Swarth Fell and Wild Boar Fell

Cautley Crag and the Howgill Fells.

Another Lune catchment outing, which, once again, didn’t disappoint. I had splendid views of the Howgill Fells all day. I’d parked down by Rawthey Bridge and when I left the minor road which leaves the A road there, took another version of this view which was rather spoiled by the foreground of dessicated Mole corpses hanging from the barbed wire fence – a grisly traditional method for a mole-catcher to show the success of his labour.

The field path took me past a series of old farmhouses, heading up the valley of the Rawthey.

New House Farm.

What intrigued me about this farmhouse was the unusual tall building with the pyramidal roof, which is a coach house apparently, according to Historic England, added in 1914 to a building which is “probably early/mid C18”. I should have taken a photo back down the hill at Wraygreen, which is considerably older. Next time.

Approaching Needle House.

I’ve included this photo because it shows the trees beyond the house, clearly planted, looking almost like an arboretum, of which more in a moment.

Needle House.

I was surprised to find that the very striking Needle House is not listed. I did find a fascinating history of the Frankland family, who lived here and modified the house, written by Dr Helga Frankland, whose father seems to have been taken with all things Scandinavian (so hence Helga?).

Barn by Needle House.

“Unusual features created by my father include the belfry on the gable end of West Laithe in the yard at Needlehouse. It is based on belfries seen on farms in Scandinavia. We used the bell to summon people to the house from the fields.”

Laithe is a northern word for Barn, apparently.

Bridge over Needlehouse Gill.

Needlehouse Gill.

“My father planted all the woods on our land, except for the much older Uldale Wood and the natural woodland in the gills. Scandinavia held a strong fascination for my great grandfather, grandfather and my father. By skillful placing of relatively small, largely coniferous woods, my father managed to create a landscape that looks more wooded than it actually is and therefore, has echoes of Scandinavia.”

In the woods beyond the gill, I was delighted to spot four or five Red Squirrels, or, very possibly, the same Red Squirrel four or five times. I have one very blurred photo to remind me, but if I hadn’t taken it myself, I don’t think I would know that it was of a squirrel. Much of the walk to this point had been accompanied by the sound of Cuckoos, but, as usual, I didn’t see them at all.

Needlehouse Gill again.

I watched a largish bird of prey fly up and along the gill. I don’t know what type sadly.

Part of the reason for choosing this route was the fact that I haven’t climbed Wild Boar Fell for far too long. It used to be a bit of a favourite. I always used the same route: up the Rawthey, over Holmes Moss Fell, which was invariably very wet, then onto Swarth Fell, Wild Boar Fell and down via Fell End Clouds. This time I intended to ring the changes and explore some more Lune feeders. My original plan had been to hop over the fence here, onto access land, and follow the gill upstream, but the going looked like it might be difficult, due to the steep banks and fallen trees, so instead I almost doubled back on the track and then took to the open fell-side.

Looking back towards the Howgills.

It wasn’t half as wet underfoot as it might have been I suspect.

Drinker Moth Caterpillar.

I found a hint of a path, which took me down into Grain Gill, and then followed the gill down into Needlehouse Gill which at some point becomes Uldale Gill.

Waterfall.

I took lots of photos of small falls and cascades, but this was the best, so can stand in for them all.

Dor Beetle.

I watched this Dor Beetle as it wandered around in the rough vegetation, laboriously and seemingly with quite a lot of effort, going back and forth over the same ground for reasons I couldn’t fathom.

Looking back down the gill to Cautley Crag.

On the left of this photo you can see a small sliver of white, which is where water was spouting from a hole in the crags and pouring under the wall into the stream. The boulders in the foreground are, I assumed, the dry bed of a tributary stream where a spring would emerge in wet weather.

In the absence of a path, following the stream turned out to be quite heavy going, so I decided that it would be a good idea to climb up to the left, above the northern bank of the gill. I was wrong. That bright idea brought me into very boggy ground with tall reeds. The only upside was that I saw a number of Common Lizards…

Common Lizard.

…which were all too fast for me to get any decent photos.

Fortunately, when I climbed high enough, the going got much easier.

Looking back to the Howgill Fells.

Larinioides cornutus.

I’m reliably informed that this spider, on an impressive web stretching between sedge stems, is Larinioides cornutus, the Furrow Orbweaver. They like damp places, which fits. This must be a female, which makes a silken cocoon and then produces pheromones to attract a mate.
At the time, I thought the cocoon might be full of babies, but with hindsight, it looks more like a larder.

Furrow Orbweaver.

The ‘furrow’ in her name refers to the pattern on her back, which sadly she never deigned to reveal to me.

Furrow Orbweaver.

She was intent on running repairs of her web.

Furrow Orbweaver.

Furrow Orbweaver.

But then I must have upset her in some way and she disappeared into her lair.
I’m well aware that not everyone likes arachnids, but as you can probably tell, I was entranced.

Looking back from near the top of the gill.

Swarth Fell Tarn.

Cairn on Swarth Fell.

Wild Boar Fell from Swarth Fell.

Looking south from Swarth Fell. That’s Whernside and Ingleborough peeking out from behind Baugh Fell.

I found a very comfortable spot amongst the boulders on Swarth Fell, made a brew and then had a little nap in the sun whilst it cooled down. You can’t beat a bit of a snooze during a hill walk if you ask me.

On the way back down to the col, I followed the steep eastern edge…

The eastern edge of Swarth Fell.

The rivers both Eden and Ure rise down there somewhere. The first is heading for Carlisle, the Solway Firth and hence the Irish Sea, whilst the other, via the Ouse and the Humber, heads through York to the North Sea.

Looking back to Swarth Fell.

The Band.

This path, around The Band to High White Scar, is not marked on the OS map, but it is an absolute delight. As I walked along it, I watched a Buzzard gliding out across Aisgill Head.

Ais Gill and Swarth Fell.

High White Scar. Mallerstang Edges beyond.

Along the edge.

A proliferation of cairns.

Wild Boar Fell has a large summit plateau and two tops, both with a spot height of 708m.

Cairns!

Yoadcomb Scar.

Yoadcomb Scar pano.

Looking back to Yoadcomb Scar.

The Nab, Eden Valley, Northern Pennines.

The Nab pano.

Trig pillar.

Here’s ‘the other’ top. Not quite as exciting as the one to the east, to be honest.

Sand Tarn.

Forcepot Sike.

Forcepot Sike apparently drains Sand Tarn, although there wasn’t an obvious or easy to spot outflow. The hills opposite are Harter Fell (there’s a few of those about!) and Green Bell. I don’t think I’ve ever climbed the former, and it must be about thirty years since I climbed the latter – and since the source of the Lune is said to be on its slopes, it’s high on my to do list. Of course, we know that the Lune, like any river, has countless sources, but we’ll let that lie.

Clouds Gill.

This was pathless going, but much easier than that had been by Uldale Gill. The stream gradually grew as it absorbed lots of other rivulets, at some point becoming Clouds Gill. I’ve come down these slopes a few times before, but always heading for Fell End Clouds, never sticking with the gill. As the terrain changed to limestone country, that brought unexpected bonuses. The stream began to appear and disappear underground.

Clouds Gill.

In some spots I could see the water flowing through a narrow channel to the left and below the exposed rocky riverbed. In other places the river had eroded large deep pots which were full of stagnant water. And also full of tadpoles.

Tadpoles.

Many moons ago, I used to walk to school with friends. Our route took us across fields and via a small footbridge over Johnny’s Brook. Armed with coffee jars or buckets, we would collect frogspawn, tadpoles, frogs, sticklebacks and other unfortunate denizens of the brook and take our finds to school. There was an aquarium tank in one of our classrooms, I remember. Whether the aquarium was a result of our enthusiasm or its cause, I don’t recall. I do know that I’ve never seen tadpoles in this profusion before, pool after pool, deep or shallow, were full of them. But then suddenly – no more.

Grey Wagtail.

Mayfly?

I’m assuming that this is a Mayfly, although my field guide describes them as ‘flimsy’ whereas this looked quite sturdy to me. Apparently, there are 47 different species in the UK. The winged stage of their lives lasts for just a couple of hours or up to a couple of days, depending on the species. The nymphs, living in the water, often live for a year or even two, although, again, that depends of the species.

Mayfly nymphs? About to emerge?

Limestone, of course, erodes in interesting ways. Here the stream had created a narrow gorge and a huge rock overhang.

From above.

From below.

Hare.

I’ve begun to think that certain creatures are emblematic of the landscapes of the Lune, particularly Curlews and Hares. Maybe Grey Wagtails as well.

Cloud Gill and Harter Fell.

A roofless barn.

Fell End Clouds.

I had planned to cross the valley and have a wander through the woods of Murthwaite Park, but it was getting late, so I just wandered along the minor road back to the car.

Another view of Fell End Clouds.

Valerian, host to tiny flies. St. Marks flies or something similar?

When I got back to the car it was covered with Mayflies. These did look flimsy.

Mayflies.

There had been lots of cars parked along the road near the Cross Keys, presumably for the walk up to Cautley Spout and beyond, which is a very fine walk and another which is high on my ‘to do’ list. But I’d met a couple on Swarth Fell, another couple at the Nab and two blokes and their dog by the trig pillar on Wild Boar Fell, and that was it. On a sunny Saturday in May. I can’t think why Wild Boar Fell is not much more popular, but I’m not complaining!

A little over 11 miles, but largely pathless so harder work than that might sound.

Green Longhorn Moths and Other Delights

Roe Deer.

These first two photos are from earlier in the week than the rest in the post, and from our garden. The deer and the covid were stood in much the same spot, at different times of course.

Magpie.

We stopped putting food out for the birds when we acquired our cats, or as I like to think of them, bird murderers. These days however, one of them is fat and the other decrepit and they rarely seem to catch anything apart from the odd pigeon. So when my mum and dad donated some feeders we decided to try again. We’ve hung several in the tall birch in the garden. Some contain seed mixtures, which do gradually go down, but the fat-balls and the dried mealworms disappear at a rate of knots. Right from the off, a clever magpie discovered that by hopping from the tree into the feeder full of mealworms and bashing it with a shoulder, worms could be made to sprinkle onto the ground. Here the bottom has fallen off the feeder altogether, leading to a bonanza. Since then, the local Magpies, a family I think, seem to have worked out how to cling to the feeder and help themselves directly. We’ve had allsorts on the feeders, and although I don’t often take photos, I’m sure more will appear here at some time, especially if this dreary weather continues.

Dodgy horizon.

My phone died early in June, perhaps due to getting a bit damp during a couple of canoeing outings, perhaps due to being dropped once too often. The new (well second-hand) one I have acquired has a sort of spirit-level indicator on the screen so my drunken horizons may be a thing of the past. But probably not.

Anyway, in the middle of that slightly wet area on the sand were two pairs of…

Shelduck.

Spring.

I love these large springs which occur in several places at the edge of the bay. On this occasion I could see something swimming near where the water was emerging, but my camera refused to focus on whatever it was.

Tellin shells in the stream.

A Hawkweed.

There were lots of these yellow flowers growing on the cliffs. They’re a hawkweed of some kind. There are lots of hawkweeds. These have elliptical leaves, which are hairy, spotted and red underneath. The stems are hairy too. You’d think they would be easy to identify. But they aren’t.

With truly glorious flowers.

But in attempting to work out what they were, and so making a detailed examination, I discovered that the flowers, with closer inspection, were really stunning.

Attractive to Common Carder Bees (I think) too.

And very hairy leaves attractive to Banded Snails.

And that there were several Banded Snails on and around the plants.

More leaves and snails.

Across the Bay to Clougha Pike.

And a similar view from the top of the cliff and a little bit further round the coast.

Crane fly.

Web/nest?

I’ve become fascinated by the various webs and woven nests that, when you start to look, seem to abound. I’ve not idea what made this one, but something in there has been eating the oak leaves which have been bound together.

Green Longhorn Moth.

This was a beautiful warm early summer evening in mid-May, a Friday night, a great way to start a weekend. The most memorable thing about the outing, was the profusion of these little creatures. Apparently, this species are common and widespread, but I don’t recall ever seeing them before.

Green Longhorn Moth.

The oaks which grow by the coastal path are stunted, presumably by the wind and perhaps the salt-laden air. But there are lots of them, and every one seemed to be playing host to at least a few of these. They would sit on the leaves, but if one of them took off it seemed to provoke a chain reaction and they would all suddenly be flitting about, playing musical chairs.

Green Longhorn Moth.

I didn’t see them on any of the other types of tree which grow along the cliffs, they seemed to be completely loyal to the oaks.

Green Longhorn Moth.

I took an awful lot of photographs. Although they are called ‘green’ I was amazed by their iridescence and by the way they seemed to show a wide variety of colours depending how they were catching the light.

Green Longhorn Moth.

Like the hawkweeds, they seemed to be liberally covered in hair. I think all of the photographs I took were of males. The females have shorter antennae.

Green Longhorn Moth.

“The males are often seen in the spring sunshine forming swarms of up to 30 specimens. If a female flies through the swarm, it is caught by a male and the mating in flight takes place.”

Source

Green Longhorn Moth.

Often, all I could see were those huge antennae, peeking out above the edge of a high leaf, which, for some reason, I found quite comical.

Green Longhorn Moth.

At first, I couldn’t find much online about these micro-moths. I did find something referring to the larvae living in leaf-litter in a ‘portable case’. Then I found this:

“The caterpillars live among fallen leaves from birch and oak and feed on leaves remains, often “Quercus” species, forming mines on them. They protect themselves for the summer and winter in an oblong, brown bag-like structure of small pieces of fallen leaves. In this bag also the pupation takes place the following spring.”

Source

Which I found fascinating. I guess that these must be pretty tiny caterpillars; I wonder what chance I have of finding some, now that I know where to look?

Peepo.

Green Longhorn Moth.

Oak leaves.

I was moving very slowly, or quite often just standing, waiting for a moth to settle in a suitable spot to be photographed. Of course, this is the best way to ‘tune in’ and spot wildlife. There were large ants crawling seemingly on just about every surface.

Common Green Shieldbug.

I watched this shieldbug wandering along this branch.

Another Crane Fly.

Andrena

I think that this is an Andrena species of bee, a Mining Bee, but there are 68 UK species and I don’t know which of those this is.

Crane fly on Whitebeam leaf.

Holly flowers and buds.

Holly flowers are another thing which I think it can be very easy to miss.

Eventually, I dragged myself away from the moths and dropped down to the sands.

Thrift.

Sea Bristletail or Jumping Jack (possibly).

Sea Bristletails (possibly).

Rounding the corner into the Kent Estuary.

I was intrigued by the way the sand was pocked with tiny hollows.

Ripples

Ripples and a depression.

I wonder how they were formed?

Meathop Fell.

Kent channel.

Kent channel looking toward Heversham Head.

Heron being mobbed by gulls. I know how it feels!

By dragging my feet along the coast, I’d left little time for my return (over the Knott of course). Instead of continuing around to Arnside, I took an alternative path from New Barns, cutting a corner.

Male flowers, Scots Pine.

Kents Bank and Humphrey Head from the Knott.

Sunset from the Knott.

A very memorable outing, and a good warm-up for a longer walk the following day.

The Lune, Birk Beck, Wasdale, Bretherdale

A Circuit from Old Tebay

The Lune near Old Tebay.

In my own haphazard, arbitrary fashion, I’ve been seeking out the tributaries, and catchment hills of the River Lune since an exchange in the comments section of this blog back in 2017.

“That’s a pretty full set of experiences for an evening walk. Flowers, birds, deer, caves, gorges, rivers.”

“I may continue this theme of exploring tributaries of the Lune – a walk which starts low in the Lune valley and then climbs up into the hills gives a tremendous variety of scenery, flora, fauna etc.”

“I think your suggested tributary project is a good idea.”

Isn’t it amazing how far a little encouragement can take you!

Tebay Bridge.

Having rather neglected the Lune, and it’s legion of sources, in my rush to tick-off Wainwrights by the dozen last year, I’ve been itching to get back to a little exploration. With a dodgy forecast which suggested that the higher hills, and the western Lakes in particular, would be best avoided, I drove up to Tebay in first drizzle and eventually heavy rain and dense cloud. Only as I emerged from Tebay gorge did the cloud suddenly clear, revealing huge swathes of unexpected blue sky.

The Lune from Tebay Bridge.

This is a route I’ve been wanting to walk for a while, because it crosses almost entirely virgin territory for me, but it’s a good job I didn’t leave it for an evening walk, as I have most of my previous Lune Catchment walks, since it turned out to be a fairly long wander. When I plan routes I have a tendency to be fairly ambitious regarding how much I can pack in, and also to not bother checking the length of the route before I embark.

Peacock Butterfly.

I saw quite a lot of butterflies during the early part of the walk, particularly Peacocks.

Birk Beck

I’ve always liked walks which follow rivers or streams and this route along Birk Beck was no exception.

Looking towards the Howgills and Tebay Gorge.

Although I was enjoying glorious sunshine, the nearby Howgills remained draped in cloud for most of the morning.

Under the M6 motorway.

This was a walk with a wide assortment of bridges. I’m a sucker for a bridge, even modern concrete ones, so that was another bonus.

Birk Beck.

An uninspiring view of…Tebay Services.

Back in the days when I first met the people who are still my most frequent companions in the hills, when we travelled up to Scotland every New Year and every Easter and occasionally at other times of the year too, we habitually stopped at Tebay West services. It was a bit of a ritual, never to be missed. So I was pleased to be able to send them this view of the services, admittedly rather hidden in the trees. Not one of them recognised them; they must be getting old!

Birkbeck Viaduct.

Birk Beck.

Goldfinches.

Climbing up the little minor road towards the services, from the hamlet of Greenholme, I passed a tree occupied by a charm of Goldfinches and managed to snatch a photo of a few which were pecking at Dandelion flowers on the verge.
All along the beck I could hear and occasionally glimpse small birds, tits and finches, but, with the trees now in leaf, it wasn’t generally possible to get photos.

Sealed gate.

Leaving the road, on a path which would take me back down to Birk Beck, I encountered this gate which had been wired shut. It was the first of several such obstacles I came across and I really should have contacted the local footpaths officer. There was no other recourse but to clamber over the gate, which as you can see was a bit decrepit, but fortunately it didn’t collapse from under me.

Across the beck to another minor lane.

Looking back to Scout Green.

I’m not sure why I didn’t take any photos whilst I was passing through Scout Green, I remember it as a charming spot.

Green Brow.

From this point the path was crossing much rougher grassland, often quite wet. Now there were Curlews, Lapwings and Ravens to be seen and heard. The path climbed a little above the beck.

Birk Beck.

One of the things I had been particularly looking forward to was the waterfall Docker Force.

Docker Force.

Since there’s a good photo of it on Geograph, I’d assumed that it would be easy to access. Not a bit of it. It’s well below the path and can be heard from there, but not seen. Once again, I clambered over a gate, but this time because I was trespassing, and then I made my way down through some extremely squelchy woodland. At the bottom, there’s a small cliff and I couldn’t see an obvious way down, so I made do with this sideways on view.

West Coast Mainline and Crosby Ravensworth Fell.

Once again, I feel the need to disclaim any impression I might be making of train-spotterish tendencies; it’s just that somehow I’m compelled to take a photo whenever a train passes. Do you think I might be in denial?

Shap Wells Hotel.

Clapper Bridge over Trundle Beck.

Queen’s Monument.

At the back of the Shap Wells Hotel, up a little rise, is this monument.

Celebrating Queen Victoria’s coronation.

Which seemed quite appropriate since this was the day that ol’ Big Ears got crowned. Visiting this monument was as close as I came to joining in the celebrations.

It seems like a very out-of-the-way spot for a monument. Come to that, it’s a bit remote for an enormous hotel too.

Shap Wells Hotel.

Aside for a trio of bird-watchers in the grounds, the hotel seemed to be deserted. In fact, I hardly saw anyone all day – another advantage of these Lune tributary wanderings, there’s plenty of solitude on offer.

Wasdale Beck.

Having visited it’s more famous namesake in the Western Lakes so many times over the years, it was nice to finally get acquainted with the less well-known Wasdale.

Green Hairstreak Butterfly.

Common Lizard.

I’ve seen quite a few Common Lizards this year on my walks, but they’ve almost always been too quick for me to catch in a picture. I would hazard a guess that this was the largest of all the ones I’ve encountered this year.

Conifers.

The path climbs a little above the beck, along the boundary of a conifer plantation which looks to have been clear-felled and replanted. There was a very cool breeze blowing and I’d been on the lookout for a sheltered spot in which to stop for a brew. I found a place, down by the fence, between a large tree-stump and a small grassy bank, which I thought might be as good as I would find. As I was fiddling with my stove, a large (i.e. female) Buzzard swept down along the course of the stream, flying unusually low for a Buzzard, so that I had a marvellous view from above. I have to confess, however, that I was relieved when she swerved away from me and across the slope opposite.
This spring and summer, we’ve had gulls nesting at work and they have been extremely protective of their nest: to venture into the car park has meant risking several swooping attacks. I don’t think anyone has actually been clawed at any point, but I think lots of us have had our hair ruffled a few times. I never managed to be as composed as one or two of my colleagues who strode confidently across the tarmac unflinching under the barrage, but, on the other hand, I didn’t take to cowering under a brolly either.
Past experience tells me that Buzzards are equally concerned parents; I’ve been ‘warned off’ a few times. When the female was joined by a tiercel, even though they initially settled on a distant dry-stone wall, I began to pack-up the stove and prepared to make myself scarce. In fact, they didn’t actually come too close, but I knew I wouldn’t have a restful cuppa whilst they were circling, so I moved on.

A pair of buzzards.

Broken stile.

A little further-up I encountered more footpath obstructions, firstly a collapsed stile, which wasn’t too much of a problem, but then felled trees which made life very difficult. Much of the brashing had not been removed, leaving the track covered in heaps of broken branches and twigs, and clearly heavy machinery had been used so that the track was deeply rutted and pocked. It was really quite unpleasant.

Felled conifers.

Fortunately, it didn’t last too long.

Wasdale Beck.

Wasdale Old Bridge.

At Wasdale Old Bridge, I finally did stop for a cup of tea and watched a pair of Dippers flitting in and out from the underside of the bridge, where I assume they had a nest. I managed to scotch any possibility of another brew-stop by clumsily tipping my unused tea leaves into the stream.

Packhorse Hill, Yarlside, Shap Pink Quarry.

The next section of the route was all on a broad gravel track. Not the most attractive path, but at least easy going. I thought Packhorse Hill looked worthy of a look at some point. Likewise the hills around the upper reaches of Wasdale and Crookdale.

Looking back towards the Pennines.

Unusual sign?

Along the track, the vegetation on the left was dominated by heather, whereas to the right it was all grasses. I can only assume that the stark contrast is due to a different grazing regime.

The path over into Bethersdale.

The hills around Crookdale.

Crookdale Crag.

Stone Chat, male.

Stone Chat, female.

There were Stone Chats all along the wall here. Curlews were circling and calling too, but much harder to catch on camera.

Crookdale Crag.

Crookdale Crag has been added to my ‘to visit’ list too. Along with the Birkbeck Fells. An ever expanding list!

Looking towards Bretherdale.

The path, which had started well, seemed to peter out, or at least, I lost it for a while. It was rough and fairly boggy ground. Bizarrely, I was just thinking that it was perfect territory for Short-eared Owls – one of my few previous sightings was above nearby Wet Sleddale – when one came sweeping low down the hillside from behind me. I scrambled for my camera whilst trying to keep an eye on the owl. It hunted, nearby, apparently not much bothered by my presence. It’s behaviour reminded me of Kestrels: hovering quite low and then plunging into the grass. Not surprising I suppose since both hunt voles.
Landing some distance away it scanned the surroundings – I have photos of it looking straight at me, but also with its head turned to the extreme left and right.

Short-eared Owl.

Fortunately, it eventually flew back towards me to hunt again, before finally leaving. Of the many photos I was able to take, these two are by far and away the best. A beautiful bird and a magical experience.

Short-eared Owl.

I suppose after that I was predisposed to fall in love with Bretherdale, which I duly did.

Thorny Bank and Bretherdale.

Thorny Bank is yet another hill I shall have to climb at some point.

The Drinker Moth caterpillar.

The Drinker Moth caterpillar.

Broken egg shell and tiny spider?

Thorny Bank and Bretherdale again.

Far Crag.

There was a sketchy path here, but it was very wet underfoot and once again I was very glad to have M’s boots.

Parrocks.

I’ve decided to buy Parrocks and do it up. When my long lost wealthy relative leaves me a surprise legacy of millions, obviously.

Rusted latch.

This latch was rusted shut and since the fence was topped with barbed-wire, there was no other option than to climb the broken gate, which felt decidedly like it might give way under the strain.

Simple bridge over Bretherdale Beck at Greenhead.

More ruined farm buildings.

Bretherdale Head.

I think that there was a for-sale sign at Bretherdale Head and the gate was locked and festooned with barbed wire. I had been thinking that the land here was being managed for conservation, but now began to wonder if it had just been too uneconomic to farm and was abandoned. Later, I did see a chap on a quad bike, at Midwath Stead, who I assume was a farmer, so some of the area is being worked, but I didn’t see many sheep on the hills.

Breasthigh Beck.

Breasthigh Beck is yet another feeder of the Lune and since Breasthigh Road follows it upstream and then over into ‘the other’ Borrowdale, this is somewhere else I shall have to come back to.

Maybe that road sign wasn’t unique after all!

Midwath Stead.

Primroses – the road verge was full of them.

Bretherdale Hall.

Stepping stones in Bretherdale Beck and more ruins!

Confluence of Bretherdale Beck and Birk Beck.

It was rather late in the day, otherwise this looked like a good spot for a dip. I shall bear it in mind!

At the end of my walk I was following Birk Beck again, but on the south bank this time. A Hare sprang up from where it had been hidden in the grass and raced away from me. Seemingly by coincidence, a Buzzard soared in from another direction, but their paths converged and for a few seconds the raptor flew just above the Hare. I couldn’t decide whether the Buzzard actually hoped to catch the Hare, but it seemed like an uneven contest – the Hare was so fast and soon away and safe.
Shortly afterwards, I stopped to check my position on the OS app, put my phone back in my pocket and then realised that there was another Hare right by my foot. It seemed to be trying to press itself down into the sward and with its eyes, either side of its head, was able to look straight up at me without lifting it’s head at all. We stared at each other briefly, then I reached for my phone again, the spell was apparently broken and the Hare, well….hared off at great speed, much too quick for me to get even a rubbish photo.

M6 bridge over the Lune.

M6 bridge over the Lune.

Although the OS map shows the footbridge, it also says ‘Ford’ by the path, so I was very pleased to discover that the bridge was for public use and I wouldn’t have to finish my walk by immersing myself in the Lune.

Footbridge over the Lune.

MapMyWalk gives 16 miles and 400m of ascent. A very full day in many ways.

I have several more Lune Catchment posts to come and can’t pass up this opportunity to share again the marvellous online book ‘Lands of The Lune‘ by John Self, which if you have interest in the area is a must read.

The route – should you wish to trace it on the map and/or on the ground: park at Old Tebay, follow the Lune north-east, cross the Lune, through Bybeck, under the motorway, left on the track to Birk Beck, follow Birk Beck to Bridge End, right on the lane, path off to the left, cross Birk Beck and take the minor lane to Scout Green, paths by Birk Beck to Shap Wells Hotel, path up Wasdale and keep that direction to cross the A6, turn left to recross the A6 over Bretherdale Bank and down Bretherdale, minor road to Bretherdale Hall, turn left and cross the beck, turn right at the meeting of paths, then along Birk Beck and the Lune to Tebay.

Abundance

Emesgate Lane – Stankelt Road – The Green – Burtonwell Wood – Lambert’s Meadow – The Row – Hawes Water – Gait Barrows – Coldwell Meadow – Back Wood – Coldwell Limeworks – Silverdale Moss – Challan Hall Allotment – Hawes Water – Waterslack – Eaves Wood.

Bugle.

In the meadows around the campsite we’ve visited in the Dordogne, it isn’t only the diversity of the wildlife I enjoyed, it’s the sheer abundance. Everywhere you turn there seems to be something new to see, or probably three or four new things. Every tardy step sends a shower of grasshoppers in all directions. A single flower can be crowded with butterflies, hoverflies and shield bugs. I tend to think that, even in the woods and wet meadows and nature reserves around home, whilst we’re fortunate in that there is usually lots to see, we lack that profusion, a bit more searching is required.

Water Avens.

Lambert’s Meadow was doing its best to contradict that assumption on this dull Saturday in early May. Everywhere I looked there were wildflowers in a myriad different forms and colours.

Marsh Valerian.

Actually, the most notable flowers, by number alone, were the Ribwort Plantains, which aren’t featured here, since my photographs weren’t very satisfactory.

White-lipped Banded Snails.

There were lots of Banded Snails in evidence; I wondered whether they were mating?

White-lipped Banded Snails.

I walked my usual slow plod along the eastern edge of the field, not seeing, snails aside, the butterflies and dragonflies I’d hoped for. The Guelder Rose were almost in flower, the Figworts strong stems were still relatively short, but looking promising for the weeks ahead. It was only when I decided to sit for a moment on the end of the bridge which takes the footpath across the small ditch which crosses the meadow, that I realised that the central part of the meadow was thronged with Orange-tip Butterflies.

Lambert’s Meadow.

Cuckoo Flower

Cuckoo Flower is the food-plant of Orange-tip caterpillars and Lambert’s Meadow has plenty of it.

Orange-tip Butterfly, male.

The butterflies were in constant motion, so it was hard to get photos, but I was happy to enjoy the feeling of being in a field full of butterflies again.

Bee-fly on Cuckoo Flower.

Satisfying too, whilst pursuing the Orange-tips, to notice a Bee-fly sampling Cuckoo Flower nectar rather than their usual fare of Primroses.

Marsh Marigolds.

Meadow Foxtail?

Toothwort.

I haven’t spotted anything like as much Toothwort this spring as I usually do, so was doubly pleased to spot this single stem flowering on the path corner near Hawes Water where I had thought the clearance of some Hazel shrubs had killed off the Toothwort.

Hawes Water.

Limestone pavement, Gait Barrows.

Angular Solomon’s Seal.

I went looking for the Angular Solomon’s Seal and was pleased to find it sprouting in several grikes on the pavements, although it was too early to find it flowering.

Sycamore leaves and catkin.

I was also hoping, I suppose, that I might see a Duke of Burgundy butterfly again, although I wasn’t massively optimistic after so many years of unsuccessful visits.

So this was a pleasant surprise…

Duke of Burgundy Butterfly.

My best guess is that this is a female.

“The females are elusive and spend much of their time resting or flying low to the ground looking for suitable egg-laying sites.”

Source

Duke of Burgundy again.

Sarcophaga carnaria?

Eudasyphora cyanella.

Hoverfly – Helophilus pendulus. Male.

Speckled Wood Butterfly.

Barren Strawberry.

Maidenhair Spleenwort

Herb Paris.

Cowslips.

Creep-i-the-call waterfall. A bit obscured by vegetation.

Water Avens.

Coldwell Limeworks.

Middlebarrow and Arnside Knott across Silverdale Moss.

The Cloven Ash.

King Alfred’s Cakes on the Cloven Ash.

Fomes fomentarius. Possibly.

There’s a newish bench by the fallen remnants of the Cloven Ash, with views across Silverdale Moss, and I stopped there for a drink. On brambles growing around the dead tree I spotted a Cardinal Beetle. The battery in my camera was dead, so I had to rely on my phone.

Red-headed Cardinal Beetle.

Red-headed Cardinal Beetle.

I was quite pleased with the results. Cardinal Beetles live under the bark of living or dead trees as do their larvae, so it was probably no coincidence that I saw this beetle so close to the Cloven Ash.

Pendulous Sedge.

Ramsons.

Later, after a late lunch, and with a recharged camera battery, I was out again for a short turn by the Cove and across The Lots.

The Cove.

There was only really one reason I’d come this way….

Orchids on The Lots!

…more abundance. I’m sure I’ve seen figures for this year, but I can’t seem to find them online, however, I did find a quote of over five thousand Early Purple Orchids and more than eleven thousand Green-winged Orchids for 2022.

Of the two fields, only the northern one has orchids, and on the steep bank at the northern end of that field, where the orchids all seemed to be Green-winged, I was chuffed to find a great deal of Kidney Vetch too.

Kidney Vetch.

Green-winged Orchid.

Green-winged Orchid.

Early Purple Orchids.

Whilst I was crawling around taking photos at the other end of the field a chap asked me if I could distinguish between the two orchids. I can, but I made an absolute hash of explaining how.

Early Purple Orchid.

The Early Purples have been flowering longer, are generally taller, don’t have the fine green stripes on the flowers or the prominent spots, which are on the leaves instead.

Green-winged Orchid.

I tend to think that the Green-winged Orchids are more often found in unusual colours: pinks and whites, but this spring there were a number of white Early Purples too.

Early Purple Orchid – white form?

The following day I was out further afield, doing a longer walk in unfamiliar terrain and with even more satisfying results.

Strike Day = Hike Day

Cove Road – Holgates – Far Arnside – River Kent – New Barns – New Barns Road – High Knott Road – Redhill Wood – Arnside Knott – Heathwaite – Hollins Farm – Holgates – Cove Road.

Honesty

So, I’ve been striking recently. Apparently, our Unions are now telling us, we’ve won and the fighting is over. It feels like a pretty Pyrrhic victory to me, but I’ve edited out the little rant which was originally here and will leave it at that. Anyway, as you may have gathered, on strike days I withdrew my labour, but I didn’t feel inclined to stand on a picket line, or to march with a placard. Instead, I went for a walk. (Actually, on some days I ended up working at home, for nothing, to keep on top of the paperwork, more fool me).

This route was one of the variations of a walk around the coast to Arnside and back over the Knott, but you won’t find many of the familiar views here, partly because it was a very hazy day, so that the views weren’t as fine as they usually are, and partly because there were so many other distractions for me and my camera. I didn’t get far from the house before I’d stopped to photograph the multicoloured display of wildflowers along the lane: purple Honesty, yellow and orange Welsh Poppies, tiny white flowers of Garlic Mustard, the yellow suns of Dandelions and the deep blues of Green Alkanet.

Green Alkanet.

This alkanet was a little further from home, but not much: it was sitting on the bank along Cove Road. It always seems to attract lots of pollinators, particularly bees, so I paused to investigate and wasn’t disappointed…

Hoverfly – Rhingia Campestris.

Osmia bicornis, Red Mason-bee, male.

Solitary bees don’t necessarily live alone – I think they can often nest in proximity to one another – but they don’t live in a hive. All of the females are fertile and there are no worker bees. Female mason bees construct a nest using an existing hole or crevice and some form of building material. In the case of Red Mason-bees I think the building material is mud. From what I’ve read, males exist solely to mate and have a fairly short life in their adult form, so I was perhaps lucky to photograph a couple of these tiny creatures during this walk.

Bombus pascuorum – Common Carder Bee.

The Common Carder Bee is a Bumblebee and considerably bigger than the mason bee. They do seem to be fairly common in this area at least. They also seem to have a penchant for blue and purple flowers, which complement their ginger colouring perfectly, although I’m not sure that its vanity which drives their choice.

Cowslips.

Male Blackbird.

Dandelions.

This field between Holgates Caravan Park and Far Arnside had a single strip covered with Dandelions between the path and the fence.

Small White butterfly (I think).

I wasn’t the only one appreciating the abundant Dandelions.

Honey Bee.

At the edge of the field before reaching the road at Far Arnside, the path passes a small copse, and at the edge of those trees there’s a big patch of Nettles. There’s often lots to see amongst Nettles and I chose to step off the path to see what I could find.

Harlequin Ladybird (I think).

Hoverfly – possibly Epistrophe eligans.

If you look closely, you can glimpse the photographer in this one – this is my idea of a perfect selfie!

A Nomad Bee – species hard to determine from a photo apparently.

I’ve joined several Natural History forums on Facebook and am learning a lot as a consequence. Nomad bees are completely new to me. They’re cleptoparasites, which means they lay their eggs in the nest of a different species and the young will eat the food provided by their hosts for their own young – just like cuckoos. Nomad bees pick mining bee nests, amongst others, with some species possibly targeting a specific host species, whilst others might be less choosey.

7-spot Ladybird.

Sarcophaga carnaria. A flesh fly.

Sloe Bug – Dolycoris baccarum.

Green Dock Beetle, Gastrophysa viridula, female.

Mating Green Dock Beetles and photo-bombing weevil, possibly Phyllobius argentatus.

There were some Docks amongst the Nettles, and Green Dock Beetles on both.

Green Dock Beetles and weevil again. There are several green species of weevil, so this identification is even more tentative than the rest.

Yellow Dung Fly – Scathophaga stercoraria.

Another Harlequin Ladybird. Probably.

All that from one little patch of Nettles. Keeps me occupied.

Swallow.

I think this is a Mistle Thrush, rather than a Song Thrush, but I’m not entirely confident.

Honey Bee.

The hedges in the caravan park at Far Arnside were alive with Honey Bees, which were surprisingly difficult to photograph on the tiny hanging white flowers.

At the edge of the park, there was a fabulous display of spring flowers.

Bugle.

Another male Red Mason-bee.

Another 7-spot Ladybird.

I have a blurred photo of a Bee-fly here, which was notable because it was poking it’s very long proboscis into Ground Ivy flowers and not the Primroses which they seem to favour.

Daisies, Ground Ivy and a tiny bee.

Ground Ivy flowers are superficially similar to Bugle, so the two could be confused, but the leaves are completely different.

Andrena tarsata, female. Tormentil Mining Bee. On Spring Cinquefoil?

I’m told that this is a Tormentil Mining Bee, which is nationally scarce, so I hope that it’s true. But I’ve also read that Tormentil Mining Bees rely on the pollen from Tormentil and whilst this flower is a Potentilla, a related species, it’s definitely not Tormentil which likes acid soil and, crucially, has four petals not five. This bee unwittingly plays host to the larvae of the even rarer Tormentil Nomad Bee. I shall be on the lookout, now that I know!

Looking to Grange.

Cockle.

A view of Arnside Knott and White Creek from the sands.

Red-breasted Mergansers on the River Kent.

Hoverfly – possibly Syrphus ribesii.

Hoverfly – could be Cheilosia pagana.

Forget-me-nots.

Holly Blue butterfly on Cotoneaster.

Honesty.

The path by Dobshall Wood.

Herb Paris.

Herb Paris flower.

Dog Mercury.

Dog Mercury and Herb Paris are closely related, but Dog Mercury is much, much more common.

Teesdale Violet.

The Teesdale Violets near the top of Arnside Knott, were caged to stop them running away. Probably. Or to stop the Rabbits chomping them. Because Teesdale Violets are rare – apparently a few have been spotted at sites in Wales. Other than that, they can be found in Teesdale, as you might expect, and on Ingleborough and Arnside Knott. The Arnside variety are special because the flowers are white rather than the usual blue. I think you would need to be an expert to know that these weren’t plain old Dog Violets, but the cage was a bit of a give-away. Also – I saw a tip-off in yet another Facebook group.

Cuckoo Pint.

Few-flowered Leek and other Curios.

Coral-root.

On the day after B’s big night out, he was playing rugby in the afternoon, and I was accompanying as usual, but in the morning TBH and I did our usual Sunday circuit through Fleagarth Wood and around Jenny Brown’s Point. By the end of April, there were all sorts of flowers along the verge of Lindeth Road, our route back into the village. I was particularly taken by the Coral Root, which seems to crop up somewhere in this part of the village each spring. Whilst it’s a plant which is native to the UK, it’s probably a garden escapee in this area.

Few-flowered Leek

This was new plant to me. Definitely not a native plant, Few-flowered Leek is regarded as an invasive pest and, as such, it’s illegal to cause it to spread in the wild. On the plus side, apparently it’s very nice to eat – just don’t put any trimmings in your compost or it may take over your garden. It will be interesting to see whether it spreads along the lane over coming springs.

Stormy weather over the Bay from Caton Moor.

On the Monday evening, Little S was at Explorers in Littledale. Since I was dropping him off and then bringing him back later, I parked up on Caton Moor, by the wind-farm, and enjoyed the views.

And the sunsetting over Black Combe from almost the same spot.

The first May Bank Holiday weekend, when we would usually be camping in Wasdale with our old cronies, was a busy one again. We had a dance show in Newcastle to attend on the Saturday and the North-West Colts rugby final on the Sunday. Unlike last year, Kirkby Lonsdale didn’t win. On the plus side, I’m assured that the ref has been offered spectacles for his future outings.

Early Purple Orchid.

On the Bank Holiday Monday, TBH and I were out for a local stroll, through Fleagarth Wood again, but then across Quaker’s Stang, to Crag Foot, across the lower slopes of Warton Crag to Summerhouse Hill and back via Leighton Moss.

TBH walking through Ramsons in bloom near Crag Foot.

Leighton Moss.

Through the woods.

The path from Crag Foot to Peter Lane is one we don’t walk that often, but perhaps we should: it’s quiet and in places rather lovely.

Large boulders.

Another large boulder on Summerhouse Hill.

TBH enjoying the view from Summerhouse Hill.

Unidentified small caterpillar.

Orrest Head and School Knott.

View of Windermere and the Langdale Pikes from the car park on the A592.

B turned 18. Many of his friends turned 18 at around the same time, so they decided to have a day out in Windermere. Spoiler alert: it was expensive! Who’d have thought. Anyway, you can probably guess my part in this story – yep, B needed a lift to Windermere. Guess what else – in the wee small hours he and some of his friends wanted picking up from a nightclub in Bowness and bringing home.

B hadn’t managed to siddle out of his shift in the kitchen at the local hotel, so needed to go late in the afternoon. I decided, as usual, to make a virtue of necessity and get out for a walk whilst I was there.

A grand house in Windermere.

Having left B to his revelry, I parked towards the northern end of Windermere and then snaked-up past some gorgeous looking houses. I’ll take two of those, if I win big on the lottery.

Another grand Windermere property.

I don’t do the lottery, so I’m not holding my breath.

Windermere from Elleray Bank.

My route spiralled in on Orrest Head, so that I ended-up approaching the summit from the opposite side to Windermere.

The hills around Kentmere.

The north end of Windermere from Orrest Head.

Looking south along Windermere from Orrest Head.

The hills around Kentmere from Orrest Head.

Orrest Head was quite busy, but probably not as busy as it would have been earlier in the day.

Wood Sorrel in Common Wood. The leaves have a lovely citrusy flavour.

From Orrest Head, I took the permission path through Common Wood and back down into Windermere, conveniently close to Booths, where I picked up some snacks for a picnic tea.

A true statement.

Bulls, suckler cows and calves can be aggressive, that seems likely to be true. It’s a bit irrelevant, however, if there are no bulls, cows or calves in the field beyond the gate bearing this aggressive message. In my experience, there never are, when a sign like this is on display, although there often are in other fields without such a warning. Once upon a time, it was illegal to put a bull in a field with a public footpath through it. Now, it’s illegal to put a bull in a field with a footpath through it, unless the bull in under 10 months old, or is of a non-dairy breed and is with cows or heifers. So that’s simple. Presumably, whilst the bull is stomping you to a pulp, you can enquire about its age, breed and the company he is keeping. Guess who changed the law? I’ll give you a clue: rhymes with milk-snatcher. To be fair, I’ve never had a problem with a bull. Suckler cows, on the other hand are another matter.

Anyway, with my picnic snacks, I climbed School Knott. Originally, I’d intended to climb Grand Sire too, but it seemed likely that I would miss the best view of the sunset by doing so, so decided to leave that for another day.

School Knott pano – Orrest Head and Banner Rigg in the middle distance.

Sunset.

I found a sheltered spot on School Knott and sat down to enjoy my tea and to take lots of very similar pictures of the sunset over Windermere.

Post sunset.

It was really rather good, if a bit parky.

All that remained was a surprisingly long walk back across the town to my car.

Oh, and a late return to collect some half-cut youths.

The view from the car park again.

Only about 6 miles, but it felt much further somehow.

Forgot to start the app. Doh!

Back to Work

Male Blackbird.

The first week back to work after our Easter break, and I was out locally on three evenings, finishing in the dark each time. The first walk was a wander to Woodwell and past Wolfhouse, then an ascent of Arnside Knott and finally, when B was driving to rugby practice, I got him to drop me off in Yealand Redmayne and walked home from there, taking a circuitous route through the little crater on Cringlebarrow know as Deepdale, then along a slight path, which I’ve never found before, which seemed to crest the Cringlebarrow ridge, and with a bit of scrambling on boulders offered a bit of a view through the trees, and then back via Yealand Allotment, Thrang Brow, Hawes Water and Eaves wood.

Male Chaffinch.

There are no photos here from the first walk, but plenty from the other two.

Blackthorn blossom, late light.

Fissured tree-trunk with sunset lighting.

River Kent and Lakeland Fells from Arnside Knott sunset pano.

River Kent and Coniston Fells sunset.

Morecambe Bay sunset afterglow.

I had the bright idea that I could walk back to Silverdale across the sands, but it was immediately obvious that the tide had been high and the mud was soft and yielding and not at all inviting, so I abandoned that plan.

An early star (a planet I guess) from Far Arnside.

Sign on a bench above Yealand Redmayne.

As if I didn’t already have enough hare-brained schemes on the go, I’ve been thinking that, when I retire, I might seek out and use all of the many benches within the AONB, perhaps have a brew there, maybe a picnic, catalogue and rate them all – the kind of pointless and obsessive venture which appeals to me. This bench, on the edge of the woods, seemed like a very good example of the kind, although I didn’t have time to stop and sit on this occasion.

The view – Farleton Fell and Hutton Roof.

Dropping into Deepdale.

I took some photographs of large paw-prints in the mud on one of the paths on Cringlebarrow – getting overly excited about the possibility that they were badger prints, but soon confirmed, once home, that they actually belonged to a dog.

Late sun through the trees.

Cringlebarrow view – sort of.

That early ‘star’ again – this time from Eaves Wood.

Blackthorn Days

Blackthorn blossom.

Another portmanteau post to catch-up on several walks, rounding off our Easter break. The walks, over several days were: an early morning Arnside Knott walk, an evening stroll across the Lots and to The Cove, a slightly extended Jenny Brown’s Point circuit, starting through Eaves wood, and a couple of walks in the Gait Barrows and Hawes Water area.

Magpie.

It seemed to take an age this year for the Blackthorn blossom to appear, and then, when it did finally arrive, it didn’t last very long, or at least, that’s how it felt to me.

Wren.

I hear and see Wrens a lot when I’m out and about, but rarely get a chance to photograph them – unless they’re feeling particularly territorial and pick a perch to stake a claim…

Singing Wren.

Female Chaffinch.

Warbler – possibly a Chiff-chaff?

I’m guilty of assuming that any warbler I see is a Chiff-chaff, although in the woods you can hear them almost all the time in spring and early summer so it may not be that daft an assumption.

Arnside Knott pano – extremely hazy.

Cloudy evening at The Cove.

Walkers on Quaker’s Stang – Clougha Pike beyond.

Godwits?

Not a great photo, I know, but I’ve seen many photos online this year of Godwits at Leighton Moss and the colour of these birds makes me think that these might be some of those. It’s here to remind me, next year, that I need to get down to the hides to see them properly for myself.

Early Bluebells by Jenny Brown’s Point.

Humphrey Head and Grange across the Bay.

The Wolf House.

Rabbit.

Blackcap.

The refurbished Summer House by Hawes Water.

The beck between Little Hawes Water and Hawes Water.

Very busy with small fish on this occasion.

Lots of Blackthorn in the hedge, but just one bush flowering.

Blackthorn flowers and a hoverfly, possibly a Drone Fly.

Another Drone Fly?

As well as being liberally festooned with flowers, this Blackthorn was attracting a host of insects. I spent quite a while snapping away, capturing as many as I could, thinking I was probably getting a variety of bees and hoverflies, only to find that the photos all seem to show the same species of hoverfly. Not to worry – it kept me happy for a while anyway.

Robin.

Willow Catkins.

Footpath through Gait Barrows.

The verges of this track through Gait Barrows had a fabulous display of Primroses. I’ve been thinking that this was a vindication of the management plans of the current warden of the reserve, but then I realised that Primroses and Cowslips, both food plants of the rare Duke of Burgundy butterfly, have been planted out around the reserve. Anyway, however they get there, I really appreciate them when they’re flowering.

Dark-edged Bee-fly, Bombylius Major. Possibly female.

I’m not the only one. Dark-edged Bee-flies are very fond of them too. I did see them on other flowers this spring, but most of the time, they’re on, or close too Primroses.

A Bee and a Violet.

Catkins, proving to be a bit of a puzzle – maybe Hornbeam?

Warbler – Chiff-chaff?

I got very excited about the possibility that these warblers weren’t Chiff-chaffs, because they weren’t chiff-chaffing, but then I discovered that Chiff-chaffs also have contact calls, and so now I’m not so sure.

Warbler – Chiff-chaff?

Robin.

Blue Tit.

I don’t know whether this is a male or a female, since Im getting by on human colour perception…

The blue tit (Parus caeruleus) has been classified as sexually monochromatic. This classification is based on human colour perception yet, unlike humans, most birds have four spectrally distinct classes of cone and are visually sensitive to wavelengths in the near–ultraviolet (300 to 400 nm). Reflectance spectrophotometry reveals that blue tit plumage shows considerable reflection of UV light. For example, the blue crest shows peak reflectance at wavelengths around 352 nm. Furthermore, the blue tit is sexually dichromatic for multiple regions of plumage, including the crest. Choice trials performed in the laboratory indicate that females prefer males with the brightest crests. This study has implications for both intra– and interspecific studies of sexual selection, as well as future classification of dichromatism, which should not ignore the possibility of variation in reflectance in the UV.

Source

If this is a male, I hope, for his sake, that he has a really bright crest.

Tiny waterfall on Leighton Beck.

Fields by Black Dike.

These fields had until recently been flooded. It looked as though the dike been dredged. It was a pleasant surprise to find that I could walk home this way, especially since I’d walked past this path only a few days before…

Small bridge, very recently submerged.

To see it completely underwater and definitely unpassable without waders.

Peacock Butterfly.

Gait Barrows scenery.

Comma Butterfly.

I saw a lot of Brimstone butterflies this spring, but they refused to pose for photos. The same is true, to a certain extent, of Orange-tips. This Comma was more obliging.

Dark-edged Bee-fly, Bombylius Major. Male.

It’s unusual to see a bee-fly with its wings not in motion. Even when they aren’t hovering, they still rapidly flutter their wings, which, in the case of Dark-edged Bee-flies, can make it look like they have tiny little bat-wings too small to fly with, because the clear part of the wing isn’t immediately obvious. I know that this is a male because his eyes meet in the middle. Females have a pronounced gap between their eyes.

Warbler. Chiff-chaff?

I watched a pair of birds carrying nesting material, including the feather in the photo here. I have lots of photos of them slightly out-of-focus or obscured by a branch, but for once, my patience paid-off and I managed a solitary sharp image.

Gait Barrows.

Willow Catkins, and a pollen-covered Hoverfly?

Cairn on the limestone pavement.

View across the limestone pavement.

Arnside Knott seen across the limestone pavement.

Long-tailed Tit.

Path through the limestone.

Ash flowers.

Nuthatch.

Herb Paris.

Blackcap.

I rarely see Blackcaps, and then I see two in consecutive days. Easter is a great time for walks around home, because the birds are all busy and, with no leaves on the trees, there’s more chance than usual of catching a photo.

Back at home, our lawn had been raked again by our mysterious nocturnal visitors…

New scratches in our lawn.