Biking Birder I - January 9th 2010 Escape from Hemel Hempstead!

 

9^th January                                                              Escape                                                                    Craig Armstrong

               I ate porridge laden with bananas whilst planning the escape from Hemel Hempstead in the morning. The plan being to push the bike along the local canal's snow-covered tow path south to reach Uxbridge. Just get me out of here.

              At 9.30 a.m. Richie, Maddy and I set off. The roads were, as on previous days, very slushy with traffic moving very slowly along bumper to bumper. To cycle on such roads would have been extremely hazardous. One slip and I would be beneath the wheel of a car and there was also a less selfish consideration. My cycling on such roads would have caused the traffic to move even slower.

Despite the slushy roads it was a beautiful, sunny, calm day and the scenery along the canal tow path was lovely with the trees crusted with hoar frost and deep snow on the ground. Birds at last were seen as I pushed the bike along through the deep snow. There were ducks, swans and geese on the canal, with Chaffinch, Goldfinch, Greenfinch, titmice, Robins and thrushes; Redwing and Fieldfare in good numbers seen also. The occasional Cormorant and a number of gulls were using the canal as a flightpath, occasionally coming down to land at the gravel pits that we passed. On one a group of Common Gulls [69] were standing on the ice amongst other species of gulls.

Birds, particularly the listing of them, had been on my mind for the holder of the record I was trying to beat, the Green Year list record, Chris Mills, had started his own Green Year list on this day back in 2005. By the end of the ninth of January 2005 Chris had been on sixty-two, after he had spent a day cycling around his home county of Norfolk. I was ahead but not by that many. Chris had created a British Green Year List record, known in the USA as a BIGBY, a Big Green Big Year, whilst in competition with Simon Woolley from Hampshire. Both of these lads are very fit, athletic-even cyclists, unlike me an old doddering bike rider; both of them with a huge passion for birding.

In 2005 they competed against each other by Green Birding in their home counties, Norfolk for Chris and Hampshire for Simon, with Chris eventually coming out as the winner. Simon did his Big Green Big Year as a fund-raising exercise for the terrible tsunami that hit Sri Lanka and other nearby countries killing many thousands back in 2004. Simon and his girlfriend had been out there when the tsunami struck and had witnessed first-hand the devastation it caused. His Green Birding year is detailed in a book named Birding by Bike – The Hampshire Big Year 2005 and is available for £5, all of which is donated to charity. There is also a blog of his BIGBY at zootherapy.blogspot.com.

Chris has also authored a book although I will be honest and say I am not sure whether he ever published it officially, called Birder on a Bike. 

How many variations on a theme can one create with the words birding, birds, biking and bike?

Their books and lists were with me as I cycled on my own BIGBY, giving me constant motivation, inspirational texts.

Some parts of the towpath were easier to push the bike along than others. Those were parts that had been walked along the most by other people enjoying the day. The trampled impacted snow being easier to push through than the deep, hardly stepped upon areas.

Richie and Maddy took a route away from the canal after a few miles, so we said our goodbyes and promised to stay connected. To this day I have heard from Ritchie. I think he blames me for his incredible cycling journeys in so many parts of the world. On Facebook Ritchie is now known as Tash Rider. I have no idea why this name. I will have to ask time next time we meet up but his travels are far more extensive than mine. For the detail on these please visit his blog – Batman to Robben.

Looking up Ritchie/Tash's latest postings on the blog, the last post made back in 2015 details thoughts of him riding around Morocco on a donkey!

Take a look and see the list of countries visited. Amazing!

https://batmantorobben.wordpress.com/ 

I continued pushing along the towpath and by 1.00 p.m. had reached Rickmansworth. Here I met Tim, an Aqualung-looking (Jethro Tull album from the 1970s), grey-bearded older gentleman standing beside his iced-in barge. Inviting me onto this lovely old barge to warm me up, I was soon in the smoke-filled warm interior sitting on a chair being mobbed by his three affectionate dogs. The kind gentleman, Tim was of Irish origins, having come over here from Cork many years ago. He gave me a warming mug of Bovril and pieces of delicious wholemeal toast before insisting I take the Bovril jar with me. His wife, Amber, was on the mobile phone berating someone quite aggressively over some family matter as two parakeets squawked loudly from their cage. What a racket! Fabulous.

Onward, I then came across a group of teenage lads enjoying a rope swing. Filled with memories of enjoying such ropey swings as a child, I had to have a go and survived swinging over a frozen stream. Great fun!

               Once when I was a spotty young teenage kid, at my Nan and Grandad's house in Birmingham, there was a long-roped swing over a dried up and filled in derelict canal. From the bridge I put the stick on the end of the rope between my legs and leapt off only to find that the rope was indeed too long and I dragged my legs along the gravel canal floor, taking the skin off my knees and shins in doing so. The exposed legs, lads wore shorts in those days, were shredded. I can still remember having the grit removed from the bloody wounds.

People walking along the same towpath occasionally stopped me to ask why I was so mad as to be pushing such a heavily laden bike along. This led to some kind donations for the RSPB Robin collection box on the front of the bike and a few photographs. So thanks to Stuart and Rowan and to Iver, who later sent an email with a photo of me with his German girlfriend attached. To the other kind donors whose names I did not jot down, thanks and apologies.

Later I came across another barge with someone atop and hence another chat. This barge had a naughty sign offering the good advice, ‘slow down for duck’s sake’ painted on the back. The barge, or narrowboat as I was corrected to call it, was moored in an area of ice-free water and here a number of Tufted Duck were diving down to feed.

By now the Sun was setting and after coming across a long, straight length of snow free towpath, where I could actually cycle along for a bit, I saw a Barn Owl [70] quartering a field adjacent to the canal, just before the place where the canal goes beneath the M40. This large, white moth-like creature was the best bird seen so far on my trip and came close as I watched it searching for its evening meal. This bird had come at a suitable time as I was feeling quite exhausted having pushed and cycled along the canal side for around seven hours.

Dark now, I reached Uxbridge and found the Police Station. My thinking being that they would know the area and would know of a local Bed & Breakfast or offer me a night in the cells. By this time I was so tired I would not have minded being put up for the night under Her Majesty’s care. The officer at the desk heard my plea and gave me a photocopied, pre-prepared sheet of such accommodation and someone in the queue even put a fiver into the collection box.

17.47 miles                                                                                             181 feet elevation up   298 feet down

Biking Birder I - January 8th 2010 Disco Boy

 

8^th January                                                                      Rescue Me                                                               Diana Ross

               I had decided to try to get somewhere today, no matter how short a distance and so I set off after breakfast, saying a very genuine thank you to Mrs Peters. Her bed and breakfast may have been a small two-star B & B, 47 Crescent Road, yet I could not have been shown any more kindness. She was obviously not a well-off woman and relied on customers, yet her breakfast was always ample and although she may have been formal over names, she was always quick to laugh and eager to chat. A lovely old lady.

I pushed the bike down to the main road, through the deep snow, and continued doing so to the junction of the A41 for Berkhamsted. Before reaching here I met a super couple, who took my photograph on the canal bridge and chatted for a while. On the A41 cycling was impossible so I pushed the bike for a couple of miles but the snow started to fall again. 

On reaching a nearby road junction with a bridge overhead, I sheltered for about an hour, reading a book, before the snow stopped falling and I was able to leave the A41 in order to try the adjacent A road. Snow had started falling again when a familiar face came towards me. It was the man from the couple I had met back at the canal bridge. His name was Richie Finger and he could see the state I was in, snow-covered and dithering. I was lonely, I was blue!

At once he insisted that I came home with him and stay the night at his and his partner, Maddy's house. Once having accepted his kind offer, he turned around and it was then I realised that they lived back in Hemel Hempstead! No escape would be possible this day.

What a wonderful snowman greeted us on arrival at their home; a large, tall, sculpted French-looking waiter of a snowman holding a tray, which was being used as a bird table replete with bird food. So creative, maybe you will think of doing the same next time we have a snowfall and help our feathered friends.

The rest of the day was spent chatting with Richie, and with Maddy once she arrived home from work. Richie was fascinating and his collection of music was the largest I had ever seen. An enthusiastic collector of Disco music but not the Saturday Night Fever material of the Bee Gees, Donna Summer and the like but a broad eclectic mixture of thousands of hours of music and musicians all stored on his computer, file after file and folder after folder. Then there was the vinyl; four long and high shelves of it, taking up space of a whole long wall in the very contemporary apartment.

Maddy turned out to be a teaching assistant at a local school where she works on a one to one basis with a statemented Special Needs boy. Now twenty four, Maddy had been educated at two Rudolph Steiner schools, one being in South Wales. Rudolph Steiner schools are a little different to the mainstream experience and I would suggest that one takes a look at what they stand for. Indeed, look up the life of the Austrian founder, and consider the benefits of such places for children. I had always wanted to teach at one.

Back when I was a Primary School teacher at the amazing Merridale Primary School in Wolverhampton, one of the governors and parent of a child in my Year Six class, Peter, was also a teacher at a Steiner School. I remember at the interview for the teaching post at Merridale, a one term temporary position, Peter was on the interviewing panel and delighted in telling me that they wanted to make my position there a permanent full-time one instead of just for the one term and that their decision had nothing to do with the fact that I had egg on my chin, as the expression goes!

Eight years at Merridale Primary School included some of the most wonderful times I ever had during my teaching career. An open plan, very multicultural school with wonderful staff and a headteacher who upheld the creative and inclusive principles of the previous head. Brian may have left partly due to the initiation of the National Curriculum in 1989, the reason I left Secondary education but he left behind the most fantastic school. Caroline, the superb head whilst I was there, continued with Brian’s almost Steiner-like philosophy of education : creative, child-centred, imaginative and exploratory with investigations and lots of art, music and drama. Nature played a large part in creating the right environment for children to use all of their senses. The school had carried out some incredible habitat creation projects during Brian’s time and could boast two large peat bogs, a large hay meadow with masses of wildflowers, woodland areas and an avenue of interlocking trees that created a hundred yard archway for the children to promenade through. There were large fruit trees in various parts of the school grounds and I remember taking the children out on sunny summer afternoons for picnics and storytelling. A proper bird hide was erected near to a scrubby area of Blackthorn and a line of rope had both bird feeders and plastic pop bottles strung along it; the latter to stop the squirrels from getting to the bird food.

Children at break or lunchtime were allowed to go out in all weathers, each child had their own school provided wellingtons and waterproof coat, to explore all areas. They were encouraged to make their own dens, to climb trees and ask questions.

Everyone at the school was onboard with the school’s aims, be they the teaching staff, the dinner ladies, who included the sister of the Famous Wolverhampton Wanderers footballer from those times, Steve Bull and the amazing caretaker and his wife, Ray and Gill. It was Ray who with Brian and a now City councillor and a Senior Lecturer from Wolverhampton University, had drawn up the plans and executed them for the various habitats at the school. Half a mile from Wolverhampton Centre and an area with such a diversity of wildlife! At my job interview, when being shown around the grounds I remember shouting out, “you’ve got Royal Fern!”

Such happy days at the most wonderful of schools, Ray was my best man when being at Merridale coincided with marrying the most fabulous woman, Karen.

On a weekend of contact with my two beautiful children, Joshua and Rebecca, I was holding their hands as we walked back from a local shop, Biddle’s, to their grandparents when I spotted a fossil amongst the pebbles on a driveway. The drive had a parking area made of limestone chippings and the small brachiopod had caught my eye. I went onto the drive and picked it up. As I showed it to Josh and Rebecca, a beautiful black-haired gypsy-like woman came out of the door, her two small daughters hiding behind her long dark red skirt and asked, “what are you doing on my drive?” A reasonable question one would think, I showed her the fossil. We married three years later.

Whilst at Ritchie and Maddy’s, I used their computer to write the blog and sort out the emails, which included one from Leica offering me a fleece; an offer I gratefully accepted. There were quite a few good luck messages and two exceedingly kind offers of accommodation. The kindness of people, complete strangers, over the coming year would be a thing that always surprised and delighted me over the year.

 4 Miles

Biking Birder I - 2010 January 7th Still in Snowy Hemel Hempstead

 7^th January                                                                      South Side of the Sky                                               Yes

               I know what I will do. I will pack, go to Asda and then set off. So were my hopes when I awoke early, two hours before my B & B breakfast was due. Then I looked out of the window. Even more snow had fallen overnight and the bike out the back was covered in it. It was time to reassess my plans.

The 2010 itinerary needed to be changed, thought out carefully to alleviate the problems caused by the extreme weather. This would involve postponing the visit to the Essex RSPB reserve, Wallasea Island, until December when I would be close to the area whilst visiting Old Hall Marshes and the Stour Estuary RSPB reserves. That would give me an extra five days now to get through this harsh period of weather. I wrote down a list of all of the problems, away from the immediate weather ones. The bike was in desperate need of repairs, especially the gear changing lever. My clothes, especially a large yellow coat which was supposed able to let out moisture and prevent the same getting in; breathable, whatever that means, it said on the label, were causing problems through the build-up of sweat. Despite the weather I was sweating profusely when cycling. This made me feel very thirsty most of the time so down on the list of necessities went fruit juice and honey. Shame I forgot to buy the honey later on. Crows were cawing outside the window as I wrote. Birds! I had almost forgotten about them. 

At breakfast, taken as usual at a round table in the living room, the TV still switched onto a German channel, Mrs Peters started to talk of her life during World War II. Before the war, her father had been a well-known ballroom dancer. She, with her sister and abusive stepmother lived near the Polish-German border. After the war she came to live over here to work as a house housekeeper seven days a week. She told of how shocked she was with the animosity the girls she met displayed towards her.

Back in 1945, when the Russians arrived in her village, the soldiers were given leave to do whatever they wanted for two days; loot, kill. All the men in the village over the age of forty-five were taken away, transported to Siberia the rumour went, more likely shot. Anything of value, bicycles, radios and even sewing machines, were taken. A 6.00 p.m. curfew was put into place and all the food that the Russians could find was taken. Hidden away the family had a few potatoes, carrots and beetroot and a bottle of cod liver oil.

Soon rationing was started; two pounds of bread and five pounds of potatoes for the family for a week. If anyone complained, they were shot. A couple of old horses were shot and made into rissoles, tough but sweet meat. The family were made to live in the cellar with no heating despite the Polish winter cold. The rationing queues would take anything up to three hours to get a loaf of bread.

After three months of this, the Russians moved out to be replaced by Polish soldiers. Things did not improve for the family and villagers. There was still no food so the family sold their Dad’s ballroom dancing suit on the Black Market, which paid for a little butter and some potatoes. She then spoke of being forcibly removed from her village in cattle trucks. She spoke of Polish retribution yet admitted that there were atrocities committed by all sides. There was torrential rain when the transports came for them. They were searched by the Polish soldiers and anything of value was stolen. They even took her comb, her most precious thing. On the Russian border, near Breslau, they were all sprayed with DDT powder and given a little maize and a small piece of bread.

She told of being moved to the American sector where the American soldiers mistreated her and others. At this Mrs Peters broke down in tears in front of me. Moved yet again, her family came to be in the British sector and it was here that they were finally treated kindly and with some dignity.

Eleven O’clock in the morning and no chance of moving on as the snow was still thick on the ground and the roads were still very slushy with only car tracks to show where the roads actually were. I went shopping, riveting read this bit is it not? Then I took the bike to a local cycle shop to get repairs, Leisure Wheels of Hemel Hempstead. Now I will admit I had a wonderful time there for as they, Dave and Dan, worked on my bike, I was allowed to ‘watch’ the live text of the last day of the England versus South Africa cricket test match on the BBC website. The tension from the match was tremendous. Would England get the draw? In the last three overs I could not stand waiting for the statistics to come up on the screen so I phoned my Dad for him to give a running commentary from the TV. Even Dave and Dan heard my shouts as the last balls were bowled and we survived to get the deserved draw. The headline in the paper the next day read, ‘Onions reduces South Africa to tears.’ Chris Onions, the English fast bowler, had batted through the day.

On the way back to my digs, I enjoyed yet another snowball fight with a group of children on the way back to the B & B and gave the victorious kids a variety of RSPB stickers and badges. Do not worry health and safety fans, the snow was fluffy light.

On the news that evening was the fact that the temperature had been minus eighteen Celsius in Benson, Oxfordshire the night before. The rest of the news had articles about Sri Lankan executions, ASBO thugs smashing someone’s car, attacking the family and throwing a brick through their lounge window and the general chaos that the winter was causing. I felt tearful. What with Mrs Peter’s stories and the news, as well as being stuck in Hemel Hempstead, it was all a bit much. Twenty-two people dead because of the atrocious weather in the UK. Were we ever colder on that day!

Biking Birder I - 2010 January 6th Snow Prevents Progress so Bike Repairs and Newspaper Interview

 6^th January                                                                          Sunday Papers                                        Joe Jackson

              Hemel Hempstead was actually on the itinerary because of a stupid mistake on my part. One of the previously unstated aims of the tour was to visit schools around the country, spreading both the message that cycling was good for you and the environment-Climate Change message. As part of the Keep Britain Tidy group, there is a superb school-based project being carried out by hundreds of schools across the country called Eco Schools! Back when I had first drawn up the itinerary for the Biking Birder year, I had contacted Eco School's HQ and asked them to assist in contacting schools over the possibility of me visiting and taking lessons, giving assemblies or being shown what the various Eco Schools schools were doing. Now the stupid mistake had been because I had placed Hemel Hempstead on the list sent to Eco Schools instead of the town that was actually on the route, High Wycombe.

Eco Schools had contacted the many schools in Hemel Hempstead that engaged in the Eco Schools project. Before I noticed my error on the spreadsheet, three schools had responded by saying they would love to have me visit. I could not back out now from my mistake by saying “sorry but I meant High Wycombe,” not after such a positive response and so Hemel Hempstead was where I was. The problem was that there was now thick snow on the ground and all of the schools were shut due to the snow and I could not cycle anywhere.

Early in the morning one of the school’s head teachers, I do not know which, had contacted the local newspaper of my being in town and told them of my reasons for being here, you’ll be able to read about them in the Sunday papers!

So it was that I was phoned by the newspaper and asked whether I was willing to be photographed and interviewed and if so, could I bring the bicycle down to the nearby offices. Down the hill, trudging through fresh snow six inches or so deep, I soon found them and after the interview with yet another young, enthusiastic lady, I was outside on the bike shaking a bit, cycling past the photographer. 

Now without all the panniers, the bike had a different centre of balance, much higher up and I did not feel too safe wobbling precariously and holding onto the handlebars for dear life. The photographer’s request that I turn my head towards him when I passed did not go down too well with me but I did my best. I wonder if the published photo shows the craven fear in my eyes.

As there was no way I could escape from Hemel Hempstead because of the snow, I went into the town library next, where I met a keen birder who was behind the desk. His name was Roger Prue and he talked of his recent trip for a Smew at Grafham Water, stating that Rutland was as far as he would go for his birds.

One pint of water drunk given to me by Roger, as I was quite dehydrated by yesterday’s efforts and an hour was spent on the internet, after becoming a new member of the Hemel Hempstead library. I used the time to answer emails, write the blog and in trying to find out how I could say thank you to the incoming donations where the kind donors had used the website ‘JustGiving’ via links on my blog. I also sent an email to Dawes, the cycle manufacturers from my home city of Birmingham, requesting a new bike. They did reply but no help did they offer.

Back outside the snow was falling heavily again and after having great fun throwing snowballs with a gang of local kids, the rest of the day was spent either talking with Mrs Peters or sitting in my room watching news bulletins on the TV telling of the snow chaos across the country. The worst snow for thirty years was outside the news said, reminding me of the worst snow I had ever seen back in the infamous winter of 1963. The trouble was I really needed to get going again. Itineraries so carefully worked out would have to be changed, and routes altered. There was no way I could cycle on the slushy snow-covered roads. It would be lethal! Also, there was the need to get the bicycle's gear system and lights repaired. Another day would be required in Hemel Hempstead. I felt trapped but at least I was comfortably trapped.

In the evening I phoned Lee Evans, the famous birder, not the comedian. I wanted him to offer a settee for a night; my intention being to push the bike as far as his home and then continue the push to Hedgerley the next day. Hedgerley, near Slough had the next RSPB reserve on my list to visit, Church Wood. Well, Lee was immensely helpful with his advice over the state of the roads but he could not understand why I wanted to go to Church Wood. “You’ll only get Lesser Redpoll there and a Lesser Spot if you’re lucky.” He must have said this three times. “Yes, I realise that but it’s an RSPB reserve and I’m cycling to all of them,” I said more than once. Now I must say that I have only met Lee to talk to a couple of times, though I have seen him on more occasions than that at various twitches. So, I did not feel confident enough to ask the ultimate question, can you put me up for a night? He did not offer it so I said thanks for the advice and we left it at that. Now there is a diversity of opinions over Lee Evans. Throughout the phone call he was most helpful and very conversational.

I read the local newspaper, the Hemel Hempstead Gazette, that evening. The letters page had complaints about the standard of gritting in the town. Well I had not seen any but then again, any grit would be lost beneath fifteen centimetres of snow. There was also an article about a young girl who had devastatingly been found to have cancer of the kidney. This horror was only found out because she was donating one of hers to her ex-boyfriend, who now deciding he was gay, was dying and in need of a kidney. How incredibly sad.

An inspiring page told of an amputee receiving an MBE. He had lost both legs and a hand when aged eleven yet despite these afflictions had helped disabled people to access motor sports. There are some wonderful, brave people out there. Weather news gleaning from the box for tomorrow told of minus five Celsius tonight with still freezing weather tomorrow with a strengthening wind. The snow was not going anywhere fast and neither was I.

More details can be read on the original 2010 Biking Birder blog . . . 

https://bikingbirder2010.blogspot.com/2010/01/tuesday-5th-january-stuck-in-hemel.html 

Biking Birder I - January 5th 2010 - Otmoor RSPB Reserve, BBC and First Fall of Snow and Me!

 

5^th January                                                        Tragedy                                                                     The Bee Gees  

       Now I was really looking forward to visiting Otmoor RSPB Reserve. I had only ever been there once before and that was from a north entrance into the area. This time I was to enter from the south. Otmoor, I had heard said, was famous because the main drains, ditches and meadows had inspired Lewis Caroll's chessboard scene in Alice in Wonderland. Nowadays the scene may be different, as the RSPB have blocked the drains and created a wet grassland paradise for many birds. I wanted to see those birds. 

An early morning start with temperatures still well below zero. At least it was very sunny and almost windless. On leaving the house I saw a couple of Red Kites [61] quartering over some nearby trees. Thick ice covered the approach lanes and I sensibly decided to walk along Otmoor Lane, the entrance road to Otmoor RSPB reserve, pushing an unladen bike. I had left my stuff back at Lynn and Richard’s. I later found out that it had been minus sixteen degrees Celsius the night before. Hmmm chilly! I saw a covey of nineteen Red-legged Partridges [62] and a male Kestrel near to the RSPB car park.

I cycled along the reserve pathways and banks, past a feeding station, five more Red Kites could be seen distantly and a dozen or so Great and Blue Tits that regularly came to partake of the free seed offerings. A super bright yellow male Yellowhammer [63], Reed Buntings and Meadow Pipits [64] were all heard and seen.

At the first screen, which overlooked a large area of reed with frozen pools, I met a Scouse nature lover, Phil Roberts who was trying to get a photo of a Bittern. Phil asked what birds were around and he admitted that these were new hobbies for him: photography and birdwatching. Phil may not have been the best at either, but he was a lovely conversational sixty-year-old whose company I enjoyed as I explored the rest of the walkways. A Raven [65] was heard and then seen being mobbed by a couple of testy Carrion Crows. Then I met Richard, who had left Lynn back home to take part in some scrub removal with other brave volunteers. Over the year it would never cease to amaze me at how wonderfully resolute and enthusiastic the army of RSPB volunteers were. Here they were in such freezing weather, working away together, sharing that special camaraderie that makes arduous work a pleasure. On a small pool of ice-free water around three hundred duck milled around or slept: mostly Teal but also Mallard, Shovelor [66], Wigeon and Pochard. Then twelve Snipe flew over, two Moorhens skated over the ice and a group of four Ravens cronked as they flew overhead heading west.

At the second screen, four Cormorants rested on a tree’s branches close by, including one young bird from the previous year. By now I had started to have very cold fingers and I realised that the cycling gloves so kindly bought for me by the two deputy headteachers of Rigby Hall Special School [assistant heads!], Helen and Linda, were not going to keep my hands warm enough. Memories of reading Catherine Hartley’s amazing autobiography of her becoming the first British woman to walk to the South Pole. Catherine took the wrong sort of gloves and was badly frostbitten. Great read that book, with Catherine not what one would expect an Antarctic explorer to be like, as testified by the cigarettes that were found stowed away on the sledge she was pulling!

At the last reedy area that could be viewed from a screen, a Bittern [67] spent fifteen minutes walking along the reedbed edge before flying over the same reedbed. A superb, cryptically marked bird; its camouflage lost, it stood out against the white ice.

The day was going to be incredibly special. As I said before, the BBC was going to make a short film to present on the local news programme that evening. Right on cue, a small green car arrived and out stepped an extremely attractive young lady. She introduced herself and explained that before interviewing me over my future endeavours, she wanted me to cycle along the same icy lane, over a small rise, down to the five bar gate, dismount, negotiate the kissing gate, lift my binoculars and pretend to birdwatch. Now to do that once on the ice was tricky enough but to repeat the process three times would be, I thought, suicidal. Nevertheless, I managed to get through it unscathed, just. Obviously, my cycling balance skills were improving, or so I thought. The interview went fine. Well, I say fine; at least this time I was not in a radio studio with my son, Joshua, heckling behind me. “Don’t be so nervous, Dad,” was the advice given whilst on the Joanne Malin early morning radio show on BBC WM before Christmas 2009. Good advice as I was extremely nervous and not knowing the name of my favourite Cadbury’s Quality Street chocolate did not help.

You may remember that Cadbury’s, a proud Birmingham company, was being sold off in 2009 to new American owners, Kraft and the view at the time was “no thank you.” The BBC radio and TV programmes at that time carried news and discussion platforms on the topic of the sale and hence, on arriving within the studio, I was given a choice of chocolate.

This time though, I was in my element; outside with an extremely pretty interviewer, who had stunning green eyes, just like my wife, sugar to miss, Karen. I was at a superb RSPB nature reserve in cold, calm weather and quite a few birds were around, including Red kites, Ravens and two Bitterns.

Eventually happy with my efforts over the introductory cycling and posing, the interview took place at the entrance to the reserve once the interviewer had put me at my ease by chatting about her passion for cooking before recording.

“Why are you cycling to every RSPB and WWT reserve?”

A question I was to hear a number of times more over the year! Good question. Before leaving, during the planning stage I wrote myself a letter to remind me exactly why I was doing this. It is a bit pompous for which I apologise but here is the original: - 

So, the day which began with a walk in the rain, ended with a bus ride and an idea buzzing around in my head.

A bike ride? Warwick to Coventry and back had seemed far enough but what was I contemplating? A maths teacher at the school, Ernesford Comprehensive in Coventry, where I had just done a day’s supply after cycling there from my then home in Warwick, had talked over coffee of his cycling trip across both North and South America. “The Argentinians are wonderful people.” He had said. “Chile is so beautiful” I can still see him in the small teacher’s sanctuary, talking with such enthusiasm and humility about travels that seemed beyond my capabilities but not beyond my fantasies.

The bus moved on towards Kenilworth.

By the time I got off at the bus, for another evening at my brother Paul’s house, I had decided that I would cycle to each RSPB and WWT nature reserve in Britain, Cornwall to Shetland, Kent to Uists; see as many birds as I could and cycle the whole way, 4,500 miles so I thought at the time.

Right, the decision was made, now for the planning.

A notebook and road atlas of the UK accompanied me on the many train rides to supply teaching assignments and soon became the focus for jottings and thoughts. Equipment, costs, contacts, ideas. The large road atlas became a ‘must have with me’ companion. It took a few weeks before the first route was indelibly red inked onto the pages. (West coast of Scotland – get me there; those boat trips look relaxing!). Then, in the middle of March I thought,  Why? Why am I going to do this?

I had written equipment lists and costed the trip up. I had contacted the RSPB with the idea in order to start to think of sponsorship in order to raise funds for the charity, as I had the Wildfowl & Wetland Trust and Asthma Association. I had emailed Birdguides to ask about whether anyone had done anything similar. Surprisingly to me, no one had. I had discussed it with my children, Rebecca and Joshua, Mum and Dad, brother Paul and sister, Donna.

Birding friends had listened but were credulous. Why do it?

Why spend 365 days cycling with bins around the British Isles? Why not do the same in Greece or Spain. At least it would be warmer there and the bird species there would include my favourite - vultures!

No, it had to be done for charity. It had to be done to show that one did not need to travel by car to see 250 bird species. It had to be done to say thank you to the late Sir Peter Scott, my boyhood hero and it had to be done to show that an ‘old man’ could still dream. 

Well the poor girl, a beautiful jade-eyed interviewer, must have drawn the short straw to be out at this time in such extremely cold weather but she was genuinely interested.

Now it must have been that I was still lost in the, have I already said it, interviewer’s beautiful green eyes, for not ten minutes later after the conclusion to the interview, I had come off my bike, somersaulting over the right side, landing on the ice-covered verge. Along a section of the lane the ice was in hard ridges where previous car tyres had moulded the ice and it was one of these ridges that unbalanced me and over my shoulder I went.

Ouch! The bike was severely damaged and the gear changing mechanism on the handlebar was hanging down disconnected. Five days into the year and now the bike was broken.

 Tragedy! When the feelings gone (in my leg) and you cannot go on, its tragedy. I got up and tried to fix it, the bike's gear system but could only get it to give me a couple of gears. Still it was better than just one. My leg was painful but as I had a few layers on at the time I did not check it out too much.

I got on the bike, got back to Richard and Lynn‘s house to collect my things, seeing a Bank Vole under one of their bird seed feeders from their kitchen window. Whilst there, I was interviewed over the phone by the Hounslow, Brentford and Twickenham newspaper before setting off for Hemel Hempstead. I gave my most sincere thanks to this wonderful couple for their accommodation and company and set off.

Down the hill from Stanton St John I came around the corner to see a large group of forty-one deer in the field next to the road, which included a strangely coloured, coffee coated doe. A Green Woodpecker [68] flew over, another bird for the year list.

Onward I went along, thankfully, flat roads and soon I reached Prince’s Risborough and decided that a treat was in order. On finding a small café I ordered a meal of lasagne and salad washed down by a sugar laden, frothy hot chocolate. It was dark when I came outside again and there was a new problem to add to the bicycle woes. Snow! Light at first, it soon got heavier; the snow just made the next part of the journey a tad more difficult. I went south for a mile or so, cycling through the falling snow, and then took a left turn. This was the beginning of the Chiltern Hills. With a large, very steep hill to negotiate, I had no choice but to push the bike up the hill to Loosley Row and ride down the other side to Great Missenden, with the snow beginning to cling to me and the bike. An hour plus of snowy downhill thrills [terrors!] combined with hard uphill slogs before almost reaching Chesham, was not helped by the fact that the front light was not as bright as I would have liked. In fact, it was positively dull! Trying to be as ‘Green’ as possible I had seen a wind up, no battery required, cycling front light with cable attachment for a back light. 

Well the light it gave was poor at best and even then, it would only last for a few minutes. An ambulance pulled over in front of me and the driver flagged me down. “You’ve got no rear lights!” The fall on the ice earlier in the day must have broken more than the front gear lever; the cable to the back lights had snapped. I tried to twist the wires together but it was no good.

I cycled downhill with a passing motorist offering friendly advice over what I could do in my predicament. “Get some ****in' lights!” Thanks! Just the motivation I needed to peddle through the snow like the clappers.

I reached Chesham safely, after having to back track half a mile or so to search for and retrieve a lost skiing glove and found a Sainsbury’s store still open. No cycling gear for sale, I purchased a RAC torch, batteries and a box of ladies’ tights. With the torch strapped to the back of the bike, secured by the tights, I had more hills to negotiate and more snow to plough through before getting to the A41 near Berkhamsted. Whilst pushing the bicycle up a steep hill through the deepening snow, I received a phone call from my wife, Karen. It was great to hear from her. I love her voice over the phone and through my mind's eye I could see her beautiful jade green eyes. I miss her so much but a major reason for my doing a Biking Birder adventure is because of our distant love. That may sound crazy but it is complicated and too painful to discuss here. I adore my wife and always will.

After an hour or so the new back torch light had faded to almost nothing. So much for the efficiency of the torch and its batteries! The snow was falling heavily but I was booked into a small bed and breakfast in Hemel Hempstead and I was determined to get there. The fact that there was absolutely no traffic on the motorway-like three carriageway motorway-like road, the A41, did not stop me. Everyone else was sensibly tucked up somewhere warm as I either cycled or pushed through six inches of snow.

I cycled past a Premier Inn and although I was sorely tempted to stay there, I resisted and eventually got to my destination town. Still, I did not know where the B & B was. I had got the address written down on a small piece of paper but I had no detailed map and neither did I have a smartphone nor SATNAV. I did find the local police station and went in to ask for directions. The kind, friendly and gorgeous police ladies behind the desk joined in my laughter at the abominable snowman dripping before them and luckily my Bed and Breakfast was nearby.

Ten thirty, late evening, on the clock when I got into the warmth of a large, terraced house, greeted by a lovely German accented old lady. She immediately saw the condition I was in and got me a large, hot bowl of mushroom soup with toast, together with two warm mince pies and a chunk of fruit cake!

Nine hours to get from Otmoor to Hemel Hempstead, I felt exhilarated to have made it, despite finding that my left shin had a quite nastily cut and my thighs were both badly bruised from the fall. I bathed, made sure my bloody cut was thoroughly cleaned and a bandage applied. I was soon sleeping soundly in my small, cosy, warm room, despite the sound of a German-speaking TV channel coming from Mrs Peter’s bedroom next to mine.  

42 miles                                                                                                       1566 feet elevation up   1608 feet down  

Biking Birder I - 2010 January the fourth. A very cold cycle to Otmoor via Midland RSPB HQ

 

4^th January                                                   We’re on the road to Nowhere                                       Talking Heads

                I got up early having slept fitfully. So, at 3.00 a.m. I was on the computer, completing a PowerPoint to show to the Otmoor RSPB group and reading Roz Savage’s blog. More on her in a bit. At 8.30 a.m. I went to the nearby Royal Mail sorting office to see whether a new camera had arrived. My previous small digital camera, a Sony Sureshot, had been smashed by one of the Special Needs children in a class at the last school I was teach at full-time, Rigby Hall Special School in Bromsgrove, Worcestershire. Bless her, she could not help it. This student was almost blind, had almost no vocabulary and her needs were communicated to any staff present by violent outbursts and one of the four utterances that she had practised. When she needed the toilet, she would scream “can I go to the loo?” in a strong Scouse accent. At least this time her thrown object was my camera and was not the desk where she worked with her teaching assistant constantly present, that she had thrown previously. Neither was it the chair that flew past my face cutting my lip on the first occasion of her being in my form. We soon learnt that one way to prevent her from throwing her desk was to place over twenty household bricks in the desk drawers. The first time she tried to even lift the overladen desk, her reddening face was a picture I wish I had taken. Her language was undecipherable!

Mind you I was not that upset over the camera being smashed as I had had quite a few problems with it with the lens extension frequently jamming up. The worst occasion for this to happen was a couple of years previous whilst watching displaying Little Bustards one February in Spain. I had taken about six photographs when it jammed. No more could be taken on that holiday. Once again, I could not be too disappointed as the bustards raspberry brrrrrrrp, Harry Secombe-like calls were so hilarious!

My new camera had not arrived, so back home for breakfast and last-minute packing. With everything that I could get into the panniers packed, well everything that I thought that I would need, the bike now was too heavy to lift! I had hoped to carry my telescope and tripod, a laptop and various booklets and stickers given to me by the Asthma UK charity and the Geography Association, from whom I had also been given fifty Barnaby Bear books. Rolls of Geography Association stickers and books were OK to take but the weight of the other items meant they all stayed at home. 

Would the lack of a telescope make a significant difference? Time would tell. The lack of a laptop and hence lack of internet access would become a persistent time-eating problem throughout the year.

Out in the back garden, I had to brush thick hoar frost from off my bike but once having done so and having oiled the parts that nature can reach, Mum and Dad waved me off and despite the weight, the bike ran smoothly and easily. So, there we were on the road, not to nowhere, on a road to paradise but on the road to Otmoor RSPB reserve. I say ‘we’ because I was not alone. I had a collection of cuddly toys with me precariously chained to the bike. At this point there was a large green frog, Sid, to represent the RSPB’s rainforest at Harapan in Sumatra and the Wildfowl and Wetland Trust as I had bought it at their HQ, Slimbridge. There was also a large cuddly Black-browed Albatross, Albert, for their ongoing albatross campaign and a glove puppet teddy bear named Barnaby Bear. Barnaby Bear is more famous than I, not that I am jealous . . . much! He is the symbol of the Geography Association and teachers; children and parents delight in taking Barnaby Bear all over the World. There are websites of his adventures both on the BBC’s and the Geography Association. There are many Barnaby Bear books too, large and small and at Primary schools, one of the geography curriculum topics is called ‘Where in the World is Barnaby Bear?’ Well Barnaby Bear was with me, freezing on top of my sleeping bag on the back of my bike. Poor Barnaby! At least he had fur. Imagine how a rainforest frog felt in this harsh winter freeze and 2010 was to have extreme wintry weather, with lots of snow and ice at both ends of it.

After a few miles, my legs were fine, the initial stiffness having gone, and the cycling was exhilarating. The countryside, white with frost, had few birds and the roads were relatively free of traffic.

Heading south I crossed an almost empty M40, took a wrong turn just after that and stopped to check my maps whilst taking a breather and admired the view. Back on the correct road, I came to the first long, hard hill and had to push the bike up the last few metres. A Sparrowhawk [59] glided over a small attractive church atop the hill I had just climbed as I reached the top and I remounted my bike pleased to add another bird to the list.

Despite the cold, the effort of the cycling soon had me removing both woolly hat from beneath my cycling helmet and my gloves. The sun was low in the sky ahead of me as I headed south and I was beginning to realise that sweat would become a problem and, sorry to mention it but asthmatic mucus would need to be constantly blown and spat out. Lovely!

I was stopped along the back route to Banbury by a phone call from the WWT (Wildfowl & Wetland Trust) nature reserve at Barnes, London. They asked me to confirm what day and time I would be calling in so that local press could be arranged.

Beside the road, in a field with a low depression sat around one hundred Lapwings together with a sizeable number of the commonest bird seen during the day, Wood Pigeons. These were all fluffed up and sitting on the ground pretending to be partridges, which had me stopping on a couple of occasions to check out whether another year tick was in the offing. A smashing male Ring-necked Pheasant was the next year tick [60]. Otherwise only the occasional small flock of Fieldfare and Redwing was seen, together with sporadic titmice and Robins.

More phone calls stopped me as I cycled, mainly from a persistent teacher from a school in Slough. Tracy Ball from Penn Wood Junior School was eager that I visit and I was keen to oblige. The school visits were to be an integral part of the year, a chance to promote ‘Green’ issues with the people who will live with the consequences of our present eco efforts, or lack of them, children.

When three miles from Banbury yet another phone call, from Andrew Waters at RSPB Midlands HQ in, luckily, Banbury stopped me. “Come in and have a coffee,” Andrew said. How could I refuse? Once in the centre of the town I found the offices, after a chat with a proud local who wanted to and did tell me not only about how to find the RSPB but also told of the ‘fine lady with bells on her toes’ in the centre of the town.

What a welcome! I was greeted by hoots from attractive young ladies who leaned out of the office windows.

After coffee, and after being given two large RSPB stickers to place on the back of my florescent jacket and after being given a RSPB yellow collection can for the front of the bike, photographs were taken with everyone outside for the use of the local press and RSPB newsletters.

Then it was time to be back on the road again heading for Otmoor, the large RSPB reserve near Oxford.

On leaving Banbury I recalled my first birding experience of the town, well of the town's sewage works anyway. A day twitching with my then fiancée Jane back in 1982; a journey to a romantic location to bond our newish relationship. Sunny weather as we drove our old, clanging Marina away from our one-bedroomed bed-sit in a rundown area of Wolverhampton. The car had needed a push start as the starting motor was defunct and now the bearings on the right side gave their repetitive clunking sound as the A roads to Stratford Upon Avon and Banbury were travelled down. Our connection to the grapevine, the way birders found out about what rare birds were available by phoning each other up, was through one ‘Black Country’ John Holian. John was a TV celebrity back in 1983 when a program about birders was made on the Isles of Scilly. Bernard Cribbens had been the outsider to the twitching world and Black Country John, nicknamed because of his roots and TV requirements and not by anything that those who knew him would call him, was his guide for a few days of intense rarity chasing. 

Well, John had given us the directions for Banbury sewage works and we drove through the gate to be greeted by a brave worker who told us the correct way down to the grass plots. A long walk along a muddy path towards a small group of birders and then there was the bird, a lifer for us both and an American far from home. A Lesser Yellowlegs in the Midlands, a good bird anywhere but extra special here, strutted around this grassy, wet meadow, accompanied by a number of Meadow Pipits and a lone Water Pipit. The American wader's legs were indeed bright yellow and within the hour the bird had been well grilled and UTB. [Under the belt, a twitcher’s term meaning that the bird had been seen well enough so one could tick it off on one’s list.]

Not satisfied with one lifer for the day, Jane and I headed off for Brill in Oxfordshire and having once past through the delightful village, we soon found a lengthy line of cars with everyone focussed upon a haystack of a bird devouring some poor, unfortunate creature, actually a rabbit, about fifty yards away. Jane had not been too thrilled by the American wader but now she monopolised our telescope as she watched the ‘barn door’ tearing apart and eating the small rabbit. White-tailed Sea Eagle on the list, another lifer and so close that we could see every feature; its huge, hooked bill, its immense yellowish talons and large, cruel eyes. It was an immature bird so no bright white tail but that did not detract from the awe of seeing this wonderful bird of prey. One could hear the gasp from the birdwatching crowd as it took to the air, having finished its meal; the official term of ‘barn door’ being such an apt name for it. It was huge and it flapped over our heads and went away to the west. We followed its flight until it disappeared behind trees some way off. By now we were leaning against a five-bar gate from which we scanned the large meadow in front of us and found a Little Owl sitting on a fence post a little way off, enjoying the winter sunshine. A fox walked through the scope view completing the scene. A double tick day and all in my home area of the UK, the Midlands.

Back to 2010, eventually over the A34 and down towards Stanton St John, it was by now getting quite dark and I was exhausted. I was cold and the sweat from my excursions made me feel extremely uncomfortable. My decision to cycle the whole way from Warwick to Otmoor in one day was in retrospect a dicey one. I was not yet as fit and strong as I would later become and the last few miles were extremely tough. A few chunks of Cadbury’s Fruit and Nut, for yes, I am, like everyone else so the old advert sung by Frank Muir used to say, a bit of a Cadbury’s Fruit and Nutcase, gave me the energy to climb the last hill. Then, having found the correct turn off lane, I found the beautiful thatched, stone cottage of Richard and Lynn Ebbs, two professors at Oxford University now working at the John Radcliffe hospital: she a Professor of Virology, he a Professor of Bacteriology.

Once again, my mobile phone rang, this time almost immediately after I had arrived at the cottage. It was from Central News, the ITV news program for the Midlands. Could I come into the studios in Birmingham tomorrow for an interview? I declined the kind offer to cycle fifty miles back to Brum which would mean having to start the journey all over again. Anyway, I had already been booked by the Oxford BBC news program for the next day. TV celebrity! They will have me on ‘I’m a celebrity, get me out of here’ next and I will not abuse the insects!

Conversation, once I had taken a much needed hot shower and with a change of clothes, turned to careers and recent holidays. They spoke of Ecuador and the Galapagos Islands and the need to step over, the intransigent Blue-footed Boobies there and of meeting on another occasion, the Mountain Gorillas of Uganda.

Then we were off to the local village hall up the road in the village where I was to give a talk about my adventure to the dozen or so who had braved the weather. My talk started with an image of a beautiful blonde woman sitting with a Mona Lisa like smile holding the tiller of a small boat. A strange way to start a birdy talk to a small group of local birders you may think but here was a photograph of the incredible Roz Savage, who if you do not recognise the name I will elucidate. Roz was an office girl in London, far away from her native Australia. In 2006 she suddenly decided that she wanted to do something more with her life.

Therefore, Roz decided to row the Atlantic single-handed. Once the Atlantic was crossed, not content with that tremendous achievement, Roz thought that it would be churlish not to row home to Australia. So, via Hawaii, another challenge was completed, despite being told that her route included areas with impossible to pass waters. Spreading the word of Climate Change, oceanic plastic pollution and save the planet, Roz reached Oz in 2010. She then became the first woman to row across three oceans, completing her row across the Indian Ocean in October 2011. It is amazing what a commitment to advocating a Green life can have you achieve.                                                                       

47.55 miles                                                                                                     1841 feet elevation up  1651 feet down

Biking Birder I January the third 2010 Lazy!

 

3^rd January                                                  Get out of your lazy bed                                                     Matt Bianco

              Now it just so happened that on the television there was Test match between England and South Africa. My decision over what to do on a bitterly cold January day, with me being a little obsessive about cricket, was an easy one to make. Should I do the sensible thing, get out of my lazy bed and get cycling towards the next target RSPB reserve? Should the next destination, from Warwick to Otmoor, near Oxford, be reached in two easy stages of around twenty-five miles each, with a night in a comfortable village Bed & Breakfast cottage, or done in one day by cycling the whole fifty six miles in very frosty conditions? Life is full of difficult choices.

I lay down on the settee and watched the match! The weather outside continued to be a blast from the Arctic, with temperatures down to five degrees below, Celsius that is. A day off, after getting out of my lazy bed, and I had only just begun the cycling – birding year. At least a Pied Wagtail [58] was in the garden, seen from my prone position on the settee and so I added it to the year list.

Biking Birder I - January the second MIDDLETON LAKES RSPB RESERVE

 

2^nd January                                         Skating Away on the Thin Ice of a New Day                               Jethro Tull

               Awake early in my strange bed, too early for John and Mary so I lay reading a book that I had brought along with me, Birdwatchingwatching by Alex Horne. Interestingly written but I felt, lacking in birds. Maybe you will feel the same about my little tome. I saw the last moments of a glorious pink sunrise as I watched from their back-patio window, counting the passing birds. Three large seed feeders were well positioned to one side of a large garden and a regular procession of titmice, Great, Blue and Coal Tit [40], Robin, Blackbird, Collared Doves [41] and Starlings came to inspect and feed whilst Lesser Black-backed and Black-headed Gulls passed over. Even a Buzzard [42] was seen, lazily heading west followed by attendant mobbing Carrion Crows.

Two inches of snow greeted me outside as I opened the door but undeterred, I set off for Middleton Lakes, skating away on the thin ice of the new day. John had wanted to accompany me on his bike but the snow and the ice prevented that. Photographs were taken at the doorway; thanks were given and I was off. Not so great navigation had me going in the wrong direction up the wrong street but kind words from a lady motorist put me right and I was soon cruising downhill towards Middleton Hall and through the posh entrance way into the RSPB reserve there. With Rook [43] added to the list on the way and a Grey Heron [44] seen on arrival, I walked around the immediate area near to the imposing hall and, on finding the tucked away RSPB offices, I was soon joined by Gary Jones, the warden, who I am delighted to say, spent a good two hours plus showing me around this new reserve. We were soon talking away as though we had known each other for years. So much chat in fact that the birdwatching seemed a little intrusive. A party of those fabulous ball of fluff birds, Long-tailed Tits [45], avian lollipops, were watched though. Oh, to one day see a stunning continental race bird with its pure white head, an ambition bird.

“This field will be developed for families. A sort of ‘do what you like’ area,” said Gary. Yet another RSPB warden met in two days, with each one displaying the same passion for their chosen reserve. It had been Chris at Sandwell Valley who thrilled about talking of future developments there and now here was Gary delighting in each new habitat.

Now here was habitat creation on a grand scale. Masses of reeds, Phragmites, thousands of them and all hand-planted by hundreds of RSPB volunteers in one area. There was also an area of wetland scrape. “Over there will be a broad walk,” explained Gary pointing to beneath the trees that contained a large heronry, each of the twenty or so nests with two holes in the bottom. An old joke I used to tell my young YOC-ers (Young Ornithologist's Club, the now gone branch of the RSPB for youngsters) which they, being gullible, believed were for the heron’s long legs to hang through so that the sitting bird would not get cramp.

Back in 2004 I had cycled here from my place of work at that time, a Special School named Castle School in Walsall, to what was then called Drayton Bassett Gravel Pits in order to see an exceedingly rare wader, a Broad-billed Sandpiper. It was not a lifer for me. I had seen one at Coton, just a few miles to the south years before. Now the area of working gravel pits had gone, to be replaced by what will be a fabulous, diverse range of habitats over an expansive area, once the habitat creation projects have matured. The thought of having such a reserve so close to my beloved Midlands was exciting.

Together we walked, Gary and I, birding a bit and chatting. There were clear views towards Tamworth, with the vertical drop of the Apocalypse ride at Drayton Manor theme park poking above the trees. I remembered going on that a few times in the past with my children, Rebecca and Joshua and my stepdaughters Claire and Sarah!

As at Sandwell Valley the day before, birds were restricted to small patches of ice-free water. Still there were good numbers of Mallard, Pochard and Tufties together with a Great-crested Grebe [46] and a few Goldeneye [47]. Down to a pathway of sorts adjacent to the river Thame where thirty-seven Gadwall had found an area to their liking: the site for a future hide. Beside one large pool Gary pointed out a few stubs of darkened wooden posts sticking up near the water's edge. Here was evidence of a prehistoric fish pen which had been excavated by a local archaeological group. Uncertain of how old it may be, Gary said they thought it might be anything up to four thousand years old. What birds would the builders of this have seen so long ago and which ones would they have eaten? Back to the 12^th Century Middleton Hall and into its café to warm up and enjoy coffee and cake.

Other birds seen during the visit included Cormorant, Herring Gull, Linnet, Shelduck, Grey Wagtail, Kingfisher, Reed Bunting, Great-spotted Woodpecker, Nuthatch, Fieldfare [48 to 57] and a male Kestrel. (Remember this last bird when I talk about my final year list will you please?)

I cycled on, after saying goodbye to everyone at Middleton RSPB Reserve, to a ‘sacred’ football ground nearby, Bodymoor Heath the training ground for my team, Aston Villa. No players were there as I stopped to ask the security guard to take a photo of me by the Villa sign. They were all at Villa Park awaiting a match against Blackburn Rovers in the third round of the waning FA Cup; a match incidentally that the Villa won 3 – 1. I say waning as the FA cup is a pale reflection from what it was before the 'big' teams decided to put out weakened teams when playing in it. A sad reflection of how football has changed since the creation of a Premier League. How disgusting for Manchester United to boycott the iconic tournament in 1999-2000.

 I will admit to being an enthusiastic Aston Villa fan and have in the past been a season ticket holder. Always in the mighty Holte End, I have been there for the ups, like when we won the First Division back in 1981, as well as at the European Cup Final at Rotterdam in 1982. Playing against Bayern Munich, midway in the second half, Gary Shaw put a ball through to Tony Morley. Tony turned the full back inside out before putting the ball on a plate to Peter Withe standing alone in the six yard box. The ball came across and, via Peter’s shin, into the net it went after hitting the right hand post. Into the net went Peter With and on turning he was floored by the Villa midfielder, Gordon Cowans. Peter, Gary Shaw and Gordon all ended up on the floor as we, the massed Villa fans behind the goal went ecstatic! Better than sex, Villa held on to win the European Cup that day. I was there and took the consequences for missing a couple of days from work on my return. I did not take a sickie. Everyone in the school knew where I was! UTV. VTID.

The rest of the afternoon was spent cycling to Warwick, the home of my Mum and Dad, Mary and Brian. I had a brief visit of Kenilworth Castle as I was passing. I had already decided that during the year I would visit as many special places as possible, whilst circumnavigating clockwise the UK, as well as visiting the RSPB and WWT nature reserves. I would try to visit as many castles, cathedrals, museums, prehistoric sites as I could in the time allowed to me.

I arrived home at 4.00 p.m. much to Mum and Dad’s amazement. I had not told them that I would be calling in. “You’ve only just gone!” Said Dad. “I’ve given up,” I joked.                                                   

 

35.25 miles                                                                                              751 feet elevation up   1054 feet down