Calstock Wetland : A Year On.

 November 2022. It is the first anniversary of the breaching of the river-bank at Calstock. (See Blog for the back story; New Wetlands in the Tamar Valley published 18.11.21.)

After a lot of planning, consultation and delays, the cut in the riverbank was made in Mid-November 2021 allowing water from the river to flow into the low-lying and now derelict meadows behind the levee. At high water on the smaller neap tides, the flooding water only covers a network of interconnecting channels and lagoons. At high water on the bigger spring tides, the whole area is inundated between the banks constructed at each end to protect Calstock at one end and its sewage works at the other end. As the tide turns, the water runs back out to the river, leaving isolated muddy lagoons and islets of marshy vegetation.

The river-bank was breached on November 14th '21. The walk along the levee had been closed for months as the walkway across the cut was not yet complete and for health & safety reasons, the public was not allowed along the levee, much to people's frustration. This picture was taken by someone on the river side of the walkway-to-be, looking inland as the water flowed in from the river.

Following the breach the water is flooding across the old wet meadows. Picture taken looking inland.

Black-headed Gulls were immediately showing interest in the new wetland. The black head - feathers are replaced by grey cheek and ear smudges in winter.

Mallard drake. These ducks, already present along the river, quickly explored the new habitat.

December 1st, 2021. Unable at first to see the new wetland from the riverbank, one could look down from the side of either of the two lanes running parallel to the river, the upper,  Eric Road, or the lower, Harewood Lane which leads from Calstock to the sewage works and on to the old mine site of Okel Tor.

This picture was taken from Eric Lane, looking east to the houses on the Devon side of the Tamar. The water level at mid-tide is a patchwork of open water and the remnants of the old meadow vegetation, predominantly a coarse growth of docks, meadow thistle, rush and tussocky grasses.

At last! Good Friday, April 14th 2022 after endless issues of health & safety were resolved, the walkway was deemed safe and the levee path was officially opened again to the walkers, bird-watchers, strollers, dog walkers and the frankly curious.

Viewing the birds using the wetland is best through binoculars. and better still a telescope. The sun is behind you as you look from this path in the morning, while looking from the side of Harewood Road is less dazzling in the afternoon.

As well as numerous Mallard, Teal can be seen dabbling in the muddy margins of the pools.

Last winter there were brief sightings of Shoveller and Pintail ducks too.

       Moorhens fuss from among the rushes.

and if you are lucky you may spot a Water Rail moving furtively from one clump of vegetation to another.

The walkway bridge striding across the breach in the riverbank. The river is to the right

Plenty of warning notices to read!  The river is to the right of the picture.

Even before the breach was made in the riverbank, the shallow scoops excavated in the wet meadow area destined to be flooded, attracted a few waders. Common Snipe could be seen.

Also to see are a few bobbing  Sandpipers. Common Sandpipers as well as the less common Green Sandpiper shown here, its distinctive square white rump very obvious when it flies.

Grey Herons have come into the wetland from their usual haunts along the riverbank.

Joined by their smaller but more conspicuous cousin, the Little Egret.

Jewel-like Kingfisher waits for a little fish, while small birds such as Pied and Grey Wagtails, hunt for insects on the muddy shores of the mosaic of lagoons exposed as the water flows back to the river when the tide is ebbing.

 Meanwhile a Stonechat can often be seen doing his hunting from a post or other vantage point.

The strip of reeds fringing the riverbank attract Sedge and Reed Warblers in the summer, and the path along the top of the levee continues to be a good fly-line and basking place for Darter dragonflies as summer advances.

By late April 2022, considerable erosion was developing in the breached riverbank.

And again, at the end of October 2022.

While at the same time, looking towards the flooded wetland from the walkway bridge at low water, the remains of old field drainage can be seen becoming exposed by the eroding mud and silt.

The top of a high spring tide a week later, looking towards Calstock from the end of the bridge over the breach.

Numbers of our old friend, Canada Geese appeared like bad pennies. The first year in the life of this welcome new wetland has been very interesting to watch. The numbers and variety of wetland birds to find this area is rewarding, and the gradual changes in vegetation, from coarse degraded grassland to a flora more adapted to brackish or even salty conditions will also be interesting to see. It has considerably enriched the value of the riverside walk for all who travel it.

 One of the reasons given for the creation of this wetland is to prevent flooding of Calstock downstream. However, so far, conditions haven't put this to the test.

AUTUMN WALKS

 AUTUMN WALKS

One of the glories of the British climate is that no weather pattern stays the same for long, however persistent a drought may seem, or however entrenched those searing east winds. And interspersing our usual changeable pattern, or a spell of what seems like unrelenting rain, we can get a perfect day of idyllic weather, typical of our dearest dream of the season as we think it should be. Or, indeed, within the chill grip of winter, we can get a couple of balmy spring-like days, giving a short respite and a promise of better things to come.

So, from my notes…September,2021..... a perfect autumn morning. Deep silence, no wind, cumulus beginning to build up in the clear blue sky above the marshes. Canada Geese floating peacefully; Mallard and Teal sailing placidly; none of the feverish activity of spring when they rush and bustle after each other. Throaty purr of Moorhen in the reeds; Herons anchored in the wet meadows beyond.

A couple of Swallows flit past, then suddenly there are about fifty dipping and skimming over the water; mostly House Martins now. Tony thinks he sees Sand Martins among them. And as quickly, they are gone.

As we sit, the cloud is increasing and a little breeze is ruffling the water and swaying the rushes. Was that the signal for the Curlews who had been standing motionless, knee-deep at the edge of the pool, to get up with brief bubbling calls and head off towards the sandbanks of the estuary, now exposed by the falling tide.

A Dabchick with round fluffy stern, potters alongside the reedy margin. He isn’t bothering to dive just now, unlike the Cormorant fishing intently in the further pool, under water more than above. Perhaps he’s having to look long and hard for little fish.

This October……...this year 2022 is marked by a prolific fruit crop. Apples are so abundant you can’t give 'em away.

Acorns, so conspicuously missing last year, are abundant again. 

The Hawthorns are red with haws;

 Orange bunches of Rowan berries, usually the first autumn fruit to be scoffed, are still on the trees, such is the abundance the birds can’t keep up with them all. Thick clusters of Blackberries are rotting on the brambles, their ferment attracting the late wasps now they have just about finished feeding on the Ivy flowers.

(As I write this, now in early November, we have been visited by large numbers of Redwings and Fieldfares and they have stripped the Rowan berries. Have these birds been driven on by bad weather in Scandinavia or driven onto our shores by a poor fruit crop at home?)

STOP PRESS!  I have just seen a BTO (British Trust for Ornithology) report of huge numbers of Fieldfares and Redwings flying in from Scandinavia borne in on Easterly winds following a complete failure of the Rowan berry crop in Scandinavia, as I had wondered above.

Red Admirals, stupified by late nectar and warm sun, bask in sheltered spots.

Sloes with their blue bloom unmarked by autumn's wear and tear; the remains of ripe Elderberries, trusses of black wild Privet berries all wait their turn to be eaten. 

Shiny Guelder Rose have all but gone now,

And the plump heads of Arum berries, succulent-looking but poisonous, are beginning to subside in the hedge bottoms.

 

Trails of Black Bryony berries drape the hedges,

And Yew berries, beloved by early Redwings, complete the trinity of berries poisonous to the unwary.

Talking of red I couldn't resist this Fly Agaric! Poisonous to us, this toadstool, often growing under Birch trees, is eaten by deer, rabbits, slugs.....

Red isn't the only warning colour. Black Elderberries are edible and make good wine, but the black of wild Privet berries is a 'no no', and conversely not all red berries are poisonous! 

FORAGERS BEWARE!

Rosehips seem to wait for the winter weather to shrivel and perhaps sweeten them like Medlars, before they are palatable. The ragged remains of Hazel nuts, long-since demolished by the squirrels still litter the ground under their bushes and the still-green Ivy berries will take several more months to blacken and feed the winter-hungry birds.

Surreptitiously, Squirrels, Jays, Voles and mice will have hidden caches of harvest stored safely underground and in nooks in the hedge-bottoms to sustain them through the hungry times.

October Walk: Plymouth.

A perfect autumn day as we walked through the outskirts of Plymouth on our way to watch youngest grandson play Rugby. The trudge to the Rugby pitch was enlivened by the varied displays in the front gardens as we passed by, under a clear blue sky and bright sunshine.

. Michaelmas Daisies, in shades from palest mauve to rich purple were a-buzz with hoverflies and hive bees. Late Fuchsia flowers glowed carmine and the first of the curly-petalled Guernsey Lilies, well-suited by this summer’s hot dry bake were a clear pink against a backdrop of sombre-leaved evergreen shrubs. 

Tall Japanese Anemones with a handsome golden boss of stamens attracts more autumn-flying insects .

and now my season’s favourite, Cyclamens are unfolding their donkeys'-ear petals. I was given my first by an old friend who had no end of them, coming up in the mulched path between his collection of Camellias. He just shovelled up the corm and I put it in my garden under an Amelanchier. It has spread in places, much more successfully when the seeds are distributed by ants, than my efforts to move young corms.

The front wall of one garden was hidden by a small-leaved Cotoneaster with herringbone branches covered by orange-red berries glowing in the sun.

.A Sumach spread its wide canopy across another garden, it’s handsome pinnate leaves beginning to turn amber, a promise of its full glory after a few chilly nights.

Beyond the last garden the overgrown hedge was draped with an almost tropical abundance of sprawling Wild Clematis. Its silvery silky seeds give it the country name of Old Man's Beard.

Autumn Walk, one early November day.(last year)

As often happens, when we go for our first short autumn walk up on the edge of the moor above Trebartha, we are chased off by the weather.

So far we haven’t seen any of the winter thrushes in the hedges around here but will often see them in the in-by pastures and the hawthorns dotting the moorland slopes. We went in search and chose a morning of patchy blue among the clouds, following the rain and wind of the past couple of days. Parking in our usual gateway we at once spotted a fox making his way round a corner of bracken towards the woodland of Trebartha below. His coat shone brighter than the rain-soaked dark russet of the dying bracken.

The Eskimos are said to have dozens of words describing snow. We too have many describing the browns of autumn: amber, gold, bronze, russet, foxy, umber, chestnut, copper, hazel, henna, rust, nut, tawny, titian, brick, cinnamon, ginger, mahogany, sepia, toast, auburn, terracotta, sienna, tan....

How will you describe this autumn-coloured Norway Maple?

We can distinguish the tree by its own shade of autumn leaf colour; even the autumn-emerging moths in their multitude of camouflage will show the season’s shades.

Going up the lane towards the moor, water gushes off the fields and issues from every orifice in the banks to join the overflowing gutters and we play our childish game of clearing the masses of dead leaves which clog the grids over the culverts and enjoy the rush of released water.

The patches of blue sky begin to close as we negotiate the cattle grid and walk up onto the moor. The last in-by pasture was dotted with birds; mixed gulls and corvids and a whirling flock of starlings but they were almost the last birds we saw. Tony thought he had the merest glimpse of a woodcock swiftly rising from the bracken beside him before flitting out of sight.

Rain was soon spitting in our faces as we walked into the chilly NW breeze. Crimson and orange wax-caps studded the close-bitten turf and haws still covered their lichen-bearded trees. A lone blackbird chacked in alarm as we flushed it from a gorse bush but nothing else stirred.

We crested the rise, now in steady fine rain and the moor ahead was blotted out by an unrelenting pall of low cloud. The horizon from the north right round to the west was lined by horizontal bands of rain cloud of dark blue-slate shading through greys to a silvery shimmer.

Time to leave, rejected once more by the fickle weather.

This November, the same walk was so different  --  blue and white sky, clear light, and the Hawthorn bushes on the moorland edge were alive with Fieldfares. (see note above about the failure of the Scandinavian berry crop)

 Ravens were croking harshly as they flew along the ridge of moorland up to our right. Two of them were putting on a prolonged display of synchronized flight, lilting and swooping, then spiralling round each other as they dropped rapidly for many feet.Were they renewing their marriage vows?

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