To: birdchat
From: Wim Vader <>
Subject: changing to fall at 70*N
IT FEELS LIKE FALL IN TROMSØ , N.NORWAY, NOW
Tromsø, where I live, is situated in northern Norway, at ca 69*50'N. It
is a town of ca 60 000 people, beautifully situated on an island in a
fjord, surrounded by quite high hills, and connected to the mainland by a
bridge and a tunnel, and to the outlying large island Kvaløya, between us
and the Norwegian Sea, by another long bridge.
This summer has been a good one, not very warm, but sunny and with many
calm, clear days. Now there is autumn in the air in many ways, although
the winds are south-westerly and the temperatures consequently mild, often
above 10*C. The clouds hang low, and often obscure the tops of the hills
around (ca 600m high), but the air still seems clearer and crisper now and
there is none of the haziness of summer days.
Along the roads and in neglected lots, of which we have quite a lot
(Tromsø is a green city, and almost all the houses have gardens) the '
Tromsø palms', in reality a giant Hogweed Heracleum , still sport their
last large white flower umbels, but many of the giant leaves are rapidly
turning green, and that may be one of the major reasons it feels like
autumn---we have a surfeit of Tromsø palms! In the Folkeparken, the
remnant birchwood, through which I walk to work, at Tromsø Museum, every
day, the carpet of Storks Bills Geranium has lost its flowers, and it too
is turning yellow here and there.
There are altogether few wild flowers left by now. Some of the Blue Sow
Thistles Cicerbita alpina still have some flowers, but many have fallen
over after the heavy rainfall, and the very numerous Meadow Sweet
Filipendula ulmaria is slowly losing its colour too. A few Valerian and
the Melancholy Thistle Cirsium heterophyllum still flower, the latter in
spite of its name with bold upright flower heads, and here and there
clumps of Fireweed Epilobium still glow. Hawks-weed Hieracium and the last
Golden-rods Solidago virgaurea supply the yellows. In the lower part of
the forest, close to the shore, there are many flowering Angelica
sylvestris, the latest of the umbelliferans---my flower-book calls these
Jack-jump-about. (Why is that? They don't jump about all that much up
here!) Along the paths there are of course the ubiquitous white and 'red'
clovers, the last Harebells Campanula rotundifolia, and the two species of
Achillea---all these start flowering early and keep going till the first
frost, which is why they are so common.
Birdwise this is early migration period, and our local ringing (banding)
group is in full swing. Here on the island there is little activity, apart
from roving bands of thrushes (Fieldfares and Redwings), and everywhere
our most numerous bird, the Willow Warbler. Its melancholy, but very
melodious song-strophe is also still to be heard here and there, but sotto
voce, quite different from the exuberant songs of spring. Family groups of
tits (Great and Willow Tits) roam through the birch forest, but the tits
do not sing these days, they confine themselves to call notes and to
scolding the many young mapgies that blunder through the forest. The
Bullfinches still keep almost completely silent and inconspicuous.
On the shore the Arctic Terns and Common Gulls are already flocking
together, and at Tisnes the migration of small shorebirds is in full
swing. If you come to the mudflats there at just the right tide, you can
watch (from the car you get them closest) all the small waders at your
leisure, and study the different feeding techniques of the run-stop-pick
Ringed Plovers, the always industrious Dunlins, the perky small Little
Stints, and last week also quite a number of Curlew Sandpipers. They don't
mind getting their feet wet, and often prefer drilling to just picking.
There are also larger shorebirds: Curlews, the very amphibious Spotted
Redshanks with their white back wedges and decisive tu-itt calls, the
nervous red-legged Redshanks, and the large sleeky Greenhanks. Flocks of
rather non-descript silent brown waders, that 'come in two sizes' and
often prefer the muddy edges of the salt marsh or wetlands, always turn
out to be Ruffs, and the unmistakable and noisy Oystercatchers are also
mostly in flocks again. A small bird sitting on the dirt road surprised
me, as it turned out to be a Jack-Snipe, not a common birds hereabouts; it
was so confident that at first I thought that it had maybe collided with a
wire or something; but when I came very close, the bird took to the wing
and disappeared in the tall grass.
Now the clouds come rolling down the sides of the hills, and I think we'll
have more rain before long. the days are also rapidly getting shorter, and
in a month or so you will have caught up with us in that respect,
whereever you live. And in three months the sun will remain below the
horizon again for two months. This is truly the country of change!
Wim Vader, Tromsø Museum
9037 Tromsø, Norway
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