Wild Wonders #1

A nature diary from the wilds of South Wales

Welcome to my first Wild Wonders entry! This is my ad-lib nature diary. A place to share the wonders of nature that I come across in my local patch bordering the Gwent Levels, and beyond.

Great Northern Diver at Lisvane Reservoir, Cardiff

Back to birdwatching

For the first time in over a year (maybe two?!), I went birdwatching. Proper birdwatching, with my binoculars and without my dog. Koda would prefer to chase any bird he sees and will insist on whining during any amount of time spent stationary. Not ideal.

I was rewarded for striking out on a bitterly cold January day to Lisvane Reservoir. I saw many birds - coots, swans, tufted ducks (my favourite), pochard, little grebes, and gulls.

But the highlight was seeing a Great Northern Diver! I nearly missed out, mistaking them for a great-crested grebe. Thankfully, I overheard a photographer and birder discussing the diver. I need to get my eye in, I’ve become rusty.

The bird was close enough for me to see their sleek reptilian head upon a cetacean-like body. Detailed with silver threads sewn upon their silky wet black feathers. An otherworldly bird with red eyes matching their bizarre song.

Also known as the common loon, their haunting call features in nearly every atmospheric outdoor scene in films and TV. This individual was constantly diving, it was hard to catch glimpses and impossible to track, oblivious to the little crowd watching avidly. A magical moment.

Too soon the diver moved away from our edge of the reservoir, returning to the centre away from birders’ eyes.

Noticing nature

I used to hate winter. Whilst I still am not a fan of the cold and wet, the wild creatures that reveal themselves to me more than make up for it.

On one of the few wintry days when our local reen was frozen, I was treated to my annual sighting of a water rail. Slimmer showier versions of moorhens with longer brighter beaks and limbs.

They announce their presence with squeaks or a characteristic pig squeal. Trust me, if you want to see a water rail seek them treading out on frozen reed-lined water edges. It’s the only time I see them.

Our garden bird feeders are more busy and diverse than they have been for years. Great spotted woodpecker, goldfinches, house sparrows, starlings, jackdaws, chaffinches, and woodpigeons.

A parade of tits; blue, great, coal and long-tailed. A pair of song thrushes, a wren and a robin paid a visit to the scruffy lawn. Grey squirrels have also been a nuisance to Koda’s delight!

Of course, only a handful of the usual cast turned up for the Big Garden Birdwatch. As ever, the weight of hope and expectation breaks the tendril of possibility when wildlife watching.

And so I remind myself to notice and delight in what is here. Days later, I receive a spark of joy and surprise when I glimpse the sharp gold line adorning the tiny head of a goldcrest. Gentle noticing is rewarded.

A day of everything going wrong. I head to our local Tesco in a foul mood in the encroaching dark. When I step out of the car, I am drowned in the cacophony of a large jackdaw flock.

Gregarious gossiping and cackling together in their hundreds. The sounds echo over a mundane lamplit car park. A small fragment of ancient woodland clings here beside the supermarket. In winter the jackdaws roost in the treetops.

My mood lightens immediately. It never ceases to amaze me how nature can tame the storm of my mind.

With the arrival of February, I have been noticing showers of golden hazel catkins amongst stands of trees. Subtle hints and reassurance that spring will come.

My first snowdrops of the year bursting from a damp wooded edge catch my eye as I drive past. A daffodil, too yellow, sprouts from a roundabout. It has been another winter of far too mild weather.

On a daily dog walk, I wonder if I should listen to podcasts to make use of the time. Sometimes treading the same route through the park every lunchtime under grey damp skies bores me.

I hear alarmed squawking. I look up to see a sparrowhawk diving with stunning speed away from a mobbing crow. I remember why I don’t wear headphones on walks.

Call of the curlew

The chiming trilling song of the curlew stirs something deep and primal in me. When stress, chronic pain and illness claimed me a few weeks ago, the memory of the curlew’s song called. In the same way other animals know to seek out the nutrients that are lacking in their diet. So I sought it out.

Under the startlingly open sky of the Severn Estuary, we hear the curlew. We did not glimpse the owners of the song. They resided somewhere in the distance on the slick mudflats exposed by low tide.

That magical sound is enough to sate me. My partner did not agree. But later on our walk the appearance of a pair of salmon pink stonechats gave compensation.

A groundbreaking new nature book

If you are reading this I’m assuming you are into wildlife and nature writing. So I’m going to encourage you to check out my dear friend’s new book all about the return of wild boar in the UK.

Shockingly, no one else has decided to explore this. Amongst the excitement around rewilding and species reintroduction, there’s little mention of the wild boar already here. But I’m so glad it is Chantal who has taken up the mantle. She brings her beautiful writing, candour and sharp insight to a vital topic for wildlife conservation in the UK.

I’ve been reading Chantal’s writing since we met during our environmental MSc at UCL just over a decade ago. When we were both first inspired by ideas around rewilding and obsessed with George Monbiot’s Feral. I am so thrilled that now the rest of the world can enjoy her writing too!

I might be a little biased. But I’m finding Groundbreakers fascinating and utterly absorbing. I hope to head to the Forest of Dean soon to connect with the woods the boar call home (I dare not hope to actually see them!).

On a brief visit for the book launch event, I believe I saw mounds of uplifted turf on a grassy island beside the road in the dimming light. A unique sign of being in boar country.

Order yourself a copy of the book, Groundbreakers by Chantal Lyons, from any well-known bookstore, or go here.

Have you had any wonderfully wild encounters lately? I’d love to hear about them.