Kruper's Nuthatch and more on Lesvos 24th September 2018

Both myself and Mrs U needed a holiday.The ongoing stresses of moving house needed ameliorating  and a week in some sunshine and warmth on the Greek Island of Lesvos was, for us, the ideal antidote. So we selected the last week in September and an hour on the internet had both flight and accommodation booked and we were ready to go. We stayed, on the recommendation of a friend, at a wonderful family run small hotel, right by the sea, in the unspoilt village of Molivos on the north coast of the island, separated from Turkey by only 35km of the forever blue Aegean Sea. Here we were pampered and attended to as if we were part of the family. Indulged with a beguiling combination of Greek hospitality and warmth of spirit.

Molivos Castle with the village spilling down the hillside

Molivos Harbour and seafront

Views of Molivos harbour from our hotel room's balcony

Of course there were also birds to see but as this was primarily a holiday for both of us to relax I endeavoured to restrict my birding to a minimum and my wife was content for me to disappear for a few hours every so often whilst she read a book on our balcony overlooking the harbour, in the sun, by the sea. This kept both of us happy and we were content.

Here are three birding highlights on this lovely island.

Kruper's Nuthatch

With the book A Birdwatching Guide to Lesvos kindly leant to me by my colleague Badger I set off on the winding road to Achladeri Forest and its picnic site, which was recommended in the book as a good place to seek out the much desired and sought after Kruper's Nuthatch. The bird's name commemorates the German naturalist Theodor Johannes Kruper who lived from 1829-1917 and was widely recognised as a leading authority on the birds of Greece, where he lived for over fifty years. In 1862 and 1863 he visited western Turkey and it was, while staying near Smyrna, now called Izmir, that he discovered the new species of nuthatch that came to be named after him. In June 1872 the British ornithologist Henry Seebohm visited Kruper near Smyrna and enthusiastically described his own first encounter with the newly discovered nuthatch. 

'... The day after I arrived we took a long stroll on the mountain side to a small pine forest on a shoulder of the rocky hills.On one tree there was a large nest of the Imperial Eagle tenanted by half fledged birds. In a hole in a dead or dying stump a Middle Spotted Wood Pecker was rearing her young bird; and flitting from pine to pine, like Titmice, were two pairs of Kruper's Nuthatch.We sat down on an old pine stump and watched them through a pocket telescope.The deep-chestnut ring on the breast was very distinct below the almost white throat.They were most active little birds...' 

Lesvos, which is only separated from Turkey by a very narrow stretch of sea, is the only place in Europe that Kruper's Nuthatch is accessible and can be found relatively easily, where it inhabits stands of Calabrian Pine at a relatively low density of between 50-100 breeding pairs.  At Achladeri Forest there are thought to be three pairs present and being  territorial throughout the year the picnic site is apparently favoured by at least one pair all year round.

Outside of Lesvos Kruper's Nuthatch has a very restricted distribution, being found only in parts of Turkey, Georgia and Russia. In Turkey and Russia, which hold more than 95% of its total population  of between 121,000-450,000 pairs it is slowly declining due to loss of habitat. In Turkey which holds by far the largest part of this species population, an estimated 100,000-400,000 breeding pairs, tourist development on the coast and forestry are having an increasingly negative impact on its numbers.The small population on Lesvos however, remains stable, and let's hope it remains that way.

Lesvos is hilly and still mainly rural and it took me about an hour to wind my way along a dizzying twisting road, up and downhill through olive groves and past agricultural small scale farms to get to Achladeri Forest. The only thing to disrupt this rural idyll is the Greek driving, as no local worth his salt observes any rules of the road, and exceeding speed limits and overtaking on bends seem to be the norm. Fair enough. I survived this and arrived at Achladeri Forest, and not without some relief I turned off the road to park in the shade of a tree at the picnic site, which at this 'end of season' time of year was completely deserted and hardly looked like a picnic site at all.

Achladeri Forest Picnic Site

In warm sunshine and under the purest of blue skies I left the car and set off in search of the nuthatch. I really had little idea where to look and just wandered further into the forest seeking out birds in the tops of the numerous pines. It was hard and unrewarding work and for the first hour all I managed was fleeting glimpses of Chaffinches, Great and Blue Tits, high in the trees, no more than silhouettes against the blue patches of sky showing through the bright green, bunched pine needles of the Calabrian Pines.

Slowly my resolve weakened due to my continued lack of success and I grew ever more despondent as I wandered aimlessly around a pine needle festooned forest floor, ground that I had already covered many times. I gave it up as a bad job and resolved to return another day but just as I was moving through the trees back to the picnic site, some tits arrived in the trees and a strange call came from my right. It was reminiscent of a Jay's call, nasal although also slightly buzzy and much quieter than a Jay's loud call, as if one was hearing a Jay calling from a very long way distant. I consulted my Collins Bird Guide app. on my phone which allows me to play  the calls of the birds on it. Could this strange call be from the Kruper's Nuthatch? To my frustration Collins only had the nuthatch's song. This was no good. I headed towards the source of the calls which indicated there were two birds keeping in contact. Arriving at the approximate location it went quiet and there were no more calls. My heart sank but, as it did, a small dumpy shape flew into a small pine and proceeded to hammer away at the bark of a thin branch. I looked in my bins and there was a small nuthatch, about ten percent smaller than our European Nuthatch that inhabits Britain. A large chestnut breast patch on otherwise all white underparts, blue grey upperparts, a distinctive white face with a black eye stripe and a black crown  confirmed my hopes. It was a Kruper's Nuthatch. A lifer for me and I cannot begin to tell you how sweet this moment was. I naturally wanted to get a photo and was just about to achieve this very thing when my phone rang! I could not believe it and, worse, the sound of the ring tone persuaded the nuthatch to depart and I lost it in the trees.

The call was one of those annoying canvassing calls from the UK, so even more galling, was of no consequence.

Cursing, I followed in the direction I thought the nuthatch had departed but it had disappeared into the forest No further calls came from the nuthatch or any other clue to guide me to where it had gone. Frustrated but with a renewed resolve I wandered through this now increasingly familiar part of the forest. Half an hour later I heard a brief call from the nuthatch. It was distant and I hurried towards it but by the time I got there was greeted with silence. Later, a tapping on wood, more gentle than a woodpecker's was surely the nuthatch hammering at the bark of a tree branch and hurrying there, it stopped and I could find nothing and so it went on, the occasional call and/or tapping leading me on a fruitless chase to where it came from, only to be greeted with silence and no sign of a nuthatch.

Tired and hot, deflated in spirit once more, I found myself wandering up a rough track, an access for forestry vehicles, with the forest pines standing mutely on both sides.

It was hot out of the shade of the trees and I had now resigned myself to the fact that this would be my one and only encounter with a Kruper's Nuthatch, although the views were so brief I obviously would have liked something more prolonged.

Wearily I walked up the sloping track which would eventually allow me to turn off and descend a couple of hundred metres down through the trees on my left to the picnic site. Woodland Grayling butterflies flickered up from my feet, sweeping across the forest floor and settled into invisibility on stones or the grey trunks of the pines, their firmly closed, brown grey underwings perfectly camouflaging them. 

Woodland Grayling

A Chaffinch flew from a tree and then another bird flew right past me, above my head, and landed  in a pine further up the track. I raised my bins to check and there was another Kruper's Nuthatch! Just like that, after an hour of searching, it had come to me. This time it stayed put and the phone had been silenced, I had the forest to myself and nothing was apparent that would prevent me from a more prolonged view of the elusive nuthatch and maybe even get a photograph. The nuthatch proceeded to do what nuthatches do the world over and commenced examining the bark of a branch and hammering the branch with its stout bill, sending chips of bark flying. This time I could see it all.

The nuthatch was, however, still quite distant and I wanted to get closer. I encountered a not unfamiliar dilemna. My desire was to get closer for better views but at the same time I feared that I would scare the nuthatch away and have to spend another two hours trying to find it again. I moved cautiously forward and the nuthatch remained in view, intent on prising something from the bark.

Closer and closer still, I crept, and then it flew. Damnation. But it was not me that caused it to move. It had decided it would examine a bare branch of a pine on the opposite side of the track and right by the track. I could hardly believe my luck.I froze on the spot, feeling horribly conspicuous out in the open on the track. Surely it would see me and flee the moment it did?  I remained motionless and allowed the nuthatch to settle to its purpose which was to hammer away at the base of a broken branch, chipping the soft bark away in search of food. I slowly raised the camera, and the nuthatch instantly looked up. A moment frozen in time. Please stay. Don't fly. Time stood still. It seemed an eternity but was just a couple of seconds and then the nuthatch looked down at the branch and recommenced its hammering at the bark. I clicked away and recorded the moment, not sure if the camera settings were right, just hoping and knowing this was my one and only chance. The nuthatch extracted what looked like a nut or seed but then proceeded to hide it again. I have since learnt that they will cache food to be retrieved in times of poor weather. The nuthatch looked around and called its buzzy call. It listened for a reply but none came or at least not to my ears. It remained in this pose listening and then flew away into the depths of the forest and was gone.

Delight and exultation came in equal measure.

A great view of a Kruper's Nuthatch and on checking my camera my images were also acceptable.

Definitely a justifiable cause for celebration and a sundowner at the hotel's taverna tonight!

Swallows and House Martins

On Tuesday it began to get windy and by Wednesday the wind was almost gale force and many small craft had put into the harbour the night before, seeking a secure mooring until the wind abated. Although it was very windy the days were still warm and sunny and the wind itself was warm too, even though it was coming from the north.

A flock of around a hundred migrating Swallows and House Martins were riding out the storm force winds around the hotel, and our balcony along with that of our neighbours on either side became something of a haven for the obviously tired hirundines, especially on Wednesday evening. The tops of the wooden doors opening out onto our sheltered balcony provided an obvious sanctuary for the birds that was out of the wind and where they could perch and sit in the evening sun and rest. We sat on the balcony as birds joined us, settling literally a foot or so above our heads, some even ventured into our room but soon thought better of it. Many others clung to the walls just below the edge of the roof and one even perched on the balcony railing.They were very tired and most were young birds on their first hazardous migration south.

European Swallow

House Martin

Two birds, a House Martin and a Swallow, both juveniles, landed a couple of feet above us as we sat and sipped chilled Mythos beers on our balcony. My camera was in my room and surely if I moved from the balcony to go into the room I would disturb the two resting birds as I would have to pass literally a foot below them.

It was probably the closest we had ever been to a living, free flying Swallow and House Martin but as they seemed very content on their perch I very slowly moved, in a crouch, below them and into the room.They never stirred, possibly because they were so tired. Even when I returned and  sat pointing the camera and lens at them from almost point blank range they remained unmoved and  content on their temporary refuge.

It was a humbling experience as we sat and admired them. Their life so different to ours, having to seek out somewhere safe each night and take whatever opportunity arose whilst we had the security and comfort of a room and bed and nothing to worry about. The contrast was not lost on us as we speculated on the birds chances of reaching Africa. Many will die in the attempt but that is the reality of the natural world which can seem very cruel and heartless but sentiment is a word unknown in the natural order of things.

They were there for a long time, possibly an hour and others even remained to spend the night roosting in a gap between the roof and wall.The next morning the wind had dropped and all  had moved on at first light as we slept.

A fellow birder, staying at the hotel, told me, that night at dinner, how he had found two headless Swallow corpses on the cobbled alleyway behind the hotel, apparently the work of Eleanora's Falcons which follow and prey on the flocks of hirundines as they travel south.


Flamingos and Pelicans

On my way to seek out Kruper's Nuthatch at Achladeri Forest I had passed a huge expanse of artificially created, shallow and rectangular lagoons with huge mini mountains of pure white salt, visible for miles, piled high in the centre of the complex. These were Kalloni Saltpans and today I returned there to seek out two very special birds, both exotic in their own unique way.

The tonnes of salt awaiting shipment to Russia

I also had the pleasure of getting close to one of the many Crested Larks which scuttle around on the dusty dry grass and earth, singing both on the ground and in the air. Their song is not quite the glorious extended outpouring of notes that we hear from our European Skylark but nonetheless is still attractive and undeniably that of a skylark. Similarly brown and streaked to 'our' skylark  they are notable for their prominent crest which is usually kept raised but can be flattened when the bird is alarmed or in flight.Using the hire car as a hide I got very close to one as it industriously dug into the sandy soil looking for food.

Crested Lark

They have a charm all of their own and their cheery calls and songs rather illuminated the somewhat bleak, dry grasslands surrounding the saltpans.

Reaching the top of the hill, just beyond the small town of Kalloni, I could see spread out below me  Kalloni Saltpans which cover over 260 hectares and produce around 10,000 tonnes of salt each year which, I was told, is exported to Russia. The saltpans are extensive rectangular lagoons separated by banks or bunds and are a complex of moving saltwater which is used to produce the salt by means of evaporation.

Part of Kalloni Saltpans

The whole complex of lagoons is surrounded by a large channel or moat to protect it. There is a paved road to the saltworks, with two bird hides beside it and birders can use the road and several other rough tracks running off it to explore the complex and the hinterland of rough fields and woodland behind the lagoons. It is a haven for birds and the saltpans are a magnet for migrating birds in both spring and autumn.

The Moat and paved access road to the works from which
you can birdwatch

My first target was immediately visible as I crested the hill from Kalloni to drop down to the saltpans. Dotted like pink statues across the whole area of saltpans were large numbers of Greater Flamingo's. Not quite the hundreds of thousands that I have seen congregated on lakes in Tanzania but there must have been in excess of five hundred here, each bird in its own little space, feeding in the shallow water of the saltpans.

Greater Flamingo's are the largest of their kind and have a wide distribution, ranging from Africa, the Indian subcontinent, the Middle East to southern Europe. At Kalloni Saltpans they do not usually breed but spend the winter months on the lagoons.

I got much closer to them on turning off the main road and onto the smaller road running alongside the moat and saltpans to the saltworks. Flamingo's are surely one of nature's more bizarre creations, supremely adapted to a way of life that is very strange indeed. What other bird spends its entire time feeding with its head upside down, filtering saltwater through a boomerang shaped and swollen bill of pink and black.

Their extraordinarily long legs and pipe cleaner necks that can be curved or elongated with equal facility give them both an elegance and a contrasting gawkiness, often both at the same time! I can well understand why Lewis Carroll was so fascinated by their weird appearance and found them an ideal subject for incorporating in his surreal fantasy Alice in Wonderland.

Adult Greater Flamingo's

Their almost white body plumage delicately suffused with pink is beautiful in its own right but when they extend their wings the previously hidden bright scarlet wing coverts come as a surprise, as a flash of wondrous exotic colouring is revealed, its vividness contrasting with the black flight feathers.

The whole bird looks alien and the yellow eye only serves to enhance this impression but they are supremely wonderful and to see them so close was indeed a delight. Most were adults although a few juveniles were amongst them but they possessed none of the exotic beauty of the adults. Rather, they appeared a dirty whitish brown colour with black on the wings and  both bill and legs lacked any pink pigmentation, being like their plumage, dull and drab with grey the predominant colour of their bill and legs.

Juvenile Greater Flamingo

The other bird I sought was in complete contrast to the flamingos, being huge, bulky and cumbersome looking. It was a pelican. The night before, Frank, the other birder staying at our hotel told me that a Dalmation Pelican had been found at Kalloni Saltpans and he gave me directions as to just where to go to find it. I went in search of the pelican first thing today but could find no trace of it. Disappointed at my lack of success I drove back to the other side of the saltpans to view them from a different perspective and scanning across the lagoons from a raised bank found not one pelican but fourteen which appeared to be Great White Pelicans with the Dalmation Pelican amongst them.This was quite a result as both species were lifers for me and presumably the increased number of pelicans from yesterday indicated they were migrating birds that had arrived overnight or early this morning.

I watched them fishing, whereby they sail around together in a tight little convoy on the water and synchronise the dipping of their huge bills into the water in search of fish. As I mentioned they were in direct contrast to the elongated elegance of the flamingos. They were just as outlandish in shape as the flamingos but with a huge squat body and large head supporting an enormous and unwieldy looking bill. When out of the water they stood on short sturdy legs and giant, webbed black feet on one of the bunds where they preened with a surprisingly delicate touch of their huge bills. Their size and bulk was all too evident as they stood alongside the numerous Great White and Little Egrets sharing the bund with them..

Then, as I watched, I got very lucky as four Great White Pelicans slowly rose  into the air on their huge white and black tipped wings. The impression of bulk and sturdiness took on a whole new dimension as in stately progress they cruised around, slowly flapping their broad wings, circling and all the while gradually gaining height.

I likened them to a squadron of old fashioned World War Two bomber aircraft as, with a similar impression of bulk, in a slow, steady, unhurried flight and with a distinct lack of manoeuvrability they circled in a loose formation ever higher, their outlandish bills pointing forward, resting on their coiled necks.

For some minutes they cruised around, high above the saltpans, inexorably gaining more height and then  eventually set a course south and were finally lost to the sky. Gone but certainly not forgotten.

As I made to leave a Northern Wheatear flew up from the ground on which, until now, it had gone un noticed. It perched elegantly on a rusty pole sticking up from the ground, its winter plumage was shades of sandy buff which will provide the perfect camouflage when it reaches its winter home of stone and sand in North Africa. Its fresh plumage was sleek, you could call it dapper, in direct contrast to the rusty pole on which it was so elegantly perched. A nice end to the day.

Northern Wheatear