By Robin Noble Photos by Martine Noble
During our two months in France, we had some nice sightings; they started, rather unusually, on the way down through the country on the motorways. Some way south of Clermont Ferrand, a farmer was cutting hay in a small field and there were at least six storks in the cut section – were they perhaps looking for frogs or even mice? The next morning, there were vultures above the road out from Millau, and as we emerged out on to the plain well before Béziers, a flash of gorgeous colour – blues, turquoise, browns, almost a pink – must have been a roller; our first in Europe.
We made a short trip west from PO, right into the Pyrenees, revisiting one of our favourite high cols. Again, high up, was something we had never really seen, such a show of the autumn crocuses that we had to call it a wildflower meadow. We stopped to photograph, and to appreciate its beauty.
During our two months in France, we had some nice sightings; they started, rather unusually, on the way down through the country on the motorways. Some way south of Clermont Ferrand, a farmer was cutting hay in a small field and there were at least six storks in the cut section – were they perhaps looking for frogs or even mice? The next morning, there were vultures above the road out from Millau, and as we emerged out on to the plain well before Béziers, a flash of gorgeous colour – blues, turquoise, browns, almost a pink – must have been a roller; our first in Europe.
We made a short trip west from PO, right into the Pyrenees, revisiting one of our favourite high cols. Again, high up, was something we had never really seen, such a show of the autumn crocuses that we had to call it a wildflower meadow. We stopped to photograph, and to appreciate its beauty.
Other creatures, we could see, appreciated the scene more as a source of food. It had been ploughed (there is no other word) by wild boar – presumably they eat the crocus corms? Again, we had never seen sanglier-damage on this scale.
And while we were out of the van, photographing, there were countless swallows and martins overhead. Interesting that they would choose such a high migration route; clearly, there were hordes of insects in the lee of the summit of the col and the migrating birds were making the most of it … against a background of seemingly endless declines in the numbers of so many species, it was wonderful to see so many birds.
Over the summit, on the narrow road downhill, we had to stop to let a young fox cross; he seemed quite unworried by our vehicle and wandered over to the verge on our side. A car came up the hill and also slowed to a halt. Despite the noise of the engines, the fox cocked his ears, looked into the grass on the roadside, did a leap and emerged with a mouse, which was apparently very tasty. He then slowly strolled off the road…
The next day we took another, even narrower road, uphill to a bergerie we knew; last time we had been there, three years ago, there had been a berger and lots of sheep. Now, while it was clear that cows had come that way, the bergerie was shut up, and there were no sheep beside the road. To our surprise, however, there were marmots, right beside the narrow strip of tarmac. They moved a bit as we stopped, but one stayed in the open as sentinel, and Martine managed to photograph it from the comfort of the van.
Over the summit, on the narrow road downhill, we had to stop to let a young fox cross; he seemed quite unworried by our vehicle and wandered over to the verge on our side. A car came up the hill and also slowed to a halt. Despite the noise of the engines, the fox cocked his ears, looked into the grass on the roadside, did a leap and emerged with a mouse, which was apparently very tasty. He then slowly strolled off the road…
The next day we took another, even narrower road, uphill to a bergerie we knew; last time we had been there, three years ago, there had been a berger and lots of sheep. Now, while it was clear that cows had come that way, the bergerie was shut up, and there were no sheep beside the road. To our surprise, however, there were marmots, right beside the narrow strip of tarmac. They moved a bit as we stopped, but one stayed in the open as sentinel, and Martine managed to photograph it from the comfort of the van.
Again, what was noticeable was that the former sheep-pasture was now a chaos of ploughed ground, once more the result of sanglier activity. It was lovely to see the marmots, but for how long they will be able to survive there, with the short grass on which they depend being effectively destroyed by the boar, is not at all clear to us…
And when we made one of our short jaunts into Spain, we were in for another surprise; we stayed a night in an attractive seaside hotel in Port Lligat, and as we drove down the steep road between stone walls into the very tidy hotel carpark, there were three sangliers, mother and two well-grown babies, rooting around in what were meant to be tidy strips of flowers and shrubs at the entrance to the building.
And when we made one of our short jaunts into Spain, we were in for another surprise; we stayed a night in an attractive seaside hotel in Port Lligat, and as we drove down the steep road between stone walls into the very tidy hotel carpark, there were three sangliers, mother and two well-grown babies, rooting around in what were meant to be tidy strips of flowers and shrubs at the entrance to the building.
We were told that during the periods of lockdown in Spain, the wild boar had lost any fear of people and were wandering through the village in broad daylight. While this did provide us with some excitement, and a few photos, it is clear that the numbers of wild boar are not simply making them a pest but creating a real environmental problem which will disfigure much of the Pyrenees unless they can be brought back under control.
While we were in Spain, we visited, as ever, the wetland area we casually call ‘the Emporda’; despite recent thundery downpours it was, in fact, very short of water, and almost devoid of birds. We did, however, see two very handsome snipe and one species which was new to us, a green sandpiper. All the local storks had left, bar one which I happened to see flying about on its own as we arrived.
While we were in Spain, we visited, as ever, the wetland area we casually call ‘the Emporda’; despite recent thundery downpours it was, in fact, very short of water, and almost devoid of birds. We did, however, see two very handsome snipe and one species which was new to us, a green sandpiper. All the local storks had left, bar one which I happened to see flying about on its own as we arrived.
Green Sandpiper
Our own local Etang was pretty quiet the day we visited, but on another occasion we explored a little of the significantly larger bodies of water further north. Here there were hordes of mosquitoes, but also and rather more enjoyably, lots of flamingos, egrets and cormorants, seen from a fragrant maritime ‘heath’ which is mostly covered with wild rosemary. And we visited a migration ‘hotspot’, the Roc de Canilhac, a small eminence which rises from a mix of Etangs and marsh, and is, just like the ‘hillock’ by St Nazaire, a great location from which to see migrating birds. Thousands of storks had gone through a few weeks earlier, but while we were there, we could still see a flock of maybe fifty or sixty. We had excellent views of a marsh harrier, while kestrels and buzzards flew around. In fact, at regular intervals throughout this spell in France, brilliant views of superbly-marked buzzards brightened the sunny days – especially when they flew over the garden. We saw them at regular intervals beside the motorway all the way back to Dieppe, from where we took the ferry home.
