Doyen of Gower photographers.

I’ve known Harold Grenfell for very many years, and for all this time, he’s been THE Gower photographer.  Gower through and through, he’s been photographing since an early age, and although his interest takes him outside Gower to other parts of the UK, by far the majority of his work has concentrated on local subjects.  His early shots of birds and other natural history subjects soon gained him a fellowship of the Royal Photographic Society, with work comparable to the greats of British natural history photographers such as Eric Hosking. For decades, acting as the official photographer of The Gower Society, he has amassed a collection of thousands of wonderful images of life on the peninsular - a treasure trove of history, hidden away in his house overlook the sea in Mumbles.

His photographs of birds and insects in flight are a marvel. With the advent of new digital technology, it is now very much easier to take a ‘good’ photograph, and with a decent camera, most people can obtain a satisfactory picture. However there remains something very special about a moody, artistic, black and white shot produced by a master such as Harold, who innately catches the spirit and magic of Gower in his work, expressing his love and feeling for this special place.  He continues to do so in this modern colourful, digital age and remains to most, the doyen of Gower photographers. 

Magic Carpet

It’s that time of year again when we look for the first signs of spring. Climate change has clearly upset the balance of nature in recent years, and spring arrives a little earlier each year now.  Although there’ve been a few crocuses out under some trees on the village green, and daffodils are beginning to shoot up, for me it’s the snowdrops that herald the true promise of spring.

There are a few dotted around in gardens and under hedgerows, but to get my annual fix, I always head for a secluded patch of ground tucked away between the graveyard at St Andrew’s Church in the old village of Penrice, and Church Cottage.

A gentle breeze sways a small clump of these so delicate little flowers near the hedge, but the white carpet almost covering the small wall-sheltered piece of land is perfectly still and stunningly beautiful. Climbing over the ancient limestone styIe, I need to tread carefully to avoid standing on these marvels of nature. I retreat, realising that it’s best to stay by the wall to enjoy one of Gower’s little secrets, and remember one special year when they flowered with snow on the ground.

They won’t last long, and I’ll visit again in a few days time, but in all the years I’ve been coming here, I’ve never bumped into anyone else looking over the wall at this magic white carpet.

Wood Carvings

Early February is the time siskins appear at our garden feeders.  It’s a bit hit and miss, but a couple have arrived  and taken up residence.  Like goldfinches they sit quite still, taking the niger seeds and adding to the untidy mess on the grass below.  The BTO’s Garden BirdWatch tells us that they peak in gardens from now until early April, when food is scarce in woodlands.

I learn that a friend’s garden is awash with them.  Inspired, I head for Millwood in the centre of Gower. Elegant wood carvings decorate the gated entrance to a mix of larch, pine, spruce and native trees, that was once a part of the Penrice Estate and is now managed as amenity woodland by the Forestry Commission.  With a vague hope of otters and kingfishers, I walk along the stream past the old restored trout hatchery, but am content with a motionless grey heron.  A favourite log under the alders is the place to peer up and watch siskins. Twenty or more are busy amongst the cones in the very top branches, and I’m reminded of aching necks in the USA looking for warblers. There’s less chance of finding redpolls, but they do winter here.

 The circular walk from here can be long or short; I opt for exercise.  This is where the redwings are hiding; probably a hundred or more deep in the foliage, stripping away at the abundant crop of ivy berries. Blackbirds abound and encouraging numbers of song thrushes are here too, no doubt a legacy of the influx during the bad weather.

Apart from robins, occasional blue tits, coal tits and scalding wrens, silence is my only companion on parts of the walk as the birds flock and move as one through the woodland.  I find no redpolls, but the glimpse of a fox amongst the trees compensates.  Nature is always unpredictable.

Early Birds

It’s typically grey outside, some would say depressingly so, but the Brits can always find something to be happy about.  Is it temperature, lengthening days, or time of year that stimulates birds to begin singing in early spring?  Maybe it’s a combination of all of these, but as the temperature returns to normal and nightfall gets gradually later, a blackbird and song thrush have joined the ever present singing robin in the garden over the last few days.  The frogs too are in full song, especially after dark and the pond is writhing with activity; it should be full of frogspawn in the next few days.

Away from the garden, I hear great tits and dunnocks; not many, but more than the odd snatch of song.  Coal tits with their bright uplifting calls are starting too, and the song of ever present wrens appears to be getting louder by the day.  Mistle thrushes are early nesters and have been vocal for some time and the noisy rooks are settling in across the road.

Reports are beginning to emerge of early nests; a collared dove sitting on eggs in ivy-covered hawthorn, and house sparrows carrying feathers into a hole under the eaves of a house.  There are worrying signs that many British birds are nesting earlier each year, probably another indication of climate change.  Analysis of nest record cards collected over many decades by the British Trust for Ornithology has shown that for example, robins and chaffinches are laying eggs a week earlier than in the 1960’s, and others such as blue tits, great tits and swallows are showing similar patterns.

We are promised good weather, but winter could return in a flash and all this early activity could be in vain.  These early birds could be fooled and wasting their time.

Foggy Amphitheatre

On days like this when the cloud reaches the ground, and mist rolls in from the sea, I can hardly make out the fence at the bottom of the garden. There are birds on the feeders, but I need binoculars to see that they are. But it’s mild, and means that even though I won’t be able to see far, I can get out and peer through the fog towards the lighthouse at Mumbles Head and listen to the sea.

There’s no wind, and I can sometimes just make out the lighthouse, which constantly appears, then disappears, in and out of the fog. The sound of the sea is different through fog. Gentle waves caress the shore, sending a soft hissing sound around the car park at Bracelet Bay. Gulls fly fleetingly into view, and I wonder how they navigate in such conditions. The foghorn from the lighthouse sounds near. No longer a horn, its modern note still conjures up danger, as does the occasional more gentle sound of the bell from the invisible Mixon buoy.  There are no tourists here, just a few locals sitting in cars peering out into the dull, grey wall.

I walk to Limeslade Bay a short distance to the west. Down on the beach it’s fog-free, but above is a ceiling of grey, creating the feeling of a strange, covered, outdoor amphitheatre.  The rocks are wet and slippery, and from the bench at the head of the beach I still can’t see the sea. What a joy is it to live by the sea, which is never the same, and always a delight, even on the dullest of days.

Goldfinches

Days of dull, cold weather can be depressing, but there’s always something in the natural world to lift the spirits.  I can always rely on the goldfinches on our garden feeders, which even on the dullest of days, shine like beacons.  Although it’s only February, and they breed later than most small birds, they’re in wonderful breeding plumage already.  On really cold days they stay in the garden all day, but even when the weather gets warmer, they’ll be in and out all the time. 

There’s very little doubt that goldfinches are much more common on Gower than a generation ago.  Maybe it’s the result of a change in climate, or perhaps more people are feeding birds in gardens than ever before, but the change is clear to see.

A friend who lived close by and has moved away now, kept finches in an aviary at the bottom of his garden.  He had greenfinches and goldfinches, which he kept for their song, together with lots of other exotic species.  I could never understand why he didn’t simply invest in a bird feeder and some niger seeds.  He could then have had the real things in his garden.

Old Rectory

Even though there’s low cloud and a soft warm drizzle brushes my face, I can see for miles from the high spine of Rhosilli Down at the west end of Gower. The famous golden sands stretch out along the curved bay below, and on a clear day, I can see five counties from up here. This part of Gower gets little snow, and even during the recent extreme blizzards, only a little fell on these salty west-facing slopes. Often when much of the county is covered, west Gower is snow- free.

I pause briefly at an Ordnance Survey trig point. These stone-made truncated pyramids, once a feature of many high points in Britain, are gradually becoming redundant in the age of satellite communications. Although still used by some, they’re a vital ingredient in the production of the ever-improving OS maps, which delight walkers and country lovers alike.

 The National Trust owns the lonely old rectory perched on the raised beach below. Now an upmarket holiday let, it attracts rich visitors from across the world. I hear it costs an arm and a leg to stay there and is occupied throughout the year, and smoke from the chimney suggests that's right. I wonder if those inside are aware of the pair of choughs searching for insects on the closely cropped turf just outside the window, or the pair of displaying ravens, croaking high in the sky above the rectory.

I’m alone save for the company of sheep, airborne gulls, and waders on the beach far below. It’s such a contrast to the summer months when surfers and sun worshipers descend on the bay. Perhaps they don't know that now is the best time to be in this magical place.