Wet My Lips

An excellent evening at Inner Marsh Farm last night produced one, possibly two, calling Quail, three Hobbies and a Green Sandpiper.

Things started slowly, although I was cheered by the sight of the two adult Oystercatchers reunited with their last chick.

The Green Sandpiper started the ball rolling, spotted skulking in the corner of No. 2 pool. After feeding briefly the bird took flight, gave a couple of verses of its lovely call, climbed, and headed south.

Next on the bill was a raptor picked-up soaring over the woodland where the Little Egrets breed. After some deliberation due to poor light and distant observation, the original call of Hobby was confirmed as the falcon drifted towards Burton Wood.

It was soon joined by another Hobby of a more diminutive stature, signifying a probable pair. They didn’t seem to be hunting, merely flying for sheer pleasure in the glorious evening sun. Incredibly, the birds were they joined by a third bird that showed no hesitation in joining the aerial dance.

In fading light, time was called and three fellow birders and I headed back to the car park. One of these, Stan Skelton, mentioned that he thought he had heard a Quail calling on a previous evening from the field near the bench. Walking up the slope we heard nothing, but about thirty yards past the bench there was no mistaking the distinctive sound of a Quail calling: Wet-My-Lips, Wet-My-Lips!

It appeared at one point that two birds may be present as some calls seem to overlap. Nevertheless, I suppose we should be grateful that one individual has managed to avoid being dinner for a sustainability-challenged Mediterranean peasant.

Until later.