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We were in Wooler last night, quite close to one of our favourite areas of Northumberland – the Harthope Valley. The road into the valley was closed for a time after the devastating floods of early September, but is thankfully re-opened now. Looking into the darkness of the hills around us my mind was transported to the ford at Coldgate Mill and the clear, cascading water, with its Dippers, Goosanders, Common Sandpipers and Grey Wagtails. Driving back down the A697, the lack of light pollution meant that the sky was jet black and sprinkled with the tiny pin-points of a myriad of stars. Even when we reached the hazy orange glow of Morpeth, we were still carrying some of the unspoilt countryside in our hearts and minds. That’s the spell that Northumberland casts.

No, I’m not going all Shakespearean. Just wondering how I would describe Newbiggin to somebody who has never been there. That particular train of thought arose yesterday morning while I was engaged in an ultimately fruitless search for the Desert Wheatear that had been on the golf course for the last few days. I followed my usual route from Church Point north along the clifftop towards the power station, stopping to check the flocks of wagtails and pipits that were grubbing about on the beach. The waves crashing into the rocks, sending fountains of spray high into the air were equally captivating. Heading back south, below the ash lagoon banks, the bushes were alive with robins, greenfinches and blackbirds. Two crossbills flew in-off the sea and disappeared into the remarkable jungle that is ‘The Mound’, curlew and redshank called harshly as they were flushed from their roosts by the golfers who were braving the weather. Yes, I forgot to mention, all of this took place in icy-cold driving rain but that didn’t matter; Newbiggin is such an extraordinary mix of old and new, industrial and rural, that it’s the place I go when I need a break from everyday life. Fresh air, exercise, always plenty of birds, curious golfers, a skyline dominated by a power station, huge horses tethered by the edge of the golf course…and people collecting coal from the beach. There really isn’t anywhere like it.

…when, outside the window, there are Coal, Blue, Great, Long-tailed and Willow Tits, Chaffinches, Greenfinches, Goldfinches and Bullfinches, Wood Pigeons, Collared Doves, Starlings, House Sparrows, Robins, Wrens, Dunnocks, Kestrel, Sparrowhawk, Blackbirds and Red Squirrels. Unfortunately, I’m easily distracted by the comings and goings around our battery of bird feeders, so I often only really get down to what I’m supposed to be doing once it gets dark – then the security light comes on and there’s a hedgehog walking across the patio…

Arriving in Morpeth at 12:30 yesterday, I collected a family for a wildlife tour of southeast Northumberland. The trip was (supposed to be) a surprise birthday present, but the cat had been let out of the bag.

First up was a wander along the River Blyth, top spot for Red Squirrels and Otters. We did find probable otter tracks, mixed in with dog prints, human footprints and all sorts of other marks in the riverbank, but no otters. The squirrels were playing a hiding game as well, although it was a nice Saturday afternoon so there was a lot of disturbance with everyone taking the opportunity to get out and enjoy some fresh air; and who could blame them? At one point we found ourselves surrounded by Goldcrests (as I have been throughout Northumberland in the last week) and patience paid off as they started to reveal themselves.

Up into Druridge Bay and prolonged views of two Little Grebes, with an astonishing success rate while they were fishing. Lucy proved to be an expert grebe spotter, finding them every time they re-surfaced away from where they had dived, Katherine was the only one lucky enough to spot the tell-tale dark shape of an otter and Thomas proved very adept at handling the telescope. All of us were stunned as a huge flock of Common Gulls, Starlings, Lapwing, Golden Plover and Redshank suddenly lifted out of the nearby fields. We couldn’t see what had flushed them though.

As dusk approached we tried to peer through the gloom in search of foxes. The light cloud cover parted to reveal the moon in all its glory and a skein of Pink-footed Geese passed overhead, silhouetted by the moonlight. A magical autumn experience.

All of the children on our tours this year have been a joy; well-behaved and interested in everything they see, so we’re developing a newsletter specifically for under-16s. More information coming soon, in our blog and the ‘News’ section of the website.

I was working over near Haltwhistle yesterday, without my pager (the source of rare, and not so rare, bird news). Getting back to the office at 2pm, there was a missed call from Sarah…who was more up-to-date with rarity news than I was. Red-flanked Bluetail on Holy Island!! This eastern gem (the bluetail, not Sarah) is a bird I’ve never seen in Northumberland, so I quickly finished my lunch and headed up the A1. It was cold and the light was fading…and the bird hadn’t been seen for about 5mins before I arrived. Then, there it was…not as stunning as an adult male in the spring, but still a jewel on the autumnal east coast, busily flicking in and out of the trees and shrubs. Hordes of Goldcrests were feeding frantically as darkness descended. Leaving the island I had a decision to make; A1 or coastal route? One is much, much quicker to get home, the other is much more interesting, and we’re developing a series of nocturnal safaris for the winter months, so I opted for interesting…which proved to be an inspired choice. Just south of Embleton I caught a glimpse of white atop a field gate. Surely not enough for a Barn Owl? but, stopping the car, I was amazed to see a Dark-breasted Barn Owl Tyto alba guttata, the Central and Eastern European race of our familiar White-breasted Barn Owl. With rufous underparts and dark grey upperparts I could have easily overlooked this bird if it wasn’t for the contrasty face pattern. After staring at each other for a short while, the owl turned and flew from the gate – disappearing into the night. An encounter with any owl is special, but this one had the added bonus of being a real rarity.

cold, damp, misty autumn evenings? Perhaps it’s the ethereal nature of the world around me, shrouded in a hazy cloak…roving tit flocks moving along hedgerows…corvids heading to roost…blackbirds alarm-calling when you disturb them…hedgehogs snuffling amongst fallen leaves…the high pitched flight calls of Redwings, invisible in the gloom…foxes purposefully following their regular routes…and then, drying out and warming up, enjoying a mug of hot chocolate and planning tomorrow’s excursions.

I went to check on one of our regular sites for foxes, close to Ashington, this afternoon. It wasn’t easy to tell that dusk was approaching, because it had been murky, misty and drizzly all day. A flock of Canada and Greylag Geese seemed quite content and weren’t giving any indication that they’d spotted a fox in the vicinity. A nearby hedgerow was filled with the calls of Goldcrests, surely recent immigrants on the strong northeasterly winds of the weekend. Every so often one would reveal itself and the flashes of yellow cut through the gloom. Then, distantly, I could hear the harsh ‘chak’ calls of Jackdaws. Curiosity got the better of me (I’ve recently read Crow Country by Mark Cocker and can really empathise with the obsessive need to observe, to know and to try to understand) so I went to see what the jackdaws were doing and where they were going. Nearby power cables were draped with a string of black and grey beads, but surely not enough for the number of calls I’d heard. Then, rising from a field just on the other side of a hedgrow from where I was standing, there they were; well over 1000 jackdaws and rooks, all flying in the same direction, surely towards their night-time roost. They vanished into the gloom while still in the air so I couldn’t be sure where they were heading. I relocated to another spot nearly a mile away and again there was a stream of corvids overhead. Plotting their flight line, and estimating the intersection with the first group I saw, means that I should easily find the roost site. Now that will be something special to add to our southeast Northumberland itineraries. A decent corvid roost is one of the natural wonders that everyone should see at least once, whether you’re a birder, an all-round naturalist or even someone who hasn’t really paid any attention to the world around us – you will be impressed.