The South Holland Hood

And there was me thinking that life in the sticks was going to be quiet!

Last week, as I approached school, I spotted a policeman by the side of the road ahead of me. I quickly checked my speed. Just above what it should be, but hopefully, as there was a human at the end of the camera, I would get the benefit of the doubt. But as I approached further it bacame clear that this was no speed camera. In fact it was a STINGER!
I briefly felt guilty and tried to think what I might have done to warrant this contraption. I quickly considered the possibility of claiming four nice new tyres off the constabulary. Before I knew it I was past him. I slowly turned the corner, aware that all the parents from school were gazing on speculatively. Imagine the gossip if I had been stungered. I slowed down to a halt and watched as the policeman readied himself and flung the stinger out across the road to nab the car which had been coming along the road behind me.
For a small community, this sort of thing is pretty exciting stuff. I continued on into school and went about my teaching as usual, but come play time it was clear that a bit of a search operation was ongoing. There were police dogs barking,  a house alarm was going off, someone had been cuffed. We never experienced this sort of thing in South-east London, even if the sound of sirens was pretty much constant.

But that's not the end of it. Tuesday just gone I was heading off to help butcher a couple of sheep (another story) when, at the bottom of our road, I again briefly thought I'd been nabbed by a speed camera. I quickly realised that the camera was pointing the other way. I turned another corner and there, sat at the next junction, was another police car, and another parked up along a tiny road at the back of a field. Overhead whirred a helicopter.
It seemed that, whatever was going on, they had all exit routes from the village covered. I didn't think much more of this until I saw what was basically a wanted poster on Facebook. Somebody had been pursued all the way from Spalding after an assault. At some stage he had crashed his car and it was found abandoned in the village just down the road. Apparently, by the state of the car, it was unlikely that the wanted man had escaped without significant injuries. Maybe he's lying in a ditch somewhere.

After seeing a group of men with dogs and guns off my land a few weeks back, it's been quite an eventful month here in the South Holland Hood!

Storm Arthur

What's been going on at Dowse Farm recently?
Well, we escaped Storm Abigail, but Storm Barny swept through with gusto one night. We're used to wind here on the fens though, so we've learned what needs to be tied down. We escaped Barny with just one dustbin lid blown across the garden and one raspberry support post snapped at the base. Easily fixed.
Anyhow, since when did storms have names in this country?

But we have been the only farm in the country to experience Hurricane Arthur combined with Hurricane Boris. The combination has kept us busy for two weeks now.

Arthur and Boris

Pinned down by Arthur

Gerry keeps an eye on the new arrival

gut-wrenching...literally

A spot of team whittling

We're not up to anything naughty. Honest.

Don't be deceived by those innocent faces

Arthur is a feisty little chap

He's not really asleep

These are MY toys

Throw the ball.
Throw the ball.
Throw the ball.

. Wait for me. I'm coming too

Boris is our delightfully good-natured labradoodle. He's not featured on the blog for a while, but he has grown considerably and is loving life on the farm. But he has destroyed all of his toys. Even Fimble, his one time protector, has gone by the wayside.

So it was time for an altogether more long-term toy for Boris. We asked him and he requested a Jackadachadoodle!!!
That's the product of a Jack Russell/Dachsund and a Toy Poodle. We used to call these things mongrels. He's not going to grow very tall, which is why he's called Arthur Dog.

Boris likes his new little brother and Arthur likes his new big brother.

An island of isolation in the fog.

I spent most of Tuesday on electric fence maintenance. One of the wooden posts had snapped at the base and I wanted to move the fence in a little from the edge of the dyke to give it some clearance from the overgrown grass.
During the summer I split the sheep field into 6 sections and rotate the sheep through them. But for the winter I remove some of the electric fence so they have two or three sections.

Now you may think that if an electric fence is going to kill you, it would do so with a short, sharp shock. But no. The sole purpose in life of electric fence wire is to tangle itself into a completely unfathomable knot so you are far more likely to die by long. slow torture trying to disentanlge it.

Of course my decision to spend most of the day down in the sheep field had nothing to do with yesterday's sighting of a Corn Bunting down there! Unfortunately today was even murkier than yesterday. I couldn't even see the house from down in the field, not for the whole day. I enjoy days like this, just working away at my own pace in solitude. I did hear the corn bunting in flight once, and I occasionally heard yellowhammer and reed bunting too, but spotting anything today was always going to be tricky.

I did however see this very welcome visitor, probably my favourite bird to visit the farm in the winter.

I didn't see it fly in. It was just there, perched on the tractor machinery which Don has parked at the back corner of my land. It looked massive perched there in the gloom, but just as I raised my phone to my telescope it flew off, bouyant on its long wings. I managed to find it again on the far side of Don's field, perched all fluffed up, but it really was sitting on the edge of the fog. Anyway, that explains the quality of the photo.

There's been a big influx of Short-eared Owls into the east coast over the last couple of weeks. I was lucky enough to see one come in off the sea a couple of weeks ago on the Norfolk coast. I was hopeful that this winter we would again have them on the farm and hopefully this one will stay for a while and maybe be joined by one or two more.

And back to that piece of tractor machinery sitting at the bottom of my field and a tale I forget to tell you. A couple of weeks back I saw a red landrover driving along the back dyke. This is not too unusual. The farmer at the back lets the shooters onto his land. I normally make lots of noise when I see them, just to annoy them. I start hammering something or clanging my shovel loudly. But this landrover seemed to be on our side of the dyke and when it continued across the bottom of my land and then pulled to a halt, I quickly headed down the land to investigate and challenge them.
As I headed down through the long grass and the young trees, I saw two blokes with shotguns and lurchers walking through the crop field next to my land. They called to me to alert me that they were shooting. Well, you can imagine my reply!!! I most certainly can't repeat it here. I started running towards the landrover, impolitely and loudly 'requesting' that they leave my land. Three guys were presumably waiting to shoot anything flushed up by the others. It was fortunate I was there, as I flushed up a small covey of grey partridges and a couple of pheasants from the long grass which I leave deliberately for wildlife.  I'm fairly sure that had I not been there these would have been subjected to a volley of bullets, right over my land and with the sheep there too.These people think they can do whatever they want wherever they please. I wonder too whether their intention was hare coursing, to drive the hares over my land and into the short grass of Don's field next door.
Anyway, these idiots obviously knew they were in the wrong, for once they realised I wasn't friendly they rapidly jumped into the landrover and scootled off back across the field, picking the other two up as they went. What a shame I couldn't get close enough to get their number.
I ran back to the house, hoping that they would come back past along the road, but alas they headed the other way.
So that's why the tractor machinery now blocks the gap at the bottom. Not that I think the same people are likely to try that again.

Visiting Birder Finds New Bird For Farm List

Sunday dawned foggy. Really foggy.

We drove the sheep to the abattoir, an operation which we now have down to a tee. The secret is to get there for about quarter to eight (they are open for taking in livestock between eight and nine). Straight in, straight out. No pressure reversing the trailer in front of others. No waiting impatiently while others try to reverse their trailers!

We were back on the farm by just after eight. Today we were having visitors, a birder friend and his wife. Not many of my birder friends have been to the farm. If they're passing this way, it's normally because they're off birdwatching. But when birders do visit, it normally coincides with a good find on the farm. And often as not it's not me who finds the bird!

As we wandered down the land, Stuart was asking me about the birds we get on the farm. "Corn Buntings?" he asked. "Not here I replied. About a mile over there though," I said pointing into the gloomy distance.

You can guess what's coming, can't you. Within a couple of minutes we heard the call of a yellowhammer - not common on the farm in the winter. A small group of buntings were flitting along the line of young trees down by the far dyke. There was clearly a pair of reed buntings, one or two yellowhammers and a fifth bird, chunkier. Without optics, I was even ready to call it a redwing. We needed the birds to call again and, as they took off across the field, they duly did. Stuart called it. Corn Bunting! You couldn't make it up.

My first farm tick since two young gannets passed through on 11th October 2013.

Number 107 for the farm.

Anyway, I think my visitors enjoyed their visit. It's nice when someone visits who really gets what we are doing here. We certainly enjoyed the company

And once our visitors left I was straight back down to the bottom of the field, but all I could find were skylarks and meadow pipits. The fog had come down again - it was quite dramatic rising up from the fields and rolling across the landscape. I drifted in and out of gloom.

The trees I planted a few years back are finally starting to have an impact.

Halloween Eyes

Halloween brought with it some sad farewells.
Forgive me if I sound a little matter of fact about it, but smallholding has taught me to deal with losses, planned or not, alongside the many joys which it brings to me. This doesn't mean that, on the inside, my heart does not feel heavy.

I've not mentioned it before, but George has really not been himself for a while now. I won't go into it, but he sadly passed away on Saturday morning.
Here's to George.

George and the girls arrive in the back of my car.

We now only have one goose left with a name. That's not a bad thing.

The two baby guinea fowl which we rescued have not been growing well either. We originally saved three but one passed away at only a few days. But the remaining two unfortunately developed problems and it had reached the point where it would be cruel to let them grow up. I seriously doubt that they would ever have made it on their own anyway. It just wasn't to be.

The final halloween departure was more planned. Last year's Shetland ram lambs have been booked in to the abattoir for a while now. Two are sold and one will be making its way into our freezer. Along with them goes one of their mothers who is past her prime now. She is going to someone as mutton.
We loaded them into the trailer late on Saturday so they could settle down before the journey. I took one last photo.

Those eyes! Good job it wasn't Halloween. ... oh, wait a minute.

When the sheep go away, it always feels as if winter is truly on its way. Taking any livestock through the winter is a much bigger deal than merely keeping them for the summer. Natural food is short in supply, the weather can be seriously challenging and water can be hard to supply. So it's wise to thin down the livestock in preparation. They have fattened up on the summer's bounty, but now it's time to thin down, batten up the hatches, light the fire and plan for spring.

Operation Rampant Rambo

Since becoming smallholders we have learned one very important thing about moving sheep. It is easier to move the whole lot and then take the ones you don't want back again. Try to move just one or two and they'll just keep trying to return to the flock and have you running in circles all day long.

It's a bit like that old puzzle where you have to get a fox, a chicken and a bag of corn across a river safely.

So Friday 30th October was to be Rambo's lucky day!
For a few weeks now he has been pacing up and down, round and round, generally making a mess of the roadside paddock. He has also begun dismantling the shed I provided for him to shelter in as well as doing his best to knock the fence posts out.
It is that time of year when certain urges make Rambo behave in a very macho way. He is still soft as anything with me, still loves his chin tickled, but he has been known to attract the neighbours' attention by persistently head-butting anything which is fixed enough to provide decent competition.

On Thursday morning, I was somewhat surprised to find Rambo sat in the vegetable garden. He is no jumper (though his fleece might be, one day) so I patrolled the paddock fence until I came across a Rambo sized hole in it. The electric fence wire (which operates on trust, rather than using a charged battery) was pulled all over the place in a tangle. Evidently Rambo, probably while headbutting one of the fence posts to smithereens, must have gotten his horns caught up in the wire. He had also, evidently, managed to extricate himself from this situation without causing too much damge to everything else. I opened the gate to the vegetable garden and Rambo duly followed me back into his pen. For Rambo has the self-confidence to act on his own. He is happy to follow me, rather than the other sheep.

As it was, the sheep needed moving on Saturday anyway.
Four of them had a little journey to go on ;-)

Given our rm's impatience, while Sue was out on Friday I commenced operation Rampant Rambo.
I'll explain how it all worked, but first you'll need a highly precise, detailed diagram of the battlefield.

Step 1 - Lure Rambo into the pig pen.
Shut the gate.

Step 2.
Lure all other sheep out of sheep field and into central corridoor.
Step 3
Construct a ridiculously complicated system of pens
to separate the sheep you want from the ones you don't.

Step 4.
Let the sheep you don't need back into the sheep field.
Step 5 (not pictured)
Realise that the two young lambs can't stay with the ram.
Repeat quite a bit of steps 1-4.

Step 6
Let the four breeding ewes back into the sheep field... again

Step 7
Lead the rest of the sheep down to the roadside paddock.
Try not to let them stop and eat too much of the edible hedgerow.

Step 8
Hurry them all along.

Step 9
Throw them a couple of mangel wurzels to help them settle in.

Step 10
Release the Rambo!

Step 11
Rambo's job.

That Old Chestnut

Just over a week ago I received a cryptic message on my phone...

Rumours of Chestnut Bunting? Not sure on reliability and waiting to hear where. Anyone heard owt?

This was a potential first for Britain. MEGA.

That was immediately followed by a picture of a bunting. What sort of bunting was anyone's guess, for it had been hurriedly taken and hid just about every part of the bird you'd need to see to confidently identify it. All credit to the finder though for realising it might be unusual and managing to get any sort of picture.

Seconds later came the news that it was somewhere on Orkney. Having already visited Shetland and The Outer Hebrides this month, a visit to Orkney would make a change. And depending which island it was on, it could be a relatively straightforward twitch. Bing Maps informed me that the drive to Gill's Bay ferry (just west of John O'Groats) was a mere 599.7mles from my house. 10 hours 17 minutes without traffic. Realistically about 9 hours. I would need to leave within the next 3 hours.

But opinion was erring towards this being just a strange Reed Bunting - a very common bird throughout Britain. I wasn't convinced. From what could be seen on the photo, that head looked a little too rusty - even chestnutty! And there seemed to be a hint of lemon on the breast, though this was hard to make out. But neither was I sure enough of myself to get in the car and start driving! We would have to wait and hope for further images, or for the bird to stay put so that its true identity could be properly established.

Time to step down.

Over the next couple of days, more details emerged. For starters, the bird had been on Papa Westray, the northernmost and possibly the most isolated of the Orkney Isles. Most definitely the most difficult to get to, particularly with the main ferry only running twice a week and the local ferry not due to run again until May 2016!
Papa Westray is famous for one thing. It has the shortest scheduled flight in the world. About 2 minutes I think, with Loganair. But flights onto Papa and ferries onto Orkney don't fit particularly well, so to get to where this bird had been was looking like at least a three day trip. Good job I was just coming up to half term.
Anyway, this is by the by, as there was no sign of the bird now. It had been seen briefly on two days early in the week, but there had been no further sign. A couple more photos became available for inspection. They certainly looked promising for Chestnut Bunting, though not 100% conclusive. And more details of the sighting came through too. The description sounded very good. One thing was for sure, whatever it was, this was no Reed Bunting and was almost definitely something that I 'needed'.

But it was gone. Forget it. Move on.
It's been a great year for me. I've moved past 500 (species seen in UK, a major landmark) and already seen 7 new birds. I would have settled for 3.

Now, a word about Chestnut Buntings. There have already been at least 9 sightings in Britain... WHEEL SKID.... WHAT... YOU SAID IT WAS A FIRST!!!
Well, it probably is. For the others were seen in the good old days when the cagebird trade was flourishing and fresh imports to the continental markets ensured a steady flow of unlikely Eastern vagrants at odd times of year. All these records had been rejected by the powers that be, but they had stated that should a First Winter bird arrive in a good location in October or November, that they would certainly give it some very serious consideration. This current bird fits the bill on all fronts and stands every chance of being accepted as a first for Britain. It would have its detractors - mostly those who would like to have the gumption to get up and go see such birds, but who make excuses for not going rather than just doing it....  jealousy and sour grapes!

Anyway, the bird had slipped the net. No-one would be seeing this one. We'd have to wait for another.

Saturday afternoon. 2.49pm. I'm picking the last of the Borlotti Beans in a rather wet garden, untangling the stems and dismantling the bamboo supports for the winter.

MEGA Orkeny CHESTNUT BUNTING again Papa Westray between Holland Farm and track to Knapp of Howar (site of Northern Europe's oldest preserved stone house) mid afternoon.

Panic stations!!!
I spent the next couple of hours trying to work out how to get onto Papa Westray... on a Sunday... with Winter Timetables in place. I worked out I could probably make it by Monday, via a 599.7 mile drive, a ferry and a flight... if I could get on the flight. The alternative was two ferries and arrive on Tuesday. But the next ferry off would be Friday!!!

Just to improve my headless chicken mode, some stunning photos of the bird appeared. To quote an Orkney birder "Not just nailed. Crucified."

By early evening I had crumbled. I had secured a place on a charter plane from Yorkshire. It wouldn't be such an adventure, but if the bird was there in the morning then I would be on site within three hours. And I would be back home by late evening.

Fortunately the clocks went back in the early hours of Sunday morning. I struggled to get any sleep. At 3.49am I looked at the clock. I still han't had a wink of sleep. But at least it was now only 2.49!

At 5.30am the alarm went off. I jumped in the car and began the drive to Yorkshire. Just before 7.30 we had news. The bird was still there. My first instinct was to put my foot down, but the pilot couldn't leave until 10 however fast I drove. This felt strange, pootling along the road towards a lifer.

We pulled into the airfield way earlier than we needed to, fearing that we would find two teams of birders all expecting to get on the same plane! But all was quiet and there were to be no complications. Fortunately the pilot was on time and we were soon in the air and heading up the east coast, Orkney bound. I slept for the first part of the journey. When I woke up I looked down to work out how far we had got and saw the familiar bridges across The Tyne. Shortly afterwards we passed the Blyth wind turbines. I didn't stop for tea with Sue's mum.
By Aberdeen my bladder was feeling the pressure! Despite taking all precautions (no coffee, a trip to the little boys' room before we took off), it's amazing how your body manages to need the toilet when there is absolutely no option! I looked down at the bottle of squash I had brought with me. If I drank some of it, there might be enough empty space in the bottle!
I tried not to think about it and watched the distance meter on the Sat Nav creep down.

Is the toilet at the back or the front of the aircraft?

It took an awful long time to get down from 100km. I kept looking down as we headed out over the sea, across the top right corner of mainland Scotland and over the Orkney Isles. It wasn't too long before Westray came into view, then Papa Westray. We needed to approach from the north, which was a good job as otherwise we would be flying right over the bird which wasn't too far from the end of the runway.

We banked sharply and the runway came into view. It was raining for the first time in the journey. As we approached we could see the group of birders along the track just beyond the runway. It looked like they were still watching something. At least they hadn't spread out all over the place, which would indicate that they were looking for, and not at, the bird.

Runway in sight

Nearly there

We landed slightly bumpily and taxied back along the runway towards the very small airport building. There was a greeting party waiting for us. When we go to these isolated islands, it is something of a major event for the islanders and they had laid on the island minibus to take us the few hundred yards to the bird. Uncharacteristically, I insisted that we didn't leave until I had visited a certain little room. I wasn't the only one.

The Papa ranger took us along the island's one main road and pulled off at the sign to Knapp of Howar, through the farmyard and as far as he could go along the track. We debunked and ran the last 100 yards along the muddy track. At the end we could see the group of birders, scopes and cameras all pointing at the same spot. The bird was on show.

I grabbed that important first glimpse through a friend's scope which was set on the bird, then got myself set up.

The best I could do with my phone - it was rather windy.

The Chestnut Bunting was actually quite a looker. It spent most of its time poking around in the central grass verge, occasionally emerging into the muddy ruts either side. It was surprisingly good at disappearing into the grass, despite the fact that it was maybe only 15 yards in front of us.
But on the whole it was feeding totally unconcerned by us. If everybody had let it be, it would eventually have just crawled and hopped its way toward us, but a couple of the photographers had all the fieldcraft of a bull in a china shop, insisting on approaching ever closer, despite the protestations. Birders can be just a little autistic at times!!

Once the main culprits had left, the bird popped up on the wall and flew towards us. It landed again, in full view on the wall, giving amazing views, before feeding on the ground right in front of us.
And with that it was time to go again. No time to visit the Knapp of Howar. Birding friends briefly caught up with. Bird in the bag, under the belt, on the list... well, as long as the powers that be decide not to consign it to the same bin of escapehood as the previous records.

Now for some proper pictures taken by someone with a proper camera. Thanks Stuart.