For the hell of it, I'm going to throw in a few bird photos from last month, as I don't think I've blogged with them yet. All are from Titchwell, on a nice sunny day when I would have done some serious damage to Titchwell beach waders had I then owned my Canon 1D X mark ii...
Unless I manage to find time to photograph the lovely-looking Lincolnshire Bluethroat, I suspect this will be my last blogpost for a week or two. I'm heading to southern Spain next week, searching for Iberian Lynx. Then to Estonia immediately afterwards for Eurasian Lynx. A Lynx double-header then. Could be some gripping photos... or, more likely, none.
Every winter I resign myself to a season of wildlife focused on birds. Not that I dislike birds, you understand. I am, after all, still fundamentally a birder. But my appreciation of nature has burgeoned and broadened over the past decade or so, and I miss the diversity that summer, in particular, offers. And I REALLY miss winged insects, notably moths. Packing away my moth trap each November is a sad moment. Not everyone does so, however. Others with more staying power than me continue trap every single night of the year, rain or shine, frost or hail. This winter my moth-ing instincts have been kept flickering alive by the generosity of Matt Casey. Matt's Dad lives round the corner from me, and Matt traps here every night. Occasionally, I get an early-morning phone call from Matt. And occasionally, that inspires me to trot over to Matt's and see what he has caught. This winter, then, I have actually seen some moths - tiny, hardy critters that don't seem to care what weather throws at them. They have brought a bit of roundness to this otherwise feathery season. Their names? Pale Brindled Beauty, Early Moth, March Moth, Spring Usher, Dotted Border, Chestnut and a couple of small jobs.