Harrop Tarn, Armboth Fell, Blea Tarn Fell.

A first view of Thirlmere.

The weekend after Whit week, and I was back at Thirlmere. This time I’d parked at Steel End where, despite road signs to the contrary, the road is still open, although it is closed beyond that. The reason I’d chosen to come this way, was that last summer, when I’d been gleefully ticking off Wainwrights with abandon, I walked the boggy central spine of the Lakes, from High Raise to Bleaberry Fell, but I’d missed Armboth Fell, which lies to the east of the central ridge. (I use the term ‘ridge’ very loosely here!). After a lengthy spell of very dry weather, this seemed like the perfect opportunity to make that good.
Ideally, I’d have been starting the walk from the next car park north, at Dobgill Bridge, but, as I say, the road was closed. So instead I needed to use the permission path along the lakeshore to get to my intended starting point.

Wythburn and Steel Fell.

What a happy accident that was, since this path was lovely, and absolutely stuffed with wildlife, so that the walk (and, by extension, this post too) became a bit of a hybrid between my hill walking and my slow, local walks where I stop every few steps to snap away with my camera.
By the lake there were loads of birds: a Heron, Greylag and Canada Geese and lots of gulls. If I’d had a pair of binoculars with me, I’m might have been there for hours.

Common Sandpiper.

I think this might have been a juvenile sandpiper; it kept flying short distances ahead of me, so that I gradually gained on it, which strikes me as typical behaviour of a young bird.
This sandpiper…

Common Sandpiper.

…was nearby and making quite a racket, so I took it to be a concerned parent. Of course, I could be completely wrong.

Grey Wagtail.

Thirlmere.

Foxgloves.

Keeled Skimmer, female. My first.

The path was soon away from the reservoir shore and in the trees and I was chasing after moths and butterflies, not always with success. In particular, there were some fritillaries about which I did eventually manage to photograph, but only from a considerable distance, so that the photos are not sufficient for identification purposes. Fortunately, I would get better chances later in the day.

The brambles were flowering in profusion, and that seemed to attract a host of insects of various forms.

Large Skipper Butterfly.

Hoverfly, Eristalis intricaria, male.

There were hosts of hoverflies and bees about, but they were extremely elusive, so whilst I have a lot of photographs, there’s only really this one which is up to scratch.

Crane fly. Possibly Tipula Unca, male.

A Robber Fly?

Large Skipper Butterfly.

Garden Chafer Beetles, Phyllopertha horticola.

There were lots and lots of these about. They were constantly on the move, so I took loads of photographs, hoping that I would have at least one which was reasonably clear and sharp.

Garden Chafer Beetles.

Sawfly, possibly Tenthredo mesomela.

Large Skipper Butterfly.

Helina impuncta.

These flies with orange at the base of their wings were also quite ubiquitous, always on flowers.

Green-veined White Butterfly.

Speckled Wood Butterfly.

Felled forestry by Dob Gill.

Once I reached Dobgill Bridge, I turned uphill, away from Thirlmere, on a very familiar path which had changed beyond all recognition, since the forestry through which the path used to rise had largely been clear-felled.

Small Heath Butterfly.

Once the path entered the trees, it seemed clear that it isn’t used as heavily as it used to be (before the road was closed) and the trees were encroaching on the path.

Dob Gill.

Dob Gill flowing out of Harrop Tarn.

Where Dob Gill leaves Harrop Tarn there were once again lots of fritillary butterflies about, which I chased to no avail, but there were also, without exaggeration, hundreds of Four-spotted Chaser Dragonflies about, with which I had a bit more success…

Four-spotted Chaser Dragonfly.

Four-spotted Chaser Dragonfly.

Caddis Fly.

I think that this is a Caddis Fly. Closed related to lepidoptera, apparently, there are 196 species in the UK and Google Lens is not giving me much help in pinning this one down.

Bog Bean.

The Bog Bean had mostly finished flowering, so I had to content myself with a photo of this one, which was quite far out into the water.

Yellow Water-lily.

Harrop Tarn.

I continued around the tarn a little way and then found a small path making a beeline for the shingle beach you can just about see on the extreme right of this photo.

Small Pearl-bordered Fritillary Butterfly.

As I approached the tarn, I finally managed to get a photo of one of the butterflies which had been eluding me: a Small Pearl-bordered Fritillary.
Down by the tarn, there were lots more…

Small Pearl-bordered Fritillaries.

I was intending to swim, but first I was distracted by a profusion of butterflies, dragonflies and damselflies which were about.

Large Red Damselfly.

When I eventually dragged myself away, the beach was perfect: it shelves steeply so that two strides and I was in. The sun shone; the water was cool, but not cold; there were constant splashes around me as fish (brown trout?) leapt from the water to take flies; dragonflies and damselflies skittered about just above the surface of the tarn. In short, it was idyllic, and I took a leisurely tour widdershins around the tarn.

Once out of the water, I was busy again taking no end of photos.

Brown trout fry?

Brown trout fry?

Four-spotted Chaser.

Four-spotted Chaser, male.

There were both blue and red damselflies about, but predominantly red. It was hard to get photos, because they were constantly on the move, perhaps because they didn’t want to fall prey to the Four-spotted Chasers which were also abundant.

Mating pair of Large Red Damselflies.

Even the mating Large Red Damselflies, of which there were many, many pairs, kept flying about, with the male still grasping the female by the neck.

Mating pair of Large Red Damselflies.

On the right here, she is laying eggs, whilst he is still in flight, hovering, hence the blurred wings.

Mating pair of Large Red Damselflies.

Mating pair of Large Red Damselflies.

I have several more photos of mating pairs, so there is obviously a healthy population here.

Wolf spiders, female and male.

Golden Ringed Dragonfly flying above Mosshause Gill.

There was one, or possibly two, Golden Ringed Dragonflies flying very quickly along Mosshause Gill, which flows into the tarn near to the shingle beach. It’s a large and spectacular dragonfly, but was moving to quickly for me to manage any photographs. Since the flights along the stream were regular and predictable, I decided to stand in the stream bed to try to capture an image of the dragonflies, and you can sort of see one in the photo above. I have better photos, here from a few years ago.

Tadpoles.

The path through the forest was hot work. When I reached open country, I turned sharp right, along the edge of the trees to head for Brown Rigg…

Brown Rigg.

Tormentil.

Blea Tarn Fell/Bell Crags.

Brown Rigg is one of those Birketts which take you off the beaten path and make Birkett bagging well worth while. From Brown Rigg there’s a fine view of a rocky little top called either Blea Tarn Fell according to Birkett, or Bell Crags in the Fellranger books by my name-sake Mark Richards.

Blea Tarn Fell from Brown Rigg.

Whatever the name, it’s a really handsome fell and another which it would be a shame to miss. First though, I had unfinished business…

Armboth Fell (in the shade).

Ordinarily, I think this route would be madness, but I was able to head down to Launchy Tarn and then climb from there on to Armboth Fell. I won’t say it was dry, but it was dry enough.

Small Heath Butterfly.

Looking back to Brown Rigg.

Red Deer hinds.

Run away!

Years ago, I used to bivvy with friends in this area, above Harrop Tarn, and then explore the rather complex, boggy and empty terrain between there, Ullscarf and High Seat. I have a real soft-spot for this area, partly because it a great place to see Red Deer.

Another Four-spotted Chaser.

I was still seeing Four-spotted Chasers, wherever there was a bit of open water.

I had wondered about another dip, in Launchy Tarn, but it didn’t look deep enough, or particularly inviting.

Launchy Tarn.

Wild Thyme.

Armboth Fell.

This rocky little rib gives Armboth Fell a quite dramatic top, not at all in keeping with the rest of the hill. I did visit a couple of other nearby knolls, just in case they were higher!

High Tove.

From Armboth Fell, it’s a fairly short walk to High Tove. I think that’s about the most that can be said for High Tove.

Looking back to Armboth Fell, Helvellyn behind.

High Seat.

The walk southward along the ridge was actually pleasant with little sign of the extreme boginess which usually presides here. I made sure to summit every little outcrop, since there are numerous Birketts this way.

Standing Crag, Ullscarf, Low Saddle, Blea Tarn.

I had been planning to include a swim in Blea Tarn, but it had clouded up, and I suspected that time was marching on. (My new phone arrived while I was out, so without a phone, I didn’t know the time. Quite odd – but in a pleasant way, since I had all the hours that June daylight affords to complete my walk.)

Blea Tarn Fell.

From Blea Tarn Fell, looking down to Armboth Fell, Launchy Tarn and Brown Rigg.

Blea Tarn Fell and/or Bell Crags really is a cracker, with superb views, I can definitely recommend it.

High Seat and Armboth Fell.

Very neat sheepfold.

From there I returned to Harrop tarn and then took the footpath down the edge of the forestry back to Dobgill Bridge, then back along the shore to my car. The path turned out to be very rocky and a bit awkward – I think I prefer the path I used on the way up.
I did see these Butterwort by going that way…

Common Butterwort.

Fly trap!

“Common butterwort is an insectivorous plant. Its bright yellow-green leaves excrete a sticky fluid that attracts unsuspecting insects; once trapped, the leaves slowly curl around their prey and digest it. The acidic bogs, fens and damp heaths that common butterwort lives in do not provide it with enough nutrients, so it has evolved this carnivorous way of life to supplement its diet.”

Source

A terrific day, with lots of interest. Harrop tarn has shot to the top of my list of favourite places to swim and Blea Tarn Fell has firmly cemented its place in my affections. I can definitely see myself coming back this way in June next year: I fancy a wild camp in this neck of the woods.

No MapMyWalk stats or map, for obvious reasons, but here’s a map so that you can trace my route for yourself:

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.

Party Boat on the Saranac Lakes.

Adirondacks Day 7

Our home for the day.

For our relatives a summer trip to the Adirondacks is as regular a summer fixture as our own visits to the Llyn Peninsula are for us. One tradition they’ve established is to rent a Pontoon, or Party, Boat and to spend a day on the Saranac Lakes.

Saranac Lakes Map.

This map gives some idea of the complexity of the Saranac chain of lakes. I liked this hand drawn one, because it picks out the Saranac 6. Incidentally, the body of water south of Ampersand Mountain is Ampersand Lake, which allegedly resembles an ampersand sign and hence gives its name to all of the many ‘ampersand’ features in the area.

To be honest, I’m a bit sketchy about our itinerary for the day, but I think we started at the marina on Lower Saranac Lake, travelled through First and Second Ponds and the lock on the Saranac River into Oseetah Lake, briefly into Lake Flower, retracing our route then into Middle Saranac Lake, via another lock, for lunch at Ampersand Beach. I’m not sure whether we ventured into Upper Saranac Lake or not. I do know that we stopped off at several islands for a bit of swimming and leaping into the water.

Captain A at the helm.

Don’t let the blue skies fool you, there was a strong wind blowing and for the first time on our trip it was really quite cool.

B takes the wheel.

It was great fun steering the boat and I think we all took a turn. It was safest when I was driving, not due to any nautical prowess on my part, but because that meant I wasn’t blundering about elsewhere on the boat. A couple of times I stood too close to the front, which over-balanced the boat, plunging the front under the water and leaving us all ankle deep. The boat seemed to handle that indignity with ease, but it was a bit alarming.

‘Little’ S takes charge.

I didn’t take any photos of the locks sadly, each of which we had to go through twice, partly because I was steering on some of those occasions and partly because it was ‘all-hands-on-deck’ when we went through to ensure we didn’t bang into the locks, the lock walls or any other boats.

W steering.

Given that the boat was essentially a very well-appointed raft, it was surprisingly nippy, although not when I was steering.

Bluff Island (on the right).

The boys had been hearing all about Bluff Island, and potential feats of derring-do, ever since we booked our flights, but initially we took a look and promised them that we would come back later.

Mist rising off the water – en route to First Pond.

Mist was rising off the Saranac River in a very atmospheric way, my photos don’t really do it justice.

A Bald Eagle flew along the channel ahead of us. It is in the photo below, but it’s so tiny you can’t really see it.

Bald Eagle – honest!

In a channel.

Mind those buoys.

All of the channels, and some parts of the lakes too, are marked out with regular buoys to show where the water is deep enough. Never-the-less, some sections were very shallow, and that, combined with submerged rocks in places, meant some real caution was required at times.

A view to Ampersand Mountain?

The boat had a fishing sonar and we had rods with us but I can’t recall anyone actually catching any fish at any point. Fishing was a regular activity during our trip. The boys did occasionally catch something, but not often. Their success rate was probably roughly on a par with Whitehouse and Mortimer, who seem to catch a solitary fish every episode.

Lakeside Properties.

There were lots of amazing lakeside properties and speculating on how much they might cost became a keen topic of our conversation.

Living on an island – oh boy we’re having fun.

Some of the properties were on their won private islands. In the photo above what you can see is the boathouse, the house itself is behind in the trees. The people sat outside in the sun on the patio looked very relaxed.

Captain A’s dream home?

I remember that my brother-in-law was very taken with this rather trim looking island property.

Lake views.

Benches – very comfortable unless Mischief decided to share.

The boat was very comfortable. In the early part of the day lying down on a bench meant you were out of the wind, a definite bonus.

More islands.

After we’d had lunch we came back to this island. There were people picnicking there so we anchored next to one of the adjacent islands and me and the boys swam to have an explore. The island had a couple of campgrounds – they seem to be dotted all over the area. They each have a fire-pit and a toilet and can be rented out.

The picnickers moved on, so we then swam to the rocky little island and I think the boys found some spots for jumping in.

Anyway, I’m getting ahead of myself, before we did all that, we landed at Ampersand Beach for lunch. The water is very shallow there and Captain A kicked the DBs overboard to tow the boat ashore…he may have been a pirate Captain in a previous existence.

Towing the boat through the shallows to Ampersand beach.

Ampersand beach and Ampersand Mountain?

In some ways this photo is one of several which neatly encapsulate our visit to the Adirondacks: stunning scenery, beautiful beach, nobody about.

Beached.

More Lake Views.

And more.

We’d promised the boys a trip to Bluff Island and we made good on our promise, despite some misgivings. The next two photos are actually videos, if you click on them you’ll be able to watch them on flickr.

First, W and M jumping from a great height…

The mega leap.

And then the DBs leaping from far too high…

The mega-mega leap.

This seems to be a very well known spot, but not a challenge many take on. The DBs gathered a bit of an audience of other boatloads when they jumped.

After doing this jump a couple of times each, the DBs declared themselves satisfied. We motored a short distance to a spot with some rather more sedate opportunities for jumping in, tame enough that even I gave it a go.

We had a deadline for returning the boat, and all the other rentals must have been working to the same timings because as we headed into the marina there was a bit of a race to get in and secure a berth.

Heading back to the marina.

An absolutely fantastic day which will live long in the memory.

Following J-Dawg down the Dordogne

An idyllic lunch stop.

So, once again, we rented canoes and kayaks and paddled down the Dordogne. It’s the obvious thing to do frankly, and it’s hard to think of a finer way to spend a day.

TJS, TSS, LS and TJF take a dip in the Dordogne.

We stopped for a swim in this spot last time we visited the Dordogne, and I was very much looking forward to doing the same again. I’d brought goggles because I was confident that there would plenty of fish to see in this stretch of water, and I wasn’t disappointed. As on our previous visit, I followed a large fish which had barbels around it’s mouth (a Barbel then?) which was also being followed by around a dozen smaller, stripy fish, possibly Perch?

B realises that his kayak will double up as a stand-up paddle board.

Most of the party opted for solo kayaks, but our friend J-Dawg (who has been burdened, by her daughters, with a whole host of nicknames) was concerned that she would find herself continually going around in circles and getting left behind, so I joined her in a larger canoe. Now, I’m hardly an expert paddler, but I can generally get a boat to travel in something approaching a straight line, ironically using something called a J-stroke, or my inexpert approximation to same. To be honest, the canoe was very comfortable and an excellent choice.

TBF on the left, the raft is the younger members of our party.

But one result of this arrangement is that I have a lot of photos of the view downriver which feature J-Dawg’s life-jacket and fetching pink bucket-hat in the foreground.

TBH looking very happy.

Roque-Gageac

B in more conventional canoeing style.

Château de la Malartrie

Castelnaud-la-Chapelle

Château de Beynac

All-in-all, a fantastic day’s outing.

Bonanza

Lambert’s Meadow

Another walk during which I took more than two hundred photos. This was a longer walk than the last one I posted about, taking in Lambert’s Meadow and parts of Gait Barrows. It was still only around five miles, which, in ‘butterfly mode’ kept me occupied for three hours.

Yellow composites – can’t identify them, but they look good.

Another Seven-spot Ladybird on a Spear Thistle.

Meadow Brown

White-lipped Snail and a Copse Snail.

I was looking at something else altogether, when I noticed that a patch of nettles on the perimeter of lambert’s Meadow were surprisingly busy with snails.

Whilst most snails in the UK live for only a year or two, apparently Copse Snails can live for up to seventeen, which seems pretty extraordinary.

Another White-lipped Snail?

White-lipped Snail.

Another Copse Snail?

Common Spotted-orchid.

Meadow Brown.

Ringlet.

Meadow Brown.

There were some Comma butterflies about too, but they were more elusive and my photos didn’t come out too well.

A St. John’s Wort – possibly Pale St. John’s Wort.

Busy Marsh Thistle.

A faded Bumblebee?

I suspect that this Bumblebee was once partly yellow, but has faded with age. A bit like my powers of recall.

Male Large Skipper.

Female Brown Hawker.

Lambert’s Meadow was superb this summer. It felt like every visit brought something new to see. I can’t remember ever having seen a Brown Hawker before, so was excited to see this one. In flight it looked surprisingly red.

Later I saw another…

Brown Hawker.

…this time high on a tree trunk. I’ve read that they usually hunt in the canopy, so I was very lucky to get so close to the first that I saw. The fact that they generally haunt the treetops probably explains why I haven’t spotted one before.

I love the way the light is passing through dragonfly’s wings and casting those strange shadows on the tree trunk.

Guelder Rose berries.

Male Small Skipper.

Great Willowherb

As I made my way slowly around the meadow, I noticed that a group of four walkers had stopped by some tall vegetation, mostly Figwort and Great Willowherb, at the edge of the field and were enthusiastically brandishing their phones to take pictures of something in amongst the plants. I had a fair idea what they might have seen.

Female Broad-bodied Chaser

Female Broad-bodied Chaser.

Male Broad-bodied Chaser.

There were a number of Broad-bodied Chasers there and, after the walkers had moved on, I took my own turn to marvel at their colours and snap lots of pictures. They’re surprisingly sanguine about you getting close to them with a camera.

Common Knapweed.

Male Small Skipper

A Sawfly – I think! On a Yarrow flowerhead.

This Sawfly was another first for me. I’ve spent a while trying to identify which species it belongs to, but have reluctantly admitted defeat. Depending on which source you believe, there are 400 to 500 different species of sawfly in Britain. They belong to the same order as bees, wasps and ants. If you’re wondering about the name, apparently female sawflies have a saw-like ovipositor with which they cut plants to create somewhere to lay their eggs.

Soldier Beetle on Ragwort.

There were Soldier Beetles everywhere, doing what Soldier Beetles do in the middle of summer. This one was highly unusual, because it was alone.

Meadow near Challan Hall.

Creeping Thistle.

Creeping Thistle is easy to distinguish from other thistles because of its mauve flowers. The fields near Challan Hall had several large patches dominated by it.

Red-tailed Bumblebee on Spear Thistle.

Ladies Bed-straw.

Swallow.

Burdock.

Three-spined Stickleback.

Three-spined Stickleback.

Leech.

I was watching a pair of Wrens which had a nest very close to the bridge over the stream which flows from Little Haweswater to Haweswater, and also watching the sticklebacks in the stream itself, when I noticed a strange black twig floating downstream. But then the ‘twig’ began to undulate and apparently alternately stretch and contract and move against the flow of the water. Soon I realised that there were several black, worm-like creatures in the water. Leeches. The UK has several species of leech, although many are very small, which narrows down what these might have been. I suspect that they are not Medicinal Leeches – the kind which might suck your blood, but the truth is I don’t know one way or the other.

Mushroom.

A wet spell after a long dry spell always seems to provoke a bumper crop of Field Mushrooms. This summer that happened much earlier than in 2018, when the fields were briefly full of mushrooms, and in not quite the same profusion, but for a few days every walk was enlivened by a few fungal snacks.

More mature mushroom.

I only eat the smaller mushrooms raw, before the cup has opened and whilst the gills are still pink. The bigger examples are very tasty fried and served on toast, but they need to be examined at home for any lurking, unwanted, extra sources of protein.

Gait Barrows Meadow.

Buzzard.

Self-heal.

Common Centuary

Common Centuary was growing all over the Gait Barrows meadows in a way I’ve never noticed before. I made numerous return visits, hoping to catch the flowers open, but unfortunately never saw them that way

Another Gait Barrows view.

A native allium – Wild Onion?

I think that this is Wild Onion, also known as Crow garlic. A lengthy section of the hedge-bottom along Moss Lane was full of it. These odd looking things are bulbils – which is how the plant spreads. Whilst trying to identify this plant, I came across photos of another native allium – Sand Leek – growing on the coast near Arnside. It’s very striking, but I’ve never spotted it. A target for next summer.

Mostly Flowers and Mother Shipton

Solomon’s-seal in Eaves Wood.

A very elegant plant, Solomon’s-seal, even if the flowers are hardly spectacular. We have some in our garden. There is a garden variety, a hybrid of Solomon’s-seal and angular Solomon’s-seal. Apparently, the hybrid is more vigorous than either of the parent plants, which makes me think that what’s growing in both Eaves Wood and our garden is probably not the garden variety, since neither show much inclination to spread.

Just after I took this photo, I spotted a pair of roe deer, I even managed to take a couple of blurred photos, one of which, rather comically, only shows the hind quarters of one of the deer. I think I photographed the same pair on another walk a few days later; they were memorable because one was still in the dull grey-brown of it’s winter coat whereas the other had upgraded to the golden-brown summer coat.

Every year a solitary sweet woodruff plant appears in the hedge bottom along the lane from home and I welcome it like the returning friend it is and wonder why I don’t see sweet woodruff elsewhere. This year I have found it in a couple of other places, most noticeably in Eaves Wood, where some trees have been cleared it has already spread over quite an area.

It was close to where the herb paris was now flowering…

Silverweed.

Crosswort.

Mayflower – the hawthorns had come into bloom.

Challan Hall.

Bird’s-foot trefoil and germander speedwell complementing each other very nicely.

Early forget-me-not. Perhaps. Minuscule flowers.

Salad burnet.

Mouse-ear-hawkweed.

I’m very fond of mouse-ear-hawkweed, principally, I think, because it’s just about the only yellow-flowered member of the daisy family which is easily identified, due to it’s downy leaves which have silvery undersides. The flowers are also noticeably paler than some of the hawkbits which it might otherwise resemble.

In the meadow by Challan Hall, I was very taken by the splash of blue provided by these germander speedwells. Not quite as breath-taking as the spring gentians I might have been visiting in Teesdale, if I’d felt a long drive to Teesdale was appropriate during lockdown, but not a bad substitute.

Wild strawberry flowers.

I wish I’d taken more care and had a few attempts to photograph this tiny-flowered plant in the woods by Hawes Water. I now think that it’s kidney saxifrage, a plant which is only native to Kerry and West Cork in Ireland, but which has been introduced in Britain.

I think I dismissed it as a garden escapee and moved on too quickly to look at more familiar plants!

Common gromwell – an architectural plant much more striking for its leaves than for its unremarkable flowers.

It took a while to track this down, but I now think that it’s winter cress. It’s bitter and peppery apparently and the leaves appear in December – hence the name.

This stream, unnamed on the OS map, flows through Little Hawes Water and into Hawes Water, then from Hawes Water through Hawes Water Moss, across the golf course and into Leighton Moss, so I suppose that ultimately it’s one of the sources of Quicksand Pool. The water was particularly clear so that I could see the three-spined stickleback.

Silvery for most of the year but, in breeding season, male acquires red belly and bluish dorsal sheen.

Collins Complete British Wildlife.

Tadpoles.

Brooklime.

A plant generally of streams, although these weren’t growing in an obviously wet spot. The flowers are instantly recognisable as speedwell flowers, and brooklime belongs to the Veronica genus with the speedwells. The fleshy leaves are obviously different however. The full latin name is Veronica beccabunga with the species name beccabunga deriving from the German word ‘beck’ I read, but surely, that’s an English word too?

Bird’s-eye primrose – a Hawes Water speciality, growing at the southern limit of its range.

I read online (at a source which I found whilst looking for something else entirely, and which, annoyingly, I can’t currently find) that Hawes Water is a polje, a kind of deep lake particular to karst limestone areas. I know that it is deep and doesn’t freeze over in the winter, which means that, on the rare occasions that it gets very cold here, the surface of the lake can be thronged with waterfowl.

One of a clump of cowslips all of which had many flowers.

A newish bench.

Jackdaws are generally gregarious birds, but when the rest of the clattering took to the wing, spooked by the interloper with the camera, this one decided to remain alone. In fact, coming towards me to pick out a titbit from the grass…

And yes, clattering is the collective noun for jackdaws apparently. Or train.

Bugle.

Peacock butterfly.

New oak leaves.

Male large white butterfly on bluebells.

Lily-of-the-valley leaves.

Lily-of-the-valley flowers.

This…

..is Ursula Southeil, better known as Mother Shipton, sixteenth century prophetess. She lives on today as a statue  and a visitor attraction in Knaresborough: you can visit the cave in which she was reputedly born.

She also lends her name to…

…the Mother Shipton moth. I think you’ll see why.

It’s maybe a bit of a shame that this engagingly patterned moth is named after an unfortunate woman whose neighbours apparently called her hagface.

Initially, when this moth bounced past me, I got all a-flutter because I was looking for Duke of Burgundy butterflies. It was actually too early, I think, for them to be flying, and the Mother Shipton is completely the wrong colours, but I still got in a flap. Once I had my camera steady and pointed in the right direction I recognised the moth, because I’ve seen one once before, in the hills above Whinlatter.

I’ve been back to look for Duke of Burgundies since. Repeatedly. No luck. Again. But I have seen all sorts other interesting things, so not to worry. Next year!

Gait Barrows limestone pavement.

Song Thrush. I love the way they have to have absolutely the most prominent perch on offer to sing, like a real diva.

Since some of the trees were cleared from around Hawes Water you get tantalising views of the lake from the higher parts of Gait Barrows. I climbed this small edge..

…to see if the lake was visible from there. It was, but it’s hard to pick it out in the photo…

The slight gain in height gave an interesting new perspective on the limestone pavement though…

Blackbird.

I think that this might be a sedge warbler. I watched a pair of them seemingly endlessly circuiting between a dense bush and this ash tree, singing constantly. I can say, with some confidence that it is a warbler but not a chiff-chaff, because the song was wrong, but that’s as far as my confidence extends.

Lots of bugle! This was by the stream again, but this time upstream of Little Hawes Water.

Common carder bee, perhaps, on bugle.

The reason photos of Little Hawes Water have never appeared on the blog is that it’s in there somewhere, or perhaps I should say that those trees are in Little Hawes Water, some of them at least, since trees grow in the pond.

Dandelion clocks.

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One of the first blues records I bought was a Howling Wolf compilation. What a choice: Smokestack Lightning, Back Door Man, Moaning at Midnight, Little Red Rooster, Killing Floor, 300 Pounds of Heavenly Joy and this…

It wasn’t until many years later that I heard this much, much older version by the Mississippi Sheiks…

And only last week that I stumbled upon Doc Watson’s rendition…

There are, of course, lots of other covers, by the Grateful Dead, Cream and Jack White for example.

But here’s a bluegrass version…

The Bay and the Kent.

Gratuitous picture of homemade bread. Made with malted bread flour because that was all I managed to buy, and lucky to get that I think. I’ve decided that I prefer bread with at least some malted flour in it.

Looking back to Silverdale.

A sunny but windy day: on the sands it was cool; in the trees, with a little shelter, quite warm.

The long ridge of Heathwaite and Arnside Knott.

Know point and Clougha Pike beyond. I was following the tide line, but in the opposite direction.

The channel and Humphrey Head beyond.

I felt sure that, the water levels having dropped due to the prolonged dry weather, I would be able to find a place to cross the stream, but it was always a little bit too wide and a bit too deep for me to even contemplate trying.

So I followed it back towards the shore and Arnside Knott…

When I reached the shore I discovered the source of the water, a deceptively small spring…

…carving its way through the sand. Not sure how I missed it before.

I noticed the where the sands had been dry for the longest, on the highest ground, it had begun to acquire a greyish crust…

I followed the thin strip of sand between the cliffs and the channel again, heading for Park Point. The dropping water level had exposed a muddy island in the channel which was popular with red shanks…

Rounding Park Point.

A dog whelk shell?

On my previous wander this way I had watched a runner make a beeline for Grange. At the moment, the River Kent swings away from the Arnside shore and curves seemingly almost to Grange. I didn’t want to go quite that far, but I set off from Park Point towards the river, weaving a little to check out any obvious shapes on the sand, which usually turned out to be driftwood…

Looking back to Park Point.

I haven’t been out into this part of the estuary before and, although more enclosed than the bay itself, I was surprised by how vast it felt…

Eventually, I reached a slight dip, beyond which the going looked very wet and muddy…

River Kent and Meathop Fell.

I turned and followed the edge towards Arnside…

A skeletal flounder perhaps – know locally as fluke?

I’d originally intended to return home via the Knott, but I’d spent so long on the sands that it was now getting on in the afternoon and I wanted to get home to cook tea. I thought I knew a spot where I could access the cliff-top path and was very chuffed to hit the right place, where a break in the cliffs gives access, at the first attempt.

The shingle beach at White Creek, much like the one at the Cove, is still liberally covered with the flotsam washed up by this winter’s Atlantic storms.

Peacock butterfly.

Pied wagtail.

White Creek.

I think that these are emerging leaves of lily-of-the-valley.

Having followed the cliffs for a while, I dropped back down to the beach and returned to the village on the sands again.

Another dead flatfish. I’ve often wondered how they cope with the huge tidal range in the bay. I know that a lot of them end up in the river channel, because I’ve watched people fishing for them barefoot at Arnside. There are some many fish that it’s efficient to plodge about until you stand on a fish, then you simply bend over and grab them and chuck them to an accomplice on the river bank.

Approaching the Cove.

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Too Far?

Notices like this went up around the village in the early days of the virus. With the twenty-twenty vision which hindsight provides, and in light of the clarification subsequently issued to police forces, it’s easy to see that the notice is not entirely correct. But it’s not my intention to criticise: the Parish Council and the Neighbourhood Watch were simply doing their best to interpret instructions which were clear in their intent but completely lacking in detail. To some extent, we’ve all had to make our own decisions about exactly what constitutes ‘staying at home’, when, in fact, we don’t actually have to stay at home all the time.

Whelk Eggs.

Apparently, my Dad tells me, one of my second cousins was stopped by the police, only this week, and told that cycling isn’t exercise and that he should go home.

It’s not only the police who have at times been over-zealous however, and there seems to be quite an inclination, in conversation and online, to find fault with other people’s choices. Usually, online at least, swiftly followed by a second wave of condemnation heaped on the whoever dared to criticise and so on.

The ‘other’ Holgates caravan park at Far Arnside – it looks far bigger from the Bay than it does when you walk through it.

There’s been quite a bit of discussion, in local Faceache forums, about whether it’s acceptable or not to cross Parish Boundaries whilst exercising. Some of it, it’s fair to say, was tongue-in-cheek, but I think it at least echoed the kind of conversations many people have been having.

So, it’s possible that on this walk, and I suppose on a handful of others, I went a little too far?

Initially I walked out into the bay until some dark lines off to my right attracted my attention and I turned in that direction. They turned out to be the far bank of a broad channel…

Morecambe Bay – the tiny dots on the horizon are Heysham Nuclear Power Plant.

I turned and followed the edge of the channel back towards the shore north of Far Arnside.

Eventually, I was forced to deviate somewhat in order to cross a meandering side-stream..

Shelducks and Mallards. Grange-over-Sands promenade behind.

Closer to shore the channel held a lot more water and was evidently quite deep.

The bank was crumbling and clearly unstable.

Although the channel eventually ran quite close to the cliffs, it was still possible to keep following it round towards Arnside.

I was a bit nonplussed when I rounded Park Point and saw that the channel simply petered out…

From this point there’s always a view of part of the Eastern Fells of the Lakes. You’ll struggle to see it in the photo above, but I thought I could pick out some remnants of snow up there. Fortunately, with the magic of the superzoom….

I could confirm my suspicion.

I keep changing my mind about which hills are visible from Park Point, but my current thinking is that this looks like a view of Fairfield and the western half of the horseshoe.

Just around the point, I was struck by the sudden profusion of shells…

Cockle shell.

Mussel shell.

I assume that it’s to do with how the tides flow around the point, perhaps creating eddies or a lull and hence causing shells carried by the currents to be deposited.

I followed the estuary up towards Arnside.

Lesser Black-backed Gulls.

A pair of Red-breasted Mergansers.

Not a great photo, I know. They were on the far side of the river. But I’m never entirely confident about the difference between Mergansers and Goosanders, so I’m hoping that, if I make some brief notes here, then the details might stick for future reference. That often seems to work.

The male Merganser, on the right, has a wispy crest, a white neck-band and an orange-brown breast. The female is quite dark, with no clear delineation between the plumage on her head and neck.

Here’s a pair of Goosanders which I watched as they fished just a little further upriver.

The male doesn’t have the crest, has a white breast and far more white generally. The female has a very obvious dividing line between the colours of her neck and head.

Lesser Black-backed Gull, who was every bit as interested in the Goosanders as I was. Whilst I’m making notes – the yellow legs distinguish this from  a Great Black-backed Gull.

Female Goosander.

Male Goosander.

Pigeon.

Scurvy-grass. Packed with vitamin C apparently.

Train crossing the viaduct – I couldn’t tell whether it had any passengers or not.

In Arnside I stuck to the edge of the estuary, rather than walking along the Prom. I couldn’t avoid a short road-walk and passing through the railway station however and if I transgressed then I suppose this is where, not that I was ever closer than the stipulated two metres away from any residents of Arnside.

It looked like the old bridge had been closed off for repairs and replaced with a temporary, scaffolding bridge…

Which was high enough to give a good view along the Kent Estuary…

I walked along the old rail embankment which borders the estuary here, eventually turning off to cross Arnside Moss and then follow Black Dyke and the railway line back towards Eaves Wood.

In the fields by Black Dyke which were flooded for several weeks in the winter, there was a fair assembly of Shelduck, Lapwings, Canada geese, Greylag geese, and Herons, almost as if all of these waterfowl were loyal to the erstwhile lake even now that it had drained away.

Hart’s Tongue Fern.

New leaves emerging.

Willow catkins – with, I think, a honey bee, thoroughly dusted in yellow pollen.

Ginger thorax, black abdomen, white tail: a Tree Bumblebee. A species which is a comparatively recent arrival in Britain.

I’d been thinking that it was about time that I saw some Coltsfoot flowering, and sure enough, there it was beneath the willows.

A different willow catkin, or possibly the same species at an earlier stage – but I’m inclined to the former. Willows are a tad confusing.

A section of Eaves Wood, where most of the trees had been felled, was resplendent with Primroses, which is, I think, exactly the point – flowers of this sort, which seem to prefer open woodland, violets, primroses etc are important food-plants for various butterflies, some of them rare.

And so, a tune: it has to be Little Richard. A has been practising a dance to ‘Long Tall Sally’ and who can resist that? Or ‘Tutti Frutti’ and it’s opening ‘a-wop-bop-a-loo-bop-a-wop-bam-boom’, a vocalisation, apparently, of the driving drum beat which Richard wanted for the song. However, I’ve gone for something a bit less obvious, which you might not have heard before, Freedom Blues:

Locked Out: Riems and Koos

Perhaps I should simply draw a veil over this day, our last in Northern Germany, since it wasn’t a huge success. Our maybe I should post a write up to serve as an object lesson for all cartophiles – incidentally, my spellchecker doesn’t think that’s a word, but I’m very gratified to find that the internet most assuredly disagrees – anyway, a cautionary tale with the moral: you can’t always plan a day out entirely on the basis of a road map.

The problem was that the house we’d booked, lovely though it was, didn’t have wifi, and, I confess, my research prior to our trip had been a bit slipshod and primarily centred around images of the white cliffs of Jasmund. Beyond that I hadn’t thought too far. But the map showed two small islands just down the coast from our holiday home, both joined to the mainland by a causeway, one of which was shown on the map as a nature reserve. What could go wrong?

So, we drove to Riems to find the island surrounded by tall security fences, locked gates and signs which made it clear that visitors weren’t welcome. It seemed as those the island was occupied by some sort of large factory complex.

Hence the rather shoddy, side-of-the-road picnic shown in the first photo. I seem to remember we were still pretty cheerful – we had the nature reserve still to come and we were entertained by the largest flock of Cormorants I have ever seen:

It wasn’t far to our second non-event of the day, but the roads were narrow and a bit confusing and by the time we reached the tiny car park at the edge of reserve I think tempers may have been a bit frayed.

As you can see, the quaint information board showed a path across the reserve to the island of Koos.

I think that this is Cornflower, not something I’ve seen at home in Lancashire.

A tern. Not sure which type.

It was a fairly bleak landscape, but the island was clearly wooded and would surely prove to be charming?

Riems. What a shame we couldn’t get in.

We eventually reached the narrow strait separating Koos from the mainland. There were lots of hirundines nesting on the underside of the wooden bridge.

And the channel was teeming with fish…

And a Moon Jellyfish – the same kind which the boys and I had swum with a couple of days before.

They don’t sting humans apparently, although when I swam in the Baltic as a kid I was convinced I’d been stung, so it isn’t just B who has a vivid imagination. Jellyfish have no blood or brain or heart apparently. People never boast about swimming with jellyfish do they? Dolphins, definitely. Maybe seals? Jellyfish no. Speciesist.

Anyway, just beyond the bridge – high fences and a padlocked gate. Insert your own expletives. We could at least see why this was a nature reserve, there were huge numbers of Greylag Geese, Swans and Cormorants about.

And, I think, three Great White Egrets, judging by their size relative to the Grey Heron nearby.

It was a long trudge back to the car.

The next day we had a lengthy drive ahead, with a considerable detour to my Aunt’s house to collect the many possessions our kids had managed to leave behind. But we weren’t heading home yet…

Stralsund Oceanarium

Stralsund has two public aquariums. One features sea-life from around the globe, the other, the Oceanarium, concentrates on just the Baltic and North Seas.

We chose to visit the latter.

Now, cards on the table, I really like a good aquarium and this one was superb. Probably even better than The Deep in Hull, which is high praise in my book.

If you’re thinking that this…

…is a Pike, then you’d be right. I was a bit surprised to see it in an aquarium dedicated to sea creatures, but because the Baltic is relatively enclosed, and because several large rivers empty into it’s eastern waters, and because sand banks form just beyond the shoreline creating lagoons,  the waters of the Baltic are often brackish and support life ordinarily confined to fresh water.

I took hundreds of photos of fish on my phone, mostly slightly blurred. At this remove, I can’t remember what species many of them show.

This…

…I’m reasonably sure is a Sturgeon. And I think the spotted fish swimming alongside are Salmon, although I wouldn’t swear to it.

This…

…is a Weever Fish, which I was fascinated to see, having read about them in a dire notice in the toilet block at Towyn Farm every summer for several years. They have toxic spines along their backs and stepping on one has excruciating consequences apparently. I think I stood on something like this in the Med when I was in my teens. Certainly, it was very, very painful and the vein running up my leg swelled quite dramatically – it put me out of action for an afternoon.

I think that this flatfish…

…might be Plaice. I’m also reasonably sure that I saw the same species, Plaice if I’m right with my ID, whilst I was snorkelling off the Llyn peninsula a week or two later in the summer.

These are Lumpfish. They were decidedly odd looking creatures but quite charming despite, or perhaps because of that fact. Perhaps for that reason, they have stuck in my mind ever since.

The finale was a huge tank with, if I remember correctly, three sharks, of different species and a lot of other fish too.

A superb day out!