Photo Blog

I love observing nature through the changing seasons both in my Norfolk wildlife garden and the surrounding countryside. I blog about wildlife gardening as well as about Norfolk butterflies, wildflowers and other flora and fauna that I come across. Bookmark my Norfolk nature photo blog to keep up to date with my photographic adventures.

The Fifth And Most Beautiful Season

The sight of a Common Darter dragonfly perching on Purple Loosestrife is a sure sign that autumn is just around the corner …

Its funny how you intuitively sense the turning of the seasons even before anything obvious has actually changed. Its like a little pause as nature takes its breath before things transition.

The days are calm, its still hot and sunny, storms have yet to arrive; yet things are somehow imperceptibly different. Maybe the light is softer and more golden, maybe a dew appears, maybe you notice a spiders web, or dusk arriving that little bit earlier.

German writer Kurt Tucholsky called this magical, all-too-brief hiatus between summer and autumn the “Fifth season”. Ironically, Tucholsky lived during a period of transition himself -becoming a major literary figure during the turbulent Weimar period in Germany and being one of the first writers to have books burned when Hitler came to power. I couldn’t find an English translation so I’ve attempted a rough side-by-side translation of his poem below (my German translation scores at uni were always lousy, so please forgive any linguistic clumsiness).

For me nothing evokes this “fifth season” like the sight of Small Copper butterflies dancing amongst the beautiful magenta Purple Loosestrife flowerspikes that encircle my wildlife pond, and crimson Common Darters waging their ariel battles and hovering in tandem above the water. Such a beautiful, yet ephemeral sights …

“One morning you smell autumn. It is not yet cold; it is not yet windy;
nothing actually has changed at all - and yet everything has.”
— Kurt Tucholsky, 1890-1935

Die Fünfte Jahreszeit - Kurt Tucholsky

Wenn der Sommer vorbei ist und die Ernte in die Scheuern gebracht ist, wenn
sich die Natur niederlegt, wie ein ganz altes Pferd, das sich im Stall hinlegt,
so müde ist es - wenn der späte Nachsommer im Verklingen ist und der frühe
Herbst noch nicht angefangen hat - dann ist die fünfte Jahreszeit.

Nun ruht es. Die Natur hält den Atem an;
an andern Tagen atmet sie unmerklich
aus leise wogender Brust. Nun ist alles vorüber: geboren ist, gereift ist, gewachsen ist, gelaicht ist, geerntet ist - nun ist es vorüber.

Nun sind da noch die Blätter und die Sträucher,
aber im Augenblick dient das zugar nichts; wenn überhaupt in der Natur ein Zweck verborgen ist: im Augenblicksteht das Räderwerk still. Es ruht.

Mücken spielen im schwarzgoldenen Licht, im Licht sind wirklich schwarze Töne,
tiefes Altgold liegt unter den Buchen, Pflaumenblau auf den Höhen ... kein Blatt
bewegt sich, es ist ganz still. Blank sind die Farben, der See liegt wie gemalt,
es ist ganz still. Ein Boot, das flußab gleitet, Aufgespartes wird dahingegeben - es ruht.

So vier, so acht Tage - Und dann geht etwas vor. Eines Morgens riechst du den Herbst. Es ist noch nicht kalt; es ist nicht windig; es hat sich eigentlich gar nichts geändert - und doch alles.

Noch ist alles wie gestern: Die Blätter, die Bäume, die Sträucher ... aber nun ist alles anders....Das Wunder hat vielleicht vier Tage gedauert oder fünf, und du hast gewünscht,
es solle nie, nie aufhören... Spätsommer, Frühherbst und das, was zwischen ihnen
beiden liegt. Eine ganz kurze Spanne Zeit im Jahre.

Es ist die fünfte und schönste Jahreszeit.

The Fifth Season - Kurt Tucholsky

When summer is over and the harvest brought into the barns, when nature lies down like an old horse that lies down in the stall,
it is so tired - when the late
days of summer are waning and early autumn has not yet arrived - that is
the fifth season.

Now it rests. Nature holds its breath;
on other days it breathes imperceptibly
from a gently heaving chest. Now everything is over: born, ripened, grown, spawned, harvested - now it is over.

Now the leaves and bushes are still there,
but in an instant that turns to nothing;
if there is a purpose hidden in nature at all: for a second the gears stand still. It rests.

Midges play in black-golden light, in the light are really black tones,
deep antique gold lies under the beeches, plum-blue in the canopy … no leaf
stirs, it is completely still. The colours are bold, the lake is as if painted,
it is completely still. A boat that glides downstream,
What is stored up is released - it rests.

So four, so eight days - and then something happens. One morning you smell autumn. It is not yet cold; it is not yet windy; nothing actually has changed at all - and yet everything has.

Everything is still like yesterday: the leaves, the trees, the bushes … but now everything is different …. The wonder has lasted maybe four days or five, and you have wished
it would never ever end…late summer, early autumn and that which lies between them both. A whole short span of time in the year.

It is the fith and most beautiful season.

Seeing Small Copper butterflies in my wildlife garden is another hint that autumn is on its way.

An Early Autumn

After a lacklustre summer, it seemed Autumn was all too eager to get started and arrived right on cue. Even as the calendar clocked over into September, the temperatures fell and clouds and stormy rain appeared. But as always September also brought some bright mild sunny days later on in the month to enjoy.

One of my favourite things about this time of year is watching late Common and Ruddy darter dragonflies doing aerial battle and, once paired up, ovipositing over the pond backlit by that soft, hazy golden autumnal sunshine filled with gossamer spider parachutes. This year was no exception and it seems too that the early spring pond work finally bore fruit as at long last I spotted a Southern Hawker female ovipositing amongst the bulrush roots.

Dragonflies are supremely resilielnt and one of nature’s evolutionary survivors. However uncertain and chaotic things may seem, I find it somehow reassuring to observe dragonflies knowing that they have been on this planet for over 300 million years, predating both dinosaurs and birds, and have survived millenia of change.

Common Darter dragonfly stretching out in the autumn sunshine perched on flowering Purple loosestrife

A female Southern Hawker dragonfly ovipositing amongst Bulrush roots, hopefully a seal of approval for the spring declutter work

Ruddy Darter dragonfly basking on a reed

The Dragonflies Return

One of my biggest concerns last summer was the reduced diversity in the dragonflies visiting our pond, due I suspected to “ecological succession”. Over time ponds naturally fill in and the water becomes more acidic from leaves and organic material. This changes the nature of the habitat and correspondingly, of its inhabitants.

After eight years of benign neglect, our pond plants and marginals had established and flourished so well that there wasn’t a drop of open water left on the surface of our pond. I’d read that certain dragonfly species, particularly larger species like Hawkers require this in order to breed.

True enough, last year we didnt see a single Hawker dragonfly, nor did we see Ruddy Darters and even our usually reliable Broad-bodied Chasers and Four-spotted Chasers didn’t linger. So over winter we prioritised a big clear out in order to create an area of clear water again, although we couldn’t quite bring ourselves to remove our Water-lily root Island.

The long cold spring seemed to delay dragonfly emergences so I was on tenterhooks and initially very uncertain whether our intervention was having a positive or negative effect in drawing in dragonflies. Thankfully the pond seemed to burst into life in our sunny mid June spell. Both Broad-bodied Chasers and numerous Four-spotted Chasers arrived in style, displaying their usual spectacular aeriel battle for territorial hegemony.

To top it off, just a few days ago I was delighted when I saw both Large-Red damselflies mating again and then this Emperor dragonfly ovipositing. This latter species in particular, not seen since our very first season and known for its preference for young very open ponds, seemed a promising sign. Sadly there are still no Hawkers about, but overall, it seems our local Odonata have given our major spring clean a seal of approval, which will hopefully bear more fruit in two year’s time with further new emergences.

You can read a short history of the dragonfly and damselfly colonisation of our new wildlife pond in this blog post . My last new species, a damselfly, arrived the following summer (July 2019) to make ten Odonata species in total. Not bad going for a garden pond!

An Emperor dragonfly (blue form) ovipositing next to the recreated open water in our rejuvenated pond.

The Large Red damselfly, an early species, paired wtih an ovipositing female in our mature wildlife pond.

Four-spotted Chaser dragonfly perched on an old Reedmace stem, they seem to have colonised well.

Azure Blue damselfly, perched on Lesser Bird’s Foot Trefoil. They are our most numerous damselfly.

Sparkling Wings, Spangly Light

The return of fine weather after a week of rain and low temperatures seemed to mark the season’s transition from late Spring into mid Summer. It also brought a flurry of emergences in and arrivals to my wildlife garden.

The Sparrows and Blackbirds have both fledged and are cheeping and chirring charmingly at their parents next to the feeders. As the nectar- and colour-rich magenta Knapweed starts to emerge en masse so do the meadow butterflies. The Meadow Brown and Large Skipper butterflies have emerged, the latter slightly battered so perhaps he had the misfortune to emerge right before the bad weather. In the old Rose garden Goldfinches are frequently landing on the Knapweed buds and a fresh Small Tortoiseshell has been enjoying the Oxeye daisies. A female Common Blue has finally materialised so hopefully my lonesome early male will find his partner.

The other arrival surprised me a little, I’ve been worrying about my pond both for its survival through the drought but also more broadly, due to the process of succession, the gradual growing in causes acidification from leaf matter and less free space. This affects which species can live in a freshwater pond and last year I saw reduced biodiversity the first time.

But my spirits lifted along with the water level thanks to the arrival of a beautiful Four-spotted Chaser dragonfly. He took up the territory for a day or two, on the second I watched as he mated twice with a passing female then hovered over her on protective sentry duty while she oviposited on leaves. Shortly after he moved on to try his luck elsewhere.

Missing Frogs

The warmer sunny weather and the onset of our seasonal wild duck visit prompted me to check our now very overgrown pond for emerging amphibians. Our Common newts, Lissotriton vulgaris, seem to be loving the pondweed full freshwater habitat, which having been left largely unmanaged for 7 year, now has little remaining open water. The Common newts were plentiful, affording me the chance to enjoy observing this male cleverly using an uncurling new Water lily leaf as cover to stealthily creep up on its prey.

Sadly there was no sign of any frogs or frogspawn as yet and its getting late even for Norfolk, in past years we had Tadpoles swimming about by now. It’s looking likely that the local population has been struck by a rampant viral disease called Ranavirus (oh, the irony) perhaps also being adversely affected by habitat loss from local development nearby. If you are inspired to build a wildlife pond of your own and are offered or come across some frogspawn, please dont take it and introduce it to your pond so as to avoid the risk of spreading this ambhibian disease further.

Backlit Bulrush

A bulrush seed spike, or inflorescence, can hold up to 200,000 tiny seeds dispersed by the wind over winter

This winter is proving milder than usual and, so far, snowless but winter can be beautiful in many different ways. Certainly enjoying the beautiful seedheads of various native wildflowers is one such pleasure for me. Typha latifolia or Common Reedmace, known simply as “Bulrush” to most of us, flowers mid to late summer, but the large cigar-like seedheads last right through winter. This Common Reedmace seedhead was gently dispersing its myriad tiny seeds into a light steady breeze on a golden winter’s day.

Wildlife Value of Bulrush / Common Reedmace

Bulrush offers much more wildlife value than first might appear. It is an emergent marginal plant so its protruding leaf and flower spikes offer an emergence route for dragonfly and damselfliy larva and anchor point as they leave their watery life behind to metamorphosis. Meanwhile its bushy base clumps offer dense shelter from predators to all types of creatures visiting the water’s edge including newts, frogs, toads, shrews and, if you’re lucky, water voles.

Common reedmace supports four moth species in all. The three larger or “macro” moths are: the Bulrush Wainscot, Nonagria typhae, Webb's Wainscot, Globia sparganii and the Rush Wainscot, Globia algae, all of which burrow into its thick stems. The aone small -”micro” moth - the Bulrush Cosmet, Limnaecia phragmitella lives in the Bulrush’s seed heads, along with other insects like the Bulrush bug Chilacis typhae. A further insect resident is the Common reed beetle Donacia aquatica, whose larval stage feeds on the Reedmace’s shoots and then pupates in its root system.

Gardening Value of Bulrush / Common Reedmace

Common Reedmace flowers, though unassuming, are a surprisingly delicate creamy white but undoubtedly its greatest aesthetic value is in offering year round shape and form to a pond margin thanks to its dense bushy nature and broad tall spikey leaves. Additionally, its tall, cigar-like cylindrical seedheads form in late summer offer striking structural interest right through the winter.

Bulrush has historically been much maligned by traditional gardeners for its vigour and indeed its prolific seedheads, which can contain up to 200,000 seeds each, do mean it can be quick to spread and selfseed. However it is very easily pulled out if it starts expanding too enthusiatically and is a great addition to almost any sized wildlife pond. In smaller ponds it may be a good idea to plant it in containers to help rein in its expansionist tendencies.

Plant Lore of Bulrush / Common Reedmace

Being a longstanding native of our lakes rivers and ponds and widespread right across the British Isles, Common Reedmace has nearly as many descriptive folklore names as its seedhead does seeds! Aruond 40 often colourful folklore names have been documented for it. Many such as Black cap, Blackie toppers, Blackheaded laddies, Black Puddings and Hard-head reference the early dark seed head phase, some like Candlewick, Chimneysweep, Pokers, Flue brushes allude to its tall spikes, yet others still including Cat’s tails, Pussies, Pussy tails, Flax-tail evoke its late winter stage shedding fluffy seeds. There are also the odd biblical, maritime and punitive variants including Devil’s poker, Holy poker and Cat'-o’-nine-tails. A few linguistically more obscure names are there too such as Dod, Gladden, Levvers and Seg (perhaps an earlier form of sedge).

Ironically its most common name, Bulrush, isn’t strictly correct. The true Bulrush is actually Scirpus lacustris (also Schoenoplectus lacustris), also an emergent native but in a different plant family and often also called Common Club-rush to avoid confusion.

Bulrush does carry one longstanding superstition, for some reason the seedhead spikes are traditionally believed to denote bad luck or death if brought into the house.

Culinarily its roots used to be used like potatoes and ground to make a high protein flour, while its new shoots were used as an asparagus substitute. Medicinally it was used as a diuretic and its leaves or roots were used to help sores and other wounds

More on its historical uses can be found at Plants For A Future

A Painted Lady Summer

Painted Lady, Vanessa cardui nectaring on white Buddleia. Will 2019 be a record-breaking Painted Lady summer?

As the Butterfly Conservation Society’s annual three week long Big Butterfly Count draws to a close, the UK looks set to have enjoyed the magical, once-in-a-decade phenomenon called a “Painted Lady summer” when the apricot- and black-marked species arrives here en masse.

The last such event occured in 2009, when some 11 million Painted Ladies, known as Vanessa cardui, arrived on our shores and there is speculation that 2019 could be a record-breaking year.

But how is it that a butterfly that doesn’t survive our winters and isn’t even permanently resident in the UK manages to congregate here in such numbers?

The Painted Lady, a member of the large and colourful Nymphalidae butterfly family, is a poweful flyer and long distance migrant. During its migration it can achieve an impressive speed of almost 30 miles per hour and fly some 100 miles in a day. In fact, it’s 7,500 mile round trip migration from North Africa as far north as the arctic circle is even longer than that of the famous Monarch butterfly, which travels up and down the North American seabord.

Freshly emerged, second generation Painted Lady nectaring on a budding Common Knapweed flower

Despite its flying prowess, like the Monarch butterfly, Vanessa cardui traverses its intercontinental route multigenerationally and, having only a 2 week long life span, takes about 6 generations to complete it.

Each season the butterfly flies northwards from the desert fringes of North Africa to reach mainland Europe and then on to the UK, reaching Britain in late March. Here the newly arrived lepidopteran immigrant lays eggs on Marsh and other Thistles, Viper’s Bugloss, Mallow and Nettles. After about a month-and-a-half later the next generation emerges (46 days according to devoted turn of the century lepidopterist F. W. Frohawk).

These native-born Painted Ladies then lay a brood of their own, which, further supplemented by arrivals from both Europe and Scandinavia, significantily boosts numbers towards late summer. Some of these butterflies will commence the return migration southwards as the seasonal conditions turn.

So what makes the once in a decade “Painted Lady year” of mass abundance occur? Experts believe that the butterfly’s migratory instinct may be triggered by population density (leading to competition for egglaying sites and food sources) and in exceptional years, unusually good food availability and favourable weather conditions foster population booms. This in turn triggers mass North- and Easterly-bound migrations, often with hundreds, even thousands of butterflies reaching landfall along the UK’s East and South coastline, some arriving from Europe, others from Scandinavia and some even directly from Africa in favourable windstreams.

As well as Thistles for egg laying, depending on its generation, adult Painted Lady butterflies will nectar on a wide range of plants. These include Knapweeds, Buddleia, Trefoils, Hawkweeds, Heather, Privet, Ivy, Bugle and Clovers, so planting these species, and tolerating that annoying thistle or two (you can always deadhead later to stop the patch growing!) increases the likelihood of you attracting this orgeous, intricately-marked butterfly into your garden and enjoying your very own Painted Lady Summer.

Tenth Green Damselfly

Female Banded Demoiselle, Calopteryx splendens, perched on Common Knapweed

How time flies, I had a whole series of late spring early summer blog posts planned to write, got waylaid and now suddenly its midsummer already! Although this image is an imperfect “grab” shot rather than a nature study, I just had to share it because it is exciting news for our wildlife pond..

Last year I blogged about the nine damselfly and dragonfly species my widllife pond had attracted as it evolved over its six years and speculated that might be the maximum a relatively small pond like mine could achieve due to the way pond habitat changes.

Then unexpectedly on 5th July I spotted this iridescent green female Banded Demoiselle damselfly, grandly named Calopteryx splendens, its vivid emerald green contrasting beautifully against the deep purple of the Common Knapweed flowers it was perched amongst.

She represents the tenth species to have visited our Wildlife pond and garden. Not all consecutively of course, and some will never return'; we've learned that ponds evolve over time naturally to gradually fill in, undergoing an inevitable acidification in the process, which some species can’t tolerate.

The male Banded Demoiselles are blue with a clear blue band across the forewings so she definitely is a female. The species is easily confused with the Beautiful Demoiselle, Calopteryx virgo, but that species is a species of fast-flowing rivers and isn’t resident in Norfolk. In contrast Banded Demoiselles prefer slow flowing watercourses with a muddy bottom. There’s plenty of debris in mine with all our surrounding vegetation so I wonder if she was eyeing up our pond for ovipositing. Only time will tell…

And Breathe... Spring is here!

Just when you think you really can’t take it any more, finally the temperatures drift up, the first Blackthorn blossom appears in the hedgerows on still naked stems and you know that Spring, at long last, is here.

February Gold and a Fool's Spring

With the synthetic cheer of the twinkling fairy lights of Christmas in the dim and distant past, the long dark trek to springtime always feels like a brutally hard slog.

The ground seems stark, barren and lifeless. Yet all the while beneath the surface plants and trees are quietly, imperceptibly getting ready to burst out from their winter buds.

Catkins, male flowers of many common native shrubs and trees such as Hazel (Corylus avellana) and Birch trees (Betula pendula) are among the earliest augurs of that yearned for spring. As the days rapidly lengthen, golden evenings start to appear, bathing the delicate, golden chains of late winter catkins in beautiful light.

In contrast to the deep chill and bitter Beast from the East last year, winter 2019 has been remarkably mild. This February has even proven to be the warmest one on record thanks to a brief flurry of sunny mild days that heartened us all with a tantalising promise, however fleeting, of warmer days to come. One mild evening in mid-February I took advantage of the rich late afternoon light during our "fool's spring" to do a little study of the Hazel and Birch tree catkins in my garden.

I learned that branches carry both male and female flowers with the male catkins emerging first. Hazel trees carry tiny little female red flowers that emerge soon after higher up the branch stem, whereas Birch trees have small, bright green, upward curving female catkins.

Catkin pollen is intended to be windborne to pollinate other trees, there being so few insect pollinators about at the time of year, so it has evolved to have a self-repelling quality meaning that bees and other insects struggle to collect much of it, although it is a food source for them at a time of scarcity.

Despite the luscious hue of light, the days rapidly turned back to chilly ones with even our fool’s spring warmth quickly forgotten. But soon, soon true Spring will burst forth in her lush green finery and the late winter gold fade out of memory.

Male Birch tree, betual penduula, catkins

Male Hazel tree, Corylus avellana, catkin in golden light

Close up of male Hazel tree, Corylus avellana, catkin

Male Hazel tree, Corylus avellana, catkin in the dying embers

Blackberrying Butterflies

Comma butterfly feeding on blackberry.jpg

We tend to think of butterflies as nectar drinkers, but in fact their diet varies significantly by speces, and also by season. At this time of year as the blackberries ripen on brambles, many species especially hibernating Nymph butterflies like this Comma butterfly (Polygonia c-album are as partial to a bit of blackberrying as you or I!

Red, White and err, Pink!

As world cup fever gripped the Nation and England reached the football semi-finals for the first time in decades, and Brexit negotiations seemingly reached an even more parlous state of play, I was instead becoming fascinated by my new moth trap, and the amazing moths being attracted to the lights... 

A White Satin moth, Leucoma salicis, perched on the reflective moth trap lid

Pink: One of a dozen Elephant Hawkmoths, Deilephila elpenor, attracted to my twin actinic skinner moth trap

Laying the Ghost of Iris to Rest

Purple Emperor's caterpillar host plant is the Willow tree family. It prefers the Common Sallow (Grey Willow, Salix Cinerea) but will also use Great Sallow (Goat Willow, Salix Caprea) and Crack Willow (Salix fragilis)

In last July's blog I wrote of my bitter disappointment at my foiled attempt to see the most celebrated British butterfly, the Purple Emperor, while discovering that, in the famous words of Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz, "there's no place like home".

To rub salt into the wound, 2017 proved to be an amazing season for Apatura iris and a particularly bad year to be benched. Right as my blog was published, Purple Emperors were, remarkably, seen for the first time in the Sheringham/Beeston area on the North Norfolk coast. They will need to be recorded for five consecutive years however to be classed a Norfolk resident.

I spent the year conserving my energy and biding my time, yet all the while the memory of the trip I hadn't made to see the King of butterflies in a peak season linged in the recesses of my mind, surfacing occasionally to niggle away at me. His majesty had ensnared me after all, at least a little.

Come late June and I had some leave left at work. The timing looked on paper to be perfect, but after a bumper year last year, I fretted that the early super-cold snap might have affected them. What if the population had collapsed, or this year's weather proved unfavourable?

White Admirals look similar to Purple Emperors but are smaller, lack the orange markings and purple iridescence

My first week off was an anti-climax, dry but coolish, windy and unsettled. No reports showed and I felt fidgety, restless and frustrated, fearing that my timing was off and I would have another run of bad butterfly luck.

Suddenly the temperatures rose, the long predicted heatwave actually appeared and reports started to trickle in. I grasped my last chance to take the trip and headed towards a less visited Wood in Northamptonshire, close to the Purple Emperor's stronghold at Fermyn Woods.

I experienced butterflies of the tummy variety as I drove up the deserted, deeply rutted dusty track at my destination. I'd been running a little late and the temperatures were soaring. Emperors are notoriously active in the afternoons and apparently once charged up rarely come down from the canopies. Was I already too late?

As I got out of my car my spirits lifted. A large black and white butterfly immediately swept past the car door zooming along, low above the ground at a high rate of knots. Could it be that easy? Had I already seen my target? Was it a female Purple Emperor or the smaller also black and White Admiral? I'm not sure I will ever be certain whether that was really my first sighting. The flight was fast and powerful, though I definitely didnt catch a flash of purple.

Nonetheless it proved a good omen, as I had barely entered fifty yards into the woods when I found an elderly Black Hairstreak and an unusually confiding White Admiral basking by the side of the path.

Just a few yards further on I suddenly spotted a fellow Emperor hunter photographing a sizeable butterfly "puddling" (taking up salts from mud) on the ground. The richly marked russet-orange underwings were unmistakeable - this was was no White Admiral!

Female Purple Emperor, lacking the purple iridescence, perched on a Sallow branch feeding on aphid honeydew

Purple Emperors also take in trace salts from the ground, animal droppings and other pungent substances, a behaviour known as "mud-puddling"

The Purple Emperor continued  to probe the ground with its proboscis, wings stubbornly closed, for some minutes. Then suddenly it snapped its wings open vigorously, catching the sun's rays.

The light glanced off the Purple Emperor's wings obliquely and a flash of iridescent purple appeared from nowhere. His Majesty resplendent in his imperial cloak. Just as quickly the sparkling colour vanished and reverted to black as the butterfly rotated further round towards the sun. Mission accomplished.

The Purple Emperor's iridescence is only visible at certain angles to the sun's rays

For around an hour or so the Purple Emperor and at least one Purple Empress wafted up and down the track in their finery, alternately mud-puddling and looping up high in a figure of eight around what seemed to be a pair of "Master" trees, one an Oak, one a Common Sallow.  I was also treated to the sight of a female Purple Emperor perched up in the more attractive setting of a Sallow tree, apparently feeding on honeydew. Shortly after one o'clock I enjoyed my last figure of eight looping fly past and both I and his Majesty parted ways and headed off to attend to the rest of the day's business.

It all seemed so strangely easy in the end that I actually felt a little nonplussed. Why all the fuss, I wondered? Wasn't Iris famously elusive? Where was the challenge, the mystery?  Maybe there was none and my scientific research had paid off, maybe I had simply been lucky or maybe, just maybe, fickle fate had at last taken pity on me and requested Iris to grace me with his royal presence in a random act of kindness.

Whatever the answer, I drove home at peace, with the ghost of the Purple Emperor past of 2017 that had never been seen, well and truly laid to rest.

Purple Emperor "mud-puddling" with its wings open

 

 

And Then There Were Nine...

Watching Nar Cottage's nature pond transform from a muddy hole in our clay earth into a lush, thriving, diverse insectopolis has been one of the most fascinating and rewarding experiences of our five-year wildlife gardening project. Each year we've seen a new species of dragon or damselfly colonise our pond. This year a further arrival brought the grand total to some nine species, five dragonflies and four damselflies. Here they all are, in order of appearance and colonisation. This is the story of a humble pond's evolution into a local wildlife mecca.

Nar Cottage Pond and bog garden as it was in May 2014, newly planted with lots of bare earth

Nar Cottage wildlife pond as it is today, rich in aquatic and marginal vegetation and surrounded by a native wildflower meadow (June 2017)

First on the scene was a large male Broad-bodied Chaser dragonfly, Libellula depressa, arriving the very first week of June 2014, our pond's first spring, closely followed by a female.  A beautifully marked dragonfly of early summer with a penchant for shallow sunny ponds, the males are a dusky shade of powder-blue and the females a rich mustard yellow.

My first ever sighting of a Broad-bodied Chaser, Libella depressa, in my very own back garden, thanks to my new wildlife pond in June 2014

A golden yellow female Broad-bodied Chaser dragonly perched on red campion flowers

The dusky blue of the male Broad-bodied Chaser dragonfly, Libellula depressa

Broad-bodied Chasers return in 2018 after missing a year. Highly territorial, this one saw off a passing Southern hawker dragonfly.

Next to move in on the 1st of July was my very first damselfly species, the vivid Azure Damselfly, Coenagrion puella. Blue damselflies can be quite hard to identify but I discovered the Azure's distinguishing feature is that it has two short black stripes on the side of its thorax, whereas the Common Blue Damselfly, Enallagma cyathigerum only has one. They took to our pond enthusiastically and set about ovipositing eggs for future generations!

Azure Damselflies ovipositing in tandem. Adult male Azure Damselflies are vivid turquoise. Most females have wide black bars on their abdomen with a lime green colour, about 10% are blue in colouration.

Immature Azure Damselflies are pale lilac (the females predominantly black as in their adult form) and have brown eyes.

Our third arrival was the dramatic and impressive Emperor Dragonfly, another species I'd never encountered before. Carrying an equally imperial latin name  Anax imperator is one of the UK's biggest dragonflies and undoubtedly the most regal. According to Lewington, the Emperor's "vigour, aggression and agility in flight are unequalled in Britain".

The Emperor has a reputation for being a bit of a pioneer species and is known for colonising younger ponds so it made sense to see it early on in our pond's existence. The larva have a fearsome reputation for their creative hunting methods and can occasionally mature in a single year although they usually take two. The surrounding meadow and in subsequent years also pond foliage rapidly filled in to envelop the pond so I never did see an Emporer again.

A female Emperor dragonfly, Anax imperator, ovipositing on the base of reeds

The vivid green and blue of the Emporer dragonfly

 

August brought another two species, one dragonfly, one damsel and the total to 5 dragonflies in our first season. Next up was the Common Darter, Sympetrum striolatum, first spotted basking on the bare earth next to the pond. A month later I was even more excited to see a mating couple zooming around our pond, hopefully ensuring future generations to come.

My first sighting of a Common Darter, Sympetrum striolatum, August 2014

A pair of mating Common Darter dragonflies mid-flight over my sparsely vegetated new pond, September 2014

A Common Darter dragonfly perched on Knapweed in my wildflower meadow, July 2016

My second August arrival proved to be the Common Blue damselfly, Enallagma cyathigerum, which has a flight period from May through to September. Blue damsels can be tricky to distinguish from each other, but the single short stripe on the thorax and all blue tail segments help to separate the Common Blue from similar species, its also a stronger flier.

Common Blue damselfly perched on Brooklime, August 2014

Common Blue damselfly, drab form, immature, July 2016

My next new species didnt show up until nearly a year later in late July 2015 but, a bit like busses, suddenly two came at once. The Blue-tailed damselfly, Ishnura elegans and another life first for me, the Four-spotted Chaser dragonfly, Libellula quadrimaculata both showed up the same day. Blue-tailed damselflies are variable in colour and also change colour as they mature so can vary a lot in apperance, in particular there are so-called rufescens (pinkish) violacea (violet) and infuscans (green) female forms.

The vivid female violacea form of the Blue-tailed damselfly

Blue-tailed damselfly on Yarrow flowerhead, July 2015

Female Blue-tailed damselfly, form rufescens, July 2016

With its fast, agile flight and distinctive wing markings, the Four-spotted Chaser dragonfly, Libellula quadrimaculata, was a  exciting addition to my wildlife pond's dragonfly tally. Much like the Broad-bodied chaser dragonfly, the males are highly territorial and persistently patrol their patch and return to the same perches to challenge rivals and the two males often held sparring matches over my pond. 

Four-spotted Chaser dragonfly, Libella quadrimaculata, July 2016

Four-spotted Chaser dragonfly showing its distinctive markings, 2018

2017 only saw one new arrival, bringing our total to 8 different species. Our pond was now 4 years old and becoming pretty mature as a micro-habitat. The Ruddy Darter dragonfly, Sympetrum sanguineum, was our new addition. In the past this dragonfly was a major source of identification confusion for me due to its similarities with the Common Darter and it was satisfying to finally get a good view of the jet black legs that distinguish it most readily.

Last but by no means least in my line up is my recent 2018 sighting of the Large Red damselfly, Pyrrhosoma nymphula. It made its debut on the Nar Cottage wildlife pond stage on 28th May. Frequently one of the earliest damselflies to be seen, I'd often spotted it in late May on visits to Stoke Ferry and Hoe Rough . With its distinctive colour it was most definitely a newbie in our garden.

Ruddy Darter, Sympetrum sanguineum, on a pondside perch

My latest damselfly species sighting the Large Red damselfly, Pyrrhosoma nymphula

Its wonderful to still be seing new species colonise this micro-habitat we created even after 5 years and though my pond's evolution is perhaps slowing and stabilising now I continue to hope for more sightings. Who knows, someday this line up may yet turn into a top-ten list!

 

 

Seeing Red

I spent a gorgeous bank holiday weekend pottering around our wildlife pond, watching the Azure damselflies wafting about in pairs and aerial dragonfly wars between the powder blue Broad-bodied Chaser and custard yellow Four-spotted Chaser dragonflies to rival any aeroplane dogfight as each fiercely competed for territory.

Suddenly among all the vivid blue Azures I quite literally saw red, that is, a pair of red mating damselflies! It was another first for Nar Cottage pond as they proved to be Britain's Large Red Damselfly (Pyrrhosoma nymphula). Flying earlier than its cousin the Small Red Damselfly (Ceriagrion tenellum), it can also be distinguished by its black legs and strongly striped antehumeral markings.

This photo marks the ninth species of Odonata (dragonflies and damselfles) recorded in our wildlife pond (more on that here) and not bad for a pond thats only five seasons old...

Two Blues and No Greens

After a second fruitless jaunt hoping to photograph some rather shy Green Hairstreaks, which seem to be having a good season this year, my sunny late May Sunday ended up being an impromptu tale of two Blues in my own back garden instead.

Male Broad-bodied Chaser dragonfly basking

As I was resting on my patio I spotted our first blue Broad-bodied chaser dragonfly posing ostentatiously by the side of our (now very low) wildlife pond, barely a day after our first Four-spotted chaser appeared. Both were trying to hold territory and I was entertained by some impressive aerial battles.

A subsequent gentle lap of our garden yielded a female Holly Blue Butterfly busily ovipositing on the native shrubs in our wildlife hedgerow that borders our garden and now in its 5th year is nice and dense. Our wildlife garden just keeps on giving year after year. 

A female Holly Blue butterfly busily ovipositon amongst native hedging

Smoothly Enters the Newt

A surprising number of tadpoles survived this year's late snow and frosts to hatch out, proving that nature has long coped with such seasonal extremes. Once hatched, a tadpole's lot does not get easier by any means, because along with the warmth, their nemesis the Common newts have returned.

Common newts, also known as Smooth newts, predate heavily on tadpoles and frogspawn in springtime, and male Common newts can be spotted due to their vivid orange and black spotted underbelly which is a temporary colouring worn during the mating season.

Male Common or Smooth newt in orange mating colours

Common newt hunting among newly hatched tadpoles

Smile, Its Spring... For A day!

Hopefully the treacherous weather will not be too damaging to this year's frogspawn. Hard to believe just three days ago my wildlife pond was an amorous hotspot with over half a dozen frogs busy making frogspawn. Today the pond is frozen over again and the ground has at least 2 or 3 inches of snow being swept around by the "mini Beast".

Frog nestled in pondweed in a wildlife pond

Three in a bed.... male frogs swarming aorund a female.

Frog amongst fresh frogspawn

Smile! Its spring

Smile! Its spring

First Snowdrops

In past years, its been February before I've visited Hoe Rough to enjoy the snowdrops there out in force. But this year my first snowdrop sighting at one of my favourite, peaceful nature reserves was much earlier than usual, on the 16th January.

Almost all the snowdrop plants were still quite stubby and offering just the tiniest glimpse of little furled up white buds, there were just 2 or 3 well positioned snowdrop clumps that had opened. So for the first time I captured the very first flush.

In The Snowdrop and the Honeybee I explored the natural history and folklore of one of our earliest flowering wildflowers. Native or not, your heart can't help but lift when you first see Persephone's favourite little flower return from the depths of the underworld to a barren frosty landscape, reminding us that spring may not be as far away as it feels. 

Festive Frost

Frost covered leaf litter

December has been colder than in recent times and we've had not a few chilly, white-world frosty mornings of late.

Hoar frosts have always held a special place in my heart as they always take me right back to fond memories of frozen winter wonderland walks up on the Ridgeway back in Letcombe Regis, but what makes a Hoar frost so special?

A Hoar frost, also known as hoarfrost, pruina or radiation frost, occurs on cold, clear nights with humid air when a dew would form if it were warmer.

In a Hoar frost, leaves, grass, branches and other objects cool by radiation to well below frost point, allowing water vapour to condense directly in the form of ice crystal deposits rather than in the form of water droplets first.

A normal White frost or Ground frost is caused when water vapour from the air forms a liquid dew first and then freezes with a subsequent drop in temperature, so tends to be more globluar in shape rather than feathery or crystalline. Fog tends to inhibit Hoar frosts as it prevents radiation cooling, however can create Rime, which is an ice deposit formed from supercooled fog vapour that crystallised when it touches a frozen object.

Hoar frost ice crystal structures on a fallen leaf

Bark covered in white frost

The crystalline nature of hoar frost close up

Frost crystals on a cluster of blackberries

 

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