'J' is for....

Garrulus Glandarius of the the Corvidae has long been a bit of a favorite of mine. No, not the Roman gladiator (although there's gotta be a joke about ' rustle crow' in there somewhere ), but the bird.

Jays rule OK......the feathered Scarlet Pimpernel of the woods.

Secretive, shy and guardedly reclusive by nature but busy and resplendent in activity and appearance, it intrigues me that such a reserved character as the Jay should, in contrast, sport such colorful livery, and be so naturally active.
Each time I manage to catch sight of a Jay, or even just hear its distinctive call,  I still get a bit of a buzz.
The white flash of its rump as it disappears through its usual wooded habitat.....or rarer, a 'glassed' (as we hard-core stalkers say) view of it, sitting pretty in russet and blue-flashed splendor with neat ermine breast and speckled quiff....is always a joy.

The self elected guardian and conservationist of the Oak Wood, it's nut collection and distribution service is as potent a part of the natural regeneration of native woodland as anything human husbandry and management can achieve. It's vocal early warning system given out to all and sundry as part of  it's habitual shyness, is as effective a defense against 'incoming' as anything else.

Being of crow genus, it is in birdie terms of course, a genius.
It won't ever understand string theory or operate heavy machinery, but like all corvids, it thinks, observes and learns, using information to help its own avian pursuits. If ever there were to be a Krypton Factor featuring our feathered friends, Jay boy could well prove
favourite...It would intellectually beat yer average finch, tit or warbler wings down. Woodpigeon would be humiliated. (I've always thought them as thicko's anyway)
As well as being smart, sassy and physically active, Mr Mrs Jay are romantic, sensitive souls who pair-up and in contemporary fashion are best friends as well as wedded partners......looking out for each other in every respect.
They are generally sociable, specifically with other 'crows', and are to known to take the p*ss by imitating other birdcalls.....

A good looking, characterful bird resident in my much loved woodland environment.......what's not to like ?

(  I write this having just returned from a short meander in my local woods during which I was rewarded with a sighting of, you guessed it.....)

Naturally nurtured, maybe....

Erm.....er......
Don't really know why, (but most probably as a result of a recent, highly spirited, alcohol induced discussion about what makes a person, you know, well.... a person, following an exchange of admissions highlighting a diverse range of hobby/interest activities amongst the drunken company there present, and a 'nurture or nature' drink-dribbling debate).....
Anyway,  whatever, I was obliged to list just some of the things I considered to have had an influence on me and my life-long liking of the outside and 'naytcha'...weird, huh...don't judge me.....I've got a whole lot more 'influences' that are too obscure/embarrassing to mention....and would make for even more tedious reading....


Ratty, Mole and Badger (but mostly Mole)....

Winnie the Pooh and chums....

Most of the Swallows and both of the Amazon's......

Master James Bigglesworth and the chaps (specifically when cruising the Condor).

The I Spy tomes and the Observer Book of Birds.

The original literary portrayals of Mr S. Templar and Lord Greystoke
 (Saint & Tarzan).
Cubs & Scouts.....
E.Shackleton, R. Amundsen and all associated personel....
Thorin Oakenshield/Strider and others of Tolkien genue...
Indubitably and most certainly,  Sal Paradise & Dean Moriarty of Jack Kerouac renown ...
Dougal Haston, A. Wainwright and Reinhold Messner......
Mr. Stevens ( Cat, not Shakin' )....and of course Mr R. Zimmerman ....
and... every other single piece of music really listened to....
William Ricketts....
Millican Dalton....
Lao Tsu....
Jackson Pollock....
Spike Milligan....
Alfred Kubin...
my Father.....
The Triumph 'Razor-Edge'...
Tents, boats and campfires....
the guitar....
Peter Scott
Johnny Morris
David Attenborough
Tony Soper
... a book about Gorilla hunting in Victorian times...
....a short story featuring Bruin the Bear, a Christmas tree and a fire-extinguisher....
.....and other short stories about bicycles, moon-magic curses and children turning into kangaroos......
....attempted taxidermy of a fetidly dead blackbird at primary school (me at school, not the ex-blackbird)
Ron James and Outward Bound.....


As I say......the list could go on......and on....
Funny ol' world, innit?

B&B for free....

.......about 95 strides from my front door is a small plot of a few square yards ( yes, I still think in old money)... of a grassed, shrubbed and tree-ed corner area placed at the junction of a brace of fairly busy access roads.

Spaghetti Junction it ain't....but it is still a fairly lively spot considering  the steady trickle of traffic and passing pedestrian itinerants.
On it, I have noticed with interest, despite the busy and constant human and motorized intrusion, a wedded pair of Blackbirds have permanently claimed this little patch of England as their own.

Mr and Mrs B clearly regard this suburban traffic island territory as des res, and live their lives, raise their chicks and observe the surrounding human activity with beady-eyed un-concern.
It pleases me to see them as I regularly walk passed on my way to  the shops, 'bags for life' tucked under my arm...... Mr & Mrs B themselves both 'shopping' for worms and grubs...... for free.....
We nod a greeting, and I walk on.
Returning a while later, laden with foodstuffs, I am acknowledged again by these feathered local residents, but dismissed as merely as another part of the strange but clearly un-threatening alien world beyond their ken.....and outside the borders of their little, chosen realm.
I wonder if the parish elders realize they have residents living rent free on desirable municipal property......

Off Piste....

The blisteringly hot weather of late obviously means it is essential for people like me to 'go to them there hills' and run the gauntlet of dehydration, heat exhaustion and crispy fried skin.....so it was with a song in me 'heart and a bottle of factor 30 in me pack that I drove off across the country to ...DA DA....The Lakes.
I had no idea as to where I was specifically going and so found myself being guided by instinct to end up driving down the shores of a stunningly beautiful Ullswater

 headed for Deepdale......an area I know well and love.
The walk along Brothers Water

shoreline in the early morning heat was idyllic, and I sat for a while accompanied by a pair of flittering Grey Wagtails

and watched a serene Heron

concentrate on catching breakfast.
I still had no real plan of action as yet, but my eyes were being drawn to the ridiculously steep direct route up Little Hartsop Dodd and I convinced myself that an hour or so of extreme sweat drenched effort would be worth it to gain height quickly and then have the rest of the day to saunter along the horseshoe ridges in sunshine and cooling breezes.....er.....wrong.

 I left the leafy dappled shade of Oak, Ash, Beech and Birch

and set off through the colourfully carpeted, baking meadow, a haphazard squadron of Butterfly fluttering around me.

The dauntingly steep, sun-soaked grassy flank of L.H.D. loomed over me and I took a relaxed, easy pace up its lower reaches, enjoying the sights, sounds and 'feel' of this impossibly beautiful natural arena.
After about 3 mins I was knackered, melting, and broiling in my own juices with unbelievably annoying Horseflies, or whatever, landing in constant irritation on every exposed part of my sweat dripping body.......aagh, the heat, the flies.....it was hell I tell you, Hell.
I found myself, head down, counting 50 steps at a time, then resting, before repeating the process.......for ever....
Still, as I gained height, despite the purgatory, I took time to peer through  sweat-bleared eyes at the splendor of the broadening mountain vista and was encouraged by that familiar feeling of  knowing that I was blissfully happy to be amongst it.
As I finally plodded in clockwork fashion up the thankfully easing gradient onto the ridge (I was in an almost liquid state by now) I was greeted by the sight of two elderly gentlemen sat, comfortably lazing as they munched on fruit pies and cheese.
"How do, grand day"
"Whoaphlery" I think I wheezed back, or something like that. I seemed to have lost the power of speech.
They informed that they had "come up beck on't far side" and were going to linger a while then descend slowly the way I had come.
Ah, the wisdom that comes with age.....I look forward to it with anticipation.
Still.....absolute heaven on the ridge. Hot sunshine, cooling breeze and several miles of easy gradient walking surrounded on all sides by stunning mountain scenery.

Syklark, Wheatear, Raven and Buzzard for company.
After a while, I had a thought....
Instead of putting myself through further torture of climbing up to Hart and Dove crag, the usual route, surely there must be a way too cut across, off piste as it were, below the ridge, avoiding the sweaty toil of ascent, and join the well trodden path down through the dale without more meltage of my body due to sun-baked 'up' effort......
And so, I left the path and struck off cross-country having visually plotted my exploratory course through the crags, streams and undulations....

Several hours or so later, having negotiated a tortuous route that in effect had probably involved far more effort than if I had stayed on the path in the first place, I joined the more traditional route of descent by a tumbling stream, and basked in my own satisfaction of pleasurable 'off the beaten track adventure'.
The walk down through Deepdale is an absolute joy.
Following the course of the beck, the path leads through lightly wooded dale passed a series of waterfalls and crystal pools, all the time with the vista of the surrounding fells as a backdrop.

After a while, despite the beauty of the surroundings, and the familiar feeling of contentment after a good day in the hills......the hot, neck-scorching final plod back along the dusty farm-track that seems to go on for ever,  was a pain.....but when the shade of the car park is eventually reached, a lingering look back up to the shimmering skyline where hours before my boots had trod......well.....it all seems right and proper...
Get thee to the hills, my people, get thee to the hills...
Er......while I'm on....apologies to all.
It has occurred to me that this being a site for natural history blogs, I am perhaps not conforming to the standard style of entry......all sightings, Latin names and academic discourse and interest in particular subjects.....however,  for me, appreciation of nature in all its miriad forms is perhaps more of an aesthetic recognition of its total beauty and wonder then an up-close text book indent......and the way to go, for me at least, is a personal immersion into a natural environment with perhaps a general knowledge of what makes up that environment.....whether it be flaura or fauna. Being part of it, sort of,  rather than simply observing it. Sometimes I feel some people somehow miss out by focusing on minutiae rather than experiencing the whole........anyway, blah blah blah blah blah.
Happy days.......

I can if Millican....

He spent his early childhood in the wide open spaces of the northern Pennines before being transplanted to the streets of urban London.
However, his joy of outdoor life manifested itself in a host of adapted activity---tree/drainpipe/wall climbing, walking/camping/wild swimming etc etc.....all done without question, thought or structure......just done.
His early recreational outdoor adventures continued to be many and various despite him being obliged to grow into adulthood and establishment 'normality'.....his life as an office clerk in direct contrast to his natural inclination.
He was in his early 30's when he 'dropped out' before dropping out had been invented.....giving it all up for a chosen life more suited to his character and philosophy.
A simple, 'natural' outdoor life of fun and escapade amongst the hills, rivers, lakes and woods of un-spoiled beauty.
As the self-styled "Professor of Adventure", he introduced others to the delights of 'Freedom and Romance' through outdoor activity....simple camp craft...midnight rambles....rafting....rock climbing.....mountain-walking.....tree-climbing....camp-fire philosophy....etc etc etc all enjoyed as a non-intrusive self-reliance within a natural environment.
He himself chose to live permanently in a cave which became his home for 40 yrs or so, adapting his lifestyle accordingly....making his own clothes and 'equipment'....feeding himself on an open fire with his own produce...immersing himself totally into the 'nature' of his surroundings...is only 'vice' .... strong coffee and cigarettes...
He had many quirky 'alternative' personal characteristics, but for all his idiosyncrasies, he was definitely no anti-social hermit. He was intelligent, social, well informed and opinionated on many a subject, and enjoyed the selective company of others.
He became well known and respected for his individuality....despite his alternative life-choice, manner and appearance.
To him, outdoor adventure was all....and was a natural, logical and sensible cure-all for what he saw as an increasingly inane world.
Many a story abounds about this extraordinary visionary, this almost mythical figure.....stories about his actions and views that are both deep and amusing. The man was legend.
Millican Dalton.....We salute you, with affection, admiration and respect.....and not a little jealousy...

A quick one at the Local....

......as a lad of about 9 or 10 yrs old, I rather nurdily joined the local Natural History Society with a friend of mine and rather than play the usual game of footy on a Saturday morning, we would regularly take our cheep plastic binoculars, along with a packet of sandwiches (of sorts),  pencil/notebook and the Observer Book of Birds to the local nature reserve...... Admittedly, this was 40 odd years ago but I cannot remember ever seeing anything......though we did convince ourselves that we clearly observed everything from Golden Eagles to Ostriches.
As I say, that was many moons ago, and much fluid has passed beneath the span since then, but it is with a very real pleasure that I still occasionally visit the same reserve having moved back to the area (ish) after life's various adventures in pastures elsewhere.
The many acres of mixed broadleaf/deciduous woodland, with their forest rides and paths, the broad expanse of the 'secret lake' at its heart, and the still magical wooden-hut hides placed accordingly, for which you need a special key to enter .....its all still there...seemingly unchanged from boyhood memory.
Even now, as I poke my jaded nose into that unchanged 'members' hut containing the communal observation log book and cobwebby specimens of feather, skull, nest and various found bits of 'nature'....the damp wooden walls pinned with fading mouldy posters of birds, animals and plants....I am, thankfully, still filled with the same simple feelings of excitement and interest.
I make my way quietly into the reserve and am almost guaranteed the familiar and hugely welcomed sightings of the usual suspects....
All the woodland birdage is seen. Tit/Finch/Wren/Warbler/Blackbird/Thrush/Rook/Pigeon/Robin/
Wagtail/Sparrow/Nuthatch/Treecreeper/Jay etc etc etc.....
The lake can be relied upon to offer up for inspection the usual massed troops of water-based personnel including Mallard/ Tufted/ Pochard/Grebe/Swan/Coot/Moorhen/Bittern/Cormorant/etc etc etc plus the added visitation of wetland exotica.....
Four-footed and furred residents can also be encountered.....Roe / Fox / Squirrel / Badger / Otter / Rodent variation /etc etc.......Bats.
Creepy crawlies are everywhere....obviously....but we don't mention them......
and of course, the trees...ah the trees, the woodland itself.....the ground growth....the reed-beds....the plants and flowers.....

(I even came upon a dinner-plate sized terrapin-turtle thing once !...and despite photographic evidence.....no-one believed me....)

All in all, even after 50 years or so, the comparatively mundane and familiar 'nature' of a standard ramble in such surroundings can still set whatever passes for my soul alight....

What we did....

Like, there was this one time, we converted a Ford Escort van into a caravette and went away. In England we ate fish & chips and saw a fluffy rabbit......

We parked the caravette on a boat and sailed to France, drank cheap lager beer and saw some gulls....

We meant to go to 'the alps' but lived in a cave

in some woods instead

and climbed some big rocks that were there,

we ate cheese, drank wine and saw a big dog who chased us every day.....

Later, we went to 'the alps' after-all and lived in a campsite drying room, it was warm.....and dry. We climbed up some very big rocks on top of some snowy mountains. We ate some more cheese and drank some more wine and saw some cows

and some goaty things.....

Then we went to Italy to climb up some different rocks on different mountains and where we lived on a beach sometimes...we ate some different cheese and drank some different wine, a lot, and saw some lizards

and boars....

Then we went home.