Llocale

I spent an enjoyable few hours performing an orbit of my cottage in Lloc early this afternoon.

First stop was the petit Pen y Gelli nature reserve near the A55. Never brimming with birds, the site was true to form today, although it did hold a circling Raven and a brace of Red Admirals, including the above battered example.

A small area of scrub near Pant y Wacco was a little more productive with the heavily berried Dogwood and Hawthorn containing a handful of buried Blackbirds and a single Redwing, plus a patrolling male Sparrowhawk.

Next up was beech woodland to the north-east of the village. After a very uneventful walk through I settled down on the edge of a field to scan the horizon above Whitford.

After adding, three Buzzards, another Sparrowhawk, four flyover Skylarks and a sextet of Stock Doves I noticed a trickle of Chaffinches working their way towards me through a row of mature trees next to the footpath.

The trickle soon became a flood as scores and scores of birds appeared on the scene seemingly out of thin air.

Soon they were flying over my head and landing in an old oak tree situated in the middle of a small pasture.

After roughly 6-700 had flown by I eventually heard what I had been keeping my ears pricked for – the more scratchy and wheezy call of a Brambling.

Eager to grill the flock further I decided to inch closer to the oak, but unfortunately I was not the only thing eyeing the finches. A male Sprawk buzzed the canopy and scattered them in all directions and in a matter of seconds they had all vanished as quickly as they had arrived…

Until later.

Black Fawr

After enduring nearly four weeks of decorating and a crisp, sunny autumnal day forecast it was time to down paint brushes and head for the mountains.

Arenig Fawr was the destination and after my sister had picked me up at 8.30, it was full steam ahead.

We rocked-up near Llyn Celyn and a cursory scan of the lake revealed it to be holding precisely one bird. It clearly had a talent for modern politics positioning itself precisely in the middle and thus remained unidentified, although it hinted at being a drake Goosander.

Out on the slopes of Arenig Fawr it was very much a day that Henry Ford (although perhaps not one JT and Freddie Mercury look-a-like Luis Suarez) would have enjoyed – we could watch any bird so long as it was black.

Thus, a handful of Carrion Crows, a pair of Ravens and a flock of migratory Starlings were all there was to be had.

Then things got a little better, although very much on theme – a trio of Choughs were flushed by a chap and his howlin’ dog a few hundred metres ahead. Nice.

After enjoying an incredible panorama that afforded lovely views of all of North Wales’ major mountain ranges it was time to descend and we had all but reached the bottom when the streak was ruined by a Meadow Pipit.

But, in a curious twist, we then spotted what must be Wales’ only black sheep farmer.

Not a farmer of black sheep ,oh no sirey, an actual sheep farmer who was black. It then struck me that apart from professional morris dancing, there could be no whiter profession than farming.

Or birding for that matter – how many ethnic minority birders do you know apart from David Lindo?

Bugger all?

Sue, Grabbit and Runne.

Dear the Black Grouse,

I noticed that you were having some copyright issues with a litigious photographer.

To avoid a tap on the shoulder from Inspector Knacker, I have an image that I would be happy to for you to use.

I’m sure it will more than adequately replace the close-up of the Dotterel at the Great Orme as it is too of an attractive young bird being pestered by an obsessive man standing far too close.

I do however take issue with your headline “If you tolerate this then your children will be next.”

Although clearly to any body with an IQ higher than a whelk that this was a warning for my species not being so confiding to the craparazzi in the future and not a threat to their familes, I really hate the Manic Street Preachers.

Yours etc,

Dott Errel.