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.

Tittesworth Reservoir

Tittesworth reservoir lies a few miles from Leek in Staffordshire, a few more miles from Stoke on Trent. It is operated by Severn-Trent water, serving the Midlands, and, as is the case with many reservoirs, they allow part of the surrounding area to be managed for the benefit of wildlife. in the shadow of the Roaches, It became a rather wonderful birding surprise when I visited last week with Natty. 

A breeze and a dark grey sky greeted us in the morning, and the weather dictated there would be few exciting butterfly sightings today.  From the bus stop we made a substantial walk down a fast country road, past the sad remains of a squashed Brown Hare, on which a couple of Carrion Crows were feeding. The first area we reached when we arrived at the site was wooded.  A river, feeding the reservoir, meandered through the trees. The first bird we encountered was a Song Thrush, perched on top of a hawthorn shrub. It was singing, with the characteristic repetition of phrases typical of the species.  The river itself caught my eye, and sure enough a pair of Grey Wagtails were busily feeding and chasing each other over the shallow water.   These charismatic little birds seem to me to turn up wherever there is water, indeed I have seen them in litter filled storm drains in suburban centres, but only a few moments later a more unusual riverside passerine presented itself. A Dipper flew off the bank not far from where we were standing and alighted on a stone a few metres downstream. Dippers are very scarce here in the South East, and all my encounters with them have been in the North West and Midlands. 

The Hawthorn had just begun to flower in Staffordshire, the progression of the seasons perhaps a couple of weeks behind down South, on account of the slight change in latitude and altitude compared with Essex, and we could still see well up into the tree canopy, not yet closed by leaf burst. The ground was a little muddy, and the river flow quite powerful on account of the recent rain. The scratchy calls of whitethroats and repetitious songs of chiffchaffs dominated. A small passerine which alighted in front of me came as something of a surprise. It was black and white, a Pied Flycatcher! They seemed to be surprisingly common around the area! There was a female there too, and she was quite photogenic, hanging around for several seconds. A  couple of swifts hurtled over our heads on their constant pursuit of flying insects. 

Pied Flycatcher.

As we neared the reservoir the river widened and we moved into an area of wet scrubland. A bird with a bright, salmon pink underside and a white rump could only be a Bullfinch, and on closer inspection a pair were fluttering from branch to branch among the alders which grew out of the shallow water. There were Reed Buntings here too, smart marshland birds, apparently at home in the wet woodland. Singing on a branch which hung over the path was a Garden Warbler, a bird with which I am none too familiar. The Garden Warbler is a bird of scrubland like this, and not a common garden visitor in this country, contrary to the name. It is about as plain a bird as one can imagine, grey-brown on its back with a diagnostic grey marking on the side of its neck. I’d met a single passage bird at Chafford Gorges a few weeks back, but here the species seemed to be flourishing, and there were many!  As the wet woodland gave way to open water, we saw some Tufted ducks and Moorhens, nothing but the usual, on the water. We elected to turn round and stop on a conveniently placed picnic bench for lunch. Quite what perched on top of a nearby shrub and looked at us and darted off into the undergrowth remains a mystery, but it was perhaps a little bigger than a robin, had a rich brown back, a pale chest, and few distinctive markings. There appeared to be a slight white ring around its eye. I called it a Nightingale, but when submitting records to the BTO later I was told that the species was a local rarity, and had my ID queried, so now I am no longer so confident. If it had sung, I would have been confident, but it just watched as I nearly dropped my sandwich and fumbled around with the binoculars before vanishing.

A singing Garden Warbler

We wandered back to the council run visitors centre which, to our disappointment, seemed mostly a fund raising exercise, with no relevant information and no sightings board. The volunteer or member of staff on duty could only suggest we found one of the reserve wardens whilst on our walk to tell us about what had recently been seen. Perhaps it is better sometimes to go out onto a reserve with no expectations.

Our first stop involved crossing the country lane, to where a small area of water had been designated a nature reserve by the water company. The Roaches, rocky hills covered in moorland vegetation, relic patches of a once larger network, stood out before us. We found a small hide overlooking the water, which initially looked barren. A moorhen picked about in the shallows and there were a couple of coots on the water. The sky was beginning to look grey and threatening.  A small bird appeared from behind the island, which we decided was a Ringed Plover, on the basis of their posture, they are more rotund and hunched than the very similar Little Ringed Plover. Another small brown wading bird then presented itself, with a distinct flight pattern appeared and also landed on the island. It would flap very rapidly, and then glide, wingtips lowered in an inverted V, a little like a Harrier jump jet and completely unlike a Harrier. This is another migratory species which is often spotted around ponds, throughout Britain, at this time of year, a common sandpiper, and the unique flight pattern is diagnostic.  An Oystercatcher too sat hunched on the island, and before long a handsome lapwing flew in, mewing, to join it.  At one point, three handsome curlews, birds emblematic of the Staffordshire Moorlands landed. These are big birds, easily dwarfing the other waders, and have declined substantially as the moors on which they breed have shrunk. The land about us, aside from the scrappy Heather and Bilberry on the roaches, was farmland, “improved” pasture grazed by cattle, but here were the birds in their ancestral home. Being familiar with Curlews as very much a winter bird of coastal habitats, it was a pleasant change to see them inland, even if the habitat had been ripped from under them.  As we watched them, the rain began to drum on the roof of the hide.

The roaches, and an angry sky.

We walked back, past the visitors centre, past more whitethroats and thrushes and blackbirds, and under swifts and swallows, which had descended to pursue insects over the water as the rainfall purged the clouds of bugs from the air.   Hirundines and swifts characteristically gather over water in wet and windy conditions. Natty and I, however, pressed on. We noticed, as we walked beside the water, that there was a distinct lack of water birds on the reservoir itself, aside from the typical Canada Geese, Tufties and Mallards, many of the latter semi-feral with white blotches and markings betraying a farmyard history. I think such “hybrid” mallards are very pretty, but they are hardly exciting. A couple of Great Crested Grebes were more like it, and these could be seen swimming well out in the water.

The path took us away from the water’s edge, and the rain continued to fall as we made our way down a muddy track, past a field of improved grass and thoroughly miserable looking cows. A glance into the trees we past revealed long tailed  tits, another garden warbler, and a singing Willow Warbler, but nothing new. It was quite a relief when the uninspiring vista of mud and electric fencing gave way to the dam which marked the end of the reservoir, the length of which we had now walked. It was down some steps and through some pines, along the length of the dam, and up again into a pine plantation. Elderly, sweet smelling Scots Pines formed a dense canopy, and among their trunks dead trees rested on their living neighbours. A goldcrest alighted in front of us, looked around startled, and disappeared. There were a couple of Jays in the trees too.  As we walked through the woods, occasionally catching glances of the water beside us, we startled a large raptor, which disappeared over the water and into a cluster of trees opposite. It’s back was a ragged brown, and there seemed to be white markings on the underside but from my angle I couldn’t tell; it was the bird that got away. Buzzards are not uncommon in Staffordshire but Ospreys are also known to visit Tittesworth Water in spring and autumn, and one was recorded just a few days later. Whether we saw it first, it seems, we will never know.    

Another view of Tittesworth Reservoir.

  

The reservoir still had more treats in store for us. After getting overexcited about a Mistle Thrush, possibly mobbing some unseen mammal in the grass, and having almost completed our circumnavigation of the lake, we saw a small flock of finches leaving the grass. Most of them were pretty little goldfinches, flashing bright yellow wing bars as they took off into a tree, but some were plainer, and speckled. Lesser Redpolls are a breeding bird in Britain, but I am used to seeing them in the winter as they, in the company of other finches, nibble at catkins and other fruiting bodies on woodland trees. Here were, presumably, British breeding redpolls amid a flock of Goldfinches in mid May.  Also in the trees beside the lake, as if wires had yet to be invented, were a number of very hunched, damp and moody looking Barn Swallows. There were still many swifts and hirundines, including house and sand martins, wheeling about over the water, but these specimens had obviously thought it better to rest than spend their energy on thin pickings of insects over the water.  Even on such a grey day, the iridescence of their black-blue backs of the birds at rest was more obvious than it would be when they were in flight.

The tree of Swallows

We met a young family of ducks, as we both began looking forward to getting indoors and out of the rain. A sleek, brown-headed, largely grey duck with a fine chestnut crest, which any old school punk would be proud of, led a brood of ten black and white ducklings away from the bank and into open water. At one point some of the little ducklings even hitched a ride on their mothers back, like Grebes.  They were of the fish eating “sawbill” type, and again I had to check the Collins, but the sharp definition between the females’ chestnut head and grey body, and the small, white patch on her chin identified her as a Goosander. These are remarkable, exotic looking ducks with much lighter beaks than those of the dabbling and ducks which are so familiar. This family were shy, the mother clearly anxious to lead the ducklings away from us, and further into open water, so I resisted the temptation to stay and watch them for longer as, with the conditions and the known presence of a large raptor, making them nervous was only putting them at risk.

Viewed through some inconvenient marginal vegetation, the Goosander family.

Although it had been an incredibly good day of rain-soaked birding, we appreciated the warmth and a cup of tea when we got back to Natty’s house and dried off!