New Forest Wildlife Blog - August 2009

Badgers, birds, deer and other wildlife

4th August
It’s too wet for an evening walk in the Forest, so I walk the dog around Lyndhurst’s one-way system. Pass a favourite badger crossing point and am treated to sight of Brock edging out to go over the road. Thankfully, he does it safely.

Treated at first to a remarkable sunset, cloud of various types and at different levels, some clear sky, and rain dropping from some of the distant western clouds, all illumined in gorgeous hues of pink and purple. Magnificent, heart-lifting, words can not do justice, but images can - all taken with a 300mm lens, image stabilised on a monopod. No digital manipulation has been used in the examples shown, the sky was just right for glorious mid-telephoto lens abstract imagary.

20.53 Pip, my dog, has been very patient, so time now to
leave the sunset behind and
go for a walk in the wood.

21.00 A tawny owl flies across the path towards me; silent, soft feather edges quietening its wing beats. It sees me whilst it’s in mid-air; lifts, holds back and stretches out its broad wings; braking suddenly in alarm, before landing in a nearby tree. A dark, bulky, bull-headed shape in the gloom. A single harsh, barely recognisable cry and an almost inaudible hoot are its only concession to the stranger.

21.12 Moon peeps up above the trees, rising into the sky, almost full, a sight to almost equal the sunset. Fittingly, at this moment, a nightjar starts to churr from within an area of clear-fell.

No sign tonight of the roe doe or buck seen recently here, but a reasonable number of pipistrelle bats are intermittently detected.

7th August
Ashley Walk, 7.15–9.35 am, dull, cloudy, drizzly, Pitts Wood Inclosure in places shrouded in low cloud.
Stonechats, linnets and Dartford warbler brighten the day, and also a wheatear, a white-rumped passage migrant leisurely making its way back to African wintering grounds.
Dwarf gorse is now well out, and the heather is rapidly assuming its pink finery.

8th August
Pondhead Inclosure, 14.00-15.50 hours, bright and sunny, very warm.

The recent wet weather has encouraged the appearance of a great many fungal fruiting bodies, giving the wood an oddly autumnal atmosphere. Despite this, however, the bright sunshine has attracted out many butterflies and other insects. Pathside lesser burdock plants are particularly popular sources of pollen and nectar, whilst the last of the thistle flower-heads also have their admirers.

Virtually all the bramble blossom has now gone, though. Indeed, small numbers of the blackberries are now ripe, much to the delight of a comma butterfly feeding voraciously on the juices of one cluster of plump, dark berries.

Newly emerged large white butterflies are in excellent condition, and so are brimstones and a single speckled wood; but the few silver-washed fritillaries on the wing are rather tatty, ‘end of season, individuals. Good numbers of gatekeepers and meadow browns are also present, together with a few peacocks and a single ringlet.

The delightful aroma of honeysuckle contrasts starkly just now with the stench of a stinkhorn fungus concealed amongst long grasses.
  
Birds are largely silent except for the noisy, metallic calls of a nuthatch, and the angrily repeated, rasping cries of a great spotted woodpecker. Oddly, though, a tawny owl hoots a number of times – maybe disturbed from sleep by smaller birds; maybe just dreaming.

25 swallows, combined family parties, chatter on nearby wires, reminding that migration time is almost here. Many remain on the wires throughout; others tumble away, flight round and then return.

10th August
Denny Inclosure, 20.10-21.30 hours, dull, overcast, drizzly, warm and humid, temperature: 19.5 degrees.

The roe doe is present where both doe and buck have intermittently been seen over the past few weeks. There’s no sign of the twin youngsters, though. I assume that they’re nearby, amongst the undergrowth. No sign tonight, either, of the buck. The roe rut must almost be over now. Perhaps he’s moved on.

Further on, a young buzzard calls repeatedly from within another dense conifer stand. The highlight of the evening, though, is provided by a couple of snatches of robin’s song, the first heard since the onset of the moult, quite some while ago. Robin’s song is much missed during the height of the summer.

Tawnies hoot well tonight – they’re starting now to re-establish territories. A fallow doe barks in the gloom; and a nightjar churrs from an area of clear-fell.

Strands of honeysuckle have escaped the browsing pressure exerted by stock and deer, although tonight the usually sweet aroma is subdued, which is more than can be said of the stench from a stinkhorn fungi by the pathside.

Pipistrelle bats are active over a narrow area of bog, and in a nearby clearing amongst conifers, flying in lazy, erratic circles at ¾ tree top height. Another flights along the path, fast, direct, 6 feet, or so, above the ground, echo-locating at an unusually fast repetition rate. Same species, but different aspects of behaviour.

Back close to the road, a nightjar calls and then briefly churrs. A fitting end to the evening.

11th August
Pondhead Inclosure, 20.20–21.30 hours, sun just disappearing out of sight below the tree tops, cloudless sky, little breeze, warm, temperature: 20.5 degrees.

A buzzard calls from across nearby fields, and then flaps from high in a tree to land at the top of a stag-head oak, from where it continues to call - a hungry youngster, not yet independent, calling to be fed.

The grass in the adjacent field has been cut and left to lie on the surface before being baled. In the process, small mammals – mice and voles – will have been disturbed, as one of the local foxes knows only too well. It’s about 50 metres from where I stand at the fence. Aware of my presence, it stands side-on, head turned towards me, inquisitive, watching, and waiting.

Reddy-brown coloured coat, distinct pale patch about the chin, and the faintest white tail tip identify it as the young animal seen nearby a couple of times in July – on the 9th and 10th. Its tail is held straight out at 45 degrees from the body, long and slender with not the slightest hint of ‘bush’. It seems to have grown considerably over the last four weeks, and is rapidly losing its cub-like appearance.

After a few minutes it tires of the watching game and dashes away around the field edge, eventually stopping at what it presumably considers to be a safe distance. Here it casually sits on its haunches, scratches then sits some more. One really cool character!

20.50 Movement in the ride-side vegetation, fringed by brambles, betrays the presence of an animal. Pip, my dog, is alert to it first, and runs over to investigate. The brambles swirl as the unseen creature twice dashes round in a circle, disturbed, in panic. There’s a gruff, three times repeated grunt before it moves away through the darkening wood. Pip all the while is up on her hind legs, straining for a better view.

This must have been a badger, so it’s as well that it decided not to tackle the dog – she would have stood little chance. The nearest sett is only 100 metres away and the animal was no doubt feasting on blackberries or tucking into the hazel nuts that festoon branches overhanging the brambles.

Unusual behaviour – disturbed badgers usually just run for safety. It presumably felt trapped within the confines of the brambles, and took exception to the nearby presence of a dog. I was certainly worried for the dog’s safety.

Nearby, at least two young tawny owls call to be fed. They move up the ride, atop the trees alongside where I walk, shadowy shapes in the canopy. They’re members of a very late brood - breeding was no doubt delayed by this year’s unseasonally late snow. An adult tawny hoots repeatedly nearby. This must be a confusing time for the adults, a time when territorial boundaries should be being reinforced by hooting, yet there are still dependent young to be fed.

20.57 The evening’s first bat is detected, a common pipistrelle, on the edge of a clear-felled conifer block, at the same time as the resident nightjar briefly churrs. A soprano pipistrelle is present nearby and further common pipistrelles, too.

12th August
Pondhead Inclosure, 20.24 – 21.18, dull, overcast, calm, warm - 19.5 degrees.

A buzzard calls from across the fields adjacent to the inclosure. It’s last night’s youngster presumably, calling to be fed. Across the hedge, a tractor with rotary rake is working the hay field, so the fox will not be present this evening.

20.47 A nightjar calls from within a woodland clearing as it starts its night-time activity: coo-ic, coo-ic – it’s the contact call of one of the two territorial males that have been present since mid-May. Wonder whether both were paired, and bred?

Nearby, a young tawny owl calls from high in an oak tree as, like the buzzard, it cries out to be fed. This is one, perhaps the only one remaining, of the brood reared in this part of the wood.

20.54 The second nightjar churrs from within its own area of clear-felled conifers.

21.02 Sounds of the night: an adult tawny owl calls nosily from the edge of Park Ground Inclosure; whilst nearby, another hoots, quietly at first but soon more vigorously as the calls develop into an angry caterwaul. A third bird nearby quietly hoots – an interloper? This resident pair failed to breed this year, but just now, incumbent tawny owls start to reinforce territorial boundaries, resisting the arrival of the year’s dispersing youngsters on the lookout for their own living space.

21.12 The silence is again disturbed as a fox barks from within Park Ground Inclosure, the first heard for many months. They’re repeated, gruff wow-wow-wow barks, not quite with the intensity of winter barking, but from an animal intent, just the same, on declaring presence. Maybe it’s a cub on the move - the year has turned for the foxes also.

18th August
Pondhead Inclosure, 20.30-21.15, calm, clear, warm – 19 degrees.

No sign of the buzzard tonight; and the hay is being baled in the field alongside the inclosure, so no fox, either.

Three tawny owls call close together in the wood - two are hooting and the third is using the typical female call - ke-wick, ke-wick. This is a different group from that heard on the 12th August - a brood was raised in this part of the wood, so no doubt these three are from that family.

A nightjar hunts along the short-cropped woodland ride, typically jerky flight, swooping down then lifting up as it chases moths and other insect prey. Success – it lands on the track 40 feet, or so, ahead, no more than an indistinct object in the gloom. Through binoculars it’s clearly visible, but not with the naked eye. Its pale breast is readily apparent as it holds its noticeably long body at 30 degrees to the horizontal. The catch is quickly devoured, and it then takes flight again, resuming the chase.
 
Moments later a common pipistrelle bat goes by in fairly direct flight, 8 feet, or so, above the ground. Competing with the nightjar for a meal, this scene is played out nightly from May to September.

There is little evidence of other hunting bats, although more bat social calls are heard tonight on the bat detector – a change of behaviour with them, as well. Wonder whether new born bats have arrived in the wood from nursery roosts elsewhere, and that has prompted the change?

On a shallow lagoon, a tight-knit group of 30 black-tailed godwits is conspicuously present. Recently arrived from far off breeding grounds, these are big, long-billed creatures, all in dull, grey-brown winter plumage. They make a welcome sight, even though such congregations signal the onset of autumn. All are largely content to feed and loaf, although agitated chittering calls are intermittently heard as individuals sense real or imaginary danger, and pass on their unease to neighbours.

One, though, is different from the others. It keeps away from the main group, and wears what appears to be colourful, spring and summer plumage. It’s a juvenile, marked grey-brown about the upper neck, but with beautiful chestnut-coloured breast and upper belly. Wings are also strongly flecked with chestnut, and there are varying shades of grey splashed with blobs of white.

Relaxed and confiding, this lone bird shows little fear. Endowed with the attitude of youth, it feeds along a strip of grass just across a narrow water channel alongside a busy footpath. Walkers provide no reason for it to move, nor do passing cyclists. It has not yet learnt to be afraid of humans.

Snipe, redshank, greenshank, ringed plover, dunlin, curlew and lapwing are also present, but it’s the godwits that steal the show.

20th August
20.00 - 21.10, Denny Inclosure, bright, clear, slight breeze, temperature 15.5 degrees.

20.30 - Young buzzard, presumably that of 10th August, calls repeatedly.
Pipistrelles quite active, tawnys much less so.

21st August
20.10 - 21.10, Pondhead Inclosure, bright, clear, calm, cooling rapidly but still 15.5 degrees.

Young buzzard calling here, too. Same place as on 12th August. Mew-like, constantly repeated, food-begging call.

A tawny flies along above the path I'm following, protesting noisily, a definite angry edge to its hoots, as it follows me, an intruder in its territory. It perches in the branches of an oak not far above my head, and stares down; big, wide eyes surveying the scene. My dog runs along the path towards me, and the tawny twists its neck to obtain a better view of her. Quiet hoots now, no sign or sound of aggression, just a bird curious to see who and what are abroad at this time. Eventually, it silently flaps and glides away - similar flight style to a sparrowhawk - over an area of clear-fell towards where a second bird had earlier been hooting.

20.45 A nightjar calls - coo-ic, coo-ic - from further along the woodland path - it's hunting here, backwards and forwards along these quite wide, grassy rides.

20.50 - A woodcock goes by just above tree-top height, flight quite fast and direct, not a hint of roding.

Two dependent tawny youngsters call from close to their separate sites of hatching. Unusual this late in the year.

Lords and ladies now adorned with brilliant, bright orange berries that have weighed down the stems almost to breaking point. Strong aroma of stinkhorn nearby. The burdock flowers have now all gone to seed, and there's not much bramble blossom left. A single speckled wood butterfly is nearby, but there are no longer the large numbers of insects here of a few weeks ago.

A very tatty silver-washed fritillary flies by - not long left on the wing now for these magnificent creatures. Large whites are still reasonably abundant; and two seemingly over-large speckled woods in glorious condition perch on newly ripe blackberries.

A nuthatch calls and a wren briefly sings, the first I've heard for quite a while - silent reigned during the mid-summer moult.

The branches of a sweet chestnut swing noisily down as a grey squirrel dashes away. A common darter dragonfly suns itself on a burdock seed-head, body always square on to the sun, soaking up the late-afternoon warmth. A southern hawker flies by whilst a bullfinch calls from within the dense cover of a patch of overgrown coppiced hazel..

Dung beetles out in good numbers in the places where the grass has been grazed short.

24th August
20.15 - 21.15, Pondhead Inclosure, clear sky after a dull day, cool, 16.5 degrees.

Robins singing well at dusk now their moult has finished. Tawnys vociferous, too, busy asserting territorial rights. One uses a bubbling call best described as a quiet, tremulous trill. In human terms, it sounds affectionate, conciliatory, a soft call of love. It's never far-carrying and therefore not often heard, but it's used throughout the year by both sexes.

Further on, a male, female and juvenile are present close together, competitively hooting. Quite a lot of movement within this group.

25th August
9.40 -12.00, Pennington Marsh, mixed sunshine and showers, quite breezy, 19.5 degrees.

Juvenile black-tailed godwit (seen on 19th August) still present in the same place, still very confiding, still separate from the flock of nearby adults. Its plumage is getting noticeably duller as its moult proceeds.

Highlight: the simple pleasure of watching an almost tame dunlin at close range - too close at times for my camera to focus. Presumably a juvenile that knows no better. A beautifully patterned bird.

19.15 - 20.30 Copse badgers' sett, a quite cool 16.5 degrees

No sign of the badgers, emergence now is often after dark. A marsh tit, though, noisily objects to my presence, and for 10 minutes, or more, keeps up its harsh winter churr from a perch just above my head. This happened whilst I watched here in the spring - presumably the bird then had a nest nearby, and now is roosting here.