Tag Archives: Richmond Park

A Magical Woodland Walk in Richmond Park

A Little Owl flew up from the ground to this bare branch of a mighty Oak. A pair of Green Woodpeckers flew up to another tree, calling Piu – Piu – Piu.
A thirsty Red Deer hind drinks from the Lower Pen Pond on a hot day. Nearby, two Meadow Browns and a Gatekeeper butterfly jostled for airspace near a clump of Ragwort, an Azure Damselfly unconcerned by the activity.
A watchful Red Squirrel from a safe perch

Plague of Ragwort in Richmond Park

Ragwort by the thousand … and as yet hardly any Cinnabar Moth caterpillars. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Ragwort is not just a common weed, but a curious one. It used to be a Notifiable Weed to the Ministry of Agriculture and Fisheries (more Ag. than Fish., probably). This was because it gave livestock that incautiously ate it, fresh or in hay, a violent stomach upset and sometimes caused death. So, farmers were obliged to report it and destroy it.

Why so dangerous? It contains Cardiac Glycosides, yup, chemicals that interfere with heart rhythms. Presumably natural selection has favoured this as animals end up not eating too much of the plant, which favours its survival. That includes cows and most insects.

However, a few beasties can tolerate the poison; and the Cinnabar Moth is one such. Actually, it goes a step further — it benefits from the stuff. Its caterpillars are large, conspicuous, and slow-moving; they’re also striped brilliant orange and black, warning coloration. That says “eat me, you’ll regret it”, and it’s an honest signal; any bird that tries it will indeed be violently sick, at least, and won’t try eating larvae that look like that again. Ever.

However however, one bird can tolerate the poisonous caterpillars: the Cuckoo. It arrives and feasts on the conspicuous and presumably delicious, nutritious larvae which nobody else will touch with a bargepole and rubber gloves.

Even more however, there’s a catch. The caterpillars are Very Hungry (this is a literary reference). They munch through the Ragwort like there’s no tomorrow, until it’s all gone. Then they pupate, turn into beautiful cinnabar-red and grey adults, lay eggs, and die. The Ragwort is already dead, obviously. And Cuckoos and everyone else who comes alone the next year won’t find a Ragwort plant or a Cinnabar moth for love nor money.

Then, gradually, a few surviving seeds grow into Ragwort plants. There are no Cinnabar caterpillars to do the damage on them. They go forth and multiply, as the bible has it. After a year or two there are Ragwort to the Left, Ragwort to the Right, and Ragwort all around. The man at the Min. of Ag. and Fish (or whatever it’s now called) spends all day answering phone calls about Ragwort (only he doesn’t, he’s got fed up of doing it by now). The few Cinnabar caterpillars have food in plenty and they breed like rabbits. Well, like Cinnabar moths. And the cycle goes round again.

So there you have it. Plague of Ragwort? Don’t tell the Ministry, but do wonder at the power of Nature.

Ringlet Butterfly

P.S. It was a lovely day for butterflies, too, with Small Coppers nectaring on Ragwort flowers; Ringlets by the Pen Ponds; Small Heaths knocking seven bells out of each other; and (Cabbage) Whites and Red Admirals about too. Grasshoppers skipped about; a Lizard ran across a path into the grass. A big flock of Canada Geese, with a few Greylags, grazed peacefully. Ants rebuilt their flooded-out nests.

October in Richmond Park

Stag Roaring. The Hinds seem unimpressed.
Young Parasol Mushrooms. The caps open out to the size of a dinner plate.
Acorn, plump and beautiful. The Squirrels were having a feast in the woods, popping in and out of the shade of the Oak trees.

Walking down from the woods across the wide rough area with rushes, two Skylarks got up, twittering, and perched briefly on the Bracken: a very special sight for London.

Down past the Pen Ponds at the side of a wood, a Green Woodpecker flew handsomely up into a tree, swiftly hiding itself round the back of the trunk.

Puffball

Deer and Dragonflies … at Hallowe’en

Deer floating in sunny grass, Richmond Park

Well, I might reasonably have expected to see Red Deer in Richmond Park in today’s beautiful sunshine, but Dragonflies for Hallowe’en? That was a bit of a surprise. I saw that magical sparkle about 7 times, twice consisting of an attached pair (“in cop”) of Common Darters. Most of the rest were certainly also darters, but once I caught a flash of blue, so perhaps that was  a Migrant Hawker or more probably a Southern Hawker dashing into the distance on the breeze.

A Bright Winter’s Walk in Richmond Park

Red Deer Stag
A fine 16-Point Red Deer Stag

In Scotland, the male of the Red Deer is called simply a Stag, all other male deer (presumably Roe in that country) being known as Bucks. Down here, with Sika and other species about, it may be wise to name the species explicitly. There are signs up warning of the impending cull, so now may be the best time of year to see fine large stags resting quietly, the rut over.

Richmond's splendid anthills
Richmond’s splendid anthills

I was welcomed to the park by a flock of Jackdaws chattering in the trees. Down in the valley, last year’s grass stalks are whitening, the fine big anthills well outlined in the low winter sunlight.

A Stonechat was perched on a slender stalk, level with the tops of the grass; there cannot be much in the way of insect food to catch just now.

Egyptian Geese under the Willows
Egyptian Geese under the Willows

On the Pen Ponds, there were remarkably few waterfowl of any kind, but the lower pond had half-a-dozen Pochard. the males handsomely rufous-headed, a pair of Wigeon, the male with a conspicuous white wing-bar, and tucked in a corner under the willows a pair of Egyptian Geese, taking to the water and protesting with short dry honks when molested by a dog.

Male Stonechat
Male Stonechat

Walking back up the hill, a Kestrel hovered briefly, rested in a tree giving a good view of his spotted breast and back. Two herds of Red Deer, one at the base of the hill, one at the top, both with all ages and both sexes together, grazed silently. In the muddiest places, footprints of men, dogs and deer clustered together.