Have I slept through the summer?

The weather has been interesting this year to say the least: the snow we have all come to expect didn’t bother to show up, we all got sunburned through March, April showers didn’t stop, and now the Darling Buds of May are struggling to get out from under their duvets in the constant, autumnal drizzle.

Another dull day in May – Kielder Water, Northumberland

I’m starting to think that it isn’t May at all: I’ve slept through the summer, and the reason for this autumn weather is because it’s actually November.

By now I should be raving on about how amazing the spring gentians are. I’ve been told the display is really good this year, but every time I have an opportunity to go find them the grey clouds, drizzle and rain put me off. Gentians won’t get out of bed if the sun isn’t shining, so what’s the point?

The truth is, I’m a bit of a Weather Witch. Always have been. Happy in the sun, energised by sharp showers, miserable and lethargic in the gloom. I’m usually pretty bouncy in the spring – the long daylight hours and stronger sun do something to the back of my brain to wake me up – but this year the daylight is fighting with the gloom and the gloom is winning.

So, I’m going to force myself out of the house today, even if it’s not far, because I always feel better once I get outside – no matter how terrible it looks from the window.

Where there’s rain there may be a rainbow – I took this photo on an equally gloomy day last May in Teesdale

Durham Rocks!

Finally, after four years living in County Durham, my Taller Half and I have started volunteering with the Durham Wildlife Trust. Today we had a geology training day, led by geologist David Lawrence. Half classroom, half field trip, we learnt all about the rocks under our feet and how they affect Durham’s people and wildlife.

First things first. There are three basic types of rock:

• sedimentary: layers of sediment that settle on the ground and get stuck together over time
• igneous: molten rock forced into or through the earth’s crust that form into hard crystalline structures as it cools
• metamorphic: rock that is transformed from one thing to another when heated or put under great pressure (sounds like alchemy to me)

County Durham sits mainly on sedimentary rock – limestone, sandstone, mudstone and coal – but it does have igneous and a tiny bit of metamorphic rock too.

Igneous rock is formed by volcanoes or when molten rock is pushed through fault lines in the earth. This latter process is responsible for the igneous rock in Durham. Long narrow bands of dolerite form the Whin Sill. This is famous for two reasons – Hadrians Wall in Northumberland is built along a sharks-tooth ridge of Whin Sill, and the Teesdale waterfalls High Force, Low Force and Cauldron’s Snout are carved out of it. As the molten rock forces itself through faults in the sedimentary layers, tiny bands of metamorphic rock are also formed. At High Force you can see all three types of rock if you know what to look for.

High Force waterfall. You can clearly see the dark horizontal layers of sedimentary mudstone underneath the lighter vertical shafts of dolerite whin sill. There is a thin layer of metamorphic rock at the boundary of the two, although it's hard to make out in this photo. Click photo to view large

There might not be much metamorphic rock in Durham, but it plays a very important role. In parts of Teesdale the heat from the molten Whin Sill produced a sugar limestone – granular white crystals that look like sugar and while very fragile, creates the perfect habitat for the famous Teesdale Assemblage of arctic-alpine plants, including the spring gentian. You can read about Moor House nature reserve and the sugar limestone here.

The oldest rocks lie to the west. Known as Namurian, they are mainly limestone layers with rich mineral seams. Lead mining was serious business in days gone by, and in some places you have to take care not to fall into old limestone quarries.

A working limestone quarry on the Teesdale way

Further east the rocks get younger. The Durham coalfield if formed of mudstones, sandstones and of course coal, and takes up most of the middle of Durham. There are few obvious signs left of Durham’s mining heritage, and nature has largely reclaimed many of the sites. It will take generations for the people to forget though, and the Durham Miners Gala is a significant annual event.

Durham Miners Gala 2010

Our youngest rocks hug the east coast. Still mainly limestone, this limestone is special, as it contains not only calcium but magnesium too. Magnesium limestone is a North East speciality, and the majority lies in County Durham. The magnesium, just like the sugar limestone in the west, attracts its own unique array of flora and fauna. Much of it has been quarried out, but it turns out this isn’t a bad thing, as the quarries have been colonised by limestone specialists that struggle to compete on the loamy soils that have built up over the top.

Knapweed growing out of the side of an old magnesium limestone quarry at Cassop Vale

Finally, we reach the sea, and this is where we spent the afternoon. Blackhall Rocks, part of the Durham Heritage Coast, was once the place where all the spoil from the coastal mines was chucked. There’s still some spoil left, trying to turn itself into a manmade sedimentary layer, although the sea has other plans. We are standing on Permian rocks and Quaternary boulder clay. Deposited by glaciers during the ice age, boulder clay is actually found all over Durham and is responsible for much of our soil – it’s like the icing on top of a layer cake. If you ever find yourself in a stony field wondering why there is so much builder’s rubble in the soil you are probably standing on boulder clay.

Learning about Durham rocks on the beach

The cliffs at Blackhall are formed from an ancient coral reef sitting behind a ridge of dolomite limestone. Unlike the quarried limestone further inland, this is not a uniform slab of rock. It is formed of many layers, or laminates, laid down by successive growths of algae when this area was a warm shallow sea, and is the kind of thing that gets a geologist really excited. More information is in this Durham Wildlife Trust leaflet.

David points out the laminations in the cliff face at Blackhall Rocks

The limestones in this area have other interesting qualities. Cannonball rocks are balls of rock growing out of the base sediment. Known as concretionary structures, other patterns look like fossil corals, but they are in fact created from some kind of chemical reaction, presumably triggered by the warm, mineral rich waters in which the sediments were laid down.

An example of cannonball rocks. Although they've eroded flat you can still make out the circular shapes, and there is a cavity where one of the balls has fallen out

All too soon it was time to leave the cliffs and head back to the minibus and home. There’s much more to Durham’s geological heritage than I can tell you here, but I hope I’ve given you a taster. What do the rocks in your area tell you?

More

• The North Pennines is a Global Geopark – the first in the UK.
• Photos from the day are on the Low Barns DWT volunteer pages.

ps: please don’t take my word for any of the geology stuff, and if I’ve got anything wrong I’m happy for you to point this out in the comments

pps: I’ve chosen my links to give you more info if you want it – so if you want to find out more please click on

Ring Ouzel!

I saw my first ring ouzel last year on a visit to Weardale, and was determined to find this remarkable mountain blackbird again this year – this time with photographic evidence.

Bollihope Common, Weardale

The ring ouzel is a blackbird that likes it tough. Favouring mountainous areas, they look and sound similar to our garden blackbirds but with a couple of twists – a striking crescent of white on the chest, and a distinctively rock-like quality to their calls.

I knew they were in the area as images had started appearing on flickr, so last week My Taller Half and I set off on a trek from Stanhope to Frosterley, taking in Bollihope Common where I saw my first ring ouzel last year. It was a harder walk than we anticipated, so we spent very little time actually looking, but we were not disappointed.

A female flew loudly across our path just after I’d explained to My Taller Half to listen out for the sound of rocks clacking together. It’s just a shame we were negotiating a very steep descent at the time – definitely no photos.

We made our second attempt today. Instead of taking the bus we drove to the car park at Bollihope and headed along Howden burn, a pretty little stream nestled in its own little valley, and a respite from the bleak moorland landscape all around. When on a mission such as we were on to find a rare and elusive bird, it is only fitting that we achieve our goal at the end of the adventure after much searching and many false trails. But no, we saw two males almost straight away. Here’s the proof:

A male ring ouzel posing for his photograph

After a cup of freshly brewed tea, we wandered in and around the little valley but we were not treated to a better sighting. We caught further glimpses and we certainly heard them (final tally: 1 female, 2-4 males). There was plenty more to see though.

Time for a brew - Howden burn

Spring is a good time for Weardale birdwatchers. The waders have settled in to their breeding areas, the grouse are still displaying, and everywhere you go a wheatear or pipit will be fearlessly watching you. I’ll not bore you with a list, but the highlights of the day included a buzzard and a dipper.

Male wheatear singing for us. Wheatears have rock-like vocals too

It’s not just birds that are fascinating. Last week we found a dead frog (or possibly a toad) totally covered by what I thought were millipedes. Today we found a grouse carcass covered by what we could now clearly tell were beetle larvae. A bit of detective work has revealed them to be carrion beetles. Gruesome but vital actors in nature’s grand play.

(I’ll not post the pictures on the blog, but look here here here and here if you want to see. Warning: it’s a bit gross).

All in all a successful day, although I’ll be back soon to see if I can get a better shot of this very special bird.

As always, click on the photo to view large, and more photos on flickr. Please feel welcome to add a comment if you wish.

I couldn't resist sharing an arty shot with you. This is the Howden burn valley before the sun decided not to play any more

Update 19 April: The BTO have released this video and sound clips explaining how to distinguish a ring ouzel from a blackbird. Very informative and better than anything you can find on You Tube

Making the most of what you’ve got

As regular readers will know, I’m not currently living in my perfect house. The views are of other people’s windows, and the landscape is sterile – a new build desert.

I was recently surprised to discover that a kestrel has been using my garage as a resting place and left me a regurgitated pellet as a present. The starlings living in a neighbour’s gutter have ramped up their activity. There are more than two adults using the space, so I’m still not sure if they’re nesting.

This week has been very warm, and the desert is blooming: my sulking would-be hedge (my collection of seed and cutting-grown treelings, waiting impatiently in their pots) has come to life. Hairy bittercress is popping up in the cracks. Hoverflies are staking out their territories in the air above my modest lawn, attracted by my potted greengage blossoms.

I am now awoken by birdsong every morning. A woodpigeon has claimed the rooftops, several blackbirds compete for musical dominance and the chatter of starlings is almost constant at times. There are no smaller birds – tits, robins, dunnock, sparrow. Only rooftop-lovers can excel in this tile, brick and concrete environment.

Two days ago I was reminded in a wonderful moment that nature can find you anywhere. I looked out the window, grumpy that I’d spent the whole day indoors when the weather had been so gorgeous, and I noticed a flock of pigeons circling unhappily. The dark shape soaring above them wasn’t a crow though, it was a red kite. A beautiful, magnificent red kite.

I made a grab for my camera – too late of course – but then from the other window I was greeted by a faint row of Kelvin-Helmholtz wave clouds. The king of clouds, each wave lasts seconds, so most pass unwitnessed.

A magical moment, I was reminded that you don’t need a large garden and countryside views for nature to come knocking at the door. I still want that of course, but for now I will just have to remember to make the most of what I have.

The view I was greeted with from my window. This photo was taken in Gateshead a couple of years ago

 

Let’s get rid of British Summer Time

I’ve always hated it when the clocks change. I’ve had many Springs and Autumns to dwell on these two evil days. This year I decided I won’t simmer in silence, but I’ll share with you, dear reader, why I want British Summer Time (BST) to go away.

1. They lied to us. As a child I was told that BST was brought in during the war to help farmers harvest the crops. This is actually an urban myth (the real reasons are more complex – Daylight Saving has a convoluted history, and one proponent was merely keen to extend his evening golf – see this Wikipedia entry). A little bit of common sense sees through this of course – farmers work all daylight hours if they have to. Modern farmers even work through the night if there are crops to bring in.
2. We do not gain any extra daylight. This is such a no brainer it pains me to spell it out. But every year otherwise-intelligent people explain that we’re getting an extra hour of daylight. We are not. …unless someone’s subverting the laws of physics every year.
3. Tourism doesn’t need it. Another argument I hear is that tourists will flock to the UK/enjoy outside evening entertainment because of the extra hour of daylight. I’ll not deny that in the Spring and Autumn our evenings do appear lighter (but only because we waste the morning daylight by being asleep). By May though we have more than enough light in the evening.
4. I get very grumpy. Although we pretend to be detached from nature we are all attuned to the rhythms of the seasons. Suddenly losing/gaining an hour makes me grumpy, tired and irritated. It feels as bad as jet lag.
5. Think about the poor animals. At least we humans understand what is happening. Those poor dairy cows that have to wait an extra hour to be milked do not.
6. And the witches. How annoying must it be incanting your midnight spells when it isn’t actually midnight? The fairies/sprites/spirits won’t arrive for another hour (unless they adopt British Summer Time too).
7. I’m bloody minded, and I want noon to be noon, midnight to be midnight.
8. If people want longer evenings, they should bloody well get up earlier and finish work earlier.

"But farmers need the extra light!" No they don't

OK, rant over (for now). If people start kicking off about ‘all year BST’ I may be tempted to finish my list in the autumn.

Think of the animals!

Normal service will resume shortly.

Quarries toads and chickens

The main reason I’ve moved to Crook is that it is very easy to get up into Weardale. Weardale is a walkers’ paradise, largely because hardly anyone can be bothered to visit. An earlier work trip to Birmingham meant I had a day off to make up for the hard hours sitting in a train and running after buses. Today was forecast to be sunny: it looked like it would be a lovely day.

I decided to bus up to Stanhope and head up Bollihope Common to look for sneaky wild camping spots. From Stanhope market place I headed towards the river. An attractive riverside path is spoiled by the odour of stale dog shit: Stanhope has a rogue dog walker who is allowing their dog to shit everywhere all along what should be a great place to hangout. Despite the efforts of the Weardale Gazette and a ‘Wanted’ poster put up by the council, I’m afraid to report that the rogue shitter is still at large.

A quick sketch of my route

My path took me through Stanhope showground (soon to be the venue for the community play The Bonny Moorhen), across the railway line and sharply uphill through a series of fields. The walkers must be fit round here: not one of the field boundaries has a functioning stile.

I was intending to cross a woodland and continue uphill, but a red warning sign changed my mind. Weardale is full of mine shafts and quarries, and this sign proclaimed that the footpath was closed ‘due to quarrying’. I took an alternative track past several farm buildings before climbing a steep bank to meet the top of the closed footpath. A good vantage point, the view was disappearing behind a white haze: the valley was filling up with diffused smoke from several large bonfires dotted through the dale.

The path was now a narrow ridge between two deeply excavated quarries. An eerie place. One side had filled up with larch trees. The other was more open and home to many cliff-loving birds.

I’d enjoyed a nice easy stretch of gates-that-opened, although waymarkers were in short supply. Now for some hardcore map reading. There were two homesteads between me and the open access land that marks the edge of Bollihope Common. Neither landowner believes in making-it-easy-for-walkers, but to negotiate the second house I had to go through a field containing a mad horse, climb a gate, duck under some electric fencing and climb a padlocked gate into a bog. I was now on open access land, much to the disgust of the two mallards and one sandpiper who had been hanging out in the bog. Next time I think I’ll stick to the road.

I had intended to follow the moorland road linking Weardale and Teesdale until it meets Bollihope Burn so I could check out the area for camping. However, walking on the road was boring, and the moorland alongside it was tussocky and boggy. So I sighted the elephant trees (a most remarkable landmark – you can see them from almost anywhere in Weardale) and headed eastwards along a faint path. Ready to turn back if the path turned into a bog, I was pleased to find that the sheep track turned into a wide grassy verge. It felt very bleak up here today, but on a smog-free day the views are rewarding. Red grouse, skylark, plover and curlew kept me company, although there were not many lapwing about. In the summer there will be ring ouzel here.

Eventually my path joined up with the Weardale Way. Hill End is a row of houses high above Frosterley and marks the edge of the open access land. A large flock of chickens live up here. They seemed happy to see me and posed for photos.

Hill End, with Frosterley just visible through the murky smog

I stayed on the Weardale Way, which heads downhill to join up with Bollihope Burn along a pretty stretch of woodland and more abandoned quarries. Primroses and coltsfoot lined the path while vertical towers of rock laid testament to the skill and determination of the long-forgotten quarrymen. A deep pool turned out to be full of mating toads. Oblivious to everything but each other, it was hard not to tread on those toads who were late in joining the party as they headed, slowly, along the footpath towards the pond.

Bollihope Burn, running past vertical cliffs of quarried limestone

One of many pairs of mating toads in a quarried pool besides Bollihope Burn

Through fields, and then along the top of Harehope quarry (yes, another quarry), I met a very laid back herd of highland cattle. I fed one of the cows a handful of grass – she’d been sticking her head through the wire fence to reach the grass on the other side. It’s not easy. Unlike horses who use their lips, cows manipulate their food using their cat-like rasping tongues. She twisted her tongue around my gingerly proffered handful, and it took a few attempts before I was brave enough to shove it into her mouth.

I now had a choice – push on for Wolsingham or head into Frosterley for a leisurely wait for the bus. I was cold and didn’t want to hang around, but wasn’t sure I could beat the bus into Wolsingham. I’ve just checked the distance since getting home, so I know I made the right decision – Wolsingham is another three and a half miles away, and I would not have made it.

I dawdled a bit, then headed to the river meadow south east of Frosterley. Full of flowers in summer, it looked quite bare today with its short winter grass. I was met by another large flock of chickens, who eagerly led me to their feeding troughs in the hope of a top up. I occupied myself taking photos of interesting stones, then spotted a beautiful sunset. Despite being smoggy all day, I was treated to a sun pillar, double sundog and delicate iridescent lenticular clouds: cloud spotting heaven. Satisfied, but thwarted in my search for a camping spot, I headed into Frosterley to wait for the bus home.

A pretty pebble from the River Wear

Cloud spotting heaven: a sun pillar just out of shot, iridescent lenticular clouds and a sun dog on the right

Click photos to view large. I’ve posted more photos on my flickr site

Roof garden

It feels like a long time since we moved house, but it’s only been three months. I’ve gone from wildlife-rich to wildlife-poor, but the streets – and roofs – are not as empty as I thought.

While Crook is brimming with wildlife – you’d be hard-pressed to believe that house sparrows are in decline here – the new housing developments are extremely barren. They just weren’t built with wildlife, or even greenery, in mind. Narrow, treeless streets and neat but tiny gardens rule here. Soulless, ugly spaces.

This five-year-old brick, tile and concrete estate cannot deny nature however, even if it wants to. First I noticed a regular blackbird. There have been a few individuals, but there’s always at least one lurking about. Only males so far. Occasionally a dunnock will investigate scraps I put out on the lawn. The real action is reserved for the rooftops.

If you don’t mind staring at bricks (and avoiding staring through the neighbours’ windows) you will see plenty of birds. Corvids and starlings rule, with magpies, jackdaws and starlings regularly cleaning out the gutters. There’s a lack of rooftop paraphernalia – few ariels and no chimneys – and I wonder if this is why there are no pigeons as yet.

I’ve seen several starlings disappear in the eaves of the corner house. They must have found a weakness somewhere to enter the roof space (the builders were careful to leave no gaps for birds or bats to get in). I don’t know if this is a winter roost or a breeding site, but I’m sure I’ll find out.

At the end of the street is a patch of wasteground, and we are only half a mile away from open fields. I once saw a kestrel hovering over this corner of rough grass. I was surprised to discover this morning that they’ve been more than hovering over street corners.

I found this little pellet next to my wheelie bin. I realised at once that it was something interesting – the tiny bones sticking out were a bit of a clue. It was light as a feather and covered in pine needles. Was this significant, I wondered?

Confident that I hadn’t in fact found some fox poo (although that would have been cool too) I picked it up and brought it inside. After taking a few snaps, of course I proceeded to pull it apart. Crushed rodent bones and grey felted fur were the only contents. The pine needles were a red herring – the pellet had been rolling around the remains of the neighbour’s discarded Christmas tree.

Next step – to ID the pellet. The shape, size, felty texture and disintegration of the bones point strongly to this being a kestrel pellet. This means that a kestrel has been perching on the garage roof and felt comfortable enough to disgorge a pellet. And I hadn’t noticed.

There is a lesson here that even in the most barren of places nature will find a way. But how much better would it be if developers made small changes to give wildlife a real chance to move in to our new homes with us? If lack of space means we can’t have tree-lined avenues or large gardens, at least lets do something with the roof space. Green roofs, anyone?