Searching for adventure…

The corncrakes have been a little late returning this year – late April in some parts of the island but only on 11 May did they make it as far as Aird A’Mhachair right up in the north-west corner. Lack of cover from the yellow flag iris and the nettles, which have only in the last week or so grown tall enough to offer one of the UK’s most elusive ‘native’ birds sufficient cover in which to skulk, is possibly one reason for why. ‘Ours’ – nesting on the croft for the last several years – made it back the following day and, spending a few hours in the garden on a few days of spring weather this week, I’ve heard three, possibly four, calling males in the area.

The one which inhabits our croft is, just possibly, Aird A’Mhachair’s least shy corncrake, and I’ve seen him twice this week. Not, like last year, staying on the outside of the fence. Oh, no. That’s no longer for him. I saw him firstly on the day after his arrival (you tend to hear rather than see corncrakes), loping purposefully, neck stretched, across the middle of the lawn (well: grass, really), cut this year shorter than a new squaddie’s haircut, making his way for the fence and the rather denser cover outside, and just the wrong side of the remains of a line of daffodils which sheltered him perfectly from view from the house.

And, then again this afternoon – I heard him from the drive at the front of the house, closer by than hitherto, and, wondering if he had taken up his old calling post on a stone on the outside corner of the fence, dashed through to take a look. No – sadly not there. But then, looking a little to the right, again, standing more or less in the open in the middle of the lawn (…) and still calling proudly. Grabbing the camera – kept close at hand for just such an eventuality – he made his way towards the fence, this time the right side of the daffodils, before taking up a perch apparently on a new calling stone, this time on the inside of the garden and just about 30′ from the window. He was perfectly happy for me to open the window and, not only that, but to pose and issue a few more calls – that strangely, unbird-like sound, a bit like scraping your fingernails quickly across the teeth of a plastic comb; a bit like a couple of sharp twists of a supermarket acrylic pepper grinder.

Here he is, in full calling flow:

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And then here, not looking in the least embarrassed at such a display of open, untypical extrovertness (and at quarter past three in the afternoon, too):

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He’s calling again now, as I write – partly it’s looking for a mate; partly, being possessively territorial birds, it’s advertising precisely which bit of the village is his.

Maybe he knows it’s late in the year and there’s not a lot of time left to raise one, and hopefully two, broods before setting off again for that long migration across the Sahara and back to the African savannahs. But, then again, maybe this particular one realises that searching for adventure is, indeed, the type of life to find….

UPDATE 20 May: Not the best picture (he was a few feet further away than on Thursday), but here he is again calling out for all he’s worth. Mostly, the calling has been infrequent – this afternoon, a pattern of four ’rounds’ and then a small break. I’m guessing that the infrequency reflects that he has a mate already and is just reminding all and sundry that this is his part of the village; as opposed to the greater urgency surely demanded by the need to find a mate.

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