Equinox

When I was at school, I had detention just once, but it seemed like agony.  I was compelled to write an essay under the title “Why I like Autumn” and it seemed like absolute torture.  Back then, I just hated Autumn!  The cold, wet, windy days; the leaves which gradually composted into filthy sludge, having to come home from school in the dark…
  

But I grew up, time passed, and my perspective changed.  Last Autumn was a triumph of exquisite colour and now I’m looking forward to seeing the wonders this Autumn will bring.  We’ve passed the equinox now, but there is still the tail end of Summer to enjoy.
   

Have you seen the swallows, queuing up in long lines on the telegraph wires to gather their strength for their big flight to South Africa?  Have you seen the black-headed gulls, with their heads now just spotted white, coming into town to seek opportunistic feeding?  Yesterday I watched as a still-brown young cormorant, struggling to swallow a fish which was far too big to swallow, dropped the fish disappointedly. By the time Spring comes, every young cormorant’s fish catching expertise will be honed to perfection.
   

My last few cycle rides have taken me through superbly beautiful scenes. Skies blue between the dark, dark clouds; saturated greens washed with rain and tinged with gold and the plaintive call of the swallows, as they gather on their wires.  There’s a quietness about the tail end of Summer, as most of the songbirds no longer sing, and their simple calls seem to be carried away on the wind. It’s as though the land rests, after the heady rush of Summer. 
  

But the farmers are still busy.  Arable fields are being harvested leaving behind ochre coloured stubble, and livestock are spreading muck on the minor roads as they are moved from one wet field to another.  My bike needs a good clean when I get home.
   

I’m going to be in the Peak District this weekend, helping a bunch of relative cycling newcomers learn there are rewards for cycling uphill.  I hope I can also find some swallows to show them, so that our humble cycling exertions can be put into perspective.

Watching Birds, by bike

I love riding my bike, but I’m no mountain biker.  So when I found myself at a loose end during one of my husband’s mountain bike weekends in the Conwy valley in August, I packed my binoculars into my backpack and set off for the RSPB Nature Reserve at Conwy.

I took a minor lane up the valley, and battled against a savage head wind, feeling quite exhausted by the time I pedalled into Conwy town.  But then came the next problem – how could I get to the reserve by bike, when I knew from my map that it was approached by way of an exit from a motorway-style roundabout?  Being away from home I had no internet to turn to, and my map wasn’t exactly up to date.  I felt as vulnerable as a farm-fresh egg riding amongst the speeding cars and trucks and I had a few close calls, not to mention angry blasts from motor vehicle horns.  But I made it in one piece, and noticed as I cycled past it in the car park that there is a beautiful riverside Sustrans cycle path I could have used.  To think, I could have come by a traffic free route!  I resolved to ride out that way, after spending some time peacefully observing the wildlife.

But first I was off to the café for warming soup (and it was so good that I had two bowlfuls), and as I waved my membership card at the lady on reception, I was immediately humbled by her admission that she’d cycled to work that very morning from where I’d ridden.  She does it every day, over the hills and battling with the wind.  But the wind and the hills are a part of her job, I suppose, and savage though they sometimes seem to be, nature can be savage, and I found myself full of envy for her nature-soaked commute.

And so to the hides.  Conwy is an unusual reserve, sandwiched as it is between the arterial routes of the A470 and the A55.   Traffic noise is ever present and for me, a human, it is hard to ignore.  But it matters not one bit to the feeding wildfowl, who go about their business with steadfast determination, whatever the elements throw at them and regardless of the volume of the thundering trucks, just like those birds that feed, live and nest amongst the various firing ranges of the MOD.

The dry Summer has hit the Conway reserve hard, and the lagoons have shrunk to a fraction of their normal size despite the sterling efforts of the reserve workers, who are hindered by restrictions on water diversion.  Nevertheless my inexpert birdwatching was a real pleasure, peaceful and fruitful, despite my tiny pocket binoculars.  And not even a Jumbo Jet landing could have distracted me from my fascination as I watched a diminutive little dunlin have a bitter and sustained argument with a towering black tailed godwit, both birds demonstrating their individual characters with a mixture of pathos and comedy.

I rode back along the Sustrans cyclepath to Conwy.  It’s short, but lovely, closely skirting the Conwy river with nothing to block the view of the shallows and the creatures feeding there.  When I go again, I’ll know where to find it, and I think I might be taking a bit of time to have a peaceful moment there.