Six years ago I wrote of a very showy Sedge Warbler see here making its summer home in a neglected area of scrub at the western end of my local Farmoor Reservoir and almost inevitably the bird was christened Reg the Sedge. Sadly he sang his heart out to no avail and to my knowledge remained unmated and unfulfilled for the entire summer.
This year as always, I revisited this half forgotten area known as Pinkhill, an idyllic corner away from the main onrush of the Isis and where the lock keeper's house guards the lock and long boats moored in the quiet backwaters below the towering green billows of horse chestnut trees and alongside banks of comfrey and flag iris. l rarely encounter much human activity apart from the occasional dog walker and that is why I like it here, abandoned, neglected, left to nature and as a consequence immensely attractive to birdlife, especially at this time of year. Threatened by 'improvement' with ponds and even a pond for dogs to specifically jump into, a complete nonsense as if the dogs would remain in one specific pond, the folly of this exercise was pointed out to Thames Water who own the land and thankfully the plan was abandoned.
I fail to comprehend this desire for tidying up areas such as Pinkhill. It is as if any such neglected areas must be tamed and brought to heel but there is already enough closely mown grass on the reservoir banks without seeking to extend this ill considered mania for tidiness.
The Jesuit priest and Oxford Scholar, Gerald Manley Hopkins wrote a poem about a burn in Scotland called Inversnaid, the final two lines being: - O let them be left. wildness and wet: Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet. Entirely my sentiment.
It is always exciting to anticipate the arrival of the first migrant warblers of Spring and from early March onwards I visit Pinkhill almost daily to seek sight and sound of any new arrivals. Common Chiffchaffs and Blackcaps are always in the vanguard, closely followed by the Willow Warbler but it is the arrival of Sedge Warblers and Common Whitethroats that are the most keenly anticipated, at least for me anyways.
For some days I saw and heard nothing until in the last week of March on an unexceptional Wednesday of persistent cold wind but pleasant sunshine I heard the unmistakeable scratchy jumble of notes that is the song of a Sedge Warbler.He sang quietly not at full volume, hidden deep within a tangle of hawthorn and rampant bramble.Although completely invisible he was literally feet from me as I listened enthralled at the first Sedge Warbler to arrive at Farmoor
The day after he had moved on but now I knew it would not be long before many more would follow The days passed and in the second week of April the wind dropped overnight and the next morning Pinkhill was alive with the songs of Sedge Warblers.The previously silent acres of scrub were transformed by a cacophony of sound as mainly Sedge Warblers sang from what felt like every bush and ditch.
They had arrived!
I stood in the very early morning sunshine and enjoyed this discordant chorus of natural sound. I tried to imagine the night before, as their tiny forms dropped from the night sky into the still dark and waiting habitat that would be their summer home and at first light proclaim possession of a small patch of Oxfordshire, triumphant and rejoicing that they had successfully made the long journey from Africa and proclaiming their presence to one and all
I try to discern the mimickery included in their complicated song, the notes of which are invariably delivered at high speed.They always incorporate other birds calls to supplement their own song and amid the jumble of notes the calls of other species from both their summer and winter homes are faithfully reproduced. Some of these calls are easily identified. For instance the alarm call of Swallows is a favourite but there are many others calls that vary from individual to individual Sedge Warbler and often include unfamiliar sounds from species only found in the warbler's winter home in Africa.
Look closely and you will see Sedge Warblers are an attractive little bird of varying shades of rufous and buff with prominent long white eyebrows,a black striped head and an upperbody similarly buff and prominently streaked with brown whilst its underparts are paler almost white. Its entire appearance replicating the stalks, stems and dead reeds it finds so desirable to inhabit.
Occasionally in extremis they hurl themselves skywards in a jittering dance, seemingly unable to control the surge of energy that grips their tiny bodies, throwing themselves around in the sky and singing in exuberant abandon before returning to earth.
