Warren House Inn and Yarner Wood, Dartmoor, Devon
2 May 2004
It was a brilliantly sunny morning and the air was still. What better conditions could I want? My first stop was Warren House Inn since Andrew had tipped me off that he had had an easy Ring Ouzel here. I duly scanned the grassy slope that drops down from the inn and there, on cue, he was: a fine male, probing the ground no more furtively than if he were a Blackbird. Nice start!
With such bright light and no haze I was able to ramp up the zoom on my scope to the full 75x without significant loss of quality. As I feasted my eyes on the bird, my pleasure was enhanced as a handsome male Wheatear hopped in front of it. From a nearby bush a Blackbird poured forth its song. I love Blackbirds, but not up here where they compete with the ouzels. Behind my back, in a roadside tree a Chaffinch perched and, lower down, a male Reed Bunting gave a snatch of song – but he seemed more intent on searching for food. Further back from the road another Wheatear scratched out its song from the trees. In the distance, somewhere down by the Soussons Plantation, a Cuckoo was calling, its second note dropping virtually a perfect fourth rather than the archetypal minor third. There was no chance of seeing it from here, but no matter: I would catch up with it later.
I followed the path that led down to the valley that nestles below Birch Tor and Headland Warren. As I came to the tops of the small trees that lie scattered here a male Whinchat sang at me, proudly displaying its handsome black ear coverts, striking white supercilium and orange-buff breast. Again a long scopeful was in order. As I pressed on downwards the languid plaints of Willow Warblers enveloped me from the surrounding trees. The Whinchat followed me down to the valley floor, commandeered a small tree a mere 20 feet away and poured its heart out, at this range easily out-competing the more distant Robin, Wren, Dunnock and Chaffinch that were also clamouring for my attention. Again the Cuckoo called; again he could wait. About 50 feet away a dark thrush materialised on a patch of bare grass: a female Ring Ouzel. I brought the scope to bear and admired its frosty feather fringes. Just as before, a male wheatear popped in front of it. As I raised my head, the female’s mate hopped out of a patch of heather and the two of them probed the grass, quite unconcerned by my presence. That bright white gorget does something for me: male Ring Ouzels really are magnificent birds! A movement in a nearby tree caught my eye: another male Reed Bunting. Unremarkable, really, but I never can get used to seeing them up here.
The peace was almost overpowering. Just me, the birds, and the still morning air. Perfect!
Then I became aware of the “seea, seea, seea” of a singing Tree Pipit. Looking up, there it was above my head, gliding down rigidly, like a paper plane, to land in a distant tree. Typically, by the time I had brought my scope to bear it had disappeared, so I set off up into the old mining gullies to look for it. Away to my left two or three “chacks” drew my attention to two flying Ring Ouzels. Was this the pair I had just been watching, or was it a male chasing off an intruder? There was no sign of the pipit, but another Whinchat and a Linnet were singing here and the Willow Warblers looked very busy as they flitted from branch to branch. I frowned at a couple of Blackbirds. I felt I ought to explore the gullies for more Ring Ouzels, but the distant call of the Cuckoo was drawing me. As I turned a rapid series of harsh “chacks” jerked my eyes upwards to two male Ring Ouzels belting overhead. A definite chase this time.
I wandered on down the valley towards Soussons; but by now the bird song was tailing off and I saw few new birds. Two smart male Pied Wagtails strutted their stuff, but otherwise there were only Meadow Pipits and a couple of Carrion Crows. I easily located the Cuckoo perched in a dead tree just in front of the plantation. From within the wood a Green Woodpecker called a few times, but those trees were not on my itinerary today. As I retraced my steps a Buzzard drifted lazily overhead towards the plantation.
Climbing up back to the heather-covered tops it struck me that I had not yet heard any Skylarks. As if it had read my thoughts, one promptly lent a voice to the sky as it struck up its endless ripple. A fitting coda.
* * * *
So to Yarner Wood. The morning was already well advanced by the time I arrived, so the trees were relatively quiet. Yet, as I stepped from the car I was greeted with the shrill “s-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-ee” of a Wood Warbler. Pressing on up the path I heard two more. I stopped to look for one, but could not locate it. As I stood there the song of a male Blackcap exploded from nearby and a movement 20 ft up in an oak tree caught my eye. I lifted my binoculars. No, not a Blackcap, but the least-expected bird of the day: a female Lesser Spotted Woodpecker, no less! As if eager to oblige, it fitted over my head, alighted on a bare branch and sat there motionless. Superb!
Walking slowly up the hillside paths I was greeted by several pairs of Pied Flycatchers, many of them busily collecting nesting material and stuffing it into the nest boxes that line the paths. Through persistence I eventually managed to obtain fine, eye-level views of the Wood Warbler that had been invisible from below and watched it as it launched itself from branch to branch, singing and quivering its wings very slightly as it did so.
Little else was on show today – I was quite unable to find any Redstarts – but it had been an exhilarating morning and I left feeling on top of the world.
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