OK, this shoveller drake’s plumage isn’t specifically autumnal. Like the brightly-coloured males of many birds, shoveller drakes do adopt a subdued eclipse plumage at the end of the breeding season. But, earlier this month, this one was as eye-catching as ever. To compensate, it spent most of the time with its tail pointing straight at me.
Conical brittlecaps: probably the mushrooms I notice most frequently growing on the wood chip mulch spread under bushes in parks and other spots managed by councils. Presumably the mulch is put down to suppress weeds, but quite often brings a range of fungi.
I don’t remember ever seeing one of the West Park tufted ducks out of the water before. But this drake was standing on a fallen bough, preening. He made a final inspection of some of his wing feathers, stood up and fluttered his wings, then slid back into the water.
Behind was a shoveller drake. More pictures of him soon.
Yet another inkcap species: pleated inkcaps. Delicate-looking and tiny, they can be quite hard to spot in short grass, and they don’t form the tight clusters of some inkcap species.
Until recently they were called little Japanese umbrellas in field guides. I’m all in favour of changing ordinary names of species when these names are racist or sexist. But I struggle to see what derogatory meaning was hidden in the old name. Nor am I much taken with its replacement. Many inkcap species have caps which appear pleated.
Heron resting high on a weeping willow on the island in West Park lake. Look carefully, and you may be able to spot the heron in the picture of the liquidambar in a post yesterday.
Another inkcap species, this time some glistening inkcaps. The glistening comes on some newly emerged ones, which are covered in white flecks – the remains of veils which protected them as they were forcing their way up through the soil.
These had all been around for some time, and had begun to deliquesce. The grouping together in tight clusters is normal.