The Sound of a Distant Surf

I woke to the low, constant murmur of the surf, of waves breaking upon a none-too-distant shore; and as the light came, I could see the welter of white water off the golf course, a sure sign that a low tide was breaking along a sand bar running parallel to the shore. And on checking the tide table I found I was right: a 0.73m low tide was forecast for 08:31 this morning, the picture being taken at 07:11.

The ceaseless roar of the surf is a background to so many of my memories of Mombasa, be it at the....

....Hoey house at Nyali where we could sit on the veranda and look out across the lawn and through the high palms to a lagoon protected by a coral reef a mile out, a reef pounded by the long swells of the Indian Ocean or....

....be it at the big house at the end of Cliff Avenue which had a view out across the Kilindini channel to no less than three reefs, all white-teethed by the ocean's great breakers.

The memories of those four summer holidays in Mombasa between 1957 and 1961 are some of the most treasured of my life. One cannot go back to those moments but one can recall them, enjoy them, celebrate and be deeply thankful for them.

The Painted Lady

This beautiful butterfly was spotted on goat willow which is showing signs of the coming of autumn. It was the only butterfly on the wing, which is an achievement as the temperature at the time was 11C on a day when it struggled to reach 14C.

The butterfly is one of two painted ladies which have appeared in the back garden each time the sun has come out. One, this one, is rather bigger than the other, which is also rather moth-eaten.

Painter ladies are rather special as they are immigrants which, over several generations, have worked their way northwards from Africa and the Mediterranean. But, like ocean waves, they can only reach a little further north before they break against the hard shore of northern Scotland's short cool summers and long winters.

I have a special affection for these butterflies because they are, for me, fellow travellers,  emigrants from Africa that will never return.

Portraits

I have thousands of photos stored in 'the cloud', accumulated since 2008 when I purchased my first digital camera, yet few are of me. I'm very happy with this situation as I don't consider myself to be in any way photogenic, not can I imagine that there is anyone out there, not even my nearest and dearest, who would want a mass of pictures of me.

So such pictures of me as I have kept are very largely for my use in recalling particular moments in my life, in helping me to remember how I felt at the moment each was captured - and this picture, taken on the long desert coast of Namibia, is one such.

All night the onshore breeze has carried a dense, chilling mist in from the sea, a mist formed as the warm, damp South Atlantic airmass crossed the cold Benguela current - but the sun is almost hot enough to burn away the last of the mist leaving us to broil in its direct heat.

I remember that short walk on my own. I remember the immense heat, the burn of the sun on my skin, the rhythmic bump of the waves, the otherwise immense silence, for this beach backs on to the emptiness of hundreds of miles of desert. I would have been quite happy to spend the rest of the day in that lonely place, where air meets sand and sea, but we were on a tourist trip and had to return to the Land Rover so we could hurry on to see the flamingoes.

A Raptor and Eight Butterflies

Within moments of our leaving the house this morning for our usual gentle Sunday morning stroll, this bird passed over us. While it is evidently a raptor, its species is less clear. It might be a late-staying osprey or a hawk, but I think it's most likely be a harrier. From its silhouette, it could be a marsh harrier, but according to the RSPB's distribution map this species does not come this far north - so it's most likely to be a hen harrier.

It's very frustrating that the only pictures I could get were silhouettes from below as hen harriers aren't common here - in fact, I don't think we've seen one since leaving Suffolk..

I keep thinking that I'm seeing the last butterfly of the year in our garden, and then the weather, and the butterflies, prove me wrong. Yesterday we had some warm weather and bright sunny intervals, and the butterflies came out in even larger numbers than before - four peacocks, two red admirals, a painted lady and, for the first time in some weeks, a tortoiseshell.

Conditions towards the end of the afternoon must have been pretty marginal for any butterfly to be on the wing as I saw more and more finding the sunniest places to settle and extending their wings to catch the sun - except for....

....this red admiral which obviously thought that the dark undersides of its wings might absorb more heat. Wherever they chose to settle, I could then approach to within inches before they, very reluctantly, flew off, leaving me feeling bad for disturbing them.

Robbut, or Robbutina?

We were relaxing after a healthy breakfast this morning when we spotted something lurking behind the buddleia at the bottom of the garden. At first, we couldn't believe it, but we realised it was a rabbit about the same size as the missing Robbut, the same colouring, and - conclusive evidence - he was eating the growing tips off one of our precious heathers.

If....if it is Robbut, he's been away for a week - see previous post here. We always assumed it was because our eldest daughter, who came to stay with us, brought her two dogs, one a lurcher, which would have frightened any rabbit out of the garden.

Then we had a terrible thought. The length of time Robbut has been away is about the legal requirement of maternity leave in the rabbit world, so has Robbut.... or, as we might have to call her, Robbutina - been away on maternity leave? And, if so, the implications for our precious back garden are pretty grim

A Fork in the Road

After a much more cheerful day yesterday, with the sun out and a count, at one point, of no less than six butterflies in the garden, including this painted lady....

....today turned miserable, so I took a brisk walk in drizzly rain up to this fork in the road. I like this spot. Things happen here - like, three weeks ago, a red deer stag ran across the track close in front of me.

Today, the excitement was on a slightly lower scale - in fact, on a very small scale, because it was generated by this little bird. It's a chiffchaff which, to me, shouldn't be here. I've always thought of it. as migratory bird, one of the first warblers to arrive in spring, but this one is either rather late in departing or it's planning to spend the winter here.

A few minutes' research showed that chiffchaffs do overwinter just to the south of here, so perhaps it will stay with us - which in some ways would be rather good, in others less so as I won't have the pleasure of listening out for it in spring.

The song of the chiffchaff was laid across an almost constant calling of skeins of pink-footed geese, about a hundred geese altogether, which kept circling above the fields this side of the golf course, and....

....the very insistent chatter of this robin, reminding us that this fork in the road is HIS for the winter.

Autumn - Maybe

The astronomical equinox happened in the early hours of this morning so we're now officially in to autumn, but the fact is that, here on the ground, the temperatures over the last few days have sometimes suggested it's more like we've passed from autumn into winter. In addition, many of the summer flowers have gone, and even those that are still in bloom, like the bell heather, are showing their age; and there are no new wildflower species appearing to get excited about.

However, despite the fact that winter is my least favourite season, there are things to look forward to, like....

....the sun rising further and further south along the horizon, so we can climb out of bed in the morning and look out on a glorious skyscape of colours. 

Then there are some birds which spend their summer either in some distant destination or lost to sight in the pine forests - like the coal tits, which have begun to reappear only in the last few days.

The fungi are also something to look forward to, even if their appearances are mainly made in the early part of winter. Some of them are shooting up in almost indecent haste: three days ago these were still underground.

Sadly, the fungus' display has been marred this year by the slugs and snails, which get onto the caps almost before they have a chance to open.

The signs from the berry trees are that it's going to be a hard winter. I don't think that, since being in Golspie, we've seen the rowans branches so loaded - and I thought they were heavy last year.

A hard winter? I think I can do without that!

Confrontation

I recognise the grating sounds of anger of an annoyed robin but yesterday, as I was trying to relax in the back garden during a few moments' sunshine between the showers, I heard robin anger of unprecedented fury - to the extent that I took this photo of the source, what I thought was a lone robin but which turned our to be....

....the noisy robin apparently confronting a silent robin.

Was the one that was silent a female, and the noisy one an amorous male? This seemed unlikely at this time of year. Or was it....

....a very dominant male trying to frighten away a possible territorial rival? If this was the case, the rival seemed quite prepared to hold his ground in silent belligerence.

I didn't see the final outcome because I was distracted by....

....what I thought might be the last butterfly of the year, a red admiral.

A Damp Day

To make a change from yesterday's gusting winds today dawned still, and very wet, with large puddles along the tracks and....

....spiders webs picked out by raindrops. I walked up the hill to the point where I could see....

....Silver Rock clothed in mist.

It was always my intention to climb this hill for it must have a fine view all around but particularly across Loch Fleet - but I never got round to it and now it's probably beyond me.

At least the weather suited some, for there was a good selection of....

....fungi to be admired, including these two puffballs and....

....this tiny gill eking an existence out of a pile of chipped pinewood.

After yesterday's thrashing of leaves and branches the hills seemed very quiet, the dominant sound the calls....

....of hundreds of pink-footed geese trying to find a field where they would be left in peace to feed on the barley grains left by the harvester.

A Torrent of Wind

The garden has been blasted all day by a southwesterly which has gusted up towards force 6, and the morning started cold, the thermometer just reading 12C when we first went out but struggling up to 15C as the morning wore on. However, despite these adverse conditions, the insects....

....have been out in force in our back garden, wasps, hover flies and several species of....

....small bees, all managing precarious landings on plants they were waving around madly in the wind. There was almost a sense of desperation, as if they knew that summer is moving over indecently quickly to give way to autumn.

To my considerable surprise, two butterflies were out in this chaos, a very smart red admiral which, surprisingly, chose to feed on verbena plants which, on the end of six-foot stems, were describing wild arcs in the wind, while....

....the peacock wisely chose the michaelmas daisies, which were much more stable.

There's no sign of change in the weather tomorrow except that the wind is shifting into the northwest and increasing in speed, gusts up to gale force being forecast for lunchtime tomorrow.

Latest Robbut News

I'm sorry to tell it, but the latest news of our resident rabbit, Robbut, is not good. The last definite sighting of him was on 3rd September when he was in one of his usual places cropping the succulent grass. A few minutes later....

....and to our considerable consternation, we noticed a second rabbit near him - seen in this picture half-hidden on the right.

I'm sure readers will understand our concern at seeing Robbut with another rabbit, as two-plus-two in the rabbit world has a nasty habit of making ten. And while we love our resident rabbit dearly, we're not sure we want our carefully-tended garden to be turned into a rabbit warren,

That said, events moved on fast for we had a fleeting view of the second rabbit - seen in this picture - before the two of them took fright and disappeared into the pond area.

We were hoping for further sightings in the subsequent days but these did not occur, probably because one of our daughters came to stay for a week and she never goes anywhere without her two precious dogs, one of which is the lurcher featured in a recent post, here. At this point the rabbits, very wisely, disappeared, since when we've not seen any sign of rabbit activity in our garden, We keep hoping Robbut will return, though we're not sure we're that keen on him bringing a lady friend with him.

A Roadside Camp

This is a picture of a typical roadside camp during the weeks Michael Atkinson and I spent hitch-hiking in North Africa in 1964. Michael is to the left, still rolled up in his sleeping bag asleep even though the sun has been up for some time and the air is hot. My belongings are on the right, 'airing'. To the right of them the bank slopes up to a road very like any long, straight road in France with trees lining it, but this isn't France, it's Algeria, recently independent from France after a truly horrid war.

At this stage of the outward journey we were still trying to get back to Southern Rhodesia but, instead of crossing the Sahara as we had originally planned, we were heading for Egypt in the hope of going up the Nile.

Looking back, the whole journey was a terrible risk but we seemed, in those far-off days, to be capable of carrying on whatever the journey threw at us. In a few minutes Michael will wake and we'll make breakfast out of whatever we happen to have in our rucksacks. Then we'll pack them, walk up to the road, and hang out a thumb - and we never knew who would draw up and offer us a lift. It was part of the excitement of the day.

Rain

Last night's rain was heavy and prolonged enough to turn the plantation ditches which have been dry for months into small but....

....raging little torrents, to the extent that we had to take some considerable care in crossing them. 

We mustn't complain about the rain - not yet anyway - as we've spent weeks moaning about how much we've needed it.

The slugs and snails are thoroughly enjoying the change and taking the opportunity the damp weather to attack the fungi with a vengeance. It was promising to be a good year for fungi but....

....the caps hardly appear above ground before the wretched molluscs have....

....had a go at them.

Some they don't touch. These blackening waxcaps come up in the same place every year but are never eaten. They have other problems, particularly the men from the council who come round regularly to strim the area of lawn where they're attempting to grow.

Nor do they seem to bother these beautifully delicate little caps growing on a pine log. Perhaps the resin puts them off.

So, with the rain and the fungi and the slugs and the now-vacant....

....fenceposts where, just a few days ago, the swallows rested, it really does feel like autumn.

Mid-Atlantic

When I accepted a job teaching at a secondary school in Jamaica the normal way contract teachers travelled to the island was by 'plane but we, despite having a small child, wanted to do it by sea.

This is one of the few photographs I have of that 1973 journey from Amsterdam to Kingston, and it shows how much the world has changed since those days.

The Amersfoort was a Dutch cargo ship which followed a route that took in several islands in the Caribbean and some countries in Middle and South America. It had accommodation for twelve passengers who had an almost free run of the ship, and ate meals with the officers.

So we would wander the decks of the ship with our small daughter, taking her to exciting places like the prow of the ship, whence we could look vertically down to where the bulbous bow of the ship sliced the gloriously clear waters of the Atlantic.

The photo was taken in mid-Atlantic in trade wind weather - a steady breeze with blue skies broken by fair-weather cumulus clouds. Around us the ocean stretched emptily away, the view only broken by occasional fish such as porpoises or flying fish, and floating mats of seaweed.

In those days there was little regard for health and safety. To access the viewing point, Mrs MW and our two-year old had to climb a vertical steel ladder and then hang on tightly to the metal guard rail. It was windy there - the ship was modern and fast so, to add to the trade wind, there was the slipstream of the ship. The two of them are wearing sandals, there's nothing like a lifejacket in sight. There could have been the most awful tragedy - but we were careful and the result was an exciting experience.

All this was brought to mind by a recent visit from that little girl, now fifty-five years old and mother to two daughters of her own. I doubt whether she remembers the experience, which is a shame.

Garden Butterflies

Our garden is a mass of flowers, with purple dominating, and should be crowded with insects feeding up ready for winter, but....

....the sun hasn't been around until the past week when we have - at last - seen some, to the extent that, on Wednesday, we sat outside for our sundowners, basking in glorious sunshine, something that has happened rarely this summer. The other days we have had some rain, much appreciated by the garden, but also a very persistent, gusting westerly wind, at times blowing almost to gale force.

The small numbers of butterflies appearing in the garden in response to the sudden sunshine have now moved their attention from the fading flowers of the buddleia to the verbena which, being six foot tall, waves around excitedly in the wind, much to the discomforture of any insects hanging on grimly in the hope of a meal.

It's the same small selection of butterflies, with red admirals and peacocks dominating along with a tortoiseshell or two, but the whites have disappeared and we've had just one visit from an old friend....

....a small copper which put in a very brief appearance, almost as if to say, "I'm off now, have a good winter and hope to see you in the spring."

Au revoir, little butterfly, but somehow spring seems an awfully long way away.