My little & often approach this year has, I think, given me a new perspective. I’m now much more aware of things, things I see and hear, things I miss out on, things that are right, and things that are wrong. Being of a mind to squeeze some birding in whenever I can I’ve found myself frequenting seldom- visited places, and places that can be accessed quickly if time is short. Thus I found myself late afternoon Saturday visiting Cathkin Braes, Coulter’s Wood and Cathkin Marsh. Of the 3, only Cathkin Marsh receives even semi- regular visits, and even then, its mostly seasonal. A haven for summer warblers, basically, with other visits being very much of the ‘well, I have to go somewhere’ variety.
I began at Cathkin Braes, a place I almost dread for its difficult birding, but also a place I somehow manage not to hate because of this difficulty. When I wsmuch younger I would go up there to chill out in peace and solitude, and it must be some lingering fondness from that time. I’ve had decent birds here before, including very accommodating chiffchaff, stonechat and skylark. I’ve also had decent invertebrates, albeit maybe not this early in April. The flipside is that its very much a dogwalker’s paradise, and wildlife is unobtrusive to say the least. The area is expansive enough, though, to offer room for everyone. I was also aware of the specific path I’d need to take to cross over into Coulter’s Wood was at the less- used side of the Braes.
My mind went back to the Sunday morning last year where I had last visited, and the difference between the visits was stark. Almost like 2 different sites. The walk was uneventful, bar the occasional corvid. The extensive pathways clearly designed for biking, and inadvertently created a patchwork effect, not conducive to wildlife. The attempt to preserve a ‘wild’ are is ongoing, though I fear they are fighting a losing battle.
The (mostly desolate) Windlaw Marsh area was bird- free, and I didn’t loiter. I struggled to find, or feel, any positives of being there. I moved on to my second destination, Coulter’s Wood, hoping for better.
Coulter’s Wood is a privately- owned woodland, which (the sign says) is open to the public. Leaving aside the intricacies of Scottish access law, it’s a place I’ve mentioned before, albeit not for a while. I’ve previously had good experience of swallow, kestrel and goldcrest, and I’ve watched the area mature over the years. Its not a site, though, that I’d call one of ‘my’ places, and is literally somewhere I go if I’m at a loose end. I wondered whether I’d been doing it an injustice, though.
I began at the Carmunnock side, and took the anti- clockwise path. The woodland at this side itself had matured, and was thick, offering only limited views into the interior. Unfortunately, the nearby housing estate was now as close to the wood as possible, giving it very much an ‘enclave’ feeling. Birdsong came from the trees, giving at least the impression of a living wood. I scanned skyward regularly, the layout of the area meaning that hovering kestrel can appear relatively low down, but without luck. The further along the path I walked the more the sound of birdsong died out, and the woodland took on a uniformity; rows upon rows of neatly spaced out trunks.
Something about it looked ‘off’ to me, that I couldn’t quite work out until I was 2/3rd of the way along the path. There was no natural ‘understory’ to the trees. No brambles, no wildflowers, no moss- covered fallen trunks, and absolutely no spontaneous growth. Only trees. And planted daffodils, of all things. The woodland, at least, isn’t commercial forestry, and appear to be native species, albeit planted rigidly according to a plan. The din of birdsong was now gone, with only chiffchaff calling reminding me that this is a site with massive potential. Potential that was sadly wasted. I get the feeling that the owner meant well, especially as the pathways couldn’t have been cheap to install or maintain. Regardless of their intent they didn’t create a woodland- they created a woodland theme park.
Unsurprisingly, there was no trace of kestrel, and I couldn’t tell whether this was unusual or not- the danger of having historical knowledge of a place you haven’t visited in years. I walked back to the car park via a different path, which at least had a return to semblance of vibrant birdsong.
The drive to Cathkin Marsh SWT didn’t take long, and despite the frequent hairpin bends and blind corners is actually pretty pleasant. The ‘car park’ was empty, and I knew I’d have the reserve to myself. It was pretty late afternoon/ early evening by now, a time I seldom go to the Marsh at, and I wondered how it would differ from my normal morning visits.
The path to the pond was changed, with remedial work having been done on the hedgerows. I’m familiar enough with the site to know that the SWT is keen on aggressive habitat management, and that the hedgerow will recover in time. Still jarring to see it, though. The Cathkin Marsh micro- climate was firmly in its ‘winter’ setting, despite the sunlight. I could hear skylark calling from the fields adjacent, and a much fainter meadow pipit. I was expecting mallard on the pond, and given the time of year hoping for a grey heron on the prowl. Surprisingly, though, I got a pair of teal, the sunlight allowing me views of water dripping off the male’s head. I know I say this a lot, but male teal is another bird that’s stunning in its understated beauty.
Anyway, I knew it was much too early for sedge warbler or grasshopper warblers, but I remained hopeful for kestrel, or even buzzard. The far end of the path is good each year for nesting willow warbler, and while I wasn’t expecting any, the tree that they nest in is en route to the path’s end and I would be passing it anyway. I wandered slowly, reminding myself of where I saw species last year, the patches of reeds, the isolated trees on the marsh, the clumps of bushes over the boundary fence. The sounds of summers past echoed in my ears.
The large reedbed was silent, no trace even of reed bunting. The cold made the area insect- free, and I didn’t linger long. The end of the path, or rather, the end of my walk, came as a punch to the gut. The ‘willow warbler’ tree is no more. Cut down, leaving only an untidy combination of stump and shorn branches. Anger, and disappointment came over me, followed by rage and resentment. I automatically thought the worst, that the tree had been cut back to stop it overhanging the path. I turned, and trudged back to the car, already composing my complaint e- mail in my mind. One more special place gone.
Thoughts.
As luck would have it, the SWT were happy to reply promptly- it probably helps that I’d calmed down a bit by the time I got home and my e- mail was constructive rather than a poorly- typed stream of invective. Storm Eowyn had caused widespread damage to a number of trees which needed either remedial work, or outright felling. The work on the hedge, it was confirmed, was for the health of the hedgerow itself. A timely reminder for me, perhaps, that the big conservation charities aren’t always the enemy, that not everything they do is for nefarious ends.
And more importantly, that while we can tinker around trying to do what we think is right, Mother Nature will be the ultimate arbiter of what we can and do in HER playground.
Stay healthy, stay brilliant
John
I began at Cathkin Braes, a place I almost dread for its difficult birding, but also a place I somehow manage not to hate because of this difficulty. When I wsmuch younger I would go up there to chill out in peace and solitude, and it must be some lingering fondness from that time. I’ve had decent birds here before, including very accommodating chiffchaff, stonechat and skylark. I’ve also had decent invertebrates, albeit maybe not this early in April. The flipside is that its very much a dogwalker’s paradise, and wildlife is unobtrusive to say the least. The area is expansive enough, though, to offer room for everyone. I was also aware of the specific path I’d need to take to cross over into Coulter’s Wood was at the less- used side of the Braes.
My mind went back to the Sunday morning last year where I had last visited, and the difference between the visits was stark. Almost like 2 different sites. The walk was uneventful, bar the occasional corvid. The extensive pathways clearly designed for biking, and inadvertently created a patchwork effect, not conducive to wildlife. The attempt to preserve a ‘wild’ are is ongoing, though I fear they are fighting a losing battle.
The (mostly desolate) Windlaw Marsh area was bird- free, and I didn’t loiter. I struggled to find, or feel, any positives of being there. I moved on to my second destination, Coulter’s Wood, hoping for better.
Coulter’s Wood is a privately- owned woodland, which (the sign says) is open to the public. Leaving aside the intricacies of Scottish access law, it’s a place I’ve mentioned before, albeit not for a while. I’ve previously had good experience of swallow, kestrel and goldcrest, and I’ve watched the area mature over the years. Its not a site, though, that I’d call one of ‘my’ places, and is literally somewhere I go if I’m at a loose end. I wondered whether I’d been doing it an injustice, though.
I began at the Carmunnock side, and took the anti- clockwise path. The woodland at this side itself had matured, and was thick, offering only limited views into the interior. Unfortunately, the nearby housing estate was now as close to the wood as possible, giving it very much an ‘enclave’ feeling. Birdsong came from the trees, giving at least the impression of a living wood. I scanned skyward regularly, the layout of the area meaning that hovering kestrel can appear relatively low down, but without luck. The further along the path I walked the more the sound of birdsong died out, and the woodland took on a uniformity; rows upon rows of neatly spaced out trunks.
Something about it looked ‘off’ to me, that I couldn’t quite work out until I was 2/3rd of the way along the path. There was no natural ‘understory’ to the trees. No brambles, no wildflowers, no moss- covered fallen trunks, and absolutely no spontaneous growth. Only trees. And planted daffodils, of all things. The woodland, at least, isn’t commercial forestry, and appear to be native species, albeit planted rigidly according to a plan. The din of birdsong was now gone, with only chiffchaff calling reminding me that this is a site with massive potential. Potential that was sadly wasted. I get the feeling that the owner meant well, especially as the pathways couldn’t have been cheap to install or maintain. Regardless of their intent they didn’t create a woodland- they created a woodland theme park.
Unsurprisingly, there was no trace of kestrel, and I couldn’t tell whether this was unusual or not- the danger of having historical knowledge of a place you haven’t visited in years. I walked back to the car park via a different path, which at least had a return to semblance of vibrant birdsong.
The drive to Cathkin Marsh SWT didn’t take long, and despite the frequent hairpin bends and blind corners is actually pretty pleasant. The ‘car park’ was empty, and I knew I’d have the reserve to myself. It was pretty late afternoon/ early evening by now, a time I seldom go to the Marsh at, and I wondered how it would differ from my normal morning visits.
The path to the pond was changed, with remedial work having been done on the hedgerows. I’m familiar enough with the site to know that the SWT is keen on aggressive habitat management, and that the hedgerow will recover in time. Still jarring to see it, though. The Cathkin Marsh micro- climate was firmly in its ‘winter’ setting, despite the sunlight. I could hear skylark calling from the fields adjacent, and a much fainter meadow pipit. I was expecting mallard on the pond, and given the time of year hoping for a grey heron on the prowl. Surprisingly, though, I got a pair of teal, the sunlight allowing me views of water dripping off the male’s head. I know I say this a lot, but male teal is another bird that’s stunning in its understated beauty.
Anyway, I knew it was much too early for sedge warbler or grasshopper warblers, but I remained hopeful for kestrel, or even buzzard. The far end of the path is good each year for nesting willow warbler, and while I wasn’t expecting any, the tree that they nest in is en route to the path’s end and I would be passing it anyway. I wandered slowly, reminding myself of where I saw species last year, the patches of reeds, the isolated trees on the marsh, the clumps of bushes over the boundary fence. The sounds of summers past echoed in my ears.
The large reedbed was silent, no trace even of reed bunting. The cold made the area insect- free, and I didn’t linger long. The end of the path, or rather, the end of my walk, came as a punch to the gut. The ‘willow warbler’ tree is no more. Cut down, leaving only an untidy combination of stump and shorn branches. Anger, and disappointment came over me, followed by rage and resentment. I automatically thought the worst, that the tree had been cut back to stop it overhanging the path. I turned, and trudged back to the car, already composing my complaint e- mail in my mind. One more special place gone.
Thoughts.
As luck would have it, the SWT were happy to reply promptly- it probably helps that I’d calmed down a bit by the time I got home and my e- mail was constructive rather than a poorly- typed stream of invective. Storm Eowyn had caused widespread damage to a number of trees which needed either remedial work, or outright felling. The work on the hedge, it was confirmed, was for the health of the hedgerow itself. A timely reminder for me, perhaps, that the big conservation charities aren’t always the enemy, that not everything they do is for nefarious ends.
And more importantly, that while we can tinker around trying to do what we think is right, Mother Nature will be the ultimate arbiter of what we can and do in HER playground.
Stay healthy, stay brilliant
John