identifying trees in winter

Footpath to road

Footpath up to road from Witton Dene

I couldn’t say how many times I’ve driven along the Lanchester Road or run along the railway lines from Broompark without realising that just a short distance away lay Witton Dene. It’s one of the great attractions of County Durham that all over the region there are hidden pockets of tranquillity such as this just waiting to be discovered.

Fran Mudd from the Wild Woods Project had invited me to run a winter tree identification session for the Friends of Witton Dene. These can be a lot of fun. Since identifying trees in winter relies a lot on twigs and buds, a good approach is to collect bundles of samples from the area, mix them up with a bunch of photographs, take them somewhere warm and dry, ideally with tea, coffee and an inexhaustible supply of jaffa cakes, then encourage everyone to have a look at them in comfort.

Once the key features have been identified the new-found knowledge can be tested by heading outdoors and matching the samples to the trees. Some trees are easy to identify, and some aren’t. Some, like ash, can be easier to identify in winter than they are in summer as they have large, distinctive, sooty, ominous looking black buds in opposite pairs. They tend to be less conspicuous when the tree is in leaf.

black buds, opposite pairs

The unmistakable black buds of Common Ash

After our indoor session concentrating on the common species and their key features we headed outside for a wander and a quiz. It was a great morning but not without its puzzles.

There was a question about Horse Chestnut. Not the usual question about how it got its name, but more about how it got its buds. Its sticky buds. Horse Chestnut (Aesculus hippocastanum) has large reddish-brown sticky buds in opposite pairs. They are particularly noticeable over winter. So why are they sticky? Good question. I didn’t know the answer and used the response I heard Chris Packham use in his talk at the Gala theatre a few weeks earlier. He’d been asked about a housemartin with hairy legs. Why did it have hairy legs? Who could say, but there would be a reason. It’s expensive to make a leg hairy, or a bud sticky, and an animal or tree won’t do it without a good reason.

Hunting around, with assistance of the University of Google, was surprisingly fruitless. The question has been asked before and the hypothesis advanced usually involves predation; the tree protects itself from insects by trapping the insect on the sticky bud. It’s observable sure enough but doesn’t explain why lots of other trees manage to happily get through life without sticky buds. I’m sure there’s a reason, I just haven’t found it yet.

reddish buds on a sycamore

sun-ripened buds on a sycamore? Why are these buds not green?

The other puzzle I stumbled up on was the mysterious case of the sycamore with the reddish buds. During a visit in January I found a sycamore that had read the script and knew all the identification features it was supposed to have, except it decided to tint its southerly facing buds with a pinkish tint. This is common in Lime trees where the buds exposed to sun often have a reddish glow where the shaded side remain green. But I haven’t seen it in sycamore before. The north-south facing divide in the colour is so marked that it’s the only reason I can think for the difference.

The bleak midwinter will soon give way to spring and I shall nip back to Witton Dene sometime soon and quietly check my own answers, and see if there are any tree species I missed. Surely there’s some blackthorn hiding away in there …

Sparrowhawk

In 2005 when I lived in St Anne’s on Sea I heard an ungodly racket and glanced out the window. A sparrowhawk had flown in and attacked a starling. The sparrowhawk had the starling pinned to the ground and was mantling its prey as I watched with a fascinated horror, and a camera, from inside the house.

The next few minutes were pretty gruesome as the sparrowhawk carefully attended to its victim which continued to belt out a series of chilling screeches until eventually it had no life left. It was not, for me, comfortable viewing.

Today I heard the same noise again. This time, 7 years on, in Durham. A sparrowhawk had flown in to the bird table. This has happened before. But today was different. It stayed. Sparrowhawks are opportunists. Hit and Run. Boom and Zoom. They fly in, target, and then move on. But this one was hanging around, watching all the frantic sparrows and tits that were shouting out their alarm calls within the shrubbery.

I watched for a minute or two, and then, comfortable as I am nowadays with my anthropomorphism, grabbed the camera and headed out. The sparrowhawk only flew of, empty handed, as I approached, and the ‘nice’ birds heaved a sigh of relief.

I can see Chris Packham’s fascination with this raptor, and its large, mean, malevolent (there’s the anthropomorphism again) eye. My problem with the sparrowhawk, as it is with my three domestic pet cats, is their distressing lack of compassion in dispatching their prey. No neat bite behind the neck, just a functional, leisurely and sedate consumption of their dinner. And it dies when it dies. The efficiency of the biological imperative is understandable but that doesn’t make it any the less disquieting.

Not at all bothered

It’s always satisfying when you patiently stalk a subject for that elusive photograph. When the creature gets close you take as many photos as you can before it notices you, or flies off. But sometimes they just don’t care.

This batch is from the River Ness in Inverness. This heron (Ardea cinerea) got closer, and closer, and I was thrilled to get some photos, even if they poor evening light makes them it a bit grainy. Then it got so close I could have reached out and touched it. It knew I was there. It just didn’t seem to care. I was miffed.

The sickly katsuras, two months later

Time passes and I revisit the katsura trees. Thank you to David and Nadia for their comments about the similar sounding symptoms they’ve had. I’m none the wiser, sadly! According to Strouts & Winter frost damage from late or spring frosts can account for problems particularly on thin, vulnerable stems. That would fit, I suppose, except only one of my sapling katsuras was affected, the other, almost identical one, seems unaffected.

The only other katsura trees I know about locally are at Houghall Arboretum and Durham Botanic Gardens. I haven’t visited the botanic garden recently but the Houghall trees look fine.

But a closer examination of my own sickly katsura held a surprise. Scratching the bark in several places with my fingernail showed a bright green sapwood underneath. Next spring should be interesting.

I’ve uploaded some fairly large images (click on the thumbnails below) of the living and (apparently not so) dead trees, and full size images can be found in my fell and forest gallery.

 

The Katsura Tree

As the title of this blog might suggest, I have a particular fondness for the Katsura tree (Cercidiphyllum japonicum). I have three in the garden, all youngsters. One is getting on for 2 or 3 metres tall, has been in for a few years (planted Nov 2007), and is looking good.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum

Healthy tree

Around the corner in the front garden there are a couple of tiny trees that I snapped up for a fiver each from Dawyck a couple of years ago. They are about 3 or 4 metres apart and have been absolutely fine since the day they were put in. I occasionally mulch with grass clippings or clear encroaching roses or beech from them, but all, in all, they’ve seemed happy.

But something has happened recently. The one on the right (click for a bigger picture) looks pretty healthy. Not a big tree but happy enough.

 

And then I walk about 3 metres along the flower bed to the next one. And it doesn’t look well at all.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum

Not a healthy tree

The mush you can see around the base is old grass clippings (no fertiliser, or weed and feed), and it is kept away from the base of the sapling. Same for the healthy one.

A closer look at the leaves shows them brown and mostly dead.

So, what is wrong with this picture? Why is one alive and apparently healthy, and one is dead, or nearly so? They are only a few metres apart and have no visible differences in light, soil or moisture.

new kids on the (fat) blocks

As well as the occasional woodpecker, bullfinch and jackdaw, the bird feeders are buzzing with birds, old and new. A closer look shows the gape of the young blue tits amongst the grown-ups.

Suppertime

a mixture of birds, old and new

I can feed myself

After last night’s observation of an adult male Greater Spotted feeding a juvenile I decided to set up the Big Camera on the tripod with the remote cable release and wait, hopeful to see the same behaviour again. It’s easy to forget the importance of depth-of-field with a fast shutter speed, and I got literally hundreds of photos of a crystal-sharp-focussed bird feeder, and an ever-so-slightly fuzzy woodpecker.

But amongst the fuzzyness there were a couple of nice sharp shots. Of junior. It looks like he (or she) is quite capable of looking after himself.

father and son (or daughter)

There’s nothing like getting a clear, sharp, vibrant photograph of a dazzling bird like the woodpecker to make your day. Sure enough, this is nothing like it. Lots of my favourite photos, however, lack technical merit.

father and son

father and son (or daughter) at the feeder

So when I glanced out the kitchen window yesterday and saw an adult male greater spotted woodpecker at the fat feeder along with its youngster my heart skipped a beat. It’s a great sight and I crept to the window with the compact camera and shot a couple of photos through the grime.

Here you can see the juvenile woodpecker sitting on the top of the feeder, identifiable by the red crown. This redtop will fade away in the months ahead but for the moment it makes the juvenile birds stand out clearly. The adult, with the red spot on the nape of his neck is an adult male. The female doesn’t have this mark. The presence or absence of these red splodges make the sex of greater spotted woodpecker pretty easy to identify.

Just before they flew of I managed to capture a grainy moment where the adult was feeding the youngster a blob of fat from the feeder. It won’t win any photo competitions but I love it!

Adult male woodpecker feeding youngster

An adult male Greater Spotted Woodpecker feeds a youngster

 

Serendipity

A few weeks ago, while chasing butterflies at Low Barns, I chanced upon this striking beastie. I was struck by the colours and thought it wouldn’t be difficult to identify what it is, but I had butterflies to chase and other things to do. I added the photo to my library, and tagged it as unidentified. Adding it to many other similarly tagged photos that I have queued up to sort out.

 

 

I can’t recall the host tree but the leaf looks cherry-like, although looking at it again that looks like it could be goat willow / pussy willow (Salix caprea).

Here’s a closer view of the creatures.

I didn’t think any more about it and consigned the image to the back-burner of idents-to-investigate, until I read a blog that showed the same creature in the same county around the same time. This is the froghopper (Cercopis vulnerata).

It’s one of the reasons I try to follow local natural history blogs and the news on local natural history sites. Chances are, what is being seen and written about across the country might very well be on my own doorstep.

They’ve Gone …

Every year they do this. Wait until my back is turned. I wonder if they fledged today or yesterday. Better tell the Nest Box Challenge. And I never did get the settings right on the webcam! Next year …

Still intrigued by the starling behaviour though. Most people I talk to think a starling wouldn’t predate a blue tit chick. I’m not so sure …