Britain was soaked by a massive weather system which stretched across the entire width of the Atlantic. The wet but reasonably warm weather was being caused by a massive low pressure which sat to the west of the country, causing hurricanes in the Us and unsettled conditions in the UK with thundery showers and gusty winds. The huge storm was just one of three huge depressions filing the Atlantic ocean with Hurricane Fay and Gonzalo barrelling towards Bermuda. Hurricane Gonzalo, a swirling storm, was the strongest Atlantic storm in three years, pummelled across the UK brought 50 mph gales and heavy downpours.
The week before the storms lashed, I slowly eased myself into work. I was still very weak and exhausted but sometimes you just have to come to work to prove that you are really sick and not skiving. But I couldn’t managed a whole week and took 2 days off. I was suffering and exhausted and completely drained and it would not do me any good in the long run. Work was piling up especially as another colleague was also ill and I had been asked to take some of the burden. I really need to be fully rested and recharged before I can get back on my feet.
You rest now. Rest for longer than you are used to resting. Make a stillness around you, a field of peace. Your best work, the best time of your life will grow out of this peace.
~Peter Heller, The Painter~
Meanwhile, I still need to attend my physiotherapy session for my hand. I’d rearrange one session before and if I couldn’t attend the next, my name will go back down the list. So I dragged my feet for the appointment at the City of Coventry Health Centre which was on my way to work. I dropped off at the bus station and walked towards the centre passing the Swanswell Pool. The pool was full of the usual culprits like Canada Geese, Greylags, Swans, Coots, Moorhens with hundreds of pigeons swirling about. What caught my attention was this dove coot which was home to some of the pigeons. As I got closer to get a better view, dozens of them flew towards me, thinking that I was going to feed them. Sorry guys.
After about an hour of being manipulated, I walked back to the bus station to get the bus back to work. I was looking forward to a lunch date with SLA, a former colleague, who had gone back to work at her former place at Cambridge. She’d sold her house and had returned to collect her stuff and deposit her keys to the estate agent. We’d a lovely long lunch at the Humanities Cafe catching up with things. We went back to the office so that she could catch up with the rest of the team. It was lovely seeing her again and we promised to meet up again.
During the weekend, we made another trip to our favourite playground. There were plenty of Wigeons whistling on the water enjoying the warm autumnal sunshine. Shovellers with their long, broad spatula-shaped beaks were busy dabbling for plant food by swinging their bills from side to side and using the bill to strain aquatic invertebrates. The exquisitely barring and speckling Galdwall, one of the earliest migrants, was also dabbling near the reed-beds. The smallest of the dabbling ducks, the teals were the noisiest, making themselves heard.
Then we headed towards Carlton Hide accompanied by a flock of roaming Long Tail tits. Unfortunately, it was too dark to photograph them under the trees which were still full of leaves. We made a pit stop at the hide where a Little Grebe in its wintry colours was enjoying a solitary swim. It now had a buff plumage with a darker back and cap and a ‘powder puff’ rear end. Earlier during the week, Babe had taken this lovely shot of it feeding on a water beetle.
We continued towards the new Ted Jury hide which was always buzzing. We managed to find a seat and was entertained by a pair of Kestrels. It had been a good year for this raptor at the reserve as 5 chicks had successfully fledged. One of the bird flew close to the hide and we were mesmerised by the familiar sight of it hovering with its pointed wings and long tail. I watched it balanced in the air for several moments, before swooping down but flew up empty-handed. The other Kestrel was showing a keen interest on the owl nesting box.
I was also busy screening the top end of the reserve for the Stonechats which had been spotted here many times. I’d seen them before but would love to take a photograph. Unfortunately, not today. But Babe had taken one earlier during the week. The male was dark above with black throat, white half-collar and orange belly. The female was paler but still with a dark head and ruddy-colour below. They liked to perch in a prominent position, especially on top of a bush. Fingers-crossed, one day, I’ll be able to photograph it on my own.
We also made a trip to Bradgate Park to check out the rutting season. And we weren’t alone. We came across more than a dozen photographers with their impressive cameras having the same idea. But we were very lucky that as soon as we walked into the park, a large herd of Red Deer were running down the bracken-covered hills right in front us. It was a dream come true. They were trying to get into the forest at the other side of River Lin. What an amazing sight. They managed to cross and quickly disappeared into the woods.
It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life. The rich colours of grass and earth were intensified by the mellow light of a sun almost warm enough for spring
~P. D. James~
We checked out the river and spotted a male Red deer wallowing in the mud He was doing it to create a thicker ‘coating’. Sometimes, they urinated before entering and rolling in it, as a form of scent-marking behaviour. The stag was also scraping its antlers around in the mud. We crept closer and he noticed us and gave us the evil eye. Oops… s-l-o-w-l-y we crept back behind the trees. We don’t want to be at the wrong end of those antlers. Check out the long dark mane, the huge antlers and the size bigger than you thought but so impressive.
We continued walking and heard the roaring, growling and bellowing coming from deep in the forest. I was hoping to hear the clash of horns but not today. Small herds of deer were scattered here and there. We also saw our favourite wigeon who was enjoying the chunks of bread thrown by the visitors. He was looking splendid. A group of flamboyantly-dressed Morris dancers walked past us. They’d just finished performing at the Lady Jane Grey’s ruins. Aaah… how did I miss that. One of them told me that they will be performing in the village centre and I was very tempted to follow them. But, Babe wasn’t keen. Spoilsport!!!!
We made a pit stop at the ruins and went straight to the end of the compound. A herd of Fallow deer were feeding among the bracken. There was a bit of running and chasing as the male don’t like having small stags around his harem. A few barkings followed which was used to reinforce a warning to these young ones to stay away after they have been chased off. We sat quietly on a bench about 3 metres away and watched the actions folding around us. A few visitors tried to get close and everything disappeared into the bracken. Aaargh … when will people learn.
We then headed towards the hill where a handsome Red Deer stag was guarding his harem. He was busy chivying or pursuing the hinds with his neck and tongue extended. The stag with flared nostrils was sniffing the air and licking his tongue, a process called flehmen. He was sniffing at areas which hinds have either occupied or urinated upon, and often associated with the curling of the upper lip. There was plenty of mutual sniffing and licking between both hinds and stag. An intruder was getting quite close and I was looking forward to a locking of antlers. But as soon as the male approached, the intruder backed off. From time to time, he let out a thundering bellow.
Further up the hill, a Fallow deer was roaring his head off at would be pretenders in defiance and posturing while sniffing the air, listening and strutting back and forth, restless in anticipation of an attack from another stag. This could be a challenge, a demonstration of size or, after fighting, the reinforcement of status. He was also thrashing and wiping the bushes. This was scent marking of a holding area by rubbing antlers and scent glands against the ground and prominent landmarks. Then he began herding. Stags, throughout the rut, continued to herd hinds; both those already resident and others passing within easy reach.
We would have stayed longer but he weather began to turn and we didn’t want to get caught in the middle of the storm. As we were packing the cameras away, a very familiar liquid ‘tvit…tvit…tvit’ caught my attention. I looked up the ancient, gnarled oak tree and saw this handsome Nuthatch, scrambling around the tree. What a lovely end to a wonderful day.
SEASON of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
Conspiring with him how to load and bless
With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss’d cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has o’er-brimm’d their clammy cells.
Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
Or on a half-reap’d furrow sound asleep,
Drows’d with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
Steady thy laden head across a brook;
Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
3.
Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,—
While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
And touch the stubble plains with rosy hue;
Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
Among the river sallows, borne aloft
Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
~To Autumn, John Keats 1795-1821~
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