Nettle Bed Caterpillars

My progress with the strimmer was halted as I realised that the nettle beds (Urtica dioica) were full of caterpillars. The masses of cobweb strewn over the heads of the plants weren't as I first thought the work of spiders but were in fact nests of young caterpillars at different stages of growth. The caterpillars in the most recently hatched batches, each of perhaps 50 caterpillars, were tiny with their heads disproportionate in scale but the older ones were clumped in groups at the top of plants consuming their way down the stems. As I approached they reared up as one, perhaps trying to put off a potential predator with their confidence perhaps and, alerted to the caterpillars in my own garden I saw another on School Hill which might suggest that across the village there are other groups all collectively protected from predation by their sheer numbers. I ended up strimming my way around the caterpillars leaving 6 distinct clumps of nettle plants for the caterpillars to feed on, reminded of the importance of wild patches of growth in a garden.

I think these are the caterpillars of the small tortoiseshell butterfly (Aglais urticae)

It's not grim up north

Just got back from a lovely week in Yorkshire and Cumbria (occasioned by the Tour de France). Lovely to get to another part of the country and enjoy a different array of terrain and wildlife. We swam in the River Wharfe, watched sunset over Morecambe bay, counted bats (219!) as they left eaves at dusk, and saw beautiful orchid-rich meadows swarming with butterflies (maintained by traditional grazing) and slept in a 'bee-loud glade'.  As ever I returned with more pictures of bees than anything else, which I shall spare you.

For me it was great to have the time to just be outside, soaking up the wonders of summer in England, allowing nature to come to me rather than having to fit it round other life commitments, a snatched hour here and there. It's all there waiting...

I came across this poem by John Clare that seemed apt:

In Hilly Wood
How sweet to be thus nestling deep in boughs,
Upon an ashen stoven pillowing me;
Faintly are heard the ploughmen at their ploughs,
But not an eye can find its way to see.
The sunbeams scarce molest me with a smile,
So thick the leafy armies gather round;
And where they do, the breeze blows cool the while,
Their leafy shadows dancing on the ground.
Full many a flower, too, wishing to be seen,
Perks up its head the hiding grass between.-
In mid-wood silence, thus, how sweet to be;
Where all the noises, that on peace intrude,
Come from the chittering cricket, bird, and bee,
Whose songs have charms to sweeten solitude.

Emotional Transects

I was reflecting on the monthly beewalk that I mentioned in a recent post. It's a transect, which is a scientific methodology for gathering data about the outside world by walking the same route on a regular basis and taking observations. I enjoy the process, as it gives me a structure to observe incremental changes across the seasons.

I then started thinking about whether one could apply this methodology in a more phenomenological way, by undertaking the same activity but making close observations not about the external, but about the internal. How often on this route and in which quadrant do I experience specific emotions, such as amusement, joy, anger, sadness, happiness and boredom? As with the bee data this could then be mapped over time and by habitat telling us how often we feel anger in wheatfields in June, or joy in hedgerowed lanes in October. Over time, and with enough data, this could form the basis of a landscape-based wellbeing intervention.

However, I suspect that Heisenberg's Uncertainty Principle would almost certainly apply, with the act of observation changing that which is observed. So maybe we should come up with proxy indicators for common emotions, such as heart-rate, blood pressure and pace of walking, all controlled for other variables. Or maybe we should stick to counting bees and being happy?

One of the many playful Lundy seals.

Lundy Island

A great weekend's diving on Lundy Island in the Bristol Channel. The old rocket shed in the village (* where they used to house the horse-drawn shipwreck rescue rocket apparatus) is now a simple little museum about the island with a collection of natural history items on the window sills, discovered by children. Great to explore a section of the island and climb the lighthouse. The fields full of sheep, Soay sheep, highland cattle, silka deer and birds everywhere. Saw fulmar, petrel, razorbill, puffin, gannet, wheatear, skylark, yellowhammer, kittiwake, cormorant, herring gull and many other species. Many of the island birds were ringed, including all of the confident sparrows hopping about outside the pub and nesting in the barns.

Underwater the visibility was good all weekend with the famously confident Lundy seals approaching the divers and trying to bite fins and enjoying sneaking up from behind or playfully tearing off strips of kelp to show off with. The wreck of the 'Robert', a 70's coal ship that foundered half a mile offshore, was covered in life; anemones, dead man's fingers, pink sea fans, urchins, fish and fry, flatworms, nudibranch's, squat lobsters and crabs. The ropes now garlands of soft corals and anemones and the hull a landscape of 40 years of marine life now reclaiming the ship as a reef. Too much to list here but I summarised some in the islands logbook - see beneath. I plan to return next year, such a wonderful Island and so close.

Where are all the Bumblebees?

Undertook my monthly 'Beewalk' on behalf of the Bumblebee Conservation Trust today. It's a lovely thing to do each month, walking the same route and counting the numbers of different species of Bumblebee. Repeating the same route at monthly intervals gives a very clear sense of the development of the year, seeing how the hedgerows and fields change their hue and heft.

It was windy and alternating between cloud cover and sun. It's high summer and should be bumblebee nirvana, but where I have been seeing increasing numbers over recent months, today I saw negligible numbers. Other pollinators were abundant - ringlet butterflies by the score, beautiful hoverflies, dragonflies and day-flying moths everywhere I looked. But until about half-way round, no Bumblebees. I think today's weather mostly to blame, but the recent prolonged wet weather that we have had locally may have played a part; with foraging opportunities scant, nests will have been under huge stress. However, I did see the first new daughter queen (i.e born this year rather than last year'sover-wintered), a fat and fresh Bombus terrestris, seemingly scouring for hibernation sites, presumably having mated with whatever males may be around. And so the circle is unbroken.

Damsel in distress.

Common Blue Damselfly

Enallagma cyathigerum

Found squashed on the road near to the Greenbank pool in Street and picked up carefully and stored in my wallet on the cycle home.