A walk on the wildside

Last Monday I was taking an early morning walk along a country road at Coolmucky, the threat of heavy rain hung in the air, but the birds were in full voice and all busy about their business of rearing and feeding their young.

Down in the valley below me I could see the town of Fermoy, the morning sun lighting up the steeples of both our churches. Away in the distance I could see the Araglin valley, with Castlecooke standing guard over the river, further away still the Knockmealdown Mountains were shrouded in mist as the rain stole up the valley.

There is something about the early morning air that makes everything seem to be nearer then it actually is and I could clearly make out the outline of the Figure on the Cross of Corrin where I walk every Good Friday. Just below me were Cahill’s Bogs, full of furze, blackthorn and hazel in full bloom, these bogs were once very popular for hunting and shooting, as they made an ideal cover for rabbits, foxes and pheasants.

In the month of November you can hear stags bellowing there as they search for mates. In Coolmucky there are a network of forest walks that can take you to the Old Waterworks at Knockananig, or back up to the Massrock, but that morning I turned and headed for home at Geaney’s Cross. I was just passing by a stand of small, stunted beech trees, when, to my disbelief, on that memorable morning as the rain began to pour down, I heard the unmistakable call of a cuckoo.

I stood stock-still on the road as the cuckoo announced his coming to the surrounding countryside. All the other birds fell silent and with good reason, no bird wanted to betray its presence to this pirate of the bird world. I could not see the cuckoo, as he was well hidden in the trees, but he took flight and then I spotted him as he flew in the direction of the Massrock.

He could easily have been mistaken for a sparrowhawk on the wing, except for his heavier pointed wings and his spotted tail, tipped with white. I watched him until he disappeared from view, and as if on cue the birds began to sing again. Cuckoos are notorious for laying their eggs in the nests of other birds and the female scouts the countryside looking for potential foster-parents.

Reed warblers, meadow pippits and dunnocks are the chief victims, but robins, pied wagtails and sedge warblers are also picked on. The cuckoo has a particular ability to lay eggs which closely resemble these birds, and usually the victims will accept the cuckoo’s eggs.

However, there is a recorded case of a very aggressive pair of Reed Warblers who forcibly ejected young cuckoos from their nest, and drowned them in a stream beneath.

This morning I walked in the same place again, hoping once more to see and hear this bird so loved by poets, even though he is a homewrecker and a thief, but there was no sign of him. I am sure all the other birds are relieved. There is a very old rhyme about the cuckoo which goes thus:

In March, he leaves his perch

In April, come he will,

In May, he sings all day, In June, he alters his tune,

In July, he’s ready to fly, Come August, go he must,

In September, you will him remember,

But October, he will never get over.