Alien invaders and birds of prey

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I didn't realise, until the other day, that of all the alien wildlife invaders in the UK the worst of the worst was the so-called "killer shrimp" (Dikerogammerus villosus), a native of the Ponto-Caspian region of Europe, that is killing off our native shrimps and small fish. The BBC website carried a report by the UK's Environment Agency that listed (in the way that people do today) the "top ten" alien invaders. The list reads (starting with the worst) "killler shrimp", water primrose, floating pennywort, American signal crayfish, topmouth gudgeon, giant hogweed, Japanese knotweed, Himalayan balsam, and parrot's feather. What this list said to me is what a good medium water is when it comes to the spread of exotic plants and animals. The murky depths make it so much more difficult to detect the arrival and initial spread of an introduced species, to the point that when it does become apparent to scientists and lay people who spend time in and on water, it has reached a situation where containment or eradication is difficult, if  not impossible.

But, native wildlife has a remarkable propensity for holding on even under the strongest pressure as our red squirrels have shown in their fight against the onslaught of the introducd grey variety. Our birds of prey have been among the most oppressed species. Here it has been man that has caused their decline as landowners tried to rear ever larger numbers of gamebirds and farmers tried to kill off insects and plants that harmed their crops. But, with wider public pressure and awareness, legislation and scientific management, what appeared to be a hopeless situation has been turned around. Not for all species, of course - hen harriers are still being persecuted and numbers have fallen again after something of an increase - but for many. I read a while ago that the common buzzard has usurped the kestrel as the most numerous British bird of prey. They're certainly fairly frequent sightings in most parts of the country where formerly they were unusual.

One evening when I was photographing the strongly silhouetted shapes of these electricity pylons near a Fenland substation I became aware of a softer, "natural" shape among the sharp angles of the metalwork. Binoculars reveealed it to be a Common Buzzard (Buteo buteo) surveying the island of waste land below the steel "trees". Even in this instensively cultivated part of England the buzzard flourishes. Can you spot this one?

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Canon
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 300mm
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/500
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation:  -0.67 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Wind turbines and dog daisies

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Drifting clouds above, drifts of dog daisies below. And, drifting by in the mid-distance, to the left of the nearest wind turbine, a buzzard. I took this photograph on one of those June afternoons when the light is bright, the air is clear because the temperature's around 16 Celsius, and the world is looking at its best. Yes, even with hulking great wind turbines dotted about!

I'd gone to the wind farm for two reasons. Firstly to get a photograph or two, and secondly to have a look at the wildlife areas that surround the associated electricity sub-station, and check on the growth of the trees, bushes, grasses and flowers. The Fens is an intensively cultivated area of England, with cereals and vegetables predominating (though near these turbines is a fruit farm), and relatively few cattle and sheep (though both could be seen from this spot). What it doesn't have that most other areas of the country do is extensive pasture. There are pieces here and there, but nothing on a big scale except along the banks of the larger, canal-like drains. It also lacks woodlands of any size and patches of uncultivated land are rare. Consequently, the deliberate planting of an area to encourage wildlife is to be applauded. This one isn't large, but in a Fenland location even a small reserve makes a significant contribution to biodiversity.

On the day of my visit the dog daisies were flowering in profusion - banks of white and yellow heads were everywhere dancing on the breeze. Birds were flitting here and there too. In twenty minutes of looking over the reserve I saw yellowhammers, skylarks, reed buntings, house sparrows, starlings, tree sparrows, sedge warblers, a whitethroat, red-legged partridges, kestrels, greenfinches, goldfinches, magpies, blue tits, great tits, a little owl and pied wagtails. Beyond its confines was the buzzard, carrion crows, pheasants, wood pigeons and collared doves. I know that if I'd visited nearer to sunset there would have been barn owls and tawny owls too.

A while ago I wrote a blog entry entitled "Co-existence" about how wind farms, farming and wildlife try to live alongside each other. It was illustrated with a photograph taken from near the distant tree line in the image above. As I drove home from today's outing I thought about the wildlife I'd seen in the shadow of the turbines and pylons, and wondered whether there were other areas that could be similarly exploited to further improve that co-existence.

photograph and text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 14mm (28mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f5.6
Shutter Speed: 1/1000
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.7 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Co-existence

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Co-existence has been one of mankind's greatest challenges ever since he stepped out of the cave: co-existence with nature, co-existence with other tribes, races, religions and nationalities. Then there's co-existence between the rural and the urban. I was pondering these things as I photographed a tractor planting brassicas in a field next to a Fenland wind farm and electricity sub-station.

The vehicle was slowly travelling up and down, a canvas planter behind filled with half a dozen workers rapidly putting small cabbages into the machine that set them in the ground in ruler-straight rows. Behind walked a man, occasionally stooping as he put right any seedling that was imperfectly placed in the soil. There was a certain incongruity between this task of basic food production, a job that despite the modern tractor and planter, was in most respects just the same process that has been undertaken for centuries, and the modernity of the towering turbines, pylons and wires of electricity generation. "Co-existence", I thought, "Each activity admits the continuation of the other."

A little earlier I'd watched a tree sparrow flying to and fro with food for its nestlings that were hidden behind the tile-hung side of a small pumping station. It too was co-existing with the intensive agriculture of this lowland area. As were the two pairs of lapwings that had found a field that was growing a root crop and had managed to fit their nesting and chick rearing into the period of time when the field surface most closely resembled their favoured pasture. And then there was the cuckoo flying across the nature reserve that had been created around the sub-station in the middle of the wind farm. It must have found a host for its eggs, and it seemed to be finding plenty of food as it "hawked"over some scrub and a small pond.

Co-existence requires give and take, and a recognition of the rights and needs of everyone and everything that shares our planet. It's vital to our continued survival, and it produces some odd bedfellows like these farm workers and their giant companions. But, unless we learn to live side-by-side with each other, in new and evolving ways, then our future is not assured.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 50mm (100mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f6.3
Shutter Speed: 1/1250
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Brightening the way

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The English village churchyard has always been a place of utility. All began life as a graveyard, a place where parishioners were laid to rest, originally in unmarked graves. However, from the seventeenth century onwards tombstones of varying degrees of expense and ornament became much more widely used. As the population outgrew the space available for burial new graveyards were made, often at some distance from the church. Today it is relatively unusual to find burials still being made in the original churchyard. Churchyards were also places where the English longbowman, that scourge of the French knights at Crecy and Agincourt, practiced their art. Yew trees growing amongst the tombs sometimes provided the wood for their weapon. Local politics and education was often carried out in the churchyard and its surrounds, and boards and doors bore official notices and declarations.

In the past forty or so years churchyards have seen many changes. "Dangerous" monuments have been taken down. In some places the oldest and most ornate tombstones have been lined up around perimeter walls leaving an expanse of green that is easy to mow and keep "tidy". More enlightened parishes realised the environmental value of the churchyard, and left some wild areas, put up bird and bat nest boxes, and encouraged wild plants, increasing the biodiversity. And many have created attractive garden areas, with colour through all the seasons, a joy to the eye, and an attractive counterpoint to the ancient stonework of church and grave.

Today's photograph illustrates one of the latter examples, and shows the path to the south door at St Mary, Manton, in Rutland. Both sides of this lovely cobbled way are planted with a variety of flowering perennials that brighten your passage and seem to beckon you into this marvellous old building that dates from the twelfth to the fifteenth century.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 20mm (40mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f8
Shutter Speed: 1/20
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 0 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Life's riches

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The other day I saw a pair of lapwings displaying above a field. I suppose they were nesting there, and as they performed their characteristic aerial acrobatics, all the while making their distinctive call, they looked like they were celebrating simply being alive. When I lived in Lancashire lapwings nested in the field behind my house, and across the nearby pastures and uplands. Such are the particular nesting requirements of lapwings, that where I live now, in Lincolnshire, I have to travel to the coastal salt-marsh and uncultivated land to see them. Or so I thought until, when cycling near home, I spotted this solitary pair over a ploughed area. I hope they are successful in their endeavours.

I've been interested in birds since I was ten or eleven years of age. It was my teachers at primary school who sparked my deep love of natural history. Each Friday we would walk into the countryside and be shown the trees, flowers, birds and any other wildlife that was at hand. We learned the names and something of the biology of these living things. That teaching stayed with me, and like the best teaching, spurred me to find out more for myself. It is no exaggeration to say that it enriched my life enormously. When I first became involved in education I was surprised at how little children knew of the wildlife around them, and I was thankful for the knowledge that my teachers had given to me all those years before. On one occasion I asked a group of ten year old children to write down for me all the flowers they knew by name. The only three wild flowers most could name were (perhaps unsurprisingly) the dandelion, daisy and buttercup. They knew more cultivated flowers, naming the daffodil first, followed by the poppy, the rose, and the tulip. Various other well known flowers made an appearance. I thought then, and I think now, that people who can't name, and don't know anything about the plants and animals around them miss so much. The simple act of going for a walk is much less interesting than it could be!

Today's photograph shows one of those more widely known flowers - the tulip. This one, that I photographed on a rainy afternoon, was past its best, its colours darkening prior to the petals falling off.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 35mm macro (70mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1/100
ISO: 400
Exposure Compensation: -0.3 EV
Image Stabilisation: On

Both sides of the hill

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I was driving through the rolling hills around Folkingham in Lincolnshire when the manicured, intensively farmed fields prompted me to look for some landscape images. There were rich colours and strong lines, and I wondered if I could make something of them. After a bit of searching I came upon a yellow oilseed rape field on a hillside. Some parts were yellow with flowers, but elsewhere the green leaves still predominated, and on the steeper slope, where the rape didn't grow as well, lines of brown soil showed through. These colours attracted me, especially against the blue and white of the sky. But what made me take the shot was a row of trees along the horizon that hadn't yet come into leaf. So I clicked away, then meandered on, not heading anywhere in particular, and turning up any road that took my fancy.

Soon I came to a flat area of pale stubble with a hedge, and beyond a field of green wheat with lines where a tractor had been spraying. With the sky above this presented three bands of colour. But once again it was a row of trees on the skyline that made me consider the shot. When I framed it a hare came bounding into the viewfinder. I pressed the shutter, and as I did so I felt a touch of sympathy tinged with admiration for this gentle animal. Here it was, an insignificant creature in a big landscape that is heavily controlled by man, finding food where it can, subject to regular disturbance by people and machinery, hunted with guns and dogs in winter, and yet still managing to eke out a life as its forebears had done for millennia.

When I got home and was processing the shots it dawned on me that the trees on the horizon were the same in each image: I'd captured them from opposite directions. I had been so engrossed in looking for photographs that I hadn't noticed I'd driven round to the other side of the hill! So, here they are, two shots of Eastern England's arable farmland, wonderfully productive of food, but not so good at growing wildlife.

photograph & text (c) T. Boughen

Camera: Olympus E510
Mode: Aperture Priority
Focal Length: 1st image: 84mm (168mm/35mm equiv.), 2nd image: 150mm (300mm/35mm equiv.)
F No: f7.1
Shutter Speed: 1st image: 1/1250, 2nd image: 1/320
ISO: 100
Exposure Compensation: 1st image: -0.3 EV, 2nd image: 0EV
Image Stabilisation: On