This morning’s weather foreshadows Storm Amy’s arrival, with low cloud and high winds buffeting the Country Park and National Nature Reserve.
Continuing my tree safety surveys, I head towards South Field, my first wildlife sighting is a Wood Pigeon slingshotted through the cloying fog by the strong gusts.
As I head north along the field boundary, passerine birds hunker down in the hedgerows, Great Tits, Robin, Chiffchaff and Wren invisible but audible with their contact and alarm calls.
Entering Large Copse, the sou’westerly roars in the Scots Pines above me, mimicking the unsettled waters to the south. Unusually here, the understorey comprises of species more often seen as canopy trees, Sycamore and Ash stunted by the low light afforded by the towering pines.
Emerging from the copse, and continuing north between Taskers and Smithfield, I stumble upon the feathery remnants of Wood Pigeon - the cleanly plucked pinions telling me that it fell victim to an avian predator, most likely a Sparrowhawk.
Back behind me in Large Copse, the garrulous shouts of the Carrion Crows announce a flyby from their larger cousin the Raven, who responds with a pair of low croaks before disappearing into the murk once more.
Now in the lee of the headland, some braver Goldfinch take advantage of the more sheltered conditions to make low passes along the hedgelines. Nearby, a Parasol Mushroom hunkers down in the grasses, its cap covering in distinctive brown scales.
I poke my head into Smithfield to check on our cattle, our Herefords damp and steaming as they ‘aftermath’ graze back the grass sward, making space for less common wildflower species.
Heading directly into the wind across Tasker’s Meadow, a remnant of summer winks at me from the turf, the ruby-like flower of Red Clover still glowing in the grey. One group relishing the damp are the arionidae or Roundback Slugs, dozens of molluscs emulating our own cattle as they graze on the grasses.
As I make my way back to the Learning Centre, a solitary male Stonechat alights on a shivering Hawthorn bush, seemingly chipping at me in a disgruntled fashion for intruding on his territory.