Soil Hill

13:30 – 15:00

While Sue went off to Heckmondwike to pick Abigail up from school, I had an enjoyable stroll up and around the Soil Hill contour path.

The weather looked a bit like the Wickes advert. 

When a large black cloud appeared to the North, coming my way, I thought “it’s got my name on it”! – however apart from some nuisance drizzle I escaped fairly dry.

As I approached the main track a man with 2 Large Alsatian dogs was already going up the track. I was a tad disappointed thinking the dogs would flush any potential birds. 

I therefore decided to go around via Ned Hill Track.

This turned out to be quite fortuitous, because as I went along the track a pr. Wheatear were flitting about either side of it.

The Wheatear is a lovely bird to see and photograph (and I can ID it with impunity).

Also sneaking about in the grass here was a Weasel.

I was also very pleased when I managed to locate a calling Skylark that was well camouflaged in the field to the left of the track.

The Hill itself held the usual Skylarks and Meadow Pipit population.

I was hoping for Linnet, but I did not eyeball any.

There may have been some with the Meadow Pipits but I cannot ID them in flight yet.

Looking NNW from the top of the Hill, there were Pr. Oystercatcher, Pr. Lapwing, Pr. Pheasant and 10 or so Woodpigeon in the lower fields.

(A walk with Sue earlier this morning, through Bradshaw via Ogden, to Asa Nicholsons Café revealed a lot of activity with a digger up here. It was moving earth about at the bottom of Soil Hill’s north side).

The resident Moorhen was on the pond.

I lobbed some Sunflower seed on the main track hoping that some Twite might ‘come a looking’

(Well done BS & DJS with their Twite feeding station at Fly Flats – looks like paying dividends).

It’s been a while but wait for it……………………

Today’s made up week-end joke.

Four BIG fat Chickens were “getting down heavy” on the dance floor to the loud music at the nightclub.

All of a sudden, all four of them, collapsed and died.

The nightclub manager sent for the police.

Inspector N. Hut, a police chicken specialist from Kiev, turned up to survey the scene.

Inspector N. Hut soon declares that they all died of bird flu.

“How do you know?” asks the Nightclub manager.

“Simples” replied the Inspector.

 I just examined the Four Hens Sick Heavy Dance.

(Any hope for me on Jokers Wild? – Oh! That show ended years back didn’t it”)

Now, where did I put those little yellow pills?

Woodpigeon? - miles off

A murky Halifax from Perseverance Road

The track home