Birds of East Kent: Kestrel

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

I don't usually bother with top-ten lists or stuff like that, but if I had to choose a favourite bird it would undoubtedly be the Kestrel. It's not the biggest (or smallest) bird of prey; nor is it the most colourful. It's not even the only British bird that hovers, though the other contenders can't hope to match its precision or its tenacity. But, more than any other bird, it's always been a small part of my life in some shape or form. It was there on the striking red badge I received when I joined the YOC:

It was there in Ken Loach's famous film (adapted from the novel by Barry Hines) that I saw in my early teens. And it was there at the start and end of the summer holidays, glimpsed from the side window of a car; a bird that seemed to defy not just gravity but time itself as it hovered above the roadside verges while the twentieth century flowed around it.

I've had the privilege of seeing a wild kestrel up close on a couple of occasions, most recently in February of this year when I encountered one perched in a small tree by the North Foreland golf course. I took some photos and continued on to Botany Bay to see if there was anything interesting on the shore. When I turned around to walk back I was surprised to see the same kestrel standing on a fence post. Naturally, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to take some more photos:

From badges to films to poetry (see: The Windhover by Gerard Manley Hopkins) there is something about the kestrel that seems ingrained in the British psyche. A good example of this can be found in Powell and Pressburger's 1944 wartime classic A Canterbury Tale. In the film's prologue, a group of medieval pilgrims make their way towards Canterbury while a voiceover narrates a passage from Chaucer's text. A falconer stops to release a kestrel into the sky. The bird dips and soars ... and transforms into a Spitfire flying above the English countryside. Four hundred years of history spanned in a single cut.

If the description of that scene rings a bell it's because Stanley Kubrick used the same trick in the famous bone-to-spacecraft transition in 2001: A Space Odyssey. Coincidence, homage or blatant rip-off? It's a question that's been debated for fifty years, and will probably be debated for fifty more. In the meantime, the kestrel continues to soar above fields, along cliff-tops, and across marshes - hovering, observing, sometimes descending for prey, and then moving on, seeing colours that no human eye can see as it patiently constructs its daily map of the world.

Effortlessly at height hangs his still eye.
His wings hold all creation in a weightless quiet,
Steady as a hallucination in the streaming air. 

Ted Hughes, The Hawk in the Rain (1957)

See also:
More of my Kestrel photos on Flickr
Kestrel (RSPB)
Kestrel (Birdforum)
Kestrel (Birdguides)

Birds of East Kent: Peregrine Falcon

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent.

The peregrine makes its presence felt long before you see it: a dead pigeon lies on its back on a windswept beach, its wings spread and its breastbone stripped of meat; a golfer notices your camera and calls out to tell you that you "just missed a peregrine"; fulmars cackle their disapproval as a crossbow-shaped shadow glides over their nests and across the cliff-face. You walk and you walk until finally you see a hunched, powerful-looking bird poised on an outcrop of flint. On the beach below a man is walking his dog, blissfully unaware of the apex predator right above his head, but when you peer through the lens you see that the peregrine is looking at you, not the dog or its owner. A peregrine sees everything and misses nothing. It spotted you the moment you stepped into its field of view, and now that it knows you're looking at it, the peregrine alone will decide how close you will be allowed to get.

Thanks to works like J.A. Baker's The Peregrine, the eponymous falcon enjoys a near-mythical status unmatched perhaps by any other British bird. Baker's account (I can't really call it a memoir since the author effectively excises himself from the narrative) condenses a decade's worth of observations into a single year, a structural choice which also has the effect of condensing his patient study of the peregrine into a singularly obsessive quest. Reading it, you're left in little doubt that Baker - short-sighted and afflicted with a rare and rather unpleasant form of arthritis (I speak from experience on the latter) - wishes he were a peregrine himself:

Free! You cannot know what freedom means till you have seen a peregrine loosed into the warm spring sky to roam at will through all the far provinces of light. Along the escarpments of the river air he rose with martial motion. Like a dolphin in green seas, like an otter in the startled water, he poured through deep lagoons of sky up to the high white reefs of cirrus.

Like dark chocolate, Baker's dense, synaesthetic prose is probably best savoured in small chunks. And yet, for all the linguistic fireworks on display, the narrative is tinged with a wistful, elegiac tone. Baker had good reason to be pessimistic; at the time he wrote his book the peregrine was in serious decline - its numbers ravaged by persecution and pesticides.

But for once, the story has a happy postscript (albeit one that Baker himself didn't live to see). Peregrine Falcons have enjoyed a spectacular resurgence and you can now see them right across the country, repopulating urban environments as well as their more traditional hunting grounds. If you live near a cathedral or a high chalk cliff, there's a good chance you also live near a peregrine. And when you see one for yourself you'll understand why these majestic birds inspire such reverential prose.

See also:
More of my Peregrine photos on Flickr
Keith Ross's YouTube channel (includes a series of short films on the Ramsgate Peregrines)
Peregrine Falcon (RSPB)
Peregrine Falcon (Birdforum)
Peregrine Falcon (Birdguides)

Birds of East Kent: Curlew

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

Curlews in April
Hang their harps over the misty valleys

A wobbling water-call
A wet-footed god of the horizons

Ted Hughes, "Curlews", Remains of Elmet (1979)

What's your favourite bird song? Probably the first birds that spring to mind are Robins or Skylarks (or even a Nightingale if you've been lucky enough to hear one), but for me there are few sounds more evocative in English nature than the fluting call of a Curlew echoing over a mudflat or across a fog-shrouded beach. It has something of a plaintive quality to it, which is perhaps appropriate as the Curlew is now sadly on the UK's Red List due to severe declines in its breeding population.

In the winter at least there are still plenty to see around the coast as the numbers are bolstered by European visitors. In my little corner of the country, they're a common sight at low tide, probing for food with their unmistakable long bills on the seaweed-covered rocks. At high tide you'll often find them sheltering in one of the communal roosts between Foreness and Kingsgate Bay, protected by the cliffs on one side and the sea on the other. You may also spot them on the fields near the North Foreland lighthouse, or flying in loose flocks close to the shore:

With regards to photography they don't tolerate people as much as the other local seaside birds like Turnstones and Purple Sandpipers, but as they're Britain's largest wader you don't need to be that close to get a good shot. Best advice is to approach very slowly, keep low if possible, and always be ready for that dramatic take-off:

And of course, that amazing song.


See also:
More of my Curlew photos on Flickr
Curlew (RSPB)
Curlew (Birdforum)
Curlew (Birdguides)

Birds of East Kent: Ring-necked Parakeet

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

This series isn't intended to cover every species of bird that lives in or visits East Kent - I haven't seen them all for one thing (let alone photographed them) - but there's one particular bird that can't be ignored ... mainly because it's so damn noisy.

It seems few birds divide opinion more in this country than the Ring-necked Parakeet. And, as with any divisive species, several urban myths have sprung up around them - in particular the subject of where they came from. Two stories crop up with predictable regularity; one being a mass escape from the set of the 1951 film The African Queen; the other being a deliberate attempt to liven up the British skyline by none other than Jimi Hendrix (though don't you think the Scarlet Macaw would have been more Jimi's style?). The somewhat more prosaic truth is that parakeets have been escaping into the wild since Victorian times, and any releases by Hendrix (or indeed Bogart and Hepburn) would have served only to enrich an already growing population.

Thanet holds possibly the largest concentration of parakeets outside London. They've colonised all the major parks, and the trees at Ramsgate train station form a prominent roost site. I've seen them as far west as Grove Ferry, but - as far as I'm aware - they haven't made any significant incursions into the woodlands surrounding Canterbury. (Correct me in the Comments if you know better.)

Photography-wise, the biggest challenge may be finding a way to get the whole bird in your camera's viewfinder without cropping the end off its extremely long tail. King George VI Park is a reliable place to get close to them (they're largely indifferent to passers-by so you can generally walk right up to them) or, if you've got bird feeders or apple trees in your garden, you can wait for them to find you.

For me at least, the novelty of seeing a bright green parrot balancing on a feeder that plainly wasn't designed for it (while another one hangs upside down from a washing line) has yet to wear off. I admit it: I'm a fan of the parakeets, but then again I don't own an orchard. They're intelligent and resourceful birds with lots of character, and if you close your eyes when you hear them you can at least imagine you're in a more exotic part of the world than Planet Thanet.

So what does the future hold for the parakeets? Will they spread across the country like a plague of green locusts, eating everything in their path? Will they gather on the rooftops like a green-tinted Hitchcockian nightmare, squawking so loudly that everyone goes deaf or mad (or both)? In centuries to come will alien explorers wander through the ruined cities to find the last humans huddling in mute subservience to their parakeet overlords? With their fast flight and powerful beaks, are there even any natural predators capable of taking them on? After witnessing a beleaguered kestrel being seen off by a green mob I had my doubts, but recently I saw four panic-stricken parakeets being pursued across the skies of Broadstairs by a Peregrine Falcon (putting the old advice to "eat more greens" in an entirely new light). So perhaps the proliferation of the parakeet is good news for at least one of our native species.

See also:
More of my parakeet photos on Flickr
Ring-necked Parakeet (RSPB)
Ring-necked Parakeet (Birdforum)
Ring-necked Parakeet (Birdguides)

Ring-necked Parakeet (Non Native Species Secretariat)

Birds of East Kent: Rock Pipit

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

Dumpton Gap, November 2010

Many, many centuries ago, before the invention of paper and scissors, our ancestors used to settle disputes by playing a game of Rock Pipit, Tree Pipit, Meadow Pipit. The rules have long been lost in the mists of time (as there was nothing to write them down on), but they were believed to go something like this:

• Rock Pipit chops down tree containing Tree Pipit
• Tree Pipit craps on Meadow Pipit from overhanging branch
• Meadow Pipit lures Rock Pipit into the long grass and kills it in a surprise attack

This already over-elaborate game was further complicated when some players tried to gain an unfair advantage by adding Water Pipits and Tawny Pipits to the line-up. In this expanded version, the Water Pipit drowns both the Rock Pipit and the Meadow Pipit, and as for a Tawny Pipit ... well no one could agree what the hell a Tawny Pipit does (although, at time of writing, it is the only member of the Pipit family to have a feature film named after it). At this point the game was usually abandoned and the dispute settled by actual fighting.

Of course, these days few people are aware of this unusual chapter in the Rock Pipit's history, and the bird itself is often overlooked as a small brown thing that frequents rocky coastlines. However, what it lacks in appearance it makes up for in character, and it can sometimes be surprisingly approachable, particularly along the undercliff promenade between Viking Bay and Dumpton Gap. This stretch is popular with dogwalkers, and so the birds are used to people walking by.

In some places (Foreness springs to mind) Rock Pipits can be found in close proximity to Meadow Pipits, though the latter tend to keep to the top of the cliff and the former at the bottom. Visually, Rock Pipits are distinguished from Meadow Pipits by their darker legs, slightly stockier build, and generally more smudged streaking in the breast. You may also notice a slight olive tint to the feathers.

If you're really observant (and you've got nothing better to do) you may be able to spot some foreign interlopers in the shape of the Scandinavian Rock Pipit (Anthus petrosus littoralis), a subspecies of the regular Rock Pipit. The differences are subtle, particularly outside of the breeding season, but are generally told by a blue-grey tint to the back and a more prominent supercilium (eye-stripe). The photo at the top of this post may indeed be an example of the Scandinavian variety.

Broadstairs, September 2013

See also:
More of my Rock Pipit photos on Flickr
Rock Pipit (RSPB)
Rock Pipit (Birdforum)
Rock Pipit (Birdguides)

Birds of East Kent: Marsh Harrier

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

This bird of prey (the largest of the harriers) is one of the showpiece species of East Kent (maybe even of the whole county) and the RSPB website rightly lists Stodmarsh (where it can be found all year round) as one of its strongholds. Indeed, a visit to Grove Ferry / Stodmarsh doesn't feel complete without a sighting of one of these majestic birds gliding over the reedbeds in search of prey. And yet, for all the times I've seen them, I've still to acquire what I consider a really good picture. You'd think, for their size and languid flight, it would be easy to see them approaching, but they have a knack for suddenly appearing out of nowhere and then either plunging into the reeds or spiralling up on a thermal. You may not know where they are, but they always seem to know where you are.

Male and female Marsh Harriers are fairly easy to tell apart; males (above left) are lighter, with characteristic dark wing-tips. Females (above right) are bulkier and darker, with cream-coloured crowns. Juveniles appear similar to the adult females, but are distinguished by their golden crowns.

During the breeding season, male Marsh Harriers show off to the females with spectacular displays of sky-dancing (and if the wind's blowing the right way you can hear them calling to each other). This aerial prowess serves a valuable purpose later on as the male will be required to pass food to the female in mid-air rather than bring it directly to the nest. These food items are usually small birds as far as I've been able to tell, but I imagine the ubiquitous Marsh Frog must make up a large part of their diet.

My most memorable sighting of a Marsh Harrier came - ironically enough - not at Grove Ferry, but at Minster a few years ago. I set off on what I thought was going to be a clear sunny morning, but arrived on the marshes to find the whole area shrouded in a thick bank of fog. As I walked alongside the river waiting for the sun to break through, a large shape rose out of the mist just twenty feet away and I found myself face to face with a Marsh Harrier. It flew gracefully in front of me and disappeared into the fog on the other side of the river. I didn't take any pictures (they wouldn't have come out anyway), but on that occasion it was just a privilege to get that close to one of Britain's most captivating birds of prey.

See also:
More of my Marsh Harrier photos on Flickr
Marsh Harrier (RSPB)
Marsh Harrier (Birdforum)

Marsh Harrier (Birdguides)

Birds of East Kent: Wheatear

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

North Foreland, Broadstairs, September 2012

Supposedly named for the white rump it shows during flight (Wheatear = "white arse", geddit?), the Northern Wheatear (to give it its full title) is perhaps East Kent's best example of a passage migrant. We see them twice a year: once in springtime when they stop off on their way to their breeding grounds, and again in autumn as they prepare to make the long journey back to sub-Saharan Africa.

Appearance-wise, they're hard to confuse with any other bird. The spring male in its full breeding plumage is a particularly impressive sight with its dark chocolate-brown wings, blue-grey back, black eye-mask and peach-coloured flush on its breast and throat.

Bishopstone, Reculver, April 2010

Wheatears are fairly easy birds to locate, as they can be seen just about anywhere along the coast during the peak of the spring and autumn migrations. The rocks at Bishopstone are usually a reliable place to look, as are the scrubby cliff-tops and strips of grass between North Foreland and Foreness.

In some years, if the weather keeps them grounded, they can build up to impressive numbers as they gather along the coast. I remember one autumn afternoon when they were literally popping up out of every bush I passed as I walked from King George VI park to Broadstairs. (I suppose this was the Wheatear equivalent of Operation Stack.)

However, getting close enough to acquire a decent photo requires a little forethought. Although Wheatears spend a lot of their time on the ground, they frequently fly up to the nearest available perch to see what's going on around them. One method (a trick I learned from observing similar behaviour in Stonechats) is to advance quickly while they're feeding and immediately freeze as soon as they fly to their perch. It may take a while, but with practice and persistence you should be able to get very close indeed. Another method is to observe if they're moving in a particular direction and surreptitiously get ahead of them. Then it's a matter of keeping still as they work their way towards you. (And of course not making making the schoolboy error of suddenly raising your camera.)

Viking Bay, Broadstairs, October 2011

Wikipedia lists 21 other species of Wheatear, a couple of which occasionally make it to British shores. But considering how far these birds travel, it's a privilege to see even the regular ones.

See also:
More of my Wheatear photos on Flickr
Wheatear (RSPB)
Wheatear (Birdforum)
Wheatear (Birdguides)

Birds of East Kent: Snow Bunting

Latest in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

Palm Bay, Margate, March 2012

The Snow Bunting is a regular winter visitor to Kentish shores, albeit never in huge numbers. They can pop up just about anywhere along the East Kent coastline, but the most reliable place to find them is along the shingle beaches at Reculver, foraging amongst the pebbles.

I like to think of this smart little bird as the "photographer's friend" because not only is it very photogenic, it can also be very approachable. But of course, a flock of birds is only as brave as its least brave member, and so the closest you get to a larger group of Snow Buntings (known collectively as a "drift") may be when they fly over your head to the other end of the beach - half an hour's walk in the direction you just came from. However, if you're fortunate enough to find a Snow Bunting by itself (no easy task, since they usually blend in very well with the pebbles) and don't make any sudden movements, it may allow you to get within a few feet. The bird pictured below was so confiding I had to back away just to keep it in focus.

Kingsgate Bay, Broadstairs, April 2011

In summer, when they return to their breeding grounds in the high Arctic, the Snow Buntings undergo a dramatic change, with the males turning almost completely white. Here in Kent, they're invariably gone before we see them reach this phase, but if you're lucky enough to catch a straggler you might see the white plumage starting to come through. Compare the difference between the one above (photographed in early spring) with the one below (taken in late autumn).

Reculver, November 2009

So the next time you go for a walk along the coast on a bracing winter's day, keep your eyes open for these charming little birds. They may be closer than you think.


See also:
More of my Snow Bunting photos on Flickr
Snow Bunting (RSPB)
Snow Bunting (Birdforum)

Birds of East Kent: Purple Sandpiper

The second in an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

Viking Bay, Broadstairs, November 2011

According to the RSPB website, Purple Sandpipers are supposed to be scarce south of Yorkshire, which perhaps explains why some local photographers have been known to risk life and limb (and their camera gear) clambering over wet rocks just to get a photo of one of these birds. However, despite what official sources say, Purple Sandpipers can in fact be found along the Thanet coastline every winter, with the stretch between Stone Bay and Dumpton Gap being a good area to get close-up shots of them. The photo above was taken from the relative comfort (and safety) of Broadstairs jetty.

Often described as "dumpy little waders" in the guidebooks, Purple Sandpipers are slightly smaller and not as bold as the more plentiful Turnstones with whom they share their winter haunts. Their propensity for skulking under the jetty, or creeping furtively along the seawall while picking at the seaweed-covered stone makes them easy to overlook unless you're actively seeking them out.

Distinctive features include a downcurved beak and mustard-coloured legs. The purple sheen that gives them their name is less obvious, but if the light hits them at the right angle, it shows up quite well:

Broadstairs, February 2010

Don't dismiss these "dumpy" birds; under the right conditions, they can be very photogenic.


See also:
More of my Purple Sandpiper photos on Flickr
Purple Sandpiper (RSPB)
Purple Sandpiper (Birdforum)

Birds of East Kent: Black Redstart

This is the first of an occasional series of posts discussing the different birds that can be found in East Kent and how easy (or not) it is to get a decent picture of them.

Black Redstart (male), Broadstairs, February 2010

The Black Redstart seems like a good place to start this series, as it was one of the birds that first tempted me into the realm of wildlife photography. Back in March 2005, after stumbling upon the Planet Thanet website (currently dormant, sadly), I saw a report of a Black Redstart - a bird I'd never knowingly seen before - along the coast not far from where I lived. The next day I wandered down with my binoculars, fully expecting it to have moved on, but it was still there and I got some terrific views of it flitting around. Inevitably, my mind turned to thoughts of what a great photo it would have made. This idea lingered in the back of my head through the summer until finally, a chance encounter with a cuckoo convinced me (to paraphrase Roy Scheider in Jaws) that I was gonna need a bigger lens.

Black Redstart (female), Kingsgate, March 2009

I've seen at least six Black Redstarts since that first encounter in 2005, but most of those sightings have been from a distance, with me standing at the base of a cliff while the bird flies to the top, or me watching from the top of the cliff as it disappears over the side. The few times I've been able to get one within range, it's either been half-hidden in shadow or between me and the sun.

All that changed however, when Barry Hunt's spectacular Eastern Black Redstart arrived in Margate for a week-long stay.

Eastern Black Redstart, Palm Bay, Margate, November 2011

I generally avoid "twitching" (I'd rather get a close-up photo of a common bird than a distant, blurry photo of a rare bird), but when a bird this handsome (and confiding) shows up in your neighbourhood, you've got to make the effort to go and see it. And, as all those who were there will remember, the EBR didn't disappoint, going about its business completely unperturbed by the array of big lenses pointing at it. Now if only I could find a "regular" Black Redstart that was as cooperative, I'd get the photo I've been after since 2005...

See also:
More of my Black Redstart photos on Flickr
Black Redstart (RSPB)
Black Redstart (Birdforum)
UK400 article on Eastern Black Redstarts