If you Go Down to the Woods Today 3rd April 2025

A change from birds today as Peter and myself made for one of BBOWTS (Berks, Bucks and Oxon Wildlife Trusts) gems, a discrete reserve hidden away in a rural part of Oxfordshire and accessed  down a bridleway skirting past a horror of farmland monoculture. Passing through a wooden gate we entered an alternative and from my point of view far more biodiverse and preferable universe of deciduous  broadleaved woodland, flower rich grassland clearings and heathland and how I imagine, possibly fancifully our countryside used to be. 

What in particular were we seeking you may ask although it was pleasurable enough to be able to walk through the reserve in the morning sunshine with everything bursting with renewed life and breaking free from the shackles of winter.

Entirely alone we walked down a track and there, hidden in plain sight was the botanical treasure we sought.

Peter pointed and said

There they are

I looked but failed at first to register anything unusual

Look through and below the branches of that old coppiced hazel he advised

I tried again and there they were,  columns of white, pink tinged, drooping flowers resembling a stack of teeth or vertebrae rising above the bright green blades of bluebell leaves and the withered brown remnants of last year's fallen hazel leaves

Toothwort

This parasitic plant is found most commonly in central England in deciduous woodland where it draws all the nutrients it needs form the roots of a host tree, in this case hazel but can also be alder and occasionally elm, beech or lime.It is a real oddity, here lurking amongst the emerging bluebells and wood anenomes and on discovery the kind of specially rare find that brings both delight and quiet satisfaction in equal measure.

I have never seen the plant or its flowers before but was impressed by both their strangeness and self effacing beauty.For most of the year the plant is hidden below ground until the flower spikes, reaching from 20-30cm in height, emerge in spring.Its Latin name Lathraea reflects its mainly invisible existence, as  it is derived from the Greek word for clandestine or secret.  Tucked away under the ancient hazel whose regular coppicing days are long gone, leaving it a ruin of haphazard branches growimg at all angles from ground level to above the height of a man's head, the flowers can at first glance resemble an exotic orchid.

It is good the Toothwort is so well concealed by the tangle of growth in which it has chosen to grow.I feel it will not be troubled here and can thrive through its benign neglect. Toothwort can remain faithful to the same location for years if left undisturbed and as only a comparative few know of its presence here and all are protective of the plant's weird charm its future looks bright.

A Church Peregrine 31st March 2025

My first memorable and close encounter with a Peregrine was over thirty years ago when I lived near the coast of Sussex and a pair bred on the cliffs at Newhaven. I was at the top of the cliff when I heard screaming harsh calls and discovered a female Peregrine with her three newly fledged young. So rapt up in their own world were the young birds they allowed me to come very close until the parent bird saw me and called them away. I walked to the spot where they had been and found a beautiful barred white feather, lost from the adult and caught in the grass. I picked it up, put it in my notebook to keep it safe and have it still to this day. Just to look at it now brings the whole pleasurable episode back in sharp relief tinged with some sadness, as the encounter was shared with a dear friend now no longer with us.

Since then I have seen many Peregrines in all sorts of places and in many different countries but that first encounter has remained the most memorable and for me the sight of any Peregrine in Spring, perched on an outcrop of rock on some wild and isolated coastal cliff with the sea as a background and the peppery scent of gorse wafting on a sea breeze is the traditional classic image of this iconic bird.

Now however, to see a Peregrine inland is not that unusual with many adopting inland sites such as on high rise buildings, cathedrals and even tower block window ledges. I can name at least four sites in Oxfordshire, about as inland as one can get where Peregrines happily breed - anywhere in fact that in a Peregrine's mind looks like a cliff will suffice

Peregrines have a reputation for speed when hunting, especially when they stoop from on high and arguably can reach almost 200mph per hour, making them the fastest animal on the planet but for the most part they spend their time perched quietly and still on some high lookout. On a hunting sortie they are transformed from a tranquil relaxed presence into an angel of death,  for the most part preying on pigeons either wild or feral, the latter a ready food supply that allows them to nest in the heart of cities.

Their hunting can take place all around the clock especially when they have young and I can recall a videocam of a Peregrine bringing back to a city building a very much alive Woodcock that was migrating at night. 

Such an iconic bird, so visible and possessing characteristics so admired by humans inevitably attracts more than its fair share of attention. Its wild nature, reputation for inhabiting remote beautiful places and close association with sea and the sky above have become a symbol of the freedom which many of us earthbound mortals crave.

The Peregrine's history is a roller coaster of good and bad fortune. From the 1950's-1970's came the scandal of organochlorine pesticides, principally DDT, which due to the accumulated high levels of residues in this apex predator ultimately poisoned them to death or caused their egg shells to be so thin they would break when they tried to incubate them. A huge outcry resulted in organochlorine pesticides being banned and the Peregrine population began to recover..

Racing pigeon fanciers in the 1960's raised a petition attempting to get protection to be relaxed so birds could be culled but thankfully it failed.

Now there is the continuing onslaught from gamekeepers on upland grouse moors who continue to illegally poison and shoot them as well as other birds of prey and the lack of will from successive Governments to do anything about it. 

Another insidious threat is from egg collectors but more worrying is the taking of chicks to sell on for huge sums of money to falconers in the Middle East where the Peregrine is highly prized  as both a bird to hunt with and a status symbol.

Despite all this the British population of Peregrines is now a lot healthier than it was and in 2014 there were 1750 breeding pairs and by now that figure will surely be higher still. The fact that many pairs, such as the ones I went to see today, nest inland in villages, towns and cities means they are viewed as an asset that enriches the lives of those around them and to a great extent they are left to conduct their lives unthreatened and unmolested.

The villagers where I went today are delighted to have the Peregrines and keep an eye on them and their welfare. It must be very much the same in other such places.

Peregrines are well known as church goers, well at least when they come to breed on the multi coloured lichen encrusted walls of some of the more ancient of our places of worship.To them the lichen patterned rough stone and buttresses must seem very similar to the cliffs of their more natural home.

Not far from where I live in northwest Oxfordshire I know of one such medieval church where a pair of Peregrines breed. Having spent a pleasant morning watching Hawfinches in an old cemetery I made my way to stand amongst yet more ancient tombstones to watch another charismatic bird. 

The church is situated in a quiet corner of a quintessentially English rural village surrounded by equally old houses and a village green of sorts. Tall trees in the graveyard are populated by Rooks, cawing loudly, fussing and squabbling around their nests in the tops of the trees and yes, there are also yews in the churchyard here too.

A classic rural scene in middle England.

Today was another sun kissed gem of a day as in the early afternoon I parked my car by the church and scanned its ancient crumbling walls.

Normally one expects Peregrines to be near the top, perched on high where they can have an overview of anything and everything that goes on below and around about.Today however the male, called a tiercel in falconry circles was perched much lower. I almost missed him perched discretely and silently on the wall of the main body of the church, taking his ease in the shade

The male's indolence indicated that the larger female was most probably incubating eggs out of sight higher up and hidden from view behind the stonework.For now the male's sole function was to help out with the incubation of their eggs and maybe provision the female with food.Obviously used to the close presence of humankind from churchgoers and villagers in the cottages nearby he showed little concern as I moved around to take images of him from various angles.

I looked away briefly and then back to find he had gone. There was not a sign of him anywhere as I circled around the outside of the church.Where could he be? Had he gone hunting maybe?

The answer soon came when I scanned a large tree opposite to the church. Peregrines like to perch in trees too and I discovered him almost at the top of an enormous bare tree, its buds about to burst. Jackdaws and Woodpigeons that often fall prey to him seemed to know he was currently no threat as they shared the tree with him but not too closely.

The sun was intense enough for me to seek the shade, standing below a wide arch that gave access to a courtyard, probably a coaching inn of former times but now gentrified into private homes.For fifteen minutes the Peregrine remained in the tree but then sought a perch back on the church and settled in classic pose on a buttress high up on the side of the church tower.

He seemed content but then suddenly flew and with flickeriing wings, circled the church before heading high and fast up into a  blue yonder, then to disappear over the rolling, sunlit countryside beyond

What a pleasant hour.

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 as if Spring was upon us.

An irresistible 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 primroses in their multitudes glowing under the dark yews and even embracing some of the more ancient graves. Tiny, fragile violets proffer 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 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, a twiggy presence frothy white with a million flowers, that 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 sometimes 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 carries a camera of one sort or another

I stand in my usual place by a large box bush endeavouring to harmonise my green jacket with the hard green leaves of the bush. I am  excited as today I will 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 in the intervening days 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 its top. It lay on the short grass, an empty stage, primroses and violets, delicate garlands around its obtuse 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.

Common 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 the origin of these Hawfinches. Are they local birds, perhaps from the extensive grounds of Blenheim Palace across the road, where there is plenty of suitable habitat and secret, undisturbed 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 soon setting up territories either locally or abroad but not in the cemetery.

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 outline of a bird, bulky, a Hawfinch perhaps or more likely a Greenfinch, it was impossible to tell through 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 brown 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. The male flew off. 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 be un-noticed until the last minute, appearing through thick cover, forever secretive, inscrutable and enigmatic.

He commandeered the log once more and fed avidly 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.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 and 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 outer 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.