Dragonflies and the Rat Man 25 October 2004
The Great pond is always lovely to be near on days when the weather is good. Today is a bright clear day, and the sun at times makes me almost too warm for comfort. These kind of days are a joy, all wildlife seems to be happy as well as me. The birds are very active and vocal, the insects are active too. A dragonfly passes me in the woods. Just then I hear the call of a moorhen from the pond as it echoes way back up to where I am in the woods. This excites me as I think of what could be happening and what wildlife is at the pond today. The pond sits in a hollow beyond the meadow ahead. On one side it is bordered by a sandy precipice just about fifteen foot high at the broadest point, and fading out at either end dropping down to the path that runs along the bottom. It is this small sandy cliff that adds to the echo of the sounds that come from the Great pond.
The path that runs down from the woods and into the meadow before reaching the pond is very muddy today, not so much from the wet weather, but more from the tractor ruts that lead from the Green path, round the pond and into the woods. There has been some tree work going on in the woods here, and the earth is churned in many a place, not only from the coming and going of the tractor that passes, but also from the heavy trunks and boughs that have hit the forest floor. Most of the forestry work done in these woods invariably disturbs the earth, turning up some of the bluebell bulbs. But this does not make me sad, I know that tree work has to be carried out in the woods, and the bluebells are a tenacious species, together with my help every so often, as I poke some back in with my finger before the bulb can photosynthesise and start go green. The tree work adds to the atmosphere of the woods in fact, creating a welcome change.
Arriving in my leisurely pace at the pond - for it is leisurely that I walk, being side-tracked often by many sights and thoughts, like a dog is side tracked by scents - I cross the wooden bridge a sit on the wall looking out. The bridge sits above where the water from the pond flows out into a brook that is lost to sight among the trees and herbage. The scene is not so green now as in summer but the sun’s brightness gives the pond an extra warmth, and frequently reflects off the wings of the dragonflies and the little flying insects, showing me their whereabouts. The wall catches the sun a lot, even on the cooler days of Autumn, and now and then a dragonfly will stop to bathe on the wall in the sun, landing and squatting as they have the habit of, so their wing tips touch the stone. Several yards away I look at another part of the wall, to see if any dragonflies are settling there, and also in the hope of seeing the odd
Common Lizard on this fine sunny day.
Absorbed in my close scrutiny of the wall through the lenses I feel a presence behind me on the path. I am surprised but not shocked, to look down and see a little scruffy dark grey dog, sniffing at my arm as it stands on the wall next to me. I stroke the little dog who gives me such a warm greeting, and turn around, expecting to see an old couple coming down the path. But I am surprised again, to see a young woman smiling as she approaches and apologises if the dog disturbs me. I hardly heard them coming from behind on the hard stony path, and so I am caught still in my calm state. The woman is in a chirpy, enthusiastic mood as she asks me what I have seen, looking to the spot where I had my binoculars. Before I can answer, she asks if it is the wagtails that live here. I say no and mention that I have seen the wagtails here before. She then tells me that there are also herons, a cormorant and kingfishers that come here, and does an impression of the kingfishers call upon my inquiry, that she says can sometimes be heard over the back of the pond. I mention to her in between her bursts of excitement on the birds she has seen here, that I have disturbed a heron here a while back. It is obvious to me that she is eager to end our chat and move on. As I still sit here, she edges further away from me, keeping track of the dog who has left my side, and then is well on her way down the path, not even returning my goodbye.
Now I am left on my own again at the pond, my thoughts return to the dragonflies that are chasing about and sunbathing. One alights on the wall right by me and reminds me of a day spent in East Sussex four years ago, where I had the pleasure of my first close encounter with dragonflies. This is how it all happened.
The sunlight was matching the degree of brightness of a Summer day, and as I descended from the top of Firle beacon the scent of Autumn ash trees came to me on approaching a plantation dividing two fields. The smell of the fallen leaves was good, exciting me to look forward to the season. I really wished to dawdle from this point on and look for other reminders of Autumn in the scene, but I decided to stick to my plan of a good eighteen mile walk round the Seven Sisters and back again to Firle, in order to help build up my fitness for following Summer.
The pathways of Lullington Heath were warm and sometimes sunny as I arrived there in the afternoon, and while on my way up to Friston forest I noticed the abundance of common darter dragonflies, or common sympetrum, as it is sometimes known. I had never seen so many before together in one spot as I had on that day. I noticed that as I moved through each patch of sunlight that had squeezed through the of trees and projected onto the open path in front of me, the darters would rise up from a sunny spot and move further on down the path. Even though I tried moving slowly along, they would take off before me here and there, to the point where I could not take more than two strides without one rising at my feet. Even the most out of tune walker could not have missed them, as they flew up and down the path. Remembering a week or so before, when I had a dragonfly land on the back of my hand an take off to settle on my shirt at times, I wondered how many weightless bodies would be attracted to me this time.
After the darters had settled in one spot, after my disturbance, from the side if the path I introduced myself and waited for the timid sun, not because it is true that dragonflies like the warmth of the sun, but because of the simple fact that it was easier to see where they were as the sun struck their wings and illuminated them on the wing and on the path. I saw a male sun bathing on a little exposure of white chalk that showed through the short turf. I then sat down on the path slowly next to him, much to his dislike as he rose and flew off, so I waited for him to fly back. This male darter, after coming back to land on my beige walking bag, was from then on indifferent to my presence. He would often rise up and hover at about six inches above the bag, as if looking for an appealing spot on which to settle. Presently he decided to fly off quick, but was back again before I could miss him, and in his jaws he brought a green coloured fly that he caught on the wing. He had decided he was going to dine on my bag. The sight of him eating the fly amazed and excited me, although it was a shame to see a beautiful, dull metallic green fly - one that I have never seen before - disappear between the jaws of the dragonfly. All that was left of the fly were a few legs.
By and by, more common darter dragonflies were attracted by the brightness of my bag and clothes as I sat there in the sun. It first started with one that decided to sit on the back of my hand. Others then came by and settled on my arms and trousers - sometimes up to five scattered about on me. I had three females resting on the back of my left hand, which was small compared to their large wings spans that touched my skin at the wing tips. No more could have fit on at that point. A lovely tingling feeling they caused, and I dared not move my hand. It was not long before I had dragonflies sitting on both of my hands, and I felt like a proud child, who had just achieved something very great. While watching one male darter on my bag, I noticed that the back edges of his wings seemed to be ragged and torn in places. I believe that this is what caused the buzzing sound he made as he hovered about me. These imperfections were also present in another male that sun bathed on my trousers at that time, and I rather think they were caused by old age and chasing battles, maybe even lucky escapes from swift flying martins.
As the day was slowly going by, I decided that I should make tracks if I were to get to the seven sisters and back before it got too dark. Lifting myself up from sitting on the path, the dragonflies scattered and were gone... Continuted soon.
By Woodlandguy
Linear Mode
