Leave it to the experts
We have always envied the ability of birds to fly. While we may have mastered the art of swimming, down the millennia we have constantly harboured the ambition to somehow emulate the birds and take to the air.
Even in Greek mythology this desire was clear, most pertinently in the shapes of Daedalus and his rather more famous son Icarus.
The story tells us that, having been imprisoned, they fashioned two pairs of wings from wax and feathers and made good their escape. Daedalus managed to navigate his way from Crete to Naples, while Icarus was so exhilarated by his new-found freedom that he flew too close to the sun. The heat melted the wax, whereupon he plunged into the sea. Incidentally, the sea into which he is said to have dropped is still called the Icarian Sea.
In modern times there are intrepid souls who have gone part-way towards achieving flight through the use of a variety of gadgets and vehicles, although none of them are able to achieve what might be described as proper, animated or self-powered flight.
I have personally enjoyed the thrill of flight in a glider, which was certainly an uplifting experience. Others have gone further, gliding across the sky dressed in specially designed winged suits, albeit usually on a progressively downward spiral.
Many devices have been created using motors and the plain truth is that the full power of flight without such paraphernalia is beyond us.
Yet down the ages many people have continued to dedicate themselves to the ambition of mastering flight. Famously, there was a certain Father John Damian, who was so confident in his ability to fly that in 1507 he strapped on wings and jumped from the battlements of Stirling Castle, only to crash on to the rocks below.
My own view is that we should accept our terrestrial fate and continue to admire the skills the avian classes are able to achieve.
The other day, watching yet again the flying skills of a mixed flock of humble rooks and jackdaws utterly defying the vagaries of the weather, notably a blustery wind, and accordingly throwing themselves about the sky with gay abandon, that message was massively underlined.
The countless variations on an avian theme we may be lucky enough to witness are remarkable. Indeed, those variations sometimes seem to be utterly infinite.
Take for instance the amazing gyrations of those masses of starlings we call murmurations, in which these amazing flocks - often numbering many thousands - sketch out the most unbelievable patterns across the sky without even a hint of collisions. These fluid, mass movements are living works of art, breathtaking kaleidoscopic spectacles.
Then there is the high, soaring flight of eagles or the fast, direct aeronautics of swifts and swallows, let alone the almost unbelievable, global migratory flights undertaken often by the tiniest of birds.
I will never tire of watching the delicious hovering flight of a kestrel, every nerve, every sinew, every muscle and every feather somehow working in harmony to keep the bird’s head utterly stationary as it seeks out its prey hidden below in the vegetation.
Nor indeed will I ever be bored when watching the sensational dive of an osprey, ending with that mighty splash as it hits the water and grapples for a hold on its slippery prey.
Yet those of us who encourage the birds into our gardens find ourselves equally fascinated by the agility so many of our smaller birds demonstrate as they seek to take advantage of the nuts, seed and other sources of nourishment we provide.
Blue tits are renowned for such artistry and a similar degree of agility is shown by the goldfinches I see here on a daily basis. In recent days a single siskin has joined these trapeze artists. These minuscule birds don’t usually put in an appearance in my garden until March so I guess I have to conclude that “one siskin does not a springtime make”.
The siskin is, in essence, a bird of conifer forest. Marginally bigger than the blue tit, this is an attractive little character. The male, distinctively green and yellow, is notable for two prominent yellow wing bars on each wing, a little black cap and a black bib. The female is a little plainer, her plumage streaky but always offering that hint of green.
I recently enjoyed a close encounter with a little flock of them swarming through the branches of an alder tree on the edge of a sports ground. Their acrobatics were amazing as they filtered through the branches and adroitly teased out seeds from the tiny cones. They hung upside-down as they worked the seeds free and demonstrated an agility of which any bluetit would have been proud. Alder seeds are a vital source of food for them and only when these supplies diminish do they become more evident in gardens
Siskin flight is usually an expression of their very sociable nature. That single siskin in my garden is unusual in its singularity. However, they don’t congregate in large numbers, preferring to remain in tightly formed little family groups as they bound from tree to tree. Entertaining little birds in every way.