Unusually I am writing this while sitting having my lunch looking at this view. Mostly I'd note something of interest while out, then when home write it up.
The silence however is noticeable.
I'm on the Quantock Hills, only three weeks since my last visit. Then at the beginning of May the birdsong was astonishing. Everywhere the orchestra of skylark, stonechat, linnet, wren and meadow pipit provided the avian-symphony. A host of solo artists, pied flycatcher, willow warbler, cuckoo, raven, song thrush and so on, added to the performance. It was incredible.
Today I've only heard meadow pipit, stonechat and a single swift. No skylark, no whitethroat, no Dartford warbler, even the cuckoo is a distant feint half-call somewhere over the valley. There is plenty of other wildlife to see but the difference those three weeks have made is quite noticeable.
Of course the reason is, I sincerely hope, that territories have been decided, pairs paired up and eggs are in the nest or chicks hatched and parents run ragged feeding them. There's no real need to sing loudly if the home is happy and content.
This exceptionally dry spring will have both brought forward breeding and shortened the breeding phase. It's only a hope that species reliant on insects for their growing chicks find enough of a supply in this dry weather. We will find out in due course when the surveys are collated.
There's plenty to see and do often course. Day flying moths are plentiful, green hairstreak too. This year is also I think the small heath year, they're everywhere. In some ways the silence in the hills as I write this is a joyous experience, a balm to the racket humanity unleashes on the environment, such as the aircraft now passing over at a great height. As long as that is all it is, a temporary cessation of birdsong during breeding I'll sleep well tonight.
Speaking of which I'd best on my way, a downhill three miles back to the car. The silence will no doubt accompany me. Temporarily I hope.
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