Remembering November

Few people find November pleasant. Sandwiched between Halloween and Christmas, it’s own bit of festivity was over right at the beginning of the month with flashes and bangs for Guy Fawkes. Then everyone spent most of its days fretting about not having done enough to prepare for the onslaught of festive December. While tidying away the Halloween decorations and fretting about where we stored the Christmas ones, November was quietly bearing a grudge.

In Anglo Saxon times, November was known as ‘Wind monath’ because it was the time when cold winds began to blow. It was also Blodmonth’ which was ‘slaughter month’ or ‘sacrifice month’ because it was the time when cattle were slaughtered for winter food. Louisa M. Alcott in Little Women quoted

‘November is the most disagreeable month in the whole year’

and the 17th century astrologer, Richards Saunders proclaimed

‘In this Moneth, melancholy much increaseth…’

and warned his readers

‘Do not go early forth of doors …because of foggs and mists,’

Poor November. Kudos to the Spaniards, because a recent research showed that they tweeted the words ‘te amo’ (I love you) most often in November. Anyway, the first week of the month had always been a time of festivals and celebrations marking the end of the harvest and beginning of winter. So we started ours with a flash and a bang.

We’d always wanted to toast Guy Fawkes in true style and decided on checking out the Eastern Green Social Club that had been lighting up the skyline with its epic fireworks display for many years. We’d never been to this part of the world and driving in the dark made it feel like it was at the end of the world. Thanks to the GPS we finally found the brightly-lit oasis but parking was a nightmare. We were about to give up when we found a space right by the entrance. Thank goodness for small cars.

We paid the £5 each entrance fee and was ushered into a brightly-lit enclosure with fairground rides, hot dog and traditional sweet stalls. After a quick browse, we followed the crowd into a dark field. A fence was erected to stop the crowd from going further into the field where a huge pile of wood was waiting to be burned. We stood among the crowd and it was bitterly cold. From the distance, we could hear and see rockets and fireworks whizzing and banging around us.

We were here since 6.30 pm and the party was supposed to start at 7.30 pm. We decided to have a hot chocolate to warm our cockles but we couldn’t see the end of the queue. It was that long!!! We went back to where we were standing and thankfully, the bonfire was burning. The crowds gathered closer, wrapped up warm against the cold and the wind, enjoying the crackling bonfire. We were standing about 50 metres away but could still feel the heat. The fire was burning quite strongly that the nearby bushes and trees caught fire. For a moment, there was a bit of a panic as the security team were running up and down with pails of water.

We were standing next to a hedge which flanked the main road. Cars were haphazardly parked on both sides of the road causing traffic to a standstill. We could hear horns blaring away with a few juicy words thrown in. To make matter worse, spectators were lining along the road hoping for a free show. I prayed that our car wasn’t blocked in. Meanwhile, in the field more people were pouring in and children were having fun with sparklers and glow sticks.

There was a hush when we noticed people moving about in the main field. Suddenly the theme song from Titanic came on accompanied by bangs and whizzes as the night skies above us lit up with bursts of colours. Dubbed a ‘pyromusical, artistic displays exploded across the sky and with soundtracks combined brought an evening of festive fun. There were plenty of oohs and aahs although the choice of songs were a bit dubious. After about 20 minutes, the pyrotechnic displays ended with the ‘Sound of silence’. What!!!

I was hoping the fireworks display would go on for at least half an hour. We were shivering in a middle of a field for nearly 2 hours just to watch a 20 minute show. Then we watched the ugly side of crowd behaviour. Everyone was trying to leave at the same time and there were scenes where the volunteers were verbally abused and the hedges trampled as the ‘thugs’ made their exit. We waited for 20 minutes before following the crowd leaving at the main entrance. I was thankful that we parked by the entrance because we could leave ASAP. Looking at the haphazard parking, I guess some people will be stuck here for at least an hour.

Would we come again? Not here. There were a few other displays scattered around Coventry and I think we might check them out next time. I must remember to bring a flask of hot chocolate and a portable stool because of the long time standing in the cold and the long queues for a hot drink. I was also hoping for a longer display too. So here’s hoping for the next Guy Fawkes celebration.

Remember, remember the fifth of November,
Gunpowder treason and plot.
We see no reason

Why gunpowder treason
Should ever be forgot!
Guy Fawkes, guy, t'was his intent

To blow up king and parliament.
Three score barrels were laid below
To prove old England's overthrow.

By god's mercy he was catch'd
With a darkened lantern and burning match.
So, holler boys, holler boys, Let the bells ring.

Holler boys, holler boys, God save the king.
And what shall we do with him?
Burn him!

After such an explosive adventure, we went for a gentler pursuit at Slimbridge. It was a dry and bright day at 9.3C when we left the casa. We headed straight to Rushy Hide to check out the family of Bewick’s Swans that were back from the Arctic Tundra in Siberia. This time they brought with them their new youngsters. It was wonderful to see them return each year, flying 3000 km battling over desolate tundra, woodland wilderness, vast lakes and seas to spend the winter in our neck of the woods. The Bewick’s swan, also known as the Tundra Swan, was named by William Yarrell after Thomas Bewick who was an engraver of birds and animals.

The first Bewick’s had arrived on the 3rd of November and their arrival was traditionally seen as the start of winter. These swans were particularly special in that they had great winter site fidelity and so over half of the swans that visit Slimbridge each winter were known to have visited previously. Some of these swans were also ringed which enabled the Trust to track them on their autumn and spring migrations to and from Artic Russia. After spending the summer on the Tundra to feed and breed, they then headed to north-west Europe to escape the icy grip of the Arctic winter.

The Bewick’s were very noisy, with their constant low babbling in the water and also indulging in greeting displays. They were very excited when they greeted one another with higher pitch calls and louder yelpings. The usual flight calls were faster with more yelpings and a low ‘hoo-hoo-hoo. During flight, they had quick wing actions, more agile at take off and landing, dropping onto the water at steeper angles and rising with little foot-pattering. We enjoyed taking photographs of them flying in, skimming over the waters and landing.

“An  assembly of swans is one of our most moving wildlife pageants. The jostling family groups of snow-white adults and greyish cygnets have a mesmeric beauty, while the birds’ evocative bugling calls suit frosty weather to a tee.’

~Kate Humble~ 

Apart from these beauties, Rushy pool was alive and buzzing with hundreds of Tufted Ducks, Shelducks, Mallards, Greylags, Pintails, Pochards, Gulls and Coots. Tufted ducks were busy diving for crustaceans and small molluscs amongst the submerged water weed while the contrasted plumage Shelducks were either splashing in the water or having a snooze on the islands. The silent birds of deep waters with rounded bodies and big heads,the Pochards, were also diving with closed wings to feed chiefly on aquatic plants.

We enjoyed watching the elegant Pintails dabbling along the mud-banks. These long-necked and small-headed ducks fly with a curved back pointed wings and a tapering tail, earning them the nickname ‘greyhound of the air’. It was a shame that they were a ‘quarry’ species which meant that they could be legally shot in winter!!! What???

Like all dabbling ducks, Pintails feed on the surface rather than diving for their food. They fed on the seeds and nutlets of moist-soil and aquatic plants. They also made extensive use of waste grain. They rarely bred in the UK and formed large mixed flocks with other species of ducks. The winter population here in the UK were about half of the north-west European population.

We were excited when we spotted this pair of Common Cranes flying above us towards the tack piece which was greeted by oud, trumpeting calls. This meant that there were others in the field. Their outstretched necks, long wings and those characteristics black flight feathers were very visible. We quickly walked to Martin Smith Hide and counted at least 9 Common Cranes on the tack piece. Woo Hoo. We planned to nip over to the next hide which will have a better view.

But first, we checked what was in front of us. Our smallest duck, the Teals were fast asleep with their heads tucked in their wings while carpets of Wigeons were grazing  in close-knit groups. They enjoyed a vegetarian diet, feeding on the short grasses, sedges and rush stems and roots. The calls of the male Wigeons was an evocative, whistling ‘weee-ooo; which carried far across the grazing marshes. In late autumn and winter, parts of the tack fields were deliberately flooded to provide scrapes for these migratory waders.

Then it was off to Robbie Garnett Hide with a pit stop at the Willow Hide. Nothing much expect for the House sparrows, Chaffinches, Blue and Great tits. A rat was feeding on the fallen seeds from the bird-feeder. We rushed to the next hide when we heard more trumpeting calls from the Common Cranes. They were feeding very close to the hide. We took our positions and all you could hear were our cameras rattling away.

Close-up, the Common Cranes were so impressive especially the slate grey, with elongated black flight feathers that formed a drooping, bushy cloak over the tail. In contrast, the neck, chin and throat were dark grey to black, with black foreheads and distinctive white stripe that ran behind the eye, down the neck and to upper back. The top of the heads bore a red patch of bare skin, and the eye was also bright red or reddish-brown.

They foraged, probing with their beaks or picking up food. The diet included plant and animal matter, including roots, shoots, tubers, leaves, grain and nuts as well as invertebrates and small vertebrate prey.  The vegetal materials were important in their diet during the winter months. They were quite noisy too. Their calls could be described like a cawing carrying far, uttered on high-pitched and rough tones ‘krouou’, ‘grououj’ and ‘kaerr’. In Homer’s ‘Iliad’, the sound of these migrating flocks was likened to the sound of armies approaching in battle.

A few breeding pairs were reinforcing their bond with ‘unison calling which were a complex series of coordinated calls given with elaborate head jerks where the head thrown back and the beak pointed skywards. They also engaged in ‘dancing’ with a variety of bows, bobs. leaps, running and tossing of vegetation which was most commonly used in courtship and also associated with aggression. We watched them walking slowly in an elegant way, giving them a proud pace.

The bird is my neighbour, a whimsical fellow and dim;
There is in the lake a nobility falling on him.

The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme,
And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream.

The bird is both ancient and excellent, sober and wise,
But he never could spend all the love that is sent for his eyes.

He bleats no instruction, he is not an arrogant drummer;
His gown is simplicity - blue as the smoke of the summer.

How patient he is as he puts out his wings for the blue!
His eyes are as old as the twilight, and calm as the dew.

The bird is my neighbour, he leaves not a claim for a sigh,
He moves as the guest of the sunlight - he roams in the sky.

The bird is a noble, he turns to the sky for a theme,
And the ripples are thoughts coming out to the edge of a dream

.

John Shaw Nelson ‘The Crane is my neighbour’

A pair of Geese then flew in and landed on the river bank. At first, I thought they were Greylags but then it turned out to be Greenland white-fronted geese with their orange legs and orange beaks. These grey goose had a large white patch at the front of the head around the beak and bold black bars on the belly. They bred in Western Greenland, migrating during September and October via staging grounds in Iceland to winter here, before returning in April. Crossing the 2700m high Greenland ice cap was a remarkable feat of endurance for a large bird.

In North America, they were known as ‘Specklebelly’ due to the salt-and-pepper appearance of their underside. They had shrill, cackle like calls. The geese grazed and foraged on a range of plant materials taking roots, tubers, shoots and leaves. This pair was much more interested in having a drink and a wash in the stream.

We spent quite sometime here that it was nearly feeding time at Rushy Penn. In winter, the feeding time was at 4 pm for the wild geese and ducks. We quickly walked to the hide and made ourselves comfortable. You can also watch the feeding frenzy from the warmth of the Peng observatory but the views were behind glass which made photographing difficult. About half an hour before feeding time, they started flying in.

The Canada Geese flew in with their usual v-formation. As more and more flew in, it was a challenge to find a landing space among the crowded pond. Often, the ducks had to dive when the geese were about to land on top of them. The noise was unbelievable. The yodelling calls of the Bewick’s, the nasal trumpeting inflight calls from the Canada Geese, high-pitched whistles of the Mallards, the whistling wigeons, the melodious Teals and the grating quacks from the Pintails became louder when they spotted the warden pushing a barrow full of seeds. It was a real spectacle and a wonderful way to end the day.

Before we said goodbye to November, we made our only trip to Donna Nook to say hello to the seals. We left the casa at 6.55 am which was a first for us. It was 2C, cold but dry. We must be loco. We spotted at least half a dozen Kestrels hunting for their breakfast along the roadside verges. At 8.25 am, we hit the office traffic queues at Lincoln and it was stop and start. We weren’t surprised to find the Stonebridge car park nearly full when we arrived!!!

It was freezing and the high winds didn’t help either. We wrapped up warm like the Michelin man and waddled towards the action. We were greeted by a female seal and her new-born pup at the entrance. If she gave birth here, it meant that the sand dunes and the beaches were already crowded. As we trekked along the chestnut-paling fence that ran the entire length, more pups of different stages of growth with their protective mothers were scattered along the beach. Their whimpering cries were echoing around us.

There were plenty of heart warming scenes where mothers were nursing their pups, a Hallmark card that celebrated nature’s success. It was lovely watching the intimate interactions between mothers and pups. Mothers were encouraging the pups to feed by scratching their faces. Pups suckled for 3 weeks during which their weight tripled and gradually lost their pale coat. In the meantime, mothers lost half of their body fat during lactation as they weren’t feeding.

Each pup I encountered was cuter than the one before, looking at me with their glossy black eyes like coal. Appearing in shining white colour when born, called languno, the fur darkened and began to shed as they matured. These adorable pups were very close the fence, checking out the visitors who were busy checking them out, under the watchful eyes of their possessive mothers. If anyone got too close, the warning hisses will be issued.

Nearby, the males (Bulls) were slumbering about, rolling, scratching and snoozing in the mud-banks bidding their time and waiting for the pups to be weaned and the females (Cows) to be in season and ready to mate. There were a few fights too as the hormone levels changed and became aggressive. They were staking their territory and keeping other males away. Fights were vicious and bloody. There were open mouth threatening displays, hisses and vocalisations.

We didn’t see any births but there must had been a few earlier because there were plenty of afterbirths laying around with pups still stained from the yellow amniotic fluid. Turnstones were having a feast with the afterbirths. These mottled birds were known for spending their time creeping and fluttering over rocks, picking out food from under the stones, hence the name. But, here they’d easy pickings.

We checked the information board for the statistics of the week. There were 658 bulls, 1417 cows and 1223 pups in the reserve. I think there were still more to be born. Suddenly, a flawless grey machine appeared in the horizon. It was a Boeing C17 Globemaster, a military transport aircraft deploying flares on the bombing range. Red flags were fluttering warning people not to be on the sandbanks which meant that the RAF were practising on the firing range. The Boeing was sometimes referred to affectionately as ‘The Moose’ due to its busy looking wing structure that included 4 engines and upturned winglets. I think the practice went on for quite some time from different angles.

‘Bombing is often called ‘strategic’ when we hit the enemy. and ‘tactical’ when he hits us, and is often difficult to know where one finishes and the other begins’

~Air Vice-Marshall J. E. ‘Johnnie’ Johnson, RAF~

The wildlife were unfazed by the planes and the flares. I think they were used to it as Donna Nook was also an active military range. Then we headed back to car for refreshments. Swarms of Goldfinches were feeding on the dead thistles and teasels with their high-pitched rapid twitterings. Noisy Oystercatchers with their black and white plumage and startling orange bills were calling in flight. But, this Water pipit feeding along the grassy mud-banks caught my attention. This winter visitor bred in the Alps and other mountains of central and southern Europe and it was a privileged to see them.

We also spotted our favourite seal, Ropeneck, so named by wardens who found her in 2000 entangled in discarded netting and was clearly in distressed. Kudos to the Lincolnshire Wildlife Trust wardens with assistance from RAF Donna Nook for cutting her free. But the netting had cut a very deep wound in her neck which was still visible even today. We didn’t see her on the way down  and it was lovely seeing her again, at her favourite spot. She’d arrived on November 16th and gave birth on the 20th. Gutted that I missed the birth.

The calamity of seals begins with jaws.
Born in caverns that reverberate
With endless malice of the sea’s tongue
Clacking on shingle, they learn to bark back
In fear and sadness and celebration.

The ocean’s mouth opens forty feet wide
And closes on a morsel of their rock.
Swayed by the thrust and blackfall of the tide,
A dapped grey bull and a brindled cow
Copulate in the green water of cove.

I watch from a cliff-top, trying not to move.
Sometimes they sink and merge into black shoals;
Then rise for air, his muzzle on her neck,
Their winged feed intertwined as a fishtail.

She opens her fierce mouth like a scarlet flower
Full of white seeds; she holds it open long
At the sunburst in the music of their loving;
And cries a little. But I must remember
How far their feelings are from mine marooned.

If there are tears at this holy ceremony
Theirs are caused by brine and mine by breeze.
When the great bull withdraws his rod, it glows
Like a carnelian candle set in jade.

The cow ripples ashore to feed her calf;
While an old rival, eyeing the deed with hate,
Swims to attack the tired triumphant god.
They rear their heads above the boiling surf,
Their terrible jaws open, jetting blood.

At nightfall they haul out, and mourn the drowned,
Playing to the sea sadly their last quartet,
An improvised requiem that ravishes
Reason, while ripping scale up like a net:

Brings pity trembling down the rocky spine
Of headlands, till the bitter ocean’s tongue
Swells in their cove, and smothers their sweet song

.

Richard Murphy ‘Seals at High Island’

It  rained while we were in the car. It was lovely to be away from the bitterly cold and wet winds. After finishing our picnic, we decided to head home. It was too cold and too crowded and we’d already seen everything. The C17 had returned and resumed its practice. We said our goodbyes to the seals and wished them a very safe journey and hoped to see them again next year, insya’allah. Then it was a slow drive home as we hit the office exodus. But, it wasn’t that bad because we saw a goshawk hunting near the woodlands on the A46/A606 to Leicester. What a lovely end to November.