Thoughts On The Fen

 Lets say this straight away....

....most of the fens are not what the majority of people would consider beautiful. Big flat fields are farmed in the modern way with little space for nature. If the electricity company want to put up a line of pylons then no one will object, certainly not on grounds of desecrating a visually appealing landscape. And there are miles of landscape like the scene above.

When I was at school Cornelius Vermuyden and those who drained these wetlands were considered heroes of a sort; draining the peat and opening up these unproductive marshes for agriculture. Now it's beginning to look like a huge mistake. The peat dried out and within a couple of centuries simply blew away in the wind, till now there's barely enough good soil in many places to support arable farming.

The area in the above photo is called Adventurers' Fen, land which was given to those who "adventured" the capital which made the vast drainage scheme a possibility. Now it belongs to the National Trust and is the scene of a new "adventure" as they attempt to return it to something like its original state.

If they succeed - and the early signs are that they will - then agriculture's loss will be nature's gain. The level of success will depend on the size of the area which can be reclaimed and the various conservation bodies are thinking big. 

Although I'm in a hopelessly outnumbered minority I find these reclaimed areas are very beautiful (though I even find the square fields and straight concrete roads of the farmland hold an inexplicable attraction to me).

Of course, beauty itself is a slippery concept, varying not only from person to person but also over time. Before Wordsworth and the other Lakeland poets had their say the mountains of Cumbria were usually described as "horrid", which meant places to be feared and avoided. But their poems opened our eyes to their delights. Wordsworth himself wrote fierce letters complaining about the new fad for painting cottages white, much preferring the colour of the natural stone. Now everyone loves the little white farmsteads dotted over the green hills.

Wordsworth's rhyming led indirectly to our upland regions becoming National Parks while the lower, flatter lands were ignored till the recent designation of the New Forest and Norfolk Broads.

If an area's importance for wildlife was being considered rather than the scenic ideals of the Romantic movement then mudflats, estuaries, woodlands and reedbeds might be higher on the list of landscapes worth preserving. We seem to be slowly coming around to this way of thinking though it's rare indeed to see anyone out photographing or sketching around here, unless they are photographing birds through a long lens.

Government agencies also seem to have an ambivalent strategy towards these lowland areas; they agree to the protection of relatively small areas, while seeing little scenic or natural value in the rest of it. Scenically a line of pylons or a windfarm has a huge impact on such a flat area, and nature really needs the protected areas to be connected by a more sympathetic type of farming.

Having said all that, now that the nesting season has finished, the Environment Agency are out clearing the lodes (drainage channels). And this particular lode is part of the system which maintains water levels in the Sedge Fen. OK, time to stop thinking so much and instead just enjoy one of the newer spectacles of the fen.

Konik ponies. They were brought here to graze the vegetation and help to maintain the mosaic of habitats. They live a semi-wild existence here on Bakers' Fen, Burwell Fen, Adventurers' Fen and parts of Little Fen, though they are checked every day by the National Trust who manage the area.

We met and chatted with one of the staff who was on her way to check on the Highland cattle, but who couldn't resist stopping by to have a look at the Konik herd and this year's foals.

I think she said there were 70 or 80 ponies in the herd. Like all grazing animals they attract bothersome insects during the warmer months - and a retinue of Starlings only too happy to help out with grooming....

Take care.

The Hunt

I've been out on a hunting trip. Shooting with a camera, you understand, not using sophisticated weaponry against defenceless creatures. But perhaps it satisfies some deep-seated urge to hunt, lurking yet in the human DNA from stone-age times.

This handsome plant is Purple Loosestrife which is a native wild flower in the UK. It occurs naturally in wet places and is here seen growing at the edge of a reedbed in a local nature reserve. The poet John Clare called it "Long Purples", a name which Shakespeare used for the Early Purple Orchid - that's poets for you. In the language of flowers it's supposed to represent persistence and it's certainly persistent if you grow it in the garden, being able to grow from any small pieces of root left in the soil and also enthusiastically self-seeding. In North America it's a troublesome invasive.

The Chiffchaff is persistent too, endlessly repeating its two-note song from a high branch. Some of them now survive our British winters and no longer bother to migrate. Presumably the female of the species is charmed by his minimalist serenade; she can often be found lower down in the bushes, listening intently.

 

There were several Hoverflies on the wing, all looking to a greater or lesser extent like wasps or bees. "Batesian mimicry" is the proper term for it - looking hard and dangerous while being harmless, as practiced by teenage boys everywhere. They are the gardener's friend; the adults are tireless pollinators and the larvae feed on aphids.

I'd hoped to see dragonflies and damselflies, but it was probably a bit cold and too breezy. But this small patch of reeds was in the sun and sheltered from the wind, and here I found a few damselflies.

I think these are Azure Damselflies.

Another little Hoverfly, doing what Hoverflies do best - hovering! They are surprisingly easy to photograph like this.

Soon these Hemp Agrimony flowers will be attracting all sorts of insects, including butterflies. That's always assuming that we eventually get some warmer weather.

It's just as well there's no family back at the cave waiting for the hunter to return from his foray in the wilderness. Not much meat to be had from a Chiffchaff and a couple of hoverflies and damselflies!

*******

Here's a wee tale about hunting. Robin Williamson was once a member of the Incredible String Band and has since had a musical career as weird and varied as anyone I can think of. Some work I love and some completely passes me by. At one time he decided to learn the harp in the style of the bards of old Ireland. Here he is playing that harp and recounting a very old story in his own inimitable way. 

Take care.

There's Gold In Them There Fens

Just a few photos today from a recent morning at Kingfishers Bridge nature reserve in the fens just south of Ely. The flat fields of Fenland don't get much credit for their scenery and the farmers are rarely praised for their conservation work, but here is a little island of hope which is all the work of farmer Andrew Green.

At this time of year the fen meadows are full of golden wildflowers. I'm not sure what has sent those distant trees into a premature autumn; they must be under some kind of stress, I would think, though it can't be shortage of water after this damp summer.

That's Purple Loosestrife growing among (probably) Common Fleabane, though I'm not really sure exactly what flowers are there because you can't just go where you like at Kingfishers Bridge. There are electric fences to keep people and predators out of the reserve, though you can walk around the perimeter and there's a hide perched on a small, man-made hill from which you can look out over the whole site.

You can even see Ely Cathedral, some four and a half miles (7.2 km) away. The open water is part of the reserve and that's where the majority of the birds congregate - slightly beyond the range of my modest 'scope and aging eyes!

The land here is kept in shape by a small herd of Konik ponies and a few Water Buffalo. We saw both rather distantly and an incongruous sight they make on the fens of Cambridgeshire. Water Buffalo are particularly useful in the reedbeds where they trample and graze on land too flooded for other animals and men with machines to venture.

They are having considerable success here, both encouraging plants to grow that were almost lost to the fens, as well as allowing birds to breed. It also serves as a stopping off point for migrating birds.

This ancient caravan has been here for a good while and must serve some purpose, though I've no idea how it got here. But would anyone like to guess what's shown in my last picture....?

*******

While we're in the fens some of you might like to meet Peter Carter, one of the last of the old-time fenmen, who makes a living in the way that people did for generations, before much of the land was drained for agriculture. Here's a short film I found on YouTube:

I hope you can understand his authentic fenland accent.

Take care.

A Wildlife Calendar For 2023

Usually at this time of year I compile a "calendar" of photos taken during the last year, but with no photos taken between August and November that's not going to work this time. So I've delved back a bit further into the past to present you with pictures of some of the wildlife seen around here.

January

Fallow Deer buck at Holkham

February

Great Spotted Woodpecker at Meldreth

March

Grey Seals at Horsey, N Norfolk

April

Little Egret at Melwood

May

Grey Squirrel, just outside my window

June

Small Tortoiseshell butterfly at Sandy

July

Banded Demoiselle at Lakenheath Fen

August

Very young Moorhens, Wicken Lode

September

Water Vole at Holywell Lake, Amwell

October

Green Sandpiper at RSPB Rye Meads

November

Part of the deer herd at Knebworth

December

And a Robin - at Christmas!

Take care.

A Three-Thousand Horse Town

In England it's often difficult to decide whether a site should be classified as of historic importance, scientific interest, recreational value or natural beauty. In such a small country things tend to get mixed up - and in this particular case you can also throw a couple of works of art and one of the country's top sporting venues into the mix.

As you approach the small Suffolk town of Newmarket (human population 15,000) this mighty statue literally rears up ahead of you. It's called the Newmarket Stallion and it stands right in the middle of the road on a traffic island and announces to everyone that this is the horse-racing capital of the UK.

We're about to walk right through the middle of the racetrack, or more exactly we're walking between the July Course and the Rowley Mile Course. Yes, there's more than one course here at racing HQ. In fact the whole town is surrounded by everything to do with the Sport of Kings. There was no actual racing today but we saw one or two horses being exercised as we began our walk and we'll have a look for some more later this morning.

Our walk is along the top of this raised bank, giving us views out over the race courses and the surrounding countryside. This embankment looks like the kind of thing that might have once carried a railway; it's on that sort of scale - though in fact it's much, much older. There's a deep trench along the west side and the whole thing's called Devil's Dyke.

It's around seven miles (11.3 Km) in length and about 30 feet (10 metres) from the bottom of the ditch to the top of the bank. But as you walk along it becomes clear that neither figures nor photos can express the enormous effort of building such a thing. It was probably dug around the fifth or sixth century AD by Anglo-Saxons, though it's not clear whether it was to prevent an invasion, to control trade along the ancient Icknield Way or perhaps even for reasons of prestige. There's an old legend of course....

A big wedding was being held in Reach, at the northern end of the Dyke. The Devil was not invited, but decided to go anyway. He was refused entry and left for home, at high speed and in high dudgeon. His fiery tail left a deep scorch-mark across the fields, which was ever after known as Devil's Dyke. Maybe there's a grain of truth in this tale.....did two tribes unite, perhaps through marriage?...perhaps another tribe felt threatened by this new alliance and dug this defensive ditch as protection...perhaps, perhaps. One thing is clear though: the Devil, rather than dwelling in the depths of hell, once resided in the sleepy Suffolk village of Wood Ditton - that's where the Dyke ends!

The chalky, sun-facing slopes form a rich haven for wildlife, notably chalk-loving plants and the insects associated with them. Marbled White butterflies were everywhere (though the two photos here were taken elsewhere, in much trickier conditions, the day before and, having gone to so much trouble, I'm not going to waste them!).

Butterflies seem to come into this world with a not-very-clear idea of what they can feed on and they dither about from flower to flower, like some absent-minded shopper, until by chance they stumble upon the right one. You want to grab them by the antennae and say "This is what you're looking for!", but all you can do is stand by, patiently or impatiently, camera in hand, and wait.

But at least we knew what we were looking for.

It's called a Lizard Orchid because it's said that the individual flowers resemble small lizards. You can, sort of, see the head and the tail and maybe some little short legs.

Or can you? Whatever you might think about their likeness to lizards, they are certainly some very strange flowers. And they smell of goats.

And here they stand, right beside the race track. They are quite common plants in parts of mainland Europe, but here they are confined to a few places with chalky soils. 

Having found our orchids there was time to quickly visit the training gallops alongside the Moulton road to see some of the thoroughbreds being put through their paces. They gallop up one way...

...then dawdle back towards the town of Newmarket, something which we're about to do ourselves. 

These days the Sport of Kings could easily be re-named the Sport of Sheiks, as huge amounts of Arab oil-wealth have been poured into horse racing. Even so, the Queen has always been a keen race-goer and horse-owner so it's hardly surprising that the town should want a statue of Her Majesty...

Of course, this is Newmarket, so even the Queen has to share the plinth with a racehorse and its foal.

Take care.

,