After something of a hiatus in bird activity, February saw rather more of interest: partial flooding of the marsh at times through the month led to as many as 41 black-headed gulls, 14 mallard, three herring gulls, a common gull and one heron congregating in the shallows, some just idling away the hours, others looking to take advantage of an easy meal of earthworms that were forced to surface from their flooded burrows.
The scene is still essentially wintry, with very occasional snipe in Tonford Field (no more than three), up to seven meadow pipits and 24 tufted duck on Tonford Lake. I’m pleased to report that the delightful pair of stonechats were still present for at least part of the month, though a fairly careful scan of the large field failed to locate them on the 27th, and the two coot that had taken up residence on the river seem to have moved on.
However, the days are lengthening, and the sun, when it is allowed to put in an appearance, is strengthening, leading to more signs of spring, with the pair of great crested grebes still present on Tonford Lake, encouraging hope that they will breed, and single reed buntings returning after their usual winter’s absence. The male is rather handsome with his striking black head and bib, white collar and rich chestnut patterning on his back, but, as if exhausted after putting so much effort into his plumage, he has no energy left for a decent song, contenting himself with a rather tuneless three- or four-note lamentation. I sometimes refer to the species as scissor birds, due to their habit of flicking out their tail feathers sideways. Rather brighter, but equally unimaginative, the repeated two-note song of a nearby chiffchaff on the 27th lifted my spirits; this may have been an early bird returning from its winter break around the Mediterranean, or one of the increasing number that stick it out here now that the winter weather in southern England is usually so much less severe than formerly. A Cetti’s warbler also burst into its rollicking, explosive song after keeping quiet for two months.
A pair of greenfinches and two collared doves were both my first records since September, indicating a possible desire to nest on the Marshes, while four stock doves feeding on the ground with a few of their fatter cousins, the wood pigeons, could also be a sign that a pair will breed in a tree hole on the old embankment.
But I have saved the best sighting to last: on the 12th, while standing on the old embankment, I glimpsed a tiny bundle of energy disappearing into the dense scrub – it could only be the diminutive goldcrest, which I don’t see that often at Hambrook, but, when it momentarily emerged from the tangle of branches, its thick white eyebrow immediately set it apart as the goldcrest’s close relative, the firecrest. Both species have a stripe of yellow crown bordered by thin black lines, but only the firecrest has the white line below the black, making its head look remarkably stripey. Another marked difference is a bronze patch on the neck, a feature that is missing on goldcrests. This was the 110th bird species to be recorded on Hambrook Marshes since 2012 and, to cap it all, a second firecrest soon began foraging in close company with the first. This is an interesting species as, despite sharing similar habits to the goldcrest, which occurs throughout the UK, the firecrest was not proved to breed here until 1962, since when its distribution and numbers have increased considerably in southern England, including in Kent, where a few can now be found around Canterbury and in Blean Woods. It seems to be less tolerant of cold winters than the goldcrest, though there is a small influx of birds in the autumn, which then overwinter in areas outside its breeding range.