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Woodpeckers Great and Small

25/5/2014

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by Lesley McLaren

The Albères hills provide an ideal habitat for all kinds of woodpeckers - the Great Spotted being the most common. You can hear them drumming from January onwards. There are some Green, but I get the impression they prefer the more open terrain of vineyards and orchards, perhaps because they are predominantly ground feeders.

Black woodpeckers are around too - mostly in winter apparently. But I had never heard or seen one until last year.
And knowing how shy they were I never expected to find one at low altitude, close to human habitation. But one November day I was only about 200m above sea level when I heard a bizarre, mechanical-like call, coming from an isolated dead tree only a few metres ahead. There was that unmistakeable woodpecker profile against the trunk. It was BIG - jackdaw-sized - and totally black against the light. I couldn't see any red on its head. At that moment another rarity passed us: a van. The bird took off, calling again, and I had an excellent view of feathered tips to rounded wings. No white markings at all. Impossible to confuse with the Great Spotted or Green.

I'm used to hearing both of those, because of course they are common in Britain too, but now I realise all woodpecker species sound quite different from one another. The first time I listened to BBC Radio Four's Tweet of the Day (thanks to Isobel for telling me about it!),
I did a double-take. That day's call was one I hear a lot in springtime and had always assumed was a kestrel. On one occasion I had stood directly beneath the tree the bird was calling from, and still couldn't spot it. That was because I was looking for the wrong bird. I should have been searching for a brown woodpecker the size of a greenfinch. The Wryneck.

My book says these are summer migrants to this area, so when I started hearing that same call again last month, I was determined to confirm once and for all that it was indeed the Wryneck. They are, however, notoriously hard to spot.

As I said in my blog about the Lammergeiers, you can never be certain of finding exactly what you're after (rather like shopping for a special outfit). But I thought I knew where one might hang out.

As soon as I got out of the car I heard it, tantalisingly close-by.


Here's a recording. The Wryneck starts about 11 seconds in. Doesn't sound much like a kestrel at all, does it? You can also hear plenty of other small birds and, in the distance, a crow (less common than ravens in the Albères!).

To stand any chance of seeing the thing, I first had to negotiate a wire fence that was designed to keep cows off the road rather than people off the hill. Good to find it wasn't electrified as indicated. After a short scramble up the slope through tree heathers and gorse, I leaned back against the trunk of an oak and waited, binos poised.

Just when I found I was leaning on an ant runway, the call came again, from a tree only about three metres away. It was right there, about two-thirds of the way up, not moving; but could I see it? Must have been on the side facing away from me, or hidden by leaves. Finally something small flew to another tree not far away. I marked it, crept closer - twigs snapping like gunshots beneath my delicate footfall - and finally got it with the naked eye.

A very busy little chap, moving rather like a nuthatch (eye-stripe like a nuthatch too). I just got the binos focused when it was joined by another. A brief kerfuffle followed. Part of a courtship ritual or two males disputing territory?

They were fleeting glimpses, but the birds were just as intricately and beautifully patterned as illustrated in my book. Lighter brown though - almost golden - so they showed up against the bark better than expected. Sweet things, that didn't seem bothered by my presence. I didn't hang around too long, though, in case they were nesting there.

I was sure that would be the pinnacle of my woodpecker experiences for this year. But I was wrong. A few days ago (yet another windy one) I stopped at a corner on the forest track to give my dogs some water. While they tried to make up their minds if they were thirsty after all, I heard what sounded like an animal moving through the undergrowth in a gully down to my left. The dogs showed no interest so I decided it was nothing - probably a blackbird masquerading as a wild boar.
But then the tchik tchik alarm of a Great Spotted Woodpecker started up. Something was going on, but what? I moved to the edge of the track and peered through a gap in the foliage. Hard to see anything but tree trunks and leaves.

Until I caught a flash of black, white and red on a dead tree some yards away. Undoubtedly a woodpecker, but tiny. Could this be my first ever sighting of the sparrow-sized Lesser Spotted? (We're on the very edge of the main part of its range.) My hopes were short-lived when a much larger woodpecker landed on the trunk next to the small one. And that's when I realised that what I had stumbled upon was this (with apologies for camera shake!):

Great Spotted Woodpecker ready to fledge from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.

A male, already practising DIY home improvement skills. Like father like son?

And here's his sister,
equally curious about the world outside
:

Juvenile Female Great spotted woodpecker SD from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.

Picture
The male will lose his red cap in the autumn
Picture
Smaller red cap on the female
They were much further away than the photos suggest, so I wasn't disturbing them. One or other parent returned every so often. I assumed this was to feed them. Unless it was to encourage them to leave the nest? Unfortunately they kept timing their visits to coincide with another strong gust that blew leafy branches in front of the camera lens, so I'm sorry I didn't capture the best moment.

But what a treat! And how lucky. When I walked that way again today, they had gone.
Fledged.


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A Rare Addition To the Garden

20/5/2014

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by Robin Noble

Around the 10th of May, I became aware of this extraordinary thing growing in a small corner of our little cherry orchard. I thought that I could detect something of a smell from it, and vaguely assumed that it must be some sort of fungus. It did not stay long in the state which you see in the photograph below - the next day it was a bit taller, then it began to flatten and collapse, and in a few days there was very little of it left.

Inevitably, I asked the others if they had ever seen such a thing, and both Bruce and Lesley had - only twice each, I think, so it is quite rare. It is a Red Cage Fungus, (Clathrus Ruber), and it is supposed to belong to pine and oak woodland, appearing in the autumn and winter - I suppose its late appearance in our garden might be due to the fact that our winter was so dry. Why it decided to emerge in a rough little bed where snowdrops and cyclamen had bloomed earlier, I have no idea. The two Bruce saw were equally atypical, being on the side of a "stony sentier".

I had noticed a few flies around it; they are supposed to be attracted by the smell and so spread the spores in the next suitable place they find - I hope that there will not be too many of them appearing around us next year! Not that there appears to be much substance that you actually could eat, and I can't imagine that many folk would even think of it, but Lesley's book reports that it is inedible!

With thanks to Lesley and Bruce for their information.

Picture
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New Territory - New Species

19/5/2014

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By Lesley McLaren

On a sunny spring day in May, Robin introduced me to this special place he and Martine have found, a stone’s throw from the flanks of Canigou. It’s rich in flora and fauna, and I was especially hoping to see large birds of prey, maybe even a very special type of vulture that they had spotted once or twice before in these parts.

It may sound perverse but part of the buzz you get from an excursion into the wild can come from the uncertainty and unpredictability about what you’ll see. Although you might have a fair idea of what should be around, according to the region, habitat, season, weather conditions and so on, there’s no guarantee that what you especially seek will obligingly fly, perch, run or stand in your line of sight at exactly the right moment – even if you’re camouflaged by a hide. You might simply be facing the wrong way or rummaging in your rucksack for an apple when the golden eagle soars past, thumbing his beak at you.

The beautiful, winding drive up through leafy beech woods, punctuated with glimpses of our sacred mountain against a Mediterranean blue sky, lulled me into a false sense of summer. Once we were out of the car, the wind, which had been blowing strongly back at home, took my breath away. The only upside to this was that any raptors brave enough to take to the air at all would be forced to fly lower than usual and would therefore be much easier to observe. If my eyes stopped streaming and I could hold the binoculars still.

After adding several layers of clothing, we first headed along the flat dirt track that leads towards the Tour de Batère. After only a few minutes a short-toed eagle came into view, relatively close and almost at eye-level. Despite the wind, it hung in the air for a moment, legs dangling, seeking its favourite prey (snake) on the slopes below the track. Soon something else – large and black – rose over the ridge above, to our left. All too quickly it dipped out of sight again. Raven? I was in a state of high alert by now, anxious not to miss anything else that might fly by, and glancing only briefly at the lovely flowers Robin was patiently trying to point out.

As we left the track, heading away from the tower and cutting up towards the northern ridgeline, I couldn’t stop looking behind, due south. With each step the view expanded further, across wave after wave of thickly wooded hills and on into Spain.

A small group of horses ambled over to us before continuing to graze the grass and wildflowers. We had barely said goodbye to them when, just beyond, a marmot bounded across the track. I’d never seen one before. It looked like a cross between a huge stoat and a small badger and, as Robin observed, they do move very like badgers. This one hadn’t noticed us because we were downwind. When we crept closer, trying not to make too much noise on the stony track, we realised there were three of them.

Two started playing together, reared up on their back legs in a kind of boxers’ hug, pushing and shoving until they collapsed in a heap and rolled over and over down the slope, in a tangle of fur. Game over, they checked for danger. One sat up like a meerkat and another, nearest to us, stayed motionless for some time. I don’t know if this stillness protects them from being spotted by predators, but to the human eye, at a distance they easily pass for rocks. Finally these three either smelt or saw us and, in a flash, disappeared down burrows.
By now skylarks were flying and singing around us – a magical sound I haven’t heard since leaving Britain nine years ago. And there was another that I didn’t recognise. Alpine choughs, Robin told me. I’d never even considered they could be found here. Sure enough we came upon a small flock of them. Glossy black, like small, elegant crows with bright yellow bills. A new species for me – and such a delight.

Smaller birds appeared as we climbed higher: pairs of wheatears, tree pipits (possibly), a small, greyish bird we failed to identify; and another marmot, watching – rock still – from a nearby boulder.

It was hard not to step on flowers as we continued up. Dotted among brilliant blue gentians were various types of milkwort and tiny forget-me-nots. Robin spotted some saxifrages coming out, including one that he thought resembled meadow saxifrage. From time to time we crossed damp areas – full of marsh marigolds – where spring water trickled down the hillside.

Still some distance from the ridge, I caught sight of another very big bird gliding high, but not close. Close enough, though, for the binoculars to reveal a white head and distinctive markings under the wings. No question: Lammergeier! And right behind it, another one. In seconds they were far away, heading south and west, already impossible to see with the naked eye. A marvellous moment and I couldn’t believe our luck.

Bearded vulture is another name for the lammergeier. While we paused to munch our sandwiches, we wondered what these amazing and very rare vultures find to eat. Do they rely solely on carrion or might they take a marmot? Research since our visit reveals that while they might occasionally take live prey, what they’re really after is bone marrow. To get at this, they’ll fly off with a bone, which they smash by dropping onto rocks from a great height. But it takes seven years to perfect the technique; meanwhile they will eat bones whole. I can’t imagine they have very rich pickings where we were walking, but their ranges will be vast – which makes me feel even luckier to have seen them.

My poor description above doesn’t do these magnificent birds justice, and there was no way we could get a photo of it; it was gliding by so fast in the wind and our equipment wasn’t up to the task. I don’t even remember getting a good view of its diamond-shaped tail.

Picture
Now we headed east until we could see the Roussillon plain and the Mediterranean in the far distance. It was easy to appreciate why this was the perfect position for a watchtower. And even at the highest point of our walk, a swallowtail butterfly was braving the north-westerly tramontane wind.

On our way down, the terrain gradually changed again, until we were zigzagging along animal tracks through carpets of juniper. May is snake month – certainly at lower levels – and I felt they might be attracted to this habitat, where today it was very warm in the sun out of the wind. While I was looking out for them sunbathing underfoot, Robin’s keen eye picked out tiny white flowers growing in amongst the juniper.

A little later, his keen eye spotted something else in the distance – big and dark, gliding east to west, beneath us. It was another lammergeier – treating us to a final, dramatic flypast for the day. As the light shone silvery-grey on its back, I felt even more honoured.
By the time we re-joined the main track, we had added a hare, stonechat, and tadpoles in a puddle to our tally for the day.

We didn’t have the time or energy to extend our walk to the tower itself, but I knew I would be back.

Next time I might not be so lucky of course. Arrive late morning on a hot day in June, and I might “only” see flowers and insects. Raptors and vultures will be riding the thermals, too high to spot, never mind identify; most small birds and mammals will be hiding from the heat, in bushes or down burrows. But nothing ventured... You never know what might be round the next bend or over the next crest.

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Redstarts

18/5/2014

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by Robin Noble

Three days ago I found this poor little bird dead on our terrace; it had flown into one of the french windows. Its significance, however, later dawned on me, as it is a Redstart, pure and simple, not the Black Redstart which is all around us at the moment. The Albères book says that it is very rare in Catalonia, only two nests having been found - it is a rare passage migrant, apparently. It is strangely late in the year for it to be migrating through - very much a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time! On the other hand, the RSPB book Birds of Britain and Europe has them breeding right along the Pyreneean border from West to East. So it could be that we’re just on the southern edge of their range.

Picture
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Windy Weather

17/5/2014

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by Robin Noble and Lesley McLaren

Everyone will tell you that the Pyrénées Orientales are well-known for wind, but little more than a week ago, that reputation was more than deserved. We had several days with beautiful blue skies but also with a particularly energetic wind blowing nearly all the time. It was not good for the garden or the orchard, but it was surprisingly good for sightings of raptors, and our little group of enthusiasts were sending excited emails about things we thought we might have seen!

From the house, I had been having the usual views of buzzards and kestrels, but at the weekend I decided to go up to St. Marsal, almost in the foothills of Canigou, and as soon as we started to climb out of Vallespir I began to have sightings of big birds. The problem is that the road is narrow, mostly tree-lined, and full of sharp bends, so sightings are brief and opportunities to stop and look, very few and far between. Once I glimpsed something that might have been a black kite, but I could not stop, another time I could stop just a few yards ahead, did so and ran back to the gap in the trees- but the big bird, inevitably, had gone! And so it continued until I decided it was time for my picnic lunch. I stopped above St. Marsal, at the Col Xatard, where there is a large parking area, with a good view of the impressive massif of Canigou, and, 'though I did not realise its significance at the time, a bit of rough ground in the foreground, with scrubby bushes. While I was enjoying the view - and my sandwiches - I discovered that I had chosen a good viewpoint. First of all, a big kestrel, (must have been a female), hovered energetically for a while in front of the car, but then she moved off when another, larger bird turned up to hover in its turn. Now there are not that many raptors which actually hover: the kestrel obviously, buzzards (but not golden eagles, which can be a useful tip when in the Scottish Highlands!), ospreys - and short-toed eagles! This was my first definite sighting of one of the latter and I was impressed by the stillness of the wings while hovering - legs somewhat extended, head forward and down, a very recognisable "stance" - in the air! And, of course, remarkably pale underneath, again rather like an osprey. Despite the strength of the wind buffeting through the col, this one appeared remarkably calm and collected, and two or three times dived for prey.

But I was not the only one out-and-about this windy weekend - here Lesley takes up the story!


When you have dogs you go out in all weathers. My two usually have their noses stuck to the ground or in bushes. As for me, even though the paths that wind through the hills are stony and uneven, I’m paying little attention to where I’m putting my feet (which can have unfortunate consequences). I’m scanning the sky, looking for movement, for interesting or unfamiliar silhouettes.

Windy days often herald some excitement. This last tramontane brought me, as it did Robin, short-toed eagles. A pair, flying together, low overhead. They’re quite vocal at this time of year and often I hear them before seeing them. Their plaintive cry is more two-tone, or two-syllable, than that of the buzzard. A bit like a seagull gone wrong!

Encouraged by that sighting, I later sat in the garden, binoculars poised, waiting to see what passed by. Normally when I do that everything goes to ground immediately. But this time I was rewarded with a pale form booted eagle. I'd given up on seeing these until Robin spotted a couple in the Vallespir last year. Since then I’ve been more actively on the look-out and have seen a couple. This one didn't hang around, quickly carried out of sight by the north-westerly.

Later that same weekend, the gale still blowing hard, I drove into Spain. Several large somethings were circling above the péage at the small border town-cum-truck-stop La Jonquera. The birds looked so big I wondered if they might be vultures but I reluctantly had to focus on the road (a motorway in my case) and collect my ticket at the toll. Perhaps I completely misjudged their height - it can be so hard to judge perspective - and they were kites, or common buzzards. Perhaps I just had vultures on my mind as I was excited about a forthcoming trip with Robin into Canigou country, where griffons often soar.

And that's a story for another day.


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Shore Birds & Sea Creatures

11/5/2014

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by Robin Noble

I recently realised that despite calling ourselves "Mediterranean Pyrenees", we had so far said rather little about the sea or even the shore. Much of the latter is, of course, simply beach, that long sandy littoral of the Roussillon Plain, which might be assumed to have little or no wildlife interest. But in places along it, I have heard and occasionally seen the ringed plover, which lays its eggs almost anywhere along the edge of the beach. Where there are freshwater channels, they are slow and still, almost dammed by the wave-driven sands, and in such places I have heard, and again briefly, spied the common sand-piper - a good place to look for this attractive little wader might be the exit channel from the Étang I mentioned in an earlier blog. Their plaintive piping was always one of the confirming signs that spring had arrived in the Scottish Highlands, and I was pleased to hear one here in the first week of May; this should be too late for birds which would be migrating further north, and I presume that they must breed here.

I am not sure, however, whether I should apply that logic to another bird I saw that same day. On the water, you tend often just to see cormorants and gulls, and I am afraid that I must confess that I have rather little interest in gulls - (ok, so I'm shallow, sorry!) - but one rather strange "gull" caught my eye that very day, when it started to hover above the water. To my great delight, it was, of course, an osprey - sadly it caught no fish while I was watching it. Was this a very late migrant, perhaps a young one, a non-breeder, having a gap year around the Mediterranean, rather than in Scotland or Scandinavia? I have seen them before in this area, from the train as it heads north towards Montpellier, but this one does seem unexpectedly late.

That same day, in a number of places, I was delighted to see flocks of one of the birds with which I must confess to being obsessed - the bee-eaters! They can be so tricky to see properly, but on this occasion I had several good, if very quick views.

From the coast, more particularly from the higher Côte Vermeille we have seen significant gatherings of gulls, indulging in some sort of feeding-frenzy, which at the very least suggests there are quite a few fish on which to feed! We have only had, I think, six boat trips so far, which hardly makes us authorities on what there is out there, but it has been our impression that there are quite a few fish around. Apart from the feeding-frenzies just noted, the clear water in some of the bays has shown up some fish, (of species quite unknown to us!), and on one day last summer, we had regular sightings of one of the oddest creatures I have ever seen. It seemed to have a blunt, almost "flattened" body, with two prominent fins set far back, and was breaching regularly, managing to come quite a few feet out of the water. The National Geographic website suggests that these were sunfish, and remarks that they breach in this fashion to rid themselves of external parasites as they crash back into the water.

But one of our (potentially) most interesting sightings was from the shore - and a real lesson to me! We were in Collioure, on a lovely day, having a delightful lunch in the open - as one does! From our restaurant, we had a view out to sea, and at some stage during the meal, most of the diners became aware of activity out towards the eastern horizon. People stood up, pointed, said: "Dauphin!", and, right enough, some dark, big, sea-creatures were moving from north to south. They may well have been dolphins (but quite big ones if so), but we could not really tell. You see, there are certainly interesting creatures out there, but you see them better if your binoculars are around your neck - and not left in the car!

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FAUNA OF LESSER SPOTTED "KNOWNS"

6/5/2014

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by Bruce Hyde

While referring to something completely different, Donald Rumsfeld memorably said

"There are known knowns. These are things we know that we know. There are known unknowns. That is to say, there are things that we know we don't know. But there are also unknown unknowns. These are things we don't know we don't know."

This intriguing statement came to mind while I was pondering the less evident wildlife around us in Les Albères. The known knowns are obvious and are species that can be clearly identified such as some insects, red squirrels, rabbits, birds, hare; with luck some maybe photographed. Our website tends largely to deal with these.

At the other end of the scale one wonders, too, about the unknown unknowns as no reference book is likely to be all-encompassing. Sometimes these would be species that simply got lost on a migratory journey, got swept in by intemperate weather or just extended its usual range. It would be wonderful and exciting positively to identify one of these - a serendipitous moment! Hope springs eternal.

Then, and this is the main thrust of this blog, there are the species that we just don't see at all, but the books tell us are, or ought to be, there - known unknowns or perhaps in this case "known unseens". Our local reference book L'Albera describes many species like this which one never encounters; but that does not mean they are not there, happily living out their lives away from our gaze. The obvious candidates will be crepuscular, nocturnal or simply shy animals such as pine marten, otter, badger and deer.

Finding evidence of the known unseens is always at the back of my mind as I roam happily through our lovely area. I usually walk with my eyes to the ground - thus missing the birds, but hey, one can't have everything. And it is on the ground that one finds tracks and traces of these unseens.





PictureRoe Deer tracks


I have seen tracks of what I suspect to be Roe Deer (Capreolus capreolus).

(As an side, I have actually seen what I think was a red deer (Cervus elaphus) one day quite close to Montesquieu. It was in a wooded area and came out of cover just ahead of me. Before I could grab the camera it had darted back. It was too big for a roe deer, being well over a metre at the shoulder.)



For a long time I wondered what it was that frequently left scat on the pistes in the hills. I now suspect it to be pine martens (Martes martes), the habitat being right and "L'Albera" saying they are present. They are very shy but leave tracks 

Picture
Pine Marten (Martes martes) tracks
Also known to be present are badgers. I saw clear tracks of their presence in muddy areas during the construction of the TGV.

Picture
Badger (Meles meles) tracks
Otters are believed to be present, and whenever I go down to the river Tech I look out for signs. On numerous occasions I have specifically searched for them, but have yet to see one in situ. 
PictureDead otter (Lutra lutra) near the lake at St. Génis


Sadly, I have seen a dead one near the lake at St. Génis, and Lesley saw what looked like one that had been run over near the bridge taking the D914 across the river Tech near Palau-del-Vidre.

and I have seen what look like otter spraints and tracks.
Picture
Otter spraints
Picture
Otter tracks
Wild boar are present, and abundant one hears, but seldom seen. They leave very obvious tracks with the dew claw marks on either side and behind the main track. They also seem to rub against suitable trees.
Picture
Wild Boar (Sus scrofa) track
Picture
Tree used for rubbing
There are red squirrels around, although relatively shy at times. They leave evidence among the pine cones which they collect and from which they extract the pine kernels in a typical fashion.
Picture
Pine cone cache of a red squirrel (Sciurus vulgaris)
Picture
After the kernels have been eaten
It is interesting to find traces of, or perhaps even glimpse an unusual animal. And certainly in my case there is a long way to go before I shall run out of opportunity. I have a small library of unidentified tracks and traces left by various fauna, and a large one of unidentified flora - but that is for another blog.
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    Isobel Mackintosh
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