The true Maharajas of Snowdonia

Walking in the welsh uplands is one of my favourite pastimes. The remoteness, abundant wildlife and sheer beauty of the many ranges are a constant draw.

There is however a missing element: the absence of Golden Eagles. The mountains of North Wales must surely be one of the wildest places in Europe without a population of these majestic raptors.

The indigenous population has of course long-gone - presumably shot and poisoned in less enlightened times – but there seems to be a compelling case for their re-introduction.

With numbers in Scotland being pretty stable, surely there is scope for utilising the four hundred or so breeding pairs to produce chicks for release in the Snowdonia area. There is also the experience gained from the White-tailed Eagle release programme to draw upon.

Authorities such as the RSPB and the Countryside Council for Wales should also be encouraged by the success story of the Red Kite, now returned to many of its previous haunts. Similarly, Goshawk, Peregrine and Hen Harriers also seem to be more abundant than for along time, so what about the final piece of the jigsaw?

The only possible objection would predictably come from the farming fraternity. Sheep would be lost – there is no point in denying this fact – and many farmers would need to be compensated for the financial loss. This would be small beer though in comparison to the huge amount of money additional eco-tourism (I hate that term!) would generate.

In truth, I am also tired of listening to moaning farmers given the damage that most have done to the land they supposedly protect. Given that many see themselves as custodians of the countryside, it is surprising how many see nature and wildlife as something to fight against rather than work with.

The case for bringing the Golden Eagle back seems extremely strong and I am a little surprised no conservation body has mooted or proposed this policy. And why stop with Golden Eagles – the coast of Gwynedd, Anglesey and the Lleyn Peninsula is surely perfect for its larger cousin the White-tailed Eagle too!

Until later.

P.S - Inner Marsh Farm quiet this afternoon; two Kingfisher, two Ruff and a Water Rail the only birds of note.

Walkabout/Naturism In The Raw

The recent spell of clement weather has lured me back over Offa’s Dyke and in to enemy territory over the last few days.

On Friday I undertook a near marathon length walk around Llyn Brenig and Alwen Reservoir that was surprisingly quiet on the birding front. A couple of Red Grouse in the reserve area to the north of Brenig was nice to see – both birds made me jump out of my skin, flying up and calling loudly after I had practically trod on them.

The water level of both lakes in fairly low at the moment, and the exposed shoreline was brimming with a swarm of pipits and wagtails feeding on insects. The lake itself was largely devoid of action save a few Cormorants. Great Crested Grebes seem to have disappeared from this site entirely, although they do occupy adjacent smaller water bodies.

Saturday was spent ambling around Newborough Warren on Anglesey, and this location was slow for birds too. Ynys Llandwyn was the most productive area hosting small flocks of Oystercatcher, Ringed Plover, Turnstone and some gloriously plumaged Sanderlings. The rocks around the promontory were busy too with plenty of Cormorants, Shags and Herring Gulls – the snooty Cormorants occupying a single outcrop to themselves.

Out on the glass like sea there was no evidence that any of the winter visitors had taken up residence. I find this area can be excellent for grebes and divers come late autumn, but until the temperature dips, the bays are a playground for boats rather than birds.

The only other sighting was a rather unwelcome one: a pair of least-clothed nudists (starkus bareallicus) lounging on the beach.

Until later.

He'll Be Coming Down The Mountain When He Comes

According to the Devil’s Dictionary, the definition of twice is once too often, but despite having hit the Berwyn Mountains already this year, I could not resist another visit.

When myself and walking companion arrived at the sleepy, curtain-twitching village of Llandrillo it was already late morning. The walking conditions were perfect: no win, not too warm and slightly overcast.

After a steep climb through the conifers we were soon out on the fringes of Moel Pearce. A handful of Tree Pipits were the first birds of note, their distinctive tzeeping call separating them from the more ubiquitous Meadow Pipits.

A few juvenile Wheatears were still hanging round too, tracking our progress as we ascended to Cadair Bronwen whose environs were the focus of a hovering Kestrel.

The final push along the escarpment to Cadair Berwyn practically finished me off and I was delighted to flop on the grass next to the cairn and enjoy the sound of silence.

Not that that lasted too long – a pair of Ravens was quickly on the scene kronking enthusiastically. They soared over our heads for good thirty minutes and as soon as we vacated the summit they were swift to land on the craggy peak as if to reclaim their throne.

The path descending down over Foel Fawr was extremely boggy. A couple of months previous, the area had been teeming with Skylarks and Meadow Pipits, but now it was deserted.

It was not totally devoid of wildlife though. From the corner of my eye I caught a critter scurrying through the grass in front of me. I bent down and slowly separated the grass, and there in front of me was a Common Lizard!

It soon slipped away and we continued our walk. A raptor then appeared from over the brow of a hill and began to cruise over the heather – a cracking male Hen Harrier that sadly soon disappeared into a valley…

Until later.

I'm Still Here

Old Dai Davies had a farm, E-I-E-I-O
And on his farm he had a Whinchat, E-I-E-I-O
With a "tic-tic" here and a "tic-tic" there
Here a "tic" there a "tic"
Everywhere a "tic-tic"
Old Dai Davies had a farm, E-I-E-I-O

It must be the sun.

The lull of the moors was strong again this morning, so I succumbed to this urge by paying a visit to the Berwyns.

The going was slow at first – my legs were still suffering from a lactic acid induced torpor resulting from yesterday’s trip to World’s End.

A cracking male Redstart and a new family of Wheatear (clearly Catholic given the number of fledglings) were ample reward for completing the steep climb to the fringe of the moor.

Then it all went ‘Chat’ crazy, with a conservative estimate of seven male Whinchats and three male Stonechats in an area called Gwern Wynodl – a veritable chat bonanza!

Four Ravens, a Tree Pipit and a brace of Buzzards kept the interest going as I completed the final part of my ascent to Bwlch Maen Gwynedd.

For some additional torture, I plumped to head to the highest point at Cadair Berwyn. After about half a kilometer the monotonous song of the Meadow Pipits was broken by an unfamiliar call from a small bird in flight. I quickly locked-on to the bird in the air - a wader, and not one, but two Dunlin! This is the first time I have seen these diminutive waders breeding on the Welsh mountains – now for Golden Plover and the mythical Ring Ouzel!

After resting at the cairn on the summit, I started the return trip to Llandrillo taking in Foel Fawr and Cwn Tywyll. The habitat was mostly grassland, with a sprinkling of heather and bilberry and consequently held legions of Skylarks and Mipits but little else.

More interesting was a brace of Broad-bodied Chasers hawking insects over a stream, and as I passed back into Cefn Pen-llety conifer plantation, I assumed the fun was over.

I was wrong. I picked-up the weak song of a Wood Warbler, although it seemed to be emanating from the middle of a clump of conifers? I moved closer and after some searching located a bird sitting on a branch halfway up the trunk of a larch tree. No mistaking these wonderful birds and it soon burst into another verse of its unique song. Shouldn’t you be in deciduous woodland mister?

Until later.

The End Of The World As We Know It

Fine weather, heather and feathers were very much the theme of today: a hike around Ruabon Moor.

Starting from World’s End, my sister and I first headed along the Offa’s Dyke path that runs under the wonderfully scenic limestone rock face of Eglwyseg Valley.

There was plenty of birdsong, including good numbers of Tree Pipit singing heartily from the very top of their respective trees.

When we reached Bryn Goleu we began a steep climb to Ruabon Moor, where our slow progress was closely monitored by a family of Wheatear. Pausing for breath at the top of the ascent I caught a glimpse of a falcon that disappeared before I could identify it. We decided to wait a little longer and were soon rewarded with another brief – but conclusive – view of a Hobby!

A little further on - at the fringe of the moor - we were met by a rather agitated male Whinchat whom had taken umbrage at our movement through his territory. Very bold he was too, perching in some instances only a few metres away. His irritation was well-placed too being the father of four recent fledglings.

Eventually we emerged at a conifer plantation on Newtown Mountain. After our customary wrong-turn, followed by a short break to watch a cracking male Bullfinch, we were back on the mountain for the final leg of the journey back to World’s End.

After a few minutes my sister said that she thought she could hear a Curlew. We listened in the still air, but nothing. It was not her imagination though, as no more that two minutes later there was an eruption of shrill Curlew calls.

Looking in the direction of the commotion we could make out three birds: a pair of Curlew mobbing a male Hen Harrier! Judging by their intense reaction, they must have been protecting chicks from the raiding raptor.

All in all, an excellent morning!

Until later.

Summary: 1 Hen Harrier (imm male), 10+ Buzzard, 1 Hobby, 2 Kestrel, 1 Raven, 2 Curlew, 12+ Whinchat, 4+ Stonechat, 4 Wheatear, 5 Grey Wagtail, 5+ Tree Pipit, 3 Red-legged Partridge, 1 Bullfinch.

Denbigh Moors

Glorious weather in Mynydd Hiraethog today - and not bad birds to boot! A pair of Whinchats feeding young on Cefn Du started the ball rolling, although I would have been more than happy listening to the masses of Meadow Pipits and Skylark.

Another Whinchat was seen – a single male – at the end of the bridleway near the ruins of the old shooting lodge at Bryn Trillyn. At this point I should have double-backed across the moor following the bridleway that passes over Moel Bengam, but perhaps driven slightly mad by the strong sun, I decided to extend my walk by heading for Pont y Nant.

This diversion took me along a series of minor roads, and although I did find a small number of Lesser Redpoll in a copse next to a small farm, the lanes were generally poor for birds.

After an exhausting walk across two steep valleys, I eventually met the Clwydian Way and the Afon Aled at a small farm called Hendre-Aled Cottage. As with many rural Welsh farms, it was unkempt, ramshackle and guarded by irascible sheepdogs. It is surprising how few actual farmers you see though; perhaps the isolation causes them to develop Robinson Crusoe-like fears of fellow man!

Once I had passed through the farmyard, I was instantly in picture-postcard Wales: a picturesque river valley cloaked in ancient woodland. Right on cue a Cuckoo began to call and very close it was too. This was followed by the curious bubbling trill of a female, but try as I might to find them, they remained hidden from view.

Eventually I emerged at the top of the dam at Aled Isaf. A family of Pied Wagtails, a clutch of Grey Wagtails and a pair of Wheatears were among the many birds using the pool under the causeway to drink and bathe.

The lake was also a hive of activity: a pair of Common Sandpipers was making a commotion; three Great Crested Grebes were busy fishing and two families of Wheatear were grooming the stones around the shoreline for insects.

Until later.

Tales Of Herring-Do

It was through new eyes that I looked at the Herring Gulls breeding on a small island at Llyn Brenig yesterday. After hearing that these birds are now in decline, I was pleased to see three new additions had been made to the clan of chip-stealers. A quintessential sound of the British Coast, it seems inconceivable that these birds could disappear, but stranger things have happened.

There was more evidence of successful breeding yesterday: Meadow Pipits were ferrying food back to their nests; a female Cuckoo was prospecting for a victim; a Great Crested Grebe struggled back to its hideaway with a giant fish and a new family of Pied Wagtails probed the shoreline for lunch.

It is absolutely freezing on Mynydd Hiraethog today and I feel like Captain Scott as I leave the comforts of the lakeside hide to complete the survey of my tetrad for the British Trust for Ornithology Atlas.

If I’m truthful, the area I have selected has not been the most exciting. If anything, it has reinforced my low opinion of conifer plantations in relation to wildlife. Whilst birds such as Goshawk, Siskin, Crossbill and Lesser Redpoll have benefited, it is hard to ignore the birds that would be present if the land was returned to damp moor and natural woodland.

Nonetheless, I have recorded Red Grouse, Cuckoo, and Goosander and watched a male Hen Harrier on an adjacent tetrad. Not bad.

Until later.

Parliamentary Affairs

My sister and I headed up to Nercwys forest last night to look – or should that be to hear – for Nightjars. Several other midge-hardy souls had had the same idea too - perhaps it was the Springwatch effect!

First bird of the evening was a fleeting glimpse of a Woodcock rising into the murk from the forest floor.

We tried an area of clear-fell first but by 10:15 we had failed to hear, let alone see, any Nightjars, just a lone Tawny Owl hooting in the distance.

A change of tactic was needed and we returned to an area of low trees near the south car park. This area has always been productive for me in the past, although it does appear to be coming too overgrown for our Nighthawks.

They certainly would not be short for food. The night air was thick with insects, particularly moths, and a few local bats were taking full advantage.

It was now nearing 10:45 and there was still no joy with the Nightjars. My sister then heard an ‘Oh-Ohing’ from some close by conifers – a Long-eared Owl! A few minutes later and yet another species of Owl joined the night chorus – a loud screeching sound from a farmyard revealing the presence of a Little Owl.

At 11:00 we decided to call it a night and return next week for another go. On the way back home more local wildlife was active in the shape of a fox cub dashing across the road. All in all, a relatively successful evening!

Until later.

Hammer Time

Listening to yet another depressing story on Radio 4 about the decline in populations of breeding Cuckoos, Yellow Wagtails and Lapwings, it was with some trepidation that I set off for a walk around what must be one of North Wales' premier Cuckoo areas - square SJ1664 to the west of Cilcain village.

Eskimos may well have more words for snow than you could shake a seal club at, but we British excel in our vocabulary in describing days that are overcast and hot: muggy, humid, sticky and close to name but a few. Today was one such day.

The first bird to register on the radar this morning was a glorious Yellowhammer singing from the top of a blossoming hawthorn bush. Another male was also singing its wheezing song from a fencepost a little further up the track.

A Redstart was in full song mode too. However, despite being able to pinpoint precisely the tree it was singing from, the bird remained invisible. It is only something I have noticed this year, but Redstarts seem to favour dead, dying or leafless trees to perch on. Luckily another male was busy scratching - in full view this time - from another bare branch a few hundred yards along the path. I always relish the chance to get close to male Redstarts - they must be one of our most attractive passerines.

Dropping down the valley to meet Nant Gain brings you into classic Cuckoo territory: scrubby moorland with plenty of small, scattered trees and bushes. I do not go home empty handed -nearing a man-made fishery, I hear a loud CUCK-OO, CUCK-OO. I scan the crown of every tree, but despite the bird's close proximity my search is in vain...

It then proceeds to taunt me further, by repeating its call again and again as I walk further along the bridleway. It is audible until the outskirts of Cilcain village, where Yellowhammers 3&4 are much more obliging.

Until later.

I-Spy A Spot-Fly

Bank Holiday weekend, the sun is shining, time to get far from the madding crowd!

Gwytherin (SH8761) is a picturesque small hamlet at the north end of the Denbigh Moors, replete with a quaint old-fashioned telephone box and a village pub.

A sharp climb through some woodland soon takes me out of the village and in to open countryside, a Nuthatch collecting food for its young the only bird of note. As I stop to catch my breath, a female Wheatear comes to investigate the intruder.

Lungs fully recovered I head across an area of moor called Ffrithuchaf. It is covered in moss and extremely damp underfoot – ideal breeding habitat for wading birds. It’s great to see such a large section of farmland that has not been drained and a handful of Curlew have taken full advantage – I see up to seven birds before meeting the road to Pentrefoelas.

I quickly turn off the road and head down a small valley following a farm track under the permitted access scheme. Four Lapwings pass over, heading in the direction of the massive wind turbines to the west.

The path meets a stream surrounded by gorse and a scattering of trees and bushes. A Tree Pipit – despite it being the middle of the day – is in full song, succeeds in drowning-out a nearby Blackbird.

Scrutinising the treetops brings little at first apart from a few Willow Warblers. I then locate another small passerine skulking in the canopy, but I cannot identify it as I am looking straight into the sun. I move to the other side of the tree and re-locate the bird – a Spotted Flycatcher, my first of the year!

My second steep ascent of the day is up to Pen Bryh y Clochydd on the opposite side of the valley. Here the land is very heavily grazed and consequently poor for birds – two Ravens and another female Wheatear being the pick.

Nearing the end of the walk at Bryn-y-clochydd there are more trees in evidence. I can just about make out the faint song of a Redstart and then another one – much closer this time – bursts into song too from the very top of an oak tree. An excellent day!

Until later.

Borin By Name, Boring By Nature

I have parked at the gloriously named Sodom Covert near the village of Bodfari in Denbighshire (SJ0971). Deluge over, I have decided to walk a section of the Clwydian Range along the Offa's Dyke Path and the Clwydian Way.

The first section of the track heading towards Graig Tremeirchion involves a hack through some rather overgrown gorse before emerging out onto a fresh pasture bursting with buttercups. Very little bird wise apart from a pair of Ravens kronking heartily from a nearby pylon.

Reaching Graig Tremeirchion the habitat improves as the path moves through some old deciduous woodland. I find a nice open spot and listen. Song Thrush, Robin, Blackbird and Great Tit, but nothing else, so I decide to find another listening post. Before moving off, I bend down to tie my bootlaces and as I do so, I notice a beautiful small bluish flower that my cumbersome size twelve stompers had nearly trampled on. Flowers are not my strongest suit, but I think it is probably a Monk's-hood.

The remainder of the trial to the halfway point at Moel Maenefa is rather uneventful, although the local Denbighshire farmers seem to have taken a leaf out of their Cheshire brethren's book and elected to erect numerous electric wires across public footpaths. Very considerate.

As I reach Moel Maenefa and the Offa's Dyke Path the sun begins to burn through the fug. A nearby Garden Warbler interprets this as nature's invocation to sing and perched atop of a gorse bush begins to fill the coconut-scented air with its benedictions.

If it wasn't for its lovely song, the Garden Warbler would probably steal the crown of Britain's dullest bird from the Stock Dove. With its drab appearance and unobtrusive nature the scientific name Sylvia Borin is very appropriate.

Proceeding to Cefn Du, another of the shaven-headed hills in this area, the route takes me along a lane flanked by some mature hedgerows. Whitethroats are in abundance here and I can also hear the faint song of a Yellowhammer; Redstart too, irregularly sounding its scratchy trill as it moves through an old oak tree.

I am soon back at Sodom. Still no fire and brimstone, just something else of biblical proportions falling down from the heavens: rain.

Until later.

The Right Stuff

With the soothsayers of the meteorological office forecasting deteriorating weather as the week progresses, I grabbed the opportunity to survey my two British Trust for Ornithology Atlas squares: SH9758 & SH9856 at Mynydd Hiraethog.

It seems that this area is RAF Valley's premier pilot training region in North Wales. Ever since I first visited this area of the Denbigh Moors - an excellent upland mosiac of habitats - these magnificent men in their flying machines have been busy honing their skills in the skies above.

Indeed the only Hawks I saw today where three dark green RAF planes zipping across the horizon. There cannot have been much ornithological input into the naming of this jet; with their compact, chunky build and short, thin pointed wings they most resemble a Merlin. Similarly, the Harrier Jump-jet that is able to either hover or dash through the air with equal aplomb demonstrates the skills of a Kestrel rather than a Harrier. As for Jaguars, did nobody tell ther RAF that they are feline and lack the capacity of flight?

I began by walking around the perimeter of Llyn Bran where I was met with the soft, descending song of several Willow Warblers. Other common birds included numbers of Robin, Chiffchaff and Chaffinch. The only hirundines present where two House Swallows perched on a telegraph wire, the foot or so gap between the pair suggesting that the female was interested but that the male still had some convincing to do! On the lake a Great Crested Grebe was skulking behind a bush in the middle of the water. It also looked like another bird was sitting on a nest in the midst of the vegetation but I was a little to distant to be sure. I had noted a pair displaying to each other two months back - perhaps the same birds. I continued by walking through the eerily silent plantation, save a flyover Siskin and the odd Robin. Emerging from the trees I met the Clwydian Way as it runs through Gors Maen Llyd nature reserve. More birds here: numerous Meadow Pipits, Skylarks and two pairs of Stonechat.

The next tetrad was through more mixed habitat. I started at the hide that looks over Llyn Brenig where I began by scanning the water. This was not a pleasant experience as the local Gulls and Sheep had been utilising it as a public convenience! A modest start with a few nesting Lesser-black Backed and Herring Gulls plus an unexpected drake Pochard the only birds of note.
Leaving the hide I heard some Lesser Redpoll overhead and kindly they set down in a nearby tree. In attempting to get a better view, I almost trod on a Red Grouse!

I then moved into the pastures after passing back through the car park. Wheatears were absolutely everywhere including one bird in possession of a transit permit only: a glorious male of the Greenland race. Nothing else out of the ordinary as the birdlife again petered once I entered a small conifer block, the endpoint of my survey. I was about return my notebook to my pocket when all of a sudden: "Cuck-oo......Cuck-oo.....Cuck-oo".

Until later.

Little Beauties

Out with the OS map again today. Starting from the village of Glyndyfrdwy (SJ4215) I headed up on to the Berwyns

by following the Nant y Pandy via a path through some very promising deciduous woodland. Eager to hone my aural identification skills, I was fortunate enough to be greeted by a keen avian choir.

However, barely a couple of hundred yards in to my walk and the dawn chours was drowned out by the sound of motorcycles hurtling around an adjacent field. Closer inspection revealed a full-on junior motorcross in action, being watched by a thin crowd of stewards and competitive dads. From Redstart to Kickstart in an instant.

Fortunately the birds were demonstrating considerable sangfroid as the majority were still in full throttle. After coughing up a lung full of two-stroke I immediately located a male Pied Flycatcher singing from the upper branches of an oak tree.

Keen to escape the infernal racket I pushed-on up a rather steep path that led out on to the open moorland. I was greeted by the call of a Cuckoo in full-on surround sound mode. At first I thought it must be the acoustics of the valley, but there were actually two birds calling; one due west of me and another further up the mountain. I could not find the bird to my right, so I continued up the climb only to be met by a fainter and fainter call.

I attempted to find the bird to the east of me again, but this bird was now barely audible too. However, just as I was about to head on a superb male Hen Harrier flew in to view! Living close to the Dee Estuary you can become a little blase when it comes to Hen Harriers, but I never lose that frisson of excitement generated by a chance encounter of this graceful raptor in its true domain - the upland moors.

Upon reaching the edge of the horrific Ceiriog conifer plantation I turned left and continued along the North Berwyn Way until meeting a bridleway that led down to the Afon Ro at the base Vivod mountain; yet another welsh mountain to feature scratch marks to its heather carpet in the form of strange geometrically arranged grouse butts.

Following an old stone wall, the path descended into the Afon Ro valley. Despite its modest proportions there was plenty of sessile oak, birch, rowan and hawthorn - most with a Willow Warbler in residence. By no means were they the only inhabitants though. The wood was teeming with Redstarts and Pied Flycatchers - the latter appearing every one hundred yards or so!

Probably by best bird walk this year. Other birds of note include: 2 Stonechat, 1 Wheatear, 1 Raven, 1 Buzzard and 2 Grey Wagtail.

Until later.

Return Of The Native

Had you placed two pictures in front of me a few years ago, one of a Hare and one of a Rabbit, I would have had about as much chance of seperating them as I would telling the diffference between Manchester United's precocious Brazilian full-backs Fabio and Raphael. None.

Yet another of our native fauna to suffer from modern farming practices, the Brown Hare is not as widespread as it once was. Nevertheless, I have been fortunate enough to have encountered five or six this spring in various locations around Cheshire, Lancashire and North Wales; indeed, whilst scanning the mosses around Martin Mere for Corn Bunting, I was even fortunate enough to see a pair boxing - the female Hare making a much better fist of defending herself than a certain
Mancunian pugilist!

Brown Hares are identified by their larger size, black-tipped ears, lolloping gait and rather bulging eyes. You can also be sure you have seen a Hare and not a Rabbit if you see it check its watch. If you do see a Hare with a timepiece though, consult a doctor.

There was no mistaking the Hare I saw this morning whilst walking along the stunning North Wales path at Cae'r Mynydd adjacent to the gorgeous wooded Treath Lafan nature reserve. One look at me though was enough and off it darted to its tea party.

I was primarily in this area to find some woodland birds. The steep valley is cloaked with mixed decidous trees, although a good part of the western side is covered with yet another hideous conifer plantation. As you move towards the Aber Falls, the wood thins out as the soil becomes more acidic giving away to grazed pasture and towards the top of the mountains, scree. You can follow a footpath from a car park that runs adjacent to the Afon Aber and when you reach the falls, double back on yourself walking along the base of Moel Wnion.

Despite being such promising territory, I struggled for birds today. Maybe the strong wind was forcing the birds to retreat from the tops, but all I heard aside from a handful of Willow Warblers, Chiffchaffs and Blackcaps was a distant Wood Warbler. When I reached the falls themselves I managed to locate a Grey Wagtail perched ballerina-like on a stone in the gushing river. Following my failure to find a Dipper in the River Elwy yesterday, today, I was hoping for a change of luck, but close scrutiny of all the stones and boulders during the climb had not produced the desired result. Nothing. Nada. Where are these birds?

I crossed the bridge and headed into an area of scrubby pasture, that looked like classic Cuckoo habitat, but alas no Cuckoo - the only compensation being a neat male Redstart. Numerous Meadow Pipits around, but no Tree Pipits - again another bird absent in a favourable environment. As the track climbed the view became more and more impressive. The Carneddaus, The Great Orme and Puffin Island were all clearly visible - I could just about make out a flock of Gannet plunging into the bay too! Here the terrain was fairly stoney and close scrutiny of the mountain side produced three Wheatears. It was just then that a brown object dashing across the horizon caught my eye...

A quick visit to Inner Marsh Farm of the way home brought dividends with my first Hobby of the year and also close views of a hunting male Peregrine. Other birds included 6 Avocet, 7 Dunlin, 1 Sanderling, 150+ Black-tailed Godwit, 2 Knot, 1 Kingfisher and 2 Common Tern.

Until later.

In The Valley Of The Elwy

If I fancy a saunter through the Welsh countryside then my normal method of devising a walk is to find my pencil, scan my library of ordnance survey maps and mark out a route commensurate with my energy levels.

Today, however, I opted to walk a route around the Elwy valley near the village of Llanfair Talhaiarn that I had found in the Pathfinder's guide to North Wales. According to the book, this was the beloved area of Victorian poet Gerard Manley Hopkins, whom I think summed up the beautiful Welsh countryside in two concise lines of poetry:

Lovely the woods, waters, meadows, combes, vales,
All the air things wear that build this world of Wales;

Despite suffering from the manicured appearance of modern farming, the valley is undeniably attractive; the first part of my walk along the bank of the Elwy through lovely mixed woodland produced two Grey Wagtails and a stunning male Redstart in full chorus. Frustratingly, given that the river seemed tailor-made for Dipper, none were located - a bird that seems intent of avoiding me this year!

The mid-point of the walk was through a lovely sessile oak coed, ideal for Pied Flycathers I thought, but today they prooved as elusive as the Dippers - although I did here a drumming Great Spotted Woodpecker.

Following a stiff climb through pasture I eventually emerged on the top of Mynydd Bodran. Clothed in gorse, the top of the hill was peppered with Meadow Pipits and one solitary Skylark in full throttle. Unexpectedly, a Cormorant passed overhead, no doubt commuting between reservoirs. Following the bird flying valiantly into the gusting wind put me one to a single rather tatty looking Raven cruising across the valley. It's great to see that these imperious corvids are now seen all over North Wales and, moreover, seem to be increasing in both numbers and range.

Descending down the peak, I encountered my first Wheatear of the day - an irked male who seemed to have taken umbrage at the presence of five Linnet. The remainder of the walk was along minor roads, with a male Siskin and Treecreeper the only birds of note before I re-entered Llanfair Talhaiarn.

Until later.