July 4th – Also out, but altogether busier was this juvenile heron. A lovely bird, clearly maturing and in very good condition, although still small for an adult.
This is a healthy, native heron fishing in a waterlily-swathed canal in the shadow of a huge scrapyard in the heart of the industrial Black Country.
Tell me this place isn’t wonderful and surprising. I dare you.
June 21st – Another high summer day, the longest as it happens, and from here on in, the days shorten to darkness; but there’s plenty of summer left and it’s been glorious so far, so I’m not too sad.
On the Walsall Canal heading for Darlaston, life is busy hunting, blooming and multiplying, with herons hunting on the far bank, families of geese making their way through dense waterlily beds and flowers looking gorgeous in the hot sun.
A Walsall Top Lock, basking on a piece of drifting wood, I even saw a terrapin, about the size of a saucer. Sadly, it slipped away before I got the camera out but these poor creatures, often released into the wild when too large for captivity are becoming a common sight in canals and pools of the UK.
A great day to be on a bike in the place I love.
June 8th – Passing down Scarborough Road in Pleck, south Walsall I noticed these cats, clearly waiting for the return of their owners from work. The two black and white ones seem to be siblings and clearly aren’t particularly fond of each other; I’ve recorded them studiously ignoring each other before.
I’m intrigued by the grey one, though – I’ve not seen that one before and it looks like a gorgeous cat.
I was also amused by the disgusted expression of the one in the foreground. If looks could kill….
May 4th – In the past couple of days I’ve mused on the sudden explosion in the number of herons on the local canals around Walsall, and also noted the amount of fresh waterfowl hatchlings.
In one journey from Walsall to Darlaston this morning, I saw four lurking herons. But only one coot chick.
It was lunchtime before the connection struck me. The herons are finding food in the tiny new lives that have been nurtured in canalside nests in the last few days and weeks.
I can’t grumble – the herons are doing what herons do, and the reason many clutches are so large or certain species are prolific breeders is precisely because of the attrition of new generations by predators.
But it’s a grizzly thought. These very attentive coot parents were very attentive of their offspring – only 10 metres of so from a patient, waiting heron.
May 2nd – Many of us know the pain of an irritating sibling.
I spotted the charming grey cat near the Tannery flats in Birchills, Walsall. He was inspecting the flower border and very alert to me. Then what I assume to be his brother appeared.
They greeted each other with a nose boop, then grey fellow continued to stare me out, stalk me and generally let me know I was under intense scrutiny – while the brother rubbed his head on him, attempted to wash his tail, and generally didn’t take stuff seriously at all.
Eventually, Mr. Grey walked off in disgust.
A fine pair of cats. Someone loves these two very much.
April 22nd – I headed out for an afternoon ride, still tentatively fiddling with some mechanical issues. I first called in to the Watermead swan family, to see if their clutch had hatched yet, but apparently not, but on the way, I found this longhaired hunter stalking a little mallard.
Annoyed I’d spotted him and therefore ruined his chances of a waterfowl for tea, he was hunting not 20 yards from the swan nest. Whilst puss here is no threat to the swans (or the mallard for that matter, despite the seriousness of his intent) I can’t help feeling he’ll be in for a short, painful shock if he fancies a little cygnet.
A swan peck on the head comes very sharp and swan parents don’t mess about!
March 28th – On a grey, misty and cold morning running through Wednesbury on an errand, what better pick-me-up than this embankment of daffodils?
I was cold, and not feeling the love at all, but these reversed my gloom. Daffodils are such lovely flowers and I adore the way they transform even mundane industrial estates like this.
March 18th – A brief run out on a wolfish, windy afternoon had me glared at by a resident of… Catshill.
This grey and white, somewhat scornful fellow was watching me contemptuously from the far bank of the canal, just past the Anchor pub. I’ve never seen in before, but from the small grey dot on his nose to the subtle striped tail, he’s clearly a lovely cat.
I noticed he seems to be sitting at the mouth of a fox set, too. Wonder if the resident was inside, wishing the cat would bugger off?
February 11th – It was one of those days daylight seemed to avoid. I headed to the canal for a little inspiration, but none came. The grey just merged via a horrid, drizzly mist.
The sky was grey. The water was grey. The landscape was in shades of grey. I felt grey.
Days like these really try your resolve.
January 22nd – I couldn’t think where to go, so I just took turn after turn following my nose. I ended up doing two laps of the backlanes around Stonnall and Shenstone which was nice enough, and seeing the feeble light die and the house lights come on was strangely comforting.
I love these lanes. They have been my companion, my constant, unwavering friend, confidante and riding partner for 35 years or more. I know them so well, and sometimes, when the atmosphere or weather isn’t great, just riding loops of these familiar byways is enough.
Sometimes, you stick to the reassuringly familiar.
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