The Dee and Thereabouts

Author: Colin J

  • An Avian Array at RSPB Burton

    (Sunday 25th May, 2025)

        Stu and I went across to Burton Mere Wetlands, the RSPB’s nature reserve on the Wirral. It was very windy as we got out the car, so it was good to get inside the relative calm of the visitor centre. Initially, it was just us and the staff, but that soon changed as people began to arrive. I tried to list what we saw – we were pointing out different species to each other like excited children – although one or two observations may be wrong. (I’ve indicated where we were uncertain). There was certainly plenty for us to see!

        There were lots of Avocets, many of which had paired, and some of which were schooling their young – although it looked like the chicks were managing the distinctive ‘scooping’ action in the shallows without any instruction. There were a couple of Oystercatchers and, looking closer, we realised that these also had chicks, which they were keeping close by. As I was watching the Oystercatchers, I caught a glimpse of a couple of ducks leading their brood of six ducklings against the current to a quiet spot where there was just a lone Black-headed gull and a foraging Moorhen.

    Avian array

    At first, I thought that the ducks were Mallards but something didn’t quite add up. I looked again and saw that the male had a cinnamon underbelly, unlike the Mallard drake, and that his bill was distinctly wider: thus did I spot my first Northern shoveller (with help from my bird identification book!)

        There were four Shelducks, a Crow and a Magpie amongst a host of Black-headed gulls. So far, so good. However, I then saw what I at first thought were Goldeneyes, a species I had never encountered outside of a book. My reasoning was simple: they had yellow eyes. It was only later that I found out that the UK also hosts other yellow-eyed ducks including Tufted ducks and Scaups. (I discounted the Northern shoveller due to its plumage differing, although this too has yellow eyes). Unfortunately, the only thing I can be sure of is that my original assessment that they were Goldeneyes was wrong: I thought Scaups because I couldn’t see any tufts, but I believe these are rarer than Tufted ducks in our UK waters. It shall remain a mystery.

        We exited the visitor centre and travelled around to the hide a little bit further west. On the way we took in marsh marigolds, red campion, buttercups, pyramid orchids, hogweed and teasel. There were a couple of male Chaffinches arguing over some seeds in one of the feeders, and we were lucky enough to see an almost motionless Little egret move from its reedy hideout in one of the ponds. Stu took some photographs of a Canada goose – or, rather, the slender neck and head of a Canada goose as it peered above its section of reeds too. We looked in vain for the Marsh harrier that can often be seen from this hide: perhaps next time.

        We then moved to the farthest hide where we saw a Lapwing duo and about a dozen or so Black-tailed godwits probing the shallow waters with their long orange and black bills. These godwits were all displaying pale orange to brick-red plumage, which I am informed is its ‘breeding plumage’, although there is no evidence of chicks just yet*.

    The important stuff

        We then went to the café for our customary cappuccinos, which we thought prudent to accompany with lemon (Stu) and blueberry (me) muffins, which rounded off a lovely morning!

    *Apparently, very few Black-tailed godwits actually breed in the UK, although no-breeding numbers are increasing rapidly as a result of agricultural changes in Iceland, where most of the UK birds come from (Black-tailed Godwit | BTO)

  • Singing in the Rain

    (Sunday 10th March 2024)

        At Loggerheads Country Park this morning with Stu, in constant rain. As we walked down the left bank of the river towards the wooden bridge, there was a flash of yellow as a bird swooped in front of us: sure enough a grey wagtail had crossed our path. It bobbed its tail for us for a moment or two before departing. We crossed over and began our walk along the muddy Leete path. As we entered the wood just beyond the kennels, we heard a song thrush. Through my binoculars we could see him on top of a conifer singing joyously, impervious to the relentless rain. He sang a musical phrase and repeated it a couple of times, then selected another phrase from his varied repertoire, repeated that a couple of times and so on.  

        We continued along the increasingly soggy path, encountering blackbirds and robins on the way. After another two miles, we decided to turn back – the path was just getting more muddy and watery. Re-approaching the kennels, we were amazed to hear the song thrush was still there perched on top of his conifer and still happily singing!  I have read that song thrushes are happy when it rains as there are more worms wriggling their way to the surface to escape the water, but surely they would be on the ground tucking in? The Mistle Thrush is the thrush that has the reputation for singing from the treetops in bad weather – in fact, it has also been known by the name of Storm Cock due to this habit. But this was a song thrush that we saw and heard. Perhaps it’s something that runs in the family!

  • Unflappable Buzzard

    (Thursday 19th June, 2025)

        In the garden during today’s promised heatwave (the temperature reached 29° in Hawarden). I could hear two Wood pigeons calling to each other and some Jackdaws doing the same. From time to time, I heard what I first thought was a single long ‘coo’, which came across as a long purr of contentment! However, I soon realised that the long purring ‘coo’ was preceded by a shorter sound, and this was probably the sound of a nesting Wood pigeon.

        Interspersed with it usual melodious song, a Blackbird issued a series of clicks – tchk – tchk – tchk … and these were answered by its mate as it passed by over the garden fence. I’m sure that there’s a nest in the hedge, although I’m not quite sure what the clicking noises mean.

        My ponderings were interrupted by several piercing cries from above. I looked up and saw that the racket was coming from three Herring gulls that had become alarmed by the appearance of a Common buzzard. Despite the ‘mobbing’ of the gulls, the buzzard continued unperturbed in its majestic ascent on the thermals. I noted that none of the gulls came too close to the predator though: I’ve watched even single crows chasing buzzards with more boldness!

        Things settled down as the buzzard slowly gyrated further through the azure sky. Two of the Herring gulls seemed to take it in turns to guard a chimney pot on one of the nearby houses, so they may well be nesting and perhaps this explains the earlier commotion. Mind you, they are noisy birds anyway!

  • Along the Leete

    (Sunday 14th April, 2024)

            Stu and I were at Loggerheads this morning. ‘But they get on so well together!’ I hear you say. So, to avoid any misunderstanding, we were both at Loggerheads Country Park in Denbighshire, which is a popular wooded area through which the river Alyn flows. (Actually, when I say flow…well, I will come back to that later).

    It was virtually mud-free on the path now, and: in fact, this was the first time we walked the full length of the Leete for quite some time. It was a refreshing change to not get bogged down!

        We saw blue tits, great tits, robins, blackbirds and what Stu thought was a chaffinch, and what I thought was a stonechat – I was convinced the bird had a black head but it only appeared fleetingly so its identity will remain forever unknown. The forest floor was bedecked with a range of flowering plants: there were creamy-yellow primroses, bluebells, dandelions, daisies, wood violets, celandines, campion, and the odd residual clump of daffodils. We also spotted a single group of wood anemones on the far bank before crossing the bridge to join the Leete path. Colour was everywhere and such a contrast to earlier visits in the year when, apart from the few conifers, everything was a dull and neutral shade.

    Primroses
    Bluebells L

        Towards the end of the Leete path at the Cilcain end, we saw that many of the trees had been coppiced. Not only does this allow in more light due to the clearing of the canopy, but it also opens up the views down to the valley floor and across to Moel Famau and the Clwydian range. Coppicing is carried out regularly to encourage plant and tree growth and sustainability.

        Today the river Alyn was in full spate. As I intimated at the beginning, the Alyn’s water flow is not always constant and can vary considerably; this being most noticeable during prolonged dry weather spells, when the level drops and the bed runs dry particularly at the far end of the Leete Path. ‘Leat’ (also spelled ‘lete’ and ‘leet’) is defined in the Merriam-Webster dictionary as ‘an artificial water trench leading to or from a mill’, and there is indeed an old mill by the Visitor Centre which was a corn mill and later a sawmill in its working life. River levels drop of course, but the Alyn also flows underground quite extensively at certain points because of natural gaps in the limestone bed which swallows a lot of the water, much of which is also carried into an underground cave system to the north of the park. Often, as you travel the Leete path in a north-westerly direction, the bare stones of the riverbed are the only markers of the river. I must point out though that this is mainly during prolonged dry spells, and when the temperature has risen.