Among the wonderful moments on this walk: a heron gave its cronking call and flapped slow over the water; a plane passed behind three cormorants drying their wings, perched on the branches of a dead tree; a group of goldeneyes panicked and pattered across the lake, gaining speed for takeoff, giving their high-pitched call, the waves sparkling in the slanting sunshine; a song thrush tentatively singing its repeated music; a solitary fieldfare.
Well, here is the list that I wrote down as we went round. I’m sure that Alick Henrici who was leading the group named more species than this, and he also declined to name several difficult species which he collected in his little box to take for analysis back at Kew by his colleague Geoffrey Kibbey! Still, the fact that the group found so many – and there was no doubt at all that having more pairs of eyes resulted in more finds – was surprising to most people present. We walked anticlockwise around the reserve, and found the species in the order shown.
Trametes (Coriolus) versicolor, the Turkeytail, a very common but elegant little bracket, forming troops on fallen branches and logs. The name Coriolus seems like the Coriolis effect that makes storms whirl around, and it does have a whirly effect on its patterned top surface.
Stereum hirsutum, another very common species, the Hairy Curtain Crust or False Turkeytail, forms a white crust on logs, its top gently velvety (hence ‘hirsutum’, hairy), with no pores
An Ascomycete, a spore-shooting fungus with its spores 4 in a row under the microscope, forming firm little brown balls on logs.
Schizopora paradoxa, thin white layer on logs
Piptoporus betulinus, the Birch Polypore or Razorstrop Fungus – when dried it was used to put a polish on the old Sweeney Todd the Barber type of cutthroat razor! Finding it is practically guaranteed on dead Birch wood, standing or fallen.
A slime mould, forming small squashy grey-brown blobs on rotting logs.
Dark trooping bracket Laxitextum bicolor, new to UK in last 5 years, first record from Gunnersbury Triangle today! Alick said it seemed to be making itself quite at home, and indeed while those of us who recognise a few of the common brackets couldn’t have placed this species, we’d never have guessed it was brand new.
Lycoperdum perlatum, the common Puffball. Alick told us the marvellously funny etymology of the name: Lykos is Greek for wolf, perdon for fart, and perlatum is Latin for pearly, meaning the surface decoration. Perhaps the puff of brown spores when you touch an old specimen is the wolf’s fart, who knows.
Mycena spp.
Tricholoma album
Hebeloma sp., a Poisonpie toadstool
Cortinarius sp. (Webcaps), subgenus Telamonia, a very difficult group, separated by DNA analysis. Into Alick’s box it went!
Geastrum triplex, the Collared Earthstar (photo at top), a really handsome and uncommon fungus. We seem to be getting it every year here now, a delight. Alick has found 3 species of Earthstar here in Gunnersbury Triangle.
Melanoleuca sp., a cavalier mushroom
Armillaria mellea, the Honey Fungus, a dangerous parasite of trees, and it continues to flourish as a saprophyte after they are dead, rotting their wood. Its English name is for its warm honey colour. It can be eaten but who’d want to.
Mycena archangeliana
We saw no fewer than 3 species of Deceiver, including Laccaria laccata, the (common) Deceiver, as well as the two illustrated here. The group is well named; beginners collect handfuls of interesting-looking mushrooms of all different shapes, sizes, and appearances, and are crestfallen to discover they’re all the same species!
Inocybe geophylla, the white Fibrecap
Mycena pura, the very common and variable Lilac Bonnet, another relatively large and attractive bonnet mushroom. The Collins guide says that some think M. rosea is just a form of this species.
Barden Moor is an extensive water catchment area, on acidic rock (Millstone Grit), providing soft drinking water to the city of Bradford. The area is part of the ancient Bolton Abbey estate, and is now also in the Yorkshire Dales National Park. It’s covered in heather and moorgrass with areas of meadow and bog pools. It’s a fine place for an open airy walk away from the sometimes busy mountaintops, and a wonderful spot for nature.
Yes, I live within easy reach of Kew Gardens, and after weeks of grey winter and grim news, it was a lovely moment in the sunshine among the fabulous variety of Pine trees – dozens of species – in the arboretum.
After a long cold spell, it again felt like spring today, and despite the cloud I went to Wraysbury, thinking that it could be a good time for warblers.
I was greeted by a pair of Cormorants on a bleached branch beside the lake. And a moment later by the first of many Blackcaps. Warbler the first.
A little way along the path, a rapid and rich warble went on .. and on .. and on – aha! A Garden Warbler. (How to tell Garden from Blackcap? “Blackcap’s Brief.” Well, good enough for a first approximation.) Warbler the second.
I walked on a few paces, and glimpsed something small and brown in the willows. Binoculars showed an unmistakable Garden Warbler – Sylvia borin[g] – pretty much uniformly coloured, or rather, so beautifully countershaded that it looks flat in sunlight, quite the clever camouflage trick.
It started to sing – and was almost drowned out by the deafening repetitive din of a Cetti’s Warbler (roughly, Chwit-i-Pit-i-Pit! Chwit-i-Pit-i-Pit!), as usual without a glimpse of the songster. Warbler the third.
I then saw my first Banded Demoiselle, indeed my first flying damselfly or dragonfly, of the year. It’s always a lovely moment. A few bright yellow (male) Brimstone butterflies skittered about or sunbathed: perhaps the butter-coloured insect is the original “butter fly”, or perhaps the name refers to the fluttering flight of the whole group – it must make them very hard for predators like birds and dragonflies to catch them, and given how common it is to see a butterfly with holes pecked in its wings, it is easy to believe that anti-predator adaptations are highly advantageous.
Other conspicuous insects were a lot of Sawflies, looking much like tiny red wasps with black-and-yellow striped tails, and numerous large Bumblebees enjoying the purple Comfrey which is abundant beside the river.
The droning chatter of a Reed Warbler came out of another Willow beside the lake: Warbler the fourth.
From across the river, just audible but quite definite, came the Chiff-Chaff-Chiff-Chaff-Chiff-Chaff song of .. you guessed it. Warbler the fifth.
Across the bridge and onto the flat scrub, and in almost the first bush was a Whitethroat singing its short simple scratchy ditty. (Presumably female Whitethroats find it enticing. Or other males find it repellent, one or the other. Maybe both, actually.) Warbler the sixth.
I reconnoitred the wood-and-scrubby area for possible Willow Warblers (they don’t inhabit willows any more than Willow Tits do), but they don’t seem to have arrived yet. Some Song Thrushes improvised their fine, repeated melodies of many different repeated phrases.
A six-warbler walk … one of the delights of May.
