Tag Archives: ivy

Autumn in the Blackpool Valley

We perched on a stone wall overlooking the pebble beach and sea at Blackpool Sands to eat our sandwiches.  Across the water, the Start Point peninsula was a moody, dark bluish grey outline while mobile pools of bright light wandered about Start Bay as gashes in the cloud cover opened and closed. 

We had walked down the Blackpool Valley starting in bright autumn sunshine on the western edge of Dartmouth where a huge housebuilding project is now underway.  Narrow country lanes took us away from the commotion into quieter places.  Hedges were punctuated periodically with flushes of flowering ivy and the sun, following heavy rain, seemed to have brought the insects out.   An elegant ichneumon wasp, largely black but with a few white markings and with reddish legs was cleaning its antennae, and nearby we spotted a mating pair of hoverflies.  Their striped thorax reminded me of mid-20th century school blazers.  A beautiful male wall butterfly basked briefly in the sunshine, its wings, the colour of paprika and cinnamon held the essence of the season changing around us.  A few pollen-loaded female ivy bees joined the show while, on the road, two all black devil’s coach horse beetles wandered past giving us their scorpion-like, tale up, warning greeting.

The ichneumon wasp cleaning its antennae. Malcolm Storey on the British Ichneumonoidea Facebook site identified this as a male Vulgichneumon saturatorius.

Mating hoverflies, most likely Helophilus pendulus

Male wall butterfly (Lasiommata megera)

Devil’s coach-horse beetle (Ocypus olens)

At Venn Cross, we turned right along Blackpool Valley Road descending between dramatic hills and following the course of a stream in the valley bottom.  Lane side hedges had avoided a vicious flailing this season; hazel and sycamore had grown prolifically together with a few sprigs of rowan and dog rose, giving the lane an enclosed feeling.  Veteran beeches and oaks grew from the hedges and when the sun played across the beech leaves it accentuated their kaleidoscopic colour range of greens, yellows and browns.  The lower trunk of one of the old beeches had become an impromptu local notice board including a carved declaration of love. 

The declaration of love carved on a beech tree. I wonder who they were?

Blackpool Valley Road

The main stream passing over a weir, well down the Blackpool Valley

The water gathered force as we headed southwards with small streams joining the main flow from surrounding hills and, eventually we came to Riversbridge Farm, one of several old water mills situated along the valley.  Altogether we counted five former mills before we reached the sea, each set in this landscape of trees, pastures and steep hillsides.   Today it was a peaceful scene but I wondered how much it had changed over the years.  The artist Lucien Pissarro worked and lived here a century ago producing a charming set of images of the valley, a record of country life in the first part of the 20th century and apart from the arrival of the motor car the landscape and buildings look very similar (see picture below).  The mills, of course, are no longer used, they are mostly private dwellings but the buildings show signs of their former activity alongside 21st century incursions such as a small water driven hydro and a hot tub. 

We left Blackpool Sands to complete the circuit back to our car.  As we stopped to look back at the beach, as many as 30 house martins circled over the cove feeding, perhaps before leaving for warmer places. 

Blackpool Farm, formerly a mill

Blackpool Valley, Lucien Pissarro,1913, probably looking north towards Dartmouth ( City of Edinburgh Council; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/blackpool-valley-1913-93704)

We walked down the Blackpool Valley near Dartmouth in south Devon on October 8th 2020

Liquid Energy – ivy bees by the sea in South Devon

Here is an account of a visit I made to Paignton about eight weeks ago, seaching for ivy bees.

Goodrington Sands
Goodrington Sands viewed from Roundham Head

 

Ice cream and chips, not together of course, but that’s what people are eating. The sun is shining, the sea an intense blue, the air gently warm and sun loungers have been dragged unexpectedly out of pastel-coloured beach huts. Couples stroll along the promenade arm in arm and one or two children shriek with delight as they run in and out of the waves washing over the long sandy beach. This is Goodrington Sands near Paignton in south Devon and it’s the end of September.

At one end of the beach, the ground rises steeply to Roundham Head, a cliff-lined, grass-topped promontory that interrupts the otherwise smooth sweep of Torbay. The south-facing side of the headland is home to the Cliff Gardens with its terraced flower beds, zigzag paths and mild microclimate supporting many tender sub-tropical plants. A colony of winter bumblebees also flourishes here, nurtured by the almost year round supply of pollen and nectar.

The flat, grassy surface of the promontory eventually gives way to residential streets but before suburbia takes over completely, there is a transitional region, a mosaic of green rectangular spaces and tall, red-brick walls. Nowadays, the area is popular with dog walkers but, in one wall, there is an intriguing, curved-top gateway, hinting at older usages. These walls, now mostly covered with ivy, are the remnants of the kitchen gardens of a nearby Victorian villa.

About a year ago, I discovered these old walls covered in full-flowering ivy with many ivy bees taking advantage of their preferred food. The ivy bee (Colletes hederae) is the last solitary bee to emerge each year and is very distinctive with its yellow and black-striped abdomen and chestnut-haired thorax. I looked for the nest area but, although I found a few small nest aggregations, I was unable to find anywhere large enough to support the number of bees I had seen.

Today, I park in a street bordering the old kitchen garden. Ivy cascades over the wall by the car, its many pale green flower heads scenting the air with their sickly-sweet smell. Insects move about the ivy constantly, flying to and fro, ignoring me to the extent that we sometimes collide. I see hoverflies, wasps, one or two bumblebees and honey bees, and hundreds of ivy bees. The male ivy bees fly about edgily, sometimes stopping to feed, sometimes pausing on a leaf to preen and rest. The females, noticeably larger than the males, carry chunks of chrome yellow pollen on their back legs and abdominal hairs but continue feeding. Sometimes a hopeful male disturbs them, attempting to mate, but they show no interest in their new suitors. Movement is constant, there is an insistent low buzz and this liquid energy steps up in the sunshine. The same liquid energy abounds wherever the ivy is in flower on these old walls. There is a lot of ivy here and that means many ivy bees.

But where are the nests? Last year I found one small nest area in some exposed red soil along the cliff-side path descending from Roundham Head to Goodrington so that’s where I begin today. Sure enough there are still holes in the cliff face together with crumbly soil suggesting active nests. Around these holes there are hundreds of ivy bee males performing what my friend Susan Taylor has christened the “sun dance”. They fly about incessantly, swinging from side to side, occasionally stopping to look into one of the holes but emerging unsuccessfully. It’s an impressive sight along a two metre stretch but what is lacking are any females and anyway it doesn’t feel like a big enough area to account for all the bees on the ivy so I decide to walk down to Goodrington to look at the sea.

As I stand by the beach, I see someone walking down another steep path from Roundham Head. I hadn’t noticed this paved path before: it runs parallel to the cliff-side path but about three metres inland and is partly hidden behind a low hedge. I decide to take a look. The path is bordered on one side by a low bank covered in short, rough grass and hundreds of ivy bee males fly about, skimming the surface, “sun dancing”. When I get closer, I see that the red soil in the bank is peppered with many holes and crumbly soil is spilling out showing that the bank contains active nests.

The males here seem particularly edgy, they constantly investigate the burrows, presumably looking for females and sometimes they even try to mate with one another, not a clever move. On several occasions I notice the males suddenly congregating to form a rough ball. Other males soon join the melee rather like rugby players in a ruck. Somewhere in the middle there must be a female who has just emerged from one of the burrows. The males are trying frantically to mate with her but only one will be successful and I see one copulating couple fly off together, still attached.

There is also a slow but steady stream of females returning to the nest area loaded with yellow pollen. They have come to deposit food in their burrow for their larvae, but finding their nest looks a bit hit and miss. Some approach the area and fly around for a short time before landing and making their way on foot. Others seem to crash land and then pull themselves together after a short rest. The males show no interest in these already-mated females.

The aggregation covers an area about ten metres by half a metre and there must be hundreds of nests. This is a large, very active, nest site and looks big enough to support a huge number of ivy bees. I can’t say whether there are other nest aggregations in the area but this one goes some way to explaining the large number of ivy bees seen at Roundham Head.

I am completely absorbed watching these creatures go about their lives; it’s like being allowed through a door into another world. But then I look up and see, no more than 20 metres below me, an ice cream kiosk with people enjoying their Devon Farmhouse ice cream. Dogs dash along the hard sand splashing in the water. A steam train struggles up the bank hauling vintage chocolate and cream coaches towards Kingswear.

Roundham Court
One of the old walls and the Victorian Villa overlooking Torbay.

 

Red brick wall plus archway
An intriguing, curved-top gateway covered with ivy.

 

Male ivy bee
A male ivy bee

 

Red soil cliff bank Paignton
Some of the “sun dancing” males by the cliff nests. Some are flying, some are investigating the holes.

 

Soil bank above Goodrington
The grassy bank by the path descending from Roundham Head to Goodrington, with the ice cream kiosk by the beach.

 

Red soil in bank
Crumbly red soil and nests in the grassy bank

 

Mating ball of ivy bees
Male ivy bees forming a mating ball, somewhere in the middle is a female.

 

Mating pair ivy bees
Ivy bee mating pair

 

Female returning to nest
Female ivy bee returning to her nest loaded with pollen

More ivy, more Ivy Bees !

Last Sunday, we enjoyed a walk around the small Devon seaside town of Salcombe. It’s a pleasant place now that the season is over and we relished the views over the estuary on this cooler but dry day. I don’t know whether I am looking more carefully or perhaps I haven’t previously visited Salcombe at this time of year? I didn’t remember the profusion of flowering ivy.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA
The Salcombe estuary on a sunnier day, viewed from the cliffs (Photo by Hazel Strange)

 

A narrow coast road links the town to its two beaches, North Sands and South Sands. On one side of this road there are low cliffs dropping to the sea and all along the cliff tops were huge banks of ivy. Given my recent experience, I now search any stand of flowering ivy for Ivy Bees and the Salcombe cliffs did not disappoint.

Ivy bee on ivy Salcombe 3

Wasps were the predominant insect on the ivy flowers but there were also quite a few of the sleek, slender, yellow and black-banded Ivy Bees (Colletes hederae) with their characteristic russet hairs. The wasps mostly tolerated their company although I did see one attack an Ivy Bee. The bee fell away but I could not be sure if it died or just sloped off.

Ivy bee on ivy Salcombe 2

The Ivy Bees at this site seemed to be moving about less than when I had seen them before. Once they had found a suitable flower head they spent some time exhaustively probing its flowers. Perhaps there was more pollen and nectar available? Perhaps it was cooler? I looked for colonies but did not locate any; I presume the nests are in nearby cliffs but as these are mostly private land they are out of bounds to Ivy Bee-nerds like me.

Ivy bees on ivy Salcombe

What I am beginning to realise is that, in this part of Devon, Colletes hederae is doing rather well with large colonies and large numbers. They also don’t seem to mind the cooler damper weather we have been experiencing.

It’s good to have a positive bee story to tell.

We visited Salcombe on October 12th 2014.

For those interested in Ivy Bees, they featured in the Guardian Country Diary this week

We see our first Ivy Bees!

We picked our way carefully down the steep, stony path to the beach at Mansands, one of the many small coves dotted along the South Devon Coast. At this time of year, the banks lining the path celebrate the season with silky draperies of “Old man’s beard” punctuated by bonfire-sparks of red rose hips and great outbursts of flowering ivy. Pale sunshine coaxed a sickly sweet perfume from the ivy flowers and encouraged a busy profusion of wasps, hoverflies and honeybees but we were hoping to spot another kind of insect. Suddenly my attention was grabbed by a different shape and there it was: marginally longer than a honeybee, its abdomen slender and pointed with clearly defined regular stripes of black and yellow. This sleek insect was an Ivy Bee (Colletes hederae), with a fringe of russet hairs around the thorax and its manner of browsing the ivy flowers in a crescent shape. We saw a few more but they were elusive and moved about quickly. It didn’t matter, we had seen our first Ivy Bees!

Ivy bee on ivy

Ivy bee on ivy flower

I was pretty sure that if there were Ivy Bees about, there must also be nests nearby but the conundrum was how to find them. At other sites in Devon, the nests are said to be near the beach so that seemed a good place to start the search. Ivy Bees generally choose soft friable soils to build the tunnels that form their nests. The beach at Mansands is book-ended by south-facing cliffs containing buff-coloured sandy soil, some shale and some rock. Scrubby grass provides cover in places. This is probably an ideal environment for these bees and, when I looked, I saw many small holes pock-marking the cliffs. Numerous bees were buzzing around and based on their patterning and shape these were probably Ivy Bees. Rather like commuters at a busy rush-hour railway station, some bees were going in and out of the holes and some were moving about, occasionally colliding with others. The nests were distributed along a stretch of cliff about 50 metres wide; there must be thousands of bees here. It seemed too easy but, almost by accident, I had stumbled across a massive Ivy Bee settlement, a truly impressive natural phenomenon.

Detail of Mansands cliffs with ivy bee nests
Close-up of the nest area

 

Mansands cliffs with Ivy Bee nests
Cliffs to the north-east of Mansands. Much of this area is populated by Ivy Bees

When I looked more closely, I noticed that the female bees returning to their nests carried chrome-yellow pollen along their legs, looking as if they were wearing bright yellow lycra cycling shorts. They mostly disappeared in to the holes presumably to unload the pollen to provide food for their larvae. A few returning females rested on blades of grass before entering their nests. As they cleaned themselves, they were bombarded by other bees. These may have been hopeful males but the females showed no interest at all, having probably already mated.

Ivy bee with pollen
Ivy Bee with pollen

 

Ivy bee approaching nest
Competition!

 

Ivy bee resting on grass blade
Female resting before finding her nest

 

Ivy bee at nest
Having a look

 

The Ivy Bee is a relative newcomer to the UK having been first identified on mainland Britain in Dorset in 2001. Since then it has colonised many sites along the south coast and is also spreading north. It is the last solitary bee to emerge, flying between early September and early November. It shows a strong preference for pollen and nectar from ivy although it will feed from other sources. Some call it a mining bee as it digs tunnels for its nests but others refer to it as a plasterer bee from its habit of lining the nest with a protective cellophane-like coating. Although it is a solitary bee in that it does not form cooperative colonies, many Ivy Bees tend to nest in the same area.

There are two other solitary bees that are on the wing around this time and which could be confused with Ivy Bees. The sea aster mining bee (Colletes halophilus) looks very similar but it is confined to salt marshland on the East and South East coasts of the UK. Another look-alike is Colletes succinctus but this is a bee of heather moorland. The Mansands bees are unlikely to be either of these species, especially as there are large banks of ivy in the area.

These Colletes hederae are the last solitary bees I shall see until next spring and I can’t help marvelling at their behaviour. Ivy Bees spend a frantic period of roughly eight weeks on the wing when they have to mate and build nests. They must also lay eggs and provide them with supplies of pollen and nectar, helping to pollinate the ivy along the way. During the next ten months the miraculous transformation of egg to larva to pupa to bee occurs but we don’t see any evidence of this until the new bees emerge next year and the cycle starts again.

We visited Mansands on October 3rd 2014;  the photos were taken by Hazel Strange.

I should like to thank Amelia, who writes two fascinating blogs: A French Garden and Bees in a French Garden, for kindling my interest in solitary bees.

Crab apples, arsenic and suburbia – the September garden

Silver birch in autumn

Early in the month, autumn was more of an idea than a fact but as September progressed, the predominantly green view from my kitchen window gained increasing yellow and brown tinges. But this was no New England “Fall”, rather a gentle and gradual transformation as the new season took hold. In particular, I watched the three silver birches become increasingly flecked with yellow, transforming their foliage in to a patchwork of bright yellows and dull greens which glowed in the light of the morning sun. By the end of the month, yellow had overtaken green and a thin carpet of autumn leaves began to form under the trees.

Sedum and bumblebee
Sedum and bumblebee

Himalayan honeysuckle and bumblebee
Himalayan honeysuckle and bumblebee

Down in the Leechwell Garden the signs of autumn were clear although a few residual flowers struggled on. These were received gladly by the bees and I saw them enjoying the thick pink mop heads of sedum and the pendulous white trumpet-flowers and deep red chandelier-bracts of Himalayan honeysuckle (Leycesteria formosa).

Mullein
Overbalancing mullein

A mullein that had overbalanced under its own weight to form a surprising arch sprouted vertical shoots and flowers as if desperately trying to grab the light; an occasional bee deigned to try these late offerings.
By the end of the month, ivy growing on walls outside the Garden had flowered and the huge clumps announced themselves with their sickly-sweet smell and insect-hum. The bees were lured by this sudden profusion of pollen for a final binge of the year but many other insects also contributed to the ivy-buzz.

Away from the flowers, interest this month has been provided by fruits and seeds as the plants and trees shut down for the season.

Snowberry fruit
Snowberry

A few squidgy white fruits appeared on a snowberry (Symphoricarpos) and, looking at them, I was transported back nearly half a century to a primary school playground where we used these as ammunition. No-one told me at the time that the fruits were highly poisonous but had I eaten one, their strongly emetic effects would have expelled the berry before I succumbed!

Spindle tree
Spindle tree foliage and fruit

 

Spindle tree fruit
Fruits of the spindle tree

In a somewhat gloomy corner of the Garden, a low shrub glowed with surprising pink leaves and even pinker fruit; this is a Spindle tree (Euonymus Europaeus). There is something slightly unsettling about the fruit with their bulbous four-lobed structure and brash colour. From Cathy, on her Words and Herbs blog, I learnt that the fruit are termed Bishop’s Hats in Germany; this seems most appropriate and the bishops refer to the colour as amaranth. A euonymus gets a mention in one of my favourite poems, “A subaltern’s love song” by John Betjeman. I believe Betjeman chooses the shrub as a symbol of mid 20th century suburbia. Read it to find out!

Crab apples
Crab apples

On the Crab Apple I noticed a few fruit: almost perfect green spheres tinged subtly with red. I am not sure why there are so few fruit given the number of pollinators in the Garden and I shall be intrigued to see how these mature as by last December the residual fruit were yellow.

Cedar flowers
Cedar flowers with pollen

The blueish needles of a cedar (Atlas Cedar I think) made a statement, and the tree was also adorned with squashy pollen-laden pale brown flowers. The plentiful pollen will be wind-carried from these male flowers to the female flowers higher up the tree to form cones.

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September this year has been notable for its lack of rain and mild temperatures. Although this has not been good for gardeners, it has prolonged use of the Leechwell Garden by visitors and local residents especially those with children. An unexpected use of the Garden this month was as an outdoor classroom for one of the town’s primary schools. Groups of small children in the Garden gathered around one of the benches with their teacher or ran through the water – mums and dads will have been pleased! The teachers used the Garden in this way when rebuilding work at the school was delayed by the unexpected discovery of contamination. The school occupies land formerly used as the site of the town’s Victorian gasworks and, during the rebuilding, underlying soil was found to be contaminated with arsenic, lead and benzopyrene.