arunwild

The weather forecast for this morning had spoken of a “gentle breeze from the north,” with the temperature mooted to feel higher than the actual 14 Celsius. But that wasn’t how it felt at all, walking northwards by the Arun in the face of a cold and gusty wind. And the feeling was confirmed by the fact that no birds were showing in the riverside hedges or reed beds. Proof absolute this was not a breeze, gentle or otherwise. Not that the wind would have been an issue for the two species I’d hoped to see. There has been an influx of normally-scarce Cattle Egrets in the last few days, while this is the season when Yellow Wagtails pass through on return migration. In the event the cattle in the riverside fields to the east and north of Arundel had attracted neither species to feed on the insects they disturb. Most of the Cattle Egrets are still at sites closer to the sea, while Yellow Wagtails also appear to be hugging the coast. Even there, relatively few of the latter have been ...

No-one steps in the same river twice, so Heraclitus said. And in similar fashion no walk by the river is the same twice, its shifting water only part of a constant flux of activity. Some of that flux is more apparent than real, especially where resident birds are concerned. Two days back no wrens were recorded on the walk, whereas there had been three the previous day and three today. They were almost certainly there, but sheltering from the fierce wind. Then again, today is breezy but the wrens and most other birds aren’t in hiding. Each day is different, especially where non-resident birds are concerned. Reed Warblers are still present, though numbers are down with many of the breeding birds now gone. Meanwhile Willow Warblers and Whitethroats are moving through in numbers, today conspicuous at the tops of bushes where insects congregate. Tomorrow there may be more, or less, or a different mix of species, as they move through as part of a vast and weather-dependent front. ...

The break in the weather has been spectacular but brief, the sere grass barely acknowledging the hours of wind and rain. But the temporary end of weeks of hot, dry weather has had one lasting effect -- the abrupt disappearance of Mediterranean Gulls from the loaf by the Arun. During the three-week period to late July the rings of 20 colour-banded Mediterranean Gulls were read; the records summarised elsewhere. But now the influx has ended and only one or two of the gulls remain. With return wader passage by the river also weak this year -- the usual Common Sandpipers, Lapwings and Oystercatchers only rarely joined by other shorebirds – another visit to the riverside falls victim to the lure of the high spaces of Arundel Park . Enclosed in the late eighteenth century, the downs forming the 454 hectares of the New or Great Park were moulded into a patchwork of pasture and woodland. Plantations dot the high points of the land, while hangers cling to the flanks of the dry valleys...

It’s a warm morning, and the riverside path is quiet. Three Cetti’s Warblers call and a Sedge Warbler tumbles up the bank and perches on a clump of tall grass, scolding as the dog ambles past. But far fewer Reed Warblers or Reed Buntings are calling than a few days back. They are still here, though, most obvious when they cross the river between the reed bed on the far side and the ditches and cropped fields on this. The heads of the male Reed Buntings gleam like black-glossed bullets as they make their uncompromising flights, unlike the Reed Warblers flitting mouse-like across the water. Thin calls by the river reveal two Common Sandpipers flying to one of the few remaining areas of mud left by the rising tide. In late May and early June it would be hard to say whether they were birds late heading north or early returning south. By now they are probably birds on return passage, though the species is so rarely absent from the river it seems like an honorary resident. Mean...

The light is fading and the air is heavy with the smell of conifers as I reach the crossroads in the woods. The two-mile trek from the town has been quiet, with few birds seen or heard. But the Rewell rarely reveals many of its secrets. Some birds are still singing but they become fewer by the minute. Now all that is left is a Song Thrush hurling defiance at the night and a Robin ticking subversively in the undergrowth. Then for a second or two there is nothing. Still a few minutes before they start, I think, and am immediately proved wrong as a Nightjar starts churring. 20.54 according to my watch, a lot earlier than I’d expected. But it’s a warm night, moths already active. And the Nightjars are recently arrived, keen to eat and mate. Three minutes later one flies beside the path before landing above it, a dark silhouette perched sphinx-like on a thin branch. This is Caprimulgus europaeus, the goatsucker, though there are no goats here to render sterile. It is also the l...

After the gloom of the winter’s wind and rain comes the dolour resulting from good weather. The mud may have gone but the river path to the south of the town is again a slog. The succession of good days and clear nights means migrant waders and passerines are flying through rather than stopping, denying the chance sighting of a chat or sandpiper. And as yet another day passes with nothing new turning up, even the hope of a chance sighting fades. That’s not to say there‘s nothing here. A dozen Reed Warblers sing from the ditches and reed beds, their songs interspersed with those of Sedge Warblers. Four Reed Buntings hold territory, as do a similar number of Cetti’s Warblers. Skylarks sing constantly, hard to count across the wide expanse of fields and water meadows. And there’s usually something different on the walk, this morning five Shelducks flying down river and a single Swift heading in the opposite direction. There’s far from nothing here and some of it is new, just ...

It’s a late start on a cold, breezy day for the walk along the river from Amberley station to Arundel, and that’s evident in the limited bird song and activity. There isn’t much to note between the station and North Stoke apart from a Raven duelling with a Buzzard, while the carr woodland on the former meander of the Arun between the Gurkha Bridge and South Stoke is strangely quiet. A few Chiffchaffs and Blackcaps singing intermittently and a tame Song Thrush by the path are as good as it gets. Things pick up as South Stoke nears. A Cuckoo calls distantly from the area where a Large Tortoiseshell was seen a year ago. There have been no sightings this year, though the area, always wet, is still a quagmire after the winter’s rain. There’s hope yet. The sky is clouding ominously as I cross the bridge to South Stoke, the river dotted by occasional spots of rain. A small flock of Swallows is swirling low by the bridge, then erupt in panic as a Hobby streaks above them. It show...