Bird Watchers, Fed Up Owls and Marsh Harriers.

Well, I decided to wander over to the Manea bird hides today and test out my new Nikon zoom lens. I bought this in Salisbury shopping centre last week when Carole. We visited Salisbury Cathedral.

I found myself a nice bird hide and poured a cup of coffee and sat there waiting for something to happen. I was hoping the kingfisher might put in an appearance or the Marsh Harrier. There is also a Short Eared owl that I keep on seeing, though I’ve not managed to get any good photo shoots yet.

I was taking photos of the flooded fen and looking out across the plain through the binoculars. Then a commotion came from the waterfowl. They began to scatter in all directions, which is always a sure sign of the Marsh Harrier. Sure enough, it was so, but it was some distance. Even at the maximum 300m upon the lens giving me a 1.3 something magnification of just over 400m; I still had a job getting the right shots. I had all the multiple clicks for movement and the camera automatically focused upon the first touch. I began machine gun firing on the photo shots as the bird of prey passed by. I ran out of the back of the bird hide to see the magnificent raptor fly over the dyke and into the fields at the rear. Most of the shots were no good but some were credible enough to put on the blog. I’m sure that one day, I’ll get some better shots.

I came back into the bird hide and sat down. I poured out a coffee and continued to wait patiently. There were many varieties of waterfowl etc., but I only get a buzz out of the birds of prey. Also, the kingfisher is striking.

A man came through a joining door to the other bird hide next door. He was very friendly and asked if I had seen the Marsh Harrier go past. I told him I did and had gone out the back to try and get some more photo when the raptor passed over the dyke from the flood plain. He laughed and said he thought he heard someone clicking. He just had a telescope. I could not see any signs of a camera. He referred to me as a twitchier, which I presume is someone who likes to photograph as opposed to just bird watching. We had a fine conversation and chatted about the many raptors that are increasing in numbers around the Fens. We spoke of seeing them often along the motorways and concluded that it might be for the various road kill one finds on the verges. Also, EU laws concerning pesticides on rodents mean that raptors are not dying from eating poisoned vermin. Also, he said that farmers in the past had exterminated them. I don’t know how much of this is true, but he spoke at some length and told me of his joy concerning the increasing raptor population. He recommended an RSPB reserve at Frampton in Lincolnshire. It is not far from the Fens and he told me of a Peregrine Falcon that is resident there along with a number of Marsh Harriers. He also spoke of a Boot-Legged Eagle in Suffolk. I’m certain there is one in the Fenlands close to where Doddington Minor injuries Hospital is. We spoke on how they look like Common Buzzards but are bigger. He got out a book and showed me images of the Boot-Legged Eagle and now I’m even more convinced that we saw shut a raptor in the fields while emptying the bins of farms in the remote part of the Fenland. The man bade me farewell and went on his way.

Again I was looking through the binoculars hoping the Marsh Harrier might return. I watched the waterfowl knowing they would all fly off into panic at the first sight of the dreaded raptor. It did not happen. However, a second bird watcher came in. Another retired man perusing his hobby. He said hello and I did likewise. He also referred to me as a twitchier, and I replied that I was. He then went on to ask about various waterfowl by species names. I had to confess that I knew very little of these types of birds and went on to say that I’m more interested in the raptors because I like to try and photograph them for my Retro Brit blog.

He went on to tell me all about his bird watching and how he does it mostly on weekdays. As we spoke he was walking around the hide and looking through his binoculars. He told me he had seen the kingfisher up at the pump house further along the river. He was from Leicestershire and was staying at Huntington in Norfolk for three days. I spoke of the Marsh Harrier, which he realised was about because he had also noted the waterfowl panicking earlier on when walking along the bridal way. As I was telling him about the short-eared owl I had seen on a number of occasions, he replied.

“It’s out there upon the scarp.”

I frowned and looked to where he was pointing. Sure enough, it was there standing in the long grass looking out over the flooded fen. It must have been there for ages standing still. I probably dismissed it as a bit of dried grass amid the greenery. It looked like a distant mole hill to the naked eye, but when I looked through my binoculars it was the very owl I was speaking of.

“Blimey,” I replied. “It must have been sitting there for ages and I never even realised.”

The old bird watcher replied in his Midland accent that it was a pleasing find as I took my camera and started clicking away. After a time we began to ask ourselves if the owl would do anything. Like, fly off so I could get a couple of photos of it in flight. It would not. It just sat there with its head going from left to right. The raptor’s vision was sweeping across the flood plain, but that was all.

“I’m wondering if it has eaten its fill,” I said.

“Maybe,” replied the man.

I assumed it might be fed up. That is where we get the expression, ‘fed up’ from. When a bird of prey gorges itself, it gets stuffed up to its chest cavity and will not eat further. It needs to sit back and digest. Hence; fed up. I’m not saying the Short Eared Owl was fed up. Just that it might have been on account of it just sitting there and doing nothing but watch the water fowl. Another bird watcher like us for the time being. Sometimes the owl turned and starred directly at us, but did not seem too disturbed by our presence. This went on for about half an hour. I waited patiently hoping to photo the bird taking off in flight. It never happened. It started to groom itself and then seemed to go down a dip. Almost as though it went into a hidden hole. I know British owls don’t live in holes in the ground so I’m assuming it disappeared behind a mound. Out of sight soon out of mind.

 I said farewell to the Midland man and made my way back to the car pleased with some of the shots and content with the Marsh Harrier and Short Eared Owl. While driving home, I did see a low flying Common Buzzard but I had a car close behind and could not stop to take photos along the country road. I would have had to stop too abruptly with the car behind me. I turned left over a bridge and the car went on along the straight road. Once again I was alone in my car and spotted a lovely looking kestrel on the telephone cable. I stopped and got a few shots of this bird too.    

The Robin Left as New Dinners Arrived

I was clicking away for a short time and the then the robin flew off. Imeadiately a couple of blue tits landed and began to feed. It was a very tranquil setting in the woodlands and we were miles from anyone. We later ambled along a public bridal path for some way and saw a buzzard in the distance.

I tried a few shots but the raptor was too far. Its a shame for the open fields looked promising for such sights if we were prepered to stand around. However, we just prefered to stroll along and enjoy the winter morning.

The Robin in the Woods.

Today Carole and I got up and had some breakfast. It is Sunday and we have nothing planned. We drink our tea and talk about the sudden chill in the air that has come about over the past few days. Some semblance of winter is finally here. Up until the New Year it has been very mild for the Fenland.

I suggest a drive out to some woodlands close to March town and Carole seems pleased. We like to go out and do something. We went upon a woodland ramble and saw many things including deer and a far off buzzard. They were too far to get decent pictures, but we enjoyed the ramble along the woodland path. At the perimeter of the woods overlooking the field were several owl boxes.

We came across an old rickety looking bird table where a robin and some blue tits were feeding. I managed to get a few short of the robin as it went about it business of feeding.

 

Giving You the Town Christmas Fair of March

Cinnamon and Hazelnut Coffee.

My wife and I went into the town to see the Christmas fair. It took about twenty minutes to walk up the lane towards the rail crossing and then along the river bank. We arrived by the bridge in the town centre. We wondered about and bought some more incense sticks and came upon a coffee bean stall. The aromas were gorgeous and I could not resist having a good look at the various sacks with multiple flavours. I bought two 100gram bags. One of Cinnamon and Hazelnut, which the man ground down for me. The other was French Vanilla.

As I sit here writing, I’m enjoy the Cinnamon coffee with my choice of cheeses. There were so many stalls, including stuffed olives, cheeses, chutney, kurds and various mustards. There was also a Lithuanian stall selling cooked dried meats of Roe deer, wild boar and others types of animal. It was a fun way for my wife and I to spend the morning.

As we ambled back home along the river, I took a few photos along the way.  

Giving You F1 Legend Jim Clark.

Jim Clark Lotus 1967

This was another ornimental gem that I could not resist. Jim Clark's Lotus stand proudly on the side board. Little nostalgic memories of my boyhood.

From the mind of a seven year old boy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v62StJvxLu8

My only memory of Jim Clark, as a young seven year old, was from his prestigious reputation. I did not know what F1 racing meant, but I knew what racing cars looked liked. Racing cars were different from ordinary cars. Even though ordinary cars did race if they had stripes, and numbers painted on them, and were put on racing tracks or in fields. They still were not proper racing cars though.

Real racing cars were different and they went faster and you only saw them on television because they did not drive on streets. I also had hundreds of toy cars and knew what racing cars looked like. I knew the name Jim Clark because he raced such cars. The UK in the 1960s decade was full of names in various and exciting iconic interests. Interests that came to us from pop stars, film stars, football stars, comics of great British war heroes - we were fed on a diet of great heroes.

In school, or somewhere, I knew of Jim Clark. He drove racing cars and won trophies of great prestige because he was a champion racing car driver. I had no idea what he looked like. But when we kids played motor racing cars in the school playground or out on the streets, everyone argued over who was Jim Clark.

"I'm Jim Clark."

"No, I'm Jim Clark."

Needless to say the toughest kid in the group was usually Jim Clark.

It was in the summer of 1968 when I went on holiday with my cousins, who were a little older then me. We were playing in the garden of a guest house, where we were staying, and decided to play racing cars around this huge boat that was being made in the garden. I'm not sure if it was in Margate, Ramsgate or Broadstairs because we always seemed to go to one of these places every year. This boat looked like a miniature ark and someone was in the process of building it. While we were at the guest house; whoever was trying to construct the boat, must have left the project, because we never saw anyone working on the partly completed boat. All the wood was new and I remembered wondering how they would get such a big boat off of its stands and to the sea.

We were running around this partly constructed boat playing and laughing. Then decided we were racing cars, and around the boat was the racing track.

"I'm Jim Clark," I shouted enthusiastically. My elder cousins were very tolerant and not like the kids in the playground and in the street. I had a good chance of being indulged and getting my way.

"You can't," replied my cousin Danny. "Jim Clark is dead."

"No he's not - he's a racing car driver."

He went on to tell me that Jim Clark was killed in a racing car crash, in a real racing car race, only a short time ago. I was stunned and shocked. Jim Clark was dead and I never even knew it, or what he looked like.

As years rolled by and other F1 names came and went from the sport, I learnt more of Jim Clark through watching interviews with Jackie Stewart and Graham Hill. He was a very special champion that was liked and respected in the F1 sport across the world.

Below is a link to a documentary of Jim Clark that is on YouTube. It's a very moving documentary.

Driving Jim Clark's Lotus

Driving Jim Clark's Lotus 25 would be a dream come true for anyone who enjoys formula one and its high octane, fuel injected, excitingly dangerous history. Where the thin line between winning glory and devastating acceleration into the afterlife can happen in the flicker of a blink.

Jim Clark tasted both sides - the euphoric adulation of winning while skimming the danger of death and finally the flip side of the formula one coin. His name now echoes in eternity and the thought of driving one of his actual cars is something close to the legend he has become. I would be too terrified to even contemplate racing in formula one, but to take one on a spin on an empty open track? Oh yes! I think I could manage that.

David Coulthard got to do just that, but then he is one of the many who have tweaked the nose of Formula one danger. I have a Lotus 25 diecast 1:18 of Jim Clark's 1967 Dutch Grand Prix car. It has pride of place in my little office room. I enjoy watching Formula One, but I get this interest in fads. I am going through such a fad of interest at the moment. It will settle down, but its Ron Howard, the late James Hunt and Nikki Lauda's fault.

For now, I'm enjoying going through a retro buzz  and the great Retro Brit names of the 50s and 60s are compelling me to look at the sport. Jim Clark, Mike Hawthorn, Peter Collins, Graham Hill, John Surtees and Jackie Stewart. That fifteen years was a golden age for British Formula One. Great days with only some of the vehicles of some of the ghosts that have left us.


Interview with the Legend

Jim Clark won the Formula One Championship on two occasions. 1963 and 1965. He was killed during a minor none F1 race in Germany 1968. Had he lived beyond his 32 years, I believe he would have undoubtedly gone on to win at least one other championship.

The Ferryman of Death

We had a smashing Sunday afternoon shopping in Kings Lynn today. It was crisp and cold but the sky was clear and blue. Just the sort of day to wander out across the farms of the Fenland towards the old town of the Wash area. The landscape has become bleak - the trees are bare because the leaves have fallen, yet still the Fenland is compelling and sad.

My wife (Carole) and I often do the circuit around the Lynn shops and mostly we just mooch about. After a visit to Subway for coffee and foot long bap, we moved on to one of those weird gift shops that sell variously themed souvenirs. They offer shoppers a growing Gothic section with all sorts of gimmicky ornaments. Some of the things were most compelling, presenting all sorts of quirky attractions. It was a little like an Aladdin's Cave. There were Gothic wine goblets with skeleton hands holding the bowl, ugly witches, pretty witches, grim reapers, Gothic Raven haired girl statues and faeries etc.

I was compelled as my interest grew. I'm now at a stage where I do like to spoil myself and spend something now and then. Perhaps many might call it trivial, but hey! I'm 55 and I've paid my mortgage and its time to indulge myself and put a slice of casual cash to something that flickers my interest rate in quaint things. Some of it was rather tacky, but again; if it flicks a switch and you like something; go buy it.

My attention was caught by the various incense stick holders. We have one indoors but it is bland looking. A smooth strip of wood turned up at the end with a hole to slide the incense stick in. It does the job and I've never entertained the idea of replacing it. We use it in the evening while watching TV. In truth, we only entered the shop to see what type of incense sticks they had but got sidetracked by the wonderful array of Gothic souvenirs on display. Among the many things were artistically designed incense holders. I was rather taken by the ghoulish one above - the ferryman in his boat upon the lake of death. Carole was amused at my fascination with it, and while I went to choose incense sticks, she bought the ferryman incense holder in his skull clad raft.

1960's Great Britain

I can't believe how everything has changed since this time. I was a kid born in 1961. I remember thinking everything was futuristic with colours and TV because my Mum and Dad, plus my Grand parents, would say how none of these things were about during their time. There was a feeling that everything was new and vibrant with things on the media.

They spoke of the past war and the bombings. My parents spoke of being evacuated with my mother not knowing who her mother and father (my grandparents) were until she was six years of age. She was born in November 1939 and only remembers her sister. Both lived in a Roman Catholic commune run by nuns and away from London. 

Their mother, (my grandmother) was injured during the bombings right at the end of the war. A doodlebug down Hobday Road, Poplar, East London. My grandmother was taken to the neurological part of a hospital when she was dug out of the debris barely alive. Her house had collapsed upon her, my uncle (who was a baby in her arms amid the debris.) and also an aunt who was a teenage girl at the time. Fortunately all three survived but all had to be hospitalised. 

My mother was not sent home to her mother until 1946. Their outlook was different. I think my mother enjoyed the 1960s because she was still a young woman in her 20s during this time. She liked the Beatles, Gerry and the Pacemakers etc. I don't think she was too fond of the Rolling Stones, but is now days because of the nostalgia.

I loved being British and was so very proud of my country. I still am, but things change and must change. I can remember this all being new and the elders not liking it. Now we are the elders and do not like the changes of today. 

Why?

I'm not sure because there are so many wonderful things in this time. Like laptops, the Internet, mobile phones etc. I think when we put on the brakes - STOP - THINK!

Well... all of the retro above was fine, but it was of its time and there was always problems with trade unions, Northern Ireland and many other types of thing. It does make me think that we like to cling to the nostalgia, but also we must learn to let go now and then.

It is fun looking at the above clip and touching those moments for a while now and then.

Wildflowers in Fenland Garden.

Last year, my wife scattered a mixture of wildflower seeds. We had acquired bags of horse manure for the strawberry and rhubarb plants and there was a spare section of earth where these wildflower seeds were scattered, along with some of the horse manure.

Not being one for gardens, at that time, I paid little attention to my wife’s toil where this endeavour was concerned. However, when the next year’s spring came along I was very pleasantly surprised at how well the seeds had taken. There was an abundance of cornflower blue with other types of flower growing within the sea of blue. As the summer came about, the other coloured flowers took and became so wonderfully more vibrant.

I’m very taken by the way the wildflowers look. They seem wonderfully unconventional with an attack of untamed growth, consisting of exciting colour mixes.

I spoke to my wife Carole, about how unexpectedly surprised I was by the floral explosion. We have a raised decking platform right by it all and look out at them on the summer evening.

I have now got more wildflower seeds and scattered them in the front garden amid bark chippings. I’m hoping the same thing will happen around the Red Hot Pokers and the Curry plant rockery.

As I grow older, I’m beginning to realise that I’ve never noticed the wood for the trees where gardens are concerned. It’s like I’ve had this wonderful awakening to it all. I think it is because I bought a camera to do my blog. I thought I might photograph a few things and use it to write blogs whilst searching for subjects of interest. I can’t believe where it has taken me.

Good Kindle Reads - A MURDEROUS AFFAIR (compelling period/crime/espionage)

A compelling period/crime/espionage story written first person singular. John Lovat is an illegitimate son of a titled man. His half-brother is legitimate and has all the trappings of inherited wealth including having his half-brother (john Lovat) at his beckon call. The illegitimate brother lives in a room upon old London Bridge with a panoramic view of the bustling river Thames and both banks of the teeming metropolis. It is the time of Queen Elizabeth I. The year is 1588 and the winter is coming. The Spanish Armada has been defeated and England is brimming with new found confidence.

One morning John Lovat reluctantly goes upon a quest for his half-brother and benefactor, to find the culprit of a murdered Portuguese man washed upon the mud banks near Deptford at a place called Cuckold’s Point. The story moves from one setting to another as John Lovat tries to get to the bottom of the complex mystery that starts to unfold. He finds himself working for two masters. His titled brother and England’s first great spy master; Lord Walsingham. There are a lot of historical events that get loosely tied in with this gripping story that makes it all the more enjoyable, including echoes from the Babington Plot and from the St Bartholomew massacre in France. We also get tastes of the great theatre too. All of this gives the reader a feel of Elizabethan England. A thoroughly enjoyable read. 

What we did at the Bird Hides in Manea Cambridgeshire - England

Today, Carole and I went over the bird hides at Manea to look out across the Fen and hope to find some birds of prey. Last week we bought stronger binoculars while out along the coastal towns of north Norfolk.

We could see Ely Cathedral in the summer haze as we looked out across the fen from our bird hide. We took along a flask of coffee, as usual, plus some great door step sandwiches of Tiger bread filled with peppered ham, mustard and tomato. Net forgetting the pork pies too. We always unwind out in the quite fen and talk about this and that, while hoping to spot a hawk of some kind. There were plenty of swifts and swallows plus herons and a stork.

The bird hides can be a little hit and miss for the hawks and as we are novices; we tend to be learning via mistakes. The last time we were at the hides, a beautiful bird of prey landed upon a distant gate post. It had a black head, but I could not make out if it was a Marsh Harrier or a Hobby. I got several shots of the creature as it was upon the gate for a good few minutes surveying the fields and the scarp of the dyke. However, we did not have the better binoculars at the time and my Nikon zoom lens gave me a maximum of 200m. Sadly this was not effective. When I down loaded the pictures upon my computer, I tried to magnify the subject (bird of prey) but it pixilated before I could make out what it was.

I need to buy a new zoom lens that gives greater magnification and have seen a fine one on eBay, but it is in USA. Therefore delivery will take some time.

In the meantime, we still content ourselves with what we can see via the new binoculars and hope for the best with my zoom lens at 200m.

The only bird of prey we see today was a kestrel. I took a few shots of that, but it was at distance and on the way back we saw many butterflies and snapped some of these topics too. Upon the lock gate I tried to get some swifts or swallows as they darted and flitted across the canal.

Even the snakes declined to make an appearance. The last time we were here there seemed to be a lot of adders and grass snakes in the long grass.

A chirpy little Goldfinch allowed us a few shots too. He was singing his afternoon song upon a TV Ariel when we got home.