Buses!! The sequence of events described here could hardly have been foreseen. Being a bird recorded mostly by sea watchers, the opportunity to observe the first of these Little Auks settled within an inland southern English harbour seemed too good to miss. But for three and a half hours that was as frustrating a twitch as I can ever recall undertaking. I couldn’t have imagined just how difficult the record would be to convert.

The smallest of the Auks are abundant on high Arctic breeding grounds and migrate south past British and north European coasts in late autumn. My only previous attempt nationally was at Abberton Reservoir in Essex two years ago. On that occasion, having failed to find it earlier in the day I chose to engage with the wrong set of birders on returning later in the afternoon. Enquiring of the other ones as they left, they had picked it out at great distance though a mere speck. Despite having self-found my own first sighting anywhere in Oslo earlier that November, the Essex occasion has rankled ever since as a badly managed one.

Hence on rising today I set off on a frequent route to a favoured county. The Little Auk in question had been present for seven days, and at a journey break en-route at Ringwood I checked RBA to confirm it was still there. Parking beside Weymouth Harbour (SY 676787) around 9:30am I was soon directed by other birders to where my quest had last been seen, and that was where the frustration began. Dozens of twitchers were milling around, but it was plain nobody had any real idea where the bird might be.

Amongst the hairy, blokey and variously grizzled crowd I soon ran into Ewan, who had travelled down with another friend and met up with several other hard-core twitching pals. Such was the interest this atypical location must have aroused, since I thought many of those present would be no strangers to the species itself. This (pictured above) was the issue: the inner “harbour” is a marina filled with rows of many moored yachts and other craft, and Little Auks typically make long dives under water for such a small bird. This one might also have been concerned to keep out of sight from predatory gulls.

As birders walked round and round the site and phoned their mates, word would go out from time to time of a sighting here or there. At one point we legged it at pace from one end of the harbour to the other, and the quite tiring outcome was always the same: no sign of the Auk on getting there. All this continued for three and a half hours that I can’t say were enjoyable. But I was there and so would have to stick with things for as long and whatever it took to avoid a second failure.

In the early afternoon Ewan’s group, having at least had sightings earlier, went to try for a reported Pallas’s Warbler a few miles to the north of Weymouth. I opted to stick with my required British list addition and in the event didn’t have to wait much longer. The latest birder to claim a sighting was holding forth at the same location below a slipway as some of the earlier ones; and I myself soon saw the Little Auk surface, swim briefly on, then dive again not to reappear. That was as much as anyone else had observed previously by my estimation, and a huge wave of relief swept through me that this was not to be a futile exercise and I had at least and at last ticked this thing for Blighty.

Thereafter it was more of the same for another 45 minutes or so. I was exhausted, my legs ached and by now a bitterly cold wind was singing a little eerily through the metalwork of all the moored boats. Some time before 2pm I decided to call it a day and headed back toward my parked car on the far side of the town bridge at the southern end of the marina. Never having been into Weymouth’s picturesque outer harbour area I decided to look around and there someone told me the Little Auk was now just a bit further downstream.

Indeed my quest was floating on the water’s surface (pictured above) amongst piling that supported a raised quay on the other side of the River Wey, and I watched it for some time. This was the location where Ewan and others had seen and taken pictures of the bird in the morning some 30 minutes ahead of my own arrival. The change of location had been put out on RBA and the remaining birders from the inner harbour soon joined me.

The RBA gallery of this bird perhaps suggests things might have been a lot simpler than they actually were (see here). With my eventual prolonged connection the day’s prior frustration and exhaustion became transformed into the sense of, this time around muted satisfaction the warm glow of a successful twitch produces. I had gained my 372nd British bird and 12th list addition of the year, and that outcome was all that mattered.

Nine days later on 30th it was a surprise to every local birder in Oxfordshire when at just before 2pm another Little Auk (pictured above) was reported on the River Thames at Pinkhill Lock (SP 440070) just to the north-west of Farmoor Reservoir. That was from an unknown observer in a neighbouring county’s Facebook group, and I was not alone in suspecting this might be a hoax. An appeal went out from our own admin for any willing Farmoor regular who might be in the vicinity to confirm the sighting. That took around 30 minutes, producing one of those “Get Out The Door” moments.

Arriving on site within an hour of news breaking I joined various of Oxon’s finest lined up along the Thames towpath watching and taking pictures of what seemed a ridiculously confiding individual. Any Little Auk found this far inland is most likely to be approaching if not already in a moribund state, and the consensus was this one too was not in fine fettle. The bird seemed disoriented in it’s behaviour, was not feeding and its wings appeared to be soiled. But it was a county list addition for every one of us.

The county recorder later advised there had been 19 previous records since 1950, of which 11 were dead or dying, and four more were taken into care. Only two known current Oxon birders had ever actually set eyes upon the remainder. Nobody realistically expected this latest one to survive the night but at first light in the morning it was re-found, so I went back for another look and to see how it might be.

The scene was much the same as the previous afternoon but now things had clearly turned into a national twitch, though not on the scale of that in Weymouth. The bird to me looked a bit perkier as it swam along the river’s edge right up against rows of multi-framing cameras. But it was still not diving to feed and kept rising up in the water to flap it’s wings as if to shake off whatever was tainting them.

All my own pictures herein were taken at this point. Then two members of a seabird research group at Oxford University intervened to ask if anyone objected to them catching the bird to assess and return it to the coast. Nobody did of course since it was the lost waif’s best chance of survival. An angler’s net on a long pole had been procured for the purpose but the task was not going to be easy. The would be rescuer had plenty of advice and “assistance” that succeeded in driving the Auk further out into the river.

When it eventually drew alongside a pontoon on the far side he was able to cross the lock gate with his net, and catch the ailing Little Auk unhindered. Upon examining it (see here) this clearly expert researcher said it did not appear to be in too bad a condition before taking it away and into care. In the afternoon the bird was returned to the coast, being released at dusk near Bridgewater Bay NNR, Somerset. All those present over the two days will wish the so nearly wrecked but rather resilient guest in our midst a safe and full recovery. It will very likely be Oxfordshire’s most significant bird record of the year.

Well there I was, strolling along minding my own business … no, don’t go there! When so many mushrooms look so similar it has seemed sensible as a beginner to pick out just a few more distinctive items to ramble on and scribble about in this debut autumn season. The Wrinkled Peach (Rhodotus palmatus) is such a fungus, being both a European scarcity and suggested as a strong contender for the title “Britain’s most beautiful” by the First Nature website I have referred to much in the past six weeks. So over five more days I have tracked a located group in the same way as for those earlier Inkcaps and Amanitae.

It all began on Saturday (13th) when an Oxon birder alerted me to an easily viewable item within the gravel pit complex at Standlake Common (SP385020) in the west of our county. My more regular birding colleague Ewan had asked in the morning if I was going out mushroom hunting, so I passed the information on together with a picture of the same species another friend had taken elsewhere. Though he had never heard of this particular rarity it appeared Ewan was instantly smitten, and we agreed to meet on site at 2pm. Well he can’t after all have a Varied Thrush (see here) every day!

Most Wrinkled Peach records in the British Isles are from southern England where this fungus prefers low-lying, rotting hardwood in shady locations. Its scarcity is due to a predominant association with Elm, that in Europe has mostly been removed over the last 60 years due to the ongoing blight of Dutch Elm Disease. Young regenerated growth from tainted root stock soon succumbs itself to be cleared over again, but at this site there appears to be an abundance of fallen or still standing, dying or dead trees that the specialist mushroom can colonise.

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In attempting to follow the directions I had received, our quest proved far from simple to convert. First we located what looked like a very small Oyster-type mushroom and then a second as insignificant fungus, low down to one side of the path we trod. Upon close inspection the latter indeed revealed the pale orange tone of a Wrinkled Peach, but its cap was only 2 cm in diameter … surely the birder hadn’t sent us here to see this. We searched on up and down the path without success before deciding to settle for what was a rather underwhelming outcome. But fate was yet to smile upon us as walking back to the village I noticed five good sized and one small specimen on another fallen Elm.

My companion described this moment as producing the same adrenalin buzz he feels on connecting with the most mega rare birds on hard-core twitches to remote outposts of the British Isles. I was just pleased to get down on my hands and knees, as is my wont to crawl about and record the latest addition to the many fungi I have observed this autumn. In this cluster the specimen in the top row (below) was the most diagnostic, displaying both the salmon-orange tone and network of interconnected ridges that gives the mushroom its name. The surface colour varies depending on the lighting conditions each individual experiences during its development.

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On my third visit here I was most concerned to track the progress of what I dubbed the “bright little peach” (above left). In the sequence (below top row) it had grown slightly and the guttation on the stem was very apparent. But a day later I was told the little gem had been dislodged from it’s host bough, possibly by a bird or squirrel, and so that was an end of things. On 17th the first specimen (#1) found on day one had also disappeared.

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By this fifth day of my study period the group of six from day one were also looking more peachy in tone (above, second row). Something else that seemed really noticeable throughout my interest in the group were how, unlike most of the mushrooms I have featured recently, this tough-skinned one does not seem to be attacked by maggots, slugs and all manner of other munchers.

And with that final observation I shall now stroll, or ramble on.

Continuing with the Amanita theme of this journal’s autumn fungi content, The Blusher of the previous post has a number of quite similar, commonly occurring relatives of which we located two today. For foragers some care is required in distinguishing between the group, since those featured herein are not exactly good to eat, and for myself comparing all three has provided a further valuable mycology lesson.

Panther Cap (Amanita pantherina – pictured above) has a quite variably-toned, ochre-brown cap covered in pure white “universal veil fragments”, a mycological term referring to the membranous veil that encloses new fruits when they first emerge. As the fruit body grows and evolves in shape part of that veil turns into the pale cap warts exhibited by all the Amanitae I have featured so far. The remainder accumulates around the slightly swollen stem base as in the right hand specimen in the lead picture, just above which are two concentric rings known as a “volva”.

The 5 – 12 cm cap is once again domed at first but may flatten as the fruit matures. The stem ranges from 6 – 12cm in height and the gills are white. The left hand specimen in the picture above has a well developed upper stem collar that itself forms from the remnants of a second “partial veil” that covers the gills of immature fruits. A quite scarce mushroom in the British Isles, this Amanita grows in association with Beech as at today’s site, Oak or less often other hardwood trees. It is poisonous, containing toxins similar to those in the Fly Agaric (Amanita muscaria – see here).

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Grey Spotted Amanita (Amanita excelsa) is said to be rather more common than Panther Cap, but today we found just one small clump compared to two sprawling groups of the latter. The fallen fruits in the pictures below were already in very poor condition and needed to be propped up to capture the images, but I believe they show enough to clinch the ID. In this species the universal veil fragments are described as being grey, compared to the purer white of A pantherina, so unless the pictured specimens are infested with a white mould I believe they are diagnostic enough to clinch the ID. As always I am open to experienced guidance if I am wrong.

This Amanita grows in association with both hardwood and softwood trees and is often most abundant near the edge of mixed woodland where it fruits between July and November. The 8 – 15cm diameter, brown or grey-brown cap is initially domed, becoming almost flat or occasionally slightly concave at maturity. The stem, from 8 – 12cm long and 1.5 – 2.5cm in diameter, shares the swollen base of A pantherina but not the latter’s diagnostic volva.

Grey Spotted Amanita (all pictures)

Out of all British and European mushrooms and toadstools, the Amanitae are possibly some of the most recognizable and stately, and so a fitting genera with which to progress from my initial fascination with Magpie and Shaggy Inkcaps. There are 50 members of the former, of which about 15 may be considered widespread. For a guide to separating the entire genus see here.

I returned to this same site a day later to attempt to locate more of the two species featured above, but without success. Wherever I trod, apart from the ubiquitous and bland Russet Toughshanks, Butter Caps and declining Clouded Funnels, I seemed to find mostly the ruined states of various other mostly unidentifiable mushrooms. Concluding that this autumn’s fungi season must now have peaked, I resolved to if possible keeps things going for another week then settle down to the mid-winter project that making further sense out of all this could become.

To that end I have now invested in a copy of the most excellent reference book pictured above. In working through and attempting to ID the many fungi images I have collected in the field over the past six weeks, it became clear that only a field guide illustrating all of the forms through each fruiting body’s cycle could be considered adequate. That seemed like a monumental task, I wondered if such a work existed and indeed it does. As first published in it’s present format by Macmillan in 2006, this volume represented the culmination of 30 years work by the now 89-year old author Roger Philips, assisted by other leading British mycology authorities.

In that time some 35,000 specimens of 1250 species were collected and photographed under studio conditions, as exemplified by the pages illustrating Russet Toughshank and Butter Cap (above right). By comparison, photographic field guides as with birds, insects or other wildlife typically contain just one or two representations of each species that so often may be difficult to match to actual observations in the field. This book also uses common, not just Latin names and is written to present a simple and concise rather than learned level of detail. So to any other newly enthused fungi freak such as myself I would strongly recommend buying it (see here).

Another mushroom I have wished to experience in my debut fungi season is the perhaps rather quaintly named Blusher (Amanita rubescens). A member of the same genus as the previously featured Fly Agaric (A muscaria – see here), this post’s lead exhibits the same progression of shapes through it’s fruiting cycle and the multiple white warts that may be washed off by heavy rain. The Blusher’s cap colouration may actually be highly variable from near-white through various shades of pink and brown to almost black. What all forms share in common is that when damaged, bruised or cut the flesh turns deep pink or dull red, hence the colloquial name.

In my newest wildlife interest, as with birds and insects I need progression and to evolve. So having so far this autumn covered several Oxon sites I ventured just across the county border to Oakley Wood (SP612118) in search of things new and different. Having visited this part of the Bernwood Forest complex previously and quite regularly for high summer butterflies, it now felt good to be there again at a later time of year with evolved purpose. Most of the spaced out Blusher clump I located then re-found over these two days were caramel pudding-toned (pictured above and below), though some were pinker.

This mushroom is common and widespread for those who know where to look throughout the British Isles and mainland Europe. They are most abundant in Oak, Pine and other coniferous woodlands where they occur in small groups more often than singly. Blusher stems are usually between 7 and 15cm tall and caps range from 5 – 20 cm in diameter. From June to October is their main season, though in mild weather they may continue as late as December. The Amanita genus contains similar species some of which are toxic, but this one can always be singled out by its trait of bruising and staining reddish if scratched.

On Friday (5th) the larger fruits in the lead picture had fallen, so removing them I set about recording each individual and clump in the entire group (pictured below). It may now be possible to detect where I have been in any woodland by the gardened around picture subjects that might be found here and there. The images in this post capture the complete fruiting cycle of The Blusher, such as I have presented previously for Magpie and Shaggy Inkcap, Fly Agaric and other mushrooms.

In the continued absence of foreign travel, mushroom hunting has been a quite welcome substitute with which to bridge the transition into another detested dark season. In just the same way as during my past lone wanderings in southern Portugal, the south of France and Morocco I am getting out into wild places to enjoy total communion with the subjects of the pictorial records I collect. Having recorded every English dragonfly and damselfly and all bar two butterflies, fungi has become a fascinating and wonderfully occupying new wildlife group with which to get better acquainted.