Thursday, July 12, 2007
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Sunday, July 08, 2007
Osprey
Osprey, Ancaster, Lincolnshire (8.7.07). DSLR.
Can you click them for bigger images? Of course you can.
Saturday, July 07, 2007
Withnail
Flipping 'eck, Tucker, Weedon is straying from his natural theme, once again. However, I've been a bit miserable lately, what with fevers and appalling new 'working' conditions, and neighbours creating volcanoes and covering my garden in poisoned lava. So, I've naturally gravitated to my favourite film, Withnail & I. I've watched it twice in the last few days and it never fails to amuse me, greatly.
My recent mood, though, is perhaps best left to Shakespeare, here as the final words of Richard E's unlovable rogue Withnail (please don't click if offended by wolves):
Or, when feeling even more pissed orf, I am happy to resort to this (please don't click if offended by rude words):
Maybe I should turn to the Maha Mantra and find my neutral space (please don't click if offended by globes):
My recent mood, though, is perhaps best left to Shakespeare, here as the final words of Richard E's unlovable rogue Withnail (please don't click if offended by wolves):
Or, when feeling even more pissed orf, I am happy to resort to this (please don't click if offended by rude words):
Maybe I should turn to the Maha Mantra and find my neutral space (please don't click if offended by globes):
Drag the pond...
Emperor ovipositing
Newly-emerged Common Darter plus exuvia on Water Soldier.
...Or rather, here is some dragonfly action from our garden pond today (7.7.07). We had visits from Brown Hawker and Blue-tailed Damselfy, plus emergences of teneral damselfies (unidentified) and a few Common Darters (see above), plus a male Emperor patrolling, waiting for this female to return to her constant egg-laying (all DSLR)
Click 'em for supersize!
Friday, July 06, 2007
It's behind you!
Cley, Norfolk, 2000. Young Jasmine tries to inform the intent birders where the bird really is.
From left, Grant H, Chris W, Mike W and Jas W.
Thursday, July 05, 2007
Of birds and death
I've had a fever, mad dreams and aches and pains, so my mind has inevitably wandered down the morbid pathway to the subject of death. Here are a couple of stories, one very short, one a bit longer and stranger.
When I was a boy, I was lying in bed one night listening to the rare sound of a Tawny Owl's mournful hooting. The phone rang downstairs and before my mother answered it I knew, because the owl told me, that it was a call telling us my Great Uncle Dick (a great bird man) had died.
Two early Julys ago it was sunny here. On Saturday July 2, 2005, I watched all of Live 8 on the box on an emotional knife-edge, as I knew my mother was probably going to die that weekend. The music was extra poignant and I was particularly taken by the performances of two bands I previously couldn't give a stuff about - Keane and Snow Patrol. I was also very conscious of how my sister, Alison, wouldn't be watching, as she was nursing my mother.
The next day, I wanted to be somewhere away from people, distracted by wildlife in the sunshine, while I waited for the likely call from Alison. I went to Bedford Purlieus, a bit of ancient woodland in Northamptonshire, and wandered about looking for insects, beautiful, distracting ephemera to photograph - White Admirals and longhorn beetles. Somewhere, miles away from my position in the middle of the wood, I fancied I could hear a Quail.
I strolled down the road leading along the edge of the forest and, clearer now, came the unmistakable song of a Quail. I'd never seen one of these most elusive of birds but, having heard a few, knew that if you get close enough they sound quite different from the distant, middle-of-the-field typical experience. For example, you hear the real detail of the gruff 'ruuu ruuugh' warm-up breath before the clichéd sad request 'wet-my-lips'. The bird was singing from a field of grain with a path leading alongside, so I walked as close as I could to it.
When I got there, I found I was closer than I'd ever been to a Quail. It was just a few yards away, hidden in the crop, but so near you could tell when it was moving. I spent twenty minutes or so walking up and down a small stretch of that path to see if the singing Quail would reveal itself, perhaps in between the rows of grain, or even appear at the edge.
My phone rang and Alison gave me the news I'd expected, my mother had died in the last half-hour.
About a minute after I finished talking to my sister, the Quail flew up gracefully like a spirit, called at me once mid-air, and drifted another twenty metres before dropping hidden down to the earth.
A few days later, I was talking to Alison and she asked me if I'd heard about the strange bird my brother Graham had seen in his garden in Bedfordshire. On Sunday July 3, 2005, at precisely the moment my mother died, and as I stood a few metres from the first Quail I ever saw, Graham was photographing a Quail in his flowerbed.
Quail, Toddington, Beds, 3.7.05, by Graham P Weedon
When I was a boy, I was lying in bed one night listening to the rare sound of a Tawny Owl's mournful hooting. The phone rang downstairs and before my mother answered it I knew, because the owl told me, that it was a call telling us my Great Uncle Dick (a great bird man) had died.
Two early Julys ago it was sunny here. On Saturday July 2, 2005, I watched all of Live 8 on the box on an emotional knife-edge, as I knew my mother was probably going to die that weekend. The music was extra poignant and I was particularly taken by the performances of two bands I previously couldn't give a stuff about - Keane and Snow Patrol. I was also very conscious of how my sister, Alison, wouldn't be watching, as she was nursing my mother.
The next day, I wanted to be somewhere away from people, distracted by wildlife in the sunshine, while I waited for the likely call from Alison. I went to Bedford Purlieus, a bit of ancient woodland in Northamptonshire, and wandered about looking for insects, beautiful, distracting ephemera to photograph - White Admirals and longhorn beetles. Somewhere, miles away from my position in the middle of the wood, I fancied I could hear a Quail.
I strolled down the road leading along the edge of the forest and, clearer now, came the unmistakable song of a Quail. I'd never seen one of these most elusive of birds but, having heard a few, knew that if you get close enough they sound quite different from the distant, middle-of-the-field typical experience. For example, you hear the real detail of the gruff 'ruuu ruuugh' warm-up breath before the clichéd sad request 'wet-my-lips'. The bird was singing from a field of grain with a path leading alongside, so I walked as close as I could to it.
When I got there, I found I was closer than I'd ever been to a Quail. It was just a few yards away, hidden in the crop, but so near you could tell when it was moving. I spent twenty minutes or so walking up and down a small stretch of that path to see if the singing Quail would reveal itself, perhaps in between the rows of grain, or even appear at the edge.
My phone rang and Alison gave me the news I'd expected, my mother had died in the last half-hour.
About a minute after I finished talking to my sister, the Quail flew up gracefully like a spirit, called at me once mid-air, and drifted another twenty metres before dropping hidden down to the earth.
A few days later, I was talking to Alison and she asked me if I'd heard about the strange bird my brother Graham had seen in his garden in Bedfordshire. On Sunday July 3, 2005, at precisely the moment my mother died, and as I stood a few metres from the first Quail I ever saw, Graham was photographing a Quail in his flowerbed.
Quail, Toddington, Beds, 3.7.05, by Graham P Weedon
Mystery?
What do you think this pleasing flower is?
To help you, here are three clues:
a. If you are stuck, you are not alone.
b. Take your time, don't fly to quick conclusions.
c. There is no trap.
Friday, June 29, 2007
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Smell City part 3a: Flight
Gannets
Fulmar
Gannet over colony
Kittiwake
Queuing for landing
All DSLR. Click 'em for biggies. You know you want to. Do it.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Smell City part 2
Razorbill
Guillemot
Two Gannets, two ages
Gannet on the nest
Cute Kittiwake baby
Jackdaw
Gannets canoodling
Baby Guillemot contemplating the drop
Yawning Puffin
More digiscoped antics from RSPB Bempton Cliffs (21.6.07). There will be more appearing in the August issue of Bird Watching Magazine. And remember, I have put a few more on the Bird Watching Blog
Click each pic for big versions, as usual.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Images from Titchwell, 24.6.07
Hanging Rainbow, at the end of which was a rich multitude of Swifts and a single, glorious Alpine Swift
Juvenile Bearded Tits
A curious Weasel on the path
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