Of all the months in the year June has to be the quietest on the birding front. (Though you might not think so by the length of the present posting). With the breeding season in full swing there are fewer songsters to be heard and their activities are generally less conspicuous when there are eggs to incubate and young to feed and tend. The habit of birds keeping a low profile at this time of year is evident on my local patch in the reduced number of records of many species. But, every cloud has a silver lining, as they say, and compensation comes in many forms. Read on.
During a routine visit to Loch Connell, on the 7th, I felt privileged to watch the activities of a pair of Mute Swans at their nest. As you, reader, may recall the birds had been ‘sitting’ (presumably incubating) for what to me seemed like an age. Today, however, their general demeanour changed and the cob (male) became more attentive, never straying far from the nest and frequently revisiting it as if he knew a fundamental change in his circumstances was about to alter his life. The pen (female) remained sitting tight on the nest, although subtle movements in her body carriage revealed a stirring from beneath. After a considerable time spent watching through my ‘scope my perseverance was suddenly rewarded when a tiny, downy covered head appeared from beneath the feathers on her belly. The cob immediately lent forward and delicately touched the new arrival with his beak as if to say ‘hello’, and to gesture his approval and satisfaction of the new addition to the family. A week later (my next visit to the site, on the 14th), I observed two precious cygnets on the water, sandwiched between both parents for their protection, with the cob leading, to form a formidable defence at the front, and the pen guarding the rear. Over the hill, to the east, Loch Ryan was not without Mute Swans, although these birds were all non-breeders. My highest tally of them was on the 25th when I recorded 14 birds, of which 12 were at Leffnoll and two at the Wig.Following on from the comments I made in May’s report regarding Shelduck, I am pleased to report that a pair with two ducklings was at Loch Connell, on the 7th, where they remained until at least the month’s end. The offspring were not however recently hatched but were well grown, though still downy. I assumed the family must have walked a considerable distance from elsewhere in order to reach their present location, rather than having bred on the site, although this is a possibility: but I like to think that I would have noticed at least one bird - adult or duckling - on previous visits to suggest otherwise.
The so-called ‘dabbling ducks’ are typically associated with freshwater sites at this time of year, so it will be of no surprise to readers that Loch Connell is where I logged my sightings of these birds. First up, Mallard, with 39 drakes and eight juveniles registered on the 21st. Next, three Teal were present on the 7th, along with the same drake Wigeon from the previous month; the latter species stayed throughout June: his appearance noticeably changing on each successive visit as his moult into eclipse plumage took effect.
The sea-water of Loch Ryan hosted 14 Common Scoter on the 3rd, representing my only record of this species during the month. Drake Eider were commonplace here, with a peak count of 208 about the Scar on the 28th. Prior to this, I noted on the 15th that 124 of the birds I saw were showing obvious signs of moult into eclipse plumage; also on this date I observed a female with six recently hatched ducklings in tow, at the Scar; another duck, on the 23rd, was accompanied by two small ducklings. Totally unexpected was my sighting of two Long-tailed Duck close in shore at the Wig on the afternoon (1545 hrs, to be exact) of the 11th. One of the birds at least was an adult male in summer plumage. Remarkable is that the record constitutes my first ever June sighting of this species at Loch Ryan in almost 20 years of coverage. Numbers of Red-breasted Merganser about Wig Bay were disappointingly low, despite birds being present throughout the month; a peak count of 27 was logged on the 23rd.
I never expect to see many divers in June because in this season most will be either on their northerly breeding grounds or summering out on the ocean. I therefore much appreciated the adult Great Northern Diver (in handsome breeding attire, I should add) drifting on the incoming tide at Loch Ryan on the 6th, and a second bird later in the month on the 15th. I had just one sighting of Red-throated Diver - a singleton on the 2nd, impeccably dressed in an immaculate-looking breeding coat that was complimented by the rich-russet coloured tie upon his throat. At Loch Connell, on the 7th, there was a Dabchick (aka Little Grebe), and a pair of Great Crested Grebes which had constructed a new nest (the first having been the subject of predation - by a cow, of all things!). However, come the 21st they were busy on their third attempt (the second having succumbed to a flash flood), well away from the previous ones (which had been close to shore) and placed near to the middle of the loch.
In all probability Curlew are never really absent from the shore and the immediate surrounds of Loch Ryan - they are just sometimes widely dispersed and exceedingly thin on the ground, especially during the period of high summer. I logged this species on seven days this month; most of those I saw were probably either non-or-failed breeders, or birds that had nested successfully and had departed for richer feeding grounds: females especially do this to give their offspring the best chance of survival by leaving them to be tended by the males alone, thus reducing the competition for whatever food might be available. This strategy certainly worked in favour of the species in the past but with today’s changing times the birds now face new threats and challenges. But back to the present report…My first Curlew of the month was indeed a female - recognised by a longer bill compared to males (familiarity with the species is essential for this determination, I should add) - observed at the Wig on the 14th. The peak count was 14 birds on the 23rd. Also on this date, my one and only record of a Dunlin during the month - a lone, handsome fellow, at the Scar: he sported a a large black belly patch and rich-brown upper-parts. Earlier in the month (the 7th) at Loch Connell a summer plumaged male Lapwing graced a muddy patch of shore whilst two pairs of Oystercatcher seemed to be continually defending their grassy nesting area from a couple of patrolling crows. If my records are any indication of the status of Ringed Plover at the Wig then it is likely that, as a breeding species here, they are experiencing hard times. A single bird on the 5th and two on the 23rd were my only observations of this species. One visiting wader that took me quite by surprise was the early passage of two Whimbrel at the Wig on the 12th.
On a pleasant day in June, the 23rd to be exact, I scanned the sea-loch from my house in the early morning. The sun had not yet risen above the horizon but there was ample light to see by and gauge the birdlife at large. Indeed, the early hours are often the best time for me to count birds such as Eider and Mute Swan because visibility (on a fine day) is usually good and, importantly, not impaired by heat haze which can be a real problem after eight-o’clock in the morning and lasting ’til seven-o’clock (or thereabouts) in the evening. (Heat in the atmosphere has a devilish effect on high powered optics such as spotting scopes, rendering their use virtually useless at long range). Anyway, I had just about finished counting a flock of Herring Gull at the Scar when a dark shape caught my eye, moving rapidly across my field of vision. There was no mistaking its outline and after a few moments of excitement had passed I entered the sighting into my notebook - a dark morph Arctic Skua! Through my ‘scope I followed its progress down the loch until I lost view of it in the distance.
I often see quite large aggregations of gulls from my home’s ‘viewing window’, but usually these birds are on the Cairnryan side of Loch Ryan (the opposite side to me!) and although it is possible to guess at their identity, this is not the same thing as knowing; consequently, such gatherings largely go unrecorded by myself even though the likelihood is that the larger birds will be Herring Gulls and the smaller ones Black-headed Gulls. Thus, regarding the latter species, my largest count this month was a mere seven birds (all adults in breeding plumage) at the Scar. Common Gull were similarly few in number with three adults and a second calendar year bird on the 22nd and 24th, and an immature seen on the 28th.
I recorded two Arctic Tern at the Scar on the 20th and 10 there on the 21st. A Common Tern was at the Wig on the 12th and 14th, with seven there on the 20th. Sandwich Tern were more frequently occurring (logged on ten days across the month), with the highest count of 31 birds on the 17th, whilst ten were observed mobbing the Arctic Skua, mentioned earlier, passing the Scar on the 23rd. A feeling of excitement, similar to that I had experienced with the skua, was again kindled during the early morning of the 28th, but this time by a party of seven Manx Shearwater that winged their way passed the very same spit of land at a surprising speed for no sooner had they appeared in view and they were gone.
Gannet, as to be expected, were a common sight both on and flying above the sea-loch, with a peak count of 35 on the 28th. Individuals were observed on the 5th and the 12th taking a short-cut across the Wig fields, thus avoiding having to fly down the loch and passed the sand-flats exposed at the Scar when the tide is out before looping back to reconnect with the sea in Wig Bay. Why only some birds do this and not others is a mystery to me…and seeing that I do not speak ‘Gannet’ to ask them, I guess will remain so! All but four of the birds logged during the month were adult: the immatures comprised a second calendar year bird on the 10th, the others being third calendar year, on the 12th , 13th and 29th.
I had presumed that the two pairs of Heron which, earlier in the year had attempted to nest locally, had abandoned all hope and given up. However, on the 17th, raucous calling attracted my attention and much to my surprise I glimpsed a fledged youngster at one of the nests. I watched as it flew to a tree, then to another perch lower down, where I was able to study it closer. Its gawky appearance amused me; in-between the tracts of juvenile feathers it still bore tatty, straggly-looking plumes of paler down, which served only to enhance its comical appearance to me.
Stating the obvious, birds of prey are predators; consequently, it stands to reason that in order for them to inhabit a viable territory there has to be available sufficient food of the right sort to sustain them. This in turn means that predators - being at the top of the food chain - will be fewer in number than their prey. This also accounts for why these birds are generally seen less frequently compared other species. Buzzard, Kestrel, Peregrine and Sparrowhawk were all given entry into my logbook this month, as indeed they are in most months. An additional entry, however, was also secured - a Hobby seen over the village of Kirkcolm, on the 12th. This species is a rare summer visitor to my local patch, so any that turn up bring me joyous glee. I must admit that I did have to double-check the bird’s credentials, so to speak, and tick off the salient features in order to avoid misidentification of similar-looking, confusion species, such as Red-footed Falcon (a species which I have yet to record in the locality but have not entirely given up hope of so doing). A Tawny Owl (an under-recorded species) was heard calling from within an area of woodland on the afternoon of the 26th. It might seem strange that this species should be voicing itself in the ‘heat of the day’, rather than in the evening but it is my experience that young birds, in particular, do not always behave in ways that we, as humans, expect of them!
Following on from my comments in the May edition of this blog, I anticipated there being few martins and swallows registered in this month’s logbook, and I was not wrong. There was a spike in the tally of House Martins on the 22nd when, funnily enough, 22 were observed. The same day also saw a spike in the number of Swallows, with some 50 birds over the Wig fields. The presence of two Swifts, seen throughout the month above the village, strongly suggests breeding by at least one pair, and in all probability the same birds from last year.
Although I am a regular visitor to woodland in my neighbourhood, I am still amazed at how silent and seemingly bereft of life this habitat can appear during the long months of summer. The wildlife is still there of course but its presence is low key. This, in part at least, is because the breeding season for many species is upon us and it is in their own interest of survival that they remain as inconspicuous as possible, both visibly and audibly; also, the advantage the leaves give to woodland dwellers is perhaps underestimated by the modern human - not only do they effectively suppress noise over even short distances but their distribution in the canopy and shrub layer disrupt the play of light falling on the forest floor where we people tread: light and shade is thus in constant motion making it difficult for our eyes to adjust to quickly enough to detect the quarry we seek. The consequence of this pretence and subterfuge is a round about way of me saying that I recorded few warblers. Three singing Blackcap on the 9th was the best I could muster, along with eight singing Chiffchaff on the same date and just a single Willow Warbler in song on a couple of dates. In an area of scrub, close to the shore of the sea, I did manage to confirm the presence of a pair of Lesser Whitethroat, on the 9th, which in many ways made up for the apparent paucity of warblers this month.
Hereon, I detail a selection of other species that in some way captured my interest this month.
The Bullfinch is a species that is very much under-recorded by myself during the summer months, probably because it is a quiet and unobtrusive bird at the best of times. It thus always feels good to reacquaint oneself, as it were, with a species whose presence is scarce on the pages of my logbook. The distinctive, subdued whistle of one bird caught my ear during a walk through one of the estate woodlands on the 9th.
In my youth - spent in a small village in Leicestershire - the call of the Cuckoo in April (if I was lucky) and May signified the arrival of spring far more so than that of the traditional harbinger, the Swallow. And like most folk at that time in our history, I took the species’ abundance for granted. Alas, here in KIrkcolm the birds’ silence portrays a different story today: so imagine my excitement when I heard one such bird calling from within the village on the 2nd. Ah,…echoes of a bygone age!
Some years fewer Goldfinch are entered into my records compendium than others, especially during the summer. This year seems to be one of the better ones with, apparently, breeding birds aplenty. A party of 20 of these delightful finches danced across the sky, on the17th; they were a splendid sight, the brevity of the moment enhanced by their gay twittering.
The generous (compared with some areas of the country) tracts of woodland about my home village belie the fact that there are perhaps no more than two or three pairs of Great Spotted Woodpecker in residence. A female, accompanied by a red-crowned juvenile, turned up in my garden on the 14th and has been frequent visitors ever since. I saw a family of four in the gardens of the Corsewall Estate, on the 17th.
It is heartening that Greenfinch appear to be making a modest comeback on my local patch, and while they are by no means common their calls have become a regular sound about the village of late. Indeed, there is a male whom frequently sings from the top of a mature conifer close to my garden; and whilst his characteristic ‘dweeze’ sounds might not make him a virtuoso when compared with a Nightingale for example, it is nevertheless a delight for me to hear. In the summer it is usual for me to encounter this solidly built finch either singly or as a pair but on the 23rd I logged a party of six.
There are just a few breeding pairs of Meadow Pipit on my local patch and they are widely scattered. This year a couple of pairs have been particularly obvious to me on account of them choosing to nest beside a well-trodden footpath that circuits the Wig. The agitated calls the birds give to passers-by, such as myself, is a clear indication that there are offspring to be fed. On the 23rd, when I entered the territory of one pair of birds, these calls of anxiety immediately greeted my ears. The closer I approached the more emphatic and persistent became their calls; the further away, the sounds lessened, eventually ceasing when I was presumably no longer considered to be a threat. I lingered in the area for a while at a safe distance away, hoping to get as better idea of where the nest was situated. Numerous people came and went, each time arousing the same verbal response from the birds, to which the pedestrian folk appeared totally ignorant. I can only assume that, from the birds perspective, choosing to nest in so public a place lessened the risk of predation from both ground and aerial assailants which might otherwise have taken advantage of their situation. A risky strategy, perhaps, but if it works for them who is to say differently. This symbiotic relationship (hmm!) had me consider that maybe people serve another purpose other than to desecrate the world in which we all live!
Raven are not often commented upon in these blog postings of mine, partly because these big black birds are still vilified within the minds of some of our society and, quite frankly, nature does not need that kind of prejudice. Nevertheless, these birds deserve mention once in a while, if only to affirm their continued presence in the area. I noted two of these splendid birds, on the 17th.
The Robin is a common bird but if a person were, for example, to rely solely on the number of records entered into my notebook for the present month, then the impression of its status may reflect differently. Why? The species is small and brown (excepting it vermillion face and breast of course…for those able to see the colour red, that is!) so merges well with its preferred woodland habitat. And outside the garden environment it can be elusive, or at least unobtrusive. The majority of my records of the species arise from birds in song, which is commonly heard from autumn through to mid-to-late spring. Thus, for the early part of this month my records were few and sporadic and it was only towards the month’s close that birds on my patch began to be more obviously vocal.
The Siskin population in my neighbourhood fluctuates widely and the number of breeding birds can be especially variable; this year would seem to be above average in that respect, if the amount of twittering I heard was an indication of things. On the 17th, alone, there were two pairs in the vicinity of my garden.
Lastly, I draw your attention to the humble Starling. When I see such a common species every day the changes within the population are not always or immediately apparent to me. It is only when the birds begin to form appreciable-sized flocks that I notice these, often subtle, seasonal changes: a post-breeding flock of over 140 birds on the 16th being an example.
This article was provided by courtesy of the author, S. Grover
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