I went back to Farmoor early today, in the hope the three Black necked Grebes would have prolonged their stay but I was out of luck.They had gone, which was hardly surprising as the last I saw of them yesterday was as they were trying, with little success, to find an area on the reservoir that was not being encroached on by the sailing dinghys.
It was not all disappointment as I had managed to inadvertently flush two Grey Partridges first thing, from a field just outside the reservoir proper. These were very much a patch mega so the day had got off to a more than reasonable start. On finding there was a distinct lack of grebes, I wandered along the central causeway to discover a Dunlin, still in complete winter plumage, pottering along quietly at the water's edge.
What could it be? Was it the Dunlin? Moving closer an involuntary cheer rose to my lips as I set eyes upon the agreeable form of a Little Ringed Plover, something I had been planning to go and see elsewhere but here was one right infront of me, newly arrived and living confirmation of the onset of Spring migration. Like many of its kind it was relatively confiding and allowed me to approach reasonably closely without taking alarm.
As evidenced by the strong black banding on its head and breast I decided it was a male and on closer inspection I could see it still retained a vestige of brown winter plumage both within the black behind its eye and in the black breast band. They do not possess quite the chunkiness and robustness of their larger cousin the Ringed Plover. Everything about them is of a more delicate nature, the bill narrow, fine and black, the body attenuated and slimmer, the tail a fraction longer. Other aspects too identified it as a Little Ringed Plover, the bold, yellow orbital ring around each eye and the lack of white wing bars were both additional and conclusive pointers to its identity.
Little Ringed Plovers are one of the earliest Spring migrants to arrive on our shores, their wintering areas extending as far south as tropical Africa.They do not undertake quite the phenomenal migrations of their larger cousin, which covers vast distances to reach both wintering and breeding grounds. Nor do they show the Ringed Plover's preference for breeeding on coastal shingle, sandy beaches and strands but nest inland in freshwater habitats on areas of vegetation free sand and pebbles, often in active gravel pits, reservoirs or old quarries. The first pair to colonise Britain bred in a newly excavated gravel pit at Tring, Hertfordshire, in 1938 and with no shortage of new gravel pits being excavated in subsequent years their population has spread and increased until there are now up to 1300 pairs breeding from southern England to northeast Scotland.
Little Ringed Plovers used to breed at Farmoor, more years ago than I care to remember. I can recall sitting in the hide at Pinkhill and looking out when all I could see was a series of bare gravel islands and watching a pair tending their newly hatched young. Oh how I wish it were still so but the tiny reserve was left to its own devices with the result that vegetation and reeds took over, the habitat became unsuitable and the LRP's left, never to return.
I watched the diminutive plover running along the edge of the concrete, its fawn upperbody plumage making it nigh on invisible against the bleached concrete. It paused in its plovery way, then stooped to seize something and running a few steps more, then stood quietly. The sun came out and its slim body took on a more rounded appearance as it relaxed. Seconds later it sank down on folded legs to sit in the sun with eyes beginning to close, the embodiment of content.
It could not last long. The area it favoured was also needed to launch the boats and soon the inevitable disturbance became too much to bear and it fled, leaving me with that familiar warm glow of achievement on discovering an unusual wild bird.
No comments:
Post a Comment