Waxwing Winter
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| Photo by Jo Sinclair |
My waxwing winter may be over. I am no longer a stalker. A few days ago I saw three perched on a telephone wire near a roundabout on the village outskirts. They must have received intelligence of new territory; I think they've gone.
I have waited for these masked invaders all my life, ever since the lady who planted plastic primroses told me to 'look after her birds'. I kept my word, inspired by her promise of exotics that never materialised. They are migrants from Scandinavia, 'irrupting' in the UK every few years. They arrive in Scotland and plunder gardens, car parks and farmland for berries and fruit trees. This winter the Cambridgeshire Bird Club website has been a vital early warning system tracking their southerly advance. From November onwards a local influx of waxwings was flagged up on their What's About? page. I tend to be an ambient bird watcher, happening across birds in my vicinity, but I acquired a bit of a habit for the daily bulletins. Inspired to set out on a waxwing safari, I had no luck on my first expedition to Foxton on a murky afternoon at the end of December.
I tried Duxford. A dingy day again. I headed for the location where the birds were last seen. I scanned all visible berry supplies. Nothing. I asked an affable villager couple if they knew about birds. 'No' they shrugged quizzically. I explained. 'Oh, the waxwings! Yes, you can find them at the allotments. Look for the apple trees. '
I found the allotments. I found the apple trees. And from a distance I knew I'd found the birds. I crept slowly to within a few feet. The sun came out and lit up an old English apple tree laden with a sunburst of bright fruit. Twelve crested birds gorged and trilled. Peachy, grey and cinnamon, they flashed black, yellow and white wings beaded with the red sealing wax blobs of their namesake. Quietly and greedily I took it all in. After a while I saw a man feeding his hens and pointed them out to him. I said it seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. He was quite amused, not being a birder, but his eyes shone. 'Oh yes, they're like miniature jays aren't they!' he marvelled.
Not long after this I got my 'ambient' experience when they invaded Sawston. I was chatting to a lady as we walked our dogs when I spotted them suddenly. They were on sentry duty in the tree above. I offered my binoculars. 'They're like little cockatiels', she remarked, then respectfully left me to it as I was having a bit of a cathedral moment.
Watching them in the maple I learned that they don't just eat fruit; they seemed to be nibbling on buds. I saw one bird feed another. Another time I found them stabbing vigorously at hoar frost to quench their thirst.
I got to know this flock of twenty birds. They could be flighty. They could be tame. They were predictable, favouring one tall lookout. Sometimes I had to advance ever so casually with my small artillery of binoculars and borrowed cameras. I stood facing away from them until a sentinel flew down, crest raised indignantly, described an arc around me, inspected me, then swooped on the rosehips just feet away. One day I rounded them up by following them to an oak tree harbour and sending them back to their lookout where they settled down in the rosy light of 4 O'clock sundown.
There weren't many photo opportunities during the arctic depression in the last two weeks of January. But there was one vivid morning after a night of freezing fog. Sparkling hoar frost draped every surface in jagged heaps. I spotted the waxwing flock on the bypass embankment. First I walked along the verge and photographed them from below. Then I approached from the field above. They were nervy, but I caught up with them. Stabilising my camera on a fence rail, I was right on level with them. In the sub-zero temperatures the birds were buoyant fluffy balls.
Waxwings have a propensity to change appearance. They are shapeshifters. When it's not so cold they look much more perpendicular, aerodynamic and warrior-like. They remind me of characters in a sci-fi film I've seen I just can't recall what film. Avatar? To see what I mean, have a look at Cambridge Bird Club's photos page. There are some very talented wildlife photography members here. If you scroll through the archive from November onwards the waxwings are captured in every guise. My personal favourites are the superb shots by Geoff Harries on 3rd December, Peter Beesley on the 5th and Gary Thornton on the 9th.
Cambridgeshire Bird Club
http://cambsbirdclub.blogspot.co.uk/search?updated-min=2012-01-01T00:00:00Z&updated-max=2013-01-01T00:00:00Z&max-results=50
I have waited for these masked invaders all my life, ever since the lady who planted plastic primroses told me to 'look after her birds'. I kept my word, inspired by her promise of exotics that never materialised. They are migrants from Scandinavia, 'irrupting' in the UK every few years. They arrive in Scotland and plunder gardens, car parks and farmland for berries and fruit trees. This winter the Cambridgeshire Bird Club website has been a vital early warning system tracking their southerly advance. From November onwards a local influx of waxwings was flagged up on their What's About? page. I tend to be an ambient bird watcher, happening across birds in my vicinity, but I acquired a bit of a habit for the daily bulletins. Inspired to set out on a waxwing safari, I had no luck on my first expedition to Foxton on a murky afternoon at the end of December.
I tried Duxford. A dingy day again. I headed for the location where the birds were last seen. I scanned all visible berry supplies. Nothing. I asked an affable villager couple if they knew about birds. 'No' they shrugged quizzically. I explained. 'Oh, the waxwings! Yes, you can find them at the allotments. Look for the apple trees. '
I found the allotments. I found the apple trees. And from a distance I knew I'd found the birds. I crept slowly to within a few feet. The sun came out and lit up an old English apple tree laden with a sunburst of bright fruit. Twelve crested birds gorged and trilled. Peachy, grey and cinnamon, they flashed black, yellow and white wings beaded with the red sealing wax blobs of their namesake. Quietly and greedily I took it all in. After a while I saw a man feeding his hens and pointed them out to him. I said it seemed like a once-in-a-lifetime experience for me. He was quite amused, not being a birder, but his eyes shone. 'Oh yes, they're like miniature jays aren't they!' he marvelled.
Not long after this I got my 'ambient' experience when they invaded Sawston. I was chatting to a lady as we walked our dogs when I spotted them suddenly. They were on sentry duty in the tree above. I offered my binoculars. 'They're like little cockatiels', she remarked, then respectfully left me to it as I was having a bit of a cathedral moment.
Watching them in the maple I learned that they don't just eat fruit; they seemed to be nibbling on buds. I saw one bird feed another. Another time I found them stabbing vigorously at hoar frost to quench their thirst.
I got to know this flock of twenty birds. They could be flighty. They could be tame. They were predictable, favouring one tall lookout. Sometimes I had to advance ever so casually with my small artillery of binoculars and borrowed cameras. I stood facing away from them until a sentinel flew down, crest raised indignantly, described an arc around me, inspected me, then swooped on the rosehips just feet away. One day I rounded them up by following them to an oak tree harbour and sending them back to their lookout where they settled down in the rosy light of 4 O'clock sundown.
There weren't many photo opportunities during the arctic depression in the last two weeks of January. But there was one vivid morning after a night of freezing fog. Sparkling hoar frost draped every surface in jagged heaps. I spotted the waxwing flock on the bypass embankment. First I walked along the verge and photographed them from below. Then I approached from the field above. They were nervy, but I caught up with them. Stabilising my camera on a fence rail, I was right on level with them. In the sub-zero temperatures the birds were buoyant fluffy balls.
Waxwings have a propensity to change appearance. They are shapeshifters. When it's not so cold they look much more perpendicular, aerodynamic and warrior-like. They remind me of characters in a sci-fi film I've seen I just can't recall what film. Avatar? To see what I mean, have a look at Cambridge Bird Club's photos page. There are some very talented wildlife photography members here. If you scroll through the archive from November onwards the waxwings are captured in every guise. My personal favourites are the superb shots by Geoff Harries on 3rd December, Peter Beesley on the 5th and Gary Thornton on the 9th.
Cambridgeshire Bird Club
http://cambsbirdclub.blogspot.co.uk/search?updated-min=2012-01-01T00:00:00Z&updated-max=2013-01-01T00:00:00Z&max-results=50