Midsummer box check.

It was the most perfect midsummer day with the huge Fenland skies radiating a deep blue and the sun beating down hotter than the Savannah. I walked the dog early both for his sake and in anticipation of my morning visitor as Paddy was out this way and happy to check the owl boxes for me. He arrived soon after nine and after a socially distanced greeting we made our way separately down to the farm.I was sorry not to see Chalky, his usual accomplice. I knew that he would be disappointed too but this year things were, out of necessity, going to be handled very differently.

 

Earlier this year we anticipated that nest box checks would not be happening at all. When the lockdown first began and only the most vital jobs continued it became obvious that this sort of monitoring would be considered a luxury. For those who have carried out nest box checks for years, even decades it is disappointing to say the least to have a gap in the data but rules are rules. With the easing of restrictions checks have started again but not with the same capacity. Paddy was delivering a nest box in this area and kindly detoured to us.Many boxes across The Fens will be left this year.

 

 

We began in the shed where I was sure we had a failed brood. The shed smelt strongly of owls and we suspected it was still a roost site but the box confirmed my suspicions when we found a clutch of perfectly white eggs which were stone cold. We then headed across the grass field to the beehive box. I had seen some owlish activity over here in recent nights but the box revealed evidence of squirrels and was currently being used by stock doves. As we stood in this quiet corner of the farm a barn owl quartered low over the grass and continued along the dyke edge. It was the first I had seen hunting during daylight hours for weeks and we guessed that it had most probably been roosting in the shed and exited from the back when we entered. The kestrels watched the proceedings too, no doubt hopeful that there would be something in this visit for them. They had been watching the haymaking closely the previous day, ever opportunistic and always looking for an easy lunch.

 

 

We saved east nest box until last and I fervently hoped that there would still be live owlets to check.I had been walking down each evening with huge trepidation and although the previous evening I had continued to hear them hissing I was aware times were difficult. I watched with more than a little dread as Paddy was lifted skywards and the box was opened. 

It is the most wonderful moment when he peers inside the inspection hatch and then turns and nods. First out was a well feathered male, its eyes taking in the big wide world before it was gently placed in the dark bag for its journey down. There was another heart stopping moment when Paddy panned the torch around the box interior once more before reaching inside to reveal a second owlet, this one sporting more owlet fluff but also a good size.

 

 

These two precious bundles were brought to ground level and quietly and expertly handled. Once laid upon their backs they stayed relatively still and were measured, weighed and ringed. All the details were meticulously recorded on their very own form. Whilst checking these two little precious bundles, Paddy told me that during the checks that he had managed to carry out in Northamptonshire, very few sites were occupied. The slump in vole numbers which had been anticipated after last year's glut year had been exacerbated by the wet winter. He identified the oldest of ours as a male at about seven weeks old with the youngest one being a female possibly a week younger. As I took quick photos of these beautiful birds I knew that the future was bleak for them in such spartan times but I pushed these thoughts to the back of my mind. They were alive at present and I would do my best by them whilst I could.

 

 

As he returned the youngsters to their nest box I asked Paddy to dispose of the carcass of the dead owlet at the front of the box. It was sad to see the tatty remains but there was some consolation in it for me. I could see that this one was younger than the tumbler I had returned a week previously. It had concerned me that perhaps it had been weakened by its night away from the nest site and had succumbed as soon as we had returned it. By looking at the photos I had taken that morning and the photos of the two owlets we had ringed it seemed that the tumbler had indeed been the oldest male that we had ringed that morning none the worse for its night out.

 

 

It was a morning of limited successes, of small congratulations and count your blessings. There was an acknowledgement that nature is formidable and we can play our part but much is out of our control. Yet still I smiled for much of the day at our little accomplishment from our modest corner of Fenland..