Having
been unable to run my moth trap on that warm night a couple of days
ago, I hoped to get out trapping last night instead. However,
forecasts of clear skies, plummeting temperatures and a full moon
caused be to rethink my plans, so I reluctantly abandoned the planned
mothing for a raven count.
For
some unknown reason, the ravens have been flying out earlier than
usual, these past three years, with last year's starting at 03:45 and
in 2013, they started leaving at 03:25. As always, I take the
earliest departure time as a target and aim to be in position at
least fifteen minutes beforehand. As it happens, this morning, I was
there at 02:50, which was fortunate, for while getting my stuff out
of the car and sorting myself out, prior to heading off down the
parish road to my usual counting spot, I was only partially surprised
to hear a raven flight call, quite close and after a quick naked eye
scan of the dim, twilit sky above me, I could just about make out
six ravens flying over me, then turning and heading back towards the
roost.
I
hurriedly grabbed my things and headed off down the road, but hadn't
got far when I heard more ravens. It took me a few seconds to get my
eyes zeroed into them, but I was helped by these flying between me
and the brighter sky to the east of me. I hadn't yet zeroed my hand
tally, so I counted them manually and as soon as they were gone, I
got my tally out, zeroed it and added the count to it, by which time,
more ravens could be heard approaching, so despite being quite a
distance up the road from where I usually slouch, I decided to stay
put for the time being and count from there.
About
seventy birds had left by 03:15, then it went quiet, with just the
occasional small group or pair flying past. As I sat there waiting, a
Nightjar suddenly started churring from somewhere in the direction of
the roost; the first time this has happened for several years.
By
03:30, around a hundred birds had flown out and it had become really
quiet, so I took advantage of the lull to move down to my usual spot.
As usual, the first songbirds to start singing were Stonechats,
followed after a while, by Wren and Reed Bunting. As I sat there
listening to the Stonechats, I saw something whiffling past and
almost immediately heard the bubbling call of a female Cuckoo. It was
04:05 and no further ravens had left the roost, when I heard some
approaching it from behind me and to my dismay and frustration I saw
three groups, amounting to twenty four birds fly back to the roost
and only two go the other way. Normally the flying out is all over
in an hour, often a lot less, but it was now 04:30 and in the past
hour almost nothing had left the roost and I began to wonder if that
was it, but decided to give it until five before calling it a day.
At
04:55, a couple of pairs flew out, followed by more small groups,
then a steady trickle of small groups from then until it all fizzled
out completely at 05:45, by which time I was colder than I thought
it possible to be while fully clothed on a July morning.
At
two and three quarter hours, it was by far the most protracted raven
count I've ever done and by turns, frustrating, tedious and
occasionally exciting. However, despite all that, the total, whatever it is, is always
worth the effort (it's the whole point after all) and this one was,
at 415, the highest ever for July, so we got there in the end. Based on their behaviour, these last three July counts, I am beginning to wonder whether they actually roost properly, these short nights, particularly when there is a bright moon, or whether groups of them to and fro between the roost and the tip or a loafing place, through the night.
On
by way back up to the car, I was surrounded by Linnets singing and
calling, the males looking superb.
Before
heading off home, I visited my flint site and found two Mesolithic
blade fragments, which were the cherry on the cake and adequate
compensation for a mothless night.
 |
| The largest of the prehistoric blade fragments.Approximately 3.50 cm long |
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