Like people, some birds just have charisma. They may not be prettier or more striking than other species, but, often for unfathomable reasons, they possess a spark which enthrals the watcher. Common Buzzard is a handsome bird no doubt, but does it have charisma? I think not. In contrast, the Honey Buzzard, superficially so similar to its distant cousin, has it in abundance. Why?
That's not an easy question to answer since the charismatic do not give up the secrets of their charm easily. This mysterious character stems from a wide variety of causes, some obvious, others less so. For me,a good“Hampshire Hog”, it started when I read Gilbert White's famous description in his 'Natural History of Selborne' of a pair of birds nesting in Selborne hanger in the summer of 1780 and how a 'bold boy' climbed the nesting tree 'though standing on so steep and dizzy a situation'.
The eggs taken and the hen bird shot, so it was a lonely bird that returned again in 1781. Hampshire, particularly the New Forest, was for long seen as the heartland of the species' limited range in the UK. White notes that they nested again in 1787, but with relatively few records in the 19th century and fewer still up to the mid-20th century it remained a bird of mystery. By the 1960s and '70s, when I started birding, its status in the county was a matter of hushed whispers and sudden silences.
That's not an easy question to answer since the charismatic do not give up the secrets of their charm easily. This mysterious character stems from a wide variety of causes, some obvious, others less so. For me,a good“Hampshire Hog”, it started when I read Gilbert White's famous description in his 'Natural History of Selborne' of a pair of birds nesting in Selborne hanger in the summer of 1780 and how a 'bold boy' climbed the nesting tree 'though standing on so steep and dizzy a situation'.
The eggs taken and the hen bird shot, so it was a lonely bird that returned again in 1781. Hampshire, particularly the New Forest, was for long seen as the heartland of the species' limited range in the UK. White notes that they nested again in 1787, but with relatively few records in the 19th century and fewer still up to the mid-20th century it remained a bird of mystery. By the 1960s and '70s, when I started birding, its status in the county was a matter of hushed whispers and sudden silences.
So I grew up thinking of it as a bird of mystery and fable. Exactly how you identified them wasn't at all clear either. The double-barred base to the tail looked obvious on a carefully posed plate illustration …. but in the field? Until the journal 'British Birds' published its series on bird of prey identification (later re-published as the book 'Flight Identification of European Raptors') details of the species plumage, shape and flight action were not easily available. The extraordinary variability of the Honey Buzzard's plumage matches and exceeds even that of Common Buzzard. Those tail bars and the dark carpal patches are more or less constant, but the birds can be dark to the point of blackness, white enough to be ghostly and exhibit a range of tones - brown, greyish and even ginger – to puzzle the unwary. Perhaps surprisingly then adult males can be reliably identified by their soft bluish-grey head. Many birds have boldly barred wings, set off by translucent primaries, such that look absolutely gorgeous against a bright blue sky. The wild, swooping wing clapping display has such exuberance that it's hard not to get disgracefully anthropomorphic about it.
Very distant Honey Buzzards! If you've not seen Honey Buzzards on migration then you've not seen them at their most enigmatic and fascinating. All migrants enjoy a level of mystery which mere resident birds cannot match, but 'HBs' have it in abundance. Birdwatching from the terrace of my house in Alcala this September allowed me to witness their migration this September in some comfort.
In my diary I wrote:
Just after 7:30 PM on Thursday (6/09) – as dusk was drawing on - a single Black Kite emerged at low level along the half hidden shallow valley, behind the ridge opposite, along which the road to San Jose runs. Skittering along at treetop level, I could have easily missed it. At 7:40, scanning for more kites trying this approach, I picked up 2-3 Honey Buzzards trying to slip past, by 7:45 there were 20+ doing so and by 7:50 numbers had swelled to over 60. Fizzing up out of the valley which could no longer contain them, they banked, dipped, drifted and circled until, suddenly, at 7:55 there were none to be seen. In the next ten minutes I had six more, but then nothing for the next 30 minutes. With the light getting much worse, I wasn't expecting any more birds. Then, at 8:35, six more drifted up from the valley. In the rapidly failing light another c25 Honey Buzzards popped up followed by another similarly sized group. Suddenly, the sky in front of the house was full of them; 50+ birds all doing a slow aerial tarantella in the gathering dusk. Slipping and sliding towards the earth, they dropped into roost; simply magic!
In my diary I wrote:
Just after 7:30 PM on Thursday (6/09) – as dusk was drawing on - a single Black Kite emerged at low level along the half hidden shallow valley, behind the ridge opposite, along which the road to San Jose runs. Skittering along at treetop level, I could have easily missed it. At 7:40, scanning for more kites trying this approach, I picked up 2-3 Honey Buzzards trying to slip past, by 7:45 there were 20+ doing so and by 7:50 numbers had swelled to over 60. Fizzing up out of the valley which could no longer contain them, they banked, dipped, drifted and circled until, suddenly, at 7:55 there were none to be seen. In the next ten minutes I had six more, but then nothing for the next 30 minutes. With the light getting much worse, I wasn't expecting any more birds. Then, at 8:35, six more drifted up from the valley. In the rapidly failing light another c25 Honey Buzzards popped up followed by another similarly sized group. Suddenly, the sky in front of the house was full of them; 50+ birds all doing a slow aerial tarantella in the gathering dusk. Slipping and sliding towards the earth, they dropped into roost; simply magic!
I awoke with great expectations on Friday after the previous evening's magical entertainment. Happily, my expectations were both met and exceeded. It didn't start well as at 8:00 AM the skies entirely birdless. At 8:22 a couple of Honey Buzzard spiralled up out of the woods, then a few more and still more so that there were soon birds moving at every level; some struggling out of the trees, some forming loose 'kettles' (the oddly evocative name for spirals of birds), some already in tight rapidly rising spirals, others breaking off at great height to glide and flap steadily southwards and still more, like motes of dust, joining kettling birds already at great height. For half an hour either side of 9:00 AM there were birds in every direction, both high and low. Even when numbers tailed off from 9:30 or so, there were still small groups of 5-12 birds – again at every level – appearing at odd intervals. How many in total? Well, I counted 489 birds, but when the frenzy was at it's height I'm sure I was over cautious in not double counting so my 'ball park figure' would be c540 although that comparatively modest number (see below) number understates the excitement I got from watching them!
Honey Buzzards are most extraordinary birds. With light, elastic wingbeats and sometimes faltering action in strong winds, they give an impression of weakness and vulnerability. Yet they also display a steeliness and determination in keeping going when other species give up. Booted Eagles look tough and feisty in comparison as they determinedly push south but the more slight Honey Buzzards overtake them with ease! They slip, almost unnoticed, low amongst the trees gradually aggregating into small loose flocks before speculatively attempting to thermal upwards in tightening circles. Sometimes they succeed, but often they waiver, stall and drop …. only to come beating up, undaunted, once more. Yet once they feel the breeze beneath their wings they can spiral up with surprising speed. Some birds beat along alone, but most birds prefer company so following a lone bird is often a good way to locate a small flock. Once a flock begins to consolidate then, wraith-like, more birds suddenly materialise out of the ether like ghostly apparitions. It this ability to surreptitiously hug the canopy before suddenly, and rapidly rising high in a giddy spiral, that makes them seem almost spectral in their sudden manifestation. As suddenly as they appear then so too do they vanish. A moment's distraction and you find that the flock has suddenly disappeared into thin air. Maybe they've risen too high to be easily seen or perhaps they've all broken off the spiral to glide rapidly away. Whatever the case they always seem as much ghostly sprites as flesh-and-blood birds
Back home I checked to see what figures were obtained along the coast on these two days and they make interesting reading. To the west near Tarifa at Cazella few birds were seen - 6/9 – 17 on Thursday and 56 the following day. In contrast to the east at Algarrobo, near Algeciras, there were 717 on Thursday and 3,955 Friday. They must have made quite a sight, but the observers on the coast will have been denied the thrill of seeing them struggling out of their overnight roosts. The way in which Honey Buzzards gained height so rapidly and glided away so quickly was quite remarkable. How do they do it? Well it must help that, despite being the size of a Buzzard they are, on average, 30% or more, lighter. This too may explain their diagnostic 'springy' flight action. So if you've not been there try to make 2013 the year you catch up with one of Europe's wonders – the migration of Honey Buzzards across the Straits. You won't regret it!
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