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In Search of Otters

28/3/2018

By Lesley McLaren

Just over a week ago when I was at Als Bachous (see blog of 24th March), I didn't explore beyond the western side of the lake, so decided to do so yesterday. After about 15 hours of rain three days earlier, I thought there was a fair chance of finding otter tracks in mud around the Tech.

It wasn't a dawn expedition, and even though it was a dull, slightly showery morning, there were plenty of flies around - attracting swallows and house martins. This was only the second time I've seen house martins this year, and the first time for swallows (but the local bird group reports having seen both of those, plus alpine swifts, at St Nazaire as early as 2nd March). Further on, three ducks took off across the water. Significantly smaller than mallard, with a distinctive flash of white under the wing, they were reminiscent of, but not, sandpipers. On my way back later, I would see them again, at some distance away on the water. Even with binoculars it was impossible to pick out markings, other than a lot of white on the head of two of them. Later, comparison of poor quality photos with my book, would identify them as garganey ducks. A species I must have seen at some time in my life before, but don't recall. Two males and one female. The white on the male's head is a bold white stripe over the eye. Males also have pretty silver-white patterning on their sides, and pinkish-brown backs. Very striking, and hard to mistake for anything else. My book tells me they will only be passing through here, not breeding.

Once over the steep bank beyond the western shore, I was delighted - sort of - to solve the mystery of the earth mounds I talked about in my previous blog. A new lake has been dug out. This was a huge surprise, and I wonder if the intention is for another fishing lake or nature reserve. I seem to remember that the GOR was interested in purchasing the land at one point, so their involvement is possible. I shall ask them. My delight was tempered only because the original quarry-turned-marshland seemed to have been well populated with amphibians - reptiles too no doubt. Many creatures will have lost their lives during construction work.

Click on photos below for larger image

Down at the Tech, close to Jam Rock where Bruce and I hoped, but failed, to see otters a few years ago, I found prints left by dogs and possibly beech marten, but no otter tracks.

Apart from a lone sandpiper, the river was quiet, but a big, intriguing, stationary blob in the water upstream had me clambering over, under and around trees and brambles to get a closer look. For sure it was no animal, but I was somewhat taken aback to discover it was an abandoned jet ski! It might have drifted down from elsewhere but rather looked as though it had been brought to a sudden halt by floating tree debris.

Any feelings of schadenfreude were short-lived, however.

I had left the river again and was making my way back towards the main lake, skirting the concrete flood barrier, when the sight of a dead animal brought me to a sudden halt. How does the saying go? Be careful what you wish for.

It was an otter.

I know they all die eventually, and this one might have succumbed to natural causes, but her position, right by this wide track used by earth moving vehicles for the new lake, makes me suspect she was in a collision. Very unlucky if that's the case, because otters are generally nocturnal. I couldn't see any sign of attack by another animal, but blood around her nose suggests to me that her head was hit. One canine tooth was broken and several small front teeth were missing. That could be down to age for all I know, and her red, swollen gums might indicate gum disease (can otters suffer from that?). Equally, it could point to trauma as a result of a head injury - or maggot activity? So very sad to see, whatever the cause.

Because her body wasn't yet too decomposed (maggots were present but tiny), it did give me an opportunity for a very close look and, in the end, I made a second visit, armed with rubber gloves and tape measure! Perhaps I missed my calling as a pathologist.

If you're squeamish, scroll down past the next set of pictures. If you're not, click them for larger images.

Before leaving her, I lifted her away from the puddles, to rest a little higher up, in dead leaves against the wall. And, on returning home, I reported the grim discovery to SOS Loutre, who ask to be notified of sightings, dead or alive, and may be interested in recovering her body.

It's doubly sad that this female was only a few hundred metres from where Bruce discovered the skeleton of another, back in 2009, close to the lake. At least I now have incontrovertible proof that otters are still present in this area - I just wish I hadn't discovered it this way. But where there's one, there will be more, so my quest to see a live one continues.

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Back at Als Bachous

24/3/2018

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By Lesley McLaren

Despite best intentions last September, the first time I returned to Als Bachous since then was a week ago. As soon as I got out of the car, it was evident that there has been a lot of human activity. And some, at least, is welcome.

At first I was aghast to see great heaps of earth at the southern end of the former eastern quarry (now marshland). I had to go and investigate straightaway, and scrambled up the bank separating marsh from lake. There’s just a single line of mounds, but no sign of any fresh quarrying – the marsh, which I explored last time, is still exactly as was. I couldn’t really tell, therefore, where all the earth must have come from to create such spoil heaps. Unless it's been imported? If so, for what purpose? It occurred to me that the GOR might be trying to tempt bee-eaters to breed here again. But the heaps look much too stony to me, so I think I can rule that out.

Looking across the eastern marsh (former quarry) to new soil heaps

More heartening was the sight of additional efforts made since my previous visit, to prevent vehicle access all round the lake. By ploughing! The wide track on the far side has been completely dug up, and earth barriers created across it in places. 4x4s, quads and scooters might still cope with it, but it should deter most people. A single car-width of track has been left down the east side of the lake, but passing and parking is now difficult owing to the ploughed 'verges'. Nevertheless one determined fisherman was installed along there beside his van when I walked past. They’ll have to keep ploughing, because rain – and more daring drivers – will gradually flatten the soil back down. But it’s a great improvement and the whole area was very quiet. Perhaps this is linked to the mounds of earth – in which case work must still be very much in progress. I was relieved that there was no activity of heavy machinery while I was there.

Down in the eastern marsh it was indeed soggy. Tadpoles were active in water-filled ruts, and insects were on the increase, including speckled wood and orange tip butterflies. There were fewer birds than I expected, but I did see one fan-tailed warbler, and heard several Cetti’s (neither of which migrate). At the foot of the GOR notice about amphibians and dragonflies, spraint on a stone looked to have bone fragments in it – possibly left by otter or mink.

At the Tech, it was good to see the river running well. Although not especially deep, it would have come to my knees at least, had I tried to wade across to the islet I stood upon in September. From my position on the bank, even with binos, it was impossible to see if there was any fresh otter spraint – my main objective for the day.

It proved equally impossible to spot any of the several Cetti’s warblers that were taunting me with their explosive song. I wondered if the old nest in this low bush on the islet was made by a Cetti’s – quite probably, I think.

At one point a small blur of brown flew into a bush only a few metres away, immediately disappearing behind leaf buds. That had to be one. I waited for some minutes, camera poised for when it would reappear, which it must eventually. Surely? Nope. Only when I gave up and moved, did it bob into sight for a nanosecond, before flying into deep cover on the opposite bank. One day I'll get a proper look at one.

That morning I had to content myself with watching a group of mating pond skaters, close to the bank. They seemed unbothered by me hovering close above them, but getting a photo in focus was near-impossible because they were constantly on the move, rowing at high speed with those super-long middle legs. I've read since that the males, which are rather shorter than the females, die after mating. Females, on the other hand, have two breeding cycles in a year. Lucky for some!

This female is multi-tasking - eating a moth while mating.

Back at the lake, the island in the middle looked starkly white with guano – which it always does before the leaves return on the trees.

At the start of my walk I'd picked out a couple of night herons on there, as well as grey herons and sunbathing cormorants, but on the way back, something black and glistening caught my eye at the water’s edge on the south side. Some kind of animal? Binos confirmed a terrapin. Three, in fact. After a few minutes two more crawled out of the water, and by the time I’d walked on a bit, there were seven. Not far above them, one of the grey herons stood motionless among bamboo canes. I hoped it would consider them too big too tackle, and certainly, at least while I was watching, it paid them no attention.

Scanning further along the water's edge, my binos picked up a biggish-looking burrow and a strip of bare earth to its right, which looked as though it led to another hole. The fresh looking soil and lack of plant debris seemed to point to these being active, not old and disused. And, presumably, whatever lives in them must be a swimmer ... with a penchant for fish perhaps?

Apologies for such an over-exposed shot - the only way to make the holes visible.

Although an island burrow should be safe - especially from human disturbance in this lake - somehow I suspect an otter holt would be better concealed. I feel it's more likely that these belong to coypu or mink - but really don't know enough about any of those species.

If I do return around dawn one day, perhaps I'll start observations at that point, before heading for the river. The clocks go forward tonight, so sometime over the next few weeks would be ideal for an expedition like that - before it gets too difficult to throw myself out of bed in the dark. In any case, I need to return soon, to see if there have been any developments with those mounds of earth.

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Winter's Back!

20/3/2018

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By Lesley McLaren

After writing about bees yesterday morning, by the evening an orange weather warning had been issued for overnight snow in the Mediterranean Pyrenees. If the forecast was to be believed, even our village might get blanketed. Without a care for the bees and other poor creatures that have been fooled into thinking it's spring, I was stupidly excited; we haven't had snow this low down since 8th March 2010, when about 50 - 60cm fell in a day.

I got the spade from the shed, ready to dig out the car if necessary. Promised the dog that he was in for a treat; he has never experienced snow, so his reaction would be entertaining. It started raining at 7pm, bang on forecast, and the temperature was due to drop to zero.

At 2am I woke up and poked my head out of the back door. Still raining. Still 5 degrees. And when I got up properly at about 7 o'clock, it was such an anti-climax to find not a flake in our garden.

Higher ground further inland has been affected, I believe - certainly in the Corbières - and there is more on the Albères than we saw all winter. Today's strong, cold wind may well prevent a fast melt - and it's certainly keeping the bees away.

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The Bees' Knees in March

19/3/2018

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By Lesley McLaren

Last year I never got round to clipping one of the hedges down the side of our front garden. It's a type of broom, I think, and produces a colourful show each spring and autumn. Over the winter I kept looking at it, feeling guilty for letting it get quite so overgrown, but told myself I wouldn't be wise to tackle it before the frosts were over. However, even before the end of February, new flower buds were forming. I'd left it too late.

Now I'm glad, and my laziness has paid off because it's a mass of red flowers, attracting bees in great numbers. Honey bees mostly, but also dozens of carpenters. I've never seen so many of those black "bombers", as Robin has nicknamed them, all at once. Sometimes they knock into one another as they compete for a flower. An astounding sight this early in the year.

Click on photos to enlarge.

Carpenters really are giants compared with honey bees. Below, there's one of each on apricot blossom, which is right next to the hedge.

This is the first year that young tree has bloomed, and I'm hopeful it might even give us some fruit this summer, now that the bees are doing their thing!

In the back garden, the plant that attracted so many bees last spring is doing the same again right now. (Through the spring and summer months of 2017 I kept a photographic diary of the different species that visited our garden - it can be found here.)

Bumbles, more than honeys, seem to love this bush - perhaps because they have longer tongues to get into its long flowers. The little one below rarely stayed still, so I never quite managed to capture his white hairy face. But I notice he also seems to have white tufts on his knees.

Honey bee

In the short clip below, those carpenters are hard at work.

Carpenter Bees in March from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.

Now I have a dilemma. What do do about the hedge after it's finished flowering this time? Let it get even bigger or tame it? Given the size of our garden, I think it'll have to be the latter. But perhaps I'll just give it one trim, so it'll be big again by the end of next winter, and ready to nourish the local bee population once more.

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The Sound of Music - in the Orchards?

14/3/2018

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By Lesley McLaren

For some years I avoided walking too deep into the orchards, partly because of a kind of natural barrier at a line of tall poplars, but mostly because often there emanated, from somewhere beyond those trees, the sound of an electronic keyboard.

Depending on the time of day and direction of the wind, dreadful plinky-plonky noises would drift across the vineyards - a few bars of this, followed by a pause, then a few bars of that. Almost a tune, but not quite. It annoyed me because it clashed with the birds. One day last autumn, when it started up yet again, I gave in to curiosity and changed direction to track down the source. I imagined a house somewhere close by, where an enthusiastic beginner practised, with the windows open. When no house was visible, I next wondered if someone had transported their keyboard to the middle of the orchards and was playing to the trees - a variation on talking to them. There's no accounting for human behaviour, and people play the piano to elephants, after all.

The sound was getting louder; I was closing in. But what I found was, if anything, even more bizarre than I'd imagined.

A tall white pole with loudspeakers on each side of a box at the top. Solar powered. In fact there was a pole every few hundred metres, over several square kilometres. Mercifully, they weren't all belting out the same random notes at the same time, (although I would one day hear two going at once, with different “tunes”). What on earth was the intention behind them? It couldn't be to entertain the fruit pickers, because harvesting was long since over. Surely it couldn't be to encourage growth?

Quite a mystery. Although it has continued all through the winter, it's only lasted for about five minutes when I've been over that way, which has encouraged me to walk this section of the orchards more frequently than my regular patch.

My main reason for putting up with the intrusive, if spasmodic noise, is that this area is much further from the busy main road, and most of the time the only people I see are those working the land. Except for Mondays when several large groups of what I presume are U3A members crisscross the plantations at speed, arms pumping, walking poles clickety-clacking.

Most of this January was spring-like. In contrast, February was much colder, with several sharp frosts - more what you’d expect for winter. Nevertheless, while the so-called Beast from the East and Storm Emma struck much of Europe and the UK, down here, we got off lightly. Nighttime temperatures didn't seem to go below -4°C, and the lowest daytime temperature I noted was 6°C. We've been getting frequent, short-lived but violent southerlies, though - more than I remember in past winters. These have kept temperatures up but brought down several of the tall, thin poplars that border many of the fruit plantations.

The terrain in between each plot of trees also offers more variety of habitats than the side I usually explore. It’s more watery for one thing. There are several deep irrigation ditches, which sometimes run with water, and whose steep banks are covered in interesting vegetation. Last autumn there was plenty of frog activity - every few feet one or two leapt into the water as I walked along the track above them. Then there’s the narrow Canal de Palau, which I guess might have been dug by the Romans originally.

Close to the canal, several big old oaks stand like sentinels in a grassy spot between orchards (first photo in this blog). It's lovely to see they have been preserved. One is particularly huge and ancient-looking. It's lost a lot of limbs to gales over the years, but the main trunk looks solid enough still.

Further on, the River Tanyari runs roughly parallel with the canal. That too is relatively narrow. Despite having high, man-made banks either side – flood defence style – it's not deep, but deep enough to cover your boots at a ford, so I haven't ventured across it yet. In any case, I think houses and a lane lie not far beyond. Impenetrable bamboo is the dominant plant on the banks here. Great cover for all sorts of creatures, including Cetti's warblers, which are singing loudly again now. Apart from the ford, you can only see the water where animals have created tracks to it.

I've seen a fox on patrol, and I imagine badgers may also roam. Otters probably visit the river, or perhaps live on it. With the arrival of true spring weather this week, a hare has appeared three times. Yesterday it was on the track ahead, some distance away but ... haring straight for us. Diggers and I stood still (the dog doubtless unable to believe that lunch might be about to run straight into his mouth). With only a few metres to go, it finally veered off, through the nectarine trees. I expected to see something in pursuit, but nothing showed itself. Hares aren't that common in these parts, and I have a feeling we’re encountering the same one. I hope I’m wrong and that’s it’s not alone.

On a different day, he or she was well camouflaged among the fruit trees

Lizards have been making an appearance for some weeks - the sun is really warming up - and I often hear or catch sight of one scurrying through leaf litter along the northernmost border. Protected by tall poplars and that high river bank, it's the most sheltered stretch. If I haven't already had to take off a layer of clothing by the time I reach it, I'll get down to a T-shirt here. This morning, shorts would have been a good idea.

Nothern boundary - river bank to right of poplars

Poplar flowers emerging

On another warm, sunny morning a few days ago, I heard significant rustling a few feet in front. My first thought was mouse, and I automatically shortened the dog's lead, in case Diggers lunged. When I homed in on the sound, I was surprised to see a small snake writhing in a knot, at the foot of a tree. Was it injured? After a few seconds it unwound itself and seemed to split in two - the bigger part sliding away fast, up the bank; the smaller part wriggling down towards my feet - whereupon it froze. Not part of the snake, I realised, but a lizard with a very long tail. It didn't look wounded, but only when I touched one of its legs did it race off. Fascinating to have seen the reptilian food chain in action - and the first time I've ever seen a snake with prey. I think it must have been a common grass snake (natrix natrix). Lucky day for the lizard. Unlucky day for its captor, which had probably sensed our approach and decided to sacrifice a meal in order to save itself.

A different predator has also been at work in the same spot. Diggers has sniffed out the decapitated body of a song thrush. I would have expected a sparrowhawk to have eaten its kill, so I suspect the culprit in this case may have been a magpie, or possibly a jay - there's a big, rowdy gang of jays hanging around, and both species seem to enjoy killing for kicks. I was so sad to see this, not least because it was probably the bird I'd been listening to for about a week. I'd wondered why it had stopped singing, and assumed it had moved on to declare a better territory. Its death won't be wasted if something - one of the buzzards perhaps - benefits from the carrion, but as at today its body lies untouched.

All birds are tuning up now of course. Each time I walk here I'm hearing all three kinds of woodpeckers. Often I'll see the green and great spotted, but the lesser spotted remains elusive (living up to an alternative interpretation of its name, perhaps?). There's quite a lot of drumming going on too - plenty of dead trees for them to raise young in. It would be lovely to locate a green woodpecker's nest hole this year.

A different nest I have noticed is close to the top of an oak tree in the copse I've often visited on the south-eastern edge of this area. The big, twiggy construction is visible only because new leaves haven't quite opened yet. I think it's an old one, but its size - though difficult to judge precisely - makes me wonder if it was perhaps made by buzzards. I've often wondered where the resident pair rears its young - and I know they've been successful at least once. But that really is wishful thinking on my part. There are a few corvids around here too, and it may have belonged to crows for all I know.

Two herons are regulars - often flying overhead between the pond, near the main road where I park the car, and the River Tanyari. Once I was surprised to hear what I thought was one of them calling continuously while perched (invisibly) in a tree. Curious behaviour for a heron. I should have guessed - it turned out to be a jay, imitating.

As for those plinky-plonky sounds imitating organ music, I have now solved the mystery, thanks to one of the guys who works for the Villeclare estate. He is rounder and balder than many of the others workers, so I recognise him easily at a distance, and we've often waved at each other. One morning he was taking a breather from ploughing and, seeing me approach, pulled out his ear plugs and walked over for a chat.

This was the first time we'd spoken, and his Catalan accent was so strong that for the first ten minutes I only recognised about three words per sentence; all I could do was nod and laugh at what I hoped were appropriate moments. There was mention of a bad back and retirement in a couple of years, and an awful lot about something else. Gradually I got my ear in and gleaned that the Villeclare estate owns 75 hectares of vineyards and orchards. The land with the loudspeakers belongs to someone else.

He explained, with all seriousness, that a certain tiny insect attacks and kills the fruit trees, and that the music is supposed to deter it. "Mozart and the like," he said, "mais ça ne sert à rien." I'm not surprised it's useless - if that's Mozart, I'm Schubert. Besides, I’d love to know what scientific studies have shown that any kind of music will keep away any insects, never mind this species exclusively. And surely it would have to play continuously from spring to autumn - not just for half an hour a day, which seems to be the current schedule.

As the man said, it certainly doesn't seem to be effective, considering the number of diseased trees that were dug up last autumn; work has been ongoing all winter to replace them.

While I have to award points for tackling one problem in an environmentally friendly (other than noise polluting) way, I'm disappointed to see that the same principle isn't applied to other materials used in plantation maintenance. I'm sure I recently read that environmentally friendly tree protectors exist - but I expect they're harder to come by and more expensive than the usual type. Hundreds of plastic cylinders have just been put round young trees in this musical sector of the orchards. I'm not sure if they'll be removed and disposed of properly once the trees are older, but if not, they will simply turn brittle in the fierce summer heat, break up and be dispersed by the wind. To be fair, I haven't yet seen a lot of evidence of this type of litter from past plantings, but much of it might now be too small to notice with the naked eye, or ploughed into the soil.

There’s very little general litter – no surprise considering the lack of people – so yesterday, an empty chocolate wrapper beside the track really stood out. I did my bit: picked it up, crumpled it into a ball and stuffed it in a pocket. Only at that point did my fingers register that the paper was slightly wet. The ground, however, was quite dry. Uh-oh. My best hope was that a dog had peed on the wrapper, but my worst fear was realised when a sniff test on my hand revealed the distinctive, pungent pong of fox. So much for good deeds. I managed to extract the wrapper from my pocket and pop it into a dog poo bag. Shame I hadn't thought to pick it up with that! As anticipated, even rinsing my hands in the river made little difference, so that turned into a very smelly walk. Usually, though, despite unmusical interruptions every so often, the varied habitats and views of Canigou and the Albères massif make this a lovely, peaceful place to wander.

Impossible to tire of sights such as this

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In Search of Otters

Back at Als Bachous

Winter's Back!

The Bees' Knees in March

The Sound of Music - in the Orchards?

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