Weasels, Owls and a Day without Rain.

My goodness it’s actually stopped raining - for the moment! A quick rush to grab boots, jacket and binoculars. Time for a walk around the Goyt. Watching birds from the windows of the house can be great fun, I even scored a garden tick yesterday with a beautiful stock dove, although its behaviour proved less attractive as it pulled out plants from a seed tray left on the garden table with what resembled wonton vandalism and total disregard for any aesthetic beauty – but that’s birds for you; we may admire beauty in all its artistic forms, but birds, there’re just in it for the food and lodging. It could be a building site or a refuge tip, a railway siding or a piece of derelict land, as long as it fits the birds’ criteria that’s ok. The weather is ‘sticky’, humid and unpredictable, so nothing new there then.
Within minutes I’m plodding up the ‘Old Road’. A few house Martins are sweeping low over the rough pasture where young cows are grazing otherwise all is quiet. This is of course the time of year some birders refer to as the ‘still months’. Most birds have finished rearing young and are now taking a well earned rest; some begin to start their summer moult.

The moor is a good place to walk when you wish to clear your head and already its therapeutic value has begins to take hold. Up here in the wilderness you can breathe and let your mind wander over its vastness. Soon a familiar ‘clicking’ sound is heard among the bracken and male stonechat is quickly located. You are now more likely to encounter a stonechat on the moor than a whinchat. The stonechat, in the past a bird of the coastal regions seems very at home on our moorland. Soon I am in the valley proper and walking down the road towards Errwood. Within seconds a small creature ‘dances’ towards me. It is a weasel and appears to be on the hunt, leaping into the undergrowth of the road verge then leaping back out again and dashing over to the other side. Closer and closer to me it came as if waltzing on hot coals, its eyes seeming beady and alive; yet its poor eyesight did not make my humble self visible for some time as I watched transfixed, overjoyed at gaining such a superb sighting. But very soon it leaped into the undergrowth never to reappear.

The valley was very quiet, just a few tits and finches chirping among the oaks. A pair of kestrels came into view over the moor, at first circling, then periodically hovering in the still air. A lone cormorant sat on blue buoy in the middle of the reservoir and a pair of common sandpipers ‘piped’ their way across the water. Canada geese trooped through the tall grass and grey wagtail launched itself after insects from the gravel bank where the river entered the reservoir.

The humidity soon began to take its toll and as I plodded up the incline the sweat began to run down my face. On reaching the old railway line I was glad for some level walking and even happier when I found a wooden bench to sit on and have a breather. As I sat a short-eared owl came into view quartering the heather in familiar fashion, its almost white form drifting ghostlike over the walls and cloughs. Within seconds it was joined by another owl and harsh cries were heard from both birds: rivals or family I do not know, but I watched them for almost ten minutes, entranced by every passing second before making my way home, rather weary but clear-headed.