After the gloom of the winter’s wind and rain comes the
dolour resulting from good weather. The mud may have gone but the river path to the
south of the town is again a slog.
The succession of good days and clear nights means migrant
waders and passerines are flying through rather than stopping, denying the
chance sighting of a chat or sandpiper. And as yet another day passes with nothing
new turning up, even the hope of a chance sighting fades.
That’s not to say there‘s nothing here. A dozen Reed
Warblers sing from the ditches and reed beds, their songs interspersed with those
of Sedge Warblers. Four Reed Buntings hold territory, as do a similar number of
Cetti’s Warblers. Skylarks sing constantly, hard to count across the wide expanse
of fields and water meadows.
And there’s usually something different on the walk, this
morning five Shelducks flying down river and a single Swift heading in the
opposite direction. There’s far from nothing here and some of it is new, just
not as new as I’d like -- a year tick, maybe, or even a new patch tick. We’re a
restless breed, birders.
Then again, some of the missing sightings have significance beyond
a birder’s dashed expectations. The Nightingale that sang at the start of the
path in previous years has not returned. The Redshanks that appeared set to breed
are no longer evident, maybe still sitting tight, but maybe gone after another
nesting failure. These are real losses, not just a transient bird absent from a
day list but a breeding species now existing only in the past records of the place.
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