Letter from Charante

I don’t doubt that your first reaction will be, why has the Birdman posted a mid-week missive? Good question!

The reason is that I have received a birding report from a friend residing across La Manche which I consider worthy of publication on it's own. Not only is it well written, but it is an interesting account of the bird watching observations by someone relatively new to bird watching. 

Hopefully there will be more to follow, and maybe we will get to know more about Barney (with a photo?) in due course.  

From Napoleon Birdapart…….

“Under grey French dawn skies and shivering in two degrees of frost, a family of Great Tits gather in, and around their real estate, in readiness for the conflict to come. Barney the Owl has returned from his evening hunt and settled high above in the bows of a leafless winter Oak as if to referee proceedings.

But for now, there is a temporary lull in activities as a dark brown shape and the distinctive scream, of an eager Buzzard, searches adjacent fields for a small rabbit - alive in a field or road killed in an adjacent lane. It disappears, as the Blue Tits in their Gilet Jaunes uniform of striking yellow feather jackets with their scolding song-trilled voice, stand guard.   

Quick wingbeats and low exploratory swoops signal the arrival of the Greenfinches; dull but showing just a hint of the apple green summer plumage to come. Staccato trills pierce the air inviting more of their feeding flock to regain territory lost by their three-day absence in hunting for future nesting sites. The Tits hold firm and find allies among the now number threatened Tree Sparrows who also feed and drink occasionally from this favoured Maison de l’Oiseau.

"Maison de l'oiseau"

Barney looks on, and a farmhouse cat who should know better senses his presence, certainly seeing his rounded heart shaped white head and deep black eyes, leaps a low wooden fence, disappearing into relative safety. Barney shuffles his wings and settles once more to watch the action.

The Tits are holding out; the Sparrows are causing confusion amongst the finches breaking into their ranks. A Robin appears, diving down to the ground for his usual morning feed, but has no intention of staying for more than a second. Still the Finches pester the occupants, especially as some of the Sparrows have decided enough is enough.

They say a crowd invites a crowd, and the flurry of wings and the chorus of birdsong is attracting visitors. A small flock of Woodlark circle high above but have no intention of joining the fray, heading off east into a very pale and cold rising January sun. It's all over! The Tits have won; or have they? The Finches have definitely flown, the Tits aren't hanging around either!

The reason comes within a Westerly wind carrying a long drawn out high pitched squeal, followed immediately by the tell-tale signs of bowed wings and the rust red body of a Red Kite. Now how did they sense that?

Napoleon Birdapart.”