Tag: buzzard

Boundary Marker

Because this wood ain’t big enough for the both of us, or something like that.

Lift the counties, parishes and street names off an English map and you stare at the raw canvas: geology that props up a mindboggling array of different habitats, further rearranged by several thousand years of agriculture. There are borders on this map that are written in scratch marks and urine, and read through a sensitive nose.

And borders mean rules. If a land smells like a particular fox – because it has left its scent all over it – then that fox claims home advantage.

Foxes take a lackadaisical approach to territory. They live in small groups – typically a mated pair, and sometimes subordinate adults – and are more hostile to foxes outside this group than to those within. Some foxes are vagabounds and wander widely across the landscape, clashing noisily with territory residents. But even those with a land of their own will trespass if the prize – a mate or extra food – is tempting enough.

I’ve been wondering for some time about the relationships between foxes in this wood. At least three dogfoxes are regular visitors, not an easy balance. A fallen larch branch has turned into a marking post – both through the glands around their mouths and the more conventional, scat-based approach. Fox urine can persist in the environment longer than the average fox lifetime, and is easily detectable even to human nostrils.

Not that it always prevents fisticuffs.

For all the arched backs, upright brushes and theatrical gestures, I doubt the quarrel has been resolved for good. This wood is simply too attractive for anything that likes to eat earthworms; the rewards outweigh the risks. When the foxes finally go to rest, another earthworm predator swoops in to take over the feast.

This is a buzzard, one of the larger birds of prey in southern England. It, too, has its ideas of territory, as do the roe deer, badgers, dormice and shrews that write their own boundaries on the map. Our world is essentially a delicate, ever-changing riddle of small and natural boundary posts. 

New Year, Old Year

I couldn’t blame the sun for looking like it wanted to turn in early. It’s been a long twelve months.

Afternoon sun 31 Dec 21

But whatever upheavals 2021 brought to people, the wildlife of the Broads continues its business. Water deer patrol marshes bustling with ducks and geese. This is a buck – you can just see his tusks. Water deer are not sociable, and although half a dozen were in view, they kept apart.

Water deer SF 31 Dec 21

What does a lapwing sound like to a water deer? We transcribe their call as peewit, peewit, to the point where that is an alternative name for the species. Elegant, cleanly marked and with preposterous feathers on their heads, these sweet-voiced waders have become internationally threatened – here’s a close up from Sussex, several years ago. 

Lapwing2

But nowhere in the south have I seen flocks like Norfolk’s. In fact, there were more lapwings in view yesterday than I’ve seen in the last decade put together. The vast Broads sky filled with a lapwing murmuration, swirling smoke trails of feathered hope. Not easy to photograph, but good to think about.

Another rarity swooped over the reeds. Marsh harriers – the signature bird of the Broads – are unmistakable.

Marsh harrier SF 31 Dec 21

And buzzards flew a little higher.

Buzzard SF 31 Dec 21

Otters kept lower, and quieter, leaving their five-toed footprints in the mud.

Otter track SF 31 Dec 21

And so onwards, into 2022. I’ve already seen my first wild mammal: on the pavement, just after lunchtime, threading between walkers and families. A small squat dog-like deer – a muntjac. With an all too real dog pounding after it, and I am grateful that the deer is unhurt after it bolted across the main road, skidded over, and finally lost its pursuer in a construction site. The dog was last seen running back into the open countryside valley; I walked around for a while, seeking its owner, but drew a blank.

People do many things that aren’t malicious but have consequences for our wild neighbours. I don’t know the circumstances of why this particular dog was loose, but it goes without saying that chasers should really stay on the lead. 

But I didn’t want to start the year with a grumble. Let us have an ambition to tread lightly, and walk a little more slowly and listen to the land a little more. Its stories are wonderful things.

Inside the Sky

Yes, inside. You don’t feel like you’re under it in Norfolk; it is a part of the day, for it is everywhere. In the rivers:

Reflections2 8 Aug 21

In the lakes.

Reflections 8 Aug 21

Hosting some birds.

Buzzard and gull 8 Aug 21

Teasing the colours from others.

Rook portrait 8 Aug 21

The last photo is of a rook, a very sociable member of the crow family. As the evening progresses, they drift towards their rookeries. 

And then the sun falls below the horizon, and when dawn comes, sky is part of the land again.