Michael Walter's latest report:
Bird survey work can be humdrum at times, but a routine woodcock count on 4th June was rather special. For a start, the woodcock were most accommodating, and I recorded more flights of these weird whistling, grunting birds than ever before. As the sun set, gossamer cloud high in the west acquired a delicate pink wash, while a mackerel sky to the east assumed an equally elegant pearl tint. As I settled down for the hour ahead, I became aware of a great deal of annoyed cawing from a couple of crows, answered soon afterwards by the deep “pronk” of a raven, followed by the higher-pitched, faster call of a second raven. Not wishing to abandon my survey, I had to guess what was happening purely from the sounds: the crows were evidently agitated, but it didn’t seem as though the ravens were minded to give them the satisfaction of moving away. The vocal battle only subsided when daylight faded, by which time I thought it must be too late for the ravens to head off to another roost site. I therefore concluded that they had indeed settled down for the night on the reserve, which would be a first. An obliging nightingale serenaded me through the quiet periods while I waited to log the next woodcock flypast, competing with an extremely noisy song thrush, but as the colour gently drained away from the surroundings, so, one by one, the birds fell silent and the scene was set for a churring nightjar that had, unheralded, suddenly taken centre stage. A magical evening.
The icing on the cake came the following day when I returned to the area in the hope of stumbling upon the ravens. In this I was unlucky, but as I passed through a small area of heath I heard the excited “kee-kee-kee-kee” call of a hobby; looking up I saw one bird fly over, followed by another; they then circled round, at which point I realised that the bird in front was carrying an item of prey in its talons. The second bird, presumably the female, caught up and, deftly rolling over, tried to snatch the food from below; her first attempt was unsuccessful, but on her second go she was triumphant. The aerial food pass is a well-known phenomenon in harriers, but was not something I had previously seen hobbies perform, and strongly suggests that a pair has set up territory nearby.
I am regularly reminded that nature is in a constant state of flux: nightingales are an excellent example as, not only are their fortunes affected by conditions in their African winter quarters, but the quality, quantity and location of their scrub breeding habitat changes from year to year. Coppice more than about six-eight years old ceases to be attractive, and the birds move into younger areas that have been created elsewhere in the wood. Each year new nightingale clusters develop somewhere on the reserve, whilst former prime locations are abandoned. So it was that this spring, at the eastern end of the wood, where most of the visitor trails are, nightingale numbers were at a historically low level, whereas in the northern area there were an unprecedented 16 territories, compared to ten last year and just six the year before that.
I can’t end this piece without imparting the news you are all dying to hear: the moneybox blue tits in the car park were successful in rearing at least five young, which fledged on 8th June. All the birds evidently managed to flutter up and then squeeze through the slot into a world that must have seemed terrifyingly spacious after the cramped conditions of their early weeks.