Still A'Freezin'

It was cold this morning.

Not just chilly, but cold enough for a decent ice crust on the car, and plenty cold enough to crisp up the hedgerows.

The skies were immaculate - due in part perhaps because there are no vapour trails from grounded aeroplanes?

For those keen to have a try at Sloe Gin this Autumn, now's the time to mark down the decent blackthorn bushes. All the blackthorns are in bloom now as you'll see from the photos, and it pays to make a little map of the densest concentrations on your patch - so you can then nip back after first frost and pick all you need in one easy session.

By the way, I've only just decanted the remainder of my gin from last year (that is, removed all the remaining sloes and sludge from the demijohn and decanted into bottles). If you start to get a good production line going, you'll have some of last year's SG to drink when winter comes and can stock up again ready for next year. If you see what I mean...

Although it's nice to feel the sun on my back again, I can't help missing winter just a tad. Let's face it, for many of us, it's when we do most of our shooting, beating etc. I've been out to bag a few woodies in the last couple of weeks, but the little blighters seem to nest earlier and earlier every year, and I just can't help feeling uncomfortable about shooting potentially nesting birds...

First Frost At Last

It seems to have been pretty late this year down south, but the first frost of the year has crisped the vegetation at last.

The sun soon warmed us all up, mind you, and it was the perfect morning to begin collecting sloes for this year's batch of Sloe Gin (traditionally you should wait until the first frost before picking these fruits of the blackthorn bush).

I do enjoy this time of year, especially the early mornings. There are some wonderful cloud formations, misty hollows and micro climates to be found.

Myxomatosis is rife amond the warrens again once more and we are finding fresh dead rabbits everywhere. The local predators are having a field day, and I have dispatched several coneys brought back to me by the dog.

After a quick tramp around, that morning cuppa tastes so much better, and my head is clearer for work.

A great way to start the day.

Cold hands - warm heart?

That's what they say isn't it?

Well, if that's the case, then I'm the warmest-hearted son of a gun out there.

My hands have been freezing in this weather - at least until I got them on the beauty above - a Peacock Handwarmer.

Using lighter fluid to soak a reservoir below, you hold a match over the gauze burner at the top to get it going - and then, as if by magic, the little treasure begins to glow, warm, warmer, hot.

Peacock handwarmers come in a couple of different sizes, complete with their own tartan sleeping bag to make sure you don't burn your little mitts. A superb product for the outdoor enthusiast.

To order, simply click here: http://www.peacockhandwarmers.co.uk/contact.php

If you order more than one and mention The Amateur Naturalist, the kind people at GK Trading will do you a deal on postage. What more could you ask for?

Where have all the icicles gone?

I took this picture of a frosted web outside the house this morning after the freeze returned overnight with a vengeance. Is it me, or is this the first time that we've had a proper winter for many a year?

Forgive me for sounding like a pompous old so and so, but in my day, we had proper winters every year; frosts were virtually nightly and would set in for weeks at a time and you could guarantee a generous fall of snow at least once - and that meant the glory of a day off school.

A snowy day off school is a lifetime treasure, something to wear close to your heart to keep you warm when times are hard. My snowy school skives are among my fondest childhood memories.


They began with that strange glow in the room when you awake, an unusual brightness that burns like halogen behind the curtains. And then - when you open them!

Blinding glare from behind the frosted pane and a world that was drab and commonplace last night transformed into a playground of infinite adventure. The best bit of all, when Dad came in to say, with mock gravity, "I'm sorry kids - I don't think we will make it to school today." Such unadulterated joy has seldom, if ever, been replicated in adulthood.

But I digress. Winters were, as I say, more reliable then, and the other day I had a revelatory thought. When was the last time I saw an icicle?

They seemed to be everywhere in the rosy memories of youthful winters; hanging from the stable eaves, glass daggers that Dad had to remove with a broom in case - in my fevered imagination - they would descend like a flashing blade and plunge into you from above.

They hung heavily from the trees on occasion, refracting light in remarkable rainbows. Standpipes built great thick crusts of them, growing and shrinking almost visibly throughout the day and night.

But I can't remember the last time I saw an icicle. Can you?

Freezing Fog

Was beating on a driven game shoot over the weekend. The countryside was clenched in the iron grip of a long freeze and I felt sorry for many of the birds and creatures that came at us out of the mist.

With game such as Woodcock, Duck and Snipe off the shoot list thanks to the longstanding period of hard frost, I watched them curl like apparitions into the great greyness and wondered for the umpteenth time how on earth they survive conditions like this.

The answer, I suppose, is that many of them don't. Woodcock and snipe in particular rely on soft ground to forage for their favourite worms and inveterbrates, and when they are not available for long periods, many birds perish.

The collective name for a flock of snipe is Wisp - a wonderfully evocative, melancholic name, ideally suited to the half a dozen or so birds I saw vanish on a cold, starkly beautiful day.