Cuckoo Pint and Spring’s Bridal Veil along a Devon Lane in early April

The continual wet weather combined with the dismal world and national news were getting me down.  Then Sunday dawned with unexpected sunshine.  I had to get outside and decided to walk up the lane near our house.  This was four weeks to the day since a previous visit which formed the subject of my last post and I was interested to see how much had changed since then.

Hart’s tongue fern unfurling

The lane was a mosaic of light and shadow that morning, windy in places with the arrival of Storm Kathleen, muddy underfoot but easy walking.  Flowers in different shades of yellow including primroses, dandelions and celandine had been, since my last visit, joined by buttercups to decorate the edges of the lane and there was a general sense of lush growth expressing the life force of spring.  Trees were greening, ferns unfurled new fronds and the number and range of flowers had increased with stitchwort and bluebells now enhancing the new season’s celebration.  The banks of wild garlic (ramsons) that line much of the lane had filled out.  The leaves were now mature and covered the ground although there were still very few of the starry white flowers as if the plants were waiting for a signal to start their show.   

banks of wild garlic (ramson) leaves iining the lane

lesser celandine flower with fly

All this was both interesting and therapeutic and I much enjoyed the walk but there were two events that morning that I want to describe in more detail.

Lords and Ladies or cukooo pint

The first was an odd but beautiful sight I encountered nestling on the bank at the side of the path.  Pushing upwards through the vegetation was a reddish poker-shaped spear about 5 cm long partly surrounded by a thin, protective green cowl.    This is the most obvious part of a very unusual flower and perhaps the most perfect example I have seen.  The scientific name of the plant is Arum maculatum and most flower books refer to it as Lords and Ladies.  For many years, though, I have known it as cuckoo pint.  I have a flower book dating from the late 1960s which calls it cuckoo pint so perhaps that is where I learnt it but how did this unusual name arise?    

A little research revealed that the distinctive shape of the flower has generated much ribald humour, often gender related, with the plant attracting a host of local names reflecting this.  Some examples are:  “Adam and Eve”, “cows and bulls”, “naked boys”, “willy lily”, “Kitty come down the lane, jump up and kiss me”.  Apparently, cuckoo pint is another of these.   “Cuckoo” has long had amorous connotations and “pint” is a shortening of the old English name pintle meaning a penis.  There seems to have been a shift away from this name over the past half century, but I shall continue to call it cuckoo pint, now with an added smile on my face.

Putting the naming aside, the plant is also unusual for its pollination strategy.  Hidden at the bottom of the cowl, surrounding the poker-shaped spear are a ring of female flowers, above that a ring of male flowers and then a ring of bristly hairs.  When the female flowers are ready, they emit a fetid odour that attracts small flies which enter the flower and get trapped by the bristles.  If the flies are carrying pollen, they will pollinate the female flowers and pick up more pollen from the male flowers when they are ready.  Eventually, the bristles wither and the flies are released to pollinate another plant.    All of this results in clusters of bright orange-red berries along the lane in the autumn.

Further up the lane, a break in the sycamore and hazel scrub on the right-hand side was filled by a small tree covered in white blossom.  It caught the sun that morning, looking as though a sudden sharp snowfall had decorated the boughs (see picture at the head of this post).  I stood there for a while, enjoying the warmth of the sun, examining the small white flowers, trying to get a good photo.  For a short time, I was lost in a dreamy world of flowers and photos!

blackthorn blossom

Suddenly, I felt something nudge the back of my right knee, jolting me out of my reverie.  This was a shock and I had no idea what had happened until, when I turned round, there was a small dog looking up at me as if to say hello.  Judging from the state of my trousers the dog must have nudged me with a muddy paw.

The dog’s owner soon appeared and was very apologetic.   Seeing the white blossom tree that had held my attention, she asked what it was.  I explained that this was blackthorn. She replied, saying that it looked so beautiful at this time of year and for her it was “Spring’s bridal veil”.

ashy mining bee (Andrena cineraria) on dandelion

After the dog had nudged me, I had stepped back quickly not noticing some bright yellow dandelions nearby and nearly treading on them.  When I looked down there was a honey bee-sized insect on one flower, wallowing in the petals, probably drinking nectar.   A closer look revealed that the insect was a furry bee, very fresh with well-defined white stripes on a black background.  This was an ashy mining bee (Andrena cineraria) named for the black and white colouration which some see as ashes.    

………………………

The lane was a glorious patchwork of light, form and colour that morning and the warmth of the spring sunshine and the sense that nature was moving ahead mostly normally did wonders for my mood. I was very glad to have come out and the poetic conversation with the dog owner was an unexpected bonus. 

I walked the lane on April 7^th 2024

For more information on this lane click here

A Devon lane in Early March

The signs were all about.  Water everywhere, cascading off fields, diving down culverts, even turning part of the path into a temporary brook.  All combining to feed the noisy stream in the valley bottom below.  All the result of the recent relentless wet weather.   

No rain today, though.   Instead, it was an unexpectedly sunny morning so I was out following a lane cut into the side of the valley heading into the countryside south of Totnes, not far from our house.  The path was muddy underfoot as it climbed gently between steep soil banks and rows of scrubby trees, mostly hazel and sycamore.  In summer, this becomes a dark, leafy, green tunnel but at this time of year, with branches largely bare, the bright sunshine created dappled patterns of light and shade.  Small birds moved about among the trees singing as they went, the noisy stream gurgled below and the distant peal of church bells echoed across the valley heralding the start of the Sunday morning service. 

With all the water about, the soil banks were a mass of lush green growth (see picture at the head of this post).  Elegantly arching ferns dominated some places but the heart-shaped leaves of lesser celandine and the round, fleshy, dimpled leaves of navelwort filled in the gaps.  The name, navelwort, is a nod to the resemblance of the dimpled centre of the leaves to a part of the human anatomy.

Navelwort growing on the soil banks, look for the dimples in the leaves.

Along the flat edges of the track, tongues of dark green leaves pushed upwards through the compacted wet soil.   They were still quite small but the sheer numbers made them difficult to ignore. In a few weeks, the leaves will be full size and will have been joined by masses of white starry flowers providing one of Devon’s finest spring sights.  I broke a piece off one of the leaves and savoured the mild garlicky odour for these are ramsons or wild garlic.  When the ramsons are fully grown, just walking along the lane, brushing the leaves, will release the smell.  Ramsons are popular with foragers and we occasionally use a few leaves to flavour pasta or a risotto.  

Ramsons growing in large numbers along the edges of the track

In several places along the lane, creeping mats of small fleshy leaves had formed, mostly green but with patches of greenish yellow lending a golden light to darker areas.   This is opposite-leaved golden saxifrage a plant that flourishes in dark, damp places and, even this early in the year, flowers were showing.  They lack petals but green bracts surround the yellow flower and its ring of stamens.  The plant secretes a globule of nectar to attract pollinators and on this mild morning I saw a few flies taking advantage of the sugary feed. 

Opposite-leaved golden saxifrage showing the “gold” that lights up the darker parts of the lane

Close up view of the yellow flowers of opposite-leaved golden saxifrage showing the ring of stamens

A fly feeding from the nectar on flowers of opposite-leaved golden saxifrage

Further on, parts of the lane were more open allowing the morning sun to warm the soil bank.  Large clumps of primroses flourished here as if in a microclimate.  As I stood in the sunshine, gazing at the pale yellow flowers, my reverie was interrupted by a loud buzz announcing the arrival of a large buff-tailed bumblebee queen (Bombus terrestris).  She flew about near the bank, seemingly investigating the vegetation before landing on a primrose leaf to bask in the sun. She looked sleek and fresh, yellow and white bands well defined, her coat glistening in the sunlight.  She may have been setting up a new nest in the bank and finding me here will have surprised her.  I moved on, leaving her in peace but wondered how she had been faring in our recent wet weather when flying must have been difficult. 

Primroses growing in a sunny part of the lane

Bumblebee queen basking on a primrose leaf

The lane eventually meets a road and this allowed me to complete a circular walk back to our house.  When I set out, I wondered how the plants that grow along the lane would have been affected by the recent very wet weather, but I needn’t have worried.  I had seen many welcome signs of seasonal renewal that morning with the queen bumblebee perhaps being the most prominent.

To finish, here is a poem by William Wordsworth entitled “Lines written in early spring” that seems appropriate:

I heard a thousand blended notes,
While in a grove I sate reclined,
In that sweet mood when pleasant thoughts
Bring sad thoughts to the mind.

To her fair works did Nature link
The human soul that through me ran;
And much it grieved my heart to think
What man has made of man.

Through primrose tufts, in that green bower,
The periwinkle trailed its wreaths;
And ’tis my faith that every flower
Enjoys the air it breathes.

The birds around me hopped and played,
Their thoughts I cannot measure:-
But the least motion which they made
It seemed a thrill of pleasure.

The budding twigs spread out their fan,
To catch the breezy air;
And I must think, do all I can,
That there was pleasure there.

If this belief from heaven be sent,
If such be Nature’s holy plan,
Have I not reason to lament
What man has made of man?

…………………………………………………

I completed this walk on March 10^th 2024.  For more  information on the lane I walked, please click here.

Signs of spring and an energy in the air

Slapton Ley in south Devon is a narrow, elongated lake with extensive beds of pale brown reeds at either end. The lake is a beautiful place but also a nature reserve and a popular haunt both for wildfowl and for birders.  It is inland but only just, separated from the sea by a long shingle bank wide enough to accommodate a road and pebbly beaches. 

Slapton Ley looking south. The shingle bank and road are to the left with the sea behind. The path I walked is to the far right of this picture

It was the first week of February, a mild day with cloud enveloping the area and shutting out the sun but at least it was dry.  An unpredictable gusty wind blew from the sea but the path along the inland side of the Ley was partly sheltered by trees and scrub .  Even here the wind managed to make itself felt but I found the windy conditions to be surprisingly invigorating and refreshing.  As I walked, skeletal branches clattered around me, waterside reeds vibrated, remnant fallen leaves skittered about and the surface of the Ley was stirred up into waves and spray lending the water a rough, mobile texture.  With all this motion and noise, it was as though the wind was suffusing the air with energy, one that was infectious.  I noticed a gang of gulls across the Ley that seemed to pick up on this energy as they flew up and down and around one another above the water like pieces of paper caught in an updraught.

I had come here to be out in the countryside but also hoping to spot seasonal changes so I concentrated on looking for early spring flowers along the Leyside path.  At first the path is part of a broad wooded area with the water on one side shielded by reeds but gradually the rough track narrows to run close to the edge of the Ley with trees growing in the shallow watery area and rising ground on the inland side.  Flowers were generally few and far between but it was still quite early in the year. 

I did, though, see lesser celandine dotted around the site, their bright yellow-petalled flowers speaking of the sunshine that was so absent on this gloomy day.   Lesser celandine flowers had also started to appear around Totnes where I live.

lesser celandine

There were also quite a few clumps of Alexanders with their copious sprays of shiny dark green leaves (see picture at the head of this post and below).  Most of the clumps had small umbels comprised of many yellowish-green flowers and these were attracting a few flies, the only insects I saw that day.    Alexanders is said to have been introduced to the UK by the Romans and now favours mild areas, often near the coast.  It was once used widely in cooking but fell out of favour with the popularisation of celery.

Alexanders showing the green foliage and some flowers with a lone fly

These were the two principal flowers I saw that day.  Both appear early in the year in south Devon and both are early signs that winter is beginning to slouch away.  I did, though, come across one or two of each of the following species:   

primrose

red campion

three-cornered leek

So, a few more signs of spring but the new season still felt some way away that day.

Since then, carpets of lesser celandine have appeared in places around Totnes and on the one or two sunny days we have experienced, there has been a hint of spring in the air. It has, though continued very wet with local flooding.

As I returned to the car, I passed some information boards showing what species might be seen at Slapton Ley in different seasons.  On the autumn/winter board there was also a poem by Anne Bronte entitled “Lines composed in a wood on a windy day” which nicely sums up my experience that day. Here is the poem:

My soul is awakened, my spirit is soaring

And carried aloft on the wings of the breeze;

For above and around me the wild wind is roaring,

Arousing to rapture the earth and the seas.

The long withered grass in the sunshine is glancing,

The bare trees are tossing their branches on high;

The dead leaves beneath them are merrily dancing,

The white clouds are scudding across the blue sky

I wish I could see how the ocean is lashing

The foam of its billows to whirlwinds of spray;

I wish I could see how its proud waves are dashing,

And hear the wild roar of their thunder to-day!

The winter solstice in Lyme Regis, and some winter-active bumblebees

A few days before Christmas, we visited the coastal town of Lyme Regis in west Dorset to have lunch with my sister and to exchange gifts. Lyme was uncharacteristically very quiet, there were few people about and even the usually predatory gulls were subdued.  We had a pleasant time and I managed to fit in a short walk around the seafront gardens that overlook the beach and promenade.

Part of the seafront gardens in Lyme Regis. To the east, the Dorset coast rises and falls.

From their elevated position, the gardens provide good views across Lyme Bay and along the Dorset coastline as it rises and falls in a series of hills and cliffs like a wave sweeping eastwards. The gardens are also a fine place to watch the weather, changeable, blustery and mostly grey that day with storms plus rain moving about, fortunately well out to sea.  Occasionally, the sun broke through the cloud spreading silvery light across the water and to the east, sections of the coastline lit up briefly as the light came and went.   The sun also illuminated the harbour with its sinuous sea wall known as the Cobb.  The Cobb is a local landmark dating from the 14th century and something about it, perhaps its prominent position, perhaps its pleasing shape has caught the imagination of writers.  For example, it is the site of an important plot twist in Jane Asten’s novel Persuasion and it is where Meryl Streep stands in the film of John Fowles novel, The French Lieutenant’s Woman

Lyme Regis harbour illuminated by the sun after a break in the cloud. The curving rear wall of the harbour is known as The Cobb.

The gardens rise steeply from the promenade across a hillside in a series of terraced borders separated by paths.   Even at this low time of the year, the borders looked smart and well-tended.  Spread across some were extensive banks of rosemary with its aromatic needle-shaped leaves and a good covering of fresh, grey blue flowers lending the area a blue sheen (see picture at the head of this post).   The rosemary was proving popular with small bumblebees and I saw six or more in a short space of time. They moved quickly between flowers stopping only briefly and, on their back legs, they were all carrying large lumps of sticky pollen, some orange yellow, some off-white.  With their white and yellow stripes on a black background and their small size these were most likely buff-tailed bumblebee workers (Bombus terrestris).  Interestingly, I saw no other insects that day.

One of the bumblebee workers foraging on rosemary.

Another bumblebee worker.

Although most bumblebees hibernate in winter, some buff-tailed queens set up winter colonies in the late autumn, mostly in the milder south of the UK. The workers I saw were collecting pollen and nectar for one or more of these winter active nests each with a queen laying eggs. At Lyme Regis, the colonies are encouraged by the mild south facing seaside conditions and the extensive floral resources.  The general shift to warmer winters with climate change must also be a factor

As I watched, I remembered that the following day was the day of the winter solstice.  This is the day when the Northern Hemisphere reaches its maximum tilt away from the sun and we experience the shortest day of the year with subsequent days becoming gradually longer, if only by a few minutes.  The winter solstice was very important for ancient people who were mostly farmers and needed to be aware of the seasonal cycle.  The winter solstice signified the gradual return of the light, with the promise of spring and they built temples like Stonehenge to celebrate this.   Observing the solstice at places like Stonehenge has become popular nowadays.  Those watching speak of using the time to reflect, looking backwards on the past year and forwards to the new.

Watching the winter active bumblebees, I am also looking forwards to the new.  How the colonies proceed will depend on the weather over the next few weeks but the lengthening days will allow the workers more time to forage providing the conditions enable them to get out.  Hopefully new queens and males will emerge in early spring and the cycle will start again, alongside queens emerging after spending the winter in hibernation. 

Where there’s mud there’s birds – a visit to Topsham in East Devon to find the avocets

I haven’t posted here for a while but there is a reason. I’ve been unwell with some kind of post viral fatigue and that has prevented me from getting out very much or writing.

In the meantime, here is an article I wrote towards the end of last year that has just been published in the Marshwood Vale Magazine. It describes a visit I made to Topsham in East Devon on November 29th 2022 searching for avocets and other birds on the mudflats around the estuary of the river Exe.

A gull on a post in the Exe estuary

As it approaches the sea, the river Exe swells into an impressive estuary about eight miles long and up to a mile wide.  The Exe estuary is strongly tidal, a place of ebb and flow where massive amounts of water move back and forth and vast areas of mudflats emerge twice each day as the tide falls.  Estuary mud may look uninviting but it is a rich habitat for tiny worms and crustaceans and as rich in biodiversity as a tropical rainforest.    Wading birds love this plentiful environment and many species overwinter here and can be seen feeding from the mud.  One iconic winter visitor to the Exe is the avocet, a beautiful black and white wading bird (see picture at the head of this post).

The town of Topsham on the eastern side of the estuary makes a good gateway for anyone interested in learning more about local bird life on the mudflats.  The railway station is easy walking distance from the town and there is plenty to see in Topsham itself.  The river has always been an important influence on the town and Topsham was once the second busiest port in England and an important centre for shipbuilding.  Times change and nowadays Topsham is a favoured destination for the retired and for tourists alike, its narrow streets packed with enticing cafes, restaurants and gift shops but also cars. 

The Strand in Topsham showing the houses with Dutch gables

Many fine houses were built here in the 17^th and 18^th centuries by prosperous merchants when maritime trade through Topsham was in its heyday.   These houses can still be seen, seemingly unchanged, along the main streets as they descend to the quay and river.  Perhaps the most overtly impressive street is the Strand, running parallel to the river beyond the quay, lined with elegant old houses many built with curved gables in the Dutch style.  There was a busy trade with the Netherlands in the 17/18^th centuries exporting woollen cloth made in Exeter mills.  Ships returned from Holland carrying Dutch bricks and tiles as ballast which were used to build the houses, inspired by Dutch design.

Avocets at lowish tide, from the Goat Walk

But what about the mudflats and the birds?  If we walk along the Strand until the houses peter out, we reach a raised concrete walkway along the river.  This is the Goat Walk and gives good views across the water to the salt marshes and reeds on the west bank of the Exe and downstream towards the river mouth.    At high tide, the water comes up to the edge of the walkway but as the tide falls, mud is quickly revealed and wading birds can be seen foraging for food.  If you stand here quietly on a winter’s day you may also hear the plaintive, keening call of the curlew echoing across the water.

Low tide mud flats on the Exe from the Goat Walk at Topsham with a curlew calling

At the end of the Goat Walk the path turns sharply to the left on to Bowling Green Road with the RSPB (Royal Society for the Protection of Birds) nature reserve appearing in a short distance.  This gives access to a viewing platform looking out across the water where the rivers Clyst and Exe merge.  As the tide falls, vast swathes of mudflats appear, attracting flocks of waders.  The dark mud with its film of water acts as a perfect mirror capturing an image of the sky and clouds above, punctuated by whatever waders choose to feed.  

Further down Bowling Green Road is the RSPB Hide which gives unique views across marshy land with small lakes and reed beds at the confluence of the Clyst and Exe rivers.  This is the main high tide roosting place for birds on the northern part of the Exe estuary and large numbers of waterfowl and waders may be seen.  I once saw a huge flock of godwits grazing here and suddenly taking flight, a breath-taking experience as they wheeled back and forth catching the sun.  

Avocets gathering near the bird hide at Bowling Green Marsh

In the winter, though, the star species on the mudflats is the avocet a very distinctive black and white, long-legged wader with an extended, slightly upturned beak that it uses for finding food in the mud.  The birds arrive on the Exe by November and may be seen on the mudflats off Topsham into February.  Sometimes they gather in large flocks feeding not far from the RSPB hide. 

Avocets are elegant birds and something about them has captured the local and national imagination.  For example, the railway line along the estuary linking Exeter, Topsham and Exmouth is now called the Avocet Line.  Beyond Topsham the railway runs close to the river making avocet sightings possible from the train in winter.  The Exeter Brewery is another avocet advocate and features the bird in its logo.  Perhaps the greatest tribute to the bird, though, was the adoption from 1970 of the bird as the logo of the RSPB, celebrating a major conservation and protection success story. 

The avocet was extinct in the UK by 1840 having been driven over the edge by marsh drainage, destroying important habitat, and by hunting and egg collection.  The occasional bird still arrived in the UK but was usually shot to satisfy the fashion for stuffed birds as living room ornaments.  Paradoxically, a century later, the turmoil of World War 2 opened a window of opportunity for the birds to re-establish in the UK. 

With the threat of a German invasion, the low-lying Suffolk coast was considered particularly vulnerable.  Various physical defences were erected on beaches but another strategy included the deliberate flooding of coastal marshland around the Minsmere river to hamper invading forces.  After the war, the water was allowed to recede creating a mosaic of shallow pools and reedbeds, a haven for wildlife.  In 1947, the RSPB took over managing the site and in the same year seven pairs of avocets nested on the Minsmere reserve.  The birds were guarded carefully and by 1949, after some ups and downs, 40 young avocets fledged.  This is one of the most successful conservation and protection stories and nowadays, avocets breed along the East coast of the UK in good numbers each summer. 

In winter, many migrant avocets arrive in the UK especially in the south west.  Several hundred birds overwinter on the Exe estuary each year and even greater numbers may be seen around Poole Harbour.   The birds come for the milder weather and for the mudflats with their rich biodiversity and the well-stocked winter larder they provide for these migrants.

Winter bumblebees and the Keith Richards red admiral

The Christmas weather had been poor but Boxing Day (December 26^th) was mild, clear and bright and the seafront at Paignton in south Devon was thronged with people promenading in the sunshine and as busy as I have ever seen.  Some had also come to watch “Walk into the sea” a charity event where hardy souls, often in fancy dress, splash in the cold waters of Torbay. 

A short video of Walk into the Sea 2022, from Youtube

It was good to see all the people enjoying the weather but I was here for a different reason. I left the crowds behind and headed past the little harbour towards Roundham Head, a promontory that protrudes into the waters of Torbay.  Here I found Roundham Head Gardens, public gardens built on the sloping, south-facing side of this headland where narrow paths zig zag up and down the cliff face between borders planted with many exotic species.  Some of these plants flower throughout our winter providing an unusual micro environment.

Scorpion vetch (Coronilla valentina) (see picture at the head of this post), a native of the Mediterranean, is one of the plants that flourishes here and the low winter sun seemed to accentuate the lemon-yellow colour of its pea type flowers.  In the same border overlooking the sea I also found some bergenia flowers, an almost psychedelic pink in this low light.

The view to the south from the Roundham Head Gardens showing the low winter sun

It wasn’t just the humans who had been drawn out by the mild sunny weather, there were also a number of insects about.  A small furry bumblebee had discovered the scorpion vetch and was systematically visiting each flower to feed.  Her black, white and brownish-yellow banding stood out like a furry bar code and she carried a yellow lump of sticky pollen on each rear leg.  She was most likely a worker buff-tailed bumblebee (Bombus terrestris) and I watched her track across the clump of flowers.

Bumblebee worker with pollen, feeding from Scorpion Vetch

Eventually, I had to move to the far side of the border to get a better view of the small bee, but I hadn’t noticed the large queen bumblebee feeding on the bergenia.  She objected to my presence and flew away buzzing loudly after circling closely around my head.  Was this a warning or was she just having a look?  I only got a quick glimpse but she looked like a buff-tailed bumblebee queen, our largest bumblebee species.  Later, I got a much better view of one of these huge insects basking in the sun on an old stone wall.  This one was the size of the distal section of my thumb, very furry and with clear black and orange-brown bands and a brownish tail. 

Queen Buff-tailed bumblebee (B.terrestris) basking on old stone wall

As I wandered about the enclosed paths, I encountered more small buff-tailed bumblebees, often feeding from the slate blue flowers of the rosemary that grows well here.  Most of these were carrying pollen of different colours, white, yellow or red, so they were all workers. 

Bumblebee worker carrying reddish pollen and feeding from rosemary

This winter bumblebee activity is probably a consequence of the mild marine environment in these gardens and the profusion of flowers that grows here even in the lowest months.   The worker bumblebees will be supporting nests begun by queens a few months ago, whereas the queens I saw may be preparing to set up new nests that will last across winter.

A return to the first border gave another surprise:  a red admiral butterfly basking on bergenia having been tempted out by the warm sun. As I watched it flexing its wings, another floated past my shoulder before disappearing.  I shared my picture of the red admiral on social media and one commenter (see below for details) pointed out that although this survivor from the summer still had bright colours, it now looked very worn and suggested that this was the Keith Richards of red admirals! 

Red admiral butterfly on bergenia

The commenter referred to above was “Noticing Nature: the British microseason project” (@Naturalcalendar). They can be found on Twitter and they have a newsletter

The good, the bad and the ugly at Charmouth in west Dorset

In the first week of November, we spent a few days in west Dorset.  On the way over we stopped at Charmouth, a coastal village we know very well from many visits, to take a walk and to eat our sandwiches.  It was a luminous, very mild, sunny day with mostly blue skies and a light but cool west wind. 

The view from the west cliff at Charmouth across Lyme Bay to Lyme Regis, also showing the scrub and bramble that cover the cliff-top plateau

From the beach car park, we walked along Higher Sea Lane, a residential road which heads up the cliffs that rise to the west.  An enclosed grassy path then led us to the cliff top with fine views to the west across Lyme Bay to Lyme Regis. Looking to the east, we could see the cliffs rising steeply from the other side of the beach and the distinctive flat-topped bulk of Golden Cap (see picture at the head of this post).  The sea was calm and a steely blue, transformed in places to tracts of liquid silver by the sun.  Although the sea appeared to be calm, two surfers were lurking in the water with their boards so good waves must have been expected that day.  The mild weather had also encouraged four hardy swimmers to take a dip, clad only in swimming costumes.

The cliff top to the west starts as a gently sloping plateau wreathed in thick scrub and brambles, fenced off for safety and a perfect haven for wildlife.  Many insects were flying and one large queen bumblebee landed on a bramble leaf in front of us.  At the edge of the plateau the cliff drops more steeply in soft mobile rock containing fossils and Charmouth attracts many visitors keen to sift through rocks hoping to find the perfect fossil.

We walked back down the grassy slope to the promenade and beach. It was  high tide and waves were attacking the concrete sea defences dissipating their energy in a mixture of noise and spray, lending the air a distinctive salty seaside odour.  The beach at Charmouth is a mixture of sand and shingle and stretches to the east under high cliffs.  The river Char also reaches the sea here and before it crosses the beach a long lagoon forms separating the beach into east and west sections connected by a bridge.

Large amounts of woody debris were spread across the west bank of the lagoon and when I looked carefully I found small, ridged, cylindrical blue plastic pellets (about 0.5cm across) scattered among the debris.  The same pellets were also apparent in debris on the east bank. I have seen these pellets here before: they are biobeads used by South West Water in sewage treatment at their Lyme Regis works but released into Lyme Bay through poor husbandry.  The company were supposed to have put in filters to prevent this release but it is possible that a reservoir of pellets exists on the seabed and storms bring them on to the shore.

We also walked on the beach and cliffs on the east side of the river and as we turned back into the wind to return, we were greeted by a very unpleasant smell, something I have never encountered here before.   Rotting seaweed can create unpleasant smells by the seaside but this was not rotting seaweed and smelt more like sewage. 

There is an ongoing problem, a crisis even, in the UK with water companies discharging untreated sewage into the sea and into rivers, especially after storms.  There were reports of sewage being discharged at Charmouth on November 3^rd and we visited on the 4^th.   After we had detected the smell, we noticed that the water in the lagoon was rather cloudy (a potential sign of sewage pollution) and wondered how this might affect the resident population of gulls and ducks and the aquatic invertebrates that live there.  We also watched dogs going in and out of the water and shaking themselves dry, sometimes on to their owners.  And what about the swimmers and surfers?

The queen bumblebee that stopped in front of us on the cliff top

View across the lagoon formed by the river Char at Charmouth with the bridge linking the west and east beaches (picture taken a few years ago)

Woody debris on the west bank of the Char showing blue biobeads. There is a piece of smooth blue plastic in the top left hand corner which is not a biobead. If you look around carefully in the picture you may see some black pellets. These are also biobeads.

Blue biobeads among debris on the east bank of the Char.

Flowers and moths lend a hint of the Mediterranean to Totnes

A cluster of red valerian flowers

Totnes is an ancient town with many old stone walls lining passageways, roads and the edges of gardens.  In spring and summer, the wintery-dark stone of these walls erupts with clumps of green leaves followed by dense, rounded clusters of tiny flowers, usually a bright pink, so that the clusters resemble scoops of strawberry ice cream.   This plant is red valerian (Centranthus ruber) and is thought to have been introduced from the Mediterranean in the late 16^th century.  It is now naturalised in the UK and common in England and Wales, especially in the south west where it insinuates its roots into the mortar in the old walls wherever it can get a toehold.    Its colourful flowers lend a hint of the Mediterranean to some west country towns.  

Despite this summer’s very dry weather, some valerian flower heads still remain attracting insects looking for late season nectar.  Large furry bumblebees scramble about the colourful flowers and white butterflies perch on flower heads but the plant is a particular favourite of a spectacular day flying moth with a wingspan of about 5cm, the hummingbird hawk moth (Macroglossum stellatarum).  Most years I see one of these moths but this summer I have had many more sightings especially in the last week of August and first week of September.  A long spell of warm southerly winds may have brought the moths northwards from their Mediterranean strongholds. 

A clump of red valerian hanging from an old stone wall in our street has been very popular with the moths.  On several recent days, a hummingbird hawk moth has appeared by a flower head, as if from nowhere, and hovered, its long proboscis deftly inserted into one tiny flower collecting nectar from the base of the corolla. The moth seems to hang in the air, its greyish body with black and white chequered rear showing well.  Its brown and orange wings beat so rapidly that they appear as a blur and create an audible hum.  When it has finished with one flower cluster, it jinks to another.

There is something magical about these elegant creatures and I feel privileged to be able to see them. My feelings, though, are tinged with sadness as their arrival in greater numbers is a reflection of our rapidly changing climate.

A short video of one moth on a windy day

Large white butterfly nectaring on red valerian

Hummingbird hawk moth nectaring on red valerian

Hummingbird hawk moth moving between flowers with its proboscis coiled up (you may need to enlarge the picture to see this)

Spring flowers at Cogden in west Dorset

More than six weeks ago I went searching for spring flowers in west Dorset. I wrote about this for the Marshwood Vale Magazine and the article below appeared in the June edition.

It was an unexpectedly bright morning in the first week of May and I had come to one of my favourite places, Cogden in west Dorset in the south west of the UK.  I stood in the car park for a few moments enjoying the gentle warmth of the air and taking in the familiar view set out below me.  There was the sea, calm that day and a uniform greenish-blue merging into the distant mist with no clear horizon.  There, also, was the yellowish-brown shingle beach with its fringe of white water, part of the larger Chesil Beach sweeping eastwards towards Portland, the wedge shape barely visible in the mist.  I was here to see what flowers were in bloom on this spring day and I hoped I might find some of the first orchids. 

The view down to Cogden Beach

I began my search by heading eastwards through the gate from the Car Park into the meadows that slope down below the coast road towards the sea.  Despite the traffic noise, skylarks trilled overhead and a green woodpecker “yaffled” nearby.  The ground was quite uneven, perhaps churned up by cattle when wet and muddy, making for awkward walking.  Rough grass predominated but a few bright yellow cowslips were dotted about and spikes of bugle with their pale blue flowers were also showing well.  Bugle is an unassuming flower, often overlooked but a closer examination revealed the delicately beautiful patterns of darker stripes and pale patches that decorate the flowers.  Elsewhere in the meadow, the first yellow cushiony flowers of bird’s foot trefoil were emerging, a foretaste of times to come.

I asked some passing dog walkers if they had seen any orchids.  They hadn’t, but kindly warned me to beware of adders. I continued to the east through several fields and across stiles gradually descending towards the sea.  Traffic noise from the coast road gave way to the soothing sound of pebbles driven rhythmically back and forth by waves on the beach.   When I reached the coast path, I turned to walk westwards, first along a narrow track enclosed by lush green vegetation and later above a broad grassy area bordering the reed bed and shingle beach.  Colourful drifts of wild flowers grew here, mostly cowslip and cuckooflower. 

I have always loved cowslips for their clusters of bright yellow, frilly-edged, trumpet shaped flowers (see picture at the head of this post). Seeing so many here reminded me of my childhood when it was common to find large numbers growing across chalk grassland and railway embankments in Dorset.  Nowadays, it is a treat to see even just a few of the flowers, a reminder of how much has been lost from our countryside, mainly through urbanisation and the relentless march of intensive agriculture.   

Cuckooflower is a very attractive, rather delicate looking flower, also called lady’s smock (picture below). The petals here were white with variable amounts of lilac pigmentation and lilac filigree markings.  Cuckooflower is one of several plants whose name honours the cuckoo; the flowers are said to bloom at about the same time as the bird arrives from its migration.  Cuckooflower is also one of the larval food plants for the orange tip butterfly.

In time, the reed bed petered out and I reached the first paved access track from the Cogden Car Park.  The shingle beach near here is a very special place where many unusual plants flourish despite the harsh environment by throwing down long roots to harvest fresh water from the underlying soils.   Sea kale is one of the main attractions.  It is now rather uncommon in the UK but numerous clumps of the plant with their fleshy, cabbage-type, dark green leaves were evident that day.  A few flowers, yellow at first then turning to white, were also showing.   It was, though, too early for their great display when each clump will be covered with white flowers making the beach look as though a heavy snow has fallen.  Another plant was, however, providing interest in the interim.  This was sea campion and large mats of the plant were growing across the shingle, each covered in hundreds of white bowl-shaped flowers.    

I still hadn’t found any orchids and was about to give up when, almost accidentally, I came across several groups of the flowers in an area of longish rough grass, bramble and gorse behind the shingle beach.   There were, perhaps, twenty or more spikes of flowers of a brilliant purplish-pink held on thick stems emerging through the drab, rough grass, looking as if someone had splashed pink paint across a dull canvas.  Many were in peak condition.  A few were already past their best but others were just emerging.   The flower spikes were loosely decorated with florets, like jewels on a bracelet. Each floret comprised a prominent extended lower lip, mostly purplish-pink but white towards the throat with a pattern of pink spots.  An overhanging hood, marked white on some spikes, contained the reproductive parts of the plant and behind the hood a spur curved upwards.  These are early purple orchids (Orchis mascula), usually the first of the species to appear each year and they conjure an otherworldly beauty wherever they grow.  Early purple orchids were once common across the UK but have suffered in the same way as cowslips. 

My visit to Cogden had been fascinating, as always, and I was particularly pleased to have found the orchids.  It was, though, early May and many flowers were only just beginning to show.   In a few weeks, the shingle beach will be dominated by the white flowers of sea kale, large drifts of pink thrift will appear across the low coastal cliffs and yellow horned poppy will begin to bloom.  In the meadows and in the grassy areas near the reed bed many flowers will appear including several species of orchid.    

Cuckooflower

Sea campion growing across the shingle on Cogden Beach

Sea campion

Early purple orchid

Early purple orchids

Long-horned bees along the south Devon coast

A week ago, I went down to the south Devon coast below the village of East Prawle to find the rare long-horned bees that live there.   Their main nest site is located in the low cliffs near Horseley Cove and I scrambled down the steep path to the foot of the cliffs to have a look.  It was a beautiful sunny day and the area was bathed in sunshine while the sea, a deep blue in that day’s light, fussed on the jumble of large boulders that lie just off shore.  The sea was calm when I visited but in the winter these boulders will defend the cliffs from the worst of the storms creating a protected microenvironment. 

Tracts of reddish soft rock peppered with pencil-sized holes were evident across the cliffs and several bees, roughly honeybee-sized, were patrolling the area showing a particular interest in these cavities. They swung in and moved quickly just above the surface sashaying back and forth and from side to side like hyped-up ballroom dancers.  They looked very fresh and were rather lively and It was difficult to discern details but when I focussed my attention on a single insect I could see a pale yellow face, a bright russet thorax and two extra-long antennae, for these were the male long-horned bees (Eucera longicornis) I had come to see.   One landed briefly and I marvelled at his magnificent antennae, each as long as the rest of his body. 

Numbers varied but there were always a few about and sometimes up to six at one time, weaving around one another, creating a loud buzz.  My presence didn’t seem to bother them, some flew around me and another collided with me but they carried on regardless.  They are driven by procreative urges and having emerged from their nest holes in the soft rock within the last week or so, they were now waiting to catch a virgin female as she appeared.  Mating had, though, already begun.  On two or three occasions, a bee flew directly into a hole and didn’t reappear. Photos confirmed that these slightly chunkier bees with golden pollen brushes on their back legs were female Eucera longicornis, already mated and preparing their nests. 

Eucera longicornis is rare and much declined and one of many special insect species found along this stretch of coast, designated a Site of Special Scientific Interest.  The cliff top meadow above the nests was a mosaic of wildflowers and earlier I had found a few male Eucera feeding on bird’s foot trefoil.  The coast path either side of the meadow had, however, been treated with herbicide and strimmed, virtually eliminating wildflowers, seriously degrading this important site.

Male long-horned bee (Eucera longicornis) flying about the nest area

Female Eucera longicornis enetering nest hole

Male long-horned bee (Eucera longicornis) pausing briefly by the nest site on the soft rock cliffs

Male long-horned bee and bird’s foot trefoil

Male long-horned bee on bird’s foot trefoil showing his yellow face

Evidence of herbicide use along coast path (photo taken May 21st)

Evidence of strimming along coast path