Logging Hawfinches 31st March 2025

This morning the cold north westerly wind that has been a constant and irritating companion to the more welcome sunshine of the last couple of days relented and it truly felt like Spring was upon us.

An irressistible urge to be out of the house and to bury my soul in the vitality and energy of this season was upon me but where to go 

No one would be surprised that I opted for the cemetery at Woodstock. Here lies peace both for me and for its unknowing occupants that lie forever below the ancient leaning gravestones. A square of grass and yew trees just two hundred metres off the busy main thoroughfare of bustling Woodstock, to all extents and purposes unvisited and unthought of by the good folk of Woodstock but encapsulated within its walls would be a microcosym of Spring - and yes Hawfinches.

The sun of the last few days has served to bring the paradox of new life to this sacrosanct acre for the dead and.it is as if a curtain has been raised to reveal a sudden burgeoning of colour, the sulphur yellow flowers of  multitudes of clustered primroses glowing under the dark yews and even embracing some of the more ancient graves. Tiny, fragile violets push their small flowers an inch or two above the grass which, now responding to the longer daylight hours is becoming that bright energised green that only signifies new growth.

A Greenfinch struggles with a pigeon feather, preparing to carry it off to line a nest being constructed in the dark interior of one of thc yews while her mate perched high above in a tree, emits a drawling contented dwzeeeeeeeeeee, almost the bird equivalent of a yawn and so redolent of this time of year. Blackthorn belies its name, its twiggy outline frothy white with a million flowers, that almost uniquely precede the leaves.The flowers exude a sickly scent like  one gets on the cusp of decay, eddying  on the air and luring insects on a false trail to pollinate the tiny florets.

Few come here and for the most part I am on my own although now the secret is out about the presence of the Hawfinches there is often company in the form of one or two other birders or photographers.I do not know why I differentiate between the two as these days everyone carrys a camera of one sort or another

So let's stick to birders.

I stood in my usual place by a large box bush trying to harmonise my green jacket with the hard green leaves of the bush. I was  excited as today I would be trying for something different with the Hawfinches.An earlier conversation with Gareth about the Hawfinches, which we have been feeding with sunflower seeds for some weeks now, involved  ways of getting different images to the classic ones that everyone takes.I for one am always enthusiastic about capturing different poses and Gareth feels likewise

Why not try a log I suggested

With luck the birds will perch on the log and then we can get the whole bird in the frame including its legs and feet.

Up to now our close images  were for the most part of the finches on the ground with their legs and feet hidden in the grass whilst others, less satisfactory were of more distant birds perched high in a tree.

I wondered where we could get a suitable log but Gareth pre empted this concern by finding and lugging a good sized log to the favoured feeding area under the now famous cherry tree.At first sight of the log I was amazed he had managed to get it to where it was as it must have been very heavy to carry. 

Now here I was staring across to the log, lying broadside under the cherry tree but sadly with no Hawfinch on top.It lay on the short grass, an empty stage, primroses and violets, garlands around its bulk.

There were no Hawfinches in the cemetery that was for certain and I knew that a long wait was inevitable.Sometimes it can be hours, the longest so far being two and a half hours but this is the way it usually is  with watching these birds I looked to a sky that was unsullied blue, not a cloud to be seen and high above the mewing calls of three Buzzards drifted down from birds that were no more than tiny silhouettes in their heaven

Birds came and went, Dunnock, Greenfinch and Blackbird.The Chaffinches so prevalent earlier in the year seem to have gone now. Two Robins flew from yew to yew trickling out a wafer thin song as they surveyed their territory.Their nest will soon be constructed in an ivied recess on the boundary wall.

If it had been said that I would be content to stand for two hours staring at nothing in particular I would have baulked at the suggestion yet here I was two hours and counting, waiting, waiting, anticipating and not bored at all.

Some of my time was spent in speculation about where the Hawfinches might be from.Are they local birds, perhaps from the extensive grounds of Blenheim across the road, where there is plenty of suitable habitat and secret places or are they from further afield, mainland Europe perhaps as this winter past has seen a minor invasion of migrant Hawfinches.Whatever the answer is they will be gone soon.April is the peak time of courtship for Hawfinches and pair bonding and these six birds will be forming pairs and setting up territories either locally or abroad.

For now I am making the utmost of this unlikely opportunity to get close to a notoriously shy and elusive bird knowing it will not last for much longer.

A movement in the tangle of trees and bushes behind the log raised my interest. It was the figure of a bird, bulky, a hawfinch perhaps or more likely a Greenfinch, it was impossible to tell though the mesh of twigs and branches.The bird disappeared.

Twenty minutes further on and suddenly, thrillingly as it always is, a male Hawfinch landed on the top of the log and set about consuming the seed put there for the sole purpose of achieving this result.

He remained there, gloriously coloured in the sunshine, his golden orange head almost glowing. He stood on short pink legs and feet almost too small to carry his heavy head and stout body, looking around distractedly as he manipulated a seed between his enormous mandibles.Once the kernel was extracted, the husk fell away and he moved on to another. A tawny red eye stared impassively at me or so it felt but it was not so,.the bird had no clue as to my presence.If so it would not be here. 

A female tried to join him and was theatened at her temerity to trespass onto the log in search of the seed.

This was unusual as females are often dominant and last month what we thought was a young male was very much in thrall to the three females also present.For a minute she had the log and seed to herself.  

The male soon returned, typically unobtrusively, approaching low down via an elder. Hawfinches so love to appear  un noticed until the last minute through thick cover, forever secretive, inscrutable and enigmatic.

He commandeered the log once more and fed avidl as I filled my camera's memory card with image after image.

This was it. I would achieve no better. A male Hawfinch as much in the open as it was ever likely to be.In the sunlight on a Spring day in Oxfordshire.

A Slavonian Spectacular 28th March 2025

After collecting my car, following a repair at Iffley in Oxford and sitting down to a nice breakfast in a local cafe, Badger posted the news on the Oxon Bird Log that a Farmoor regular had found a pair of summer plumaged Slavonian Grebes on the larger basin of Farmoor Reservoir. They were in the northwestern corner and the time was 0830.

Slavonian Grebes in summer plumage are especially attractive and are rare migrants to Farmoor in the breeding season, so these were definitely a priority to go and see

Iffley to Farmoor is not too distant so with indecent haste I gulped down my breakfast and exited the cafe.

Twenty minutes later I was at Farmoor Reservoir and five minutes after that setting off up the  causeway to the distant western end.The birding gods of Farmoor, as is customary with rare birds here had deemed the grebes should be as far from the car park as possible.  As I walked I could see two fishing dinghys sailing directly into the northwest corner.Not a good sign. They would surely flush the birds

Although sunny there was a strong and cold north west wind blowing and the northwest corner was the only sheltered part of the basin, hence it having proved attractive to the grebes. Sadly so it now also was to the fishermen

I cursed but there was nothing I could do about it. I could see one birder looking through a telescope and after what seemed an age arrived alongside him

Are you looking at the grebes?

No, they flew off into the middle of the reservoir

He waved an arm in the general direction they had gone but seemed disinclined to venture any further information.

Inevitably the fishing dinghys had flushed them but at least they had remained on the reservoir.   

Resigned to an even longer walk around the two mile circumference of the larger basin searching for them I set off at speed catching up with Tricia and Dan in the process and then, making my apologies left them in my wake as I sped along. Badger had just messaged that the grebes were now in the southeast corner so, making my way there I arrived to find a small gathering of Oxonbirds finest watching two very distant grebes,  right out in the middle of the reservoir's choppy waters

They were micro dots in my bins and only slightly larger in a scope. Rising and falling in the wave troughs and regularly lost to view. The hope was that they would come closer but it soon became apparent that was highly unlikely as the two grebes swam around aimlessly, picking flies off the water and showing no signs of doing anything else.

Peter joined us and after a while our group slowly split up and everyone  made their way towards the car park accepting that there was to be no close encounter with these two star birds.

Resigned to this fact Peter and I gravitated towards the cafe to indulge ourselves with a coffee each. In the cafe we decided to walk back around the larger basin in the forlorn hope the grebes might have come closer.

The first birder we met dashed our hopes when he told us they were, as before far out in the middle of the basin.

Let's carry on Peter

Why not, he replied 

They could come closer, you never know

Further around we met David who told us they were still a long way out on the water but moving towards the north western end once more.

We carried on and once at the western side of the basin saw that the grebes seemed to still be moving towards the northwestern corner.They were certainly closer and just about in range of my camera and lens.

I commenced taking speculative shots as they swam in tandem across the smoother more sheltered waters.

For the next two hours they remained offshore but just about photographable, sometimes suggesting they might come closer but always stopping at some distance offshore, presumably wary of the constant flow of walkers, runners, fishermen and birders on the perimeter track

We regularly lost sight of them as they showed a remarkable capacity to move considerable distances without being noticed, sometimes underwater and we duly followed on foot, back and fore along the western part of the perimeter track to keep ourselves opposite wherever they emerged.

Incidentally all this circumventing of the reservoir following the grebes back resulted in Peter and myself walking almost six miles but went unnoticed while enjoying the moment.

The next day would be a different matter!

I am sure if the reservoir had been less busy the grebes would have come closer but we had to make the best of it. Even so they did look an absolute picture swimming on the blue waters of the reservoir under a welcome sunlit sky.

They appeared to be a pair with one bird's plumage slightly brighter than the other and did everything in harmony, remaining close at all times and even diving in unison. To all extents they looked to be in full breeding plumage, with flared yellow orange plumes on each side of their black heads while the rest of their body was chestnut brown on neck, breast and flanks and black on the upperparts.Their neck and breast still retained some winter feathers of grey and white but these would soon be moulted.As always the red demonic eyes caught your attention

The windy conditions persuaded some windsurfers to take to the water and this fortuitously kept the grebes more or less towards our western half of the basin and sometimes, if a windsurfer came too close for comfort they would take alarm and fly  a short distance before making an undignified crash landing, breast first onto the water.

Slavonian Grebes have two populations, one being found over much of northern Europe to northern Asia, breeding from eastern Iceland to the Russian Far East and numbering from 12,900 to 18,500 pairs. The other population is in North America where they are known as Horned Grebes and breed over much of Canada and some northern US states.The population there is estimated to be from 200,000 to 500,000 pairs. Both populations are in severe decline due mainly to human activities and the overall global population has declined by 30%.

In Britain they are a very rare breeding bird found only on a few lochs in the eastern Highlands of Scotland. In 2021 there were just 26 breeding pairs and the species is now Red Listed and classed as Vulnerable

I found myself humming  a few bars from Hamish McCunn's stirring Scottish overture In the Land of  the Mountain and the Flood based on a poem from a Walter Scott novel, The Lay of the Last Minstrel and fancifully I imagined these two were bound for the highlands of my ancestral home where they would arrive on a romantic hidden loch deep in the land of mountain and flood and far from the prosaic concrete bowl of an unremarkable reservoir in the middle of England.

They deserved nothing less.

In spirit I wished I could go with them

 

A Dark breasted Barn Owl in the Fens 26th March 2025

One for the birding connoisseur had me planning a long car trip to Bourne in the Lincolnshire Fens as a  Dark breasted Barn Owl has been frequenting South Fen near Bourne since at least February and possibly even earlier.

Barn Owls are the world's most widely distributed owl species and one of the world's most widespread birds being found in the form of various sub species on every continent apart from Antarctica.

Dark breasted Barn Owls are one of these sub species and normally found in central and southern Europe.The fact that apart from being very attractive only thirteen have so far been recorded in Britain goes a long way to explain the interest being shown by British birders in this individual at Bourne 

It is very obliging in that it has been hunting from daybreak to around mid morning over the rough ground adjacent to the wonderfully named Bah Humbug Christmas Tree Farm, often close to the road that runs past the farm and straight as a die through the fen and thus, being highly visible has attracted many birders and photographers from far and wide to journey to see it.

I was a bit late joining the pilgrimage but made plans to travel to Bourne today as this was the only day I had free this week.

The rough ground where it was hunting around the farm  lies on one side of a long, narrow, dead straight  road that cuts through a flat and featureless landscape that is so typical of the county. The road unfortunately is a cut  through frequented by huge trucks passing to and fro and from previous reports it was clear I needed to park my car carefully at the side of the road to ensure I did not fall foul of the trucks that thunder past at regular intervals, often at a reckless speed.

The owl, flying as it was from daybreak, which is currently shortly after 5am. necessitated me leaving home at 2.30am to make the two and a half hour journey to Bourne, not something I relished but this is what was required if I wished to see the owl.I awoke bang on 2am. my body now so attuned to late night twitches that usually I awake just before my alarm goes off. I was on automatic pilot for a while as I dressed and got everything I needed into the car; bins, telescope, camera, gloves, jacket, counting everything off in case I had forgotten anything.

Satisfied all was in order I set the satnav for South Fen Road and took to the rural highways and byways of Oxfordshire in the dead of night, not encountering a single car for half an hour but on joining the main road north was soon dodging huge, brightly lit trucks also heading northwards..So the journey progressed, following the satnav's instructions as it took me on a tortuous route, cross country towards Lincolnshire. I only took a wrong turning once and by the time I was approaching Bourne the sky was visibly light, dawn had most definitely broken and birds were singing. 

I circumvented Bourne until I turned onto South Fen Road and viewed a long road that stretched far into the distance ahead of me.Passing through an industrial area of warehouses I came to the farm, beyond which lay vast, flat arable fields on each side of the road 

I was entirely on my own and the time was 5.30am. Unsure exactly where to park I could see where presumably birders vehicles had made tyre marks on the grass verge and settled for there. I got out of my car to get some air and stretch my legs after the long tedious journey. The outside  temperature was cold but bearable with not a breath of wind. .The land around me, lay dank and one could say desolate under low cloud and a faint mist that hung in the air making everything ill defined.Not great for photography and my spirits sank a little

To my left and right were plantations of conifers of various sizes so no mistaking if I was in the right spot. 

At least the farmer has a sense of humour!

I settled to await developments fretting about when and where the owl would appear. Another car arrived and stopped behind me. A fellow birder/photographer. We greeted each other and got chatting.He lived locally and told me he  had been many times to see the owl and that it would appear in the field of rough pasture beside our cars. I relaxed a little.

I sat in my car with my window open, hoping. The owl obliged and appeared at just after 6am flying past us, half way out across the field from left to right and carried on along the verge of the road and disappeared into the misty distance.It showed no signs of stopping to hunt and frankly I was greatly disappointed at the brief view I had of the owl although pleased to have at least seen it

My first impression of its plumage was how dark it appeared compared to our 'normal' white Barn Owl.There was little white to see on this owl. with its ginger biscuit orange coloured underparts and extensive grey feathering on its similarly ginger buff upperparts, more grey than buff in truth. A white face was made more prominent by the greater contrast with the dark buff feathers of its head

Any thought of photography was out of the question as the light was so poor and the mist seemed to have intensified. My birding friend said that thick fog had been predicted for here so we should think ourselves lucky.I chided myself for not being more diligent in checking the weather before setting off.Still here I was, so best to make the most of it.Apparently it was going to be sunny and warm from 10am onwards. Just when the owl usually retired to roost.

For half an hour there was no further sign of the owl despite both of us scanning far and wide with our bins.The first huge lorries began to pass us by, very close and frankly sometimes terrifyingly close on the narrow road, their huge bulk passing just feet away from us.

My birder friend assured me the owl would eventually return.

I was slumped in the car weary and a little down when he called out 

It's coming back!

Instantly energised I was out of the car in seconds and poised on the bank with my back to my car waiting for the owl to come into my view. It was coming straight towards us then turned from the roadside verge to follow a ditch running at right angles away from the road, skirted a ragged brambly hedge, then crossed the field at the far end. 

We did our best and got some passable but grainy photos.The 'noise' as they call it could be eradicated to a certain degree by using a remarkable application on my computer called Topaz. which can turn rubbish photos, not into masterpieces but good enough for this blog (I will let you judge)

The owl continued across the far side of the field to where it bordered a plantation of small to medium sized christmas trees and perched on the top of one

It remained there for the next forty five minutes, occasionally moving to another tree but never coming anywhere remotely within camera range. By now several other cars and their birder occupants had arrived.I felt the owl was just as fed up with the weather as were we and had all but given it up as a lost cause as far as a vole breakfast was concerned or maybe it did not relish flying in the damp, misty conditions and preferrred to sit and wait to pounce on something, anything.

Finally the owl flew and our hopes were raised in anticipation of it coming nearer but rather than return in our direction it flew parallel to the trees, towards the road and then over it and disappeared behind the farm buildings into a plantation on that side. It was gone and some speculated it had returned to roost deciding the conditions were too bad to hunt.

I thought this was wrong as I had not seen it catch anything and it must be hungry.Over an hour passed with nothing to see.Some birders left, either to go to work or convinced  the show was over for today.My birder friend was one of those but living locally he could return any day. I was wavering. I persuaded myself to give it another half hour, then another and so on.I stared morosely across the owl free fields.  The featureless, uninspiring landscape of Linconshire.possesses its own bitter sweet fascination and a unique atmosphere especially on a gloomy morning such as this.A benign desolation is how I would best describe it.

A Corn Bunting sang from the top of a wind battered bush far out in a field. His simple repetitive song of jangly thin notes no more than a trickle of sound in the dismal emptiness of land and sky.

Tiring of standing and chewing the fat with other birders I sat in the car and scrolled though messages on my phone to alleveate the boredom.Others could keep an eye out and would doubtless raise the alert if the owl showed up.

A shout eventually came from a large,vociferous gentleman scoping the fields

It's back, just crossed the road and is flying back into the plantation

These were the words I longed to hear but had almost given up on. The owl resumed a distant perch on a christmas tree but it was more restless this time and soon flew, seeming determined on hunting. 

It came reasonably close for a brief spell and I followed it in the camera as it approached an area of long grass, right by the road. It stalled and hovered and then pitched into the long grass but failed to catch its prey. Rising it flew to perch on a metal post but was there for only thirty seconds before taking off once more.

When it was perched I could clearly see how markedly darker and browner  it was. Its face looking toward me was off white with smudges of brown around its black eyes making it look like mascara had run. A totally different  looking bird to our normal Barn Owl and for me at least and probably most other birders present, a very attractive sight indeed.

The owl flew onwards and became more distant, checking further rough patches to the limit where they adjoined built up industrial areas.We followed its progress in our bins and telescopes but finally could find it no more.I hung on until just before ten which is usually the last time it is seen but there was to be no grand finale.

However I was more than happy with what I had achieved and at having seen this charismatic subspecies of the Barn  Owl.

A nice coffee in Bourne set me up for the journey home and I drove into the sunshine of a now beautiful day.

 

Yet more on the Hawfinches at Woodstock 24th March 2025

A male Hawfinch is a joy to behold but until today I had not been granted even a sniff of the male that has been consorting with four females in my favourite cemetery at Woodstock. Gareth my Hawfinch buddy has seen him at least twice and obtained some very nice images on two occasions but all I have ever seen are the females.

Please do not misundertsand me, any sighting of these secretive, enigmatic birds is to be celebrated but the females are much less colourful than the male which at this time of year is at his very best.

Today it was touch and go whether I made the effort to go to the cemetery.The weather predicted to be sunny was anything but, with grey clouds and a chill wind blowing from the northwest. You could describe it as raw. Still, the incentive of seeing Hawfinches was enough to get me up and out and a little later than usual I arrived at Woodstock around 7.30, parked in the normal place and walked the short distance down the road to the cemetery.

Thankfully where I stood placed the cold wind at my back while the promised sun remained a forlorn hope.I stood for a very long time and saw absolutely no sign of a Hawfinch but I am used to this state of affairs and know that eventually I will see one or more. In fact there was little birdlife of any sort in the cemetery.The predictable Blackbirds and a few Goldfinches flew around but the seed had tempted very little apart from the occasional Greenfinch and Dunnock.

If you watch Hawfinches  you know that there will be long spells of utter boredom made bearable by the knowledge that sheer doggedness and persistence will bring an eventual reward.That is the way it is with Hawfinches and makes it so special when finally you see them.

After half an hour I was joined by a photographer and we chatted amiably about this and that as the time slipped past with not a sign.Regularly I re-assured my new found colleague that the Hawfinches would show up but my attempts to raise both his spirits and indeed mine began to wear thin.

Eventually another photographer who had arrived un-noticed at the gate called to us that there were two Hawfinches perched at the top of a very tall yew near us. They were just about visible but more exciting for me was that one was the male that has proved so elusive. Photography of these two was pretty pointless but we nevertheless aimed our lenses in their direction.Well, after all the waiting you somehow felt compelled.

My companion told me he would have to go as his wife had given him strict instructions that they were going shopping in Milton Keynes but just on the point of leaving a Hawfinch dropped to the ground.

There's one on the ground he whispered

Indeed there was and................

It's the male! I exlaimed excitedly and we took as many images as possible of this vision of loveliness What a joy it was to see his plumage of pastel colours; orange head. wide, dove grey neck boa, plumbeous pink underparts, chocolate brown back and white wing bars. His bill, ivory white in winter now turned a shiny, gun metal blue.In the company of a Greenfinch he hopped around examining the grass for hidden seeds and for a couple of minutes remained earthbound but then flew up into a yew.

We examined each others photos and congratulated ourselves on this last minute good fortune, then my friend departed and I was back to resuming a lone vigil.Despite feeling thoroughly chilled and decidedly uncomfortable in the miserable weather.there was not a chance I was leaving with the male obviously still in the vicinity 

After half an hour I was regretting my decision to hang on, having seen nothing apart  from a female Hawfinch briefly on the ground and a couple flying between the yews and showing no interest in the seed whatsoever.

Then a Hawfinch flew low across the ancient gravestones, its white wing bars flashing and landed in the cherry tree below which the seed lay. The light was horrible, the bird was positioned in the open but silhouetted against a sullen grey sky and well, you get the picture. I did my best with the camera settings. Under normal circumstances with sunshine it would have made for a great image.Nevertheless I did what I could and felt the result was acceptable, all things considered.

I was hoping it would fly down but it had a change of mind and retreated to the yews, however it soon returned, perching half hidden in a tangle of twigs and branches in the cherry tree. 

For what seemed an eternity of exquisite tension he looked around, checking and re-checking the ground, forever wary. I willed him to come down and slowly he slipped from branch to twig, lower and ever lower towards the ground but just when I was getting ready to celebrate success he hesitated. So typical of a Hawfinch, their reclusive character forever making them ultra cautious.It would not have surprised me if he retreated but no, this time he dropped to the ground and then spent the next five minutes feeding on the seed that myself and Gareth have provided almost daily, while I exulted at finally having the opportunity to see and photograph this lovely bird.

An absolute delight, an encounter so much longed for and now finally come to fruition.

I could not ask for more but of course I will and doubtless will return to the cemetery.

And indeed I did the next day!.

The result was even more rewarding than I could have ever hoped for although for the first two hours it looked like it would not be. There came neither sight or sound of a Hawfinch in the cemetery.

Then as my spirits began to flag Jon, another Oxonbirder colleague who had joined me in my so far fruitless vigil noted three flying in high over our heads.Where had they been? Obviously they have other places they go to feed but now had decided to pay the cemetery a visit.

Then nothing more came in the way of sightings for a long forty five minutes before a male, hidden and unsuspected suddenly dropped from the bushes to feed on the seed under our now favourite cherry tree.

He was then joined by another male and two females so at one point there were no less than four feeding together on the ground. For fully five minutes they fed there but then flew up into the trees as they usually do and it was over. In total I think there were at least six individuals present this morning.

If I wished to wait another hour or so I would probably have repeated the experience but was content to call time on yet another Hawfinch experience.