As the reed beds at Cardiff Bay Wetlands Reserve are extensive and quite dense I hear the resident Reed buntings more often than I see them so I was charmed, during yesterday’s visit, by the close proximity on the boardwalk and very confiding nature of this handsome male. I can’t help but wonder if he thought I might give him a seed reward as he strutted this way and that, with all the swagger of someone used to performing on a catwalk rather than a boardwalk.
There’s a particular branch on a particular tree alongside the River Ely where a Grey heron sits and cogitates about life, the universe and, probably, where its next meal is coming from.
The heron is mostly obscured from the view of passing dog walkers by the riverside trees amongst which he sits but at least one keen-eyed photographer (moi) knows this is a favourite spot and looks for him there.
These three photos of old man heron (though it could be a female – I’m not sure how you tell the gender of Grey heron, or even if you can) were taken at the same spot, almost exactly a month apart, on 31 December, 25 January and 26 February.
And, now that I look at them together, I’m not sure if it is the same bird – I’ve always assumed it was because of the bird’s preference for this particular spot. His plumage looks a little different, though there is a pale spot near the end of his beak that is unchanged from one month to the next. What do you think?
The most numerous bird species in Monday’s murmuration (see Wednesday’s blog for photos) was undoubtedly the Black-tailed godwit (Limosa limosa). With their long legs, necks and beaks and well-proportioned bodies, these are elegant birds.
We have two species of godwit in Britain, Black-tailed and Bar-tailed (Limosa lapponica), and, at first glance, they can be difficult to tell apart but, as you can see in some of my photos, the Black-tailed have broad white wing-bars and their white tails finish with a black band, hence their name.
Some of these local birds are starting to change in to their breeding plumage of brick-red heads, necks and breasts, which is why the birds’ colours pictured here are so different. Only a very small number of Black-tailed godwits breed in the UK; most, if not all, of the birds pictured will soon be heading north-west to their breeding grounds in Iceland.
And that breeding location is one of the reasons Black-tailed godwits are now on the British red list, as the lowland Icelandic grasslands these birds favour are increasingly being converted to arable production and forestry. Climate change and environmental pressures are also affecting the locations in Britain where the birds over-winter, so they are facing pressure all year round. I feel privileged to have seen so many of these stunning creatures at such close quarters and to see their incredibly well synchronised aerial display earlier this week.
According to a research report* published on the British Trust for Ornithology’s website, the Shelduck (Tadorna tadorna) was ‘one of the most common waterbird species at Cardiff Bay prior to barrage-closure’. When the report was written, in 2003, Shelduck were still using the Bay as a roosting site between tides, albeit in small numbers. Twenty-two years later, the Bay has become so overwhelmed by human water traffic (jetboats, speedboats, water taxis, yachts, kayakers, paddleboarders) that it is rare to see Shelduck within the Bay itself.
Fortunately, there are still reasonably untouched areas of mudflat along the coast between Cardiff and Newport, and Bridgwater Bay, a National Nature Reserve renowned for its population of Shelducks, is a relatively short flight across the Bristol Channel from Cardiff Bay. So, the birds can often be seen, at a distance, feeding on the tidal mudflats outside the Barrage at low tide. And, occasionally, as happened one day last week, a pair will arrive early and wait for the lowering tide along the beach below Penarth Heads or, in this case, in the Barrage basin. This is the only time I get to see these beautiful birds up close so I sat on a rock and watched and, as the mud was exposed, took this short video of them hoovering and filtering the mud for tiny invertebrates.
I heard this Dipper singing before I saw it. With my binoculars, I scanned the stones and small boulders along the opposite edge of the River Taff, near Radyr in south Wales, until I spotted the bird, then stood mesmerised as it sang its sweet melody, presumably hoping to attract a female Dipper.
Serenade over, the bird proceeded to do as its name implies, dipping beneath the fast-flowing waters of the river. This is how Dippers feed, moving along underwater in the search for small invertebrates, though, in this case, I’m not sure whether the Dipper was feeding or washing itself or simply enjoying a good splash. It was a delight to watch so I tried to capture some of the action for you all to enjoy.
For me the male Bullfinch, with his glorious apricot breast feathers, is the most exotic-looking of Britain’s birds. He looks like he belongs in a tropical rain forest, not in the sub-zero temperatures of a British winter. These two particularly handsome chaps were busily nibbling the new buds from the trees at Forest Farm Nature Reserve earlier this week, which is why these birds are never much liked by orchardists.
There were female Bullfinches about as well, though, for some reason, they tended to be skulking in the furthest reaches of the branches, out of this photographer’s lens range. Perhaps it’s just that male birds in general like to advertise their presence more as we approach spring and the breeding season.
I’d read, on the British Trust for Ornithology website, that ‘Rook pairs spend a lot of time close together, feeding one another, displaying and vocalising together and preening’, but had never seen that behaviour until last Sunday when I stood watching eight Rooks grazing a horse field.
As you will see in my short video clip, one bird ‘bows’ to the other, while splaying out its tail feathers, then its mate feeds it. What a privilege it was to witness this pair-bonding behaviour.
As is often the case, I heard them before I saw them, a huddle of perhaps 20 Turnstones, busily scurrying back and forth, flicking their way through the most recent piles of seaweed deposited by the outgoing tide and hooking their beaks beneath the smaller stones to find the delicacies hidden beneath.
Though my video only catches the distant sound of the waves, I could hear two other, different types of sound: as well as the clinking of the stones, the birds were also chattering to themselves and each other. I wondered what they were saying: ‘Look what I’ve found’; ‘This one’s juicy’; ‘That’s mine’; ‘It’s a good feast today’; ‘I saw that first’?
As walkers passed by with their dogs, completely oblivious to the delightful gathering just a few feet below their path, I paused to watch and enjoy these glorious little shore birds going about their daily business.
Little grebes are one of the cutest of Britain’s small birds. They are also efficient fishers, as this little one proved to me several times with its successful sprat catching during my recent visit to Cardiff’s northern reservoirs, Lisvane and Llanishen.
Magpies are beautiful birds and I am often guilty of overlooking them so, when this bird posed nicely on a nearby branch, I admired it and took some photos.
It was only when the bird turned its head that I realised it had somehow lost an eye, Fortunately, that didn’t seem to be affecting its ability to fly or feed and, as a second Magpie was hovering in the trees very nearby, I presume it had also been successful at finding a mate.
earthstar 
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