bed at the back of the car park by the Cluntergate Community Centre, Horbury. The blue flowers of borage are attracting a hoverfly.
As I draw, I can hear the clack of heels in the centre as couples dance to what sounds like a karaoke version of ‘Putting on the Style’. As I sit on the corner of an old stone wall, I’m attracting attention because I’m NOT moving:
‘Are you all right?’ A woman asks me.
‘Fine, thank you.’ I reply, trying to work out if it’s someone that I know.
‘I was watching you and you weren’t moving’, she explains, ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
I’m so pleased with our potato patch. I usually try to cram in more than recommended to save space in the veg beds. This year I gave them the recommended space, which meant that I was able to earth them up when the first shoots appeared. I was expecting small new potatoes but two of these would be large enough to bake. As far as I remember, they’re a variety of Maris. They have red markings and the flesh is white and doesn’t fall in the water (i.e. start to disintegrate) when you boil them.
Another success that is that I’ve managed to grow a lot of Calendulas for free. There were perhaps two hundred little seedling clustered around where a single self-sown plant had grown last year. I grew them on by planting them in rows in the veg bed and I’ve since moved them on to any space that needs filling, in the border, the raised bed and even around the runner beans in the veg beds.
Thinking ahead to our apple crop, I’ve made a start on thinning out the little apples to just two per cluster. Both cordon apples – the golden spire and howgate wonder – suffered from leaf curl this spring but they seem to be recovering and hopefully we’ll have as good a crop as we had last year.
It’s that time of year again, when there are still wintering wildfowl –gadwall, wigeon and tufted duck – on the lakes at Nostell but the summer migrants have already started to arrive. A chiff-chaff, just in from Africa, was singing from the top branches of a birch near the Cascade. It’s performance seemed a bit offhand. It doesn’t set itself up at a song post as a blackbird would, but just breaks off foraging along the branches and rattles off a few phrases wherever it happens to be:
“Chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff, chiff-chaff, chiff.”
As we arrive at the Adam Bridge at Nostell, a mute swan is chasing an intruder around the Lower Lake. After a few minutes the unwelcome visitor gets the message and flies off.
A blue tit takes nesting material into a cavity in a dead tree on the lake shore. I was pleased to see one taking a beak-full of moss into the nestbox in our rowan. The box has now been there a couple of years but has yet to be used.
Also carrying nesting material, a jackdaw perching on top of the high brick wall around the vegetable garden at Nostell. Its mate emerged and flew off and the jackdaw popped down inside.
The First Cut
The first day of spring and it’s the first cut for the lawn. I push the mower over three times, first on its highest setting to take the top off, then medium and finally – going at right-angles to my previous cuts – on the lowest.
I’ve got an electric strimmer, which might have been useful around the edges, but I prefer to use the hand mower because it’s quieter and I don’t feel the need to put on goggles and ear protectors. It’s a good work-out too.
Mailing List
My first Wild Yorkshire newsletter; I hope to continue with weekly updates.
The first day of spring also seemed like the perfect time to make a fresh start on my Wild Yorkshire mailing list. If you’d like a weekly update, please subscribe below. You can of course unsubscribe at any time.
De Atramentis Ink
My first drawing with de Atramentis Document ink.
De Atramentis ink bottle, original drawing 2.5 cm, one inch, across. Even enlarged, there’s no sign of the ink running into the watercolour wash.
De Atramentis Document Ink in my Lamy Vista fountain pen and so far it’s working perfectly, showing no hint of running when I add a watercolour wash. My thanks to dapplegrey for suggesting that I try it.
