Category: Misc

High Winter Blog

18/12/2016

By Robin Noble Photos by Martine Howard

One week before Christmas, with sun forecast for the weekend – to be followed by cold, grey days – we decided to go to the high foothills of Canigou, which so often appear in these blogs. I was not convinced of the wisdom of this, as when we started it was still quite cloudy; in fact the mist seemed to stay around the Albères and the lower Pyrenees, but it slowly cleared above us, and the high, snowy peaks appeared wonderfully – as Martine’s photographs well show.

As we started to climb these gentle foothills, we had, through the thinning mist, a splendidly romantic view of an undoubted golden eagle. It was circling, never flapping, and as it headed for a while in my direction it assumed a posture which made it clear that it was certainly not a buzzard; it is surprisingly easy to confuse the two, especially if there is nothing else in sight to give a clear indication of scale. I could see that it had no underwing pattern, its great wings looked as though they were pointing forward, and the truly big pinion feathers were spread and reaching high – no room for doubt!

Otherwise, we soon saw the large flock of alpine choughs which live up there, and there were also several flocks of partridges; they flew before we could get a proper look at them, and we always assumed that they are red-legged. Despite the varying colour shown in my bird books, they always seem to appear a brownish grey in the sunlight, and fly fairly fast.

There were also a few large flocks of finches; it was very hard to get much of a proper view of these, but when one bird did settle long enough for me to get a decent look, it turned out, rather to my surprise, to be a goldfinch. That need not mean that the whole flock was the same; finches elsewhere often fly in mixed flocks throughout the autumn and winter, and the same may well happen here.

The presence of these flocks, especially of the partridges and finches, I think, shows the benefit to the local biodiversity, of the transhumance which still brings the flocks of sheep, and the other herds up to these high, open uplands. (The ponies were still there, but the sheep and cattle were much further down.) Elsewhere, the partridges and finches are essentially birds of farmland, and I have no doubt that the cropped herbage, the grazed bushes, and regularly-placed deposits of various brands of manure replicate the farmed habitat. Our friends, the marmots, were presumably asleep far under the bleached grass.

Amid this brilliant, lightly snowy scene, a true glimpse of winter, I found two, isolated gentians still in bloom, their beautiful blue as bright as the sky, bringing memories of wonderful summer days spent on the heights.

0 Comments

Habitat Change

2/11/2016

0 Comments

By Bruce Hyde

While I have always known that certain dragonfly species like certain habitats, I did not realise what a difference even small changes can make. Sometimes, usually I suppose, these changes can be gradual, but sometimes they can be dramatic.

Recently I visited two small areas by the river Tech, which I hadn't been to for about a year. I was very surprised to find that in one place there were no dragonflies at all, and in the other there were very few. In each location I had seen around 15-20 different species in the past. One would not necessarily expect to see them all at the same time, but even so to see none at all was quite a surprise.

Large Pincertail (Onychogomphus uncatus) Chevaine Catalan - one of the rarer species previously found here.

This set me thinking - why should there have been such a change in a relatively short period of time? After all, there had been no major weather events in the last year.

What I believe had happened was that the riverside vegetation had grown rapidly and the change had caused the dragonfly and damselfly populations to move to more acceptable locations. The ones I had previously seen here were all species that liked fairly slow flowing or still water, with vegetation on the bank that was quite low, offering plenty of places for them to perch in the sunlight.

One damselfly that seems to have moved on is the attractive Common Bluetail.

Common Bluetail female (Ischnura elegans rufescens) L'Agrion élégant

Another very common damselfly now absent from that particular spot is the White Featherleg.

White Featherleg male (Platycnemis latipes) L'Agrion blanchâtre

As an example of slow changes, these two photographs taken from roughly the same place, and under two years apart, show the extent to which vegetation has grown in a shortish period of time. Even though the seasons are quite different you can see how much growth has taken place.

Near Moulin de Breuil January 2015 and September 2016

When a major weather event arrives, such as a big storm or a prolonged period of heavy rain, it is not surprising that the habitat, and the species in it, change.

As an example of this, during the winter of 2010/11 there was a period of prolonged rainfall resulting in enormous amounts of water coming down the river Tech from the slopes of Canigou. These floods caused the level of water at Le Boulou to rise 6 metres above its normal level. This meant that the weight of water rushing through the river basin caused even large trees to be swept away, which in turn devastated the lesser vegetation on the river banks. Even local landmarks such as large trees and bushes disappeared.

The size of the tree trunks and the height of the log jam gives some idea of how high the water was.

The following photos were taken from the identical place before and after the big inundation. From lush growth to absolute desolation - note Canigou peeping up in the background.

What is really surprising is that anything living in the water can survive the massive flooding and pounding of stones, rocks and detritus. Dragonflies usually spend the winter underwater as larvae, eating other aquatic insects and, sometimes, other dragonfly larvae. They emerge in the spring and early summer and develop into the beautiful flying insects with which we are all so familiar. I don't know how they survive such turmoil. Nevertheless, even fish survive such conditions.

Common Carp (Cyprinus carpio) Carpe Commune

Catalan Chubb (Squlius laietanus) Chevaine Catalan

Of course, when habitats change, local species that can fly will move elsewhere, so all one has to do is track them down again! Fish just have to adapt to their new environment. One is reminded that the ever-changing landscape is all part of nature, and ecology has been evolving since the beginning of time; and it is also part of the Darwinian process of survival of the fittest.

0 Comments

Another Emporda Blog - And More Crayfish!

3/7/2016

0 Comments

by Robin Noble

At the time Lesley was seeing her crayfish, we had gone down to the Emporda to spend a day at our favourite Nature Reserve. Every time we go, it is different, and once again it gave us a lovely and interesting day. Because of all the rain earlier in the year, it was remarkably lush, and walking one or two of the paths between the lines of trees, we were almost assailed by birdsong. Some we do by now recognise, like the Cetti’s warbler, but there were many others we did not know, and in the dense and humid green, it felt rather as I imagine Costa Rica to be, strange, exotic and full of birds. But there was one loud and constant call, which belonged in my mind elsewhere. This was the song of the common cuckoo, known from English copses or highland birchwoods, and not much heard by us in the last few years. But for us, it has been a year of cuckoos; I have heard them on the hill behind our house, and frequently again on a recent trip into the high Pyrenees.

It had obviously rained during the night, and as we walked a track from one hide to another, I saw a few quick movements in one of the puddles, and we stopped to look. The water was a bit muddy, and it took a while to get a reasonable view of the little creatures in this rather unlikely and limited habitat. They were clearly small crustaceans, perhaps a maximum of two inches long, with a little reddish-pink on the body, otherwise a dark grey. They were lively, and when we provided shadow, prepared to leave the water and venture on to the open track. One decided that Martine, who was photographing it, was an enemy, and adopted a fierce and defensive stance, claws menacing and wide – if rather diminutive.

We wondered what exactly they were doing there in this somewhat ephemeral habitat, but decided to leave them to their own devices and followed the track further to where it crossed a small, rather cloudy brook. While Martine tried for the perfect shot of a stork in the green meadow, I took a few snaps of the water, as I have always loved dark green pools under trees. While I was thus engaged, and therefore watching the water, I realised that there were more, much larger crustaceans, some half-hauled out on thin branches; the reddish colouration was clear on a few.

Of course, when we got home and read Lesley’s blog we realised that these were her crayfish, and, presumably, their young – perhaps in the spring even the young are highly mobile on land, especially if it is damp ground. In fact, it turned out that at the back of the Nature Centre itself, there is a pond, which contained some more of these creatures, which we could very easily observe. Martine added to our scanty knowledge of them when she saw one attack, kill, and start to eat a smaller one – so they are apparently cannibals!

The latter fact might be of some comfort to those who, understandably, are worried about the impact of these foreign species on the native amphibians and so on. While I know why folk are worried, I wonder whether in the longer term, we are right to be so concerned. Nature is far from static, and there is really no definitive list of creatures which belong to one location or another; creatures have come and gone, moved in and out, throughout history and before that, and, of course, many have become extinct, locally or internationally, during the course of time. That does not mean that I disapprove of efforts, for instance, to trap mink in Britain, in order to assist the populations of water-voles. Mink are very versatile predators, almost omnivorous, and therefore, very successful. If the crayfish are similarly rapacious, then efforts to catch them are obviously worthwhile – perhaps we missed a trick? I will have to check Lesley’s blog to see whether they taste good!

0 Comments

Another Crayfish!

17/6/2016

0 Comments

by Lesley McLaren

I keep my dog on the lead for a heap of reasons, one of which is that he's an obsessive hunter. I would be unlikely to find him ever again if he were free to chase the wildlife that we sometimes come across. Nor would it be good for the animals and birds. But inevitably he stops to sniff the undergrowth - to check what's passed this way, to add his mark, and frequently to snatch up and gulp down something foul or rotting. The Find For Today, in the verge above a ditch between nectarine orchard and vineyard, was a dead crayfish. I'd stopped to watch swifts zoom past at eye-level, and was astonished when I next glanced down and saw a big red claw sticking out of his mouth.

After having bumped into a live one at the beginning of the month, to come across another, once again far from water, made me wonder what was going on. Had it been dropped by a predator, as suggested in a comment on my last blog? Or is their habitat more varied than I imagined and they can survive in ditches that are dry for most of the year? Or do they wander - especially after heavy rain? I've never seen them here before, but we have had more rain than usual this month.

Yesterday's thunderstorms left Mount Canigou with another powdering of snow - something I don't remember seeing mid-June before. Nor can I recall the countryside (or my garden) looking quite so lush at this time of year. The wildflowers have been spectacular - the scent of broom almost overpowering at times - and some grasses in verges, hedgerows and untended fields are now as tall as me! Perfect conditions for crayfish?

Time to find out more about them.

My dog's breakfast was the same species as the one we found a couple of weeks ago.

I remembered having noticed, when I first looked it up in my book on Albères flora and fauna, that it's considered "invasive". And its common English and French names (Red Swamp Crayfish/Écrevisse de Louisiane) give a clue as to why this is. Another case of human interference backfiring.

After surfing the net when we got back home this morning, I now know that these Southeastern USA and Mexican crayfish were introduced into several European countries in an effort to replace diminished stocks of our own native species. But as so often seems to happen with such programmes, there were escapees from farms, and some were released from aquaria. Others will indeed have been dispersed by birds such as herons.

Fascinating to discover that they are good climbers and can walk many kilometres overland, in search of water. (Sources differ as to distances - from 3 to 17km!) They can also survive long periods of drought by burrowing deep into riverbanks and ditches.

And in the breeding season the males go walkabout. Aha!

So perhaps the two crayfish I've seen have been males, and the live one knew exactly what he was doing that day I came across him. Or thought he did. It looks as though he (or another one) didn't make it after all, because the postscript to that story is that a few days later I (or rather my dog!) found an empty shell very close to where we first saw it (which was on the narrow track, bottom right, of this corner between vineyards):

Perhaps it took a wrong turn, got caught up in all that long grass, and baked in the sun. Or perhaps someone else's dog killed it.

Part of me had been feeling bad about having decided to let nature take its course and not try to help that one reach water (even though I only had my hat in which to carry it!). But now my conscience is much clearer. Because not only was he wandering of his own accord, but he and his kind are having a seriously negative impact on our ecosystem.

I've learned that they can breed in their second year, and females may lay up to 600 eggs at a time. In warm regions like this, there may even be two breeding cycles in twelve months. They are resistant to, but can transmit crayfish plague to our native species, the rare White-clawed crayfish/Écrevisse à pattes blanches. And all that burrowing can cause river banks to collapse, and can reduce clarity of water bodies, which in turn encourages the growth of certain unwanted algae. They are omnivorous and are implicated in the decline of some plant and animal species in some areas.

So what eats them?

I read that studies in Spain and Portugal show they are naturally predated by fox, otter, heron, stork, and some fish - including pike and bass. While this will help keep their numbers in check, it's alarming to discover that red swamp crayfish accumulate heavy metals, which can poison their predators.

Unfortunately, even had I known this last fact before today, I wouldn't have been able to stop my dog crunching up his find. All I can do is hope that just the one won't do him any harm.

None of this is the crayfishes' fault of course. It's all down to us. Nevertheless, although pleased to have solved the mystery of their appearance on land, I do see them in a different light now.

There's a different light outside the window too, as I end this blog. Another thunderstorm approaches. Will it spark more wanderings?

Postscript 18th June:
YES, is the answer to my last question. This morning, as I drove down to the orchards and vineyards, I had to stop for one crossing the road. In view of what I now know about about them, perhaps I should have run him over. But mosquitoes are about my limit when it comes to cold blooded murder. Trouble was, when I stopped he stopped, which made me feel obliged to get him safely out of the way so no one else could crush him either. Now my conscience is totally confused.

Quite a whopper! And very aggressive. He certainly wasn't about to let me pick him up. In the absence of a net or long stick, in the end I used my phone to kind of flick him into the grass. He wasn't impressed and continued to lunge at me afterwards, while I took this video.

0 Comments

Surprises in the Vineyards

1/6/2016

2 Comments

by Lesley McLaren

While walking my dog through the vineyards this morning, my thoughts turned to the peculiar looking mole cricket I came across the other day (only the second I've ever seen).

These scuttle rather than fly, and burrow (hence the name), to find their preferred delicacy: vine roots. And I was thinking about how, at first glance, their front feet resemble lobster claws ... when I looked down and saw, walking towards me on the grassy track ...

A lobster.

Was I hallucinating?

No. Roughly the size of my hand, it was, in fact, a crayfish. I know there's been an unusual amount of rain for the time of year lately, so the grass is long, lush and damp, but even so, this was something of a surprising find - about half a kilometre from the nearest pond or stream.

Unfortunately I didn't have my camera with me (only my phone) but to prove I'm not kidding:

When I got close it reared up - balancing on its tail tucked underneath - pincers poised in a convincing threat to grab my dog's nose should he be tempted to investigate, or my finger should I try to move a blade of grass out of its face to get a better shot.

If I moved round, it moved too so it continued to face me, maintaining that intimidating stance. Only when we'd retreated a few feet did it relax and continue on its way. It'll have a long walk to the nearest watercourse, but I hope it makes it.

2 Comments

"If spring comes, can winter be far behind?"

2/2/2016

1 Comment

by Robin Noble

Yes, I know it's a silly title, but I am always chary of announcing the arrival of spring, when we have, so far, had really no winter weather to grumble about. And today, February 1st, would have been a good summer day in the UK, where Storm Henry is raging...

And in the outside world, here there really are some signs of spring; upon on the hill the hazel catkins are almost over and the gorse has been in bloom for ages. In the hedges the quinces are showing that wonderful colour, and bulbs are pushing up quite fast. In our wee orchard, there is a brilliant speedwell in bloom, some bright hawkweeds, and the tiny cyclamen I planted out a couple of years back, to naturalise under the boundary hedge, are vivid pink, scarlet and crimson.

The bird-feeder has not been especially busy so far, perhaps because of the mild weather, but I am definitely hearing more goldfinches tinkling around the place. Another sign of spring is the emphatic call of the chiffchaff, and the melodious sound of the blackcap; the latter has been much in evidence in the last few days. The bees here have hardly stopped all winter, and with the rosemary and hedge shrubs blooming, they are increasingly active. Not that it has much to do with winter or spring, a jay flew low over the house today, just as I was walking out on to the terrace. The patch of vivid blue on its wing caught the sun as it passed me - lovely!

Other things have been on the move, too; sadly I did not see them alive, just dead, squashed on a short section of a byroad into the hills. There were the brilliant black-and-yellow salamanders, (salamandre tachetée), which "the book" says are nocturnal creatures of the forest. A shame only to see them dead, but the fact that there were three or four of them on a short section of a quiet back road, indicates, I hope, that they are quite plentiful. I find myself wondering why their colouring should be so bright if they are nocturnal...

1 Comment

Another Mild Winter - so far!

24/1/2016

0 Comments

by Lesley McLaren

As a swathe of eastern USA is buried under massive amounts of snow, temperatures continue to remain mild in much of Europe, including here. El Nino is having quite an effect this winter.

Back in mid December the mimosas were beginning to show yellow, and bougainvilleas were still developing new flowers. This month gorse is in full bloom in hedgerows and hills - and attracting plenty of bees. New leaves have appeared on my olive and lemon tree, and are on the verge of opening on my red robin hedge. Lots of spring-flowering plants are already out - even geraniums left from last summer! - and gardens are looking positively colourful.

Birds are tuning up and I've seen a pair of collared doves mating already. There are some butterflies about too - red admiral in particular, and I've seen one clouded yellow - prematurely out of hibernation.

With midday temperatures sometimes around 20ºC, and few significant frosts, none of this is surprising. If we don't get a cold snap in February to slow everything down again it will be interesting to see what the knock-on effect of all this is later in the year.

But not everything is early. My camelia has started flowering bang on time this month, and my almond tree, which usually flowers later than most (in February) looks like being on schedule too.

I wonder how creatures such as metamorphosing caterpillars fare. Can the process speed up or slow down according to the weather?

I'm especially interested, having discovered this pupa attached to the wall by our garage.

At first glance it looks very plain and boring. Which is doubtless part of nature's grand design. Not much point making yourself conspicuous to predators. It would be better camouflaged - and perhaps more sheltered - in a less open spot, though. Amazing to see how it's held in place by such a fragile-looking silk thread.

It's quite big, and those horn-like protrusions look interesting, so I've done some internet research to see what it might turn into. And the answer is this:

A Scarce Swallowtail. One of my favourites! I feel very honoured and just hope it survives the next few weeks, to emerge safely in March. No doubt I'll miss the event but an empty pupa shell will tell its own story.

0 Comments

Still Signs of Life in Winter

9/12/2015

0 Comments

by Lesley McLaren

On country walks I'm usually on the lookout for movement in trees, shrubs and sky. But there isn't much going on at this time of year in my regular haunts. Or it so it seems. And before I know it I'm drifting along a familiar route, lost in thought about a scene in the novel I'm writing, or worrying that the washing machine is dead and not just on strike, or wondering if I'll get Christmas cards written in time - and I'm focusing on little except where I'm putting my feet.

While that can be a useful meditation, I can miss an awful lot. So today I took my camera with me and also took my time, stopping regularly to look more closely at my surroundings.

To pay attention.

Here's a tour of a few things I noticed in a half mile stretch either side of a quiet lane.

Lichens and mosses thrive where there's little or no sun from autumn to late spring.

Fifty shades of green?

Around the bend and above the lane, trees have been left where they've fallen.
The perfect habitat for beetles and other insects (snakes too?).
Worth a careful explore next summer.

Something's been hacking bark off cork oaks. Unlikely to be humans mucking about (some is out of reach). Woodpeckers? Maybe, but there are so many nuthatches here, they're my prime suspects. My book doesn't list insect grubs as part of their diet, but that must be what they're after here? Certainly you can often hear them tapping at branches and trunks. And...

... they also use cork oaks to help them hatch those nuts! I've watched one wedge an acorn in a crack in the bark and bash it repeatedly to get at that delicious soft centre. Sometimes it drew its head back, only to find the acorn stuck on its beak, and angrily rammed it back into the crack to free itself. Head back ... Bash. Head back ... Bash. The acorn didn't stand a chance. Here's the evidence, in what must be a favourite tree:

Roots follow water, through near-solid rock.

And other things are managing to excavate and live in there. Mice? Or bigger creatures? Weasels?

This wild cherry has been dying all year. But it's being colonised by other life now.

After egg laying by moths in October,
new "candyfloss" nests of pine processionary caterpillars are just beginning to show.

Plants frazzled to a crisp in the summer are making a comeback in the damp conditions

Old cones and new growth.
Behind: autumn coloured leaves cling onto some trees. It's still too warm.

A few flowers broke up the greenery: Yellow daisy-like things; a single sprig of purple heather; early blooms of gorse and mimosa. And I ate a couple of ripe fruit from a strawberry tree (not much flavour).

I wasn't walking in complete silence either. Although most of the more musical birds have stopped singing or are wintering in Africa, I could still hear the rather sad call of robins. There was the occasional chwit-chwit of a nuthatch; a distant great spotted woodpecker; a buzzard somewhere overhead; great tits; squeaks of what might have been goldcrests...

There wasn't much to smell (not even dead leaves) and I didn't touch - except for the fruit, and dewy grass when I slid gracelessly onto my bottom while photographing the fungi! - however it's worth consciously using at least four senses in the natural world. Even in the winter. At first glance it may seem very still out there - but it's still life, so that's okay.

0 Comments

A Carp Out and In.

26/11/2015

0 Comments

By Bruce Hyde

On a still, warm morning at the end of September I was walking along the bank of the river Tech.

Normally that particular stretch is deserted, but on this occasion I saw a tent pitched near a gap in the bankside vegetation. It turned out that a fisherman was camped there; he was with his wife and small son - they may possibly have been there all night as night fishing for carp is popular.

As I arrived he had a fish on his line and was bringing it in to the river bank, very slowly and carefully. He took quite some time to land it, both to take care not to lose the fish as well as not to damage it.

I watched the process with interest and, having asked if he minded, took a few photographs.

With the fish alongside, he called on his son to bring him the landing net; the boy was small and the net was large.

He very painstakingly coaxed the fish into the net. It did not make too much of a fuss, and it occurred to me that perhaps it had been caught before, and was used to the process (or perhaps a fish brain does not work that way!).

The fish - a large carp - was gently transferred from the net to a landing mat where the hook was slowly removed from its mouth.

The hooks are without barbs so that the fish is not damaged. A side effect of this is that it makes the process of bringing the fish to land more difficult.

The fisherman then held the carp up to show me. He said it weighed around 7 kilos - it really looked a handsome specimen.

The carp was then delicately returned to the river where it lazily swam off, apparently none the worse for the experience.

What impressed me most was the fastidiousness with which the fish was handled and returned to the river. Clearly the angler took nature seriously, and preservation and protection were uppermost in his mind.

I have seen carp swimming in the Tech many times - there is a particularly good viewpoint on a bluff above the river - but have not been standing by when one has been caught.

It was good to see catching wild life for sport going hand-in-hand with conservation.

0 Comments

The First Chill of Winter

22/11/2015

by Lesley McLaren

So far this November we've been blessed with temperatures in the high twenties, which I'd usually associate with early summer or early autumn. We did have snow on Canigou once in September and once again last month but, as usual, it quickly melted. It's all change now, however, and I think yesterday's powdering up there - third time lucky? - will probably stick, at least on the highest peaks.

Although strong winds and cooler air had been forecast for this weekend, 6°C was still a shock to my system on this morning's walk. It's lunchtime as I write this, and the temperature has crept up to 14° but it feels colder in that tramontane. In a way the change is welcome: it's good to have seasons. And should put an end to this year's tiger mosquitoes, which were still biting a couple of days ago!

There were fewer dog walkers than usual in the vineyards this morning. Perhaps because of the weather, but possibly because Sunday is the most popular day for hunters. I heard plenty but only met one man with a gun today.

I'd been tracking the jingle of bells from a hunting dog somewhere among the vines, but hadn't found its owner until I spotted cigarette smoke trailing out of the open door of a car parked by the track ahead. I was probably fifty yards or so away when the man emerged, turned in my direction, raised his shotgun skywards, panning above me and to my left, and fired once. I turned but didn't see anything fall to earth. When I reached him he was perfectly pleasant, as I expected. I asked if he'd got it. Non. Too far away, he said. I asked what it was.

Une grive. A thrush.

"There's nothing about," he added glumly.

The bitter wind made me pull my scarf tighter as I wished him "Bon dimanche" and walked on, feeling glum too; silently lamenting that he - along with so many people worldwide - can blast any creature to oblivion for the sheer thrill of it, and can see nothing wrong with that. Hopefully today's thrush will make it through to the spring, when it can thrill me - and others - with its uplifting, beautiful song. A song that seems to celebrate life itself.

Forward>>

High Winter Blog

Habitat Change

Another Emporda Blog - And More Crayfish!

Another Crayfish!

Surprises in the Vineyards

"If spring comes, can winter be far behind?"

Another Mild Winter - so far!

Still Signs of Life in Winter

A Carp Out and In.

The First Chill of Winter

Authors

Archives

Categories