Red Kites

It’s more or less impossible not to see Red Kites flying overhead while driving on the motorways to the west of London these days. These distinctive birds of prey, recognisable by their forked tails, have become a ubiquitous sight but it was not always so, for they are one of British nature’s great success stories of the past forty years. 

When I was a kid, the bird books all said that the Red Kite (Milvus milvus) had been hunted almost to extinction in Britain, and the only place you had a chance of seeing them was in the hills of central Wales where a few pairs still bred. They’d been a common sight in London in Tudor times, when they were disliked (Shakespeare used the word “kite” as an insult) but tolerated because, being primarily scavengers, they helped to keep the streets clean of carrion (dead animals). In the centuries that followed, though, they were treated as vermin and hunted accordingly, until by the twentieth century they only existed in their Welsh stronghold. 

This changed in 1989, when a rewilding project started in the Chilterns. A few birds (some from Wales, some from Scandinavia) were released — and since then, they’ve thrived, especially along the M4 and M40 corridors. The reason? The motorways, mostly; they provide a lot of roadkill, and as Red Kites eat mostly carrion, that’s why they can be seen soaring above them. 

They have since spread out along the major roads; in the past couple of months, I’ve seen them while driving along the A1 in Northumberland and the A2 in Kent. I even saw one when I went to Spain earlier this year. 

So often do I see them while driving that they have become one of my favourite birds. I have yet to see one within the North Circular, but I presume it’s only a matter of time before I do. 

Kentish Choughs…?

I first saw a Chough a few years ago, in Cornwall. These elegant members of the crow family, recognisable by their glossy black plumage and red beak and feet, started to recolonise the clifftops of Cornwall in the early twenty-first century after an absence of many years. It’s the county bird there, due in part to its association with the King Arthur legend. Officially speaking, the Chough of which I talk is known as the Red-billed Chough, and it’s pronounced “chuff”. Although I knew the bird when I saw it, I only knew it from books and had to ask someone how it is pronounced. 

The Chough also has associations with Kent. Somehow, it also became involved in the legends surrounding Thomas Becket, the Archbishop of Canterbury who was murdered in his own cathedral in 1170 — one of the most notorious events in English history, which led to Canterbury becoming a major pilgrimage destination in the Middle Ages. Some time after his murder and subsequent canonisation, Becket was retrospectively given a coat-of-arms depicting three Choughs, and this in turn has become the coat-of-arms of the City of Canterbury. 

Quite why a clergyman who was born in London and died in Kent should have a Cornish bird associated with him is unclear; according to legend, one of them is supposed to have wandered into Canterbury Cathedral shortly after the murder. 

I’ve been to Kent a few times for work over the past month, visiting Canterbury and also Dover, principally the castle as far as the latter is concerned but also taking in the National Trust’s site atop the White Cliffs, just along from the castle which is managed by English Heritage. 

The views from the White Cliffs are amazing — the Port of Dover is laid out before and below you, Dover Castle (witter the church and the Roman lighthouse distinct from the central keep) on the horizon and the prospect of seeing France (just 21 miles away) on a clear day. It’s usually windy though! In terms of birds, there are plenty of gulls (particularly Herring Gulls) and crows (particularly Jackdaws), but also Blackbirds and Robins which are quite vocal and on one occasion I spotted a male Kestrel hovering in the wind, visible from the visitor centre. 

And then there are the Choughs.

A very recent rewilding project has seen Choughs from Cornwall being reintroduced to the chalk cliffs of Kent, where they died out over two centuries ago as a result of habitat loss and persecution. With the chalk grassland having been restored in recent years through the work of organisations like the Kent Wildlife Trust and the National Trust, the habitat to support them in Kent is in place. A chick was hatched last year and managed to fledge, but was sadly lost in strong winds. Rewilding always has its ups and downs, but as was the case from my visit to Edinburgh the other month, it’s great to see that efforts are being made on a local level the country to help give nature as good a future as it can have. 

I’m told that the best place to see the Kentish Choughs is in the area between the White Cliffs car park and the castle, and although I have yet to lay eyes on them in Kent I remain optimistic that I will do so at some point. Early morning is the best time apparently, although as I’m on a schedule for my visits to Kent I’m not usually there until the afternoon! 

Swifts and Swallows

 A trip out to Wiltshire on Thursday for work took me to Lacock, the well-preserved old village that’s owned by the National Trust. While there, I looked up and saw my first Swift of 2025, followed seconds later by my first Swallow! A great start to the month of May. After a very warm April, summer is most definitely almost here.

How does this compare with previous first sightings of these wonderful summer visitors? Well, I keep track of this sort of thing, so I can say that as far as the Swifts are concerned, my first sighting of them in 2024 was 12th May (in East Finchley), compared with 11th May in 2023 (also East Finchley) and 5th May in 2022 (Burford). For Swallows, my first sighting of them last year was 28th April (at the Stonehenge visitor centre), 9th April in 2023 (East Finchley) and 28th April in 2022 (Pembroke). This must be the first time I’ve had my first sighting of both in the same place and on the same day!

The Biggest Twitch

While I do enjoy birding, twitching (the act of travelling a long distance purely in order to see a particular species of bird) has never been my thing. The closest I’ve ever got was a couple of years ago when reports of Waxwing sightings in Tufnell Park prompted me to go and have a look to see if I could see them; I didn’t, but I did spend an enjoyable couple of hours hanging around a street a couple of blocks from the Tube station (where several of them had been seen the previous day) in the company of several like-minded individuals who I’d never met before, and haven’t seen since. Doesn’t exactly count, really.

Similarly, as far as travelling to watch birds in general goes, I’ll definitely keep an eye out for birds wherever I am but it’s more a case of going somewhere for other reasons (work, holiday, etc) and then checking out the local bird life, not travelling somewhere specifically to see birds. Sure, I have favoured venues in or near to places I go to often (for example, when I’m in Toronto I will at some point go to High Park, and when I’m in Suffolk a visit to Minsmere is more likely than not to be on the cards), but I do my birding at places I go to, as opposed to going to those places purely for the birding. 

So naturally, a recent read was about a couple who travelled around the world purely to see as many birds as they could. 

Alan Davies and Ruth Miller worked for the RSPB — until they decided to quit their jobs and spend a year (and a fair chunk of their savings) trying to break the record for the most birds seen in a year (in fact, their target of 4,000 species was somewhat north of the previous record, and the record they set has since been surpassed). Their odyssey took them to Australia, Peru, Ethiopia, India and many other places. It’s an enjoyable read for the most part; they alternate chapters and their contrasting styles work well together — Ruth more humorous and down-to-earth (and already familiar to me from her articles in Bird Watching magazine), Alan more clinical and descriptive. 

Their birding adventure has its moments but there are points where the story drags somewhat. Travel literature invariably has passages about the protagonist(s) getting sick at some point and this is no different, to the point where it’s impressive that they both made it to the end. Especially Alan, who appears to get seasick every time he so much as looks at a boat. At times it seems like an extended plug for the birding travel company they made extensive use of. And there’s one point — rather early on in the story — in which they speculate on what the book sales will be like, which to me was more jarring than the occasional mentions of Ruth and Alan’s sex life which seems to have annoyed other reviewers. I do wonder, though, about the ethicality of “playback” (the playing of bird calls by the guides from the afore-mentioned birding travel company in order to get the birds whose calls are being played to appear before their clients). 

Sometimes when I read travel lit, I come away wondering (however idly) about how I would go about embarking on such a journey. This was not one of those, although I did get the occasional vicarious thrill about some of their sightings, and their talk of legendary American birder Kenn Kaufman did make me want to check out his book Kingbird Highway. One for another time. 

The Blue Tit (birds of East Finchley, part 5)

This little garden bird, several of which I can hear calling to each other as I sit in the garden writing this, has always been one of my favourite birds. Back when I first got into birding, the Blue Tit (Cyanistes caeruelus, internationally known as the Eurasian Blue Tit to distinguish it from the almost-identical African Blue Tit) was the one that, with its colourful blue and yellow plumage, really stood out among the sparrows, finches and starlings. I was thrilled whenever I saw one on the bird feeder then, and I still am now.

Perhaps it is this bird’s somewhat cheeky reputation; when I was a Young Ornithologist (back then, the RSPB’s youth wing gloried in the rather long-winded name of the Young Ornithologists Club, and had a very smart badge depicting a Kestrel) it was known to be in the habit of pecking at foil milk-bottle tops to get at the cream underneath, although I don’t recall ever seeing any evidence of this myself; the rising popularity of semi-skimmed milk in the 1980s put a stop to it (no cream to be had under the red foil caps) even before home milk deliveries were all but killed off in the early 1990s when supermarkets were finally allowed to sell the stuff. 

Perhaps it’s also because the Blue Tit is a clever, adaptable bird (the milk-bottle top thing is an example of this more than cheekiness, from the bird’s point of view at least). Another birding memory from the 1980s is of a BBC TV documentary called Bird Brain of Britain in which a young Simon King showed how Blue Tits (and Great Tits as well) could solve simple puzzles in order to get food; for example, figuring out that if they tapped the top of a small box, a peanut would come out of the bottom. 

It’s also one of few birds whose call I have always been able to recognise. I once had a cassette of bird calls and songs; I never got very far with it but the Blue Tit was the first one to be mentioned on the tape, so it stuck! 

So yes, the Blue Tit. Definitely one of my favourite birds! 

Waders and rewilding in Edinburgh

This week I went up to Edinburgh for work. Usually I stay in the New Town, which is lovely, but this time (mainly because I drove up rather than took the train), I stayed down by the old docks on the southern shore of the Firth of Forth. Rather like London’s Docklands, Edinburgh’s dock area has undergone significant redevelopment in the past few decades; the former industrial dock area now boasts modern apartment blocks and so on. Leith has, by all accounts, been gentrified. 

I was staying at the approximate point where Leith meets Newhaven. As I was there for work and work is further along in Granton, my commute became a rather nice seashore walk.  I was glad I took my binoculars and bird book.

Down on the shore were various waders; those very distinctive Oystercatchers, a dozen Knots in winter plumage (surely a bit late for them?), a few Turnstones looking for food among the gulls, a couple of Redshanks and a few small ones which weren’t Turnstones. Waders aren’t my strongest suit by any means, but I was determined to figure out what these ones were. Black legs and bill, grey-brown back, white underparts. Dunlin, I reasoned — like the larger Knots, still in their winter plumage. 

Close to my hotel was Lighthouse Park, located on the small peninsula of land that was originally the western breakwater for one of the docks that comprises the Port of Leith. By the early twenty-first century this was the site of some property development comprising of apartment blocks, presumably rather pricey. This development, called Western Harbour, stalled in 2008 as a result of the financial crisis, with some of the planned sites undeveloped save for some access roads and half-dug foundations. Fascinatingly, nature has taken over at these places, now known as the Western Harbour Ponds. I spotted a Mute Swan, a pair of Mallard and many Goldfinches. 

Fenced off, these areas have rewilded — what were would-be building sites are now a cluster of small wildlife havens, within easy reach for local residents keen to appreciate nature. Two of them are in fact ponds, while the other two are wooded. Alas, a sign on one of the fences proclaimed that they are currently at risk — property developers are once again interested in the area, for obvious reasons. But it looks as though some local people would like to keep the Western Harbour Ponds as they currently are — and a good thing too. Green spaces are an important thing in the modern city. 

The Friends of Western Harbour Ponds website describes the Ponds as “a wonderful example of urban rewilding — a haven for native plant life, insects, bats and waterfowl … It has also become a very special place place for local residents and birdwatchers, who come to reconnect with nature, watch the wildlife and enjoy the tranquility of this ad-hoc blue-green space in an otherwise densely populated part of the city”. This visitor from London certainly enjoyed a few moments of tranquility before walking to work. I signed the online petition on the spot.

But my birding was not over yet! Looking out to sea, I saw something white and swimming. Another gull? There are many, many Herring and Lesser Black-backed Gulls around! But this looked to be something different. Always worth a closer look. Good job I brought my binoculars. 

Turned out, it was a male Eider! Fantastic spot. His female counterpart surfaced while I was looking. I have only seen Eiders once before, and that was a couple of years ago and not far from Edinburgh (just along the coast at Yellowcraig Beach), but I had not thought I’d see a pair at Leith docks. The following morning, just to show that this was no one-off, there were two pairs of Eiders swimming in Newhaven Harbour. 

 

A rewarding visit to a part of Edinburgh not previously explored! An area I’d definitely like to return to; I just hope that the Western Harbour Ponds will still be there when I do. 

Coldfall Wood

At some point last year, I purchased a book called Birdwatching London. Written by David Darrell-Lambert and published in 2018 in association with the London Wildlife Trust, it is all about where you can go to watch birds in the London area. 38 places to be exact; big venues like the London Wetland Centre and the RSPB reserve at Rainham Marshes, and plenty of reservoirs (out by Heathrow and along the Lea Valley), parks, woods and so on — some in Central London, others out in the suburbs (and a couple outside of what could be reasonably defined as London, such as Southend-on-Sea). Brent Reservoir is conspicuous by its absence, but I’m not going to quibble about what should and should not be included in a very useful book. 

Some of the places in the book I have been to before, like Crystal Palace Park and Richmond Park (both visited when I walked the Capital Ring a few years ago). There are a few old favourites of mine in there, like Hampstead Heath, Hyde Park, the East India Dock Basin and the aforementioned Rainham Marshes. There are places I’d like to visit (and I went to one such last year — Woodberry Wetlands, a new nature reserve that’s a ten-minute walk from Manor Park Tube station; it too is on the Capital Ring but has been redeveloped as a nature reserve since I did that, and very nice it is too). And there are a couple that are very local, even more so than the Heath.

One of those is Coldfall Wood, a small area of ancient woodland on the border between East Finchley and Muswell Hill (actually a hundred yards or so into the latter, if the local authority signage is any guide). I used to go and birdwatch there every so often after Allison and I first moved to East Finchley, but what with one thing or another I’d not been there for several years until I noticed that it was in this book. I therefore decided to return and see what I could see. After all, it’s in walking distance from my house, so why not?

By ‘ancient woodland’, I mean in this case a remnant of the old Forest of Middlesex that used to cover much of what is now suburban North London (a clue that the area used to be woodland can even be seen in place names like, well, Finchley, which means a lea (clearing in the woods) where finches were known to gather); other remnants also exist, like Highgate Wood and Queen’s Wood — both of which are also included in Birdwatching London. 

Coldfall Wood, which has been designated as a local nature reserve since 2013, is 35 acres (14 hectares) in size and is bordered by residential streets, allotments, a municipal cemetery and the Muswell Hill Playing Fields. I entered the wood via one of the streets, Creighton Avenue. 

Although the sounds of the suburbs permeated the woodland — car alarms, the roar of traffic on the North Circular — stepping into Coldfall Wood does feel like going back in time to something more primal; the woodland here actually does date back thousands of years. Maybe I’m being overly imaginative, but I think there’s something about woodland that connects us to our ancient ancestors. Although they had wolves to contend with, where I had to deal with dogs and their walkers, potentially scaring the birds away!

Actually, one dog-walking couple did stop to chat, and told me that a walking group had seen a pair of Firecrests here recently. None of those for me (this time at least) — my sightings had begun with a Jay and continued with Carrion Crows (lots of those), Ring-necked Parakeets, a male Great Spotted Woodpecker, a Stock Dove and, unlike my recent visit to the Heath, plenty of small birds. 

A Wren entertained me with its singing (such a big voice for such a small bird!), a Nuthatch flew by with a beak full of food, an uncharacteristically lone Long-tailed Tit perched on a nearby twig, not far from one of its Blue cousins. A small flock of finches flew away at the sound of a nearby dog; I was just about able to identify them as female Chaffinches before they disappeared from view. A small brown bird identified itself as a Chiffchaff with its distinctive song. Add to that two Robins, a Dunnock and a Great Tit. There were also a few Blackbirds and four Redwings; can’t be long before the latter return to Scandinavia for the summer. 

An hour well spent! I should come here more often.