Nature in Cambridgeshire: Beyond the Guidebook

I'll never forget the frosty January morning I set the alarm clock for 5.30am and headed deep into the Fens.

After 40 plus years of calling this county home, I thought I knew every corner of it. But that sunrise - painting the reed beds in molten gold - made it clear that Cambridgeshire still has secrets to whisper in my ear.

If you're searching for wildlife and nature in Cambridgeshire feel free to join me. Not because I'm some sort of official guide, but because I'm completely, hopelessly in love with these landscapes.

From the moment I moved here something about the vast skies and hidden corners captured my heart. Every walk teaches me something new about the natural world, every season reveals its own magic.

This isn't your typical county guide, I won't mention every nature reserve or place you can go to get outside, but I will share the special places that have made me gasp, laugh and quite often curse under my breath when my camera battery dies at the worst possible moment.

Whether you explore with a camera, like me, hang binoculars around your neck, or simply keep your eyes peeled, the landscapes of Cambridgeshire will surprise you.

A World of Water and Sky

The first time someone told me the Ouse Washes were "just flood storage areas," I nearly laughed. Yes, they're engineered to prevent our homes from going underwater. But calling them "just" anything is like calling the Northern Lights "just chemistry."

When winter floods transform these farmer's fields into temporary lakes, something extraordinary happens.

Thousands of birds arrive as if responding to some ancient invitation. I've sat in the hides on bitter January mornings, breath steaming, watching more wildfowl than I could count settling onto the surface like living confetti.

The Nene Washes gave me one of my greatest birding moments—my first Common Crane sighting.

Despite their name, these magnificent birds are anything but common in the UK. Up until that time, the tallest birds I had encountered in the countryside where Grey Herons, but the Cranes dwarf them! And that bugling call will haunt me (in a wonderful way) for ever.

Then there are also the Short-Eared Owls. Watching these raptors patrol at sunrise (yes that is where I was going at 5.30am) their yellow eyes scanning the water edges for prey pulled me into their world and wouldn't let go.

Even closer to my doorstep is Holme Fen, a remnant of Englands largest lake, that once stretched across thousands of acres.

Buried to their tops in 1851 two posts now extend towards the vast sky. Standing beside them, on black soil that was once 4 meters under water, makes me feel like I'm on a slowly sinking ship.

Then there is Woodwalton Fen, where I have been known to stand and daydream about the work being done to join the two remaining fragments of Fenland together again.

When I stand there, I can almost hear the booming bitterns and the bugling Cranes, their calls echoing over a vast sheet of water that shimmers like the ghost of Whittlesey Mere. It's a powerful thought - that we can not only stop time, but begin to wind it back.

Wicken Fen is a place that can feel beautifully, deceptively empty. They say it hosts over 9000 species, but most days, all we see is a sea of swaying reeds under that enormous sky.

We knew that wild Konik ponies were around but had never encountered them. They were more of a rumour than a reality.

Then, one afternoon, we rounded a bend in a path and froze. There they were. A small, silent herd, sheltering under a tree, their coats the colour of a leaden winter sky.

One started walking away and in moments they melted into the reeds, as if they had never been there. The whole encounter lasted less than a minute, but the feeling of having glimpsed a truly wild, hidden part of this ancient landscape stayed with us all day.

Lakes That Aren't Really Lakes

After moving to Cambridgeshire I soon learned that many of the 'lakes' in the area started life as gravel pits. From holes in the ground dug by machinery, the wildlife has taken over, turning them into local nature reserves where I can relax and enjoy some me time.

One I visit regularly is Paxton Pits as it gives me plenty of variety depending on the mood I am in.

If I want to sit and watch the wildfowl on the Heronry Lakes and chill out I can.

If I have more energy on a summer day I can search for dragonflies along the Meadow Trail. Its rare not to come home with many hundreds of photos and often there is a special one amongst them.

I'll never forget watching a Great White Egret here, preening its wing feathers. It was standing on the edge of a temporary island and the warm early morning light was perfect. Think backlit wings with every feather visible. The white bird against dark water.

I entered the best image into the reserve's photo competition and not only did it win a prize, but it is still on show on their latest sightings page. What an honour!

The Reservoir That Beat Me

Other watery destinations were built for a purpose - to provide drinking water. We are lucky enough to have the third biggest reservoir in England, Grafham Water, close by.

Alas, I am too old to walk right around it now, although to be honest the time I tried when the kids were younger turned into a failure too.

Back then, my husband left us exhausted on the grass, and continued the circular route back to the car before returning like a knight on horseback to rescue us.

Nowadays, we amble along the dam, peeking over the wall to see the bird life feeding along the edge of the water. Pied wagtails, Redshank and even the rare Little Ringed Plover have all entertained us while taking care of their own needs.

If the gnats get too annoying, I cross over to the other side of the path to marvel at the speed of the swallows dipping and diving along the steep grassy bank, doing their best to catch as many as they can.

On some summer days the yellow wagtails join in delighting us with their slightly slower paced feeding frenzy.

A Glimpse of Liquid Glass

We discovered water of a different kind at RSPB Fowlmere. A rare chalk stream! The water was like liquid glass making the brown trout appear suspended mid air.

Springs among the remnants of the watercress beds hypnotised me as the water bubbled to the surface. I could have sat there all day, but there was more to enjoy.

Did I see movement off to the side, Turning my head slowly I realised a herd of fallow deer had come down to the water to drink. Silent, alert but not alarmed by my stillness.

The Bridge Between Worlds

As you step from the busy town onto the white arched footbridge, the world shifts.

The traffic noise fades, replaced by the sharp, metallic clang of your own feet, a sound that grows louder with every step. There's a satisfying click as you lock the gate behind you, sealing yourself into this quiet sanctuary called Holt Island.

From there, a boardwalk beckons, winding away into the green shadows of the willows.

And while the walk around the island was peaceful, the bridge had one more secret to share with us that day.

Perched on one of the overhanging willows we spotted a Willow Emerald damselfly. This iridescent green beauty was the first I had seen and had only recently been recorded in the county. What a treat!

A Tale of Two Woods

After spending so much time in the wide-open, watery worlds of the fens and rivers, my senses begin to long for a change.

I start to crave the dappled light filtering through a canopy of leaves, the earthy smell of damp soil, and the deep, hushed quiet you can only find in the heart of an ancient woodland.

Every spring I pack my macro instead of a telephoto and head for a particular corner of Brampton Wood. I don't need to study the map, the route is familiar, if sometimes muddy.

One year I will eventually achieve my ultimate goal. Or will I?

Maybe it just isn't possible to translate what I see to one single photograph? But still I try. That tantalising violet-blue that flows between the trees sings a song I can't resist. The English Bluebell.

That kind of experience - getting lost in the beauty of a single flower - is the reason I love the woods. But it also reveals how they can lull you into a false sense of security. The same intense focus that brings me such joy in Brampton Wood once led to a very different feeling in another of Cambridgeshire's ancient woodlands.

For all its beauty, my most vivid memory of Monks Wood is the feeling of pure panic. After a childhood incident in the New Forest, I'm paranoid about losing my way, and on our first visit here, my worst fears came true.

It was my own fault.

I had my macro lens on, completely absorbed in the tiny world at my feet—a beetle here, a strange larva there. Head down, focused, I was pretending to be an entomologist for the day.

It’s a beautiful place, but it's one I now walk with a great deal more respect!

After four decades of exploring these landscapes, I've learned that Cambridgeshire doesn't shout about its beauty. It whispers.

It rewards patience, attention, and return visits.

 The kingfisher that flashes blue fire across a quiet stream, the barn owl that quarters a field in golden evening light, the bittern's boom echoing across the reed beds—these moments find you when you're ready for them.

I won't tell you to grab your binoculars and get out there, because if you've read this far, you already know you want to.

What I will say is this: don't expect instant magic. Expect something better - the slow revelation of a landscape that keeps its secrets close and rewards those who take the time to listen.

Copyright © 2018- naturewalkswithcarol.com   All rights reserved

Home   | About Me   | Contact Me   | Blog   | Privacy Policy