Another walk in the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried

A completely different day. A sunny, warm early March day. Not a cloud in the sky. We drive up to the northeastern corner of the site to walk in the woods and around the wetlands of the northern marsh. Auspicious start with two ringtail Hen Harriers moving northeast just on the edge of Laubbach. 

We're not that early on site today - 9.30 - and meeting someone, so we're in no rush to leave the carpark. The open flat floodplain of the river Ostrach stretches up north to the town of Ostrach, a shimmering velvety green punctuated with white flecks - most of them Mute Swans, but a few Great Egrets sprinkled around the view too. Greylag Geese are paired up and eagerly stuffing themselves on the new growth. A pair of Lapwing - now a real rarity in this part of the world - appear to be taking an interest in the meadows nearest the river. If they stay to try and breed, that would be something, but their chances are slim.

We amble down to the Bannwaldturm, a 35-m high tower on the edge of the Bannwald, offering a spectacular view across the reserve and far into the distance. On a clear day you can see for miles - today's rather hazy, but you can still see for a good few kilometres. And the blued haze of the distant ridges rising towards the foothills of the Alps are a beautiful sight, even if they're not crisp and clear. Everywhere you look, there are circling raptors: Buzzards and Red Kites in pairs and trios, occasionally five or six together. There's a whole lot of migration going on here and the residents are anxiously keeping the migrants away from their own territories. A Black Stork circles up from the trees in the distance, effortlessly spiralling up above the horizon and then gliding off towards the southwest: perhaps on a mission to repair the nest, perhaps just looking for a meal. Soon afterwards a whacking great female Goshawk climbs out of the same area of woodland, advertising herself with deep, deep wingbeats and fluffed-out undertail coverts. Despite careful searching we fail to find a male displaying with her and, after a while, she drops back down into the trees. 

 

The view south from the Bannwaldturm, across the re-wetted moor

Looking east across the wet meadows - here be all sorts of delights in season.

We spend a long time at the top of the tower, mainly watching kites and buzzards, listening to the thin song of a Stonechat drifting up from the meadows below. Eventually it's time to move again though. We spiral back down to ground level, then head southwest along the boardwalk to the Fünfeckweiher. The path leads through re-wetted moorland along the banks of the old drainage ditch, now brim-full with water and fallen wood. The pines and spruces on the north side of the ditch are surrounded with a thick green carpet of clubmosses and ericaceous shrubs; to the south of the ditch most of the nearest trees have been drowned by the raised water-level - a tangled 3-D jigsaw of bleached wood and burgeoning vegetation between it. Dunnocks and Willow Tits provide the base soundtrack, a few Crested Tits purr in between.

The Fünfeckweiher is a lively place today: Greylags are busy nest-building on the islands, Teal and Mallard loaf around the edges of the pool, a few Gadwall strewn among them. A couple of Cormorants drying their wings as far away from the people as possible. Yet more buzzards and kites overhead, and then a third ringtail Hen Harrier for the day glides purposefully northeast over us. 

We continue on through the woods, looping back round to the carpark along a series of trails through - variously - wet, spruce, mixed and broadleaf woodland. The bird mix changes with the trees: Willow Tit and Bullfinch, Coal Tit and Nuthatch, Black Woodpecker and Firecrest, Treecreeper and Short-toed Treecreeper all put in appearances. We end the walk with a neatly-rounded 50 bird species, which feels pretty rewarding from such a late start in the day.

A walk in the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried

This is a short walk (about 4-5 km) around the southern end of the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried. If you don't know, this is a large rewetted lowland moor in the middle of some pretty intensively-farmed countryside in upper Swabia. 

About 40 minutes drive north of Friedrichshafen you'll find the town of Wilhelmsdorf, where we start out today. Park up at the visitor centre, make sure you have optics and good boots on. It's grey and spitting with rain today: very early-spring-feeling. The centre has a bunch of nestboxes on the wall, mainly occupied by House Sparrows, but there are always some Tree Sparrows among them too. A pair of Kestrels use the roof space and are often hunting in the little meadow on the east side of the road. The woods directly adjacent to the centre are not massively exciting, but there's a representative bird fauna to be heard: today Woodpigeons and Collared Doves, Song Thrush, Robin, Blackbird, Carrion Crow, Blue and Great Tits all make themselves heard. A flock of Starlings - only back within the last couple of weeks - pile in to the top of a pine, only to head off again immediately.

We head off left along the road and turn immediately right towards the ponds, taking the second path through the complex. A pair of Coot are busily diving for plant food directly in front of us, several pairs of Mallard are swimming around further back on the pool. A lone male farm duck ditches on the pool and tries it on with one of the female Mallards, who responds with intense loud quacks and swims off with her preferred (standard-coloured) mate. Tough being the odd-looking bird. Some Teal are skulking at the back of the pool, the males 'pleep' and head-bob to attract the females, who don't seem any more impressed than Ms. Mallard.

A Short-toed Treecreeper belts out a couple of rounds of song from the birches next to us. We pass some intensive beaver action - gnawed poplars are lying on the deck - and admire a Muskrat paddling across the water; tail waving serpentines at the surface gives away that it can't possibly be a juvenile beaver.  

Crossing the watershed between the Rhine and Danube (bet you didn't notice that!), we head left towards the road again. The first Yellowhammer of the morning is chinking in the hedge, a Blackbird busy hauling worms out of the grass on the path-side. A Wren blasts us with song suddenly and then darts off into the undergrowth.

We walk back to the road, turn right and follow along the side of the 'overgrown lake', now hidden below willows and reed. Another Yellowhammer sits on top of a dead tree and sings, below him are Long-tailed Tits working their way through the scrub with shrill cries. A Reed Bunting sits, half-hidden, near the top of a dead birch sapling and sings his three-phrase song. Maybe we stop for a little too long and he loses his nerve, flying away from the road. Fieldfares are calling from the birches on the other side of the road - maybe they're back setting up territory already, but I suspect these are just passing through. As we walk on, first one, then three Roe Deer appear in the meadows to the right, staring nervously at us before bounding wildly away into the distance, white rumps bobbing. Finally they feel safe and stop, turning heads back to watch us but ever-ready to bounce off further the moment we turn towards them. 

We take the second track on the left, remains of tarmac surfacing still keeping the vegetation at bay. Passing low willow scrub on the right we approach some ponds neatly created by more of the many beavers living here - the first one has no more than a pair each of Mallard and Coot. The scrub behind had one or two Chaffinches tuning up, a mixed flock of tits includes a Marsh Tit sneezing indignantly at us. Great Spotted Woodpeckers are now drumming in the background, staccato rolls echoing across the meadows from every patch of woodland. The next pond holds another small flock of Teal, who completely lose it and rocket into the air as we stop to listen for birdsong. Almost lost among the Great Spotted Woodpeckers, a Lesser Spotted is also drumming - longer, steadier and ever-so-slightly slower than their larger cousin. It's a way off though, somewhere in the poplars behind the next pool. 

As we walk on, a Buzzard lifts heavily out of a tree near the pond and flops across to the next line of trees, accompanied by raucous cries of complain from a pair of crows. The next woodpecker makes itself known: a Green Woodpecker laughing its socks off at us (so it seems). The Lesser Spot is drumming again, and this time it's visible, albeit distantly: a stumpy blob at the top of a broken-off poplar patiently drumming, listening, drumming again. Good thing the telescope came! A bit of zoom and it's clear enough, despite the grey day. A solitary male Goosander speeds overhead, aiming for the nearby fishing lake. Unexpectedly, a Sparrowhawk bursts out of the tree next to us and slips away through the scrub. Shame we didn't pick it up before it flew... The Jays certainly noticed when it headed off though!

On a sunnier day...

Out of the trees and across what used to be a grazed meadow - now being altered to keep people (and dogs) and cattle apart to prevent any misunderstandings. The ground is squashy peat under out feet, water oozing to the surface with every step. A pair of Greylags eye us as suspiciously as the deer did earlier: they also move away, though with far less speed and elegance. A silvery warble gives away the presence of Stonechats in the field - hardly a common bird generally in this overmanaged landscape, but fortunately quite abundant at this site. A female perches up nicely for us, flitting from vantage point to vantage point across the field, dropping occasionally onto some tasty morsel in the plants. A couple of Cormorants flap southwards over us, away from the fishing lake. Just behind the line of the trees, a group of crows have found something they really don't like: they circle and divebomb the canopy just where we can't see, shouting insults - or maybe calling attention to their compatriots. Whatever it is (likely a Goshawk) moves off without our ever being able to see it. Disappointing...

Turn left again and follow the ditch and hedge southwards. More Yellowhammers and Fieldfare, and finally our first Willow Tits of the day - a pair of them working their way northwards along the hedge, bleating at us for being in their territory. Another Green Woodpecker calls, then flies along the treeline to our left; just for the sake of comparison, it seems, a Grey-headed Woodpecker pipes a sad-sounding series of whistles at the same time from the woods behind us. We join the gravel track leading down along the west edge of the woods, a young mix of pine, spruce, oak and willows with hazel and dogwood scrub between. Goldcrests twitter through the low scrub, Crested Tits purr from the middle of the spruces and Coal Tits seesaw their way through the canopy. Song Thrushes are belting their hearts out everywhere now, Robins dash on and off, and across the path, snatching invertebrates from the gravel. 

As we leave the woods at their southern end, a Kestrel rises off the rough meadow and sits at the top of a nearby tree. We turn left once more, through a stand of older trees on the fringe of the town, where Nuthatch and Hawfinch are lurking in the canopy - the former far easier to see than the latter! At the end of this track, the carpark is visible on our left, but there's a final treat to enjoy: a pair of White Storks have their nest on top of the telephone pole across the road. One bird stands on the nest, its mate on the neighbouring rooftop, both carefully preening their plumage with those long red bills. For the first of March, it's not a bad day - grey and occasionally spotting with rain, but still over 40 bird species on a short walk.

Rhineland birding (just)

This is a time of year when the locals enjoy their Fasnet celebrations - which are all very well and good. However, I do prefer the atmosphere of Karneval in the Rhineland and the kids have a strong preference for the Karneval processions as opposed to Fasnet (can't be anything to do with the quantity of sweets in the air, oh no indeed). So we often make our way up to my wife's home turf of Leverkusen for one or two Karneval processions and a little bit of Rhineland birding in between. This year we also needed to go into Globetrotter for a new tent before the rest of 'em go off on their Whitsun holidays, so there was another good reason to go.

The weather wasn't ideal, though we were crazy lucky with the one procession we visited, where the pelting rain paused for the time it took the procession to pass us and then began again while we were on the bus home. 

Only one birding trip was possible, along the banks of the Rhine downstream from the Hitdorf ferry towards Worringen. The day was leaden grey and there was more than a touch of snowy rain in the air when I started, but again, I was fortunate and the rain cleared as I set out.  

Looking upstream - not overly prepossessing

Downstream is a little more inspiring, but still very Rhineland

 

The Rhine was fairly high, barges laden with containers and what looked like coal labouring upstream, others riding high unladen and slipping down on the current towards the Netherlands at a brisk pace. There was little to see initially, with a handful of Mallards and Black-headed Gulls on the water; a small flock of Long-tailed Tits bringing some life to a patch of semi-submerged willows. Careful eyes on the ground reveal some signs of spring in the landscape: snowdrops and celandine flowers sheltering under the poplars and willows.

Some signs of spring under the trees: snowdrops are in flower

 

The first Lesser Celandine flower of the year!

 

Closer to the delights of the Chempark at Worringen, the high water had spread into some shallow banks of vegetation and there were more birds taking advantage of the slack water - a group of Canada Geese grazing on the edge of the water with a sprinkling of Mallards, a couple of Gadwall and a single Teal among them; a couple of Cormorants resting on a chunk of wood in the water next to two large gulls - one definitely a Yellow-legged, the other possibly a hybrid Herring x Yellow-legged; a Greylag swimming upstream appeared to be paired up with a Canada Goose; a male Goldeneye cautiously edging away from the bank in case I suddenly sprang at him. A reminder of the milder winters here, a flock of Meadow Pipits spooked out of the floating vegetation and sat up on some dead hogweed stems, squeaking with irritation at me. 

I headed back along the floodbank, which doubles as a cycle path, looking over sodden arable fields. The occasional parakeet in the air brought a touch of the exotic to the day - most of them Alexandrine Parakeets today, but a couple of Ring-neckeds also went over. The fields near the ferry were being used by further exotic fare - 30 or so Egyptian Geese grazing in a rough grassy meadow, along with a good 50 Ruddy Shelduck. Somewhere further into the fields, a Skylark let rip with a snatch of song for no apparent good reason. Sounded nice though.

Egyptian Geese

Canada Geese lurking in the long grass - a Grey Heron tucked away in the background

Cormorants.

 

February waterbird count: Lake Constance

For the past three winters I've been roped into doing part of the monthly waterbird count on the lake, covering the sections between Immenstaad and the lido at Friedrichshafen. If you want to visualise, it's this section of the shore. Today was my contribution to the February count, along with my trusty co-counters AR and NK. Being young (har har) and fit (enough) it's done on the bike, so about a 35km round trip for me. Being older than I was, it's done on an e-bike. Today was pretty typical of the last few winters.

Immenstaad starts from the landing pier on the lake. Walk out to the end in the early morning, divide up responsibility for the species being counted and set to work. This morning there's a cold breeze blowing in from the N and the sky is overcast. There's the threat of rain later, so we're hoping to stay dry, but not overoptimistic. 

The lake towards Switzerland is unusually empty, only a smattering of Great Crested Grebes out there, mostly distant flecks bobbing in the waves. There's a number of them paired up and head-shaking at one another (seems early, given they start breeding late on the lake, but perhaps these are heading off to other waters) but most of them are hunched up and chilling. Towards the shore the ducks are mostly huddled in the bay immediately east of the harbour; we have to go around to the adjacent beach to see them properly, so cover the remainder of the bay first. I've seen it busier, but there's a reasonable selection out there: Goldeneye, Tufted Duck, Mallard, Gadwall, a few Goosander, surprisingly only one Red-crested Pochard (normally there's a decent number of them here), a scatter of Coot and Mute Swans. Just as we leave the pier to head to the bay, the entire flock of duck spooks out and swirls around the wider bay a few times. About a third land in an area we've already counted, some move off entirely and the rest head back to the little bay they were in. So, an estimate instead of a proper count. Never mind. About 600 or so Pochard and 200-ish Tufted. A closer look from the beach doesn't reveal anything interesting among them, so we head on to stop 2.

The second stop is nice: the Dornier mole behind the Airbus complex. It sounds a bit crap, but is actually quite a haven of peace and quiet with a stretch of trees running along the mole to a small protected area jutting into the lake and cutting the Immenstaad bay off from the Fischbach bay. First a look on the Immenstaad side to mop up any birds tucked away near the shore, not visible from the pier, then back across to the slipway on the east bank to start the next section. The Lipbach enters the lake through a little nature reserve here and this is about the only place to look into it sensibly. There's no action in the little heronry yet, and the cormorants aren't back from their winter holidays, so the place is inhabited by the usual band of Little Grebes (24 today) and a batch of Black-headed Gulls, fresh from gorging at the nearby sewage works, plus a few ducks and Coot. 

On again to Fischbach, where we can stand at the entrance to the harbour and cover the eastern end of the section. At the moment the lake is quite low - most of the precipitation falling as snow in the mountains, so the lake draws down until the snowmelt - and there are broad shingly, muddy shores exposed below the revetments. This is giving the dabbling ducks and the gulls a good chance to get among the stones and fossick, so there are more Teal and Gadwall than in autumn, a nice male Pintail upending; more Goosander hunting fry in the shallows too. The bay in front of the lido here is one of the better spots for small gulls; a few Common Gulls and one or two Caspians in the area are easy enough to find among the Black-headeds and Yellow-legs at this time of year. 

Gadwall and Coot

 

Next stop is the shoreline path below the MTU buildings (Friedrichshafen is sooo scenic) where we walk the bikes along the narrow shoreline between the factory and the lake. When the lake is high or there's a stiff westerly blowing the path is often closed off, and indeed is frequently trashed by the winter storms, but today the wind is offshore and the water quite calm. Weirdly there are very few grebes off the shoreline here today - normally you can expect a hundred or more, but today only a third that number. However, this is the section where Black-throated Divers begin to appear reliably and there are indeed about 10 in view today. Again, the low water means more dabbling duck are in action - this time a couple of Wigeon among the flock: pretty scarce on this part of the lake.

Black-throated Divers on a sunnier day

 

Wigeon. On a foggier day

 

Getting close to the end now. A brief stop at the yacht club (no public access, sorry) brings a Curlew (!) and a few more divers close in, before we end up at the Friedrichshafen lido. A nice long pier here gives a view across the bay, back towards the yacht club for one section and towards the Schlosskirche for the final tiny section. It's again not exactly heaving with birds, but a couple of - relatively - nice birds with another close diver and a single Shelduck. By the time we're finishing up, the only cold-water swimmer of the day is stripping off beside us and it's spitting with rain (probably why he's the only cold-water swimmer today!)

A mixed bag of large gulls. Fun. If you like that kind of thing (I do)

 

Still not dead...

Nope. Not yet. 

 It snowed the other day, which was nice. Today it's raining, which is not so nice. 

 Here's somebody who was clinging to the front of our house the other day. Also nice. Weirdly torpid, sufficiently to be able to catch it by hand, but it flew off ok into the back garden (swearing as it went) when my daughter released it.

 Clearly (!) different from Short-toed Treecreeper by virtue of the broad pale tips to the primaries, the square-ended pale bars in the primaries and the large pale blob on the largest alula feather. So much easier when they call...

I'm not dead...

Honest.

Red Kite - common and easy to see here, unlike in Devon. My duaghters can now confidently identify them and pick out the Black Kites when they come by.

Myosotis rehsteineri. A Lake Constance endemic now, apparently extinct at all its former locations in the Alps....

...determinedly a non-competitor, this is a plant of the strandline, flowering twice a year when the water levels permit...

...this is the biggest patch of it that I've yet seen. A low-growing, yet startlingly blue and showy plant...

...and although not good at holding out in the face of competing plants, it has a tough little niche to survive in. More on this plant - and others - later.

Sympecma paedisca - Siberian Winter Damsel. The more eastern of the winter damselflies in Europe and so far the only individual of the species that I've seen.

A spectacular non-native: Giant Knotweed, Fallopia sachalinensis.

Crocus meadow in the Brandnertal, Austrian Alps

Full of Crocus vernus ssp albiflorus and Soldanella alpina. Carex caryophyllea and an Alchemilla in there too for the connoisseurs

Yet another crocus meadow. Bit boring really (not!)

February sings of spring. Or signs?

February already. Where is the year going? The days are lengthening rapidly and the snow has now melted; just a few dirt-encrusted patches of white here and there in the most shady nooks bears testament to the blanket that covered us in January. When the weather is clear and the mountains are visible, it is possible to chart the gradual upward climb of the snowline, but days with clear skies are rather sparse at the moment: either it is grey and mild, or sunny and hazy. Or it rains.

The most obvious response to the change in temperature and day-length is, of course, from the birds. Suddenly there is song all around - the two-tone repetitive 'tee-tah' of Great Tits the most striking to start with. They were quickly joined by drumming Great Spotted Woodpeckers and the slightly manic laughter of Green Woodpeckers. Listen with more than half an ear and you will hear the similar, yet somewhat more mournful song of Grey-headed Woodpeckers, which seem to be widespread in the local area. Over the last week a Black Woodpecker has added a wild, ringing 'klooouuu' to the mix too.

A swelling chorus of Chaffinches is emerging - for now most of the males rather hesitantly launching their songs, so that they fade out into a jumble of notes soon after starting, but it won't be long before they ring loud in the woods and gardens. Mistle Thrushes and Blackbirds have also begun to polish up their notes for the coming spring. All in all, it won't be long before a proper dawn chorus is waking us each day and the first trans-Saharan migrants will start filtering through on their way north. A smart male Black Redstart feeding at the foot of the Schloss Montfort last week could well have been a bird moving back north from the Mediterranean, as could the little flock of Serins feeding in the asparagus fields on the way down to the kindergarten on Friday.

The ground is still cold though, so the plants are not yet really starting to move: a few fresh-looking leaves of Lesser Celandine and some new shoots of Greater Pond Sedge all the evidence that I can find of new growth just yet. It won't be long, though, before we can start to fossick through the woods and meadows to see what there is to offer here. A promise of warmer weather next week suggests that the local beavers will be starting to get out and about again: perhaps a chance to use the camera trap again for something more exotic (to me) than foxes and Roe Deer!

Though there aren't many juicy plants to be seen at present, there is still colour and interest to be found in bryophytes and fungi in the woods.

A gratuitous patch of Radula complanata

A recent visit to an old stamping ground was productive. The Rheindelta on the southern shore of the Bodensee is a long pair of artificial banks which channel the river Rhine out into the lake for a couple of kilometres. The bay just to the west of the river is one of the larger areas of shallow water in the lake and thus proves attractive to waterfowl. A calm day was impetus enough to go back and explore for the first time in thirteen years (how did that happen?!) and show the children some ducks.

The Fussacher Bucht did not disappoint. The bay was three-quarters frozen, so birds were concentrated near the lagoons and, despite an appalling winter for wildfowl on the lake overall, there were still enough birds to impress two small children. The duck flock was two or three thousand strong, divided equally between Red-crested Pochard, Tufted Duck and Common Pochard, with a smattering of Goldeneye around the fringes. Sprinklings of Coot, Whooper and Mute Swans, Caspian Gulls and Goosander added a little variety to the mix, while a bevy of cold-looking Grey Herons and Great Egrets speckled the banks. A lone fox on the ice caused mild alarm among the ducks for a while, but stood no chance of snaring any but the most dim-witted of them and eventually trotted gently back towards the reed fringe of the Rohrspitz.

Mixed ducks (all the specks at the back) in the Fussacher Bucht - a small group of Red-crested Pochard lurk in the foreground

The frozen south

The last two months have been rather hectic in all. Having moved, registered and dealt with all the bureaucracy around health-care, car and insurance, we finally found a place to live in Eriskirch. This meant that we had to re-do a chunk of the bureaucracy to keep our adress up-to-date, but that's a small price to pay for a bit of stability.

The new flat is just a couple of minutes' walk from the Eriskircher Ried: our local patch, if you will. [Apologies, but a good few of the links in this post will be in German. Google Translate may help, but don't count on it...] The Ried (map in link) is a fairly large protected area - one of the largest on the German portion of the Bodensee shoreline - and consists of 600 hectares of the lake shore, associated reedswamp and fen, with 'streuwiesen' and woodland further inland before the orchards reappear. 

The protected area is a Natura 2000 site (link to the data forms here: use the bottom three links for the pdfs), an SPA (Special Protection Area designated under the EU Birds Directive for those who may not know) designated in 2007. It appears to be important for populations of various breeding birds: Hobby, Great Reed Warbler, Quail, Grey-headed Woodpecker and Wryneck in particular, and for a sizeable aggregation of wintering waterbirds; counts of about 10,000-20,000 Tufted Duck and Pochard are mentioned, along with around 1,500 Red-crested Pochard. So, in theory, the local patch looks pretty interesting.

In practice, there certainly seems to be plenty of potential. Diving duck are fairly prominent around the lake edge, though Goldeneye and Red-crested Pochard seem to be the most abundant species at present this winter (acknowledged that it's a fairly poor winter for waterbirds so far though). There are also plenty of Mallard, Coot, Great Crested Grebe and Cormorant. There are always groups of Goosander scattered around and Little Grebe are more plentiful than anywhere I have ever been before. Whooper Swans are here in reasonable numbers, along with a small number of Bewick's. Black-headed, Common, Caspian and Yellow-legged Gulls are all widespread (ah, the joys of returning to the complexities of large white-headed gull identification) and herons are represented by lots of Grey Heron and variable numbers of Great Egret. Grey-headed Woodpecker are certainly around, if thinly-spread, though the landbird scene is rather restricted by the time of year and a decent blanket of snow in the last week or so, along with some freezer-like temperatures.

Pictures of the meadows in spring and summer look enticing, so as the year continues to turn, it's going to be an exciting time with plenty to discover. I dare say there will be more on the subject later!

The river at the south of the Ried - the Schussen - at the start of the snowfall. Three days later the river had frozen across, leaving a disconsolate-looking troop of Teal marooned on the ice.

Looking north across the meadows towards Eriskirch, where the church rather dominates the skyline.

A view across the meadows to some mistletoe-infested willows.

Scheidegg Geopark

Ingredient 1: Sunshine. Ingredient 2: happy children. Ingredient 3: Sunday morning - pancakes eaten and washing up done. The stage is clearly set for a bit of exploration of our new surroundings. Where better to begin than the Scheidegg waterfalls?
The road climbs up gradually from the lake, leaving the lowland fruit trees behind. As we pass into hillier country the road behind to curve and twist up into spruce forest, hairpin bends swirling us round the woods to gratified shouts of 'Whooooaaa-aaah!' and 'Again-again!' from the back seats.

The main visitor 'centre' of the disparate waterfalls is easily found, though a bit of adjustment is necessary as we are not allowed to turn right into the site from the main road. The first thing we then see is the rather incongruous sight of a Grey Heron sat at the top of an apple tree. Always something new to see in this world.

Waterfall 1

The inevitable playground is greeted with delight by the girls, who rush to get onto things which whirl them round and make them as dizzy as possible. They reluctantly disengage to visit the waterfalls. The falls are good. The small river is channelled through the edge of the playground and then drops off a conglomerate ledge to a new bed some 20 metres below. We watch from a steel platform jutting over the basin; not a spot for those who suffer from vertigo!

We backtrack from the platform and head along the trail to the lower falls. The path winds up to a small clearing crammed with sedges and the remains of summer seedheads, stays on the level for a brief moment, then plunges down the side of the gorge to reach two further viewpoints.

The first is from the base of the first falls, where the size of the basin carved from the underlying rock can be appreciated - a great round sweep testifying to the size of the falls after the snowmelt.

The second, deeper still in the gorge, looks onto the lower falls, somewhat smaller, but without the intrusion of metal platforms and playground above, so with a more unspoilt feel. The remains of past viewing platforms rot forlornly by the modern metal grille.

Waterfall 2

More time at the playground is needed after the effort of all those steps. The site is scattered with equipment related to water: a hydraulic ram, an Archimedean screw, a modern water turbine and one of the first electric turbines ever built in Bavaria. Though it's all powered down for the winter, there is enough rainwater in the screw to let it function for a while; again much to the delight of the children.

The final falls are upstream, a short walk along the valley. The stream cascades gently through the conifers, stepping down over blocks and layers of conglomerate. This final waterfall is quite low, but the party runs round the inside of the basin, behind the falls: loud and lively with low water, it must be quite an experience the spring.

The valley woodlands are a trans-boundary nature reserve, shared with Austria and left to grow and age without human interference. The cynic in me feels that it may simply be because the slopes are to steep to bother with for forestry, but maybe that's a churlish view. Besides, better to have some areas which don't require human 'management'.

Spindle berries brighten the woodland beautifully. Pfaffenhuettchen (little priests' hats would, I guess, be the literal translation). Whatever the word, they are gloriously colourful in an otherwise green-brown-grey season.

Brexit - means Brexit.

OK, so it's a predictable title; sorry.

Here we are. We've left the sunny shores of south-west England and washed up on the banks of Europe's third-largest lake: Constance (Bodensee, as I'll probably end up referring to it forever after). We're living in a small village just to the north of the lake, just east of half-way along. Seek out the local town of Langenargen on your trusty online mapping programme and you'll get the general gist.

Moving here has been something of a mammoth task: quitting jobs in the UK was relatively simple. Making the house ready for the next family was somewhat more Herculean, but achievable. Packing for the move seemed to take forever and - despite being fairly thrifty with our posessions, an alarming amount of stuff, clutter, call it what you will, was shipped off to charity shops, friends and family.

The journey over was the next challenge: Dover-Calais ferry, or the tunnel? Or Harwich to Hook of Holland? We plumped for the latter, particularly because the long journey meant a proper break and a chance to sleep, as well as saving us the tedium of the Oostend-Brussels-Aachen stretch of motorway - anyone who's driven that route ought to understand. So, a ridiculously early start from Exeter, a fairly stress-free journey to Harwich and we board the ferry - strange to be looking back at the coast and think that this is not actually a holiday. A millpond crossing, glassily smooth, meant that we could watch seals loafing in the North Sea for a good long while - individuals asleep in the water, bottling happily a good hour's journey out to sea: looks like the life. If reincarnation could happen...

A short hop down the motorway and we were able to break the journey for a couple of nights with my in-laws: again, a stretch of the legs for the adults and a bit of rest from the tedium of sitting in a car seat for hours on end for two small children. Finally, the last stretch - past Frankfurt, Stuttgart and Ulm with barely a hitch - only to be held up for 20 minutes with an inexplicable traffic jam about a kilometre from our exit from the final motorway. Cruel. We rolled in, finally, to the driveway of our new temporary home and shoehorned ourselves and the children out of the car with a communal sigh of relief. Even the car seemed grateful to stop moving (ruthless anthropomorphism I know; sorry).

Since then, we've been gradually extending our knowledge of the area, getting to grips with a somewhat cooler winter climate than we've been used to, and dealing with what feels like a small Alp of bureaucracy - though to be totally fair, the general helpfulness of the average civil servant here is incredible.Registering ourselves, the car, working, finding future work, getting children settled in kindergartens, looking for a more permanent flat, finding health insurance, doctors, the local shops; the list feels endless, but somehow we're whittling away at it.

The local area if dominated by fruit growing. Lots of apples, in particular. Much of it is very intensive, as you would expect in a western European country, buy the as also some pockets of older traditional orchards, with big old trees and much more evident wildlife. Our local patch has such goodies as Grey-headed Woodpeckers, Hawfinch and a plethora of Tree Sparrows. Not bad when you're from Devon. Much, much more on the local area, walks and wildlife later though!

Looking forward to seeing what the rest of the winter - and then the spring may bring us...

The Saentis (in Switzerland) looms closest over the lake directly to the south. The snow which fell (on my birthday! There's a first!) has retreated up-slope considerably, but the mountain still looks nicely picturesque.

Looking south-east from the lake-front at Langenargen, the mountains in Vorarlberg (in Austria) a somewhat more forbidding presence. There's good birding to be had there...