Martin Kelsey's blog on the birds, natural history and life in general in Extremadura
My daily greeting
Nightingale (Martin Kelsey)
Late April and I rise at six, which is well over an hour before sunrise. It is high season for the business and there is breakfast to prepare, packed lunches and organising the day's guided birding. But my routine is simple. Washed, shaved and dressed, I come downstairs and open the front door. With no moon at the moment, the sky, still not showing any glimmer to the east, is illuminated only by stars. Scorpio dominates the southern sky - slung across my view, stretching across my horizon. I always pause and take in a deep breath of pre-dawn air. I pause again and listen. Without fail, at the end of April there are always two birds singing: it is too early for the chatter of the conversations of waking sparrows, nor the Blackbird or Swallow. From near at hand, indeed just feet away to my left, comes the urgent, clean and full-bodied notes of Nightingale. This bird will have been singing throughout the night, as waking moments will have testified. Further away, but piercingly and plaintively passionate will be the lilting cadences of Woodlark. These two deeply moving sounds are the first elements of the natural world that I will hear each morning at the moment. Some mornings, at the same time, there will be other sounds: the tocking of Red-necked Nightjars, the even short whistles of Scops Owls or soft hoots of Long-eared Owls. But these are supporting actors at this stage of spring, and my three or four minutes of commune with pre-dawn Extremadura is held by two soloists of trascendential talent. I quietly close the front door again and return to the kitchen to start the chores needed for the day ahead, just as the eastern sky starts to brighten.
Early December in the hills (Martin Kelsey) Eight months earlier, under the softness of a fresh canopy of Sweet Chestnut leaves, the sight of a vast colony of creamy Barton's Orchids filled me with joy. Now, only a single wizened grey spike, bearing the husks of the seed capsules remains in view. It is exposed on a mossy bank, with the rest of the colony now hidden under the deep blanket of coppery leaves covering the ground in this grove. The trees stand dormant and a winter's silence now clothes this hilltop. Until a Jay screeches and somewhere through the trees a Roe Deer barks, making me jump. A frosty trail (Martin Kelsey) There is still colour in many of the Sweet Chestnuts and Pyrenean Oaks. I am at about a 1000 metres above sea-level and the temperature is hugging freezing point (but in the frost pockets lower down it was down to minus 4º C) and autumn just about perseveres here, although there is a distinct wintery feel to the birds. Walking along a ride, where the s
Alcollarín Reservoir (Martin Kelsey) A blustery late afternoon in mid-November and I pause to watch a large flock of small birds that zing like a wind-blown sheet pegged to a washing-line. They gather on the ovine-nibbled sward beside feed mangers in a small paddock populated by some ewes and lambs, under the shade of broad holm oaks. For no apparent cause, a "dread" sweeps across them and they retreat into the trees, like the sheet torn off the line. A minute or so later they calmly descend again, as if the sheet gently floats back to the ground. This woosh of panic and then calm happens every few minutes. Most of them are sparrows, both House and their chunkier Spanish cousins. But there are also Chaffinches amongst them, and where there is a large winter flock of these, then there is always a chance of their northern counterparts: Bramblings. I settle down with my 'scope to pan across the groups of feeding birds once they are on the ground. It is frustrating - it see
Sawfly Orchid Ophrys tenthredinifera : one of the most widespread species in Extremadura Orchids are compelling. Even the most botanically-challenged birders will stop to admire one in flower. Simply being an orchid commands attention. The name is instantly recognisable, sounds special - although how many will know that it comes from the Greek word for testicle, thanks to the pair of tubers that many orchids have underground? The flower itself is attractive, usually held aloft on an upright stem, gorgeous and intriguing to those curious enough to get on their knees for a closer look. Beyond their appearance are fascinating life-histories and ecologies. They have an association with fungi which provide nutrients and sometimes have highly-specific pollinating agents. The bee orchids are sexual traps that lure young male bees by pretending to look (and smell) like female bees. A long wet and mild winter for growth and a long hot dry summer for dormancy is what suits the orchids growing