Birding Extremadura

Spotless Starling (Martin Kelsey) He looks as if he has been immersed in Brylcream, a right greaser, his breeding plumage shiny and jet. Not oily - it is hard to detect any colourful irridesence (apart from a bare suggestion of purple), but greasy. The feathers appear lank and matted, those on the crown and throat almost lacquered-erect and pointed. The feet are the tone of pink you will find in a roast, medium-rare. The bill is daffodill-yellow with the windswept-blue base of a male. This Spotless Starling has become one of my favourite companions during my lockdown birding. He sometimes sings in view, perched on the telegraph post beside the house, bill wide open, prickly throat feathers spread out and entering bouts of excited wing-paddling. Usually he sings hidden from my view, on a perch behind the laurel tree in front of me. I am the only aware of his presence by his extraordinary vocalisation. His concoction bubbles away....a fizzy, gargling, sparkling, wheezing series of

Crag Martin (Martin Kelsey) Despite a chunky structure, their stiff wings and dark plumage can make Crag Martins appear almost swift-like when seen flying at certain angles. Their name indicates a preference for rocky areas and across Extremadura they can be easily encountered all-year round beside cliffs and gorges. In winter, flocks numbering several hundred can gather on the massive rockface of Peña Falcón in the Monfragüe National Park, especially when warmed by the afternoon sun. Here they will sunbathe and hawk small insects carried on the updraughts beside the cliff. Their presence in the middle of winter is witness to sufficient numbers of aerial invertebrate prey even on the shortest days. They are also well-known denizens of human structures, like bridges. Over the last decade or so, they have increased their presence in our local town of Trujillo. The medieval granite palaces offer the same interest to Crag Martins as natural rockfaces and each of the ancient arched g

A Barn Swallow from the balcony (Martin Kelsey) With the lockdown in Spain now confirmed to continue until 11th April (at least), the view from the balcony and periods spent in the garden become increasingly precious. This is my lifeline to spring. Favourite haunts, which I have shared with so many guests over the years, will flourish perfectly well without my visits. The Great Bustards will be lekking, Eagle Owl chicks hatching, Bumblebee Orchids flowering and Provence Hairstreaks nectaring totally oblivious of our absence. My markers, my solace, this spring will be everything that lives around our home. I am struck by how confiding those birds which live closest to us really are. Birds seem to stop what they are doing and look at me, as I stand still on the balcony, The male Barn Swallow on the wire, with its gloriously long tail streamers, the Wren that pauses on the railing before setting off again to shatter the peace with its song, the House Sparrow that interrupts a

Hoopoes in dispute (Martin Kelsey) The Hoopoe's "song" oop-oop-oop  is delivered perched, with the bird appearing to go through considerable effort in producing it. Standing on our balcony for lockdown birding has given me the chance to watch our garden birds stepping up into the rhythm of spring. A Blackbird appears relaxed as it sings: barely moving its body and its bill simply ajar, the head still as song flows warm and comforting into the soundsphere. Hoopoes undergo a contortion. They arch their heads downward, the neck becomes swollen and the bill is directed the feet. They appear hunched up and troubled, grave and serious. With its oop you can sense strain. Hoopoe singing (Martin Kelsey) Yet, Hoopoes are busy ooping away, because spring demands it. We must be on the border of two Hoopoe territories because whilst I was watching this singing bird, I sensed a split second of unease, its tail fanned and at the moment a rival flew in and dislodged the singe

Wallcreeper (Martin Kelsey) Few birds conjure such expectation or are so magically engaging to watch as Wallcreepers. I suspect all birders fortunate enough to have seen Wallcreepers remember their first encounter, and most of their subsequent ones too. Mine was on 6th July 1981 from the Marienbrücke across the Pöllat Gorge in Bavaria. Whilst sightseers stood admiring the fairy-tale Neuschwanstein Castle from the bridge, just as its creator King Ludwig II had done, I looked down into the gorge itself. Quietly I absorbed the profound satisfaction of watching my very first Wallcreeper. I wrote that evening "a Wallcreeper was sighted - a fine crimson-winged bird feeding on a moth and also preening. Whenever it moved and climbed over the rocks it did so in a fluttering fashion and its flight was butterfly-like". Closing my eyes, I can picture it now. Since then, I have received blessings from the Rock Flower (a Chinese name for the species)* in other equally memorable se

Blackbird Day 3 (Martin Kelsey) We are now on Day 4 of the lockdown in Spain and I am on my third day of systematic birding from the balcony. The weather has been rather cold and very windy, but with sunshine, so our solar panels have been busy and thus we can hopefully keep our energy bills down during this period! Three things have struck me about this birding experience so far. My fixed routine of three watches a day (plus incidental observations I make whilst doing other things) is helping greatly to keep my spirits up and programmes the day wonderfully. It also gives me the chance to watch and enjoy common species that are inexcusably undervalued. Yesterday's Blackbird quietly singing in the bare acacia tree in our garden touched me not just for the simple beauty of its song, but also its plumage - the fine yellow ring of bare skin orbiting the eye, the vivid but gentle orangeness of the bill. And I am logging the bird activity in the garden in a way I have not do

The view from the balcony to the Sierra of Pedro Gómez (Martin Kelsey) To the north-east lies the small town of Madroñera, embraced by gentle olive-clad hills. These rise, as I look east, to the summit of Pedro Gómez, over a thousand metres above sea-level and five and half kilometres from where I stand. There olives are replaced by holm oak dehesa , with  deciduous Pyrenean oak near the summit. Looking southwards and south-west, the hills are smaller, rounded and called the Sierra de los Lagares. Our village of Pago de San Clemente, rests at the base of their old olive-grove covered slopes. Red-tiled rooftops and small gardens are in view. South across the village of Pago de San Clemente (Martin Kelsey) To the south-west, below the continuing shoulder of the Sierra are pastures and an arable field. Closer at hand are our own olive grove and garden with its lawn and scattered trees. Half of the overall panorama is the sky. South-west over the Sierra de los Lagares (Martin