Having recently enjoyed two days going to see two very rare birds far from my home, this morning I went to see another bird, much closer to home that is becoming increasingly rare and whose population in Britain has declined by 92% between 1967 and 2020. It is now a Red Listed species of conservation concern and a priority species for the RSPB. Formally unbiquitous in villages and parkland throughout the land it is now increasingly hard to find and when found is often a cause for mild celebration. The cause of its demise may be due to a number of factors such as; increased urbanisation of its traditional habitats, lack of insects, its only form of sustenance (there has been a decline of 60% in the population of flying insects in the past 20 years), predation, climate or adverse changes to its wintering areas in southern Africa. Recent research by the British Trust for Ornithology has revealed the importance of riverine habitats to its welfare.The greater the density of rivers in an area the more likely it is that Spotted Flycatchers will survive in or colonise such areas.
Time is surely running out for the Spotted Flycatcher, such a feature of our summers past. With no halt in its decline in both Britain and Europe there is the strong possibility the day will come when it will visit these shores no more.
With that depressing fact in mind I ventured to a classic rural location in my home county of Oxfordshire, to a hamlet which could easily adorn any chocolate box you care to choose with its quintessential English idyllic image.
Remarkably a pair of Spotted Flycatchers return here every year despite the continuing decline of the species and this year has been no different. A couple of weeks ago I leant on a familiar wooden gate overlooking a paddock by the ancient church and watched them building a nest in an ivied tree. Deep in the green dappled shade they came and went with beaks bearing moss to line an already mostly constructed nest.
Today I leant on that selfsame gate and looked at the ivied tree once more and could see the female sat on the nest, her black beady eyes seeming to regard me. I rejoiced that the nest was still active and the female appeared to be incubating eggs.
I waited. There was no hurry. The church clock struck ten times.The sun flickered in the wind ruffled green leaves, the wind passing through the tree tops creating a constant and soothing sursurrus of sound as it disturbed a myriad of leaves.
For quite some time I saw nothing but was untroubled as it was far from unpleasant resting my arms on the wooden gate, the sun warm where I stood in this quiet sheltered nook by a narrow country road that led seemingly nowhere.
Then came the tiniest of flickers in the trees, that after countless false alarms engendered by moving leaves was a bird. Its movements as of quicksilver. A Spotted Flycatcher at last and presumably the incubating female's mate.
He flew to the nest and tarried but for a second at its rim then flew up to perch on a nearby thin dead branch and sat, his head cocked, constantly moving as bright black eyes assessed a chance to seize a potential passing victim.
They possess a robin like personality, bright and effervescent that unfailingly endears them to you, a perky cheekiness of bright eyes and wing flicks. A sprite of the woods if there ever could be such a thing
And then he was gone.
Had I been wrong in my supposition the female was still incubating eggs? Did they after all have newly hatched young which the female was brooding on her nest?
Ten minutes later he was back and repeated the same action as before.
I remained waiting and at irregular intervals he returned. Each time flying to the nest for seconds before departing to his regular perch nearby.
On one of his periodic arrrivals he perched long enough to reveal a large fly in his beak which he proceeded to take to the nest.
And then came the realisation. He was feeding the female as she incubated her eggs. The females of many species leave the nest for short periods to feed but here the Spotted Flycatchers were doing the opposite. I never knew this but now I did.
The church clock struck eleven, the wind continued its caressing of the tree tops and the sun rendered the lower storey a green and yellow kaleidoscope.
Content I turned and left for home.
No comments:
Post a Comment