Birds in Flight

by W. P. Pycraft

Our native birds of prey, the owls and hawks, have been so harassed by game-keepers that many species are now exterminated, while others are but rarely seen. Some, however, in favoured localities still remain to us. At one time the owls and hawks were believed to be nearly related: they were distinguished as the “Nocturnal” and “Diurnal” birds of prey. We now know that they are not in the remotest degree related. The owls, indeed, are closely related to the nightjars. They have been already discussed here. The hawk tribe must now have their turn.

The one most commonly seen to-day is the kestrel, which is really a falcon, not a “hawk.” No bird is so easily identified on the wing. And this because of its habit of hovering in mid-air as though suspended from the sky by some invisible thread, while it searches the earth far below for stray mice. The kestrel’s lordly relative, the peregrine-falcon, is now-a-days only to be seen in a few favoured spots, out in the wilds—on beetling cliffs washed by the restless sea, or inland precipices. Those who have the good fortune to see it at rest may know it by its large size, strongly barred under-parts, dark blue-grey back and wings, and dark moustachial stripe. On the wing it is a joy to watch, for its flight impresses one as something irresistible: something from which there can be no escape, so swift is it, and so terrible in its directness and strength. A few rapid beats of its long pointed wings, then a long glide on motionless pinions, and it is swallowed up in the distance. On the moors of Scotland it is regarded with cordial dislike, because of the terror it spreads among the grouse. Hence, unhappily, every man’s hand is against it.

The little hobby is another of our falcons which is remorselessly shot down by the game-keepers, who, all too commonly, lack both knowledge and discretion. In appearance it closely resembles the peregrine, and its flight is similar. It feeds chiefly on small birds, dragon-flies, and beetles. You may hope to find it—generally in vain—in well-wooded districts, from April to September, in the southern counties of England. In the north of England and Scotland, if Fortune favours, you may find the merlin; our smallest British falcon; the male scarcely exceeds a blackbird in size. Moors and the heath-covered brows of sea-cliffs are perhaps its favourite haunts. Its flight is swift, buoyant, and low. Unlike the hobby, gliding movements are not conspicuous. The male is of a slate-blue, and has a broad black band across the tail. The female is larger than her mate, dark brown on the back and wings, and white, streaked with brown, below. It feeds almost entirely on small birds, but varies this diet with beetles and dragon-flies.

Wherever there are deer-forests in Scotland, even to-day,—but nowhere else in Great Britain—may you count on seeing the golden-eagle. And it is a sight to gladden the eyes. Its great size, broad wings, and wide-spread, upturned, primaries, are unmistakable, when seen on the wing—and it is rarely that you will see it else.

Those who cannot contrive to visit the haunts of the golden-eagle may find ample compensation in watching the flight of the common buzzard in Wales, the Devonian peninsula, and the Lake District. Though time was when it might be seen all over England, wherever woods abounded. Its flight, when hunting, strikes one as somewhat slow and heavy. In fine weather, however, as if for the mere delight of the exercise, it will mount heaven-wards in great sweeping spirals, holding its broad wings almost horizontally, and spread so that the primaries stand widely apart for half their length, and in this joyous movement they will remain aloft for hours on end.

But for the untiring efforts of the Royal Society for the Protection of Birds, none of our larger birds of prey—save, perhaps, the golden eagle, which is carefully cherished in the deer-forests—would now be left to us. The case of our harriers seemed hopeless. But, thanks to a zealous protection, a remnant remains.

The harriers are in many ways extremely interesting birds. In appearance, when closely examined, they present one remarkable feature. And this is found in the curious arrangement of the feathers of the face which radiate from the eye as a centre, as in the owls, to form a “facial disc.” They are all large birds, of slender build, and have a habit of flying close to the ground with their long, slender legs dangling, crossing and re-crossing the same area till they are sure they have examined it thoroughly. Frogs, eggs, small birds, and voles form their principal food. Every now and again they will rise and circle round at a considerable height, seeking a new feeding ground.

The marsh-harrier is our largest harrier, and has rounded wings, and slower wing-beats than the others, from which it is further readily distinguished by its chocolate brown coloration, cream-coloured head, and grey tail and secondaries, which contrast strongly with the black primaries. The hen-harrier breeds only in the Orkneys and the Outer Hebrides. It is distinguished by its grey coloration and pure white rump-patch. Montagu’s harrier is a somewhat smaller bird, and has black bars on the secondaries. In flight it is more graceful and buoyant than its relatives, and this is accomplished by three or four wing-beats, alternating with a long glide on half-raised pinions. It, again, nests annually in East Anglia, thanks to protection.

There remains but one other bird of prey to mention here, and this is the sparrow-hawk. It may be easily recognized during flight by its short, rounded wings and long tail. The female, which is much larger than her mate, has the under parts distinctly barred. The breast of the male is similarly marked, but the bars, being of a pale rufous, or rust-colour, and much narrower, are less conspicuous. It has a very rapid and gliding flight, just above the ground, or along hedgerows, which it scours in its search for small birds.

There may be many who will fare forth to find the harrier on the wing. If they succeed they will indeed be fortunate. But there is one bird that most certainly will be seen in the “harrier-country,” and that is the heron. There can be no mistaking him. He may be found, a large, grey bird, standing contemplative, knee-deep by the river’s margin, or in some ditch, awaiting the moment to strike at some unwary fish, frog, or water-vole. The moment he discovers that he is being watched he will be on the move. He rises heavily, almost awkwardly, with flapping wings and outstretched neck: his legs dangling down. But no sooner is he well on the way than he hauls in his neck till the head is drawn close to the body, and straightens out his legs till they extend behind him like a pair of streamers. Henceforth his flight is easy and graceful enough. This is the bird which was so much prized in the old days of “hawking.” The invention of the gun ended this most fascinating form of sport.