Went on a walk that was neither particularly scenic nor particularly straightforward, but it did have one saving grace: this beauty hovering over the grass of Cutacre Park, between Bolton and Wigan. What must the mouse feel? Does it know its hunter is up there, waiting for it to poke its head out of hiding just for that one crucial second?
Disturbed while I was weeding the garden, this little fella deigned to pose for its close-ups, but its purposefully outstretched front leg suggests it is definitely seeking to move on and continue its own day.
Whatever species of plant this is, it has been sitting, quietly doing very little, in a pot on our window sill (in the lavatory, as it happens) for a good decade or more. This year, without any special prompting, it decided to stretch out this long tendril and flower. Perhaps its time had just come. I doubt it’s been coaxed out of stasis by glorious summer weather, ‘cos we haven’t had any.
Herb Robert being the common name of Geranium robertianum; which grows in relative profusion in a certain beer garden in Hebden Bridge town centre. Well, there’s no football on Saturdays in June, I need something to look at.
The wirebird — officially, the St Helena plover (Anarhynchus sanctaehelenae) but nobody calls it that — is the one species of bird that is endemic to St Helena. That is, it is found nowhere else. It is very much the symbol of the island, appearing on its flag. In my three visits here so far I had never seen one, but there it is. This is quite a coup, as this is one of the planet’s rarest birds; the latest census counted about 640 of them, so this single one is 0.15% of the entire global population. Birdwatchers, eat your heart out.
Anyway, that’s it for St Helena — this time. But, I will be back.
The colony of Muscovy ducks that used to live around the marina in Hebden Bridge, and peaked at about six individuals, seems to have disappeared — but members of the species have managed to find St Helena, in the middle of the ocean. Why does the one on the right not have the same facial bulges as the other? I suspect, just because it’s younger. They grow their faces over time. As do we humans, of course.
They did seem like they were quite keen on the idea of making more of themselves, but I moved on before they got down to anything. Apparently these are white-spotted fruit chafers (Mausoleopsis amabilis). Apparently the St Helena Research Institute (hi Becky) would like to know exactly where they were spotted: so I tag these as residing half-way up the slope between the lower Munden’s battery and the one at the top of the hill, just above Jamestown. Ecologically, they’re not supposed to be here, but that is, sadly, true of a great many species, both animal and vegetable, that are now found on St Helena.
I took the morning off and came up to Plantation House, the residence of the Governor of St Helena, to do the tour, and like the other 7 people doing it with me, we stoically let ourselves be shown vaguely interesting items of furniture and portraits of the British royal family for 90 minutes or so in order that we could then get through to the real reason we were all there; to have the honour of meeting Jonathan, who at around 192 is the world’s oldest living land animal whose age is (more or less) known. And he did not seem at all bothered by his weekly dose of humans — seeming as interested in us as we were in him. I think he’s a complete dude, and could not resist making him the day’s image even though he’s appeared before. But he totally deserves his relative fame, if you ask me.
For various reasons St Helena is no agricultural paradise. Some types of fresh fruit and veg can be picked up fairly easily (tomatoes are currently easy to find, for example) but others are never seen. Potatoes, particularly. Ask for potatoes in a shop and you will either be laughed at or, as happened to me once, the shopkeeper will mutter, under his breath, “try me on Monday”, with a wink, as if you’ve asked for cocaine.
However, these beauties are currently growing happily on the tree in the courtyard outside my apartment. The landlord told me not to pick them off the tree, and I honestly haven’t. But they will, at some point, fall to the ground…. and at that point I consider them fair game.
There is nothing St Helena-specific about this shot, but on the other hand, this isn’t the kind of thing I would expect to see stretched across my path on my walk to work in Manchester. But here it was this morning, as I headed for my appointment at the local secondary school. Big bugger too: I was kinda glad the maker wasn’t at home; what you see in the centre is just the remains of its last meal, by the looks of things.
Being 42 