What do we know

I saw so much that day, but it’s the ephemeral things that I can’t get out of my head.

Pine tree tops
In the blue night
frost haze, the sky glows
with the moon
pine tree tops
bend snow-blue, fade
into sky, frost, starlight.
The creak of boots.
Rabbit tracks, deer tracks,
what do we know.

                   Gary Snyder

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Work Day On The Marshes

Last Sunday I took part in my first volunteer work day for the Friends of Tottenham Marshes – clearing an area of scrub to make space for beehives. I barely knew a soul, so it was a confusing day of forgetting peoples names, not knowing where to sit for lunch and generally being the one constantly having to play catch-up. To add to the confusion it was a shared work day with Lea Bridge Conservation Volunteers, who seemed to completely outnumber the Tottenham lot and who I constantly mistook for them. The confusion didn’t matter one bit though as LBCV were a friendly bunch and I think I’ll be joining in with some of their work days in the future.

The area of wooded scrub we were working in was chest deep in nettles and brambles which we mainly cut down using tools with the satisfying name of slashers. The work was sweaty, stingy and thorny but with about a dozen of us working it wasn’t so bad. The picture above shows the area I was working in – wish I’d taken a “before” picture as you can’t really tell from this how much vegetation we shifted. Blackcaps sang all around us as we worked, and not long after we started someone found a nest with two blue eggs in it. It was a blackbird nest, possibly already deserted as it is so late in the year – the eggs were cold. We left it and it’s tree untouched though, just in case.

The day was hot and sunny and I was glad to be working under the shade of Hawthorn and Elder scrub. Out in the bright sunshine a small work party dug over and prepared a flower bed outside the meeting rooms, and there in the fresh turned soil was a tiny newt.

After a leisurely lunch by the banks of the river we went back to the clearing and worked with pitchforks to pile up the vegetation we had cut back. Those tall compost piles will provide a wonderful invertebrate habitat, quickly rotting down to take up less and less space, until it is time to put in the bee hives. We’d got most of the work done before lunch so there was a chance to lean on our tools and look around, a few of us discussing wildlife on the marshes and identifying trees and shrubs in the clearing. Many were laden with fruit, like this bird cherry.

The bank I had been working on was smothered with cascades of fat, sweet sunwarmed brambles which I had spent the morning eating greedily before cutting the thorny branches back. Before calling it a day we combed the remaining bramble thickets and were rewarded with a tasty wild grown treat.

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Everything But What I wanted

Summer is moving on apace and as I don’t want to waste a single sunny day when it crops up, I grabbed my camera and binoculars and cycled up the River Lee after the first good forecast this week. The idea was to go dragonfly spotting, something I’ve been aching to give a whole day to, but the day itself had other plans for me.

I had a particular spot in mind, Gunpowder Park, near Waltham Abbey. I’d been there many years ago and had a vague memory of myriads of dancing insects, so having for once a specific destination in mind I set off at a brisk pace.

The towpath was deserted, surprisingly so for such a lovely day. I usually cycle the towpath slowly, mindful of pedestrians and dogs, but on this occasion there was not another soul to be seen, and I sped along. Due to my haste I will have missed a lot – I know it – just from the tantalising things that I only glimpsed like the plums glossy and ripe and good spilled across the gravel as windfall, the skulking herons, the bright flash of wildflowers. The horse meadow with it’s bright garlanded hedgerow coaxed me to pull up and drink in it’s beauty, the scent of buddlea and wild sweet peas heady and intoxicating.

Usually I’d stop alongside those pylons to search for Little Owls (at one point I was seeing so many and so regularly there that I just called them “pylon birds”) but this time I was on a mission, and thinking that I could easily stop there on the way home I hurried by. A bank of honeysuckle flowers tempted me to pause, but I was uncharacteristically hasty in getting back in the saddle.

Ever feel like you’ve jinxed yourself?  All those things I told myself I’d stop and look at properly on the way back never did get looked at after all, which proves to me that being in a hurry to get anywhere is just a great big waste of NOW.  Hurrying discourages curiosity, blinkers us to the unexpected.  And on I sped, intoxicated with the swift breeze and the scrunch of gravel under my tyres. The towpath finally emerged from beneath the roaring M25, ducked under one more road and rolled out into parkland. Was this Gunpowder Park? I wasn’t sure, and a quick rummage in my saddlebag confirmed that I’d forgotten to bring a map. No problem! It would surely be signposted and besides, I could always ask for directions.

I got off the bike and strolled slowly along the riverbank in hope of spotting a dragonfly or two, but the wind was strong and I could not find the sheltered places where the dragons and damsels would be patrolling. Still, the river was beautiful, a slow, sinuous dancing river, and the weeds under the water swayed slowly like mermaids tresses. So many wildflowers I did not recognise! I got down on my belly to take pictures, to the mild alarm of strolling families who couldn’t see anything special about the clump of weeds I was prostrated by.  I’m truly glad I spent a bit of slow time here, because when I got up and got back on my bike in search of Gunpowder Park and dragonflies, I realised something wasn’t quite right. Oh no – no WAY. I had a puncture. Normally this would not be an issue but I think you can guess what else I’d forgotten. That’s right -  I’d set out to cycle miles out of London over relatively rough ground and not even brought a pump with me. And as I’d forgotten my map, I had no idea where the nearest train station was. Where was everybody? Now that I needed to ask directions the park seemed suddenly deserted. In search of directions or even a sign I followed the nearest road and stumbled upon a very unfriendly looking gated community on the edge of town; big ugly houses with big ugly cars parked in all the drives, completely sterile and unhelpfully deserted. But here I found a genuine and lovely surprise.

A flowering ornamental shrub was by some magic growing wild at the side of the path, and on it’s flowers danced an astonishing number of Painted Lady butterflies. The nectar laden flower heads tossed in the strong breeze and the insects clung to the blossoms determinedly, everything moving back and forth as if being pulled by a tide. Bees hummed industriously between the butterflies – everything was so intensely involving that the mystery of how I was ever going to get home seemed very far away.

I know most people in the UK have been seeing these lovely butterflies in great numbers since their mass migration here earlier this spring, but I’ve been singularly unlucky and seen hardly any. To find dozens of them all in one place was plenty consolation for the lack of dragonflies and the long, hot, unpleasant slog home.

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The elusive Bee Orchid shows itself

It’s high time I continued the story begun in last week’s post Here Be Dragons. Did I find any Bee Orchids? I hadn’t meant to tease but yes, yes I did! As you can see from the pictures here, I saw some beauties.

To recap… after bumping into wildlife photographer David Cottridge beside the pond on Tottenham Marshes, he offered to show me where the rumoured  Ophrys apiphera, or Bee Orchid, was flowering. I had been there once before on a fruitless search so I was thrilled to bits that this time I would not be disappointed! I was led to a small area of open meadow which had obviously been mown at some point; the grass was shorter and the undergrowth sparser in general – perfect Orchid habitat. How had I not spotted this admittedly modest clearing before? And there they were. I didn’t spot the first one; not knowing quite what to expect David had to point it out to me.

The flowers are a little bit smaller than I’d imagined, about the size of a thumbnail. It doesn’t matter that I have a field guide, somehow the measurements never sink in when I read them and taking the name of the plant literally, I’d been on the lookout for something perhaps the size of a large bumblebee. There is a fairly good reason why I made this error though, and it has to do with this plant’s fascinating and bizarre method of reproduction.

The Bee Orchid is a shameless mimic, and what it mimics as you might guess is bees. It imitates female bees of a particular species right down to the scent it gives off, which to a male bee is as convincing and seductive as his intended mate would be. The Bee Orchid’s flower also looks, to a bee at least, very much like a prospective female. Sadly the Bee Orchid which is native to the UK mostly flaunts it’s flowers and scent in vain; it is thought that the original bee which it was trying to seduce is extinct, but I’ve read that bees of a different species will occasionally be mistaken. But why is the plant bothering to do this in the first place?

Take a look at the above picture. The bloom on the left has what looks like a little yellow ball hanging from it’s hood, in fact there are two of these and they are called pollinia. Pollinia are dense packages of pollen, and to set seed the orchid needs some way of transmitting their pollinia to other plants. So imagine – the excited bee lands on the flower and attempts to mate with it, at which point

“a curved column that houses both male and female plant organs descends from the top of the orchid and glues a pair of pollinia to his head. If the next orchid he visits has already dispatched it’s pollinia, then the column will pick up the one he carries and the orchid is fertilised” (pg 126, The Private Life Of Plants, David Attenborough)

This little plant is luring the hapless bee on a false promise of sexual bliss in order to have it’s own reproductive needs met. Or it would be, if  any bees were answering it’s scented call. UK bee orchids, bereft of their original pollinator are luckily able to pollinate themselves so it’s a good job I hadn’t sat down in the grass expecting to see this drama enacted, because I’d have been there still.

Back to the little clearing, and David and I were tiptoeing about in the grass trying to find the perfect angle for a picture. There were several flower spikes and each spike had flowers slightly different from the others – it seems they are vary variable. David pointed out the one pictured above as being particularly striking. The area the orchids were flowering in has been mown for the last couple of years as a traditional hay meadow by Friends Of Tottenham Marshes in an attempt to encourage wildflowers; apparently these orchids had shown their heads the very first year this was done.

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Here be dragons!

Yesterday was fine and sunny, so I thought I’d try my luck dragonfly hunting on Coppermill Lane. I had a tiny hope that I’d find the beautiful Libellula Depressa, or Broad Bodied Chaser I had seen there not so long ago; whether I did or not I couldn’t  fail to enjoy myself on a glorious midsummer day like this.

Under the little bridges behind Springfield Marina this Mute Swan has been incubating her eggs for what seems an age. It looks nice and cool there doesn’t it? But when the sun swings westward the shade vanishes and she’s left exposed in the harsh sun; then she is forced to keep her eggs cool under her downy body.  I’ve seen her gaping dejectedly in the punishing heat, struggling to reach the water for a drink without getting up from the nest. She drove a coot off that nesting spot earlier in the spring, and I wonder if, in her small and pugnacious brain, there is ever the vaguest sense of regret.

Further along Coppermill Lane I realised I wasn’t going to see any dragonflies or damselflies. Council gardeners had been at work with strimmers and mowers and cut back the long vegetation fringing the edges of the tracks and the towpath for miles and miles. The water was spattered with shredded grass and the longer vegetation which served as territorial perches for the dragonflies had been destroyed.  I guessed the insects had dispersed into the marshes while the cutting was being done, and after a brief scout around revealed nothing I sadly got back on my bike and resolved to go up to Tottenham Marshes in search of bee orchids. I remembered the new pond and decided to enter the marshes via the pond track. That was the best thing I did all day! Nearing the water I saw a man with a camera around his neck who was clearly watching something. I asked him what he’d seen, and he pointed to this…

A male Broad Bodied Chaser, perched like an improbably beautiful mechanical toy on a stick poked into the pond mud. The photographer had placed the stick there in the hope of attracting a dragonfly and within moments this beauty had claimed the tailor made perch. I couldn’t have been more thrilled and started gabbling about how this was the only dragonfly I could recognise for sure and that I’d tried and failed to photograph one a couple of weeks before. At last, success! As I snapped away I noticed just how well…serious a camera my new friend had, and had to comment. Turns out that I’d bumped into David Cottridge, an award winning wildlife photographer who encouraged me to take my time and get the shot just right as I stood at the waters edge with my undistinguished point ‘n’ shoot. We discussed the various quirks of cheap cameras and the fabulousness of state of the art ones, and I picked up so many hints about the wonderful things to be found on the marshes, the best parts of the river and marshes in which to see dragonflies and damselflies (I didn’t realise that the River Lee which runs through the marshes is the best place in the UK for dragonflies!) and just kept on looking at that gorgeous powder blue insect.

While discussing the wildlife of the marshes it was only a matter of time before the subject of Bee Orchids came up. As I was talking to a man who knows Tottenham Marshes like the back of his hand I shouldn’t have been surprised when he casually offered to show me where they were, so I excitedly grabbed my bike and he shouldered a rucksack crammed with field guides, and off we went.

PS:- David, if by any chance you ever actually read this, thanks again for sharing your knowledge. I am sure I must have appeared slightly bonkers. I was so thrilled to find exactly what I had set out to see that day, and to have bumped into just the person who could help me was extraordinary good luck. No wonder my snake/tree identification skills, rudimentary at best, went right out of the window

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