Summer Fledglings Learn to Hunt and Fly

By Lesley McLaren

In May the local bird group alerted members to an apparent dearth of woodchat shrike in the region. Although not officially designated a species at risk, its favourite habitat of vineyards, orchards and scrubby grassland in the Roussillon plain is being eaten up year on year by building projects; we were asked to look out for this handsome little butcher bird.

They are summer visitors, similar in size to a wheatear - bigger than a sparrow, smaller than a song thrush; nicknamed "butcher birds" because, like other shrikes, they have a gruesome habit of hanging dead prey on thorns. I have yet to find one of these larders, but for several years running have seen an adult (always on its own) in roughly the same area on my regular vineyard and orchard circuit. Early this spring I saw one on two occasions, but in a slightly different section of the walk. Come April, I switched to walking in the hills during the worst of the tick season (ticks can be particularly bad in the vineyards, where sheep are sometimes grazed), and only returned to to the plain around the beginning of this month.

In the last three days, to my delight, I've identified two small family groups of woodchat shrike. Except that up to now, per group, I've only ever seen one adult and no more than three young in the same place at the same time. One lot I keep finding in an area of apricot, olive, pine and a few oak trees; the other, among vines and oaks (exactly where I've seen a single bird in previous years). Only two or three hundred metres of grassland separate these micro habitats, which isn't far as the shrike flies. So I've been trying to work out if one family of five or six young has split into two, to facilitate feeding and training duties, or if, in fact, there are two families of about three young each. I've learned that the first scenario is quite possible. Equally, it's not unusual for this species to nest very close together, but in those circumstances adults usually have spats along the territorial border. So far I haven't witnessed any arguments.

Yesterday I photographed one parent in the olive and apricot habitat, and this morning finally captured the other in the vines. On checking the pictures, it's obvious straightaway that they are different birds. But which sex? If both the same, I could safely assume we have two families.

Unfortunately, sexing woodchat shrike isn't easy; they have very similar plumage. Apart from a bright chestnut cap, which extends down the back of their neck, they are black and white. A white rump and bold white flashes on their wings are especially distinctive in flight. According to my book, the main difference is that the female has a little more white around her eye. Impossible to spot that in the field, and inconclusive in my photos at maximum magnification. Today I asked the GOR for their opinion. Apparently there can be a lot of variation between individuals, but the consensus is that my rather more drab adult with blobs on the chest, is most probably a female (below left), while the other, with brighter, smarter plumage, is a male (below right). I might have have guessed.
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Here's the male again. Upset by my presence, he was sounding a harsh, rattling alarm and wagging his long tail - from side to side as well as up and down.

Below: two juveniles. They are quite spotty, but already have the beginnings of wing and tail patterns. You might also just be able to make out the little hook on the end of the beak, which is invaluable for dealing with their favourite food: mainly insects, but occasionally small vertebrates. Most of the time they keep watch from a bush or post, and drop onto prey. They occasionally catch insects on the wing, and I did watch one youngster attempt this today - without success. They still have quite a bit to learn before their long, first journey to sub-Saharan Africa - which may begin as early as next month.

I was amused to watch two chasing Dad at one point, and I wondered if they were harrassing him for something in his beak that I couldn't see. Denied an easy meal, were they being forced to hunt for themselves, or was it a game? In many respects they are already behaving and sounding like grown ups, but from time to time they regress to begging. To me, their begging call sounds like the French word for "quick". Vite...vite...vite...vite, they cry. Dad doesn't seem to be falling for that any more, but Mum is still a soft touch. She gave in to this one.

In the clip below, the same youngster is still reluctant to fend for itself.

Woodchat shrike - juvenile begging parent from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.

In the next clip, you can hear the alarm call and see how the male flashes his tail about, to intimidate the likes of me. For a while, one of his offspring is alongside, practising tail-wagging and his spot-and-drop hunting technique.

Woodchat shrike (male with juvenile) from Lesley McLaren on Vimeo.

My conclusion, at least for the time being, is that there is one family of five or six young, split into two groups.

This behaviour strikes me as practical, and a clever way of increasing the survival chances of the whole brood. It also intrigues me. If I understand correctly, adult pairs aren't hardwired to do this every year as a matter of course. So how do they make the decision, and how do they communicate it to each other and their young? My first guess is that it depends on numbers. It's normal for five or six eggs to be laid. But if all chicks fledge, this number of mouths to feed could be the trigger (which then begs another question: can woodchat shrike count?). My second guess is that the female feeds only some of the young once they've fledged (which would indicate that adults can tell their offspring apart). Those individuals imprint on her and follow her wherever she flies. Meanwhile, the male feeds only the others, and they imprint on him. These suppositions have no scientific foundation whatsoever but are, in lieu of further research, my best stab at thinking like a shrike.

Metres away from all this activity, golden orioles are having flying lessons. Yesterday an adult male - tropical bright - was accompanied by three others that were much greener. One might have been his mate, or all were juveniles. (Females and young can be easily mistaken for green woodpeckers, which are only a little bigger than orioles.) They seemed to be having great fun zooming acrobatically back and forth through a stand of pines until, for a moment, three of them took a breather in the same tree.

These birds are notoriously difficult to capture on camera and this is the closest I've been to any that have made themselves visible. They are extremely shy - more often heard than seen - which is frustrating, and a great pity because they are so beautiful. The male contrived to hide his head each time I clicked the shutter. After he had flown off, I did manage a couple of slightly better shots of a juvenile eating a small pine cone. Even then, as you can see, I never managed to get the whole bird in the same picture!
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I usually stay on the dirt tracks but yesterday, while stalking shrikes and orioles, I crossed a couple of patches of grassland, which had been cut for hay earlier in the season. It was nearly lunchtime and, as the heat rose to sizzling, so the cicadas and grasshoppers turned up the volume. In one rather more overgrown corner, they were everywhere, leaping out of my way as I brushed through stubble and young, green shoots. I was now back in Mother Shrike's territory. No wonder she and her kids liked this spot.

Temporarily distracted from birdwatching, I took a closer look. There seems to be a huge variety of grasshopper species, and all are so well camouflaged.
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Shortly after snapping those two, something much bigger scurried from under my feet.

At the other end of the size scale to my crab spider of last month's blog, yes, it is as massive and hairy as it looks, and is another master - or possibly mistress in this case - of disguise. It's a type of wolf spider (Hogna radiata). It takes refuge in tunnels, and actively hunts for prey instead of spinning a web or waiting in ambush. I blogged about wolf spiders in November 2015 when I came across a female of the same or similar species, with young on her back. I didn't manage to photograph that extraordinary sight and haven't seen another one until today. If I return to this grassy spot with my camera in the autumn, perhaps I'll be lucky and capture one who's carrying her spiderlings - or even, you never know, teaching them to hunt and run.

Inevitably, new discoveries lead to new questions. Now I'm wondering if woodchat shrike prey on wolf spiders...