Four Hours at Farmoor 5th March 2018

Its been a while, almost three months since I last visited Farmoor Reservoir but the discovery of a Black necked Grebe yesterday tempted me out. As per usual, the grebe had been located at the far end of the causeway from the car park, so I made the long and tedious walk and found precisely nothing, apart from the perennial Coots, Tufted Ducks and a couple of Little Grebes, now gaining their chestnut faces. Spring, one feels, is just around the corner. A few other birders were distractedly wandering around at the end of the causeway when I got there but it was obvious no one had seen the grebe and it was looking like it had gone. I called Dai, who watches Farmoor every day and he too had not seen the grebe so that was good enough for me.

So my second option was to go to the nearby Hide at Pinkhill and reprise my now traditional and annual winter visit to the Water Rails that wander around under the feeders there, picking up the seed that falls to the water. On social media regular images appear from the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust at Slimbridge of Water Rails walking around in the open in front of the Willow Hide but there you have to pay £12.00 to get in to the Trust and often the Hide, when you get to it, is full with photographers and visitors alike. In direct contrast the Hide at Farmoor is often empty and one can find oneself  alone for long periods, which for me is much more preferable.

Keying in the code, I gained access to the Hide and found just one other birder inside who remained for only a short time before leaving. The Water Rail was already present, wandering around in the shallow water picking up the fallen seed, as the various tits and buntings helped themselves to the food in the feeders above.

Water Rail

This particular Water Rail is exceptional as, although still wary, it does not show the extreme stealth and innate nervousness of others of its kind. Consequently it is usually present and on view most of the time  apart from the occasional short lived excursion into the surrounding sedge. I remained in the Hide for around two hours during which time the Water Rail was continuously present and on two occasions was joined by another which was slightly smaller and possibly was a female and its mate. 

They are strange looking birds when one is given the opportunity, such as now, to study them closely. Most noticeable is how laterally compressed the body is, so it has no problem passing through the thickest and most impenetrable of reed stands. Its head seems slightly too small for its body, especially when it is relaxed and the body feathers are fluffed out rather than compressed in alarm.

Note the small head and laterally compressed body in the above
three images

The main reason for its continual presence was the readily available supply of grain falling down from the feeders above. Birds are messy feeders and the Water Rail has learnt to take full advantage of this. It would wander around picking off seed floating on the surface of the water or just below it and would make a running lunge as it saw something anew fall from above and into the water. 

The feeding was obviously good as at one point it stood for minutes on end and preened, then in typical rail fashion flexed its wings partially open, as its larger cousin the Moorhen is prone to do when it too is relaxed and content.

These Water Rails at Pinkhill have survived the extended freeze and latterly snowy spell of weather but many others succumb in such conditions or, if not, turn to predating other birds up to the size of a thrush to replace their normal but unavailable vegetarian diet. The Water Rail has the advantage that it is not normally regarded as a threat by its hapless and unsuspecting victim. One method of catching its victim is to stab and impale the bird with its long sharp bill. Another is to seize it and take it to water and drown it. 

On the other hand the Water Rail can itself fall victim  to larger birds, particularly Grey Herons which will opportunistically seize the rail and swallow it in one gulp.

Other birds were also taking advantage of the fallen seed. A pair each of Mallard and Moorhen wandered around below the feeders, the former dabbling with their bills at the muddy edge of the water while the Moorhens delicately picked over the waterlogged vegetation.

Dunnocks, Reed Buntings and Blackbirds dropped down from the overhanging bushes to feed on the muddy margins too, and the Dunnocks and Reed Buntings also picked seed from the water by perching on twigs protruding from the shallows. The Water Rail would occasionally chase off the Dunnocks but I could see no reason why it took exception to them alone, apart from the fact the Dunnock was superficially similar to the Water Rail in plumage, being grey on its head and underparts and similarly streaked on its brown upperparts.

Dunnock

Male Reed Bunting

The feeders were being constantly visited by a procession of Great and Blue Tits and on one occasion a Long Tailed Tit and a Great Spotted Woodpecker. The last time I was here two Grey Squirrels were an unwelcome presence but they seem to have disappeared now, only to be replaced by an even more unwelcome and large Brown Rat. Let's hope its presence is only temporary.

Brown Rat

Blue Tit

Great Tit

Steve joined me in the Hide for a brief spell and told me he had seen a Barn Owl further along the Thames Path by the small new reserve, Buckthorn Meadow which is adjacent to Shrike Meadow. Another couple came into the Hide and shortly after Steve departed and fifteen minutes later I too took my leave.

Rather than walk back down the Reservoir's causeway I  took the Thames Path to try and see the Barn Owl. I checked where Steve had told me he had seen it and there it was, just as he described it, sat on one of the fence posts supporting the railings surrounding the new reserve.

Barn Owl

It is a privilege to have them at Farmoor and now with only around five thousand pairs left in Britain any encounter with them takes on added significance and makes a sighting of them popular with birders and the general public alike. Another depressing fact is, that on average, three thousand Barn Owls are killed annually on Britain's roads but here at Farmoor they are safe from that threat at least. 

Owls have always stirred a sense of mystery and otherworldliness in us humans, and in much earlier and superstitious times Barn Owls, with their unearthly shrieks and ghostly appearance could cause consternation amongst the local populace who imagined goblins and spectres were haunting their village. Even today the weird vocalisations, such as hissing, snoring and wild shrieks, all emanating from Barn Owls, unseen in the dark, can be thoroughly disconcerting if you do not know what it is.

The Barn Owl today was surprisingly well camouflaged against the background of dead reeds. Its orange buff upperparts almost concolorous with the reed stands behind. I watched through a gap in a hedge as it sat on its post, looking around. It was obvious its desire was to hunt from a static position, using the posts as perches. It regularly changed position but I did not see it catch anything and I  presumed its presence, out in daylight and hunting in such an unusual manner, meant it must be very hungry and possibly weak after the snow cover of the last few days prevented it from catching any prey.

They are beautiful birds when seen close up and the catchall description of it being white does not do it any favours. The poet John Clare described it more accurately, when he wrote the words 'the owl on wheaten wing,/And white hood scowling o'er his eyes'. It is only truly white on its face and underparts although when seen from a distance can appear all white. The rest of its plumage is a lovely rich shade of orange buff, almost golden, with occasional patches of dove grey, the upperparts further spotted and stippled with tiny white specks, themselves margined with black, some in lines like strings of tiny pearls, others randomly scattered as if someone has flicked ink over the feathers. Its wings, when opened are delicately barred orange, white and black. Its heart shaped head is huge compared to its narrow  body, a rounded veritable radar dish containing both the large and lustrous black eyes and the ears that enable it to be such a formidable hunter. Its hearing is so acute it heard the tiniest scrape from more than fifty metres and was instantly alert as I endeavoured to get closer to it. 

The fact it did allow me to get as close as I did suggested it was very hungry so I decided I should leave it and hope it would eventually find a vole or mouse to assuage its hunger. These last days have been very hard times for birds of all sorts and the consequence of the freeze is still making itself apparent, as with the Barn Owl here at Farmoor.

Further Fieldfare News 3rd March 2018

Yesterday, after our crab apple tree was stripped of its last berries by the Fieldfares in the late morning, some of the birds remained after the majority had departed, sitting quietly on the frozen snow or flying back and fore into the tree as if they could not believe that all the berries had gone. I felt sorry for them, as time and again they kept returning to the tree but always to find nothing to eat. The tree had been stripped bare and the birds, in desperation, tried to glean even the smallest morsel of berry left on the bare twigs, such was their extreme hunger.

I had nothing else to offer them and just had to hope they would survive the night until I could get to the village stores tomorrow morning when, hopefully, they might have had another delivery of apples. I was not optimistic.

Saturday morning arrived and I walked over to the village shop. Newspapers and milk had been delivered along with bread but no fruit of any sort and definitely no apples. This left me with but one option, the Co-op in Chipping Norton, four miles away. The roads here were still far too treacherous to drive on so there was only one thing left to do and that was to walk.

I took a large backpack and headed off down the road. It was early, about 7.30am but by the time I would get to Chipping Norton the Co-op would be open and hopefully they would have apples. It was a calculated gamble about the apples but if they did not have any, there was always the option of Sainsburys and Aldi, the two other big stores in the town. I was determined to do everything I could to help the starving Fieldfares.

There was not a car on the road so I had the rare pleasure of walking down the centre of the road. Not something I could ever contemplate in normal times. I passed the Village Green and then the Primary School and after that was out in open country heading for the next village, Churchill, up on the hill. It was a veritable winter wonderland around me, the gentle thaw creating a light mist that hung over vast acres of white, snow covered land as far as you could see. An eerie silence hung over the land as if the snow had blanketed all sound as well as the topography. Occasionally a Fieldfare would chuckle in alarm as it flew over me under the leaden sky, its white underwing feathers illuminated by the snow below.

I came to a place called Churchill Crossing where the long defunct railway line from Kingham to Chipping Norton used to cross the road and looking to my left I saw a small thrush sat motionless on the snow. I walked up to it but it did not move, could not move, as it was virtually moribund, its eyes closed and obviously near to death. Starved and beaten by the prolonged ice and snow. How many other birds have died a slow lingering death from starvation in this cruel spell of weather, hidden from view as they succumb in dark ditches and under hedges.

I picked the bird up and could see it was a Song Thrush. My fingers felt the un-natural  sharpness of its breast bone through its emaciated body, now nothing more than skin and feathers. Gently I put it in a pocket of my backpack hoping it might survive until  I could get it home but I feared the worst.

I trudged onwards up the long rising incline to the village of Churchill high on a ridge and that lies by the road that runs north for a couple of miles to Chipping Norton. Turning onto the road to Chipping Norton I saw a car coming up another steep incline called Hastings Hill. It nearly made it but just before the junction of the two roads it lost traction and with wheels spinning on the icy snow it came to a halt. I walked over and started pushing the rear end and the car slowly started to move and we made it to the road where it was clear of snow and ice and it once more  gained traction. The driver wound down his window to say thank you. 

'Any chance of a lift to Chipping Norton?' I enquired. 

Sure, hop in he said and so I saved myself a lot of time and energy. 

Some minutes later the driver dropped me in the town. It was surreal as the town was deadly quiet, no people, no vehicles. Usually on a Saturday morning the town would be humming with life and traffic but not this Saturday. As if in some post apocalyptic movie I made my way through the silent town and thick snow to the Co-op and taking the escalator up to the main store found,  it too, weirdly empty but to my immense relief a stack of apples were ranged  before me on the otherwise empty shelves. I wasted no time in loading a trolley with a vast quantity of apples. The lady on the till took one look and said 

Making cider are we?  

I told her no and proceeded to explain that the apples were for birds but really I should have just said yes to the cider enquiry. She was pleasant enough but clearly thought I was deranged having walked all the way from my home in Kingham just to fill my backpack with an unseemly amount of apples to give to some birds. She thought me even more eccentric when I removed the Song Thrush from the side pocket of my backpack to check if it was still alive. Sadly it had died so I put it back in the pocket. 

Never mind. I bade her good morning and swung the back pack on my back. Ooerrr! It was so heavy but there was nothing to do but get on with it and head for home. I staggered off back to the escalator to take me to ground level and before heading out of town made a stop at the Mill House Cafe over the road for a take away skinny mocha to drink on the way.

The caffeine fix soon had its effect and suitably fired up I marched steadfastly along the road and out of town. A mile or so along the road and out in open country again I found another Song Thrush. This one had also just expired so it joined the other in the side pocket. I know of someone who would like the skins so they were worth saving for that alone and their death, although sad, would not be in vain.

The two dead Song Thrushes resting on the apples I had bought. If only I had
found them earlier maybe they could have been saved

Some minutes later the first vehicle to pass me on the road, a Landrover, slowed and came to a halt. I opened the door to be offered another lift by the kindly driver and was saved from a long, tedious and backbreaking yomp home, laden down, as I was, with the apples. The driver was a farmer from Daylesford, a huge organic enterprise and estate adjacent to Kingham which is owned by Lady Bamford, the wife of Lord Bamford of JCB fame. JCB if you did not know are his late father's initials.

I got a lift right to the end of our drive and thanking the driver profusely I walked up the drive and once inside my house wasted no time in cutting some of the apples into halves and distributed them on some cleared ground by our snowbound driveway. 

Apples safely delivered!

The Fieldfares were so hungry and desperate they abandoned all fear and descended as I was dropping the apples to the ground. I retreated indoors to leave them to it.

The numbers of Fieldfares slowly increased until there were in excess of twenty or so. As they fed on the apples they regained some of their energy and truculent spirit so that after a couple of hours the males were chasing each other around, raising, fanning and flicking their black tail feathers outwards and spending as much time jousting as feeding. Other Fieldfares, now with full crops sat quietly in the denuded crab apple tree, the ivy growing up a lilac tree  or in the holly hedge by the drive until they felt hungry again when they would fly down once more to pick at the apples. They were quite content on their perches, assured now of a regular food supply that they could fly down to at their leisure. 

I  too felt the same sense of relief knowing that these Fieldfares in my garden were at least assured of  an immediate future and would survive. There are plenty of apples to feed them and with the thaw setting in, all bodes well, as soon they will be able to return to the surrounding fields for more nutritious food than apples.

The invasion of huge numbers of starving Fieldfares and to a lesser extent Redwings, into gardens and places they are not normally seen has been quite a phenomenon,  with many images of them being posted on social media. I posted a short video on Twitter of the Fieldfares stripping our crab apple tree and so far it has had over five hundred and fifty 'likes' which just goes to show how this invasion of such a beautiful bird has caught the public's imagination.

After a brief visit this morning the Fieldfares have all left as the thaw exposes more and more land for them to forage on. 

Fieldfares indeed.