We have just returned from a wonderful couple of weeks on Skye. My swift season ended abruptly on 26th July when we left but due to the wonders of camera technology I know I didn’t miss any significant aerial action after then. The swiftlets in box 3 fledged and I was able to watch this from Skye. We still have two swiftlets in box 4 which should go in the next few days so I still have the pleasure of seeing adult swifts coming and going.
The first morning back home here in Gilling East, I awoke to the sound of robins singing. It is a joyous moment each year to hear them sing again after their post breeding season moult. With the swifts nearly all gone, robin song for me represents an exciting new time of the year, when I can watch bird migration and see new species arrive on UK shores. I eagerly anticipate the arrival of redwings and fieldfares and look forward to finding hawfinches around the village again. Will it be a waxwing winter- we are certainly overdue a good one…? I look forward to sketching winter flocks of lapwing again and painting the landscape in its autumn and winter garb.
Skye’s scenery was spectacular, we did see the occasional distant eagle but for me red-throated divers were the bird of our holiday. I have always been utterly captivated by divers, including when I looked at them in books as a child- long before I saw one. The Skye red-throated divers were the ideal antidote to leaving the swifts behind. There were red-throats in ‘our’ bay every day, adults in breeding plumage- perhaps failed breeders or birds with chicks still to fledge from nearby lochans.
On our first full day I was watching a red-throat fishing in the bay. I ‘perched’ precariously with my sketching gear on a rather slippery sea weed strewn bolder, tripod hastily mounted with each leg a different length. The red-throat spent so much time submerged that I had to make the most of the few seconds it was visible, hastily readjusting the scope each time it surfaced in a new area of water. But my brief views of this bird were glorious and remain etched on my mind. On one occasion the diver suddenly stretched its neck out and began calling the most evocative mournful wailing sound, befitting of any film set in remote locations or imaginary lands. Another diver had landed nearby, evidently its mate- the pair wailed in unison and then settled down to feed together. Later that day I saw eight breeding plumage red-throats in ‘our’ bay. For me this was birding at its very best.
So I ‘replaced’ swifts with red-throated divers and I observed them closely because I love to really concentrate on sketching one species. Their postures are so elegant and the rufous throat, set off by light grey tones on the neck and head, berry like eye and striped nape compels me to paint them. In some aspects they are similar to swifts- divers live a life entirely on water, mainly at sea, only normally coming ashore when they breed on freshwater lochs (substitute a swift’s aerial life for a diver’s aquatic life). Only then do they clumsily walk or rather stumble, very close to the loch edge to form a nest hollow. A diver’s physical structure is designed for swimming, with legs positioned far back on the body making it ungainly on land. The long incubation period is followed by six weeks or so when the chicks grow to fledging age. The parents commute back and forth from the nesting lochan to the sea where they find food for the chicks. Eventually the young divers learn to fly and when fledging have to reach the sea where they will likely spend the whole of their time until they are old enough to breed.
Seeing these divers in summer will link directly to me seeing them in the sea around Whitby in mid winter. When I see them in winter plumage, I can think back to seeing them in resplendent breeding plumage on Skye (and our lovely family holiday). Observing nature, a little like music, has a way of linking our time spent in different places and bringing back vivid memories. I know this winter’s diver sightings, which will probably happen in bitter weather will be enriched by our fortnight with the divers on Skye.
We have five active house martin nests under our eaves. This lessens the impact of the swifts’ departure. They give us as much joy as the swifts and keep summer going through much of September. A hundred or so have been present around the house each morning since we returned. Quite where they have all come from is a mystery. They gather on the wires and on our wall at times, a spectacular sight and sound when twenty or so all cling together under the eaves. I have often witnessed these late summer gatherings around small colonies- unfortunately it rarely translates to obvious increases the next year- they are probably migrants stopping off, or perhaps birds from a wide catchment of this area communing before departure. As with much of house martin behaviour it is a mystery, but the sight of them is spectacular and I’m glad to say people often stop to watch them as they walk along our road.
The swifts are mainly gone but there is so much to see now and look forward to before my first swift sighting of 2024. Their brief season here is different each year- for me this one will be remembered for being the most disappointing I can recall for lack of aerial and prospecting activity and I look forward to a different and hopefully better season in this respect in 2024. But the robins, divers and house martins remind me that swifts are tiny fraction of the inspiration the natural world has to offer.
All text and images copyright Jonathan Pomroy 2023