July 21st. Teeth of the Gale
14:15 - 16:00
Rain all day finally stopped but wind continued to increase.
A half-gale was blowing the nest tree about manically. The nest itself like the crow's nest on a storm-tossed galleon, upon which the female sat impassively.
Everywhere the sky was full: Swifts blown backwards and struggling on into the wind, a flock of House sparrows on the crop top like petrels on the foamy sea, Swallows spiralling, and hundreds of Wood pigeons in clouds, below torn clouds which were finally giving way to blue.
Then, there was the male Hobby - into the gale's teeth, battling on as hirundines and Swifts swarmed around like fish before the shark. He went behind a tree and was gone - his switchback signalled by those following, but lost.
Half an hour: there again, now clockwise around the territory, in from the west. Gone as quickly once more. A Kestrel attempted a hover - blown into an up-pitched scrag of feathers and sinew - then gave up to catch the wind and whip away to find a steadier perch.
The female Hobby kept lookout, leaning half-in and half-out of the nest, facing away, peering out from the pitching, seasick tree. Linnets' and Yellowhammers' calls blew along the hedges.
Again - a meteor-fast vertical arrow disappearing behind the trees, dark lightning. Next: up into the howling sky - rising like an express lift towards bouyant Swifts - and away down the wind, still climbing and trying for the elusively swift prey. Within a minute he was a speck against a huge black cloud and lost to distance.
He had been flying, to my knowledge, in this maelstrom day, for over eighty minutes when the cries came battling through the baffling wind: he had been successful. She slipped off the swaying nest and went to meet him. Seconds later he was on the perch tree wiping his now empty bill, at rest at last.
Then he was up - and they were both flying together towards a hidden perch - and she was carrying the prey - distinctly pied - perhaps a House martin. Away to pluck briefly - then a dark arc brought her back to the nest and her young.
As the wind obscured my visual window on the nest intermittantly, and vibrated my 'scope (as well as trying to knock me sideways!) I didn't have the best of views - but I could make out two fluffy white heads looking up at their mother, who began the feed them.
I can't be sure - but once or twice I thought a third head was briefly visible.
I hobbled back with a smile on my face - another great interlude in another world.
). I'm not sure if anyone is recording their observations of this nest systematically - that is, someone who has more time to watch than I do!
