Books, Birds And Bill Oddie

While going through my father's bookcases the other day, discarding some books, keeping others, I came across my old copy of The Observer's Book Of Birds (published by Frederick Warne & Co. in 1965). This was my very 1st bird identification book. (When I was chatting once to comedian and ornithologist Bill Oddie at a publisher's sales conference, he told me that this was his 1st birding book too. In a previous incarnation I used to sell to bookshops in the English North and Midlands Oddie's own field guide, Bill Oddie's Birds Of Britain & Ireland, published by New Holland in 1998.) There used to be a whole series of these pocket-sized Observer's books, and I owned a small range of them - including Birds' Eggs, Weather, Pond Life, Common Insects & Spiders and Architecture, I remember.

This is my favourite page from The Observer's Book Of Birds. I love the placing of the golden oriole, one of the most exotic and rare birds you could ever hope to see in the UK, next to what until recently was one of our commonest and taken-for-granted birds, the humble house sparrow:

In common with many natural history books back then, many of the illustrations were in monochrome not colour - as, for example, this page which shows another exotic visitor, the hoopoe, the bird my reader Jay saw once and once only (Jay's blog is at http://www.thedeppeffect.com/):

Here's a picture of the treecreeper, the bird I was lucky enough to see edging jerkily up the trunk of our flowering cherry tree recently. On the left is the nuthatch, another beautifully marked, trunk-creeping bird:

Although this morning the 1st starling I've seen in the garden all winter was clinging acrobatically to the half coconut shell at our bird feeding station, I still haven't caught a glimpse of those lovely goldfinches:



If anyone wants to read my other post about Bill Oddie, it's here.

Flummoxed By Dunnocks

Doom and gloom, I'm already getting withdrawal symptoms. Yes, BBC2's Springwatch has finished for another year. I'm not a big TV watcher, though I am partial to the odd comedy, film or nature programme. But Springwatch has me addicted. I'm not really sure why. Perhaps it's because it's live TV (live TV is always the best if only for the gaffes), perhaps it's the unlikely but riveting combination of the eccentric, unbelievably knowledgeable Bill Oddie and the vivacious, sexy Kate Humble, perhaps it's the comedy (both intentional and unintentional), perhaps it's the sweet but misguided humanizing of nature (yet what's wrong with a bit of anthropomorphism between friends anyway?), perhaps it's the comically desperate desire to create drama out of mundanity, perhaps it's the thrilling shots of rare beasts like the Scottish wild cat or the close-ups of bird chicks hatching. I don't know - but I suspect it's a combination of all of these that has me glued to the screen.

This year Bill and Kate were bunkered in Pensthorpe Nature Reserve, Norfolk, directly below a wren's nest; and the enthusiastic and talented wildlife cameraman Simon King kept popping up at different places in the Cairngorms. His shots of ospreys fishing taken by an ultra-slow motion camera were fantastic and opened up a whole new world. Another classic moment was when a family of fledging goldeneye ducklings literally hurled themselves out of their tree nesting box onto the ground. Also Oscar and Emmy, the delightful bobbing oystercatcher chicks, were terrific value. Fabulous. And in what other TV programme can you witness uncensored in-your-face mating (whether it's shagging stag beetles or ovipositing banded demoiselle dragonflies), infanticide (that rogue male swallow), straight murder (the weasel and the baby reed bunting) and cannibalism (the barn owls) - all within an hour?

Oh well, I suppose I'll have to quit the sofa, get out the house and go see some real wildlife in the real world. (Some slithy toves, borogroves or mome raths would be rather nice but I think they're a bit elusive round these parts.) However there's always Autumnwatch to look forward to...

PS Kate Humble coined in Thursday's final programme the wonderful phrase "flummoxed by dunnocks" which I've used as the title of this post.

Mugged By Sheep

On all my countryside escapades I've never once been mobbed by nesting terns or attacked by arctic skuas like Bill Oddie. Or even bitten by a dog or chased by a bull. But I have been mugged by sheep. It happened yesterday in fact.

I began my 7 mile route on a minor road at Townhead just north of Hope (OS Outdoor Leisure Map 1, Map Reference 168845). This led north to Oaker Farm Cottages where it became a path. After crossing Bagshaw Bridge the way contoured the hillside overlooking Jaggers Clough then forked right just below Crookstone Barn. Another right turn at a stile and the path doubled back on itself at higher altitude. It was now a rutted old Roman road heading south-east above the conifer slopes of the Woodlands Valley. Lose Hill (476m) was constantly in view across the Vale of Edale; but I was making for its companion, Win Hill (462m). A long, easy ascent took me to the rocky cone on top, two paragliders adding interest along the way. It was here the marauding sheep stepped in.

I'd found a nice, sheltered spot for lunch among the rocks and heather. Everything was laid out - tomatoes, dried apricots, wholemeal rolls stuffed with Camembert... Then they hit. An evil-looking ewe, with her smaller but powerfully built offspring, ambushed me from out of a fortification of ferns. Their eyes were fixed and staring. Only one goal was on their mind. My sandwiches. And my camera, mobile phone, and complete rucksack contents if they were lucky. I was so surprised that I half rose and said something like "Shoo!" They were unimpressed by this resistance tactic and still charged on. It then got physical as they knocked me over. I tried to push them away but they were incredibly hard and strong.

I still don't know how I did it, but I managed in an adrenaline-fuelled rush of speed to gather up lunch and pack and camera into my arms - at one point wresting the nose of one sheep out of my open sack - and beat a hasty retreat off the hill. I decided on reflection that it wasn't really a case for the MRT - after all I was alive and in one piece and had lost only a few mouthfuls of French cheese (haven't Derbyshire sheep got upmarket tastes?)

The photo shows my ancient Karrimor daysack next to the trig point at the summit of Win Hill. Thankfully with not a sheep in sight.