Thursday January 26

A bitterly cold cloudy day with, perversely, a light southerly breeze. I decided to continue my exploration of my new patch by heading towards a plantation of poplars at the eastern border. The area abuts the A435, and beyond that farmland. A few horse paddocks adjacent to the plantation give a feeling of countryside, a contrast to the suburbia of the rest of the patch.

The plantation

Unfortunately a sign next to the footpath at the southern end of the plantation makes it clear that it is strictly private, so any birds in there will need to be observed at some distance if I wish to avoid trespassing.

My first year-tick was, surprisingly, seen from our front drive as I was pulling on my wellies, and comprised a party of seven Stock Doves which flew south. I have seen them from the garden before, but not very often. In oaks by the paddocks I spotted two more hiding in the branches.

Stock Dove

From here I back-tracked and walked through Winyates Green to the path which circumvents Ipsley Alders nature reserve. A little way along I spotted a style which seemed to be the gateway to the back entrance to the reserve. I was immediately faced with a field of sedge, and decided to walk across it in the hope of flushing a Snipe. It was too dry and I saw nothing until I approached the black marshy mud under some alders. Suddenly, from the edge of the field, a Woodcock took off and lumbered away across the field allowing ample time for a photograph if only I hadn't forgotten to remove my camera from my bag. Sorry.

I walked back across the field, camera now at the ready, but the only birds to come within range were a few Siskins.

A camera-shy Siskin

However, the reserve had one more tick for me, although I only heard it. A Redpoll was calling from the other side of the bush containing the Siskins.

I went through another gate and then blundered across the marsh seeing only Wrens and hearing a singing Stock Dove before exiting the reserve and heading home past a cotoneaster which is still only attracting Redwings.

Finally, back home, the new feeder which Lyn tells me has been devoid of birds all week, scored its second species.

This Woodpigeon balanced amusingly on top of the feeder as it tried to think of a way of getting at the seeds and fat balls dangling tantalisingly below it. It eventually flew off muttering "bugger this for a game of soldiers" in pigeon language, or so I believe.