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.