Birding rewards
Putting work to one side for a day’s birding proved rewarding for Ruth, who was spoilt with views of Ring Ouzel and Hen Harrier
How a day’s birding paid dividends for Ruth Miller with sightings of Ring Ouzel and Marsh Harrier
I’d had a long spell stuck indoors in the office, while emails, accounts and tour logistics had me chained to the computer. All useful stuff but, in the meantime, my phone had been buzzing with updates from local birding friends about their bird sightings. New species were arriving all the time and people were helpfully sharing the news on what migrants they were finding and where. It’s always exciting to hear of new arrivals as spring unfolds before your eyes, and it’s reassuring to hear the roll-call of birds returning to our shores. But one day it was too much. Tuesday dawned with a clear sky and no wind, so I escaped. The admin could wait, it would still be there on my return. I jumped in the car and headed into the uplands of North Wales. As I progressed, the roads got ever narrower until I was following a single-track road. Grass grew up the middle and both sides were bordered with unforgiving dry stone walls, no margin for error here. I nosed the car upwards in altitude and as I did, I travelled back in time. The temperature plummeted as the fresh green leaves and fattening buds of the valley floor were replaced by bare branches and dead grass untouched by the warmth of spring.
Reaching the end of the road, I jumped out of the car. There wasn’t a breath of
wind or sound to be heard beyond the ringing of my ears from the change in altitude. I zipped up my coat against the cold air, shouldered my telescope and started walking. Every few yards I stopped and scanned the skyline. Azure blue sky. Bare rocks. No birds.
Unmistakable birds
Then a sudden movement caught my eye. Two medium-sized black birds chased each other around a rock, clucking at each other as they pursued each other round and round. Unmistakable: Ring Ouzels. They were both males, their distinctive white neck crescent showing up against their black plumage; a cross between a Blackbird and a vicar! Wow, my first for the year, what a thrill to find. My heart thumped with the excitement. Then one bird stopped on top of a stone wall that crested the ridge and started to sing; a simple plaintive song like a melancholic Blackbird. The other flitted around the rocks before perching on the summit where it seemed to rest as it sunned itself. Had these birds just arrived? Had I witnessed their first morning here, as they recovered from their long journey and thought about establishing a territory?
I continued my walk, enjoying Meadow Pipits displaying, a male Stonechat singing from the top of a gorse bush, two Wheatears popping up on rocks like a pair of jack-inthe-boxes. I watched them in my scope, until some sixth sense made me look up just in time to see a Red Kite cruising only feet above my head. Returning to the car, I scanned again for Ring Ouzels. The two
males were back on their original rock, one on top while the other investigated the lower nooks and crannies. But then I heard a chacking noise to my left that sounded like another Ring Ouzel. I scanned in that direction and spotted a male Ring Ouzel perched on the pinnacle of a pointy rock. But then I noticed another one lower down and then a third lower still. Clearly Ring Ouzels had just arrived in force. There they sat, all three together.
Meanwhile my original two birds were still in view, so I definitely had five individual birds, all males. While I watched, one bird broke left pursued by two others and the other two headed off right. Just like that, the Ring Ouzel show was over.
That was my cue to leave. I was buzzing with excitement, my brain fizzing as I re-lived my encounter. Could my luck continue? Time to try a new birding location, an even more open and wild landscape with no sign of human habitation. I walked along a stony trail, stopping at intervals to scan through the scope. This time, a movement swooping down towards a far ridgeline caught my eye. Was it a bird? Focusing my binoculars, I watched it plummet towards the ground before pulling out at the last minute to soar back up into the heights again. As it caught the sunlight, I could see it
perfectly clearly: pale grey body and wings, black wingtips, unmistakably a male Hen Harrier.
Tumbling down to earth
A critically-endangered, near mythical bird, which perhaps single-handedly represents everything that is wonderful about birds and much of the worst human behaviour. I gasped, not quite believing my luck. Fumbling a little in my excitement,
I focused the telescope on the bird in time to see it flinging itself around in the sky with exuberance, dropping down to the ground, rocketing back up, tumbling down towards the earth like a stone again before fast wingbeats lifted it up in the air
again, down and up, down and up, over and over again. What an uplifting sight; such beauty, grace and power combined in this oh-so-special and endangered bird.
The male Hen Harrier was performing its magical sky-dance to declare it was back on territory and to attract a mate. I felt privileged and humbled to witness it and my eyes started pricking with the emotion of the moment as I watched. Somewhere a female Hen Harrier will have been watching; surely she couldn’t fail to be as impressed with this exhilarating display as I was. There was one final fall to earth and this time the male Hen Harrier disappeared behind the ridge and was gone to my view.
I took a deep breath. The sunshine seemed brighter, my steps were lighter, my heart was racing, and a grin split my face. It was only a day, but suddenly the whole world was better, thanks to birds.