Water Rails

Water rails are typically a shy species. When I was volunteering in Greece in 2011, the very numerous Rallus aquaticus of the Gialova Lagoon, were only seen as they ran across the small bodies of water which separated the vast reedbeds, squawking anxiously. At reserves in the UK, indeed across Europe and temperate Asia, the species' range, a typical encounter consists of a sound, a squeal, not dissimilar to a distressed pig, emanating from somewhere among the reeds. When Springwatch filmed a Water Rail nest at RSPB Minsmere, and saw the pretty, fluffy black chicks, it was the first time their hatching had been filmed in the wild. They often appear on Facebook cute-memes, wrongly labelled as “crow chicks” presumably because of their jet-black downy plumage. These are such seldom seen, if not terribly rare birds, the behaviour of one at RSPB Rainham Marshes, by the Thames Estuary on the cusp of South Essex and East London, in January, was quite unusual. Pretty much every birder in the region took a few photos, and I decided to join them.

The Rail was using a pool beside one of the reserve paths, walking around its edges, occasionally leaving the shelter of the reeds to swim across the open water, looking not dissimilar to the much more familiar Moorhen (Galinula chloropus), of public parks, and posing for photographs. Water Rails are omnivorous, and can turn their attention to a range of foods, but hard times can draw birds out of the reeds, or other dense habitat as the search for energy giving foods becomes ever more pressing. Water Rails can become surprisingly confiding when cold weather dictates, and this one had, perhaps ill-advisedly, been fed mealworms, a practice which is not encouraged when dealing with scarce wild birds whose chronic shyness is an evolved survival strategy, but nevertheless, whether through familiarity or though desperation, it had come out into the open and cast off its fear of humans.

Stonechats

One of the signs of Autumn down at my local RSPB reserve is the arrival of the Stonechats. Related to the Robins and Redstarts, these charming little denizens of the open countryside descend on the marshes fringing the Thames estuary from their breeding habitats on higher ground, perhaps on the continent or in upland western Britain.  Their harsh calls, reminiscent of two flints being struck together may give them their name, although the generic  Saxicola comes from a latin root meaning “stone dweller”, perhaps referring to the often rocky moorland and heathland habitats on which they breed. They are also among the only insectivorous birds to spend the winter in Great Britain, supplementing their diet with seeds, berries and molluscs. A hard winter can be devastating, causing very high juvenile mortality and knocking back populations hard. Some individuals in the British breeding population are migratory but they do not go further than the Mediterranean. Other populations, such as those in Siberia, are much longer distance migrants, and wintering populations are found in sub-Saharan Africa and in India, though some in Britain are thought to be near sedentary.  These sedentary birds get to begin their breeding season early, in March or April, typically sitting on eggs or feeding chicks when their nearest relative in Britain, the Whinchat (S. rubetra) is still making its way back from Africa, and can raise 3-4 broods compared to the Whinchat’s average of one. While migration presents its own challenges, there is a cost to its long distance travel in breeding opportunity.  Unlike long range migrants, the Stonechats in Britain also look set to gain from climatic change, as winters become milder.

Pair of Stonechats at Purfleet Marshes.

Stonechat numbers at RSPB Rainham Marshes, as it is known to the RSPB, or Purfleet Marshes as it is known to everyone else, begin to rise in September. These birds are often accompanied by Whinchats, similar but distinguished by their more slender shape and bold pale supercillium.  The Whinchats are gone by the time the winter sets in, down to Subsaharan Africa like so many British-breeding insectivorous birds, but Stonechats however must tough it out. They are related to Robins and share many of their relatives’ charm, and are often very confiding and will allow people to get quite close, and get good views. They are striking, even in winter when their fresh plumage is duller, before it wears down to reveal its breeding finery. The male has an orange breast, and near black upperparts with a white partial collar around his neck, and white wing markings.  I met a pair last weekend at the reserve, perched on the dry, upright remains of an umbelliferous plant, against a grey and forbidding sky.  They tolerated my slow approach, even when I was concerned I had flushed the female from her perch she had simply taken off to snatch an insect out of the air, and returned to it.  Somewhat romantically, stonechats, like some other species, typically move in pairs throughout the year.   Eventually she dropped down into the reeds as I walked by, although she rose occasionally to hover and seize passing insect, taking advantage of the continuing mild spell which allows these creatures to remain on the wing. Her mate eventually followed.

Walking on a moor near Bakewell in Derbyshire with my partner in the last days of October, tenacious Stonechats were still present, and are likely to remain so through the winter.  The moors are sparse, the vegetation faded to the colour of a red grouse, though a few small insects were flying around boggy patches. Wild animals were few and far between, Meadow Pipits were present in ones and twos, and a predatory Merlin flew over us, but a gaze across the damp and dead vegetation would typically reveal only sheep. The wind was cold, and as the winter progresses it will only get colder.  One handsome male perched on emergent fronds of dry bracken as Red Grouse flew out of the heather around them, watching us, calm and confiding as a garden robin.   He may spend the winter up here, or perhaps move down to open spaces such as wetlands at lower altitudes, but he, a tiny insectivore, will not be visiting gardens or attending feeders like his relatives from the Christmas card, he will be out here, toughing it out.

Male Stonechat at Purfleet Marshes