Expect the Unexpected

Having decided to leave the kingfishers to their own devices for the time being, perhaps it was time for me to catch up with more dependable old friends - in particular, a Barn Owl that hunts within a few miles of home.  I first spotted him a couple of years ago when I was travelling on a bus to work.  He was quartering a field of rough grass and scrub, and, rather thrillingly, flew alongside the bus for fifty yards or so.  Sure enough, I went back to the same spot a few days later and, bang on schedule, he emerged from the north, following the line of a ditch and hunted over the same ground for about twenty minutes.  I haven't visited this place since last autumn though.

No matter how many times I see a Barn Owl, I always marvel at how silent the birds are in flight.  However, when I visited his hunting ground a few days ago, it was all too silent.  I have read recently* that the past two winters have accounted for a decrease of probably 70 or 80% of Barn Owl numbers.  The prolonged cold spell and snow covering the ground would have made life especially difficult for owls that depend heavily on catching small mammals, such as voles and mice.  I can only conclude that my local owl succumbed to the cold and starvation during December, when the weather was at its most inclement.

Feeling slightly deflated, then, I wondered what to do with the rest of my morning.  I had heard that a few miles away there was a local stronghold for water voles, another species that is in decline, but for sharply contrasting reasons.  Habitat loss and predation by mink has seen a decline of around 95% in the water voles' range in the last one hundred years, according to a study by the Wildlife Trusts.  In Oxfordshire, in my experience, this means that populations only seem to occur in small pockets, scattered across the county.  Certainly, I have not seen a water vole along my local stretch of the Thames.  So, it was more in hope than expectation that I set off.

Rather surprisingly, though, almost the first stretch of river that I chose produced a bold and rather entertaining water vole.  He swam and fed within view for a good hour.  The edited highlights are available to view below.  Once again, the local wildlife had not failed to surprise or delight.

*RSPB Birds Magazine

Excitement as Bird Perches on Branch

In a development akin to the pontiff discovering his gaff has a ballustraded platform on the upper floor, The Outside Loo can report avian activity on the new artificial perch at the river.  However, the more alert amongst you will notice that it is not a kingfisher.

I did manage to film one of the birds earlier in the year.  The film below is from April, when there was much less foliage on the willows and the birds were easier to view.  Even so, this is still quite a distant shot.  The bird's call can be heard quite clearly all the same.

However, having spent many fruitless hours hiding under camouflage netting on the riverbank since, it became apparent that I wasn't going to get the photograph that I want.  The kingfishers did not use the new branch once.  I concluded that either I wasn't as hidden as well as I had supposed, or that the branch wasn't useful to these birds.  It simply isn't on their normal flightpath, for instance.

Defeated, I retreated deeper into the undergrowth, further away from the bankside and in a less favourable position for taking photographs.  Almost immediately both birds appeared, calling loudly  to each other and perching just yards away, but out of range of my camera.  I must have been correct to seek a better hiding place.  I didn't want to consider that if I had remained where I was I would have got the shot.

Goldie Lookin Pained

All Right.  I know.  I only wrote this story, so that I could use this headline.  Stick with me though, because there is a story attached; namely that on the way home from the river yesterday afternoon, I came across a goldfinch sitting in the middle of the road.  He didn't move as I approached him and only half-heartedly flapped about when I bent to pick him up.  Supposing that he must have come second in a head-on encounter with a passing vehicle, I ushered him to the side of the road, simultaneously directing traffic around us both; but, it was apparent that this was a goldfinch that wasn't going to take to the skies again in a hurry and would be vulnerable to predation.  That is provided he didn't stagger back into the path of the local traffic first.

Now, my recent record with rescuing small birds is pretty inauspicious, to say the least.  It stands at Grim Reaper 3 The Outside Loo 0.  So, the odds didn't look great for this poor chap.  No matter, I threw my hat over him, gently stuffed him into my pocket and cycled the 5 miles or so home.  He must have grown very attached to that hat, because I couldn't part him from it when I eventually closed the door on his new, temporary home - rather ironically the basket used to transport the cat to the vet.

All evening our hapless goldfinch slept his headache off in his knitted bed, paying no heed to the water and niger seed I had thoughtfully sourced for him.  Just before I retired to my own bed, though, I checked him again.  Encouragingly, he was standing up, was all fluffed up as, I believe, most healthy birds are when they are roosting, with a healthy-looking amount of droppings adorning my favourite beanie.

Which brings us to today.  An early morning inspection confirmed that he was more than ready to take his chance in the outside world again.  So, we made the trip back to the spot at which I had first discovered him, albeit with the cage covered in a thick blanket so that he wouldn't flap about and distress himself.  This is where I took the rather unimpressive photograph at the top of this entry, of our patient leaving his sick bay. (In my defence, it was difficult to choreograph the removal of the blanket, the opening of the basket door and standing back out of the way, while endeavouring to capture the whole process on film).

Still, I'm happier with the headline.

Take Me To The River

I live about ten miles from one of Oxfordshire's major rivers and usually get down there once or twice a month.  Lately, however, I have been visiting twice a week, as the river really comes alive in May.  Recently, I have encountered cuckoos, hobbies and at least four types of warblers - all the usual spring migrants in fact.  However, it is the kingfishers that really interests me and, as they were not in evidence at all over the winter, I have been keen to catch up with how they are doing on "my" stretch of river.  The species would appear to have suffered heavy losses last winter.  I have only seen one pair of kingfishers over a 4 or 5-mile stretch of water.  It was a similar story over the previous winter though and, on the evidence of my own experience last summer, they appeared to bounce back really well.

I have been especially looking forward to getting down to the river this week, as the previous weekend my fellow riparian Finchley and I had installed a new artificial perch over the river, from which no self-respecting kingfisher could resist fishing.

You'll be as keen as I am, then, to see the latest footage that I filmed.

Typically, while I was setting up, a male bullfinch landed on the perch and mooched around for a while before I had even unpacked my camera.  No matter, I was in for the long haul and made myself comfortable.  So, you'll be pleased to know that my morning sat by the river in the cold north-westerly wind wasn't completely wasted.  I managed to capture this footage before I left.

Oh well.  There's always tomorrow.

Another Heath Lost to the Dry Spring

If you follow The Guardian's Country Diary articles, you will know that today was Veronica Heath's last entry.   Read The Guardian's Homage to Veronica Heath.

Estimates vary as to how long she has been writing her regular column, but she put it at around 40 years, which will do for me.  For me, Veronica's writing has always induced a moment of temporary escapism into the Northumberland countryside.  I suppose 83 is a reasonable age at which to retire. Catch up with Veronica Heath's favourite entries here..