Wednesday, 18 April 2018

A Wren was having a dust bath on the edge of the Long Water. This is one way of getting parasites out of their feathers.

Overhead, a Chiffchaff sang on a twig with unfolding leaves.

A Long-Tailed Tit examined a bunch of new leaves, wondering it there were any insects in it.

In the hawthorn tree on Buck Hill where the Robins are nesting, both parents were bustling about. One carried insects for the nestlings.

The other stared at the camera. I tried to give it some food, but these Robins don't know me and won't come to my hand.

The Chaffinch in the Rose Garden looked out from the empty feeder.

While I filled it, he perched on a branch and sang.

Surprisingly on a calm sunny day, there were no Little Owls to be seen. But the owls' oak tree near the Albert Memorial is a good place to see Treecreepers ...

... and there are usually Jackdaws poking around underneath.

A small party of Red-Crested Pochards were cruising on the Serpentine. When the drakes are in the presence of females they fluff up their big red bouffant crests.

The Mute Swan nesting at the Lido terrace couldn't stop picking up twigs and rearranging them on her nest.

The Great Crested Grebe on the stolen Coot nest at the island was also restlesss, and was stretching and rearranging her wings.

A Coot and its mate cooperated to add a very large twig to their nest on a post near the bridge.

Coots start their fights by simply attacking each other, and only adopt threat postures when it's over. They seem to have got things the wrong way round.

The Grey Heron on on the island was poking around in the nest. It's impossibly to see what's going on inside, but presumably it was rearranging the eggs.


  1. I think those Robins will come to your hand in no time at all as soon as they see you more frequently. Birds know whom to trust.

    I find Coots enthralling. If I were a biologist I would choose them as a subject worthy of a lifetime's study. There is always something new and innovative to what they do.

    1. I think we see ourselves in Coots: bourgeois domesticity and pointless aggressiveness redeemed by dogged persistence.