A grey day for the reds

Today was the day for cleaning out the bird boxes. Last year's efforts are consigned to the bin and the residences made ready for the new tenants. Birds will reuse old nest sites, even those of another species but like ourselves prefer a new start. The intricacy and the neatness of these creations always amazes and delights me. Constructions of twigs, moss, feathers, even spider's web are woven into perfect cups and domes. The nest box contents take the shape of the box so it is more difficult to identify the bird responsible. The size of the entrance hole is one discriminating factor.

Contents of a nest box - probably a tit's nest with man-made fibres and what looks like horse hair

The shambolic collection of twigs that passes for a wood pigeons' nest is made up for by their scatter gun approach to breeding. Instead of investing a lot of care and effort in one or possibly two broods, they breed over and over again, reckoning on at least one success out of many. Judging by the flocks of pigeons on the surrounding fields, it seems to work.

Hule Moss

A fruitless visit to Hule Moss, a lochan on a high moor, got me thinking. The overwintering geese, numbering in thousands, and the other birds of passage had left. The summer visitors were yet to arrive so the moor was empty apart from its permanent residents, the most valuable creatures in the United Kingdom – red grouse.

 People will pay thousands to come and blast these feathered targets out of the sky which makes them, pound for pound, worth more than the most expensive bull in any show ring.

There is about as much eating on a pigeon as there is on a grouse, they too are good strong fliers and many a farmer would let those with avicidal tendencies come and shoot as many as they wished for free. It might save a few hen harriers from the gamekeepers. 

The local pheasant shooters have been keeping an eye out for grey squirrels but have been defeated in their attempts to keep the village grey-free. I saw one boldly raiding the bird table of a house near the burn then scampering off into the woods. Our colonies of reds have slowly disappeared over the past decade. At one time, they seemed to be expanding and we thought they were protected by the treeless expanse of the moor separating them from the greys in the neighbouring parish. Alas, they have gone. The pleasure the sight of red Tufty brings is not a quality shared by their American cousins. The red with its ear tufts and delicate features and neat movements is a pleasing animal, the burly grey is not. Perhaps I am guilty of anthropomorphism but I do see the greys as an invading pest with gangster tendencies and the reds as victims.

If we have to have shooting parties then pigeons and grey squirrels should be top of the list of targets. Both move fast and would provide the test of skill the guns say they are looking for -just a thought.

Spring hopes

Despite the biting wind that has a chill factor to freeze the blood, our little strip of coast seems to have maintained its own micro-climate. The forecasts are full of yellow and amber warnings and pictures of blizzards and drifts but we have had nary a flake. The snowdrops, aconites and crocuses are flowering in the lea of the hawthorn hedge, the Christmas rose has been superseded by its Lenten cousin and “Janwar's cauld blast” is past. Are we to escape? There are reports of thunder-snow and, having experienced it (Blog30/11/2010), I am happy for the storms to pass us by.

Hares are congregating in the fields as they start their long mating season. The chasing and “boxing” that they indulge in are, apparently not between rival males but are most likely between jacks and jills as the females test the persistence and stamina of prospective partners!

What triggers the behaviour? How do usually solitary animals know when and where to assemble?

Is it the lengthening day...the earlier sunrise? It surely can't be the temperature that sets their internal clock ticking... not in this freezing wind.

The roe deer are shedding the hodden grey of their winter coats and turning russet. Even the plumage on the garden birds is starting to look brighter. There have been fewer truly wild visitors to the feeders this year....a nuthatch and a couple of long tailed tits.. and then only fleetingly, presumably due to the mild winter. The residents, the tits, the sparrows, the blackies and the robin have had it all to themselves.... including, of course, Geoffrey, the cock pheasant, avoiding the guns like a WWI staff officer, well away from the front.

The surfers at our beach still defy the cold and try to catch a wave. I've tried boogie boarding in the Barbados.. an alliterative experience.. but in the North Sea... in January?

February is here, the month that folk lore says the birds choose their mates. Winter is past no matter what the weather.

And yet....today..bright and sunny... is Candlemas and the old rhyme says -

If Candlemas be dry and bright, winter will have another bite

We shall see