Birding Extremadura

Plains in May (Martin Kelsey) It is as dramatic a transformation to the landscape as our autumnal " second spring ", equally fortelling of the weeks ahead. I have been out in the field every single day for the last month, but even I have been taken by surprise by the swiftness of change, engineered this year by the catalyst of several weeks without rain and higher than usual temperatures. As with the late September greening, the place to witness this metamorphosis is on the plains. The grasses shot up in height in April, with the flowering heads of different species head aloft on tall, fine stems, creating the beauty of the rippling, sometimes almost upwelling, as the breeze strokes the land. The tell-tale signs were there for those who cared to look, as the stems, paler than the lusher leaves, gave the greeness of the grasslands a slightly washed-out appearance. And then, the leaves having performed their role, and the seeds now set, the whole plant turns a sandy yellow ...

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. F...

Little Bittern (Mark Johnson) The short, dagger-like bill appeared first, from behind the wide lime-green Typha leaves at the edge of the channel. It was as if in slow motion a coil was being relaxed. The bright orange-yellow appendage being pushed by a hidden force. The movement was even, consistent, the bill entering the scene on a perfect level plane. Following the bill came the head, our focus drawn to the ruddy-coloured eye. This, however, was not returning its gaze, for the creature was concentrating elsewhere. The inky blue-black crown and grey-saffron suffused cheeks came next, slowly backed-up by a neck which lingered and stretched in a determinate glide, the stripes on its lower half matching the colours of the dead stems around it. The front half of the body then came into view, its back matching the colour of the crown, whilst emblazoned like huge epaulets on the wings were patches of the palest buff. Suddenly the motion accelerated and in what was a mere fraction of...

River Almonte early spring (Martin Kelsey) There is unanimity, even amongst those of my neighbours who are shepherds or casual farm workers and can normally be relied upon, by default, to have some issue with the weather, that this spring has been a wonder so far. Until the last couple of days of fresh northerly winds, our recompense for the rain and gales that challenged all of us during the late winter has been an intensity of green in the landscape, set off against blue skies, sunshine and touches of warmth. The countryside has been a jewel, as the photo of my beloved Almonte shows, with the swathes of water crowfoot bordering the mirror-like river. The sequence of spring colours has commenced, the yellows dominating the pastures, with marigolds and crucifers forming a sheen across the meadows, set off with the vivid splashes of Hoop Petticoat Narcissus, usually like a shower of bright sunny yellow, but sometimes too in the densest of groups, like a fanfare of trumpets. Ho...

Thekla Lark (Caroline Davison) It is probably almost impossible to be out in open country in Extremadura, at any time of the year, and not to see and hear larks. Indeed, the choice of those two sensory verbs is too restricting, because larks are more like constant companions: there are times when it is much more than seeing and hearing, suggesting the successful outcome of a search, larks actually embrace one. They enter moments of solitude, gently drawing one out of introspection, like messengers of life itself. Many times a lark will be singing from flight, so high above that it can take minutes to track the circling bird against the blue sky, and all of the time we hope that it will choose to continue its song, to give us a chance to detect it before it vanishes from view. Particularly in the traditionally-farmed plains, larks are common birds in Extremadura and we can enjoy the presence of five species in the spring and summer, and five species too in the winter. There are si...

Common Cranes on the move (Martin Kelsey) It is mid-February in Extremadura and all it seems to take is a calm day, sunshine and an almost cloudless sky and the message from nature is loud and clear: spring is here.  As we stood in the expanses of rice and maize stubble fields of the Vegas Altas of the Guadiana river, spirals of ascending cranes could be seen, discovering invisible thermals. Around us, many thousands of cranes continued to feed and a lot of these will remain for another ten days or so, but without doubt the north-eastern movement of these emblematic birds was starting. I do feel that spring does start here now. Yes, we have had Barn Swallows and House Martins around since January, and I saw a pair of Great Spotted Cuckoos in early January (although so far not since). Mild January evenings have also encouraged choruses of Natterjack Toads and I already seen several species of butterflies. But the combination of indicators bring irrefutable proof. I saw my first...

Black Vulture (photo by Nigel Sprowell) The first hour of daylight and I am walking slowly along a quiet track on the plains near Trujillo. The air is damp and there is the faintest of mists, softening the undulations of the land, the exposed dogs' teeth of bedrock and the outlines of the retama shrubs. Distance becomes difficult to ascertain. The moist air muffles the sound of sheep bells. At the crest of a nearby slope, a hunched figure sits, in dark apparel, broad-shouldered but stooped. This silhouette begs my attention, and for a brief moment, the nearby livestock lull me to a conclusion that I am looking at a lone shepherd, starting his day in the reverie that must be his mainstay, to challenge his solitude as he keeps vigil over the flock. But as I shake myself out of my own drifting thoughts, the true identify of this lonely figure is obvious as soon as I stop to look at this creature with my binoculars. It is the massive Black Vulture. Also known as Monk Vulture (beca...