Its that Birdtrack thing again…..
It will surprise very few people to learn that during the week, when I’m ‘working’ I somehow spend a lot of time daydreaming about birds and birding. Having discovered the ‘explore data’ function on Birdtrack most of these daydreams have at least one foot in reality- plans rather than fantasy. During these musings I discovered that not all the birding in Uddingston occurs near the River Clyde. 2 spots in the North Lanarkshire part of the village, near the Glasgow border, were showing as being reasonably regularly visited- and successfully at that. My good friend Google Maps helped me work out the walking distance, BBC Weather told me that the forecast for the following Saturday was good (albeit avid readers will recall I don’t actually trust the BBC Weather website) and my plans were in place.
The day dawned sunny and reasonably mild. The walk to the first site- listed on Birdtrack as Aitkenhead Road Bing*- was uneventful. Access to the site was, I was pleased to see, via a broken- down fence. Its not as good as having to climb over a sturdy one, but better than nothing. The first bird seen and heard- and the one that set the tone for the visit- was greenfinch. The nearby road was somehow muted, as the wheezy call of multiple greenfinch pierced the air The area is best described as scrubland. Tufted grass, bushes, rough, undulating ground. Birdsong in the air, sunlight on my face, I’ve genuinely had much worse mornings. I had the recent sightings on Birdtrack tucked away half- remembered, but this was very much a chance to discover, learn and explore.
(*a bing in Scotland is a man- made hill of refuse and slag from a coal mine. I’m not sure how widely the term is used)
The rough path offered steep sections, the ground soft enough to make footing a little uncertain. The bing seemed much like every other one I’d been one in terms of size and shape. Growing up in a mining community I had spent a fair amount of time climbing up (and falling down) the local bing, then facing parental wrath as I trudged home covered in an unhealthy mixture of mud and coal dust. Nature is being allowed to slowly (and successfully) reclaim the site, but it still retains the man- made feel of it. A site in transition, I felt.
Goldfinch flitted by as I found a spot to stop for a drink, with corvids regularly overflying. The unobtrusive road noise meant I could concentrate on the BIRD noise, and I wondered why it had taken me so long to become a bird listener. A blackbird call, its specific tone triggering a memory of childhood evenings in the spring and summer. Specifically, my first beginnings as a birdwatcher, armed with a pair of Soviet army 7x50 binoculars and a copy of Neil Ardley’s Illustrated guide to Birds & Birdwatching. An emotional moment.
Fully restored, it was time to continue exploring. The second new site was (is) called Newlands Glen woodlands. From what I could gather earlier it was much more formal than the bing. This wasn’t so much a hidden gem, as ‘hiding in plain sight.’
I had worked out that it could be accessed by walking a hundred yards or so further along the main road, but where would be the fun in that? I followed an increasingly rough path cross country, which gave me ample opportunity to get mud on my boots. Good for the soul, as were the skylark which still sang distantly. Gulls and corvids flew overhead, travelling somewhere which I couldn’t quite make out. My exploring was very much in the sense of “don’t worry, it will be fine” as the path wandered only vaguely in the right direction. Eventually, though, I came to the entrance to the woodland- a proper fence, gate and sign. The well- established nature of it killed a bit of the ‘explorer’ vibe, but Birdtrack had said it was full of birds, so I was optimistic for a quality visit.
The path was lined by mature trees on one side, and hedgerows on the other. Unlike the fields near the Clyde, these hedgerows were neat without being hacked to within an inch of their lives. An improvement, therefore, on what we have in the South Lanarkshire part of Uddingston. A burn flowed through a ravine, with birds calling from the established trees lining the edges of it. The water level was low enough to expose rocks, and I instinctively looked for evidence of droppings. None to be seen, but I knew that it was nonetheless perfect for dipper and grey wagtail, just as I also instinctively knew the woodland will shortly be full of summer warblers. To be fair, the chiffchaffs already calling made that less of an intuition and more common sense.
The path straightened out, until it eventually forked. Unsurprisingly I chose the rougher, wilder fork noting 2 chiffchaffs competing with each other, and a wren trying to interfere with both their songs. Th path continued until in the distance I could see the buildings of Birkenshaw Retail Estate, a jarring reminder that, exploration or not, I was still in urban Lanarkshire. A song thrush had been singing, dominating the air as if to put the chiffchaff and wren back in their rightful place. I had been lulled by the chiffchaff, wren and song thrush into forgetting that I was in an all- too isolated patch of green amidst the sprawling urbanisation of North Lanarkshire.
I followed the path until it branched again, this time taking the branch lading downhill to the river. Mallard flew overhead from the direction of the river. The noise of the woodland intensified, despite the trees still being mostly bare. I imagined what it would be like in full, verdant summer. Chaffinch, goldfinch, blue tit and great tit were easily picked out by their calls. I strained my ears for the sound of either dipper or grey wagtail, but couldn’t hear anything. I tried the Merlin app, which similarly didn’t pick out dipper or grey wagtail- although the fact that Merlin told me I had red- necked grebe in my garden suggests it isn’t 100% reliable.
Following the path upstream had me determined to remember the features and places I was seeing, though I was realistic enough to understand I’d need further visits. Lots of further visits. Not exactly a hardship. A return to the main path confirmed everything I’d seen and heard earlier, with the added bonus of excellent views of a buzzard floating some distance away over the fields across the main road. Something else for me to explore, and as I wandered home I was utterly elated with the opportunities ahead of me.
______________________
We’ve had the ecstasy, now its time for the agony.
As I keep saying, I only live in Uddingston, I’m not from there. I’m from a place called, (imaginatively) Halfway, near the larger village of Cambuslang. Its where I grew up, where I still have family members living- including my Mum- and like most people who speak fondly of it, I most definitely no longer live there.
The day after my Uddingston exploration I had arranged to go and visit my Mum. Rather than drive or take a train, I had checked the weather and chose to walk. Normally takes me about an hour, depending upon how often I stop and stare at birds, I was also keen this time to check on the damage being caused by the creation of the new roundabout.
The walk to the River Clyde was uneventful, with only the usual suspects of birds being seen and heard. The Birnam Autos vandalism was still there, and cast a cloud over my mood. To reach Halfway I would normally cut through Redlees Quarry, and walk over what we call the back fields and back roads. The building works made this impossible, with the quarry entrance now being used as a building site HQ. The adjacent road leading to Halfway was closed and blocked by a temporary fence. When I say ‘blocked’ ……
The temporary fence had clearly been erected by someone who had never met a birder. Rather than making the road inaccessible, it was super easy, barely an inconvenience. A fence is at worst, a challenge to a birder, not a foregone conclusion. The workmen had left enough room to comfortably walk along the perimeter of the fence, progressing along the ‘closed’ road. This vantage point gave me a much better view of the devastation than I had previously been able to get. The woodland which had each year played host to willow warbler, whitethroat, chiffchaff and blackcap was gone. The bushes and scrubland that had hosted bees, butterflies, hoverflies and pollinators of every description was gone. In its place was a sea of churned up mud and tree stumps. I questioned the timing of these works for the breeding season, but instinctively knew that no- one in South Lanarkshire council gave a damn.
The main entrance, as I noted, was inaccessible, but the quarry can also be accessed via a path across a field at the rear. I wondered what would become of the nesting raven on the pylon and the kestrels that had nested beside them some years. The only plus point to the road being closed was that I could walk it in safety, without having to dive into a hedge to avoid death by idiot driver. My walk along the ‘back road’ was troubled by the destruction I’d witnessed, brightened only by chiffchaff calling.
My plan was to cut off the road into a community woodland, sited on a former steel works. It had gradually been transformed from derelict (and pretty horrible) industrial wasteland into a thriving woodland, used by local people and nature alike. My heart sank, though, when I saw a standard ‘industrial building site’ notice planted beside the entrance to the informal path. Without my reading glasses I couldn’t read what it said (yes, my eyesight is THAT bad) and I was reduced to taking photos of the text, with the intention of reading it later.
I could only make out a shaded area on a map, which appeared to encompass the majority of the woodland. It took less than a hundred feet before I could see just what devastation had hit the area. Trees which had taken 25 years to grow, a woodland which had taken a quarter century to mature, to erase the dereliction of industry, was now gone. It had been cleared almost in its entirety, bar a thin perimeter of remaining trees- a perimeter far too thin to form an adequate breeding habitat. Chiffchaff called, with blue tit and goldfinch flitting about, but there is no way they could form breeding territories there.
It was a punch to the gut. Something that benefitted the community and wildlife equally was gone. In its place, a churned up hellscape of mud, tree stumps, and heavy machinery tread marks.
(I later read the site information, a series of false promises and utter hubris, almost boasting that they didn’t need permission to carry out these works.)
The gut- punch of sadness was soon replaced, though, by a burning hatred, a focused rage.
___________
THOUGHTS
The 2 days highlighted the strange dichotomy of the 21st century. We have places where nature is being allowed to take over and nurtured, and places where its being wilfully destroyed, all within about 5 miles of each other.
The woodlands, both at the quarry and the former steelworks, looked like they’d been the site of a battle. They have. And they lost. But the battle is by no means over. I may be only one person, but I’m by most measures an incredibly annoying person. A wee nyaff, someone who’d start a fight in an empty room. And I have something to fight for. I’m going to be the biggest pain in the arse South Lanarkshire Council has ever known.
A mate of mine is one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met. At uni, he never really studied, yet did just as well as me. He mentioned months ago that he couldn’t see the point of living an environmentally- conscious lifestyle, when other countries, people, and industry are major polluters. He didn’t really understand that some fights are worth fighting, for the principle of it, and based on whether you’re likely to win.
In the future, I want to be able to tell my grandkids that I did my best to make sure that they still had some wild places left to enjoy. Without putting up that fight, I won’t be able to look them in the eye.
Stay brilliant, get angry folks.
John
It will surprise very few people to learn that during the week, when I’m ‘working’ I somehow spend a lot of time daydreaming about birds and birding. Having discovered the ‘explore data’ function on Birdtrack most of these daydreams have at least one foot in reality- plans rather than fantasy. During these musings I discovered that not all the birding in Uddingston occurs near the River Clyde. 2 spots in the North Lanarkshire part of the village, near the Glasgow border, were showing as being reasonably regularly visited- and successfully at that. My good friend Google Maps helped me work out the walking distance, BBC Weather told me that the forecast for the following Saturday was good (albeit avid readers will recall I don’t actually trust the BBC Weather website) and my plans were in place.
The day dawned sunny and reasonably mild. The walk to the first site- listed on Birdtrack as Aitkenhead Road Bing*- was uneventful. Access to the site was, I was pleased to see, via a broken- down fence. Its not as good as having to climb over a sturdy one, but better than nothing. The first bird seen and heard- and the one that set the tone for the visit- was greenfinch. The nearby road was somehow muted, as the wheezy call of multiple greenfinch pierced the air The area is best described as scrubland. Tufted grass, bushes, rough, undulating ground. Birdsong in the air, sunlight on my face, I’ve genuinely had much worse mornings. I had the recent sightings on Birdtrack tucked away half- remembered, but this was very much a chance to discover, learn and explore.
(*a bing in Scotland is a man- made hill of refuse and slag from a coal mine. I’m not sure how widely the term is used)
The rough path offered steep sections, the ground soft enough to make footing a little uncertain. The bing seemed much like every other one I’d been one in terms of size and shape. Growing up in a mining community I had spent a fair amount of time climbing up (and falling down) the local bing, then facing parental wrath as I trudged home covered in an unhealthy mixture of mud and coal dust. Nature is being allowed to slowly (and successfully) reclaim the site, but it still retains the man- made feel of it. A site in transition, I felt.
Goldfinch flitted by as I found a spot to stop for a drink, with corvids regularly overflying. The unobtrusive road noise meant I could concentrate on the BIRD noise, and I wondered why it had taken me so long to become a bird listener. A blackbird call, its specific tone triggering a memory of childhood evenings in the spring and summer. Specifically, my first beginnings as a birdwatcher, armed with a pair of Soviet army 7x50 binoculars and a copy of Neil Ardley’s Illustrated guide to Birds & Birdwatching. An emotional moment.
Fully restored, it was time to continue exploring. The second new site was (is) called Newlands Glen woodlands. From what I could gather earlier it was much more formal than the bing. This wasn’t so much a hidden gem, as ‘hiding in plain sight.’
I had worked out that it could be accessed by walking a hundred yards or so further along the main road, but where would be the fun in that? I followed an increasingly rough path cross country, which gave me ample opportunity to get mud on my boots. Good for the soul, as were the skylark which still sang distantly. Gulls and corvids flew overhead, travelling somewhere which I couldn’t quite make out. My exploring was very much in the sense of “don’t worry, it will be fine” as the path wandered only vaguely in the right direction. Eventually, though, I came to the entrance to the woodland- a proper fence, gate and sign. The well- established nature of it killed a bit of the ‘explorer’ vibe, but Birdtrack had said it was full of birds, so I was optimistic for a quality visit.
The path was lined by mature trees on one side, and hedgerows on the other. Unlike the fields near the Clyde, these hedgerows were neat without being hacked to within an inch of their lives. An improvement, therefore, on what we have in the South Lanarkshire part of Uddingston. A burn flowed through a ravine, with birds calling from the established trees lining the edges of it. The water level was low enough to expose rocks, and I instinctively looked for evidence of droppings. None to be seen, but I knew that it was nonetheless perfect for dipper and grey wagtail, just as I also instinctively knew the woodland will shortly be full of summer warblers. To be fair, the chiffchaffs already calling made that less of an intuition and more common sense.
The path straightened out, until it eventually forked. Unsurprisingly I chose the rougher, wilder fork noting 2 chiffchaffs competing with each other, and a wren trying to interfere with both their songs. Th path continued until in the distance I could see the buildings of Birkenshaw Retail Estate, a jarring reminder that, exploration or not, I was still in urban Lanarkshire. A song thrush had been singing, dominating the air as if to put the chiffchaff and wren back in their rightful place. I had been lulled by the chiffchaff, wren and song thrush into forgetting that I was in an all- too isolated patch of green amidst the sprawling urbanisation of North Lanarkshire.
I followed the path until it branched again, this time taking the branch lading downhill to the river. Mallard flew overhead from the direction of the river. The noise of the woodland intensified, despite the trees still being mostly bare. I imagined what it would be like in full, verdant summer. Chaffinch, goldfinch, blue tit and great tit were easily picked out by their calls. I strained my ears for the sound of either dipper or grey wagtail, but couldn’t hear anything. I tried the Merlin app, which similarly didn’t pick out dipper or grey wagtail- although the fact that Merlin told me I had red- necked grebe in my garden suggests it isn’t 100% reliable.
Following the path upstream had me determined to remember the features and places I was seeing, though I was realistic enough to understand I’d need further visits. Lots of further visits. Not exactly a hardship. A return to the main path confirmed everything I’d seen and heard earlier, with the added bonus of excellent views of a buzzard floating some distance away over the fields across the main road. Something else for me to explore, and as I wandered home I was utterly elated with the opportunities ahead of me.
______________________
We’ve had the ecstasy, now its time for the agony.
As I keep saying, I only live in Uddingston, I’m not from there. I’m from a place called, (imaginatively) Halfway, near the larger village of Cambuslang. Its where I grew up, where I still have family members living- including my Mum- and like most people who speak fondly of it, I most definitely no longer live there.
The day after my Uddingston exploration I had arranged to go and visit my Mum. Rather than drive or take a train, I had checked the weather and chose to walk. Normally takes me about an hour, depending upon how often I stop and stare at birds, I was also keen this time to check on the damage being caused by the creation of the new roundabout.
The walk to the River Clyde was uneventful, with only the usual suspects of birds being seen and heard. The Birnam Autos vandalism was still there, and cast a cloud over my mood. To reach Halfway I would normally cut through Redlees Quarry, and walk over what we call the back fields and back roads. The building works made this impossible, with the quarry entrance now being used as a building site HQ. The adjacent road leading to Halfway was closed and blocked by a temporary fence. When I say ‘blocked’ ……
The temporary fence had clearly been erected by someone who had never met a birder. Rather than making the road inaccessible, it was super easy, barely an inconvenience. A fence is at worst, a challenge to a birder, not a foregone conclusion. The workmen had left enough room to comfortably walk along the perimeter of the fence, progressing along the ‘closed’ road. This vantage point gave me a much better view of the devastation than I had previously been able to get. The woodland which had each year played host to willow warbler, whitethroat, chiffchaff and blackcap was gone. The bushes and scrubland that had hosted bees, butterflies, hoverflies and pollinators of every description was gone. In its place was a sea of churned up mud and tree stumps. I questioned the timing of these works for the breeding season, but instinctively knew that no- one in South Lanarkshire council gave a damn.
The main entrance, as I noted, was inaccessible, but the quarry can also be accessed via a path across a field at the rear. I wondered what would become of the nesting raven on the pylon and the kestrels that had nested beside them some years. The only plus point to the road being closed was that I could walk it in safety, without having to dive into a hedge to avoid death by idiot driver. My walk along the ‘back road’ was troubled by the destruction I’d witnessed, brightened only by chiffchaff calling.
My plan was to cut off the road into a community woodland, sited on a former steel works. It had gradually been transformed from derelict (and pretty horrible) industrial wasteland into a thriving woodland, used by local people and nature alike. My heart sank, though, when I saw a standard ‘industrial building site’ notice planted beside the entrance to the informal path. Without my reading glasses I couldn’t read what it said (yes, my eyesight is THAT bad) and I was reduced to taking photos of the text, with the intention of reading it later.
I could only make out a shaded area on a map, which appeared to encompass the majority of the woodland. It took less than a hundred feet before I could see just what devastation had hit the area. Trees which had taken 25 years to grow, a woodland which had taken a quarter century to mature, to erase the dereliction of industry, was now gone. It had been cleared almost in its entirety, bar a thin perimeter of remaining trees- a perimeter far too thin to form an adequate breeding habitat. Chiffchaff called, with blue tit and goldfinch flitting about, but there is no way they could form breeding territories there.
It was a punch to the gut. Something that benefitted the community and wildlife equally was gone. In its place, a churned up hellscape of mud, tree stumps, and heavy machinery tread marks.
(I later read the site information, a series of false promises and utter hubris, almost boasting that they didn’t need permission to carry out these works.)
The gut- punch of sadness was soon replaced, though, by a burning hatred, a focused rage.
___________
THOUGHTS
The 2 days highlighted the strange dichotomy of the 21st century. We have places where nature is being allowed to take over and nurtured, and places where its being wilfully destroyed, all within about 5 miles of each other.
The woodlands, both at the quarry and the former steelworks, looked like they’d been the site of a battle. They have. And they lost. But the battle is by no means over. I may be only one person, but I’m by most measures an incredibly annoying person. A wee nyaff, someone who’d start a fight in an empty room. And I have something to fight for. I’m going to be the biggest pain in the arse South Lanarkshire Council has ever known.
A mate of mine is one of the smartest guys I’ve ever met. At uni, he never really studied, yet did just as well as me. He mentioned months ago that he couldn’t see the point of living an environmentally- conscious lifestyle, when other countries, people, and industry are major polluters. He didn’t really understand that some fights are worth fighting, for the principle of it, and based on whether you’re likely to win.
In the future, I want to be able to tell my grandkids that I did my best to make sure that they still had some wild places left to enjoy. Without putting up that fight, I won’t be able to look them in the eye.
Stay brilliant, get angry folks.
John