Shoveler Salvation at Otmoor 7th February 2019

A morning of immense frustration dealing with estate agents and solicitors concerning a pending house move put me completely out of sorts and required some rapid therapy in the form of quiet and solitude.

Despite a forecast of heavy cloud the weather by the afternoon was bright, with welcome sunny spells, enough to persuade me that Otmoor might be just the place to sit and get my scrambled sensibilities back into some sort of order. I reasoned that Otmoor on a mid week Wednesday afternoon was hardly going to be popular with my fellow birders. And so it turned out to be.

Drawing up in the car park I found myself parked next to David, the Reserve Manager who cheerfully told me 'It's pretty quiet'. Normally this would be the kiss of death but today was different. It did not really matter as birds came second to my desire for some peace and quiet. However if birds could be involved that would surely be therapeutic too.

No matter what, there is always something to take one's interest when birding, even in the most unpromising of situations.

The air was absolutely still as this part of England was currently languishing  between weather fronts. Tomorrow promised high winds but on this afternoon, a sepulchral calm hung over the wide expanses of Otmoor as I walked along the bridleway.

My vague plan, if I had any, was to make the long walk out to the second screen to sit there in solitary contemplation and look out over the reeds and lagoon, letting my mind go into freefall. There was also the alluring chance of encountering the stonechats that have been a feature at this spot over the last couple of weeks.

Walking out I encountered no other birder but at least three volunteer wardens! Strolling up the track from the first screen to the second screen I came across a flock of around a thousand Golden Plover and in the company of about half that number of Lapwing, all feeding in one of the grass fields adjacent to the track. The Golden Plovers, their dull gold plumage harmonising with the winter grasses, were keeping up a constant wheedling of reedy calls, bunched in a close congregation, whilst the Lapwings, their contrasting black and white colouring making them much more evident, were more spaced apart.

A female Reed Bunting perched in a hawthorn waited, as I approached, until the very last minute before her nerve failed her and she departed in a fluster of streaked brown and white outer tail feathers.

Female Reed Bunting

On getting to the second screen I was, as I hoped alone, and with no sign of any stonechats I sat and looked out to the far hills across the muddy lagoon. Some Gadwall drifted out of the reeds and then drifted back. A male Common Pochard  appeared and submerged for a brief spell of feeding but then thought better of it and rejoined his duller female, lurking with the Gadwall around the reeds. A Cetti's Warbler, its song more an exclamation than anything harmonious and prolonged, announced its presence from the reeds across the lagoon.

A Peregrine hurtled over the screen, low, with violence on its mind and disappeared over the lagoon's bund, its onward progress announced by a squall of Lapwing rising rapidly into the sky away towards the distant village of Oddington.

I sat for an hour and as equanimity was gradually regained I headed back along the track to the first screen. Looking out on the lagoon that lay before me from the first screen, all was calm and still, the surrounding reed beds lit golden by occasional shafts of sunlight. A Marsh Harrier, drifted slowly across the furthest reed bed and then side slipped with graceful ease, dropping down into the reeds and out of sight not to re-appear.

The view from the First Screen

The still waters of the lagoon before me were punctuated by many Shoveler, over fifty, the majority being males. Individual males were snug in the edge of the  reeds, betrayed by their startling white breasts, the brown streaked female with them, much less noticeable, almost part of the reeds.

Male and female Shoveler

The majority of  the Shovelers were, however, out on the water, a preponderance of dazzling coloured drakes. Their plumage of dark green head, chestnut flanks and white breast so very pleasing to the eye and at this time of year, perfection in both feather and form, the males made even more striking by the contrast of their bright plumage with the muted colours of their winter surroundings. 

I remember years ago, having just gone to Grammar School, how with a couple of like minded boys we formed a bird club and our first outing was on a Saturday to St James's Park to look at ducks other than our local park's ubiquitous Mallards that we were so used to. In our innocence it did not matter if the ducks in St James's Park were captive or not. They were different!  I can still recall my excitement, as on entering the park my eyes alighted for the first time ever on a pair of real live Shovelers. The drake, to an eleven year old schoolboy, possessing the most extraordinary bill you could imagine, twice as wide at the tip as at its base (the celebrated nature writer Mark Cocker described its bill as 'de Beregerac like.'),   and displaying a plumage of an almost unbelievable exotic combination of colours. It was such a tremendous thrill to see such a duck that, up to that moment, had only been possible to admire in dodgy bird books and dreamed about. 

Since then I have seen many Shovelers but to this day they still send a thrill through me and here were fifty plus disporting themselves right in front of me. Watching them it became obvious some sort of collective display and courtship was taking place amongst the assembled throng, as a number of unpaired drakes congregated around already paired females, obviously looking to usurp the female duck's current partner. As a male teal whistles and makes a noise like a cricket so I heard a strange and repeated guttural 'took'  sound come from the male Shovelers, a bit like the calling of a distant cock pheasant. Never having encountered this sound before or seen Shovelers collectively displaying in the way they were, I was, as mentioned earlier, fortuitously observing and learning something new, evidence if needed that if you are prepared to sit quietly for any period of time you will often be rewarded with the unexpected.

The male Shovelers paired to a female took great exception to the unwelcome intrusion of the unpaired males that were brazenly trying it on with any female that came close. It was a Shoveler variation of speed dating and there were many encounters where the paired male rushed through the water at any amorous suitor who took liberties and came rather too close. The inevitable result was that the suitor took to the air to avoid any conflict with the paired male dashing at him in a churn of water and thrashing wings. In the air yet more beauty was revealed as each of the fleeing male's spread wings showed a lavender blue forewing and emerald green speculum. 

On taking off the wings also made a curious and quite noticeable drumming sound. Something I have not heard or noticed before.

The Pursued!

The Pursuer!

Don't panic!

Despite this the amorous males did not seem to get the message and continued their attempts to muscle in on the pairs. Flying in a circuit over the reeds a displaced male would return to land on the water, and after a quick flap of its wings set about trying his luck again with yet another female. Obviously this was a way of sorting out the optimum pairing, the best drake for the best duck but as far as I could see there was no change in any of the existing pairings.

This behaviour carried on for quite some time with a constant activity of drakes rushing after one another across the water and flying around to escape the outraged partner of a female but at some unnoticed signal all the drakes seemed to decide it was time to call a truce and accept the situation and forming a close packed flock of both males and females, commenced feeding in harmony.

By watching the amorous Shovelers I had been absorbed into their world for an hour and on returning to my world found the anxieties that had beset me were far less than I had imagined and I left Otmoor musing over what I had seen and learned this afternoon  rather than suffering any further angst about the events of earlier in the day.

I was at one with the natural world once more. 

 

Postscript

I was curious about what I had observed of the Shoveler's behaviour at Otmoor and did some research in the literature. I learned that this gathering of so many Shovelers was a communal ceremonial display where they were in the process of commencing forming pairs before breeding later in the year and this communal display can often be so fragmented as to be easily overlooked. From what I could see this afternoon most pairs had formed but maybe this was not the case.

I also learned that the 'took' call I heard the drakes giving and the wing drumming as they took off were also part of this communal display.

.

Deep Frozen in Oxford University Parks 3rd February 2019

It was reasonably early on Sunday morning and the temperature gauge on my car read minus 7.5 degrees celsius as I  left my home in the Cotswolds to drive to Oxford University Parks. On arriving there at 8.30am, the gauge had not moved. It was cold, very cold and with the minus temperature had come an overnight coating of ice to freeze the already lying snow, transforming the landscape into a world of sparkling white reflecting the dazzling brilliance of the sun which was rising low in a sky turning to the purest cobalt blue.

It was my desire to get here early to avoid the inevitable build up of tourists, joggers and dog walkers that also utilise this incomparable resource situated almost in the heart of the City of Oxford. My main purpose was to look for a pair of Rose ringed Parakeets that have taken up residence in some tall trees near the adjacent River Cherwell and look like they may breed here this year.

I walked alongside the slow moving river, skirting a circle of yellow Winter Aconites, their heads bent low by the weight of heavy frost and awaiting the sun's rays to reach and resurrect them. The sluggish waters, part frozen, were still and a mirror both to the sky and the lattice work of branches of the overhanging tall trees  Even at this comparatively early hour for a Sunday I had company as enthusiastic dog walkers and joggers had already taken to the paths through the landscaped gardens. 

The River Cherwell with the University Parks on the left

A flotilla of Mallards, safely positioned in mid river followed a free running dog as it snuffled along the far bank, the frosted ground tingling the pads of the dog's feet, making it jump and twist in excitement. Ducks are inveterately curious about dogs and many a duck has been led to its demise by a man and a dog aware of this trait, luring the inquisitive ducks into a decoy to be despatched. Even to this day the Wildfowl and Wetlands Trust use trained dogs to lure ducks into a decoy, thankfully now only to be caught and ringed and then released.

The Mallard drake's green heads turned from velvety black to an almost luminescent emerald as they caught the sun.They are so familiar to us that we become casual about their beauty but it is worth stopping just to admire and appreciate them every so often. Even the Mallards looked cold as they swam around in desultory groups, to seek shelter and perch on the submerged lower branches of bushes that swept down from the river bank.

Drake Mallard

I walked slowly onwards and came to the famous Rainbow Bridge, crossing it to the other side of the river to where there is rougher ground and grassy paddocks and followed a track running dead ahead, the ruts and footprints in the mud frozen hard and the bent reeds in the ditch beside, forming a haphazard puzzle of angles, held rigid in the grasp of frost and frozen water. Overlooking the track, the huge bare boughs of substantial trees stood in stark silhouette against the bright sky. The trees have recently been subject to the savagery of a chain saw, the pruning lacking any cosmetic design and being purely functional only adding to the sense of brutish amputation inflicted on the trees. 

The Rainbow Bridge

The trees on the right frequented by the parakeets, looking
northeast along the track away from The Rainbow Bridge
and towards Marston

The same trees looking southwest along the track and
 towards The Rainbow Bridge

So far I had heard or seen nothing of the Rose ringed Parakeets but a drumming Great Spotted Woodpecker sparked my interest, the sound coming from high in one of the trees further along the track and I walked towards the sound to try and find the bird. As I did I heard another sound, a querulous shriek, unmusical and harsh on the ear, thoroughly out of keeping with the other more melodic bird sounds about me. Normally such a sound would be an unwelcome intrusion but today was different. It was coming from none other than a Rose ringed Parakeet. I had found them! The parakeet called regularly, the sound a strident incision into the wintry stillness. I tracked the call and found a bright green male perched high in the penultimate tree, its bulbous, lustrous green head and rosebud red beak shining in the sun. A female, slightly duller and shorter of tail, was perched, more concealed and slightly lower, in a tangle of twigs and thin branches.

Male Rose ringed Parakeet

Opinion varies about these birds. There are those who regard them as an interloper and thoroughly out of harmony with our native birds while others, me included, find them an attractive addition to our fauna.What is without doubt is they are here to stay now and they are expanding their occupation of England. The county of Oxfordshire has had a very small resident population around Henley on Thames for some years and one or two have in the last few years been seen in various parts of the City of Oxford. Now this pair seem to be setting up home and have been seen prospecting likely looking nest holes in the large trees they were currently occupying.

After some minutes the male flew off towards Marston in customary rapid flight, shrieking loudly, but the female remained perched, apparently unperturbed by the male's sudden departure.

Female Rose ringed Parakeet

I left her and walked back towards the bridge. A pigeon sized bird flew in the sky above the tree tops with exaggerated, slow wing beats. It was dull greyish brown on its upperparts and barred below with a barred, spread tail. A female Sparrowhawk, it circled before heading further across the Parks towards the city.

Just before the bridge I passed through a gate to my right and walked the river's bank, my feet  crunching on hard frozen leaves and hoar frosted grass, passing hulking felled tree trunks capped with an icing of snow,. 

A small duck was dabbling under the far bank, its back to me. All I  could see was a creamy coloured undertail and grey flanks but that was enough to tell me  it was a male Teal. Not so usual here and probably it has been displaced from its usual haunts by the cold weather that has frozen parts of the river to ice. Here it had a patch of open water to dabble in and sift for food particles.

Drake Eurasian Teal

They are such pretty ducks, a compact composition of vermiculated grey complemented and contrasted by a band of bottle green feathers sweeping across each side of its rich chestnut coloured head. It noticed me looking at it and became instantly anxious and swam from my presence. I left so it could resume feeding. Further along a narrow track ran away to my right through another avenue of trees, dividing two rough fields, white with snow. Two birds were rummaging in some leaf litter, the leaves surprisingly still whole but withered brown and deep frozen into perpetuity. The birds were small thrushes, Redwings, a winter visitor from Scandinavia. They allowed me to approach closer than is normal, their innate wariness discarded due to their hunger and desire to find food. They are the most fragile of our winter visiting thrushes and extended cold periods must account for many but these two were still attentive enough to only allow me so close before departing. They too are beautiful. Superficially like our native Song Thrush but pleasingly more varied in their plumage with natty cream eyebrows across their head and a flush of blood orange on streaked flanks.

Redwing

It had been a full hour and still the temperature was only one degree warmer. I departed to the drumming of a distant woodpecker and a shriek from the returning parakeet. 

Black Redstart by Rail 2nd February 2019

On Thursday night it snowed heavily enough to make the prospect of venturing out with the car for any distance the next day extremely hazardous, and was most definitely not recommended by those in charge of the highways and byways of the fair county of Oxfordshire.

My home village of Kingham, in northwest Oxfordshire, was a few inches deep in snow by Friday morning but I managed to make the five minute journey in the car to our local railway station to allow Mrs U to catch a train to Oxford from whence she would make a connection that would take her to distant Harrogate for a weekend at a Health Spa with my daughter.

Even such a short journey was risky but needs must and with relief I returned home, slalomed the car up our snow bound drive, left it there and firmly shut the back door of the house, and to my immense frustration, wrote off a day where I had  planned to go and see a Black Redstart that had taken up residence for the last week on the magnificent and venerable walls of Christ Church in the heart of the City of Oxford.

Black Redstarts are not regular in Oxfordshire and wintering birds are definitely unusual but occurrences of this species in the county seem to have become more regular of late, most often on passage when they can turn up almost anywhere across the county, usually on or around buildings and only remaining for a few days. Remarkably, almost exactly two years ago in February 2017 another Black Redstart spent a few days at another part of Oxford University, namely Lincoln College, similarly frequenting the ancient walls of the college building  I also can recall when we first moved to our house in Kingham in northwest Oxfordshire twenty six years ago, one of the first birds I saw was a Black Redstart flitting around on our dry stone walls. I have never seen one in our garden nor in Kingham since!

Black Redstarts are widespread in southern and central Europe, Asia and northwest Africa extending from Great Britain, south to Morocco and east to central China. It is resident in the warmer south of its range but northern birds migrate southwards for the winter. In Great Britain it is a relatively common passage migrant and winter visitor, being found mainly on the east and southern coasts although some do occur inland.They used to be well known for frequenting the many bombed and derelict buildings in London shortly after the end of the Second World War.

Black Redstarts are a scarce breeding bird in southern and western Britain with only 20-50 pairs breeding but are widespread in Europe and can be found in many small towns and villages, an urban habitat they appear to prefer to their original habitat of stony ground on mountains and cliffs. Doubtless the bare concrete walls and cliff like buildings in industrial and urban areas strike any Black Redstart as a suitable, maybe even a preferable, substitute. On business trips to Germany I regularly saw them around the terminal building at the small airport at Karlsruhe and heard and saw them singing in the ancient walled town of Rothenburg, amongst other locations.

The current incumbent at Christ Church would be a good bird to catch up with but it was obviously not to be on Friday. Discretion was definitely the better part of valour and I resolved to wait, probably until next week when  the snow and ice had thawed and the roads were reasonably safe. The depressing thought did occur to me that with all this snow, ice and freezing temperatures there was every likelihood the Black Redstart would move on or even succumb to the weather.

I awoke on Saturday morning and groaned, as on looking out of the window I found that we were still very much snow and now icebound although the sun was shining brightly from a clear blue sky.Venturing out with the car would still be too risky. I lay in bed and pondered on walking to our local BBOWT reserve of Foxholes and then it struck me. I had dropped my wife off at a railway station yesterday, our local  railway station, the trains were running and the Black Redstart was in Oxford which is where trains from our station pass through on their way to London.

A eureka moment. I could take the train to see the Black Redstart! Despite my qualms about whether it would still be there I decided to take the gamble. The walk from our house to the station was less than twenty minutes. I hastily checked the  train departure  times and found that on Saturday a train went to Oxford every hour and there were no predicted delays for Saturday. Donning warm clothing and packing my camera bag I made my way on icy footpaths to the station and boarded a packed train at 9.51am. In half an hour I was at Oxford and leaving the station walked through the bustling city streets to St Aldates and then down past the Town Hall to enter through the Visitors Gate, that leads to the south frontage of Christ Church and Christ Church Meadows beyond.

It was a beautiful, crisp sunny morning and the grounds although white with snow and ice were busy with tourists of many nationalities.I walked up to the southern frontage of the building and stood on the path looking at the honey coloured walls that were bathed in sunlight. The similarity to a cliff face was not lost on me and undoubtedly neither to the Black Redstart. 

The bare Virginia Creeper that the Black Redstart favoured is dead centre

Christ Church part of the University of Oxford

An area of the wall was partly covered by the spreading bare tentacle like branches of a Virginia Creeper and almost immediately, above the creeper, on a ledge, I saw a small movement. It was a bird and looking more closely I saw it was a small grey bird, and yes it was the Black Redstart. It was as simple and as easy as that.

I took out my camera and started taking images to my heart's content. No one took any notice of me presumably because they assumed I was just another tourist photographing the impressive frontage of Christ Church. No one else seemed to notice the tiny bird dwarfed by the towering walls and hardly conspicuous with its dull grey plumage as it crouched at ground level on the stones.  

When I had first discovered the Black Redstart it remained on the highest ledges but in a series of short flights soon descended to perch on the knots of dead leaves and withered flowers of the creeper. It was continuously active, looking for prey and also spent some time picking off small, very unappetising looking berries from the creeper. I guess with this cold weather and snow cover it was finding its  customary invertebrate prey hard to come by and was having to consume anything that remotely looked like sustenance. At least it was on the sun warmed stone and seemed, from what I could see, to be surviving alright. 

Slowly it worked its way downwards until it was on the ground at the base of the wall where it hopped along looking at the stones for anything to eat.

I was struck by how like a Robin it was in its behaviour. Bright eyed, bobbing and prinking its body, as it perched on the wall or ground, looking around for its next victim. Occasionally it would shiver its rust coloured tail in true redstart fashion. Overall it was dull grey, virtually featureless apart from a conspicuous buff eye ring and an orange rump, upper and under tail coverts and tail. The central tail feathers were dark brown so the orange in the tail was only visible when its tail was partially or fully spread.

Black Redstarts in this non descript plumage are notoriously hard to sex, it could be a female or a first winter male. Only a detailed examination in the hand would give a strong indication of sex and age and obviously that was not going to happen! 

I watched it happily going about its business as some Chinese tourists had their photo taken standing on the grass in front of it despite a sign stating 'Please Keep off the Grass'! I resisted the temptation to join them and get closer to the Black Redstart, although no official came to tell them to move back onto the path.

The Black Redstart commenced working its way back along the base of the wall, then flew up into the creeper, before, with a flick of its wings, it ascended back up onto a ledge and finally flew to the very top of the building as a Blackbird landed nearby and caused it obvious concern.

This was my cue to leave. What a very pleasant morning of birding in the heart of the City of Oxford.

Who would have thought it?