Male wheatear with black bandit mask He’s back. He perches on a fence post claiming his territory, his summer residence. He knows his place, and so do I. I’ve met generations of his fore-bearers, his lineage. I'm delighted he is returned to the neighbourhood and I hope his female is here, or will join him shortly.
My encounter with this smart wheatear is cut short by the farmer who drives out to check on his sheep. Good luck to the pair if they can raise a brood here. This isn’t the solitude of a mountain redoubt where I delight in finding wheatear.
My encounter with this smart wheatear is cut short by the farmer who drives out to check on his sheep. Good luck to the pair if they can raise a brood here. This isn’t the solitude of a mountain redoubt where I delight in finding wheatear.
A reverie of wheatear on a perfect day in Hushinish, North Harris 9 July 2015.
Our cliff walk overlooks the Atlantic, a palette of aquamarines. There are beaches of white sand, a coastline of sea-lochs, and fresh-water lochans. We descend toward the shore of Loch Crabhadail with long-deserted lazy beds and shielings. Grass is strewn with rocks encrusted with lichens, moss and heather. We are not alone in this solitude, there are young birds all about us. A male stonechat perches on a rock. There's a young meadow pipit. And a young wheatear bright-eyed, pin feathers visible, his down puffed-up and ruffled by the wind. His black bandit-mask already shows and a blur of colours hints at what's to come. By September/ October this young wheatear could find flight ways to West Africa, independently. It’s an awesome ability. Something humankind has lost, if ever we had it
Our cliff walk overlooks the Atlantic, a palette of aquamarines. There are beaches of white sand, a coastline of sea-lochs, and fresh-water lochans. We descend toward the shore of Loch Crabhadail with long-deserted lazy beds and shielings. Grass is strewn with rocks encrusted with lichens, moss and heather. We are not alone in this solitude, there are young birds all about us. A male stonechat perches on a rock. There's a young meadow pipit. And a young wheatear bright-eyed, pin feathers visible, his down puffed-up and ruffled by the wind. His black bandit-mask already shows and a blur of colours hints at what's to come. By September/ October this young wheatear could find flight ways to West Africa, independently. It’s an awesome ability. Something humankind has lost, if ever we had it
On Scout Scar I’ve sometimes found birds on passage, exhausted after a long flight. I think the handsome male wheatear featuring on the front cover of Cumbrian Contrasts was heading for Greenland or Alaska. For a long, long time he sat in a dead tree shifting this way and that to give the perfect photo-opportunities. And hours and hours afterwards to study him. West Africa to Greenland or Alaska is the longest flight of a songbird.
Sometimes, in the fells, wheatear tell of their presence by a territorial chack chack, chack chack weet,
Sometimes, in the fells, wheatear tell of their presence by a territorial chack chack, chack chack weet,
This image sequence reminds me of photographs taken in infancy, when doting parents took their child to a photographer and proudly shared the entire photo-sequence.
Somewhere, I must have images of female wheatear. The gender imbalance occurs because the male is so striking and he proclaims his territory. She is less bold in behaviour, more discreet in appearance, and once she has eggs she'll be incubating them and out of sight. They're a beautiful blue, rather like the background sky.
Somewhere, I must have images of female wheatear. The gender imbalance occurs because the male is so striking and he proclaims his territory. She is less bold in behaviour, more discreet in appearance, and once she has eggs she'll be incubating them and out of sight. They're a beautiful blue, rather like the background sky.
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