Back to the Birds

On the evening of June 19th, I headed up to Tarrant Rushton Airfield, once used for glider operations during World War II. I was hoping to hear and maybe record the song of a small, secretive migratory bird that winters in Africa, spending most of its time hidden in crops and tall grass. Parking off the Wimborne to Blandford road, I started the long walk toward some barn buildings. The warm evening breeze carried the jangling calls of Corn Buntings along the field edges, while Skylarks sang high overhead—a sound I always enjoy. At the first farm buildings, I spotted a Kestrel on a roof, scanning for prey. Moving past more crops, I listened for a Quail but heard only Skylarks and Linnets. Before long, I reached the familiar Sawmill area, but still no luck. Curious about what lay beyond the big bend in the road, I kept going, passing grassy fields and tall grass. I paused to scan toward Badbury Rings for an early Barn Owl, but instead spotted a pair of hares in the short grass—a treat in itself. Reaching the bend and seeing the harvested field ahead, I turned back, realising how far I’d come as the first farm buildings appeared as tiny dots in the distance. Near the Sawmill once more, I suddenly caught the faint call of my target bird, the Common Quail—“Wetmelips, Wetmelips”—growing louder.

A young Kestrel

Some Wonderful Hares

# Corn Bunting 149

# Quail 150

June 20th

Lytchett Fields;  

Walking down the aptly named Watery Lane (especially in winter), I was met with the sweet scent of lush greenery lining the edges and a small stream, while mighty oaks stood like sentinels among holly and hazel—oh, the stories they could tell. Overhead, the cheerful chatter of house martins followed me all the way to the viewing points. At first glance, there didn’t seem to be much about, but once my eyes adjusted, I spotted shelducks, black-headed gulls—including a Mediterranean gull—and some lesser black-backed gulls, along with a few black-tailed godwits and redshanks on what’s called Frenches Pool. After scanning the area, I wandered next door to the Sherford Pools viewing space, where teal, mallard, and a couple of gadwall were resting. Then, out of nowhere, an osprey appeared, heading toward Frenches; I dashed back just in time to see it joined by another, both making for Lytchett Bay. Watching them vanish over the bay was pure joy—until a marsh harrier arrived, gliding effortlessly above the reeds in search of prey. Back at Sherford Pools, I noted a couple of little egrets, a grey heron, and a lapwing. At first, nothing unusual, but on a second scan, there it was: a little ringed plover—then another—running along the edge of an island, a lovely addition to the Dorset list. As the tide began filling the pools, I decided to call it a day, when yet another osprey crossed from Frenches, soared over Sherford Pools, and disappeared over the heathland—perhaps to Morden Bog or maybe looping back toward the water by the Cordite Way. I’ll never know, but a sight it was.

The Osprey

Some insect life along the Watery Lane

Beautiful Demoiselle

Rutpela maculata

# Osprey 151

# Little ringed Plover 152

I’m a bit confused about my Dorset list. I use BirdTrack to record my bird sightings and Bubo to keep a list. On BirdTrack, the Dorset Recording area shows 153 species, while the Dorset County shows 146. To add to the mix, my Bubo list has 152 recorded species.

 

A Double Encounter with the Crowned Weevil

Badbury Rings: Dorset

On the afternoon of the 18th June , I found myself traversing the historic Iron Age earthwork of Badbury Rings. Mid-afternoon the weather became delightfully warm and increasingly sunny. As the breaking sun baked the chalk ramparts filling the air with the scent of herbs it seemed to stir the insect world into sudden  vibrant activity  with butterflies on the wing of all sorts Marble Whites, Common Blues, Large Skippers and the likes.

As I walked along the bare, white chalk track that cuts through the  vibrant green grass on top of one the ramparts. My attention was drawn to by not one ,but two magnificent specimens of the Crowned Weevil, Liparus coronatus. At first these appear to be black shiny beetles but on a close look they were robust roughly 12mm long the body an intense ,glossy jet-black, beautifully ornamented by a distinct crown of bright golden-yellow scales at the base of the throax.

Liparus coronatus.

What struck me the most beside their long elephant trunk like snout was their situation .

Emerging just as the afternoon heat peaked and the sun broke through, they were out in the open,

marching across the exposed chalky path, making their way directly to shelter of the grass margin of the pathway. The species is entirely flightless, so are true pedestrians of the insect world. I believe they were utilising  the bare chalk path  to travel along. The dense tangle roots of the surrounding grassland must be arduous and slow, yet the open pathway warmed by the afternoon sun they could travel with relative ease and speed to find out new feeding grounds or mates.

In my readings of the great naturalists ( namely Charles Darwin and Alfred Russell Wallace), I have learned that the distribution of animals is never accidental. And here in Dorset I believe that  Liparus coronatus is localised and possible scares and bound to the carrot and parsley family upon which its larvae feed upon underground. To find two individuals on such a fine summer afternoon a 1st for me . It proves with out doubt the ancient chalk grasslands of Badbury Rings supports a healthy breeding colony of these scarce creatures. How wonderful its to think right here on a pathway trodden by human feet for thousands of years, these patient little beetles continue their quiet struggle for existence, perfectly adapted to their ancient Wessex home. I left them to their journey and over joyed at finding these beetle.

Liparus coronatus.

The Invisible Botaurus and Dancing Harriers of Lodmoor

 June 14th: Journeyed to the extensive freshwater/brackish reedbeds of Lodmoor, with the primary objection of trying to see the Bittern ( Botaurus stellaris).The day was clear with blue sky and some cloud, warm but with a nice breeze. Though the dense Phragmites presented an almost impenetrable barrier to the eye.

The Dense Phragmites

I positioned myself for several hours at the margin of the marsh scanning with the utmost diligence. Not a reed stirred to betray the birds presence . Yet the trip was not without reward, even if the depths of marsh remained a closed book. The sky above was a theater  of magnificent animation, three Marsh Harrier (Circus aeruginosus) engaged in an exquisite aerial display of dancing and looping through the heavens with a buoyancy that defies description. At one time the ponderous form of a Buzzard ( Buteo Buteo) patrolled over the reeds.

Above the Western Marsh Harrier (Circus aeruginosus)

Buzzard ( Buteo Buteo)

 While a solitary Spoonbill (Platalea leucorodia); that most peculiar and specialised of waders was sleeping on the the Postbox Pool with the occasional preen.

Spoonbill ( Platalea leucorodia)

Finding myself entirely satisfied even though I did not see the bird, I rested by the path having my lunch while listening to the rhythmic sighing of the wind through the reeds a melody that has played unaltered since prehistoric times.

I was frequently distracted by flashes of vibrant predatory life close to hand. The magnificent Norfolk Hawker dragonflies ( Aeshna isoceles) with there bright green eye and coppery bodies hawked aggressively along the margin of the reeds. It was a joy watch this dragonfly . Historically confined to the eastern fens making its home in Dorset. I retraced my steps back to the car thoroughly satisfied with the beautiful struggle of existence that quietly goes on in Dorset.

Norfolk Hawker (Aeshna isoceles) Also known as the Green-eyed Hawker

# Spoonbill 147