Woodie egg thief?

Now I know I am a bit obsessed with Woodpigeons - what 'real' UK shooter isn't? - but here's another little anecdote I wanted to share with you.

While out walking with the dog yesterday I heard the familiar clatter of woodie wings from a nearby ash tree, but I was surprised to see when I looked up the bird in question was flying off with what appeared to be an EGG in its beak.

Unsurprisingly, after around 100 yards, the 'egg' dropped to the stubbles, but annoyingly, despite a good search I couldn't find it to confirm the sighting.

I have never seen, or heard, anything like it before; can anyone shed any light? Have woodies been known to move/rob eggs before? The only thing I have ever seen a woodie carry is a twig for a nest...

Great White Woodie?

Okay, call me barking mad - and of course, many of you do - but this one has been drifting in and out of my consciousness for some time.

The eureka moment came yesterday afternoon as I ambushed pigeons from the luxurious comfort of a convenient stack of oat straw bales.

The sky was cobalt blue, the sun warm and a pigeon appeared almost magically overhead as it approached on the warm breeze from behind me.

In the split second before I shot it (why are my best shots always ones I don't have time to think about?) the light bulb went on in the old noggin.

Let me backtrack. A few years ago I was fortunate enough - if that's how you view it - to cage dive with Great White sharks in South Africa.


A friend and I travelled to the legendary shark-spotting capital of Gaansbai and headed out towards Seal Island; the spot where wildlife documentary makers camp out to watch these prehistoric creatures explode from the foam to capture unfortunate pinnipeds who inhabit the island.


Much of the memory of climbing into the cage and ducking underwater is hazy and dreamlike. Fear and adrenalin, the cold water below and searing sun above all merged into an unforgettable half hour of life experience.


But what triggered like a flash bulb in my mind as I shot that racing woodie yesterday was the similarity of the Great White cutting through the confluence of the Atlantic and Indian oceans, and a pigeon doing the same in a crystal summer sky.


I have noticed it subconsciously over and over and the similarity is uncanny. It seems to happen most often when the birds are flipping in towards the decoys looking for a place to land with their wings set at a downward 45 degrees, just like the pectoral fins of an incoming shark.


There - I've got it out of my psyche. Think about it next time you're shooting pigeons in a sea blue sky.

Mountain out of a molehill

Well it's been an busy week in The Amateur Naturalist household, and no mistake.



It started with much excitment from my five year old daughter as the pupae she had been looking after had turned miraculously into a moth!


It was the first time she had seen the entire magical process from caterpillar to finished article and for once she was lost for words. It truly is one of nature's wonders, and I realised that as an adult I had forgotten about the beauty and awe it inspires. I'll be paying more attention in the future.


Next up was Gary the snail. The unfortunate mollusc had been held in captivity for a couple of days at the insistence of my youngest daughter, aged just two. So after his enforced confinement in a plastic tub cut with airholes, we finally released him into the long grass at the back of the house. He looked pleased with his escape, but daughter number two wasn't sure about our parole policy.


The very next day launched the great fish mystery. Upon coming downstairs yawning and scratching I stared befuddled for a moment at a puddle on the kitchen floor. And then I noticed there was a small silver flapping going on in its midst.


We are fish sitting, and for some unexplained reason, the tank's inmates have taken it upon themselves to leap for freedom. Three times that day I rescued the great escapers until a lid was the only solution.


And just yesterday we awoke to another situation; this time mammalian and not piscine. The lawn had two new additions, and they weren't of my making.



A mole had invaded the sanctity of an Englishman's lawn. It could not be tolerated.

I knew that if left, the precious parcel of green I so lovingly tendered would soon be decimated by the underground marauder in his ever-growing series of tunnels from which he claims his nighly bounty of earthworms.


So I consulted old Les from up the road. A proper country gent is Les, of the old school. He was a farm labourer and gardener all his working life. He now tends the most magnificent vegetable garden it has been my privilege to see. In exchange for a couple of pigeons now and then, we sometimes find a sample of his produce waiting by the back door; perhaps a bag of thick ropey runner beans, or a couple of onions the size of small footballs.


As I thought he would, Les knew the solution. A couple of rusty old mole traps were fetched from his shed - strange looking contraptions too. Les then dug out the newest tunnel, set the traps and covered them all over with a thick sheaf of grass.


"Keeps it dark, see," was all he would say.


Then he reburied the traps in the soil and went on his way. The girls checked the traps 15 times that afternoon, with no tell-tale sign of the two arms being spread, indicating the trap has been sprung.


But when we got up early the next day, one of them had been. A quick dig and the poor miscreant was unearthed, crushed by the powerful arms of the trap.


A shame to kill such a lovely creature for going about his business, but I won't have greenfly destroying my honeysuckle and the same goes for moles and lawns. A good chance to show the girls one of these amazing creatures up close though and explain their strange, twilight world.

Rain Stops Play

I've been enjoying myself (and getting wet, inside and out) at the England v Australia Test Match at Edgbaston this week.

The game was marred by the lashings of summer rain that have been pelting these shores for a couple of weeks now, after a long dry spell previously which had crisped everything up.

We seem to swing from one extreme to the other, with not a lot of 'normal' weather inbetween. It may well be my imagination, but every few weeks seems to bring reports of hottest, driest, wettest, windiest, coldest this that or the other since records began. Must be hard for the birds and beasts to know whether they are coming or going.

They were still swifts over the skies and along the canals of Birmingham this week, but there weren't a lot of insects for them to scoop up, thanks to the wet stuff.

Butterflies were aplenty though when the clouds intermittently relented, making the most of the thousands of intrepid buddlhea which have colonated the miles and miles of deserted industrial sites and towpaths of this historical city.

Plenty of wasps in your beer too, but you'll find reports on Aussies, cricket and wasps in a much earlier post on this blog.

Back to the real world now, and some reporting work to do for the shooting, fishing and hunting newspaper, The Countryman's Weekly (more on the publication here at www.countrymansweekly.com)

Bugs and butterflies

It's a great time of year for butterflies. Noticed this Small Tortoiseshell and hundreds of his kind flitting among a sea of Creeping Thistle as I walked the dog the other day.

There were butterflies all along our route, drifting across swathes of wheat or lifting startled from our footsteps among the meadows.

And in among the nettles were swaying clusters of caterpillars, which will eventually transform themselves into the mighty Peacock butterfly. Always worth leaving some nettles in your garden, they are a boon to moths, butterflies and more.

Having filled up the paddling pool for the children, I noticed how many bugs and creepy crawlies soon find themselves trapped on the silvery surface. No wonder fish have so much natural food at this time of year. If a three foot paddling pool can trap literally hundreds of insects in 24 hours, imagine the tonnage of fish food collected by a good size stretch of river or stillwater?

Foxglove Fanatic

I have something of a fixation with foxgloves at the minute.

What extraordinary plants these are, and although widespread across the planet, seem quintessentially English to me.

Propogated entirely by the wonderful bumble bee, these glorious flowers have a shelf life of just six days between opening and falling from the corolla.

It is interesting to note that while many bees and insects are attracted to the striking plant, none of them rest on it, perhaps because they recognise its poisonous character.

Well known and used for centuries to treat a variety of ailments, the plant produces the important heart drug Digitalis, highly poisonous but effective in tiny doses. Increased doses apparently cause a variety of cerebral symptoms, including seeing everything coloured blue!

A side effect of its use is loss of appetite and some desperate souls have been known to use it as an aid to weight loss.

Well, it doesn't make me blue or hungry, but it does give me enormous pleasure in the garden as the bees clamber in and out of the throats of its magnificent flowers. I have spent many hours in Devon and Cornwall marvelling at the strain of pink foxgloves that carpet the verges and embankments of those sun splashed counties.

Good Boy!

The picture says it all. The old boy is coming on a treat.

After a recent foray on pigeons hammering the spring rape, I returned home to fetch Diesel to see if he would be keen to help me pick up. And boy, was he.

I left a few obvious birds out for him to find, and he even discovered a pigeon I'd forgotten about deep in some tall rape stems. He shows no concern about picking up these loose-feathered birds, which apparently some dogs do.

I have not exposed him to a shooting situation yet, or even the sound of a shotgun, but he is already working fine with the noise of a starting pistol and I'm delighted with his progress. I hope and believe he is going to make a great shooting companion and I can't wait for that moment when I shoot a bird over him and he retrieves it for the first time. Life affirming stuff.