Snospurven! Snow Buntings, Plectrophenax nivialis, and all I know about them.

 At the lower station of the Cairn Gorm funicular railway, just above Loch Morlich, not far from Aviemore and part of Britain’s most noted Ski resort, there is a small, and usually astoundingly busy car park, surrounded by high end tat shops and various small, ski-related enterprises.  Emma and I visited the Cairngorms’ eponymous mountain in the hope of catching up with the confiding Ptarmigan for which the lower slopes are noted. The heavens had, the night before, dumped impressive volumes of snow on the towering landscape, and, though some paths up to the Slopes were already well trodden, the mountains, for miles, were coated in a thick, deep blanket of white, softening their ragged edges. Snow brings a curious sense of silence, and seemed to dampen the hubbub of excited skiers, and we looked down on a winter wonderland, snow hanging in the branches of the pine woods of Rothiemurchus, all the way down to the loch shore and beyond.

Snow Bunting, Cairn Gorm, March 2023

There were, despite this being apparently the only centre of human activity for miles here, special, and especially beautiful, birds here. A small band of Snow Buntings perched on the sloping roof of the ski centre. They fluttered down to pick about in the snow beside the green, angular, corrugated iron structure, flashing black and white wings. They allowed close approach, unafraid of the people around. Eventually a small crowd of photographers, armed with long lenses, gathered, and the Snow Buntings were keen and obliging models. Charming birds of high altitudes and the high arctic, last time I visited the flock, apparently a fairly regular fixture around the lower car park and the higher Ptarmigan restaurant during the winter months, had already melted away to their breeding sites high up in the crags. Flocking, and moving around these lower slopes, and being confiding, are winter behaviours. They nest high in the rocky landscapes, males singing atop deserted and windswept crags, where people very seldom tread. Arctic/alpine specialists, they breed right up into Arctic Norway, Arctic Russia, Iceland and Arctic Canada, places of icy extremes. When I visited Arctic Norway, in high summer, ‘Snospurven,’ a ‘common breeding bird,’ were nowhere to be seen.  Both sexes become whiter in summer, as they feed around the snow line, grabbing the insects which drift up on thermals, to find themselves dropped just above the snow line, an easy meal for the Snow Buntings to take back to their chicks.  During the last ice age they thrived across Europe. What impact climate change will have on such specialists as these remains to be seen.

Snow Buntings, Cairn Gorm, March 2023

Britain’s only breeding Snow Buntings are the few hundred pairs in the highlands, but in winter, more do appear in the country, and tend to choose a habitat which couldn’t be more different to the Cairngorms. They gather in small parties on stony ground, usually on shingle beaches, and are a regular fixture in some spots along the East coast. Here, their white-and-sandy winter plumage provides remarkable camouflage, blending readily with the Carstone and iron stained Hunstanton chalk pebbles of North Norfolk.  Here too they can be confiding, on a recent trip to Titchwell it was a joy to find these small and cheerful little birds scuttling around our feet. They can turn up as far South as Kent and Essex, but favour the North and East, making landfall at night as they cross the North Sea from Scandinavia and beyond, from places which make the North Norfolk winter seem mild.

Snow Bunting on the beach at Titchwell, Norfolk, December 2022

When we returned from our fruitless trudge through the snow on Cairngorm, without having seen a Ptarmigan, and a pair of noisy, cronking Raven the only new species on our day list of two species, we found 30 or so Snow Buntings now gathered, and a small crowd of photographers admired them, from just a couple of metres away.  What a privilege to encounter such charming and special birds, at such close quarters.

Cairn Gorm in the Snow. 

Snow Bunting.

Birding in Geneva

As April turned into May, the beautiful Bee Girl and I ended up taking in a spot of urban birding, David Lindo style, in one of Europe’s most iconic cities, as part of a week’s holiday which included visiting a friend who lives beside the beautiful Lac d’Annecy, of which more is to come.  Despite admittedly having its fair share of typically alienating urban hustle and bustle, one is immediately struck by Geneva’s greenery, and its abundant open spaces. Its birds of prey tend to leave quite an impression too.

After arriving, on an afternoon Easyjet flight from Southend and checking into our hotel, we made our way on an evening stroll through the streets and into one of the lakeside parks, Parc du Perle du Lac. The parks were huge, immensely clean, and, conspicuously dog mess free.  The sky was wide and blue, and, as we walked among the old, exotic trees, my eye was caught by a soaring shape above the trees.  I ran, almost compulsively toward the bird of prey, but by the time I had reached it, it was gone, slow flapping away parallel to the lake shore and behind overhanging trees. I was standing on a concrete promenade with the verdant park behind me, and the huge, mountain fringed Lac Leman, expansive and calm, in front of me. Across it, on the far bank, the mountains, including the distant Mont Blanc, climbed skyward.  Though the lower slopes were clearly covered in deciduous woodland in full leaf, the peaks were still shrouded in thick snow. To our right, the jet d’eau, Geneva’s famous fountain, pumped the lakes’ water several metres into the sky, and on the far bank we could see the names of French fashion houses and Swiss watch makers in lights above the hotels.  A Red Crested Pochard floated on the lake, alone, not coming too close to the bank.  The first surprise occurred when a group of tourists, armed with loaves of white bread, began to feed it to the Goosanders. Goosanders, a species of “saw bill” duck with fish eating habits and an awkward waddle on land, are fairly scarce (but increasing) in the UK and regarded as specialised fish eaters, but these francophone-Swiss Goosanders  seemed very happy munching soft, damp white bread like Canada Geese.  The second surprise was not far off, when another large bird of prey flew low over the water. This time I did get the binoculars on it, and childish was the glee on my face when I took them down. It was a Black Kite! Now Black Kites are not uncommon across large swathes of Europe,  often co occurring with Red Kites and usually in much greater numbers, but this was my first, and it was a stunner.  I may have attempted to point it out to bemused passers-by, who paid it little attention.

Natalie and I engaged in a little mountain gazing, and enjoyed watching the Goosanders at close quarters as they waddled awkwardly about on the rocks and jetties below us, calling to mind penguins in zoos. Unlike Penguin enclosures in zoos, they waddled alongside nesting Mute Swans and Mallards. We caught the little yellow boat, part of Geneva’s public transport system, to the other side of the lake, to look for somewhere to have dinner in the old town. As we were arriving, the Bee Girl advised me to look up. About fifty Black Kites were making their way, at height, perhaps toward some roosting site in the greenery around the city, from scavenging in the mountains and around the city streets.   It was with a definite sense of joy that we walked past the lakeside cabins, sailing clubs and boat-restaurants, as the bats pursued insects around the bright lights.

The following morning we would be off to France, to Annecy, another beautiful place beside a lake, now 30 miles or so across the border, but first we took a walk up to the UN buildings, walking again through the Parc du Perle du Lac.  We paused for lunch and became familiar with some of the city's house sparrows. House Sparrows are absent from London today, but in Geneva's bustling city centre they remain common. They were confiding, and we happily shared our lunch with one or two of them! For a moment I even had a handsome house sparrow perched on my shoe!  I miss these charming little urban birds at home. They used to be common, and cities are poorer without them. In the Parc du Perle du Lac I saw my first urban Pied Flycatchers,  a pair which were drinking at a stone water fountain, and, as met one of Geneva’s most endearing, if non-native mammals. Someone had dropped some bread off a high concrete embankment onto the moss-crusted rocks below, and a Chipmunk was nibbling on it.  The animal had stripes running the length of its back, and large dark eyes best described as ‘adorable.’ A small population of Siberian Chipmunks, largely escaped pets, has been established in Geneva for some time.   We watched the nervous little creature, running into and out of its nest hole among the rocks below. Eventually a curious Carrion Crow scared it off, and we continued through the botanical gardens. A plan to visit the UN buildings came to naught, so we were able to stroll through the botanical gardens, where the sounds of free-roaming Peacocks could be heard.  A single Serin sang in one of the conifers, and we saw a butterfly we identified as a Queen of Spain, along with several orange tips.  The Black Kites were constant company, soaring overhead.

We left Geneva that afternoon to return a week later, finally making it to the UN headquarters, and also taking the Telepherique (cable car) to the top of the Mont Saleve, just over the border in France and affording wonderful views of the city. On Mont Saleve I caught sight of another new-to-me mammal, the charming, and globally common Red Squirrel, on the floor of the lush woodland.  We also saw several bees and a few unfamiliar orchids we could not identify. Later found a bench, among the trees on the slope, and reflected on how wonderful the city, and our trip had been, while enjoying the view across the city of Geneva, and the expanse of Lac Leman, as the Crag Martins and Swifts, newly arrived migrants, wheeled and circled in front of us.