Leaves, berries and logs

Robin's pincushion, Dawlish Warren

Flowers in September

Yarrow

Late foxgloves

Violet!  I noticed a few coming into flower in the warm weather of September.  This one was on Mardon Down.

Pony pictures

Dartmoor ponies at Lowery Cross

A 'hilly' at Bush Down

Some September photos

A male chaffinch, stricken after hitting a window.  Luckily he made a full recovery.

The ruins of Swincombe Farm

Rainbow at Fernworthy Reservoir

Sunlight through beeches at Fernworthy

Rowan berries at Fernworthy

The stone row at Bush Down

Black nightshade, growing in a play park in Dartington!

Red Admiral in late October

A Red Admiral just zipped past, venturing out from a pocket of sheltered air, wavering up and down and side to side into the wind.  A crinkled orange brain fungus sprouts from the base of the gorse; the butterfly settles on the same bush.  Minuscule scales on its wing glint in the sun like panels of mica in granite.  The orange of its wing-bar matches the fallen beech leaves and the fungus.  There’s a silky, iridescent bronze quality to the superfine metallic hairs on its thorax and the inner section of its wing.  It tilts, head down, wings facing the sun, slightly tatty at the edges.  Its eyes glow tawny in the sunlight.  The insect’s antennae appear beaded, with tiny white spots at the tip of their clubs, as though they’re being charged by the sun.  The iridescence on the inner wing is mainly bronze, with touches of purple and green depending on the angle.  The tattered wing with its flecks of white resembles paint peeling off a wall.  Its hindwings are bunched up by the bark of the gorse and the clumps of greenish lichen.  As my shadow reaches the butterfly it closes its wings vertically, then flies away.

Winter thrushes

Five thrush species seen this morning, though still waiting for the first Ring Ouzel here, to make it six.  It's been months since I've seen a Song Thrush, and now they're clucking discreetly in the undergrowth again.  One I saw yesterday was paler, greyer than the others - an immigrant from the continent that must have come in with the Redwings and Fieldfares.  Mistle Thrushes are very evident, bounding from perch to perch and rattling from the treetops.  It occurred to me that they are probably scolding, not me but the Fieldfares.  These are starting to arrive in numbers and pinch berries from hollies and hawthorns that the Mistles must consider to be within their own territories.  The new arrivals have no concern for such distinctions, and are streaming through the valley raiding berries wherever they go, accompanied by churred complaints.

This time last year unprecedented numbers of Fieldfares were present here - thousands gorging on the superabundant rowan berries.  This year the rowan crop is almost non-existent (perhaps the trees are spent and need a year to recover after all that seed production) and the Fieldfare arrival is more measured.  Thirty or so moved through this morning, with smaller numbers of Redwings and a few Blackbirds and Song Thrushes attached to the group.  I always enjoy the arrival of the winter thrushes, and this morning the flashes of silver, chestnut, white and rufous among the sunlit branches, together with the wheezes and chackles of the Fieldfares, was deeply satisfying.

Autumn

Autumn is definitely here now.  It’s gloomy and windy, with drifting rain.  Dartmoor is settling back into herself after a fitful summer.  Most birds are quiet, with just Robins, Woodpigeons and the occasional Wren singing.  There are a few Swallows and House Martins still carving the air, and one or two Chiffchaffs lisping apologetically in the undergrowth, but little sign now overall of the summer migrants that enliven this valley in numbers.  There is a large charm (super-charm?) of Goldfinches bouncing around - about eighty of them, which could be the largest flock recorded here.  Many of them are youngsters lacking the crimson face of their parents.  It’s hard to gauge numbers as they’re always on the move.  Delightful birds that always give me a shot of pleasure.  I don’t think any of those juveniles were raised here – for some reason they appeared to shun us this summer.  Jays and Bullfinches have been very evident for the past couple of months; Jays longer than that as their numbers seem to have increased – something I’ve noticed everywhere I go.  Jays and Bullfinches rhyme visually, with their pink bodies and white rumps.  Both also have rather unprepossessing calls, though very different in timbre.  It’s as if the resident birds have vanished for the time being, ceding the greenery to these two.  Migrants may be teeming on wetlands, and coastal headlands will be experiencing the exciting vagaries of autumn migration, but here on Dartmoor September represents a lull in proceedings, after many of the summer migrants have gone and before the winter visitors arrive.  A Wheatear at Combestone Tor two days ago was a not unexpected pleasure – this is a place where they often stop off in the autumn.

Two river birds are more in evidence lately.  I watched an immature Cormorant yesterday, white of bib and sinuous of neck, as it peered around prior to flapping clumsily off its rock and heading downstream.  I thought how underrated this bird is - not much to look at colour-wise, but extremely sculptural, as though carved out of dark wood (even the scaly-looking scapular feathers appear hand worked), and perfect of form.  Likewise, Dippers are more noticeable in the last few days after a summer scarcity on this stretch.  They share some similarities of colour, design and texture with Cormorants (immature ones at least), with their scaly, timber-dark backs and white aprons.  One curtseying on a rock in the river was just a slightly different shade of brown to the peat-flushed water, nictitating membrane winking over the eye.  I thought how long the beak looked – longer than I picture it and than illustrations often show.  One yesterday was using this fine instrument to shake and then swallow a small fish that it had caught in the shallows.