Whilst my rant about the perilous situation facing many
raptors in the UK at this stage, I have to write about my recent visit to
Manchester where, in the heart of the city, I got some wonderful views of some
wonderful birds of prey, and was a witness to their family life, on a ledge
overhanging the river Irwell as it creeps sluggishly between the boroughs of
Manchester and Salford.
On the day after my mate Tom’s birthday, we went over to the house of a pair of good friends of ours, a couple who live in one of the impressive, rather new “dual use” tower blocks in the city centre, overlooking the Irwell and the Arndale centre, as soulless a shopping centre as one could hope to find, and the wider city. From the 23rd floor the city spreads out before you, its smart, red brick buildings dating back to Industrial Revolution expansion sitting side by side with glass office blocks, the 47 story Beetham Tower and, in the distance, older tower blocks sitting on the outskirts of the city, with rolling hills to the horizon. From here, on a clear day, one can see the Jodrell Bank observatory, and a bridge in Runcorn, Liverpool. As we disembarked from the lift, the window which faced us briefly framed the shape of a Peregrine, its buff coloured underside indicating it was a juvenile. A couple of pigeons rocketed through our view, obviously recognising the threatening shape above them, changing direction and disappearing from sight. The Peregrine did not stoop after them.
We made our way in to our friends’ flat where we were made welcome, and we sat by the window. We were pointed to a mossy, dark patch, on a ledge beneath the roof of the smart, red brick building opposite. The ledge, on inspection with the binoculars, turned out to be covered in feathers. Many of these were white and our friend reported having seen the Peregrines taking Black-Headed Gulls back to the ledge. We did not have to wait long for the birds to return. Reports from the RSPB online suggested four chicks had fledged and were being fed by two adults. An adult Peregrine, we assumed it must be the female, the larger of the sexes in this and most raptor species, landed on the ledge, holding in its talons the grey body of a feral pigeon. The adult was a smart bird indeed, with a slate-black back, jet black crown and facial markings, and a yellow cere and eye ring giving a fierce expression. For a falcon it is broad bodied, chunky even, but lacks none of the grace of its smaller and slighter relatives. Two juveniles, one distinctly smaller than the other, follow their mother onto the ledge. The juveniles are greyer than their parents, with a hint of russet brown in the crown, and very much beige, rather than white undersides. In flight they already look like falcons, but when perching their youth is plain to see. The feathers on their undersides still look fluffy, and they lack the striking yellow facial features of the adults. For now she just stands over the pigeon, which appeared initially to be struggling, but quickly becomes still as she begins to pluck it. The youngsters look intrigued but wait patiently, occasionally reaching towards the female. Within a few minutes, she has cleared sufficient of the late pigeon’s feathers and begins to offer it, in small pieces as if to a nestling, to her offspring, amid a loud chorus of shrill begging calls from the youngsters. A male and female juvenile sit in front of her, and a few seconds later, another smaller juvenile arrives. The largest juvenile appeared to be receiving most of the food, but the others are fed too. The process of delicately removing small fragments of meat and passing them to members of her brood continues for several minutes, before she is off again, leaving the young to share the meat among themselves. The two larger siblings go in for the largest piece of meat, but a wing or some other substantial section of pigeon remains and, furtively, the smallest juvenile approached and dragged it away, feeding in peace a few metres from his siblings. The process of breaking down and eating the pigeon has, rather to my surprise, taken the birds about an hour, an hour of squawking begging noises. Feathers from the pigeon are carried away on the breeze.
On the day after my mate Tom’s birthday, we went over to the house of a pair of good friends of ours, a couple who live in one of the impressive, rather new “dual use” tower blocks in the city centre, overlooking the Irwell and the Arndale centre, as soulless a shopping centre as one could hope to find, and the wider city. From the 23rd floor the city spreads out before you, its smart, red brick buildings dating back to Industrial Revolution expansion sitting side by side with glass office blocks, the 47 story Beetham Tower and, in the distance, older tower blocks sitting on the outskirts of the city, with rolling hills to the horizon. From here, on a clear day, one can see the Jodrell Bank observatory, and a bridge in Runcorn, Liverpool. As we disembarked from the lift, the window which faced us briefly framed the shape of a Peregrine, its buff coloured underside indicating it was a juvenile. A couple of pigeons rocketed through our view, obviously recognising the threatening shape above them, changing direction and disappearing from sight. The Peregrine did not stoop after them.
We made our way in to our friends’ flat where we were made welcome, and we sat by the window. We were pointed to a mossy, dark patch, on a ledge beneath the roof of the smart, red brick building opposite. The ledge, on inspection with the binoculars, turned out to be covered in feathers. Many of these were white and our friend reported having seen the Peregrines taking Black-Headed Gulls back to the ledge. We did not have to wait long for the birds to return. Reports from the RSPB online suggested four chicks had fledged and were being fed by two adults. An adult Peregrine, we assumed it must be the female, the larger of the sexes in this and most raptor species, landed on the ledge, holding in its talons the grey body of a feral pigeon. The adult was a smart bird indeed, with a slate-black back, jet black crown and facial markings, and a yellow cere and eye ring giving a fierce expression. For a falcon it is broad bodied, chunky even, but lacks none of the grace of its smaller and slighter relatives. Two juveniles, one distinctly smaller than the other, follow their mother onto the ledge. The juveniles are greyer than their parents, with a hint of russet brown in the crown, and very much beige, rather than white undersides. In flight they already look like falcons, but when perching their youth is plain to see. The feathers on their undersides still look fluffy, and they lack the striking yellow facial features of the adults. For now she just stands over the pigeon, which appeared initially to be struggling, but quickly becomes still as she begins to pluck it. The youngsters look intrigued but wait patiently, occasionally reaching towards the female. Within a few minutes, she has cleared sufficient of the late pigeon’s feathers and begins to offer it, in small pieces as if to a nestling, to her offspring, amid a loud chorus of shrill begging calls from the youngsters. A male and female juvenile sit in front of her, and a few seconds later, another smaller juvenile arrives. The largest juvenile appeared to be receiving most of the food, but the others are fed too. The process of delicately removing small fragments of meat and passing them to members of her brood continues for several minutes, before she is off again, leaving the young to share the meat among themselves. The two larger siblings go in for the largest piece of meat, but a wing or some other substantial section of pigeon remains and, furtively, the smallest juvenile approached and dragged it away, feeding in peace a few metres from his siblings. The process of breaking down and eating the pigeon has, rather to my surprise, taken the birds about an hour, an hour of squawking begging noises. Feathers from the pigeon are carried away on the breeze.
Another hour passes, and two of the youngsters remain on the ledge for some time, one of them, the smallest, laying down on it as if still in the nest. Raptors incubate their eggs as soon as they are laid, so the oldest chick gets a few days development in before the last youngster has hatched. The older chicks tend to dominate the younger ones, and in poor years, it is often just the oldest, or two oldest, chicks which survive. This juvenile though seemed strong enough, we’d seen him eating and holding his own, so, although some of us were concerned by his odd behaviour in lying around on his belly, wings hanging by his sides, I have no reason to believe his chances now are much slimmer than those of his siblings. Part of the difference in size at this stage could well be due to sexual dimorphism as much as age nutrition, and I do tend to think of what we saw as one female and two male youngsters.
An hour later the adult female returned with another pigeon
for her hungry brood, two of which, the smaller youngsters, have waited
patiently on the ledge for her. From somewhere, the large, and somewhat
ungainly, female youngster appears as well.
Puffed up against the cold, she looks awkward, somewhere between being
an adorable, fluffy chick and a streamlined, elegant, and deadly adult
peregrine. Her brothers, squawking, have
no such pretences of adulthood about them. One could almost be forgiven for
making “squee” noises in their presence. Almost. The adult begins delicately feeding one of
the young males, but their big sister barges them out of the way. At one point
the cheeky youngster is engaged in a tug of war with her mother, apparently
trying to wrestle the pigeon from her, or at least help to break it into more
manageable chunks. The adult female
eventually turns her back on the youngster and covers the kill with her wings,
offering a little to the smallest male who seems constantly to be standing
behind her, keeping his distance from his siblings. Eventually the big juvenile
works out what is going on and moves around to compete with her brother. The
tug of war is briefly resumed, after which the female flies off, not to return
that evening, leaving the youngsters to sort out the food between them. There
is plenty left for the smaller juveniles once the young female is satisfied.
Again, they make the meal last well over an hour, and they are still feeding
after we’d had our dinner and Birthday Cake. When we look back the two little
males are still there, but the young female has obviously left, perhaps to join
her parents at a roosting site somewhere. We didn’t see the juveniles leave,
but as the light faded, and the sunset shone off the glass Beetham Tower, they
did leave the ledge, presumably to somewhere to roost and spend the night. We took a taxi back to Tom’s flat in Hulme
not long after.
The Peregrines in Manchester are not unique, a pair roost sometimes on the Tate Modern here in London, and Bath, Lincoln and several other cities also host breeding pairs. They are not harassed, the street pigeons are nobodies sport, and many welcome a bird which can, perhaps, manage their numbers, and volunteers are often forthcoming to watch the nests and guard against would-be egg collectors, or rescue the juveniles when they fall out. Their success is part of the partial recovery witnessed since the banning of DDT and protection from persecution, and Peregrines, which are cliff nesters, are well suited by towns which offer concrete substitutes for their natural nesting sites. Feral Pigeons, too, are descended from wild ancestors which bred on sea cliffs. Their iconic beauty makes them treasured, both by local experts and by nature-deprived urbanites, and cities offer something of a refuge from the human threats presented by the countryside.
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