Great Cormorant

Crossley ID Guide

Plenty of these in the Ouse Valley. They nest colonially on a tiny island in a small lake made by the owner of a local farm. The vegetation has been ruined through shear numbers. The Great Cormorant, Phalacrocorax carbo, is not to be confused (but often is) with the Shag, most notably by Christopher Isherwood in his poem The Common Cormorant.

Marsh Woundwort

Just a quickie tonight as it's Wednesday and busy work day plus on-call. 
This was one of the many new (to me) plants on my Saturday sojourn with the SBRS: Marsh Woundwort or Stachys palustris. It was growing in the ditches draining the marshes, strikingly tall compared to the more reticent and common Hedge Woundwort. 

Sea Couch

Another new plant for me from the weekend's SBRS jaunt around Landport and Offham marshes. This striking tall blue-green grass is Sea Couch or Elytrigia atherica. It was growing along the bank of the Ouse, striking sculptural poses in small tufts, towering above the other grasses. Hard to ignore.
Looking at the top right photo you might be thinking "Lolium" or "rye grass" (according to your level of botanical initiation), but a glance at the top left photo reveals that the spikelets are arranged parallel to the inflorescence and not at right angles as is the case with rye grasses. (I see now that I'll have to find a rye grass to blog tomorrow!)

Marsh Ragwort

Just reflecting on yesterday's SBRS (see yesterday's post for link) trip around Landport and Offham marshes. I have only managed to get to a handful of SBRS meetings over the last three years, but each time I am awestruck by the knowledge of those I have the pleasure to tag along with. Of course I am utterly useless on such outings, the purpose of which is botanical recording in the round or sometimes specifically for 'missing' records in the area being covered. These are the people who go out across every square mile of our county recording its plants to accumulate data that allows us to know how the nature around us if fairing. They are rarely, if ever, acknowledged by the 'public', yet without them the countryside that the public so enjoy would be impoverished; without them we wouldn't know the damage that invasive species might be reeking; without them we wouldn't know about the decline in biodiversity resulting from poor land managment; without them we wouldn't know that efforts to rescue vulnerable habitats were working. As you might imagine, they are all lovely lovely people and I find them quite inspiring. 
There were probably thirty or more plants new to me on Saturday, each patiently pointed out and the identification features explained. One of my favourites was this, Marsh Ragwort or Senecio aquaticus. This has larger flowers than Common Ragwort and they are held apart so that none touches another. The leaves differ from the commoner ragwort species we may be familiar with. It grows with its feet in water so you won't find it on the Downs. 
It is declining in the South East so good to know some survives in the ditches around Lewes. 

Willow Warbler

"Willow Warbler Phylloscopus trochilus" by Andreas Trepte - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 2.5 via Wikimedia Commons

The willow warbler, Phylloscopus trochilus, had to be today's species after yesterday's chiffchaff. It is more impressive on account of its hardcore migration (all the way to sub-Saharan Africa) and prettier song. The latter is a delightful cascade of liquid notes.
Unfortunately their numbers have fallen massively over the last few decades. The reasons are not entirely clear but humans kill tens of thousands of migrating passerines every year in places like Cyprus and Malta.

Great Horsetail

 











I found this on my Ouse riverbank walk the other day. It's Great Horsetail or Equisetum telmateia. 
It's in the same division as the ferns (Pteridophyta) as it reproduces by spores rather than seeds. It's one of two species in the genus that produce non-green cone-bearing shoots in Spring before the green, branched shoots that appear in Summer.  It is one of the living fossils, being the only surviving genus from a class of plants that dominated the land back in the Carboniferous period when coal was being formed. Some species were trees reaching 30m in height.

"Equisetopsida" by Rror Licensed under

 CC BY-SA 3.0

Cuckoo Flower or Lady's Smock

Another spring classic, this is found in damp grassy ditches and field margins. Cardamine pratensis has one of the longest lists of local vernacular names in Mr Grigson's master work. It appears to be widely associated with bad luck if picked so is not really used medicinally. In the old days smock was use as innuendo for a female desired sexually, as in 'a bit of skirt'. 
It's part of the Brassicaceae or cabbage family, formerly known as the Cruciferae or crucifers on account of their having four petals arranged in a cross. I found this today walking along the bank of the Ouse.
The more I reflect, the more it's as if some massive switch was thrown whilst we were away in Morocco, signalling the start of Spring proper. This has been especially noticeable with the garden bird-feeders. Before we went I was re-filling the big seed feeder every two to three days. I filled it when we got back and

more than a week later it's still not empty, with the ones nearest the house virtually untouched. The peanuts have been shunned completely. 
I'm sure the reason for this is the dispersal of wintering flocks now that the breeding hormones have kicked in. The birds have all become territorial and consequently anti-social (barring the house sparrows, wherever they are). 
On my walk today I saw two crows' nests with sitting birds, along with magpies and blackbirds gathering nesting material. I also heard the first willow warbler of the year, saw three peregrines at the same time (a male and female with another male somewhat apart) and a buzzard. Yesterday I saw that the ravens have two fledglings only days away from leaving the nest.
Nice.

Blackthorn

I saw this lovely specimen growing on the bank of the river Ouse on Sunday when out looking at the ravens building their nest on the chalk cliffs on the other side. It's also pertinent as I was treated to some of Bill and Gail's sloe gin (mixed with a sparkling white wine) on Saturday evening.
Prunus spinosa is a big plant in terms of its utility and folklore. Not quite as much as Whitethorn (Hawthorn), but still considered a powerful tree. The blossoms are unlucky in the house or worn but the shoots are good, especially for walking sticks. Grigson (see Inspiring books) gives the vernacular names which include some real corkers: snag-bush; egg-peg-bush; scrogg; pig-in-the-hedge.
Every year I tell myself I must collect some to have another go at making sloe gin. Our first attempt (many years ago) was considered a failure; too sour. This time we'll take advice.
The other interesting point about it is that it is thought to be one of the 'parents' of domestic plums: Prunus domestica. The latter is hexaploid. Blackthorn is tetraploid and the other parent is thought to be the diploid Cherry-plum, Prunus cerasifera, mentioned only the other day: it's all connected folks!

Hen Harrier (female)

This is a female hen harrier, Circus cyaneus, and I saw one this afternoon on a walk from Rodmell to Southease along the bank of the river Ouse. They are one of our rarest breeding raptors and in very real danger of extinction in the UK. This is in no small part due to the nefarious activities of the grouse-shooting owners of moorland where the birds breed.
The females have an obvious white band at the base of their tails and as a result are known in the birding world as 'ringtails'. This autumn/winter is the first year I've seen them in the lower Ouse valley. The first time I saw one was back in October when it was accompanied by a marsh harrier, another first here. They are sometimes mistaken for each other but a glimpse of the white tail base is a clincher. The male hen harrier is quite different looking: pale blue-grey with black wing tips. They have broad, owlish faces.
If you're interested in curtailing driven grouse-shooting in this country, something a handful of tax-avoiding mega-rich pay to do for a few weeks of the year at the detriment of these and other highland birds, follow this link to sign a petition before the end of March 2015.

Northern Lapwing

Went for a brief but bracing walk with me old pal James this morning. This is the view from Southease bridge looking north up the Ouse river towards Lewes. The town is just visible to the right of the line of trees sloping down from the left had side. Just to the right of centre is Mount Caburn, site of a still very visible Iron Age hill fort. There is a dry valley behind which is absolutely awash with wild flowers in the spring, including more orchids than I've ever seen. 
On the walk down to the river from Rodmell we could see huge numbers of lapwing, Vanellus vanellus. I reckon there were more than a thousand altogether across the valley. They are one of my favourite birds: I love watching the flocks in flight. Think murmuration of starlings on steroids. They have white bellies which flash silver as they twist one way then the other. If you're standing within a few hundred metres you can hear the rush of air through their collective wings. The wings themselves look out of proportion with the rest of the body, giving rise to the, as it transpires erroneous, notion that 'flap-wing' might have been an original epithet.
In the season, or sometimes just when the desire seizes them, they perform their acrobatic courtship flights and emit their wonderful weird noises, including the "peewit" call that lends them one of their common names.

On the ground they are no less alluring with their cocky crests and irridescent green and purple mantles, black throats, faces and bills. 
We are lulled into a false sense of their success as a species by these large winter flocks as these are swelled with visitors from the continent; the UK population has plummeted by more than 80% in many areas. As a breeding bird it is in danger of becoming extinct in the south east. Yet this was a bird that has been associated with all types of agricultural land for more than 2000 years. 

Andreas Trepte, www.photo-natur.de

The small RSPB reserve at Lewes Brooks was purchased in the hope that they might maintain a toe-hold in the valley. I have been surveying the site for six years now and last year was the first time I ever saw a youngster fledge, although on average four pairs attempt to breed every season. There are simply too many predators: foxes, mink, crows, ravens, herring gulls and peregrines.
According to Mark Cocker they have more vernacular names than any other British species. These include green plover, pie-wipe, pee-wee, peasiewheep, toppyup, and in Shetland, tieve's nacket (meaning thieves' imp). In the seventeenth century prostitutes and deceitful women were known as 'plovers'. They are masters of deceit when it comes to protecting their nests and young, often feigning injury by dragging one wing along the ground and hopping away to distract predators. In fact the collective noun for lapwings is a 'deceit'.