A Jack Russell terrier in the boot and other surprises

It's been hot much of the time and that has meant early starts in order to get a walk in before it's too hot for furry dogs and their paws. Not to mention their owners.

It's also meant interesting dawnlight in the woods, and on rivers and lakes.

The trees are continuing to struggle in the extreme conditions, dropping huge branches, coppiced trunks and in some cases falling completely and taking other trees with them as they go.

While the landscape is mostly still lush, with no end in sight to temperatures nudging 30°+,  it will be tipping into sere any day now.  Here's Badock's Wood on the River Trym, modelling both looks.

Top to bottom, left to right:

red and white clover; moon daisy;yellow rattle; broadleaf enchanter's nightshade; honeysuckle; broomrape; white dead nettle; foxglove

large-leaved avens; common twayblade; hemlock water dropwort; milk thistle; loosestrife; bindweed; meadow bindweed; hedge woundwort and agrimony; common centaury; hairy St John's Wort 

broad-leaved willowherb; mallow; field rose; rosebay willowherb; self heal; ragwort; meadowsweet; valerian; buddleia

hogweed; black mustard; mallow; corn cockle; tutsan (St John's Wort); ivy-leaved toadflax, chicory; wood dock

poppy; corn flower; corn marigold; ground elder; tufted vetch; crow garlic; wild carrot; spear thistle; hemp agrimony; fleabane

Buddleia and chicory at Blaise Castle

 moon daisies, ragwort, hogweed and tufted vetch on Purdown

Vassall's Park

sweet chestnut catkins at Blaise

Following on from my recent trip to Barbury Castle, I've been to check in on a couple of other, more local hillforts, namely Stokeleigh Camp in Leigh Woods ...

... and Bury Hill Fort at Frenchay, both of which, while not exactly atmospheric in the high summer heat, were looking good.

assorted fungi

Ermine Moth caterpillars

Top to bottom, left to right:

ermine mother caterpillars; treble brown spot; froghoppers

painted lady; cinnabar moth caterpillar; ladybird

 

Red admiral

Holly blue

We've been to one new place and that was Lower Woods in South Gloucestershire, one of the largest areas of ancient woodland in the south-west and an SSI to boot. Unfortunately it was very hot and the wide rides cut through the trees did nothing to protect woman and dog from the boiling sun. Also, lots of the woodland, at least where we walked, was fenced off. Important to manage it for wildlife, I know, but it felt far from the immersive experience promised online. Maybe a visit in spring or autumn would be more interesting, but I found myself thinking fondly of our feral woods locally, and how I can get lost on their winding little paths in deepest summer even though I go there most days. No chance of that here.

There was some light relief when we got back to the car park. I opened the boot of my car, took out a water bowl, filled it with chilled water from a flask, and waited while Cwtch drank it, only to find, when I went to put it back, that the boot now contained a Jack Russell terrier, who was busy eating some mouldy bits of kibble that had been spilt some time ago from the box of crow food. (I feed the crows at Asda when I go shopping.) He showed no signs of jumping out again, I didn't want to pick him up in case he was a biter, so in the end I rattled the box and shook a few bits of (fresh) kibble onto the ground to get him out, before quickly shutting the boot and heading off. 

Most of the wildlife I've got a close look at has been dead, sadly, which is the usual state of affairs when you're walking a dog. (Not, of course, that Cwtch killed them; it's just that sensible creatures get out of the way when they spot a collie.)

Top to bottom, left to right:

roe deer; thrush eggs; crow; robinling

snail massacre; shrew; squirrel having a peek; vole

That said, the feather season has started in earnest, with the first three jay coverts found (always a reliable indicator):

magpie; tawny owl; jay; great spotted woodpecker; sparrowhawk; green woodpecker; nuthatch; long-tailed tit; greenfinch; robin; buzzard

But mostly it's been beautiful despite the heat. I'm really looking forward to getting lots more walking done through the rest of the summer. 

View across Stoke Park at Purdown

my favourite Purdown oak at midsummer

hoggin

Cwtch at Blaise Castle

TED Walks in the time of coronavirus Pt ... er ... 8

The break in the weather has meant fewer TED Walks lately.  

This was the scene that greeted us a couple of weeks ago when I took Son the Younger up the meadow with the promise of views all the way down to the wind turbines and the coal chute at Avonmouth, near where he works. 

And the sunset on the longest day of the year looked like this. 

At least there's water in the ditches now.

When the longer view isn't so great, I find myself focusing on stuff that's under my nose and that I might otherwise have missed ... 

... like these poppies and cornflowers and corn marigolds ... 

... and the first rosebay willowherb of the season ...

... and this very large, very hungry cabbage white caterpillar, munching on honesty ... 

... and this greenbottle ... 

... and these rose chafers, both on hogweed.

And just look at the colours of this - a five-spot burnet moth on vetch. Just amazing.  

I've also been furthering my umbellifer identification skills, so while we're on the subject of burnets, here's the beautifully delicate lesser burnet saxifrage.

The etymology of 'burnet' is Middle English 'a dark brown woollen cloth', which is a bit perplexing.

Here's another lovely: daucus carota, also known as wild carrot, bird's nest, bishop's lace and Queen Anne's lace. (You can tell it by the single red flower near the centre of the umbel, which is there (though not always) to attract insects.) (And is also blood from the lace-maker's pricked finger, obviously.)

Different stages of hogweed setting seed

I've also learnt some new-to-me flowers with wonderful names. This is hedge woundwort, with my favourite moon daisies ... 

... and marsh woundwort.

And here's marsh woundwort with ... well, for a while I didn't know what this red globular onion-y plant was. I just took some photos and decided I'd look it up when I got around to it.

But then the very next day my cousin, 3000 miles away in New Jersey, posted a photo of the same plant on Facebook. (She didn't know what it was either.) And the next day Mitch, just outside Bath, did the same, only she could identify it - Allium vineale, or crow garlic. 

How strange, I thought, to have been unaware of it all my life and suddenly it's pimpling the edges of the playing field, and infesting my timeline. 

On Saturday I spotted some in my front garden. 'It's everywhere!' I wailed to my cousin. 'It must be the triffid component to Covid-19. It's going to wait until everyone of us is weakened and immobile and then it's going to eat us.'

Yesterday I realised  they weren't strays in my garden at all, but scouts reporting back to a garrison of the stuff stationed at the end of the road ... 

... wild-haired as a result of the lockdown and sending urgent messages ... 

Deadly nightshade and the witchy whitethorn of the fairway

It's a shame that the moment the Northerner finished his coursework, the football started up again, but with the weather set to change back to sunny summer days, hopefully there'll be a few more TED Walks for me and my dog.