Recording the first Tree Pipit for the Lye Valley area in August 2020 was a special moment. Not least as I put in a fair few hours in the autumn of 2019 without success. This year I had failed to see or hear any Tree Pipits in the last week of August, so when a loud “tzeep” call rang out from the sky on 4th September, I was pleased to record Tree Pipit for the second successive year. That Tree Pipit flew south over the golf course, I heard it call three times as it continued its migration across the county:
For most of today’s patch visit, things had not looked particularly productive. There was little evidence of many new migrants in, a juvenile Ring-necked Parakeet practicing flying low over the golf course greens was the slightly surreal highlight.
As I crossed through Churchill Meadow, right behind the hospital, I flushed a bird from the main track. It was immediately interesting. It flew fast, low and silently to the back of the meadow, but I got enough on it to feel confident that the bird was a pipit. There is virtually no overlap in existing records of when Meadow Pipit and Tree Pipits appear over the Lye Valley, but both could be potentially recorded in early September.
I went back into the meadow and walked through it twice without seeing the bird again. As I returned along the track, once again the pipit rose up, this time flying to a small patch of silver birches on the edge of the meadow. Here I could just glimpse it through the foliage:
I could make out the fine steaks on the flanks and then it began pumping its tail up and down: it was a Tree Pipit! Finally, it turned towards me for a moment, before flying back to the far edge of the meadow:
An unexpectedly brilliant view of a Tree Pipit! I suspect that Tree Pipits pass through the Lye Valley in tiny numbers every autumn, it is just a question of whether anyone is out there to see or hear them. The next target: a nice spring record of this species?
Recently my friend and fellow osteopath Cathy Allan, based in Victoria, Australia, sent me some beautiful pictures of dragonflies that her father had painted. These pictures got me thinking about the practicalities of trying to photograph dragonflies in flight. This is not something that I have tried, not least because dragonflies fly ridiculously fast.
This Sunday afternoon I was sat by a pond at a friend’s farm where we were staying for the weekend. There were a few dragonflies about, including this nice male Common Darter.
Much larger was a male Southern Hawker, that kept coming over to check me out:
These are large, colorful dragonflies, with a body length of up to 8cm. I had my macro lens with me, so tried a few half-hearted attempts to get a picture of one as it flew past. In active flight, this was impossible. Even if I could get one in the viewfinder, it was gone before the camera could focus.
But these are inquisitive and territorial insects. Once every five minutes or so, a male would come patrolling to where I was sitting and hover for a few seconds before zipping off again. I wondered if those few seconds of stationary hovering would provide an opportunity for my camera to focus and take a burst of pictures. I also noticed that the male had a few special locations where he would frequently return and hover, when not chasing off other males or hawking at pretty much anything else that flew past.
My first attempts at sitting near one of these favoured areas did at least produce one of my first in-focus pictures of a dragonfly in flight, even though the male was not that close on this occasion:
Then, all of a sudden, he was back and much closer, actively investigating me.
Having tweaked the camera settings to get the shutter speed to at least 1/5000 of a second, I waited for the next return:
Much better! I was pleased that this flying insect was pretty much in focus, with even most of the wing motion frozen by the fast shutter speed. I realised I could clearly make out the incredible eyes that wrap around the huge mouthparts at the front of the head. Dragonflies are virtually deaf and have a poor sense of smell. The vast majority of the information about their surroundings comes from their eyes. Being able to fly very fast, requires superb vision and balance. Otherwise, it ends very badly.
With patience, I eventually got some good, close up, pictures in those few seconds of investigative hovering:
Being able to see such detail in the photographs made me want to understand what some of these structures were. Ray Cannon has published some excellent blog posts about dragonfly anatomy in general and dragonfly vision in particular. My first discovery was that dragonflies have at least five eyes: two obvious large compound eyes, that wrap around the side of the head, but also three simple eyes tucked in under the vertex, the ocelli. Common to many ancient insects, the ocelli have a role in keeping the insect orientated in space and level in flight. Combined with the two large compound eyes, the position of these five eyes gives dragonflies nearly a 360-degree visual field, they really can see what’s behind them!
A pleasing and educational hour by the pond with these amazing insects and thank you Cathy, for the inspiration!
What are the chances of a good bird turning up in pretty much the only two hours that I have completely free in the entire month of August? That is exactly what happened at 09:41 this morning when Isaac West posted a message saying that he had found an Osprey at Farmoor.
This is a species that has always eluded me in Oxfordshire, so I make the snap decision to travel straight to Farmoor. I speak to Isaac, who tells me the Osprey has been circling the reservoir for the last 25 minutes and is still present. Aware that the bird could depart at any moment, I head straight for the door. Then I remember. I have a little free time this morning, but my wife has our car. Not to worry, I know that I can cycle to Farmoor in not much more than 20 minutes from Headington, albeit on a road bike, without optics and a camera. I throw these items into a pannier and head out on my commuter bike. Needless to say, there is a nasty headwind. I plough on, checking my phone in town and at the end of the Botley Road, as Isaac is under instructions to call me if the Osprey leaves the reservoir.
I sprint up the ramp to F2, leap from my bike and simultaneously scan the skies and call Isaac. There is good news: he has the Osprey in his ‘scope. The bad news is that it is currently about a mile west of the reservoir and flying away! Isaac gives me directions to the bird, but I only have binoculars and he doesn’t think the bird is a binocular object anymore. This is not good.
I tell him: “I’m going to cycle out to you on the causeway, keep it in your ‘scope!“, knowing full well that it is forbidden to cycle around the reservoir. Sure enough, in little more than two rotations of my pedals, I am stopped by some reservoir staff and told not to cycle. I dump the bike, pull out my optics and camera. I can see Isaac just over halfway along the causeway, watching the Osprey in his ‘scope. It is still distant, but flying away.
I have no choice. “I’m going to run along the causeway to you, keep it in your ‘scope!” With a DSLR camera and telephoto lens in one hand and my binoculars in the other, I start to sprint along the causeway. Whilst wearing cycling shoes. Chris Froome famously ran a section of Mount Ventoux in the Tour de France in cycling shoes. If he did it, so can I. And to my knowledge, Froome did not add a new species to his French list at the time either, whereas I have a full-fat county tick awaiting me, just along the causeway. Such behaviour did attract a few looks as I set off. Unbeknown to me, Bob Burgess and Steve Burch were observing me from across the reservoir, Bob commenting that there was a jogger with a lens on the causeway. Eventually, I get to Isaac and, to his credit, he is still on the very distant Osprey:
The bird is a dot in the sky! It is nearly in Faringdon. Fortunately for me, after wheeling back and forth for ten minutes or so, the Osprey begins to return to the reservoir:
Finally, I can make out some of the plumage details as the chocolate-and-white raptor heads back to F2:
And the bird performs magnificently, including a flyby over the causeway:
Superb! And massive thanks to Isaac for finding the bird and then keeping tabs on it whilst I completed my crazy triathlon. A county tick for us both, and there is also one painted on the exit sign at the reservoir:
We drifted silently on blue water under a blue sky. The amazing rock formations of the Macleod’s Maidens towered above us, visibility was perfect. The sea was as flat as glass and equally reflective. I turned around asked our boatman, Jordan, how often are conditions like this? He simply said “never”.
Jordan was right. Typically Skye has rubbish summer weather. The 30-year average for the number of days with complete sunshine in July is 0.9 days per month – ie not even one full day of sun, on average, in the whole month! In fact, July and August have the least number of days of full sunshine of any month, except December, which is pretty much dark, being so far north. We got so lucky.
We arrived in a heatwave that lasted throughout the entire first week of our ten days on the island. A week of blue skies, sunshine and crystal-clear visibility. We hardly saw a cloud in the first week, or indeed, a wave. Even at the end of our trip when there was more cloud cover, the wind remained absent and the sea completely flat. Below, the view from above Uig, looking out towards the Ascrib Islands, across a wave-less sea:
Looking west to the Outer Hebrides, across the Little Minch, the sea between Skye and the Hebrides:
Having suffered many times on boats at sea (most graphically recorded here), a flat sea is my idea of heaven. We took three boat trips in these ideal conditions: one east from Portree; one west from Carbost and one in the north from Uig to the Ascrib Islands.
Our first trip was from Portree, a 6pm departure on The Stardust. This is a well-known trip for seeing and photographing White-tailed Eagles. The local eagles are habituated to taking fish thrown from the back of the boat. We did not come across any eagles on the cliffs closest to Portree, so then headed across the sound to Raasay. As soon as we approached the island, a large and distinctive shape appeared in the sky heading towards us:
This was, apparently, a 14-year-old female White-tailed Eagle, who is feeding a large chick on the island. She circled a couple of times…
… before making a low-level pass (harrassed by the local Oystercatchers), to take the fish from the sea:
We also came across a small pod of Common Dolphins in the Sound of Raasay, including this adult and calf:
There were more cetaceans on our second boat trip, on a RIB with SeaSkye Tours, from Carbost on western Skye. We exited Loch Harport, passed the Macleod’s Maidens (see above) and entered the open ocean, which was completely flat and blue. It could have been the Mediterranean. Splashes in the distance indicated that a large pod of Common Dolphins were actively feeding offshore. As we approached, the dolphins became interested in our boat:
With the sea so still, the closer dolphins were clearly visible underwater. Their skin tells their story: tooth rake marks, from interactions with other dolphin’s teeth, are common in cetaceans, many can be seen on this Common Dolphin:
The feeding dolphin pod performed magnificently, providing some amazing, intimate views. They were so close that it was almost like doing underwater photography!
Even better, two Minke Whales surfaced behind the feeding dolphin pod. We all saw their long grey backs sweep up and then down as they exhaled and then inhaled, before diving. Below: a CommonDolphin jumps. The long dark line and the wave in the background is a Minke Whale, just submerged:
Further out, on the outskirts of the feeding pod, were Harbour Porpoises. Unlike the dolphins, porpoises are shy of boats and they kept their distance. These are darker cetaceans than the Common Dolphins, with smaller, more triangular, dorsal fins:
Still photographs never do cetaceans real justice. Video captures their speed and agility much more accurately. My daughters made the video below using my phone:
Our third, and final, boat trip was on our last full day on Skye. It departed from Uig, in northern Skye, with SkyeXplorer boat trips. These trips head out to the Ascrib Islands, where there are many breeding seals, Common and Grey, and seabirds. Below, Common Seals:
Below, this adult Gannet came by to investigate our boat. You know you’ve had a good view of a Gannet, if you can see the blue eye-ring:
As we approached the islands, we began to come across groups of auks resting on the water. A few Common Guillemots were present, with recent fledged young. Closer still to the island we saw Black Guillemots, with their fantastic red legs:
But the Puffins were the stars of the show. By late July only a few remained, we saw about 120 in total. Those adults that were present were losing the colour on their bills and their white faces were beginning to darken. Their plumage was changing from their breeding plumage to their winter plumage. These birds spend all winter out in the Atlantic Ocean, an incredible feat of survival. By early August, nearly all have departed for the open sea.
Some birds still retained some of their summer colour. Everyone loves a Puffin!
There are many reasons why one would want to go to Scotland. There are mountain bird species, breeding seabirds and waders, spectacular scenery and a real sense of the wild. It is said that when the sun shines in Scotland, it is one of the greatest landscapes on earth. Unfortunately, the sun rarely shines in Scotland. The summer weather is notoriously unreliable, perhaps one reason why the most popular Scottish word is “dreich“, meaning dreary, gloomy, miserable, grey, depressing and devoid of sunshine. So when planning a family holiday, suggesting that we go to Scotland always held an unacceptably high degree of risk for precious time-off.
But then came the pandemic. Sunshine abroad did not feel right, whilst accommodation in the south and west of England rocketed in price, but still sold out months in advance. So, when a friend hinted that there may be some availability at his family’s house on the Isle of Skye, I began to look at Scotland once again.
Fortunately, the weather gods were on our side. We left southern England in a heatwave that traveled north with us throughout the first week of our trip. We passed through the highlands of mainland Scotland under blue skies with perfect visibility. Below, the Glen Coe range behind Lochan na h-Achlaise:
Our first day on the Isle of Skye was dawn till dusk sunshine. The highest peaks on Skye, the Black Cuillins, formed a backdrop to the view from our house. The views were unbelievable. Time to begin some local birding:
The most obvious local birds were Lesser Redpolls. Large family groups were noisy, conspicuous and everywhere. The valley rang with the “chett-chett” flight calls of adult birds. Below, juvenile Lesser Redpoll:
The local Stonechats appeared to have had a good breeding season, with many juvenile birds, being fed by adults:
The commonest local warbler was Willow Warbler, with only one Chiffchaff recorded. There were many juvenile Willow Warblers in the garden:
There was a singing Grasshopper Warbler in the field next door, Whitethroats in the bushes and a Sedge Warbler passed through mid-week. Wheatears could be seen on the nearby headlands, the adults moulting out of their breeding plumage:
There were small numbers of Rock Doves in the valley. One morning, a flock of five landed on the roof of our house:
There was at least one pair of Raven in the valley, but all the local crows were Hooded Crows:
There was a Sand Martin colony by the river. This must be one of the most north-westerly colonies in the UK, though I believe there are breeding birds on the southern Outer Hebrides which may take that title. Although the breeding season was coming to an end by late July, there were at least two active nests. This bird is returning to the colony with a full crop of insects:
The abundant gulls around the river and beach were Common Gulls, with only the occasion Herring, Lesser or Greater Black-backed Gulls joining them:
A flock of Greylag Geese spent the days alternating between feeding in the farmland opposite our house or bathing in the river:
In the evenings, the geese were joined by Red Deer, including this stag:
The shoreline held Rock Pipits, including this very worn adult:
Juvenile Rock Pipits have surprisingly bright pink legs and have yet to develop the long dark bill of adults:
There were small numbers of waders around the river. Small groups of vocal Oystercatcher and Curlew were common, with Ringed Plover on the beach. Common Sandpipers were seen frequently, by the sea and the river. Twice I saw Greenshank here, though they were always distant. I think the small number of dark-centered scapulars mean that this is a summer plumaged adult, so possibly a local breeder:
Below, this surprise wader flew around Loch Brittle and then back out to sea. It appeared nearly all-white in flight and when I first got onto it, as it flew directly towards me, I had no idea what it was. This oddly pale Whimbrel is either extremely heavily worn and abraded, or is a leucistic bird:
Further out in the loch were small groups of Red-throated Diver, up to 15 in total, though they were always very distant. I had good ‘scope views of these birds, which were very socially active. Below, this pair of Red-throated Divers submerged their bodies and cut through the water with necks held stiff and erect, driving away other birds:
Whilst walking up into the mountains or along the local peninsular, I often head a harsh “ka-ka-ka-ka” call, that initially I thought may be Red Grouse calling. Eventually I located the source of these calls, they were high-flying Red-throated Divers, coming in over the mountains to feed in Loch Brittle:
On one afternoon we flushed a Short-eared Owl from just by our feet, not far up the hillside behind our house:
Local insects included Golden-ringed Dragonflies:
This male Common Darter:
… and abundant Scotch Argus butterflies, a species only found in the Highlands and Islands of Scotland:
This is a summary of the birds (and some other wildlife) recorded in the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow area between 20th March and 20th May 2021. There was a brief warm spell in late March, just before Easter, which saw the arrival of a few summer migrants. Then temperatures fell away, resulting in weeks of cold weather, including a remarkable mid-April snowfall. Nationally, spring 2021 was very cold and then very wet! April 2021 had the highest number of days with air-frost ever and was the third coldest on record. May 2021 looks like being the wettest on record. Neither of these factors are beneficial to migrant or breeding birds.
In this 61 day period, there were a combined total of 89 visits recorded on eBird to the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow area. 59 species were recorded in March; 61 in April and 53 in May. By 20th May, 73 species in total had been recorded this year. 40 or more species were recorded on four days: 20th March; 9th April; 17th April and 1st May.
Sub-zero mornings became a routine, with dawn visits beginning by crunching through heavy frost, well into May:
Female Green Woodpecker in the frost.
In the freezing temperatures, some bird species would sit facing the rising sun to gather what warmth they could:
Male Sparrowhawk
Later in the spring, the local pair of Sparrowhawks would begin displaying:
Early spring sees waterbirds on the move and occasionally such birds would pass over the Lye Valley:
Greylag GeeseBarnacle Geese
However, most waterbird migration is nocturnal. Isaac West and I spent a few nights in late March listening and recording nocturnal migrants. See this post for details of a spectacular night, on 23rd March, when we heard migrating Common Scoter, Coot and Wigeon, as well as recording the first Barn Owl for the area.
Back in daylight hours, despite the temperatures, nesting behaviour could still be seen:
Red Kite with nesting material. Singing male Grey Wagtail.Singing Chiffchaff.
The rarity highlight of the spring occurred on 10th April when a Ring Ouzel flew over myself and Phil Barnett in Warneford Meadow. A few hours later a male Ring Ouzel was located in Marston Meadows in Oxford, perhaps the same bird? Ben Sheldon has been regularly visiting Aston’s Eyot, by the River Thames just off the Iffley Road, some one mile to the west of the Lye Valley area. Eight days after the Ring Ouzel flyover, I received the sort of text message that sends the inland local patch birder into cardiac arrest:
We can forgive Ben his typo. I know what seeing Bar-tailed Godwit migrating over your patch does to your adrenaline levels. It is incredible that Bar-tailed Godwit have been recorded flying over Oxford city in two successive years. I ran up to the nearest point with a view of the sky and scanned desperately, but to no avail. Ben followed this with reports of Marsh Harrier and singing Redshank overhead, neither of which materialised over the Lye Valley either!
The cold weather took a dramtic turn on 12th April with a heavy fall of snow, documented here:
Fortunately, despite several centimeters of snow, it had melted by lunchtime. The surreal sight and sound of a Willow Warbler singing in the snow was remarkable:
Once the snow was gone, spring behaviour returned. I have noticed Jays flocking together in large groups in April in a number of years now:
There were also drumming woodpeckers and displaying Treecreepers, whilst Siskins and Lesser Redpolls remained into late-April this year, much later than usual:
Treecreeper
This spring was a good month for falcons, with three records of Peregrine and two records of Hobby, as well as the local breeding pair of Kestrels.
PeregrineHobby
By mid-April first young birds were appearing. These Tawny Owlets were exceptionally early and would huddled together for warmth on cold mornings:
Very young Moorhens, on the tiny Churchilll Hospital balancing pond
The local Pheasants provided regular entertainment, displaying from mounds on Southfield Golf Course, before literally pulling chunks of feathers from each other
When seen, Muntjack Deer usually freeze, then run. This male, choose a different approach, by attempting to hide in low vegetation, just off the main path in the Lye Valley. I walked past and noticed the glowing white horns. I took a few pictures, then moved away:
In many ways, this was a spring of hunkering down in first cold, and then very wet, conditions. The second Sedge Warbler for the area was found singing on 27th April. A Kingfisher was seen twice on Boundary Brook, on 1st and 6th May, the latter sighting by myself and Dave Lowe, as he carried out his biannual Breeding Bird Survey for the BTO. This Kingfisher was the 99th species of bird recorded in the Lye Valley area on eBird. The full illustrated list of birds seen in Lye Valley and Warnford Meadow can be found here. What, and when, will be species number 100?
On Monday 12th April I awoke to astonishing scenes. Not only had there been a significant overnight snowfall, but intensely heavy snow was still falling. I staggered out to Warneford Meadow to begin my daily pre-dawn search for migrant birds, but could hardly see across the meadow for the snow:
The view across the trees of the Lye Valley, towards the Wood Farm towerblock, from the golfcourse. This is April!
I was in a state of shock. The conditions were more like the Cairngorms (though with less crampons, see here). Needless to say, bird activity was severely reduced by the heavy snow. Indeed, the only bird of note was a fly-over Grey Heron, nicely illuminated from below by light reflected from the fallen snow:
I wondered what effect such heavy snow would have on the blossom of the many trees, just in bloom?
And how would the insectivore bird species possibly find anything to eat in such alien conditions? My questions were answered as I approach a pair of silver birch trees at the south end of the golf course. Incredibly, both trees were alive with phylloscopus warblers, feeding in the snow-covered branches:
I came to a conservative total of at least 8 Chiffchaffs, but the trees were filled with constant movements. Some of the Chiffchaffs had snow frozen to their feet as they moved through the trees:
But best of all were 2 Willow Warblers, both singing frequently. To stand in heavy snow, at times a near white-out, and listen to the liquid, descending notes of summer left me almost unable to reconcile what I could see, with what I could hear, my senses conflicted.
A Willow Warbler, feeding and singing, in heavy snow.
By 7:30am the snow had stopped falling. With the temperature just above freezing, the melt began. I was lucky to glimpse one of the local Tawny Owls, left absolutely bedraggled by the snowstorm:
Other birds appeared completely untouched by the snow. This Eurasian Jay perched for a moment on a branch above the stream, absolutely pristine in pink, blue and black. The colours were back.
By late morning, after taking my daughters’ sledging, the sun was out and most of the snow was gone, as though it was never there at all. The bushes were filled with singing Blackcaps and Chiffchaffs and there were insects in the tree blossoms. The early morning white-out was a monochrome memory.
Common Scoters are sea ducks. Their winters are spent off the UK and Irish west coasts, they migrate to Scandinavia and Russia to breed in arctic pools in the permanent daylight of the northern summer. As such, they spend most of their lives well away from land-locked Oxfordshire. Small numbers of Common Scoters appear in Oxfordshire in spring, mid-summer and autumn (see here for a few more details). The majority of records come from the county’s largest waterbody, Farmoor Reservoir, as birds drop in during their migration. Common Scoter migrate at night and are perfectly camouflaged. The males are sooty black, the females dark brown. They will not be seen at night. Fortunately, they have evolved to make frequent and distinctive flight calls to each other. It is these calls that betray their presence in the night sky. And until up to 2019 that was the story of Common Scoters in the Oxfordshire. Then came the global covid pandemic.
Common Scoters, Bolt Tail, Devon, August 2020
By late March 2020, hundreds of birders were forced to be at home in the first national coronavirus lockdown. As news broke that a significant nocturnal movement of Common Scoter was occurring across northern England, lockdowned birders across the rest of the country began listening out for the flight calls of Common Scoters. Something was happening. It became apparent that Common Scoters not only used the Wirral-Humber flyway in northern England, but also the Severn-Thames flyway across southern England, and in fact, were being reported right across southern England as they migrated east overland (see here).
As early spring 2021 came around, Isaac West and I discussed the possibility of trying to hear Common Scoters on nocturnal migration from our local patch of the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow in Headington, Oxford. This area, comprising of a local nature reserve, a meadow and a golf course has no open water and until 8th March 2021 over 368 patch visits had only produced one species of duck: Mallard. The 8th March saw a flock of 7 Goosander flyover, a completely unexpected new species for the area and a remarkable record. Even so, trying to add a species of sea duck to this list seemed like complete madness. But the first covid spring of 2020 had taught us something: the skies are alive with the sound of scoters. Sometimes.
This week we spent three evenings, socially distanced, on Southfield Golf Course listening to the sky. Isaac prefers the expression “live noc-mig”, but I like “sky-listening”. Like “sea-watching”, it captures what you actually spend most of your time doing. Almost immediately I heard the sound of Wigeon passing overhead. A satisfying start and duck number three for the Lye Valley area! Shortly afterward, we heard the sound of a very loud scooter revving up and driving through east Oxford. But above it, the flight call of a Coot:
Scooter and Coot (at the 3-4 second mark). Nocturnal flight call, Southfield Golf Course, Oxford 23rd March 2021. Recording by Isaac West.
So we had scooter, but not scoter. The best moment of the evening was at 21:30 when the first Barn Owl for the area hissed at us:
The first 90-minute sky-listening session had produced three new species for the area. I was hooked. With little wind forecast for the next night, we tried again on Tuesday 23rd March. Very early on we both heard the pyu-pyu-pyu calls of a migrating Common Scoter flock. They were very distant, to the east, so distant in fact that Isaac’s recorder did not pick up the calls. Success, but we wanted proof. We wanted a recording. We tried again on Wednesday 24th March. It was desperately quiet, not even a Redwing called. By 21:30 we were both cold and about to give up, when the ringing calls of Common Scoter were heard again, this time from the west. The flock passed over, heading east, but was just loud enough to be audible on the recording:
Scooter and scoter were in the bag! You don’t need special equipment to hear these migrating flocks of sea ducks. Although distant, both the flocks we heard on the nights of 23rd and 24th March were quite clearly audible over the sounds of east Oxford. An overhead flock would be quite an experience.
Find a quiet spot on a still night, be familiar with the flight call (Teal and other duck species are also on the move at night and are also vocal) and be patient. We spent a total of 4.5 hours listening across three successive evenings to hear the two Common Scoter flocks pass over. Last year the major movement of Common Scoter across England occurred in the first week of April, so we may not be at peak scoter yet. The next few weeks provide a real opportunity to get Common Scoter, an arctic-breeding sea duck, on your Oxfordshire patch and garden lists. Incredible stuff.
The winter of 2020-21 will forever be associated with the covid pandemic. But as we emerge from the grimmest winter this country has faced since the Second World War, we should also remember that this winter has been the coldest in the UK since 2010. The early part of the year saw snow in the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow:
Cold weather can also force some bird species to move in large numbers to find easier feeding grounds. There was a significant movement of Lapwings across Oxfordshire and Buckinghamshire on 13th February, including the first Lapwings recorded over the Lye Valley. Isaac West counted 165 on that day, all moving south-west, to escape the cold weather:
The resident birds were forced to try to survive the freezing temperatures, including this roosting Tawny Owl and the Jay, below:
But despite the temperatures, increasing daylight also stimulated birds to begin breeding behaviour. There was a singing Blackcap in Boundary Brook on January 23rd in temperatures well below zero, the earliest recorded singing warbler in the Lye Valley area. This was almost certainly a lingering wintering bird from central Europe that was inspired to sing, rather than one of our breeding birds, which in late January should still be in Spain. We await the return of these birds in late March and early April, when the valley will be filled with their song:
Other unusual winter-singers, included two Redwing in song on Southfield Golf Course on 6th March:
This winter has been very good for small finches, with small numbers of Lesser Redpolls present and up to 50 Siskin in the Lye Valley, including this male.
By early March many bird species were in song or demonstrating territorial breeding behaviour. The display flight of Stock Doves could often be seen, flashing their iridescent neck feathering:
This Long-tailed Tit was gathering lichen from tree branches to begin nest-building:
Up to three male Great Spotted Woodpeckers could be heard drumming:
These two male Pheasants spent a morning displaying to each other on the golf course:
Early Spring is also characterised the overhead migration of waterbirds. The usual Canada and Greylag Geese have both been recorded in March, but far less expected was this flock of 7 Goosander, seen flying over Warneford Meadow on 8th March:
With spring in the air and birds on the move, the next six weeks could be one the most productive periods of bird migration in the whole year. After the long cold winter and the covid pandemic, we need some spring days, warm temperatures and hopefully, some superb spring migration over the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow.
This morning dawned cold, with frost crunching underfoot and a light mist clinging to the coldest areas. The early winter gold and browns of Warneford Meadow, above, turned white at least until the sun burnt through. On the golf course, ice crystals coated the grass blades and froze fungi into tiny cut glass mushrooms:
Some of the larger fungi, protected from above by tree branches, remained frost free:
The Fly Agaric mushrooms, which could be found beneath the Silver Birches of the golf course until late October, have long gone:
A pale shape, high up in a hole in a poplar tree, revealed a sleeping Tawny Owl. The pale feathering above the eyes may help break up the bird’s outline and provide camouflage:
This may be one of the birds that bred locally, pictures of an adult and fledged chicks can be seen at the end of this post from May.
This morning was a good morning for raptors too, though the low temperatures meant that most were sitting perched awaiting the warmth of the sun. A male Kestrel sat in willows near the Churchill Hospital pond; a Buzzard brooded on a tree on the golf course and this female Sparrowhawk sat unobtrusively above Boundary Brook:
Being larger raptors, the local Red Kites sat out on more prominent perches, catching the cold November sun:
This has been a much more productive winter for thrushes and finches than last winter in the Lye Valley and Warneford Meadow area. In the winter of 2019-20, I struggled to record single figure numbers of Fieldfares, Siskins or Redpolls. This winter all have returned in good numbers. Siskins have been recorded in flocks of up to 35, Lesser Redpoll is frequently recorded and there are up to 50 Fieldfares and between 50-100 Redwing present during most visits this month. The thrushes, including this Mistle Thrush and the Redwing below it, are drawn to the holly berries:
But even as the nights draw in and the days approach their shortest length, some birds are preparing for the next breeding season. On 16th November this Song Thrush became the first singing thrush recorded since mid-summer. This morning three were in full song. There are four weeks to go before the shortest day, but for some, spring is already on the way.
