Painting always takes a backseat for me. Writing and photography take up all of my creative time and energy, and as a result I barely ever get round to painting even though I love it. The second I actually set out my equipment and get started, I spend hours doing it!
The other obstacle is the fact I’m a raging perfectionist. I aspire for photorealism on every piece and it just doesn’t happen. What I should be more concerned with is that my worrying is stopping me from doing what I love.
So, determined not to get bogged down by perfection, I painted a few sketches with my usual combination of watercolour and fineliner pens recently. Sure they’re a little rough round the edges but isn’t creative expression what art is all about? If we could all paint a bird to look like a photo, every piece of artwork would look identical. Naturally this is just me making an excuse for my lack of technical skill, but joking aside I think art should be about having fun no matter what the end result looks like. And everyone knows practice makes perfect.
Last week on one of my many coastal walks I glanced down to see a pair of fulmars perched on an earthy shelf on the headland. Fulmars are one of my favourite seabirds so I was delighted that there was a possible mating pair setting up shop on my daily walking route. They were cackling to each other and looking like adorable mini albatrosses. I got a couple of shots but the light was fading so I decided to return when I had a little more sun.
The next day I wandered back to the spot but they were gone, perhaps on a fishing trip or maybe they’d decided on another nesting spot. Not wanting to waste the trip out, I scanned the water for dolphins and birds. Just at the mouth of the harbour was a group of dots too small for herring gulls. On closer inspection through the binos I discovered they were long tailed ducks – another favourite of mine!
I hurried down from the headland and made a hasty loop around the harbour, peeping over the wall to see where they’d got to. I’d never seen more than a pair together before, and now I was out of the wind I realised they were making an absolute racket! There was a single female among all the males and she was flapping her wings and whipping the males into a frenzy. All the while a constant stream of three-note quack calls overlapped each other as the males jostled and squabbled around this one female.
The long tailed ducks near me are usually shy little cuties, but today there really was something in the water. By the looks of the female’s upturned bill and the twinkle in her eye it seemed as though she was egging the boys on! Well, we all need to let our hair down every now and then, and at least the long tails are allowed to have a party right now…
Elsewhere in the harbour there was more activity. Up until very recently the only redshanks I’d seen were far out and nearly impossible to photograph without the risk of breaking my leg on the slippy rocks – something I actually saw happen last year! I noticed a gathering of both redshanks and turnstones hanging out on top of the sea wall. Knowing they could be skittish, I stayed still and watched.
After a while another redshank popped up from behind the wall, surprising both me and the gang already stood on the edge. There was a great flurry of wings and I had the camera pointed at just the right spot to capture the near collision!
My intention had been to look for fulmars and I’d nearly headed in the other direction to walk further along the coast path, but after such a dramatic (and noisy) display I was relieved I’d stayed where I was! I love those surprises in nature.
I was sorry to see winter go – for over a week I trudged through ankle deep snow and captured some really magical wildlife. But now the snow has gone and all the lovely fieldfares, redwings and bramblings have gone with it. While everyone was looking forward to spring, I was looking back to the winter I loved most.
At the weekend I went for my usual walk and instead of the serene silence that I usually hear in coniferous woodland, I heard birdsong. I picked out robins, coal tits, blue tits and a distant yellowhammer in the gorse fringing the forest. Perhaps most special of all though was the trill of one of my absolute favourite birds: the crested tit. I think I’ll always feel that little jolt of joy when I spot a crestie – they’re just so rare and special and I feel privileged to be able to see them quite easily where I live. The sun was shining so brightly I wished I’d dusted off my sunglasses, and although there was still a chill in the air, I began to embrace spring a little more.
Today my phone made an exciting sound – it was the jingle I’d set especially for local bottlenose dolphin sightings. If the dolphins had returned then spring was really kicking off. It was another glorious day so during a work break I walked up to a particularly good sea vantage point near my house and scanned the perfectly still water. No fins this time, but I watched dozens of birds criss-crossing the horizon from zippy turnstones to bulky cormorants. There was a group of twelve long tailed ducks too, which was a familiar winter sight among the spring buzz. I’ve felt a significant shift in my natural surroundings this week and although I still miss the snow, I’m really looking forward to those gorgeous dolphins coming back.
I’ve been loving my wintery walks recently and don’t actually want spring to come just yet. We don’t often get snow by the coast but it was finally cold enough for a spell of it this week. When I’m out and about I’m usually peering up and searching for birds or squirrels in the trees. But when the snow came I found myself watching my feet a little more, mostly to avoid patches of ice that would send me flying but also to admire some of nature’s art. By doing this I also discovered some special secrets.
Frost and ice have always fascinated me. They can transform everyday objects into magical ones by covering them in the most exquisite artwork. Puddles and windshields are given new textures and patterns. Depending on where you find frost, the shapes can vary significantly. The two images below are both of puddles but one is out in the open and exposed to sea breezes while the other is tucked low in a muddy trail, sheltered on both sides by tangles of gorse. The results are two complete contrasts of smooth swirls and sharp shards.
The snow also reveals the goings on of our more secretive neighbours, preserving snapshots of where different feet have trodden. This was excellent news for me as I have outrageously bad luck when it comes to seeing deer. While the majority of Scotland seems to be plagued by deer and has grown so accustomed to them that they’ve become a bore or even a nuisance, I’m absolutely enchanted by deer but see one every few months if I’m lucky. So the other morning I was thrilled to see that I’d crossed paths with a roe deer, even if I was there several hours later. There in the snow were the most perfect roe tracks I’d seen, and the sporadic placement suggested that the deer had been browsing in one place. How lovely it would have been to see it! I shall continue to look for them.
Elsewhere I made more discoveries. Beneath a clump of Sitka spruce was a large muddled patch of pheasant prints with several tracks spreading outwards like starfish arms. Each print was placed exactly in front of the previous one – I can just imagine the pheasant putting each foot down slowly and methodically before shifting its weight. Beside these thick prints were the scratches of much daintier ones that I guessed belonged to a blackbird, which often forage on the ground while smaller birds flutter above.
I left the most exciting find until last. Crossing a main path into a small grassy tunnel in the verge were several pairs of paw prints. I knew the square shape of badger prints but these were much smaller. I consulted my new indulgence purchase (Tracks and Signs of the Animals and Birds of Britain and Europe by Lars-Henrik Olsen) and checked first for pine marten. Although these were a similar shape, they were bulkier and didn’t seem right. The pictures of the stoat prints, however, looked much more like it: arranged in pairs like mine were on the trail and a better size match (3.5-4cm hind print). Again I wished I could have been a fly on the leaf when the stoat dashed across the path. Who knows what time it was, but one of the many beauties of snow is it can freeze time and preserve nature’s wonders just a little longer.
I was determined to make the first day of the year full of wildlife so I headed to my favourite woodland spot to try my luck seeing red squirrels. As usual I was met by a gust of coal tits, brazenly unafraid of me, and once I’d settled down the more timid characters began to emerge. There were blue tits, great tits, siskins, dunnocks and chaffinches. Blackbirds rustled beneath the trees and a plucky robin perched within arm’s reach of me, gazing with that analytical expression typical of its species. I was soon in my element: enjoying the peace and quiet, tucked up warm against the cold and surrounded by birds.
A black and pink troop of long tailed tits caught my eye as they appeared one by one, hanging together off the branches. Mike Tomkies described them as “flying crotchets escaped from nature’s music sheet”, which I think is an impeccable piece of writing. And so true – long tailed tits have crotchety proportions with a golf ball body and a huge staff of a tail. But what enchants me most about them is their tiny little faces. Eyes and beak are all crammed into the exact same place, giving them a ridiculously cute expression. I love how they always travel in packs too. Despite being such dainty looking birds they soon dominate a space with both sights and sounds. One of their calls reminds me of a raspberry being blown. The next time you see long tailed tits listen out for it. A cheeky raspberry from an even cheekier bird.
Then I heard a different snap of sound on the breeze: the trill of a crested tit. I’ve only recently learned what a crestie sounds like and now I hear it regularly, often in places where I would never predict them such as over the most heavily pressed forest trails. I don’t always see them, but the beauty of recognising birdsong is it gives you the ability to meet a bird without actually clapping eyes on it.
And suddenly there it was. I’m hesitant to use the word “icon” because it’s become a cliché, but in the case of a crested tit there’s no other word for it. Found nowhere in the whole of the UK apart from the Scots pines forests of the Highlands, it’s a really special bird. I find cresties are also a real challenge to photograph on account of the ants in their pants. I’ve got a few photos of them now, but I’m still waiting for THE crestie shot.
As I sat marvelling, a bigger bird appeared and I almost clapped with happiness. A great spotted woodpecker landed right there in the open, which I’ve never seen before. If they’re not fifty feet up a tree they’re concealed behind so many branches that there’s no hope of a decent photo, but it seemed that today was my lucky day.
Although of course I was pleased to see so many birds, I was secretly hoping for a glimpse of red fur too. I waited patiently, watching countless tits and finches come and go, until eventually I turned to see what I thought was the robin again but was actually a red squirrel, standing two feet from my boots. It hopped leisurely across the pine needles to the tree and shimmied up the trunk, pausing just long enough in the crook of a branch for a photo before heading off. A very fleeting visit, but I was thrilled. When wildlife comes to me (rather than the other way around) I get an overwhelming feeling of acceptance. Both squirrels and birds alike must trust that I won’t hurt them and feel relaxed enough to come close, and that is a really special thing.
It goes without saying that I had an incredible time in Norway. I love being by the sea – it’s part of the reason why I moved to the Moray coast. Although, I also have a strong love for forests, and during the first few months in my new home I found myself drawn away from the coast and towards the sprawling Scots pines. I walk the dog along tangled trails and she amuses herself with sticks while I gaze up into the trees, camera slung on my back. It’s not that I’ve lost touch with the ocean, but I lose all awareness of time in the forest and wander for hours until eventual hunger pulls me back. Trees and the creatures they shelter provide endless fascination to me – I become immersed in the forest in a way that I can’t by the sea without the hassle and expense of scuba diving.
So although humpback whales erupting out of the water and orcas cruising alongside the boat were encounters that I will never forget – and there was a tangible feeling of sadness among the group as we made our way back to the UK – I can’t deny that I sat quietly containing my excitement. I couldn’t wait to see how the forest had changed while I’d been away and how wintery it had become.
It took us two days to drive from Gatwick airport all the way back home and I watched with growing eagerness as barren fields blended into mountains. Unfortunately I was bogged down with deadlines for the first few days, but at the weekend I made time for my first forest walk in a month. I roamed for three hours, and was reminded yet again how nature can constantly surprise you.
The first bird I saw was a goldcrest, which was flicking to and fro through the undergrowth just out of sight. I crept forwards until a particularly irksome branch had shifted and I got a clear view, but I knew getting a photo would be next to impossible. Not only do goldcrests love staying concealed, but they also never stop fidgeting. I stood still and turned on my camera, realising my settings were still adjusted for the northern lights from earlier in the week.
The goldcrest leapt up and clung to a twig with its back to me – just enough light for a photo. I pressed the shutter, hoping it would turn and show me its face and crest, but naturally it bombed back into the shadows. I left it to its foraging and pressed deeper into the trees.
Sunset was at 3:30pm and at 1pm the light was already vibrant with gold, hitting the trunks low in diagonal shards. It was blinding in some places and almost dark in others. I heard the delicate bell’s chime of another goldcrest high above me and saw the bulkier bodies of their regular companions, the coal tits. To think I’d been watching willow tits in snowy Norway a few weeks before!
I hiked up one of the many sloping hills – mountains in miniature – and admired the view from the top. My breath tumbled upwards in a white cloud turned gold in the light. After following a narrow column for a few metres it was time to slide back down to ground level and my eye caught on a treecreeper as it crept up the trunk. What a perfectly named bird.
Up ahead was a clearing, which was especially lovely in the spring when full of yellow gorse but rarely revealed anything of real interest. The birds stuck to the protection of the trees. I stopped to push numb fingers into gloves when behind me I heard a sound like a plane engine at scarily close range. Startled, I spun round and saw a brown bird come rattling around my head and land with a crash on the ground.
Without a second thought I lifted my camera and just as I pressed the shutter the bird lifted its wedge tail and took to the air again, disappearing immediately. I quickly checked my photo and was relieved to see I’d caught it. A barred head, mottled brown plumage and wings that made a sound like something caught in a fan. My first woodcock!
I was stunned, barely believing what had just stormed in front of me and barrelled away again almost within the blink of an eye. The epitome of “right place right time”. Even the goldcrests and coal tits had suddenly gone quiet, as if equally surprised at the encounter. I felt the familiar flutter of excitement in my chest and was hooked all over again. It was good to be home.
Take a break from Christmas shopping and get outside for an icy breath of fresh air. In the latest instalment of my monthly series for Bloom in Doom magazine, I’ve shared some of the British wildlife highlights that can be seen during December.
Birds
Wader season is in full swing and estuaries are packed out with overwintering ducks, geese, swans and other water-dwelling birds such as dunlin. In the fields there’s still plenty of activity from finches and buntings including yellowhammers and, if you’re lucky, the occasional brambling or hawfinch. Owls and raptors such as hen harriers can also be seen more regularly at this time year – numbers of short-eared owls can increase dramatically as resident birds are joined by others overwintering from Europe.
Yellowhammer at sunset
Fox taken at the British Wildlife Centre, Surrey
Mammals
Contrary to popular belief, not many British mammals actually hibernate during winter. Some, such as badgers, reduce their levels of activity during the colder months and sleep for longer periods, but this is known as dormancy. None of the changes that occur during hibernation happen during dormancy. The only mammals in the UK that truly hibernate are bats, hedgehogs and dormice. While sleep is essential for every animal, hibernation is an adaptation to changes in climate. It’s optional and actually quite a dangerous undertaking. The body temperature drops significantly and blood circulation, heart rate and immune function slow right down. The body temperature of some species of bats has been recorded as low as 2°C.
While some mammals slow down during winter, others are at their most active. It’s the breeding season for foxes and you might see them moving around in pairs while the male waits for the female to come into season. December is also the time for the rut of the Chinese water deer, a curious-looking fanged species that escaped from captivity in the 1940s and has now become well established in Bedfordshire, Buckinghamshire and East Anglia.
Flora
Lots of festive plants such as holly and mistletoe spring to mind in December, but there are other wild plants to look for this month too. The aptly named scarlet elf cup fungus can be seen growing on rotten wood in small, round bowls of bright red. Also take a look at the lichen, which can often form beautiful shapes especially when coated in frost. Lichen is the result of a symbiotic relationship between fungi and algae – while the algae produces sugars for the fungi from photosynthesis, the fungi provides protection for the algae against the elements.
It’s been a while since my last post – the past couple of months have been a whirlwind of planning, packing and stress! Earlier this week I came back from a trip of a lifetime to Arctic Norway, but it nearly didn’t happen at all.
For the past three winters, my partner and his friends have made the journey to Skjervøy, a three hour’s drive north of Tromsø, to go whale watching. Large shoals of herring have been drawn into the fjords of northern Norway, attracting humpback whales and orcas. Every year my partner hires a boat and takes the group out to find them. As soon as they returned in 2019 they booked the house for 2020, obviously unaware of how the year would progress.
Willow tit
In the lead up to our departure, our flights were cancelled and rearranged three times. What was originally a trip for eighteen people split over three weeks shrunk to just six of us because we all had to arrive at the same time to do our ten day quarantine. Eventually we made it out there and settled into our beautiful house right on the water’s edge.
It was the best quarantine I could have wished for: white tailed eagles flew directly overhead every morning at 10am sharp; willow tits scooped up the seeds beneath the feeder; velvet scoters cruised across the fjord and best of all, the northern lights shimmered in cloudless skies on most evenings. I felt incredibly fortunate to have reached Norway and had such an enjoyable quarantine!
The first ten days could have been a holiday by themselves, but after we were cleared to leave the house it was time to do what we came to Norway for – head out on the boat to look for giants. More coming soon!
In November, many mammals are preparing for hibernation while some new faces are arriving on the scene. In the latest instalment of my monthly series for Bloom in Doom magazine, I’ve shared some of the British wildlife highlights that can be seen during November.
Birds
Winter is an excellent time for birders because of all the overwintering geese, ducks and waders that have arrived. It is thought that around 50,000 barnacle geese travel from as far away as Russia to reach our shores, which may seem chilly but are far warmer in comparison!
All those birds attract the attention of raptors, so also keep an eye out for peregrine falcons and harriers which are looking for a possible meal. Short-eared owls also travel south for winter and are often seen near the coast.
Many mammals are now looking to start their hibernation in November, including our special but now scarce hedgehogs. They search for large piles of branches and leaves, which sadly often include bonfires. Please always check bonfires for hibernating hedgehogs – the best thing to do is build it just before you light it. Also, it’s a good idea to leave fallen leaves on the ground instead of raking them up because they provide important hedgehog nesting material.
In November there are usually lots of baby hedgehogs handed in to wildlife rescue centres because they are born late and therefore too small to survive hibernation. For more information on what to do if you find an injured hedgehog, check out this link.
Fish
November is usually the peak of the salmon run – a dramatic and impressive feat. Mature fish are swimming upriver from the Atlantic to their spawning grounds, having waited in estuaries for the rains that raised the water levels enough to allow them to travel back to where they were born.
As if leaping several metres into the air to pass thundering water wasn’t impressive enough, during this time the salmon don’t feed at all and concentrate solely on their mission to breed.
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