Nature Notes - April 2013 - Pete Lambert

I had leapt with legs virtually straight out, welly clad they entered the soft silt of the bank like fingers into baggy old gloves.  Unbalanced and leaning backwards the horror of my situation began to grow on me, I made futile pawing attempts to grab the soft mud and haul myself onto the firm grass above but in doing so the suction on my boots increased and with balletic grace I flopped sideways into the water filled ditch. Gloopy noises at my feet indicated I had now lost both wellies to the smelly maw of the mud. Trying to laugh my way out of the situation helped as I rolled and floundered to final safety clinging to the barbed wire ahead.  Not only was I wet, the ditch had been for weeks the scene of untreated sewage pollution and the temperature was well below freezing. Cold and smelly I returned quickly home where I had left less than an hour earlier intent on a long day out!

On my staggering return to the car I spied a bold Goldcrest in a wet woodland, all part of a busy chorus of pre-breeding resident birds.

Later in a new set of clothes I flushed a large flock of fieldfares out of a copse, not many weeks left before they leave again having enjoyed our milder winter.

A few days later exploring another ditch, this time from the banks, I spotted my first Lesser celandine in flower. This yellow buttercup like plant with its heart shaped leaves grows in profusion on the damp floors of wet woodlands. Uncurling on drier ground I observed the green stalks of the Dogs mercury, an ancient woodland indicator plant like wood sorrel and when in its native variety, the bluebell. Along the A5 I had bagged my first primroses, a plant in sore decline being much favoured by wild plant collectors. The loss of our primrose from the hedges of the UK is such as shame as they are so cheap in garden centres and also cultivated varieties come in such wonderful colour combinations.  A particular colour that I not seen yet this Spring is the sulphur yellow of the Brimstone butterfly. The over-wintering adults are the first to emerge from their winter roosts tucked behind ivy bindings or a clematis tangle. Large and bright they are easy to recognise and a sure sign of winters end.

I had been meeting a group of students on the floodlands near Melverley when I had been overflown by a 20 strong flock of lapwing. For now as the flood pools recede the adult waders can fill up on tender morsels winkled out from the soft mud. Later the young will need mixed ground to thrive but last year the flood prone lowland nesting sites were inundated during the breeding periods and many clutches were lost. Let’s hope that a more favourable year lies ahead.  A grey wagtail followed the hollow of the running brook, its bobbing flight interrupted by occasional stops to flick its tail and feed. I had been following the Weirbrook just after it had passed under the A5. At this time of the year the aquatic plants had not obscured the softly sorted gravels and sands on the brook bed, home to aquatic invertebrates like freshwater shrimp and caddis fly.

At home I washed off my boots and then turned the hose on my muddy trousers from my earlier misadventure. Two rooks busied themselves reaching through the wire of the chicken run to feed on the spilled seed, the bantams keeping a wary distance from these heavier, bolder birds. The turned soil of the veg plot adding to the sense of an end of winter, though the spindrift late snow was teasingly keeping my daydreams of sunny warmth in check.

Pete Lambert