During our time on Madeira I took the conscious decision to prioritise seeing sea birds over land birds. It was only due to the generosity of my wife and parents that I managed to negotiate three afternoons and evenings at sea during what I believe is called a “3G holiday”, when three generations go together. As such, there were no brownie points left in the bank to spend looking for land birds. These I would only see if they happened to appear near me when I was out with the family or they happened to feed in our hotel gardens. Fortunately, most did! It is not too difficult to catch up with the passerine endemics, or near-endemics, on Madeira and I saw pretty much all of them. I had no time to visit the various small water bodies on the island where waders may be found, nor did I visit any of the native laurel forests, which was a shame but was a consequence of my decision to spend more time with sea birds. Here are the land birds that I saw:
Plain Swift. From our hotel room balcony. These were the default swift species over Funchal. This is a small dark swift with little, if any, pale throat patch, a fluttering flight action and a deep tail fork (apparently). Maderian Firecrests. Smart birds, but strangely leggy! Adult on the left, juvenile on the right. Trocaz Pigeon. The pale band is visible here on the long tail. This one flew past at eye level over the Botanical Gardens as we were visiting. This was something of a relief, as I had no time to head into the laurel forests higher up the mountains. A candidate for the worst picture of Atlantic Canary ever? I saw or heard this species every day, but most were unapproachable. There were lots of female/juvenile types. Female “Madeiran Chaffinch”. Not a full species but the subspecies Fringilla coelebs maderensis. On the female, note the greenish mantle and undertail coverts. Male “Maderian Chaffinch”, Fringilla coelebs maderensis. The orange colouration is pale and restricted to the face and upper chest. The breast and underparts are off-white. The mantle is grey with some green rather than the chestnut of north-west European birds. Grey Wagtail, of the subspecies Motacilla cinerea schmitzi. Paler upperparts and a less obvious supercilium than seen on most European birds. Common Waxbill. I enjoyed seeing (and hearing) these birds with Fabian, who pretended to be pretty ambivalent about seeing an introduced species until we were offered the opportunity to hop out and scan for them. Suddenly he became really quite keen to see them. As soon as they were safely on the list, the ambivalence returned! To be fair, I felt the same.
I also saw the local subspecies of Blackcap, which has the eye-catching Latin name of Sylvia atricapilla heineken. Should we be calling this subspecies Heineken Blackcap? Or would that lead to confusion with a Heineken nightcap? Things might get messy.
Next: Madeiran cetaceans, reptiles and butterflies.
The main reason that most birders come to Madeira are the pterodroma petrels that breed on and around the island. Modern taxonomy describes the pterodromas that breed on the Desertas Islands as Desertas Petrel; those that breed on highest peaks of Madeira as Zino’s Petrel and the birds that breed on the equatorial Cape Verde Islands as Fea’s Petrel. As Desertas and Fea’s Petrels are virtually indistinguishable in the field, many simply lump them together under the general title “Fea’s Petrels”. Here I am going to call them Desertas Petrels, in order to distinguish them from the Cape Verde breeders.
Neither Desertas nor Zino’s Petrels are particularly common birds, even around the islands. Flood and Fisher (2013) estimate that there may be some 150-200 pairs of Desertas Petrels on Bugio and a total world population of perhaps some 3,000 Fea’s-type birds (including those breeding on the Cape Verde Islands). Estimates of the Zino’s Petrel population on the peaks of Madeira are difficult, but there may be as few as 50 pairs remaining after the catastrophic forest fires of 2010 which affected their breeding colony.
I did visit Pico do Arieiro with Hugo and Catarina to try to hear Zino’s Petrels returning to their colony at night, but we were unlucky with the weather. Whilst it was a humid 28 degrees in coastal Funchal, at 1818m on the summit of Pico do Arieiro, it was only 8 degrees and that was without the significant windchill. The clouds were rolling in and it was not deemed safe to head out onto the edges of the mountains to listen for petrels:
The view from the summit of Pico do Arieiro, the top of the volcano.
So, my chances of seeing pterodroma petrels would be limited to the three consecutive afternoons and evenings at sea that make up the Windbirds pelagic trips. Getting far enough out to sea to have a reasonable chance of attracting pterodroma petrels takes a little work. Fortunately, Hugo and Catarina make this as straightforward as is possible, but hours at sea are required and sightings are not guaranteed. The boat is a 12 seater RIB, the “Oceanodroma”, fitted out with compression seats, that absorb the impact of the boat bouncing through the waves:
There were 9 birders on our trips, 7 Germans, a Frenchman and me. I teamed up with Fabian Bindrich, a German birder, who I sat next too on all three trips and who has provided some of the pictures in this post. He took this one of me (third from right) and the rest of the team as we waited to depart in Machico harbour, some 20 minutes drive from Funchal.
Photo by Fabian
The trips all follow a similar pattern: we travel for up to two hours out to sea. We then spend 4 – 5 hours chumming and drifting, before returning the 1.5- 2 hours back to the island. Our first trip, on Wednesday 30th July, was the most demanding. There was a brisk, force 6 northerly wind and a 1.5-meter swell. These were good conditions for spreading the smell of rotting fish and fish oils from the chum that would attract seabirds, but would make for a demanding afternoon. As Zino’s Petrel was our first target, we would head north, directly into the wind and waves. We were warned on our departure that the journey out would be “extremely wet”. They were right.
Photo by Fabian
It started innocently enough. We sped out of Machico harbour and headed east, sailing parallel to the long headland that makes up the far eastern tip of Madeira. At the end of the long headland there is an offshore island, Ilhéu do Farol, with a lighthouse on top. Between the two is a narrow gap with a fierce tide race. As we approached, Fabian and I glanced at each other nervously. A two-meter high wall of waves was being thrown up as the wind driven waves from the north attempted to power through the small gap in the headland. The way the waves stood out against the calm of the bay that we were crossing was incredible. “I’m glad we are not going through there” I said to myself, in the same instant that Catarina turned the boat to the port side and we headed straight for the standing mass of turbulent waves.
It was not possible to capture this with our cameras. Our equipment was stored away in dry bags and we were holding on for dear life. I took a picture of the gap on a completely calm day, on our third afternoon. It is the idyllic gap above the splashing Bottle-nosed Dolphin. It certainly was not like this on our first day:
We shot up the first wave and slammed down into the trough behind it, landing with a loud thud. We were heading directly into the northerly wind so there was no escaping the wind or the waves. The compression seats were fantastic, absorbing much of the impact of landing, but it took all one’s concentration to anticipate the hard landings as we hit the bottom of the troughs. Having nothing to do except hang on, I spent some time trying to produce an accurate description of the experience. The nearest I got was this: imagine trying to ride a bucking broncho at the fair. It thrashes around all over the place, but you manage to hang on, constantly using your arms and legs to balance. Add to that image the fact that someone is throwing a cold bucket of saltwater in your face, about once every minute. For 90 minutes. That was our ride out north of Madeira.
After 90 minutes of being slammed up and down, we arrived. It says something about the journey out that I was actually looking forward to spending the next 4 hours drifting and chumming, an experience that usually turns me green. Fortunately, we were well advised by Hugo and Catarina and my system was filled with Stugeron, which kept all sensations of seasickness at bay on all three afternoons.
The swell: now you see Madeira…… now you don’t. Flick between these two images for four hours and you’ll get an idea of what the swell was like. Catarina on the lookout, Hugo dishing out the chum. He also served biscuits, sandwiches and quiche to us birders. Photo by Fabian
Zino’s Petrel
Our main target. Although we had a distant pterodroma petrel in the late afternoon, it appeared directly in front of the sun and then disappeared, unidentified. The afternoon turned to evening. We were surrounded by Cory’s Shearwaters and Bulwer’s Petrels. The light faded. At 20:25 Catrina picked up an incoming Pterodroma, coming towards us from the south. It was slender and lightweight:
As it approached the slim bill confirmed it’s identity, our first Zino’s Petrel! I awaited cheers or some sign of celebration from the other birders on board, but none came. I expressed my surprise to Hugo later and he explained “Germans celebrate inside”.
Zino’s Petrel at sea. The shape of the horizon gives some idea of the sea state: decidedly lumpy!Head-on Zino’s.This bird had large white underwing coverts and a slim bill, a straightforward Zino’s Petrel.
The journey back, with the wind behind us, was a breeze. We skimmed over the waves as darkness fell. And then at 20:56 another Pterodroma appeared. It zipped past in the middle distance in really poor light. It was not conclusively identified at the time but was recorded as a possible Desertas Petrel. I tried to photograph it, but it was too dark and the results hardly qualified as record shots. But on reviewing those images back at home, the bill of this bird appears tiny and one shot appears to reveal a moderate amount of white on the underwing. A probable Zino’s Petrel?
Unidentified pterodroma petrel in the dark 1. Note the tiny bill. Unidentified pterodroma petrel in the dark 2: pale underwing coverts?
Crossing the tiderace between Ilhéu do Farol and the peninsular was like surfing. We rode the waves across the gap and gently body boarded into the calm waters south of the headland. We were home, having seen Zino’s Petrel.
Cory’s Shearwater and Atlantic Spotted Dolphin from day one. We heard dolphins calling before we saw them. Dolphins on call!
Desertas Petrels
The second and third afternoons were spent to the south of Madeira looking for Desertas Petrel and storm-petrels. Conditions were calmer, with less wind and swell, which was physically easier, but less helpful in dispersing the chum. Day two was the quietest of the three days. There were hundreds of Bulwer’s Petrels around the chum slick, but very little else and no pterodroma petrels were seen.
Common Tern
Eventually, at 18:30, two storm-petrels appeared in the chum slick. All storm-petrels are good, but when White-faced, Maderian and Wilson’s Petrels are all distinct possibilities, seeing 2 European Storm-petrels was something of an anti-climax. Especially when we learnt that the trip after ours saw all the specialist storm petrels, see here. Our only consolation was being accompanied by over 40 Atlantic Spotted Dolphins as we returned to Maderia. The sea was bathed in orange from the setting sun, a large pod of dolphins was all around our speeding boat, bow-riding just for the fun of it, just fabulous.
European Storm-petrel
Nevertheless, even after a quiet day two, I was still looking forward to going out to sea on a third consecutive afternoon. Day three had the calmest conditions and once again we headed south. One hour and twenty minutes into our journey to the Desertas Islands, I see a shape behind and high to my left, in my peripheral vision. I glance up and find myself looking into the dark eye patch of a pterodroma petrel. Micheal, who was sitting behind me, and I shout “pterodroma” and instantly the engine is cut. Unfortunately, the bird departs directly away from us, giving no-one any sort of decent view. Fortunately, 15 minutes later, it returns, wheeling around the boat. One minute in the sky, the next skimming through the troughs:
Desertas Petrel(left to right): two Bulwer’s Petrels; Desertas Petrel; Cory’s Shearwater
There was then a long period of just Cory’s Shearwaters and Bulwer’s Petrels. Fabian picked up a passing pterodroma in the middle distance, heading towards Bugio, but it didn’t stop. At 20:05 a Desertas Petrel was finally attracted to the chum slick and spent some minutes wheeling around us. This was not a particularly thick-billed individual but had enough chunkiness and weight to be identified as a Desertas Petrel. Note how the colouration of this bird changes depending on light conditions over the following nine pictures:
The upperwing “M” is just about visible here. The all dark underwing and contrasting white body are visible at long range. In very low evening sun, appearing brown and white. Desertas Petrel in front of Bugio, their breeding island and the most southerly of the Desertas chain.
All in all, I really enjoyed the Windbird pelagic trips and would recommend them to any birder with an interest in petrels. We were unlucky with storm-petrels, but that is the risk you take with wildlife watching, nothing is guaranteed. Hugo’s summary of our three trips is here on the Windbirds website.
The main target species of the Windbird pelagic trips are Pterodroma petrels and Storm-petrels. But one of the many nice things about the trips is that the supporting cast of common seabird species is still interesting, from a European birding perspective. Bulwer’s Petrel is a very rare bird in north-west Europe but is common in the seas around Madeira.
Madeira, and the associated Desertas and Selvagens Islands, host between 6,000 and 10,000 pairs of Bulwer’s Petrel (Fisher & Flood, 2011). They breed during the northern summer, so at the time of our visit in late July and early August the majority of breeding pairs may well have been feeding chicks. At sea they were an abundant species. On the second of our pelagic trips Bulwer’s Petrel significantly outnumbered Cory’s Shearwaters.
Whilst silent at sea, on their breeding grounds Bulwer’s Petrel have a strange barking call, issued from the nesting burrow and from birds in flight:
My first sighting of Bulwer’s Petrel was from Ponta da Cruz on a landbased seawatch, when one buoyantly glided and twisted past in calm conditions over a flat sea. At mid-distance the bird appeared completely black, the long slim wings and body being obvious. These are unique Nightjar-sized petrels. There is something of the Storm-petrel in some of their flight actions when they are sharply zipping about in high winds, although they are twice the size of most Storm-petrels. But when in travelling flight, powering down a trough parallel to the wave, there is almost something of the tringa waders in their flight action: the head is held above the body, the wings are elevated, quick flicks of the primaries power the bird forward. They have a distinctive flight action all of their own.
At sea, and with better light, more plumage details became apparent. The pale carpal bar was visible at mid-distance in good light:
The paler secondary coverts of the upperwing create the pale carpel bar. The closed tail is long and attenuated. The upperwing primary bases are dark, with no pale patches as is seen in the much smaller Swinhoe’s Storm-petrel:
The pale upperwing carpal bar is pretty much the only stand out plumage feature. The body, head, tail and underwing are to all intents completely dark, unless the views are exceptional and in perfect light.
The wedge-shaped tail, so often mentioned in field guides, was not so obvious in our experience. We only saw the wedge as birds braked hard to hover, before dropping onto prey items:
But all dark birds are not easy to photograph. The light levels become even more critical. And that’s before you add the fact that you are in a small boat in potentially heavy seas, trying to photograph a small bird zipping past at speed. Eventually, I figured out that to get the best pictures of this species I would need to wait until early evening, when the light was soft, on a day when the sea was relatively calm. I had to be low down in the boat, at eye level when the birds skimmed past. On our third afternoon at sea, such conditions presented themselves and finally, the results were satisfactory! At close range and in perfect light Bulwer’s Petrel has a dark, hooded appearance. The feathers of the head and neck are the blackest of all on this all dark bird:
In exceptional light and at close range the underwing primary bases can reflect light and appear silvery. But mostly, these are black seabirds.
Having enjoyed the common supporting cast, it was then time for the main act. Next: Pterodroma petrels
We spent last week on a volcano in the Atlantic Ocean: the fabulous island of Madeira. I was with my family and my parents, but with their consent I managed to negotiate three afternoons at sea on the Windbirds pelagic trips run by Hugo and Catarina. Like most endemic island birding, the total number of species recorded was small but specialised. So, for a change, I’m going to write up this trip by species, rather than day-by-day accounts. First, the most abundant seabird species, Cory’s Shearwater.
Madeira is home to some 3,000 pairs of Cory’s Shearwaters and whilst this is a common species, it was always a joy to see them, especially at close range.
Cory was an American ornithologist who first described the species. Madeira has long been a stronghold for Cory’s Shearwater. Throughout the nineteenth century an annual harvest of up to 30,000 chicks took place on the Selvagens Islands, some 267 km to the south of Madeira. The birds provided local meat, whilst their feathers were sold to England as eiderdown. In 1969, following the decimation of the species, hunting was banned. In the last fifty years, numbers of breeding Cory’s Shearwater have recovered significantly and it was the most abundant seabird species that we saw.
On our third day, I got an early morning bus out from the capital Funchal to the south-facing headland of Ponta da Cruz for a brief land-based seawatch. It felt appropriate to get some land-based views of Cory’s Shearwater, before heading out to sea. My short journey was so efficient and sunrise is so late in the tropics, that I arrived in total darkness at 6:45am. Over the next half hour the sky lightened and revealed flocks of resting Cory’s Shearwaters on the water. As the sun rose above the eastern horizon, they gradually took to the wing, passing Ponta da Cruz, all flying west. There was absolutely no wind and the sea was flat. The birds were in the middle distance so gave pretty good views. My first Bulwer’s Petrel appeared amongst them, a black shadow, all slim long wings and tail.
Ponta da Cruz, pre-dawn
Later in the week our family group ended up at Port Moniz, the far north-westerly point on the island. You know a site is good for seawatching, when there are notice boards with pelagic species on them positioned by the sea:
Below: “Oh, we appear to be at one of Madeira’s best sea-watching spots… and I just happen to have my ‘scope in the car!” Behind me are the famous natural swimming pools, where we spent the afternoon. The light was fabulous for seawatching here, Cory’s Shearwaters streamed past in the middle distance, glowing brown and white against a deep blue sea.
A short whale watching trip in Funchal harbour showed just how abundant and close to the shore Cory’s Shearwaters are in Madeira:
At night you can hear Cory’s Shearwaters calling everywhere, even close to the capital, Funchal. The higher-pitched calls of the male contrasting with the lower-pitched calls of the female:
But it was the pelagic trips that brought the most memorable encounters with Cory’s Shearwater:
On one occasion, we spotted a huge feeding frenzy of Cory’s Shearwaters on the horizon to the south:
As we approached, with the Desertas Islands in the background, birds could be seen sitting on the water:
The latin name for Cory’s Shearwater is Calonectris borealis, literally “beautiful swimmer of the north”. This is a slightly surprising name for a species that is usually associated with flight, although after feeding and in calm conditions many were resting on the sea. From a distance, their size and grey-brown colouration combined with their large yellow/orange bill was slightly reminiscent of a seeing distant flock of Greylag Geese on the sea! Close up however, these are great birds.
Some birds had eaten so much, that they appeared to be in difficulty on the water. This bird was not bathing, it was just floating, partially submerged:
Cory’s Shearwaters have no crop, but like most birds have a large glandular forward stomach and a smaller rear stomach, the gizzard, where the more resistant undigested items are broken down, for example, squid beaks (see here). Hugo thought that the behaviour we were witnessing helped recently taken food settle in the glandular stomach before the birds could take off again. They certainly looked odd, either partially submerged or holding their wings outstretched, but then would happily take flight.
Cory’s Shearwaters have huge bills. The tip of the upper mandible curves right around to form a sharp hook. Presumably, this helps secure captured prey items, as well as being a fearsome cutting blade. Our close views allowed us to study the bill and tubes in detail:
Some birds passed within a few metres of us, giving point-blank views. Note the white crescents above and below the eye. Not the kind of detail that you get to see in UK waters very often.
Below, an uncropped shot from the boat, giving some idea of how just close these fabulous birds sailed past:
This is an article that I wrote for the July 2019 edition of the Cumnor Village Magazine:
This month’s Bird of the Month is a summer holiday special: the Hoopoe. This is one of the most distinctive birds in the world. Hoopoes do not usually nest in the UK, but are found widely across most of Europe and Asia. Every year some reach England in the spring and summer. Some years there are a few dozen sightings, sometimes up to one hundred birds are recorded. In Oxfordshire the Hoopoe is a rare bird, with about 8 records in total. It is quite large bird, about the size of a Jay, but has a long downcurved bill and a fabulous crest. The wings and tail are boldly marked with black-and-white, whilst the head and back are cinnamon-pink.
Hoopoe, France, July 2012
In flight, the rounded wings are very obvious, flashing black and white. The wings have a slow-motion action in flight, leading to comparisons with a huge black-and-white butterfly flapping past. Despite this, Hoopoes are strong fliers. Most of the European population migrates across the Sahara to southern Africa, although a few birds remain in southern Spain or north Africa over the northern winter.
Hoopoe, France, July 2012
Like last months bird of the month, the Cuckoo, Hoopoes have an onomatopoeic name. Their simple repetitive song has led many human cultures to name this species after the sound that it sings in spring. In Afghanistan it is “poppoo”; in the middle east “hud-hud”; in Portugal “poup” and in English “hoopoe”. Phonetically the song is best written as “hoo-hoo, hoo-hoo”. It sounds as if one is blowing gently across the top of an open glass bottle.
Hoopoe, Oman, November 2015
For millennia Hoopoes have nested in holes, in trees or in cliffs. With the relatively recent development of human structures, Hoopoes have also taken to nesting in man-made cavities. This, combined with their distinctive and obvious appearance, means that Hoopoes have a long and rich association with human culture. The Hoopoe is an Egyptian hieroglyph, but also appeared to have a medicinal function. Mark Cocker (in “Birds and People” 2013) describes ancient Egyptian prescriptions that were smeared on the eyelids to inspire visions that contained Hoopoe blood as an ingredient. Cocker goes on to describe the broad-spectrum application of the Hoopoe for a wide range of ailments in mediaeval times:
“The left pinion is good for the man who is in thrall to his wife; Tie up the right shoulder in a piece of new rag… and hang it over a woman who is ill in her body and she shall have relief; Dry its skull, macerate it in oil and rub it on any part of the body thou wishest and it shall destroy hair; Having salted the heart of this bird… give it to the woman whose child will not come from her. Let her grasp it in her left hand and the child will come from the womb straightaway”
The Hoopoe also has an important role in middle eastern culture. In the Qur’an the Prophet Muhammad forbids Muslims to kill the Hoopoe. The bird has an important status as a messenger between King Solomon and his bride-to-be, the Queen of Sheeba.
Remarkably, a Hoopoe has been recorded in Cumnor. Steve Heath has provided an account of finding this exotic species in April 2006: “I frequently used to take my dog for a walk down Leys Road to Bablock Hythe and particularly during the spring to look for migrants and early butterflies. The route has good views across Farmoor Reservoir and Wytham Woods to the north and passes through farmland flanked by hedgerows and some traditional hay meadows. Along this route lies Long Leys Farm. Over the years I had got to know the resident gardener Michael Collins. Walking my dog back home on the morning of 23rd April Michael remarked that he had seen an odd bird briefly around the Farm gardens the day before. Knowing Michael, I felt this was worth a look. After a fairly long search a Hoopoe came into view close to the orchard, at the rear of the house. The word was put out and several people managed to see the bird before it became elusive. It was not, to my knowledge seen again after the morning of 23rd April”.
A very wet Hoopoe, Sichuan, China, May 2016
If you are going on holiday into Europe this summer, watch out for this beautiful and distinctive bird. It can often be found feeding on the ground in sand dunes behind the beaches. If you are exceptionally lucky you could catch a glimpse of a Hoopoe in Oxfordshire, a dazzling flash of black, white, pink, crest and bill. Seeing a Hoopoe is always a moment to treasure.
Words and pictures by Tom Bedford. Many thanks to Steve Heath for his contribution.
I had a fabulous couple of hours at nearby Bernwood Forest this morning, with my daughters. Most of the common butterfly species were present, with the occasional White Admiral, abundant Ringlets (above) and the ever-present Silver-washed Fritillaries (below):
These are obvious, large and attractive butterflies, and bright orange to boot. I particularly like the way that the bulbous tips of their antennae are black with bright orange tips, perfectly matching their upper-wing colour. As with moths, these antennae have a role to play in pheromone detection, light perception and balance.
Once again, I was struck by the acuity of the senses of my children. My youngest picked out this Roesel’s bush-cricket on sight, not sound:
Whilst my eldest found this camouflaged caterpillar (as yet unidentified) on a grass stem, as she walked past:
Nothing makes you feel older than children and their super-fine senses.
But the main purpose of our visit was to try to see some of the local Purple Emperor butterflies. We were not disappointed. Between 10 and 11am, small numbers were active, flying around the tops of the small oaks a short distance down the main track. Groups of up to 4 Purple Emperors, zipped and glided around the tree-tops, but were never in view long. At 11:30 am one dropped down and spent some time on the back of the trousers of a fellow butterfly-watcher. We then headed back to the most reliable area in my experience, the car-park, to see if any were present. Almost immediately a male flew down and settled on the wheel of a parked car. I noticed that Purple Emporers also have glowing orange antennae tips:
It then moved to the ground and began probing with its proboscis, whilst those wings flashed purple:
It appeared to be taking up dust from the car-park into its proboscis:
These are fabulous, large butterflies that we always enjoy catching up with during their brief flight period in July. A superb morning!
This is an article that I wrote for the Cumnor Magazine for their June issue:
Although the traditional harbinger of spring, it is hard to argue that the Cuckoo is in fact a British bird. Cuckoos spend 9 months of the year in sub-Saharan tropical African forests, where the distinctive call that has led to their name, has never been heard. They winter as far south as Angola. In early March they begin their long flight north. Most British Cuckoos cross the Sahara, before flying over the Straits of Gibraltar, continuing north through Spain and France. In early April the first birds arrive in the UK and the males immediately begin singing their onomatopoetic song. Female Cuckoos do not sing “Cuck-oo”. Their call is a liquid bubbling sound, similar to the sound the last water makes as it drains from a sink.
The song of the male Cuckoo is far better known than the appearance of this large migrant bird. In flight, Cuckoos have a rather hawk-like appearance, with a long tail and rather pointed wings. From above they appear all grey, with a number of pale spots on each long dark brown tail feather:
From below, the pale breast with grey stripes running across it can be seen. Cuckoos have a well-patterned underwing, with a pale bar running across the wing and pale spots in the outer flight feathers:
Having attracted a female Cuckoo, this species then begins its famous breeding behaviour. Cuckoos are well known for not building their own nests, but rather they parasite the broods of other bird species. Over 120 species of bird have been recording raising Cuckoo chicks, but 90% of all Cuckoo eggs are laid in Reed Warbler, Meadow Pipit and Dunnock nests.
Cuckoos have evolved, quite remarkably, to lay eggs that match both the colour and size (breadth) of their host species’ eggs. This prevents the host species immediately realising that there is an alien egg in the nest and removing it. The first act of the Cuckoo chick, whilst still featherless and blind, is to push any other egg or chick out of the nest. The Cuckoo chick reverses up the side of the nest cup, with any unhatched eggs on its back, and tips them over the edge. Now an only-child, the Cuckoo benefits from the attention of both adult hosts. Quickly the chick dwarfs it’s host parents in size. They are unable to resist the bright yellow-orange gape of the huge chick and relentlessly keep feeding it. After fledging juvenile Cuckoos spend a few weeks feeding up in preparation for their long flight south. Like human juveniles, they are spottier than adults. Juvenile Cuckoos have pale edges and spots on most of their flight and back feathers:
The nature-nurture debate is conclusively settled in favour of nature, at least as regards Cuckoos. No young Cuckoo ever sees its parents. Unlike geese, the parents do not guide young birds on their first migration. Guided purely by genetically inherited instinct, each young Cuckoo finds its way back across Europe, across Africa, to the tropical forests of central-west Africa, alone. Some Cuckoos will not meet another member of their species until they return to the UK the following spring.
Unfortunately, the Cuckoo is in decline in UK. The latest research indicates that 40% of our Cuckoos have been lost since 1994, although in the last five years numbers have begun rising slightly (BTO 2018). Cuckoos are dependent on large hairy, sometimes toxic, caterpillars, which are often avoided by other birds. Some species of Cuckoo have evolved a mucous membrane in their gizzard, to which the toxic hairs of the caterpillars they eat stick. Periodically, these membranes break off and are regurgitated, allowing the cuckoos to rid themselves of the toxins. In the UK, as moth and butterfly populations decline, so does the food supply for Cuckoos.
Globally, Cuckoos are widespread, with some 127 different species. Many are more brightly coloured and exotic than our Eurasian Cuckoo, for example this Diederic Cuckoo from Africa. But only one species calls its own name in that distinctive fashion, our own Eurasian Cuckoo.
We have been moth trapping at least weekly as we are contributing to the Garden Moth Scheme this year. Regular trapping in our garden in Headington, Oxford has increased our awareness of the seasonal change in moth species and numbers. Here are a few highlights of our catches in the period mid-March to 1st June. Let’s begin with some beauties!
A major highlight was our first Buff-tip for the garden (though we have seen them elsewhere). Everybody’s favourite moth, due to their amazing similarity to a broken silver birch twig, they just look fab from every angle:
Buff-tipThis could be the melanistic form of Tawny Marbled Minor. Distinguishing this species from Marbled Minor and Rufous Minor requires dissection of their genitals – not something that I am prepared to do! My youngest daughter found this Coxcomb Prominent perched out in our garden. Large Elephant Hawk Moth. Our first hawk moth this year was caught on 1st June. This is a pristine individual, presumably recently emerged. Large Elephant Hawk MothFigure of Eighty. The first for our garden and the 13th new species so far this year. Bring on the summer!
In late March I began regularly visiting Warneford Meadow and Lye Valley to record the birds that I found there. The habitat is described here, but in essence, two small streams pass either side of the Churchill Hospital and form a “Y”-shaped green corridor that adjoins to Southfield Golf Course.
Between late March and late May, a total of 59 species of birds were recorded. This is a decent total for a city site that is not a large waterbody. Of course, not every bird present during this spring will have been recorded. My visits were generally early morning, which tends to reduce the chance of seeing some species, for example soaring raptors who depend on thermals. No scarce migrant passerines were recorded (for example, Wheatear, Redstart, Ring Ouzel) but all are possible.
Red-legged Partridge, Southfield Golf Course
The first surprise came on one of my very first visits when I found a pair of Red-legged Partridge on the golf course very early one morning. There cannot have been many partridge records from Oxford city itself. I heard one calling a few days later, but have not recorded this species since.
In terms of waterbirds, there was only the occasional fly-over Canada Goose flock to add to the local Mallards and Moorhens, both of which bred:
Mallard duckling, one of five on the Boundary Brook balancing pond. Moorhen chick, on the same pond.
Grey Heron was recorded a couple of times in April, including one bird in the small pools in the Lye Valley:
Grey Heron, Lye Valley
Raptors recorded included Kestrel, which is a local breeder:
Male Kestrel, Boundary Brook valley
There was the occasional Sparrowhawk record, mainly from the golf course area:
Female Sparrowhawk
Red Kites are an abundant species in Oxford and frequently soar over the area. Some birds may roost in the taller trees in the site:
Red Kite, Southfield Golf CourseRed Kite, Lye Valley
On one occasion I disturbed a roosting Buzzard:
Common Buzzard, Boundary Brook valley.
However, raptor of the spring was a fabulous Hobby which flashed over the Golf Course on 18th May, apparently hunting Swifts. Corvid records included Jay, Magpie and Jackdaw, all of whom breed. The exceptional corvid record was a Rook, passing over on 12th April. Hirundines were only represented by two Swallow records: one on 22nd April and one on 2nd May (per Dave Lowe). The first Swift was seen on 18th May, House Martin has yet to be recorded this year!
Great Spotted and Green Woodpeckers are both local breeders:
Female Green Woodpecker
The four common Tit species all breed locally.
Male Great Tit, Warneford MeadowAdult Long-tailed Tit, Boundary Brook ValleyJuvenile Long-tailed Tit, Warneford Meadow
Coal Tit is the least frequently encountered of the Tit species, but did breed in Boundary Brook valley:
Coal Tit, Boundary Brook ValleyAdult Coal Tit with food.
Five warbler species were recorded this spring (to date). Blackcap was the most abundant, with up to 15 singing males in late April:
Male Blackcap
Chiffchaff was also recorded on every visit, with at least three singing males and one confirmed breeding pair:
Chiffchaff, Boundary Brook Valley
There were only two Willow Warbler records in April, both singing birds that moved through:
Willow Warbler, Boundary Brook valley
I was pleasantly surprised to find a number of Whitethroat territories so deep in the city. The first bird was recorded on 20th April. Up to three singing males set up territories, but have recently stopped singing, so time will tell if they managed to attract a mate and breed:
Whitethroat, Warneford Meadow
The best trans-Saharan migrant recorded in the area was Lesser Whitethroat. A singing male was in a tiny garden in the housing estate behind the Lye Valley on 29th April. Another male was heard on the Golf Course in early May.
Male Lesser Whitethroat
This housing estate has a decent population of House Sparrows and Starlings, by modern standards. They no doubt benefit from the supply of insects and invertebrates in the nature reserve, which has SSSI status.
Male House SparrowStarling
The final Siskins were seen on 3rd April…
Male Siskin, Lye Valley
… whilst the first Reed Bunting returned on 7th May:
Male Reed Bunting, Lye Valley
Bird of the spring goes to a bird that I did not see, a Little Egret, photographed by Judy Webb on 9th May in the Lye Valley. I look forward to catching up with this species here, hopefully soon!
I used eBird to record my bird records, an illustrated summary of which can be seen here. Anyone (with a free eBird account) can contribute further sightings at the site, now that it is an eBird hotspot. 57 of the species were recorded by myself. Dave Lowe added one further species during his BTO Breeding Bird Survey at the site and Judy Webb contributed the final species, Little Egret.
Other wildlife recorded this spring:
Muntjac Deer were seen on virtually every visit, as were Rabbit and Grey Squirrel. There are signs of Badger too, though I have yet to see any animals. Occasionally I see Red Fox. This adult appeared as I was lining up a picture of the Muntjac behind it:
Male Muntjac and Red Fox, Boundary Brook Valley
I have no expertise of insects or butterflies, plus the early morning nature of my visits means that there is little if any, butterfly activity at dawn. However, some species stand out:
I have missed not having a local patch. Having spent eight years tramping around the fields of Cuddesdon, I really wanted a good nearby waterbody that would attract a wider selection of species, compared to farmland. I experimented with visiting some well known local sites, for example Farmoor and Otmoor, but found them either too well covered, or too large to cover in my limited avilable time. I also explored smaller water bodies further afield, but quickly realised that I needed a patch that was within walking distance of my house.
So, over the last three months I have regularly visited a “Y”-shaped piece of land around the nearby Churchill Hospital in Headington, Oxford:
The habitat is varied, but is crammed into East Oxford, between the hospital and housing estates. It does have the advantage of being on top of a hill and has an adjoining golf course, whose open areas I still dream may attract passing migrants. The star of the show is the Lye Valley Nature Reserve. This remarkable piece of wet fenland is centuries old and is home to an incredible range of plants. These survive mainly thanks to the work done by the Friends of Lye Valley and their working parties, led by Dr Judy Webb.
My usual route begins just off Old Road, Headington. I follow the Boundary Brook stream through the narrow strip of mature trees that survive between the new housing estate of Little Oxford and the University’s Old Road campus. The larger lime trees (I think) have many old woodpecker holes and are home to breeding Jackdaw, Stock Dove and Nuthatch:
As the stream passes the Churchill Hospital, there is a small balancing pond. This holds water draining from the hospital site, before it enters the Boundary Brook. The fantasy here: Water Rail. The reality: Moorhen.
I then do a circuit of Warneford Meadow, [1] on the map above. This open area, right on top of the hill, has scattered trees and nice shrubby hedgerows:
The fantasy here: Redstart. The reality: Meadow Pipit.
I rejoin the Boundary Brook stream and work my way between the hospital and the golf course [2]. The small valley here is filled with alders:The fantasy here: Mealy Redpoll. The reality: Siskin.
Following this small valley south-east, one emerges on the hospital road to find what looks like the world’s largest mist net [3]. This is in fact a screen to protect the hospital from golf balls being aimed at the 18th green, in the foreground:
The Boundary Brook valley then runs alongside a small meadow at the south end of the hospital [4]: There are reeds on the edge of the meadow, which contains some strange man-made mounds. I have met hospital workers who remember that there were Nissen Huts here, left over from when this was an American base in the Second World War. Frighteningly, some were still used by the hospital for appointments, at least until the 1990s. The fantasy here: Black Redstart. The reality: Robin.
I then head south, through the woods at the bottom of the Lye Valley and cross Southfield Golf Course [5]. I like the idea of birding the golf course, which is right on top of the ridge, with open grassy areas and scrubby patches. But there are a number of issues. Firstly, there is the possibility of being hit by golf balls:
Secondly, you may be suddenly doused by the watering system on the greens. Without warning sprinklers are turned on, which does not always make for relaxed birding: The fantasy here: Hoopoe. The reality: Pheasant.
The furthest south I get is the scrub on the slope of the hill between the golf course and the Barracks Lane cycle track: The fantasy here: Nightingale. The reality: Blackcap. I do a circuit here, then retrace my steps back over the golf course to return to the Lye Valley proper [6]: Emerging from the woods, one finds small pools by the boardwalk at the bottom of the fen. From the top of the reserve [7] the stirling work done by volunteers to keep the fen free from encroachment by trees and shrubs can be seen:
This spring I have really enjoyed my early morning birding in these narrow green corridors, between the hospital, the golf course and the houses. Coming soon: a summary of the birds seen here this spring: March, April and May 2019.
Hoopoe, France, July 2012
Hoopoe, Oman, November 2015
A very wet Hoopoe, Sichuan, China, May 2016
The fantasy here: Redstart. The reality: Meadow Pipit. 
The fantasy here: Mealy Redpoll. The reality: Siskin.
There are reeds on the edge of the meadow, which contains some strange man-made mounds. I have met hospital workers who remember that there were Nissen Huts here, left over from when this was an American base in the Second World War. Frighteningly, some were still used by the hospital for appointments, at least until the 1990s. The fantasy here: Black Redstart. The reality: Robin. 
The fantasy here: Hoopoe. The reality: Pheasant. 
The fantasy here: Nightingale. The reality: Blackcap. I do a circuit here, then retrace my steps back over the golf course to return to the Lye Valley proper [6]: 
Emerging from the woods, one finds small pools by the boardwalk at the bottom of the fen. From the top of the reserve [7] the stirling work done by volunteers to keep the fen free from encroachment by trees and shrubs can be seen: 