Close To Home, Close-Up And The Close Of Day

Blustering Boris's latest idea is that we stay close to home to take our exercise and I've been doing my best to comply; he has enough problems without me wandering deserted footpaths further afield. I've long ago given up trying to make logical sense of it all.

Just over three miles on the bicycle gets me to Fowlmere bird reserve, where there is a one-way system in operation around the site. I toddled around in the prescribed direction and only met four people coming the other way! 

I felt inclined to take some close-up, intimate shots of the landscape and, if I saw some birds too, then so much the better. I found myself following a man who seemed to have much the same idea.

I started taking photos like this as long ago as the early 1980s, having seen a magazine article about the photographer Eliot Porter. At the time it all seemed a radical way of taking photos and I got some very strange looks in those days as I aimed my camera at mushy leaves and tufts of grass. 

There's a reasonably dry path around the wetland, parts of it a raised boardwalk, but the mingling of land and water is never far away. At this time of year the transition zone is beautified by green mosses and golden leaves. And having walked once around the circuit, I decided to wander around again.

As the sun sank ever lower in the western skies the golden light began to be reflected in the tiny stream alongside the path.

There are still odd pockets of autumn leaves which are yet to fall, and which looked splendid when lit from behind.

I was now nearing the end of my second lap around the little reserve and still enjoying it. Shall we go round again?

We won't get all the way round as it's starting to get dark, but at this time of year it's worth lingering a while longer.

Flocks of Starlings begin to coalesce and swarm around the skies above the reedbed before roosting for the night.

These spectacular mass gyrations of birds at the end of the day are known as "murmurations", which seems a strange word to use especially if you're ever lucky enough to be standing directly beneath as the pass overhead - the loud whoosh of the wingbeats of a thousand or more birds is hardly a "murmur".

Sparrowhawks and the occasional Peregrine Falcon come to seek out any weak birds for an evening snack. The reason for the Starlings acrobatic twilight flight is probably a response to the threat from birds of prey; there is some safety in numbers. But just how great are the numbers?

This murmuration at Fowlmere is by no means the most spectacular assemblage of Starlings in England, but even so there are probably more than 2,000 birds present. It's easy for the casual observer to underestimate the number, but if you take a photo, then count a small area of it, you'll soon get some idea.

And eventually, just as darkness descends, they suddenly dive headlong into the reeds and settle down to sleep. Now where did I leave my bike?

Take care.

I Haven't The Foggiest....

I haven't the foggiest idea why, but  there's a crazy old man around here who always goes out for a walk when it's a foggy morning.

He tramps through the village with a camera swinging from his shoulder till he gets to the most muddy and waterlogged bit of land he can find, then tries to take photos. In a bog, in the fog.

Not all madmen seek power in high office; some are content to seek out quietness and solitude, both of which are enhanced by early mornings and misty weather. Even the sounds which can be heard - the drip of dew from the leaves, the swish of boots through the grass and the call of unseen geese - only serve to emphasise the stillness.

Cattle stare in bewilderment as I pass by, before resuming their thoughtful rumination. A human: first one of them we've seen today.

 

The hushed colours in the lane are so different from the vivid reds and golds that we've seen on sunnier days this autumn.

Some trees stretch their leafy twigs up to the sky, even though this is the season of leaf fall and hibernation.

Passing by the old churchyard.

The seasonal pond is full after the recent rains and there are a few sheep in this field.

I'm always attracted to the old hawthorn stumps left in the wet meadow. This area is managed as a nature reserve as grasslands like this are a rare habitat around here; so much of the land has been drained.

There are clearly plenty of spiders in the hedgerows, their webs being revealed by the dew, though they are presumably present all year.

I get home and end my walk just as the sun is breaking through. It takes all sorts.

Take care.

In The Forest

Earlier this week we went for a walk in Thetford Forest. Most of the forest consists of square blocks of dark conifers, planted very close together in straight rows. But through the middle of it runs the River Little Ouse which has small areas of mixed woodland, paths and tracks, meadows for horses, sheep and cattle, a few farms and even the village of Santon Downham. Lets go and explore.....

And as it's Friday - I think - we're due for a little music. Here's Jackie Oates singing Dave Wood's song "May The Kindness". Never heard of either of them? Take a listen....

Nice, eh?

Take care.

Back To The Clappers

When I visited Sharpenhoe Clappers back in June I promised myself that I'd return in the Autumn. I and myself don't always honour our promises to each other, but this time we kept our word. If you want to know about the area and its intriguing name you'll have to follow the link above back to the earlier post.

Early morning sunlight.

The beech woodland on the hilltop.

The land here was bequeathed to the National Trust

by W A Robertson, in memory of his two brothers

who were killed in WWI

View over the fields towards the village

of Barton-le-Clay

There's quite a network of footpaths to follow

some marked on the map and some not

The seed heads of Travellers Joy

aka Old Man's Beard

It's very common on these hills and can

almost look like a scattering of snow on the tops of the hedges

A quarry is lit by a patch of sun

Looking across the plains of Bedfordshire

Passing through Streatley village to make a circular walk

St Margaret's Church in Streatley

The wooded Moleskin Hill

Les leading the way

Completing our circuit.

Take care

The Gogs

The Gogmagogs are a group of low hills to the south-east of Cambridge. Someone's bound to want to know the origin of this strange name. And every few years I ask myself the same question.

The names Gog and Magog turn up in the Bible - sometimes a man called Magog comes from the land of Gog, while elsewhere Gog and Magog are two warring nations. As if that's not confusing enough, Gogmagog is also the name of a giant who appears in Welsh and English folklore, but then again sometimes Gog and Magog are two giants.

But why should these hills take the name? Well, according to the eccentric historian, T C Lethbridge, there used to be some hill-figures of giants carved in the chalk hereabouts and what's more Lethbridge reckoned he'd found them, a claim which is now largely discredited. All of which I've been familiar with for decades, without it making any sense at all!

Nowadays a large part of the Gogs (as everyone around here calls the area) is occupied by Wandlebury Country Park - a very popular place for a weekend stroll. In fact you could have been forgiven for calling it "the Dog-ma-Dog Hills" this morning, as doggy walkers were out in force early on.

Wandlebury takes its lovely name from a Bronze Age hill fort, the circular ramparts and ditches can still be walked around.

And smack in the middle of the old hillfort there's a much more recent house, now divided into apartments and also housing the offices of Cambridge Past, Present And Future, the charity which looks after the country park and other sites around the city.

Under an archway leading beneath the house there is an interesting grave....

Not the grave of a person, but the final resting place of a horse known as the Godolphin Arabian, one of three stallions from which all modern racehorses are descended. He lived out his final days here and died in 1753 at the age of 29.

But there are many leafy paths to explore....

This avenue of beech trees leads down to the Roman Road, which is nowadays just a straight track leading through fields - a fine walk in itself but beyond the scope of this morning's wanderings.

You can wander around here dozens of times and still not really know where you're heading, but somehow you always end up back at the beginning!

On a pleasant autumn morning it doesn't really matter which turn you take.

As the morning progressed the dogs began to be outnumbered by the children; the recent rains had ensured an ample supply of mud and puddles to keep the little ones entertained.

At the edge of the woodland, views opened up across the golf course and the flat lands leading towards the Fens. With binoculars it was possible to spot Ely Cathedral on the horizon. (Don't bother - it's not visible on the above photo).

Then it was time to make our way back out past the house, cross the road, then walk over Magog Down towards the car.

We'd had the best part of the day!

Take care.