We were on a family outing in the Lake District, scrambling up some steep slopes on the edge of Dodd Wood, quite near where the viewing point for the Bassenthwaite ospreys now is.
The adults struggled up one by one. I could see that the little red bird on the stone dyke was no robin, but we had to wait until grandma arrived, puffing and panting, to put a name to it as it happily chattered away to himself as if waiting for a portrait group to assemble. It was, she said, a stonechat.
Now a confirmed birdwatcher, I often wonder on my visits to the RSPB Mersehead reserve, where the whiteboard can proclaim the presence of hundreds of skylarks and scores of linnets and twites, I always manage to see one of the dozen or so stonechats.
It is as if they are waiting for me. As I head west along the dunes, a stonechat will be sitting on a fencepost. One of their favourite games is to wait until I get within about twenty yards and fly on a stretch to another fencepost. I think that it is a game because, they could easily double back behind me if they wanted rid of me. As the fence stretches for about a mile or so, it is a game that can go on for some while. If one bird gets bored, another takes over.
Or sometimes they are on the beach fringes, playing peek-a-boo amongst the rocks. Now you see me, now you don’t.
Once there was a ferocious easterly blowing along the coast. I could see small dots of birds just above the dunes, holding their position to hover in the gale, almost like little kestrels in calmer weather. Against the light and struggling to hold the binoculars, it took some while to work out that they were in fact stonechats, enjoying another game.
One day in late Spring, I was scouting through the gorse at Balcary and my heart jumped when, just for a moment, I thought I might have seen my first ever whinchat.
In fact it was Ms Stonechat, being serenaded from across the path by her partner. As I approached, he crossed the path, perched in a broom roughly halfway between us and addressed a volley of song in my direction.
It was a performance full of ‘X Factor’ passion. I gradually realised I was supposed to feel threatened! So I moved forward slowly, keen to see what happened next.
What happened next was pretty much the reverse of the fencepost game. Ms Stonechat was shooed off to a safe distance and, when I continued to approach, moved to a gorse bush to the rear. The aggressor then flew to a bush roughly level with where I was and continued to harass me with stonechat rap. Hilariously it all sounded very melodious to my ear.
“Go away, you little conman!” I called to Mr Stonechat. “You’re just showing off to the girlfriend! You can pack it in now – I’m on my way.”
He obviously didn’t understand a word. He repeatedly caught up with me and continued the ear bashing from the reasonable safety of a nearby thicket or the top of a rock. At times he seemed to be threatening fisticuffs. The preposterous image of a sparrow sized boxer taking on an overweight six footer passed through my mind more than once.
Eventually, having followed me two thirds of the way up a cliff, he decided enough was enough and returned to his loved one, presumably to a rapturous welcome. Well it was obvious to him by then – I was running away. Or if it was a con trick to impress the wife, he’d got away with it.
For my part, these little birds will always have a special place in my heart for their apparent eccentricity. After all, there are worse humiliations in life than being seen off by a ring-ready stonechat.
August 2008
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