Owl Herding

The morning is cool and the atmosphere heavy after rain, but it is dry and there is hardly any wind on the walk down the Arun to the south of Arundel. Wind is the main enemy of the birder, far worse than any but the heaviest rain. There is more bird activity than in recent days, in some cases helped by the low tide, with five Common Sandpipers feeding skittishly on the sections of exposed mud. Two Common Sandpipers wintered here, but they left weeks back and this number of birds are almost certainly on passage. There are other waders - a single Redshank, two Oystercatchers, and several Lapwings - but these have been here a while. So too has the drake Gadwall loafing watchfully on the river. More recently arrived are the Reed Warblers, at least six of them singing urgently from the reedy ditches and reed beds where only two were calling a couple of days ago. But Sedge Warbler numbers remain low. They have been tardier arriving this year, numbers down on the same period of 2017, an

It’s a late start on a cold, breezy day for the walk along the river from Amberley station to Arundel, and that’s evident in the limited bird song and activity. There isn’t much to note between the station and North Stoke apart from a Raven duelling with a Buzzard, while the carr woodland on the former meander of the Arun between the Gurkha Bridge and South Stoke is strangely quiet. A few Chiffchaffs and Blackcaps singing intermittently and a tame Song Thrush by the path are as good as it gets. Things pick up as South Stoke nears. A Cuckoo calls distantly from the area where a Large Tortoiseshell was seen a year ago. There have been no sightings this year, though the area, always wet, is still a quagmire after the winter’s rain. There’s hope yet. The sky is clouding ominously as I cross the bridge to South Stoke, the river dotted by occasional spots of rain. A small flock of Swallows is swirling low by the bridge, then erupt in panic as a Hobby streaks above them. It shows no i

The mud has gone, the weather is warm, and the warblers are arriving. By the Arun a Lesser Whitethroat and two Reed Warblers are performing, both new in since yesterday. The Millstream seethes with the sound of Willow Warblers, Chiffchaffs and Blackcaps. But loudest of all are the Cetti’s Warblers, asserting their place and scolding the new arrivals from deep cover. This is an odd candidate to be a resident bird, a swamp warbler first recorded in Britain in the 1960s that became a regular breeder over three decades later and has continued spreading since. There appear to be more here than last year, at least two additional birds beside the river over the mile or so each side of Arundel, filling the gaps in areas of suitable habitat. Such changes are a reminder that the valley is always in flux, day by day, season by season, millennia by millennia. And the changes are not limited to birds, or one-way traffic. The river was once a hive of activity, trading goods along the south co

The relationship between birds and places is complex, and no more so than where bird calls are concerned. This morning’s walk along the river path has been unmemorable so far. The wintering birds are mainly gone and most of the migrants have yet to arrive, while the keening wind means those birds that are here have sought cover. Not only has the walk been unmemorable but unpleasant as well. The sheet of mud masquerading as a path had been improving, but the overnight rain has left it as treacherous and slippery as before. The dog tugs morosely at a clod of sodden earth, trying to turn it into a rabbit, before giving me a less than friendly look. Home, the look says, and I’m inclined to agree as the wind eases but rain begins to fall in its place. Then a Common Redshank calls as it takes off and flies down the river, and for an instant I’m transported to the Sungei Buloh Wetland Reserve in Singapore. The mudflats overlooked by the Aerie Tower are swarming with Marsh Sandpipers