In calendar terms, Spring is here at last…not that the dismal rain of recent days encourages much in the way of exploration. But in gaps between the showers, every day is moving Nature’s calendar on a notch or two. The first Sand Martins and Swallows have been seen flying through, while Chiffchaffs are coaxed into song at every hint of sunshine and warmth. Buds are bursting before our eyes, vibrant new greens brightening up the greyscape, as violets reveal their welcome intensity underfoot. And not just colour, but also scent, at least with some species. Best of all is the Sweet Violet, bearing a fragrance so intense it can anaesthetise our scent receptors: time then to revert to other identification characters. The picture below may not be a classic portrait, but it does show clearly the bluntly rounded sepals and stems with copious deflexed hairs, features that confirm the species’ identity.

However it is water which defines WildWivenhoe at the moment. Rain, snowmelt, and high tides have conspired to turn most walks into a mudbath. Around Ferry Marsh water levels are especially high, and indeed have been for most of the winter, because of a blocked sluice. Concerns have been raised about this, particularly as a result of footpaths being impassable and also potential effects on our best local population of Water Voles; as a result the Environment Agency is due to deploy pumps in the next few days to try and shed the surplus water.

But, at least from the wildlife perspective, does the flooding really matter? I tend to think not. The clue is in the site’s name: Ferry Marsh…not Ferry Meadows-with-a-few-wet-ditches. Marshes are meant to be at least periodically wet: this encourages wetland wildlife and helps to maintain wetland habitats. Water Voles are quite happy living away from water, at least temporarily, so the only real risk to them is if they are concentrated in particular parts of the site, and then become vulnerable to predation. Water birds are certainly making most of the water, with feeding Little Egret (surprisingly scarce in these parts since the February freeze) and displaying groups of Teal, both on the marsh and the river, taking advantage not only of the expanded habitat but also the lack of disturbance from humans and dogs.

A serious inundation will also do great things for the marshland habitat. One of the greatest problems marshes suffer from is the invasion by trees and other weeds (a weed being any plant which is growing in the wrong place) when the ‘marsh’ is dry: once they get a roothold, they can then dry the marsh out further and exacerbate the problem. A good drowning will help to kill them, and return the marsh to its wetland state. Hopefully, once the reserve becomes accessible once again, the flood will have set the ecological clock back to a time when our valued marshland wildlife is even more at home.

Down at the river, Black-tailed Godwits are now as numerous as they have been all winter, and occasional flurries of chickering calls signify the progress of the season towards breeding: the short nesting window for Icelandic birds especially means that the business of pair-formation and bonding is best done on their way north. Although still in the minority, a few birds have already assumed breeding dress, a glorious russet which positively glows in the Spring sun. Over Wivenhoe Wood, a Buzzard circles, calling, and begins to flap deeply but languidly, a sure sign that it has territorial intent below. Such a welcome sound and sight, especially for those of us (and that’s everyone over 20) brought up during the nadir of buzzard-dom in the Eastern Counties that was the 20th Century, effectively eradicated by so-called ‘sporting’ interests and their pathological inability to tolerate any competition.

At our feet, the first flowers are now springing up. Always ready to brighten even a dull day, Red Dead-nettles are awaiting the attentions of early-emerging insects: look out now in any sunny spell for Bee-flies and Hairy-footed Flower-bees. And the hedges are starting to turn: although Cherry-plum has been flowering for a few weeks, its native, close relative Blackthorn has quietly been swelling its buds, tantalising with a hint of white petal, until today when the first flowers are fully open.

March is also the month to search out one of our most familiar plants. Not common around Wivenhoe, although there are a few in gardens and on a couple of trees in the King George field, Mistletoe is surely known by everybody, but how many have seen the flowers? Female flowers in particular are very small; the slightly larger males, borne on different plants, produce pollen directly on the surface of the ‘petals’ rather than as most plants do on stamens. Either way, the open flowers en-masse give the plants a golden glow, as characteristic of March as the white berries are of December.

Talking of which, the berries are now gone, devoured by thrushes and other birds. But Mistletoe has a trick up its sleeve: the berries are extremely sticky (hence its scientific name Viscum). In wiping their beaks on tree branches to remove the stickiness, birds may inadvertently adhere a seed to the tree bark…just where it needs to be to germinate and start a new plant. Look around any Mistletoe you find now, and you may see the branches of the host tree, and indeed its own stems and leaves, with sown seeds, and even some producing their first root. Life as parasite can be tenuous, but Evolution has produced the answers!

Normal service is restored! After a week of deep snow and fearsome Siberian winds, Spring is once again proceeding apace. Just three days of above-freezing temperatures and the ‘Beast from the East’ is but a distant memory, except of course for the birds needing to make up for condition they lost when their food was frozen up. And while catching up they are still vulnerable – a decapitated Snipe on Lower Lodge, probably a Peregrine kill, was testament to that.

Snow melt has replenished the springs along the valley slopes of the Colne, perhaps even over-replenished them. Pools and rivulets have appeared in unexpected places, but already the Frogs have found them. Whether these temporary spates will last long enough to see the tadpoles complete their development remains to be seen.

The woodland floor, before the snow with barely a green shoot, is transformed with the new emerald-shot leaves of sprouting Cow Parsley, seeking the light in the brief window before the tree leaf canopy closes. Already leaf buds are bursting, Hazel starting to unfurl as the female flowers fade, whether through frosting or fertilisation, while the flower buds of Willow reveal the silky catkins, soon to become a magnet for early-emerging insects. And shining like a beacon, a clump of Orange Brain Fungus speaks of the rich array of colours coming to our woodland vista over the next few weeks….

Down on the river, water birds have been struggling with the Beast from the East: when mudflats freeze, their food is ice-bound. And as bad, if not worse, the severe wind chill means they must feed as much as possible, wherever possible, so that they turn up in strange places. Although the freeze is now lifting, the parameters remain altered for now.

Avocets are frequently seen over Wivenhoe river frontage, and feeding both downriver and upriver. But rarely see them feeding off West Quay, like this one today. Also numerous Black-tailed Godwits, where there have been fewer than usual this winter; Grey and Ringed Plovers, normally most numerous in the outer estuary; and a single Spotted Redshank – one of the few winterers, or an early spring migrant?

Maybe it wasn’t quite as severe (yet?) as some of the forecasts, but the Beast from the East arrived on cue, blanketing us in a few centimetres of snow overnight, with heavy flurries on and off through the day, all accompanied by penetratingly cold winds. A landscape transformed, and a soundscape too, familiar sounds muffled or absent, Mother Earth hunkered down under her duvet.

Surely Spring is on hold too? Not at all: now we are nearly in March the afternoon sun carries quite some heat, and when sheltered from the chill Siberian wind, is enough to melt the snow, revealing the flowers of Alder. Male catkins, wafting their pollen into the breeze, have been strutting their stuff for a couple of weeks now, while the insignificant receptive females are just emerging, the pollen ultimately to transform them into next winter’s food for Siskins and Redpolls.

And then twenty-four hours on, more snow overnight has continued the transformation: the view from our eyrie in Wivenhoe Shipyard is nothing short of magical.

As the meteorologists’ Spring approaches, we head out to Villa Wood, part of the Cockaynes Wood Reserve, at first light, feet crunching icy puddles. Sunrise now before 7AM: as soon as it rises high enough to penetrate the trees and illuminate the interior, the stark beauty of a bare woodland unfolds before us.

Paradoxically perhaps, one of the defining features of a good, living woodland is death, dead wood being recycled by the actions of innumerable decay organisms, from wood-boring beetles to fungi and bacteria. And Villa Wood has dead wood in abundance, together with the decayers. Perennial fungi, King Alfred’s Cakes and Turkey-tail for example, are always to be found, but one of its real specialities appears, and dramatically so, only in early Spring – Scarlet Elf-cup.

Each time I spot it, I get that thrill of incongruity, the splash of vivid red against a backdrop of muted brown leaf-mould. And remember the time, now thirty years ago, I first spied it here, then the only known site in north-east Essex. I had been invited in by the gravel company to give my thoughts on what they might do for wildlife…once they had destroyed (quite legally) most of the ancient woodland. Well, at least the pits are now managed for wildlife, Villa Wood still features the delightful meandering course of Sixpenny Brook, and has its complement of Elf-cups, seemingly increasing year on year. What I didn’t notice all those years ago was the bark of trees becoming covered in orange, a terrestrial alga called Trentepohlia: such sights are becoming ever more familiar as the climate changes before our eyes.

Down by the Brook, flower buds on the carpets of Golden-saxifrage have still to burst, but the first Lesser Celandines have made it, while Hazels in the understorey and Elms in the hedges are in profuse flower.

We expect the Golden-saxifrage to be at its best in mid-March, a couple of weeks time….unless the  forecast fury of the ‘Beast from the East’ ushers in Spring with a blanket of snow. For our birds then, it is good to see the Ivy berries now ripe. Flowering late and so fruiting late, Ivy berries are one of the few remaining natural food sources available at this time of year: a plant to celebrate, not destroy, and one which can only grow in importance as our climate tumbles into human-driven chaos.

No pretence at searching for Signs of Spring on today’s walk, just revelling in the fleeting splendour of the here-and-now on Barrier Marsh. A very cold night, the ground frozen hard, but the air starting to warm. Frost turning to drips on the Tamarisk, and mist trapped in an inversion layer, its base almost solid just above our heads.

The marsh itself looking in super condition. Surface water splashes, iced over today, will hopefully remain for a month or two yet. When the Garganey start to move through from Africa, this is where they might well pitch down for a few days. Or even longer, mingling with the breeding Redshank and Lapwing…we can but dream. But the improved management on the marsh, retaining water where and when it is needed, rather than its lifeblood draining out with the tide, give hope that such dreams one day could become reality…

They say the camera never lies. But it doesn’t always tell the whole truth….
Today’s pictures might seem to be firmly rooted in the Colne winter, with big, cold skies, waders and ducks, and frost. Real frost on buttercup leaves, and lichens frosting the branches of Blackthorn, as yet not festooned with flowers.

But aside from the purely visual, Spring was in the air this morning. Curlews now bubbling more than whelping; pairing Shelducks, their pas-de-deux accompanied by gentle, companionable quacking; Skylarks and Reed Buntings in full song. Polar opposites on the vocal spectrum, both are gold medallists, Skylarks for freestyle flamboyance, Reed Buntings for metronomic precision.

First light on Barrier Marsh: ideal conditions to see its structure and interpret its history. Thrown into relief by the low sunrays, and contrast enhanced by light frosting, thousands of ant-hills in the central section spoke of long, undisturbed development, whereas either end has clearly been levelled, and in part ploughed in the past. The ants are reclaiming the flatlands, but to build a big anthill takes many decades.

Still in the grip of frosty mornings, into Wivenhoe Wood we ventured. From frozen earth and crystal-clad grass to slithery mud – good Essex mud – despite the lack of foliage, the mere presence of trees sufficient to create an insulating blanket over the ground. And good for the Moles, needing to feed on earthworms through the winter and therefore seeking out ground less prone to freezing.

Two of the earliest promises of spring, buds of Honeysuckle and Bluebells spearing the leaf-mould, have been evident since before the Solstice, but now their pregnant swelling is bursting forth. And Holly Leaf-miners are resuming their internal munching, protected from the cold still further within the tough coat of Holly leaf. Thus insulated from the vagaries of the climate, the grubs will be an abundant, reliable, and well-signposted food for Blue Tit chicks in a couple of months’ time.

A Great Spotted Woodpecker drummed loudly in the still air, and a noisy party of five Siskins demolished their way through the seed-filled cones of an Alder. But most striking of all, almost luminescent in vivid orange against a backdrop of earthen browns, patches of Golden Jelly-fungus growing out of dead twigs, like a beacon….

After the very spring-like weekend, it was almost inevitable that winter would show its teeth again. Snow yesterday, but today deep, penetrating frost, producing a magical landscape for those of us out and about just after sunrise.

Whether a shimmering cloak on the ground or the filigree fingers of frost entwining and embracing the dormant vegetation, such mornings are a delight  and inspiration for any photographer.

And never despair, the signs of spring are still there. Birdsong, triggered more by day length than temperature, is swelling by the day. Around Ferry Marsh, Great Tits and Dunnocks really going for it, to a backdrop of distant Skylark, and our newest resident a Cetti’s Warbler exclaiming his almost angry song, unseen, deep in the scrubby reeds. But a second bird, silent save for a guttural croak, moving through the hedge-line, and showing itself surprisingly well: could that have been a female, searching for a nest site?

The signs are there! Buds swelling, the first flowers bursting, and insects emerging…while we may still be plunged into the depths of cold, all it takes is a little bit of sun to stir Spring into life.

Along Cutthroat Lane today, the Butcher’s Broom flowers – small, unassuming, but beautiful – are bursting from their buds in the centres of the sharply pointed ‘leaves’; while the berries from the class of 2017 shine bright even in the deepest shade.

Although not everything red and shiny is part of the plant: Seven Spot Ladybirds are emerging from their winter torpor to take up their task of making inroads into aphid populations.

The first Red Dead-nettles are flowering, a favourite source of food for the first bumblebees..

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…while on Barrier Marsh, damp hollows are filling up with the newly-germinated rosettes of the annual Hairy Buttercup.

An escape from cultivation, Greater Periwinkle is starting to flower in hedgebanks now. Often mistaken for its smaller relative the Lesser Periwinkle, to separate them look for the fringe of hairs round the edge of Greater’s leaves…

Meanwhile, Gorse is blooming as it always is (‘When Gorse is in flower, kissing’s in season’), although the sun’s heat isn’t yet sufficient to release the coconut fragrance. But they do look lovely, especially mingled with the hairy, almost singed-looking buds.

And Hazel, tantalising with its promise of Spring since before Christmas, is still going strong, the dangling male catkins releasing pollen, while the tiny red female flowers await their fate on the wind.