Variable-leaved crestwort

One of the more modest spring manifestations  is the fruiting of some of the liverworts.

This one is variable-leaved crestwort (Lophocolea heterophylla) a common species often found on damp decaying logs.  This example was in our Sedlescombe garden.

The ponds of Footlands

On the south eastern edge of Footlands Wood, Whatlington this afternoon I found a series of magical ponds, perhaps the remains of old iron ore workings.  The Footlands site is known to have been active in the Iron Age before the Romans arrived and that great authority Henry Cleere says it appears to be a site worked by the Regni, a British 'tribe' possibly set up by the Romans.

A few metres from this a Roman road from Compasses Gate curves close to the wood where these ponds are and a short distance further down the Rusty Brook valley ancient flint arrowheads and Bronze Age artefacts were once found.

It was all very peaceful today, the only sound being from the birds and the frogs hopping lively into the water as I approached.

My enjoyment of this mysterious and really rather remote place was crowned by the discovery of an ancient wild service tree (Sorbus torminalis) coppice on a bank at the southern end of the pond (see below).  I have been to Footlands Wood many times, but this is the first wild service I have found - and it was my birthday.

A laid hedge

At last some spring-like weather has arrived, with warm sunshine this morning, though little is moving yet and gorse is about the only obvious flower.

For the last couple of weeks they have been laying the hedge at the top of the lane.

This has opened up the view to the west and south west and it is very impressive as one comes round the Killingan Wood corner on the way home.

Our Sedlescombe parish church across the fields is on the right under the holly.  The lowest point on the horizon, towards the left of the picture, is where the Battle of Hastings was fought in 1066: Anglo-Saxons on the right, Normans on the left.

Spring snowflake (Leucojum vernum)

Outside the Sussex Wildlife Trust's offices at Woods Mill near Henfield there are a few clumps of spring snowflake (Leucojum vernum) that are putting on a particularly fine show this year.

This is not a native plant, but it does escape from gardens from time to time and has become naturalised in  parts of the UK.

These examples are slightly unusual inasmuch as they have yellow instead of green spots towards the tips of the petals and might therefore be the form known as var. carpathicum, also quite widely grown.

The larger tree second from left behind the clump is a wild service, Sorbus torminalis.

After the cold

Today was lovely and sunny, quite a change after the cold and wet we have been enduring for many weeks.  They say it has been the coldest winter for 30 years and it is not really over yet.

Looking out of one of our sitting room windows I was pleased to see how it framed some hazel catkins in the hedge beyond.

Inspired by this I took a walk in the woods past two strange trees that I see almost every day.  One is a large oak with branches derived from epicormic shoots sprouting from the trunk.

The other a high coppiced sweet chestnut, almost a pollard.  This is usually done to mark the edge or corner of a coup and not because the woodman could not be bothered to bend.

Back in the garden the sunshine had provoked the snowdrop flowers to expand fully, albeit about a month late.

Annual catkin display

Every year I try to capture with the camera the feeling that comes when the male hazel catkins, the lamb's tails, at last extend to their full stretch.

The above show a branchful in our front garden in Sedlescombe.  They show up well against the foliage behind which is that of the tamarisk-leaved false-cypress, Chamaecyparis  lawsoniana Tamariscifolia, at least, this is what it was sold to me as many years ago and I have no reason to disbelieve the supplier, a local conifer nurseryman in Whatlington.

Killingan Coppice: 22 February 2010

It has rained and rained all day with twin rivers of water pouring down our road and constantly lowering skies with black, threatening clouds.

This picture shows the landscape in the rain from the corner of Killingan Coppice looking west towards Sedlescombe church.

In the hollows of the coppice, the shallow pits caused by past opencast mining operations, probably for iron, will hold water for a few days, but not for long enough to be colonised by any wetland flora and fauna.

The pale green moss growing on top of the bank on the left is a fine landscape feature in the open coppice at this time of year.

Killingan Coppice can, by the way, be seen on Google Earth as it was photographed from above on 23 May 2009.  It shows as a pale brown strip alongside Churchlands Lane, Sedlescombe at 21⁰ 56’ 37.66” N   0⁰ 32’ 12.38” E  (83.5 metres, 274 ft above sea level).

A setterwort surprise

Yesterday, walking through an oak and chestnut wood between Battle and Rye in the East Sussex Weald, we noticed some luminous green plants towering above the wet brown fallen leaves.

(All photos were taken by my friend Andy Redford who was with me - I left my camera at home as I did not think there would be any worthwhile subjects).

The plants were stinking hellebore or setterwort (Helleborus foetidus), a very rare species in East Sussex, and there were maybe one hundred of them large and small scattered over quite a wide area and clearly doing well.

I have walked through this piece of woodland dozens of times and not seen these plants before, nor do they seem to have been recorded by others, but they must have been here for a long time (perhaps only really obvious early in the year). 

There is a story that the first hellebore grew from the spot where a little girl's tear dropped onto the snow because she had no gift for the Christ child.  With all the snow and frost we have had recently and seeing these plants coming up to their best so early, it is easy to understand how such an idea arose.

Another bonus was the discovery on many of the plants of mines of the leaf mining fly Phytomyza hellebori (see below) first recorded in Britain in 2002.  So far as I know this a new species for East Sussex.

The stinking hellebore is a popular garden plant with an Award of Garden Merit from the Royal Horticultural Society.  In the wild it normally grows on chalk or limestone, so the question as to whether the plant is a garden escape in this wood arises.  Though I do wonder quite how it got there, there are no houses immediately adjacent and all the plants are in natural places, not in spots where garden rubbish might have been dumped.

The name 'stinking' comes from the fact that the leaves smell of decaying meat when bruised, though the flowers have a pleasant honey scent and are good for early insects, especially bumble bees.  All parts though are toxic and though it has been used medicinally, the result may often have been fatal.

A moving postscript to all this is that I found a fine piece of writing on the stinking hellebore penned by my old friend Dr. Tony Hare, the founder and first chair of Plantlife:

http://www.habitat.org.uk/hare.htm

Sadly he died at an early age in January and I think this essay is a very fitting tribute to a remarkable man and a great conservationist.  I know he would have been very pleased that we had stumbled upon a flourishing colony of this one of our more remarkable wild flowers.

Killingan Coppice: 20 February 2010

Despite the cold and snow with continuing hard frosts overnight, there are many signs of spring in the coppice.

Bluebells are sending their small pointed shoots through the leaves.

As are the fat shiny rolls of cuckoopint (Arum maculatum) leaves.

I even found a primrose (Primula vulgaris) in flower.

It all makes me wonder if the phenologists are wasting their time.  Here, after the hardest winter in years, many plants are, unsurprisingly, not as advanced as normal.  Snowdrops are still struggling into flower and hazel catkins at the beginning of their season.  Other plants though scarcely seem to have been held back, although I suspect the primrose above may have a bit of exotic blood from a garden Polyanthus which may affect its performance.  It certainly is not typical - just an early flowering form and to use it statistically would, in my view, be somewhat dishonest. 

Proper phenology should be done by monitoring the same individual plants season by season, but even this would, I reckon, prove very little about climate change.  As it is people expend much effort looking for the 'first'  this or that of the season without acknowledging that most  plant species produce individuals that are somewhat ahead of the game.

In the case of the hawthorn (Crataegus spp.) there are two native British species one of which flowers about two weeks before the other and many derived from exotic seed that may have strange foreign habits when they are mature.  Phenology recorders are not asked, so far as I know, to differentiate.

Brindled straw flat-body & common wasp

One of my traps in the garden here at Sedlescombe contained a small, lively moth when I visited on this mild January afternoon.

It was a brindled straw flat-body (Agonopterix arenella), a common and widespread Oecophorid moth in Britain with larvae that feed on thistles and related plants.

The adults hibernate over winter, but are clearly quite active in mild weather.

Perhaps another consequence of the mild weather was the discovery of a very active worker common wasp (Vespula vulgaris) in the kitchen this morning.

I know wasp colonies do sometimes survive the winter, but I am not aware of any attic nests this year and it has been extremely cold for some weeks until the last few days.

Winter hoppers

Several species of plant hopper (Homoptera: Cicadellidae) are quite common in the winter as they hibernate in evergreen conifers and similar, but always seem to be quite active, however cold the weather.

Two common species are shown below, Zygina angusta  on the left and Z. flammigera on the right.  Both of these were found in our garden this afternoon.

After the cold and snow

In our garden I have a tower of logs from which I can catch saproxylic invertebrates in a sleeve net (see here.) emerging from or attracted to the decaying wood and its flora of fungi and other plants.

Since 2 January 2010 the trap has been covered in snow and the netting frozen to the top of the top log.

By today it had thawed enough for me to be able to remove it and to see if any insects had gathered inside.

There was a surprisingly large number of species:  Gymnometriocnemus brumalis (see picture above of a mating pair on the roof of a new dormouse box) and Limnophyes minimus , both Diptera: Chironomidae; Bolitophila saundersii (Dipt: Bolitophilidae); Issus coleoptratus, Zygina angusta and Trioza urticae all various kinds of plant hopper (Homoptera); a springtail (Entomobrya nivalis) and a small unidentified spider.

It is remarkable how much invertebrate life there is on the move, even after very cold weather, for those who take the trouble to look.

Snow helps young trees

The heavy snow has flattened many of our local bramble patches with its sheer weight.

In one place I noticed a birch sapling that had been separated out from of the surrounding brambles by this weight of snow, the birch having a stronger, more upright stem (see centre of the picture below).

Later in the year it will, no doubt, grow away quite quickly surrounded by a low collar of brambles.  These may also grow, but perhaps will not be able to catch up with the tree again, a tree that last summer they were overtopping.

I suppose this must happen whenever there is a heavy snowfall, quite an unusual event in East Sussex.  But our long-stay indigenous flora and fauna has to be able to survive the once in fifty (or five thousand) year events and to some extent may benefit from them.

Greater tussock-sedge in snow

On New Year's Day I walked with a friend through the Powdermill Nature Reserve at Catsfield in East Sussex.

There had been a light fall of snow which powdered the wigs of the small army of greater tussock-sedge plants (Carex paniculata) that flourish in one of the swampy areas.

I used to know many places locally where this splendid plant grew, but most have become over-shaded and the sedge plants have died.

Inside the tussocks is a large compacted rhizome, like a tree fern trunk and I am sure that both in life and in death this must attract a wealth of smaller organisms - fungi and invertebrates. One day I might try to devise a method of finding out what they are.

Combating climate change?

The recent spate of media activity on climate change is rapidly turning me into a grumpy old man, so I thought I would get some of it off my chest here.

My spleen was first activated by an 'independent' report for the Forestry Commission by Sir David Read et al. which seems to want to go back to the mid-20th century with a huge tree planting programme recommended in order to increase carbon capture.

I wonder where these new woods will go.  Agricultural land is likely to be needed if we are going to get halfway towards feeding ourselves, so this leaves hills, mountains, heaths, moors and bogs etc., all places that the Forestry Commission has afforested, or tried to afforest, in the past.  Remember the Flow Country?

In the case of bogs Paul Simons, writing in The Times today (30 November 2009), has pointed out that these absorb hugely more carbon than trees.  See this link.

I also get unnaturally depressed by the emerging vogue for planting trees.  Millions, apparently, will be required.  Where will they come from?  Presumably, unless they are imported, there will have to be quantities of tree nurseries (many perhaps, run by the Forestry Commission).  Good for employment and rural economies no doubt.

If fields and other land is abandoned it will, of course, turn into woodland quite quickly and of its own accord in most parts of Britain .  The Woodland Trust, with the blessing of the Forestry Commission, is already planting their new Heartwood Forest in Hertfordshire, though they must be aware of the two famous woods, Broadbalk and Geesecroft Wildernesses at the nearby Rothampsted Experimental Station that have developed on deliberately abandoned fields to mature mixed woodland without a seed being sown or a tree planted.  Trouble is, not many people were employed in creating these places - nature did it.

Not many people are employed either in making and maintaining bogs so, however much carbon they capture, I fear they will take second place to the new woods and forests, especially as the latter make much better copy for the public relations officers.

In addition to this emerging plantation psychology, the Forestry Commission is waving the flag for the introduction of various exotic species such as the Serbian spruce (Picea omorika) and the shining gum (Eucalyptus nitens).  Most of their list will, of course, be inedible to British wildlife as well as looking totally out of place in the British countryside, but it might give the FC greater control on British forestry and move the industry away from the, to them, irritating areas of conservation and biodiversity into a more disciplined industrial and commercial operation.

Talking about trees also skates round the importance of other kinds of vegetation in capturing carbon and I would not be surprised if an abandoned field garners just as much C as one planted with, say, Nordmann fir.  And the field would be a veritable wonderland for wildlife as it went through its various successional stages.

REFERENCE

Read, D.J., Freer-Smith, P.H., Morison, J.I.L., Hanley, N., West, C.C. and Snowdon, P. (eds) (2009) Combating climate change – a role for UK forests. An assessment of the potential of the UK’s trees and woodlands to mitigate and adapt to climate change. The synthesis report. The Stationery Office, Edinburgh.  (Also on-line).

Maidenhair trees with nuts

In the grounds of a school near Forest Row, East Sussex, I found a line of mature maidenhair or ginkgo trees (Ginkgo biloba).

This remarkable species from China is a survivor from the age of the dinosaurs and the only living representative of its order.  It seems probable that the species has survived, more or less unchanged, for 270,000,000 years.

The tree above had a large crop of fruit rather like small greengages.  There is a soft, fleshy outer layer (said to smell very badly, though I didn't notice anything)  with a nut inside like a small hazel nut.

Apparently the species only fruits well in Britain after warm summers.  Another manifestation of climate change?

The kernel of the seed is popular in China and Japan and it is easy to find recipes for them on the Internet.  When raw they are said to be slightly toxic (though I ate one and it had no ill effects) so they should be roasted before consumption.  All the descriptions of its taste that I have seen differ.  To my mind it was somewhere between a hazel nut and a soya bean and quite pleasant though unremarkable.

Killingan Coppice in autumn

The coppice just up our road is rapidly moving into autumn mode.

Many of the new sprouts from the cut stools have been grazed of by rabbits and/or deer and I expect this will get worse as winter comes in.  Brambles (see below) like thorny trip wires are spreading rapidly in some places growing flat over the ground like a blanket.  By this time next year walking through the area will probably be difficult.

In other places there is still much bare ground and, despite recent rains, no sign of any seedlings or woodland fungi.  The hornbeam and other tree species' seed that germinated in spring all seem to be doing well though.  On some of the bonfire sites the bonfire moss, Funaria hygrometrica, is growing thickly and has produced many bright orange sporophytes.

Here and there flowers are still brightening the ground like the pink musk mallow (Malva moschata) and the yellow smooth hawksbeard (Crepis capillaris) below.

The Selsey Bill Rant

Yesterday I made my first visit to Selsey and Selsey Bill in West Sussex. I had been working nearby and had half an hour or so to spare, so I made may way to this most southerly point in Sussex.

The final stretch of road ran through what was effectively a large, suburban-style estate on the road to nowhere with total coverage by bungalows, semis and the occasional grander structure, all with their nurseryman’s catalogue gardens. Chichester, the nearest large urban area, is some nine miles away. The gardens are more wildlife friendly though than the vast open fields spreading across the flat Manhood Peninsula to the north of Selsey.

Why, I wondered, had the planners allowed the end of this thrust of land to be covered in houses. Apart from the beach there seem to be few places to walk, though there is Pagham Harbour not to far distant by car.

The Bill itself is an extraordinary place. The road just runs out and there is a single metal bar to stop cars driving into the sea, plus a litter of tired street furniture and wonky fences. If people didn’t live there, the place would benefit from a good tsunami.

Immediately to the east of the dead end there is a playing field style open space, but everywhere else the houses and gardens encroach as closely as they can to the pebbly, breakwatered beach. Strange constructions of concrete like a parkour course allow passage on foot around the private properties and, at one place, there are some strange eyeless amphorae made of concrete and beach pebbles – perhaps an attempt to create a Mediterranean feel to the place. They reminded me of Easter Island moai staring inscrutably out to sea from their platforms.

Despite this wrecked landscape, the sun was warm, the sea blue with its waves eternally marching towards the shore. I even made a few wildlife records including some tiny wrack flies, Thoracochaeta zosterae, in washed up seaweed. The most southerly invertebrate records in Sussex no doubt.

Selsey Bill has a sadness about it and it is a kind of monument to our corporate inability to look after our own environment. It epitomises our disastrous tendency to want to cover memorable places with houses as though the residents can gain some sort of apotheosis by owning a bit of what might otherwise be a wonderful wild place (or the middle of a potato field). How very peculiar that the most southerly part of our area, the Land’s End of Sussex, should be part of somebody’s garden.

I think I shall start a campaign to forbid any building within half a mile of the sea (ports and harbours excepted). The state should buy existing houses as they are vacated and demolish them, allowing the land to re-wild in its own way but enabling the public to go there.

Nature's symmetries

People have always been fascinated by the way an often chaotic-seeming nature produces intricate patterns of organisation.

Recently I have bee intrigued by the roundness of ivy flowers and the way that insects, such as the fever flies (Dilophus febrilis) distribute themselves apparently in orderly fashion across the flower heads.

These insects - they all seem to be females - were in the flower heads for a couple of days then they all suddenly disappeared.

Caper spurge (Euphorbia lathyrus) is really a weed in our garden and does not, as sometimes suggested, drive away moles.  The leaves arrange themselves with great symmetry in four rows around the central stalk.  Very few British plants seem to be like this, but I have seen some unrelated plant species from New Zealand that are similar.

Caper spurge is not a British native but a long-standing resident species known as an archaeophyte and originally from places further south.  It is widely naturalised out side its native range.

Natural selection?

I have, this year, grown some crimson-flowered nasturtiums in a pot and, needless to say, the white butterflies soon found them.  Before long both large white (Pieris brassicae) and small white (Pieris rapae) caterpillars appeared, the large whites (below) being particularly obvious on the leaves and flowers.

This morning nearly all these caterpillars had disappeared and a couple of wasps were spotted searching the plants for more.  By the evening all I could find was a solitary small white (below) that had survived, perhaps, because of its more cryptic colouring.

Caterpillars of the white butterfly family, the Pieridae, store toxic chemicals derived from their foodplants within their bodies making them distasteful to some of their predators, mainly birds.  That is why the large white larvae feel safe to feed openly on the foodplants and have a black and yellow pattern of colour that acts as an " I taste nasty" warning.

While it may offer some protection against birds it does not stop the wasps and various other creatures that eat large white and other caterpillars, indeed the bright colour may even help them find their prey.

Since wasps and large whites have probably been around together for thousands of years, it makes one wonder about the survival of the fittest dictum.  Constant removal by wasps does not seem to have resulted in better adapted caterpillars, yet somehow they evolved to their current colour and shape.

The last laugh, perhaps, will go to the nasturtiums who have survived the onslaught and have plenty of summer time left to set seed.