A slow start to spring

Despite the tantalizing period of exceptionally early spring warmth, it has been something of a slow start to the season. There have been some early nests, with young Robins, Song Thrushes and Blackbirds evident in many gardens across the county, but other individuals were held up by the returning cold conditions. Now, however, it feels as if the pace is quickening.

We have seen a succession of arrivals, as returning summer migrants have been quick to settle on favoured breeding territories and deliver song. The Chiffchaffs were the first of these to be noticed here, around the brecks, followed by Woodlark, Blackcap, Willow Warbler and, most recently, Whitethroat. Early Reed and Sedge Warblers appeared late-month, with numbers of these reed- and sedge-bed songsters now increasing. The hirundines (swallows and martins) were slow to return in numbers and my first sightings of these summer visitors were behind those of recent years.

We have also had a smattering of passage migrants, in particular a good arrival of Ring Ouzels. These striking thrushes resemble a large Blackbird but with beautiful sculptured plumage markings and, in adult males, a white crescent around the throat. We have also seen some less common visitors in the shape of at least two Hoopoes, continental breeders that have overshot their breeding grounds off the back of southerly winds. They won’t linger, however, and will soon reorientate to return south. One of the most fascinating aspects of the unfolding migration has been the return of the Cuckoos, fitted with satellite tags by the BTO. Regular updates on their progress continue to appear on the BTO website (www.bto.org/cuckoos). The five tagged last summer, were all captured in East Anglia and it will be interesting to see if they return to the same sites.

The pattern of activity seen in our birds has been mirrored in the county’s butterflies, with a good number of early reports of species that overwinter in the adult form, followed by several lean weeks in which few sightings were forthcoming. Other species are now being reported on the wing, including Orange Tip and Holly Blue, so it does feel as if the butterfly season is now properly underway. Other insects have been taking advantage of early season nectar, with good numbers of bumblebees foraging in my garden and quite a number of hoverflies as well. The changeable weather that we see at this time of the year does deliver something of a stop-start feel and while it can appear that spring is here to stay one morning, the next can suggest a return to winter. It is a great time of the year to be out and about though as each new sighting delivers a thrill.

A careful nester

Even though she does not know that I have worked out where her nest is, this Robin is taking no chances. If she happens to see me pass near the window she immediately drops the piece of leaf, grass or plant stem that she is carrying. Such is the way with Robins when nest building; ever alert, they pause a little way from the nest and scan for potential danger before moving towards it. If they feel unsure then they will drop what they are carrying or even attempt to lead you away from the nest.

I had found the nest yesterday, a base of leaves placed untidily towards the top of a climbing honeysuckle. It was easy enough to spot, the ‘wrong sort of leaves’ in a climber to which they did not belong. Without approaching any closer I left the nest alone, knowing that all I needed to do was sit inside the house and watch. Soon after, the Robin appeared. Furtive and without any nesting material, it flew in briefly as if to check the nest remained untouched. A few minutes later and it was back, leaf in bill, to continue the process of nest construction. This process would extend over several days, the final act the lining with finer material. With luck, the eggs would follow one per day and then the female would begin incubation.

Robins tend to nest fairly low down, typically below two metres, but the wide variety of nest sites used can make finding their nests difficult. The nest may be hidden in a pile of dead vegetation, be tucked away in a bank or nestled within some object hanging inside an old shed or outbuilding. They will also take to open-fronted nest boxes provided they are placed within suitable cover or nest in the leaf litter of a woodland floor. Although the nests are well hidden they may still be the target of nest predators. The other summer, we lost one nest to the local Badgers, the irony being that the Robins had used Badger hair in the nest lining.

These are surprisingly aggressive and territorial birds and a nesting pair will not tolerate the presence of other Robins within the breeding territory. Sometimes this aggression spills over onto other species, with the superficially similar-looking Dunnock often the unfortunate victim of this seemingly random violence. It strikes me as rather odd that a bird as confiding as a Robin – I have one that often joins me when I am turning over the vegetable beds – should be both so secretive and so aggressive. Such traits do deliver a bird with real character and it is easy to see why we have taken it to our hearts.

Two birds in the bush

There was a certain amount of relief the other morning when I finally found out what was going on with our nesting Robins. The saga began six weeks ago; a spot of nesting in the grounds at work revealed a Robin’s nest, complete and fully lined, just waiting for eggs. This was clearly the nest belonging to the pair that spent a lot of time around the entrance gate, the male singing from the avenue of trees and, occasionally, the nearby gate post.

A week later and the nest still sat empty. Curious to see what was going on I used the car as a hide and watched for signs of activity. I soon saw a hen collecting nesting material but, to my surprise, instead of carrying it to the nest, she took it to an ivy-covered tree less than 20 foot distant. I watched her for a while to be certain of what she was doing. Several more loads of nesting material followed, each time the bird was cautious in her approach to the new site, spending a short while in the ivy and leaving empty-beaked. I figured that the building work that was going on next door, and within a few feet of the original nest, had prompted her to give up and to try elsewhere.

Another week later and it was time to locate the second nest. I had a pretty good idea where it was and soon found it, complete with three eggs. ‘Great’ I thought, ‘we are up and running’. As a matter of course, I went to check the original nest and was stunned to find it contained six eggs. Was the female using both nests or were there two females nesting in the territory of the one male ­– a case of simultaneous bigamy. My most recent weekly visit has, finally, revealed that it is indeed two females, since both were sitting on their eggs upon my last visit. The female in the tree popped off the nest and took refuge in the ivy while I checked her nest contents (four warm eggs), while the other female simply peered over her nest cup and looked down at me. I left her alone but will return in a few days to see how she is doing.

Robins are essentially monogamous and are renowned for their territorial aggression so it is unusual to see two females with a single male. It does happen though, as it has done here, the two females maintaining their own territories within the larger territory of the male. It will be interesting to see how the birds fare once there are hungry mouths to feed.

Summer heat

July's heat drives me to seek out the shade offered by our young stand of Hazel. These adolescent trees, still untidy in habit, are one of the greenest things left in the garden; everything else looks faded and listless, the bone-dry soil holding little relief for thirsty plants.

It is easy to overlook the impact of the summer heat on our wildlife. While we can retreat to the cool of the thick-walled cottage or the deep shade offered by a patch of woodland, other creatures remain exposed to the full intensity of the sun. This is certainly the case for the Reed Warblers whose reed bed nests often lack covering shade. The females will actively shade their helpless young, perching above them in the nest during the hottest part of the day. The females obviously feel the heat themselves, panting with bill wide open in an attempt to keep cool. Quite suddenly one of the females will 'collapse', tipping from her sitting position onto one side as if in a faint. The bird will then raise a wing high to the vertical. This seems to do the trick, perhaps exposing veins close to the surface under the wing and reducing her body temperature through heat exchange. Just as suddenly she will recover. It will be the youngest chicks - those still naked and helpless - who will suffer most in this incessant heat.

Some creatures clearly revel in the sun's rays; a female Blackbird in the garden basks on the warm slate path, her wing feathers spread and her body feathers fluffed up. Such basking helps to drive out feather parasites but comes at a price, the bird panting heavily in the heat and only able to remain in the open for short bouts before retreating to the relative cool of the summer borders. I have seen other birds indulge in this means of feather maintenance, including one of the local Robins, but others prefer the bird bath or make use of the now dusty soil to bathe. House Sparrows, in particular, seem rather fond of a dust bath.

Many of the insects seem to be doing well and Norfolk's moth traps positively bulge with hundreds of specimens caught on these sultry nights. This bodes well for the local bats, providing an abundance of prey, and presumably for the Nightjars nesting just a few miles away in the forest. Of course, such tinderbox conditions place all of the forest creatures at risk should a careless cigarette butt or piece of discarded glass bring about a forest fire. It is a time for us to be considerate, to keep our bird baths full (and clean) and to think of the consequences of lazy behaviour.

What's in a name

I have been leafing through the new edition of my favoured bird guide, a publication that will accompany me on my birdwatching trips around the county. I hope that it will serve me as well as the battered copy of the first edition that it is now replacing. The book contains new information and so recognises new species, created where previously recognised races have been split into two. So now, for example, I have Yellow-legged and Caspian Gull. Annoyingly, for me at least, the guide contains some of the creeping changes in bird names that seems to come from an increasing Americanisation of our language. Gone are the Red-throated, Black-throated and Great Northern Divers, the ‘Diver’ now replaced by ‘Loon’. I cannot imagine any birdwatcher I know referring to the ‘Great Northern Loon’ at Whittlingham Country Park. At least the authors have not gone as far as those of a bird list that I saw recently; they’d replaced Common Gull with ‘Mew Gull’ and the term ‘Skua’ with ‘Jaeger’!

Somebody suggested that standardising the English names in this way is a sensible approach, enabling our New World cousins to understand which species we are writing or talking about. My natural response to this is that we already have names in place that enable those working on birds, in whichever country, to understand which species we mean. These are the Scientific names, based on the binomial system devised by Linnaeus.

Of course, such changes are not new and if you browse through bird guides from generations past, you will see many other examples of bird names that have changed. The Yellow Bunting of 1943 is now the Yellowhammer, the Hedge Sparrow is now Dunnock or Hedge Accentor and, going back further, the Red-breast is now the Robin. This last change of name is particularly interesting as the ‘Robin’ bit in ‘Robin Red-breast’ was a sort of country or folk name, in much the same way as some people refer to ‘Jenny Wren’. Imagine if we started calling the Wren, the ‘Jenny’!

I am often struck by how much more charm there is in the local names of birds than in many of the common names that we use at the national level. The ‘bee bird’ for Spotted Flycatcher is one of my favourite local Norfolk names but there are others: Bunt Lark (Corn Bunting), Blood Olp (Bullfinch – derived from ‘alpe’, the oldest known name for this bird and used by Chaucer) and the Sea Dotterel (Turnstone) are just three of many.

Whatever your views, names remain important because they enable us to communicate about these creatures and share our passions for the natural world.

A song before dawn

Lying in bed in the half-light before dawn I can hear a chorus of bird song. The upward shift in temperatures has delivered the first signs of spring and it seems that many of the local birds are responding to this. The chorus is dominated by Blackbirds but interspersed with their rich melodic warblings are others, the plaintive tones of a Robin and the thrice-repetitive notes of a Song Thrush. This is a pleasant way to start the day, especially since it is a Sunday; the post office vans and lorries are silent, leaving the birds unchallenged in this urban soundscape.

Early season song lacks the volume of later in the year but it does provide you with an opportunity to pick out individual songsters and to become more familiar with their particular songs. It is also a time when you really notice just how many birds are singing in the dark before dawn. Later into the year and dawn will have already come and gone while you are still deep in slumber. The question of why birds sing early in the morning, often before dawn, is one that has interested researchers for many decades and even now, despite the amount of work that has been carried out, we still do not have a complete answer. One of the current hypotheses is that birds sing at this time of the day because it represents a trade-off between the conflicting needs to defend a territory and the need to find food to replace overnight energy losses. Fitter birds should be able to sing for longer, so their delivery of song at this hour could be used by females as a sign of the male’s quality.

Studies have revealed that the dawn chorus peaks at a time when the level of territorial intrusions by other males is at its peak. As such, a territory-holding male should proclaim his ownership of the territory in order to counter this threat. Because of the low light levels just prior to dawn, visual means of display are limited in their effectiveness and song offers a more suitable alternative, the bird being able to deliver his message to would-be intruders. The low light levels may also limit feeding opportunities and, while there may be enough light to sing from a favoured perch, there may not be sufficient light to locate food safely and effectively.

One interesting aspect of song production is that a number of species will quite happily sing during the darkness of night itself, particularly in the presence of street lighting. Some observers mistake such nocturnal warblings for the song of a Nightingale, when they are far more likely to be Robins and Blackbirds.

A Christmas tune

The dark gloom of these December mornings is softened somewhat by the wistful tunes of singing robins. While all our other songsters have fallen silent, the robin continues to sing in defence of its territory right through the winter months. Holding a territory is incredibly important for a robin and it is only during the most severe of winter weather that the pattern of territories may break down altogether. Even the females may set up their own winter territories, often close to where they will breed the following season, and proclaim ownership of these through song.  The winter song contains certain phrases that denote territory ownership and these also appear in the subtly different breeding season song. What are missing from the winter song though are the sexual phrases used in establishing a bond with a mate.

There is a strong tradition associating this confiding and popular bird with Christmas and it is always interesting to see how many Christmas cards arrive with a robin on their cover.  In fact, robins first appeared on cards soon after the custom of sending them at Christmas first took off commercially back in the 1860s. David Lack, writing in his famous book ‘The Life of the Robin’, noted that the use of the robin on Christmas cards probably stemmed from similarity of the robin’s red breast to the bright red uniform worn by Victorian postmen; many of the early card designs showed a robin with an envelope in its mouth.

Despite its confiding nature, and our enduring affection for this bird, it is worth noting that the robin can be a particularly quarrelsome species. The territorial song and red breast are important components of a display used to deter other robins from trespassing on an established territory. While the song proclaims “this is mine, stay away”, the red breast is used in more direct encounters. During a territorial dispute two robins will begin by singing at each other, with the territory owner attempting to sing from a higher perch than the intruder. This enables him to show off his red breast to maximum effect. If, for some reason, the territory holder finds himself positioned below the intruder he will throw his head back, again to maximise the amount of red breast on display. Such displays are usually sufficient to see-off the intruder but, if not, a ferocious fight may break out. The red breast is so important in this pattern of behaviours that a robin will even attack a bunch of red breast feathers. So, as the season of goodwill approaches – with the robin as its symbol – it is worth remembering that our beloved national bird has another side to its character.

Winter songsters

There have been a few warmer days of late, premature hints of a spring that is still a number of weeks away. Such teasing glimpses make February burdensome – winter can’t still be upon us. I want to get out and watch nature springing into life. I am not the only one eager to get going, for outside in the early morning darkness a song thrush is singing; its strident notes striking out above the plaintive winter song of a robin. The robin is one of the few birds to defend a territory year round and this is why its wistful tunes can be heard throughout the winter months. But the song thrush is a less regular songster at this time of the year and its performance is an optimistic sign that winter will soon be over.

The impression ones gets when listening to a song thrush is of a singer that enjoys the act of performance, something that is reflected in the bold clarity of the delivered phrases and the deceptive simplicity of structure. Each song thrush will have a repertoire of some 100 or so different phrases and appears to select from these almost at random, putting several together and often repeating a sequence a number of times over. This fondness for a rhythmic repetition of repeated phrases may be one of the reasons why the song thrush features so prominently in poetry. One of the best examples of this comes in Tennyson’s ‘The Throstle’ but others, including Thomas Hardy, Robert Browning and Edward Thomas, all draw on this English songster. Edward Thomas, undoubtedly the least well-known of these poets, featured our various thrushes in 15 or so of his 142 poems and his use of colloquial speech rhythms is well-suited to the repetitive nature of the song.

The presence of repeated phrases is characteristic of the song thrush and very useful for separating this species from another late winter songster, the mistle thrush. The latter species has a song that is more reminiscent of a blackbird, though harsher in tone with a faster tempo. This is delivered from the upper branches of a tree and is loud and far-carrying. Many authors have commented upon the feeling of sadness that derives from the mistle thrush song. Perhaps this is added to by its habit of singing on bleak, overcast days or during periods of wind and rain, a behaviour that has earned it the local name of ‘stormcock’. Although I admire the mistle thrush for singing, indifferent to the harsh backdrop of a late winter storm, I prefer the optimism offered by the song thrush: “Spring is coming, spring is coming, spring is coming”.