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Back to the Emporda

24/9/2014

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by Robin Noble

Just as the plain of the Roussillon stretches north from the rocky coast of the Côte Vermeille, so the Emporda reaches south from the rocks of Roses and Cadaques. Our Étang is replaced by the pools and marshes of the Parc Natural dels Aiguamolls, and Martine and I recently spent an afternoon exploring a small and easily accessible part of it. The first hide we visited is very close to the Visitor Centre and felt quite familiar as we approached. The view from it, however, was completely changed from the spring when we had last been there: much of the wetland, formerly open water, had dried in the summer and was now very green grass. There were still storks, lots of them, mostly just standing around, and mallard – by the dozen. Just in front of the hide, behind some rushes, were a couple of snipe feeding industriously, and we had an excellent view of their lovely markings.

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Our next hide overlooked a larger area of water, with yet more storks, and mallard – probably this time by the hundred! They were as noisy as ever, and by their behaviour you might well have thought we were back in spring – (just like Lesley's collared doves!). There was certainly a great deal of fuss and splashing, and some birds were mating – so too were a number of lovely dragonflies, of which Martine succeeded in getting some wonderful photos. From the illustrations in the Albera book, these must rejoice in the latin name of anax parthenope – the lesser emperor dragonfly.
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But initially, our eyes were drawn to the flamingos, which were quite close by. There were several, some young and rather colourless, some adult and notably pink.

We watched them for a considerable time while they fed continually, progressing slowly through the water. We got excellent views of their wonderfully shuffling gait as they stir up the mud on the bottom, in order to sift through it for food with their remarkable bills. We had not seen this movement before, and after a while it is hard not to giggle as they do this slow waggling of their distinctly bony knees!

Other interesting behaviour included a rather angry interchange; one bird seemed to come off worse in a minor argument, and definitely called for help, which duly arrived (?Mother to the rescue, perhaps – but there were reinforcements following!). In the picture you can see that the bird with no colour on its bill is being told off very firmly, and it moved away quickly thereafter.
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At the last place we visited, there was a group of fallow deer in the field. Although I think they were (temporarily?) confined there, their behaviour was quite shy and wild and I was glad to see they were not tagged. (I always feel it is a total affront to the wildness and beauty of such a creature – or a bird of prey – to have to wear large, obvious, plastic tags). These were very handsome in their spotted, late-summer coats, some lying down, some moving through the long grass. There was one mystery, however: I think there were two bucks, but neither had the big, spreading, palmate antlers you expect of fallow deer; instead they possessed short, sharp spikes. Some red stags lack branched antlers, having simple straight ones, with which they can do a lot of damage – perhaps this was something similar?
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This is just a sample of what this wonderful place has to offer – we must go back!

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Autumn Approaches

20/9/2014

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Picture
by Lesley McLaren

As Robin reported in a previous blog, it has been a strange summer. July and August were unusually cool and damp; September temperatures are unusually high. Even some birds seem confused, especially one pair of collared doves that have claimed our garden as their territory. Last year we gave an overgrown bay tree a fairly severe prune. The doves had nested in it at least once before but I didn't feel too guilty because there are plenty of alternative sites in our area. Their beaks must have been out of joint more than I thought, however, as, a few weeks ago, I noticed one of them flying in and out of our phoenix palm. The palm must be about thirty years old and dominates that end of the garden - right next to the bay tree.

Sure enough, a scrappy collection of twigs was visible on one frond, but in a precarious position nearly overhanging the pool (subsequent droppings missed the water by a couple of feet!), and fairly exposed to the elements as well as to predators, I thought. Haven't they heard the mantra: Location, location, location? Perhaps they've had earlier broods elsewhere this summer, but isn't September rather late for starting again?

The female has nevertheless been determinedly sitting through thick and thin, including a violent hailstorm a couple of weeks ago.








She's keeping a
beady eye on me!
                                                    
For a while I wasn't sure if she was really on eggs or undergoing a kind of phantom pregnancy. But first thing this morning, before dawn, I spotted a broken eggshell on the patio beneath the palm. One of my dogs got to it before I could, and appeared to gulp down the remains of something - doubtless along with a mouthful of tiny ants that were swarming all over it. I suspect it fell out during last night's strong southerly wind. Unless it had gone bad and the mother pushed it out? A bit later on a couple of jays were taking an interest in the garden as well. And now the nest appears deserted. I can see up through the frond and through the collection of twigs - no sign of any more eggs. Better luck next year, but I do hope they choose a more sensible spot!

After the excitement of lammergeiers
earlier in the year I had another 'first' about a month ago, though at the opposite end of the scale: a glowworm. All on its own, shining brightly - green as a jewel - in the verge one night.

And talking of nights, for weeks now a couple of tawny owls have been very active and noisy - to the point of  raucous at times! - around our little estate. I was lucky enough to look up from my computer at dusk one evening when they were tuning up.

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So far I haven't spotted any migrant raptors, but the winds have been all wrong. Far too many southerlies and easterlies - and more than I remember in previous years. We need a strong north-westerly (the prevailing Tramontane) to bring them this way - although I doubt they'd be thankful to be blown somewhat off course. I'm no longer hearing bee eaters so assume they're all well on their way now. House martins and swallows are still around, but I haven't seen a swift for a while.

Something that always surprises me is that while most other birds have long fallen silent apart from an occasional chirp or alarm call, now the wood larks strike up again. Every autumn it's the same. Their song isn't as haunting as the skylark's, but it's pretty nonetheless. It makes me think of spring, which I find uplifting, even though some leaves are turning, acorns are well formed, grapes are being harvested and there's a slight but distinct change in the air first thing in the morning and last thing at night. September is often a glorious month here; this one is proving no exception despite being punctuated by some extreme weather.
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Another Upland Blog

16/9/2014

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by Robin Noble

Having been out at sea quite a lot recently, we visited the other end of our territory, making two trips to our favourite upland, the foothills of Canigou about which I have written before. On both occasions the weather was good, pretty warm but with really clear air so that the distant views were good. On the first occasion, we were alone and decided to tackle the rocky spur, which leads up to the real summits of the long massif. It was steep and stony, and I (in particular!) toiled upwards in the heat. Eventually we decided that the path was becoming too eroded (by sangliers, we are sure), for it to be a comfortable way down when it came to retracing our steps. On the return trip, which was rather hard on the joints, we halted at an attractive little col and took some photographs of the rocks, the heather and the juniper which made the place so pretty, - and also the gentians. There were a few clumps, some white, some purple, but I think both variations of the same species: gentianella campestris or field gentian (although the Albera book gives it as gentiana). This is quite a common plant in Scotland and it was fun to see it at this altitude, way above the height of any Scottish hills!



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Close by, Martine spent a happy quarter of an hour trying to photograph a particularly handsome grasshopper. Some of the pics came out well, and once home, a quick look at the book persuaded me we had no idea what it actually was! I appealed to our colleagues for help and ultimately it was one of Bruce's friends, Maria Justamond who identified it for us as the European Locust, Cophopodisma pyrenaea. It is certainly a spectacular little creature, as the photo below will show.

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Martine also photographed a beautiful fungus about the same time; looking at it we decided it was probably a fly agaric, that most known of all toadstools, beloved of fairy-tales, just particularly glossy and with the white dots unusually arranged around its rim. Nothing else in our book comes close to its richness of colour.

That first day was not productive of many birds; we heard the alpine choughs as usual, and I had a very quick glance at what I thought was a peregrine falcon. At that point Martine was a little way off, and she thought she heard one, so maybe it counts as a sighting! At another moment, a bird like a large thrush with a very pale head shot past us, but I have completely failed to identify it.

The next day up there, spent with some American friends, was rather more exciting. The choughs were busy, but there were also lots of ravens around and they were fairly tame, unworried by us. We had some excellent views of their glossy plumage and imposing bills. At one moment a kestrel flew by, and we briefly saw a buzzard, perhaps a booted eagle, certainly a short-toed eagle in the distance.

But for the first two or three hours, that day was totally dominated by the vultures, I think no fewer than eleven of them. When they were all in the air together above us, it was intimidating, like facing a squadron of Second World War bombers, when they flew below us with the brilliant sun on their huge wings it was simply magnificent. They flew down the marmot valley, and I heard the piercing alarm call from those plump inhabitants of the sandy burrows. A couple landed, resting in the sun with wings outstretched like cormorants on a rock. For a while it was hard to know where to look. It was a wonderful day.
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    Isobel Mackintosh
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