Category: Birds

Seen Along the Way

8/11/2021

By Robin Noble Photos by Martine Noble

During our two months in France, we had some nice sightings; they started, rather unusually, on the way down through the country on the motorways. Some way south of Clermont Ferrand, a farmer was cutting hay in a small field and there were at least six storks in the cut section – were they perhaps looking for frogs or even mice? The next morning, there were vultures above the road out from Millau, and as we emerged out on to the plain well before Béziers, a flash of gorgeous colour – blues, turquoise, browns, almost a pink – must have been a roller; our first in Europe.

We made a short trip west from PO, right into the Pyrenees, revisiting one of our favourite high cols. Again, high up, was something we had never really seen, such a show of the autumn crocuses that we had to call it a wildflower meadow. We stopped to photograph, and to appreciate its beauty.

Other creatures, we could see, appreciated the scene more as a source of food. It had been ploughed (there is no other word) by wild boar – presumably they eat the crocus corms? Again, we had never seen sanglier-damage on this scale.

And while we were out of the van, photographing, there were countless swallows and martins overhead. Interesting that they would choose such a high migration route; clearly, there were hordes of insects in the lee of the summit of the col and the migrating birds were making the most of it … against a background of seemingly endless declines in the numbers of so many species, it was wonderful to see so many birds.

Over the summit, on the narrow road downhill, we had to stop to let a young fox cross; he seemed quite unworried by our vehicle and wandered over to the verge on our side. A car came up the hill and also slowed to a halt. Despite the noise of the engines, the fox cocked his ears, looked into the grass on the roadside, did a leap and emerged with a mouse, which was apparently very tasty. He then slowly strolled off the road…

The next day we took another, even narrower road, uphill to a bergerie we knew; last time we had been there, three years ago, there had been a berger and lots of sheep. Now, while it was clear that cows had come that way, the bergerie was shut up, and there were no sheep beside the road. To our surprise, however, there were marmots, right beside the narrow strip of tarmac. They moved a bit as we stopped, but one stayed in the open as sentinel, and Martine managed to photograph it from the comfort of the van.

Again, what was noticeable was that the former sheep-pasture was now a chaos of ploughed ground, once more the result of sanglier activity. It was lovely to see the marmots, but for how long they will be able to survive there, with the short grass on which they depend being effectively destroyed by the boar, is not at all clear to us…

And when we made one of our short jaunts into Spain, we were in for another surprise; we stayed a night in an attractive seaside hotel in Port Lligat, and as we drove down the steep road between stone walls into the very tidy hotel carpark, there were three sangliers, mother and two well-grown babies, rooting around in what were meant to be tidy strips of flowers and shrubs at the entrance to the building.

We were told that during the periods of lockdown in Spain, the wild boar had lost any fear of people and were wandering through the village in broad daylight. While this did provide us with some excitement, and a few photos, it is clear that the numbers of wild boar are not simply making them a pest but creating a real environmental problem which will disfigure much of the Pyrenees unless they can be brought back under control.

While we were in Spain, we visited, as ever, the wetland area we casually call ‘the Emporda’; despite recent thundery downpours it was, in fact, very short of water, and almost devoid of birds. We did, however, see two very handsome snipe and one species which was new to us, a green sandpiper. All the local storks had left, bar one which I happened to see flying about on its own as we arrived.

Green Sandpiper

Our own local Etang was pretty quiet the day we visited, but on another occasion we explored a little of the significantly larger bodies of water further north. Here there were hordes of mosquitoes, but also and rather more enjoyably, lots of flamingos, egrets and cormorants, seen from a fragrant maritime ‘heath’ which is mostly covered with wild rosemary. And we visited a migration ‘hotspot’, the Roc de Canilhac, a small eminence which rises from a mix of Etangs and marsh, and is, just like the ‘hillock’ by St Nazaire, a great location from which to see migrating birds. Thousands of storks had gone through a few weeks earlier, but while we were there, we could still see a flock of maybe fifty or sixty. We had excellent views of a marsh harrier, while kestrels and buzzards flew around. In fact, at regular intervals throughout this spell in France, brilliant views of superbly-marked buzzards brightened the sunny days – especially when they flew over the garden. We saw them at regular intervals beside the motorway all the way back to Dieppe, from where we took the ferry home.

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The Wasp & the Spider

3/8/2020

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by Lesley McLaren

24th July, despite the heat, I decided to check on a small colony of bee eaters nesting in the north bank of the Tech near the Moulin de Breuil vineyard. There wasn't much activity - only two nest holes still being visited by adults as far as I could see - so perhaps the others had fledged already. Apart from the surprise sighting of a honey buzzard, carrying prey, there were few other birds in evidence. It was a different story for insects, of course; high summer is truly their time. July is marked by the constant grate of cicadas in trees, by grasshoppers and crickets hopping out of your way in grassland, by flashes of colour from beetles, butterflies, dragons and damsels as well as the equally important, if arguably less welcome, flies and wasps.

After a while I left the river and headed along the flood defence wall towards the pond and wetland area of "Les Bachous". Eyes down now, looking out for dragonflies, which seem to love this hot spot, what brought me to halt and lift my camera was a different, big insect crossing my path. At first glance, its black-tipped yellow wings made me think it might be an exotic kind of fly. It didn't seem to notice me until I changed position to get a better photo, whereupon it opened its wings, to reveal a black and yellow striped abdomen. More likely a wasp, therefore. If I stood still, it closed its wings and carried on wandering - apparently aimlessly - but each time I moved, it flashed another warning. Clearly it was perfectly aware of me. Given its size (about 30mm) and how badly I react to stings from much smaller social wasps, I moved on.

Like the river, the pond appeared relatively quiet. There were the usual Floridan turtles, mallard, coot and little grebe. On my way to the north eastern end of the plateau above the water, a couple of herons took off from the trees beyond. The first was grey but, to my great and happy surprise, the second was purple. Unlike the grey, he or she circled round to fly very close - checking me out, I'm sure. Purples aren't common in the PO and currently there are no known breeding pairs, so this was a special moment.

Since it had rained a little the night before, I climbed a few feet up a bank to see if there were any fox prints around a large hole that I assumed was a den, having seen a young fox in just this spot in May. Instead of prints, however, I came upon another big wasp, like the one seen moments before. This one was running backwards at high speed, dragging a huge wolf spider in its jaws. Before I could even try to get a photo, it had disappeared backwards into the murky depths of the den! Unlikely there would be foxes here now, I thought, if these wasps had taken over occupancy. Talk about up-sizing your residence!

Seconds later, I spotted two more wasps running around frenetically a few feet away. These I managed to capture on film. The first few seconds are at full speed. Then I've slowed it by 50% (hence the "ralenti" in French) so the action is clearer.

Warning: some viewers may find this short scene disturbing.

Cryptocheilus alternatus (Pompile) (Spider-hunting wasp) from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.

In retrospect I think their initial crazy manner of running was because they had lost the spider they had previously stung and perhaps left while the venom took hold. The spider in this clip is smaller than the first, which made me wonder if this one was a male and the first, female. Not their lucky day if they had been together with amorous intent at the time they were set upon. Unfortunately for the spiders, they weren't dead, just paralysed. Their destiny from then on was to have a single egg laid inside them and to be eaten alive by the emerging larva. A reminder how, at times, nature can be gruesome.

To end with more pleasant images, I'll leave you with a bee eater (who may have one of those wasps in his beak, who knows?) and the purple heron, both from that morning, although the full beauty of each is somewhat hidden against the light.

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Ambitions Realised

19/9/2019

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By Robin Noble Photos by Martine Noble

We had long thought of spending a night up at the Batere, and this September we achieved it. It must be admitted, however, that it did not all go according to plan. We had been a little worried about flies, and had chosen what was expected to be a breezy night; there were, indeed, few flies, but there was a strong, cold wind all through the hours of darkness. It so happened, too, that the cows had decided to take up residence close to the best place for parking the old campervan; their bells may be evocative during the day and in the distance, but when you are trying to sleep and they are close by, they sound rather less poetic … and one cow, standing very close to us (despite being moved on a couple of times), was into heavy breathing. So, we did not sleep that well, but it was nice to wake up and see the sun steal over Vallespir; a nice, peaceful morning ...

For a short while. Fortunately, we were up and dressed before les chasseurs arrived. We had not thought of them, but it was, after all, mid-September and a Sunday morning. They were quite pleasant and indicated that if we aimed to go higher up the gentle hills, we could come to no harm; they were going to be in the dense wood and shrubland below the road. That indeed turned out to be true, and I have to say we were most impressed by the safety measures they put in place. Notices were placed, orange vests worn by everyone, and observers with walkie-talkies posted at regular intervals along the track to the tower, which is where most visitors would venture. There were a few higher up, too, as we discovered, as we walked up our usual route towards the col between the rounded summits.

Once round the corner, into what we think of as “marmot-land”, there was no noise, and we began to relax. There were some marmots to be seen, one presumably rather old, with a white muzzle, but they were generally wary and offered no great photo-opportunities. We did wonder what exactly they were getting to eat, as all the grass was brown and dead, cropped short. The whole place was drier than we had ever seen it, and, in addition, there were far more sheep. Given how readily sheep die, it was a surprise only to see one vulture during the entire day.

Realising the other ambition was a matter of pure luck. Neither of us was feeling that great, but when the forecast was for another hot day with calm seas, we summoned up the energy to get out in the boat. We are so glad we did. There were countless fish on the Marine Reserve; around the rocks, curtains of bream hanging almost motionless, and the densest masses of salema (rather as you imagine shoals of herring used to be) we have ever seen.

Later in the day we headed down to our lovely Spanish beach, and in its shallow lagoon, Martine found a group of a bream we had not seen before. These were striped bream.

On land, when I ventured ashore, the last of the ethereal sea daffodils was still in bloom.

After a while, the sun largely disappeared in high cloud, and we decided that if we aimed to head back northwards, a bit out from the coast, then we might stay in its gentle light. This we did, and while still in Spanish waters, we noticed something moving, occasionally splashing well ahead of us. So we speeded up, and headed in that direction, to find that we had met a small group, (maybe eight or nine individuals), of dolphins. They were, very firmly, heading south, not in a greatly playful mood, so only very occasionally and quickly breaching. Mostly, we just saw part of the back, and the fin, but had good views of these, and eventually, one or two passable photographs.

Our estimate is that they were maybe six to eight feet in length, perhaps more, and we never saw any colour – just a dark, wet, grey.

We only have a couple of books from which to judge, by the shape of the fin, which species they might be, and it is not easy to decide, but, on balance, we think they were bottle-nosed dolphins. There was certainly no apparent light colouring on their sides, which characterises the common or striped, which are the other likely candidates. But, in a way, it was not the ID that mattered.

Here, in the Mediterranean sunshine, off our wonderful coast, we had met a group of fellow inhabitants of this planet. They were strong, sturdy, aware of us and unworried, intent on their own lives and requirements, deserving of respect … how better could you end a day at sea?

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Revised Impressions and a "new" flower

17/9/2019

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By Robin Noble Photos by Martine Noble

Back for September, and back to the usual routine; taking to the sea when it is hot and humid, and we get tired of applying insect repellent!

With a coast where you can really only head north or south, and where we usually launch in one of two places, there inevitably comes a feeling of routine – you head this way or that – but the weather and the water conditions change constantly, so each day is different. And we are still finding new, tiny, rocky coves where you can land if the sea is right, and explore the small, stony beaches under the great cliffs. There seem to be more boats on the water, so we don’t always get to anchor in our favourite locations, but this season we succeeded in landing in one such place, behind a small rocky islet, under the huge black cliffs towards Port Bou.

We had passed this way in July and felt that the cliffs were significantly quieter than previously, but this latest time it was very different. We anchored in our usual spot, and as I swam slowly out past the little islet, rising on the gentle swell, enjoying the silken coolness of the sea, in the air above me all was hectic, noise and rush, as groups of swifts volleyed out from the high rocks. Squadrons of them were flying in all directions, screaming as they went, hurtling out over the sea. As before, there did appear to be two sizes of bird, and they flew differently too, one noticeably more rapidly than the other. We deduced, therefore, that we were again watching the “ordinary” swifts, which we also see in the heart of the old towns, and the alpine swifts, which are significantly larger. The latter have white patches on their fronts, but when seen from below, silhouetted against the brilliant sun, this was not easily spied. We estimated, terribly roughly, that we might be seeing two-hundred-and-fifty birds, but it was hardly more than a guess … and a magnificent spectacle!

Martine, as ever, has been energetically photographing fish, and has managed pictures of three species which we don’t see often: these have included the striped red mullet, the axillary wrasse, and what might be some kind of cornetfish.

Striped red mullet

Axillary wrasse

Rainbow wrasse

Young cornetfish?

On the calmest days, we get quite far into Spanish waters, and go to a favourite large bay with a number of sandy beaches. The best of these is fronted by a shallow lagoon, while, between the sand and the rocks behind it, is a smallish area of what I suppose we might call “bents”; rough grasses like marram growing out of the sand, with some thistle-type plants and patches of succulents. Scattered among them, were the lovely white blossoms of Pancratium maritimum or sea daffodil (the Catalan name is lliri de mar). I read that this is native to the Canary Islands, around the Mediterranean, and through to the Black Sea, so it has a truly exotic appeal to folk who lived for decades in the furthest North of Scotland! It is vulnerable, of course, to trampling by folk approaching the beach, and such places are, all-too-often, developed for tourism, so it is quite a privilege to see it blooming well.

I am fairly certain that it also grows between our own local Etang and the sea, just north of the Fishermen’s Huts we often refer to. On a recent visit there, we headed in this direction for the first time, looking for a second hide which is marked on the large map beside the Information Cabin. We did not find it (turns out it was burnt down some years ago!), but we did see some old leaves and large seed-heads which look to me as if they, too, must be the beautiful sea daffodil.

On this occasion, there were more flamingos on the Etang than we had ever seen before. We wanted the perfect photo of Canigou with its first delicate snows of the autumn, seen between the markedly pink flamingos but, sadly, they refused to co-operate! We did also see one very emphatic crested lark, a handsome male kestrel and, slightly to my surprise, a lone curlew. And from the one remaining hide, we could see biggish, handsome, silver fish, moving in a series of leaps, something which, again, we had not seen here before; we think they were sea bass.

There is nearly always something new!

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From the Garden to the Sea

23/7/2019

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By Robin Noble

If you are permitted to count as "garden birds" those you can see in the sky above the home patch, we are slowly amassing an impressive list of raptors; the latest, observed clearly from the terrace in front of the house, has been a circling griffon vulture, which joins the golden and short-toed eagles, buzzards, sparrow-hawks and kestrels so far observed. Not bad for a suburban garden in the well-populated Vallespir!

Like most of the houses here, we have thick hedges and lots of bushes in the said garden; very slowly, over the years, I have observed a few of the creatures (other than birds) we share it with. I have suspected for a few years that among those was at least one hedgehog, and again this year have observed droppings which suggested that somewhere in all the undergrowth lurked one of our prickly friends. Sadly, as is so often the case, it proved me right by venturing out through our gate and being run over by a car…

We have fled to the open sea on several occasions in order to avoid the heat which has so suddenly hit us this year. Here, as ever, our observations are not scientifically precise, but we are sure of some general trends. One comment has to be that the Marine Reserve off Banyuls is having a clear and beneficial effect on fish numbers, both in the protected area and elsewhere. It used to be the case that while we saw a number of fish of different species there, there was almost nothing to be seen in some of the other attractive coves beneath the great cliffs, where we anchor and swim regularly. Now, almost everywhere, the friendly saddled bream soon gather beneath our modest craft, and we are seeing more, and bigger fish on the Reserve itself.

There are definitely rather more gulls (still modest in number and behaviour compared to the British!), and this year we have seen larger groups of Sandwich terns, some 35 in three parties on one day. They still mystify us, as we never yet have seen them fishing; when DO they feed!?

And another bird seems to be doing well this year. Down towards Port Bou, there was always one part of the great black cliffs where swifts nested; there may be fewer of them there this year, but they are using a number of other cliffs this summer, including those under the lighthouse on Cap Béar.

There is always something to note and wonder over…

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Route March around the Empordà

14/3/2019

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By Lesley McLaren

Inspired by Robin and Martine's visit to the Aiguamolls de l'Empordà wetlands in February, I was keen to witness the abundant birdlife for myself, and an opportunity came two days ago. With my husband minding the dog at home, I could make a full day of it, and intended to explore the southern end of the reserve further than previously.

Laden as always with camera, binoculars and rucksack, plus the added weight and challenge of a newly purchased spotting scope, I set off from the main car park at about 11.30. On emerging from the information centre with a map of the whole reserve, I was passed by a raucous, swift-flying flock of parakeets. (The book lists two species in the reserve, but I couldn't say which they were.) Even more raucous, was a much larger flock of Spanish primary schoolchildren on a day trip. Happily for me, they were heading for the north end. For now.

I'd asked the man at the information centre if there was anything of special interest around, given that migration is now underway. I was hoping for ospreys but he said it was too early for those. As expected, there were marsh harriers, though. And cranes were in the area. That perked me up, until he told me that they spent the daytime in fields near to - but not in - the reserve, and at night would fly into the wettest part of the reserve - the area nearest the sea and least accessible to birdwatchers like me.

No cranes, then, but I did see a lot of other things - most of the species recorded by Robin and Martine, although notably no geese or lapwing. I undoubtedly missed some too, but my tally came to 43 nevertheless, and included at least two new ones. There were some surprises too.

Once before, Robin and I thought we might have heard a water rail, but I rather despaired of ever seeing one. It was wonderful, therefore, to glimpse one this time, quietly poking around a marshy area of dead grasses and reeds, not far from the track to the first hide. Later in the year I would never have seen him or her through all the foliage.

After the Observatori de las Daines (Fallow doe hide), which overlooks a field beloved by storks and - of course - deer, I continued for about another fifteen minutes, alongside the narrow canal (huge carp splashing about, spawning, in there), stopping next at a big hide on stilts (Observatori Pallejà), looking east towards the sea. This is in the section we've previously driven on to from the main car park.

I spent a very peaceful twenty minutes or so here, with the hide to myself most of the time, watching a few ducks, coot and little grebe on the water, as well as storks on the grassland and marsh harriers drifting south to north over the marshes beyond. A pale form booted eagle came close several times and was mobbed briefly by a kestrel. Then another falcon appeared, which at first glance I expected to be the kestrel again, only to realise it was giving chase to small birds flying over the water. Kestrels don't hunt this way and, when it later circled round, a flash of its dark face confirmed: peregrine falcon - the first I've seen in the region, either side of the border!

Booted eagle

With the day shaping up nicely, it was time for a spot of lunch.

I was just finishing my sandwich, when the hide was besieged by schoolchildren. As they claimed every bit of space on the benches around me, it was all I could do to stash my lunchbox, gather all my gear, sling it across my shoulders and stand up before getting trampled. The teachers looked mildly apologetic as they vainly called for hush, and I escaped.

Round the corner, heading for the Camargue horses, I met a handful of British birders with telescopes trained on a wet field full of shelduck. The leader pointed out water pipits not far from us. I have never knowingly seen one of these before and probably wouldn't recognise one again unless in its ideal watery habitat. Like most pipits, they were unremarkable - dunnock-like - even through binoculars or scope. The sun was much too bright on the water to see much colour in anything, however, and I didn't linger there either.

The horses were close to the fence, having an afternoon kip, when I passed them, and a few minutes further on, after three more hides, it was a short stroll to the sea.

Penultimate hide before beach - looking towards the old grain silos converted into observation towers

Little to see from these last hides that day - all the birds were further inland, where they were more sheltered from the wind

Last hide before the beach

On the beach, a sand dune regeneration project is underway, and a line of wooden poles marches north, marking the eastern perimeter of the reserve, for as far as the eye or binoculars can see. Signs warn against walking on the inland side of these posts, so as not to disturb ground-nesting birds in the breeding season, as well as plants. This means you can't avoid the sand.

After consulting my map, I was interested in getting to a hide about halfway up the beach, because it was on the edge of where I'd been told the cranes spend the night. While I had no expectation of seeing any (it was still much too early), I thought there might be other stuff about. Plus, according to the map, at another hide some distance beyond that, a dotted line showed an "alternative route" which would eventually bring me full circle to the visitors centre. Marked as "closed from 1st April to 30th June" (breeding season), it should be OK now. Except that it appeared to cross quite an expanse of water. Perhaps there was a boardwalk?

It turned out that I had about a mile's hike ahead of me, on very soft sand, into the gale. Even at the water's edge the going was no easier, and I needed my fleece and hat now. I dismissed the idea of giving up; if I didn't explore this area now, I probably never would but would wonder what I'd missed.

Apart from driftwood, there was little obvious plastic or other rubbish, which was gratifying. It was close to pristine - and completely deserted apart from me.

Short, plodding steps got me to the first hide. But there was nothing to see here today.

Accessible from the beach (after a 20 minute walk), this hide looks across the area where cranes spend the night. Allegedly.

Grim determination had got me close to the next hide, when I came upon a few tiny waders standing facing into the wind, near the wooden posts. Brilliantly camouflaged against the sand, they were relatively tame, running a few feet ahead of me as I approached, before stopping and again facing the wind - and flying sand. Presumably they face this way so their feathers aren't blown about.

I'm out of practice as far as waders are concerned, not having watched them much since my teens at the Northumberland coast, but I'm fairly sure two were sanderling and the others, Kentish plovers. The latter was another first for me. So it was worth the slog - just about - to see those.

Sanderling

Kentish plover (winter plumage)

At this last hide, although I wasn't surprised, my heart sank to find the whole area well under water. No sign of a boardwalk, track or dotted line of an alternative route anywhere inland. If I wanted to attempt a short cut to the visitors centre, I would have to get my feet wet. If not swim. There was nothing for it but to plod back the way I had come.

It took half an hour but felt like forever, and the only other birds I saw were a migrating kestrel (skirting the coast northwards, perilously low over the sea as it battled the wind), one yellow-legged gull, one marsh harrier and a male stonechat. I don't think I'll soon repeat that walk, beautiful though the views are.

The depressingly long walk back, retracing my footprints, which were disappearing fast in the wind.

It was 4pm by the time I regained firm ground and, not far from the horses again, I found myself walking through huge swarms of mosquito-like flies. Apart from a few butterflies and a single dragonfly, these were the only insects I'd noticed all day.

By now there were few people around. The children had long gone, the sun was much lower and there was a pervading sense of calm. It's in quiet moments like these when you tend to feel less like an observer and more like a participant in the natural world.

Close to the information centre once more, I couldn't resist checking out the first hide again before leaving. The skies showed no sign of cranes, but some birds seemed to be gathering for the evening. Among egrets great and little, at least twenty grey herons now occupied the area where I'd seen fallow deer earlier. The deer themselves were further round; a lone coypu was enjoying high tea in the water, and two terrapins were taking advantage of the fading sun on a half-submerged tree trunk.

Late afternoon serenity

Despite the earlier relentless and relatively unrewarding beach walk, a feeling of peace descended as I hobbled - weary but happy - to the car. The day had held a number of surprising highlights, and perhaps the cerise sur le gâteau came during the morning: an albino buck among the deer.

Here he is in a short clip - after a pair of beak-clacking storks. I gather he's quite famous among regular visitors to the reserve.

Aiguamolls de l'Empordà from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.

Bird list:
Little grebe, great crested grebe, cormorant, great egret, little egret, grey heron, white stork, glossy ibis, flamingo, shelduck, mallard, shoveler, garganay, teal, water rail, moorhen, coot, booted eagle, marsh harrier, buzzard, peregrine falcon, kestrel, ringed plover, Kentish plover, snipe, sanderling, yellow-legged gull, wood pigeon, parakeet, lesser spotted woodpecker (heard), sand martin, water pipit, white wagtail, stonechat, black redstart, robin, chiffchaff, Sardinian warbler, fan-tailed warbler, Cetti's warbler (heard), starling, cirl bunting, Spanish sparrow.

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The High Pyrenees

1/3/2019

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By Bruce Hyde

Winter stayed a long time in the high Pyrenees last year. The snow lasted on the ground and all wildlife was slow to emerge into the spring sunshine.

We had decided to make an earlyish start to our June expedition only to discover on arrival that our plans might have been better served to have waited an extra week or two. But time, tide and Pyrenean weather wait for no man, so we assembled cheerfully in St. Pierre dels Forçats, high in the mountains, and took local advice on which of the mountain paths and trails to explore.

In the event we were never disappointed, as the views were stunning with high-level snow adding an elegant backdrop, mountain streams gushing with snow melt and all nature readily welcoming the arrival of warmer weather.

With my specialty being dragonflies, I was somewhat disappointed to see only one species. However, I know they are quite late arrivals, typically waiting for warm sunshine before emerging, and the late snows were not to their liking. This was the dragon I saw, a Broad-bodied Chaser (Libellula depressa)

However, butterflies, also a hobby of mine, seem to be much hardier.

I saw more Orange Tips (Anthocharis cardamines) in our few days than I would normally observe in a whole season. They are often the first to appear in the spring and will fly for only a few weeks. Early in the season they are hard to photograph as they flit around seemingly non-stop. And this was early in their season! Even so there they were, every day, enjoying the sunshine.

In all, I photographed 22 different species, seven of which were new to me.

One of these – a Bright-eyed Ringlet (Erebie oeme) - is very much a high-level butterfly, inhabiting the upper levels of the Pyrenees from near Pau as far east as the Pic du Canigou.

As is always the case, there was an abundance of the little “blue” butterflies. According to the maps in the classic Tolman and Lewington guide there are roughly 30 different species of these to be found in the French Pyrenees and many are so similar that identifying them can be challenging, to say the least. I was helped by Roger Gibbons, whose website “Butterflies of France” is an excellent source of reference. I was surprised that most of the blues were on the Cerdagne plateau rather than, as I had expected, near the mountain streams. Some wet patches beside the country lane leading to the tiny village of Sauto had quite a few species puddling for mineral salts.

A new blue, Amanda’s Blue (Polyommatus amandus) occupies a habitat that runs along northern Spain, then the Pyrenees, and follows the Mediterranean coast as far as the Alps. It appears to be widespread in Eastern Europe.

Lots of them are not even coloured blue – for instance some species, as well as most females, have brown upper wings. This shows the startling difference between the female (on the left) and male Common Blue (Polyommatus icarus):

I managed to photograph (easy) and identify (difficult) 6 different “blues” – which is quite satisfying given our relatively brief stay and the lateness of the season’s arrival.

Another very pretty specimen was this Adonis Blue (Polyommatus bellargus). To be expected here, as its territory covers most of Europe from Portugal to Turkey; it is absent in all but the south of UK and, curiously, from the southern tip of Italy.

The Eros Blue (Polyommatus eros) was another new one. In France, this high-level insect is only found in the Pyrenees, the Alps and Cantal in the massif central. I think we were lucky to come across it as it usually doesn’t appear until July.

The third new blue was the Mazarine Blue (Cyaniris semiargus), which copes with high altitudes, up to 2000 metres. Extinct in Britain, it has a wide distribution in mainland Europe, from near the Arctic circle down to the Mediterranean.

The fourth and final new one among these tiny jewels was the Turquoise Blue (Plebicula dorylas), whose range extends from northern Spain, across the centre of France and well into Eastern Europe.

Having sorted those out, there were a couple more to add to my list of new species.

This Pearl-bordered Fritillary (Boloria Euphrosyne) insisted on hanging upside down as it nectared on vetch. It has an enormous range covering most of Europe as far north as the Arctic circle.

Finally, there was this Wood White (Leptidea sinapis) which was rather more obliging for my camera. Terrain like the Pyrenees is a perfect habitat, and it is probable that the ones I saw would have over-wintered as pupae.

No record of those high meadows and hills would be complete without the flora. As Robin and Lesley wrote in their blogs about our séjour, the mountains were abundant with flowers, from azalea bushes, just coming into bloom, nestling by mountain streams…

…to fields covered with wild daffodils, gentians by the mountain tracks and dog rose, borage, pasque flowers, buttercups and so many more. I managed to identify at least three species of orchid and have photos of other flowers as yet unidentified.

Wild Narcissus

Dog Rose

Fragrant Orchid

Gentian

Pasque Flower

Western Marsh Orchid

I was hoping to see some of the majestic raptors that dwell at those heights. Having previously spotted lammergiers, griffon vultures, and eagles in the mountains around Canigou, I was happy to see a short-toed eagle, as well as a golden eagle, both soaring majestically over their domain.

Short-toed Eagle

I am always in a quandary while out photographing wildlife. I am mainly interested in dragonflies and butterflies. Because these are all quite small, it is handy to have specialised photographic kit to capture the detail; by moving very slowly and unobtrusively one can often get quite close – sometimes within a few centimeters. Birds and mammals, though much larger, are challenging in different ways, and because one can’t get very close to those, a long lens is useful. Herein lies the quandary: it is all very well lugging a heavy telephoto lens around with you in the hope of seeing an eagle, but by the time you have taken it off and swapped it for a close-up lens, the dragonfly you have just spotted has well and truly gone!

And, in just that scenario, lies my memory of forgetfulness. Armed with my camera over my shoulder, and knapsack containing telephoto lens, bottles of water, sandwiches and other stuff, I was enjoying a steep walk up the surfaced footpath of the Sègre Gorge walk. After an hour or so I turned to head back, whereupon, to my surprise, I met Ann and Isobel.

We stopped, I put down my sac à dos, we chatted, drank some water and then carried on down towards our cars. We were not far from the bottom when I realised I had left the knapsack behind! Quelle horreur! Not only did it contain my lens, but it was also borrowed from Lesley! I immediately charged off back up the hill. My big fear was that it would have been picked up by someone else!

I passed a few people coming down and asked each if they had seen the bag. Yes, they said it was beside the path. It took a good 45 minutes of strenuous uphill power-walking before I rounded a bend and saw it – exactly where I had left it. I sent thanks to the gods of the mountains! Then back down again – which seemed to take forever. Ann was walking up to meet me; we heaved a collective sigh of relief and decided that a cold beer was very much the order of the day. And so it was – and particularly delicious too!

Our home for those few days was a traditional timber chalet at the edge of the village where we enjoyed the rural life.

As a final reminder, I shan’t forget the sun breaking through the clouds as it set over the mountains. Who could possibly ignore the lure of the high Pyrenees?

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A Winter Wetland

20/2/2019

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By Robin Noble Photos by Martine Noble

The wonderful winter weather has largely continued, broken by some high winds and occasional low cloud. We have had many frosty nights, but once the sun rises, everything warms up quickly, and we have often had morning coffee and lunch out on the sheltered terrace.

Such weather encourages us to visit favourite places (and new ones, too), but had to include a trip into Spain to the large wetland reserve we tend simply to refer to as “the Emporda"*. This latest trip was slightly more complicated than usual, in that our van was neatly broken into at a deserted parking area; very little damage was done, and very little of value taken, and so a good day was not actually ruined, despite the initial shock.

As has been made very clear (especially by Lesley!), the late autumn was very wet and, as a consequence, there was more water all around the reserve than I think we have ever seen. Initially cool and grey, the day became sunny and bright, and we were welcomed by the white horses which seem happily to live ankle-deep in water, which is also where they were foraging. Soon after, from one hide, we had good views of a kingfisher, almost exactly where Martine had photographed one, probably two years ago. We had already had one surprise; although we have watched, in the past, the storks departing on migration in the autumn, quite a number this year appear to have decided to over-winter, or had returned very early. They were very much in evidence, and the ritual beak-rattling was audible all around us.

Because it was all so wet, it seemed that there were, pretty well, birds wherever we looked, and while I have no doubt that we missed some (and a number, like the inevitable, noisy Cetti’s warbler, were unseen in the bushes), the final list seemed quite impressive:

Greylag goose, Egyptian goose, shelduck, (looking spectacular in the clear light), umpteen mallard of course, shoveler, garganey, teal, dabchick, great crested grebe, white stork, grey heron, great egret, little egret, cormorant, coot, lapwing, common snipe, redshank, curlew sandpiper, various gulls (sorry, did not pay them much attention!), kingfisher, chiffchaff, starling, robin, black redstart, white wagtail…….and flamingos, doing the shuffle which Martine has also photographed in the past. And, for variety, three coypu, swimming and feeding very close to us.

Dabchick (Little grebe)

Coot

Shoveler

Teal

Greylag

Mallard

All in all, a pretty good day; we do hope that anyone who reads this will make the easy trip over the border into Spain, and enjoy this special place. There are very good paths and hides, so access for everyone is pretty easy ... but do remember to park only at the main visitor centre, where the parking area is under video surveillance. We had rather ignored, before, the little patches of broken glass in the other car park; but they tell a rather obvious story!

*Aiguamolls de l'Empordà

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Winter Wanderings

13/2/2019

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By Robin Noble Photos by Martine Noble

In some years, we seem not to have had real winter weather until we were into the “official” Spring, but this year, albeit in fits and starts, quite a few days have been convincingly cold and dank. On the plus side, there have been a number of brilliantly sunny days – some of them very windy, which makes them more suitable for touring than longer walks. We have, accordingly, made a few rather pleasant jaunts on days when we have not been working outside in the garden.

One of these was to the coast; we spend so much time on, and in, the Mediterranean that it always seems strange to walk along its shores and know that it is totally impossible to swim in it! One day, we went first to Argeles-Plage (where we often launch the boat) and to Racou, quiet in its winter sleep. The profile of the beach has changed quite a lot during the winter; at one end, the wind has driven the sea to remove a significant amount of sand, and at the other, people have created banks of sand as some sort of defence for the chalets and cottages which are so close to the water’s edge. On rocks at the end of the beach, a few gulls and cormorants were resting above the splashing sea.

We went northwards through the quiet resorts, as far as the Etang and the Fishermen’s Huts, to which I have often made reference. Here, as so often, it was very windy, but we got out of the van to walk around, and are so glad that we did! Almost immediately, we discovered that there were no fewer than five hoopoes feeding industriously in the sandy grass; they were comparatively tame, and we had amazing views of these wonderful birds – I don’t think I will ever be able to get used to seeing them around, they are so exotic to look at. Things were quiet on our side of the wind-blasted water, but there were cormorants, gulls, great-crested grebes and a few flamingos in the distance. As we arrived, we had had distant views of a marsh harrier flying low in the wind.

It transpired that lots of birds were seeking shelter that day; we took a different route home, returning via the much smaller pond which is close to the Golf de St-Cyprien, and was obviously once part of a larger Etang. In a relatively sheltered corner, there is a small island, and it was crowded with birds, like the nearby bank. We could see both types of egret, dozens of cormorants, and on the water, a lot of the cinammon-headed pochard, a handsome duck we have not seen there that often.

Other trips have been up our own valley of Vallespir, dominated by a moderately snowy Canigou. On the first trip, we went over the Col d’Ares, into Spain; down to Camprodon, then up a beautiful side valley which we only discovered during the past autumn. It leads, to all intents and purposes, to Canada; of course, this seems crazy, but the upper valley is dominated by hugely steep and craggy mountains, their rough lower slopes covered by tall conifers, and the result looks just like the Rocky Mountains. There is a skiing area at its head; in the autumn, it was totally deserted, apart from several lively marmots, and there were still gentians blooming on the short grass of the pistes.

On this recent visit, which was on a Saturday with blazing sun, we decided that the whole of Spanish Catalonia was out for the day, most with numerous happy (or screaming) children, enjoying a real winter wonderland.

During one other such trip, up to the high village of Serralongue, we had paused again to photograph the snowy ridges of Canigou, when I caught site of a raptor flying high above us. I grabbed the binoculars hastily, and it obligingly circled back into full view. There was no doubt that it was neither eagle nor buzzard, as its tail was too long for a start, and it was no kind of falcon, as the wings were comparatively rounded. It had to belong to the family called the “accipiters”, either sparrowhawk or goshawk, and as it was a considerable distance from us, and high up, I have concluded that it had to be a female goshawk, often regarded as one of the “ultimate” birds of prey. This was a great thrill for me, as it is a bird that has eluded me for decades, and here it was flying against the magnificent backdrop of the snowy massif of Canigou.

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Early Summer on the Batere Uplands

31/8/2018

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By Robin Noble (Photos by Robin and Martine Noble)

We made two visits to our favourite local upland in the early summer; like most trips, there were good sightings and no-shows. Of the latter, once again there was an almost complete lack of big birds – we had a couple of views of griffon vultures, but that was really all. The usual ravens and choughs were present and voluble, which was nice, and skulking in the bushes were several thrush-size brownish birds, on which I am still pondering; some decent views would have helped!

But high spots there were in plenty. Because of the unusual amount of rain in the late spring and early summer, the flowers were wonderful. There was a magic carpet in whichever direction you looked. From the track that goes along to the tower itself, shading upwards to the gentle summits and the col, it was the little yellow cistus, rock-rose-type flower which dominated, but there were umpteen other species in bloom. As a result, the butterflies, particularly the tiny blues and little copper-coloured ones were like confetti – again best seen in the few damp patches along the trackside.

One of the most interesting areas was the rougher ground through which we descended to the track and the van. This is where the growth of higher vegetation, stunted pines and prickly juniper and bramble, is beginning to recolonise the grazed grassland. It is quite hard walking, and you need to choose your route carefully, but it is clear, for a start, that many of the elusive smaller birds nest within it, and there are one or two botanical treats lurking in the undergrowth. Things growing out of prickly bushes are not unusual; sometimes it may be because the prickly bush protects the more delicate plant (or bush or sapling) from grazing, sometimes because birds often sit on top of the prickly bushes, and … well, you can work the rest of that out for yourself, but there are a number of plants which regenerate best if the seed is passed through a bird! And so again, you will have the prickly bush protecting something growing up within it.

We saw two plants growing like this, and both were rather lovely. Both, too, were quite new to us, although the first was known to us from many illustrations; it was something I had long wanted to see. The picture below of the pyrenean lily (simply Lilium pyrenaicum) is, I am afraid, not quite in focus – I was standing on a really steep slope, one bare leg in the prickly juniper, the other perilously close to some very healthy nettles, focussing sharply uphill!

It was, fortunately, easier to get the picture of the next flower, similarly growing out of prickly bushes, but much more in reach. I immediately recognised that it may be related to the toadflaxes, because of the distinctive shape of its flowers, which resemble the garden antirrhinum. It is quite a large family, and I have so far only managed a very tentative ID. It vaguely resembles Linaria reflexa (no English name), but seems much more robust than the illustrations I have so far seen. Nameless or not, it seems very pretty to me!

Another feature of interest that day was what had been the common, rather remarkable, “flat-flowered thistles”, the Carlina acaulis, which are very common all over these hillsides. Here, within the area of significant regeneration (which presumably offers some cover), the actual flower itself had, in many cases, been grubbed out, leaving the surrounding wreck of very prickly leaves. We had never noticed this before and were surprised at the number which had been so treated. Presumably it is wild boar who find the thistle flowers so tasty, but if so, there must be quite a number of them lurking in the pinewoods below the track!