Clustered bellflower

25 Sunday Oct 2026

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I wasn’t expecting to discover any new flora during my East Sussex trip, especially in mid October, so finding two new plant species was an unexpected highlight. This is the first, Clustered bellflower (Campanula glomerata).

I was alerted to the possibility of seeing these flowers through a social media post a fortnight before my trip by a birder from the local area, though I wasn’t sure if they would still be in bloom, nor how easy they would be to find. I was also a little concerned by what I read about the flower in my Flora Britannica:

Its bunches of trumpet-shaped violet-blue flowers on shortish stems persist until quite late in the summer – which makes its flowering period overlap with that of the autumn gentian. It should perhaps be called ‘fool’s gentian’ from the number of occasions on which the two species are confused.

Having never seen Clustered bellflower or Autumn gentian before, I could turn out to be the fool!

Fortunately for me, the plant was easily found, growing in the short turf in several of the more sheltered places along the chalk cliff tops, though these specimens appear more stunted than is usual, perhaps because of the dry summer. And, as you can see from my photos, it was still in bloom. And, even better, its downy leaves meant it was reasonably easy to distinguish from Autumn gentian.

Dartford warblers

24 Saturday Oct 2026

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Though I see a lot of very fine birds during the hours I spend walking in Nature, I don’t often find them myself – I have usually heard about them through my WhatsApp group or my contacts on social media – so there is something especially rewarding and satisfying about finding a special bird myself.

And that’s what happened twice during my recent week in East Sussex, the same bird species both times. The birds were Dartford warblers (Curruca undata), and I found the first in scrub below the former lighthouse at Belle Tout.

These birds are frequently found in the company of Stonechats and often seen perching on the tops of Gorse bushes. Both Stonechats and Gorse were abundant in the area of scrub where I was walking, and I had just been thinking that, given how many Stonechats there were and how much Gorse, there really should be a Dartford warbler, when … boom! I heard its distinctive call from the bushes down the slope from where I was standing, and then up it popped.

These warblers are notorious for skulking in bushes, frustrating bird watchers by their teasing behaviour, giving tantalisingly brief views before disappearing for long periods into the undergrowth (and that’s exactly what happened when I spotted my second Dartford warbler of the trip at Rye Harbour Nature Reserve a couple of days later; blog about Rye to follow).

So, I was exceedingly lucky that this first Dartford warbler showed well for me. I even saw it interacting with other birds, first with the Stonechats and then, as you can see from my sequence of three photos here, with a male Blackcap that was probably about to head off on its migration journey.

Dartford warblers themselves don’t migrate but they do often disperse from their breeding locations during the autumn, and this is probably what was happening with the two I saw, as they are not usually seen in the locations where I found them. As you can imagine, I was over the moon with my special finds.

Corn buntings

23 Friday Oct 2026

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From the social media posts of local East Sussex birders and research about recent sightings, I knew there was a chance I might see Corn buntings near Birling Gap. I was given the following advice: ‘If you park at Birling Gap and head east towards Beachy Head they are often to be seen as you look inland to your left from the car park.’ I was on foot, of course, but the advice was spot on. There was a field full of scrub and bramble right next to the overflow carpark, and that’s where I heard, then thought I saw my first Corn buntings in many years.

I saw ‘thought I saw’, as there were also plenty of Linnets, Meadow pipits and Skylarks in the area, all streaky brown birds that can easily be confused with each other, especially when viewed from a distance. Fortunately, the Corn bunting (Emberiza calandra) has a very distinctive call, which many have described as sounding like jangling keys and that helped me home in on these buntings. (I did take a video of one calling but the sound from the bird was obscured by the noise of passing cars, so here’s a link to the RSPB website, where you can have a listen.)

Sadly, the Corn bunting is now a red-listed bird, having suffered a population decline in Britain over the final quarter of the 20th century of as much as 90 per cent. This dramatic decline is due to changes in agricultural practice; growing crops twice each year, rather than leaving fields fallow over the winter, has meant there is no longer any stubble-field seed available to see the birds through the colder months, and the increasing use of chemicals in agriculture has led to huge declines in the insects these buntings would usually feed to their chicks. Seeing these Corn buntings at Birling Gap was, for me, both a joyful and a heart-wrenching experience.

Birling Gap and Beachy Head

22 Thursday Oct 2026

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Today’s blog is a combination of landscape, and a fraction of what I saw as I walked through that landscape.

We start at Birling Gap, an area that frequently features on the news due to the dramatic cliff falls that have occurred here. (In January this year, nine people and a dog had to be rescued from the beach after the cliff behind the steps to the beach collapsed – details and photos on the BBC website.) My photo shows the view west from Birling Gap, along the Seven Sisters cliffs. Where the land dips down at the end of the Seven Sisters is where the Cuckmere River runs out to the sea. In the distance you might just make out the cottages seen in the final photo from my blog about the Seven Sisters Country Park a couple of days ago, and the chalk cliffs beyond that form the coastline from the Seven Sisters CP to the town of Seaford. The King Charles III England Coastal Path runs along the cliff tops.

All this coast, from Seaford to Eastbourne, is a migration hot spot for birds heading south out over the sea in the autumn, and for species arriving from the south in the spring. My photo shows one of the many Chiffchaffs that were feeding up in the bushes, prior to their migration journey.

The next landmark as we walk from Birling Gap towards Eastbourne is Belle Tout, a former lighthouse, now unique bed and breakfast accommodation (far too expensive for my budget, sadly). You might think that the lighthouse would be unsafe, considering how close it is to the erosion-prone cliff edge. Well, it was once even closer to that edge and, incredibly, was moved back 55 feet (17 metres). (There’s an excellent short video from the Institution of Civil Engineers on YouTube if you’re interested in learning and seeing more of this amazing engineering feat.) My memory of this area will now forever be linked to a special bird I found in the scrub you can see to the right of the lighthouse – blog to follow.

Between Belle Tout and Beachy Head is an extensive area of patchy scrub that is yet  another birding hot spot. As several had recently passed through this area, I was hoping to spot a Ring ouzel but had no luck during my two visits. The only bird of note was this late Wheatear.

Next, we climb up the hill to Beachy Head, at 531 feet (162 metres) the highest point along these cliffs, and off shore, at the base of the cliffs, is the Beachy Head light, which replaced Belle Tout as the fully functioning lighthouse to warn shipping of the rocks and dangerous waters off this coast.

On one of my visits to this area, I walked all the way back to my hotel in Eastbourne, a total for the day of around 8 and a half miles. I was sitting on a bench at the top of Beachy Head having my lunch when a large flock of birds flew over, heading east to west along the coast. I wasn’t sure which species they were but, fortunately, one of my local birding acquaintances, who does a lot of vismig (visual migration – watching, identifying, counting the birds as they move through), was able to identify these as Stock doves. The sight was a wonderful reminder of how special this area is for migrating birdlife.

Devil’s coach-horse beetle

21 Wednesday Oct 2026

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Though my visits to the Seven Sisters Country Park were aimed at finding and watching birds, on one occasion, when I was checking where I was about to place one foot, I spotted this little critter.

Appropriately enough, it’s a species of Rove beetle, roving around its patch. And I’m sure many of you will recognise it, from its all black colouring, the squarish shape of its body parts, the formidable-looking pincers, and the way it raised its rear end in a threatening gesture that makes it resemble a scorpion when it realised my foot was near by. That scorpion-like gesture is likely the reason for its association with the devil; the Buglife website has some information about the myths that surround this creature.

This is, of course, a Devil’s coach-horse beetle (Ocypus olens), a ferocious predator of other invertebrates and anything dead it might find in its travels. It may have been out hunting but it might also have been looking for a mate, as these beetles reproduce in the autumn. I took a few photos and stepped back, and the beetle headed off into the undergrowth.

Birds at Seven Sisters Country Park

20 Tuesday Oct 2026

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Many of the wonderful birds I was lucky enough to see during my two days at Seven Sister Country Park in East Sussex were quite distant, certainly too far away for anything more than record photographs. These are a few that I managed to get a little closer to, and there will be one more blog about a stunning pair of birds I saw on the last day of my trip that deserve a post of their own.

I only saw two Bar-tailed godwits, and the other was probing its way along a distant mud bank. Luckily, this one was nearer, and I was able to sneak up behind the cover of scrub and bramble bushes.

I heard the Curlews before I saw them, at least a dozen of them during my first visit but none at all on the second day.

Either I saw three Kestrels this day, or one Kestrel three times. I suspect it was the latter, and I was delighted to get wonderfully close views.

The park was teeming with both Meadow pipits and Skylarks, the sounds of their calls a constant accompaniment as I walked the paths.

The Skylarks were even song-flighting, something they usually do in the springtime to establish a territory and attract a mate. They were easily spooked though, so I only managed to grab one quick shot of this bird on the ground in the open.

The fields on the edge of Cuckmere Valley were alive with Rooks, poking about in the grass for whatever small invertebrates they could find.

Stonechats were also abundant. Whether these birds were resident or on passage, I’m not sure, but, as they’re one of my favourite birds, I was very glad to see them.

Seven Sisters Country Park revisited

19 Monday Oct 2026

Posted by in geology, parks, seaside, walks

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I’m sure even those of you who live in foreign places have heard of the white cliffs of Dover, the famous chalk cliffs that you see when you sail across the English Channel from France, the cliffs that have been immortalised in rhyme, prose and song lyrics, photographs and paintings. Well, forget them, because they are nowhere near as impressive as the Seven Sisters, the chalk cliffs that form part of the coastline between Eastbourne and Seaford, in East Sussex.

Yes, I’ve been away again, stayed for a week at a hotel in Eastbourne from where I explored, walking a lot of miles, mostly birding, the area along this coast.

It had been seven years since I’d last been to East Sussex; before Covid, I used to visit the area quite regularly as I had a friend who lived locally, but I hadn’t been there since those dark days of 2019-2020. And this is such a stunning location, one of my favourite places in Britain, that a return visit was definitely long overdue.

Today’s blog, then, doesn’t focus on one particular species of flora or fauna; it’s more about scene setting, about showing you some of the spectacular landscapes in this area.

First up is the Seven Sisters Country Park, an area of just under 700 acres (280 hectares) of grassland, the meandering Cuckmere River, saltmarsh, and those chalk cliffs that give the park its name – there are seven peaks or high points in the cliffs that undulate in an easterly direction from the Cuckmere to Birling Gap.

You can walk out to the sea from the roadside visitor centre on both sides of the Cuckmere River, alongside the river itself and along paths that hug the edges of the valley on both sides. I walked all these paths last week, twice, because each gives different views and, for me, the opportunity to see a wide range of birds, from the waders that prefer the watery channels to the ducks and geese that graze in the fields.

One of my visits was on a day of blue skies and bright sunshine and, as it was a Sunday, the park was very busy with both locals and tourists – not my favourite situation but I went early in the morning so avoided the worst of the crowds. My second visit was during the week, on a day of big scudding clouds and strong cool winds – common here, as you can tell from the sideways-leaning trees and stunted growth of some plants. Both days were glorious, reminding me that I really must visit this beautiful area more often.

A Beech mast year

18 Sunday Oct 2026

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During my recent walks, whenever I’ve strayed beneath Beech trees, the immediate crunching of shells beneath my feet has alerted to me to just how abundant Beech seeds are this autumn. And that’s a surprise, because 2025 was recorded as a mast year for both Oaks and Beeches.

I’m sure you know but, just in case you don’t, a mast year is when trees produce enormous numbers of seeds. In Britain, such years are particularly obvious in Oak and Beech, and scientists believe the trees developed this strategy as a way of counteracting the feeding habits of creatures like deer, squirrels and Jays, and rodents. By producing more than these creatures can eat every few years, there should, in theory, be enough seeds left to grow into new trees. As the production of such large quantities of seeds requires a huge amount of energy, trees usually go through irregular cycles, of 5 to 10 years, between these masting events. So, to see the Beeches having two mast years in succession seems highly unusual.

I felt like I was sliding rapidly down a rabbit hole when I began googling ‘what factors contribute to a Beech mast year’ but I did notice an interesting article on the Oxford Academic website about research done in Sweden in the early 2000s into ‘mast year frequency, mast crop size and the relationships between mast year and climatic variables’. Their analysis showed that

while the average mast year interval was 4–6 years from the end of the seventeenth century up to the 1960s, the mean interval has decreased to 2.5 years during the most recent 30 years, and there have been two consecutive mast years on two occasions during this later period. Mast years have often followed years in which the temperature in July and September was higher than the 30-year mean. However, there were significant variations in the amounts of beechnuts produced between different mast years, and beechnut production increased with increasing site index. Climatic changes, especially increases in temperature, may have been responsible for the higher frequency of mast years, but increased atmospheric nitrogen deposition may also have been a contributory factor.

And it seems that scientific research by the Department of Conservation in my New Zealand homeland, supports the theory that ‘Masts are triggered by a summer that is warmer than the previous one’. There, Beech mast years can create huge problems for the survival of New Zealand’s iconic native birds, because the populations of invasive non-native predators like rats increase dramatically through their consumption of Beech seeds, so the Department of Conservation tries to predict mast years in order to manage predator numbers.

I’m going to stop now before I disappear forever down that research rabbit hole. Two things seem clear – our changing climate is affecting our trees and, if each summer is hotter than the previous year, we may well see Beech mast years much more often.

Ivy bees, and friends

17 Saturday Oct 2026

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I simply can’t let the season pass without a mention of my favourite bee, the bee I find most attractive, and one of the easiest – for me, anyway – to recognise. This is, of course, the Ivy bee (Colletes hederae).

These bees are usually on the wing from early September through to November, though I think those dates can be affected somewhat by factors like the weather and the availability of their food source, Ivy pollen and nectar. And the male bees tend to emerge a couple of weeks earlier so they are ready to pounce on females as soon as they appear.

I had wondered what would happen if they emerge before the Ivy flowers are open but an article on the Sussex Wildlife Trust website explains that they will also take nectar from other flowers, though the females gather the pollen they deposit in their nest burrows for their larvae to feed on exclusively from Ivy.

As it is a relatively late flowering plant, Ivy is also popular with many other insects, and those shown here are just a tiny sampling of the many species of flies and hoverflies, bees and wasps, and butterflies like Red admiral that I’ve been seeing on our local Ivy this year.

Wood cauliflower

16 Friday Oct 2026

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Firstly, I want to admit that I didn’t discover this unusual fungus unaided. The previous night I was inputting that day’s finds in to the database of my local environmental records centre when I noticed another recorder had entered this find and, never having seen it myself, I took a note of the grid reference so that I was able to plot the site on a map. The location was a park in north Cardiff where I’d previously seen some nice autumn fungi so I decided to visit the following day.

This is Wood cauliflower (Sparassis crispa), named for its rather superficial resemblance to the vegetable of the same name, though cauliflowers are produced on the stalks of plants growing in soil and this fungus grows on the roots of conifers, particularly pines. Also, though the fruiting bodies are off-white when they first emerge, they quickly turn cream like the ones I saw, and eventually rot to a brown mush.

Fortunately for the tree, the fungus is not a killer; instead, it restricts its root damage sufficiently for the tree to continue producing timber for many years – a parasite that limits its appetite to protect its food source. My guidebook tells me these cauliflowers are produced annually between July and October, and a quick look at their distribution map on iRecord shows records from throughout the UK, presumably wherever conifers will grow.