The never spotted woodpecker
Now, I’m a reasonable sort of person and
I’m perfectly willing to believe the lesser spotted woodpecker does actually
exist, that it’s not some sort of in-joke made up by expert birders. But… a woodpecker
the size of a sparrow? I don’t know. I have never seen one. I’m endlessly being
told about them on people’s garden feeders, but the “small woodpecker” they
describe always turns out to be a fairly large one, such as a great spotted,
which I’m pretty certain definitely does exist, having seen them on my bird
table.
At last, back in early March this year, I
had a golden opportunity to see this legendary beast, on a visit to the RSPB
reserve at Ynys-hir. Under the guise of heading there to get a proper feel for
the place as a wildlife reserve in early spring (by the time we get there for
Springwatch it’s nearly summer), I wanted to bag the lesser spotted woodpecker,
with which Ynys-hir is purported to abound.
the
RSPB reserve at Ynys-hir.
I have to admit that during the hurly-burly
of Springwatch, we are all so busy that I hadn’t had a chance to explore
Ynys-hir properly, so this visit would be like discovering the place anew. And
with so few leaves on the trees, it presented a brilliant opportunity to see
birds. At this point, dear reader, I’m feeling quite confident!
The three-hour drive through the heart of
Wales at night was, frankly unnerving. The closer I got to my destination, the
thicker the fog became; manic drivers hurtled up behind me on the wild roads,
headlights inches from my bumper. As it turned out, the fog set the scene for
my whole visit, and in a curious way it enhanced the experience.
And
with so few leaves on the trees, it presented a brilliant opportunity to see
birds.
Next morning at 6.15am you would have seen
a shadowy figure creeping out of my excellent B%B and slipping around the
corner to a deserted Ynys-hir. To begin with, I was surprised at how little
evidence there was of spring. At home in the Somerset Mendips, the lesser
celandines were in flower in February, scattering the verges with gold, Flowery
yellow primroses were out in profusion and the hedgerows had that wonderful,
occasional burst of green as new leaves began to appear. But here in the
gnarled woods of Ynys-hir, spring seemed to be on hold. Yet I needed to look,
and perhaps listen, more carefully. The fog, if anything, was thicker this
morning, giving Ynys-hir a mysterious air. I wouldn’t have been surprised to
see Gandalf appear out of a thick swirl, staff in hand with a couple of hobbits
in tow. All around the twisted oaks were drip, drip, dripping.
But
here in the gnarled woods of Ynys-hir, spring seemed to be on hold.
My mind wandered back to a family holiday
in Morocco – one of the highlights was a special evening experience. We were
all blindfolded and then given a succession of sensory delights, everything
from sweet smells wafted under the nose and soft bells being rung to the touch
of a feather. The lack of sight served only to enhance each experience and now,
in Ynys-hir, the fog was doing very much the same thing. Denied sight, I found
the calls of invisible ravens ominous and medieval. I became sharply aware of a
harsh croaking somewhere in the distance letting me know that, high up in
faraway trees, herons were already nesting. The drumming of a great spotted
woodpecker trying to entice a mate echoed through the woods, and in fact, there
he was. Clearly visible, bashing away on a rotten branch, the whole scene
rendered black and white by the mist. The woods smelled damp and delicious
(remember, I’d had no breakfast as yet).
My
mind wandered back to a family holiday in Morocco – one of the highlights was a
special evening experience.
