A wild and windy walk in nature (Friday 11 July)
Cheeky chappies and killing machines.
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I returned to Fowlmere, the reed bed reserve in Cambridgeshire, as I often do when life is challenging me. The gentle chalk stream, winding paths and familiarity of the place bring me comfort.
This week, the wind was picking up. While that’s not ideal for photography, it does offer some advantages to the casual birder. The noise and movement created by gusts of wind mean you can worry less about stealth, which means you can move faster and still catch wildlife unawares. Even on those pesky creaky boardwalks!
A video from one of the hides, with rustling reed beds and the sound of the wind.
It also means the reserve is quieter, although I was there at 10am Monday morning (that’s how quickly I quit on this week!) so it was never going to be busy.
Commotion overhead
As soon as I set foot on the boardwalk I heard a raucous shriek. Several, actually. The Jays were having a whole-family ‘barney’ (that’s an argument, to any non Brits!).
Jays are our only colourful member of the crow (corvid) family, and they are SHY. If you hear them, freeze! You might be treated to a glimpse, especially at this time of year when the young are wreaking havoc.
Well, they’re supposed to be shy. This one alighted on a branch right in front of me. It stayed there, watching me, while the rest of its crew carried on bickering loudly.
I was expecting the Jay to leave at any moment, but instead something strange happened. First, its crest began to rise. Then its wings and tail spread. Finally, the beak opened and after one more sideways glance at me, it closed its eyes.
(Well, it closed its third eyelid, a translucent protective membrane that birds have. Also known as the nictitating membrane.)
This shy, reclusive Jay was sunbathing in the fleeting patch of sunshine that had just pierced the clouds. And it stayed there, long after I got distracted by a movement in the reed bed and followed its progress alongside the boardwalk.
Rustling in the reeds
Reed Warblers seem to stir up a lot of chaos as they progress through the reeds, giving the impression of something much larger ploughing through. But they can’t control themselves – within seconds their loud, chaotic call starts up and you know exactly who you’re dealing with.
At the end of the boardwalk, there’s a little bridge before you come to the first hide – the Spring hide, named for the bubbling springs that feed into the waterway. Among the reeds in front of the hide, munching can be heard. Like the Reed Warbler, the sound gives away the critter instantly: Water Voles.
But unlike the Reed Warbler, you rarely catch sight of any movement. If you’re lucky, you’ll see the ripples emanating after the characteristic ‘plop’ as they disappear underwater and swim away. Last summer, however, the warm weather brought them out into the open for a brief, wonderful moment. They groomed and gnawed on reeds in plain sight, much to mine and my Dad’s delight.
No birds, no fowl
‘Fowlmere’ – the name suggests an abundance of ducks on a large body of water. But it has an uncanny knack for being devoid of life every now and then, earning it the affectionate nickname (from me) ‘eff-all Fowlmere’. Perhaps one reason for those quieter days is the presence of this killing machine.
The leggy, stern-faced Marsh Harrier. They hunt on long, broad wings tipped with black ‘fingers’ (primary feathers) – and they rarely come back empty handed. Their favourite prey here seems to be Moorhens, although they have shown up with ducks, rabbits and unidentifiable other remains, too.
On a windy day, I expected only a fleeting view. But the female showed up immediately with a Moorhen chick in her claws, closely followed by the male. He had a notably thick throat with an obvious bulge, suggesting a crop full of recently devoured prey. He was not shy as he sped past the hide, uncharacteristically close.
They are feeding chicks at the moment, and on calmer days can be seen doing ‘food passes’, where they drop dead prey for the juveniles to catch on the wing as practice. This behaviour also happens during courtship season, when the male woos the female with food gifts delivered mid-air.
The wind continued to rise, bringing with it ominous looking clouds that sent me scurrying back to my car. But there was one last treat to enjoy as I rolled slowly out of the carpark – more corvids. This time, mostly Rooks – gathered in the fields in huge numbers.
Undeniably ugly, these shaggy, unkempt members of the crow family have a bare face and rough-sounding call, and I can’t help but love them.
They always look like they’re up to something. I especially love their scruffy ‘trousers’ and the way they strut around looking for trouble. If my Grandma hadn’t been very anti-corvid, she’d have called them ‘cheeky chappies’ for sure.
Another raucous, cheeky bird that I love to see is the Starling. I know in the US these are an invasive menace, but here they fulfil a very important role. At least, they do for me! They eat leatherjackets, which are the larvae of daddy long legs (Crane Flies).
Not only do the larvae eat the roots of grass and destroy lawns, the adults are my least favourite creature on the planet. So, I’ll always welcome the squadron of screaming, bickering Starlings when they grace my garden with a visit. And those iridescent colours? Irresistible!
The gubbins
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