|Juvenile and female Little Bustards (Martin Kelsey)|
And thus we were blessed yesterday. We made our first stop, just as the sun had capped the eastern hills and the pre-dawn greyness on the plains had been alchemised to a coppery gold. Five Great Bustards were striding in an uneven line across the field beside us, shoulder deep in the grass stems. Despite our proximity, they paid no heed and methodically were using the first hour of daylight to forage. Their focus was not in our direction and their trajectory ran parallel, rather than away, from us. We were ignored. Slow steps and heads tilted down in studied concentration, the briefest of pauses and then a strike, the head disappearing into the herbage to make a peck. Four of the birds looked like adult females, with rather slender grey necks. But with them was a bird identically marked, but no more than two-thirds the size of its companions. It was a juvenile of the year, fruit of a mating between one of the displaying males that I had watched lekking on this same terrain four months earlier and result of the care and protection its mother had provided subsequently.
Two hours later as we were about to move on from the plains, an experience eclipsed even that one. Something told me that it may be worth checking a particular shallow valley where in the spring a Little Bustard had been displaying. On my visits there in late spring, the grass had grown so tall that despite hearing the display call I had been unable to locate the male responsible at all. The same valley had held two pairs of Stone Curlew, which had often been easier to find as they stayed close to the sparser vegetation amongst the dog's teeth of rocky outcrops.
We reached the place and tall, straw-yellow vegetation seemed an impenetrable barrier to our visual search. Easier to see was the Short-toed Eagle that was perched on a pylon, with a Roller adjacent, a reprise of an identical scene from the spring. But Mark caught some movement, and by extraordinary good fortune, he had found two Little Bustards. Not wanting to take his binoculars away from his eyes, so homogeneous was the field of view, that I had to attempt to follow his line of vision and search for how the birds were moving in the way that he was describing. Sure enough, there they were! They were frequently out of view behind taller or denser vegetation, but their direction was clear, moving down the slope and towards us.
|Little Bustards /(Martin Kelsey)|
|Little Bustards coming to drink (Martin Kelsey)|
|Little Bustards (Martin Kelsey)|
|The final view (Martin Kelsey)|