Well it certainly could have been, after all they should be heading back to Africa now. But, on looking into it almost certainly a buzzard, apparently white buzzards are not uncommon. Far more common than an osprey or goshawk.
29C, twenty nine degrees centigrade or as it soon to be known XXIX, I mean it is just getting a bit silly. So for the first time ever, ever, ever a full team in shorts set out from Harford Moor Gate. In the glaring sun but soon to find shelter in the fantastic Piles Copse. With its wonderful oak trees and little mires where the bog pimpernel (according to a far higher authority) is in full bloom. But out we had to go, out into the sheer hell of a Dartmoor sunny day. Will we ever see that lovely rain again? To the weir where a weird bubbler seems to lie. A tree was found to shelter from the burning interminable sun for a restful hot cuppa and picnic. Then uppety up to the ridge where a pleasant breeze eased the glow.
How lovely is our moor.
