Another walk in the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried

A completely different day. A sunny, warm early March day. Not a cloud in the sky. We drive up to the northeastern corner of the site to walk in the woods and around the wetlands of the northern marsh. Auspicious start with two ringtail Hen Harriers moving northeast just on the edge of Laubbach. 

We're not that early on site today - 9.30 - and meeting someone, so we're in no rush to leave the carpark. The open flat floodplain of the river Ostrach stretches up north to the town of Ostrach, a shimmering velvety green punctuated with white flecks - most of them Mute Swans, but a few Great Egrets sprinkled around the view too. Greylag Geese are paired up and eagerly stuffing themselves on the new growth. A pair of Lapwing - now a real rarity in this part of the world - appear to be taking an interest in the meadows nearest the river. If they stay to try and breed, that would be something, but their chances are slim.

We amble down to the Bannwaldturm, a 35-m high tower on the edge of the Bannwald, offering a spectacular view across the reserve and far into the distance. On a clear day you can see for miles - today's rather hazy, but you can still see for a good few kilometres. And the blued haze of the distant ridges rising towards the foothills of the Alps are a beautiful sight, even if they're not crisp and clear. Everywhere you look, there are circling raptors: Buzzards and Red Kites in pairs and trios, occasionally five or six together. There's a whole lot of migration going on here and the residents are anxiously keeping the migrants away from their own territories. A Black Stork circles up from the trees in the distance, effortlessly spiralling up above the horizon and then gliding off towards the southwest: perhaps on a mission to repair the nest, perhaps just looking for a meal. Soon afterwards a whacking great female Goshawk climbs out of the same area of woodland, advertising herself with deep, deep wingbeats and fluffed-out undertail coverts. Despite careful searching we fail to find a male displaying with her and, after a while, she drops back down into the trees. 

 

The view south from the Bannwaldturm, across the re-wetted moor

Looking east across the wet meadows - here be all sorts of delights in season.

We spend a long time at the top of the tower, mainly watching kites and buzzards, listening to the thin song of a Stonechat drifting up from the meadows below. Eventually it's time to move again though. We spiral back down to ground level, then head southwest along the boardwalk to the Fünfeckweiher. The path leads through re-wetted moorland along the banks of the old drainage ditch, now brim-full with water and fallen wood. The pines and spruces on the north side of the ditch are surrounded with a thick green carpet of clubmosses and ericaceous shrubs; to the south of the ditch most of the nearest trees have been drowned by the raised water-level - a tangled 3-D jigsaw of bleached wood and burgeoning vegetation between it. Dunnocks and Willow Tits provide the base soundtrack, a few Crested Tits purr in between.

The Fünfeckweiher is a lively place today: Greylags are busy nest-building on the islands, Teal and Mallard loaf around the edges of the pool, a few Gadwall strewn among them. A couple of Cormorants drying their wings as far away from the people as possible. Yet more buzzards and kites overhead, and then a third ringtail Hen Harrier for the day glides purposefully northeast over us. 

We continue on through the woods, looping back round to the carpark along a series of trails through - variously - wet, spruce, mixed and broadleaf woodland. The bird mix changes with the trees: Willow Tit and Bullfinch, Coal Tit and Nuthatch, Black Woodpecker and Firecrest, Treecreeper and Short-toed Treecreeper all put in appearances. We end the walk with a neatly-rounded 50 bird species, which feels pretty rewarding from such a late start in the day.

A walk in the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried

This is a short walk (about 4-5 km) around the southern end of the Pfrunger-Burgweiler Ried. If you don't know, this is a large rewetted lowland moor in the middle of some pretty intensively-farmed countryside in upper Swabia. 

About 40 minutes drive north of Friedrichshafen you'll find the town of Wilhelmsdorf, where we start out today. Park up at the visitor centre, make sure you have optics and good boots on. It's grey and spitting with rain today: very early-spring-feeling. The centre has a bunch of nestboxes on the wall, mainly occupied by House Sparrows, but there are always some Tree Sparrows among them too. A pair of Kestrels use the roof space and are often hunting in the little meadow on the east side of the road. The woods directly adjacent to the centre are not massively exciting, but there's a representative bird fauna to be heard: today Woodpigeons and Collared Doves, Song Thrush, Robin, Blackbird, Carrion Crow, Blue and Great Tits all make themselves heard. A flock of Starlings - only back within the last couple of weeks - pile in to the top of a pine, only to head off again immediately.

We head off left along the road and turn immediately right towards the ponds, taking the second path through the complex. A pair of Coot are busily diving for plant food directly in front of us, several pairs of Mallard are swimming around further back on the pool. A lone male farm duck ditches on the pool and tries it on with one of the female Mallards, who responds with intense loud quacks and swims off with her preferred (standard-coloured) mate. Tough being the odd-looking bird. Some Teal are skulking at the back of the pool, the males 'pleep' and head-bob to attract the females, who don't seem any more impressed than Ms. Mallard.

A Short-toed Treecreeper belts out a couple of rounds of song from the birches next to us. We pass some intensive beaver action - gnawed poplars are lying on the deck - and admire a Muskrat paddling across the water; tail waving serpentines at the surface gives away that it can't possibly be a juvenile beaver.  

Crossing the watershed between the Rhine and Danube (bet you didn't notice that!), we head left towards the road again. The first Yellowhammer of the morning is chinking in the hedge, a Blackbird busy hauling worms out of the grass on the path-side. A Wren blasts us with song suddenly and then darts off into the undergrowth.

We walk back to the road, turn right and follow along the side of the 'overgrown lake', now hidden below willows and reed. Another Yellowhammer sits on top of a dead tree and sings, below him are Long-tailed Tits working their way through the scrub with shrill cries. A Reed Bunting sits, half-hidden, near the top of a dead birch sapling and sings his three-phrase song. Maybe we stop for a little too long and he loses his nerve, flying away from the road. Fieldfares are calling from the birches on the other side of the road - maybe they're back setting up territory already, but I suspect these are just passing through. As we walk on, first one, then three Roe Deer appear in the meadows to the right, staring nervously at us before bounding wildly away into the distance, white rumps bobbing. Finally they feel safe and stop, turning heads back to watch us but ever-ready to bounce off further the moment we turn towards them. 

We take the second track on the left, remains of tarmac surfacing still keeping the vegetation at bay. Passing low willow scrub on the right we approach some ponds neatly created by more of the many beavers living here - the first one has no more than a pair each of Mallard and Coot. The scrub behind had one or two Chaffinches tuning up, a mixed flock of tits includes a Marsh Tit sneezing indignantly at us. Great Spotted Woodpeckers are now drumming in the background, staccato rolls echoing across the meadows from every patch of woodland. The next pond holds another small flock of Teal, who completely lose it and rocket into the air as we stop to listen for birdsong. Almost lost among the Great Spotted Woodpeckers, a Lesser Spotted is also drumming - longer, steadier and ever-so-slightly slower than their larger cousin. It's a way off though, somewhere in the poplars behind the next pool. 

As we walk on, a Buzzard lifts heavily out of a tree near the pond and flops across to the next line of trees, accompanied by raucous cries of complain from a pair of crows. The next woodpecker makes itself known: a Green Woodpecker laughing its socks off at us (so it seems). The Lesser Spot is drumming again, and this time it's visible, albeit distantly: a stumpy blob at the top of a broken-off poplar patiently drumming, listening, drumming again. Good thing the telescope came! A bit of zoom and it's clear enough, despite the grey day. A solitary male Goosander speeds overhead, aiming for the nearby fishing lake. Unexpectedly, a Sparrowhawk bursts out of the tree next to us and slips away through the scrub. Shame we didn't pick it up before it flew... The Jays certainly noticed when it headed off though!

On a sunnier day...

Out of the trees and across what used to be a grazed meadow - now being altered to keep people (and dogs) and cattle apart to prevent any misunderstandings. The ground is squashy peat under out feet, water oozing to the surface with every step. A pair of Greylags eye us as suspiciously as the deer did earlier: they also move away, though with far less speed and elegance. A silvery warble gives away the presence of Stonechats in the field - hardly a common bird generally in this overmanaged landscape, but fortunately quite abundant at this site. A female perches up nicely for us, flitting from vantage point to vantage point across the field, dropping occasionally onto some tasty morsel in the plants. A couple of Cormorants flap southwards over us, away from the fishing lake. Just behind the line of the trees, a group of crows have found something they really don't like: they circle and divebomb the canopy just where we can't see, shouting insults - or maybe calling attention to their compatriots. Whatever it is (likely a Goshawk) moves off without our ever being able to see it. Disappointing...

Turn left again and follow the ditch and hedge southwards. More Yellowhammers and Fieldfare, and finally our first Willow Tits of the day - a pair of them working their way northwards along the hedge, bleating at us for being in their territory. Another Green Woodpecker calls, then flies along the treeline to our left; just for the sake of comparison, it seems, a Grey-headed Woodpecker pipes a sad-sounding series of whistles at the same time from the woods behind us. We join the gravel track leading down along the west edge of the woods, a young mix of pine, spruce, oak and willows with hazel and dogwood scrub between. Goldcrests twitter through the low scrub, Crested Tits purr from the middle of the spruces and Coal Tits seesaw their way through the canopy. Song Thrushes are belting their hearts out everywhere now, Robins dash on and off, and across the path, snatching invertebrates from the gravel. 

As we leave the woods at their southern end, a Kestrel rises off the rough meadow and sits at the top of a nearby tree. We turn left once more, through a stand of older trees on the fringe of the town, where Nuthatch and Hawfinch are lurking in the canopy - the former far easier to see than the latter! At the end of this track, the carpark is visible on our left, but there's a final treat to enjoy: a pair of White Storks have their nest on top of the telephone pole across the road. One bird stands on the nest, its mate on the neighbouring rooftop, both carefully preening their plumage with those long red bills. For the first of March, it's not a bad day - grey and occasionally spotting with rain, but still over 40 bird species on a short walk.

Senegal. A fourth helping. Something of a mixed course.

After a few days at Lampsar, we were back in the rattletrap bus and heading back to Diadiam III - for reasons not quite clear to me, we stayed in different accommodation - this time the Campement Bidiel in the centre of the village - for some ringing around the biological station at the park entrance. This entailed a brisk walk of about 1.5 km to get the nets opened in the morning, then a walk back for breakfast for 8 and back again for the next few hours, then back again when we packed up in the heat of the day. 

From the back of the van this time. Note the securely-latched back door.

As you might imagine, breakfast back at the lodge soon fell by the wayside (the food in Senegal was perfectly fine, but the breakfasts were generally the least interesting option, being baguette with either mango jam, hibiscus jam (delicious, highly recommended) or mystery jam plus instant coffee). The loss of the lodge breakfast was eased by discovery of a lovely lady with a kiosk at the entrance to the park, who sold coffee (also instant, but what the hell) and made omelette sandwiches on a half baguette for the princely sum of €1.30 for the whole package.

Coffee at the kiosk!

 

The other significant flaw with ringing here was the wind. The entire time we spent here, the wind was up and blasting by 9 at the latest. Given sunrise is only at 7:15 and there was really no pre-dawn activity, this left a really small window available for ringing. What about the afternoon, I hear you ask (really!) Well, by the time the heat was out of the day there was probably an hour, max two for ringing. 

The harmattan kept us dusty most days

 

The idea had been to put up nets in the thorn scrub near the village, but this produced next to nothing the first couple of evenings, and by that point there was little enthusiasm for traipsing round empty nets every 20 minutes, so - aside from one net aiming for nightjars and other oddities - the idea was shelved. So, I ended up doing a lot more exploring of the thorn scrub to the south of Diadiam III than I'd expected, but this was not really such a bad thing. I've never really had the chance to walk and wander at will in Africa before, so the chance to wander off, explore even a small area and see what was out there was too good to ignore.

A trek across the bleak saltflats to the east of the village took me to another shallow pool, drying gradually out. The biggest inhabitants were a herd of donkeys, who weren't too impressed with my presence, but didn't go rushing off into the distance either. They just kept a wary eye on me, presumably in case I attempted to rope one up. The usual assortment of waders was hanging out on the mud: mainly Wood Sandpipers and Little Stints, but a little group of Kentish Plovers trying to blend with the sand made a nice addition. A Grey Heron lurked in the middle of the pool, keeping itself well away from both me and an intruding Purple Heron. 

Kentish Plovers - a long way from Kent

Nicest of all, an Osprey was hunkered down on the ground at the other end of the pool. After a while it got fed up with me watching it and headed off northwards. I worked my way gradually around the pool, just to see what was around. The north side was linked to a zigzag series of wet ditches, mainly banked high and thickly grown with tamarisk, but occasionally with tramped patches where animals had been crossing. The dragonfly fauna was as disappointing as before: mainly Crocothemis erythraea and the ever-present Ischnura senegalensis; just a lone Orthetrum (sp.) to add variety. Part-way along the ditches I heard a whistle, then saw a man striding through the bushes towards me. To be honest I was expecting to be told that I was somewhere that I shouldn't be, but he just wanted to know the name of the village - though he also instructed me that I wasn't allowed to take photos here: on the road was OK, but not here. Smile, nod. Scratch head metaphorically and wonder why...

Orthetrum species - maybe just trinacria?

As the pool was less interesting than hoped, I focused on spending the rest of my free time exploring the thorn scrub. A different route out and across each day to slice it up into new sections. It was, despite the aridity and sometimes desolate appearance, surprisingly productive. Key to finding birds seemed to be finding fruiting and, to a lesser extent, flowering shrubs, but when there were birds there were often reasonable numbers and diversity. Yes, the bulk birds were seed-eaters (Sudan Golden Sparrow mainly, and lashings of weavers and queleas) and pigeons (Mourning Collared, Namaqua and Laughing, in order of abundance), but there was plenty more to find. 

Sudan Golden Sparrows en masse

Little groups of Northern Red-billed Hornbills were often to be found munching the fruits of some trees, bounding up to the tops of the trees when I got too close. Palearctic migrants were spread through the scrub too: plenty of Western Olivaceous and Western Subalpine Warbler, the occasional Common Whitethroat, lots of Common Chiffchaffs and a few Western Bonelli's Warblers, one or two Common Redstarts and Woodchat Shrikes and a couple of Hoopoes. More exotic - for me - were Senegal Batis, sounding vaguely like a Great Tit, and the purring trills of Brubrus. Every so often a flash of electric blue revealed a Striped Kingfisher had been waiting patiently in the shadows. Near the cemetery (where else?) was a reliable spot to find Senegal Thick-knees and Orange-breasted Waxbills; tiny splashes of colour in an otherwise sand-and-green landscape.

Hoopoe. As if you didn't know that...

Western Bonelli's Warbler

Western Red-billed Hornbill

Senegal Thick-knee

Orange-breasted Waxbill

...and a whole flock of 'em

Interestingly, there were also plenty of dragonflies in this arid area too: not just roving bluetails, but also a very pale spreadwing - maybe Lestes pallidus? - and an apparent Pseudagrion species. Neat! Possibly the nicest sightings were a couple of predators: a random Peregrine and an equally random African Wolf, which trotted past me, paused to check whether I looked like trouble, and then trotted on. Very, very cool.

Deciding I'm just not worth the hassle

 

Dung beetle's gotta roll

Perhaps Lestes pallidus

Definitely Trithemis annulata

Plain Tiger (butterfly)

This is getting more tricky. A leopard tiger beetle (there's a cat theme developing)

Still not adult, but already bigger than a European Mantis: African Giant Mantis

Pioneer White

A beautiful ichneumon-type wasp

What ringing there was at the biological station was a little bit comme ci, comme ça. Again something of a tendency to weaver overload, but nonetheless some nice additional birds too. A patch of scrub to the east of the abandoned hotel produced a nice mix of Palearctic migrants and Afrotropical goodies - lots of Curruca warblers (including our only Westen Orphean) and Chiffchaffs, a couple of Yellow-crowned Gonoleks and some Camaropteras. Attempting to catch waders was nigh-on pointless, with isolated nets and the ever-present wind - with the exception of these:

Greater Painted-Snipe

which came piling in to the swampy grassland in the early morning, from wherever they'd been munching overnight. And ringing reedbed passerines was heavily influenced by the wind and the weavers, though we did catch a British-ringed Sedge Warbler and a Common Redstart with a South African ring. 

Still, whatever the ringing situation might have fallen short on, there was generally plenty going on on and around the pools, so boredom was kept fairly well at bay.

Yellow Wagtail action round the pools: this one looks like Spanish (iberiae)...

...while this one looks like a standard Blue-headed (flava)

The flamingos were usually quite distant, but occasionally came close enough to photograph

Kittlitz's Plover and Common Ringed Plover

Great White Pelicans overhead were frequent, sometimes in massive flocks

Little Stint

Looking north across the pool to the new biological station

Little Egret

Western Orphean Warbler

Amongst the White-faced Whistling-Ducks were usually a few Fulvous

Occasional obstacle on net rounds

 

Rhineland birding (just)

This is a time of year when the locals enjoy their Fasnet celebrations - which are all very well and good. However, I do prefer the atmosphere of Karneval in the Rhineland and the kids have a strong preference for the Karneval processions as opposed to Fasnet (can't be anything to do with the quantity of sweets in the air, oh no indeed). So we often make our way up to my wife's home turf of Leverkusen for one or two Karneval processions and a little bit of Rhineland birding in between. This year we also needed to go into Globetrotter for a new tent before the rest of 'em go off on their Whitsun holidays, so there was another good reason to go.

The weather wasn't ideal, though we were crazy lucky with the one procession we visited, where the pelting rain paused for the time it took the procession to pass us and then began again while we were on the bus home. 

Only one birding trip was possible, along the banks of the Rhine downstream from the Hitdorf ferry towards Worringen. The day was leaden grey and there was more than a touch of snowy rain in the air when I started, but again, I was fortunate and the rain cleared as I set out.  

Looking upstream - not overly prepossessing

Downstream is a little more inspiring, but still very Rhineland

 

The Rhine was fairly high, barges laden with containers and what looked like coal labouring upstream, others riding high unladen and slipping down on the current towards the Netherlands at a brisk pace. There was little to see initially, with a handful of Mallards and Black-headed Gulls on the water; a small flock of Long-tailed Tits bringing some life to a patch of semi-submerged willows. Careful eyes on the ground reveal some signs of spring in the landscape: snowdrops and celandine flowers sheltering under the poplars and willows.

Some signs of spring under the trees: snowdrops are in flower

 

The first Lesser Celandine flower of the year!

 

Closer to the delights of the Chempark at Worringen, the high water had spread into some shallow banks of vegetation and there were more birds taking advantage of the slack water - a group of Canada Geese grazing on the edge of the water with a sprinkling of Mallards, a couple of Gadwall and a single Teal among them; a couple of Cormorants resting on a chunk of wood in the water next to two large gulls - one definitely a Yellow-legged, the other possibly a hybrid Herring x Yellow-legged; a Greylag swimming upstream appeared to be paired up with a Canada Goose; a male Goldeneye cautiously edging away from the bank in case I suddenly sprang at him. A reminder of the milder winters here, a flock of Meadow Pipits spooked out of the floating vegetation and sat up on some dead hogweed stems, squeaking with irritation at me. 

I headed back along the floodbank, which doubles as a cycle path, looking over sodden arable fields. The occasional parakeet in the air brought a touch of the exotic to the day - most of them Alexandrine Parakeets today, but a couple of Ring-neckeds also went over. The fields near the ferry were being used by further exotic fare - 30 or so Egyptian Geese grazing in a rough grassy meadow, along with a good 50 Ruddy Shelduck. Somewhere further into the fields, a Skylark let rip with a snatch of song for no apparent good reason. Sounded nice though.

Egyptian Geese

Canada Geese lurking in the long grass - a Grey Heron tucked away in the background

Cormorants.