Last weekend, I had the pleasure of catching up with the long-staying male Black-throated Thrush at Whipsnade Zoo, in Bedfordshire (a long way from home for this Geordie).
Enjoying a scarce bird is always a pleasure but, I confess, the experience of observing just such a lost waif in the company of free-ranging South American Mara and hods of perplexed zoo-goers was certainly something new. The bird in question not at all perturbed by the crowds as it foraged for worms on the lawn by the zoo’s cafe.
Black-throated Thrush (Turdus atrogularis) is a migratory Asian species, breeding from the far East of Europe, through Siberia and down into Northern Mongolia. It is an occasional vagrant to Western Europe with this winter, in particular, seemingly a good once for this eye-catching species.
We all have days when everything feels like just a little bit too much: like myriad tasks are mounting up uncontrollably while motivation [and self-worth] are cascading downwards. Slumps and spells of low creativity as we bemoan mounting pressures but do little to combat them due to persistent, nagging and quite frankly, irritating, doubts. Yes, it has been one of those weeks – fine and dandy at work, and in public, but strangely deflated at home.
For some obscure reason, I have found myself demoralised of late. I wouldn’t go as far as to say “down” but definitely lacking the energy and incentive to do the things I usually love: writing, blogging, even birding. All of which has culminated in prolonged spells of sitting and staring vacantly at my laptop screen. Hoping for the miraculous resurgence of inspiration yet getting nowhere fast, until this morning that is, with a prolonged bout of ‘curtain twitching’.
I had chalked my recent slump up to a lack of time in nature, something I suspect many of us need to function properly as human beings. Perhaps I was correct; although gazing outwards from the window, I quickly came to realise I had been ignorant, and that one need not be galavanting in the countryside to enjoy, and seek motivation from the natural world.
For those unaware, my bedroom window looks out directly on to a busy street – the only perk being the bird feeders tactfully positioned outside in our minuscule yard. These attract a good range of species given our position in central Newcastle: house sparrows (over 70 at times), goldfinches, starlings, woodpigeons, doves, dunnocks and the occasional tit and Robin. All of which I fear I have overlooked in my current self-reflective grump.
Today, the feeders thronged with sparrows – around forty of them – jostling for position and making an ungodly mess, all to a persistent soundtrack of high-pitched chirrups. The testosterone-fueled jostling of the male birds, clad in their dark masks of alternating hues – a sign of dominance, I was once told – bemusing, and the boldness of the entire folk in the face of passing dog-walkers and cyclists, outstanding.
Above the sparrows, a pair of visiting Goldfinches raided the Nyger; appearing almost snobbish as they watched the scrum beneath. On the ground, a plump Woodpigeon waddled through the mass of small, brown birds, dispersing them in its wake as it mopped up fallen fragments of sunflower and wheat. From the pot which holds our now decrepit Cotoneaster, a Dunnock tentatively emerged, far too polite to engage in the frenzy and content to pick off stray morsels from the peripheries.
I confess that it took me a while to realise I was feeling better; mood building as I observed the fray until begrudgingly, I returned to my screen. Now, three hours later, I have obliterated my ‘to do’ list: answering emails, writing a reference, drafting a post for a notable NGO, proofreading a magazine and quickly producing a few snippets of overdue copy. Hell, now I even find myself writing this post – the first piece of genuine writing I have submitted to this blog in weeks.
It really is remarkable what a brief spell in nature can do for you. I should take five, sit back and watch more often – even when commitments render me unable to travel further afield.
I don’t know about you, but whenever I talk to a birder with decades of experience I leave the conversation with two feelings. First: admiration, for their ability to confidently identify any species by call or the slightest glimpse. This feeling is surpassed, however, by the disappointment at realising I may never reach their level of expertise. So if you’re just starting out birding here’s some advice from an intermediate birder, someone who’s at a level easily achievable by yourselves. Once you get here that gap to the virtuosos (hopefully) won’t seem such a leap.
1) Focus on families first. If you’re unsure of a bird’s species, be satisfied with narrowing it down as far as you can. I encountered this with waders, ‘Is it a Knot or a Dunlin? Oh, maybe it’s a Sanderling’ I said leafing through the field guide. My frustration eased when I realised that I could at least narrow things down the next time, by starting with these three and eliminating from there. It may sound stupid, but I learned to be satisfied (though not happy) with being able to take one look and say, ‘It’s one of three species’ etc. and so my ID skills had improved however slightly and gave me a challenge to build on the next time. The message here is not to expect too much too soon, just knowing the family of birds your unknown species belongs to eliminates hundreds of other species. Familiarise yourself with bird families and work down from there.
2) Set challenges. Following on from family focussed birding, I set myself challenges. Last year it was to see all British Thrushes, this involved a short new year’s day walk to tick off Blackbird and Song thrush, before a slightly harder (though still fairly easy) search for a Mistle thrush. This was followed up by a short drive to some hedged farmland to see flocks of Redwing and Fieldfare and concluded with a weekend’s remote hiking to tick off Ring Ouzel in the summer. By aiming for just 6 species I learned so much, I had to know when and where to look. Given that some thrush species are resident whilst others are winter visitors and another a summer visitor, I had to gain an intimate knowledge of this bird family.
One of this year’s challenges is all Corvid species in a day. I’m currently planning a route which should see me to tick off all 8. Some being trickier than others. Try picking a family and working out when and where you’d need to be in order to see them all in the shortest possible time period, even if you don’t actually complete or even attempt the challenge, the other species seen, or books read would still be valuable learning.
3) Localised Guides. Don’t be tempted by a book which lists all species in Europe. I found myself looking at 6 identical images and had to eliminate species by reading four pages of information. By the time I’d gotten it down to two species, the bird had vanished. A localised guide is much more concise and less daunting, and hopefully less frustrating. By focussing on being able to ID species you’re likely to encounter, something a little rarer will be much more obvious when it’s around.
4) Get a patch. This is linked with the localised field guide advice. it’s great to be able to trek around the country ticking off as many species as you can but gaining an intimate knowledge of a small patch is just as rewarding. I walk around an area less than 1km2 whenever I’m home in Durham and as far as I’m aware there’s never been a rarity or ‘lifer’, just your usual cast of common birds. This may seem dull but viewing the same patch across the year can tune you into the life cycle of the birds there. You learn when certain migrants arrive and leave, which order they begin to sing in, where you’re most likely to see each species at any point in the year. This intimacy with common species ties in with the points above, when something rare comes along you’ll be able to discount all of your usual species with relative ease.
5) Don’t give up! This is by far the most important tip I can give you. I stopped birding at 13 due to frustration and bullying (from classmates AND teachers) over my hobby. The result, I went to University to start my BSc in Animal Conservation with only limited knowledge of a few common species. I curse the day I packed away my field guide and binoculars and turned to ‘cooler’ hobbies and beg for a chance to see that teacher again!
The overall message here is to enjoy, don’t be too harsh on yourself, one day you’ll be an ‘intermediate’ birder, then becoming a virtuoso won’t seem too daunting!
Spring has sprung, at long last. And all about my local area, the sapphire blooms of English bluebell mingle with the garish, Simpson-yellow of lesser celandine and the pristine white of flowering wood anemone. The air encompassing them ripe with the stench of ramsons carried on the breeze and nearby waterways – the ponds, streams and ditches that crisscross the landscape here – choked with riving masses of Amphibian spawn, just about ready to hatch. In the hedgerows, myriad insects buzz, spurred on by rising temperatures, and in the woodlands, trees stir as the canopy is painted green once more. A canopy which now, during the heyday of Spring, plays host to countless migrant birds, fresh from their travels and engrossed in the process of attracting a mate.
On the subject of migrant birds, I have enjoyed nearly the full array this week. Hoards of hirundines – swallows and martins – hawking for insects over bustling waterbodies; Blackcaps and Whitethroats uttering erratic bursts of song from within lime-green hawthorns; and even Swifts, that most iconic of May arrivals, screeching as they hunt in whirling arcs above street, field and copse. The occurrence of these resurgent wonders interspersed by other heralds of this most joyous of seasons: by reeling grasshopper warblers, hidden from sight yet conspicuous to the ear; and by common sandpipers, sedge warblers, whimbrel and dazzling yellow wagtails. Familiar species, longed for since they departed, who liven up my rural walks – replacing the redwing, fieldfare and waxwing that reigned supreme previously.
Of course, given the tumultuous nature of the season, the unfamiliar has also featured in my escapades of late. Manifested in the occurrence of birds I am not accustomed to seeing with any degree of frequency. Garganey and Black-necked Grebe, scarce wanderers, dropping in locally on route to their breeding grounds. The latter, a species currently teetering on a knife edge in this country, savoured as it fished, content, adjacent to a local bird hide. This individual just starting moult into its renowned, and rather beautiful, Summer plumage. As for the Garganey, the drakes (of which three were seen) appeared sublime in their alternating shades of brown, white and angelic, sky-blue – far more demure than the vibrant tones some of our more abundant ducks yet, in their own way, perfect.
Despite their allure, both grebe and duck have, this week, found themselves eclipsed. Cast into obscurity by the arrival of a far more unusual visitor: a glossy ibis. A bird I have observed to no end in Spain, yet one I had not, until now, encountered here, in my slightly cooler homeland. The bird in question – shown below – showing marvellously on a flooded field – catching earthworms in it’s near preposterously long and downcurved bill before tossing them back with gusto, in a jerky motion unique to long-legged wading bird such as this. Engrossing as it went about its business unperturbed by the crowd of admiring apes amassing mere feet away.
It is easy to see where this species gets its name, beautifully iridescent or dull, unassuming brown depending on the light. Ascetics reminiscent of the Ibis’s patron: the Egyptian god Thoth. A deity in the ancient pantheon often depicted with the head of an Ibis and credited as the inventor of writing, and alphabets. Indeed, watching the bird closely, a distinct sense of regality was observed of which I am sure its mythological counterpart would be proud.
Glossy Ibis – Druridge Pools, Northumberland
As the calendar advances and the last vestiges of our lastest, stubborn Winter finally dissipate, I find myself drawn increasingly into the avian world. Not because birds, in spite of their beauty and appeal, are somehow grander than other life, but because unlike plants, amphibians and even mammals – whose occurrence and actions one can quite easily, with some research, predict – they are erratic. Unpredictable in their movements to such an extent that one can never really know what will occur next, or what to expect.
Late discovery. The Willow Tit and the much more abundant Marsh tit are incredibly difficult to tell apart, even by professional birders. They are so similar, in fact, that they were once mistakenly believed to be a single species. Indeed, the Willow Tit was the last regular British breeding bird to be identified – only named in 1897. This split was largely due to observed differences in the calls of both species: Marsh Tits uttering a sneeze-like pitchou call, and Willow Tits a harsher zee-zurzur-zur.
Spot the difference. As time progressed, a number of ways to tell apart Marsh and Willow Tits were identified. For example, the cap of the former appears glossy compared to the duller tones of the willow, whose cap also extends further on to the nape. Similarly, the Marsh tits possess a larger bib; while the white cheeks of the Willow are often larger and more conspicuous than that of the Marsh. Additionally, Willow Tits also show a pale wing panel caused by the pale edging of the bird’s secondary wing feathers.
Habitat preference. Despite their name, marsh tits are known to prefer drier habits and are often found in expansive areas of broadleaf woodland – especially those boasting a prominent shrub-layer. Willow Tits, on the other hand, are associated with wetter areas, including wet-woodland. They are more likely to be seen in conifer forests also and are the species most likely encountered on disused industrial sites and wasteland areas boasting a healthy shrub layer. The Willow tit is absent from Ireland and much of Scotland but is known to occur further North than it’s close cousin.
Yet more confusion. In the past, the Willow Tit was considered to be conspecific with the Black-capped Chickadee of North America – another ascetically similar species. Confusion between the two species can be observed in the Peterson Field Guide to Birds of Britain and Europe. Here, the American species is listed as an alternate name for Willow Tit while, in reality, both species (alongside the Marsh tit and Carolina Chickadee) are only similar in appearance.
Conservation priority. Myriad reasons have meant that the British Willow Tit population has declined by 94% since 1970, with the species now completely absent from former haunts in the South-East and elsewhere in Britain. Populations in the North of England have suffered declines also but are clinging on due to the natural regeneration of wet scrub on old industrial land. Currently, the UK’s Willow Tit population is estimated at 3400 pairs, making this species on of the most pressing conservation issues in the UK today.
Susceptible to eviction. Evidence suggests that competition from Blue and Great Tits could be a major factor contributing to the decline of the Willow Tit in the UK. Willow Tits nest in cavities excavated from dead wood, with the nest building process often proving to be a very noisy affair. This, coupled with the obvious visual implications and the production of visible byproducts such as wood chips, means that excavating Willow Tits are vulnerable to detection from both the species previously mentioned. Both of which can extirpate the occupants of a nest with relative ease.
Are woodpeckers to blame? Once a nest hole has been excavated and lined, Willow Tits can still be noisy around their breeding site, leaving them vulnerable to detection by Great Spotted Woodpeckers, which are accomplished at extracting prey from rotten wood. Willow Tits are single-brooded and if predation occurs at the chick stage, the pair is extremely unlikely to breed again that year. Numbers of Great Spotted Woodpeckers have increased dramatically in the UK (by 314% between 1970 and 2006), and
Willow Tits may have suffered a corresponding increase in predation rate.
Habitat loss. Despite a steep population decline, Willow Tits can still occur at relatively high densities in some brownfield sites where wet-scrub habitat is plentiful. Such disused industrial sites have, however, become less common in recent decades due to development, agriculture and natural regeneration. It is assumed that habitat loss is the primary driver of Willow Tit declines across Britain. Over-browsing by deer, which limits the regrowth of the species preferred wet-scrub, is almost certainly worsening the problem at many sites.
Novelty woodpecker. Willow Tits are the only British tit species to excavate a new nest hole each breeding season, with much of the work usually carried out by the female bird. Nests are positioned usually around a metre above the ground in a rotten stump and are established by the hen bird through boring and chiselling at the wood – prying off small chippings until the hole is widened sufficiently to enable breeding. Such nests are often lined with soft materials such as fur, moss or narrow strips of bark fibre. The particular nature of Willow Tit nests means that they seldom inhabit nest-boxes; though some people have successfully attracted the species by lining boxes with sawdust.
Claim to fame. The Willow Tit was featured in Gilbert and Sullivan’s 1885 operetta, The Mikado, in the song Willow Tit Willow. Sam the Eagle and Rowlf the Dog performed this in the first season of The Muppet Show.
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There is still time this weekend to take part in the RSPB’s annual Big Garden Birdwatch – a fabulous (and fun) scheme which contributes greatly to the knowledge surrounding our garden birds. Highlighting current trends, increases, decreases and eruptions in avian populations through the power of citizen science. To take part, you only need a garden or, for those of you like me lacking in this regard, a local greenspace.
For my BBGW efforts this year I focused on two urban parks in Newcastle, dedicating an hour of my time to each over the course of this morning. The first, Iris Brickfield Park, is more or less your typical urban greenspace, boasting little more than an extensive field, a small pond and a series of scrubby areas. Surrounded entirely by housing, the results of the survey here (shown below) were more or less typical for this type of setting.
As you can see, seven of the species seen here also featured in the national top ten from 2017. Albeit in a somewhat different order. For example, my most numerous species, the Goldfinch, features at number one here compared to number six nationally; while House Sparrow takes the number six spot compared to number one nationally. It is little wonder Goldfinch snatched the top spot – they have, after all, increased substantially over recent years – though it was still heartening to record at least some Starlings and House Sparrows. Here Coal tit just edged out the remaining two species seen on my visit – Feral Pigeon and Great Tit – to secure its place in the top ten.
My second site was – Heaton Park – was a much more appealing prospect for a bird survey; boasting no end of mature trees, dense cover and even a small stream on its peripheries. The diversity of the habitat hearing resulting in the surprise addition of Kingfisher to this mornings list (my first in the city) and two Moorhens. Still, if you look at the results below, they remain somewhat true to the national trends…
Here, Goldfinch again snatched the top spot – owing to the charm of fifteen birds putting in an appearance towards the end of my watch – and Woodpigeon, Blue Tit, Blackbird and Carrion Crow featured prominently, once again. At number four on my list, Blue Tit matches its position in the national rankings from last year.
Today’s results are more or less what I expected from this years BGBW (minus the Kingfisher), though there were a few notable omissions. Bullfinch, usually abundant here, were completing absent, as were Greenfinch – little wonder given the state of the wider population. Similarly, not one Collared Dove, Chaffinch or Song Thrush was seen during the course of the morning; although this was offset somewhat by the appearance of Long-tailed Tit and Great Spotted Woodpecker.
This may not be interesting to you guys at home, but to me, it’s positively riveting.
Now, this is a post for the avian-inclined individuals out there…
For those of you who didn’t know, I set myself a challenge at the start of 2017. One which would see me attempt to glimpse as many bird species as possible in my home county over the course of a single year. No easy feat given the fact I do not yet drive, and instead rely predominately on public transport and the goodwill of others. (Thanks for the lifts this year Jack, Sacha and others).
As we approach year’s end, I can reveal that I will be finishing said challenge on a total of 222 species. Now, this falls below my initial target of 230 and well below the dizzy heights reached by other regional birders, but despite this, I am happy with it. While my own tally may yet increase (doubtful), what I have had the pleasure to enjoy so far has worked wonders when it comes to confirming my view of Northumberland as an incredibly diverse, beautiful and wholly interesting county. Truly, I’ve had a blast dashing around like a lunatic during 2017 and despite my mediocre score, have enjoyed some truly wonderful spectacles.
Below is a short summary of the highlights of this birding year omitting, of course, a few of the more abundant odds and ends in the interest of efficiency.
Bean Goose – 2/3 Tundra race seen at Hemscott Hill, Druridge on the 7th January.
Mandarin – Lone drake on an urban pond at Hexham on the 24th of February.
Garganey – Drake at Arcot Pond, 17th March.
Green-winged Teal – Drake at Hauxley Nature Reserve on the 18th of April.
Ferruginous Duck (County Tick) – Superb drake at Gosforth Park on the 19th of March.
Ring-necked Duck (County tick) – Drake on Hauxley Nature Reserve on the 26th March.
Black Scoter (Lifer) – Drake at Cheswich Sands on the 16th of January.
Velvet Scoter – Immature drake in Blyth Estuary on February 20th
Ruddy Duck (County Tick) – Drake at Bothal Pond on the 8th of June.
Mandarin
Ruddy Duck and Mandarin
Black Grouse – 1 male and 2 female birds at Swinhope on the 25th of February.
Quail (County tick) – One seen and another two heard at Stobswood on June 19th.
Pacific Diver (Lifer) – the long-staying individual at East Chevington on January 20th; seen again and enjoyed on multiple occasions thereafter.
Great Northern Diver – two at Bamburgh on the 7th of January.
Red-necked Grebe – a single individual at Bamburgh on the 3rd of March.
Slavonian Grebe – four at Bamburgh on the 7th of January. Another confiding individual in Blyth Harbour thereafter.
Black-necked Grebe – two.
Spoonbill – One at Druridge Pools on the 10th of April, three thereafter.
Great White Egret – One at Druridge Pools on the 26th March.
Common Crane (County Tick) – One at Druridge Pools on the 9th of April.
Curlew Sandpiper – two at Cresswell Pond on the 2nd of August.
Little Stint – one at Cresswell Pond on the 9th of October.
White-rumped Sandpiper (Lifer) – the Showy individual at St. Mary’s Island on the 7th of August.
Pectoral Sandpiper – One on the 3rd of July at Druridge Pools.
Red-necked Phalarope (Lifer) – Single bird on the 3rd of October at Druridge Pools.
Glaucous Gull – Flyover individual at Warkworth on the 7th of January.
Iceland Gull – Immature on rocks at North Blyth on the 6th of January.
Iceland Gull
Caspian Gull – Returning bird at Amble on the 6th of August. Ring no: PKCS.
Black Tern – Cracking adult at East Chevington on the 21st of April.
Long-tailed Skua (Lifer) – Birding experience of the year; single bird showed down to a matter of feet on Goswick Golf Course. 27th September.
Short-eared Owl – fantastic year for this species; ten individuals seen by December including six together at one site + two on breeding territory.
Long-Eared Owl – seen regularly at two reliable sites.
Cuckoo – singing birds at Beacon Hill and Catton, first 2nd May. One seen on Holy Island.
Nightjar – three individuals observed (and more heard) at an inland site. Incredible views.
Bee-Eater (Lifer) – Long-staying bird at Druridge Pools on the 21st of October.
Great Grey Shrike – Prestwick Carr, 12th January.
Waxwing – 180 seen in total; first flock of c60 at Bedlington on 26th January.
Waxwing – Bedlington
Shore Lark – four at East Chevington on the 1st of January.
Short-toed Lark (Lifer) – single bird at Catton Moss on the 10th of May.
Red-rumped Swallow (British tick) – lucky encounter; single bird at Druridge Pools on April 10th.
Cetti’s Warbler (County Tick) – Seen briefly and heard for a good hour at East Chevington, 14th October.
Yellow-browed Warbler – Seven in total; first Hauxley NR on the 16th September
Barred Warbler (Lifer) – Showing very well at Druridge Pools on the 7th of October.
Citrine Wagtail (Lifer) – Fantastic views on two occasions at Lynemouth Flash, first seen on the 13th of May.
Citrine Wagtail – Lynemouth flash
Hawfinch (County tick) – Two individuals at Abbey Mill on the 6th of November.
Honourable mentions to Wood Warbler, Willow Tit, Pied Flycatcher, Black Redstart, Hen Harrier, Osprey, Goshawk, Snow Bunting, Water Pipit, Roseate Tern and Little Auk.
Greatest ommissions? Well, missing Night Heron, White-winged Black Tern, Spotted Crake, White-billed Diver and Black-throated Thursh hurt somewhat; though failing to catch up with Bittern and Sooty Shearwater is pretty inexcusable. And let’s not talk about Temmick’s Stint.
By large, birders are a nice bunch and bad behaviour and poor etiquette among devotees is, thankfully, rather scarce – though this does not mean it does not occur. Many of those boasting a penchant for the hobby will have witnessed such behaviour, the practice of tape luring birds during the breeding season for example, and I doubt I am the only one to cringe whenever the term organised flush is uttered. Which it is, whenever a particularly cryptic species turns up and onlookers desiring more than just a fleeting glimpse take it upon themselves to deliberately scare it from cover.
Generally, bad behaviour among birdwatchers falls into two distinct categories: actions which cause damage to property or habitat (bad) and actions detrimental to the bird itself (very bad). Both of which appear to have been rife at the recent Pallas’s Grasshopper Warbler twitch in Norfolk.
The video below, kindly posted to Youtube by SuperPeckinpah, demonstrates perfectly the behaviour which, at present, is giving birders a bad name. Trespassing, damage to habitat and organised flushing, coupled with arrogant individuals behaving like petulant, kaki-clad children. Hat’s off to the wardens of Holkham Hall Estate for confronting these individuals and acting in the best interests of both the bird and the law – it must have been hard keeping a cool head given the selfish and, at times, patronising drivel being spoken by some within the crowd.
Ultimately, if behaviour like that displayed in the above video continues, it will be we birders who lose out. If the ignorant minority continues to do as they please, ignoring best practice and the wishes of landowners, bird news will simply stop being published – leaving all of us in the dark. It is promising to see so many within the birding community highlighting and pouring scorn on this behaviour – just look at this thread – but it is up to all of us to remain vigilant and ensure that idiots like those featured above are kept in check.
My attention was recently drawn to an interesting article authored for The Conversation by the esteemed and eloquent Dr Robert Lambert. Centred on the logic behind birding (or twitching, if you prefer), I found the piece highly interesting, both as a birder who spends a great deal of his time observing our feathered friends and as an individual intrigued by birdwatching culture. The article itself really was rather good, and I agree with many of the points stated; though, for me, the social media debate surrounding its publication was equally fascinating. With some choosing to criticise and others choosing to compliment based on the various points stated within. Well, to cut a long story short, this – coupled with a few queries from curious friends – got me thinking. Why exactly do I spend so much time and, in some cases money, in pursuit of rare birds?
My interesting in twitching is somewhat of a developing one: with long-distance trips and costly jaunts taking place more frequently now that they did in years prior. Why is this? Well, as Dr Lambert states, there are many reasons one may choose to pursue rare birds. There is, of course, a competitive element: with birders attempting to score points over their rivals and surpass them in ranking. While I do not profess to do this on a national scale, I am taking place in a “bird race” this year so I guess this applies, equally, to me. There is also the thrill of rarity itself; the buzz associated with observing the new and unfamiliar; something which, again, I feel applies to my own birding forays. I, like many others, certainly enjoy revelling in the sight of a new and intriguing bird species. There are, however, other arguably more important motivations underpinning my avian obsession.
Rare birds, while intriguing, are not always the most memorable feature of a twitch. No, for me, chasing rarities is only the beginning; and the thrill of a life on the move is of equal importance. Birding has a habit of taking you to some truly surreal locations – whether you are looking for eagles amid the sweeping vistas of the Cairngorms or searching for a dusky thrush Turdus eunomus amid the quaint stone houses of a quiet village in Derbyshire. These locations are always different and each boasts their own unique appeal; whether that be the chance to sample local food or drink (Caol IIa whisky springs to mind), the opportunity visit a new pub and engage with the locals, or the chance to engross yourself in natural spectacles far removed from your regular haunts. Indeed, on twitch earlier this year, I spent equal time enjoying large flocks of locally common farmland birds as I did our intended target, the Dunnington pine bunting Emberiza leucocephalos. For me, birding is paramount to wanderlust.
More important still, at least in my opinion, is the sense of community that comes with outing yourself as a birder. I am sure I speak for many people when I say that life for younger people boasting an interest in nature can often be a lonely and tedious affair – our interests met with indifference by some and outright ridicule by others. It can be frustrating at times and disheartening at others; though thankfully, the birding community is, for the large part, an incredibly supportive and caring fraternity. Sure, as with any hobby there are a few intolerable characters – those people you do your best to avoid amid the amassed crowd surrounding your chosen vagrant – but for each one of these there are ten more willing to offer advice, guidance, support and friendly chitchat; enough to lift the spirits of even the most downtrodden individual. I owe an awful lot my local birding network, the characters here in Northumberland that have nudged me in the right direction over the years, but also to groups such as Next Generation Birders for keeping my interests alive and preventing me from regressing to a more socially acceptable state. One that my peers at school would have preferred but I, myself, would have quietly hated.
At this point, the individual characters that make up the birding community are also worth a mention. As with any hobby, the sheer level of diversity here is great; ranging from the quirky, outspoken and cantankerous, to the incredibly genuine and accommodating. Those who will bend over backwards to make you feel at home. With so many personalities abounding, the likelihood of finding someone you “click with” in birding is substantial; and some of my greatest friends were first encountered amid the throng surrounding a wayward rarity. I am sure Sacha Elliot will not mind be saying that we met over a wryneck. Birding provides an opportunity to make the acquaintance of others; to bond and make life-long friends. Something which, in itself, far surpasses the importance of competition. Of course, these friends also add to the experience and come rain or shy, arduous ten-hour car journey or short walk to your local nature reserve, these people help make birding the wonderful affair it is.
To conclude: birding, for me, is about many things. It is about competition, the allure of rarity and, of course, the joy of experiencing nature first hand. It is, however, equally about a sense of belonging and friendship; about the people you meet and the laughs to be had. It is about post-twitch trips to the pub, communal meet-ups, carpools, inadvertant hilarity and the opportunity to enjoy surreal settings in the company of people you have come to know and trust. Birding, despite its name, is about a lot more than just birds. This is what I will tell those who ask in the future.
I heard a Tawny Owl last night. A nocturnal foray to my local store interrupted by an eerie, frightfully abrupt, yet oddly soothing shriek from the branches of a Sycamore in the local churchyard. A sound which I hear often, both in the countryside and closer to home, amid the houses of Bedlington, that never fails to stop me dead in my tracks. Haunting, to such an extent that it must surely have raised a few eyebrows in prehistory – when our ancestors, absent the comforts of modern life, still had reason to fear what lurked in the dark of our woods and other wild places. I am quite fond of the Tawny Owl.
In keeping with the season – when owls begin to vocalise more frequently as they sure up their territorial boundaries ahead of Spring – and with recent promises made on this blog to talk more of nature, and animals themselves. I thought I would put together a list of facts about this abundant yet seldom seen nocturnal hunter. For fun, mainly, but also as a brief tribute to what is, without a doubt, one of Britain’s most eye-catching and truly fascinating species.
Mistaken identity. The famed and often (wrongly) cited “twit twoo” call of the Tawny Owl does not actually exist, stemming instead from the work of Shakespeare. Who cemented the myth in popular culture with his renowned ‘Love’s Labours Lost‘. The sound actually comes from the back and forward conversing of male and female owls: from the sharp “kewick” of the female and the longer, more drawn out, hooting of the male birds.
A violent streak. Unlike the flimsier Barn Owl and the much more reclusive Long-Eared, Tawny Owls are not a bird to be trifled with. As shown by their ability to oust other species from nest boxes; from widely discussed territorial attacks on people and their ability to take prey species up the size of a rabbit. A violent streak renowned wildlife photographer Eric Hosking experienced first hand when, in 1937, he clambered up to a welsh bird hide and was blinded in his left eye by a particularly feisty owl.
Liquid aversion. Unlike Britain’s migratory owls – our “eared” species, principally – Tawny Owls appear to show an aversion to water. And are rarely observed crossing any substantial water body. This being the reason that the species stands absent from many of our islands – from Shetland, Orkney and the Isle of Wight to name but a few – and, more famously, why they remain absent from Ireland. Where in their absence, the Long-Eared Owl has become particularly abundant.
Copycat. It is incredibly easy to mimic the call of a Tawny Owl by simply blowing through cupped hands. With a study finding that almost 90% of male owls can be tempted into responding this way. Note: Jays too have been known to copy the characteristic call of the Tawny, with some suggesting that they do so as a means of locating the birds during the day, in order to mob them.
Avian assassins. We commonly associate the diet of owls with voles, mice and other small furry creatures, though the diet of the Tawny Owl is, in fact, an incredibly broad one. In urban areas in particular, birds form a large portion of owl diet; with species such as Starling and Blackbird taken frequently. Although birds as large as an adult Mallard and Kittiwake have been reported taken by owls. And tawny owls have also been known to kill and eat both Little and Long-Eared Owls. Often persecuting their smaller kin to such an extent that the species cannot coexist within areas of suitable habitat.
Bad tidings. Historically, the Tawny Owl (and other owl species) was viewed as a harbinger of bad tidings. Associated with everything from witchcraft to the looming threat of death. This negative view of owls continuing for some time, demonstrated by the following, rather breif, verse by Sir Walter Scott: Birds of omen dark and foul, Night-crow, raven, bat, and owl, Leave the sick man to his dream, All night long he heard your scream. An owl, likely a Tawny Owl, also featured as an omen of death in Shakespeare’s “Macbeth“.
Surprise finds. Recently, a ring from Tawny Owl was recovered in Iceland – something which, at a glance, appeared to contrast with usually sedentary nature of the species. However, it later turned out that the ring had been collected from a dead owl by a birder who, in keeping with the quirky style of those of an avian persuasion, then attached the ring to his binoculars. Before traveling to Iceland, where the strap on his equipment broke and the ring was lost and later recovered. Source: BTO.
Turning tables. The Tawny Owl may rule the night here in Britain, but the species has been found to feature in the diet of a number of other creatures. Among these: diurnal raptors such as Buzzards, Goshawks and eagles, as well as Eagle Owls, Foxes and large mustelids. With the eggs and chicks of owls also vulnerable to predation; from rats, squirrels, and even domestic animals. Life for a Tawny Owl is not at all easy.
Hill Hooter. Across its range in the UK, the Tawny Owl goes by a host of different names. With comical terms such as “hill hooter” and “screetch owl” commonplace, and others such as “ivy owl” and “beech owl” used to describe the bird at roost during the day. Derived from the tendency of owls to conceal themselves amid tangles of leaves or within trees in order to disguise themselves from predators.
Kinslaying. Tawny Owls boast an incredibly high level of juvenile mortality, due to a host of factors including prey shortages and predation. Many young owls, however, are also killed by their own parents – as resident owl pairs, desperate to hold on to areas of suitable habitat, attempt to drive out their young. Some studies have shown that up to two-thirds of owls die this way in some years.
Wonderful header image credited to Andreas Trepte, www.photo-natur.net, under the wiki creative commons.
Last week I posted an article regarding the woeful decline of one of my favourite garden birds: the Willow Tit. This seemed to go down rather well and many of you claimed to have learnt a thing or two from it. As such, I thought I would cover another species with an equally solemn story, the Yellowhammer. Another firm favourite of mine and a species that never fails to brighten up a country stroll whenever it is encountered. Indeed, the sight of a male Yellowhammer, radiant in the summer sun is perhaps one of the finest sights in nature. Their characteristic “a little bit of bread and no cheese” song still, thankfully, the soundtrack to many a trip here in the North of England. This is not the case all over however and this brilliant bunting at present finds itself plummeting towards an abyss alongside many other familiar bird species.
The Yellowhammer (Emberiza citrinella) showcases a unique trend among British farmland birds. The population of this passerine was, in fact, stable until the late 1980’s until the present decline began, a decline which, with the exception of Scotland has continued ever since. With only 792,000 occupied Yellowhammer territories now present in the UK, this species has declined by 50% in only twenty-five years. Now finding itself “red-listed” by the RSPB, highlighting its status as an endangered species within the UK. Scouring the web, data regarding the decline of this charismatic species within England/Wales appears scarce though data from North Ireland where the species has undergone similar declines is rather abundant. Here an estimated 30,000 individuals in 1991 dropped to only 10,000 in 1997 before plummeting to an all-time low of only 5000 birds today. A worrying trend if ever there was one and one that likely replicates their decline across the Irish Sea. Like the Willow Tit, there are numerous theories explaining this overtly negative trend.
Reasons for the Decline
The Yellowhammer is by definition a farmland bird though for breeding it favours hedges and herbaceous field margins. In recent times however many hedgerows have been removed (Boatman et al, 1992) and many of the remaining ones have been degraded through decades of mismanagement. It, therefore, stands to reason that this has resulted in a loss of suitable nest sites for Yellowhammers and could well have removed a crucial food source for chicks, one that would usually sustain the species before the maturation of cereal crops in the summer. Habitat loss is not isolated to breeding habitat however and the removal of edge habitats used for foraging may also have played a role in the Yellowhammers decline. Like hedgerows, such habitats harbour a wealth of seeds and insects, thus denying the species a crucial food source when removed. Similarly, it has been suggested that a decrease in late summer cereal crops and a subsequent increase in grass-dominated fields may also be limiting the food source of this species (Clark et al). The gradual decrease in the prevalence of winter stubble has also had a similar effect, denying the species yet another crucial food source during one of the most naturally demanding times of the year. Something highlighted by the BTO here:
” Reductions in winter seed food availability as a result of agricultural intensification (for example, the loss of winter stubbles and a reduction in weed densities) are widely believed to have contributed to the population decline. Gillings et al. (2005)have identified better population performance in areas with extensive winter stubble, presumably because overwinter survival is relatively high.”
Habitat loss is not the only factor affecting our Yellowhammers however, it is also claimed that changes in the way we manage our farmland have had a negative impact. Again on the topic of dwindling food supplies, the way in which grain is collected has become much more efficient in recent years. This has resulted in less “spillage” and therefore less grain left on the ground as it comes to winter. An intensification in the use of pesticides to remove weeds and insects is also thought to have had a similar effect while “bird-proofing” of grain stores may also have played a role in the decline.
Other factors reported to be influencing the status of the Yellowhammer include the following:
Woodland planting along fringe habitats – Again decreasing breeding habitat for a species predominantly found in open areas.
Increased depredation from corvids and domestic/feral cats – both of which have increased in recent years.
Urbanisation and a reduction in the use of bruised barley in animal feed.
As you can see, at present, the Yellowhammer finds itself besieged from all sides. Changes in farming practice, habitat loss and human error combining to threaten this iconic farmland bird. Though the decline in Scotland appears to have halted, elsewhere the picture is less positive and the Yellowhammer continues on its downward spiral. Could the Yellowhammer join the Corn Bunting and Willow Tit into localised extinction across parts of Britain? Only time will tell though a few glimmers of hope do exist, among these; the RSPB’s fabulous ‘Yellowhammer Recovery Project’ aiming to stabilize the population of these birds in Northern Ireland. See here for more information on the scheme.
