Bearded Tits much in evidence

Despite its name the Bearded Tit is not related to the familiar Blue and Great Tits that we see in our gardens. In fact, it is not entirely clear where it should be placed in terms of avian relatives. Previous studies had suggested that it should be regarded as a parrotbill but more recent work implies that its affinities are more closely linked to the larks. Of course, this matters little to the bird itself, nor to most birdwatchers. It shows a number of similarities to the tits in terms of appearance and it is certainly equally appealing. Interestingly, the latest revision to the English names ascribed to our birds has seen a reversion to a rather charming old name for the bird, namely Bearded Reedling. The male sports a rather handsome black ‘moustache’ and the species is associated with reedbeds so this could catch on. Certainly, it is a less contentious suggestion than some of those put forward for other birds – like Red-throated Loon (Red-throated Diver) and Mew Gull (Common Gull).

Two Bearded Reedlings have been seen on the local reserve over recent weeks, a rather welcome addition to a site on which they have never bred. Their appearance comes at a time of the year when, following a successful breeding season, many individuals undertake significant dispersive movements. Such movements are one reason why the species has been able to recover from a period when it looked as if it would be lost from Britain as a breeding species. During the winter of 1947, following loss of suitable breeding habitat, widespread persecution from egg collectors and a run of cold winters, there were thought to be fewer than five breeding pairs in the country – a single bird in Norfolk and 3-4 pairs at Minsmere.

Cold winters still have a big impact on the population but the combination of strong powers of dispersal and high levels of productivity help them bounce back rapidly. Not only do Bearded Reedlings compress their breeding attempts into an unusually short period, they often overlap successive attempts, enabling them to produce good numbers of chicks. The chicks leave the nest before they can fly and become independent at just 20-25 days of age.

With good numbers of these birds moving around the countryside, now is a good time to catch up with them. Sites with large reedbeds, such as in the Broads or along the North Norfolk coast, are well worth a visit. Although the cinnamon-brown colouration can make them difficult to spot they can be surprisingly approachable. Their characteristic pinging contact call often reveals their presence, as pairs or small parties work their way through a reedbed in search of food.

Out on the marsh

It has been a good winter for Rough-legged Buzzards, with three working the grazing marshes that flank the Rivers Waveney and Yare, inland from Yarmouth. It is one of my favourite parts of East Anglia and getting out on the marshes delivers you back into the wild and into the winter realm of these and other birds.

I had not chosen the best of days for my visit but I had been cooped up at home, head down and working, for too long. I needed to clear my thoughts and re-engage with the landscape and its wild creatures; the north coast would be too busy and so the marshes beckoned. Parking at St. Olaves I struck out north through the boatyards and up onto the bank that skirts Fritton Marsh, leading out onto ‘The Island’. A small team of reed cutters were at work, a stack of recently cut reeds the sign of a productive morning and their distant banter matched by the chattering calls of a passing party of Bearded Tits.

It was a good walk out to my chosen viewpoint and, with many stops along the way to scan and watch a mix of waders and wildfowl, I found that I had used up the best of the weather. No sooner had I settled down by the old mill than the darkening clouds released a flurry that moved from sleet to snow and back again. I had banked on these just being showers but right now this was not good weather for seeing buzzards. In fact two of the Rough-legged Buzzards were here but, like me and like a solitary Marsh Harrier, they were hunkered down and sitting out the shower. One was sat on the stout upright of a farm gate, several hundred metres distant; the other, further off to the right, was on the deck. There is very little that looks more miserable than a raptor in the wet and the mood of one of the two birds was not helped by the fact that it was being harassed by some of the local corvids. For the next fifty minutes we sat out the shower and then, gradually, a growing pale band on the horizon gestured at better weather moving in.

The brightening sky brought better viewing conditions. I was able to watch the closer bird, which also sensed the better conditions, as it shook itself and looked around. I didn’t think I would see it take to the air and begin hunting but it did make one short flight in response to the crows. More showers followed, prompting my departure, but I went away with the sense that I had shared something with these birds today.